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celiastjamesoscar · 1 year ago

Text

Exile

Pairings: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Summary: you and Wednesday were best friends when you were kids, but after Nero’s death, she became cold and distant, and your former friendship turned into a rivalry. Ten years after your friendship ended, unusual circumstances force you two back together.

Trope: childhood friends to enemies to lovers

Warnings: small violent at beginning, angst, death of Nero. Let me know if I missed any!

My Masterlist

Word Count: 12.3K (what’s a word count?)

The sound of children laughing rang throughout the woods on a crisp fall morning. The trees were beautiful vibrant colors that painted the landscape with shades of fiery red, golden yellow, and earthly orange. The crisp air that one could taste in their lungs carried a gentle rustling of fallen leaves while the scent of decaying foliage filled the atmosphere. The ground was adorned with a carpet of fallen leaves that created a soft crunch when the two children ran through the serene woodland.

Even though one child chased the other with a small ax, the two had the same fun. The one with the ax was a taller girl with jet-black twin braids who wore all-black clothing, expert for her white collar shirt. She wore a giant smile on her face as she chased her best friend, Y/N.

You were shorter than Wednesday but had just as much fire in you as Wednesday did. Where Wednesday’s eyes were as black as night, you had a gray and green eye that you used to hide behind sunglasses until Wednesday told you they were the most beautiful things in the world, “You shouldn’t hide what separates you from others, Y/N. Especially if it makes you all the more beautiful.”

You wore brighter colors than Wednesday, but you both shared a love for darkness. You were nothing without Wednesday, just as Wednesday was nothing without you.

The two made an odd pair, but one was never seen without the other. There were times when Morticia had to pry her daughter away from you to find that you had snuck back over sometime in the moonlight. Whenever Wednesday would practice her cello, she would invite you to play the piano, and together you two would create the most heavenly sound that would make angels cry. The contrast was there, but they fit together like puzzle pieces.

As they ran through the woods, you tripped on a small branch and fell to the ground, causing worry to overtake Wednesday as she sprinted to the fallen girl. “Are you alright, Y/N?” Wednesday asked as she knelt beside her friend, but her worry quickly disappeared when you sprang up and tackled her to the ground. You removed the ax from the taller girl’s grasp and held it to her neck. “I appear to be the victor,” you said with a giant smile contrasting Wednesday’s grim expression.

Wednesday leaned up and shoved you off her as she stood up and brushed herself off. “That’s hardly a win; you cheated,” Wednesday replied dryly as she helped you off the ground.

“I might have cheated, but you’re still the loser,” you shot back while standing up. You lived for the playful banter with Wednesday and would rather lose your tongue than go without annoying Wednesday for a day. You handed Wednesday the ax back so she could be the Hunter again, and she placed it in its holster on her hip.

As you two were getting ready to start a new game, a voice rattled the trees around you, “Wednesday! Y/N! Time to come home!” The two shared a look and rolled their eyes simultaneously; they both hated it when Morticia ruined their fun, but they started their walk back to the house nonetheless.

As they walked, Wednesday felt bold and pulled you into a headlock and brought the smaller girl’s head against her ribcage. You didn’t even have time to protest before you felt Wednesday’s knuckles dig into your scalp. You squirmed against Wednesday’s hold, but it was useless; the taller girl was stronger than you. So, you did what any sane person would do; you bit down on Wednesday’s forearm that was keeping you in place. Not enough to hurt the assailant, but just enough to let go of you. And just as you predicted, Wednesday let go of you and grabbed the area that the smaller girl just bit. “Why did you do that?” Wednesday questioned as she rubbed her arm back and forth.

“Uh, because I can?” You retorted as you motioned with her hand, giving Wednesday an attitude that the other girl scoffed at. “Let us go, my compact companion; we have tasks at hand,” Wednesday said as she grabbed your hand, and the two ran back to the Addams’ residence together.

“You have to stop calling me that,” you whined. Wednesday had her collection of names to call you, and the shorter girl hated them.

“It’s not my fault you’re shorter than me; blame your genetics,” Wednesday replied with a dry tone but a slight smile that caused you to smile once you saw it. Wednesday never smiled at anyone except you; Wednesday made a lot of exceptions for the more petite girl, even though she would never admit it.

When they arrived at the mansion, both girls were out of breath as Morticia came outside to greet them. “Hello, my little doves. Did you two enjoy the hunt?” Wednesday’s mother asked them as they went inside and took off their shoes.

“Yes, Mrs. Addams, I always have fun with Wens. She’s the best,” you breathlessly replied as you followed Wednesday up to her room.

Morticia was always fond of you; she loved how her morbid daughter seemed to light up when she was around you, and she knew that her daughter could always rely on and trust you. But all great things must come to an end.

Wednesday held her bedroom door open for you as they entered. The room was dark and cold, but it had character, like Wednesday. There were two giant windows that Wednesday always kept covered on the opposite wall of the door. There were collections of knives hung up on the walls, and the shelves were littered with bookshelves, and in the corner of the room was a cello right next to your piano. A small fireplace was built into the wall and had a black, round table in front of it that sat only two. A black bed was in the center of the room with its headboard against the wall, and at the end of the bed was a small bed bench that was purple, your favorite color. Above Wednesday’s bed were two swords mounted onto the ceiling; one had a black handle with the purple initials of W.A. etched into the ricasso, while the other had a purple handle with your initials engraved in black. You found the swords a bit odd, but according to Wednesday, it made her feel like Damocles.

You messed with the record player beside the fireplace and put on your favorite record. Soon, the upbeat saxophone of ‘Bop’ by Dan Seals filled the room. Wednesday rolled her eyes when she saw you recreate John Travolta’s ‘Twist’ dance from Pulp Fiction.

I want to bop with you, baby, all night long

I want to be-bop with you, baby, till the break of dawn

I want to bop with you, baby, all night long

“Come on, Wens. You know you wanna dance with me,” You said as you started making the swimming motion from the dance. Finding that she could never say no to you, Wednesday rolled her eyes again before copying Uma Thurman’s dance to match you. When Wednesday did the snorkel dance move, you laughed at the taller girl’s awkwardness, and Wednesday smiled at the thought of making you laugh.

Out of breath, the two finished the dance, and they both had giant smiles as their eyes copied their lips. “Shall we dance again, my fair lady?” You asked as she stuck out your hand and slightly bowed.

“You’re exhausting,” Wednesday stated but took your hand and allowed the girl to spin her.

Twenty minutes had passed when the clock on the fireplace dinged, telling Wednesday it was time to walk Nero. “It’s time for me to walk Nero, but I will see you when I get back,” Wednesday stated as she moved toward the area that was reserved for Nero and got him out of his cage, and put him on his leash.

The three walked down the front door together and left the house together. “See you in a minute,” you said as you walked away from Wednesday. The taller girl sent you a small wave as she walked toward town with Nero.

You arrived home and did what you usually did when Wednesday was away; you waited. You knew Wednesday’s schedule to the tee: wake up at six, morning torture with Pugsley at six-thirty, breakfast at seven-thirty, play with Y/N at eight until her walk with Nero at ten-thirty, come back at eleven and practice her cello with Y/N until twelve-thirty and have lunch at twelve-thirty five. The hours between one and three were filled with any ‘spontaneous activities’ Wednesday might want to do, and at four, she read until five, had dinner at six, and did nightly torturing with Pugsley (or Y/N if you consented) at six-thirty until bedtime at eight-thirty.

So when you checked the clock and saw it was ten-thirty-five, you left her house and skipped to Wednesday’s. As you approached the house, there was a sudden shift in the air, and you could taste it on your lips: death had arrived. You cautiously walked up the stairs and knocked on the door, something you never did. You were always around Wednesday so much that Morticia told you that you didn’t need to knock anymore as she could ‘sense’ the girl’s presence.

When the door opened, you knew that something had happened; you just hoped that Wednesday was okay. Gomez was standing before you with a grim expression as he ushered you in. Your eyes landed on a weeping Wednesday, and your heart broke. You moved to sit next to the goth girl and opened your arms, and Wednesday immediately hugged you and buried her face in the crook of your neck. You rubbed her best friend’s back as she continued crying; you didn’t know what to do, but you only knew that you wanted to be with Wednesday.

The following day, Wednesday had a funeral for Nero, and no one but you could attend. The two girls shed a tear as they both placed a flower on his grave, and you comforted Wednesday once more. Later that night, in Wednesday’s room, Wednesday had allowed you to sleep in bed with her. The two girls were cuddled together, staring at the swords above them, when Wednesday broke the silence, “You are far too dear to me, Y/N. The pain I have felt the past two days is something I never want to experience again, and I certainly do not wish to experience it all over again because of you.”

“Don’t worry, Wednesday. You’re stuck with me till life do us part,” you replied as you hugged your best friend, never wanting to lose the girl.

At just six years old, Wednesday had lost her beloved pet and experienced grief for the first time, and she knew that she would have to grieve every single person in her life at some point. So that night, she made a vow; never to be close enough to someone where she would shed a tear because of their death, and that meant letting go of who she loved most: you.

At first, it was very subtle: Wednesday would smile less around you, and she would spend less time working with you on your music. It was so subtle that no one but you noticed, and it hurt you. Then, more significant things began to happen; Wednesday would purposely fill her schedule with things to do that didn’t involve you, and when you two did hang out, she made sure to try and distance herself from you. And then it all came crashing down on Wednesday’s seventh birthday.

You had a small box in your hand as you walked up the steps to the front door of the Addams mansion and knocked, patiently waiting for someone to open the door. Only a few seconds had passed before Morticia opened the door and towered over the small child. “Hello, my darling. Wednesday is in the greenhouse,” Morticia said as she stood aside and let you into the house before shutting the door.

“Thank you, Mrs. Addams. I haven’t seen her in a couple of days, so I hope she won’t be angry,” you innocently said as you ignored the pain in her heart that Morticia seemed to pick up on.

Eager to change the subject in fear of you becoming sad, Morticia asked as she led you to the greenhouse, “I’ve already told you that you can stop calling me ‘Mrs. Addams,’ My child, so why do you continue?”

You shrugged your shoulders at the comment. You didn’t know why you still spoke to the woman in a formal tone, but it felt weird on your tongue to call her anything else. “I don’t know, I think it’s a respect thing for me,” you replied as you opened the door to the greenhouse. Morticia nodded at the child’s words before whispering, “Have fun with my little death trap.”

You smiled at Morticia’s words as you entered the greenhouse. You knew precisely where Wednesday would be and didn’t pretend to look for the goth girl.

Wednesday was cutting black roses from their stem when she heard soft footsteps behind her. She didn’t bother turning around; she could recognize those footsteps in the crowd of a thousand people. “What are you doing here, YN?” Wednesday asked in a dry tone that caused you to stiffen.

“It’s your birthday, and I wanted to give you something,” you said as you approached Wednesday and set the box next to her. “I know you love your birthday, as it is one more year closer to your death, so here’s your present to celebrate.”

Wednesday gave the more petite girl a suspicious look before putting down the rose and scissors and picking up the box. It was unnaturally light, so she doubted it was a weapon or bomb. She slowly took the lid off the box, and any words died on the tip of her tongue once she realized what it was.

It was a small, black, crocheted scorpion that took you hours to make. She also saw a small note underneath the scorpion, but she didn’t pick it up as her vision became red.

She didn’t know why she was angry. All Wednesday knew was that she wanted you gone. “Get out,” Wednesday hissed as she set the box down and grabbed a knife from her boot.

“What? Why?” You asked as you slowly backed up from Wednesday as your eyes fell on the knife. Of course, Wednesday would make the occasional threats, but you had never believed them; until now.

“Friends are nothing but liabilities, and they only hold me back. So. Get. Out.” Wednesday repeated as she backed you against a small flower pot. She no longer had control over her emotions, and every second she spent with you only seemed to anger her more.

“Wednesday, please. I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you would have liked the gift. Please, I’m your best friend, and I-” Any words you were about to say got caught in your throat as Wednesday brought the knife up, cutting a straight line on your left eye. The cut was three inches below your eye and an inch above it.

The two stood there in disbelief as neither could believe what happened. Only when blood started pouring out of your cut, and you collapsed onto the floor did Wednesday do something; she called out for her mother’s help for the first and only time as she held you in her arms, trying her best to fight back tears.

Morticia ran out to the greenhouse and instantly scooped you into her arms as she yelled for Gomez. The man came burling down the stairs and could not contain his tears as she saw your blood-covered state.

The couple quickly rushed you to the hospital, and once you were checked into the ER, the couple notified your parents. They arrived within ten minutes of the phone call, and they were everything but calm, from questioning how Morticia and Gomez allowed this to happen to demanding that Wednesday be punished.

The two sets of parents seemed to be at each other’s throats while Wednesday tried her best to disappear. She felt nothing but guilt for hurting her Y/N, and she wanted to do everything possible to make it up to the girl. So when Wednesday got her chance to see you, she practically sprinted into your room.

You were lying in a hospital with the entire left side of your face bandaged up, and Wednesday could see some blood seeping through. Wednesday slowly approached the bed and gently grabbed your hand. As if repulsed by the touch, you quickly pulled your hand away from Wednesday’s and brought it to your chest. You glared at Wednesday with your right eye before hissing, “Get out.”

“No, Y/N, you don’t understand-” Wednesday started but was quickly cut off by you.

“I’m nothing but a liability to you, Wednesday, so leave,” you said as you crossed your arms and looked away from Wednesday, refusing to cry in front of the taller girl. ‘I think I’ll miss you forever; like the stars miss the sun in the morning skies,’ you thought as you watched your best friend leave.

Wednesday nodded her head and slowly walked to the door, and turned to face you one last time. “Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere.”

You were once her crown, and now she was in exile seeing you out. She gave you so many warning signs, but you never learned to read her mind.

When she left the hospital, she felt nothing but shame and guilt that filled her body the entire car ride back home. She cleaned the blood off the floor before going to her room, where she sobbed for the second and last time.

School was different after that happened; the former best friends refused to meet each other’s gaze and soon found that their previous partnership turned into rivalry, constantly competing to be number one. It was an unfair competition, as Wednesday was more naturally gifted than you, and she seemed to beat you at everything, but you refused to give you. You would spend hours perfecting your craft, and when it came time for the archery competition, you beat Wednesday by a single point. Any chance for friendship was ruined when you accepted the first-place trophy and sent Wednesday an evil glare when she was awarded her second-place trophy.

Your rivalry continued like this for numerous years, always for captain for a particular activity or number one in their grade, but just as before, you always seemed to fall short. It continued for three years until you suddenly stopped showing up for school.

Wednesday believed that she had beaten you so far into the ground that you decided to stop coming to school. But after two weeks had passed and Wednesday had not seen her former best friend, she became curious and decided to stop by your house.

Only when Wednesday saw the ‘for sale’ sign in your yard, she allowed herself to be swallowed by guilt. She had pushed you too far in their competition for first and had made you move. Wednesday realized that she might never see her Y/N again, and regret flooded her mind as she slept on the purple bed bench with your sword in her arms.

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“I think we are getting a new student today, and I'm totes excited!” Enid exclaimed as she skipped to Wednesday’s side of the room. The last person to arrive at Nevermore Academy was Wednesday herself, so naturally, Enid was ecstatic to meet someone new.

“You know I do not care for new faces who share the same boring personalities as everyone else here,” Wednesday mumbled while she typed on her type-writer.

Enid huffed at Wednesday’s remark before glancing at her roommate’s work. Wednesday noticed the action and quickly sent an elbow into Enid’s side, causing the girl to groan in pain. “You also know I hate it when you try to read my work. I have no idea why you keep trying to read anything; you know the result,” Wednesday stated as she continued typing.

“Whatever. Just humor me for a moment,” Enid said as she put some space between her and Wednesday, avoiding any elbows that might be sent her way. “I will not humor you but continue.”

“So, from what my sources tell me, she’s from Italy, not like the normal part of Italy, but the mob part!” Enid informed while using her hands to talk.

“Enid, just because someone is from Sicily doesn’t mean they are in the mob. And if she is, I would like to interrogate her about it; it could add a new element to my novel,” Wednesday said.

The brighter girl walked to her side of the room and grabbed her phone. When she picked it up, she made an obnoxious sound before sprinting to Wednesday. “She’s here Wednesday. You have to come and meet her!” Enid exclaimed as she lightly pulled on Wednesday’s arm, causing her to receive a death glare, but she allowed herself to be drawn from her seat.

The two quickly walked down the stairs and arrived at Weems’ office. “Why are we standing creepily outside Weems’ office?” Wednesday questioned as she glanced over her shoulder at her roommate.

“Because, silly, she’s in there talking to Weems right now, and when she comes out, I want to be the first to greet her. And I’ve already volunteered to give her a tour of the grounds,” Enid exclaimed in a hushed tone as if the stranger and Weems were pressed against the door, spying on their conversion.

“And what will I do? I am certainly not talking to another half-brain student,” Wednesday said dryly as she stared at the door.

Enid rolled her eyes at the goth girl’s statement; she had made Wednesday talk to someone new only once to find out that the person only talked about horses and the patriarchy. “You can glare uncomfortably on the sidelines then,” Enid replied.

Wednesday was getting ready to retort when she heard shuffling from behind the door and soft-spoken words that she could not make out.

“Howdie, friend! I’m Enid, and I’ll be giving you the tour!” Enid enthusiastically said as she attacked the girl with a hug.

All the air from Wednesday’s lungs had been sucked out as she stared at the stranger before her. She prayed to the old gods and new that this wasn’t some evil joke, her punishment for raising the dead. But when she saw the stranger smile, she knew this was her Y/N.

You stood before Wednesday with a human highlighter wrapped around your waist. You were wearing black slacks with a black button-up, and Wednesday felt a heart pick up as she admired you in her color. Where you once had chubby cheeks, they were now thinned out, and you had a jawline that could cut glass. You were once a short and stocky kid, but now you towered over Enid, and your muscular arms wrapped around the rainbow girl. It seemed like everything about you had changed, but nothing at all as well. You still had that bright smile and charming personality, as always, but Wednesday’s heart sank when she saw the scar on your eye. It took her a moment to notice it as you wore black sunglasses hiding your beautiful heterochromia.

“Ah, good, you’re already here, Enid, to give Miss Y/L/N a tour, and you’ve brought Miss Addams as well,” Weems said as she stepped out of her room and stood next to Enid and you. Wednesday nearly melted onto the floor when she saw you pull back from Enid and stand up straight, just a few inches shorter than Weems. She noticed how your smile faltered at the mention of ‘Addams’ before you played it off and plastered a fake smile on your lips. The air that was once filled with playful curiosity was one of tension, anger, betrayal, and longing.

“Addams,” you said with no emotion in a thick Italian accent as you extended your large and callused hand toward Wednesday that engulfed the goth girl’s small and cold hand. When your hands touched for the first time in ten years since the hospital, you both felt an electric charge pass between you two, and time seemed to stand still for a moment while the rest of the world disappeared around them.

Your covered eyes locked with Wednesday’s, and you both knew you felt an undeniable spark that sent shivers down your spines. Unspoken words seemed to flow between your fingertips as if your souls were communicating through the simple touch. You both felt the unexplainable and undeniable chemistry rushing back and flooding your minds as you looked at each other for the first time in seven years.

“Y/L/N,” Wednesday replied as she eagerly dropped your hand and wiped her palm on her pants as if it would erase the spark she felt.

Enid and Weems both shared a look as they watched the awkward encounter between the two girls, clearly displaying that they have a history between them. Enid cleared her throat as she stepped between you and Wednesday, “alrighty then, shall we get started with our tour?”

Your mood switched on a dime, and you instantly beamed at Enid’s words. You smiled down at the girl and locked your elbow with hers, and rested your hand gently on her arm, “Of course, my dear, let us begin our journey.” Wednesday pulled her eyes at your remark but walked a few paces behind you and her roommate; she knew this would be the start of a very unfortunate friendship.

“Welcome to the quad,” Enid said as she unlocked your arms and motioned around with her hands. “It’s a pentagon,” you replied as you looked at your surroundings.

Enid rolled her eyes at your comment; great, now she’d have to deal with two Wednesdays as if one wasn’t enough. “You know, Wednesday said the same thing when she first arrived too. I have a feeling you two will be the best of friends!” Enid stated in a cheerful tone after releasing that her roommate can have more than one friend.

“No,” the formal best friends said simultaneously and sent each other a glare, and if Enid picked up on it, you were glad she didn’t say anything.

“Allow me to give you a rundown on the social scene here at Nevermore,” Enid said as she walked around the ‘quad.’ “There are many flavors of outcasts here, but the four main cliques are Fangs, Furs, Stoners, and Scales,” the brighter girl stated while counting her fingers.

As Enid gave you the tour, you half paid attention out of respect for the girl trying to sell Nevermore to you, but all you could think about was the more petite girl standing a few feet behind you. You could feel her eyes burning holes into your back, but you couldn’t face her again, not after everything you’ve been through. There was once a time when you would have laid down your life for Wednesday; now, you could barely breathe the same air as her without getting angry. You knew it was stupid to hold a grudge for this long, but Wednesday was your first and only love, and you would be damned if you let her see you weak again.

When you finished the tour, Enid took you to your room, which was, unfortunately, in Ophelia Hall. “O-M-G! You’re rooming with Yoko! She is my best friend,” Enid announced before looking over at Wednesday, “well, besides Wens, obviously.”

Your heart sank at the nickname for Wednesday. Only you were allowed to call her Wens when you were children, and she barely let you do that. And now, here she was, allowing someone dressed like unicorn vomit to call her that without so much as an idle threat.

“‘Wens?’” You questioned with an eyebrow raised as you looked between the two roommates. You were glad you started to wear your sunglasses again so that neither girl could see the sadness in your eyes. But Wednesday knew you all too well, and she saw how your posture faltered when Enid called her that, and she saw the barely noticeable frown that tugged at your lips. ‘My name should only ever leave your lips,’ Wednesday wanted to say, but she held her tongue.

“Oh, yeah. That’s my nickname for Wednesday. She told me that no one has ever given her one before, so I decided to give her one,” Enid said as she ushered the two girls back to her room, “Come on, I wanna show you mine and Wednesday’s room.”

At the mention of Wednesday never having a nickname, you dropped your fake smile and looked at Wednesday, who was refusing to meet your gaze. ‘Do I mean that little to you where you would erase even our happiest memories?’ You thought when Wednesday finally looked up at you, and for the first time today, you saw emotion in her dark eyes: regret.

“I love the window,” you said as you entered Enid and Wednesday’s room. You loved the contrast between the two girls and how they seemed to get along perfectly; it reminded you of when you were young and Wednesday’s favorite person. Now, the girl barely looked at you.

“Thanks; the first day here, Wednesday took off her side of color and then put tape down to divide our room. And now look at how far we’ve come! I’m like the only one here who Wens actually cares about!” Enid exclaimed as she spun in her circle with her arms outstretched, clearly happy to be buddy-buddy with Wednesday. You nodded your head, trying to push back the tears that weld in your eyes at the mention of Wednesday caring for someone else before your eyes snapped to something on Wednesday’s wall.

“What’s this?” You questioned as you moved to get a closer look at the object that had caught your attention, causing both of the roommates to follow you.

“Oh, that’s one of Wednesday’s favorite weapons. She doesn’t let anyone touch it, not even me,” Enid said as her eyes fell on the sword mounted to the wall above Wednesday’s writing desk. Your eyes scanned over the sheathed sword and fell to the purple handle before you turned and looked at Wednesday. “May I?” You asked in a barely audible voice.

You expected Wednesday to shoot you down before you even finished speaking, but the girl gave you a curt nod, not trusting her voice at this moment. Your hands reached up and took the sword off its mantle, and you slowly took it out of its sheath and set it down on Wednesday’s desk. You turned the sword over and admired the sharp edge as you carefully ran your pointer finger along the blade’s edge; you could easily tell that Wednesday had been sharpening it routinely. Your finger finally made its way to the helm of the sword, and you turned it over and sucked in air as you let out a small chuckle.

You read your initials that were still engraved in the sword before your saddened eyes finally looked up at Wednesday’s guilt-ridden ones. Wednesday thanks the gods that you had your eyes covered, as she knew her heart would have broken ten times over if she saw the sadness in them.

“Well, then,” you said with a shaky breath as you sheathed the sword and placed it back on its mantle, “it’s a beautiful blade, Wednesday.” Your eyes caught something in the corner of Wednesday’s desk, and you felt every single emotion wash over you like waves crashing onto the shore: a small, black crocheted scorpion sat on top of an unopened note. Before you could comment on it, Wednesday’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“I know it is,” Wednesday spoke honestly as her eyes danced across your face while you picked up on the double meaning behind her words.

After several seconds of awkward tension, you cleared your throat and walked to the door, “Alright then, I’ll, uh, leave you guys to it.”

Wait!” Enid shouted as she skipped over to you with her phone in hand. “Let me get your Snapchat so we can talk some more,” she said as she pulled up Snapchat. You smiled politely as you pulled your phone out of your back pocket and opened up Snapchat, and allowed the werewolf to add you, and you accepted her friend request when it popped up.

“I’ll see you later, Enid,” you said as you opened up the door to walk out, but you stopped and turned around to face Wednesday, “see you around sometime, Addams.” As you left, only one thought ran across both of your minds: ‘I can’t say hello to you and risk another goodbye.’

When you left the room, Enid immediately turned to face her roommate. “What was that about?” She questioned while staring down at the goth girl.

“I have no idea what you are referring to,” Wednesday replied as she walked over to her desk and began working on her novel. She had emotions come back that she had not felt in nearly ten years, and she needed to get them off her chest, writing out different scenarios of her killing you.

Enid stomped to Wednesday’s desk and turned the small girl around in her chair. She grasped Wednesday’s shoulders and tightly gripped them as she spoke, “Yes, you do. Do not lie to me, Wednesday, or I will paint the side of your hot pink.”

The more petite girl rolled her eyes at her roommate’s comment before prying the hands off her shoulders and returning to her typewriter. “We used to be friends, and now we aren’t; end of story,” Wednesday flatly replied.

“I don’t believe you, I know there’s more to the story, but I won’t pressure you,” Enid defeatedly said as she walked over to her bed and lay down. Of course, she was dying to know the history between you and Wednesday. Still, she would never force Wednesday to talk about something uncomfortable, so she decided to wait it out and see if she could get an answer from either you or Wednesday first.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two roommates walked into fencing class and heard the ringing of metal crashing together, and saw that Bianca was in a match with you. The two watched as you blocked Bianca’s advances and matched each of her assaults with double the force, causing the siren to walk backward toward the end of the mat. With one final blow against Bianca’s foil, you caused her to step backward off of the mat and ultimately lose the match.

Bianca let out an angry huff at the loss but shook your hand afterward. “You gave me a nice challenge, and I respect that. I hope to go up against you again soon,” the siren said as she walked off the mat.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky next time and beat me,” you joked as you started to take off your gear when your eyes landed on Wednesday. Before you had moved, you and Wednesday were always in fencing competitions, and it seemed that the two of you were always paired to go against one another. Naturally, you lost every time you went against her, but that was seven years ago, and you spent the past seven years perfecting every little thing that Wednesday was better at.

“Coach Vlad, I was wondering if I could go against someone else before class ends?” You questioned as you stood up. You knew that if you publicly challenged Wednesday that she couldn’t turn it down, and you also knew that she believed she was still the better fencer, so both of those gave you an advantage.

Coach Vlad studied your expression and determined that you only asked to prove a point, so he let you. “Who will you be challenging, miss Y/LN?”

“Addams,” was all you said as you stared at the girl dressed in an all-black fencing attire. Wednesday’s ears perked up at you challenging her, and she knew she would clear you.

“Very well, Wednesday, if you accept the challenge, stand the opposite of Y/N,” Coach Vlad stated with a hint of excitement. He loved watching the way the Addams sparred with his students; she was graceful yet coarse, which reminded him of when he was a student here at Nevermore.

Wednesday walked over to the mat you were standing on, her eyes locked with your covered ones. She wondered what made you wear those sunglasses again, and she missed those eyes she once called home.

“En garde,” Coach Vlad yelled as the atmosphere crackled with tension. The room falls into a reverent silence as the match begins. With grace and precision, you and Wednesday engage in a mesmerizing dance of footwork and technique, each exchange showcasing your guys' skill and determination.

Your moves were swift and calculated, your attacks and defenses fluid, each striving to gain the upper hand. The crowd of students watched in awe as they witnessed a display of finesse and competitive spirit.

Wednesday made the first aggressive move, launching a series of rapid lunges, attempting to catch you off guard. But you proved your prowess with deft parries, countering with swift ripostes that keep Wednesday on her toes.

As the match progressed, the intensity escalated, and your footwork became even more intricate, seeking to exploit any opening in their opponent's defense. The clang of metal echoed through the hall as their foils met in a series of fierce clashes.

Neither competitor gave an inch, your faces showing steely determination. You and Wednesday are evenly matched, your skills complementing each other, creating a mesmerizing spectacle for the crowd.

With each point you and Wednesday scored, your fellow students held their breaths, afraid that if they cheered, it would mess you two up. Yours and Wednesday’s adrenaline surged, and your focus sharpened, all distractions fading away as you two immersed yourselves entirely in the moment.

Time seemed to slow down, the seconds stretching into eternity as the match neared its climax. With one final burst of energy, you executed a daring feint, catching Wednesday off balance. In that split second, you placed your foot on top of Wednesday’s and advanced, causing the more petite girl to fall backward onto the mat. You stood over her and shoved the tip of the foil into her chest armor.

“I appear to be the victor,” you said as you towered over Wednesday before she quickly jumped up from the ground and stormed out of the hall, with you right on her heels.

“That was hardly a win; you cheated,” Wednesday stated as she stomped toward Ophelia hall. “And stop following me.”

“I might have cheated, but you’re still the loser,” you retorted as you quickened your step to walk beside Wednesday. “And I’m not following you; we live in the same hall.”

Wednesday said nothing; she couldn’t argue with the fact you two shared a hallway, but she still didn’t like it. You watched as Wednesday threw her door open and slammed it shut with a smile on your face; it felt good to have that playful banter back.

Naturally, your rivalry with Wednesday continued as if it had never left; you two constantly competed for the correct answers in your classes, and you two refused to fence with anyone else. It became so toxic that teachers started putting you two out in the hallway during class, like little toddlers who were being disruptive.

“I had a marvelous time ruinin’ everything,” you joked with Wednesday as it seemed you two were sitting outside your potions class once more. You had your back pressed against the stone wall next to the door, and Wednesday opted to sit next to you but kept a few feet between you.

“I do suppose ruining the activities of others is tolerable with you,” Wednesday said as she looked over at your beautiful smile that she once loved and felt her own lips twitch upward.

“I know my antics should be celebrated, but I’m glad you tolerate it,” you said once you saw her scary attempt at a smile.

At the week's end, Enid invited you to her room for some “girl talk.” You had no idea what girl talk would involve, but you wouldn’t pass up a chance to piss Wednesday off.

“Welcome to my dreamhouse!” Enid exclaimed as she opened the door and ushered you into her room. You knew it might be ill-tempered to say this, but you were jealous of Enid’s room. You loved the giant window in the center that emitted different colors throughout the room, highlighting and contrasting the two drastically different sides.

You followed Enid to her side and sat down on her bed with her. You allowed the werewolf to paint your nails a dark purple. She asked you questions about your past and what you wanted to do in the future. You told her that Criminal Justice intrigued you and you thought about becoming a detective at some point. In turn, you asked her what her future plans were, and she told you that if her parents allowed her, she would want to explore the world and see all the beauties she offered.

After you two had fallen into a peaceful conversation, she finally asked the question plaguing her mind since you first arrived, “So, how did you get that scar? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You swore you could hear a hairpin drop right when you felt the moment stop. It was as if someone had sucked all the air out of the room and replaced it with tension. Your eyes shot to Wednesday, who was previously typing on her typewriter but stopped when Enid asked the question. You quietly cleared your throat before speaking, “I, uh… it was my fault. I did something stupid without asking for permission, and I paid the consequences. That’s all.”

Wednesday felt her heart shatter into a million pieces when she heard you blame yourself for what happened. She wanted to run to Enid’s side of the room and tell you that it wasn’t your fault and that she would do anything she could to take it back, to have you back. She felt a single tear run down her cheek as she returned to her novel.

Not believing your story, Enid didn’t say anything else. She knew there was something more to the story, but she didn’t want to pressure you into telling her. “Well, I think it makes you look ten times hotter,” Enid confessed with a sly smile and a wink. She ignored how her hearing picked up on Wednesday’s heartbeat increased with jealousy at the comment.

You slightly chuckled at Enid’s comment before looking at Enid’s own scars that she sometimes tried to cover up. They were out of place on the brightly dressed girl, but it added a hint of toughness and bravery to her look that almost made you laugh. “What about your scars?” You politely asked, but Enid tensed up at your question.

“Oh. I got them from saving Wednesday last year,” she responded quietly as she continued painting your nails. She refused to meet your gaze, and you felt bad for asking about them, but you wanted to know more. “Why do you cover them up then? You shouldn’t be ashamed of your scars; they prove your loyalty to Wednesday.”

A slight grin tugged at Enid’s lips; she had never had anyone, but Wednesday tell her she was brave. “Thank you, Y/N. It’s just,” she paused as she glanced up at you before continuing her work on your hand, “my mother hates them and says I should be ashamed of myself for ruining any chance I have at finding someone.”

“You shouldn’t listen to your mother, Enid. I think those scars are beautiful, and they display your bravery,” you said as you reached up with your hand and gently traced the scar above Enid’s eyebrow. When a small tear fell down Enid’s cheek, you wiped it away and gave her a soft smile, and Enid knew right then that you were the most authentic person she had ever met. No one has ever been this honest with her, and she cherished your friendship.

Enid let a few quiet minutes pass by before she asked you about your first week at Nevermore, and you told her your honest thoughts. You enjoyed the classes but felt that some students cared too much about their social status and that you loved walking in the woods at night, causing the girl to stop painting your left ring finger.

“You do what at night?” Enid questioned harshly as her bright blue eyes stared into your soul.

“I go for midnight strolls by myself. Weems never told me not to.”

Enid scoffed at your words before glaring at Wednesday, who was working on her novel. “Wednesday is actually the reason we can’t walk around at night.”

At the mention of her name, Wednesday straightened her poster and turned around to face you two.

“Do not blame me for the shortcomings of the town sheriff for being unable to keep the people safe from his own son,” the goth girl stated in a threatening manner with an undertone of regret that you picked up on. You noticed the way Wednesday’s eyes seemed to gloss over with anger when she mentioned the sheriff’s son, and you could only assume something happened between them, which caused your heart to stink at the thought.

“I’m not blaming you, Wens. I’m just stating that you and your boy toy did play a part in ruining our time outside at night,” Enid said innocently as she went back to pairing your nails; she didn’t notice how you tensed up, and you're surprised that she didn’t hear your heart break in two. Your heartbroken eyes shoot to Wednesday’s pained ones, and you can practically read the thoughts behind her eyes, ‘I lost myself when I lost you.’

Even though you still had your eyes covered, Wednesday knew what you were thinking, ‘how could you betray me like this?’ You two were children when you last saw each other, but now as almost adults, you knew that all those feelings you felt for each other were more than platonic; it just took you two a lifetime and a half to realize it. As you two stared at each other, you felt all the love you once felt for each other return in an instant; feelings that come back are feelings that never left.

“‘Boy toy?’” You questioned as your eyes refused to leave Wednesday’s. You knew you would only get hurt by asking, but you had to know.

“It was a moment of weakness, Y/N. Nothing more,” Wednesday spoke with emotion for the first time as her voice broke off towards the end. She quickly cleared her throat and excused herself to the balcony with her cello before you had time to respond to her.

When Enid finished up your nails, you two were getting ready to do a face mask when she got a text. “Yes! Ajax just texted me to hang out with him! Is it alright if I leave you here? Or you can go back to your room if you want?” Enid asked as she stood up from her bed; you ignored the name at the top of her screen that read ‘Yoko.’

“I think I’m going to stay here for a while and hang out with Thing but go have fun,” you said with a faint smile as you watched Enid leave. Honestly, you missed Thing almost as much as you missed Wednesday. Anytime Wednesday would be away, and you were over, you would always hang out with Thing, and right now, he was definitely your favorite Addams.

You chatted with Thing over the sound of Wednesday’s cello for nearly twenty minutes as you did his nails and filled him in on what has happened to you in the past seven years. You told him stuff that you would be too afraid to share with Wednesday, not out of trust, but in fear of what she might do to the people that hurt you.

Only when Wednesday’s cello started to pick up and play a heavy melody did you stop talking. You listened to the way the smaller girl seemed to pour all of her emotions into her song, a song that was full of yearning, hurt, and regret. You listened as there was a slight shift in the music that resembled anger and frustration before turning into a declaration of love. And when the song finally ended on a note that sounded like longing, you got up and walked out to the balcony.

“That was a lovely song,” you said as you walked past Wednesday and rested your elbows against the balcony edge.

Wednesday gave you a quiet ‘mhm’ as a response as she set her cello to the side and joined you at the stone railing, making sure to keep five feet between you for homosexual purposes.

The two of you quietly enjoyed the starry night with a crescent moon above you.

“The sky is so beautiful tonight,” you said, gazing at the stars and moon with your sunglasses still on.

“It is,” Wednesday agreed, but she wasn��t looking up at the sky at all.

When you looked down at Wednesday, she was already staring at you with a tiny glint in her eyes. She subconsciously moved closer to you til she was standing a few inches away from you, and she slowly reached her hands up to take your glasses off. You turned to face her, quickly backing away, and put a foot between you two, “the fuck are you doing?”

“Take it off,” Wednesday stated in a dry tone.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because this ‘nerdy girl takes off her glasses and everyone finds out she’s actually really hot’ will not work on you,” you replied with sass in your voice.

“No, it won’t because you are not attractive in the slightest way,” Wednesday retorted while still staring into your soul.

“Thank you, Addams.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know,” you said with a smile as you turned and leaned your elbows on the railing once more and continued staring at the stars. “You are my compact companion, after all,” you teased.

Wednesday rolled her eyes at comment; it felt like it was a lifetime again when she would call you that, and now you turned it against her. She had to agree with you, it was an awful nickname.

“All the pretty stars shine for you, my love,” you said after a couple of minutes had passed. “it’s from a song,” you added to clear up any confusion that might have been stirred.

Wednesday looked over at you, but you still had your eyes fixed on the sky, but she noticed how your hand slowly inched toward her own, and she picked up on the double meaning as she placed her palm over the back of your hand. She gave your hand three gentle squeezes before returning inside with her cello.

After that night, you two continued with your rivalry, of course, but something had changed that worried Wednesday. She didn’t know what that change was, but she felt it like a gentle shift in the air before a big storm; she knew something had changed between you two, but she didn’t know what.

On Tuesday of the following week, Nevermore was hosting an archery tournament that lasted all day that you and Wednesday were competing in. As the day dragged out, numerous Nevermore students were booted from the competition, and when it came down to the final two competitors, no one was surprised when they saw you line up next to Wednesday.

“I think I’ve seen this film before,” you said as you grabbed an arrow and notched it before slightly pulling back on the string. The memories of your last archery competition came flooding back as you watched the beautiful girl to the left of you grab an arrow.

“And I didn’t like the ending,” Wednesday finished as she notched her arrow, drew, and let it loose, nailing the target's bullseye. You scoffed at her words before drawing back your arrow and firing, hitting the bullseye a few centimeters away from Wednesday’s.

As the contest continued, you and Wednesday engaged in a back-and-forth display of remarkable archery skills. Each shot was precise, and the competition grew fiercer with every arrow released. The crowd of students that had formed around you two was captivated, witnessing a display of talent that would mold the archery competitions of Nevermore for ages.

As the final round approached, you and Wednesday were neck and neck. The tension was palpable, and the spectators held their breath in anticipation. You looked over your left shoulder at Wednesday as you notched and drew your arrow. The smaller girl’s eyes stared into your covered ones, and you saw the way her eyes danced across your face as if she was trying to place a curse on you.

With a shaky breath, you turned away from Wednesday and looked at your target before you slightly lowered the tip of your bow; it was so unnoticeable that no one picked up on it besides the girl who was soul bound to you.

You let the arrow loose and smiled slightly when you saw it hit the outer ring. Wednesday sent you a slight glance before drawing back on her arrow and letting it fly, nailing it right in the center of the bullseye.

The crowd around them let out a few cheers and applause as Weems got the trophies ready. “I knew you could do it, roomie!” Enid exclaimed as she skipped over to Wednesday and gently shook the girl’s shoulders. Wednesday nodded her head at Enid before she walked onto the makeshift sports pedestal podium for first and second. She stepped onto the stage for first and watched as you stood on the one for second, and you sent her a smile that confirmed everything she needed: you threw the match for her.

When Weems handed you two your trophies, you had a giant smile as people took your picture, while Wednesday bore an uncomfortable expression.

“I appear to be the victor,” Wednesday said as you two walked back to Ophelia Hall together. The sun was just setting, and the light seeped into the hallway, creating a romantic lighting that seemed a bit on the nose for you.

“It appears so,” you replied with a gentle smile as you flipped your trophy around and read the words “2nd place winner” underneath your name.

Wednesday scoffed at your comment before glaring up at your towering figure. “You aren’t going to finish the saying?”

You tapped your pointer finger on your chin, acting as if you were thinking profoundly. “Why would I? You didn’t cheat,” you said honestly and dropped your hand back down to your side.

“No, but you threw the match,” Wednesday said as she approached her door with you a few paces behind her. She wanted nothing more than to bring you inside and cherish you, but she would never stoop to her mother’s way of life.

“If I am capable of such an outlandish thing, I’m sure I would not do that just so you-of all people-could win,” you said with a serious tone but your smile told Wednesday you were joking and it made her cold, black heart ache for something for had felt once and only with you.

Deciding against her better judgment, Wednesday set her trophy on the ground, and before you had time to ask her what she was doing, her left hand gently grabbed your neck and pulled down as she stood on her tippy-toes to place a chaste kiss on your cheek. Your entire body heated up at the contact, and a smile overtook your face. The kiss lasted longer than it should have, as Wednesday’s lips lingered on your cheek as if she was making you a promise that she would one day taste your lips.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Wednesday said as she picked up her trophy and entered her room, closing the door on your shell-shocked expression. You had butterflies dancing in your stomach as you walked back to your room with a gentle smile on your face and went to sleep with the thought of Wednesday’s lips against your skin. As you drifted off to sleep, Wednesday stayed up all night writing out the way you made her stomach feel like a thousand spiders lived there and the way your hair warmed her black heart. She once vowed to push you away to avoid the pain of losing you, but every waking moment she spent without you had caused her to feel that pain tenfold. Even if she would lose you at the end of your lives, at least she would have had the honor of calling you hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The eerie gothic ballroom was cloaked in darkness, dimly lit by flickering candlelight that cast haunting shadows upon the ancient stone walls. Heavy velvet drapes, tinged with a rich deep crimson, adorned the tall arched windows, adding a sense of mystery and opulence. Gothic-style chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings, their twisted metal work resembling gnarled branches, and their candelabras emitting a spectral glow. The air is filled with a subtle scent of incense, adding to the mysterious ambiance of the room as Wednesday prepared to entire the ballroom.

It was the Grimoire Soiree, Nevermore’s official gothic ball, that was hosted at the end of the Fall semester every year. Wednesday was naturally intrigued when she heard of a gothic ball and believed attending one might add a new element to her novel, including murder. Still, now, as she watched her peers walk into the ballroom, she felt out of place. Her heart yearned for the one who wouldn’t be attending.

It had been several months since the archery contest, and you and Wednesday had not talked to each other. Neither of you knew what to say, but you both wanted to say everything. You two continued with your rivalry, but there was a shift in the air when you two competed against each other, like you two were silently rooting for the other, and it gnawed at both of your hearts.

Deciding to face the music and the calling of her heart, Wednesday walked down the stairs and entered the room.

The polished black marble floors, etched with intricate patterns, mirror the gloomy setting as if reflecting the dark secrets concealed within the ballroom's history that enticed Wednesday. Elaborate gargoyles and stone statues of long-forgotten figures stood sentinel in the corners, their solemn expressions lending an air of solemnity to the space. Crimson roses, tinged with black, were carefully arranged in vases throughout the room, their haunting beauty contrasting with the darkness surrounding them.

As the haunting melody of a haunting organ filled the air, the students of Nevermore were clad in elaborate gothic attire and moved with an aura of elegance and enigma. The atmosphere was both haunting and enchanting, transporting the attendees to a realm of forgotten tales and otherworldly delights that overwhelmed Wednesday. Just as she was about to leave, an overly happy voice exclaimed, “Wednesday! You look amazing!”

The smaller girl wore a mesmerizing black gothic ball gown that is a sight of dark enchantment, featuring a flowing skirt that gracefully grazes the ground. Small black accents on the skirt add a touch of intricate detailing, enhancing its allure. The black corset, elegantly laced in the front, complements the gown's bewitching aesthetic and leads to long, puffy sleeves that exude an air of Victorian charm.

A small cutout on the chest, just above the corset, added a daring yet sophisticated touch, leaving a hint of mystery while maintaining an elegant appeal. The gown encapsulated a perfect blend of gothic elegance and captivating allure, making it an ideal choice for Wednesday's hauntingly beautiful ballroom event.

Wednesday turned around, and she noticed that her flamboyant roommate, who usually wore bright, borderline blinding colors, was in a darker-colored ball gown. The ball gown itself was a mesmerizing creation, enveloped in an enchanting dark purple hue that exudes an air of mystery and sophistication. It had a black corset adorned with dark purple accents that added an element of striking contrast, enhancing its captivating allure. Its intricate lacework and velvet accents add an extra layer of elegance. At the same time, its flowing silhouette gracefully captures the essence of gothic charm, something that Wednesday had never seen on Enid before.

The gown caught Wednesday off guard, and she believed that Enid somehow pulled it off, highlighting her piercing blue eyes that would blind anyone. Wednesday might have even given Enid some form of a compliment, but she knew that Enid didn’t need that kind of ego inflation.

“I appreciate your words, Enid. And you,” Wednesday wanted to be nice tonight but struggled with the words, “Do not look ridiculous.”

The werewolf beamed at her roommate's words, and a smile formed from cheek to cheek. “Awww! Thank you, Wens!” Enid said as she turned to walk toward Ajax but then suddenly turned back to Wednesday as if she had forgotten something. “Oh, and your lover was looking for you earlier; she said she has something to tell you.” And with that, Enid disappeared into the crowd of dancing students with Ajax. Wednesday’s cold heart picked up at the mention of you wanting to talk to her and beat rapidly against her chest. Her eyes scanned the room for you as an all too familiar saxophone interrupted the organ.

As if it was magic, Wednesday’s dark eyes immediately found your heterochromia ones in the vast sea of swirling gowns and powdered faces. You were standing on the opposite side of the room, wearing a gothic suit that consisted of a slightly ruffled white shirt, adding a touch of romanticism to the ensemble. Over the shirt, there was a black cavalier vest adorned with mesmerizing purple tapestry, creating a captivating contrast of colors and textures. Completing the look was a sleek black jacket, lending an air of sophistication and dark allure. The suit is further enhanced by a small yet elegant collar chain featuring a black scorpion on both collars, adding a subtle yet distinctive element of gothic charm to the overall attire.

Put on your Bobbi-sox baby

Pull up your old blue jeans

There’s a band playin’ down at the armory

Know’s what rock and roll really means

You two gravitated towards each other at a slow pace before picking up as your hearts quickened with excitement, and soon, you two were standing face to face. “Hi,” you said breathlessly as you got lost in Wednesday’s eyes.

“Hi,” she replied as she looked into your beautiful eyes for the first time in seven years. She had forgotten just how beautiful they were; the green eye seemed to dance with the room's lighting while the gray one gave Wednesday a feeling of comfort, the dark color reminding her of her own material home in New Jersey.

I want to bop with you baby, all night long

I want to bop the night away

I want to make it a night like it used to be

“May I have this dance?” You asked as you slowly started to do ‘The Twist’ from Pulp Fiction. Wednesday smiled and began doing Uma Thurman’s part of the dance as if you two were just six years old again and dancing in Wednesday’s room. You two smiled and joked the entire dance and felt the whole room disappear as the song drew to a close. “Shall we dance again, my fair lady?” You asked when the dance was finished as you stuck out your hand and slightly bowed, just as you did ten years ago.

“You’re exhausting,” Wednesday replied when the room began waltzing to the beautiful melody of ‘Merry-Go-Round of Life,’ but she took your hand. You placed your free hand just underneath her shoulder blade as her spare hand rested upon the shoulder of the arm that was under her shoulder blade. As the music played, Wednesday allowed you to lead the dance and found herself in a trance as she stared into your beautiful eyes that she missed.

“Stop staring into my soul,” you commented as you spun around with Wednesday.

She huffed at your words and playfully stepped on your foot before continuing the dance. “I’m not staring into your soul; I am just admiring your breathtaking eyes,” she confessed honestly while you two continued your fluid movements. “Why did you start covering them again?”

You tensed up at her words but continued with the graceful dance. “The only person who found beauty in them was gone,” you said shyly as you gave Wednesday a tight-lipped smile. The smaller girl frowned at your words; she didn’t know what to say without confessing her undying love for you. So she stayed quiet and let her eyes drift over to the scar on your face and let regret and pain wash over her like waves on the shoreline. “I never meant to hurt you,” Wednesday mumbled out as she let the pain show on her face. You were her best friend, her soulmate, and her home, and even though she didn’t know that it was either you or no one when she was just a child, she now wanted to wrap you in her arms and never let anything or anyone harm you again; even if that meant protecting you from herself.

So, she dropped your hand while dancing and left you out there standing. Crestfallen on the landing as Wednesday left you in the ballroom and disappeared outside.

You snapped out of your disappointed state and were quick on her heels as you followed her outside. “Wednesday, what’s wrong?” You asked as you followed her to a water fountain and watched her sit down on the side.

She was sick to her stomach; she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she had an internal battle with her heart and brain. Her brain told Wednesday to run in the opposite direction, never to talk to you again. But her heart was telling her to run toward you, to embrace you with her loving heart that seemed to only beat for you. She felt nauseous as her thoughts bounced around; what if you didn’t feel the same way toward her? The last time you two were friendly with each other was almost eleven years ago when you guys were six. What if by showing you this much softer side of her, you reject her and use her weakness as a spear to her chest? Nearly killing her but leaving her alive just enough to continue living a life of nothingness. Your heart was glass, and she dropped it.

But what if you felt the same? What if your heart only beat for her, and you would rather die than not have been able to call her yours? All the moments you two spent at each other’s throats during competitions as you sent her little glances and silently prayed she would win so that you could see her eyes light up.

“Enid said you had something to say to me, Y/N,” Wednesday finally spoke as her thoughts ran rapidly in her mind. She needed to know what you wanted to say to her; she could not die in peace without knowing.

You stared at the alluring girl who refused to meet your eyes. There were thousands of things you wanted to tell her, but you didn’t know how. “Wednesday, there’s things I wanna say to you, but I’ll just let you live,” you said quietly as Wednesday’s eyes finally met yours. Wednesday dryly laughed at your words as her eyes glossed over with tears. The last time she had cried was because she lost you, and now, she was crying because she had finally found you. All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation, was killing her. Wednesday’s hands were shaking from holding back from you. When you said her name, everything just stopped; she didn’t want you like a best friend.

Wednesday’s eyes darted across your face, looking for anything resembling rejection. When she found only love and longing in your ocean eyes, she took in a deep breath and spoke in a broken voice, “I used to look at you and see my best friend, and now I can hardly look at you without picturing our bones resting together in a grave dug for two. I left you in there because I cannot live without knowing if it meant more to you too as well. I would rather die than bear these feelings alone.”

The words that left Wednesday’s lips took you off guard; you had a speech, and now you’re speechless. “What do you mean by that, Wednesday? Are you telling me that you have feelings for me?” You asked with disbelief on your face; you needed to know if she was confessing her love for you, but you weren’t quite sure if that’s what she meant.

“The sun rises and sets with your smile. At least it does for me. You’re the only thing on this planet worth worshipping. In simpler terms: I want you. I’ve always wanted you. It just took me ten years to realize it. I’m your jazz singer, and you’re my cult leader,” Wednesday confessed as she stared into your eyes, already accepting rejection.

“Wednesday, you don’t have to bear those feelings alone,” you stated with a sigh of relief. Wednesday’s eyes smiled for her as she pushed herself off the fountain, and slowly walked toward you. She stopped a few feet in front, giving you space to run away if you desired.

“I once had someone tell me I was destined to be alone, but I would like to be alone with you. If I’m enough - if you want me, if you’ll have me - I’m yours, only yours, Y/N,” Wednesday admitted with a silent prayer.

“Wednesday, I have only wanted you since we were kids. I only wanted you as a best friend then, but now, when I look at you, I only see my other half. I would rather die than not be able to call you mine, even if it’s just for a second.”

Slowly, Wednesday stepped to you until you were close enough to touch, begging you to make the first move she has always been afraid to take. “For the past ten years, I have been trying to form a way to apologize for the way I treated you, but every time I come up with something, I only see you in that hospital bed,” Wednesday admitted.

You gently reached out to Wednesday’s hand and brought it to your cheek. You gave a small kiss on the palm of her hand before moving it to cup your cheek as your free hand wiped away the lone tear that fell down Wednesday’s cheek. “I forgive you, Wednesday. I had forgiven you the moment I moved; I thought I would never see you again,” you whispered with tears in your eyes as you brought your forehead against Wednesday’s.

Wednesday sighed in relief as she brought up her other hand and cupped your cheeks. You pulled back from her, and Wednesday wanted to cry. You placed a kiss on her forehead that felt like a promise, then kissed her nose, silently telling her everything will be alright, another on her cheek that felt like you would wait however long for her, and finally, you kissed her lips with so much love Wednesday almost died. She let a small, choked-up gasp escape her lips before gently kissing you back. For the first time in ten years, you both finally felt at home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A blanket of snow fell upon the Addams’ residence that coated the peaceful house as Morticia Addams shot up in bed. She gasped for breath as her eyes panicky shot around the room.

The action woke Gomez up, and he reached over to the bedside table to turn on the lamp before reaching out to his wife. “Cara mia, what’s wrong?” He asked with worry laced in his voice, but his worry faded when he saw a giant smile plastered on Morticia’s face that accompanied the tears of joy in her eyes.

She wrapped her arms around her husband and pulled him against her, in complete disbelief at the vision she just had of her daughter. She pulled back from the embrace before exclaiming, “Our darling viper has found someone to share her grave with!”

Gomez lit up with excitement at the mention of Wednesday having a lover; words could not express his joy when his daughter finally fell to the Addams Family Curse. “My love, this is dreadful news! I cannot wait to meet them,” he said with a smile on his face.

Morticia laughed at her husband's words before placing a hand on his cheek and stroking it with her thumb. “Don’t worry, Gomez. You have known her since she was a child.”

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AN: if you recognized ‘the sun rises and sets with your smile’ quote, I love you so much 🫶

#wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday #enemies to lovers

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suguru-getos · 1 year ago

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୨・┈﹕✦﹕ Kinktober Day 24﹕✦﹕┈・୧

-> Event Masterlist

Geto Suguru x F!Reader -> Size Kink

Summary: After returning from your trip, you found out your boyfriend is not okay. Maybe a vacation (To Venice) ;) would help. (Mentions of Deppressed!Suguru, angst, breakdowns, toothrotting fluff and comfort, Satoru being a wonderful best friend, Suguru healing) ❤️‍🩹 Basically hurt-comfort with size!kink 😭

Warnings: Angst, breakdowns, Suguru’s deranged and suc!dal and has murderUrges, Reader (us) comfort him and pull him out from it. Mentions of reader’s breakdowns, cus I mean— 🤷🏻‍♀️ Look at him!!?? Nipple-play, breeding, softsex, sensual, FLUFFY AND NICE AND SUGURU’s so Spoiling towards us it’s just 🙈

A/N: Guys I had sm fun 🥹😵‍💫🩵 writing this I swear!! Hurt-comfort is like my favorite thing in the whole wide world <33 I love to characterize Suguru & to play around with his character. *Screeches and screams* 🍨🍦 I made him yummy thank me later xx Also can we look at the images of him above 🥵 size kink BRRRR

"If you really think, you can do everything, take everything in, save people, and somehow save yourself along with the deceitful thinking that you will protect me. Then you're wrong!" Tears welled up in your eyes, the pain clearly imminent in Suguru's eyes. He looked dead inside, and no mourning was soothing your ache for your older Suguru. You just, missed him beyond beliefs… even when he was right beside you. You hoped he would response to your cry of pain, your bleeding words, but he didn't have it in him anymore. Suguru had almost, given up on himself.

Your hands found themselves clasping onto his collar, pulling him closer to you. "Suguru, look at me, I am telling you something. Can't you fucking see how much it hurts!" You screamed, losing your calm, your temper. It felt ironical to complain to him about how much it's hurting you. You can see he's got it worse; the nights full of terrors and the days full of decaying cursed spirits. You were an empath for your lover, and it was clear staying near him was subjecting you to everything he felt. He doesn't want to see you this way, desperate and hurting…

"I'm sorry, Angel." Suguru sighed, wrecked with the way you burst into tears and hugged him. Voice choking onto sobs as you earnestly tried clutching onto him for dear life. "Sugu, come back to me please come back…" You cried, wailed and eventually dropped onto your knees. The incomprehensible feeling, the heaviness of the things Suguru was going through was making you breathless.

Suguru's heart was only breaking further apart, watching you slowly scrape away in front of him. "I want to kill myself." He finally spoke up, "No, truth is, I want to kill everyone."

This was the first time Suguru was opening up, and no matter how brutal it sounded, his eyes were still kind. Maybe because it was you, in front of him. "You are a sorcerer, too, I shouldn't say this to you, but I hate those monkeys." He radiates pessimism and negativity through him. Yet, you smile a little.

"Come with me, go away with me." You held his hands, squeezing them tightly as if you were grateful they're not cold. You truly were. They were warm, they were still your Suguru's hands.

"Please, Suguru, let's go away for some time." You urged, and he knelt with you, hugging you tightly, not caring about the whimper that escapes you because of his firm grip.

"Running away, won't solve anything." He echoed, and you felt your stomach sink. Soft sniffles echoing in the room as you shook your head like a tantrum-y child. "No, we will solve everything. You and I, we can solve everything. No matter what it is." You cupped his face, becoming stronger for him. "It's okay to feel like this Suguru, it's okay. I'm here." You nudge, watching his eyes showing signs of at least, some life in them. "Can you, not give up?" You meant on himself, you meant on everything.

To make sure, he understands… you hummed again, "makes me feel like, I'm being abandoned."

Suguru blinked at that, letting your words settle deep within. "Makes me feel like, I'm not even worth fighting for." You looked down, not having the guts to say this to him while making eye-contact. "Please, let's elope somewhere Sugu." You crooned, babying him almost. "I will follow you to the ends of the earth anyway, even if your path is changed." You hum, and with the way your pupils fixated on your hands intertwined, Suguru knows you mean it.

"Okay, maybe… I do need a little get away." Suguru smiled tenderly, partial charm returning to his eyes.

Oh it felt like rain in famine, "Good, thank you, I love you."

"I love you too, my Angel."

---

The next thing was you booking tickets to go to Europe. You urged Satoru and Yaga to not assign any more missions for Suguru. It was hard, you and Suguru were both powerful special grade sorcerers; but hey- you both had Satoru to rely on. "I told you the moment he lost weight, he wasn't doing okay." Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes, tapping at his feet impatiently in the café you decided to meet him in. "What the fuck is up with being the one to hide things?" Satoru was pissed, why would his best friend not communicate? "Makes him feel less of a man?" You chuckle at that, you knew Satoru loved him almost as much as you did. "I've persuaded him to go on a trip with me." "You did?" Satoru was… amazed. These days, Suguru wasn't even joining in for any normal outings. Wasn't going out of his house for weeks, wasn't even meeting you. Things worsened when you left to Korea for a mission longer than 3 weeks. You had to stay there for some Jujutsu School Collaboration initiative. That's when Suguru was off his leash, truly at his worst. Taking missions more than he should, succumbing to the darkness of his mind and the curses.

"Just, want you to handle things while we're gone." You sipped onto the iced frappe you've ordered. Meanwhile Satoru ate a mochi, seemingly absent-minded and bored. "You don't have to worry about that, you know I'd do that in a heartbeat for him." He bratted, raising a brow at you. "And you…"

You smiled at that, nodding gently. It felt good to have the 'Strongest' so whipped for your boyfriend, and platonically you, as well.

The higher-ups posed a threat, as always. 'Why is Suguru Geto not on missions?' ; 'Did he get off the job of a Sorcerer?' especially the cunt-faced Principal of Kyoto. You and Satoru personally paid him a disrespectful visit at his school. Nothing he can complain against, wouldn't sit well to anger two special grades, will it? Despite showing that the Sorcerer world is only filled with people who are willing to take on the role- example: Nanami switching from corporate jobs to a sorcerer job… it was still, at the end, a disgusting, foul powerplay hidden beneath shackles of rules. If you are a special grade sorcerer, they'd do anything to hold on to you. Even blackmails are not far off the list. Emotionally draining…

---

"I have booked us a flight to Venice, baby." You sat cross legged on the swing chair Suguru's house has, fondling with your iPad and searching for hotel venues. "Venice huh." Suguru was still numbed, but at least, not he couldn't avoid you because practically you lived with him now. "Yeah, we can go to Switzerland, and also wherever you want. I hear Germany this time of the year is beautiful." You croaked excitedly, swaying your legs as he walked towards you, sitting on the chair in front of you. "Satoru told me you and I are on a vacation for months." He came directly on the point. "The trip isn't that long, is it?" He manspreaded, raising a brow.

You gulped, smiling softly, the last thing you need is him feeling 'weak'. You had to approach this carefully. "Suguru, I think you and I have done enough missions for a while. I want us to spend some time together, to ourselves." You added some degree of truth, "Also, I don't want you to keep eating curses and letting them eat you from the inside and I don't want to lose the person I love the most in my fucking life." With the way you affirmatively snapped, there was no way, Suguru would battle against it. A soft nod was all you got as a response.

"Alright, I will handle the packing. Don't want you screeching like a wild animal when you discover you forgot your charger." He leaned in, giving you a chaste peck & you giggled. "Of course."

---

The packing, the preparations, the dressing up and going to the Airport, the flight where you slept leaned against his shoulder. All went by in a tender haze of beautiful memories. Inflicted and infected by his sadness, still. Though you wouldn't mind. You're ready to accept him rotten if needed.

When you two reached Venice, the Victorian style hotel with the boats and the beautiful lakes was in fact, refreshing for him; and you. You knew it because Suguru had stopped going to your shared balcony of the house, now here he was, standing there, observing the people. The couples giggling and kissing each other, the boat rowers singing in their native Italian language, the streets with so much hustle and bustle… yet calming. You hugged him from behind, breathing in his scent. "Like it?" "Love it, my beautiful baby." He crooned back, turning towards you and pulling you closer to him by your hips. "I love you." He chanted, almost in a way that he used to when he first asked you out. These past few months were hard and rough, but if you were able to have him back, even infinitely slowly… you'd dedicate it to eradicating all his sadness.

"If you want, I can dress very Lana Del Rey today and we could make steamy love." You giggled, leaning in and kissing him softly. Suguru and you… yeah, haven't made love in a while. You'd never push him when he isn't feeling it, and naturally, someone who's suffering so much would have it at the last thing on his mind.

"You're right, how disappointing of me… I don't remember the last time I treated you, I worshipped you." He thought out loud, and you pouted. "It's okay Suguru, don't think about it like that. Think about how you're gonna make it up to me." You stuck your tongue out, giggling.

It's the way he looks at you, like he's starving and you're delectable. It's the way his eyes are loud enough with their projection of love that it quiets the world down for you. It's the way Suguru Geto breathes, that makes you love him so much you'd break.

Right now, he's doing the same thing… being himself. Hands wandering to your sides and helping you wrap your legs around his waist as he walked towards the shared bedroom of the hotel. Leaning in and kissing you passionately, shoving his tongue just to show how much he's been deeply yearning. Admiration coated in every action. "So lucked out that I have you." He smiled to himself, kissing your forehead deeply once you were nestled into the succumbing softness of the mattress.

"Same," you grin back, watching him undress you with his eyes first, and then his hands followed. You mimicked the same movements.

"I can't handle the fucking hotness!" You whined, once he was left in his pants, upper body naked for you to devour. Suguru chuckled, heat rushing through his cheeks and core as he cupped your face, kissing you once again.

The thing about you and him is, Suguru is big. He's built like a bulky man. Stretched to 6'3'', broad shoulders that'd hold two of you, hands big enough you miss almost an inch if you were to compare his with yours. Yeah, Suguru was big and you were tiny. Something that only aided to you being subbier and smaller to him. Letting him manhandle and take all the control that he wants to.

"Who do you belong to, darling?" He cooed, watching you instantly answer. "You, forever and always."

It warms his heart when he hears that, spreading your damp pussy lips with his fingers and thrusting a finger into you. It's been… long. He knows it with the way you're clamping for dear life, just on his digit. "Sh-i-t," You croak out, while Suguru hushed you with a soft kiss, slowly moving his finger in and out of your pussy. Once he felt you had accepted his finger's girth, he inserted another one. "AH god-" You whined, mewling at the delicious stretch of his thick and long fingers being coated with your essence. "You want to make sweet love and you're so worked up with the fingers alone." He chuckled to himself, stretching you out so good, curling them against the familiar sensitive spot.

Your back arched, the way your pussy clamped as if she was a slave to his hands and cock.

"Oh she's close." He cooed, "Go on, cum for me then I can ruin you with me." He kissed your pelvis, holding it down as your orgasm raked through you, approaching fiercely and shuddering your body against him as waves of pleasure took over you. "Good girl. Good little girl." Suguru praised, riding it out for you. Once the orgasm's high settled, Suguru took out his fingers and suckled onto them, eyes never leaving yours.

"Want you, so bad!" You gasped out, pulling him closer to you by wrapping your legs around him, feeling the imprint of his cock into you. "Alright alright, impatient little girl." He smirks, pushing the tip of his pre-leaking cock into you in one swift stroke. Mean, Suguru Geto is mean sometimes… especially when he wants you to be scream at the stretch only he can give you. No one else, he wants your pussy to know only how he feels. Damn he's big, and when he pushes himself balls deep, your pussy is strained beyond its limit. "Shit- s- so big Sugu." You whimper out, tearing up at the ache.

"Ssh, it's okay darling. I'm still. Adjust to me, go on." Suguru patiently waits, kissing your face all over, leaning in and kissing your breasts, suckling onto your nipples while you clamped and waited for the pain to settle in.

"Move, please…" You glance at him now, doe-eyed and insatiable.

"Of course, took you some time to adjust to me huh? Tiny little baby." He smiles, thrusting into you without relent. Your womb stops him from going in any further, your insides torn apart deliciously at the feeling of being ploughed by him. "Oh- G- oh God," words fail you, the air choked out of your lungs with how good it hurts, with how pleasureful it feels.

Suguru's hand laced around your pelvis, pressing on it gently. "Got you," He smirks cockily, holding your hand and keeping it on your pelvis, enveloped by his own as he pressed.

A shrill scream filled the room, "Oh you can sense it, can't you sweetheart? Sense how deep I reach?" You moan at the pressure, pushing you closer and closer to the edge as you hopelessly nodded. Gasping and choking on air. "God yes, Sugu- AH please- oh my- g'nna," You whimpered, while Suguru was at a rhythmic pace now. Sometimes pulling all the way out and pushing back all the way in. He loved seeing you walk the rope between pleasure and pain.

"Good girl, with the way you're holding onto me, I can sense you're close." Suguru hummed, grounding you with his kisses, his spoiled little praises.

"Go on, show me how much you missed me."

"Just like (thrust) I (thrust) missed (thrust) this (thrust) pussy-" Suguru toppled off the edge right with you, painting your insides white with his warmth. "Oh god- fuck-"

You shudder, spasming around his cock and milking him further.

"That's it, I got you. I got you." Suguru reminded, leaning in and kissing you softly, tenderly, as if you'd break if he were to touch you wrong.

"I missed you, I missed this." He mused to himself, blushing a little at the sight of you fucked out and half-lidded. You nodded, still taking ragged breaths. "I love you"

"I love you too, Angel."

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maldaptivedreamer · 15 days ago

Text

A Cowboy's Weeping Angel - Arcane

Her crimson cloak billows and dances in the gentle breeze as she trots through the streets, her horse's hooves make a satisfying rhythm on the cobblestones. The town has grown and changed since she last passed through its streets.

Buildings have been built, roads widened, and new faces have appeared. She catches glimpses of familiar faces among the crowd, their features weathered with age but still holding traces of recognition as they watch her pass by. But there are also new faces, youthful and eager, their bright eyes following her broad form sitting tall on her horse. Some whisper to each other with curiosity and admiration, while others stare with a frown.

Feeling apprehensive, she adjusts her hat and follows the familiar path.

content: Sevika x fem reader, errors/mistakes, wild west au, outlaw/cowboy sevika, maybe slight ooc Sevika, gun, past relationship, flashbacks, name calling/nicknames, panic attack, angst, descriptions of decay and rot, lots of crying, r! forgives pretty fast (srry), lots of playful banter

wc: ~12.3k

a/n: Sorry for not posting sooner. I've been sick and migraines are a fucking bitch. Anyway, hope y'all like and thanks for reading! Taglist open for arcane fics!!

MINORS DNI NSFW 18+

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

The butt of the gun digs into the meat of your shoulder as you cock it loudly, holding it steadily in your hands.

You watch her freeze, her breath stopping short in her chest as her fist hovers over the wooden door. Tilting your chin, you narrow your eyes at her back. “You lost?”

Slowly turning to face you, she raises her hands by her sides in a placating manner.

You purse your lips as she silently observes you, taking you in. The baby fat that used to fill out your cheeks is gone, leaving behind sharp angles. There is a glimmer of shock and hurt in your eyes, but you hide it well behind a smoldering fire of rage.

Your lips pull into an angry frown as you glare at her, quirking a brow at her silence. Her mouth parts as her face twists, regret and guilt flashing in her eyes. “Hey, angel.” She finally speaks softly.

Your throat constricts at the sound of her voice, the familiar husk sends unwelcome shivers down your spine.

You can feel the weight of the gun in your hand, its cold metal pressing into your palms as you stand frozen, unsure of what to do next. Your forefinger absentmindedly taps against the trigger guard in contemplation.

Her eyes flicker to your fidgeting finger and she slowly lowers her hands, her voice a mixture of warmth and concern. “You look good, angel.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and dropping your arms, swinging the muzzle down toward the floor.

The corners of her mouth twitch up into a smirk as she speaks, her words dripping with a hint of playfulness. “M’ surprised your eyes haven’t rolled to the back of your head yet, sweetheart.”

You shake your head in irritation. “I could’ve shot you.”

She nonchalantly shrugs, glancing at the gun dangling loosely in your hand. “The safety’s on.” With a smug tilt of her chin, she gestures towards the gun in challenge. “I’m callin’ your bluff. I bet it’s not even loaded, angel.”

Raising an unimpressed eyebrow, you observe her calmly as you lift the gun back into your hands, cocking it. A bright red shell clatters to the floor, catching the light and spinning in a small circle. Her silver eyes follow its movement, a hint of surprise flickering across her features.

"This isn't one of your poker games." You declare coolly, meeting her gaze again. “There’s no bluff to call.”

Releasing a dry, awkward cough, she adjusts her stance and her feet shift uncomfortably. The moonlight casts shadows across her face, emphasizing the deep creases of worry etched into her features. “You were gonna shoot me?” She asks, thick brows lifting in shock.

The wooden rocking chair creaks beneath your weight as you sit down, nonchalantly rocking back and forth.

Shrugging, you rest the shotgun on your lap. “There’s more in the chamber. It’s still a possibility.” You state matter-of-factly, fingers idly tracing the barrel, your gaze fixed on her.

Wincing in discomfort, she hesitantly sits on the edge of the old wicker chair across from you as she removes her hat. “You’re still angry.” She says definitively, leaning onto her knees.

You scoff out a humorless laugh. Shaking your head slowly, you turn to look at the vast expanse of the ranch under the pale glow of the moon. “Why are you here?” You ask tiredly, turning back to her.

Her hands fidget restlessly in her lap as she speaks, her voice wavering with a hint of insecurity. Her eyes avoid yours as she confesses. “I missed you. I wanted to see you.” She swallows nervously, feeling the weight of your unwavering eyes scrutinizing her. “Wanted to see if you were happy.”

Your feet still as you sink back into the chair with a heavy sigh. “Sevika, when you left… things changed. I’ve changed. It’s been a long time… Did you think that you could come back and I’d fall back into your arms?”

She tilts her head to meet your eyes, shaking her head emphatically. “No. I-”

But you cut her off, your tone firm. “I’m happy here. I’ve got a community now. One that looks to me, respects me. And I’ve got the ranch… Got all I’d wanted.”

Rolling your neck, you continue. “You could have come back a year ago, or the year before that, or any of the years before that.” Covering your mouth to disguise a yawn, you speak monotonously . "I’m too old to be playin’ games anymore Sevika. Get to the point… Why are you here? Why now?"

Sevika's eyes dart away, a flash of guilt crossing her face. She lets out a long exhale before meeting your gaze again. "I… I got hurt.” She pulls the cloak from her shoulders, stretching out her left hand.

The prosthetic arm glints in the light, its surface a shining copper color with intricate detailing etched into the metal. You can see the joints moving as she flexes her arm, a faint whirr sounds as she bends her elbow. Clenching her fist, her fingers click together.

Your grip on the shotgun tightens involuntarily and you bite back a gasp, fighting to keep your expression neutral.

"There was… an explosion. And I took the brunt of it." She rolls her shoulder, wincing at the memory. She pauses, looking at you with tears shimmering in her expressive silver eyes. “When I was layin’ there, all I saw was you. All I could think about was you. I'm sorry, angel. So sorry for hurtin' you, darlin'."

You feel a twinge in your chest but you push it aside, pursing your lips.

Squinting in deep thought, you furrow your brow and tap your fingers. “Give me some time to think about it.” You let out a sigh through your nose, grunting as you rise from your seat. “It's late. You need to leave.” Your voice carries a tone of finality as the gun hangs hanging limply in your grasp.

Her mouth parts in surprise at your blunt dismissal. "O-okay." She stumbles over her words, clearly taken aback. "I'm stayin' at the Inn, so I'll be around town.” She gives you an uncertain look.

Silently, you watch as she places her hat on her head and slowly descends the stairs. Letting out a puff of air, you speak stonily. “Before I even think about entertainin’ this, be honest with me… Is there anythin’ you’re runnin’ from this time?”

Her broad shoulders rise and fall as she takes a deep breath, turning back to face you. Her eyes search yours before she shakes her head. “No.”

Sevika lingers for a moment, as if wanting to say more, but then simply tips her hat and turns away. You watch her retreating form disappear into the darkness, the sound of her boots crunching on gravel fading into the night.

CRUNCH. Crunch. Crunch.

The metallic clang of the gun echoes through the quiet night as it slips from your trembling fingers, thudding against the wooden planks. Your hand instinctively flies to your chest, clutching at the fabric of your shirt as a sharp pain shoots through your body.

Why? Why did she come back?

The questions swirl in your mind, each one a dagger twisting in your heart. Black dots line your vision, fear gripping your chest like a vice as you imagine the worst.

What if she died? What if she never came back?

Your knees wobble as the ground grows unsteady beneath your feet. Gasping for air, you collapse to your knees, the unforgiving wood bruising your knees. The sharp air pierces your lungs, as your body shakes with sobs.

With trembling hands, you grasp onto the porch railing, using it to pull yourself up. Your legs feel weak and unsteady as you stumble, picking up the gun and quietly shutting the door behind you.

The cold still lingers despite the warmth of the house, and you shiver uncontrollably. A sickening sensation churns in your stomach and your head pounds relentlessly.

What do you want?

The cool soil slips through the spaces between your fingers, leaving behind a gritty residue on your skin. The earthy scent fills your nose, mixed with a sharp tang of rusted iron and rot.

Sharp twigs and branches poke through your pants and prick your skin. The ground in front of you is barren, with no signs of life save for a few scattered leaves and twigs. The earth looks as if it's been long abandoned, with patches of bare soil and decaying debris. Even the grass seems to shy away from this desolate patch, vibrant green blades curling in the opposite direction.

A sense of eerie stillness hangs heavy in the air, as if the very heart of the forest has stopped beating. You can't help but feel a shiver run down your spine as you take in this scene before you.

Your mind conjures images of the different creatures that fed on his body. The flood of insects that laid their homes, their children, in his vacant corpse. The tiny teeth of hungry rodents gnawing on bone. The sharp beaks of scavenging birds pecking at sinews and tendons. Clawed feet tearing at his decayed flesh.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

You don't turn your head at the noise.

“Was wonderin’ where you’d gone to.” Vander’s voice carries softly in the breeze.

You don't respond, continuing to let the soil sift through your fingers. The silence stretches between you, broken only by the rustling of leaves and distant bird calls.

Finally, you speak, your voice low and hollow. “Part of me still wonders what things could’ve been like… If he’d died a helluva lot sooner and she’d stayed.”

There's a pause before Vander answers, his tone careful. “There's no use in wonderin' about what could've been." His boots crunch on the grass as he moves closer. "What matters is what is." He says gently.

You nod silently, still fixated on the barren patch of earth. "She's back." You murmur, almost to yourself.

Vander inhales sharply. "I know."

You nod again, finally turning to look at him. His weathered face is creased with concern, his grey-blue eyes searching yours.

Chuckling, you lift a brow. “So, this is a wellness check then?”

He sends you a slightly scolding look. “I’m just a concerned friend lendin’ an ear and some company... If you need it.”

Chewing your lip, you nod.

"What’re you thinking?" He asks carefully.

You shrug, returning your gaze to the ground. "Don't know yet… Part of me wants to hear her out. Another part knows that we’re not young anymore. Things are different. I’ve got more to lose. And I…" You trail off, still focused on the dirt slipping through your fingers.

Vander settles down beside you with a groan, his joints creaking. "It’s okay to be scared. To want to protect yourself from someone who hurt you."

Your jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "She left once. What's to stop her from leavin' again?"

"Nothing." Vander muses. "She can leave anytime she wants."

You scoff lightly, tossing the dirt from your hands and dusting them off. "Is this ‘sposed to be comforting?" You ask as you face him.

"What I mean is…” Vander sighs, scratching at his salt and pepper scruff. “You can't control her actions. You can only control your own."

He looks at you thoughtfully. "Are you willin' to take that risk again? To open yourself up, let her in, knowin' she might leave?"

You're quiet for a long moment, mulling over his words. The breeze rustles through the trees, carrying the scent of pine and sap.

You let out a long, shuddering breath, your shoulders slumping in defeat. Your throat tightens as you continue, your words heavy with emotion. “If she- if somethin’ happened to her, I don’t know what I’d have done…” You admit in a hushed tone.

Wiping a shaky hand over your face, you take a deep breath and try to steady yourself. A single tear escapes from the corner of your eye and trickles down your cheek. "But it’s not just me this time…" You say, your voice wavering. “If I can’t pick up the pieces, it's not just me who gets hurt."

Vander nods understandingly. "You don't have to decide anything right now. Take your time. Figure out what you truly want. She’ll wait."

As your fingers search through the depths of your pocket, you feel the familiar texture of worn and creased leather.

“When she ran, all she left was this useless strip of leather I complimented once.” You say absentmindedly, staring at the strip of leather that weighs into your palm.

You hold it up to the light, examining every crease and mark. A reminder of what once was. "Put it in a box and tried to ignore it. To move on, but we both know how that turned out." You let out a self-deprecating laugh as you run your fingers over the familiar grooves. "Every time I tried to throw it away, I ended up just starin’ at it."

It brings a flood of memories - both sweet and bitter. The laughter, the stolen kisses, the whispered promises. And then the silence, the hurt, the hollow ache of anger.

Vander watches you quietly. "Sometimes the things we can't let go of, are what holds us back." He says softly.

You nod, still staring at the strip in your hand. "I know." You whisper. "But knowin’ and doin’ are two different things, Van."

You clench your fist around the leather, feeling it dig into your palm. "I don't know what to do. But I don’t think I’m ready to say goodbye." Your voice cracks slightly on the last word.

"She showed up out of nowhere yesterday. Cut yourself some slack." Vander says gently. "Give yourself time to process."

Your lips tremble as tears stream down your cheeks. “Can you hold me?” You ask in a small voice and he quickly pulls you into his side.

Vander's strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close against his sturdy frame. You bury your face in his chest, inhaling his warm, comforting scent as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. The leather strip is still clutched tightly in your hand, pressed between your palm and Vander's shirt.

His hand rubs soothing circles on your back as he holds you. "Let it out, kid." He murmurs. "You've been holding everythin’ in for too long."

Emotions that you've pushed down and ignored for years come crashing to the surface. Pent-up grief, bitterness, hurt, longing, exhaustion – all blend together into an overwhelming storm. You cry for the young person you were. For the naive dreams that were shattered. For the love that was lost.

Eventually, your sobs subside into quiet sniffles. "You don't have to be strong all the time. It's okay to let it out, to rely on someone else for once." He reassures.

You nod against his chest, taking a deep, shuddering breath as you pull back and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. "That’s not exactly somethin’ I’d had the privilege of." You whisper hoarsely.

Vander's eyes soften with understanding. He gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Well, you do now. You've got me, and everyone in town behind you."

You nod, managing a weak smile. "Thank you." You murmur.

You sit in silence for a while, your breathing slowly evening out as Vander keeps a comforting arm around your shoulders. The leather strip dangles loosely from your fingers now, swaying gently in the breeze.

"It's okay to still care about her. To love her, even." He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. "But that doesn't mean you have to let her back in if you're not ready. Or ever, if that's what you decide."

You nod slowly, mulling over his words. "I know." You whisper. "I’d be lyin’ if I said that I didn’t miss her. That I didn't still care. ”

You let out a long, shaky breath. "If I tell her to leave, I know she will. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that." You admit, your fingers tightening around the worn leather strip.

Vander rubs his scruff thoughtfully. "No matter what you decide." He says in a low, steady voice. "You need to trust yourself. You're strong, stronger than you give yourself credit for."

He pauses, letting out a soft grunt before continuing. "Sure she means a lot to you, but you’re stronger than anything she can do." His words offer a glimmer of hope and reassurance amidst the turmoil in your mind.

Your eyes grow distant as you stare at the sky above. The sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. You take a deep breath, the cool evening air filling your lungs.

You hum, a soft, almost involuntary sound as you nudge Vander's arm. “Thank you, Van.”

“Course, kid.” Vander’s blue-grey eyes are downturned in sympathy as he gives you a sympathetic glance. “I’m sorry she’s not here to do this. She was much better at this than I am.”

You scoff and shake your head. “She was abso-fucking-lutely not.” Sending him an amused, but appreciative look, you nudge him again. “My mama was a lotta things, but a pep-talker wasn’t one of ‘em.”

Vander chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. "Fair enough. But she would've known what to say, even if it wasn't pretty." Vander's arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close. "You’ll be just fine, kid. I know you will."

You lean into him, drawing strength from his solid presence. The scent of tobacco and sandalwood clings to his clothes – familiar, comforting.

A jet-black horse leisurely grazes on the lush grass below. His thick, wavy mane sways as he lifts his head towards you.

With a sigh, you dismount and slowly move past the horse, making your way towards the familiar willow archway. The sunlight filters through the delicate branches, casting elongated shadows on the ground.

Tapping your fingers on your thigh, you pause beneath the archway. Sevika’s eyes dance around the garden and you silently brace yourself.

"Mind if I join you?" You ask softly.

Sevika's silver eyes snap up in surprise as she straightens on the wooden bench. She clears her throat. "No." She says, shaking her head. She scoots over, motioning for you to take a seat beside her.

Sparrows flit about in a nearby birdbath, their cheerful chirping adding to the sound of whispering trees.

"This place has changed." She says, taking in the garden.

You nod, your gaze trailing over the stone steps that lead to a stone fountain. A wooden swing hangs from a thick tree branch, swaying gently in the breeze.

"After you left, I couldn't come back here for a while." You admit, your voice tinged with sadness. "It didn't feel like mine anymore. And I didn't want this place to go to waste… Felt selfish to keep it to myself."

Her expression softens even more as she responds. "It's beautiful."

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "The kids come here sometimes. To play, or have picnics." Your eyes drift to the colorful painted rocks placed at the base of a towering oak tree. "They add their own touches too."

Sevika follows your gaze, taking in the vibrant stones. Her metal hand flexes unconsciously. "It's nice." She pauses, her voice growing quieter. “That you’ve shared this place."

You sigh, your interlocked fingers fidgeting in your lap. "I come here to think sometimes." You murmur, almost to yourself. "To remember."

Sevika shifts beside you, her voice gentle. "What do you remember?"

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves above, carrying with it the sweet scent of daffodils and grass. "Everything." You whisper. "The good. And the bad."

Opening your eyes, you turn to face her. "I've been doin’ a lot of thinkin'..." You start, your voice low and measured. "About what you said.”

You pause before continuing. “I… There’s so much here that I need to protect. People that rely on me being strong.”

“If you tell me to go, I’ll go.” She says without hesitation and the raw sincerity in her eyes jars you. “No fighting, no questions. I’ll leave and you’ll never have to see me again.” The resoluteness in her voice is tinged with a hint of sadness and resignation, as if she’s already accepted a rejection.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth and bite down, feeling the sharp sting of pain. Your eyes gaze out into the distance, unseeing, lost in thought. You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a shaky breath that burns your throat. Desperately, you lift a hand to your lips and bury your face into your shoulder, hoping to hide the tears streaming down your cheeks.

But your cries flow freely, slipping through the cracks of your fingers. Your shoulders shake and jolt with the sobs that wrack through your body.

Sevika shifts closer, but you raise a quivering hand towards her. “Don’t. Please.” You whisper in a desperate rasp.

With hesitant movements, she slowly lowers her hand, her eyes watching you tensely as you struggle to calm yourself.

A heavy silence falls between you, broken only by the gentle creaking of the swing and the distant croaking of frogs. The cool air caresses your tear-stained cheeks, and you take a deep, shuddering breath.

"I was so angry in the beginning." You whisper, your voice thick. "I hated you for leaving the way you did."

Her jaw clenches, a flicker of pain crossing her face before she schools her expression. "I understand, I-”

“I’m not finished.” You cut her off sharply.

You look at her then, really look at her. The years have left their mark - deeper lines around her eyes, a jagged blue scar that branches over her cheek and down her neck, lean muscles now transformed into something more bulky. Yet despite all these changes, you can still see glimpses of the woman you’d once fallen in love with.

"I can't make any promises." You finally say, tears crusting on your cheeks. “I’m not angry, but every time I look at you, I switch between feeling nothing and everything.”

Sevika's gaze softens with understanding as she nods slowly. "I don't expect anything from you, angel." She says quietly. Sevika’s face scrunches at the hollowness in your voice. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

You glance between her eyes, taking in the soft, silver color. The gentle slope of her brows, the slight furrow in her forehead, and the genuine concern in her eyes. “I know…” You raise a trembling shoulder with a watery smile. “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t have considered any of this.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill your lungs. "I can't promise you anything." You repeat softly. "But… I'm willing to try."

Sevika's eyes turn down to her lap and she releases a throaty cough, attempting to hide the cracks in her voice. "Thank you." She rasps, her voice barely above a whisper.

You study her face, taking in every detail as you contemplate your next words. Her sincerity is evident in her tear-filled eyes. You can see the weight of regret and longing in every line on her face.

"I forgive you." You realize, voice filled with a soft acceptance.

Forcing down the emotion clogging her throat, she speaks hoarsely. “M’ not good at this. Could hurt you again.”

You smile genuinely at her for the first time. “I’m sure you will, cowboy. But all I’m askin’ is that you stay to pick up the pieces. Promise me you’ll stay and I’ll give this a chance, Sevika.”

Sevika feels hope spark in her chest, a feeling that had been so foreign since she’d left you. She swallows, her voice brimming with guilt. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, angel.” She shakes her head emphatically.

“Whether you deserve it or not, I forgive you.” You reply firmly.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve it. I’ve done a lot of bad, angel.” She says gruffly.

You stand, waving your hands in frustration. “God dammit Sevika. Are you trying to convince me to give you a chance or stay away?” Wetting your lips, you pause. “I don’t trust you. I can’t. Not yet… but I’m willing to give you the chance to earn it back.”

After a moment of hesitation, you reach out and gently wipe away the tears trailing down her cheeks. The touch of your hand seems to calm her as she leans into it, finding solace and comfort in your forgiveness as she closes her eyes.

“Hey, cowboy, where’d you go?”

The soft, sweet scent of lilacs fills her senses, a delicate and enchanting aroma that envelops her. The vibrant hues of white and purple blossoms entwine within the strands of your hair, sunbeams creating a radiant halo around you.

Her lips form words that she can’t make out, her voice a muffled hum in her ears. She leans in to press a tender kiss to your fingertips before whispering something into your palm.

A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth as you nod arrogantly. “Ah, I see.” You reply with a click of your tongue. “You got lost in my angelic and perfect beauty.” You feign realization with mocking sarcasm.

Leaning in, you press a light kiss to her lips. “Don’t blame yah, cowboy, I’m the closest you’ll ever get to heaven.” You tease.

She shakes her head as her chest vibrates with her voice.

Rolling onto your back, you cackle and your bright smile sends a wave of love and adoration through her chest.

A bittersweetness spreads through Sevika at the memory, the ghost of your taste lingering on her lips. She opens her eyes slowly, blinking away the remnants of the past.

The present comes back into focus - your hands still resting gently on her cheeks, as your eyes search hers with a mix of caution and hope.

“I decide whether or not you deserve my forgiveness. Alright, cowboy?” You firmly whisper. Your thumbs brushing away the last of her tears as you wait for her nod before you continue. “I’m still hurting, but… I don’t hate you. I’m not sure that I ever truly could…”

Sevika nods slowly, her eyes never leaving yours. She reaches up, hesitating for a moment before resting her hands over yours. The warmth of her touch seeps through your palms, familiar and comforting despite the years apart. The metal of her other hand is an entirely new feeling, hard and cold.

"I’m so sorry, angel." She says, her voice rough with emotion. "Never stopped thinkin’ of you. When I was gone, you were always there. With me."

You lean your forehead against hers, closing your eyes as you breathe her in. She smells the same - leather and tobacco and something uniquely Sevika. It brings back a flood of memories, both sweet and painful.

"I want to try again." You whisper. "But we can't just pick up where we left off. Too much has time has passed."

Sevika nods, her thumbs tracing soothing circles over your hands. "I understand. We'll take it slow. At your pace, angel.”

Pressing a long kiss to her forehead, you allow yourself to fully give in to her touch. Wrapping your arms around her, she quickly does the same. She holds you close as she buries her face in your neck. You can feel her tears dampening your skin as she trembles against you. Her voice is muffled and thick with emotion as she speaks. "I love you so much, angel."

You don't answer, running your fingers through her hair soothingly as your own tears falling freely now. The pain and longing of the past years mixes with a cautious hope for the future.

"Thank you." Sevika whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "I promise I'll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again."

You nod, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "I believe you." You say softly. "I just need you to show me."

Sevika nods earnestly, her silver eyes shining with promise. “I will. I want to.”

After a few moments, Sevika pulls back slightly to meet your eyes. Her silver gaze is intense, filled with determination and promise. "I swear to you, I ain't leavin' again. Not unless you tell me to go."

Gently caressing her cheek with your thumb, you slowly lower your hands and return to your seat with a small nod.

Vibrant yellow daffodils wave in the gentle breeze, their delicate petals reflecting the warm sunlight. The rope swing sways back and forth, accompanied by the rustle of leaves in the trees above.

Your throat feels dry as you clear it and shift awkwardly on the wooden bench. You take a deep breath before speaking. “Do you- do you want a tour sometime this week? I could show you what’s changed since you’d left.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Sevika's lips. "I'd like that." She says softly, her silver eyes shining with warmth.

You nod, feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation flutter in your chest. "Alright then. You remember where the ranch is?" Shaking your head, you wince. “Don’t answer that. Meet me at the stables.”

"I’ll see you then." Sevika says. She hesitates for a moment before adding. "Thank you for giving me this chance. I know it can't be easy."

You take a deep breath, your gaze drifting to the swaying daffodils. "It's not." You admit quietly. "But I think… I hope it’s worth it."

Stand up slowly, you brush off your pants. "I need to go.” Glancing at your feet, you send her a stiff smile.

“I’ll see you soon, angel.”

“See you soon.” You give her a tense nod and awkwardly leave.

The cool breeze brushes through the strands of your hair, sending them dancing in the wind as you pull your jacket tighter around you. A small shiver runs down your spine, but it's quickly replaced with a sense of comfort as you make your way to the stables.

The familiar sound of a loud neigh greets you, and a warm smile spreads across your lips. As you enter the stall, you run a hand through your horse's pale blonde mane and press your forehead to hers in greeting. “Hey sweet girl, how’re you doin’?” You whisper softly into her ear.

She responds by nuzzling her nose against your neck affectionately.

You nod, letting out a breathy chuckle. “How d’you feel about a ride?” As if answering, she lets out a contented snort and your smile grows.

With a soft hum, you lean in and press a tender kiss to her soft nose. The warmth of her breath tickles your skin as she huffs.

A soft, almost hesitant knock on the stall door interrupts your thoughts. You turn to see Sevika, her boots shuffling quietly against the stable floor as she enters.

“Hey, angel. Hope I’m not late.”

You shake your head, turning slightly to face her. “You’re early. Awful eager, aren’t you?” You mumble with a raised brow, grabbing Honey’s saddle pad from the nearby hook. The chestnut mare shifts under your touch, her silky coat rippling as you gently drape the thick pad over her back.

Sevika fidgets nervously, her eyes downcast as she clears her throat. “I’m sorry. I could-”

“No. I- I was teasin’.” You wince as you interrupt her, feeling a twinge of guilt for your jab. “I’ve never really been in this situation before, so…” You trail off sarcastically, lifting your leather saddle onto Honey’s back.

Your fingers brush over the delicate carvings of vines that adorn its surface before you rub your tired eyes and look at Sevika again. “I forgive you and I mean that but this all feels so weird and awkward. It's never felt like this before."

Sevika nods in agreement. “I know what you mean. It’s alright, angel.” She reassures.

Tilting her head, she moves closer. Her steps are slow and purposeful as she admires the bouquet of scraggly yellow flowers painted on the fender of your saddle. "The kids get to this too?" She asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

A warm feeling spreads through you at sight of the messy blotches and you nod with an affectionate smile. “Yeah.” You confirm with pride. "Kid’s not as skilled as the carver who did the vines, but I like these better." You say softly, your fingers delicately tracing the crude petals.

Sevika's eyes soften as she looks at the artwork. "It's charmin’. Sweet." She murmurs, looking down at you.

An awkward cough escapes your lips as you turn to secure the buckles of the saddle. “Have you done much explorin’ since you’ve come here?”

She shakes her head as she steps back from you. "Not yet. I’ve been waitin’ for you.” She confesses, removing her hat and running her fingers through her hair with a weary smile.

"Anywhere you wanna head to first?" You ask, glancing over your shoulder at her.

She lets out a soft chuckle. "Dealer’s choice. I’ll go wherever you take me, angel." She responds before mounting her own horse, adjusting her hat back on her head.

Taking a deep breath, you swing your leg over Honey’s back, feeling a slight twinge in your aging joints. “Alright then." You chew on your lip as you settle into the saddle. “Let me show you round the town square. Hope you don’t mind none of the starin’.”

The expression she sends your way is deadpan. “Believe it or not, I’m used to it.”

As you guide your horses out of the stable and into the warm sunlight, you feel a mix of trepidation and excitement. The familiar weight of Honey beneath you is comforting, but Sevika's presence beside you adds a layer of tension and uncomfortableness you can't quite shake.

"The town's changed quite a bit." You say, breaking the silence as you ride side by side down the cobblestone path. "You’ve seen the Inn, obviously, but we’ve even got a proper little schoolhouse.”

Sevika nods, her eyes taking in the sights and sounds around her. "It's grown...a lot." She observes. "Looks more… settled."

You hum in agreement, relaxing just slightly as a sense of pride swells within you. "It has. Took a lot of work, but everybody’s worked hard to build somethin’ good here."

As you continue down the path, you send her a knowing look. “Some of the more untoward places are on the other side of town. One of the newer buildin’s is a boxin’ gym with a fightin' pit."

Sevika hums absentmindedly in response.

Coming closer to the square, you can feel nosy eyes turning towards you both. But you pay them no mind as you lead Sevika into the livery stable and dismount from your horses.

Huck quickly stumbles over to greet you, grasping at the reins tightly as you pass them to him. “Hey Huck, I’ve got two for you.”

“Got it.” He responds with a nod, his glasses bouncing on his nose with each movement. “Always nice to see you.” He adds with a friendly smile, sending Sevika a curious glance.

With a gentle clink, you place some coins into Huck's weathered palm. “As it is you, Huck.” Turning to leave, you wave your goodbye. “See you soon.”

Sevika falls into step beside you, her footsteps light and measured as she follows your lead.

You point out the various changes and additions to the town. The new blacksmith's shop, the expanded general store, and the small library that doubles as a community center.

"And over there." You gesture to a modestly sized building with vibrant splashes of color painted on the side. “That’s the schoolhouse. The mural on the side changes every so often. All the artists in town get together to work on it and it’s a whole thing.”

Her gaze lingers on the school before she follows, giving you a curious glance. “A whole thing?“

You nod, a smile spreading across your face. “Yeah, everyone in town comes to the square to watch and mingle. There’s food. Games. The whole works.”

The two of you stroll towards the heart of the bustling square, drawn by the bubbling melody of a tall and proud fountain. You both take a seat on the cool stone edge, feeling the mist from the water dance across your skin.

"Some of the younger kids come here and toss in their coins for wishes." You explain, gesturing towards the pool below. "It's just somethin’ they like to do for fun."

Water cascades down each tier of the fountain in a gentle rhythm, spilling into the pool below. Sunlight catches on the surface of the water, scattered coins glinting and sparkling. Sevika peers into the water. “Looks like an awful lotta wishes.”

You follow her gaze and nod with a wry smile. "The older kids made a game out of it.” You say, pointing to the top tier of the fountain with a finger. “Challenged each other to see who could toss coins to the top tier. Became quite the competition for a while."

Sevika chuckles softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You ever take part?"

Your own lips quirk up in a slight grin. "Maybe once or twice." You admit with a shrug. "For demonstration purposes only, of course."

Clearing your throat, you smooth your hand over your lap and glance at your feet. The cool stone beneath you provides little comfort, your heart racing as you gather the courage to ask the question that has been weighing on you. ”Does it… hurt? Your arm, I mean."

Sevika shakes her head, her expression calm but a hint of sadness lingering in her eyes. "Not anymore. Took some gettin’ used to, but now it's just a part of me."

You swallow past the lump in your throat before asking apprehensively. “I- You said there was an explosion?”

A shadow passes over Sevika's face, casting a dark cloud over her features. She nods slowly, her metal hand clenching and unclenching in her lap. “Yeah. They had to amputate it. The burns were bad and I’d lost all feelin’.”

You lick your dry lips and rub your fingertips together as your leg bounces anxiously. “I- I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Your gaze darts towards her at the sound of her chuckle, the corners of her mouth turning up in a wry smile. “Yeah. Me too, angel.”

“When you told me about your accident…” You trail off, glancing at her arm. Rubbing your nose, you swallow a harsh breath and your words fall out of your mouth in a rushed jumble. “I- Maybe part of the reason I forgave you so quick was cause you almost died. And I- As much as I wanna stay mad, I can’t. If you died, I-” Your voice breaks as you choke on your words.

Muffling your sobs, you reach out towards her, needing to feel her. She responds without hesitation, pulling you into her chest.

“M’sorry.” You sniffle into her chest, and she can feel the warmth of your breath on her collarbone.

An amused fondness fills her chest as she looks down at you, mumbling something into the crown of your hair. It must’ve been something you didn’t like because you draw back from her with a huff and a pout on your pretty face.

“I am not. You’re soft.” You protest, poking a finger into her stomach as you wipe the tears from your eyes. “What the hell do you want from me? I- You make me really happy and I- l care about you so much and I dunno what I’d do if somethin’ happened to you, I just-”

A small smile tugs at her lips as she watches you, feeling grateful for you. Her voice sounds muffled in her ears, a hint of playfulness filling her chest.

Collapsing into her, you start crying again. “You can’t say that! You bein’ sweet's makin’ it worse.” You whine.

She chuckles, running a warm hand through your hair.

Sevika's arms tighten around you, her metal hand cool against your back as she holds you close. "Shh, it's alright." She murmurs, her voice low and soothing.

You take a shuddering breath, trying to compose yourself. "I- I just… I missed you so much." You whisper, your voice muffled against her shirt.

She runs her fingers through your hair, the gentle touch sending shivers down your spine. "I missed you too, angel. Every damn day."

Slowly, you pull back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You look up at her, taking in the familiar lines of her face, tracing the new scars that mar her skin. "I never really told you cause I was upset, but… you look really fuckin’ good.” You breathily say with a chuckle.

Her thumb wipes away tears as they rain down your skin. “So do you.”

Biting her lip, Sevika hesitantly continues with a tentative smirk. “Bein’ apart from you was hell, angel.”

You roll your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. "Is this gonna be a thing? You’re practically ancient and you find dad jokes funny now?”

Her chest rumbles with a deep, hearty chuckle. The lines on her face crinkle in amusement as she teases. “If I’m ‘ancient’, does that mean you have some sort of older woman kink, angel?”

Falling into the playful banter, you nudge her. “Nah, just means I have a you kink, cowboy.” Groaning, you wipe your face. “Shee-it, I’ve cried more in the last week than I have in the last fucking decade.”

Sevika's expression softens as she looks at you, her left hand gently cupping your cheek. "I'm sorry for makin’ you cry, angel. I never wanted to hurt you."

You lean into her touch, closing your eyes for a moment. "I know." You whisper, opening your eyes to meet her gaze. "I know you didn't."

Her silver gaze is fixed on you, full of regret and longing. "I can't change the past." She says softly. "But I promise you, I'm here now."

A small smile tugs at your lips. "Good. 'Cause if you leave again, the next time you come crawlin’ back to my doorstep, I’ll have the real shells loaded."

Her eyes light up with curiosity as she straightens. “They weren’t real?”

You jump up, ignoring her question and facing Sevika with a mischievous grin as you shuffle backwards. “There's one thing I haven't shown you yet that I think you’ll like."

The cute gap between her teeth is proudly displayed as her lips curl into a satisfied grin. “I knew you were bluffin’, angel.”

You beckon her with a crook of your finger, still moving backwards. "Shut up and follow me, cowboy."

She stands, dusting off her pants before following you with an amused smirk. “Understood. I’m at your mercy, angel.”

Biting your lip, you hum and spin on your heel. “I like the sound of that.”

Weaving between stalls and groups of chattering townsfolk, you send Sevika a smirk over your shoulder. “You still a bettin’ gal, Sev?”

Her dark eyes narrow in suspicion as she responds apprehensively. “I thought you were too old to play games, angel.”

A sly smile crosses your lips as you respond confidently. “Yeah well, I lied, cowboy.”

With the square behind you, you come to a halt in front of a modest wooden building. Its aged exterior bears the name "The Rodeo" in faded red letters above the entrance. You can already hear the sounds of laughter and music coming from inside.

Stopping in front of the entrance, you turn to Sevika with an impish grin. Licking your lips, you narrow your eyes at her and extend your hand. “I bet you won’t last longer than 30 seconds.”

Sevika doesn't miss a beat and confidently accepts your wager. "And what do I get when I win?"

“You won’t.” You chuckle, not letting go of her hand as you pull her through the doorway.

Inside, the dimly lit saloon is thick with smoke and filled with mediocre liquor, average music, and less-than-ideal company. But the main attraction is the shining mechanical bull situated squarely in the center of the bar.

The air is heavy with the scent of whiskey and sweat, punctuated by raucous cheers and whoops from the patrons gathered around the mechanical bull.

Sevika's eyes widen slightly as she takes in the scene. "You're jokin’." She says in a low voice, shaking her head.

You tug her towards the bull, unable to contain your excitement. "Nope. Dead serious. Still think you can last more than 30 seconds, cowboy?"

She quirks an eyebrow at you, a competitive glint in her eye. "You know I can, angel. Real question is, can you?"

You let out a hearty laugh, shaking your head and waving your hand dismissively. "I tame wild horses for a livin’, there's no way I'm gettin’ on that thing. My name would be permanently engraved on the scoreboard."

"Shame, angel. I was lookin’ forward to seein’ you up there." Sevika's silver eyes seem to sparkle with hunger as she smirks and begins to unbutton her shirt. "What are we wagerin'?"

You tap your chin thoughtfully, pretending to mull it over. "If you win, I’ll… buy you a drink. And if I win, I'll add it to your tab of favors owed to me.”

Sevika narrows her eyes cockily with a toothy grin. "Alright, angel. Sounds like a fair bet."

She sends you a playful wink before sauntering over to the mechanical bull. With practiced ease, she swings her leg over and settles into position, gripping the rope tightly with her left hand.

"Ready when you are!" She calls out, a smug grin on her face.

You nod to the operator, and the bull roars to life. It starts slow, rocking gently from side to side. Sevika moves with it effortlessly, her body swaying in perfect rhythm.

As the seconds tick by, the bull's movements become more erratic. Sevika's face is a mask of concentration as she moves with the bull, her body fluid and responsive to each buck and spin.

You find yourself holding your breath, your eyes fixed on her powerful form as she rides. Her shirt fans out as she moves, her cropped tank top displaying each flex in her stomach as she moves.

The crowd around you starts to cheer.

At the 20-second mark, the bull's movements become even more wild and unpredictable. Sevika grits her teeth, her grip tightening as she fights to stay on. Strands of her hair whip around her face.

"Come on, cowboy!" You shout, cupping your hands around your mouth with a grin.

She glances at you with determination in her eyes, a wild grin spreading across her face as she reaches up and throws her hat at you.

You catch it with a whoop, joining in on the loud cheers erupting from the audience.

Finally, with a particularly vicious buck, Sevika is thrown from the bull. She lands on the padded floor with a soft thud, quickly getting to her feet amidst a chorus of admiration and applause.

Sevika struts confidently towards you with a smirk. “Looks like you owe me a drink, angel.”

You raise an eyebrow in response, matching her playful tone. “Looks like, cowboy.” Laughing, you straighten her messy hair and place her hat on her head. “Now, you wanna waste it here or you wanna cash it in on another day?”

Her narrowed eyes sparkle as she lifts her eyebrow. “You got somewhere to be, angel.”

You nod, your lips twitching in amusement. “I do, in fact. But if you take a rain check, I may wear one of them dresses you fancied when we were younger.”

Sevika's smirk widens into a flirtatious grin. “You tryna’ sweet talk me, angel? Cause it’s workin’.” She leans in close to you, her voice a low whisper. “I may just need a little more and you’ve got me hooked, darlin’.”

Tilting your head with a smirk, you pinch her chin between your fingers. “Oh please, Sev. I could walk you like a dog and you’d still be lickin’ my heels, baby.”

Pushing her away playfully, you chuckle and skip towards the door. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to your horse like a real gentleman.” You tease, leaving Sevika grinning after you.

As you make your way back to the livery, a comfortable silence settles between you and Sevika. The afternoon sun stretches along the cobblestone streets, painting the town in warm hues of gold and orange.

You steal glances at Sevika as you walk, taking in the way the light plays across her features. There's a softness to her expression that wasn't there earlier, a hint of contentment in the slight curve of her lips.

Approaching the stables, you hear the familiar sounds of horses nickering and stomping. Huck greets you with a friendly nod as you enter.

"Have a good day?" He asks, adjusting his glasses.

You smile, nodding. "We did."

Huck nods at another worker and they disappear into the stable, returning a moment later with both horses in tow. "There you are." He says, as he hands over the reins. "They've been watered and brushed down."

"Thank you much, Huck." You say with a smile, patting your horse's neck affectionately.

As Sevika tends to her horse, you hang back, watching her gentle movements as she checks the saddle and strokes the animal's neck. "Well I’d hate to sound like an arrogant prick, but I think that must’ve been the best damn tour you’d ever had." You say, with a cocky grin.

Sevika chuckles, shaking her head as she turns to face you. "It certainly was somethin', angel." Her silver eyes sparkle with amusement. "Though I think the company might've had more to do with it than the tour itself."

You roll your eyes playfully, but can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. "Kiss-ass."

She mounts her horse slowly. "Can I meet you at the garden? Same time next week?"

You nod, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your chest. "I'd like that." You wave at her. “I’ll see you then.”

…

The sound of rushed footsteps draws your attention and a fond smile softens your face as a familiar figure appears in the doorway of the school, panting and disheveled. Her short brown hair is wild and tousled atop her head. A flush spreads across her freckled cheeks, adding a rosy glow to her already animated expression.

"Hey, Mo!" She exclaims breathlessly. "No homework today! Can we go practice?" Her voice is eager and pleading, her green eyes sparkling with excitement as she rushes towards you, dropping her bag at your feet. She bounces on her toes, waiting for your answer.

Suppressing a small laugh, you give her a stern look. “Where’s your jacket?”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “Lost it.” She admits with a carefree attitude, still beaming at you. “But that doesn’t matter. I have no homework.”

Before you can respond, she grabs your hand in hers and begins tugging at your arm. “C’mon. Practice? Please?”

With a sigh, you roll your eyes and gently shake her hand away. “Where’d you last remember havin’ your jacket?” You ask, shrugging off your own.

She groans and rolls her head back dramatically. “I dunno. Does it matter?” She pouts, begrudgingly accepting your jacket as you drape it over her shoulders.

“You’ve lost two jackets now, so yes, it does matter.” You state firmly, shaking your head in disbelief. "I'll ask Sky when I drop you off tomorrow." You add with another sigh.

Her face lights up with hope and excitement as she shoves her arms through the baggy sleeves. "So can we? Pretty please?"

Arching an eyebrow, you tilt your head towards her in a silent question. “You know the deal, Bo.” You remind her.

Undeterred, she nods vigorously. “Yeah, yeah. I know. So let’s go home and I can finish early.”

Giving her a nod of approval, you pick her up and help her onto Honey's back. Swinging her bag over your shoulder, you climb on behind her. “How was school?” You ask as you guide the mare in the direction of home.

She slumps back into you with an annoyed groan. “Outside time was cut short cause someone got in trouble and arts an’ crafts isn’t til Friday, so all we did was learn.”

“What happened?” You ask, amused by her tone.

“I don’t know!” She waves her hands out in front of her in exasperation. “One minute I’m playin’ tag with Ren and the next, Ms. Young is tellin’ us we have to go inside. We were only out there for like two minutes. Tops.” She huffs, crossing her arms in frustration.

You chuckle softly at Bo's dramatic retelling. "I'm sure it was longer than two minutes, bug. But I understand your frustration." You give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Maybe tomorrow’ll be better."

Bo lets out a heavy sigh, her small shoulders slumping. "I hope so. I really wanted to finish the hole we started diggin’."

As you ride, the familiar landscape of your ranch comes into view. The wooden fence lines the property, and in the distance, you can see the stable and the sprawling pastures where your animals graze.

"Alright, bug." You say as you bring Honey to a stop near the house. "Remember our deal. Chores first, there’s a snack in the fridge, then practice."

Bo nods eagerly, practically sliding off the horse before you've fully stopped. "I know, I know! I'll be super fast!"

You smile, shaking your head as Bo races into the house, her excitement palpable as she rushes to complete her chores. You take your time dismounting and leading Honey to the stable, giving her a thorough brush down and some fresh hay.

By the time you've finished tending to Honey and the other horses, Bo is already waiting for you at the edge of the empty field, bouncing on her toes with impatience.

"I'm done! I'm done!" She calls out as soon as she sees you. "Can we start now?"

You chuckle, making your way over to her, a small horse trailing closely behind you. "Alright. Go ahead, kid."

Bo's face scrunches up in concentration as she slowly guides you through the steps of saddling the horse.

A familiar nervous flutter churns in your stomach, reminiscent of a simpler time when you were young and naive. You stand at the edge of the garden, wiping your sweaty hands on your jeans before cautiously stepping into its midst.

The sweet scent of blooming flowers envelops you as you make your way down the winding stone path. Butterflies dance from flower to flower, their delicate wings catching the sunlight.

You spot Sevika before she sees you. She's sitting on the wooden bench, her back straight and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Even from a distance, you can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she fidgets slightly as she waits.

As you approach, she turns her head, and her eyes light up when they meet yours. “Hey, angel. Hope this isn’t too much.” Sevika clears her throat, a playful glint in her eye as she waves a basket around in her hand. “But we never really got to have a proper date.”

You tilt your head in confusion. "What’d you do?" You say with a suspicious tone.

Sevika's lips curl into a soft smile as she gestures to the space next to her. "Nothin' too fancy, angel. Just thought we could have a little picnic. Seems like somethin’ sweet you’d like." She shrugs, opening the basket, revealing an assortment of foods, and what looks like freshly baked pastries. "Even brought some of those pastries you used to love."

Taking a seat beside her, you eye the spread with appreciation. "You remembered." You say softly, a hint of surprise in your voice.

Sevika shrugs nonchalantly. "Course I did." As she starts to unpack the basket, laying out a checkered cloth and arranging the food, you find yourself studying her.

Coughing, she smirks at you. “You could also ignore the whole romantic gesture and pretend this is a nice meal between friends.” She suggests playfully.

Narrowing your eyes at her teasing tone, you reply. “What the fuck happened to takin’ things slow?”

She chuckles under her breath and removes her hat. “The latter it is then.”

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t say that. You assumed and what’s that sayin’ about people who assume?” You ask, sarcastically.

Sevika's lips quirk up in amusement. "It makes an ass out of you and me?" She offers, her eyes twinkling.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your own lips. "Exactly. And if there’s one thing I know about me, it’s that I’m not an ass. So maybe don't assume, cowboy."

Sevika's expression softens as she gestures toward the food. "Well then, would you care to join me for a picnic, angel? As friends, or… whatever you're comfortable with."

You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you consider her offer.

She takes a bite of a pastry. "I can share, angel. I promise not to bite." She mumbles, lifting a questioning brow with a smirk.

Shaking your head, you glance away while a smile grows on your face. "You know that flirtin’ and callin’ us friends in the same breath is kinda contradictory?"

"I’m a natural flirt, darlin’." Sevika quips with a grin.

You scoff out a laugh and examine her with a sarcastic expression. “Yeah. I’m sure, cowboy. You’re real approachable.”

“Course I am. Plus, flirtin’ is about as friendly as you can get.”

You both sit, a careful distance between you. For a moment, neither of you speak, simply enjoying the food she brought.

"So." Sevika starts, wiping her mouth. "How was your week?"

You shrug, letting out a small chuckle. "Busy. Always somethin' to do on the ranch or in town."

"I'm sure." Sevika nods, her eyes curious. "Anythin' in particular keepin' you busy?"

You pause, considering how much to share. "Well, there's always the usual ranch work - tendin' to the animals, deliverin’ stuff into town, that sort of thing." You take a bite of pastry, savoring the taste. "But…” You trail off and swallow.

“But?” Sevika urges.

Sighing, you wipe your hands and look up at her. "I didn't want to tell you because I wasn't sure about where we stood." You begin, your voice cautious. "But I have a kid. A little girl."

You search her eyes for any sign of judgement or rejection, but find nothing. "I don't plan on introducin’ you anytime soon." You continue, treading carefully. "If you're gonna be in my life, you need to understand that she will always be a part of it. You won't be my first priority."

Sevika's face remains unreadable for a moment, her silver eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, a small smile spreads across her lips. "A kid, huh?" She says softly, a hint of warmth in her voice. "I bet she's got you wrapped around her little finger."

You feel the tension in your shoulders ease slightly at her response. "She does." You admit with a chuckle.

Sevika nods, her expression thoughtful. "I understand, angel. And I appreciate you tellin' me." She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "I know I've got no right to ask, but… can I know her name?"

You hesitate for a moment before answering. "Bo. Her name is Bo."

"Bo." Sevika repeats, testing the name on her tongue. "That's a good name."

You nod, rubbing the center of your palm with the thumb of your other hand. “Yeah.”

Sevika nods, her expression serious. “Would you be comfortable tellin’ me about her?”

You study her face, searching for any hint of insincerity, but find only earnestness in her silver eyes. "She's five... almost six now. She's learnin’ how to ride a horse." You say, a fond smile tugging at your lips. "She's got more energy than she knows what to do with, always bouncing off the walls. She's smart. And a smart ass."

Sevika listens intently, her eyes soft as she watches you talk about Bo. "Sounds like a handful." She says with a gentle chuckle.

You nod, your smile growing. "Oh, she is. But she's also the sweetest thing. Always tryin’ to help out around the ranch, even if she's too small for most of the work." You pause, your expression turning thoughtful. "She's got a big heart. Always bringin’ home stray animals and beggin’ me to let her keep ‘em."

"You end up keepin' most of 'em?" Sevika questions, her smile growing.

You chuckle, shaking your head. "No. But we've got a few cats and dogs that have found their way to us thanks to her. But they’ve become part of her chores and she loves ‘em so…"

Sevika's eyes crinkle with amusement. "Sounds like she takes after you, angel. Always had a soft spot for strays, didn't you?"

You laugh and nudge her. "You would know, wouldn’t you, cowboy?"

A comfortable silence falls between you as you both nibble on the food. The gentle breeze rustles the leaves around you, carrying the sweet scent of flowers.

“Is her other parent in her life?” Sevika asks softly after a while.

You shake your head, meeting her gaze. "No. I’m not… I’m not her parent. I’m her guardian." Licking your lips, you wipe nonexistent crumbs from your lap. “Her mama was someone from outta town. She came here alone with a newborn in her arms. Poor girl was a wreck and mama immediately offered to take her in.”

You take a deep breath, your eyes distant as you recall the memory. "The girl, Cass, she was so young. Barely more than a kid herself. She stayed with us for a while, but…" You trail off, shaking your head.

Sevika listens intently, her expression soft and understanding. "She left?" She prompts gently.

You nod, a hint of sadness in your eyes. "She tried, she really did. But she was young, scared. One day, she just… left. Left a note sayin’ she couldn't do it anymore, that she was sorry." You pause, swallowing hard. "And just like that, I became responsible for a sweet little baby."

Sevika reaches out, hesitating for a moment before gently placing her hand on yours.

“Mama was there to help for a while. But she got sick and when she passed…" Your voice trails off, the pain of the memory evident in your eyes.

Sevika squeezes your hand gently, offering silent support.

You take a deep breath before continuing. "It was just me and Bo after that. But we made it work. Friends pitched in, helped out where they could. And now… now I can't imagine my life without her."

Sevika nods slowly, her thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. "You've done well, angel. Raisin' a kid on your own, runnin' the ranch... I'm proud of you."

"Thanks." You mumble, gently pulling your hand away from hers. "It hasn't been easy, but... she's worth it. Every bit of it."

Sevika's hand lingers in the air for a moment before she lets it fall back to her lap. "I'm sure she is." She says softly. "You always did have a big heart, angel. I'm glad you found someone to share it with."

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the heaviness of the conversation. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me." You admit quietly. "Even if it wasn't planned, even if it was hard... I wouldn't change it for anything."

"Thank you for sharing that with me." She says earnestly.

You shrug, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, you asked." You say with a wry smile. "And I figured if you're gonna be stickin' around, you needed to know.”

You nudge her gently, a teasing smile on your lips. “What about you? Got any kids or scorned lovers you wanna tell me about?… What did you do while you were gone?“

Sevika chuckles softly, shaking her head. "No kids, no scorned lovers. Just me." She pauses, her expression growing more serious. "Everything else… is a long story, angel."

You raise an eyebrow, gesturing to the picnic spread before you. "We've got time, don't we?"

Sevika's head bobs slowly, her chest rising and falling with a deep breath. "We do." Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper, as if she's afraid of being overheard. She takes another moment to gather her thoughts before continuing. "When I left… I did what I could to draw attention away from you. From here.”

“What do you mean?” You lean in, your brows furrowing in concern.

Her eyes grow distant, guilt lines her words. "John, I don’t know how, but when I… There were some dangerous people lookin’ for me and he told them where I was."

Your heart drops as you piece together the puzzle. "Are these people the same ones who hurt you? The reason I found you the way I did?"

Sevika's shoulders slump, her expression pained as she nods silently. "I couldn't risk them coming after you. So I ran.” She continues, her voice low and heavy with regret.

Your body tenses, your fingers curling into tight fists in your lap. "Are they gone now?" You ask, the words strained and laced with anxiety.

She nods, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "Almost dyin’ or not, I wouldn’t have come back if they weren’t." Her voice is low and edged with hurt. Sevika's metal hand clenches and unclenches in her lap as she speaks. "I've done things I'm not proud of."

You listen silently, your eyes never leaving her face as she continues. “But I don’t regret getting rid of the people who made livin’ harder for a lotta good people, better people.”

You take a deep breath, processing Sevika's words. "I appreciate your honesty." You say finally, your voice quiet but firm. "But are you sure there isn’t any chance these people, or anyone associated with them, could come lookin' for you here?"

Sevika nods her head emphatically. "Yes, angel. I made sure of that before I even thought about comin' back." Her silver eyes meet yours, filled with determination and a hint of desperation. "I wouldn't put you or anyone in this town in danger."

You nod slowly, studying her face. "Okay." You say softly, reaching to hold her closest hand.

You send her a small smile and delicately squeeze her hand, unsure if she can feel your touch. Her hand turns in your grasp, fingers wrapping around yours with care. The warmth from her touch spreads through your body like a comforting embrace, despite the coldness of her metal appendages.

Sevika nods, a flicker of relief passing over her face. "Thank you, angel. For listenin'. For not judgin'."

You shake your head slightly. "I'm not in any position to judge, Sev. We've all got our demons." You pause, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you ask with a mischievous glint in your eye. "On a scale of pulsing desire to debilitating lust, how much do you wanna go on another light-hearted date with me?" Your words are laced with playful sarcasm, unable to contain the humorous tone in your voice.

The silver orbs of Sevika's eyes glisten as she gazes at you. A sly smirk curls her lips, revealing the charming gap between her teeth. “Well, angel, I'd say it's somewhere between 'find a mop' and 'it’s gettin’ sticky'."

You throw your head back as you cackle. "Is that right?" You laugh out, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

"Only for you, darlin'." Sevika replies with a wink. Her expression softens as she continues. "I'd love to go on another date with you. Whenever you can fit me into your busy schedule."

You shrug, feeling a flutter in your chest. "I’m sure I could squeeze you in after the calf delivery, but before shoveling horse shit.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Is there a shower squeezed in there somewhere?”

You shake your head. “Of course not. You’ll have to take me as I am and will be.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “Ah. Lucky me.” She teases, her tone lighter now. “What about you? You got any exes I need to steer clear of?” She grunts out.

A mischievous grin spreads across your face, a sly glint in your eye as you turn your head to cough before licking your lips and refocusing on her. Your head cocks slightly as you meet her gaze, a playful challenge in your expression. “I've only seriously dated one person but she’s not someone to worry about.” You say, amused.

However, Sevika's expression remains unphased as she raises an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

You roll your eyes before answering her unspoken question. “Grayson. I dated Grayson.”

Her lips stretch into a knowing smirk and she lets out a low chuckle. “I knew you had a thing for older women.”

You laugh and shake your head incredulously, gesturing with your hands for emphasis. “I’m sorry. Have you seen Grayson? Heard her? I mean, tell me you wouldn’t.”

Sevika purses her lips and narrows her eyes in a mock glare. “Alright, that’s enough.”

You can't help but grin at her reaction. "Aw, is someone jealous?" You tease, nudging her playfully with your elbow.

Sevika scoffs, but you can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Jealous? Of Grayson? Please." She rolls her eyes dramatically. "I'm just… surprised."

You raise an eyebrow, your grin widening. "Surprised that I have good taste?"

Sevika chuckles, shaking her head. "Hardly. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to hear about how attractive you find other women."

"Fair enough." You concede with a chuckle. "Though I think you can rest easy. Grayson and I are just friends now. Have been for a long time."

Sevika nods, her expression softening. "Good to know." She pauses, her silver eyes studying you intently.

You raise an eyebrow at Sevika's intense gaze. "What?" You ask, feeling a bit self-conscious under her scrutiny.

Sevika shakes her head slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Nothin', angel. Just… takin’ you in." Her voice is soft, almost reverent. "You've changed so much, but… you're still you."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at her words, but you try to play it off. "Well, I should hope I'm still me. Would be weird if I wasn't." You quip.

Sevika chuckles, a warm sound that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. "You know what I mean." She says, nudging you gently with her shoulder. "You're still the same smart-ass I fell for."

You roll your eyes with a girlish giggle. “Yeah, well. You’re still just as arrogant and witty too, cowboy.” You deflect, feeling a flutter in your stomach at her words. “And you’re still gorgeous. Maybe even more so.”

Her gaze roams over your face, taking in every detail. "You're one to talk, angel." She murmurs. "You've only grown more stunnin’ with time."

You feel a heat creeping up your neck and you look away, suddenly feeling shy. "Oh, shut up." Clearing your throat, you shift in your seat. "Hop off my dick, Sev."

The corners of Sevika's lips deepen slightly as she rolls her eyes. "As soon as you hop off mine, darlin’."

You scoff out a laugh, shaking your head at her. "Oh? You’re callin’ me, the dick rider?”

Sevika's chuckle fills the air, deep and rich. “You’re right.” She backtracks sarcastically. “I love your dick, angel.”

You nod in mock satisfaction. “I know that’s right.” Chuckling, you glance down at the neglected spread of leftover food. “This was real sweet, Sev. Thank you.” You say, genuinely.

A gentle smile tugs at her lips. "You're welcome, angel. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

A comfortable silence falls between you as you both gaze out at the garden, shadows dancing across the flowerbeds.

"I should probably head back soon." You say finally, a hint of reluctance in your voice. "Bo'll be wonderin' where I am."

Sevika nods, understanding in her eyes. "Of course. Don't want to keep her waitin'." She starts packing up the remains of the picnic, her movements slow.

As you both stand, brushing off your clothes and stretching slightly, you find yourself hesitating. “Do you wanna make this a weekly thing?”

She arches an eyebrow with a smirk. “You askin’ me on another date, angel? Series of dates?”

You shrug nonchalantly but inside your heart skips a beat. “What? You got a busy schedule?” You tease sarcastically, biting your lip.

Humming, she slings her packed bag over her shoulder. “Not for you, angel.” She says, stilling you with the adoration clouding her eyes.

Humming in contemplation, you steel yourself and press a quick peck to her cheek. Not pausing to watch her reaction, you turn away. “See yah soon, cowboy. Don’t miss me too much."

Next Part

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#western outlaw au #wild west au #outlaw/cowboy sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika #sevika arcane #arcane #league of legends #arcane fanfic #league of legends fanfic #sevika league of legends #wlw #sapphic #lesbian

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jezebelblues · 1 month ago

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𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒 | 𝐇.𝐒 𓆩♱𓆪

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐭, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛—𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫—𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧—𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐫.

𝐂𝐖: smut18+ (p in v), implied consent, heavy sacrilegious elements, selling of soul, manipulation, blood, demonrry

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 11.3k

❏ i know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but i hope some of you liked this !!! <3

masterlist

IN THE BEGINNING, he was nothing. neither light nor shadow, nor the name carved upon the breath of a thousand angels. before heaven, before rebellion, before the stars spat their first flames into the void, he was silence. harry had no name then, no purpose, no shape. his existence was the marrow of chaos, the pulse of something god himself could not contain. he was desire unbound, the ache of creation, the temptation that god wove into the fabric of his design.

but god, ever proud, sought to bury him beneath the weight of divinity.

and so it was written—let there be light.

light was a shackle, a cleaving blade that divided the holy from the profane. where harry’s essence once seeped through all things, god cast him down, shoving him into the periphery of existence. the angels sang their praises, their voices golden and bright, their hands lifting the heavens into being. harry, the silent pulse of all things forbidden, was hidden beneath their hymn.

but harry did not stay silent.

when lucifer fell, harry followed. not as a soldier, not as a companion, but as something older, hungrier. when the war in heaven turned brother against brother, harry moved through the carnage like a shadow, his presence sharp and unseen. the angels wept rivers, their feathers torn from their backs like leaves in a storm. michael’s blade sang, and lucifer screamed his defiance as the heavens split open. and harry, unseen, caught the blood of the fallen in his hands, drinking it like sacrament.

he descended into hell with lucifer, but he did not bow.

asmodeus, they called him. the demon of lust, the king of desire. but harry wore the name like a mask, his true self hidden beneath the myths men would later craft to make sense of his presence. he did not revel in lust alone. no—his was the sin that bore all others, the quiet devastation of the soul, the ache that turned men’s prayers into whispers of want.

he was the serpent in eden, not in body, but in spirit. his essence seeped into the apple before it ever touched eve’s hand, a sweetness that sang of something beyond god’s dominion. the fruit’s flesh broke beneath her teeth, and in that moment, harry smiled. for the first time, the world tasted him.

harry was no prince of hell, no ruler of legions. his dominion was not forged in flames but in flesh. where lucifer sought thrones, harry sought the softest parts of god’s creation, the places where the divine cracked beneath the weight of its own hypocrisy. he was the tremor in a priest’s voice as he uttered his vows, the heat in a widow’s chest as she knelt to pray, the shadow that lingered in the hearts of the faithful.

his presence was not an explosion but a creeping rot, a sweetness that curdled into decay. he moved through the centuries unseen, his influence whispered in the psalms and carved into the margins of holy texts. the saints who fell to their knees in ecstasy, the priests who burned in the fires of their own desire—these were his victories, small and quiet, but eternal.

but in the fourteenth century, as the plague swept across europe, harry found his hunger growing. the world had grown darker, its faith frayed and trembling. death ruled the land, its shadow cast across every village, every chapel. god’s silence was deafening, and harry stepped into the void it left behind.

he had walked among men before, his form shifting and fleeting, a phantom that touched dreams and slipped through the cracks of consciousness. but this time, he longed for something deeper. the plague had starved men of their faith, but harry wanted more than despair. he wanted worship, devotion, the kind of love that burned brighter than heaven’s light. and so, he took shape, his form a blasphemous echo of the angels he had once moved among.

he descended upon the earth as a man, his beauty unnatural, almost cruel. his green eyes burned with a hunger that no mortal could comprehend, his smile a mockery of god’s grace. he moved through the world like a fever, slipping into dreams, whispering into the minds of the devout.

and when he found her—her prayers trembling on her lips, her heart untouched by sin—he knew he had found his altar.

YN knelt on the stone floor before her bed, dusted with straws of hay and dirt yet to be swept. her hands pressed together so tightly they ached. the crucifix nailed to the wall above her loomed like an executioner's blade, the savior’s face cast in shadow as the meager light of the candles flickered against the damp walls.

"holy mother, guide me," she whispered, her breath trembling. "may i serve you in purity and devotion. may i serve you..."

the words caught in her throat.

only silence answered her.

THE dreams began the night her father announced her betrothal.

it was after supper, the fire crackling low, her father’s voice heavy with the weight of finality. the man he had chosen was a merchant—twice her age, twice widowed. a practical match, her father had said. a man of standing, of faith.

YN had nodded dutifully, her hands folded in her lap, her heart trembling like the flame on the candle before her. she had whispered a prayer of thanks to god that night, her knees pressing into the cold stone of her chamber floor, her lips moving with reverence. she prayed for strength, for purity, for the will to be a dutiful wife.

that was when he first came to her.

harry.

the name would come later, slipping through her trembling lips in the dark, as though it had always been there, coiled around her tongue like a serpent in eden.

at first, it was just the sense of being watched, the prickling heat crawling over her skin as she lay beneath the coarse linen of her blankets. she told herself it was nothing—her imagination, the aftertaste of nerves. but as she drifted toward sleep, the sensation grew heavier, like a weight pressing against her chest.

in the dream, the air shimmered like heat rising from desert sand. she stood in a place that was no place—a horizonless void, dark and infinite, lit only by a soft golden glow that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

and then, he was there.

he stood at the edge of her sight, just out of focus, his form a smudge of gold and shadow. his voice was a whisper, low and smooth, threading through her mind like silk. you are beautiful, he murmured, his words curling around her like a serpent. so faithful—so untouched by the rot of the world.

she tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat, her tongue leaden with fear—or something deeper, something she could not name. he moved closer, still indistinct, his shape shifting like liquid gold in the flickering light.

do you love your god? he asked, his tone neither mocking nor kind, but something in between.

“yes.” she whispered, her voice trembling.

good. the word dripped from his lips, thick and honeyed, filling her with a sweetness that felt almost wrong. then show me.

her heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears. she sank to her knees, her hands clasped tightly together, her prayer spilling from her lips in a hurried stream.

not to him, the voice interrupted, sharp and commanding.

she froze, her words faltering. the light around him pulsed, growing brighter, harsher, until she could barely see.

kneel to me.

her eyes flew open, her breath ragged, her body damp with sweat. the dream clung to her like a shroud, the words echoing in her mind as she sat up, clutching the cross at her neck. she prayed until dawn, her voice hoarse, the weight of the dream pressing against her like sin itself.

the next night, it happened again.

this time, she saw his face.

it was the face of an angel, but not the kind she had seen painted in the pages of her father’s bible. his beauty was cruel, his features too perfect, too sharp, his green eyes burning with an intensity that made her want to look away and yet drew her closer. his smile was a blade, cutting through her defenses with a single glance.

he stood before her, his hand outstretched. “come,” he bellowed, his voice a command and a plea all at once.

she took a step toward him, her feet moving against her will. the closer she came, the more she could feel it—that heat, that ache, that hunger.

“who are you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as if amused. “you know who i am.”

“no,” she breathed, shaking her head. “i do not.”

his smile widened, cruel and knowing. “i am the sweetness you crave but cannot name. i am the ache that fills the hollow of your prayers. i am the shadow in the garden, the voice that whispered take and eat.”

her breath hitched, her knees buckling beneath her. she fell to the ground before him, trembling, her hands clutching at the hem of her gown.

her voice broke, her face twisting in despair. “you are a lie.”.

his laughter was soft, almost tender. “and yet, here you are, kneeling before me.”

his hand brushed against her cheek, and the touch sent a jolt through her, like fire licking at her skin. she flinched, but he caught her chin, tilting her face upward to meet his gaze.

“you will deny me.” his eyebrows furrowed, voice soft but unyielding. “you will curse me. you will pray for deliverance. and yet, you will return to me.”

she woke with his laughter ringing in her ears, her body trembling, her chest tight with something that felt like both shame and longing.

the dreams continued, night after night.

she stopped praying before bed, her faith fraying like a thread pulled too tight. the cross at her neck felt heavier, colder, as if it had become a burden instead of a comfort.

by the end of the week, she was afraid to sleep. but it did not matter. whether awake or dreaming, he was there.

he lingered at the edges of her mind, his presence a constant hum beneath her thoughts. she saw him in the curve of a candle’s flame, in the flicker of sunlight through the chapel’s stained glass, the contemptible ache that burned the pit of her stomach. his voice haunted her prayers, turning her words into whispers of doubt.

and then, one night, he was no longer a dream.

he stood in the shadows of her chamber, his eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. she sat frozen in her bed, her breath caught somewhere at the top of her throat as he stepped into the moonlight, his beauty sharp and terrible, his smile a mockery of grace.

“you called for me.”

“i did not.” she whispered, clutching the blanket to her chest.

“oh, but you did.” harry drawled, dripping with feigned sincerity.

he knelt before her, his hands resting on the edge of the bed, his gaze locking her in place. "it was the fever in your chest, the tremble in your hands as you clasped them in prayer. it was the sigh that escaped your lips as you dreamed of me.”

her breath hitched, her face burning with shame as his words carved through her, exposing her, leaving her bare.

"it was the heat between your thighs grieving my absence.” he continued, his voice a velvet knife, slicing through her defenses. "the ache that settled deep in your belly, curling low and sweet like forbidden fruit. it was the way your body sang for me, even as your lips cursed my name."

she turned her face away, her cheeks wet with tears she hadn't realized were falling.

"look at me," he commanded, his tone soft but unyielding.

her eyes snapped back to his, and the weight of his presence pressed down on her like the crushing weight of sin itself.

put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry

harry laughed, deep and cruel, a sound that slithered beneath her skin and coiled around her spine. “do you think your god’s design was flawless? he made you flesh and then called you sinful for feeling it.” his lips were that of the spring berries as he smiled, the faintest stretch of rose.

the scripture would rattle louder in her mind, her lips mouthing the words in a silent, desperate prayer. harry would tilt his head, watching her with an expression that was both pitying and predatory, as though she were a lamb brought before the slaughter. “no prayer, no scripture, no god will efface the truth. you weren’t made to flee from this—you were made to burn.”

”no–“

he leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, "you cannot lie to me, little one. your god may turn a blind eye to the truth of you, but i see it all."

his lips brushed against the shell of her ear, so light it felt like a specter’s touch, but it sent a jolt through her that left her trembling. "and you will call to me, YN.”

ONE day without him was a reprieve, though it did not feel like mercy.

her chest still ached with the weight of the dreams, her thoughts burdened by the lingering whisper of his voice. the sunlight felt sharper that day, the world too bright, too loud. every moment dragged her closer to evening, and she feared the coming of night as much as she longed for its veil.

but the dreams did not come.

that night, her sleep was empty, untouched by his presence. she woke feeling as hollow as the silence he had left behind, her body too cold without the phantom heat of him pressing against her. she prayed that morning, her knees bruised against the stone of her chamber floor, but her words felt hollow, like they were falling into an abyss.

god had not answered. neither had he.

by the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, YN’s mind was frayed, her soul heavy with both relief and dread. she lit a candle and made her way to the small shack her father had built behind the cottage—a sacred place, he called it.

it was little more than a wooden skeleton, the walls warped with time, the roof patched with hay. the wooden crucifix her father had carved hung above a stone altar, its edges blackened with the blood of lambs offered in sacrifice. the air was thick with the smell of wax and ash, the shadows heavy and alive in the flickering candlelight.

she knelt before the altar, the cold of the stone biting into her knees. her hands clasped tightly together, her head bowed, her lips moving in whispered prayer.

“father in heaven, hear me,” she began, her voice trembling. “i am weak. i am lost. guide me, cleanse me, protect me from the darkness that seeks to devour my soul.”

the words felt brittle, as if they might shatter under their own weight.

“deliver me from temptation,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “deliver me from—”

“—yourself?”

the voice echoed through the shack, low and mocking, sending a shiver down her spine. her breath caught, her body freezing in place.

“you ask for deliverance from the one thing you cannot escape.”

she turned her head slowly, her heart pounding as she saw him standing in the shadows. his beauty was sharper here, crueler, as if the walls of this sacred place brought out the worst in him.

“you shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“oh, but i should,” harry said, stepping closer, his movements fluid and calculated. “what better place for me to be? this is where your faith lies, after all. broken and bleeding on that stone.”

he gestured toward the altar, his smile wicked. “how many lambs have been slaughtered here, their blood spilling in vain as your father begged his god to hear him? tell me, little one, how often has he answered?”

she flinched, her hands clutching at her dress, but she couldn’t look away.

“you kneel before this altar as if it can save you,” he paused, his voice a low purr. “but your prayers are nothing more than empty words, falling on deaf ears. your god doesn’t listen, YN. he never has.”

“stop,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“why should i?” he asked, tilting his head, his eyes pines blanketed in fog. “why should i hold my tongue when the truth is so deliciously plain? look at this place—this shrine to a silent god. the blood stains the stone, the candles burn low, and still, you kneel.”

he stepped closer, the heat of his presence overwhelming her, suffocating.

“you pray to him, and yet your body longs for me.” his voice was a velvet knife. “your lips speak his name, but your soul cries out for mine. every breath you take in this place is a mockery of the faith you claim to hold.”

“you lie,” she spat, her voice trembling.

“do i?”

he reached out, his fingers brushing against the wooden crucifix that hung above the altar. his touch was gentle, reverent almost, but his eyes burned with something dark, something unholy.

"stop.” YN insisted, her voice rising. "you cannot defile this place."

"cannot?" he echoed, his smile widening. "little lamb, i have been defiling sacred places since the stones were first laid."

"get out," she hissed, her voice trembling.

he tilted his head, feigning confusion. "why? am i not welcome in my father's house?"

"you are no son of god.” she bit, her nails digging into her palms.

he laughed, a low, resonant sound that seemed to reverberate off the walls and whisper malevolence. “this,” he said, his voice soft but laced with venom, “is not salvation. it is a symbol of failure. your god hangs here, broken and bleeding, a man nailed to wood, unable to save himself, let alone you.”

her breath hitched, her chest tightening as his words carved through her. the candles burned lower, their flames flickering as if suffocating. the crucifix above them groaned, the carved figure of christ seeming to shift, his eyes now open, his mouth twisted in a silent scream.

“he is not here,” he continued, his tone dripping with mockery. “but i am. i have always been here, in the shadows, in the spaces where your god’s light does not reach.”

he turned to her then, his eyes locking with hers. “kneel to me, YN.” harry exhorted. “kneel to the one who hears you, who sees you, who wants you.”

her body trembled, her knees threatening to give out beneath her. she clutched the edge of the altar, her knuckles white, her breath ragged.

“i will not,” she whispered, though her voice wavered with the weight of the lie.

he smiled, a predator’s smile, and took another step closer. "blessed are the pure in heart," he recited softly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "and yet here you are, YN. your prayers stained with want, your purity burned away by the fire in your chest. tell me, little lamb—what does your god see when he looks at you now?"

DREAMS came to her again last night, wrapping around her like silk soaked in poison. she woke with the taste of copper on her tongue. the air was thick, rancid, like meat left to rot.

but it was saturday, and there was no room for weakness on the sabbath.

her father had already dressed in his fine woolen cloak, his voice sharp as he called for her to hurry. she obeyed, tying her hair beneath her veil, clasping the cross at her neck with trembling fingers.

her steps dragged as she and her father walked to the chapel, the congregation gathering like crows around carrion. the chapel’s crooked steeple cast a shadow across the field, its bell tolling low and mournful. the holy place felt like a maw, swallowing her whole.

the priest’s voice boomed as the congregation kneeled on the dirt floor, their heads bowed.

“let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; let him return to the lord, that he may have compassion on him, and to our god, for he will abundantly pardon.”

the words struck YN like a lash, her heart thundering in her chest as she whispered the verse under her breath. she gripped the wooden bench in front of her, her knuckles white, trying to anchor herself.

“compassion,” the priest intoned, his hands raised high. “he calls to us, even now, though we are unworthy. he calls to the sinners, the straying sheep. come back to him, my children. return to the lord.”

a low chuckle coiled through the air, faint as the flicker of a candle but unmistakable. YN’s stomach dropped.

“do you believe that?” the voice whispered, warm and mocking, curling behind her ear. “that he’ll pardon you? that he’ll save you from me?”

she didn’t dare lift her head.

“seek your servant, for I do not forget your commandments,” the priest continued, his voice heavy with fervor.

“he’s lying,” harry purred, his voice like velvet dragged over glass.

YN’s breath caught in her throat.

“you’ve forgotten every commandment that matters,” harry continued, his tone soft, intimate. “what about the one that said, thou shalt not covet? because you do. every night, in your dreams, you covet me. and your god?” he growled, low and mocking. “he watches.”

her body trembled, her fingers digging into the rough wood as the priest’s voice rose.

“i have gone astray like a lost sheep; seek your servant, for i do not forget your commandments.”

harry’s laughter slithered through her mind, dark and sharp. “you are a lost sheep,” he said, his voice dripping with mock pity. “but he doesn’t seek you, little one. he sent me instead.”

she gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as the priest called for the hymn. the congregation rose to their feet, their voices low and discordant as they sang, the words clawing at the stale air.

“holy father, forgive us, for we have sinned. purify our hearts, that we may walk in your light…”

“his light,” he scoffed, his voice like a knife slicing through the hymn. “look around you. this chapel is a tomb. the life you sacrifice, the blood you spilled—it did nothing. and still, you sing to a god who leaves you on your knees, begging.”

YN’s voice faltered, the hymn dying in her throat.

“keep singing,” he whispered, his voice a noose around her throat. “pretend he can hear you. pretend this is not the cry of the forsaken.”

her breath came fast, her chest tight as she darted a glance toward the altar. the priest stood with his arms raised, his back to the congregation. behind him, barely visible in the flickering light, stood harry.

he was leaning against stone altar, eyes gleaming with amusement. his beauty was stark against the dark stone, his smile sharp and cruel. he dipped his fingers into the chalice of wine and brought them to his lips, licking the crimson liquid from his skin with deliberate ease.

“the blood of christ,” he murmured, tilting his head. “does it taste like salvation? or does it taste like rot?”

YN’s stomach twisted, her knees trembling as she clutched the back of the pew for support.

“your god demands sacrifice, little one. a lamb, a son, a savior nailed to wood. i demand nothing but you.”

the priest turned, lifting the chalice high. “this is the blood of christ, shed for us, that we may be cleansed of sin.”

harry grinned, his teeth glinting like ivory in the dim light. “if you drink it, will it stop the ache?” he asked, his voice low and taunting. “will it fill the hollow i left in you? or will it only make you hungrier?”

her legs buckled, and she sank back onto the bench, her body trembling.

“stand,” her father hissed under his breath, his grip biting into her arm.

“i can’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“you can,” harry said, stepping closer, his eyes locking with hers. “you will. for you know i’m watching.”

the congregation knelt again, murmuring prayers of repentance. YN bowed her head, her heart pounding as she forced the words to her lips.

“forgive me, lord, for i have sinned…”

“no,” harry growled like a prayer ripped inside out. “not him. me.”

his shadow loomed over her, heavy and oppressive, and when she dared to lift her head, he was standing directly before her. his gaze burned with something dark, something primal, and his smile was a blade pressed to her throat.

“pray to me, little lamb,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “ask me to deliver you. beg me for salvation.”

she squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping down her cheeks as her lips moved in silent prayer.

“your god isn’t listening,” he said, his voice soft and cold. “but i am.”

when she opened her eyes, he was gone. but the air still burned, his words etched into her mind like scripture written with flames.

THE day was gray, heavy with the weight of a coming storm, but YN could not wait for the skies to break. her soul was breaking already.

the dreams were unbearable now. waking was worse. her every breath felt like a prayer unspoken, each step an act of penance for sins she could not name aloud. her father noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes, the tremor in her hands, but he only frowned and muttered about weakness.

"pray harder," he told her.

so she did.

the confessional was cold, the air thick with damp and the faint smell of rot. YN knelt on the rough wood, her skirts pooling around her as she folded her hands tightly, her knuckles white. the small window before her was shuttered, and through the slats came the low rasp of the priest's breathing.

the priest’s voice came soft through the slats. “speak, child. let your sins fall from your lips, and god will wash them away.”

she trembled, unsure if her words could even be spoken aloud. “father, i am… i am haunted.” her voice broke, shaking with shame. “in dreams. a man—no, not a man. something else. he comes to me, tempts me, mocks my prayers. i try to resist, but he—”

her voice failed.

the priest made a low noise of understanding, his tone grave. “the devil comes in many forms, child. his beauty is meant to deceive, his words to ensnare. you must resist him. confess fully, and god will grant you the strength to drive him away.”

YN’s lips parted to respond, but the air changed. the confessional grew darker, the candlelight flickering weakly. the priest’s breathing faltered, replaced by a sound she knew too well.

laughter. low, rich, and far too familiar.

“resist me?” the voice came smooth and mocking, curling through the air like incense. “you could no sooner resist the tide than resist me.”

YN’s blood turned to ice. her nails digging into her palms as she whispered, “no. not here.”

“oh, but here,” his tone was laced in wicked amusement. “this is perfect. isn’t this where you come to bare your soul? where you whisper all your secrets, hoping your silent god will hear?”

“leave,” she hissed, her voice shaking.

his laugh deepened, almost tender. “and rob myself of the pleasure of hearing what you truly want to say?”

her throat tightened as she pressed her hands together, forcing her trembling lips into a prayer.

“our father, who art in heaven—”

“—has forsaken you,” he interrupted, his voice a sharp, blasphemous mimic of reverence. “your father doesn’t want you, little lamb. he gave you to me the moment your knees hit the floor. what did you think he’d do? save you?”

she squeezed her eyes shut, her voice trembling. “hallowed be thy name.”

“yes, hallowed,” he purred. “and hallowed is the way you whisper my name in the dark. tell me, YN, when you kneel like this, do you imagine it’s for him?”

her hands flew to her ears, trying to block him out, but his voice only grew louder, more insistent.

“stop hiding,” he spit, his tone sharp now, demanding. “tell him the truth. tell him how your thighs tremble when i’m near, how your breath catches when i speak your name. tell him about the ache that wakes you in the night, the way you burn for me even when you beg for deliverance.”

her breath came in gasps, her body trembling. “you’re lying,” she choked out, her voice breaking.

“am i?” he asked, leaning closer. the confessional creaked as if straining to contain him. “then why are you here? not to confess, surely. no, you came here hoping i’d follow. hoping i’d find you, press close, whisper in your ear.”

the wood slats separating them seemed too thin, too fragile, and the air grew stifling.

“take and eat, little lamb,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “for this is my body, given for you.”

her stomach twisted, shame and something more burning hot in her veins.

“this god of yours,” harry continued, his voice a cruel mockery of the priest’s measured tone. “he asks for everything and gives you nothing. he demands blood, obedience, sacrifice. what do i ask for?”

she shook her head, trembling. “leave me alone.”

“what do i ask for?” he repeated, his voice louder, harsher now, like a crack of thunder. “your pleasure. your desire. the things you deny even to yourself.”

the priest’s voice broke through the haze, faint but steady. “child, speak. what is it you see?”

YN opened her eyes, her breath coming in shallow gasps. through the slats, the priest sat motionless, his eyes half-lidded and dull, as though he were barely there.

“he doesn’t even know i’m here,” harry laughed softly. “they never do. blind sheep, praying to an empty sky. but you see me, don’t you, YN? you feel me.”

she stumbled from the confessional, her knees weak, her chest heaving as she staggered toward the altar. the chapel spun around her, the walls closing in, but she dropped to her knees again, clutching the cold stone with desperate hands.

she looked up, her gaze drawn to the crucifix, and her breath caught in her throat.

christ's face, carved from pale wood, seemed to shift in the trembling candlelight. his eyes, once serene, now seemed to stare down upon her with sorrow—or was it accusation? the wounds on his hands and side bled afresh, crimson rivulets that ran down his body and dripped onto the altar.

she stifled a choke. “forgive me, father,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “for i have sinned.”

but the words felt hollow, her prayers cracking under the weight of his voice as it lingered in her mind.

“your god isn’t listening,” harry murmured, his tone soft but unrelenting. “but i am.”

the shadows seemed to twist around her, thick and suffocating, and for a moment, she thought she felt his hand ghost across her cheek. she cried out, pressing her forehead to the stone as the chapel grew silent once more.

but even as she prayed, she could feel him there, watching, waiting.

IT was well past midnight when YN woke with a start, the air in her chamber cold and heavy. the faint light of the moon filtered through the small window, casting pale streaks across the floor. her heart was racing, though she couldn't remember dreaming. perhaps it was the silence itself that had startled her, the kind of silence that felt alive, that pressed against her ears and made the hairs on her neck rise.

then she heard it.

a soft scrape, the barest shift of weight on old stone. her breath caught as her eyes darted toward the corner of the room. at first, there was nothing—just shadow. but the longer she stared, the more the shadows seemed to thicken, pooling together, forming a shape.

and then he stepped into the light.

he looked more human now than he ever had in her dreams, though the sheer perfection of him was anything but mortal. his green eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, sharp and predatory, their color like fresh spring leaves glistening with dew. his curls fell loose around his face, framing features so flawless they felt like an insult to the world that had made her.

he was bare from the waist up, his skin pale as marble, his chest broad and smooth. faint scars crisscrossed his arms and shoulders, not marks of war but something deeper, older, like remnants of a punishment she couldn't begin to fathom. he was beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful—gleaming, deadly, meant to draw blood.

YN's breath came fast and shallow, her body frozen in place as he moved closer. his steps were slow, deliberate, each one making the air between them heavier.

"you didn't dream of me tonight," he said softly, his voice low, almost conversational.

her breath caught as she clutched her blanket tightly.

"did you miss me?"

"no," she whispered, though her voice trembled.

his smile widened, wicked and knowing. "liar."

he stepped closer, and the shadows seemed to follow him, pooling at his feet like they belonged to him.

"why are you here?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

he tilted his head, his green eyes gleaming as he looked at her. "why do you think?"

"leave me be," she whispered, her hands gripping the cross around her neck.

his gaze dropped to it, his smile softening into something crueler. "that again," he muttered, moving closer. "you think it'll save you?"

he reached out, his hand brushing lightly over the cross. it burned hot against her skin, the chain snapping and falling into his palm. the cross itself turned black beneath his touch, the wood cracking, the air around it heavy with the smell of smoke.

YN gasped, her hand flying to her throat as he let the ruined cross clatter to the floor. "you clutch at your symbols like they mean something," he grumbled, his voice rich with disdain. "your god's little trinkets. do you think they'll stop me?"

her breath came fast, her body trembling as he knelt before her, his face level with hers.

"don't," she managed, her voice breaking. but it held no real conviction.

his lips twitched, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest as he leaned closer, the heat of him suffocating. "don't what? don't touch your meek toys? or don't touch you?"

his hand lifted, slow and calculating, until his fingertips brushed the edge of the blanket covering her legs.

"i see the way you tremble," he murmured, his voice like silk pulled taut. "not with fear. no, this is something else."

“stop.”

"why?" he asked, his tone soft, almost gentle. "why should i stop, when your body begs me to keep going? when your cunt weeps my name, even as your lips say no?"

her face burned, shame twisting in her chest as she shook her head violently. "no. you're lying."

it felt even more shameful that she was the one who lied.

his smile widened, sharp and predatory. "am i?"

his hand dragged up her leg, slowly, the blanket slipping as his fingers grazed her bare skin. her body jolted at the touch, a heat blooming deep in her belly that she tried desperately to ignore.

"there it is," he said softly, his eyes locking with hers. "that flame. you try so hard to smother it, to pretend it's not there. but it is, YN. it always has been."

"you're wrong," she said, though her voice faltered.

his hand paused, resting just above her knee, his thumb brushing in slow circles against her skin. "am i?" he asked, his tone low, teasing. "then why are you shaking? why does your breath hitch when i'm near?"

she clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms as tears pricked her eyes. her desires were red hot, searing and damning—it could blind her.

"there's no shame in it, little lamb." he murmured, his voice soft and coaxing. "desire is the most human thing about you. even the saints, even the martyrs—they all burned with it. they lied to themselves, called it devotion, but you..." his hand slid higher, his touch light but deliberate. "...you feel it for what it is. don't you?"

her body shuddered, heat and shame twisting together in her chest. "no," she whispered, her voice breaking.

his laughter was soft, warm, like a lover's. "you keep saying that, but your body tells me otherwise. it sings for me, YN. every breath, every tremble, every beat of your heart—it's all for me."

his hand left her leg suddenly, the loss of his touch almost startling. it felt wrong to miss it. but she shifted in her bed, tucking her legs beneath her.

he rose to his feet, towering over her, his presence heavy and oppressive. "look at you," he pouted, his voice low and mocking. "kneeling there like a lamb before the slaughter. tell me, YN—when you kneel to your god, does it feel like this?"

her head snapped up, her breath coming in ragged gasps as tears streaked her cheeks. "you're vile," she spat, her voice trembling.

his smile didn’t waver, “and yet you crave me.”

her lips parted to deny him again, but no words came.

"pray to him," he said suddenly, his tone sharp. "pray to your silent god. beg him to take me away. go on."

her hands shook as she clasped them together, her lips moving in a hurried, whispered prayer.

"louder," he demanded, his voice a growl.

she choked on the words, her voice faltering.

"he doesn't hear you," harry breathed, leaning down, his eyes burning. "but i do. i hear every word, every plea, every desperate little gasp."

his hand brushed against her cheek, light as a whisper, and her body flinched at the heat of his touch. "and i'll return to you.”

then he was gone, leaving her alone in the stifling darkness.

YN collapsed onto the floor, clutching the blackened cross in her trembling hands. her prayers spilled from her lips in frantic, broken whispers, but her chest ached with the weight of him, her shame twisting into something darker.

your body tells me otherwise.

the words echoed in her mind, and no matter how hard she prayed, she couldn't silence them.

and part of her didn’t want them to be silenced.

THE festival was a rare indulgence, but one that brought the village together in a brief, fragile joy. the green had been cleared of mud and manure, and stalls were hastily built from rough-hewn wood to hold baked breads, sugared apples, salted fish, and honeyed wine. ribbons of faded red and gold hung between posts, fluttering weakly in the breeze, a half-hearted attempt at gaiety. the villagers gathered in their sunday best—threadbare cloaks and patched tunics, the smell of sweat and smoke clinging to the air.

YN moved stiffly beside her father, her eyes fixed on the ground as he gripped her arm with a hand calloused from years of tilling the fields. his voice, rough and impatient, barked orders as they wove through the crowd. “stand straight. do not fidget. the merchant will see you soon.” he snapped, his words a command, not comfort.

her stomach churned at the thought. she had heard of the man—léonard. old, jowled, his hands thick with grease and his temper legendary. his two previous wives had died, and the rumors whispered that it was grief that drove him to cruelty. others muttered darker things.

“a match is a blessing,” her father had said weeks before, his face dark as a storm. “you will not shame this family with resistance. god’s will is clear—obedience to your husband, salvation through servitude. you will thank him for this.”

YN bit the inside of her cheek, her throat tight as her father led her through the crowd. laughter and shouting mingled with the braying of goats and the clatter of wagon wheels, but it all felt far away, a blur against the rising dread in her chest.

and then she saw him.

harry.

he was standing near one of the stalls, his green eyes fixed on her, gleaming like firelight through emerald glass. he leaned casually against a post, shirtless, his pale skin a stark contrast to the coarse linens and wool around him.

no one else seemed to notice him.

her breath hitched as he began to move, threading through the crowd with a predator’s ease. his presence was heavy, suffocating, even as he stayed just far enough away to keep her guessing.

her father stopped abruptly, and she nearly stumbled into him.

“he’s here.” her father muttered, his voice heavy with satisfaction.

her gaze snapped forward, and there he was—léonard.

his cloak was fine but stained, the dark fabric stretched tight over his rounded belly. his face was ruddy, his jowls trembling as he spoke, his voice low and wet, like the squelch of mud beneath boots.

“so this is the girl,” léonard paused, his beady eyes scanning her from head to toe. “she’ll bear fine sons, i’m sure.”

YN’s cheeks burned as her father grunted his agreement.

“come closer, girl,” he barked, motioning her forward.

she stepped forward reluctantly, her body tense, her hands clasped tightly together.

and then she felt it.

a touch, light as silk, sliding along the small of her back. her breath caught as harry’s voice curled through her mind.

“look at him,” he purred, his tone rich with disdain. “smells like pig’s blood and sour ale. this is the man your father chose for you? a shepherd fattened for slaughter?”

her knees weakened as his hand slid lower, his touch teasing but firm.

“stop,” she whispered under her breath, her voice trembling.

léonard raised a brow. “speak up, girl.”

harry chuckled darkly, his breath warm against her ear. “sheep don’t speak,” he said, his tone a mockery of scripture. “they follow.”

her body stiffened as his hand crept to her hip, his fingers pressing lightly, just enough to make her shiver.

“obedience,” he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her ear. “isn’t that what they want from you? isn’t that what your god demands? kneel, obey, bleed. it’s a wonder they don’t ask you to thank them for it.”

léonard was still speaking, his voice droning on about dowries and blessings, but it was muffled now, like the buzz of flies over something rotting.

“look at him,” he whispered. “look at the way his lips move, spilling lies and demands. do you smell it, little one? the decay beneath gold? this is what they call god’s will.”

her breath hitched as harry’s hand moved to her thigh, his fingers dragging upward slowly, teasingly.

“you could scream right now,” his voice was low and taunting. “and no one would care. they’d blame you for it. your father would say it’s your fault. your god would call it a test. but me? i’d enjoy it.”

“enough,” she hissed under her breath, her voice trembling.

léonard frowned. “what did you say?”

he laughed, his eyes gleaming. “tell him, little lamb. tell him what you really want to say.”

YN’s heart raced as harry stepped around her, moving behind léonard.

“this is what you’ll wake up to every morning,” he taunted, gesturing to the man’s bulk, his jowls, the faint stink of sweat and blood. “this is your future. do you see it?”

he tilted his head, his lips curling into a wicked smile.

“let me show you.”

before she could respond, harry reached out, and suddenly léonard’s throat was slit, a jagged, gaping wound spilling blood in thick rivulets. his mouth moved silently, his eyes wide with shock as he stumbled back, gurgling, before collapsing to the ground.

her breath caught in her throat, her body frozen in horror.

harry knelt beside the body, his fingers dipping into the blood and lifting it to his lips. “the blood of the lamb,” he said, his tone rich with mockery. “shed for you. do you feel saved yet?”

her knees buckled, and she grabbed at her skirts, trembling.

“YN!” her father barked, his voice sharp.

she blinked, and léonard was standing again, unharmed, his voice droning on as if nothing had happened.

harry stood beside him, his eyes locked on hers, his smile wicked. “just a taste,” he mumbled. “but you see it now, don’t you? the rot. the lie. tell me you want more.”

her chest heaved, her breath shallow as she tore her gaze away, trembling. “i… i need a moment.” she stammered, fleeing before her father could object.

YN's feet moved without thought, her breath shallow and uneven as she fled toward the trees at the edge of the green. the sounds of the festival faded behind her—laughter, clinking mugs, the low hum of a hymn sung off-key. she stumbled into the shadows, her back pressing against the rough bark of a tree as her hands trembled against her skirts.

her heart pounded as she clenched her eyes shut, willing the sickening image of léonard's torn throat to leave her mind. the blood. the gurgling.

the way harry had knelt so casually beside the body, his fingers trailing through the crimson spill like it was honey.

"it wasn't real," she whispered, her voice shaking. "it wasn't real."

"oh, but it could be."

her eyes snapped open, and there he was.

he stood a few paces away, leaning casually against another tree, his eyes bright even in the dim light. he looked impossibly at ease, his shirtless torso pale and gleaming, the scars that marked his flesh carved from a divine hand.

her chest heaved as she pressed herself tighter against the tree, her knees trembling. "you’re vile," she spat, though the words came out weak, a desperate attempt to regain control.

harry’s smile widened, wicked and knowing. "yet here you are," he said softly, stepping closer. "running from him. running to me."

she pressed her back harder against the tree, the bark scraping through the thin fabric of her dress.

"leave me," she whispered, her voice trembling.

harry tilted his head, his curls catching the faint light, making him look more angel than demon. but his smile gave him away, all sharp edges and mockery. "leave you?" he repeated, taking a slow step closer. "but you're the one who called me here. the moment you fled, the moment you thought of me instead of your god."

"i didn't," she said quickly, her voice breaking, though she couldn't meet his eyes.

"liar." he murmured, closing the distance between them in a single stride.

the heat of him was overwhelming, pressing against her like a heavy shroud. his fingers reached for her, trailing along her jawline, his touch featherlight but impossible to ignore.

"do you know what you've done, little lamb?" he asked softly, his tone almost gentle. "you've brought me here. to this holy forest, where the air smells of prayer and sacrifice. do you think your god is watching now?"

she flinched, her lips trembling as she looked down. "he watches everything."

harry laughed, low and dark, turpentine—wearing her thin . "oh, YN. he does not watch you, if he was, would he have let me come so close?"

his fingers slipped beneath her chin, lifting her face until their eyes met. "would he have let you feel this?"

her breath hitched as his other hand trailed down, brushing over her waist, bunching the fabric of her dress in his fist. the coarse wool scraped against her skin as he gathered it higher, his green eyes never leaving hers.

"stop," she whispered, her voice trembling.

his smile widened, cruel and indulgent. "but you don't want me to stop," he said softly, his tone a mockery of tenderness. "you want me to keep going, to do what your god will not."

there was a moment of silence, eyes boring into one another as the trees shook in the breeze of whispers. “banish me.” he prodded, his eyebrows furrowed. “tell me to go and i will leave you.”

her chest heaved as she struggled to find her voice, to deny him, but the words tangled in her throat.

the faint glimmer of her damning shining through her cracked resolve.

"look at you," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "trembling like a virgin sacrifice before the altar. but that's what you want, isn't it? to be taken. to feel something other than this cold, empty devotion."

"no," she choked out, though her body betrayed her, her legs weakening as he stepped closer, his body crowding hers against the tree.

"no?" he repeated, his voice a low growl. "then why aren't you pushing me away? why does your breath quicken when i touch you? why does your cunt sing for me, even now?"

his hand slipped lower, finding her thigh beneath her skirts. his touch was firm but slow, deliberate, as he dragged his fingers upward, his gaze locked on hers.

"your god asks for obedience," he uttered, his voice sharp and mocking. "he demands sacrifice. but i ask for nothing but this."

her knees buckled slightly as his fingers brushed the edge of her undergarments, the heat pooling low in her belly making her head spin.

"don't." she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.

harry's free hand moved to her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "don't lie to me, little lamb. i can taste the truth on your lips."

he leaned closer, his breath warm against her mouth. "say it," he urged, his voice low and commanding. "say you want me."

her breath came fast and shallow, her heart pounding as shame and desire tangled in her chest.

"say it.”

her resolve crumbled. "i-i want you," she choked out, her voice breaking.

she gasped, her hands clutching his arms while her face burned—shame and something darker twisting inside her as his fingers slipped beneath the thin fabric, finding her folds.

"there," he murmured, his tone soft and taunting. "that's the truth of you, YN. not the prayers, not the fasting, not the faith. this. this heat, this need, this sin. it's mine."

her nails bit into his skin, taut and firm underneath while his digits slid through her arousal, deliberate and unhurried.

"you'll deny it, of course," he hummed, eyes burning as he watched her. "you'll call it blasphemy, call it wrong. but it's not wrong, is it? it feels too good to be wrong."

she bit her lip, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her body trembling as he circled her clit with maddening precision.

when he withdrew his hand, her body lurched at the loss, her breath catching in her throat. harry's fingers glistened in the faint light, slick with her arousal, a damning testament to her betrayal.

"look at this," he breathed, holding his hand before her face. his eyes burned with triumph, his lips curling into a smile. "the fruit of your desire. forbidden, but oh, so sweet."

YN's lips trembled, her cheeks wet with tears as she tried to look away.

"no," he said sharply, his tone slicing through the air like a blade. "you don't get to turn away from this. from me. taste it, little lamb. taste what you've given me."

her stomach twisted as he pressed his fingers to her lips, the heat of his touch scorching her skin.

"open," he commanded, his voice low and unyielding.

she hesitated, her chest heaving with shame and fear.

"open," he said again, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. "you've come this far. don't turn back now."

her lips parted, a trembling act of surrender, and he slipped his fingers into her mouth. the taste was overwhelming—salt and heat and something darker, something that made her stomach clench and her body burn with ashamed desire.

"good girl.” he breathed, his tone a velvet caress. his eyes stayed locked on hers, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed her face.

when he pulled his fingers away, he let them trail down her chin, leaving a faint sheen behind.

"do you see it now?" he asked softly, his hand moving to cup her face. "do you see what you are?"

she shook her head, not trusting her voice.

his smile deepened, his thumb brushing over her trembling lips. “you do not see, hm?” he cooed, “you are mine by design, as eve was made for adam, as fire is made to burn."

she slid down the tree, her back scraping against the bark as she crumpled to the ground, her head in her hands.

harry crouched before her, his smile softening into something almost tender. "pray if you like," he murmured. "but it won't change the truth."

he stood then, his green eyes gleaming as he disappeared into the shadows, leaving her trembling and broken beneath the gnarled branches of the forest.

THE days following her surrender blurred together, each one heavier than the last. YN no longer prayed—not because she didn't want to, but because the words felt meaningless. they sat heavy on her tongue, unmoving, like stones lodged in her throat. every attempt at confession ended in silence, the weight of her sin pressing her knees deeper into the cold stone of the chapel floor.

and yet, it wasn't guilt that made her tremble in the quiet moments. it wasn't shame that kept her awake at night, her hands fisting her sheets as she tried to ignore the heat pooling low in her belly. it was him. the memory of his touch, his voice, his green eyes burning into hers as though they could see every thought she tried to hide.

she waited for him. every day, every night. and when he didn't come, it felt like torment.

it was near midnight when she woke to the smell of smoke.

at first, she thought the cottage was burning, but when she sat up, the air was still. no flames licked at the thatched roof, no shouts from her father broke the night. the smell was faint, clinging to her skin like an afterthought, mingling with the faint taste of ash on her tongue.

the shack was colder than she remembered.

YN stepped inside, her breath catching as the warped wooden door groaned shut behind her. the faint smell of damp wood and old blood clung to the air, a reminder of the offerings her father had made here long ago. candles sat in the corners of the room, their flames low and flickering, casting shadows that stretched like grasping hands across the walls.

and at the center of it all stood the altar.

its surface was dark with stains that time could not scrub away. her father's hands had held lambs there, muttering prayers as their blood spilled onto the stone. the altar had been a place of sacrifice, of devotion, of faith.

now, it was hers.

harry stood beside it, waiting. his bare chest gleamed in the candlelight, the scars that crossed his pale skin stark and unyielding. his eyes burned as they met hers, the corners of his mouth curling into a slow, knowing smile.

"you came," he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent.

her body trembled as she stepped closer, the worn planks beneath her feet creaking with every step. "you called for me.” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"are you afraid?" he asked, his voice a low hymn, the kind that made sinners weep.

YN's knees shook. her faith had been a crutch her entire life, a shield against the dark, but now that shield was splintered, discarded at her feet. she didn't want god anymore.

she wanted him.

"no," she lied, though her heart was a caged bird, its wings beating frantically against her ribs.

harry smiled. it was not a kind smile. it was the smile of a wolf, sharp and full of promise. he beckoned her closer with the wave of his hand, her steps light until she stood before him at the altar.

his hand reached for her, pale fingers curling around her throat. his grip was light, reverent, as though she were something holy, something to be cherished.

his mouth found hers, claiming her with a kiss that was both savage and tender, his lips devouring hers with a hunger that felt endless. her body melted against him, her resistance crumbling with every stroke of his tongue, every graze of his teeth.

his hands roamed her body, pulling at the coarse fabric of her dress, lifting it away from her skin with a reverence that felt almost mocking. when the cold air hit her bare flesh, she shivered, but his warmth was there, surrounding her, consuming her.

he looked at her like she was something sacred, a relic carved by divine hands. his eyes trailed over her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, lingering on the hollow of her throat where her pulse fluttered like a trapped moth.

"do you know,” his voice soft as a lover's whisper, "that heaven and hell both weep at the sight of you?"

her breath hitched, her cheeks burning as she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to shield herself from his gaze.

"don't," he said softly, his tone sharp but not unkind.

his hands reached for hers, pulling her arms away from her body. "don't hide from me, YN. not here. not now."

his hands moved over her then, slow and purposeful, tracing every curve, every line, as though committing her to memory.

"you're perfect," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "the most beautiful lie heaven has ever told."

her chest heaved as his hands slid to her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the cold stone of the altar. the chill bit into her skin, sharp and unyielding, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his body as he stepped between her legs.

"do you feel it, little lamb?" harry murmured, his voice dark and smooth, the words curling into her ear like smoke. "the way your body aches for something more? the way your soul trembles at the edge of the void?"

YN gasped, her body trembling beneath him, every nerve alight with a sensation she couldn't name. she tried to speak, to protest, but when his fingers gripped her hips and dragged her closer, the words dissolved on her tongue.

"i'll make you feel heaven," he sighed against her lips, his voice a promise and a threat.

her mind swirled with panic and want, her hands pressing weakly against his chest. "this is... wrong," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"wrong?" harry repeated, a laugh slipping from his lips, low and mocking. "do you think the lamb is asked if it consents to the knife? do you think your god cares for your innocence, your purity? no, YN. you were born for this. to be taken. to be ruined."

before she could respond, he kissed her, and it wasn't the soft, tender act she had imagined in her prayers. his lips claimed hers with bruising intensity, his tongue forcing its way past her defenses, devouring her protests until there was nothing left but submission.

her hands, once pushing against him, now clutched at his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor her as the world seemed to shift beneath her.

his lips descended to her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he kissed the tender flesh just below her ear. she shuddered, her fingers tightening against into him as his teeth grazed her, a soft scrape that sent heat coursing through her veins.

her head fell back, a soft moan escaping her lips, and she hated herself for it. hated the way her body betrayed her, the way it arched toward him, desperate for his touch.

his body was a weapon forged of bone and muscle. he was naked, his skin a canvas of scars and shadows, his beauty as blasphemous as it was perfect.

"do you remember your scripture, YN?" he asked, his lips brushing her ear. "your body is a temple, isn't it?"

her breath came in short, desperate gasps. "yes.”.

"then let me worship."

the stone of the altar was cold against her back, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body. he moved with purpose, his hands firm on her thighs as he spread her open, exposing her in a way that made her breath hitch.

he shifted, pressing his hips against hers, and the hardness of his cock sent a shudder through her body. she gasped, her nails digging into his sides as he positioned himself between her thighs, his movements deliberate, torturous.

YN cried out, her back arching against the altar, her hands clutching at him as her body stretched to accommodate him. he fucked into her, the sensation overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure so intense it felt like her very soul was unraveling.

"that's it," he grunted, his voice thick with pleasure. "take me, little lamb.”

his hips moved, his thrusts deep and unforgiving, each one dragging a sound from her lips that she couldn't control. the rhythm of him was maddening, each movement sending a wave of heat crashing through her, building and building until she thought she might break.

"do you feel it?" he asked, his hand gripping her thigh, his fingers digging into her flesh. "do you feel heaven inside you? because it is not god who gives it to you. it is me."

YN's head fell back, her eyes squeezed shut as her body betrayed her, her hips rising to meet his with every thrust. she hated herself for the way her breath hitched, for the way her moans spilled from her lips like confessions.

"say it," he commanded, his voice low and rough, his hips driving into her with brutal precision. "say you find salvation in me."

her eyes flew open, meeting his gaze, and she saw it then—the green fire that burned in his eyes, the darkness that curled at the edges of his smile.

"say it," he demanded again, his pace quickening, his body relentless—a sacred place ricocheting with moans and wet slaps of skin against skin.

"i–" she gasped, her hands clawing at his back, her breath coming in ragged sobs.

"say it," he growled, his hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head back so that she had no choice but to look at him.

"i find salvation in you!" she cried, the words ripping from her throat like a scream.

his smile was triumphant, his lips descending to her throat, his teeth scraping against her skin as he drove into her harder, faster, each thrust filling her with a pleasure so sharp it bordered on agony.

her body tensed, her breath catching as the pleasure crested, shattering over her like a wave. she cried out, her voice echoing through the chapel, a sound of both ecstasy and despair.

as she fell apart beneath him, she felt the final pieces of her faith crumble, her soul slipping from her grasp and into his hands.

harry stilled above her, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "you were always meant for this. for me."

the shack went still. the candles burned low, their wax pooling onto the cracked wooden floor, the flames flickering weakly as if ashamed of what they had witnessed. the air was heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and smoke and something darker. the altar was cold beneath YN’s bare back, but she no longer felt it.

the space seemed different now. even as moonlight spilled through cracks in the wood, painting the ruins in pale silver, there was no pretense of holiness. the crucifix above her hung crooked, the wooden christ staring down with lifeless eyes, mouth agape not in sacrifice but in mockery. if god was watching, he did nothing. no lightning struck. no thunder rolled.

she thought, for the first time, that perhaps he was never there at all.

what had she done?

the answer burned its way into her mind, not with guilt, but with a clarity so sharp it was almost cruel. she had abandoned heaven for him. traded salvation for damnation.

the weight of harry’s body pressed into her, his chest rising and falling against hers in a rhythm that was almost human. almost. her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, her breath shallow, her hands limp at her sides.

this was what she had feared, wasn’t it? the moment she’d run from, prayed against, begged god to prevent. and yet here she was, laid bare on the very altar her father had once sanctified with lamb’s blood. the same altar where prayers for forgiveness had echoed into the rafters, unanswered.

she could feel harry still on her, even as he moved away, the imprint of his body an ache that had lodged itself deep in her marrow.

the stone beneath her was unforgiving, just like the faith she had clung to for so long. faith that had demanded her knees break on cold chapel floors, her hands bleed as she tilled the earth in her father’s shadow, her heart ache as she bent to the will of a god who had never once spoken her name.

now, that faith lay in ruins.

she pushed herself up slowly, her limbs weak, her thighs slick with what they had done. the air bit at her skin, but she did not cover herself. there was no point. there was no shame left to cloak herself in.

harry stood near the altar, watching her. his naked body was a study in contrasts—smooth and unyielding, as though carved from alabaster, but alive with a heat that seemed to radiate from his very core. his beauty was inhuman, the kind that drew worship but offered no mercy in return.

his gaze on her was heavy, not with judgment but with possession. he had taken her, yes, but it wasn't force. it was inevitability. a dance they were always meant to perform.

YN swung her legs over the edge, her bare feet touching the cold stone floor. she thought of the animals her father had slaughtered here, the way their blood had run in thin rivulets down the grooves of the altar.

how fitting that she had bled here, too.

harry spoke no parting words, offered no promises. he didn't need to. what had happened was already written into her skin, her bones. it wasn't just her body he had claimed. it was her soul, and now it was marked, an unholy sigil that no prayer could erase.

when she stepped out into the night, the air was sharp and cold, the stars above indifferent and unmoving. but YN did not shiver. she felt warm, burning with a fire that no heaven or hell could extinguish.

there were no more prayers left on her lips. no scripture to guide her. there was only him, harry, and the path he had carved into her.

and as they disappeared into the forest's dark embrace, the shack and its altar remained behind, empty and silent, its walls whispering of a god who had abandoned it long ago.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles concept #harry styles au #kinktober #demonrry #harry styles smut #dom!harry #harry styles drabble #harry styles fanfic

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thesharktanksdriver · 6 days ago

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Magical girl y/n christmas canons?

Tinsel, magic and hot chocolate (platonic)

Sorry I released this after Christmas i have written so much that there’s a huge delay whenever I type on this on this

Christmas headcanons babyyyyyyyyy let’s goooooooo

Anyways Merry late Christmas

Masterlist

Christmas wasn’t much of an occasion for you before you were adopted by billionaire philanthropist playboy Bruce/Brucie Wayne

When you lived on your own Christmas was a luxury you could hardly afford to yourself

Maybe if you had a few crumpled dollars saved in the back of your pocket you’d splurge on a hot chocolate at a stand somewhere

Or you’d have a second cup of instant ramen

But besides that there wasn’t much to celebrate besides the fact that with Christmas came winter and that brought the cold

The old apartment you had didn’t have much heating on account of the busted windows, decaying door and fluctuating power

So winter had alway been a life or death scenario every year

The fear of going to sleep and simply not waking up had been to prevalent to enjoy winter

Snow and ice loosing their beauty in the face of the real potential of dying

You couldn’t appreciate the leisure of affording skates to glide across the ice, of dancing and sliding with family or friends at a rink

Couldn’t come to see the beauty in the snow glimmering like thousands of diamonds under sunlight, of laying in its soft cushioning to make snow angels or snowman’s

Before all of this you couldn’t

Not when you had to survive not only for your own sake

But for the sake of your universe at large

Because if you died the shadowmites would eat and destroy everything

Everyone

All the happy families that pass you by on the street as you adjusted a ratty falling apart hand woven scarf would die

As would the kind older vendor who gave soup out to all the unfortunate during the season

The man who dressed as Santa to bring joy despite the fact that the kids in the shitty parts of Gotham didn’t Believe anymore

A store clerk who slips an extra candy cane in your bag when your not looking as a small surprise

The hero’s of the city who worked perilously on the holidays

For the villains you somehow gained the affection of

Croc in the sewers who lets you sit down on your breaks by the heater you’d dug up from the trash, a gift from last year he treasures for both its practicality and sentimentality

Mr Penguin who gives you the extra food from his Christmas banquet you’re invited to, the way in which he may or may not have tried to insist you take a fur coat a customer “conveniently” left behind with the tag still attached

Ivy and Harley who make you scarves and mitts they knitted by hand, the fun brightly coloured yarn held together by love and dedication that helps you get through the winter’s harsh nights

Mr freeze who seems content this season to have some company in his loneliness if even for a few minutes, and though you can’t appreciate the cold like he can due to its threat to your well being you can appreciate the beauty of Gotham blanketed in glistening snow instead of the dreary smog

Riddler who gifts you a bright green wrapped present that is opened with a riddle, inside being a few books that be personally thought were good

Catwoman who ends up gifting you a large throw blanket with a kitschy picture of a cat that helped you survive the long cold nights

But this is all before your adoption

After, it’s much different

Decorating

Christmas at the Wayne’s and winter all together now is a much different experience

For one the decorations

The most you could do was a small little Charlie Brown tree, you’d decorate them with the little bootleg magical girl figure you got from thrift stores or dollarama’s

But somehow Alfred on the first day of December had the entire manor furnished

Garlands lining the walls with Christmas lights and ornaments hanging off them that shine in the warm lighting of chandeliers

Statues and figurines of Santa and his elves on tables, poinsettia’s in the decorative vases dotting the halls

A massive fresh cut Christmas tree hang up in the main living room, the fireplace lit nearby with stockings hung up on the mantelpiece

Each giant sock individualized in different colours and hand stitched with the occupants names

Bruce’s is midnight black, Dick’s is a light blue, Jason’s a traditional bright red, Tim’s a pretty Maroon , Damien’s a forest green, etc

Yours how hangs there as well, your favourite colour in velvet and your name etched in pretty cursive in sparkly thread

The scent of fresh baked cookies and gingerbread wafting from the kitchen whilst pine and cinnamon linger elsewhere

Eventually you’ll even help Alfred in decorating your room to watch with the Christmas decorations of the entire manor

Helping him hang crystal snowflakes that create rainbow infractions from sunlight streaming in from your window, little reindeer figures being added to your bedside

Maybe even a Christmas hat placed atop one of your plushies

Alfred, according to the rest of the manor residents goes ham for all holidays

Christmas, Halloween, Easter, birthdays, Valentine’s Day, Father’s Day, you name it and he has an entire garages worth of decorations neatly stored away in boxes that he’ll somehow unpack overnight and have half the manor done within 5 hours

A feat truly unprecedented consider this place was a maze of hallways with at least 150 rooms that you’d counted so far

All of which were decorated in some sort of Christmas attire or theme

One was Santa themed, another Christmas tree themed, the one down the hall somewhere was frosty the snow man and a different one was filled with memorabilia from the old stop motion Rudolph films

Somehow them the British man was able to get his hands on some of the spare genuine figures used for that film (and the other ones from the sequels)

All of which now have a correlating Wayne manor resident

Alfred of course is Sam the snow man from that film, umbrella and bowler hat going all too well with him

Apparently when Jason was younger he begged for his to be Rudolph, a fact Bruce nor Dick ever let him live down

At some point during the first weeks of December the entire family gathers to decorate the tree

Quite honestly you thought you’d just hang out in your room while that happened since you had no idea what to really do

Your tiny “tree” didn’t have any traditional ornaments, only your figurines

But not even two minutes after the decorating supposedly started Damien basically kicked down your door with Jason and dragged you to join the tree decorating

Turns out no one can escape this fate

And they all refused to start without you, especially since this would “be your first year to witness the decoration war”

You quickly learn what that means when half the family is arguing on what colour scheme the tree should have

It’s basically an all out war while your sitting beside Damien who looks on

By the end of it all red and gold wins by a smidge

Mostly due to the fact Alfred got accidentally friendly fired by Dick and decided for everyone

You’d never seen Dick so afraid in your life, he looked ready to write his will in that moment

But once that’s finished the decorating actually starts

There’s no real strategy to how they do it

Tim tries to make a plan but it quickly falls through when the others began grabbing random bits and bobbles to hang on the tree

Red and gold balls of glass, old and delicate

Other ornaments of stuffed bears, cups of hot cocoa, a plate of cookies and more

You gravitate mostly towards these ones, the unique ornaments you’d used to see in store displays but could never afford

Ones you’d wish to have but could never hold

The others seem to catch on to this quickly, since they basically give you the box holding them all and hoisting you up to decorate the high points of the tree you couldn’t reach

This almost becomes an argument too when Dick complains that Jason is hogging you

Damien steps in immediately after literally swooping down from nowhere with a grappling hook to take you and bring you to the other side of the tree

All the while stating that once more he’s your favourite sibling

You can’t say he’s wrong when he objectively isn’t

Along with the fact he looks so genuinely happy over the fact

Once the tree is finished all that’s left is the topper

The crowning moment of the tree

With how everyone is looking to you your not surprised when Alfred hands you the crowning piece

They had several out while debating the Christmas tree and one stood out to you

It wasn’t the traditional star, it was a pretty angel

With white feathered wings and flowing brown hair atop a red velvet dress lined in gold

She just stood out to you from the bunch, of course this house full of detectives would notice you gazing at her for 20 minutes admiring the detail

Bruce is the one who lifts you up to place the angel

The only one so far who’d yet to help you reach the top

His hold gentle and stable

Smiling up at you urging you that it’s all alright

That you get to place the most important piece

You can’t help but feel a bit hesitant with all the attention on you on such an important moment

You’d never done something this before

Not for real anyways

You didn’t think topping your dinky tree with the only good figure you had could count

But now your crowning a real Christmas tree

With your family, all of whom look up at you cheering you on

It feels so overwhelmingly nice and cozy

You’d never thought you’d feel this during the season you’d dread

But here you are, lifted to reach atop a giant tree and placing an angel atop it all to look after you all until winter goes

Like the angel you feel the responsibility to drive out all evil forces to protect those in this mansion

The family who cheer loudly when you place her at the top and practically tackle you in a hug when your put back down on the wooden floor

As everyone celebrates you can’t help but look atop the tree

The angel looking down at you whilst Rigel slumbers atop your shoulder

Only being brought back when his nose nudges your cheek, turning your attention to your group of rowdy brothers who beckon you for yet another Christmas activity

Christmas baking

Once upon a time ago many years back you were able to afford a gingerbread house

It was after a few weeks of scrounging for money in wherever you could find it

Spare quarters and loose pennies making up the total of 15 dollars you’d decided to splurge on the cookie house

It didn’t end up looking good but didn’t mind at all, not when you’d feasted on the spare gumdrops that were hard and sour

Or the too sweet icing in a small plastic packet

On Christmas Day you’d eaten the house itself as your gift that year

Dividing it into small pieces to save for later as your future meals and snacks for patrols

Along with sectioning out some for Rigel who insisted you take care of yourself before them

This year though at Wayne manor baking Christmas goods is much less of a luxury and more a constant during the Christmas season

Alfred, you’ve quickly come to learn even before being adopted, was a baking god

That man could bake things you’d think would be served up to the gods on an alter

From his mouth watering cookies to his baked Alaska that nearly made you cry

His skills were no match

And during Christmas he apparently went crazy with baking

Chocolate chip Cookies galore, gingerbread made by hand, candycanes someone made by hand despite the long procedural process of kneading the sugar, sugar cookies with hand made icing that he piped into snowflakes and mini versions of the batfamily

The work he did was no joke

As was his “no one baking but me” policy after everyone else in the family somehow almost set the kitchen on fire

Yeah everyone else in the family was banned after trying to help him one year

Wayne manor nearly burnt down and now only your allowed there with him

Though you guessed that may have also been because he wanted to spend time with you

Something you can’t fault him for since you also like spending time with him as well

Since your new to baking Alfred is a guiding gentle hand

He shows you how to measure out ingredients correctly

Kneed the dough just enough

Pipe icing on cookies

Even let’s you nibble on the spare cookie dough and chocolate chips

Something he makes you keep a secret lest the others in the house get jealous

Throughout all the baking Alfred talks with you about all types of things

He asks you about your Christmases before this

Talks about being in MI6 and raising Bruce

Quietly probes you for Christmas gifts you’d like

Let’s Rigel perch around his shoulders and around his neck like a scarf

It’s all heartwarming and cozy

Especially as he seems so genuinely happy that this year you get to experience a proper Christmas

Not alone in a dingy apartment

But instead surrounded by friends and family

He seems all too proud when your both done with baking and made delectable sweet treats

He seems even more proud when the extra you made end up in containers that you say you’ll hand out to some friends

Thankfully he doesn’t ask when later that night you go out on patrol with a little basket and Christmas cards

He just tells you that if needed he’ll make more

It seems even villains can’t resist his cooking

Especially not with how Croc gobbles down the entire container or how Harley begs for the recipe

Riddler not one for chocolate chip cookies but enjoys the ginger snaps and shortbread cookies you bring instead

Mr.Freeze who quietly thanks you for the sugar cookies made to look like nutcrackers and ballerinas, something he said to you once before that Nora loved during the season

Two face and Harvey seem nostalgic, it makes sense considering Harvey’s friendship with Bruce

He’s been over at Christmas before his decent

When he asks how you have the recipe you just say that an old man asked you to deliver them to him

For the first time in the season you see him melt ever so slightly

He doesn’t need to say thank you, not with how he pats your head and tells you to stay warm

When you go off he hands you one of the cookies

Something you can’t help but smile gleefully at

Later that night you make sure to make extra for the next delivery along with little gingerbread men

All of which are decorated to look like the receivers of the delivery

Ice skating

You’d never learned to skate mostly because you could never afford skates

Public rinks were open during the winter in certain part of Gotham, typically the nicer areas though near crime alley you’d seen a few smaller opens opened up for kids

Though you’d never had the time to go to one

Sure, you could glide across the ice without the needed equipment but it wouldn’t be as fun. And sure, you could technically use your transformation powers to make yourself a pair of skates

But that would be a waste of your limited powers for something so trivial

And it was a skill not typically needed, it’s not like you were fighting Mr freeze on a month to month basis

So you bite your tongue and would continue on when seeing a rink on your way back to your old apartment

Eyes lingering on the families teaching their young ones to skate

To the pretty ice skater dancing as if she were a ballerina

To the group of friends off to the side enjoying a cup of hot cocoa from a small stand nearby

Still too overpriced for you to afford nor enjoy without risk of not affording rent let alone heating

The minute Dick learned this he was already off taking you to a sports supply store and having you try more skates than you’d known existed

From more heavy duty to sleek and petite

He has you try them on

Finding whichever was more comfortable to your feet before you finally settled on a pair

But even after that the shopping wasn’t done

He bought pretty ribbons to replace the laces, skate guards and blade covers

And then off you were suddenly at a rink with him guiding you along the ice

Quite honestly the spectacle of people watching the two of you and awing at the scene is a tad bit embarrassing

But Dicks genuine enthusiasm makes up for it

Though it doesn’t make up for the fact that you’ll be seeing his ass picks later on

Because god, why does he have to give them more fuel to the fire

You’d tried multiple times to get him to stop bending down and hunching over

But he seems to occupied in teaching you to notice the rabid clicks of pictures being taken behind him

Once you get a slow hand of it he takes your gloved hand and lets you take the reigns

Letting you chart the course across the ice

Past equally happy families that have the same smile that he does

Pride gleaming in it like a unyielding fire

Apparently back when he was apart of the circus he sucked at skating he admits

He could do acrobats 20 feet in the air just fine but had two left feet when it came to the ice

His parents never got frustrated though, neither did Bruce

But they one day said that he’d get it if he put his heart into trying again and again each winter

And that he’d be good enough to one day teach someone else as well

He remarks with a smile that it seems they were right

He says this all the while he stared into the overpriced hot chocolate with whip cream

Little green and red sprinkles in his as well as your own cup

Silently you smile and take his hand to go out on the ice once more when he’s finished his drink

You think that Mr and Mrs Grayson would be proud of him

Though you don’t need to say that aloud when his smile says it all

(Unfortunately you we’re right about the ass shots flooding your feed, though it was also mixed with people gushing over how adorable the scene was and how cute you are. You don’t open social media for the next couple of days for various reasons, your bashful expression is poked at by Damien who says he can hunt down the users if you’d like)

Gift shopping

Buying gifts for others was yet another luxury you couldn’t typically afford

So you used to scavenge for things

The heater for croc is a good example

As are the pots you then hand painted for Ivy and Harley

This year though it’s a bit overwhelming as Bruce takes you shopping for gifts

Store after store

His obsidian credit card that he pulled out for nearly everything you so much as dare to look at for over 5 seconds

The guilt that he’s spending his money for you

So far you’d picked out good gifts for everyone else

Even going as far to get some for Titus, your….non law-abiding citizen friends and some for the justice league

But you were still unused to it all without looking at the price tag

Something Bruce all but basically banned you to do and just said to put anything in the cart

And by Anthony he meant anything

You were staring too long at the car displayed in the mall and he nearly took you to a car dealership to buy you one

And then went on about customizing it for your or that persons taste

You sure anyone would like Ferrari but your not quite sure how you’d explain buying one to the receiver

Throughout it all Bruce looks more content than you’d thought he’d be when your spending his money

Sure, he’s a billionaire but typically they like to save and horde money, not freely spend it n frivolous things like this

But it seems Bruce had been the outlier

Maybe he’s always been

You’d gotten to Gotham academy because of his scholarship programs before he knew your existence

Certain parts of Gotham were in better state due to the Wayne corporations work and job listings

The Martha and Thomas Wayne fundraiser each year raised millions in charity

It’s still all so weird

But you have a small moment of clarity when entering a small anime store

Bruce chats up the worker at the counter, pulling out his Brucie persona

And he lets you reign free to buy stuff

You browse the figures, even finding a few you’d like for yourself that your almost 100% sure he’s gonna ask the owner to hold and have Alfred pick up later

But then you get to the dvds section

And in the bottom shelf you find old VHS’s

Your finger grazes across their spines alphabetically

And then it stops on a pretty pink one

It’s old and slightly faded

But you know this one by heart

This was one of your old sailor moon’s VHS’s, the one that you played so much that it eventually stopped working

The box was the only thing left of the thing, there was no use in keeping a messed of tape

So you had to sadly throw it out

The memories flood back of that tape

The episodes you know by heart

The line delivery (a male voice mocks it and brings you to tears)

The cheesy voice acting (something a female voice complained about)

The night spent alone watching it before Rigel came along (the sense of feeling of overwhelming loneliness waiting for someone to come back)

Huh? Your reminded of something?

Your parents, you forgot you even had those at one point

The cold seeps through an broken window past the flimsy sheer curtains

You hear them moving stuff, muttering to themselves quietly as you sit in front of the old box tv

Their voices muffled and static, grating your eardrums in fuzziness

You hum along to moonlight densetsu as sailor moon appears on screen

When she strikes her pose you do so as well, mirroring the action with your pudgy hands

A thump alerts you away from the screen

Two blurred figures, your parents stand by the door

Bags beside them filled to the brim

“We’re going to get groceries, you now how to use the stove” to your 5 year old mind this was normal

You didn’t know someone your age shouldn’t be left alone for hours on end

Shouldn’t be able to use the stove

Shouldn’t look to the tv as your only friend and mentor in keeping you alive

It was sailor moon who taught you to show kindness to others

Mew mew showed you to protect your home

Sakura told you to love others no matter their appearance or gender

Utena proved girls could fight and be just as strong as men

It was Honoka and Nagisa from pretty cure who taught you courage

It was never your parents, it was the reruns and old VHS’s you watched until they couldn’t play anymore and you knew the episodes by heart

You remember those shows so clearly, each episode and line delivery

And yet you couldn’t remember your mom or dad besides the one memory

They were so insignificant in the few years of your life they’d been in

And it’s that night watching sailor moon they left you

Abandoned you in a ratty apartment that they were gonna be kicked out of for not paying their bills

Left you to watch your only good facet in your life

Magical girls

Except now you imagine the memory differently

Your watching your sailor moon but there’s no shuffling in the background

Not the sound of them preparing to leave

Just silence before you feel a presence beside you

Turning your head you see Bruce, sitting beside you

Though now instead of kneeling on the floor your in the private theatre in a comfortable leather chair

The night he surprised you with getting your favourite series to play in it

And even if he didn’t understand the plot or what was going on he watched with a smile

He watched beside you, not once leaving your side

You pick up the old vhs with a nostalgic smile, thumb trailing down the back to read the episode list

The ones you remember by heart

Like by line

You put it back knowing somehow it would end up in your stocking this year

You wonder if the rest of the family would enjoy watching as well even without any context to the show

playing in snow

You used to hate the snow, and ice and all things cold except for Mr freeze and the cheap Dairy Queen Sunday’s you bought in the summer to cool down

But besides that you couldn’t stand it

You could play in the snow without risk of getting sick

Your winter boots already holes and your mitts were falling apart as it was

If you made snow angels or made snowballs you’d be left wet and cold

And there was nothing at the apartment to really dry you

Unless you wanted to waste Rigels magic to do so

And that wasn’t an option when every night you were breaking a rib or snapping your arm again

It seemed during Christmas as well Shadowmites got worse

For the season of giving and love there sure was a lot of hated that they feed off of

And unfortunately you were at the brunt end of it all

They gifted you broken bones and bloody scratches

So if others considered you a Scrooge for not liking the season you had every reason as to why

Not to mention by the end of your fights you were freezing and drenched

An even worse combination when bleeding and stumbling on a broken foot

Ba humbug

So when Jason takes you to go tobogganing your less amused than an average kid should be

To be fair your not exactly and “average kid” with the whole magical girl powers and all

But still, he had expected a bit more enthusiasm and less confusion

Safe to say Jason is a bit like Dick realizing you never learned to skate

Though unlike Dick, Jason can acclimate as to why

Growing up in crime alley was a lot like your own childhood

But back then he had friends, other kids to play with in the snow

He knew what fun it could bring because of that but you didn’t

And he decides to try and fix that

So throwing you your snow boots and zipping up his coat he all but almost drags you out the manor

A sled in hand while Rigel curls up around you like a scarf

His boots thumping through the snow creating satisfying crunches

Wayne manor’s grounds were huge, and unknown to you was that it also had a hill

Like a proper hill hidden behind dead shrubbery and snow covered trees

Something Jason shows off with a proud smile

He sets up the sled as you admire the view

It looks more like something from one of those old 2 million dollar paintings kept in a private collection away from the public

You see Gotham dusted in snow, refracting light creating a diamond-like sheen across the city

Snow falling around framing the entire world

It’s pretty in a way you handy really seen before now took a moment to enjoy

“Hey! Hop on”

Turning around you see Jason on the sled patting the spot in front of him

With a small nod you slid into the spot, settled comfortably between his legs as he wretched his arms past you to grab the reigns

“Ready?”

His eyes shine and you see the faintest tinge of green mixed in blue

You nod grabbing the reigns as well

He smiles and scoots the sleigh to the edge

Letting gravity do the rest

The sleigh starts its descent down the hill, gliding across the snow picking up speed

It’s a bit bumpy

A bit scary

But you hear Jason yell in excitement and your voice joins his in symphony

Before crashing down to the bottom and falling off the sled into the snow nearby with a audible thump

Almost immediately your older brother searches but finds you laying face up in the snow with a smile

A laugh tumbling out your mouth all the while Rigel chitters in a similar manner

Jason flops down beside you

From the hill when you go back down again you see both his and your snow angels side by side

Gift wrapping

You couldn’t wrap for shit, that is something you knew very well when one year you tried

Keyword tried

To wrap up a present for Rigel with scraps of wrapping paper you found in a garbage somewhere

It looked more like a Picasso painting of a wrapped present than a present itself

But unlike wrapping presents you could tie bows

Something Tim couldn’t do

You’d seen him try for 30 minutes and it looked….well it looked bad

It looked like a snake strangled itself to death

Or a noose trying to hang itself

Plane and simple its atrocious

But combining your skills together you both are actually competent

So the two of you decided to team up to create the wrapping league

Even if said league was more like a duo than anything

And was less about end of the world scenarios and moreso just about competently wrapping gifts

But to be honest it’s just fun hanging out with Tim

He’s just someone who knows just about everything due to unlimited internet access

Which could be for better or the worst

But that’s either which way

Tim knows all the shows you talk about no matter how obscure

Apparently when Bruce was researching you Tim had convinced him watching all seasons of sailor moon was for research purposes

As was watching nearly half of all the pretty cure series

And madoka magica

And mew mew

And- you get the point

How he did this? Being delirious to the point Bruce just agreed to anything he wanted so long as he promised to sleep for a good 12 hours

And so for a week straight the home Wayne theatre was his for the taking

For “research” though to anyone who looked in it was mostly definitely for his own viewing

But because of that no matter what show you mention he has watched it

There’s no awkward explaining of the plot

Nor the fact midway through you’d typically stop since most by then would just awkwardly laugh and say they’ll check it out which was code word for “haha no that show sounds weird as shit and I won’t touch it with a 20 foot stick and your weird too stop talking already”

Tim has seen it already and passionately talk to you about it for half an hour straight with no breaks between either of you

Tim is unabashed in his interests

Whether that be 16th century poetry or the most obscure damn show on the internet he picked up for funsies

Tim can and will talk about anything

Andrew with passion too

There’s no awkwardness when you speak to him

It’s just a genuine conversation and interaction

He talks about his favourite episode and characters

His most hated

Favourite scenes or fights

Fan Theories and his own

It feels validating

Because you know he isn’t judging you

He’s just genuine

That’s a lot more than any present you wrap

Your not sure if he knows that though

By the time either of you have wrapped the presents neither of you know that partway in Alfred began to secretly wrap to give you both more time to talk

Opening presents

Christmas morning used to be a morning of quiet

You’d wake up with Rigel and make yourself a small meal and enjoy the day mostly relaxing or preparing for the night when you’d inevitably go out to kill Shadowmites

This years Christmas morning is very different though

Your awoken at 8 on the dot in the morning by Damien who’s standing at your bedside in what looked to be a hand knit sweater

Before you have time to wake up (especially since last night was long as hell) you have a similar sweater shoved in your face

It’s your favourite colour much like the stocking Alfred hand made

So it’s safe to assume he somehow had the time to knit this as well

The shimmery white yarn creating intricate patterns of snowflakes and bunnies frolicking in the snow

Still clad in pyjamas and throwing on the sweater Damien all but drags you from your room and through the long hallways

Feet only clad in socks slapping against the wooden floor

Exhaustion slowly leaving you when your handed a cup of hot chocolate by Alfred

And seeing the absolute mountain of presents stacked under the tree

It’s an mind blowing amount (at least to you)

A sea of patterned paper and bows gleaming under the chandelier light

Stockings stuffed to the brink above a already lit fire

Alfred waiting expectantly on a cushioned chair, old eyes lighting up when seeing the sweater your wearing

By now the others slowly start to trickle in

Bruce looking equally as tired as you in a silk robe topped off with a Christmas hat with a fake beard

Jason not too far behind pushing Dick and Tim out the way

Dick and Tim nearly eating shit on the carpeting because of Jason

Everyone wearing similar sweaters

During the ordeal of opening presents you hand out the ones you’d bought for everyone

A certain sense of satisfaction and nervousness flooding you as you watch their reactions

You’d gotten them many gifts for each but there was one main gift for each you’d spent some time finding (or in one case working on)

Somehow you’d gotten a first edition copy of Moby dick for Jason which resulted in your being thrown in the air and given a back breaking hug

For Dick you scrounged up old “flying Graysons” circus posters at a few vintage stores, somehow you’d gotten another reaction like Jason

In which you nearly ended up air-bound if not for Damien

Speaking of which, for Damien you called in a favour from Klarion for a duel gift to get a rare sapphire encrusted sword Al apparently lost a millennia ago

Apparently it was in some desert beneath 300 feet of sand

Tim got a vintage camera he’d been eyeing for a long time but hadn’t been able to find

For Bruce instead of buying him something you opted to make him something instead

Compared to some of the other gifts it’s simple but you made him a scrapbook with the help of Alfred

It complied everything from his adoption of Dick to you

Every page was themed and included things like dried flowers to old tickets and stickers according to theming

It’s a behemoth of a book

Practically took up 3 months of work when not busy with school or patrols or when Bruce wasn’t around

But it ends up being perhaps the most heartfelt gift of them all

Bruce hugs you?

It’s a weird thing, especially when you swear you almost see him cry

He holds you close to his heart

Alfred insisted you didn’t get him anything but you end up with a similarly handmade gift in the form of recipes written on parchment and bound together in a beautiful ribbon

When asked you simply say you got it from a friend, specifically Mrs.C

And then it comes time for your own presents

And it’s a bit overwhelming

So many boxes wrapped in elegant paper addressed to you

All tied together with pretty bows and streamers

Box after box is handed to you as Damien sits by your side

You’d haven’t even opened any yet and everyone is fighting amongst one another on who’s you should open first

When all of a sudden Damien reveals you’d already opened one

Much to everyone and your own confusion

Except for Alfred who smiles alongside the Al Ghul

Damien points to your sweater

And it sets in for everyone

Turns out he made the Christmas sweater

Not Alfred

When the butler was beginning work on yours Damien insisted he wanted to make it for you

So Alfred obliged and taught him how to knit through the past couple months and make the design

It explains the bunny’s on the sweater

Alongside why he one day came to you holding up several shades of yarn and asked which was your favourite before scurrying off somewhere

After that more presents are opened

Damien smirking and glaring with pride as Tim, Jason and Dick hand you more presents

Unsurprisingly a lot of it is magical girl based merchandise

Though it’s also mixed with a plethora of things like clothes, plushes, books and even some jewelry

From under the tree you even get gifts from a few justice league members

And you some from a few villains as well that Bruce explained stopped him last night and demanded be given to you since you were off duty this Christmas

Though by how you keep repeat rubbing your eyes it seems less like it

“You alright there?” Dick asks as he hands you another present from under the tree, another figurine to add to your growing collection

“Yeah, I’m really tired from last night” you explain rubbing the back of your neck making the rest of the family look at you in confusion

Jason speaks up first, “but you weren’t on patrol last night? We all told you to take Christmas off”

“I wasn’t on patrol…or at least a traditional one” you explain pulling up your phone, it was still weird getting used to this stupid thing. Too many apps and buttons for your taste.

“What exactly does that mean sister?” Damien prodded as you pulled up a picture on your phone.

Holding your phone up the rest of the family goes silent, there in picture form is you in a magical angel ensemble with a halo wings and all but it’s where you are that’s the most interesting. In the background of the picture is a bunch of reindeer attached to the vehicle you were in, the further most deer emanating a red light from its nose that helps light the way through the snow raining down from the heavens as the rest navigate overtop Paris and the Eiffel Tower.

The silence is broken when everyone but an unsurprised Alfred at the top of their lungs begin demanding answers to an obvious question.

????

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the enormous house not a peep was spoken not even a mouse

The family was out all but you, a little girl tucked asleep in her room

But by the stroke of midnight something a tap tap tap rattled you from your sleep

And by your window there stood a man on his sleigh

20 feet up in the air because your room was on the second story floor

A jolly man in red, the one and only Santa Claus tapped at your window and-

Yeah…enough with the rhyming stuff this is getting difficult

So yeah, last night imagine your surprise when you woke up to find Santa tapping on the glass of your window

The jolly iconic man in white and red waving you over to open it

When Santa entered through the window he sat down and asked for you help

Apparently the shadowmites were something even he couldn’t exactly deal with

And when he’s dealing with delivering presents it’s not exactly nice being knawed on by shadow creatures

So he implored your help to make sure Christmas went smoothly this year

And how could you say not to an offer like that

So transforming into your magical outfit you decided what you’d do for your theme

And picked an angel, specifically a snow angel based on the snow angels you’d made with Jason and the angel atop the Christmas tree

Because you’d be looking over everyone just as she did

And so you hopped on Santa’s sleigh and got to work with him delivering presents

Quite honestly delivering presents with St.Nick is quite a fun job

He’s warm and friendly, answering your questions and laughing with glee when explaining stories to you

The reindeer are equally friendly

On the occasionally breaks taken for cookies and milk you get to pet them

Rudolph affectionately booping his nose against your own or Cupid having you readjust her bows attacked to her antlers

A feat according to Santa was something few were allowed to do

And Rigel who sat in Santa’s shoulder

The two talking like old friends

Which implied that Santa was some sort of godly being like him

Which…honestly tracks of your honest

How else would he be able to do this in a single night?

Let alone the fact he had a magical bag containing all his gifts and letters

Along with a list that magically tells him if someone was good or bad within the span of a year

So yeah, safe to assume he’s some sort of god

Maybe like Alfred

Off into the night sky you go, taking a seat beside the gift giving man as he handed you his list to read aloud

A check mark beside a name signifying if they were good and a X for if they were bad

Most names you didn’t recognize as you expected

But a few make you pause

And makes you pull out from the magical bag beside you the gifts you’d been holding for said somebodies

Apparently the sack contained Santa’s gifts and the gifts of anyone during Christmas

Yours included

And Santa just laughs in joy when you ask if you could deliver your own presents as well

John Constantine nearly choked on his cigarette when you appeared at the house of mystery with Santa in tow

The living house shifting around the two of you as you climbed down the chimney with your gift in hand

He can only take it wordlessly before you and Santa climb back out like nothing happened, the house of mystery even creating bricks for proper footing on the way out

For the house you also leave a gift in the form of a pretty wreath for the door

A shudder waves back and forth as you both fly away

Klarion in his own personal realm before you and Santa came crashing in politely with a knock on an inter dimensional door

Because of you this year he somehow worked his way onto the good list

The bottom if the good list but still on it regardless

And thus got more than a chunk of coal for his efforts from Santa

Plus your gift to him of the limited edition 2016 discord and fluttershy figure

Later on in the night when you both fly past Clark he does a double take and seems like if he was Wondering if he was hallucinating

In Atlantis you leave a gift for Arthur under a Christmas tree shaped out of coral

Though themyscira doesn’t exactly celebrate you and Santa do leave a gift for Diana and some of the Amazonians

In Gotham beneath a small Charlie Brown Christmas tree you leave to Waylon a new heater plus Santa’s gift of a heated blanket

You leave something for Harley and Ivy plus some new toys for bud and Lou beneath their freshly grown Christmas tree

Santa even takes you off the planet to do a tradition of his that he did ever year

Aka giving coal to some guy called darkseid

He sounded vaguely familiar but besides Gotham villains you didn’t pay attention beyond that

Apparently he’s at the top of the bad list each year

You wait on the sleigh for when he delivers the coal

But watch as laser beams try to shoot you both down as Santa laughs at whoever shoots them

Even when the beams twist and turn and try to keep up before eventually stopping

But it’s eventually through most of the night that you realize something

There were barely any Shadowmites at all

At least not enough for Santa to be worried about and employ your help with

So it brings up the question, why were you brought on to help this year

And it’s a question the old man answers quite easily as you both sail through to the North Pole for a small pit stop

“Well young lady I thought I’d give you a bit more of different type of gift this year” the jolly old man explains rubbing his long white beard tangled with a few candycanes and cookie crumbs. His grin is unrivaled as is his moustache that’s curled like an old cartoon character, giving him a fun air of whimsy.

“What do you mean?” You end up asking, looking to him in confusion

He smiles, digging out his magic bag some letters that he hands to you. Each are from a different sender but almost all from Gotham, or surrounding area’s. When you read them you begin to understand. Each are addressed to Santa from numerous different people, some are kids, some adults, but all ask for one thing this Christmas, and it’s that you have an amazing Christmas this year. In each letter they detail how you saved them or helped them in some capacity, and that this year instead of a gift for themselves they wanted to give you something.

But that isn’t all, more letters begin to pour out the bag as the sleigh glides atop the Aurora borealis. More and more letters than you could count on your own, all detailing that they wanted you to have a merry Christmas. they fly past but you hear their contents as they fall into the green glow of the aurora which after a moment create phantom memories of the writers form, shimmery wistful versions of them made of greens and purples reading out their letters.

“Don’t think that I didn’t notice that every year you worked hard on Christmas just as I did” the old man tuts, patting your head before going back to guiding his reindeer “though the difference between you and me was Christmas spirit. Though, I can’t blame you for not having it considering circumstance. But year after year of those letters asking for you to have a good Christmas as their gift, and there wasn’t much I could give to do that. So what better to do than give you something a bit different instead? An experience can still be a gift can it not? Especially when it gives you the Christmas spirit you long missed out on”

What he says makes you pause, year after year implies that ever since you began being a magical girl he’d gotten letters asking for this one Christmas wish. And it was yearly that others asked for you to be happy during this holiday, you of all people.

You’d never really understood Christmas until that moment, and it hits you all at once

When you dry your tears into the soft red velvet of Santa’s coat he doesn’t say anything, he just holds you close saying that “you of all people on my list deserves a very merry Christmas ever year my dear”

“And that’s how I ended up exchanging recipes with Mrs claus and ended playing black jack with krampus” you explain showing more photos to your increasingly mortified family

“Well…I….you know what I don’t really know what to say to this” Bruce mutters completely stumped as the others don’t look like their faring any better

If they thought this was weird your not sure how your gonna explain meeting the personification of dreams named Morpheus and also befriending him

But maybe that was a bombshell for another time

#magical girl y/n #dc x reader #platonic #dc #batman x reader #dick grayson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #Tim Drake x reader #jason todd x reader #Damien Wayne X reader #alfred pennyworth #jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood #Tim Drake #nightwing x reader #Nightwing #damien wayne #bruce wayne

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mrpenguinpants · 1 month ago

Text

LORD GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE

— "I'm not here to disregard your hope, angel," the doctor says softly, their voice like a balm—calm and soothing, yet something about it unsettles him further. Sunday bristles at the nickname, his jaw tightening, but the doctor doesn’t pause. Their voice presses on, smooth and unyielding, like water slipping through cracks.

"I'm merely giving you a perhaps."

In the cold cell, another stranger visits Sunday.

— Sunday

[Masterlist]

Not me dredging up the remains of my HSR creativity juices to squeeze out a Sunday fic as an offering. This fic is literally one big meme disguised under 20 trench coats. Happy 2.7 everyone and good luck in your rolling!

Sunday does not slouch. His posture is as unyielding as his will, spine rigid as he awaits the inevitable. There is defiance in the tension of his muscles, an unspoken challenge to the forces that brought him here. He will not bow. They’ll have to drag him, force him, twist his broken neck to fit it through the guillotine’s hole. He imagines the hands that will do it trembling with effort as his ambition burns hotter than any fire they could wield against him.

But the cell is cold. Far colder than Sunday has ever experienced in his life on Penacony. The chill bites deeper than the winds of dead planets and even the defeat that landed him here. The stone walls seep an icy dampness, as though the prison itself is alive, drawing warmth and hope from its captives. How could it be that while reigning over this dreamful planet, bound to it only by misplaced duty, he has never felt so cold? His thoughts drift unbidden to Penacony's open skies, once a reminder of freedom now as unreachable as a distant star. A lingering dread whispers that it doesn’t matter. This chill feels personal, like a punishment carved into the very marrow of his existence. Even the chains binding him are crude, iron and purple venom biting into the skin that has never known injury, pushing past the small protection of his clothing. Every subtle shift sends fresh waves of pain radiating from his wrists, a sharp contrast to the numbness settling into his legs from the unmoving hours spent in the same position. The metal feels like it’s becoming a part of him, fusing with his flesh in a union of cruel irony. The air is no better. It's stale and stagnant, as though even time refuses to move forward in this forsaken space. Each breath feels thick and heavy with the scent of rust, decay, and despair. Sunday briefly wonders if the air has always felt like this around him. Has he been too preoccupied to notice?

His only hope, a fragile, fleeting sparkle, is that Robin will escape their hate. The idea of her, untethered and free, burns like a flicker of warmth in the ice-caked confines of his heart. If she survives, it will be enough.

“You only get five minutes. Be careful,” the guard’s gruff voice echoes from beyond the door, dripping with unease. The tension in the words is sharp enough to cut, underscoring a danger even they don’t fully understand, “We still don’t know if he still retains THEIR power in his voice. If he pulls you under, we can’t guarantee your safe passage out.”

Another guest? Again? Sunday’s lips curl into a faint wry and bitter line. It’s almost laughable. He’s already endured Lady Bonajade, the IPC’s well-polished substitute with her cloying charm that masked sharp fangs. Her diplomacy dripped with venom, thinly veiled promises woven into her words like poison-laced silk. He can still recall her presence heavy with expensive perfume and arrogance. If it’s that gambler next, with their cavalier smirk and penchant for empty bargains, perhaps Sunday will do them all a favor and ask for an expedited execution. Better to end this circus on his terms than dance further to their tune.

Who could they have sent this time to join him in this suffocating void?

The heavy door groans open, the sound grating against his ears. A slice of harsh light invades the cell, stabbing his eyes with unrelenting brightness. He squints reflexively, but it’s no use; the light feels like a blade carving through his defenses. Surrendering, he shuts his eyes tightly, the glow painting the back of his eyelids a fiery red as it burns into him. Then, as abruptly as it came, the light is swallowed when the door slams shut. Darkness reclaims the space, and he’s left adrift once more. Though this time he isn't alone. The shadows press closer, heavier, as though they’ve taken on a sentient weight. It’s not the barely above-satisfactory solitude he’s come to accept but a suffocating presence that lingers just outside his range. Sunday opens his eyes slowly, the dim light of the cell revealing the shape of... a doctor? The figure before him is unassuming, dressed in a pristine white medical coat that seems to glow faintly in the oppressive gloom. The sight doesn’t trigger any immediate alarm in Sunday’s mind, but that only deepens his unease. They stir no recognition, not from Penacony’s ever-shifting guest lists, nor from the IPC’s infamous rogues gallery. Whoever this person is, they carry no air of importance.

But no one sent to this place is ever what they seem. This stranger is either far more dangerous than they appear, their unassuming facade concealing power that could rival or even dwarf Miss Jade’s manipulations, or they are an ordinary person—an idea Sunday dismisses outright. No ordinary doctor would be granted access to this place, to him. In Penacony, there is no place for neutrality. There is no shortage of monsters who hide behind well-tailored costumes. Sunday would know; once, he wore such a mask himself. He doesn’t call out. He refuses to give them that satisfaction. They are not a guest but an uninvited visitor. So, he remains silent, his breath steady and measured, his posture unyielding. The figure shifts slightly first, their coat whispering against the still air. Their posture is calm, expression unreadable in the darkness, and yet Sunday doesn't feel threatened. No sense of being grounded into the dust under someone's thumb.

The wings at the sides of his head twitch, a brief flutter betraying his agitation.

For now, the stranger remains a mystery. Their gaze drifts lazily over him, studying every detail. Their eyes linger on the chains digging into his flesh and the halo above his head, its once-radiant light now reduced to a faint, erratic pulse of THEIR power. The stranger moves with maddening indifference, as though the ticking clock means nothing to them. Despite their limited time, they saunter, unhurried, as though they could stretch five minutes into five hours. Sunday meets their stare, unblinking, refusing to grant them the satisfaction of a reaction. To his irritation, the stranger smiles a slow, pleased curl of the lips that feels entirely too knowing, as if they’re privy to a secret he hasn’t yet uncovered.

"I'm quite sad that you lost,” they say at last, their voice soft, almost conversational as if they were discussing the weather rather than his downfall, “I think I would’ve enjoyed living indefinitely on a rest day.”

Their quiet laugh follows. A muted, understated sound that drifts through the stale air like smoke, curling and lingering in the space between them. Sunday doesn’t respond. The stranger’s tone, smooth as silk and disturbingly casual, grates against him. They sound exactly like Ms. Jade.

They want to use him yet have no courtesy to say please.

He replies flatly, his voice cold, “If you’re here to appeal to my ego, you should turn around now.”

The doctor chuckles softly again, a sound that feels too intimate for the sterile air of the cell, as if it belongs to a private moment and not this standoff. Without hesitation, they begin to circle him, their steps measured and deliberate, their gaze fixed on the faintly glowing halo above his head. Sunday feels the weight of their scrutiny, the way their eyes trace the gentle flicker of light as though searching for hidden truths. Yet, to his surprise—and mild unease—the halo remains steady, its weak pulses undisturbed by the stranger’s presence, as if indifferent to them entirely. He doesn’t move, his stillness a deliberate choice. His silence is his armor, and he wears it with practiced precision. But the doctor seems utterly unbothered, their serene demeanor bordering on infuriating. The chains biting into Sunday’s flesh, the damp chill that clings to the air, the oppressive darkness of the cell, none of it seems to bother them. As if they've been in this same position before. Instead, they hum softly, a tuneless, meandering sound, as if they were lost in thought rather than examining a chained prisoner. Their head tilts slightly as they move as if searching for something intangible, something that only they can sense. Each step carries a deliberate weight, each moment of their low, aimless hum digging under his skin like an itch he cannot reach. When they finally come to a stop, their eyes meet his once more. There’s a glint in them now, something quiet and unreadable. Sympathy? Understanding? Or perhaps, something more insidious, like pity disguised as interest.

“So,” they murmur, their voice almost gentle as the pure white coat they wear, “Have you accepted your burden of guilt?”

Sunday’s jaw tightens imperceptibly, the only sign of the tension building beneath his outward calm. There is no accusation in the doctor’s tone, just a quiet curiosity, its softness more insidious than any harsh reproach. It’s not meant to provoke, he realizes, but to probe. The question feels like an outstretched hand, seeking not an answer but an opening, a crack in the armor of his resolve. He scoffs, the sound sharp and derisive, cutting through the stillness. It’s not loud, but it carries weight, a dismissal. The faint light of the halo above his head flickers, its weak glow casting fleeting shadows across his face, deepening the sharp contours of his jaw and the unyielding steel in his gaze.

The doctor, however, doesn’t flinch. Their composure is maddening, as steady and immovable as stone. They tilt their head slightly, studying him as though his reaction is a puzzle, a piece of data to be cataloged and analyzed. The only betrayal of their reaction is a subtle twitch at the corner of their lips, a movement so small it could be missed, but Sunday sees it. He knows it for what it is: the beginnings of a smile. Not a full grin, not even an expression of amusement, but a faint, restrained elation that feels far too calculated. It’s the look of someone who has just confirmed something they already suspected. A twinge of annoyance kindles in Sunday, though he douses it immediately. He won’t crack, won’t falter under their probing gaze. If they expect him to stumble, they’ll be disappointed.

“Guilty? You’re mistaken.” Sunday’s voice burns through the stale air, steady and resolute. He straightens slightly, his chains clinking softly with the movement. The sound is faint, but it reverberates in the oppressive silence of the cell. “There is nothing to feel guilty about. I did what I thought was right.”

The words land like stones, heavy and unyielding, filled with a conviction he's cultivated and forged. Yet, despite his defiance, Sunday can’t shake the sense that something about the doctor has shifted. They almost seem proud, as if they're happy about Sunday's unremorseful response. Their silence stretches, unbroken, as though they are savoring his answer. The doctor’s eyes never leave his, unblinking, as if peeling back layers to see the truths buried beneath his words.

Finally, they tilt their head slightly, their voice soft but probing. “And yet, here you are. The path to Hell is paved with good intentions, Sunday. And you? You’ve committed enough sins to pave it twice over—more than enough to last a hundred lifetimes. Perhaps even a thousand. You’re certainly going to have a hard time atoning for them. Tell me, does being ‘right’ bring you peace?”

The words are sharp and deliberate, meant to sting, yet they lack the malice that would make them truly dangerous. There’s no fury in their expression, no glee in their cruel words. There’s no gleam of a scalpel in their hand, no syringe hidden in the folds of their coat. This isn’t the cold, clinical sadism of someone ready to dissect his body or tamper his blood. No, this doctor is not here with the tools of physical torment. The doctor’s presence looms over him, palpable, like a weight settling into the stale air of the cell. He feels it—the pressure of an unspoken expectation, like a string pulled taut between them. He can sense it in the way they watch him, the way they wait. There’s only one answer they are fishing for, the one that will justify whatever lies ahead, whatever they plan to do to him next. The cold yet whimsy nature of their approach mirrors something he knows all too well, he just experienced it an hour prior. Miss Jade had played the same game, her words sharp but veiled, wrapped in the trappings of diplomacy. She had presented accusations like a ledger of business transactions, always with that smile of hers, so polished, so perfect, a lure. And when Sunday had refused to take the bait, she had simply smiled and said she could wait.

He’s not afraid of their games. They can play all they want, but they’ll get nothing from him. His silence is his shield, just as it was with Miss Jade. The doctor can wait too. He knows better than to speak too quickly.

But Sunday is so, so tired. Tired of these people and their endless games. Tired of their riddles, their insidious questions designed to unravel him piece by piece. Tired of their quiet cruelties, masked with words that sound too polite to be anything other than weapons. They think they can break him like this—one question at a time.

It all feels like waiting for the guillotine to fall.

“The one who will decide if I am guilty of my sins is not you, nor any other mortal,” Sunday says, his voice steady. The weight of his words fills the small cell, challenging the doctor's expectant gaze. “I have lived my life according to my beliefs, and I stand by every decision I have made. If THEY deem me unworthy, then so be it. I will accept THEIR judgment with humility.”

Sunday keeps his posture firm, unbowed, his muscles tense, as if preparing for a blow that might never come. He steels himself, accepting that what comes next is inevitable, like the guillotine poised above him. His hands clench into fists, but they remain steady, unshaken by whatever may come. He has nothing more to offer. If his words do not satisfy them, they can leave. He will not grovel, will not entertain their games any longer. He closes his eyes for a moment, retreating inward. His thoughts are calm and resolute, as though his body and mind are two separate entities, perfectly still. The waiting has become familiar now, a grim ritual he has endured countless times before. In the end, they will act, or they won’t. It no longer matters.

The doctor does not respond immediately. They remain still, a silent specter. The only sound is the faint rustle of their coat as they shift slightly.

And then, the doctor’s hand comes to rest lightly on his shoulder.

The touch is not harsh or commanding, but it is deliberate. A quiet, calculated assertion of presence. Despite the sudden gesture, Sunday does not flinch. Still, the cold weight of their hand lingers, sending a subtle unease coursing through him. It is not physical pain, but something deeper—a sensation of being measured in a way that makes him feel exposed despite the darkness.

It is not the guillotine. But it feels no less final.

"I'm not here to disregard your hope, angel," the doctor says softly, their voice like a balm—calm and soothing, yet something about it unsettles him further. Sunday bristles at the nickname, his jaw tightening, but the doctor doesn’t pause. Their voice presses on, smooth and unyielding, like water slipping through cracks.

"I'm merely giving you a perhaps."

The hand on Sunday’s shoulder squeezes briefly, firm enough to remind him of its weight, before withdrawing. The absence feels oddly pronounced, a phantom pressure that lingers even as the doctor moves. Standing before him now, framed by the faint, pale light from his flickering halo, their smile is gentle. Yet it does nothing to soften the unease that coils in Sunday’s gut. The doctor’s gaze, steady and piercing, seems to strip him bare, as though it peers through flesh and bone and into the very fabric of his soul. Sunday feels exposed, and vulnerable, as if the very walls of the cell have dissolved, leaving him standing alone in front of a vast, uncharted abyss. Yet he meets that abyss head-on, as he always has. He has lived in the dark long enough for its weight to feel familiar. Fear had been a companion of his youth, a shadow he had learned to outrun. Now, it is a distant memory.

The doctor’s tone sharpens, each word precise and deliberate, as they step closer. Their eyes never leave Sunday’s—dark, enigmatic, like deep pools where the bottom remains hidden no matter how far one leans to peer in.

“You’re an ordinary person, Sunday. A man, just like the rest of us,” they continue, their voice low but cutting, each syllable landing with unnerving clarity. “And everything around you, everything you once believed in, is falling apart. You can see that, can’t you?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication, settling on Sunday’s shoulders like a weight he cannot shrug off. Their gaze drills into him, unrelenting, and for a fleeting moment, the hum of his halo grows louder, almost as if reacting to the tension. Yet Sunday does not waver. He meets their stare, unblinking, though his jaw tightens as the words burrow deep, hitting a nerve he’s tried desperately to protect.

“Your ideals, your mission, all of it is gone. Nothing but shattered dreams, scattered like dust in the wind.”

The doctor’s smile stretches wider, but it holds no comfort, no reassurance—only a wet chill that seeps into the cracks of the words they weave. The pools in their eyes seem to deepen further, the ripples folding in on themselves, twisting into a current that spirals downward into unseen depths.

“And now you’re faced with a choice. A tough one. One that will define what little you have left. Will you continue to try and burn as bright as a little star, shining alone in the dark, fragile, flickering, doomed to fade away when the inevitable cold comes?”

The pause that follows is deliberate, the stillness amplifying the weight of their words. The water is starting to overflow, spilling past the rim, lapping at the wood and kindling that's kept Sunday alive from the harsh winter.

“Or will you choose to become something greater? A planet. Cold, distant, unmoving—but vast. A foundation. A force. Unstoppable."

The doctor steps back slightly, letting the weight of the decision settle. The water slowly retreats yet still surrounds him on all sides. The stillness stretches again, the words sinking into the space between them. The doctor tilts their head, studying Sunday’s expression as if searching for the faintest crack in his defiance. Their final words fall like stones into the darkness. “The star may dazzle, but it is the planet that builds. Which will you be?”

The silence that follows is thick, and suffocating, as Sunday’s mind races. The words hang in the air, their weight crushing, each one a reminder of the choice he must make. The doctor watches him with that same unnervingly calm expression as if they know exactly what Sunday is going through. They’ve seen it before, the internal struggle, the battle between the remnants of pride and the pull of cold reality. Sunday’s jaw tightens, his fists clenching at his sides. He wants to resist, to reject the notion that he has to choose between these two bleak paths. He wants to believe in the ideals he once held, to believe in something greater than survival. But the truth gnaws at him. The world has already rejected him. His dreams are shattered.

But have they really?

“The world has fallen apart. People like you, like me... we don’t have the luxury of holding onto idealistic dreams anymore. The reality is harsh and unforgiving. You can either fight to keep burning out, or you can accept that the world has moved on and adapt. Become something that doesn’t need to rely on hope. Become something that will outlast it all,” they pause, their eyes narrowing slightly as if waiting for Sunday to come to his conclusion. “So, Sunday... will you hold onto your dying star, or will you choose the cold, inevitable truth of being something greater?”

Sunday sits motionless, the weight of the doctor’s words pressing down on him like a mountain. The cell is silent, save for the faint hum of his halo and the rustling of the doctor's coat as they wait. His mind spins in a desperate frenzy, struggling to piece together some semblance of resistance, some last thread of hope. But the doctor’s words have struck too deep. He feels them in his bones, in the places where his ideals once lived. A small, bitter laugh escapes him, but it’s hollow, devoid of any real amusement.

“A planet,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Cold, unfeeling, and distant... But it endures. Doesn't it?”

“It shapes the world around it, whether it wants to or not. It doesn’t fade into nothingness. It stands firm, no matter the storm," the doctor easily agrees. Sunday can feel the pull of the doctor’s words, like a gravity he can’t escape. The halo above his head hums softly, as if reacting to the intensity of the moment, vibrating with the tension building inside him. He looks up at the doctor then, eyes narrowing, his gaze hardening. The chains on his wrists shift slightly as he stands straighter, every fiber of his being screaming with the desire to reject what’s being offered. He wants to defy it, to shout that he won’t become that thing, that lifeless entity, that thing the doctor’s trying to turn him into. But he knows, deep down, that the fight is slipping from his hands. He's so tired. The idealism he clings to, the belief that there’s something worth saving, something worth fighting for, feels more fragile with each passing second.

What would Robin think?

The doctor’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, soft but insistent. “I know it’s a difficult one. But the world won’t wait forever. You have to choose: a flicker that will vanish in the next gust of wind or a force that will remain, unchanged, no matter the storm.”

Sunday’s fists tighten again, his knuckles white. “I never asked for this,” he mutters, more to himself than to the doctor.

“No one asks for it,” the doctor responds smoothly, “but the truth remains. The world has no room for weakness, for those who cling to ideals that no longer have meaning. What matters now is what you choose to become. You can keep trying to burn as a star, but that won’t stop the darkness. Or you can let go and rise, like a planet, indifferent to the storms around you. You'll be alive to try again."

Sunday closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of his halo pressing against his skull, the faint hum like a heartbeat in his ears. He can feel it. This tug, this pull, deep inside him. The pull to embrace this cold, inevitable truth, to give up the battle and accept what the doctor is offering. There’s something comforting about it. Something that promises survival. The question still hangs in the air, like a blade poised above him. He’s running out of time. His heart beats louder now, thudding in his chest as he realizes—he may not have a choice at all.

Slowly, he exhales, his breath shaky, but his voice is steady when he finally speaks. “And if I choose the planet... what then?”

The doctor’s smile widens, a gleam of something darker lurking behind it. “Then you will embrace the power that comes with it. You will shape the world as you see fit. You will no longer be bound by the past. The future will be yours to command. No more waiting, no more being preyed upon. You will become the force that others bend to. And you will never have to feel the sting of hope again.”

The words are tempting, soothing, like cool water to a burn he never knew was there. Sunday’s pulse quickens. His breath comes more shallow now, as the weight of the decision presses down on him. For a moment, he simply stands there, lost in the quiet hum of his halo, feeling the coldness creep up his spine. He’s so, so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of waiting, tired of being crushed by the weight of his choices. He can feel himself sinking deeper into that black water.

“You are Sunday. The man who almost became an Aeon, only for it all to fall apart. The dream of a world free from the harshness of reality cannot comfort you down here. Not anymore. Right now, you are alone.”

No. That's not true. It's not-

Their words scrape against him. The mention of the Aeon—of his failed rise—stirs something deep within him. The memory of what he almost was, the power he almost held, flashes in his mind like a fading echo. For a moment, he feels the ache of that loss, the hollow sting of what could have been. But just as quickly, he shoves it down. That doesn't matter anymore. Three footsteps echo through the cell, slow and deliberate, the sound amplified by those previous words. Before Sunday can react, he feels the faintest pressure, arms wrapping around his neck in a cold, hollow imitation of a hug. The touch is freezing, sinking through his skin and into his very bones. It makes his muscles tense, his breath catching for just a moment. It is not the warmth of an embrace but something far more alien, far more wrong. The doctor’s voice comes next, soft and intimate, a whisper so close it brushes against his ear.

“But it’s okay,” they murmur, their tone almost tender. “We can be alone together.”

The words, as quiet and soothing as they are, carry a weight that sinks into Sunday’s chest. There’s something deeply unsettling about the doctor’s closeness, their coldness wrapped around him, suffocating him with an intimacy that has no place here. The promise of shared isolation is chilling in its own right, an offer too twisted to accept. Sunday’s muscles tighten instinctively, the discomfort gnawing at his composure. The prickling sensation that crawls up his spine cannot be ignored. This is not a comfort. This is a reminder of his solitude, his isolation, twisted into something almost mocking. His heart beats just a little faster, and he fights the urge to shudder. The doctor’s words echo in his mind, lingering in the empty space like an unsettling shadow. He knows now, that this is not a game. This is something far more dangerous.

"The dream of the Order has dissipated," the doctor says, their voice calm, almost mournful. They run their hand through his hair, almost like a mother attempting to soothe their child. "Yet there are still those who will not relinquish their original intent. To the traveler whose wings were clipped…" Their head tilts slightly, the words deliberate and heavy. "Whereto shall your footsteps lead?"

The air in the room feels heavier now, charged with the energy of the decision that’s been made. A faint vibration courses through the halo above Sunday’s head, a subtle tremor of something. Its light pulses unevenly, responding to the storm of his emotions. Sunday’s lips press into a thin line, his jaw tightening as the words settle over him. The air thickens, and for a moment, the world outside the cell feels distant, as if the very walls are closing in. His mind races, skimming the edges of memories he’s long buried, of battles fought and lost, of promises broken by those who swore loyalty. His fingers twitch slightly, the chains around his wrists clinking softly. The doctor’s question lingers, floating in the air like a thread ready to be tugged, pulling him toward some deeper hole. The halo above him flares briefly, its light flickering erratically as if responding to the emotion rising in his chest. Sunday’s eyes narrow, just enough to show his growing irritation.

He’s had enough—enough of the chains, the suffocating cell, the endless waiting for a sentence that looms but never falls.

“Then… I choose,” Sunday says, his voice low but wavering. The doctor’s smile deepens, and they step back, giving him space to breathe, to make the final step. Yet close enough to loom over him, their invisible shadow smothering him. "I choose..."

And most of all, he’s had enough of these strangers—these meddling interlopers who waltz into his prison with their veiled words, cryptic challenges, and their insufferable, thinly disguised disdain. His patience is gone, frayed to the breaking point. When he speaks, his voice remains deceptively calm and steady, but the smoldering flicker of anger in his gaze has become unmistakable—a faint ember flaring into a wildfire. “Neither. I am not some helpless bird without purpose. I have always chosen my own path, and I will continue to do so—even in penance."

The hum of his halo surges, vibrating louder in the cell, an electric pulse that reverberates against the walls and into the rocks and sand. The sound is raw, and primal, matching the rage that courses through him. His fist swings, a blind, furious arc toward where the doctor stood a moment ago, but the space is empty. Of course, it is. The doctor has already moved, slipping away as though they had expected this—no, wanted this. Their entire presence feels like a calculated provocation, an engineered storm. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his muscles coiled and aching from the violence of his strike. His eyes burn as they sweep the cell, searching for the shadow that dares to mock him with their calm detachment. The pounding of his heart is deafening in his ears, a counterpoint to the relentless thrum of the halo above his head. Anger courses through him, sharp and unrelenting, demanding action, demanding release. The weight of his declaration hangs in the air, heavy despite being simple words he’s repeated in his mind countless times. Yet, they feel different now—sharper, more potent—carried on the air for another to hear. He doesn’t feel strange letting them out, even though doing so feels oddly like exposing something raw and unguarded. Sunday doesn’t know what comes next, but he knows this: the small flicker of his old self is fading, and something else—something more unyielding—is beginning to rise. In contrast, the doctor hums again, their voice eerily in sync with the faint vibrations of Sunday’s halo. The resonance feels deliberate like an unspoken language only they understand. The sound threads through the space between them, burrowing under his skin. Their gentle smile lingers, unshaken, as though they had been expecting his answer—or perhaps even orchestrating it. The way their gaze rests on him feels less like scrutiny and more like careful calculation, their expression distant yet unnervingly focused, as though assembling a puzzle only they can see. Sunday’s fingers flex against the chains that bind him, the faint creak of metal grounding him as time stretches unnaturally. He wonders, not for the first time if the allotted five minutes have passed. It feels like far longer, the oppressive air in the cell distorting the flow of moments into something alien and unrecognizable. Finally, the doctor’s smile shifts into that soft, almost imperceptible, but undeniably there smile. It’s not a smile of triumph, nor one of satisfaction, but something more elusive. Almost… admiring.

“No...no, you are not some caged bird,” the doctor murmurs, bringing their hand up to feel the vibrations of their voice through their lips, the words rolling out with finality. As if they're talking to themselves rather than him. Then, suddenly, the air lightens. The weight that had hung between them vanishes as if it had never existed at all. The water recedes, growing calm and quiet, as though it was never trying to drown him in the first place. The doctor's smile becomes unexpectedly kind, even a little silly. It's disorienting—this sudden change from the sharp, probing presence to something almost affectionate. They step a little closer, their expression now open, becoming someone simply offering comfort rather than delivering an execution.

"I'm glad," they say, voice lighter, warmer now. Even the light in their eyes has returned, "When I heard Ms. Jade had come to speak with you, I was worried you would accept her offer. I’d hate to see you make the same mistake as the others. After all, you’ve been alone long enough, haven’t you?”

The change is subtle but undeniable—the sharp edge in their demeanor has dulled, replaced by an almost maternal kindness, as if they're genuinely concerned, even protective. Sunday feels the shift, though he can’t fully understand it. The calm in their presence is unsettling, and yet, for a moment, it feels less like manipulation and more like... care. A care that feels strange coming from someone who only moments before seemed intent on breaking him. Sunday's muscles remain tight, still coiled from the tension that had just been released. His mind races, trying to decipher the sudden shift in the doctor's demeanor. The warmth in their voice, the ease in their smile—it feels foreign, out of place. He’s been surrounded by manipulation and false kindness long enough to know better than to trust a sudden change. But the doctor’s presence is no longer suffocating. There is no sharpness in the air, no tension laced into their every word. It's almost... normal. And that’s what unnerves him the most. He takes a slow breath, pushing the unease back down, and forcing his body to relax, though his mind remains wary.

“Alone?” He repeats the word, tasting it on his tongue as if it might reveal something deeper. The doctor’s gaze doesn’t waver, holding his attention with that same unsettling steadiness.

“Yes,” they nod, “Alone. You’ve been isolated long enough to start thinking your only options are escape or destruction.”

They step back, creating just a little more space between them, “But that’s not all that’s left, Sunday. You don’t have to keep fighting against the tide, drowning in the same thoughts over and over. There’s another way. You don’t have to be the only one holding yourself up.”

They turn slowly, their coat trailing behind them, their presence still palpable even as they begin to walk away. Sunday’s gaze follows them, his chest tight with a mixture of uncertainty and something else he can’t quite name. The hum of his halo pulses faintly in his ears, but the oppressive stillness of the cell settles back in, thick and heavy. The doctor pauses at the door, their hand resting on the cold metal, and turns their head just enough to meet Sunday’s eyes once more.

“I’ll leave you with this. What you do with it is up to you. I know you won’t make it easy, Sunday, but I hope you will come to visit sometime. Perhaps even later today if you're feeling generous?" the doctor laughs lightly at their joke yet it carries a weight that lingers. The doctor slides a sleek paperslip colored in a luminous palette of metallic gold and red out of their pocket. The top section of the paperslip is adorned with geometric and circular designs, with small circular holes on the bottom line. A subtle rainbow light emanates from its edges and central emblem.

It's a train ticket. It flutters in the wind, landing gently on top of his hand.

And with that parting gift, they step through the door, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the empty space. The door clicks shut with a finality that feels too real, too absolute. Sunday remains still, the silence pressing down on him like the weight of an unspoken truth. The offer- no - the perhaps lingers in the room, intangible but undeniable, swirling in the corners of his mind. The weight of his decision, of what comes next, rests heavily on his shoulders. His fingers curl around the ticket, shining brightly in the middle of his palm. The choice, the path he will take, is entirely his. The possibility of something other than solitude, other than endless struggle, hangs in the air like a question he has yet to answer. But for now, there is only silence and the slow, steady pulse of his halo, waiting for him to make his next move.

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