#he's quite short and stout in this one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

magicalbats · 7 months

Text

never fallen from quite this high

Rating: R/18+

Word count: 21490

Warnings: afab!reader, chubby reader, size difference, age difference, desk sex, missionary position, cunnilingus, barebacking, vaginal fingering, cum eating, a hint of enemies to lovers

A/N: I put my whole badussy into this one, guys vmsksjfe I hope ya'll enjoy the fic, and major shoutout to my longtime friend, fellow writer and quality checker for this piece @abbacchiosbelt! Everyone should make sure to check out her page while you're here! She's got plenty of goodies for you to sink your teeth into!

⭐

As far as meetings in the back office of the Northland Bank were concerned, this one was an unmitigated disaster.

The young man seated across the table had blown in like a veritable typhoon late that morning when the sun was just short of reaching its zenith. He came with neither a formal missive or a courier to precede his arrival, catching all the Snezhnayan natives off guard and woefully ill prepared. It wasn’t hard to figure out that the branch director, a stout bespectacled man in his middle years, hadn’t known he would be coming given the way he’d nearly fallen over in a dead faint at the first sight of him. It was almost nonstop chaos after that as everyone rushed about to prepare fresh coffee and snacks, and to arrange lodgings for their guest. A few staff members even quietly slipped off at the director's behest to double check that everything was in order behind the scenes, silently disappearing off into the shadows like phantoms returning to their dark crypts.

You hadn’t been sure what to make of it all at first, but had quickly caught on that this was someone important in their ranks. Someone with a great deal of power and influence who was in all likelihood a dangerous individual no matter how disarming his easy smiles were.

But, truth be told, the mysterious man didn’t look like much no matter how you tried to discreetly size him up from a distance. He was tall yet lanky in build, moving with the thinly veiled grace of a warrior — or perhaps a dancer, but your mora was on the former if he was able to work everyone up into such a frenzy just by showing his face. And despite his lean physique, you could tell he was indeed quite strong simply by the way he carried himself, all boldfaced confidence and self assured the way only a man in his prime could pull off. He was definitely trouble.

And you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. You were just the PR ambassador, after all, and a token one at that. Your job was to help foster good relations between the icy foreigners and your fellow Liyuean’s, not to insert your nose in business it didn’t belong.

With that in mind, you’d tried to beat a hasty retreat before anyone could notice your presence and subsequent absence, but the director was a crafty one indeed. You barely made it two full steps before he was suddenly right there beside you, as if he’d materialized out of thin air to cut off your escape route. Summarily ignoring your protests, he’d dragged you with him towards the conference room nestled in the far back of the building where the unknown youth was already waiting, depthless blue eyes dancing with good humor and mirth. The click of the door behind you had sounded like a death sentence.

The following half hour was occupied (to your surprise) primarily with pleasant niceties and intermittent toasts over that potent firewater Snezhnayan’s seemed to like so much, but which you had primly declined. Even if the stuff didn’t make you gag at just a thought, the current situation was a bit too uncertain for you to risk compromising your faculties like that. None of the northerners in the room seemed to bat an eye at it though; not the director or his personal secretary, nor the ginger haired man who was evidently known to his colleagues as Childe. He seemed almost too casual about everything — the drinks and the banter, and the fond reminiscences of their homeland casually passed between them — to be here on official matters of business. You soon concluded that it was a personal visit, then. Perhaps even a holiday of sorts.

You’re quickly proven wrong, however, when he unceremoniously flips everything on its head with the procurement of a sealed parchment from somewhere on his person. The director’s reaction to its contents was a stark one and it made you sit up straighter in your seat, half prepared to bolt for the exit should the need arise. But the next few minutes are a terse, confusing whirlwind as the three foreigners revert to their mother tongue, trading rapid volleys back and forth while the director’s tone of voice grows increasingly more tremulous by the minute, and you aren’t quite sure what’s going on anymore. You’re almost convinced that a fight is going to break out at any moment but a surreptitious glance at Childe shows him still at ease, apparently not even invested enough in the discord he’s sewn to give the other man his full attention. Rather, you catch him grinning over at you.

“Is he always like this?” He poses the question lightly, the lilt in his voice bordering on playful, but you don’t trust it. Not by a long shot.

The director sputters in thinly veiled offense but you ignore him completely, much more concerned about the yet unknown danger sitting across the table. Making a valiant effort to keep your expression pleasant and neutral, you offer Childe a polite smile. “Not usually.”

He quirks a brow at that vague non-answer but doesn’t comment on it, swiveling his attention back around to the issue at hand. Finally pulling himself out of his confident slouch, he sits forward to take up the crystalline glass decanter sitting just within reach so he can pour more of that pungent drink into first the director’s cup and then his own. “Come now, old friend. Is this really something to get so worked up about? And right in front of our Liyuean guest too …”

The director cuts you a sharp, slicing look and you get the sense that he was regretting the decision to drag you back here for this impromptu meeting, visibly struggling to rein his temper in with a deep, bullish exhale. Serves him right, you think bitterly to yourself. You never had any business sitting in on this bizarre exchange in the first place.

“Apologies, my lord. I did not mean to forget my manners,” Another brief glance over at you, as if he were trying to warn you to keep your head down. As if you really needed any further incentive to do just that. “However, it is my deepest regret to inform you that I’m not confident if this branch of the Northland Bank has the means to accommodate your, ah … needs.”

Slowly, Childe lifts his strange eyes to pin the director with a look that sends shivers racing down your spine. You’d been relatively certain he was far more dangerous than he outwardly appeared but this was something far beyond even what you had anticipated. How did someone so young, still in the prime of his youth with his whole life ahead of him, manage to embody such a deep, dark sense of foreboding at the drop of a coin?

“What are you saying, Krzysiek? Are we not in Liyue, the very birthplace of mora? There should be plenty to spare in your vaults.”

The director hurriedly rushes to amend himself, trying to play it off with a laugh. “Yes, my lord. Of course, that is all indeed true. But even the amount of mora in circulation at any given time has its limits. You see, if I were to give you this very large sum here and now,” the director pointedly taps the parchment in his hand with a worn finger. “Then there won’t be anything at all left in our reserves. We wouldn’t be able to give out any new loans, pay our staff their wages or even let any of our customers withdraw from their accounts. I can’t imagine the owner of the bank would appreciate that very much, so I’m sure you understand my hesitation.”

Mouth opening in surprise when you realize just how large a sum the request must be, you eagerly swing your head towards Childe in anticipation of his next response.

Luckily for you, he doesn’t even seem to notice with the whole of his attention fixed singularly on the director, and you watch in something not unlike fascination as he slowly leans forward in his seat. “Are you an idiot? It was Regrator himself who signed that order.” He growls, flashing pretty white teeth. “Check it again, maybe a little more carefully this time. I’m not some lackey trying to pull one over on you.”

“Certainly not, my lord. I never suggested - -“

“You may report directly to my colleague but I’m still a Harbinger, Krzysiek. I think Regrator would like your lack of foresight even less than not being able to let people take out withdraws.”

A pair of sharp gasps echo inside the room and, in almost perfect unison, the director and his secretary both turn twin looks of horror on you.

Pulse stuttering, you pointedly keep your expression blank even while the urge to reel back in shock threatens to overpower you. You’d heard rumor of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers, whispers of their great influence and even greater strength, but the Snezhnayan’s stationed in Liyue weren’t very forthcoming about any of the details or specifics. You’d also never seen one in person before and hadn’t thought it was even possible for one to be so young as this. Childe looked like he was perhaps only a few years younger than you … three, or perhaps even four, but yet he held a title so grand?

And judging by the way they were looking at you, you probably weren’t supposed to know that.

Following their line of sight, Childe glances over at you and smiles. “Ah, you’re worried about our little guest here spilling the beans? People will soon start to gossip amongst themselves anyway, so I don’t think it really matters.” His boyish grin fades as he turns his attention back to the director again, tone losing all of its mirth. “I’d say you have much more pressing concerns right now.”

Nervously, the director drags a stiff hand over his mouth to wipe away the beads of sweat starting to form along his upper lip. “Yes, my lord. Of course. You are correct.” He pauses to clear his throat. “I’m sure we can find a satisfactory compromise. Please allow me a chance to correspond with, ah, my lord directly and confirm his wishes first. Surely there are things you’d like to see or do while you’re in Liyue? This will at least give you the chance to explore the city at your own leisure while I await his response.”

“You mean to further waste my time, Krzysiek? Is that it?”

“No, not at all! I would never dream of such a thing and that is precisely why I brought her along.” He gestures at you then, making your back snap straight as board. You don’t think you can hide it any longer, the dread curling like a venomous serpent low in your gut, but if he sees any of the thinly veiled terror in your face he doesn’t acknowledge it. “As I said earlier, this is our personal relations ambassador at the branch and she knows the city like the back of her hand. Why, I dare say there isn’t a single stone she doesn’t know the history of. You’ll have your own personal tour guide to show you everything you might ever wish to see while you’re here.”

Your mouth drops open in abject shock. You hadn’t agreed to that. Wouldn’t have even if he’d asked, not now and not in a million years. Not ever.

But Childe turns his head before you can protest and anything you might have said catches in your throat when he gives you a chilling once over. Gradually, his expression thaws and his shoulders relax as he reclines back into his seat with a long suffering sigh for effect. “Fine. You have three days to get your clearance directly from Regrator then. That’s how long I was planning to stay in Liyue anyway so it doesn’t exactly change anything, although I still don’t understand why his signature on that letter won’t just as well suffice.”

“My sincerest apologies, my lord. I only wish to make absolutely certain I do not go against his wishes in meeting yours.” The director reaches out to hold his cup up to Childe who disinterestedly eyes it for a beat before doing the same with his own, much to the older man’s visible relief. “Our ambassador will take good care of you, and see that your every need is met during your stay. This I swear on Snezhnaya’s honor.”

“Enough, Krzysiek.” Childe grumps, clinking their glasses together. “Just don’t come up short handed when everything is said and done.”

You watch them drink to it, tossing their heads back almost simultaneously to swallow down that deceptively clear liquid with neither a grimace or a seething hiss to show for its potency. It’s as if it doesn’t even register in their minds but you, on the other hand, felt disproportionately nauseous considering you hadn’t had so much as a sip of their aptly named firewater. You didn’t even really understand what was happening or how things had gotten to this point but if there was one singular truth you were sure of it was this:

You desperately needed to find some way out of it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dejectedly, you hand the fresh grilled skewer of fish out to Childe who takes it with a smile and a quick word of thanks. He doesn’t even stop long enough to blow on the visibly hot meat before biting into it, and you watch him huff and puff between chews to let some of the steam escape from his puckered lips before quickly swallowing it down. Your patience with him was fast unraveling, and not even because of his questionable manners. If you were honest with yourself you would have had to admit that he was frustratingly charming in a boyish, borderline clumsy sort of way. Cute, even.

But your desperate attempt to weasel your way out of this had fallen on deaf ears, the director insistent that you were the only person in all of Liyue who could possibly play tour guide for the visiting Harbinger. You’d begged, pleaded and even threatened to resign from your position at the Northland Bank right then and there if that was what it would take for you to avoid having to deal with the situation any longer. The director had finally wavered at that, looking like he might be slowly coming around, but before he could actually relieve you of this assignment none other than the devil himself had appeared, right on cue.

He was eager to set out and get started on exploring the city after freshening up, and hadn’t taken ‘no’ for an answer when you’d argued against it. Your pleas for a little more time with the director were likewise summarily dismissed, and before you realized what was even happening he’d thrown a friendly arm over your shoulder so he could steer you towards the door. Completely undeterred by any of your hissing complaints or threats of retaliation upon him, he pulled you straight out into the midafternoon sun where he’d made a prompt request for lunch. He was so amicably pushy about everything that you’d had no choice but to comply or risk having him drag you all over the harbor by the arm.

That hadn’t been the best start to your time together but, somehow even worse, is that Childe had proven himself to be every bit as troublesome as you’d first expected him to be. He joked too much, for starters, and his penchant for eagerly pulling you off in whichever direction caught his fancy was quickly running you ragged. Excitable and full of unspent energy, it was all you could do just to keep up with him. You’d tried to tell yourself it would only be lunch, just one place and then you would wipe your hands of him, but he was undaunted and things were still not going in your favor.

Even stopping at a small kiosk for a quick snack was not enough to keep him standing still for very long and the two of you are soon off again in a seemingly random direction, as dictated by his spur of the moment whims and fancies. You were going to be exhausted by the time this day was finally over.

“Hey, what’s that all about?”

Bringing your head up, you follow his line of sight to a small congregation of people flocking around a lone figure in the center of all the bustling excitement. You recognize the bonnet immediately, and a smile slowly pulls at your mouth. “That is our very own star of the opera. Her name is Yunjin, and she’s very popular among the general public and aficionados alike.”

But when you bring your gaze back around, you’re startled (and more than just a bit horrified) to find his attention fixated on you rather than the crowd.

“Oho, so you do know how to smile! I was starting to wonder if you just didn’t remember how.”

“W - what is that supposed to mean?” You snip, recoiling defensively.

“Oh, nothing,” he sing-songs right back. “It’s just that all I’ve seen you do so far is scowl and look like a skittish kitten ever since we met. I’m glad to know you like something, even if it isn’t me.”

Childe’s lilting laughter makes the blood rush to your face, and you quickly look away so he doesn’t see the fluster you were valiantly trying to stamp down. “Forgive me, xiansheng. I did not mean to be rude. It’s just — all of this was dumped on me so suddenly and you’re …”

“Hm? And I’m what?”

This shameless teasing was perhaps the worst facet of his personality of all. The pushiness and the refusal to acknowledge any protests were one thing, the strange dissonance in his behavior another entirely, but this … it was vaguely reminiscent of a boy who either hadn’t yet learned his manners or didn’t care enough about the consequences to keep his mouth in check. You suspected it to be the latter, his confidence as unerring as his energy, and you would’ve had half a mind to give him a good swat on the behind had he not been nearly double your height and only a few years your junior. Unfortunately, you were in no position to correct him.

So you school your expression into a professional mask of indifference and turn your head to pin him with the most bland look you can muster. “A Harbinger. It’s true, isn’t it?”

He quirks a brow at you, evidently not having expected that to be your response. “Is that really what’s had you so on edge this whole time? You’re worried about my title?” Abruptly throwing his head back, he laughs up at the sky. “Goodness, I had no idea that upset you so much. If I’m being honest, you were so stoic back at the bank that I wasn’t even sure if you knew what a Harbinger was!”

You can feel your cheeks starting to turn hot again and you quickly try to wrestle it back under control. “Of course I’ve heard the rumors! It would have been a little hard to avoid them in this position but you Snezhnayan’s usually aren’t the most talkative bunch, you know. I’m sure there’s plenty of information I’m still not privy to.”

“Ooh, and is that your way of asking me to help you understand a bit better?” Childe sends you a slow, knowing grin, and you have no choice but to admit that you were in a bit over your head with him no matter how much you might try to fight it. He was regrettably adept at embarrassing you, it seemed.

“It might be nice to know what I’ve got myself mixed up with.” You softly, grudgingly admit, earning a chuckle out of him.

“Alright. I suppose I can share a few details with you, but I want to ask a few things in return. How does that sound?”

Your head snaps up and you fix him with a surprised, questioning look. Ever unperturbed, he ruefully wags his skewer stick at you with an unmistakable, mischievous gleam in his strange eyes.

“It’s only fair, right girlie? I’ll tell you what you want to know and you’ll tell me what I want to know. Isn’t that what alchemists call equivalent exchange?”

Huffing, you cross your arms under your breasts and pin him with a flat look, trying to impart just how unamused you are with his silly little shenanigans. “Don’t call me that. And I don’t know anything about alchemy, but … okay. I’ll play along. Within reason.”

Your answer seems to delight him to no end, and he promptly flies off into a rather expressive tangent about Snezhnaya, her majesty the Tsaritsa, the Fatui and the eleven Harbingers that command their numbers. He gesticulates eagerly throughout his explanation, primarily touching on rank and hierarchy, but it soon becomes gibberish that simply goes in one ear and out the other. You were not intimately familiar with the inner workings of either government or military, and you had no desire to be, but you decide to let him keep talking anyway. It was clear he was only telling you very surface level information that would neither give away too much or reveal any national security secrets, but there were still a few things you were able to glean from listening to what he did say.

One was that the Harbingers were not only a very, very dangerous organization as a whole but even on an individual scale each was more powerful than the last. It was a little hard to believe at first when you were looking at Childe — so young and long-limbed, and seemingly unfettered by any greater concern than where his next source of entertainment would derive from, but recalling the intense shift in his demeanor back at the bank … yes, you were willing to believe he stood among the most elite warriors in Snezhnaya. Although you hadn’t seen his physical prowess in action yet (and hopefully never would) it was a decidedly good idea not to take him at face value. Doubly so for the rest of his colleagues, including the one you yourself indirectly worked for.

The second was the nature of his visit to Liyue. He danced around the subject for the most part but he did let it slip that he was headed to Fontaine after securing the funds, presumably per his orders to personally transport the mora himself, and you supposed that did make a certain amount of sense. If he was as strong as you believed him to be then it would explain why he would have been saddled with such a task. Though, it also didn’t escape your notice that he spoke on the subject with no shortage of annoyance coloring his voice and it was hardly any wonder why. Childe was clearly the type who preferred hands-on, proactive roles that put him in the heart of conflict rather than acting behind the scenes like this. He wasn’t exactly trying to hide it, after all.

Regardless, it was somewhat reassuring to know that many of your initial assumptions about him had been correct and you now knew with absolute certainty that you needed to be careful in how you approached these interactions with him. It wouldn’t do to somehow offend him and invite his wrath upon yourself or your family, because clearly there would be no stopping him in that case. But did that in turn mean you were stuck playing tour guide for the duration of his stay, lest you risk upsetting him?

This was turning into quite the conundrum, indeed.

“And that’s about it.” He says at last, much too cheery for your liking. “For what I can tell you, anyway. I know it probably seems like I left quite a bit out but trust me, girlie, you don’t want to get tangled up with this more than you already are. Hopefully I was able to satisfy some of your curiosity though.”

“You did,” you murmur slowly. Then, with more conviction, “And don’t call me that. Didn’t I already tell you that once?”

Laughingly, he waves you off. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. But let’s put that aside for right now. It’s my turn to have some questions answered. Think you’re up to it?”

You hesitate, wondering what he could possibly want to know. If it was information about Liyue you would have gladly divulged it without the need for this trade between you and him, but you’d long since picked up on the fact that he just liked being difficult for the sake of it so it didn’t exactly come as a surprise. It was a bit annoying though, having to humor these silly games of his like this.

“Alright, I’ll do my best.” You say at last. “Just keep in mind that I can’t tell you something I don’t know. Your questions have to be within reason, remember?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m sure you won’t have any problem answering this.”

Growing ever more suspicious, you quirk a brow at him but he just offers you that same boyish grin again. If the circumstances had been any different you probably would have found yourself giving in to its magnetic pull despite your (well founded, in your opinion) reservations about doing so, but even that attractive smile was not enough to distract from who — or rather what he was, and you brace for the worst. Was he going to ask you about the Qixing or maybe Lady Ningguang specifically? The Milileth?

Your thoughts are abuzz with the possibilities but the very last thing you expect him to ask is precisely what comes out of his mouth next.

“Do you have any siblings?”

Stopping dead in your tracks, you stare up at him in abject disbelief. That was what he wanted to know?

“Hey, let’s keep it moving, girlie.” He can’t seem to get his laughter under control as he pivots on his heel and takes hold of your elbow, pulling you back into motion again. You fall in step, stumbling slightly, as he pins you with the most mischievous grin you’ve seen yet — the unapologetic rascal! “Wouldn’t want anyone to run you over, now would we? I’m not sure if my poor little heart would ever recover.”

Lips pursing, you narrow your eyes at him in warning even while he whoops it up, drawing the attention of more than just a few passersby. How humiliating it was to be seen with someone like this in broad daylight.

“I’m an only child.” You grit out, snatching your arm from him with a prim huff for good measure.

Your prickly attitude doesn’t deter him half as much as you would’ve liked though, and Childe merely takes it in stride as if you weren’t doing everything in your power short of stomping on his toe to dissuade him from continuing on in this manner. So on and so forth, he eagerly poses a seemingly never ending series of questions that range from as benign as how old you were (three years older than him, you come to find) right up to your relationship status. You try very hard to shut down his more intrusive queries, refuse to humor them with a real answer, but his pushiness returns with a vengeance. Any attempt to side step or discourage him was just met with the same question worded a different way until you finally gave in with no other choice and no escape in sight. More than once he even pretended to move on from a topic to placate and soothe you before eventually circling right back around to it again when you least expected it.

He was exhausting in the worst possible way. Unrepentant and shameless, utterly hopeless, he badgers you incessantly for the rest of the afternoon until you could scarcely tell what was what anymore. You’d never felt quite so harried or like a cornered rabbit in all your life.

By the time you finally make your way back to the Northland Bank, hours later when the sun was sitting low on the horizon and you’d had to put your foot down about returning before dark, you practically have to drag yourself up the winding staircase just to reach the entrance. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so tired, and not just physically but mentally as well. Childe, on the other hand, did not seem to be flagging at all and he takes the stairs with ease and that same innate grace you’d first noticed in him earlier, bounding ahead to reach the landing first.

Assuming he’d already gone inside, you achingly pull yourself up the last few remaining steps only to come to an abrupt halt when you find him standing there with the door held open. Waiting. For you?

He snickers at your expression, further putting you on guard. “Don’t look so surprised. It’s the least I can do after nagging you so much.”

That was the very definition of an understatement.

You don’t budge though, slowly curling your hands into loose fists at your sides when it occurs to you that just returning to the bank did not necessarily mean an end to your suffering. Hadn’t you already endured enough?

He was incorrigible and confusing, and more than just a little bothersome — like a too-friendly dog with an overabundance of energy that just wanted to play and have all of your attention to himself. You may have been able to make peace with that for the sake of your own wellbeing and that of your family, but when coupled with the barrage of questions that had persisted wherever in the city you’d walked together, whatever you’d stopped to point out in an attempt to distract him from his continuous questioning … you just couldn’t seem to reconcile the problem he presented in your mind.

If not because you were nothing more than a PR ambassador, not a babysitter, then certainly because being in such close proximity with him was looking even more ill advised than it first had that afternoon. If you didn’t know any better you would have almost thought he was actually interested in you, the way he’d asked you so many personal questions about yourself. But you do know better and you’re well aware that someone like him would never want someone like you. It’s not as if you were blind. The stature of him had certainly not escaped your notice, nor had his boyish good looks. He was tall, a bit gangly at the moment, perhaps, but that was sure to change over the years as he settled further into his own body, into his muscle mass, and finished filling the rest of the way out. And even those most peculiar eyes of his weren’t enough to detract from the high cheekbones of his face or the strong jawline that framed pale pink lips. By contrast, you were soft and round, diminutive compared to him, and not at all the sort of woman a man such as him pursued in good faith.

Of course he didn’t want you — why would he? It was laughable, if you were being honest. As much as anyone else might have been flattered and charmed to be on the receiving end of his attention, you were finding the whole thing to be a rather nightmarish experience. As if worrying about offending a powerful Harbinger had not been bad enough, now he was teasing you too … And somehow, even knowing all this, that still doesn’t stop it from hurting just a little bit.

You’d reached the end of your rope as far as he was concerned. You couldn’t do this anymore and you refused to be the butt of his little inside jokes any longer. It was simply too much, even for you.

“I’m going home.” You blurt out, clearly surprising him given the way his brows shoot up to disappear beneath that haphazard tousle of reddish-brown hair. “My shift ended a while ago. I just wanted to make sure you got back without getting lost, or the director would start to worry if you were late to return.”

Childe doesn’t even try to hide his disappointment, expression falling as he unceremoniously lets go of the door so that it swings and bangs shut with a heavy thud. The Fatui guard standing on duty, Nadia, sends the two of you a slow look from the corner of her masked eye, making your cheeks grow hot. As if you really needed an audience for this.

“Aw, don’t say that.” He wheedles you with the added bonus of a frustratingly effective puppy dog pout to really drive the nail home. “At least come in for some coffee and pyshka. I’ll ask them to make it fresh for you, so - -“

“No.” You cut across him with enough vehemence that it earns you another surprised look, those depthless ocean blue eyes widening slightly. Good. Maybe he would finally start to take you seriously now. “I do apologize, xiansheng, but I am tired and I would like to go home and rest. I’m sure your countrymen will be more than happy to entertain you for the rest of the evening, so you shouldn’t be without ample diversion in my absence.”

He silently regards you for a long beat, the vibrant orange and red cast of the sun washing over him to set his hair aflame, glowing like a hot, smoldering ember. Somehow that same light doesn’t seem to even touch the void in his irises, though, and a faint chill races up your spine with that realization. You’d never seen anything quite like it before.

But then his smile slips back into place and his posture relaxes — so disconcerted by his strange eyes, you hadn’t even noticed the way he’d been holding himself, as if he were poised to strike — and you quickly take a subconscious step back. For better or for worse, Childe pretends not to notice, merely lifting a hand in farewell while the other comes to rest against his hip in a casual stance. He was completely at ease again. Just like that.

“Goodnight, then. I hope you rest well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Every single hair on your body instantly stands on end. There wasn’t going to be a tomorrow. Not with the way he was acting. “Xiansheng, I can’t - -“

“Don’t worry. I won’t ask you to be here first thing in the morning or anything like that.” He smoothly interrupts you, his expression still pleasant and amicable but somehow … sharper. You back up another step when he shuffles forward but your back hits the edge of the bannister and you freeze, knowing the top of the staircase was not the best place to try testing your luck like this. All you can do is watch as he comes closer and closer until you finally have to tip your head back to look up at him. “You’re welcome to sleep in if you want. I’d hate to put you out, and I’ll just come pick you up if it starts getting too late.”

You swallow hard in an attempt to lubricate your suddenly bone dry throat. “I won’t tell you where I live.” It’s barely more than a whisper, but it still gets a chuckle out of him.

“Perhaps not, but Krzysiek certainly will. Oh, don’t make that face, girlie. I already explained it to you, didn’t I? We Harbingers carry out the Tsarista’s will and our word is almost as good as hers. Krzysiek is just trying to cover his own ass by checking in with my colleague first, but if I’d really wanted to start throwing my weight around he would have given me that mora without a fuss. Don’t assume he would shoulder the same risks just to protect a citizen of Liyue.”

He lifts his hand then, reaching out for you with a deliberate slowness, and you jerk back. Grabbing behind you for the bannister to steady yourself before you can topple head first down the stairs, you glare up at him with as much vitriol as you could muster. “Stop calling me that.” You hiss. It’s the only thing you can think to say. You believed him.

There was no need to ask for proof or challenge that assertion, because you wholeheartedly believed he was telling you the simple truth of the matter. The director certainly wouldn’t stick his neck out on the line for you and you knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. If appeasing him meant throwing a Liyuean girl to the proverbial wolf then that was exactly what would happen. But that doesn’t make it any easier to accept how signed and dotted your fate actually was though.

Unperturbed, Childe retracts his hand in favor of crossing his arms over his chest instead. “So it’s a date then? I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You don’t even dignify that with a response. Giving him a quick, bitter look, you turn and start to make your way down the staircase, gripping the bannister so tight your fingers ache in protest. You couldn’t believe him! Couldn’t believe the director for putting you in this situation in the first place. But most of all, more than anything else, you couldn’t believe you’d ever thought he was charming. The pain you’d felt at his insistent teasing was well deserved for ever being such a fool but it wouldn’t happen again. You would continue to play tour guide for as long as you were expected to, for as long as you were forced to, but he wouldn’t be getting any more laughs at your expense.

You promise yourself that as you hit the next landing, feeling his eyes linger on your back before you disappear down the attached corridor and out of view.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The following morning you find Childe already sitting in the lobby of the bank, slouched in a chair and talking animatedly to a masked Fatuus standing next to him. You’d wanted to avoid inviting him onto your doorstep and, having no idea what he might choose to consider as ‘getting too late’, you’d set off from home at the same time you did every day. If he would’ve allowed you to treat it like any other, you would have gladly done just that.

But as soon as he spots you coming through the door he’s up out of his seat and making a beeline straight towards you, that big, almost dopey smile already in place. You hold your ground though, offering the coppery redhead a look of pure and utter disinterest at his approach. He was not going to get under your skin today no matter what he did or said. If you were not effectively being held hostage against your will you wouldn’t have shown up at all, and you intended to make that very clear to him.

“Good morning!” He greets you, bright and cheery, and decidedly puppy-like. “I hope you slept well. Would you like some coffee? Tea? Maybe some delicious syrniki to start your day?”

You quirk a brow at him, a little surprised that there was nary a hint or even a sign of that imposing, dangerously uncanny side of him today, and he wasn’t offering up any apologies for it either. He was acting like nothing at all had happened when you’d last parted ways. Well. That wasn’t entirely true. He actually seemed to be … somehow even more overbearing than yesterday. You hadn’t thought it was actually possible, nor are you sure how he’s managed to find even more energy for today, but you refused to fall for it. The guy was nothing but trouble no matter how overly friendly he tried to be.

“No, thank you.” Brushing him off, you try to move around him but he surprises you by stepping in the way to block your path. With a huff, you cross your arms and pin him with an unamused frown. “What do you want?”

“Aww, come on. You wound me, girlie. I thought we were getting along just fine yesterday so what’s with the cold shoulder all of a sudden?” He asks, putting an emphatic hand over his heart as if his feelings were really hurt, and your hackles start to rise.

“How many times do I have to tell you - -“

“My, my, what’s all this?” The director suddenly cuts in, appearing beside you as if he’d dissolved out of the very shadows themselves. You jump in surprise but a quick look at his pale, vaguely harassed expression tells you he’s likely been faring no better with Childe than you had. Served him right, as far as you were concerned.

“Good morning, xiansheng Krzysiek. I was just about to go get started on that project you gave me since I didn’t have a chance to - -“

“Nonsense!” He cuts across you so forcefully it makes you snap your mouth shut with an audible click. “Of course that can wait. What’s the rush? I’m sure you’d have a much better time showing my esteemed lord around the city, no?”

Your stomach lurches and you fix him with a vitriolic glare but he just narrows his eyes and returns the look twofold. It seemed neither one of you wanted to be responsible for Childe today and the resulting stare down between you and your boss is a statically charged one. You’d been hoping to bide some time for yourself so you wouldn’t have to spend the entire day with him, dammit.

“Well, if you ask my opinion,” Childe offers, making you bring your attention back around to him. “I think we should go get breakfast since you don’t want any of our delicious, homemade syrniki and then do a bit more sightseeing. We had a lot of fun yesterday, and there are still a few more places I’d like to go.”

‘Fun’ was the very last thing you’d call it. In fact, there were an infinite number of things you would rather be doing besides spending more time in his presence, and throwing yourself into the ocean was right at the top of that list. But, seeing that there was no point in arguing when you were effectively trapped, you relent. “Fine. We can grab something to eat first, and then I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

“Excellent!” The director barks, clapping you on the shoulder a little too hard, and you turn your head to glare daggers at him. Taking the hint, he quickly composes himself with a discreet, appropriately apologetic grumble. “I do hope you two have an enjoyable time together, my lord, and please let me know if there is anything at all you need.”

Pivoting on his heel, Childe abruptly steps right into the older man to get in his space. “What I need is for you to stop wasting my time, Krzysiek.” He murmurs, that easy, unbothered smile playing at his mouth doing absolutely nothing to distract from the hard edge in his eyes. Growing nervous now, you take a self conscious step back to put some distance between you and them. “But since that obviously isn’t going to happen, I think we’ll be off. Ready, my little pieróg?”

The director suddenly chokes and sputters, shooting a disbelieving look from one to the other even as you suspiciously narrow your eyes at Childe. Something told you you liked this new nickname even less than ‘girlie’. “Now what are you calling me?”

“Oh, nothing,” he teases, his demeanor flipping just like that as he reaches out to take hold of your arm even when you valiantly try to snatch it out of his reach. “That, as they say, is for me to know and for you to find out. You’ll have to earn it if you want me to tell you though!”

And with that, the two of you are off.

Breakfast at a little stall tucked down a narrow side street turns out to be surprisingly pleasant. Shockingly, even. You admittedly feel a great deal of relief when Childe manages to keep his hands to himself for the rest of the morning and he even seems to have given up on the previous day's inquisition all together. He neither says anything out of place nor does he undergo another of those disconcerting shifts in his behavior. Rather, he is consistent and charming again, as if that offputting display in front of the Northland Bank never even happened. Like it was merely a figment of your imagination and nothing more.

You know better than that though, and you weren’t going to be persuaded by it. Luckily, keeping him entertained was a relatively easy task so you don’t even have to try very hard to keep things moving. After your meal, you take him to the theater hall to show him where the opera is hosted and even get a chance to introduce him to a few of the staff members who were setting up for a performance later in the evening. He does catch you off guard though when he suddenly asks about seeing the show together, not having expected him to have any such interest in the performing arts. But when you tell him it’s too late to purchase tickets when they were in such high demand he, strangely enough, accepts that answer without a fuss.

You think it all very strange given how he’d acted yesterday — as if the world itself was his to lay claim to and everyone was expected to just go along with it — but you were certainly not in any position to complain. The more he cooperated the better your nerves would fare.

From there, you take him to a ceramics shop, a bookstore, a calligraphy studio, a toy makers stall and even to a small perfumer after he’d mentioned having an older sister he might want to buy a souvenir for. He truly seems like a completely different person today, politely listening to what you tell him about this or that, attentively focused and tuned in. You’re ashamed to say it almost makes your resolve falter but you hold firm. After that, a lacquer studio, various boutiques and seamstress shops, a few antique stores that quickly prove much too dusty and boring for his liking. You stop for lunch at Third Round Knockout, enjoy some fine food and entertainment together, and then it’s back to the streets. At his request, you take him down to the docks and show him around the markets there, only to realize somewhere along the line that he must have some kind of background in fishing. The way he talks about it, fond yet distant, like an old hobby he might like to revisit some day, strikes an odd little chord inside you. You hadn’t expected him to have room for sentimentality when he was so busy bouncing around from one extreme to the next.

The day wears on in this fashion until you at last take him up to the Yujing Terrace gardens, having saved (what was in your humble opinion) the best for last. Childe appears to appreciate the scenery well enough, oohing and aahing at appropriate intervals as you show him through the public grounds, but you can tell he found the docks much more exciting. Hardly any wonder there. A hot blooded young man such as himself rarely had any need for flowers or ornamental fountains, decorative lanterns or the architecture laid throughout. You got the sense he didn’t dislike the pavilion, exactly, but rather he just wasn’t as invested in it as he might be in other things … and yet he was still trying to stay engaged and interested. Truthfully, you found this more than just a little odd. You’d taken him for an entitled brat, and with good reason.

But the whole situation was strange once you got right down to the heart of it, and you’re understandably glad to finally start making your way back towards the bank shortly after dusk has settled over the gardens and the lamps have been lit. Unlike the previous day where you’d had to all but force him to return before full dark, he acquiesces without a fuss or even any attempt to weasel another half hour out of you. Even putting his penchant for cruel tricks aside, it was almost like you’d spent the whole day with a completely different person than the one you’d first met and this was somehow the most confounding detail of all. At some point you’d started to think he was planning something insidious, just waiting for the right moment to spring the trap, so you had truly expected him to put up more of a fight about it.

So lost in thought, you don’t realize he’s speaking until he shifts close enough to amicably bump your hip with his narrow thigh. Giving a start, you turn your head up only to find a suspiciously eager smile tugging at his rouge’s mouth and you think, this is it. He’s finally going to say something cute or shocking after all this time and, feeling vindicated, you brace yourself for another taste of his nonsense. You’d known he enjoyed provocation too much to resist the temptation forever.

“I was saying thank you for today. You make a pretty good tour guide, if you ask me.”

You stumble a step, feeling like the ground itself is opening up underneath you to swallow you whole. That hadn’t been what you’d expected him to say at all. “You’re welcome,” you respond slowly, mouth tugging into a frown. “But there really isn’t any reason to thank me. I was just fulfilling my duties, that’s all.”

“Aww, don’t say that. You did a great job despite all the trouble I’ve given you so I’d say credit is due. No need to be shy.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you quickly look away. “I am not being shy, xiansheng. I just have no need for your praise.”

“Oho. Is that so, girlie?”

You suck in a sharp breath, prickling at that insufferable name he insisted on calling you every time you turned around, but you don’t get the chance to snap at him. Before you can utter so much as a word, his hand is suddenly on your wrist and he’s pulling you away from the main, bustling street into a cramped little alley. Your heart stutters a beat but you can’t quite seem to dig your heels into the ground when his forward momentum seemed to be in full swing, so you just inelegantly trip after him with a tiny squawk of protest.

Finally stopping towards the far end of the path, Childe turns to grin down at you. Issuing an incensed huff into the still air, you give your arm a quick jerk to try and free yourself of his hold but it’s no good. He refused to budge, and you have no choice but to give up, pinning him with a look of pure exasperation.

“What are you doing now, xiansheng? This isn’t the way to the bank.”

“I know, I know. I just wanted to properly show how grateful I really am to my cute little tour guide. You just said you’re not shy, didn’t you?”

Catching on that he was up to something — for real this time — you once again try to extricate your arm from him. Gingerly, this time. “I’m afraid I don’t know what that has to do with this. I think we should go back to the bank and - -“

He suddenly swoops down and silences you with a hard kiss. You jolt, gasping when his fingers tighten around your wrist to make it clear that there would be no escape until he decided to let you go. That hardly seemed the most pressing issue right now, though. Stock still, you just stand there and try to make sense of what’s happening. The sensation of his mouth against yours, his warm breath mingling with your own and the vaguely citrusy scent of him assaulting you all at once. It was just as overwhelming as the rest of him and you can’t figure out how to react. Finally, eventually, he pulls back to peer at you through the gloom of night, far from the dull glow of the distant streetlights.

“I know you’ve thought about this. You’re so cute, the way I catch you looking at my - -“

Your free hand flies up, hitting him across the mouth as hard as you can. The gruff sound that bursts out of him is surprised, but not half as hurt as you would have liked it to be.

“How dare you.” Your voice is a barely there, faltering hiss in the relative quiet with only the distant sounds of city life to act as a backdrop. “I’ve thought of no such thing, and you’ve got a lot of nerve trying to force yourself on me like that!”

The look that briefly flashes across his face seems almost impressed, if not a little cowed by your reaction, and for a split second you’re sure he’s going to rise to the challenge you’ve presented. But then it’s gone just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced once again by that overly confident smile. “Oh, come on. You don’t mean that. I can see how you look at me. I’m not blind, you know.”

“I’m allowed to look at someone without wanting to kiss them!” You insist, vehemently shoving at his chest.

To your great surprise, he actually lets you push him back a step and he releases your arm in the process. You quickly take that chance to back up towards the waiting lip of the alley but he follows you with his eyes, a predator tracking its prey, and you hesitate to make a run for it. One quick look at his long legs assures you he could outpace you all too easily. You’d never make it far against someone like him and the eager gleam dancing in those strange, strange eyes discourages you from trying. That didn’t mean you had to quietly stand there while he played his stupid little games though, and all at once the dam suddenly gives way.

“I've had enough!” You shout at him. “I refuse to entertain you at the cost of my own dignity any longer, xiansheng! You have done nothing but harass me the entire time I’ve known you and I am done! I’m sorry, but you’ll need to find a new guide for the rest of your stay in Liyue because I refuse to do it even a moment longer.”

“But I want you.” He shoots right back, surprisingly calm and collected given the intense state of your own emotions which only spiral further out of control at his response.

The true meaning behind those words was obvious, and you feel the stab of it in startling high definition. Fighting back the sting of tears when a humiliated flush rushes into your cheeks, you glare at him with as much hate and vitriol as you can possibly muster. “I will not fall for it no matter what you say, xiansheng! I’m not stupid! You can have your fun teasing someone else for all I care, but I will not humor it anymore!”

His eyes widen, brows shooting up in surprise. “Wait - -“

You have no interest in hearing what he has to say, quickly turning on your heel so you can march down the alley and out onto the main street again. Consequences be damned.

Predictably, the shuffle of his boots picks up behind you and it doesn’t take long for him to catch up. The way he can easily keep pace with your hurried strides without even having to try only further annoys you but you pointedly ignore him, keeping your attention locked straight ahead. Maybe he would take the hint and leave you alone if you just pretended like he wasn’t there.

“Hey, let’s talk, girlie. You don’t really think I was just joking around back there, do you?” When you refuse to dignify that with a response, he breathes out a quiet sigh. “Look, I’m sure I can convince you I’m being sincere if you just give me a chance, but why would you assume something like that to begin with? I haven’t given you any reason not to trust me, have I?”

You shoot him a quick, flustered look of warning, and, to your horror, he responds with that charming, roguish smile that speaks of confidence and ego. It was clear he thought he could persuade you to his side with enough time and you weren’t so sure he was wrong about that.

Whipping your attention back around, you desperately scan your surroundings in an attempt to get your bearings straight. You weren’t far from the Northland Bank now. Thank the archons. If you could just make it to the relative safety of its doors, you could dump him off on someone else for the night and beat a hasty retreat with your tail tucked between your legs. It certainly felt like you deserved that much after enduring all this grief from him.

“It doesn’t matter.” You murmur, more to yourself than to him, but that doesn’t stop Childe from pouncing at the chance to keep going.

“Sure it does. I think I deserve to know why my cute tour guide feels this way. Is there someone I need to take care of for you?”

Finally spotting the stairwell that leads up to the bank, you hurry towards it as fast as your legs can carry you. He doggedly keeps at your heels, looming just over your shoulder the whole time, which does absolutely nothing to lessen the fast pumping adrenaline coursing through your system.

It feels like your heart is lodged somewhere in your throat when you finally reach the foot of the stairs a moment later and, gripping the bannister with a clammy hand, you pause to look back at him. “There’s not. You can stop following me now.”

“We’re headed to the same place, I’m afraid.” He responds easily enough, still smiling that infuriating grin at you. Stamping down the urge to scream at the top of your lungs, you turn to make your way up and the procession of his footsteps trailing behind you quickly follows suit. “Seriously, I don’t mean to pry but - -“

“Yes, you do.”

He laughs, but just keeps going anyway. “I want to know why you’d be so quick to write me off like that, that’s all. Am I not allowed to want you in my bed or something?”

You outright choke at that, practically collapsing right then and there on the stairwell, and he positively whoops it up as if you’d just delivered the most hilarious, knee-slapping joke he’s ever heard. Your face feels like it’s on fire now while you wrestle with the urge to slap him again, thinking he more than deserved it, but you didn’t want to tempt fate like that again if you could help it. Or invite any misunderstandings with the Snezhnayan guard on duty, just another flight up and almost directly above you now. It takes every ounce of strength you possess but, at last, you finally manage to hiss over your shoulder, “Maybe I’m just not interested. Did you even consider that?”

“Ah, ah, that’s not what you said though. If memory serves, I do believe the exact words you used were ‘I won’t fall for it no matter what you say’. You don’t think I was being serious, do you?”

Teeth clenched, you turn to look back at him again and you’re not at all surprised to find him still grinning like he was having the time of his life. But once again, and just like every other time, his eyes give him away. It seemed that no matter what he did, they would always show an intimate glimpse into his soul and what you see in them now chills you a great deal. There’s an edge to them, a sharpness lurking just beneath the surface like a blade that has been submerged in a tumultuous ocean current. It was no less sharp for all the salt water buffeting against it though. In fact, you got the sense that it would only add to the sting of the wound once it finally cut you — and it would. Eventually. You harbored no doubts about that.

Evidently seeing your uncertain hesitancy, Childe softens his expression slightly, as much as he was able to, at least, and moves up to stand on the same step as you. Fingers tightening on the bannister, you lean as far back as you can when he bends close to put his nose inches from yours. You’re sure he’s going to kiss you again, and the thought alone is enough to make your cheeks burn red hot in what you try to tell yourself is indignation. But, to your surprise, he merely studies you up close for a long moment before finally putting his head to one side like an inquisitive dog.

“Let’s continue this discussion inside.”

“What is there to even talk about?” You grit out.

“You,” he says it softly, almost like a prayer. “And me.”

“This isn’t up for debate, xiansheng. I want nothing more to do with you.”

The corner of his mouth tugs, inching up into a decidedly mischievous smirk. “You say that, but do you really want Nadia to get the wrong idea? I’m sure she can hear us, you know. It’ll look much better if you come inside with me instead of causing a scene out here on the stairs. I don’t know what she might tell Krzysiek but if you cooperate, I can protect you.”

“Blackmailing is illegal in Liyue …”

“As it is in Snezhnaya. But the Fatui operate on a somewhat different rule set, and I’d hate to see you get tangled up in this more than you already are. There’s nothing I can do for you if you don’t meet me in the middle, girlie. Let me help you.”

You search his face for any sign of deceit or falsehoods, desperately looking for even a hint of insincerity that would give you the push you needed to shove him away again. But he is, frustratingly enough, perfectly sincere. Or so he seems to be. And that was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? In the short time you had known him, he’d consistently maintained that same perfect mask of earnest candor no matter what nonsense came out of his mouth … he was either a very good actor who could put most professionals to shame or he really believed what he was saying. Perhaps even a frustrating combination of the two?

Either way, you could see that you were once again stuck between a rock and a hard place with him. You were damned if you did and damned if you didn’t. It’s been like this since the very start.

“Fine.” You relent with a heavy, long suffering sigh. “I will go inside with you but I really don’t care what you have to say, xiansheng. You’ll just be wasting your breath.”

Evidently that doesn’t bother him one little bit. He’s much too giddy for your liking as he bounds ahead of you, taking the last handful of stairs two at a time so he can reach the landing first. You realize why when, upon coming up after him, you find Childe waiting at the front entrance of the bank with his fingers already wrapped around the door handle, ready to pull it open for you and grant you entry. Same as the night before.

Surreptitiously glancing at the Snezhnayan woman standing on nighttime guard duty, you’re relieved to find her pretending not to even see either of you standing there. Although she certainly was not on your side in the strictest sense, you still appreciated her discretion. Perhaps if you survived this ordeal, you would treat her to lunch someday as thanks.

Gathering your resolve before you have a chance to change your mind, you quickly shuffle across the landing, hoping to get inside before he says something incriminating in front of her. The Harbinger looks quite pleased with himself as he pulls the door open and lets you pass through first before following right on your heels. You’re immensely glad to find the lobby all but deserted save the one on duty teller and the older man quietly talking to her about something you can’t quite make out from the entryway. No sign of Krzysiek lurking about in the shadows or any Fatui operatives loitering around. At least that would save you the embarrassment of having an audience to witness the no doubt awkward conversation that was sure to follow. Strangely, that didn’t make you feel any better about being forced to do this, though.

Discreetly glancing up at the redhead as you make your way across the room together, you contemplatively regard him for a moment. Maybe you could still worm your way out of this situation if you appealed to his ego enough. It was worth a shot, at least.

“Forgive me, xiansheng. I believe I misspoke earlier.” You murmur, hushed and quiet so that hopefully only he could hear. “I did not mean to insult you or imply that there was some deeper meaning in my rejection. I promise I meant nothing more.”

“I don’t buy that for one second, girlie.” He says, thankfully matching your conspiratorial volume. “You really think I was just teasing you back there, right? You called it a game, if I remember correctly. Why would you go and think something like that about me, huh?”

You chew at your bottom lip, weighing the odds. It didn’t exactly look good, no, but neither had the last thirty-six hours. If you gave in now and admitted the real reason for your distrust of his motivations you would simply be putting yourself on the chopping block, inviting further humiliation at his hand, and you weren’t so sure you were ready to admit your own shortcomings like that. But there was no denying his abilities of perception or his quick wit. If you tried to delicately skirt around the subject, would he just try to force your hand?

So caught up in your own thoughts, debating between the truth or another attempt at deception, you don’t notice him slyly reaching for you until it’s too late. The weight of his hand abruptly squeezing around the plush of your waist nearly startles a squawk out of you, and you choke on it when he pulls you against him. Ignoring your incoherent blubbering, Childe tucks you into his side so he can pull you along even when your legs threaten to give out under you, turning you into deadweight against him.

All at once you’re bombarded by a million, frantic thoughts as the scent of him envelopes you and drowns out your senses. What if someone were to see the two of you like this? What if they assumed you’d be willing to betray your homeland for this troublesome Snezhnayan man? And what if word of this got back to your mother? You’d be disowned by morning!

But he pays no mind at all to the shy, flustered stammering going on under your breath as he steers you right past the front desk toward the stairs that are tucked off to the side. You feel faint with disbelief when the teller seems to pointedly keep her attention fixed on the man she’s speaking to and doesn’t even glance up at the spectacle when you pass. A heady rush of relief washes over you but, still, your erratic heartbeat won’t relax as long as you’re in such close proximity with Childe. No matter how good he smelled or how warm his body was, or how firm and invitingly masculine he felt against you, you just couldn’t make peace with it in your mind.

You try to push away from him, politely at first and then more insistently, but he won’t let you go. Doesn’t even seem to register the weak struggle you’re putting up which leaves you with no choice but to stumble along beside him up the staircase and then down the curved hall. It was either that or risk having him physically drag you.

“X - xiansheng!” You hiss at him, of course to no avail.

“Hush. If you’d just tell me what the problem is, I could fix it for you.” He tells you lightly, giving your waist what you think is supposed to be a reassuring pinch. “I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to put your pretty little head at ease, you can count on that.”

“You could start by knocking that off!” You give him another shove that goes completely unheeded. On one hand you were glad to be away from any potentially prying eyes now that you were up on the second floor, but on the other … you give a frightened jerk when it suddenly occurs to you that he’s leading you right past the row of smaller managerial offices (including your own) and further down the hall. “Wait — where are we going?”

“Don’t try to change the subject.” He snickers softly. “We’re just gonna’ have a little chat in my office, that’s all. We’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry!”

As if that was your main concern right now! “B - but that’s not your office, xiansheng! That room is for the - -“

“Yes, it belongs to Regrator. I’m well aware, of course, but I’m sure he won’t mind. It’s not like he’s using it right now, is he?” Pulling you up to the door in question, he reaches for the knob. All you can do is watch on in horror as he gives it a twist and the resounding click of the inner mechanism giving way echoes inside the space between your ears. You almost couldn’t believe it. Both his unrepentant audacity and the fact he’d already gained access to the owner's personal office space.

“But how - -“

“Come on, girlie. Where do you think I slept last night?”

You’re so dumbfounded by that information you momentarily forget to protest or fight him, and you stumble through the doorway under the ever present guidance of his hand around your middle without even fully realizing it. Only when the door creaks shut behind you do you comprehend the severity of the situation, going ramrod stiff as you dig your heels into the floorboards, but he merely pushes you further in before you can kick up a fight about it. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, you wrench away from him and spin around to find Childe already turning the lock on the door with a resounding clink of metal sliding into place. The way he smiles at you, all bright and cheerful, and innocent, turns your veins to ice.

“Now fess up. I’ve let you stall long enough, haven’t I?” He takes a step towards you, hands coming up as if to grab hold of you again, and yours fly up to defend yourself. It’s as if he expected as much though, or maybe his reflexes were really just that quick, because he switches gears faster than you can blink. Lacing his fingers through yours before you can properly react, he pulls your arms out to either side and backs you up even further into the room. “Tell me why you think I’m only teasing you. I made sure no one would eavesdrop on us so tell the truth.”

You jolt when your back hits the stately, imposing desk in the office, a fresh surge of fear racing through you with all the thoughts of what he could do to you like this. But to your immense relief he simply pivots to the side, half turning you to stand in front of it rather than pin you against it like you’d initially thought he would. Still, he won’t let go of your hands where he’s holding them out away from your body and you were clearly trapped in here with him and no way out. Dammit.

Drawing a slow, stuttering breath to calm your nerves, you decide you’ll just have to be blunt with him. Even if it means humiliating yourself in the process, you couldn’t see any other way out of this. Clearly he wasn’t going to let you slink away with your tail tucked between your legs or let you preserve any of your dignity. Not that it came as a surprise considering who you were dealing with but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I’m sorry, xiansheng. I just … I know I can’t possibly be to your liking. That is what I meant by not falling for your tricks.”

“Who said that?” He growls, drawing a quiet whimper out of you.

“It doesn’t need to be said.”

“Bullshit. Tell me why it’s so impossible for me to want you.”

“Because I’m fat.” You say it plainly and without inflection, but softer than a whisper, and his eyes go big in surprise.

“What’s wrong with that?”

You hate the way your chest tightens, flushing hot in humiliation. You hadn’t expected the sting to your ego to hurt quite so bad when you knew you were merely stating the truth. Maybe it’s the simple act of saying it out loud that drives the nail home or perhaps it’s the way he’s looking at you as if he couldn’t possibly conceive the issue with it, but the backs of your eyes start to burn all the same. Looking at him like this, in the gloom of the dark office, you start to wonder if it’s so painful precisely because you secretly wanted his interest in you to be real, not feigned. Was there really no greater anguish than having a strong, handsome man flirt with you while knowing you weren’t deserving of any of it? You certainly couldn’t think of anything worse.

“What’s wrong with it is - is men like you don’t like that. I’m not stupid, xiansheng. There are plenty of women who …” You give your head a shake. “It doesn’t matter. You could do much better than me, and I know that just as well as you do.”

He relaxes his broad shoulders, chuckling faintly as he pins you with a rueful if not taunting look. “Men like me, huh?”

“T - there’s no reason to deny it.”

“Oh?” Childe’s smile sharpens, showing a brief glimpse of the dangers lurking just beneath the surface. “And what else do you know of men like me? Hm?”

You whimper softly and he gives your hands a quick squeeze before releasing them in favor of reaching tentatively for your waist again. You simply let him do it this time; half in defeat and just wanting to get this over with, and half under the assumption that he would finally drop the act and recoil in disgust at the soft give under his palms. But that’s not quite what happens.

On the contrary, he actually looks rather pleased as his large hands comfortably settle around your middle like they belonged there. Possessive, almost.

“I don’t know who made you believe such nonsense but I’ll happily take a list of names though, if you find the time to jot them down for me. But I’m afraid we don’t all think the same way, cutie. I’ve been daydreaming about having you under me since we met.”

You suck in a sharp breath, still somehow shocked by the outrageous things that come out of his mouth even now. “But you could have anyone.” It’s little more than a whisper.

“And like I said, I want you.”

Swallowing hard, you lift your hands to lightly rest them on his forearms. You can’t decide if you want to push him away or pull him in closer, so you just leave them sitting there for right now. “I don’t understand why though.”

“I could show you.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Aren’t even sure if you could respond to it without choking on whatever you may have said, because he was brash and provocative, and more than just a little combative, and you weren’t used to dealing with someone like him. What could you possibly say that wouldn’t make you sound like a stammering ninny?

But he evidently takes your continued silence as his cue to proceed, and he slowly palms his way up your sides until blunt thumbs brush the underside of your breasts. A shudder races down your spine at that much too brief contact and you whimper again, louder this time, when he adjusts his hands to cradle your chest in them. His attention remains locked on your face though, intently observing the way your mouth warbles open as if to let out a tiny, faltering mewl but you stubbornly bite it back. Turning your head so you don’t have to look at him any longer, you raise a hand to cover your mouth when he pushes up, lifting your tits slightly, so he can feel the full brunt of them resting in the curve of his fingers.

You’re ashamed to realize it felt nice having him paw at you like this, your nipples growing stiff and pointed against the brush of his hands. It makes your stomach curl itself into a tight, pulsing knot that has your knees going weak. Grudgingly, you think it might be okay to let this go on for a little while longer. Hesitantly, you have to accept that perhaps you liked him a bit more than you were willing to admit or let on.

That mental shift must reflect in your expression though because he suddenly grins at you, all mischief and trouble.

“These are my favorite.” He tells you softly, almost like he was sharing a precious secret with you. Giving your breasts another slow, kneading squeeze to make you sway slightly on your feet, he bends closer until just a scant few inches remain between you and him. “The bigger the better, don’t you think? What else is a man supposed to rest his head on at night? What else should we suck and lick, and bite on until your milk floods our mouths, hm? You seem to know an awful lot about men, so tell me … what would you have us do if not worship the very fertility you represent?”

Dragging his hands higher, he lets your breasts bounce back into place under your shirt and he watches with a great deal of interest etched across his face. You have to force your lungs to expand, inhaling painfully slow to try and steady yourself. A very real part of you was still anticipating the pin to fall, for him to realize this game of chicken wasn’t worth it and to finally drop the farce, but that wasn’t happening. You were suddenly finding yourself faced with the very real possibility that he wasn’t just running his mouth with no intention of backing it up. He really did want you. He thought you were attractive — innately drawn to your figure, not put off by it.

And he would have you, right here and now, if you just gave him the chance.

Childe reaches for the button on your collar with clear, deliberate intent, giving you ample time to rethink this and tell him to stop. But you let him work the first one loose and then the next, and the next, so on and so forth until your shirt was hanging open down to the waistband of your skirt. He grabs at your middle to ruck it up and possessively pinch at your love handles underneath before finally grabbing onto the hem to untuck it the rest of the way. You’re a little surprised at yourself when you lift your arms to help him get it off, but you start to have second thoughts when the cool air hits the front of your silk chemise.

Feeling uncertain and exposed, you cross your arms over your chest to hide your stiff nipples from his line of sight. He tsk’s softly as he tosses your shirt somewhere on the desk before taking hold of your wrists, gentle yet firm as he moves them out of the way. You can’t quite bring yourself to look him in the face though, self conscious and afraid of what you might see there, so you glance down at yourself instead. The weight of your breasts under the thin, breezy material is obvious, as are the stiff points sticking out in the center of them. You may as well have not even been wearing anything at all.

With a quiet sound, he seems to reach the same conclusion. He releases your hands so he can slip his fingers underneath the thin shoulder straps and lift that over your head too. You have a split second of thinking you’ll back out after all, that you’re not prepared to have someone as tall and handsome as him looking at your naked body, but the roiling heat deep in your gut seems to have a differing opinion. The thought of walking away from this and going home to an empty bed brings with it a great deal of distress, so you slowly repeat the same arms up motion as before.

Childe lets out a breath you hadn’t realized he’d been holding as the silk slips away and your naked breasts are finally bared to him. That gets tossed on the desk too and then his hands are on you again, groping and squeezing at you appreciatively with renewed excitement. “These are gorgeous.” He breathes.

“Y - you don’t mean that.” You whimper, desperately glancing around the dark room for something to focus on that isn’t him.

“I do.” He insists, and his lips are suddenly on the crook of your neck, kissing and nipping at the vulnerable skin there between hot, rushed sentiments. “I really do. You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”

You feel well and truly lightheaded when he once again palms your breasts in his hands, lifting their weight the same as before. But this time he allows his thumbs to brush up, and you outright gasp at the first contact to your nipples. The noise he makes in response sounds suspiciously like a growl and it reverberates in your veins, making you shudder against him. He takes his time casually flicking over the stiffened buds for a moment longer before pressing your tits together and leaning back to admire the meaty squish. Abruptly, he lets go and watches the heavy bounce of them before setting his sights on your waist instead.

“Archons, you’re perfect.” He groans, digging his fingers deep into the cushiony give around your middle. “I want to fold you in half on top of that desk, you know that? How’s that sound? Huh?”

Your mouth warbles open, cheeks burning up. “Xi - xiansheng - -!”

He stoops down to press his face against your neck, growling again, a little louder this time, and you jolt when he blindly fumbles to grab one of your wrists. With a bit more force than was probably necessary, he drags your fingers to the front of his pants and manually curls them around the weighty bulge there. Your eyes widen in stark surprise, not at the size of him but, rather, at how very hard he is for you. He’s indescribably heavy against your hand, and stiff enough to strain the zipper holding him back.

“You want this, cutie?”

Like you really needed to think about it at this point. “I … I do. I want you, xiansheng.”

Breathing deep the scent of your neck, he lets it out again with a bestial huff that makes goosebumps erupt across your skin. It takes a visible amount of effort for him to unlatch himself from you, reaching to unfasten the single button done up on his jacket. This he carelessly shrugs out of and tosses to the side, eyeing you with a hungry lick of his lips before stepping into you again to take hold of your waist. It doesn’t escape your notice that he seems to be fascinated with this part of you, the way he insists on continuously grabbing and squeezing it in his hands, but you don’t get a chance to comment on it.

He’s pulling you against him then, all but flattening you against the hard line of his body, and you suck in a sharp, frazzled breath at the press of his cock against your stomach. Never before had you found yourself in this sort of position so you don’t really know what to do, standing there just breathing him in while he yanks at the hidden latch on your skirt. You think you should be doing something, should probably be reciprocating in some way, but your overloaded brain just can’t seem to make sense of it.

Luckily, he takes care of the decision making for you. Once the band of your skirt is hanging loose around your waist, he lifts his hand to nudge it under your chin and tip your head back. You have but a split second to realize he’s going to kiss you, and then he’s devouring your mouth, kissing you much harder and much more forcefully than he had in the alley. You realize now, as you succumb to the hungry pull of his lips, that he’d only been testing the waters earlier. He was far from normal if that had been his idea of tentative and, evidently, you were just as crazy for entertaining it.

Greedy hands roam down your body, grabbing tight, pinching handfuls of your sides and your hips before dipping lower still. Childe takes hold of your ass like a starved man grabbing onto a lifeline and you rock forward on your toes with a muffled little squeak. He gladly swallows it down even as he kneads and pinches, rolling the meat of your backside in his palms. It’s just shy of being too much, toeing the line of discomfort, and you blindly reach back to clutch at his powerful wrist. Of course that doesn’t stop him though, and you suck in a much needed lungful of air when he finally pulls back some moments later.

He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch your breath, quickly swooping down to shimmy your skirt over your hips so you can step out of it. You expect him to go after your garters next so he can get you completely undressed, telling yourself to relax and just breathe while you could, but nothing is ever that simple when it comes to Childe.

To your squawking surprise, he grabs you around the waist yet again and suddenly hauls you up to perch on the edge of the desk. You can’t even think straight as he bullies your thighs apart with his narrow hips so he can settle between them, pressing himself tight against you. Unable to hold it back any longer with the weight of his cock digging into you and the hard muscle mass of his chest right in your face, you reach up to loop your arms over his shoulders with a needy little mewl. Grunting in approval, he bends at the waist to hunch over you so he can take a nipping bite at your neck and then your ear while his arms snake around you. For as deceptively gangly as they are, the strength in them is staggering and he practically crushes you against him, firmly holding you in place so he can slowly grind up into your core.

Delirious, you frantically clutch at him when every stilted push of his cock against your panties only seems to highlight how wet you already were for him. That in and of itself would have been inconceivable not even twenty minutes ago, but somehow even worse is how that sedate, repetitive motion of his hips just seems to encourage yet more sticky slick out of your cunt. You can feel it bleeding into your panties, leaving them increasingly damp, and you grimace when they soon start to stick to your labia.

“Xi - xiansheng! Wait a second …”

“How do you expect me to wait after all this time, girlie? Huh?” Snarling against your neck, Childe leans further into you and uses his weight to push you back, tipping your pussy towards him. You cling to his shoulders, whimpering and whining low in your throat as he increases the pace, humping into you with even greater enthusiasm than before. “Wanna’ know what’s funny?” He laughs, breathless and hot against the side of your face. “I actually expected you to tell me a completely different answer earlier. You really caught me off guard, you know?”

Legs quivering around his hips, you dig your nails into his back and tip your head up, gasping at the ceiling. You felt dizzy and hot enough to burn. Was he really going to make you cum, just with this? “Like — ahhn! Like what?”

Dragging his hands down to grip your plushy hips, Childe shifts against you to look in your face. His eyes were strange and unsettling even now when you felt like you were going to shake right off the desk if he kept digging his cock into you like that, but there was something else in them now … something far removed from the light of day but no less blinding. It was like looking at ice fire — so dark and blue, yet hotter than any normal flame could ever hope to burn. You weren’t sure if you were looking into a vast, bottomless trench under the sea or the very sky itself, so deep and fathomless it would swallow you whole without a trace, never to be seen again, but it doesn’t really seem to matter anymore. You would gladly give yourself over to the void, drown in its oceanic embrace, so long as he kept looking at you like that.

“Tell me.” You gasp when he doesn’t immediately respond.

“I thought you were going to tell me I was too young for you.” He suddenly says, surprising you so much you have to do a double take.

“What?”

Laughing, he gives his hips one last, lingering roll that has you biting down on your tongue to silence yourself as he unhurriedly moves to extricate himself from you.

“All that fuss you were making, it was the only thing I could think of. I know you were worried about my title and I probably didn’t help that very much when we parted ways last night … but still, you refused to have me even after I went out of my way to show you I’m just a man. Albeit a supremely powerful one but,” Shrugging as if it didn’t really matter, Childe bends over your lap to start unhooking the clasps holding your stockings up. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with such a benign task and you let him do it without intervention, even when your pussy clenches at the sight of him half naked and focused on the task of undressing you. “I figured you just didn’t think I was mature enough or something like that. Not that that wasn’t bad enough but I certainly didn’t expect your real reason.”

You start to say his name but catch yourself at the last second. “Xiansheng …” You say instead. “It’s true that I’m older than you but it’s not that big of a difference from my perspective. I don’t think you’re immature. Well, not in that way, at least.”

“Oh, is that so?” Sending you a slow, mischievous little grin, he slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties and starts to slowly slide them down over your thighs, leaving the garter and stockings in place. “Good to hear it. Because I’m prepared to show you just what I’m capable of, and I have no intention of leaving this room until you understand exactly what kind of man I am.”

Eyes widening slightly, you watch him pull your underwear free from your ankles so he can carelessly toss them somewhere on the floor. Those big, battle hardened hands slide up your inner thighs and roughly shove them apart so he can swoop down, dragging the flat of his tongue through your wet cunt without so much as a word of warning. You jolt so hard you nearly come right up off the desk, a startled ‘oh!’ bursting out of your mouth. He pays it no mind though, keeping your legs spread wide as he devours you, swirling around your entrance to taste the excessive slick accumulated there before directing his mouth higher to knock against your clit. It’s all you can do not to shriek, chest heaving as you jerk and twist against him.

“Wait —!”

Coming up off your cunt with an obnoxiously loud slurp and a smack of his lips, Childe gives a breathless laugh. “There’s no time for that, girlie. Today you’re going to learn how a real man handles a woman like you.”

With a low, hungry snarl, he dives back in and your hand instinctively shoots down to grab at his hair. He pays it no mind though — in fact, he actually appears to enjoy it. Groaning hotly against your pussy, he presses his cheek to one side so he can batter your clit with his tongue, making your toes tightly curl in their little heels. The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before; intense and overwhelming, indescribably sticky and wet, and hot, and it doesn’t take long for you to start shaking in earnest.

Unable to sit up any longer when the tremors threaten to overpower you, you slowly sink back to lay across the top of the desk but he just follows you down. Shuffling closer so he’s bent nearly in two over your cunt, Childe possessively grabs at your thighs so he can toss them over his shoulders and lock you in place. Having your legs up in the air like this is somehow both deeply embarrassing and indescribably arousing at the same time, and you writhe like some mindless beast while he eats you out. Your fingers in his hair start to cramp but you refuse to let him go when it felt like the only thing keeping you grounded to reality anymore.

You quickly lose the fight though when he slides his hands up your thighs, over the pudge of your belly and higher still to grab your breasts. His long fingers dig in, squeezing them tight enough to hurt before redirecting his attention to your nipples. The way he pinches and rolls them has you arching hard enough to make the desk groan underneath you, legs clenching around his head in an attempt to block him out for even just a moment's reprieve. It’s a losing battle though. He’s as dauntless as ever, and he just keeps working you over with his mouth even when your thighs threaten to crush or suffocate him.

Blindly, you claw at his wrists and forearms but it is much too late. The scale starts to tip and you feel yourself desperately clinging to the edge, scared of that free fall and what it would mean even as you give your hips one last, pitiful jerk. Just like that, the chord snaps and you plunge into the void, pussy clenching so tight over the course of your orgasm that it actually brings tears to your eyes. Your whole body seems to roil with it, wildly twitching as you choke back your moans until only quiet, gasping mewls manage to escape, but somehow it still isn’t enough.

You’re not sure when or how it happened, but at some point you’d come to realize that Childe’s mouth on you was perhaps the greatest feeling in the world, and you desperately wanted more of it.

“Please!” You hiss, blubbering faintly when he starts to untangle himself from you.

“Well, well,” he taunts, clearly pleased with himself as he straightens up. “I’d say you rather enjoyed that, wouldn’t you? Who would have thought the prim and proper ambassador of the Northland Bank was so needy?”

Groaning softly in the back of your throat, you cover your face with a still trembling hand and press your thighs together now that he’s not occupying the space between them. You didn’t know whether to beg for more of his attention or cry from embarrassment. Both options seemed perfectly reasonable in this situation, and you finally settle on some combination of the two.

“I’ve never felt like this before, xiansheng. I'm sorry.” You let out a sound that is half sob, half groan. “My body is on fire but I — I still want you to keep touching me. I don’t really know what I’m doing but I want more. I need more of you.”

Childe snickers softly, and the sound of him shuffling close again has your heart threatening to jackhammer straight out of your chest. “Aww. Well, when you put it so nicely …”

His hands find your hips again, giving them a savory squeeze before dragging his palms lower to feel the give of your thighs under his fingers. One long digit slips into the band of a stocking and tugs on it, letting it snap back into place with a quiet smack. He can’t seem to stop pawing at you, kneading along the soft pudge of your inner thigh until broad knuckles brush against your cunt. You shudder at the sensation and lift your head to peer down at him, struggling to keep your voice in check when he presses two fingertips into the meat of your labia and spreads them apart. Sensitive tears sting your eyes as a fresh wave of humiliation crashes over you, threatening to drown you. To be looked at like this was not a feeling you were mentally prepared for but, carefully watching Childe’s face, you’re relieved to find that he doesn’t seem to dislike it.

In fact, his expression actually pinches with a low, rumbling groan that makes your pussy excitedly clench. His eyes take on a distant, dreamy sort of look, and he bends down to give your cunt another savory lap of his tongue, making you twitch at the contact against your clit. Exhaling slowly, he rises up enough to crowd his finger in and slowly rubs the meaty little nub in faint, barely there circles. You seethe through your teeth, still overwrought so soon after your orgasm, but you quickly relax into it when pleasure rushes in to replace the sensitivity.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he murmurs, drawing a quiet whimper out of you. “And so receptive, too. I wonder how sensitive it is on the inside …”

You realize what he’s saying a moment too late, far too gone in the hazy, post-orgasmic bliss to function at your usual level, and you don’t get the chance to protest. The finger on your clit abandons it’s target in favor of a new one, slipping lower to find your entrance and — slide right in. He doesn’t even hesitate. Just a quick, sudden pressure on your interior and he’s inside of you right down to the knuckle and you wheeze, going ramrod stiff on top of the desk.

“Shit, you’re tight.”

“I … I’m sorry.”

Childe sends you a quick look, his mouth already cocking into a smirk, but the expression on your face gives him pause. “What is there to be sorry about, girlie? It is not a bad thing to be tight, you know.”

“Yes.” You agree, even though you don’t really know what it is you’re agreeing with. “It’s just … I’ve never done this before so I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

A terse beat passes through the room, completely still and quiet save the hushed sound of bustling nightlife in the near distance. Then it seems to click, and he blinks up at you owlishly.

“You’re a virgin?”

“I'm sorry.” You say it again, because it’s the only thing you can think to say.

A half choked, disbelieving laugh slips out of him and he straightens, looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. There’s a new understanding in his eyes now, as if everything suddenly made sense, and you quickly turn your head so you don’t have to see the way he’s sizing you up. You’d glimpsed that predatory hunger in him more than once in the short time you’d known him but had always written it off as a hunger for life and all it had to offer. Excitement and battle, and the driving urge to test his own strength. Now, though, that voracious appetite was not only centered entirely on you but it also seemed to solidify into something tangible. Something far more dangerous than anything you’d seen in him before. He wasn’t merely going to have you, take you, claim you.

He was going to devour you.

With a reverberating growl, Childe reaches out to palm at your lower belly and he gives it a tight, pinching squeeze. You whimper faintly in response but that only further encourages him. His opposite hand, the one between your legs, withdraws for but a moment before returning with two fingers this time, and they slide straight up into you with a wet little click. Your guts are so slippery and soft for him that there’s hardly any resistance at all even when your body instinctively tries to clamp down around the intrusion. You can feel the burn of the stretch in a far off, dreamy sort of way, but it does absolutely nothing to dissuade or discourage you. If anything, it almost seems to spur you on.

He laughs again, low and raspy, when you stutteringly roll your hips and squirm for him, idly giving your stomach another savory pinch. “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you this,” he says quietly, in such a soft register that you almost miss it over your own gasping breaths. “But I’m probably not the best candidate for someone’s first time. You sure you want to do this, girlie?”

You think that’s a massive understatement. He was rough and excitable, easily carried away and impatient. Whatever he may have lacked in fine tuned precision was more than made up for in so much puppy-like enthusiasm that it bordered on being too much, and even now you couldn’t ignore how good just his fingers felt inside your pussy. You wanted him perhaps more than you’d ever wanted anything else in your life, and that wasn’t up for debate. But you hesitate to say it, whether for your pride or just the simple fact that you didn’t know how to say it.

Faintly wheezing, you struggle to sit half upright so you can look at him, for once unconcerned with the heavy weight of your breasts or the crease along your tummy. You simply look at him, as a woman, and he looks at you as a man, primal and starved, practically chomping at the bit to sink his teeth into you. If he was the wolf then did that make you the lamb?

“You said you would show me …” Hesitating, you quickly swallow down your nerves before they can get the better of you. “Show me how a man handles a woman like me. I’d like to see that, xiansheng.”

The snarl that comes out of him is more animal than human, and the most frightening one you’ve heard yet. It sets your guts vibrating, heart hammering wildly in your chest with the instinctive urge to flee, to run, to hide — but you couldn’t have even if you’d wanted to. You were already trapped in his clutches, his fangs locked around your sensitive jugular, ready to tear through you and rip you open for him to feast upon. It flashes across his face, settles deep in those strange eyes. The bloodlust. The thrill of the hunt and the subsequent kill. He was the predator and you, his prize.

You gladly give yourself over to it when he leans down to claim your mouth again, kissing you so hard and so voraciously it steals the air from your lungs. His hand stays busy between your legs, working your cunt open with those long, calloused fingers, while the other one roams over your body. Grabbing at your love handles, your tits, the small of your back where it’s arched up off the desk in silent supplication for more. More of him, more of the pleasure and the threadbare pain that comes with it. More of his fingers, more of his tongue. You wanted all of it, and you plaintively moan into his mouth when he reaches up to palm the back of your neck. Holding you in place like that, he increases the speed and the pressure between your shuddering thighs, and the incessant clicking increases with it. Already an ache was forming deep in your body and you could tell you were going to be sore for days to come but you revel in it, bask in the heightened pleasure of knowing you were his to lay claim to.

You think you’re starting to get close to another orgasm when he abruptly pulls his fingers out with a wet little pop, and you tear your kissed-raw mouth from his to groan in disappointment. He doesn’t give you a chance to complain though, and you suddenly find yourself shoved down on your back as he crawls up onto the desk with you, pinning you under the sturdy weight of all that lean, hard muscle. Eyes widening slightly at having him over you like this, you reach up to clutch his shoulders hard enough to make the joints ache. Jostling you slightly while he positions himself, Childe issues a heady grunt into the scant space separating you from him and then you feel it.

The nudge of his cock. The press of the glans against your slit, seeking out the warmth of your body even as he slips over sticky lips and folds. You gasp sharply, mouth hanging open in a silent scream when he finds your entrance, catches and starts to sink in. It was something completely different from the stretch of his fingers, something much more intense, and you give a small jerk against him as tears spring up in your eyes. He is firm and unbudgeable on top of you though, hissing in deeply felt pleasure when you take him. More and more of him, until your eyes start to roll back in your head.

Twisting back against the desk, you sob up at the ceiling. It feels like you’re being crushed under him, your guts squishing and compressing against the weight of his cock bullying its way into you. He pauses, shifts slightly, and then his large hand is cupping the side of your face. The blunt of his thumb hooks under your jaw and he demandingly angles you towards him so he can kiss you again, muffling the frantic, whimpering moans you let out when he sinks the rest of the way inside.

With his narrow hips pressed tight to the backs of your thighs, you’re really, truly trapped underneath him now. It’s so hot and heavy between you two that you can barely manage to squirm, weakly shaking and writhing underneath him instead of wildly bucking like you would like to do. You feel frantic and mindless, your neck lolling bonelessly in his hold while the room seems to spin around you at a frankly alarming speed. You’d never felt so full, stuffed to bursting, or drunk on fast pumping endorphins in all your life.

“Archons above, you feel so damn good.” He rumbles against your cheek, voicing the very sentiment you were trying (and failing) to come to terms with in your own cotton stuffed mind. You weren’t sure if you would ever be able to fully recover from this. Not this intimate meeting of your flushed, sweaty bodies or Childe’s raucous entry into your life.

Groaning, he starts to move. The stiff flex of his hips is slow at first, drawn out and savory, like he’s merely enjoying the wet heat of you squeezing around him, but it doesn’t last long. He begins picking up the pace in just a matter of moments, driving his pelvis against your harder, faster, until the embarrassingly loud squelch of your cunt sucking him in deep rings on a near endless loop. You lurch underneath him, clawing at his shoulders and back while he relentlessly carves out a space within you, drilling you into the desk with reckless abandon. The creak of the wood barely even registers though when you’re so swept up in the sensation, the mind numbing experience of being fucked senseless by the beast heaving above you.

He seems almost feral now, and you can feel the ache within you growing with each plunging thrust of his cock as it drives into you again and again, reaching deep inside to knock something that has you seeing stars. It leaves you reeling, dizzy and overwhelmed, but there’s no stopping it now. Childe is like a man possessed and he eagerly ruts into you, losing himself in your pussy, and all you can do anymore is cling to him in high strung desperation. His hands are everywhere at the same time, a blur of pinching squeezes and kneading gropes, but he soon gives up on trying to press you somehow even closer to himself in favor of reaching higher to grip the opposite edge of the desk. He seems to use it as leverage to reinforce the power behind his thrusts, and he slams into you with enough force to nearly send you into a vertigo-inducing free fall.

“Shit!” He grunts, fanning warm breath across your face as he seeks out your mouth again. “I don’t think I ever want to leave this pussy, you know that?”

Tipping your head at him, you catch his lips in another searing kiss and he seems to sink further into you, defying all logic and reason when his body moulds so tightly to yours it’s hard to tell where one of you starts and the other begins. It’s like you’ve become one entity, one being — the wolf and his hard won prey joined together until you were one and the same. Sharing the same body, the same mind, and the same pleasure. His appetite only fed into yours and heightened it, and the reverse seemed to be true as well because he moans, low and faltering, when you lock your ankles around his waist to hold him against you.

He surprises you then, his heaving motions stalling to an almost complete standstill while his tongue intertwines and dances with yours. Unhurriedly exploring your mouth, claiming it as his own, Childe starts to slow fuck you with a grinding roll of his hips. His cock is wedged so deep inside you it feels like he’s poking at your ribs, and you all but sob at the staggered, barely there thrusts that churn your insides and increase the pressure tenfold. It was like you were on the brink of implosion, shuddering so intensely that the desk heaves a sympathetic groanin response.

And somewhere in the back of your mind you still manage to find the wherewithal to hope the two of you don’t accidentally break it.

Gradually, he winds you higher and higher until you’re frantically gasping for air, practically hyperventilating even while he keeps kissing you and fucking you like he has all the time in the world to enjoy this. He just might, for all you know, and you didn’t doubt that he would make the time if he didn’t. So incorrigible, so demanding and entitled to your body … as if he thought you were made just for him and maybe you were. Maybe you’d been born just for this purpose and he, the hot headed man from Snezhnaya, was likewise meant to have you in this way.

You whine low in your throat as the tremors threaten to overpower you and he finally breaks apart from the kiss to groan heavily into the statically charged air. The reverberation seems to bleed into you and trigger a chain reaction that has every nerve ending in your body lighting up one by one, in rapid succession. It floods your system in waves, working lower and lower until it finally hits that tight, aching coil deep in your gut and it instantly snaps. You cum with a shriek, shoving your face into the bend of his sweat dampened neck to smother the sound while you fitfully twist and jerk underneath him. Your pussy spasms, wildly milking his cock, and he moans in response with a faint tremble of his own sweaty, heaving frame.

Muscles flexing, he rides you through it at that same, sedately steady pace until you at last start to come down from it, chest heaving uncontrollably as you try to catch your breath. You’re lost in it, soaring somewhere far outside your own body, high above the very city itself, but you’re still acutely aware of the way he seethes and grunts when he moves to push up. Lifting your head, you blearily watch him go up on his knees to kneel between your legs, cock glistening in the sparse light coming in through the window even as he takes it in hand. He strokes it, hard and fast, with his heavy lidded eyes alternating between your well used cunt and your face, panting heavily and groaning softly as his shoulders begin to shake. You can tell he must be reaching his limit by the growing strain in his voice, and it seems to finally hit its peak with a keening, borderline whiny whimper that goes straight to your pussy.

You hadn’t expected him to sound like that, so needy and desperate, and you find it inexplicably arousing. Your body clenches with renewed excitement and you mewl, very quietly, when his hips give one last little jerk and white, creamy ropes shoot out of him to splatter across your stomach. It’s hot and sticky where it settles, and Childe outright snarls at the sight of his cum painting your skin.

“Xiansheng - -“

He doesn’t stop long enough to hear you out or give himself any time to recover before he’s swooping down, hunching over your prone form so he can drag his tongue through the mess he’s made. You give a jolt of surprise, gasping in shock, but the slow look he sends you under the fall of his tousled hair assures you he was capable of much worse than this and he was not your average man no matter how you tried to rationalize it.

The two of you take a moment to catch your breath, just looking at one another through the gloom and basking in the afterglow. He touches you with idle confidence, like he was already secure in his ownership of your body and didn’t even need to think about it anymore. Emboldened now, you allow yourself to touch him too, feeling across the definition of his chest and arms, his abdominals and hips. Just like before, his energy seems to be bottomless and it doesn’t take very long for his spent cock to start stirring again when your hands were on him like that.

Shamefully enough, you have him two more times over the course of the long night — once against the side of the desk, standing up so he could grope you to his heart's content, and once on the ornate chaise lounge, tangled up in a mess of limbs — before finally succumbing to exhaustion in the early hours of the morning. Neither of you spoke of what would come next or what it all meant in the long run, but you didn’t really see the need to.

There was only so much room for negotiations where fate was concerned, after all.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Pausing outside the bank to check that your hair was still in place, you make a valiant effort to smother the butterflies flitting about inside your chest. You were a little nervous, yes, but you try to remind yourself just how silly that actually was. Childe had not only seen you naked already (which was embarrassing enough) but he had also had you multiple times, in multiple positions. Surely you should have been beyond the point of being shy around him after all of that.

Though that’s easier said than done, of course, and you can’t quite figure out how you’re supposed to behave now. Should you just pretend that nothing had even transpired between you and him? Should you proceed with confidence and surety that he did indeed want you? He’d made that abundantly clear last night so there wasn’t any reason to pretend you didn’t believe him anymore, and you’d likewise had to accept that you wanted him too. But were you allowed to act on it? Archons, they didn’t make manuals for this sort of thing.

He’d helped you sneak out in the early pre dawn glow when everything was soft and hazy, and you’d recovered just enough to make the walk home. You’d insisted on it, citing that you needed to bathe, among other things, and he had of course tried to convince you to just stay with him before finally conceding defeat. He’d even offered to escort you but you hadn’t wanted to run the risk of being seen together in such a compromising position. Nadia was bad enough even though she’d politely looked the other way when the two of you had emerged from the bank, completely ignoring you both, but anyone else would have been pushing your luck. Or so it seemed, anyway. The situation was just way too strange for you to say with any certainty but you got the distinct feeling that not everyone would be so willing to look the other way on this. Whatever this was.

Anxiously, you fiddle with the front of your dress to make sure there weren’t any creases or wrinkles in the fabric. This was so stupid. You had no business acting like a lovestruck teenager over someone like him. He would have outright laughed at you if he saw you right now, and that was to say absolutely nothing of the on duty guard sending you odd looks. You were just going to have to get this over with.

Steeling your resolve, you push through the doors with your head held high, determined to maintain a confident appearance, but it quickly falls away when you find Childe standing in the lobby with the director and about ten other Fatui agents. Your heart immediately sinks. Had something happened?

“Oh!” Childe notices you right away, and he perks up like an excitable dog. The stormy glower he’d been wearing fades as soon as he lays eyes on you, replaced by that big, boyish grin, and you stand up a little straighter when he shuffles toward you at an unhurried pace. You weren’t sure what was happening here but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was nothing good. “We were just discussing you, actually. Good timing.”

“Me?” You blurt out, disbelief coloring your voice.

“Don’t sound so surprised, girlie. Of course it’s nothing bad. Come, stand over here with everyone.”

You’re so dumbfounded that you don’t even have the presence of mind to act embarrassed about it when he casually slides his arm over your back, steering you towards the small congregation. You frantically search their faces for some kind of answer or clue but you can’t get a read on most of them thanks to their masks. The only one whose face was uncovered was the directors, and you have to do a startled double take at his pallid complexion. He looked like he’d aged ten years since you last saw him!

“Don’t be nervous.” Childe says, giving you a playful nudge that makes you hope things were not as dire as they seemed. That quaint little notion is immediately quashed, however, when all the good humor drains from him upon turning his attention on the director. “Go on, Krzysiek. Tell her about the letter you received this morning.”

The older man winces as if he’d been struck, his wild gaze darting from the Harbinger to you and then back again. “Ah. Yes. Yes, of course.” Forcing out a single brittle laugh, he lifts a trembling hand to wipe at his damp forehead. “Lord Regrator sent a very prompt response to my missive. Very prompt indeed. He made it quite clear that the original order had not been signed by mistake and he was well aware how much mora was in question. I’m afraid he isn’t, erm, very pleased with me at the moment but I am working very hard to rectify my mistake at the current time.”

“And?” Childe prompts, the cold tone of his voice sending chills up your spine.

“And I fear I owe you an apology,” the director shoots you a harried look. “It was remiss of me to put you in such a vulnerable position. It was not your responsibility nor your place to be in such close proximity with this … ah, particular situation. It was Fatui business and that’s how it should have stayed. Lord Regrator also made that quite clear to me in his letter”

You have no idea what to say to that. Not that you didn’t agree, because you most certainly did. You’d tried to tell him all of this right after that initial meeting with Childe in the back office but he hadn’t listened, far too determined to foist the problem off on you rather than deal with it himself. But if he’d taken a moment to consider reason and rescind his decision then you wouldn’t have gotten to know Childe the way you now knew him. You wouldn’t have felt his warm hands all over your body or his searing kisses on your neck, and even for as much grief you’d endured because of it you couldn’t be mad at him for it. You were at first, and very much so, but not now.

“It’s alright.” You finally murmur, turning to glance up at the redhead standing beside you. “Does this mean you’re leaving?”

You hadn’t meant to sound so sad about that — for all intents and purposes you probably should have been jumping for joy — but his expression softens in as much as it ever does, and he smiles at you again. “For a little while, but I’ll be back. Liyue is a beautiful country and there are plenty more sights to see, people to fight, and things I’d like to do. You haven’t seen the last of me just yet. But in the meantime, Krzysiek here is going to make sure you’re well taken care of for all the trouble we’ve caused you.”

Your brows shoot straight up to your hairline. What in the world was he talking about? “I’m afraid I don’t understand, xiansheng.”

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head. Just think of it like … reimbursement for all your hard work. We had a chat about it and agreed you deserve at least that much.”

“But — but I can’t possibly - -“

“Sure you can!” He cuts across you, as boisterous and pushy as ever. Turning to face you now, he pins you with a mischievous if not challenging look that threatens to turn your knees weak. “You won’t have to work at the bank anymore if you don’t want to. You’re free to quit at any time, and I already made sure there won’t be any retaliation against you if that’s what you choose. You’ll still get your compensation for the rest of your life regardless, so, really, you’re free to make whatever decision you want.” He pauses then, seems to think about it and then quietly adds, “Well, I guess that would be for the rest of Krzysiek’s life, wouldn’t it?”

The man in question chokes, sounding like he was right on the brink of some massive mental breakdown, but you pay him no mind. You just stare at Childe like he’s grown a second head, trying to make sense of it all. Reimbursement? For life? Did he truly think you wanted or were at all concerned about something like that?

“Is this really your way of saying goodbye?”

“Aw, don’t look at me with such a sad face, girlie. I already told you I’d come back, didn’t I?” Gently, he places his hand on your shoulder and you let him guide you away from the gathered Fatui who watch on like silent sentries. You were glad for his foresight in moving you away from them because with each passing moment it was becoming increasingly harder to keep your emotions in check. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream at him or cry. Of course you’d known he’d be leaving soon but so suddenly? And like this?

You couldn’t think of anything worse to cap off this whirlwind experience.

Softly shushing you, Childe pulls you towards the far wall and then moves to stand in front of you so he’s blocking the others and all you can see is him. You try very hard to keep the tears at bay, uncertain if they were angry or sad, but they still well up in your eyes and it makes your bottom lip warble. It was perhaps the most humiliating experience yet but he only clicks his tongue, reaching up to cup your cheek.

“Stop that.” You hiss, trying to turn away from him, but he persists. Unable to take the hint and overbearing even now after everything you’d gone through together just to reach a tentative understanding with one another. All of it gone, in the blink of an eye.

“Now, now,” he murmurs in a placating tone, at complete odds with the way he grabs your chin and pulls you around to look at him again. “It’s nothing to get so upset over. I told you I want you, didn’t I? Or do you still think I’m only teasing you?”

You hesitate, eyeing him warily. A moment ago, yes, you’d started to doubt him in the face of this sudden upheaval. You’d expected at least another day with him, another chance to find the courage to ask about his intentions with you, and now there was so much that was going to go left unsaid. But looking in his face and the grim expression you find there, you realize that he really is serious. Not only was he going to come back without fail, he would come back for you. Not the scenery or the city, or for the duties he carried out for his homeland. This was just his way of making sure you were taken care of in the meantime … and you couldn’t exactly fault him for that.

Finally, you relent. “No, I don’t think that anymore. I believe you.”

“Good.” Breaking out into a wide, eager grin, Childe leans down to kiss you, hard and fast before you can react or swat him away. You flush red hot, stammering something about the others seeing, but he just laughs it off without concern. “Let them see! You are mine, and some day we will stand on top of the world together, mark my words!”

You gape at him in disbelief, hardly even daring to believe your own ears, but he only takes advantage of your shock and confusion to grab your face again. Gently cradling your cheeks between both hands now, he looks at you like you’re something precious and worth protecting, crystalline irises dancing with an inner light that was all his. No exterior illumination seemed to be able to pierce that murky, tumultuous void, but this was something else entirely. It made his eyes look like brilliant diamonds refracting an infinite number of prisms that existed nowhere else on the spectrum and this … it was all for you?

Feeling your resolve irreparably shatter, you lean into him and go up on the tips of your toes so you can kiss him. “I’d like to see that, Childe. I hope you keep your promises.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Crossposted to AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50380030

#genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #childe x reader #self insert bullshit

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sebastianswallows · 1 year

Note

Can I, please, respectfully ask for Seb×MC caught in the rain so we can all experience wet hair Sallow drenched from head to toe? Some spiciness would be welcome if they, uh, decided to blink and idk, warm up, maybe. Thank you! Love you!

You ask, my girly, I give you 💚💦 I made Seb as wet as I possibly could, I hope you like it.

I wrote half of this yesterday, and the other half today, and it rained all day today actually so that was a nice way to set the mood!

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

— WARNINGS: smut, pussy worship, a bit of cock worship, fingering, multiple orgasms (kind of overstimulation), dirty talk, a bit of praise kink, and kind of possessive Sebastian but that's just Sebastian

— WORDCOUNT: 6.3k

They were still a half an hour's walk away from Hogwarts when the downpour began, and the little hoods on their school robes hardly did a thing to shield them. Sebastian’s drying spells were short-lived and hardly effective anyway, so they decided to stop their journey short and take refuge beneath a little outcropping of rocks by the road. It was coming down so hard now that everything in front of them was a frothy white curtain of rain.

“Should we look for some better place to wait this out?” she asked loudly, shivering in her soaked school robes.

“What, you’ll Revelio your way to some cave or something? Who knows how long that’ll take,” said Sebastian, shouting over the noise of the downpout.

“Well, it’s not like we could get any wetter!”

Sebastian chose not to make any remarks and turned his body away from her for a moment.

He could feel his teeth clanking in his mouth as he hugged himself. He squinted and tried to guess what was on the horizon, but there was no use. The rain was too dense, and his hair kept dripping into his eyes. As he tried to balance himself from one foot to the other, he could feel how soggy they were, and the more tightly he hugged himself, the more he felt the clothes sticking to his skin.

“Fine!” he said, turning to look at her again. “Fine, let’s try to find something… better than this,” he shrugged, his clothes splashing as his hands came back down harshly at his sides.

His friend smiled brightly, full of gratitude that he finally agreed with her idea. She took out her wand, and they went out together from the paltry cover of the rocks.

They ran aimlessly ahead, feet splashing in shallow puddles, hair sticking to their faces, and eventually they came across the river that ran near Hogsmeade. It used to be so thin, but now it ran quite deeper.

“At least we know where we are,” she said, looking back at Sebastian.

“Ugh, but where… Ah!” he said suddenly, turning to the left. “There’s a cave right upstream of it, I know it!”

“Great! Take us there,” she grinned.

Finally, some hope.

Sebastian hadn’t been that way in a while, but as long as they followed the river, they were sure to find it. A few Revelios later, and they came across the cave, a big dark mouth open in the downpour.

It was less of a cave and more of a hole in the ground, so short and stout that trees were growing above it, their roots curling like fingers around its rim and right inside across its ceiling. But it was deep enough that it could serve as cover, give them shelter while they waited. The pair caught their breaths after running straight for it, stopping only a few feet inside. They turned and looked at the curtain of water that protected them from the outside world, and wiped the raindrops off their faces with cold hands.

“We might be here a while,” she said, squeezing out her braid of hair.

“Worst case, we’ll miss dinner,” said Sebastian, breathing deeply as he rested his hands on his hips. “It’ll be dark in an hour or so…”

They took their robes off and squeezed the water off them too, casting warming spells but keeping them mild enough to not catch anything on fire. Sebastian sat on a rock and started untying his boots, turning them over to drain the water out. The girl laughed when she saw him, and sat down to do the same.

Sebastian smiled, and looked at her. His wet hair hung down in spikes over his forehead, water still dripping off it onto his nose and cheeks. She didn’t look much better, loose tendrils sticking to her cheeks, her face all dripping as if she had been crying, her school shirt transpar—

Oh, but she did look better.

Sebastian felt his face warm up. Before his thoughts took him too far, he looked back down again. Without thinking, he began to take his socks off, squeezing them dry and laying them flat beside him. His cold toes flexed on the rock as he crouched above it, and he hugged his knees to his chest.

“Oh, good idea,” she said.

He looked up and saw her taking her stockings off too, peeling them from the knees down. Sebastian stared open-mouthed for a moment, before he shut it and looked away again.

For a second.

And then he looked again.

Her long school skirt covered her legs almost all the way down to the ankles, but it was still a beautiful sight… His gaze crawled up and down her figure as she bent and freed her cold little feet, holding the soggy stockings up to warm them with a spell.

“I… I can try to make a fire, you know,” he offered with a more quiet and timid voice than was typical of him.

“Really?” she asked, not even turning, but he could hear her smile in the echo of the shallow cave. “I don’t think this situation calls for a Confringo.”

“I’d be careful,” he insisted, frowning at her distrust.

She shrugged, her back turned to him. “Do it if you want to. But I don’t need it. I’m starting to warm up as it is.”

The only sound to fill the cave was the pouring of the rain outside which never, never stopped.

Sebastian sighed. “Fine,” he said, not too happily.

He didn’t know why, but he wanted to make a fire for her. He wanted her to want it. Something inside of him was desperate to be seen as adequate by her — probably because she was his best friend besides Ominis, or because he looked up to her so much, or because he… He just… He just wished she needed him for something.

Sulking, Sebastian turned around and started pulling out his bowtie without thinking. He slapped it against his hand petulantly, pretending to dry it. Behind him, there was only silence… He unbuttoned his vest and laid it out flat on the side of the rock he sat on, then mindlessly started squeezing at the hanging sleeves of his shirt. From the corner of his eye he saw a still figure, like a shadow against the white rain, and he looked over his shoulder.

She stood there, staring in something like amazement, her face a little flushed. She was oddly… quiet.

Oh. He was being indecent…

Sebastian bit his lip and looked down at himself, dressed in only his white shirt and trousers now… Scandalous.

“D-do you mind?” he asked quietly, expecting her to… what? turn around? look away?

“No,” she said, and kept on looking.

Sebastian grinned timidly. He faced the cave wall again, sitting with his back to her, and began unbuttoning his shirt. He could hear her gasp in the silence.

His heart was nearly beating out of his chest and he knew he was sporting an embarrassingly hot blush… Slowly, he turned slightly and looked at her over his shoulder, wet hair falling over his eyes, and smiled. Well, if she didn’t want him to make a fire, she was going to see him get dry the old-fashioned way…

“Seb-bastian,” she mumbled, sounding a little bit afraid, a little outraged, but also curious underneath all that.

“Hm? Is there a problem?” he asked, sounding as innocent as he could. It was a tone of voice he used often when he got in trouble.

He saw her blush and look away, hugging herself, and he smirked. In a mad moment of confidence he turned around, his feet braced against the rock, and undid the last few buttons, tugging the shirt out from his trousers. Even that pull felt wet. It licked across his abdomen, folds kissing his shoulders as he eased the shirt off his body. Swaths of it caressed his back like light wet palms as he finally took it off, and placed it down.

Her gaze was timidly on him again, peeking from the corner of her eyes beneath those wet and matted lashes.

“It’s alright,” said Sebastian quietly, like speaking to a forest creature. “You can look. It’s just like… like after Quidditch practice, right?”

But the boys and girls changed in different rooms and they never saw each other. It wasn’t at all the same, and yet she didn’t point it out. She just kept looking.

Sebastian breathed in, and out, leaning back and bracing himself on his arms as he watched her, and let her watch him. His hair dripped over his shoulders now, droplets falling from his chin to his chest, down the little divots there, sliding down like snakes in wilder and wilder curves to soak his trousers.

She turned to look a bit more fully, her arms still tight around herself. Even in the shadow of the cave, she could see the freckles on his shoulders, a few stray ones on his chest peeking out among the gold-brown hairs, and she smiled.

“What are you smiling at?” asked Sebastian with amusement.

“How much your body matches your face,” she said timidly, but teasingly too.

“Well, I would hope it does,” he said, looking down at himself. “Does… does yours?” he asked.

She froze.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to say it… “N-nevermin—” he started.

But then her hands unfolded from their tight grip and she tugged at her little tie. Before Sebastian could get off the rock, she started unbuttoning her shirt.

He cursed and looked down when his toes sank into the mud, but he no longer cared. When he looked up again, he saw that she had paused, as if scared by his sudden movements.

“Don’t stop,” he begged.

Sebastian stepped forward slower as his friend continued unbuttoning her shirt. His eyes, however, were not fixed on her body — this body that she revealed to him for the first time — but on her eyes. They were so much more vulnerable than her exposed, wet, and trembling body, so unguarded, so frail — and they looked into his eyes too, not at his naked chest, skin prickling with cold, dripping with teasing raindrops, speckled and blushing and tight, or his arms that tensed with the desire to hold her, or his thick neck that swallowed unspoken words as he approached her.

“Are you going to take it all off?” Sebastian asked with an air of… concern, actually. Did he remotely deserve this? “Are you going to take it off… for me?”

She paused and bit her lip, her fingers frozen halfway down the garment.

“W-would you?” he begged, one step closer. “Please?”

She looked up at him again.

“I… I’d like to see,” he said.

By the time she had unbuttoned herself all the way, Sebastian stood before her. He looked down almost pained at the intensity of the moment, but had only reverence in his gaze for what he saw.

“You’re really pretty,” he whispered with a trembling smile, standing close enough to touch.

“T-thanks,” she said awkwardly.

“No, you’re… you’re beautiful, in fact,” he sighed.

His hands itched to touch her, but he waited for her to take her shirt off on her own. She pulled it free of the tight waist of her skirt, peeled it back, and eased it off her arms. She moved almost as if she was expecting Sebastian to tell her to put it back on, which was a risible idea to him. He looked at her revealed body in wonder, his full lips open dumbly as he stared. Beneath her shirt was a soaked chemise which stuck to her like a second skin. It concealed nothing.

“Oh,” was the only thing he could say.

She stepped back, blushing fiercely, not knowing really what to do with herself. Perhaps she felt a little stupid too, but before she could do anything, Sebastian leaned in, took the shirt out of her hand, threw it on a rock behind, and cupped her wet face in his palm.

“Can I kiss?” he asked. “You, I mean. C-can I kiss you?”

“Yes?” she answered, her wide eyes staring into his.

He wasn’t sure she had really heard what he’d said or understood the question, but it didn’t matter anymore.

Sebastian leaned down, and touched his lips to hers, and drank the raindrops off her mouth. His hands were shaking. He swallowed the knot in his throat as he quietly kept his lips slotted to hers, eyes closed tightly — as if to open them would shatter the moment. But then he heard her give a little moan, and his heart broke — was she upset? was she offended? did she change her mind

When he dared part from her, he looked down at her a bit dazed, terrified that… that he’d made a mistake, that he’d gone too far… But then she licked her lips.

“Was that good?” he asked with a smile.

“Was, yes” she mumbled. “I mean, it… it was…”

Sebastian grinned and cupped both of her cheeks in his hands. His fingers felt the hair at the back of her head still dripping wet, and at his naked chest he felt the heat coming off her body. His lust was drowned in how much love he felt for her. Gingerly, he brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones.

“Would you let me see… more?” he asked.

He could see some conflict taking place inside of her, and a similar one was fought inside himself: this wasn’t a decent thing to ask of a girl, and it wasn’t a decent thing to ask of a friend, but he didn’t want to be just her friend anymore, and it seemed she didn’t want that either…

She couldn’t look up at him when she nodded her consent.

Sebastian smiled so brightly he felt his cheeks hurt. He leaned down and kissed her again, as gently as could be, and whispered ‘thank you’ against her lips before they parted. He pulled away enough to look down at her chest.

With the tips of his fingers, he tugged the chemise out of her skirt. She raised her arms to help him, and then that garment too was thrown behind her.

“I love seeing you wet,” he sighed with a dreamy smile.

The water drops followed the most delicious trail down her neck and her clavicles and her breasts, around and over and between them and to her tense little buds and then… dripping off her tips. He wanted to lick them dry. Instead, he only leaned down to kiss them.

He placed his lips reverentially on the centre of her chest while his hands cupped her naked waist, then he leaned down and kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her breasts all the way to the tight little berries at the top: first the right one, then the left. They felt hard on his tongue and if he didn’t control himself Sebastian was sure he would’ve bitten them. He wanted to have her as deep in his mouth as possible. He heard her breathing frantically as his mouth worked on her and he could hear how fast her heart was beating, like a drum right next to his ears. His own heart was thumping too. He moaned as he nuzzled her soft, delicate flesh, teeth grazing teasingly on the round bottoms of her breasts and then up, up, until he could suckle on her peaks.

“Sho shweet,” he mumbled mindlessly with one of her nubs between his lips.

She giggled as his smile tickled her. Sebastian’s heart bloomed in his chest when he felt her fingers cradling his head from behind. He circled her waist with his broad hands, pulling her more tightly to him, holding her against him, skin on skin, and kept worshipping her chest.

“I love your skin,” he rambled, kissing her right breast. “I love your body,” kissing the left one. “I love how soft you are, how sweet you smell, how —” he gave one long, wet, slow lick from the sweaty bottom of her breast to the puckered little bud which he took back in his mouth, “— how perfect you feel on my tongue.”

“My Sebastian…” she gasped, back arching into his kisses while she held onto his hair in a possessive grip.

“I love you,” he whispered mindlessly, eyes closed, mouth full. “I love you…”

“I love you too,” she said quickly, bowing her head to gratefully kiss the top of his head.

They held onto each other while he pleasured her with licks and kisses. Once he felt her tips were appropriately hard, on the verge of painful, Sebastian leaned back and released her with a teasing pull and a wet pop. He moaned as he licked the taste of her body off his lips.

He straightened himself, and his hands slid slowly down to the her skirt. “May I take this off too?” he asked. “It’s a real question… You can say no…”

“No,” she said. “I mean, not no, I mean, yes...”

He chuckled and kissed her lips again. She smiled against his mouth while his fingers worked their way down the buttons of her school skirt. They fumbled awkwardly, unfamiliar with how the garment worked, but eventually, he slid it off her hips enough that he could take it off. She was only in her drawers now, and —

“Oh sweet goodness…” He could see her through them. “I want them off,” he mumbled, looking greedily at the lower half of her body. “I want them off right now.”

His fingers went to untie her undergarments when, suddenly, she placed her hands on his. “You first,” she said in a hot whisper. “I w-want to see you too.”

Sebastian blushed, but bit his lip and nodded.

His hand went quite hurriedly to his trousers and, without even sitting down, he pulled them off, and took the drawers along with them. He didn’t even know where he threw them, because he was right next to her body again, pulling her tightly to him. Something about being seen by her — and her wanting to see him — destroyed and rebuilt his life all at once. He held her face tenderly and pressed all his need, his gratitude, his love into her mouth. All the while, he felt her hands go up around his body, past his shoulders, to his neck, to thread around his dripping hair and hold him.

“Sebastian,” she moaned, her large eyes gazing into his once he released her.

“What is it?” he asked with a warm smile.

She didn’t speak, but instead looked down between them — at the long stretch of his body, all naked, all exposed, at the thicket of dark curls around his loins and the straining manhood that sprung from it. It twitched at her, and she gasped at the sight.

“You want to look at it?” he grinned.

She nodded.

Sebastian swallowed his fears and decided he would do it. He’d done this much for her… he could do more. He kissed her forehead and then stepped back, leaning against the rock she had sat on before.

Still in her drawers but nothing else, she tip-toed through the mud to stand in front of him, hands covering her chest. She drank in greedy, shameless swaths of gazes at his body.

What confidence Sebastian had on the average day — which wavered now and then according to his moods — collapsed beneath her scrutiny. He looked down at the ground, at the mouth of the cave and the pouring rain outside, then back at her. Would she like him? Was he enough for her? But oh, she looked so hungrily at him… She’d never looked at him like that before, or if she did, it was so rare. His shaft swung a little bit when his muscles clenched, tip dripping on his stomach, and he felt his heavy sac tickling his thighs.

“Do you… do you like it?” he shrugged, feeling unbearably vulnerable.

“You’re fishing for compliments,” she pointed out.

“So what?”

“So stop it.”

“Alright,” he grinned. But by then, he could already tell she liked him. His eyes slid to her breasts, still tipped with those tight puckers that he’d caused.

She liked him.

She was close enough to touch, and just as Sebastian had the instinct to move away, she leaned in and kissed his chest. He gasped, his heart suddenly stopping. It never had a moment to recover because she kissed again: lower down his chest, and lower, down his stomach, and —

“Oh, don’t tease me!” he whimpered in an unworthy voice.

She smiled and stopped, but trailed a little finger up his thigh, scraping away the wetness, and looked into his eyes for a moment before she leaned down.

Sebastian stared in that dumb open-mouthed way again as she shamelessly looked at him. It was almost like she was back in class for something… It was a look of wonder, and curiosity, and… and…

And she touched him, just a light finger trailing up his tense manhood.

“Aaah!” he cried, head tilted back before he caught his breath and looked back down again.

With one warm hand, she gripped his member and held it to the side against his tummy, and with the other she traced around his sac, through the messy wet curls there, just following the curves of his body. His legs trembled with tension, and he could feel his member begin to leak again, lazy dollops tickling their way down toward her little fingers. She wiped the rain away from the curve of his swollen globes, down where his torso met his thigh, and then again on the other side, holding his length firmly with one hand while caressing him gently with the other.

“So soft,” she smiled to herself, her eyes greedily observing this very delicate part of him.

“Do you want to kill me?” Sebastian bit out, chuckling awkwardly as he stood still and let her play with him.

She giggled and bit her lip, cupping him in his palm. He groaned, breathing out heavily, and leaned back against the rock as he spread his legs a little more.

He felt two fingers trail his fat globes, feeling their way around, and then she started trailing them beneath his sac. For a moment, he was scared that she had a… different aim, and he blushed fiercely and panicked, but then she stopped just at his taint and cupped him, quietly and gently, in her hand.

“It’s warm…” she whispered.

“Yeah…”

“And full…”

“Good grief, please stop,” Sebastian whined. “Or else I’ll do something that’s going to embarrass us both.”

The hand that held his shaft squeezed it a little, almost testing how firm it was, and in passing she teased a finger over his hole. Sebastian’s whole body shivered, but she paid him no mind. Her fingers, still holding on tightly, went down his member, pulling the soft skin away, and she gasped so sharply he felt the warm breath of her mouth fan over his tip. He leaked again, right before her eyes.

“Please,” Sebastian whimpered.

With a lick of her lips, she gentled her hand across his loins from top to bottom with one last caress, then let go of him and rose to her feet again.

“You have to show me,” said Sebastian, scrambling to take her in his arms and kiss her again. “Show y-yourself to me,” he begged between kisses.

She whined deep in her throat, but couldn’t bring herself to deny him.

Sebastian kissed her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders, as he gently guided her to where he’d just been, against that long, curved rock, and made sure she was steady. He looked into her eyes as his hands cupped her hips, and, giving her enough time to change her mind, he finally untied her drawers. The air was loud with their breaths and the rain that kept pouring outside the cave as he undressed her. He looked into her eyes while he pulled them down her hips, her thighs, her legs, and then he had to lean down to take them off her feet in such a way that they wouldn’t get muddied. Oh, and when he saw her…

“You’re so pretty,” he gasped, his face levelled with her waist. “So beautiful…”

“Don’t talk like that,” she moaned, hiding her face in her hands.

Without even looking, he placed her discarded drawers on the rock beside her, then stayed right where he was, balancing on his feet with his hands beside her thighs.

“I could look at you for ages…”

“Well, don’t.”

“Don’t?” he smirked, looking up at her — but her face was still hidden by her hands. “What would you like me to do instead?”

“Sebastian!”

“Any ideas?”

“I… I don’t know…”

He sighed as he looked at her again — at her most sensitive, most hidden parts. His touch was soft as he caressed up her thighs, fingers gliding to the place he yearned to pleasure. The wetness that was left on her legs pooled in the webbing between his thumb and index as he scraped her skin in one long upwards stroke. He moved a little closer, so close that she could feel his warm breath on her stomach.

“So beautiful,” he whispered — mostly to himself — “more beautiful than I imagined, more beautiful than I thought you could be…”

“Don’t say that,” she mumbled, her fingers finally slipping down to grip her neck in an attempt to calm her breathing. “It’s not beautiful, it’s just… it’s…”

“It is,” he said roughly, frowning up at her.

“Seb—”

“Say it is, or I’ll leave.”

“You can’t—”

“Say it, or I’ll stop,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her right hip teasingly. It tasted of sweetness and salt and rain. His tongue slid out to lick it. “Say...”

“It’s… beautiful,” she mumbled.

“That’s right! It is,” he hummed.

His hands cupped her hips now, thumbs resting just at the top corners of her mound. Her tummy was still dripping wet. Stray drops were scattered messily over her curls, between her thighs, everywhere. Sebastian’s manhood twitched in yearning as he trailed a thumb just on the surface of that dampened tuft, and then went lower. His eyes never left her girlhood as he did so, staring right at her most intimate of places with a hard and greedy look while his hand stayed tender, his touch soft, his fingers slow.

Without a thought to himself, Sebastian kneeled in the mud, his knees sinking just a bit but not too deeply, and he rested his rear on his heels. One hand cupped her hip, the other teased her.

“How close can I look?” he asked, gazing up into her eyes darkly beneath his thick lashes while fingers gently moved over the surface of her wet little girlhood.

“A-as close as y-ou want,” she muttered breathlessly.

Her hands were braced against the rock now, almost like she wanted to crawl away any minute, but she didn’t move. Her toes curled into the mud right between Sebastian’s knees.

He kissed her right thigh gratefully, and gently took his hand from her mound. With a stretch of his arm backwards and a wordless Accio, Sebastian summoned his drying clothes in a clump and arranged them behind her.

“There,” he said smiling, letting her lean back more comfortably.

She smiled at him and settled herself over his clothes, letting her back rest against them. They didn’t make much difference, but at least she could lay back under Sebastian’s care and not get scrapes along her spine.

Between her legs, he brought his attention back to where he wanted it — where she needed it. His right hand traced the edges of her folds, index resting on a plush one to feel it throb. He smiled cheekily at the feeling of her heartbeat, and moved his finger deeper. She gasped and spread her legs, giving Sebastian the space he needed to lean down a little more, and look.

“So soft,” he whispered, his eyes dark and greedy. “I can see you blushing here,” he smiled as his finger parted her folds a bit, revealing her hole to him. “So dark and flushed… Is it a little needy?”

“Sebastian,” she groaned, her eyes closing in shame.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” he chuckled.

His hands then both cupped her upper thighs, thumbs working to spread her flesh more. She throbbed again, and he could see her tight hole drip every time it winked open for him. He gasped at the sight.

“Does it like being looked at by me?” he asked, a sultry edge creeping into his voice. “Huh? Does this little hole like its owner being looked at this way by her best friend?”

“Seb—!”

He smirked and thumbed one plump fold away, letting his warm breath tickle her nub.

“Yes!” she gasped. “It… it likes being looked at,” she blushed, looking pleadingly down into Sebastian’s eyes.

“Then I should get a better look, should I?” he whispered, nuzzling her mound. It left the tip of his nose wet.

He pulled away and slowly leaned down more, his eyes fixed on that most secret of places, fingers working her open. She was damp and throbbing all over, her flesh warm and swollen and painfully shy.

“Is this your first time being seen?” he murmured in a rougher voice, something between compassion and possessiveness.

“It is,” she mumbled. Her hands were at her neck again, her breasts hidden behind her folded arms.

“Good,” he said, petting her with a thumb.

He breathed her in, smelling her lust, watching patiently while her intimate flesh suffered — his did too, in sympathy. The tip of his manhood tickled his stomach, and between his thighs his swollen sac throbbed, but he was too distracted by seeing these tender places of hers to deal with himself right now.

“And does it want me to touch it too?” he whispered, leaning close enough to kiss. “Tell me, sweetheart… Tell me how it feels right now."

“It… Yes, it… it wants —”

“— Wants me to touch it?” he whispered teasingly, greedily.

“Yes…”

“Does it hurt you?”

“A little,” she moaned. “It won’t stop throbbing…”

“Oh, I can see that,” he chuckled. “This tiny hole of yours keeps winking at me. Wants something inside, doesn’t it?” he crooned in a mockingly sympathetic voice. “And look at that, that naughty little nub you have is so swollen...”

She buried her face in her hands and groaned.

“Shhh… I’ll give it what it wants,” he said, voice soft and warm while his hard gaze never left her. “Just a little touch… It’ll make you feel better.”

He had no idea whether that was true, but it felt like the right thing to say. He wanted to make her feel better, he wanted to make her feel amazing, and most importantly he wanted to be the one to do it.

Slowly, he brought his middle finger down to touch her. It tickled the surface of her folds before it eased its way between them, and then he dragged it back and forth all the way from her nub to her wet hole.

“Aaaah…” she gasped dreamily, her hips canting in his grasp.

“Is that good?” Sebastian asked with a little smirk, gazing up at her flushed face briefly before looking once again at her intimate place. “Does it like that? Hmm?” he teased. “It likes what your best friend is doing?”

“Seb!”

“It likes what I’m doing to it? Tell me…”

“Yes!” she breathed out, her voice shivering. “Yes… Sebastian…” She moaned and whimpered in such a light, distracted voice, as if he wasn’t even there, and he came to wonder whether she did this to herself at night, whispering his name…

His finger turned, palm facing upwards, so that he could now scrape her tight little nub better. He teased it with one long inward caress and right before pulling back, he curled his finger slightly and eased it just beyond the rim of her hole. With each slow rub, in and out and in and out, he worked himself deeper inside. He worked her slowly, so slowly she almost didn’t notice when he pierced her entrance properly. A fat wet dollop dribbled out just as he opened her, and he was there to see it. His breath caught in his throat.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, eye going wide.

“Sebastian!” she wailed. She widened her stance a little, legs spreading nervously as if she couldn’t find her place. “It… it needs a little more,” she pleaded.

“It does?” he teased her, already bracing the hand on her hip tighter. “Well, how could I refuse my best friend… my favourite girl…”

She blushed at the compliment, at the wrongness of it — because by now, they weren’t anything like friends anymore, and they both knew it. When she felt his finger going deeper, she yelped loudly before her hands clamped down over her mouth.

“So warm inside,” he whispered in wonder, “how are you so warm…?”

He kept his gaze on his middle finger digging deeper into her tight hole, making sure to scrap the sensitive tip of her nub with each back and forth stroke. The motions made her leak all over her thighs, and he could see them shaking, could see the muscles underneath go tense. His body was so hot all over, the raindrops on his back and chest all evaporated. His loins were throbbing fiercely, lonely and ignored, but nothing was more important to him than looking at her, than pleasuring her, than worshipping this secret part of her nobody else got to see but him...

Sebastian bit his lower lip and moaned as he worked his finger all the way down to the second knuckle, and saw her hole clench. It rebelled against taking more of him. He kept still, holding his finger there, and curled it gently, feeling as deep inside her as she let him… She was so tight. And then he felt a pull, like a shy suckle… And she throbbed.

“Sebastian!” the girl moaned. Her stomach tensed, back arching, and she let herself fall slowly over his clothes that cushioned her back against the rock. “Stay there, stay there…”

“I’m right here,” he reassured her, “I’m right here with you, sweetheart. My darling, my lovely girl… You’re so beautiful, every part of you is so beautiful, and all mine…”

She whimpered, her body shaking beyond her control in one long, tense orgasm.

“Mine to look at,” he murmured, praising her through her orgasm. “Mine to touch, mine to take care of…”

Sebastian pet her thigh with his free hand while he kept his finger there, inside her, letting her little hole nurse on it, comforting it while it convulsed under all that pleasure.

“I wish you would’ve shown me this part of yourself earlier,” he sighed, looking up into her face as he held her. “This secret part of you… I want to see more of it… Will you let me see more of it from now on?”

“I… I will,” she whimpered, breathing heavily as the sharp throbbing stopped. The pleasure gently washed away from her with every heartbeat.

“Every day?”

“Every single day, Seb…”

He grinned happily, brown eyes shining up at her. He looked down at her intimate place again and moved his finger a little to the side to see her nub while still penetrating her. In a moment of greed, he leaned in to place a suckling kiss on that little pearl, then gripped it between his teeth to hold it at his mercy and flicked his tongue against it.

“Aaaah!”

He’d just made her orgasm again, just a little one on the tail-end of her pleasure. A smug chuckle bubbled out of him at feeling her tighten again for a second.

Her channel throbbed punishingly around his finger, and he could feel it growing that much more wet, so wet it licked its way out of her and down to his knuckles. Once she was distracted and relaxed, her delectable pulsations done, he shove the finger gently higher, up, up until the end, until he cupped her pearl in his hand.

“Sebastian!” she gasped, her bleary eyes gazing up at him from her lazy laying back. She sounded pleasured, and a little scandalised to feel him that deep inside.

Without a word, he stood up while he kept her pierced around his finger, and leaned down to kiss her mouth.

“Remember what you promised,” he said quietly against her lips.

“What?” she asked dreamily.

He kissed her again, lips caressing hers with nothing but love. “You’d let me see more of you.”

“Yes,” she smiled, barely saying it before his mouth covered her own again.

“And every day, too.”

“That might be an issue.”

He quieted her with another kiss. “There’s a lot of you to see?” he said with a cocked brow.

“Is that so?”

“And you can see me too,” he offered — sounding a little shy, and hopeful…

“I want that,” she sighed, leaning up to kiss him back.

“Good,” he smiled. Between her legs, his finger started thrusting gently back and forth. “So good…”

Outside their shallow cave, the rain had gentled to a hazy shower. On the far horizon, where the clouds ended, the sunset was a dark soft pink, and all around them, for miles and miles, there were only empty fields. They felt alone in the world — so happily, happily alone.

#sswallow;answers #localravenclaw #Sebastian Sallow #hl #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #Sebastian Sallow imagine #Sebastian Sallow smut #Sebastian Sallow x reader #Sebastian Sallow x MC #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics

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cherryslyce · 1 year

Text

Second Son (XVIII) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: The group reconvenes over tea. The Black Brothers reunite. Harry proposes a risky plan.

Part XVII / Part XIX / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Only one more chapter + the epilogue!

A dizzying edge of familiarity beats through your veins as you keep your eyes firmly locked on the teacup in front of you. Instead of the soft cranberry glass from last time, the Contessa dished out stout porcelain cups with curved handles, small forget-me-nots wrapping around the diameter of the ivory cup.

As your tea continues to steam, you could feel a dense tension curl around every inch of the atmosphere. Regulus sat to your right, appearing to try and distract himself by burying his face in his tea cup, while Luna sat to your left, finger tracing the floral design of her cup absentmindedly. Across from you, Sirius sat, eyes unseeing and mouth still uncouthly agape.

The Contessa sat patiently at the head of the table, eyes flickering between you and Regulus, and frowning every so often as she observed Sirius’ paralyzed state. Harry sat next to his Godfather, green eyes sitting as wide as prophecy orbs behind his round glasses. Hermione was biting her lip as she tried to restrain herself from interrogating you, hand wrapped tightly around Ron’s wrist as she attempted to rein in the sputtering boy.

Sirius had gone into a state of shock after Regulus greeted him, perhaps short circuiting after realizing that the boy was not a figment of his imagination or a product of a sudden lapse of delusion. You were positive that the older man would have collapsed if not for Harry’s fast reflexes and initiative to move him to the tea room.

Sirius leans forwards suddenly, hair swinging wildly at the sudden motion as he suddenly blurts out, “What the hell?”

The Contessa places her cup down on her saucer with a resounding click before she hums, “Indeed, as Lord Black so eloquently voiced, what exactly is going on?” She immediately sets her eyes on you and you feel your shoulders freeze at the sudden rapt attention.

You turn to share a quick look with Regulus, and the boy offers you an assured nod, clearly giving you the greenlight to disclose what you thought was necessary. Turning to face the Contessa, you stew in your thoughts for a few moments as you try and string together an explanation.

“What I’m about to tell you all—it’s quite unimaginable, but we plan on publishing many of our findings soon, so there is no point in sugarcoating it.” You inhale deeply and clasp your hands together in apprehension, “When Dumbledore passed on, he left a note in his will for me. It was a suggestion that I visit an old friend of his in Norway, and that I may find some answers to my concerns.”

The trio nod, readily dredging up the memory from Bill and Fleur’s wedding day, and you see the Contessa raise her eyebrows imperceptibly at the admission. You feel Luna reach over and rest her warm hand atop of yours as you continue, “Well, I went with Luna, and we met up with the man. Over the span of the few months of my absence, we discovered some enlightening theories.”

Sirius is now wholly aware, his unwavering gaze prodding you. You turn to look at the man, a frown washing over your expression, “These theories happened to overlap with something I had told the man in passing,” your eyes flicker over to Harry, “Dumbledore had taken Harry and I to a cave the day he was killed. In this cave, we encountered Voldemort’s army of inferis and a locket.”

Harry perks up at your words, and begins to shoulder the task of recollecting, “It was supposed to be Voldemort’s locket, but when we investigated it over the summer, we found out that it was a decoy,” the boy pauses before inclining his head towards Regulus, “one that was made by Regulus.”

You nod and suppress the smile threatening to appear on your face as you see Regulus’ wide eyes, clearing your throat to resume your delineation, “Yes, and so we both worked out the fact that Regulus had…died in the cave when he swapped out the lockets, and as a result, became one of the inferis.”

Sirius pivots his head to stare at his brother in incredulity, “What? Why would you swap the…” The man trails off and he leans forwards in his seat, eyebrows drawn as he presses for an answer.

Regulus meets his brother’s gaze evenly before elucidating, “Because I defected.”

The silence that ensues is stark, and you watch as revelation sinks through Sirius, the older man’s expression batting between relief and anguish. Waiting for a few more beats of silence, you continue quieter than before, “Yes, Regulus made the choice to take the locket, despite knowing what the consequences entailed. Dumbledore’s friend had long theorized about the state of inferis and believed that their souls were still chained to their bodies—present, but dormant.”

You pause to catch your breath, lifting up your teacup and sipping your coolled tea to soothe your jitteriness. The Contessa runs a manicured finger along the edge of the table as she muses, “And what is the significance of this locket? For the magnitude of trouble it's caused, I don’t suppose it’s just any ordinary sentimental locket?”

You share a look with Harry, and he gulps before turning towards the dispassionate woman, “Are you familiar with horcruxes, Contessa Zabini?”

The woman pauses for a split moment before stiffly nodding, hand moving to clasp her teacup, “I see.” She frowns lightly, eyes darkening as she hummed, “Well, it is abundantly clear to me now that aiding you was the astute choice, Mr.Potter.” With that, she relaxes again and closes her eyes as she polishes off the rest of her tea.

Turning your gaze to run around the table, you survey everyone to check if anyone else had any lingering questions. Seeing that all of the occupants were waiting for you to continue, you nod and rub a hand over your jaw, “Right. Well, this man and I performed an ancient soul-tracking ritual to confirm his suspicions since now he finally had a subject to test it on, and we found abnormal results.”

Regulus’ attention is now squarely on you as you elaborate, hand rising to rest on your knee as he absorbs every tidbit of information. Catching Sirius’ eye again, you continue, “He decided that perhaps there was a way to unchain an inferi’s bound soul and revitalize them back to their former states.” You place your hand on top of Regulus's hand, squeezing firmly, “So, I took him to the cave that Harry and I were at, and we retrieved Regulus’ inferi.”

Ron blinks slowly in a disbelieving manner before squawking, “You retrieved an inferi?”

“Not me.” You shake your head and ignore Harry’s astounded goggle, “But yes, we got him. It’s a bit of a blur afterwards, but Regulus had gifted me some items that were imbued with his magic, and it helped us bring him back.”

Regulus nods faintly as realization dawns on him, his hand slipping from under yours to interlace your fingers together. Hermione sits up bone-straight in her seat, swaying a bit in eagerness as she stares at you like a hawk, “Imbued? Is this a part of the research you’re planning to publish?”

You chuckle slightly and grin in confirmation, “Yes, but Reggie is the expert on that.”

The boy next to you bites his cheek to veil his smile, but the twinkle in his eyes as he shoots you an appreciative nod satisfies you enough.

Sirius’ thoughts are truncated in a flash by your words, and he instinctively slams his palms on the table as he leaps up from his chair, “Reggie? Don’t tell me…” He peers over the length of the table to see your joined hands, “Oh blessed Morgana.” The man tips back into his seat, eyes finding the ceiling as the Contessa scowls at his outburst.

Regulus takes this as an opportunity to directly address his brother, “Siri. I’m sorry,” pausing to glance at you, “not for this,” he gestures between you and him, “but for everything else.”

The man directs his attention back to his younger brother, eyes becoming glassy at the genuine sorrow on Regulus’ face. Drawing a hand across the table, Sirius reaches as far as he can towards Regulus, “You fool. What is there for you to apologize for?”

“For all those venomous words during our youth.” Regulus’ words are hushed as he pulls your intertwined hands into his lap for comfort.

Sirius shakes his head fervently, “Our youth is all in the past, Regulus. We both made awful choices back then, but I mean, what choice did we really have with our parents being who they were?” The man smiles wryly as he tries to comfort his brother.

Regulus’ throat bobs as he tries to suppress the tender emotion rippling across his face, “But you got out.”

“And what did that cost me? I left you behind,” Sirius’ expression grows grave, “and I can never forgive myself for that.”

The brothers share a long look before Sirius breaks into a watery smile, “Look at us, huh? Enough trauma to last seven lifetimes.”

Regulus chuckles quietly and smiles at the older man, “I missed you, Siri.”

“I missed you too, kid,” Sirius smiles widely before it falters, “which reminds me, it’s a bit eerie to see you look so…”

“Young?” You supply lightly.

Sirius nods before bringing a hand to run across his face, causing Regulus to grin broadly, “Guess I’m the better looking brother, now.”

Harry hides a snicker behind his hand and you see Hermione laugh at their antics, dabbing the corner of her eyes with her finger to rid of the wetness in her eyes. Sirius gawks at Regulus’ words and jokingly sneers at him, “Well try being in Azkaban for over a decade.”

“Try being dead.” Regulus shoots back with narrowed eyes.

“At least you got to keep your looks!”

Regulus leans back with a hum, “So you admit it, I’m better looking.”

You tune out their squabbling as you turn to address the Contessa, “Thank you for everything you’ve done to help us, Contessa. I’m sure Harry and I could slip in a good word and all, once this whole thing blows over.”

The woman smiles pleasantly at your words and nods, “And a signed copy of your published work, dear.”

Hastily agreeing, you sink into your seat as warmth permeates across your chest. It was perturbing to consider how comfortable you felt in that moment, knowing that outside the safe confines of the Manor walls, an impending bloodbath was awaiting your arrival with bated breath.

You all move to get along with your day, your succinct explanation satisfactory enough for the time being. Regulus pauses in the doorway, hand in yours, as he looks between you and Sirius with a conflicted frown.

“Go,” you nudge him lightly, smiling when you see Sirius assess your joined hands like it was something of earth-changing novelty.

Regulus’ eyes scan your face for a few moments before he nods, “I’ll find you in a bit, birdie.”

You squeeze his hand lightly before stepping back with a teasing grin, “Oh, and by the way, I think you’ve always been the better looking brother.”

Before he has a chance to respond, you’re spinning on your heels to meet up with Luna, the girl lingering nearby to wait for you. You loop your arm with hers and slowly make your way down the ornate hallway.

“Let’s go get washed up, little moon.” You mutter, eyes widening as you catch a fleeting glance of your ruffled reflection in one of the glittering mirrors.

The hours seem to slip away through the threshold of your mind, and soon you’re left to your lonesome as you gaze towards the setting sun. The planes of the sky are marred by blends of flowery pinks that bleed into blood orange, and you find yourself entranced by the stretches of trimmed grass and patches of flowers that are illuminated under the vibrant sky.

In your hands, you slowly flip the smooth labradorite stone that Luna handed you once you emerged from the steamy bathroom. As you continue to drift in your sea of thoughts, you faintly hear footsteps approaching you.

“Here you are, birdie.” Regulus murmurs, tucking his chin on your shoulder as he tiredly drapes himself on your back.

Smiling gently, you bring a hand up to pat his cheek, “How’d it go with Sirius?”

“Great, actually. Our conversations were always turbulent when we were younger, but now it feels like we’re both on the same wavelength.” He hums, hands slowly drawing patterns on your waist.

You bring your hand up and open your palm to the sky, your stone glimmering under the sunlight, “That’s good, and he didn’t have kittens over our…us?”

Regulus’ chest vibrates against your back as he laughs, voice light with a content buzz, “Surprisingly not. He’s quite taken with you though, so he did warn me a bit about messing around with his ‘pup’.”

“Merlin, you’d think he was my father.” You mumble with an amused huff.

“I was quite floored, honestly. He never wanted kids of his own, something about being the cool Uncle.” Regulus hums.

You shake your head before a pained memory surfaces in your head. Tensing a bit against Regulus, your voice comes out wispy, “Reg. Before I left for Norway, I found something that belongs to you.”

The boy tilts his head as you pull away, grasping his elbow to pull him back inside your temporary room. Digging into your borrowed coat, you pull out the shrunken journal, deftly returning it back to its original size with a wave of your wand.

“Oh,” Regulus blinks as he slowly takes it from your hold, “I completely forgot about this.”

You scratch the nape of your neck as you clear your throat, “I read through it,” you pause as you frown at him regretfully, “I’m sorry.”

The boy shakes his head and shoots you a small smile, “No need to apologize, birdie.” He flips open the journal and scans through the pages, eyebrows occasionally raising up at the contents of the page. At one point, the boy pauses and runs his thumb against a page before slowly drawing the book closed.

He reaches over to you and cups your neck with a soft gaze, allowing a few beats of silence to pass before he whispers to you, “I would paint the stars with your name if you asked me to, Y/N.”

You feel like your heart burst at that moment.

You and Regulus spend the rest of the night recalling blurry childhood memories, neither of you willing to succumb to sleep before the other. It’s one of the few times you feel completely at peace, eyes drooping lazily as you peer into the darkness of the high ceiling above you, the sky no longer a plethora of colors as it settles into a midnight forestry of mottled stars.

Sometime before the cusp of dawn, you both settle into a light slumber, hands interlaced as you both laid side by side on the king sized bed. It is when the thrushes begin to sing at the first sliver of sunlight when you are awakened by a firm hand on your arm. As you blearily peer into the dark room, you make out the faint glint of glasses.

“Harry?” You mumble thickly at the bespectacled boy.

You see him nod and slowly tug at your elbow, head jutting to the side, indicating at the ajar door. Nodding slowly, you silently sit up on the bed, turning your head to look over your shoulder as you slowly clamber off the bed. Regulus was still in a tranquil sleep, only faintly stirring when you carefully pulled your hand away from his.

Padding across the room, you make sure to softly close the door behind you. Harry walks a few paces ahead of you as he leads you out of the wing of guest rooms, only stopping when you both cross into the spacious atrium at the center of the manor.

“What’s on your mind?” You whisper, ears still sensitive from a blanket of fatigue.

Harry fiddles with his fingers before he peers into the somber atmosphere, “Dobby came for me yesterday after our talk. Aberforth–Dumbledore’s brother, can help us into Hogwarts.”

You nod and cross your arms against your chest, “And Sirius and Regulus?”

“Kingsley will bring them in afterwards, ‘said something about how we just need to get into contact with Aberforth.” Harry muttered, eyes jumping around as he mentally mapped out his plans.

Humming, you chuckle dryly into the dim air, “Look at you doing savior things. Time really flies.”

Harry rolls his eyes at you before gently pushing your arm, “Look at you,” he intoned, “running off on your own and coming back with novel ideas of magic.” You shake your head and move to lean against one of the pillars behind you, head softly smacking against the cool concrete.

“How are things going with Ginny?” You teasingly ask, voice raising in the slightest as the shadows of sleep slowly recede from your mind.

Harry throws his head back and moves to lean back on the pillar next to yours, “I wouldn’t know. Communication’s been cut off since the school year started.”

“Neville will take care of her,” you hum reassuringly, mentally picturing the gentle boy with a lion’s heart in your head. Harry nodded in agreement, but you could see the weariness that weighed on his shoulders as he continued to ponder.

“Hey, Harry,” you swivel your gaze over to him, “how did you get into contact with Aberforth, anyway?”

Harry slowly sinks down onto the floor, bringing one leg up to prop his arm as he answers, “Dobby came a while back. But it was Hermione who insisted that we continue to reach out afterwards.”

You shoot a lazy grin at him as you sink down onto the floor, “I’ve heard he’s quite…prickly.”

“Not all of us have the privilege of being able to handle churlish individuals.” Harry shoots back good heartedly, eyes lifting to observe the lavish surroundings.

“The Contessa keeps me on my toes-” you bring a hand up to cover your mouth as you yawn, “besides, I’ve dealt with you and Ron for most of my adolescent years—managing petulant outbursts and jibes is more of a polished skill than innate talent, really.”

Harry frowns at your words, but knows better than to argue, the Fourth Year fiasco surfacing in his mind almost instantaneously. As you both continue to sit in comfortable silence, a sudden thought blares in your head, “Wait, why exactly are we going to Hogwarts?”

Harry blanches for a moment before leaning forward to study your expression, “I didn’t say?”

You shake your head in amusement, “Nope. Can’t imagine it’s because you miss Snape.”

“Merlin, no.” The boy winces as he flinches back, “We think the last horcrux is in Hogwarts, and the Order wants to usurp Snape.” Harry drops the bombshell with an unbearable causality that has you recoiling back like you’ve been stunned, and you have to close your eyes for a few seconds to process the news.

“Harry, what the bloody hell?”

After Harry caught you up to speed, you quickly dismissed yourself to crawl back into the welcoming swaddle of your bed, mind set on getting a few more minutes of sleep before the initiation of Harry’s perilous plans.

Regulus blinks rapidly as you shift to get comfortable in the sheets, eyes finding yours as you peered over cautiously. The boy slackly drops an arm over you as you turn to face him, “Thought you got lost for a moment there, birdie.”

“When did you wake up?” You mumbled, hand twitching as you resisted the urge to draw your finger down the planes of his face, his features illumined by the hazy sky light.

Regulus shifts to look at you, “When you closed the door.”

“Oh, sorry.” You mutter, slowly inching closer to his warmth. After relaxing for a few moments, you begin to voice your passing thoughts, “isn’t it bizarre?”

His eyelids droop down as he wrestles against his fatigue, mouth drawing into a confused frown when he answers, “What is?”

“That just two years ago you were sleeping on my nightstand, and now you’re actually here.” You breathe out, hands slowly crawling between your bodies as your eyes drop to look at the duvet.

Regulus quietly hums as his hand splays itself on your back, “Sleep would be a stretch, I mainly just watched over you.” You suppress a small snort at his words, remembering all the times he would practically demand that you angle his portrait towards the window.

“Well I hope you enjoyed the view then, Crowface.” You retort, finally caving in to your yearning thoughts as you place your hand on his bicep.

Regulus groans and practically rolls onto you, arms dipping under your back to lift your midsection up as he smothers his face into your shoulder, “Will you ever let that nickname go, little bird?”

“Not until my dying breath.” You muse with a small laugh.

He huffs and burrows himself further against your skin, “Yeah, not happening on my watch.”

When you apparated into Hogsmeade with your friends, you didn’t quite expect to be hounded by the shrill screeching of cats. The cacophonous alarm had you immediately sprinting for cover, taking note of how death eaters began to pour into the snowy promenade only moments later.

Hermione was only a few yards away from you, crouched behind some dusty tarp with Ron. Harry and Luna were by your side, the boy’s hand tightly grasping his wand as you all surveyed the influx of enemies. There were too many for you to handle, and you swivel your head around to look for a way out.

You tense as you peer over the cluttered table beside you, watching as a couple death eaters break off from the crowd to make their way towards the veranda you were all in. With adrenaline buzzing through every nerve of your body, you hastily shoot an evanesco towards an abandoned stall across the pathway, causing all of the crates and tin instruments on it to topple onto the ground as the structure vanishes.

The noise has the death eaters whipping their heads around, shouts immediately blooming into the chilly air before they are running off towards the opposite direction. You all wordlessly dart through the damp alleys, mind set on finding Aberforth at the Hogshead.

As you practically barrel into a dead end, teeth giving the faintest chatter at the sight of the rusted-shut gate, one of the nearby doors pops open from a worn building. You twirl on your heel with your wand up, startled that you failed to notice it before as the entire wall seemed to blanket into one canvas of shadows.

“Potter! In here!” A sharp hiss rings through the air, voice tinted in displeasure and wariness. You are the first to heed the call, shrugging as you figure an enemy would have already fired off a killing curse rather than extend an invite out towards your group.

Once you’re all herded into the dim stairway, immediately trekking into a dingy room, you tilt your head as you notice the older wizard standing across the room. He bore little resemblance to your former jovial headmaster, but he radiated an aura that was unparalleled in such a way that could only belong to someone from the Dumbledore line.

Wetting your lips as you observe the man’s hasty movements, you leak out an inkling of your magic to slither towards him, your signature promptly being greeted by a burst of sweltering heat. His magic reminded you much of being directly in front of a fireplace whilst draped in endless folds of blankets. A stuffy feeling reminiscent of sweat and stupor.

It was quite unpleasant.

The man gave a momentary shiver before shooting a narrowed look towards you, causing you to retract your magic with a blank look on your face. You could see why Harry was not exactly captivated by the man; he wasn’t remarkably charming in the way that Anders, and hell, even Moody were.

“Mister Dumbledore, thank you.” Hermione is the first to fracture the silence, stepping forward as Aberforth paces towards you all with a tray of refreshments.

You nod and pocket your wand, opting to gaze at the surroundings as your friends tuck into their glasses. The beamed ceilings were quite high, with concrete walls chipped in numerous areas as faded drapes ran from ceiling to floor. Flutes of light flickered from around the room, cylindrical lamps illuminating just enough for visibility while veiling the clouds of dust that were undoubtedly swirling about.

Harry is quick to curtail the tense atmosphere, jumping straight into your objectives. Aberforth merely grunts before walking towards the only colorful decoration in the room—a sizable portrait of a smiling young woman.

You mask the minute grin that flickers across your face at Aberforth’s demeanor, feeling awfully maudlin as your mind conjures up an image of Anders. As Aberforth mutters something to the woman, she gives him a compassionate smile before making her way further into the painting. The old wizard retreats into the darkness without another word, only shooting you all a fleeting look of appraisement before his presence completely slips away.

You had to say, if anything, you were quite partial to his inclination for efficiency.

The young woman trails back towards the forefront of the painting with a figure staggering out from behind her. Before you can lean over to make out the movement, the large frame swings open and you gape as one banged up Neville leans down with a weary grin.

“Hey, guys.”

You all stand there speechless, but Luna slowly migrates from behind you, eyes flickering around the boy’s cut-up face. Seeing the girl’s look, Neville shakes his head and waves her off, “This is nothing, you guys should see Seamus.”

Honestly, you didn’t think you wanted to.

“Good to see you’re well and kicking, dude.” You mutter with a relieved smile, shoulders sagging as the worry you didn’t even realize you were carrying melted away. Neville helps you all up into the portrait hole, quickly giving the rundown of Hogwarts’ status during the walk through the tunnel.

You were quite surprised by how scrappy the boy was, as he seemingly unlocked a newfound penchant for leadership in the months that you were all gone. Luna turns back to give you a small smile, as if hearing your thoughts, and you stifle an airy chuckle as nostalgia runs rampant through you.

Oh, to be eleven and naive again.

And as Neville steps aside once light seeps into the rocky tunnel, the feeling only swells higher as it tangles with pride at the sight of the worn and dirty students cheering from below you all.

You all filed down as the blisters of hope bled into conviction around the room, rough hands clapping you on your back as you slowly drifted through the crowd.

“Lightning has struck!” A voice shouts from across the room, and Harry was quick to turn to you with gleaming eyes.

“They’re coming.” He utters with excitement, clearly overwhelmed that his plan had worked so far.

They were coming. The Order was coming—Regulus was coming.

War was no longer on the horizon, it was marching towards you in beacons of exhilarated shouts and determined eyes, and as you observed the blinding smiles from all around you, you knew you’d do whatever it took to protect your home.

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sapphos-ode · 9 months

Text

You Sweet Thing

Larissa Weems

Summary - In which Jericho High School has a new Principal that Larissa has taken a fancy to. [5.5k words]

I may write more for this if people like it x enjoy <3

Carlisle Monroe. A nasty piece of work, an older man, pushing his late sixties. He was balding on top, a circlet of wiry grey hair wrapped around his head, and in a vain attempt to hide this fact, longer strands had been combed over. But they were so sparse the reflection of his shiny head still shone through. He was a portly little man, short and stout, always wearing a cheap ill fitting suit, made of scratchy fabric that was bobbled. Always accompanied by a tie, tied sloppily - with some visually offensive pattern.

Larissa was never one to judge someone’s appearance, her issue with Carlisle Monroe was who he was as a person. As a human. However she did question if he was human or if he was the devil's spawn. The latter seemed more feasible. He was a greasy man, and despite her towering stature always talked down to her, as if her job as Nevermore’s Principal was simply her playing house. Any issues or proposals she brought forth at meetings were dismissed unless Mayor Walker (may he rest in peace) reiterated what she had said, and then he’d nod along and agree enthusiastically. All the while his eyes would be roaming free over her body. A sickly hunger and greed behind them. It wasn’t just Larissa, he regarded any woman like that.

His misogyny was one thing but his beliefs about outcasts took the cake. Although he did a fine job hiding it, he hated outcasts and although Larissa couldn’t prove it, he definitely partook in underground groups that wished to maintain the normie-outcast divide. It went against everything Larissa believed in and worked for, and with a man like Carlisle Monroe as the headteacher of the only other highschool in Jericho, it made it so much harder. The younger generations were crucial when it came to trying to instill changes. The inability to build a healthy rapport between the two schools and student bodies was a major setback. Larissa kept any direct correspondence with Monroe to an absolute minimum.

Outreach Day was fast approaching again, and given last year's less than desirable events, tensions were high. And Larissa’s schedule was chock full - not a single meeting could be rearranged to make time to meet Jericho High’s new Prinicpal.

She was surprised that a new headteacher had been appointed, as far as she knew, Monroe had an ironclad grip over the school - money did wonders to keep his controversial opinions under the table. However it seemed it was a sudden and unexpected vacancy - the position was filled internally. It was all very hushed and rushed. But it must not have affected the school as all arrangements on their half for Outreach Day had found their way to the new Mayor, Finch Sawyer, in a timely fashion. It had taken Jericho a short while to reinstate a new Mayor after the untimely death of Nobel Walker. The man was kind and fair but overall he was quite the plain Jane. Not really memorable.

Last year’s Outreach Day you had been out of town on bereavement leave, so you only found out about the arson and melted statue of Crackstone from colleagues after you had returned. You were also aware of the incident with a former student of Jericho High and Nevermore Academy that had seen the death of many - everyone was, the press had had a field day and it was the talk of the town. You could understand how prejudices spiked after the whole fiasco but you had always been quick to point out that it was an ex-pupil of Jericho High and a normie who had been behind it all, and that the Nevermore bunch had been the ones to bring an end to it. You were never one for gossip so you had only ever bothered reading the bare facts about it. It was important to know what was happening in the world around you.

You had only taken on the position of Principal for just over a week but prior to that you had been the Vice Principal so not much changed for you. If anything it was a natural stepping stone - and you were glad to take it. Working with - no, rather working under Monroe was tedious and infuriating. The man made your blood boil and numerous times he had you seriously considering quitting. Garnering respect from the student body and teachers was a walk in the park - you had been teaching at Jericho High for eight years as an art teacher, your ninth year teaching you were promoted to faculty head, and the previous year you had taken the deputy position. And now you sat at the top. Or as close to it, the School Board were the faceless higher beings.

There were many changes you were making to the school, banishing the last traces of Monroe from the school. He had done an alright job running the joint, but he was old fashioned. And arrogant. Times were changing and you were the breath of fresh air Jericho High needed.

Currently you were observing the band’s last rehearsal for the unveiling of a new statue that would replace Crackstone’s. One would have thought the melted bronze would have been taken down swiftly after the whole Nevermore incident but it still remained, covered in tarpaulin. Until the new one started its construction.

The band instructor, Mrs. Huxley, approached you once they had finished, students scrambling to disassemble instruments and pack them away.

“They’ve worked hard on it,” she said with pride as she stopped beside you.

“They have yes,” you chew on your thumbnail, “do you think it’ll go okay tomorrow?”

“Can’t be any worse than last year,”

You let out a wry chuckle, “fair point,” the pair of you watch as the ensemble slowly filter out the assembly hall, “right, I have some emails I need to reply to, enjoy your evening.” With that you excuse yourself and head up to your office.

It was a modern room with the walls painted white, it was spacious, a sleek desk with three chairs facing it. In the corner sat a small couch with a coffee table, a fake plant in the centre. Multiple filing cabinets dotted the walls and you had taken down Monroe’s obnoxious paintings. He hadn’t much time to empty the space and the wall decor was the least of his worries. You had shoved them all in an unused janitor’s cupboard in a forgotten corner of the building. You kept meaning to take them home for firewood but had never got round to doing so.

You turn on your laptop and prepare to handle the small mountain of emails you had to deal with. The one that caught your interest was from Mayor Sawyer, he wanted you to give a small speech before the new statue was unveiled. Something about new beginnings and he seemed to think your new promotion made you the right fit for it. Little short notice is it not? you think to yourself. Just when you thought you were finally done for the day, you had a silly speech to chuck together.

You don’t return to your flat until late evening, your ball of black fur of a cat, Richard, meows at you, demanding to be fed as if he didn’t have a full bowl of dry food available at all times. You slap a pouch of wet food into his bowl before rummaging around your cupboard and fridge for any ingredients you could throw together to make a meal out of. You manage to come up with noodles, soy sauce, and some bacon. A very odd mix but it’s food nonetheless. Your evening is spent watching rubbish on tv with Richard curled on your lap.

“Miss. Addams,” Larissa’s tone is light but there’s an icy edge behind it.

The young girl stops mid step and looks over her shoulder at the Principal, eyes unblinking as she stands with perfect posture, students passing by them either side to get to the courtyard.

“You would be wise to behave today, pull any stunt like last year and there will be dire consequences,” the threat was evident in Larissa’s voice despite the sickly sweet smile she offered.

Wednesday glares at the woman before brushing past her, following the rest of her peers. With a frustrated sigh Larissa follows, heading to the humble wooden podium set up. Just like the years past, she addresses her school and wishes them a good Outreach Day before giving the go ahead for the duties to be divied out. Last year they were all random, this year Larissa took it upon herself to assign certain duties to certain students.

Larissa wanted something that would keep Wednesday busy, and Uriah’s dump- sorry, Uriah’s Heap was a suiting job. It was creepy and absurd, surely it would appeal to Wednesday. Plus, not many people willingly entered the shop so her chances of upsetting a member of the public were slim. She had also made sure that swapping jobs was not allowed, an oversight she had made last year.

You stand in the town square, watching as people set up the bleachers and the podium, the new statue sat behind it, completed and covered. You had heard it had taken a more artistic approach, and Sawyer wished to keep it a surprise until the very last moment.

Your students run across the town to their jobs, and those in the band are busy setting their music stands in the little pagoda before they too head off to their assigned duty. It’s a nice day for Autumn, not too cold but chilly enough for a cosy jacket. In your hands you toy with a piece of paper, your speech written on it. You had done your best to memorise it but you still worried you’d forget it. So better safe than sorry.

It seems the Nevermore lot turned up later than yours, partly due to the Academy being a good twenty or so minute drive away. Slowly the streets begin to fill with the distinctive purple striped uniform. You head off to the Weathervane, giving a warm smile to the outcast kids as you walk past them. You have some time to kill before you have to meet with the Mayor.

Inside the cafe is moderately busy, two Nevermore students and two of your own are behind the counter with one of the employees. Since your school didn’t have a uniform like the Academy, all pupils wore a lanyard with a card at the bottom bearing the school’s emblem. To help identify them from the general public.

The small queue moves quickly and soon enough you’re at the front, placing your order for a plain old hot chocolate with a Nevermore student, her name tag read ‘Enid’. She was exceptionally chatty, asking you if you were going to attend the unveiling later on, and then without waiting for your answer started to tell you about how she was in the dance ensemble. You humour her with a fond smile, showing genuine interest.

“Your drink will be ready at the end of the counter! Thank you!”

You faintly hear her yell out for the next customer as you walk to the other side to the hand-off. Occupying yourself on your phone, going through new emails. It was a never ending cycle of correspondence. It got tiring but it was a quintessential part of the job.

A few moments later the actual employee calls out for a hot chocolate hesitantly, turning the paper cup in his hand looking for a name but finding none. He just sets it down on the counter and heads back to the espresso machine.

You reach a hand out but another one goes for it at the same time. Your head snaps round to the person next to you only to see their shoulder. Casting your gaze up you meet the surprised expression of a woman you can only describe as angelic. Bold red lips contrasting with the soft puce shades of her eyeshadow. Gentle eyes of blue crowned with dark lashes meet your own and you just look at her with your lips parted. Your own eyes wide. Drinking this tall woman in all her beauty.

“Oh god, I’m sorry! Is this yours?” Your words come out jumbled and rushed, “I ordered the same, I thought it was mine, sorry!” You pull your hand back to your body and fight the blush that wants to paint your cheeks.

“Uh… another hot chocolate? For… someone?” One of your students calls out weakly, drawing your attention, “I think it’s your one Miss,”

“Ah, thank you Oscar.” You take the cup and look back at the stranger, “Sorry again,” you apologise sheepishly.

This roused a deep chuckle from her and you quickly come to adore the sound.

“You’re quite alright,” Her English accent takes you off guard, “It seems the kids haven’t quite got the ropes in here,”

You hum in agreement, “Indeed so,” you mumble almost inaudibly, “you have good taste,” you add hastily.

“As do you,” the woman regards you with a warm smile, her eyes raking over your form. She opens her mouth to say something else but a movement from outside the window catches her eye.

You follow her gaze to see a young girl, wearing Nevermore’s uniform but in grey, slip out of Uriah’s Heap and look both ways in a shady manner.

“I need to go suddenly,” her voice tinged with ire, she looks down at you, not in a condescending way but because she quite literally towers over you, “I do hope to see that pretty little face of yours again, darling,” something about her intonation at the pet name stokes a fire within you. Her hand goes to hold your face, her thumb stroking your cheek.

Before you can even think to lean into her touch she’s taken her leave, and you stand there, face scarlet, watching her until she’s disappeared out of sight. You’re very much convinced you had seen an apparition because there’s no way such a divine heavenly being like that woman is in a backwater town like Jericho.

You eventually come back to earth and busy yourself in a booth, pouring over your little speech again. But the way that enchanting stranger called you darling keeps echoing in your head. You regret being too stunned to ask her name or get her number.

It’s no question that Larissa is well known in Jericho, running the only outcast exclusive school of the county meant she had to play politician with the Mayor and other figureheads in Jericho. As was the nature of her job. You knew of her, but surprisingly had never seen her in the flesh. Your years as just a teacher meant attending Outreach Day was optional, and you had been out of state for last year's one when you were Vice Principal, otherwise your presence would have been required.

You’re not sure what you were expecting but watching a woman with the beauty of an old Hollywood star approaching you and Mayor Sawyer was not what you had in mind. She was tall and carried herself with a confidence that had you blushing and unable to take your eyes off of her. The sway to her hips was hypnotic and as she got closer you realised it was the woman from the Weathervane.

“Mayor Sawyer, hello,” she holds her hand out to the man for a quick handshake before turning to you, “I don’t believe we’ve met. Properly, darling.”

“No… no we haven’t, Atikah Karnstein,” you can’t help to look up at her with the same expression from earlier in the coffee shop. She offers her hand to you and just like the Mayor, you shook it, noting how it engulfed yours and how slender it was. You find it doesn’t feel right, you’d much rather kiss the back of it with reverence. But you control yourself and keep it professional. So this is Larissa Weems you think to yourself.

You hold her hand a second too long, you clear your throat and go to remove it but hers tightens imperceptibly, so you decide to not to pull away from her touch, “I’m the new head for Jericho High,”

“I’ve heard,” she gives you a charming smile and god forbid she winks. You feel your throat dry and your heart picks up the tempo.

“All good things I hope,”

This elicited a delightful sounding chuckle from her. The way her eyes squint and lips stretch into a grin has butterflies exploding in your stomach.

The Mayor looked between you, unsure if he should disrupt this moment you seemed to be having. Ultimately he decides to, “Well, with the introductions aside, we’re almost out of time. I need to go check the statues all ready, I’ll see you ladies at the podium in five,” he then takes his leave.

You ruefully tear your gaze away from the blonde beauty and nod in acknowledgement, “Yeah, I should check my lot are ready too,” you look at Larissa and give her a painfully awkward nod. She gives your hand a squeeze before relinquishing it. Wordlessly giving you permission to leave.

The blonde watches you with amusement as you spin on the spot and hurry away.

You sidle up next to Mrs. Huxley and another music teacher, Ms. Boyd. The three of you stand on the grass in front of the bandstand as the students go about fine tuning their instruments and adjusting their music stands.

“They clean up nicely,” you comment. Red had always been your favourite colour, and it just so happened to be the colour of the band uniform. Pride blooms in your chest.

“They do,” Ms. Boyd agreed with you.

“Are they nervous or are they feeling okay for this?”

“They’re doing just fine, aren’t you?” Mrs. Huxley answers this time, calling out the last part of her sentence, receiving a chorus of ‘yes’ and other equivalents. They sound enthusiastic. That was a good sign. “See? Don’t worry so much,” the older woman places a hand on your tense shoulder. You relax them and take a deep breath.

“Good… good, just I heard of last year’s Outreach Day… I want this to go well,” you start to pick at your cuticles, a nervous habit, “it’s my first one as Principal, it won’t bode well if it goes tits up,”

Both women laugh. And you slowly join in with a softer, more reserved one of your own. Mrs. Huxley was an exceptionally short woman, only reaching your chin, with gray hair that sat in tight ringlets close to her head. She was like the school’s doting grandmother, with wire framed reading glasses hanging around her neck on a dainty chain. Always sporting floral patterned dresses with cable knit cardigans, a string of pearls always adorned her neck. Whenever she saw you she gave you hard boiled sweets unprompted. And always made sure you had eaten something at lunch. She had aged gracefully, kindness and empathy behind every single wrinkle on her face.

For the next five minutes you watch Ms. Boyd and Mrs. Huxley coach the ensemble through small sections of the performance to warm them up. And then, all too soon it’s time to take your place and start the ceremony.

Yourself and Larissa stand on either side of Mayor Sawyer as he addresses the crowd, saying something along the lines of new beginnings and how he’s honoured to be serving the townspeople. You zone out, on autopilot as you keep a relaxed smile on your face, and your posture straight. Mentally reciting your speech in your head. In your hand you have your paper just in case.

Sawyer ends his talk and you take the cue to turn around and watch as the ties are cut and the tarpaulin flutters to the ground as the crowd applauds it, you clap along too. As the material peels away your face turns from the polite smile to a pained grimace. The statue, cast in bronze, was some abstract design, of clashing shapes and textures, not forming a single recognisable thing. The longer you looked at it the worse it got.

The corner of your mouth pulls up in disgust, almost sneering at it, you're glad your back is turned to the cameras. That’s what you have to give an uplifting speech about? You could kill Sawyer, he had talked about how great the statue was and was insistent on keeping it a secret, wanting it to be a grand surprise. As an artist at heart, you respected the abstract but it was something you could never fully understand or appreciate.

From the corner of her eye Larissa watches your expression and stifles her laugh.

With a shuddering breath you turn around at the same time as Larissa and Sawyer, camera shutters go off and you all pause to smile briefly. You then switch places with the Mayor, on the podium you’re the same height as Larissa. And you’re hyper aware of her presence right next to you.

You wait a beat for the crowd to settle down again, not flinching at the bright flashes from the photographers.

“This statue stands as a symbol of hope and new beginnings, to commemorate the turn of a new leaf for Jericho and the relation between outcasts and normies.” You count slowly up to two in your head, “Whilst history should be remembered, so the mistakes of our ancestors are not repeated, we should not dwell in the past.” Another count to two, “Here’s to bridging the gap and coexisting harmoniously!”

Another outburst of applause is heard from the crowd followed by your band ensemble’s performance of Queen’s ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’. Whilst the focus is on them, you go to return to your original spot but an arm has snaked around your waist. You peer over at Larissa who gazes at you expectantly. You hop off the podium so you stand next to her, and once your feet are back on the grass she pulls you flush to her side. She gives you a conspiratory smile before watching the brass band. Not taking her hand off of your waist. You do your best to keep your composure

Meanwhile Sawyer just watched from his peripheral. Slightly perplexed and bemused.

You take a moment to covertly unfold the paper you had pressed into your palm and skim over your lanky loopy handwriting. Your speech went fine but there were a few things you’d forgot. Nothing major, but as a perfectionist you’re a little irked by yourself. Usually your memory was better than that.

Of course Larissa had been watching you, she leaned in just a touch and murmured to you softly, “You did a wonderful job darling, I’m impressed.”

Such praise from anyone else would have pissed you off, but it wasn’t from anyone, it was from Larissa and because it was from her it sent a warm spike through your body, and there was no hope in suppressing the red that tinged your face and the tips of your ears. A little detail Larissa took delight in.

You manage to whisper a strangled “thank you,” keeping your eyes trained on a spot faraway in the distance. you’re certain you’d have fainted if you looked at her.

The song finishes as the band holds the last note, letting it end in diminuendo. Leaving a silence that is shattered by cheers and more applause. Woefully Larissa removes her hand from your waist to join in.

“They play well,” she comments.

“Thank you, they’ve been working tirelessly as of late. I’m proud of them,” you speak warmly. After a beat you speak up again “A blonde, very bubbly, student of yours mentioned a dance performance. I’m looking forward to that,”

“I hope we meet your expectations then,”

“You’ve already exceeded them,” you add a playful hint to your voice. Giving her a smirk and you swear you see the faintest pink hue spread across her face.

You don’t listen to the Mayor's next speech. As important as Outreach day was, the presentation was the least important part to you, it was all to show face. The important part was the Jericho High and Nevermore students working together throughout the town. It meant they had to get along and build a rapport in order to successfully carry out the jobs assigned to them. That’s where progress was made in furthering a positive relation between outcasts and normies.

Soon enough a group of Nevermore kids clad in the school’s signature deep purple took to the space between the bleachers and podium. A speaker system came to life and an upbeat tune started to play. Enid, the girl from the cafe, caught your eye and gave you a bright smile, to which you returned with an encouraging wave. Larissa observed the quick interaction and it made her chest bubble with fondness.

The dance routine was captivating and you were so invested in it you didn’t notice Larissa’s hand find its way back onto your waist. You’re also unaware of your own hand coming to rest atop it, idly stroking your thumb over it.

The rest of the unveiling goes smoothly much to everyone’s relief. Larissa mentally rejoiced that a certain student hadn’t blown up the statue, although it was so garish she doubted she’d mind if Wednesday pulled the same stunt again.

Students involved in the unveiling went back to their assigned jobs, your band was to return to Jericho High to change and enjoy the rest of the day. You had excused yourself from Larissa and the Mayor, leaving them to discuss something pertaining to the Academy, you saw it the perfect time to slip away. Otherwise you would have happily stuck by Larissa’s side.

“That was really good guys,” you raise your voice to be heard as you approach your students who were all busy packing up. You scan the group and catch a glimpse of Ms. Boyd’s red shock of hair, carefully you weave through the students avoiding getting clocked in the face by tubas and trumpets alike.

“Hey, get yourselves some pizza when they get back to the school. Here’s my card, you can just leave it in my office. I need to swing by later today,” you pull your purse from your pocket and fish out your bank card. Taking the older woman’s hand and pressing it to her palm despite her protests.

“If I don’t see a charge for pizza on my statement I’ll give you hell,” you joke with a breathy laugh, and the redhead finally accepts the card.

“You’re too kind Atikah,”

“They deserve it, and so do the pair of you,” you say as Mrs. Huxley ambles towards you.

“You’re a good egg poppet.” With that old woman shoves a handful of hard boiled sweets into your pocket and does the same for Ms. Boyd.

You just shake your head at her antics but thank her nonetheless.

You had busied yourself the rest of the afternoon with strolling aimlessly through the town, picking up conversation with students from both schools. Just checking in on them and seeing how they were doing. The consensus was overall positive, and you were happy to see outcasts and normies getting along with little to no issues. Of course that’s not to say there weren’t issues but they seemed to be self contained and both parties kept it civil.

You had grown up in a large city where outcasts and normies lived together much better than they did in a small town like Jericho. Finding out if someone you knew was an outcast wasn’t much different from learning their star sign or their birthday. It was just a fact about them that existed and didn’t define them as a person.

When you first moved you were surprised at how different the dynamic was, and since then you made the effort to improve the relationship. And it had changed for the better in the last decade however there was always progress to be made.

At one point a news crew had ambushed you as you snacked on a sweet pastry from a small food van. You politely declined their impromptu request for an interview about your new position, and told them to email you to arrange it for a later date.

The day drove on until early evening, where you found yourself back at the town square facing the statue. You couldn’t help but stare at it, akin to the twisted curiosity that overcomes someone when they drive past a grisly car accident.

An unpleasant shiver overtakes you and you decide your eyes deserve to lay upon a more appealing statue. You look around the area at the people milling about, trying to appear nonchalant as you seek out a certain Principal. God forbid you look too enthusiastic in your search for her.

As if just the mere thought of her manifests her, a pair of large hands land on your waist from behind. You jump at the suddenness of it but as you look up you find yourself meeting baby blue eyes.

“Looking for someone?” Her voice carries an amused lilt.

“As a matter of fact I am,” you twist in her grasp so you face her, standing dizzyingly close, “you don’t happen to have seen a tall, strikingly gorgeous, and very forward Headmistress around, have you?” You bring a hand to rest on her bicep, absentmindedly running your hand up and down it.

“I don’t believe I have,” Larissa’s voice drops to a lower register as she purrs her words, “but if I do I’ll be sure to let her know that the local high school’s attractive and sweet little Principal is looking for her,”

“You would? You’re a doll,” you sport a lopsided grin. Enjoying her voice.

“Only for you darling,” she coos.

You exhale sharply from your nose whilst averting your gaze. A rich red blush covering your face. Larissa watches you with rapt attention, you were so fun to toy with.

She leans down, her lips ghosting the shell of your ear “A little birdie told me that this headmistress of yours was wondering if you would be interested in dinner with her later today,”

Larissa relishes how your breath hitches in your throat and your back arches just a touch. She lets her hands slide down to your hips so she can pull you closer.

“Hmm,” you look up and to the side, feigning being deep in thought.

Whilst humming and awing you pull one of the sweets from your pocket and make a show of opening one end of the wrapper with your teeth. Curling your tongue around the bonbon to scoop it into your mouth. Fully aware Larissa’s entire attention was on your lips. A cardinal hunger built in her eyes. You suck on it slowly before nodding.

“I’d love to,”

“I knew you would,” her eyes are still on your lips.

“Would you like one?”

Her gaze is back on your eyes, and she gives you a look. Her eyes squinting a little as she tries to figure out where you’re heading with this.

“If it’s as sweet as you, then please,”

You give her a devilish smile before parting your lips and rolling the sweet onto the tip of your tongue, holding it out a little. Covered in your saliva it glistens in the light. You jut your chin out, silently daring her to take it from you.

Teasingly slowly, Larissa closes the gap. Letting her parted lips press against yours before sliding her tongue along your own, earning her a soft moan. She takes her time exploring your mouth before pulling the sweet into her own. The whole time she maintains eye contact with you.

She pulls away, instantly missing the feeling of your lips on hers. A string of saliva connects them before it breaks. She keeps her mouth open as she works her tongue around the sweet. Your eyes follow its every move.

“Delicious,” she whispers, bringing her thumb up to wipe your lower lip.

“My mouth or the sweet?”

Her eyes darken, “your mouth.”

You giggle at her. Loving every second of the exchange. This woman was addictive.

“I’m afraid I have a few things I need to see to before I can wine and dine you, your phone. Please,”

Larissa silently pulls her phone out of her pocket and hands it to you unlocked. Watching intently as you create a new contact and enter in your details. You lock her phone before passing it back to her, purposefully brush your hand against hers.

“Call me,” you give her a peck on the lips before turning heel and heading away into the town proper.

The tall blonde watches your retreating figure before looking back at her phone. You hadn’t put your name, instead you’d typed ‘Darling’ and put a little heart beside it.

AN - I do apologise for reader suddenly going from a flustered mess at Larissa’s flirting to growing a massive pair of balls at the end. Anyways I hope you liked it x

Also pls lmk if you prefer the double spacing between paras or the single space (all my other works are single spaced)

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader

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lychello · 2 months

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Hi, I hope you're having a good day!

Would you write a fluff fic with Dean needing comfort from his bf after a bad hunt? Dean just being clingy and wanting affection and love.

the confinement of a hunter | d. winchester

pairing : dean winchester x hunter male reader

wc : roughly 900

a/n : hii anon thank you :3 i am having a great day so far i'm just trying to force myself out of writers block LMFAOOOO you're a great deal of help in that aspect

content warnings : fluff/angst, comfort, mentions of death and blacking out

The door to the bunker opens with a heavy noise that reverberates off the concrete surroundings, breaking the silence of the cavern. Dean walks in—and Sam and Cas aren't with him.

You glance your head up, but only for a brief second, not enough to look at him; you knew who it was by his footsteps anyway. "Oh, Dean, I bought you some stout, it's on the table. I noticed we were out again, have you been—" Your voice trails off when you glance back up, only this time your gaze lingers and you notice the heavy expression sink further from his face. "Dean, sweetheart, what's..."

He stumbles down the stairs, almost having to pull his own weight—if you didn't know any better you'd presume he was about to collapse. He sighs dismissively, "I don't know."

There's a short moment of silence before you speak up again. "Where's Cas, and Sam? I'd assume they were with you."

"They're out."

"...Where?"

"I don't know. They're out at a... reading convension or something stupid like Sam always suggests."

Dean's voice raises slightly but there's an unusually tired edge to it. You go to bring it up but you're cut off when he collapses in your arms, digging his head deep into your chest. The first sign was his offhand behaviour; the second, this; the third, and most important, was the fact that he ignored the alcohol sitting visibly on the table.

You adjust how you're sitting, letting him rest more comfortably on your lap. Your breathing is getting less steady as you process just how likely something is wrong. "...Talk about it with me. Please."

When you notice he isn't listening, or much rather he was, just ignoring you, you raise your palm to his chin, lifting it up to meet your eyes full of concern. "Dean, talk to me."

"..."

He turns in your arms. "I don't... I couldn't save her." He mumbles.

You stay silent. He forces himself to sound composed, but you know his emotional suppression is coming into play. He feels you sigh deeply and looks up from your chest, clinging his arms around your waist. "What?"

"You know that I love you, right?" You say with a tender tone to your voice. You drag your hands through his hair softly, every inch of your fingertips lightly brushing his natural curls.

"I know."

"And you know that you can tell me anything. Right?"

"...I know."

"Dean... please—what happened?"

There's a few more beats before he speaks up. "I can deal with vamps, you know? They're easy to take on, easy for me—but there was this one moment where I just... blacked out. I blacked out, and it killed her."

You make sure to keep your voice soft, "I take it they don't know? Sam and Castiel?"

Dean laughs under his breath but it's clear it's ingenuine. "I didn't want to tell them I was on the mission to begin with. Why in hell's name would I tell them I killed a girl?"

"You didn't kill her, sweetheart, and deep down you know that." Your voice aches with sturdiness but the gentle tone doesn't let down, "how is it that no matter how harsh the world burns you, you always find ways to blame yourself for it being on fire?"

You feel his breath slow down quite a bit at your words, a heavy contrast to a few seconds ago where it was quick and unsteady. Dean's face falls back into your chest, nudging his head more into your freshly-washed shirt. He speaks again but his voice cracks, "I've lost so many people. Imagine how her family feels, her mother, her sister... she was innocent. That was an innocent girl."

"Time will forgive you, he knows you can't save everyone."

You run your fingertips down his left cheek, palming at his face. "You always wind up in these situations, don't you, Deano...?" You whisper lovingly, still stroking through his hair with your other hand. "Don't you worry, though... I'll be here for you. You know that, don't you? I'm here."

The bunker is empty and free of noise except for the static of voices on the TV. No matter how much you seem to focus on the show, your eyes are always drawn back to the man in front of you.

"You're beautiful."

Dean laughs into your clothing before grinning up at you. "Can't get enough of this face, huh?"

You laugh with him under your breath before dragging his face forward with one palm and kissing him gently. "Don't think I could ever get enough."

The man below melts into your kiss, clinging at your sleeves, kissing back just as tenderly, just as full as hope as the last.

You chuckle as you pull away and go to move so you can get up. "Do ya want a beer—huh?" You feel your eyebrows furrow as Dean clings to your waist despite stuck in an uncomfortable position.

His voice is mixed between fatigue and longing, "Don't get up. Not yet—just... stay here."

Your eyes widen as you burst out into a mocking grin, "No beer for the Dean Winchester? Holy shit, I must be dreaming."

Dean shoots you a glare, but you don't move. You stay put—and this clingness may not wear off any time soon, or, at least until the others get back.

#dean winchester #supernatural #male reader #x male reader #fluff #hurt/comfort #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #fluff and angst #spn #spn x reader

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ambassadorarlert · 2 years

Text

HEAT WAVES... (Armin x afab!reader)

0.1 BEHIND THE CURTAIN ( main menu | spotify ) 18+ MDNI NSFW ↳ summary: this is what happened when Armin lifted the curtain... ↳ warnings: explicit sexual content, alcohol consumption, swearing, semi-public sex ↳ genre: smut (NSFW 18+ MDNI), comedy ↳ word count: 7k (lmfao)

This was an extremely unwise idea. You all were supposed to be on a mission, going undercover and disguised as Marleyean civilians. The plan had already gone askew when Eren had wandered off. Just your guys' luck, he had wound up in a refugee camp, survivors of war in other countries Marley had "conquered". Everyone was scrambling around trying to find this fool, and here he was drinking and having the time of his life as if he didn't have a giant bullseye on his back.

Once Mikasa had tracked down Eren like a lovesick bloodhound, the idea was to drag his ass back to HQ. From there, Captain Levi and Commander Hange could chew him out for separating himself from the group again. However, a short and stout older gentleman approached with a charcuterie board and a humble smile. He spoke in a dialect no one understood or recognized, but it was clear that he was inviting you all to join him and his family for drinks and snacks. It was hard to say no to a sweet old man like that.

Fuck it. What's one drink going to do?

One drink turned into consuming an entire bottle of wine. After the first bottle, all of the refugees began to reveal their backstories, speaking the common language as best as they could. They told you their stories about how their homes were destroyed, how they were taken as war prisoners, how some of their families didn't make the journey to Marley or died in the camps due to lack of nutrition or infection. Their stories weren't too far different from the rest of yours, and it definitely pulled at some heartstrings.

On bottle two, you really began to feel the music. You had never seen some of these instruments before. They were funky looking. Some had many strings while others had buttons. You were quite intrigued with a curved gadget that was made of brass and had keys all over it. The man operating called it a saxophone, and offered to let you play a note which you eagerly accepted. Everyone watched as you purse your lips the way he told you to. He held down the keys for you as you gave the saxophone a little toot, which everyone got a kick out of.

Armin had just finished taking the last swig of his second bottle of wine. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the cuff of his suit and sat his now empty bottle on the plush blanket under him. He sat in between Mikasa and an older woman who would not stop pinching his cheek and saying, "Eres tan lindo! El es tan lindo!"

He had a hard time keeping up with the conversations around him. His body felt like he had no bones, a warm tingling feeling radiating through his muscles and joints. His eyes couldn’t focus on anyone else but one person from across the tent, the others in the background were just that -- A background.

You were sitting in a circle with Sasha, Connie, and a few other people. Smiling, laughing, and nodding amongst yourselves. Armin bore witness to Sasha pulling you to your feet to dance. You both held up your skirts so as to not trip and make bigger fools of yourselves, and twirled around each other. Sasha clumsily knocked into you. Before you could fall, you caught yourself and Sasha by her elbows, making you both laugh harder. This behavior wasn't too far off from how you and Sasha interact with each other on a regular day. However, there was a different kind of sway to your hips and curve in your smile. You were genuinely enjoying yourself. Armin hadn't seen you be this relaxed and carefree in a few days. There was an unusual glow in your skin that Armin felt like only he could have noticed.

So pretty, was his simple thought.

Armin broke his concentration on you to take a look around him. Jean was knocking elbows with a few ladies, as well was Connie. Eren was gathered with a group of older gentlemen and was suddenly taken off guard by a small boy playfully jumping on his back. Mikasa was peacefully swaying to the live music. Seeing his friends be intoxicated and unbothered by the grueling reality they all face every day, made Armin extremely happy. On a normal day, everyone tried to find happiness in the simplest places. Since they were in a new country with possible new beginnings, he took another bottle of wine and popped the cork in hopes of starting a new way of life, a way where they could be like this all of the time. Mikasa held her cup out, giving it a little shake. Armin poured a decent amount of wine into her canned good cup.

Underneath the music, the dancing, the food and drinks, and the laughter, you couldn't shake the underlying intuition that all of this was wrong. Everyone should be back at HQ by now, in bed, ready to face the next day. Captain Levi gave direct orders to find Eren and come back, and you all had clearly not followed those orders. What if he and Hange came looking for you all? What would they say? All of your tell-signs of a panic attack were starting to come on; stomach cramps, tunnel vision, increased heart rate.

You didn't want to ruin the good time, so you slipped into the background to find somewhere to recollect yourself.

Armin had only looked away for one second, and you were gone. Vanished into thin air. His drunken eyes scanned his environment for a glimpse of you. He caught you dipping underneath a curtain far away from everyone else, a concerning look on your face.

"I'll be right back." Armin said to Mikasa. “HUH!?” Mikasa cupped her ear. Armin had to repeat himself, as Mikasa was too inebriated to understand Armin's words the first or second time. He excused himself, standing up and teetering on his feet like a toddler just learning to walk. Armin took a few careful steps, cautious not to step on anyone's hands and fingers. Suddenly, a heavy hand clapped onto his shoulder, which almost brought him to the ground. Jean was grinning ear to ear.

"Haven't seen you all night, Armin! Where are you going?" Jean asked.

He wrapped his arm around Armin's neck, both of their cheeks touching. Jean and Armin were close, but not touchy-feely close. Jean liked his personal space.

"Well, I saw Y/N leave, and they looked upset, so I thought I'd ask if they were alright." Armin explained. Jean immediately showed concern.

"Leave? Which way did they go?" He pressed. Jean looked out of the small exit of the tent, peeking to see if maybe you had just stepped outside for fresh air. Armin shook his head.

"They went back there." Armin pointed at the curtain that hung towards the back. Jean gave a short laugh.

"Nice. Good for them!" He cheered. Armin scoffed.

"No, they were alone. I'm going to go see if everything is okay." Armin explained, again. Jeans demeanor changed. He gave Armin a sinister smile.

"Oh," Jean sang. "Good for you then!" Jean's grip on Armin's neck tightened as Armin tried to wiggle free. He knew what Jean was insinuating.

Jean was an avid believer that what Armin really needed was a woman. Or man. Or whoever he was into. They didn't really talk about their romantic preferences, but Jean's advice stated that the reason why Armin was so wound up with stress all the time was because Armin "doesn't get his dick wet enough,” in Jean’s exact words. This seemed like the route Jean was about to go down.

"Don't be disgusting." Is what Armin meant to say. Before he could complete his sentence, Jean held onto Armin tightly and put a bottle to his lips. The liquid raced to the neck of the bottle, and down Armin's throat.

"You're gonna need a bit more of this then!" Jean laughed.

Armin chugged about a quarter of a bottle before he managed to pull away with a heavy breath. His throat burned from the alcohol. With such rapid consumption, Armin's head began to swirl. Jean grabbed Armin by his shoulder and brought him closer. Incredibly close.

"Seriously though, you know where to put-." Jean mumbled under his breath, trying his best to look Armin in the eye, but he was sure Jean was starting to see double.

"Okay, Jean, thank you! Thanks so much! You're the best!" Armin played into Jean's bit, grinning and sarcastically praising him. Jean was so sloshed, it was easy for Armin to manhandle him away with a turn and a push.

Armin readjusted himself the best he could. He slapped his cheeks enough to leave a light sting, an attempt to sober up and bring some of his senses together. He gently pushed the tapestry back and peeked under. You were just sitting on the floor, apparently not doing anything. There was a small table off to the side with a lantern dimly lit, and a few pillows and blankets thrown about.

"Hello." You grinned up at Armin. He smiled back, looking around the hidden corner you had occupied.

"Hi. You're... back here by yourself?" He asked, authentically confused.

You shrugged at Armin's question, not wanting to tell the truth.

"Well, can I sit with you?" He wanted to know.

Slowly, you turned around to your left and then to your right, looking for other people around you. Though you knew you were alone, you still searched for the other person Armin could be talking to. He huffed a laugh through his nose.

"Who, me!?" You gasped.

"Yes you!" Armin agreed. He let the tapestry fall closed behind him as he took a seat on the ground next to you.

The texture of the floor was different. He could feel little pricks of hay peeking through the blankets and linen on top. The ground was significantly warmer, which brought a comfortable sigh from Armin's lungs. He crossed his legs and rested back on his hands.

"Are you okay?" Armin quizzed.

"Yeah, I'm alright. There's a lot going on out there..." You lightly explained. Armin understood, introvert to introvert.

"Yeah. It is a bit... overwhelming. Am I bothering you? I can leave if you want to be alone!" Armin declared. He was already getting up. However, you stopped him.

"No, please! I don't mind your company." You insisted. Armin slowly sat back down.

You couldn't put a finger to it, but there was something about Armin that you liked more than the other guys. Perhaps it was the way he listened, how he was always polite, and always had something genuinely interesting to say. He had a lot of knowledge, everyone knew Armin was extraordinarily smart. You appreciated that he was intellectual.

Whenever you and Sasha had your one-on-one pow-wows about boys, not once did you fail to bring up Armin. You gave him credit where it was due. He was cute. Whenever you threw a ball in Armin's court, whether it be about his looks or personality, Sasha poked and teased about you having a little crush on him -- Which you did not outwardly deny.

You felt those emotions spark back up at the site of Armin in front of you. It was clear that Armin had been enjoying himself. Earlier this morning his hair was neatly combed back. Now his significantly shorter blond locks were fluffed back to his natural hair pattern. At some point in the night, he had loosened his tie and his brown hat that matched his suit was long gone.

Armin realized he had a bottle of wine in his hands. He stared at it for a moment, as if he didn’t understand where it had come from. He shrugged to himself and took a very small sip, pacing himself since he was already quite tipsy. He offered you the bottle and you accepted.

"I see you're having fun." You poked, handing the bottle back to Armin after taking a sip.

"Honestly, I don't think anyone has had this much fun since we went to the beach. That was quite a while ago..." Armin registered.

"Yeah, that was a while ago. We should do that again!" You agreed.

You remembered how refreshing it was to wade in the water up to your ankles, picking up sand by the handful and letting it fall between your fingers, finding cool rocks and shells. A beat of silence passed. There was a quiet acknowledgement that that was a time where ignorance was truly bliss, before you all actually grasped the reality that life existed beyond the walls. Armin took a swig from the bottle.

"Look how far we've come though." He commented. He flashed a quirky smile as he handed you the bottle next.

"Cheers!" You grinned.

You shared the single bottle until it ran empty. Armin excused himself once to retrieve another. You wondered where all the refugees had access to all this alcohol, but didn't question it too much, as everyone was having fun. When he returned, Armin had two bottles and handed you one. You thanked him, popped the cork, and began to drink.

The topic of conversation was all over the place, neither of you being able to pinpoint a single subject to focus on. Armin began to chuckle, which then turned into uncontrollable laughing. He let his hysterics take over his body, letting himself roll onto his back and giggling up at the fabric ceiling. You couldn't help but to snicker along with him as well, though you had no idea what for.

He was practically split in two with the giggles. For the first time in what might as well be forever, he looked so wild and bright. You wanted to guard and protect that handful of happiness he had.

"Why are you sitting so far away?" Armin asked between chuckles.

"You were sitting right here, and then you rolled over there." You told him.

"Then I'll roll back." He put it simply. Armin rolled back the way he came, knocking into your side in the process.

When Armin sat up, you were both shoulder to shoulder, but facing the opposite direction. Armin was not sitting this close before. There was a split second moment where you were directly in each other's faces. He couldn't ignore how being close to you made him feel on the inside. The alcohol subsided the emotional acknowledgement of anxiety, but amplified the throbbing feeling in his throat. He looked away, clearing his throat softly.

Maybe Jean was on to something. Maybe Jean had actually granted Armin luck. His chest swelled with confidence, determined to lay his feelings out on the line. Logically, this would be the best time to do it. You were both in a different country, the possibility of starting fresh with the world was a brand new idea planted in everyone's mind. It gave Armin a glimmer of hope; Hope for something better. Hope that he wanted to share with you.

On top of that, the atmosphere was textbook romantic. You were both alone in a secluded area, warm blankets and soft pillows tossed about, dim lighting, you were both cradling bottles of alcohol. Armin felt like he could take on anything. All of his anxiety, insecurities, and self doubt have flown the coop, drowned out by wine.

"What's so funny?" Armin questioned. He noticed that you were still giggling.

"You." You responded. The wine was starting to affect you too after taking a break. Armin's giggle bug had transferred and bit onto you.

"Me!?" He gasped, mocking you from earlier in the night.

"Yes, you. I think you're funny."

Armin blinked. This was something new he hadn't heard before. He had grown accustomed to people around him thinking and telling him that he's so smart, such a genius, would make such a good leader, blah blah blah. No one has ever told him that he's funny, that was more of Connie's forte. Connie was the one who made people laugh in the face of darkness, who said and did things purely for shock value. A meek smile crept on Armin's lips.

"You think I'm funny?" Armin just wanted to make sure he was hearing things correctly. Perhaps the wine impaired his hearing.

"Yeah, you're funny. You make me laugh." You reassured. You took a few gulps of wine.

"I try sometimes. I, uh, I like hearing your laugh." Armin said, being completely honest. You sensed his sincerity.

Rip your hair out, the intrusive thought crossed your mind. You shook it out quickly. Armin was so cute, sometimes it did make you want to pull your hair right out of the root. You smiled, looking elsewhere for a second to contain your emotions.

"I like hearing you laugh too. It makes me happy." You decided to be truthful as well.

You'd never be outspoken enough to tell Armin that on a normal, sober day. The wine had a slick coat on your brain, seeping into the part of your mind that allowed you to be upfront and honest. A single brick was lifted from the weight on your shoulders.

Armin's face fell slightly. He tilted his head to the side, a habit he had when he was feeling inquisitive. His lips formed into a concentrated line.

"What do you mean?" He wanted to know. Armin leaned in a fraction.

You looked at him. Armin sat with his legs folded, hands placed perfectly in his lap. His face was dusted pink, across his cheeks and even the tip of his nose was red. Although Armin was relaxed and comfortable, he still sat at full attention -- interested in what you had to say.

You gulped.

"I know it's not easy carrying the weight that you do. I see what it does to you. You're so lovely, thoughtful of everyone around you, and even people you don't know. I like seeing you laugh and smile, because it's what you deserve."

There was something different in the air that you couldn't put a name to, but you could definitely taste it. Armin's eyes were wide as you put a fraction of your feelings out on the table for him to read. They were glossed over, shining under the low light of the lantern in the corner. His facial expression was hard to read. You weren't sure if he appreciated your words, or if they were bouncing off of the walls he had put around him.

Armin's mind was buffering. No sweeter words have ever been said to him. This simultaneously surprised him, but also not at all. You were always softer towards him, he picked up on that easily. He was good at reading people, but you stumped him as to why you were so tender to him in particular. Armin did not know if it was out of pity, or if you genuinely liked him the way he was. He figured the first option, but he prayed for the other.

His throat began to swell again. There was a stinging feeling in the back of his skull. He fluttered his eyelids rapidly, trying not to let those tears that were threatening to fall win. What a way to ruin the mood by crying, He thought to himself. He physically felt like he might explode. Armin’s fingers were buzzed, as if he had been sitting on his hands and had lost all feeling.

"Do you mean that?" Armin desperately wanted to know.

He decreased the space between you by another inch. You returned the action. He hoped you couldn't hear how loud his heart was pounding in his chest.

"I do." You confirm.

Before his body could catch up with his brain, Armin's lips crashed onto yours in a simple, yet meaningful kiss. You were aware of the heat that he packed behind it. Something in that frame of time clicked, like adding the last piece to a puzzle. Your mind sent a command to your hand to reach out and touch him, but before you could do that Armin pulled back.

"I'm sorry," he breathlessly apologized. "I should have asked before doing that. I-I might've had too much to drink. I'm so sorry!"

Even though he was sitting before you apologizing as if he had broken something valuable, he did not move away. Your foreheads were centimeters from resting on one another, noses bumping together. Armin had the most endearing button nose.

It was starting to get a little toasty. There was a thin layer of warmth on your skin, radiating off of Armin.

"I like you a lot, so it's okay." You spilled. You refrained from making a face at yourself for your sudden bluntness.

Drunk off your ass was not how you wanted to let Armin know that you liked him. You never really pictured telling him in the first place, but here you were completely out of your comfort zone. Whatever the Marleyean's put in their wine made your tongue loose.

And it must have been making Armin hear things. If he could remove his ears, dust them off, and ask you to repeat what you just said, he would. Surely you'd say something that wasn't what he thought you did. Even if he was imagining things, hearing it come from the lips he just kissed made his heart grow three sizes.

"I like you a lot too." Armin responded.

Not much else needed to be said. It was your turn to close the little remaining space between you and him, your lips meeting in the middle. Now, you could take in the feeling of his lips on yours. They always looked so soft and plush, and they were indeed supple. They sewed in and between each other ever so gently. Armin released the smallest moan you have ever heard. He took the hand that you weren't using to support yourself in his, lacing his fingers in between yours. Right then, he had gained a new sense of belonging.

There was no middle ground for wanting him. You took his plump bottom lip in between your teeth and pulled gently, sending a non-verbal message to push your buttons further. Armin read your message loud and clear.

He released your hand and brought both of his to the sides of your jaw, cradling your face. Armin's tongue swiped across yours while he let out another little moan. His chest was against yours, you felt the mild thump of his pulse -- though it didn't feel mild sitting in his chest. Armin's aura seemed to be the most empowering. He lightly leaned some of his weight onto you, his general presence consuming your personal space. Armin's head lulled over, dropping kisses onto your neck.

You knew you'd have a necklace of marks and bruises come morning. You allowed Armin to do this. You didn't have the restraint to tell him no, and you were sure it could be easily hidden under your uniform. That nervous stomach cramp began to twist in your gut, along with a fluttering sensation further down in your abdomen. You were almost blinded with arousal.

Armin knew that was medically impossible for the heart to pump right out of one's chest, but with his luck he might be a phenomenon. His hands shook while he went to place them on your hips. While he was dipped to your neck, he took this moment to steady his breathing. Armin was holding his breath as if one exhale from him would blow you away. He tasted a faint aftertaste of salt on your skin, becoming addicted to it in that particular moment. He took one bite. His ear perked up at the change of your breathing, getting caught in your esophagus. Armin kissed, sucked and nipped at your neck around to the other side. Your name fell from his lips in a shaky whisper.

"Do you want me as much as I want you?" Armin panted.

Two thoughts appeared in your head. One, yes absolutely. Two, has he done this before? It did not necessarily matter, as long as you got to have Armin in his entirety, you didn't mind showing him which buttons of yours to push. You smiled as he buried his face in the center of your chest, kissing along the lift of your breasts. You realized he had sneakily undone two buttons on your shirt.

You had liked Armin since back in the days of being a cadet. If only that version of you could see yourself now.

"Oh, I do." You affirm. You and Armin paused, smiling at each other.

There was no going back.

Armin helped himself to finish unbuttoning the rest of your shirt. You reached for his suit jacket, pushing it off of shoulders and Armin tossed it to the side. His hands pawed at your shirt, peeling it off of your skin. The more layers you took off, the steamer it got. You could feel how red your cheeks were just by the feverish burn under the muscle. Armin leaned in to attack your chest, sucking at more of your exposed breast now that your shirt was off and your bra still on.

"Armin," you spoke out loud. He hummed in response, not detaching himself from your skin.

"Have you...?" You trailed off, trying to find the right way to ask about his experience without being rude. He chuckled.

"I've had sex before. H-Have you?" Armin filled in your question.

He rested the side of his face on one breast, moving one strap down your opposite shoulder. He looked up at you, blue eyes blinking with false innocence. You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra for him, letting it fall into your lap. You discarded it next to your shirt, keeping all of your clothes together.

"Yeah." You nod.

In one quick motion, Armin planted sloppy and wet kisses to each one of your nipples, and then moved up to kiss your lips.

If there was a way Armin could jump in your skin he would, anything to be as close to you as possible. His kiss this time was greedy. He took your bottom lip in between his teeth and pulled, hands coming up into your hair, lips moving against yours with no instruction or guide. His pants had gotten significantly tighter, restraining against the fastened button and zipper. His arousal was making him shake as if he were chilly. There wasn't a breeze anywhere, just your breaths fanning across each other's faces.

"Lay down." Armin instructed. He didn't have to tell you twice.

While Armin worked his shirt off, you grabbed a few of the dozen pillows that were thrown about, and compiled a little mountain to rest on. You began to work your skirt off, lifting your legs and wiggling your way out of your bottoms. Armin began to remove his pants as well.

There was a sudden loud sound of glass breaking, which made both of you jump. For a moment, you both had forgotten that you were in a semi-public space. Anyone, literally anyone, could pull back the tapestry and walk in on the two of you. The people on the other side of the curtains hooted with laughter and applause. Neither of you were missed.

In the blink of an eye Armin was on top of you, securing his spot in between your legs. You could feel his dick against your inner thigh. Armin moved so quickly, you didn't even get to have a glimpse of what it looked like.

"Are you sure you want to do this? You can stop me anytime, I-I won't be mad." He reassured with his forehead on yours. You curled your fingers around his hair

"Yes, I’m sure." you purred, tightening your grip. Armin's eyelids fluttered shut.

The amount of word vomit you let spew through the night was borderline embarrassing, but you were too intoxicated to actually care.

“Do you?” You checked.

"So much. I've always wanted you." Armin revealed.

You noticed the pattern that Armin's kisses flip-flopped. One moment he was soft and delicate, and the next he was eager and venal. He leaned in for another peck, making this one thoughtful. He reached in between both of your bodies, one hand moving his wrist around his cock in two short bursts. He let the tip kiss the very outskirts of your center.

Armin slipped himself in, but not completely making himself comfortable. Upon impact, you clamped your eyes shut taking in the feeling of him stretching you with a nice burn. Your jaw fell open and a lewd squeak cracked from your throat. Armin unsteadily sighed.

"Okay?" He muttered, browsing for a sign to continue.

"Yes."

Armin swallowed. He took a deep inhale, getting a hint of your smell as he did so. You still smelled of the perfume you applied earlier in the day, along with the aroma of wine and bonfire. The fragrance was tagged in Armin's memory as a scent that brought him immense comfort.

He let the feeling absorb in his chest as he bottomed out, taking in everything about you; How he had hit that spongy wall, letting him know he had reached the limit. How you fit around him so perfectly as if your bodies were crafted for each other. How sweet you sounded when he began to move his hips.

"Fuck," he murmured, eyes rolling to the back of his head. You had never heard him say fuck before.

He tucked his face down to your neck, kissing and sucking on a tender spot behind your ear that you didn't know you had. Tiny moans escaped from his lips.

Your senses were turned up to one thousand. The sound of the people around you faded out, while Armin faded in. His energy wrapped around yours like a security blanket, feeling so safe and protected. Armin filled you completely. Every time he moved upward into you, you could feel him deep in your abdomen. If he was a hair bigger, your body might give way.

He was moving just a little too slow for your liking. If you were going to have Armin, you wanted to have him as much as you could. You lacked the tolerance for sensual love making.

"Can you... go a little faster?" You meekly insisted.

No questions asked. A low, lustful moan came from deep within Armin's chest. You didn't think such a noise could be made from him. Armin gathered what he could of your hair and held on, wanting to have the feeling of your hair around and in between his fingers. Your hands dug into his shoulders. He emphasized his thrusts up one point, giving you exactly what you had needed.

"Just like that, yes..." You gasped.

Armin's lips were on yours again. They drew to each other like magnets, tongues touching.

How was it possible that Armin wanted more of you? The way you felt wrapped around his dick was indescribable. You were warm, inviting, tempting. Armin was hypnotized, drunk off of something else other than the wine.

"Tell m-me," he wheezed. "Tell me how good it f-feels. I want to hear you."

"So fucking good. Harder, please." You puffed, practically begging. Armin smiled against your cheek.

You noticed he was skipping and sputtering over himself. His speech may have faltered a few times, but his hips and thrusts certainly did not.

"You’re so fuckin’ tight." He shamelessly mewled in your ear, sending chills through your body. His words alone almost sent you overboard.

Armin adjusted himself to balance on his hands. He helped himself up with one while the other pushed one of your legs back, your ankle resting on his shoulder. He hardened his thrusts into you while simultaneously keeping the same fast paced rhythm you had asked him to do before. There wasn't a single thought in your head that wasn't about how mind-blowing Armin's cock was.

"Oh, shit, I-" He suddenly gasped like a fish out of water.

Armin sprung back, quickly pulling himself out from you and leaving an empty feeling so sad you genuinely felt disappointed. His tip slid up against you and rested on your pubic bone. Three white ropes painted themselves onto your stomach, and even between your breasts. His hands rested on your knee as he haphazardly released himself, sputtering strained whimpers.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" He choked, a hand coming to cover his mouth in horror. Armin began to spiral, frantically looking for something to clean you up with.

"It's okay." Was all you could manage to say.

You were out of breath, dizzy and drunk off of sex. You sat up on your elbows, needing a new position to take in bigger breaths to recollect yourself.

He sighed, cheeks and lips flushed a violent cherry red. He awkwardly reached around behind him for his suit jacket and took out a handkerchief that was folded in the pocket. He lightly ran it across your skin, wiping away his embarrassing mess.

"I can hold myself together better than this. I just... lost control, I guess." He stiffly chuckled.

His hand still rested on your knee as he cleaned you up. You placed your hand over his, taking his fingers and squeezing them. Armin glanced at your hands together, and then back at you. He gave a sheepish grin and a small shrug of his shoulders. His thumb rubbed the skin it rested over.

"Are you alright?" He asked while you tried to still your beating heart.

"Y-Yeah. Honestly I'm a little fucked out." You laughed, Armin joining in on you too. He was embarrassed, but not so much anymore.

Armin didn't try to hide that he was staring at you, eyes scanning you like one of his books. If this was anyone else, you'd be dressed and on your way out. Your mind was stuck. His eyes moved from your legs, thinking of how he wanted to live right in the middle, up to your collarbone where he graced you with deep red and purple love bruises and bites. Armin placed his hands on your other knee. His touch was suddenly heavier.

"You haven't come, right?" He assumed.

With every passing beat of silence, Armin leaned into your space. His hands gingerly slid down to the middle of your thighs.

"No." You admitted.

Without breaking eye contact, Armin repositioned himself to lay on his stomach. You let him kindly part your legs, his mouth hovering over where you were craving him the most. He swallowed the saliva that all of a sudden started to pool under his tongue.

"Can I?" Armin asked while lightly tracing the outside of your labia with one finger, spreading around the slick that you created.

You could hear in his tone that he was desperately wanting you to give him the go ahead. You paused for dramatic effect, staring him down as well. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, blue eyes batting at you, begging.

"Yes." You huffed, wanting nothing more.

Armin broke eye contact to dive his face right in between your legs. He licked one clean stripe through your pussy, making your lungs stop working mid-breath. Without pause, he pushed a single finger into you. You wiggled and whined under his mouth latching onto your clit.

Armin looked back up. Those blue eyes that were always so bright had deepened to indistinguishable lust. He added another finger, slowly pumping them in and out of you while he kitten licked your clit. His tongue felt warm, soothing the ache like ice to a fever.

He had fallen into a rhythm that he was comfortable with. He noticed you responded better when he curled his fingers upwards, sighs and whines pushing past your moans and heavy breathing. A shiver went down Armin’s spine when you gently placed your hands through his hair, tugging at his blonde roots. He hummed, sending vibrations through your lower body as if he had struck a gong.

Armin kept his pace. His working fingers made your walls clench tighter and tighter with every flick of his tongue and pump of his wrist. You knew he could feel it. He knew that you knew that he could feel your peak rising higher and higher, closer and closer. Armin popped off your clit for a brief moment to speak, his lips smacked together.

“Say my name.” He instructed, not looking up. His blue eyes had closed, engulfed in his procedure.

“Armin…” You breathlessly whisper.

Armin buzzed. The sound of his name coming off of your lips activated an obsessive instinct. He had to have you finish. Armin had half of a mind to withdraw his fingers from you, take a hold of your thighs and absolutely drown in licking you until you had succumbed to his touch. However, he needed to feel you unwind around his hand. Armin quickened his fingers. From the way you were shaking underneath him, grasping onto his hair to keep him his place, your erotic and lewed moaning and whimpering, you were on the brink of completion.

“Say my name again. I like the way it sounds when you say it.” Armin spoke barely above a whisper.

“Armin, please. I-I’m gonna come.” You mouthed to him.

“Give it to me, love. I want it.”

With those words, all of the tension built up within your walls had come undone. You clamped a hand over your mouth in an attempt to hush yourself. You throbbed around Armin’s fingers, slick running down the back of his hand. He kept licking at your clit, showing no signs of stopping any time soon. You didn’t want him to. He didn’t want to. You wanted him to keep going, but you had reached your breaking point. You tapped out, touching his shoulder.

Your head was pounding, the back of your calves trembling, heart rate reached a dangerous speed that would probably warrant you to seek medical attention had you not been coming down from an orgasm. You put a hand on your chest, trying to catch your breath as you laid back on the pillows. For a brief moment, you zoned out.

Armin removed himself, sitting up on his knees, but only after he blessed the inside of your thighs with little kisses, not wanting to come up for air. He sheepishly wiped away the slick that clung around the corners of his mouth with the back of his opposite hand. Armin crawled his way up your body, kissing your stomach and chest on the way to your face. He hovered over you for a moment.

“You okay?” He asked. Forming words seemed to be too difficult of a task at the moment, so you nodded.

“Are you sure? Do you need anything?” Armin pressed. His tone of voice was quiet.

Right before your eyes, Armin had changed. His eyes softened, a timid gloss coated his irises. Armin’s aura was different, no longer emitting lust. Instead, he was apprehensive and hesitant, searching and waiting.

You were significantly more sober. The realization had finally struck that it was Armin who lay on top of you completely undressed and exposed in a new light. You had seen Armin cry, be sick and injured, at some of his lowest points — and he had seen you on some of your darkest days as well. This was intimacy at its height of vulnerability.

You smiled at him, face split with genuine happiness. You gently raised your hands to take a hold of Armin’s jaw, something you always wanted to do unironically. He leaned into your touch.

“I am fantastic.” You giggled.

Armin clung to your laugh like a plant that needed water, chuckling along with you. He lowered himself to meet his lips to yours. The kiss was quick but still shaded with passion. You could taste the hint of yourself on him. Armin then got off of you, rolling to the side and sitting up.

For a brief moment, he wished he hadn’t. As soon as he rose, his head began to swirl and his mouth became very dry all of a sudden. All that was near was wine. It wouldn’t help the headache, but it would aid the sore-itch he felt in his throat. Armin took a swig, and offered you the bottle.

“Are you thirsty?” Armin asked.

You replied slower than you should have, which caused Armin to turn around to face you. His movement broke you from the fixation of staring at the pink claw marks you had accidentally given him around his shoulder blades. That thought then led you to see how toned Armin’s entire back actually was. Then, that thought led back to how you had scored a night with someone you cared about deeply.

You snapped yourself back to reality, digging your longest fingernail into a cuticle deep enough to bring a sting in case you were actually dreaming.

“I’m alright on wine.” You declined. You stretched, spreading your arms up over your head.

“Understandable.” Armin shrugged, sensing the humor in your tone. Perhaps that was enough wine.

Armin put the bottle to the side, deciding to leave it there as it is for the night. He noticed the way you made yourself smaller, clenching your muscles from the mind breeze blowing through the fabrics of the tent. The lantern in the corner provided some relief, but not for long as Armin would have to put it out soon. He didn’t want this private moment to be captured by shadows.

Armin spied a loosely folded pile of blankets off to his left, and grabbed one. Armin draped it over you. He pulled it all the way up to your shoulder, and then tucked himself in next to you and hooked his arm around your waist. You accepted Armin’s quiet embrace.

Armin was the happiest he probably has ever been, but there was a heaviness in his chest. Physically, you and him were as close as you could get, but a bigger presence seemed to take over and pull you both apart. Armin wondered if you could also feel the way the space had changed. This was all he had wanted, and Armin had it right in the palm of his hand. In the midst of his silent victory lingered a question he didn’t know how to ask.

What happens now?

There was silence between you both, but beyond the world you had encased yourselves in the festivities continued. They seem to have gotten louder. The music that had stopped for a rest kicked back up again, people raised their voices to be heard over one another. Everyone outside carried on as if you and Armin hadn’t disappeared together.

You wondered if anyone noticed that.

Behind Armin’s eyes, his mind was at work. You could practically visualize the gears in his head working overtime. Curiosity gnawed at your mind, what was he thinking about? You wondered if he was thinking of the same thing you were: What does all of this mean, and how are you both moving forward? You knew what you wanted, Armin as a whole. There was no question about it. How would you ask him what he wanted?

The space around you both began to get smaller, just as it had in the heat of the moment. Armin began to feel anxious as he had earlier, except there was no more wine in his system to drown out the dread in his chest. He has fantasized about eleven different scenarios on how he could confess his feelings for you. None of them were similar to the way it was happening now and he definitely wasn’t as prepared as he thought. Armin was at a loss for words. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words did not leave his lips. He carefully grasped your hand, your fingers overlapping his. If only he could share his thoughts through touch, then he wouldn’t need to explain how glad he was that this had happened.

That stomach cramp had come back. You were about to say something, it was on the very tip of your tongue. You opened your mouth to speak, then silenced yourself immediately. Your hesitation had caught Armin’s attention. He looked at you, ready to listen. He could feel his own heartbeat in his ears.

“That was fun.” You stated.

How strange, the words you spoke out loud weren’t the ones you were thinking to yourself. Armin sat up abruptly.

“Do you mean it? I’m sorry I came so soon, I promise I have more self control.” Armin’s apology was laced with a hint of negotiation. The pink on his cheeks grew a hue darker.

“Of course I mean it! I meant everything I said.” You practically placed your hint under Armin’s nose. Whether it was going to be picked up or not depended on him. You could hear your blood rushing through your veins.

Armin turned to face you. He took a quick breath in and out, relief swimming around in his chest. A comforting smile grew on his lips. He took your hand again, grasping it tighter than he had all night.

“I also meant everything I said.” Armin agreed. Your hint was received.

As if this couldn’t be a more perfect moment, the cramp in your stomach tightened and twisted. Loudly. You cringed from the small pinch it gave you, and also from the embarrassment of your hunger being so loud.

“Why didn’t you say you were hungry?” Armin asked.

“I wasn’t hungry then.” You shrugged.

“We can go back out there if you want. Unless you want to stay here? I can bring you something.” Armin offered.

Before you had even given him an answer, he was already dressing himself. That was when you realized you were still nude. You began to search for your clothes.

“I think we’ve hid back here long enough.” You teased.

You and Armin both stood up, dressing and adjusting your clothes to fit back onto your bodies. Armin had dressed before you, waiting patiently by the tapestry you both had come through. He had his jacket draped over his arm. He took a quick peek out into the crowd. He first spotted Eren, still sitting with the same group of men. Mikasa hadn’t moved, but Sasha had joined her side. Jean and Connie were chatting up the same group of women. It seemed that hardly any time had passed at all.

“How do I look? Do I look put together?” You asked as you adjusted your skirt around your hips.

Armin admired your outfit. You were dressed in Marleyean’s fashion to blend in more with the crowd. It was a different change of pace from your usual wardrobe. Still, you made it work for you in ways you didn’t apparently see.

“I think you look very pretty, as per usual.” Armin said casually. His complement soaked through you, seeping in more of your cracks Armin didn’t occupy until after this night.

“Here, put this on.” He handed you his jacket.

You paused.

“It’s a little cooler out now.” Armin insisted.

You took his jacket and placed it loosely around your shoulders, it smelled just like him. Armin pulled the curtain back, motioning for you to walk ahead of him. You tucked your head, thanking him quietly.

“You can sit with Mikasa and I if you’d like.” Armin kindly offered.

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the change of lighting. You glanced around the room to find Mikasa. She and Sasha were leaning against each other talking.

“That sounds good to me.”

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!

#this took every last brain cell i had #holy SHIT.#lmk if i should turn this into a whole fic or not #my writing #armin arlert #armin x fem reader #armin x y/n #armin x you #armin x reader #armin x black reader #armin fluff #armin smut #armin imagine #arimin fic #armin one shot #heat waves

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eddies-ashtray · 1 year

Text

When The Rain Starts To Pour ⌂ Chapter 1: The One Where Eddie Hates Paul

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Pairing: Eddie x Fem!Reader

Chapter Preview:

“You smoke?” You ask, pointing at the cigarette held delicately between his index and middle fingers. You’re feeling a little awkward for some reason. Maybe because you’re not used to Eddie being silent.

Eddie sniffs, says, “Yeah. Trying to quit.” Then snuffs out the half-smoked stick by crushing it against the concrete. He knows the habit might bother you. It bothers the others as well; Nancy has called it a ‘cancer stick’, Steve has often taken to flushing his cigs in protest, and Robin simply informs him that it stinks. He also knows that you have your date with Paul tonight, and as much as he dislikes the guy, he doesn’t want you smelling of smoke for your date.

“Hm,” You hum, coming up beside him and leaning over the wall, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You shiver and he has the urge to remove his leather jacket and wrap it around you.

There’s a lull then, in which Eddie wonders why you might have come out here. From the sounds of your prior conversation with Robin, you need to start getting ready for your date soon. Why come out here just to stand around with him in the cold?

CW: Brief discussion of financial struggles, vague talk of poor parental relationship (not necessarily abusive though), jealousy, loneliness, reader talks of being unhappy in her previous life circumstances, probably lots of bad jokes, poorly concealed Friends references, age gap (between reader and Paul), lots of tropes, non-canon compliant (duh—but also the upside-down does not exist), kinda pervy/douchey behaviour from Paul (nothing crazy though, just generally douchey).

WC: 17.4k

A/N: Ah! It’s finally here! I am so so so excited to share this first chapter with you after so long. I really hope it lives up to expectations. I just wanna note that while writing, I imagined the coffee shop and the apartments from Friends, so the decor and layout of each of those places are pretty much the exact same in my descriptions of them. Here’s a link to the apartments and coffee shop layouts if you’re interested. Also, I am going to do the best I can to make this era- and setting-appropriate, but keep in mind that I was not born in the 90s, nor am I from New York City (or the US in general), so there may be some inaccuracies. Anyway, enough of my rambling, happy reading!!

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⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

“I’m so broke it’s not even funny! Like, seriously, look,” Robin exclaims before placing her mug of tea on the coffee table and proceeding to lean back awkwardly on the couch so she can turn her pockets out. They are indeed empty–a metaphorical sign of her poverty.

Nancy clicks her tongue from her spot on a sage green chair next to the couch, reaching over to place a coaster under Robin’s steaming mug.

It’s a relatively quiet Saturday afternoon at The Ugly Mug, only a couple other patrons milling about and occupying the various other seats around the small establishment. There’s a short woman with long, thin braids seated by the large front window and a stout man in a purple beanie sitting on one of the stools near the coffee bar. There’s also been the occasional patron coming in to pick up a to-go order–bringing in with them a rush of chilly November air–before rushing back out the dark wooden doors.

“I’m fucking screwed. I can’t afford that big, stupid place alone,” Robin complains, retrieving her tea from the table after she’s tucked her pockets back into her jeans.

“You could always get a second job,” Eddie offers from the opposite end of the couch, an oversized red mug half-full of very sugary coffee in hand. “Ya know, moonlight as a rockstar like some of the rest of us?”

Robin rolls her eyes at his over-exaggeration and looks over at him as she replies, “Don’t you guys get, like, one gig per month?”

“No…We get two gigs per month,” Eddie corrects like the disparity between her answer and his had been larger than it was.

When he realizes that his correction wasn’t much of a correction, he adds, slightly more helpful this time, “But it’s better than just working in the restaurant. At least I get a little extra every month.”

Robin sighs. “I guess…But it’d suck to double my exhaustion just to take another job I hate. At least your second job is something you love...I wish I could get, like, a raise or something,” She complains, head falling back against the couch in frustration.

From beside her, Steve’s hand lands on her shoulder, placing his own mug of coffee on the table before doing so. “Why don’t you-”

“No,” She replies before he can finish.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Steve defends and Robin lolls her head to the side to shoot him a deadpan stare.

“I am not putting an ad in the newspaper,” She states plainly.

“It’s a strategy! How else would you find a roommate?”

“I agree with Robin,” Nancy pipes up from Robin’s other side. “It’s not safe, Steve. There’s so many freaks out there; you don’t know who you’re inviting into your home.”

“I live with a freak and I’m fine,” Steve jokes.

“Hey!” Eddie exclaims, mildly offended, and slaps Steve on the arm halfheartedly. “It’s been six years, Harrington, when are you gonna stop calling me that?”

“How about never!” Steve bites back childishly. All too quickly their civilized conversation about Robin’s living situation devolves into an immature argument between two grown men. It’s almost surprising how they manage to live together and not tear each other’s heads off. Despite their silly arguments though, they surprisingly get along quite well–most of the time.

“Hey! Can we get back on topic, please?” Nancy interrupts, mildly anxious about the eyes of the other patrons on them. Normally, she wouldn’t let others’ judgment get to her; she’s aware that she hangs around a pretty rowdy group of adults, but it’s so quiet in here today and she’d like to keep it that way.

“Actually, I’m perfectly content right in the middle of this. I could use a distraction,” Robin says, settling into the couch beside the two bickering men.

Sighing contentedly, Robin gets comfortable and shuts her eyes, the soft light of the café causing the back of her eyelids to glow a soft orange. The boys’ bickering continues to her right as Nancy reaches over from her left to squeeze her hand in reassurance. Robin opens her eyes again to turn to her and gives her a tight-lipped smile.

“I need a roommate,” she concludes, tone solemn. Nancy’s lips part, about to impart some advice when-

The small golden bell above the door tinkles its charming chime as it opens, and in rushes the late November bite, and a frazzled-looking young woman. As she enters the space, she makes such a commotion that Robin startles and turns to take a look at who’s causing the ruckus. The others turn to the door as well (including Steve and Eddie whose bickering has now ceased altogether due to the interruption).

In her tow is one large suitcase, in her hand is a large black trash bag (the plastic material stretching into a grey colour in some areas), and on her back is a large backpack (stuffed so full that the biggest pocket isn’t even zipped all the way).

It must have begun to rain at some point during their hours’ long stay at the coffee shop because the woman appears to be quite damp without an umbrella or hood on her jacket.

Finally, Robin's eyes land on the woman’s face. In a shock, she realizes that she recognizes her. However, seeing as none of her friends are acquainted with the woman, they’re rather occupied by the seemingly magical appearance of this person who looks to be in need of a place to stay at the exact moment that Robin expressed her need for a roommate. The four of them gawk at the woman with the luggage for a moment until someone can’t help himself and must break the silence to acknowledge the absurdity of the situation.

“And I want to be rich and famous!” Eddie exclaims, gesturing widely to the door. Unfortunately, his wish does not manifest as Robin’s had.

Robin passes her tea to Steve, who takes it without question as she stands from her spot on the couch, passing Nancy as she rounds it. The woman is at the counter now, though as Robin nears her, the woman is not ordering a coffee or any other warm beverage.

“Excuse me? Do you know-” You begin, but before you can finish asking the café employee about your friend's whereabouts, you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

“Y/N?”

Immediately, you recognize her voice and turn around. Many summers and phone calls throughout your childhood and teen years had familiarized you with it.

Once you’re face-to-face, relief releases the tension you’d been holding in your shoulders. After over 12 hours of driving across the country (maybe more, you stopped keeping track at some point), countless times getting lost (your sense of direction completely failing you, even with the aid of a map and any living soul you came across), many pit stops at dank, shady rest stops, and a lot of fast food later, you’re just happy to see a familiar face.

“Robin! Thank God! I went to your apartment-” you begin, eager to recount the story of your travels.

“My apartment?” Robin asks, confused that you’d known her address.

“-but you weren’t there! And I almost left to look for you myself, but then your neighbour saw me knocking and told me I could probably find you here-”

“My neighbour?”

“-and I thought, ‘It’s worth a shot,’, so I dragged all my shit back down the stairs and through the stupid rain and you’re here! But, come to think of it, I don’t even know why I brought all this stuff up with me instead of just leaving it in the car. Like, that was sort of presumptuous of me to show up at your door with a bunch of luggage, but I guess it probably wouldn’t have been a great idea to leave it in that parking garage anyway,” You finish your rambling, out of breath now and slightly lightheaded.

That was likely an inappropriate way to greet her after all this time, but you find that you’re exhausted from your travels and electrified with adrenaline from your impulsive decision to come to New York.

At first, it was nice to get out and stretch your legs after spending half a day in your car, and walk around this new city in search of Robin’s apartment, but now you could just collapse right here on this scuffed hardwood floor.

Robin’s brows furrow as she tries to process your word vomit, but still cannot find an answer for her biggest question. Though she’s concerned that one of her neighbour’s so easily gave away her location to a stranger who was banging on her door and curious to know how you’d found her apartment, she’s more interested in your story for now. In learning what got you here after all this time.

“Why are you here? I mean-it-it’s great to see you, but, um-why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened?” Robin suggests, leading you gently towards the couch.

“Okay. Yeah, that sounds great,” You agree, navigating carefully around velvet-upholstered stools with your bags in hand.

A man with long hair and tattoos stands from the couch to take a seat on a chair to his right in order to accommodate you as Robin helps you place your bags on the floor next to the woman with the curly hair and high cheekbones.

Finally, you sit down on the plush orange couch next to a happy looking guy with gorgeous, voluminous hair. He smiles at you kindly once you’re settled in and you breathe out, willing yourself to relax so you can attempt to coherently explain your situation to your friend and, apparently, these strangers.

Their eyes on you make you nervous, but once Robin takes her seat next to you, you feel more at ease.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Robin reassures as she tucks her legs underneath herself on the couch. You nod, taking one more deep breath and collecting your thoughts before beginning.

“So-I know this is, like, totally crazy that I just kinda showed up here out of the blue after, what? 5, 6 years?” You begin nervously, looking to Robin for confirmation on how long it’s been since you last saw each other. She nods after turning her body to face you.

“But I just–I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like this but–I felt like I was on autopilot or something, just kind of drifting through my days: going to work at a boring job with boring people, coming home to my shitty apartment, going to sleep, and doing it all over again and again and again.”

In your periphery, you notice a few of them nodding in agreement and feel relieved at their earnest validation. It gives you the strength to continue your story.

“And one day I guess I woke up? I realized that I hated where I was, who I was with, what I was doing, what I wasn’t doing. I just sort of…panicked. I knew I couldn’t stay there–in that life and that apartment cause it was, like, a total shithole-”

“Why was it a shithole?” A voice interrupts from your right; The One With The Tattoos. You’d been so into your story for those 30-some-odd seconds that you nearly forgot that it was more than just Robin you were venting to. He seems genuinely curious and well-meaning, so you’re not perturbed by his interruption, only surprised, which is what causes you to pause before answering his question.

In the moment you take before you respond, you clock the bat tattoo on his forearm (though you’d recognized his inked skin earlier, you hadn’t examined the art close enough to discern what the tattoos were of), among a smattering of many other patchwork tattoos, and hope you remember to ask him about it later (if there is a later with these people–there’s all the chance that Robin could send you packing).

Finally, you shake off your surprise and respond, “Well, aside from the fact that my apartment was definitely mold-infested and my building had a serious rat problem, my landlord was a total creep.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” He agrees, brows furrowing.

“Yeah. So, I just couldn’t live there anymore, or go back to work, and I definitely was not about to go back home to live with my mother–phone calls once a week are already more than I can handle, I don’t think I could take her constant scrutiny for more than 30 minute increments,” You explain, scoffing lightly. “But, um-” You stutter, looking down at your lap and pulling at the skin of your hand absentmindedly.

“Anyway…I panicked and I decided that I needed to get out of there as soon as possible, so two weeks ago, I put in my two weeks at work and pretty much packed up my whole life into my car and started driving without a destination…And then I remembered hearing that you’d moved to New York a few years back,” You recall, gesturing to Robin, who smiles warmly back at you.

“So I looked you up in the phone book and when I found your name I just felt like it was the right thing? Which I know sounds kinda kooky, but it was the first good feeling I’d had about something in a long time, so I just decided that I needed to trust it,” You conclude, squeezing your hands in your lap. “And I know it’s a lot to ask of you, especially since it’s been so long, but…is there any chance at all that you might need a roommate?”

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

When you step inside the apartment, you immediately love the place. For one, it’s bigger than your old apartment and even has a pretty sizable balcony (that can only be accessed through a window). To your left is the kitchen with exposed brick, a simple small table with four mismatched chairs surrounding it in the middle.

Just past the modest kitchen is the living area, which is just as eclectically decorated as the kitchen with a sofa, a fluffy looking armchair and an armless chair adjacent to each other, a coffee table, and a television set sitting atop a sideboard. Two doors are on either side of the living room. To the left of the living room is a large window (complete with a cozy looking window seat) which looks out onto the balcony.

You marvel at the place as Robin leads through the apartment, the rest of the crew following in behind you two before the door slams shut and you enter what appears to be a bedroom slash storage space. Despite the bed in the middle, there are things strewn about on the floor, seemingly haphazardly tossed in here and forgotten about.

After introductions to the group (you now know their names and the fact that Eddie and Steve live across the hall, while Nancy lives a few blocks away), Robin had informed you the available room at her place might be a bit of a mess since she’s been using it as storage space for a while. The only guests she has live close by enough that sleepovers were a rarity.

“So, this’ll be your room,” Robin explains, rolling your bursting suitcase inside it. Steve enters last, dropping your trash bag full of clothes to the yellow-ish hardwood floor and you do the same with your backpack.

It’s a fairly nice room; a simple square spacious enough to fit the queen size bed and a side table, while also allowing extra room still for a chest of drawers and vanity (which you will eventually add to the room).

Though anything without rats, mold, and a creepy landlord would be an improvement, this place is a definite upgrade from your last and you find yourself containing a joyous squeal as you take it all in. You’ve never been a fan of change–enjoying the comfort of familiarity instead–and have always agonized over every decision you’ve made, but for once, you have no doubts about your decision to come here. This actually feels like the first real decision you have ever made.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

When Steve opens the building's front door, the smell of fresh rain and pavement hangs in the air, an oddly nostalgic scent. It reminds you of childhood, of early mornings at summer camp with Robin.

The sun hangs low and bright orange in the sky–it’s getting late so you’ll probably only be able to make one trip to your car and back before the sun goes down, and then have to collect the rest of your things tomorrow.

Though you grabbed as much as you could carry from your car (which remains parked in a garage about three blocks away) before going in search of Robin’s apartment, you obviously couldn’t take everything with you, so the bags you just dropped off at your new place were only a fraction of the things packed away in your vehicle.

Robin’s friends kindly offered to help you drag the rest of your belongings back to her apartment. Since none of them have a car, and it is apparently nearly impossible to find parking in this city, you have no choice but to carry everything back by hand.

You lead the way to the parking garage, Robin at your side and the rest of the gang following behind you.

As you walk through the city, past storefronts, HELP WANTED signs in windows, and people with briefcases in long coats and giant scarves walking briskly like they have someplace important to be, you’re reminded of an imperative piece of information.

“Robin?” You say as you cross the street.

“Hm?”

“I don’t have a job here.”

The whole reason Robin was looking for a new roommate in the first place was because she can no longer afford her place on her own. And you, as her new roommate, have been recruited to help solve that problem for her. But without a job, and a bank account that is less than impressive, you’re on the clock to find a new job–and fast.

“You can work at Hannigan’s with Eddie and I!” She offers excitedly, her hand smacking your arm in her enthusiasm. Sorry! She apologizes quickly before continuing: “We’ve been working there forever, I can put in a good word for you with the owner.”

“That sounds great…But what’s ‘Hannigan’s’?” You ask, because in her haste to offer a solution to your little problem, she had left out vital information. Eddie pipes up from the rear and steps forward so he can walk in step with you and Robin as he answers your question.

The way the sun hits him from behind outlines his body in a soft orange halo, causing his long hair to shine in the early evening light. This lighting softens his features, making him look angelic and pretty as his pale skin glows. You find yourself content watching him as he speaks.

“It’s one of those fancy upscale restaurants. The tips are usually pretty good, but sometimes you gotta endure some light harassment to get them,” Eddie explains, and when he sees the apprehensive look on your face, he jumps to reassure you: “Sometimes we get to take home leftovers though.”

“By ‘get to take’, he means steal,” Steve corrects and you look to Robin for confirmation.

She just shrugs. “They’d go to waste anyway.”

“I guess I’ll just have to invest in some armour, then,” You say, implying that physical armour could somehow protect you from rude customers. Eddie smiles at that, a dimple carving into his cheek. Briefly, you note how charming his smile is, but before you can stare too long, Robin grabs your attention by lightly elbowing you.

“Don’t worry, snooty rich people can’t be as bad as Harrington's snotty children,” She says.

“Oh! You have kids?” You wonder, turning to Steve as he strides along casually a few steps behind you, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.

“No, not yet. I work at one of the preschools in the area,” Steve supplies.

“Oh, nice. You like working with kids?” You wonder.

His answer is apparent on his face which lights up instantly at the question. “Love it. The kids are really great, and so much more capable than people give them credit for! People are quick to dismiss kids, especially four and five year olds, but they understand more than you think.” Steve rambles, his passion clear.

“Hey, is this the garage?” Robin asks, bringing your attention back to the task at hand.

It is. The place you left your car a mere two hours ago, nervous and unsure of what came next. But now you have a new place, something akin to a job offer, and three kind strangers and one old friend by your side.

Once you reach your car–which is parked all the way on the top floor–you unlock the back seat doors.

“Okay, so, let’s try to grab all the stuff from the front and maybe a few things from the back?” You suggest, then move to unlock the trunk of your car where the boys stand.

“Jesus. How did you pack all this shit in here?” Eddie asks, marvelling at the trunk of your car which is stuffed full of most of your belongings.

“Are we about to find your kitchen sink packed away in here, or what?” Steve adds.

“Uh, I don’t know, really,” You say, answering Eddie’s question. “I packed it all up so quickly I didn’t really notice how much stuff it actually was, but it’s like my entire apartment is stuffed into this trunk.” You say, and it kind of is. You’re surprised your trunk could even shut with how crowded it is.

Robin and Nancy grab the remaining bags from the back seat, while you and the guys grab a couple boxes from the trunk. Then you lock up and start back to your new apartment.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Your first thought when you gain consciousness in your bed is a thought that no one would ever want to have—especially not before eight in the morning. Someone has broken into my apartment.

Your eyes shoot open, staring up at the ceiling–your new ceiling! In your new apartment! That you’ve lived in now for a solid 48 hours. But your time here may be cut short if the intruder has plans that involve you and a knife.

You know for a fact that it is not Robin because you share a wall with her and can hear her shuffling around her room getting ready for the day, and the person out in your living room right now definitely opened your front door and is now shuffling around out there.

Thud.

What the fuck was that?

Most people in your situation might freeze in fear and simply lie in wait for the intruder to come to them, accepting their fate. Others might run and hide. But you, on this random Tuesday in November at 7:43AM were apparently a force to be reckoned with. The Old You might have chosen one of the two above options, but New York You–the new, and hopefully improved, you–has a job interview today and are not going to let some intruder stop you from making it.

You are not about to have your fresh start end so soon. So, you carefully pull the covers off of your body and as quietly as possible get out of bed.

Inching slowly towards the door, you decide you first need a weapon to defend yourself. There’s no use going out there and meeting the intruder if you can’t protect yourself against them. However, since you’re not in the kitchen, you don’t have access to a knife or any other kitchen utensil that could be wielded as a weapon. And since many of your belongings are still packed away in bags and boxes scattered around the room, you don’t exactly have many options.

Quickly, you grab the first object you see that could potentially be used to incapacitate the intruder. Then, you very slowly reach for the handle of your door.

Twisting the handle as gently as you can manage so as not to draw attention to yourself, you begin to open the door, revealing an inch of the kitchen, then another couple inches which reveals a sliver of the living room. Heart racing wildly in your chest, you decide it’s now or never.

Bursting from your room while brandishing your weapon of choice, you let out what some may describe as a battle cry, startling the intruder in the living room. Startling them so much that they bang their head on the coffee table when they try to get up from where they’re laying on their stomach on the floor between the couch and table.

You don’t have a great view of the intruder from where you stand right outside your door, so you slowly step toward them where they lie.

The intruder groans in pain, forehead falling to rest on the rug below them as they bring a hand to the back of their head. A head with long, messy curls that you vaguely recognize.

Oh. Oh, God.

“Eddie?” You question meekly, lowering your weapon as waves of guilt crash over you.

“Uh-huh,” He replies weakly, voice muffled by the rug he’s practically eating.

“Oh, God,” You moan before placing your weapon on the table and rushing to his side. He lifts his head then, and you help him up onto the couch. He groans again as he sits back into the plush cushions and all you can do is apologize.

Taking a seat on the coffee table, you grimace at his grimace. “I am so sorry, I thought you were an intruder,” You explain, squeezing your fingers in your hand. Your heart still races in your chest.

“It’s-It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Kinda did it to myself,” Eddie jokes, still rubbing the back of his head. You nod once, biting your lip, still feeling guilty because, yeah, he technically did do it himself, but he wouldn’t have if you hadn’t stormed out of your room like a crazy person and screamed bloody murder.

As your heart slows to its normal pace, you begin to wonder what he was doing here in the first place—laying on the living room rug for that matter.

“Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but what exactly were you doing on the floor?” You ask, finally taking in his dress now that the situation has deescalated some. He wears red and black plaid pyjama bottoms and a white tank top so see-through that you catch a glimpse of dark ink beneath the material. The sight steals your breath for a moment.

“I was, uh, looking for my rings. Thought they might have fallen under the table,” Eddie supplies, drawing your eyes back up to his face. His eyes are warm and soft. God, you don’t think you’ve ever seen eyes so large and round. He looks like a baby deer or something. A cute, injured baby deer.

“Oh. Did Robin let you in?” You ask, because it doesn’t matter that he looks like a baby deer, what matters is that it is very possible that he simply let himself into your apartment and you’re not sure you’re comfortable with that just yet. I mean, you’ve only just met him and the others two days ago, and have only seen them one other time since then when they had come by to help clear out your new room.

Eddie looks like the guilty one now as he replies, “Uh, no…?”

“Sorry,” He apologizes quickly. “Let me just…try this again.”

You’re not sure exactly what he means until he stands and begins walking backwards in the direction of the front door, all the while making strange noises with his mouth that somewhat resemble the sound of rewinding a tape. He’s literally starting over, resetting, going back in time to try this again because he saw you weren’t comfortable with his uninvited presence in your apartment.

All you can do is sit and simply stare at the strange, yet comical display as Eddie awkwardly reaches behind him, opens the door, reverses out into the hallway, and shuts the door with a slam.

Too stunned to laugh for a moment, you sit in silence for approximately five seconds, thinking that might be the end of it, before a knock sounds at the front door.

You hesitate, staring at the door strangely. But you’re intrigued now by his strange display, wanting to know how it ends. So you stand and stroll over to the door, opening it to, of course, reveal Eddie, who smiles brightly at you.

“Good morning,” He greets politely. “You mind if I come in?”

Stifling a giggle, you nod. “Of course.” And open the door wider, stepping to the side to allow him space to enter. He enters swiftly and you shut the door.

Eddie saunters over to the living room once again, about to resume the search for his rings when he spots your weapon of choice sitting innocently on the coffee table where you left it. He pauses and stares at it for a moment, tilting his head, and you stare at his back as you remain in the kitchen, watching as his dark curls shift and fall to one side, cascading over his shoulders.

The presence of the weapon is new to him since it obviously was not there when he entered the apartment the first time. He also hadn’t seen it even when he’d gotten up from the floor because you’d sat on the coffee table, and therefore blocked his view of the object.

Now, Eddie wanders over to the coffee table, gingerly picking the weapon up like it’s some sort of precious antique, then spins around smoothly to face you. Holding it loosely at one end, he lets it dangle just above the hardwood floor.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at you. You stare back at him, unsure of what’s happening.

“What?” You wonder.

“What were you gonna use this for?” Eddie asks, tone humorous, and dark eyes sparkling with mirth.

“To-to defend myself against the intruder,” You answer, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious about your choice of weapon.

“With a bathrobe tie?” Eddie exclaims, shaking the flimsy terry cloth material around so the long fabric wiggles in the air.

“Y-yes!” You defend weakly.

“What were you gonna do? Spa-day me to death?”

“No! I-I thought it could be used to, like—choke someone?” You say, cringing as the words come out of your mouth.

Eddie barks a laugh. But you can tell he's not laughing at you. He simply finds the situation and your choice amusing. In the little time you’ve spent around Eddie, you don’t get the impression that he’s mean-spirited or judgmental. The exact opposite actually–to you, he’s only been accepting and kind.

“It’s creative, I’ll give you that. But not very practical,” Eddie critiques.

“My robe was hanging on my door, okay? It’s not like I had a knife in there or something,” You attempt to defend, playing along.

“Still!” He laughs incredulously.

“Let me get this straight: first, you break into my apartment, and then I very kindly invite you back in, and you insult my choice of weapon?”

Eddie seems to mull this over, recalling the events in his mind to confirm that, yes, that is indeed what has happened.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so…Ya know, you should really talk to Harrington. He’s the king of wielding random objects as weapons. When we first moved here, he thought we were getting broken into all the time, and this one time he grabbed our floor lamp and-”

Before he can finish his story though, Robin comes out from her bedroom, dressed in some jeans and a striped long-sleeve. She makes it a few steps before she notices Eddie and you standing almost ten feet apart in the living room together, both of you still dressed in your pyjamas, and one of you grasping a purple bathrobe tie. Robin stares for a moment like she’s suspicious of something, shifting her eyes from you to Eddie and back again. They land on Eddie when she slowly asks, “What’s going on?”

“I was looking for my rings. You seen ‘em?” He explains, effectively diverting her attention from the strangeness of the situation.

“Yeah,” She nods, walking towards the kitchen again. “In the dish by the door.”

“Cool. Thanks,” Eddie says, walking towards you now. Before he walks past you to retrieve his rings though, he takes hold of the other end of the bathrobe tie, pulling it taught, and presenting it to you with a slight bow. “Your sword, m’lady.”

Grabbing the tie from him, you thank him, and he continues toward the dish by the door. Eddie’s theatrical and kind of strange, but instead of weirding you out, you find that those traits endear you to him. You’re sick of boring people and to finally be around someone who is so unapologetically themselves is refreshing. Especially someone as interesting as Eddie.

Turning around to the kitchen where Eddie is carefully rooting through the dish for his rings and Robin is grabbing a juice from the fridge, you realize something strange about what just happened. Though surprisingly, none of it has to do with Eddie.

“Um-if you were in your room getting ready, how did you not hear my scream?” You ask, because you doubt that she just didn’t hear it. You were pretty loud.

After taking a sip from the small plastic bottle, Robin explains, “Huh. I guess I’ve learned to sort of tune out the noise. Living across the hall from two idiots who barge into my apartment without warning has kind of become my new normal. Loud, sudden noises aren’t really surprising anymore.”

“It’s worrying how desensitized you are,” You reply, mostly joking.

Robin takes another sip of her juice and shrugs. “Don’t worry, you’ll get there someday.”

“Ya know, I really hope I don’t.”

Robins snorts, approaching the counter where Eddie is still picking his rings from the mess of keys and other small trinkets in the dish, and crouches down to retrieve her tote bag from the shelf below the counter. You ball up and toss your robe tie in the general direction of your room before Robin pops back up and turns to grab her juice from the table behind her.

“Okay, so I gotta go run some errands, but I should be back just after your interview,” She informs and you nod. Eddie goes to leave as well, opening the front door as Robin tells you, “Good luck, you’ll be great!” Then heads for the door as well.

Gratitude swells in your chest. Robin has been more than kind to you these past two days. Before Saturday, it had been years since you last spoke.

You and Robin were best friends at the summer camp you attended as children and remained close as you entered your teen years and later became camp counsellors at the same camp. You were the first person she ever came out to and it often felt like you shared a brain; for many years she was your sister.

Despite your living hours and hours away, you and Robin maintained your friendship during the non-summer months; talking on the phone often and mailing letters back and forth.

Eventually, though, your individual lives got busy and neither of you had the time to maintain the long-distance friendship or attend summer camp as counsellors anymore. Phone calls decreased and letters stopped being written and mailed, until eventually, your friendship fizzled out. There was no major falling out of any sort; the end of your friendship was simply the result of poor management on both ends.

You often thought about calling her up to see how she was, but it wasn’t until last week that you made the impulsive decision to contact her again. And you’re glad you did. She’s given you a new home and she even helped you set up your job interview at Hannigan’s. You’re grateful that she’s given you the opportunity to start fresh in this new city with new, interesting people, but much of your gratitude comes from the chance you now both have to breathe life back into your cherished friendship.

“Hey,” You call, causing Robin to pause and turn to you before she exits the apartment, brows expectantly raised. “I know I’ve already said it so many times, but I just want to say thank you one more time for everything you’ve done for me these past two days. And I know it’s been a long time since we’ve been friends…but you’re a really good friend.”

Robin smiles softly at you. “You’re a really good friend too. You always have been.”

It’s then you rush to her at the door where you embrace her in the biggest hug and hope the action translates the magnitude of your thankfulness and love for her.

“I’ll see you later,” She says after you part, walking out into the hallway.

You sigh.

It has been one hectic morning, and your interview starts at 10:30, so you should probably start getting ready now. But Eddie lingers in the hallway, just outside his front door.

Before you can even say anything, he preemptively apologizes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, eavesdrop, but you have your interview at Hannigan’s today?”

You’re not mad though. Nothing you said was a secret. And so far, you trust Eddie. He cares about the way people around him are feeling and takes action to remedy situations where people aren’t happy or comfortable. That much is clear from this morning. It’s why you don’t dismiss him and leave to get ready. He’s a good person.

“Yeah, I do. Why?”

Eddie takes a couple steps forward so he’s standing just inside your apartment once again.

“Would it help if I gave you some tips? I’ve been working there for a while and I kinda know what they’re looking for, so-”

“That would be great!” You exclaim, because you really need this job if you want to continue living here.

Eddie just smiles brightly at your reaction as you say, “Just let me get dressed and then I’ll knock on your door when I’m ready?”

“Sure,” Eddie nods, grabbing the edge of the door on his way out to close it.

“Oh! And Eddie?” You call out just before the door shuts.

“Yeah?” He responds, popping his head back in the apartment.

“I really am so sorry about this morning.”

“It’s alright. I’m sorry for breaking in…Although you seemed pretty unprepared, so, yaknow, this was probably a good learning experience for you,” He teases, that same sparkle in his eyes that had appeared when he was questioning your weapon returning.

You bite your lip over a smile as Eddie winks at you and disappears behind the door, the heavy wood slamming softly shut.

Getting ready in record time, you end up knocking on Eddie’s door across the hall approximately one hour later, leaving more than enough time for Eddie to give you interview tips and for you to walk over to Hannigan’s to arrive early.

As you stand in the hall awaiting his answer, you feel oddly giddy, a swarm of nervous butterflies fluttering rapidly in your belly. Briefly, you think your butterflies can be explained on account of Eddie making you nervous. But you bat that thought away as you hear footsteps approaching and remind yourself that it’s more likely that your upcoming job interview has caused the butterflies.

When Eddie answers his door, you find he’s also gotten dressed in the hour since you’ve seen each other. He wears a simple black t-shirt with a band name and logo you don’t recognize on the front with a long-sleeve underneath, and some light-wash jeans. His hair is noticeably more tame, his curls flowing neatly over his shoulders. Eddie also wears the silver rings he was searching for this morning; three on one hand, and one on the other. The fluttering in your belly intensifies for a moment, but again, you bat them away.

“You wanna come in or are we gonna do this out in the hall?” Eddie jokes when you make no move to enter his apartment, unaware of this strange battle you’re having within yourself at his doorstep.

Shaking yourself free of your thoughts, you mutter a quick apology and take his joke as an invitation to enter. As you do, you realize this is the first time you’ve been inside his apartment. Which isn’t a surprising fact. You’ve only been here for two full days, and haven’t really left your apartment much since then.

His apartment is smaller and you might describe it as drab, but their decor choices are vibrant in their own way.

The kitchen is immediately to your right as you enter, a table to your left, and as you wander further into the room, a counter separates the entrance slash kitchen area from the living room. In the living room sits two black recliners and a large wood entertainment centre with a television set. On either side of this are two closed doors.

The far right side of the apartment has two windows and a red sofa sitting beneath it. Beside that is another door, this one open (revealing tiled floor and a closed shower curtain).

There isn’t much in the way of wall decoration (aside from a lone dart board hanging on the wall and a few posters), but on some of the shelves of the entertainment centre are framed photographs. Some of the photos feature what appears to be two younger versions of Steve and Eddie, presumably taken in high school. In one photo, Eddie has his arm around Steve’s shoulder and they both hold beer cans in their hands. Eddie smiles cheekily for the camera, while Steve puts on a faux grimace at his friends close proximity.

Other photos feature boys who appear to be much younger than Steve and Eddie (possibly siblings?) and there are also photos that include Robin and Nancy, some recent and others clearly taken years ago. Another includes Steve and Eddie carrying a boy with curly hair–who wears a graduation cap and gown–on their shoulders, all of them smiling widely. You can tell it's candid as they all appear to be laughing and unaware of the camera photographing them.

“Who’s this?” You ask curiously, pointing at the photo as you turn around, finding that Eddie hasn’t moved from his spot at the door and has likely been watching you inspect his living area this whole time. Suddenly you feel like you’re intruding. “Sorry, I-”

“No worries. You can look. That’s what they’re there for,” He shrugs, finally joining you in the living room.

At your side now, Eddie inspects the photo you pointed to and a fond smile crosses his face. His side profile is soft, and you spy just a hint of shaven stubble on his cheeks. It distracts you for a moment.

“Dustin,” Eddie says after a beat.

“What?” You ask dumbly, now preoccupied with the freckles you’ve spotted that dot his pale skin lightly.

You’ve never been this close to him before. All you’d have to do to get right into his personal space is take one short step forward. But of course you won’t do that. Why would you?

Eddie looks from the photograph to you. “In the picture,” He explains, nodding to the framed image. “That’s Dustin. It was taken at his high school graduation, like, two years ago? He’s a good kid…Well, he’s not really a kid anymore, but I guess it still feels like that sometimes.”

“How do you know him?” You hear yourself say. The kid looks like he’s about five years younger than Eddie and Steve, so naturally you’re curious about how they know him.

You’re supposed to be here getting pointers for your job interview, but instead, you find that you’re more interested in the details of Eddie’s life.

“Uh, we were in high school together and I had this club that he was a part of,” Eddie explains, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“What kind of club?” You wonder, electing to ignore the fact that he somehow attended high school with this kid.

He seems reluctant to provide you with an answer to your question. Up until now, he’s been a pretty open book; someone who doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him. But now all of the sudden, he’s guarded?

“I won’t judge, yaknow,” You reassure, because you won’t, but also because his reluctance to reveal what sort of club he ran makes you all the more curious to find out.

Eddie side eyes you, squinting. He must determine that your remark is genuine because he straightens up from where he’d bent slightly to view the photo and provides you with an answer.

“Ever heard of DnD? Dungeons and Dragons?”

You furrow your brows for a moment, vaguely recognizing the name, but not remembering why.

“Oh!” You exclaim after a beat. “Yes! Was that the one that people were freaking out about years ago cause they thought it caused Satanism?”

Eddie snaps his fingers as he responds, “That’s the one.”

Then, he glances back at the photograph, and you think you can almost make out memories behind his eyes. Fond ones. You lean forward slightly, trying to catch his eyes again.

“You still play?”

Your question shakes him out of his momentary reverie, and he looks to you once again. “Not as much as I used to…But Dustin and the other guys and I try to organize a couple meetings throughout the year. It’s hard though because everyone’s kinda spread out now. And busy.”

His tone is wistful as he continues to glance around at the photos sitting on the shelf. Had you just upset him? First, you assist him in banging his head against your coffee table and now you’re potentially causing him some emotional pain too! Good going.

You’re about to apologize or change the subject, but Eddie speaks before you can. “Anyway! We should probably talk about your interview now. How long do we have?”

Looking around the room to find a clock, you spot one by the door. The little hand points toward the nine and the large hand points toward the six.

“About a half hour before I should get going,” You respond, turning back to Eddie as he takes a seat on one of the recliners behind you. You sit down as well.

“Great. So…do you have any questions first?” Eddie asks, unsure where to start.

“Uh,” You say, trying to remember any questions you had, but you can’t seem to recall any as you roll up the sleeves of your thick sweater, the ink on your wrist and forearms revealed as the fabric is pulled back.

Immediately, Eddie’s eyes shoot down to the action and for the first time, he catches sight of the ink.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos,” He remarks, like it’s something he should have known. As if it’s been more than 48 hours since you met and it’s ridiculous that he didn’t know.

“Oh. Yeah,” You say absentmindedly, glancing down at your arms.

“Tip number one: your tattoos are sick, but at Hannigan’s, they aren’t exactly appreciated, so you should make sure you cover them up.”

“Gotcha,” You say, rolling your sleeves back down the length of your arms.

Suddenly you’re reminded of your first day when you spotted his inked arms. The seven bats decorating his forearm. “Um…Yours are really cool by the way,” You compliment.

Then, “When did you get your first one?” You ask, veering further off topic. You can’t seem to stop yourself and you don’t know why.

“Uh…heh,” Eddie huffs a short laugh, almost as if he’d forgotten until this very second when you’d asked him. “I think I was, like, 16, 17? I did a really shitty stick-and-poke on my leg–the initials of my band name: Corroded Coffin.”

Every new thing you learn about Eddie intrigues you. Of course this long-haired, tattoo-having, ring-wearing, Dungeons and Dragons-playing 20-something would also have been in a band. Your surprise is likely evident on your face.

“You’ll have to come to one of our gigs sometime,” Eddie invites casually, as if it’s not the most cool thing to say in the world. Eddie didn’t used to be in a band, Eddie is in a band!

“You’re still in the band?”

“Yeah, the other guys live out here too, and we do regular gigs a few times a week…but, um, what about you? When did you get your first tattoo?”

Still gaping at him, you must pick your jaw up off the ground before you can respond. Cool and humble. How is he real?

“Oh, um, I was 18…I actually got it cause I knew my mom would hate it and it would probably piss her off,” You say, a little embarrassed by that fact. You don’t know why you reveal the information to him in the first place. Maybe because for some odd reason you know he won’t tell anyone. Even still—his story was way cooler. Especially since it preceded the reveal that he’s in a band. But maybe that’s also part of the reason you share it. You want him to think you’re just as interesting as he is—though you’re not sure who would be impressed by the information you just shared.

“Did it work?” Eddie asks. To your surprise, he seems invested in your answer, leaning over the edge of the recliner's armrest. As if what you’ve said was equally as interesting as his response.

“Did what work?”

“Was she pissed?”

“Oh!” You say, like a total ditz. “Um, yeah. Big time. She hates tattoos.”

“Is that why you have all of them?”

“No, I only got the first one to make her mad. And then when I realized I really loved it, I just kept getting them,” You respond, pushing your sleeve back slightly to brush the one on your wrist with your thumb.

When you look back up at him he’s smiling softly at you, but he quickly averts his gaze and his eyes find the clock on the wall. “Shit,” He says, a little panicked. “We only have 20 minutes.”

Whipping your head around to glance at the clock, the hands confirm that it’s 20 to 10 and you’ve barely discussed what you came here to discuss.

“I guess we’ll just have to lightning round this shit,” Eddie says, determination set in his tone.

And you do lightning round this shit. In just over 20 minutes, Eddie tells you as much as he can about the owner of the restaurant—Cordelia—who is going to be interviewing you. He tells you how to sit, what to say, how to say it, anything and everything he can think of to help you secure a job at this place.

As you two stand and Eddie walks you to the door, he shoots you a few final pointers.

“Obviously it helps that you have experience working at an upscale restaurant, so, um, she’ll probably ask you about that too,” Eddie says, and you nod.

When you reach the door, you turn to him.

“Thank you so much for your help,” You say sincerely. “You really didn’t have to do this, so it means a lot that you did.”

“Of course I did,” Eddie replies, like it's just that simple. Your brows furrow. “You’re a member of this party now, and as a fellow party member, it’s my duty to help other party members out when they’re in need.”

“A ‘party member’?”

You’re sure you catch the faintest blush across his cheeks from your question.

“Sorry, uh, I guess it just means you’re one of us now…A friend,” Eddie explains.

“A friend,” You repeat. And you find the word involuntarily pulls your lips into a soft smile.

“Anyway, you should probably get going,” Eddie reminds with another glance at the clock.

“Yeah, okay,” You agree, turning to open the door. “Oh, um, where did you say the restaurant was again?” You ask when you’re out in the hallway.

“It’s um…You know what? Why don’t I just walk you there?” Eddie offers.

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Eddie says with a charming smile.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Cordelia was an intense woman. Eddie had warned you of this, though you had wildly underestimated the level of intensity the woman embodied. She was tall, and wore her long, black hair up in a sleek ponytail, not a flyaway in sight. Her office was large and so neat that you thought it looked like some sort of staged set for a decor magazine.

During your interview, you learned exactly one thing about Cordelia: Cordelia does not fuck around. She did not have time for exchanging pleasantries, and a simple handshake and a “take a seat” was the only introduction she provided you with before she began the interview, which mostly felt more like a police interrogation than a job interview.

By the end, you thought you felt good about how it went, but Cordelia was hard to read. You never once saw her smile or provide you with any kind of verbal or non-verbal communication that would indicate that she was impressed with your resume or any of your answers to her questions.

It was likely one of the most strange job interviews you had ever had. It didn’t necessarily leave you full of hope as you got up from the leather upholstered chair and Cordelia informed you that you would receive a call if she decided to hire you.

Walking through the restaurant–which was void of patrons, but had some staff preparing and setting up for opening in a few hours–, you finally come to the large glass entrance doors, and push one open. The late November chill blasts you in the face immediately and the switch from the warmth of the restaurant to this shiver-worthy weather is jarring. Had it somehow dropped five degrees from when you’d walked here?

Turning right and beginning your trek back home, you hear a voice call out your name from behind you.

You ignore it at first, thinking that the person can’t be calling out to you since you know a grand total of four people so far (five if you count Cordelia—but you don’t) and surely there are other people in this massively diverse city that also have your name.

“Hey!” The voice calls again once you’ve made it no more than fifteen feet from the restaurant.

Finally, you stop walking and spin around to locate the source, and what you find surprises you.

Eddie is currently jogging toward you.

He’d waited this whole time? Out in the freezing cold? With that effortlessly cool leather jacket that is an extremely pathetic excuse for a winter coat and is definitely doing nothing to keep the warmth in?

“Hey,” He says again once he reaches you.

“Hey,” You say. “You didn’t have to wait for me, Eddie.” Because he really didn’t and you don’t want to be a burden or make him think you’re taking advantage of his kindness.

“Seeing as you’re going in the wrong direction, it’s probably a good thing I did,” Eddie tells you, nodding back in the other direction with a gentle, c’mon. You feel your face warm even as the wind whips you.

“Thanks,” You say sheepishly, walking in step with Eddie—in the correct direction now.

“So, how’d it go? Did you crush it?” He asks hopefully, head turned to look at you, and his shoulders pushed up by his red-tipped ears as though he’s trying to conserve heat.

The furrow in your brow and your soft stuttering must be enough for Eddie to understand exactly how it went, as he speaks before you can provide him with your best approximation of how the interview might have gone.

“Yeah, that’s normal with Cordelia. That woman is impossible to read,” He says, shaking his head as you both stop at a crosswalk.

“Right? Oh my God. I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” You say, relieved because that means that the interview wasn’t a total disaster. Is that what that means?

“Yeah, we call her Medusa,” Eddie remarks with a sidelong glance at you.

You snort unattractively at the nickname and just as quickly bring your hand to your face, covering your mouth as if the action could force the sound back in.

“Fitting,” You say, coughing as a cover for the noise when Eddie looks at you, brows raised, supposedly amused by your amusement.

Eddie smirks to himself, barely noticeable, before asking, “Did she say she’d call?” As you look both ways before crossing the street with many other bundled-up New Yorkers.

“Uh, yeah, why?”

“That’s a good sign,” He answers, his shoulders shaking with a sudden shiver. That simple statement allows just a little drop of hope to blossom in your chest.

“Are you cold?” You ask because he can’t not be freezing. He’s not exactly convincing you otherwise.

“Yeah. I can’t feel my fingers,” Eddie states plainly.

“Wanna jog the rest of the way?” You offer, mostly joking.

“Please,” He replies anyway.

Though you don’t exactly jog the last few blocks home, you do pick up the pace, and when you get back you make him some tea to warm him up (and hopefully bring back feeling in his fingers).

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Since your interview every time the phone rings you basically leap over any obstacles in your way to get to the phone, hoping it will be Cordelia calling about your waitressing position as Hannigan’s. But each time the phone rings and it’s a telemarketer, or the bank, or anyone other than Medusa herself, you lose just a little more of that small inkling of hope you allowed yourself to have.

At present, you sit on the couch in the living room beside Robin while you eat noodles; the rest of the Chinese spread sitting on the coffee table in front of you or in the laps of Steve, Eddie, and Robin.

On the plush chair to your left sits Steve who is currently chowing down on some dumplings while staring with rapt attention at the television, and Eddie–who announced his newfound aversion to normative seating options upon his arrival in your home–sits on the floor by your socked feet.

Though the TV is on, you aren’t really paying attention. It’s been just over a week now since you moved in and one week to the day since your interview, and by now you’ve lost all hope.

Privately, you decided that you would call time of death on this potential job by the end of today and start searching for a new one tomorrow. You know there’s plenty of other jobs out there, but the prospect of working with Robin and Eddie had excited you and made you a whole lot less anxious about working in this new city.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Hope surges inside of you despite your intentions of abandoning it. Suddenly, you feel three sets of eyes on you. Even Steve—who had been incredibly invested in the lifeguards running in slow motion on the television screen—looks at you now.

They all knew you’d been waiting for the call. They also knew that you hadn’t received one. Not the one, at least. You wish you had time to get up and answer the phone that sits on the side table in your bedroom because you’d really rather not admit to them that it’s simply another telemarketer.

Since you don’t have the time to reach the phone in your bedroom though, you pull in a deep breath, reach over the sofa arm, and pick up the landline that sits on the glass end table.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Cordelia Hannigan from Hannigan’s-”

And after that you think you black out. Because you don’t hear anything after that. Because this is the happiest you’ve ever been about getting a call about a job. Which sounds ridiculous since it’s just a waitressing job. But it represents so much more. It’s the seal that cements your place in this city with these people. It represents your new beginning.

With that realization you decide that you should probably listen to your new beginning. Trying your best to tune into Cordelia’s words, you hear her throwing words and phrases around like strict dress code and uniform and training and first shift. When she’s done, you tell her thank you, and return the phone to the base, hanging it up with a resolute click.

Three sets of eyes remain on you and your frozen body. When you don’t say anything after one second of hanging up, they get restless.

“So?” Steve prompts, leaning forward in his chair in anticipation.

“Was it Medusa?” Robin asks from your side.

You nod slowly, not believing it yourself. “Uh-huh…I got the job.”

“You got the job!” They all shout in freaky unison. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. You think you hear Steve mutter déjà-vu to himself as Robin and Eddie continue their cheering and congratulating.

“I-I start training this week and my first shift next week,” You inform.

And then Eddie’s shouting, “Speech, speech, speech!” with his hands cupped over his mouth as if you’re much further away from him.

“Alright, alright!” You acquiesce as the others join his chant, putting your noodles down on the coffee table and getting up to stand in front of the television.

“Um, I guess I just want to thank all of you,” You begin, feeling suddenly sincere, but still maintaining a note of jest. “I couldn’t have done it without all of you. Steve, you helped me transport and unpack most of my shit. And I have a lot of shit.”

He nods in agreement. “And I couldn’t have focused on prepping for the interview if I was worried about my stuff sitting in my car in that garage, so thank you…Robin, you helped me set up the interview with Cordelia-”

“Medusa,” Robin and Eddie correct simultaneously.

“Medusa,” You correct yourself. “And you also recommended me for the position. So, thank you…And last, but certainly not least, Eddie,” You say, smiling softly when you catch his eye. He smiles right back at you, that charming dimple appearing on his face as he does.

“Without your pointers I probably would not have made it through the interview without being turned to stone.”–Eddie snorts–“And I also probably would have gotten completely lost and wandered into the East River if you hadn’t been there when I left. So, thank you…” You tell him sincerely, the partially joking tone you had maintained throughout your cheesy speech erased completely now since your gaze had fallen on him.

“Good night, New York!” You finish, trying to play up the cheesiness now to divert from the seriousness that had snuck into your tone, and you bow dramatically as Robin and Eddie clap and woop. But Steve, you notice, is glancing oddly as Eddie.

You laugh as you take your seat, plucking your cardboard box of noodles off the table as you go.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

“Robin!” You hear Steve call from out in the living room, his voice muffled slightly through your closed bedroom door. “The door!”

Robin’s door creaks open before you hear her exit her bedroom.

“You couldn’t have gotten it?” She complains as she walks through the apartment to answer the door.

“No. Baywatch is on,” Steve replies like his answer needs no further explanation. You snicker to yourself as you button up your pressed, white uniform shirt. You swear you can hear Robin’s eyes rolling.

Baywatch was Steve’s favourite TV show; he never missed an episode—except for last week when a meeting at his school ran longer than expected and he’d called Robin to get her to tape it for him. He decided that now–while you were both getting ready to leave for work–was the perfect time to come over and watch it (instead of taking the tape back to his place since your TV is better anyway).

The apartment's front door–which remains perpetually unlocked when you and Robin are home–opens and you listen closely to hear who it might be while you work on tucking your shirt into your formal black dress pants.

“Oh. Hey, Eddie,” You hear Robin greet, though it sounds more like a question with the confusion lacing her tone.

“Hey,” Eddie says, his footsteps tapping against the faux hardwood as Robin shuts the door with a loud slam.

With a quick glance over at your alarm clock, you find that it’s almost time to leave. The realization sends nervous butterflies to flight in your belly. Tonight is your very first shift at Hannigan’s.

Last week you had your training, which was nerve-wracking, but tonight was the real thing. Tonight you would be earning your first dollar, receiving your first tip, suggesting wine pairings, and probably dealing with rude customers. And all of it makes you nervous.

It’s scary for so many reasons, for more reasons than just the fact that new jobs (no matter what they are) are always scary. It’s scary because it’s the next step in the process of making a new–hopefully better–life for yourself here. For that reason, you want it to go well. But you aren’t sure what ‘well’ really means in this situation.

“Y/N!” Robin calls, shaking you from your thoughts. “Cab’s here!”

Blowing out a quick breath, and trying your best to shake out your nerves, you grab your jacket and bag and exit your bedroom, still feeling those butterflies, but determined not to let them shake you. At least not too much.

Leaning against the now open apartment door is Eddie who’s dressed in the same black dress pants and white button-up as you and Robin. He shoots you an easy smile as you emerge from your room, and you smile back.

His long hair, which he usually lets flow over his shoulders in soft waves, is now tied in a low bun. He’s missing his usual chunky silver rings and all his tattoos are hidden beneath his sleeves and a highly buttoned collar.

Though it’s strange to see him stripped of his unique accessories, you find yourself scrolling your eyes over his body. With his hair away from his face, his features are highlighted, revealing the strong line of his jaw and making his eyes appear somehow larger.

As your eyes move down his body, you note the way his arms look in the button up, how his thighs fill out the dress pants. You find yourself missing his rings though. Something twists in your belly, though this time it’s not nerves.

“Ready?” Robin’s voice asks, once again shaking you from your thoughts. She must notice that you weren’t entirely there, that you were lost in your thoughts because she stops shoving things into her bag to ask: “You okay?”

Ripping your gaze away from Eddie and turning to Robin, you reply, “Yeah!” in a voice much higher than your own. You cough quickly as a cover and repeat your words, sounding much less caught out the second time.

“Okay,” Robin drawls suspiciously. “Well, we should really get down to the cab now cause we probably have about 60 seconds before they decide to leave and force us to brave the windchill ourselves,” She informs, pulling her jacket on and shoving her tote bag over her shoulder. “Alright, you’ll lock up and we’ll see you at the coffee house afterwards?” Robin asks Steve.

“Yeah, sure,” He replies absentmindedly from where he’s glued to the sofa.

“Shit, I should probably get my keys then,” You mutter. If they’re going to the coffee house after your shift, then you can’t rely on Robin unlocking the door for you if you’re not together when you get home.

Before you can walk back to your room to retrieve your keys though, Steve pipes up. You’re pretty sure it’s the first time he’s taken his eyes off the television since he got here.

“Wait, you’re not coming?” He asks, his body twisted to look at you with his arm draped over the back of the couch.

“Oh,” You reply dumbly because ‘we’ apparently included you. You were a part of the ‘we’ Robin meant. ‘We’, as in Robin, Eddie, Steve, and you.

It’s not like they haven’t been welcoming since you got here, but it’s only been a few weeks and they’ve been friends and neighbours for years; you thought it might take them longer to accept you into the group since they’re so solid. A part of you felt like they might still see you as an outsider; someone who doesn’t get invited to their after-work coffee shop hangouts just yet. But they’d expected you to come. Sometime within the last couple weeks you became a part of their definition of ‘we’.

“No, I’ll come,” You confirm with a nod in an attempt to appear casual about the invite.

“Awesome,” Steve says, turning back to the television.

“Guys!” Robin shouts and you realize then that she’s no longer in the apartment. Eddie pokes his head out into the hall as Robin says, “Come on, the cab is waiting!”

“Yep, coming,” Eddie says and you follow right behind him, feeling so many things all at once. Nervous about your shift, excited about being invited to the coffee house, and another thing for Eddie that you can’t quite name just yet.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

The fast-paced environment of Hannigan’s is overwhelming, and while normally it might frazzle you, you find that you don’t mind it nearly as much as you thought you might. It’s definitely a different environment than your last job–a desk job that only promoted boredom within you–, but the new challenge of this place is stimulating.

As the night goes on, the din of the restaurant only intensifies; nearly every table and booth is filled with patrons talking and enjoying their 5-star meals, the sounds of cutlery clashing against fine china, hosts and hostesses greeting people at the entrance and making reservations for customers over the phone for months from now, the sizzling, clinking sounds roaring from the kitchen when the swinging traffic doors open, then shushing when the doors close again.

With just over an hour left of your shift and the clearing of what feels like the thousandth table you’ve waited on tonight, you watch as yet another diner is seated in your section. He’s a tall man, his dark hair styled precisely atop his head, and has a short goatee beard, trimmed to perfection. It reminds you of Kurt Cobain’s facial hair, though nothing else about him resembles the rock icon. The man looks rich–though you suppose most people who dine here are. From what you can tell with the distance between you, he might be about ten years your senior.

Not wanting to keep him waiting, you begin to stride over to his table, though you are just as soon intercepted, a large hand gently engulfing your wrist. You turn and find that the hand is attached to Eddie, his deep brown eyes staring back at you, and suddenly the contact brings heat to your face and a zip of something unnamable down your arm. Both of you retract your hands swiftly before Eddie explains his interception: “Why don’t you let me take this table, yeah?”

Confusion muddles your features for a moment. Why on earth would Eddie want to take on another table? It’s busy enough in here as it is. Plus, taking a table that is not in your section is strictly against the rules and as it’s your very first shift here, you’re not quite comfortable enough just yet to bend any rules. Especially not when they were fiercely outlined to you by Cordelia, who you were sure that if she possessed the powers of Medusa like Eddie and Robin say, she would surely turn you to stone if she caught you breaking any of them.

Since you’re not willing to risk getting yourself or Eddie into any sort of trouble, you tell him: “You have your own section to worry about, Eddie. Don’t worry about mine, I got this.” With an easy smile in hopes of further reassuring him, though you’re not sure of what.

You barely make it a few steps in the direction of your table before he’s stopping you again, this time with a gentle hand at your elbow.

“It’s just that…I’ve had that guy in my section before and he’s…difficult,” Eddie explains, struggling to come up with a word to describe him and seemingly being displeased with the one he chose as his brows furrowed together.

Oh.

His explanation causes heat to rise to your face, warming your entire chest with a strange fuzzy feeling. Was Eddie trying to protect you? If he was, that was very sweet of him, but still, you can’t allow him to take this table for you–even though you feel like you could melt to mush in his grasp right now.

“I’ve dealt with difficult people all evening,” You say. “I’ve got this.”

Before he can protest anymore or continue to convince you not to take the table, you’re walking away from him, your soft skin slipping from his gentle grip.

Eddie watches you walk away, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as you greet Paul and hand him the menu. The second Eddie sees that trademark salacious smirk creep across Paul’s face, Eddie’s jaw clenches involuntarily, but it’s not like he can do anything about it now.

Had he had any right to try to do anything about it before? To try to take your table? He hasn’t known you very long, so who is he to step in and attempt to protect you from that creep? He shouldn’t even feel this protective of you, this jealous. What the fuck is going on with him lately?

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Collapsing onto the big fluffy couch at The Ugly Mug, you feel yourself instantly sink into the soft cushions. Have they always felt like literal clouds molding perfectly to your body or does it just seem that way after being on your feet for hours?

Now that your first shift is over you can appreciate how truly tiring it was. Adrenaline must have helped you stay on your feet all night, helped you acclimate to the job, but now that you’re seated in the calm, quiet atmosphere of the coffee shop, all that energy has left you entirely.

“Ugh, is it always this exhausting?” You sigh, slumped between Robin and Eddie. Steve sits on a plush chair next to the couch.

“I-” Robin begins, but Eddie interrupts before she can finish.

“Don’t lie to her, Rob,” Eddie says, sensing that Robin was likely about to lie in order to comfort you.

“Fine,” She replies, sighing, exhaustion weighing heavy in her bones as well. “It is. It’s always this exhausting…”

“But,” Robin drawls teasingly, pushing herself up so she’s no longer slumped down on the couch. “It’s not every shift you get hit on,” She says, wiggling her brows suggestively at you.

“What? Who got hit on?” Steve pipes up curiously, placing his pastry down on the round table beside him.

“Y/N,” Robin confirms teasingly, and you cover your face with your hands.

Eddie huffs from beside you as Steve says, “What? No way! By who?”

“One of the rich guys. I think he’s a new regular–Paul,” Robin answers, a childish tone to her voice when she says his name that makes you think she might start singing Sitting In A Tree with yours and Paul’s names any second now.

Steve’s eyes widen comically and Eddie grumbles something incoherent from your side, but you don’t get the chance to ask him what he said before Steve is hurriedly asking: “So? What happened?”

“Well, he asked me out,” You reply, a little embarrassed from their excitement as you adjust so your legs are crossed under you. Paul was charming from the moment you handed him his menu, all smiles and classic handsomeness.

“And you said?”

“I said yes,” You reply quietly at the same time as Robin exclaims, She said yes! She’d cackled when you’d told her about it at your lockers after your shift ended, joking that you could quit Hannigan’s and Paul could become your sugar daddy instead.

Normally, you might have declined such an offer from someone you’d just met–especially if that someone was 10 years older than you–, but the whole point of this move was change. Change required doing things you might not normally do, it required some spontaneity and courage. Both of which were not necessarily your strong suits, but you were trying. The first step was simply saying yes to things.

Steve smiles, impressed. “Alright, Y/L/N!”

And then, realization dawns over his features and he quickly turns his attention to Robin.

“Speaking of dates…” Steve begins, using the same salacious tone Robin had used earlier. “Robin, how are things going with Alicia?”

Looking at Robin, her eyes widen as she replies, “Oh my God, I totally spaced and forgot to tell you!”

Leaning in closer to Eddie on your other side, you whisper, “Who’s Alicia?”

“This girl Robin’s been seeing for a bit,” He answers easily.

You tune back into the conversation just in time to hear Robin inform, “I asked her to be my girlfriend.” Even if you weren’t looking at her right now you’d be able to hear the smile in her voice.

“That’s great, what’d she say?” Steve asks, jumping in even as Robin opens her mouth to continue, clearly not finished speaking.

“She said yes!” Robin exclaims, not even pausing to tease him about his over-eagerness to hear the rest of the story or give him a playful roll of her eyes like she usually might. This Alicia woman must mean a lot to Robin if she’s obliged to censor her usual sarcastic quips.

“Fuck yeah!” Says Steve as he high fives Robin and you chuckle at their odd celebration.

“Robin, that’s great. I’m so happy for you,” You congratulate, hand on her shoulder, remembering when you were teens and she never thought she’d get to have a girlfriend. Robin smiles sheepishly now.

What a satisfying end to the day. You’re exhausted, but at the same time exhilarated. It feels like things are finally falling into place, like you’d been putting together a puzzle and some of the pieces had gone missing. But you’ve found some of them, and now you’re sliding them into their places. And they fit. For the first time, you feel like you fit, and that makes you believe that everything is going to be okay–that you’re going to be okay.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

“So,” Robin drawls as she places two juices on the kitchen table in front of you, one for her and one for you. “Where’s he taking you?”

“I don’t know yet, actually. All I know is that it’s ‘somewhere nice’ and he’s going to be picking me up at 7:30-ish,” You reply as you twist the cap off your drink.

“Mysterious,” Robin comments after taking a sip of her juice.

“Your date’s tonight?” Steve asks as he wanders into the kitchen and sticks his head into the fridge, likely scouring the shelves for a snack.

“Yeah, why?”

Steve stands from his bent position inside the fridge and turns to you and Robin, a slice of cold pizza in hand. “Mine too! Gonna bring her her favourite flowers, take her to her favourite restaurant, go see the tree at Rockefeller–the whole shebang.”

Steve takes a giant bite out of his pizza slice, then slides over to the table and steals Robin’s drink. She makes a disgusted face at him in protest and pushes the drink away from her when he places it back on the table after taking a healthy swig.

“That’s really sweet, Steve. I’m sure she’ll have a great time,” You tell him genuinely.

“Ugh!” Robin groans, drawing your attention away from Steve as her head falls back on her shoulders dramatically. “Stop talking about dates! I haven’t seen Alicia in three days and I have a shift tonight,” She complains, pouting.

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Steve mutters, taking his slice with him into the living room where he joins Eddie and Nancy–who sit on the armchair and couch, reading and writing, respectively.

“Whatever,” Robin replies, slumping down in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Aren’t you seeing her tomorrow?” You ask though you know the answer because it’s all that she’s talked about since she last saw Alicia. You’re sure you could pick the girl out of a crowd without ever having seen her just from everything Robin has spewed to you about her. It’s nice to see her happy.

“Yeah,” Robin says, tone solemn.

“Why do you sound disappointed?” You wonder with a chuckle.

“Because tomorrow is not right now,” Robin explains and you snort at her impatience to see her girlfriend again.

God, you don’t remember the last time you felt that way about someone; wanting to be around them all the time, missing them the second they left your side. Maybe it was college the last time you’d felt that way? You haven’t really dated since then. That one disastrous blind date your previous co-workers set you up on does not count. You’d actually prefer to block it out of your memory.

Robin sighs. “Anyway, I should hop in the shower before my shift,” She says as she stands and heads to the bathroom. She’s genuinely bummed that she won’t get to see Alicia until tomorrow

“Have fun,” You joke, head falling back on your shoulders as you watch her walk into the bathroom upside-down. You think you hear a sarcastic ha-ha from her before the door shuts.

Also upside-down from your current perspective is Eddie who you see sliding the window to the balcony open before ducking under it and going out onto the balcony.

He’s been off all night. While usually he would be cracking jokes and being his usual over-dramatic, loud self, tonight he was uncharacteristically quiet, keeping to himself. You’ve spent enough time around him by now to tell when something might be up with him.

Standing and grabbing the large throw blanket tossed over one end of the couch, you wrap it around yourself before going to the window, sliding it open again and carefully ducking under it as you step out into the chilly night.

The remnants of winter's early sunset remains on the horizon, lining the city in a dark blue hue while the sky above and beyond that is blanketed by blackness and a dull smattering of stars. That’s the one thing you miss about living in a small town; the lack of light pollution allowed for the stars in the sky to burn bright. Here, it’s impossible to make out a constellation from the street. You suppose the city lights are as close to stars as you’ll get out here.

Eddie leans against the brick and concrete balcony wall, his forearms perched on the cold surface, watching the city as plumes of cigarette smoke swirl around his head. He turns to look at you when he hears you approaching, tucking his chin to his shoulder.

“Hm,” You hum, coming up beside him and leaning over the wall, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You shiver and he has the urge to remove his leather jacket and wrap it around you.

“Um,” Eddie begins, unsure of how to phrase this so it doesn’t sound like he’s shooing you off. Just because he doesn’t understand why you’re out here with him doesn’t mean he wants you to leave. He enjoys your company, wants to be around you more. As much as possible, actually. “Did-did you need something?”

You hesitate for a moment, before saying, “No. No, I just wanted to come check on you.” Though it sounds more like a question. Like you’re prompting him gently.

“Oh. Okay,” Eddie replies, surprised and not sure what else to say to that. You’re so thoughtful and observant it makes his chest hurt.

Eddie can feel you examining his face closely and he lets you, continuing to stare out at the city below.

“I can leave if you-”

“No,” Eddie replies suddenly before you can even finish your sentence, his eyes finding yours as he says it. Your eyes are wide, expectant. “I mean-no. You’re good.”

“Okay,” You say, settling in beside him.

The conversation tapers off again and you’re left with the sounds of honking cars, the muffled racket of people talking in the street below, the robust sound of a public bus stopping down at the corner. A harsh wind kisses your cheeks, likely staining Eddie’s pink.

He feels awkward. He’s never felt awkward around you before. Not even when you almost strangled him that one morning and he smashed his head against the coffee table. Maybe it’s because of everything going on in his head right now.

An odd tension sizzles between you. He can feel its strength, more fierce than the wind. But it’s elusive, an enigma he can’t quite grasp. He wants not to think about it and tries not to since he can’t do anything about it anyway.

“How are you adjusting?”

“Are you okay?”

You both break the silence at the same time. A smile breaks across your face and Eddie blows a harsh breath out through his nose.

“Sorry, you go first,” Eddie offers.

“I just-are you alright?” You rush out after a brief pause, seemingly self-conscious of the question, though Eddie could never imagine why. “I just thought you maybe seemed a bit off in there…And, like, usually when people separate from the pack, it might mean something’s up,” You explain slowly, that almost inquisitive tone appearing in your voice again.

Eddie side eyes you, your perceptiveness surprising.

You must take the glance to mean that he’s annoyed because you say, wanting to lighten the mood, “...Or they just want to be left the hell alone.”

Eddie snorts, turning his body to face yours now, his right hip pressed into the cold concrete wall with his elbow resting atop it. You mirror his stance, adjusting the fluffy blanket around you as you go.

“But I find it usually means the first thing….And-and a lot of the time I don’t think that people really want to be left alone, even if they say they do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie teases lightly, wanting to shift the focus away from himself. He can’t tell you what’s wrong.

“Mhm,” You nod, playing along with his teasing by holding your head high as if you have all the wisdom in the world to offer. But then your expression changes. Just slightly, but Eddie sees it. What you say next isn’t teasing, what you say next is from your soul.

“I think what they really want—more than anything—is to not have to be alone ever again,” You say, and it’s like a shadow passes over your face. He notes the change in your eyes; like you’re living a past feeling.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees after a beat, tone the furthest from teasing it’s ever been. Both because he knows the feeling, but also because he doesn’t want you to feel alone in it. Because he can tell you’ve been really lonely before. And he hates that his evasion of your question made you recall that loneliness.

That look in your eyes disappears, and you seem to shake out of it easily as you look him in the face and ask, “What are you thinking?”

It’s a pretty innocuous question. But right now, at this moment, it holds more weight.

“I’m thinking that…you’re right. I guess I’ve just been in my head.”

He wasn’t planning on revealing that. He doesn’t even know why he said anything. It’s like you pulled it out of him. It’s like he can’t resist.

“Yeah? About what?” You ask, eyes searching his.

He can’t tell you. He wishes he could, but he can’t. It would be such a jerk move to tell you before your date. And it’s not like he could have told you earlier either. Not after the promise he’d made. He already feels like he’s said too much.

“We don’t have to talk about it. I get it,” You say after he doesn’t reply.

But you don’t sound hurt. Instead, you sound sincere in your acceptance of the fact that he doesn’t want to say anything. It makes him want to tell you even more. Your sincere kindness, your thoughtfulness, it makes him ache. How can he not be honest with you? Especially when you’ve been so honest with him.

In order to honour his previous promise, Eddie layers the truth in a sheer veil of lies, concealing parts of the truth, while revealing others.

“There’s-there’s this girl,” Eddie begins, working out how he’s going to weave lies in with the truth. “But one of the guys from my band–Jeff–asked her out recently…And I-”

“You like her too?” You guess. You’d known from the secret smile that crept onto his face; fond but sad.

Eddie nods slowly, relieved that he didn’t have to say the words aloud himself. Like saying them would make it more real, would confirm what he already knows.

“But Jeff asked her out first. So I don’t have a right to…to feel the way I do about it,” Eddie explains, navigating his way around the truth. He’s lying to you almost as much as he’s lying to himself. “And it would be wrong to tell her now. I’d be betraying Jeff’s trust.” It’s not Jeff’s trust he’d be betraying.

You sigh, stumped. “I’m sorry, that’s hard…tell me about her?” You ask, though your voice sounds strained.

God, you’re so nice. It’s killing him. He feels so guilty. How can he lie to you about you? He can’t. Not when you’re looking at him like you are. Like every word out of his mouth is the most important thing that has ever been said.

“Um…Well. She’s-she’s open-minded and accepting, a little weird,” Eddie describes with a chuckle, remembering the morning you greeted him with your bathrobe tie.

When your eyes connect, he can’t help but soften, impassioned as he looks into them. Wanting so badly to let you know he’s talking about you, he toes the line.

“She’s genuine. Honest. What you see is what you get with her,” Eddie says. The city noise fades away and your breaths become the wind, your eyes the city lights.

“She cares about her friends. It feels like she always knows the right thing to say, even if she feels like she doesn’t…And she’s the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

Something changes in your expression. Your eyes burn, searching his intently, looking back and forth between the left and the right. His eyes can’t lie, he can’t force them to. They reveal everything. They can’t conceal or contain his feelings.

Eddie yearns to hold your face gently in his hands, to feel your lips against his, to feel your smile as he kisses you.

Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as if sudden emotion overwhelms you, your eyes aflame. You wait in anticipation for his next words as wind whistles around you, ruffling your blanket.

“Anyway,” Eddie coughs, dispelling the tension, and glances down at his wristwatch. “It’s getting late, you should probably start getting ready for your date.”

Recognition flashes in your eyes, like you’d forgotten entirely about your upcoming commitment.

The spell is broken. He hadn’t even realized there’d been a spell until it was broken.

You take a step back and it’s then Eddie realizes you were so close your toes were nearly touching. Shit. Why had he done that? That was almost worse than telling you everything he’d said was actually about you.

“Yeah. Right,” You agree, walking back towards the window.

Eddie turns and leans against the balcony wall, looks back over the city. The wind is the wind, and the lights are just lights.

“Oh, and Eddie?” You call. Eddie swivels his head to look back at you, one foot inside the apartment and one out on the balcony with him, straddling the window sill. “I hope it works out with her.”

Eddie gives you a good-natured smile. “Yeah. Me too,” He replies as you duck under the window and return to the apartment. You close it shut softly, leaving him with the wind and the lights.

Eventually, Eddie goes back inside too, locking every intense emotion that had built up inside of him out in the cold.

As he wanders back into the apartment, he finds your bedroom door is now closed and Nancy’s spot on the couch is vacant. Robin is rushing out of her room in her work uniform while she roots through her bag, mumbling about her keys. And Steve, who’s snacking on some grapes from the fruit bowl on the counter, has Robin’s keys casually swinging from his index finger. Though Robin doesn’t notice until Steve ahem’s, and she snatches them from his hand before reaching the door.

“Oh!” She says as her hand twists the handle, and spins around on her heel to face Eddie and Steve. “If either one of you is still here before Y/N leaves, tell her to have a good night with Paul. She deserves it.”

And the door slams shut behind her as Eddie takes his seat on the couch.

He has every intention of picking his book back up where he left off. Though it remains open in his hands as he stares at your door. He can’t stop staring at your door. Which should be infinitely less captivating than the words between the pages in his hands. And yet it is not. It is far more captivating than any book he has ever or will ever read. The thought strikes him like a bolt of lightning zapping a tree and setting it on fire.

“Hey, man, are you okay?” Steve asks, noticing Eddie’s prolonged staring at your door.

Pulling his eyes very slowly away from your door, Eddie replies, “Yeah, I…Yeah.”

When his gaze finds Steve’s, he’s looking at Eddie like he’s trying to do long division in his head.

“...Okay,” Steve drawls, retrieving his jacket from the counter in the kitchen. “We’re definitely gonna talk about that later. But for now, I gotta pick up Joselyn. Later, man!” He calls as he exits the apartment, leaving just Eddie and your door, alone.

He’s not necessarily looking forward to whatever conversation Steve wants to have with him later, but he’s hoping this Joselyn woman will keep Steve busy long enough for Eddie to avoid the conversation entirely–at least for the night.

It’s been 23 minutes and your bedroom door still has not opened. Eddie knows the exact amount of time it remains closed because although he had tried to focus on the words in his book after Steve left, he simply could not stop looking at your door. And wondering when it would open. Hoping it would open. Estimating when it would open by calculating how long it might take you to get ready. For a solid three seconds, Eddie debates knocking on it, before deciding that’s crazy because-

The door opens.

“How do I-”

Eddie stares. Suddenly your door becomes the least captivating thing in the room–in the entire universe–and he can’t believe he ever thought it was captivating to begin with.

Your black dress—which reaches your ankles—is simple, though it hugs your body wonderfully. The straps are thin and the neck is square-shaped.

Eddie could equate your beauty to a thousand other beautiful things. He could equate it to paintings and sunsets and flowers. He could equate it to the most beautiful poetry and the most profound stories. But the truth is that none of his comparisons would ever be enough. None of them could express how he feels when he looks at you; like his heart stops and speeds up in his chest at the same time. Like he’s never seen anything beautiful in his life until this moment or even knew what the word beauty meant until he saw you.

“Oh-Everyone left already?” You question when you realize Eddie is alone. You and Eddie are alone.

“Y-yeah,” Eddie stutters, mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh…alright.”

Eddie swallows hard, trying his very best not to watch you like he’d watched your door. But that task proves impossible. And now it’s quiet. And it’s been quiet for far too long as you stand there fidgeting with your shawl looking like that with no one to tell you that you look like that. No one except Eddie.

“Um,” Eddie begins. Great start. He can’t say what he wants to, so instead he explains his presence: “I didn’t wanna leave without letting you know, since everyone else left...But, uh, what-what were you gonna say…before?” God, he was the worst! If he can’t say the word to himself, how is he supposed to repeat it out loud to you?

“Oh,” You say, looking down at yourself bashfully. “I was just gonna ask how I looked,” You explain, waving your hand in dismissal.

Eddie wants to not be the worst. Eddie wants you to think that he’s not the worst. Eddie wants you to know that you look like that.

“You look great,” He says, slightly breathless. ‘Great’ is a safe word, it’s a friendly word. It’s not the word he wanted to use.

You smile softly, averting your eyes from him and to the floor as you say a meek, but sincere, “Thank you.”

Eddie really shouldn’t say anymore. But he loves the way it feels when you get all shy from his compliments. He loves the way you thank him. Like you know his compliment is true, but to hear him say it means something different, something special.

So he can’t keep it in. But he wills himself to reign in his emotions; to freeze the butterflies in his belly before they take flight.

“You-” look really pretty. “Your dress is really pretty.”

“Thank you, Eddie,” You say, swaying nervously on the spot.

Fuck. Shit. Jesus Christ! There wasn’t a net big enough in the world to contain the swarm of butterflies fluttering in his belly right now. It’s downright embarrassing.

You seek out his eyes. And Eddie knows. And you part your lips, about to speak.

“I-”

Knock, knock, knock.

All too soon, your gaze shifts to the front door. But Eddie’s eyes remain on you.

“Oh, that’s Paul,” You inform, pulling your shawl more tightly around your body before you begin walking towards the door. You make it about three paces before you realize, “Shoot, I forgot my purse in my room, would you mind getting the door?”

“Sure,” Eddie says, minding a whole awful lot. But he stands from the couch anyway and makes his way to the door as you head back into your bedroom.

The door swings open, revealing a sharply dressed Paul leaning against the doorframe. His suit is pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. It’s too pristine, like he’s not moved in it, not sat down.

When Paul lifts his head from where it’s bent on his neck, his salacious smirk disappears the moment he sees Eddie. He’s far less handsome with that ugly frown on his face. He looks like a petulant child.

“What are you doing here?”

Eddie bites his tongue. Then forces a fake smile as he greets politely, “Good to see you too, Paul.”

He expected nothing less from the guy, but that didn’t make it any easier to hold back. Sure, he wasn’t serving him in the restaurant–so there weren’t any clearly defined rules here–but you were about to go out on a date with the guy. So he held back.

“Y/N will be right out, she’s-”

The click of your heels against the wood floors sound behind him. Paul’s smirk spreads across his face like molasses as he eyes you. Though Eddie’s sure they don’t roam further than your chest.

A surge of unrightful possessiveness swells within him at Paul’s obvious ogling.

“Hey!” You greet him cheerily and Eddie steps aside, fading into the background.

“Hey, babe,” Paul says as you reach him and Eddie cringes at the territorial nickname. It takes everything in him not to shudder like he’s just seen a child pick their nose and wipe it on a pole in the subway.

You hug and Eddie watches as one of Paul's long arms stretches around your waist, though his hand hovers dangerously low before you pull away and Paul remarks, “Ready to go?”

“Yup,” You confirm, with a sweet smile. With that, Paul guides you out of the apartment with a hand on your middle back and just before you exit the apartment, you request: “Lock up on your way out?”

It shouldn’t feel this good to have your attention on him again. Shouldn’t make his heart skip in his chest.

Eddie just nods, sure that if he tried to speak, he would emit some embarrassing sound instead of a casual sure thing.

You smile at him widely, “Bye, Eddie.” Has his name always sounded that lovely?

“Bye, Y/N.” Has your name ever felt that lovely rolling off his tongue?

The door slams shut behind you.

“Shit.”

Eddie’s belly bubbles with a feeling. Jealousy burns in his gut. He has no right to feel this way. The moment he names it, he wants to un-name it. The moment he names it, he wants to ban the word from his mind, shove it inside one of those dark spots up there, and hope it never sees the light of day again.

He made a promise to Robin. He doesn’t get to feel this way.

So he tries his best not to call it what it is and tells himself that it has to be a simple combination of his hatred for Paul and his knowledge that you are a ridiculously wonderful person who deserves so much better than Paul Becker. But this is all he can allow himself to acknowledge.

What he will not acknowledge is the third part to this equation that adds up to this feeling. What he will not acknowledge is the way he feels when you look at him, when you say his name, when you stand in front of him in a black dress and he can’t tell you how pretty you look.

So he focuses on the one thing that is the most natural to him: the fact that Eddie hates Paul.

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Next Chapter [coming soon]

A/N: And that is chapter one, folks! I've been working on this for months now, so I really, really hope you enjoyed it. Please consider reblogging and leaving a nice comment or sending me an ask telling me what you thought!

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damp-gravelove · 6 months

Text

Thinking about today how Andrew and Ashley would drink and the consequences! Inspired by the official artwork but generally still my HCs :3c [spicy continuation ensues 🩶]

Andrew probably shoots for the adage “strong and sweet” most of the time. He wants fucked up fast and he wants it to taste good, flavored vodkas and margarita pre-mixes his poison of choice. He isn’t immune to the siren song of something bitter or something weaker, but if the strong and sweet is available then he takes it. He’s likely a quiet (but handsy) drunk, chilling in the feeling and the moment, but if an opportunity for physical touch presents itself it’s not like he’d deny it, given consent of course. He doesn’t take precaution to prevent hangovers, so he faces them frequently.

Ashley in my eyes would be much more of a person to enjoy something of moderate strength that fills her up, like stouts and dark beers. Like Andrew she isn’t against something fruity, but she likes drinking a lot volume-wise and sugary stuff can be a lot to handle. She’s much more of a giddy but sloppy party drunkard. Her inhibitions are less restrained, so she can be a bit more destructive or impulsive but she doesn’t take things too far. Since she can drink more of a weaker drink before getting buzzed past sensibility, she spends a little time drinking water and eating some snacks to keep away major hangovers, but a headache is always at least common.

Where things get good is when they’re drunk together. They blare music, snack, banter, and it’s all a good time. But Ashley tends to read into Andrew’s quiet drunken state as being upset. Sometimes he is, but usually he’s just quietly enjoying the vibes.

But Ashley presses, sitting next to him and maybe pushing into him a bit, prodding. He pretends to be annoyed, reassuring her he’s fine, but the warmth of her body is tempting. He allows his eyes to wander quite brazenly. Ashley notices and teases him. Maybe if he likes looking so much, he should grab what’s already in front of him. He pauses for a moment.

Do you want me to?

From here, tension is clearly building. It doesn’t have to build long though, as teasing gets quieter, turns to mumblings of drunken sweet nothings, and leaning against each other turns to Ashley straddling Andrew’s lap, it’s not long before they’re lip-locked, soft moans complimenting blaring music.

The two generally agree that they’re both way too clumsy to do much in terms of gratifying desires via penetration. Thankfully that’s not the only way they can do it.

Pants, shorts, boxers and panties quickly slide away, hands fumbling and caressing lovingly as they enjoy each others warmth. The liquid courage and foreplay have already made both parties obviously aroused. Andrew is ready to grind against Ashley, and with her already wet and straddling his lap, they commence with little issue.

Soft moans turn louder, occasionally muffled against each other’s skin as the sensations resulting from their bucking hips send their already dizzied minds into a frenzy. Nails dug in for anchorage, dragging across shivering flesh as they seek desperately for more of each other.

More… 💚

Oh god, more…! 🩷

~~~

It isn’t uncommon for them to pass out on top of each other after climax, but the moments before rest are ones of even more sweet nothings. Words remembered little by the mind, but greatly by the soul.

The morning after is one of nursing a hangover, cleaning each other up from the night’s events, and a nurturing warm morning. Even if the sunlight doesn’t help Andrew’s migraine ☀️

#next time: weed! maybe #hopefully the inspiration hits me for that like it did with this!#so enjoy!!#grub speaks #the coffin of andy and leyley #tcoaal #gravecest #coffincest #ashley graves #andrew graves #andrew x ashley #ashley x andrew #shipcest

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dcigar · 2 months

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Agent Lewis. pt 1

Agent Lewis awoke with a start, his senses jolting awake as he found himself in a state of disorientation. His eyes fluttered open to a dimly lit room, his body feeling unnaturally heavy, every breath a laborious effort. Panic surged through him as he attempted to move, only to find himself confined by an unfamiliar weight pressing down upon him.

As he struggled to sit up, his hands groped for purchase on the surface beneath him, finding only the cool touch of bare skin. It was then that he realized he was completely naked, a wave of vulnerability washing over him. Frantically, his hands roamed across his body, encountering short, pudgy fingers where once there had been slender digits.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he glanced downward, only to be met with the sight of a massive belly protruding from his abdomen. It heaved with each labored breath, making it difficult for him to draw in air. His heart pounded in his chest as he grappled with the reality of his transformation.

Gone was the lean, tall, agile frame of Agent Lewis. In its place stood a short, stout figure, the reflection of which stared back at him from the window. Male pattern baldness had claimed his once-full head of hair, leaving only a sparse ring of graying strands around the edges. But atop his upper lip, a thick, graying mustache now adorned his face, adding to the weight of his new identity.

He felt dwarfed by his own body, the once-familiar contours now alien and unfamiliar. This was not what he had expected. The magnitude of the transformation hit him like a ton of bricks, leaving him reeling with disbelief. He had known that assuming a new identity would come with its challenges, but nothing could have prepared him for this. The weight of his new form bore down on him, both physically and mentally, threatening to crush his resolve.

And yet, amidst the turmoil, a new sensation stirred within him. A craving, deep and insistent, tugged at the corners of his consciousness, yet unsure and not recognizable. The thought of it filled him with a strange sense of comfort, a reminder of the role he was now meant to inhabit.

But as he sat up in the recovery room bed, his vision still blurry from the aftermath of his transformation, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease when his gaze fell upon the familiar yet indistinct figure staring back at him through the window. Who was this person? Try as he might, he couldn't quite grasp the identity of the individual beyond the glass. It was a disconcerting mystery that added another layer of complexity to an already overwhelming situation.

Still, Agent Lewis was not one to succumb to despair. With a deep breath to steady himself, he pushed aside his doubts and focused on the task at hand. He may have been transformed into someone unrecognizable, but his determination remained unshaken. This was his most deep cover mission yet, and he was determined to see it through to the end, no matter the cost.

As Agent Lewis continued to explore his new body, he couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief at the extent of the transformation. Gone were the familiar contours of his 25-year-old physique, replaced by a rounder, thicker form that seemed almost foreign to him. He was 18 inches shorter. His once-toned back and long, lean legs were now a distant memory, obscured by the bulk of his swollen stomach and the presence of prominent man boobs. He attempted in vain to locate his penis amidst the folds of flesh, only to find it obscured by his burgeoning belly.

Running his hands over his newly acquired features, Agent Lewis felt the stubble of his thickening mustache and the smoothness of his bald scalp. He couldn't help but miss the cascade of hair that used to adorn his head, now lost to him in the transformation. Despite his initial shock and discomfort, a sense of awe crept over him as he marveled at the skill of the doctors and the precision of the procedures that had brought about his drastic metamorphosis.

Embracing his new identity as an Italian mobster, Agent Lewis found himself craving the trappings of power and luxury that came with his new persona. He yearned for the feel of fine silk suits against his skin, the heady aroma of thick cigars wafting through the air, and the sense of authority that came with being a respected member of the criminal underworld.

As Agent Lewis continued to explore his new body, he couldn't help but notice the peculiar sensation of his mustache brushing against his lips with each breath. It had grown so long that it moved rhythmically with his respiration, causing an unusual tickling sensation that he found oddly satisfying. No longer able to breathe through his nose as easily as before, he had become a mouth breather by necessity, the mustache serving as a constant reminder of his altered physiology.

At first, the sensation was disconcerting. The feeling of his own facial hair tickling his lips was foreign and somewhat intrusive. But as he adjusted to this new way of breathing, Agent Lewis began to appreciate the sensation in a different light. It was a reminder of the meticulous attention to detail that had gone into his transformation, from the length of his mustache to the shape of his belly. It was these subtle nuances that would help him blend seamlessly into the world of the Italian mob.

Running his fingers through the length of his mustache, Agent Lewis couldn't help but marvel at its density and texture. It was a far cry from the smooth, clean-shaven look he had been accustomed to, but there was a ruggedness to it that he found appealing. As he experimented with different styles and shapes, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in his newfound appearance. He was no longer just Agent Lewis; he was Vinny Capone, a formidable figure in the criminal underworld.

However, amidst the discovery of his new identity, Agent Lewis noticed another sensation stirring within him—a craving for cigars. This was entirely new to him. The thought of the thick, pungent smoke curling around him filled him with an inexplicable desire. It was a craving that seemed to emanate from deep within, urging him to indulge in the vice of his new persona.

Suddenly, the door opened, and his handler, disguised as a mobster, entered the room. "Welcome back, Agent Lewis, or shall I say Vinny Capone," his handler greeted him with a wry smile. "What do you think of your transformation? Let's get you a robe, your glasses, and a mirror. It's time to fully embrace your new persona." With a nod of agreement, Agent Lewis rose from the bed, ready to take on the challenges that lay ahead with his newfound identity as Vinny Capone, and perhaps, a thick cigar in hand.

As Agent Lewis, or rather the persona he was being molded into, Vinny Capone, greeted his handler, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. "Did he just call me Vinny Capone?" he thought, a tinge of disbelief coloring his thoughts. "No, I can't be Vinny. I would never have agreed to this."

His handler, sensing his confusion, handed him a robe and explained the situation. "You are Vinny Capone now," his handler said firmly, meeting his gaze with a steady look. "I didn't tell you before because I knew Agent Lewis would never agree to this. But Vinny Capone is a necessary disguise for this mission. You have to become him, live as him, if we're going to take down the mob from the inside."

The weight of his new identity settled heavily on Agent Lewis's shoulders as he processed the revelation. He was being thrust into a role he had never anticipated, a role that went against everything he stood for. But as he looked into his handler's eyes, he knew there was no turning back.

With a silent nod of acceptance, Agent Lewis donned the robe and followed his handler out of the room, his mind racing with the challenges that lay ahead. He may have been unwillingly transformed into Vinny Capone, but he was determined to use this new identity to dismantle the criminal empire from within, even if it meant sacrificing a part of himself in the process.

As Agent Lewis stood up, feeling the weight of his new body pressing down on him, he realized the enormity of the task ahead. Walking when 18 inches shorter, 40 years older, and carrying this much weight was a challenge unlike any he had faced before. But if he was going to live convincingly as Vinny Capone, he knew he had to start studying his movements and mannerisms.

Steadying himself against a nearby surface, Agent Lewis took a moment to accept his new reality. He may have been unwillingly thrust into this role, but he was determined to make the most of it. Unable to speak as his vocal cords continued to heal from the transformation process, he knew that actions would speak louder than words in his new life as Vinny.

As he began to move around the room, he couldn't help but notice the familiarity in his movements. Despite the drastic physical changes, there was a certain fluidity to his motions that felt oddly natural. It was as if his body already knew how to inhabit this new persona, as if Vinny Capone's essence was already coursing through his veins.

With each step, Agent Lewis felt himself growing more accustomed to the weight of his new body. He may have been shorter, older, and heavier than before, but he was determined to make it work. If he was going to convincingly infiltrate the world of organized crime as Vinny Capone, he knew he would have to become him in every sense of the word. And so, with a silent resolve, he set out to master the art of living as someone else, all while plotting to bring down the very man he was now masquerading as.

As Agent Lewis prepared for the next phase of his transformation – memory conversion – he knew that he had to make the most of the time he had left before the procedure. It would take a couple more days before he could undergo the process, and in the meantime, he was determined to master his new body. But he had a growing and increasing craving which he was unable to shake.

Agent Lewis was Spending his days reading everything he could get his hands on about the Italian mob and studying Vinny Capone's mannerisms, Agent Lewis also spent a significant amount of time staring at himself in the mirror. Despite the initial shock, he had grown somewhat accustomed to his short stature, the sensation of his mustache itching his lip (which he oddly loved), and the constant reminder of his large belly.

However, as the days passed, a new sensation began to gnaw at him – the craving for a cigar. It started as a subtle longing, but with each passing hour, it intensified, until his head began to pound with the desire for a smoke. It was a craving that he couldn't ignore, a physical manifestation of the transformation he had undergone and the persona he was now inhabiting.

As he stared at his reflection in the mirror, Agent Lewis knew that he would have to find a way to quell the craving before it consumed him entirely. But for now, he pushed aside his discomfort and focused on the task at hand, determined to master his new body and prepare himself for the challenges that lay ahead in his mission to infiltrate the world of organized crime as Vinny Capone.

Yet, with each passing day, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was becoming more like Vinny. His movements seemed more natural, his thoughts aligning with the mindset of a mob boss. It was as if his body was adapting to the persona he was meant to portray, merging seamlessly with the knowledge he had gained from his research.

Though initially unsettling, Agent Lewis allowed himself to embrace this transformation. He reasoned that it was a combination of his body adjusting to its new form and the extensive preparation he had undertaken. Whatever the reason, he knew that becoming more like Vinny would only serve to further his mission. And so, with a sense of determination and acceptance, he continued to immerse himself in the role, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

As the day of the first memory transfer and brain alteration from Agent Lewis to Vinny approached, Agent Lewis couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and apprehension. What would he sound like once the procedure was complete? Would he adopt the accent and diction of Vinny Capone, further solidifying his new identity? These questions swirled in his mind as he prepared himself mentally for the transformation that awaited him.

Meanwhile, a tailor arrived to create custom suits for him, along with hats and walking sticks. Vinny even had custom boxers, a detail that seemed strangely intimate yet necessary for his new persona. As Agent Lewis watched the tailor take measurements and discuss fabric options, he couldn't help but marvel at the attention to detail that went into crafting Vinny's wardrobe. It was another reminder of the immersive nature of his new identity and the lengths to which he was willing to go to maintain his cover.

As the tailor finished his measurements and left to begin work on the suits, Agent Lewis felt a sudden surge of longing for a cigar. It had been building within him for days, a relentless craving that he could no longer ignore. With a sense of urgency, he signaled for a cigar, unable to bear the wait any longer.

When the cigar arrived, it was long, thick, an 8x80. Not sure how Agent Lewis knew that, as he had never smoked a cigar before. Nevertheless, he was given a humidor, with a smile - this was a sign the transition was successful - and lighter. Agent Lewis was not sure how to smoke the cigar; however, his body seemed to know. He surrendered to the body's memory and desire. With practiced ease, he prepared and lit the cigar as if he had smoked them for decades.

His handler, who had been observing the proceedings with keen interest, was thrilled by this development. To him, Agent Lewis signaling for a cigar was a sign of progress, a tangible indication that the transformation was taking hold. It was a sign that the doctors needed to see, proof that their procedures were having the desired effect.

As Agent Lewis accepted the cigar and took the first satisfying puff, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction mingled with trepidation. The road ahead was still fraught with uncertainty, but in this moment, he allowed himself to savor the taste of victory, however fleeting it may be. With each puff of the cigar, he felt himself inching closer to becoming the man he was meant to portray – Vinny Capone, Italian mobster extraordinaire.

The day of the brain and memory alterations had finally arrived. As Agent Lewis prepared himself for the procedure, he steeled his resolve, knowing that this would be the final step in his transformation into Vinny Capone. He would receive memories of and from Vinny, allowing him to survive deep undercover, to live, to become him. He was ready.

When he woke from the memory transfer, there was a newfound confidence coursing through him. He felt as though he had lived a lifetime as Vinny, experiencing his triumphs and hardships firsthand. Memories flooded his mind: the warmth of a close Italian family, the ruthless path of becoming a mob boss, the deep-seated hatred for law enforcement, the indulgence in cigars and women, the love for fine clothes, and the allure of money.

But amidst these memories, Agent Lewis still retained a sense of self. He was still inside, a silent observer amidst the torrent of experiences that now defined him as Vinny Capone. It was a conflicting sensation, the clash of two identities vying for dominance within his mind. Yet, he knew that in time, the two sets of memories would merge and coalesce, creating a seamless tapestry of his new identity.

As he spoke for the first time since his transformation, Agent Lewis marveled at the sound of his own voice. It carried the accent and diction of Vinny, a testament to the success of the memory transfer. There was a shock in hearing himself speak in this new voice, yet there was also a strange comfort in it, as if he had always been meant to sound this way. Vinny had a unique diction and lisp, and Agent Lewis found himself replicating it flawlessly. "How did they do this?" he wondered, astounded by the precision of the alterations made to his mind and voice.

Moreover, he noticed that he was beginning to think in Italian. Vinny's language and mannerisms were becoming second nature to him, blending seamlessly with his own thoughts. It was as if he was truly becoming Vinny Capone in every sense of the word. With a mixture of awe and trepidation, Agent Lewis embraced his new identity, ready to embark on the mission that awaited him as the Italian mob boss, Vinny Capone.

As Agent Lewis awaited the final memory transfer that would complete his transformation into Vinny Capone, he found himself surrounded by the trappings of his new identity. His new suits had arrived, along with a motherlode box of cigars. He had already indulged in all of the previous cigars, despite never having smoked one before. Yet, it felt strangely natural for him, as if the act of smoking a cigar was encoded in his very being.

#cigar #male body swap #bodyswap #bodysuit #undercover #body changes

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 8 months

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here to stay | rhett abbott x oc

Summary: The Amelia County Boy's Home is having a back-to-school clothing drive and Cecelia Abbott forces her son to finally get rid of those old clothes that no longer fit. However, Rhett encounters someone he doesn't expect. (wc: 4174)

Warnings: flashbacks, rhett's a bit of an idiot but he's got the spirit

✎……here it is! the long-awaited rewrite! i hope anyone who reads this finds as much joy in it as i have the past few months. this story has helped me find my love of writing again so it's near and dear to my heart - so please be kind!

✎……MASTERLIST || NEXT CHAPTER

Rhett didn’t check to see if there were any holes in the old pair of Wranglers before he chucked them into the box along with everything else. Old shirts from high school that he couldn’t remember the reason for keeping and had been too small for him for quite some time. Sweatshirts and hoodies he bought at rodeos that made him cringe — their airbrushed images of bucking bulls and rearing stallions large. And a few other pairs of jeans that were just on the wearable side of thread-bare. All this he tossed into the cardboard box his mother had given him. Not caring to fold any of it.

They were just donations, after all.

Picking up the box from his bed, and plopping his old brown stetson on his head, Rhett made his way downstairs. The stairs creaked under his booted feet like they had since before he was born.

That was the thing about old farmhouses. They were noisy. Groaned and shook against the winds that rolled along the great Wyoming plains. Settled at odd hours of the night. There was no use in trying to sneak around. Wherever you walked, a floorboard wailed. Over the years, growing up in that old farmhouse, Rhett had learned which polished planks were less squeaky than others. Which steps to avoid in the wee hours of the night. Attempts at creeping through the house, smelling like hay and cheap booze, even his mother — who grew up in that same noisy old farmhouse — found valiant.

But he didn’t care about sneaking now. It was ten in the morning and he had chores to do. One of which was already complete: gather clothes he wouldn’t mind donating to the Amelia County Boys Home.

Rhett stepped into the overcrowded kitchen to the lingering smells of bacon and eggs. He knew he missed breakfast. He slept in late, and everyone else had already been awake for hours. His father and his older brother, Perry, were probably out in the fields counting cattle by now. He hoped he wouldn’t have to see them before he left for town. Rhett set the box down on the small kitchen table in the middle of the room with a sigh. Wondering if there was any coffee left.

“That you Rhett?” his mother called from her office.

Once upon a time, that office was the family dining room. But that conversion took place long before Rhett was born. His grandfather turned it into an office space for the family ranch when he inherited it from his father. Hence the crowded kitchen.

“Yeah,” he replied, taking off his hat and setting it beside the box, knowing his mother would give him a look for wearing it inside the house. “There any coffee?”

“A little, maybe.”

Rhett turned to the coffeemaker, and sure enough, there was enough for one cup. That was all he needed. Getting down a mug from the hooks over the window, he poured what remained in the decanter and took a sip. Nothing fancy, but it did the job in waking him up some.

His mother’s small steps echoed, floors creaking, as she walked into the kitchen. She pointed at the box on the table. “Those the clothes y’re donatin’?”

Cecelia Abbott was a stout woman. Both in heart and stature. Her brown hair much like her younger son’s was cropped short around her ears. She never did anything to it like the other rancher’s wives, just let it hang around her face and hoped for the best. And her face was hard, wrinkled like old leather. Evidence of a hard life and years of hard work. She was kind — but often silent.

“Yeah,” Rhett replied, turning to lean back against the counter.

Cecelia picked up the sweatshirt laying on top. A sweatshirt with Amelia County Rodeo printed on the front with peeling letters — a cowboy riding a bull just underneath (also peeling at the edges). A relic from his days on the high school rodeo team. First time he ever rode a bull and really caught the thrill for it. The best part of his high school days, in his opinion. She turned it around so he could get a look at the logo. A small, fond smile flashed across her face only long enough for him to recognize it.

“Sure ya don’t wanna keep this one?” she asked, turning it back over and tracing the letters with her thumb.

Rhett took a gulp of his coffee. “Why would I?”

“I don’know…For the memories?” she suggested, “Show your kids one day?”

He scoffed over the lip of his mug. At this rate, there was a slim chance of that happening. A wife, couple kids — that entire settled-down life that it felt like everyone in their small western town was ready for him to have. He was twenty-three and every girl he tried to date either left him or didn’t seem interested in getting married until the relationship after him. He blamed the bad luck on still living at home and his reputation as a bull rider, but really, deep down, he knew it was him that was the problem. Every time. There wasn’t any sense in holding out hope for something that wasn’t in the cards for him. So he shook his head and sipped up the last of his coffee.

“‘Member jus’ fine without it,” he said, watching as his mother folded the sweatshirt gently and put it back in the box.

All she did was hum in answer.

Amelia County, Wyoming had one real city, along with a few other unincorporated communities. Wabang. The Dirty Bang to those who managed to escape but still came back from time to time. Rhett thought the name was funny, though his parents gave him a glare any time he used it in front of them (Perry, without fail, always laughed).

The city itself was small. With a square downtown full of mom-and-pop shops or empty storefronts. Just enough stuff for the ranchers and farmers that made up the population to get by. If you wanted clothes from somewhere besides the Tractor Supply or watch a movie in theaters or eat someplace nice — you had to drive the two hours to Casper.

Everything felt a little dusty in Wabang. A little worse for wear. A little like everything and everyone was on the verge of keeling over. Like that old horse put out to pasture a long time ago. Just waiting for the day to come but stubbornly refusing to give in. Stuck in some space between life and death.

At least, that was how Rhett saw it.

He remembered when he was eighteen and telling anyone who would listen that as soon as he graduated, he was getting off his family’s ranch and out of that little nothing town. Graduation came and went. He knew he couldn’t go to college. His grades were never going to be good enough for that. And getting up and leaving everything he knew, no matter how much he wanted something more, scared him — now that the time had come. So he decided to wait a year. Save up. Make a solid plan. Then one year turned into two. And so on until suddenly he was twenty-three and he was still on that ranch and still in that town.

Maybe he too was dusty, worse for wear, on the precipice of some death that he saw coming a mile away. Stuck between.

He glanced at the box full of clothes sitting in his passenger seat as he drove into town. Adjusted his grip on the steering wheel as well as the lay of his hat.

It wasn’t that the Boy’s Home scared him. It just made him uneasy. A big Victorian with peeling white paint and missing roof tiles on the outskirts of town — surrounded on either side by more old houses with faded colors and rotted porches — rumors spread easily that the place was haunted. At the very least ghost adjacent. Or maybe the real source of his unease was the fact that anytime he misbehaved as a kid his dad would purposefully drive by and threatened to drop him off and leave him there.

Either way, whether by the speculation of specters or his father’s threats, he felt slightly wary as he pulled up in front of the Boy’s Home now.

Only, it wasn’t like how he remembered it.

The paint had been redone. It was no longer chipped and faded but pristinely, bright white. Even the roof was fixed, completely replaced by brick red tiles all in neat rows. There were flowers, brightly colored mums and coneflowers, and bushes planted out front. The plack that read Amelia County Boy’s Home est. 1905 by Miss Abigail Granger was no longer crooked, hanging by one screw beside the front door, but perfectly straight. A sign was pushed into the lawn about the clothing drive. The entire house stood out in stark contrast to the still decrepit buildings surrounding it. The only blemish was a porch swing with a broken chain.

This place didn’t feel dusty. Or worse for wear. Or on the verge of some slow, long-awaited death. It felt…Welcoming. Homey. Full of life.

Suddenly, he was feeling like he should have checked those Wranglers for holes.

Rhett sighed as he cut the engine and climbed out of his truck. Box cradled in his arms. He followed the short stone path up to the front porch, looking for somewhere to put his donation or at least someone to leave it with. But there was nothing except that porch swing, one side still held aloft by the intact chain. Another sigh slipped past his lips, huffed and slightly agitated. He was hoping to get by with this chore without having to talk to anyone besides maybe a here ya go and you’re welcome. But alas, he adjusted his hat one more time and rang the doorbell.

“Coming!” a feminine voice called from inside. A few moments later, the blue door was pulled open. “Can I help you?”

He knew her. Nearly a head shorter than him, athletic build gone slightly soft, with long light brown hair kept back from her face by a kerchief covered in daffodils. Her eyes were big and blue and expectant. The corner of her full pink lips quirked up in the beginnings of a smile. She looked kind, but not silent about it.

Her name was just out of his reach though, on the tip of his tongue.

But he remembered her from high school.

The Wyoming/South Dakota Rodeo Invitational was always the one event in the season that Rhett looked forward to the least. He hated the South Dakota team. Mostly because they were good, but also because they knew it too. Liked to rub it in their faces. Call them a bunch of dirty hicks when they were all a bunch of dirty kids of hicks with something to prove.

It made Rhett angry, so he rode better. But not good enough. He only placed third. Shiny yellow ribbon pinned to his protective vest nearly mocking him as he walked back to grab his gear.

He passed by the dirt riding pit, the stands now completely empty and the fairgrounds only lit by the yellow street lamps above. A few people still milled about. Other kids and their parents, talking excitedly about their scores or abysmal about their performance. Rhett was just glad his parents couldn’t make it to this one. He didn’t know if he would have been able to stand the fake positivity from his father or his mother’s sympathetic face.

There was a girl standing at the pit railing, still wearing her back number with Amelia County printed at the top. She was alone, hands in her back pockets, white stetson tilted back on her head.

“Bus’s leavin’ soon,” he called out to her.

She turned to face him with a bewildered look, eyebrows raised and pink lips downturned, and he stopped walking. A big blue ribbon was pinned to her flannel.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, pushing away from the fence and walking towards the show barn where their teams' gear was stored during the rodeo.

Rhett only had to take a few long strides to catch up with her. “Congrats.”

“Thanks,” she said again as she glanced down at her ribbon.

“Barrel racin’, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Her cheeks looked pink in the yellow light. “Bull rider, right?”

“Yeah,” he laughed softly.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. He waited for her to grab her things and walked back to the bus with her. She sat towards the front, by herself. And Rhett went towards the back where his friends were calling his name.

She was that same girl. That same barrel racer who won first place and walked with him quietly and pink-cheeked. Looking up at him now with some sort of knowing smile forming on her face. Like she was in on the joke but he didn’t get it. His tongue suddenly felt too heavy in his mouth, too large for the space, as he adjusted his grip on the box and tried to say something.

He still couldn’t remember her name.

He also couldn’t remember if she had been that pretty before.

Her head cocked to one side, knowing smile growing as she prompted, “Is that for the clothing drive?”

“Y-Yeah,” he managed to stutter out around the growing weight of his tongue, blinking rapidly as he glanced down at the Amelia County Rodeo Team sweatshirt neatly folded on top. “Uh — there-there wasn’t a place f’me t’put it, so…”

“Oh, God, sorry! Brought everythin’ in t’start organizin’. Got more than I’thought we would,” she replied, smile that showed maybe too much of her teeth never leaving her face, then she reached for the box. “Here, lemme take that.”

Her small hands slid over the sides of the cardboard box and caught his fingers by accident. Rhett felt something flutter inside him, like his gut twisting in a knot. Her skin was warm. Even from such a brief touch, he knew her hands were soft — untouched by years of hard work. He glanced down at his now empty hands. Rough, hard callouses stared back at him. Immediately, he dropped them back down at his sides. Adjusting the weight of the box in her arms, she stepped back into the doorframe.

Her name scratched at the back of his mind like the dog he left out in the rain. It was right there. But he just couldn’t grasp it — and he knew he couldn’t just ignore it.

“You went t’Amelia County High, right?” he asked.

Her mouth shut with an audible clack, smile and teeth gone, as she cocked her head at him. Brows furrowed in something like curiosity. Rhett smiled as he watched her. She looked cute when she did that.

“Yeah, I did.” She adjusted her grip on the box, thigh coming up to push it further into her arms. “Uh — we sat next t’each other at graduation, actually.”

It was an absolutely sweltering day in May, 2015. The sun high in the sky by mid-morning and not a cloud in sight to block the bright rays. Rhett wished he could have at least worn his stetson to keep the light out of his eyes. But he had a different hat to wear today.

A golden graduation cap with a blue tassel hanging by his left ear.

Amelia County High School held its graduation ceremony at the fairgrounds, in one of the big metal-sided show barns with stands already set up on either side of the dirt-covered floor. There was always a notice sent out to all the seniors not to wear nice shoes.

Inside the barn, the sun wasn’t shining in his eyes, but he could feel the sweat running down his back. The air pulled into his lungs thick with that early summer heat and the smell of old cow shit. With the last name Abbott, Rhett had the distinct privilege of sitting in the front row of his graduating class of 150. Closest to the makeshift stage and the valedictorian finishing up her speech. She was going off to Georgia for school — something medical — and Rhett could only wish he had that kind of excuse to get out of Wabang. But senioritis had hit him hard, and his grades suffered for it. He hadn’t even bothered putting in an application anywhere. It wasn’t like he would’ve known what to major in any way.

His plan was to leave the following morning. Pack up his stuff and go west. Follow the rodeo, live out of his truck. Find…Whatever it was he was looking for. There had to be something out there for him. He just knew it. And he wanted to find it.

He looked over his shoulder at the rest of his classmates. All in those matching golden gowns. Maria Olivares stood out to him easily. Beautiful and posed and smiling up at her friend on stage. With skin like caramel, full lips painted pink, and hair dark as night. She was getting out of this town too. California to learn how to be a veterinarian.

Maybe she was part of what he would find out there in the wide world.

“Rhett Theodore Abbott.”

He strode across the stage, his family cheering wildly from the stands. Taking his diploma, carefully tucked in a blue leather case, he shook the principles hand. Then he walked off the stage and back to his seat. It was over in seconds. Four years — and it was done. Part of him felt as if it, getting his diploma and walking across the stage, should have felt like more. More momentous, more exciting, more something had ended and something else was beginning. Instead, it felt like nothing. There he sat, sweating in his seat, diploma in hand.

And he just felt stuck.

The next person’s name was called. Another last name starting with A. She was short, her gown nearly covering completely the old cowboy boots she wore. Her hair, brown as young tree bark, shone with hairspray and curled around her shoulders. Her smile big and wide as she accepted her diploma and walked across the stage. Her applause was just a bit louder than Rhett’s — a whistle piercing the air that made her laugh.

That whistle sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place where he had heard it before.

The girl came down from the stage and sat next to him back in their row. For a moment, it was just the two of them.

“We did it!” she laughed awkwardly, fists slightly raised in celebration.

Rhett chuckled. “Yeah.”

They said no more as the ceremony went on. As the names of all their classmates were called. As they got to their feet and moved their tassels from the right — to the left. And as everyone cheered, Rhett looked back to see Maria Olivares kissing her boyfriend.

“Abernathy.”

The name he suddenly remembered came past his lips more like a question than he intended. His head tilted down as he looked at her through squinted eyes, wondering if he was right or if he had just made a fool of himself. Her lips peeled back in a smile before she laughed, loud and beautiful. A relieving sound to his doubt.

“Yeah,” she laughed again, adjusting her grip on the box again. “Most people call me Tessa, though.”

He repeated her name on a mutter, tried it out on his tongue. A smile quirked the corner of his mouth when her cheeks turned pink. Just like they did under the yellow lights of the rodeo. But in the mid-morning sun, the blush tint made the freckles high on her cheekbones stand out more. Like wildflowers dotted in a field.

Tessa Abernathy. Now that her name was in his grasp, memories of her came flooding back. Watching her barrel race with a kind of determination that cast her face in shadows that gave him chills. Her standing across a circle of mutual friends in the school hallway, never saying much and shifting foot to foot. He remembered her eyes. Blue as a cloudless day in July and always looking at him like she was just caught doing what she shouldn’t. A little different maybe, but harmless. They hardly ever spoke to each other and they both seemed content that way.

That girl from Amelia County High was nothing like the woman that stood before him now. Or had she really always been that pretty and he was too stupid to notice? She looked up at him with those same July eyes — only all he could see was confidence. Maybe amusement as she waited for him to say more. Should he say more? He didn’t know what, only that he wanted to.

Swallowing down the weighty feeling on his tongue, he rubbed at the rough material of his work jeans as he started, “I d’know if y’member me — “

“‘Course I ‘member you, Rhett Abbott.” She grinned, ear to ear, as if they shared some secret.

She remembered him too. Probably from the instant she saw him. An unexpected guilt tugged at the pit of his gut. He was always doing that. Forgetting shit he shouldn’t. Like the name of the pretty girl he went to high school with. Just another one of those things he didn’t know how to fix and at this point, no one expected any better from him. So he stopped trying a long time ago.

“I — m’sorry,” he muttered, gaze focused on his dirty boots.

“Nothin’ t’be sorry for,” she answered, “S’not like we were friends or whatever.”

“You were friends with Laney, right?”

Laney Griner. Small and blonde with big opinions and an even bigger voice. The life and organizer of many parties. But still sweet as the pies she liked to bring to bake sales. Rhett never liked the way she would play dumb in order to get the other guys to pay attention to her. It never worked on him — and he wasn’t sure if Laney ever wanted it to. She really only had her eyes set on one boy.

“And you were friends with Walker.”

Walker Browning was that boy. Rhett’s best friend since kindergarten. He was shorter than Rhett and broader. Built like the son of a ranch hand he was. Walker liked to dream — but he wasn’t much of a doer. He liked to drink and party and everyone wondered when he was going to grow up. Cecelia Abbott liked to blame Rhett’s lack of ambition on the Browning boy, but there was never any real malice behind it

Laney and Walker came as a package deal, forcing their friend groups to be together often. Though that never seemed to mean the two halves talked to each other much.

“Yeah,” Rhett chuckled nervously, wiping at his mouth. “Um — when-when’d you get back in town?”

Tessa laughed again, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “I never left.”

All Rhett could do was stare at her for a moment, thinking. There was no way. It had been six years since they graduated. Surely he would have seen her around town in that length of time. One of the bars, the rodeo, a weekend bonfire, the grocery store — something. But he couldn’t recall anything. Not that too big smile or eyes like easy summer days. He even still hung out with Walker, and Laney was with them often (when they weren’t broken up for the time being).

“Seriously?” he questioned, still racking his brain for somewhere he might have seen her but just missed it — guilt pulling at his insides again.

“Seriously.” She turned and set the box down on the floor inside with a soft groan, when she straightened, she leaned against the doorframe with arms crossed. “Don’t feel bad — don’t get much free time workin’ here.”

Rhett glanced around the porch, eyes catching on the black metal plack. Right. He had nearly forgotten. “Y’like it?”

“I do. What about you? I’know ya still ride bulls, but — uh — ?”

“Family’s ranch,” he replied with a nod.

Tessa smiled, and suddenly it didn’t seem too big or to show too much teeth, it was perfect for her. Beautiful even. Like her own personal bit of sunshine that she graciously blessed him with — that warmed his belly and made his own small smile try and form some reply.

“Nice,” she said, then a voice called from inside the house. She looked over her shoulder, then back to him apologetically. “I gotta get back t’work. Thanks — f’r’the donation. It was nice talkin’ to ya.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah.” He nodded with a small smile, stepping back towards the porch steps.

Tessa Abernathy smiled at him one last time as she grabbed hold of the door, lip caught in her teeth and that pink back in her cheeks. “See ya around, Rhett.”

He really hoped that he did.

i no longer have a taglist, please follow @anniesocsandlibrary and turn on notifications for updates

a/n: yeah i rewrote the fic...don't look at me. i originally wrote this when i was deeply lost in trying to please literally everyone besides myself and i lost my creative voice. so here we are. i am much happier and i hope the people who enjoyed the og version of this fic like it too.

#oc: tessa abernathy #fic: here to stay #fd: outer range #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x oc #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fanfic #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott imagine #outer range #outer range fic #outer range imagine #outer range oc #ocapp #chapter update #fic rewrite #rhett abbott x tessa abernathy #lewis pullman

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sirowsky-stories · 7 months

Text

The Old Prince

So, this is my entry for the Halloween themed Pedro Pascal Writing Challenge hosted by @pedrocontestsrus Thank you for organizing this! And if anyone else is interested in entering the competition, here's a link to the post with all the info.

I chose Prompt #2 Theme: A Dark and Stormy Night. However, I suck at short, so this is basically just a teaser which I'm gonna have to continue outside of the contest.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, Game of Thrones AU, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses, reader is attacked and abducted. Also, this is my first time writing Oberyn. Word Count: 4041 Author's Masterlist

You run at full speed despite the darkness, ignoring the burning in your lungs and the furious pounding of your heart, even though you know that he’s already gone and that your running would only scare him off if he wasn’t. The woods have always scared you and even now, in your mid-thirties, you still panic when you’re alone among the creaking old trees, spider webs and nightly active animals, all of whom seem intent on eating you. At least, to your own imagination.

“Damned it, Casper…” you breathlessly curse the horse for leaving you, once you’ve been forced to a stop by the pain in your lungs.

He’s normally very brave but being in the woods in the middle of a building storm is apparently too much even for his stout heart. So, you’re left to walk the remaining four miles to your house, and not for the first time, you find yourself wondering why the hell you’d chosen to live all the way out here, surrounded by the very woods that have always been such a source of discomfort to you.

“Because that was all you could afford, dimwit,” you chastise yourself out loud.

The house you now live in had been put up for sale after the previous owner had been missing for a few years and was eventually declared dead, despite her body never being found. It’s small and old, but well maintained and very charming, so you’d been surprised to be the only one interested in it.

You’ve lived there for over six years now and while it’s a bit secluded and a little too far from town, you do love it. The hiking trails leading up to the seven hills that make up the east boundary of the region run right by your property, and in daylight, you love to ride or just wander up to the peaks and admire the view.

There are rarely any larger wildlife passing through so for the most part, it’s quite safe, so long as you remember to bring water and check for lose rocks on the steeper sections of the trails. But now, in the near pitch-black darkness of night, you can’t even recognize the trail you’re on. So, why are you even out here?

Well, that would be because you’d started out in daylight, as usual, but then gotten involved in a search for another missing person in the hills, which had left you out there until well after nightfall. You had of course expected Casper to bring you home safe and sound, like he usually does no matter what’s going on around him. But unfortunately, on this occasion, the horse had lost its footing and fallen to the ground.

He’d gotten up without trouble, but since you’d no longer been on his back at that point, he’d gotten spooked, probably by the reins getting caught in his legs or something, and had taken off. You hope that he gets home without hurting himself, but you’re also quite angry with him for not recognizing your voice and staying by your side instead of running off on his own.

But your thoughts are disrupted by a creaking sound coming from behind you, a sound definitely not created by a tree. You stop, feeling a cold shiver move slowly down your spine, and you know that you’re in danger. You have no idea exactly what is watching you right now, but you know that something is.

You hear that same sound again, mere moments after the first, and even as you instinctively set off running, too panicked to even know if you’re still on the trail, your mind tries to work out what the hell that sound is. The winds are picking up, building towards the forecasted storm that has all the kids in town excited because of how perfect it is for the Halloween celebration, but it’s making it so much harder for you to hear if something’s chasing you.

Unable to stop yourself, you throw a look over your right shoulder, and a strangled scream escapes you when you catch a glimpse of something impossibly large and strangely shiny, and then just teeth. You try to run faster but you can’t. The dark world around you is a blur as you wait for those teeth to sink into your flesh and torture you to death. It seems to take so long.

And then it happens. You’re snagged to a stop so quickly that it makes your legs lift off the ground as they’re kicked forwards by the momentum. Something has your shoulder between its jaws, but that’s as much as you’re aware of before the world fades away and nothing exists anymore.

-=¤=-

You wake up on a bed in a room with a strange ceiling and stone walls. You’re groggy and only half awake, so it takes you a moment to realize that there are paintings covering the ceiling, making the stones look kind of fluid. Beautiful images of stormy seas and a red sunset flow across the domed shape, bringing it to life in a way that stone shouldn’t be capable of.

Then you remember, and bring your left hand up to examine your right shoulder, half expecting it to just not be there. But it is, and it feels fine. You sit up, relieved but also confused that there’s no pain, and as your bare feet hit the cold floors, your eyes are drawn to the rest of the room. It’s round and there’s a window in every direction, revealing the daylight outside, but also every detail inside.

The bed is easily large enough for two people, and the sheets and blankets are the softest you’ve ever felt. There’s a loveseat underneath one of the windows, with plush pillows leaned against the armrests. In the middle of the room is a carpet which you can tell just by looking at it, likely costs more than your house. And the curtains, four matching pairs, all a deep red, somehow seem both heavy and feathery light.

There’s a door to your left, and it’s standing open, so at least you’re not a prisoner. But you don’t feel like one regardless. All of this is so strange, because you’re sure that something bit you, but you can’t find any wounds in your skin. There are holes in your shirt, though. And where’s your jacket? Why are you barefoot?

You head for the door and find a winding staircase leading down, so this is apparently a tower. At the foot of the stairs is a corridor and then more stairs, twirling the other way this time, so you keep heading down, passing closed doors and empty spaces until you reach a pair of large double doors that are left wide open.

There’s a fire crackling inside and your cold feet and bare arms have left you shivering, so you head inside, finding the biggest open fireplace you’ve ever seen, in the other end of the huge room. It must be a ballroom or excessively large dining room, but it’s completely empty, save for a padded short stool in front of the fire.

You sit and warm yourself, trying to think back, to remember any details that might help you understand what’s happened to you, but nothing comes to mind. And then a movement to your right startles you to your feet.

“My apologies, miss. I have a habit of moving quietly,” a dark and low voice says, and when you locate the man who that voice belongs to, you’re momentarily stunned into silence.

He’s tall and broad, but quite lean, with a perfectly chiseled jaw and a beard trimmed to accentuate that. He wears no jewelry, but his dark green coat has golden threads and small embroideries on the cuffs and along the collar. Shapes too small for you to make out at ten feet of distance, but which from afar remind you of snakes. Still, it’s his eyes that rob your brain of most its function.

So dark, but also incredibly expressive. He’s curious, intrigued, but wary. As though you might pose a threat to him somehow, which seems impossible to you.

“W-… Where are my shoes?” you manage to croak, still unable to break away from his eyes.

“I took your shoes and your jacket to encourage you not to run away once you awoke. I’m afraid I am going to need you to remain here for the time being,” the man explains, and suddenly your brain wakes up in full.

“So, I’m your captive, is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yes, and no. You are my captive, as much as I am yours.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I have no idea who you are,” you counter, getting angry because that’s all you can do to keep from panicking.

“My name is Oberyn, and this is my home. You’re welcome to explore as much as you like, but I would recommend staying away from the basement. Especially at night.”

“Why? Do you have more prisoners down there you don’t want me to set free?”

“Oh, there are cages down there, and many of them are occupied,” he says, while taking a few steps closer to you. “But I doubt that you would want to release any of the creatures that are locked inside.”

Creatures? What the hell does he mean by that? He’s only three feet away when he stops, just as the outside light catches his eyes at a different angle, and you can swear that you see something else within them. A bright golden shine seems to illuminate them from within for just a fraction of a second, as if reacting to the sun’s rays.

“The tower is yours. I will not venture there without your approval for the duration of your stay. But the rest of the castle is my domain, and you move through it at your own risk. Do you understand?” he asks, to which your anger flares.

“Understand? No… I really don’t. Who are you?! What is this place, where the hell am I?! There aren’t any castles anywhere near the seven hills! And what the hell was it that chased me last night, and why do I have bitemarks in my shirt but not on my skin? What the fuck is going on?!”

He lets you scream and rant without so much as a twitch bothering his mustache, and says nothing as you begin to pace in front of the fireplace, crossing your arms in silent defiance, but also an attempt to guard yourself against all this strangeness.

“You were bitten by a serpent,” he quietly says, just as you’re about to give up and leave the room.

“It was a lot bigger than any snake, and it had a lot more than two fangs,” you counter, all but spitting at him now, further angered by the notion that he might be trying to convince you that you imagined the whole thing.

“I didn’t say that it was a snake,” he replies, and you stop pacing.

“And what is a serpent if not a damned snake?” you challenge, but he seems unbothered.

“Is that all it can be? You must think broader than that, young one.”

His words make no sense to you. Serpent, snake, fucking danger noodle, it’s all the same. And “young one”? He’s at most five years older than you.

“Please, just tell me where we are?” you finally ask, deciding that there’s probably no point in trying to argue with this mystery man.

He looks at you for a good minute then, as if trying to decide if he should answer, and you notice that he doesn’t blink a lot, which is surprisingly unsettling.

“We are six hundred and nine miles from your home. Give or take a few dozen feet.”

That takes you a second to process.

“What!?” you almost scream, unable to take any more of this incomprehensible nonsense. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you had a fucking helicopter hidden in the woods, or something?”

“Take a look outside the windows,” he calmly suggests. “I’m sure the snow on the ground will help you come to terms with the truth that you are no longer as far south as you think.”

Unwilling to take his word for it, you walk over to the nearest window, where the view makes your heart sink. Because he’s right. Not only are there several inches of snow covering everything in sight, but you also don’t recognize the landscape at all. And that’s when the realization of just how much trouble you’re in, finally dawns on you.

Turning away from the window, you now meet your captor’s eyes, for the first time with fear brimming within your own. Unable to stop yourself, you try to back away from him but there’s a wall in the way, so you start moving sideways instead, heading for the open double doors of the room. He doesn’t try to stop you, but just before you turn your back to him as you’re crossing the threshold, his expression turns incredibly sad.

You run through the halls, fully panicking now and having no idea where you’re even going. But then another set of large double doors are in front of you, so you grab the handle on one of them and pull it open. It’s the front entrance. You’re standing on the top ledge of another staircase, this one twisting off in both directions, leading down to a massive courtyard.

There’s a fountain in the shape of a rearing Pegasus in the middle, so big that the lilac shrubs which surrounds it barely even reach halfway up its hindlegs. And beyond that, is a giant garden of cherry trees and rhododendron hedges, in the middle of which, a wide driveway comes straight through, right up to the courtyard. A driveway that’s so long, you can’t even see the end of it, where it disappears into the surrounding woods.

You couldn’t run from here even with your shoes and jacket.

The freezing wind brushes over your exposed skin, making you shiver and wrap your arms around yourself while sorrow suddenly burns through you, bringing tears to your eyes. But then something soft and warm falls over your shoulders and you flinch, spinning on your heels and quickly backing away, further out onto the ledge to try and get away from him, which means stepping into the icy cold snow in just your skin.

“Please…” he says, and he sounds alluringly soft and inviting now, which only adds to your suspicions. “I have no intention of harming you.”

“Then how about you tell me what exactly your intention is?” you counter, barely able to keep your jaws from clattering with how badly you’ve started shaking.

He takes a deep breath and then slowly releases it, somehow looking sadder and more tired with each milliliter of air that escapes him.

“I just… I’m sorry. Please, come back inside before you get frostbite on your feet.”

“That’s n-not an answer,” you challenge, already trembling all over now.

“I know, this is why I’m sorry, but how is hurting yourself going to help the situation?” he wonders, and you have to concede that it doesn’t.

You huff once in defiance, and then step forward, allowing him to wrap the blanket around you. But you hadn’t expected him to sweep you up into his arms and carry you inside.

“Hey, I c-can still walk, p-put me down!”

“The floors are cold here. I will put you down once you’re in a room with a rug.”

“Or you c-could just give me b-back my shoes,” you gripe, and he hums in what sounds like a thoughtful manner to you, as if he’s conceding that maybe he was wrong to take them from you.

But he says nothing more, and as he carries you through the empty hallways, none of which look familiar to you because this place is apparently a damned maze, you steal a few closer glances at him. His skin is in better condition than yours ever has been, to the point where even his stubble looks soft. And his hair looks flawless. Not one strand of the curls on his head seems damaged or less bouncy than the rest. And the same goes for his beard and mustache.

His clothes are perfectly tailored, and they look new, but they don’t smell like it. Instead, the only smell you detect seems to be his, and it’s not at all unpleasant. Contrarily, the longer you smell him, the more inviting the scent becomes. You’re somewhat embarrassed to realize that you’ve stopped shivering with the warmth that spreads through you from within, just from that delicious scent.

The room that he finally turns into is small and smells of paper, reminiscent of the old bookstore in the city back home, run by a sweetheart of an old lady who also happens to be the grandmother of the missing woman who’s house you live in. She was the only one who’d come by with a housewarming gift after you’d moved in. That’s how sparsely populated your social circle is.

It looks to be an office, of sorts. There’s a fireplace here too, already lit and crackling warmly in the far corner of the room. To the left is a desk filled with scrolls of paper and what looks like old maps of countries you don’t recognize, and to the right are shelves filled with more scrolls, books and scraps of paper. There’s an armchair and a small sofa in front of the fire, and he sets you down on the sofa before kneeling in front of you to inspect your wet and freezing feet.

You’re about to argue that you’re perfectly capable of tending to your own extremities, but something about his touch stops you. His fingers seem warmer than they should be, almost feverishly so, but more than that, his skin feels like it’s giving off tiny electric impulses where it meets yours. And the feeling is highly intoxicating.

He quickly examines your feet and then sits back and looks up at you again, where a curious expression flashes across his features as he notices that you’re suddenly a bit out of it. He seems concerned at first, and then… is he blushing?

“If I get you your socks and your boots, will you promise me that you will not go running into the woods and getting yourself lost?” he asks, sternly holding your gaze while he looks for any traces of deception in your answer.

Except you don’t give any. Because you can’t make that promise. Not when you still don’t know why he’s brought you here or why he intends to keep you here.

“I don’t suppose it would make much difference if I told you that we are much too far away from any other people for you to make it there alive in winter?” he sighs, and he does seem genuinely worried that you won’t believe him.

“Actually, I do believe you on that part. I just also believe that dying while running for your freedom might be better than living in captivity,” you explain, and once again, something terribly sad comes over him.

“I really wish you could trust that I don’t intend to harm you, young one.”

“Why do you call me that? I can’t be that much younger than you.”

He chuckles drily at that, but it’s a sound of hopelessness rather than bemusement.

“If only that were true…” he says quietly, turning his gaze to the floor for a moment before he rises and leaves the room.

When he returns, only a few seconds later, he’s carrying your shoes and wool socks, both of which he appears to have cleaned, hands them to you and then steps back while you put them on. For a moment, you contemplate more questions, but the more you think about the strangeness of this whole situation, the more you just want to pretend that it’s a dream and that you’re gonna wake up and laugh at yourself any second now.

“The tower’s mine?” you find yourself asking, instead of any real questions.

“That whole wing is yours for as long as you’re here,” he nods.

“And how long might that be?”

“For now, I can’t say with any certainty, but hopefully no more than a few days.”

He does look genuinely apologetic as he says that, but you’re relieved to hear it. Somehow, you’d envisioned being a captive for years, locked away in that tower. But there’s something innately honest about this guy. You have no reason to trust anything he says, and yet you do.

“And what determines how long my stay ends up being?” you wonder, while rising from the sofa and daring yourself to take one step towards him.

He doesn’t react in any visible way to your truly minimal challenge, but you wonder if perhaps he likes that you don’t just accept your circumstances when they don’t feel right to you. There’s a little glimmer in his eyes that might just be a hint of awe.

“How long it takes me to figure out how you’re still alive,” he quietly answers, bringing you back to the severity of the moment.

Turning away from you, he reaches for an old-fashioned candlestick holder, lights the candle and then hands it to you.

“Living light reveals the path to the tower,” he says, as if that isn’t the most useless piece of information you’ve ever gotten, and then gestures to the open door.

Utterly confused, you step out into the dusky hallway, half expecting the wooden door to slam shut behind you, but it doesn’t. When you turn back to ask him which direction to turn, you find him right behind you, already showing you to the right with a gentlemanly open hand aiming that way. You nod your thanks and begin walking, still without a clue as to what the candle is meant to show you. Until it does.

Once the dancing light hits a certain wall, a faint glow appears in a thin line running along the wall, around waist-height. You follow it, seeing it fade away as soon as the flame isn’t directly in front of it, and before you know it, you’re back at those winding stairs. Walking back into the chamber at the top, you find that nothing’s moved since you left.

You walk around the room, examining everything more closely, finding two large and fully stocked bookcases hidden behind drapes on either side of the fireplace. There’s also a closet built into the wall next to the bed, and there are very old dresses hanging in there, covered with dust, making you wonder who the girl might’ve been that those clothes had originally belonged to.

Realizing that you haven’t asked your captor how to get food or how he intends to figure out how you’ve miraculously healed, you spend a few minutes pondering on whether you’ve got the energy to make the long walk back down to look for a kitchen and ask if you’re expected to come down from your tower at any specific times. But ultimately, you decide to leave it for now, picking out a book instead. You’re too stressed still to be able to eat anything anyway.

The book keeps you occupied for the entire afternoon, and it isn’t until it grows dark that you eventually close it and get up, intending to go looking for that kitchen. You’d left the candle holder in the window that faces the front of the castle, although you can’t see the courtyard from behind the main structure, but as you go to pick it up, a movement outside catches your eye.

Peering down towards the ground, you see a door swing open, and then something runs across the section of the yard that you can see. It’s so fast that you can’t be sure, but it looks like it could be what attacked you last night. And it looks like… a dragon. A dragon that just ran out of the same castle where you’re trapped.

Part 2

Thank you for reading! I had so much fun with this and I'm nowhere near done with it. Huge Thanks to @joelswritingmistress for inspiring me to take on Oberyn, I didn't think I ever would.

If anyone wishes to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

#PedroHalloween2023 #pedro pascal character fanfiction #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell x female reader #oberyn x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones au #modern!au #halloween writing #sirowsky stories

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