#the AU that would ignite my soul

[allegriana]

I know I just reblogged this but I came back to say that in a galaxy chock full of evil corporations and crime syndicates eluding the justice of the Republic, the Jedi needed to do more Heists and Scams. Give me Jedi grifters who use their heightened insight and persuasion to sell a con. Jedi hackers with astoundingly precise control of Force lightning and an entourage of one-of-a-kind helper droids. Jedi hitters who learned every form of lightsaber combat but specialize in nonlethal damage and rendering people unconscious. Jedi thieves who can pick a pocket after they've already walked away from the mark and unlock a safe from across the room. And one Jedi Master(mind) to keep them all working together as a team.

What I'm saying is, the rich and powerful, they take what they want. Jedi steal it back for you. Sometimes bad Jedi make the best good guys. We provide...leverage.

Jedi as serial scammers though. Every mission includes a sidequest to sabacc table for extra cash. Padawans on their first outing be like ‘but I thought the senate was funding this mission’ yes little one but they will ride our arses for every cent so let’s go fleece some rich asshole. He won’t even notice. You know how cops were invented to protect private property? Well jedi are here to protect your everything except your private property. *force tricks an atm into printing free money* that, my very young padawan, is something we call a victimless crime.

[aixeko]

──────<3 MINDFUCK ༺♱༻

WEEK 4 | SINNERS SAVAGERY + APART OF @edgeray EVENT

| Synopsis | Demons linger where shadows play; in silence, hearts betray, whispers echo, and desires catch fire in the haunting depths of the night.

With every kiss, a scythe may cut, in which terror envelops one's gut; together they dance on the edge of fate, finding beauty in a love that is too late.

So let the night weave its spell, for in the dark they know so well, and though demons are whispering fright, in their twilight, the lights are ignited.

| Starring | Slasher!Arlecchino x Investigative-Psychologist!Reader

| Setting | SLASHER/SERIAL KILLER AU

| Scenario | [ ONESHOT ] SMUT Porn with plot. Long Introduction. Dark romance. Intersex Arlecchino. Manipulation. Body worship. Dacryphilia. Obsessive & sadistic Arle. Cunnilingus. Fingerfucking. Degrading & Praise Kink. Implied cannibalism. Mastrubation. Unreliable character. Female anatomy for reader, pronouns are not mentioned. 

► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ]

⚝ TAKE OFF MY CLOTHES, OH, BLESS ME, FATHER.  ⚝ Ended on a cliff hanger lmfao, I will probably expand on it since this is only ⅓ of the ideas I have for Slasher Arle. ⚝ Anyway, thank you so much to Ray for letting me participate in this event <3 Even though it’s quite late but nonetheless thank you for accepting my work as a part of your event…! ⚝ This is how I imagine Slasher Arlecchino to look like or basically arlecchino from commedia dell'arte

[ Word count: 5147 ] | Art credit: Nut_nog on Twitter | Heart divider gif

"In and every heart that is meticulously dissected by my hand has its part in orchestrating the string of fates to bring you closer to me... and further away from life, my greatest tragedy."

Those were the exact words spoken to you during a mysterious call on the very first Halloween Eve when the infamous Mirthless Harlequin made her debut as a renowned and feared killer.

Frightened citizens have declared many titles for the Mirthless Harlequin, such as The Jester who doesn't laugh, The Living Embodiment of Demons, The Surgeon, and The Heart Collector.

Yet all these titles are of little to no comparison to the true identity of the beast that lies dormant behind that twisted, sinister mask.

The muted saturation of the walls is splotched in what is most likely the victim's blood; written on it is the detail of what had transpired before the crime scene occurred, and the freshest blood drips down the wall, spelling the name of the person responsible for the attack as if in pride or apathy toward the fallen soul.

At the centre lies a chair and a small table draped in a deep velvet cloth; an organ rests atop it, the very one that would become a trademark for the killer's distorted way of leaving a mark behind. A heart, perfectly preserved with it carefully wrapped in crimson ribbons, each twist and turn creating intricate patterns that speak volumes about the attempt at humanising the organ.

Around the table, papers of various poems and photographs of the victim's missing parts were scattered across, but even with those morbid aspects, one letter in particular has caught the eyes of the world. A letter in which a cryptic note rests inside, hinting at an obsession, not towards the killing but towards the person who will, no, whom she wants to investigate and find the truth behind the "Mirthless Harlequin."

The second paragraph was quite strange, switching from the gruesome details of the first to quoting a poet and novelist for children and young adults as follows:

Walls have ears. Doors have eyes. Trees have voices. Beasts tell lies. Beware the rain. Beware the snow. Beware the man. You think you may know.

But it wasn't until the very last paragraph that you would finally choose to be the one in charge of leading the case; there your name is written repeatedly, blood surrounds it like the base of a cake, and an unknown white substance decorates it like frosting, a substance you come to identify and regret upon investigation.

A mask which you dreaded oh so much, a mask which you wanted to rip apart, and yet when that day arrived, you prayed to the Lord above to take away the sight of what lies hidden by the mask, a sight of the unmistakable face your body and soul have fallen into the grasp of. 

The aroma of caffeine envelops your senses, overshadowing the aching desire to rest. Although it keeps your consciousness awake, you cannot replicate the same for your body.

Your blinks began to weigh your eyelids heavily with their slow momentum, and at any second now, you feared your body could give out on you and you would fall face-first onto the office coffee machine.

Much anticipated, your body did give out, but the harsh feeling of the appliance never came into contact with your skin; rather, a calloused yet careful hand pressed against your forehead, strong enough to prevent you from falling over.

"It's no wonder you haven't answered my messages or calls," an inviting yet foreboding voice sounds beside you. "Working overtime isn't going to earn you an easy ticket to an ongoing decade-long murder case—"

"I know, I know, you don't have to lecture me like everyone else; I have heard it about a thousand times already," you grumbled, grabbing her wrist and using it to straighten yourself before your eyes made contact with her crimson-crossed ones.

Arlecchino's eyebrows are furrowed, darkening her expression further; her eyes, which are often alluring and enigmatic due to her ability to hide the complexity of human emotions, seem to take on a more dangerous underlining.

Whatever tiredness had anchored you suddenly disappeared as she pulled your hand off hers, switching it so that she would be the one gripping your wrist. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second tightening the tension in the air and reflecting her thinning patience. She leaned down, her head turned to the side to whisper into your ear, but when she parted her lips, no words sounded out—a rare occasion showing the intensity of her frustration.

Her jaw clenches. "But you still refuse to listen; how can they depend on their best investigative psychologist when the one in question has not a single sane cell left to think with?" she asks, a rhetorical question you noted, but her words come out more like a growl demanding an answer.

"I am sane enough to work, and excuse me...! I didn't study my fucking ass off for nothing; I will have you know that just because I let you have your way with me so often doesn't mean I am not independent; for fuck's sake, I graduated with high honors!"

You expected her to fire back a remark rebutting your claims, seeing the twitch of her mouth, but she quickly caught you off guard when she placed her hand on your knee and held you over her shoulder.

You let out a surprised sound, instantly yelling with fisted hands coming into contact with her back in a furious retort, "ARLE! LET ME DOWN."

"Stop acting like a child; this is for your own health."

"I AM PERFECTLY HEALTHY-" Arlecchino interrupted you, her voice booming throughout the entire police department. "Healthy is a word that perfectly describes the OPPOSITE of what you are; you have been skipping your meals and overworking yourself to the point of passing out."

You tried giving your two cents, but sensing your next moves, her voice increased in volume. "I WILL be taking you back home, and you WILL have a warm bath, eat a proper meal, and go to sleep; end of statement."

Like a cowardly dog, when its owner is disappointed in it, you can only soak in annoyed silence and mumble incoherent, derogatory language that Arlecchino chooses to ignore.

Arriving at your car, Arlecchino put you down in the passenger seat, buckling your belt and closing the door for you before going to the driver's seat herself.

You turn to look at her the moment she has settled down, leaning as close to her as possible with the seat belt wrapped around you.

"Peruere-! You don't get it, Halloween Eve is coming up in a few days, which means she will be committing her 13th crime this year! Thirteen victims-!"

Arlecchino slowly turns her head to you, her facial features clearly expressionless to the naked eye, but to you, this is the most enraged you have ever seen her.

"Do you hear how insane you sound right now? You're obsessed. To think a criminal has you acting this way; I would even dare say you sound downright in love with this murderer." Arlecchino leaned in closer, and instinctively you flinched away slightly. "Don't tell me that you would prioritise your parasocial relationship with a killer over the person whom you married." Although it doesn't sound like a question, it was phrased like one by her tone.

You bite your bottom lip and slump back into your seat with an audible groan; it wasn't because you couldn't answer the question, no, far from it. If it were any normal argument between you two, then you would've easily answered no; you wouldn't choose a killer over her, your lover, but the fact that she would assume such things from you has hit a spot you never knew she could. How can she think so lowly of me to presume the worst betrayal of all, obsessive towards THAT forsaken woman? Can someone not do their job without any intent of malice anymore?! The absurdity of the situation has your head aching, to believe that it all started because you wanted to make sure no one else would die from the 'Mirthless Harlequin' anymore, all because you chose selflessness over selfishness.

The ride back home would be in complete silence as you stubbornly refuse to apologise for your actions, nor would Arlecchino stoop so low as to abandon the facts and satisfy a brat.

"I'm going to prepare your bath; don't do anything unnecessary while I'm gone."

Arlecchino has calmed down from the argument during the quiet ride back home and is rather friendly now; monetarily, she places her hand on top of your head and ruffles it as she makes her way past you.

"I'm not your kid," you groan, running your hands through your hair to fix the mess that she made.

Your lover only glanced over her shoulder with a glare, a silent threat to your words, but nothing you couldn't handle, and thus she left for your shared bedroom to prepare a bath.

You stand in the hallway, confused about what to do next as you're not usually this free; it's not that you overwork often; it's that you're often way too engaged in what you are doing. Admittedly, you couldn't really say that 1 a.m. is early, especially for most people, as they are asleep by and/or before this time. You turn around for a split moment to make sure the door is locked before you take off your shoes and place them in the wooden shoe rack.

"Might as well analyse that data report Navia gave to me earlier."

You stifle a yawn as you walk up the stairs, turning the corner into the hallway that leads to your office and shared bedroom. The quiet of the night surrounds the house with the exception of the light sound of water coming from the bedroom, a perfect blend with the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet.

You perk up and see the many portraits displayed across the hallway of you and Arlecchino, some of them including your friends and coworkers. For what seems like the first time in a long time, a curve is formed in the corner of your mouth.

You stand in front of your office door, eyes gazing at the portraits beside it featuring Arlecchino and you back when you first started dating one another; you still remember that day vividly. It was 12 years ago, a week before the infamous killer first appeared. Your eyes narrow slightly; what a coincidence, you think; life works in such mysterious ways, but it's still often shocking how different destinies are all tied together in the pathway of fate.

Shrugging it off, you grasp the wooden handle of the dark oak door leading to your workspace, twisting it before cracking it open slightly. Just then, a memory of the earlier argument between Arlecchino surfaces, piercing your thoughts.

"Don't tell me that you would prioritise your parasocial relationship with a killer over the person whom you married."

Now that you think about it, Arlecchino has been acting quite out of character today; when you usually have over time, she isn't as mad as she was today, but then again, you did ignore her messages and calls for almost 24 hours. However, in your utmost defence, you need to have your phone on silent mode so you won't be distracted and procrastinate. Coupled with the recent data, you and the rest of the Harlequin investigation team have been hard at work accumulating it over the last few months.

In one of the meetings discussing the various sources gathered for the infamous killer case, a single piece of evidence caught your attention: "A single white hair strand," you mumbled.

"What are you muttering about?"

A shiver runs down your spine, a moment of fear clouding your mind at the sudden sound of another voice, but you're quick to calm down once you recognize the voice belongs to none other than Arlecchino.

"Peruere..." You turn around and say, "Don't creep up on me like that again; it's scary."

Arlecchino raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms and shaking her head in disapproval. "You are standing in front of the door, mumbling incoherent words to yourself in the dark; if it were any other person, wouldn't you be considered the unsettling one?"

Blink, blink, blink. You couldn't even deny it because she's right, and the truth hangs in the air like a balloon waiting to pop.

"Arg... Whatever, forget what you heard and saw; I was thinking about work. By the way, you're done with setting up the bath, right?" You grab her hand, not waiting for a reply to lead her inside and into the bathroom.

"You wanted to bathe together?" Her voice softens, tinged with an unexpected apologetic tone for not considering this turn of events. "I'm afraid I can't; I need to prepare dinner for you since you have been eating only processed food lately, and it's detrimental to your heart."

"Ah..." A wave of embarrassment crashes over you as you realise how swiftly you had dragged her inside and assumed the fact that you would bathe together before even asking for her permission or if she was in the mood to do so in the first place. "I see... It's okay."

Seeing the flustered and disappointed undertone of your words and expression, Arlecchino devises a solution to improve your mood.

"If I am fast enough, I can join you later; is that alright with you?"

Much to your shame, you nodded way too fast for your liking, which in turn resulted in a light smirk from Arlecchino sent your way for the sudden clinginess. Her dark, tattooed hand rises and descends gently, resting on your head as she pats it lightly. The gesture is both comforting and oddly intimate, a soft reminder that you are her lover and the only one capable of seeing this side of her, seeing Peruere.

"Call me if you need anything."

"Mkay, I love you," you whisper, getting closer to the bath as you begin to take off your clothes.

"... Yes, I... love you too."

You didn't question the odd pacing of her words, assuming that she's still not used to saying those words back even after a decade of being together. The door closes with a soft click, and you're fully undressed, a sigh leaving your lips as you step foot inside the hot bath.

You allow your body to relax in the tranquil warmth of the softly cascading water, sinking deeper until only the features above your nose remain above the surface. The gentle flow conceals you whole, creating a cocoon of serenity, an occurrence that is rare for the likes of you. As you close your eyes, the world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the soothing sounds of the water and the faint echoes of your thoughts. In this moment of peacefulness, you allow yourself to let go of all the things that have weighed you down, allowing comfort to wash them away and ground you in a sense of much-needed peace.

Your thoughts linger on what food Arlecchino will be making for you, how pleasant her skin would feel against yours right now, and the upcoming Halloween Eve.

"A single white hair strand? How do I know this isn’t some sort of ploy she set up?” You question Navia, arms crossed in a vice-like grip, as you analyse the hair under the microscope. “Is it fake hair or from a doll?”

"Haha, it's simple, Dr. Snezhevna, because she herself stated in this letter that the hair strand belongs to her,” Navia replies, her tone steady and amused as she watches your demeanour shift dramatically upon seeing the familiar letter in her hand.

An audible groan escapes your lips as you snatch the letter and another from the pile of letters dedicated to the killer to compare the heart stamp and writing styles. As you read, the distinct vocabulary matches flawlessly, with not a single difference between her signature stamp and her writing style, confirming she deliberately left her own DNA behind.

“This woman genuinely pisses me off... Does she think I’m a fool? Or is she that cocky to be under the impression we aren't capable of matching her information with our extensive network database?”

Navia lets out a light chuckle, leaning back in her chair and looking drastically more relaxed than you do.

“I’ve heard Commander Wriothesley uncovered that the fresh blood she uses to spell out her name contains a secret, obscure code imprinted onto it and that it doesn't belong to the victims, though we don't know exactly who it belongs to as of now.”

“Seriously?! God forbid this damn criminal gives me a break!” you exclaim, frustration bubbling over. “The day I finally catch her, I’m going to give her a piece of my damn mind, alright.”

You open your eyes and rise from the water, leaning back against the bath as you take a deep exhale.

"Who are you, and why am I the one you desire so much...?" You said aloud to yourself, your mind foggy with the jester again, easily shattering the peaceful atmosphere that had settled around you.

"Who am I?" Arlecchino's voice echoes throughout the bathroom, causing you to yelp at the unexpected sound.

"Peruere...! Do you seriously have to always randomly creep up on me?!" You turn to face her, your heart racing as you look up at her with displeasure.

"It is not I who am the problem, but it is you who lack awareness, darling; I called your name countless times, and you keep muttering to yourself as always."

Oh.

"Ah, oh, my apologies... hm, wait, are you already finished with cooking? How long have I been here...?" you ask, looking down at your reflection in the water with much shame before raising your hands from under to see the pruney fingers caused by your prolonged exposure to aqua.

"Less than half an hour, the food has already been brought up; you can go and eat right now if you want."

"But—" you tried protesting since you still wanted to bathe with her, but, as always, she read you so easily and responded before you could even get a sentence out.

"We have an eternity before us; you should eat first lest you want an upset stomach, and you should also begin getting ready for bed."

"Sigh, if you say so," you stand up from the bathtub, the warm water dripping from your skin as you reach for the towel hanging beside the tub, wrapping it around yourself snugly. You glance at Arlecchino with a small smile that then turns into a smirk. "You should keep the door open while you're washing up."

As expected, the teasing remark made little to no effect on her, and you're left with her staring at you, unamused.

"So bland, my love, you could have faked your expression or agreed for my sake."

You leave the room with a laugh, and as you take in the sight before you, you can't help the soft smile that replaces the smug smirk that had once dominated your features moments ago. Clothes carefully selected for your comfort and a perfect amount of portion for you to relish are laid out before you on your shared bed; what a thoughtful soulmate you have, you mentally acknowledge.

You lie contentedly inside the soft blankets, the light of the waning moon illuminating your features through the window, painting your face in its most desired parts. You sink further inside, your body never wanting to leave this paradisiacal space; yet likewise, life often works against you, and a notification causes you to straighten yourself grudgingly.

Who would be texting you this late is your initial thought, but the moment your eyes land on the unknown caller who has sent you a voicemail, you nearly drop your phone. Rapidly, you scan the room for the calendar, completely forgetting the phone in your hand has a built-in one, and your heart nearly drops as you realise it's the 29th. Two days before Halloween Eve and two days before the woman strikes again. Another unfortunate soul is soon to fall victim to a killer whose identity is yet to be known aside from her details as a woman with a jester-like appearance.

Shakily, you search for your earbuds and pair them to your phone upon retrieval before you open voicemail and press on the recently sent one. A chill runs down your spine at the sound of the familiar voice beginning to talk to you.

"In the ticking shadows where time slips away, a hero stands tall yet fears the fray.

With every heartbeat, the clock's cruel hand counts down the moments that they both understand.

Time is a thief, relentless and cold.

As you chase the thrill, the stories unfold.

Yet in this chaos, a bond begins to bloom.

Two souls entwined in the depths of doom.

A hero and a villain, bound by a thread.

In the twilight of choices, where both may tread.

The dawn of your death is arriving, my dearest angel. I await the day we shall personally introduce one another, which happens to be only two days from now."

Tsk. You clutch the phone in your hand, slumping back onto the mattress with a hand over your eyes. How frustrating it is to be haunted by someone who is seemingly untraceable, and now you have suddenly received confirmation on who the next victim will be, which conveniently enough happens to be you. You feel calm; you look relaxed, yet internally, you would be lying to yourself if you said you weren't terrified of what would happen to you on that fateful day.

You didn't realise you had been crying until Arlecchino's gentle hands brushed away the tears that streamed down your cheeks in quietude.

"Peruere..." You murmured, the sudden feeling of everything around you crashing down.

You removed your hands from your vision and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her close as you began to sob uncontrollably; the warmth of her body brought comfort to what was left of you. Your lover didn't say anything, opting to keep silent until moments later when the clock struck two.

"She's going to kill you on Halloween Eve," Arlecchino said eerily and softly.

You froze in place, the tears continuing to fall unchecked, but the moment she uttered those words, something sounded incredibly hard to swallow; you had worn earbuds the entire time to prevent her from hearing the voicemail, and there was not a soul who could have heard the message aside from you and the sender, the killer herself.

"But how did you know...?"

Arlecchino looked at you like you were a lost dog, and without many words, she shook her head in yet more disappointment. "Why else would you be crying? It's an obvious assumption based on how you have been acting as of late, the sudden unease, overworking for the past month, and your muttering about some sort of finding." 

Right, right, of course, that's correct; how foolish and frightful of you to think beyond the possibilities.

"Ahaha... Of course, I'm sorry, Peruere... I just need to relax; I am just... so scared. I have never felt such fear before, you know."

Arlecchino stared down into your glistening eyes in wordless moments, a long and slow pause of lifelong connection and understanding passing within those time frames. Slowly, she leaned down, her movements calculated and gentle, as if afraid to break your already fragile body.

Like second nature, your hands subconsciously trail her barely dry body to the nape of her neck, enveloping it and pulling her cooler frame to your warmer one.

Her gaze remained locked on yours, searching for the discomfort and fear lingering in your soul and how she, as your lover, could dissolve those worries into mindless tranquillity.

"Whatever happens," she whispered, her voice a sultry murmur in your ears, "you're not alone."

Multiple kisses follow those words, a few on the right side of your jawline to the left side, one here and there on your neck, and lastly on your collarbone, where she's blocked by the fabric of your shirt.

Simultaneously, Arlecchino pulls the cover off you and runs a hand through your hair, pushing back the strands that have obscured your beautiful features for her hungry eyes to feast on.

"Let me take care of you, little dove."

At the sound of the slight neediness in her raspy tone and that insatiable stare, you could feel a knot forming in your stomach and an aching feeling below it. You couldn't bring yourself to trust your own words, so, choosing the best possible option, you consented to her request with a nod.

Usually, the woman would say something about the lack of vocalisation, but today the air was of a different flavour because she took no time lifting your shirt just above your breasts.

She peppered kisses on every inch of your perfect imperfection, savouring the delicious taste of your body in her mouth; oh, how she wished she could devour it all.

"Peruere... please," you plead, desperate to cloud your mind with her rather than your impending doom.

"Patience," Arlecchino enunciated, her salivating tongue trailing your body but avoiding the part where you desire her the most.

Your impatience overwhelms you, and your hand goes to grip her wet hair, pulling her upward to your hardened nipples. In a weak attempt for her to fasten her pace, you let out a pathetic, whiny plea.

Through lidded eyes, her pupils direct to your face a prideful, almost invisible smirk that flashes on her lips at the sight of you breaking apart under her feathery touch.

"I have barely touched you, sweetheart, and here you are," Arlecchino pressed her knee directly on your clothed vagina, causing you to shamefully moan, "so eager for me."

Her hot mouth latches onto the right side of your perky nipple, making sure to give the left one the same attention by pinching it with her thumb and forefinger. A gasp is involuntarily ushered out of your lips, followed by more pleas for her to continue her relentless assault.

Pitying you this time, Arlecchino's pull at the hem of your pants causing a short cry of pain to be released from you and an unexpected whimper at the feel of the icy air against your womanhood.

"Naughty girl, such innocent looks but such perverted thoughts; you're already this wet," the tip of Arlecchino's finger touches your clitoral area. "And I haven't even started."

The slow progress of her foreplay obliterated to nothingness as she forcefully thrust two colossal fingers inside your aching cunt. A high-pitched scream pierced the room, but it would not be long until you were silenced by her mouth.

"How... adorable," Arlecchino groaned in between kisses, her eyes wide open to observe every twitch and change in your lascivious expression.

Like a starving animal, Arlecchino wanted more; she needed more, she craved more, and in a split moment of lost control, she decided to satiate her desire for your addictive melodies. Thus, she pulled away from your lips, increasing her speed and slipping in a third finger as your pussy morphed and fit her fingers like a puzzle piece.

You bite your lips, trying to muffle your sound as she plunges faster and deeper into you, and of course, this doesn't go unnoticed by her because how dare you try to get rid of the sound she's craving so much?

She manoeuvred you into a more advantageous position, pulling your legs over her shoulders, thrusting into the deepest part of your cunt, and rubbing your clitoris furiously with her thumb all the while she got to enjoy your pleasurable sounds up close.

"Good girl, fuck... just like that, sounds so good for me; you're so close, aren't you, doll?"

Arlecchino's hand comes to latch itself onto your hair, pulling it with satisfaction as an ominous grin creeps its way onto her once monotonic features. Her eyes seemingly take on a deeper vermilion hue at your face, filled pathetically with pleasure and fat with tears in those precious, mindless gazes.

"MMPH-AH," pant, pant, pant. "Don't stop! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm so close...! AH! PERUERE—"

Your back arches off the bed, eyes rolling back as you see a distorted reality comparable to that of heaven; so much pleasure and so much energy are used that the next thing you know, you are passed out on the bed while Arlecchino licks your cunt clean.

Arlecchino's thumb swipes over your lip in a tender touch, eyes scanning your serene sleeping form, and contrasting with the loving touch is a sinister grin spread across her features, a mix of admiration for her work of art and something darker that dances in her eyes during the dead of the night.

Her hand trails down to the aching bulge that's imprisoned in her pants as she studies the rise and fall of your chest. She pulls her hardened cock out, rubbing the leaking precum all over the base of her length like it is lubrication.

For a moment, she allows herself to bask in the sight of you all peaceful and unaware, completely vulnerable in your deep slumber. A mix of a moan and a groan sounds from her lips as she moves up and down her enraged member, the corners of her mouth curling higher as she considers the delicate line between protector and predator, each heartbeat echoing the thrill of the beautifully unknown night.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered, her words laced with a playful edge that held secrets only the abyssal night could understand. She masturbated faster, her climax coming quicker than she expected, but not one that was unappreciated. She pulled back slightly, that sinister grin never leaving her swollen lips, an unsettling mixture of warmth and foreboding in the stillness of the atmosphere.

She switched the same hand that was used to fuck you senseless to her mouth, and effectively, she came as she tasted your arousing scent and ejaculated all over you soon after.

A satisfied enough sigh emanates from her, opting to settle down on top of your chest after calming down from her high to feel the sound of your heartbeat against her ear. The smile that seemed to stretch endlessly expanded at the thought of your heart in her hand, devouring her mind. Soon enough, the beating of your heart shall be in her hands for her to safeguard until it can no longer pulsate without its host.

"My greatest tragedy."

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Say my Name, As if it’s Drowning in the Tide - Jayce x Reader (Chapter 1)

Summary: But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

Pairing: Jayce x Reader Modern AU, one-sided Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 6K

Warning: Explicit

Tags: Hate Sex, Emotional Roleplay, One-sided Attraction, Grinding, Dry-Humping, Premature Ejaculation, Coming Untouched, Switch!Jayce, Rough Kissing, Biting, Shower Sex, Angst, One Bed

Notes: I love my pathetic son Jayce, so I needed to make him just a bit wetter and sadder for… reasons. This is a two-parter, because it was looking too heavy as a one-shot and the second part still needs a bit more attention. I need to stop having too many multi-chapter projects at the same time before I go insane. Anyway, enjoy ❤️!!

You tap your fingers on the wooden countertop, trying to remain calm despite the growing pressure inside your skull.

“And you're sure there's not a single other room left ?” you ask with a tense smile, your teeth grinding against each other almost audibly.

The receptionist gives you yet another blank stare. She's hardly older than seventeen, probably helping out her parent's business, and clearly not paid enough to care about whether or not you stay or go.

“No, ma'am, there are no other rooms available for the duration of your stay,” she repeats robotically. It's as if you've been stuck in the same dialogue tree for half an hour with a badly programmed NPC. “We're a family-owned business, and we only have ten rooms available at once. Your reservation was for a single bedroom, not two.”

The exaggerated sound of her slowly chewing gum is driving you insane. “She's just doing her job’, you have to remind yourself. It's not her fault, you know that; plus, if there's anybody to blame, it's Jayce.

You turn towards the culprit in question, large shoulders slightly slumped and eyes escaping your glare. Pathetic.

“Seriously, Jayce?” you state in disbelief. “I asked you to do one thing for the trip.”

Jayce visibly takes offence to that, raising one stupidly large hand in objection:

“That's not fair, I was also taking care of bringing the prototype!”

“And I signed us up to the conference,” you hiss back. “I prepared our lecture. I got our bus tickets here and back. I made our itinerary for the whole three days. I even wrote down where we could go to bring back souvenirs for Sky and Viktor!”

You point an accusing finger at him, tapping it against his chest:

“The only thing I wanted you to take care of was the fucking motel. And you couldn't even do that right!”

He throws up both hands in exasperation, rolling his eyes. If there wasn't a minor in the same room, you'd have no qualms about punching him.

“Fine, alright, I messed up, what do you want me to say? ‘I'm sorry I'm such an idiot'?”

You exhale in frustration, throwing him one last resentful look before turning back to the receptionist: “Yeah, that would be a good start”, you scoff under your breath.

He makes a dramatic groan of annoyance behind you, like this entire situation isn't his fault.

The Academy barely gives you enough budget to attend two national mechanical engineering conferences a year. You had originally planned to go to this one with Viktor, specifically because of its location: nice and remote, the air fresh and relaxing, the few roads leading to the major cities surrounded by millennial trees and mountain peaks. The perfect place for a spark of romance to ignite between the two of you.

Unfortunately, Viktor had already scheduled a weekend seminar on the exact same date as the conference. Sky, your fourth and youngest lab partner, wasn't equipped enough to help you present all the complex features of the university's mechanical arm project. Only one other person could.

Jayce fucking Talis, and his magical ability to never do anything right.

“We'll just get our money back and find another place to crash,” he argues, walking up next to you to the counter, resting his weight against it; it creaks disapprovingly. “It doesn't have to be a whole thing.”

“I'm sorry sir,” the teen flatly interjects, still smacking the gum between her brace-clad teeth. Squish, squish. “But we require cancellations to be made 24 hours prior to the reservation. We cannot reimburse you as per the politics you have agreed to on our website.”

You'd probably get more interactive answers from a chatbot. Jayce kneads the lines on his forehead, his practiced megawatt smile starting to crack from fatigue. The girl stares at him with neither sympathy nor sadness; she brings her lips together to form a small pink bubble, letting it burst after a few seconds. Pop.

“Okay, you know what,” Jayce sighs in defeat, “I'll pay for our rooms somewhere else. It's on me. As an apology.”

This would be an excellent time to not subtly sneak in a remark on how he's always using his parent's money to get himself out of the messes he's created, but the teen speaks up again before you get a chance to:

“Sir,” she adds with her irritatingly nasal voice. “You should know the only other motel in the area only accepts new reservations until 9 pm.”

She nods pointedly towards an old grandfather clock on the wall, and the two of you look at it in sync: it's 9:06.

Now you're genuinely hesitating between strangling her or Jayce.

“You really know how to make a guy feel better, huh?” Jayce attempts with a weak laugh, the plastic smile crumbling a little further.

She only gives him a vacant gaze.

Your legs are aching from the long ride in the overcrowded bus, and the arduous walk to the motel with half the disassembled prototype on your back. You've been dreaming of laying down on a bed for the last three hours, and even if another inn was open nearby, you doubt you'd have the will to carry everything there.

“I don't care anymore,” you sigh, massaging the side of your temple to relieve some of the built-up tension. “I'm exhausted, and we need to rest if we want to be any good tomorrow morning. We'll just figure it out upstairs.”

Jayce makes a non-committal sound of agreement; if you had more energy, you'd angrily ask him if he has any better ideas he'd like to share. But you don't, so you just focus back on the unexcited receptionist. Ironically enough, the letters on her cropped shirt spell ‘GOOD VIBES ONLY’.

“We'll take the room,” you conclude, worn out.

The teen barely blinks as she inputs something into her old computer, the vintage monitor buzzing unpleasantly before she hands you two scratched keycards mechanically.

“Room 207. We hope you’ll enjoy your stay at Grizzly Country Motel,” she deadpans.

You mumble a thank you, but she either doesn't hear or chooses to ignore it in favour of going back to her cell phone, like your entire interaction had been nothing more than chasing away a couple of flies.

Jayce at least has the decency to grab both your luggage and his before you both head towards the stairs; if he’s got all those muscles, he might as well put them to use. You feel a pang of annoyance at how easily he carries the bags that you struggled to hold the entire day.

“Don't you think it's weird when they say ‘we’?” he mumbles pensively as you go up the stairway. “It's like everyone who works at a hotel is in a hivemind.”

You can't even find the will to look back and glare at him.

“No, Talis, I was actually thinking about how I'd fix all the problems you've created,” you reply drily.

You reach the second floor, knees buckling. Room 201, 202, 203…

“You'll just take half the bed and I'll take the other half,” Jayce pipes up from behind you, grunting as he pulls the last bag up. “We'll put a pillow in the middle. It'll be like nothing even happened.”

Oh, to be in the mind of Jayce Talis, where the universe is so fucking simple and accountability is a myth.

You hate how he always has an answer for everything, like it’s all so easy for him. You've fought hard to reach this point — to earn your place in the Academy, to be seen as a true scientist, breaking through barriers in a field where women remain the minority. It’s taken blood, sweat, and tears, years of effort that people like Viktor and Sky understand and respect.

Room 204, 205, 206…

But for Jayce Talis, it’s all sunshine, rainbows, and candy-colored skies. His family owns one of the largest metallurgy companies in the country, and has stocks invested in some of the biggest steel producers on the globe. He’s never had to work a single day in his life to put himself through school, never had to sacrifice anything for his dreams. You don’t think there’s a single thing he’s ever actually had to put effort in: he barely studies and still aces all his classes, hardly puts any care into his appearance, yet always looks like he’s out of the cover of the Times’ 50 Most Desirable Men. It’s infuriating to an unspeakable degree.

Room 207.

You tap one of the keycards on the handle, letting out a small sigh of relief when the mechanism beeps joyfully. Today hasn't been ideal, but at least, you're only a few feet away from a soft, comfortable bed.

You open the door, walking in with little decorum. It's small and bare, as you expected: a single window dulled by years of exposure, a box TV taken straight from the nineties, a dingy light fixture barely illuminating a greyed-out wallpaper of a forest scene, and…

“Talis,” you pause. He almost bumps into your back, fumbling with the bags in his arms.

“What?” he asks in confusion, peering over your shoulder. “Oh,” he simply says when he sees the issue.

“Talis,” you repeat slowly, trying to maintain your tone even, despite how badly you want to scream. “This is a single bed.”

Indeed, not only is there only one bed, it's evidently sized for a single person. It's ridiculously tiny. It doesn't take a genius to see that with someone of Jayce's stature, you'd have to practically sleep on top of him if you wanted to share the bed.

“Wait, I swear I asked for doubles for both of us-” he protests immediately.

“It's fine,” you cut him off, despite it being the exact opposite. The headache is getting worse, and you don't feel like arguing with him any more than you already have. “I'll take the bed tonight, and you take the floor, and we alternate tomorrow.”

Jayce puts all the bags down on the carpeted floor, visibly dejected.

“Again, I'm really sorry about this,” he mumbles, and even though you can tell it's genuine, it doesn't make you feel any better. Every ambigious prejudice you might have had against him has just confirmed itself: he’s a spoiled mama’s boy, who isn’t able to navigate the real world alone, and who’ll simply cry when he messes up things for everyone else.

“Whatever,” you grumble, sitting tiredly on the edge of the puny bed that groans painfully under your weight; it doesn't even have the decency to be comfortable. “Just means I'll have to take care of everything if we ever do symposium together again.”

He looks like a scolded puppy, unmoving, eyes avoidant, his large frame blocking the doorway. Jayce is extremely talented at making people pity him, with his huge citrine eyes and perfectly rosy cheeks. It almost makes you hesitate before adding the next words, but bitterness takes the upper hand: “This is the kind of mistake Viktor never makes.”

He doesn't reply.

You can tell that hurt him just as much as you intended with the way his body slightly curves inwards, his fits visibly clenching inside his pockets. Well, good. He's old and smart enough to know actions have consequences. He's supposed to be your partner, not a child you're babysitting.

“I'm…gonna go take a shower,” he hesitantly adds after a few tense seconds. “I'm still sweaty from the bus ride. Is that… okay with you?”

You shrug with disinterest; you know you’re just being petty now, but thinking of everything that could have been, had it been Viktor on this trip and not him, is leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

“Fine by me. I'll take mine right after.”

He waits a moment, like he's expecting you to add something else; maybe extend the olive branch. When you don't provide, he sighs, making his way to the bathroom door and closing it behind him.

You let your body fall back on the mattress with a heavy ‘oomph’. It's not as uncomfortable as it first seemed; it's firm, but the covers are soft, and the single pillow feels nicely fluffed. A couple might actually be pretty cozy in this bed, one body on top of the other, their libs entangled lovingly. It could have been you and Viktor.

Viktor.

Viktor, and his honey-coloured eyes. Viktor, and his teasing smile that makes your heart skip a beat. Viktor, and the way his long fingers twirl in his chestnut hair when he's focused, the way he absentmindedly licks his bottom lip when he's lost in thought. Viktor, and-

“Hey, um,” Jayce's booming voice from the other room interrupts your reverie. “C'mere for a sec?”

You groan loudly, squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you pretend he isn't there, he'll disappear all on his own.

“No, seriously,” he insists.

No luck. You get up lethargically, cursing the man under your breath.

“Left side with the red is hot, right side with the blue is cold, Talis,” you ironize. You open the door to the bathroom to see him standing in front of the shower door, thankfully still fully clothed. “Do you need help opening the shampoo bottle, too?”

He glares back at you in annoyance:

“Fuck off. Look.”

He nods towards a paper sign you hadn't noticed tapped on the glass panel, amateurishly plastified with a clear file folder.

[PLEASE DO NOT USE THE SHOWER MORE THAN ONCE A DAY. 10 MINUTES OF HOT WATER PER ROOM]

Well, you were wrong. Jayce Talis isn't just a forgetful idiot with bad luck.

He's a fucking curse.

“The room and the bed, I could forgive,” you start, fuming. But the shower?!”

“How was I supposed to know?!” he yells back melodramatically. “You told me to find something cheap to not go over budget!”

You shove him in frustration, only getting more annoyed when it doesn't make his stupidly huge body move a single inch:

“I didn't mean you should book a fucking dumpster!”

A loud, pointed knock echoing from beyond the bathroom wall silences you both.

Delightful. The neighbours can hear everything.

You move a step away from Jayce, the width of the bathroom not allowing much in terms of distancing.

“Sorry,” you mumble under your breath. You aren’t, but it's that or getting kicked out of the only open motel in miles for a noise complaint. “Yelling isn't gonna lead us anywhere. You can take five minutes, and I'll take the other five. It's gonna be short, but that's probably the best we can do.”

He at least has the decency to look appreciative, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

“I can give you the whole ten minutes, to apologize. This is my fault,” he admits. It’s always like this with him, as if his never-ending self-pity cleanses him of any possible wrongdoing. You despise that.

“And have you stink up the whole place smelling like a football locker room? No way,” you scrunch up your nose. Just by sharing a workspace with him, you know Jayce has the hygiene skills of a teenage boy who thinks Axe body spray and cologne make sweat magically vanish; the sheer power of the unholy combination would keep you awake all night.

“Or…” Jayce trails on for a few uncharacteristically long seconds. He's usually more the type to say things before reflecting on them, but he's pinching his lips tightly, clearly hesitant about what he's going to add next. “…We could share the shower?”

You look at him with an expression frozen between incomprehension and disgust: “What?”

“I mean, it's big enough for two people to stand without touching,” he quickly justifies, raising his hands innocently. “I could take the flexible hose, and you'd just go under the showerhead. That way we'd both get ten minutes!”

He's using the overly excited voice he takes on whenever he's giving someone his sales pitch for a new, stupid idea he's had. It might work wonders on most, but you know better than to fall for it.

“So you're that desperate to see me naked?” you sneer.

“I'm trying to be helpful here!” he complains.

If you're being honest, it's not that bad of an idea. The shower is small in width, but it's quite long, making it a very viable option for two people to use at once. If you manoeuver everything right, it'll almost be like you're taking a long, nice ten-minute shower on your own.

“Fine,” you capitulate, making sure to enunciate the word painfully slowly so he knows you're not doing it out of the kindness of your heart. “But if you tell anyone this happened, especially Viktor, I'm cutting off your balls and using them to-”

“Yeah, got it, wouldn't want Viktor to think you like me,” he taunts mockingly, puckering his lips in a false kiss at the other man's name.

It's the first time you've agreed to an idea from Jayce, and you're already regretting it.

“Just shut up and get in the fucking shower,” you spit out, going back to the main room without sparing him another look. “Face the wall and call me when you're done. There’s no reason for this to be weird.”

—

He’s hard.

Very obviously and undeniably hard.

Jayce has been splashing his face with cold water for the last few minutes, to no avail. He's tried every technique he can possibly think of: running in place, breathing exercises, imagining his abuelita naked, nothing is working.

The only thing he can visualize is your body, completely bare in that shower, only a few inches away from his. The water pouring down from your hair to your shoulders, to your breasts, and then alongside the curves of your thighs, and your ass-

“Shut up,” he mumbles to himself in the empty bathroom.

It's not a secret to anyone that Jayce likes you. Neither is it a secret that you're utterly uninterested and only have eyes for Viktor, except perhaps for Viktor himself. It's kind of unfair how two-thirds of Viktor's lab partners are in love with him. He'd be lying if he said he didn't get it, and that his eyes never lingered on that little mole above Viktor's lip for longer than they should have. But damn it, he wants you. He wants you to want him. Is that such an unfair thing to ask for?

You've got so much fight, so much fire in you, and he gets dizzy off the smouldering look in your eyes whenever you disagree with him. And disagree, you do: he wants to use lithium batteries, you want to use sodium. He wants to focus on reducing energy intake for the prototype, you want to focus on adding new components to it. He offers to order pizza for the group after a long day of work, you'll hear of nothing but sushi.

It drives him insane, but less in a way that makes him despise you, and more in one that makes him angrily rub his cock raw every night at the thought of that angry pout on your lips.

“-ayce! You alive in there?” comes your voice from the other room. He groans in frustration. This is a spectacular disaster in the making, and he's sitting front and center for it.

He's made his own bed and now he has to lie in it.

“You can come in!” he yells back with a noticeable crack in his voice. Not a great start.

His heart skips a beat when he hears the door creak open and close. The rustling of clothes being taken off one by one, the sound of pants dropping on the tile floor, and the unmistakable click of a bra being unhooked.

The door to the shower slides, and he feels you enter the confined space. It's ridiculous how close you are to him; he can smell the sweat off your skin, the faded scent of your perfume. His cock gives a small twitch and he glares down at it in betrayal. ‘Not now!’

You don't say a word as you turn on the faucet, the old plumbing in the walls hissing slightly before water starts to pour down on the both of you. He's not usually one for the cold, but it's refreshing, washing away the feeling of stickiness on his skin. He hums under his breath in delight; maybe it'll actually just be an awkward but relaxing shower, in the end.

The temperature rises slowly but surely, from cool to tepid, tepid to lukewarm, and then… it stops. He waits a few more seconds, throwing a discreet glance behind him to find you haven't fully turned the faucet on the hot side.

“Could you… put it warmer?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“It's plenty warm enough as is,” you reply flatly.

Now you're lying just to go against him; it's barely any warmer than if he was bathing outside in the lake.

“Why would you even fight for the hot water if you're not gonna use it?” he mumbles.

You moan dramatically in complaint: “Fine, princess, I'll bump it up.”

He sees your hand reach for the faucet, grab it… and bring it less than a centimetre closer to the warm side.

“Seriously?” he asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, seriously, now start washing your greasy hair before there's no hot water left at all,” you scold him, like he's nothing more than a snivelling toddler, and not a man twice your size.

Alright, enough is enough.

“What are you-” you protest at his sudden movement, his bicep pressing up against your shoulder.

“I'm turning the hot water on so I don't die in here,” he snaps back, trying to get a feel for the faucet while still looking away from you for the sake of modesty.

“Absolutely not, stay on your side!” you admonish him angrily. You attempt to push him back, pointedly refusing to look in his direction as you blindly slap his arm away. “Wait, Jayce-”

It happens too fast for either of you to figure out what's happening. One minute you're back to back, a respectable distance from one another, and the next you've both slipped, his arms boxing you into the narrow side of the shower with your legs bumping together.

Your eyes are locked into his for a few long, painful seconds. Neither of you are moving. You're trapped in a precarious game of jenga, where you can't even see which parts can safely be removed without you collapsing on each other.

“Whatever you do,” you exhale slowly. “Don't look down.”

You visibly regret your words as soon as you say them; you must have forgotten it’s Jayce you’re talking to.

He immediately looks down.

You put an arm up over your chest with an indignant yelp, and he quickly defends himself:

“Why would you tell me to not look down? That's like saying ‘Don't think of an elephant’!”

You're staying silent, your lips into a tight line, but he's certain you're thinking of an elephant right now. He smiles boastfully and you shoot him a deadly glare, before looking away to the side. It's the first time he's ever seen that awkward little blush on your cheeks without the conversation being about Viktor. That's a win in his book.

“It's fine,” you repeat once more like a broken record, and it’s definitely more meant to reassure yourself than to keep up a pleasant conversation with him. “I'll just… squish back against the wall while you close your eyes, and I'll direct you back to the other side. No problem.”

You sound less convinced than he's ever heard you before. He must have succeeded in turning the faucet to the side during the whole debacle, because the water has grown noticeably warmer, clouds of steam starting to form in the air. The atmosphere inside the shower is shifting ever so slightly.

He doesn't want to move.

He doesn't want to close his eyes.

The colour of your cheeks has grown darker from the heat, your lips slightly parted around every audible respiration.

“Would you wanna stay like this… if it was with Viktor?” he asks breathlessly.

You look back at him with genuine confusion, and he's honestly just as surprised as you are.

“What?”

“I…” It's getting harder to think. All his blood is rushing south, leaving him dangerously light-headed. What is he saying? “I… asked if you'd stay like this if it wasn't me in the shower. If it was Viktor.”

Your frown deepens. Your eyebrows always do this cute little thing where one furrows just slightly more than the other, but he's never gotten to observe it from this close. He lets his thoughts travel into dangerous territory. Do you wear that same expression when you're on your knees, sucking some other guy off? Would you look like that for Viktor?

“I don't see how that's relevant,” you retort harshly, but your gaze is elusive. You can't hide from him, not when his face is merely inches away from yours.

“Humor me,” he requests again.

“Fine, yeah, I would! Are you happy now?” you snap, eyes locking back into his with fiery resentment.

You're embarrassed.

He's never seen you rattled like this before. The energy in the shower is electric, now, coursing through his veins like a drug. ‘There will never be another moment like this’, the voice in the back of his head provides, syrupy sweet. It’s without a doubt the worst idea he’s ever had in his life, but he can’t stop the words from pouring out of his mouth.

“I could show you what he's into,” he almost whispers, the deafening sound of water hitting the ceramic flooring almost too loud for him to hear himself.

He knows that you've heard him with the way your eyes widen, your breath hitching in your throat.

“I mean, guys, we talk,” he explains, the words now coming out of him like the rambles of a madman. He’s in too deep to back out: it’s sink or swim. “About the stuff we like, the stuff we dream about. I could tell you what he's told me, and you can practice. On me.”

An eternity passes before you speak again, mouth just barely agape. But you're not yelling at him. You're not slapping him in the face. In fact, you're not even frowning; the expression you’re wearing is oddly vulnerable and open, like you're seeing him in a different light than you ever have before.

“You're fucking gross, Talis,” you breathe out slowly. “You really think I'm that easy?”

This*,* whatever this is, is so fragile he’s scared of shattering it by being too loud. Like he’s talking to a wild animal.

“I don't,” he promises in a low voice. “But I think you're smart, and dedicated, and you wouldn't let an opportunity to know something so personal about Viktor pass you by.”

The steam has fully blurred the glass panels around the both of you, and it feels like you're inside one of those snow globes Jayce's mother used to bring back for him from her travels when he was a kid. It's weirdly ethereal, warm and cold, frozen out of any known space and time. He’s never heard you stay silent this long, and the anticipation makes his throat burn.

“Fine,” you finally say. “But if you tell anyone-”

“Yeah I know, you'll cut my balls off,” he lets out with a small laugh, slightly delirious. He's half convinced he's dreaming. “Are we good?”

You nod without a word, shifting your head to the side slightly to avoid his gaze. He hesitantly brings a hand to your chin, holding it like you're made of glass. You don't recoil at his touch, so he gently presses it upwards, making you look at him again.

“Viktor likes it when people kiss him softly,” he smiles shyly, his heart beating as loudly in his chest as it did for his very first kiss. It’s like he’s watching a movie, like none of it is truly real. He closes the gap between the two of you slowly, waiting for you to pull away; but you don't. Your lips meet his, and it's everything he could have ever wanted.

You taste of rainwater and cherry chapstick. You’re soft in the way described by jazzy love songs, smooth and electric, a puzzle piece that just feels so unbelievably right. He wants to wrap his arms around you, hold you so tight this never has to come to an end, leave marks on your skin no shower could ever get rid of.

But he doesn't. He can't.

This is a fantasy that’s only animated by mutual gain. It’s not the climax of a romance film where the hero finally gets to kiss the heroine under the rain.

But God, does he want to pretend it is.

You pull away first, and he doesn't miss it: the millisecond where your eyes open and you look at him like he's the one you want to be kissing. The almost imperceptible moment where you're still imagining you're kissing Viktor and not him, where your irises shine brightly with so much happiness and love.

But it's already gone, like it never even happened, and you quickly wipe your lips with the back of your hand. You’re not in a beautiful London street amid a gentle downpour with your soulmate: you’re in a cramped shower in a motel, with a guy you don’t even vaguely care for.

“You should shave your stubble. It's annoying,” you mumble.

‘Viktor doesn't have one’, the sentence heavily implies. It stings, but he's not about to back off just from that either. Not when he's been given a chance like this.

“Viktor also likes it when kissing is a bit of a fight,” he adds, sounding much too eager and desperate for his own liking. “Biting, tugging hair, that kind of stuff.”

It's not a lie, per se; he's only ever seen Viktor kiss someone once, when they were undergrads. It was an end-of-semester party, and Viktor had had way too many vodka red bulls for a man of his stature and health. Jayce had found him on a couch, limbs entangled with a stranger who seemed equally as drunk, and absolutely devouring their face off.

Viktor had asked him to never let him near caffeinated cocktails again the next morning.

You look slightly skeptical, analyzing him for any signs of deception; it looks as though you find none, because you're the one who initiates this time, and there you are, the fiery woman he's fallen head over heels for.

You're going to war on him, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip, savagely shoving your tongue in his mouth, one hand entangled in the hair at the back of his head while the other ferociously holds his throat in place, nails digging into his heartbeat. He responds eagerly, letting you mistreat him, encouraging you with muffled groans.

It hurts, and he wants it to never end. He can taste blood in his mouth, the metallic tinge making him dizzy, and he's so hard he could cum if you just touched his dick with a finger. He whines pathetically when you break the kiss for air, disoriented, a strand of saliva connecting you both still.

“A-aouch,” he can only manage to say jokingly.

You lean back against the tile wall, slightly breathless; you wipe away drops of red on your lip, smudging them down towards your chin, the look of a feral animal in your pupils. He feels his already rock-hard cock twitch. Hot.

“This is about what Viktor likes, not what you like. Toughen up, Talis,” you spit back.

Before he has time to formulate a reply, you're back on him, and now he's incapable of stopping himself from humping your thigh like an animal. You don't refuse him or push him away, even mercifully angelling your hip to the side to give him easier access. There's nothing but you, all over him, inside of him, tearing him apart and putting him back together. It's absolutely pathetic, and he knows it, but he can feel his release arriving in the pit of his stomach. He's wanted this for so long, there's just no way to delay it anymore.

It only takes a few more seconds before his orgasm hits him hard, the wave of pleasure making his whole body still as a plank, while you're still sucking harshly the vein on the side of his neck. He cries out once, broken and wanton, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice.

He comes down from the high in time to see the last of his cum painting your hip white before it gets washed away with the water. You detach yourself from him unceremoniously, putting some distance between your bodies with a frown.

“Did you just…?”

There's no room for pretending here. He's just had one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of his life from nothing but a fucking kiss from you. It's like he's a teenager all over again, face redder than a tomato and eyes escaping yours guiltily.

“You came. You came by just making out with me,” you repeat, visibly caught halfway between incredulity and mockery.

“I just haven't gotten laid in a while, that's it!” he justifies vehemently. He needs to change the topic quickly, or you’ll never let him live this down. “I'm always busy at the lab doing the paperwork you always skip out on!”

That thankfully seems to take your attention away from his premature accident; he's never been so grateful for your short temper.

“Seriously? You’re going to bring that up right now?” you bark, shoving him in the chest angrily.

He can still turn this around. He might not have much control over his first release, today ridiculously so, but he's been blessed with excellent stamina and a very short recovery period. Jayce is good at selling himself with speeches, and even though you're usually immune to anything that comes out of his mouth, he's willing to cheat this once and use the one chink in your armour he knows about.

“Do you want to know what Viktor likes or not? Because I haven't told you anything about what he wants in bed,” he tempts you in a tone of indifference.

Your silence speaks volumes; he's got you again. Yes, it's incredibly manipulative, and when this is over he's going to spend hours turning over in his bed and despising himself. He’s always believed in doing things the fair way, the right way, and that one day he’d manage to lower your defences and etch a place into your heart all of his own merits.

But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

What kind of man does that make him?

That’s a thought he’ll just have to keep for later.

Taglist Darlings: @soniiyi , @mischievous-piltovan, @urfavlarry , @luv-urself-first, @girlidkthinkofsmth , @starflesh-moth

[arn359]

[Your soul is ignited]

[You are filled with passion]

Today i suddenly got ideas for my Swapfell AU after i decided to change the plot. And new ideas flowing real fast.

After I thought about soul mode like Papyrus"you're blue now" and Muffet purple soul. My brain was like "wait? What's about Orange soul mode?" Then we got Grillby here.

I think his soul mode would affect mentally rather than physically. Maybe it could buff the player? but it just my Swapfell AU and it doesn't really need a game system rn 😂 so forget it

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞

gangleader!sukuna x reader, modern au

tags: possessive & obsessive sukuna, choking, lowkey stalking translations: piccola - little one/baby notes: listen to "salvatore" by lana del rey wc: 1.7k

In the dimly lit underbelly of the city, where shadows whispered secrets and alleys told tales of violence, there existed a figure feared and revered in equal measure: Sukuna Ryomen, the enigmatic leader of the most dangerous gang. His name struck terror into the hearts of those who dared oppose him, while his charisma drew countless souls into his fold.

Sukuna was a man who commanded respect without uttering a word. His mere presence exuded power, his icy gaze capable of silencing even the boldest of adversaries. With a network spanning the city's underworld, he held dominion over illicit trades, clandestine operations, and the very pulse of criminal activity.

Yet, amidst the chaos and the conquests, there was one enigma that eluded Sukuna’s grasp: a woman whose allure ignited a fire within him. You, a mysterious beauty with a spirit as untamed as the flames dancing in the night. You moved with a grace that defied the chaos around you, a silent tempest in the midst of the storm.

From the moment Sukuna laid eyes on you, he knew you were unlike any other. You were not bound by the rules of his world, nor swayed by the promises of power and wealth. Instead, you remained an enigmatic force, unyielding and unattainable.

Driven by an insatiable desire, Sukuna sought to possess you, to unravel the mysteries that shrouded your existence. He offered you riches beyond measure, a throne by his side where you could rule the underworld together. Yet, each offer was met with a gentle refusal, as you remained steadfast in your independence.

Frustration festered within Sukuna's heart, a tempest of emotions that threatened to consume him whole. He was a man accustomed to getting what he desired, yet you remained beyond his reach, a tantalizing mirage in the desert of his ambitions.

Despite his best efforts to suppress the yearning that gnawed at his soul, Sukuna found himself inexorably drawn to you, like a moth to the flame. He watched from the shadows as you moved through the city, a silent guardian cloaked in mystery.

In the depths of the night, when the city slumbered and dreams took flight, Sukuna found himself haunted by visions of your captivating gaze. You were the one anomaly in his meticulously crafted world, the one puzzle he could not solve.

And so, amidst the chaos and the conquests, Sukuna Ryomen, a formidable leader, found himself ensnared by the one thing he could not possess: the heart of a woman who danced beyond his reach, a forbidden desire that burned brighter than any flame in the darkness.

In the depths of his lavish office, Sukuna sat with unwavering determination, his gaze fixed on the phone before him. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, a molten rage that threatened to erupt at any moment. With a swift motion, he seized the device, his fingers dancing across the screen with a commanding presence.

"Where are you, piccola?" he typed, each word a declaration of his unwavering dominance. "You cannot hide from me forever. I will find you, and when I do, you will answer to me."

There was no room for hesitation in Sukuna's messages, no trace of the desperation that had once plagued him. Instead, his words dripped with authority, each message a demand for her submission.

"Do not test my patience" he continued, his tone brooking no defiance. "You belong to me, and you will come to me willingly. There is no escape from my grasp."

With each message sent, Sukuna's resolve hardened, his determination driving him forward with unrelenting force. He would not be denied what was rightfully his, not by anyone, especially not by a woman who dared to defy him.

"Tell me where you are," he commanded, "I will not ask again."

But still, there was no response, no sign of surrender. Anger flared within Sukuna's chest, a wildfire of fury that threatened to consume him whole.

"If you think you can hide from me, you are sorely mistaken," his words a warning laced with venom. "I will tear this world apart to find you, and when I do, you will regret ever crossing me, piccola."

With a final message sent, Sukuna leaned back in his chair, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. He would not rest until you were in his grasp, until you bowed before him in submission. For in Sukuna Ryomen's world, there was no room for defiance, only dominance and control. And he would have it all, no matter the cost.

As Sukuna's fingers hovered over the screen, poised to send yet another commanding message, the door to his office swung open with a forceful creak. In strode one of his most trusted lieutenants, a figure cloaked in shadows and whispers, bearing news that ignited a spark of hope within Sukuna’s hardened heart.

"Boss," the subordinate – Toji – began, his voice low and deferential, "we've received word. She... she's in Miami."

The words hung heavy in the air, a tantalizing promise of victory amidst the tumultuous storm of Sukuna's emotions. Without a moment's hesitation, he rose from his seat, his movements swift and decisive.

"Prepare the jet," he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "We leave immediately."

There was a sense of urgency in Sukuna’s tone, a hunger that burned brighter with each passing second. Miami beckoned like a siren's call, its neon-lit – ruby, blue and green, neon too – streets promising the chance to reclaim what was rightfully his.

As his subordinates scrambled to fulfill his orders, Sukuna's mind raced with thoughts of the woman who had eluded him for far too long. He could almost taste the sweet victory that lay within his grasp, the moment when you would finally bend to his will.

With a steely resolve and a heart set ablaze with determination, Sukuna embarked on his journey to Miami, a man possessed by a singular purpose: to capture the one who dared to defy him and to assert his dominance once and for all.

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting its golden rays upon the pristine sands of the Miami beach. Among the throngs of sun-seekers, Sukuna strode with purpose, his eyes scanning the shoreline with a predatory intensity. And there, amidst the azure waves and the gentle sway of palm trees, he spotted you.

You laid upon the sand, a vision of beauty that stole the breath from Sukuna's lungs. Clad in a bikini that left little to the imagination, you exuded an aura of confidence that only served to fuel his desire. Your bronzed skin glowed beneath the sun's warm embrace, your tousled hair cascading like silk upon the sand.

With measured steps, Sukuna approached, his gaze never wavering from the woman who had haunted his every thought. He stood before you now, a towering figure clad in shadows and sinew, his presence commanding the attention of all who dared to gaze upon him.

"Piccola," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "You cannot hide from me forever."

There was a flicker of defiance in your eyes, a spark that ignited the flames of desire within Sukuna's chest. But he would not be deterred, not by your beauty nor by your resolve. He had come too far, fought too hard, to let you slip through his fingers once again.

"You belong to me," he declared, his words laced with a possessiveness that bordered on obsession. "And now, you will come with me."

But you remained unmoved, your gaze steady as you met his with a defiance that stirred something primal within him. You were a challenge, a tantalizing puzzle that begged to be solved, and Sukuna was more than willing to rise to the occasion.

“I was working on my tan, boss.”

"Working on your tan," he repeated, his voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within him. "In Miami, of all places."

There was a subtle tension in the air, a silent battle of wills as you and Sukuna locked gazes. Your defiance sparked a flicker of admiration within him, even as it fueled the flames of his frustration.

"Indeed," you replied, your tone cool and composed. "Is there a problem with that?"

Sukuna's jaw clenched, a silent testament to the storm of emotions swirling beneath his stoic facade. He had come too far, searched too long, to be met with such casual indifference.

"No problem," he finally replied, his voice a low growl. "But I must insist that you accompany me. We have unfinished business, you and I."

Your lips curved into a sardonic smile, a glimmer of amusement dancing in your eyes. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, boss. I have many businesses, all of them quite finished."

Sukuna's patience wore thin, his frustration bubbling to the surface like molten lava. He had pursued you across oceans and continents, faced down countless adversaries in his quest to claim you as his own. And yet, she remained as elusive as ever, a tantalizing enigma that refused to be solved.

"Enough games, piccola," he snapped, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. "You cannot hide from me forever. Sooner or later, you will bend to my will."

The tension crackled between you like electricity as Sukuna's hand shot out, seizing you by the throat with a force that bordered on violence. His grip was firm, unyielding, a silent declaration of dominance that sent a shiver down your spine.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still as you stood locked in a primal embrace, your gazes locked in a fierce battle of wills. But beneath the surface, a different kind of energy simmered—a raw, unbridled desire that pulsed between you like a current of electricity.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as Sukuna's grip tightened, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin like branding marks. And yet, there was no fear in your eyes, only a smoldering heat that mirrored his own.

With a low growl, Sukuna leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear with a tantalizing promise. "You cannot resist me, piccola," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "You were made for me, and you know it."

A shudder ran through your body as you felt the heat of Sukunas breath against your skin, your pulse racing with a heady mixture of fear and excitement. You knew that you were as drawn to him as he was to you—a dangerous truth that sent a thrill coursing through your veins.

“You will always belong to me.”

[sgtbradfords]

Hello!! I want to give a huge thank you to everyone who helped create something for this amazing fandom event. From fanfics, art edits, gifsets, and fanvids, there was a little something for everyone to enjoy! So from the bottom of my heart, thank you. This event would not have been possible without all of you!

Below, you will find a list broken down by day and type of content. If I missed your creation, and you would like it listed, please send me a message!

I am looking forward to hosting it again in July 2025. Until then! 💙

DAY ONE

FICS:

📖 Reaper - Angst - T - by @thesassywitchofthenortheast

📖 this building's coming down (with all the trouble you ignited) - Angst - T - by @romantashas

📖 Best Laid Plans - Angst - T - by @centralperkchenford

📖 Starting Again - Angst - M - by @imperiumwifestrikesagain

📖 Scratch That Itch - Break-Ups & Make-Ups - M - by derangedgoats

📖 I wish I could do it all over again - Break-Ups & Make-Ups - G - by lucyyychen

📖 Curveball - Break-Ups & Make-Ups - T - by Elisa_Beth84

📖 When you put your arms around me, you let me know there's nothing in this world I can't do - Favorite S6 Scene - T -by Chenfordlover13

📖 Empty Chair - Empty Heart - Break-Ups & Make-Ups - G - by Raydyan

📖 Whispers in Her Eyes - Angst - G - by kelzspooky

📖 Guilty As Sin - Angst - E- by CSM

📖 You're Losing Me - angst - unrated - by summerwritesstories

GIFSETS:

📺 Favorite S6 Scene - 6x02 by @chenslucy

📺 Favorite S6 Scene - 6x04 by @sgtbradfords

📺 Angst - Season 6 Scenes - by @sisterofficerlucychen

📺 Angst - 6x06 - by @iameks

ART:

🎨 break-ups & make-ups 💘 by @gottalovetherookie

🎨 Favorite S6 Scene - by @theawkwardanglophile

🎨 Favorite S6 Scene - by @ellabea28537

🎨 prompts show (don't tell) & break-ups and make-ups - by @accidental-spice

DAY TWO

FICS:

📖 double take - Outsider POV - T - by @romantashas

📖 If This Is Just the Beginning (My Life Is Gonna Be Beautiful) - personal headcannon - G - by @theawkwardanglophile

📖 In sickness and in health - domestic bliss - G - by lucyyychen

📖 The Not-So-Secret Softie - domestic bliss - G - by kelzspooky

📖 For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul - domestic bliss - G - by Chenfordlover13

📖 For Fiona - CHAPTER 12 ONLY - unknown - T - by @girlintotv

📖 Safe place to land - personal headcannon - G - by @centralperkchenford

📖 Martha’s Musings - outsider POV - T - by @thesassywitchofthenortheast

📖 Our Little Oasis - domestic bliss - G - by derangedgoats

📖 Only Angela Knows - outsider POV - G - by @imperiumwifestrikesagain

📖 Three's Company - domestic bliss - M - by Elisa_Beth84

📖 For Fiona - CHAPTER 13 ONLY - domestic bliss - T - by @girlintotv

📖 All of the Girls You Loved Before (Tim Bradford Has a Type) - CHAPTER 2 ONLY - domestic bliss, personal headcannon - unrated - by @summerongrand

📖 Growing Pains - domestic bliss - unrated - by @sweetcarolinejane

GIFSETS:

📺 domestic bliss - by @chenslucy

📺 domestic bliss - by @sisterofficerlucychen

📺 domestic bliss - by @iameks

ART:

🎨 domestic bliss 🐾🍪💗 - by @gottalovetherookie

DAY THREE

FICS:

📖 Lotus - new beginnings - T - by @thesassywitchofthenortheast

📖 I love you not only for what you are but for what I am when I am with you - Teacher/Cop AU - T - by Chenfordlover13

📖 Sacred New Beginnings - new beginnings, physical touch, and comfort - unrated - by summerwritesstories

📖 a dangerous melody - Singer/Cop AU - T - by @romantashas

📖 I’ll always be your sunshine even in a storm - physical touch, comfort - G - by lucyyychen

📖 A thousand and one times - comfort, new beginnings - M - by @centralperkchenford

📖 A Place For My Head - comfort - T - by Zadien

📖 Corporate Hearts - Secretary/CEO AU - unrated - by derangedgoats

📖 The Doctor - Doctor Who AU - T - by kelzspooky

📖 My Assassin And I - Hitman/Nanny AU - T- by @girlintotv

📖 We're Afire Love - AU, new beginnings - M - by @imperiumwifestrikesagain

📖 Wherever you are, I’ll find you. - Fantasy AU - G -by Raydyan

📖 Tough Break - Comfort - T - by Elisa_Beth84

GIFSETS:

📺 physical touch - by @iameks

📺 comfort - by @chenslucy

ART:

🎨 physical touch, AU ✨ - by @gottalovetherookie

🎨 alternate universe - by @gottalovetherookie

DAY FOUR

FICS:

📖 Bridges of Trust - found family, missed moments - G - m by kelzspooky

📖 A perfect match - callbacks - G- by @centralperkchenford

📖 I can't imagine my life without my chosen family by my side - found family - T - by Chenfordlover13

📖 Someone to Stay - unknown - T - by derangedgoats

📖 Déjà Vu - callbacks - by Elisa_Beth84

📖 you and i are meant to be - missed moments - T - by @sgtbradfords

📖 It’s Legendary - missing moments - M - by @thesassywitchofthenortheast

📖 I Have *Had* it with these Motherfu**in *Snakes* - callbacks, missed moments - T - by @imperiumwifestrikesagain

📖 With You and Not Without You - callbacks - T - by readerbook1981

📖 It’s Legendary - missing moments - M - by @thesassywitchofthenortheast

📖 Psyched On U - missed moments, found family - unrated - by @summerongrand

📖 Cop Cuties - lyrics - T- by @sweetcarolinejane

GIFSETS:

📺 the chenford playlist - by @chenslucy

📺 fix what you didn't break - by @sgtbradfords

📺 in all the world - by @iameks

ART:

🎨 Missed Moments - by @gottalovetherookie

[mononijikayu]

animals ― ryomen sukuna.

As they stood face to face, their breaths mingling in the stale air, Sukuna felt like they were consumed by a primal hunger that defied reason. The adrenaline rush from their latest crime pulsed through their veins like a potent elixir, fueling the flames of their dark desires. Without a word, Sukuna's hands moved with a feverish urgency, tracing the curves of his lover's body with a hunger that bordered on madness. His touch sent shivers down their spine, igniting a fire within them that burned with an intensity they could scarcely contain.

Genre: Serial Killer AU, No Curse AU;

Warning/s: R-18, Depiction of Murder, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Crime, Sadist Behaviour, Mentions of Graphic Violence, Depiction of Blood, Depiction of Sexual Intercourse, Explicit Depiction of Harm, Toxic Relationship;

masterlist

listen: animals by maroon 5

note: my friend read the first installment of this, devil by the window, and asked where was the smut. so here it is, ig??? bear with this writer, i haven't written smut in a while. but anyway, enjoy!!!

HE WAS ENJOYING THE NIGHT SO FAR. In the dimly lit room, the air hung heavy with the scent of decay and anticipation. Shadows flickered and swayed, casting sinister shapes upon the peeling wallpaper like ghostly apparitions. In the center of this macabre stage stood Sukuna, his tall, lean frame cloaked in ether of darkness. His eyes, pools of red obsidian, gleamed with a predatory allure as they scanned the room with a chilling intensity.

Every movement he made was deliberate, calculated – the mark of a seasoned predator. And he knew it. He basked in the glory of being that animal. One that was feared by all. One that caused the fabric of human fear to manifest. His steps were silent, his presence like a whisper in the night. Sukuna exuded an aura of danger, a magnetism that drew others to him like moths to a flame.

They never knew what he was going to do next, they never knew what he was going to be next – a raging blood thirsty beast or a monster who devours. No one knew. And he adored it. 

His gaze lingered on the assortment of tools scattered across the room – knives, ropes, and other instruments of death. Each one was meticulously arranged, a testament to Sukuna's meticulous nature. He was a master of his craft, a connoisseur of pain and suffering.

For Sukuna was no ordinary killer – he was a force of nature, a creature of the night who reveled in the art of death, the art of manifesting fear. He was the master of all horrors. He had no limitations. It was not fun that way without it. And as he stood in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the remnants of his past conquests, he knew that tonight would be no different. Tonight, he would claim another victim, another soul to add to his ever-growing collection.

As he stood amidst the eerie ambiance, Sukuna's mind buzzed with excitement. Tonight, he would embark on another prey to hunt, another chance to indulge in his darkest desires. His heart quickened with anticipation, the thrill of the chase coursing through his veins like liquid fire. Somehow tonight, it was even more delightful, even more thrilling. Looking at his side, he could see the bubbling excitement in him. It felt like a drug each and every time this happened. 

Each and every night was a time to feel alive. But even more now, as he looked at his partner in crime by his side. He was even more enthusiastic, now that he wasn’t alone doing this. They were oozing with excitement, fidgeting with their fingers. They were itching to hold life and see it gone in an instant. To feel the scarlet river echo at the flesh, to feel the warmth bathe them whole. He could see it so vividly. He could feel it within their grasp.

Beside him stood his unlikely companion, his lover.  They were unlike anyone Sukuna had ever encountered – beautiful, enigmatic, and drawn to the darkness that consumed him. The moment he met them at that horribly dull party, walking into his life— somehow there finally came more in his life. With that dark look on their face, it makes one think that they were born for this life. They were his equal in every way, matching his thirst for thrill and danger. And it riled him up. It made everything about him electric. He could feel the blood boil down south in his member. He feels alive at this moment. But seeing them so vicious, so cruel, so vile. To be a creature of evil. He feels even more alive, knowing he could eat them whole. That he could take them himself, for his pleasure, for his desires, for his wants.

It was as if they were meant for each other, he thinks. They complete each other, make each other completely whole. Sukuna thinks he had been waiting for this his entire life. He has been waiting to feel like he had a pack, that he had a place to belong. He wouldn’t let them go, no. Not even if they wanted to. But he was sure he would not let go of him. They were as lonely as he was. So needy for thrill, for life to begin. He knew they could only find it with him. They would never be without any semblance of life without him. They would never leave him. They needed him. Otherwise, nothing would make sense. 

Together, Sukuna and his lover had embarked on a nightmarish journey, leaving behind a wake of destruction and despair that echoed their twisted desires. In the past few months together, they were hopping town to town, city to city, to commit to drenching the pavements with blood. He and his lover had laughed about the panic they had caused in each and every place they had gotten into turmoil. Each night, the nationwide news reporting on what they had done was the highlight of their dates. They reveled in the chaos, feeding off each other's primal urges with a fervor that bordered on madness.

Tonight was no exception to their macabre routine. They were both aching for more action after moving to another small, obscure town in the middle of nowhere. Sukuna had given his lover the choice of place, of prey, of tactic. He liked seeing his lover happy, after all. And Sukuna too knew that his lover was as a mastermind to crime as he. Everything had been going as planned. That made him howl with vicious laughter, one that even drowned out the screams he so loved to hear. 

As Sukuna wielded his blade with deadly precision, the thrill of violence surged through his veins like a drug. Each cut, each slice, each tear in flesh was a symphony of pain and pleasure, a twisted dance of death that left him intoxicated with power. But amidst the carnage, there was something else – something primal and forbidden that bound them together. It was a connection born of bloodlust and desperation, a bond that transcended the boundaries of morality and reason.

As Sukuna surveyed the aftermath of their rampage, he couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction. His lover stood beside him, their hands stained crimson with the blood of the prey long gone. Their eyes gleamed with a feral hunger, their lips curved into a cruel smile that sent shivers down Sukuna's spine. He enjoyed this feeling, he knew that for certain. He grinned at their lust, boring down at the blood that spilled from their hair little by little.

Each and every time, they reveled in the manifestation of their darkest desires, their lust for blood and violence consuming them like wildfire. It was a sight both beautiful and grotesque, a testament to the depths of their depravity. The whole of it was brutal, a true manifestation of relentless viciousness. Yet it only pleased them. It only made them feel more eager to enjoy more and more of this debauchery. 

And as they stood amidst the carnage, Sukuna knew that he could live forever in this moment – a moment of pure, unadulterated madness that bound them together in a twisted embrace. For Sukuna and his dearest lover there was no turning back – they were monsters, born of darkness and consumed by the flames of their own creation. It was everything. He could feel his manhood harden more than before. He was certain that they were just as excited down south, eager for their foreplay to begin as soon as they finished.

As they stood face to face, their breaths mingling in the stale air, Sukuna felt like they were consumed by a primal hunger that defied reason. The adrenaline rush from their latest crime pulsed through their veins like a potent elixir, fueling the flames of their dark desires. Without a word, Sukuna's hands moved with a feverish urgency, tracing the curves of his lover's body with a hunger that bordered on madness. His touch sent shivers down their spine, igniting a fire within them that burned with an intensity they could scarcely contain.

His lover's fingers tangled in Sukuna's bloody hair, pulling him closer as their lips met in a fierce and desperate kiss. The taste of blood melting on their lips, the taste of the scarlet liquid burning their tongues with its salty, metallic ambiance. It was a collision of passion and violence, a melding of two souls bound together by the darkness that consumed them. 

It was like a burning flame, each and every kiss. It was more painful, more dangerous in each and every turn of their touch. They bit his lip so harshly, the blood poured almost instantaneously. Sukuna did not mind. It excited him even more. They looked at him, as they parted. Taking in the breath, they did not let Sukuna take more air. They leaned forward once more, licking the blood and consuming his lips into their own, gripping his tattooed arms to hold them down.

Their bodies moved as one, a symphony of desire and destruction as they succumbed to the primal urges that drove them. Their bloody clothes started to slowly be discarded with reckless abandon, revealing skin marred by scars and bruises, testament to the violence of their existence. But at this moment, none of it mattered. There was only the heat of their bodies pressed together, the frantic rhythm of their hearts beating in unison as they surrendered to the madness that engulfed them.

Sukuna grabbed his lover by the hair and pulled them towards him, kissing them passionately while pushing their body against each other. His lover moaned into the kiss as Sukuna trailed his lips down their bloody neck, licking the flesh clean with his tongue. He grins as he starts leaving bites and marks along the way, eliciting moan after moan at how harshly he bit one after the other. There was no control for him. No mercy. They loved it that way. He knew that too well.

Sukuna then pushed his beloved onto the bed and climbed on top of them, grinding his hips against theirs. He reached behind himself to unfasten his pants hastily, freeing his long suffering erection to rub against his lover's thigh. It was a melodious thing to hear, all the whimpering and groans and whispers against his skin. The clawing nails at his flesh drawing skin to wounds and blood. It was electrifying to be in their arms, not caring in the world for what monstrosity they had just unleashed , still laying somewhere around the house. Sukuna could only care about the sounds of their heavy breathing filled the room as they continued to make out, their hands roaming over each other's bodies.

As they moved faster and faster, Sukuna felt a surge of pleasure shoot through him at the thought of what he was about to do. With one swift motion, he tore open his partner's shirt and began to lick and bite at their chest, marking it with his teeth like he always did. His partner groaned in pain and pleasure as Sukuna used his tongue to create patterns on their skin. It was all too good, all too cruel. One could never live without this. Sukuna knew he couldn’t.

Finally, Sukuna positioned himself above his beloved, his breath hitching with anticipation as he slowly slid inside them, feeling the warmth of their embrace enveloping him. Their nails dug into his arms, a mixture of pain and pleasure rippling through their body as he entered them with a primal force. Sukuna was certain that the air had been punched from both their lungs at the pace. But he did not care. He just cared for getting off the high, for getting more and more, taking and taking. 

A guttural groan escaped Sukuna's lips, the culmination of hours spent holding back his primal urges, his hardened member now fully immersed in the depths of their being. He couldn't help but surrender to the sensation, lost in the intoxicating pleasure of being one with them. He was always a beast, an animal, a monster and they reveled to be in his arms, to take him and be hurt, to accept the darkness for what it was. It only made him feel so big inside of them,  thinking of how they could only love only him. 

Their eyes locked for a brief, intense moment, a silent exchange of raw desire and primal need passing between them before they both closed their eyes, succumbing to the overwhelming ecstasy of their union. As they moved together in a frenzied rhythm, their bodies entwined in a savage dance of passion and carnal desire, Sukuna couldn't shake the feeling that this was where he truly belonged – in the arms of someone who shared his darkest desires, someone who embraced the darkness within him without hesitation.

With each thrust, each gasp of pleasure, He and his lover were so easily becoming one, their souls intertwining in a twisted symphony of lust and madness. The room reverberated with the sound of their bodies colliding in a primal dance of desire, the intensity building with each passing moment. Blood from her scratches marking the drying blood against his tattoos. 

Sukuna's movements became more primal, more aggressive, as he surrendered to the primal urges coursing through his veins. His thrusts grew harsher, more relentless, fueled by the intoxicating mixture of pleasure and pain that enveloped them both. His lover's cries filled the air, a symphony of ecstasy and agony as they surrendered to the savage pleasure of their union. They egged him on, urging him to go faster, to go harder, to make them his prey in this twisted game of lust and desire.

There was no room for remorse or guilt between them – only the intoxicating rush of ecstasy as they surrendered to their darkest impulses, lost in the savage embrace of their love. In this moment, they were untamed beasts, consumed by the fire of their passion, oblivious to the world outside their twisted sanctuary. Nothing was ever so sacred to the two of them than being animals together, in each other’s arms. 

As they reached the peak of their ecstasy, their bodies entwined in a frenzy of desire, Sukuna couldn't help but feel a sense of fulfillment unlike anything he had ever experienced. They shook so violently in his arms, electric and high from the pleasure. When he came inside of them, he was so certain that he had blacked out for a moment. When he returned, he felt air punch out of his lips. He groaned and groaned, thrusting one after another, forcing more and more of himself each and every time—no matter how weary. 

Sukuna pressed kisses against their glistening skin, whispering sweet nothings, horrible sins to be born inside of their horrifying mind. He knew how corrupt they were. But it egged him to desire to know that he bore new festering sickness in a head already defiled by cruelty. They quivered against each word, reciprocating in kind. He envelopes his weight upon their own, certain that he would crush them. They wrapped their arms around him, taking in the scent of sex, carnage, blood and death. And somehow, they would fall asleep, happily at the life of an animal with him. He smiled down at them, watching them rest in the semblance of his chest.

In the arms of his beloved, he had found his truest self.

He knew he was a creature of darkness and desire.

That he was a hungry predator bound to hunt his prey. 

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He was certain that neither would they. 

[rainforestakiie]

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

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

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

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

Full Moon

Part 01 - Part 02 - Part 03

Mini AU

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he heard it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The star shone brighter, as though in agreement, and Lucifer laughed softly, a bittersweet sound.

"You understand, don’t you?" he whispered, his lips curving into a faint smile. "You’re new, just like me. You don’t want someone telling you what you’re meant to be, either."

The orb twinkled, its light dancing across Lucifer’s moonlit skin, and for a moment, he felt understood, comforted. He leaned closer to it, his wings curling protectively around him as he whispered his thoughts into the golden glow.

Lucifer cradled the golden orb in his stardust-streaked hands, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against its warm, delicate surface. He wasn’t sure if it truly understood him, if it could feel the ache that bled through every whispered word. Yet the way it sparkled, the way it twinkled as though it were smiling at him, made his chest tighten with a flicker of hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, it did.

Bringing it closer, Lucifer pressed another gentle kiss to the center of the orb, his lips lingering against its radiant warmth. A sigh escaped him, soft and yearning, as he rested his cheek against its golden glow.

"Can’t I be yours instead?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. He nuzzled his face into the star, his pale lashes fluttering shut. "Can’t you be mine? Can’t we be together instead?"

The orb shivered faintly in his hands, its light pulsing in soft, rhythmic waves. But no voice came, no answer, only the steady sparkle of its golden glow. Lucifer sighed again, his heart heavy.

"I wish it was that simple," he murmured, his breath warming the surface of the orb.

From that moment on, Lucifer refused to let the Morningstar orb drift away from him. It became his constant companion, a small light in the vast abyss that felt too cold and empty without it. He carried it wherever he went, held it close to his chest as though it might dissolve into nothingness if he let go.

When he rested, he would lay upon the silken surface of the moonlit waters, the orb cradled against him like a precious jewel. His wings, vast and soft, curled around them both, their feathery tips brushing lightly against the orb’s surface. Sometimes, he would stroke the golden light with his fingertips, his touch delicate, reverent.

"You’re all I need," he would whisper, his voice trembling with quiet desperation. "You’re enough for me. I don’t need anyone else."

The star would shimmer in response, twinkling like a thousand tiny suns trapped within its core. Lucifer would smile faintly, pressing his lips to it again and again, soft kisses that spoke of longing, of love, of a silent plea to never be left alone again.

His wings became an extension of his affection, their feathery edges tickling the orb, coaxing it to twinkle brighter. The golden light flickered playfully, as if responding to his gentle teasing, and Lucifer would laugh—a soft, airy sound that carried both joy and sorrow.

"Do you like that?" he would ask, brushing his feathers across the orb with deliberate care. "Does it feel nice? I hope it does. I hope… I hope you’re happy with me."

When the star’s light grew brighter in response, Lucifer’s heart swelled. It didn’t matter if it couldn’t speak, if it couldn’t truly understand. The way it glowed, the way it pulsed so gently against his touch, made him feel just a little less lonely in the infinite expanse of the void.

He wouldn’t let it drift away—not for a moment. If it tried to float from his hands, he would unfurl his wings and curl them around it, guiding it back to his embrace. He would press it close, his cheek resting against its warmth, his lashes brushing its glowing surface as he whispered to it.

"Stay with me," he would plead, his voice breaking slightly. "Don’t leave me. Please. I… I don’t think I could bear it if you did."

The star never answered, but it didn’t need to. Its soft light, its playful flickers, were enough to soothe the ache in Lucifer’s chest. And so, he kept it close, holding it tighter with every passing moment, as though the very act of letting go would shatter him into pieces.

He spent his days and nights with the Morningstar orb, caressing it, kissing it, and speaking to it as though it were his closest confidant. He poured his heart into that tiny, golden light, hoping that somehow, it could feel the depth of his affection.

"You’re mine," he would whisper as he held it against his chest, his wings folding protectively around them both. "And I’m yours. That’s enough for me."

The orb twinkled softly in reply, and for the first time in his existence, Lucifer felt something close to peace.

Lucifer first met Michael on the edge of the void, where the faint golden shimmer of the Morningstar reflected against the inky blackness. Michael descended in a slow, graceful arc, his six brilliant wings radiating a warmth that reminded Lucifer of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. His face was calm, kind even, his golden eyes steady as they met Lucifer’s moonlit gaze.

"Lucifer," Michael greeted, his voice low and measured, like a river flowing steadily. "I’ve been looking forward to meeting you."

Lucifer didn’t respond. He stood still, his wings slightly unfurled, his hands resting protectively over his golden orb. He was cautious, suspicious, even though Michael’s demeanor lacked the aggressive arrogance he had come to expect from the Alphas.

Michael tilted his head slightly, his expression gentle. "I know what you’re thinking. But I’m not here to demand anything of you. I only wish to know you better, as your brother."

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, the soft glow of his pale skin reflecting the faint light of the Morningstar beneath him. He didn’t reply, his silence hanging between them like an unspoken warning. He had no intention of submitting to Michael—or any Alpha.

Soon after, the others began to arrive. Gabriel was the next, his steps light and his smile bright, his honeyed words flowing as he tried to charm Lucifer. But Lucifer could hear the possessiveness beneath the surface of his flattery, the way his gaze lingered too long, assessing and covetous.

Raphael followed, more direct in his approach. His voice was firm and steady, but his eyes betrayed the same undercurrent of desire to claim what he thought was his by right. Uriel was quieter, but his penetrating gaze made Lucifer uneasy, as though the Alpha was already imagining ways to exert control over him.

Lucifer distanced himself from them, keeping his words to a minimum and his movements guarded. He tolerated their presence only because the moon had urged him to be patient. But the moment they drew too close to his Morningstar, everything changed.

It happened when Raphael’s wings cast a shadow over the golden light of the orb. Lucifer’s body tensed, his feathers ruffling as his pale lips parted in a sharp warning.

"Don’t," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Don’t step any closer."

The Alphas froze, their gazes snapping to Lucifer in surprise. They had not expected the quiet, ethereal Omega to bare his teeth, to draw himself up with such palpable defiance.

Raphael’s lips curled into a sneer, his own wings flaring wide as he took an intimidating step forward.

"You dare to order me?" he growled, his voice heavy with authority. "You forget your place, Omega."

Lucifer didn’t flinch. His moonlit eyes burned with cold fire, his wings spreading wide to shield the Morningstar beneath him. "I said, don’t land on my star."

Raphael snarled, taking another step forward as if to challenge him, but Michael quickly intervened, stepping between them. His voice was calm, yet firm as steel.

"Enough, Raphael," Michael said, placing a hand on the other Alpha’s chest. "We’re not here to quarrel."

Raphael growled low in his throat but stepped back, his glare still fixed on Lucifer.

Michael turned to Lucifer, his expression apologetic.

"I promise," he said softly, "We will not set foot on your star. You have my word."

Lucifer gave a sharp nod, but the distrust in his glare didn’t fade. He stayed on edge, his wings curling protectively around the Morningstar as he watched the Alphas with a wary intensity.

For a time, Lucifer managed to keep the Morningstar orb hidden from the others, cradling it in the safety of his wings whenever they were near. But one fateful day, he slipped.

Raphael caught sight of the golden orb, its soft glow cradled delicately in Lucifer’s hands. The Alpha’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and before Lucifer could react, Raphael stepped forward, his movements swift and decisive.

"What is this?" Raphael asked, snatching the orb from Lucifer’s grasp.

Lucifer gasped, panic flashing across his face as he lunged forward.

"Give it back!" he cried, his voice trembling with desperation.

Raphael held the orb up, his expression sceptical as he turned it over in his hands.

"This? You’re clinging to this?" he asked, shaking the orb lightly.

"Stop!" Lucifer pleaded, his wings flaring as he tried to reach for the orb. "You’re hurting them!"

Raphael let out a scoff, his lips twisting into a smirk. "Hurting it? It’s just a star, Lucifer. It has no feelings. No life."

Lucifer’s eyes widened, tears welling up as he made another desperate grab for the orb.

"Give them back!" he begged, his voice breaking. "Please, Raphael, don’t—!"

But Raphael’s grip tightened, his fingers curling around the orb. The golden light flickered, dimming as he began to squeeze.

"Enough of this nonsense," Raphael muttered. "You’re acting ridiculous—"

The orb shattered in his hands, its light bursting into a spray of golden dust that scattered into the air.

Lucifer froze, his breath hitching as he stared at the glittering remnants of his beloved Morningstar.

"No…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. His knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, his trembling hands reaching for the golden dust as if he could gather it back together.

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he tried in vain to scoop up the fragments.

"W-What did you do?" he choked out, his voice shaking with anguish.

Raphael frowned, his expression hardening as he crossed his arms.

"Are you seriously crying over a star?" he said, his tone laced with disdain.

Lucifer didn’t answer. His trembling hands clutched at the golden dust, his tears falling freely as the weight of the loss crushed him. For the first time, the light in his eyes dimmed, leaving only a hollow, aching sorrow in their place.

The golden remnants of the Morningstar orb sparkled faintly on Lucifer’s trembling hands, but the light was fading fast, dissipating into the void like a dying breath. Lucifer’s shoulders quaked as the ache in his chest grew unbearable, the raw grief twisting into something darker.

He looked up, his white eyes blazing with fury, tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks. His voice erupted like thunder, raw and jagged: “How dare you!”

Raphael blinked, taken aback by the sheer force of Lucifer’s scream. He waved a dismissive hand, as though swatting away a trivial concern.

“Calm yourself, Lucifer. It’s just a star orb. Not even a real star. Do you know how many of those things are scattered across the abyss? If it means so much to you, I’ll fetch you another one.”

Lucifer’s wings flared wide, their iridescent feathers shimmering with a furious glow as his voice cracked through the air. “Another one?! That was mine! You had no right to touch it, let alone destroy it!”

Raphael’s jaw tightened, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He squared his shoulders, stepping forward. “You’re overreacting. It was nothing but a bauble—an insignificant flicker of light. You’re acting like a spoiled hatchling.”

Lucifer’s fury only grew, his voice rising to a sharp screech. “That ‘bauble’ was mine! It was alive—it was my Morningstar! You don’t get to decide what it was worth! You had no right!”

Raphael’s eyes narrowed, the faint golden glow of his form intensifying as his own temper frayed.

“Watch your tone, Omega,” he snapped, his voice deep and commanding. “You forget your place! You shouldn’t be raising your voice to me—you should be on your knees, begging for forgiveness!”

Lucifer recoiled, his lip curling in disgust. His wings bristled, his glowing gaze burning with contempt.

“I will never submit to someone like you!” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “You think you’re entitled to obedience just because you’re an Alpha? You’re nothing but a bully—a cruel, arrogant brute!”

Raphael’s fury ignited fully, his wings flaring wide as he stepped closer. “I’m an Alpha, Lucifer! That means you will obey me! You were made to submit, no matter how high you think you stand!”

The air between them crackled with tension, their opposing energies swirling like colliding storms. Raphael’s fists clenched, his wings tensing as he prepared to strike. Lucifer braced himself, his feathers shimmering like a thousand stars ready to defend their light.

Before either could make a move, a sudden gust of power tore through the space, forcing them apart. Michael landed between them, his golden wings blazing with authority as he thrust his hands outward, halting their fight.

“Enough!” Michael’s voice boomed, echoing through the void. The sheer weight of his command sent both Raphael and Lucifer stumbling back.

Raphael huffed, crossing his arms as he straightened.

“Lucifer’s being sensitive,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders as though brushing off the tension. “It was just a star orb—”

Lucifer’s voice cracked with anguish as he interrupted, his tears glistening like liquid stardust. “He killed it! My Morningstar!”

He held up his trembling, dust-covered hands as his voice broke. “It wasn’t just a star—it was mine. It was alive, and he crushed it like it was nothing!”

Michael’s sharp eyes flicked between them, his brow furrowing as he caught sight of the faint golden dust shimmering across the ground and staining Lucifer’s pale hands. His gaze softened as it returned to Lucifer, the younger angel’s grief palpable in every trembling breath.

“Lucifer…” Michael said gently, his tone calmer now. “Explain.”

Lucifer choked on a sob, clutching the remnants of the Morningstar orb to his chest. His wings sagged, curling protectively around him like a cocoon.

“It wasn’t just a star,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It was… it was mine. It understood me. It made me feel… less alone. And now it’s gone. He destroyed it like it meant nothing.”

Michael’s expression darkened as he glanced back at Raphael. “You did this?”

Raphael’s wings shifted, and he raised his chin defiantly. “It was just a star. He’s being dramatic.”

Lucifer’s anguish flared into a biting anger again as he pointed a shaking finger at Raphael. “You crushed it! You—!”

His voice broke, and he crumpled, tears falling freely.

Michael knelt beside him, his golden light dimming to a softer glow as he placed a steadying hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. His voice was quiet but firm as he said, “Lucifer, I see your pain. I understand.”

He turned his head, fixing Raphael with a sharp glare. “And you—do you understand what you’ve done?”

Raphael opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, but something in Michael’s gaze stopped him. For a moment, the proud Alpha hesitated, his feathers ruffling uneasily.

Lucifer stayed curled in on himself, his heart shattered along with his Morningstar. He didn’t care if Raphael was chastised or punished. Nothing could bring back what he had lost. Nothing could fill the hollow ache inside him.

Lucifer’s breath hitched, his chest heaving as Michael’s hand rested on his shoulder, attempting to steady him. But the touch only fuelled the fire burning inside him. With a guttural growl, deep and feral, Lucifer shoved Michael’s hand away. His teeth bared; his glowing eyes sharp as shards of glass.

“Don’t touch me!” he hissed, his voice cracking with raw emotion. His trembling hands clenched into fists, and with a powerful burst of stardust, he launched himself to his feet. His six magnificent wings flared out, spanning wide like a storm unravelling across the abyss.

“I hate you!” he screamed, his voice reverberating in the space between them. His lips curled in pure disdain as he glared at Raphael, then Michael, then the dark expanse beyond them, as though condemning every Alpha in existence.

“I hate all you stuck-up Alphas! I will never—never—mate with any of you!”

Lucifer’s wings quivered with the force of his fury, his entire being trembling under the weight of his grief and rage.

“I will never submit to you! Not to any of you!” His voice broke on the last word, but he refused to let it soften him.

Before anyone could respond—before Michael could reach for him again or Raphael could utter another cold retort—Lucifer turned sharply. With a surge of his wings, he launched himself into the abyss, his flight desperate, frantic. The space around him blurred as he fled, leaving the stunned Alphas behind.

Lucifer’s heart thundered in his chest as he reached the familiar glow of his moon. He collapsed onto the cool surface of the moon waters, his legs folding beneath him. His hands pressed against his chest, trembling violently as sobs tore from his throat. The pale glow of the moon bathed his fragile form, soft and tender, like a mother cradling her wounded child.

“What is this feeling?” Lucifer whispered, his voice shaking as he stared up at the luminous orb. Tears streamed down his face, falling like molten stardust into the waters beneath him. His wings drooped, curling protectively around his form as though shielding him from the world.

The moon’s light pulsed gently, like a heartbeat. Its soothing voice whispered to him, soft as a breeze across still waters. “Calm yourself, my Morningstar. The Alpha does not mean to harm you.”

But the words only ignited his fury once more. Lucifer sat up, his fingers curling against the shimmering waters.

“Alphas are horrible!” he snarled, his voice cutting through the moonlight. “They’re terrible! Arrogant! Cruel!”

He slammed his fist into the water, sending ripples dancing across its surface. “I don’t want to mate with any of them! I don’t want them near me!”

The moon’s voice hummed with sadness, its glow dimming slightly. “Forgive the Alpha for his reckless actions. He is passionate but thoughtless, like the fire of his sun.”

Lucifer shook his head violently, his tears falling faster now.

“I can’t!” he sobbed, his voice raw with anguish. “I will never forgive them! I will never trust them!”

His fingers clawed at the waters beneath him, trying to grasp the reflection of the moon but finding only emptiness.

His voice softened, cracking under the weight of his grief. “I’ve lost my Morningstar… My only true lover. My only friend. The only thing I had…”

 His voice faltered, barely audible now. “And now I have no one.”

Lucifer curled into himself, his wings folding tightly around his body as though trying to shield him from the overwhelming emptiness that stretched endlessly in his heart. The moonlight continued to caress him gently, but its warmth could no longer reach the cold, hollow ache within him. The void inside him deepened, and for the first time since his creation, Lucifer felt utterly, irrevocably alone.

From that moment on, Lucifer’s heart hardened against the other archangels. His trust, fragile as glass, was shattered beyond repair. He hated them—their arrogance, their recklessness, the way they carried themselves as though the universe belonged to them. When their paths crossed, his words were sharp and curt, a glacial coldness emanating from his every glance. He kept his distance, avoiding them whenever he could. The only times he allowed their presence were the moments when duty demanded it—when he was needed to assist in the expansion of the universe, weaving the fabric of creation with his reluctant hands.

It was during one of these duties, beneath a newly formed nebula, that Lucifer felt it—a new presence, unfamiliar and strange, yet oddly soothing. His moonlit eyes drifted toward the heart of the radiant swirl, where the birth of a new archangel was taking place. Her emergence was unlike anything he had seen before, her form shimmering into being with a quiet grace that felt more like the soft hum of stars rather than the blaze of fire the Alphas carried.

Her name was Sera, and she was not like the others.

Sera was a constellation come to life, her hair cascading in waves of shimmering purple, flecked with the silver glimmer of distant stars. Her skin glowed faintly, like the quiet, ever-present light of the cosmos. And what struck Lucifer most of all—what drew him toward her like a moth to flame—was the absence of the suffocating, burning scent that clung to the Alphas. With her, there was only calm, a silence that felt like peace.

Lucifer’s curiosity bloomed, hesitant at first, but undeniable. Slowly, cautiously, he drifted closer to her. Sera noticed him, her luminous eyes warm, offering a gentle smile that lacked the sharp edge of dominance he had grown so used to. She didn’t press, didn’t demand; she merely existed, radiating a quiet kindness that soothed the raw edges of his mistrust.

For the first time in what felt like eons, Lucifer didn’t feel the need to guard himself.

As the days passed, he found himself seeking her out more and more. He watched her as she walked among the stars, her touch delicate as she caressed their light, her laughter soft and musical as she spoke to the newborn celestial bodies. She was beautiful, Lucifer realized, with a sharp pang in his chest. Not in the fiery, overwhelming way of the Alphas, but in a way that felt like home. While he reflected the moon with his ethereal glow, Sera was the embodiment of the stars themselves—twinkling, boundless, eternal.

It wasn’t long before their bond began to deepen. Sera, with her patience and calm, never pushed him, never tried to assert herself over him. Instead, she listened, her gaze steady and filled with understanding as Lucifer began to open, little by little. They spent countless hours together, drifting among the stars, their conversations weaving a tapestry of trust and friendship.

But one day, as they sat together on the edge of a glittering comet, Lucifer’s curiosity overcame him. He turned to her, his expression uncertain but earnest.

“What are you?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with awe. “You’re not an Alpha. You don’t smell like them, and you don’t live with them. But you don’t live under the moon with me, either.”

Sera tilted her head, her smile faint but amused.

“I’m something new,” she explained, her voice like the gentle rustle of starlight. “I am neither Alpha nor Omega. I am a Beta.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened, his fascination immediate. “A Beta?” he echoed, leaning closer.

“What does that mean? What is it like to be a Beta?” His questions spilled out in a torrent; his excitement clear.

Sera chuckled softly, her laughter like the soft tinkling of wind chimes. She answered his questions with patience, her tone kind and unhurried. Lucifer couldn’t help but be enchanted by her. Her presence felt like a balm to the loneliness that had long since taken root in his soul.

But even as their bond deepened, there were moments that stirred the bitterness within him. Sera, ever kind and open, spent time with the Alphas too. Lucifer had seen her with them, laughing at Michael’s stories, her smile radiant as she listened intently. It made something inside him twist uncomfortably—a pang of jealousy he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He grew colder, more distant whenever the Alphas were near, his gaze sharp and guarded. Sera noticed, her expression puzzled as she watched his demeanour shift, but she never pressed him for answers. She returned to his side whenever the Alphas left, her presence steady and warm, and for a time, Lucifer allowed himself to forget the rest of the universe.

Still, the sight of her with them lingered in his mind, a reminder of the divide that seemed impossible to bridge. And though he cherished their bond, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if even Sera, with her gentle light, could truly understand the shadows that clouded his heart.

Lucifer sat cross-legged on a platform of crystallized moonlight, his hands resting delicately on his knees as the faint glow of golden magic shimmered at his fingertips. The light was fragile, flickering like a candle threatened by a gust of wind. Across from him, Sera knelt gracefully, her twinkling lavender hair cascading over her shoulders as her gentle voice guided him.

“Focus, Lucifer,” she murmured, her tone as soothing as the starlight that danced across her skin. “The magic is an extension of your will. You don’t have to force it—just let it flow. Like water.”

Lucifer furrowed his brow, the faint light trembling in his palms. He exhaled slowly, doing his best to follow her advice. The golden glow stabilized, spreading softly across his hands. For the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed himself to relax, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“There you go,” Sera said with a smile of her own, leaning closer. Her presence was steady, a comforting weight that kept him grounded. “You’re doing beautifully.”

But the moment of peace shattered when she spoke again, her tone light, almost teasing. “So,” she began, tilting her head curiously, “why haven’t you picked an Alpha yet?”

The question hit Lucifer like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of tension through his body. The glow in his hands flickered violently before extinguishing altogether. His eyes snapped up to meet hers, wide with disbelief. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

Sera hummed, entirely unbothered by his reaction. “You know,” she said casually, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “As an Omega, it’s your duty to choose an Alpha. To mate. That’s what you were made for, after all.”

Lucifer felt as though the air had been knocked out of his lungs. His wings stiffened, their edges trembling with suppressed emotion. “My duty?” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous.

Sera nodded, entirely unperturbed by the storm brewing within him. “Of course,” she said, her tone slipping into something almost patronizing. “It’s natural for an Omega to fulfill their role. The Alphas are waiting for you to make your decision.”

“My role?” Lucifer’s voice was louder now, incredulous and tinged with anger. “You’re saying my only purpose is to… submit? To breed?”

Sera sighed, her expression soft but exasperated, as though she were speaking to a stubborn child. “Lucifer, it’s not something to be upset about. It’s just the way things are. You’re an Omega. This is what you were created for.”

Lucifer recoiled as though struck, his stardust hands clenching into fists.

“I hate the Alphas,” he hissed, his wings flaring behind him. “I will never mate with one of them.”

Her sigh deepened, the sound heavy with disappointment.

“Lucifer,” she said gently, though her tone carried an edge of impatience. “You’re being emotional. It’s not about what you want—it’s about fulfilling your purpose. You have to understand that.”

The betrayal sank into Lucifer’s chest like an icy blade. He stared at her, his voice shaking.

“You sound just like them,” he spat. “You’re no different.”

Sera hesitated, her starlit gaze flickering with something unreadable.

“Lucifer, we thought…” She trailed off, then sighed again, her voice quiet. “We thought you’d listen to me. That since you’ve grown comfortable with me, I’d be the best one to help you see reason.”

Lucifer froze. His breath caught in his throat as the weight of her words hit him.

“‘We?’” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “Who’s ‘we?’”

Sera flinched, but only slightly. “The Alphas,” she admitted, her tone hesitant. “They thought I could… encourage you to fulfil your role.”

The room felt as though it had tilted on its axis. Lucifer’s chest tightened, and his voice cracked with disbelief. “So you really think I should submit? That I should bow to them?”

Sera’s gaze softened, her expression one of pity. “Lucifer,” she said gently, “it’s not about bowing. It’s about balance. About doing what’s right for creation.”

His stomach churned. He staggered to his feet, his wings trembling with fury and hurt.

“You were never my friend,” he said, his voice breaking. “You were just another one of them. Trying to control me. To dictate who I am.”

Sera stood as well, her expression turning solemn.

“I care about you, Lucifer,” she said softly. “I only want what’s best for you.”

“No,” Lucifer snapped, his voice filled with venom. “You only want what’s best for them.”

Without another word, he turned and fled, his wings propelling him back to the safety of the moon waters. Tears blurred his vision as he landed beneath the moon’s gentle glow, collapsing onto the stardust ground.

He buried his face in his hands, his body trembling with anger and heartbreak.

“I thought she was different,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought I finally had someone I could trust.”

The moon’s soft light caressed him, attempting to soothe his storm of emotions. But Lucifer shook his head, the betrayal too raw to be comforted.

“I have no one,” he whispered to himself. “Not anymore.”

Eons passed in an endless, aching rhythm, time stretching like threads of starlight unraveling across the universe. Lucifer drifted further and further into solitude, his once-vivid radiance dimming to a guarded glow. He kept his distance from his brothers, his silence heavier than any spoken word. Every smile, every gesture from them felt like a calculated move, a hidden agenda. He could not—would not—forgive them. Each one, in their own way, had betrayed him, seeking to control, to manipulate, to twist him into something he refused to be. So, he turned away, withdrawing into himself, and only emerged when duty called him to help sculpt the fabric of creation.

But even creation could not heal the scars etched across his heart.

Lucifer spent most of his days curled upon his Morningstar, a golden sanctuary floating in the vast expanse of the universe. It shimmered faintly beneath him, though its once-blazing light had begun to fade. Centuries ago, its brilliance had rivalled the heavens themselves, but now its glow was dimming, as though its essence was bleeding into the void.

He ran his hands over its gilded surface, his touch tender and trembling.

"Don’t leave me," he whispered, his voice breaking. Tears welled in his moonlit eyes, threatening to spill. "Don’t disappear like my precious orb. You’re all I have left."

But the Morningstar gave no answer, save for the faintest hum of its magic, and even that seemed weaker with each passing century. Curling up against its heart, Lucifer buried his face into the warmth of its light. His wings folded around him protectively as he gazed up at the thousands of stars that adorned the abyss above him. Each one had been hung with care by the archangels—a painstaking labour of love.

Lucifer hated them. Yet, he adored their handiwork.

No Alpha or Beta dared approach the Morningstar anymore. They had learned, at last, to leave it to him. Whether out of respect or fear, Lucifer neither knew nor cared. They had also stayed away from the Moon of Life, but that was by divine decree. The Morningstar? That was Lucifer's by his own command.

Still, he didn’t acknowledge their quiet surrender. He hated them all—Michael, Raphael, Sera. Especially Sera.

Until one day, something changed.

Lucifer woke to a sensation that stirred his very soul. The air shimmered with an energy he hadn’t felt in eons. His skin sparkled, his feathers quivered, and the Morningstar beneath him pulsed faintly, as if sharing in the excitement. Around him, the Moon, the Sun, and the stars shimmered in harmony, their light brighter than he’d ever seen before.

At first, Lucifer remained where he was, his curiosity tempered by caution. He let out a soft hum, tilting his head as the stardust on his arms—the remnants of his lost lover—began to shine in response to the universe’s call. Slowly, he rose from the Morningstar, his wings stretching wide as he ascended.

Out in the boundless expanse, something magnificent was forming.

A sphere of blue and green spun into existence, its colours swirling as if locked in a gentle dance. The sight stole Lucifer’s breath. He hovered, mesmerized, as the sphere took shape, its magic radiating outwards like ripples across a celestial sea.

But then, from the edges of his vision, he saw them—his brothers and sisters, drawn to the new creation like moths to a flame.

Lucifer hesitated, his gut twisting with reluctance. He didn’t want to join them. But something about the sphere called to him, pulling him closer. Against his better judgment, he drifted toward the gathered archangels, keeping a deliberate inch of space between himself and the others.

“Sera,” he murmured, his voice low and uncertain. “What’s happening?”

Sera folded her hands over her chest, her face alight with wonder.

“Something new,” she whispered. “Something far greater than us.”

Lucifer frowned, confusion flickering in his starlit eyes. He turned his gaze upward and froze.

Above the forming sphere stood a being unlike any he had ever seen. She was vast and radiant, her six wings shimmering with the light of every star in the cosmos. Her body seemed woven from the very fabric of existence—feathers, stardust, and wisps of cosmic energy flowing together in perfect harmony.

Lucifer’s breath hitched as he stared at her.

“My name is Metatron,” she announced, her voice resounding like a symphony across the heavens. “I am the Scribe of God.”

Michael stepped forward, his expression casual but curious. “God?”

Metatron smiled, a mysterious glint in her otherworldly gaze. “Yes. God. Our Father and Mother. The Sun and the Moon. The stars and the Milky Way. All in one.”

Her wings unfolded, their light washing over them all as she turned her attention to the sphere below.

“And this…” she said, her voice tinged with awe. “This is Father’s greatest creation. This is Earth, the home of the humans.”

Lucifer blinked, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

“Humans?” he asked softly.

Metatron’s gaze flicked to him, her eyes glimmering with an unfathomable wisdom. “Yes. Humans. They will come in the centuries to follow, but for now, Father is shaping the first of their kind. A single human, crafted with the utmost care and love.”

Sera stepped closer; awe written across her face.

“Where is this human?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“In Eden,” Metatron raised her hand, her fingertips glowing like the first dawn. “Father’s garden. The human will awaken in the next century, and one of you will be tasked with guiding them.”

Lucifer’s wings twitched, his mind racing. He didn’t know whether to feel excitement or dread. A new creation, more delicate than the stars and more alive than the angels. And he would have a part to play in their story.

For the first time in centuries, he allowed himself a fragile flicker of hope. But even that, he knew, was dangerous.

Lucifer had no intention of ever seeing Eden, nor this first human that Metatron spoke of. And, to be honest, he didn’t care. He felt the excitement in the others, felt the eagerness in their movements and voices as they buzzed around the new creation, but he refused to let himself feel anything. He refused to hope. No one had ever truly been on his side, and he had learned that hope only led to disappointment, to betrayal. So, he kept to himself—isolated, withdrawn, like the distant star he had always been.

The Moon of Life became his refuge, the one part of God that still felt like his, as though it were a fragment of himself. At times, he would drift back to the Morningstar, the orb that had once shone so brightly, so full of life and magic. But each time, the fear within him grew. The orb that had once been so golden now seemed dull, losing its light, its spark, and so too did his own soul. The stardust that had once graced his hands and arms now glimmered brighter than the Morningstar itself, but even that felt like a cruel mockery of what had been.

Lucifer sank to his knees, the weight of the world pressing down on him. His wings, those silken moonlit feathers, hung limply at his sides. The golden feathers—gifts from his precious orb—had long since fallen out, each one crumbling away within his hands, no matter how carefully he tried to preserve them. They slipped through his fingers, just as everything else had. His heart ached, his chest burned with the familiar pain of loneliness.

"Please. Please, don't leave me alone," he whispered to the fading glow of the Morningstar. "Please don't die. I need you... you're all I have."

But as always, the Morningstar offered no response. It couldn’t speak, couldn’t offer comfort. Yet, it would shine, it would twinkle in reply. Now, there was only silence. The golden light beneath him flickered, dying in the same way his hopes had. Lucifer’s breath hitched as tears began to fall, slipping down his cheeks and mixing with the soft, dull glow of the Morningstar.

"I'm all alone. You're all I have," he whispered again, as if repeating it would make it less true.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the weight of his sorrow.

"Hello, Lucifer."

Lucifer stiffened, eyes wide with surprise. His heart skipped a beat, and he inhaled sharply, trying to steady himself. His gaze flicked up, but only for a moment—just enough to catch a glimpse of her. Metatron. The tallest, the most magnificent of angels, standing before him like a vision made of starlight and dreams. Her form shimmered with an ethereal radiance that made everything else in the universe seem dull in comparison.

She was... beyond words. No one could describe her—she was everything and nothing, all at once. The Scribe of God. The essence of the universe itself, woven into one being. Lucifer’s breath caught in his throat, but he quickly lowered his gaze, overwhelmed by her presence. He dared not look her directly in the eye; to do so would feel like an unforgivable transgression.

"Metatron," he whispered softly, almost reverently.

He couldn’t bring himself to be bold, to demand she leave his precious Morningstar. No one, not even the other archangels, dared to tread on his star. But Metatron? She was different. She was above them all. Connected to the divine in ways the others could not even begin to comprehend.

Metatron smiled, her voice soft and mysterious. "Lucifer, I have been meaning to speak with you. I owe you an apology."

Lucifer blinked, confused by her words. He barely managed a quiet murmur of understanding.

"It’s... it’s alright," he said, though a part of him felt something stir deep within him at her apology.

She chuckled gently, the sound like the soft rustle of leaves. "It is true. I have been occupied with the formation of Earth."

 Her gaze shifted, becoming more focused. "But Eden... Eden is for the archangels. And, Lucifer... I noticed something."

Lucifer hesitated, his lips parted as he looked away, staring at the surface of the Morningstar as though it might give him some solace.

"I don’t want to work with them," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

Metatron’s gaze softened, her tone still gentle and filled with curiosity.

"And why is that?" she asked, her voice carrying an unspoken understanding, as though she already knew the answer.

Lucifer struggled to find the words, his heart pounding in his chest. "Because... because they don’t care about me.”

“They never did." His voice cracked, but he bit back the tears that threatened to rise once again.

Metatron’s smile didn’t falter. "Lucifer, you are different. You are special. As an Omega, it is important that your magic is woven through Eden, as your siblings’ magic is. It is vital for the human, for all those that will follow." Her voice was firm, yet tender, like a soft lullaby carried on the wind.

Lucifer blinked, his eyes wide, his heart thundering in his chest.

"Special?" he repeated, almost breathless.

"I’m important?" The words felt foreign on his lips, as if he didn’t deserve them.

Metatron chuckled again, a warm, knowing laugh. "Of course, Lucifer. You are the beginning, the very first step in mankind’s story. Don’t you see?"

Lucifer frowned, his chest tightening. "But I’m just an Omega. I don’t... I don’t know how to help the humans or Eden."

Metatron's gaze softened, her voice tender and reassuring. "You already are helping, Lucifer. Just by being who you are."

Lucifer looked at her, feeling a fragile hope stir in the deepest corners of his soul. But it was fleeting, too delicate to hold on to. Still, her words echoed in his mind, and for the first time in centuries, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be a part of something larger than the endless void of his own loneliness.

Lucifer's gaze remained fixed on Metatron, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, even as a flicker of hope tugged at the corners of his heart. His wings twitched nervously, the soft moonlight glistening off their delicate feathers. He couldn’t help himself—he needed to ask the question that had been gnawing at him since the moment Metatron had appeared.

"Are you planning to... force me to mate with one of the alphas?" His voice was low, laced with wariness, the old fear resurfacing in the pit of his stomach.

Metatron’s expression softened immediately, a serene smile gracing her lips, as though the question itself was too simple, too human for her.

"No, Lucifer," she said, her voice calm, reassuring. "I have no intention of forcing you to do anything, least of all something so personal. You are your own being, and I would never take that away from you."

Lucifer’s breath caught in his chest. Relief washed over him like a sudden storm breaking through the clouds, the tension in his body loosening. His wings fluttered once more, as if stretching in gratitude for the freedom he had just been granted. He let out a quiet sigh, feeling lighter than he had in what felt like forever.

"Then... then you won’t make me choose?" His voice cracked slightly, unsure of his own emotions. His heart ached with the smallest ember of hope.

Metatron’s smile remained unchanged, though her gaze softened, and there was a warmth in it that Lucifer had not expected. "I will not force you to do anything you do not wish to do.”

“But there will come a time, Lucifer, when you will need to choose. A time when you will have to decide for yourself who you wish to bond with, if you wish to bond with anyone at all." Her voice was gentle, but the weight of her words settled heavily on his chest.

Lucifer blinked, his wings flaring out slightly as he absorbed her words.

"Choose?" he repeated, the word feeling foreign, distant. His mind raced, but he couldn’t quite wrap his thoughts around it.

"What... what do you want me to do?" His voice was softer now, almost pleading, as though he were asking for a lifeline in an ocean of uncertainty.

Metatron’s eyes sparkled with a tenderness he had never seen before, and her voice became almost a whisper, like a secret meant only for him.

"I would like you to see Eden, Lucifer." She spoke slowly, each word wrapped in care, as if trying to convince him without pushing too hard. "You will understand why, once you are there."

Lucifer frowned, uncertainty creeping back into his heart. "Why? What’s in Eden that I need to see?"

 His voice was thick with doubt, though he found himself already itching with curiosity despite his reservations.

Metatron's smile remained soft, patient, almost knowing. "You will see, in time, what you need to. Eden has a way of showing things—of revealing what lies hidden in the heart. It is a place of beginnings, Lucifer. Perhaps, it will help you understand yourself better. And maybe, just maybe, it will help you see the future you have yet to choose."

Lucifer hesitated, his thoughts in turmoil. He longed to stay hidden, to keep his distance from the other archangels, from the world they had created. But something about Metatron’s words, about her unwavering certainty, made him feel that perhaps it was time to step forward—into the unknown, into the world that had been crafted without his consent, without his touch.

For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze still fixed on her, conflicted. The weight of her words settled over him like the quiet before a storm. Could he truly bring himself to take that step, to see what awaited him in Eden?

Finally, with a soft sigh, Lucifer stood straighter, his wings folding in tightly against his back.

"Alright," he said quietly, more to himself than to her. "I’ll go."

Metatron’s smile deepened, and for the first time, Lucifer saw a glimmer of something softer in her eyes—a flicker of pride, perhaps.

"Good," she murmured. "Trust in yourself, Lucifer. You are more capable than you know."

He nodded slowly, though the unease in his heart remained. Whatever Eden held for him, he couldn’t hide from it forever. It was time to face it, even if he didn’t yet understand why.

Leaving the warmth of the Morningstar was a difficult task for Lucifer. Its familiar golden glow had always been his only solace, the one thing that never wavered, never abandoned him—until now. But Metatron had asked, and despite the unease twisting in his chest, Lucifer couldn't bring himself to refuse her. There was something about her presence that both calmed and stirred him, a quiet pull that he couldn't explain. So, with a reluctant sigh, he spread his wings wide and flew toward the heart of the universe, where Earth was still being formed under Metatron’s careful hands.

It was forbidden, of course. No archangel was allowed to set foot upon Earth just yet—Metatron herself had deemed it too unstable, too fragile. But even so, Lucifer couldn't tear his gaze away. Raphael had called it ugly, Uriel had said it was unpleasant, and Sera had described it as merely a "work in progress." But Lucifer, in his quiet way, thought it was breathtaking.

The rawness of it, the life brewing in the core of its chaos—it was nothing like anything he had ever witnessed. Metatron’s magic swirled around it, delicate and intricate, weaving through the stars in a dance that was both beautiful and unearthly. Lucifer could feel it deep within his bones, a soft hum that resonated with his very being. His skin shimmered, stardust rippling across his form as if the magic itself had awakened something dormant within him.

The sensation was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was new. It was alive. It was wonder itself. And for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Lucifer felt something akin to peace wash over him. His anxiety about the others, the fear that had plagued him for so long, faded into the background, replaced by a strange sense of belonging.

 Maybe... maybe this isn’t so bad, he thought, his heart fluttering just a little as the stars continued to dance in the distance.

"Lucifer!" The voice that pierced the serenity of the moment was cheerful, almost childlike, and it made Lucifer’s wings jerk instinctively.

He turned, his gaze falling on the smallest of the alphas—Gabriel. Lucifer had never really spoken with Gabriel; most of his encounters were dominated by Michael’s commands or Raphael’s biting words. Gabriel, however, had always kept to the sidelines with Uriel, his presence less imposing, more... withdrawn.

Lucifer tilted his head curiously as he approached the smaller archangel.

"Hi," he murmured, his voice soft and awkward, the tension from earlier still lingering in the air.

Gabriel grinned brightly, his eyes sparkling with something almost contagious. "Metatron said you’d be coming to Eden with me! I didn’t actually think you would!"

His voice was full of excitement, his eagerness clear.

Lucifer blinked, confused by Gabriel’s sudden burst of energy. Metatron wants me to work with an alpha?

The thought settled uneasily in his mind, but he didn't have the chance to dwell on it for long. Gabriel was already speaking again.

"Well, I’m here," Lucifer replied coolly, though his heart was still racing slightly. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about this new development.

"But listen—" he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a firmer tone, "I’ll work with you. But don’t think for a second that means you can dominate me. I won’t submit to you."

Gabriel flinched, visibly shrinking back from the sharpness in Lucifer’s tone. His hands twisted nervously in front of him, and his lips tugged into an uncomfortable smile.

"I don’t want to dominate you," he stammered, his voice uncertain. "I just... want to go down to Eden."

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, his wings fluttering nervously as he studied the smaller archangel. Do I believe him?

His instincts told him to be cautious, to hold his ground, but something in Gabriel’s demeanour made Lucifer question his initial reaction. Perhaps, just perhaps, this one was different.

With a sharp nod, Lucifer sighed in resignation. "Where is Eden, then? If it’s not on Earth?"

Gabriel’s face immediately brightened, the tension evaporating from his form like a cloud dispersing in the wind. He spun around in a delighted whirl, his wings spreading wide as he pointed toward a distant light in the darkness.

"This way!" he exclaimed, his voice full of enthusiasm.

Lucifer followed Gabriel, his mind still swirling with doubt, but the strange, magnetic pull of Metatron’s magic urged him forward.

den was not on Earth. No, it existed on a small star-rock, one that seemed to swell with life with every passing heartbeat of the universe. Lucifer hovered behind Gabriel, his moonlit eyes glimmering with curiosity as he gazed down at the strange orb beneath them. The surface was unlike anything he had ever touched before—warm, soft, and curiously alive.

The texture of the rock was wet, almost sticky, and it clung to his feet like the wet embrace of a forgotten dream. He grimaced slightly as he lifted one foot, examining the brown specks that clung to the soles.

“That's mud, or dirt,” Gabriel explained eagerly, his voice bright, almost infectious. He was positively bouncing with excitement, his wings fluttering around him like a giddy child. “Metatron said the basics of Eden will form from her magic, but we’re meant to create things that will benefit the human once they awaken. Oh! And—Metatron also said the human will be tasked with naming the things we create!”

Lucifer barely heard the latter part, his attention focused on the strange bumps rising from the dirt. They were like the star-rocks, yet not. Their colour was pale, powdery, like the dust of forgotten stars, and their surfaces glistened with an iridescent sheen. Lucifer’s brows furrowed, his fingers tracing the odd texture. He had never encountered anything like this before. It was new. The mystery of it tugged at something deep within him, a feeling he couldn't quite name, but that danced on the edge of his thoughts like a forbidden dream.

Metatron also said we're to develop Eden together!" Gabriel continued, his voice full of eager warmth. "Until it’s a reasonable size for the first human. Then... only one of us will be allowed to live in Eden with them."

Lucifer’s head snapped up at that, his wings twitching slightly as he gazed at Gabriel, who paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"Something about too many of us will overwhelm the human, but one of us will help the human build a connection, help them bond..." Gabriel’s voice trailed off, and he looked away, as though the weight of this responsibility was just beginning to settle upon him.

Lucifer looked down at the star-rock again, trying to keep the unease from his voice. "Would the human be an alpha... or an omega?"

Gabriel froze, his eyes widening slightly, his fingers fumbling nervously with each other. For a moment, he said nothing, and when he spoke, his words were hesitant, awkward. “Um… Metatron said humans wouldn’t be like us."

Lucifer’s heart sank, a bitter chill creeping through him. His moonlit gaze darkened. “So they’ll be free from either?”

His voice was low, almost mocking, though it cracked at the edges with something unspoken. A deep, aching sense of longing gnawed at him.

 Lucky them, he thought bitterly.

Gabriel glanced at him with a sheepish smile, his wings twitching nervously as he looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

“Yeah... lucky them...” he murmured, but there was no joy in his voice, only a quiet, unspoken understanding that the weight of what they had all been made to be was more than just their nature—it was a prison.

Lucifer stood in silence for a moment, his eyes lingering on the small, strange world they were helping to shape. A place so new, so full of potential... yet so far removed from anything he had ever known. His heart was a vast emptiness, and it was starting to feel like there would never be a way out.

Lucifer's feet moved on their own, no longer tethered to Gabriel's eager chatter. The pulse in the air, a soft thrum that seemed to hum with the essence of the world itself, drew him deeper into the heart of the star-rock. It was subtle, like the quiet echo of a forgotten song, but it reverberated through the ground beneath him, vibrating through the dirt, up through his bare feet, and winding its way up his legs until it settled in his chest. It was a feeling he couldn’t name, but it was all-consuming, like the faint brush of a long-lost memory.

His wings unfurled, stretching out wide, as though they too were responding to this pulse, this call that seemed to beckon from within the very stone beneath him. The six wings of the moon beat gently in the air as he moved forward, his thoughts scattering like dust, his focus narrowing as he neared the centre of the rock. There, at the heart of the strange world, he lowered himself to his knees. The pulse was louder here, clearer, almost as if the rock itself was breathing.

Lucifer lowered his hands to the mud, feeling the soft, cool earth against his fingertips. His breath deepened, the golden glow of his magic slowly unfurling around him, shimmering with an energy that felt as old as the stars themselves. He closed his eyes, allowing the pulse to envelop him, to guide him. His golden magic swirled from his hands, spilling out into the earth below him, spreading like a warm river into the dirt.

And then, something began to shift. The dirt trembled, a small movement, like a heartbeat, and then… a sprout. Green tendrils broke through the soil, reaching upward as if drawn by an invisible force. Lucifer's breath caught in his throat, his fingers twitching as he felt the life forming beneath him. The earth responded, swelling and softening in the wake of his magic.

Gabriel, who had been standing a few paces behind, gasped in wonder as the first blades of grass sprouted around Lucifer’s hands.

 "What did you do?" Gabriel asked, his voice breathless, wide-eyed with shock and awe.

Lucifer shrugged, his voice low and distant, almost in a trance.

“I just... listened to what Eden wanted,” he murmured, his eyes still closed, as if the very air around him had become a song he was hearing for the first time. There was a peace in the earth beneath his hands, a resonance in the pulse that made him feel as if he were not creating but joining something far greater than himself.

The dirt seemed to respond to him, shaping itself into life with each breath he took. His magic, once cold and distant, was now blending with the very essence of this place, intertwining with the pulse of Eden itself. Lucifer’s heart stilled, his thoughts fading away. In this moment, it was as though he had found a place where he didn’t have to fight, a place where he could simply be.

The grass continued to grow around him, reaching up towards the sky, its green blades bending gently with the breeze. Each blade was different, each one unique, but all of them were born from the same seed, nurtured by the pulse beneath his fingertips. The land itself was waking, responding to his touch.

Lucifer sat back on his heels, his wings folding gently behind him as he surveyed the scene. It was simple, but it was beautiful. There was no need for grand designs or creations, no need for a master plan. The earth was alive with possibilities, and for the first time in centuries, Lucifer felt the smallest flutter of hope.

Gabriel stared at him in disbelief, the excitement in his eyes growing.

"That… that was incredible," he said quietly, stepping forward, as if unsure of how to approach what he had just witnessed.

Lucifer’s gaze softened, his wings twitching as he finally looked at Gabriel, who stood there, wide-eyed, in awe of the simple beauty of what had just been created.

"Eden speaks to us all, Gabriel," Lucifer said softly, almost to himself. "It’s not about forcing things to grow. It’s about listening. About being a part of it."

Gabriel blinked at him, his confusion evident, but the sincerity in Lucifer’s voice seemed to ease his discomfort. For a brief moment, Lucifer allowed himself to hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was something here for him after all.

Time had no meaning here. The universe flowed like a river of stardust, and everything around him seemed to exist in a haze of soft glows and shifting light. Lucifer sat upon his fading Morningstar, a silent observer, his gaze fixed on the endless drift of glowing stones that glided past him in a slow, languid dance. Each one shone with its own unique hue, casting delicate ripples of colour across the dark expanse of the cosmos. He watched them pass, his thoughts as fleeting as the stars themselves.

The golden dust that clung to his arms caught the starlight, shimmering with a soft, mournful gleam. Lucifer ran his fingers over the sparkling remnants, the dust falling in delicate trails, only to rise and scatter again. His wings, pale and delicate as moonlight, flickered softly in the dark, their faint glow a contrast to the overwhelming silence that hung in the air. He held a small clump of mud from Eden in his hands, idly squeezing it, watching as it crumbled and reformed, falling apart only to return to its shape. It was a small, quiet act, a distraction from the loneliness that wrapped around him like a shroud.

The other archangels were hard at work on Eden, their devotion to the creation of this new world tireless and obsessive. But Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to care as deeply as they did. He helped, yes, in his own way, but there was no yearning in his heart, no pull toward the star rock that had captivated the others. The magic of it, the excitement of building something so new, felt foreign to him. It wasn’t the same. Nothing felt the same.

Lucifer lifted the clump of mud to his face, the cool weight of it oddly grounding. His moonlit eyes flickered softly, not quite focusing as his magic pooled in his chest. He exhaled, breathing warmth into the mud, and slowly, something stirred within. A tiny green sprout pushed its way through the soil, delicate and fresh. Lucifer’s breath caught in his throat as he released a soft hum, watching with wonder as the small leaf unfurled beneath his fingertips. The feeling was gentle, like something tender, fragile, and new.

He had never truly understood why the others poured themselves into Eden with such fervor. What was it about this world that called to them so strongly? But as he traced his fingers over the new life he had created with nothing but his touch, something stirred within him. The leaf was a part of him, somehow. He had made it grow. There was magic in this world, in this place—and maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as foreign to him as he had once thought.

Lucifer slowly laid the clump of mud back down, his hands lingering for a moment before he lifted his gaze to the distant glow of Eden. His fingers drummed absently against the golden surface of the Morningstar, the sound soft and distant. He hadn’t visited Eden in a while, he realized. There had been no urge, no pull to return. But now, something tugged at him, a quiet whisper at the edge of his mind.

A soft sound escaped his throat, a murmur that spoke of something deeper—of longing, or maybe just an aching emptiness. He wasn't sure. He was only certain that, for the first time in ages, the thought of returning to Eden didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like a possibility.

Lucifer descended toward Eden, his six wings cutting through the soft, shimmering atmosphere that surrounded the star rock. But this time, as he neared, it wasn’t the muddy, barren surface he remembered. Eden had transformed. It had grown, flourished. The star rock pulsed with life, glowing in shades of green and white. Lucifer’s feet touched the surface gently, but instead of mud, he found himself standing on something soft, cool, and vibrant. Grass. He knelt slowly, running his fingers over the delicate blades, their texture a wonder beneath his touch. The green seemed to glow faintly, alive with something more than just sunlight—it carried magic, a presence.

Rising, Lucifer began to wander through Eden, his steps slow and deliberate as he took in the changes. There were trees now, their canopies arching high above, leaves shimmering faintly as if kissed by stars. Flowers dotted the grass, their petals opening lazily to bask in an unseen glow. The air was richer, heavier, filled with a warmth Lucifer had never felt before—a warmth that seemed to seep into his skin, curling around his heart in a way that both soothed and unnerved him. Eden was alive in a way that felt almost sentient, as if it breathed alongside him, its heartbeat faintly echoing through the ground beneath his feet.

The pulse of Eden grew stronger as he wandered further, guiding him until he came upon the heart of this burgeoning paradise. There, in the centre of it all, was Metatron. She sat with her legs folded beneath her, her eyes shut, her hands resting lightly on the grass. Her wings, immense and radiant, were puffed out around her like a cocoon of shimmering light. But it was her magic that captured Lucifer’s attention. It poured from her in gentle waves, slipping into the soil, the grass, the trees, weaving itself into the very fabric of Eden. As it did, the world around her seemed to shift, brighten, grow. The trees reached higher, the flowers bloomed fuller, the grass thickened into a lush carpet. Even the air seemed to hum with life, a warm, golden energy that Lucifer had never experienced before.

He stood still, watching her in silence. He didn’t dare disturb her, but neither could he leave. There was something mesmerizing about her, about the way her magic worked so seamlessly with Eden. Her presence was calm and steady, yet impossibly powerful. It made him feel small but not insignificant, like he was part of something far greater than himself.

At last, Metatron raised her hands from the ground, the glow around her dimming slightly as she opened her eyes. Her gaze met Lucifer’s, and he immediately looked down, caught like a child sneaking a forbidden glance.

“Lucifer,” she greeted, her voice soft but radiant with warmth. A gentle smile spread across her lips as she rose to her feet, her movements graceful, almost otherworldly. “It has been far too long.”

Lucifer shuffled awkwardly, his wings folding tightly against his back. He didn’t respond, but Metatron didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she turned, her hand gesturing for him to follow.

“Would you like to see something, Lucifer? Something special?” Her voice carried a note of mystery, and despite himself, Lucifer’s curiosity stirred.

“Something the others haven’t seen yet?” he asked, his lips twitching upward in the faintest hint of a smug smile. He didn’t like admitting it, but the thought of being the first to see whatever Metatron had in mind filled him with a quiet thrill.

“Come,” Metatron said simply, leading the way.

Lucifer followed, his eyes wide as he took in just how much Eden had grown. The landscape stretched farther than he remembered, and above them, the sky itself had changed. It wasn’t the dark, star-speckled void he was used to. It was pinkish, warm, like a sunrise frozen in time. The light bathed Eden in soft hues, adding to the surreal beauty of the place.

As they neared the centre, something unusual came into view. A bed of flowers spread out like a woven tapestry, but at its heart was something far larger—a single, enormous bud. Its petals were tightly closed, a deep, velvety red threaded with faint golden veins that seemed to pulse with life. Small, glowing buds framed it, like sentinels guarding a treasure.

Metatron stepped closer, her hands beginning to sparkle faintly as she reached toward the flower.

“This is special,” she said, her voice almost reverent. She turned to look at Lucifer, her smile inviting. “Come closer, Lucifer. I would like you to rest your hand upon it.”

Lucifer frowned, suspicion flickering in his eyes.

“Why?” he asked, his voice cautious.

“Because you are important,” she replied simply, her tone gentle but firm.

Hesitant, Lucifer stepped closer. As he neared the flower, he began to notice the golden veins more clearly. They pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, their glow strangely familiar. His breath caught as realization stirred within him. The colour, the magic—it reminded him of his own. He raised a hand slowly, his fingers trembling as he pressed them against the petal. It was soft, impossibly so, and warm in a way that sent a shiver through him. The moment he touched it, a fantastical heat rushed through his body, buzzing under his skin and pulling him closer.

“What... what is this?” he whispered, his voice cracking as he pressed his other hand against the petal.

The heartbeat within the flower grew stronger, echoing through his chest, tugging at something deep within him. Before he realized it, he was leaning forward, his cheek resting against the petal, his body melting into its warmth.

A lump formed in his throat as a strange ache spread through his chest. His eyes burned, and for a moment, he thought he might cry. This feeling—it was familiar, hauntingly so. But no matter how hard he tried; he couldn’t place it. All he knew was that it filled the hollow spaces inside him, even as it left him trembling with longing.

 Lucifer’s breath hitched as his eyes burned, tears threatening to spill. He couldn’t stop the ache in his chest, nor the overwhelming urge to press himself further into the flower bud. Its warmth wrapped around him like a comforting embrace, filling every crack in his soul he hadn’t realized was there. He wanted to stay—no, needed to stay. He wanted to press closer, to hold the petals as if they might slip away, to cling to this strange, inexplicable connection and never let go.

But he couldn’t. With a sharp inhale, Lucifer forced himself to pull back, peeling his hands and cheek away from the soft, trembling petals. The loss was immediate, like stepping out of sunlight into icy shadows. He stumbled a step backward, rubbing at his damp eyes with his palms, his shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. The ache didn’t leave—it lingered, raw and pulling, but he ignored it as best he could. His moonlit eyes turned toward Metatron, who stood quietly, watching him with that same enigmatic calm.

“What are you?” Lucifer asked, his voice strained, nearly breaking. He sniffled, embarrassed by the question and how desperate it sounded.

Metatron tilted her head slightly, her expression as serene as ever.

“I am the Scribe of God,” she answered simply, though there was a weight to her voice that suggested layers beneath the words.

Lucifer frowned, shaking his head in frustration. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

His voice carried a sharpness, but beneath it was a plea, fragile and uncertain.

Metatron hummed softly, stepping closer to the flower bud with a measured grace. Lucifer felt his wings twitch, a primal urge rising within him to flare them out and block her path. He didn’t want her to touch the flower—his flower. But he clenched his jaw and kept still. He had no right to claim it, no matter how deeply it called to him. The flower belonged to Metatron. It always had.

“I am neither an Alpha nor an Omega,” Metatron said, her voice soft, as if speaking to the flower itself. “I am both. I am nothing like them, and yet, I am them.”

Lucifer sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his golden hair.

“You make no sense,” he muttered, his frustration mixing with the lingering ache in his chest.

Metatron laughed—a quiet, melodic sound that only seemed to deepen the mystery around her. Lucifer’s gaze shifted back to the massive flower bud, his expression softening into wonder. It loomed before him like a secret waiting to be unravelled, its petals pulsing faintly with life, its golden veins glimmering in rhythm with some heartbeat he couldn’t quite name.

“What does it conceal?” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “What’s inside it?”

His voice carried an edge of longing, the curiosity and yearning intertwining so tightly it made his chest tighten.

Metatron said nothing, merely smiling before turning and walking away, her presence fading into the vibrant Eden around them. But Lucifer couldn’t follow her. His feet remained rooted near the flower, his gaze locked onto its mysterious beauty. The tug in his chest grew stronger, and it made him whimper softly. He couldn’t stay away. He didn’t want to. Every time he tried to stray too far from the flower, the pull brought him back, an invisible tether he couldn’t escape.

He found himself returning to the flower bud time and time again, unable to resist its silent call. When no one else was around—not even Metatron—Lucifer would kneel beside it, his golden Morningstar dusting shimmering faintly as he pressed himself against the petals. He hugged it like a lifeline, his cheek resting against its warmth. And in those moments, he felt peace—fleeting but real, like nothing else in the universe could touch him.

Sometimes, when he was sure he was entirely alone, he would press soft kisses to the petals. They trembled beneath his touch, and he beamed, a rare, unguarded smile spreading across his face. The flower responded to him—it felt him. That knowledge filled him with a quiet, almost childlike joy.

Lucifer caressed the petals gently, his fingers tracing the golden veins as if committing them to memory. He whispered to the flower in a voice too low for anyone else to hear, words that made no sense even to himself. They weren’t prayers, weren’t confessions—they were just fragments of feelings, thoughts, and dreams he couldn’t fully name. And yet, saying them made him happy. The flower felt alive beneath his touch, as though it listened, as though it understood.

Lucifer sighed softly, his forehead resting against the flower.

“What are you?” he whispered again, this time to the flower itself.

But unlike with Metatron, he didn’t need an answer. The flower’s presence, its warmth, was enough. And for the first time in a long time, Lucifer didn’t feel alone.

~#~

The Morningstar dimmed, its radiant gold fading into muted embers. Lucifer stood helplessly at its edge, his hands trembling as he poured his magic into its dying light. He whispered pleas under his breath, his voice cracking as he begged it to hold on. The dusting of gold that had once danced along his arms now dulled, flickering weakly in response to the fading star. His wings shivered, casting faint reflections in the diminishing glow. No matter what he did—no matter how much of himself he gave—it wasn’t enough. The Morningstar was dying, and there was nothing he could do to save it.

“Please…” Lucifer whispered, his voice hoarse. His moonlit eyes glistened, itchy and aching, but he refused to let the tears fall. “Don’t leave me too.”

And then it was gone. The Morningstar’s brilliance vanished, leaving behind a cold, empty shadow where warmth and light had once been. For a moment, Lucifer couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The silence was deafening, wrapping around him like chains. His chest tightened painfully, and he clutched at his heart as if to stop it from shattering.

“Lucifer…” Michael’s voice broke through the stillness. It was soft at first, cautious, but even that grated against Lucifer’s raw nerves. Michael stepped closer, reaching out a hand to his trembling brother. “It’s just a star. You’ll—”

“Just a star?!” Lucifer’s voice exploded, sharp and cutting as he turned on Michael, his golden eyes blazing with fury. He shoved Michael back, his hands trembling. “Of course, you’d say that! Of course, you’d think it’s just a star, because nothing I care about ever matters to you!”

Michael’s face tightened in confusion, then frustration. “That’s not fair, Lucifer—”

“Fair?” Lucifer’s laugh was bitter, jagged. “That’s so like you, Michael. So alpha of you! You think you know better, you think everything you touch is more important than anything I’ll ever love!”

His wings flared wide, his voice breaking under the weight of his grief and anger.

“Lucifer, stop—” Michael stepped forward again, his tone firmer now, but it only ignited something deeper in Lucifer.

With a guttural cry, Lucifer unleashed a beam of golden magic, so powerful it sent Michael staggering backward, forcing him to retreat. The energy crackled and surged, a raw outpouring of emotion that left the air heavy and charged. When the light faded, Lucifer stood alone, his chest heaving, his hands trembling at his sides.

Without waiting, without thinking, Lucifer fled. His wings carried him blindly into the vast emptiness, golden tears streaking down his face as he flew. He didn’t notice the meteor shower until it was too late. A blazing rock slammed into him, then another, each collision searing through his body like fire. He spiralled downward, his wings failing him as he plummeted through the skies, crashing into Eden with a thunderous impact.

The ground was softer than he expected, but it did little to ease the pain. Groaning, Lucifer pushed himself up, dirt smearing his golden hair and pale skin. He winced as he straightened, clutching his ribs. Around him, Eden stretched out in a way he didn’t recognize. The skies above were a rich blue, streaked with soft, white clouds. The air was warm, alive with the gentle hum of unseen life. The forest around him was lush, vibrant with trees that reached toward the heavens and flowers that swayed in a gentle breeze.

Lucifer sniffled, his tears threatening to spill over again as he dragged himself to his feet. He cradled his arms around himself, his wings drooping behind him as he stumbled forward. Each step felt heavier than the last. The Morningstar was gone. The last piece of light that had felt like home—like his—was gone. He was alone now. Truly, heartbreakingly alone. No one understood him. Not Michael, not Raphael, not Gabriel. They didn’t see him, didn’t care to see him. They only saw an Omega. Something lesser.

Lucifer sniffled, a soft hiccup breaking past his lips as the tears finally began to fall, carving silent trails down his face. His chest heaved with the weight of it all. Why was he the only Omega? Why was he cursed to walk this path alone?

His feet led him instinctively toward the flower bud, the one place he had found comfort. But as the familiar clearing came into view, he froze. His breath hitched, and his heart sank.

The flower bud had bloomed.

Its petals were wide open now, no longer glimmering with the golden veins he had once traced with wonder. They sagged slightly, their vibrant glow dimmed to a pale, lifeless hue. Lucifer stumbled forward, his legs barely holding him as he fell to his knees before it. His trembling hands reached out, brushing against the petals with a soft, desperate touch. But there was no warmth. No pulse. No heartbeat.

“No…” The word slipped out in a choked whisper as Lucifer’s composure crumbled.

He pressed his forehead against the flower, his hands clutching at the limp petals as sobs tore through him. His chest twisted painfully, his wings flaring out behind him as if to shield the flower from the cruel world around them.

“Why?” he cried, his voice breaking into the silence of Eden. “Why is this my fate? Why am I the only one?”

He sobbed harder, his golden tears dripping onto the petals as he pressed soft, trembling kisses to them, willing them to come back to life.

“It’s not fair,” he whispered, his voice cracking with anguish. “It’s not fair…”

Lucifer clung to the flower as though it could anchor him, but the ache in his chest only deepened. He was alone. The Morningstar was gone, and now the flower—the one thing that had brought him solace—was lifeless too. Eden was beautiful, alive, but it felt hollow without the warmth that once filled it.

He buried his face into the petals, his shoulders shaking with the force of his cries. And for the first time in his existence, Lucifer truly felt the weight of what it meant to be alone.

Lucifer's sobs tore through him like jagged shards of glass, his cries raw and unrelenting as his insides seemed to splinter apart. His chest heaved, his fingers clutching at the limp petals of the flower bud as if holding on tightly enough might bring it back to life. His tears fell hot and unbidden, streaking down his cheeks and pooling against the ground of Eden. But then, something cracked behind him—soft, faint, but sharp enough to cut through the haze of his grief.

He froze mid-sob, his breath hitching sharply as his wings stiffened. His heart pounded erratically in his chest. His eyes, rimmed with redness and shimmering with unshed tears, grew wide and sharp with suspicion. Who would follow me here? The thought slithered through his mind, tinged with confusion and anger. The only ones who might dare were—

Lucifer’s jaw tightened as his veins flooded with fury, molten and unrelenting. His wings flared out violently, sending golden flecks scattering through the air like burning embers.

"Those stupid alphas," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with venom. "They can never just leave me alone!"

The rage coiled tighter, sharper. "All they do is take! Take and take!"

His wings shuddered, their feathers bristling like a storm about to break. He unleashed a powerful gust of wind in the direction of the sound, his magic crackling through the air.

“Go away!” he roared, his voice raw with pain and wrath. “Leave me alone!”

Scrambling to his feet, he bared his teeth, golden light flickering faintly in his moon-bright eyes. His body trembled as fury overtook him, and his voice lowered into a growl, ready to strike—but then he stopped. He froze mid-motion, his wings stilling, his snarl faltering.

It wasn’t an angel.

Before him stood someone—or something—unlike anything he’d ever seen. They didn’t look celestial, no feathers, no glow of heaven’s light. Yet they radiated a presence, soft but breathtakingly new. Their form was bare, unmarked by the hallmarks of an angel, but it was striking. Ethereal. Whole. The figure’s skin shimmered faintly under Eden’s light, a soft luminescence that captivated him.

Lucifer blinked, his lips parting as he whispered in disbelief, “Who… who are you?”

The anger in his chest faded, replaced by something far more profound—a deep tug, familiar yet achingly foreign. He inched forward instinctively, drawn closer by some invisible thread. The closer he got, the clearer the details became: the gentle curve of the figure’s face, the delicate glow of their skin, the way their golden eyes mirrored something that felt painfully, heartbreakingly like his Morningstar.

"Can't you talk?" Lucifer asked softly, tilting his head, his moonlit eyes wide with curiosity. His voice trembled as he reached out, his hands hesitant but unable to stop themselves. His fingers brushed against the figure’s cheek.

The figure gasped audibly, their golden eyes widening with alarm as they tried to pull away. But Lucifer held on, his grip gentle but firm. A strange sense of possession surged through him, anchoring him to this stranger.

"Oh…" Lucifer murmured, his voice breathless, reverent. "Your eyes."

His wings gave an involuntary flutter, and he leaned in, his voice softening into a whisper. "They're like my Morningstar…”

The stranger’s mouth opened, a sound escaping that was barely a word, and then they stumbled backward, tripping over their own feet. They tumbled to the ground in a flurry of limbs, and Lucifer blinked in surprise, his anger melting into something softer. Something he couldn’t name. He laughed—a true, unrestrained sound that bubbled up from deep within him, foreign and strange to his ears. It startled him, this laugh, but it felt… good. It felt like a reprieve.

The figure tried to scramble away, but Lucifer followed, crawling forward on his hands and knees as if tethered to them. His golden dust glimmered brighter the closer he got, trailing like starlight in his wake. The stranger backed against a tree, their knees pulled up defensively, but Lucifer didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His chest felt as if it might collapse from the need to be closer.

“Lucifer.” A calm, steady voice broke the moment, and he froze, glancing up with a pout. His eyes narrowed.

“Metatron.”

The towering archangel descended gracefully, her wings shimmering in Eden’s sun as she landed before him. Her gaze shifted from Lucifer to the stranger pressed against the tree.

“I see,” she murmured, a faint smile playing on her lips. “So it has been decided.”

Lucifer blinked, tilting his head. “Decided?”

But even as he asked, he was already stepping around Metatron, trying to get closer to the figure again. His hands itched to touch, his mind racing with questions he couldn’t yet form.

“Metatron, move. I want to see them.”

Metatron sighed, spreading her wings wider to block his path. “Lucifer, please. You’ll frighten him.”

Lucifer’s brow furrowed, his wings bristling in frustration. “I won’t frighten him!”

His voice cracked slightly, the desperation in his chest bubbling to the surface. “I… I need to… I need to touch him. I need to see him, feel him, I need to be close to him!”

Metatron’s eyebrows rose briefly, but she composed herself quickly, folding her hands as she glanced back at the stranger. “It seems God has chosen you, just as I expected.”

Lucifer paused mid-step, his curiosity flickering into confusion. He tilted his head like a curious bird.

“Chosen me?” he asked, his voice quieter, laced with wonder. “Chosen me for what?”

Metatron turned, her gaze softening as she looked at the trembling figure against the tree.

“Lucifer,” she said gently, “This is Adam. The first human. God has decided that you will be his guardian archangel.”

Lucifer’s wings stilled, his golden magic dimming slightly as the weight of her words sank in. He glanced at Adam—at the way his golden eyes reflected something achingly familiar yet entirely new—and his breath caught. His fingers, trembling and hesitant, hovered inches from Adam’s face again.

“Guardian archangel…” Lucifer repeated, his voice filled with awe and something deeper, something fragile.

Metatron smiled, stepping back to give them space. "You will guide him, Lucifer. Protect him. Teach him."

Lucifer crouched fully before Adam once more, his eyes locking onto the human's. For a moment, the grief over his Morningstar faded, replaced by a quiet sense of wonder.

"Adam," he whispered, his voice soft and filled with something he hadn’t felt in a long time—purpose.

“Hello, my Adam, I am Lucifer. The only person you will ever need.”

[wheredafandomat]

In my Solitude

Thor x Reader x Loki - Asgard AU

18+ | contains smutty themes + adult themes etc. angst

Chapter 2 | prev | next

“And you’re sure?” You questioned cautiously, looking up at the nurse.

“Positive my lady” she nodded.

“No one can know, you mustn’t tell a soul” you threatened.

“Of course my lady” she nodded again as you began to stand, feeling a little lightheaded.

“Tell me about Midgard” you requested, your head against Loki’s arm as you looked up at the stars from your perch on one of the balconies. Taking the almost empty bottle of mead from your hand, Loki took a swig before he spoke.

“Well, I suppose it’s like here but with fewer stars” he answered.

“Really?” You asked, awestruck.

“Well there’s a few differences like they don’t have any magic there they have something else called technology and the music y/n, the music is dulcet. The harmonious melodies they have there are the real magic.”

“Really?” You gasped.

“Really” he smiled, glancing down at you before looking at the sky again “and they’ve got different countries with different rules and different rulers” he continued.

“I bet you would be the best ruler, you could rule them all” you giggled.

“I agree,” he nodded, “although I don’t think they’ll take kindly to that.”

“You’re wasted here” you murmured, looking up at him.

“How so?” Loki questioned, looking down at you.

“Here you’re cast to the shadows, always following in his footsteps but elsewhere you’d be able to shine, you’d be a king Loki” you grinned.

Loki let the words linger for a moment before he spoke.

“A king needs a queen,” he stated.

“We get along, I could be your queen” you suggested playfully.

“Yeah?” Loki smiled.

“Yes” you nodded, your gaze dipping to Loki’s lips as his lowered to yours. The tense seconds that passed between you both felt like hours as you ripped your stares apart, Loki clearing his throat.

“But alas, you’re promised to someone else” he continued the conversation.

“Well I’ll run away if you will,” you laughed.

“Yeah, we’ll meet at the palace gates and run off into the sunset together” Loki chuckled.

“Stranger things have happened my friend, stranger things” you smiled before a comfortable silence settled between you both.

“Will you take me one day, Loki, to Midgard?” You requested.

“I’d do anything you ask” he answered quickly, too quickly.

Eventually, the two of you decided to head back to your chambers, Loki helping you to yours as you stumbled over your own feet, giggling with each step. Allowing you to lean on him, Loki guided you towards your bed before you inelegantly threw yourself into it, rushing underneath the duvet. You looked up at him as he looked down at you, knowing you wanted to say something.

“Yes?” He prompted.

“I want to hear more about Midgard,” you asked.

“Of course you do,” he smiled, noticing your shiver before he clicked his fingers, igniting the fireplace as you moved across the bed to the other side, gesturing for him to lay down. Without pulling the duvet back, Loki laid down and began to speak as your eyes fell closed.

“And that’s not even the half of it” he finished, placing a kiss against your cheek as he heard your breathing even out. Standing to his feet, he looked at you for a moment, the rise and fall of your chest before he silently bid you goodnight and left your chambers.

Waking up the following morning, you cursed Thor’s mead as your head throbbed. Like most mornings, your chambermaids bathed you, clothed you and fed you before reading your daily schedule. Today you had meetings with your ladies in waiting, meetings that mostly consisted of you sitting bored as you sipped tea. As you left your chambesr to attend the first meeting of the day, you spotted Loki heading towards one of the training rooms. Dismissing your escort, you followed Loki, slipping in behind him before the door closed. You watched him, intrigued as he began laying out various weapons from the weapons vault, his back to you as you slowly stepped towards him.

“You know it isn’t polite to stare”

You gasped, your breath escaping you as Loki spoke in your ear. Spinning around, you were met by Loki who was smiling coyly at you. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw the other Loki practically disappear.

“A clone” you figured.

“You shouldn’t be in here” he smirked “this is my domain”

“Is that a threat?” You stood your ground as Loki began to circle you.

“Merely a statement, a fact if you will,” he shrugged.

“There isn’t anywhere in the palace I don’t have access to, this room, your domain included” you smiled smugly.

“I don’t doubt that,” he agreed. “However there are certain places that have certain rules, rules that must be abided by, even by you” he spoke.

“Such as?” You ventured.

“No one enters this room and leaves without a fight” he informed you.

“Am I supposed to be scared?” You smiled.

“Very” he answered in a tone that could have been mistaken for sultrily, a tone that made you falter for a moment before composing yourself again. “I promise, I’ll go easy on you” he assured.

“Oh Loki, the last thing I want is for you to go easy on me” you dared.

“So you want it hard then?” He smirked.

“I was trained as a Valkyrie Loki, do you want it hard?” You rebutted.

“Very well” he began, taking a dagger from his ankle holster and handing it to you “are you sure you’re dressed appropriately?” He asked, eyeing the dress draped over your body, touching the floor. Using the dagger, you tore the bottom of the dress off to allow your feet to move more freely before nodding.

“Give me your best shot” you spoke before you and Loki began to fight. Your blades clashed against one another as you dodged eachothers attacks. You couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across your face at the feeling of a sharp dagger in your hand again, the feeling of fighting again; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this alive. You could tell Loki was holding back. He was one of the most skilled fighters in the nine realms and yet you had managed to nick at his skin a couple of times.

“Stop holding back” you shouted over the clanging of metal and your heavy breathing paired with his.

“I’m not, maybe you’re just that good,” Loki answered.

“Nonsense” you huffed, holding the dagger against his throat.

“Fine” he caved in, wrapping his arm around your back as he pulled you against him “if you step backward, this dagger plunges into your back.”

“And if you step forward, this dagger slices your throat” you shot back, your eyes boring into one another’s.

“So, we find ourselves in quite the predicament” he voiced.

“Although I’m at an advantage” you spoke, causing Loki’s smile to fall as you stepped back a little, freeing yourself from his grip as his dagger pierced through your dress, penetrating your skin a little.

“Y/n!” Loki gasped, dropping his dagger as he spun you around.

“It’s fine, just a little scratch, these dresses have such thick corsets attached” you dismissed.

“I could have seriously hurt you” Loki reprimanded you, untying the strings of your corset “let me heal you” he offered, removing your corset and placing his hand over the graze. The area felt cool for a moment before Loki let go. Unlike the last time in your chambers, you were wearing undergarments so your body wasn’t completely unclad, not that you would have minded with the way Loki was looking at you, forcing himself to focus on your eyes, hungry as you turned to face him.

“So, I win?”

“Get out y/n” Loki spoke, causing you to furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“Sorry I—” you began.

“Go, now!” He raised his voice a little, catching you off guard as you quickly spun around and headed for the door.

Bit of an abrupt ending 🤣

Next

Tags 🖤

@lokisgoodgirl @thenotoriouserg @chantsdemarins @donaweasley @xorpsbane @mcufan72 @loz-3 @sailorholly @lovingchoices14 @lokiedokiee @noideakitten @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokiprompts @lulubelle814 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @gigglingtiggerv2 @tmilover1993 @lyds247 @dustychinchilla74 @lokis-dark-queen @november-rayne @12-pm-510 @newtomofgods @eyesbluelikethetitanic @lokiestorch @beautyb1ade @angelilacsworld @lokidokieokie @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @asgards-princess-of-mischief @anundyingfidelity

[fanaticsnail]

i love your sapsorrow series — even more when i read that Shanks snippet where he thought he was safe OH GOD AHAHAHA please!!!

Ah, you see. They all think they're safe from the clutches of the foul curse of Sapsorrow. Their knees shall bend, their backs shall break and their hearts will perish before her mighty claim - should they ever fail in their task to woo their intended.

(Image Source)

Sands of Time

Themes: Sir Crocodile x f!reader, reluctant bride, enemies to lovers, kidnapping trope, rake!crocodile x royal!reader, forced proximity, longing from afar, injured x caretaker, time limit to love, haunting spectre, Sapsorrow fairytale au, suggestive themes, forced/arranged marriage.

Mihawk Sapsorrow masterlist here, Shanks Sapsorrow here, Masterlist here

Sir Crocodile's intentions below the cut.

.

“What is this? A fitting gift for an apprehensive bride. I shall gift this to my intended before we wed on the morrow. Perhaps it will be near enough for her to open her legs and share her bed tonight.”

Hunched over the writing desk, half-moon glasses drawn down the bridge of his nose, sat the hulking sir crocodile. He shook his head, unsure of what commotion was going on behind the door of his darkened office. A wedding? Unlikely. 

Managing inventory, arranging wage statements and smirking at his half-composed letter to the lord of Kuraigana regarding his collection of debt; his ears pricked at a whisper of motion within the room.

“It has been found, reptile,” the echoing voice sinisterly whispered. A rumbled roar began erupting within the chasms of his chest as he released fragments of sand out to grasp the ghostly form of the witch to encase her spirit in a layer of dust. 

“I was rid of you, witch. You have no claim over me nor my soul,” he growled, prompting the spectre to unleash a wave of echoed maniacal laughter. Her voice was haunting, her tone was low and deliberate as she taunted further. 

“I was lost to you, but now found and will be placed on the finger of a bride within the hour,” she taunted, slowly raking her undead soul towards him. Strands of her hair began moving as if beneath the crashing waves of water, her sinister smile and unblinking eyes bore into the hulking man in front of her.

“What conditions have been laid to have you curse me, witch?” he asked, sitting back in his chair and removing his glasses, “I had your band stolen from me by the Don of Dressrosa, thus casting your curse onto him, not me.” He chipped the end of a thick cigar, drew it to his lips and ignited the tip with the flick of his flint. 

“To answer first: she has laid no such conditions as yet,” the spirit confessed as nonchalant as a spirit could ever be, “And to answer second,” her spectral essence passed through the desk and stood still, towering over the form of the crocodile, “My curse cannot be given twice to the same individual.”

Sir Crocodile held his breath. His usually bored and slackened jaw was now clenched firm atop his cigar. 

“What must I do, witch?” He spat, staring up into the cement eyes of the ghost of Sapsorrow as she smeared her sharpened canines down at him. As Sapsorrow began to bare another thought down onto the crocodilian man in front of her, an echoed voice rang throughout the room.

“I am not cattle to be bought with such an item, nor am I simply a broodmare to bear your spawn within my belly. You think this enough for me to share my bed on the eve of our wedding? I would never.” 

Sir Crocodile bore his eyes into the ever rising smirk of the Sapsorrow Queen in front of him, listening to the echoing words ricocheting from the chasms of his mind and reverberating in his soul.

“If you desire me to be your bride, you will have me love you with all that I am. You will earn my affection, you will slave for my adoration - but my love will be only passed onto you when I truly think you love me completely in return.”

The malicious laughter echoed throughout the room, the sands currently revealing the Sapsorrow spectre falling atop the desk, littering the papers and ornaments scattered below. 

“Make haste, Sir Crocodile,” she taunted him once more, “She is set to marry him on the morrow. That should put a damper on things, do you not you agree?”

Sir Crocodile began to shake, his shoulders stumbling below his aggression. He violently thrust his forearms down atop the desk, his balled fist of his remaining hand indenting beneath his powerful thrust, the tip of his golden hook sunk into the mahogany and encaptured it within his circlet. 

“H-How,” he began, his voice staggering as his mind caught up with the conditions laying claim to his soul, “How could someone measure that? How could someone ever dream of proving that level of blind devotion?”

“Therein lies the rub, reptile,” Sapsorrow’s echo felt further from him now, flittering up towards the ceiling akin to the smoke from his sour cigars, “You may never truly earn it, and I may yet collect the debt of your soul.” 

“You have a year,” her voice began to crack as it faded up further, “Until the sands of time pass the last grain to conclude its final hour, your form shall crack like glass and your soul will belong to me.”

-----------

Notes: I will be working on Shanks, Buggy and Sir Crocodile spinoffs once the Sapsorrow Au fic is concluded for Mihawk. If there is a gentleman you would like to see flung into this particular fairytale curse, let me know and I will aim to create it! I only have 10 rings to work with!

There are other fairytale au's in the making, if you enjoy an interpretation with your beloved characters:

@gingernut1314 is doing "The Luck Child" for Buggy

@writingmysanity is doing a "Hans My Hedgehog" interpretation for Corazon.

@sordidmusings is doing a "Three Ravens" interpretation for Sanji.

@cinnbar-bun has many a thought about the Crocodile, and I am looking forward to see what she comes up with.

Allow me to take the opportunity to thank @since-im-already-here, the "smol snail, fanatic in the making," for making me do this one. I love writing for it, and it's amazing to see how many there are of you that enjoys being whisked away with my words.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine @feral-artistry @i-am-vita

[pengujoon]

WITH ALL OF ME

cont. gojo x reader, fluff. use of my love, just reader being so in love with him. of course they kiss, this is a very soft fic, established relationship!au, intentional lowercase.

a/n. can you tell that im so lovesick for his man. 

song. john legend - all of me

the room was cast in a warm, inviting glow, the soft light of a dozen candles flickering like stars in the night sky. you and satoru had carved out this moment, a space for just the two of you, where the world outside was a distant memory. in this intimate haven, love hung heavy in the air, and your heart swelled with every beat in perfect harmony with his.

satoru sat beside you, his presence filling the room with a magnetic energy that drew you in like a moth to a flame. as you gazed at him, your heart couldn't help but swell with a deep, profound affection. his eyes held the universe within them, a cosmos of secrets and emotions that were yours to explore.

his smile, that mischievous, yet tender smile, was your favourite work of art. it had the power to chase away your worries, to melt your heart, and to ignite a fire of passion within you. when he laughed, it was as if a symphony of joy filled the room, and you couldn't help but be swept away by the melody.

you watched as he reached out, his fingers tracing an invisible path in the air. his voice, soft and filled with warmth, filled the room like a sweet serenade. it was a voice that could lull you to sleep or awaken the deepest desires within your heart.

every line of his face, every curve of his lips, and every spark in his eyes held a story, a story that you cherished, for you were the author of this chapter of his life. his vulnerabilities, his strengths, and his quirks were all part of the tapestry of your love.

satoru's hand found yours, fingers interlacing with a familiarity that sent shivers down your spine. the touch was electric, a connection that transcended words. in that moment, you felt like you were part of something greater, like you were two souls that had found their forever home in each other's arms.

the tenderness in his gaze was enough to make your heart skip a beat. his fingers traced delicate patterns on your hand, a silent language of affection that spoke volumes. every touch was a declaration of love, every caress an affirmation of your bond.

as you leaned in, your lips met his in a kiss that tasted like eternity. it was a kiss that spoke of a love deeper than words, a love that knew no bounds. in that kiss, you poured all your affection, all your desire, and all your dreams.

and as you pulled away, breathless and content, you whispered the words that your heart had been singing since the moment you met him. “i love you, satoru, with all of me.”

“my love.” he looked at you, his gaze unwavering, and in that moment, you knew that his love mirrored your very own. with a smile that held the promise of forever, he replied, “and i love you, with all of me too.”

no other words were needed, for your hearts spoke a language of love that transcended any language of the world. you closed your eyes and leaned in for another kiss, a sweet, tender affirmation of your love.

in the warmth of his embrace, surrounded by the warm, gentle light of the candles, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be, living your own love song, a melody that would play in your hearts for all eternity.

the chokehold this man has on me

[smilesatdawnmain]

Eternal LMK Au (Part 15) Interactive Story

This boy needs a break!! And Mihou is gonna make him do just that

The rules are simple.: I will give the written passage, and then at the bottom there will be a vote on how the characters act next!

Story; Eternal Au

Ship; ShadowPeach

The longer Macaque stood there, staring him down, the more he could feel the instability in Wukong’s aura, crackling and shifting far too much to be normal. In this form he was stuck in, their only way of seeing and communicating, was Wukong’s vision. Macaque was positive Wukong couldn’t hear him, even now. He was just reading his lips. If they somehow lost his gold vision due to over strain- that would be it. “Wukong…” he tried again, voice softer now, laced with urgency. “Just a small break to let yourself rest.”

“No,” Wukong replied fiercely, the fire in his spirit flickering with desperation. “Not while I still have you here.” His hand finally dipped low enough to brush against the warmth of Mihou's presence, or trying to; missing him entirely and igniting flames of anguish within them both. Wukogn even made a whimpering sound, retracting his hand like it burned when it only served to make Mihou's form tremble and become unclear for a moment every time he touched him. An illusion- one that always made him wonder if he was just going crazy thinking his mate was here with him.

“Wukong,” Macaque murmured, fighting against the swell of emotions that threatened to drown him. He sighed and looked down, staring at his hands. Balling them into fists, he lifted his head. Then, his tone was far stricter, “Enough, Peaches. You have to listen, now.” Wukong straightened a tad, like a child suddenly being scolded, “You cannot afford to wear yourself thin just for a mirage of me.” He took a step closer, chest to chest. His eyes were burning, heavy with demand, “I exist here, in this moment, and my existence doesn’t require your sacrifice. If this is the only way we can communicate, we cannot squander it. You cannot be reckless again.” His words made the King recoil, his ears flattening in shame.

Wukong's gaze wavered, opening his mouth in a trembling tone, to plead for his Moon, “B-But Mihou-” he whimpered, “What if I lose you again? I couldn’t bear it—"

Macaque pushed his hand against Wukong’s cheek, like a small slap that fazed right through his face. Wukoong’s eyes fluttered as Macaque’s form shattered and reformed, then shattered again as Macaque continued to “slap” him. His expression blank when it would clear, not taking no for an answer. It made Wukong panic and scramble back, Macaque easily following him to continue to make his gold vision falter every time he broke the connection.

"Mihou, stop-!"

“I will faze through the ground, the walls- I will walk as far away from you as this string-” he gestured to the soul connecting string, “-will allow! I will make it your worse nightmare to even try to glimpse me if you don’t take a break.” he growled. He held the power here, and he was going to use it.

The King's hands flew up in a panic, desperately trying to grab onto Mihou but finding nothing to hold onto. "No, please don't do that!" His voice was filled with anguish at the very thought of it.

Macaque's heart twisted painfully at Wukong's plea, "Then you do as I say!"

Wukong's eyes stung and watered, sniffling. Macaque's hand's froze above his face, hesitant to "Slap" him again. They held there, blocking his face from Wukong's view.

“Wukong," The King flinched when Macaque spoke, but this time, it was softer, "Listen to me,” The string between them pulsed with emotion, vibrant and vivid, a lifeline tethering him to Wukong, but also a warning. “If you crumble under this burden, what good will it do us? I’d rather die a thousand deaths here than watch you hurt yourself trying to reach me.”

Wukong’s breath hitched, guilt flooding his veins like ice. “But you don’t understand—”

“I do understand!” Macaque interrupted fiercely, his voice breaking slightly as he stepped even closer, parting his hands to see him, invading the space between them. If he could touch Wukong, he would cup his cheeks and hold him close. He had to be forced to keep his arms at his sides so he would not dispell his own form from Wukong’s eyes for a moment. “I do understand.” he whispered. “But please don’t do this to yourself,” he pleaded. A soft, golden light flickered at the edges of Wukong’s vision, softening his eyes and making his lower lip tremble. “I want you to know I am there, just as much as you. But I won’t let you suffer for it.” Wukong slowly lowered his gaze, his resolve crumbling in his own hands. He blinked back tears, something Macaque hadn’t expected, “I’ll be right here,” he urged. “I won’t leave your side for a moment.”

Wukong swayed a little, head drooped and staring intently at Macaque’s feet. He seemed to be reluctant, even now, eyelids fluttering a bit. He peeked up to Macaque, watching his mouth. The Moon Monkey in return smiled, “You can do it, Peaches. For me. Come on.”

Wukong took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting go of the shimmering golden aura that surrounded him. It felt heavy on his soul, but he needed a moment to rest. When he opened his eyes again, the golden glow was gone and Mihou was nowhere to be seen. He gasped and looked around frantically, tempted to activate his gold vision in that moment.

But instead, he forced himself to breathe, anchoring his thoughts to the last echoes of Mihou's presence. The room felt impossibly quiet, the silence pressing against him like a heavy shroud, each heartbeat a reminder of the distance that had unfurled between them. Wukong’s fingers twitched, yearning for an echo of warmth that lingered just out of reach.

“Mihou,” he whispered into the stillness, his voice cracking as he felt a hollow void where their connection once pulsed with life. The emptiness swallowed his words, leaving him feeling lost and disoriented. “You… You’re here,” he reminded himself. “You’re here.” he said this a few times to himself before he turned to look at the piles of his horde. Rubbing his eyes, they felt sore and strained.

He needed to focus.

Mihou was still here, and he needed to find a means to get them to the moon. If only his Master was here. He would know what to do. He would- Oh…

OH wait.

Wukong lifted his head, suddenly remembering what he had. He gasped, turning to tell Mihou but seeing nothing in return. Not sure if his Moon was still behind him or not or had shuffled elsewhere around him, he stammered, “I-I uh- I remembered something,” he cleared his throat, trying to seem more in control then he felt. His hands trembled, stuffing them in his pockets to hide them away. “My Master-” he corrected himself, not sure how Mihou would feel about that. “The Monk. I was given his khakkhara. He used it to teleport. We could use it to get to the moon!” when he smiled, the room felt… strangely chilly. His shoulders tensed. Even though he couldn’t see or hear Mihou- he felt he could still sense an anger from him. It radiated and made him shrink.

W-Why was his Moon angry?? Was it just from him mentioning his Master?

Should he turn his gold vision back on and ask?? They hadn’t discussed how long he should go before using it again?

Or should he just go grab the khakkhara so they didn’t risk Princess Iron Fan getting to the Moon before they did? He knew that would piss off his Moon even more.

Previous

Next

[siren-serenity]

off to the grand line we go

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖 tell me, what is your dream? to become stronger? to roam the seas in sight for freedom? whatever you want, the sea is willing to offer

-all written by 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍-

note: the ones with (nsfw) are not suitable for minors! minors dni. however, those without any other labelling are safe for everyone :)

𝐋𝐄𝐓'𝐒 𝐆𝐎 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐄'𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 note: i've only watched a couple of one piece episodes so i'm not that sure of what arcs or whatever is happening. please be patient with me!! i will not write nsfw for non-humanoid characters ex. chopper honorary tag for sfw works, sanji + ace -> @officialdaydreamer00

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖 𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 ↳˳;; ❝ who is luffy to you?ᵕ̈೫˚∗

you would forever immortalize that day. the fated day in which you met the mugiwaras, or the straw hat pirates. luffy, thrusting his hand into your field of vision, mouth grinning and an odd laughter bursting from him. then, in the corner of your eye, you saw everyone else with an earnest look in their eyes. "join my crew!" luffy beamed, like sunshine, like the sun itself. your soul ignited. your heart resonating, beating like drums in your chest. "aye," you grinned, clapping your hand into his. "i pledge to make you king of the pirates!"

𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈 ↳˳;; ❝ pillow prince (nsfw)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

sanji's hands are shaking as he holds yours, cradling them as if they were the finest piece of treasure in all the seas. his eyes are earnest, glimmering as always whenever he looks at something he loves, but they're more sincere than ever. "my dream is not just the all blue anymore. it's you and it's always been you."

𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐆𝐀𝐒 𝐃. 𝐀𝐂𝐄 ↳˳;; ❝ lucky to have youᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ who is luffy to you?ᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ when he loves you (ace ver. part two)ᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ you're so in loveᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ midnight snacks, midnight confessions (modern au!)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"i never thought there was someone out there who could love me," ace blows out a wisp of smoke from his mouth, looking outwards from where he leaned on the railing of whitebeard's ship. the sunset highlighted his rugged looks that always made your heart stutter. his next words are quiet, murmured like a sacred whisper. "but then you proved me wrong."

𝐑𝐄𝐃-𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 ↳˳;; ❝ when he loves you (shanks ver. part one)ᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ who is luffy to you?ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"let's just drink our sorrows away," shanks lifted up a heavy bottle of rum before giving you a light-hearted grin. the sun rising behind him lit up his ruby hair and he seemed to glow otherworldly. "or shall we just drink merrily until we're black-out drunk?"

𝐁𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐍 ↳˳;; ❝ my favorite shade of blueᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ when he loves you (buggy ver. part three)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"you," buggy grabbed your chin, tugging you closer to him. his lips curved upwards into a scarlet-smeared grin. blue eyes glimmered and shimmered with a hint of insanity yet there was something about the look in his eyes that made you drawn into the craziness of him. "you will be the greatest act of all."

𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐓𝐄 '𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐎𝐍' 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄 ↳˳;; ❝ morning routinesᵕ̈೫˚∗

you let an exasperated, yet concern-filled sigh escape your lips, hands bandaging his injured shoulder with ease. rosinante watches you with the slightest hint of guilt brimming in his eyes and you immediately felt soft again- no! he set himself on fire again! you must stay strict and- "thank you," rosinante grinned at you, charming in his own unique way, and you felt your heart flutter. "i love you."

𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐀 𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 ↳˳;; ❝ i just wanna kiss youᵕ̈೫˚∗

"i swear, on my blade, that i will always protect you," zoro pledged and he seemed so serious that you didn't retort as you usually did. he sheathed wado ichimonji and then held your hands in his own calloused ones. the sun had set behind him and outlined his well-built body against the brilliant blue sky. "i swear it, because i will always prioritize you first and foremost." he took your breath away. he always had and always will.

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐃. 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐖 ↳˳;; ❝ early dawnsᵕ̈೫˚∗

"thank you," law whispers. he holds you tight to his chest, inhaling your sweet, unique aroma paired with the metallic, sharp scent of blood. thankfully, the majority of it wasn't yours and you were alive, in his arms. "never do that again. please." law is begging, perhaps for the first time in a long time. but he will get down on his knees and do every humiliating action if you could remain safe forever.

𝐁𝐎𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊 ↳˳;; ❝ eyes and smiles (my heart beats louder)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"in this vast sea," hancock murmurs, having a lost look in her eyes. you step closer, embracing her gently with a hand cradling her head to you. "my love for you transcends everything." she leans back to look you in the eye and to your surprise, they had small shimmers of tears in the corners. she smiled and it was like the sun had blessed you with warmth. "perhaps our love is the most beautiful of them all."

[holybibly]

Divine Rosa  ❢ot8xreader❣ 

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader

❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut

❣ Word Count: 8.5k

❣ Summary: The moth always pours itself into the flame; what a pity that in the end it burns out. After the tragic death of her sister, MС tries to find answers to the questions she left behind. This leads her to a gated cottage town known for its luxurious rose gardens. In addition, there are also these mysterious men who manage all the affairs in the city. Too sweet, too helpful, too intrusive, and too in love.

❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior, panic attack. Sexual themes: hematolagnia, body worship, masturbation, bite kink, olfactophilia, voyeurism.

❣ Disclaimer: I don't support yandere behavior, stalking, or religious imposition. Themes include violence, obsession, possessiveness, and emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended solely for entertainment purposes.

❣Chapter 2: Wolf in sheep's clothing❣

Love is a word that deserves closer consideration, halfway between the dry hypocrisy of the dictionary and its deep sacral meaning.

What a strange feeling…

Love, both virtuous and vicious, motivates us to accomplish great feats yet also triggers the commission of heinous crimes. This mysterious and inexplicable feeling interweaves its complex structure within us, becoming the most unstable, contentious, and hazardous of all human emotions.

Love is the fundamental source of all our emotions and experiences in the world, both beautiful and disgusting.

Love has a multitude of motives, including the desire for control, submission, care, seduction, lust, protection, worship, creation and, of course, destruction.

The feeling is manifold; We can call this complex emotion by different names, including passion, hatred, obsession, alienation, objectification, mania, unattainable dreams, happiness, idolatry, spiritual unity, and possibly the most poetic of all—the second half of the soul.

Humans crave love from birth until death. This desire is inherent and everlasting. As we take our first breath, we unconsciously absorb the toxic essence of love, which settles in our lungs like delicate, silky flowers.

This need is woven into the very structure of our DNA, an animal instinct that inadvertently condemns us to eternal suffering.

Love exists as a palpable entity, often obscured by human perceptions of carefree happiness and joy. It can be likened to a lurking deep-sea creature, concealing its true visage, branching and moving under the thin surface of our skin.

She is as cunning as a murderer's grin, and she is well aware of the inevitable tragic end of every story she is about to tell. Though we may be in the belief that we have had a joyful life, in reality all our actions have been under the impulse of love. For the sake of this deceptive feeling, which unites us for a moment in the ecstatic joy and privileges of angelic ugliness.

In the end, our physical bodies will serve to feed the earthworms, to house the larvae and to nourish the roots.

Never again will they gaze into each other's eyes, never again will the turquoise flame passion between them ignite, and never again will their lips meet in a voluptuousness kiss. 

Love has the power to drive us insane, to blind us, and even to lead to our demise.

And yet, in life, it is possible to miss everything but love.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

 3rd POV 

I want to fill my mouth with your name. I want to eat you whole. Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems, and a Song of Despair

“You look pathetic, San. Don't you think so? I wonder what Seonghwa would say to that?” Yeosang lazily runs his pale spidery fingers over Yoru's silky black fur, looking with contempt at the naked brunette stretched on a pile of knocked-down sheets and pillows.

The rings on his hands burn with blood, like the eyes of the Devil.

San looked blissfully relaxed and languid, like a caressing predator. His golden skin seemed to glow from within with an otherworldly glow as the translucent sunlight greedily licked his body with its soft touch.

Still, there was something vaguely animalistic, almost primitively predatory, about him, which in no way connected him with the arrogant aloofness that was inherent in the entire vampire race.

There was hot blood running through his veins, making him even more dangerous.

He was unbridled.

“I don't care what Seonghwa says, if he says a word at all in the next few centuries. Personally, I would prefer that his magnificent body continue to rest in the coffin for a very long time.” A smug smile played on his sensual lips. “And unlike you, my dear brother, I don't hide my true desires.” A slow, almost lazy glance from San's silvery eyes swept over the slender body of Yeosang sitting in the chair, lingering for a moment on the pale pink patch of soft skin on his temple.

He imagines, not without pleasure, how, with particular cruelty, he tears it from the porcelain face of his beloved brother with his long claws, leaving behind a wet, gaping wound.

San hated it. His birthmark is indisputable proof of his connection with his beautiful Rose.

The sign that binds their souls tightly into a single whole.

He should have found her first that night.

“Look at you, Sangie. You act like a coward, hiding in dark corners and wandering in her dreams. Perhaps I could understand you if your wayward antics gave her pleasure. If our Rose woke up with your name on her lips, all wet and needy, so desperate for more.

You have to ignite her passion and her desire to be loved, make her feel special, and fill her with thirst and hunger for our touch and our love. All her thoughts should belong only to us. But how did we end Yeosangie? Tell me, huh? Our Rosa has an animal terror before you. Sarang is afraid of you. Isn't that really pathetic? You know, I can smell that sweet scent of fear on her sheets.” San buried his face in the soft fabric of the silk pillow on which Sarang usually slept and took a deep, slow breath. “So damn delicious… I want to eat her whole.”

All he wanted now was to feel her from the inside, so that her scent would stay forever in his lungs, merge with his blood, be absorbed into his skin, and become an integral part of it.

God, he is prepared to worship this woman and idolize her in every conceivable way. 

She was his.

Not in some figurative or metaphorical sense, no. She was his everything. A soul that fills the shell with his dead body, blood black as night, that runs through his veins, his thoughts. Every second of his life. San couldn't tell where he ended, and she began, for you were two halves fused together into a single breathing living being.

The beginning and the end of his life

If he could know death, which was no longer possible for him, he would be happy to suffocate on that heady aroma that was spinning his head like a powerful drug. And to do so until death takes him into his arms.

How beautiful would his death be! Silk sheets, roses, and Sarang are the only true loves.

“She smells so divine, Sangie; how can you resist this temptation?” His back arched gracefully. Under the golden canvas of the skin, the jagged vertebral bones were outlined, and the flexible muscles were stretched like tight velvet ribbons. The relief of his chiseled abs pressing against the bed, his thighs rushing up, creating a perfect s-line.

He moved so smoothly. A large predatory cat, draining gross sexuality and animal dominance. A true erotic vision, fringed by the diffused glow of the lazy midday sun. The smell of her fear brought out the worst in him and made him crave to devour her heart and soul, but he couldn't do it.

“You don't know shit, San. You come here whenever you want and act like a cranky kid, pouting and expressing anger because you couldn't get her first. What a pity, because I was the one who made the connection. I can feel her; I can feel her in my veins; I don't have to act like a bitch in heat fucking her bed.” Yeosang's voice was indifferently cold, so deceptively calm, but San could clearly hear the poisonous malice in every word he said.

It looks like he hit a nerve.

“You tell me you'd never been in my place, Yeosangie?”  San grinned, and on his cheeks appeared charming dimples. “You never could lie;you always spilled everything to Seonghwa like a good puppy at the first snap of his fingers. You should ask Wooyoung to teach you some lessons if you want to play games with me. We all know exactly what you do, so didn't be shy about it, honey. Do you think you can hide from Hongjoong your little dream manipulation, constant stalking, and night visits? Or how pathetic and pathetic you look, whining and wriggling like a whore when you come in with her dirty laundry, which you hide under your pillow. Oh my God, what will Seonghwa say when he finds out? You should care. Our good boy has gone to the dark side; he's going to be so disappointed that he lost his mutt. Although you know, maybe you and Wooyoung aren't as different as I originally thought. He's just as pathetic a puppy as you are, my beautiful brother, and look how that turned out for him. Perhaps you'll be the next one to end up in a coffin. I'd change my behavior if I were you. Bad boys get punished.” There was mockery and outright bullying in his voice.

That's right, they were family; their loyalty to each other was an unbreakable blood oath, and if necessary, they would be willing to die for each other. Blood is thicker than water. But the bond they shared with Sarang was different from anything that could be explained. She wasn't a missing part; to think so would be foolish. No, she was a part of themselves, a part of their dead souls, filling their bodies with a semblance of life. Something extremely more dangerous than any possible blood bond. A bond where the lines between reality and fantasy, obsession and morality, understanding and rationality were blurred.  And that bond was the reason, why Wooyoung, Yunho, and Seonghwa were still resting in their luxurious coffins. Iron, velvet, and crystal—so completely different, so frighteningly the same.

San remembers with pleasure how good it felt to drive stakes into their black hearts. The spell would be broken with a kiss. Perfectly. He hopes their sleep will be eternal. This time, it should be different. He will be the first, yes. San will be first—not Seonghwa, not Hongjoong, not Wooyoung, but him.

That's right. Everything will be the way it should be from the beginning. After all, he was the one who started it all.

Once upon a time, Sarang belonged only to him.

“San…” Yeosang hissed menacingly, digging his bony fingers forcefully into the soft feline fur, causing Yoru to meow painfully and curl up into a ball in his lap. His fangs bared, scratching his plump lower lip, and black veins trickled in an intricate pattern down his thin neck.

The brunette laughed and rubbed his cheek against the soft fabric of the pillow, covering his eyes dreamily.

The silk felt wonderful against his bare skin.

“You hiss like a kitten; will you show me your sharp little teeth?”

“You'd better watch out for your tongue, or I might rip it out.” The fierce gaze literally stabbed him. It burned and penetrated to the core of his being.

“I dare you.” The bloodied lips opened, allowing the pointed tip of his tongue to traverse the tortured, swollen flesh, licking away the blood that seeped to the surface.

“Let his lips be like rose petals - red as fresh blood.” Said the Queen Witch.

San covered his eyes and completely ignored the angry brunette. He loved to play with fire. It was his nature. If it had been Hongjoon or Mingi in Yeosan's place, he might have thought twice before poking the tiger with a stick, and of course he would never intentionally offend Seonghwa; the outcome of any of those confrontations would not have been in his favor. But this was Yeosang - airy and gentle as melting snow.

The shadows of San's long eyelashes lay in a lacy pattern on his heart-wrenching cheekbones. They were one of the most striking features of his appearance - sharp and angular - and they made his face a masterpiece. A creation skilfully crafted by the hand of a master.

Yeosang's beauty was soft and angelic, the kind of beauty one might see on the faces of the winged, plump cherubs beneath the vaulted ceilings of Gothic cathedrals. He had once admired their beauty so much, especially when he tore their flesh with his claws and tore baby, fluffy wings from their pale, soft bodies.

Such an exquisite, decadent taste.

San's beauty was of a completely different kind: vicious, dark and hypnotic. Chiseled like the eternally frozen perfection of a pagan marble god, every line of his face was sharp and deadly seductive. From the feline cut of his eyes, shimmering with silvery immortality, to the capriciously curved corners of his plump lips, always inflamed and soft, so tortured and tender from incessant biting and kissing…

San's appearance was sinful.

He was the most desirable of all nightmares, the special kind that seduces the girls of the church, then fills his bathtub with their blood and organizes orgies in the bloody pieces of their torn bodies. San was formidable and intimidating, but his aura was alluring and seductive. The terrible prospect of an inevitable end and death had never looked so appealing. Maybe he was having an affair with you, or maybe he was going to kill you. There was lust, danger, and rage. There was a delicate balance between horror and desire, as if he were the embodiment of both the horror and the charm of God. He was the man everyone secretly dreams about when they caress themselves before going to bed, in a cold, lonely bed.

He was the person who made you feel uncomfortable in your own skin and who made you experience a shivering sensation of fear that would spread over all of your exposed areas.

San was undoubtedly that person. Despite the potential for his eyes to linger on your skin, his presence was desired. Exquisite wounds, reminiscent of blossoms from damaged tissue, were created by his razor-sharp canines.

Death and sex were not enough for San; he had a craving for disorder and hot sensations.

He always wanted more, whether it was blood or pleasure. He never felt satisfied.

His sole desire was Rose—just her alone.

“Do you smell that Sangie scent?” San inhaled deeply again that intoxicating divine scent, resisting the urge to savor her flavor like a dog, choking and whimpering. “Mmmm, I want her so badly. I want her whole, every fucking cell of her body. She's driving me crazy.”

Sarang emitted a scent that was distinctly sharp and overpowering in its fragrance. Reminiscent of aged wine, it was infused with the bitterness of dark chocolate, the piquancy of red pepper, and the sweetness of roses. It tastes like sin and blessing at the same time. Like a slight saltiness akin to the tears she had shed, he longed to lick them off her rounded, flushed cheeks. The fruity sweetness of illicit fruit. The taste of his own blood. The metal and thick aroma of their sexual encounter. Thick as semen and honey.

San wants to have her. Wants her to love him. He desires his love to be reciprocated as fervently and passionately as he does.

His only wish is her love.

Although it is not enough for him to possess her love, he wants her to have an intense and almost sadistic affection for him—one that goes beyond what seems possible. He yearns for her to destroy him. Because he's confident in Sarang's ability to do so. He needs more. More than she could offer him, more than she could ever agree to. He is but a slave, created to worship her.

San's aim is to belong to her; he would go to any extent, even to the point of destroying the entire world, if that is what it takes to achieve that. The value of her love is immeasurable, and his objective is absolute.   She is the center of his life and the very essence of his being.   She is the haunting presence in his dreams, a seductive force that both seduces and tortures. The midnight idol of his desire, the serpent that dwells around his heart, tempts him to sin.

San craves her love so much, and that need is so painful, so all-consuming, and so twisted. If need be, he would kill her with his own hands, just to be sure that no one else would ever have her.

Sharing her with his brothers was like hellfire burning him from the inside out, but it was a paltry sacrifice he could make in exchange for her love.

This time, he won't let her go. This time, not even death would dare separate them. Saran will be his. She will be theirs. In life. In death. Forever and ever.

Soon.

It will happen so soon. San can't wait for the day when his Goddess is beneath him, in the cage of his body, sprawled on the black velvet of his bed. With his fangs deep into her sweet flesh, and she will screaming his name in a haze of ecstatic pleasure.

He would make her see stars. San will take her all the way to the doors of Heaven.

“San,” “San,” “San,” “San” over and over, until her voice completely collapses to a painful wheeze, until he absorbs every tiny sound she makes, every moan, every breath, every barely perceptible note, until all she will remember is his name.

Until Sarang whispers right into his lips, “I am yours.”

Soon.

In the meantime, San can patiently wait. He will wait as he always has, obediently and without complaint. He will be such a good boy. San will wait obediently, as he has done for centuries and centuries before. Until the time is right to pursue his desires, he will take all that he has dreamt of, and God will save the souls of those who get in his way.

Right now, he thinks he could die here — in her bed, surrounded by the lingering warmth of her body and her maddening scent. He would like nothing more than to show her all his passion and devotion and all the love he could give her.

He dreams of running his lips over her skin and tasting her until his whole face is wet and glistening with her juices. He will fuck her into oblivion until night turns to day and then drown her in tenderness, worshiping her caress-weary body as an obedient slave should.

Sometimes, he thinks it's not normal—the feelings he has for her. Such love simply cannot exist. How can someone love someone so much? Is it normal to hate the very existence of nature and the heavenly bodies for being able to see her beauty, which should belong to him alone?

However, these were only momentary musings until he regained his composure, dispelling any doubts. How could he even question his love? It felt so perfect and effortless, like breathing. How could such thoughts even enter his mind?

Her love was a life worth living.

It was destined since the dawn of time, when spirits roamed the earth, the sun was young, and the old gods had not yet vanished. She belonged to them, and they belonged to her. They sensed her first breath on their lips. He felt. 

Their love bloomed again—a blood rose.

Soon…

These fantasies drove him mad; every cell ignited with the desire to possess, awakening his animal predatory nature. The ugly nature of his genuinely depraved being.

He pictured Sarang biting into his neck and taking possession of him. She aimed at him as if he were nothing more than a thing, a toy for her amusement.

“Say my name, Sarang. Express your fondness for me and acknowledge that I am your only one. I want you to own me and claim me as yours. Say my name until it burns your lips. Again and again. Drink my blood, bite me to death; I'm nothing more than your slave, just a pathetic means of pleasure. Hit me. Hurt me, I beg you. I need it so badly. Please, my love, I am begging you to love me. Love… Love me so much until it kills me. That is what I wish for.”

His hips moved smoothly, grinding his arousal against the rumpled bedclothes. San moaned, breathlessly gasping as he found the perfect angle to satisfy his intense desire for release. He needs to cum; he couldn't leave here without cumming. He buried his face in the pillow, panting and whimpering like a wild animal possessed. His primal instincts demanded he leave his mark on her, to possess her and fuck her into oblivion until her belly bloated from the amount of cum pouring into her and her head felt light and empty.

His claws lengthened, digging into the mattress, leaving sickening jagged stripes as his hips moved uncontrollably, continuing to rub his throbbing wet cock against the silken folds of the crumpled sheets.

The sounds he made were almost heavenly.

Soft, extended moans that turned into pitiful sobs. He sounded like an angel in the throes of passion.

In his fantasies, San imagined drinking from her as long scarlet streams of her sweet blood ran down their naked bodies, staining everything red. How deeply he entered her body, seeing the imprint of his cock on her flat stomach as her neat, pointed nails plowed into his back into gaping lacerations.

His teeth clenched as he let out a hoarse moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. San needed to cum; he was on the verge of madness. The need for pleasure was more obvious than anything around him at the moment. The transparent essence of his arousal dripped down onto the sheets, sticking to his golden, wet skin with every movement of his muscled thighs.

His thoughts returned to the dark, vicious images of hot animal sex. A fine shiver ran down his entire body.

He will run his tongue along every contour of the intricate bloody lines, licking up every last drop. First, the longest neck-open and vulnerable to his insatiable mouth, then lower down the hollow between the heavy breasts, rising in time with her labored breathing. His lips would close around the hard pink nipples, scraping them with his teeth, making her squeal and gasp. Lower down her flat belly, where the flowers of his hungry kisses and hard touches bloomed. Until his tongue is between the moist puffy folds of her pussy, he runs the pointed tip along the soft silken flesh, plunging deeper into the tight hole where blood mingles with her natural sweetness. He wants to feel the velvety, wet walls of her vagina clench and quiver around his tongue.

“Sarang!” His voice was hoarse, and his hands gripped the sheets beneath him with such force that his knuckles turned white, almost tearing the skin.

He looked pornographic.

San was so lost in his fantasies that he had completely forgotten about Yeosang, who was still in this room, until he was reminded of it with a sharp, painful tug of his hair. Long, thin fingers gripped the dark, damp strands with force and tilted his head back rigidly, revealing a view of a strong neck with veins swollen from exertion and beads of sweat running down her

“Here we go, such a pathetic, stupid bitch.” Yeosang said it with mockery in his voice. His lips curled into a wicked smirk, and San could feel it on his skin as the brunet whispered in his ear. “Look at you, you're nothing more than a slut; where's your pride, San, eh? The great general of the dark army, the heartless ice prince, the ruthless Ripper, is nothing more than a drooling whore shamefully rubbing his cock against the sheets.” Yeosang's fingernails dug painfully into his scalp, tugging harder on the long silk strands the color of night.

“Yes, yes, keep calling me that.” His request sounded like a plea. All Yeosang's words made him move faster, almost in desperation.

The rhythm of his hips became erratic and uncontrollable. He was close. His teeth clenched as he let out a hoarse moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat.

“Are you imagine fucking her, Sannie, hmm? Or what would it taste like? I bet the taste will be heavenly; she's sweeter than ever in this life. Oh no, I know exactly what you're thinking.” A mocking chuckle escaped his ruby-red lips. “You want her to bite you.” Those wicked lips pressed against the frantically beating pulse point. “Right here.” Yeosang's teeth sank with force into the flushed skin of San's neck—that particular sensitive spot on his neck beneath a scattering of pale freckles.

San's eyes rolled back in pleasure, his mouth opened in a silent moan, and his hips shook with the intensity of his orgasm. Thick, hot cum splattered onto the sheets, staining them with the pale, milky liquid.

The brunet unclenched his teeth, releasing the tender skin. The bite mark was wine-red, with swollen incisor impressions and drops of black blood in the hollows. A poisonous flower, tempting to know sin.

“Sannie, look at the mess you'd made. Truly a royal fuck. I always thought it was more Mingi's style.” Finally, thin but surprisingly strong fingers let go of the silken strands, allowing San to rest his face tiredly against the pillow. His whole body relaxes after the overwhelming orgasm. The entire pillow is soaked with drool and sweat, and semen cools beneath his stomach, sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

He opens one eye and looks up at the vampire leaning over him with a lecherous smile.

“Would you like to join me, my beautiful brother? We still have a few hours before she gets home.” The brunet rolls onto his back to make room for Yeosang in the bed. His fingers run along the sculpted curves of his abs, scooping up the viscous, pearly liquid and sliding it into his mouth. “Mmm…” A long tongue swirled around his fingers, licking up every drop with lazy, slow pleasure.

“You're disgusting, San.” Yeosang puckered his lips in disgust, looking around at the brunette sprawled on the bed. He turned sharply on his heels and strode away from the room;  to he pick up Yoru on his way, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, in his arms. “Get up; we have to go. Hongjoon is calling us.”

“You're not leaving the cat?”

The brunette turned around over his shoulder, meeting his gaze with San's silver eyes.

“June misses his darling; for our little girl, it's time to come home.”

San propped himself up on his elbows, looking at the departing Yeosang. His lips stretched in a satisfied smile full of devilish anticipation.

The time had finally come.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

1st POV

"Feed me to the wolves, let them take my flesh."

“Well, I'm glad to finally meet you in a more relaxed setting, Miss Ahn. Please take a seat.” With an elegant gesture, the man motioned me to a deep leather chair in front of his desk. On the glass tabletop was a silver plaque engraved with the name “Mr. Lee Taeho”.

“Miss An” - how sad and tragic that sounds. I never wanted to try out this role. I didn't like being addressed like that, because it was always Mina, and before her, it was my grandmother, and probably my mother was addressed like that when she was alive.

But here I am, the new Miss Ahn, and unlike my predecessors, I have not sought to carry the weight of this unbearable crown. I don't need the congratulatory ribbons and the wet glitter sequins smeared across my face.

Although there was nothing in the address itself that I could call unpleasant, the tone with which it was always delivered foreshadowed the inevitable tragic ending of its own and tasted of earth and chrysanthemums.

You're bound to end up as one of them; it's not all by chance, Sarang.   Don't kid yourself.

I saw the future as a series of predetermined events, especially after Mina's death. She had the arrogance to dispose of my life as she saw fit, putting chains of obligations and secrets around my neck. I buried her in the ground, and my days became nothing more than a list of dull plans, paltry hopes, and bitter regrets, as murky as the water in the city canals through which a coffin floats. Still, I couldn't help but wonder who would be the next Miss An when I died, or would I be the one to hold that title forever?

There are never any former queens. There are only dead ones.

I could feel the blood flowing faster through my veins.

For a few moments, there was silence around us, thick and enveloping like fog. If I'd felt any hint of confidence as I walked through the tall glass doors of Silver & Black LTD, now, alone with this man, I was floundering in my social insecurity like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. I resisted the urge to squirm under the gaze of his night-dark eyes. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

Lee Taeho wasn't just one of Silver & Black's most successful lawyers; he was also a devilishly handsome man.

He was built like a god. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a tight-fitting white shirt that accentuated his muscular biceps, bulging pecs, and flat stomach. The image of strength and power was completed by the perfectly tailored, tight-fitting trousers. The rolled-up sleeves revealed several tattoos on his wiry forearms—something in Latin that I couldn't make out.

His face was also striking, with angular, pointed features that would have looked strange and out of place on anyone else, but the luscious, perfectly sculpted lips made them something unimaginable and outrageously beautiful.

I felt uncomfortable under the weight of his scrutinizing gaze. He was looking at me like I was something special, but not in a sexual or romantic way; rather, it was the look of an explorer who had found an unexpected treasure in a pile of rubbish.

“I honestly didn't expect you to have any free time in the next few months, so thank you for seeing me at such short notice.”

To be honest, I knew absolutely nothing about Silver & Black until Soomin told me about them on the way here. Soo turned out to be absolutely right when she told me about them. This place was the epitome of the arrogant domination of money and power—cold, glassy, and sterile, like a morgue where the remains of all “happy stories” are taken.

I could never belong to such a place, but I could easily imagine Mina here, with her developing blood curls and the unemotional grandeur of royalty. People like my sister were part of that 'proper' society so suited to closed Sunday clubs and icy glass offices. Like all of her kind, Mina was a great predator, used to labeling people and giving them her own names and definitions. She knew exactly how to make those around her feel uncomfortable with just one look.

Some people have everything, others nothing. It's as cruel and true as the inequality of love.

I still didn't understand how Mina had so much money to afford the services of this company, but judging by how polite and “sweetly” the receptionist greeted me at the entrance, she was very much appreciated here.

Blood of my blood.

“You have nothing to thank me for, Saran.” He said that, and I looked back at him in surprise. It wasn't so much the fact that he allowed himself a familiarity that surprised me, but the way he said my name—as if it had always belonged to his lips. It was as if he'd said it over and over again until the intonation was perfect.

My heart beats fast in my chest, but I couldn't tell if it was fear or something else entirely.

“We will always make time for you. If you'll allow me to be frank, I've left a few free hours each day, just in case you decide to call me. Honestly, I expected it to take a little less time on your part, but who am I to judge you, Sarang?”

“But why?” I tried to gather information and put it together in a way that wasn't absurd. I didn't want to assume anything.

“Why? Do I have to explain? Maybe I just wanted to see you; you're a beautiful girl, and I'm a great admirer of the beautiful. He smiled, seemingly satisfied with the embarrassment that must have been written on my face. I could feel the heat spilling over my cheeks, turning them a painfully inflamed shade of red.

I had never been a girl with a 'cute' blush. I was more like a girl burned by the gold of the sun, pressing her cheek directly against the boiling, bubbling surface of the sun.

Taeho lightly drummed his perfectly filed nails on the glass tabletop, completely ignoring my obvious embarrassment at the situation, and continued:

“But let's say that this is due to the fact that your dear sister was a valued client of ours, whom everyone here at Silver & Black LTD sincerely appreciated. Miss Ahn was our special customer. All the staff will agree with me; your sister is impossible not to love.”

“A special client?” I interjected. Somehow, that didn't surprise me at all. Of course, it was only natural that Mina was always at the center of the universe. People followed the sound of her voice like rats behind the magical melody of the flute.

“Are you surprised, Sarang? Your sister has helped our firm in many ways, bringing us new clients and introducing us to the 'right' people, making our firm one of the best in Korea. She's contributed a lot to the development of Silver & Black. There was a strange note in his voice, as if between the cracks there was something terrible—a terrible secret that could change my whole life.

For some reason, I don't feel comfortable at all right now.

“I'm pleased… hmm, or rather, I'm pleased to know that my sister has done so much for you. Lately, she and I haven't really been close, and we've barely chatted. So I didn't know where she went or what kind of people she hung out with.” My words come out a little sour, and I press my lips together.

The lovely Mina, as always, is proving to be the best. I wonder if the day will come when she damn pedestal will be nothing but a pile of ruins at my feet. I thought all this time you'd been pining for roses, but instead you've been doing the right thing. What else don't I know about you, Ahn Min?

What don't I want to know about you?

''Yes, yes, she helped us a lot. Now let's get on with signing the documents, do you mind? I don't want to keep you any longer than necessary.” His words were very dry, businesslike, and in no way in keeping with the previous flirtation. Something flashed in his eyes—concern, doubt, maybe even fear—there was a tense tremor in his hands, and his whole aura changed, as if something huge and evil had turned its attention to him.

“Sure, let's get started.”

The entire process took no more than 30 minutes. I signed document after document, with occasional detached comments from Mr. Lee, which were completely at odds with his previous behavior. There was nothing special about the documents, except for one thing: Rose Hill. As best, I could make out from the extensive stack of papers, it was a small house in the style of Victorian England. It was in the ownership of a gated cottage community, the grounds of which were owned by a private company. It was all too complex and confusing to realize the meaning in the space of 30 minutes. I'll deal with it later, most likely in the company of Soomin and a couple of bottles of wine.

“Can I sell the house I inherited, Rose Hill?” I asked without lifting my head from the papers; a few more strokes and I could be out of here. The atmosphere in the office was terribly tense; my skin itched unpleasantly and tingled in places as if it no longer belonged to me.

“To my regret, I cannot help you in this matter. In all matters concerning Rose Hill, you must deal directly with the owners of the land; I will email you their contacts.” The smile he gave me was forced, and I couldn't help but wonder what had made such a difference in his change of mood.

“Okay, thank you.” I signed the last form and handed the pile of paperwork to Mr. Lee. “I'm done; hopefully everything is settled now. Can I get a copy of the documents, preferably today?”

Taeho cursorily flicked through the pages to make sure each one was signed.

 “Our administrator, Sunwoo, will give you all the documents. There is one more thing you need to get before you leave. When you leave here, go further down the corridor to the vault, and Bora will show you a locker in the storage room that belongs to your sister. Now, if you'll excuse me, my next customer is waiting, and I don't want to keep him waiting.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Lee.” I clumsily rose from my chair, trying to get out of this stuffy room as quickly as possible. The air felt pressurized, and I felt like I was going to start suffocating a little more. I needed to get out of here right now.

“It was nice to meet you, too, Miss Ahn. Please take care of yourself.” The look he gave me was sad—so unusually sad, like the look of a man living his last day on earth. It was as if the end had come for him before he could realize it.

His words, on the contrary, were a warning. “Take care of yourself.” What kind of lawyer wishes that to a client as a farewell? Was I in danger? Perhaps you were. Although that's true, it's worth crossing out the word “perhaps”, yes, I was in danger. Could he have known about it? Did Taeho know about the roses or the people who sent those awful flowers? Was there something he hadn't told me? A thousand questions were in my head as I walked out of his office.

Mechanically, I reach for the strands of pearls at my neck and twist them around my fingers, nervousness bubbling in my stomach. This isn't some worldwide conspiracy, Sarang. Wake up.

I think I'm becoming paranoid.

The door closes softly behind me. I'm alone in a sterile, shiny corridor.

In the distance, I hear a cheerful laugh—Soomin. She was definitely laughing. Soo is having a great time waiting for me to wrap things up. Even though she was denied my escort to Mr. Lee's office, she wasn't upset at all because the nice receptionist, Sunwoo, I think his name was, was determined not to let her get bored alone.

I could have fallen in love with him. He was charming and cute, with a sweet, heart-shaped smile that would make your teeth rot. He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit, Armani Prive, in a thinly stitched pinstripe. I'd say he looked like a puppy. With those big, wet, shiny eyes and the way he struck the right pose when you told him to.

Yes, that was the kind of guy I fell in love with—the kind with a good reputation and a well-paid job—the kind who makes love, not fucks. They're the ones who make sure he looks you in the eye and whispers to you about how good you're feeling when he's caressing your body.

Good boys. Obedient boys. Sugar-coated like candy.

If I fell in love with a guy like that, Soomin would break him up like a Christmas candy bar and take a bite right down the middle of him. She liked that type—kind, gentle, and submissive. There had never been a lack of male attention in her life, but for some reason, Soo had always surrounded herself with this type of boy, like colorful toys. She wasn't afraid to break them because she could always move on to the next one. They never crossed her, nodding in obedience and jumping as high as she asked. Men were no more precious to Soo than broken crystal balls, shimmering but useless.

The corridor in front of me was long and empty, with a single door at the end. The sound of heels hitting marble tiles echoed in my head, and the checkerboard pattern on the marble was jarring. For a moment, I thought the corridor was narrowing like a rabbit hole, endless and dark. I was short of air, unable to breathe, and the oxygen in my lungs was as thick and viscous as swamp sludge. I clawed at my neck with my fingernails, trying to pull off the pearl collar, but I felt myself tightening it stronger. My eyes stung from tears and mascara, and ink streaks ran down my cheeks, and somehow they felt colder than they should have.

My fingernails dug into the skin on my collarbones, scratching at it with cruelty and anger.

I needed to get away from myself. To be separate from my body and the way I felt. The nightmare awakened inside me, licking my veins, working its way inside, and gnawing into my soul. My consciousness was beyond my mind.

I hear the sound of tearing threads and thousands of pearls falling at my feet, and I fall with them. I want to go back to before it all began. Before the pain, Before the roses.

Fluorescent lights flash like the tails of nameless comets on the pearly roundness of the beads. I see stars exploding behind my eyes, painting the underside of my eyelids with intricate strokes—the constellation Gemini. Nergal. I want to remember the days when roses were just roses, not home to the ghosts of my soul.

I hear a sound—it's pearls crunching under sharp heels. Under steel heels, like the teeth of the Witch Queen. 

“Oh my God, Saran!” Someone shouts. Soomin isn't laughing anymore.

Her hands are so cold against my clammy skin. She presses my face against her chest, and the feverish beating of her heart brings me back to reality. She is my white rabbit.

Voices, voices—there are so many of them. It's a cacophony of sounds and unpleasant cracking noises. The pearls keep breaking, and I keep crying.

Someone brings me a glass of unpleasantly cold water; it runs down my throat like a liquid flame.

I finally took a breath.

“Take me home.” That's all I can say right now. I want to go home, away from the world, away from the sun, and away from the memories.

“She's having a panic attack; she needs air.”

“No! I need to go home.”

“It's OK, sweetheart. I've got you,” Soo purrs, kissing the top of my head like a little baby. She pulls me off the floor with effort, lifting me to my feet.

I look down at the checkered pattern of the marble slabs and at the scattered pearls. In some places, the white slabs are smeared with red, like lipstick smeared by a kiss. This is blood. My blood.

My legs shake like a newborn fawn as Soomin leads me away from this place. Every step was painful, almost more painful than Soo's tight grip on my forearm.   “It's okay, Sarang, we're going home.”

It's okay, Sarang.

It's okay.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

“Are you sure you're feeling better?”

“Yeah, I'm fine now.” I squeezed out the shadow of a smile. Apparently it was useless; the look in her eyes remained the same: worried, with fear lurking around the edges. Fear for me.

“How long have you been having these attacks?”

“This is the first time. I guess… I don't know. Let's just say it's a consequence of trauma. I don't want to talk about it.”

“I'm so sorry.” Soo crouched on the edge of the bed, taking my hand gently. I was made of glass; she didn't want to break me or do the opposite by hurting herself on me. “It's so horrible that you have to go through all this, baby.”

“Yes, it is.” What else could I say? I could not have said a word, and everything would have been understood. The wounds under the bandage itched terribly. Long red marks stretched along my collarbones and neck. Mascara was still smeared across my face, as was the soft pink lip gloss. I looked like a mess. I was a mess.

My throat was all dry and thirsty, and my eyes were so swollen I couldn't even open them fully.

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight, love? We can watch a film or something; maybe one of those stupid comedy shows Mina hated. I'll make dinner and open the wine.”

“No need; I'll be fine. Soomin, go home; you should be resting too, not babysitting me. I'm fine, really. I'm feeling better, and I'll definitely get through the night. I'll probably go straight to sleep as soon as you leave.” Much as I loved Soo, I didn't feel like seeing anyone right now.

“If you say so, Please call me in the morning as soon as you wake up, okay?”

“Of course. Be safe, Soo. Love you.” I thought I covered my eyes for only a second before I heard the click of the front door. The mark of her kiss burned on my cheek.

I don't know how many hours I sat like that—completely still, not taking my eyes off the dark landscape outside the window, which was getting brighter now that a little moonlight was seeping through the thick clouds.

I didn't want to get out of bed, drowning in pillows and blankets like a pipe dream. I felt good in my bed. I couldn't understand what exactly had changed, but I could feel the change. Even in the morning, the bed had been cold and lonely, but now the silk under my fingers was warmer and softer to the touch. Even the smell of the blankets seemed to be different, like purple lilies and musk, a scent that remotely reminded me of something very familiar but long forgotten. Could it have been Soo's perfume? No, more like the scent that Yoru always brought with her.

By the way, where did she go? She was here when I left this morning, but knowing her talent for disappearing and reappearing at will, I didn't hold out much hope of seeing her today. It would be nice to have her around now, though.

I rolled onto my side, resting my cheek against the pillow. I didn't want to sleep, but I didn't want to get out of bed either. My gaze settled on the small box that lay on the chair across from the bed. A casket from a storage locker.

After my panic attack, Soomin took it away, since I was apparently incapable of doing so. Next to it was a neat stack of papers with black paint poisonously embedded in them, listing all the possessions I now owned, including Rose Hill, but the most valuable and important thing was kept in this little silver coffin.

The metal walls of the casket shimmered like liquid silver when moonlight hit them. I was mesmerized by this otherworldly glow. Number 0711 - Miss Ahn Mina. Sometimes a lifetime can be folded like origami and placed on a velvet cushion like a collector's item.

I struggled with myself for a few more minutes before I threw back the blankets and got out of bed. My curiosity outweighed my fear. At that moment, I had to remind myself that “curiosity killed the cat,” and if I had been any smarter, I would have thrown the box to hell and never thought of it again.

The box opened silently, and I felt a chill, as if someone had dipped my heart in ice water. There weren't many things in the box—something old, something new, and something blue—all like a wedding tradition. It wasn't like Mina. She had always despised the idea of marriage; the very thought of anyone daring to claim her freedom made her sick.

It wasn't for her, and it wasn't for me.

Weddings are gorgeous, creamy bouquets of fragrant flowers that breathe in the dawn. At the end of a long journey down a narrow church aisle, a handsome prince awaits with the promise of eternal love. As if. Girls, guard your hearts, for they will eat them for breakfast. Piece by piece, like a birthday cake, until there's nothing left to keep you alive.

Then there'll be another, just as naive. And then another, and so on, endlessly. That's all love is. A streak of devil's rubies and eaten hearts.

There was no heart and no love in that box. Just one little piece of paper with torn edges and a handful of precious trinkets. Just one small puzzle piece that had fallen out of a huge and complex picture. I could recognize Mina's handwriting from a million others, but the words written on that little piece of paper were not hers. In each letter lurked something that had never belonged to Mina; her hand had scrawled those lines, but her lips had never uttered those words.

“My only love. My divine Rose, when I leave this world, I will leave you everything you could ever want. When you read this, I will be gone. Everything has been arranged; everything is ready for you. The whole world will belong to you, my love. I took care of it. On the back of this page, I have left the number of my good friend. Please give him a call; he will help you with all the things you need. He'll be waiting for you. He is the only one you can trust, Sarang. Your beloved Mina P.S. Don't forget, love is eternal.”

I flipped the sheet to the other side. The handwriting was the same but so different; the letters were sharp and crumpled, as if they were written in a hurry.

Hongjoong. I had heard that name before. I knew the taste of it on my tongue.

My fingers hurriedly dialed the number; I didn't look at the time, and, to be honest, I didn't care. I wanted to make sure that he was real and that this wasn't another one of her crazy fantasies that would lead me down a blind alley. I needed to know that Hongjoong wasn't fiction but blood and flesh, intermittent breathing, and an unevenly beating pulse.

At the other end of the phone, the long beeps were interrupted, there was a static pause for a second, and then I heard the sleepy and so welcome sound:

“Hello.”

[thesightstoshowyou]

🩸BLOODFEST🩸

Week 1

Prompts: Fire. Wound(s). Suburbs. Bondage

Keywords: Acrid. Malignant

Au Courant

(Part 1)

Asa Emory x AFAB Reader

Summary: Meeting your soulmate doesn’t quite go as you’d hoped.

Warnings: Soulmate AU, angst

~ Aeons ago, I answered this ask and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. So, here’s a fic ~

~~

Ding.

The automatic bell above the door chimes as you enter. The grocery store bustles with activity, people fresh from work hurrying to finish their shopping before returning to their sleepy suburbs. It’s barely-controlled chaos.

Retrieving a basket, you check the post-it note list in your pocket. Just a few things.

Aisle 3 first.

You’re slower than the rest as you scan the shelves, eyes unfocusing at random, the different brands of aluminum foil failing to hold your attention. Your mind is elsewhere.

Shelly found her soulmate today.

You knew the moment she walked into the office this morning. The sparkling eyes, the lovesick grin, they way she seemed to float with each step; it’s a look you’ve seen on others before. So, so many others.

Try as you might, you had not been able to avoid her for long. Pairs, as they’re called, could never keep it to themselves for long, seemingly intent on torturing you with their newfound wholeness.

They’d met on the train. She’d been running late and had to take a later line than usual. It was fate, she said. They never would have met otherwise.

Blah, blah, blah. You wanted to puke.

Everyone in your office had found their soulmate, one way or another. Everyone but you. Shelly was the last, the only coworker to whom you could relate. Now, you’re alone in more ways than one.

It would happen, they all told you. One day, your eyes would meet theirs and you would feel it: That spark, that final puzzle piece snapping into place, that pure feeling of absolute plenitude. It’s not something you could comprehend until you felt it, they said.

They’d meant to help, to give you hope, but their words only served to deepen the wounds of isolation. The malignant ache of loneliness festers a little more every year you go without meeting your other half. You’ve almost resigned yourself to a life of solitude.

It has been known to happen. Some unfortunate people go their whole lives without meeting their soulmate. It’s heart wrenching to see them out and about, a single, lonely figure in a sea of Pairs.

Would you be one of them?

Hastily, you shake your head, coming back to yourself and swallowing the acrid tang of self pity creeping up your throat. You slink to the next aisle over. A quick glance at your sticky note prompts you to retrieve a jar of pasta sauce. Bread is next.

You round the corner, eyes on your list. Bread, waffles, maybe you should get some ice cream—

You run headfirst into a solid chest, the impact so jarring you drop your basket. The glass jar of pasta sauce shatters, marinara splattering all over your shoes and the other’s scuffed boots. Strong hands seize your upper arms to keep you from toppling backward.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry—

The words die on your tongue when you meet the dark eyes of the man with whom you collided. His expression is one of cold fury. It chills you to the bone, freezes your soul, invokes a terror so deep in your mind you cannot draw breath. Then….

Click.

Your eyes widen. Fear dissipates instantly, replaced with unequivocal certainty. A spark ignites within you, warms your heart, sends a thrill racing up your spine.

It’s like that final puzzle piece snapping into place. No terror, only perfect completion.

Wholeness.

Now, you understand. Now, you see.

You stare in stunned silence at one another, his now shocked expression mirroring yours. A tremulous exhale spills from your lips. The grip on your arms tightens.

You take him in, as much as you can while keeping your gaze locked with his. He’s tall and broad-shouldered. “Powerful” is the first word that comes to mind. His strong jaw is peppered with stubble, the barest hints of gray flecking it and his brown hair. With your eyes, you trace the thin, white scars littering his face: One through his eyebrow, one through his lips, more slashed across his cheek and the bridge of his nose. His eyes…. His eyes are so dark—black?—and they glitter like beetle’s wings.

You inhale, part your lips to say something, to break the tense silence, but then his expression changes. His brows furrow, his lips press into a thin line. The cold scowl returns.

He releases your arms like you’ve burned him. Stepping away from you, he spins on his heel and quickly strides away. Incredulous, you watch the back of his jean jacket as he retreats, acutely aware of the knowing looks your exchange has garnered.

“Hey! Hey, wait!” you call, slipping a little in pasta sauce as you hurry after him. You pass a disgruntled employee and murmur an apology, you’ll help clean it up, you promise, you just need one moment….

The door chimes again as the man—your soulmate—all but flees to the parking lot. You pursue, half-jogging to catch up

“Stop! Please, why are you—

He turns to face you so fast you barely register what’s happening. A palm returns to your upper arm, another wrapping around your throat as he seizes you, spins, and shoves you up against the nearest vehicle. The noisy thud as your back collides with steel disturbs the muted hustle of post-work suburbia.

You gasp, equal parts shocked and impressed by the show of speed. You’re bewildered by your feelings, heart thudding in your chest, face hot. He just slammed you into a car and you’re blushing for chirst’s sake.

His own expression is pinched, strained. His voice, so pleasantly deep and rough, is terse as he speaks through his teeth, “You do not want to go down this road with me.”

You blink, your frenzied mind racing to process his words. “I…yes, I do. You’re—

“Forget this happened. Forget. It.” You flinch like he cut you, his words stinging like alcohol in a wound. You shake your head.

“…How?” you whisper. Your eyes burn. There’s no way you could ever, ever forget him now, not in any sense of the word. You’re connected on the deepest level, your very souls entwined. How could he say something like this? How could he want this? Does he not feel this bond like you do?

His jaw clenches. He pushes you away, not hard enough to make you fall, but firmly enough to make a point. Keys jingle as he retrieves them from his pocket. They rattle against the truck door—the one he’d pushed you against—until the lock clicks. He doesn’t look back as he slides into the driver’s seat, slams the door. The engine roars to life.

You watch, frozen to the spot, adrenaline and distress thrumming under your skin as the vehicle pulls away. It ambles through the parking lot, makes a left turn onto the street, disappears into traffic.

Your eyes burn.

Slowly, like your arm weighs a ton, you reach up to touch your cheek. It’s wet. You’re crying, you realize.

A new wound opens up, settles into your chest next to the loneliness:

Heartbreak.

[spice-chan]

Your Form parted from my Sober Mind

Alhaitham x fem!reader

Summary: Alhaitham was not an idealist, but he would fight tooth and nail for his ideals. A soulmate, in particular, conflicts with them.

word count: 10k

tags/warnings: soulmate au. this is dark. dead dove do not eat. rejection. mentions of murder. implications/implied of suicide. there's death in this fic (I'm trying not to spoil things here). Many different narrative styles, but it's all mainly from Alhaitham's POV. kind of mutual pining? mention of marriage. dreams are a reoccurring motif. implied sex, not too explicit but the act is described in enough detail

authors note: I came back from the dead...and made Frankenstein's monster.

“Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part,

And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart,” 

Alexander Pope, Elegy to The Memory of An Unfortunate Lady.

While everyone succumbs to a paradigm, that soulmarked people are irrevocably tied to one person, they are neglecting to consider alternatives. This consensus is harming the growth of Academia, and stunting further discoveries. Conducting further research on the phenomenon of soulmates is near impossible, because participation is scarce, as soulmarked people are very complacent, willing to take a backseat in their own future. I, as a soulmarked person, refuse to believe that some supreme deity is more aware of my own preferences and needs than I. In time, I shall prove that, and rewrite the way people view soulmates as we know it. 

-Alhaitham

-----------------

Alhaitham sighed as he trudged through the house of Daena, eyes searching for the book that he had been trying to borrow for the past few weeks. Not that he needed it, his grande personal collection spoke otherwise, but he had already gone through everything, his books more creased and spines wrinkled as evidence of his excessive care. He wished to borrow something new. Now if only the book didn’t seem to surge in popularity. 

His eyes landed on the book, long legs striding to it with purpose, it was to be his for the two weeks duration, until a hand reached for it at the same time. 

A spark ignited between your outstretched hands, however he didn’t feel repelled, rather the sensation seemed to send a comforting warmth to his heart that signalled safety to him. 

This moment would become engraved in his memory, when his teal eyes landed on yours for the first time, he’d never cared to describe people’s physical appearances beyond what would be convenient to him, but yours seemed to be an endless pit of water that he could drown in. 

Alhaitham staggered back a step, eyes panicked as his eyes searched for your wrist, heart sinking in dread as he saw the matching mark, now pulsing as it found its match. You appeared shocked as you took in this new found development, but by contrast, your lips curved up into a shy smile that he refused to admit was kind of beautiful. 

“Oh my god” 

You stepped forward, eyes curving down to look to his wrist and your smile blossomed even more as you confirmed it. Your happiness was however abruptly cut as he shoved his hand inside his pocket, moving past you to grab the book you two were previously gunning for. 

“Well, I’ll be taking this.” he said, leaving you standing there. He wondered what you looked like standing there alone, in the house of Daena, seeing the owner of the mark matching yours dismissing you. It was quite unheard of, soulmates were usually quite eager, and the first meetings were always recounted as something magical. He wasn’t eager to join the herd though. This is how it was meant to be, two souls parting at the bypass, because he was not obligated to pivot his direction to match yours. 

A thought struck him, his dread transforming to excitement. Soulmate studies had always steered clear of a certain direction, the road always seeming to carry an invisible hazardous warning that discouraged even the most willful scholars. Perhaps one is all it takes to finally discard the sign, ditched like an unseasonal winter coat on a summery day. One person who could prove that he is not willing to give in to the will of the Gods. 

He looked at the mark on his wrist, no longer pulsing, his face impassive, stony, not betraying his inner dilemma. Possibilities flashed before his eyes, calculations, uncertainties. He shoved his wrist back in his pocket, the eyesore taunting him with its vibrant hue, marked on his skin like an inevitable reality.

----------------

That night, Alhaitham had a vivid dream, one he could recall with disturbing detail. 

You and Alhaitham sat underneath the shade, Sumeru roses surrounded the two of you as he hugged you closer to his chest, his rose close enough to your hair that he could breath in your comforting scent while birds chirped, the flowers rustled, and your pages turned while the sun ordained you with it’s warmth. He wasn’t sure for a moment whether the source of the light was you or the sun. He didn’t care. He sighed, one out of comfort rather than fatigue or exacerbation, and you felt it tickling your neck. 

You turned to look at him, smile blinding even as his lips remained in a thin line. You said something, but all his senses centred around his sight, and it was laser focused on your kissable lips. You pouted slightly, before leaning forward and granting him his silent wish. 

As your lips touched his, his fake reality collapsed and he opened his eyes to the fuzzy shape of his room, disoriented at the delusion he had been sucked into. What prompted this dream? A curious question, one he didn’t have a silent clue how to begin answering. He breathed out, swiping his hair back, eyes glancing at the burgeoning morning sky. He wasted hours out of his rest dreaming about you. He’d rather not have dreamt at all. 

He tried to make sense of what had occurred. Meeting you had most likely been the trigger for this dream, but he would need to conduct further analysis.  

Most of Sumeru didn’t dream. Except for soulmarked people, they sometimes dreamt as they were deemed to be closer to deities. This idea was something Alhaitham didn’t buy into, but that’s only one more reason to carry on with this study that he dedicated himself to. Why would he dream of such a warm scene with you when he rejected you with his entire being?

---------------

Alhaitham’s theory, one he nurtured with the pride of a scholar, was that soulmarked people didn’t need their soulmates.

 It’s quite belittling, in his opinion, for one to base their future and value on whether or not they had a mark, and to abandon their individuality based on a mark. Alhaitham had never felt like half of a whole, he had never felt like his cup was half empty, and he frankly didn’t feel lacking. Your presence was thus simply unnecessary. He didn’t desire it, nor need it. 

You were however quite insistent on inserting yourself into his life. 

“As I previously informed you, your presence is quite unneeded. In fact it’s bothersome, can you sit somewhere else?” Alhaitham could not believe that even his favourite spot in his favourite cafe is now being invaded by you. You’re like an invasive species. 

“No, this spot gets the most sunlight. I can’t let you hog it, but I would be willing to offer you a drink as an apology for the huge inconvenience.”

Alhaitham gave you a brief glance, eyes looking to your face for a second, scrutinising you. Your content expression made him swiftly face his book once more. He tried making sense of your move, were you not offended? Did you have no pride? 

When Alhaitham made his stance to you clear, you were too disoriented to rebuttal. What he declared to you was quite unheard of, so he isn’t too surprised. You flashed him a saddened look, not quite heart broken though, and not too discouraged it seemed. You had been pestering him since. 

He surmised now that this was your way of trying to get to know him, accepting a drink means that he forgives you for intruding on his space, and he doesn’t. 

“I don’t want to give you another excuse to stay.” 

“I was never planning to leave Alhaitham. I already have every excuse to stay. Sunshine and a good view.” you said shamelessly, eyes raking his figure.  Alhaitham didn’t look up from his book this time but he could bet that you were looking at your nails nonchalantly. He even found the way you said his name strange, the way you pronounced it was interesting, and he was almost tempted to ask you to say it again just so he could pinpoint the intonations a little more. 

“Such as?” 

Alhaitham didn’t hear you speak for a few seconds, but he paused his reading and looked you in the eye, deadpan and serious. 

“I understand where you’re coming from. You believe being with me would be like, giving in, or something. That you accept that you are somewhat deficient and you need something to fill the gap in you.” you paused then, letting your words sink in with him, he couldn’t hide the way his poker face broke for a second. He certainly wasn’t expecting something insightful right this moment, and perhaps a tiny part of him felt touched that you weren’t undermining his thoughts as people had. 

“But that’s not how I see it, I don’t see you as a person who needs me to complete him. The bond is simply the notion that we complement each other. We are a pair, Alhaitham. You cannot escape it, but being a pair doesn’t mean that we are broken halves of a whole. I wouldn’t be able to be with someone so lacking and neither would you.” 

He let your explanation sink in, disappointment settling in the pit of his stomach. 

“You are overlooking very important variables. It takes so many different factors to shape a person, how could anyone be certain with so many uncontrolled variables that the person will then grow to be their most complementary partner? Maybe my upbringing shaped me in a way that is simply not suitable to you. Maybe there is someone out there that suits you more. But you are letting a mark decide your future, how predictable.” came his reply, scathing, upfront. You seemed to contemplate his words for a few seconds, before slowly nodding. 

“I see, but I will still believe in us. Just as deity’s watch over us and grant us visions, perhaps they are also aware of what our future holds and I will believe in their benevolence in pairing people-” he saw you fidget, saw your eyes avoid his penetrating gaze for two seconds before you resumed, once again resolute “-and just as you are unwavering in your beliefs, I will be unwavering in trying to prove to you that you and me belong together.” 

If Alhaitham was a more emotionally impressionable man, he might’ve described his feelings in this moment as butterflies as you proudly proclaimed your intentions. He isn’t however, and he decided it’s rather an annoyance having you here. 

He went back to his book, deciding this conversation to be over.

--------------

Entry 4, date xx 

It’s unfortunate yet understandable that research guidelines forbid me from using my own personal experience in my research. It won’t deter me from writing these entries, detailing my experience, so that someone in the future picking up this kind of research may have at least one detailed example. It’s hard to find people who do not conform to the standard of being with their soulmates upon discovering them, even if it means divorce, relocation etc. This makes academic studies that challenge the status quo quite difficult. In time, I do believe that people will move to treating soulmarks with more lukewarm expectations. 

My ‘soulmate’, a fellow researcher at the Akademiya, takes a stance quite oppositional to mine. Time did not deter her from pursuing me, nor her endless attempts at gaining my favour. It’s been a hassle, only made me wish I’d been born markless even more. 

Some of her attempts included, but were not limited to

Buying me things. Such as a coffee (one of my more favoured drinks) when I’d fall asleep in the library, and resisting the temptation of consuming the beverage in my disoriented state was quite difficult, and wasteful. Consuming it does not therefore warrant any form of affection. Although it is peculiar that she always managed to find me at my most vulnerable.

Dispelling rumours about me. Quite useless, as I never cared what people said or thought of me, she was better off focusing on her pressing research. This asserts that soulmates are not more suited to each other than any average pair on the street, as assuming we have this telepathic connection would mean that people finding me unapproachable is rather helpful for me. Needless to say this method of hers was the least useful. 

Always talking to me. Though her tactics changed over the years. She no longer makes small talk, or attempts to change my mind. She now attempts to use my hobbies to make my brain associate her with my interests. She brings up books that I’d borrowed, sparks a discussion on them that would leave me no choice but to respond to her avid attempts at dialogue. She impressively did seem to digest the contents of the books quite well, and my enthusiasm when conversing about say, “How Language is a Tool of Policing”, does not equate to my favour. 

Buying me books.

This list seems to be getting needlessly long, and upon further thought it’s rather useless, so I will deign to stop.

-----------------

A group of scholars trekked along the Avidiya forest, mostly Amurta students, so it’s no wonder you are there. Alhaitham is one of the few odd ones out, but considering his penchant for knowledge and innate curiosity, it's no wonder he’s there. Reading about different biological life forms in the rainforest is useful enough, but seeing with his own two eyes is a must. A few samples to test certain herbal effects would also be quite beneficial. 

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. Green eyes took in the scenery, beautiful mosses and grandiose trees, aged and chipped and hanging a shadow over them, so massive that the humans beneath it looked to be of no special significance. 

His eyes inadvertently landed on you. You were bundled closely to another Amurta student, one with fennec fox features. His shoulders were touching yours as his eyes drank up the papers in your hands with curiosity, and you didn’t seem to mind as you smiled and pointed at certain parts, talking animatedly. 

Alhaitham curled up a grey eyebrow at the way the guy’s tail seemed one step away from wagging, what an inconvenient appendage to have. 

He showed his notes to you, pointing at different places in the forest and pointing back to his notes, talking excitedly. You nodded, adding an input here and there, this discussion of yours seems very interesting. Perhaps he should move closer to hear what you and the star of Amurta seem to be discussing with so much excitement.

Alhaitham, who was previously intentionally lagging behind the group, with several steps was within a hearing distance between you and Tighnari. However, he was irked to know that he could hear nothing because you two, although animated, were speaking in hushed tones as if disclosing a secret in broad daylight. 

With carefully measured steps, he weaved himself even closer, but not close enough to arouse suspicion. From this angle, he could see the way the so called star of Amurta’s long conspicuous ears pricked in your direction, unwilling to miss a single word out of your mouth. 

“You’re so lucky Tighnari, Amurta is very lucky to have someone with your constitution, but trying out different mushrooms seems quite fun” you said, starry eyed at the so called Tighnari, all over some mushrooms? Alhaitham knows a lot about rainforest mushrooms, as any scholar should. Maybe the standards for Amurta Darshan are just lower these days. 

“Well you’re in luck, I found a way to minimise the effects of the mushrooms by taking a small sample and boiling it, so if you’re quite interested you can come around to my place so we can test different mushrooms together.” Tighnari said, tone bordering on gloating as he seemed quite prideful in his discovery. 

To Alhaitham’s chagrin, you nodded with child-like excitement, have you taken leave of your senses? This endeavour seems so dangerous and yet you’ve agreed to it without a second thought to your safety, or perhaps there’s another reason for your excitement. 

Alhaitham can imagine it perfectly. You’d look at Tighnari with glassy eyes, flushed appearance, softly panting as you declare that the mushrooms seem especially potent-

No. 

Time spent daydreaming is time wasted, and this same logic applies to thoughts of you. What you get up to is none of his concern, and who you get up to it with as well. He’s not with you in sickness or health, so he cares not if you possess either. 

Alhaitham is despondent at the fact that one cannot tread the rainforest while reading a book. It’s naturally a recipe for disaster, as he might trip and fall and damage his book in an act of foolishness. It’s regrettable however, as your own foolishness has rendered him unable to fully take in his surroundings. 

The group is taken to the camp as the sun bids adieu and the moon illuminates the rainforest in a faint light, making the shadows appear much more ominous as they towered and arched over the students. 

Alhaitham pulled out his book, fully intending to consume his meal with the company of the pages in his hands, but you had other ideas, seeming to finally remember your mission of pestering him whenever you are in his presence. 

“So, how did you find today’s trip?” always starting out with meaningless small talk, perhaps you are hoping he will one day humour you. 

“It’s been great till now.” clipped and curt, as usual. 

“Did you find it informative? It’s been great seeing so many different rainforest life forms. Maybe I should work for a few months here after finishing my thesis, if only to get more acquainted with the life forms. But I won’t do that before I sort things out.” you kept your words vague, but Alhaitham could sense the meaning hidden beneath them. You won’t move until you make this soulmate dream of yours a reality. He’s been rejecting you, and here you are making life plans around him, trying carefully to make him fit in with your plans. Planning the course of your life around him.

Choosing to conceal the reality of his day, he replies with an affirmative hum. You got the memo, choosing to open your packed food and eat, most likely busy with your own thoughts, while Alhaitham entertains his own. 

------------

Entry 90, date xx. 

This might prove to be a complete coincidence, and I’m confused as to why it’s occurring myself, despite my investigations and various attempts at isolating and looking at different variables. 

In the years I have known who my soulmate is, I have been dreaming. Eerily, my dreams usually concern her in one way or the other, so it must be something related to our bond. In my last dream, I can vaguely remember a warm feeling in my belly, as ambiguous as that sounds. I laid my head on her lap, reading, while she soothingly caressed my hair. Disappointingly, I do not recall the contents of the book, only the warm caress of her fingers that lulled me into a feeling of comfort. 

The feelings of my dreams however, I am certain, do not carry on into my daylight hours. 

Maybe I must admit I am somewhat impressed by her tenacity and persistence, perhaps that feeling is causing my subconscious to confuse the nature of our relationship?

-----------------

Alhaitham is tired of whatever farce you are trying to play. 

You are like a migraine to him, your arrival always a nuisance, a pain, and wholly unwelcome. You do not respect his choices, opinions. Your existence frustrates him, and he cares not that you always take great care not to cause him trouble. Your actions, while deceptively helpful, greatly annoy the scribe. 

This year, his attempts at dissuading you have gotten rather harsh. This is because he can no longer afford you indifference. This can be traced back to when you left a cake on his desk. Congratulating him on his new role as scribe. The flavour was not overly sweet, it’s something he would usually enjoy consuming, but the feelings borne within his chest at the sentimental message written on the cake caused him to pause. The moths swarming his belly did not make sense, his response did not make sense. The cogs that always efficiently turned in his head seemed to clog at the thought of you. 

An uncharacteristic rage blinded him that day, he did not feel this way in his life before, and when he sat reflecting on his now emptier desk after harshly dumping the cake in the bin facing his office, he thought that the new found nuisance in his life is more troublesome than he previously predicted. 

One day, a golden opportunity seemed to land on his lap. A one in a million lucky chance. Though Alhaitham thinks a lucky chance is only one if you can reap the benefits it brings you. 

It was a pleasant night, the air, while warm, was comfortable as cooler wind blew inside the tavern and ruffled his hair slightly. He was drinking alone, a choice he made as the comfort of his own thoughts was something he needed. He’d be able to ruminate in peace, had the cause of his irritation not found him once again. 

“Oh my, hi Alhaitham. We keep running into each other, it’s almost like fate huh” you greeted, plopping yourself beside him, calling to the bartender to pass you a drink too, signalling the start of Alhaitham’s misfortune. So nonchalantly confident, your head always held up high around him, as if his attitude towards you is a mere playing hard to get. 

He opened his lips, a scathing reply at the tip of them, until another irritation called out his name jarringly. 

He turned his head, as several others did before minding their own business after briefly casting them curious looks. 

“Soo this is where you spend your time! You could have invited me, you know.” some women from the Akademiya sat to his left, batting her lashes at him in what he assumes is her way of being coy and attractive. 

He was halfway into finishing his drink. It’s a shame he’ll have to retire early as his night no longer holds the promise of peace. However, upon seeing you casting them a curious look, silent for once in your life, he got a much more brilliant idea. 

It takes a genius to turn a stroke of misfortune into a lucky chance. 

Although having never indulged in this sort of useless and amateurish behaviour, likening it to some sort of primitive mating call, Alhaitham is adaptable and a great actor when it comes to securing his own peace. 

“Sorry honey, I’ve been somewhat preoccupied. Surely I can make it up to you” he feigned a cordial look, eyes raking through her figure. She’s not really his type. Her lap didn’t seem comfortable to lay his head on, and even the shape of her fingernails seemed to turn him off. Coincidently, some of your physical features are rather favourable to him, especially the shade of your eyes. Her voice also sounds grating, and he wished she'd never say his name again. But he put up with it, and even went as far is to brush his hand on her upper thigh, his implications clear.

His reply took you and her by surprise, shocked faces at the tone no one heard from the blunt scribe before, but her shock quickly morphed to glee. 

“Of course! I’m not one to hold grudges” she scooted closer to him, and he quickly wondered if this was worth it, or a detour into wasting even more of his time, especially as her hands reached out and touched his shoulder, rendering him wordless with the awkwardness of having to tolerate her invasive touches.

He glanced at you, and your frozen made you look stuck in your spot, in disbelief, surely it’s not preposterous that he might pursue someone else? His lips willfully thinned though, when he saw how your previously frozen eyes melted into a volcano, rage swimmed within them, as your brows scrunched disapprovingly. He’d never seen you look like this, even when he threw all your attempts back in your face all those years. He’d never seen you look like you wished the ground would open and swallow him, and his gut twisted uncomfortably at the thought. 

Perhaps this was all it really took to have you leave him be. He wondered why he never took this approach before. 

He cast furtive glances at the other women speaking, unwilling to break this facade now, but he found that the air after you left seemed much more cold. 

“You can stop bothering me now. Whatever you think could happen between us isn’t going to, but it was amusing seeing you gullible you could be.” he spoke while nursing another drink, his eyes not even meeting hers, though she might find this to be in her benefit. Although his clipped words were missing their usual edge, it still had the desired effect. 

“You jerk, do you think you’re too good for me? I was willing to tolerate your dry personality because you had a pretty face, but your head is bigger than I thought. Bring yourself down to earth, at this rate you’re going to die alone and miserable as you always have been.” 

People’s words never bothered him, and even now they do not. He chooses to live his life the way he chooses, and people’s opinions will never change his pursuit of personal peace. However, he found it interesting that one rejection from him caused her to spout so much venom at him, when years of him doing that to you didn’t have this effect. Is it that you’re patient? Level headed? Kind? Well, more like hopelessly foolish.

---------------

Entry 1023, date xx

For the past month, I haven’t seen much of her. It seems that before, she went out of her way to run into me. Ever since the night at the tavern, her pursuit seemed to end completely. This is what I wanted for years, isn’t it? I have finally achieved the desired results. 

I am still as whole as the day I was born, I don’t feel lacking. I am fine.

-----------

Alhaitham finished up writing the latest entry, closing the journal and putting it inside his drawer. As he stretched, he caught sight of his face. 

His facial hair seems to be growing out, painting his face in a five o’clock shadow. He stroked the coarseness, wondering why he’d missed his usual schedule of trimming. 

He shook the creeping thoughts away, approaching his bed to finally get a much needed rest. He needs to clear the pesky thoughts away, so that he may finally enjoy the books he’s been meaning to read. You’d probably have something insightful to say about them, you usually seemed to. 

Curses, why must his own brain betray him? 

Sleep, when it finally came, was not peaceful. 

He was frantically opening every door in his house, searching for something. Opening doors, searching, repeating.

The violent cycle went on, his heart falling every time his mysterious search reaped nothing. 

He shook awake, panting so loudly that he wondered briefly whether he performed a strenuous exercise in his sleep, if the erratic thumping of his heart was any clue. It banged painfully against his ribs. His hair clung to his forehead, and his face felt suspiciously wet. He needs to calm down, so that he may analyse the cause of his restless sleep and eliminate it. But his brain stubbornly shut down, and Alhaitham's throat traitorously clogged up. 

Deep breath. A  response like this might not be any cause for alarm. Deep breath. Emotional hysterics will solve nothing. Deep breath.

Why do the walls feel like they are closing in on him?

-------------------

It’s been 4 months and 6 days since Alhaitham saw you. Or heard from you. 

This period is incredibly unusual, you never went so long without speaking to him. Is the thought of him pursuing another woman truly all it took to throw you off? Perhaps he gave your persistence undeserving credit. He wishes he could hear your thoughts, stumble into a journal of yours. If only to see whether his hypothesis proved right, that once you realised this you too came to your senses and realised you could lead a happy life without him. 

His inability to know filled him with bitterness, yet why is he feeling such when he prided himself on only speculating things of importance? His frustration made him gnaw on his lips. 

“I do think they look good together, she should take her chance with him” 

Dimwits gossiping in the library might be the last straw, why is it that people can’t save their idle chatter for a more appropriate place?

“Yeah, but doesn’t (y/n) have a soulmark? This could end disastrously.”

What?

“Yeah but, it’s quite rare for soulmates to find each other nowadays, she shouldn’t waste her chance because of something that might never be.” 

Who? And when did this happen?

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

Alhaitham’s brain, if possible, might melt. An overload of thoughts, information, noises, all overstimulating him. But if he thought hard enough, it’s quite clear that this is another tactic of yours. You’ve gotten quite clever. It cannot be a mere coincidence that this gossip found its way to his ears, you must be trying to ignite some irrational feeling within him, jealousy. 

Too bad he’ll never give you the satisfaction of seeing him this way. 

He closed his book, a mere decoration at this point, and walked out of the library, thinking a walk would help clear his head. 

“Yeah, he seems quite taken by her, I think he is seriously courting her.”

No matter what hallway he’s in, what direction he pivots to, the building of the Akademiya itself seems to be buzzing with talks of you and some guy. You’ve put a lot of effort into this farce of yours, did you take in the consequences? When this blows over, your dignity as a scholar would surely never recover. You’d be known as a gossipmonger. 

Days have passed however, and the talk showed no sign of stopping. You and a wealthy sponsor of the Akademiya, who hails from Fontaine. He’d fallen in love with you, is courting you, and everything trivial inbetween. When did you even have time to catch the eye of someone so apparently important? It’s implausible, and incredibly petty. 

Why are you nowhere to be found now? 

--------------

Statistically, Alhaitham knows that it’s impossible not to have run into you by now. Unless you have been going out of your way to avoid him. He even changed his usual seating spot in the library, thinking that maybe he’d find you away from his corner. He’s been roaming in the city the past month more than he had in a year. 

The worst thing is that he didn’t understand why he was going so far to find you. It defied logic itself, his persistence. It’s none of his business what you do, so he should give up while he’s at it. Come back to his senses, and live out his peace. 

You seemed to haunt him though, and as his tired teal eyes roamed the cafe on his way once more, fate seemed to drop him a little trinket. 

He squinted his eyes, seeing the familiarly patterned, maroon scarf that you always wore when it got a bit chilly. He rushed inside the cafe, eyes zeroed on it. Before looking outside once more in search of your figure. He’d probably just missed you. 

The rational choice would be to hand over the scarf to the workers, you’d probably come in search of it, but before rationale could halt him, he took the scarf and left, but not before catching a whiff of your familiar scent. 

This would give him a reasonable excuse to talk to you, you can’t refuse an act of goodwill from him right? He thought back, trying to find a single moment in which he’d done you a favour and not the reverse. 

His stomach sank as he realised that he’d in fact never done a single act of goodwill towards you, he’d spared you nothing but harsh words of rejection and belittlement. 

Perhaps this is why he’s been searching for you, to try and ease this feeling of guilt that hasn’t left him since you completely erased your existence out of his life. You’d made home in every corner of his life, trying to make it a little more bearable. You were a sacrifice to his philosophy, it couldn’t be any other way, because Alhaitham is equally stubborn, he’d never give in to the will of someone else who’s ordained how he must live his life. 

But for now, he’ll take this scarf home, knowing deep down that he doesn’t intend to return it. 

-------------

Alhaitham sat on the couch near his bed, watching perplexed as you made out with a clone of him. Your fingers tangled in his grey strands, beautiful, naked body straddling him, as if you were trying to become one with him, merge your being with his so that he may never try and discard you. Your lips moulded with his own, and he’d returned the favour with equal fervour. 

Only, his grey hair began darkening from the roots down, becoming a pitch black colour. You pulled away, and he watched horrified as his clone’s face melted like clay, only to be reconstructed as the face of a stranger. You however appeared indifferent, eyes soulless and lacking the tenacity you seemed to possess earlier. 

He stood up to try and take you away, but an invisible force pulled him back, leaving him only to thrash while a stranger held you, and you let him. 

You let the stranger cradle your body, indifference melting into a bittersweet smile as your lips found his. 

Alhaitham’s eyes stung, and he tried closing them to shield himself from the sight as you let a stranger make love to you, but he couldn’t. His eyes were made to be peeled wide upon as he watched and heard you, and his wrist burned, heart ached. But through it all, he’d only wished that you’d stop and look at him again. 

But you didn’t, your eyes didn’t leave the stranger's body, not until they rolled back in ecstasy while you used his body for your pleasure. The strangers hands caressed you, and strummed your pleasure to a tune that only produced the most melodious sounds out of you. 

Tears started falling down his cheeks. But he still couldn’t close his eyes. 

Alhaitham opened his eyes, feeling like a dam had broken on his pillow as the moistness in his eyes blurred his vision. 

He rubbed his tears away, but they wouldn’t stop, not for as long as he remembered his nightmare. You, so close, making love to someone else while he was forced to watch and hear. 

Why did he have to be tormented even in dreams? 

His heart hammered away so loudly that it felt like drums to his ears, his lungs refused to operate as an unbearable feeling of pain overwhelmed him. He pulled his knees to his chest as he willed his shivering to stop, the moon staring mercilessly at him as he rocked back and forth. 

He suddenly remembered a find of his, and with a blurry vision he fished out your scarf, holding it up to his nose to breathe in the scent he’d been denied. He rubbed away his tears, not wanting to stain your scarf with it, and like something beyond reason his tears had stopped. 

His sleep was dreamless after that. 

-------------

Entry 1800, date xx 

Dreams have been tormenting my nights, and reality torments my day. Why does it feel like I’m being continuously punished? Were my ideas so cardinally sinful that the deity’s above have taken to cause me misery? 

I have once again devolved to foolish thoughts. It’s my thoughts that torment me, not any higher power. 

If she’s anything to go by, then I guess my hypothesis has been proven correct. She no longer seeks me out, hasn’t done so in 8 months. When I catch a glimpse of her, it’s so brief it’s almost like a phantom. I do hear of her though, that she’s happy with another man. That they might move back to Fontaine together at this rate, that this might not be fling. She’d succeeded in something no one has succeeded at before her. She left her soulmate behind and pursued her own path. I was never needed.

The idea that she might move to Fontaine is rather far fetched though, as she is still a researcher, and this is but only one relationship. Moving to a completely new homeland to pursue such a fresh relationship is completely spontaneous and irresponsible. Especially considering she would need to abandon many of her projects. 

They will most likely break up, they might not, only time will tell. But for the time being, she seems to have moved on.

-----------

Alhaitham’s haggard figure trekked through the Sumeru, eyes a dull green that looked sombre as he glanced through the stalls. Malnutrition is the most likely cause of the way he’s had no energy lately, even his bones seemed to ache in protest. 

With a fresh bag of groceries in hand, Alhaitham walked back home, eyes downcast and somewhat soulless. He needs to cook today, needs to eat something and get on with his life. He needs to. 

With his downcast eyes and general disinterest, he almost missed the crowd of awed bystanders forming a ring around two people. With one furtive glance, he deemed it not worth his time, until he caught sight of the second star of the show. 

It’s you. Standing there. It’s finally you. Light seemed to come back to his eyes, if only for a brief second before horror overtook them. 

It’s you, standing there, with a man kneeling on the floor proposing to you. A crowd of people all around you two, smiling, anticipating, gasping. 

It’s you, nodding your head as another man puts a ring on your finger, his pitch dark hair and features nothing like Alhaitham, with one look Alhaitham can surmise that he’s everything Alhaitham could never be. His smiling face charms everyone in sight, he’s like a star that everyone wants to be near to bask in his aura. 

Alhaitham doesn’t have the vocabulary to describe such a raw feeling with medical terms, but if he can be sentimental, he might be able to say that his soul hurts.

------------

Dear (y/n), 

The Akademiya is currently lacking in capable personnel, and as the scribe I had been entrusted with alleviating this issue using records of capable individuals. You had many great works under your belt, and I understand that our personal matters might’ve driven you away to Fontaine, but I find it rather immature that you’d go so far and abandon your responsibilities to pursue a relationship. 

Please consider coming back, as the Akademiya is willing to offer you a new position that you might find to be to your liking, the job benefits are numerous such as a large residence in Sumeru and a very high salary with many days of paid leave. Please contact me for more information. 

Alhaitham 

-----------------

 Dear (y/n), 

I have received your letter of rejection. 

Perhaps the salary wasn’t to your liking? The Akademiya is willing to double it, all your research projects will be fully funded and approved and you may pick up where you left off without any hassle. Any additional requirements could be negotiated, it would surely not be ideal to disregard such a promising career and job title in the Darshan you have dedicated years to. 

I apologise for any harsh words I have previously said to you, sometimes, well, most times my pride gets the best of me and I end up hurting people with my words. I would like to say that I never meant to hurt you, but at the time I did and I do feel quite regretful. Our personal matters should never be a reason for you to reject such a great offer. I understand that you are in a committed relationship, but you shouldn’t be discouraged to pursue other paths so early on in your life. 

Alhaitham

--------------

Dear (y/n), 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I would apologise for every second I disregarded you if it means you might come back. I would give you anything. I’m sorry I didn’t before, and that it took me so long. 

I’m pathetic, foolish, unworthy, and every derogatory term on this earth. But I also love you. I’m sorry it took having nothing of you in my life but a scarf you’d forgotten to realise that I love you.

When I sit in the corner of the library, I always save a seat next to me, hoping by some miracle you’d show up again. That you’d sit there again, laughing, smiling at me like you’d sucked all the warmth out of the sun, and this time I’d smile at you back until my cheeks hurt because you have come to mean happiness to me. 

I’ve loved you for every single year I’d known you, and for every single season, there was no one ever but you. Please believe me, I’d never pursued any relationships, it was only ever you that occupied my heart and thoughts. That woman you saw at the tavern wasn’t someone I was seeing, and I rejected her after, even if this meagre show of loyalty is too little too late. I was a fool that day, I was angry at my feelings, at the way my heart and brain were in complete incoordination that I took her advances to try and hurt you. I didn’t even touch her, she meant nothing to me, I wish I didn’t show up to the tavern that day so then maybe you’d still be in my life. 

Nothing fills the vacuum you left behind, my heart. I cried so much the day you left that it felt like I’d never stop crying. 

I tried to deny something so wonderful, and when my wish was granted I declared that I want you back. You must think I’m the most selfish man you’ve ever known. I might be. I’m sorry I rejected you and denied my feelings for so long, but please, will you come back and return the colour to my life? I will never take you for granted again. 

Please come back, I’m begging you. 

Alhaitham

-------------

Alhaitham walked around the labyrinth, nothing but the moonlight guiding him on his quest to find you. He’s frantic, rushing around from one dead end to another. 

And then he finds you, laying there, in the centre, bushes and greenery enveloping you, and you seemed happy to see him, because your cheeks quirked up and eyes crinkled in a smile that he’d been deprived of for long enough to realise it’s as essential as oxygen to him. 

He ran to you, breaking you free of your binds, enveloping you in his arms before kissing your lips in reverence as if he worships you. He kisses you, not stopping until he realises that you aren’t responding, and that you’ve gone cold in his arms.

-----------------

Alhaitham stared at the piling documents in front of him, eyes bloodshot and blurry. He’s glad that no one usually approaches him, for he must look like he squabble with the grim reaper last night. 

He sighed, hand going to his chest, rubbing it in a vain attempt to soothe the ache there. You didn’t reply to any of his letters. Why would you? He’s truly a piece of work to attempt to contact you after all he’s done to you over the years. 

He doesn’t know how long he can go on like this, but he knows for certain that he’s become the villain of his own story. His hubris and pride have pulled him down to a hell that he lives in everyday. He mocked soul mates all his life for travelling for miles to be together, for quitting jobs, getting divorced, all for a fated person. Alhaitham cannot look down on them any more, because if you don’t respond to him soon he will run to Fontaine and grovel until you spare him a single glance, and then he will finally feel like he’s found his Oasis after being stuck in a never ending desert. 

It feels like a knife stabbing his chest whenever he thinks of you in another land, married to another man, loving him and being loved by him in a way Alhaitham will never experience. But he brought this on himself, how can he blame you? He drove you into someone else’s arms. 

He touched his forehead, feeling somewhat feverish. He’s felt drained the past few weeks, but especially so after the dream he’d last had. His entire body is aching, and his breaths feel shallow, but if he plans to try to go to Fontaine he’d better start working now. 

Alhaitham opens the documents on his desk, diligently working on one after the other until his eyes land on the freshest arrivals. 

Alhaitham doesn’t fully remember what happened after that, but he remembers reading the words that shattered his entire world before his vision faded to black. 

“The student and faculty body is urgently requesting the papers to be processed to allow the body of (y/n) to be transferred to Sumeru to be buried in her homeland after her tragic murder. please…”

--------------

Alhaitham opened his eyes to an unfamiliar sight, the air felt sanitised and the sheets scratchy, alarming him to abruptly sit up, causing his head to feel light and vision to get hazy again. 

A nurse rushed over to him, calming him down and informing him of his condition. 

He was fatigued and had a fever, overwork and a mental shock took a toll on him and he passed out. That won’t do, he must get back to work so he can go after (y/n). 

(y/n)... 

His brain was refusing to process what he read, it must be a sick joke. A fucked up prank. You’re in Fontaine, happy and married, or perhaps still engaged. He hopes you’re still only engaged. 

He turns to the nurse who still held a worried look on her face, brown eyes crinkled in worry over a stranger. You’d give him this look sometimes too. 

“I’m alright. I’m going home to rest now.” he didn’t. 

He went back to the Akademiya, back to his office, to check that this was not reality, only one of the many nightmares that had been haunting him. He wasn’t the most devout man in his life, but for the first time in his life he made a prayer. Please let him have another chance, please don’t make him live this, don’t take her away from me this way.

Fate was cruel. 

Alhaitham faced the reality living out before him. He looked down, his wrist trembling, he’s been so afraid to look for the longest time, knowing he undeserving he was of it, but now he needs to, he needs to confirm. 

He turned his wrist, the mark on it has lost all colour, it’s now darker than any night Alhaitham had lived.

------------------

You left this world, he chants in his head, rocking back and forth. 

His room looked like a testament of destruction, everything was smashed, papers ripped, books destroyed, everything he faced didn’t survive to tell the tale. 

You left him alone in this world. 

The house and Sumeru itself never felt too big for one person, but now he feels like he’s drowning amidst the populace, his world never felt duller and more lonely, he faintly remembers a familiar pricking of loneliness when his grandmother passed. The mere prick had transformed into a tidal wave that’s drowning him under, and Alhaitham can’t breath amidst the saltwater. 

Did you even read his letters? Did you at least die knowing he loves you? 

He holds his pounding head in his hands, crushed at the thought of you dying with the thought that he doesn’t care about you. Did you forgive him as you took your last breath? Or did you despise him tenfold? 

You were killed, how could anyone think of hurting you? Since when was the world so cruel? 

It’s all Alhaitham’s fault, if he hadn’t pushed you towards that man, you would never have left with him, if only he thought for a second, if only his hubris didn’t cloud his logic. 

His heart had died that day, but he couldn’t find it in him to stand up and attend the funeral.

-----------------

“This is the book that brought us together my love, I still remember. If I recall far enough I can even describe the feeling of your fingers brushing against mine.” Alhaitham mutters, making himself comfortable beside you, this is the closest he will get to reading in your embrace, so he might as well make himself comfortable against the harsh slab of rock that has become your home. 

“I should have let you have it, or perhaps suggested we read it together? I should have invited you to pupsa cafe that day and introduced you as my soulmate to the owner. I can’t undo that, no longer am I able to agonise about the past, so now this is my attempt of redoing it. I hope you can forgive me.” he said, tracing the soil as tears lined his lashes, he brought you some flowers too, this is his first time bringing you flowers. 

“I’ll read the book out to you, alright?” and so Alhaitham flicks the book open. 

He reads out until his throat hurts, and the position of the sun changes, until the wind becomes more biting and harsh, and the song of nature becomes louder. He’s got the protection of your scarf, but it pains him even more that your scent has nearly fully faded away. 

He flicks the book closed, asking you about it, but of course you can never respond, nor can you even hear him when you're resting in silence six feet under. 

Humans are truly curious creatures, Alhaitham can admit he’s no exception. Their actions can never be truly calculated, uncontrolled variables cloud their existence. Most people accept the benefits that come with having a chosen one ordained by the stars, they weep in joy as a fated lover sweeps them under. 

Some like Alhaitham do not. They justify the rationale of a lonely existence, disregard a fate carved for them by an unknown force, they refuse to become one with the herd. However, one doesn’t discover true loneliness until they discover what it’s like to bask in the joys of companionship. Such simple acts like drinking coffee together while you both read, the comfort of knowing that you’re always nearby, ready to intervene when you think life is becoming too troublesome for him, the celebratory gifts, the laughs and smiles, they are all so incredibly mundane. But love is not so otherworldly, because if so, then the masses would never get to experience it. Your simple acts of love towards him are things he shall never experience again. The truth, something he always pursued with endless disregard for people’s feelings, is now too bitter for him to accept. 

Did Alhaitham’s world always look so grey? Why is loss so hard to comprehend? It might have something to do with the fact that you were never his to lose. 

He’s like a child, chasing after a kite that he can never have within his grasp again, nature’s will is too strong. 

The people at the Akademiya have moved on, tales and gossip surrounding your death dimmed from gasp-inducing tales to idle chatter, and now time has moved on and you were simply a topic out of season. It makes him mad, the way your friends can so easily laugh without looking at the vacant spot in their groups, how could the world so easily move on when Alhaitham is still left behind, clinging on to an outdated calendar?

His anger has long disappeared though, it left nothing but the bitter sting of regret, regret for what wasn’t and for what now couldn’t be. It took him too long to realise that the bentos dumped in trashes could have been dinners he came home to, made not expertly but with love. That seeing you barefoot in his kitchen after he left his work on the dot was a daydream worth chasing after. He grips the flask in his hand, throat feeling parched for release, mind desperate to finally leave this nightmare behind and rest.

“They say soulmates are binded in every life, their souls marking their bodies in an attempt to find their missing half. Do you think in the next life, we can be together? It’s too cruel to think that this is the end, so I entertain myself with such musings sometimes to comfort myself.”

Too preoccupied and swarmed with thoughts, Alhaitham failed to notice the shadow approaching him until its figure stood in front of him. He lifts his head, taking in the elderly lady who’s gentle countenance and wise wrinkled eyes reminded him so much of his grandmother that he nearly asked for an embrace. 

“Are you alright young man, you’ve been in this cold for a while haven’t you? I’m sure your loved one would want you to be happy and warm.'' Her soothing tone nearly made Alhaitham break into sobs, confessing that he’s never known warmth since you took all of it away when you became cold. He became cold too, after all he is your other half. 

He smiled, a smile so sincere that it looked off on his usually sombre face, and a hint of warmth seemed to return to him. He fingered the flask in his hand, his eyes hinting the grief bottled up inside of him. 

“Don’t worry, I will be, it shouldn’t take too long.”

----------------

“It’s been several years since the tragedy of the couple in mention, and while a difficult decision, we have decided a few months ago to look at their case to study the phenomenon of soulmates and their correlation to dreaming.” The aged lecturer spoke, voice low and hinting at the deep seriousness of the matter. The hall is silent, many having memories of the two, and while the murder of (y/n) shook many to their core, the unseen bond that you had to the Akademiya’s scribe made the tale truly a tragedy. Others, the more clueless ones who didn’t quite know the two, cast curious glances around. With time, there will be no need to pay homage to the tragedy of the matter, your bond will not be commemorated for how loving or sad it was, but it will be documented for Academic research. In a way, you and Alhaitham will live on and be remembered as a pair, though not the way either of you intended. 

“The various notes left behind by the two, Alhaitham’s in particular, took especially long to go through, and some transcriptions had to be salvaged. This study proved useful to the hypothesis that soulmates are more prone to dreaming because of the connection that they share. Many researchers have gone further to assert that it might be that the link between them links their subconscious and the hyper activity across this link stimulates shared dreams. The feelings of the pair experienced during daylight muddled together during their sleep-” the lecturer pauses to take a deep breath, flicking through the lecture notes “-and produced dreams that were shared by the two, and seemed to be directly influenced by both their feelings.” he let that information sink in before resuming. 

“For example, as seen in page 34, Alhaitham  was avid in documenting anything related to his soulmate, yet it seemed he was completely unaware, as most people wouldn’t be, that the day he dreamt of her having intercourse with someone else was the same day that she in fact did. We can thus somewhat deduce that this dream was influenced by her feelings regarding the-” he paused momentarily, thinking of an appropriate phrasing “-her feelings regarding the act.” 

“The dreams they had, interestingly, sometimes reflected their feelings towards each other more honestly than their daylight hours and dialogue. Their bond can never be broken by rejection, it seemed. They still found a way of subconsciously communicating. Their case has become a hot topic of research, especially in regards to soulmates and dreams respectively.” 

The lecturer felt somewhat forlorn, knowing that endless lecture notes on the two came at the expense of something they will never get to experience.