Page 6 of Immortal Bonds

Heck, maybe this guy was one of the people looking for a spot. Creighton didn't know and was really confused as to why he even cared.

He shook his head and was about to move on when the man started to put on a show, what could only be described in its most basic form. Magic sparked from his hands and wove around him in the crowd that had gathered. They oohed and clapped happily any time the sparks grew in size or speed.

It was mesmerizing. Creighton could very much acknowledge that. But it was also odd — very braggadocious of this man to just perform magic out on the street. They might have been in San Noctis proper, where there weren't many humans around, but you still had to be careful.

And what if someone didn't want to see magic just out and about? You had phobias and allergies.

He nearly laughed at himself. An allergy to magic, really.

Creighton pushed away any and all thoughts about the man as he turned towards the shop. Whoever he was, he could continue to dance for attention on the street with his magic. He wasn't for Creighton. That was for sure. Anyone who enjoyed performing like that was far and away not his type of person.

He made it to his shop rather quickly, despite how busy things were. The place was tucked away between two other very busy stores. Sometimes people walked past his door and didn't even realize he was there. Creighton loved when that happened. He had more than enough orders online to keep him busy, so he didn't technically need the storefront.

But some things from his past were ingrained in him, like the need, or rather, the belief that if you didn't have something physical to show your work, then it wasn't real. And yes, digital had grown epically; however, if anyone from his past life were to see him, they would mock him had he not had a real store.

Creighton hated the idea of anyone finding him in San Noctis. He didn't want those memories. And part of him hated that he had folded to their ways by continuing to live the way they would have wanted.

One day he would truly find his way out. Then he could absolutely not have to deal with anyone else's expectations and the memories of people he didn't like.

Inside his shop, he turned on the lights and flipped the sign to open. He moved around the store, shuffling the few stuffies he had out so that they were the most presentable. The dragons were always big sellers, of course, given where they were. Wolves were pretty popular too. And he got the occasional request for fairies and Fae, and even a human or two, which was never fun given all the details that went into those.

At the end of the day, it paid his bills. And if his favorite thing to make wasn't something he offered others, then that just meant he got to keep it all.

He reached down into his bag and squeezed the Gnome stuffy he had on a key ring attached inside. It soothed him, as it always did, acting as a grounding tool. He slipped his bag off and put it in his office in the back.

With nothing specific on his to-do list, he did one last check of the store and then grabbed the material for one of his orders waiting in the queue. This one was a request for another dragon. This one, though, was meant to have rainbow polka dots, and it was for a cute little girl who had been born fairly recently to one of the families he had served since his arrival in San Noctis. They had purchased dozens of stuffies from him through the years. While they were all for children, it didn't hurt that they were such prominent figures and had influence over others. His business boomed, and he never once complained about having to make yet another dragon.

He knew that when the shop closed and he had time to himself, he would work on what he wanted. Looking over at the half-finished Gnome in the work-in-progress bucket he kept, he smiled. This one was bigger than he usually did. He wanted it to be a pillow he could sleep with, something to cuddle. He wanted a big, soft place to land.

For some reason that idea brought forth the man he had seen in the road, the one who'd been bragging to everyone and showing off. I bet he would be a good cuddler, Creighton thought to himself. He froze at the thought, his sewing machine stopping abruptly. He almost cursed because the dang thing was so picky. He didn't want to mess up the project he was working on.

Thankfully he hadn't.

He still couldn't shake his thoughts away, though. The man had a grip on him. Had the magic been some type of hypnosis? Was everyone who saw it affected? Is that how he got people into his bed?

Creighton felt an overwhelming sense of anger at the idea. Not at being duped, which is what he should have felt. He didn't like the idea of other people going to bed with the man. His jaw started to ache from how tightly he clenched it, and his muscles were bunched. He knew he wouldn't get anything done in that state.

He took a moment to close his eyes and breathe in and out slowly. Then he did what he should have done when he arrived at work that morning and went to his closet where he kept all his favorite Gnome-related items. He pulled out the slippers and blanket and took them over to his chair.

Thankfully, his desk was covered on one side, so he was able to kick off his shoes and slip his feet into the slippers and throw the blanket over his lap. Anyone who came in would just see a man working at a sewing machine surrounded by stuffed animals. They wouldn't know about his obsession, about his wonder, about how he enjoyed being Little.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed from where he'd placed it on the table. He slowed the machine back down and looked over, smiling when he saw who it was from.

Tell me about your morning. I'm sure you've been at work for a while now.

The text was through an app he had gotten on a whim one night. After talking to a client, he'd let it slip that he was interested in having a Daddy like his client had, and they had suggested an app for him to meet a partner.

It was supernatural only, which helped his worry over things. The one person he actually felt a connection with and worth continuing talking to lived far, far away. The bonus of that was what kept him replying. It's what kept him answering each message and engaging, sharing bits of himself he never would have done had the person been closer.

Picking up the phone, he responded: I actually haven't. I overslept this morning and got a late start. Then the café was busy, and I got distracted on my way out. I just got started. But my coffee's good, and I have a blanket.

That's good, boy. Which blanket? Send me a picture.

For a moment he froze, because he'd been really careful not to let it slip how much he loved Gnomes to his kind-of, sort-of Daddy. The man did boss him around, and he enjoyed it. Both of them did, from the conversations they had, and it was all consensual.

Yet for some reason, despite all the talk about pacifiers and diapers and being made to eat certain foods, he had not shared this part of himself. He had not let his guard down.

Carefully, he eased his chair back and took a picture of his lap, adjusting the blanket so that it was only partially visible. He had to wait a while for a reply, which sometimes happened with the man. But instead, he got multiple texts back-to-back, several with emojis and gif reactions. And then finally words that made his heart race.