#BUT IT'S NOT ECHOES MY ORBS ARE SAFE!

[aperrywilliams]

Has a Nice Ring to It (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Wife!BAU!Reader.

Request: Hi, I would like to request one where the reader and Spencer adopt a 4-year-old boy that they rescued in a case.

Summary:  It's pretty much the same as the request says, but focused on how they met with the boy and took the decision to adopt him.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Hurt/comfort and angst with a happy ending. CM typical stuff, murder, unsubs, death of relatives, orphancy. Pregnancy and adoption are discussed. I don't know how the adoption system works in the US, so bear with me.

A/N: I loved the request. Dad!Spencer lives rent-free in my mind. Tell me your thoughts.

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‘(Y/N)? What's your location and status? I repeat, what's your location and status?'

Hotch's voice echoes through your earpiece, but you are not able to speak. Not when the scenario in front of you is so overwhelming.

Although in your eight years working at the BAU, you have seen the most horrendous things one human being can do to another, from time to time, some cases can still paralyze you.

Like now.

As you look around, you can only think of the terrible minutes those who lived in this home must have gone through when the unsub forced its way in.

But something snaps you out of your stupor, and it's not Hotch's voice shouting in your ear; it's the sound of sobs.

The sobs of a child.

You take off your earpiece to get a better notion of where the sound is coming from, and you notice that at the back of the room, there is a closet with its door closed.

You quickly run over there and open the door, only to find a little boy sitting on the floor, hugging his knees and with teary eyes. When he looks at you, you can see the shock and fear in his eyes. The little one must be four years old at most. It breaks your heart to see him like this, but it immediately makes you go into alert mode again. You holster your gun first so as not to scare the kid.

"Hey, sweetheart. It's okay. My name is (Y/N), and I'm a cop. Everything is okay. You're safe," you tell him with a reassuring voice and kind eyes while you crouch to get to his level.

His hazel orbs are glued to your form as he blinks a few times.

Before you can talk again, he launches to wrap his little arms around one of your legs. With an arm, you hug him back as you block his view of the room with your body. He doesn't need to see the same you did as you got there.

"I've got you, sweetheart. You're okay," you repeat him as you put on your earpiece again. "I'm in the master bedroom. No unsub, but I found the kid," you murmured into the com.

Yet crouched, you lean back to look at the boy. "I'm gonna get you out of here now, okay? But I need you to keep your eyes on me until we get outside. Can you do that for me?"

The kid nods timidly. Removing your FBI jacket, you take him in your arms, covering you both with it as you make your way out. A bunch of agents enter the room at the time, but you keep your eyes on the boy, using your peripheral vision to keep walking and not fall.

Spencer is waiting for you at the base of the stairs. Concern is visible on his face when he sees you coming down with a child. When you reach the first floor, you withdraw the jacket that covers both of you.

"Good job, honey," you say to the boy with a smile. And then you briefly exchange a knowing look with Spencer. He nods, and you continue your way out of the house with the kid in your arms.

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It turns out the child, named Elliot, is the son of the unsub's two recent victims. Unsub that you have been chasing all over DC for three days now.

You get confirmation of this information from Garcia by phone as the EMTs are checking Elliot in an ambulance parked outside the house where you found him.

It's still unclear what really happened inside. Still, it's likely Elliot's mom hid him in the closet before the unsub got upstairs. You don't know for sure because the little boy hasn't said a word to anyone yet.

And although it's heartbreaking, you know you have to make him talk about what he saw and heard.

Hotch, a few meters apart, beckons you to approach. 

"I'll be right back, okay?" You say to Elliot. But as you're about to step away from him, he starts crying and grabs your sleeve so you don't go. You look at your boss, confused as to what to do, and Hotch nods, showing you his cell phone, a sign that he'll text or call you so you don't have to leave Elliot's side.

A ping of your phone signals a text from Hotch.

'We need to know what he knows. You'll ride with him to the quarters. Spencer is going to drive you.'

You think it's reasonable due to the rapport it seems you already have with the boy.

"It's okay, Elliot. I'm not leaving you. But we need to go to another place now, okay? So we can be more comfortable. It's getting cold here," you point it out as the reason why you need to leave and not because he needs to be questioned. 

A faint 'okay' escape from the boy's lips, and it's the first word you hear him say. And a lump forms in your throat, acknowledging the vulnerability of that little human being.

From the corner of your eye, you see Spencer getting closer, presumably having talked to Hotch.

"Elliot, this is Spencer. He will drive us to a comfy place. He is a good friend and will take care of us," you announce.

"Hi, Elliot," Spencer says as he waves.

"Hi," the child murmurs as he waves back.

The ride to the station starts mostly quiet. You are in the back seat with little Elliot as Spencer drives. From time to time, he looks at you both from the rearview.

Spencer knows you are trying to come up with a strategy to talk to the child, so he takes the lead in doing the small talk to give you some insights.

"So, Elliot. Can I ask you a question?" Spencer starts, and the kid perks his head up and nods, with a 'yes' slipping from his lips.

"What is your favorite food?"

The boy pouts a bit while contemplating his response. "Pizza," he decides. "I like pizza."

"Pizza is cool," Spencer agrees. "Would you like some now? I can stop by and get one," Spencer offers.

"With ham?" Elliot quirks an eyebrow questioningly.

"If you like ham, then ham it is."

"I like ham and tomatoes," he adds. Spencer smiles.

"Did you know pizza with ham and tomatoes is (Y/N) 's favorite?" Elliot's gaze turns to you, asking for confirmation. You nod, backing Spencer's statement. A timid smile crosses Elliot's face, and you could have melted right then and there.

Spencer continues asking the boy little questions; that's how you know he likes airplanes, his favorite color is green, and he prefers Hulk over Ironman.

At the BAU, you head with Elliot to one of the meeting rooms—the most little and cozy so that the boy could settle in a less intimidating environment. Spencer follows you back, stopping by to grab from Garcia the pizza box and drinks he asked her for earlier.

"Here it is. Pizza with ham and tomatoes. I got some drinks, too," Spencer announces, placing everything on the table. He knows you have to talk to Elliot about what happened in the house, so he suspects you need privacy with the kid. He stops at the door and looks at you. You stand to approach him while Elliot is occupied with a slice of pizza.

He grabs your hand and, after kissing it lovingly, gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"You're doing good. It's for the better. He trusts you. We need to catch the guy."

It's just what you need to hear. You're still unsure about the whole situation, and Spencer, as always, can see it. Your husband of two years can read you like a book, and it's not because of his profile skills. You both have been through a lot together in the years of working together, being friends at first and then as a couple.

You nod, and Spencer kisses you on the cheek before letting you alone with Elliot.

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It's shocking the wretched details that a 4-year-old's mind can retain and still see the world innocently. In some way, you're grateful Elliot can't understand everything that's happening around him.

You pass the information he gives you on to the team to improve the profile and get better clues about how to catch the guy. Spencer was right; Elliot trusts you, and that's why you feel responsible for his well-being. After tiring hours, he falls asleep on the couch, where you tuck him in and watch him sleep.

Spencer peaks into the room. He wants to talk with you.

You leave the little one sleeping while you go out and leave the door half open.

"You need a break. You hadn't eaten or slept in hours."

"I'm okay," you say flatly. Spencer raises an eyebrow. "I can't leave him, Spence. You know that."

"Baby, I know you're worried for him, but you need to take care of yourself too. I can stay with him for a couple of hours."

You know Spencer is right, but you don't want to admit it. Instead, you try to change the subject.

"Did Garcia locate any relatives?"

Spencer sighs. He knows the answer to your question, and it's not a good one.

"There is literally no one in his family except those who were in the house: his parents and an aunt. There is a distant cousin, but she lives in Sweden, and she doesn't even know his existence. And even if she wanted, she could not do the adoption procedures because she lost her American nationality."

That means Elliot will fall into the system, waiting for someone to adopt him. You don't even know how to respond to the news. They are devastating and break your heart.

Spencer looks at you with concern.

"Are you okay?" your husband cautiously asks, although he knows the answer from the look you return to him. It's a look that says, 'I'm not okay, and there is nothing I or you can do about it right now.'

In silence, he envelops you in a tight embrace that you reciprocate, hiding your face in his chest.

"I'm sorry," you mumble after some minutes. Spencer leans back to look at you.

"Why are you saying sorry?"

"Because I should be working my ass right now to catch the son of the bitch who did that to his parents," you pause to control the anger that starts bubbling inside of you. "Instead of being a mess and useless here."

Spencer cups your cheeks so you can look at him.

"Hey, don't say that. You are doing even more than it is expected from our job here. You are the only one Elliot has talked to about what happened, and it has given us solid leads. Beyond that, you are helping him, caring about him, and being by his side in this horrible time."

"It's so unfair, Spencer."

He knows what you are talking about and nods in agreement. You continue talking.

"And I know there are so many other children that have to go through something as horrible as this, and they, too, have no one to take care of them. But with Elliot, I - God, I don't know why it feels different with him. The mere idea of him in the system makes me sick."

Spencer feels his chest tight, but he doesn't want to be vulnerable when you're the one who needs to be comforted. He pulls your body towards him again, holding you tight.

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A whole two days have passed, and after much insistence and even convincing Elliot to tell you not to feel bad about leaving him for a few hours, Spencer gets you to take a break. So you can take a shower, eat and sleep.

The rest of the team works full-time and around the clock to catch the unsub. With the new clues you had him identify, it was only a matter of hours before they could finally get him.

Spencer is with Elliot while he colors with crayons. On the sheet, he is painting the sky blue.

"Do you know why the sky is blue?" Elliot asks Spencer, whose lips quirked up in a smile.

"Well. It's because of something called the scattering of sunlight by the atmosphere." Elliot's eyes widen in confusion.

"Scattering of sunlight? What's that?"

"It's like when you bounce a ball off a wall, but with sunlight and tiny air particles."

Elliot giggles, picturing what Spencer just said.

"So the sun is playing ball with the sky?"

Spencer laughs, amused by the kid's imagination.

"Haha. Well, sort of. You could say that."

An excited Elliot decides what he wants to do next.

"I wanna play ball with the sun too! Can we?" 

Spencer raises an eyebrow, contemplating his response.

"Maybe not with the sun directly, but we can definitely play ball later. How about that?"

"Yes! Can I get my red ball? It's my favorite!" Elliot chirps and Spencer's heart swells.

"Sounds like a plan, buddy."

Spencer's answer seems to satisfy Elliot, who continues coloring.

He doesn't have the heart to tell the kid that maybe he will have to leave soon once a child service professional gets assigned to his case.

After a while, Elliot finishes his drawing and passes it to Spencer, who examines it curiously.

In it, there is something that resembles a woman holding hands with a child. Next to it is a sketch of what appears to be a tall man, and in the blue sky, two winged figures.

Spencer asks him who they are, pointing to the drawing.

"She's (Y/N)," Elliot points to the woman holding hands with the child.

"That's me after she found me," he explains, putting his finger over the drawn kid. "That's you," he continues, indicating to the tall man.

"I look really good here," Spencer jokes. "And these? Spencer now points to the figures in the sky."

"Mom and Dad," Elliot says, and Spencer's breath hitches in his throat. "They are in heaven now and look after me. They sent (Y/N). Mom told me."

Spencer doesn't know how to respond to that, although he's curious about the last thing he said.

"What did your mom tell you?"

"When she left me in the closet. She told me I was going to be fine. That good people would find me and take care of me. And (Y/N) found me. She's good people."

Spencer's heart protrudes with pride and love as he sees how the boy recognizes you as a good person and seems to appreciate you much more than he thought.

"She is," Spencer concedes, with a little tremble in his voice.

"You like her?"

Spencer's cheeks blush. Even a 4-year-old can catch how hooked he is for you.

"What makes you think so?"

"You look at her like dad looks to mom. And my mom told me when people look like that is because they like each other."

"You're a very clever boy, Elliot. And you're right. I like her. We are married, actually. Do you know what is that?"

The kid nods, pointing to the gold band adorning Spencer's ring finger.

"Exactly."

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After a few hours, you return to the BAU and find Elliot asleep in Spencer's arms, who is lying on the office couch.

A sad smile crosses your face. On the one hand, the image triggers so much sweetness, seeing your husband, the love of your life, taking care of a little one who needs so much love and care. But on the other hand, the certainty that there is nothing you can do to change the destiny of that little boy who, at such a young age, has already experienced such terrible things.

You are so absorbed in the image that you don't hear Garcia until she is next to you.

"This pair hasn't wasted any time. Elliot colored for a long time while he asked Spencer everything he could think of. Of course, Boy Wonder was fascinated to answer all his questions. Afterward, they gave a tour of the floor; they even ran through the hallways. They even went to play football in the parking lot. That's why they are both exhausted."

"My husband running through the hallways and playing football? Who would have thought," You joke. Garcia nods, smiling and placing a hand on your shoulder.

"How do you feel?" She also realizes how difficult this case has been for you.

"More rested, although until this is over, I don't know how I'll really deal with this."

You wouldn't have to wait long to get to that point. Just as the social worker comes to check Elliot's case and, inevitably, takes him away, Garcia gets a call from Hotch saying they have the unsub in custody.

Everything happens too fast to process, and the only thing you manage to do is sit next to Elliot while Spencer talks to Nancy, the social worker, and tells her the details of the case. The kid is awake now and telling you everything about his afternoon with Spencer.

When Nancy and Spencer peek in the door, you know what it's about. Turning to Elliot, you talk to him softly.

"Sweetheart, this is Nancy. She wants to ask you some questions. Is that okay with you?" you probe. The kid lifts his gaze to the woman at the door and frowns.

"About mommy and daddy?"

He's too smart and perceptive for his own good, you tell yourself.

"A few, yes. But you can say only what you are comfortable with, okay?"

Elliot does not look very convinced.

"Can you stay?"

Your eyes soften as you exchange a knowing look with Spencer.

"I'm sorry, dear, but I can't."

"And Spencer can stay?"

"I can't either. I'm sorry, buddy. But we promise we are going to be right outside," Spencer affirms.

Elliot reluctantly agrees, and you leave him with Nancy. Once you're out of their sight, you feel tears begin to roll down your cheeks. You turn to look at Spencer, and you see his glassy eyes, too.

He takes your hand. "Let's talk in a more private place," he tells you, entering another of the offices nearby.

Closing the door, you give free rein to your emotions and begin to sob. Spencer hugs you tight, and he cries with you. You two know you need to hold each other up right now.

When you feel you have released some of the tension, you both separate from your embrace and sit in chairs adjacent to each other. Spencer holds your hand.

You still can't believe the little boy is going to get into the system. You bite your lip in pure frustration.

"I know," Spencer says. "I don't like the idea either, but someone has to take care of him. More so now that the case is closed."

"Does the bastard even understand the damage he has caused?"

It is a rhetorical question because even if the answer were positive, it does not change the fate of little Elliot in any way.

Spencer is affected, too. During the time they spent together, he became fond of Elliot and stole his heart in the same way he did with you.

To be honest, in the last few hours, Spencer has been mulling over an idea, but he needs to talk to you first. Although he already guesses what your position could be in the matter.

"Maybe we can do something," Spencer muses, and you look at him baffled.

"We do?" you question. Spencer nods, smiling at you.

You are trying to read your husband, but his warm smile and understanding eyes won't let you anticipate what he will say to you.

With a hand stroking your cheek, he spoke next.

"Well, if you ask me, Elliot Reid has a nice ring to it."

Your eyes widen at his words.

"What? Are you saying that we- Spencer, you are suggesting that we -"

It's not that it hasn't crossed your mind. But you didn't think it was something Spencer might have considered. Although thinking about it and knowing your husband, his heart and kindness have no limits.

"We can do it. I mean, it's not going to be easy, but we could try. I think Elliot is worth it the effort."

For a moment, you're at a loss for words. Shaking your head, you are debating the idea.

"Spencer, if you only are thinking of doing this for me, it's not fair."

This time, he shakes his head before cupping your cheeks with both hands.

"Hey. If I'm suggesting the idea, it is for all of us. Elliot needs who can take care of him. And we talked about having kids a while ago, remember?"

It's true. Before getting married, you talked about it and agreed it was something you both wanted, but not yet. After two years of marriage, you had not discussed the topic again because it was tacit that you both wanted it eventually.

"Yeah, but what we talked about was me getting pregnant. This is different."

Spencer chuckles. You're right about that. But for him, it doesn't change his mind about it.

"The method? Yes. But the outcome is the same. A family. Our family."

"Are you serious about this?" You ask him, locking eyes with him as you hold his hands, pulling them out of your face.

"Absolutely," Spencer replies right away. "Is this something you want too? It won't be easy, though. There will be a lot of paperwork and interviews, and we'll have to make adjustments to our routines. And if everything goes well, we could move to a bigger house, in a neighborhood with good schools. I could lower my workload here and start teaching," he rambles, and you start giggling out of nervousness and excitement.

"I want to try this. And there is no other person more perfect than you, with whom I want to try it. I love you, Spencer Reid."

"And I love you, (Y/N) Reid."

A tender kiss seals the moment, and you're sure you've never felt so confident about doing something like this. Or at least try.

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Spencer was right. 

It took time and work. 

Months passed before you got the news that you could actually adopt Elliot.

However, while the process was happening, you became Elliot's temporary home.

If Hotch did something to make that happen, nobody mentioned it.

With periodic visits from the social worker, you showed how well cared for he was and how good he adapted to your family.

You stopped working at the BAU and started teaching. Something Spencer had suggested for him, but you decided to give it a try first.

And you never have regretted your decision.

Elliot is now part of your family. The boy you found scared inside a closet can now smile again and feel safe with you and Spencer next to him.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers 

[buck-star]

Heart sweater | B.B

Your daughter got a present for his daddy and Bucky isn’t afraid to show everyone what his little girl got for him.

Pairing: Mob!Dad!Husband!Bucky Barnes x Mom!Wife!Reader

Wordcount: 2.033 Words

Warnings: none, just lots of fluff

Authors Note: I couldn’t help myself. This sweater is just so adorable and imagine Bucky’s little girl getting it for him. So yes, soft spot, feeling soft right now. Hope you enjoy!

Events: Winds of autumn challenge | Candy corn 🍬 a sweet surprise, Balance ⚖️ as the equinox approaches, the day and night balance out. Write about finding peace | @the-slumberparty

Seasonal Delights Bingo: fall vibes | Row One-One | soft kisses | @seasonaldelightsbingo | Fairytale Bingo | Row One-Three | Goddess of marriage | @fairytalebingo

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

“Daddyyyy! We gots you a present!" A childish voice echoes through the hallway of the building. Your and your little — big — families home. Others may say that you, Bucky, and your daughter are family, but there are so many more; they aren’t from the same blood but with the same big hearts.

Bucky’s men, who not only needed to earn his trust but also needed to earn their place in the family, are more than just his men. They are Bucky’s friends, your friends, and your daughter's uncles. None of them would let anything happen to you or the little girl — not just because Bucky told them to take care, but because you’re a family.

Your little daughter runs further through the hallway until she finally reaches her dad's office door. The second floor of the building is just an office — for Bucky and his men. And since he had an important meeting, he suggested that you could go out with her to get some new toys and clothes.

Of course, your little baby girl didn’t go to the toy store first. She loves it, but you’re shopping? She has to get a present for her daddy. She kind of gives herself a treat after finding the perfect present for Bucky — and then she uses all the money she can to get a lot of toys and stuff for herself.

You watch the toddler with amused eyes whenever you’re shopping without Bucky. Mostly Steve comes with you, keeping the two of you safe and just giving you a helping hand so you don’t have to carry all of these bags yourself.

“Sweetheart,” you chuckle while she already jumps to reach the handle and almost falls into her dad's office. You laugh softly, shaking your head — she is just as stubborn as her daddy when it comes to letting someone help or listen once they get excited.

Bucky’s head shoots up the moment the door swings open. He smiles at his little girl, then his eyes wander further toward you. The ocean blue orbs glistening when his lips curl up into a soft smile — one he reserves only for you and your little girl.

“Take care, my sweet little plum. Don’t want ya to get hurt, do we?” He asks, his voice soft but still a bit firm, so the little girl will listen to him. Her eyes — which are just as blue as Bucky’s — roam over her daddy’s body, from his legs up to his face, before she smirks with the widest grin ever.

“We gots you something’, daddy!” She says, excitedly. Bucky crouches down, resting his arms on his knees while he waits for his little girl to continue talking. “Mommy! Daddy waits fo’ you!”

You chuckle, looking for the bag in your hand she wants to have before placing all the others down and handing her the one she put her daddy’s present into. Bucky’s eyes move toward you; without any words, he makes sure you’re okay and that you can be without a kiss for a few more minutes while he focuses on his baby girl.

Once he’s sure you’re fine — after you settle down on the couch in his office and sigh softly — he mouths, ‘I love you, my pretty girl’ to you. And oh damn, you know why you fell in love with that man. He may be a big, feared mafia boss, but around you he is the sweetest, most loving, caring, and perfect husband — and father for your daughter — you could have wished for.

Bucky may be mad because of work sometimes; he may be annoyed, but he never lets it out on you. He would rather punch himself than make you feel like he doesn’t appreciate you or that you’re a burden for him. For your husband, you’re the most precious woman, and he will do everything to keep you safe and loved. He does the same for your little girl.

Luckily, Bucky discovered immediately that whenever he's mad, he just needs you, and everything is perfect. Preferably when he can keep you on his lap. His arms are tightly wrapped around your waist and pull you as close as possible while he presses his face into your chest. You will run your fingers through his hair, and he knows he’s safe — no reason for anger or annoyance, just love and affection, so he calms down without needing anything but you.

“So what do you have for me, my little plum?” Bucky asks, looking with amusement and curiosity at the little girl in front of him. She giggles, her tiny hands grasping his cheeks, and she runs her small fingers over his stubbles.

“Sc’atchy,” she mumbles and squeezes his cheeks together. Bucky lets out a low chuckle, letting her play with his scratchy stubbles. He knows how much his sweet little girl likes his stubbles; she is just like her mommy loving his metal arm and his stubbles — even though you have other intentions when it comes to his metal arm or his stubbles. But those are secrets that stay in the bedroom.

“Sweetheart, you wanted to show Daddy what you got for him,” you remind her when you notice that she got lost in her little game to play with her daddies cheek. But she was so excited to get him his present, plus you know that Bucky’s curious as well.

She removes her small hands and grasps the paper bag again, opening it before hiding her face almost inside of it. You would never leave her with a bag without anyone else around her, but as long as you and Bucky are there, you don’t feel scared if she puts her head slightly into it to tease her daddy a bit.

“Yeah, my little plum. What do you got Daddy, huh?” He asks, bringing his big hands to her small sides to poke his fingers into her soft flesh. The little girl laughs, throwing her head back while she wiggles in his grip.

She pulls her tiny hands out of the bag and holds a big, white sweater with hearts on it in front of her. Her smile grows and her eyes sparkle as she shows it to Bucky. And the big, most feared mafia boss has the sweetest expression on his face.

His eyes shine, and it looks like the sun is brightening them. His smile reaches almost his ears as he stares at the fabric in his daughter's hands. Bucky’s eyes wander to you for a second, then back to his little girl.

“Thank you, my little plum,” he coos, taking the sweater out of her hands to admire it a moment longer. Your daughter watches Bucky intensely — the same intense stare Bucky has if he wants to find out how you think about something. “You want me to take it on right now?”

She nods, letting herself fall backward into her butt while she holds his gaze. He nods, smirking softly. Bucky leans forward, his big hand placed at the back of her head, and he brings her closer to press his plump lips against her forehead.

“Then I will do that,” he says, getting up from the stop he was kneeling. His eyes land on you, and before he leaves the room to change into the new sweater, he makes his way over to you.

He towers over you, both of his hands finding their way to your thighs, and he leans closer. His lips almost brush yours when he grins at you. “She chose the sweater all by herself, but you allowed her to buy it, didn’t you?”

You shiver under his intense stare and his rough voice. “S-she’s just really convincing. I know you said you don’t want presents, but I guess— I guess she got that from you,” you giggle and Lena closer to chase his lips for a soft kiss. Bucky chuckles, kissing you once again before he pushes himself up and makes his way out of the room to change into the sweater you and your daughter got him.

Your daughter gets one of her new toys out of the bag and shows it to you. It’s not like you don’t know what she bought, but she loves to show you and explain everything about it anyway.

“Mommy, wants book or wants dolly?” She asks, lifting her small arms and holding both up to let you decide which of these she should show and explain to you.

“Do you want me to tell you more about the book you got?” You ask. She nods and puts the doll down, walking with the book in her hands toward you. The little girl places the book on the couch next to you, her small fingers digging into your thighs, and she tries to push herself up onto the couch. “Do you want me to help you, sweetheart?”

“Nuuu, ‘m big girl!” She nods, underlining her words. You chuckle; let her climb up without help. Your hand is still behind her back just in case she falls backwards, but she doesn’t.

Once she is on top and next to you, she wiggles a bit and takes the book, placing it in your lap. She just wants to explain why she got the book, who’s on the cover, and what she knows about her favorite series — the book is about it — when Bucky walks back into the room.

Her eyes widen, and she giggles as she sees her big daddy in this pretty sweater she got him. You smile softly at him, reaching your hands out for him to come closer. “You’re pretty, Bucky,” you say and run your fingers over the back of his flash hand, then over the fabric of the sweater.

“Didn’t know I would look that good in that sweater,” he jokes. Stroking one of his hands over the fabric. And he really does look adorable with his middle long hair, his broad chest, and his big arms — the feared mafia boss — wearing a sweater with a lot of hearts on it because his sweet little plum got it just for him. “So, my little plum, what do you think?”

Bucky gets down on his knees in front of the couch, looking at the little girl. Her ocean blue eyes roam over him a little longer before she giggles. “Looks pwetty, daddy! Now we can go back to work!”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I thought I could take out my girls for dinner.” Bucky tilts his head. His fleshy hand holds yours tightly while he watches the little girl, considering if she wants to work or prefers to have dinner with the two of you.

“Do we gets my favorite food?” She asks, taking her book and making grabby hands, waiting for Bucky to pick her up. He nods, wrapping his arms around her to lift her onto his waist before he holds a hand out for you to grasp and let him pull you up.

Bucky doesn’t care that people could look weird at him for wearing a sweater with hearts on it. His sweet girl got it for him, and he knows that no one will disrespect him — not even when he looks like a sweet puppy with an adorable sweater.

“You know, babydoll,” Bucky says, looking at you as he wraps his free hand around your waist to pull you into his side. His nose brushes over your cheek until his lips press against your temple. “Thank you for letting out sweet plum to buy me such a pretty sweater. Now I’m wearing your necklace, our wedding band, and my little girl's sweater. I love you, my babydoll, pretty momma.”

Bucky’s voice is low, and he smirks against your skin as you shiver. You knew he would love the sweater — he loves everything you or your daughter get him. “I love you too, Buck,” you mumble before you make your way to the restaurant — letting Bucky show his sweater around to let everyone see how proud he is to have his family, how much he loves you and his little plum, and how much he appreciates you and your love.

Taglist -> @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @pono-pura-vida @somnorvos @meowmeowyoongles @randomawesomeperson102 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf @loki-laufeyson68 @winterschildren8 @bxtchboy69 @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @im-alestan @felicitylemon @cjand10 @bookishtheaterlover7 @lives-in-midgard @casa-boiardi @futurequeen2018-blog @flstrawberry @nervouseden @jiyascepter @princesscore-angel @mrs-katelyn-barnes @sasha-writing @blackhawkfanatic @fanfictionreaderfan @multiversefanfics @angelbabyyy99 @looking1016 @aphrodite-xoxo @fanfictionreaderfan @iris-xoxo-juhu @holylulusworld @bucks-babe @whatever-lmaoo @thevillainswhore

[writerbugg]

𝕭𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖉

Yan. Viktor x Reader

Word Count - 9.3K

Some notes. This story should NOT be romanticized, this is one of my darker stories so please read the warning.

The timeline of this oneshot is a bit distortated, I'm spreading some of the events out a bit farthen then they happedn in the og storyline.

The reader is mid-twenties (25-26) in this so there's around a 5 year age difference.

!!Warnings!! - Yan. behavior, Mentor and Apprentice Relationship, OOC, Smoking, Violence, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Unwanted Physical Touch, Guilt-tripping, Panic attack, Mentions of Blood, Injury

Pt.2 (Feat. Yan Jayce) Coming soon...

━━━━━╝✹╚━━━━━

And the world screams,

'Kiss me, Sun of God.'

━━━━━╗✹╔━━━━━

Your breath fogs the window as you rest your head against it. The sun hasn’t risen, yet sleep eludes you. Outside, the world is a mix of cold and silence, but your mind churns ceaselessly.

Three years since you began your apprenticeship under Jayce. In that time, Hextech has advanced beyond anything you could have dreamed.

Piltover has become the heart of progress, its Hexgates connecting nations, "The Center of Trade and Evolution," as Mel once called it.

Yet, for all its brilliance, Hextech remains a paradox to you—a marvel you can admire but never fully understand, much less touch.

Your gaze drifts to the blue orb resting beside you, its pulsing aura whispering a melody you can’t quite discern. Hesitantly, you reach for it, your fingers twitching as the air around the gemstone hums with energy.

You barely graze the pristine blue gem before a sharp jolt shoots through your fingers.

You yank your hand back with a hiss, cradling it to your chest. Blowing on your fingertips does little to soothe the sharp, lingering sting. An exasperated sigh escapes you as you look down at your slightly blistered fingers. This result was expected but still maddening.

For reasons you could not understand, touching Hextech directly always left you burned.

“No progress, hmm?”

The clicking of a cane echoes behind you. Panic flickers across your face as you quickly tuck your hand behind your back and turn around, but it’s too late.

Looking up, you’re met with the unimpressed stare of your mentor’s lab partner.

A nervous chuckle escapes as your cheeks flush with shame. Viktor hobbles closer, stopping in front of you. With a pointed expression, he silently gestures for your hand.

Reluctantly, you reveal your hand from behind your back. Viktor takes it carefully, his touch firm but gentle as his eyes trace the small burns along your fingers.

“You know,” Viktor begins, “it seems counter-intuitive for Jayce to appoint the one person in Piltover incapable of safely handling the Hexcore as his apprentice.”

He presses lightly on one of the burns, making you wince and yank your hand back. You glare at him, but he ignores it.

“Why are you up so early?” he asks. “And meddling with Hextech alone? Jayce has told you many times—it’s reckless, given your condition.”

You shrug, offering no real explanation. The ambiguity earns you a disapproving look, though you catch a glimmer of amusement in Viktor’s expression.

“Jayce is rubbing off on you,” he mutters. “Both of you are hardheaded to a fault.”

Viktor turns and gestures for you to follow him. You comply, trailing him to his cluttered desk. Notes are scattered everywhere, buried under odd trinkets and prototypes.

Reaching over the mess, Viktor grabs a small ceramic jar. Carefully, he removes its glass lid, revealing a clear green liquid swirling inside. Dipping a piece of cotton into the liquid, Viktor takes your hand again, dabbing the burns with a precision that’s almost meditative.

The burns will heal in a few days, fading as if they were never there. Still, this ritual has become a quiet tradition, a bond between you and Viktor—something unspoken yet meaningful.

The door swings open, shattering the tranquility. You immediately sit up straight, pulling your hand away from Viktor.

Jayce enters, his smile as bright as ever, and your stomach flutters as his gaze meets yours.

“Good morning, you two!” he says cheerfully, earning a grunt from Viktor and a wave from you.

“Today’s the day—Progress Day!” Jayce announces, his excitement contagious. “We’re finally going to showcase everything we’ve been working on.” Even Viktor’s lips twitch into a faint smile.

Jayce crosses the room to retrieve the crystal you had touched earlier, carefully placing it back in its case. “We need to get ready. Heimerdinger will be here any moment.”

He turns to you, pulling out a pair of gloves from his pocket and handing them over. “My mother made these,” he admits. “For the presentation. I need my apprentice up there with me, after all.”

You take the gloves, admiring the craftsmanship. “Wait… you want me on stage?” you ask, startled.

Jayce chuckles. “It’s your last year of apprenticeship, Y/N. You’ve proven yourself time and time again.” He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “It’s time you made your debut.”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

“The gemstone is gone.”

❪❂❫

“I have come before you to recommend that we suspend all Hextech operations.”

❪❂❫

“I propose that a new chair be brought forth and that House Talis be elevated to the august body.”

❪❂❫

You lay on the rooftop, staring at the stars above. The events of the day whirl in your mind like a storm. The attack, the stolen gemstone, Jayce’s abrupt decision to shut down Hextech operations without consulting you or Viktor, and his election to the council. It all feels surreal, a cascade of chaos.

“The stars are lovely tonight, no?”

The sudden voice draws your attention. Viktor stands nearby, his gaze fixed on the heavens. Though calm, his posture betrays exhaustion.

He sits beside you, gesturing toward the horizon. “Do you see them? The lights of the Undercity.”

You nod as faint glimmers come into view. “You’re from the Undercity, right?” you ask softly.

Viktor inclines his head. “And that’s why you want to use Hextech,” you continue, “to help them.”

“Yes,” he says, conviction threading through his voice. “I wish to end the suffering of the Undercity. To use our technology to evolve humanity—beyond its limits.”

You place a hand on his shoulder. He stiffens at first but relaxes as your words cut through the quiet.

“Your dream is beautiful, Viktor,” you say, admiration clear in your voice. “And I can’t wait to see you and Jayce bring it to life.”

His golden eyes linger on the Undercity before flickering to you. “You believe in us,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “In me.”

“Of course I do,” you reply without hesitation. “You see possibilities where others see obstacles. How could I not believe in that?”

A rare softness touches his gaze. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. “Your faith… it means more to me than I often let on.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, the two of you watching the stars and the faint lights of the Undercity. Yet, a shadow passes over Viktor’s expression. His fingers tighten around his cane, his thoughts veiled but heavy.

“The night grows late,” he says finally. “We should rest. Tomorrow will bring more challenges.”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

You stood silently behind Jayce, your gaze darting between him and Viktor as the tension between them thickened.

"This is a misuse of our work," Viktor muttered, eyes fixed on the enforcers tinkering with the Hexgate. His voice carried the sharp edge of frustration. "What happened to our promise to improve lives? To help those in the Undercity?"

Jayce let out a sharp breath, shaking his head dismissively. "I’m a Councilor now, Viktor," he replied, his tone clipped. "My priority is ensuring the Hexgates are secure. That has to come first." He turned to you, raising an eyebrow. "You understand, don’t you?"

Caught off guard, you hesitated, shifting your weight. "Maybe you should’ve... included Viktor in your plans," you murmured carefully. "You know, since you’re supposed to be partners."

Jayce scoffed lightly, his humor paper-thin. "Aren’t you supposed to be my apprentice?" he quipped, offering you a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Across from him, Viktor gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. A flicker of genuine gratitude. You returned it with a faint smile before Jayce’s attention shifted elsewhere.

Marcus entered the room, and Jayce moved to speak with him, leaving you and Viktor by the railing.

"I just don’t understand," Viktor murmured as you leaned on the edge beside him. "This should be all the more reason to push our research further. The Undercity needs us, and the longer we ignore them, the angrier they’ll grow."

His gaze flicked to your hands, lingering briefly on the smooth skin where blisters had once marred the surface.

"...Thank you," he whispered, his voice soft but sincere. "At least you understand my frustrations better than Jayce does."

You shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. The quiet critique of your mentor made your stomach knot, but you kept silent. It wasn’t your place to interfere in the growing rift between them.

"—Have you made any progress on the stolen Gemstone?" Jayce's voice cut through your thoughts, snapping your focus back to him.

You noted the strain in his posture, the faint shadows under his eyes. He looked overwhelmed, and a pang of sympathy tugged at your chest. His new role was a heavy burden, but selfishly, you wondered how it might affect your time together. Would he place your training on hold, as he had seemingly done with Hextech?

The thought left a sour taste in your mouth.

Shaking it off, you turned to Viktor, who had gone quiet. His gaze was fixed on the Hexcore, its faint glow reflected in his eyes. There was a distant, almost hypnotized look in his expression.

A chill crept up your spine.

"Viktor?" you called softly, stepping closer. Your heart jolted as you noticed the blood trickling from his nose.

"Viktor!" You grabbed his shoulder instinctively. The touch startled him, and he tensed briefly before relaxing as he recognized you.

“…I’m fine," he muttered, brushing your hand away with a quiet sigh.

Jayce, alerted by the commotion, hurried over. His eyes darted between you and Viktor, narrowing when he saw the blood.

“Viktor, are you all right?” he asked, placing a firm hand on Viktor’s shoulder. The gesture forced you to step back, though you remained close.

“It’s... just a headache," Viktor replied tersely, shrugging off Jayce's hand. "I need to get back to the lab."

He turned away, cane tapping against the floor in an uneven rhythm. Halfway to the exit, he hesitated and glanced over his shoulder, gesturing for you to follow.

You cast a quick, uncertain look at Jayce, who stayed rooted in place, his gaze troubled.

After a brief hesitation, you complied, following Viktor into the corridor.

The walk to the lab was steeped in silence, tension radiating from Viktor with every brisk step. His jaw was set, his frustration evident in the stiff line of his posture.

Suddenly, he stumbled, his cane skidding against the floor. You lunged forward just in time to catch him as he collapsed against the wall, coughing violently.

"Viktor," you murmured, adjusting to support his weight as he leaned heavily on you. His breaths came in labored gasps, but he didn’t resist your help.

"Maybe we should call it a night," you suggested gently. "You’re not well. I could make you some soup—tomato basil, maybe?" You offered a tentative smile. "It’s the only thing I can cook without setting a stove on fire."

Viktor didn’t respond, his focus elsewhere as you guided him to the lab. Once there, you settled him into a chair and pulled up one beside him.

For a moment, the quiet hum of machinery filled the air.

"When I lived in the Undercity," Viktor began suddenly, his voice subdued, "I knew a man—a teacher of sorts. He once told me that loneliness was the burden of a gifted mind." He turned to you, his expression contemplative. "Do you ever feel that? The isolation, simply because you see the world differently?"

You considered his words, offering a faint smile. "Honestly? No. My parents were... eccentric, to say the least. Borderline mad scientists, but they understood me. Every phase, every crazy idea—I always had them."

Your smile softened. "And now, you have me. And Jayce. Even if we don’t always agree, we’re here for you, Viktor. Right behind you. Always."

His lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile, though his eyes flickered briefly toward the Hexcore.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Hours later, you had gone home, leaving Viktor alone in the lab to finish working on the Hexcore. The day’s events weighed heavily on him, the anger and disappointment still clinging to the air like smoke. His hands ran through his hair in frustration.

Sending you home had felt like the right decision at the time, but now that he was alone, a pang of creeping guilt settled over him. He hated that you were caught in the middle of his and Jayce’s ongoing conflict, forced to navigate between them because of your apprenticeship.

Your apprenticeship under Jayce.

The sudden acknowledgment twisted sharply in Viktor's chest. You were bound to Jayce—the Council’s rising star, Piltover’s golden boy. Jayce, who’d leaped into his new role without considering the ripple effects on those tethered to his orbit. On you. On your work. On your future.

If Viktor were your mentor—

He cut the thought off sharply, jaw tightening. It wasn’t his place. But the resentment gnawed at him, clawing at the edges of his resolve. You deserved a mentor who saw your potential, not someone too blinded by his own ambitions to nurture it.

Viktor’s eyes flickered to the porcelain pot sitting on his desk.

Perhaps…

The Hexcore hummed faintly, its glow pulsating in uneven rhythms. Viktor rose, but a sudden wave of nausea pulled him back, his knees buckling as he gripped the desk for support. The fit came hard and fast, wracking his body until crimson droplets sprinkled onto the scattered notes on his desk.

The air thickened, whispers curling like smog around him. His blurred gaze fell to the Hexcore, now spinning in erratic spirals, its light carving shadows that seemed to breathe.

A promise hummed through the static—a tantalizing whisper of hope, of salvation, of Evolution.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

It was early morning when you got the news.

Your breath was labored as you raced past Jayce who had just exited Viktor's room, not sparing him a single glance.

“Viktor!” Your voice jolts the frail man awake as you burst into the room.

“I came as soon as I heard,” you murmur, setting your bags on the chair beside him and diving into them. “I stopped by a few places to pick up things I thought you might need—”

Your words tumble over each other as you pull out a mismatched assortment of elixirs, fresh food, and little trinkets. You barely notice his faint, amused smile as he watches you, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.

“You’ve brought half the city,” Viktor rasps, his voice weak but carrying a faint warmth.

You pause, finally meeting his gaze. “I’d bring the whole of Piltover if it meant you’d get better,” you say softly.

His smile lingers, though bittersweet.

You feel tears well in your eyes as you stare at your friend. "...How long?" You whisper shakily.

"...A few months," Viktor answered, his voice quiet.

The words hit like a blow to the stomach. Without thinking, you step closer, wrapping your arms around him. Viktor stiffens at first, surprised, but slowly, he returns the embrace.

You cling to him as sobs wrack your body, your tears soaking into his thin shirt. “I can’t lose you,” you choke out.

For a moment, his hand hesitates, then rests lightly against your back. His voice is a faint murmur, “You won't,” Over your shoulder, he gazes at the sketches of the Hexcore, a stark reminder of what it promised him.

The tools are in his grasp now.

The faint smile on his lips remains, but its sweetness curdles, twisting into something spoiled, something unlike himself. His grip tightens—almost imperceptibly—as if tethering himself to you.

"I haven't given up yet,"

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

“You should be with them.”

Jayce glances up at Mel, her calm expression a contrast to the weight of his own guilt. She’s right, as usual. Viktor was his partner. You were his apprentice. He should be with you, especially after this morning.

That look on your face this morning... The desperation, the panic. He’d never seen you so raw, so vulnerable, and it made him feel helpless. Useless.

Mel’s hand moves gently through his hair as she speaks, breaking the quiet. “How is Mx. L/N? I haven’t seen much of them lately.”

Jayce stiffens, glancing away. “They’re fine, I think—why?”

Mel shrugs, her tone nonchalant but her gaze sharp. “No reason, just an observation. They seem... distant. Did something happen?”

Jayce falters. Had something happened? You and he didn't talk as frequently as before. He searches his memory but finds only fragments—moments where your attention seemed elsewhere, your words clipped.

“I don’t know,” he admits. A quiet befalls the two of them, only a soft breeze interrupting the silence.

“Maybe I... should be there more. For both of them.”

Mel hums thoughtfully, her fingers stilling. “Perhaps you should. Before it’s too late.”

[OML I LOVE MEL KJENFKJSEDF]

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Jayce hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the knob. The dim light spilling from under Viktor’s door made his stomach twist. He knew he should have come sooner.

The door creaked softly as he pushed it open, revealing Viktor sitting upright in bed, a sketchpad balanced on his lap. You were slumped in a chair beside him, fast asleep, your face turned toward him with exhaustion etched in every line. Viktor’s hand idly brushed through your hair, his movements slow, almost reverent.

“Jayce,” Viktor greeted, his voice hoarse but carrying that sharp, sardonic edge. “Burning the midnight oil, I see.”

Jayce stepped into the room, his gaze flickering between you and Viktor. “I came to check on you,” he said after a beat. “On both of you.”

“How thoughtful,” Viktor murmured, though there was no mistaking the faint sting beneath his words.

Jayce’s chest tightened. “I didn’t know it was this bad,” he admitted. “Why didn’t you tell me?���

Viktor’s smile was razor-thin. “And what would you have done, Jayce? You’ve been occupied. The Council, your reputation, your ambitions—so many pressing matters. Where would I fit?”

The words struck like a blow, and Jayce flinched. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Viktor’s voice softened, a chilling calm threading through his words. “When was the last time you worked with us in the lab? When did you last look at them and see what this has cost?”

Jayce’s gaze fell to you, the subtle furrow in your brow even in sleep telling him everything he needed to know.

“They’re loyal,” Viktor continued, his hand stilling briefly in your hair. “More than I deserve, perhaps. Certainly more than you’ve earned.”

“Viktor…” Jayce’s voice cracked under the weight of guilt.

“They need someone who sees them. Not someone torn between a dozen different obligations.” Viktor’s hand resumed its slow, deliberate motion, his gaze settling back on Jayce with unsettling clarity. “Loyalty has its limits, after all, and it frays under neglect.”

Jayce opened his mouth, searching for a rebuttal, but found none. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat and turned toward the door.

As it clicked shut behind him, Viktor glanced toward the Hexcore sketches. His fingers curled through your hair as he murmured, “You’ll see. Progress waits for no one.”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Jayce stared at the envelope in his hands. It felt heavier than any paper had the right to be. He had agonized over this decision for days, and yet it still felt like a betrayal.

When he opens the door, the soft clink of tools fills the air. You’re at the workbench, hunched over a half-assembled gadget. The sight reminds him of all the times he would stand over your shoulder and critique you.

“Hey,” he calls gently, but the sound still makes you jump.

You turned, your expression softening into a smile—until you saw the look on his face.

“Jayce?” you asked, worry lacing your tone. “What’s wrong?”

He hesitates. Only for a moment, but still, it felt like an eternity.

“I need to talk to you,” He held out the envelope, his hand trembling slightly. “...about your apprenticeship.”

Your eyes darted to the envelope before back to him. “What about it?”

He hesitated, then forced the words out. “I— Viktor and I thought this might be... better for you.”

You take the envelope, your fingers brushing his briefly. The contact sends a brief flicker of warmth through you, but it’s quickly extinguished by the growing knot in your stomach.

“What is this?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Jayce rubs the back of his neck, his eyes darting anywhere but your face. “It’s... a transfer of mentorship. To Viktor. He’ll take over as your mentor from now on.”

The silence in the room was deafening.

“It’s for the best,” Jayce said quickly as if the words might soften the blow. “Viktor can give you the attention you nee—”

“Why?” The question escapes before you can stop it, laced with disbelief and hurt. “Did I... do something wrong?”

Jayce winces, shaking his head, “No, it’s not that. You’ve been incredible, really. It’s just Viktor… He’s better suited for this.”

“Better suited?” you repeat, your voice cracking.

“That’s not what I meant." He defended, stepping forward, but you recoiled, the distance between you widening in more ways than one."You deserve someone who can focus on you, who can... help you grow. And with everything going on, I just—”

“You just what?” Your grip tightens on the papers, your heart pounding in your chest. “You don’t want to be my mentor anymore?”

Jayce clenches his fist, but doesn't say anything, unable to look you in the eye.

“I thought...” Your voice wavers as you look down at the transfer forms. “I thought I mattered to you. That this... this partnership mattered.”

“You do,” Jayce says quickly, stepping closer, his hands hovering as if he wants to reach out but can't. “You matter, I promise. This isn’t about that, it’s about what’s best for you.”

“Then why does it feel like you're only doing what's best for you?”

The question hangs in the air, and Jayce flinches as if struck.

Clutching the papers to your chest, you quickly begin cleaning up your station. “Fine,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you jam your now broken gadget into a random drawer. “If this is what you think is best, then, fine.”

Turning away, you leave Jayce standing there, his fists clenching at his sides. The door closes softly behind you, but the weight of what just happened lingers in the room, heavy and suffocating.

Jayce sinks into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispers to the empty air, though he knows the words won’t reach you.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

The lighter flicks in your hand, the flame sparking briefly before you bring it to the cigarette perched between your lips.

The faint burn in your throat as you inhale almost distracts you from the knot tightening in your stomach, replaying the conversation in your mind.

Leaning against the railing, you hold the cigarette loosely between your fingers, smoke curling upward in thin, fading wisps that vanish into the night. Your chest tightens, your gaze slipping to the envelope sitting beside you on the ledge.

You thought you mattered to him.

The sting of rejection mingles with the acrid sting of smoke, and your eyes water. You tell yourself it’s the cigarette.

You take another drag, longer this time, the embers flaring faintly against the darkness.

“Am I interrupting?”

The voice cuts through the stillness, accented and soft. You startle, choking on the inhale, coughing as you fumble to regain composure.

Turning, you find Viktor standing a few feet away, a faint smile teasing the edges of his lips as he watches you struggle.

“Geez,” you rasp, rubbing your throat. “Knocking’s a thing, you know.”

He steps closer, his gait deliberate, his eyes flickering to the cigarette now on the ground. “You smoke?” he asks, voice tinged with curiosity.

“Not often,” you mutter, shifting uncomfortably. “Old habits and all.”

Viktor hums, leaning on the railing beside you. The air between you feels heavier than the night itself. “I heard what happened,” he says, his tone subdued, “I’m sorry.” His hand finds your shoulder, the touch hesitant but grounding.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you reply, toeing the discarded cigarette. “It’s not your fault.”

His hand lingers for a moment before withdrawing. “Perhaps not. But I cannot ignore the role I’ve played in this... shift.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Shift. That’s one way to put it.” Your fingers tighten on the railing, the city’s lights blurring slightly as you focus on the ache twisting in your chest. “I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Viktor says firmly, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. It draws your gaze to him. “Jayce’s decision was misguided. Shortsighted.”

His conviction catches you off guard. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Viktor says, his voice softening. “He is distracted, burdened by expectations he barely understands himself. He likely believed this was best for you, but in doing so, he failed to see how much he’s hurt you.”

The words settle heavily. “Maybe,” you murmur, “but it still feels like he gave up on me.”

Viktor’s expression darkens, his hands curling faintly at his sides. “Jayce does not understand the depth of loyalty you’ve shown him. Nor the potential you hold. It is his failing, not yours.”

You swallow thickly, his words cutting through the lingering haze of doubt. “I just... I thought I mattered to him. As a mentor, as a...” You trail off, the word left unspoken, though it hangs in the air.

Silence stretches between you, filled only by the hum of the city below. Viktor’s voice, when it comes again, is quieter but no less steady. “You still matter. To me, at least.”

Your head lifts, his words sinking in. He meets your gaze, his golden eyes steady and sincere. “You are... remarkable,” he continues. “Your dedication and ingenuity should be nurtured, not cast aside.”

Heat creeps to your cheeks, and you glance away, unsure how to respond. “Thanks,” you say softly, the word inadequate but all you can manage.

His lips quirk into a faint smile. He glances at the crumpled cigarette. “Perhaps next time, a cup of tea instead?”

You laugh quietly. “Yeah, maybe.”

With a slight nod, Viktor steps back, retreating into the building, leaving you alone once more. The crisp night air fills your lungs as you take a deep breath.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

You’re standing beside Viktor, the air in the lab thick with tension. Heimerdinger’s voice carries a weight you haven’t heard before as he stares at the glowing Hexcore. “What is that?” he asks, his tone grim.

Viktor’s lips twitch into a smile, seemingly oblivious to the Yordle’s concern. “I call it the Hexcore,” he says. His golden gaze flickers to the device, its pulsing glow reflected in his eyes. “An adaptive rune matrix. Hextech that evolves.”

The Hexcore radiates a heat that makes your skin prickle, like standing too close to an open flame. The sensation grows, an almost oppressive wave of intensity washing over you.

“It’s groundbreaking,” Jayce adds, stepping closer, his voice animated. His words blur, drowned out by the dryness in your throat and the heat clawing at your senses.

The room wavers, the edges of your vision distorting. Viktor’s voice cuts through the haze. “You alright?” he asks, concern threading through his words. His gaze sharpens, catching the sheen of sweat on your brow.

“Fine,” you manage, your voice hoarse. “Just… not used to this.” You force a weak smile, but his eyes linger, unconvinced.

Before he can press further, Heimerdinger speaks again, his tone firm. “You must destroy it.”

Viktor’s head snaps toward him, disbelief flashing across his features. “What?” he asks, his voice almost breathless.

The Yordle’s expression hardens. “If ever you’ve trusted my guidance, trust me now. I’ve seen nations crumble from a single spark, and this—this is no different.”

Jayce moves to block Heimerdinger’s advance. “No. I won’t let you,” he states firmly, his stance unyielding.

The Hexcore pulses faintly, its glow intensifying for a moment. You step back instinctively, the heat becoming almost unbearable.

Heimerdinger’s gaze shifts to Viktor, his voice softening. “You’ve changed, Viktor. What have you done?”

Viktor hesitates, his focus flickering between the Yordle and the Hexcore. “I… I don’t understand.”

Heimerdinger’s eyes narrow, his voice heavy with warning. “That thing must be destroyed.”

The Hexcore flares again, forcing you to take another step back. Jayce and Heimerdinger exchange heated words, their voices rising over each other. Viktor remains silent, his gaze fixed on the device, distant, almost entranced.

As the argument crescendos, Heimerdinger turns to leave, pausing briefly beside you. “Trust your instincts,” he says, his voice low but firm. “And remember, sometimes your abilities are all you have. Don’t let this be your tragedy.”

His words linger as he departs, leaving a strange tension in his wake. You stay stuck in your spot, not listening entirely to Viktor and Jayce’s hushed conversation.

Viktor’s voice pulls you back. “I want you to come with me, to Zaun,” he says, his tone decisive, Jayce had already left the room, leaving just the two of you. His hand rests lightly on your shoulder, the touch steady despite the faint prickling heat. “It will be... enlightening.”

Your eyes widen at the offer. “To Zaun?” you ask cautiously. “Does Jayce—”

“Jayce isn’t your mentor,” Viktor interrupts, his tone brooking no argument. “I am. Prepare yourself. We leave tonight.”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

“I understand now,” Viktor said, his voice steady as he stepped closer to the shadowy figure of his old mentor, Singed. The faint flicker of light from a nearby apparatus illuminated his sharp features. “And I need your help.”

Singed didn’t look up immediately, his hands busy calibrating a device on his cluttered workbench. “And you came alone?” he asked, his tone calm, though a tinge of curiosity threaded through it.

Viktor shook his head. “No. My apprentice waits outside.”

Beyond the lab’s cracked door, you leaned against a ruined wall, exhaling a long-suffering sigh. The stale, chemical-laden air was getting to you, but boredom was the real killer. You kicked a pebble at your feet, muttering, “Some ‘important errand’ this is...”

“An apprentice?” Singed finally turned toward Viktor, his pale eyes narrowing with intrigue. “You’ve grown much, my boy. Why not bring them inside?”

Viktor’s gaze swept over the lab, lingering on the glass capsule at the far end. Inside, the still form of Rio floated, suspended in eerie silence. “They’ll... need time,” he replied, a faint unease creeping into his voice. “Like I did. I don’t want to rush things.”

Singed shrugged, his movements deliberate as he set aside his tools. “What is it you’ve brought to me?” he asked, smoothly shifting the conversation.

Viktor stepped forward, handing over a stack of meticulously prepared notes and a sealed vial. Singed accepted them, scanning the pages with practiced efficiency. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “Your work has matured, Viktor. I would very much like to see the device—this Hexcore.”

Viktor tensed, his gaze flickering back to Rio’s capsule. “That... may be difficult to arrange,” he admitted.

Singed’s expression didn’t change, but there was a weight to his silence. Viktor sighed, stepping closer to the capsule, his voice low with frustration. “I’ve tried every combination of runes. Adjustments. Iterations. Yet the result is always the same: the subject withers. It rots.”

Singed’s brow furrowed slightly, his hands resting on the workbench. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “the fault does not lie with your calculations.”

Viktor’s head snapped toward him. “Then where?”

“With your subjects.” Singed reached for a vial of shimmering, violet liquid, its glow cutting through the dimness. “Nature has made us intolerant to change. Fortunately,” he added, holding the vial aloft, “we have the capacity to change our nature.”

Viktor stared at the vial, unease rippling through him as he took a half-step back. “And this is... shimmer?”

“A variant,” Singed confirmed, walking toward him with measured steps. “It will provide everything one needs to survive a violent transition.”

The vial’s glow reflected in Viktor’s eyes as he hesitated. The liquid pulsed faintly, almost as if it were alive. His cure. His key to evolution, so close he could almost feel its weight in his hand.

“I must warn you,” Singed said, his voice quiet yet deliberate. “If you take this path, they will despise you. Love and legacy—these are sacrifices we make for progress.”

Viktor’s fingers hovered over the vial, his breath shallow. “They will understand,” he said finally, his voice a whisper. “They always have.”

His hand closed around the vial, the glass warm against his palm. For a moment, he studied it, the shimmer within swirling as if in anticipation. He slipped it into his pocket with a flicker of resolve.

“And if they don’t,” he added softly, more to himself than to Singed, “then I will teach them to.”

Without another word, Viktor turned and strode out of the lab. The faint clinking of the vial echoed in his pocket as he stepped into the ruins, the cold air biting at his skin. His eyes quickly scanned the area, finding you crouched by a crumbled wall, lazily tossing rocks into a shallow stream.

He approached and tapped your shoulder, drawing a startled yelp from you. Spinning around, you glared at him, hand pressed to your chest. “Seriously? Can you not?”

“It’s time to go,” Viktor said, his tone clipped, brooking no argument. “I have what I came for.”

You scrambled to your feet, brushing dust off your clothes. "Uh— yeah, right— sorry," you muttered, falling into step behind him.

As you trailed after him, curiosity got the better of you. “Soo... how’d it go?”

Viktor’s stride didn’t falter. “It went... well,” he replied evenly. “I believe I’ve found a solution.”

Your face lit up with excitement. “Wait, really? Does that mean—”

“Not here,” Viktor interrupted sharply, his voice low as his gaze darted to the shadows. “It’s not safe.”

Chastened, you nodded, your excitement dimming as silence fell between you.

The city’s bustle greeted you as you passed into a more crowded district, its vibrancy pulling you from your thoughts. The chaotic energy of Zaun seemed to pulse with life, unlike anything you’d seen before.

“Wow,” you murmured, marveling at the neon-lit chaos. “This is the Undercity?”

Viktor slowed slightly, his expression softening at your wonder. “Yes. It may lack the polish of Piltover, but it is... alive in ways they cannot comprehend.”

You nodded, your gaze darting between the glowing lights and towering structures. “It’s nothing like the stories. It’s... beautiful.”

A faint smile touched Viktor’s lips. “Zaun thrives despite the shadows it’s cast into. Ingenuity flourishes here, even amidst adversity.”

You glanced at him, a grin tugging at your lips. “You’ve got stories about growing up here, don’t you?”

He chuckled quietly. “Zaun teaches resilience, but it is not a kind teacher. Every invention, every triumph—it was survival, not progress.”

“Explains a lot about you,” you teased lightly.

He arched a brow. “Oh? And what does that mean?”

You shrugged, smirking. “You’re like... the world’s most intense puzzle. But lately, I think I’m finally starting to figure you out.”

He chuckled again, a rare warmth in his voice. “And you, my apprentice, remain delightfully open-minded.”

The two of you shared a quiet smile before continuing your journey, the glow of Zaun fading as Progress Bridge loomed ahead.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Jayce walks through the smog on the bridge, glancing over the aftermath of last night's attack and the protests. A frown prints itself on his face as he spots two familiar figures near the edge of the bridge.

Anger bubbles just beneath the surface, but he forces his jaw tight, trying to leash it. As he approaches, his boots scrape against the grit of the stone. Viktor is the first to notice him.

“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice is tinged with confusion, his brows knitting together as he gestures toward the blockade. “What is this?”

You sit beside Viktor, a gnawing dread coiling in your stomach. From Jayce's expression, you knew you were in trouble.

Jayce’s voice is low, but it cuts like glass. “Do you two have any idea how this looks?” He glares at Viktor, his words clipped and venomous. “I order a blockade, and my partner violates it, dragging along my- his apprentice? Are you out of your mind?”

Viktor straightens, the weariness in his frame offset by the defensiveness in his voice. “You ordered this?” His tone is incredulous, his gaze searching Jayce’s face. “Why?”

Jayce’s voice rises a bit as he struggles to remain calm. “There are people down there who seem hell-bent on destroying us. And you—” Jayce turned his fiery gaze towards you, “—you just went along with this? Knowing how dangerous it is? How reckless?”

Viktor’s lips press into a thin line as he exhales, shaking his head. “I was consulting a friend about our quandary,” he says, “I brought Y/n along because I’m their mentor, and I thought it’d be a good teaching opportunity.” his words deliberate and firm. “I told you I knew someone.”

Jayce’s eyes widened in disbelief, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You didn’t tell me they were from the Undercity.”

Viktor’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of something dark passing through his eyes. “What difference does that make?” he asked, his voice quiet but loaded.

“They’re dangerous!” Jayce hissed.

The words hang in the air, as Viktor’s gaze hardens, glaring into the other man, “I’m from the Undercity.”

Jayce's expression melts, a donning look mixed with regret appearing on his face. “Viktor, I didn’t mean—” He reached out, but Viktor batted his hand away, leaning on his cane as he stood.

Sighing, Jayce lowers his hand, "Sorry... Was your friends able to help?

Viktor pauses, glancing back at Jayce, "No," he answered, “No, he said nature was resistant to this sort of..." His grip on his cane tightens, "tampering."

The silence hung heavy as Viktor turned, his back rigid. You follow closely behind, ignoring the feeling of Jayce's stare on you.

━━━━━━━━

The walk to the lab felt endless, the silence between you thick with unspoken tension.

Once inside, the quiet lingered, broken only by the faint, unsettling hum of the Hexcore. You sat across from Viktor, watching as he wordlessly pulled out a notebook, scribbling away as if nothing had happened.

Your gaze drifted to the two plates of food waiting on the desks—Sky must have brought them earlier. Reaching for one, you broke the silence. “Have you eaten?” you asked softly, though you already knew the answer.

Viktor didn’t look up. “We’ve been occupied,” he murmured, his focus unwavering. “I need to figure out how to…”

He trailed off, and you frowned. Setting your bags down, you approached with one of the plates. “You won’t get far on an empty stomach,” you muttered, setting the food beside him.

His pen paused as his gaze flickered to the plate, then to you. “You care too much,” he said quietly.

“And you care too little,” you counter, leaning back in your chair. “Someone has to make sure you’re taken care of.”

He chuckles dryly, placing down his notebook and pen as he turns to meet your gaze. "I thought you were my apprentice, not my caretaker."

You shrug, "Aren't apprentices supposed to help their mentors? Plus,” you leaned against the desk, “after 3 years of working together, I figured I earned the friend title.”

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice quieter now, his gaze fixed on you. There was an intensity in his eyes that made you falter.

The hum of the Hexcore permeated the atmosphere, a subtle yet resolute drone. It reminded you of flies, their incessant buzzing heralding decay, drawn to what was already doomed. Like a song, featuring a strange, almost living rhythm, curling around your thoughts. You made an effort to ignore it, but the unease it evoked inside of you persisted, a whispered omen through static.

Your gaze stayed locked with Viktor’s, his amber eyes glinting with an intensity that made your chest tighten. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if he heard the hum too— 

“Though,” Viktor murmured, his voice low and measured, “perhaps I view you as something more.”

—or if it had already consumed him.

The quiet stretched, your pulse quickening as you tried to process his words. Then, without warning, he leaned forward—lips brushing yours.

His touch was gentle, careful, but it felt wrong. The room shifted, the walls closing in as the Hexcore’s hum swelled into an unbearable crescendo, like flies buzzing over decay.

Your mind screamed at you to move, to pull away, but shock froze you in place.

You didn’t know what to do, or how to react.

When he finally drew back, the space between you felt impossibly vast and suffocating all at once. Viktor stared, wide-eyed, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done. You mirrored his expression, stunned.

“I don’t know,” he cuts you off, his voice quiet but strained, like a violin string pulled too tight. He looks down at his hands, now trembling slightly. “I... I shouldn’t have.”

Your chest tightens as the silence between you grows unbearable. Every instinct tells you to say something, to demand an explanation, but words fail you. Instead, you grab your bags and retreat toward the door, the hum of the Hexcore growing louder in the stillness.

Viktor doesn’t move to stop you.

The door clicks shut behind you, and the faint sound feels deafening. Outside the lab, the air is cooler, but it did little to soothe the burning of his touch.

Inside, Viktor sat motionless, staring blankly at the plate of food. His lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of his guilt suffocating. But it wasn’t guilt over the act itself—no, the guilt came from something far worse.

I don’t regret it, the thought whispered like a vulture circling prey.

His gaze drifted to the Hexcore, its ominous glow pulsing faintly in the dim room. “I’m losing myself,” he murmured to the silence.

The Hexcore’s hum deepened, an almost living response, vibrating through the air like whispered agreement.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

You lean over the sink, droplets of water sliding down your face and dripping from your chin. The coolness of the water clings to your skin, but it does little to wash away the lingering sensation. His touch. His words. The suffocating hum of the Hexcore.

Your hands grip the porcelain edges of the sink, knuckles white, as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. Your reflection betrays you, every ounce of feeling lingering on its face. The towel wrapped around you feels heavy, suffocating, as though it might drag you under.

You don’t know what to feel.

Three years you've worked with him, learned from him. Even when he wasn't technically your mentor.

You admired him.

You owe him so much. The opportunity he gave you, the trust he placed in you. His unrelenting dedication and care, even as his body betrayed him.

The memory of his lips on yours lingers like an oil slick, something you can’t scrub away no matter how hard you try.

That bond felt scorched, twisted by the memory of his lips on yours. The Hexcore’s hum still buzzed in your mind, incessant like flies, circling something already decaying.

You press your palm to your lips as if to smother the burning sensation.

You splash water onto your face again, desperate for clarity, for some release from the sickening tangle of emotions pulling at you from every direction. Disgust coils deep within you, heavy and unrelenting. Disgust with him. Disgust with yourself.

How did it come to this?

Your breaths come in shallow gasps as your mind races. Could you have done something differently? Said something? Stopped him? But the guilt gnaws at you, whispering that perhaps you’d allowed this to happen, that your care had somehow blurred the lines between what was right and what should never have been crossed.

The buzzing from earlier won’t leave your mind, an ever-present phantom in the background of your thoughts. Flies, their relentless hum circling something already rotting.

You press the heels of your palms to your eyes, willing the image away. You want to cry, but the tears won’t come.

Instead, you exhale a shaky breath and straighten, staring at yourself in the mirror once more.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

"You can't be serious." Viktor seethed at Jayce, "You aren't actually considering using Hextech as a weapon, and against the undercity!?"

The past two days away from the lab weren’t nearly enough. The noise, the tension—it’s relentless. You find yourself yearning for a simpler time, back before the council, before the Hexcore began to feel like a living, breathing entity between you all.

"I can't—right now—I can't deal with this," Jayce sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I have a council meeting in a few hours. Y/n," he turned to you, his voice softening, "Could you go over these tests while I’m gone?"

You nodded, distracted, your eyes briefly locking with his.

Before you could reach for the files, a sharp voice cut through the tension.

"No."

You and Jayce turned, surprised by the sudden interruption. Viktor stood at the edge of the lab, his gaze locked on Jayce with an intensity that chilled you.

"They are no longer your apprentice, Jayce," Viktor continued, his voice rigid. "Any work they receive will be through me. And me only."

Jayce froze, eyes narrowing in frustration, but Viktor didn’t seem to care.

"Fine." Jayce scoffed, shooting Viktor one last glare before exiting the lab, the door slamming shut behind him.

The tension between you and Viktor hung in the air as silence settled in. Viktor turned back to his work, fiddling with some mechanical components. You returned to your notes, the scratching of your pencil filling the void between you.

The stillness was deafening. Only the clinking of Viktor’s tools against metal and the faint hum of the Hexcore filled the space.

"Shit, where—" Viktor muttered under his breath.

You lifted your gaze, curious, but the irritation in his tone was unmistakable.

"Y/n," he called quietly, "Do you think you can find my needle nose pliers?"

You nodded, mumbling a soft "yes" as you rose from your desk.

You glanced around, quickly spotting the pliers resting right next to the glowing Hexcore. Unease settles in you once more as you stare at the Hexcore.

Did it always look like that?

"Y/n?" Viktor's voice cut through your thoughts, forcing you back into reality.

"Oh— uh, found them."

You mutter, going over the the desk to pick them up. The moment your fingers brushed against the tool, the air seemed to crackle.

The Hexcore flared, and before you could pull away, a tendril of magic lashed out, striking your hand.

Pain seared through your palm, sharp and relentless, making you gasp and stumble back. But it was too late.

The Hexcore surged, and agony radiated up your arm like wildfire.

"Y/n!" Viktor's voice was frantic now, his chair scraping sharply against the floor as he rushed to your side.

Your skin sizzled as the glow of the Hexcore intensified.

A yank on your arm forces your attention away from the burn, Viktor grasped your hand tightly, inspecting the burn. It looked... worse than all the other burns you had received.

"You... You should have been more careful," Viktor murmured, his words shaky, but they felt distant, disconnected like they were coming from somewhere far away. His face was pale, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at your burned hand.

Slowly, he drags you away from the Hexcore over to his desk. Viktor grabbed a familiar porcelain pot, its surface cracked but still holding strong. He removed the glass lid, the faint scent of herbs wafting into the air as the greenish liquid within shimmered under the lab’s dim light.

For a moment, his hand hovered over the pot, hesitation flickering in his eyes. He dipped a piece of cotton into the liquid, his movements precise, almost mechanical. Then, with a gentleness that felt strangely out of place given everything, he took your injured hand in his.

The burn throbbed as he dabbed the cotton over it, the cool liquid soothing the worst of the sting. His touch was deliberate, almost reverent, as though he were trying to erase the damage through sheer force of will.

“This isn’t permanent,” he said softly, breaking the tense silence. “It will heal in a few days. You’ll hardly remember it.”

You winced as the liquid seeped into the wound, biting your lip to keep from crying out. “I��ve heard that before,” you muttered, your voice tight.

Viktor stilled, his hand pausing over yours. He stared at the burn for a long moment before he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Do you remember the first time this happened?”

You didn’t answer immediately, the memory tugging at the edges of your mind. It was years ago now, back when the lab felt like a sanctuary instead of a battlefield. Back when Viktor’s smile held warmth instead of shadows, the Hexcore was just an idea, not a force that seemed to breathe and pulse with its own twisted life.

“I remember,” you said, at last, your tone guarded.

Viktor nodded, his lips curving into something that was almost a smile but didn’t quite make it. “You were shaking. I thought you might never come back.”

You glanced at him, caught off guard by the faint flicker of nostalgia in his voice. “I didn’t want to. Not after that.”

He hummed, the sound low and contemplative. “And yet you did. You always came back.” His eyes met yours, and for a fleeting second, they softened. “Even when you have every reason not to.”

The words hung between you like a fragile thread.

“I came back because I trusted you,” you said quietly, the weight of the statement pressing down on your chest.

Viktor flinched, the softness in his eyes hardening into something darker. He lowered his gaze, focusing intently on your hand as he wrapped it in a clean bandage.

“You still can,” he murmured, but the words felt hollow like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive. Finally, Viktor broke it, his voice barely above a whisper. “About… before.”

Your breath hitched, and your stomach churned at the memory. You didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to relive the wrongness of his lips on yours or the way it had made your skin crawl.

“I shouldn’t have…” he began, his tone strained as if the words were being dragged out of him against his will. “It was—” He faltered, his grip tightening ever so slightly around your wrist. “A mistake.”

Viktor didn’t meet your gaze, his focus fixed on the task at hand. But there was something in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, that made you doubt the sincerity of his words.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

His hand froze mid-motion, and for a long moment, he didn’t respond. Then, slowly, he looked up at you, his amber eyes burning you.

“No,” he admitted, the word barely audible. “I don’t.”

The air between you seemed to shift, the weight of his confession pressing down like a physical force.

You pull your hand away from his grasp, and he lets you.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

You wandered the dark hallways, muttering curses under your breath. In your rush to leave earlier, you had forgotten something important in the lab, and now you were back. The sun had long set, casting shadows that made the corridors feel even more oppressive. Every step felt heavier as you neared the lab.

Your hand rested on the door, but you hesitated. A strange purple glow seeped from beneath it. Frowning, you pushed the door open just a little more.

What you saw inside froze you in place.

Viktor stood at the center of the room, clutching the Hexcore as energy surged from it. The room was alive with chaotic power, papers swirling violently in the air. The air crackled with an intensity that almost felt suffocating.

Viktor’s grip on the Hexcore was inhumanly tight, his body convulsing as energy ripped through him. His screams echoed a twisted mix of pain and something darker.

"Viktor!?"

Without thinking, you rushed forward, grabbing his arm in an attempt to pull him away. But the Hexcore seemed to resist, pulling back with a force that threatened to tear you apart.

A searing pain coursed through you, starting from your hand and spreading through your body like wildfire. You gasped, the sensation of your skin sizzling almost audible as you fought to stay on your feet.

An opulent light flared around you, the burns climbing up your body halting and healing quickly but leaving deep, raw scars in their wake. You could barely keep your vision clear as they spread, scarring your face and limbs, only for the wounds to heal just as quickly—leaving deep, jagged scars behind.

Viktor’s strained gasps filled the air as he looked over his shoulder, horror donning in his eyes when he recognized you. He saw the burns, your face raw with the damage, but before he could speak, the Hexcore pulsed again.

A final surge of energy erupted from it, throwing you back, your body slamming against the wall with a sickening crack. The lab was plunged back into silence, save for the distant hum of the Hexcore still glowing ominously in the center of the room,

Viktor gasps, catching his breath as he writhes on the floor. Desperation claws at him as he searches for your body, wi9dening once he sees it on the other side of the lab, blood smearing the wall behind you, a stark red against the pale stone.

“Y/n—” His voice cracked, hoarse and trembling. He dragged himself toward you, his movements slow and unsteady, his desperation palpable.

“Y/n!!”

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

Jayce stood motionless, staring at the still form in the hospital bed. Half of your face was unmarred, a ghost of the person he’d known for years. The other half was ravaged beyond recognition, the skin deeply scarred, a stark contrast that was hard to look at.

Beside him, the doctor spoke, her voice calm but grave. “There’s a spinal fracture. If they wake, they’ll be paralyzed from the waist down.”

“Stop,” Jayce whispered, his voice barely audible. He closed his eyes, as if shutting out her words could make them untrue. “Just... stop.”

The doctor hesitated, then nodded, her expression softening. “I’ll give you some space.”

As she left, Jayce remained rooted by your bedside, his gaze never leaving you. How had it come to this?

You had been more than an apprentice to him—his confidant, his partner, someone who believed in him even when he doubted himself. And now, you were here, teetering on the edge between life and death.

He gently reached for your hand, clutching it as though his grip alone could anchor you to this world. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “No more of this. No more council. I’m done with them. We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this.”

But his words felt hollow, and deep down, he knew he couldn’t undo what had been done.

━━━━━━━━❪❂❫━━━━━━━━

“No one could have predicted this tragedy. Today marks six months since Zaun’s devastating attack on Piltover—”

The radio droned on in the background, but Viktor wasn’t listening.

He stood silently beside the hospital bed, his gaze fixed on you. Your face, marked by the scars left behind, was peacefully asleep. Machines beeped softly in the background, monitoring your condition.

Viktor’s discolored hand hovered just above yours, trembling slightly. His expression was unreadable.

“Soon, my dear,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Soon.”

To be continued...

TagList:

@marcyyywukinnie

[trulyumai]

Being Away From Thou

Pairing: Messmer x Reader

Request: hiii! could i request maybe protective messmer or like someone went too far with his wife? Love ur works have a grt day!!

Warnings: Blood, Violence

Synopsis: While Messmer is away, an intruder invades his keep.

A/N: Hello everyone! I apologize for no updates last week, I was so sick, but my updates shall be coming regularly now. Thank you so much for the support, comments, re-blogs!

Enjoy!

The woodlands burned with fervor and ashen contempt. On and on, Messmers flames bit against the wind, carrying it further and more desperately towards civilization; towards innocent people led by the golden vows. 

The man himself did nothing but watch as the orange twists of flame embedded itself against his orbs, made home in the reddened iris’. 

With a slumped form the man held a crease between his brow. It was getting late, he couldn’t imagine how worried his little wife would be. 

So, with long pale fingers wrapped around his dutiful spear, he followed the muddy roads home. 

His back lit up against the blinking sky; the stars were swallowed whole with blackened ash and gray bubbles of smoke.

Fall was coming to an end and the cold weather made his legs stiff. It was much harder to leave a bed nestled in furs— with his darling girl molded against his form shivering pathetically. 

His arms would lay about her waist, rubbing soothingly to ease out each shiver that was let out. 

He could imagine now— her little frame draping across his. 

So soft, so desperate, so—

“Gods.” He cursed. 

His devotion held no bounds, even miles away the red knight could be so enamored with her. 

To want her. 

To need her. 

Messmer picked up his pace, it was getting too uncomfortable being so far away from such a woman. 

His woman. 

-

The girl hummed, her fingers found themselves busy amongst the kitchen. 

She chopped, she seasoned, she boiled. 

Lost in her tune, the weather was ceaselessly beating against the window pane. Droplets of water cascaded down upon the glass, blocking her line of sight towards the back of the house. 

Dusting her fingers across the cooked meat she tusked. 

“Not yet,” with a quick move of the hand the meat was placed back upon the rack; cooking slowly across the stove. 

All of a sudden, a bang sounded. It echoed through the little house and made the girl drop a wooden bowl that laid upon her delicate hands. 

Letting out a shriek the bowl rolled past her ankle, bumping into the lower cabinets where it splayed carelessly out. 

“H-hello?” She breathed quick— too nervous to let out a deep and guttural one. 

Turning towards the living space she was met with silence. The fire had burnt out, little sizzles could be heard from its desperate attempt to stay lit. 

The rain pelted against the walls— loud and harsh. 

Gulping, she made sure the bolt upon the door was in place, remembering Messmers words before his departure. 

“The door, darling. You mustn’t forget the latch. Double, triple check its placement upon the—“

She did nothing but stare up at him with lost, scared eyes. 

She hated to see him leave, especially so soon after his last mission. Little hands gripped harder onto the man’s forearm, nearly doubling the size and width of her own. 

“Wife,” the knight chastised.

“Is thou even listening?” 

“Yes,” her eyes rolled back playfully. 

“Check the door. I heard you, dear husband.” 

Two fingers found their way below her chin, tilting it upwards with a careful pressure. 

“I will be back in two days time, the capital has asked for reinforcements; thou will remain here. Safe.” His nails traced across her jawline, a shiver ran across the girl's spine. 

“I’ll miss you,” leaning into the man’s embrace she allowed her eyes to close. Her lashes fluttered with how warm the man’s palm laid. 

Messmer chuckled, it was deep— comforting. 

“I know, sweet girl.” Ignoring how the strings of his heart pulled at such an image, he removed his hand. 

If he stayed any longer— there would be no going to the useless capital. His mother would have his head, surely.

He could have said how much he’d miss her, how he loathes to leave her presence. 

Mention that he needed to kiss her frame every couple minutes or an itch would invade his mind. 

But he didn’t. 

He simply turned away, faced towards the erdflowers displayed upon their walkway. 

“Lock the door.” His armor clattered with each step he took, swaying with good measure. Not tearing her eyes off the tall knight she smiled.

“I love you!” She called out 

The man’s steps faltered. His head dipped with shame before he decided to look over one last time. 

“And I you,” turning his head one yellow iris glanced upon her form, before disappearing into the trees. 

- 

That was two nights ago. She had been so anxious waiting, it nearly slipped her mind. 

She found little jobs here and there to occupy the time. 

Clean the floors, dust the walkway, water the plants that littered about the garden. 

Her hands kept busy so her mind could rest. It hadn’t even occurred that Messmer was late. 

Backing up from the door, her back bumped into an object- a person? 

Dirtied hands rose to cover her mouth, a muffled cry pressed against the trespasser. 

“Shhh, shh girl.” The man bent down, saffron colored teeth grazed her ear and the smell of something rotten hit her senses. 

“The man of the keep. Where is he?” The voice was gruff, she tried to place it- to remember who could hold such a hostile tone but nothing came. Her form shook as the grip tightened around her face, squeezing at her cheeks. After nothing but silence, one hand came around to press itself onto her stomach. 

“Oi love, don’t make me hurt you,” the barbarian teased, his lips still on the shell of her ear. 

“Mmmh- mm!”

“What was- oh… my apologies lovely,” laughing to himself the hand was removed from the womans mouth, a gasp of air was taken almost immediately. 

“He's, he’s not here.” Grabbing at her cheeks she rubbed them, soothingly trying to ease the sore red spots easing their way onto her skin. 

“You're lying.” He spat, already flexing his other hand that leered against the wall. 

“I'm not!”

The hand tightened around her stomach, with an unexpected shove the girl crashed onto the wood beneath her. Skin blisters around each knee in response, and her chin bled lightly against the scratchy surface.

The barbarian lay on top of her now, with an arm holding each of hers. The other hand began flexing in the hair of her head, pulling it back with a smug grin. 

“Lie again.”

Scowling against the pressure her eyes squeezed shut. 

Think, think, think!

Don't let him take you, don't let him- 

A jingle rang out. All heads snapped towards the front door, where the knob jiggled and wobbled against a strength. 

Not liking the newfound company, the tyrant stood quick, and with a pull began to drag the woman towards the back garden.

Blood from her chin seeped out imminently, it left a trail of maroon to be displayed against the surrounding brown.

“Stop!” Her nails dug into the ground, cracking against the material roughly. 

“Shut it!” Tugging harder he kicked the woman who began to resist, she cried out in response.

Loud, too loud.

The man glanced up, his eyes widened with fear and static crawled up his legs and arms. 

The lock lay busted, hanging on by a thread. It swung loudly, creaked with each shift it took. 

Reddened armor bursted across his vision, and he noticed, with much disappointment, that the man of the keep was a knight. 

The Flame Knight. 

“I-I,

“An intruder?” Messmer questioned, although it sounded more so like a statement.  His head tilted slightly towards the opposing man's direction. His gaze lowered, to see his little woman stare back at him. 

The blood was noticed first, then the marks. 

Until finally, his eyes squinted at the filthy hands lying about her like a casual occurrence. 

Messmers hands gripped tightly upon his spear, until blue veins popped out in rage, until the jagged metal dug into his skin. 

“Wife,” The flame called out. 

The girl in response looked upon him, shame embedded into her features. 

“Look away.”

And so she did. Her arms covered her ears pathetically to drown out the screaming, the crying that only seemed to get louder with each gushing blow. 

She heard the blood hit the ground, like spilling a mug of honeydew, it was heavy, unpleasant. 

Until finally, silence. 

It was only moments later that a light touch skirted across her back. Craning her head up, she saw her husband; on his knees in front of her. He looked angry, hateful even.  

Her bottom lip wobbled as tears spewed from her lashes, lazily adorning her cheeks and plopping onto her already ruined nightgown. 

The knight did not hesitate to lean over and grab her, shoving the woman onto his lap carefully before bumping his nose on her neck. 

Inhaling, the man could once again feel himself coming down for the second time that night. The anger slowly dissipated with each breath of honey and flowers that clung to his wifes skin.

“Welcome home, my love,” she whispered, voice weak and tired from the prior endeavors. Already she wanted bed, to rest until her husband kissed each bruise away. 

Messmer hummed and stood with the smaller woman in his grasp, already on his way to rest for the night. 

Not bothering to step over the body littering his living room his boot collided with a limb, it squelched with the action. 

With now bloody strides, Messmer took his time up the stairs, with each step closer to the bedroom his head ducked down, laying a kiss upon the girl's forehead. 

Already, she began to forget about the trespasser, the blood that lay staining the floorboards. 

For each kiss was so warm- so loving, it was hard to think of anything else.

[missriyochuchi]

The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer

Summary: The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer meet in the Jardin des Tuileries after the Opening Ceremony and commiserate about the Olympic Games.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Established relationship. Mentions of death.

Notes: I imagined these two like otherworldly beings blessing the games, what with the Olympics being invented by ancient Greeks as a partly religious event. As such, I would have preferred to keep them gender neutral, but because I’m writing this in a pinch and want to be able to distinguish between them without constantly using their names, I opted for gendered pronouns. But nothing about their physical descriptions are particularly gendered; I’m just leaning on the old linguistic quirk lol Also, how tf is there no video of the Flagbearer!? I wanted to gif her/their entrance but couldn’t find a damn thing! She/They deserves more love!

Read on AO3 - Part 2 - Part 3

Darkness cloaks the Jardin des Tuileries. Even the cauldron floating above its center offers little illumination on the ground. Shadows play along the perimeter, tourists passing in the midnight hour, their idle conversations lost to the humid air. The soft patter of rain echoes across the masonry scattered throughout the empty park. Only the occasional creak of metallic plates and restless hoofbeats betray the garden’s solitary visitors.

The Flagbearer looks up at the orange orb in the sky. She marvels at the city’s ingenuity. Decades of oil and gas have finally given way to an electric fire. Only with such technological advancements could engineers even dream of safely flying the eternal flame above the City of Lights. If only the future was as assuredly bright, the Flagbearer thinks. Her gaze drifts back down to the darkness below, the surrounding chill creeping back into her senses. Her horse stirs beneath her and jostles her mind back to the present.

“Easy, Zeus,” she murmurs as she presses her legs to the animal’s sides in an attempt to soothe both their anxieties. ��Patience.”

No Olympic Games are ever truly free of political problems, an inevitability of any gathering between disparate peoples, but they weigh heavier on the Flagbearer’s mind now more than ever. Her part in the Opening Ceremony is small but significant, and though she spends less time among the crowds than her eternal counterpart, she catches enough to gauge that tensions are higher than ever before. The darkness of the night seems to encroach and bleed into the darkness in her mind as she ponders human history and her role in it. Before her resolve could lurch under the gravity of her thoughts, the light crunch of gravel announces his arrival.

“You are late,” the Flagbearer intones harshly. She steers her steed to turn around and face the approaching footsteps.

Enough ambient light creeps across the park to distinguish the Torchbearer’s silhouette, catching on the gauzy pieces of his attire bobbing in the breeze. His stride is sure, his stature straight, betraying neither weariness nor arrogance. Only a few meters away, he shrugs and raises his palms out at his sides, teasing, “I did not have a ride.”

The Flagbearer is unmoved but in no mood to quarrel. “How are you, my love?” Her voice floats soft and light through the misty drizzle.

“Exhausted.” His shoulders slump fractionally, perceptible only to his eternal flame facing him. “And you?”

“Concerned.”

The Torchbearer reaches for the horse’s muzzle and runs a familiar hand along his nose. “I hope you are not as troubled as your rider, mon joli cheval.” Zeus bows his long head and huffs in response. His palm runs along the animal’s left flank, lifting once he reaches the Flagbearer’s side. He extends both hands to her gloved ones and helps her to the ground.

“What ails my sweet?” He pinches her chin.

She hums and takes one of his hands in both of hers, squeezing hard enough to convey her worry. “In all our years shepherding these games, did you ever know the atmosphere to be this—”

“I know. The world is—”

“Restless.”

“Yes, and—”

“Not at peace.”

“Never has been, my love.”

“I do not remember it ever being this—”

“Your worries are not unfounded, cherie, but you must redirect your attention elsewhere.”

They circle the base beneath the cauldron, hand in hand. Zeus follows close behind, his reins tied to the saddle. While the nightlife bustles beyond the park’s pocket of silence, the few security guards on duty watch the hooded figures from a distance.

Event organizers had explicitly and numerously instructed personnel not to approach or engage with the Torchbearer and Flagbearer. They were both host and blessing to the festivities, and decades of tradition dictated that a respectful, neutral distance be maintained between the host nation and the two Olympic guardians so that there would be no suspicion of impropriety or favoritism during competition.

The Flagbearer recoils, incredulous. “How can you be so indifferent to the violence and rhetoric—”

“I am surprised that between the two of us, you, in your glittering armor, are the first to lose hope and declare defeat.”

“I have not!” She stops them in their orbit and shoves his hand back to his side.

The Torchbearer laughs. He crooks a finger under her chin and raises her gaze. She sighs and closes her eyes as the backs of his fingers graze her cheek. Her hands come up to open and press his palm to the side of her face, his pressure more than his warmth a soothing balm to her inner turmoil. Her voice is low and leaden when she continues.

“I merely wonder if the gods have not tasked us with an impossible mission.”

The Torchbearer falls silent as he contemplates the Flagbearer’s concerns. She did not interact with humans as much as he did, a natural consequence of their separate roles. While the Olympic torch exchanged hands with every kind of man and woman, the Olympic flag exchanged hands with a significantly select few. As a result, the Flagbearer’s opinion of humanity often leaned towards the optimistic while the Torchbearer’s leaned towards the pessimistic. He had come to know, better than she, the complexities of human nature, their heavenly highs and their hellish lows. They spent decades arguing about the tenuous balance. Now, as he watches his partner’s shoulders sag with the weight of the world, he finds himself despondent that she seems poised to concede to his viewpoint and knows it, knows that she lost this one important battle. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and guides their walk away from the cauldron.

“Plus vite, Plus haute, Plus fort.” The Torchbearer rattles off the Olympic motto.

“Citius, Altius, Fortius, my dear. Latin may be dead, but it is still your mother tongue.”

“‘Ensemble.’ C’est la partie importante. And that is precisely what they are doing and continue to do.”

“But for how long? We do not have a future if they do not, and my darling, I do not see—”

“We cannot predict the future any more than humans can. It is none of our concern. The gods will take care of us.”

“The gods have abandoned us, just as the humans have abandoned them.” The Flagbearer catches the ice in her voice and does her best to warm her vitriol. “We do not exist outside these games, my love. And if these games end, if the world can find no purpose to these communal competitions—”

Silence. The specter of death looms large in their periphery. Every Closing Ceremony marks the end of their days on Earth, a return to a darkness beyond darkness. And every two years, they are reborn and reimagined back into existence to inspire and perform and protect the Olympic Games. Despite the constancy of this cyclical event, the eternal guardians find humans increasingly less hospitable to the ideals they represent. What is sportsmanship to a world where even the rules of war no longer hold?

“Steel your heart as this city has steeled your form.” The Torchbearer steps close enough for the edge of his hood to kiss hers. “The next host cities have been decided, their venues under construction. We still have a future. There is no reason to despair.”

“For now.”

“For now.” He sighs at her obstinacy, but knows not to push further or risk wasting precious moments on a fruitless fight. “In the meantime, the games have begun, and we do not have much time together.”

A smirk plays beneath the Flagbearer’s hood. She perks up at her partner’s motives. “Sixteen days is not enough to spend with you.” She steps closer and brings her forehead to his. She squeezes his biceps, and he rubs her elbows in return. They exchange breaths for a moment of eternity.

“Come.” The Torchbearer takes her hands and swings her in circles. Their laughs echo as they near the horse. “Much of the city has changed since we were last here, and you will not see them if you continue to sulk beneath the cauldron.”

The Flagbearer mounts Zeus and extends an arm to help the Torchbearer take a seat behind her. He presses his front to her back, unbothered by her damp cape. He slides his arms along either side of her waist and rests his hands atop hers on the horn of the saddle. The horse ambles forward towards the city streets.

Buoyed by the Torchbearer’s embrace, the Flagbearer regains a sliver of her hope and optimism. “The Italians will call on us next. Perhaps we will meet a changed world by then.”

“We always do. I wonder what forms they have planned for us.”

“I quite like this form on you, my dear. The cut of your jacket complements you well.”

“As does this armor on you, mon amour.” His hands find the edge of her cuirass and sneak nimble fingers to the suit underneath.

She giggles at the light pressure below her ribcage. “I will miss hearing you speak this city’s language.”

The Torchbearer tightens his hold on the Flagbearer, impressing his being into hers. “You worry about community and forget that we are in the City of Love.”

“Paris is not the world, my dear.” They sway in sync as Zeus carries them towards the edge of the garden.

“Perhaps, but the Olympic Village is, or at least, as close an approximation as the humans are capable of producing. If it is unity you seek, we will surely find a certain kind—”

“You said you were exhausted.” Amusement lightens the Flagbearer’s tone, her heavy mind now fizzy with thoughts of the Torchbearer’s amorous intentions.

“Never enough to deter me from you.” He presses his chin to her shoulder, his words vibrating down the expanse of her armor. “Would you waste the energy of the players’ liaisons?”

Her hood whips to the side as he squeezes the unarmored flesh of her upper thigh. Before she can answer, he takes the reins and brings Zeus to a gallop towards the Olympic Village.

“No more talk,” he heaves with urgency. “I need you before the sun rises and our duties begin again.”

Footnotes:

mon joli cheval - my pretty horse cherie - dear Plus vite, Plus haute, Plus fort (French) / Citius, Altius, Fortius (Latin) - Faster, Higher, Stronger ‘Ensemble.’ C’est la partie importante. (French) - ‘Together.’ That is the important part. mon amour - my love

“The 100% electric flame burns no fuel. The ring of fire uses 40 LED spotlights to illuminate the cloud created by 200 high-pressure misting nozzles.” (source)

According to the engineers who built the mechanical horse, its name is Zeus.

[blogthebooklover]

Smite The Wicked/Into The Sunlight

Author's Note: This one shot is based on Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame. This is almost 7 pages long on my Google Doc, lol. I do have a fan art WIP of this scene, be on the lookout for that soon. This is also available on Wattpad and FFN. I do not own Planet of the Apes, or The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Noa burst through the door, smiling widely and feeling ecstatic, “We did it!  We beat them back, Mae!  Come, come, come and see.”  He was about to leave to see the victories again, and briefly turned his head to look over his shoulder.  Mae was lying unconscious on a bed, in a small dark room and she wasn’t moving.  Noa went down on all fours and hopped over to check on her.  “Mae, you are safe…now,” he said, nudging her arm carefully.  The female human still did not move.  Noa placed his hand on her forehead, and then stroked her temple with the backs of his fingers.  She felt cold to the touch, like from being outside too long in the winter or during a rainstorm in the spring and summer.

“Mae?” he asked softly, and then his golden jade eyes widened slightly, “oh no.”

The young chimp grabbed his canteen of water nestled along his hip, cradled the human’s head in his other hand, and brought it to her lips.  The water dripped down the sides of her mouth and cheeks.  Noa’s eyes widened this time in fear and shock.  He dropped his canteen, not caring about it spilling onto the floor and soaking into his fur.  “Oh n-no…,” he whispered, taking hold of her small hand in his, squeezing it as gently as he could.  

He felt tears well up in his eyes, as he gently wrapped the human female in his arms.  Burying his face in her neck, he let out soft sobs, his shoulders bobbing as he tried to hold back from sobbing and hooting too loudly.  

Behind him in the doorway, Anaya, Soona and his mother Dar glanced in when he entered to tell Mae the news.  They saw Noa bring his canteen up to Mae’s lips for some water, only for her not to take it at all.  The three apes glanced at each other in concern and sadness for the young ape and his human friend.  Soona embraced Dar, burying her head in the older ape’s shoulder.  Dar gently stroked the younger female’s head, keeping an eye on her son and feeling tears well in her own brown orbs.  Anaya reached out to pull the door shut to give Noa some privacy, and a chance to say goodbye to the Echo.

Noa cradled Mae’s unconscious body in his arms, gently stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers.  He had placed her head against his shoulder, gently brushing away strands of her hair from her face.  The young ape bit his bottom lip, as he tried his best not to hoot in sadness.  Noa was too far gone into his mourning to take notice of the door opening again.  Or the heavy footsteps coming up behind him.  He then felt someone’s hand on his shoulder, looming over him and his friend.

“Is she dead?” asked Proximus Caesar darkly.

“Because of you,” Noa accused weakly.  

“It was… my duty for…apes.”

“Duty?!  For apes?! ”

“In the name of Caesar,” the bonobo king huffed, “to keep apes strong.”  Noa shot the barest, most hurtful and hateful of glances over his shoulder at the bonobo.  “The true Caesar…wanted to live…in harmony with… humans,” the young ape argued weakly, putting an emphasis on the word true.  Proximus sighed audibly through his nostrils, before growling slowly, “I am the true Caesar.  My words…the apes follow.”

The bonobo king turned away from Noa, releasing the younger ape’s shoulder.  “Now, we are rid of the human girl.  We will find more…and make them…our slaves.  Better yet…we will kill them all…and this world will be ours.”

Noa had placed Mae back down on the bed, and laid her hands on top of each other over her stomach, and lightly patted them before standing up to face the bonobo.  “Kill…all humans?!  Caesar cared for humans…as well as apes.  And…there can be no world…without humans…without her,” the young ape interjected defeatedly, gesturing to the human girl behind him.  “Mae…made her choice…Noa,” Proximus said, glancing over his shoulder at the chimpanzee, “she died for humans…and humans are always selfish.  They do not…know how to…love.”

“‘Humans… do not know…how to love?’” Noa repeated before challenging Proximus, feeling his hackles rising along his neck and shoulders “and what…do you know of love?  Who do you love?!”  He suspected his golden jade eyes were wild with grief and anger, because he noticed the bonobo’s own brown eyes widened slightly and inhaled sharply.

“I…I love my kingdom,” Proximus for once in his life, stumbled on his words, “I tried to make you understand, Noa.  That humans are…wicked and weak.  To teach you…the ways of Caesar.  But I was wrong…you are also…weak.”  Noa curled his fingers into fists, and gave the bonobo the most deathly glare he could muster.  “No…you are the weak one…  You are the wicked one…  ‘And the wicked shall not go unpunished!’”  The young ape repeating the words the bonobo used during one of his speeches.  

Proximus snarled at Noa before lunging forward to grab the chimp.  Noa was two steps ahead of him, bending at the waist and tackling the bonobo right through the open door.  The chimpanzee banged his fists into the bonobo’s face and chest, screeching so loud it rang through the air.  He simply did not care anymore, now that Mae laid dead in the room behind him.  

Proximus grunted as he kneed Noa in the abdomen and pushed him off.  The bonobo beat the younger one in the face and chest.  The chimp could feel blood, he couldn’t tell if it was his own or the older ape’s.  Noa grabbed Proximus by his shoulders, and headbutted the bonobo as hard as he could.

He stumbled off of the chimp, and Noa crawled away from the false king.  The young ape felt a hand wrap around his ankle, dragging him back to the bonobo.  Noa kicked Proximus in the face with his other foot, causing the bonobo to release his ankle.  The force from the kick was enough for the older ape to knock against the metal railing of the ship.  Proximus became disoriented when his head banged against it.

X.X.X.X.X.X.

Back in the small room, Mae stirred awake, blinking rapidly for her eyes to adjust in the forthcoming dawn.  She brought a hand to her face and head, checking for any signs of injury.  She turned her head to survey her surroundings, the young woman was in a small room and was lying down on a cot with a worn blanket underneath her.  There was a door to her right, and she could hear the sounds of apes fighting each other.  She gasped softly when she heard Noa screech in pain, and the other ape he was fighting was Proximus Caesar.  Mae heard the older ape’s head bang against the metal railing, and Noa coming into view in the doorway.

She called out weakly, reaching out for him, “Noa!”

The young chimp turned his head, his golden jade eyes glistened in surprise and unshed tears of happiness at her.  He hopped over to her on all fours, and crouched in front of her.  “Mae,” he exhaled, grabbing her outstretched hand and feeling relief that she was alive.  He gently picked her up in his strong arms, and she wrapped her own around his neck.  

As quickly as he could, Noa carried Mae out of the room and ventured further into the ship to find a place to hide.  Eventually, the chimp placed the girl onto his back, and climbed up into the rafters.  From their hiding spot, Noa could see Proximus had come out of his disoriented state and was searching for them.  The bonobo growled in frustration, sniffing the air for their scents, but the salt from the ocean was too thick to trace them.  The chimp stiffened when he noticed Proximus was right under them now.  He felt Mae tightened her grip slightly around his neck and chest.  

Then the bonobo glanced above into the rafters.

“Going somewhere?” he snarled in wicked delight, before ascending up to where they were.

           Noa told the girl to hang on as he climbed further away from the approaching bonobo.  The chimp swung from rafter to rafter, he felt Mae hold on as tightly as she could on his back.  They could hear Proximus along the rusted metal, prompting Noa to climb faster.  He could feel Mae losing her grip around his torso.  He had to hurry to find a safe place for them.  The young chimp found an opening to the deck of the ship, swung from a metal rafter, and pulled himself and Mae through it.

Mae let go of the ape at once, when she was safely on the deck.  He was about to join her when something grabbed him by the ankle, his eyes widening in surprise.  He was pulled back down into the opening, releasing a screech of fear as he disappeared.  “NOA!” Mae screamed, reaching out for his hand through the opening.

X.X.X.X.X.X.

Proximus threw Noa onto a rafter, the younger ape hitting his head against it.  The bonobo placed his foot on the chimp’s chest, slowly pressing down as he sneered, “I thought… you were like me, Noa.  I was wrong…”  Proximus leaned down further, pressing even more into Noa’s chest, causing the chimp to choke.  The young chimp could feel himself becoming lightheaded.

“Your heart is too…human!”

Noa growled at the bonobo, grabbing onto his ankle and using whatever strength he had left, pulled the older ape’s foot off his chest and tossed him to the side.  The bonobo grunted in pain when he hit the metal wall of the ship.  The young chimp pushed himself up, looking around for the way he took to get to the opening.  Proximus struggled to get up, feeling disoriented from the force.  The older ape pushed himself up, only to slip on a wet patch of dirt and grime on the rusted metal.

Proximus grabbed hold of the edge of the rafter, hanging on with whatever strength he had left.  The bonobo growled in frustration as he contemplated a way to get to the younger ape, and finish him off once and for all.  There was a loud creak in the metal, the wet spot had created an indentation in the rafter and then it snapped in half.  Proximus hooted loudly in fear as his half broke off and dangled in the air.  The bonobo screeched out for Noa to help him.

The young chimpanzee was halfway near the opening to the deck, when Proximus had called out to him.  The bonobo was dangling from half of the rusted rafter of the ship.  Noa dared to briefly look down at the bottom of the ship’s interior.  It was a very large and long fall from where he was, and where Proximus Caesar was still hanging on to the metal half.  The chimp made eye contact with the bonobo, the older ape reaching out his hand in desperation.

Noa growled in frustration at this predicament.  From the opening to the deck, he could hear Mae yell out for him.  He turned his head to look at her, the human female was halfway through the opening and reaching out her hand to his.  The chimpanzee gritted his front teeth together, contemplating whether to help Proximus, or grab the human female’s hand to safety.

There was another creak in the metal, and Noa quickly turned his head toward the sound.  The rafter half where Proximus was dangling from had moved again, this time away from the other side of the ship.  The bonobo screamed out for Noa to help him again, reaching out his elongated arm to the chimp.  The younger ape knew it was useless to do so from the far distance between them.

Noa could only think of one thing to say to the disgraced king.

“I agree with you…on one thing.  My heart is too human…”

X.X.X.X.X.X.

The bonobo roared at him as the rafter broke completely off, and the reverberation from the metal caused the older ape to let go.  Proximus fell into the recesses of the ship, with the rafter following after.  Noa could hear both the older ape hitting the bottom and the metal rafter falling on top of him.  The chimpanzee winced at the sound as it echoed throughout the ship.

Noa closed his eyes briefly, he didn’t know if it was a moment of silence for the bonobo, or utter shock from such a gruesome way to die.  He inhaled sharply through his nostrils before ascending upward to the human female reaching out to him.  The young chimp clasped his large hand as gently as he could around Mae’s much smaller hand.  She had some help from Anaya and Soona as all three of them pulled him through the opening.  The two chimpanzees embraced him tightly, hooting in happiness that their childhood friend was safe.  They touched their foreheads with each other, huffing lightly with joy as Dar approached as well to wrap her son in his arms.  He touched his forehead with his mother, feeling grateful that his friends and family were safe.

Noa turned his attention to Mae after his mother released him from her embrace.  The human female stood there shyly, her gaze not quite looking at him as he approached her.  

It was Mae who eventually stepped forward and wrapped her small arms around his neck.  The young chimp was shocked at first that it was the human who initiated this intimate gesture.  He slowly wrapped his arms around her, one around her back and the other stroking her hair gently.  He felt her small hand grasp the fur along his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck.  She felt so small in his strong arms, he suspected she felt perfectly comfortable at the same time.  Noa would keep that thought and feeling to himself.

She pulled back to look into his golden jade eyes.  The human female had a small smile on her lips, and he returned it in kind.  

He felt a hand on his shoulder, turning his head slightly to his left, he noticed it was his mother with Soona and Anaya next to her.  The older female chimp gently took his hand and Mae’s into her own, and placed them on top of each other before placing hers on top of their entwined hands.  

Then Anaya placed his own hand on top of Dar’s and then Soona.  “Together strong,” Dar said softly.  Noa noticed the tears streaming down Mae’s cheeks.

He raised his free hand to her cheek, and gently wiped away her tears with the backs of his fingers.  That small smile from earlier was still on both of their faces.

X.X.X.X.X.X.

The four apes and the human female joined the rest of the Eagle clan in the courtyard of Proximus’s domain.  Anaya surged forward, hooting in delight and encouraging the others to join him.  Dar and Soona stayed behind with Noa, taking in the celebration going on around them.  Noa looked around for Mae, until he glanced over his shoulder behind him.  

She was standing in the shadows of the rusted ship, her right hand grasping her left forearm and looking away at something in the distance.  The young chimp huffed lightly before nodding to himself, and slowly approached the young human.  

 He reached out his hand to her, offering her a small smile.  Mae glanced down at his large hand before meeting his golden jade eyes.

He nodded slowly, silently telling her it was all right.  She placed her hand into his, and he pulled her into the light of the day.

Noa led the human female over to his mother, Anaya and Soona, and turned to the remaining Eagle clan.  The rest of the clan stood there silently in the courtyard, staring at the human female next to their new leader.  

Mae glanced around at the Eagle Clan, her grip on Noa’s hand tightening slightly in anxiety.  She could feel all eyes on her, some of the apes closest to the quintet had sniffed in the air around her.  She couldn’t tell if they were scenting her as a friend, or sniffing in utter disgust as a foe.

Then, a young female child ape approached her slowly.

The child ape glanced back briefly at her mother, the older female raising her hand in a way of saying it was okay.  The little ape turned back and came to a stop in front of Mae.

The child ape blinked slowly, moving her head up and down taking in the human’s appearance.  Mae let go of Noa’s hand when she crouched down to the child’s level.  

The little ape cocked her head to the side in curiosity, hooting lowly under her breath.  Then, the child reached forward and brushed the backs of her fingers against Mae’s smooth cheek.  The human gasped softly at the contact, before giving in and slowly embracing the little ape.  The little ape placed her forehead against Mae’s, accepting the human entirely.  Mae felt fresh tears stream down her face in joy.

A few more child apes approached Mae, cautious at first, and then began touching her hair and clothes in curiosity and wonder.  The human smiled at the ape children around her.

One of the child apes grabbed Mae’s hand, and began leading her into the crowd of the Eagle clan.  The other apes lightly brushed their knuckles against the human’s clothes and arms as she passed them.

Noa looked on proudly as Mae traversed through the Eagle clan, his people accepting the human as one of their own.

[ravencincaide]

Not my soulmate

Summary:  No, absolutely not. You refused to even consider the fact that your universe's chosen soulmate was one of the most brutal, deadliest and wanted men of Yokohama. And none other than an ability user! No, absolutely and utterly no, even if he was a little cute..

Pairing: Fem reader x Chuuya Nakahara 

Raven’s Special prompt: Soulmate AU : “Chuuya soulmate au ooh it could be the one where soulmates have their names written down somewhere on them”

Warnings: Cursing, annoyed Chuuya and bratty reader

Enjoy~

You looked at the news segment; the picture of a manic looking man with ginger hair partially hidden beneath the shade of his tophat. Piercing eyes that stole your breath and the boyish grin that mocked the viewer of the security footage from which the picture was taken. The photo was surrounded by huge letters which warned viewers about the dangerous man. “ Do not engage. Comply with his demands and when safe alert the authorities. Executive of Port Mafia:  Nakahara Chuuya is– ” 

You tore your gaze away and down to your bare forearm where cursive red letters glowed out the name of your soulmate. Then you flickered your eyes back up towards the news segment which described the executives' latest atrocities. Then back down at your arm- back up to the news. Down to your arm. Up to the news. 

Then you screamed. 

“ Jesus Y/N are you alright?!” You heard your mothers voice echo from the hallway accompanied by her rushed steps. The time it took her to reach you was just enough for you to pull the sleeves of your shirt down, in the process knocking over a cup of hot tea onto the table. As she entered, you flashed her a guilty smile for needlessly worrying her.  “ Did you burn yourself?” You shook your head in answer “ Good, what got you screaming? Did you find your soulmate or something?” 

You faked a laugh then cracked at your mothers pointed look. “ Yeah on the news” you said with a roll of your eyes. Thankfully the wanted poster was replaced with the weather forecast narrated by an elderly gentleman.

Your mother laughed loudly at the sight of the pensioner“ Ohh that’s just a coincidence- common name you know?” she brushed a few stray strands of hair out of your face reassuringly “ I’m going to head out for some errands then visit a few friends–” 

“ - have fun and I’ll keep my phone close in case you miss the last train” you promised. Your cheeky remark earned you a glare and a mouthed ‘one time’ before the woman strolled out of the apartment in an almost guilty fashion- as if to say the second time could be tonight. You smiled a little but your smile dropped the second your eyes landed back onto the news segment. 

The warning poster was back with the ginger haired murderer; cocky grin, black mafia coat and all. 

“ No, no way” you muttered as your fingers trailed over the material above the matemark. “ Just the same kanji- not even the same pronunciation. Not even the same name!” you told yourself. Forced yourself to believe that until the name on the screen stopped making your heart beat faster. Now then to the mess with the tea–

You froze as you heard the doorbell. Then rolled your eyes at your mothers forgetful nature. The doorbell rang again and again, an impatient sound that made you groan out loud as though you were a teenager again “ I hear it. I’m coming, I’m coming. Sheesh, if you're in such a hurry you should have just taken the keys with you in the first place.” 

You opened the door and your blood ran cold. Your mouth was dry as you came face to face with piercing blue orbs of the man in the news segment. Before you could react, a gloved hand reached up and he tipped his top hat towards you in politely gentlemanly greeting. 

“ You’re Y/N yeah?” his voice was rough, language of a typical delinquent which did not match his appearance, it made your lips tug downwards into a frown. 

“ N-no sorry wrong apartment” You attempted to shut the door but he stuck his dress shoes in the way. A gloved hand grabbed the wood and forced it wide opened again. 

“ Ehh you sure? Coulda sworn this was your picture? Nevermind, sure you ain't lacking a soulmate?” although flirty there was an undeniable warning in his words as he crumpled up your official picture and stuffed it in his pocket. 

It was a warning you ignored. 

“ N-no sorry, I’ve already met my soulmate!” you lied and hoped it was believable. 

“ Oi– okay if that’s the case dollface, then you wouldn’t mind stripping just enough for me to see the mark, yeah?” Chuuya grabbed your arm and kept you in-place as he drew closer, hot breath fanned your face. Eyes glared daggers as though he saw right through your lie. Your mind replayed the warnings from the news which so bluntly told all civilians to stay the hell away from him and if encountered then;  

Comply with his demands and when safe alert the authorities.

But since you already lied to him and refused his orders- how fucked were you? And would it at least be a merciful death?

Chuuyas impatient growl filled you with more and more dread. It only increased as he yanked you closer to himself.  “ Where the hell is it?” His free hand began tugging on your shirt. Lifted it up just high enough to see your stomach, then cursed when the mark wasn’t there. “ I said where the fuck is it?!” 

The way Chuuya yelled; desperate attempts to find your mark and then the realization that he would kill you once he saw it filled you with a sense of hopelessness. But with it came anger; Why you? Why now? And why did this bastard have to be your soulmate? And more important why did he seek you out? 

‘Well if you were going to die then you would be damned sure it wouldn't be without a fight’ That was your last thought before you raised your knee and hit him in the groin. You heard him huff, saw him double over in pain and used those precious seconds to pry his hands off yourself. 

And then you ran. 

Author Note: Well it's not my best work but it was fun to write. And i managed to get it right below the 1000 word word limit- Yay me! Hope this special made you laugh- or at least crack a smile and until next Sunday.

Update: Find part two here, disobedient soulmate

Can't wait so long? Check out Raven's masterlist for more stuff to read!

©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reposted/copied anywhere else without my consent, please inform me!

[rainforestakiie]

hello everyone, i am back with my new omegaverse au.

i can't wait for you all to read. if you remember my full moon prompt from harvest, this is heavily based on it. i am writing this for @inubaki i saw your new request and it inspired me to write this new au.

i hope you enjoy part 01. i can't wait to post part 02. this will be an omegaxomega story again because it's my favorite~ with possessive and dark lucifer, naive and confused adam.

it's not really a swap au, so adam won't fall with lucifer this time. i'm sorry, everyone. it's going to follow my full moon mini story, so that will be rewritten and added to this au. anyway! i hope you all will enjoy and let me know what you think~

Full Moon

Part 01 - Part 02 - Part 03

Mini AU

At the dawn of existence, before the world had found its rhythm, chaos gave birth to a single, luminous creation: a moon. But this was no ordinary moon, no pale orb hanging in the skies of mortal lands. No, this moon was a celestial marvel, vast and wondrous, its radiance a gentle blue that shimmered like liquid silver. It pulsed with an unearthly glow, its surface rippling as though formed of water from some forgotten, enchanted realm. Thousands of starry fragments seemed trapped within it, glimmering and sparkling, each twinkle whispering secrets of the infinite. This moon was not merely a light in the void; it was life itself, the very cradle of creation. The mortals would come to know it as the Heart of Life.

It was beneath this cosmic beacon that Lucifer came into being. He remembered nothing before that moment—no echoes of thought, no whispers of time. One instant, there was nothing; in the next, he simply was. His first sensation was sharp and jarring: an icy cold that stabbed at his newly formed skin, igniting an instinctual flare of terror in his core. His pale, fragile form trembled and twisted, spilling forth onto the shimmering, reflective platform beneath the moon, a surface as smooth and enigmatic as the moon itself.

Then it happened. The moon’s ethereal light caressed him, and his fragile back split open with a searing, almost beautiful pain. From the rupture emerged six towering wings, their edges dripping with stardust, each feather gleaming as though crafted from the night sky itself. They unfolded in a slow, trembling arc, spilling radiance into the void.

In those first fragile moments, Lucifer was overwhelmed—terrified, confused, and trembling beneath the enormity of existence. But then, as his gaze lifted, his wide, unseeing eyes caught the moon's reflection. Its silvery glow filled his vision, granting him sight, and with it, understanding. The fear melted away, replaced by a warmth so profound it wrapped around his very soul. In that instant, he no longer felt lost. The moon’s light cradled him, whispered to him, and he felt safe. He felt whole.

And for the first time, Lucifer smiled, his heart quietly aglow with a happiness that was ancient and eternal.

Lucifer stood tall, a quiet confidence radiating from his pale, stardust-kissed form. His bare feet hovered just above the shimmering expanse of the moon’s surface, his toes brushing its soft, silvery glow as if testing its touch. He stretched his wings wide, the six magnificent appendages arching outward, their feathers dripping with glimmers of light that seemed alive. Tilting his head back, he basked in the moon's radiant embrace, the soft glow washing over him like a tender lover’s caress. For a moment, the void felt full, brimming with the moon’s quiet adoration.

Then he heard it.

A voice, gentle as a sigh, rippled through the silence, weaving its way into his very soul. It was not male nor female but something far beyond, a melody of existence itself. The moon was speaking to him.

"My Morningstar," it whispered, its tone carrying an ancient tenderness, "you have awakened."

The words curled around him, soft as silk, yet heavy with purpose. Lucifer’s breath hitched as he lowered his gaze to the moon’s surface, his reflection gazing back at him with those glowing, celestial eyes that mirrored the moon’s very essence.

"You are the first, my Morningstar," the moon continued, its voice brimming with a quiet pride. "The first archangel born of my light, and the only one who will ever bear the title of Omega. You are unique. Precious. From this moment, you will carry a duty unlike any other."

Lucifer stood silent, his pale lips slightly parted as he listened, confusion and unease prickling at the edges of his thoughts. He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as they searched the endless abyss surrounding him. Far in the distance, a flicker caught his attention—a faint flame, no larger than the tip of a pin, burning in defiance of the darkness.

"That," the moon’s voice said softly, "is the Sun of Passion, where your brothers will rise. They are the Alphas, born from fire, brimming with light and recklessness. They are every bit the sun’s reflection—burning brightly, passionately, and fiercely."

Lucifer’s gaze lingered on the distant flame, his celestial eyes squinting as though it would reveal more if he stared long enough. He turned back toward the moon, confusion evident on his delicate features.

"And you," the moon’s voice murmured, "are their balance. Your purpose, my Morningstar, is to unite with an Alpha. To create. To bring forth a new wave of angels into the universe."

The words struck him like a blow, heavy and unwelcome. Lucifer’s expression twisted, his lips pulling downward into a frown. The idea of submission, of yielding to this so-called Alpha, made something churn deep within him. He pressed his hand to his stomach, as if trying to suppress the sickness threatening to rise.

"I don’t want that," he whispered sharply, his voice trembling like a fragile thread about to snap. "I don’t want to submit to them."

The moon’s light dimmed ever so slightly, as though it had heard him but chose not to answer. The silence that followed felt vast, echoing his discontent, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Lucifer turned back to the tiny flicker of the sun, its distant flame pulsing with an intensity that made his stomach tighten. Slowly, he sank to his knees, his form folding into the moon’s shimmering waters. The silvery surface lapped at him, cool and comforting, but it could not soothe the storm raging within. His wings drooped, their radiant light dimming as he buried his face in his hands.

His moonlit eyes lifted once more, scanning the endless plane of the moon’s surface. He knew no Alpha could touch this sacred place. He was safe here, for now. Yet the thought of what awaited—of mating with something born of fire, something created to command—made his chest ache with defiance.

"I don’t want that," he whispered again, the words sharper this time, almost cutting against the silence.

The moon did not reply. Its voice, once so gentle and constant, had withdrawn, leaving Lucifer alone with his rebellion, his fears, and his refusal to accept the fate laid before him.

The first time Lucifer encountered an Alpha, it had been nothing short of unpleasant. Their presence was overwhelming, their arrogance suffocating, and their belief in their own superiority over Omegas left an ache in Lucifer’s chest that refused to fade. To them, Omegas were meant to be beneath them—submissive, pliable, obedient. The very thought turned his stomach. He had avoided them ever since, choosing solitude over their oppressive aura.

Lucifer, almost bare save for the moonlit feathers that adorned his pale form, moved with quiet grace. The soft plumage grew like a second skin, shielding his most intimate places and draping him in a natural elegance. Moon-white and shimmering blue, the feathers lined his arms and legs, caressed his collarbone, and framed his wrists and ankles like celestial jewelry. Two small, delicate wings sprouted from the sides of his head, their soft flutter stirring faint sparkles across his cheeks. He looked like something born of dreams, fragile and yet impossibly radiant.

Stretching his larger wings, he gently combed his fingers through their soft feathers, removing the stardust that clung to them from his exploration of the new stars that had begun to dot the cosmos. The moon had urged him to leave its comforting waters, to see the wonders beyond its light. At first, Lucifer had resisted, reluctant to leave the only place that truly felt like home. But curiosity had won out.

He had landed on a newborn star, his bare feet sinking slightly into its gleaming surface, the golden light beneath his touch warm and alive. His delicate hands traced its smooth expanse, and for the first time, Lucifer felt the pulse of new light—untamed, unshaped, beautiful. His moonlit blue eyes reflected the star's brilliance, shifting to a luminous gold as he smiled softly.

"Ah… you will be the Morningstar," he murmured, his voice tender, almost reverent. A chuckle escaped his lips, light and airy, as he settled back on the balls of his feet. "Like me."

He sighed, his wings twitching as he pulled them closer, beginning to preen the feathers with his fingertips. A few of the plumes shimmered faintly with the golden light of the star, and Lucifer’s gaze lingered on them in quiet awe.

"Oh," he whispered, lowering his gaze to the star beneath him. "You’re amazing."

As if responding to his words, the star quivered beneath his touch, its light gathering and forming into a tiny orb of pure golden brilliance. The orb floated upward, shimmering and sparkling, a miniature star cradled within its fragile glow. Lucifer gasped softly, cupping his stardust-covered hands beneath it, holding it close to his face.

"You’re beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder.

The star twinkled in reply, and Lucifer’s heart stirred—a quiet, strange rhythm that was new and unfamiliar. Time slipped away as he sat there, the golden orb held tenderly in his hands. When his legs began to weaken, trembling beneath him, he didn’t notice. He only had eyes for the star. Slowly, almost instinctively, he tilted his face forward, his long, dark lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. He pressed his lips to the orb in a soft, delicate kiss.

It shone brighter, pulsing in response to his touch, and Lucifer couldn’t help but grin.

"I’m Lucifer," he said softly, his voice a gentle hum. "The Morningstar Archangel."

The star flickered, its golden light shimmering as if in reply.

"I’m… an Omega, apparently," he added, a slight laugh escaping his lips. His gaze softened as he watched the orb sparkle. "The only Omega archangel. There are many Alpha archangels, though."

Lucifer sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping as the weight of the words settled over him.

"Alphas are supposed to dominate Omegas," he murmured, his voice quieter now, tinged with melancholy. "It means I’m supposed to… submit. To them. And…"

He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line before he shook his head. "I don’t like that."

The star flickered softly, as if listening to him, its golden glow pulsing gently against his hands.

"I don’t want to submit. I don’t want to mate with an Alpha," he continued, his words spilling out like confessions to the tiny star. "I don’t want to create a new wave of angels. I don’t want to… surrender myself to someone who thinks they’re better than me. That’s what they think, you know. The Alphas. They think I’m beneath them. That I’m supposed to bow."

His fingers tightened slightly around the orb, though he was careful not to harm it.

"But I’m not," he said, his voice firmer now, though still soft. "I’m not beneath them. And I don’t want to be bound to this fate."

The star shone brighter, as though in agreement, and Lucifer laughed softly, a bittersweet sound.

"You understand, don’t you?" he whispered, his lips curving into a faint smile. "You’re new, just like me. You don’t want someone telling you what you’re meant to be, either."

The orb twinkled, its light dancing across Lucifer’s moonlit skin, and for a moment, he felt understood, comforted. He leaned closer to it, his wings curling protectively around him as he whispered his thoughts into the golden glow.

Lucifer cradled the golden orb in his stardust-streaked hands, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against its warm, delicate surface. He wasn’t sure if it truly understood him, if it could feel the ache that bled through every whispered word. Yet the way it sparkled, the way it twinkled as though it were smiling at him, made his chest tighten with a flicker of hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, it did.

Bringing it closer, Lucifer pressed another gentle kiss to the center of the orb, his lips lingering against its radiant warmth. A sigh escaped him, soft and yearning, as he rested his cheek against its golden glow.

"Can’t I be yours instead?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. He nuzzled his face into the star, his pale lashes fluttering shut. "Can’t you be mine? Can’t we be together instead?"

The orb shivered faintly in his hands, its light pulsing in soft, rhythmic waves. But no voice came, no answer, only the steady sparkle of its golden glow. Lucifer sighed again, his heart heavy.

"I wish it was that simple," he murmured, his breath warming the surface of the orb.

From that moment on, Lucifer refused to let the Morningstar orb drift away from him. It became his constant companion, a small light in the vast abyss that felt too cold and empty without it. He carried it wherever he went, held it close to his chest as though it might dissolve into nothingness if he let go.

When he rested, he would lay upon the silken surface of the moonlit waters, the orb cradled against him like a precious jewel. His wings, vast and soft, curled around them both, their feathery tips brushing lightly against the orb’s surface. Sometimes, he would stroke the golden light with his fingertips, his touch delicate, reverent.

"You’re all I need," he would whisper, his voice trembling with quiet desperation. "You’re enough for me. I don’t need anyone else."

The star would shimmer in response, twinkling like a thousand tiny suns trapped within its core. Lucifer would smile faintly, pressing his lips to it again and again, soft kisses that spoke of longing, of love, of a silent plea to never be left alone again.

His wings became an extension of his affection, their feathery edges tickling the orb, coaxing it to twinkle brighter. The golden light flickered playfully, as if responding to his gentle teasing, and Lucifer would laugh—a soft, airy sound that carried both joy and sorrow.

"Do you like that?" he would ask, brushing his feathers across the orb with deliberate care. "Does it feel nice? I hope it does. I hope… I hope you’re happy with me."

When the star’s light grew brighter in response, Lucifer’s heart swelled. It didn’t matter if it couldn’t speak, if it couldn’t truly understand. The way it glowed, the way it pulsed so gently against his touch, made him feel just a little less lonely in the infinite expanse of the void.

He wouldn’t let it drift away—not for a moment. If it tried to float from his hands, he would unfurl his wings and curl them around it, guiding it back to his embrace. He would press it close, his cheek resting against its warmth, his lashes brushing its glowing surface as he whispered to it.

"Stay with me," he would plead, his voice breaking slightly. "Don’t leave me. Please. I… I don’t think I could bear it if you did."

The star never answered, but it didn’t need to. Its soft light, its playful flickers, were enough to soothe the ache in Lucifer’s chest. And so, he kept it close, holding it tighter with every passing moment, as though the very act of letting go would shatter him into pieces.

He spent his days and nights with the Morningstar orb, caressing it, kissing it, and speaking to it as though it were his closest confidant. He poured his heart into that tiny, golden light, hoping that somehow, it could feel the depth of his affection.

"You’re mine," he would whisper as he held it against his chest, his wings folding protectively around them both. "And I’m yours. That’s enough for me."

The orb twinkled softly in reply, and for the first time in his existence, Lucifer felt something close to peace.

Lucifer first met Michael on the edge of the void, where the faint golden shimmer of the Morningstar reflected against the inky blackness. Michael descended in a slow, graceful arc, his six brilliant wings radiating a warmth that reminded Lucifer of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. His face was calm, kind even, his golden eyes steady as they met Lucifer’s moonlit gaze.

"Lucifer," Michael greeted, his voice low and measured, like a river flowing steadily. "I’ve been looking forward to meeting you."

Lucifer didn’t respond. He stood still, his wings slightly unfurled, his hands resting protectively over his golden orb. He was cautious, suspicious, even though Michael’s demeanor lacked the aggressive arrogance he had come to expect from the Alphas.

Michael tilted his head slightly, his expression gentle. "I know what you’re thinking. But I’m not here to demand anything of you. I only wish to know you better, as your brother."

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, the soft glow of his pale skin reflecting the faint light of the Morningstar beneath him. He didn’t reply, his silence hanging between them like an unspoken warning. He had no intention of submitting to Michael—or any Alpha.

Soon after, the others began to arrive. Gabriel was the next, his steps light and his smile bright, his honeyed words flowing as he tried to charm Lucifer. But Lucifer could hear the possessiveness beneath the surface of his flattery, the way his gaze lingered too long, assessing and covetous.

Raphael followed, more direct in his approach. His voice was firm and steady, but his eyes betrayed the same undercurrent of desire to claim what he thought was his by right. Uriel was quieter, but his penetrating gaze made Lucifer uneasy, as though the Alpha was already imagining ways to exert control over him.

Lucifer distanced himself from them, keeping his words to a minimum and his movements guarded. He tolerated their presence only because the moon had urged him to be patient. But the moment they drew too close to his Morningstar, everything changed.

It happened when Raphael’s wings cast a shadow over the golden light of the orb. Lucifer’s body tensed, his feathers ruffling as his pale lips parted in a sharp warning.

"Don’t," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Don’t step any closer."

The Alphas froze, their gazes snapping to Lucifer in surprise. They had not expected the quiet, ethereal Omega to bare his teeth, to draw himself up with such palpable defiance.

Raphael’s lips curled into a sneer, his own wings flaring wide as he took an intimidating step forward.

"You dare to order me?" he growled, his voice heavy with authority. "You forget your place, Omega."

Lucifer didn’t flinch. His moonlit eyes burned with cold fire, his wings spreading wide to shield the Morningstar beneath him. "I said, don’t land on my star."

Raphael snarled, taking another step forward as if to challenge him, but Michael quickly intervened, stepping between them. His voice was calm, yet firm as steel.

"Enough, Raphael," Michael said, placing a hand on the other Alpha’s chest. "We’re not here to quarrel."

Raphael growled low in his throat but stepped back, his glare still fixed on Lucifer.

Michael turned to Lucifer, his expression apologetic.

"I promise," he said softly, "We will not set foot on your star. You have my word."

Lucifer gave a sharp nod, but the distrust in his glare didn’t fade. He stayed on edge, his wings curling protectively around the Morningstar as he watched the Alphas with a wary intensity.

For a time, Lucifer managed to keep the Morningstar orb hidden from the others, cradling it in the safety of his wings whenever they were near. But one fateful day, he slipped.

Raphael caught sight of the golden orb, its soft glow cradled delicately in Lucifer’s hands. The Alpha’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and before Lucifer could react, Raphael stepped forward, his movements swift and decisive.

"What is this?" Raphael asked, snatching the orb from Lucifer’s grasp.

Lucifer gasped, panic flashing across his face as he lunged forward.

"Give it back!" he cried, his voice trembling with desperation.

Raphael held the orb up, his expression sceptical as he turned it over in his hands.

"This? You’re clinging to this?" he asked, shaking the orb lightly.

"Stop!" Lucifer pleaded, his wings flaring as he tried to reach for the orb. "You’re hurting them!"

Raphael let out a scoff, his lips twisting into a smirk. "Hurting it? It’s just a star, Lucifer. It has no feelings. No life."

Lucifer’s eyes widened, tears welling up as he made another desperate grab for the orb.

"Give them back!" he begged, his voice breaking. "Please, Raphael, don’t—!"

But Raphael’s grip tightened, his fingers curling around the orb. The golden light flickered, dimming as he began to squeeze.

"Enough of this nonsense," Raphael muttered. "You’re acting ridiculous—"

The orb shattered in his hands, its light bursting into a spray of golden dust that scattered into the air.

Lucifer froze, his breath hitching as he stared at the glittering remnants of his beloved Morningstar.

"No…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. His knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, his trembling hands reaching for the golden dust as if he could gather it back together.

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he tried in vain to scoop up the fragments.

"W-What did you do?" he choked out, his voice shaking with anguish.

Raphael frowned, his expression hardening as he crossed his arms.

"Are you seriously crying over a star?" he said, his tone laced with disdain.

Lucifer didn’t answer. His trembling hands clutched at the golden dust, his tears falling freely as the weight of the loss crushed him. For the first time, the light in his eyes dimmed, leaving only a hollow, aching sorrow in their place.

The golden remnants of the Morningstar orb sparkled faintly on Lucifer’s trembling hands, but the light was fading fast, dissipating into the void like a dying breath. Lucifer’s shoulders quaked as the ache in his chest grew unbearable, the raw grief twisting into something darker.

He looked up, his white eyes blazing with fury, tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks. His voice erupted like thunder, raw and jagged: “How dare you!”

Raphael blinked, taken aback by the sheer force of Lucifer’s scream. He waved a dismissive hand, as though swatting away a trivial concern.

“Calm yourself, Lucifer. It’s just a star orb. Not even a real star. Do you know how many of those things are scattered across the abyss? If it means so much to you, I’ll fetch you another one.”

Lucifer’s wings flared wide, their iridescent feathers shimmering with a furious glow as his voice cracked through the air. “Another one?! That was mine! You had no right to touch it, let alone destroy it!”

Raphael’s jaw tightened, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He squared his shoulders, stepping forward. “You’re overreacting. It was nothing but a bauble—an insignificant flicker of light. You’re acting like a spoiled hatchling.”

Lucifer’s fury only grew, his voice rising to a sharp screech. “That ‘bauble’ was mine! It was alive—it was my Morningstar! You don’t get to decide what it was worth! You had no right!”

Raphael’s eyes narrowed, the faint golden glow of his form intensifying as his own temper frayed.

“Watch your tone, Omega,” he snapped, his voice deep and commanding. “You forget your place! You shouldn’t be raising your voice to me—you should be on your knees, begging for forgiveness!”

Lucifer recoiled, his lip curling in disgust. His wings bristled, his glowing gaze burning with contempt.

“I will never submit to someone like you!” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “You think you’re entitled to obedience just because you’re an Alpha? You’re nothing but a bully—a cruel, arrogant brute!”

Raphael’s fury ignited fully, his wings flaring wide as he stepped closer. “I’m an Alpha, Lucifer! That means you will obey me! You were made to submit, no matter how high you think you stand!”

The air between them crackled with tension, their opposing energies swirling like colliding storms. Raphael’s fists clenched, his wings tensing as he prepared to strike. Lucifer braced himself, his feathers shimmering like a thousand stars ready to defend their light.

Before either could make a move, a sudden gust of power tore through the space, forcing them apart. Michael landed between them, his golden wings blazing with authority as he thrust his hands outward, halting their fight.

“Enough!” Michael’s voice boomed, echoing through the void. The sheer weight of his command sent both Raphael and Lucifer stumbling back.

Raphael huffed, crossing his arms as he straightened.

“Lucifer’s being sensitive,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders as though brushing off the tension. “It was just a star orb—”

Lucifer’s voice cracked with anguish as he interrupted, his tears glistening like liquid stardust. “He killed it! My Morningstar!”

He held up his trembling, dust-covered hands as his voice broke. “It wasn’t just a star—it was mine. It was alive, and he crushed it like it was nothing!”

Michael’s sharp eyes flicked between them, his brow furrowing as he caught sight of the faint golden dust shimmering across the ground and staining Lucifer’s pale hands. His gaze softened as it returned to Lucifer, the younger angel’s grief palpable in every trembling breath.

“Lucifer…” Michael said gently, his tone calmer now. “Explain.”

Lucifer choked on a sob, clutching the remnants of the Morningstar orb to his chest. His wings sagged, curling protectively around him like a cocoon.

“It wasn’t just a star,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It was… it was mine. It understood me. It made me feel… less alone. And now it’s gone. He destroyed it like it meant nothing.”

Michael’s expression darkened as he glanced back at Raphael. “You did this?”

Raphael’s wings shifted, and he raised his chin defiantly. “It was just a star. He’s being dramatic.”

Lucifer’s anguish flared into a biting anger again as he pointed a shaking finger at Raphael. “You crushed it! You—!”

His voice broke, and he crumpled, tears falling freely.

Michael knelt beside him, his golden light dimming to a softer glow as he placed a steadying hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. His voice was quiet but firm as he said, “Lucifer, I see your pain. I understand.”

He turned his head, fixing Raphael with a sharp glare. “And you—do you understand what you’ve done?”

Raphael opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, but something in Michael’s gaze stopped him. For a moment, the proud Alpha hesitated, his feathers ruffling uneasily.

Lucifer stayed curled in on himself, his heart shattered along with his Morningstar. He didn’t care if Raphael was chastised or punished. Nothing could bring back what he had lost. Nothing could fill the hollow ache inside him.

Lucifer’s breath hitched, his chest heaving as Michael’s hand rested on his shoulder, attempting to steady him. But the touch only fuelled the fire burning inside him. With a guttural growl, deep and feral, Lucifer shoved Michael’s hand away. His teeth bared; his glowing eyes sharp as shards of glass.

“Don’t touch me!” he hissed, his voice cracking with raw emotion. His trembling hands clenched into fists, and with a powerful burst of stardust, he launched himself to his feet. His six magnificent wings flared out, spanning wide like a storm unravelling across the abyss.

“I hate you!” he screamed, his voice reverberating in the space between them. His lips curled in pure disdain as he glared at Raphael, then Michael, then the dark expanse beyond them, as though condemning every Alpha in existence.

“I hate all you stuck-up Alphas! I will never—never—mate with any of you!”

Lucifer’s wings quivered with the force of his fury, his entire being trembling under the weight of his grief and rage.

“I will never submit to you! Not to any of you!” His voice broke on the last word, but he refused to let it soften him.

Before anyone could respond—before Michael could reach for him again or Raphael could utter another cold retort—Lucifer turned sharply. With a surge of his wings, he launched himself into the abyss, his flight desperate, frantic. The space around him blurred as he fled, leaving the stunned Alphas behind.

Lucifer’s heart thundered in his chest as he reached the familiar glow of his moon. He collapsed onto the cool surface of the moon waters, his legs folding beneath him. His hands pressed against his chest, trembling violently as sobs tore from his throat. The pale glow of the moon bathed his fragile form, soft and tender, like a mother cradling her wounded child.

“What is this feeling?” Lucifer whispered, his voice shaking as he stared up at the luminous orb. Tears streamed down his face, falling like molten stardust into the waters beneath him. His wings drooped, curling protectively around his form as though shielding him from the world.

The moon’s light pulsed gently, like a heartbeat. Its soothing voice whispered to him, soft as a breeze across still waters. “Calm yourself, my Morningstar. The Alpha does not mean to harm you.”

But the words only ignited his fury once more. Lucifer sat up, his fingers curling against the shimmering waters.

“Alphas are horrible!” he snarled, his voice cutting through the moonlight. “They’re terrible! Arrogant! Cruel!”

He slammed his fist into the water, sending ripples dancing across its surface. “I don’t want to mate with any of them! I don’t want them near me!”

The moon’s voice hummed with sadness, its glow dimming slightly. “Forgive the Alpha for his reckless actions. He is passionate but thoughtless, like the fire of his sun.”

Lucifer shook his head violently, his tears falling faster now.

“I can’t!” he sobbed, his voice raw with anguish. “I will never forgive them! I will never trust them!”

His fingers clawed at the waters beneath him, trying to grasp the reflection of the moon but finding only emptiness.

His voice softened, cracking under the weight of his grief. “I’ve lost my Morningstar… My only true lover. My only friend. The only thing I had…”

 His voice faltered, barely audible now. “And now I have no one.”

Lucifer curled into himself, his wings folding tightly around his body as though trying to shield him from the overwhelming emptiness that stretched endlessly in his heart. The moonlight continued to caress him gently, but its warmth could no longer reach the cold, hollow ache within him. The void inside him deepened, and for the first time since his creation, Lucifer felt utterly, irrevocably alone.

From that moment on, Lucifer’s heart hardened against the other archangels. His trust, fragile as glass, was shattered beyond repair. He hated them—their arrogance, their recklessness, the way they carried themselves as though the universe belonged to them. When their paths crossed, his words were sharp and curt, a glacial coldness emanating from his every glance. He kept his distance, avoiding them whenever he could. The only times he allowed their presence were the moments when duty demanded it—when he was needed to assist in the expansion of the universe, weaving the fabric of creation with his reluctant hands.

It was during one of these duties, beneath a newly formed nebula, that Lucifer felt it—a new presence, unfamiliar and strange, yet oddly soothing. His moonlit eyes drifted toward the heart of the radiant swirl, where the birth of a new archangel was taking place. Her emergence was unlike anything he had seen before, her form shimmering into being with a quiet grace that felt more like the soft hum of stars rather than the blaze of fire the Alphas carried.

Her name was Sera, and she was not like the others.

Sera was a constellation come to life, her hair cascading in waves of shimmering purple, flecked with the silver glimmer of distant stars. Her skin glowed faintly, like the quiet, ever-present light of the cosmos. And what struck Lucifer most of all—what drew him toward her like a moth to flame—was the absence of the suffocating, burning scent that clung to the Alphas. With her, there was only calm, a silence that felt like peace.

Lucifer’s curiosity bloomed, hesitant at first, but undeniable. Slowly, cautiously, he drifted closer to her. Sera noticed him, her luminous eyes warm, offering a gentle smile that lacked the sharp edge of dominance he had grown so used to. She didn’t press, didn’t demand; she merely existed, radiating a quiet kindness that soothed the raw edges of his mistrust.

For the first time in what felt like eons, Lucifer didn’t feel the need to guard himself.

As the days passed, he found himself seeking her out more and more. He watched her as she walked among the stars, her touch delicate as she caressed their light, her laughter soft and musical as she spoke to the newborn celestial bodies. She was beautiful, Lucifer realized, with a sharp pang in his chest. Not in the fiery, overwhelming way of the Alphas, but in a way that felt like home. While he reflected the moon with his ethereal glow, Sera was the embodiment of the stars themselves—twinkling, boundless, eternal.

It wasn’t long before their bond began to deepen. Sera, with her patience and calm, never pushed him, never tried to assert herself over him. Instead, she listened, her gaze steady and filled with understanding as Lucifer began to open, little by little. They spent countless hours together, drifting among the stars, their conversations weaving a tapestry of trust and friendship.

But one day, as they sat together on the edge of a glittering comet, Lucifer’s curiosity overcame him. He turned to her, his expression uncertain but earnest.

“What are you?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with awe. “You’re not an Alpha. You don’t smell like them, and you don’t live with them. But you don’t live under the moon with me, either.”

Sera tilted her head, her smile faint but amused.

“I’m something new,” she explained, her voice like the gentle rustle of starlight. “I am neither Alpha nor Omega. I am a Beta.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened, his fascination immediate. “A Beta?” he echoed, leaning closer.

“What does that mean? What is it like to be a Beta?” His questions spilled out in a torrent; his excitement clear.

Sera chuckled softly, her laughter like the soft tinkling of wind chimes. She answered his questions with patience, her tone kind and unhurried. Lucifer couldn’t help but be enchanted by her. Her presence felt like a balm to the loneliness that had long since taken root in his soul.

But even as their bond deepened, there were moments that stirred the bitterness within him. Sera, ever kind and open, spent time with the Alphas too. Lucifer had seen her with them, laughing at Michael’s stories, her smile radiant as she listened intently. It made something inside him twist uncomfortably—a pang of jealousy he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He grew colder, more distant whenever the Alphas were near, his gaze sharp and guarded. Sera noticed, her expression puzzled as she watched his demeanour shift, but she never pressed him for answers. She returned to his side whenever the Alphas left, her presence steady and warm, and for a time, Lucifer allowed himself to forget the rest of the universe.

Still, the sight of her with them lingered in his mind, a reminder of the divide that seemed impossible to bridge. And though he cherished their bond, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if even Sera, with her gentle light, could truly understand the shadows that clouded his heart.

Lucifer sat cross-legged on a platform of crystallized moonlight, his hands resting delicately on his knees as the faint glow of golden magic shimmered at his fingertips. The light was fragile, flickering like a candle threatened by a gust of wind. Across from him, Sera knelt gracefully, her twinkling lavender hair cascading over her shoulders as her gentle voice guided him.

“Focus, Lucifer,” she murmured, her tone as soothing as the starlight that danced across her skin. “The magic is an extension of your will. You don’t have to force it—just let it flow. Like water.”

Lucifer furrowed his brow, the faint light trembling in his palms. He exhaled slowly, doing his best to follow her advice. The golden glow stabilized, spreading softly across his hands. For the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed himself to relax, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“There you go,” Sera said with a smile of her own, leaning closer. Her presence was steady, a comforting weight that kept him grounded. “You’re doing beautifully.”

But the moment of peace shattered when she spoke again, her tone light, almost teasing. “So,” she began, tilting her head curiously, “why haven’t you picked an Alpha yet?”

The question hit Lucifer like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of tension through his body. The glow in his hands flickered violently before extinguishing altogether. His eyes snapped up to meet hers, wide with disbelief. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

Sera hummed, entirely unbothered by his reaction. “You know,” she said casually, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “As an Omega, it’s your duty to choose an Alpha. To mate. That’s what you were made for, after all.”

Lucifer felt as though the air had been knocked out of his lungs. His wings stiffened, their edges trembling with suppressed emotion. “My duty?” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous.

Sera nodded, entirely unperturbed by the storm brewing within him. “Of course,” she said, her tone slipping into something almost patronizing. “It’s natural for an Omega to fulfill their role. The Alphas are waiting for you to make your decision.”

“My role?” Lucifer’s voice was louder now, incredulous and tinged with anger. “You’re saying my only purpose is to… submit? To breed?”

Sera sighed, her expression soft but exasperated, as though she were speaking to a stubborn child. “Lucifer, it’s not something to be upset about. It’s just the way things are. You’re an Omega. This is what you were created for.”

Lucifer recoiled as though struck, his stardust hands clenching into fists.

“I hate the Alphas,” he hissed, his wings flaring behind him. “I will never mate with one of them.”

Her sigh deepened, the sound heavy with disappointment.

“Lucifer,” she said gently, though her tone carried an edge of impatience. “You’re being emotional. It’s not about what you want—it’s about fulfilling your purpose. You have to understand that.”

The betrayal sank into Lucifer’s chest like an icy blade. He stared at her, his voice shaking.

“You sound just like them,” he spat. “You’re no different.”

Sera hesitated, her starlit gaze flickering with something unreadable.

“Lucifer, we thought…” She trailed off, then sighed again, her voice quiet. “We thought you’d listen to me. That since you’ve grown comfortable with me, I’d be the best one to help you see reason.”

Lucifer froze. His breath caught in his throat as the weight of her words hit him.

“‘We?’” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “Who’s ‘we?’”

Sera flinched, but only slightly. “The Alphas,” she admitted, her tone hesitant. “They thought I could… encourage you to fulfil your role.”

The room felt as though it had tilted on its axis. Lucifer’s chest tightened, and his voice cracked with disbelief. “So you really think I should submit? That I should bow to them?”

Sera’s gaze softened, her expression one of pity. “Lucifer,” she said gently, “it’s not about bowing. It’s about balance. About doing what’s right for creation.”

His stomach churned. He staggered to his feet, his wings trembling with fury and hurt.

“You were never my friend,” he said, his voice breaking. “You were just another one of them. Trying to control me. To dictate who I am.”

Sera stood as well, her expression turning solemn.

“I care about you, Lucifer,” she said softly. “I only want what’s best for you.”

“No,” Lucifer snapped, his voice filled with venom. “You only want what’s best for them.”

Without another word, he turned and fled, his wings propelling him back to the safety of the moon waters. Tears blurred his vision as he landed beneath the moon’s gentle glow, collapsing onto the stardust ground.

He buried his face in his hands, his body trembling with anger and heartbreak.

“I thought she was different,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought I finally had someone I could trust.”

The moon’s soft light caressed him, attempting to soothe his storm of emotions. But Lucifer shook his head, the betrayal too raw to be comforted.

“I have no one,” he whispered to himself. “Not anymore.”

Eons passed in an endless, aching rhythm, time stretching like threads of starlight unraveling across the universe. Lucifer drifted further and further into solitude, his once-vivid radiance dimming to a guarded glow. He kept his distance from his brothers, his silence heavier than any spoken word. Every smile, every gesture from them felt like a calculated move, a hidden agenda. He could not—would not—forgive them. Each one, in their own way, had betrayed him, seeking to control, to manipulate, to twist him into something he refused to be. So, he turned away, withdrawing into himself, and only emerged when duty called him to help sculpt the fabric of creation.

But even creation could not heal the scars etched across his heart.

Lucifer spent most of his days curled upon his Morningstar, a golden sanctuary floating in the vast expanse of the universe. It shimmered faintly beneath him, though its once-blazing light had begun to fade. Centuries ago, its brilliance had rivalled the heavens themselves, but now its glow was dimming, as though its essence was bleeding into the void.

He ran his hands over its gilded surface, his touch tender and trembling.

"Don’t leave me," he whispered, his voice breaking. Tears welled in his moonlit eyes, threatening to spill. "Don’t disappear like my precious orb. You’re all I have left."

But the Morningstar gave no answer, save for the faintest hum of its magic, and even that seemed weaker with each passing century. Curling up against its heart, Lucifer buried his face into the warmth of its light. His wings folded around him protectively as he gazed up at the thousands of stars that adorned the abyss above him. Each one had been hung with care by the archangels—a painstaking labour of love.

Lucifer hated them. Yet, he adored their handiwork.

No Alpha or Beta dared approach the Morningstar anymore. They had learned, at last, to leave it to him. Whether out of respect or fear, Lucifer neither knew nor cared. They had also stayed away from the Moon of Life, but that was by divine decree. The Morningstar? That was Lucifer's by his own command.

Still, he didn’t acknowledge their quiet surrender. He hated them all—Michael, Raphael, Sera. Especially Sera.

Until one day, something changed.

Lucifer woke to a sensation that stirred his very soul. The air shimmered with an energy he hadn’t felt in eons. His skin sparkled, his feathers quivered, and the Morningstar beneath him pulsed faintly, as if sharing in the excitement. Around him, the Moon, the Sun, and the stars shimmered in harmony, their light brighter than he’d ever seen before.

At first, Lucifer remained where he was, his curiosity tempered by caution. He let out a soft hum, tilting his head as the stardust on his arms—the remnants of his lost lover—began to shine in response to the universe’s call. Slowly, he rose from the Morningstar, his wings stretching wide as he ascended.

Out in the boundless expanse, something magnificent was forming.

A sphere of blue and green spun into existence, its colours swirling as if locked in a gentle dance. The sight stole Lucifer’s breath. He hovered, mesmerized, as the sphere took shape, its magic radiating outwards like ripples across a celestial sea.

But then, from the edges of his vision, he saw them—his brothers and sisters, drawn to the new creation like moths to a flame.

Lucifer hesitated, his gut twisting with reluctance. He didn’t want to join them. But something about the sphere called to him, pulling him closer. Against his better judgment, he drifted toward the gathered archangels, keeping a deliberate inch of space between himself and the others.

“Sera,” he murmured, his voice low and uncertain. “What’s happening?”

Sera folded her hands over her chest, her face alight with wonder.

“Something new,” she whispered. “Something far greater than us.”

Lucifer frowned, confusion flickering in his starlit eyes. He turned his gaze upward and froze.

Above the forming sphere stood a being unlike any he had ever seen. She was vast and radiant, her six wings shimmering with the light of every star in the cosmos. Her body seemed woven from the very fabric of existence—feathers, stardust, and wisps of cosmic energy flowing together in perfect harmony.

Lucifer’s breath hitched as he stared at her.

“My name is Metatron,” she announced, her voice resounding like a symphony across the heavens. “I am the Scribe of God.”

Michael stepped forward, his expression casual but curious. “God?”

Metatron smiled, a mysterious glint in her otherworldly gaze. “Yes. God. Our Father and Mother. The Sun and the Moon. The stars and the Milky Way. All in one.”

Her wings unfolded, their light washing over them all as she turned her attention to the sphere below.

“And this…” she said, her voice tinged with awe. “This is Father’s greatest creation. This is Earth, the home of the humans.”

Lucifer blinked, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

“Humans?” he asked softly.

Metatron’s gaze flicked to him, her eyes glimmering with an unfathomable wisdom. “Yes. Humans. They will come in the centuries to follow, but for now, Father is shaping the first of their kind. A single human, crafted with the utmost care and love.”

Sera stepped closer; awe written across her face.

“Where is this human?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“In Eden,” Metatron raised her hand, her fingertips glowing like the first dawn. “Father’s garden. The human will awaken in the next century, and one of you will be tasked with guiding them.”

Lucifer’s wings twitched, his mind racing. He didn’t know whether to feel excitement or dread. A new creation, more delicate than the stars and more alive than the angels. And he would have a part to play in their story.

For the first time in centuries, he allowed himself a fragile flicker of hope. But even that, he knew, was dangerous.

Lucifer had no intention of ever seeing Eden, nor this first human that Metatron spoke of. And, to be honest, he didn’t care. He felt the excitement in the others, felt the eagerness in their movements and voices as they buzzed around the new creation, but he refused to let himself feel anything. He refused to hope. No one had ever truly been on his side, and he had learned that hope only led to disappointment, to betrayal. So, he kept to himself—isolated, withdrawn, like the distant star he had always been.

The Moon of Life became his refuge, the one part of God that still felt like his, as though it were a fragment of himself. At times, he would drift back to the Morningstar, the orb that had once shone so brightly, so full of life and magic. But each time, the fear within him grew. The orb that had once been so golden now seemed dull, losing its light, its spark, and so too did his own soul. The stardust that had once graced his hands and arms now glimmered brighter than the Morningstar itself, but even that felt like a cruel mockery of what had been.

Lucifer sank to his knees, the weight of the world pressing down on him. His wings, those silken moonlit feathers, hung limply at his sides. The golden feathers—gifts from his precious orb—had long since fallen out, each one crumbling away within his hands, no matter how carefully he tried to preserve them. They slipped through his fingers, just as everything else had. His heart ached, his chest burned with the familiar pain of loneliness.

"Please. Please, don't leave me alone," he whispered to the fading glow of the Morningstar. "Please don't die. I need you... you're all I have."

But as always, the Morningstar offered no response. It couldn’t speak, couldn’t offer comfort. Yet, it would shine, it would twinkle in reply. Now, there was only silence. The golden light beneath him flickered, dying in the same way his hopes had. Lucifer’s breath hitched as tears began to fall, slipping down his cheeks and mixing with the soft, dull glow of the Morningstar.

"I'm all alone. You're all I have," he whispered again, as if repeating it would make it less true.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the weight of his sorrow.

"Hello, Lucifer."

Lucifer stiffened, eyes wide with surprise. His heart skipped a beat, and he inhaled sharply, trying to steady himself. His gaze flicked up, but only for a moment—just enough to catch a glimpse of her. Metatron. The tallest, the most magnificent of angels, standing before him like a vision made of starlight and dreams. Her form shimmered with an ethereal radiance that made everything else in the universe seem dull in comparison.

She was... beyond words. No one could describe her—she was everything and nothing, all at once. The Scribe of God. The essence of the universe itself, woven into one being. Lucifer’s breath caught in his throat, but he quickly lowered his gaze, overwhelmed by her presence. He dared not look her directly in the eye; to do so would feel like an unforgivable transgression.

"Metatron," he whispered softly, almost reverently.

He couldn’t bring himself to be bold, to demand she leave his precious Morningstar. No one, not even the other archangels, dared to tread on his star. But Metatron? She was different. She was above them all. Connected to the divine in ways the others could not even begin to comprehend.

Metatron smiled, her voice soft and mysterious. "Lucifer, I have been meaning to speak with you. I owe you an apology."

Lucifer blinked, confused by her words. He barely managed a quiet murmur of understanding.

"It’s... it’s alright," he said, though a part of him felt something stir deep within him at her apology.

She chuckled gently, the sound like the soft rustle of leaves. "It is true. I have been occupied with the formation of Earth."

 Her gaze shifted, becoming more focused. "But Eden... Eden is for the archangels. And, Lucifer... I noticed something."

Lucifer hesitated, his lips parted as he looked away, staring at the surface of the Morningstar as though it might give him some solace.

"I don’t want to work with them," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

Metatron’s gaze softened, her tone still gentle and filled with curiosity.

"And why is that?" she asked, her voice carrying an unspoken understanding, as though she already knew the answer.

Lucifer struggled to find the words, his heart pounding in his chest. "Because... because they don’t care about me.”

“They never did." His voice cracked, but he bit back the tears that threatened to rise once again.

Metatron’s smile didn’t falter. "Lucifer, you are different. You are special. As an Omega, it is important that your magic is woven through Eden, as your siblings’ magic is. It is vital for the human, for all those that will follow." Her voice was firm, yet tender, like a soft lullaby carried on the wind.

Lucifer blinked, his eyes wide, his heart thundering in his chest.

"Special?" he repeated, almost breathless.

"I’m important?" The words felt foreign on his lips, as if he didn’t deserve them.

Metatron chuckled again, a warm, knowing laugh. "Of course, Lucifer. You are the beginning, the very first step in mankind’s story. Don’t you see?"

Lucifer frowned, his chest tightening. "But I’m just an Omega. I don’t... I don’t know how to help the humans or Eden."

Metatron's gaze softened, her voice tender and reassuring. "You already are helping, Lucifer. Just by being who you are."

Lucifer looked at her, feeling a fragile hope stir in the deepest corners of his soul. But it was fleeting, too delicate to hold on to. Still, her words echoed in his mind, and for the first time in centuries, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be a part of something larger than the endless void of his own loneliness.

Lucifer's gaze remained fixed on Metatron, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, even as a flicker of hope tugged at the corners of his heart. His wings twitched nervously, the soft moonlight glistening off their delicate feathers. He couldn’t help himself—he needed to ask the question that had been gnawing at him since the moment Metatron had appeared.

"Are you planning to... force me to mate with one of the alphas?" His voice was low, laced with wariness, the old fear resurfacing in the pit of his stomach.

Metatron’s expression softened immediately, a serene smile gracing her lips, as though the question itself was too simple, too human for her.

"No, Lucifer," she said, her voice calm, reassuring. "I have no intention of forcing you to do anything, least of all something so personal. You are your own being, and I would never take that away from you."

Lucifer’s breath caught in his chest. Relief washed over him like a sudden storm breaking through the clouds, the tension in his body loosening. His wings fluttered once more, as if stretching in gratitude for the freedom he had just been granted. He let out a quiet sigh, feeling lighter than he had in what felt like forever.

"Then... then you won’t make me choose?" His voice cracked slightly, unsure of his own emotions. His heart ached with the smallest ember of hope.

Metatron’s smile remained unchanged, though her gaze softened, and there was a warmth in it that Lucifer had not expected. "I will not force you to do anything you do not wish to do.”

“But there will come a time, Lucifer, when you will need to choose. A time when you will have to decide for yourself who you wish to bond with, if you wish to bond with anyone at all." Her voice was gentle, but the weight of her words settled heavily on his chest.

Lucifer blinked, his wings flaring out slightly as he absorbed her words.

"Choose?" he repeated, the word feeling foreign, distant. His mind raced, but he couldn’t quite wrap his thoughts around it.

"What... what do you want me to do?" His voice was softer now, almost pleading, as though he were asking for a lifeline in an ocean of uncertainty.

Metatron’s eyes sparkled with a tenderness he had never seen before, and her voice became almost a whisper, like a secret meant only for him.

"I would like you to see Eden, Lucifer." She spoke slowly, each word wrapped in care, as if trying to convince him without pushing too hard. "You will understand why, once you are there."

Lucifer frowned, uncertainty creeping back into his heart. "Why? What’s in Eden that I need to see?"

 His voice was thick with doubt, though he found himself already itching with curiosity despite his reservations.

Metatron's smile remained soft, patient, almost knowing. "You will see, in time, what you need to. Eden has a way of showing things—of revealing what lies hidden in the heart. It is a place of beginnings, Lucifer. Perhaps, it will help you understand yourself better. And maybe, just maybe, it will help you see the future you have yet to choose."

Lucifer hesitated, his thoughts in turmoil. He longed to stay hidden, to keep his distance from the other archangels, from the world they had created. But something about Metatron’s words, about her unwavering certainty, made him feel that perhaps it was time to step forward—into the unknown, into the world that had been crafted without his consent, without his touch.

For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze still fixed on her, conflicted. The weight of her words settled over him like the quiet before a storm. Could he truly bring himself to take that step, to see what awaited him in Eden?

Finally, with a soft sigh, Lucifer stood straighter, his wings folding in tightly against his back.

"Alright," he said quietly, more to himself than to her. "I’ll go."

Metatron’s smile deepened, and for the first time, Lucifer saw a glimmer of something softer in her eyes—a flicker of pride, perhaps.

"Good," she murmured. "Trust in yourself, Lucifer. You are more capable than you know."

He nodded slowly, though the unease in his heart remained. Whatever Eden held for him, he couldn’t hide from it forever. It was time to face it, even if he didn’t yet understand why.

Leaving the warmth of the Morningstar was a difficult task for Lucifer. Its familiar golden glow had always been his only solace, the one thing that never wavered, never abandoned him—until now. But Metatron had asked, and despite the unease twisting in his chest, Lucifer couldn't bring himself to refuse her. There was something about her presence that both calmed and stirred him, a quiet pull that he couldn't explain. So, with a reluctant sigh, he spread his wings wide and flew toward the heart of the universe, where Earth was still being formed under Metatron’s careful hands.

It was forbidden, of course. No archangel was allowed to set foot upon Earth just yet—Metatron herself had deemed it too unstable, too fragile. But even so, Lucifer couldn't tear his gaze away. Raphael had called it ugly, Uriel had said it was unpleasant, and Sera had described it as merely a "work in progress." But Lucifer, in his quiet way, thought it was breathtaking.

The rawness of it, the life brewing in the core of its chaos—it was nothing like anything he had ever witnessed. Metatron’s magic swirled around it, delicate and intricate, weaving through the stars in a dance that was both beautiful and unearthly. Lucifer could feel it deep within his bones, a soft hum that resonated with his very being. His skin shimmered, stardust rippling across his form as if the magic itself had awakened something dormant within him.

The sensation was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was new. It was alive. It was wonder itself. And for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Lucifer felt something akin to peace wash over him. His anxiety about the others, the fear that had plagued him for so long, faded into the background, replaced by a strange sense of belonging.

 Maybe... maybe this isn’t so bad, he thought, his heart fluttering just a little as the stars continued to dance in the distance.

"Lucifer!" The voice that pierced the serenity of the moment was cheerful, almost childlike, and it made Lucifer’s wings jerk instinctively.

He turned, his gaze falling on the smallest of the alphas—Gabriel. Lucifer had never really spoken with Gabriel; most of his encounters were dominated by Michael’s commands or Raphael’s biting words. Gabriel, however, had always kept to the sidelines with Uriel, his presence less imposing, more... withdrawn.

Lucifer tilted his head curiously as he approached the smaller archangel.

"Hi," he murmured, his voice soft and awkward, the tension from earlier still lingering in the air.

Gabriel grinned brightly, his eyes sparkling with something almost contagious. "Metatron said you’d be coming to Eden with me! I didn’t actually think you would!"

His voice was full of excitement, his eagerness clear.

Lucifer blinked, confused by Gabriel’s sudden burst of energy. Metatron wants me to work with an alpha?

The thought settled uneasily in his mind, but he didn't have the chance to dwell on it for long. Gabriel was already speaking again.

"Well, I’m here," Lucifer replied coolly, though his heart was still racing slightly. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about this new development.

"But listen—" he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a firmer tone, "I’ll work with you. But don’t think for a second that means you can dominate me. I won’t submit to you."

Gabriel flinched, visibly shrinking back from the sharpness in Lucifer’s tone. His hands twisted nervously in front of him, and his lips tugged into an uncomfortable smile.

"I don’t want to dominate you," he stammered, his voice uncertain. "I just... want to go down to Eden."

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, his wings fluttering nervously as he studied the smaller archangel. Do I believe him?

His instincts told him to be cautious, to hold his ground, but something in Gabriel’s demeanour made Lucifer question his initial reaction. Perhaps, just perhaps, this one was different.

With a sharp nod, Lucifer sighed in resignation. "Where is Eden, then? If it’s not on Earth?"

Gabriel’s face immediately brightened, the tension evaporating from his form like a cloud dispersing in the wind. He spun around in a delighted whirl, his wings spreading wide as he pointed toward a distant light in the darkness.

"This way!" he exclaimed, his voice full of enthusiasm.

Lucifer followed Gabriel, his mind still swirling with doubt, but the strange, magnetic pull of Metatron’s magic urged him forward.

den was not on Earth. No, it existed on a small star-rock, one that seemed to swell with life with every passing heartbeat of the universe. Lucifer hovered behind Gabriel, his moonlit eyes glimmering with curiosity as he gazed down at the strange orb beneath them. The surface was unlike anything he had ever touched before—warm, soft, and curiously alive.

The texture of the rock was wet, almost sticky, and it clung to his feet like the wet embrace of a forgotten dream. He grimaced slightly as he lifted one foot, examining the brown specks that clung to the soles.

“That's mud, or dirt,” Gabriel explained eagerly, his voice bright, almost infectious. He was positively bouncing with excitement, his wings fluttering around him like a giddy child. “Metatron said the basics of Eden will form from her magic, but we’re meant to create things that will benefit the human once they awaken. Oh! And—Metatron also said the human will be tasked with naming the things we create!”

Lucifer barely heard the latter part, his attention focused on the strange bumps rising from the dirt. They were like the star-rocks, yet not. Their colour was pale, powdery, like the dust of forgotten stars, and their surfaces glistened with an iridescent sheen. Lucifer’s brows furrowed, his fingers tracing the odd texture. He had never encountered anything like this before. It was new. The mystery of it tugged at something deep within him, a feeling he couldn't quite name, but that danced on the edge of his thoughts like a forbidden dream.

Metatron also said we're to develop Eden together!" Gabriel continued, his voice full of eager warmth. "Until it’s a reasonable size for the first human. Then... only one of us will be allowed to live in Eden with them."

Lucifer’s head snapped up at that, his wings twitching slightly as he gazed at Gabriel, who paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"Something about too many of us will overwhelm the human, but one of us will help the human build a connection, help them bond..." Gabriel’s voice trailed off, and he looked away, as though the weight of this responsibility was just beginning to settle upon him.

Lucifer looked down at the star-rock again, trying to keep the unease from his voice. "Would the human be an alpha... or an omega?"

Gabriel froze, his eyes widening slightly, his fingers fumbling nervously with each other. For a moment, he said nothing, and when he spoke, his words were hesitant, awkward. “Um… Metatron said humans wouldn’t be like us."

Lucifer’s heart sank, a bitter chill creeping through him. His moonlit gaze darkened. “So they’ll be free from either?”

His voice was low, almost mocking, though it cracked at the edges with something unspoken. A deep, aching sense of longing gnawed at him.

 Lucky them, he thought bitterly.

Gabriel glanced at him with a sheepish smile, his wings twitching nervously as he looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

“Yeah... lucky them...” he murmured, but there was no joy in his voice, only a quiet, unspoken understanding that the weight of what they had all been made to be was more than just their nature—it was a prison.

Lucifer stood in silence for a moment, his eyes lingering on the small, strange world they were helping to shape. A place so new, so full of potential... yet so far removed from anything he had ever known. His heart was a vast emptiness, and it was starting to feel like there would never be a way out.

Lucifer's feet moved on their own, no longer tethered to Gabriel's eager chatter. The pulse in the air, a soft thrum that seemed to hum with the essence of the world itself, drew him deeper into the heart of the star-rock. It was subtle, like the quiet echo of a forgotten song, but it reverberated through the ground beneath him, vibrating through the dirt, up through his bare feet, and winding its way up his legs until it settled in his chest. It was a feeling he couldn’t name, but it was all-consuming, like the faint brush of a long-lost memory.

His wings unfurled, stretching out wide, as though they too were responding to this pulse, this call that seemed to beckon from within the very stone beneath him. The six wings of the moon beat gently in the air as he moved forward, his thoughts scattering like dust, his focus narrowing as he neared the centre of the rock. There, at the heart of the strange world, he lowered himself to his knees. The pulse was louder here, clearer, almost as if the rock itself was breathing.

Lucifer lowered his hands to the mud, feeling the soft, cool earth against his fingertips. His breath deepened, the golden glow of his magic slowly unfurling around him, shimmering with an energy that felt as old as the stars themselves. He closed his eyes, allowing the pulse to envelop him, to guide him. His golden magic swirled from his hands, spilling out into the earth below him, spreading like a warm river into the dirt.

And then, something began to shift. The dirt trembled, a small movement, like a heartbeat, and then… a sprout. Green tendrils broke through the soil, reaching upward as if drawn by an invisible force. Lucifer's breath caught in his throat, his fingers twitching as he felt the life forming beneath him. The earth responded, swelling and softening in the wake of his magic.

Gabriel, who had been standing a few paces behind, gasped in wonder as the first blades of grass sprouted around Lucifer’s hands.

 "What did you do?" Gabriel asked, his voice breathless, wide-eyed with shock and awe.

Lucifer shrugged, his voice low and distant, almost in a trance.

“I just... listened to what Eden wanted,” he murmured, his eyes still closed, as if the very air around him had become a song he was hearing for the first time. There was a peace in the earth beneath his hands, a resonance in the pulse that made him feel as if he were not creating but joining something far greater than himself.

The dirt seemed to respond to him, shaping itself into life with each breath he took. His magic, once cold and distant, was now blending with the very essence of this place, intertwining with the pulse of Eden itself. Lucifer’s heart stilled, his thoughts fading away. In this moment, it was as though he had found a place where he didn’t have to fight, a place where he could simply be.

The grass continued to grow around him, reaching up towards the sky, its green blades bending gently with the breeze. Each blade was different, each one unique, but all of them were born from the same seed, nurtured by the pulse beneath his fingertips. The land itself was waking, responding to his touch.

Lucifer sat back on his heels, his wings folding gently behind him as he surveyed the scene. It was simple, but it was beautiful. There was no need for grand designs or creations, no need for a master plan. The earth was alive with possibilities, and for the first time in centuries, Lucifer felt the smallest flutter of hope.

Gabriel stared at him in disbelief, the excitement in his eyes growing.

"That… that was incredible," he said quietly, stepping forward, as if unsure of how to approach what he had just witnessed.

Lucifer’s gaze softened, his wings twitching as he finally looked at Gabriel, who stood there, wide-eyed, in awe of the simple beauty of what had just been created.

"Eden speaks to us all, Gabriel," Lucifer said softly, almost to himself. "It’s not about forcing things to grow. It’s about listening. About being a part of it."

Gabriel blinked at him, his confusion evident, but the sincerity in Lucifer’s voice seemed to ease his discomfort. For a brief moment, Lucifer allowed himself to hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was something here for him after all.

Time had no meaning here. The universe flowed like a river of stardust, and everything around him seemed to exist in a haze of soft glows and shifting light. Lucifer sat upon his fading Morningstar, a silent observer, his gaze fixed on the endless drift of glowing stones that glided past him in a slow, languid dance. Each one shone with its own unique hue, casting delicate ripples of colour across the dark expanse of the cosmos. He watched them pass, his thoughts as fleeting as the stars themselves.

The golden dust that clung to his arms caught the starlight, shimmering with a soft, mournful gleam. Lucifer ran his fingers over the sparkling remnants, the dust falling in delicate trails, only to rise and scatter again. His wings, pale and delicate as moonlight, flickered softly in the dark, their faint glow a contrast to the overwhelming silence that hung in the air. He held a small clump of mud from Eden in his hands, idly squeezing it, watching as it crumbled and reformed, falling apart only to return to its shape. It was a small, quiet act, a distraction from the loneliness that wrapped around him like a shroud.

The other archangels were hard at work on Eden, their devotion to the creation of this new world tireless and obsessive. But Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to care as deeply as they did. He helped, yes, in his own way, but there was no yearning in his heart, no pull toward the star rock that had captivated the others. The magic of it, the excitement of building something so new, felt foreign to him. It wasn’t the same. Nothing felt the same.

Lucifer lifted the clump of mud to his face, the cool weight of it oddly grounding. His moonlit eyes flickered softly, not quite focusing as his magic pooled in his chest. He exhaled, breathing warmth into the mud, and slowly, something stirred within. A tiny green sprout pushed its way through the soil, delicate and fresh. Lucifer’s breath caught in his throat as he released a soft hum, watching with wonder as the small leaf unfurled beneath his fingertips. The feeling was gentle, like something tender, fragile, and new.

He had never truly understood why the others poured themselves into Eden with such fervor. What was it about this world that called to them so strongly? But as he traced his fingers over the new life he had created with nothing but his touch, something stirred within him. The leaf was a part of him, somehow. He had made it grow. There was magic in this world, in this place—and maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as foreign to him as he had once thought.

Lucifer slowly laid the clump of mud back down, his hands lingering for a moment before he lifted his gaze to the distant glow of Eden. His fingers drummed absently against the golden surface of the Morningstar, the sound soft and distant. He hadn’t visited Eden in a while, he realized. There had been no urge, no pull to return. But now, something tugged at him, a quiet whisper at the edge of his mind.

A soft sound escaped his throat, a murmur that spoke of something deeper—of longing, or maybe just an aching emptiness. He wasn't sure. He was only certain that, for the first time in ages, the thought of returning to Eden didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like a possibility.

Lucifer descended toward Eden, his six wings cutting through the soft, shimmering atmosphere that surrounded the star rock. But this time, as he neared, it wasn’t the muddy, barren surface he remembered. Eden had transformed. It had grown, flourished. The star rock pulsed with life, glowing in shades of green and white. Lucifer’s feet touched the surface gently, but instead of mud, he found himself standing on something soft, cool, and vibrant. Grass. He knelt slowly, running his fingers over the delicate blades, their texture a wonder beneath his touch. The green seemed to glow faintly, alive with something more than just sunlight—it carried magic, a presence.

Rising, Lucifer began to wander through Eden, his steps slow and deliberate as he took in the changes. There were trees now, their canopies arching high above, leaves shimmering faintly as if kissed by stars. Flowers dotted the grass, their petals opening lazily to bask in an unseen glow. The air was richer, heavier, filled with a warmth Lucifer had never felt before—a warmth that seemed to seep into his skin, curling around his heart in a way that both soothed and unnerved him. Eden was alive in a way that felt almost sentient, as if it breathed alongside him, its heartbeat faintly echoing through the ground beneath his feet.

The pulse of Eden grew stronger as he wandered further, guiding him until he came upon the heart of this burgeoning paradise. There, in the centre of it all, was Metatron. She sat with her legs folded beneath her, her eyes shut, her hands resting lightly on the grass. Her wings, immense and radiant, were puffed out around her like a cocoon of shimmering light. But it was her magic that captured Lucifer’s attention. It poured from her in gentle waves, slipping into the soil, the grass, the trees, weaving itself into the very fabric of Eden. As it did, the world around her seemed to shift, brighten, grow. The trees reached higher, the flowers bloomed fuller, the grass thickened into a lush carpet. Even the air seemed to hum with life, a warm, golden energy that Lucifer had never experienced before.

He stood still, watching her in silence. He didn’t dare disturb her, but neither could he leave. There was something mesmerizing about her, about the way her magic worked so seamlessly with Eden. Her presence was calm and steady, yet impossibly powerful. It made him feel small but not insignificant, like he was part of something far greater than himself.

At last, Metatron raised her hands from the ground, the glow around her dimming slightly as she opened her eyes. Her gaze met Lucifer’s, and he immediately looked down, caught like a child sneaking a forbidden glance.

“Lucifer,” she greeted, her voice soft but radiant with warmth. A gentle smile spread across her lips as she rose to her feet, her movements graceful, almost otherworldly. “It has been far too long.”

Lucifer shuffled awkwardly, his wings folding tightly against his back. He didn’t respond, but Metatron didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she turned, her hand gesturing for him to follow.

“Would you like to see something, Lucifer? Something special?” Her voice carried a note of mystery, and despite himself, Lucifer’s curiosity stirred.

“Something the others haven’t seen yet?” he asked, his lips twitching upward in the faintest hint of a smug smile. He didn’t like admitting it, but the thought of being the first to see whatever Metatron had in mind filled him with a quiet thrill.

“Come,” Metatron said simply, leading the way.

Lucifer followed, his eyes wide as he took in just how much Eden had grown. The landscape stretched farther than he remembered, and above them, the sky itself had changed. It wasn’t the dark, star-speckled void he was used to. It was pinkish, warm, like a sunrise frozen in time. The light bathed Eden in soft hues, adding to the surreal beauty of the place.

As they neared the centre, something unusual came into view. A bed of flowers spread out like a woven tapestry, but at its heart was something far larger—a single, enormous bud. Its petals were tightly closed, a deep, velvety red threaded with faint golden veins that seemed to pulse with life. Small, glowing buds framed it, like sentinels guarding a treasure.

Metatron stepped closer, her hands beginning to sparkle faintly as she reached toward the flower.

“This is special,” she said, her voice almost reverent. She turned to look at Lucifer, her smile inviting. “Come closer, Lucifer. I would like you to rest your hand upon it.”

Lucifer frowned, suspicion flickering in his eyes.

“Why?” he asked, his voice cautious.

“Because you are important,” she replied simply, her tone gentle but firm.

Hesitant, Lucifer stepped closer. As he neared the flower, he began to notice the golden veins more clearly. They pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, their glow strangely familiar. His breath caught as realization stirred within him. The colour, the magic—it reminded him of his own. He raised a hand slowly, his fingers trembling as he pressed them against the petal. It was soft, impossibly so, and warm in a way that sent a shiver through him. The moment he touched it, a fantastical heat rushed through his body, buzzing under his skin and pulling him closer.

“What... what is this?” he whispered, his voice cracking as he pressed his other hand against the petal.

The heartbeat within the flower grew stronger, echoing through his chest, tugging at something deep within him. Before he realized it, he was leaning forward, his cheek resting against the petal, his body melting into its warmth.

A lump formed in his throat as a strange ache spread through his chest. His eyes burned, and for a moment, he thought he might cry. This feeling—it was familiar, hauntingly so. But no matter how hard he tried; he couldn’t place it. All he knew was that it filled the hollow spaces inside him, even as it left him trembling with longing.

 Lucifer’s breath hitched as his eyes burned, tears threatening to spill. He couldn’t stop the ache in his chest, nor the overwhelming urge to press himself further into the flower bud. Its warmth wrapped around him like a comforting embrace, filling every crack in his soul he hadn’t realized was there. He wanted to stay—no, needed to stay. He wanted to press closer, to hold the petals as if they might slip away, to cling to this strange, inexplicable connection and never let go.

But he couldn’t. With a sharp inhale, Lucifer forced himself to pull back, peeling his hands and cheek away from the soft, trembling petals. The loss was immediate, like stepping out of sunlight into icy shadows. He stumbled a step backward, rubbing at his damp eyes with his palms, his shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. The ache didn’t leave—it lingered, raw and pulling, but he ignored it as best he could. His moonlit eyes turned toward Metatron, who stood quietly, watching him with that same enigmatic calm.

“What are you?” Lucifer asked, his voice strained, nearly breaking. He sniffled, embarrassed by the question and how desperate it sounded.

Metatron tilted her head slightly, her expression as serene as ever.

“I am the Scribe of God,” she answered simply, though there was a weight to her voice that suggested layers beneath the words.

Lucifer frowned, shaking his head in frustration. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

His voice carried a sharpness, but beneath it was a plea, fragile and uncertain.

Metatron hummed softly, stepping closer to the flower bud with a measured grace. Lucifer felt his wings twitch, a primal urge rising within him to flare them out and block her path. He didn’t want her to touch the flower—his flower. But he clenched his jaw and kept still. He had no right to claim it, no matter how deeply it called to him. The flower belonged to Metatron. It always had.

“I am neither an Alpha nor an Omega,” Metatron said, her voice soft, as if speaking to the flower itself. “I am both. I am nothing like them, and yet, I am them.”

Lucifer sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his golden hair.

“You make no sense,” he muttered, his frustration mixing with the lingering ache in his chest.

Metatron laughed—a quiet, melodic sound that only seemed to deepen the mystery around her. Lucifer’s gaze shifted back to the massive flower bud, his expression softening into wonder. It loomed before him like a secret waiting to be unravelled, its petals pulsing faintly with life, its golden veins glimmering in rhythm with some heartbeat he couldn’t quite name.

“What does it conceal?” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “What’s inside it?”

His voice carried an edge of longing, the curiosity and yearning intertwining so tightly it made his chest tighten.

Metatron said nothing, merely smiling before turning and walking away, her presence fading into the vibrant Eden around them. But Lucifer couldn’t follow her. His feet remained rooted near the flower, his gaze locked onto its mysterious beauty. The tug in his chest grew stronger, and it made him whimper softly. He couldn’t stay away. He didn’t want to. Every time he tried to stray too far from the flower, the pull brought him back, an invisible tether he couldn’t escape.

He found himself returning to the flower bud time and time again, unable to resist its silent call. When no one else was around—not even Metatron—Lucifer would kneel beside it, his golden Morningstar dusting shimmering faintly as he pressed himself against the petals. He hugged it like a lifeline, his cheek resting against its warmth. And in those moments, he felt peace—fleeting but real, like nothing else in the universe could touch him.

Sometimes, when he was sure he was entirely alone, he would press soft kisses to the petals. They trembled beneath his touch, and he beamed, a rare, unguarded smile spreading across his face. The flower responded to him—it felt him. That knowledge filled him with a quiet, almost childlike joy.

Lucifer caressed the petals gently, his fingers tracing the golden veins as if committing them to memory. He whispered to the flower in a voice too low for anyone else to hear, words that made no sense even to himself. They weren’t prayers, weren’t confessions—they were just fragments of feelings, thoughts, and dreams he couldn’t fully name. And yet, saying them made him happy. The flower felt alive beneath his touch, as though it listened, as though it understood.

Lucifer sighed softly, his forehead resting against the flower.

“What are you?” he whispered again, this time to the flower itself.

But unlike with Metatron, he didn’t need an answer. The flower’s presence, its warmth, was enough. And for the first time in a long time, Lucifer didn’t feel alone.

~#~

The Morningstar dimmed, its radiant gold fading into muted embers. Lucifer stood helplessly at its edge, his hands trembling as he poured his magic into its dying light. He whispered pleas under his breath, his voice cracking as he begged it to hold on. The dusting of gold that had once danced along his arms now dulled, flickering weakly in response to the fading star. His wings shivered, casting faint reflections in the diminishing glow. No matter what he did—no matter how much of himself he gave—it wasn’t enough. The Morningstar was dying, and there was nothing he could do to save it.

“Please…” Lucifer whispered, his voice hoarse. His moonlit eyes glistened, itchy and aching, but he refused to let the tears fall. “Don’t leave me too.”

And then it was gone. The Morningstar’s brilliance vanished, leaving behind a cold, empty shadow where warmth and light had once been. For a moment, Lucifer couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The silence was deafening, wrapping around him like chains. His chest tightened painfully, and he clutched at his heart as if to stop it from shattering.

“Lucifer…” Michael’s voice broke through the stillness. It was soft at first, cautious, but even that grated against Lucifer’s raw nerves. Michael stepped closer, reaching out a hand to his trembling brother. “It’s just a star. You’ll—”

“Just a star?!” Lucifer’s voice exploded, sharp and cutting as he turned on Michael, his golden eyes blazing with fury. He shoved Michael back, his hands trembling. “Of course, you’d say that! Of course, you’d think it’s just a star, because nothing I care about ever matters to you!”

Michael’s face tightened in confusion, then frustration. “That’s not fair, Lucifer—”

“Fair?” Lucifer’s laugh was bitter, jagged. “That’s so like you, Michael. So alpha of you! You think you know better, you think everything you touch is more important than anything I’ll ever love!”

His wings flared wide, his voice breaking under the weight of his grief and anger.

“Lucifer, stop—” Michael stepped forward again, his tone firmer now, but it only ignited something deeper in Lucifer.

With a guttural cry, Lucifer unleashed a beam of golden magic, so powerful it sent Michael staggering backward, forcing him to retreat. The energy crackled and surged, a raw outpouring of emotion that left the air heavy and charged. When the light faded, Lucifer stood alone, his chest heaving, his hands trembling at his sides.

Without waiting, without thinking, Lucifer fled. His wings carried him blindly into the vast emptiness, golden tears streaking down his face as he flew. He didn’t notice the meteor shower until it was too late. A blazing rock slammed into him, then another, each collision searing through his body like fire. He spiralled downward, his wings failing him as he plummeted through the skies, crashing into Eden with a thunderous impact.

The ground was softer than he expected, but it did little to ease the pain. Groaning, Lucifer pushed himself up, dirt smearing his golden hair and pale skin. He winced as he straightened, clutching his ribs. Around him, Eden stretched out in a way he didn’t recognize. The skies above were a rich blue, streaked with soft, white clouds. The air was warm, alive with the gentle hum of unseen life. The forest around him was lush, vibrant with trees that reached toward the heavens and flowers that swayed in a gentle breeze.

Lucifer sniffled, his tears threatening to spill over again as he dragged himself to his feet. He cradled his arms around himself, his wings drooping behind him as he stumbled forward. Each step felt heavier than the last. The Morningstar was gone. The last piece of light that had felt like home—like his—was gone. He was alone now. Truly, heartbreakingly alone. No one understood him. Not Michael, not Raphael, not Gabriel. They didn’t see him, didn’t care to see him. They only saw an Omega. Something lesser.

Lucifer sniffled, a soft hiccup breaking past his lips as the tears finally began to fall, carving silent trails down his face. His chest heaved with the weight of it all. Why was he the only Omega? Why was he cursed to walk this path alone?

His feet led him instinctively toward the flower bud, the one place he had found comfort. But as the familiar clearing came into view, he froze. His breath hitched, and his heart sank.

The flower bud had bloomed.

Its petals were wide open now, no longer glimmering with the golden veins he had once traced with wonder. They sagged slightly, their vibrant glow dimmed to a pale, lifeless hue. Lucifer stumbled forward, his legs barely holding him as he fell to his knees before it. His trembling hands reached out, brushing against the petals with a soft, desperate touch. But there was no warmth. No pulse. No heartbeat.

“No…” The word slipped out in a choked whisper as Lucifer’s composure crumbled.

He pressed his forehead against the flower, his hands clutching at the limp petals as sobs tore through him. His chest twisted painfully, his wings flaring out behind him as if to shield the flower from the cruel world around them.

“Why?” he cried, his voice breaking into the silence of Eden. “Why is this my fate? Why am I the only one?”

He sobbed harder, his golden tears dripping onto the petals as he pressed soft, trembling kisses to them, willing them to come back to life.

“It’s not fair,” he whispered, his voice cracking with anguish. “It’s not fair…”

Lucifer clung to the flower as though it could anchor him, but the ache in his chest only deepened. He was alone. The Morningstar was gone, and now the flower—the one thing that had brought him solace—was lifeless too. Eden was beautiful, alive, but it felt hollow without the warmth that once filled it.

He buried his face into the petals, his shoulders shaking with the force of his cries. And for the first time in his existence, Lucifer truly felt the weight of what it meant to be alone.

Lucifer's sobs tore through him like jagged shards of glass, his cries raw and unrelenting as his insides seemed to splinter apart. His chest heaved, his fingers clutching at the limp petals of the flower bud as if holding on tightly enough might bring it back to life. His tears fell hot and unbidden, streaking down his cheeks and pooling against the ground of Eden. But then, something cracked behind him—soft, faint, but sharp enough to cut through the haze of his grief.

He froze mid-sob, his breath hitching sharply as his wings stiffened. His heart pounded erratically in his chest. His eyes, rimmed with redness and shimmering with unshed tears, grew wide and sharp with suspicion. Who would follow me here? The thought slithered through his mind, tinged with confusion and anger. The only ones who might dare were—

Lucifer’s jaw tightened as his veins flooded with fury, molten and unrelenting. His wings flared out violently, sending golden flecks scattering through the air like burning embers.

"Those stupid alphas," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with venom. "They can never just leave me alone!"

The rage coiled tighter, sharper. "All they do is take! Take and take!"

His wings shuddered, their feathers bristling like a storm about to break. He unleashed a powerful gust of wind in the direction of the sound, his magic crackling through the air.

“Go away!” he roared, his voice raw with pain and wrath. “Leave me alone!”

Scrambling to his feet, he bared his teeth, golden light flickering faintly in his moon-bright eyes. His body trembled as fury overtook him, and his voice lowered into a growl, ready to strike—but then he stopped. He froze mid-motion, his wings stilling, his snarl faltering.

It wasn’t an angel.

Before him stood someone—or something—unlike anything he’d ever seen. They didn’t look celestial, no feathers, no glow of heaven’s light. Yet they radiated a presence, soft but breathtakingly new. Their form was bare, unmarked by the hallmarks of an angel, but it was striking. Ethereal. Whole. The figure’s skin shimmered faintly under Eden’s light, a soft luminescence that captivated him.

Lucifer blinked, his lips parting as he whispered in disbelief, “Who… who are you?”

The anger in his chest faded, replaced by something far more profound—a deep tug, familiar yet achingly foreign. He inched forward instinctively, drawn closer by some invisible thread. The closer he got, the clearer the details became: the gentle curve of the figure’s face, the delicate glow of their skin, the way their golden eyes mirrored something that felt painfully, heartbreakingly like his Morningstar.

"Can't you talk?" Lucifer asked softly, tilting his head, his moonlit eyes wide with curiosity. His voice trembled as he reached out, his hands hesitant but unable to stop themselves. His fingers brushed against the figure’s cheek.

The figure gasped audibly, their golden eyes widening with alarm as they tried to pull away. But Lucifer held on, his grip gentle but firm. A strange sense of possession surged through him, anchoring him to this stranger.

"Oh…" Lucifer murmured, his voice breathless, reverent. "Your eyes."

His wings gave an involuntary flutter, and he leaned in, his voice softening into a whisper. "They're like my Morningstar…”

The stranger’s mouth opened, a sound escaping that was barely a word, and then they stumbled backward, tripping over their own feet. They tumbled to the ground in a flurry of limbs, and Lucifer blinked in surprise, his anger melting into something softer. Something he couldn’t name. He laughed—a true, unrestrained sound that bubbled up from deep within him, foreign and strange to his ears. It startled him, this laugh, but it felt… good. It felt like a reprieve.

The figure tried to scramble away, but Lucifer followed, crawling forward on his hands and knees as if tethered to them. His golden dust glimmered brighter the closer he got, trailing like starlight in his wake. The stranger backed against a tree, their knees pulled up defensively, but Lucifer didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His chest felt as if it might collapse from the need to be closer.

“Lucifer.” A calm, steady voice broke the moment, and he froze, glancing up with a pout. His eyes narrowed.

“Metatron.”

The towering archangel descended gracefully, her wings shimmering in Eden’s sun as she landed before him. Her gaze shifted from Lucifer to the stranger pressed against the tree.

“I see,” she murmured, a faint smile playing on her lips. “So it has been decided.”

Lucifer blinked, tilting his head. “Decided?”

But even as he asked, he was already stepping around Metatron, trying to get closer to the figure again. His hands itched to touch, his mind racing with questions he couldn’t yet form.

“Metatron, move. I want to see them.”

Metatron sighed, spreading her wings wider to block his path. “Lucifer, please. You’ll frighten him.”

Lucifer’s brow furrowed, his wings bristling in frustration. “I won’t frighten him!”

His voice cracked slightly, the desperation in his chest bubbling to the surface. “I… I need to… I need to touch him. I need to see him, feel him, I need to be close to him!”

Metatron’s eyebrows rose briefly, but she composed herself quickly, folding her hands as she glanced back at the stranger. “It seems God has chosen you, just as I expected.”

Lucifer paused mid-step, his curiosity flickering into confusion. He tilted his head like a curious bird.

“Chosen me?” he asked, his voice quieter, laced with wonder. “Chosen me for what?”

Metatron turned, her gaze softening as she looked at the trembling figure against the tree.

“Lucifer,” she said gently, “This is Adam. The first human. God has decided that you will be his guardian archangel.”

Lucifer’s wings stilled, his golden magic dimming slightly as the weight of her words sank in. He glanced at Adam—at the way his golden eyes reflected something achingly familiar yet entirely new—and his breath caught. His fingers, trembling and hesitant, hovered inches from Adam’s face again.

“Guardian archangel…” Lucifer repeated, his voice filled with awe and something deeper, something fragile.

Metatron smiled, stepping back to give them space. "You will guide him, Lucifer. Protect him. Teach him."

Lucifer crouched fully before Adam once more, his eyes locking onto the human's. For a moment, the grief over his Morningstar faded, replaced by a quiet sense of wonder.

"Adam," he whispered, his voice soft and filled with something he hadn’t felt in a long time—purpose.

“Hello, my Adam, I am Lucifer. The only person you will ever need.”

[scarleart]

♡ ˚₊· ━━ can we just sit and talk about how fucking SLOPPY and NOISY abby would be eating you out? it runs through my mind every day.

her humongous arms caging you in, flexing as she keeps your legs spread wide open and locked against your chest. your pussy on complete display, jus getting abused by your girlfriend’s mouth each passing second.

abby would be absolutely relentless as she lapped up your pussy, taking long drags of her tongue along your whole core. tasting and savoring your slick essence before she’ll start flicking her tongue over your poor clit with a face pace. her lips pulling the sensitive pearl into her mouth and sucking on it like her fucking life depends on it.

your legs would shaking uncontrollably in her hold, loud mewls echoing around the room along side the downright filthy sounds of abby completely demolishing your cunt. her head shaking side to side as she slurped away at your pussy so deliciously, it couldn’t get any better than this & you were going out of your fucking mind.

the absolute nasty view of abby eating your pussy made you light headed, it’s one thing to feel it but seeing it all while it happens made the feeling 10x more overwhelming.

abby’s intense orbs would be lock intently onto your rolled ones, practically drinking in your face. you were fucking wrecked, lips parted, swollen lips and chin glistening from your involuntarily drooling. the most beautiful fucking sight abby has ever seen.

“so fuckin’ good” she grunts, momentarily backing away from you. her fingers coming down to your hole, collecting your never ending arousal before rubbing it in your clit along with her spit that was everywhere.

your glossy eyes meeting her wild ones, unable to contain the small whine from leaving you when you saw the smirk twisting onto abby’s mouth. she was so fucking hot. everything about her was just… fine. the way she was playing with your clit with that cocky look on her face, the way that black tee looked so delicious on her, it was everything.

the next few moments were a blur, abby fingers were now suddenly rubbing you with so much pressure and so much speed. practically ripping the fucking orgasm out of you forcefully. you couldn’t talk, hell you could barely fucking breathe properly.

“a—abs-“ abby groans at the sight of you coming undone, you were making such a fucking mess. she didn’t know if she wanted to look down or look up at you.

“that’s it, give it to me, goood girl baby” abby praises, voice low and gravely. her fingers still keeping up it’s assault on your puffy button. making you writhe and shake against her hold.

safe to say… abby would be a nasty beast eating you out

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

a warriors love

pairing: neteyam x female omatikaya!reader

WC: 1.7K

warnings: shouting, mentions of cuts and blood. took inspiration from the recomms kidnapping the sullys in the forest.

summary: you have an argument with neteyam out of fear

A/N: lowercase on purpose, sorry if that bothers you. this was something i just word vomited in my doc. Inspired from a prompt i found off pintrest, “you can’t protect everyone” “i have to try”

does the end kinda suck... maybe but i wanted something short and kinda left off for imagination.

been in the drafts since march 12

masterlist

the quiet was eerie. everything felt too still as if time froze and you were the only one to notice the change in your environment. it was like you just lost the ability to hear anything besides your own body.

everything was so loud just moments ago. shouting of commands, the breathing in your twitching ears, the sudden onslaught of bullets and arrows raining hell upon your captive form along with the three sully children and their human companion.

your heart was pounding in your ears but your instincts kicked into gear and you kicked and bit the sky demon and ran deep into the forest with the others, hands tied in front of you and legs pushing you further into the trees.

it all stopped when you toppled into another body, one you weren’t sure of being friend or foe so you struggled in their strong grip. their arms caging you against their chest and you could feel the tears stinging against your eyes and the choked feeling growing in your throat, your screams showing your growing fear. only when you felt the barest touch along your cheek and the gentle whispers of comforting words did you stop your fighting. the tears only flowed faster.

“mawey yawne. mawey.” (calm beloved. calm)

neteyam’s soothing voice sang within your ears and deep within your brain. a hand petting your braids atop your head, even digging his fingers to feel your scalp. his other hand pressed to your back, making your chest flush with his, encasing the both of you in a reality check.

you were alive. you escaped. he saved you. his family was safe.

and all that led to now. you sitting on the floor of your small mauri, eyes focused on nothing before you with your body hunched over your crossed lap. hands mindlessly picking at skin and twisting or bending fingers, or a knee bouncing to an unknown sound only you can locate. even a small rocking motion came upon your body, it was like you were in a fixed trance.

his arms being wrapped tight around your shoulders stopped all functions. slowly you realized what was happening and sluggishly you moved your arms securely along his waist, a firm tug to pull him impossibly closer. your faces tucked into the crooks of each other's necks, deeply inhaling the other scents, feeling the movement of your chest as you breathed in and out.

“neteyam…” your lips brushed his skin, and you gave a tremble to his name. he shushed you, his nose rubbing against your pulse point. his lashes a light tickle on your neck just below your jaw. “focus on your breathing first. your heart putters like that of a hummingbird's wings.”

neteyam pulled away and you started to panic, but all he did was place a hand against your heart and he tugged one of yours to do the same, “follow my heart. listen to my breathing. calm and steady.” you closed your eyes to just focus on the thump thump thump of neteyam’s steady heart.

when you felt relatively calmer, less jumpy you peeled your closed eyes open and stared directly into neteyam’s clouded golden orbs. they looked to be shadowed by different emotions, only one you can see at the top of his emotional surface. anger.

a hand limply touched his cheek, just a ghostly sweep of your fingertips. and before you could move further or speak, fast-paced steps echoed against the cave walls and entered your mauri. kiri walked forward with a woven basket of herbs and salves but stopped short when she looked up from the floor to the two of you still seated in front of each other, neither moving away only straying your eyes to her.

“oh, uh… sa’nu and sempu (mom and dad) sent me to fix any wounds. grandmother is busy with others.” she shuffled on her feet, noting the heavy air.

neteyam stood up and walked over to his sister, taking the basket into his hands, “i shall mend her wounds. stay with tuk and lo’ak, make sure they are okay.” he gave a squeeze to her right bicep and she nodded to the both of you before walking away.

neteyam moved quietly as he worked preparing the paste that would keep any cuts from getting infected and set aside the herbs for wrapping or for swelling bruises. you just watched as he kept his head and eyes down focused, mouth pulled into a thin, tight line showing he was keeping words to himself.

“neteyam… please don’t keep thoughts to yourself. tell me what troubles your mind.” a hand resting on his knee.

his movements stilled and you thought he was about to open up, but instead he mumbled lowly, “this might sting,” and he scooped the thick yellow paste onto two fingers and slathered the medicine along a long and red cut to your forearm. you flinched in his hold, eyes shutting tight with your fingers closing into fists and your breath sucked in through your teeth.

you heard the mumbled “sorries” and felt his hold that was firm but his fingers were delicate. he moved from the cut on your bicep to a cut along your collarbone. the sting wasn’t there as he worked so you focused your attention back on him, needing to hear his voice and thoughts.

“‘teyam, please. i-i know what happened was scary, but not talking to me is worrying me more. it was not our intention to get taken hostage by the demons, they caught us off guard as we were exploring, and- and i know we… yes we went to an area that was off limits. but- but everything was cleared and when i started to get worried i told them we needed to leave and that’s when they arrived, and that’s when we had lo’ak call in.”

neteyam just worked, not stopping to look at you or speak with you, his eyes stayed on your damaged skin. it was making you frustrated. you didn’t mind his silence usually, but it was always a welcomed silence when both of you just wanted to soak up the other’s presence, this was an angered silence. he was giving you the silent treatment.

“neteyam te suli tsyeyk’itan i do not appreciate this silence. i would rather have you yell at me than ignore me as i am trying to talk to you. i know you have some words dancing on your tongue just waiting to be spewed in my face, well speak them.” you jerked away from his gentle touch and you missed it, but he was hurting your heart.

he stayed on his knees, head bowed as he stared at his hands, palms facing the sky. his braids closed off his face, his emotions that you usually could read like an open book, but now he was a clouded sky that wouldn’t let the sun shine through.

your lips trembled and eyes watered, your arms covering your stomach as a protective blanket from this vulnerability. “when i was being choked by their hand around my throat and my queue being tugged harshly, i thought i was to die in that moment. they held knives at each of us, ready to stab if we were to make any move to freedom. and- and as the night crept upon us as they waited for your sempul (father) so they could kill him along with us, i just thought of you. thought of your smile and your comforting laughter that i have to wrangle from you most of the time because you can be too stubborn for your own good. how i would miss the touch of your fingers on my skin, rubbing circles into my hips or caressing my cheeks as we gazed lovingly into each other's eyes. how there were so many words i have yet-“

“i could have lost you! you could have been killed long before we arrived to help! i would stumble upon your lifeless body! do you not know how that would completely break me apart? i wouldn’t be able to live without you, without your soothing words and quiet company. i- i would want to die right with you, even if it hurt my family…i wouldn’t- your loss would just rip my heart out of my chest and completely tear it to shreds.”

his words shrieked loud like a ikran’s cry within your eardrums. your whole body stopped moving and you stood motionless, the air stolen from your lungs and your heart forgetting its automatic beating. your arms fell from their protective hold on your stomach before your feet carried you back to neteyam, knees crouching to the ground. with a hand, you tucked it under his chin and pushed his head up to make proper eye contact and that’s when your heart completely broke in your chest.

his usual glowing irises were surrounded in a red hue from the running tears that left stains under his eyes and along his cheeks. thumbs jumped into action and swiped away the pain that this situation has caused him, you hated seeing him so stressed and worn out.

“ma ‘teyam… i hadn’t meant to put us- put you in this type of position. i never want to be the cause of pain for you and- and i know this whole problem could have been avoided if- if i was a bit stricter with lo’ak and his impulse decisions. but we must now focus on our present.” you connected your foreheads together, thumbs still running over his cheeks.

neteyam wrapped his hands around your wrist, his nose bumping into yours, “i’m supposed to protect you, protect my family and i have failed my purpose.”

“no neteyam. your sole purpose isn’t to be a protector… well actually kinda is- anyway, what- what i am trying to say is. you cannot save everyone neteyam, sometimes Eywa chooses whose life ends if it keeps the balance.”

“i have to try. i have to try and save everyone, especially my family and you. life would never be the same if any of you were to leave in a tragic way.” you pushed braids behind his ears, “and life would be dull and fruitless without you, neteyam. we must protect each other, that is our purpose.”

...

[jennay]

My Best Friend (3)

Noah Sebastian x reader

Master list

1/2/3/4/5

Let me know if you want to be tagged! I'm making a list.

Summary: jolly is tired of Noah and Readers pity party and offers some adventures.

You were exhausted, both physically and emotionally. The weight of the breakup with Michael was a constant burden, and you felt trapped in a cycle of self-punishment. Despite knowing it wasn’t healthy, you couldn’t stop yourself from revisiting the pain. Each day felt like a battle, a struggle to keep your head above water while the memories of him pulled you under.

. You’d lose yourself in the flickering images on the screen, or the rhythmic crunch of leaves underfoot. But no matter what you did, the thoughts of him always crept back in, like an unwelcome guest that refused to leave.

Michael had always been a complex character. He was charming and charismatic, the kind of person who could light up a room with his presence. His smile was infectious, and his laughter had a way of making you forget your worries, if only for a moment. But beneath that charm lay a darker side. He was unpredictable, his moods swinging from affectionate to distant without warning. There were times when he made you feel like the most important person in the world, and other times when he made you feel utterly insignificant.

It was a relentless tug-of-war in your mind. Every time your phone buzzed with a message from him, your heart would race with a mix of hope and dread. Maybe this time, he’d realize his mistake. Maybe he’d come back to you, acknowledging that you were the one he truly needed. But deep down, you knew it was a fantasy, a desperate wish that kept you tethered to the past. The reality was that each message only reopened the wounds, making it harder to heal.

Noah had urged you to block Michael’s number, to cut off the source of your pain. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The thought of never hearing from Michael again was too much. Even the briefest connection, a simple text, felt better than the silence. It was a small comfort in the midst of your turmoil, a reminder that he still thought of you, even if it wasn’t in the way you wanted.

“I miss you, I miss us… I wish things could’ve been different,” you thought, the words echoing in your mind like a broken record.

The dim light of the dining room cast a warm glow, and the scent of Noah’s cooking hung in the air. Jolly sat beside you and across the table, Noah’s eyes bore into yours, concern etched on his face.

His cooking efforts—unexpected and thoughtful—hadn’t gone unnoticed. But it was Michael’s message that weighed heavily on your heart, turning your appetite to a stomach ache.

Noah, perceptive as usual, wanted to ask what had changed your mood but he knew from the glow of your phone what had caused the look on your face. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the tablecloth, silently inviting you to hold his hand.

You hesitated, but then placed your hand in his—a gesture that felt oddly right. His tight squeeze conveyed more than words ever could and in that moment you feel safe.

Jolly, pulls his hair into a makeshift bun, eyeing you and Noah with suspicion. He finishes his meal, pushing the plate forward, and takes a deep breath.

Noah’s warning glance didn’t deter him. “We love you,” Jolly blurted out, his voice unapologetically. “But seriously, it’s time to move on from this dude. You deserve better.”

Your eyes trail up to Jolly locking with his brown orbs. You see the concern but it feels like an attack. You pull your hand back from Noah’s and try your best to remain calm for the sake of your friendship but you feel something boiling inside of you. “I’m so fucking sick of people telling me what I deserve!”

You push your chair back and stand up grabbing your plate you set it on the counter and storm off leaving Noah and Jolly in an awkward silence.

“What the hell dude.” Noah harshly speaks. “That's why I was side-eying you.”

Jolly folds his arms over his chest. “She needs to hear it, Noah. This bullshit of holding her hand through everything and babying her isnt working.” he quickly responds. “You.” he says pointing a finger at Noah, “Are part of the problem.”

Noah clenched his jaw, torn between loyalty to you and the truth in Jolly’s words. His gaze followed you as you disappeared into the hallway, and he wondered if he was indeed coddling you, shielding you from the pain that needed acknowledgment.

The conflict churned within him—a battle between compassion and tough love. He knew he had to choose, but the weight of that decision pressed heavily on his chest.

“I’m going to check on her,” Noah says, standing up.

“Or don’t,” Jolly interjects firmly. “Let her pick herself up, Noah.” He rubs his temples. “I don’t know what that guy did to her, but this isn’t like her, and you know it.” Jolly stands and walks over to Noah, gently placing a hand on his shoulder and looking him in the eyes. “Y/N used to pick bar fights for fun, and now she’s crying over some dude? Doesn’t that seem weird? This can’t just be about Michael.” He pauses, “She’s getting depressed.”

“You go upstairs and try! It’s hard to watch,” Noah says, gesturing upstairs.

Jolly nods, dropping his hand back to his side. “Watch me.” He waves for Noah to follow him to your room. He knocks loudly on your bedroom door. “We’re coming in!” he announces. “Pack some clothes for two weeks. We’re going on an adventure.” He then turns to Noah. “You too. All three of us are going, and nobody gets a say in it.”

You sit up on your bed, turning off the TV. “What the hell are you talking about?” you ask with an amused look.

You watch as Noah shrugs but a smirk plays on his lips. “I think he’s right. Let’s go get your mind off everything and forget about Michael, forget about this town. It holds too much over your head.”

Jolly grins, “Plus, I heard there’s a place where they serve pancakes the size of your head. How can you say no to that?”

“That's random.” you say eyeballing him.

“Everythings bigger in Texas.” Jolly says with a sly smile.

“Texas!?” You and Noah day at the same time.

“Thats not the only place but its one of them. Go pack we leave in the morning.”

—

The next day, Jolly held true to his word. He arrived at 5 am, nearly breaking the front door open and bursting through like a psychopath. Whoever decided to tell him where the spare key was, was a monster. You tried your best to blink the tiredness out of your eyes, stretching out your arms knowing you needed to stand up, but your body didn’t want to cooperate. Instead, you found yourself slowly leaning your weight to the left where Noah sat beside you. Your head landed on his shoulder, causing Noah to flinch at the touch. He claimed to be a morning person, but 5 am was too early.

“Jolly,” he quietly said, “we can’t start the day off like this.”

Jolly shrugged his shoulders, not in the mood for either of you party poopers. “C’mon. I got coffee in the car.” He laughed as he picked up the bags by your feet. “Light packing?” he asked you.

You slowly sat up, this time forcing yourself to stand. “I didn’t know what to pack and I know there will be thrift stores on the way…” You paused, your eyes becoming more serious. “We’re stopping at every single one I want to because this… five am bullshit is so unnecessary and it’s the only way you can make it up to me.”

Noah groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, Jolly. You owe us big time. I need at least three cups of coffee before I can even think about being civil.”

Jolly rolled his eyes, already heading towards the door. “Fine, fine. We’ll stop at every thrift store, coffee shop, and whatever else you two grumps want. Just get in the car.”

You and Noah exchanged a look of mutual grumpiness before heading out the door. The early morning air is crisp, and you shiver slightly, wishing you were still in bed. Noah mutters something about needing a vacation from this vacation, and you can’t help but laugh. It felt so good to actually laugh.

You hear Jolly’s laughter as he opens the door of the rented van. How he managed to pull this off was incredible to you. “You two are going to thank me for this trip. I promise.”

You don’t hesitate to crawl in the back seat and lay down. “I don’t want coffee I want to sleep till we get somewhere exciting.” You pull your hood over your head and tighten the strings. You hear Noah hop in the passengers seat. He closes the door and says “I’ll wake you if we don’t die first.”

Jolly shrugs his shoulders, “Are either one of you capable of driving right now?” He jokes.

Noah leans his head against the window. “We’re going to fucking die.”

[mariaxxxxx]

I Wish Under The Same Roof (+18)

Summary: the presence of the princess of Wakanda makes you jealous so you decide your innocence to your husband (+18)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Hurt comfort, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, size difference, smut, HEA, good ending, slight degradation,, unprotected sex (don't do that wrap this thing), kidnapping, aftercare, curse words

word acount: 2.300

A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

“There is something I want to talk to You about!” You said in one breath.

He was suppressed by the initiative. K'uk'ulkan faced her, giving her the privilege of speaking. But You were silent.

"What do you want to talk about?" His voice was hoarse, with the accent too strong in his tongue, dragging the syllables in specific places.

Her delicate hands left the heavy wooden table and rested on her lap, feeling the softness of Talokanil silk. You didn't know how to start that conversation, bring up that subject, I felt nervousness rising in your stomach and dinner threatening to come out of your mouth. Remaining seated became difficult and uncomfortable and you got up and walked around the tiny room, pretending to be interested in the works he painted. K'uk'ulkan followed her and soon stood up as well.

“I want to talk about the princess.” You started to just look at the ground, knowing that if you looked at it you would lose your courage. “I see the way you look at her.”

K'uk'ulkan's features became harder, more confused and cold. Here stood before him the unforgivable and imposing secular warrior of Talokan, not the man he had just married. He was raising those walls and building that distance that You fought so hard to break. You didn't want that distance anymore, not anymore, you didn't want him to keep you away like he always did during these months of marriage. I wanted him close, to feel the heat of his body, his hands and his mouth. You wanted him like a man.

"S..."

“Teach me!” His voice sounded loud, echoing through the cold walls of that cave. K'uk'ulkan looked at her confused, waiting for more words.

"What exactly?" He questioned.

“I want you to teach me what couples do.” You approached him, stopping a safe distance away from those beautiful eyes. His cheeks burned as if he were feverish. “I see the way you look at her and I know you want her. But I'm your wife and I know that if you teach me I'll do everything right. I want to fulfill my role as a wife. I want you to take me, to make me yours.”

His heart was beating so fast in his chest that you thought you heard it echo from the corners of the room. You looked up at K'uk'ulkan, staring at those two black orbs that were as free and bright as onyx stone. You felt his hand get scared and put them together to try to contain his nervousness.

“Is that what you want?” He questioned, moving closer and slowly lifting your chin.

“If you want me, I’m yours.” You said in a low breath.

“I want a lot of things from you, girl.” He said, very close to her mouth. “Take off your clothes, lie back on the pillows and spread your legs.”

While untying the ties on your dress, you reflected on your lack of understanding of what sex was. You could imagine what awaited her, but you would be lying if you knew how the act itself worked. Her mother never talked to You nor instructed her about what to expect on her wedding night when she was handed over to her husband. The little she knew was thanks to her maids who had no shame in saying about the marriage bed – You always remained silent, listening, as there was humiliation in remaining untouchable after marriage. K'uk'ulkan was respectful, even too much, never touching You, only giving you chaste kisses.

Then, she arrived, the princess of Wakanda and the young scientist. The princess was kind and friendly, proving herself to be a good ally to her nation, but the hint of jealousy quickly grew in her mind when her husband spent more time by her side. You blamed her innocence for not being able to attract your husband's attention, so one day she finally decided to express her desire to be his. There was also a bit of greed in wanting to complete the act while two nations were on the brink of war and the princess and her damn scientist were meters away from you. Deep down, you wanted to prove that nothing and no one could take it away from you, not even a little princess living on the surface.

You shook your head to get out of your thoughts and hurried to untie the last straps of your dress. When the last bow was untied and the dress slid from your body to the floor leaving You completely naked K'uk'ulkan stopped before You. Looking deep into your eyes, You saw the anxiety that dominated you and it filled your ego for notice your husband burning with desire.

Somewhat unceremoniously, you were pushed until you fell onto the sheets and pillows that your maids kept on the floor for gossip moments. Wasting no time, K'uk'ulkan spread her thighs and lowered his head to her nearly naked vagina. His maids shaved you with hot wax, keeping only a small layer of hair on Mount Venus for aesthetic purposes. They said that men liked it that way. You decided to trust, as they had more experience than you.

But still, You felt embarrassed to have your husband staring so intently at your pussy. You saw him lick his lips as if he was in the presence of a juicy treat.

“You should see yourself.” He whispers, still staring at your pussy. “The most beautiful pussy. I should paint it on my wall to record for eternity.”

You close your eyes feeling shame flood your body with such dirty words, but something lights up in you.

“Does that make you wet, girl?” Question your husband. “The idea of ​​having your pussy exposed on my wall turns you on, naughty little girl. I should have fucked You the night we got married, but I'd rather be patient. Look how I was missing that beautiful, shiny pussy.”

You were about to whimper when he reached down and started trailing kisses down your inner thighs, working his way up to your pulsing core. You hold your breath in anticipation, unable to stop the loud moan that leaves your throat the moment he licks your clit. In an involuntary reflex, you kick him when you feel his tongue, but he holds your legs wide open while he eats you with his tongue. You wanted to apologize, but you were too busy moaning and screaming as your husband devoured you.

“K’uk’ulkan” You moan as his tongue pleasures you.

K'uk'ulkan continues to attack your clit, sending vibrations of pleasure to every part of your body. He sucks and licks you like a starving man, eliciting loud, delicious noises from you. He sucks your intimate lip and traces the tip of his tongue along your slit, just savoring your excitement, dragging his tongue over the waves of your pussy making you more and more excited and wet, preparing you to receive him.

“I’ve thought about you since we got married.” He says with his head still between your legs. “I dreamed of tasting You, feeling You on my face, in my mouth and on my dick. I respected your innocence for a long time.”

K'uk'ulkan closes his eyes and goes back to eating her pussy with his mouth. He pushes his nose against your folds to make way for your clit, which he brings to his lips to wet and suck, caressing the tip with his tongue and finally taking it into his mouth until your back arches. K'uk'ulkan stuck a finger in you to prepare you for him, you were so wet and trapped in the purest ecstasy that you barely felt the intrusion, but two fingers made you moan even louder and be brought to the edge of a precipice. His pelvis tilted toward him seeking more contact. His body was frantic with something that was about to explode.

"Yes Yes Yes." You moaned loudly, body twisting and tightening in wonderful ways. “I feel something coming...”

A sensation began to rise in her core that spread from her toes to her head, her lower abdomen contracted, her thighs tightened around K'uk'ulkan's head as he continued to chase her climax with his tongue. and fingers. You screamed as the orgasm hit his body, you felt his spirit fluctuate for brief seconds before returning.

K'uk'ulkan walked away to take care of himself, removing his jewelry, cape, and loincloth. His member was already rigid and crying at the tip, begging for attention. Trying to have some control over your own body, You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him and only thought about how big he was before being pushed back onto the pillows by your husband.

K'uk'ulkan took your nipple in his mouth as his cock brushed against your thigh. He sucked her breast hard and deep, while he spread her thighs and slid his cock into her untouched pussy. He buries himself hard, all at once and you bite your lip hard, letting out a muffled scream of pain. Your body was relaxed, your pussy was open and ready to receive him, but your husband was big and the discomfort outweighed the pleasure ripped from You once.

He moves, increasing the discomfort that fills you. He buries his face in your neck as he continues moving, with increasing strength and speed, moaning in pleasure close to your ear while moans of pain come out of yours. You couldn't believe how uncomfortable it felt to have him on top of you, inside you. The pleasure he gave her with his mouth exceeded all her expectations. The maids always praised the pleasure that their husbands' penises gave them during the act. You expected the same. Or maybe it just hurt because it was the first time he was receiving it, and such a sensitive place as a vagina would only provide pleasure after suffering and bleeding.

K'uk'ulkan holds your hips tightly, sucking your neck gently and returning to your breasts, nibbling, causing a good pain distracting your discomfort. He continues to move inside you, his body begins to relax and the pain begins to cease with streams of pleasure spreading, but the discomfort remains. You wrap your legs around his waist, scratching his broad back to distract yourself from the discomfort and focus solely on the pleasure.

Wet noises came out of his mouth as he sucked on your breast, never stopping his thrusts. He dropped her breast in a wet pop and said:

"Good girl. You take my dick so well.”

Unable to speak as he pushed his dick further into your pussy, strong hands gripping your hips, all you could do was moan. He sank deeper and deeper into You and when You dared to look down to where you were connected, you almost choked at the sight. You were startled by the thickness of him pushing into You and wondered how he had fit so well. He left you breathless and scared.

A small cry escaped as he pulled out a few inches, before pushing back in, a wet sound echoed through the room and You screamed at the sudden intrusion. It was wet. You were wet. He glided as if he were diving in oil. Every time he moved in and out resulted in an erotic sound. You were sticky with surprising excitement. With a skillful movement of his hips, K'uk'ulkan increased the intensity of his thrusts even further in search of his own release. You weren't far behind.

His eyes twitched, as his hands gripped the sheets beneath him, his body lit up. His toes twitched, her pussy clenched around his shaft, her thighs trembled and her belly contracted. You came again. This time, even stronger than the last. You trembled and twitched and clenched around him, holding onto his long back to keep yourself grounded.

K'uk'ulkan's hands tightened around his waist, pumping his cock into her sensitive pussy. His name fell from her parted lips. His dick never leaving his body going more and more. His eyes closed, slamming his cock violently into you with enough force to make that discomfort resurface, penetrating deeper. Releasing all his seed into You, to the point that it seemed like he poured an entire river inside you.

It was all wet and he was penetrating harder and harder and releasing more and more of his seed. He let go a lot, that was all You could think, when you felt him slide his dick out of You and the seed drip out onto the tissues. His body was now nothing more than a mess, You were covered in sweat and full of semen inside.

K'uk'ulkan sat on his calves, between his legs, with his eyes closed and breathing heavily. His cock, now softened, still glistened with her arousal between his legs. The intensity was waning, but his head swam as he realized what he had done. K'uk'ulkan falls to his side, still breathing heavily. He pulls You into his embrace in a domineering manner.

With your nostrils flared, You smell sweat and semen on their intertwined bodies, but You don't care. She feels drowsy and exhausted, and rests her head on his chest, listening to K'uk'ulkan's heartbeat slow down, until he is calm, lulled by sleep.

You didn't expect that, you didn't expect sex to be a mix of pain and pleasure, or that your husband wanted you like a thirsty man. At that moment, You were in the purest happiness of knowing that K'uk'ulkan belonged to You and only You. No princess would steal him.

[pinklotushere]

Truly madly royaly

Part 3

---

Dearest family of mine,

I hope this letter finds you safe and well. Though I am far from home, please know that you are never far from my thoughts. I miss the warmth of our hearth and the sound of your voices more than I can say.

I want to ease your minds and tell you that I am being treated kindly here.

The people are polite, and their ways, though different, are not unkind. The prince, my husband, has shown me respect and consideration.

While we are still learning to understand one another, there is a sense that he, too, wishes for peace between us.

Do not worry for me. I have food, comfort, and the space to think (and isn't that what I always wished for!).

I ask, instead, how all of you are doing. How is Bruce’s health and spirits? Is Alfred still tending the garden? Dumb question, I know, of course he is.

And my dear siblings—are you behaving as you should? Giving you my love and reminder to give Bruce hell!

Please write to me soon and tell me of home. How I long to hear of familiar faces and places. Though this is a new chapter, my heart will always be with you all.

Warmest regards,

Richard Grayson-Wayne-Nightingale

Post send : My last name has gotten rather long, don't you think?

---

The first light of dawn painted the room in muted shades of green and silver, the ever-present magic of the Infinite Lands casting soft shadows on the walls.

It’s been a few days since they arrived at Dragaltia Duchy. What was a fortnight’s travel journey reduced to 10 days with fewer stops and the constant change of horses, which makes it almost three weeks since his marriage.

Dick blinked awake, his body still heavy with exhaustion. For a moment, he lay still, his thoughts as fragmented as the dreams he could barely recall.

The bed beside him was empty, though the faint warmth in the sheets told him Danijel hadn't been gone for long.

His thoughts drifted back to their conversation during their travel, just after they got in the carriage after spending the night in an inn. Danijel had been quiet.

"Do you resent it?" Dick had asked softly as the dawn broke down on them.

Danijel had been silent for a long moment before answering. "No. It's... necessary. For the peace we're trying to build."

It wasn't exactly a comforting answer, but it was an honest one. And in that honesty, Dick had found a strange sense of reassurance.

By the time Dick dressed and ventured into the morning light, he found Danijel in one of the palace's many war rooms.

Maps sprawled across the table, illuminated by the flickering light of a suspended orb. Danijel stood at the head of the table, his posture rigid, his focus entirely on the strategy before him.

Dick hesitated in the doorway before stepping inside. His footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor, drawing Danijel's attention.

"You're up early," Danijel muttered, his voice quiet, not looking up from his work.

Dick offered a small smile. "Habit. Gotham mornings don't exactly encourage sleeping in."

Danijel huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Erdurne is... different."

"Very," Dick replied, keeping his voice measured. "I thought we should discuss... my duties going forward."

Danijel finally looked up, his sharp green eyes meeting Dick's. For a moment, there was no response, just an assessing gaze that made Dick feel as though he were being weighed and measured.

"You want to know your role here," Danijel said, more a statement than a question.

"Yes," Dick said firmly. "If I'm to be a part of this kingdom, I need to know how I can contribute."

Danijel straightened, gesturing for Dick to join him at the table. "You're not here to play a ceremonial role, Prince of Gotham. You're here because this marriage is meant to solidify an alliance. That means appearances, diplomacy, and ensuring our kingdoms remain united in the eyes of our people."

Dick folded his arms, his expression calm but resolute. "I'm not just a figurehead, your grace. I've led troops into battle. I've negotiated treaties. If you think I'll be content to smile at banquets and wave to crowds, you don't know me."

Danijel's lips pressed into a thin line. "This isn't Gotham. Things are... different here. You'll need to learn the intricacies of our politics, our customs. Until you do, you'll follow my lead."

"And what happens when I've learned them?" Dick moved to take a seat at the table.

Danijel raised an eyebrow. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

The room grew quiet, the air between them heavy with unspoken tension. Dick studied Danijel, searching for any sign of the man beneath the armor of duty and command. But Danijel's expression was as unreadable as ever.

"What else?" Dick finally asked, breaking the silence.

Danijel turned back to the map, his voice clipped. "You'll accompany me to council meetings and formal gatherings. There are reports you'll need to review, particularly those involving Gotham's resources and their integration with ours. Beyond that, you'll assist in whatever capacity I deem necessary."

Dick bristled at the dismissive tone but kept his temper in check. "Fine. When do we begin?"

"Now," Danijel said, sliding a stack of papers toward him. "These are reports from the border territories. Read them. We'll discuss your observations at noon."

Dick took the papers, his jaw tightening. Without another word, he started to flip through them, his mind already turning.

It was late afternoon, the sun casting a golden glow through the tall windows of the sitting room.

Dick sat in one of the oversized armchairs, a cup of tea in his hands, trying to make sense of one of the many books on Erdurn's political history. It was dense, and his head was already spinning.

Danijel entered silently, a stack of papers in his hands. He paused when he saw Dick, his brow raising slightly. “Studying hard, I see.”

Dick looked up, his expression caught between exasperation and amusement. “You didn’t tell me your political system came with its own encyclopedia.”

Danijel smirked, setting the papers on a nearby table and walking over. “I didn’t think you’d actually try to read it.”

“I’m trying to keep up,” Dick shot back. “I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your advisors.”

Danijel’s smirk softened into something gentler as he pulled up a chair beside him. “You won’t embarrass me.”

Dick blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in Danijel’s tone. Before he could respond, Danijel picked up his untouched cup of tea and took a sip, his nose wrinkling slightly.

“You like your tea weak,” he remarked, setting it back down.

“And you like it so strong it could strip paint,” Dick countered, unable to hide his grin.

The sitting room was warm, lit by the flicker of the fireplace, its crackling filling the silence between Danijel and dick.

Dick was still perched on the edge of a plush armchair, one leg crossed over the other, fidgeting idly with the edge of his sleeve, as he finished his book.

Danijel sat with perfect stillness and has been writing reports for the past hour and a half.

The knock at the door was a welcome distraction. It creaked open to reveal a servant, a young man in a crisp uniform who bowed his head respectfully. "Your Grace," he addressed Danijel, his voice steady but reverent. "Dinner is ready to be served in the dining hall."

Danijel inclined his head in acknowledgement, his expression as unreadable as always. "Very well. Inform the staff we will join shortly." His voice was cool, clipped, but not unkind.

The servant nodded and slipped back out as quietly as he had come, leaving the room in silence once more.

Dick, unable not to fill the void, glanced sideways at Danijel. "You have a way of making everything sound like a royal decree, you know that?" he teased, a smile on his face.

Danijel's lips twitched—just barely—but he said nothing. Instead, he set his glass down on the small table beside him and rose to his feet, the movement graceful and deliberate. He turned to dick, holding out his arm with an air of formality that bordered on ironic.

"Shall we?" he asked, his tone neutral but his eyes betraying the faintest hint of amusement.

Dick blinked at him, momentarily surprised by the gesture, but then his grin widened. "Oh, are we playing the doting couple now?" he quipped, though there was no real bite to his words.

Danijel arched a single brow, his arm still extended. "Would you prefer I leave you to find your own way to the dining hall?"

Dick snorted and stood, slipping his hand into the crook of Danijel’s arm. "We've been having dinner together for the past week," he said, his voice light but his grip firm. "And until today, I've been doing nothing but exploring, i think i know the way."

Danijel said nothing in response, but as they walked, dick caught the faintest upward curve at the corner of his mouth—a subtle acknowledgement, perhaps, that the act wasn’t entirely an obligation.

Which was relieving.

The dining hall of dragaltia duchy was an overwhelming mix of opulence and austerity. The long table was carved from dark, polished wood, with ornate carvings of ancient sigils running along its edges. Chandeliers of glowing crystal illuminated the space, casting a soft, almost ethereal light over the room. Despite the grandeur, the atmosphere felt cold, much like his husband, dick thought with not little amount of amusement.

Dick sat at one end of the table, his posture straight, his every movement carefully measured. Across from him, Danijel ate in silence. The clink of silverware against porcelain was the only sound that filled the cavernous room.

The food was exquisite: roasted meats seasoned with spices Dick couldn’t name, delicate pastries filled with sweet and savory mixtures, and goblets of deep ruby-red wine that left a pleasant warmth in his chest. Yet, he barely tasted any of it.

Danijel looked up briefly, his piercing green eyes meeting Dick's. “You’re quiet,” he said, his tone more an observation than a question.

Dick set down his goblet, folding his hands neatly on the table. “I wasn’t sure if conversation was welcome.”

Danijel’s lips twitched in something that might have been amusement—or irritation. “You’re my husband. That gives you leave to speak your mind, even if I don’t always want to hear it.”

Dick raised an eyebrow but refrained from responding to the dig. “Fine. How often are dinners this... formal?”

“As often as necessary,” Danijel replied, taking another bite of his meal. “Though I suspect you’d prefer something less structured.”

“You’re not wrong,” Dick admitted. “Back home, dinner was often chaotic—more family arguments than formalities.”

Danijel’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “And you miss it?”

Dick hesitated before nodding. “I do. It’s strange, being so far away from them. From Gotham.”

Prince Danijel didn’t respond immediately, instead taking a slow sip of his wine. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost reflective. “You’ll get used to it.”

Which was, well—rude.

The awkward silence was broken by the soft sound of footsteps. A maid entered the room, her uniform pristine, and her head bowed respectfully. She stopped a few paces away from Dick and Danijel, her hands clasped in front of her.

“My lords,” she began, her voice steady but deferential. “I bring news for Prince Richard."

Dick turned to her, his curiosity piqued. “Go on.”

“Your personal guards are set to arrive tomorrow morning, my lord. Their quarters have been prepared, and arrangements have been made for their acclimation to the palace.”

Dick felt a surge of relief at the news. Having familiar faces around would make life in Erdurne feel a little less alien. “Thank you,” he said, offering the maid a small smile.

The maid curtsied and quickly left the room, leaving the two men alone once more.

Danijel leaned back in his chair, regarding Dick with a neutral expression. “Your guards,” he said. “I trust they’ve been vetted thoroughly?”

Dick met his gaze evenly. “They’re loyal and capable. They were handpicked by Bruce himself.”

Danijel studied him for a moment before nodding. “Good. The Dark Knight is known to be a good judge of character,I’ll have someone brief them on our customs and security protocols when they arrive.”

“Appreciated,” Dick said, though his tone lacked warmth.

The rest of the meal passed in strained silence, the announcement lingering in the air between them. Dick was grateful for the impending arrival of his guards—his friends—, he truly missed home

<part 2 part4>

[justcallmefox89]

Gale and the Gith: Chapter Sixteen - After the Creche

They've made it out of the creche safely, but nothing is the same.

The journey back to camp is frantic as Gale and Astarion struggle to carry an unconscious X’aa’nath between them. Lae’zel silently forges ahead, refusing to even look in the general direction of her injured kin.  Gale has never been a particularly violent man, but Lae’zel’s indifference towards X’aa’nath has him itching to cast a well-placed fireball in her direction.

Karlach is the first to spot them and quickly jogs over, effortlessly hoisting X’aa’nath in her arms.

“Oh thank the gods,” Astarion groans, rolling his shoulders.  “I never realized someone so thin could weigh so much.”

“What happened to Soldier?” Karlach asks, casting a worried eye at the handprint shaped bruised on X’aa’nath’s cheek and the dried blood from his earlier nosebleed.  Her eyes flick to the others, taking in their similarly bedraggled states.  “The creche wasn’t interested in helping huh?”

“X’aa’nath failed us all,” Lae’zel snarls.  “Now my kin hunt us, and I have been named hshar’lak.”

“Gods not this again,” Astarion whines, tilting his head back and closing his eyes in exasperation.

“Lies,” Gale seethes.  “He saved us.”

“Yes, you would take up for him… wouldn’t you?”  Lae’zel sneers at the wizard.

The orb flares in his chest but the pain is secondary to the anger he’s currently feeling.  “You egotistical, stubborn, vindictive harpy,” he growls, stepping closer to Lae’zel.  “Be grateful that X’aa’nath still carries some fondness for you, because if it was up to me I would have left you rotting in that creche with the rest of your kin.”

“Ok then,” Karlach says loudly, interrupting the pair.  “I’m just going to uh, have Halsin take a peek at Soldier.  The rest of you should probably pay Shadowheart a visit… you look like hell.”

She adjusts X’aa’nath’s limp body in her arms and jogs back towards the others, calling for Halsin.

Gale and Lae’zel remain locked in a silent starring contest, neither willing to concede.  Astarion looks on warily, unsure if he should intervene. 

Gale is the first to break the silence.  “Do not speak to him.  Do not speak of him.  Do not even look in his direction.”

Lae’zel snorts out an incredulous laugh.  “Are you threatening me, wizard?”

The orb flashes brightly, it’s eerie purple glow echoed in the depths of Gale’s usually brown eyes.  “Yes.”

One final look of contempt and Gale turns to quickly follow Karlach, Astarion tagging at his heels, leaving Lae’zel alone.  When the two reach camp they find X’aa’nath has already been laid on his bedroll, Shovel tucked against his chest with their tail wrapped around one of his arms. Scratch lays over his legs, whining softly while the owlbear cub curls up against his back.  Astarion touches Gale’s shoulder in a rare show of camaraderie before exhaustedly trudging towards his own tent.

Halsin sits next to the fire, observing X’aa’nath with a slight frown of concentration on his face.  Gale is surprised to see that the sorcerer’s eyes are now open, blankly staring off into the distance.

“How is he?” Gale asks quietly, settling down next to Halsin with a small groan.

“He’s severely overextended his magic.  I’ve seen others much more experienced than him perish using magic in such a way.  Oak Father be praised that he didn’t lose control of himself.”  The druid falls silent.

“Why do I sense a ‘but’ on the tip of your tongue?”

Halsin grins faintly.  “Physically X’aa’nath is well, aside from a few small injuries that were easy enough to heal.  But his soul feels… unsettled.  Pained.  And that can only heal with time.”

“Time,” Gale echoes softly.  “I can only hope that we have enough.”

[jinuaei]

Different Route

Heyyyy remember that idea I had for self aware Resident Evil 4? I made a small fic/drabble for it but got hyperfixated on hazbin hotel so it wasted as a WIP until I started to miss Leon and now here it is!!! I forgot how this was supposed to go so like the last 10% might be shit

I miss my babies so much 🥹

Warning: VERRYYYY small yandere behaviour

This is insane, everything is too crazy!

Ashley grips the lantern closer to her, the heat of it warming her up despite the shivers running through her body due to the cold marble floor she was  laying on. Tear streaks can be seen as she laments how awful everything has been. She still can't believe what has happened to her the past couple days, god, even what transpired an hour ago felt like a nightmare she desperately tries to wake up from. They were so close to escaping the castle, or at least she thought so.

After Leon successfully put together the heads of the chimera statue, gold bars, akin to jail cells, suddenly sprung up from the floor, surprising both her and Leon. Realizing that he's stuck, Leon tries to find a way out before rapid footsteps are heard from below the staircase. He then quickly commands Ashley to run, which she promptly follows by stumbling into the unexplored room behind her. While in there she proceeded to complete a puzzle that can help Leon escape the cell, encountering multiple scary moving armours on the way. Luckily, the blue lantern she found earlier helped her immensely, although she did lose it after trying to grab the key inside the strange mausoleum. The armours swinging its swords down almost made her pass out.

Once Ashley arrived at the elevated platform just above Leon, she was able to grab a key that could free Leon from his holding cell. However, before she could come back down to where he is, someone grabbed her from behind. Immediately struggling against the cultists grip, a sharp pain in her head stopped her from further movement. The pain was so immense that she could feel herself start to pass out, darkness started to creep in her vision as her ears rang loudly against Leon's screams of…pain? Her head lulls to where Leon is and she sees him drop to his knees and clutch his head, gripping his hair in pain. She tried to shout for him but she couldn't even produce a sound, she was only able to mouth a small 'Leon…' in the process. Just as she was going to lose consciousness, she heard two voices echo against her skull, loud and clear amidst the ringing in her ear.

"NOT HER…NOT YET," the first voice growls, masculine and very very familiar.

"Not her… Not again," the second one begs, soft and comforting, she almost cried hearing such a melodic voice. Perhaps this was an angel sent to bring her soul to heaven? Nonetheless, the pain was too much to bear and she passed out at the same time as Leon.

Given how Ashley has been the target of Los Illuminados, she would think she would wake up tied up in a pole, being forced to become one of the monsters that has been hunting her. Instead, she felt the cold floor pressed to her skin, waking her up from her unwanted sleep. Sitting up, she notices a warmth coming from right next to her.

On her side was the lantern, glowing brighter than she remembered, it flickered momentarily as her hands hover to grab it. Something tells her to keep this lantern very close to her, and she does. Orbs start to surround her, covering her with warmth, caressing her skin with the blue glow emitting from it.

Sobs come out from her mouth when the sudden feeling of love and affection rolls over her, it might be just from her starting to go crazy, but she doesn't care. This lantern is the only thing that made her feel safe with everything that happened. Sure, Leon has been there protecting her, but she admits that he's a bit weird muttering to himself about how ‘They came back’ or how he’ll ‘make sure that They won't leave him anymore, not again’. But that doesn't matter anymore, not when Leon needs help, not when she has the lantern with her. 

Ashley clutches the lantern tight against her tear streaked form, determination filling her as the thought of Leon needing her help filled her mind. She knows she needs to help Leon and even though it's scary, the blue light has given her enough confidence to proceed. Something tells her that nothing bad will happen to her when she's holding the lantern.

“Leon… wait for me, I'll save you!”

[qininqinin]

Mutts don't play nice

[Horror x Cross, animal play, pet play, collar use, implied breeding kink, bite kink, fear play, ecto body, dry humping (?)…]

note: there you go @what-have-i-unleashed, ngl I'm embarrassed about my delay, but it's finally done!

A suppressed whimper slipped from his throat, crawling down his spine as his figure was illuminated by the large red orb of Horror. 

Cross, still curled up at the foot of the bed, didn’t hesitate to hide on the other side, poking his head out just to watch the other skeleton — who continued to gaze at him from the doorway. A growl rumbled from his ribs; coarse, deep, scratching at Cross's drooping little ears.

A creak echoed through the room, and Cross quickly realized that Horror was approaching with cautious steps, crawling on all fours toward his hiding spot. He sniffed the air a few times before huffing, the orb focused on the small glimpse it could see of the curled-up skeleton.

Before Cross could slip under the bed — where only he would fit, safe from the other’s teeth — Horror quickly yanked him by the tail, eliciting high-pitched whines from Cross's mouth.

In one moment, Cross was trying to escape Horror's large hands; in the next, his body was pinned beneath the weight of the other’s ribs. With his belly up, Cross had no choice but to squirm, his little white dots trembling and fixed on Horror’s massive mouth, filled with thick, sharp teeth.

Like him, Horror had also summoned a pair of dog-like ears — both red and plump. A bit of drool dripped from Horror’s chin, landing mischievously on Cross’s face - it was disgusting.

He didn't even have time to howl for help, not when his voice broke into fresh whimpers as Horror's hips started rocking against his body - it was slow, as if he was testing, waiting for something. The newly bought collar around his neck was swiftly ripped off by the hound above him, torn to shreds by his teeth — giving him more space to spread his saliva along Cross's vertebrae.

Cross soon had his neck explored by Horror's fat tongue; licking, marking his scent on him. Everything was happening so quickly; Cross didn’t even know how to react! His soul raced so fast beneath his ribs that he was sure Horror could hear it - along with his whines and broken huffs.

A harsh thrust against his pelvis made him grab onto the other's clothes, the sharp tips of his phalanges tearing the old coat Horror was wearing. Cross could feel his hips being gripped tightly before a new pressure was rocked against his body. He couldn’t even look down.

Cross shouted a loud whine when Horror summoned bulge was rocked against him again; and again and again - without a pace or goal. He could feel his back scratching against the floor of his own room, the bed beside them. 

All he could hear were his own moans — startled, sly — and Horror's animalistic growls at his neck, breathing against his vertebrae as the hound thrust against his protected pelvis.

That’s too fast! Cross couldn’t help but think, feeling his magic starting to form from his ribs down, It’s too fast! He can feel his eye lights rolling back into his skull as Horror sinks his teeth in his neck.

A string of marrow oozing from the bite.

.

.

.

Cross suddenly felt his body freed, the weight of before vanishing abruptly. A pained moan escapes his mouth as his fresh wound is exposed to the cold air.

“Unbelievable; I let you loose for five minutes, and you already want to breed the new pup.” Killer yanked on Horror’s collar forcefully, not caring at all about the choking sounds coming from him. “And you’re a dumb mutt too — you didn’t even take his shorts off!”

Cross's little white dots shrank in fear at Killer's appearance — and they trembled even more as Killer's attention shifted to him.

A smug smile spread across Killer's face when he noticed the damp spot on Cross's shorts, faintly glowing purple. “Don’t worry, Criss Cross,” he cooed, tilting his head to the side while still pulling Horror by the neck. “After I give this mutt a good punishment, I’ll come play with you, okay?”