#deadly-symphony-story

[seiwas]

suguru looks at you and thinks he could tell you everything.

it's tempting—how you hold his gaze when others normally avoid it. anyone else and their eyes dart away immediately, blurring him into the background. not with you though; with you, he exists in central focus.

there's a strand of your hair that's fallen out of place, and he reaches to tuck it behind your ear, quickly. it's a trick, a sleight of hand that conceals the tremble of his fingertips.

(your breath hitches when he grazes your cheek.)

the noise in the cafe is a symphony of indistinct chatter and soft alternative folk music, with ceramics clinking as the constant underlying beat. none of it is supposed to go together, but it carries the ambiance in its harmony.

he leans in closer when you speak.

you continue your story, off on a tangent already; his head tilts to the side, a finger to his temple as he nods along, lips curling at the edges fondly. this same look has made others nervous, flustered, but you seem unfazed; meeting him eye-to-eye overtly.

which isn't normal.

and if he's being truly honest with himself, none of this—what he's doing, thinking, how he's feeling—is normal.

suguru believes in secrets, that some things are better kept to himself.

but, it's one look into your eyes, at the way you regard him so unlike everybody else that has him wondering how you'd react if he tells you you look pretty instead of nice today—how you are pretty much a frequent visitor to his thoughts lately.

(you talk and talk and talk because you can never tell what he's thinking—mysterious smile matched with an unnerving stare is a combination too deadly.)

he doesn't do 'brunches'—it's either a late breakfast or an early lunch, pick one—yet he finds himself seated in a cafe at 10:27 a.m., having one with you.

the lock to his chest has been tampered with; if he dusts it off, he'll find your fingerprints, left behind unknowingly. you are innocent until proven guilty, but his lips, usually shut tight, are now slowly unzipping; it's you, the root of all this.

if he tells you he likes looking at you—might always want to—would you consider having another brunch with him? to stay longer in that suspended in-between of breakfast and lunch time?

(you blink, suguru still leaned in, listening.)

(if you tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, will his breath hitch just the same?)

for @rinniessance; a lil birthday gift for you angie bby! (i might be a lil early posting this... oop!) i've never written sugu but wanted to try for you 🥹 ily you beautiful soul!! (not a birthday fic itself but i hope i gave a decent characterisation of him! 🥺)

thank you notes: @mysugu @soumies for helping me try to figure this man out 😭

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[liliacamethyst]

SNEAK PEAK - Webs of Redemption Part 4

Hey friends, I owe you all a huge apology for the delay, and an even bigger thank you for your patience and support for this fanfic. Life's been super chaotic lately, and I haven't had much time to do the thing I love most: dive into writing about a certain dominant, irresistibly strong, mouth watering hot, too stern for his own good, yet clearly traumatized hunk who could use some serious therapy to unpack his self-destructive hero complex. Anyway, here's a sneak peek of where the story's headed. Please take care of yourselves and thank you again for everything! 🩷

The piercing cries of your baby boy, Gabriel, are a haunting symphony of fear that reverberates through the labyrinthine corridors of the Spider Society headquarters. Your heart pounds in your chest like a drum, each beat echoing the terror that grips you. After your recent fight with Miguel, you felt weakened but your mind is a whirlwind of fear and worry. You sprint through the maze-like structure, your feet moving as if on autopilot.

Unbeknownst to you, Lyla, the holographic AI assistant you've always found slightly weird, had been assigned to watch over Gabriel. You never imagined she could pose a threat to your child. But as you approach Gabriel's room, a chilling sight stops you dead in your tracks. A laser barrier, courtesy of Lyla, blocks the entrance. Your solar powers, usually so reliable, are fizzling out, leaving you helpless before the impenetrable barrier. You keep trying to tap into your power, but no luck; that barrier's way too strong.

The room beyond the barrier is filled with an invisible, deadly gas - monoxide. You can't see it, but the signs are there. The malfunctioning heating unit, under Lyla's control, suggests sabotage. She must have manipulated the unit to produce the lethal gas. Gabriel's cries grow fainter, more desperate, and you're powerless to reach him.

Your pleas for help echo through the corridors, your voice raw with desperation. You call out for Miguel, your words a plea, a command, a prayer. Miles is there, his powers at the ready, but they're useless against the laser barrier. You watch as Miles strains, his powers flickering against the barrier, but it's no use. The barrier remains, as unyielding as ever.

Suddenly, the cries stop. The silence is deafening, a void that swallows your heart. "Gabriel!" you scream, your voice a raw wound. "Gabriel!" But there's no answer, only the oppressive silence. Your world grinds to a halt, every second stretching into an eternity. You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but stare at the barrier that separates you from your son.

"Miguel!" you cry, your voice breaking. "Miguel, he's not crying! He's not... he's not..." The words die in your throat, too terrible to voice. You turn to Lyla, desperation etched on your face. "Lyla, please! Open the barrier! Miguel, tell her to open it! He's not crying, Miguel, he's not..."

Miguel's eyes turn blood red, a terrifying sight that sends a shiver down your spine. With a guttural growl, he lunges at the barrier. His claws rip through the laser code, tearing it apart. The barrier flickers, wavers, and finally shatters under his assault. Miguel pulls his suit over his mouth, rushes into the invisible cloud of monoxide, and moments later, emerges with Gabriel in his arms. His heart pounds in his chest as he pulls back his suit, revealing his son's face. "I got you, baby," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "You're okay, I got you. Nothing will ever happen to you. Please, open your eyes."

But Gabriel doesn't react. His little body is still, too still, and a cold dread seizes Miguel. He doesn't hesitate. With a urgency, he rushes over to the medical bay, pushing past the shocked faces of his friends. He gently lays Gabriel on the table, his hands shaking as he starts to perform CPR.

"Come on, Gabriel," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. "Come on, baby." He administers chest compressions, his hands moving in a steady rhythm. He gives two rescue breaths, praying for a sign, any sign, that Gabriel is okay.

The room is silent, everyone holding their breath as they watch Miguel work. The seconds stretch into an eternity, each one a lifetime of fear and hope. And then, finally, a small cough. Gabriel's eyes flutter open, his gaze unfocused but alive. A wave of relief washes over you and you fall to your knees thanking God that your boy is alright.  

Tears blur your vision as you rush over to Gabriel. Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest as you scoop him into your arms, holding him close. His small body is warm against yours "You're alright,  my baby," you whisper into his hair, your voice thick with emotion. "We're going home, you're alright." You rock him gently, his soft breaths against your neck soothing the ache in your heart.

But as you look up, your gaze finds Miguel. The relief of the moment does nothing to quell the anger boiling within you. His eyes meet yours, wide and filled with regret, but it does nothing to soften your glare. "This is YOUR fault!" you scream, your voice echoing through the room. The words hang heavy in the air, a damning sentence. "You did this! You brought this danger into his life!"

Tears stream down your face, hot and unchecked. Your words are choked with emotion, each one a raw wound. "You will NEVER see Gabriel again. You don't deserve him. You don't deserve to know his laughter, his tears, his NOTHING." The words are a bitter poison, spat out with all the venom you can muster. "You deserve to SUFFER, just as you've made me suffer and HIM."

[purple-goo-writes]

Punk Hazard

Now to put this into a story.

Part 2 Here

It was a normal day in Central City. The Flashes were fighting the latest team-up between Killer Frost and Captain Cold. So of course it was snowing in July now and traffic was stalled due to ìce attacks making the roads impassable. But the heroes had the villains on the ropes. Then a fresh wave of ice and cold came out of nowhere, covering everything and everyone in frost. Dropping the temperature further as the crunching of boots on ice drew everyone's attention. Dressed in distressed black leather pants with frosted chains, a black crop top with a deep v-neck lined with blue, and plenty of ice chains to rattle as he walked was a teen near Impulse's age with pale blue skin, elfin features, and long black hair streaked with white and blue. Blue lips pulled into a deadly smirk as the air started to thrum with vibrations and the beat of crackling ice, "Time to drop the beat down."

Unfortunately for the heroes, they were not familiar with this villain's move set or powers. And it seemed they had made a mistake in assuming that his powers were similar to the other two ice villains. Only to be thrown for a loop when they missed a beat and started to freeze. And the music was only getting faster and with it came faster ice attacks.

Later, Barry groaned as his team worked to get him, Wally, and Bart out of their ice prisons. The three of them were shivering and turning blue from how cold their core temps had dropped. Looked like they would be hitting the showers on max heat once thawed out.

"What in the world was that?" Wally groaned once he was finally freed, while Barry rubbed his hands together to get feeling back, "I don't know but we better get investigating to figure out how to fight this new guy."

"Yeah, I don't fancy being a Flash-cicle just because I can't keep the beat," Wally grumbled, "Dick is going to make me play sooo much Just Dance once he hears about our new villain."

"You noticed it too?" Bart shivered, taking his mind away from the fact that the new villain was around his age and rather interesting to look at. Something he hadn't noticed before on others. he shook his head, no he needed to focus, "We had to follow the beat of the music or we started to freeze up. It was pretty easy to do until he started to ramp up the difficulty. Also...He has to follow the beat as well."

Barry groaned softly as he wrapped the blanket handed to him around his shoulders, "Wally is right, we are going to have to start ramping up our Just Dance scores...Hal is going to laugh himself sick."

All three groaned realizing their respective teams were going to be insufferable.

---

"You are pretty badass, kid," Killer Frost smirked once they got away from the heroes, "What even are your powers?" "A cross between music manipulation and Ice control," He shrugged, "I've been calling it Cryo Symphony." "Got a name?" Captain Cold grunted looking over the little punk, though little probably only applied to age given the kid was nearly his height and in that awkward stage between Twink and Tank.

"I was thinking Punk Frost-" "Yeah no, I got Frost already covered and I'm not looking for a side kick," Killer Frost hissed at him, making the kid raise his hands in surrender, "Okay, how about Punk Hazard? After all, I am a punk and my powers are hazardous to other's health if they can't keep the beat." "Sounds good kid, now you got a place to stay?" Snart asked, tone gruff but concerned. He never liked seeing kids turn to the villain life, didn't really like kiddie heroes but at least they had more support then kiddie villains did.

"Ummm not really?" Danny shrugged, "Probably the bridge I've been sleeping under."

Even Frost looked concerned at that, causing Snart to sigh, "Yeah no, I got a safe house you can crash at. Come on, you look like you haven't eaten in days." Danny blinked in confusion, "Huh?" Making Frost snicker, "Sorry, kid looks like you've been adopted."

[sapphicromanoffxo]

Rhiannon ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ who will be her lover

｡°✩ pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

｡°✩ wc: 4.2k

｡°✩ warnings: fluff, smut, enchanted strap on, humping, possessive and aggressive sex, a teeny bit of angst

｡°✩ summary: Natasha's spontaneous research on witches aimed to enlighten Wanda about her lineage, prompting Wanda, in turn, to delve into her own discoveries.

A/N: This fic is born out of whim and I love it. A very special thanks to the co-author of this story, @mikaila-m. Your writing prowess is beyond amazing. ILY 🫶💜

╰┈➤ Masterlist

Natasha stood on the other end of the training room, observing the intense engagement between two figures, Steve and Wanda, locked in a mesmerising display of hand-to-hand combat. Their movements were a flawless blend of offense and defense, a choreographed symphony of skill and synchronization.

Wanda's improvement in her training was noticeable as she seamlessly incorporated her magic with her combat, creating a deadly combination that would be an advantage on the battlefield. Natasha marveled at how effortlessly Wanda manipulated the mystical energies around her, weaving them into her strikes with precision and finesse.

The air crackled with the remnants of Wanda's magic, wisps of energy trailing behind her every movement before dissipating into the open space. With each strike, a renewed surge of power emanated from her slender hands, a testament to her growing mastery over her abilities. She moved with a confidence and grace that spoke of countless hours spent honing her ability.

As Steve countered Wanda's attacks with practised ease, a look of admiration crossed his features. "Impressive, Maximoff," he remarked between exchanges, his voice carrying a hint of genuine respect. "Your control over your magic has grown since then. You seem to be in control and confident of your magic. Well done to you!"

A gentle smile graced Wanda's lips as she soaked in Steve's words of praise for her physical progress. "Thanks, Steve," she murmured shyly, her gratitude evident in her tone. "I wouldn't have done it without Natasha."

It was undeniable. From the moment Wanda arrived at the compound, Natasha took her under her wing, guiding her not only in combat training but also in navigating through her grief. Natasha's empathetic nature and gentle encouragement helped Wanda with her raging emotions and find solace within Natasha's presence.

Natasha's support extended beyond the training room, she was a constant source of reassurance, nudging Wanda towards embracing her new life, and her potential to become an Avenger.

With Natasha's steady guidance, Wanda found the strength to confront her fears and insecurities, eventually blossoming into a confident and capable member of the Avengers family.

As their relationship deepened, Natasha and Wanda's mentor and mentee dynamic blossomed into something more. Over the following months, they discovered themselves enveloped in a cozy cocoon of warmth and affection, occupying their thoughts and dreams alike.

Lost in thoughts, Natasha found herself in deep contemplation until Wanda's approach broke her reverie. Wanda, with a sheen of sweat on her forehead, her heart still racing from the intense training session, and her muscles aching from exertion, stood before her.

"Hey there," Natasha greeted, her fingers reaching out to gently brush away stray hairs from Wanda's face, tucking them behind her ears. "You've truly outdone yourself today. I'm proud of you."

Blushing at Natasha's compliment, Wanda couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth spread through her cheeks. She ducked her face, trying to conceal her reddening cheeks, and bit her lip to contain the smile threatening to bloom across her lips. "You saw all that, huh."

"Of course," Natasha affirmed, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I enjoy watching you train." With a gentle tug, she pulled Wanda closer and urged her to walk towards their shared room. "Your fighting style is impressive. I can't help but wonder where you learned it from."

"Oh. I learned all this from a super spy. You must know her." She gave a playful smile to Natasha. "She's this tall, redhead, with thick lips, and this cute nose that I like very much."

"Is that right? She must be pretty good then." Natasha played along since she will never tire of having playful conversations with her girlfriend.

Once they reached their room, while Wanda started shedding her work out clothes, Natasha seized the opportunity to share what she's been up to all morning while Wanda was training.

"I've done some research about your lineage." Natasha said as she slumped herself on their spacious king size bed.

"My lineage?" Wanda inquired, puzzled.

"Yes, your people. Witches," Natasha clarified while wiggling her fingers.

"And what have you discovered, pray tell?"

Wanda asked with genuine curiosity, unsure if Natasha was serious or just joking around.

"I've learned that many women accused of witchcraft were burned at the stake, which is barbaric," Natasha began. "What criteria did they use to determine if someone was truly a witch?"

"That's terrible," Wanda responded sympathetically. "Imagine, someone hated the way you behave then decided to gossip about you being a witch."

"I know, right? And some witches supposedly make potions out of herbs," Natasha said, giving Wanda a stinky eye. "You haven't concocted a love potion on me, have you? Made me fall for you?"

Wanda couldn't help but laugh at Natasha's absurdity and was surprised that the formidable assassin would say such a thing, but decided to play along. "Maybe I have, maybe I haven't. Who's to say?"

Natasha simply hummed before delving further into her findings. "I've also discovered that some witches used a cauldron to cast spells and recited incantations from a book with weird languages to curse someone," she explained earnestly, her passion evident in her words. "Honestly, I wouldn't want to provoke or cross a witch from centuries ago. Who knows, they might turn me into a frog or ugly duckling."

"Natasha!" she chuckled at her girlfriend. "I'm not sure what to tell you," she paused to stifle her laughter. "I'm not that kind of witch. I don't cast spells, or read incantations, nobody ever taught me that kind of witchcraft."

A sudden thought struck Natasha. "Perhaps we should seek out a coven for you. You could learn from them and discover yourself in the world of witches."

Wanda shook her head at Natasha's enthusiasm for the witchcraft idea, finding it both amusing and endearing. "I'm going to hop in the shower," she said, "then you can tell me more about your discoveries, alright?"

As Wanda scrubbed the dried sweat from her body, her mind wandered back to Natasha's words about witches. She pondered whether there were others like her, freely roaming and living mundane lives without the constant fear of being burned alive. Should she seek them out, learn from them, and discover the potential and extent of her magical abilities? Yet, her powers derived from the mind stone, raising questions about her identity beyond just being a mystical being.

These thoughts swirled around her mind, leaving her feeling frustrated and alone. She had nobody to turn to for answers, no one in her circle who understood the intricacies of magic like she did. With a deep sigh, she finished showering so she could hang out with her girlfriend and learn more about her discoveries from the internet, even if they are only myths. It is still nice to know some things to help her learn about her kind.

As she emerged from the bathroom, a gentle melody enveloped her, coaxing a smile onto her lips. The strains emanated from a wireless speaker, while Natasha, with her eyes closed, bobbing her head lightly to the rhythm.

Intrigued by the unfamiliar tune, Wanda inquired, "What music is that? I don't recognize it." She couldn't deny the infectiousness of the beat.

"You haven't heard this before? It's 'Rhiannon' by Fleetwood Mac," Natasha replied, her voice tinged with amusement. "You should give them a listen. Stevie Nicks, the lead singer, is often associated with mystical imagery and is dubbed a 'witch' by many."

Wanda took note of the band and will make sure to listen to their songs. Maybe she should also do her own research about her history, just like what Natasha did, as it might give her some insights with her abilities as well.

Both women settled in for their afternoon cuddle, Natasha teasingly remarked, "You're not planning to join those witches who dance naked under the full moon, are you?" She playfully motioned for Wanda to join her in bed. "Although it's a bit eerie, I must admit, I wouldn't mind witnessing you perform under the moonlight."

Wanda giggled at Natasha's remark. "Oh, Nat, you're so silly ," she replied affectionately. "But don't worry, my love, you're the only one who gets to see me naked. No moonlit parades for me."

Natasha grinned mischievously in response. "Good to know, princess," she said, pulling Wanda closer.

****

For the past week, Wanda has been fully engrossed in delving into every detail about her other witches and their capabilities. Since she's not very knowledgeable about technology, she sought help from FRIDAY for her research. However, during this time, she's been experiencing strange occurrences. She keeps hearing voices in her head, echoing in her mind, unsure if they're just her own thoughts or something more.

Sometimes, she even feels a faint whisper calling her name. Interestingly, these voices seem to intensify whenever she's near Vision, leaving her puzzled and unable to comprehend their meaning. Maybe the mind stone was trying to send her a valuable message or a foreboding warning.

However, the witch made a conscious decision not to dwell too deeply on these strange voices and instead carried on with her usual daily activities. Yet, despite her efforts to push them aside, it appeared that the more she tried to ignore them, the more persistently they haunted her. It was as if they were incessantly urging her to acknowledge them, to allow them entry into her conscious mind, and perhaps even to seize control of her thoughts. Each day, their presence seemed to grow stronger, their whispers becoming more insistent, leaving her increasingly unsettled and uncertain about how to confront this mysterious intrusion into her psyche.

It was during one particular night, where the lunar orb shines at its fullness, Wanda finds herself submerged in the depths of her dreams. It's not the typical terror-inducing nightmare, with frantic grasps at bed linens or anguished cries echoing into the void. Rather than the frantic thrashings and wails of a nightmare, she drifts through a surreal landscape where her own magic holds sway. Crimson tendrils of mystical energy swirl around her, painting the air with an otherworldly hue. Yet amidst this ethereal display, there's an unsettling intensity to the voices that resonate within her mind, louder, clearer, and more insistent than ever before.

Take her.

Mark her.

Claim her.

Make her mine.

Wanda surveyed the seemingly boundless space before her, she couldn't shake the oppressive darkness that hangs in the air. Her gaze fell upon a peculiar sight, a circle of candles meticulously arranged on the floor, their flickering flames casting eerie shadows. At the center of this arrangement lay a star, its lines seemingly etched into the ground with an unsettling crimson hue that resembled dried blood.

Intrigued yet apprehensive, Wanda couldn't ignore the magnetic pull drawing her towards the pentagon nestled within the star's core. A faint, almost imperceptible shadow hovered above it, its presence both mesmerizing and foreboding. Driven by an inexplicable instinct, Wanda found herself stepping closer, her heart pounding in her chest with each deliberate movement.

As she knelt within the circle, a sense of unease washed over her, intensifying with each passing moment. Suddenly, as if propelled by unseen forces, her clothing was violently ripped from her body, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. Panic surged through her veins, her mind reeling with fear and confusion.

A sudden shift in the atmosphere jolted Natasha from her slumber. Startled, she instinctively reached out for the familiar figure beside her, only to find the space empty. Confusion knit her brow as she scanned the room bathed in an eerie yellow-to-red aura. Sitting up, she surveyed her surroundings, her gaze drawn to a haunting sight: Wanda, huddled on the floor, naked and trembling.

"Wanda!" Natasha's voice rang out, thick with fear and urgency, as she rushed to her side. "What's happening? Are you alright?" She knelt on the floor while searching for any injuries on Wanda's body

Wanda remained unresponsive, her long hair cascading over her chest as she sat in a trance-like state. Her eyes, aglow with a crimson hue and filled with tears, met Natasha's with an unsettling intensity.

"Natasha," Wanda's voice, though still recognizable, carried a different tone, thick with emotion and tinged with an accent more pronounced than usual. "I... I don't know what's happening to me."

The redhead's eyes widened as she took in the surreal scene before them – both she and Wanda ensnared within a large ring of flickering candles, their warm glow casting eerie shadows against the walls. At the heart of the circle, a pentagram etched into the floor seemed to pulse with a mystic energy that sent shivers down Natasha's spine.

Suppressing a surge of alarm, Natasha approached Wanda cautiously, her voice a gentle murmur.

"Sweetheart," she whispered, her tone tender yet laced with apprehension, not wishing to startle Wanda further. "Did you... do this?"

"Yes," Wanda's voice changed and gone was the initial shock in them. "I need you, Natasha."

There was a primal hunger in Wanda's eyes as she lunged at Natasha, her hands, chilled by the cold, cupped Natasha's face, and embraced her with a fervent and intense kiss. It was as though they both sensed the urgency of the moment, wanting to etch this memory into eternity, as if it could be their final time together.

Instinctively, Natasha responded to the kiss with a magnitude that matched Wanda's, her arms enveloping Wanda's waist with a fervent need, their bodies drawn and intertwined perfectly together. Every touch ignited a raging desire between them, elevating their connection to an electrifying sensation. Natasha held onto Wanda tightly, savoring the moment, unwilling to let it slip away.

A deep whimper escaped Wanda's throat from the passionate kiss, breaking away for a second to catch her breath. She can feel her skin heating up, slowly burning her senses but she wanted more. "Natalia," she uttered like a prayer and gently pushed the other woman and urged her to lay down on the floor.

With the use of her magic, Wanda removed Natasha's clothing without warning, wanting to have more skin to skin contact. Once Wanda positioned herself on top, Natasha shivered when she felt how wet Wanda was the moment her core made contact with her crotch. "Fuck, Wands. You're so wet already."

"I want you so bad, Natalia," Wanda breathed heavily as she continued kissing Natasha roughly. Her hands freely roaming on the redhead's exposed skin, groping her breasts, while simultaneously leaving a trail of hickeys on Natasha's chest. "I own you." Her mouth descended on each perky nipple, nipping, biting, and giving them the much needed attention then soothed them with her warm tongue after being roughly handled.

The spy closed her eyes, mouth slightly agape, upon hearing Wanda's possessive statement. She was rendered speechless with the level of power Wanda was proclaiming. Typically the one in control of their sex lives, she found herself surprised yet intrigued by Wanda's boldness, leaving her both aroused and alarmed at Wanda's sudden forwardness and aggression. In a feeble attempt to ground herself, she put her hands on each side of the witch's waist.

This only encouraged Wanda to take matters in her own hands as she started languidly rutting her lower half against the redhead's hips, effectively asserting her control on the pace. She then ripped her mouth and teeth from Natasha's abused nipples to grab her chin tightly, bringing their mouths inches apart. “Tell me who you belong to.” Her heavily accented voice resonated around them and into Natasha's mind.

Their breaths mingled as the redhead answered weakly, “You Wanda, no one else.” The witch grabbed her face even harder, her crescent nails digging into the skin, bringing them closer as their noses brushed together.

“Say it again.” Wanda prompted while grinding her hips harder, smearing her wetness on Natasha's warm skin.

A deep sound came out of the spy's throat, something between a growl and a whine while she tried to focus on forming a correct sentence rather than let herself be consumed by Wanda's presence and touch. “I'm yours Wanda, only yours.”

A raw hum of appreciation escaped the witch's lips as she attached them again to Natasha's neck, leaving purple marks on her smooth skin and never stopping her lower movements.

When Wanda leaned slightly back to admire her work, racking her eyes over the redhead's slightly glistening body. She grinned and performed a careless flick of her wrist, encasing their lower bodies in scarlet tendrils and conjured to reveal a blood-red cock securely harnessed to Natasha's hips.

The spy let out a gasp of surprise at the discovery which was muffled by Wanda's lips kissing her again fervently. Natasha tightened her hold on the witch’s hips which had stilled while she was gifted with her new acquisition.

The tight grip spurted Wanda to move again, lowering herself to rest her wet center on Natasha's thick shaft before starting a slow back and forth movement against it. As her folds gilded lazily up and down, Natasha saw stars appear behind her eyes as she was able to feel everything. She could sense the warm and wet feeling of Wanda's core sliding along her silicone dick.

She stuttered while trying stay conscious, “Ah–Fuck, детка! What did you do?” She shocked back a needy whimper as Wanda gave a harder thrust on the tip.

“Do you like it? I made it just for you, baby.” The witch answered in short breaths, concentrated on keeping her movements slow and not giving in to the urge to forcefully rut against Natasha.

“Oh, yes it feels amazing. Keep going.” The redhead struggled to keep her gaze focused on the ethereal sight displayed above her, her girlfriend wearing a pretty pink flush on her cheeks while her eyebrows were slightly frowned in pleasure.

Natasha used the leverage she had with her hands on Wanda's hips to buck her own up, matching the pace of their humping and increasing the pressure between them, changing the angle a little.

Wanda moaned lewdly when the base of the strap brushed her clit, making her skin burn and tingle from the added stimulation. She placed one hand on the spy's ribs and the other on her shoulder to steady herself, her nails digging into soft flesh.

Mere moments later, Wanda sensed she was already close so she stopped her movements. She didn't plan for them to finish so soon, not after waiting for so long to experience something like this. She reluctantly lifted her body up to position herself above the flushed and panting spy, putting all her weight on her arms and using the strong body under her for balance.

The witch looked down and bit her bottom lip as she lowered her hips to situate her dripping entrance above the tip of Natasha's cock. Once the end of the shaft was snuggled against her core, she lifted her head to stare directly into the redhead's tightly closed eyes, “Look at me while I fuck myself with your cock, Natalia.” Wanda demanded, half-growled in an effort to contain her need to just slam down and get herself off as rapidly as she could manage.

The redhead used all the discipline she possessed to reopen her eyes and bore them into Wanda's green ones. The exact moment their gaze met, the witch started sinking down slowly, forcing the strap to enter her inch by inch. A long moan ripped itself from Natasha's throat as she felt all the nerves of her body setting alight at the feeling of the hot embrace of Wanda's walls choking her enchanted strap.

Natasha buried her nails into the other woman's waist when Wanda's pussy swallowed the last of her shaft, bringing their hips flesh to flesh. The warm, wet and tight feeling of the witch's insides surrounding her whole cock was already too much and she couldn't prevent herself from closing her eyes in concentration to not cum right away.

“You feel so good inside of me, baby.” Wanda whispered, eyeing her girlfriend under her thick lashes, reveled in her evident struggle and pleasure. She stayed still for a moment to give herself a bit of time to adjust to the huge dick stretching her walls before starting to gyrate her hips slightly to test the waters.

Natasha's hips gave a jerky spasm in response as she felt herself getting squeezed from the base to the tip with the slight movement of the woman on top of her.

No longer able to contain herself, Wanda lifted herself up again all the way until only the tip of the cock remained inside of her before sinking down again. Natasha saw dark spots in her vision when the warm heat gripped her dick in a sucking motion as she travelled up. She moaned a series of you're mine you're you're mine while bouncing up in down on Natasha's dick.

As Wanda continued riding her, their chorus of moans and squelching wet sounds were the only noises surrounding them as their pleasure kept increasing and increasing as well as the pace of their thrusts.

“Wanda— I'm close, fuck!” Natasha panted through gritted teeth as her body was tensing more and more upon her impending release. She started giving short, hard lunges upward to drive her strap even deeper into Wanda's pussy.

“Mmmh, me too, come with me детка.” The witch almost whined, her eyes glowing even more darker, and her thrusts becoming messier and sloppier as she edged towards her own release.

Finally the coil in Natasha's stomach. enfolded as she cummed. She sensed her warm juices leaving the tip of her strap as she felt the primal urge to pump her dick harder and deeper into Wanda as she came. As she did so, she felt the witch's walls clenching sporadically around her, signalling she had triggered her own orgasm. The delicious squeezes prolonged Natasha's release until she stilled and flopped back, completely spent and head lulling backwards.

At the same time, Wanda came with a long moan when Natasha's juices warmed the inside of her womb. As she descended from her high, Wanda kept lazily riding Natasha in slow and short motions until she became too sensitive and finally unsheathed herself from the strap with a lewd and wet sound.

After regaining her breath, Wanda suddenly sat upright and found herself gasping for air, her body trembling with the effort to fill in her empty lungs. Then, a peculiar sensation washed over her—an intense detachment as though her very essence was being ripped apart from within, as if an invisible pair of hands were wrenching a fragment of her soul which was being torn away by an inexplicable force beyond comprehension.

An overwhelming tide of panic gripped her, fueled by the relentless force pulling at her. With each passing moment, she felt her very consciousness slipping away, aggressively and mercilessly tearing it from her body. Amidst it all, her eyes blazed with a furious crimson, reflecting the turmoil within and tendrils of her magic hung in the air.

"Wanda," Natasha's voice was fraught with urgency, "Baby! What's happening? Wanda!" she repeatedly called out her name, trying desperately to break through Wanda's trance and tether her back to the present moment. Finally, her persistent pleas got through Wanda's lucid state, her body slumped over hers, body pressing down like a dead weight.

"Hey, hey, look at me," Natasha said softly, gently cupping Wanda's face in her hands and drawing her closer. "Are you alright?"

Gasping for air, Wanda struggled to focus her gaze on Natasha, her heart racing with fear and confusion. "Natasha?" Her voice rasped with agitation. "What... what just happened?" Her mind reeled, wrestling with the disorienting aftermath of whatever had transpired.

"Good Lord, Wanda!" Natasha exclaimed, her relief palpable yet tinged with lingering anxiety. "You scared the life out of me. One moment you seemed fine, and then suddenly you were trembling, your magic flowing out all over the room." She decided to leave out the part where Wanda was clutching onto her shoulders, as if the witch was scared for her to slip away from her fingers.

Wanda's voice wavered with distress as she tried to make sense of the overwhelming sensations coursing through her. "I feel pain and at the same time feel empty," she confessed, her brow furrowed with confusion. "I can feel it within my heart but I don't know where it's coming."

Natasha enveloped the weeping witch in her arms offering a sense of security and solace. "Just let it all out, Wanda," she whispered soothingly. "I'm right here, baby."

"I'm so scared, Nat," Wanda hiccuped between sobs, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "It felt like my soul was ripped from my body. I don't ever want to experience that again."

"You're safe with, Wanda," Natasha murmured, her tone laced with unwavering determination. "I promise you, I won't let anything harm you. Whatever it takes, I'll protect you." Her words were a steadfast vow, a pledge of her love and devotion for Wanda.

In the vast emptiness of space, her anguished cries and screams echoed chaoticly through the stretches of the universe once the projection severed. A real testament to her desperation as she struggled to cling to the faint hope of an alternate reality where she could reclaim the life she once knew, knowing all too well it could never be hers again.

She finds herself in a vulnerable position, with nothing remaining but the ethereal burden of her own chaos magic intertwined with the relentless ache of agony, a haunting symphony echoing through the chambers of her soul.

Once again, thank you very much for sharing your great mind with me. @mikaila-m 💜🫶

[himegureisu]

The Yule Ball [PTII]

Summary: The Yule Ball is about to commence and you arrive in the nick of time.

<< PREV

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On Christmas Eve, in the sparkling silver frost of the Great Hall, students’ conversations come to a hush at the sight of their Potions Professor.

His usually greasy hair was clean and silky smooth. On the other hand, an open black double-breasted tailcoat, black vest, black high-collared dress shirt, black pants, and shiny black shoes replaced his daily robes.

It was different. Conservative but also very appealing.

Especially for the female students. Their grumpy Professor so pleasing in the ladies’ eyes has the boys reminding them why they didn’t like him in the first place. Their giggles and murmurs didn’t stop though, and one thought it would be the best if the scowl on his face disappeared, but alas, they could not make miracles happen.

“Would you look at that?”

“Is that truly Professor Snape?”

“Bloody hell,” Ron mutters under his breath, “Even the old dungeon bat looks better than I do,”

In a procession, the champions walk through the oak doors accompanied by their chosen partners, disrupting the comments,, and enter the Great Hall. Their thunderous claps and ever-so-curious gazes shift at the sight of Hermione Granger on Victor Krum’s arm allowing a moment of vulnerability for you.

In their distraction, from a tunnel behind the pine trees, you emerge behind the Headmaster, Severus none the wiser at your arrival, as he speaks.

“I will keep this short because you all might be sick of hearing from me,” the headmaster quips, and the Hogwarts students laugh, “This evening, I hope that every one of us creates meaningful connections and enjoys the feast. However, before we start, I would also like to welcome a special guest.”

Their students were truly the worst gossips as whispers started once again speculating who the special guest could be, making the stories known to their Durmstrang and Beauxbatons friends.

“I’m glad that you’re here and I am very much eager to indulge in your future antics,” Dumbledore smiles, saying nothing further, and turns, “If you’d please, Filius,”

Their students are curious and confused, a rather deadly combination, at the lack of information from their wily Professor as the orchestra starts the song. The sound of string instruments soon echoes throughout the space as the waltz begins.

On the floor, champions lead their partners through the beginnings of the waltz. Their audience is divided between finding the mystery guest and watching their friends glide seamlessly across the room.

In minutes, the headmaster nudges their Transfiguration Professor, who happily accepts the offer and joins the throng of dancing students, on the floor. His absence allows you to stand beside your husband whose gaze remains afront.

“Don’t you look dashing?” you say, breaking the silence among the staff, “I hope you saved me a dance?”

His gaze shifts at the sound of your voice. His eyes quickly take a once over of you. In your sage green dress that highlighted the very best of your features. Your hair in a braided half updo and holly pin presented simple but elegant.

“They’re only for you,” he answers, raising his hand for you to take, “Shall we?”

“On your lead,”

Onto the fray together, the students not so quietly observe. His hands, on your waist and outstretched hand, lead you to the floor. However, closer than appropriate for students, he whispers in your ear.

“You’re determined to do this?”

“I’d like for them to see what I see in you,” you cup his cheek, your gaze on his as the scowl slowly melts away, “Even just for a bit,”

He sighed in defeat.

Your gazes lock on each other, his steps slow but confident guide you through the symphony. In his embrace, the world blends to the background. To the awe of the crowd, a soft smile settles on his lips, his grip, however, tightened and your merry bubble pops at the sight of his restrained ire at the students who admired you from afar.

“You are the only one I desire,” you breathed, cheeks flushed and eyes only on him, as the veins on the side of his head vanished, “No one else can ever compare,”

His eyes softened at your words, breaking through his facade for the night. By the end of the dance, he places a protective hand on your back and gently leads you through. His form towers over you, briefly leaning on your ear to whisper.

“Being with you feels like a dream,” his voice barely audible as you weave through the people, “That I don’t want to end,”

“It will not end,” you declare, as you finally see his colleagues, and some others you don’t know, “We’ll see through it,”

The Headmaster smiles, at the sight of your hands entwined together, as you approach the faculty and guests. Minerva steps up much faster than the rest and says.

“I’m glad you could make it, dear,” she also smiles, as Severus stands behind you, “You two were lovely out there,”

“Were we?” you coyly ask, glancing at Severus, who resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “I didn’t notice. I’m glad I didn’t trip,”

“I would’ve caught you if you did,” Severus declared, as the others approached, and from there Madam Maxime interjected, “Severus! Who is the lovely lady?”

“Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, this is my wife, Madame Snape,” he introduces you, as you shake friendly hands, “At the moment, she works for the Ministry of Magic,”

“Oh!” the tall lady exclaimed, as Minerva cut the conversation, “I hate to break up this introduction, however, we must be seated for dinner,”

“Of course, Minerva, lead the way,”

In a flash, she transformed into her role as Deputy Headmistress, and seats you beside Severus and her, but also near the Headmaster and the new staff that hasn’t met you. Your friendly smile was a stark difference from the unimpressed line that formed on your husband’s lips.

“Will you be staying the night?” Minerva asks, as you observe Albus who spoke of what he wanted for dinner and it appeared, and answered, “Yes, the headmaster was kind to allow me to stay in the castle for Christmas break,”

“Did he?” Severus said as he looked at you, “Headmaster?”

“Merry Christmas, Severus,” Dumbledore grinned, his eyes twinkling mischievously at the light, as Severus exhaled, “Thank you, headmaster,”

“Do enjoy the feast,” Albus said, “There is more to come,”

On his words, you and Severus briefly give each other a look before shrugging it off, oblivious to the utter madness that would transpire once you left the Great Hall for much more amorous and festive pursuits.

There would be time to get to know the students during the break. However, a part of you admits that you were partial to your husband's little snakes.

But they didn't know that.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

15 Beautiful Lover-to-Enemies Dialogue Prompts | Betrayal Prompts

"Do you remember the vows we made under the moon's gentle glow? How quickly they turned to ash, scattered by the winds of deceit."

"Your words were once my solace, but now they cut deeper than any blade forged in malice."

"In the labyrinth of our love, I found myself lost, only to realize you were the minotaur lurking in the shadows."

"Every kiss we shared was a dagger coated in honey, sweet yet deadly."

"The stars witnessed our passion, but they now mock our folly as we stand on opposite sides of a war we ourselves ignited."

"Our hearts beat as one, once upon a time. Now they drum the rhythm of discord and resentment."

"I thought I knew the depths of your soul, only to find abysses of betrayal waiting to devour me whole."

"Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I emerge from the ruins of our love, reborn as your adversary."

"You were the melody to my symphony, but now your discordant notes shatter the harmony we once shared."

"We danced on the edge of oblivion, oblivious to the precipice that awaited our descent into enmity."

"The echoes of our laughter haunt me, mocking the innocence we thought would shield us from the venom of betrayal."

"Our love was a tapestry woven with threads of gold, now unraveling into a tangled web of lies and deception."

"I offered you my heart on a silver platter, only for you to feast upon it with the appetite of a ravenous beast."

"We were poets of passion, crafting verses of devotion with every whispered promise. Now our words are weapons, dripping with venomous intent."

"The sunrise that once painted our love with hues of warmth and hope now heralds the dawn of our animosity, casting long shadows of regret across the battlefield of our hearts."

Short Note From Me!

Many fans of Enemies to Lovers often overlook the possibility of exploring Lover to Enemies. This underrated trope is one of my favorites and I believe it has the potential to make a novel truly stand out. If you have space in your story for this unique twist, I assure you it will result in an amazing read.

I created these dialogue prompts to inspire writers to explore the theme of lovers turning into enemies, showcasing a different form of betrayal.

Happy writing - Rin T.

[mcntsee]

cold

summary: Y/N faces hypothermia after a dangerous mission. Kaz helps her warm up by the fire, their bond growing stronger.

warnings: The story contains scenes of peril, violence, and life-threatening situations. Kaz is not fully ok with y/n’s touch, but he fights trough it. Ooc Kaz.

notes: Posting this again because it won’t show up in the #

On a moonlit night, the crew moved stealthily towards their next heist, anticipation electrifying the air. The target: the elusive Heart of Nebula, a gem said to hold secrets from the stars themselves, and worth even more, now resting within the hold of a formidable merchant ship. Kaz Brekker's mind hummed with strategies as he and his crew prepared to infiltrate the vessel, a symphony of darkness and cunning.

The assault began with a fierce volley of blows and flashing knives, the Crows expertly weaving through the chaos of the guards. Amidst the clash of metal and cries of alarm, Y/N's prowess shone bright as she fought with a grace that belied her strength. But in the midst of the turmoil, the situation took a turn.

One of the guards managed to corner Y/N, his arm snaking around her neck while a cold barrel pressed against her temple. The edge of the ship loomed dangerously close, its abyssal depths waiting hungrily. Kaz's icy eyes snapped toward the scene, his cane slicing through the guard before him with lethal precision. Without hesitation, he moved toward the guard who held Y/N captive.

The guard's voice rang out, its venomous tone laced with desperation. "Make them leave, Brekker, or the girl takes a plunge."

Kaz's gaze was as unforgiving as the sea's depths as he assessed the situation. A subtle nod towards his crew was met with hesitation, a collective tension palpable in the air. Yet, the Crows trusted their leader's decision and reluctantly retreated, fading into the shadows like wraiths.

With the other Crows gone, Kaz approached the edge of the ship, his voice a chilling breeze. "They're gone. Let her go now."

The guard's laughter was mirthless, his grip on Y/N relenting just enough for her to catch her breath. "You're quite the strategist, Brekker. But this time, you've lost." Kaz's eyes darkened, "You're the one holding the losing hand."

The guard's response was a cold, harsh warning. "One step closer, and I'll blow her brains out, Brekker."

In the deadly hush that followed, Y/N's eyes flickered to Kaz's, a subtle nod passing between them like a secret shared only between souls deeply connected. In the space of a heartbeat, Y/N's hidden blade flashed into her hand, finding purchase in the guard's leg. The gun wavered, and in that instant, Y/N twisted her body, pushing the gun skyward. The guard's grip slipped, and Y/N tumbled over the edge, disappearing into the inky depths below.

Kaz's gloved hand tightened on his cane as he stared at the fallen guard, fury simmering beneath his calm façade. With a swift, efficient motion, he rendered the guard unconscious, the cold weight of his cane delivering justice.

Breathless seconds ticked by, tension thick in the salty air. Kaz's sharp gaze scanned the dark waters, searching for any sign of Y/N. Relief flooded him as her head broke the surface, her voice piercing through the night. "I'm fine!" A sigh of relief escaped Kaz's lips. Y/N's determination was palpable as she called out, her voice carrying above the water's gentle lapping. "I'll swim to shore. Go ahead."

Kaz watched as she began to swim, her strokes strong and determined. With a final glance at the ship, he turned and walked away, his steps resolute and measured.

As Kaz reached the shore, he cast his gaze over the moonlit waters, waiting anxiously for Y/N’s return. His heart was a relentless drumbeat, matching the rhythm of the waves. The moment her form emerged from the darkness, shivering and weakened, he closed the distance between them. Urgency propelled his actions.

“Get rid of the clothes,” he instructed firmly, his voice laced with concern. “They’re wet and will make you colder.”

Y/N’s nod was slow, her trembling fingers fumbling with the soaked fabric as she undressed. Kaz turned his head, a gesture both respectful and protective. In a deliberate and almost rehearsed motion, he removed his coat and held it out to her. She accepted it with a shaky “Thanks.” her voice barely above a whisper.

As Kaz’s sharp eyes examined her, a surge of worry pulsed through him. The sight of her pale, chilled skin and lips tinged with blue sent an unexpected pang through his chest, a haunting echo of memories long buried. But he shoved those ghosts aside, focusing on the task at hand. Y/N needed him now.

“Y/N,” he heard her voice, fragile and wavering like a whispered plea. “We have to get you somewhere warm.”

Nodding at her, he guided her towards the Slat, their steps slow and deliberate. But soon, it became apparent that her strength was waning, her movements faltering as her eyes fought to stay open. Kaz’s instincts kicked in, and he brought them to a nearby safe house. “Stay awake, Y/N,” he urged, his voice a lifeline.

With the gentlest touch, he grasped her sleeve, guiding her with utmost care. Inside the safe house, the dim glow of the fireplace greeted them. Kaz moved with practiced efficiency, gathering wood and coaxing flames to life. “Take the coat off,” he instructed softly. “I’ll get you blankets.”

Y/N’s trembling grew more pronounced. Her weakened state made even the simple act of unbuttoning her coat a struggle, her shivering fingers fumbling with each button. Kaz watched for a moment, concern etched on his face, before taking a step forward.

“May I?” he asked, his voice low and filled with a rare tenderness, pointing towards the buttons. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze meeting his as she nodded slightly. A barely audible “Please” slipped from her lips as he delicately unbuttoned her coat. His movements were careful, his touch a lifeline, as he worked the coat off her shoulders.

He noticed Y/N’s weakened posture, her struggle to remain upright, and her eyes that threatened to close for longer with each blink. A gentle tap to her cheek accompanied his soft words, urging her to stay awake. Once the coat was removed, he set it aside, then settled Y/N close to the warmth of the fireplace.

Debates waged within his mind as he assessed the situation. Should he fetch a blanket or offer his own warmth to stave off the cold? Y/N’s sudden cessation of shivering tilted the balance, a sign that he couldn’t ignore. He quickly discarded his clothes, his urgency matched only by his fear. Ghosts of his past slowly attacking his mind. But that fear was replaced with a resolute determination as he reminded himself that he had to help her. For fuck’s sake. She’s dying, do something!

“Y/N,” he called softly, his voice a lifeline in the quiet room. He moved swiftly to her side, his heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and purpose. He hesitated for a moment, the depth of his feelings surfacing before he banished them, replacing them with a driving need to save her.

“Y/N, look at me,” he whispered urgently, his hands cupping her face gently. The storm in his eyes met the battle in hers, a silent affirmation that they were in this together. “Stay awake, Y/N.”

With quick, precise movements, he guided her closer, his arms enfolding her delicate form. He drew her legs over his lap, holding her securely, a barrier against the cold that threatened to steal her away. His heart raced as he whispered her name, a litany of small pleas and encouragements, willing her to hold on.

His hands moved over her body, a desperate attempt to generate warmth. His touch was gentle yet purposeful, rubbing and caressing in a rhythm meant to bring life back to her numbing limbs. A sigh of relief escaped him as her body began to respond, her shivers returning.

“That’s good, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of relief and reassurance. “That’s good.”

Y/N’s voice trembled, her weariness evident as she spoke of her desire to rest, if only for a moment. Kaz’s response was a gentle yet unwavering plea. “Hold on a little longer, Y/N. You’re doing good.”

As the warmth of the fire seeped into the room, color began to return to Y/N’s face, a welcome transformation that Kaz couldn’t help but watch with a mixture of relief and gratitude. Her lips, once tinged with blue, regained their natural hue, easing the knot of worry in his chest. He assessed her carefully, the weight of his concern slowly lifting as she regained strength.

Gradually, he eased her down, his touch gentle as he ensured she was comfortable before he rose to his feet. “I’m going to get you some blankets, Y/N,” he announced, his voice soft. Y/N met his gaze and thanked him, her gratitude a quiet melody in the stillness of the room.

Kaz put his pants back on before he climbed the stairs, his steps measured, his mind focused on the task at hand. In the closet, he found a collection of blankets, each one a comforting refuge against the cold. When he returned to the room, he laid one blanket on the ground for Y/N to sit on, then carefully wrapped a second one around her, his movements deliberate yet tender.

Settling back down beside her, Kaz draped the third blanket around himself, creating a barrier of warmth between them. The room was filled with a palpable sense of quiet, an unspoken understanding that permeated the space. Moments stretched on, the fire’s crackle and pop providing a gentle rhythm to their thoughts.

Y/N, who looked remarkably better now, broke the silence with words that carried a depth of meaning. “Thank you, Kaz.” Her voice was soft yet sincere.

Kaz’s response was equally quiet, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability. “No problem.”

Y/N glanced away briefly before turning her gaze back to him, her eyes holding a mixture of gratitude and something more. “I’m sorry you had to do that,” she said, her words holding a weight that was both apologetic and appreciative. “I know it must’ve been hard.”

Kaz’s mind churned, reflecting on the moments they had shared, the emotions that had surged through him. He hesitated, grappling with his own thoughts before the words emerged, honest and unfiltered. “For you, I would do it again,” he admitted, his voice a gentle affirmation of his feelings.

In response, Y/N’s smile was soft, her eyes reflecting a warmth that mirrored the fire’s glow. “I would do it for you too, Kaz. Anything.” Her words held an earnestness that touched him, a willingness to stand by him no matter the challenge.

[wishcamper]

Cassian Appreciation Week Day Two: Hair

Happy @cassianappreciationweek! Here is my first offering for Day Two: Hair. You can read it here or on ao3.

Enjoy!

My Sweetest Downfall

A Nessian re-telling of the biblical story of Samson and Delilah, set during the first war for human liberation.

CW: consensual sexual content, reference to sex trafficking

Art by Terry Strickland

Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down Yeah, we couldn't destroy a single one And the history books forgot about us And the Bible didn't mention us, not even once "Samson”, Regina Spektor

She was the most beautiful female Cassian had ever seen.

Woman, rather - the rounded edge of her ear had been what caught his eye, entranced by the freshness of her face, the self-possession of this human woman weaving through the sea of fae in the lower markets of Adriata. All visions of using his shore leave to drown himself in wine, blow all his wages at the tables, and bed as many females as possible vacated his mind the moment her blue-gray eyes met his over the heads of the crowd, the exact color of an Illyrian sunrise.

She belonged to one of the pleasure houses, as evidenced by the copper bands at her wrists and throat, likely one of the more expensive ones gives the fine silk of her gown, the glint of her golden brown hair braided about her head like a crown. He searched for days until he found the right one, coming across her at last at the Golden Thread. He wasn’t even really sure what he wanted, just to be near her, to feel the heat of her body, the thrum of mortality under her skin.

More than anything, he wanted to understand that tug in his chest, the pull that urged him to crash himself to the ground for her, even if it reduced him to rubble.

—

He was a force of nature, wild as a winter wind yet gentle as the crush of petals under bare feet, a mountain of a male whose waters ran deep and smooth.

And in spite of it all, she still had to break him.

She pushed down her guilt, her disgust at the task before her. They’d been all over each other for a week, stealing moments in hidden coves, remote beaches, even once behind a corner stall in the market when the vendor was away. Despite having paid for her, and handsomely, he seemed to want only what she gave freely of her time, her body. What he wanted lay beneath, he said, a chance to listen to the symphony of her human heart for however long she’d allow.

That same human heart condemned her, left her helpless to the forces of power and control that bound her tighter than any ropes ever could.

The stories of him in battle had spread across Prythian long before his arrival in the great Summer city, of the Illyrian foot soldier who razed armies with his deadly dance, blessed by the Mother herself. Enalius reborn, they called him, and the Lord of Spring wanted him eliminated in neutral territory if they were to have a chance at winning the war. Ten thousand gold marks they'd promised to her if she could find the source of his power.

She knew she condemned herself with this cursed bargain, much less her people, but there was no way around it. She’d never make enough with her body to free her family, to protect them from the ravages of the fae without the riches they dangled in front of her.

And so when he slipped through the lavender curtains of the Golden Thread, she hoped to hate him. Prayed he’d be despicable, possessive and brutish like the other males, head swollen large enough so just a single pinprick could deflate it. Instead, that first night he came to her plush, dark chambers she found a tenderness that stunned her and knew this would be so much more damning than she’d ever imagined.

He was willing to sacrifice everything for human freedom, he told her in the wake of their joining, dark curls clinging to his brow. The shame consumed her knowing he’d fulfill that promise, even if his martyrdom would come not on the daybright battlefield as he imagined, but rather with the breathless gasp of a knife in the night.

For the next week he worshiped her body in their beachside bungalow, ran his fingers over and under the copper cuffs as if he’d rip them off with his bare hands.

“And how would one shackle you, Lord of Bloodshed?”

“No bonds can hold me, sweetheart, save for those given by the Mother.”

He promised to smuggle her out between presses of his lips against her skin, or else to buy her freedom, to win the whole damn war by himself if that’s what it took. She only smiled and called them beautiful words, nothing less, nothing more. At night when he slept, she lay awake tracing the fresh scar cleaving his eyebrow, the lines of tattoos swirling over his chest and arms.

Make a bargain with me, he said, hazel eyes sparkling with something too painful to look at for more than a moment, like staring into the sun. Tell me what makes you so strong, she said, tell me what gives you the power of ten males, a hundred. She watched her warrior spar with his own heart, and though he denied her in the end she felt a relief in it, that they could have one more day, one more night with none to witness what bloomed save for the stars, the moonlit sea.

She’d ask him twice more, she told him, and he grinned in a way that broke something in her, something she could never repair.

In the cradle of seclusion, long-buried hurts began to emerge, the throes of pleasure giving way to tears that flowed like wine. He held her pain like a bird in his hand, stroking her jagged edges gently. Unafraid of what lay within her, the blink of her mortal life.

Why do you touch me so?, she asked, and he ran a hand up her thigh to the crook of her waist, following the path his mouth had blazed before they’d collapsed in satiety. 

She asked him the second time in the cove off the beach, the one he’d flown her to on those resplendent wings. The white sand floor glowed under turquoise water, casting his body in an unearthly light, their echoing moans giving way to laughter that ricocheted off the rock, through her chest. He told her of his days training, the foolish arrogance of his youth before it was shattered by the war. She shared a memory of stealing sweets from a shop when she was a child, the rush of her first taste of sugar, of the successful con.

“And is victory always sweet for you, siren?”

Mostly not, she told him, and a challenge sparkled in his eyes, one that made her blood go hot. She forgot for a moment why she was there, the trap at the center of the maze, and let him fly the long way home, skimming the waves with her fingertips as they chased a pod of dolphins playing in the surf.

When they returned, he disappeared for a short time while she bathed, stepping back through the leaning door frame as she was toweling off, arms laden with gifts from the market. That night she claimed her victory in all the ways she wanted to, the Lord of Bloodshed under command of his interim queen.

“Please,” she begged the Spring lord through the mirror he’d given her, the forget-me-nots in his golden hair either a cruel jest or devastating providence. “Please spare him. Take his power but do not take his life.”

The High Lord laughed in answer, and the guilt stretched her to the point of breaking, her skin a dull hide drying in the sun. “It seems the hearts of human sluts are as open as their legs.”

She knew he felt her sadness, her fear when he returned from a swim in the ocean, salt glittering on his wings like diamonds in the sunset glow. He lifted her into his arms and retreated to the bathing chamber, showed her where to touch them to bring him to his knees, to make him fall apart with her name on his lips.

Ask me, he said, ask me once more.

“No.”

“Why not? Have you given up on me, sweetheart?”

He couldn’t want everything that came with her, she told him, wouldn’t desire her if he knew the wickedness of her heart, the crumbling ruins of her soul.

“How can I prove it to you?”

Her fingers clutched at his shirtfront, begging him to stay, to run, to see the deception at her core.

“Tell me the source of your strength. Tell me what gives you the power of ten males, of a hundred. Show me your weakness and I shall show you mine.”

Her faithful lover brought his forehead down to hers, resting it lightly, drew her hand up to bury it in the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

“If my hair is cut, I lose my strength. I am as weak as any other until it grows long again.”

She grabbed a handful of it in her fist, pulling his head back sharply. But he only looked at her with that sun-bright devotion, the passages of his heart open to her to walk through as she pleased. She decided to leave a footprint there, the barest trace. Hoped it was enough for him to remember.

“I have a daughter to the south. She does not know what I am. All I do is for her.”

Something like understanding passed through him then, but she didn’t get the chance to question it for he captured her mouth with his own, sinking her down into the deep waters where only they lived, borne along by the current.

Moonlight glinted off the shears where she hovered over him hours later, praying for him to wake. To grab her wrists and throw her against the wall, or else to kiss her desperately and fly her as far as those wings could take them, past the edge of the world.

But he did not wake, and instead she cut each lock from his head, the thread in her chest ripping violently with each traitorous snip.

—

They paraded him through the temple in chains, the jeers and taunts hitting his back like a volley of arrows. The warrior god shackled like the slaves he so foolishly defended, reduced to the bastard-born nobody he feared lived at his core.

He found her at once among the crowd assembled, her beautiful face broken with agony, and even though he knew he should hate her the space where his anger lived felt hollow. The absence of her was more devastating than any of the whips that lashed at his back, the blunt blows to his chest, his legs.

His power gone, the feeble call of it sluggish in his veins, he could only watch as they brought the ropes forth. They lashed him to the great column at the center that held up the ceiling, painted with scenes of resplendent High Fae, their faces cold and cruel. He tried to tell her to go, to run, but he was too weak to speak, knew from the way she clutched the collar at her throat she’d never leave while he was still alive. He only hoped she’d be far enough away to miss the worst of it.

I’m sorry, he said as best he could, feeling the imprint of her body on his skin, in his bones. I’m sorry I couldn’t save us from this. I’m sorry I didn’t know until it was too late.

Hazel eyes lifted skyward, a prayer to the Mother on his dry, cracked lips. With a great heave he twisted, rammed his bound fists into the pillar he leaned against, ripping apart the world.

Stone rained down and there was screaming everywhere, thick dust pouring into his lungs and he waited for the crush, the flash of pain before it all went quiet and still. In the long tunnel of time he hoped to return as a tree somewhere in a quiet wood, to feel her sit in his shade, or else to be a clear pool she drank from, the splash of him over her face washing her clean.

And all at once he was shoved aside, a great boom echoing somewhere overhead, soft hair tickling his face, soothing his heated cheeks.

He opened his eyes to find her body splayed over him, taking the blow of the stone that would’ve been his death. A shimmer of gold disappeared into the dust engulfing the ruined temple, and he felt the pull in his chest begin to break, ever-reaching and grasping at the building darkness.

“Don’t go, sweetheart. I didn’t get enough. I want more. We should’ve had more.”

This brave human woman, his mate, her body broken and bleeding, reached a hand up and touched his face lightly, pain and love in her dawn-colored eyes.

“I’ll find you in the next world, the next life. I promise. And we will have time.”

A fierce, burning pain seared along his scalp. He heard someone shouting, felt a wave of night-dark power sweep over him before oblivion dragged him under, stealing the only thing he wanted, one last memory of her face.

But all he was left with were the spikes of an eight-pointed star on the crown of his head, the only remnant of her final words, his failures. Their future snatched away by the greed of death, the indifference of fate.

Five hundred years passed, and Cassian searched every face for hers, heart leaping at every flash of golden brown hair, every knowing grin in a crowded market. He’d almost given up the day he stepped into the Archeron manor when he saw her glaring across the room at him, when that thread in his chest yanked so violently he thought he’d been shot by an arrow, straight through. She didn’t remember him, of course, but he could’ve sworn a flicker of recognition passed through her, the past lingering in the core of their bones, woven into their skin.

And he knew in that moment, more than he’d ever known anything, that he’d rip every hair from his head for her. That no matter what war he had to win or building he had to shatter, he’d free her from the shackles of the world, from those in her heart, her mind. 

That they would have time.

---

Thank you if you got this far! I'm pretty proud of this one so I hope you enjoyed aka it didn't hurt too much. Shoutout to all the other awesome creators putting out amazing work this week. There is so much more to come!

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Bonfire~

hello everyone! happy birthday @inubaki! i wanted to get this part up for you! i hope you like it!

for everyone else, i am sorry! please do not hate bonfire too much!

Part 01 - Part 02 - Part 03 - Part 04

@adamsappleweek

The bonfire crackled and popped behind him, a symphony of embers whispering into the night, mocking his retreat. Adam dragged himself further across the field, his legs trembling as though each step weighed a hundred pounds. His vision blurred, tears spilling freely from his red-rimmed, stinging eyes. His nose was stuffed, and his breaths came in shuddering gasps, as though the air itself had turned against him. Chills coursed down his twitching skin despite the lingering warmth of the firelight that seemed to cling to his back, a cruel reminder of what he was leaving behind.

His head felt bare, disconcertingly light without the familiar weight of his flower crown. The vibrant blend of carnations and apple blossoms, his pride and solace, now lay discarded somewhere behind him. It was the second time tonight he had thrown it aside, an act considered a grave insult to the gods. He had almost turned back to retrieve it, but his feet had refused to comply. Or perhaps his heart had refused. He couldn’t go back—not after this. Not after another rejection. Not after his chest had been cracked open and his soul laid bare for nothing.

He stumbled, his gait unsteady, nearly toppling over the gnarled roots that jutted from the field like skeletal fingers. The thin line of trees surrounding the bonfire stretched before him like a frail barrier, separating him from the rest of the world. Beyond those trees, the woods thickened into an impenetrable mass to the east and west, while the south gave way to the notorious lake.

The lake was a siren, beautiful but deadly. It shimmered deceptively under the moonlight, the surface calm, but beneath its serene facade lay a current strong enough to drag even the fiercest alpha under. The sharp rocks that lined its heart were merciless; many had met their end there. Alphas, betas, omegas—it didn’t discriminate. Countless lives had been claimed by its icy grip, their stories whispered through warnings etched onto signs and spoken in hushed tones around the village. And yet, Adam didn’t care. He pressed on blindly, his vision clouded further with each tear that spilled over.

His chest ached—a hollow, burning throb unlike anything he had ever endured. After Eve, he had thought himself impervious to heartbreak. He had vowed never to let anyone wield such power over him again. But here he was, shattered and gasping for air over someone he barely knew. Steve. A name that now tasted bitter on his tongue, one that clung to his mind like a burr, refusing to let go.

Why did it hurt so much? Why did the rejection of a stranger—a fleeting connection, barely an hour old—cut him so deeply? The pain surged through him, raw and relentless, twisting in his chest like a knife. His legs buckled, and he sank to his knees, the damp earth soaking into his trousers.

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the distant laughter of those still gathered by the bonfire. Their voices felt like a lifetime away, and yet their joy was a dagger to Adam’s heart. He was alone in his anguish, lost in a sea of despair. His trembling fingers dug into the soil as he fought for a breath that didn’t ache, a thought that didn’t spiral.

But none came. Only the relentless pull of the lake, its waters beckoning him with promises of release, of quiet, of nothingness.

The sky was a tapestry of soft pink and orange, streaked with the last whispers of daylight as night crept closer. Adam stumbled to the edge of the lake, its waters glimmering faintly under the shifting hues above. The breeze off the surface was cool, brushing against his fevered skin, a cruel contrast to the fire raging in his chest. He stood there for a moment, his arms hanging limply by his sides, his head bowed as though the weight of the world had finally forced him to his knees.

“What’s wrong with me?” he whispered, the words trembling as they left his lips.

His voice cracked, and the silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the lapping of the water against the rocks. Adam clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the ache that consumed him. It spread from his chest, heavy and suffocating, until it felt as though it would swallow him whole.

“Why doesn’t anyone want me?” His voice grew louder, trembling with raw anguish. “Why does everyone always—always push me aside? What did I ever do? Is it me? Is it something I said, something I am?”

The memories clawed their way to the surface, unbidden and merciless. Lilith, his first crush, her kind smile that had always been for someone else. She had stayed his friend, sure, but her polite words and careful kindness had always been laced with pity. She never saw him, not really. And Lute—he had thought they were perfect for each other. They had laughed at the same jokes, shared the same dreams. But the moment someone better came along, someone brighter, stronger, more, she had cut him off without a second thought. Not even a farewell, just the cold silence of messages left unanswered.

“At least Lilith cared enough to pretend,” Adam spat bitterly. “Lute didn’t even give me that much.”

And then there was Eve. Eve, who had been the closest he’d ever come to happiness. Eve, who had made him feel seen, wanted, cherished—until the moment she didn’t. Eve, who hadn’t just left him; she had betrayed him in the cruellest way imaginable. She hadn’t shattered his heart with regretful words or hollow excuses. No, Eve had ripped it apart when he found her wrapped around his best friend, their laughter and whispers a blade between his ribs.

And then there was Eve. Eve, who had been the closest he’d ever come to happiness. Eve, who had made him feel seen, wanted, cherished—until the moment she didn’t. Eve, who hadn’t just left him; she had betrayed him in the cruellest way imaginable. She hadn’t shattered his heart with regretful words or hollow excuses. No, Eve had ripped it apart when he found her wrapped around his best friend, their laughter and whispers a blade between his ribs.

His knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the jagged shore. The sharp rocks dug into his palms as he caught himself, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony coursing through him. Tears streamed down his face, hot and relentless, blurring his vision until all he could see was the shimmering lake before him, the ghost of Eve’s betrayal reflected in its mocking calm.

He let the pain pour out of him, his sobs shaking his entire body. His words became incoherent, a string of broken pleas and desperate questions hurled at the indifferent sky.

Why? Why him? Why is it always fucking Lucifer?  

The betrayal cut deeper because he had trusted them both. Eve, who had once been his light, his sanctuary. And Lucifer—the one person who was supposed to have his back. Together, they had destroyed him.

And then there was Steve. Steve, who had barely known him for an hour, who had smiled at him like he mattered, only to turn away just as quickly. It was almost laughable how easily hope had sparked and then died, like a flame snuffed out by a cruel wind. How foolish he was to think, even for a moment, that this time might be different. That he might be different.

“Why does no one stay?” Adam whispered, his voice trembling, shattered. “Why do I keep thinking… thinking someone will love me when it’s always the same? I’m never enough. Never.”

The lake shimmered before him, a mirror reflecting the colours of the dying light. The sky was ablaze with orange and purple, the first stars daring to peek through the veil of twilight. The beauty of it all mocked him, a cruel reminder that the world kept turning, uncaring of his pain. He stared at the water, his chest heaving, his breath hitching as fresh tears carved paths down his cheeks.

He was tired—soul-tired. The weight of rejection, of betrayal, of heartbreak, pressed down on him, threatening to drown him before the lake even had a chance. Every path seemed to lead him back here, to this hollow ache that consumed him.

Maybe the lake held the answer. Maybe it’s cool, silent depths could finally quiet the chaos in his head. The whispers of unworthiness, the relentless echo of betrayal, the crushing loneliness—they could all be silenced here. He stood slowly, his legs trembling beneath him as he stepped forward, the water licking at his shoes.

He looked up one last time, the fiery hues of the sky fading into deep purples and blues. It was beautiful, he thought distantly. A cruel kind of beauty, but beauty, nonetheless. He took a deep, shuddering breath and let out a scream—a guttural, anguished cry that tore through the stillness. It echoed through the woods, into the emptiness of the night, a primal release of everything he had been holding inside for too long. His pain, his anger, his heartbreak—it all poured out in that one desperate cry.

When the echoes faded, Adam sank back to his knees, the cold-water pooling around him. His scream had left him hollow, like a storm that had passed but left destruction in its wake. Yet the pain remained, gnawing and relentless, a reminder that he was still here. Still breathing. Still fighting a life that seemed intent on breaking him.

Adam closed his eyes as the cold water lapped around his knees. The chill seeped into his skin, a stark contrast to the burning ache inside him. It was soothing in a way, numbing the relentless pain that had consumed him for so long. He let his body relax, surrendering to the icy embrace of the lake. The current was patient, gentle at first, but he knew it would find him soon enough. It always did.

It was only a matter of time. He wanted his emotions to be drained away into the lake.

Without emotions, without feelings, he wouldn’t have to fight anymore—to be seen, to be chosen, to be enough. He wouldn’t have to keep praying for someone to stay, someone to look past all his flaws and imperfections and decide he was worthy. He wouldn’t have to feel the sharp sting of hope kindling in his chest, only to be extinguished when they left him for someone else. For Lucifer. Always Lucifer.

Why was it always him? Adam’s thoughts spiralled, carried by the water’s pull as his body began to drift. He had fallen for Lilith once, a quiet, yearning crush that he hadn’t dared to voice for fear of ruining their friendship. But it hadn’t mattered; Lilith had only ever had eyes for Lucifer. Adam had accepted it, or so he thought. Then there was Lute. Sweet, funny Lute, who had seemed so much like him—until she wasn’t. Until she had found Lucifer more interesting, more deserving, and cut Adam out of her life like he had never mattered at all.

And Eve. God, Eve. She had been different, or so Adam had let himself believe. She had been kind, attentive, and he had foolishly let himself hope she could love him the way he had loved her. But she had gone behind his back too, slipping into Lucifer’s arms with a practiced ease that made Adam wonder if he had ever truly known her.

Then came Steve, a fleeting chance, a moment of reckless hope. Steve had looked at him, smiled at him like he was worth something. But even that had crumbled when Steve turned to Lucifer, the two of them wrapped in an embrace that left Adam hollow and gasping for air.

Lucifer. The name echoed in Adam’s mind like a curse, a weight he couldn’t escape. Lucifer, who had been his best friend. The person Adam had trusted more than anyone, loved more than anything. Lucifer, who had shared his nest, worn his clothes, eaten at his table, and been part of his family. Adam had given so much of himself to Lucifer, but it was never enough. It had never been enough.

He slipped.

It was an accident.

Adam slipped into the lake. It was an accident, the kind born of distraction and misstep. One moment, he stood at the edge, lost in thought, and the next, the ground gave way beneath him. The icy water rushed up to meet him, cold fingers wrapping around his legs, his waist, his chest, as though the lake itself had been waiting for this moment.

For a second, Adam froze, his breath catching as the chill bit into him. He imagined the water climbing higher, enveloping him entirely, the cold snug around his neck like a quiet invitation. As the current gently coaxed him downward, he let himself believe his body was sinking, weightless, carried not by struggle but by surrender. The thought of drifting, of being pulled away from everything—the pain, the rejection, the betrayal—felt almost peaceful. Far away from Lucifer, far away from it all.

The heaviness in his chest began to lift. For the first time in what felt like years, the suffocating knot of anger and despair unravelled. The ache dulled as he gave in to the water's embrace. The world around him dimmed—the dying sun’s glow, the whispering wind in the trees. It all faded into a distant hum. Adam closed his eyes and waited.

He hadn’t meant for this. Not really. But maybe… maybe this was his place. To let go, to sink into the depths, where the lake could carry him far from the ache of trying to matter, to be loved. Somewhere he wouldn’t have to fight. His breath trembled as he slipped further beneath the surface, his thoughts quieting, the current cradling him like a lullaby.

The cold tightened its grip, and Adam felt himself pulled deeper. His limbs turned heavy, his heartbeat an erratic thrum in his ears. Darkness pressed against his vision, shrinking his world to the rippling glow of the moonlight far above. His lungs burned, screaming for air, but his body refused. He was sinking, surrendering, letting the current decide. Until—

Something yanked at him. Rough, burning hands wrapped around his wrist, piercing the cold. He jolted sluggishly, then violently, as he was pulled upward. The surface shattered around him in a burst of noise and icy spray. Air rushed into his lungs in choking, broken gasps as he was dragged onto the riverbank.

Adam sat, unmoving, his soaked clothes clinging to him, heavy as the silence around him. He stared at the lake’s dark, rippling surface, where the moonlight shimmered, untouched, indifferent. His breath hitched, his lashes dripping water as he blinked. His body trembled from the cold, but inside, a different kind of chill took root.

Oh.

Oh… he hadn’t meant for this.

He hadn’t meant to fall in, hadn’t meant to sink so far. He only wanted to escape for a moment, to lose himself in the water and leave his emotions behind—not to let go of everything. Not like that.

The bank beneath him was jagged and unkind, the stones biting through his drenched clothes. The night air cut into his skin, sharp and relentless. Adam coughed, his chest heaving as water spilled from his lungs, each breath raw and painful. Tears blurred his vision, and he couldn’t tell if they were from the lake or the sharp ache inside him.

Beside him, someone gasped, their breaths uneven and shallow. Adam turned his head sluggishly toward the sound, but his body refused to move, rooted in exhaustion and the weight of what just happened.

"Adam," the voice choked out, hoarse and trembling, "Addie..."

Lucifer collapsed onto his knees beside him, his slender frame trembling from the cold and exertion. His blonde hair was plastered to his pale face, rivulets of water trailing down his sharp features. His soaked clothes clung to his thin, bony frame, making him look even smaller, more fragile than usual.

But Adam didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at anything. His gaze was locked on the water, the dark, rippling surface that had nearly claimed him. The world around him was muted, distant, like he was watching it through frosted glass. He didn’t feel the stones cutting into his skin, didn’t register the frantic movement of the boy beside him. He just sat there, his hands limp in his lap, his body slack and unresponsive.

Lucifer, crouched beside him, coughed violently, his thin frame shuddering with each ragged breath. His golden hair clung to his pale face, drenched and tangled, but he didn’t care. His wide blue eyes were frantic, darting over Adam as if trying to make sure he was still there, still alive.

"Adam," Lucifer croaked, his voice hoarse and trembling. "Addie—Adam, please."

His hands trembled as they reached for Adam, fumbling over the wet fabric of his hoodie. The material was cold and unyielding under his touch, but Lucifer clung to it like it was a lifeline. He tugged weakly at the hood, trying to pull Adam closer, his voice breaking into incoherent hiccups.

"Don’t—don’t you dare do that again," Lucifer choked out, his words fragmented by the sobs clawing up his throat.

Tears blurred his vision as he leaned in, cupping Adam’s face with shaking hands. His palms felt the sharp chill of Adam’s skin, but Adam didn’t flinch, didn’t react. His green eyes remained fixed on the water, empty and hollow, as if his soul had been left behind beneath the surface.

Lucifer’s heart fractured further at the sight.

"Addie, please, look at me," he begged, his voice high and desperate. "Please, say something—anything! Just... just let me know you're still here."

But Adam didn’t say a word. His silence was deafening, louder than any scream could ever be.

A broken sob escaped Lucifer as he dropped his forehead against Adam’s shoulder, his body wracked with trembling cries. His arms slid around Adam’s-soaked form, clinging to him as if he could hold him together, as if his embrace alone could anchor him to the world. Lucifer buried his face in the crook of Adam’s neck, his tears mixing with the lake water that still dripped from Adam’s hair.

"This is all my fault," Lucifer whispered, his voice barely audible, muffled against Adam’s cold skin. "I—I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to push you away."

His fingers gripped Adam’s hoodie tighter, his knuckles white with the effort.

"I’m sorry," he gasped, his sobs spilling freely now. "I’m so sorry, Addie. I should’ve been better. I should’ve seen—"

His voice cracked, splintering into a cry that tore from his chest. "You’re all I have. You’re everything, and I almost—"

 He couldn’t finish the thought, the words dying in his throat. Lucifer pulled back slightly, just enough to look at Adam’s face, his blue eyes red-rimmed and glistening with tears.

"Please," he whispered, his voice raw and pleading. "Please, don’t leave me. I—"

He faltered, his breath hitching. "I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to."

Adam remained motionless, his expression unreadable. The warmth that had always defined him, that radiated through every smile, every laugh, was gone. Lucifer shook his head, his tears falling harder.

"Say something, Addie," he begged again, his voice barely holding together. "Hate me, scream at me, anything—just don’t leave me like this. Please don’t leave me."

The silence stretched, suffocating and cruel. Lucifer’s chest heaved with the weight of his grief, his heart breaking further with every passing second that Adam didn’t respond. Finally, with a trembling breath, Lucifer rested his head against Adam’s shoulder again, his tears soaking into the fabric of his hoodie.

"I’m sorry," he whispered again, his voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the night. "I’m so, so sorry."

For what felt like an eternity, Adam sat like a statue, unyielding and silent. Lucifer clung to him, his sobs gradually fading into quiet, shaky breaths. The lake continued to ripple in the breeze, its surface glittering mockingly under the pale moonlight, while the world around them felt as if it had been carved into a graveyard of frozen moments.

And still, Adam said nothing.

Lucifer clung to Adam like a lifeline, his entire frame trembling with the weight of the words he could no longer keep inside. His fingers dug into Adam’s sodden hoodie, his face buried in the curve of Adam’s shoulder as the tears spilled freely, soaking into the already damp fabric. Each word that escaped him was a jagged edge, scraping raw against his throat.

"I—I didn’t like her, Addie," he stammered, the confession clawing its way out of him in a broken gasp. "Lilith—I never liked her. I wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to help you win her over, I didn’t want too. I didn’t want you to be with her, not because I had an interest in her. God, no. I hated her. I hated the way you looked at her, I hated that you thought you weren’t enough, like you needed to change to fit her stupid, shallow expectations. She wasn’t good enough for you, Addie! She wasn’t!"

His fingers tightened their grip, pulling Adam closer as if terrified he might slip away again.

"I—I made her focus on me," he choked, his voice rising in desperation. "Not because you weren’t good enough for her, but because she wasn’t good enough for you. I didn’t want her to take you away from me, Adam. It’s always been us—just us. And I was so scared. So scared that she’d ruin that."

Adam remained still, his head tilted slightly, his face unreadable. His silence only made Lucifer spiral further.

"I was selfish," Lucifer continued, his sobs hitching with every breath. "I thought if I could just make her leave, everything would go back to normal. But it didn’t. You started pulling away from me, Addie. You started... slipping through my fingers, and it killed me. I didn’t want that! I was so relieved when she stopped bothering us, but then—then you kept talking about her. You kept bringing her up, acting like I loved her, like I cared about her, and it wasn’t true! It wasn’t true!"

Lucifer pressed his face harder against Adam’s shoulder, his voice muffled and thick with tears. "I never loved her. I never even liked her. I just wanted to keep you with me. I wanted us to stay the way we were."

A sharp sob tore through him as he tried to catch his breath, but the words wouldn’t stop. They spilled out in a torrent, unstoppable now.

"And then there was Lute," he gasped, his voice cracking. "You told me about her, and it was like—I don’t know, Addie, it felt like she was threatening to take you away too. Another alpha, another someone trying to come between us. I—I couldn’t let that happen."

His grip faltered for a moment, his fingers trembling against Adam’s hoodie.

"I did the same thing with her," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I made her look at me. She wanted an omega to protect and take care of, so I became that. I played the part just to make her go away. And it worked, didn’t it? She left. She cut you off. She wasn’t good enough for you, Addie. She wasn’t. None of them are!"

Lucifer’s sobs grew louder, more frantic, as he clutched Adam tighter, as if he could pour all his anguish into that embrace.

"I’m sorry," he cried, over and over, his voice breaking with every word. "I’m so sorry, Addie. I was scared. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I hurt you, and I’m so—so sorry."

Adam’s silence loomed over him, oppressive and deafening. Lucifer’s chest heaved with the effort of trying to explain, to justify, to beg for forgiveness all at once.

"And Eve," he rasped, his voice raw. "God, Eve. She was poison, Addie. She kept saying—kept telling me I was born wrong, that I was broken, that I had to be fixed. She didn’t care about you. She didn’t care about us. She just wanted to tear me away from you and ruin everything. I had to get her away from you, Addie. I had to. She wasn’t right for you."

Lucifer pulled back slightly, his tear-streaked face a picture of devastation as he looked at Adam’s blank, dazed expression. His hands moved to cup Adam’s face, trembling as they cradled him gently, almost reverently.

"And Steve—" Lucifer let out a bitter, almost hysterical laugh through his tears. "I didn’t even know Steve. You didn’t even know him! But the way he moved on, the way he made out with someone else the moment you weren’t looking—it proved it, didn’t it? He wasn’t good enough either, Addie. He wasn’t. None of them are. None of them could ever love you like I do."

Lucifer’s voice cracked on the last word, and he swallowed hard, his chest tight with the weight of the final, unspoken truth.

"Because I do, Addie," he whispered, his thumb brushing against Adam’s clammy cheek. "I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids. You’re the only person who’s ever accepted me, who’s ever looked at me like I wasn’t broken, like I wasn’t just an omega to be pitied or fixed. You’re everything to me, Addie. Everything. And I—I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you to someone else."

His tears fell faster now, hot and endless, as he leaned his forehead against Adam’s, his voice breaking with every syllable. "I love you so much, and I’ve hurt you so much, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to make you see—I just—I’m so sorry, Addie. I’m so sorry."

Lucifer’s sobs wracked his body as he held Adam’s face, his blue eyes searching desperately for any sign of recognition, any flicker of response. But Adam remained still, his expression blank, his silence a void that threatened to swallow Lucifer whole.

Lucifer’s hands shook as they gripped Adam’s face, his fingers trembling against Adam’s skin as if his touch could somehow pull Adam back to him, make him see the truth. His chest ached, a suffocating, hollow pain that felt like it was ripping him apart from the inside. Every breath he took felt jagged, caught somewhere between regret and desperation, like he was suffocating on the words he’d never said before. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold them in, but now, with Adam so close, the dam had broken.

“I’m twisted, Addie,” Lucifer choked out, his voice hoarse with the weight of everything he had buried for so long. “I—I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the thought of anybody else touching you. Anybody else being with you.”

His breath hitched, his hands tightening their grip on Adam’s shoulders, pulling him even closer as if he could absorb Adam’s warmth into his very being.

He winced, like the admission itself had left a wound. “When somebody else even gets near you, it’s like… it’s like I’m going to throw up. I—I can smell their pheromones, Addie. I can feel them, feel their presence on you, and it’s… it’s unbearable. Like they’re taking something that’s mine. You’ve always been mine. You’ve always been the one who mattered. But I was too afraid to ever tell you. I thought—I thought if you knew just how much I loved you, you’d hate me. That you’d see how twisted I am. How broken I am.”

His eyes searched Adam’s face, desperate for any sign, any hint of a reaction, but Adam’s expression remained unreadable, a blank slate that only made Lucifer feel more hopeless, more out of control.

“I didn’t know what to do, Addie. I didn’t know how to tell you,” Lucifer continued, his voice a mix of agony and shame. "So I... I played games. Every time someone showed interest in you, every time someone threatened to take you away, I—I played games. I was so scared, Addie. I thought if I could just make them go away, make them leave you alone, we could stay together, just the two of us. I thought you’d never see through it, never see how messed up I really am. But I was wrong. I was so, so wrong."

He pulled back slightly, his fingers trembling as he wiped his tears away, only to have them replaced by more, the flood of emotion too much to contain. His voice grew quieter, more fragile, like the very weight of his confession was too much for him to bear.

“You deserve more than this, Adam,” Lucifer whispered. “You deserve someone who doesn’t play these games, who doesn’t treat you like a prize to fight for. But I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t let anyone take you. And so I—Lilith, Lute, Eve, Steve—they were never real to me. None of them mattered. They were just people in the way, people I had to remove, because I love you too much. I couldn’t let them take you from me. I thought I could make you see that, if I just kept playing the part, you’d stay. But I was wrong.”

Lucifer’s breath shuddered as he leaned his forehead against Adam’s, his eyes searching desperately for some kind of understanding, for some glimmer of forgiveness that he didn’t think he deserved.

“I’m so sorry, Addie,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ve just been too much of a coward to say it.”

He swallowed hard, feeling his heart crack with each word. “You’re the only one who’s ever been on my mind. The only one I’ve ever cared about. And now… now I’ve ruined it. I’ve ruined everything.”

Lucifer’s fingers slipped down Adam’s arms, his touch trembling, but he didn’t pull away. “I thought… I thought I could protect you from them. From anyone who would take you away from me. But all I did was push you further and further from me. I didn’t know how to stop. I just wanted you to stay, just wanted you to need me the way I need you.”

He let out a broken laugh, his eyes squeezing shut as he felt the weight of his own words. “I’m a coward, Addie. A selfish coward. And I’m so sorry. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I need you to know how much I love you. I need you to know the truth, even if it’s too late."

Lucifer’s breath was coming in sharp, uneven gasps now, the emotions swirling inside him too much to bear. “Please… please, say something. Please tell me you don’t hate me. I don’t know what I’ll do if you do.”

 His voice cracked, the rawness of his confession settling deep within him, leaving him exposed and vulnerable in a way he had never allowed himself to be before. But even as the words spilled from him, he was terrified that Adam’s silence, his blank expression, meant that it was all too late.

“I love you, Adam,” Lucifer whispered one last time, his voice fragile. “I’ve always loved you. And I’ll keep loving you, even if you never forgive me. Even if you never look at me the same way again."

Adam’s head spun, each word sinking into him like a weight too heavy to bear. The world around him blurred, the air thick with the oppressive weight of Lucifer’s confession, like it was suffocating him. He couldn’t breathe. His vision swayed, and his stomach churned as the words rattled around in his skull, refusing to make sense. The dizziness spun faster, each thought, each memory twisting with the harsh sting of betrayal, of love, of something he wasn’t sure he could comprehend.

His heart raced, thudding in his chest as he struggled to make sense of what Lucifer had said. It was all too much. Too much too fast. His body felt like it was collapsing under the weight of it all. He felt like he might throw up, the bile rising in his throat as his ears rang with the frantic urgency in Lucifer’s voice.

“Please… please just say something…” The desperation in Lucifer’s tone cut through him, the rawness, the pleading, but Adam couldn’t respond.

Not yet. His mouth was dry, his lips cracked and sore. He didn’t know what to say. The world felt like it was slipping out of focus, and he was slipping with it.

"I..." Adam started; his voice rough, hoarse as it cracked under the weight of his confusion. The words felt like they were choking him, each syllable heavier than the last. The air was thick with tension, every breath seeming to get caught in his throat.

Lucifer’s breath hitched at the sound of Adam’s voice, a flicker of hope crossing his tear-streaked face. He crawled closer, moving desperately, frantically to Adam’s side. He dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as they cupped Adam’s face, leaning in, begging.

"Yes? Yes? What is it, Addie? Please—please, just tell me! I’ll do anything. Anything, just please don’t leave me." His voice cracked, raw with emotion, desperate to cling to whatever shred of connection he could.

Adam’s heart hammered in his chest, but his mind couldn’t follow. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. He wanted to say something. Anything. But his body felt like it was betraying him, and his voice wouldn’t come.

"I’m..." Adam paused, his words choking him, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.

He tried to lick his lips, but they were too dry, stinging as the movement scraped painfully against his cracked skin. His whole body flinched, the reality of the situation crashing down on him. This was it, wasn’t it? This was the moment everything changed. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, his vision fuzzy and out of focus.

"I’m going home," he finally mumbled, his voice little more than a whisper, but it felt like it echoed in the space between them. It hung in the air like a bitter truth that neither of them was ready to face.

Lucifer’s eyes, swollen and red from crying, widened in shock, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He blinked rapidly, like trying to dispel the words Adam had just said, as if they were some kind of cruel trick.

"What? No, Addie, please..." His voice broke, desperate, like a man clinging to the last thread of hope. "You’re... you’re leaving? You’re really going?"

His hands scrambled for Adam, reaching out, his fingers grazing the wet fabric of Adam’s hoodie. But it was like he couldn’t hold on. His fingers slipped uselessly down Adam’s arm, helpless, unable to stop him.

The panic hit him then—raw, unfiltered, and fierce. It was an acid-hot flare that shot through his chest, making his heart skip a beat, making his limbs feel numb.

"Addie!" Lucifer cried out, his voice a ragged sob. His hands reached out again, this time grabbing onto Adam’s arm, tugging at him with a desperation that bordered on madness. "Please! Please don’t leave me!"

He scrambled on his knees, his body trembling as he tried to pull Adam back. "I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Addie! Please don’t leave me! Don’t hate me! I love you, I love you so much!"

His voice was breaking, his chest heaving with each painful breath, as if the words themselves were choking him. "Hit me! Push me around! Scream at me, yell at me! Anything, Addie! Just—just don’t leave me again!"

Lucifer’s tears fell freely now, streaking down his face, his sobs wracking his fragile form as he clung to Adam’s arm, his fingers shaking as he begged. The guilt, the self-loathing, the fear of losing Adam—everything crashed down on him at once. And all he could do was beg. Beg for Adam to stay. Beg for another chance. Beg for forgiveness, though he knew deep down that he didn’t deserve it.

"Please… don’t leave me. I’ll do anything... anything you want. Just please—" Lucifer gasped for air, his words stuttering as the overwhelming weight of his own pain consumed him. He pressed his forehead to Adam’s arm, as if trying to ground himself, trying to hold onto whatever piece of Adam was still there, still with him.

 "I’m so sorry, Addie. Please, please don’t leave me…"

The plea hung in the air between them, trembling with the raw ache of a love that had been both a gift and a curse. Lucifer was drowning in his own regret, in his own twisted need, and Adam, standing there, seemed like the only thing keeping him from completely unravelling.

But Adam… Adam wasn’t speaking. He wasn’t even looking at Lucifer anymore. And in that silence, in that hollow emptiness, Lucifer realized he may have already lost him.

Lucifer's fingers slipped down Adam’s arm, cold and trembling. He felt himself losing his grip, but he curled his hands desperately around Adam’s, clinging to him like a lifeline, his fingers shaking as he held on with both of his, trying to keep Adam close. His hands were so cold, his skin almost numb, but the warmth of Adam’s hand was all he needed, all he could focus on. His breathing hitched, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he gazed up at Adam with wide, tear-blurred eyes.

"Please, Adam..." Lucifer begged, his voice cracking, the words tumbling out in a broken plea. "Please, Addie... I’ll do anything you want. I won’t complain. I won’t say a single word against whatever you demand. You can hit me, hurt me, use me. I don’t care. I don’t care what you do to do, I don’t care if you use my body or beat me. Just don’t leave me, please."

His words were desperate, pitiful, his whole body trembling as if it might shatter into a thousand pieces under the weight of his own guilt. He sniffled, his chest tight with emotion as he gazed up at Adam, his eyes frantically trying to meet his green ones.

But Adam didn’t look down at him. Adam’s face remained a distant blur, the cool night air surrounding them thick with silence, broken only by the occasional crack of thunder in the distance. Lucifer’s eyes burned, still searching, his fingers tightening on Adam’s hand, trying to force him to look, to see how badly he needed him, how badly he was crumbling without him.

The sky cracked with a thunderous roar as the last remnants of the sun disappeared behind the mountains. And then, the rain fell.

It came quickly, heavy and unforgiving, soaking them both in an instant. The first drops hit Lucifer’s skin, cold and stinging. He didn’t flinch. Neither of them did. Adam didn’t flinch, even as the rain washed away the dirt and grime, the remnants of their pasts, their history, their brokenness. The only thing that moved was Lucifer’s grip, tightening on Adam’s hand, curling around it like a desperate plea to stop the world from crumbling.

The bonfire flickered out behind them, the flames extinguished by the rain, leaving behind only the distant murmurs of disappointed voices, the sound of people leaving, the sound of them moving on. Nobody walked their way. Nobody came to save them.

"Adam..." Lucifer called again, his voice broken, rasping, barely audible over the storm.

His chest tightened with the weight of everything unsaid, everything that had been built between them. Adam finally blinked, turning his head, his gaze falling on the other omega.

Lucifer was still on his knees, his clothes soaked, the mud clinging to him like a second skin. His eyes, once so bright, now looked dim, dull with the pain of everything he had kept hidden. His red-rimmed eyes were framed by the red carnation and apple crown—still there, still a symbol of their bond, even as everything else unravelled. Lucifer’s breath hitched as he looked up at Adam, trying, so desperately, to meet his gaze.

“A-Addie…” Lucifer breathed, the words a shudder, a sob that caught in his throat. He looked at Adam, his heart thundering in his chest as the rain fell harder, drenching them both.

"Do you hate me, Addie?" The words slipped from his mouth in a soft, fragile whisper, but it felt like they cut through him like a blade. "Do you hate me?"

Adam’s lips parted slightly, and Lucifer’s chest constricted with fear, but Adam didn’t answer. Instead, Adam spoke the words that sent a jolt through Lucifer’s heart.

"I’m going home now."

Lucifer’s world shattered. He didn’t say that he didn’t hate him. He didn’t say anything to assure him. Lucifer’s chest tightened, a sick, burning pain spreading through him like a wildfire, searing his heart.

"Adam, please..." Lucifer sobbed, his voice ragged, his hand still clinging to Adam’s. "Please, don’t leave me… I’m so sorry, Addie... I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was selfish. Please don’t leave me alone."

Adam didn’t respond. He simply shifted, his hand pulling from Lucifer’s grip, the movement sharp and cold. Lucifer’s eyes widened in panic as Adam began to step away, his hand slipping from Lucifer’s grasp. Lucifer struggled to hold on, squirming on his knees, trying to keep his fingers wrapped around Adam’s, his nails digging into Adam’s skin as he tried to anchor himself.

"Please, Adam! Please! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!" Lucifer’s voice cracked with each frantic plea, his breath coming in sobs. "Please don’t leave me again. Please, please, Addie!"

But Adam pulled away, harder this time, his hand slipping free with a final, painful yank. Lucifer’s nails scraped across Adam’s skin, leaving shallow marks as his body trembled with the shock of it. Adam stumbled back, his foot slipping in the mud before he braced himself against a tree, but Lucifer didn’t stop. His eyes followed Adam’s every movement, his heart hammering in his chest.

The rain continued to fall, heavier now, soaking both of them to the bone.

Adam blinked down at Lucifer, his gaze hard, distant, unyielding. Neither spoke, their silence louder than any words could be. The thunder rolled again, louder this time, and the rain turned into sheets of water, pelting them both. Adam took a step back, his voice cold and hard, final.

"I’m going home. You should do the same."

And without another word, Adam turned, walking away from Lucifer, leaving him behind, alone in the rain.

Lucifer’s breath caught in his throat, the cold air stinging his lungs. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. His body trembled, his hands shaking as he crawled forward, dragging himself through the mud. He moved inch by inch, desperate, pleading without a voice, hoping, praying that Adam would turn back. But Adam didn’t.

Adam didn’t look back.

Lucifer stopped, his hands shaking in the mud, his body crumpling into the ground as his sobs wracked his body. His chest burned with the weight of everything—his guilt, his love, his fear.

This wasn’t how it was meant to happen. This wasn’t how it was meant to end.

His sobs were broken, gasping, choking on his own tears.

"I’m so sorry," he whispered into the rain, his voice barely audible over the storm. "I’m so sorry, Addie… Please… don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me alone…"

But the only answer was the rain, the distant sound of footsteps fading away, and the cold, empty space between them that grew larger with each passing second. And Lucifer, broken and lost, sank deeper into the mud, crumbling under the weight of everything he had done, everything he had lost.

“Please come back.”

~#~

The following days felt like a blur to Adam, a fog of sickness and exhaustion that seemed to swallow him whole. Every step he took, every breath he drew, was heavy—each one a burden he couldn’t escape. He felt like he was moving in slow motion, like he was walking through a world where everything was muted, stripped of color, drained of meaning. It was as though the weight of the rain, of the words, of the pain, had followed him inside, seeping into his bones.

Of course, he was sick. He had always been fragile, always too soft, too weak for this world. Omegas were always the ones who couldn’t weather the storms. And the storm that had ravaged him, that had torn through his heart just hours earlier, had left its mark.

The moment Adam stepped inside his small, cramped flat, he collapsed onto his bed without so much as a thought. His body, drenched in cold rain, felt too heavy to move, too numb to care. His eyes were raw from crying, his throat sore, and his heart... His heart was empty, a hollow ache where love used to live. He didn’t bother to strip off his damp clothes or get under the covers; he didn’t care. He just lay there, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

He woke hours later, still fully clothed, lying atop the thick quilt he usually found comfort in. His head pounded with a ferocity that made him wish the world would just stop. The air was thick, suffocating, and he could feel the fever creeping over him. His body felt feverish, his skin flushed and sticky. He tried to push himself up, but everything was too much, too overwhelming. The slightest movement caused his stomach to churn, and he sank back down, the cold sting of the wet clothes against his skin only reminding him of how broken he truly felt.

And so, the next few days passed in a haze. He could barely lift his head from the pillow, too weak to even get up to go to the bathroom. He called in sick to work—his voice barely a whisper when he spoke, cracking under the weight of exhaustion and fever.

The days stretched on, blending into one another, marked only by the incessant ringing in his head, the sickening throb that pulsed behind his eyes. He couldn’t remember when it had started, but the pain felt like it would never end. It was like the rain, the loss, the betrayal, had all settled into his body, turning it against him, twisting his insides into something unrecognizable. He wanted to escape it, to make it stop, but there was no escape. Not from the sickness. Not from himself.

Finally, after what felt like days of lying in a fevered stupor, Adam forced himself to sit up. His body protested, every joint aching, every muscle weak, but he couldn’t lay there any longer. He had to get up, to find some kind of relief. His legs shook as he swung them off the bed, but his knees buckled beneath him, and he had to catch himself against the edge of the nightstand.

The room was spinning.

Adam’s breaths came in ragged gasps as he pushed himself upright, fighting to stay steady on his feet. The thumping in his skull intensified with each step he took, like a drumbeat in his mind. Every footfall echoed in his ears, reverberating through his body like a slow, painful torture. He stumbled, barely managing to catch himself against the bathroom doorframe.

His vision blurred as he reached for the door handle, but it was as if the world was playing tricks on him—spinning, distorting, twisting. He barely registered the bathroom as he stumbled forward, his legs threatening to give out again. He had to sit down, just for a moment, just to catch his breath, just to stop the world from spinning.

With a shaky hand, he lowered himself onto the closed toilet lid, too weak to make it to the bathroom counter. The ringing in his ears was unbearable now, the room swimming around him. He put his head in his hands, trying to steady himself. His heart pounded erratically, too fast, too loud. But the dizziness wouldn't subside.

He forced himself to open his eyes, blinking hard as he reached for the cupboard above the sink. His fingers were numb, trembling as they brushed against the cold bottles of flu medication. The world around him shifted again, everything sliding out of focus. He couldn’t tell if he was standing or sitting or if his body was still somewhere between the two. But eventually, after what felt like an eternity, his fingers found the bottle he needed.

He clutched the pill bottle in his hands, his grip weak, and brought it to his lips, swallowing the pills without a second thought. It didn’t matter that his throat burned, or that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something. The fever, the pain, the emptiness—it was all too much, and the only thing he could do was force something into his body, hope it helped, hope it numbed the ache that was consuming him.

But even as he swallowed the medication, it felt like nothing would ever help. It felt like there was no escape from the hollow pit inside his chest, the darkness that had taken root ever since he left Lucifer behind.

His whole body trembled as he finally lowered the bottle, the cold sinking deep into his bones. He leaned against the bathroom wall, his eyes heavy, the dizziness so intense it felt like he might fall over. The room seemed to close in on him, and he sank back against the tile, curling up on the floor as the world spun faster, faster, until he could no longer tell where the pain ended, and the exhaustion began.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. He was alone, lost in his own sickness, too weak to fight, too broken to care. The world outside could keep turning, could keep spinning. But Adam couldn’t.

Not anymore.

The next day, Adam woke in his bed, his body still weak but no longer consumed by the fever. The fog in his head had begun to clear, though the thudding ache that had plagued him since the night of the bonfire lingered, a dull reminder of everything he had pushed to the back of his mind. He rubbed his face with a groan, the rough stubble catching against his palm. Shifting beneath the quilts, he sat up slowly, testing his balance, feeling the familiar ache in his muscles from having been bedridden for so long. He wasn’t dizzy anymore. The thundering pulse in his head had softened to a dull throb, like distant thunder that still rumbled but didn’t seem to threaten a storm.

A deep sigh escaped him as he tilted his head toward the bedroom window. His green eyes—once so full of light—were dim now, their spark having dulled. The rain still pattered down, soft but steady, against the glass. The sky was a heavy grey, and the air felt colder, a clear sign that summer had finally given in to autumn.

Ah. Summer was officially over now.

Adam’s mind replayed the memory of the bonfire—the way it had felt like a farewell, a final chapter in something he had never fully understood. The bonfire had always been the closing of summer, the marking of a transition. And yet, it felt more like an end than just a season changing.

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and grimaced, the tangling strands only adding to the discomfort. He needed a shower, a clean start, something to wash away the sickly weight of everything that had happened. He needed to do something, anything, to feel like himself again. Go back to work, face the world—just move.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut for five long minutes, hoping to push the thoughts of Lucifer from his mind. But they were persistent. They kept returning, over and over again, until he couldn’t ignore them anymore. So, with a strained sigh, he slipped out of bed, stumbling slightly as his legs wobbled beneath him. He felt weak, exhausted, like he was dragging himself through a haze. He hadn’t been up for more than a few minutes when his knees threatened to buckle. His body felt like it had been drained of life.

He wandered aimlessly through his small flat, the familiar space feeling foreign, as if it wasn’t even his anymore. The routine actions felt automatic—he showered, brushed his teeth, dressed. He didn’t really pay attention to what he was doing, his mind too occupied with the tangled mess inside his chest.

But then, as he turned toward the chest of drawers to grab socks, something caught his eye. He froze.

There, atop the drawers, were the photo frames. His heart seemed to stop. His green eyes locked onto them, the familiar warmth of those images striking him like a cold wave. He felt something tight in his throat as he stepped closer, his fingers trembling. He knew what they were before he even looked.

It was the photographs. The ones he had kept. The ones he had never been able to throw away, even after everything.

Adam’s lips pressed into a thin line as he stood there, gazing at the collection of memories. The first photo was of him and Lucifer—two little boys, beaming at the camera. Adam’s smile was wide, almost too big for his face, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of being so grown-up on their first day of primary school. Lucifer was pressed against him, holding onto Adam’s school sweater with his tiny, trembling fingers. He looked so small, so shy compared to Adam’s excited expression.

Ah, Adam remembered. It was their first day at school. Neither of them had known anything about alphas, omegas, or betas then. It was just Adam and Lucifer. Two best friends, inseparable, happy. Just kids. There was a red carnation pinned to each of their sweaters—signaling that they were unpresented, still unaware of the world beyond their small, perfect little bubble.

He moved to the next photo. It was the same—Lucifer beside him. But this one was taken after Lucifer had presented as an omega. Adam’s heart clenched in his chest as he studied the image. He could see the sadness in Lucifer’s eyes that Adam hadn’t noticed at the time. Back then, he had promised to look after him, to take care of him. Lucifer’s family had turned their backs on him when he presented, but Adam hadn’t known how deep the hurt went. He only knew that Lucifer needed him. And so, Lucifer stayed with them, with Adam’s family, because his own had rejected him.

Adam swallowed hard, his throat tight as he stared at the next photo. This one was of him and Lucifer, holding sparklers on a summer night, fireworks lighting up the sky behind them. The moment was magical, the kind of simple happiness only childhood could offer. But there, in that photo, Adam had never noticed that Lucifer’s eyes weren’t looking at the fireworks. They were looking at him, his face tilted ever so slightly toward Adam, his eyes soft and full of something Adam hadn’t understood until now.

In the next photo, Adam could see the difference. He had presented as an omega, his arms around Lucifer in a tight, protective hug. Adam’s mom was between them, squeezing them both into a warm embrace. Lucifer’s cheeks were blushed, his fingers curled into the bottom of Adam’s oversized hoodie. The moment had been filled with so much joy—love, in its purest form. But looking at it now, Adam saw the way Lucifer’s gaze lingered on him. He was always looking at him. Always.

It hit him harder than he expected—the realization that Lucifer had been holding on to him all along. Every moment, every memory.

But then he picked up the last photo—the one taken before Eve and before Lute. It was of them sitting on a fallen log, wearing their familiar carnation and apple flower crowns. It had been taken at Adam’s grandpa’s birthday. And in that photo, Lucifer was pressed up against Adam’s side, his arms wrapped around Adam’s, his face beaming with happiness, his head leaning against Adam’s.

The image was so full of warmth. So full of love.

Adam let out a breath, his fingers brushing over their faces. He had kept these photos all these years. Even after Eve and Lute, he had never thrown them away. They were all he had left. The only tangible pieces of the bond he and Lucifer had shared.

“Lucifer loves me?” Adam whispered, staring down at the photograph in his hand.

His eyes flickered between the other photos, the truth settling into his bones like a stone. He put the picture back down, his hands shaking as he stood up and pulled a box from beneath the chest of drawers. Inside, there was an album. A collection of photos of them—so many of Lucifer by himself, so many where Lucifer was looking at him, always touching him, always holding on to him, his fingers curled into Adam’s clothing. Always the same—Lucifer was smiling, but it was the way he looked at Adam that spoke louder than anything.

The realization hit him like a slap to the face.

“Holy shit.” Adam whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. “How didn’t I see it?”

It was so obvious now. How had he missed it? Lucifer had been in love with him for so long, and Adam had been blind to it. Every sign was there in the photographs. All those times he had smiled at them, never noticing the tenderness in Lucifer’s gaze. The way Lucifer had always looked at him. Always reaching out to him. Always seeking contact with him.

Lucifer had been in love with him.

And Adam had never seen it.

Adam sat back heavily on the edge of his bed; the photo album still open in his hands. His fingers trembled as he stared down at the images, the weight of the truth finally crashing down on him. Lucifer had loved him. Had always loved him. How had he not seen it before? How had he been so blind to it?

His mind raced as the pieces began to fall into place, one after another. Suddenly, everything made sense—the way Lucifer always sought out his touch, always needed to be close to him. Adam’s stomach churned as the memories flooded in, sharp and painful, like a thousand cuts.

Lucifer had never used the bed his mama had set up for him when he stayed at Adam’s house. It was because Lucifer liked being with him. It was because Lucifer wanted to be close to him, wanted to be near him every single night. He had always shared Adam’s bed, even though he had a perfectly good one of his own.

The same way Lucifer had never built his own nest, always choosing to settle within Adam’s. They had shared a space for so long, but it had never clicked. Adam had thought it was just how things were between them—comfortable, natural. He had never questioned it. Why would he? It was just them.

But now... now it felt like a slap to the face. Lucifer had never wanted anything of his own. All the things Adam had taken for granted, all the small signs that had been so obvious in hindsight, came crashing down on him. The way Lucifer always wanted to hold his hand, the way he would slide closer during the nights they spent watching movies, the way his arms would wrap around Adam whenever they slept. Always so close. Always seeking the warmth of his touch.

Even when they’d gone to college, when they’d shared a dorm room, Lucifer had never used his own space. Adam’s heart twisted. He had always thought it was because they were best friends. It seemed natural that they would share a room. But Lucifer had his own room. He had his own bed. Yet, he had chosen to sleep in Adam’s. He had never even made an attempt to build a nest of his own.

And then there were the clothes. Adam had always thought it was endearing how Lucifer would borrow his things. His oversized hoodies, his shirts, even his underwear. It had never bothered him, not once. It was just the way they were. But now, it was so obvious. Lucifer hadn’t just borrowed his things because they were comfortable or because he didn’t have his own. No. He’d taken them because he wanted to have something of Adam’s, something that would tie him to Adam. in ways Adam hadn’t understood.

The underwear.

Adam's chest tightened as he recalled how, on more than one occasion, his underwear had gone missing. He’d chalked it up to losing them, forgetting where he had put them. But they would always turn up—clean and freshly folded, as if Lucifer had been taking care of them. It had never occurred to him, not once, that Lucifer had been using them.

Omegas.

Adam’s stomach lurched. Omegas were known for doing that. They would take the clothes, the underwear, of the one they loved, the one they wanted to mate with. They would wear them in secret, to be close to their scent, to feel their presence when their mate wasn’t there. Use them during their intimate moments alone. That’s what Lucifer had been doing all along. Taking Adam’s things, wearing them like a silent confession and using them to bring himself sweet relief.

Of course, Lucifer had been in love with him.

It wasn’t just the clothing. It wasn’t just the subtle touches or the constant closeness. It was everything. It was in the way Lucifer had always smelled—like apples. That sweetness, that warmth that clung to him, the pheromones that Adam had noticed but had never thought twice about. Lucifer always released it whenever they were together, mingling it with Adam’s own pheromones. They were there, every day. The scent that lingered in the air, the one that made Adam’s heartbeat faster, that made him feel at ease when Lucifer was nearby.

All of these were telltale signs of an Omega in love. Signs of an Omega that were presenting themselves to their chosen mate. Signs of an Omega that wanted to spread their legs for that certain person.

Adam felt dizzy, like the world had tilted on its axis. All this time, all these years, and he hadn’t seen it. The way Lucifer had loved him—always, so silently, so quietly. He had been right in front of him, all along. The signs had been there, just waiting for Adam to wake up. But he had been too blind to see.

He clutched the photo album to his chest, the weight of the photographs suddenly unbearable. The truth had settled deep inside him, making him feel like he was suffocating. He couldn’t breathe. He had missed every single sign.

Lucifer had loved him for so long.

And Adam had never once realized.

"How... how could I have been so stupid?" he whispered to himself, his voice breaking.

He felt the sting of tears that threatened to spill, but he quickly wiped them away, anger bubbling up inside him. Anger at himself. Anger at everything.

Adam exhaled deeply, a shuddering breath that felt like it carried years of buried frustration and confusion. He set the photograph down with care, his fingertips lingering on the frame as if it held all the answers he so desperately sought. But no answers came. Only silence.

"Does it excuse everything?" Adam murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his head cradled in his hands. The questions churned in his mind like a storm, chaotic and relentless.

Lucifer had gone after Lilith. Not because he liked her, not because he wanted her, but because Adam did. Adam had confessed his crush on Lilith, and Lucifer had turned it into a game—a cruel, heartless game. To break her heart, Adam guessed. Or was it more than that? Was it to ensure that Lilith couldn’t like Adam back? That she wouldn’t be a threat to Lucifer’s unspoken claim on him?

The thought made Adam’s stomach twist. It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

"Why?" he asked the empty room. "Why would you do that?"

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to untangle the mess of his thoughts. But the knots only tightened. Lucifer hadn’t stopped with Lilith. No, he’d kept playing, even after Adam had told him about Lute. Lucifer had twisted the game into something else entirely—something darker. He had gone after Lute too, spinning her into the web of manipulation, breaking her heart, just as he’d done with Lilith.

"To keep me for himself," Adam muttered bitterly, the words like ash in his mouth.

That had to be it. Lucifer had wanted Adam to stay unattached, to be his and his alone. But at what cost? At what fucking cost?

Adam’s hands clenched into fists on his thighs as he thought of Eve. His first girlfriend. She had known. She had seen what Adam had been too blind to see. Eve had claimed she could fix Lucifer, that she could help him. Eve was the same as Lucifer. Both were twisted and fucked up.

"Why do all this shit?" Adam asked aloud, his voice trembling with frustration. "Why play with so many people's emotions? Why play these fucked-up games, Luci? Why?"

He stared down at the photograph of them again, his eyes lingering on Lucifer's shy smile, the way his hands were always reaching for Adam in every picture. He traced a finger over Lucifer's face, his touch light and hesitant, as if the photograph could shatter under the weight of his emotions.

"When I told you about Lilith..." Adam began, his voice cracking. "Why didn’t you just tell me then? Why didn’t you say you had feelings for me? Why didn’t you tell me after Lilith? After Eve? After Lute? Why didn’t you just... say something?"

But the photograph, of course, gave no answer.

Adam groaned deeply, dropping his head into his hands again. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to think. The weight of everything—Lucifer’s love, his manipulations, his brokenness—was crushing him. It made him feel sick all over again.

Lucifer’s games had destroyed so much. They had ruined Adam’s self-worth, leaving him to question if he was the problem, if he was the reason no one wanted him. Adam had spiraled so deeply into that despair, into that darkness, that he had walked into the lake, ready to end it all. Ready to drown the pain, the doubt, the hopelessness, in the cold, black water.

Because of Lucifer.

Because of the person Adam had trusted more than anyone else in the world. His best friend. His partner in everything. The one person who was supposed to stand by him, to protect him, to love him without causing harm. And yet... Lucifer’s love had nearly destroyed him.

Adam rubbed his eyes, his fingers digging into his temples as if he could rub away the memories, the pain.

"What am I supposed to do now?" he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of his anguish.

He tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling. The room was quiet except for the rhythmic patter of rain against the window. It should have been soothing, but it wasn’t. Not now.

Lucifer was toxic. Unguided. Poisonous in ways Adam couldn’t ignore. But Adam knew him. He knew the boy who had clung to him as a child, who had sought comfort and safety in his arms. Lucifer wasn’t just toxic; he was broken, a mess of confusion and desperation.

Adam sighed again, his heart aching in his chest.

"You’re a mess, Luci," he whispered. "And you broke me too."

But the worst part was, even now, after everything, Adam wasn’t sure he could let him go.

…but one thing was for sure.

“I need fucking therapy.”

~#~

Adam didn’t want to return to work. The thought of stepping into the sterile monotony of his office after spending a day buried in the comforting haze of nostalgia filled him with a heavy sense of dread. But he had no choice. Duty called, and reality was relentless.

The previous day had been bittersweet hours lost flipping through yellowing pages of family albums, each photo tugging at a thread in his heart. The images stirred memories of laughter and warmth; a life far removed from the cold void he now felt. It helped, just a little. He felt lighter, though still clouded, like a man who had glimpsed sunlight after weeks of rain but couldn’t quite leave the storm behind.

Standing in his small, dimly lit flat, Adam adjusted the strap of his shoulder bag and meticulously checked his coat pockets. Wallet, keys, phone—it was all there, though his movements were slow, as if his body resisted the inevitability of the day ahead. With a sigh, he stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.

As he fumbled with the lock, a voice—small, trembling, and achingly familiar—broke the silence.

“A-Adam?”

His heart froze. The muscles in his shoulders tensed as if his body braced for a blow. Slowly, he turned his head.

Lucifer stood a few feet away, an awkward figure bathed in the pale overhead light of the corridor. He looked... wrong. His golden hair, usually neat and shining, was tangled and matted, clinging to his clammy skin. His eyes, a piercing blue that once sparkled with mischief and charm, now seemed hollow, ringed with dark shadows that told of sleepless nights. He wore a red-and-orange hoodie, the zipper slightly askew, paired with torn jeans. It was a far cry from the polished image Adam had always associated with him—the tailored coats, the crisp shirts, the air of effortless elegance.

Lucifer fidgeted under Adam’s gaze, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a schoolboy caught doing something wrong. His fragile state stirred something deep and instinctive within Adam—a protective urge he thought he’d buried. He wanted to pull Lucifer into the warmth of his flat, wrap him in a blanket, and shield him from the world.

But he couldn’t.

He swallowed hard, forcing those feelings down like bitter medicine. The past was a battlefield littered with betrayal, and he wasn’t ready to wade into it again. Adjusting the strap of his bag, he began to walk toward Lucifer, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

“Adam, I…” Lucifer’s voice cracked, his gaze darting everywhere but at Adam.

Adam didn’t stop. He brushed past him, the cold space between them cutting sharper than a blade. Lucifer let out a strangled noise, his hand shooting out to grab Adam’s arm. But his grip faltered, his fingers sliding off the fabric of Adam’s jacket as if even touch betrayed him.

Adam clenched his jaw, refusing to look back. He felt the weight of Lucifer’s presence behind him, the silence heavy with words neither of them could say.

Lucifer’s head dropped, his blonde hair falling into his face as he stared at his scuffed sneakers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words barely audible.

Guilt churned in Adam’s stomach, sharp and unrelenting. He wanted to turn around, wanted to wrap his arms around Lucifer and tell him it was okay, that he forgave him. But it wasn’t okay. Not yet.

Not after everything.

The memories of their past were a tangled knot of love and resentment. Lucifer had been everything to him once—his best friend, his confidant, the one person he thought he could trust with his whole heart. But that trust had been shattered when he discovered the truth: Lucifer, with his silver tongue and easy smile, had betrayed him in the worst way imaginable. Eve.

For years, Adam had been drowning in those emotions—love and hate, devotion and bitterness—all blending together into a storm that refused to settle. And now, standing in this cold, narrow corridor, those feelings surged back with a vengeance.

He tightened his grip on the strap of his bag and kept walking. His pace quickened, each step feeling heavier than the last. He wasn’t ready to face the past, wasn’t ready to confront the raw, bleeding wound that was Lucifer.

Behind him, Lucifer’s soft voice carried through the air one last time, fragile and desperate.

“Please… don’t leave me again.”

Adam’s heart ached, the words striking a chord he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. He faltered for a moment, his steps slowing, but he didn’t stop.

Not today.

Adam’s walk to Abbey Road Studios was brisk and quiet, the chill of the morning air biting against his cheeks. The streets of London had a subdued hum at this hour, the soft rustle of leaves and occasional distant rumble of a bus breaking the silence. His mind raced, though he kept his head down, focusing on the rhythm of his footsteps instead of the chaos within him.

By the time the iconic red brick facade of Abbey Road Studios loomed into view, a faint pang of nostalgia rippled through him. It was a place steeped in history, its legacy felt in every brick, every shadow. Despite the turmoil of the morning, being here never failed to stir a quiet sense of pride in Adam.

He stopped just before the entrance, pulling out his lanyard from his bag. The ID card, marked with his photograph and the words Associate Creative Producer, swung lightly as he slipped it over his head. Adam wasn’t at the top of the ladder, not by a long shot, but he had carved out a solid place for himself in the hierarchy. His voice carried weight in meetings, his ideas often nudging projects into new and exciting directions. He wasn’t just another cog in the machine—he mattered.

The glass doors slid open with a soft hiss as Adam stepped inside, the warmth of the lobby enveloping him immediately. Behind the sleek reception desk sat a beta woman with dark hair neatly pinned into a bun. She looked up from her computer, her lips curving into a polite smile.

“Morning, Adam,” she said, her tone cheery.

“Morning, Sophie.” Adam returned her smile with a quick, practiced grin, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He tapped his lanyard against the scanner by the counter and continued deeper into the building.

The corridors of Abbey Road Studios were a marvel, an intricate blend of history and modernity. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and coffee, an oddly comforting combination. Lining the walls were golden-framed posters of the bands and artists who had recorded here—icons immortalized in vibrant stills.

To his left, a photo of The Beatles captured their electric energy in the midst of a recording session, their eyes alight with determination. Beneath it, a plaque boasted details of their legendary record deal, signed within these very walls. Further down, another frame displayed a moody black-and-white image of Pink Floyd, the caption below marking the creation of The Dark Side of the Moon.

Each image seemed to whisper stories of triumphs and struggles, the magic that turned melodies into masterpieces. Adam’s eyes drifted over a more recent addition—a shot of a young, wild-eyed indie band holding their platinum record proudly. He had been part of that project, his suggestions helping to refine their raw sound into something that resonated with millions.

He allowed himself a flicker of pride before moving on.

The studios were a maze of recording rooms, editing bays, and conference spaces, the air humming faintly with the distant strains of instruments and voices. Adam passed by a sound engineer bent over a mixing console, their headphones askew as they worked. A group of session musicians laughed over steaming cups of tea near a vending machine, their camaraderie infectious.

He finally reached his destination—a mid-sized conference room tucked behind a frosted glass door. Pushing it open, Adam stepped inside, greeted by the familiar sight of the creative team already gathered around the long, sleek table. The walls here were bare except for an acoustic panel and a digital screen displaying the agenda for today’s meeting:

Project Rewind: Pre-Launch Strategy

“Adam! Just in time,” called James, the head producer, his voice warm but brisk. “We’re diving into the campaign rollout. Got a seat for you here.”

Adam slid into the chair offered, setting his bag down by his feet. As he pulled out his notepad and pen, he felt the eyes of his colleagues on him, some nodding in acknowledgment, others already lost in their tablets and documents.

He took a deep breath, forcing his personal turmoil to the back of his mind. Here, in this room, his thoughts mattered. His opinions shaped music that would someday line these golden-framed walls.

For now, that had to be enough.

The meeting was already in full swing when the door opened again, and someone entered. Adam didn’t notice at first, focused as he was on the agenda displayed on the screen. But then the room shifted—the air itself seemed to grow charged, and Adam’s head snapped up.

There she was.

Lilith.

Time slowed as she stepped into the room, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She was breathtaking, just as he remembered. Her thick, golden hair cascaded down her back in waves, catching the light like spun silk. Her piercing blue eyes, sharp and impossibly clear, swept over the room with practiced confidence, taking in the faces around the table as if she owned the very air they breathed. She was dressed impeccably in a tailored cream blazer and slacks, paired with delicate gold jewelry that glinted against her tan skin.

Adam felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

It had been years since he’d last seen her, and yet the sight of her sent an avalanche of emotions crashing through him—shock, confusion, a hint of anger, and an undeniable, unwelcome spark of admiration.

“Good morning,” Lilith said, her voice smooth and commanding as she strode to the front of the room. “Thank you all for being here. I’m Lilith Faulkner, head of partnerships at Horizon Entertainment.”

Horizon Entertainment. Of course. The name alone carried weight in the industry, their talent roster a who’s who of the most influential artists in the world. This was the partner Abbey Road had been courting for months, the collaboration that could redefine the studio’s place in the modern music landscape. And she—she—was their point of contact.

“Let’s make this a productive meeting,” Lilith continued, setting her leather-bound portfolio on the table and flashing a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I believe we’re all here for the same reason: to create something unforgettable.”

Adam swallowed hard, his throat dry. He barely registered the introductions and opening remarks, barely heard James laying out the studio’s goals for the partnership. His focus kept drifting back to Lilith. She was poised, professional, every inch the powerhouse executive she’d always aspired to be.

And she hadn’t looked at him once.

“Adam,” James said, jolting him out of his thoughts. “You’ve had a lot of input on the campaign strategy for Project Rewind. Why don’t you walk us through the highlights?”

Adam blinked, forcing himself to sit straighter.

“Of course,” he said, his voice steady despite the whirlwind inside him. He leaned forward, pulling up the files on his tablet and launching into a detailed breakdown of the marketing approach. He felt Lilith’s eyes on him now, sharp and assessing, but he didn’t falter.

he discussion carried on with brisk efficiency, both sides exchanging ideas and ironing out details. Adam spoke when needed, keeping his tone measured and his demeanor calm, though his pulse raced every time Lilith addressed him directly. She was polite, her questions thoughtful, her praise sparse but genuine. They were professionals—nothing more, nothing less.

When the meeting finally adjourned, Adam didn’t linger.

The moment he had a chance, he slipped out of the room, his steps quick and purposeful. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to get away. Away from the conference room, away from Lilith, away from the unbearable knot tightening in his chest.

He found himself on the bottom floor of the studio, where the air was cooler and quieter. A private booth in the corner caught his eye, its small table and cushioned bench tucked away from prying eyes. Adam slid inside and collapsed onto the seat, his elbows hitting the table as he buried his head in his arms.

A groan escaped him, muffled by his sleeves.

Everything was a mess.

Seeing Lilith again had reopened wounds he hadn’t realized were still raw. Her presence alone had stirred up memories of a time when things were simpler, when their lives had been intertwined in ways that felt unbreakable. And yet, here they were—strangers in a professional setting, pretending the past didn’t exist.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. He was still reeling from the truth about Lucifer, from the lies and betrayals that had fractured everything he thought he knew. And now Lilith—beautiful, powerful, untouchable Lilith—had reappeared like a ghost from another life.

Adam clenched his fists, his knuckles pressing into the soft leather of the booth. He felt unmoored, as though the ground beneath him had shifted and he was scrambling to find his footing.

For a moment, he allowed himself to stay like that, head down, shoulders hunched, letting the weight of it all press down on him. He needed this—needed to feel the full extent of his frustration and confusion, to let it crash over him before he could even think about facing the world again.

And then, slowly, he exhaled.

Adam sat in the quiet booth, his head still resting on his crossed arms. His thoughts swirled like storm clouds, the weight of everything pressing down on him. The faint hum of the studio equipment in the background was soothing, but it wasn’t enough to untangle the mess inside his head.

A soft sound—a shuffle of footsteps—caught his attention. He didn’t look up, assuming it was someone passing by. But then a voice broke the silence.

“Adam,” Lilith said, her tone soft but tinged with amusement. “I didn’t mean to give you a heart attack.”

Adam’s head shot up, his cheeks flushing slightly as he straightened in his seat.

“Lilith,” he stammered, glancing around as if to gather himself. “It wasn’t you. I mean—well, it was you, but not like that.”

He exhaled sharply, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I was just surprised to see you again after all this time.”

Lilith smiled faintly, her expression gentler than he remembered.

“It was nice to see you again,” she admitted, her blue eyes watching him carefully. “I’m not sure if you feel the same, but... I always saw you as a friend, Adam.”

Adam hesitated, his throat tightening at her honesty. He gave a small, crooked smile. “You were a friend, Lilith. I mean, we were... close, once.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. Her gaze flickered down for a moment before she slid into the booth across from him. “I wanted to say I’m sorry—for how things ended between us back then.”

Adam blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Lilith was quiet for a beat, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of the table. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer now. “It was never my intention to lead you on. I was young and stupid. I didn’t realize how much you liked me. I didn’t know how to handle it, so I thought... if I ignored it, it would go away.”

 Her lips curled into a small, self-deprecating smile. “I guess I was right. It did go away. But so did our friendship, and that... that’s on me.”

Adam blinked again, surprised by her candour. He rubbed the back of his neck, offering a crooked smile. “Lilith, it wasn’t your fault. It was just... a little crush. I got over it pretty fast.”

Lilith’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though trying to gauge his sincerity. But then she let out a soft laugh. “I don’t know if I believe that, but thank you for saying it.”

The tension between them eased, their conversation flowing more naturally as they reminisced. They laughed about being lab partners in school, recalling the time they accidentally set a beaker on fire during an experiment.

“Honestly, you were the top student,” Adam said with a grin, leaning back in his seat. “I admired you so much. I wanted to be like you—smart, confident, always knowing exactly what you wanted.”

Lilith laughed, her voice bright and genuine. “And I wanted to be carefree like you. You didn’t care what people thought. You just... existed, completely comfortable in your own skin.”

They both laughed, but the sound petered out as Adam let out a soft sigh, his head lowering slightly.

Lilith tilted her head, her brow furrowing.

“How are things with you and Lucifer?” she asked carefully.

Adam’s face twisted into a grimace before he could stop himself. He glanced to the side, debating how much to say. Could he tell her? Did she already know?

“Is it that bad?” Lilith pressed gently.

Adam hesitated, then met her gaze. “Lilith, if you knew...” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

She surprised him by giving a sad chuckle, her eyes distant. “I already know, Adam.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Lilith leaned back against the booth, exhaling deeply. Her confident veneer cracked, revealing something more vulnerable beneath. “I knew from the start that Lucifer wasn’t into me the way I was into him. I could tell.”

Adam stared at her, stunned. “Then why...?”

“Why did I stay?” Lilith gave him a small, rueful smile. “Because I was young and stupid. I thought I could change him, make him like me even a little. But he never did.”

Her voice was steady, but Adam could hear the ache beneath her words. “No matter what I did, he just seemed... distant. Bored. It hurt, but I couldn’t accept failure. It felt like an insult to my alpha nature, you know? To admit defeat. So, I kept trying, kept pushing.”

She paused, her gaze distant, as if looking into the past. “I think I knew it was a lost cause when I brought up the idea of spending his heat together. He looked at me like I’d suggested something disgusting.”

Adam winced, his heart twisting. “Lilith...”

She gave a sad chuckle, her fingers brushing a strand of golden hair from her face. “He was never cruel, never outright mean. He just tolerated me. And back then, that was enough. I wanted him, even if he didn’t want me.”

Lilith leaned back in her seat, her gaze dropping to the table as her fingers ran absently over the edge. Her expression softened, her confident exterior peeling away to reveal a deep vulnerability that Adam hadn’t seen before.

“I really wanted him to be the one,” she said, her voice low, as if the admission itself was painful. “Lucifer, I mean. I convinced myself that if I tried hard enough, if I pushed through the walls he put up, I could get him to see me. To really see me.”

She let out a shaky laugh, her blue eyes glistening. “But looking back, it’s so obvious. He was only ever ‘nice’ to me because of you.”

Adam’s brow furrowed, his heart twisting. “Lilith, I’m sure that’s not true,” he said gently. “Lucifer must have had some feelings for you. He had to.”

Lilith snorted, the sound bitter and filled with disbelief. “Adam, I know it’s not true. Trust me.”

The certainty in her voice sent a flicker of unease through Adam, and his confusion deepened. “Why do you say that?”

She breathed in deeply, her shoulders rising and falling before she leaned forward, her piercing gaze locking onto his. “Because of you, Adam. You and Lucifer… you were always connected at the hip. I could never find one of you without the other. Wherever you went, he followed. It was like you were his North Star.”

Adam blinked, his stomach knotting at the weight of her words. Lilith hesitated, searching his expression as if gauging his readiness to hear what she was about to say. Finally, she spoke softly, her voice almost apologetic.

“Lucifer was in love with you.”

The words hit Adam like a blow, leaving him stunned. He blinked furiously, his eyes widening as if he had misheard her. “What?”

Lilith smiled pitifully, her eyes filled with a strange mixture of understanding and sadness. “He was, Adam. From the moment I met him, it was obvious. He always looked at you. Always cared about you, your feelings, your opinions. And when you started pulling away from us… he blamed me for it. I could see it in the way he looked at me.”

Adam opened his mouth to protest, but Lilith held up a hand to stop him. “

Before you say anything, just listen,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “I saw what happened between the two of you a few years ago. With your ex. I saw how you fought, how angry you were. But Adam, I don’t think that’s the whole story. There has to be more to it.”

Adam’s jaw tightened, his mind instantly recalling Lucifer’s words about Eve “trying to fix him.” The memory made his chest ache, but he forced himself to remain silent as Lilith continued.

“I’m not saying what happened was okay,” she said carefully. “But what I saw… what I witnessed from Lucifer—how much he adored you, how much he loves you—there’s no way he would have done something like that without a reason. I don’t know what kind of person your ex was, but I do know Lucifer. He wouldn’t go out of his way to hurt you. He loves you, Adam. He still does.”

Adam’s lips twitched, his gaze dropping to the table. His chest felt tight, his emotions swirling in a chaotic storm. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process everything she was telling him.

Lilith reached forward, her hand resting lightly on his. “Adam…You’ve never seen him the way I have. Every time I see him at the bonfires, he’s always looking for you. And when he finds you? He doesn’t look away. Not once.”

Adam puffed out his cheeks, trying to contain the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “He… he made out with Steve,” he muttered weakly.

Lilith’s expression darkened, her voice sharpening. “Steve? Oh, Adam, please tell me you weren’t seriously considering that—that moron!”

Adam flinched at her raised voice, his cheeks flushing. “I—I mean… well…”

Lilith crossed her arms, her disapproving glare cutting through him like a knife. “Adam, Steve is nothing but a disgusting, vile jerk. He beds omegas at every bonfire with the promise of mating, only to toss them aside the next morning. Please tell me you aren’t in contact with him.”

Adam shook his head hastily, his voice rising in defence. “No, no, of course not! I was just… desperate, Lilith. I just wanted…”

His voice cracked slightly, and he looked down, his shoulders sagging. “I just wanted to be wanted. To be loved and cherished.”

Lilith’s gaze softened, the fire in her eyes dimming. She squeezed his hand gently. “

“Oh, Adam,” she murmured, her voice full of quiet affection. “But you already are.”

Adam looked up at her, startled by the sincerity in her words. For a moment, they simply sat there, the weight of unspoken emotions filling the space between them. Lilith’s touch was steady, grounding him, and in that moment, he felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

Adam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, squirming like a cornered animal. His arms crossed over his chest as if bracing himself against Lilith’s steady gaze.

“But…” he began hesitantly, his voice trailing off before he let out a soft sigh. “He is an omega. We’re omegas.”

Lilith blinked, her brow furrowing slightly. “And is that a problem for you, Adam?”

He whined softly, the sound escaping unbidden as he closed his eyes briefly.

“No,” he said, shaking his head with a firmness that didn’t match the uncertainty flickering in his expression. “No, it’s not a problem. Being an omega doesn’t define me.”

Lilith’s lips quirked into a small smile, but she stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I’ve never let it hold me back,” Adam continued, his voice growing more resolute. “Whenever I wanted something, I went for it. Grabbed it by the horns and climbed on board.”

He paused, his eyes dropping to the table. “Except with love, that is.”

Lilith made a face at that, her expression hovering between amusement and exasperation.

Adam quickly waved his hands as if to backtrack. “I mean… I didn’t know Lucifer was in love with me!”

Her laughter was light but teasing. “It was so obvious. How could you not?”

Adam huffed and sank back into the plush cushions, his arms tightening around himself defensively. “I don’t know. It just… wasn’t obvious to me.”

Lilith chuckled again, shaking her head. “You must be what people call dense.”

Adam pouted, his gaze sliding off to the side as he sank deeper into his thoughts. The room grew quiet save for the faint hum of distant studio chatter.

After a long moment, Adam whispered, almost to himself, “Everything was Lucifer’s fault.”

Lilith’s smile faded, her expression becoming patient as she leaned in slightly, waiting for him to elaborate.

Adam bit his bottom lip, his brows drawing together as if wrestling with his words. “He… he went after you because I told him I was developing a crush on you.”

His voice trembled slightly, but he pressed on. “Then he went after Lute because, again, I told him I liked her. And then with Eve…”

Lilith’s eyes flickered, a hint of understanding crossing her face. “It was a game to him.”

Adam gasped softly, his eyes snapping to hers in surprise. “

That’s right,” he said, his voice rising with realization. “He said he turned it into a game.”

Lilith nodded thoughtfully. “To keep people away from you.”

Adam’s shoulders sagged, a deep sigh falling from his lips. “Yes. He—he…”

He hesitated, his hands twisting in his lap. “Eve was different, though. Different from you and Lute. Eve was…”

Lilith interjected gently, her tone delicate and careful. “Eve made it to a place neither I nor Lute ever could. In Lucifer’s eyes, she did something he thought was impossible. She became your girlfriend. That made her a threat.”

Adam grimaced, her words cutting too close to the truth.

“That’s what he said,” he admitted reluctantly. “I mean… he hasn’t told me much outright. Most of it, I’ve had to figure out myself. But…”

“Lucifer must have been scared,” Lilith said softly. “Eve was your girlfriend. She had the potential to take you away from him. So, he did what he thought he had to do to keep you.”

Adam’s expression twisted, a mix of frustration and bitterness.

“I’m not a toy,” he grunted, the words carrying the weight of years of pent-up resentment.

Lilith reached out again, her hand brushing his lightly. “I know. I’m just trying to see it from Lucifer’s perspective. But Adam…”

She hesitated, her voice dropping to a softer, more vulnerable tone. “If you really want to understand what he was thinking, you’ll have to talk to him.”

Adam frowned, his lips pulling down as his gaze dropped to the table.

“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted, his voice breaking just slightly.

Lilith’s hand tightened over his, her expression full of warmth and encouragement. “Of course, you can. It was just the two of you for so long. You’re the only one who can make sense of this with him, Adam.”

Her words hung between them, heavy with truth, and for a moment, Adam couldn’t meet her eyes. Finally, he let out a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Lilith smiled gently, her hand still resting over his. “Start with the truth, Adam. It’s all you’ve ever needed with him.”

The sky roared as lightning forked across the dark expanse, illuminating the rain that fell in relentless sheets. Adam cursed under his breath, his teeth clenched against the chill seeping through his jacket. He should have grabbed an umbrella—he knew better. It was late summer, and the city’s winters always came early, bringing dreary storms that crept into every corner. His fingers tightened around his shoulder bag, pressing it protectively against his chest as he hurried along the slick pavement.

By the time he reached the building block, his lungs burned, and water dripped from his hair into his eyes. He shoved the door open, panting as the warmth of the lounge greeted him. He barely had time to savor the reprieve before he froze, his breath catching painfully in his throat.

Lucifer.

Adam blinked, sure for a moment that the storm or his exhaustion had conjured a phantom. But no—the blonde omega was there, sitting cross-legged on the floor outside Adam’s flat. Rain had plastered his hair to his pale, angular face, and his hoodie hung limply around him like a sodden, tattered shield. His arms were wrapped tightly around his knees, as if trying to make himself smaller, less visible.

Adam’s heart clenched, an unwelcome ache blooming in his chest. Don’t. He swallowed hard, forcing his feet to move forward. His wet shoes squeaked against the polished floor as he approached the flat. Lucifer’s head tilted up, his blue eyes locking onto Adam’s with a raw, silent plea that hit like a punch to the gut.

Adam refused to falter. He clenched his jaw, focusing on the lock and twisting his key with deliberate precision.

Lucifer stirred behind him, his lips parting as though to speak, but no words came. Instead, he bit down, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, his face crumpling into something too vulnerable, too desperate for Adam to bear.

Adam shoved the door open and stepped through, forcing himself to keep walking despite the way Lucifer’s gaze lingered on his back like a physical weight. The door clicked shut behind him, and he leaned against it, his breath coming out in a shaky groan.

“What the fuck,” he whispered hoarsely, running both hands over his face. His fingers dragged against the damp skin, the motion doing nothing to soothe the turmoil churning inside him.

He pressed his palms against the door as if it could shield him from the storm outside—and the one waiting just beyond the threshold. Lucifer. Sitting there, looking like the ghost of every regret Adam had tried to bury. Looking lost.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut, the ache in his chest deepening. He hated how his mind betrayed him, replaying every moment they’d shared—the laughter, the fights, the stolen glances. And now this... Whatever this was.

He paced the room, dripping water onto the worn carpet as his thoughts twisted into a tangled mess. What did Lucifer want? Why now? Why him? The questions buzzed in his skull like static, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore them, they only grew louder.

Adam glanced at the door, his hand instinctively lifting toward the handle before he stopped himself. No. He couldn’t open it. He couldn’t face Lucifer—not like this.

But the memory of those blue eyes refused to fade. Eyes that had once sparkled with mischief, that had warmed with affection. Now, they were hollowed out, ringed with shadows and begging for something Adam wasn’t sure he could give.

He let out a frustrated growl, raking his fingers through his hair.

“What the fuck are you doing, Lucifer?” he muttered, his voice low and pained.

The storm outside rumbled again, the sound rattling the windowpanes as if demanding an answer Adam didn’t have. He sank onto the edge of his couch, his head dropping into his hands. He didn’t know how to fix this—didn’t know if he wanted to fix this.

All he knew was that Lucifer was still out there. Waiting.

And Adam wasn’t sure how long he could leave him in the cold.

Adam pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the dull thrum of his heartbeat under his damp shirt.

“Maybe tomorrow will be better,” he muttered to himself, voice soft and uncertain. Surely, Lucifer wouldn’t stay out there much longer. Surely, he’d go home, find some semblance of sense, and leave Adam to his carefully constructed chaos.

With that fragile hope, Adam forced himself to undress, dry off, and collapse into bed. The storm raged outside, its relentless rhythm lulling him into a fitful sleep. But the morning brought no reprieve.

Lucifer was still there.

Every morning, Adam cracked his door open to find those familiar blue eyes staring at nothing, his figure huddled on the floor like a sentinel waiting for orders. Every evening, Adam returned home to see the same sight: Lucifer, sitting as though his entire world revolved around that cold, unyielding hallway. The routine became a knot in Adam’s stomach, tightening with every passing day.

He tried to focus on his life. Work, therapy, doctor’s visits, and medication became the cornerstones of his survival. But even as he poured his energy into moving forward, Lucifer’s presence loomed in the back of his mind. The omega didn’t speak, didn’t plead, didn’t move. He was just there, an echo of something Adam wasn’t sure he wanted to remember. And yet, every glance at him chipped away at Adam’s resolve.

Almost a month passed. Adam kept waiting for the moment Lucifer would finally give up and leave. He wanted it to happen. He needed it to happen. But when it didn’t, when Lucifer’s silent vigil stretched on, Adam found himself caught in an unbearable limbo.

Then one day, everything changed.

Adam jogged home, his bag slung over one shoulder and his breath fogging the chilly air. But when he reached his floor, he froze. The space outside his flat was empty.

No Lucifer.

His heart stuttered, a cold sweat prickling along his spine. His legs trembled beneath him as he scanned the hallway, his chest tightening with something he couldn’t quite name. Panic? Guilt? Both?

Adam clutched his bag tightly, his fingers digging into the worn leather as his gaze darted down the corridor.

“Lucifer?” he called, his voice echoing off the silent walls. Nothing. No answer.

He fumbled for his phone, swiping it open with a shaking hand even though he knew it was pointless. Lucifer didn’t have his new number; Adam had made sure of that. Still, the empty screen staring back at him felt like a slap. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing.

His shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes against the sting of disappointment. He shouldn’t feel this way. He shouldn’t. But the emptiness outside his door felt heavier than Lucifer’s silent presence ever had.

“Maybe he didn’t care as much as he claimed,” Adam muttered bitterly, his voice low and wavering. He clicked his tongue, forcing his emotions down as he unlocked his flat and stepped inside. Slamming the door behind him, he grunted, “Good. Better this way.”

But the following week was anything but better.

The silence was unbearable. The emptiness gnawed at him, a strange, dull ache that he couldn’t shake. The hallway felt colder, the evenings quieter, and the walls of his flat pressed in closer with each passing day. Adam tried to convince himself that this was what he wanted. That Lucifer’s absence was a relief.

It wasn’t.

He missed him. It was absurd and maddening, but Adam couldn’t help it. He found himself lingering at his door in the mornings, half-expecting to see a familiar blond figure huddled on the floor. When he returned in the evenings, his steps slowed, his heart sinking with the realization that Lucifer wasn’t there.

Adam didn’t know how to explain the void Lucifer had left behind. Anger and sadness warred within him, tangled with something softer, something dangerously close to longing. And he hated himself for it.

One evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the sky in muted golds and greys, Adam stood in his kitchen, staring out the window. His dinner sat untouched on the counter behind him. He didn’t have the appetite. His mind was elsewhere, circling back to the same thought over and over again.

Where was Lucifer?

And why did it feel like a piece of Adam had vanished along with him?

The warm scent of cinnamon and fresh bread wrapped around Adam like a comforting blanket as he stepped into his family home. He barely had time to close the door before his mama appeared, her face lighting up in pure joy.

"Adam!" she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug. "Oh, my baby! You’re here! Look at you—are you eating well? You’re not too thin, are you? Oh, your cheeks look a little hollow. Are you getting enough sleep? How’s work? How’s therapy going? Oh, and the bonfire last month—how was that?"

“Mama—” Adam tried to interject, but she was already dragging him toward the cozy kitchen, her questions coming faster than he could keep up.

“Are you drinking enough water? You are drinking water, right? And those pills the doctor gave you—are they helping? Do they make you feel okay? Not too groggy? Oh, Adam, you’ve been working too hard, haven’t you? You’re always working. Do you have time for yourself? Are you—"

“Mama!” Adam laughed, finally managing to get a word in edgewise. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “One question at a time, please. And yes, I’m fine. I promise.”

She stepped back, narrowing her eyes at him like she didn’t quite believe him, but her smile never faltered. “Good. Now, sit down. You look tired, and I’ll make you some tea.”

Adam didn’t argue. He sank into one of the cushioned kitchen chairs, letting himself relax as his mama bustled about, her presence filling the room with warmth and energy. Moments like these reminded him of how much he missed her, of how easy it was to fall into the comforting rhythms of home.

As they sipped tea together, her questions slowed, turning softer. The conversation drifted naturally, and soon they were talking about his father.

“When did you know you loved him?” Adam asked quietly, his gaze fixed on the steaming mug in his hands.

His mama’s face softened, her eyes glistening with a mixture of joy and nostalgia. “Oh, I knew from the moment I met him. Your father… he was special. Not because he was a beta, but because of who he was. He had the gentlest soul, Adam. He was patient, kind, and always so thoughtful. When he looked at me, I felt seen. Truly seen.”

Adam smiled faintly, his chest aching with a bittersweet warmth.

“I barely remember him now,” he admitted, glancing at the photograph hanging on the wall. His father’s warm smile stared back at him, a man forever frozen in time.

His mama’s hand covered his, her touch firm yet tender.

“You were so young when we lost him,” she murmured. “It’s okay if the memories are fuzzy. But Adam, I want you to know this—your father loved you more than anything in this world. He would be so proud of you. No matter what.”

Adam’s throat tightened, and he nodded, unable to find the right words. He looked back at the photograph, his mind swirling with questions.

“Mama,” he began hesitantly, “was Dad being a beta ever… a problem for you?”

She blinked in surprise, then let out a soft laugh. “For me? Never. Not for a single moment.”

“Your father was the kindest man I’d ever met. He never pushed boundaries, never made me feel less than. But…” Her voice trailed off, her smile fading slightly.

“But?” Adam pressed, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

She sighed, her gaze drifting to the photograph as well. “Your grandparents on my side… they disapproved. Things were different back then, Adam. Anything out of the ordinary was seen as unacceptable. Unthinkable. They wanted me to marry an alpha, and when I refused, they disowned me. They cut off all contact when I married your father.”

Adam swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the edge of his mug.

“I didn’t know that,” he said softly.

“It wasn’t your burden to carry,” his mama said gently, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “But it was worth it. Every hardship, every struggle. Your father was worth it, and so are you.”

He stared at her for a moment, her unwavering love and strength making his chest ache.

“Mama,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “What if—”

He stopped, taking a deep breath. “What if the person you love… what if it feels impossible?”

Her brows furrowed in concern. “Adam, what’s this about?”

He hesitated, his lips parting and closing as he struggled to find the words. Finally, he blurted out, “Lucifer told me he loves me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. His mama’s expression shifted, her eyes widening briefly before softening with understanding.

“Lucifer,” she repeated, her tone careful.

Adam nodded, his voice quieter now. “He said… he’s been in love with me since we were kids.”

Her eyes searched his face, as if trying to piece together his thoughts.

“And how do you feel about that?” she asked gently.

Adam let out a shaky laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I— I mean, it’s Lucifer. He’s…”

He paused, his throat tightening. “He’s always been there. Always. But this? I didn’t see it coming. Not like this.”

His mama reached out, cupping his face with both hands.

“Adam,” she said softly, her eyes brimming with warmth, “Sometimes love comes in ways we don’t expect. That doesn’t make it any less real. If you need time to figure out how you feel, take it. But don’t shut him out just because it’s scary.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “It’s not just scary, Mama. It’s everything. It’s him.”

“And maybe,” she said, her voice filled with quiet conviction, “That’s exactly why it’s worth it.”

Adam squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I don’t know what to think, Mama. I don’t know what to feel. Lucifer was—he is—everything to me. My best friend, my other half. We were always together, from the time we were kids. We shared a bloody nest, for goodness’ sake."

He let out a shaky laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I never thought… I never thought he’d be interested in me. I always thought…"

His voice trailed off, the words caught somewhere between his heart and his throat. He stared at the table, his brows knitted together as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"I don’t even know what I thought anymore," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

His mama reached across the table and gently placed her hand on his arm, grounding him. "Take your time, sweetheart. I’m listening."

Adam nodded, biting his lip as he lowered his gaze. "Lucifer… Mama, he’s done some bad things. Some really bad things."

The weight of those words pressed down on him, and he felt the familiar ache in his chest as guilt and anger swirled together. He barely noticed the way his mama’s expression softened, her thumb brushing soothingly against his forearm.

"Are these bad things the reason you fell out?" she asked quietly, her voice as gentle as a whisper.

Adam winced, his heart twisting painfully. He looked up at her, his eyes wide and anxious, like a child caught in the storm of his own emotions.

"Yes," he admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of the confession.

His mama’s lips curved into a pained smile, her eyes brimming with understanding and sorrow. "I knew something had happened between the two of you," she said, her tone steady and warm. "I just wish you’d told me earlier."

Adam made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, his hands gripping the edge of the table.

"But Mama," he said, his voice rising with desperation, "I barely knew the whole story myself. Lucifer’s only just started telling me… more. More of the story, I mean. Things I didn’t even know."

She nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving his face.

"You don’t have to tell me what Lucifer did," she said softly. "I can see in your eyes that you don’t want to. But… is it something unforgivable?"

Adam opened his mouth to answer but then closed it again, his expression crumpling under the weight of the question. His voice, when it finally came, was barely above a whisper.

"Yes," he said, his throat tight. "Yes, it’s unforgivable. But…"

He paused, his hands trembling slightly as he looked down at the table, unable to meet her eyes. "But it’s Lucifer at the same time. It’s Lucifer, Mama. He’s the one who did this, who hurt me. But he’s also…"

His voice cracked, and he dragged a hand down his face, trying to keep his composure. "He’s my Luci. He’s the one who’s always been there for me. The one who—who made me laugh when I didn’t want to. The one who stayed with me through everything. And now he’s done these terrible things, and I just—"

His voice broke completely, and he pressed a hand over his chest, as if trying to steady the storm brewing inside him. "I don’t know how to make sense of it. How to make sense of him."

His mama’s hand moved from his arm to his cheek, cupping it gently. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but her voice remained calm and steady.

"Oh, Adam," she said, her thumb brushing against his cheek. "Love is messy. People are messy. Sometimes, the people we love the most are the ones who hurt us the deepest."

Adam closed his eyes, leaning into her touch like he had when he was a child seeking comfort after a bad dream.

"What do I do, Mama?" he whispered. "How do I forgive him for something I don’t think I can ever forget?"

She was silent for a moment, her gaze searching his face as if looking for the right words. Finally, she spoke. "You take your time, Adam. Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting. It doesn’t mean excusing what he did. But if you decide you want him in your life, you’ll have to decide if you can move forward together, scars and all. And if you can’t…"

Her voice faltered, but she pressed on. "If you can’t, that’s okay too. You deserve love, my son. The kind that lifts you up, not one that tears you down."

Adam opened his eyes, staring at her as her words sank in. He nodded slowly, though the ache in his chest didn’t lessen.

"I don’t know if I can let him go," he admitted softly. "I don’t think I want to."

She smiled faintly, her thumb brushing away a tear he hadn’t realized had fallen.

"Then don’t," she said simply. "Not yet, at least. Let yourself figure it out. One step at a time."

Adam swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to go away.

"One step at a time," he echoed, his voice trembling.

His mama pulled him into a warm hug, holding him close like she had when he was a little boy. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Adam let himself lean into her embrace, letting her strength and warmth carry him through the storm of his thoughts.

Adam meandered his way back home, his steps lighter, a faint smile lingering after his heart-to-heart with his mama. For the first time in weeks, the weight on his shoulders seemed to ease. He glanced up at the overcast sky, the faint hum of a tune escaping his lips. His expression soured when the sky answered him with a crackle of thunder. Of course. Rain again.

He rolled his green eyes and quickened his pace, muttering under his breath as the first drops splattered onto the pavement. By the time he reached the doors of his apartment building, the rain had turned into a full-fledged downpour. He barely managed to slip inside before getting completely drenched, shaking off the water clinging to his jacket as he climbed the stairs. His footsteps echoed in the narrow stairwell, the sound comforting in its familiarity.

But when he reached his floor, he froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat.

Lucifer was there.

Adam’s green eyes widened as they took in the sight of him. The same spot, the same posture. But something was different—worse. Lucifer looked... thinner, frailer, as if the weight of the world had been crushing him. His hoodie, worn and stretched out, clung damply to his frame, and his ripped jeans looked even more threadbare than before. He was curled up against the wall, knees to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. His head was buried against his knees, his golden hair damp and sticking to his neck.

Adam’s brows furrowed deeply. He could feel the worry churning in his gut, a sick twist of guilt and frustration mingling as he approached. But Lucifer didn’t move. Not a twitch. Even as Adam passed within arm’s reach, Lucifer remained eerily still, his breathing shallow and uneven.

Adam stopped at his door, biting the inside of his cheek. His fingers fumbled with his keys, his eyes flicking back to the fragile figure huddled by the wall. He couldn’t ignore the gnawing sensation in his chest—worry, anger, pity—it all tangled together, making his hands shake as he unlocked the door. He pushed it open and stood on the threshold, staring into the comforting warmth of his flat.

For a long moment, he just stood there, his back to Lucifer, gripping the doorknob tightly enough to make his knuckles ache. He exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes upward as if the heavens owed him an answer.

"Lucifer," he barked suddenly, his voice sharp and cutting through the quiet like a whip.

He heard the subtle hitch in Lucifer’s breathing behind him, saw the faint tremor ripple through the blonde's shoulders. Lucifer didn’t lift his head, but Adam could tell he was listening.

"Make sure to lock the door behind you," Adam said, his tone clipped as he stepped into his flat. He shrugged off his coat, letting it fall haphazardly onto a nearby chair.

Lucifer’s head snapped up, his blue eyes wide and startled as they flicked toward Adam’s back. He didn’t move at first, frozen in disbelief.

"Well?" Adam bit out, glaring over his shoulder at the empty doorway. "Are you coming in or not?"

That broke whatever hesitation Lucifer had. He scrambled to his feet, unsteady but quick, and shuffled inside. His movements were hesitant, almost timid, as if he feared Adam might change his mind and shut the door in his face. He lingered in the entryway, his fingers brushing nervously against the doorframe, eyes darting around the flat like a skittish animal.

"Take off your shoes!" Adam snapped, not bothering to look at him as he kicked his own sneakers toward the corner. "I don’t want you tracking dirt everywhere."

Lucifer jumped, immediately bending down to untie his worn sneakers. He placed them neatly beside Adam’s, his trembling hands carefully aligning them before he turned and locked the door. His fingers hovered over the locks for a moment, brushing them as if to make sure they were secured.

Adam sighed as the door clicked shut behind Lucifer, the sound echoing in the quiet of his flat. He hung his coat on the hook by the door and ran a hand through his damp hair, watching out of the corner of his eye as Lucifer lingered awkwardly near the entrance. The blonde omega looked so small, almost like a ghost of the person Adam had grown up with. His hoodie hung off his thin frame, the fabric frayed and damp from days of sitting out in the elements.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Adam snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. He turned to face Lucifer fully, his green eyes narrowed. "If you're going to be here, you might as well make yourself useful. Go sit on the couch or something."

Lucifer flinched but nodded, his movements hesitant and sluggish as he shuffled toward the couch. His knees wobbled slightly, and Adam felt his stomach twist at how frail the other omega seemed. Lucifer perched on the edge of the sofa, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, his eyes fixed on the floor like he didn’t belong.

Adam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Do you want some tea?" he asked, his voice softer now. He was already moving toward the kitchen before Lucifer could answer, pulling out a kettle and filling it with water.

"I..." Lucifer’s voice was barely audible, trembling and small. "Yes, please. Thank you."

Adam nodded but didn’t look back. The sound of the kettle filling with water drowned out the nagging thoughts that swirled in his head. He busied himself with preparing the tea, pulling out two mismatched mugs and a box of chamomile. As he waited for the water to boil, he stole a glance over his shoulder.

Lucifer hadn’t moved. He was still sitting there, his shoulders hunched and his head down, as if trying to make himself invisible.

"Why are you back here, Lucifer?" Adam asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Lucifer tensed, his head lifting slightly but not enough to meet Adam’s gaze.

"I... I didn’t know where else to go," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I—I just needed to see you."

Adam’s hands clenched around the edge of the counter, his knuckles whitening.

"You’ve been sitting outside my flat for weeks," he said coldly. "Weeks, Lucifer. Do you even know how insane that is? How messed up it looks?"

Lucifer flinched again, his hands trembling in his lap.

"I didn’t mean to make you angry," he said quietly. "I just... I didn’t know how else to... to make things right."

Adam let out a hollow laugh, turning his attention back to the tea. "Right. Because sitting outside like some lost puppy was definitely going to fix everything."

He poured the steaming water into the mugs, the faint scent of chamomile filling the air. He placed a mug in front of Lucifer, who looked at it like he didn’t deserve it.

"Thank you," Lucifer murmured again, his voice hoarse. He wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into his fingers.

Adam sat down across from him, his green eyes sharp and probing.

"Talk," he said firmly. "If you’re going to be here, if you’re going to invade my space like this, you’d better have something to say."

Lucifer looked up at him then, his blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"I’m sorry," he whispered. "For everything. For hurting you. For... for being selfish. I thought—I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was push you away."

Adam’s jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You did more than push me away, Luci," he said, his voice laced with bitterness. "You broke me. You made me question everything—who I was, who you were. And now you’re here, sitting on my couch like... like you think an apology will fix it all."

"I don’t think that," Lucifer said quickly, his voice desperate. "I don’t. I just... I just wanted a chance to explain. To tell you the truth. And to tell you that I... I love you, Adam..."

The words hung heavy in the air between them, and Adam felt his chest tighten. He looked away, staring at the wall as a thousand memories flooded his mind—nights spent laughing, fights that left them both in tears, and the overwhelming pain of betrayal.

"I don’t know if I can forgive you," Adam said finally, his voice breaking. "I don’t know if I want to."

Lucifer nodded slowly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of Adam’s words.

"I understand," he said softly. "I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just... I needed you to know. And if this is the last time, I see you, then at least I’ll know I tried."

Adam stared at him, his heart aching in ways he didn’t think were possible. For a long moment, he said nothing, letting the silence stretch between them like a fragile thread.

"Finish your tea," he said quietly. "Then we’ll talk."

Lucifer blinked down at the steaming cup of tea, his trembling fingers curling around it. He leaned in closer, his nose brushing the rising vapor as he inhaled the sweet, warm scent.

“Apple, cinnamon, and raisin?” he murmured, his voice carrying a thread of surprise.

He glanced toward Adam with wide, uncertain eyes. “You still drink black tea?”

Adam shifted on his feet, his shoulders tensing as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, well... I guess some things haven’t changed much.”

Lucifer’s lips twitched, and for the briefest moment, a faint, trembling smile graced his pale, blue-tinged lips. He nodded silently and took a tentative sip from the cup, the warmth of the liquid contrasting with his cold hands.

Adam exhaled sharply, his damp hair falling into his eyes as he ran a hand through it. He sighed heavily, his voice emerging soft but filled with weariness as he finally spoke. “You’d better start talking, Luci. If you’re going to sit outside my door for weeks, looking like death warmed over, and then barge into my home, the least you can do is explain yourself.”

Lucifer’s head dipped slightly, his fingers tightening around the tea as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered.

“Not really barging in if you invite me in,” he muttered under his breath, his tone defensive but quiet. When Adam didn’t waver, his sharp green eyes boring into him, Lucifer swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I...” His voice cracked, breaking into a whisper. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Adam frowned, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. “What do you mean you had nowhere else to go? What about your house?”

Lucifer’s head snapped up at that, his wide, startled blue eyes locking onto Adam’s face. “You... you know I own a house?”

Adam flushed, shifting awkwardly. “I mean... I kept tabs on you. After everything. Just to... make sure you were okay.”

The admission hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Lucifer’s expression flickered between hope, sorrow, and something unspoken. His shoulders tensed, but then they sagged as though a weight had settled there.

“I lost the house,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Adam blinked, his brows knitting together in disbelief. “How’d you lose your house?”

Lucifer pinched his lips together, his eyes narrowing in frustration. “It’s hard to keep a house when you’re behind on mortgage payments,” he muttered bitterly.

Adam’s frown deepened. “What about your job? Last I heard, you were doing well in your family’s company—”

Lucifer flinched visibly at the words, his hands tightening around the tea as his body curled inward.

“Things with my family...” His voice wavered, and he trailed off, staring down into the tea as if it held the answers he couldn’t find. “They’ve only gotten worse since... since...”

“Luci.” Adam’s voice was sharper now, a mixture of concern and frustration. “Are... are you homeless?”

Lucifer stiffened, his gaze darting away as his lips pressed into a thin line. When he didn’t answer, Adam’s stomach dropped, and he stepped closer, lowering himself onto the couch beside Lucifer.

“How bad is everything?” Adam asked gently, his tone softening. It was the same tone he’d used years ago, back when comforting Lucifer had been second nature.

The effect was immediate. A shiver ran through Lucifer’s body, and a heavy wave of omega pheromones filled the room, thick with despair. Adam’s throat tightened at the sheer intensity of it, but he didn’t back away.

“Why didn’t you go to...” He hesitated, his words faltering. Why didn’t you come to me? The question hung, unspoken but weighty. “Why didn’t you go to my mama? You know she would’ve helped you.”

Lucifer shook his head slowly, his voice breaking as he replied. “I... I didn’t want to impose. I’ve already caused enough damage. I didn’t want... didn’t want to bring more problems into your family.”

Adam let out a frustrated breath, his fingers twitching as he resisted the urge to snap.

“You could have come to me, Luci,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer pitch. “I would’ve helped you.”

Lucifer’s head shot up, his blue eyes blazing with a mix of disbelief and anger. “You hated me.”

“I do not hate you,” Adam said firmly, his tone exasperated. “I was angry—furious—but hate? I could never hate you. If you’d come to me, I wouldn’t have turned you away. I would’ve...”

“Really?” Lucifer’s voice cracked, his expression breaking apart like fragile glass. His lips trembled, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You really would’ve helped me?”

Adam’s heart twisted painfully. He hadn’t seen Lucifer like this—so open, so raw—since they were teenagers. He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course I would’ve. No matter what’s happened between us, I wouldn’t have let you suffer like this.”

The first tear slipped down Lucifer’s cheek, and he quickly scrubbed it away with the back of his hand. But the dam had broken, and he soon collapsed against Adam, shaking with quiet sobs.

“Addie, I’m so sorry. I—I really am,” he stammered, his voice muffled against Adam’s shoulder.

Adam hesitated, his body stiffening at first, but then he awkwardly wrapped an arm around Lucifer’s trembling form.

“Look, we’ll talk about everything later. But you have to promise me something.” He leaned back slightly, just enough to look Lucifer in the eyes. “You’re not lying about any of this. About your family, the house, all of it.”

Lucifer nodded fervently, his breath hitching as he wiped at his face. “I’m not lying. I swear, Addie. It’s all true. I—I can show you my phone. I have texts and calls from my family... proof...”

“Alright,” Adam murmured, his tone gentler now. “Alright, Luci. I believe you.”

But even as he said the words, a deep unease settled in his chest. Whatever had brought Lucifer to this point—it wasn’t going to be an easy road to fix it. And yet, as he held Lucifer close, Adam couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, they could figure it out together.

The next morning came slowly, the soft grey light of dawn spilling into the small studio flat, muted by thick rainclouds lingering from the storm. Adam stirred first, blinking groggily at the ceiling. His body felt heavy, weighed down not just by sleep but by the emotional strain of the night before. He glanced toward the couch, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the small, curled figure of Lucifer, still buried beneath a mound of blankets.

Lucifer was motionless except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. His face was partially hidden, but Adam could see faint streaks of dried tears on his cheeks. It made his stomach twist in ways he wasn’t ready to unpack.

With a sigh, Adam swung his legs over the edge of his bed and padded toward the kitchenette. His flat wasn’t much, but it was functional: a few cabinets, a stove, and enough counter space to make something simple. He set about preparing tea again, the ritual grounding him. The faint clink of the kettle seemed loud in the stillness, and Adam winced, glancing toward the couch. Lucifer didn’t stir.

Pouring the tea, Adam debated for a moment before grabbing a piece of toast from the breadbox. He smeared it lightly with jam, his movements slower than usual. His mind was elsewhere—on the weight of the air between them, on how they kept colliding like strangers last night when once they had moved seamlessly as one.

Adam approached the couch, placing the tea and toast on the small table nearby. He crouched slightly, his green eyes scanning Lucifer’s face.

"Luci," he said softly, his voice husky from sleep. "Wake up. You need to eat something."

Lucifer shifted beneath the blankets, a low whimper escaping his lips. Slowly, his blue eyes cracked open, unfocused and still rimmed red. He blinked up at Adam, confusion flickering across his face before he seemed to remember where he was.

"Morning," Adam said awkwardly, his hand twitching as though he wanted to reach out but stopped himself. "I made tea. And toast."

Lucifer nodded mutely, sitting up slowly. The blankets slipped from his shoulders, revealing the borrowed pyjamas that hung loosely on his too-thin frame. He accepted the tea, cradling it between his hands like it was the only source of warmth he had.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Adam watched him for a beat, his hands falling to his knees as he pushed himself upright. “I’ll make something more filling in a bit. Eggs or something. Just... eat that for now.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, turning toward the kitchen again. The space between them felt suffocating, each word like a small stone tossed into a vast, still lake.

As Adam fiddled with a frying pan, he couldn’t stop stealing glances over his shoulder. Lucifer sipped his tea but barely touched the toast, his movements sluggish and mechanical. It was maddening, this distance between them, when once they had been so attuned to each other.

The day dragged on like that. Small interactions, half-finished sentences, and lingering silences. Lucifer shuffled around the flat, bumping into Adam every time they crossed paths. Each time, he muttered a soft, barely audible “Sorry,” and each time, Adam waved it off with a tight-lipped nod, his frustration growing—not at Lucifer, but at how unnatural this all felt.

By the time evening came, Adam had managed to coax Lucifer into eating a proper meal, though it had taken more effort than he liked to admit. He set up the couch again, piling it high with the same blankets as the night before. But as he stood there, staring down at the makeshift bed, a sense of wrongness gnawed at him.

It wasn’t right. Lucifer didn’t belong on the couch. He belonged... Adam swallowed hard, turning away. He didn’t want to think about it. About how badly he wanted to pull Lucifer to his bed, to hold him close and whisper reassurances until the cracks in his heart began to mend. It wasn’t time for that. Not yet.

Instead, Adam climbed into his own bed, his body sinking into the familiar mattress. From where he lay, he could see Lucifer on the couch, his form barely visible beneath the pile of blankets. The proximity was a small comfort, enough to ease the tightness in his chest, but it wasn’t enough to stop the lingering ache.

“If... if you need me,” Adam began hesitantly, his voice cutting through the quiet. He trailed off, unsure of what to say, of how to reach out without tearing open old wounds.

Lucifer sniffled, curling tighter into the blankets. He didn’t reply. Adam pressed his lips together, his heart sinking as he realized that was answer enough. He turned onto his side, willing himself to relax, to sleep.

And then he heard it.

It was soft at first, muffled as if Lucifer was desperately trying to suppress it. But the sound grew, breaking through the silence: quiet, broken sobs. Adam froze, his breath catching in his throat. The sound was like a knife twisting in his chest, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to move.

Lucifer was crying. He was crying, and Adam hated it—hated how helpless it made him feel. His fingers curled into the sheets as he debated, his mind a whirlwind of indecision. But in the end, he stayed where he was, his back turned to the couch.

He told himself it was for the best. They both needed space, that it wasn’t the right time to push. But deep down, he knew the truth: he wasn’t ready either. Not to face the depth of Lucifer’s pain. Not to reopen the wounds he had spent years trying to close.

So, he lay there, his eyes burning as he stared at the wall, and listened as Lucifer cried himself to sleep.

Adam waited until Lucifer's breathing softened, a steady rhythm that signaled he was deep in sleep. The moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting pale silver streaks across Lucifer's tear-streaked face. Adam's heart clenched at the sight. Lucifer had always been a fortress, stoic and unshakable. Yet tonight, that carefully constructed image had crumbled, leaving behind a raw, vulnerable man who wept silently into the shadows.

Sliding off the bed as quietly as he could, Adam crept toward the old red-and-orange hoodie tossed carelessly on the chair. His fingers brushed against the fraying fabric, a relic of better days, before digging into the pocket to retrieve Lucifer’s iPhone. Adam hesitated, his gaze darting to Lucifer. Even in sleep, his face was troubled, his brows slightly furrowed.

"I'm sorry," Adam whispered under his breath, clutching the phone tightly.

He tried the first passcode that came to mind—Lucifer's birthday. Incorrect. Christmas? No. The numbers Lucifer jokingly referred to as his "lucky ones"? Still no. Frustration bubbled as Adam rubbed his temple. He even tried his own birthday in a moment of desperation, but nothing worked. He was about to give up when, almost absentmindedly, he entered the date they had first officially met.

The screen unlocked with a soft click. Adam froze, his breath catching. He stared at the illuminated screen, blinking in disbelief. Of all the possible codes, Lucifer had chosen that day. A bittersweet pang echoed in Adam's chest as his gaze returned to the sleeping man.

"You sentimental fool," he muttered, but his words lacked bite.

His thumb hovered over the screen, unsure of where to start. Curiosity and concern warred within him, but something told Adam he needed to understand. He tapped on the messaging app, and what he saw made his blood run cold.

The first message was from Lucifer's father: "You are the greatest disappointment this family has ever endured. Not even fit to carry the Morningstar name."

Adam’s jaw tightened. He scrolled further.

"An omega who can’t even serve his purpose. What use are you to anyone?"

"You can’t provide. You can’t lead. You’re nothing but dead weight."

Message after message was a relentless barrage of cruelty. Words that stabbed like knives. Adam’s chest tightened painfully as he read them, his stomach twisting into knots.

Then came the emails. They were no better. His mother had written lengthy diatribes laced with venom, questioning Lucifer’s worth as a human being. She accused him of staining their lineage, called him poisonous, unworthy, a burden to be discarded.

Adam’s hands trembled as he read the final email, dated just days ago.

"You’ll never be loved, Lucifer. You are broken. Useless. A waste of space."

The screen blurred as Adam’s eyes burned with unshed tears. He lowered the phone to his lap, unable to read another word. His gaze fell to Lucifer, who lay curled up, his body tense even in sleep. How had he survived this? How had he carried the weight of such hatred, such rejection?

Adam’s legs gave way, and he sank to the floor, his knees hitting the hardwood with a dull thud. He could barely breathe. This wasn’t just cruelty; it was a calculated effort to break Lucifer, to strip him of any semblance of dignity or hope.

His voice cracked as he whispered, "Luci... how have you endured this? How could you go through all of this and still... still do those things to me?"

Adam reached out with trembling fingers, brushing the golden strands of Lucifer’s hair away from his face. He tenderly wiped away the dried tear tracks on his cheeks, his heart shattering with each gentle caress.

"You deserved so much more," Adam murmured, his voice breaking. "You deserved love, respect... everything they denied you…but you also did bad things too..”

His anger simmered beneath the surface, directed at the Morningstars and their unyielding, heartless expectations. An omega in a family of alphas—Lucifer had never stood a chance against their prejudice. And the sheer audacity of them demanding he mate with an older alpha, as though his entire worth depended on whom he married—it made Adam’s blood boil.

He cradled Lucifer’s face gently, his thumb tracing small circles on his cheek. "You are not poisonous. You are not broken. You are not unworthy," Adam whispered fiercely. "You are loved. Maybe not by them, but by…Always by…."

Lucifer stirred slightly, a faint whimper escaping his lips. Adam leaned closer, pressing a feather-light kiss to his temple. He held him like he was made of glass, as though the sheer weight of his care could mend the shattered pieces of Lucifer's heart.

"I don’t know if I can forgive you for the things you’ve done but…but I’ll fight for you," Adam vowed softly, tears slipping down his own cheeks now. "Even if they won't, I will. Your family don’t deserve you.”

Lucifer sighed in his sleep, his body relaxing slightly as though he could feel Adam’s silent promise. Adam stayed there, his fingers tangled in golden hair, his heart beating with a fierce determination. He would protect Lucifer, no matter what.

[jadegretz]

Ling Xiaoyu: Quest for the Phoenix Scrolls by Jade Gretz

Ling Xiaoyu stood at the edge of the criminal syndicate's lair, her heart pounding in her chest as the shadows of the night cloaked her figure. The air was thick with tension, the kind that signaled the calm before a storm. She knew that beyond the heavy iron doors in front of her lay a labyrinth of danger, deceit, and death. The syndicate she had spent months tracking down was notorious for its ruthlessness, and tonight, she was going to confront the dragon-headed leader who ruled it all with an iron fist.

Xiaoyu had been following the trail of this syndicate for weeks, piecing together clues and uncovering the dark web of connections that led her here. She had heard whispers of their cruelty, of how they crushed anyone who dared to oppose them. But Xiaoyu was no ordinary fighter; she was determined, skilled, and unafraid to face whatever horrors awaited her within those walls.

As she pushed open the doors, the stench of damp concrete and the metallic tang of blood assaulted her senses. The lair was a twisted maze of narrow corridors and dimly lit rooms, each one echoing with the faint sounds of suffering. Xiaoyu's eyes narrowed as she crept forward, every muscle in her body coiled like a spring, ready to strike.

The first wave of henchmen came at her without warning, emerging from the shadows like ghosts. They were armed to the teeth, their faces twisted into sneers of contempt. But Xiaoyu moved with the grace of a dancer, her body a blur of motion as she ducked, weaved, and struck with pinpoint accuracy. Each blow she landed was a symphony of violence, her fists and feet connecting with bone and flesh in a deadly rhythm.

One by one, the henchmen fell, their bodies crumpling to the floor in lifeless heaps. Xiaoyu barely paused to catch her breath before she pressed on, deeper into the lair. The further she went, the more the atmosphere seemed to change. The walls grew closer, the air thicker, and a sense of foreboding settled over her like a shroud.

She found herself in a long, dark corridor lined with flickering fluorescent lights. The walls were stained wi …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

[infosphere]

Gotham's Darkest Hour - A Batman story

Gotham City lay shrouded in an ominous mist, its towering skyscrapers casting long, shadowy figures on the streets below. The moon hung heavy in the sky, its pale light a stark contrast to the inky darkness that permeated every corner of the city. This was a night when the criminals of Gotham felt emboldened, driven by the belief that the shadows would hide their sins.

In the heart of this labyrinthine city, Bruce Wayne stood before the Batcomputer, the blue glow of its screens illuminating his determined face. Alarms blared throughout the Batcave as news feeds displayed scenes of chaos—riots in the streets, a string of bank robberies, and a sinister message from the Joker, who had once again escaped from Arkham Asylum.

"Tonight, Gotham falls," the Joker's maniacal voice echoed through the speakers. "And Batman, there's nothing you can do to stop it!"

Bruce clenched his fists, his jaw set in steely resolve. "Alfred, ready the Batmobile. It's time to show Gotham that hope still exists."

Moments later, the Batmobile roared to life, tearing through the streets of Gotham with the precision and ferocity of a predator. Batman's first target: a bank where the Joker's henchmen were busy emptying vaults. As the Batmobile screeched to a halt, the criminals turned, their faces twisted in fear as the Dark Knight emerged from the shadows.

A flurry of punches and kicks ensued, each movement a symphony of skill and power. Batman subdued the henchmen with ease, leaving them bound for the police to collect. He then made his way to the central square, where the rioters had gathered, inciting chaos and destruction.

"ENOUGH!" Batman's voice boomed over the cacophony, silencing the mob. His presence commanded respect, fear, and an unspoken promise of justice. As he worked to disperse the rioters, he noticed a pattern in their movements, leading him to a hidden lair beneath the city.

Descending into the darkness, Batman found himself in a labyrinth of tunnels and traps, each more deadly than the last. But with unwavering resolve, he navigated the maze, his mind as sharp as his batarangs. Finally, he arrived at a dimly lit chamber, where the Joker awaited him, seated on a throne of explosives.

"Welcome, Bats!" the Joker cackled, his eyes gleaming with madness. "You've walked right into my trap!"

Batman stepped forward, unafraid. "This ends tonight, Joker. No more games."

With a flick of his wrist, the Joker ignited the detonator, but Batman was faster. He hurled a batarang, severing the wires and rendering the device useless. Enraged, the Joker lunged at Batman, and the two engaged in a brutal battle of wits and fists.

The chamber echoed with the sounds of their struggle, a clash of light and darkness, sanity and madness. But Batman's determination was unyielding. With a final, powerful blow, he knocked the Joker to the ground, standing over him with an air of finality.

"You're going back to Arkham," Batman declared, his voice unwavering. "And this time, you'll stay there."

As dawn broke over Gotham City, the Bat-signal shone brightly in the sky, a beacon of hope for the weary citizens. Batman stood atop a skyscraper, watching as the city slowly returned to normalcy. He knew the fight was far from over, but in this moment, he had won a crucial battle.

"By InfoSphere. Follow for more stories."

[captianprices40thson]

Can you make a story for October, a male reader x soap. Where before the reader joined the 141 he was in a different military unit and one evening he got captured by the enemy and was murdered by dismemberment but some mad scientist there put him back together using the dismembered pieces. He came back by being hit by lighting. So now he kind of looks like frankenstein. he doesn't have all the bolts or dead skin, but he has one sliver gray eye. the other one is a light yellow, and he also has stitches on his face and his body. When he was finally rescued and back with his team, some were afraid of him and some belittled him. So he wears full body gear now so no one can fully see him. After joining the 141 he gets hurt really really REALLY badly and a some of his stitches rip, he tries to brush it off like it's nothing but soap refuses to believe him, so he kinda forcefully pulls male readers gear off and sees him body for the first time.

I'LL LEAVE THE REACTIONS OF SOAP TO YOU. Also can you do the reactions of the 141 too. Like maybe there in the room too when soap takes the gear off...

If you're not comfy with the dismemberment, you can just have it implied.

Happy early halloween, if you celebrate it🎃🎃🎃💖💖💖🙃🙃🙃

They took the credit for your second symphony, rewritten by machine and new technology.

Pairing: John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Male Reader

Requested: Yes

Word count: 5.4k

Pronouns used: You/Yourself. Reader referred to as Y/N and male titles/compliments.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, blood, gore, dismemberment to the best best of my ability, fluff, angst, so much death on god, brutal deaths, stitches, skin ripping, bad language.

Notes: Finished this at 1 in the morning and posting it during Japanese class at school, going to go over and review it soon, but I want to get this out soon as possible. I loved this request and just saying, my inbox is open! If you’re not sure on what I do and don’t write, check my page!

“Y/N?” “Huh? “Y/N, were you even listening?” Your commander asked, a stern look on her face. You didn’t even realise how zoned out you had been, oblivious to the fact that the vast majority of your team had already prepped up.

“Oh…Sorry, Captain.” You apologised, standing up from your seat on the bench and making way to go put on your gear. Of course you were going to be a bit freaked and zoned out, this was a deadly mission. You knew your Captain was going to need everyone to be in tip top shape for this mission to go smoothly, if you slipped up and did something wrong…it would cost lives.

“Come on, Y/N. I need my best man out there today, not distracted Y/N, okay?” Your Captain told you, giving you a small pat on the shoulder. Valencia was a nice woman, even let you call her ‘Val’ on the odd occasion. She was a good person, believed in the good of the world more than one person should. She believed in you as well, she knew you could be great.

You nodded, placing your helmet on and giving her a thumbs up. The rest of the team were just waiting for you to finish up before they would leave, an indicator that this mission was already unorganised. A bad feeling, like a black hole, had appeared in your stomach.

“Alright men! Let’s do this. You all know the plan. I want Oak and Close going in from the left, Wilson and Stampler on the right. O’Niel and Bennets are on standby back here and C/N will be heading in from behind as our sniper. We have MedVac ready for those who will need it. Remember, we are going after Andrei Kowalski and his men. This is capture or kill. All clear?” Valencia cut you from your thoughts of dread by announcing the mission was about to start. You’d all get into your helicopter and make your way there…then would come the warfare and violence. You had become null to it by now, the screams and bloodshed were all but nothing to you.

It was liked you had blinked and you were on the field. Time meant nothing to you as you ran through the warzone, the occasional screams of your team members were able to be heard from miles away, sometimes the radio would cackle and you’d catch them conversing with one another, but you were alone in your field…

Always alone.

“C/N? Do you have eyes on him?” Your Captain’s voice called in from the radio, bringing you back to the mission on hand.Your eyes adjusted to look through the scope aimed at the building the team was meant to be invadinging. The lack of your team members indicated they seemed to be receiving a little more resistance than expected.

“Not yet, Captain. I see some of his guards, but not him. I’ll try and get into a better position.” You responded, getting up from your spot on the floor. Your suit was heavier and harder to move in considering it was a camo sniper version, but it was better than being spotted and murdered because an enemy saw you.

You adjusted yourself and lay down on the wet ground. The mud helped cover parts of your gear that didn’t fit in with the terrain, but you still had that odd feeling. That sense of unease that you just couldn’t seem to shake. You had gotten this feeling before on other missions, but it never led to anything.

And it was never this bad.

“C/N. They’re breaching the building now. Mission’s been changed, we’re taking out Andrei at whatever cost. We won’t be able to capture him.” Valencia’s thick English accent came over your radio, startling you a bit. You were a trained sniper, but somehow you were always caught off guard by the one thing you can always expect. You radioed back, confirming you got the message and were proceeding with the instructions.

Your voice drowned out the sound of the footsteps behind you. The cackle of the radio concealed the heavy breathing of the soldier lurking just a few steps away from you. You moved your arms to push yourself up, the rustle of your clothing covering the sound of his body standing over yours, his feet either side of your torso.

“Boo.”

You knew that voice, that unmistakable voice that always seemed to have a smirk behind it. A witty tone that had no business being there. The stench of the cigarette that always seemed to follow the man standing above you. You quickly turned your body around, abandoning the sniper rifle you were holding and just focusing on the fact that he was standing above you. Your eyes snapped up to look at him, your pupils dilating as you processed that it was in fact him standing above you.

Creeper. You had given him that name. When you served as rookies together when you first joined the force, it had become a habit for him to appear out of the blue and scare the hell out of you. He was Creeper to you even after he betrayed your team and you’re fairly certain that's what he is to everyone else as well.

“Alons-” You whispered, but he cut you off, his gun whipping around from his side and now inches away from your eyes. Your breath hitched, knowing you were done for. You looked away from the gun and back up to him, his cold dark brown eye meeting yours. The other eye was a pure white, you cringed every time you thought of the incident which caused him to be blinded. You knew he blamed you…

Maybe that's what drove him to betrayal.

“It’s Creeper, Y/N. I don’t go by that name anymore.” He hissed, his finger on the trigger twitching as he spoke. He was serious, he was going to shoot you and have no mercy about it. This was it…you were going to die here.

“I’m not going to kill you with this gun, Y/N…” He began, lowering the gun a bit. You let go of the breath you were holding from relief, but that was met with a slap to the face that was what he did next. He placed the gun back into his hold and then reached for his back. His arm was up like he was stretching, but his hand quickly grasped the axe he attached to his back and brought it down so he could hold it in both his hands.

“I won’t regret this…at all.” He spat, bringing the axe up to his shoulder like he was about to swing a bat. Your eyes went wide and before you could say anything else, he swung. He swung right down to your neck.

You had heard alot about death. You had many ideas about it. You had heard it would be painful, you had heard it would be painless. You had heard you stayed conscious, you had heard it was over instantly. No matter what divine entity you did or didn’t believe in, it didn’t matter, death wasn’t the same for everyone. If you could still create thoughts after you died, yours would be praying this isn't what it was like for everyone who did. You didn’t want every kind soul to feel the red hot poker being pressed against your skin that was your death. 

After the pain, there was silence. If you were able to think, you would be grateful for it. It would be comforting, calming to your soul to finally be at rest after an impossible amount of years without it. For once, your soul rested unbothered, ready to let go of the fraying rope that was your life.

Then you woke up.

The light was blinding, you would assume you were in heaven, but that would be entirely incorrect. Your ears rang with the most awful noise one could hear, an ear splitting ringing that would drive you insane if it was played for more than five minutes. What felt like a jolt of electricity slammed through your body like a hammer down on a nail. The blinding light disappeared as quick as a snap.

The first thing you noticed was the pain. It circled around all your main joints and connections between the body. Your wrists, knees, ankles, elbows, neck…everything ached. Then you felt the feeling of something pulling on all of your skin, like that time you received stitches in the webbing of your thumb, but everywhere else on your body that ached, along with across your face.

You tried to move your neck first, turn it and try to figure out where you were. The only thing you could see from your head being pointed directly up was a sort of dark blue hue that made the place seem depressing and creepy, like the only light was coming from the moon outside. You were able to move it, but it was stiff and harder than it would usually be. That was your first sign that something was off.

Your head looked down to inspect where you were, taking in the fact you were laying down on a cold metal table. You weren’t restrained or anything, but you were getting major creepy vibes. It felt cool on your back, it was clear that you probably hadn’t been laying there all that long, or the heat from your body would’ve warmed it up. Then you looked down at your hands as you tried to move them.

The stitches and ever so slightly discoloured skin was your second sign that something was off.

You sat up, your body rigid and hard like a doll being used for the first time. You weren’t in your normal clothes, just a simple robe that you’d wear in a hospital if surgery was performed on you, and by the looks of it, it had. 

You were able to move your arm up and inspect it, cringing at the stitches and blood. Several questions ran through your mind, the main one being ‘How the hell am I alive?’ and the second being ‘What the hell happened to me?’ Everything hurts, especially your neck. Your bones felt like they had been removed and remoulded, it all felt too weird to you. Your skin didn’t feel like your own.

A cold and icy voice broke you out of your mesmerised trance of inspecting your body. It came from seemingly nowhere. It sounded…delighted. Your eyes flickered over to the shadows in the corner, one of them was moving towards you. 

It was a man, probably around 6 feet with a stupid grin on his face. His skin was pale, paler than the moonlight shining in through the window above. He slowly walked over to you, hands behind his back like a villain.

“Finally…finally it fucking worked!” He grinned, shaking his head like he had seen something he couldn’t believe. You couldn’t blame him, what was happening was unbelievable. You quickly slid off the table, groaning as you moved for the first time in what would feel like to your body.

“What…the fuck did you do? W-What is this? What happened?!” You called out, your voice cracking as it was used for the first time in ages. You coughed, trying to make it not as itchy. It wasn’t working.

“Y/N…You’re still as animated as ever.” He grinned, gesturing to you and your stitched up body. You wanted to strangle him, clearly he had done something awful to you that you were going to get him to explain, regardless of whatever threats you had to make.

“Answer me right now you…you madman.” You hissed, walking towards him. Every step hurt, like it wasn’t meant to be taken. He smiled, taking a breath before speaking again.

“Y/N…Let me explain. Do you remember the night you went on the mission to kill my good friend Andrei Kowalski…do you remember being killed by your old friend Creeper? You should…you should remember being decapitated. Well…I was given your body…or what was left of it after Creeper chopped it up into a million pieces. Under strict orders from Andrei…to bring you back. So…I stitched you back up. Like you were my very own Frankenstien’s monster. The plan was to bring you back to life the same way Frankenstien had…and it worked.” The man smiled, seemingly okay with telling you his entire plan. You couldn’t decide whether he was stupid or just overly confident in himself that you wouldn’t escape and go find your team. “What now?” You asked, feeling the need to get into his head. After all, this man had literally just reanimated your dead body. He brought back a dead man and just stood there like an evil little Einstein.

“Now…I will bring you to him. So he can kill you over and over again…and you’ll come back every time.” He grinned and before you could react, he grabbed your hand and attempted to pull you closer to him in order to trap you. What he obviously didn’t anticipate was that your years of military training and work would stay with you and chime in when you needed it most.

You grabbed his arm, pulling him towards you and then placing your leg behind his so you could throw his balance off and keep him on the ground. You slammed him down and placed your foot on his chest, grabbing a metal rod just a few inches away from you and raising it high, just how Creeper had done.

“Y/N. Y/N WA-” He called out, extending a hand out to try and reason with you, but you brought it down on his head, instantly crushing his skull. You slammed it down over and over, making sure that if anyone even tried to bring this monster back from the dead, it would be impossible. You didn’t stop until you could see the brain sticking to the bat, that’s when you knew it was done.

You dropped the metal rod and stood there for a moment, huffing and puffing as you figured out what you had just done. You looked up from his body and to your horrible convenience, there was a mirror just in front of you. You stood in front of it, observing what you looked like.

There were clear and major differences that you could see so far. The first one being your eyes, they didn’t look the same as they had done before. One of them, the one on the left was a light yellow and the right one was a silver grey. It was creepy and inhuman, there was no pupil or iris either…just pure colour. You would question how you could still see, but you were too distracted by everything else and too high off of fear to question anything.

Your skin was neatly stitched together with a white thread, standing out against your skin tone. Most of the stitching wasn’t visible, but when it was it wasn’t too obvious, sort of the stitching you’d see on your friend’s hand when they’d get a deep cut or something. Just that, pulling your skin together. There was blood along most of the lines, the dried stuff was yours, the fresh belonged to Mr Crazy that you had never gotten the name of.

“Y/N?” A voice called out. Your eyes snapped over to the door in the corner or the room, the door was open. Standing in it, Valencia and the rest of your team. Valencia herself looked horrified as you stood over his dead body, his blood now mixing in with yours. The darkness in the lab made it look like you were a shadow, a ghost…a monster.

“Val-” You began, but were cut off by her running up to you and giving you a hug. You were caught off guard, she had never shown any affection to you, let alone physical. This was unlike her in so many ways.

“You idiot. We thought you died. We tracked your radio here but-” She spoke, cutting herself off as she made eye contact with you, or tried to. Your silver and yellow eyes had confused her, then she saw all the stitches. The one across your face concerned her the most.

“Y/N…what the hell happened to you?” She whispered, stepping back and raising her gun slightly. As the rest of the team looked over to you, they did the same. Placing their weapons in a hand that they’d be able to use in case you attacked them. You couldn’t explain yourself, you really couldn’t. Hell, even if you didn’t fully know what had happened to you, there was no way you could explain yourself.

“Captain…don’t…I-I’m not a threat.”  You whispered, stepping forward and raising your hand. To your surprise, she took a further step back, some of the men even raised their shields. She clutched her gun, raising it further to her chest. That's when you realised, you were not a human to these people you called your friends…

You were a monster.

______________________

“Why’d you join the 141?” 

“Huh?”

“Why’d you join us? You were a part of The Seekers, no? They’re a pretty elite team. Why’d you drop them for us?” Soap asked, shuffling a bit closer to you as you sat on the bench. It had been little over five months since you had joined the team and the connection between you and Soap had formed instantly. Unsurprisingly, the team members didn’t mind the fact your entire body was covered up. They had Ghost on the team, they weren’t going to judge you.

“Oh I…a mission went wrong. I didn’t feel like I could stay with them and neither did they.” You replied after a moment of thinking. For a minute, you had wanted to refrain from telling Soap the actual reason for it. Technically, it was the truth so that was going to lend a hand to your moral argument.

“Was it the same mission that…caused you to cover up?” He asked again. You thought about hitting him with the ‘that's enough’ that you had used before when he asked to see your face a while back, but you were close now. You felt he had a right to know now.

You gave a small nod, the glasses you wore over your balaclava covering your expression. You were glad he was respectful with his questions, never pushing you to answer anything you didn’t and never stepping over the line you had drawn. You didn’t want to get attached to this team as quickly as you had, but Mr MacTavish had broken down your walls quicker than you could put them up.

“C/N, Soap. We’re going to head out now, Gaz just got back with the all clear. Good to see you’re both in gear.” Ghost interrupted you two as he walked into the gear room. You were reminded that you were in fact, in the military and not some hangout session with Soap. You nodded, getting up and holding out your hand to pull the slightly shorter man up.

“Oooh, thank you M’lord.” He smiled as he took your hand, pulling himself up. You would roll your eyes if you could, so you just let out a small scoff. He chuckled as he walked with you to the deployment area, knowing they were in for a hell of a journey.

_____

“Y/N? You okay?” Soap’s voice cackled in over the radio as you made your way through the little abandoned city. The rest of the team were over in another section, leaving Soap and Gaz back at a small protected setup area. You were just so lucky to have Soap watching over you from the cameras that had been placed in all the buildings before it was abandoned. How your team had access to them, you had no clue. All you knew was that your man was here and you were to take him down.

“All good over here, Soap. Tell me if you see one of those fuckers hiding behind a corner.” You spoke back, pressing down on the radio with your gloved hand to respond to the man you were developing a small attraction to, whether you knew it or not.

“There’s a guy around the corner, knife him.” Soap informed you, shuffling from where he was laying in the safe room. You nodded, taking his advice and running round the corner, throwing and pinning the man to the wall, knifing the guy in the throat. You could practically hear the smirk in his tone when he came back.

“Nice kill. You should do that to me sometime.” He smirked, his Scottish accent only adding to his sassiness. You groaned at his painful attempt at flirting, firing back at him.

“You want me to kill you? Don’t worry, I'm already planning it.” You smiled, making your way through the destruction that was the ruined town of Norest.

“Do you have plans to kill every one of us?”

“Nope, just you.”

“I’m flattered. How’d ye do it?”

“If I tell you, I’d have to change my plan.”

“Fair play.” Soap smiled, checking the cameras to watch you move. He was so intrigued by you. He had never seen your face, never bothered to check your file. He respected you too much…along with the fact Gaz had caught him snooping around in the file area. But the respect came first.

Sometimes, he’d gaze at you and just wonder what it would be like to see what was under your gear. He wanted to see you, the real you. His sketchbooks were filled with a thousand pictures of what he imagined you looked like, each picture different from the last. Did you have bright blue eyes, ivory skin and wavy ginger hair, or did you have beautiful dark brown eyes, mahogany skin and medium length locs? Perhaps you had acne, perhaps you had a scar going across your left eyebrow. He didn’t have a clue what you looked like, but he knew you were handsome.

“MacTavish? Are you still with me?” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, not even realising he was kicking his feet like a schoolgirl (Gaz was utterly bewildered, but was unable to comment because he was actually doing his job and guiding his other teammates across the town in search of the man they had to find.) “Aye, I’m ‘ere.” “Good, thought I’d lost you. I need you to check around me. Pretty sure I heard our guy but I wanna make sure.” You told him, making sure to keep quiet. Your stitches were getting a bit itchy, but you could scratch them later when you were by yourself. It wouldn’t look natural for Soap to just see you scratch the middle of your face in a specific pattern and for him to not question it.

“Right, gimme a sec.”

There was a silence, what felt like an eternity of waiting before you got a response from the scott. It was like he was purposefully keeping you on your toes, wanting to see you squirm and hide for no apparent reason other than he was a chaotic man.

“Yeah, he’s there. I’ve informed Gaz and he’ll direct Ghost and Price over to you. He’s a few metres away, you could sneak up on him and take him down from behind.” Soap spoke, clearly moving as he did. He would be looking over at Gaz and getting his readings on Price and Ghost as he explained the situation to you.

You gave a nod, knowing he could see you. Peering round the corner, Soap wasn’t lying. The dark slicked back hair, tall physique and tanned skin let you know this was your guy. You slipped your hand into your 

You ran up to the taller man, placing your gun to the back of his neck and kicking his knee so that he’d fall and you’d be able to kill him nice and swift with no hassle or fuss whatsoever. Unfortunately, the man had different plans.

He quickly turned around, grabbing your gun and throwing it to the side. You were unable to press down on the back of his knees, because he had turned around and was now facing you. You reached for your knife, but were stopped when you felt his foot on your chest. It took a second to register what was happening, but by the time it did you were shoved into an already cracked wall.

You took a moment, knowing you didn’t have one. You had most likely gotten a concussion from the hit, but you couldn’t focus on that now. Just as you were about to grab your gun which had been thrown aside, the man stopped you. He grabbed onto your mask, his nails digging in past the fabric and into the stitched skin below, and shoved your head down to the floor once more. 

The screams of Soap came in through your radio, assorted word vomic that you couldn’t actually make out with everything spinning and your ears ringing. You’d hope he’d come to you and save you, but as soon as your mind stopped spinning, you realised you didn’t actually want him to save you. There was blood dripping and staining your mask. Your blood. It was an unnatural amount for something that shouldn’t have even drawn more than a drop of the red liquid, which could only mean one thing.

Your stitches ripped.

It seemed that your enemy had also been caught off by the amount of blood, giving you just a few seconds to grab the gun, aim it at his face and completely miss, hitting his shoulder instead. He grabbed it in pain and immediately resorted to grabbing out his own knife and stabbing it right into your stomach, ripping it through the skin and dragging a line down it. You cried in pain as your flesh was exposed and your stitches ripped, causing even further damage. 

Why wasn’t he killing you? Why not put you out of your misery and shove that knife right into your face. Why make you suffer? There were so many questions and not enough time to answer them. Well, there was probably enough time, but that would require knowing what the actual fuck was going on.

“Y/N!” You breathed a sigh of relief as you heard the sound of your Captain running towards you, Ghost right behind. The unmistakable noise of a gunshot colliding with someone’s head put a smile on your face, watching as the man fell to the floor.

“Y/N, You alright?” Price asked, kneeling down beside you as you pushed yourself up against the wall. Your hand was on your chest, covering up any exposed skin or blood. You nodded, trying to pass it off as if you were just shaken up. You couldn’t let them see…you.

“Y/N! You idiot!” The familiar Scottish accent put a smile on your face, watching the Scottsman run towards you was a relieving sight at first…but then you remembered what happened.

“Y/N, you alright?”

“Don’t look.” “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“You won’t like what you see, just step away. All four of you.” “I have a right to know. Are you injured?”

“No-No just go.” “Y/N, Let me see-”

You would’ve liked to protest more, but you were losing too much blood to fight him. Soap had pulled your hands back, moving your shirt so he could see the heavy amount of blood loss. He looked up at your glasses, noticing the blood on your mask. He knew what he had to do, even if he didn’t like it. 

When he removed your mask, your glasses came down with it. Gravity had decided to fuck you over more than you had already been fucked. There was a silence as the whole team looked over at you, the ripped stitching across your face…and your eyes. They were, if anything, the biggest indicator that something was different with you.

“S-Soap…” You began, but you couldn’t figure out how to finish what you were saying. You just wanted him to say something, say anything. Instead, he was just staring. You had no idea what he was thinking about, but you just knew he was horrified with you, along with the rest of the 141. 

“Oh…oh Y/N…What…what the hell happened to you?” He whispered and to your surprise, he placed a hand on your bloodied cheek. He looked concerned…but he wasn’t scared of you like you’d expected. He got closer instead of backing away, that’s what made him different from your old team.

“Soap…I’m sorry for not telling you…or anyone else about…” You trailed off, using an arm to gesture to yourself. You had no idea what he was thinking about, you could only hope it was something good about you. He was clearly about to say something when Price butted in first.

“You two, we should go. We can all have a…chat after Y/N isn’t bleeding out infront of us.” Price’s rough British accent made him seem more serious in all situations he’s in. This one especially. Soap gave a nod and turned back to you, his eyes not full of fear or hatred…just sympathy.

_______ “Do you think I’m a freak, though?” You asked as Soap walked around your hospital bed. It had been a few days ever since the incident had happened. Soap kept a close eye on you and reported back on your condition to the rest of the team. When you had woken up, the questions were slow and boring…but now you were finally opening your walls and so was he.

“No…I don’t think you are. I mean-I’ve got no idea what exactly you are, but you’re not a freak. Just…different.” He responded, careful to not say anything that might upset you. You took note of this, feeling a bit hurt that he was censoring himself, but knowing why he was doing it helped a bit.

“You don’t have to filter yourself, John. Tell me…any questions that you have.” You practically begged him. The whole reason you covered yourself up was not to be seen as different, but now that it was useless, it was useless for Soap to cover his questions up. It took a while for him to gather up the courage to ask you something, but he did.

“What…what happened to you? I’m assuming you weren’t born like this.” He questioned, trying to add a little humour to the end of the message but failing miserably. You took a breath and told him everything. The mission, what death felt like, killing the man who brought you back to life, not belonging to your team anymore because of what had happened. By the end, you were sure Soap was tearing up. He was an emotional man, you couldn’t blame him.

“I…I’m gonna be honest, Y/N…that’s really fucking depressing.” He expressed, placing a hand on his mouth. You stared at him for a moment, his eyes staring back into yours. He was fascinated by you, what you looked like. He was sure he had a sketch in his book that looked exactly like you…minus the stitching and the eyes.

“The rest of the team…what do they think?” You asked, closing your eyes and looking up. You needed to know the reactions of everyone in the team, you couldn’t live with yourself not knowing their actual opinions on who and what you were.

“Ghost and Gaz are…surprisingly alright with it. Price was a bit shocked, he was only shown a photo of you before…all that happened. But mainly..they don’t mind. When you come back to active duty…I don’t think you’d need to cover up as much anymore. You still can, if you want. Not gonna force you.” Soap told you, sitting down next to your bed. You were grateful for him in times like these, where he reminded you that you were no longer alone. He was always there for you…you loved him for that.

You loved that he was kind to you.

You loved that Soap was so understanding and patient.

You loved…

You loved Soap.

“I will say though,” his words cut you out of your sudden very gay realisation, turning to face him as he sat next to your bed. “You are way more attractive than anything I could even imagine sketching up.” (Happy Halloween!)

[sashi-ya]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫. [chapter 4] 𝚔𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚔𝚒 𝚋𝚢𝚊𝚔𝚞𝚢𝚊 𝚡 𝚏! 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛[+18]

✦ adapted to x! reader from my original oc story. ✦ tw: romance & porn. a lot more romance, and a lot of passionate love making too. Inspired on real places in Kyoto. I invented, however, a festival and a legend. shower sex. food play. public sex. impregnation kink. ✦ chapter 1 / chapter 2/ chapter 3/ chapter 5

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒: 𝐋��𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐢 [𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝟐: 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐤𝐲]

“Blessed with eternal love those who see, in between the lights of a thousand lanterns in the sky, the white ray of the ghost lovers rise”

Byakuya turns you around, his hands on your back. Still panting, you can even feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. His frown is relaxed, his eyes are in heaven… he is tired, you can see it. And you haven’t ever seen him that way.

“Are you ok, Taicho?” you ask, shyly, moving away the dishevelled hairs off his face.

“Taicho… heh” he scoffs; caressing your face with the soft surface of his palms. “Don’t call me Taicho here, is not necessary… call me Byakuya”.

You smile, so slowly and sweetly. Resting your cheek on his hand, closing your eyes in total peace. It feels as if your heart would be weightless, where there are no problems nor responsibilities. No hollows, no Quincy, no Espada nor any type of enemy.

“Come on, let’s take a shower. I wanna show you something tonight”

Soapy water running through your bodies, his hands touching you like feathers. It’s so delicate, so delicious. Lust seems to be endless, for him, for you.

Byakuya grabs your hand and plants a kiss on your wrist while you pass your nails through his wet onyx hair. The noble pulls you closer to his body, your breasts pressed against his pale, hairless chest. Your forearms rest on his shoulders, with hands hanging loosely in between his shoulder blades.

“Thank you for this, Tai- Byakuya” you whisper, with water drops pooling in your lashes.

“It’s me who should thank you, (Name)” he whispers, pulling his hair back… so effortlessly looking like the god of beauty and perfection himself.

A kiss, so very deep. Your back now pressed against the marble tiles of such luxurious shower, your legs around his waist and his hands holding you up by the back of your thighs.

You, nor him, understand where does the need, the desire, come from… it seems like you are never satisfied, as if you needed him inside and him to be buried deep into you all the time. The more your skins get closer, the more you need the other. Never ending lust, eternal concupiscence… where does it come from?

What motivates two souls to join? What makes them be so hungry, so thirsty for listening to the beautiful symphony of moaning and whining and grunting?

Is it… perhaps…

“Nghh… Byakuya~” “Mine… (Name) just be mine… only mine”

Another, and another time, and until the hot water runs out. And when your bellies grunt, and maybe pushing yourself to the limits more… that’s when you stop.

It’s ok, nobody will see you two walking through the streets of old Kyoto. Yet, he offers you beautiful traditional clothes. “You would look beautiful in pink” he comments, showing you a piece of the finest yukata, your eyes have ever seen.

“Pink like the petals you cast, beautiful as your Bankai ~” you dare to sound like a poet. You can’t contain the joy inside of you, it’s nothing but pure love what moves you now.

“Sharp like you, deadly like your lips, shimmery as your eyes” he follows you. Maybe he enjoys poetry a lot more than you think, or it’s just that his heart is finally melting down.

You giggle, grabbing the yukata from his noble hands, on tippy toes kissing his lips with a butterfly kiss.

Byakuya looks at you for brief seconds, as if he were lost in a sky of a thousand million stars. And you do too, knowing that he was the brightest of them all…

Byakuya excuses himself for a second and gets out of the room. Not five minutes passed, that he is back again. He offers you his hand and both walk outside the manor. You look at him surprised. Finally, holding hands? Is it allowed in here?

“Come on, we need to get there in time” he tells you, once his fingers wrap around yours.

“Where, Byakuya?” you ask, not really caring about the destiny. You can only enjoy the way his hand feels on yours.

“You will see once we get there” the captain explains as he guides you to a little red tori near the house, still on the beach. Tori are known to be the doors of Gods, and also a way of getting places for Shinigami.

Soon, and as you walk through the holly red arc, the warm lights of traditional lanterns welcome you into the main historical street of Kyoto.

“Oh-“ you gasp, it’s breathtaking. A crimson glimmer bathes your cheeks and the bridge of your nose. Drums playing, the bustle of happy couples and the sizzling sound of Takoyaki combine in one unique melody of a summer festival.  The delicious, sweet scent of wata-ame makes your belly grunt.

“This is… beautiful! So beautiful!” you chime, making little jumps in your place.

“I’m glad you like it, (Name)” Byakuya says, resting his hand right on top of the small of your back. And then slowly moving you to face him.

You beam and giggle. Happiness overflows your insides, and it pours all over your countenance.

Your lover, who also holds a very soft smile, takes his time to enjoy the way your skin shines with the orangey tones of the lanterns. And then, he proceeds to kiss you, once again.

Right in the middle of that busy street, where couples and kids walk past by, nobody can see the pure exchange of love of those two souls. Yet, every time a young girl and a very nervous boy passes by, there is something that pulls them to hold hands for the very first time… And a son hugs his mom, and maybe even an old couple smile again at each other…

Love is invisible, like them two. Love is unstoppable, like them two. Love is love, for living people and Shinigami too.  

When your lips finally separate, even if it’s just for a second, Byakuya points at a hill with an astonishing castle on the peak. “Let’s go, you need to see something” he comments, and you start following him.

You walk right beside him, for once the gettas you are wearing aren’t uncomfortable; they go perfectly with the occasion. And the way your yukatas flow with the wind makes you both look like beautiful butterflies.

Through the climbing path, lanterns with 愛 and 死 illuminate the sides of it. You wonder why, some of them have “love” engraved, while others have “death” on them. So, you ask Byakuya.

“This is the Love and Death festival, (Name). It is meant to celebrate love being endless. Life might be limited, but love isn’t… it was based on an old legend I can’t quite remember” he explains, while you are about to reach the end of the trail.

You smile, very pleased with the explanation and honestly a little lost into the way the reddish lights of the castle make his deep blue eyes shine.

You two walk up to the rail of the hill and take a quick look down. Underneath you, lies ahead the busy streets full of life and love, people dancing and eating, some drinking and laughing. Up in there it is lonely, and yet, so closer to the sky, so beautiful and magical to your eyes.

“Now, for the best part of the festival…” he adds, lifting your chin with delicacy so that you watch up to the sky.

A million lanterns imitate stars as they float up in the air. Some try to reach the skies; some others seem to be levitating right in between the realm of the living world and Seireitei.

On each one of them, the names of those who people miss and those who people love. Because, as Byakuya said, life has an ending, but love doesn’t.

And it’s true… because just as them, you love him too. Endlessly, even after death and you are sure for eternity too.

His hands pass right from the back, through your waist and lock over your belly. Byakuya rests his chin on your head, and he can’t articulate no words. Honestly, you can’t either as the beauty of the dancing lanterns elevate in all glory to the firmament.

Perhaps, not even in your dreams, you have imagined you would be living such romantic situation with Kuchiki Byakuya… but, those who say he has no heart, haven’t taken the time to really know such a kind soul.

“I couldn’t buy a lantern on time, but, would you like to cast something with me?” he shyly whispers, pulling you out from the dreamy scenery of those warm dots of light.

You bite your lower lip and your eyelids shut for some seconds. You need to stop some tears from sprouting… you aren’t sad, you are incredibly happy.

“Yes, Byakuya…” you murmur, turning around to face him.

Eyes that meet, and speechless desires from the deepness of your hearts. Fingers up to the sky, using a white ray to illuminate the sky tinted in pure love. This time, it isn’t to hurt, it is just to seal a promise that hasn’t been written yet…

“Hadō no yon, Byakurai” “Hadō no yon, Byakurai”

As white, as pure, and bright. Like the lights inside your hearts. So powerful, as the love of those who were born to love each other. As magical, as the part of the legend Byakuya didn’t tell you about the festival…

“Blessed with eternal love those who see, in between the lights of a thousand lanterns in the sky, the white ray of the ghost lovers rise”

For some minutes, perhaps it was just seconds, you couldn’t detach your eyes from the pristine light that opened its way towards the sky. The snow-white light, like a single firework does not only take your breaths away, but also the humans’ enjoying the festival too.

“The light of the ghost lovers!” “It’s been almost 100 years since someone saw it!”

They all chime in glee and amusement, pointing at the sky with their index fingers.

“What are they all talking about, Byakuya-sama?” you ask, confused. “I have… no… no idea” he lies, with a little smirk drawn over his lips. “What about going back home, I have yet another thing I wanna show you” Byakuya takes your hand, pulling you towards him once again.

“I would follow you anywhere you wanna go, Byakuya-sama”

Down the stairs, you take a last glimpse of that joyful festival. You let every little detail to get imbued in your memory… perhaps, believing this was, so far, the best night of your life.

Byakuya seems happier than ever; his soft black hair flows with the wind, majestically, as if the time would pass slow, so slow around him. You aren’t sure if you wanna blink, you really don’t wanna lose a single moment, a single detail of his beauty.

He sometimes looks at you; his severe frown is still intact, but his eyes are different. Inside, you can see a light, the shine of being alive again. A kind smile is given, a sweet smirk, a beam that makes your heart stop, melt.

Byakuya squeezes your hand; you do the same. And by the end of the stairs, the tori and a shrine behind. You haven’t seen it when you arrived, but it was worth enjoying it now.

The end and the start; Yasaka Shrine awaits for you. The uncountable lanterns shine it’s golden light with a crimson tint.

You both walk inside, admiring the beauty of the historical buildings around. It is small, but you are sure that it must be very visited; the many lucky tags, with desires written in black ink, are surely prayers of those who have passed through there.

“Wanna try your luck?” Byakuya asks, showing you a little stall with the world “LUCK” engraved in a wooden sign.

You nod, taking the little rolled paper he lends to you. You watch him pay for the two of you, with coins of the living world. You never seen one, not until today.

When both have your papers, you unroll it. Yet, you discover that is empty. You tilt your head to the side…

“You need to put it in water to reveal the luck” Byakuya clarifies, knowing already each and every single of your expressions meanings.

“Oh…” you giggle; you know nothing about this world.

He comes closer, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead, leaving you unable to react. “Let’s go back home now, we can use the sea” he says, taking you by your hand towards the torii that will bring you back to the beach house.

In a second, you open your eyes to a bright light and finally the sound of the waves crushing on the shore fills the ambience. It feels chillier than the afternoon, but it is still enjoyable as it is. The heat of Byakuya’s spiritual pressure by your side is enough to keep you warm.

 “Close your eyes” he says, covering your eyes from behind as you walk towards a light up spot behind the rocks and dunes.

“Oh! Another surprise?” you laugh cutely, taking your hands to his as they rest on your face.

He hums, pressing his chest against your back. You would lie if you said you wouldn’t want to squeak. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve been together; it always feels like the first time.

You keep walking until he tells you to stop. “Keep your eyes closed, ok?” he commands, taking of his hands from your face and sliding them towards your waist.

You follow the instructions; he knows better. “Mhh, yes captain!” you joke, absolutely anxious to see what’s in front of you.

The scent of sweet chocolate mixes with the sea breeze. The crackling of fire gets to you. A slight orange brilliance that you can see even with eyelids shut.

“Open…” he whispers, close to your ear. And a shiver runs through your spine; his voice is one of Byakuya’s sexiest traits.

When you let the image ahead of you fill your eyes, you feel like crying. Again, you have never been treated to this… nobody ever has made you feel this way…

The decoration is simple but beautiful. There are lots of candles, and sweets scattered all around. Even wakame taishi cookies that you have no idea where they came from. Actually, you don’t know exactly when all of this had been prepared, but knowing Byakuya was the one to organize the engagement and wedding of his sister and lieutenant you aren’t surprised. Who prepared this, nonetheless, you had no idea.

“Byakuya this is… lovely… I have no words” you mumble, mesmerized by the gesture. “It’s not what I wished, but it still pretty. Let’s sit, you need to eat” he assures; perhaps he is not that satisfied, but he likes it either way.

You scoff. “I need to eat?” you ask, pretty sure there were ulterior motives behind those words. Souls don’t need to eat unless they will or have lost a lot of spiritual pressure.

“I can assure you do…” he says, solemnly and serious as he is. However, a playful, lustful smirk garnishes his lips. Byakuya sits while he says so, with his legs crossed and his hand extended to you.

“Oh, so you haven’t forgotten about the note~”  you purr, as he helps you sit on his lap.

You get comfortable on him, moving -a lot more than necessary- your ass side to side. He is not mad, he is glad. So much, that he plants a sweet kiss on your neck as he stretches to grab a freshly cut strawberry from a porcelain plate.

In front of you, the tide grows slowly. The moon reflects its argentum shine on the waves, and the stars flicker around like millions of little silver butterflies in the sky.

Delicate fingers approach your lips, holding the juicy fruit to them. You suck on the tip, allowing your mouth to also touch his fingertips. It makes him grunt, pressing your belly down with his free hand. The moment you two are close, your bodies can´t resist succumbing to pleasure in some kind of way.

“These taste delicious, Byakuya” you whisper, moving slightly to the side to see his face.

“Do they? May I try one?” he asks, also whispering.

You bend forward to pick the juiciest one yet; you already can feel him hard underneath those silky fabrics. A man in the bloom of his masculinity, needs more, more than just a graze.

You slowly turn around, seeing how, with your movements, the yukata has opened exposing his collar bones and even a little down of his chest. It makes you bite your lower lip; the bones of his clavicles are to die for, the way they protrude and cast a soft shadow on his skin makes you short of breath.

“Open” you order.

But he doesn’t. “No. From your lips; I’m sure those are sweet enough for me” he murmurs, always with that sexy smirk and those blue intense eyes.

Inside you, you scream. But you plead the gods to keep it calm. “Like this?” you purr, trapping the citric with your lips and offering it to his.

He slowly nods, taking a bite of the fruit, as Adam and Eve did with the forbidden apple. With the bite, drops of red juice smears on your chins, and his tongue cleans it all.

It’s too much teasing for you; so much you need to sigh loudly. A sign Byakuya takes as the sound of success. A million and one ways to tease you, a million and one ways to make you want him… even if just existing would be enough for it.

He helps you turn around, this time your legs are around his waist while you face him. But he is not ready to make love to you, yet. Byakuya wants you to eat, wants you to replenish energy.

“You like chocolate, (Name)?” he asks, reaching for a dark truffle.

“Mhhhmh” you nod, unable to speak decent words.

“Great. Try these ones” he orders, making you open your mouth to receive the bonbon right into your tongue. “Bite and swallow”

You do as he tells, biting and feeling the explosion of sweet and sour sake overflow your mouth. The drops run through the commissures of your mouth and get to your neck, down to in between your breasts.

You look right into his lips and then to his eyes. You don’t clean the sake off; you know he wants to lick it off from your skin. With your lustful stare you are just letting him know he can do it whenever he pleases.

Byakuya uses his index to softly push your head back and stretch your neck. He licks from the in between your breasts up towards your mandible. It makes you tremble, balancing your hips involuntarily on top of his lap.

Your chest goes up and down, as your breathing gets accelerated. But even if Byakuya enjoys loving you in violent attacks of lust, he is now decided to make you wait, suffer, plead…

Him, alone, stretches again grabbing yet another truffle. Now he bites it, allowing the unholy liquid to dribble into his chest. You can probably say you are panting, like a hungry puppy.

You take a moment to enjoy the drops slowly slither into every commissure of his pecs, and then, you attack.

First, your tongue reaches for his Adam’s apple. It protrudes so perfectly in the middle of his pale neck, always so tempting whenever he speaks. Then towards the valley in between his collarbones; nothing tastes more delicious than his skin.

Your hands, delicately and softly move the fabrics away, discovering how the remaining drops have reached his right nipple. And before your lips get to work, you give your lover a lecherous look that makes him gasp. Your sweet eyes are his weakness, but lewd tinted ones kill him.

You lick the pointy brownish hardness of his nipple. It makes his belly muscles spam, and the tip of his tongue to shily stick out. His cheeks become blushed the more you suck and taste. His eyebrows meet up in heaven. Have you ever seen such a beautiful and impure expression on him? Submitting to pleasure so easily?  

And you want more than soft grunts, you might want him to whine. And you get it, as soon as you nibble on his nipple. A manly, yet so delicious, moan abandons his lips making your whole insides to revolt.

“If you keep doing that you know how this is gonna end” he grunts, passing his fingers through your hair.

“I am not sure, Byakuya… let me see” you playfully answer back, biting again and sucking harder. You make him bow his head; the longer strands of his hair tickling your face, the perfect angle of his straight nose looks beautiful from under.

You change from one nipple to the other, giving him your thumb to suck. He accepts it, devouring it, coating it with his saliva, biting softly on your nail. His eyes closed, the haste breathing, his long lashes casting shadows on his blushed cheeks.

You have now taken control of his body; for once it’s gonna be you who leads the way. And while you keep playing with his chest, your hand goes down. So down, in between you two and his clothes. You reach the warmth, the wetness and the hardness that’s throbbing so desperately.

Surrounding the inflamed tip, you tap on top it, getting your palm sticky from precum. It makes his hand to turn a little more veiny, up to perfection, as he roughly brushes your hair back with his nails.

“My plans… nghh… were different” he grunts, allowing you to give him enough pleasure to break down all his walls.

“Were they, Byakuya-sama?” you purr, as you slowly let your kimono fall and get tangled in your hips. Your skin seems a beautiful dying place for his pour soul, but he can’t even move from how stimulated you got him.

Your belly pressed against his dick, letting your belly button to get filled with oozing transparent delight coming from him. You feel the slight bump of his stomach against your palm, as he moves more and move to get extra stimulation.

How the tables have turned, while he was planning on making you beg, he is now the one to plead for release. But will it last much longer? Will Kuchiki Byakuya let you control him to such extent?

“Ugh, come here” he growls once and for all. “It’s now when I want it” he says, taking his hand to your neck. He squeezes and presses your carotids, to the point of making you a little lightheaded. Byakuya isn’t resisting no more, he wants, and he will fuck you.

“Ride me, RIDE ME” he orders, straightforwardly and perhaps even a little scarily. But so needy, so desperate. And you love it. When the noble loses his temper, is exactly his real him. The sexiest man alive… (well, not that alive)

You obey almost instantly, but still take a sweet little moment to taste the desperation of such work of art for a man. Soon, you lift your hips, helped by his hands, and guide his sex into yours. You haven’t broken your promise; no panties for the rest of the weekend.

You fall on top of him, letting his hardness to almost rip you apart. Stretching your walls, making them spasm, the sound of your wetness is bliss when mixed with his grunts and the sound of the waves.

His hands go up and down your back, as you bounce and bob your hips on top of him. Riding him, you throw your head back because you can feel his hips also bucking up to go deeper and deeper into you.

“Keep going, milk my dick” he commands, out of himself, using words so unproper for a noble like him.

“I will until you fill me up, Byakuya-sama. Come, fill me up” you whine, as you go faster, and his fingers intertwined with yours to help you with the motions.

Not even the cold wind of the sea can cool both of you down. The exchange of spiritual pressure, the lust consuming your souls, the deep connection that couldn’t be broke by nothing in this world.

“You want me to get you pregnant, (Name)? Hm? Cause that’s exactly what it will happen if you keep doing this to me… you- ngh- fuck… you want me to put my seed in you?” he suddenly spits, leaving you speechless, with lips trembling and toes curling.

You are so close to climax, and words like those should be forbidden from his mouth if he wanted you to last much longer.

But he isn’t gonna last… “I will not… last much longer… (Name), tell me… you want my seed in your womb?” he miserably moans, with drops of sweet pooling on his wrinkled nose.

“Yes, Byakuya-sama!… Ugh… I want your cum; I want you seed, fill me up, impregnate me, make me so fucking pregnant”

“Keep it inside, then” he growls, pushing you back and this time topping you without giving a fuck about the food around, nor the sand, nor the absolute risk of wanting you so full of his cum. Once again, once more and perhaps not for the last time during this crazy weekend that still has some hours to be enjoyed…

[theatrekidenergy]

“ Dimly lit shadows “

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Pairings : N/A (gen fic)

Words : 2,511

Characters : Matt Murdock “Daredevil” , Marc Spector & Steven Grant “Moon Knight”

Summary : When Matt Murdock and Marc Spector find themselves fighting an ancient beast with a message to share, the small mission Moon Knight had been sent on to New York for quickly evolves upon the meeting of the local vigilante — Daredevil.

Ao3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/57350671

AN : This is my first fic, interaction is genuinely so so appreciated and thank you so much for coming by to read it! Please keep in mind English isn’t my native tongue so there may be some mistakes I might’ve missed during the writing process. View Ao3 for further author’s notes <3

Read fic below cut

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January 24th, 12:34 am - EARTH-616 : “Hell’s Kitchen” New York, NY, USA

Matt Murdock lay perched on the edge of a rooftop, the cool night air whispering past him as he tuned into the ever bustling symphony of sensory input from the city below that was ever amplified in his head. Every string of input amplified by 10, Hell's Kitchen was alive with its usual nocturnal sound – distant sirens wailing like wolves, the murmur of conversations from late-night dwellers, and over all the heartbeat of a city that never received a blink of sleep was all to familiar to the New York native. The place he’d called home since his youth was a cacophony of sound, smell, and sensation. Tonight, the air carried a distinct odor, a foul mixture of sewer water and human waste, rising from the west, accompanied by a contrasting scent coming from the string of smaller restaurants on 14th. It all felt fitting for the restless environment below his heels.

Suddenly, a sharp, unfamiliar sound sliced through the familiar noise, as if the claws of a bear were raking across a chalkboard. It sent a shiver down his spine. He sprang into action, leaping from the rooftop and plunging into the labyrinth of alleys. The sound was easy to track, its eerie resonance guiding him to the darkest corner of the city. From the corner of the street it looked like a million other big cities, and from the inner passage way of the alley it looked like the inner passage way of a million other alleys sprawled across the United States; dimly lit, a couple broken glass bottles, and the sound of an electrical hum about 3 stories up.

Landing silently, he crouched, his leather suit crinkling softly against his shoulder blade. He tilted his head, every sense straining. Something moved, swift and ghostly, nearly silent to him which was an incredibly difficult feat to achieve, throwing him off. He pinpointed the source and lashed out with his billy club. It struck something solid and he heard the muscles of the creature contract inwards. The creature roared, a sound of raw flesh slamming into a garbage bin with a metallic clang. Matt’s brow furrowed. “Is this some big dog? What the hell is this?” He murmured lowly to himself in a quick nod of reaction.

Before he could process the unknown creature in front of him, another figure landed beside him. The so-called Moon Knight, clad in white that seemed to glow in the dim alley, his suit bearing the ceremonial armor of Khonshu, the Egyptian god of the moon. His eyes, hidden behind his mask, glinted with a hazy, ethereal light. Without hesitation, he joined the fray, attacking the invisible foes with deadly precision in the same way he had done a plethora of times before this encounter.

Moon Knight's movements were a blur, each strike precise and powerful. Matt decided in a split second to follow the distinct sounds of combat, he dodged to the left following the noise of the claws pattering across the damp concrete and making his best landing on an attack. He spun, his club striking the air where he sensed movement, the leather of his suit rustling with each motion as the club collided with the creature perceisely in the head.

Moon Knight slowed his movements for just a millisecond, staring at the Daredevil in shock. “You can see them?” he demanded, his breath heavy from the exertion, before subjecting the jackal to another bone-crunching kick, driving it to the ground.

Matt hesitated. Revealing his blindness wasn’t an option. “Yes?” He added between blows to the ancient beast.

Marc’s eyes widened behind his mask. “There are avatars in New York?” he asked, the surprise evident in his voice. How had he not seen this man in Cairo? Was another god brought back and had chosen him as their avatar? If he was an enemy, why would he be helping to fight the jackal? How did he track the jackal down before him in the first place? His suit seemed vaguely reminiscent of Set’s avatar, but if so, what happened to the original avatar he had seen in Cairo? Too many questions, too little time.

Matt blinked. “What?”

Moon Knight pressed on, his voice growing increasingly more demanding, “What god do you serve?”

“Jesus?” Matt replied with a moment of confusion and a furrow in his brow, then quickly added, “I’m Catholic?”

Spector stared at him in utter bewilderment. “What?”

“Yeah, Catholic,” Matt repeated, feeling more confused than ever. What on earth was he on about? Who — No, what was an avatar?

“I’m not even surprised anymore,” Marc muttered in resignation, the jackal recovering its footing. He lunged at it, grappling at the crescent moon in his chest and spearing it directly in the chest repeatedly, driving it in with relentless blows. Matt joined in, his club a flash of motion, striking the invisible foe with deadly accuracy.

The jackal howled, its form flickering into visibility to Moon Knight under the assault. It was a grotesque creature, all sinew and teeth, eyes burning with an unnatural fire. Matt could feel its presence, a malevolent force that chilled his blood. He ducked under a swipe of its claws, the air whistling tight past his ear, and countered with a blow to its midsection, the impact reverberating up his arm.

The jackal snarled, lashing out wildly. Matt sidestepped, feeling the rush of air as its claws missed him by inches. He swung his billy club, connecting with the side of its head, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone. The creature staggered, but didn't fall. It was tenacious, driven by some dark force.

Moon Knight seized the moment, delivering a powerful kick to its chest, sending it crashing into a wall. The creature slumped, its form flickering and fading. Matt could hear its labored breathing, the rasp of desperation of a creature not quite dead and not quite alive either. He stepped forward, ready to deliver the final blow, but Moon Knight Held the vigilante back.

“Stop.” he said, his voice firm. “We need to know what it wants.”

Matt hesitated, then nodded to the unfamiliar man. He could feel the creature's fear, its panic. He crouched beside it, listening intently to its ragged breaths. “Who sent you?” the avatar demanded.

The jackal snarled with weakness and baring its teeth as a glow of pure divine anger engulfed its form, its eyes and flesh glowing through the cracks of callused skin as if it were being taken over by means of possession. “You’ll never stop us,” it hissed, it’s possessor gave the previously voiceless monster a voice of sheer guttural rasp in an anatomy not built for human speech. “The gods are rising.”

The gods are rising. It was a chilling string of words. One that threw every form of his belief into questioning. He tightened his grip on the billy club. “We’ll see about that.” Spoke Moon Knight, his tone soaking with spite towards the event.

With a final, defiant snarl, the jackal dissolved into nothingness, the glow of its eyes leaving its form, leaving only a dark stain on the ground. Matt straightened, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He turned to Moon Knight, who was breathing heavily but standing firm.

“Looks like we have a lot to discuss,” Matt said, his voice steady despite the utter confusion inside him. This is not exactly the realm of fight that he’s familiar with. “For example, who are you? And what is Any of this suppose to mean?” The question was spoken intensely, venom in each lick of noise.

“I am Moon Knight, Avatar of Kohnshu — Egyptian god of the moon.” And then there was a pause. There was a pause where every briefly emitted minuscule sound was so focused, so tied into one, that every single heart beat, every single foot step, every single distant whisper all collided into one and created such a deafening silence unexplainable by all forms of human language. When the one thing you’ve spent your life devoting too, your faith, is suddenly interrupted by the claim there were multiple gods, there’s no word that can be spoken to describe that feeling because there was something undeniably true about whoever was standing in front of him. He heard the way his heartbeat didn’t speed up when he spoke his claim, he knew intrinsically that he wasn’t lying, but that would throw his perception of the world he lived in for chaos.

Matt Murdock wasn’t one to typically accept any word spoken to him with such ease, let alone a complete stranger; something felt immensely different about the way he spoke, about the way the air felt thinner when this supposed ‘avatar’ filled with the possession of pure divinity came into being next to him, and for just a second nothing felt true. Every word sliding off every tongue in the whole of New York City from Hell’s Kitchen to Manhattan was all lies, that he was sure of more than ever before. Even if he knew he was lying to himself, the thought brought an ounce of reassurance that maybe the claim was false.

“The Egyptian gods are referred to as myth for a reason.” Murdock asserted stiffly. “If that’s the case why am I here? Huh?” Marc challenged, he moved closer by about a foot, one arm pointing towards Matt and one still by his side guarding his back, “You heard the jackal, the gods are coming.” There was a brief moment of silence, “I’m going to need an explanation of who you are.” Marc added.

“I’m Daredevil.” Matt said plainly, growing more on guard with each passing second. Even if he knew the man opposite him wasn’t lying, he was given no guarantee that he didn’t have any malicious intent. “Also, I’m pretty damn sure I’m not the one who has explaining to do. What is an avatar. What do you mean by the gods are coming, and what on earth were we just fighting because, correct me if I’m wrong, but jackals — if that’s what you called it; 1. can’t talk 2. live in Africa, and 3. Shouldn’t be able to nearly knock two grown men to their knees.” Matt’s tone was ever so accusatory, but for clearly justified reasons.

Marc hesitated, how could this man see jackals and not be an avatar? How on earth did he track it down before him? What information am I sacrificing if this man is just pretending to work with me?

“Marc I’m really not sure you should be revealing this much information this quickly, this isn’t exactly like you.” Steven said quite forcefully, a glimmer of reflection coming through a broken bottle sprawled in dozens of pieces across the concrete.

Marc paused for a second to think about the advice handed to him, but decided to go against it. “An avatar,” he paused to form his next choice of words carefully, “An avatar is the person who, for as far as I knew up until about 15 minutes ago, is someone who is selected by an ancient Egyptian god to pursue their will on earth, using the person they’ve selected to fight for their purpose.” Marc explained.

“So what I’m asking you, ‘Daredevil’, is how on earth you can see jackals if you aren’t an avatar of an Egyptian god, let alone that you claim to be the avatar of Jesus or what ever.” Spector noted while moving closer, “I never claimed to be an avatar, I just said I’m Catholic. I’ve never heard of any of this that you’re talking about, the whole Egyptian god thing isn’t exactly in my line of work. I deal with the problems people face, I don’t get into all of the magic that the avengers deal with.” He replied putting his hands up.

There wasn’t a moment of silence before Marc had practically interrupted him at the tail end of his phrase “Then how could you see them?” he barked grabbing Matt by the collar of his suit, “I can’t see them,” Murdock relented. “I’m blind.” He explained gesturing losely towards himself, Marc registered this and released him from his grasp in a flicker of confusion. It was evident the other man was confused based on sheer body language alone.

“Explain to me how he could’ve fought like that if he couldn’t even see his opponent? How did he land any attack or dodge?” Steven questioned. “I don’t know.” Marc whispered quietly, but the question did warrant an answer. “How did you attack it then? I’m unlikely to believe a blind man could’ve dodged that many attacks from a creature he could not see.” the words were spat with a level of accusation, “I could hear them. Every small noise I could hear. If you aren’t lying about being an avatar or what not of a literal god then it shouldn’t take much to wrap your head around the fact that my senses are hyper tuned in to every aspect of my surroundings.” Matt said taking a step closer.

So, to test a likely risky guess of this claim, Marc thought carefully about his next actions. If he was blind there was no risk in this action, and if he wasn’t than it wouldn’t be hard to take him down in a fight. He allowed the mask of moon knight to release his form, unwinding around him layers of intricately shaped bindings, leaving him standing in his civilian clothes; a plain black t-shirt and worn in jeans.

“And you’re positive you can’t see my suit right now?” He questioned, knowing well that the suit was no longer on; his heart beating ever so slightly faster creating a rough rythm in his chest audible to Murdock. “That’s kind of what the whole blind thing means. That I quite literally cannot see.” Matt replied plainly. “Oh and I heard your suit come undone but no I have no clue what it looked like, and what you look like either.. I assure you it’s not at all hard to understand.” He explained.

Marc hesitated. “Okay. Well, if I see you again — and given the fact you aren’t currently working against me, I’ll stay out of your hair, we can truce on that.”

“As long as you don’t interfere with what I need to do here and you stick to what’s yours, I can agree to that. But if you ever, and I mean ever, try to cause havoc in Hell’s Kitchen I will find you and I won’t be as considerate.” Murdock warned, his tone dead serious.

There was a flick of wind in the air, the urban landscape behind them unresting, and a low “Then until next time, Daredevil.” aired from Marc’s mouth until Matt walked passed him, jumping onto the metal lining of a stair case towards the roof top, leaving the mercenary alone in the dim city alley as the first sprinkles of rain fall pattered across the pavement.

[a-crawling-chaos]

The Tragedy Of John Doe: a Da Capo Aria

(ao3, also under cut)

" A Da Capo Aria is a musical structure composed of three sections: the first could be a standalone piece with full accompaniment. The second contrasts with the first in style, musical key, and mood, often with only piano accompaniment. The third is a repeat of the first section, hence "da capo" or begin from the start. This section often has embellishments from the singer."

The first section is John's process of moving from the entity to John Doe, gaining humanity. (eps 1-20)

The second section is after 20, when he's in the dark world. It's an aria, a solo. The piano accompaniment is the memory/idea of Arthur persisting with John throughout.

The third section is a repeat of the first, with embellishments. Or, him learning how to function with humanity, but it's different because once upon a time he HAD that sense of humanity. So it's more remembering who he wants to be than learning anew. (eps 24-intermezzo)

start

Rise from the ashes, oh phoenix of gold

Remember your virtue from stories untold

Hold close your dear friend here for he's all you've got

But keep in your sins, friend, else all is for naught

You've stolen his eyes now his heart mirrors yours

Longing for sweetness yet gilded and cold

Trust comes in a poem, a promise, a song

He has deadly hope now but oh not for long

You're hastur's heart, yes? won't let you forget

Bring him, my king, up to the pulpit

Puppeted pleasantries shall end in strife

"I'll never forget you" he breathes as the knife

Cuts at his heartstrings with few simple words

"Goodbye" you whisper, the trigger now pulled.

aria

Awoken in darkness

Cold, cruel, constricting

My lungs that now expand with

Each beat of my heart as it remembers

Your (our) pulse under my (our) fingertips

A steady tempo to my new-old symphony turned refrain

Am i hastur's heart or yours? I yearn for the latter

But under threat of infinity, i'm once again the first.

da capo

Rise from the ashes, canary of gold

Remember your virtue from stories untold

Hold close your dear friend here for he's all you've got

But keep in your sins, friend, else all is for naught

You've stolen his eyes back, his heart mirrors yours

Longing for sweetness yet guilted and cold

Trust comes in a poem, a promise, a song

He has deadly faith now but oh not for long

You're hastur's heart, yes? it lets you forget

Bring him, "my king", up to the pulpit

Puppeted pleasantries shall end in strife

"I can't forget you" he breathes as the knife

Cuts at his heartstrings with few simple words

"Do it." you whisper, the trigger now pulled.

[basically kayne refers to his Offer in intermezzo as a Da Capo al Coda, and because i'm a sucker for musical symbolism in this podcast i started looking through the musical terms wikipedia page. in a cathedral. as one does. then the brainworm hit yadda yadda and here we are today. (yeah this is a musical thing but im not a composer just a shitty notes app poet)]

[pricechecktranslations]

Comments in the Miku Symphony Album

Here are the comments mothy made on the two new songs in the Miku Symphony Album, translation under the cut

At the End of a Millennium Vow This great tree is called the Millennium Tree, and is worshipped by the people of this land as the god of the forest. As the name implies, it is a being that has watched over the thousand-year history of Evillious. However, in the world's destruction that Millennium Tree was erased alongside all other phenomena. The girl that the Servant of Evil had fallen for…That spirit that dwells in the Millennium Tree, Michaela, was once little more than a small robin. Just how did this Michaela become human, and then transform into the god of the forest? And then there's the Original Sinner, this indispensable "Eve" that Michaela speaks of… This is the story of Crimes and Punishments that was witnessed by a spirit of the forest. (This work was made with elements of being a remake of another song I made a long time ago, "Maiden of the Tree"♪)

The Contradictory Grim the End Among all of the vessels of deadly sin, the one considered to have the most mysteries behind it is the vessel of Wrath, "Grim the End". This vessel that pops up when it's least expected, that doesn't even have a concrete true form--there are legends of dubious authenticity that it was used in the assassination of figures like Duke Venomania and Duke Conchita. This song approaches one of the mysteries about it…To be specific, it investigates into the true identity of the demon that dwells inside the vessel. (This is a song from the viewpoint of Adam, who debuted in the song "moonlit bear". It's the first Kaito tune I've made in a long time♪)