#Trendy Wave Clothing

[geotjwrs]

Hey… what’s up! I have another Sabrina Carpenter x Male reader request for you, this time I have a plot too…

Plot: Do one were they go on a date and then they start kissing in his truck, and then they have sex when they get home.

under the moonlight (18+)

Pairings ; Sabrina Carpenter x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; smut

Y/N's heart raced as he pulled up to Sabrina's place in his truck. He had been looking forward to this date all week, and the anticipation had only grown stronger. Sabrina, with her piercing blue eyes and infectious smile, was the kind of girl that made every moment feel like an adventure.

As Sabrina slipped into the truck's passenger seat, Y/N couldn't help but steal a glance at her. She was wearing a flirty yellow dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, and her long, dark hair cascaded around her shoulders.

"Hey," Y/N said, mustering the courage to make eye contact. "You look stunning tonight."

Sabrina blushed, the pink hue spreading across her cheeks. "Thank you, Y/N. You look amazing yourself."

Y/N couldn't help but smile. He was wearing a dark, tailored suit that fit his muscular frame perfectly, and he had even splurged on a new tie to match the dress. They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Y/N pulled out of the driveway, and they began their evening together.

As they drove to their first destination, a trendy new restaurant, Y/N and Sabrina chatted about everything from their favorite movies to their dreams for the future. Y/N was surprised at how easily they connected, and he found himself more and more attracted to Sabrina with each passing moment.

After a delicious dinner and some laughs, they decided to head to a nearby bar for a few drinks. As they sipped their cocktails, Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at Sabrina whenever she wasn't looking. He was so enamored with her that he barely noticed the music playing in the background or the other patrons around them.

As the night wore on, Y/N and Sabrina found themselves growing closer. They talked about their past relationships, their fears, and their desires. Y/N found himself opening up to Sabrina in ways he had never done with anyone else before. And as the conversation grew more intimate, so did their body language.

By the time they left the bar, Y/N and Sabrina were practically inseparable. They held hands as they walked to the truck, and Y/N couldn't help but pull her in for a passionate kiss before they got in.

As they drove back to Sabrina's place, Y/N's thoughts were consumed with thoughts of her. He could feel the tension building between them, and he knew that they both wanted the same thing.

When they finally arrived at her house, Y/N and Sabrina wasted no time in making their way inside. They tore at each other's clothes, desperate to feel each other's skin against their own. As they stumbled into Sabrina's bedroom, Y/N felt a wave of desire wash over him.

He gently pushed Sabrina onto the bed, hovering over her as he began to kiss her neck. Sabrina moaned softly, her hands roaming over Y/N's broad shoulders and down his back.

"Oh, Y/N," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've wanted this for so long."

Y/N grinned, kissing his way down Sabrina's neck and over her collarbone. "I've wanted you too, Sabrina. I can't believe we're finally here."

As Y/N continued to explore Sabrina's body with his lips and tongue, he could feel her growing more and more aroused. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she arched her back as he teased her nipples with his fingers.

"Oh, yes," Sabrina gasped, her eyes half-closed in ecstasy. "Right there, Y/N. Don't stop."

Y/N grinned, his cock throbbing as he watched Sabrina writhe beneath him. He wanted to make her scream with pleasure, to show her just how much he desired her. And as he slid his fingers between her legs, he knew that he was about to do just that.

"You're so wet for me, Sabrina," Y/N growled, his voice thick with desire. "I can't wait to feel you wrapped around my cock."

Sabrina moaned, her hips bucking against Y/N's hand as he stroked her clit. She was so close to coming, and she knew that Y/N was the one who could take her there.

As Sabrina's moans grew louder, Y/N couldn't resist any longer. He undid his pants and positioned his cock at Sabrina's entrance, teasing her with the tip before finally sliding inside.

Sabrina gasped, her eyes wide with pleasure as Y/N filled her up. He began to thrust, his hips moving in time with the rhythm of her moans.

"Oh, Y/N," Sabrina panted, her hands gripping the sheets as she dug her nails into the bed. "Fuck me harder, please. I need more."

Y/N grinned, increasing his pace as he pounded into Sabrina. She was so tight, and he could feel her clenching around him as he pushed deeper.

"You like that, don't you, Sabrina?" Y/N growled, his voice thick with desire. "You love it when I fuck you like this."

Sabrina moaned, her eyes half-closed as she lost herself in the pleasure. She could feel her orgasm building, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before she came apart in Y/N's arms.

As the tension continued to build, Y/N reached down between Sabrina's legs, his fingers finding her clit once more. He began to stroke her, his touch sending shivers of pleasure coursing through her body.

Sabrina gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head as she surrendered to the ecstasy. She could feel her orgasm building, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before she exploded.

"Oh, Y/N," Sabrina cried out, her body trembling as she came apart in his arms. "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming!"

Y/N grinned, his cock throbbing inside Sabrina as he felt her clench around him. He could feel her juices flowing over him, and he knew that he was about to join her in the throes of pleasure.

As the last waves of Sabrina's orgasm washed over her, Y/N let out a low, guttural groan. He was right on the edge, and he knew that he couldn't hold back any longer.

"I'm coming, Sabrina," Y/N gasped, his hips jerking as he finally reached his peak. "Oh, fuck, I'm coming!"

Sabrina smiled, her eyes still half-closed as she watched Y/N lose himself in the pleasure. She could feel his cock throbbing inside her, and she knew that they had just shared something special.

As they lay there in each other's arms, breathless and spent, Y/N and Sabrina couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. They had connected on a deeper level tonight, and they knew that they had just shared something special.

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

adam designated driver

intoxicated!readerxcaretaker!adam

a/n: adam driver is maybe like the love of my life I hope he reads well. this is also an older fic but maybe 2020-ish?

wc: 2.3k

18+ MDNI | no smut but sexual themes

summary: Y/N went out and had a few too many, when trying to call a taxi driver, she taps her friend adam's contact instead.

"Can I get a whiskey sour?!"You managed to shout over the pulsating bass.

The bartender nodded, turning around to grab the bottles he needed. 

He was in his mid-twenties, sporting a thick beard and jewelry: trendy black stretchers, multiple rings on his fingers, and bead bracelets that swung from his wrists as he shook the shaker vigorously.

You observed his rings up close as slid your fifth drink of the night in front of you.  You shouted a 'thank you' and passed him the money. The chilled glass froze your palm as you grabbed it. You winced hissed.

You were already intoxicated, which resulted in you feeling warmer than usual. You began to drink your cocktail, wincing from the prominent bourbon taste hitting your tongue. 

Turning to the dance floor on your bar stool, you observed your friends dancing provocatively in front of the men.

They would grind on each other and kiss for the sake of attention as if their clothing alone wouldn't draw attention, and it would work every time. Men who were complete strangers would buy you and your friends multiple rounds throughout the night hoping to get lucky.

Tonight, you all wore matching tight-fitted black mini skirts and tops that barely covered your chest. Your outfit in question was uncomfortable, to say the least, but it was like wearing a costume. When you'd dress like that, it was as if you were a new person, for one night. You immediately gained a newfound confidence and your adventurous side would come out to play.

You grinned against your glass, chuckling to yourself.

How you loved being a woman.

You scootch off the seat, stumbling, trying to find your footing. Your sense of balance was terrible when you were drunk and your heels did not help with that at the moment. 

Eventually, you made your way to your friends on the dance floor, joining the small circle to include yourself again.

"Y/N! There you are, I missed you!" Your little blonde friend threw herself on you. You caught her in your arms, laughing. 

The six of you danced to the beat. Hips swaying, arms in the air, hair flying everywhere. You could feel the blood pumping through your veins, and sweat forming on your forehead, but you didn't care you were having so much fun.

our arms were raised in a state of intoxicated freedom as you tried to keep up with your friends, whose energy seemed endless.

Your fingertips tingled as you waved your hands to the rhythm, and your feet grew numb from the constant stomping.

Your head felt heavy on your neck, and your eyelids became harder to keep open. You were running out of breath.

Your movements turned sloppy as your body began to fatigue, even though your mind insisted you had more energy than you actually did. Your chest heaved, struggling to breathe in the tight top.

A couple hours went by and the club slowly began to empty out as people left in small crowds. The night was approaching its end. 

You were seated in a booth with fewer friends, all of you trying to call your drives home.

Your vision was blurry as you fiddled with your phone, trying to hold it properly.

The aggressive blue light blinded you. You squinted, opening your contacts app.

A few scrolls down and you found your usual Taxi Driver's phone number.

You pressed it, bringing your phone close to your ear. The ringing echoed loudly in your ears as you drunkenly awaited a response. He finally answered. 

"Ugh-mkay, uh I'm at thuh Sound Night Club.... on Las Palmas, can you cohme get me? I'm fuckhing drunhk." You slurred into the phone mic.

After a few exchanges, you hung up. "Welp ladies, my taxi issa comin soon so I gotta wait outside." You stood, steadying yourself on the table. You draped your jacket over your shoulders, clinging your wallet and phone to your chest. You gave them each a kiss on the cheek and said your goodbyes. 

Your heels padded on the tacky red carpet as you slowly made your way to the entrance. Before leaving you wished the bouncer a good night. "It's not my birthday, but thank you." He replied. You just smiled, confused. 

You pushed the heavy doors open, only to be greeted with a freezing gust of air. Your exposed legs were now covered in chills. The street lights illuminated your flushed cheeks; how nice. You leaned your back against the club's brick wall and waited for your Taxi. 

A shiny black Camaro pulled up to the curb, flashing its lights and honking its horn. You stayed put, wondering whose ride it was. It then honked again.

You just observed silently. 

The driver's door opened and a tall dark man rose from the car. "Y/N?" He shouted. You jumped slightly. This wasn't your taxi driver: You wondered who the man was, and how he knew your name.

Fucking trouble, that's who.

The unknown man was shouting your name. You looked around to see if anyone else was outside that you could ask for help; not one.

Fuck it, you thought.

You took a run for it, your cheap heels clicking on the cement sidewalks, and you gripped all of your belongings as if your life depended on it, and at that moment it did. 

The streets of Los Angeles were dangerous at this time of night, and you were the desired victim; a drunk, helpless, pretty girl in slutty clothing.

So much for being a woman!

The cold air breezed through your product-filled hair as you ran down an alley, only to be cornered by the car again.

You stopped in your tracks, shocked. Your heart pounded in your ears and your mouth was now dryer than a desert. You couldn't find your voice to yell for help.

The man got out again and started running after you, leaving his door open. The car lights blinded you, you could only see his tall shadow approaching you, quickly.

You once again tried to make a run for it but your heel fell through a manhole cover. You rolled your ankle and fell to your knees, your full weight hitting the solid pavement. You groaned in pain. The man rushed to your sides, as you cried on your hands and knees.

This was the end.

"Y/N! What were you thinking? You could've gotten seriously hurt! You could've gotten hit by a fucking car!!" The familiar voice gritted with rage. You lifted your head trying to identify this strange individual's face, only to reveal the face of your friend, Adam. 

"Adam? Why the fuhhck are yohu trying to kidhnap me for?" You slurred, trying to push away from his grip. "Kidnap? What? -Y/N, you called me from the club asking me to pick you up." He raised an angry eyebrow. 

You just broke down in tears, feeling lost and confused.

"You're too drunk." He grumbled, shaking his head.

"nO, I called, Denis. My usual taxi." You squinted, pulling out your phone to show him. Adam plucked the phone from your grasp and examined the phone.

"Y/N, it says Driver. Driver, Adam." He sighed impatiently.

"Oh, well, i swearr thaht I actually talked to hi-WOah!" Adam had cut you off by picking you up bridal style from the ground.

"Let me down!" You attempted to squirm but your lack of energy or control didn't allow you to do so.

"No, Y/N. You hurt your ankle. Now stop whining and let me take care of you. It's late- It's 4 in the fucking morning and you're acting like a child." He knelt down to grab your jacket that was at his feet and proceeded to place you on the passenger side of his car.

He then resumed his place at the wheel and sped off to his apartment. His car hummed loudly down the silent streets.

During the drive, you were quiet, your scraped knees were pulled to your chest and you faced your window, observing the lights that flashed by as Adam sped through the neighbourhood. 

You began to feel your soberness again because all the adrenaline was gone and the pain was now settling in.

Adam pulled into the parking garage and stopped the car in his usual spot. He turned off his vehicle and picked you up once more, this time with less anger. You toyed with the collar of his shirt as he carried you to his door. He had so many birthmarks on his neck.

Arriving at 11B, he managed to unlock and kick his door open. He used his elbows to switch on the lights and laid you on the grey sofa. 

"Do you need anything? Some pants, another shirt? Socks?" He spoke on top of you, trying to keep you awake.

"This outfit is too tight, Adamhm, can I borrow some long socks and one of your T-shirts?" You breathed out, with your eyes closed. Your head felt heavy against the firm couch pillow, it's like you were sinking in quicksand.

"I'll be right back." He said. 

You peeked an eye open to observe his apartment decor. It was minimalistic, with tones of light greys, topes and whites. Indie artists covered his walls, and colourful woven rugs were sprawled across the floor. He had lots of books on his shelf in the corner, you propped yourself up and dragged your feet to the library dizzily.

Poetry.

 Adam had lots of notorious poets in his collection.

He returned shortly.

"Here you go. Are you sure you don't want some shorts or sweatpants? They have drawstrings, so you can tighten it as much as you want." He placed the clothing on the oak coffee table that you were now making your way to. 

"I'm sure... thank you, Adam." You smiled unzipping your painfully tight top, exposing your red push-up bra. Adam's eyes diverted to the floor, he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

"If you need anything else, I'll be upstairs in my bedroom. It's the first door on your left." He turned to leave. 

"Wait, Adam!" You let the top fall to your feet.

"Yes?" He turned around, making only eye contact, trying to not observe your figure.

"You have poetry books in your library." You said, sliding your skirt off, leaving you in only your matching lace undergarments. 

Adam controlled his breathing. 

"I do, I do, uh, do you read lots of... poetry?" He asked leaning against his living room door frame.

"I actually used to write some and read them at open mic nights." You smiled, unclipping your bra swiftly, allowing your breasts to bounce out of your bra.

"Much better," You muttered.

"I-I uh, I didn't know that." He bit the inside of his cheek, face remaining unreadable. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest and fixed his posture. You could hear his foot tapping the floor, and you could sense uneasiness in him.

Oh?

Casually, you let the bra fall, like your top, and slid on his grey Star Wars t-shirt that he probably had received from a fan.

Adam was not one to watch let alone buy merchandise from his own projects. The Kylo graphic tee looked cute on you, it ended mid-thigh and wasn't too wide.

"I still write sometimes, but not as much as I'd like to, you know? What about you, do you write?" You sat on the low coffee table, knowing well, that Adam was struggling to keep his composure and slid on his long black socks that went up to your knees. 

"I do, but I don't think that it's good." He chuckled, trying to seem less awkward. You simply smiled at the statement and found your place on the couch. 

"um- you need some water and aspirin, I'll go get that for you." He said and walked out of the room, his heavy footsteps thumped on the creaky wooden floors. 

In one hand he had a big glass of iced water, and in the other, he had two tiny pills. "Thank you," you mumbled tiredly, washing down the medicine with water. "Need anything else?" He asked glancing at the time: 4:52 AM.

"No, I'll be fine, thank you, Adam. For everything. It's really appreciated. Also, I'm sorry for earlier, I thought you were trying to hurt me, it was dumb." You looked down at the glass that you held in your lap, in embarrassment. 

"You are...welcomed." He gave you a small close-mouthed smile before shutting off the lights and going upstairs to his own bed.

You tossed and turned on that shitty sofa. It was small compared to your bed at home and the throw blanket was too thin for your liking, you really wished you would've taken up that offer on the sweatpants. 

"Ugh, fuck it." You groaned, now fully sober and exhausted. 

You quietly got up and proceeded to make your way upstairs to the first bedroom on the left. You turned the doorknob slowly and pushed it even slower to avoid making any noise. You saw that his bedside light was on, and you could make out faint clicking noises. When you fully opened the door, you were happy to be greeted by Adam sitting shirtless in bed, typing on his computer. 

"Hi." You quietly spoke. 

He lifted his chin and met your eyes with his brown ones. "Hi." He gave you a toothy smile. 

"Can't sleep either?" You asked, padding towards his gigantic bed. "No, not really." He chuckled closing his laptop and placing it on his bedside table.

You sat on the foot of his bed, observing his thick chest and shoulders. He was a very attractive man, very large, he looked soft. You bit your lip at the thought.

"Come." He lifted the covers from the unoccupied side of the bed and tapped the mattress like when prompting a dog or cat to come sit next to you.

You obeyed and got under the covers next to him, already feeling his warmth.

You hummed in delight as he turned off the lamp. Adam laid on his side, facing you. You did the same, trying to focus your eyes on his face through the new darkness. 

He let out a tired sigh and without warning, he pulled your whole body forward. Your head was buried in his chest, his bicep supported your neck, and his other arm rubbed your back.

"Sleep, or you'll get sick tomorrow morning. "

You smiled and inhaled the scented body wash he used. You absent-mindedly pressed a kiss to his chest, making him hum lovingly.

A moment of thinking passed and he then tipped your head back, to place a long tender kiss on your lips. You returned the kiss, feeling his plump lips against yours in delight, sending butterflies in your stomach.

After, you returned to his chest and he placed another kiss on your forehead, drifting you slowly to sleep. 

oh adam, i'd die for you

[weepingpussywillowtree]

for the hate of trendy fast fashion sweaters

Okay, I want to preface this that there's nothing wrong with liking the style of these types of sweaters, though I think most of these are ugly, I do like some of them, I just wanted a place to put down my frustrations with these sweaters from a sustainability and wear-ability perspective, as well as my frustration with people coming into knitting spaces asking for dupes of these sweaters and then becoming upset when experienced knitters suggest that these sweaters are not the best idea. be an aware consumer. If you really must own one of these kinds of sweaters, understand that it will probably be a short lifespan or incredibly high maintenance garment. Or realistically, both.

Have you seen the newest sweater? everyone is talking about it. It looks like this

Or this

Or this

Yes. They are very unique looking. they're striking and sometimes even cool (in a photoshoot at least), but lets take a look at some of the problems with these types of sweaters, and how I feel that they exemplify fast fashion culture, and that culture invading fiber arts spaces as well.

Ethics, Pricing, and plastic waste

Let's take a look at this sweater as a case study for some of the ethical, sustainability, and pricing issues.

I think it exemplifies a lot of the issues with this wave of trendy sweaters.

first, lets take a look at the website. 260 dollars + shipping, 94% plastic, and from a cursory research, there seems to be no evidence that any of that price is going towards a living wage for its factory workers. So, not to be rude, but what exactly am I paying for? I have seen similar pricing and ethical issues almost across the board with these trendy sweaters.

There's nothing wrong with acrylic yarn on an individual level, it is cheap, easy to care for, and easily available, but for 260 dollars on an item that already it dry clean or gentle hand wash only due to its construction? I would expect higher quality materials. also, not this sweater in particular, but in many of these types of sweaters/brands it really bothers me that they have been able to market themselves as 'vegan' as a form of greenwashing when all of their clothes are plastic or mostly plastic. So yes, while its technically true that they are vegan, are vegan clothes really better for the environment when most of the time vegan clothes means more microfiber shedding pollution and eternal piles of plastic clothes waste?

okay, so now lets get to some common issues with the actual wear-ability and construction of these types of sweaters.

Roving Woes

I think everyone remembers these massive, chunky sweaters or even the roving blankets (roving is wool that has been processed but not yet spun). I'm not sure if the tops/sweaters of very chunky yarn are in peak trend anymore but I do see them around.

Here's the issue. If you want a garment that will fall apart in one wash, these are for you. If you want to have a garment be a lasting part of your wardrobe, move on.

A good example is above. These kinds of sweaters sell like hotcakes on Etsy and go upwards of 300 dollars a pop, but see that fuzziness around the edges? the lack of any twisting look that you'd typically see in yarn? this is roving and will pull, snag, pill, and straight up fall apart at the slightest provocation because the thing that gives spun fibers their strength, is well... the spinning part. The woolery has a great video about this where you can see the roving fall apart over time, and also collect, dirt, dust and other grossness over time with no good way to clean it. Making that 300 dollars you spent a disposable purchase, not an investment. Like buying a 300 dollar disposable rain poncho, but with even less use.

Finicky detailing

Things like ribbons, charms, and other items make an item hard to wash. If they are not properly secured, or sometimes even if they are, they will come off and either need to be thrown away or somehow reattached. These items can also tug, snag at, or warp the main fabric of the garment.

Neglecting Weaving in Ends

Another trend I've been seeing is not weaving in the ends of a garment, as you can see in that flower sweater above. This may give a cool sort of ripped jeans effect for some, but it will ultimately lead to the garment coming unraveled, and you will have wasted, in this case, like 600 dollars on nothing.

...

Overall, all of these trends lead to more plastic waste, disposable clothing, difficult or impossible to wash items, or clothing that you'll spend a lot of money on only to have it fall apart.

Its frustrating to see this clamoring for dupes or this rush for similar styles take over some fiber arts spaces and lead to wasteful consumption of yarn, and trend cycles where these sweaters quickly get created and then discarded.

thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

[captain-hawks]

Happy spicy, sweaty sleepover!

I just know you’ll write something so, so delightful for band!AU Jean with a broken AC. Like, I know know it.

💋mojogojocasahouse

jean kirstein x f!reader

c: 18+ only, exes to lovers speed run, band!au jean, masturbation, fingering, oral sex, anal fingering, squirting, unprotected p in v, creampie

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND — HEAT WAVE EDITION

There has to be correlation, somewhere, between one’s innate penchant for masochism and the subsequently awful, irresponsible, downright terrible decision to call one’s ex-boyfriend to help fix a busted appliance.

But alas, here you are, sweating to death in the midst of the worst heat wave the city’s seen in years with no qualified, local repairman available any time in the foreseeable future—because clearly your broken air conditioner is somehow considered fucking trendy right now. 

The thing is, it’s not the first time the machine has let out an ominous death rattle before the motor inside fell into an ominous silence. It’s not even the second time it’s happened, or the third.

But every other goddamn time it did, Jean still lived here in your shared apartment. And his deft fingers, paired with years of tinkering with guitars, amps, speakers, and pedal boards, somehow led him to find the fix time and time again. 

It’s been three months since your messy breakup, three months of deafening silence and empty space in your one-bedroom apartment. He’s been living with Eren and Conny, though half of his clothes are still strewn about in your closet—until he finds his own place. 

You have half a mind to drag the pile out shirts out and toss them at him one by one, if only to cover up the torturous sight you’ve been subjected to for the better part of an hour.

Jean Kirstein, for all intents and purposes, is an attractive man. And you were prepared for it, the slight inconvenience of the sight of his soft brown hair, sharp jaw, intense eyes, and tall form standing in the hallway when you opened the front door.

But Jean Kirstein standing in the middle of your living room, muttering a string of expletives under his breath as he swiftly bats a hand against the temperamental air conditioner before standing up straight to peel off his soaked t-shirt? The reminder of the way the tattoos covering his arms and chest and back look when they’re coated in a slick sheen of sweat? The ripple of his muscles as he twists a wrench? 

That’s another fucking problem entirely.

“You don’t look too hot.”

Jean’s voice spears through your thoughts, and you look up from where your hands are folded in your lap to see him standing in front of you in the kitchen. Seated atop the kitchen counter if only for the relief of the cool marble beneath you, one of your idly swinging feet nudges his knee. 

His voice is a bit rough, and you can only assume that he came right to your apartment from band practice. 

(You try not to think too hard about how he knows exactly what that voice does to you—the way you barely made it past the entryway most times coming home after his shows, your skirt shoved up as he fucked you up against the wall beside the coat rack.)

(The way he’d call you late at night while he was away on tour, his voice a low rasp as you hung on to his every word and touched yourself for him.)

“I’m very hot, actually,” you reply with a raised brow, though you’re well aware you probably do look like an overheated, exhausted mess—you’ve hardly gotten any sleep all week, even with a fan right beside your bed. 

Jean steps closer and leans in, standing between your spread legs, and your heart feels like its lodged in your throat as he holds your gaze. Slowly, he brings his hand up to rest against the side of your neck, fingers easing their way against your damp skin one by one in a way that makes your breath catch. 

“You should take a cool shower,” he suggests, his thumb ghosting over the front of your throat before he swiftly steps back and walks away, heading back into the living room.

Fingers clasping the edge of the countertop, you inhale sharply.

Admittedly, Jean was right about the shower—you feel a bit more steady on your feet as the water washes over your face and trickles down your naked body, washing away the uncomfortable, sticky layer of sweat. 

Maybe it’s a little misguided, the way you let your thoughts get away from you as you glance down at your soapy tits, remembering how much Jean used to love how sensitive they are. How he’d groan and curse over the way you’d writhe when he toyed with your pebbled nipples, the way you’d whimper and moan as he sucked on them.

Running your hands over the swell of your breasts, you sigh, letting your back rest against the cool tiles as you stroke and tease the tender buds until they’re rock hard beneath your touch. You grope and caress yourself, imagining that it’s Jean in the shower with you.

You're tempted to make a mad dash for your room, to lock the door and stuff the fat dildo in your bedside table into your wet cunt, to quickly fuck yourself on it until you’re sated enough to face the shirtless man in your living room without being distracted by stray thoughts of laving your tongue against the hollow of his throat.

It’s a half-baked plan seasoned with nothing but the delirious power of your lust-driven thoughts.

It's stupid.

It’s reckless.

And it almost fucking works, almost, until Jean suddenly comes barging into the bedroom in the middle of you face down on the bed, frantically humping the dildo like your life depends on it, the slick silicone lubricated on nothing but your gushing arousal. 

Jean stops dead in his tracks and stares at you, speechless for what may very well be the first time in his life.

You stare back at him, shaken from your stupor only when the dildo suddenly slides out of your pussy with a lewd popping sound. 

“Jean, what the fuck are you doing?” you ask, some part of you almost proud of how steady your voice comes out.

He blinks several times. “I needed a new shirt,” he gestures toward the door, “and the bathroom door is shut, I thought you were still in there.”

You blink back at him, all too aware of the filthy, slick arousal dripping down the inside of your thighs. “Oh.”

He glances up at the ceiling for a moment, toward the closet, and then back to you. “Do you…” he trails off.

“Do I…”

“—need a hand?”

You could probably blame it on the heat, the way you almost robotically nod. The way you hardly bat an eye when Jean climbs up on the bed behind you.

It’s surely a symptom of heat exhaustion, perching on all fours atop your mattress as your ex-boyfriend presses a hand into the small of your back while he thrusts a dildo in and out of your sopping wet cunt.

That stupid fucking air conditioner is definitely, absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt to blame for what happens next—when you flip over onto your back and spread your legs wide, gazing up at Jean’s lust-blown pupils as he continues to fuck you with the toy.

Your breakup was so goddamn stupid and petty and shortsighted—and you were both too stubborn to admit it in the aftermath. 

“Please let me eat you out,” Jean exhales, dragging a hand through his messy brown hair to push it out of his face.

You nod, fervently, though you’re still tempted to drag his hips flush against yours, to tell him how badly you need to be fucked instead. 

But when he laps a broad, firm stroke through your slick, creamy folds with his dexterous tongue, your mind goes blank in a haze of pleasure. 

Jean has always been far too good at this.

He alternates between lapping at your slit and licking his way into your tight entrance, and sucking on your clit as he plunges two long digits in and out of your wet hole, one hand splayed across your abdomen to hold you down as you whimper and buck your hips.

“You taste so good,” Jean groans, his own hips jerking into the mattress as you gasp, your entire body arching up off of the bed when one of his slick fingers slides beneath you and begins to stroke the rim of your ass.

He eases your other tight hole open, saliva and your sticky arousal running down his chin as he messily fucks your cunt with his tongue.

“Jean,” you gasp when he finally sinks a finger deep in your ass, your gut engulfed in a wave of white-hot pleasure.

“Come for me, baby,” he murmurs, tongue tracing firm circles against your clit while he curls his fingers and strokes the spongy, sensitive wall atop your tight channel.

You come with a shout as the coil of pleasure inside of you snaps, clear liquid spraying from your cunt as you tremble and shake and gush all over Jean’s fingers and face. 

“Holy shit,” Jean groans, hips rocking even harder into the bed—it always did drive him out of his mind when you squirted.

As you come down from your orgasm, Jean leans back into a sitting position, unzipping his pants and letting his throbbing, hard cock spring free from the confines of his boxers. He crudely spits into the palm of his hand, groaning your name as he tosses his head back and begins to fuck his fist, spreading the precum leaking from his tip with his thumb. 

You don’t think twice about the way you scramble forward and climb into his lap, nudging away his hand and wrapping your fingers around his length. 

Waiting a beat, you meet his gaze, somehow still not entirely sure if he actually wants to fuck you.

Jean chokes out a laugh, reading the uncertainty in your eyes and reaching up to cup the side of your face before he leans in to rest his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, words he stubbornly couldn’t bring himself to say months ago.

“I’m sorry, too,” you murmur, and you mean it.

And then all it takes is the familiar grip of his hands on your hips to guide you down onto his cock, your cunt rapidly pulsing and contracting at the searing, intoxicating stretch, and both of you moan in unison.

Jean kisses you hard, his mouth engulfing yours and swallowing down the gasping, whimpering sounds you make as he fucks up into you, bullying his cock as deep as your greedy, needy pussy will take.

“I fucking missed you so much,” he rasps, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, one hand reaching up to grasp your tits.

It’s so goddamn hot in your bedroom, and it’s downright filthy, the slick slide of Jean’s sweat-soaked skin against yours, the way his hair is damp with it, the salt you taste on your tongue as you press hot, open-mouthed kisses against the tattoo that wraps around the side of his neck.

It’s hot and filthy and sweaty and you’re not sure if you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, so ridiculously wet, each plunge of Jean’s cock punctuated by the lewd squelch of your soaked pussy. 

“Jean—” you whine, dizzy with desperation and need.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, cradling your body as he switches your position, laying you down flat on your back as he continues to thrust in and out of you.

And maybe it’s the way he begins to toy with your clit again.

Maybe it’s the sight of the creamy ring of your arousal coating the base of his cock.

Maybe it’s the look in his eyes as he stares down at you beneath him.

—either way, you’re helpless to do anything but cry out and moan as another orgasm breaks through the heady dam of pleasure flowing inside of you, your vision nearly going black as he fucks you through it.

And you can tell he’s close, too, you can feel it in the way his thrusts suddenly grow sloppy, the way his breathing goes ragged.

“Inside,” you breathe out.

Jean’s answering groan is absolutely wrecked as he slams his cock in you to the hilt, spilling rope after rope of thick, hot cum in your fucked out cunt until it’s overflowing and dripping onto the sheets below.

When he eventually collapses beside you on the bed, you’re not sure if it’s intentional—the fact that he ends up on the side that was always his. 

But you don’t question it, not now.

Not later when the morning sun is peeking through the blinds and he’s snoring softly beside you.

Not even when you wake again to the sound of the air conditioner sputtering to life in the living room, the mattress dipping beside you as Jean pulls back the sheet and tugs you back against his chest.

[three-realms-archive]

Unhinged™

(inspired by this post by @leniisreallycool. the pure madness of obey me is the reason why I typically write chaotically-comedic slice-of-life scenarios; because i can honestly write these guys doing the stupidest things and argue that it might as well be canon, these dorks. anime canon, tho. the anime is just another beast of its own to the game ahahaha.)

(so while this may not be anime canon-level obey me content, i hope it comes close. if they’ve actually done any of these and i just haven’t experienced it in-game yet, let me know! it only proves my point.)

There was a time when Solomon brought an extremely-long baguette everywhere with him, insisting it was his magic wand. Even as the days turned to weeks, and the bread crust turned to mould, Solomon would still carry it around everywhere; unbothered by the rancid smell and waving it like a idol group light-stick whenever he spoke an incantation. Then, one day, he showed up at RAD with sandwiches to share. Sandwiches… with suspiciously green and white bread. Turns out, this whole thing was Solomon’s interpretation of dry-aging.

Belphegor and Asmodeus have an ongoing vlog series on Deviltube called ‘Beauty Sleep’. They go somewhere trendy, find some inappropriate place for Belphie to sleep, and Asmo takes some #aesthetic shots whilst timing how long Belphie can nap before being kicked out. It’s incredibly popular and sometimes features cameos from the exchange students and the other Avatars of Sin. Once, a subscriber milestone came with a special surprise: a live-streamed episode of Beauty Sleep in the Demon Lord’s Castle! They never got caught, because Diavolo was busy watching the livestream in his room - too invested to realise it was his own house.

The dining table in the main room of the House of Lamentation has its own fandom on the DevilNet. There are multiple fansites speculating the exact materials used to make it; the exact number of fasteners it uses; and, most especially, its exact length. There are posts, blogs and entire DevilTube deep-dive videos centred around the mystery of how long the table is. This is because, in every piece of media involving the table, it appears a different length despite the decorations and location remaining the same. What the Devildom doesn't know is that the table was made retractable shortly after MC arrived in the Devildom. It was a custom job, done solely so that the table could be used as a runway for a makeshift fashion show (Asmo and Mammon's idea) the brothers held with human world clothes one time MC was feeling homesick.

Once, for a whole month, Mammon dedicated himself to creating a new currency. For the first week, he was an absolute menace, stealing metal objects (like small screws or unused kitchen utensils) around the house to melt down and form into coins of his own design. Beel cried for five days over the lack of cutlery and Asmo kept shrieking whenever he realised he’d had another piece of jewellery had been stolen from him. The rest of the month was spent attempting to rope people into investing; then failing; then celebrating because he had so much of his money to himself; and finally crying because none of it would be accepted at stores.

When he had first gotten into reading books, Satan started a website called ‘Ampbook’ where demons could upload personal writing projects, as well as comment on and share them, too. It’s now incredibly popular, especially amongst younger demons, and is well-known for romance. Well. Much to Satan’s chagrin, it was actually better-known for romance… and fanfiction. He’s constantly torn between allowing his beloved site users their freedom of expression, or immediately taking down any fanfics shipping MC with any of his other brothers. He’s also faked MC x Satan as the most trending tag, permanently.

The height of Beel’s appreciation for Leviathan was shortly after MC’s arrival into the Devildom. They had introduced Levi to an anime centred around four students in a high school swimming team; including a protagonist who Beel thought had a dubiously-intimate love of water. Regardless, Levi tried out for the RAD swimming team - got in and won a bunch of gold medals - and then proceeded to quit the team after a new, different anime he had been waiting for came out. All in the span of a week. To Levi's disdain, Beel brings this up at least once a month: by parading a handmade display of Levi's medals and a framed photo of his older brother in a swimsuit around RAD, showing it off to everyone who asked. And everybody asked. Maybe not so much for the medals.

[huntiesworld]

Shower Time | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x Reader

Warning: Reader in shower naked.

Requested: Nope!

Notes: I don't know if anyone has done this, I haven't been on Tumblr in a while.

Pink: Reader

Blue: Chris

Chris's fingers tapped eagerly on his phone screen as he dialed Y/n's number. He was brimming with excitement, and the day's shopping spree had been a successful one. After a whirlwind of trying on different outfits and browsing through racks, he had picked up a few new pieces he couldn't wait to show off. It was one of those days where every little thing felt like an adventure, and sharing it with Y/n was the cherry on top.

On the other end, Y/n was enjoying a relaxing shower. The bathroom was filled with steam, and the sound of running water created a soothing background. She had just started lathering up when her phone buzzed. As she reached out to grab it, she saw Chris's name flash on the screen.

“Hey, Chris!” she called out, slightly muffled by the steam and water. She answered the call and held the phone in one hand, carefully balancing it on the edge of the sink.

“Hey, beautiful!” Chris’s face appeared on the screen, his grin as wide as ever. “I’ve gotta show you what I just bought. I know you love fashion, so I couldn’t wait!”

Y/n laughed, her smile evident even through the misty bathroom. “Oh, really? I’m all ears. Just give me a second to get out of the shower.”

“Wait, don’t go yet!” Chris protested. “I’ve got a plan. How about you just watch from the shower while I model my new stuff for you?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, amused. “You want me to watch you from the shower? That sounds like an interesting way to multitask.”

“Exactly!” Chris said, holding up a shirt and winking at the camera. “Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

As Chris began to show off his new clothes, Y/n couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiastic poses. He twirled and strutted in front of the camera, dramatically modeling each outfit. The first was a sleek leather jacket that he paired with an exaggerated tough-guy stance.

“What do you think?” Chris asked, his expression a mix of hope and mischief.

Y/n tilted her head, pretending to ponder. “Hmm, very James Dean. I like it, but you might need to work on your serious face.”

“Noted!” Chris said, changing into a trendy graphic tee next. He made a point to show off every detail, from the pattern on the front to the way it fit his shoulders.

“Nice choice,” Y/n commented, nodding approvingly. “That looks great on you. The color really brings out your eyes.”

Chris’s grin widened at the compliment. “Thanks! I was hoping you’d like it. And last but not least…” He pulled out a new pair of sneakers, their bright, neon soles practically glowing in the room's light.

“Whoa, those are cool!” Y/n exclaimed. “They look like they’re from a sci-fi movie or something.”

“I know, right?” Chris said, bouncing slightly on his heels. “I had to get them. I just knew you’d appreciate them.”

“I do,” Y/n said, her eyes sparkling with genuine excitement. “But you know what’s even cooler?”

“What’s that?” Chris asked, tilting his head.

“Seeing you happy and excited about your new clothes,” she said warmly. “It’s like we’re on a little shopping date, even though I’m stuck here in the shower.”

Chris chuckled, his face softening. “Well, I’m glad you think so. I missed you today. It feels like you were right here with me, cheering me on.”

Y/n reached out to the phone, her hand brushing against the screen. “I missed you too, Chris. Next time, let’s make sure we have a real date—no showers involved.”

“Deal,” Chris said, his eyes locking with hers through the screen. “Can’t wait for our next adventure together.”

As the call ended, Chris waved one last time, and Y/n watched as he disappeared from the screen. She finished up her shower with a smile, feeling grateful for the simple joy of sharing moments with someone she loved, even from afar.

[stansthemans]

Yall my fem stan brain rot is so bad rn. I just looked at my wips. 78k for fem Stan. 4k for dude Stan. lol oops anyway here’s some more

Sometimes it feels embarrassing to ask, like she really is still a child. But Ford never denies her, even when he’s really busy with some project or studying for some exam. Stan knows how important those things are to him, and even though she thinks he needs to relax about it—he’s miles ahead of everyone else at school, even the teachers—she doesn’t want to drag him away from it unless one of them really needs it.

Today, it’s her.

Nothing has gone right today. She actually tried her own homework, like really tried, not just half assed it or copied Ford’s. Predictably, she beefed it, and her teacher actually took the time to call her out in front of the entire class. She tripped on the way to English class, bruising her knee and sending all her shit flying. She hadn’t been fast enough gathering it all up, and she got a tardy. One of her gloves busted at boxing practice, and she hasn’t yet had the guts to tell Pa because she knows he’s going to blow a gasket at having to buy a new one. Dinner was an icy affair. Shermie had apparently called and he and Pa got into it about something. Then, cleaning up the kitchen, Ma had taken out her frustration on Stan.

Stan is glad it wasn’t Pa. She’s always glad when it isn’t him and not just because hiding the bruises has recently gotten much harder. But it still doesn’t make it nice when Ma locks a sharp, critical gaze onto Stan and picks apart everything that’s wrong with her. Too loud and opinionated. How is she ever supposed to catch a man if she’s got the crazy idea that she’s allowed to think anyone cares to hear what she has to say? Not to mention her waistline. The extra dough in the middle—she had pinched Stan’s side here—that Stan certainly didn’t inherit from her. And still with the boxing? It really was high time to stop that brutish, unladylike nonsense.

As if she doesn’t know exactly why Stan needs to keep it up, needs the easy excuse to hide behind.

As soon as she’s able, Stan retreats to the bathroom. It takes a good couple of minutes for the water to heat up, so while she waits, Stan strips down and stares at her reflection in the mirror. She isn’t vain, she doesn’t think. She doesn’t wear any makeup, doesn’t do much more to her hair than run a brush through the waves to manage any tangles. She doesn’t care about trendy clothes or the latest styles. A pair of jeans or shorts, depending on the season, a simple t-shirt, and some high tops. That suits her fine.

She isn’t stick skinny like her mother or a lot of girls at school. She isn’t fat either, not even really that chubby. She’s just kind of thicker. And she’s got muscles from boxing. Not much by way of hips.

How are these ever supposed to bear a child? Any nice boy at the temple, any potential mother-in-law worth their salt, they’ll be looking for that. Hips like these, bad figure elsewhere too. She doesn’t have the looks enough for any good husband to overlook all the other things wrong with her.

Stan steps under the stream of water, hoping that it’s warm enough to wash her mother’s words off her skin.

It isn’t. It never is.

Ford is deep into whatever assignment when she comes into their room, deep enough that he doesn’t look up and watch from the corner of his eye while she changes into pajamas. He’s been doing that for a really long time, but he’s been a little more obvious about it the past few months, and every time it sends a thrilling jolt down Stan’s spine. But he isn’t looking right now, and that makes her feel even worse, despite the fact that he doesn’t look every time and that he’s clearly fully immersed in his textbook.

Stan folds her arms over her stomach, leaning up against their dresser as she watches him. He isn’t hunched too badly, despite how into his work he is. She’s glad to see that at least. The way his spine will pop when he stretches out sometimes really isn’t right for a sixteen year old boy. He took a shower while she was still cleaning up after dinner, and his hair, much shorter than hers, looks so soft and puffy in its freshly cleaned state. His eyes are sharply focused on the textbook, even as his pen dances over his notebook in his neat, looping writing.

He’s so deep into his work, but Stan’s heart is aching too much to keep standing there or even to go curl up in her bunk alone. She steps over to the bookcase. Over the years it’s changed a lot. More and more space is taken up with Ford’s textbooks and scientific journals and less and less their treasures found while out exploring or their comics. Still, there is a small section of novels. Stan picks up one of the most worn down and shuffles over to the desk.

“Hey, Sixer,” she asks, and Ford hums in acknowledgment. “I know you’re real busy.”

“Yes,” Ford says, but not dismissively. “I’m writing that proposal to send in to the Rutgers field office. I told you about that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Stan says, hugging the book to her chest. “Big deal if they take it, right? Maybe get this dump cleaned up some.”

“That’s the hope,” Ford says. “And it will make an excellent addition to my academic portfolio.”

“Yeah,” Stan says again. “Yeah, it’ll be real good.”

The pen stops moving on the paper, and Stan presses her lips together as Ford looks up. His eyes flash as he takes her in, and he opens his mouth. Stan can’t have him ask her what’s wrong because she just can’t, so quickly she blurts, “I know you’re busy but—“ And she shoves their battered old copy of The Hobbit in his direction.

Ford leans back in his seat, almost jumping a bit. She isn’t standing close enough that the book would have smacked him in the face, but it is a close thing. He blinks at it and then again up at her. Stan thinks she must cut a very pathetic figure, but she also doesn’t care in that moment.

Ford studies her with a furrowed brow for only a brief moment before he stands up. He takes the book with one hand and lightly touches her cheek with the other. “Sure,” he says. “I’m at a decent stopping point for the night.”

He absolutely isn’t. Stan wouldn’t understand anything about his proposal if she picked it up to read it, but she knows that he’s lying and going along with her, and she’s so grateful for that. Ford neatens up his work while Stan arranges the pillows and blankets on her bunk. He crawls in after her, and they find a comfortable way to lie tangled up together. Ford opens the book and begins to read aloud.

They both loved this book so much as kids. It wasn’t on the ocean, but it was fantastical adventures fill with daring fights and golden treasure. It was odd, out of place, little people who were still heroes in a big, big world. Sometimes, Stan would read too, picking a couple of the characters that she wanted to voice, often sillily to make Ford laugh. But usually, it would just be Ford reading, them lying together just like this, his voice low, breath ghosting over the top of her head.

It’s soothing. It is. The knots in Stan’s stomach are beginning to loosen, but she still feels heavy in an unpleasant way. As the party reaches Rivendell, Stan decides that she needs more than this, and she hopes Ford is willing to give it.

“Ford,” she asks, and he stops. Stan knows that he can tell she’s about to say something important. She really doesn’t use his name very often.

“Yes, Stanley?”

“Can you do me a favor,” she asks.

“Of course,” he says. “What do you need?”

Need. Because this isn’t a want. She needs this, or she thinks she might shake apart, and Ford doesn’t have to know any details to know that much.

Stan shifts against him just a bit, changes the way she’s lying against him just slightly. Then she reaches up for his hand that was scratching lightly at her scalp. She brings it down her body, under her shirt, and lies it over her breast. Despite being a bit bigger in her upper body, Stan really doesn’t have large breasts. Ford’s big hand covers it completely, and the feeling starts to unwind some of the tension that his voice couldn’t cut through.

Under her, Stan can feel his breath pick up a bit. They haven’t done this outside of her periods before. For the past several months, that’s been the excuse. Ford touching her like that is just him helping her through the very real discomfort of what that week puts her through. And if—when—they do other things, well, they’re hormonal teenagers. Hormones can be such crazy things, overwhelming sometimes. Overwhelming enough to forget the very important fact that they are siblings. Twins. And then when the cramps and aches are over, they go back to being normal.

This isn’t normal. This is outside of that very specific set of parameters where they have decided it’s ok for them to act in ways that they never should have even considered. But Ford’s hand is on her now, skin to skin, and it’s warm and it’s safe.

After a moment, Ford squeezes at her, something questioning, and Stan, her hand still over his, squeezes back and says lowly, “No. Just this.”

“You just want me to hold it,” Ford asks, his voice just as low.

Stan nods. “I just—it’s comforting,” she says.

In a whisper, against her hair, Ford says, “I can feel your heart beating. More than usual.”

He doesn’t need to touch her to feel that, just like she doesn’t have to touch him. It’s always there, right alongside hers, has been for their entire lives. Two hearts beating side by side.

Ford sets the book down in his lap. He doesn’t take his hand away from her, doesn’t move it at all, but his other reaches for her cheek, turning her gently to face him. And then he does something that they also have not done outside of her periods. He brings his lips to hers. Stan sighs against him, lightly dragging her fingers over all six of his before curling around his wrist.

Ford pulls back just slightly. “Whatever Ma said, she was wrong,” he says, and Stan could cry, but his hand is resting directly over her heart, and it keeps her grounded. He kisses her again, a sweet, gentle thing, and then he picks up the book and resumes their reading. Stan melts into her brother, and his voice and touch drives away everything bad in the world.

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Thigh Fucking~

this was a bit hard for me. i didn't want to go into too much detail on here, so i did what i always did. started a new au which leads up to it. i hope you like this. i think it might be one of my top five!

@adamsappleweek

Adam sighed, feeling the weight of the day in every bone and muscle. His body ached from hours spent hunched over his desk, fingers stiff from holding his pencil, eyes burning from the endless focus. Yet, he couldn’t stop. No matter how his body screamed for rest, he pushed forward. He had to. His future depended on it. This project was his golden ticket—if he could nail it, so many doors could open. This company, after all, was a titan in the industry, its designs coveted across the globe. Their releases caused a frenzy; people craved their issues like forbidden fruit.

There was a quiet pride in Adam’s heart, knowing they had chosen him, a humble dreamer with passion, not some polished, high-end designer with an inflated ego. He still remembered that moment like a first kiss—wide-eyed, fresh out of university, hardly daring to believe his luck when they offered him an internship. His hands had trembled as he signed the paperwork, tears of gratitude brimming in his eyes. He was the youngest, the least experienced, the intern who fetched coffee and sat in on meetings like a fly on the wall, but none of that mattered. He had one thing that couldn’t be taught: passion. And he poured every bit of it into his work, vowing he’d prove himself worthy. Design wasn’t just a job; it was his lifeblood, a legacy left by his mother.

Adam could still see her clearly in his mind—elegant and bold, a force of creativity, designing clothes that danced between classical beauty and daring adventure. She had been the leading lady of her fashion house, captivating the world until her tragic passing. Adam grew up idolizing her, dreaming of one day standing where she once stood, weaving his own designs into the tapestry of fashion. He had inherited her artist’s touch; he was sure of it. Now, it was his time to prove it.

The lamp on his desk flickered dimly, casting soft shadows in the nearly deserted office. The ticking clock felt like a countdown, each second urging him to make something extraordinary. Everyone else had long since gone home, but not Adam. He wasn't ready to quit. Not yet. This "scrap" project, tossed to him like table scraps, would be his masterpiece. Something that would make the seniors take notice, something more than just an intern running errands.

Adam’s emerald-green eyes gleamed as he turned his attention to Lilith Leonhart, the muse of his art. Lilith—one of the most stunning and sought-after models in the industry. She was perfection wrapped in golden silk, her icy blue eyes and flawless features etched into the minds of designers and artists everywhere. If he could design something that matched her beauty, something elegant yet unforgettable, he’d have a chance. He had spent hours sketching her, imagining her in every pose, every fabric, every colour, refining every line until his fingers cramped. Her pinups dominated the walls of the design department—lips parted in a coy smile, hair cascading in luxurious waves.

He had chosen a popular style—one that young people were wearing in droves, a look that blended sophistication with a pop of youthful energy. The outfit was sleek, tailored to perfection, a bold purple suit with sharp lines and subtle accents in green, blue, and pink. Purple, Adam thought, made Lilith's striking features stand out even more, her icy blue eyes practically glowing against the rich fabric. It was trendy, it was polished. Surely, this would catch someone’s eye.

Just as he was about to lean back and admire his work, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Purple has never been Lilith’s colour."

Adam jumped, nearly knocking his sketches to the floor. His heart skipped a beat as he snapped his head around to find Sera, the head of the design department, standing behind him. She was stunning in her own right, with long, thick curls in a striking blend of white and purple, her dark skin glowing in the soft light. Her features were sharp, almost regal, with a gaze that could cut through steel.

“O-oh? Excuse me?” Adam stammered, blinking in surprise.

Sera didn’t seem fazed by his reaction. She hummed softly, her long lashes fluttering as she examined his work. It was late, and she appeared to be on the verge of leaving, yet something had drawn her over to him. Her lips curled into a slight smile, a knowing look in her eyes.

"You're married to the work, just like me," she remarked with a cool chuckle.

"I... I just want to do the best I can," he confessed, voice softening. Adam flushed, his pulse quickening at her words. "I’m serious about this—about being a designer. Like my mother."

Sera's hum deepened, her eyes still on his drawings.

"I can see that. You’ve put your heart into these," she said gently, but there was something else in her tone, something that made Adam’s chest tighten. "But sometimes... effort isn’t enough."

Adam froze, her words hitting him like a splash of cold water. He swallowed hard, watching her as she tilted her head toward the wall of pinups—not just Lilith, but Eve Heather green, Lute Scar, Michael Morningstar. Each model radiated their own unique energy, their own style. They were all muses, not just Lilith, Adam realized.

“I remember when I was in your shoes,” Sera continued, her voice soft, yet filled with experience. “I wanted so badly to be like the senior designers, to mimic their success, to be noticed. But I had to learn something important—you don’t get noticed by doing what everyone else is doing. You get noticed by being yourself, by bringing something fresh, something that speaks you into the world."

Adam gazed across the room, at all the designs pinned up for inspiration. Lilith was everywhere, yes, but suddenly, he saw it—how uniform they all were. How... ordinary. His breath hitched as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Sera was right. There was nothing special about his designs. He had been following trends, regurgitating what had already been done. Nothing original.

"Take a break," Sera suggested softly. "Come back to it with fresh eyes. Don’t stay too late."

With one last encouraging smile, she turned to leave, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she walked away.

Adam watched her go, his heart sinking. His chair squealed as he swivelled back to face his desk, staring down at the sketches of Lilith. Slowly, his lips twisted into a frown, eyes flicking over the designs pinning around the office. All the same. All safe.

Without another word, he crumpled them up and tossed them into the trash. No, this wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He needed to dig deeper, to find that spark within himself, even if it meant creating something new, something risky. He wasn’t here to follow—he was here to lead.

With renewed determination, Adam stood up, ready to start over. He would create something different, something that would leave an imprint—not because it was what the world expected, but because it reflected the artist, he knew he could become.

Adam slowly climbed to his feet, the weight of the world resting heavily on his shoulders. His body felt stiff, but it was his mind that bore the real exhaustion. His thoughts, spinning in endless circles, needed clarity. He wandered around the design apartment, his fingers brushing lightly against the countless portfolios and framed issues that lined the walls. The models, captured in breathtaking poses, stared back at him—faces aglow with soft, luminous light. Every detail of these iconic covers was meant to catch the eye and hold it. The colors—cool, muted tones mixed with vibrant accents—made the models shimmer, like rare gems in the sea of high fashion.

Even the work of the senior designers, those whose approval he craved, had a consistency to it. They all pursued one ideal—polished, ethereal perfection. As Adam moved between the desks, his gaze fell on the work of the other interns, the sketches and color swatches they left behind. They too seemed caught in the same web, designing to a familiar formula, chasing the style that had already been deemed successful. A quiet frustration brewed in his chest. He thought he had been creating something fresh, something new, but now he saw how closely his work mirrored theirs. Too close. He was following, not leading.

Back at his desk, Adam tapped his fingers against the surface absentmindedly, slumping back into his swivel chair. What should he do? How could he stand out when everything he created looked like a reflection of what had already been done? He wanted to carve out his own path, just as his mother had. But what would she do? What advice would she give if she were still here?

His emerald eyes flicked across the scattered art supplies on his desk—cheap, store-bought tools that felt as disposable as his ideas. Then, his gaze settled on something different, something precious. In the corner of his workspace, tucked away but never far from his thoughts, was a small, sealed packet. His mother’s hand-me-down watercolors. They were all he had left of her. Adam had never dared to use them, too afraid of wasting the last remnants of her artistry.

Slowly, as if drawn by some invisible thread, he reached for the packet, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the lid. The worn edges were soft under his touch, and with a deep, steadying breath, he eased it closer. A small piece of his mother, something he had kept with him all this time but had never been able to fully embrace.

Breathing deeply, Adam carefully pulled the latch. The box opened with a soft click, revealing the pristine watercolors inside. But what caught his attention wasn’t the paints—it was a small, folded piece of paper tucked neatly inside. Frowning, he reached for it, curiosity and a hint of apprehension bubbling in his chest. Slowly, he unfolded the paper, his breath hitching when he saw his mother’s familiar, elegant handwriting.

“Adam,” the note began, the letters flowing smoothly, as if she had written them just yesterday. “I’m so proud of you, my love. I’ve always adored the little fashion designs you did for school. I could see even then that you had something special, a talent that would blossom into something extraordinary. I know you’ll grow into a wonderful designer, just like you’ve always dreamed.”

Adam’s chest tightened, and before he even realized it, tears welled in his eyes. His vision blurred as he read the last line.

“I love you so much.”

The tears slipped down his cheeks, unbidden, and he didn’t bother wiping them away. He’d tried so hard, poured everything he had into his work. But what if it was never enough? What if, despite all his efforts, he didn’t make it? The fear gripped his heart, squeezing tighter with every silent tear that fell. His breath came in shallow bursts as he stared at the note, his fingers trembling.

Then, as he folded the note over, he noticed something written on the back. Blinking away the moisture in his eyes, Adam carefully turned the paper over and read the words there. It was a quote, one that tugged at the corners of his memory. His mother had often said it to him when he doubted himself.

“Just be you, and everything else will fall where it should be.”

A soft sob escaped his lips, and he covered his mouth, trying to steady himself. Adam swallowed hard, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. The words echoed in his mind, weaving through his doubt like a balm. His mother always knew just what to say to pull him out of the dark.

He stared down at the delicate watercolors for a few moments, his heart aching but also filled with warmth. She had believed in him, more than anyone else ever had. And if she had believed in him, then he had to believe in himself, too.

With gentle hands, he began to close the box, making sure everything was lovingly put away. But as he did, his gaze wandered to the walls again, to the faces of the models who hadn’t graced the big issues, the ones relegated to the sidelines. His eyes landed on Vagatha Luna, with her sharp, mysterious features, and Husker Card, with his brooding gaze. Then there was Anthony Dust, whose playful smirk seemed to challenge the status quo, and Alastor Shot, whose wild, untamed hair defied every convention but spoke so old fashioned.

And finally, Charlotte Haz, the sweetest person you’d ever meet. Adam chuckled softly, wiping his damp cheeks. Charlotte, with her golden hair and striking blue eyes, bore such a resemblance to Lilith and Michael that there had been rumours she was their daughter when she first debuted. For a brief moment, she had been the talk of the town, until the rumors were debunked, and her popularity plummeted. She had been cast aside, like so many others. The "hazbins," as people cruelly called them. Forgotten, rejected.

Adam’s fingers drummed softly against the edge of his desk as his mind began to wander. What if he didn’t follow the path everyone else was walking? What if, instead of chasing after the perfect, popular muses like Lilith, he turned his focus to the ones no one was paying attention to? The ones who had been cast aside, dismissed, overlooked.

He bit his bottom lip, a new spark of excitement flickering in his chest. Maybe that’s where his originality would come from—not by following the trends, but by embracing the forgotten, the misfits. They had stories, too. They had beauty that the world had turned away from. And maybe, just maybe, that was where he could shine.

Adam sat back, his fingers itching to grab his pencil again. He wasn’t just going to follow the crowd anymore. He was going to lead it in a direction no one else had thought to go. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to make him stand out.

The following morning, Adam sprang from his bed before the shrill call of his alarm could even break the silence. Excitement pulsed through his veins, every inch of him buzzing with the creative fire that had ignited deep within his soul the night before. His mind raced with ideas as he leapt into the shower, the water cascading over his skin barely registering against the flood of inspiration that stormed through him. Today was going to be the day—the day he set the world ablaze with his designs, something fresh, something bold. His heart raced in sync with the images flashing in his mind.

He barely noticed the blur of the city as he dashed through the streets on his way to work. Coffee for the seniors, sushi for the team—it was all routine, but today everything felt different, sharper. The mundane tasks didn’t bother him, even as he juggled cups of steaming coffee and trays of sushi while dodging pedestrians. As he passed the old, dilapidated movie theater, its faded marquee hanging forlornly above, something about its crumbling grandeur caught his eye. He stopped for a beat, staring up at it as though it held a secret only he could decipher, before shaking his head with a smirk. Not today. Today, he had bigger dreams to chase.

By the time he arrived at the office, he was running late, and the seniors wasted no time reminding him. But instead of the usual flush of embarrassment, Adam simply grinned, an unshakable confidence burning in his emerald eyes. Sera, the head of design, who was known for her cool, unreadable expression, glanced his way, and her lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. She could see it in him—the fire, the hunger. There was something different about Adam today.

After handling his minor duties with a practiced efficiency, Adam returned to his desk, where the other interns were already deep in chatter about their own designs. They were blissfully unaware of just how dull, how monotonous their ideas had become, stuck in the same tired loop of what had already been done. His friend, always curious, frowned slightly.

"Don’t you have anything to show?" they asked, peering over at Adam.

Adam hummed softly, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Not yet," he replied, his voice low and teasing. "I’m aiming for next week now."

His friend raised an eyebrow, surprised. They had seen Adam sketching feverishly the day before, but they didn’t press the issue. Something had changed in him, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on what.

Adam didn’t linger in conversation. He twisted in his chair and sprang to his feet, walking with purpose toward the neglected corner of the design room—the forgotten “hazbins.” These were the models no one wanted to work with anymore, their faces pushed to the side as newer, shinier names took the spotlight.

But today, Adam had a different vision. With a greedy, almost possessive determination, he began taking down the pinups of Vagatha Luna, Husker Card, Anthony Dust, and Charlotte Haz. Nobody batted an eye. They were rejects, after all, collecting dust in the shadows. But not to Adam. No, to him, they were the key.

He carried their images back to his desk and dumped the pile of headshots and old issues in a chaotic sprawl across his workspace. His friend looked over with a slight grimace, as if Adam had brought home a box of junk. But Adam paid no mind, a sly grin spreading across his face as he sorted through the pile.

"Do you want these?" Adam asked casually, without even looking up, holding out a handful of Lilith’s pinups to his friend.

They blinked in surprise, eyeing the coveted images of the company’s golden girl. "Uh... sure.”

"Thanks... But are you really going to use those?" Their tone was sceptical, a little bemused.

Adam’s grin only widened, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Of course."

His friend made another face, half-amused, half-worried.

"Well… your funeral," they muttered before turning back to their own work.

Adam chuckled, a soft, throaty sound that vibrated with the thrill of rebellion. He was breaking free from the mold, and it felt exhilarating. He pinned up the photos of the hazbins in a deliberate arrangement, making sure each model’s face stared down at him as if they were waiting, eager for him to breathe life into them once more. With the room around him buzzing with the hum of design talk, Adam leaned back in his chair, surveying his new layout with satisfaction. This was it. He was going to do something crazy. He was going to pitch his Hazbin Project.

But as the initial excitement began to cool, doubt slowly crept in. Adam groaned, his forehead dropping to his desk, his fingers threading through his tousled hair in frustration. What theme? What style? What colours? Every idea he sketched felt stale, too similar to the trends already dominating the office. He needed something bold, something seductive—something that would make the seniors stop in their tracks. But no matter how hard he tried, everything he came up with felt… wrong. Boring.

His pencil danced between his fingers, spinning idly as his thoughts swirled in chaotic frustration. He was on the verge of pulling his hair out, desperate for the spark of inspiration that just wasn’t coming. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind screaming for a breakthrough. He needed something daring. Something sensual, seductive, yet elegant.

His eyes flickered to the models pinned on the wall—the hazbins, their eyes shimmering with forgotten potential. Maybe… Maybe they needed a theme, something that played off their fall from grace, their buried allure. Something darker, more dangerous. The glitz and glam of the typical designs weren’t enough anymore. No. Adam’s models would rise from the ashes, not in the glowing light of stardom but in the sultry shadows of allure and mystery.

Adam groaned, letting out a frustrated breath as his friend gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm, telling him they were headed out for a smoke break. He waved them off, too absorbed in his failure to respond properly. Every line he sketched felt wrong. His ideas twisted and crumbled the moment he put them on paper. With a defeated sigh, Adam laid his head on the table, turning his face to the side as his arms formed a fortress around him, his forehead resting on his makeshift barricade. The weight of his creative block felt unbearable.

Then, a soft chuckle drifted from above. Adam blinked, lifting his head to see Sera standing over him, her cool grey eyes taking in the array of models he had spread across his desk. For a brief moment, Adam expected the usual dismissive comment, the same ridicule he’d been receiving from everyone else. But Sera said nothing of the sort. Instead, her lips curled into a sly smile.

“Hazbins?” she asked, her voice low and almost teasing.

Adam sat up straighter, feeling a flicker of hope, and gave a sheepish shrug. “It’s a play on words.”

Sera’s smirk widened, clearly appreciating the joke. “I see.”

Her gaze lingered on the models before returning to him. “And what would the Hazbins theme be?”

Adam’s smile faltered, his excitement fading as quickly as it had appeared. He groaned, running a hand through his tousled hair. “That’s the problem. I can’t come up with one. I’ve been stuck all morning.”

Sera hummed thoughtfully, crossing her arms. “I know that feeling all too well.”

She gestured with a subtle tilt of her head, inviting Adam to walk with her. “Come with me. Sometimes, when I’m stuck, a walk around the building helps. You never know what might inspire you.”

Adam grinned, eager for any break in his mental block, and quickly agreed. He followed her through the halls, their steps echoing softly as they moved past the bustling design room. The tension in Adam’s chest began to ease as they strolled side by side, the rhythm of their walk soothing him.

After a few moments of quiet, Adam finally asked, his curiosity piqued, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Sera’s cool gaze flicked to him, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes.

“I was on the board of decisions for this year’s internships,” she said, her tone casual.

Adam blinked, his brows knitting together. “Really?”

Sera nodded. “We had a lot of young artists apply. Normally, we wouldn’t take someone so fresh out of university.”

His curiosity deepened. “Then why did you accept me?”

Sera’s lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming with something almost secretive. “Because I can recognize talent when I see it.”

Adam’s breath hitched, his heart skipping a beat. He stared at her in awe, his mind reeling. She had believed in him all along?

They came to a stop by a large set of windows that overlooked the company’s sprawling garden. Sera leaned against the frame, her eyes gazing out at the view with a serene smile.

“I liked how you sketched back then,” she continued softly, her voice carrying a touch of nostalgia. “The raw emotion you put into your designs was exactly what we were looking for. You didn’t just draw… you felt it.”

Adam noticed the shift in her tone—past tense. His heart sank slightly, realizing what she was implying.

“You need to stop thinking so hard,” she added, her voice low and almost intimate. “You’re letting your mind get in the way of your instincts. Just… let it out. That’s when the magic happens.”

Adam swallowed, nodding, though the weight of her words pressed heavily on him. He turned to gaze out of the window as well, taking in the beauty of the garden below. Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy of trees, casting warm golden rays that painted the leaves with soft red and amber hues. The light danced across the landscape, creating a stunning tapestry of colours that seemed to shift and shimmer with every breeze. Adam couldn’t help but marvel at how peaceful it looked, like a scene from a dream.

His breath hitched, eyes widening as he caught sight of a figure sitting on the grass.

Lucifer Morningstar.

The name struck him like lightning. Michael’s older twin brother. The company’s retired golden boy, and Lilith’s fiercest rival. For years, Lucifer had been the face that adorned countless magazine covers, his popularity surpassing even Lilith’s at her peak. He was a legend—mysterious, untouchable.

Adam’s gaze lingered on the man below, who sat elegantly on the grass, feeding bread to a few ducks. The afternoon sunlight bathed Lucifer in a warm glow, highlighting the shimmering strands of his golden hair, which fell in soft waves around his face. His brilliant blue eyes, half-lidded and serene, glimmered in the sunlight, their cool depths seeming to capture the very sky itself.

“He’s beautiful…” Adam breathed out, almost to himself. His heart pounded as he took in the sight of the man, his chest tightening at the sheer presence Lucifer exuded, even in such a quiet moment.

Sera sighed softly beside him. “Such a shame he retired. He was so young.”

Adam gulped, tearing his eyes away from the vision below. “Why did he retire?”

Sera’s smile faded slightly, and she shook her head. “Personal reasons. I’m not going to delve into it.”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if recalling something bittersweet. “But the company would welcome him back with open arms if he ever decided to return. Can you imagine the explosion if Lucifer came back? Every department would be scrambling to work with him again.”

Adam listened in silence, his attention drifting back to Lucifer. There was something so captivating about him—his grace, the quiet way he moved, the warmth in his smile as he sat with the ducks. Adam’s eyes traced the soft blush of his cheeks, the same natural rosiness that had captivated fans for years. There had always been rumours that Lucifer’s makeup was enhanced during shoots, but seeing him now, in this unfiltered moment, Adam realized the blush had always been real.

Lucifer reached into a small bag, pulling out a shining red apple. As he bit into it, the sun shifted again, casting a delicate array of shadows across his body. The leaves above danced together, and for a brief, magical moment, the shadows framed him like wings—six ethereal wings, as if the very earth recognized his angelic presence.

Adam blinked in awe, his breath catching in his throat. Something inside him stirred, vibrating with a deep, sudden realization. “

Oh…” he whispered, his voice trembling.

Sera glanced at him; curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

Adam gasped, his entire body shuddering as the revelation hit him like a tidal wave. He turned to her; eyes wide with excitement.

“Oh, I got to go!” he nearly squealed, the spark of inspiration blazing to life. “I’m sorry, Sera, I’ve got to go!”

Without waiting for her reply, Adam bolted down the hall, his heart racing with newfound purpose. Sera watched him speed off, a bemused smile tugging at her lips. She placed a hand on her hip, shaking her head in amusement.

Glancing back at the garden, her eyes met Lucifer’s curious gaze. He waved wearily, offering her a gentle smile. Sera awkwardly waved back before turning sharply and sighing deeply to herself.

“What a shame he retired…” she muttered, her voice laced with quiet longing.

Adam burst back into the design room, heart pounding with anticipation, making sure to steer clear of the senior desks. He practically flew to his own corner, relieved to find it still empty. His hands trembled as he fell into his chair, adrenaline surging through him. Without a second thought, he seized his pencil, the memory of Lucifer in the garden still vivid, still glowing in his mind. Every detail burned into his imagination—the way the sunlight framed Lucifer, casting delicate wings from the shadows of the trees. His fingers danced feverishly over the paper, sketching as if driven by something primal, a deeper force beyond his control.

Lucifer didn’t have wings in reality, but in Adam’s mind, they unfurled, majestic and otherworldly. His pencil twirled, bringing to life the angelic vision that shimmered in his mind’s eye. Emerald eyes gleamed from the page, full of ancient wisdom, seduction, and untold power. His chest tightened with excitement as he continued to sketch, knowing full well he couldn’t use the retired model in his Hazbin pitch. But something, some mysterious pull, urged him to keep drawing Lucifer anyway.

With a gentle stroke, he added a top hat, laughing softly to himself at the juxtaposition—something so refined yet mischievous. A delicate halo encircled the brim, like a crown of light tainted by shadows. His pencil moved fluidly, as though bewitched, and soon Lucifer was draped in flowing, elegant robes, each fold and ripple caressed by the imaginary breeze that Adam saw in his mind’s eye.

The sketch took on a life of its own. Adam paused, staring at the breathtaking figure before him, his hand itching to add colour—a sensation he usually ignored. Colouring had always felt secondary to him, something he left for last with minimal care. But this time, the urge was so overwhelming it made his fingers twitch with need. His eyes shifted to the old, rare watercolours his mother had left him, the elegant black box sitting patiently on the shelf.

Adam’s heart raced as he reached for the box, his hands trembling ever so slightly. He opened it with a reverence reserved for sacred things, selecting the colours with care—yellow, orange, red, blue, green, pink, and white. It felt like a ritual, and as he dipped his brush and began to paint, he realized he was not merely colouring but bringing something divine to life. The hues bled together, creating a luminous, delicate masterpiece. Each brushstroke breathed life into Lucifer Morningstar, who now sat on the page as the angel who had once walked in the heavens.

Lucifer—the true Morningstar Angel. Adam could hardly believe he’d captured him in this light, this way. It was almost laughable—the irony of painting the fallen angel who had given the apple of knowledge to Adam and Eve. His lips quirked into a smile, amused at the symbolism he hadn’t even intended. But as his eyes roamed over the final painting, an idea—a theme—began to swirl in his mind like a whisper from the cosmos.

Heaven. Hell. Knowledge and damnation. The story of Lucifer’s fall, of him giving humanity the apple of knowledge and being cast down for it. And then, in Hell, witnessing the consequences—the Sinners, who entered his dominion because of that single act of defiance.

Adam’s breath hitched, excitement flooding his veins. Lucifer, the King of Hell... The vision of it was so clear, so powerful. His entire body tingled as the concept came together in his mind, piece by piece, until it felt like a masterpiece begging to be unleashed.

This time, Adam didn’t stay late at the office, though every fiber of his being wanted to. He left on time, unable to think of anything but the theme—his entire body buzzing with it, as though lightning had struck him. His fingers twitched at his sides, eager to hold a pencil again, to keep sketching, keep creating. He was nervous—no, terrified—by the boldness of the idea, the enormity of what he was about to pitch. But that fear was intoxicating. It pushed him, thrilled him.

Adam couldn’t shake the thought of Lucifer Morningstar. The man was a legend, a god-like figure in the modelling world, and even though he was retired, there was something so irresistible about using him. Lucifer, with his perfect face, his golden hair that shimmered in the sun, his brilliant blue eyes that could pierce through to someone’s soul. Adam bit his lip, his thoughts spinning wildly. He couldn’t officially use Lucifer in his design—he knew that. But that wouldn’t stop him from drawing inspiration from the retired model, from weaving him into the very heart of his concept.

In his mind, Lucifer would become the anchor, the forbidden muse around which everything revolved. He was the spark—the one who gave humanity the knowledge that led to sin, the one who had been cast down for it. The Hazbin pitch would be centred on that moment of temptation, on the forbidden fruit and the world that came from it—Hell itself.

Adam’s pulse quickened. He didn’t think anyone had done something like this before. It was new, daring, and so close to the edge it made his hands shake. What would people say? How would they react? A part of him was terrified of the backlash, of the potential failure. But another part—the part that had been sitting dormant for so long—thrived on the idea of pushing boundaries, of creating something no one had dared to before.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the racing thoughts in his mind, though his excitement wouldn’t die down.

Lucifer, King of Hell, he thought again, smiling to himself.

The title alone sent shivers through him. And though Lucifer was no longer in the spotlight, no longer a model, Adam knew that he had become something far greater in his world—a legend, an idea that couldn’t be pinned down by contracts or retirements.

He may not officially be part of the project, but Lucifer Morningstar would forever be intertwined with it, unofficially the beating heart of Adam’s vision.

As Adam walked home, his thoughts swirling like a storm, he couldn’t help but laugh softly to himself. He was both exhilarated and terrified—nervous beyond belief. But more than anything, he felt alive.

Adam was humming to himself, completely lost in thought as he turned the corner, eyes closed, a smile playing on his lips. The thrill of his new project still buzzed in his veins, making him giddy with excitement. He didn’t even notice the man stepping out of the nearby store until it was too late.

Crash.

They collided with a surprising force, sending both tumbling to the ground. Adam’s sketchpad and various materials scattered across the pavement, his precious painting slipping from his grasp and landing right in front of the stranger.

“Oh, man, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Adam babbled, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he hurried to gather his things. He didn’t bother to look up at first, too busy trying to collect his scattered thoughts and belongings.

A soft grunt came from the man he had bumped into, and Adam heard him mutter something under his breath as he rubbed the back of his head. It wasn’t until Adam’s hand reached for the painting—only to find it already in someone else’s grasp—that he finally turned to face the person he had crashed into.

And froze.

The sight of him hit Adam like a tidal wave, stealing the breath right out of his lungs. Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar, the very man Adam had just been painting, was sitting there, staring intently at the artwork in his hands. His golden hair gleamed in the sunlight, and his brilliant blue eyes were framed by impossibly long lashes that only added to his ethereal beauty. Adam's mouth opened and closed, words escaping him, his heart hammering in his chest. His cheeks flamed crimson as he stuttered an incoherent apology, barely able to comprehend the situation.

“I—uh—I didn’t mean to…” Adam fumbled.

His pulse roaring in his ears, watching Lucifer’s expression for any sign of anger, but the retired model’s face remained impassive. Was he mad? Would he be upset that people were still sketching him even after all this time? Adam’s mind raced with anxiety, fearing the worst.

Lucifer blinked, his eyes softening as he turned his gaze from the painting to Adam.

“Did you make this?” His voice was smooth, calm, and utterly captivating.

Adam nodded, swallowing hard, his throat suddenly dry. “Y-yeah, I did.”

Lucifer hummed, his gaze returning to the painting, and for a moment, Adam could only stand there, breathless, as he watched the man take in every detail of his work.

"It's beautiful," Lucifer said softly, his voice warm but distant, as if lost in thought.

Adam blinked, utterly floored by the words.

“Excuse me?” he blurted out, disbelief creeping into his tone.

Lucifer’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles as he slowly got to his feet, the painting still in hand. He looked at it once more, turning it slightly in the sunlight, allowing the vibrant colors to dance on the canvas.

“I said it’s really good. I like it.” He then handed the painting back to Adam with a slow, deliberate motion. "I don’t usually like most designers’ interpretations of me."

Adam stood there, in awe, as he gingerly took the painting back. His fingers brushed against Lucifer’s as he did, sending a jolt of electricity through him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, couldn’t believe that Lucifer Morningstar—the legend—had just complimented his work.

“Do… do you really like it?” Adam asked in a hushed voice, still unsure if this was some sort of dream.

Lucifer chuckled softly, a low, velvety sound that sent shivers down Adam’s spine.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he replied, his brilliant blue eyes meeting Adam’s. There was something in his gaze, something warm and genuine, that made Adam’s heart pound even harder.

Adam’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions—disbelief, joy, terror, and something else entirely that made his breath catch in his throat. He was standing face-to-face with Lucifer Morningstar, and the man was complimenting his art. The one figure that had inspired him more than anyone, the one he thought would never even glance his way, was standing here, admiring his work.

“I—I don’t know what to say…” Adam murmured, feeling his heart race. “I-I’m Adam.”

He looked up at Lucifer, who now seemed so much more than just a figure in his painting. He was real, tangible, and even more beautiful up close. There was something mesmerizing about him—an effortless grace, a magnetism that Adam couldn’t quite put into words. His presence was overwhelming, like standing in the presence of something otherworldly.

Lucifer smiled, a soft, almost tender expression that made Adam’s stomach flip.

“There’s nothing you need to say,” he said simply, stepping back with an easy elegance. “Just keep doing what you're doing.”

“I’ll see you around, Adam.”

Adam could hardly breathe as he watched Lucifer turn and walk away, the moment leaving him both shaken and exhilarated. His heart was still pounding in his chest, his thoughts swirling in every direction, but one thing was clear—this was just the beginning.

As he clutched the painting close to his chest, Adam felt something light up inside him, a spark of inspiration and courage he hadn’t felt in a long time. Lucifer’s words echoed in his mind, filling him with a sense of confidence he hadn’t known was possible.

Maybe—just maybe—he was on the right path after all.

Adam had been on cloud nine the rest of that evening, practically gliding home, his feet barely touching the ground. His lips were curled into a grin so wide it made him look like a meerkat basking in the sun. It was a kind of happiness he wasn’t sure he had ever felt before. Lucifer Morningstar had complimented his work—his painting! It was surreal, like something out of a dream. Adam hummed to himself, his heart light, hopeful that tomorrow would be just as good.

But it wasn’t.

The next day was an absolute disaster. Worse than anything he could have imagined. The seniors had him running around like a headless chicken, darting from one ridiculous task to another. He wasn’t pitching today—or all week, actually—so he’d been relegated to the role of the errand boy, pouring coffee and tea, fetching snacks for the seniors while the interns presented their ideas. Adam stood on the sidelines, watching as his friend made their pitch, and he saw the way the seniors’ faces pinched, how Sera’s lips curled in subtle disappointment. Everyone got feedback, but no one was taken to the next stage.

Adam’s heart sank for his friend, watching them deflate under the weight of rejection. He wanted to say something comforting, something to lift their spirits, but nothing seemed right.

For the rest of the week, Adam was the errand boy—every day, running around, fetching drinks and food. It was humiliating, but in some small way, a relief. Every time he sat down to work on his own pitch, his mind blanked. He couldn’t get anything onto paper. The creative high he'd been riding was now nothing more than a distant memory, washed away by the endless monotony of menial tasks.

Then came the day that everything truly fell apart.

Adam was rushing through the company garden, a large tray of lunches balanced precariously in his hands, when disaster struck. His foot caught on something, and with a yelp, he tripped forward, sending the entire tray of food flying. He crashed to the ground, covered in salads, sandwiches, and drinks, his face and clothes a mess of spilled liquids and sauce.

For a moment, he just lay there, stunned. The week had started so perfectly, and now it felt like the universe was playing some cruel joke on him. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as humiliation washed over him. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, someone crouched down beside him, and the bag that had fallen over his head was gently lifted.

"Are you alright?" came a deep, smooth voice filled with concern. "That looked like a nasty fall."

Adam’s eyes shot up, his breath catching in his throat. It was him. Lucifer Morningstar. Of all the people to find him in this state, it had to be Lucifer. Adam’s face turned beet red, his mouth opening and closing, words failing him completely. He could hardly think, let alone speak, as Lucifer’s piercing blue eyes locked onto his.

"I... I..." Adam stammered, utterly mortified.

Lucifer didn’t seem phased by Adam’s embarrassment. Instead, his expression softened, and without hesitation, he reached out a hand to help Adam up.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a gentle smile. “No one else saw.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, and though Lucifer’s reassurance was kind, it did little to ease the burning humiliation he felt. His vision blurred with unshed tears, and he could barely hold it together when a voice called his name.

Sera appeared, rushing over with concern written all over her face. "Adam! Are you okay? I saw what happened from upstairs!"

Adam was too flustered to respond, but Lucifer turned to her and said smoothly, “He had a bit of a rough fall. I think he might have smacked his chin.”

Sera’s eyes widened in alarm as she moved closer to Adam, her hands hovering as if she wanted to help. “Do you need to sit down? Should we call an ambulance?”

“No!” Adam’s voice cracked as he scrambled to assure them both. “I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

Sera frowned, her worry etched clearly in her expression. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off. I’ve noticed how hard the seniors have been pushing you this week. A bit of time off might help you focus on your own pitch.”

Lucifer’s brow arched slightly at Sera’s comment, his gaze flickering between her and Adam. Adam, on the other hand, could only look down, his face growing hotter by the second.

Sera lingered for a moment before she nodded, giving Adam a soft smile. “Think about it, okay? Take care of yourself.” With that, she left the two of them alone, retreating back into the building.

Adam exhaled a long, shaky breath, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion and embarrassment. “I wonder who else saw that,” he muttered under his breath, his face still burning.

Lucifer’s gaze was steady as he reached out and gave Adam’s shoulder a gentle pat.

“It happens to everyone,” he said softly. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

His voice was calm, soothing, and for a brief moment, Adam felt the tension ease slightly from his body.

Before he could respond, Lucifer started guiding him toward the nearest bathroom. The walk was quiet, but not uncomfortable, the silence broken only by the rustling of leaves in the garden. Once inside, Lucifer helped Adam clean the mess from his clothes, his touch careful yet confident.

“On the bright side,” Lucifer said with a light chuckle, “at least you weren’t carrying hot liquids.”

Adam managed a small smile, but the embarrassment still clung to him. Lucifer seemed to sense his unease, his eyes softening as they continued their quiet work. After a few more minutes of wiping away food stains, Lucifer sat down beside Adam, their backs against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall.

“I was bullied when I first started out, you know,” Lucifer said casually, his voice breaking the silence.

Adam’s eyes widened in surprise, his gaze snapping to Lucifer. “You were?”

Lucifer smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, of course. I was this geeky, skinny brat from the Highlands. Thought I was better than everyone, and believe me, nobody liked me. For good reason.”

Adam blinked, taken aback by Lucifer’s honesty. He couldn’t imagine anyone bullying the elegant, confident man sitting next to him.

 “But... you’re Lucifer,” Adam said quietly, almost in disbelief.

Lucifer laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “I wasn’t always this Lucifer. It took time.”

He leaned back against the wall, his arm brushing lightly against Adam’s. “You know, you’re not the only one who’s been stuck as the errand boy.”

Adam frowned, glancing over at him. “You were?”

Lucifer nodded. “Oh, definitely. Had to run around, get everyone their coffee and food. The senior designers made sure of that.”

He shifted slightly, his hand brushing lightly against Adam’s knee in a way that felt deliberate. “But you’ll get through it. Just don’t let them get in your head.”

Adam’s heart skipped a beat at the light touch, a strange warmth flooding his chest. “I just... I feel like I’m the only one they always stick with those jobs.”

Lucifer’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, his expression softening further.

“They’re testing you,” he said, his voice low. “Seeing how far they can push you.”

Adam sighed, the weight of the week pressing down on him.

“I thought you were retired,” he said, changing the subject, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Lucifer chuckled, his smirk returning. “I am.”

Adam blinked in confusion. “Then... why are you here?”

Lucifer’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he tilted his head. “What, I can’t miss the gardens?”

Adam’s cheeks flushed. “No! I mean, yes, of course you can! I didn’t mean it like that!” He stumbled over his words, panicking slightly as he worried about offending Lucifer.

Lucifer laughed again, a rich, melodic sound. “I’m just teasing you. I was actually invited back for a few meetings. They’re trying to get me to sign a new contract.”

Adam’s eyes widened in awe. “Are you going to do it? Another issue?”

Lucifer hummed thoughtfully, his expression turning distant for a moment. “Probably not. For me to come out of retirement, it would have to be something... grand. Something I couldn’t say no to.”

Adam nodded, feeling a strange mix of admiration and curiosity. After a long pause, he asked in a quiet voice, “Why did you retire?”

Lucifer’s gaze darkened slightly as he looked at Adam, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I made a mistake,” he said softly, almost regretfully. “A mistake that led to some... bad things. For my own sake, I had to step away.”

Adam’s chest tightened, his heart aching at the pain in Lucifer’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Lucifer nudged him lightly with his shoulder, a soft grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault.”

Adam smiled weakly, and the two of them fell into a comfortable silence again. After a while, Adam asked, “What were the designers like when you worked with them?”

Lucifer chuckled darkly, tapping his chin. “Predictable. After a while, I could tell what the next concept would be

Lucifer’s voice was smooth, almost hypnotic, as he leaned back against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall. Adam sat beside him, feeling both overwhelmed and strangely at ease in the intimate quiet of the moment. He listened closely as Lucifer spoke, his tone turning soft, reflective, as he shared his past experiences.

“You know,” Lucifer began, “it’s supposed to be a partnership. When the model likes your pitch, you present it to the higher-ups, and if they approve, it gets brought to the model you based it on. If the model likes it, you work together on it. If not, it goes to another model. Sort of a half-and-half deal.”

Adam nodded, absorbing every word. He could hardly believe he was sitting there, side by side with someone as legendary as Lucifer Morningstar, listening to his personal experiences. It felt surreal.

Lucifer’s voice took on a more thoughtful note.

“It really meant something to me when I liked a pitch,” he said quietly. “I remember being so eager, so excited to work with certain designers. But over time, it soured. Some of them became pushy, ignoring what I had to say. Sometimes I’d be shut down with nothing more than a wave of their hand, like my input didn’t matter. It infuriated me, to the point where there were certain designers I couldn’t work with anymore.”

Adam stared at Lucifer in awe, his mouth slightly agape, disbelief flooding his features. The idea of anyone shutting down Lucifer like that seemed absurd. He bristled with a flicker of anger on Lucifer’s behalf.

“That's awful,” Adam muttered, his voice tight with indignation.

Lucifer smiled warmly, a kind of tenderness in his expression.

“It’s alright now,” he said soothingly, his tone calming. “It doesn’t bother me anymore. But, yes, some designers were pretty pig-headed. They thought they knew best, but sometimes... I could just tell when something could be better, you know? And they wouldn’t listen.”

Adam’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “If someone like you agreed to be their model—to work with them—it would be a dream come true. How could they think they knew better?”

He spoke with such sincerity, unaware of how passionately his words tumbled out until Lucifer turned to look at him, his eyes soft, a sweet smile playing on his lips.

“I would be beside myself if you liked my pitch,” Adam blurted, and then, realizing what he’d said, his face turned bright red. “I mean... I would listen to everything you said... I—I just mean, it’s... it’s common decency.”

Lucifer chuckled, the sound warm and rich, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“You’re very sweet,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “But, trust me, it’s not as common as you’d think.”

Adam’s blush deepened, and he glanced down, feeling his heart race in his chest. The warmth of Lucifer’s gaze made him feel both flustered and flattered, emotions mixing together until he couldn’t quite tell which was stronger.

Lucifer tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued.

“So, tell me,” he said, his voice soft and inviting. “What about your own pitch? You must be working on one, right?”

Adam shifted uncomfortably, his embarrassment now tinged with frustration.

“Yeah... I am,” he admitted, though his tone was far from confident.

Lucifer hummed, his gaze steady as he watched Adam. “How’s it coming along?”

A deep sigh escaped Adam, and he buried his face in his hands for a moment before groaning.

“It’s not,” he confessed. “I can’t even start it. I have an idea, but no concept. It’s just... stuck. I’m running out of time, and I don’t even know where to begin.”

Lucifer shifted closer to Adam, his presence warm and steady.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” he suggested, his voice gentle, the words almost a caress. His hand brushed lightly along Adam’s arm, the touch sending a subtle shiver through him. “I’ve got plenty of time. I’d love to hear about your idea.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?” he asked, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. Adam looked up, blinking in surprise. “Surely you have more important things to do.”

Lucifer smiled, a soft, reassuring smile that made Adam’s heart flutter.

“Nope,” he said, his tone light. “I’m completely free. These days, I’ve got so much free time, I never know what to do with it.”

Then his voice softened further, more intimate, as his fingers lightly grazed Adam’s arm again. “And besides... I’d really love to hear about your idea.”

The sincerity in Lucifer’s words, combined with the subtle, almost tender way he touched him, sent a warmth flooding through Adam. He smiled shyly, his heart pounding as he gathered his thoughts.

“Well...” Adam began, his voice a little shaky, “it’s not even a full idea. More like half of one.”

Lucifer nodded, encouraging him to continue, his expression one of patient interest.

Adam took a deep breath. “The idea... it came from you, actually.”

Lucifer blinked in surprise, his brows lifting slightly. “From me?” he echoed, intrigued.

“Yeah... You were in the garden, feeding the ducks,” he said, his voice growing quieter as he spoke. Adam nodded, feeling his cheeks heat up again. “I saw you from the third-floor window... You were eating an apple.”

Lucifer’s expression shifted, his eyes growing distant as he seemed to recall the moment. Slowly, he nodded. “I remember.”

Adam bit his lip, feeling nervous but determined to explain.

“The way the shadows of the trees fell across you... it made it look like you had wings,” he said softly, his heart racing as he spoke. “And that’s where the idea came from.”

Lucifer’s gaze sharpened, his eyes locking onto Adam’s with an intensity that made his breath catch.

“The painting,” he murmured, realization dawning in his voice.

Adam nodded again, feeling a little exposed but also strangely relieved. “Yeah. The painting.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt charged, thick with something unspoken. Lucifer’s eyes were fixed on Adam, his gaze soft and searching, and Adam found himself lost in the brilliant blue depths.

Then Lucifer smiled, slow and warm, his eyes gleaming with something Adam couldn’t quite place.

“You’ve got a good eye,” he said softly, his voice almost a purr. “That’s a beautiful concept.”

Adam’s heart skipped a beat, his pulse quickening at the praise. He wasn’t sure if it was the compliment or the way Lucifer looked at him—like he was truly seeing him—that made his chest tighten with emotion. All he knew was that, in that moment, he felt something shift between them, something deeper and more intimate than before.

Lucifer’s hand lingered on Adam’s arm, his fingers brushing lightly against his skin as he leaned in just a little closer.

“You’re more talented than you give yourself credit for,” he whispered, his voice low and warm, sending a shiver down Adam’s spine.

Adam swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, unable to tear his eyes away from Lucifer’s.

“Th-Thank you,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucifer’s smile deepened, and for a moment, Adam wondered if he could feel it too—the unspoken tension between them, the subtle pull drawing them closer.

“You’re welcome,” Lucifer said softly, his voice full of promise. “Now... tell me more about this idea.”

Lucifer’s warm chuckle filled the small, quiet space of the bathroom as Adam shyly admitted his inspiration.

“Well... when I saw you in the garden like that, it sorts of made me think of the Bible,” Adam said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He glanced at Lucifer, feeling both flustered and nervous.

“Oh?” Lucifer’s laughter was soft, almost melodic. “I can imagine.”

Adam’s cheeks flushed a little deeper, and he gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah... well, with your name being Lucifer and you looking like an angel, I couldn’t help but think of the Lucifer. You know, the one who became the King of Hell.”

Lucifer tilted his head, curiosity dancing in his brilliant blue eyes.

“Is that your pitch, then?” he asked, voice gentle and amused. “Something centred around the fallen angel from Eden?”

Adam quickly shook his head. “No, no—that’s more the lore. Not the pitch itself.”

“Lore?” Lucifer’s interest deepened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned in, intrigued. “Go on, tell me more about this lore of yours.”

Adam hesitated for a moment, feeling both excited and nervous under Lucifer’s focused gaze. He took a breath and tried to explain. “Well... since you’re retired and I couldn’t exactly use you as a model, I thought I’d still use the idea of you. So... you’re the lore. The story behind the concept. The pitch is something about Heaven and Hell, set after Lucifer—uh, you—became the King of Hell.”

Lucifer’s expression softened as he listened, his blue eyes darkening slightly, a hooded look crossing his face as Adam’s words sank in. There was something in Lucifer’s gaze, something Adam didn’t quite understand, but it sent a flutter of nervous energy through him.

“And who’s your model, then?” Lucifer asked, his voice soft yet laced with curiosity.

Adam’s face brightened with enthusiasm, momentarily forgetting his nerves. “I wanted to do something different! Everyone in the department is so stuck on Lilith Leonhart. Every issue looks the same because they’re all using her, and I just... it’s not interesting anymore. So I looked into some of the less popular models.”

Lucifer’s eyes lit up with renewed interest, his curiosity piqued.

“Are you using them?” he asked, a note of excitement creeping into his voice.

Adam nodded, smiling brightly. “Yes! I want to use them as the focus for my pitch, to make the issue revolve around them—instead of using models to serve the issue. I want to highlight them.”

Lucifer’s blue eyes widened, truly fascinated now. The depth of his gaze made Adam’s heart skip a beat, and for a moment, Adam felt like he was the only person in the world as Lucifer focused on him.

“And what would the issue be about, then?” Lucifer asked, leaning closer, his eyes gleaming with genuine interest.

Adam’s enthusiasm faltered for a second, and he sighed deeply, leaning his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the uncertainty that had been plaguing him for days.

“That’s where I’m stuck,” Adam admitted, his voice quiet and frustrated. “I don’t know what the theme and concept are yet. I’ve tried to write some, but none of them feel right.”

Lucifer seemed to understand immediately. He smiled softly, watching Adam with an almost tender expression.

“That’s where you’re stuck, isn’t it?” he said gently.

Adam nodded, his frustration palpable as he exhaled slowly. “Yeah... I’m stuck there.”

Lucifer’s gaze softened further, and he shifted closer to Adam, his presence warm and reassuring.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said in a low, comforting voice, lightly brushing his hand along Adam’s arm again. The touch was gentle, almost soothing, and it sent a shiver down Adam’s spine.

Adam looked over at Lucifer, his breath catching in his throat. There was something about the way Lucifer was watching him, the way his touch lingered just a little too long, that made Adam’s heart race.

“I... I don’t know,” Adam murmured, feeling the weight of Lucifer’s gaze on him. “Maybe I am...”

Lucifer’s smile deepened, his eyes never leaving Adam’s face.

“You’ve got the core of it already,” he said, his voice soft and encouraging. “You’ve got the models, the lore, and the passion. The rest will come.”

Adam’s chest tightened, not just from the weight of the project but from the sudden closeness between them. He could feel the warmth of Lucifer’s body next to his, the way their shoulders brushed, how Lucifer’s hand still rested lightly against his arm. It was enough to make his thoughts swirl.

Lucifer leaned in slightly, his breath warm against Adam’s ear as he whispered, “Tell me more about your idea. What’s the vision in your head?”

Adam swallowed hard, trying to focus, but it was difficult with Lucifer so close, with the way his voice sent shivers through him.

“It’s... it’s about redemption,” he said quietly, his voice a little shaky. “Fallen angels, like you—well, like the lore you. It’s about reclaiming what’s been lost... finding a way back to the light, even after you’ve fallen.”

Lucifer’s hand slid down Adam’s arm, his fingers grazing his wrist in a way that made Adam’s pulse quicken.

“That’s beautiful,” Lucifer murmured, his voice filled with admiration. “You’ve got a real heart for this, Adam. Don’t doubt yourself.”

Adam blushed, feeling his heart pound in his chest. Lucifer’s closeness, his gentle touch, and the way he spoke to him—it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

“I don’t know how to make it all work yet,” Adam whispered, his gaze dropping to where Lucifer’s hand now rested against his. “I feel like I’m so far behind everyone else.”

Lucifer’s fingers curled slightly around Adam’s hand, and he gently lifted Adam’s chin with his other hand, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“You’re not behind,” Lucifer said softly, his voice low and intimate. “You’re exactly where you need to be.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. Adam felt like he was falling into those brilliant blue eyes, lost in the warmth and intensity of Lucifer’s gaze. He swallowed hard, feeling his cheeks burn as Lucifer’s fingers lingered on his skin, the touch electrifying.

“Thank you,” Adam whispered, his voice barely audible.

Lucifer smiled—a slow, soft smile that made Adam’s heart flutter.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. “Just... believe in yourself, Adam. You’re more than capable of making this work. I can see it in you.”

Adam nodded slowly, his breath hitching slightly as Lucifer’s fingers lightly traced the back of his hand. He couldn’t quite process everything that was happening—Lucifer’s encouragement, his closeness, the way he made Adam feel like he was the only person that mattered.

Lucifer’s smile deepened, his eyes gleaming with something warm and unreadable.

“I think you’re going to surprise yourself,” he said softly, his voice full of promise.

Adam’s heart swelled with emotion, the weight of Lucifer’s words filling him with a quiet confidence he hadn’t felt in days. And as they sat there, close and connected in the dim light, Adam realized something else—he was falling for Lucifer, and maybe, just maybe, Lucifer was falling for him too.

Adam couldn’t believe it—surprise himself, he did. Spending the day with the Lucifer Morningstar had felt like an impossible dream, something he’d never forget. He had been so close, so intimate with the retired model, and the thrill of it lingered in his veins as he made his way home. He had assumed nothing could top that feeling. But then, it happened.

It came out of nowhere, like a sudden flash of lightning on a clear day. Adam was wandering along the quiet streets, lost in thought, when his eyes drifted toward the abandoned theatre. He crossed the road, glancing over at the crumbling building, when he saw them—a father and his daughter standing outside. The father was animated, speaking excitedly to the little girl, who seemed to vibrate with joy. As the moments passed, their laughter grew louder, the father eventually lifting her into his arms and spinning her around in pure delight. Their laughter echoed through the air like music, tugging at something deep inside Adam.

A daughter.

The idea hit him with such force that Adam nearly stumbled. His heart raced as he stood frozen on the street, staring at the joyful scene. Lucifer should have had a daughter. That’s who the issue would center around—the Princess of Hell, Lucifer’s daughter, who was determined to fulfill her father’s old, broken dreams of redeeming the sinful souls of humanity. The concept burned through him, igniting his imagination with such clarity that he gasped aloud.

His feet moved before his mind could catch up. Practically bouncing with excitement, Adam raced back to his tiny flat, his breath coming in short bursts as he climbed the stairs two at a time. Once inside, he didn’t even pause to catch his breath. He swept everything off his desk in one motion, grabbed his sketchbook, and flipped to an empty page. His hands trembled with anticipation as he thumbed through the various models he’d clipped into his notebook—hazbin models, ones no one else seemed to notice.

His gaze landed on Charlotte Haz, and he froze.

Charlotte Haz... the rumours about her flashed in his mind—the whispers that she could have been Michael’s daughter when she first debuted, even though it was impossible. If Michael had a daughter, he would’ve been twelve at the time. But still... the resemblance between her and Lucifer was uncanny. The sharp angles of her face, the intensity of her gaze—everything about her screamed of Lucifer’s lineage. Her last name too—Haz. It was as if the universe had already written the story for him. Charlotte would be the star, the heart of the issue.

The Princess of Hell. Lucifer’s daughter.

Excitement coursed through Adam as he began to unpack his supplies, grabbing a pencil and lightly sketching out Charlotte’s features. But something nagged at him, and he paused, frowning in thought. She wouldn’t look completely human, would she? Not if she were a demon now. A half-human, half-angel hybrid... yes, that was it. Lucifer was a fallen angel, so his daughter would carry both the heavenly and infernal traits.

His mind raced with possibilities. She would still be beautiful, of course, but with demonic features—goat hooves, curling horns, a sleek tail, claws—yet she would still maintain that ethereal, humanoid beauty.

Gasping in realization, Adam’s pencil flew across the page, sketching Charlotte in her full demonic glory. His excitement grew with each stroke of his pencil. He drew her over and over again, experimenting with different styles, until finally, he settled on the perfect version of her.

Long, dark hair braided back, with strikingly familiar reddish cheeks, claws, and hooves. But her eyes—her eyes were what captivated him most. In real life, Charlotte’s eyes were a vivid green, but that felt too human for what he envisioned. She needed to stand out, to embody the power of Hell. With careful, delicate fingers, Adam reached for his mother’s watercolours, mixing shades of fiery red and molten gold, and painted her eyes. When he finished, a chill ran through him. The way those eyes gleamed on the page, so similar to Lucifer’s yet uniquely her own—it was perfect. Almost too perfect.

Adam leaned back, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the demonic beauty he had brought to life. But then another question stirred in his mind: How would she redeem humanity? What was her purpose, her mission? It had to be something Lucifer had attempted, something he had failed at.

His thoughts drifted back to the theatre, to how much he had admired the old grandeur of it. That’s when another idea struck—what if she ran a theatre? Or better yet, a hotel within a theatre, a sanctuary for lost souls. The Hazbin Hotel. The image formed in his mind, clearer than ever. A place where damned souls came to seek redemption, a last chance to claw their way back from Hell.

Adam grinned, already sketching Charlotte again—this time, in a hotel hostess outfit. He gave her red pants, a crisp white dress shirt, and a matching blazer, with a black ribbon tied around her neck. She looked perfect, exuding both elegance and strength, her demonic features only adding to her allure.

This is it, he thought, staring at her. This is the Princess of Hell, Charlie, who runs her Hazbin Hotel in hopes of redeeming souls.

His gaze swept over the pages filled with other ‘hazbin’ models, each one unique in their own way. Some would be residents of the hotel, forced to be there by fate or circumstance. Others would come willingly, seeking redemption or a second chance. Each of them would have their own style, their own story, their own struggle.

Adam smiled to himself, feeling a rush of satisfaction and pride. He had done it. He had created something entirely new, something that felt alive. Charlie, the Princess of Hell, and her hotel for the damned—her mission to redeem lost souls, picking up where her father left off. And as the excitement of his creation settled into something warm and satisfying, Adam couldn’t help but think of Lucifer again—how the model had been at the heart of this all, inspiring every detail.

And deep down, Adam wondered if Lucifer would be proud.

The day Adam had both eagerly anticipated and dreaded finally dawned, leaving him feeling half-dead and utterly frazzled. For three relentless days, he had poured every ounce of his creativity into his work, meticulously assembling a dazzling array of assets, designs, and models that shimmered with vibrant life. As he stood in his studio, his heart raced like a wild stallion, his skin tingling with anticipation, and his hair standing on end, electric with excitement.

His eyes swept across the breathtaking spread before him, each model a masterpiece that reflected a style so unique it felt like a glimpse into a world he had only dreamed of. But it was the finalized artwork of Lucifer that captivated him the most. In that moment, Adam couldn’t help but lose himself in the mesmerizing image of the King of Hell, resplendent in his pristine white suit, a jaunty top hat perched atop his head, and a whimsical apple cane gripped in his hand. Lucifer’s sharp-toothed grin radiated mischief and charm, and as Adam stared, a warm flush crept across his cheeks. He had to look away, shaking his head in disbelief—only he could find his own artwork so alluring.

Gathering his scattered thoughts, Adam rubbed his face and meticulously packed his creations, securing each piece with a protective embrace. But then, he caught sight of the clock, and a horrified squeal escaped his lips; he was five minutes late! Panic surged through him, and he darted around his flat like a headless chicken, collecting his belongings and racing toward the company building.

His heart thundered in his chest, pounding like a drum as he arrived just in time to see Lucifer entering the building. The sight was mesmerizing; it felt as if time had slowed, the world around him fading into a soft blur. With a twinkle of mischief in his eye, Lucifer greeted him, a delightful laugh escaping his lips.

“Someone seems happy,” he teased, his smile sweet and inviting.

Adam’s heart soared at the sight of him, a radiant warmth enveloping him like a soft blanket.

“I’m so sorry! I can’t chat—I’m late for my pitch!” he exclaimed, barely able to contain his excitement. “Wish me luck!”

But before Adam could turn to flee, Lucifer's fingers wrapped around his arm, gently pulling him back. With a playful glint in his eyes, he leaned in and pressed his soft lips to Adam’s cheek, whispering a melodious, “Good luck~”

That sent shivers racing down Adam’s spine. Stepping back with an air of smug satisfaction, Lucifer chuckled as Adam blinked in a daze, his cheeks burning hotter than the fiery depths of Hell.

“Y-you’re right! I’m late!” Adam gasped, suddenly jolted back to reality. Lucifer nodded, a teasing smile still dancing on his lips. “You should probably get going then.”

With a startled squeal, Adam spun on his heels, his heart racing as he began to run. But then, an audacious thought flickered through his mind, and he stopped in his tracks, turning back to face Lucifer once more. Gathering all his courage, he bravely pressed a gentle kiss to Lucifer’s cheek, his heart fluttering with vulnerability.

“Thank you for believing in me. I probably wouldn’t have made it to the pitch without your support.”

Lucifer’s blue eyes widened in surprise, his cheeks blooming with a rosy hue that matched Adam’s own.

“Adam, you’re late!” he exclaimed, the words tumbling out in a rush.

With a startled gasp, Adam shot off, leaving Lucifer standing there, his heart racing as he shyly touched his cheek where Adam had kissed him. A tender smile spread across his lips, the warmth of their brief connection enveloping him like a cherished secret, promising a future filled with laughter, creativity, and perhaps, love.

Adam stepped into the pitch room, a chill running down his spine as his eyes met the intimidating line of senior designers seated before him. The room felt heavy with judgment, their eyes scanning him with the precision of a thousand needles. He swallowed nervously, shuffling his feet as the weight of their stares pressed down on him.

"I—I'm sorry for being late," he muttered, sheepishly offering an apologetic smile.

His gaze flickered over to Sera, one of the more approachable seniors, who smiled at him warmly, offering a silent encouragement. That small gesture was enough to settle him, if only a little. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm the storm inside him as he clumsily set up his presentation.

With shaking hands, Adam began, flipping up his first artwork—Lucifer as an archangel, bathed in a soft, radiant light, majestic and untainted.

“The core of my concept is the balance between Heaven and Hell,” he explained, his voice wavering. “Redemption. Souls being given a second chance at Heaven.”

His throat felt dry, and his hands trembled as he unveiled his next set of models, each one meticulously crafted. A deep breath. Focus. “This,” Adam gestured to his painting of Charlotte, her dark, angular features contrasting with her father’s sinister charm, “is Charlotte, the central figure. She’s the daughter of Lucifer and runs a hotel where sinners—those condemned to Hell—are offered a second chance at redemption.”

The room felt suffocating as he continued, explaining how each model represented different residents of the hotel, each with their own unique style and story. The words came out unevenly at first, shaky and stuttering, but the more he talked about his creations, the more his passion bled through.

When he finally finished, silence followed. It was broken by the harsh, slicing questions from the seniors.

"Why such a complicated concept?" one asked, their tone cutting like glass.

Adam hesitated, his mind scrambling for the right words. “I… I don’t think Heaven and Hell is that complicated. It’s a well-known idea in media, something people understand. But I wanted to explore it differently—through the lens of second chances of redemption.”

The next question was sharper, as if testing his resolve. “Why choose Charlotte Haz as the main model? Why not someone more prominent like Lilith Leonhart?”

Adam stammered, his voice faltering, unsure how to defend his choice. But before he could reply, the door at the back of the room creaked open, and in slipped Lucifer, as effortlessly composed as always. His blonde hair gleamed under the harsh lights, his sharp, cobalt eyes finding Adam in the crowd. Lucifer’s smile, soft and reassuring, washed over him, and instantly, the weight of anxiety lifted from Adam’s chest.

He drew in a breath, steadied by that glance, and turned back to the senior.

“Lilith is overused,” Adam said with newfound confidence. “I wanted someone new, someone fresh. Charlotte isn’t well-known, and that’s exactly the point. The audience will be intrigued by her because she’s different, unpredictable. They’ll want to come back to learn more about her.”

The seniors leaned in, more interested now. Adam pressed on, explaining that his models were meant to be outcasts, unfamiliar to the public, so that their stories would captivate in ways the more conventional characters couldn’t. Another senior frowned, crossing their arms.

"And the colours—red and purple?" they asked with a slight sneer. "They’re too harsh. Why choose those?"

“Red and purple have meaning,” Adam said, feeling strength in his explanation. “Lucifer’s story is about falling due to pride—purple is the colour of pride. Red represents passion, both destructive and transformative. These are the central themes of the project, and I want the audience to feel them in the designs.”

Another senior, this one fidgeting, asked, “And the fashionable outfits? They’re… bold.”

Adam’s eyes flicked to his paintings. “Every model has their own style, their own sense of identity. I didn’t want them to look the same, because they’re not the same. They’re individuals, each with their own journey to redemption, or failure. That’s what makes them real.”

The room quieted as the seniors muttered amongst themselves, their expressions hard to read. Adam’s heart pounded painfully in his chest as he twisted his fingers together, nerves biting at him like cold wind. Had he failed? Was it not enough?

And then Sera spoke, her voice cutting through the murmurs. “I like it.”

Immediately, the room fell silent, all eyes turning to her. Adam’s heart soared.

“It’s different,” she continued, her tone thoughtful, yet warm. “It’s fresh. It’s not like anything we’ve seen before, and it’ll give the project a new edge. It’ll make people think.”

One of the other seniors frowned, crossing their arms. “Sure, it’s different, but the models might be overlooked. A concept like this needs someone with more… relevance.”

Adam’s stomach sank, knowing exactly who they wanted. Lilith. He clenched his fists, not wanting to give up on Charlotte. She was perfect. She was his vision of redemption.

But then, from the back of the room, a voice smooth as silk cut through the tension. “Well, I like it the way it is, too.”

Heads whipped around, eyes wide with shock. Lucifer stood, his arms crossed, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Sera’s eyes widened in surprise. “And how much do you like it?”

Lucifer’s smirk widened as he tilted his head, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “Enough to come out of retirement for.”

The room erupted in disbelief. The seniors gawked, their jaws nearly dropping. Sera, looking amused, turned to the senior who had been complaining earlier.

“Would Lucifer Morningstar be relevant enough for you?” she asked, her voice dripping with victory.

The senior flushed, stumbling over their words as they nodded furiously, unable to argue.

Adam’s heart raced as he met Lucifer’s gaze across the room. Everything else became background noise as the others began talking rapidly, making plans to take his pitch to the higher-ups. All Adam could see was Lucifer, who gave him a warm, knowing smile.

It was really good, Lucifer mouthed.

Adam blushed deeply, smiling back, his lips silently forming a grateful, "Thank you."

In that moment, he felt like he could conquer anything.

Two full months had swept by like a whirlwind, leaving Adam breathless and in awe. Everything had happened so fast, it felt like a dream he had yet to fully wake from. After the higher-ups heard his pitch, the green light came almost immediately—and Adam knew Lucifer’s involvement had been the key to tipping the scales in his favor. Lucifer coming out of retirement for this project? It had sent shockwaves through the industry, giving the whole thing a sparkle of prestige and a sense of gravity Adam hadn’t expected.

He remembered that day vividly, when all the Hazbin models gathered around, eyes wide, waiting to hear what was next. Adam could see the disbelief in their faces as he and Sera explained the concept. Charlotte, in particular, had looked utterly shocked. Her pale face and wide eyes held uncertainty as she hesitated to believe she was being considered for such a pivotal role.

She had even asked, her voice quivering, “Are you sure you want me?”

Without hesitation, Adam had exclaimed, “Yes! I want all of you!”

His enthusiasm was contagious, and it wasn’t long before the models shared excited looks and agreed to sign on. The contracts were inked in a flurry of excitement, and Adam was left feeling dizzy from how quickly things were moving. What had begun as a stylish, playful spread of colors and characters had spiraled into something so much bigger than anyone had anticipated.

And then there was Lucifer. His mere presence had electrified the entire project, boosting their ratings and igniting a wave of interest that no one could have foreseen. Soon, people were talking about not just fashion spreads, but TV series, movies, books, even video games. Adam could hardly keep up with the endless meetings. It seemed like every other day, he was being pulled into another room to discuss the future of Hazbin. One day, overwhelmed, he had turned to Sera and asked why everyone kept requesting him for these meetings.

Sera had blinked in surprise before softly explaining, “Adam, you own Hazbin Hotel. No one can just use its concept. The company is here to help you develop it.”

“Oh,” was all Adam had managed to say at the time, the reality of it sinking in slowly.

He hadn’t fully realized that this creation of his—this little passion project—was now something so vast and powerful, with limitless potential. And suddenly, everyone wanted him to expand it, to bring this world of Heaven and Hell to life in ways he had never even considered.

But amidst the chaos and pressure, Adam found peace in the models he’d worked so hard to bring together. Vagatha Luna, with her sharp, mysterious beauty, carried an air of quiet power, while Husker Card, with his brooding, intense gaze, brought an edge to every shot. Anthony Dust, with his playful smirk, challenged every convention, and then there was Alastor Shot, with his wild, unruly hair and vintage style that screamed of old-fashioned charm yet somehow worked perfectly within the bold, modern spread. And of course, Charlotte Haz. She was the glue that held it all together, her elegant portrayal of Lucifer’s daughter, the princess of Hell, elevating her to new heights of fame.

The father-daughter dynamic between Lucifer and Charlotte became iconic. The spreads of them together—Lucifer with his devilish smirk, Charlotte with her soft yet determined expression—captivated audiences. Their story gripped the hearts of fans, and soon, Charlotte suggested something that took their work to an even more touching level.

“Why not use my little sister, Hazel, to play a younger version of me?” she had said with a smile.

The idea was an instant hit. Adorable photoshoots of Lucifer and a six-year-old Charlie—Hazel playing her role with innocent sweetness—went viral. Fans ate it up, and it wasn’t long before the love for Hazbin exploded even further. The company, in response, dedicated ten full pages of its monthly publication solely to Adam’s Hazbin project—a move that was unprecedented but well-deserved. It gave Adam room to expand the characters’ backstories, to play with their dynamics in ways he hadn’t been able to before.

One of his favorite developments was the relationship between Charlotte and Vagatha. Adam had always thought they would make a compelling couple, and as he fleshed out their connection, it just worked. Vagatha—whom Adam had reimagined as a fallen angel—was hesitant at first, nervous about taking on a more prominent role. But she embraced the challenge, and soon, Charlotte and Vagatha’s bond became a centerpiece that fans adored.

And then there was Alastor, whose popularity surged beyond anything Adam had expected. Alastor’s idea to speak with a radio-static voice—a charming nod to an older era—became his signature, and Adam loved it. They even gave him a radio staff to carry as part of his character, and it became an iconic prop that fans instantly associated with him.

Angel Dust and Husker, too, found their own following. Adam found himself especially drawn to their dynamic, the chemistry between them palpable in every shoot. As Hazbin continued to grow, the company began suggesting new characters, more models to add to the expanding universe.

Through it all, Lucifer was by his side, quietly supporting Adam in ways that went beyond words. Late nights in the studio, reviewing character designs and storylines, were made sweeter by Lucifer’s presence. There was something comforting about the way he would sit beside Adam, casually leaning in to offer an opinion or teasing him with that ever-present smirk. And when the work became overwhelming, Lucifer had a way of calming him, his mere presence a reminder that Adam didn’t have to do it all alone.

"Purple isn't really my colour."

A sudden voice chimed in, cutting through Adam's swirling thoughts like a warm breeze. He blinked and turned, finding Lilith standing beside him, her figure both commanding and graceful. His face lit up immediately, beaming at her presence.

Lilith’s sharp blue eyes flicked down to the watercolour paintings Adam had carefully arranged on the table. He had been working tirelessly on these pieces for her, hoping to entice her into joining the Hazbin project. Now, six months in, the project had blossomed into something far beyond his original vision, and they were ready to add some of the most iconic faces into the mix—characters who would serve as powerful side players but would become integral in the years to come. Lilith wouldn’t make her debut right away, but when she did, it would be alongside other legendary figures like Eve, Lute, and countless more. The future felt electric with possibility.

Adam glanced down at the paintings again, feeling a surge of nervous pride. Lilith, the queen of seduction and darkness, draped in rich purples and blacks, her horned crown casting a shadow as regal as her presence. Her long, elegant dress shimmered in shades of amethyst, her gloves stretching up to her elbows, delicately concealing the claws that hinted at her fierce power.

“I wanted to try something a little different,” Adam explained, his voice soft but eager. “I know people usually don’t associate you with purple, but I thought... maybe this could be an exception. A twist on tradition.”

Lilith hummed thoughtfully, her gaze lingering on every detail of the artwork. She studied the sharpness of the horns, the fluidity of the dress, the subtle, hidden power the design implied. There was a contemplative silence as she weighed it all, her expression unreadable. Then, finally, her eyes lifted, meeting Adam's.

“Are you sure you want me to join?” she asked, her voice gentle but carrying an edge of vulnerability that Adam hadn’t expected.

Adam blinked, surprised by the question. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I? Is something bothering you about the role?”

Lilith shook her head, a small, rueful smile playing on her lips. “No, no. I love the role. It’s perfect for me, really.”

She paused, her gaze drifting back to the paintings. “I just... I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

Adam’s heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of admiration. Disappoint? He almost laughed at the thought, but instead, he let out a soft gasp, eyes wide with awe.

“Lilith, you could never disappoint anyone. You’re... you’re incredible! You’re a brilliant model, and I’m so excited to have you as part of this. I mean it. The project wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Her smile softened, warmth flickering in her eyes as she looked back at him. “You’re too kind, Adam.”

There was something almost tender in the way she said it, like she was letting down her guard just for a moment. “I can’t wait to work with you.”

Adam couldn’t contain his excitement, his entire face lighting up as he grinned at her.

“Neither can I! Does that mean you accept?” His voice was eager, almost childlike in its enthusiasm.

Lilith chuckled softly, a melodic sound that danced through the air. “Yes, Adam. I accept the role.”

Adam’s heart soared. He cheered softly in relief, his entire body relaxing as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Thank you, Lilith! This is going to be amazing.”

She smiled warmly at him, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer before nodding. “I think so too.”

As she walked away, her presence still lingering in the air like a sweet perfume, Adam found himself glowing with pride. Every piece of the puzzle was falling into place.

Later that evening, Adam found himself back in his studio, surrounded by sketches and designs, his mind buzzing with excitement. But this time, he wasn’t alone. Lucifer stood behind him, leaning casually against the desk, watching Adam work with a fond, almost amused expression.

“You’re going to wear yourself out,” Lucifer teased softly, his voice like velvet as it filled the room.

Adam looked up from his drawings, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of Lucifer’s easy smile. He couldn’t help but grin back, a blush creeping up his neck. “I’m fine. Besides, there’s still so much to do.”

Lucifer’s lips curled into a smirk as he moved closer, his hand resting gently on Adam’s shoulder.

“You’ve done more than enough for one night.” His fingers traced delicate patterns on Adam’s arm, sending a shiver of warmth through him. “How about we take a break?”

Adam tilted his head up, meeting Lucifer’s gaze. The way those piercing blue eyes stared into his own, like they were seeing right through him, always made his heart race.

“A break?” he asked softly, though a teasing smile was playing on his lips. “And what would we do on this break?”

Lucifer leaned in closer, his breath warm against Adam’s cheek, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “I can think of a few things...”

Adam felt the heat rush to his face as Lucifer’s lips brushed his ear, sending a thrill down his spine. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in this little universe they had created together. It was in moments like this that Adam realized just how much had changed since the day Lucifer first walked into his life.

They were partners in every sense of the word now. From the dazzling world of Hazbin to the quiet, intimate moments they shared late at night.

Adam looked up at Lucifer, his eyes softening as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” Adam murmured, pulling back just enough to speak. “For everything. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Lucifer’s smirk softened into something more genuine as he wrapped his arms around Adam, pulling him close.

“You did this all on your own. I just... gave you a little push.” His voice was warm and affectionate, the teasing edge replaced with something deeper.

A soft gasp escaped Adam as Lucifer shifted himself onto his lap, his fingers tracing along Adam’s shoulders. Adam meet Lucifer’s eyes, watching shyly as Lucifer began to rotate his hips. Grinding their hips together, making sure their hardening cocks beginning to rub together through their pants.

Leaning in close, Lucifer licked at Adam’s lips. He soft tongue tracing Adam’s soft lips until he parted them and his tongue slipped inside, meeting Adam’s.

“Have I ever told you…” Lucifer whispered, running his hands down Adam’s body. He rubbed his chest, traced his stomach and finally, slipped his fingers along Adam’s thighs. “I really love your thighs.”

“Um, no.” Adam said. “Don’t think you’ve ever mentioned my thighs before.”

Chuckling, Lucifer snipped at Adam’s chin and throat. He shifted himself off Adam’s lap, pushing his thighs over his and pressing down harshly with his hips. He purrs as Adam let out a delightful moan.

“I think they’re my second favourite part of you.”

“Second?” Adam laughed, cupping his lover’s face. “And what’s your first favourite?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lucifer asked lovingly, leaning forward to kiss him again. “Your mind. Your brain. I love what you make. I love what you can think up.”

The two began to kiss again, Lucifer beginning to rub his hips firmly against Adam’s. His fingers pulling at Adam’s t-shirt, pushing it up so he could touch the warm flesh. A shiver ran through Adam as he traced his fingers along the soft curve of his back.

“Adam, can we try something new?” he asked.

A hum escaped Adam. “Always.”

“I want…” Lucifer pulled back to meet Adam’s eyes. “I want to thigh fuck you.”

Adam stared. His mind fuzzy.

“What?”

A sharp grin spread across Lucifer’s face, a grin that sent a familiar, exhilarating shiver down Adam’s spine. It was a look Adam had come to know well—too well, in fact. Lucifer seemed to be merging with the very character Adam had painted him as, slipping between the lines of reality and fiction with an unsettling ease. His smile, wide and gleaming, carried all the same energy he embodied as the King of Hell—dazzling, dangerous, and impossibly charming.

Even without the costume or the fake sharp teeth, the effect was the same. His pearly whites gleamed with a hint of mischief, the smile teetering on the edge of intimidation. It was a look that could both seduce and terrify, depending on who was on the receiving end. Adam, sitting there under the weight of that smile, felt his heart skip a beat. He swallowed, unsure whether to laugh or shudder.

“You’re doing it again,” Adam murmured, his voice half-amused, half-nervous as he playfully narrowed his eyes at Lucifer.

Lucifer tilted his head, arching a brow in mock innocence.

“Doing what?” he asked, though his voice carried that telltale lilt, low and smooth, like a purr.

“That grin,” Adam said, pointing at him with a small, nervous laugh. “You look just like him—the King of Hell. Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re joking or if you’ve really become him.”

Lucifer chuckled, the sound rich and velvety, sending another wave of heat through Adam.

“Maybe I have,” he said with a wink, stepping closer, his presence intoxicating.

“Or maybe I’m just giving you what you wanted, hmm? The devilish charm you so meticulously designed.” His finger gently lifted Adam’s chin, bringing their faces close enough for Adam to feel Lucifer’s breath warm against his skin.

Adam’s blush deepened, though he kept his composure, his pulse racing in his ears.

“Well, it’s a little unnerving when the devil in my head starts standing in front of me,” he teased, though his voice wavered slightly under Lucifer’s gaze.

Lucifer’s grin softened, becoming less menacing and more affectionate, though the spark of danger never entirely left his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his tone softer now, though still steeped in mischief. “I’m still me. Your Lucifer, not the one in the paintings.”

Adam’s breath caught in his throat at those words—your Lucifer.

It was in moments like this, when the playfulness gave way to something more sincere, that Adam felt the full weight of their connection. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten here, in this strange whirlwind where reality and fantasy blurred so effortlessly. But in Lucifer’s arms, he didn’t mind. There was a warmth, a safety, even in the chaos.

Lucifer leaned in, his lips brushing against Adam’s, not quite a kiss, but a promise of one.

“Besides,” he added with a smirk, pulling back just slightly, “It’s you who brought the devil to life. If anything, I should be thanking you.”

Adam chuckled, though his voice was breathless. “Yeah, I suppose I did.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Adam,” Lucifer teased, his eyes gleaming playfully. “You might just get more than you bargained for.”

Adam’s heart raced, but he smiled, leaning into Lucifer’s touch. “I think I’m okay with that.”

"Now." Lucifer purred, beginning to strip Adam of his clothes. "Let me show you what I really want from you~"

And that was how Adam later found himself naked, on his knees with Lucifer behind him. A sharp gasp escaped Adam, his green eyes watering as his body jolted back against Lucifer's much warmer body. His blonde haired lover's arms held him against his body, with his hard cock pushed between Adam's thigh and rubbing without mercy against the bottom of Adam's.

"Aw, you're so stressed~" Lucifer cooed, flashing that same grin again. "Let me help with that~"

"Oh god!" Adam gasped, Lucifer's hold on him tightening and snapping his hips even harsher. "You really are the devil in disguise."

Lucifer grinned at that.

[othersystems]

wasnt going to do it this year but someone requested so here it is

(my biggest out is probably cultural shift/trend explanation/obsessed with the current "moment" which includes in and out lists lol)

In

Side bangs

Photography/collage will be back in a big way

Warm lighting in photos/digital SLR style ( think night time street lights)

^A “Going home to the suburbs from college during winter break” nostalgia vibe

Houndstooth print

Chunky knit sweaters

Wool, cotton, etc, real fibers

“Classic” style, pea coats, long skirts, Basque waist dresses. petticoats, silk robes

Clothes that are about fit and movement of fabric/“timeless”

Velvet and metallics

Deep colors

“late 2000s/early 2010s does French new wave” style also back

Cotton leggings (french new wave-NON athleisure)

Long and not boxy shirts

Wedge shoes

Big sunglasses

The pre-trump 2010s

Collecting things/trinkets/ stoneware plates etc

Horseshoes/pressed tin ornaments/cozy eclectic decoration

Antique stores

interesting noses/roman noses

Frizz/wild hair

Striped and plaid high back couches 

Striped linens

Delicate wallpaper patterns

tile

Early 1900s bohemian poet or painter interiors

A bit of moroccan/“global” eclectic mom style

Reading middlemarch 

reading letters/diaries

golden age of Hollywood interest

Vermouth spritz

collecting/watching DVDs and CDs

programmed TV vs streaming

uyghur food

Out

Painting is on the decline as a trendy art

Cropped shirts

Polyester/synthetics/mesh/smocked back dresses

Gaudy prints

White kitchen cabinets with gold or black hardware

Mid century modern furniture

Luxury / “Clean”

Martini/going out to a fancy restaurant to take pictures culture (now cringe)

Edgelord ,as the "edgy" part no longer applies under a second trump presidency 

Essays

Cultural shift/trend explanation essays and videos

pop psychology

poptimism

Tik tok voice

bright/garish clothes colors and garish prints

gothy/"grunge"

Instagram face/nose

lip fillers/lip overlining seen as gauche

Athleisure

This is the year where Y2k is truly OUT in place of the Obama years

“Bitchyness” also out, that was a reflection of bush years nostalgia

Too much skin care/make up. now seen as damaging to skin

Twitter

[sometimesanalice]

I was wondering if you have a headcanon for the restaurant they went to in "Like I Can" part 3?

I might have one or two! 😊 This was a fun ask to get! I hope you enjoy this!

I Find Myself Wanting

Summary: Bradley has a couple surprises planned for you and one very important question to ask.

Warnings: Pure fluff

Length: 2k

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Bradley didn’t like to play up the fact that he was an active member of the Navy. Sure he was proud of what he did, but he didn’t always like the attention that came with it.

He wasn’t one to stand up and wave at baseball games when they celebrated active service members and veterans. He never took advantage of the military discounts when they were offered in stores.

He would rather get noticed for who he was, not what he did.

However, he was not above showing up to your favorite trendy restaurant by the beach with his flight suit half unzipped in order to sweet talk his way into getting a reservation for your six-month anniversary.

The reservations had opened up when he was on a two week training deployment. To no one’s surprise service was shitty on a carrier in the middle of the ocean and he couldn’t get to a computer to snag a table in time.

He might have been flexing a bit and wearing his most winning smile as he yes ma’am-ed, no ma’am-ed, just doing my duty ma’am-ed his way into getting that same table on the luscious outdoor patio where the two of you had had your first date.

The one where he had showed up and surprised you. The one where he told you he didn’t want to be just friends anymore. The one where he’d all but given you his heart, and had been lucky enough to have received yours in return.

He had taken you back there a couple times since then, but he wanted to night to be special.

It was a struggle to sit there and wait. As he tried to not let his leg bounce too much under the table, not wanting to accidentally bump the table and send the finely etched stemware crashing to the ground.

He definitely didn’t want that kind of attention. Not when he was already so anxious to see you.

All he wanted was you.

And you were running late.

Bradley didn’t know why he was so nervous, he already knew what your response would be. Could already imagine the winning smile on your face, could envision the exact spots your dimples would appear in his mind’s eye.

He’d known that smile for years, he loved that smile.

The waiter had stopped by earlier to check on him, and he took the opportunity to order a bottle of champagne to surprise you with once you got there.

Wiping his hands on his pant legs, he touched his pocket for the third time since he’d been seated. Making sure that the item he had tucked in there hadn’t mysteriously vanished since the last time he had checked less than five minutes ago.

There was nothing more he liked than finding little ways to you keep you on your toes.

He’d made sure to grab a change of clothes for himself when he had left his place that morning. And then stayed on base to shower and get ready after they finished training for the day. He didn’t want to risk running into traffic and having you arrive before him.

Bradley wanted to be there to see you as you made your entrance onto the outdoor terrace. To see you as the warm glow from the sunset hit you. He loved seeing the subtle release of your shoulders and the soft sigh that always seemed to leave your body whenever you saw him waiting for you.

He didn’t tell you what he had planned, just that you shouldn’t work late that evening.

During the one hour lunch break they got, he had made his way to your apartment and let himself in using the key you had given him instead of staying and eating there with the rest of the team.

It made his chest warm when he had seen how many boxes that were already lined up along one of the walls in your living room.

You were finally moving in with him.

It had only taken a few months of pleading, some strategic bribery, and a payment plan on his part to finally get you to stop being so practical, so logical. Your lease still technically wasn't up for a couple more months, but he wanted you for himself all the time. And he was lucky enough that you felt the same way about him too.

You never even officially told him of your plans to move in with him. He had been going through his mail one day while you were uncorking some wine in the kitchen, when he saw a letter addressed to you with his home address underneath it.

He thought his eyes might have been playing tricks on him. But when he had held it out to you between two fingers and a questioning raise of his eyebrow, you’d simply given him a teasing smile and a shrug of the shoulder. The gesture was nothing short of ok you win, Bradley.

Damn right he did.

He offered to order a U-Haul right then and there. Although you never got a chance to take him up on it because he had tossed you over his shoulder to celebrate properly in that dark wood canopy bed. The wine completely forgotten on the kitchen counter.

The two of you hardly spent a night apart, but this was the kind of official and permanent he had been longing for since you’d first kissed him against the Bronco all those months ago.

He didn’t let himself get too side tracked as he'd made his way to your mostly packed up bedroom, since he was there on a mission. He was pleased when he didn’t have to search too hard to find what he wanted in your closet. He had laid the garment on top of your bed and topped it with a note for where and when to meet him that night.

You hadn’t worn it since the first time you’d been there, and he wanted to see you in his favorite color again.

However, he couldn’t help himself and ended up grabbing a couple boxes on his way out to put in the Bronco to be unloaded at his place later. He was eager to do whatever it took to speed up the process, he wanted to see your place empty, wanted all your things to be nestled amongst his own.

Bradley knew you were it for him. And he knew you felt the same way too, even if you still were still being infuriatingly pragmatic at times. He saw it in your eyes when you looked at him, he recognized it because it’s the same way he looked at you.

He was about to check his phone to see if you had sent him a message, even though he had turned the ringer of his phone on so that he’d hear of his phone went off, when he felt your presence right before he saw you step out onto the terracotta tile of the oasis that was the restaurant’s outdoor patio.

And it’s like all the air has left his lungs.

You were a vision in emerald green as you made your way to him.

He wanted to feel your curves under the silky floral material. Wanted to unzip you slowly later that evening, to watch as your skin is revealed to him as that pretty dress slides down your body. To lay you out on that bed he bought specifically for you. To show you with his body just how much you meant to him, just how much he loved you.

He loved your pretty hair and how you styled it, just a little different from how he usually saw it. Like you tried something new, just for this date. Just for him. He couldn’t wait to brush aside the little tendrils that had escaped and were framing your face so sweetly. The soft make up you had done for the night really played up your beautiful eyes.

You were stunning. And you were his.

Almost in a daze he stands up and meets you half way to the table. Standing this close to you he can smell your perfume. Can see the little flecks in your eyes.

“Hi, Bradley,” you say with a gentle smile, almost bashfully. But clearly pleased with the effect you’re having on him.

God, he loves you so much.

He gives into the urge to brush away one of those tendrils brushing your cheek, and pulls your face to his.

Your mouth is soft under his. Mindful of your lipstick and the other people seated on the patio, he doesn’t let himself get too carried away as he kisses you in greeting.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says as he pulls away, having to clearly is throat a bit before continuing, “You look beautiful.” He raises your left hand to his mouth to kiss it.

“Well, someone did pick out a such a nice dress for me to wear,” you tell him as you smooth a hand down his chest, “You look very handsome yourself, I’m a very lucky girl.”

Placing a hand low on your back, finally getting a feel of your warmth and that silky fabric under his palm, he guides you to your perfectly curated table. Pulling out the chair for you to ease yourself into.

He thinks he might have gotten away with the way he checked out your exposed thigh as you sat down, but the knowing smile on your face he sees as he sits across for you tells him that he wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was.

Especially when your foot reaches out to stroke his calf under the table.

“Happy six month anniversary, sweet girl."

Sure, it felt a bit young to be celebrating this kind of milestone. But he has been so incredibly happy with you that he’d enthusiastically find any excuse to celebrate being yours.

He's already learned that Veuve tasted better on a random Tuesday evening with you on his couch than it ever had with anyone else.

The warm grin you give him makes his heart beat a bit faster in his chest. With you in front of him now, gazing at him with such adoration, he has no clue what he was so nervous about.

“Happy six month anniversary, Bradley,” you respond indulgently, still stroking his leg with your foot, “I have to say, this is a very lovely surprise.”

“Yeah?” he asks, feeling very proud of himself.

“Oh yes,” your voice already tinged with a teasing tone, “I can’t say I’ve ever had a boyfriend who has shown up in a flight suit to woo their way into a reservation before.”

“I, uh-" he starts feeling suddenly sheepish, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck.

“The hostess was rather chatty when I arrived. I would have gotten to you sooner, but I was held up at the front as she told me how sweet my American hero boyfriend was when he showed up,” you tell him with a fond smile, reaching across the table for his hand. “And now I feel less guilty about the low cut shirt I wore to score you the Padres-Phillies tickets that I currently have in my purse.”

Still such a little hustler.

The two of you exchanged a look for a moment before breaking out in a fit of laughter. Reminded yet again just how similar the two of you were.

“God, I love you.”

“I love you too, Bradley. Thank you for such a perfect surprise.”

He would never get tired of hearing you say that.

You were moving in with him. You were going to wake up with him everyday. He was going to get to hold you every night as fell asleep. He was going to build a life with you.

He wanted you like this forever. He wanted you forever.

“I’ve got a question for you.”

“Lay it on me.”

Reaching into his pocket he grabs the item he had tucked away in there, sliding it across the table.

He watches as you pick it up, reading the information on the plane tickets he had purchased, watches as you take it in and look up at him eyes wide with disbelief and delight.

“What do you say, kid, want to go home?”

He knew you hadn’t been home since the holidays. Although he couldn’t remember the last time he had gone back. It had stopped feeling like home, rather just the place he had been raised. But now with you, home was wherever you were.

“Yes, Bradley,” you beamed, your dimples appearing just where he expected them to, “Let’s go home.”

Leaning forward he picks up your hand to kiss the back of it, before threading his fingers through yours. As he sees the waiter rounding the corner with the champagne that he had ordered earlier chilling in a bronze bucket.

The tickets were for two months from now. He had orders to ship out soon for a one month deployment, and you had a big project at work that was wrapping up around the time he got back. He had wanted to plan something that both of you could look forward to while you were apart.

Bradley was excited to revisit all the places that had helped form the two of you. He knew where you were going, but he wanted to go back to the place where you had started.

You were telling him about your day, as the waiter worked on uncorking the champagne. And he was trying very hard to pay attention, but his mind was buzzing with everything to come as he let his thumb smooth over the back of your left hand.

He was going home with you.

He wanted to visit the high school you both went to. He wanted to take you to that slightly questionable amusement park and ride the Tilt-A-Whirl with you. He wanted to buy you an ice cream at the shop where he had his first job, where he spent his first paycheck getting you the pair of rollerblades you had wanted for your birthday.

If he was lucky, he might even be able to sneak into your bedroom. He’d be your teenaged dream turned reality.

Bradley already had plans to play golf with your dad. And he had booked spa appointments for you and your mom. He was really excited to see her again in person, she had always made sure he’d felt welcomed in your family.

The timing of it couldn’t have been better. After all, he had a very important question he needed to ask their permission for.

He was looking forward to it, he wanted it all.

I wonder what question he has to ask her parents... 🥰

Here are some aesthetics and headcanons for their favorite restaurant!

This was a drabble for my 'Like I Can' series, you can read it here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @chicomonks 

[mosylufanfic]

Rebelcaptain Day Six: Tropes

I was shocked to realize that, with my love of fake dating and arranged marriages, I had somehow never written married in Vegas. (Or Space!Vegas, in this case.) Obviously I had to remedy that.

What Happens in Canto Bight

Yonly Tress worked hospitality crew on the run between Canto Bight and Mordonica. She'd thought it was really exciting when she first got the job on the planet-hopper, but after two years of going out and back twice a day, four days a week, it had pretty much settled into boredom. 

The run out to Canto Bight wasn't so bad. People were usually happy to be going, already in a party mood. Sometimes people had pregamed in various ways, and she'd perfected the art of wiggling out of roaming hands without causing offense. But it was usually okay, because happy people tipped really well.

The run back was usually much quieter. A lot of people found their seats and immediately fell asleep, or passed out, for the two-hour trip. Others sat staring out the viewports or at datapads. Every once in awhile, they got a belligerent drunk, or someone incredibly pissed off that they'd lost huge amounts of money at the Lose All Your Money resort. 

Generally Yonly was relieved when they docked on Mordonica, and not just because it either meant her meal break or that she was done for the day. 

To pass the time between planets, the crew often played a game of guessing what had happened in Canto Bight. "Seat 3-Esk," she said to Klaas as they prepped their refreshment carts.

"Lost his shirt," Klaas said immediately. 

She looked over her shoulder and nodded. Seat 3-Esk had that hollow-eyed, thousand yard stare of somebody who didn't know how he was going to explain why he didn't have a credit to his name anymore. 

"Seat 6-Grek?" She looked a lot happier than 3-Esk, even though she had traces of glittery makeup around her eyes and her hair looked like she'd shoved it under a hat without bothering to wash the product out first. 

"Oh, she won big. You see how she's smiling at her datapad and typing messages? She got herself a sugar daddy. Now what about those two in Row 7? Seats Cherek and Dorn."

She studied the couple - a man with a short beard and dark eyes, and a woman with mid-length brownish hair that was slowly losing its trendy wave. They were both in wrinkled but stylish clothing, as if they'd dressed to hit the town many hours before and caught their flight just in time.

"Ooo, that's a tough one. I'm leaning toward went for business, got drunk, and slept together."

"Mmm. I dunno. You ask me, I think they got married."

Keep Reading on AO3

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere idol group! x F! Reader

Worker Bee 🐝

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Kofi:

And here's my tip page if you want a more direct link:

TW: Smut, manipulation

Tuesday

Every part of you is sore, especially your jaw and pelvis. When you wake up, Jason is cuddling your body.

"Hi, baby. How do you feel?" Jason asks, rubbing your back.

You groan in pain, then curl up into the fetal position.

"I know that jerk Haneul played rough with you. So I'll be gentle today," Jason says, sitting you up. "Take these pills."

You do as he says and swallow the pain pills. You go back to relaxing on the bed. You feel Jason massaging your shoulders and practically melt into the mattress.

"Ah," You moan, feeling all the stress leave your body.

"That's right, babe. Let all the stress leave your body," Jason says, his hands moving down your body.

"Wait a minute! You don't want to help me! You just want to feel me up!" You exclaim, slapping Jason's hands away and pushing him off you. "Damn it, get off me!"

"Y/N, I just want to help you," Jason pleads, getting up from the ground.

"Yeah, right!" You scream, kicking him out of your room. "Leave me alone, and when you get the chance, go fuck off to the grave!"

You curl up underneath the covers and try not to cry from thinking about your current situation.

~~~~~~~~~

"Y/N, are you awake?" Jason asks, knocking on the door.

"No, I'm not, and I never will be," You groan, turning over in the bed.

Your door creaks open, and you sigh into the pillow.

"Drink this, you need it if you want to feel better," Honey says, walking into your room and placing a cup of tea and french toast on your nightstand. "Come on, I know you haven't eaten food in about two days. The female idols that are our workers may starve themselves to please others, but you shall not."

"Sort of mean, don't you think?" You comment, sitting up.

"No. Just an avoidable fact of being an idol. You know, you get scouted at 13, go on a survival show, endure weeks of hellish living conditions, get paid $36 for appearing on a music show to perform, deal with fucking sasaengs, and then we're all just supposed to smile and wave as we know that everywhere we go, we'll never be truly alone!" Honey rants, scaring you as he smiles at the end. " But please, eat. I want you to be well. We want you to be well."

You frantically pick up the toast and tea, scarfing it down your throat.

"Aww, there's a good girl! I knew you'd be hungry," Honey laughs, rubbing your back. "We've also got some good news for you. We went shopping and got you some clothes!"

You look at the pastel trendy clothes and tense up.

"Well, thank you," You respond, sarcastically. "I suppose this makes my situation a bit better. You know, I had dreams and a life too. I wanted to save my money from my coffee shop job and buy my own apartment. But, no, the universe had other plans, and now I'm here, stuck with four crazy and delusional men who need constant validation and love like a bunch of children!" You rant, crying at the end. "I hate this place!"

"Shh, let it all out," Honey whispers, consoling you. "I'll let you out for a few minutes if that makes you feel better."

Something was better than nothing in this case, and you wanted to see the night sky again. Honey covers your eyes and leads you to a balcony. When he removes your eyes, the lights from the streets, shops, and houses turn the night into a glittery canvas.

"It's beautiful," You gasp, listening to the nightlife below.

"I knew you'd like it. I'd do anything for you if it made you happy," Honey says, looking at you.

Anything? Maybe I do have hope? I could make him kill the other three, and then I could be free.

"Really?" You ask, holding Honey's hand.

"Yes, anything. I'd even kill for you," Honey replies, holding your hands tighter.

"Thank you."

You kiss Honey, and he melts in your arms. You straddle him, and he takes you to your bedroom again. He starts to unbuckle his pants, and you take off your pajamas. Hani leaves a trail of kisses and hickeys on your neck, his hands groping your ass. His head slowly goes to your crotch, and he deeply kisses your folds. You shiver from pleasure and nearly fall onto the mattress. Hani leaves more kisses on your pussy as you moan. You wrap your legs around his head then he inserts his tongue.

"Ah, ah, ah, yes," You moan as he eats you out.

His eyes are in a daze as he's focused on your pleasure and tasting you.

"Oh, Honey," You moan, about to cum.

You cum on Honey's tongue, and he removes it to lick around your folds and clitoris a bit more like a thirsty animal. Honey rises from the floor, kissing you with spit and cum coming out of his mouth. He takes off his pants, puts on a condom, and inserts his penis in you. Honey immediately starts to thrust into you, and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"You feel so good," Hani stammers, holding your waist.

The bed frame is hitting the wall, the room becomes steamy, and the bodies are sweaty. Honey's body starts to twitch as he orgasms inside you, and both yours and his legs are shaking from the pleasure.

"You're so much better than the others," You say, rubbing Hani's head. "The rest of them are so mean to me."

"I know. I'll protect you from them," Honey replies, lying on top of you.

Honey pulls out, and he fully relaxes on you.

"Promise me you'll keep that you took me outside a secret. If they find out, they'll never let me out again," You plead, looking into Hani's eyes.

"I won't. I won't say a word. You're my queen bee," Honey whispers, kissing your neck. "All mine."

[hypnogold]

The following evening, the trendy restaurant was buzzing with patrons enjoying their meals, and the golden team was in high spirits. Among the guests that night was Thomas, a laid-back young man known for his casual demeanor and love of good food. He arrived with his best friend, David, excited to enjoy dinner and catch up.

As they settled into their booth, Thomas couldn't help but notice the staff members wearing shiny metallic golden AC Milan jerseys with sleek black bow ties, their presence commanding and charismatic. The golden uniforms shone under the warm restaurant lights, creating an inviting atmosphere that added to the excitement of the evening.

Halfway through their meal, Thomas felt the need for a smoke. “I’ll be right back, just going outside for a quick cigarette,” he told David, who nodded, engrossed in the menu.

As Thomas stepped outside into the cool evening air, he leaned against the wall of the restaurant, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. He was enjoying the moment of solitude when he suddenly noticed the restaurant manager approaching him with a confident stride.

“Hey there! Enjoying the night?” the manager asked, a charming smile on his face.

“Yeah, just taking a break,” Thomas replied, flicking ash from his cigarette. He noticed the manager’s shiny golden jersey gleaming in the dim light. “Nice uniform. You guys really go all out here.”

The manager’s smile widened. “Thanks! We’re actually looking for enthusiastic new team members. You’d fit right in.”

Thomas chuckled, shaking his head. “Thanks, but I’m just here to enjoy dinner with my friend.”

But the manager stepped closer, his voice smooth and inviting. “Just think about it. You could be part of something special, something golden.” The manager’s eyes glinted with a strange intensity that caught Thomas’s attention.

Before he knew it, the manager leaned in and whispered, “Just relax.” In a swift motion, he waved his hand, and Thomas felt a sudden wave of warmth wash over him. His vision blurred, and he struggled to comprehend what was happening.

“Join us,” the manager said, his voice dripping with charm as he exerted his influence. Thomas felt a powerful pull, and suddenly the golden jersey began to materialize beneath his casual clothes, but it didn’t settle on him just yet. Instead, it hovered around him, waiting for the moment he would give in to the spell.

Thomas blinked, trying to shake off the feeling of disorientation, but the pull was strong. Just as he was about to step back inside, a pair of staff members appeared behind him, their expressions serious. They moved quickly, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him toward the restaurant entrance.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Thomas exclaimed, confusion washing over him as they guided him back inside. The warmth of the golden jersey enveloped him, the pull of the transformation becoming irresistible.

Back inside, David was chatting with a few other patrons, unaware of what was happening to his friend. As Thomas was brought into the bustling dining area, the manager clapped his hands together, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Welcome to the team, Thomas!” he announced, drawing the attention of the entire restaurant. The golden jersey shimmered beneath Thomas’s casual attire, and he felt a lazy grin begin to spread across his face as he succumbed to the enchantment.

David turned, startled by the sudden commotion. “Thomas?” he called out, confusion etching his features as he saw his friend being led away.

“Relax, David!” the manager said, stepping toward him. “Thomas is just getting acquainted with his new role.”

Before David could protest, the manager’s hypnotic spirals caught his gaze. He felt a strange compulsion pulling him in, and as he looked at Thomas, who now wore a relaxed grin beneath his golden jersey, the warmth began to wash over him as well.

“Why don’t you join us?” the manager suggested smoothly, his voice enveloping David in a calming embrace. He felt the pull of curiosity and excitement.

As David succumbed to the allure, the shimmering golden jersey formed around him, settling beneath his clothes. In that moment, the two friends were united in their transformation, now part of the golden team, ready to embrace an adventure they never expected.

With the restaurant buzzing around them, Thomas and David exchanged excited glances, knowing they were no longer just diners but key members of something extraordinary.

[feral-ffa]

Ever wondered how those instagram foodie account girls stay skinny even though they're eating 5 items from a different trendy restaurant every day?

You had idly wondered that, but most of all you just couldn't believe your luck when you finally sealed the deal with a cute and sweet rising star foodie.

The first time the two of you went out for a content shooting dinner, it was to a nice fusion sit down place. She told you she'd mostly just talk to her tripod. All you had to do was get some close up shots of crispy crusts and cheese pulls and then just not eat till she had all the footage she needed. Easy trade off for a free dinner with a beautiful girl!

When the waiter came around, she rattled off an order of two house cocktails, two apps, and three entrees, before turning to you and asking you to pick your favorite entree too. You obliged, ordering pineapple fried rice.

When the food came out, she started taking pictures and recording, and she was still working on the appetizers when the 4 big entrees came to the table. You did your best suppressing your hunger and helping her get the perfect shot of her sampling each dish. When she was done and told you to dig in, you both started devouring the still-warm food. But you had to state the obvious. "There's no way we can finish all this."

She waved you off. "We'll take the rest in to-go boxes. Not like it's going to waste."

Still, it seemed like a shame to not have the food hot and fresh out of the kitchen. She got full shortly, but you plugged on, finishing the entirety of the lettuce wraps and spring roll appetizers, both desserts she ordered, and the sweet and saucy pork adobo. It felt like you barely put a dent in the other dishes, so you got to go boxes.

As full as you felt leaving, the siren call of leftovers lured you to the fridge twice more that night.

~~~~~~~

And so it went, your girlfriend taking you to snack joints and restaurants to help film, and you doing your best to clean the plates after. You never truly could though, always bested by her choice of rich cuisines or gimmicky posts ranking every kind of cronut or rice dog a place offered.

Until you all went to a fancy prix fixe place she had fought to get reservations for. You each got five modest portions of perfectly cooked food and you cleaned yours up no problem. She had started to get winded by the meat course and only had half of her dessert.

"Finally a member of the clean plate club, huh?" she teased as she snapped a picture of the receipt.

"Well they give you those small fancy portions," you protested. "Two bites of quail. Two bites of steak. Three raviolis. Tastes good though."

She just laughed and gave you an affectionate pat on the tummy.

~~~~~~~

You did find yourself having to size up your clothes as the seasons changed, but again, you considered it a reasonable tradeoff for the pampered life you were now living.

"I hope you're ready for this," your girlfriend chided you on the way to the state fair in the summer. She was partnering with them for a series of 'everything I ate at the state fair' videos, which of course was actually going to be everything you ate.

You faithfully videoed her taking the first bite of what felt like a million little snacks, making sure to capture her reaction. Wide eyes at the cheese pull from a mozzarella stick, unimpressed at a dry turkey leg, laughing as she got a good angle to chomp down on tornado fries, smiling in pleasure at cherry topped funnel cake.

Soon as she was satisfied with the footage, she would pass the greasy treat off to you and drag you to the next line. You lost count of all the fair food you hurriedly plowed through that day, the hand dipped corn dogs, berry shortcakes, bbq sandwiches, and fried oreos.

The shoot ended with you finishing off a huge fresh squeezed cold lemonade she had taken one (1) sip of. It was the only thing you had room for, and you felt it filling in the gaps in your already food-stuffed gut. You waddled after her to the petting zoo, where she wanted to treat herself to some baby animal cuddles as a reward for getting all the footage and b-roll she needed before sundown.

Before you sat on the bench outside for a breather, you noticed your stuffed belly peeking out of your shirt. Sure you just ate nearly everything the fair had to offer, but this was a new XXL shirt! You glanced at her inside the pen, scratching a piglet behind the ears.

"The pigs are my favorite."

"Yeah, I bet."

~~~~~~~

You went ahead and bought new shirts and pants again. As time passed you got better at eating as much of your girlfriend's orders as possible in one sitting. You especially looked forward to when she did collab videos with her friends. They'd reserve a long table and it would be laden with over a dozen meals. You got to try everything, eat as much as you wanted of your favorites, and there would still be leftovers.

One night before going out to film at a sushi restaurant, she warned you, "this is a hand roll place and i booked us the omakase menu, it's $250 for 6 small bites."

You helped her get pics and enjoyed the delicious savory raw seafood, but she caught the downcast look on your face and the hand on your belly after you left.

"Don't tell me you're still hungry?"

"You aren't?"

"No, I actually finished every course. Even the miso soup."

"Well I'm used to cleaning up after you don't finish every course!" You wrapped your arms around her, and pulled her in close to whisper in her ear. "You always pick where we go, can I choose somewhere just this once?"

"Let me guess," she said as she leaned into your soft belly. "You want to stop at mcdonalds?"

So the two of you stopped at the drive thru, chatting and laughing in the car as you worked your way through a big bag of burgers and fries.

~~~~~~~

You continued to feel grateful for this lifestyle, but you were especially excited when your girlfriend told you she booked a reservation at Pina's Table, a new Italian restaurant that was already getting lots of buzz on the socials.

When you arrived for your reservation, both in nicer clothes for the opening weekend, you were shown to a intimate booth near the back. You felt a little nervous sliding in, as you could just barely fit. But before long you were more focused on the menu. After she ordered her usual sampler spread of two apps, two cocktails and three entrees, the waiter turned to you for your selection, and you decided to be bolder today.

"How about the chicken marsala. And the baked ziti."

Both of your selections looked so good when they arrived, you could barely stop drooling while filming her slicing open a burrata and tasting the spaghetti all'amatriciana. It felt like a million years passed before she gave you the OK to dig in.

You started off sampling a little bit of everything, and it was of course just as good as expected. You were enjoying a mouthful of ziti when the flash from her phone went off. Startled, you looked up. Had she forgotten to get a picture of something?

"Sorry," she blushed, putting her phone back down. "You're enjoying yourself so much, I just wanted to save it to remember."

You laughed. "If that's good, just wait till after I'm done."

You dug into the warm food, savoring the light burrata and tomato salad and the heavier mushroom ravioli and amatriciana. You ate with relish for what seemed like ages until you started to feel the table pushing into your swollen stomach.

Exhausted, you leaned back, against the soft booth, your fullness finally catching up to you. You subtly opened the top button of your pants, letting your belly flow out to bump the table again. There was still so much of each entree left....

You were spared from the eternal dilemma by the chef, a young and energetic guy, coming to the table to drop off a sampling of cannoli and gelato. Your girlfriend jumped up excitedly to shake his hand and take selfies, and passed the phone to you to you could take a couple pictures of them... after you struggled to haul yourself to your feet.

"Thank you so much for helping get the word out," she chef thanked her profusely. "Pina's Table is my baby. I'm thrilled how many people turned out for it."

"Thank you so much for inviting us!" Your girlfriend chirped in reply. "Everything was delicious."

"I'm thrilled you enjoyed it! It's a labor of love." The chef clapped her on the shoulder before turning to you. "And of course your seal approval means just as much too! Seems like you enjoyed, huh?" He gave your belly a playful poke.

"I wouldn't be where I am now without the belly behind the account," your girlfriend agreed, reaching over to give your tummy another squeeze, jostling out a small burp.

The pair of them shared another laugh and selfie before the chef left to go gladhand some other tables.

"Should we get the to-go boxes?" she asked, patting you gently on the butt as you squeezed yourself back into the booth.

"I think I have a little room left."

You pulled the plate of ravioli in front of you and started working on it again as she took a short video of the desserts.

'The belly behind the account,' huh? You could get used to that.

[yeehawbvby]

When the Moon Fell in Love With the Sun | Ch. 2

March x F!Farmer

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventual smut)

Chapter Summary: March and the farmer get shitfaced together.

Author's Note: I had an absolute blast writing this one hehehe. Enjoy some drunk March!!

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

After a long day of hammering silver, and after stopping home for a quick body rinse, some pain meds, and a less sweaty set of clothes, December headed over to the inn. 

She didn’t care much for dressing up, so her outfits tended to be more or less of the following: boots, jeans or shorts, a tank top, and unless it was summer, a jacket. Whether she was farming, mining, or going to the inn, she looked no different. The closest she got to being “trendy” in her own way was to accessorize and/or keep to a consistent palette, with a wardrobe mostly consisting of blues, blacks, whites and silvers. 

For tonight, she kept her hair in the ponytail she’d tied it into earlier; wore a black denim jacket, its back covered in patches she’d collected while traveling — be it for snowboarding, for the guild, or for leisure; a black camisole tucked into dark, ripped jeans; a silver chain, which she conjoined the belt loops on her right side with; and the same black combat boots she typically donned.

As expected, December was met past the Sleeping Dragon’s doors with the majority of the town’s residents. It wasn’t a Friday gathering, but going to the inn for soup and drinks on rainy or snowy days seemed to be the norm in Mistria. It was an unspoken tradition that she had grown fond of, and she drank in the sight of everyone having fun and hanging out while hooking her jacket up near the entrance.

Well, almost everyone. Olric and March were talking business with Eiland and Adeline, if the paperwork strewn across their table was anything to go by, so she figured she’d chill out at the bar before going to pester the brothers. 

After putting in a request with Hemlock to surprise her with something fruity, she was engulfed by two slim arms and an overwhelmingly floral scent.

“Hey!” December smiled, twisting in her seat to hug the source. She was one of her first and closest friends in town.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here!” Celine beamed back. 

She took the open seat next to December and practically asked for the same thing from Hemlock, making it a point to grab Jo and Reina’s attention and greet them too. December waved at the chefs, chuckling when they both flashed toothy smiles back at her.

Hemlock placed down the girls’ identical drinks as the interaction finished off. “Enjoy,” he winked at them before moving onto the next resident.

December sighed wistfully as she gazed into the bright blue, bubbly liquid. “He’s gonna kill me one of these days,” she muttered under her breath. 

Sure, her heart was somewhat (entirely) set on March, but it didn’t stop her from feeling immensely frazzled by the bartender. He was just so cool…

Celine giggled at the farmer’s state, but spared her a comment. She understood it completely: she’d once told December that, as kids, she would put on her fanciest dresses and have her mom braid her hair whenever Reina invited her to hang out at the inn, just because of the crush she had on their friend’s father. It lingered until her teenage years.

“Where were you today?” she asked. “I didn’t see you running around and getting stuff done like you usually do.”

When people described her that way, December imagined that they just saw her as a little dog, zipping through the streets to fetch things for treats... it wasn’t entirely wrong, she supposed.

Her beverage was just bordering on too sweet, but she liked it, and let it fully trickle down before she answered Celine. “Spent the day at the forge.”

“I’m surprised you could stand it for that long.” Celine winced while she took a sip from her own cup. After a moment of visible contemplation, she slid it towards December. “Don’t you hate it there?”

December shrugged, “Just the smithing part. The guys make it entertaining.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Celine mused, having recently become fully knowledgeable of December’s feelings for the redhead. She wiggled her eyebrows and rested her cheek in her palm.

“Oh gods.”

“You’re not denying it.”

December rubbed the inner corners of her eyes. “Stop talking.”

“I probably have some flowers you can bring him next time…”

Embarrassed that she knew March doesn’t actually like flowers, December simply continued, “Please stop talking?”

The blonde snickered, gratefully accepting a replacement drink in the form of red wine from Hemlock. She hadn’t even ordered one yet. “He’s good,” she breathed, watching him leave. 

It was at that moment that December began to think Celine’s crush on the innkeeper hadn’t entirely gone away.

Smiling at the thought, she suggested, “The best in Aldaria, perhaps?”

“Why are you talking about me?” March asked, appearing behind them. All the seats were taken, so he simply leaned against the counter between December and Terithia, who was deep in conversation with Landen.

December groaned. “Big head.”

Celine nodded, teasing, “The biggest.”

“It’s not that big.”

“Sure, physically, but metaphorically…” December trailed off, shrugging with a shit-eating look on her face.

March nudged her with his elbow, deadpanning as the farmer grinned. She returned the gesture before turning to face Celine on her other side. 

She looked smug, like she had something to say.

December narrowed her eyes at her.

“You can take my spot, March,” Celine told the blacksmith. Her gaze stayed on December’s while she spoke, “I think I heard Juni calling me from upstairs.”

December’s mouth gaped for a moment at the blatant lie before prodding, “Oh, did she?”

Celine dodged the question with a light pat to her friend’s head. “See you later!” 

Traitor…

“I didn’t hear it,” March concurred as he swapped spots with the florist.

“Maybe your ears suck.”

“You didn’t either, smartass.”

“Yeah, whatever.” December peered down at the two drinks before her. “Want this?” she asked, sliding Celine’s abandoned one toward him.

“What is it?”

December shrugged, making a noise in place of an “I don’t know.” She took a sip before concluding, “It’s real sweet, though.”

Ignoring the urge to taste it from her lips, and silently cursing himself for even thinking about that, March took up the offer, drowning his feelings by downing the glass.

December’s mouth hung open again. “What the fuck?” she laughed, gobsmacked.

March grunted in approval. “That’s good. Oi, Hemlock,” he called out from across the bar. 

The man reappeared from somewhere beneath the counter, an empty cup in hand. “Yeah?” he responded on his way over.

“What’s this called?” he asked, snatching December’s drink — while she was going for another sip, no less — and holding it up.

Hemlock laughed at the interaction before shrugging and telling him, “Don’t know yet,” then nodded to December, “This snow angel was my test dummy.”

The snow angel silently cursed him for warming her cheeks with that nickname. March noticed it and felt a smidge of jealousy. 

“You want one?” Hemlock offered.

“Two, please.” 

“Why do y—“ December stopped her train of thought when March took a sip from her cup, glaring at her over the rim of the glass. She heard Hemlock laugh as he walked away. 

___

It took less than an hour for the pair to be plastered, with December being just as much of a lightweight as March. They’d relocated to a table — March sat at the head, with December and Ryis on one side, and Olric and Balor across from them — but kept their focus mainly on each other.

Most recently, it was in the form of an arm wrestle.

Fairly tipsy himself, Ryis began treating it far too seriously. While December stretched her hands and shoulders, she took in his pep talk from beside her. 

“I think you can— no,” he placed a hand on her shoulder, “I know you can win this.” Whether he believed it or not, he and December were both unsure, but it didn’t stop him from doing his best to encourage the farmer. 

“I can win this,” she reaffirmed, her brows furrowed and eyes swimming with determination. 

“You are crazy strong,” he kept going.

“I am crazy strong.”

“You are powerful.”

“I am… kinda power—“

“Hey, hey,” he grabbed her by both shoulders now, pressing his forehead to hers to really drive the point home, “you are powerful!” 

With a determined huff, and after grabbing his shoulders too, she nodded. 

“Why don’t I get a cool pep talk?” March asked nobody in particular. “Is it ‘cause you all know I’m gonna win anyway?”

December let go of Ryis and turned away to stare daggers at March. He narrowed his eyes right back until Olric cut in, “I believe in you, bro!” 

March’s fiery gaze darted to the blue-haired merchant. “You’re awfully quiet, Balor.”

“Can’t I just enjoy the show?” 

December’s scowl shifted to him, too. He was unfazed, only grinning in return.

“Alright, alright,” March started, “alright.” He lightly nudged December’s shoulder with his fingertips. “Alright?”

“Alright,” December held back a giggle as she spoke, nodding curtly.

“Alright.”

March took his position at the very edge of his seat and with his elbow on the corner of the table, with December doing the same before clasping her palm with his. Their knees touched in the middle, and even with the wood between them, there was plenty of open area.

December knew after being reminded just how large and thick March’s hands were — those things were like damn clubs, probably thanks to his work — that she was doomed to fail. Even if she could manage to out-muscle him some other way, the sheer weight of his grip would probably ruin this for her. 

She did her best to ignore that, though, and put on the silliest, cockiest face she could manage while she locked onto the blacksmith’s eyes.

March wanted to just win this already — gods, he needed to win — but broke at the sight of his opponent’s expression, snorting and leaning the side of his head onto their tangled forearms. 

“Can— pfft— can you take this seriously, sir?”

March shook his head before sitting back up to the best of his ability. “Your face!”

The farmer played dumb. “What about it?” 

“You just—“ March barked out a quick laugh before imitating December. 

It broke her immediately. Her cackling only made March laugh harder, and they both keeled over, bumping heads in the process.

“Ow!” they exclaimed simultaneously, only worsening the situation. 

When their eyes met just a few inches apart, both pairs were filled with tears, and noticing that forced a second wind. December tried to blink away the wetness on her eyelashes, completely folding in on herself before March draped his upper body over hers.

It was weird, she thought even in her drunken haze, feeling the rumble of his laughter through her back.

It felt cozy.

She ignored that. “Ha! Get off me, dude!”

While March and December continued their bickering and laughing, seemingly forgetting the other three were there, their tablemates simply watched on, laughing to themselves.

“It’ll never stop being strange, seeing them like this…” Balor observed. While his face only housed his usual lopsided grin, with no more than a dignified chuckle leaving his throat, he was thoroughly amused by the sight before him.

“Right?” Olric beamed, “They’re both so nonchalant, usually.”

“Well, she is,” Ryis agreed while pointing his thumb at the girl next to him. “I don’t know if I would call an angry gremlin ‘nonchalant.’”

“Hey!” March sat up, having sensed the others talking about him. He kept his forearm in December’s back, holding her down while she hopelessly tried to bat it away, and pointed over her, getting the digit as close to Ryis as he could manage. “Who are you calling a gremlin?”

“You, dumbass!” December answered in the carpenter’s place, her shout thoroughly muffled by her thigh. Ryis nodded into his next sip of beer before nearly spitting it out as March noogied the woman’s spine. “Ow— ow, quit it!” 

She managed to reach March’s oblique, tickling him in hopes that it would trigger the end of her suffering. As fun as this was, it did hurt. He had no idea that December had been through what she had, though, so she couldn’t exactly blame him for not knowing she was a bit fragile. 

“Fuck!” March yelped, his laughter ramping back up while he scrambled away. He would have fallen out of his seat if Olric wasn’t so quick to hoist him upright.

Just a table away, Luc, Maple and Dell gasped and giggled at the smith’s choice language, and were now thoroughly invested in his and December’s antics.

“Are they fighting?!” Dell asked Ryis, who she was closest to, all too excitedly.

“Sure, something like that,” he laughed, ruffling the young lady’s hair.

“She should use a sword.” Dell stood up onto her seat, removed her own from her pocket, and began waving it through the air at nobody in particular. “That’ll show‘im!”

Luc sighed. “If only I could give her some bugs to unleash on him…”

“Why can’t you?” Maple asked her brother.

“They’re probably sleeping! I already said goodnight to them.”

“I declare you awaken them at once!”

“No, they need their rest!” Dell interjected, pointing her stick — sorry, her sword at Maple. “If they’re gonna be part of the Dragonguard someday, they need to be strong and healthy.”

“You dare defy your queen?” Maple giggled, standing up and slamming her palms to the table, sloshing some of her milkshake over the side of its glass. 

Luc placed his chin on his hands, shaking his head. “Oh no…”

Back at the other table, March and December were finally winding down and beginning their battle. 

“Wait,” December asked, squeezing his hand as if it was going to leave. “What are the stakes?”

“Fuck if I know.” He flashed her a goofy smile. “I just wanna beat you.”

After swallowing a hiccup, she groaned. “So it’s just bragging rights?”

Olric, determined to play matchmaker, practically felt the lightbulb turn on in his otherwise rock-filled head. “Why doesn’t the loser walk the winner home?”

“That’s so far, though…” 

“So you admit defeat, then?” March prodded. 

December practically growled. “Fat chance!”

With that, their tussle had finally begun… and was over just as quickly as it started.

“Best two out of three,” December insisted. 

March was about to happily take the crown, but her big, sad eyes — a result of her fatally wounded pride — convinced him to go a little easy on her. 

He never thought he’d see the day where he was willing to give up a win just for someone else’s sake. Neither did the others. The three of them shared a knowing look.

“Fine,” the redhead sighed. “Round two, come on.” He wiggled his fingers, prompting December back into position.

She shot his hand a dirty look that made him giggle. “Eugh,” she reacted, taking hold of it anyway. “Don’t do that, y’little creep.”

“What, you can’t handle a little finger action?” March winked. 

The realization hit him like a train.

Oh no.

He dropped his shit-eating grin and froze, his eyes wide; December’s immediately followed suit, her cheeks and ears darkening several few shades beyond what the alcohol could ever achieve on its own; and beside them, all three men’s mouths hung open. Then, December averted her view and yelped an explosive laugh into her free palm, hiding her face to the best of her ability while her opposite hand clutched March’s with white knuckles. 

“Wait, wait,” March scrambled, laughter bubbling in his throat while his eyes darted between the four people around him, “hold on—“

Olric was the first to respond verbally, an incredulous smile on his lips. “Wow!”

Ryis tried to react, but was doubled over in a near-silent fit of laughter. 

This stole Dell’s attention again, and while she didn’t know what was going on, she patted the man on the back in a poor attempt at comforting him. It was her sworn duty as Mistria’s future best knight ever, after all. Through broken giggles, he thanked her, but politely redirected her attention back to her friends.

“On that note,” Balor announced, “good luck and goodnight,” before retiring upstairs.

[celebtf]

Jacob and the Shirt

One afternoon, post my ice cream shop shift, I found myself surfing the web on my computer. Given my college budget, I ended up on a pirating site for movies, trying to catch some entertainment

I came across a link to a site called " ClothesFromMovies " and I thought to myself " Why not take a look" so I clicked on the link and the website came up, the site was filled with clothes that actors had been wearing on sets but was going to throw out.

I Scored this white tee straight from the set of Euphoria, worn by Jacob Elordi himself. Couldn't pass up the chance to own a piece of him.

The shirt was only $3 so I thought why not, it's only 3 dollars, not much could happend. I ordered the shirt and later got a notification the shirt was on it's way here.

Three days later, the package arrived at my door. Excitement building, I eagerly opened it to reveal a seemingly ordinary white T-shirt. However, as I unfolded it, a wave of Jacob's captivating cologne filled the air—fresh and musky, an embodiment of his essence. I took my own shirt of very fast, I slipped into the worn fabric of Jacob's old tee, enveloped in the scent that hinted at the extraordinary transformation awaiting me.

The sent drove my senses wild, and I could feel a wave of excitement. Quickly heading to my bed, I took my pants of fast, I couldn't help myself.

As I was jerking and smelling the shirt, electric shock of memories flooded in, intertwining his world with Jacob, a shock that didn't sting. Eyes closed, my grip tightened. I could see my hands transforming into bigger ones . My hair added a bit more length, casually covering my eyes like I stepped right out of a trendy Instagram post." " OH yes, this dick feels so good" I moaned now with a thick Australian accent

a flood of Jacob's memories surged into my mind, each one painting a vivid portrait of a life I never lived."

Walking past the bathroom mirror, I caught a glimpse of the transformations – and there I was, I was Jacob Elordi."