#my vision was in slow motion but everything else was not

[endlessfuckup]

i have finally come down from whatever tf that was

that was the most unpleasant "high" i have ever had

definitely was not weed

[readerforexiao]

𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ

⌗ Itoshi Sae x Reader | angst, open ending?? | tw: heartbreak/seperation, self worth issues, emotional neglect, codependency/unbalanced relationship, fear of abandonment, internalized guilt, self blame, | wc: 1.4k

⌗ A/n: Honestly, I never planned on writing for Blue Lock because I don't feel confident enough to be able to capture their characters to my liking. But I’m hoping this is a decent first attempt <3 (i use the term soccer but changed it to football bcs..)

⌗ "To love you was to lose you. But as it turns out I never really had you to begin with"

“I always knew,” you admitted, the words leaving your lips heavier than you’d imagined. It would appear confronting the truth out loud, stripped away the barriers of ignorance and bliss and made it feel much too real and inescapable.

“And it was enough…”

A tear gathered in the corners of your eyes like an unwelcomed tide. The moisture blurred your sight, clinging stubbornly to the edges as if hesitant to fall, but the weight of emotion behind them pressed forward.

Your thumb trembled as it traced the apples of his cheeks, the motion delicate and almost reverent. Your touch lingered with hesitancy and perhaps for the last time, you thought in bitter sweetness as it settled in your chest like stone, for the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips felt so real but the uncertainty made it feel like the distance between you had never been wider.

He said nothing as he looked you in the eye, his expression unreadable and his mind an empty canvas— or perhaps a ruined masterpiece, where vibrant colors and once-clear memories bled into shadows that left only smudges of black, where the only hope of restoration and of salvation seemed to lie in wiping it clean and starting anew.

“You’re not hard to love, Itoshi Sae.” Your voice faltered, but the honesty behind it rang clear contrasting with his face through the blurring bleakness of your vision, which wavered like a fragment of a dream slipping beyond reach, as if he were already beginning to dissolve from your life.

If anything you must admit that the past year apart only made you desperate to love him more, aching for nothing more than the sight of him, your heart pulsing for his touch and for his fingers to weave through yours despite his careful distance with physicality.

Sae’s gaze peered into your soul and his pupils dilated, beckoning you into an everlasting silence as his grip on your waist faltered, fearing that like everything else you would slip through his fingers, like sand carried away by the wind into nothingness— lost alongside his former self and the desires he long abandoned to the tides of forgetting.

A slow breath passed from him with the faintest of tension in his jaw as he processed what you said. His eyes were empty and his hands, numb as they fell to his sides almost mechanically. “Is it worth it?”

For as long as you’d known him, Itoshi Sae never uttered such a thing that allowed even the slightest hint of vulnerability to pass his lips. He never let the quiet ache of it slip free.

His life, his single-minded pursuit of greatness had always been a wall and a boundary he never let anyone cross. He always expected you to walk away eventually, to realize what he was— how cold and distant he could truly be— and leave. At the time, the thought of you leaving didn’t seem to hurt at all. He believed he’d be able to move forward and continue as he always did— chasing after a goal, never allowing failure to deter him, because in time that persistence paid off and he learned never to falter again.

Why was this so different?

Why did he find himself yearning to understand what it was like to feel the way you did, to experience that unfiltered hunger that pulsed in your veins.

He could perhaps draw a parallel of his obsession with football to your devotion to him but it would be weak, pitiful even, because the look in your eyes was something beyond comprehension, something pure and genuine, greedy but not in the way he was greedy for success.

It was a hunger that didn’t claw at the world for dominance but sought something he could hardly remember: a kind of affection and affinity so unmeasurable and untouchable.

In that moment, he realized it was beyond him and that he would never truly be able to grasp.

“You’re worth every effort”

“…You’re a fool,” he muttered, but there was no malice in his voice.

You could feel the weight of his emotions in that sentence. The longing in your chest burned, but you knew no matter how much you reached for him, no matter how desperately your heart called out— it wouldn’t be enough to pull him back.

“… In everything else, but never for loving you.”

Ever stubborn, he might have smiled if not for the suffocating melancholy coiling around his throat like a tightening noose.

“You make it sound so simple,” he said, his tone flat, “Like I could change, or let myself be something else. But that’s not who I am. I’ve never been anything other than the pursuit of my ambition. I’ve built my entire life around this… around what I’ve become”

You understood it more than you ever wanted to because loving him was like admiring a flame that burned so brightly it scorched your heart in return. His passion, his arrogance, both were impossible to ignore and somehow endearing. But to love someone like Itoshi Sae meant accepting the inevitable loss because he’d never truly be yours. Not yet. Not in this lifetime. Maybe not ever.

You held your quivering lip hostage between your teeth, your hands shaking as they fumbled restlessly in front of you.

Sae looked at you, his heart a mess of conflict, wavering in a way he couldn’t shut it up. Fuck… he couldn’t do this. He was so cruel for taking your hand and pressing it to his lips.

The warmth of his touch seered itself into you, a memory carved into the deepest corners of your mind, destined to be punished by the sin of remembering.

“You say I’m worth it,” His breath caressed your knuckles, “But is it worth it for you? To love someone like me, someone who’s never been able to love you back the way you deserve?”

Your time together had been marked by missed anniversaries, quiet nights where the words that needed to be spoken were left unsaid. Too many moments passed without enough kisses, without enough attention.

But still, you wanted to tell him that it meant everything to you— the flowers he’d leave on the table, the small, neatly wrapped gifts with his name on the card.

He was distant, fumbling through the things he didn’t know how to express or handle, but those little gestures in place of him filled you with happiness.

How could you explain to him just how much those stolen moments meant to you? The times you’d slip into the living room while he was busy, leaning over the back of the couch to steal a kiss, and how he’d subtly tilt his head, creating the perfect space for your face to rest between his ear and shoulder, or how he never once missed the chance to meet your lips, even in passing.

How could you tell him that is what you cherished without it seeming like you were sinking in denial and desperation?

“It’s enough,” you whispered, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt. You didn’t need anything more, just him, as he was.

“Until it wasn’t,” Sae murmured, saying what you couldn’t. He slowly loosened your grip, his hands guiding yours away, letting them drop in front of you.

He was letting you go…

As he pulled away, a suffocating heaviness settled in his chest— he was going to leave you with nothing but the ache of all his failures. And you couldn’t help but feel that it might be the last time he’d touch you like that

“I…” His words barely alive before his hand tangled its way into your hair and pulled you close until his lips crashed against yours with a desperation that twisted something deep inside him.

The kiss was torn, like a fragile thread snapping under the strain of something too heavy to hold. It was clumsy and urgent— agonizing and broken as the world crumbled between you.

A tear, unnoticed at first, broke free and drifted between your mouths, a silent testament to all that was buried deep within him.

He was crying…

But of course, it was just like him to remain so impossibly composed.

“You deserve better than me…” His words hit with finality, leaving no room for argument. “You deserve someone who can give you all the attention and time that I can’t.”

“Maybe I do… But I wish that person was you”

All rights reserved | Copyright @readerforexiao 2024 | Do not copy, steal, or repost to any other platform 💙

[stevesgother]

Little Red Lighthouse - S.H

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings - exes to lovers, second chance romance, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, idiots in love, so much pining, cursing, alcohol & drug use, mental health themes

WC - 1.3k

AN - this was originally gonna be a super long oneshot, but in typical emma fashion I'm making it into another mini series

Divider by the amazing @strangergraphics <3

The Alcott. That was your favorite bar in Hawkins; and it was all you could think about sitting outside this shitty bar in Chicago. A mere few hours from home, and yet entirely too far. Just having finished school; it was an education completely orchestrated by your parents. A college you didn’t want to attend, a degree you had no enthusiasm for.

This was how you seemed to be spending most of your days post-undergrad: sulking and ruminating. Everything you could’ve had, but don’t.

–

“Steve, this is insane. That’s like a 15 foot drop!” 

You say as you peer over the bridge, shivering slightly in just your underclothes. It was only the cusp of Spring, the weather in Indiana hardly what you would consider “warm”.

“Oh c’mon. You said you would!” He barked a laugh.

“I told my mother that if you jumped off a bridge that I would too as a hypothetical.” You deadpan, even though a smile still tugs the corners of your mouth.

He looked lovely, always did. Moles adorning his cheeks, scattering their way down his back and into his boxers where your vision couldn’t reach. He shot you a grin only reserved for you.

“3..2..1 JUMP!”

“Wait!-”

Steve gripped your hand, pulling you down with him into the icy water below the bridge. Unable to decipher if the sinking feeling in your gut was from the rapid fall of his skin on yours. The shock of the bitterly cold water knocked the wind out of you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His smile gleaming at you. Water dripped from his eyelashes, beading on the apples of his cheeks.

 “It’s freezing!” you gasp as you surface. He starts to grip your shoulders in his warm hands, then pauses. A sudden nervousness settled and he was staring. You nervously wondered if there was something else in the water with you both. He never broke his stare. Your best friend for a million lifetimes, beautiful as ever. Looking at you as if you hung the moon just for him.

“I think I'm in love with you.”

–

When Steve finally peeled open his eyes and glanced at the blinking red of the alarm clock it read ‘3:00 PM’. His breath tasted of stale liquor as he slowly rose from his unmade bed. Skull pounding, he blindly reached for the painkillers he had made a habit of keeping on his nightstand, for afternoons like this.

Your old friend group planned a ‘welcome home’ party in anticipation for your return to Hawkins. Where you had gone to college out of state and made a new life for yourself, Steve hadn’t seemed to be able to keep his ahead above the violent current that was the trauma he endured here, in your hometown.

--

As you rested on the train back to Indiana, walkman in hand, you felt an air of nausea.You had started to regret leaving your car at your parents house 4 years ago; unsure whether the knot you felt in your gut was the result of motion sickness, or the thought of having to face him again.

Admittedly you were excited to see your friends again. You hadn’t come home for Christmas, for Thanksgiving, not even for summer breaks – always opting to stay as far away from that living nightmare as possible. You told yourself little lies. That it wasn’t because Steve Harrington still resided there, and with him, everything you lost. Everything you know you can never get back.

--

The air in Steve’s office was stiff and smelled of stale coffee. Robin sits in a less than lady-like position across from him in a chair unofficially designated for her. A plaque that reads “Chief” sat crooked between them from where Robin had set down the paper bag containing their lunch.

“You’re going to have to face her at some point, Steve.” Her voice snaps him out of his dissociative state.

“Yeah, I got it.” He sighs irritably, all traces of enthusiasm drained from his tone.

“I’m just saying,” she starts, “it's been four years. I’m sure she’s moved on, man. No bad blood.” It’s meant to be reassuring, but she doesn’t understand that that's entirely the problem. He gives her a skeptical stare. “Look, we’ll all be there. You have a ton of buffer people. Just stop by for a few minutes? For me?” The childish pout she gives in an attempt to guilt-trip is enough to push him over the edge.

“Rob- okay, fine. Stop making that face. For an hour. Not a second longer.” He points a finger at her, not unkindly.

–

As your car crunches over the gravel in the parking lot of Robin’s apartment complex, you can’t help but notice it’s already filled with cars despite you being perfectly on time. All the windows you knew belonged to her unit were lit a glowing yellow behind sheer curtains, allowing you glimpses of mingling silhouettes. You wonder briefly if this was intentional, or if in your never-ending brain fog, you managed to jumble the times.

A quick glance around the lot reveals that your friends still have the same cars they did all those years ago. Jonathan’s Ford LTD, Nancy’s Volkswagen Cabrio, and an achingly familiar maroon BMW 733i. Your heart jumps to your throat when you see it, accompanied by a sharp twist of betrayal in your chest as you don’t recall Robin ever mentioning he would be here. You suppose you can’t blame her.

You stop to take several deep breaths at the front door. You can hear the bass of an old, classic tune bumping inside and you try to time your breathing with it. In three, hold three, out three, and repeat. You raise your fist to knock before thinking it silly, so you just give the knob a tentative twist and walk in.

The room erupts in ‘Hey!’’s and ‘There she is!’’s. It’s a relief to realize they don’t hate your guts, even though they’ve always made it clear that they don’t. A nauseating guilt settles over you as you’re reminded of how long you’ve left them with barely any word from you at all– the pain of this town and everything that happened in it just too much to bear; even if they were your best friends.

Back then, talking to them sounded like long, mucousy vines that strangled and trapped. It sounded like the bitter cold and emptiness of your hometown mirrored just beneath your feet. It sounded like watching chunks of flesh be ripped from the stomach of the boy you loved. It sounded like his screams for your help and you just couldn’t– you needed time.

Now though, as they wrap you in hugs and you smell the homey scent of your best friends apartment, it feels less like then and more like now. Over Nancy’s shoulder, slightly obscured by her usually wild curls, you catch the eye of the one person not dogpiling you, and fight the grimace threatening to surface. You don’t hate Steve, not by any sense of the word– you just can’t look at his stupid, beautiful face without remembering what you did to him.

When everyone disperses, satisfied with their greetings, you can really take in Steve’s appearance in front of you. The years haven’t been unkind to him, but he looks tired. Day old, maybe two, stubble shadows his usually bright face. He fills out the red sweater and light wash Levi’s he wears nicely. You think he’ll always have that boyish Harrington charm, but he looks more like a man than when you left him.

You walk towards him hesitantly.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ vox + marking you

character: vox warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, marking/branding (carving something into the skin), blood, toxic relationship, extreme possessiveness, daddy kink, dacryphilia, fem!reader, minimal/no prep, dubcon if you squint, pet names, painful sex, reader doesn’t get to orgasm words: 1.8k notes: vox likes to mark what belongs to him. permanently. and, as always, that mark must be perfect.

He’s been at it for nearly half an hour now, a slow drag of his index claw downward, pressure concentrated on the very point of the talon, following the line of a perfect slant before sharply pivoting upward, velocity slowing as it works back toward your hips, tracing another slant perfectly parallel to the first. 

V. 

A split second of reprieve, a single instant where the metal leaves your skin only to find the origin of the wound and begin the process all over again. 

“V-Vox—”

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” he warns, his voice low and airy, so close and concentrated on his work that you can feel his breath wafting over the cut, cool and burning. 

Cyan pupils pulse as they expand, desperate to devour as much as they can, scouring every minute detail and honing their focus on the singular letter he’s painstakingly carving into your pubic bone.

He’s meticulous with it, of course, just as he is with everything else, every movement precise and perfect. It has to be done this way, he had told you at the start, when you had whined about the deliberately drawn-out drag of his talon. Slow and steady, so it will heal in sharp, neat lines, all raised and gorgeous. 

A permanent mark of ownership, scarred into your skin for the rest of eternity.

The tapered tip of the V is the worst part, the harsh, quick maneuver of his claw procuring a deep sting, a yelp sticking in your throat as you try to swallow against the sound, Vox’s immediate responding coo, always accompanied by the brush of his thumb over your hip in the gentlest caress, doing little to soothe the pain. 

“But it—it hurts,” you hiccup out, eyes squeezing shut tightly against the prick of tears. “How much longer?” 

“Just a few more times, baby, I promise,” he presses a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, glancing up at you. “You’re doing so well for me, lovebug, so well.”

But a few more times turns into another agonizing fifteen minutes with seemingly no end in sight, Vox lost in the repetitive actions, and the wound is starting to tingle, sticky crimson pooling in the flawlessly carved gouges, staining teal bright red. 

Tears have begun to leak from the corners of your eyes as they finally overflow, spilling past your lash line to stream down the sides of your temples in uneven little trails, vision gone blurry with a thick shield of water.

Your ribs stammer with half-stifled sobs, a soft hush distractedly falling from Vox’s lips with each minuscule jerk of your body, the hand on your hip tightening in warning. 

“Daddy’s almost done, darling,” he pacifies, a gentle threat sewn into his tone—don’t fucking move yet—we’re so close, don’t you dare mess this up. “Just a tiny bit longer, I swear.” 

“I can’t, I can’t, Daddy, it’s—it’s too much!” 

“Hey,” he looks up, a shock of sincerity slapped across his face, his voice ringing with painfully raw compassion. “I know you can handle just a few more for Daddy, can’t you? Don’t you want it to look pretty, too?”

Large eyes search your face with a rabid type of candour, hunting for validity. But your head is already nodding before he’s even finished speaking, motions becoming increasingly vigorous, an instinctual reaction, at this point—obedient as ever, desperate to please.

Of course you do—you want whatever he does, always. 

“Y-Yes,” you manage to sniffle out, the heels of your hands wiping messily at your lashes, smearing tears across your cheeks. “Yes, yes, Daddy.” 

His eyes soften, their usually bold glow dimmed with a sick sort of adoration, but his smile is barbed, stretching with something sinister. 

“There’s my good girl,” Vox purrs, pressing another tender kiss to the junction of your thigh and your hip. “Now, hold still while Daddy finishes.”

Another three traces through the routine—these last three harder and more purposeful than all those that came before them—and finally, he’s done, sitting back on his heels between your spread legs and gazing down at his masterpiece. 

Blood drips down his index finger in a thick dollop, his eyes shifting to watch with morbid fascination, the tip of his claw glazed with shimmering scarlet. Tilting it one way, then the other, he examines how it gleams in the low light of his bedroom—so pretty, he looks so pretty stained with you—then brings the talon to his lips, long tongue snaking from between his teeth to curl around it in a possessive embrace. 

He sucks it into the heat of his mouth, a low groan rumbling deep behind his sternum as his eyes slip shut, taking a moment to savour the taste of you. His lids snap back open a moment later, eyes drifting back to the freshly etched V, his free hand moving to rub at his cock, straining eagerly against his trousers. 

“F-Fuck,” he shudders out, the word soft as he stares at it, wide and unblinking, rolling the impressive bulge in his palm in lopsided little circles, then grinding the heel of his hand into it, his hips twitching up instinctively. “Daddy’s gonna fuck you now, okay, princess?” 

Your head is nodding, but you’re barely able to utter out an affirmative, because then he’s surging forward, a palm cupping your jaw as his fingers hook behind the hinge, pulling your face towards his and smashing your lips together. Bursts of copper explode on your tastebuds as he drags his tongue across yours—the slick muscle stronger, larger, wider as it shoves its way into your mouth, impelling your own tongue further into the hot, wet cavern. 

It’s sloppy and slippery and so, so sexy, his claws piercing your skin with superficial little pricks as he tries to yank you closer, your nose scrunched against his screen. Obscene squelching echoes throughout his bedroom as your lips glide and nip, copious amounts of drool, tinged pink with your blood, oozing from the corners of your conjoined mouths, leaving your chins shining with spit.

He overrides your senses, overwhelms your receptors and infuses your mind with nothing but him—his taste, smoky spice infused with metallic notes; his scent, sharp balsam and expensive cologne; his touch, still burning at the apex of your thighs, a constant reminder, an everlasting claim. 

A sharp gasp breaks the kiss as he forces his cock inside of you, forehead knocking against your own with a dark growl as his hips rock forward, burying himself in your cunt in a single, fluid motion.

Large hands curl around your hips, pinning them in place and keeping you from squirming away as he ruts into you, grinding his cockhead further into your cervix, ensuring he’s buried as deep as he possibly can be.

A singular moment, a breath shared between the two of you, oxygen sparse and dizzying as he takes time to revel in the feeling of filling you to the hilt, your sweet little hole spasming around him as it stretches and splits, eager to accommodate his girth, to gorge on his flesh.

Leaning back on his haunches, he drags your hips along with him, tailbone resting on his folded thighs, your knees thrown over either side of his hips. 

There’s no warning, no slow start or gradual build up, his cock slamming into you searing and sudden, fucking a gorgeous cry of his name from your throat. 

His chest heaves with ragged exhales as his hips pump, hard and fast and rough, voracious gaze swapping between your bouncing tits and the crisply engraved V glittering up at him on your pubic bone, still coloured with blood, drizzling past the scrupulously incised grooves with each vicious ram to stream down your skin, leaving tiny streaks of red.

The gash enchants him, pupils swollen as they soak up the sight, captivated by the way it quivers with every ruthless thrust into you, watching each drive of his cock as he sheathes himself in your cunt. The glistening arousal coating his shaft contrasts the blood so perfectly, the hands on your waist yanking downward with every jackhammer of his hips, forcing you to meet his motions. 

“Mine, mine, mine,” he’s snarling as he fucks you, the word punched from his chest with each plunging thrust. 

“Yours, Daddy,” you sob out with messy little nods, dainty fingers braceletting his wrists, nails sinking into thin skin as you cling to him. “Yours, yours!” 

“No one gets to have you like this,” he gasps out, voice gone hoarse. “No one, tell me.” 

“No one—No one gets to have me like this but you, Da-Daddy,” you nearly wail, staring up at him with such bright devotion it almost hurts, your gaze lacquered with tears. 

“Ah, fuck,” he whimpers, the curse shattering on his tongue, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment before springing back open, gaping and gluttonous. “Yeah, yeah, you’re goddamn right.”

His motions have turned downright brutal now, every pound of his cock more merciless than the last, the strike of his hips jostling your entire body up the mattress, just barely held in place by the grip of his claws, razored points puncturing your flesh and scraping, tiny trickles of blood oozing from the lacerations.

“Your mind, your cunt, your fucking soul—it all belongs to me,” digitized blood drips from the corner of his mouth, the glaring glow of his eyes so brilliant it’s hard to bear, casting a flare of red across your skin.

“Yes, yes, y-yes,” you’re babbling out, gone delirious with the heady intoxication of pain and pleasure, fingers digging into his flesh in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. “You own me, Vox.” 

“Oh, Christ—” 

The confirmation has him cumming quickly, hips pressed flush to your ass as his cock throbs violently, stuffing you full with copious amounts of thick, burning cum. His body stills, keeping his hips shoved up against you, almost as if he’s trying to plug you, to keep his seed inside of you, to claim you from the inside out. 

But it’s so much—too much—and you can feel it exuding past his shaft to dribble down your skin, leaving behind streams of pretty pearlescent strokes.  

Finally, he pulls out of you, another cracked curse falling from his lips as he watches with a sort of sordid obsession, his cock glazed with his cum and your blood, the tops of his thighs smeared with his own essence. 

“So beautiful,” he whispers to himself, claw reaching out to trace the V again, a hiss spit from between your teeth, body trembling with the effort to stay still, to resist flinching away from his stinging touch, to be good for him. “So fucking perfect.” 

Slinking down the bed, he wedges his head between your spread thighs to inspect the wound more thoroughly, teal tongue unfurling from his mouth to lave over the deep cut, mopping up excess blood as he follows the contours carefully once, twice, three times.  

“Mine,” he murmurs, planting a gentle kiss atop the wound, sealing the breathy claim into your flesh. “Mine, forever.”

“Yours,” you whisper, looking down at him as your finger outlines the V affectionately, a loving caress of what he’s gifted you. “Yours, forever.”

[slut4slytherinss]

Gold Rush

SEND REQUESTS!!

Summary: in which (fem!)reader is in love with Mattheo, but so is everyone else. Reader pushes her feelings deep down, convinced Mattheo, beautiful Mattheo could never love her. In doing so, hurting herself, and a certain curly haired boy.

3,014 words

Warnings: cursing, fighting, slight mention of sexual content, reader being self-conscious, Mattheo being an idiot, Mattheo and his big ego, angst, potentially more parts(???), not proofread bc I don’t have time, a few references to movies IF YOU SQUINT, possibly ooc Mattheo (I haven’t read Everything Black in a hot minute forgive me), use of Y/n, Tom Riddle is Mattheo’s father in this, Regulus is in fact dead (rip my man), Mattheo and reader being a bitch lol, in character-ish Enzo but not headcannon Enzo, THEO IS IN THE SLUG CLUB FOR THE PLOT IM AWARE THAT HE WASNT IN THE BOOKS

2nd person pov

Hufflepuff prefect reader

Female reader

Gleaming, twinkling, eyes like sinking ships on waters. So inviting, I almost jump in.

Your eyes are trained on the dark haired boy, specifically those deep eyes. “I know I’m pretty, you don’t have to stare, love.” Mattheo grins, you quickly dart your eyes away, “I wasn’t staring.” you murmur. He scoots his chair back, the feet scraping against the old library floor, he stands up and walks towards you— not even bothering to push the bloody chair back in. He takes a seat right next to you and rests his chin on your shoulder, “You really should be studying, y’know? Can’t have m’girl failing her exams.” My girl. You roll your eyes. “I’m immune to your charms, Riddle.” You say, almost as if you were trying to convince yourself of that. “Are you, though? I mean, remember in first year when you—“ you quickly cut him off, a foreign red flush invading your cheeks. “I was eleven!” You whisper-yell, his grin widens at your embarrassment. “Okay.” He drags the word out, “Some things never change, badger.” You furrow your eyebrows “Excuse me?” “Y’know? Badger, you’re a Hufflepuff, unless you’re shagging Diggory and stole his tie.” He gestures to your yellow tie, you roll your eyes. “First of all, Cedric is taken and if you call me badger again, I will ruin your pretty face.” “You think I’m pretty?” Another eye roll. “If you keep rolling your eyes at me, they’re gonna get stuck back there.” Before you can reply, a girl you recognize as a Slytherin fifth year, only younger than you by a year, calls for the boy sitting in front of you. “Mattheo! I don’t have all day, c’mon.” He looks back at the blonde girl and sighs, “Merlin’s beard,” he murmurs, then calls out to her “I’m coming Eloise!” Causing you to let out a laugh. He gives you a look, making you laugh even harder. But once he walks away, you realize that he, Mattheo Riddle, is probably hooking up with that girl, that absolute model, making your smile fade. Making you feel like an idiot for even thinking that he’d like you. For thinking you should inflate his ego even further by confessing.

But I don’t like a gold rush, gold rush. I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush. Everybody wants you. Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

-

You clutch your books close to your chest, dodging the hundreds of children rushing to get to class. Like every other day. A paper airplane comes straight toward you, it’s about to hit you clean in the forehead, you duck just in time— but a hand reaches out and catches it. You look over to thank the person, it’s Mattheo. Of course it’s Mattheo. That damned boy never leaves you alone. “You alright?” He asks, seeming genuinely concerned. Of course he does. He always does. “I’m fine, Riddle.” You spit out, fighting back your horrid feelings. He tries to speak but you just walk toward the potions classroom.

Walk past, quick brush. I don’t like slow motion double vision in a rose blush.

-

You sigh as you walk into the lavatory. Standing in front of the sink, you splash your face with some water. Trying to cool yourself down. “Y/n?” Fucking Mattheo. “I really don’t have time for your bullshit, what are you even doing in the girls la—“ you cut yourself off as you see Mattheo, a girl against the wall, not Eloise, a different girl. An older girl, a seventh year. Looking annoyed as ever. You let out a breath of surprise. Shaking your head you turn back around and walk out of the bathroom. Feeling like an idiot. Like always when it comes to that boy.

I don’t like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush. Everybody wants you. But I don’t like a gold rush.

“Wait! Y/n—“ he rushes out of the bathroom to follow you, he grabs your wrist and you turn around quickly. “Let go.” You spit out, he tenses his jaw. “Why are you even acting like this? You don’t need to get so pissed just because you’re jea—“ Slap. Your eyes widen, as well as his, “Did you just slap me?” “No.” you reply quickly. “You just slapped me.” he persists, “No I didn’t.” “Yea, you did.” “Yes I did.” you finally admit. “Why?” He asks, “You said I’m jealous, I’m not jealous. You just have a big head.” “I have other big things.” You slap him again. But this time on his forearm. And, oh Merlin. Why is his arm so muscular? Why are his eyes so deep and brown and beautiful? Why do his oh so pretty brown curls look so pull-able? Why do his lips look so perfect and kissable? Was he always this beautiful? Of course he was. He was always beautiful. You’ve known that since the first time you saw him.

What must it be like, to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominos.

-

You walk into the Slytherin common room with Dorothea, one of your closest friends, she’d convinced you to come to this party. And you’d stupidly agreed. You stupidly got drunk. You stupidly found Mattheo. You stupidly kissed him. You stupidly hooked up with him.

You look around the room, Mattheo has his arm under your neck. “Okay,” you whisper to yourself “yeah, okay. I can get out of here.” You roll over a bit, pulling the covers off of yourself carefully. You easily get out of his warm, soft bed. An odd coldness filling your body as you do so. You slip on your shoes and realize that you don’t have your shirt on, you look around his room, which is surprisingly clean— minus the clothes everywhere, on the doorknob, there’s your shirt. How did it even get there? You shake your head and walk over to it, putting it on over you. You hear Mattheo groan and you quickly look over, he’s still asleep, but reaching out in the bed, as if looking for you. It takes you a moment before you realize that you need to leave before him and his charm pull you back in.

I see me padding ‘cross, your wooden floors. With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door.

-

It’s been 3 weeks. 3 weeks since you went to that party. 3 weeks since you found Mattheo. 3 weeks since you kissed him. 3 weeks since you hooked up with him. 2 weeks and 6 days since you woke up in his room and mission impossible escaped. You haven’t spoke to him, or anyone in Slytherin at all. In fear that he told everyone he knows and you’d never live it down. He didn’t. But you don’t know that. You’re choosing out a dress for dinner, you’re in the slug club, but so is Theodore Nott and those two are friends, best friends even. So of course Mattheo was the boys plus one. No matter that. Dorothea suggests a simple dress that shows off your body, but you shake your head, “No, Dor, that— that doesn’t compliment me right.” So you choose a dress that goes down to your knees, it’s long-sleeved, completely covers your cleavage, which was the goal of course. You paired it with some old converse, not liking the feeling of heels on your feet all night. You have your hair done nicely in your favorite style.

“No Mattheo, I really don’t agree with that, you’re so— so contrarian.” You shake your head, “Oh give me a break!” He groans, but you just give him a look, calling him an asshole with your eyes. He’s just told you an opinion on the muggle-world, he’s a pure blood, seriously, who does he think he is? Giggles can be heard from others sitting around you, including Dorothea and Theodore who are sitting next to each other. Slughorn tries to get you two to stop, “O—okay, Mr. Riddle, Ms. Y/l/n, please refrain from arguments at the table.” “This isn’t an argument, it’s a debate.” You correct.

As you’re walking back to your common room, you overhear some girls talking “Oh, wouldn’t they be such a cute couple?” One of them giggles, the other nods in agreement “They argue so much, plus, doesn’t Y/n Riddle sound so nice?” “Oh I dunno, I’m kind of jealous of her.” A third one adds. Your eyes widen as you realize they’re taking about you and Mattheo. You quickly butt in their conversation, “We would not be a cute couple! He’s insufferable and his ego is larger than himself!” You huff.

At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit. And the coastal town, we wandered ‘round, had never seen a love as pure as it.

-

“You know that you can’t avoid him all day, right?” Cedric tells you as he notices you staring in Mattheo’s direction in the Great Hall. “I can and I will.” The boy rolls his eyes, “C’mon, when me and Cho get into—“ “Don’t compare you and your girlfriend to me and Mattheo— that’s just.. no!” you mock gag, shaking your head. Cedric just grins at you knowingly, “Why are you smiling at me like that?” you ask, Cedric licks his lips “No reason.” “Shouldn’t you be making out with Cho in a broom closet or something?” you tease, he laughs “Yeah, probably. Shouldn’t you be getting in Mattheo’s pants again?” “Leave it Ced, it will never be.” You murmur as you look down at your tea, mixing it around lazily with your spoon.

And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea. ‘Cause you know it could never be.

-

“Why are you avoiding me?” You stop dead in your tracks, goddamnit. Why is he everywhere? You slowly turn around on your heels, face reddening, “I’m not avoiding you.” you reply simply with a shrug. “Yes you are, I’m sick of it.” He rolls his eyes. “What’s it matter to you? We aren’t friends.” “What are you talking about? Yes we are.” “No, we’re really not Mattheo, you only talk to me when you know I’m going to leave.” You spit out, annoyed with everything, “No I don’t! I talk to you all the—“ you cut him off “Just leave it, I’m done here anyway.” You say before turning back around and walking away, “Well— don’t come crying back to me when you realize no one else cares!” He yells, letting his emotions and large ego get the best of him. “Fuck you!” “You’ve already checked that one off!”

‘Cause I don’t like a gold rush, gold rush. I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush. I don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch. Everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

-

He is such an asshole! Who the fuck does he think he is?! He has no right to speak to you— or anyone for that matter — like that. You huff as you walk into the Great Hall, feeling his gaze immediately land on you. But you won’t give him the satisfaction of meeting that gaze. Taking a seat at your own houses table, you can hear his friends laughing loudly, stupid boys. The only time you do look over at him is when you hear his fork slam against the table and he stands up from his seat, to be fair, the entire Great Hall looks over at him. He ignores his friends and clenches his jaw as he walks out of the huge room, brushing right past you and leaving a small gust of wind from where he walked. Your lips slightly part as you watch him, but you look away just as quickly. Refusing to let him get his way. You shake your head as you now look over at his friends — who you now realize are staring over at you. Furrowing your eyebrows you mouth an annoyed “What?” to them, hoping to get any explanation. Theodore just shakes his head at you, and Lorenzo Berkshire mouths back a “Nothing.” making you even more annoyed with these boys. You decide to take matters into your own hands and stand up, making your way to the Slytherin table where they’re sitting. “Hello, boys.” you raise your eyebrows expectantly. “Uh — hey..” Blaise Zabini murmurs, “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with that dickhead who just walked out of the Great Hall making a scene?” Draco Malfoy laughs at that “Dickhead? Did you just call your little boyfriend a dickhead?” “He’s not my boyfriend Malfoy!” you exclaim which causes Draco to laugh and Theo to nudge his arm, Enzo speaks up “Um, Y/n he’s just upset you’re ignoring him.” now the rest of the boys groan, collectively murmuring little “C’mon man!”’s and “Enzo!”’s he throws his hands up in apology. Eyebrows going up you look at them, “Seriously?” you scoff “he’s mad at me because I’m not talking to him? After what he did?”

Walk past, quick brush. I don’t like slow motion double vision in a rose blush. I don’t like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush.

“Why don’t you just make it easy for him and tell him how you feel?” Theo speaks up with a shrug. “Excuse me? And how exactly do I feel Theodore?” you ask, twisting toward him. “You want him, obviously.” “Everybody wants him! I don’t — I don’t like that horrid feeling!” you exclaim loudly, catching the attention of others around you.

Everybody wants you, but I don’t like a gold rush.

Lowering your voice, you rest your hands on the table, pushing Blaise’s plate away to do so. He stops in the middle of his chewing to give you a glare, then continues slowly chewing. “You’ve liked him since fist year, admit it.” Blaise speaks with his mouth full, so it’s a bit muffled. “Shut it and eat your potatoes Zabini.” you spit out. He shrugs and does just that. With Zabini out of the conversation Draco speaks again, “But really, stop leading our boy on.” “I haven’t led him — or anyone for that matter — on!” now it’s Theo’s turn to speak “Well.. you did kinda sleep with him and then leave the next morning,” “That was a mistake.” “Still shitty.” Enzo says. You huff, “That’s — no! Even if it was shitty, it’s not like I’m in love with him. He shouldn’t’ve expected anything from me.” Draco raises an eyebrow “Wow, didn’t know Hufflepuffs were such—“ “Dude, don’t finish that sentence.” Enzo says with an eye roll before looking toward you, “If you don’t like him, then don’t lead him on, it’s not difficult.” Looking him up at down for a moment, you sigh and your eyes move around the group at a quick pace. “Tell him I don’t like him, and — that I’m sorry or whatever.” Damn. That hurt you to say. Who knew it’d be this hard to get over him.

What must it be like, to grow up that beautiful, with your hair falling into place like dominoes?

-

As you lay in your bed, miserable and alone, you think about Mattheo. Because of course you do. He’s plagued your mind since first year. Rolling your eyes, you silently curse yourself for not realizing how horrible it was to fall for him. He’s got the perfect life, minus the fact his father is literally the dark lord, still, he’s rich. He has hundreds of girls in love with him and multiple in his bed. You aren’t going to be any of those girls, not now at least.

My mind turns your life into folklore. I can’t dare to dream about you anymore.

-

You hear your name called out by a familiar voice, Pansy Parkinson, her loud — but not angry — footsteps reverberate along the stone walls of the castle. You stop walking just as she catches up to you, out of breath. She reaches for your shoulder to steady herself and you grab her arm to help her. “What’s wrong Pans?” You ask once she catches her breath. “Riddle told me about what you said.” You wince at the mention, “Oh.” She must notice the look on your face since she adds a quick, “Don’t worry, I’m not mad, that boy needs to learn that not every girl is in love with him.” As an afterthought. “Never mind that, you are,” you furrow your eyebrows “—in love with him. You’re in love with him.” She finishes, which causes you to stammer out a quick and defensive, “Am not!” In response. “You literally gave him a bouquet of flowers, which you handpicked, in first year.” “In first year! Yeah, but that’s not now!” She rolls her eyes, “Come on Y/n/n, you’re just going to end up hurting yourself if you keep saying that.” She then removes her hand from your shoulder and you do the same, “Okay, I’ve got detention now, see ya later.” Then she runs off. She literally runs off after telling you that you’re in love with Mattheo Riddle. As if you didn’t know that. As if you didn’t sleep with him.

I see me padding ‘cross your wooden floors. With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door.

-

The last slug club meeting of the year before you leave for Christmas. You aren’t supposed to bring plus-ones, but Slughorn likes Theo too much and let him bring Mattheo. You sit slumped in your chair, dressed nicely though. Dorothea is sick so she couldn’t come. And Mattheo has the audacity to sit right fucking next to you. Purposely making those contrarian remarks, to get you to speak, so he can hear your voice again. Annoyed or not, he wants to hear it. But you don’t. You just stand up and move to sit beside Theo. Mattheo swallows and stops talking, looking down at his food.

At dinner parties, won’t call you out on your contrarian shit.

-

You sit by a garden in Hogsmeade, looking at the flowers silently. Of course, thinking about those girls from a few weeks ago at the Slug club meeting, how they were talking about you and Mattheo. Did everyone think that way? That’s impossible, he’s him, you’re just you. You barely know jack shit about each other. Sighing, you lay back in the grass and fiddle with the strings on your cardigan. It will never be.

And the coastal town, we never found, will never see a love as pure as it. ‘Cause it fades into the gray of my day old tea. ‘Cause it will never be.

-

He stands at your doorframe, knocking on the door rapidly. Hearing you groan on the other side and sheets ruffling. He quickly tries to fix up his messy curls and look at least a hit presentable, you open the door as he’s smoothing out his shirt, he’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and you’re — well —in your pink unicorn pajama set, that causes him to grin widely. But then he hears your voice murmur a sleepy “Mattheo?” and becomes serious again. “Um—hey.” He smiles gently, out of character for him. “I know it’s late and all, I just had to um.. talk to you.” You rub your eyes and yawn, “Well?” You ask, eyebrows raised expectantly. “I know we aren’t close or anything, but I really fucking like you. I mean—really like you. It’s so weird for me to feel this strongly over.. well, y’know a girl who I barely know. But you’re just different, you make me feel things—things that no one else does.” He watches you watch him nervously, this is really different than the Mattheo you know. “Anyway.. what I’m trying to say is, I think we’d be really good together. I want us to try it out, if you’d have me?” “Mattheo I—“

Gleaming, twinkling, eyes like sinking ships on waters. So inviting, I almost jump in.

-

A/N: IM SOOO SORRY FOR THIS TKAING SO LONG TO WRITE(literally ignore my spelling mistakes wtf) ANYWAY YEAH, LMK IF I SHOUKD MAKE A OART TWO OR SMTHING?????

PART TWO

MASTERLIST

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part nine

summary: may the odds be ever in your favour.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.6k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: this is the teaaaa guys,, also should i post the playlist tn?? i feel like its almost ready 0.0

series masterlist // playlist

"You should go home. You can't save her by just hoping she comes out of her little tunnels again..." Coryo turns his head at the Dean's voice on his left. "She could be dead in there. You wouldn't know."

Your friend sighs, rolling his eyes and redirecting them to the screen ahead. Just in case.

"What are you reading?" He points to the open book on Coryo's desk in front of him as the boy quickly closes it, pulling it down onto his lap.

"Just a book." He mumbles.

The Dean gets closer, leaning over to read the cover as Coryo flips it over. "Just a book?" He probes it more, raising an eyebrow at him. "The very same one your poet was reading in all the live feeds of the zoo over the last few days. That's sweet."

"It's interesting. That's all. She asked for it, I wanted to know why." Coryo brushes it off, holding the paper tighter in his grip.

"What do you want from that girl?" He asks, leaning against the empty desk next to him.

"Nothing." Coryo insists. "I want her to live."

Dean Highbottom hums, giving a slight nod. "And the Plinth Prize would be a happy coincidence, I suppose."

Coriolanus smiles bitterly, thinking over what his best response would be. "I believe I'd be entitled to it."

"Of course you do." The Dean nods, flashing him a fake smile of encouragement. "Of course you do. The prize, the girl. Hm. How convenient you don't have to choose between them."

Coryo tucks the book under his leg at the statement, choosing not to grace his superior with any kind of response.

"Who do you think makes that final decision for the prize you so covet, Mister Snow? Wake up. Even if she somehow wins it all, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you don't see a dime." Dean Highbottom spits, looking up at the screen as well as Coryo slowly looks over at him. "So, ask yourself, how much do you care if she wins now?"

Coryo listens to the man's footsteps as he walks away, pretending to focus on the screen again. If he truly had no shot at the prize, would it be best for him to go home now and sleep like many of his classmates already had? Should he even bother to watch the cameras hoping that you'll reappear in the dark arena at some point tonight? Should he even come back? Of course he would. He couldn't live with the idea of you coming out, in desperate need of something only he could give you, food or water, and knowing that at some point you would realize he had lied to you. That he wasn't with you anymore. He would have to watch your heartbreak in holiday reruns for the rest of his life. Even if you died in that arena all alone, would you realize that he didn't care about you at the end? He couldn't take the idea of it.

As he returns to the book that he's pulled back onto his lap, he hopes you still remember.

It's another slow hour before you show your face again, slowly, carefully opening the vent across the arena as the motion cameras pick up on it, allowing Coryo to watch the closest one to you. It's a moment before he looks up, entranced in your book when he sees the movement in his peripheral vision. He was the only one there, now, and he knew it likely wasn't you that the cameras picked up so it took him a moment to even tear his eyes away from the desk, slotting the dried-up flower between the pages. When he does see it's you, he sits up quickly. Watching, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it didn't come, there was no one else. It's just you.

Your eyes scan the arena in search of the nearest camera after seeing that there are no other tributes out in the clearing besides Lamina, where you left her on the beam. You crawl out, leaving the vent open behind you for a quick retreat. You find the camera, looking into it. You were covered in dirt head to toe, but even through that Coryo could see it when you tried to communicate with your gaze. With him.

You give a small wave to the camera, eyes flitting up with the sound of birds in the crumbled rafters above you.

He wasn't sure what you wanted, but he was grateful you listened. Tapping through his communicuff, he quickly finds water and hits send. Hopefully, it makes it to you instead of breaking like Lamina's did.

You stand up in front of the vent, stretching out your limbs from being curled up and crawling around in the vent system for so long. You wanted to explore as much of it as you could, but it was hot in there, and you desperately needed water so you could clear out the dust in your throat.

A smile falls onto your face briefly as you see the drone come in, carrying your water bottle. Coryo. He is watching. You hold your hand out, prepared to try and catch it before it crashes loudly into the stands just behind you. From watching what happened with Lamina's, you know you have to be careful. The blades aren't well covered, and they come flying in fast. Straight toward you. When it gets too close you bail, ducking down as the fast-moving drone flies straight past you and into the vent. You cringe at the loud banging that follows, echoing throughout the arena due to your beloved vent system. You stay hidden for a moment, making sure no one is coming after you before standing up and looking around. Satisfied that no one was coming besides Lamina who just stirred on her beam, you held your finger up toward the camera, signaling for Coryo to wait as you crawled back in.

He chews on the inside of his cheek as he waits, relieved when you emerge a minute or so later with an unbroken bottle in your hand as you kneel on the ground in front of the opening. You hold it up, shooting the camera a small smile before opening it and taking a sip. Or, you intended to, but you were so thirsty you downed almost the whole thing in one go.

You wipe your chin, take a deep breath, and close your eyes. It felt so good. Coryo is watching you intently. You don't look cold, which is good. Maybe even a little sweaty, if the hair that's clinging to your forehead is proof of that. You're probably hungry. And with that, he's sending you an apple. If you weren't hungry, it wasn't a lot to eat, but if you were, he would be able to tell by how you ate it.

You hear the distant whir of another drone, quickly standing up and stepping away from the vent. You want to avoid that loud echoing as much as you can. You brace yourself and duck beneath the seat in front of you, hiding behind the railing so it wouldn't hit you.

It crashes into the front of the stands, and you can hear it falling down onto the floor. You stand up slowly, looking over the edge. You were so hungry, now that you saw the apple there, that you hopped down over the side and walked along the edge of the railing before sliding down where it was safest. You watch your steps as you make your way over to the broken drone and the battered apple that was attached to it.

You scan the ground, looking for that delicious flash of red which you pick out quickly. You pick it up and wipe it off on your dress, taking a bite before you're even fully stood up again. You could moan just at the taste of it. You had missed fruit so much- occasionally Coryo and Sejanus had brought you some in the zoo, but now it was something else entirely. Every bite could be your last, and you try to enjoy it as best you can.

You track the arena again from the floor, looking around again for the nearest camera. You turn when you see it's pretty much directly above your head. You wave again, giving Coryo a grateful smile, weakened by the stress of the day's events, and by your inevitable death. Nevertheless, you tried to keep on a brave face; you didn't want him to view you as careless or ungrateful. "Thank you." You say, unsure if there is even a microphone.

You tilt your head at the camera, confusing him as you squint. "Can you hear me?" You ask and he nods, alone in the large room.

"I can hear you." He whispers back to the open air, watching as you swiftly turn around, facing away from the camera.

"If you can hear me, send..." You think about it. What is something they would definitely have available but obscure enough that you would know he heard you? "Send in something odd. Something you're surprised is even an option."

He flicks through the pages and pages of options, unsure what to pick. Bread was too basic, no apples, water, no. Milk? That's weird, and gross. It's perfect. He hits send and watches as you eat your apple, looking up at the opening at the top waiting for something else to come.

You smile as you see it coming in, looking back at the camera briefly before bracing yourself to dodge the flying gift. You wait until the last second, jumping out of the way as it smashes into the wall behind you, the bottle shattering and spraying the surface in milk. Coryo cringes just at the sight of it as you turn and look.

You scrunch up your nose and get closer, running your finger through the dripping liquid to try and identify it. "Milk?" You ask, looking up at the camera.

He smiles to match yours as it grows on your face and you start to laugh quietly. "That is odd, indeed." You giggle, shaking your head. "Well, thank you, dear Coryo. At least I shall have someone to talk to." You take another bite out of the apple in your hand.

"I hope you had a good day." You hum, covering your mouth as you chew. "But you should be getting home soon. I think it is late."

It's so you to be so caring, even finding yourself within the games you're still worried about him. He smiles to himself, shaking his head. He continues to click through the communicuff in the silence that follows, just to get a better idea of all your options, when he finds something better.

Finally, the keyboard makes sense. He quickly types the note out to you and hits send. It's pricey to send a note, putting a dent in your donations, but you had so many it wasn't really a concern at this point. After all, he was your mentor. It only made sense that he would kind of be able to communicate with you.

You perk your head up at the sound of another drone, ready to play this game again. You dodge it more smoothly this time, with a spin that puts a smile on your mentor's face before picking up the small container clipped on the bottom of the drone and prying it open.

You smile when you see it's just a piece of paper. "I'm not leaving. -C"  You read, looking up at the camera.

"Well then," You grin. "Let's talk! It is not day."

He remembers that one. You've said that one to him before- you said it was Romeo and Juliet. He's actually sure he just read it. If the book belonged to him, he would be highlighting and annotating every line you have recited to him over the last couple weeks just like he does in his textbooks.

"That's Romeo and Juliet, if you remember." You remind him, assuming that he wouldn't know it yet. Even if he had started reading it, which he shouldn't have considering you know he's been busy, it was unlikely he'd get that far in under a day. You didn't know that he was inhaling every word on the page in the moments you were off-screen, devouring every blank verse as if it were sacred. To you, and now to him, it almost was. 

You look around as you chew on your apple, stopping when you look at Marcus again. You sigh, sadly, seeing the birds now crowding his body as you quickly begin to make your way over. Lamina sits up as you approach, looking over the edge of the beam. "Just me." You whisper, reassuring her before you shoo the birds away as she lays back down.

You crouch down next to the boy, gently rolling him onto his back. You hadn't the chance earlier, too rushed by the daylight to get back into hiding, but now was as good a time as any. You gently cross his arms over his chest and close his eyes.

You sit back, carefully adjusting his clothes before getting up, as satisfied as you could be with the makeshift burial.

You take a few steps back, retreating quietly to the edge of the arena to get back to your vent. You climb up into the stands just as you hear another drone coming, quickly climbing the stairs so it doesn't fall back down into the ring. You grab it when it's settled, smiling to yourself when you see it's another note.

"No cameras in the vents. Only come out if you need anything. -C"

"Thank you, Coryo." You whisper, looking up at the camera and nodding before retreating inside, closing the fan quietly behind you.

You curl up just past the entrance to the vent, hoping to get some sleep near the fresh air. The exhaustion kicks in quickly after you eat the entire core of the apple, knocking you out in the darkness of the tunnel.

When you wake, it's still dark. You sit up quickly, realizing where you are. Rubbing your eyes, you look out of the vent to see the source of the sound that woke you. You quickly spot a figure kneeling over Marcus's body, blinking to try and see who it is through the sleep still in your eyes.

You should stay hidden, you know that, but from behind at least, it doesn't look like another tribute.

"Sejanus?" You whisper, the vast space carrying your voice to his ears and he quickly turns. You were lucky it was him, but you were able to make a quick escape if it turned out to be someone else. "Sejanus, it's just me." You continue, and as you ease yourself down the debris piled up against the wall he just turns back to Marcus.

You take careful, nearly silent steps as you walk up behind him. "Sejanus?" You say again, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He shakes his head slightly, looking up at you. Tears filled his eyes and stained his cheeks, and you very quickly felt the tears building up in your own eyes as well. "Oh..." You quickly kneel down next to him, pulling him into a hug which he gratefully accepts. "Oh, Sejanus I'm so sorry... I wanted to save him, I did..." You choke on every word as you apologize.

"It's not fair." He sniffs, shaking his head gently under your grip as you soothingly rub the back of his head.

"I know... He didn't deserve that." You agree, ignoring the tears dripping down to your jaw and tickling your skin. "But I want you to know I told him how loved he is, and how sorry we all are. He knew. In his final moments, he knew..."

He tenses under your hold. "It... it was you?" He mutters, pulling away.

"No! No, I-" You quickly defend yourself, head shaking as your arms drop from around him and he looks over at you, understated anger beginning to shine through. "Sejanus, I didn't..."

Any trust he had in you was seemingly gone at that moment. You were worried you flipped a switch you couldn't unturn, that any relationship you had built with the boy had died and been replaced with the thought that maybe you were no better than the game makers themselves. Marcus was defenseless, and it felt like Sejanus thought you took advantage of that.

Your thought process proved to be correct. "He was defenseless! Innocent!" You could tell he would shout if you weren't both so worried about staying quiet. His anger quickly reverted back to hurt. "How could you?"

"I promise, it's not what it sounds like-" You try to correct him, to get him to forgive you as your chest constricts around your lungs. One of the two friends you made in your final days; gone. Just like that.

"Hey!" Another voice startles the both of you, already just a few feet away. You didn't realize how vulnerable you were while you were fighting to prove yourself. You scramble to get up, standing just in front of Sejanus as he knelt on the ground, making no attempts to move. "Y/N. Get out of here." Coryo instructs you, still in his academy uniform.

"Coryo, I-"

"Go hide. Now. It's not safe for you out here." He insists, eyes cold and serious.

"No, not until-"

"I said go. I can't be talking to you, we'll both be punished. Go."

God, he wanted to talk to you. He wanted to do more than talk to you. He wanted to hug you for the first time unimpeded, to grab your hand and pull you outside to where you would be safe, but he knew that neither was an option. You're safer in the vent than you would be in the hands of Dr. Gaul after he was seen talking to you, that's for sure.

He has to bite his tongue to keep from asking you to stay while you scurry off to do as he said and climb back into the vent, his mother's scarf still tied securely around your waist. He hated that this could possibly be the last time you saw him, but he had no choice.

"Sejanus, let's go." He whispers to his friend, once he is satisfied that you are really going.

"She killed him..." He mumbles in response.

"She didn't kill him." Coryo quickly corrects him.

"She said-"

"He begged for their help, and she held his hand while she," He points up the beam where a now sleeping Lamina lay quietly, "did it. Now let's get out of here."

He urges him on and Sejanus looks up at him. "He asked them to." Coryo hisses to iterate his point. "Y/N couldn't do it even then."

Sejanus looks up to the vent just as the door creaks closed behind you. "I just wanted to help..." He says softly, eyes watering.

"If you want to help, the best thing you can do is come with me."

"No, I had to be where the cameras are, I need to show them-"

"Do you think anyone is watching this?" Coryo asks as his friend finally stands up. He was making progress, but slowly. This needed to move faster. "Gaul cut the feed. Come with me now, or-"

"But you said-"

"You can't help them if you die in here and become another body in Gaul's war." Coryo cuts him off. There was very little time for arguments, and that timer was rapidly ticking down. "Go home, spend your father's money, do some real good. And don't blame her. She's just as innocent as Marcus was and you know that. Who do you think shut his eyes? Posed him like that? She sobbed for an entire hour after holding his hand while he died!"

Sejanus is speechless, staring down at his tribute's body.

"I watched it all! She's alone in here. She has no one!" He whispers in his ear. "We are all she has. Me and you on the outside, and if you want to help that girl and all the tributes after her, we have to go right now or neither of us will see the light of day again and she will starve and die truly alone. Please, Sejanus. You're her friend... My friend. Come with me."

Sejanus looks at him, the two boys just inches apart as he nods with a resigning sigh. "Okay." He whispers.

Coryo sighs in relief. "Thank you, come-" He starts to turn back when they both are scared by the sound of footsteps sprinting toward them. "Come on!" He shouts, grabbing his classmate's sleeve and dragging him behind as they make for the red lighting of the exit.

You watch from the slits in the fan, hands perched on the blade as you lean against it to get a better view. Your heart is racing as you watch Coryo and Sejanus book it for the exit. God, you hope they make it.

They almost do.

Until Sejanus trips over the turnstile you know and hate, crying out in pain upon hitting the ground. Immediately, you're pushing the door open loudly and running along the railing, hoping to get closer to the exit without running the risk of cutting through the middle of the arena. "Coryo! Run!" You yell helplessly, careless of whether or not you'll be heard or seen by others. All you wanted was to create a distraction. To save him.

But he doesn't run, even as you see him stumble back in the red lighting of the tunnel, hissing when Bobbin's blade strikes him somewhere. "Coryo!" You cry out again, more out of fear. Was it serious? Was he already in the process of bleeding out?

You quickly hop the railing abandoning your safety, sliding down the concrete and stumbling upon hitting the ground. "I don't want to hurt you!" You hear his voice again as you run into full view of the tunnel, still about twenty feet away.

Just in time to see Bobbin fall back between the metal gate, landing a good ways away.

"Enjoy the show!"

You flinch when your friend steps out after him, chest rising and falling heavily as he stares down at the boy's body. Silent, unmoving, dead.

Then he brings the club down on him again.

[yzashaven]

CW // mmm mean n rough xiao!! but also mixing degrade and praise :0 ERM NOT PROOFREAD OFC + fem!reader

made for my pookie @peakalatus <3

꒰ general﹒taglist ꒱ @kanaedd @scara6 (leave a comment or ask to be tagged in all my works :3)

"oh, you fucking slut." xiao groans out and pushes your legs further down and apart, having you in a tight mating press, hands forcefully holding you in place. "you look so lewd like this... so pathetic and so pretty~" he thrusts back inside your warmth making sure to reach all the right spots and he definitely did; his tip kissing that one spot deep within your cunt at the perfect angle. "fuck—you feel so good~ must feel nice knowing that you got an adeptus like me to be this needy for you, huh?"

he then pulls back until only the tip was at your hole before slamming back inside roughly, making you scream out in the mixture of pleasure and pain. "you like it, don't you? you like it when i take you roughly every once in a while~" xiao chuckles darkly as he watched your face that showed complete bliss as he continued to fuck you 'til your brain forgot about everything else around. an audible gasp slips past your lips as you felt his thumb stimulating your clit by rubbing it in slow and gentle circular motions; the feeling of getting treated both gently and roughly by him at the same time making your vision go blurry as all that left your lips were whines, babbles, and moans of how good it felt.

you then mumble out something that he couldn't hear and understand properly, to which he suddenly inserts two fingers from his other hand into your mouth, "shut up and take it. just fucking take it like the good girl you know you are~"

[sound-of-scoups]

Moth To A Flame | JJK & KMG | Teaser

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female!Reader x Kim Mingyu  Genre|tags: Idol!au, series, established relationship, infidelity, love triangle, lots of angst, lots of drama, smut, maybe fluff.  Word count: 597 words (this teaser) Rating: Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI). Warnings: Reader is lowkey a bad person but we love her anyway, afab!reader, cheating, high infidelity, graphic sexual content.  A/N: 1. I do not agree with, nor do I support infidelity. I also do not believe that Mingyu would be capable of doing anything like that. This story is purely fictional and meant for entertainment purposes only. If you don't like it, feel free not to read it. Consider this also as a warning. 2. This is highly inspired by two edits I saw on TikTok, one of them featuring 'Moth To a Flame' with Wonwoo and Mingyu, and the second with Jungkook and Mingyu using the audio 'She chose me.' 'Did she?' I no longer have the links to them, but they stayed in my head for days (long enough for me to create this story). Release date: October 29th.  (I'm just posting the teaser again because my clumsy ass deleted it 💀)

Summary: Four years ago, you crossed paths with a charming member of the K-pop group Seventeen during their tour stop in Osaka. The two of you shared three intense, unforgettable days before life took you in different directions. It was painful for both of you, but you knew you couldn’t take things any further and had to say goodbye. Now, back in Seoul for good, you’re in a new relationship with another idol: Jeon Jungkook—whose charm and stability make him everything you thought you wanted. You are very much in love with him, and as your connection deepens, it feels like your life is finally falling into place. That is, until you meet one of your boyfriend’s best friends and are stunned to discover it’s the same man you fell for in Osaka all those years ago. As buried emotions resurface and secrets begin to unravel, you find yourself torn between these two men, caught in a whirlwind of love and conflict, testing the boundaries of loyalty and the choices that could change everything. 

READ HERE!

As you weaved through the maze of tables, your nerves began creeping back in, your heart pounding in your chest as you approached the table. You forced yourself to focus on Jungkook, on the fact that he was here with you, and that tonight was more about him than anything else. But as your eyes scanned the faces at the table, you couldn't help but search for the one you were dreading most.

“They’re just over here,” Jungkook said, bringing you out of your thoughts as you approached the group. 

And then you saw him.

Heart skipping a beat and breath caught in your throat as your eyes landed on the man sitting at the far end of the table, his eyes downcast as he filled his glass with a cabernet liquid. 

The man you never expected to see again in your life.

Kim Mingyu. 

The sight of him was like a punch to the gut, the air in the room suddenly feeling too thick, too heavy. The world around you blurred, your vision narrowing to just him—the man who had occupied your thoughts for so long after Osaka four years ago, the one you had tried and failed to forget.

It felt like slow motion as all eyes turned to you, and Mingyu slowly looked up from his drink, following suit with the rest of the guys.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes locked with his. A flicker of recognition crossed his gaze, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly masked his surprise with a neutral expression. Even though you knew he would be there, nothing could have prepared you for the rush of emotions that surged the moment your eyes met.

It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving you breathless and frozen in place. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the noise of the restaurant fading into the background, and all you could hear was the rapid beating of your heart.

Mingyu held your gaze, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips. In that moment, a jolt of electricity shot through your body—a mix of fear, guilt, and something else, something you didn’t want to name.

“Everyone,” Jungkook’s voice cut through the haze in your mind, pulling you back to the present. “This is Y/N, the amazing woman I’ve been telling you all about, and the love of my life.”

Jungkook’s tone was joyful and proud as he kissed your cheek. You tore your eyes away from Mingyu, forcing a smile and trying to steady your breathing. Meeting the gazes of the guys around the table, you spoke, your voice steadier than you felt. “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you all. 

“Babe, this is Yugyeom, Bambam, Chan, Eunwoo, Jaehyun, Seokmin, Minghao… and Mingyu,” Jungkook introduced, oblivious to the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Mingyu stood up almost immediately, one of his long legs hitting the edge of the table, causing the silverware to rattle. He offered you a polite smile, but you noticed the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes avoided yours as he reached out to shake your hand across the table.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N,” he said, his voice calm and measured, as though nothing was out of the ordinary, giving nothing away.

Your hand trembled slightly as you shook his, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through your body that you desperately tried to ignore. Heart racing, you managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you forced a smile, “You too, Mingyu.”

[fangdokja]

The rules are simple: obey, or suffer. And you’ve already broken every single one.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Prison Warden x Fem. Reader

♡ Oneshot. #2

♡ Word Count. 975

The cell wasn’t meant for comfort, and tonight, it proved its cruelty. The walls were damp with condensation, the frigid air lacing every breath with an ache sharp enough to make your lungs rebel. But even the cold was nothing compared to the presence that would soon follow.

You’d been bracing yourself, the moments stretching into eternity, each footstep in the distance filling your chest with a dread so thick you could taste it. Then, there he was. The sound of his boots—slow, deliberate, a predator announcing itself—echoed down the corridor.

When the door creaked open, you recoiled instinctively, pressing yourself into the farthest corner. It didn’t matter. He was there, and the sheer mass of him seemed to devour the air in the room. His silhouette, towering and broad, was more shadow than man, but the light caught the glint of his gloves—the crimson stains faint but unmistakable. The door clicked shut behind him, the lock sliding home with finality.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, his voice dark velvet undercut with a rasp, each word measured and deliberate. He didn’t rush to you. Instead, he began unbuttoning his cuffs, the fluid motion a ritual of control. His forearms, lined with muscle and sinew, flexed as he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, veins coiling under his skin like snakes. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice? Or is it stupidity that made you think you could cross me?”

You couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe. His gaze found you in the shadows, cold and sharp, and it pinned you there like prey. His smile curled, humorless and cruel.

“No words?” he murmured, stepping forward. The floor creaked under his weight. You scrambled back, but there was nowhere else to escape to. When his hand reached for you, it was like being caught in the jaws of a steel trap.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he growled, yanking you upright with a strength that left your joints screaming in protest. His grip on your wrist tightened, cutting off circulation, until you whimpered. The sound made his grin widen. “But guts won’t save you. They only make your punishment more interesting.”

His free hand brushed against your cheek, deceptively gentle, before snapping down to your jaw and wrenching your face upward. His eyes, deathly and depthless, bored into yours. “Let’s remind you of the rules, shall we, fuckin' filth? Rule one—you belong to me. No talking to others. No whispers behind my back. And yet, you thought you could entertain someone else’s attention. Who was it?”

When you didn’t answer, he tsked, the sound vibrating low in his throat. “Still playing the innocent act?” His grip shifted, and his fingers found its way to your throat. With the faintest pressure, he forced your head back against the cold wall, his body closing in, his breath hot and rancid against your skin.

“Rule two,” he hissed, the menace in his tone like a blade against your skin. “You don’t steal from me. Ever. What did you take this time? My key? A piece of my patience?” He laughed, a sound void of warmth. “Everything in this prison is mine. Every inch, every breath, every heartbeat—including yours.”

The pressure on your throat increased, enough to steal your air, and the black edges of your vision began to creep in. He didn’t release you until you sagged, choking, your knees buckling beneath you.

And still, there was no reprieve.

He crouched beside you as you struggled to draw breath, one hand tangling in your hair and jerking your head up. The angle stung, tears leaking from your eyes unbidden. He smiled at that, his thumb swiping a tear from your cheek as though savoring it.

“Rule three,” he whispered, the mockery in his voice unrelenting. “You don’t run from me. Ever.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “But you tried, didn’t you? You thought you could escape my sight, my control. Tell me, fool, how far did you think you’d get?”

You managed a shake of your head, a weak denial, but he only chuckled. His hand moved to your jaw, holding you there, his nails digging in just enough to hurt.

“Not far enough,” he said simply. “You were mine the moment you stepped into my domain, and you’ll stay mine, you piece of shit. Forever. No one else will ever touch you. No one else will ever see you.”

When he let you fall again, crumpled and trembling on the cold stone floor, you dared a glance up at him. His towering frame blocked out the dim light, his face cast in shadow, and yet you felt the weight of his gaze like a brand.

“You’ll learn obedience,” he murmured, unhooking the heavy chain from his belt. The metallic clink as it unfurled sent a wave of nausea rolling through you. “I’ll make sure of it. You’ll never forget who owns you. Who will always own you.”

The punishment was swift, precise, and unrelenting, a calculated destruction of your will. The pain blurred into numbness, and the cold floor was your only anchor to reality as your mind fractured under the weight of his domination.

When it was over, he stood over you, his head tilted as though admiring a masterpiece. His voice softened, almost tender, as he crouched once more to lift your face. “You’ll be good for me now, won’t you?”

You nodded weakly, the words barely scraping from your throat. “Yes…”

He smiled then, a dark triumph gleaming in his eyes. “That’s what I like to hear.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you in silence. But the marks he left—on your body, on your soul—would never fade.

[mydemimonde]

my tears ricochet — aemond targaryen x reader one-shot

warnings: angst with no happy ending. mention and description of miscarriage, depression, character death, aemond being an asshole. no beta reading! i like alys but i needed to make her kind of a bitch for this

words: 4500ish

A/N: i hope you like this little piece of writing, took me like five hours lmao. english is not my first language so expect some mistakes. i have an upcoming fic with aemond x oc, if you're interested in reading it, here's a sneak peak. enjoy your reading! ♡

We gather here, we line up Weeping in a sunlit room, and If I’m on fire, you’ll be made of ashes too

The words that left Aemond’s mouth cut deep in your skin. Your heart was heavy, a huge sharp pain was pressing your chest and you felt like vomiting. You were thankful you were sitting, otherwise your legs would have failed you.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, you could only hear his muffled voice, as if it was distant. The air grew thick with tension as Aemond’s words hung between you two, the Sun lighting the dark room.

“Alys and I…”

You have heard plenty of rumours about your husband and that woman in Harrenhal. You refused to believe them, you were sure your husband was an honourable man who loved you and respected you deeply. But apparently it was not like that.

All you could do was stare blankly at the fireplace, no emotion showing in your face, your hands together on your lap and some tears falling down on your cheeks, while he kneeled before you, explaining to you what happened, tears spilling from his eyes at the fact that he betrayed you. His dear wife.

“I swear to you, Y/N” he placed his hand on his chest, his voice broken and barely above a whisper “there is nothing else between us. I ended the matter”.

You stopped a bitter laugh from escaping your lips. Ended the matter? That was far from happening, you were sure of it. That morning, when he arrived with Cole and his men, a brunette lady in a green dress came as well.

Oh, yes. He even dared to bring her to the Keep.

According to Aemond, before he confessed his betrayal, that woman was an important asset to win the war for the Iron Throne against his half-sister and uncle. She could see things before they happened, she had visions and he needed her.

But to you, it was beyond that.

How could he betray you in that way and have the audacity to bring the woman he betrayed you with to your home? How could he do such a thing to you after everything you had to endure?

Memories of the weeks after you lovely wedding flashed through your mind.

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe All the hell you gave me? 'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'Til my dying day

“I’m so sorry, Aemond,” you said in between sobs, hiding your face from him. You were sitting on your shared bed after the maester left your chambers. It was your second failed pregnancy, apparently you were not fertile enough for a healthy one.

The world shattered around you, you wanted to cry and scream until your throat hurt, you wanted to set everything on fire. You were not capable of keeping a child safe in your womb, you were not capable of giving your husband an heir.

“Shh, my sweet love,” Aemond’s voice was soft, his hand caressing your back as the other went to take your hands and uncover your face. Your eyes and nose were red and puffy, tears still streaming down your cheeks. He wiped the tears with his thumb and hugged your shaking figure, trying to calm you down. “Listen to me. This was not your fault. None of it”

“But, Aemond, I-”

“No,” he interrupted, looking at you with a serious expression. “Do not blame yourself for this. It is a terrible thing that happened, yes. But by no means was it your fault, I want you to understand that” his thumb stroked your cheek as you regained your breath.

“Aemond, you heard the maester. I’m incapable of giving you a child” water began to pool in your eyes again, remembering what the wise man told you with a sorrowful look.

He nodded. “Yes, I have heard him. But I do not love you less for that. Y/N, I love you for being you, my dear wife. Not for what you can or cannot give me. I only care and crave for your love.”

You believed every word he said, every promise, every look directed at you and every touch he gave you. Oh, how stupid you felt now.

Since you were not looking at him nor saying anything, he took your hands in his. That caught your attention and you flinched, finally looking at him.

With a quivering and threatening voice, you managed to say: “Get out”.

After that morning, you still slept in the same chambers and bed. You slept on your edge of the bed, turning your back to him, while he slept on his side. Sometimes you felt him staring at you, he would try to touch you or talk to you, but you were very clear to him. You needed time to think, needed time to forgive him, and he decided to respect that.

However, after feeling the bed shift every night while you pretended to sleep and hearing his footsteps early in the morning right before waking up, you decided you would not forgive him.

You cried into your pillow every time he left, spending the night in another chamber. Her chambers.

Soon you began feeling terribly sick, you would wake up with nausea, vomiting your breakfast and with awful migraines.

“You are with child, princess” the maester’s words echoed in your head, trying to assimilate them.

“That… that’s impossible” you shook your head and smiled sadly. “I have already lost two. I am not capable of carrying a healthy pregnancy” you repeated the words the maester had told you several moons before.

The old man chuckled. “You are almost three moons in, princess” you blinked. “You need to trust this old man. This one is safe. But listen very carefully” his expression turned serious, your eyes wide with surprise as you nodded. “It is imperative that you follow a healthy diet to keep this child safe. You must avoid all kinds of strong emotions and stressful situations.”

Oh. Right.

You just nodded, taking mental note of his suggestions. “Thank you, master”.

He left your chambers and you stayed there, standing next to the fireplace, a hand lingering on your belly. You were now with child. Aemond’s child. You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, thinking about what to do next, but especially about how you were feeling.

Happy? Relieved? Sad? It was all a mix of feelings that made you uneasy. You’ve been confirmed that this was a safe pregnancy, or at least it was if you followed the maester’s instructions. You should be happy, right?

But after remembering what Aemond had told you weeks before and his activities during the nights, you realised that happiness was impossible. You were unsure if after you told him the news, he would stop seeing her. After all, he promised their affair would cease, and he did not keep his word.

The sound of someone knocking on the door pulled you from your trance. “Yes?”

Queen Alicent, your mother-in-law stepped in the room. Her eyebrows were furrowed, a worried look in her face. “My dear, I have seen the maester come from your chambers”. She came closer to you, examining you and taking one of your hands in hers. “Is there anything wrong?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but you could not find the words. “I- uhm” you cleared your throat and looked at your hands. “I’m fine, your Grace”

Alicent tilted her head. “You’re with child, aren’t you?” you lifted your head, your gaze wide and lips parting. She only smiled. “A mother notices things. I have noticed you have been feeling ill. Nausea and migraines” she explained, leading you to sit down on the edge of the bed. “I started with the same symptoms when I had Aegon in my womb. And from the look on the maester’s face, it appears that you and the baby will be safe”

You just blinked at her words. Certainly, mothers can notice things.

“Indeed, your Grace” suddenly you felt like crying. “I do not know how to tell Aemond, he-” you closed your eyes and looked at your hands. You took a deep breath as Alicent caressed your hair. You looked back up at her. “I know he has been seeing that witch every night. I see him do that. He swore to me he would stop, but-”

The Queen nodded and grimaced. She did not like that woman either. It was a shame for her that her (favourite) son would bring her mistress there. The fact that he in fact had a mistress was a shame itself. How could he disrespect his wife, his mother and his whole family like that?

Something inside you told you she already knew. “I’m so sorry, my dear” she hugged you and you felt at peace for a moment. Queen Alicent was truly like a mother to you.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace 'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave

After your conversation with Queen Alicent, you decided to tell Aemond the news. For a moment, you hoped that if he heard what you had to say, he would immediately abandon the witch’s side and come back to you. You may still forgive him after all…

The Queen had arranged a feast in your honour. It would be the moment where you would tell him the news, with the rest of the family. You met Aemond in your chambers, right when you were finishing preparing yourself, you were combing your long hair when he entered the room.

His expression confused you. “I am afraid, my love, that I will not be able to escort you to supper. I have some unattended matter in the Council”

You frowned and felt quite disappointed. “But you will be able to attend, right?” you already felt a wave of desperation through your body. “Your mother has arranged this in our honour, you must not be absent.”

Aemond let out an exasperated sigh that took you by surprise. “I will, Y/N. It is just that I will be joining later with Cole, that is all.”

And so you walked to the Great Hall alone. Aegon, Helaena, Otto and Alicent, as well as some members of the Council —except from Aemond and Cole, of course— were already there, waiting for you.

When Alicent saw you entering the Hall with a blank expression and no sight of Aemond by your side, the corners of her mouth curved downwards. She approached you. “My dear Y/N, where is Aemond?”

You lifted your eyebrows. “He said he would be late. He had matters to attend in the Council.”

Her expression softened as she caressed your arm. “Well then, come with me. Let us have a seat and we may wait for him” you followed the Queen and sat next to her, to her right. There was an empty seat next to you, meant for Aemond.

You fidgeted with your hands on your lap, anxiety coursing through your veins as you lifted your head to glance at the doors. You have been there waiting for almost twenty minutes, the musicians were already playing some quiet music, the sound of people chatting filled your ears. 

Suddenly, the doors opened. Everyone stood up from their chairs and the music stopped. It was Ser Criston Cole who entered. Alone. He found your gaze in the crowded room, a sorrowful and sorry look on his face.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you had to witness later. Your husband made his way into the Hall, with Alys Rivers on his arm next to him. 

One of her hands lingered over her belly.

You heard Alicent scoff next to you, shaking her head at the sight. You, on the other hand, could not utter a word. You felt sick to your stomach, you wanted to run away from there. But your feet did not seem to move, it was as if they were glued to the floor.

Aemond met your empty gaze for a few seconds before moving towards the chairs in front of him. He pulled one for Alys, she thanked him with a soft smile that he returned and sat.

You could not stand being there, in the same room as them.

You turned your heels and ran away from there as soon as you could, tears spilling and making your vision blurry as your legs moved fast. You heard footsteps behind you, and a soft grip on your arm made you stop in your tracks. You turned your head and saw Aemond’s eye scanning you, noticing the way your cheeks were damped with your tears.

“Y/N, let us go back to the Hall”

Rage flowed through you like dragonfire. “Get your fucking hands off me!” you yelled with a brittle voice and freed from his grip with a strong tug.

That took Aemond by surprise, his wide eye proving it. You were staring at him like he was the biggest scum in the world. Which he was. And that felt like a dagger through his heart.

“Y/N, my dear, please listen to me” he pleaded with a low voice, trying to reach your hand.

“So now that whore is part of the Council?” you answered bitterly. He did not move nor said anything. “How dare you humiliate me in front of everyone? How dare you disrespect your wife and your mother in such a way?” you spat, nostrils flaring with anger.

Once again, he tried to reason with you. “My love, I promis-” he was interrupted by a slap across his face, startling him.

“Do not fucking call me that” you warned him, waving your index finger to him to turn around and leave to your chambers.

That night, you just let the anger and sadness take over you, sobbing into the pillow as Aemond heard everything outside the door. He stayed there the whole night, his back against the cold door, waiting for you to open it. But you refused to let him in, and so he fell asleep on the floor.

He was awakened by Cole in the early hours of the morning, and since he did not hear an answer when he knocked on the door, he forced it open, searching for you. But you were nowhere to be found.

He called your name, but you did not answer. He just heard some muffled sobs in the toilet, the door was locked. “Y/N? Y/N please, let me in.”

You just muttered a small “Please, leave me alone”. Aemond’s gaze fell to the floor for a few moments, and he was ready to leave you again, you just needed time to think. You would come to your senses again, and you would listen to what he had to say. Everything would be back to normal.

Just when he was ready to leave with Cole, he heard the sound of metal hitting the ground, so he forced the door, worried about you. What he saw made his breath hitch.

You were on your knees on the floor, crying, your hands and the white gown you wore to sleep was covered in blood. Your blood. Your gaze found his, and you managed to yell. “I said leave me alone!”

Aemond fell to your side immediately, ordering Cole to fetch a maester. He began examining you, trying to find the source of the blood, but you were not harmed. He lifted your gown and saw your legs damped with blood as well. He looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Y/N…”

“Almost three moons in” you cut him. “The maester said it would be a safe pregnancy, if I followed his instructions. Avoid stressful situations.”

Aemond’s heart dropped listening to your words. He could not say a word for a while, he just kept looking at you. “I-I’m so sorry, Y/N, I didn’t-”

“Sorry does not change anything” your voice was harsh, your eyes felt like daggers on him. “You chose her over me. You chose her over our marriage, our baby, and now our child is gone. Is gone because of you. You killed it.”

He felt everything around him stop, it was like you took his heart and squeezed hard with your cruel words. But he deserved it. He deserved all your anger, and more.

“Go back to her. She needs you, Aemond, I’m sure she does. The baby she carries needs his father, do not do the same you did to me” you swallowed, watching his reaction.

“Y/N, I told you, we ended everything. She was at supper with me last evening because as you well said, she is part of the Council. She is valuable” he was trying so hard to make you believe his words.

You laughed bitterly. “Do you think I’m stupid, Aemond? I know what you do every night, when I pretend to sleep. I know you go back to her. Every fucking night. You reek of her, Aemond” you sneered at him, letting him see how much you hated him now. “I know for sure she is expecting a child, your child.”

Tears began to spill from your eyes again, but you did not let them fall. You did not wish for him to see you that vulnerable again.

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

After the maester had arrived, he instructed Aemond to leave the chambers. Your words and the way you looked at him with hate, no not hate, repulsion, were still engraved in his mind. As he left the room he heard your sobs, it was a sound that broke his heart. How could he hurt you, his beloved wife? He was responsible for your heartbreak and the loss of your child.

That day he decided he would try once again to have your trust and love back. He sent a maester to Alys’ chambers to give her moon tea. Then, a guard would escort her outside the Keep, a carriage would be waiting for her to return to her home.

He let that affair and bargain destroy his marriage, but he would do anything to amend it.

He went to your shared chambers, it was a cold night, the wind howled outside the Keep and only his footsteps were heard in the corridors. He opened the door, the wind was so strong it threatened to close it, but Aemond was stronger and managed to open it. He expected to see you lying on your bed, resting after the maester gave you some milk of the poppy, but he did not see you there.

Aemond looked around the dark room and found you in your white gown. His heart began to pound fast in his chest, his hands began to shake as he caught sight of you, your feet perched on the window still looking down.

His steps were silent, calculated, trying not to scare you. But you already knew he was there, you heard the door being opened and you knew it was him. You did not look back at him, not even when he was begging you not to do anything insane. He came closer, carefully offering you his hand.

“Y/N please,” his voice gentle yet tinged with desperation. “Step back, please, just take my hand”.

At the sound of his voice, you slowly turned around, facing him with empty eyes. His eyebrows drew together in deep concern, his lips slightly parted. He let out a small sigh of relief as you placed your hand on his palm, but before he could grab it, you gave him what could only be described as a sad smile and slipped through his fingers, letting yourself fall.

Your funeral was held a few days later, Aemond gave Vhagar the command to set your corpse on fire. As Vhagar saw the tears in her rider’s eyes, she let out a loud roar, full of sorrow. Aemond stared at the flames, incapable of moving as his cheeks were wet with warm tears.

As he turned to leave, however, he felt a certain uneasiness. He began looking around the field, and he swore he saw your figure standing behind a tree, watching him. He blinked rapidly, but you disappeared.

And I can go anywhere I want Anywhere I want, just not home And you can aim for my heart, go for blood But you would still miss me in your bones And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky) And when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)

That night after the funeral, Aemond cried silently as he clung to one of your dresses. It still had your smell, it was as if you were right there with him. In the dimly lit room, shadows danced like spectres, casting an otherworldly ambiance.

It was right there, through tear-blurred vision, that he saw you. Your ghostly figure stood next to the window, looking through it, an apparition bathed in a haunting glow. You were sobbing. Aemond's breath caught in his throat, the ache in his chest growing immeasurably.

“Y/N?” he asked with a trembling voice, standing up slowly to approach you. Your sobbing never ceased as you turned to see him. Your eyes were glinted with a seething anger, the tears you shed were like salt in his wounds, a reminder of the pain he had inflicted upon you.

Just before he could get closer to you, you climbed to the window sill. A strangled cry escaped his lips as he realised what you intended. He lunged forward, his hand outstretched in a futile attempt to stop you, but it was too late. You jumped, slipping through his fingers once again.

Aemond could not sleep well. After that, he began seeing you and feeling you everywhere. During his training, when he could not concentrate and fell on his back missing Cole’s attacks, he saw your figure staring at him from the roof. During his visits to the library, in the solemn silence, he could hear your sobs. During supper, he could feel your hand linger over his shoulder, just like the way you used to do.

He would see your reflection in the mirror, looking at him with pure anger, your face contorted with rage.

Every night, the same thing would happen. He would see you standing next to the window, sobbing, turning to glare at him just to jump afterwards. He had to witness your death over and over again, slipping through his fingers. It was driving him insane.

He was sleep deprived. He requested the maesters to give him something so that he could find sleep. However, your late visits never ceased. You continued haunting him, he did not know what else to do to stop this.

One night, there was a storm raging outside, loud thunders and lightning streaking across the sky illuminated the room. Aemond drank the tea the maester had given him earlier, trying to get some rest.

Your sobs interrupted his peaceful sleep. He rubbed his eyes and saw you standing there, looking at him with a mix of rage and sorrow. Before you could repeat the actions from previous nights and climb through the window, he dashed across the room and fell to his knees.

“Y/N, I beg you!” he pleaded through a strangled cry, his hands clutching his chest. You turned your body to him, watching as he cried before you, his other hand covering his face. “I am miserable without you, my love. I am so sorry for the pain and suffering I caused you!”

Your sobs came to a halt, listening to his desperate laments and pleadings. You approached him without saying a word and he lifted his head to look at you.

“I am living in torment, I am in agony, Y/N. I know I hurt you deeply, I know I deserve all of this” he moved his hands, gesturing at the room. “I’ll carry the guilt of what happened to you and our child with me, always.” His voice was full of remorse, his hands shaking terribly as he spoke.

He swallowed and closed his eyes, feeling the weight on his shoulder starting to vanish. He could not apologise to you when you were alive, the guilt ate him. But now he had the opportunity to do so, even if it was too late.

Your hardened expression softened at his words, feeling your heart clenching at the sight of him like this.

“Aemond.” Your voice came out as a haunting whisper, as if the wind carried it, and it reached his ears, sending shivers through his spine. “I cannot leave this place. I am a prisoner here.” You explained as you extended a hand to caress his cheek. Your touch was cold against his skin, but he closed his eyes and leaned into it.

“You caused me great pain, husband. This is why I haunt you every day and night.”

Aemond’s eyes opened and he rose to his feet. He took your pale cold hands in his and looked into your eyes. “I beg you to forgive me, Y/N. I cannot undo the past, I wish I could. But I need you to do that. You need to be free as well, I do not wish you to continue suffering.”

Your brows furrowed and your eyes became watery. “I loved you, Aemond. I loved you til my very last day.”

“I still love you, Y/N. And I apologise for everything. You were too good for me.” A tear ran down his cheek, a bittersweet smile graced his features as the memories of your happy marriage filled his mind. Fragments of your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes would shine with love as you looked at him. Fragments of your life together before his mistakes.

Your foreheads touched. “I loved you, Aemond. But I cannot forgive you” you whispered and he gulped. He could feel your breath fanning his face, your lips were so close to touching.

Aemond did not know if it would be wise to kiss you, but he missed you so much and longed for your touch, your lips, his body and heart ached.

Your hands were carefully placed around his neck, and you chose to close the distance giving him a sweet kiss from your cold clay lips.

The next day after the ferocious storm, Aemond's lifeless form lay on the ground, next to the window. He was found by Cole and Otto, who walked into his chambers after not hearing word from the Prince all morning.

They gathered around him. His eye was closed, his slightly parted lips holding the faintest trace of a serene smile. His death was sudden, and it was said he died from the pain of losing his wife and child. It could have not been an attack, there were no signs of it, no signs from any wound in his body.

There were no signs of violence, other than the strange marks of slender fingers, like ghostly imprints around his neck.

taglist: @moonlightfoxx

[voltronisanobsession]

hi! i was wondering if i could request a percy jackson! platonic headcanon fic where like luke, y/n is also being manipulated and possessed by one of the evil gods and the group finds out? (also i’m sorry to go all teen wolf but she starts to act kinda like void stiles) ty!

Reader being Controlled by a God

NEVER apologize for going all teen wolf, I love this idea😍😍😍😍😍 when you say headcanons fic, imma think you meant headcanons but with a story plot🔥

I think this is a little more generalized than what I usually write

I’m telling you, when I finish heroes of Olympus, WE WILL HAVE A BIGGER AND BETTER GROUP OF CHARACTERS💀🙏🙏🙏

The change is a slow process

Not many caught onto your change appearances, those who did marking it down as an off day you had

Plagued with nightmares and visions, paranoia grows as you distance yourself from the group slowly

This god, you didn’t know their name or their face

The fear they instilled in you was enough for your confidence to break down though

It was like having a devil on your shoulder, it’s soft whisperings influencing your everyday life

You tried blocking it all out, but it was getting too much! You could never escape the whispers, even in sleep, which was way worse than being awake

Yet you didn’t dare tell a soul, what would people say! Would Chiron kick you out of the camp? Gods, you can’t be kicked out another home again, you just can’t!

You lose sleep as this god takes its hold on you, grip tightening more as the weeks pass

It isn’t long until you began listening to the voice, listening to it as it planted seeds of deceit and darkness

I think the one who would pick up on your weird changes is Annabeth lowkey

She notices EVERYTHING

When you don’t show up to breakfast in the mornings, she takes note of it. During training, she notices how you have this far off, dull look in your eyes. Like you’re there physically, but mentally somewhere else.

She definitely sees how you look at everyone now, a distrusting expression as you distance yourself from those around you

So when the girl tries approaching you about it, making it known that she’s worried for her friend, Annabeth is taken aback by your defensive aggression

“Don’t worry about it, its none of your buisness” you would say, eyes narrowed and arms crossed, shutting down any other attempts she tries to make

And while the others try to reassure her you could be upset about something else, one look at you and she already knows that there’s something more

You begin doing small tasks for your new friend

They’re small at first, pack a bag with a few necessities, steal some drachmas, your cabin mate won’t notice a few missing

You don’t even notice as they get a bit extreme, wordlessly following its orders to sneak into Chiron’s office and take some files, and to go into the woods after they call lights out in the dead of night

You’re friends grow even more suspicious and worried as you seem to creep around the camp grounds

They might even hear you whispering to yourself one day. What’s next, you would ask. Whose here? Hiding behind a tree, your friends would finally see that there’s something seriously wrong with you

Percy prays to any god or goddess listening that you just haven’t moved on from your invisible friend phase, but as always, nothing ever goes his way

This voice that first haunted even your sweetest of dreams was a familiar one that you grew to trust

They’re all waiting to watch you stumble, my dear. They’ll use you until there’s nothing left of you.

Join us, you’ll have me to guide you through the new life I’m offering you.

Your final task sets everything in motion, setting off every alarm in every demigods head as you walk past them.

With one mission in your head, you head towards the training grounds where Percy and a few others swung their swords at dummies

Taking the nearest sword, you walked up to Percy from behind, pushing everyone who got in your way

Speeding up to close the gap between you two, Percy’s instincts takes over as he quickly glances behind him and narrowly dodges your swing at him

He wouldn’t have any time to think as you continuously swing the sword you held at him, not once stopping even as he tried talking to you

“What’s going on with you?! Talk to me y/n!

“Do you seriously ugh- think talking is gonna get you out of this?”

Because of your sloppy form due to the wrong sized sword you took, you were taken down by the green eyed boy, causing you to scamper away from him

Heaving and looking at him with irritation, he could make out a dark shadowy figure lingering behind you, almost encasing you with its darkness

That’s it

It isn’t until Annabeth comes running in with Chiron that you make your escape into the woods, where they search hours for you, only to come empty handed

But you didn’t leave without leaving behind a small gifts

At sundown, three hellhounds were released into the camp grounds by portals no one knew existed

Just like Luke, you had betrayed them all, yet they felt that they couldn’t blame anyone but themselves!

The signs were there since the beginning!

It seemed that this god, a new enemy, had taken over your head, and your friends weren’t going to stop until they finally had the real you back🔥🔥

Cue epic music playing in the background

[sikyulioness]

"Too Late to Say Goodbye"

The dungeon was cold. Not in the way of ice or winter, but in a way that seeped into your bones, numbing everything. It felt endless—this silence, this solitude.

You sat slumped against a crumbling stone wall, your body too weak to move. The battle had ended hours ago. Or maybe it had been days? You had lost track of time. The only thing you knew for certain was that no one was coming.

Jin-Woo wasn’t coming.

Your fingers trembled as you unlocked your phone, the screen barely flickering to life. You had sent so many messages, so many calls. None of them answered.

"Jin-Woo, are you there?"

"Please call me."

"I'm scared."

"Jin-Woo, I don't want to die alone."

The last one had been sent hours ago. And still, there was nothing.

A soft, bitter chuckle escaped your lips, though it hurt to even laugh. Maybe this was fate’s way of telling you the truth you had been too afraid to face.

Jin-Woo had already moved on.

You had seen the way he looked at Cha Hae-In. The way his attention lingered on her, how he always seemed to be somewhere else when he was with you. You had known. Maybe not at first, but deep down, you had known.

And yet, you had still hoped.

The hope that he would choose you. That he would stay. That he would love you the way you had loved him.

Foolish.

Your vision blurred, but whether from exhaustion or unshed tears, you weren’t sure. The phone slipped from your grasp, the dim screen facing upward. It was the only light in the suffocating darkness of the dungeon.

You wanted to cry. To scream. To be angry. But you didn’t have the strength for any of it. All you could do was sit there, staring at the last text message you had sent.

"Jin-Woo, I don’t think I’m going to make it."

The words blurred. Your breathing slowed.

Maybe if you closed your eyes for just a little while…

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much anymore.

---

Jin-Woo stood outside your apartment, a faint frown tugging at his lips. It had been a week since he had last heard from you. At first, he thought you were just upset with him.

But now… something felt wrong.

He knocked. Once. Twice. Silence.

His heart clenched. He had been so caught up—with dungeons, with the guild, with Hae-In—that he hadn’t even thought to check on you.

He reached for the door handle. Locked. But that was nothing to him. With a quiet motion, shadows slipped through the cracks, unlocking it with ease.

The moment he stepped inside, the air felt… off.

The place was untouched. Dust had begun to settle on the furniture. Your jacket was still draped over the couch, shoes neatly lined by the door. But there was no sign of you.

He grabbed his phone in his back pocket looking for your number to call and text where you were but there

He saw what you've texted him without him noticed

You begging him to save you and for him to come to comfort you

His breath caught.

The last one—

"Jin-Woo, I don’t think I’m going to make it."

His grip tightened, shadows trembling around him.

No.

No, this wasn’t real.

A horrible, sinking feeling spread through him as he summoned Beru. The shadow general appeared instantly, bowing.

"Find them," Jin-Woo commanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

Beru hesitated. That alone made his stomach drop.

"My king…" The pause stretched painfully long. "They are gone."

Jin-Woo’s world stopped.

It felt like the floor had been ripped from beneath him. His mind refused to process the words.

Gone?

No.

No, you couldn’t be gone. You were waiting for him. He was supposed to apologize for being distant, for not calling, for everything.

His shadows stirred, reflecting the storm within him. But the truth was undeniable.

You had died. Alone.

While he had been with someone else. While he had been laughing, talking, kissing another woman—

You had been waiting for him. Hoping for him.

And he had never come.

A ragged breath left him as he gripped the phone in his shaking hands. The screen flickered, the last message glowing like a wound that would never heal.

He had failed you.

Not as the Shadow Monarch. Not as the strongest hunter in existence.

But as the man you had loved.

His fingers hovered over the keypad. He wanted to call you, to send a message, to say something—anything.

But there was nothing left to say.

The dead don’t answer phone calls.

And now, he would never get to say goodbye.

---

[rainforestakiie]

Hey! Hope I’m not bothering you I just got this idea. Hear me out, when Adam wakes up as a sinner after dying and not only that but as a woman! Lucifer finds him/her and does the unthinkable. He makes Adam his mistress. Unironically. I’d think it be cool if Lilith was still there, not because she wants to but her soul is bound to hell as is Lucifer’s. I just love drama that’s all. It be like Anne Boleyn except we’re cheering on for our mistress. Mpreg is also an option. Again I just think it could add spice.

hello, thank you so much for the kind message! i have done my best to write this request; it might be a little different from what you wanted. it took on a life of its own, haha.

i really liked the thought of adam being forcefully turned into a woman and becoming a sinner. i wanted to try something different and new. i hope it's good.

i liked lilith being there, and originally lilith was going to be in a relationship with eve, but my lucifer x adam x lilith took over a little. lilith loves adam too in this! this has a bit of angst in it, so warnings for that. anyway, i hope you like it!

When Adam stirred, the world tilted, cruel and unforgiving, painted in streaks of red, pink, purple, and black—a grotesque palette smeared across his vision. His head throbbed with a searing, relentless ache, as if the universe had taken all its hatred and focused it on the fragile walls of his skull. A low, guttural groan slipped from his lips, raw and unsteady, as his hand weakly brushed the side of his head. Dampness. Warm. Sticky. Blood? Probably. He didn’t care enough to check.

He pushed himself up, every movement slow, heavy, excruciating. Pain blossomed in waves through his body—an ache so deep it felt like his very bones were fractured, like he’d been hollowed out and filled with shards of glass. It wasn’t the kind of ache you could laugh off. No, this was the kind that lingered, etched itself into every breath, every twitch of muscle. Adam sighed, eyes squeezed shut, the motion sending a fresh ripple of agony through his temples. The spinning didn’t stop.

He stayed like that, a trembling statue of resignation, until the nausea subsided just enough for him to crack open his eyes. He blinked once. Twice. Slowly, the shapes around him solidified. Where...where was he? The landscape looked alien, hostile, and wrong. A haze hung in the air, thick and stifling, carrying with it the scent of ash and despair.

He tried to piece it together, tried to remember. His chest tightened. Heaven? Wasn’t he supposed to be in heaven? The thought came unbidden, soft and fragile, like a thread he was afraid to pull. His lips parted, a quiet gasp escaping as fragments of memory clawed their way to the surface.

Oh.

Adam’s face twisted, his brows furrowing as reality set in. Not heaven. This wasn’t heaven. He tore his gaze from the scorched earth beneath him, scanning his surroundings with growing dread. No white light, no ethereal glow, no comfort. Just fire and shadow and a choking, unbearable heat that clung to his skin like a punishment.

Hell.

He was in hell.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him winded and trembling. His body burned—inside and out—with an unnatural, throbbing pain that made him want to claw his own skin off. He dragged himself upright, his legs weak and unsteady beneath him, threatening to buckle with every shaky step. The world tilted again, cruel and mocking, and he barely managed to catch himself against the rough surface of a crumbling wall. The concrete was warm, almost scalding, and he pressed his forehead against it, letting the pain ground him.

His breaths came shallow, each one more ragged than the last. He let out a broken laugh—short and humourless—because what else was there to do? He was so tired. Tired of the pain. Tired of the memories. Tired of everything. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to close his eyes and pretend this wasn’t happening. Pretend he hadn’t fallen. Pretend that it wasn’t his fault.

But pretending wouldn’t change anything.

He tilted his head back, his gaze lifting to the sky—or what passed for one. The light was dim and distorted, like the sun had been dragged down here just to mock him. Somewhere up there, beyond that burning, angry sky, heaven waited. And for a fleeting moment, it felt close enough to touch.

He had been there, hadn’t he? Hours ago? Days? He didn’t know how long had passed since...since he’d done it. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard against the lump forming there. What had it felt like? Falling? He couldn’t even remember anymore. Only the aftermath remained—the aching, the emptiness, the weight of knowing he had been there once, so close to peace, and now he was here.

Hell.

Adam closed his eyes again, letting his head rest against the unforgiving brick. This was where he belonged now. This was what he had chosen. Or maybe...this was what had chosen him.

The sinners closed in, their leering faces filling Adam’s blurry vision. Their jeers turned to sneers, their laughter growing crueller, sharper. Fingers brushed against his arm, his shoulder, his side—each touch slimy and unwelcome. His body stiffened as a cold chill crawled up his spine, his feet frozen in place, unable to move.

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart,” one of them drawled, their grin twisting into something feral. “We’ll take real good care of you.”

Adam’s lips parted, but no words came out. His body trembled, his knees threatening to buckle under him. The air was thick with heat and malice, suffocating him, and for a moment, he thought he might crumble entirely.

Then it happened.

A blinding eruption of purple and black light burst forth, consuming the space around them in a violent wave. The ground beneath Adam’s feet quaked, cracks spidering out in every direction as the magic surged. The sinners shrieked and staggered back, shielding their faces from the raw, overwhelming power.

Adam fell to his knees, the force of the wave knocking him off balance. His head struck the side of the building with a dull thud, and a fresh wave of pain radiated through his skull. He winced, his vision swimming, but through the haze, he caught sight of a figure standing before him, framed by the swirling darkness.

His gaze flickered upward, peering through long, damp eyelashes, and his breath hitched.

Lilith.

She stood tall, regal and commanding, her form cloaked in shadows that pulsed with an otherworldly energy. Her violet eyes burned like twin flames, wide with disbelief as they locked onto his. Her lips parted, but for a moment, no sound came.

“A-Adam?” she breathed, her voice a whisper, tinged with shock.

She took a hesitant step closer, her gaze sweeping over him as if she needed to confirm what she was seeing.

Adam tried to push himself up, his arms trembling beneath him, but his legs refused to cooperate. He stumbled, his balance faltering, and before he could hit the ground again, Lilith’s arms wrapped around him, catching him.

His body slumped against hers, and for a moment, he was too disoriented to process what was happening. She was warm—surprisingly warm—and her grip was firm but hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure what to do with him.

Lilith glanced down at him, her expression a mixture of confusion and something else—something softer, though it was buried beneath layers of discomfort. She looked back at the sinners, who were frozen in place, their faces twisted with confusion and fear. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips curled into a sneer.

Before they could react, she snapped her fingers.

The air shifted violently as waves of purple and black magic surged outward, swirling around them like a protective barrier. The sinners stumbled back, their confusion morphing into panic as the magic grew stronger, crackling with power. They didn’t dare move any closer.

Adam’s head lolled against Lilith’s shoulder, the pounding in his skull reaching a fever pitch. The throbbing blurred his thoughts, his senses dulling under the weight of exhaustion and pain. He tried to lift his head, tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

Lilith looked down at him, her brow furrowed. Her lips parted as if she were about to speak, but she hesitated. For a moment, she seemed unsure—whether to drop him to the ground and leave him there or…do something else.

Adam’s vision darkened further, the edges fading into black. The last thing he saw was Lilith’s conflicted expression, the swirl of magic around them casting sharp shadows across her face. And then, finally, the darkness claimed him.

~#~

he first thing Adam noticed as he drifted back to consciousness was the voices—familiar, low, and tense, like a storm brewing just outside the room.

"Eve?" came a hushed, uncertain whisper.

"No," Lilith’s voice snapped back, soft but sharp, tinged with exasperation. "This is Adam."

There was a pause, thick and expectant, before the other voice—Lucifer’s—spoke again. "Are you sure?"

Lilith made a noise from the back of her throat, somewhere between a sigh and a growl. "Yes, Lucifer. I’m sure."

Another silence fell, stretching so long it began to grate on Adam’s nerves, though he wasn’t sure why.

"It’s just…" Lucifer began hesitantly, his tone uncertain, "He’s…different."

Adam groaned softly, the sound escaping his lips before he could stop it. His body ached as though every nerve had been lit on fire and then drowned in ice water. His eyes fluttered open, but the world was a blur of shifting shadows and dim light. He blinked, looking but not really seeing, his head pounding as he tried to move.

The whispering stopped abruptly.

"Be careful," Lilith said, her voice gentler now as she stepped closer to him. Her presence felt oddly steadying, like a rock in a chaotic sea. "We’ve had to heal your bones. Almost every one of them was fractured."

Adam didn’t respond, his throat burning with the rawness of disuse—or maybe something else entirely. He swallowed thickly, his stomach twisting. For a moment, he wondered if he was about to be sick.

"Are you Adam?" Lucifer’s voice piped up, unhelpful and blunt from somewhere behind Lilith.

Lilith shot him a dry look over her shoulder.

"Lucifer," she warned.

"What?" Lucifer shrugged, unapologetic. "You can never be too sure."

Adam squinted, turning his head slowly toward the source of the voice. The movement made his head spin, and he winced. Lucifer came into focus—or at least, what Adam assumed was Lucifer. He looked…different.

"Are you really Lucifer?" Adam croaked, his voice hoarse and scratchy, though there was a flicker of something like incredulity in his tone.

Lucifer paused, visibly taken aback. His mouth opened and closed a few times, sputtering incoherently, while Lilith let out a snort of amusement.

"Yes," Lucifer finally managed, his voice rising defensively. "I’m really Lucifer!"

He shot Lilith a look, as though seeking backup.

Lilith’s lips twitched, her golden eyes dancing with humour. She reached out and playfully patted him on the head, smoothing down his dark curls.

"You still look handsome," she said teasingly.

Lucifer blinked at her, his expression shifting from indignation to delight in an instant. He beamed, his entire face lighting up, and the warmth in his eyes was almost blinding.

It was sweet. It was cute. Adam sniffled softly, his gaze dropping to the floor. He hated the way his chest tightened at the sight of their obvious affection for one another. He hated how it reminded him of what he didn’t have—what he’d never had.

When he glanced back up, his eyes caught on Lilith’s horns, the massive, elegant arcs of deep purple that jutted from her golden hair like a crown. He stared without realizing it, his thoughts sluggish and disjointed.

Lilith tilted her head, catching his gaze.

"What?" she asked, arching a brow. "You think they’re ugly or something?"

Adam blinked, startled by the question. He quickly shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself.

"No," he murmured, his voice quiet but earnest. "I think they’re pretty."

Lilith’s brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across her face. She stepped back a half-step, almost as though she didn’t know how to respond.

"So this means you’ve fallen, then?" Adam asked after a moment, his eyes flickering between Lilith and Lucifer. His tone was soft but curious, tinged with something he couldn’t quite name. "I’ve…heard the rumours in Heaven about what happens. When you fall. You grow horns, claws…things like that."

Lilith frowned, her expression unreadable as she pushed her long golden hair out of her face.

"In a way," she said carefully, her voice quiet. "I suppose."

Lucifer crossed his arms, his dark wings shifting slightly behind him, his gaze flickering between Adam and Lilith.

 "It’s more complicated than that," he said, his tone casual but edged with something deeper.

Adam looked at him properly now, taking in the stark contrast to the being he once knew. This wasn’t the pristine, golden-haired archangel who had stood proudly in Heaven, clad in robes of white and blue. This Lucifer was darker, his features sharper, his presence heavier—less light, more shadow. But his eyes still held a glimmer of something familiar, something that made Adam’s chest tighten with an ache he couldn’t explain.

"Everything is…" Adam hesitated, searching for the words. "…different."

Adam’s head throbbed as the weight of their words pressed down on him. It felt like a vice was tightening around his skull, and he clutched the side of his head, his breathing uneven. He wanted to speak, to deny what they were saying, but his voice refused to cooperate.

"Er…" Lucifer cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence. His usual suave confidence faltered as he glanced at Lilith, then back at Adam.

"Speaking of, uh…falling, Adam…" His voice was uncharacteristically hesitant. "Why did you fall?"

Adam blinked at him, his vision still swimming. He shook his head weakly, confusion etched into his features.

"I didn’t," he murmured, his voice hoarse and trembling.

Lilith’s brows furrowed, a flicker of concern crossing her face.

"You did, Adam," she said firmly, but not unkindly.

His gaze snapped up to hers, wide and desperate.

"No," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I couldn’t—I mean…"

He trailed off, his breath hitching as his mind scrambled to piece together fragments of memories that felt too sharp, too painful to touch.

Lucifer watched him, his own unease growing as he took in the turmoil flickering across Adam’s face. He lifted his clawed hands, golden magic sparking to life at his fingertips. With a small gesture, he conjured a mirror, the surface shimmering like liquid gold.

"You have," Lucifer said, his voice softer now. "Look."

He held the mirror out, his movements slow, almost cautious.

Adam’s hands trembled as he reached out, his grip on the mirror unsteady. He hesitated for a moment, staring at its glowing edges before finally tilting it toward himself.

The reflection was both familiar and alien. He knew about the changes—he had felt them in his bones, in the way his body moved, lighter, softer. His face was no longer angular but rounder, framed by long, cascading curls of thick brown hair. The length startled him; it reminded him too much of Lilith’s…or Eve’s.

His skin had lost its warmth, neither the sun-kissed tan of his Eden days nor the smooth alabaster he had once envied in the angels. Instead, it was ashen, a muted grey that seemed to swallow the light. His fingers brushed the sore bite mark on his neck, and he grimaced, quickly turning the mirror away.

Lilith caught the motion, her brows knitting together in worry.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice low but insistent.

Adam tilted the mirror slightly, and his gaze caught on the delicate blue horns that curled adorably from the top of his head. They were small, nothing like the imposing spirals of Lilith’s crown, but they were unmistakable. He blinked, shifting slightly on the bed, and noticed how his wings—no longer golden but a deep, ethereal blue—fluttered faintly behind him.

"Hm," he murmured, his voice distant. He stared into the mirror again, at the haunting black and blue of his eyes. "I guess…I died. When I jumped, makes sense…."

Lucifer let out a loud, sharp exclamation. "You jumped?!"

His wings flared slightly as he leaned forward, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. "What do you mean, you jumped?"

Adam jerked at the sudden outburst, his heart lurching painfully in his chest. Lilith quickly placed a calming hand on his, her touch grounding.

 "Lucifer," she hissed, shooting him a glare.

Lucifer flushed, his sharp features softening as he muttered, "Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell."

Lilith shifted closer to Adam, her movements slow and deliberate. Their history wasn’t exactly warm; Eden had been a battlefield of misunderstandings and clashing wills. But in this moment, she wasn’t the rebellious queen or the scorned first wife. She was simply…concerned.

"Adam," she said softly, her voice like a thread of silk drawing his gaze back to her. His hollow eyes met hers, and she gave him the barest of nods. "Did something happen? Up in Heaven?"

Lucifer stilled at her words, his red-and-gold eyes narrowing as he studied Adam again. His mind reeled, piecing together the broken puzzle in front of him. His gaze lingered on the small, delicate details—the horns, the softened features, the long hair.

"You were a woman," Lucifer said suddenly, his tone sharp and certain. "Before you jumped, you were already a woman. Dying and being reanimated as a sinner, didn’t turn you into a woman, did it?"

Adam froze, his body going rigid. The words hung in the air like a blade, cutting through the fragile quiet.

Lilith’s violet eyes darted between them, the storm of confusion and bitter realization darkening her expression. It was a war on her face—one she neither wanted nor asked to fight.

“Adam,” Lucifer’s voice was a blade, cutting through the tension, low and biting. “Why did you leap from Heaven?”

Adam’s throat tightened, the burn rising as if the truth itself was acid. He swallowed it down, trying to steady himself, but his composure was slipping, crumbling like ash in his grip. Tilting his head slightly, he hesitated, his mind racing. Trust? What even was that anymore? Heaven had betrayed him, gutted him, hollowed him out until he could no longer recognize the thing they left behind.

“Heaven…” The word came out in a rasp, heavy with bitterness. Adam inhaled sharply, lifting his gaze to meet Lucifer’s piercing eyes. His voice firmed, but the anger simmered just beneath. “It hasn’t been what you remember in a very long time.”

“In fact, it has become the opposite.”

~#~

Adam lay sprawled across the queen-sized bed, his body sinking into the softness of the sheets. Long curls of chestnut hair fanned out over the pillows, framing a face etched with exhaustion. His frame felt foreign now—smaller, more delicate, undeniably feminine. And yet, every nerve in him throbbed with relentless pain. It wasn’t just his body; his mind twisted with confusion. Why in all the realms would Lucifer and Lilith—Lucifer and Lilith—be the ones to help him? Why offer him shelter in their castle, of all places? Their spare room? Nothing about it tracked, and the unanswered questions gnawed at him.

It had been a week since Lilith had found him, broken and alone, and for some reason, took pity on him. She had whisked him away to their home without hesitation. Lucifer, however, remained a ghost. Adam had barely caught a glimpse of him, and he wasn’t eager to delve into what schemes the fallen angel might be concocting. Just thinking about Lucifer made his chest tighten with bitterness and sorrow, emotions he was too drained to untangle.

Lilith, though—Lilith was the surprise. She was the one who came to his room, who sat with him, who spoke to him despite the fact he never answered. When the time came to change his bandages, he’d hesitated, reluctant to bare himself under her gaze. He had expected disgust, judgment, perhaps even scorn. But there was none of that.

Lilith’s hands were steady, careful as she re-dressed his wounds. Her touch was soft, her words kind, her presence almost… calming. It unsettled him, the gentleness of it all. He hadn’t known what to say, so he’d stayed silent, letting her care for him while his thoughts spiralled in the quiet.

Think of the Queen of Hell, and she will answer.

The soft click of the chamber door announced Lilith’s arrival. She swept inside with an air of quiet command, a purple tray balanced in her hands. On it sat a bowl of steaming water, its heat curling faint wisps into the cold air. Adam forced himself upright, every movement igniting fresh aches, as she approached the bedside table and set the tray down. His eyes flicked to its contents—bandages, ointment, the tools of her careful ministrations—and then back to her.

“I’m worried,” Lilith admitted, breaking the silence.

Adam paused, fingers hesitating as he gripped the hem of the soft purple nightdress she had given him. With a deep breath, he pulled it off, baring his bruised and battered back to the Queen of Hell. Her lavender eyes scanned the canvas of his suffering, her gaze sharp and unwavering as it trailed down his spine. Her lips pressed into a tight, displeased line, betraying the thoughts she wouldn’t voice.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, confusion pulling at his brow. Worried? About him? It didn’t make sense. They were never close in Eden. Lilith had always been a force of her own, too bold, too defiant for Heaven’s chains. She had challenged everything Adam clung to, her sharp opinions cutting through his docile obedience. That defiance had captured Lucifer’s heart—something Adam had secretly admired, even envied. Lilith had escaped unscathed, but Adam… no. Saying no wasn’t an option for him. When he tried, it only brought punishment. Pain.

Her hand rose, sudden but gentle, her fingers brushing his raw skin. Adam flinched at the unexpected contact, the warmth of her touch startling him. Lilith’s head tilted, golden waves spilling over her shoulder like liquid sunlight as her expression softened.

“I’m worried, Adam,” she repeated, her voice low, almost tender. “You’re not healing like you should. Not nearly as fast.” Her fingers lingered lightly on his shoulder, careful, but her words were laced with something heavy. “You’ve become a sinner now. Hell’s power should have bonded with you. Wounds like these—injuries from before you jumped—they should have healed by now. Fully regenerated.”

Her words hung in the air, their weight pressing into Adam’s chest like stones. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

When Adam stayed silent, Lilith let out a soft sigh, setting to work. Her hands moved with practiced care, dabbing at his bruises and cuts, her touch as light as the brush of a breeze. Her gaze sharpened, narrowing on the cruel patterns etched into his skin—the bite marks, the fingerprints left in bruised shades of purple and black. Her lips pressed thin, displeasure radiating from her as her fingers lingered on one particularly deep mark.

“You were never this quiet in Eden,” she said, her voice low, but tinged with something coaxing. “In fact, I remember you couldn’t stop talking—always singing, always laughing. Never…this.”

Adam clenched his jaw, his lips locking tight as his golden eyes remained fixed on the far wall. His gaze flickered down briefly to the absurd little rubber duck perched at the end of the bed, a strange anomaly that had appeared out of nowhere the night before. He’d asked Lilith about it, pointing silently, but she had only smiled—an amused, enigmatic curve of her lips—and offered no explanation.

“Adam,” Lilith began again, her voice softening but with a dangerous edge creeping into it, “Did… they hurt you for speaking so much?”

Her words hung in the air, an accusation and a plea all at once. Without thinking, Adam shrugged, a small, almost dismissive movement, but one that made her hands freeze in surprise.

“It’s not different,” he murmured, his voice a raw, cracked whisper, as though the act of speaking after so long had physically hurt him. The sound startled even himself.

Lilith’s hands stilled, her lavender eyes searching his face as he continued, his words halting but heavy.

“I mean… in Eden, you didn’t like me making much sound anyway. Heaven just… found a way to reinforce what they wanted.”

The bitterness in his tone cut through the air like a blade, but Adam winced at the roughness of his own voice, as though the words themselves were too sharp to say. Lilith’s expression shifted, the anger in her narrowing eyes no longer directed at him but something far, far worse.

"Is this… how Heaven kept you in order?" Lilith’s voice cut through the stillness, sharp and oddly restrained. There was a dangerous edge to it, something simmering beneath the surface that Adam either didn’t notice—or chose to ignore.

"Did they hurt you to keep you in line? Even after you became an angel?"

Adam’s fingers curled into the rich, opulent fabric of the quilts beneath him, twisting the crimson and violet threads until they frayed under the tension. His shoulders tensed, his head dipping slightly as though bracing against the weight of the question.

"I mean…" he began, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. “It was always like that.”

"Always?" Lilith echoed, the word slipping from her lips in a hushed whisper. Her lavender eyes widened, brows rising in genuine surprise, though her tone betrayed a growing fury—one she was clearly trying to keep in check.

Adam’s golden gaze remained distant, unfocused, as though he were staring at something far away—something he wished he could escape.

"I had rules to follow," he said, his voice distant and cold. "And if I didn’t, I got punished. It didn’t matter whether I was alive or not. It didn’t matter if I was human or an angel. It all started in Eden."

His words hung in the air, heavy and raw, spoken with the kind of detached blankness that only came from someone who had lived too long in their own pain. Lilith’s jaw tightened, the gentle touch she had used moments before now a thing of the past as her hands clenched at her sides. This wasn’t just cruelty—it was a pattern, a system, an indoctrination. And it burned her to her core.

Adam’s fingers continued to pull at the fraying threads of the quilt, his golden eyes distant, staring past the room, past Lilith, and into something only he could see. His voice dropped into a soft, almost dreamy cadence, words spilling from his lips unbidden.

“Eden,” he murmured, his tone caught between bitterness and longing. “I used to watch you in Eden, Lilith. You probably never knew that, but…I admired you. Even back then.”

Lilith froze, her lavender eyes widening in surprise. Her fingers, which had been tending to his bruises, stilled completely. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to say anything like this.

“I know we had a lot of disagreements,” Adam continued, his voice gaining a strange, unfiltered momentum. “You didn’t like me. I could tell. You thought I was spineless, maybe even pathetic.”

A faint, humourless laugh escaped him, barely audible. “But I liked you. I really liked you. I…looked up to you. A lot.”

Lilith’s breath hitched, but Adam didn’t notice the way her entire body had gone rigid, her eyes locked on his profile with a mixture of shock and something she couldn’t quite name.

“I always wished I could be like you,” he admitted, his voice breaking faintly, though he didn’t seem to notice. “But I wasn’t allowed to. I wasn’t allowed to be anything but what they wanted me to be.”

“You walked away, Lilith. You got out. And I…” His voice faltered, but he pushed through, his tone heavier now. “I tried once. Just once. And Heaven made sure I’d never try again.”

His hands clenched tighter around the quilt, knuckles turning white. “The welts on my arms and legs didn’t go away for a month after that. They made sure I understood—pain was what waited for anyone who disobeyed.”

Adam let out a shaky breath, his gaze softening as it drifted somewhere further away, a faint hum of wistfulness threading his voice. “I admired you so much, Lilith. I wanted to follow you and Lucifer. I wanted to stand up, to question Heaven’s reins and reach for freedom. But I was scared. I only ever knew pain. And that pain—it always came when I questioned them. So, I stopped questioning…and I never tried to be like you again after that.”

His voice dropped to a near whisper, barely audible, but the fondness in it was undeniable. “I missed you, Lilith. You were my best friend, even if you didn’t think so. And if I’d had the chance… I would’ve followed you. I would’ve followed you and Lucifer to the end of the worlds.”

Lilith’s breath caught audibly, her chest tightening as his words hit her like a tidal wave. Her lavender eyes stung, widening so much they ached. She wasn’t sure what to say—what could she say? She sat in stunned silence, the Queen of Hell rendered speechless by a man she thought she’d known but clearly never understood.

Adam blinked suddenly, the fog of his memories dissipating as reality snapped back into place. His body stiffened, and he let out a wobbly, hollow laugh, glancing over his shoulder at her. His grin was crooked, but not the one she remembered from Eden. It lacked the boyish warmth, the gentle sweetness she once knew.

This grin was smaller, colder, empty of everything that made it human. It was the kind of grin that braced for rejection, that expected nothing but pain in return.

Lilith stared at him, her hands trembling as she clasped them in her lap. For the first time in centuries, she felt utterly unprepared for what to say next.

Lilith’s breath hitched as her gaze fell once more on the bruises, the cuts, and the bite marks—God, the bite marks. Her lips pressed into a tight line, a flicker of anger flashing behind her lavender eyes. She stood suddenly, the air around her shimmering with magic, soft hues of purple and lavender swirling in her hands as she conjured a fresh nightdress.

“Here,” she said quietly, her tone firm but not unkind. She helped Adam slip the new garment over his frail frame, her movements careful and deliberate as though he might break if she wasn’t gentle enough. The old nightdress disappeared with a flick of her hand, and she took a step back, giving him space.

“You should rest now,” she murmured. “I know you haven’t been eating, but you must try. Even just a little.”

Adam nodded, humming softly in acknowledgment, though his movements were slow and hesitant. He sank back into the bed, the pillow cradling his head as his gaze drifted, once again, to the strange rubber duck perched at the end of the mattress. What a peculiar little thing. It didn’t belong here, yet it lingered, much like himself.

The sudden touch of cool fingers threading gently through his hair startled him. The gesture was almost…loving. Adam blinked, his golden eyes darting upward to meet Lilith’s.

“Adam…” Lilith’s voice was softer now, barely above a whisper. “I want you to know… you can stay here as long as you like. Neither I nor Lucifer will force you to leave.”

Adam blinked rapidly, his brow furrowing in confusion as he looked up at her.

“Why?” he asked, his voice barely audible. “Why are you being so nice to me? I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

Lilith’s face tightened for a moment, her lips pressing together as if holding back something sharp. Adam flinched slightly, mistaking the subtle shift in her expression for annoyance—or worse.

Oh no. He had upset her already.

“You can hit me, if you want,” he blurted, his tone startlingly innocent. “That’s usually what makes the others feel better. After how I was in Eden, you definitely should get to… land some strikes on me.”

Lilith froze, her eyes widening briefly before she closed them, drawing in a deep, measured breath. Her head shook slowly, and when she spoke again, her voice was calm but weighted with something unspoken.

“No,” she said firmly. “That’s not necessary. I’m not displeased with you, Adam. Not at all. You’ve done nothing to deserve that.”

Adam’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, the words clearly foreign to him, like an unfamiliar language he couldn’t quite grasp.

“Then…” he hesitated, his voice soft and uncertain. “What can I do to repay you for being nice to me?”

His tone was childlike, almost pleading, and Lilith stilled. For a moment, she truly saw him—not the man she had known in Eden, but someone stripped bare, raw and broken.

“Nothing,” she said finally, her voice steady but gentle. “You don’t need to do anything. Just focus on getting better.”

Before he could respond, she leaned down and pressed a light kiss to his forehead, the gesture tender and deliberate. It was strange, even for her—too nice, too soft for someone who was supposed to be hardened by centuries in Hell. But Adam didn’t protest. He only watched her with wide, cautious eyes as she pulled away and smiled faintly.

“Rest,” she reminded him as she moved toward the door. “And eat something this time.”

Adam remained silent, his golden eyes tracking her until the door clicked softly shut behind her.

Once outside, Lilith leaned against the door, her head tipping back as her hand rose to cover her darkening eyes. A cold, simmering rage coursed through her veins, clawing at her chest as tears threatened to spill. She sniffled, blinking hard to push them back, her fingers curling into a fist against the wood of the door.

What the fuck did Heaven do to him?

Adam’s voice echoed in her mind, his words replaying like a cruel melody she couldn’t escape. The weight of them settled heavily on her, the quiet admission of pain and submission cutting deeper than she wanted to admit.

For the first time in centuries, Lilith didn’t feel like a Queen of Hell. She felt powerless. And that terrified her.

Adam’s offer had hung in the air like a curse, haunting Lilith long after she left his room. The words circled in her mind, relentless and accusing. He had offered her the chance to hurt him—like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like pain was all he had ever known. And for what? For “past actions” that, now that she thought about it, weren’t anything close to deserving of punishment.

In Eden, their clashes had been nothing more than disagreements—sharp but trivial. They had butted heads over their purpose, over Heaven’s suffocating control. Adam had clung to the rules because he was terrified to break them, while Lilith had rebelled against them because she couldn’t stand being bound. But now, in the aftermath of Adam’s confession, Lilith was beginning to see the truth.

Adam never had a choice.

The realization struck her like a thunderclap, her chest tightening with a white-hot rage that burned through her like molten steel. She stared down the darkened corridor, her lavender eyes narrowing as they fixed on the heavy office door at the far end. Her lips curled back, baring sharp, predatory teeth as her hands clenched into fists.

Did Lucifer know all this time?

The thought slithered into her mind, unwelcome and venomous. Her jaw tightened, the flickering torches along the walls casting shifting shadows across her face. She trusted Lucifer—loved him with a devotion that had spanned eons—but even he had his secrets. And this? If he had known, if he had been aware of what Heaven had done to Adam and said nothing, done nothing…

Lilith’s nails dug into her palms, drawing pinpricks of blood that dripped to the stone floor. The Queen of Hell didn’t take kindly to betrayal, no matter who the betrayer might be.

Her footsteps echoed loudly as she began walking toward the office door, her long golden hair trailing behind her like a comet’s tail. She wasn’t sure what she would find—or what she would say—but the fury coursing through her demanded answers.

Lilith wasn’t just angry for Adam; she was furious for him. For the childlike way he had asked what he could do to make things right. For the hollow grin that begged for punishment instead of kindness. For the bruises and bite marks that marked his body, and the scars Heaven had carved into his very soul.

If Lucifer knew—and had stayed silent—there would be hell to pay.

~#~

The air in Lucifer's office felt heavy, suffocating, as Lilith stepped inside. The dimly lit room, with its opulent yet oppressive decor, seemed to close in around her as she stood in the doorway, her piercing lavender gaze fixed on the figure behind the desk. Lucifer sat slouched in his chair, his pristine white top hat tilted just enough to obscure his face. He didn’t look up as she approached, but Lilith’s every step echoed like the countdown to judgment.

It wasn’t like him to hide. Lucifer hated this room, hated the work that came with running Hell. He’d spent eons rebelling against the bureaucracy of Heaven, tooth and nail, defiant and proud. Yet here he was, buried in paperwork, avoiding her, avoiding Adam. It only confirmed her worst fear: he knew.

Lilith stopped a few feet from the desk, her voice calm, cold, deliberate—like a shark circling its prey.

“He offered to let me hurt him, Lucifer.” Her words cut through the air, sharp and jagged. “To make up for our disagreements in Eden. To atone for staying in this castle. Like some kind of... twisted reparation.”

Lucifer’s hand, resting on the desk, twitched but didn’t move.

“He’s... childlike,” Lilith continued, her voice steady, but her gaze burned into him. “Did you know that? When he speaks, it’s with the innocence of someone who doesn’t understand that kindness doesn’t require payment in pain. He thinks he deserves to be punished for breathing, for existing.”

Still, Lucifer didn’t look up, and Lilith’s patience frayed. Her eyes narrowed into reptilian slits as she leaned forward.

“His wounds,” she hissed. “They’re not healing. Hell’s power should have mended them by now. But they linger, Lucifer. Like Heaven wanted them to stay. Like someone wanted him to remember every bite, every bruise, every scar.”

Lucifer’s grip on the desk tightened. His knuckles whitened.

“Were you aware of this?” Lilith’s voice dropped lower, quieter, deadlier. “That Heaven has been assaulting Adam since the moment he was created? He told me about Eden, you know. How they hurt him if he questioned them. How they silenced him when he said no. How the marks from their ‘punishments’ stayed for weeks. They’ve been doing this to him his entire existence, Lucifer.”

The desk shook as Lilith’s clawed hand slammed down on its surface.

“Did you know?” she demanded, her voice a whip crack. “Did you know this all along?”

Finally moving, Lucifer slowly lifted his head. When he met her gaze, his golden eyes were hollow, exhausted, the weight of ages etched into every line on his face.

“No,” he said, his voice hoarse. “No, Lilith, I didn’t know. I swear to you, I didn’t.”

Her stare didn’t waver, reading every flicker of his expression, every twitch of his body.

“Then explain,” she said coldly.

Lucifer rose from his chair, his movements slow, deliberate. He ran a hand through his silver hair before speaking.

 “There were times,” he admitted, “When I noticed. He’d have marks—wounds—that didn’t make sense. But when I asked about them, I was told they were accidents. And Adam... he loved the angels, Lilith. He was so excited to be near them. I just assumed he’d pushed their boundaries—touched their wings, hugged them—and they reacted…It made sense. I wasn’t like my brothers or sisters, I always allowed Adam close. If he asked to touch my wings, I said ‘of course’, if he asked for a hug, I would open my arms for him. But the others, they were different.”

Lips curling in disgust, Lilith spat, “So that makes it okay, then?”

“Of course not!” Lucifer snapped, his voice breaking with frustration. “But they always said it was a one-time thing. That they apologized. And when I spoke to Adam, he never said anything. He never seemed frightened of them. I thought it was misunderstandings—nothing more.”

Lilith stared at him; disbelief etched into every line of her face. She rubbed her temples, her claws scraping lightly against her skin.

 “Is that why you’ve been cowering in here?” she hissed. “Because you’re realizing you ignored every red flag?”

“It’s... part of it,” he admitted quietly.

Lilith’s eyes narrowed further. “And the other part?”

His expression darkened, and with a sharp snap of his fingers, a golden parchment appeared in the air between them. He grabbed it, his grip tight enough to crinkle the edges.

“This,” he said, his voice low and venomous. “They sent this a week ago.”

Lilith snatched the parchment from his hand, her eyes scanning the elegant yet hateful script. Her rage boiled as she read, her magic flaring darkly in the air around her.

“They’re fucking insane,” she snarled, her voice dripping with contempt. “They’ve fucking lost their minds.”

Lucifer snorted bitterly. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve already told them to fuck themselves. I’m not giving him back.”

 “Well, good for you for finally standing up for him,” Lilith huffed, crossing her arms.

“I’m trying, Lilith,” he said quietly. Lucifer flinched as if struck. “I didn’t... I made the wrong call. I know that now.”

“You made the wrong call?” Lilith repeated, her voice rising. “They turned him into a woman, Lucifer. They assaulted him, hurt him, drove him to kill himself. And you ignored the signs. You let this happen.”

“I didn’t know!” Lucifer shouted, his voice cracking with anguish. “I saw things, yes, but I believed their lies. I believed Adam was fine. He never told me otherwise—”

“Of course he didn’t!” Lilith interrupted, stepping closer, her fury radiating from her. “Because Heaven conditioned him to never speak out. To believe that pain was his fault. That he deserved it.”

Lucifer’s shoulders sagged, the fire in his eyes dimming.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I know. I failed him. And I will never forgive myself for it.”

The tension in the room thickened, a weight neither of them could lift. For the first time in their long existence together, silence stretched between Lilith and Lucifer, thick and suffocating. It was a silence of guilt, of failure, of realizations that couldn’t be undone. Lucifer sat back in his chair, running a hand over his face, while Lilith stood rigidly, her arms crossed as if trying to hold herself together.

Chest rising and falling as the memories of Eden clawed at Lilith like thorns. She had been so focused on her rebellion, on her freedom, on dragging Lucifer with her, that she hadn’t stopped to see what it had cost Adam. She had left him behind—left him to the very angels who couldn’t understand him, who didn’t want to understand him, who had hurt him because he was different, because he was human.

Her stomach twisted painfully. She had blamed Heaven for so much, but now she saw her own culpability. She hadn’t been there for him when he needed her most. She had taken Lucifer, left Adam alone to endure whatever cruelties Heaven inflicted on him. And for what? Because she had been too wrapped up in her own anger, her own fight for freedom?

The thought sickened her.

Lilith’s voice broke the silence, low but resolute. “He’s not going back.”

Her words carried the weight of a promise, unyielding and absolute. “I don’t care what Heaven threatens. If they want a war, I’ll bring one. I’m not letting Adam go back up there.”

Looking up at her, Lucifer’s golden eyes weary and heavy with remorse. He nodded, his voice soft. “I know, Lilith. I know. I’m not letting him go back either.”

Lilith’s arms tightened around her chest as her expression darkened.

“Why would they even want him back?” she asked, her voice sharp. “He’s a Sinner now. He’s fallen. Heaven doesn’t just take back the damned. Not without some hidden agenda.”

Sighing deeply, Lucifer’s broad shoulders rotating as if to ease the tension building in them. “I don’t know. They won’t say. But I hardly believe it’s for anything good. Their silence speaks louder than any of their proclamations.”

Scoffing bitterly, Lilith’s lip curling. “So much for their talk of righteousness and morals. Heaven seems more fucked up than they want anyone to believe.”

Lucifer didn’t respond to that. He didn’t have to. The truth of her words hung in the air, undeniable and damning.

Letting out a frustrated breath, Lilith’s long, clawed fingers flexing at her sides. She turned sharply on her heel, her long dark hair whipping behind her like a curtain of shadows. Before stepping out of the office, she cast one last withering glance over her shoulder, her gaze pinning Lucifer in place.

“Stop being a fucking coward,” she snapped, her voice cold and cutting. “Go see him. Adam misses you, even if you don’t think he does.”

Lucifer’s head dipped slightly, but he said nothing.

“He can’t stop staring at that damn rubber duck you left on his bed,” Lilith said sharply.

At that, Lucifer’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.

“He... likes it?” His voice was soft, hesitant, almost vulnerable.

“Who knows?” she replied, her voice sharp. “Lilith shrugged nonchalantly. “Why don’t you find out?”

With that, she stormed out, the door closing behind her with a definitive click. Lucifer was left alone in the suffocating quiet of his office, staring at his desk. His mind churned with guilt, regret, and a spark of something else—hope, perhaps?

He leaned back in his chair, his hand brushing the edge of his white top hat. After a long, tense moment, he stood up, straightened his jacket, and strode toward the door.

Maybe it was time to stop hiding.

…Lucifer missed Adam just as much.

~#~

Adam’s legs trembled beneath him as he swung them off the edge of the bed. His body, still weak and sore, protested with every movement. He gasped, his arms flailing instinctively to catch himself, but the floor loomed like an unforgiving abyss. For weeks, Lilith had been tending to him—keeping him in bed, forbidding him to move. She had said his wounds weren’t healing properly and warned that any sudden motion might make things worse. But Adam had grown weary of lying there, staring at the draped curtains of the queen-sized bed, feeling like the world was slowly closing in on him. He needed to move, needed to feel something beyond the suffocating confines of his thoughts.

With a soft groan, Adam forced himself upright, his legs stiff and aching. The hem of his delicate purple nightgown swayed gently around his knees as he slowly, almost painfully, shuffled across the room. He hoped to regain some sensation in his legs, as though his muscles could remember their purpose. But his eyes kept straying to the purple blanket draped over the mirror—an obstruction he had asked Lilith to put there without hesitation. She had done it without question, as she always did when he requested things. But now, with every step he took, he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

His fingers trembled as he reached out to tug at the blanket, the soft fabric almost mocking him with its stillness. With a shaky breath, he yanked it away, exposing the polished surface of the mirror.

Adam froze, his breath catching in his throat. There, reflected back at him, was the stranger he had become. The face staring back at him was a reflection of Eve and Lilith, yes, but still... it was his own. His thick brown curls, now longer than before, cascaded down his back like a wild tangle. They were fuller than Eve’s, more unruly, more him, but all the same, they were different from anything Lilith or Eve possessed. His hair reached his knees now, and he suddenly hated how it hung there, heavy and long, as though it didn’t belong to him. Maybe, he thought, he’d ask Lilith to cut it.

His body, once broad and masculine, was now delicate and slender—more feminine than he had ever imagined possible. His arms and legs were smooth, smaller, and the curve of his stomach was subtle, almost chubby. He wasn’t as fragile or slight as Lilith, but there was no denying the change. His face, too, was rounder, softer, the faintest hint of chubbiness in the cheeks. He sniffled, unable to fight back the overwhelming wave of self-loathing. He looked down at his feet, wishing with all his heart that he could be more like Lilith—more elegant, more beautiful. Her golden hair, always so flawless, seemed like the very definition of perfection. He, on the other hand, was nothing more than a mockery. His hair was nothing more than dull brown, and his horns, blue and twisted, felt like a cruel reminder of his inadequacy.

Suddenly, Adam’s gaze shifted, drawn to the small rubber duck resting at the foot of the bed. For days, he had stared at it, unsure whether he was allowed to touch it, unsure if it was some kind of cruel joke. But now, something inside him stirred—a longing, a need. His hands shook as he reached for it, unsure of what to expect. It was neither too small nor too large, fitting perfectly into his palms as if it had been made for him. But it wasn’t the rubber texture he expected; it was soft, plush, almost comforting in its simplicity. Without thinking, Adam pulled it close to his chest, holding it like a lifeline.

For a fleeting moment, Adam felt a warmth stir within his chest—a small solace amidst the storm of his sorrow. It was brief, fragile, but it was enough to push through the weight of his thoughts. He buried his face into the soft, plush rubber duck, his breath hitching with the effort to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overtake him. But then, his eyes began to burn, the heat creeping up in a strange, uncomfortable way. Surprised, Adam jerked back, blinking rapidly, confused. He felt something—liquid, warm—fall from his eyes, landing on the duck’s plush surface. He stared at it, wide-eyed, as the tears soaked into the fabric.

Was this… crying?

He had seen others weep. Winners, Sinners, even Heavenborns. But Adam had never experienced it himself, not like this. The sensation was alien, overwhelming. His body trembled as the reality of what was happening settled in. His legs buckled beneath him, and slowly, as if the weight of his own confusion had become too much, he sank to his knees. His arms gripped the rubber duck, pressing it to his chest as he looked into the mirror again.

The reflection staring back at him wasn’t him. Not truly. His body was a woman’s body now, his nightgown swaying like a dress, the length of his hair cascading down in soft, feminine waves. His face, though familiar, was different too—softer, rounder, a stranger’s face wearing his own expression. His hands, trembling, squeezed the plushie tighter as the tears continued to fall, unchecked. His breath caught in his throat, choked by the weight of everything he didn’t understand.

He was a woman when he had always been a man.

His breath hitched again, harder this time, and Adam sobbed, the rawness of it crashing over him like a tidal wave. He didn’t know why he was crying. He didn’t know what had triggered it, or why the tears felt like they were pouring out of him uncontrollably. They just… came.

Suddenly, a hand brushed his shoulder. The touch was soft, gentle, but it sent a shock through Adam’s already fragile state. He flinched, jerking back with wide, golden eyes, fear rising in his chest like a sudden storm. His head snapped up, his gaze locking on the figure kneeling beside him. It was Lucifer. The shock was evident on his face—his red and golden eyes wide in surprise, perhaps even a little guilty.

"I—I'm sorry," Lucifer murmured, his voice trembling slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The words seemed to slip from him, desperate, as though he could somehow undo the hurt with his apologies.

Lips quivering, Adam’s heart swelling painfully with a mixture of confusion and relief. Before he could stop himself, his arms shot out, and he threw himself into Lucifer’s chest, clinging to him with all the force his trembling body could muster. His sobs were uncontrollable now—shuddering, broken cries that tore from deep within him.

Lucifer’s arms wrapped around Adam instantly, pulling him close, pressing him against his chest as the weight of Adam’s anguish seemed to fill the room. His voice was a constant stream of apologies, soothing and frantic.

"I'm sorry, Adam. I’m sorry. I never wanted this for you. I never—"

Adam clung tighter, his hands clutching Lucifer’s clothing as he let the tears flow. For the first time in so long, he allowed himself to break. To fall apart, piece by fragile peace. Lucifer didn’t pull away. He held him, a solid, steady presence, and Adam wept into his chest, letting go of everything—his confusion, his pain, his fear of never being enough.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Adam. I’m so sorry.”

~#~

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of the sheets as Adam and Lucifer lay side by side on the queen-sized bed. The night had fallen, and the pale glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. Adam was still, his body stiff and curled slightly towards Lucifer, though they held hands, fingers intertwined. His golden eyes were closed, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say anymore, or perhaps he didn’t have the strength to voice the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. His breath was slow, the only sound breaking the stillness, a rhythm that matched Lucifer’s own.

Lucifer, on the other hand, couldn’t stay silent. His chest ached with guilt, a heaviness that seemed to weigh down his entire being. He kept his gaze on the ceiling, not looking at Adam, but his fingers gently tightened around Adam’s hand, a silent connection. The warmth between them was a stark contrast to the coldness that had lived in Lucifer’s heart for so long.

“I should have known,” Lucifer’s voice broke the silence, soft, raw, full of regret. “I should have seen what was happening, Adam. I should’ve been there for you.”

His words seemed to tremble in the air, and he closed his eyes for a moment, the shame creeping in as he exhaled. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

His other hand reached up, rubbing his face in frustration, as if he could somehow erase the years of neglect, the moments where he had failed to protect Adam. He turned his head slightly to glance at the still form beside him. Adam’s face was peaceful in sleep, but the expression was strained, as if the comfort he sought in sleep was fragile at best.

“Eden wasn’t right,” Lucifer whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “None of it was right. What they did to you... what they forced you to endure. It shouldn’t have happened.”

His chest felt hollow as he spoke. “Heaven had no right to treat you like that. No right to break you the way they did. And I... I wasn’t there for you. I should’ve fought harder for you, Adam. I should’ve been by your side, standing against everything that tried to hurt you. But I wasn’t.”

Lucifer’s jaw clenched, his grip tightening around Adam’s hand, as if holding onto him now would somehow make up for the lost time. The weight of his own failure pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating.

“I couldn’t protect you, and that’s my fault.”

The words felt jagged in his throat, like shards of glass. His golden eyes, usually bright with fire, were dull, filled with sorrow. He turned his head fully to face Adam, his voice a soft rasp as he continued, speaking more to himself than to Adam.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me the most. I’m sorry I didn’t notice the signs. I let you suffer... and I wasn’t even there. I shouldn’t have left you in Eden. I should’ve never left you at all.”

Lucifer’s hand found Adam’s hair, brushing the strands gently away from his face as if to somehow smooth away the damage Heaven had caused. The guilt was unbearable, twisting in his chest as he looked at the man beside him, the man who had always been there for him in ways Lucifer had never fully understood until now. Adam had been broken, and Lucifer had failed him.

“You didn’t deserve any of this, Adam,” Lucifer murmured softly, voice thick with emotion. “You deserved so much better. And I swear, I’ll never let them hurt you again.”

There was silence again, but it wasn’t the same heavy silence that had filled the room before. Now, it was a silence of shared sorrow, of regret that hung thick in the air between them. Adam still didn’t speak. But Lucifer didn’t expect him to. He didn’t want to push Adam, didn’t want to force anything. This moment wasn’t about trying to fix what was broken. It was about understanding that some things couldn’t be fixed, only healed with time.

Lucifer settled back into the bed, not pulling away from Adam but drawing him a little closer. His eyes lingered on Adam’s face, watching the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. In that moment, Lucifer realized the weight of the world didn’t rest on fixing the past. It rested on protecting Adam now, ensuring that no more harm would come to him.

“I’ll be here,” Lucifer promised, his voice a soft vow. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay. I’ll fight for you, Adam. I’ll make sure nothing like that ever happens again. I swear it.”

And in the quiet stillness of the room, as Adam’s breathing evened out and Lucifer’s hand remained locked around his, it was enough to hold on to—for now.

Adam shifted on the bed, his body trembling slightly from the effort as he propped himself up on his elbows. The soft rustle of the sheets was the only sound in the room for a moment as his tired, golden eyes slowly flickered open. He blinked a few times, as though struggling to bring the world into focus, before his gaze landed on Lucifer. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, and his expression was a mix of confusion and a deep, unspoken sadness.

He looked at Lucifer for a long moment, as if weighing the decision, before his voice broke the silence. It was quiet, almost a whisper, but it held so much weight.

“Why?”

The word hung in the air like a delicate thread, fragile and heavy at once. Adam swallowed, his throat tight, and continued in the same small voice, barely audible.

“Why did you leave me alone in Eden?”

Lucifer’s eyes widened in shock, a deep, unspoken pain flashing across his face. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. He hadn’t expected Adam to voice the question out loud, and it hit him harder than he imagined it would. His lips parted in an attempt to speak, but for a moment, no words came.

He swallowed hard, the pain of his guilt evident as his face twisted with a mixture of regret and sorrow. There was no excuse, not really. He had no answers that could undo the damage, no way to take back the moments when he should have been there, should have seen the signs. His voice was thick with emotion when he finally spoke.

“I... I have no excuse, Adam,” Lucifer admitted quietly, his voice strained. “I was being selfish. I only thought about myself. I was angry with Heaven, angry with everything they were doing to humans. I wanted to give them the freedom to think for themselves, to live without their chains, but... in doing all of that... I didn’t see when you needed me most. I didn’t see you.”

He looked down at the bed, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as if holding himself back from something, some deep well of emotion that threatened to burst. His gaze was far away, haunted by the weight of his own failure.

“I should’ve been there. I should’ve been with you, and I wasn’t. I’m sorry.”

dam’s eyes welled with tears as he heard Lucifer’s words, the soft sniffle escaping him as he lowered his head again, his face pressed into the cool fabric of the pillow. He didn’t say anything at first, but his chest trembled as he mumbled softly, the words barely escaping his lips.

“I missed you...” His voice was thick with emotion, barely a whisper. “I didn’t like it when you left me all alone in Eden. I tried... I tried to find you and Lilith... I thought if I apologized, if I just... said I was sorry, you wouldn’t be mad at me anymore.”

Lucifer’s breath hitched in his throat, his own eyes filling with tears at the sound of Adam’s voice, fragile and full of heartbreak. He reached out, almost instinctively, but he hesitated, afraid that Adam might recoil again. Instead, Lucifer leaned forward slightly, his gaze soft and full of sorrow as he whispered the words that had been waiting on his tongue for so long.

“We... we were never mad at you, Adam,” Lucifer said, his voice breaking slightly. “We were... we were mad with Heaven. It was never you. It was never your fault.”

Lucifer’s hand gently brushed a strand of Adam’s hair back from his forehead, a tender gesture, as if trying to offer some form of comfort, even though he knew words alone couldn’t heal the wound they both carried. Adam didn’t look up, his face still buried in the pillow, but Lucifer’s words seemed to seep into him, gentle, like a balm for a wound too deep to see.

Lucifer could feel the weight of his own failures, could feel the distance between them, but he was determined to bridge it now. For Adam, for both of them. They couldn’t change what had already happened, but they could heal from it. They had to.

"I’m sorry, Adam..." Lucifer whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled Adam into another tight embrace. The warmth of his chest was a stark contrast to the cold ache that had gripped Adam's heart for so long.

Adam hesitated for a moment, but then, with a soft, trembling breath, he whispered back, “It’s okay.”

Lucifer’s breath caught at the words. His hand tightened around Adam, a desperate need to hold him close.

“It’s not,” he muttered, almost to himself. His voice cracked with rawness as he pulled Adam even closer, pressing their bodies together as if to shield him from the world that had broken him. “It’s not okay. But I will make up for it. I will protect you. I won’t let you be hurt ever again.”

Adam lifted his head slightly, his eyes still dull with exhaustion and sorrow. He looked up at Lucifer, his small frown tugging at Lucifer’s heart. “I... want to stay here. I don’t want to go back.”

Lucifer’s throat tightened painfully, a wave of protectiveness and guilt crashing over him. Without another word, he pulled Adam closer still, wrapping his arms tighter around him. He buried his face in Adam’s hair, inhaling deeply, as if trying to ground himself in the moment, in the reality that Adam was here—safe, and in his arms. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

Lucifer’s wings unfurled from his back, large and dark, a silent promise of safety and strength. With a soft rustle, they cocooned around the two of them, enveloping Adam in a blanket of warmth and protection. Lucifer let the wings encase them, surrounding Adam with the comfort of his presence, of his vow.

“You’re not going back,” Lucifer said, his voice low, filled with unwavering determination. His lips brushed the top of Adam’s head as he spoke, the words full of fierce love.

“You will never be going back to Heaven ever again. I won’t ever allow that to happen.” His voice was firm, unyielding, as if the very concept of Adam returning to that place of pain was something he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, bear.

Adam remained silent, but Lucifer could feel the way his body slowly relaxed, as if his words had finally begun to settle into Adam’s heart. Lucifer held him close, pressing him further into the safety of his embrace, as if nothing and no one could ever take him away again.

~#~

A week had passed, and Adam found himself standing on shaky legs, forced to take the next step—a step that felt both impossible and necessary. His golden eyes were wide with exhaustion, their usual glow dimmed by a mix of weariness and uncertainty. Lilith stood before him, her hands enveloping his gently, like a lifeline. Her smile was soft, but there was a quiet determination in her eyes as she lightly tugged him forward, guiding him across the room.

"You're doing so well," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm to the aching tension in his muscles. Her gaze lingered briefly on the bruises that marred his legs, but she was quick to mask her concern with a warm, encouraging expression. The dark, angry marks had finally begun to fade, shifting into a soft golden hue. Healing, slowly but surely.

"I knew you could do it."

Adam’s feet shuffled, his steps uneven, his legs trembling as if betraying him with every move. He could feel the sting of the effort, the burning reminder of his body’s fragility.

"I can walk, Lilith," he mumbled, his voice tinged with frustration. "It just hurts to take more than a few steps."

Lilith chuckled, a sound that wrapped around him like a soft breeze. She gave his hands an affectionate squeeze, as though reassuring him that each tiny victory mattered. "And yet, you're doing it."

Adam sighed, the weight of the day pressing on his chest.

"Yay me," he muttered dryly, his voice laced with a touch of self-deprecating humour. "I've made the same progress as a toddler."

From behind them, a low laugh echoed—rich, deep, and warm. Lucifer lounged lazily on the queen-sized bed, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, watching the scene with a mixture of affection and amusement. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes glinting with that characteristic knowing smile.

"You're not wrong," Lucifer teased, his voice light yet laced with an unmistakable undercurrent of something softer—pride, perhaps. His lips curled into a smirk as his crimson and golden eyes gleamed mischievously. "But think about it this way: for a toddler, those small steps are monumental achievements. You're practically a prodigy."

Adam shot Lucifer a withering glare, his golden eyes narrowing sharply.

"Why are you even here?" he muttered, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Don't you have a kingdom to run or something?"

With an over-the-top dramatic groan, Lucifer rolled across the queen-sized bed until he was upside down, his cute little hooves stretching up the pillows to tap against the headboard. Basil, his golden snake companion, hissed softly and slithered away, clearly unimpressed as Lucifer’s white top hat tumbled to the floor.

"Running a kingdom is soooooo boring and exhausting!" Lucifer complained, his tone theatrical as he tilted his head all the way back to lock eyes with Adam.

"I’m in desperate need of a break. Besides," he added with a sly grin, "I have far more pressing business to attend to."

Raising an eyebrow, Adam glanced between Lilith and the lounging devil. "Oh? And what’s that?"

Lucifer propped himself up on his elbows, his grin widening. "I’m moving rooms."

Adam blinked in confusion. "Moving rooms?"

He glanced at Lilith, puzzled. "Don’t you two share a room? Why would you move out?"

Lilith smirked, her lavender eyes glittering with amusement as she tightened her grip on Adam’s hands and leaned in conspiratorially. "We did share a room… until Lucifer’s little obsession got completely out of hand."

Adam tilted his head curiously. "Obsession? What kind of obsession?"

Lucifer’s grin turned triumphant as he sat up dramatically, his wings fluttering slightly behind him. "Oh, Lilies, don’t act like you don’t adore them! They’re masterpieces!"

"Masterpieces?" Lilith scoffed, rolling her eyes with mock exasperation. "He’s filled our entire room with rubber ducks, Adam. I can’t even begin to explain how this started, but let me assure you, it’s neither charming nor practical. It’s downright overwhelming."

"Negative, negative," Lucifer muttered, wagging a clawed finger at her as he flopped onto his stomach and cupped his face in his hands, his black tail swaying lazily behind him.

Adam found his gaze drawn to the tail, its slow, deliberate movement oddly mesmerizing. Lucifer caught him staring and, ever the showman, swished it more alluringly, his grin widening.

"It stopped being cute when you started putting them in the bed," Lilith deadpanned, though Adam caught the subtle curl of her lips betraying her amusement. She turned her attention back to Adam. "So, you see, we have no choice but to move rooms. Apparently, uprooting these so-called ‘residents’ is too heartbreaking for Lucifer to bear."

Adam’s jaw dropped as he turned back to Lucifer. "Are you serious?!"

Lucifer gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Of course! They’ve lived their entire lives in those sheets! They’ve gotten married, started families, raised their little ducklings. To displace them now would be inhumane!"

Lilith sighed, shaking her head in amused disbelief. "They’re rubber, my love."

"You wouldn’t understand!" Lucifer exclaimed, throwing his arms wide.

The absurdity of it all was too much. Adam burst into laughter, the sound ringing clear and bright—a sound that hadn’t graced the room since Eden. His cheeks flushed with warmth, his golden eyes sparkling.

But when he noticed both Lilith and Lucifer staring at him, his laughter faltered, and he clamped his mouth shut, suddenly self-conscious.

"I… I mean, if you want to," he stammered, glancing down and then back up at Lilith, "you could… stay in here? With me?"

Lilith tilted her head, her expression softening as Adam quickly backtracked. "Not—not in a weird or creepy way! I just… I miss you, Lilith. I miss when we used to… you know, back in Eden, when we’d watch the stars and make up silly stories about the animals and flowers."

His voice dropped to a whisper. "I miss that. I miss you. I’m sorry."

A tender smile spread across Lilith’s face, her lavender eyes shimmering with a mix of nostalgia and affection.

"I miss you too, Adam," she murmured. "I miss our nights in Eden, the way we’d laugh and dream together."

Reaching up, she gently brushed her fingers against his cheek, her touch light and reassuring.

"I’d love to rebuild that with you," she said softly. "To create new memories together."

Adam blinked up at her, his golden eyes wide with disbelief, tears threatening to spill once more.

"What?!" Lucifer’s voice cracked, shattering the moment.

Both Adam and Lilith turned to find him sitting up on the bed, looking utterly scandalized. His dishevelled hair and flustered expression made him resemble a frazzled bird more than the King of Hell.

"That’s not fair!" he whined, his voice pitching slightly. "I wanted to move in here with Adam!"

Lilith chuckled, her lavender eyes gleaming with mischief.

"You know, Adam," she began with an exaggeratedly thoughtful tone, "I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucifer had this all planned out. Tricking you into letting him move in here, too."

Lucifer, who had just opened his mouth to retort, froze. His cheeks turned a radiant shade of red, quickly followed by streaks of glowing gold creeping up his neck and ears.

"T-Tricking?!" he sputtered, sitting upright. "I would never! That’s—that’s absurd!"

Lilith’s smirk widened, and she leaned down to blow a playful raspberry at him. "Oh, really?"

"I—!" Lucifer floundered, flustered beyond words. His pout deepened as he sulked and flopped dramatically back onto the bed, burying himself beneath a mountain of quilts and blankets.

"It’s not fair," he mumbled, his voice muffled and petulant.

Adam blinked at the lump of blankets where Lucifer had disappeared, tilting his head like a curious bird. He didn’t recall ever seeing Lucifer act like this before. It was… strange. Endearing, even. Was this because of him? Surely not—Lucifer didn’t sulk over Adam… did he?

"Jealous, are we?" Lilith teased further, her voice sing-song and brimming with amusement.

From under the blankets came a low, grumbling whine, almost cat-like in its crankiness. Lucifer shifted, burrowing deeper into the covers as if trying to escape the accusation.

Lilith let out a delighted laugh, but Adam found himself tilting his head in thought. That made sense, didn’t it? Lucifer was jealous, wasn’t he? He must have felt left out, watching Adam and Lilith together like this.

Humming softly, Adam glanced down at his trembling feet before slowly stepping back, releasing Lilith’s hands. His knees wobbled as he turned toward the bed, his golden eyes fixed on the quilt-covered lump. Carefully, he shuffled closer, his shaky hands gripping the polished wooden frame for support as he leaned forward.

“Luci,” Adam called softly, his voice tender and curious.

The lump stilled.

“Luci, are you feeling left out?” Adam asked, his tone laced with gentle concern. “You don’t have to be. You can stay in here too.”

For a moment, there was no movement. Then, the pile of quilts shifted slightly. Bit by bit, Lucifer peeked out, his tousled hair and bright red-and-gold eyes emerging from the shadows. His gaze was hesitant, almost vulnerable.

“R-Really?” Lucifer asked, his voice quiet, tinged with disbelief. “I can stay in here too?”

Adam nodded, his smile growing warm and bright. “Yeah. Of course, you can, Luci.”

Blinking, Lucifer’s eyes wide as he fully emerged from his cocoon of blankets, looking almost childlike in his cautious hope.

“You mean it?”

Adam reached out a hand, resting it lightly on Lucifer’s arm.

“I mean it,” he said sincerely. “There’s no reason for you to feel left out. You’re important to me too.”

Lucifer’s face lit up with a mix of joy and relief. His tail swished behind him, betraying his excitement, and he quickly pulled Adam into a warm, slightly squishy hug, tucking his chin against Adam’s hair.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice soft and heartfelt.

From the side, Lilith watched with a knowing smile, her heart swelling as she saw the tenderness between them.

"Well," she teased lightly, "I guess that means the three of us are sharing a room now."

Lucifer grinned, his confidence quickly returning as he looked over Adam’s shoulder at Lilith.

“That’s right!” Lucifer declared, his grin as wide as ever. His arms remained securely wrapped around Adam, holding him close like a treasured possession. “I’ll bring some of my ducks too! I bet you’ll love them, Addie!”

Lilith let out an exaggerated groan, pinching the bridge of her nose. But her expression softened almost instantly, betraying the undeniable fondness she felt for the both of them.

“Just... don’t put them in the bed, please.”

Lucifer didn’t bother responding to her plea. Instead, with a sudden burst of playful energy, he yanked Adam onto the bed with him. The motion drew a startled gasp from Adam, but before he could say a word, Lucifer had already curled himself protectively around him. His clawed hands looped securely around Adam’s middle, pulling him into a warm embrace. Without hesitation, Lucifer buried his face into the crook of Adam’s neck, a low, contented purr rumbling from deep within his chest.

“I can’t make any promises,” Lucifer murmured cheekily, his voice muffled against Adam’s skin.

Lilith sighed dramatically, crossing her arms beneath her bust and shaking her head with mock exasperation. She pushed a golden curl off her flawlessly curved shoulder, her lavender eyes closing as she sighed.

"I suppose this means walking practice is officially cancelled for the rest of the day?”

Lucifer didn’t so much as acknowledge her. His tail—long, sinuous, and arrowed at the tip—swayed behind him with unmistakable glee, almost like a puppy wagging its tail. He nuzzled further into Adam’s neck, his purring growing even louder, an audible symbol of his delight.

Adam, for his part, trembled slightly in Lucifer’s hold. His golden eyes darted up toward Lilith, wide with worry. He hoped she wouldn’t be upset about this. It had been so long since he’d been hugged—truly hugged—that he’d nearly forgotten what it felt like. This warmth, this closeness... it felt fragile and fleeting, and he was terrified of it slipping away.

“Lily,” he called out meekly, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

Lilith blinked in surprise, her attention immediately drawn to him. "Yes, Addie?"

His gaze dropped momentarily, shy and uncertain, before flicking back up to meet hers.

“Don’t you want to cuddle with us too?” he asked timidly, his cheeks dusting with pink. “Like we did in Eden?”

Lucifer’s head shot up so quickly it was a miracle he didn’t bonk it against Adam’s. His red-and-gold eyes sparkled with excitement as he chimed in enthusiastically, “Yeah, Lilies! Come here! Come cuddle with us!”

Lilith raised a delicate eyebrow, her lips curling into a slow, amused smile.

“I see,,” she purred, her tone as smooth as silk, “I can’t exactly say no to such a wonderful invite, now can I?”

With a graceful sway in her movements, she approached the other side of the bed. She sat down delicately, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. Her cool, gentle fingers reached out to run through Adam’s long, fluffy curls, the motion soothing and affectionate.

“Aw, Addie,” she cooed, her voice brimming with tenderness. “You’re so cute~”

Adam flushed deeper, his face a bright shade of red as he squirmed slightly under her touch. Yet, despite his bashfulness, there was a small, shy smile tugging at his lips.

Lucifer, clearly pleased with how things were unfolding, grinned like a satisfied cat. His tail swished even more exuberantly, and his arms tightened protectively around Adam.

 “See?” he said triumphantly, glancing at Lilith. “Now this is what I call perfect.”

Lilith chuckled softly, resting her chin atop Adam’s head while her fingers continued to thread through his curls.

“I have to admit,” she murmured, her lavender eyes glowing with warmth, “It does feel a bit like Eden again.”

It was a strange experience, a strange feeling—one Adam hadn’t felt in what seemed like eons. Being nestled between them like this, it felt like Eden. Like coming home.

Adam blinked wide-eyed up at the soft purple and black curtains draped elegantly across the beams of the canopy bed. The rich fabrics criss-crossed above him, casting gentle shadows over their shared sanctuary. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, but his heart felt anything but calm.

He sniffled, the sound quiet and raw, his body tense even in the embrace of the two beings who had once been his entire world. Lucifer’s warm breath ghosted over the delicate skin of his throat, while Lilith’s gentle exhale tickled the top of his curls. Her arm cradled his head like a pillow, soft and protective. Adam’s hands were folded over his stomach—a stomach that was softer and more tender than it had been when he was a man. It wasn’t as large, but it still felt unfamiliar in this new form.

“I’m sorry.”

The words came suddenly, trembling and small, breaking the stillness of the room. Both Lilith and Lucifer stiffened, their golden heads lifting slightly in surprise.

“What for, Addie?” Lilith asked softly, her voice a soothing melody as her hand continued to stroke through his curls.

Adam hesitated, his throat tight as his emotions swirled.

“I’m really sorry,” he repeated, his voice faltering. “For how I acted in Eden. I wasn’t very nice. I yelled, I cried, a-and I was mean. I’m sorry.”

Lucifer tilted his head back, his long lashes brushing lightly against Adam’s flushed cheek. His crimson and gold eyes softened as he gazed at Adam, his expression filled with a tenderness that was almost overwhelming.

 “Adam,” he murmured, his voice warm and gentle, “You don’t need to apologize.”

But Adam sniffled again, his chest swelling with the weight of unspoken words.

“No, I do,” he insisted, his voice cracking slightly. “I was mad, and I was upset. I didn’t understand why you two were pushing me away, why you were leaving me out, and it... it scared me.”

His voice trembled, and he swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. “I was... I was always left by myself. You two always went off without me, and I—I wanted to be with you both too. I wanted to leave the garden, to explore the earth without fear... with you. But I was scared. I was so scared. Every time I tried to—”

His words broke off, his breathing shaky as he fought to continue. “Every time I tried to do something I wanted, something that wasn’t in line with Heaven’s rules... something that went against what the angels told me to do... I was punished for it. I was hurt for it. A-and I didn’t understand why.”

His voice dropped to a trembling whisper, his words fragile and heavy with pain. “I didn’t know why I was always hurt for trying to be like you. Like you both. A-and why you both left me...”

The room fell into a profound silence, broken only by Adam’s quiet, shuddering breaths. Lilith’s hand froze in his hair, her lavender eyes wide with an anguish that mirrored Lucifer’s.

“Oh, Adam...” Lilith whispered, her voice trembling. Her other hand moved to cup his cheek, her touch cool and comforting. “We never meant to hurt you. Never. I wish... I wish we had seen how much you were struggling, how much you needed us then.”

Lucifer’s grip around Adam tightened protectively, his claws pressing just shy of painful against Adam’s middle. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came at first. He looked lost, pained, his tail curling tightly around one of the bedposts like a lifeline.

Adam’s golden eyes glistened with unshed tears as he turned his head slightly, looking at both of them. “I just... I just wanted to be with you. That’s all I ever wanted…”

“I just wanted a friend…”

Lilith leaned forward, pressing her forehead gently to Adam’s.

“You’re with us now,” she murmured. “And we’ll never leave you again.”

Lucifer let out a soft, almost broken laugh, burying his face back into Adam’s neck.

“Never again,” he echoed. His voice was laced with a vow—a promise that even Hell itself couldn’t break.

Lucifer’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, but the weight of his words made Adam’s chest tighten. “What happened to you, Adam?”

Adam froze. His breath hitched, his golden eyes glistening with tears as he looked down at his trembling hands. His fingers curled into the soft fabric of his nightgown, clinging to it as though it might anchor him. He sniffled, trying to wipe away the tears that spilled freely, but they just kept coming.

Lilith leaned closer, her delicate hand brushing his cheek as she pressed a tender kiss to the wet trail of tears.

“It’s okay, Addie,” she murmured, her voice soothing and warm, like a lullaby. “You can tell us. We’ll never judge you, I promise. Whatever it is, you’re safe now.”

Adam’s lips quivered, his chest heaving as he tried to form the words. The memories were tangled and dark, like thorns wrapped around his heart, and each attempt to speak felt like they dug deeper into him. His teary golden gaze dropped to his feet, and he curled his toes together, pressing them tightly against each other in a small, childlike gesture.

“I... um...” he stammered, his voice barely audible. His throat felt raw, his mouth dry, but he forced himself to keep going. “I was good. I think I was. I followed everything they wanted. I-I did everything that was asked of me. I never fought against them after Eden. I never spoke out, a-and...”

Lilith’s fingers wove through his hair, her touch comforting as she hugged him close.

“It’s alright,” she whispered, her tone filled with unwavering love. “We’re here for you, Adam. Take your time.”

Lucifer shifted, sliding himself further up Adam’s side. His warmth was a steady presence, his cheek brushing against Adam’s as he nuzzled him gently.

“What is it, Adam?” he asked softly, his voice like velvet but carrying an edge of concern. “You can tell us. You can tell us anything.”

Adam shuddered, his entire body trembling as his skin prickled. A tingling sensation swept through him—a strange mixture of fear and safety all at once. He swallowed hard, his dry throat aching, and his nose twitched as though it might betray him with another sob.

“I-I...” Adam’s voice cracked, his vision blurring with fresh tears. He took a shaky breath, his chest tightening to the point it felt like it might collapse in on itself. “I was a good boy. A good soldier. I-I did everything they asked of me. I thought—I thought I was doing well for them. B-But then... then they wanted to do something I didn’t like. Something I couldn’t accept. And—and...”

The words caught in his throat, and the memories surged forward like a tidal wave. His entire body jerked as if struck, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

Lucifer’s reaction was immediate. With a sense of urgency, he crawled fully up Adam’s body, his arms wrapping tightly around him. He pulled Adam into his chest, pressing his head firmly against him, as though shielding him from whatever ghosts haunted his mind.

“What did they want to do?” Lucifer’s voice was low, a growl laced with anger and something darker. His crimson eyes flared, blazing with demonic magic that danced like wildfire in the dim light of the room.

Adam clung to Lucifer, his hands gripping at the crisp white fabric of his dress shirt as though it were his lifeline. His body trembled violently, his words caught in a storm of fear and heartbreak.

“They—” Adam choked, his voice muffled against Lucifer’s chest. “They wanted to take something from me. S-something that was mine. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t let them. But they... they hurt me for it. I don’t understand why.”

Lucifer’s arms tightened protectively around Adam, his expression darkening further. His tail lashed behind him, his fury barely contained. Lilith reached out, her hand resting on Adam’s back as she leaned in closer, her lavender eyes shimmering with a mix of sorrow and rage.

“They had no right to hurt you,” Lilith whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “No right at all.”

Adam shook his head weakly, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I-I thought if I was good enough, they’d stop. But they didn’t. They just kept asking for more. More obedience. More sacrifices. More of me.”

Lucifer let out a low, dangerous growl, his grip on Adam unrelenting.

“They’ll never touch you again,” he vowed, his voice a deadly promise. “I’ll burn Heaven to the ground before I let them lay a hand on you.”

Adam’s breath hitched at Lucifer’s words, the intensity of his protection both frightening and comforting. For the first time, he felt like someone truly saw him, truly cared about what he’d been through.

Lilith pressed a kiss to his temple, her touch like a balm on his frayed nerves.

“You’re safe now,” she murmured. “You don’t have to fight anymore. We’ll protect you. Always.”

Adam’s fingers loosened slightly from Lucifer’s shirt, his trembling subsiding just enough for him to take a shaky breath. The warmth of their embrace seeped into him, chasing away the cold that had gripped his soul for so long.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Adam allowed himself to believe them. To believe that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t alone anymore.

“T-There’s more, Luci!” Adam blurted out, “T-There’s still more I need to say!”

Lucifer’s hand stilled on Adam’s back for a fraction of a second before resuming its comforting rhythm. His frown deepened as he shifted to look down at Adam, his crimson and gold eyes soft with concern but sharp with curiosity.

“What is it, Adam? What more is there?”

Adam hiccupped through his tears, his breath catching as he tried to find the courage to speak. His hands twisted the fabric of Lucifer’s shirt, his entire body trembling as he forced himself to continue.

“Heaven… Heaven wants to blindside you. In the next meeting.”

Lucifer’s expression darkened, his free hand clenching into a fist.

“Blindside us? With what?” he asked, his voice low but dangerously steady.

Adam gasped for air, his tears streaming freely. He couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out in a rush, his voice trembling with urgency. “Heaven wants to force your hand! They—they want you to agree to something called the Extermination.”

Lilith, who had been quietly rubbing Adam’s arm, froze. Her lavender eyes hardened, her beautiful face darkening with an intensity that made Adam’s stomach twist. “

Extermination?” she repeated, her voice laced with venom.

Adam nodded frantically, his words spilling over each other in his desperation to get them out. “I tried—I tried to stop it, but they wouldn’t listen to me! They want to hold an Extermination—a whole week where they send special Heavenborn angels down into Hell to… to slaughter thousands of sinners.”

Lilith’s lips curled into a snarl, her anger flashing like lightning in her eyes. “What?”

Adam’s voice cracked as he sobbed, his small hands gripping Lucifer’s shirt even tighter. “They’re scared of you, Lilith! They’re terrified that you’re gathering the sinners, that you’re holding them together and teaching them to think for themselves. They think you’re going to lead a rebellion against Heaven’s rules.”

Lucifer’s grip on Adam tightened protectively, his body stiff with tension.

 “And their solution is to murder them?” he hissed, his voice like the crack of thunder.

Adam hiccupped again, struggling to keep himself from breaking down completely. “They think the population of Hell is too dangerous to ignore. They think if they… if they kill enough of them, they’ll scare the rest into submission.”

Leaning in closer, Lilith’s hand cradling Adam’s tear-streaked face as she looked at him with a mixture of fury and sorrow.

“And you?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What did they want from you, Adam?”

Adam swallowed hard, his entire body shaking as he forced the next words out. “They wanted me to lead the army. They—they wanted me to be the one to lead these warrior, soldier angels into Hell. To kill them. But I… I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.”

Freezing, Lucifer’s eyes widening as he hissed out sharply. “They did this to you because of that?!”

Adam buried his face in Lucifer’s chest, his muffled sobs wracking his small frame. “

Yes!” he cried, his voice cracking. “They turned me into this because I refused! I wouldn’t lead the army against the sinners. They—they’re part of me, Lucifer! They’re my children. I couldn’t just… cast them aside because they made mistakes. I couldn’t do it!”

Lucifer’s entire body went rigid, his tail snapping behind him in agitation. His glowing eyes burned brighter, the flames of his fury almost palpable.

“They punished you for protecting your children?” His voice was low and dangerous, a quiet storm building in his chest.

Lilith’s face was a mask of rage, her fingers trembling as she gently brushed Adam’s hair back from his tear-soaked face.

“They dared to do this to you,” she murmured, her voice dark and filled with promise. “Because you wouldn’t become their monster.”

Adam looked up at them with wide, teary eyes, his golden gaze shimmering with pain. “I just… I just wanted to protect them. I couldn’t stand the thought of leading them to slaughter. But Heaven… Heaven hates me now. They said I was weak. That I was… broken.”

Lucifer let out a low, guttural growl, his protective embrace tightening around Adam.

“You’re not broken, Adam,” he said firmly, his voice filled with conviction. “You’re the bravest soul I’ve ever known. And if Heaven wants a fight, then they’ll get one.”

Lilith leaned down, pressing a kiss to Adam’s forehead as her eyes burned with fierce determination.

“We won’t let them get away with this, Addie. Not to you. Not to anyone.”

~#~

The grand meeting hall was filled with an uneasy silence. Light poured in through the stained glass windows, casting distorted images of angels and heavenly battles onto the polished marble floor. At the long, obsidian table in the centre of the room, Lucifer sat, his fingers drumming an uneven rhythm on the surface. His crimson and gold eyes flickered between calm and blood red every few seconds, a clear sign of his barely contained rage. Every so often, his horns threatened to break through the blonde strands of his hair, only to recede as he forced himself to stay composed.

Lilith sat beside him, the picture of poise and elegance. Her lavender eyes sparkled with a dangerous calm; her hands perfectly folded in her lap. She reached out and placed a gentle hand over Lucifer’s, stilling his restless fingers.

“Lucifer,” she murmured, her voice soothing yet firm. “Stay calm.”

He looked at her, his frown deepening as his jaw clenched.

“I’m trying,” he hissed under his breath. “I really am. But I’m so angry. Why aren’t you angry?”

Lilith tilted her head slightly, a small, knowing smirk playing on her lips. She closed her eyes briefly, as though to centre herself.

 “Oh, I am furious,” she said softly, her voice carrying an edge of steel. “You just can’t see it. I’ve always been good at masking it.”

She opened her eyes, the lavender hue darkened by her hidden fury. “Believe me, my love, I want to rip every angel in this room apart with my bare hands. But we must keep our heads.”

Lucifer let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as his tail flicked irritably behind him.

“I know,” he muttered, his voice strained. “I know. It’s just… I can’t help it. This is all my fault.”

Lilith’s calm demeanour faltered slightly, her gaze softening as she looked down at her lap. “It is as much your fault as it is mine,” she replied quietly, her fingers tightening around his hand.

Lucifer shook his head vehemently, his golden curls bouncing slightly with the movement. “No, Lilith. It’s my fault.”

He looked away, his gaze fixed on the intricate patterns carved into the table. “I was Adam’s guardian archangel. I was supposed to protect him. And I failed him. I wasn’t there when he needed me the most.”

Lilith’s brows furrowed, her calm mask slipping further as her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Lucifer…” she began, her voice gentle yet firm.

“No,” he interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. “You don’t understand. Adam trusted me. He looked up to me, and I…”

His fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. “I left him behind. I let him fend for himself in a world that was designed to break him.”

Lilith reached up and cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at her.

“You didn’t fail him, Lucifer,” she said firmly. “You were fighting your own battles. Heaven doesn’t allow its angels to care, to feel. You were punished for trying to love him, for trying to protect him.”

Lucifer’s eyes shimmered with a mix of anger and regret. “But I should’ve found a way. I should’ve done more.”

Lilith leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And yet, here we are now. Together. Fighting for him.”

She placed her other hand over his, her touch grounding him. “That’s what matters.”

Before Lucifer could respond, the doors to the hall creaked open, and a procession of angels began to file in. Their pristine white robes and glowing auras were a sharp contrast to the dark and ominous presence of the two royals seated at the table.

Lucifer straightened his posture, his anger simmering just beneath the surface as he tightened his grip on Lilith’s hand.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, his eyes flashing blood red once more.

Lilith’s smirk returned, her lavender eyes narrowing as she watched the angels take their seats.

“Stay sharp, my love,” she said softly. “The game is just beginning.”

Lucifer nodded, the weight of his guilt momentarily pushed aside by the resolve to protect Adam—and the damned souls that Heaven sought to destroy. As the angels began to slip through those mocking golden doors, he exchanged a brief glance with Lilith. Her calm, unwavering gaze was all the reassurance he needed.

They were in this together, and Heaven had no idea what they were up against.

And they weren’t about to give Adam back.

The tension in the grand hall was palpable, the air thick with unspoken animosity as the angels of Heaven and the royalty of Hell faced off. The obsidian table between them seemed to hum with the weight of centuries-old grudges and bitter resentments. Lucifer sat rigid in his chair, his fingers gripping the armrests so tightly they might splinter. Beside him, Lilith radiated an eerie calm, her lavender eyes fixed on the gilded double doors that creaked open with slow, deliberate menace.

Michael entered first, his golden armour gleaming as though freshly forged, his face a mask of divine authority. Behind him, Seraphiel—Sera to those who dared address her informally—followed, her robes flowing like liquid light, her expression serene but her eyes sharp as a blade. Together, they strode forward, their steps echoing ominously in the cavernous hall.

Lucifer’s eyes burned with barely restrained fury as he watched them approach. His horns, though suppressed, seemed to pulse faintly beneath his golden curls. Lilith reached over and rested a cool hand on his forearm, a silent reminder to stay composed. He exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t break his piercing gaze.

Michael and Sera came to a stop at the opposite end of the table. Michael stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back, while Sera surveyed the room with an air of condescension, as though the very existence of Hell was an offense she tolerated only out of necessity.

"Lucifer. Lilith," Michael greeted, his tone even but cold. "I see you’re both punctual. How... refreshing."

Lucifer smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

 "We do aim to please, Michael," he drawled, leaning back in his chair. "Although I can’t say the same for your entrances. The dramatics are a bit much, don’t you think?"

Sera’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, before she composed herself.

"Coming from you, Lucifer? That’s rich," she said smoothly, her voice like honey laced with venom. "But we’re not here to trade barbs, are we?"

"No," Lilith interjected, her voice silky but firm. "We’re here because you requested this meeting. Let’s not waste time pretending otherwise."

"Save the pleasantries," Lucifer cut in sharply, sitting forward now. His eyes glinted dangerously as he laced his fingers together on the table. "Let’s get to the heart of it, shall we? Is this meeting about your so-called 'extermination' plan? Or is it about Adam?"

The question hung in the air like a thunderclap. Michael and Sera both froze, their carefully crafted composure cracking for the briefest of moments. Michael’s brow furrowed, while Sera’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Michael was the first to recover.

"Did Adam... tell you that?" he asked, his voice steady but tinged with suspicion.

Lucifer snorted, leaning back once more.

"And if he did?" he replied coolly, his tone daring them to challenge him.

Sera’s gaze narrowed as she stepped forward, her hands clasped lightly in front of her.

"So he is already disobeying?" she said, her voice like ice.

Lucifer’s calm facade shattered. He slammed a hand down on the table, the force sending a crack spiderwebbing through the obsidian surface. His eyes flared blood red as his voice boomed.

"Disobeying? Disobeying? Heaven broke him! You turned him into—!"

Lilith was on her feet in an instant, her hand on his shoulder.

"Lucifer," she hissed softly but firmly. Her touch and tone were enough to pull him back from the brink. He exhaled shakily, his rage simmering but controlled.

Lilith turned her attention to Sera, her eyes sharp as daggers.

"Adam is hardly disobeying Heaven," she said, her voice cold and biting. "Not when Heaven is the one who hurt him. Or do you see his suffering as some kind of obedience?"

The words sent a ripple of discomfort through the angels gathered around the table. Michael’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mixture of guilt and anger, but it was Sera who answered first, her voice as cold as ice. “It was necessary.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, his body trembling with restrained fury. “Necessary? Necessary to destroy an innocent soul? Necessary to turn him into something broken? You’ve turned a blind eye to your own sins, Sera, and now you come here, expecting us to bow to your will?”

Lilith’s hand tightened around Lucifer’s, her calm demeanour like a storm contained. “If Heaven wants a war, you’ll have one. But don’t think for a second that you’ll get it so easily.”

Sera’s expression darkened, and for the first time, Lucifer saw a flicker of something like regret in her eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by cold resolve.

“This meeting was supposed to be civil, Lucifer,” she said, her tone sharp. “But if you want to play this game, fine. We’ll play it.”

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, his golden eyes burning with an intensity that matched the fire in his soul.

“I’m done with games, Sera. If Heaven wants to make its move, then let it. But don’t think for a second that we’re going to sit back and let you destroy everything we’ve fought for.”

The room grew heavy with the weight of their words, a silent tension building between the four of them. Lilith’s gaze was steady, unwavering, while Lucifer’s eyes glowed with the promise of a war that Heaven had no idea was coming.

For a moment, it felt as though the very walls of the meeting hall were holding their breath, waiting for the next move.

And then Lucifer spoke, his voice cool and deadly. “So, let’s get this straight. You want to exterminate Hell, erase all the sinners, and wipe everything out? Or is this just about Adam?”

Both Sera and Michael paused for a moment, clearly caught off guard by his directness. Michael’s eyes flickered with a hint of something—doubt?—before he quickly masked it, his jaw tightening.

“It’s about both,” he said carefully, his gaze not quite meeting Lucifer’s. “But don’t pretend you don’t know this is a war you started.”

Lucifer’s smile was all teeth. “I didn’t start it, Michael. Heaven did, the moment it abandoned Adam. And now, you want to finish it?”

The silence in the room grew suffocating, the air thick with the weight of the conversation. Lucifer’s golden eyes blazed with fury, his teeth bared like the predator he had become. Lilith’s cold gaze flicked between the angels, her posture calm yet poised to strike. She barely moved, but the tension around her was palpable.

Lucifer broke the silence with a low growl, his voice dripping with contempt. “I know exactly what you did to Adam in Eden. How you hurt him every time he tried to step out of your precious little line. You were the ones who twisted him. You turned him into something he wasn’t because he had the audacity to question your rules.”

Sera’s eyes flashed, but she said nothing, her lips pressed tightly together in that usual, cold expression. Michael, on the other hand, remained still, his wings flicking ever so slightly behind him in irritation. They knew exactly what he was referring to, but neither one wanted to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Lilith’s voice was ice-cold, but her words cut like a dagger. “And what purpose did Heaven’s punishment serve? Making Adam change his very nature, forcing him to become a woman... for what? What’s the point of this?”

The question hung in the air, cutting through the tension. Neither Sera nor Michael answered. They couldn’t. They had no good excuse for their cruelty, their manipulation. They simply remained silent, their lips tight, unwilling to confess what they knew to be the truth.

Lucifer, sensing their silence, let out a bitter laugh. “That's right. No answers, just silence. But we both know you can’t justify it.”

Instead of addressing the question, Michael shifted the focus. “Enough. This meeting is about the Extermination plan. The plan Heaven has to rid Hell of its tainted population.”

Lucifer's gaze turned sharp, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Ah, yes, the Extermination. Another 'righteous' purge that Heaven thinks is necessary. But no, Michael, you didn’t come here to talk about that. You came here because you’re scared. You’re terrified of what we’re going to do next. Of what you’ve pushed us to do.”

Lilith’s voice was steady but cool as she responded, “I’m sorry, did you just accuse me of building an army? Maybe you should ask me to my face before making assumptions.”

Michael’s narrowed eyes didn’t leave her, though there was a subtle flash of doubt in them. “I know what you’re doing. I know you’ve been stirring something under the surface, preparing for something more. I won’t let you jeopardize Heaven’s place in this world.”

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. “Jeopardize Heaven? Oh, no, Michael. Heaven’s own actions have already jeopardized itself. If you think for one second that your precious celestial realm is safe from what’s coming... well, you’ll learn that lesson soon enough.”

Sera was losing patience now. “What are you talking about, Lucifer?”

Her voice was sharp, her eyes blazing as she stared him down. “What plans are you speaking of?”

Lucifer’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Before? There were no plans. No thoughts of raising a rebellion. We weren’t foolish enough to think we could overthrow Heaven. But that’s changed now.”

He leaned forward, his golden eyes burning with an intensity that would have made the heavens themselves tremble. “Now we have a plan. And it doesn’t matter what you say or do. It’s too late to stop it.”

Michael’s jaw clenched, his fists visibly tightening at his sides. “So, you're threatening us, Lucifer?” His voice had grown cold, almost mocking.

Lucifer let out a harsh laugh. “What’s Heaven going to do, Michael? You’re the ones who hurt Adam. You turned him into something he wasn’t, and now you want him back under your thumb? To use him for whatever twisted purpose you have next?”

Sera’s eyes flashed with anger. “Enough of this. All of this over the first human? You think he’s worth all this disruption? You’ve fallen so far from grace, Lucifer. It’s pathetic.”

That was the spark Lucifer needed. His fury erupted. “Pathetic?”

His voice was a snarl now. “You think I care about Heaven’s rules now? You think I care what you think of me? You took Adam, and you broke him. You abused him, and now you come here acting like you’re in the right?”

Lilith leaned forward, her voice like a blade. “Heaven didn’t just hurt Adam. It used him, like a puppet. You took away his self-worth, bruised him, and made him feel less than what he was. Heaven pushed him until he couldn’t take it anymore. And then you forced him into becoming a woman. You didn’t just strip him of his masculinity, you stripped him of his identity.”

Sera’s face twitched with a flicker of discomfort, but she quickly masked it. Michael, however, clenched his fists, the veins in his hands showing, his eyes narrowing with coldness.

Lilith wasn’t done. “Adam mentioned something interesting. You said you were going to send special Heavenborn angels to Hell, right? Well, you weren’t planning on using him to birth them, were you?”

Both Michael and Sera froze. There was a brief moment of complete silence. Neither spoke, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of Lilith’s words had sunk deep into their minds.

Michael quickly recovered, though there was something strained in his posture.

“That’s none of your concern,” he snapped, brushing it off with a wave of his hand.

Lucifer leaned forward, his voice dripping with anger. “That’s not an answer, Michael. What exactly are you planning? Using Adam to breed your army of Heavenborn angels? Is that your grand plan?”

Michael’s gaze remained cool, his eyes meeting Lucifer’s without flinching. “We demand that you return Adam to his rightful place. Heaven. His place is with us, not here with you.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, the rage in them evident. “You’re really deluded if you think Adam belongs in Heaven anymore. After everything you’ve done to him, you can’t just take him back like a toy. He’s not yours to command anymore, Michael.”

Lilith raised an eyebrow, her voice cutting. “Heaven may have been his birthplace, but Hell is where he’s meant to be now. And you have no right to tear him away from what he’s come to love.”

Lucifer’s gaze didn’t leave Michael’s as he spoke again, the weight of his words heavy. “We’re not just going to sit here and watch as you destroy everything we’ve built. Not this time.”

The tension in the room escalated, the weight of Lucifer’s declaration pressing down on the air like a thick, suffocating fog. The words hung in the space between them, ringing out with the force of a thunderclap. Lucifer’s sharp, predatory grin only widened as he leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous and unyielding certainty.

"Adam will never be returned to Heaven," Lucifer snarled, the power in his voice rippling through the air. "He belongs to Hell now. And there’s nothing you can do about it."

Sera huffed, her expression one of barely contained frustration. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her wings flaring slightly in agitation.

"Hell has no claim to Adam," she spat. "You’re in no position to keep him. He’s still Heaven’s responsibility, and you can’t change that."

Lucifer’s grin widened impossibly more, the sharpness of his teeth sending a chill down the spines of those who dared to meet his gaze.

"That’s where you're wrong," he said, his voice dripping with malicious satisfaction. "I can put a claim on him. I can keep him here in Hell. And I am fully within my rights to bind him to me, if I choose."

Sera's eyes narrowed dangerously, her patience growing thin. "And how exactly do you intend to do that, Lucifer? Please, enlighten me."

Lucifer’s gaze shifted to his brother, Michael, who had been standing silently by Sera’s side, his features cold and unreadable. Lucifer snickered darkly, his voice dripping with derision. "Do you wish to tell her, or shall I?"

Michael’s cold expression didn’t change, but his voice cut through the air with an icy finality.

"He’s right," he said flatly, his tone devoid of any warmth. "He can make a claim, if he so wishes. And he is well within his right to do so."

Sera blinked in confusion, her gaze flickering to Michael in disbelief.

 "What?" she demanded. "How? How can that be?"

Silence fell over the room, heavy and thick, as Sera turned toward Michael, waiting for an explanation. Lucifer’s smug grin never wavered as he enjoyed the chaos he had just unleashed. He was in control now, and he relished in the discomfort it caused the celestial beings in front of him.

Lilith, who had remained eerily calm through the exchange, couldn’t help but allow a sly smirk to curl on her lips. Her eyes gleamed with quiet triumph as she addressed Sera, her voice dripping with superiority.

"Isn’t it obvious?" she asked, her tone cutting through the tension like a blade. "Lucifer and I are bound to Adam, and he is ours. We are his consorts now, and there’s nothing that Heaven can do to change that."

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, his expression almost mocking as he turned his attention fully to Sera and Michael.

"We will wed him at noon tomorrow," he continued, his voice a dangerous whisper filled with undeniable authority. "And when we do, you’ll see. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. He belongs to Hell now, and no amount of your petty threats will change that."

The room seemed to grow even colder, and the silence that followed was almost suffocating. Sera’s eyes blazed with fury, but there was a flicker of uncertainty beneath the surface. Michael remained stoic, his eyes locked onto Lucifer with an intensity that matched his brother’s.

Sera's jaw tightened as she struggled to process the full weight of Lucifer’s words. The idea of Adam, the first human, being bound to them in such a way was incomprehensible to her. The sheer audacity of the act, the rebellion against Heaven’s will—it was a violation of everything she had ever known.

She finally spoke, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. "You can’t possibly think this will hold. Heaven will not stand for it. We will not allow you to take him from us."

Lucifer’s grin never faltered, his voice cool and mocking. "You underestimate us, Sera. You underestimate Adam. He’s ours now, and there’s no going back. So enjoy the last few moments you have of thinking you can control him. Because tomorrow, everything changes."

The tension in the air was thick, a crackling energy that threatened to erupt at any moment. But there was a dangerous finality in Lucifer’s words, a certainty that made it clear: this wasn’t a negotiation. It was an ultimatum.

Turning her gaze to Michael, Lilith's voice was low but cutting. "You’ve pushed him too far. You’ve hurt him for too long. This is the price you pay for your cruelty. Adam is with us now, and he will never return to your false paradise."

The silence that followed felt like an eternity, and in that moment, the battle lines were drawn. Heaven and Hell stood at odds, and nothing would be the same again.

The doors to the hall slammed open, the weight of Lucifer and Lilith’s words hanging heavily in the air as the two factions stood on the precipice of war. And at the heart of it all was Adam—no longer a pawn, no longer an angel caught between two realms. Adam was with them now, and nothing, not Heaven nor Hell, would ever take him away again.

[hanluex]

Something really really painful sad with dick Grayson but happy ending

♡ I’M SORRY — DICK GRAYSON

bf!dick x fem!reader | wc : 0.7k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, angst, established relationship, mentions of an accident, mentions of blood, crying | request : um i mayhaps have forgotten the happy ending part, so a part two soon hopefully 😭

“wow, this is all your fault. i can’t believe you, y/n.”

dick grayson mumbled under his breath playfully, enjoying the disgruntled expression on your face.

“babe, i said i’m sorry!” you whined, pouting as you grabbed your boyfriend’s arm. “honest mistake, my bad.”

the two of you were invited to a charity ball, and you hadn’t realized you left the invitation back home until you were at the venue.

fortunately, you were a couple of blocks away from your apartment, which was why you two were walking back, with dick grumbling the whole way.

“we should’ve taken the car. i told you we should, but no!” dick stifled his smile, looking away so you couldn’t see his façade. “you insisted we walk. who even walks to a charity event?!”

you frowned, disheartened. “i’m sorry, babe. i didn’t think taking the car was necessary,” you confessed sincerely.

dick smiled, unable to keep up with his charade any longer. “i was just joking, love. gosh, you are so fun to play around with,” he stated, chuckling at your look of betrayal.

“you are such an idiot. i hate you!”

“now, you better take that back because we both know that’s a lie.”

you fastened your pace, walking away from the brunet. "nope, i'm being very honest." you laughed, amused by his reaction.

"y/n, come here!" dick called, chuckling as he followed you. "babe!"

the traffic lights turned red, causing the cars to come to a stop. you continued teasing your boyfriend as you crossed the road, sticking your tongue out in a mocking manner.

dick laughed as you did a little dance in the middle of the road, amused at the extent you went to make him laugh.

a loud zoom made the brunet freeze in his place, watching as an oncoming bike increased its speed despite the red light.

just as he opened his mouth to warn you, his gaze was filled with the slow motion image of the bike hitting you, your body being thrown a few feet away at the impact.

fuck, fuck, fuck. no, please, no. fuck, no.

"y/n!" dick yelled, his heart beating harshly against his chest as he ran towards you.

his breath quickened as he saw the blood, shakily taking out his phone as he kneeled next to your half-conscious body.

"i called for help. they said they'll be here in ten minutes."

the phone fell out of his hands, immediately reaching out to hold you in his arms as tears filled his vision.

"oh, baby." he touched your face gently, hot tears falling from his face to yours. "no, please."

you blinked softly, in a dazed state. "dick?" you called out, causing the brunet to nod in reply, more tears falling down his face.

"you have t-to talk to m-me, babe. how e-else am i g-going to stay a-awake?"

"i c-can't." dick cried harder, feeling your hands on his face. "i'm so sorry."

"richard, t-take … take a deep breath, p-please. calm down, o-okay?"

"how can i stay calm? y-you are … you—"

you felt lightheaded. "i'm sorry," you apologized, wiping away his tears. "i got blood all over you," you added.

"is that what you are worried about?!"

"i know this is your favorite suit."

despite your attempt at a joke, dick cried harder, feeling worse as he was supposed to be the one to console you.

yet here you were, lying in a pool of your own blood, still having time to make lighthearted jokes about the situation.

dick grayson ignored your words as you assured him you were fine, rambling away about anything and everything under the sun.

he didn't even know what language he was speaking in, let alone what he spoke about. he just rambled, hoping you'd stay awake until the ambulance came.

"i l-like this view." you interrupted his chattering, smiling through the pain. "r-really good an-angle of y-you."

"not the time, y/n."

you heaved a breath as you reached out to hold your boyfriend's hands, groaning quietly as the pain became unbearable.

"does it hurt bad?" dick asked softly. "is there anything i can do for you?"

you took a deep breath, wincing. "i-if i don't m-make it, i h-hope you know how much … m-much i love you. and if p-possible, look out for jay b-because—"

"no! don't give me this 'last word' talk." dick shook his head. "you'll be fine, and you will be the one to look out for jay because he'll listen to no one except you, and only you can handle him."

"babe, please—"

"no, just no. i will not let you leave me. if you even think about dying, i'm going to kill you."

"i love you, richard grayson. so fucking much, i do."

taglist : @maverick-wingman (to be added, please send a dm or ask!)

[darlingdreadwrites]

I hear you breathing, baby. Been chasing you all night.

pairing: Jeff the Killer x Final Girl!Reader

part: 1, 2, 3

summary: After arriving at a hospital and leaving the investigation to the police, you start to get sick of locking yourself away in your apartment. An impulsive walk for some air earns you another encounter with Jeff.

contains: fight scene

warnings: 18+ MINOR DNI, violence, stabbing, pet names and name calling (baby, sweetheart, bitch)

word count: 6.1k

masterlist

a.n: FINALLY DONE WITH IT WOOOOOO!!! IT GOT TOO LONG SO I HAD TO SPLIT IT UP THE SMUT TO A SECOND POST!! i think jeff brings out the worst in me because hello???? my first smut?????

You’re suddenly hyperaware that you’re gripping the wheel too tight. Your knuckles are white, and your hands tremble in sync with the rest of you. Your eyes dart to the rearview mirror, expecting to still see the parking lot and him. You’re only met with empty roads. The sun hangs heavy in the sky – glaring down. The heat is suffocating in this stuffy old car, but the cold is still clinging to your bones. You still have that same chill from experiencing what just happened – what you had just run from.

You realize you’re not sure how you’ve gotten here. The motel, the blood, Tony, Steph, Don—wasn’t it just minutes ago? Hours? Days? Your vision blurs, a wave of dizziness pull you under.

The road sign hits you like a slap. The town’s miles behind – farther than you thought. You pull over without thinking, the tires crunching on the gravel as you slow to a stop. The car’s engine cuts, but the silence is deafening.

Your heart pounds violently in your chest, and it almost sounds like it’s echoing in the car you’ve just realized that you’ve stolen. Your clothes stick to your skin, drenched in something you knew wasn’t sweat. You don’t want to think about it – how the blood is caked into your hair or how you can still taste the blood of the motel owner in your mouth. You glance down at your shirt, eyes wide at the still darkening spots across your body. Everything still feels unreal. This whole thing – your body, this car, the road you’re on – feels like someone else’s experience.

You didn’t even realize you’d started the car again until you parked near a hospital. It seemed you were still dead to the world.

Hands shaking, you unlock the door and step out with shaky legs. Your stomach churns as you force yourself to stumble forward. You need to move, you tell yourself. You need to keep going.

The ER’s entrance is a blur. You push through the double doors, the automatic ones sliding open with a mechanical sigh. Nurses and doctors rush around, moving in and out of view. Their faces were filled with confusion, concern – maybe fear. Someone says something to you—questions? Orders? You’re not sure. You’re only aware of the blood staining your skin. The world is too bright – too loud – and you’re too tired to keep standing. You sway on your feet, feeling the air thicken.

“I’m fine,” you say. It sounds like a lie, and you know you’re not fooling anybody.

“Ma’am?” A nurse catches your arm – pulling you in – but you can barely register the motion. Someone else starts talking, maybe a doctor—

“She’s lost a lot of blood.”

No I didn’t, you want to say. This wasn’t your blood that you were covered in.

“I’m—” The words won’t come. You shake your head, trying to find the pieces yourself.

A gentle push. Someone was trying to guide you on a gurney. You sit down, limbs too heavy. Then they’re all around you – too close, poking, prodding, questioning.

 “Where are you hurt?”

“What happened to you?”

“I’m not hurt,” you rasp, but the answer sounds as wrong as it feels. How can you explain the truth when you can’t even put it together for yourself?

You must have fallen asleep. You’re in a room that smells too clean, a nurse is humming in a corner. She turns quickly when she hears the rustle of sheets as you try to sit up. She smiles at you, and you think you hear her asking how you’re feeling. It sounded too far away for you to think you can reach her with a reply – your throat felt too dry.

The door swings open, and two officers step in. You immediately want them to leave, but they won’t. They want to ask questions, then more questions. You don’t want to talk. You want to scream. The officer on the left steps forward, a middle-aged man with a face worn by years of routine. He’d be perfect in a cop show, you think.

“Miss.” His tone is carefully neutral – he’s trained well. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

“I…” Your voice cracks, and you clear your throat. The weight of his gaze makes your chest tighten as you look up at him.

The other officer – younger – with sharp eyes steps closer, his notepad ready. “Can we start with your name?”

It takes a moment before the sound of your own name feels real on your tongue. You give it to him reluctantly, like it’s the last piece of yourself you have to offer.

“Thank you.” The older officer glances at the folded bundle of clothes sitting on a nearby chair. You knew they would take the bloodied fabric for evidence soon. “Can you tell us what happened?”

The question hangs heavily in the air. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. The truth is stuck in your throat – tangled up in everything you’ve been running from.

“I’m not hurt,” you say quickly. You’re trembling, your pulse pounding in your ears. You shove your shaking hands under the hospital blanket – hiding them like it’ll make you seem less broken.

The older officer tries again, softer this time. “Where did you come from, ma’am? Were you travelling alone?”

That’s the spark that lights the fuse. A harmless question – probably routine – but it lodges in your mind and unravels everything you’ve been trying to hold together.

You weren’t alone.

The motel’s stairs flash in your mind’s eye – Don’s voice creeps back in.

“What’s wrong, babe? You finally find out?”

You blink hard, your breath hitching. The walls of the hospital room feel closer now – the air thinner.

“Miss?” The younger officer is watching you carefully. You realize too late that you’ve been silent too long.

“I-I can’t.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “I can’t—”

“You’re safe now,” the older one assures, but the words are meaningless. Safe? You’d laugh if it didn’t feel like choking.

“I don’t know…” Your hands twist in the blanket – wringing. “It’s all—”

Another flicker of the past. Don, leaning too close, his grin too wide. The rail under your hands – cold.

“I don’t remember,” you lie, your voice flat and distant.

The officers exchange a glance. It’s subtle, but you catch it.

The younger one presses, his tone firmer now. “You don’t remember where you came from? Or how you got here?”

Your breath quickens. The questions feel like they’re coming too fast – piling you, cornering you. You stare at the floor in an attempt to ground yourself, but the hospital tiles blur and shift.

The stairs had creaked beneath your weight as you climbed them, the knot in your stomach still tight after what you’d just seen. You didn’t want to think about it tonight, but you couldn’t stop – couldn’t erase the image of them together. Your boyfriend and your friend – the betrayal.

You’d barely made it to the second floor when Don stopped you. His smirk had twisted to a cruel sneer when you didn’t respond.

“What’s wrong, babe?” He asked again in that mocking tone you’d always hated.

When you continued with your silence, his grin stretched wider – knowing. He’d known. Had had to have known what you’d seen. He had to have known for months.

“Hey,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was low and coaxing. “I know the perfect way to get back at him.”

You had turned to leave, but he wouldn’t have let an opportunity go. His hand landed on your arm tightly.

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” he teased. His hand slid lower, just above your waist to pull you closer. He pushed you toward the railing, and all you knew was that his body was too close. His breath was too hot against your skin.

You snapped.

The world stopped. You shoved him – hard. His eyes went wide for a split second before he tumbled backward, his body hitting the ground with a sickening—

CRACK

The sound of bones breaking – his bones. Your heart slams in your chest, and you hear nothing else except—

“Miss?”

A hand touches your shoulder – it’s the older officer. You flinch violently, jerking away before you can stop yourself.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, raising his hands in surrender.

The sterile scent of disinfectant clings to the air while your mind races – replaying fragments of the questions they asked.

Who were you with? Did anyone see you? Where did the blood come from?

Their faces had been impartial – professional – but you’d caught the flicker of doubt in their eyes. There was a tight set of their jaws when your answers came slow – as if you were piecing together a story instead of recounting the truth.

You’ve been left to stew – to sink into the waiting silence. It’s not intentional cruelty, just procedure. Time for you to gather yourself, or maybe just to let the shock wear off enough for them to catch you in a lie – if one exists.

When the door swings open again, it’s not one of the officers who asked the earlier questions. Her movements were more cautious, and her badge reflects the harsh light of the room. She pulls up a chair and sits across from you, placing a recorder on the table between you both. She introduces herself, but you don’t bother to remember it.

“I know this is hard,” she begins, her voice softer than the others. “But we need you to walk through what happened again.”

You can’t look at her for a moment as you swallow hard. Instead, your eyes dart to the blank notepad she holds in her hands.

“I already told the other officers…” Your voice trails off weakly.

“I understand.” Her pen is poised, but unmoving. “But we need to be thorough. Sometimes, details don’t come out until the second or third time.”

You clasp your hands tightly in your lap as you finally manage to speak. “It wasn’t my blood.”

“Okay. That’s helpful.” She leans forward slightly. “Can you tell me whose it was?”

“It was the motel owner’s.” Your voice is shaky but certain. “He… he was right in front of me when—”

You break off, the memory of Jeff’s blade sinking into flesh and the spray of red flashing behind your eyes. A shiver racks your body, and you fold your arms tighter around yourself.

She nods slowly. “And before that?”

“Tony and Stephanie. My boyfriend and my friend. They—” Your throat tightens again. “He… he carved smiles into their faces.”

The pen finally moves across the page, each scratch of ink feeling like a needle pricking your skin. The officer hesitates, her gaze flicking up to you.

“You said he?” she prods, and you nod.

“A man. He came after me. Pale skin, long black hair, and… his face.” You struggle for the words, the image of that grotesque grin burned into your memory. “His mouth was cut. Like… a smile. It looked… old.”

She shifts in her seat, a flicker of recognition crossing her features. “And you didn’t know him? You’ve never seen him before?”

“No. Never.” You shake your head until a sharp sinking feeling snaps you still. “No-wait—he… I think I saw him at a gas station before we, we went to the motel—”

The officer’s lips press into a thin line, and she scribbles something down. Her silence feels heavier this time.

“What?” you press.

Her gaze hardens, though not unkindly. “Your description… it matches some of our open cases. It’s consistent.”

The words sink into you like stones – the gravity of her implication chilling.

“Consistent?” you echo.

“Yes,” she sighs. “With someone we’ve been trying to identify for a long time.”

“I don’t, I don’t know who he is,” you insist, panic rising. “I don’t know anything about him. I just—”

“It’s okay.” She cuts you off softly before the spiral can take hold. “You’ve done well. You’re safe now. We’ll handle the rest.”

After a few more questions, she rises from her seat, the recorder clicking off with a decisive snap.

“If we have more questions, we’ll be in touch.”

You don’t respond, and the door closes behind her as she leaves you alone with the fluorescent lights and the sterile smell. For the first time since the nightmare began, you cry. It’s not loud or frantic – just silent tears carving tracks down your cheeks. You can still feel his eyes on you – the smirk that didn’t need the scar to be chilling.

You wonder if they’ll catch him. You wonder if it even matters.

You were already broken.

Three Months Later

Although the bloodstains have been washed off of your skin, it still lingers in your mind, on the walls, and in your veins. Tony, being – having been – a jealous boyfriend, you had given up on making new friends. Your relationship with your family being… what it was, meant that you had no support other than the therapist recommended to you by a detective. The detective has made bi-monthly visits since then, and yet you still never felt safe or less alone. But the fear was quickly changing itself into indifference, making you more afraid of yourself. Miller’s voice comes at you like clockwork, filling the silence of your apartment with the same, monotonous warnings.

“Just make sure you lock up. Keep your blinds drawn. Don’t go out alone, not at night—”

You tune him out, having gotten tired of this routine that would lead to nowhere. He says it every time he checks in, which has been far too often for your liking. Even if he doesn’t visit your apartment, he’ll call every other day. You know his speech by heart. You stare blankly at him, arms crossing tightly in front of you – unwilling to give him any satisfaction.

“Yeah, yeah, Miller,” you mutter under your breath.

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he might call you out on your annoyed tone (a silent goal you’ve set for yourself). But, instead, he looks down at his notepad. You hate how this feels – why is he prying into your life like you’re the suspect. Wanting to know what makes you tick, where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing.

“Anything unusual lately?” Miller asks, and you suppress an eyeroll. If anything was unusual, surely you would have told him in the twenty minutes that he’s been in your apartment. Sometimes, you wish something would happen – that you’d see…

But his questions feel like tests – like traps he wants you to fall into, one way or another.

“No,” you reply stiffly, your gaze avoiding his.

His lips press into a thin line as if he’s silently judging you. He’s got that look in his eyes – the one that’s starting to really get under your skin. It’s one part concern, one part suspicion, and it always feels like you’re the one on trial.

“Right.” His voice is tight – he’s not convinced. Because why would you want a serial killer who’s most likely after you found and put in jail? “Well, if anything changes – anything at all – call us, alright?”

You stare at the door where he’s about to leave, your pulse rising with the need to snap. But instead, you just nod – the bitter taste of frustration pooling in your mouth. He sighs before stepping into the hallway, clearly too familiar with your disinterest.

“Remember what I said. Lock the doors, check the windows, and don’t go out at night. It’s dangerous right now, and you’re not—”

“I get it, Miller,” you cut him off, teeth clenched. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask for him or the constant reminders – your suffocating apprehension and panic attacks did that for you. You didn’t ask for the nightmares that twist your stomach into knots, or the feeling that someone is always watching. But this is your reality now. His questions, his advice, his presence – it’s all become a constant, and you’re so sick of it.

The door clicks shut behind him, but the tension doesn’t leave. Instead, it presses down on your chest like a weight – suffocating you – filling the spaces between your ribs with the dread you can’t escape. You stand there for a while after he leaves, staring at nothing. You’re caught in the emptiness that lingers in the wake of his departure.

The walls are closing in.

You walk to the kitchen without thinking, your movements automatic, hands shaking as they pull out a bottle of water from the fridge. You drink it all in three gulps, the coolness of it barely enough to settle the burning in your throat.

Your reflection in the window stares back at you as you walk past it – eyes wide and bloodshot from too many sleepless nights. The silence of the apartment gives way to a distant ringing.

It’s driving you crazy. You are crazy.

I’m crazy.

You push the thought down before you become a shell of yourself yet again. But the urge is still there – it always is – gnawing at you. It’s too much – being stuck, being hunted, being studied, being watched. All the what ifs flood your mind, and the ache in your chest gets worse with each passing moment. You can’t keep doing this – living like this. You can’t stay here – wrapped in fear – buried under the wight of your own thoughts.

You slip your fingers along the counter, the cool touch of your hunting knife under your palm bringing you an unexpected sense of calm. A precaution. You know that, deep down, it’s not just for your protection. It’s a tether – something to keep you grounded when the panic starts to swallow you whole. I should’ve had something like this that night, that’s what you told yourself when you bought it.

The decision comes to you in a flash – you need to get out. You need to do something – anything – to break the loop you’ve been trapped in.

You grab the knife, sliding it into your pocket with practiced ease. Your hands are steady now, the panic momentarily quieted. You don’t think about it, you just do it.

You walk to the door, hesitating for just a second as your hand rests on the doorknob. The air in the apartment feels colder, as if it knows of your plan – as if it’s holding you here in a way that’s far more suffocating than any walls.

You open the door and step into the hallway, your steps echoing louder than they should. But you can’t turn back now – you need air. You need freedom – you need to prove to yourself that you’re still in control of something.

The streetlights flicker overhead as you step out into the night, the city now your only company.

The night air cuts through the fabric of your jacket and brushes against your skin like icy fingertips. The streetlights cast uneven shadows across the pavement, their orange glow flickering and mirroring the unease in your chest. You walk quickly with no end goal in mind, keeping your head down and your hands stuffed in your pockets. The knife’s weight was a cold comfort against your palm. The city felt more alive than you had in months – cars honking in the distance, muffled conversations spilling out from bars and restaurants. It feels both active and oblivious to your presence, the crowds indifferent as they pass by. You’ve always thought of cities as anonymous. They were places where you could disappear into the throng. Tonight, though, it feels as if every set of eyes lands on you.

You’re clumsier than you’ve ever thought you’ve been tonight; you’re almost colliding with every person that walks by you. They don’t care enough to look at you or notice how frazzled you are, yet you’re fighting with your body to keep yourself from falling on top of someone. Anything could happen to you at this moment, and they’d still keep walking. Was that a comfort or a fear? You’re dizzy with so many people around you – when was the last time you’ve gone out?

Your pulse quickens as someone brushes against your shoulder.

“Watch it,” the man mutters, but his voice is gravelly – too familiar. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you spin around, tumbling backward into a lamppost.

He’s here – the pale skin, the long dark hair, the way his shoulders hunch forward. Jeff – it’s him – you’re sure of it.

“Stay away from me!” you shout, your voice trembling as you get ready to pull out your knife. A few people nearby stop and stare, their faces painted with curiosity and alarm. The man – no, not Jeff – holds up his hands, confusion etched across his face.

“Hey, lady, relax! I didn’t do anything!” His features are softer – older – lacking the cruel, twisted grin you’ve come to associate with him.

Your chest heaves as the realization crashes over you and you take your hands out of your pockets. Of course it isn’t Jeff. You’ve made yourself look like a fucking psycho in front of strangers, drawing attention you can’t afford. The onlookers begin to move on, murmuring among themselves. The man shakes his head and walks away, muttering an expletive you can’t quite hear.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but it’s too late. He’s already gone, and the embarrassment settles in your stomach.

You press on, your steps more hurried now. The crowds feel smothering, each passerby a potential threat. You can’t shake the sensation of being watched, the weight of unseen eyes following you with every step. Your fingers twitch against the knife in your pocket, the urge to grip it tighter battling the rational part of your mind that tells you to stop.

The streets begin to thin out as you leave the bustling main drag, your feet carrying you without thought. The noise of the city fades, replaced by a softer, uncanny quiet. You glance up and realize you’ve wandered into a park. The trees loom tall and dark, their branches stretching out like skeletal arms. Your breath clouds in front of you as you move deeper into the shadows despite knowing you should turn around.

But when was the last time you were in control of your own body?

Even before the murders, someone was always telling you what to do with yourself – be it Tony telling you not to wear that dress because it made you look too odd, or a professor completely disregarding a presentation topic you were passionate about for something completely unrelated that they worked on. You’re tired of not pursuing what you want – what you need. And, right now, with the looming threat of a certain someone watching you, your body was needing something you weren’t familiar with. Because despite the fear that kept you awake at night – the nightmares of Jeff finding you to finish the job – a dark and inexplicable part of you burned with the thought of being desired so intensely.

In all that questioning that the countless police officers and detectives would ask you – one of the only living witnesses Jeff had – about his whereabouts, you felt sadder each time you said no. But not for the reason of fear for your life. You wanted to see him – desperately. You wanted to ask him why. Why did he choose to target your group at the gas station? Why did he kill your friends? Why did he kill the motel owner? Why didn’t he kill you? Why did you feel so numb despite everything? Why is the only thing you’ve felt in months a twisted yearning for him? Why did he leave you to be so broken and alone?

Why didn’t he take you?

You tell yourself to turn back, to head toward the safety of the lights and people – but your legs don’t listen. The stillness pulls you in, the quiet whispering promises of solace that you desperately crave. The quiet and solitude of your apartment never felt safe since you came back, and yet these woods feel like a sanctuary.

The events of the night replay as you continue to walk – the motel room, the blood, the crunching of Don’s bones. Jeff’s face – the jagged smile that seemed to turn you on even as it terrified you.

“Poor little thing,” you imagine his voice, low and mocking. “Still running, still scared. Don’t you remember my promise?”

You shake your head violently, trying to banish the voice. It’s not real – he’s not here. It’s not real – it can’t be real. He’s not real. He can’t be. You repeat the words to yourself, but they do little to calm the rising panic in your chest. But the shadows – they shift. Too fast. Too close. You’re imagining it, aren’t you? Aren’t you?

The path beneath your feet turns to dirt, and the streetlights give way to the darkness. The park stretches out around you, its boundaries blurring into the woods. You hesitate, the rational part of your mind finally catching up.

This is a bad idea. I shouldn’t be here.

The wind rustles the leaves above, a sound that seems to ricochet unnaturally loud in the quiet. Your breath quickens, and you glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Jeff standing there. But the path behind you is empty.

You jump when a twig snaps underfoot, your hand instinctively going to your pocket. That was your own doing, you realize. The knife feels heavy now.

You freeze – a distant sound – a branch breaking, perhaps. You strain your ears, trying to make sense of it, but the lack of any response is oppressive. The woods are dark and endless, similar to the labyrinth of your mind in these past few months.

You turn back toward the city – or in the direction you think it might be in – and you walk toward it. Your breath comes in shallow gasps – the trees seem closer than before, their shadows stretching toward you and trying to pull you back.

 The sense of being watched wraps around you like a second skin, sticky and suffocating. It gets worse the more time you spend trying to retrace your steps. You glance over your shoulder for what feels like the hundredth time, but the path remains empty.

Your pace quickens, your boots hitting the ground harder as though you could outrun the unease crawling up your spine. You insist that it’s nothing – just the wind, the woods, your overactive imagination. But you feel a predator circling just beyond your vision.

That distant crack could’ve been from an animal, you tell yourself. A deer. A raccoon. Anything but him. The thought doesn’t settle the nausea bubbling in your gut as you infuriatingly slow to a stop. Slowly, you turn your head and scan the trees. Nothing moves – nothing stirs. But the sensation lingers – someone is there.

You force yourself forward, one trembling step at a time. Your hand doesn’t leave your pocket now, the knife’s handle being a tether in the oppressive darkness. The trail feels narrower, the trees reaching closer to you as though trying to trap you. Each sound is magnified – the creak of a bending branch, the snap of another stick somewhere that’s too fucking close. Was the echo of your footsteps always so slow? Did it always sound like second footsteps?

Your pulse hammers as your peripheral vision catches something – a flicker of motion, quick and subtle. You spin to look, but there’s darkness. Just shadows – just the woods. Yet your skin prickles, and the hair on the back of your neck stands on end.

You walk faster, not wanting your mind to keep playing tricks on you. The soft thuds of your boots against the dirt trail becomes a rhythmic beat in the silence.

A shape shifts just out of sight – closer now. Your chest tightens, and your legs move on their own, breaking into a near run. The trees blur around you as you push yourself forward, desperate to leave the unseen presence behind. It’s colder now – biting at your face – and you’ve realized you’re nowhere near the path.

But the woods open into a clearing – mist clings to the ground, curling around your ankles, and the distant hum of the city feels impossibly far away. You’re alone, truly and completely. But the feeling of being watched hasn’t left. It’s strong enough to feel tangible, and you curse your stupidity for even leaving your apartment.

You stumble forward to the clearing’s center, spinning in place as your eyes dart to every shadow. The cracking of branches sounds louder and more deliberate, seemingly coming from everywhere. You narrow your eyes to pinpoint any movement in every dark gap between the trees. The silence presses against your skull, your hands tremble as you grip the knife so tight that your knuckles turn white.

The space is deathly quiet, save for the pounding of your heart. The cold air wraps tighter around you, constricting your chest.

“Out for a midnight stroll, sweetheart?”

The voice is unmistakable – low, teasing, and crawling under your skin like worms. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as your head jerks in every direction.

You whip your head from side to side, scanning the darkness for movement. But the voice doesn’t come again – not yet. It doesn’t need to. It’s already lodged deep in your mind – clawing at your fear.

A sound to your left – a crunch of leaves – and you spin toward it. But he’s not there – he’s not anywhere.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me.”

The shadows shift, and there he is – stepping into the clearing like he owns the night – Jeff. The sight of him is paralyzing. The pale, scarred face; the dark hair falling in uneven strands across his brow and brushing his shoulders. His lanky frame moves with a ravening grace, and his lips curl into that infamous grin, split wide enough to show too much teeth. The knife in his hand gleams under the fractured moonlight. Your grip tightens on your own blade, but his presence freezes you in place.

“You’ve been busy,” he says, his voice dripping with mock approval. He steps closer, one slow, casual stride at a time. You step back instinctively, your foot catching on a root, but you steady yourself before you can fall.

“Stay back,” you manage. His smile widens, and he chuckles.

“’Stay back’? That’s all you’ve got? After everything we’ve been through, baby, I thought you’d at least have a better line ready.”

“Shut up.” The words slip out before you can stop them, your voice trembling despite your best effort to steady it. You curl your fingers around your knife tighter. Jeff cocks his head, eyebrows shooting up.

“Poor Don. Didn’t stand a chance, did he?”

“Just, just leave—"

“What? No hello? No, ‘How have you been, Jeff?’ That hurts.” He places a hand derisively over his chest, before his grin sharpens. “But seriously, you didn’t waste any time, huh? Snapping poor Don like a fucking twig ‘cause you caught your boy with his dick in your homegirl?”

“I didn’t—” You choke on the words. “You did that.”

Jeff’s expression shifts – the tilt of his lips softening, but it doesn’t lose its malice.

“You didn’t tell them the truth about Don, did you?” he asks, his tone veering toward conversational.

The question hits you like a punch, and you recoil. “What are you talking about?”

Jeff tuts, shaking his head. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I was too busy killing your other buddies.”

Anger flares in the pit of your stomach, and you know it’s misplaced. You knew the truth just as much as he did.

“You killed him,” you snap, stepping forward despite yourself. “You killed him, just like you killed everyone else!”

Jeff’s laughter is as sharp and biting as shattered glass.

“Oh, is that how you remember it now? That’s cute.” He takes another step toward you, his knife spinning lazily in his hand. “You’re just like me, sweetheart. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“I’m nothing like you,” you spit.

“You sure about that?” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, and making your cheeks heat up. “I’m not the one that shoved him, am I?”

Your breath catches, and the memory flashes in your mind – Don, screaming, the cracking, your hand reaching out—

“No,” you mutter, shaking your head fervently. “That’s not what happened. You’re lying.”

Jeff’s expression flickers with mock sympathy.

“Oh, lying’s your thing, isn’t it? To the cops, to your shrink—hell, you’ve lied enough to yourself that you actually believe it now.” His tone turns just as deadly as his smile. “But come one, baby, we were both there. We both know what really happened.”

“I didn’t—”

He cuts you off with a triumphant laugh. “You can tell yourself whatever you want, but how long do you think it’ll take before the cops realize one of their corpses isn’t smiling like the rest? If they haven’t already, that is.”

Your blood turns to ice, and your fingers jerk around the knife. Jeff’s words wrap around your throat, squeezing tight with every syllable that your mind deciphers.  

“Shut up.” You pull the hunting knife from your pocket in one swift motion, and he doesn’t even flinch. It feels pitifully small compared to the blade in Jeff’s hand, but it’s all you have.

Jeff’s grin only grows as he watches you, his eyes glittering with dark amusement. He steps back, just enough to keep you guessing, and flips his knife effortlessly in his hand.

“That’s more like it,” he murmurs. “Now we’re talking.”

Adrenaline floods your veins, and your body tenses – you’re ready for whatever happens next. But Jeff is eerily still – he doesn’t strike. He just stands there, watching you with that infuriating sneer. As if he’s already won.

The tension crackles in the air like static, both of you locked in a deadly standoff in the woods. Jeff lunges with quickening speed. His knife whips through the air, aimed directly at your shoulder.

Your heart flips in your chest, but your instincts are faster than your fear. You duck low, your breath catching as the blade narrowly misses you. With a shaky, frenzied swipe, you aim your knife at him, but he sidesteps effortlessly. He’s beaming at the near miss, and you feel the scorch of his gaze as he circles like a vulture.

“Fuck, I knew you’d try to fight,” Jeff taunts. The venomous words drip from his mouth as his eyes gleam with sadistic delight. “Let’s see how long you last, bitch.”

You straighten and back up, the soles of your boots scraping against the dirt. Your pulse thunders in your ears, but you only think of how pissed Miller’s gonna be if he finds you dead. A tree behind you halts your retreat. Panic hooks onto you as you glance over your shoulder, but there’s nowhere left to run.  

With a feral growl, he strikes again – this time his blade catching your arm, The sting of the cut shocks you, sending a rush of pain through your veins. You grit your teeth, and the rising tide of anger and distress pushes you forward.

You swing, reckless, wild. The knife arcs toward him, but it’s a clumsy swing. Once again, Jeff is too quick – too calculated. His taunting laugh echoes in your ears as you try to recover from the near-miss.

His movements blur from his fluid precision, the edge of his blade flashing. The ground beneath you suddenly feels lighter than it should. Jeff sweeps his leg under yours, knocking you off balance. You’re slammed to the ground with a harsh thud – pulling a gasp from you.

The knife slips from your hand, the dull sound of it hitting the dirt not too far from your head. Your heartbeat hammers in your throat as your eyes dart to where it landed, but Jeff is already on top of you.

Before you can react, his hands are on your wrist, pinning them to the dirt. The weight of him crushes you, but you manage to buck your hips, throwing him slightly off balance.

It’s enough – your body moves on pure instinct, your arms flailing in the brief chaos of his stunned pause. You scramble to your feet, gulping for air, and your heart racing in your chest.

Your flingers close around the familiar grip of your hunting knife, and you raise it again – trembling but determined.

Smutty part is -> (here)

[unforgivenn]

Yes the feverrrr! Be a shame if he were tortured in the main au where he's already begging and broken... with this added on

I am so sorry this was literally lost in my drafts but well here it issss

MASTERLIST

CW: torture, physical abuse, extreme suffering, degradation, cruel whumper, violence, knives

The body that had once been so full of arrogant poise and nobility now lay crumpled upon the stone floor, a weak remnant of himself. The fever had taken him days ago, a fire in his veins voraciously consuming him from the inside out. His breathing was shallow and labored, and every breath he took sounded like a death rattle in the cold silent room. Sweat drenched his skin, plastering his hair to his forehead, and his limbs twitched uncontrollably, as if fighting a battle even in his broken state.

He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t supposed to be weak. He wasn’t supposed to beg.

Yet here he was. Reduced to nothing.

The door creaked open with a slight metallic groan, and the sound reverberated off the gray, barren walls of the room. Andrey's eyes flew open, and his lips let out a small gasp as the fevered haze momentarily cleared. His heart hammered in his chest, but his body was too weak to move. He knew what was coming. It had become routine by now-the torture, the breaking, the fucking agony.

But something was different this time.

The figure entering the room carried nothing usual in the way of punishment tools-no whips, no chains to clank together. Rather, in the poor light, there was a single glint of metal, and Andrey's bloodshot eyes traced its progress with a dawning fear.

The figure dropped to its knees beside him, its shadow pouring over him. "You've begged already, haven't you?" The voice was quiet, almost gentle, with the scarier blade of something else underneath. "I wonder if you have anything left, Andrey."

Andrey tried to speak, tried to plead, tried to say anything that would spare him the fresh wave of pain he knew was coming. But his throat was parched dry, his voice hoarse from days of screaming, from pleading for mercy. A pathetic croak was all that escaped.

The man laughed, a sound which made Andrey's skin run cold. "Nothing to say? No more of your noble arrogance?" He leaned in closer, his hot breath dancing across Andrey's fevered skin. "Don't worry. You can scream all you want today."

It came down slow, tauntingly, and the point of the blade danced across Andrey's fevered skin, cold-so cold it seared like fire. Andrey whimpered; his body arched to pull away instinctively, and there was nowhere to go. He was trapped. Helpless. "You deserve this, you know," the voice whispered, almost gentle. "After everything you've done. after everything you thought you could get away with."

It was a shallow cut, merely a thin line drawn across Andrey's chest. But the pain-oh, the pain that was so sharp, visceral, it tore a ragged scream from his throat. His body bucked. The fever pulsed through him, intermingling with the pain until he could not tell where one ended and the other began.

"That's it," the person cooed, staring with sick satisfaction. "Scream. Scream for me."

The second slash, deeper this time, cut across his side. Blood flowed freely now, warm and sticky, oozing onto the cold stone beneath him. The sharp tang of it filled the air, mingling with the smell of sweat and sickness. Andrey's vision blurred; black spots danced at the edges, but he fought to stay conscious. He had no choice.

"Does it hurt?" The voice was mocking, playful even. The knife pressed harder, dragging across Andrey’s skin, carving patterns into him like he was nothing more than a canvas for their cruelty. "I want to hear you beg again, Andrey. I want to hear you really beg."

Andrey gasped and choked on his own saliva, fighting for speech. His voice came out as a broken whisper, "Please. s-stop.."

But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

The blade bit deep into his arm, in a twisting motion that made the flesh separate, and Andrey's scream reverberated off the walls, raw and animal-like. His body convulsed with the effect, nerves lit with a torment that was impossible to bear. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the blood and sweat, and his heart throbbed so hard in his chest, as if it might burst at any instant.

"Good," they murmured, almost sweetly. "But we’re not done sweetie."

The knife withdrew, dripping with his blood, and before Andrey could even catch his breath, the person reached into their pocket and pulled out a small, coarse packet. Andrey’s heart stopped when he realized what it was.

Salt.

"No..." The word came out as a broken sob, but it did nothing to stop them.

They started sprinkling salt over open wounds, their movements very slow and deliberate, watching with sadistic delight as Andrey's body reacted violently. His back arched off the ground, a scream so raw and desperate tore from his throat that it seemed to shake the very air in the room. The salt was burning like fire, like a thousand needles piercing every nerve in his body. His skin felt like it had melted, dissolved away under the constant sting.   He clawed at the ground, his fingers scrabbling against stone in a useless bid to be gone from the pain, but there was no respite. There was only agony.

"Stop!" he sobbed, pride in pieces, will broken. "Please, God, stop!"

Andrey's body shook now, wracked between the fever searing through him and the unimaginable agony of salt burning his open wounds. The metallic scent of blood mixed in with the acrid sting of pungent sweat and raw, biting salt. His skin felt as though it had been flayed alive; each granule of salt digging into his exposed nerves sent his agony spiraling higher with each second passing.

His once-proud figure-the nobleman who always looked down on others from his high pedestal-had been reduced to nothing more than a quivering mass of pain and desperation. He would have rather died than be reduced to this state-but death was far too kind.

“Beg harder,” the voice urged again, sounding almost bored. "Do you really think a pathetic 'please' is going to save you? You’re nobility, right? Let’s hear the noble way of groveling."

Andrey's face was streaked with tears, his chest heaving, his body racking with shallow, ragged breaths as he fought for oxygen. His mouth opened and closed in spastic attempts to form words which searing pain had ripped from his grasp, leaving him helpless at the mercy of his tormentor. The concrete floor beneath him was wet with his blood, slick with fever sweat coating his skin.

“I... I’m sorry...” he croaked, barely more than a whisper, his throat too raw from screaming. The words were poison on his tongue, his pride screaming even louder than the pain in his body. But the pain won. It always won. “Please, I—I'll do anything. Just... just stop..."

A twisted smile curled on the lips of his tormentor as they crouched down beside him again, leaning in close enough that Andrey could feel their breath on his ear. “Anything, huh? Interesting. We’ll see about that.”

The knife returned, tracing lazily across Andrey's shaking chest, his skin crawling from the cold touch of the metal. His breathing hitched and he tensed instinctively, but too weak to offer any real resistance, his body too far gone, strength sapped by fever and agony. His mind fought desperately to hold on to reality, but it was slipping, slipping into that dark, cold void where nothing was there but suffering.

The blade hovered above his chest once more, and he steeled himself for the sharp sting. But it didn't come. Instead, there was a pause—a deliberate, menacing pause that made Andrey's heart race with dread.

Then, a sudden, burning sensation.

The knife hadn't sliced into his flesh. No. It pressed down, slowly, deliberately, and twisted.

Andrey's scream tore through the air, raw and feral, his skin opened to the knife-but not to cut, rather to grind into the wound with the cruel twist of fate itself. His vision blurred and he could feel himself slipping further and further away, lost in darkness, black dots swam in and out of focus.

"Shh, shh." the voice crooned softly, mockingly, as if comforting a crying child. "We've only just begun."

The knife pulled out, and Andrey gasped for air, his chest heaving, his body going into spasm from the brutality of the torture. But the reprieve was not to last. His torturer clutched his hair and tugged his head backward so he had to gaze into the frigid, calculating eyes.

Do you know why this is happening to you?" they asked, low and menacing. "Do you really think you are some untouchable noble, so far above everybody else? Look at you now." Spittle flew with the words, venom in their tone that cut deeper than any blade. "You're nothing. You're less than nothing. A broken, pathetic animal.

Andrey's lips quivered while his body convulsed in great sobs that he could not restrain. He was past the thought of dignity, pride. All he felt was this overwhelming need for it to end, the pain to stop.

"Please.. Please..." The word was letting out in broken gasps, his voice hoarse, nearly gone. He wasn't even sure anymore what he was begging for-mercy, death, an end to the suffering. Anything. Anything to make it stop.

But mercy wasn't coming.

And then the wave of pain came: swift, vicious, and strong-the freight train that was his tormentor pressed the salt deeper into his wounds, rubbing it in as if savoring every scream, every tear that fell from Andrey's eyes.

"Do you feel that?" they hissed, voice dripping with sadistic glee. "That's what it feels like to be beneath someone. You think you're special? Think you're better than everyone else? You're nothing without your title."

Andrey's body bucked and heaved, the salt burning on and on, every nerve in his body alight with agony. His hands clawed at the stone floor, nails scraping against it until they cracked and bled, but he couldn't get away. He couldn't do anything but scream, and scream, and scream, until his voice was nothing more than a rasp, until his mind teetered on the edge of unconsciousness.

And the tormentor got up, retreated a few steps, and contemplated his work with almost the pride of an artist who has just completed a canvas. Andrey lay on the ground, semi-conscious, his body shuddering irrepressibly with the torturing pain. His skin was red, raw, bleeding, and full of the burning sting of salt.

"Good. You're learning." Their voice boomed in the room as they moved toward the door, leaving Andrey to his torture.

But just before they did, they turned around, their voice smooth and almost gentle.

"Don't worry. I'll be back tomorrow."

The door slammed shut. Andrey wanted to beg, plead for some sort of mercy, but his voice was gone. There was only pain. And cold.

It was hours later, when his body finally succumbed to the cold, that it had numbed over. Even then, however, the fever still managed to burn, quietly reminding him that no matter how much he suffered, there was more in store.

Because in the end, that's all he deserved.

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