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aeralux · 3 months ago

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"My Queen" - Rhaenyra Targaryen

Summary: House Tully has pledged allegiance to The Blacks in support of Queen Rhaenyra. You, Lord Tully's daughter, happen to be the one to deliver an urgent message from your father regarding the upcoming war. The Queen is very appreciative of your support and she intends to show it.

Warnings: SMUT; reader is a Tully but no descriptive language is used (f! reader); power kink; queen kink; LESBIAN SEX; fingering, oral; praise kink (sweet girl is used quite a bit); talks about war (nothing graphic or sad happens)

Word count: 6.2k

-- aera xx

The grand observatory at Dragonstone was a sanctuary of wonder, its high, vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of stars, constellations, and Targaryen lore. Massive telescopes lined the walls, alongside shelves filled with celestial charts, journals, and sketches. The soft twilight glow poured through the large windows, casting a radiant light that flickered across polished wooden floors and illuminated the drifting motes of dust in the air. The scent of aged paper and polished brass filled the room, a comforting aroma for those passionate about the mysteries of the universe.

Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen stood by a large circular table in the centre of the observatory, an elaborate scroll detailing the movements of the stars unfurled before her. Clad in a flowing gown of deep red and black, the colours of House Targaryen, it was embroidered with delicate designs that twinkled like the night sky. Her silver hair, a distinctive mark of her bloodline, cascaded elegantly over her shoulders, accentuated by a shimmering tiara that reflected the dim light.

Rhaenyra's violet eyes scanned the ancient scroll eagerly, absorbing the knowledge within. The footsteps resonated through the observatory, drawing her attention as the heavy wooden doors creaked open.

A guard entered, accompanied by you. The guard cleared his throat and announced, "Your Grace, you have a visitor." Rhaenyra carefully rolled up the scroll and turned to the guard, offering a gracious smile and a nod.

"Thank you. You may leave us," she replied, her voice gentle yet commanding, resonating with the authority of a queen. The guard bowed and exited, leaving you in the celestial chamber. Rhaenyra regarded you for a moment, her expression warm and curious. "What brings you to my observatory? Would you care for a cup of wine?" she inquired, her smile inviting while her keen gaze revealed her sharp intellect and royal demeanour. A sense of warmth enveloped her, almost maternal, as Rhaenyra glanced down fleetingly to admire the intricate details of the table’s carvings.

"My Queen," you proclaimed devotedly, lowering yourself in a respectful bow before her, fully aware of the majestic aura that surrounded the beautiful Targaryen woman. Her silver hair shimmered like moonlight, and her piercing violet eyes seemed to hold the weight of the realm within them.

"I have travelled from Riverrun with pressing news. A raven has been sent, bearing tidings from my family. They have informed me that House Tully is prepared to lend their support. They will muster an impressive force of 15,000 men and ensure that our cavalry is well-supplied with provisions for the challenging days ahead. While it is true that we may lack substantial military strength in comparison to other houses, our lands are remarkably fertile and bountiful, capable of sustaining our efforts."

You straightened, standing with poise, allowing the gravity of your words to settle in the air.

Rhaenyra listened intently as you delivered the news, her violet eyes focused and attentive. The Queen nodded slowly, processing the information with her characteristic sharp intellect. "15,000 men and cavalry supplies, that's a substantial contribution," she mused, her voice soft yet carrying an underlying tone of authority. "House Tully's support will be invaluable in the trials ahead."

She rose from her seat, the rich fabric of her gown swishing as she moved. Rhaenyra approached you, her steps measured and graceful, the click of her heels against the stone floor echoing in the spacious library. As she drew near, Rhaenyra reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. Her touch was warm, conveying a sense of gratitude and comradery.

"Your family's loyalty and dedication to the cause are truly appreciated," Rhaenyra said, her violet eyes meeting yours."In these tumultuous times, every ally counts, and House Tully stands strong among them."

Rhaenyra's gaze shifted to the window, where the sun's rays danced upon the distant waters of Blackwater Bay. A pensive expression crossed her face, a flicker of concern in her eyes. "The road ahead will be fraught with challenges," she admitted, her voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. "But with the support of houses like yours, we shall weather the storm."

Turning back to you, Rhaenyra offered a reassuring smile, her demeanour regal yet approachable. "I am grateful for your presence here. Your words have brought me comfort and renewed determination." She gestured towards a plush velvet armchair nearby, inviting you to sit. "Please, join me. I would hear more of your thoughts and any other news from the Riverlands."

As you took a seat, Rhaenyra poured two goblets of rich, red wine from a decanter on the table. She handed one to her guest, raising her own in a toast. "To the strength of our alliance and the triumph of justice."

You couldn't help the crimson blush that warmed your cheeks as you sat beside her, the epitome of grace and authority. Her presence was commanding and enchanting, filling the air with an intoxicating blend of confidence and charm. With an air of elegance, she extended the goblet of wine towards you, and as you accepted it, your fingers brushed against hers—an electric spark igniting between you, sending a shiver down your spine at the touch of her velvety skin.

It felt almost foolish to be so affected by something seemingly insignificant, yet the moment held a weight that surpassed mere physical contact. You stole a glance at her, the delicate way she held herself, and the glint of mischief in her eyes, making your heart race.

"Thank you, my Queen," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as if speaking louder would break the spell that enveloped you. You lifted the goblet to your lips, allowing the deep, luscious nectar to roll over your tongue. With your eyes closed in reverie, you savoured the rich taste of the wine, feeling its warmth spreading through you, reminiscent of the warmth emanating from her very presence. It was a moment suspended in time, a blend of indulgence, admiration, and undeniable attraction that left you yearning for more.

Rhaenyra observed the faint blush that coloured your cheeks, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips. She could sense the effect her presence had on the young woman, and while a part of her revelled in the power she held, another part felt a twinge of sympathy. The burdens of leadership are not for the faint of heart, she mused silently, her violet eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and understanding.

As their hands brushed during the exchange of the goblet, Rhaenyra felt the brief contact send a subtle jolt through her body. She quickly composed herself, maintaining her regal bearing, but the fleeting sensation lingered in her mind. Focus, Rhaenyra, she chided herself, pushing the thought aside to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"The wine is from the vineyards of Highgarden," Rhaenyra remarked, taking a sip from her goblet. The rich, robust flavour danced on her tongue, a pleasant contrast to the weighty matters they discussed. "Lord Tyrell was kind enough to share it as a gesture of goodwill." She paused, a flicker of irony crossing her features. "Though I suspect it was more a ploy to curry favour than a genuine act of friendship."

As she took a sip from her goblet, Rhaenyra's violet eyes never left your face, studying the younger woman with a mixture of curiosity and intrigue. "You seem... flustered," she observed, her voice a low, melodious purr. "Is something troubling you?"

Rhaenyra leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on the table, her chin propped on her interlaced fingers. The gesture was casual, almost intimate, a stark contrast to her usual regal demeanour. Her silver hair fell in soft waves around her face, catching the light and shimmering like starlight.

Caught off guard by her question, your lips parted in surprise. "No, my Queen, just the war... it seems to be taking its toll on me as well," you muttered, trying to convince yourself as much as her. It would be utterly improper to admit that her touch had sent a chill running along your back, leaving you flustered.

You took another sip of wine, hoping to compose yourself. The rich, velvety liquid slid down your throat, but it did little to calm the sudden racing of your heart. You met Rhaenyra's piercing violet gaze, her eyes seeming to see right through you, to the core of your being. A faint blush still lingered on your cheeks, betraying your inner flusteredness.

You cleared your throat, determined to regain your composure. "My family's support is unwavering, my Queen. We stand with you, now and always," you declared, your voice steady despite the confusion within. You would not let your foolish infatuation cloud your judgment or dishonour your house. You were a Tully, and you would remain strong, even in the presence of such an attractive and assertive woman.

Rhaenyra's violet eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze intense and searching as she studied your face. She could sense the younger woman's discomfort, the soft blush that coloured her cheeks, the way her fingers trembled ever so slightly around the stem of the goblet. It was a reaction Rhaenyra knew all too well, a mix of nerves and attraction, a dance of desire and propriety.

She leaned back in her chair, her posture relaxed yet queenly, a small, enigmatic smile playing at the corners of her lips."The war weighs heavily on us all," she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper, as if sharing a secret. "But we must not let it consume us, lest we lose sight of what we fight for."

Rhaenyra's gaze drifted to the window, where the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The light danced across her face, highlighting the strong lines of her jaw, and the delicate curve of her cheekbones. She turned back to you, her eyes gleaming with a newfound intensity.

"Tell me," she began, her voice low and husky, "what is it that you truly desire? Beyond the battlefield, beyond the politics and the power plays, what sets your heart ablaze?" Rhaenyra's question hung in the air, a challenge and an invitation all at once, her violet eyes locked with yours, a silent understanding passing between them.

You offered a soft smile, your gaze dropping to your lap for a moment as you sought to compose your swirling emotions. The air around you felt heavy with unspoken words, and finally, you broke the silence. "Love," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "isn't that what most people are truly searching for? A tender heart to hold in their arms and someone to care for deeply."

As you spoke, a wistful melancholy settled over you, like a raindrop trailing down a windowpane. The thought of an impending war loomed like a dark cloud, threatening to overshadow the dreams of connection and intimacy that manylong for. It seemed cruel, how the spectre of conflict kept souls apart, hindering the chance to find a kindred spirit in the chaos.

"But I understand," you continued, a gentle resolve in your voice, "that this must wait for now." You shifted your gaze back to the Queen, and in that moment, time seemed to pause. Her piercing eyes captivated you, drawing you in with an intensity that took your breath away. You felt as if you were lost in a vast ocean, with her gaze as the only guiding star.

Amid the uncertainty, the warmth of her presence ignited a flicker of hope within you—an unspoken promise that despite the world's turmoil, love still existed, waiting patiently beneath the surface. The corners of your lips curled into a smile, and in that fleeting moment, it felt as though the two of you were the only ones in existence, united by the fragile thread of yearning that bound your hearts together.

Rhaenyra felt a surge of emotion at your words, a mix of empathy and a deep, aching understanding. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, her chin propped on her interlaced fingers. Her violet eyes softened, a vulnerability creeping into their depths.

"Love," she echoed, her voice a mere whisper, "is indeed a force that transcends all others. It is the flame that guides us through the darkest of nights, the anchor that keeps us tethered to hope in the face of unconquerable odds."

Rhaenyra's gaze drifted to the window, where the last rays of sunlight painted the sky in a kaleidoscope of colours. A wistful sigh escaped her lips, a longing for a life unburdened by the weight of the crown, a life where she could simply be Rhaenyra, not the heir to the Iron Throne.

She turned back to you, her eyes locking with yours. At that moment, a silent understanding passed between them, a recognition of the unspoken desire that simmered beneath the surface. Rhaenyra's heart raced, a flutter of anticipation and trepidation.

"Perhaps," she began, her voice low and husky, "amid this chaos, we can find comfort in each other's company. A brief pause from the duties we bear."

Rhaenyra reached out, her hand hovering inches from yours, a silent invitation. Her violet eyes shimmered with a mix of longing and uncertainty, a question hanging in the air between them. "What say you? What do you say we embrace this moment and see where it takes us?"

The observatory seemed to fade away, the telescopes and maps forgotten, the weight of the world temporarily lifted. In that instant, it was just Rhaenyra and you, two souls lured together by a force greater than themselves, a bond thattranscended the boundaries of refinement and duty.

You couldn’t help but gasp quietly upon hearing her words, the air around you thick with unspoken emotions. The verynotion that Rhaenyra might harbour the same hunger for you that has ignited a fire within your heart is nothing short of intoxicating.

As you lean closer, the warmth radiating from her draws you in, and your faces hover mere inches apart, the world around you fading into a dim haze. Her presence is both overwhelming and alluring as if a delicate crown of stars rests upon her head.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you muster the courage to break the silence that envelops you. “May I kiss you, my Queen?” you ask, your voice a whisper tinged with reverence. Your eyes flit between her mesmerizing gaze and the temptation of her soft lips, each second stretching as you await her response. The moment feels charged with lust.

Rhaenyra's breath hitched in her throat, her eyes widening at Selira your bold question. The air between them crackled with an electric tension, a palpable energy that seemed to pulse and throb with each passing second.

For a fleeting moment, Rhaenyra hesitated, the weight of her obligations and commitments threatening to crush the fragile ember of passion that had ignited within her. But as she gazed into your eyes, she saw a reflection of her longing, a mirror of the ache that had taken root in her heart.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice a husky whisper, barely audible above the pounding of her own heart. "Kiss me."

Rhaenyra leaned in, closing the scant distance between them. Her lips met yours in a searing kiss, a burst of passion and need that threatened to consume them both. She tasted red wine and desire on your tongue, a heady combination that set Rhaenyra's senses ablaze.

Her hands came up to tangle in your hair, the soft strands slipping through her fingers like silk. She deepened the kiss, her tongue tracing the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, craving more.

The world fell away, everything fading into oblivion, the weight of the crown and the burden of the throne momentarily forgotten. At that moment, Rhaenyra was simply a woman, lost in the passion, consumed by a desire she had long denied herself.

Her body pressed against yours, the heat of their shared need burning through the fabric of their clothes. She could feel the rapid beat of your heart, the quickening of your breath, the tremble of your limbs. It was intoxicating, the knowledge that she could elicit such a response, that she could make you burn with the same fire that consumed her.

Rhaenyra's hands roamed over your body, mapping the curves and planes of your form, committing every inch to memory. She wanted to devour you, to consume you.

You moaned into the kiss, Rhaenyra's intoxicating taste sending waves of desire coursing through your veins. Your fingers tangled in her silvery hair, anchoring yourself as the intense sensations threatened to overwhelm you.

Pleasure pooled between your thighs, your core aching and pulsing with need. You wanted more, no, you needed more of her touch, her kiss, her everything. The ache inside you grew, a desperate hunger that demanded to be sated.

Rhaenyra groaned into the kiss, her body responding to your touch like a bowstring pulled taut. She could feel the heat pooling between her thighs, a throbbing ache that demanded attention. Her hands roamed over your body, slipping beneath the fabric of your dress, seeking the warmth of your skin.

"Gods" she panted, her voice ragged with desire. "I need you. I want you. Don't make me wait any longer."

Rhaenyra's hands found the laces of your bodice, tugging at them impatiently. She needed to feel your skin, to taste you, to consume you. With a swift motion, she tore the laces free, exposing your breasts to her hungry gaze.

She leaned in, capturing one pert nipple between her lips, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh. Her hand cupped your other breast, kneading and massaging the soft mound. She could feel your heart racing, the frantic beat matching her own.

Rhaenyra's other hand slid down your body, over the curve of your hip, the soft plane of your stomach, until it reached the hem of your skirts. She pushed the fabric aside, her fingers delving beneath to find the slick heat of your core.

She groaned at the feel of you, hot and wet and ready for her touch. Rhaenyra circled your clit with her thumb, revelling in the way your body jerked and twitched at the contact. She slipped two fingers inside you, thrusting deep, relishing the way your walls clenched around her digits.

"That's it," Rhaenyra purred, her voice low and husky with desire. "Let yourself feel. Let me make you come undone."

She pumped her fingers in and out, curling them to hit that special spot deep within. Her thumb continued its maddening circle on your swollen clit, the dual stimulation driving you wild with need.

Rhaenyra could feel her arousal building, a pulsing ache between her legs, her core throbbing with want. She ground her hips against the plush divan, seeking friction for her aching wet cunt.

"Oh, my sweet girl," Rhaenyra cooed, her voice a sultry purr as she worked her fingers deeper, harder, faster. "You beg so prettily for me. I can't deny you what you crave."

She twisted her wrist, curling her fingers just so, seeking that sweet spot within your quivering walls. Your pleas for release only spurred Rhaenyra on.

"Cum for me," Rhaenyra commanded, her eyes blazing with intensity. "Let go. Cum all over your Queen's fingers."

And so you did. With a final thrust of her fingers, your body trembling from the intensity of your climax.

Rhaenyra held her close, her arousal building to a fever pitch as she felt your walls clench around her fingers, the wetness of your release coating Rhaenyra's hand.

"That's it, fuck, that's a good girl," Rhaenyra praised you as you rode out your orgasm on her fingers. The tears streaming down your face seemed to turn her on even more.

As your orgasm subsided, Rhaenyra slowly withdrew her fingers, bringing them to her lips and licking them clean. The taste of your sticky essence on her tongue was intoxicating, a heady mix of salt and sweetness that made Rhaenyra's head swim with desire.

"Delicious," Rhaenyra purred, her voice low and seductive. "I could feast on you for hours and never grow tired."

You gasped as you saw Rhaenyra lick her fingers clean of your release. Your pussy still gushing onto the divan, possibly ruining the fabric, but neither of you cared.

You felt a surge of desire to return the pleasure Rhaenyra had just given you. Rising to your feet, you let your dress slip from your body to the floor, baring your naked form to her hungry gaze. A thrill ran through you at the vulnerability of standing exposed before her.

"I want to make my Queen feel good," you purred your words affectionately as you lowered yourself onto your knees in front of her. Gently, you spread her legs, lifting her skirts to reveal her glistening sex.

Your breath caught at the sight of her wet, red folds. You licked your lips, eager to taste her essence.

Rhaenyra's breath hitched as she watched you kneel before her, the younger woman's nude form a vision of beauty in the candlelight. She felt a rush of desire, a need so intense it threatened to consume her whole.

As you spread her legs, pushing Rhaenyra's skirts up to her waist, exposing her dripping sex, Rhaenyra gasped, her head falling back against the cushions. She could feel the heat of your gaze on her most intimate place, the intensity of it making her core clench with anticipation.

Rhaenyra tangled her fingers in your hair, guiding your face closer to her aching cunt. She could feel the heat of your breath on her sensitive skin, the anticipation nearly driving her mad.

"Don't tease," Rhaenyra commanded, her grip on your hair tightening. "I need your tongue, now."

You revelled in her dominant tone, making wetness pool between your thighs once again.

As your tongue finally made contact with her throbbing clit, Rhaneyra cried out in pleasure, her hips bucking up to meet your mouth. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body, making her toes curl and her fingers dig into the velvet of the couch and your hair.

"Fuck, yes, just like that. Make me feel good. Make your Queen cum." She leaned back against the pillows, her violet eyes never leaving your face. She could see the hunger in those eyes, the desire to please, to worship, to consume.

Your tongue delved deeper, lapping at Rhaenyra's clit, sucking the sensitive bud between her lips. Rhaenyra's grip on your hair tightened, her nails digging into your scalp, holding you in place as she rode your face, grinding her cunny against your eager mouth.

As you pressed your face between Rhaenyra's thighs, you couldn't help but moan against her sopping cunt. The scent of her arousal was intoxicating, and you couldn't get enough of her sweet, tangy juices as they coated my tongue.

You delved deep with your tongue, fucking her tight hole, revelling in the way she writhed and moaned above me. Her taste was exquisite and addictive, and you found yourself craving more, needing to please her, to make her come undone.

Unable to resist, you suddenly plunged two fingers into her spasming pussy, pumping them in and out at a brutal pace. You sucked her clit into your mouth, flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves with your tongue, driving her wild with pleasure.

"Fuck, yes," Rhaenyra moaned, her head thrown back in ecstasy. "Eat me, fuck, eat your Queen's cunny. Make me cum!"

You whined against her sopping heat as you eagerly ate her out, sending vibrations to her already sensitive clit.

Rhaenyra cried out in ecstasy as your fingers plunged into her dripping cunny, fucking her with a relentless, brutal pace. Her back arched off the divan, her hips bucking wildly as she rode the wave of pleasure that crashed over her.

Your tongue lashed at her clit, the dual stimulation of fingers and mouth driving Rhaenyra to the brink of madness. Her thighs clamped around your head, holding you in place as she ground her cunny against her face, seeking more, always more.

Rhaenyra could feel her orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in her belly, her muscles tensing in anticipation of release. She pushed her hips harder against your hand, fucking herself on your fingers, the wet squelch of her arousal filling the room.

"Don't stop," Rhaenyra commanded, her voice a low, guttural moan. "Make me come, fuck, make your Queen come!"

With a final, brutal thrust of your fingers, Rhaenyra shattered. Her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, her vision whiting out as pleasure consumed her. She screamed a primal, animalistic sound that echoed off the stone walls of the observatory.

Rhaenyra's body convulsed, her cunny clamping down on your fingers, milking them for all they were worth. Her juices gushed out, coating your hand, chin, and breasts. It was messy, filthy, and perfect.

As the aftershocks of her orgasm faded, Rhaenyra collapsed back against the divan, her chest heaving, her skin slick with sweat and her essence. She looked down at you, her eyes hazy with satisfaction, a lazy, satisfied smile playing on her lips.

"You've pleased your Queen well," Rhaenyra purred.

Rhaenyra gazed down at you, her violet eyes dark with lust and a hint of something more primal. The young woman'ssubmissive posture, and the pleading look in your eyes, ignited a hunger in Rhaenyra that she had long suppressed.

She reached down, her fingers tangling in your hair, yanking your head back to expose the elegant column of your throat. Rhaenyra's other hand trailed down your body, her touch feather-light, teasing.

"You want more?" Rhaenyra purred, her voice a husky whisper. "You want your Queen to use you, to take you, to make you hers?"

You nodded, a whimper escaping your lips. "Yes, my Queen," you breathed, your eyes never leaving Rhaenyra's. "I'myours, to do with as you please."

Rhaenyra smiled a predator's grin that sent a shiver down your spine. "Good girl," she murmured, her hand cupping your breast, squeezing the soft flesh. "You're going to be a good little toy for your Queen, aren't you?"

Rhaenyra stood, towering over you, her presence dominating the space between them. She reached for the belt of her gown, slowly, teasingly, letting the anticipation build.

"On your hands and knees," Rhaenyra commanded, her voice tolerating no argument. "Ass up, head down. Present yourself to your Queen like the good little slut you are."

You hastened to obey, your heart racing with a mix of fear and excitement. You positioned yourself on the floor, ass raised, face pressed into the carpet. You could feel Rhaenyra's eyes on her, could hear the rustle of fabric as your Queen disrobed.

"Spread your legs," Rhaenyra ordered, her voice low and demanding. "Show me that pretty little cunt. Let me see what belongs to me."

You complied, spreading your legs wide, exposing your dripping sex to the cool air and her ravenous gaze. You waited, each second passing by felt like an hour without her touch on your skin. Patience was never your virtue.

Rhaenyra drank in the sight before her, the glistening folds of your pussy, the delicate lighter shade of your inner walls, the swollen nub of your clit. She could smell your arousal, a heady, intoxicating scent that made her mouth water with desire.

She knelt behind you, her knees pressing against your thighs, forcing your legs further apart. Rhaenyra's hand came down on your ass with a sharp smack, the sound echoing in the room.

"Patience, my sweet," Rhaenyra purred, her fingers tracing the reddening skin of your cheek. "Your Queen will give you what you need, but first, you must learn to wait, to crave, to beg for my touch."

Rhaenyra's hand moved lower, her fingers teasing along the crease of your ass, dipping between your thighs, but never quite touching you where you needed it most. You whimpered, your hips bucking back, seeking more.

"Shh, be still," Rhaenyra chided, her voice a low, soothing murmur. "Good girls are rewarded, but naughty girls..."

Her hand came down again, a stinging slap to your ass that made you cry out. Rhaenyra soothed the sting with gentle strokes, her fingers dancing over the heated skin.

"Naughty girls are punished," Rhaenyra finished, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But you have been a good girl, haven'tyou, my sweet?"

You nodded, your face pressed into the carpet, her ass raised high, an offering to her Queen. "Yes, my Queen," she breathed, her voice muffled. "I've been so good for you. Please touch me, my Queen."

Rhaenyra chuckled, the sound dark and rich with promise. "So greedy," she murmured, her fingers dipping between your legs, teasing the slick folds of your cunt. "But I suppose I can indulge you, just this once."

With that, Rhaenyra pushed two fingers inside you, your tight heat clenching around her digits. She pumped them slowly, torturously, revelling in the way your hips bucked, seeking more.

"That's it," Rhaenyra growled, her thumb finding your clit with ease, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub. "Take what your Queen gives you. Be a good little girl for me."

You could only moan in response, the pleasure of Rhaenyra's touch short-circuiting your brain.

Rhaenyra withdrew her fingers from your dripping cunny, leaving you empty and aching for more. She circled in front ofyou, her violet eyes dark with lust and power.

"Lay on your back," Rhaenyra commanded, her voice low and authoritative. "I want to see your face when I fuck you. I want to watch you come undone for your Queen."

You hastened to obey, laying back on the plush carpet, your legs falling open in wanton invitation. Rhaenyra loomed over you, her tall, regal form casting a shadow across your body.

She knelt between your thighs, her hands trailing up your calves, your thighs, until she reached your weeping cunt. Rhaenyra's fingers delved inside you once more, pumping in and out, curling to hit that special spot deep within.

"Look at me," Rhaenyra demanded, her other hand gripping your chin, forcing your gaze to meet hers. "Watch your Queen as she makes you come. Watch me as I claim you." With that she pulled her fingers out of your sopping heat, lapping up the slick from your cunt.

"Put your leg up," Rhaenyra ordered. She lifted your left leg, straddling your right thigh as her dripping cunt hovered above yours.

Your breath caught in your throat, a mix of lust and hunger swirling within you as you watched her. The soft glow of the candlelight danced across her features, illuminating the way her eyes sparkled with carnal desire. Every second felt like an eternity as you awaited her next move, your heart racing.

Rhaenyra's eyes locked onto yours, her gaze intense and hungry. She held your leg up, her cunt poised just above yours, the heat of her radiating against your skin.

"You want this, don't you?" Rhaenyra purred. "You want your Queen to ride you, to grind against you until we both come undone."

She shifted forward, the slick folds of her pussy brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, your hips bucking up to meet her.

"Beg for it," Rhaenyra commanded, her voice a low, seductive growl. "Beg your Queen to fuck you with her cunt. Beg me to make you mine like a good girl"

You couldn't help it, the words tumbled from your lips in a desperate, needy plea. "Please, my Queen," you whimpered, your eyes never leaving Rhaenyra's face. "Please fuck me with your cunt. Make me yours, claim me. I need it, I need you."

Rhaenyra smiled a wicked, triumphant grin that made your heart race. "Good girl," she purred, her praise sending a shiver of delight down your spine. "You've earned a reward."

With that, Rhaenyra pressed down, her cunt engulfing yours in a slick, hot embrace. She began to move, grinding against you, her clit rubbing against yours, the friction delicious and overwhelming.

"Oh, fuck yes!" You screamed out in pleasure, your back arching from the carpet. Your walls clenched around nothing as you felt her clit repeatedly grinding against yours. Eyes screwed shut and brows furrowed, moans kept spilling from your parted lips.

Rhaenyra increased the pace, grinding harder, faster, her cunt sliding against yours in a lewd, wet sound that filled the room. Your thighs quivered, your muscles tensing as your orgasm built to a crescendo.

"Fuck, yes," Rhaenyra moaned, her hips rolling in a sensual rhythm. "You feel so good, so wet for me. I could fuck this sweet little cunt all day and never tire of it."

You could only moan in response, your hands fisting in the carpet beneath you, your body arching up to meet Rhaenyra'smovements. The pleasure was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, threatening to snap at any second.

Rhaenyra's smirk widened, a predatory gleam in her violet eyes as she watched you writhe beneath her. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, your body trembling with the force of your impending orgasm.

"That's it, my sweet," Rhaenyra purred, her voice low and husky. "Let go for me. Come for your Queen."

She increased the pace, grinding harder, faster, her cunt sliding against yours in a slick, obscene sound. Your thighs quivered, your muscles tensing as your orgasm built to a crescendo.

"Fuck, I'm gonna..." you panted, your words trailing off into a moan as the pressure inside you reached a breaking point.

With a final, brutal grind of Rhaenyra's hips, you shattered. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision whiting out as pleasure consumed you. You screamed a primal, animalistic sound that echoed off the stone walls of the observatory.

Rhaenyra rode out your orgasm, her pleasure building as she felt your cunt spasm around nothing. She ground against you, drawing out your pleasure, milking every last drop of ecstasy from your body.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm faded, Rhaenyra collapsed beside you, her chest heaving, her skin slick with sweat. She pulled you close, her arms encircling you, holding you tight against her body.

"My sweet, beautiful girl," Rhaenyra murmured, her lips brushing against your temple. "You please your Queen so well."

You nestled into her embrace, your heart still racing, your body humming with satisfaction. At that moment, you belonged to Rhaenyra, body and soul, a willing subject to her desires.

You nuzzled your face into the crook of her neck, seeking solace as you tried to catch your breath. Her scent enveloped you, a delightful blend of vanilla, lavender and lust dancing in the air around you, warm and inviting.

With a tender touch, you reached out to brush her silky white hair away from her face. The strands glimmered softly in the light, cascading like a waterfall over her shoulders. A few wisps clung to her forehead, dampened by a light sheen of sweat that glistened like tiny pearls, evidence of the warmth that lingered between you.

As your eyes met, a wordless understanding passed between the two of you, a shared moment that transcended the need for language. You smiled at her, the corners of your lips turning upwards, filled with unspoken affection and connection, knowing that in this quiet intimacy, everything that mattered was perfectly captured in that fleeting glance.

Rhaenyra leaned into your touch, her eyes fluttering closed as you brushed the sweat-dampened strands of her silver-gold hair from her forehead. She nuzzled into your palm, a soft purr rumbling in her chest.

In that quiet moment, the world faded away, leaving only the two of you, entwined in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of your shared pleasure. Rhaenyra's heartbeat slowly returned to normal, her breathing evening out as she savoured the warmth of your body against hers.

"You're a treasure," Rhaenyra murmured, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. "A gem among the dross of this world. I am lucky to have you by my side."

You tilted your head, meeting her gaze with a soft, loving smile. "I am the lucky one, my Queen," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "To serve you, to please you, to be yours... it is an honour beyond measure."

Rhaenyra's smile widened, a rare, genuine expression of happiness and contentment. She cupped your face in her hands, her thumbs stroking your cheeks.

"You are mine," she declared, her voice a low, possessive purr. "And I am yours."

You leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, tender kiss. It was a promise, a seal on the unspoken vows exchanged between you. In that kiss, you pledged your loyalty, your devotion, your very soul to Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Dragon Queen.

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itsswritten · 1 year ago

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when the sea calls for three | intro

Paring: Azriel x Reader x Eris

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: In the aftermath of war, peace reigns over the realms of Prythian, but the delicate balance hangs in the hands of two unlikely mediators—You and Lucien. As the newly appointed Emissaries of Peace, your duty is clear: maintain alliances, foster understanding between courts, and navigate the intricate webs of fae politics.

But when fate deals an unexpected twist, revealing that you possess not one, but two mates, the tranquillity you've worked so hard to uphold is suddenly threatened. Caught between two males who refuse to share, you find yourself thrust into a precarious position, torn between duty and desire.

What will you do and who will you choose?

I need you.

Those three words were all it took.

༄

In the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the room, flickering reflections of pinks and purples across the walls. Dawn Court had always been radiant, the sky, cobalt and rose. A sunrise all day long. You were proud to call it your home.

You stood before the ornate mirror, fingers delicately adjusting the intricate buttons of your tunic.

The decision to choose neutral clothing had been yours, a deliberate choice born from the realisation of what your new role weighed. You were to be a mediator, a peacekeeper, it only seemed fitting to don a uniform that symbolised your neutrality and dedication to maintaining balance among the realms.

The fabric shimmered with a subtle elegance, adorned with delicate motifs that whispered of the courts you now served. The tapestry of symbolism spoke something that words could not, of a new beginning, a new chapter– a time of peace.

The design along the back of your tunic, three majestic mountains rose proudly, their peaks reaching towards the heavens. Behind them, the sun emerged, casting its golden rays that spread warmth and light– a nod to your home.

In the left above, a fully fleshed sun beamed down upon the mountains, radiating its brilliance and vitality. To the right, three stars and a crescent moon were sewn with meticulous care, representing the rest of the solar courts and their celestial splendour.

On your left sleeve, leaves were hand stitched along your cuff, bronze thread danced in a graceful swirl, climbing upwards towards your elbow, mirroring the silver icy shards that adorned the right sleeve. Autumn and Winter in perfect harmony.

Around your collar, a delicate pattern of vines and roses intertwined, symbolising the beauty and vitality of the Spring Court's bloom. And along the trimmings of the tunic's bottom, waves swirled in a mesmerising dance, evoking the Summer Court's boundless energy and fluidity.

Your tunic jacket cascaded gracefully, halting just at your hips, while beneath it, a long, flowing cream pleated skirt billowed elegantly to the floor. With your hair initially draping freely, you gently pulled it forward, ensuring the intricate details adorning the back of your tunic were given their rightful moment to shine.

As you smoothed the fabric, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the role you had been given. Playing a bridge between courts, and worlds. A mediator between the people.

Politics had never really been something you relished in, but you were good with people, and good with your words. Qualities that your friend desperately convinced you, were integral to this role.

A soft knock on the door interrupted your reverie, and you turned to see Lucien, your friend, standing in the doorway. His mechanical eye wiring at the sight of you. He was wearing a similar tunic, one that was longer on his body but mirrored the designs of your own.

It was Lucien who had told you he needed you.

I need you.

He had written to you one evening. His correspondences were usually lighthearted and filled with friendly banter, but this weighed heavily in a way that was so unlike him.

“I could really use your help.” Lucien had breathed, when you came to visit after his letter.

I need you. I need my friend. I need someone to lean on. I need someone to laugh with. It’s been too long. I miss you.

Was what you heard. His message had been simple yet poignant, a plea for assistance and companionship.

You had always had a way with words and sounds. Understanding the gaps in between the breaths, the underlying emotions and intentions woven into each syllable. Most didn't realise what could be revealed in their words. How the octaves and melodic tones of their tongues sung of unspoken truths.

Lucien and you had shared a friendship that spanned many years, reaching back to your earliest memories of childhood. As children and teens, you had been inseparable, playmates in a time that now felt like a distant memory. However, when borders grew stricter and tensions mounted, those days were abruptly halted.

It wasn't until the dark days of Amarantha's reign that fate brought you back together, through the intervention of Nuan, a mutual friend. She was a skilled Alchemist of your court, who had aided Lucein in his healing, crafting his beautiful golden eye. And because he was no longer a part of Autumn, you were able to reconnect and your friendship flourished, even if it was predominantly through ink and parchment.

"Ready to face them?" he asked with a tight smile, his voice carrying a note of anticipation.

I’m nervous. Is what you heard under his words.

You returned his smile with a nod, a playful glint dancing in your eyes. “Of course, I was born ready Lucie” you replied, effortlessly flicking his nickname with a casual ease.

Despite having a smart mouth now, Lucien was a name you often got tongue-tied in your younger years. Lucie had been a much easier sound to make, and you didn’t hesitate to use the endearing name when wanting to tease.

Lucien rolled his eyes, but your casual demeanour softened the nerves that had laced his previous words. That had been your intention.

Just one example of how your intuition always left you saying the right thing. Of course there were times this didn’t happen, but those occasions were extremely rare.

“We should decide which courts reside under our care before the meeting” Lucien began, striding in front of the mirror to adjust his own tunic. “And I have to say you’ve made more progress with Tamlin these past two months than I have in the past year," Lucien breathed, a hint of admiration in his voice while he smiled at you through the mirror.

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "What, like it was hard?"

Tamlin's stubbornness had been a challenge, but your natural charisma and persuasion had proven effective in bridging the gap between his court and the others. His residents had at least started returning home, and thanks to your work, there was actually something for them to return to.

You huffed, before turning your friend around, pulling at his collar to adjust. Before tidying up his long auburn hair.

"I can’t do both though Lucien. I'm not dealing with your brothers and Tamlin. That's too much, even for me” You remarked.

Lucien’s relationship with his brothers remained strained, the scars of their shared trauma running deep. Despite Beron’s demise, Eris was now Autumn’s High Lord. The brothers wounds were not so easily healed, and the weight of their history continued to cast a shadow over their interactions.

“Plus I do believe some forced proximity may do you and Tamlin some good” you pointed a look at him, referencing their damaged friendship.

Lucien bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing at you. He couldn’t help but envy how effortlessly you seemed to navigate the complexities of every situation, every conversation. Always knowing the right words to say, and the right actions to take. Qualities that had undoubtedly drawn him to seek your assistance in the first place.

Qualities he forgot he would also be susceptible to.

"I'll look after Autumn and your hotheaded brothers. You deal with the depressed blondie," you suggested, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes.

"Fine," Lucien conceded, begrudgingly acknowledging the wisdom in your words.

“I want Dawn, it’s my home and Thesan would be heartbroken if I wasn’t his courtier,” you asserted confidently.

"Then I'll have Day," Lucien negotiated, a hint of determination in his tone.

As the conversation turned to the remaining courts, you paused, considering the options carefully. The Night Court held a particular significance for Lucien, given his mate's presence there, but you were keenly aware of the tension that still lingered between them.

"I can take Night if that helps. I've already been the one updating their Spymaster recently anyway," you offered, your voice steady as you finally finished straightening up Lucien. Pulling your hands swiftly behind your back.

He mirrored your pose "Then I will manage Winter," Lucien conceded, a sense of resignation colouring his words. He wasn’t very fond of the cold, but neither were you.

But he was happy to take this one for you, as you had taken Autumn and Night for him.

"Summer is mine. You can have the humans, your Band of Rejects or whatever they're called," you remarked playfully.

"Exiles," Lucien corrected with a humorous purr, a brief flicker of amusement softening his eyes.

“Apologies…band of exile…-d rejects” you humoured, before you felt him nudge you with his shoulder.

Your soft laughs filled the room before you tilted your head to look at your dearest friend “Look at you now. Exiled no more. Mr. Emissary of Peace”

Lucien smiled proudly at the title, he had come a long way. This new chapter for Phrytian was daunting, but he was grateful to have you by his side “You ready?”

With a nod you grinned wide “Let’s go peacekeep the fuck out of them Lucie!”

Next Part >>

a/n: Eeeekkkk so here's a little intro to set the tone and roles! Just a little disclaimer, there will be a few things in this series that haven't happened in the books, but it works for the plot. Only small things, so just go with it please! Excited to share this story with you all <3 - Lottie x

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar azriel #azriel fanfic #angst #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #eris x azriel #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris x reader x azriel #eris x y/n #eris x you #azriel x eris

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eunseoksimp · 6 months ago

Text

Siren ; Lee Anton

Pairings: Obsessive!Anton x Femme Fatale!Reader

Genre: Angst

Description: at seonghwa academy, you reign like a queen—flawless, untouchable, and cold as ice. your beauty is your weapon, used to control and manipulate those who fall under your spell. but when you catch the eye of anton, a brooding athlete with a quiet intensity, you meet your match. beneath his silence lies a dark obsession, a twisted desire that mirrors your own. as you engage in a dangerous dance of power and control, the line between.

Warnings: manipulation, obsessive behaviour, anton is low-key unhinged, death

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

in the heart of seoul, hidden away from the prying eyes of the common folk, lay seonghwa academy—a sanctuary for the elite. the school was a sprawling estate, its towering gates adorned with intricate gold designs, a symbol of the wealth and privilege that lay within. beyond the gates, the grounds stretched out in a lavish display of manicured gardens, where ancient cherry blossom trees stood sentinel, their delicate pink petals drifting like snowflakes in the gentle breeze.

the main building of the academy was a marvel of architecture, a blend of traditional korean aesthetics and modern grandeur. its walls were of pristine white stone, polished to a shine, with high windows that allowed sunlight to pour in, casting long, golden rays across the polished marble floors.

inside, the halls were wide and lined with portraits of illustrious alumni, men and women who had gone on to shape the world, all of them linked by the common thread of privilege and power. the ceiling soared above, adorned with chandeliers that glittered like a constellation of stars, their crystal drops refracting light into a thousand tiny rainbows that danced across the room.

it was within these halls that you held court, like a queen surveying her kingdom. your presence was a force unto itself, commanding attention without a word, demanding devotion without a single gesture. you moved through the school like a wisp of smoke, impossible to grasp but impossible to ignore. wherever you went, a hush fell over those around you, as if the mere sight of you demanded reverence.

you were beautiful, but not in the way most people imagined when they thought of beauty. it wasn’t just your face, though that was a masterpiece in itself—high cheekbones, a delicate nose, lips that curled into a perfect bow. your skin was like porcelain, flawless and smooth, with a soft, ethereal glow that seemed to emanate from within, your hair, a cascade of black silk, framed a face so perfect it seemed almost unreal, like something crafted by the hands of a deity in a moment of unparalleled inspiration. your eyes, dark and mysterious, held a depth that could drown anyone who dared look too long into them, a dangerous promise hidden behind a veil of innocence.

but it was more than just your physical appearance. your beauty was a weapon, and you wielded it with precision. you were calculating, always two steps ahead, your mind a cold, sharp instrument honed to perfection. everything you did was for your own gain, every smile, every glance, every word spoken was a move in the intricate game you played. you took pleasure in your power, in the way others bent to your will without even realizing they were doing so.

and then there was your voice, soft and low, like velvet brushing against bare skin. when you spoke, people listened. they hung onto your every word, eager to please, desperate to be noticed by you.

boys fell over themselves trying to catch your attention, offering gifts, writing love letters, all in the vain hope that you might spare them a glance. you accepted their offerings with a smile that never reached your eyes, always taking, never giving. you played them like instruments, each one serving a purpose, whether it was to boost your social standing, to gain favors, or simply to amuse yourself. all blinded by the allure of being noticed by someone as unattainable as you were.

girls envied and admired you in equal measure, some even attempting to emulate your style, though none could quite capture the effortless elegance that came so naturally to you. they didn’t realize that what they saw was a facade, a carefully constructed image designed to elicit the desired response from those around you. you knew exactly how to dress, how to speak, how to act to keep them all under your thumb, to keep them guessing, to keep them wanting more.

among the crowd of admirers, anton was different.

anton was handsome, that much was undeniable. he had a certain ruggedness to him, a sharpness to his features that contrasted with the softness of yours. his hair, dark and thick, often fell across his forehead in a tousled mess that only seemed to enhance his brooding appeal. his eyes, a piercing shade of blue, stood out against his tanned skin, giving him an intensity that could be felt even from a distance. he was tall and lean, his athletic build a testament to the hours he spent training on the field, every muscle in his body honed to perfection.

but where you were a beacon of light, drawing everyone towards you, anton was a shadow, always lurking at the edges, observing from afar. he was quiet, almost painfully so, his presence more of a whisper than a shout. while others jostled for your attention, anton remained on the periphery, content—or so it seemed—to watch you from a distance. his eyes followed you wherever you went, though he rarely spoke more than a few words to anyone.

his silence made him a mystery, one that no one seemed able to solve. he was a puzzle, each piece carefully guarded, revealing nothing of the whole. few knew anything about him beyond the superficial; he was good at sports, he was handsome, and he kept to himself. only a handful of people could claim to be his friends, and even they struggled to understand the depths of his thoughts.

where others saw an angel, he saw something more—a force of nature, a tempest that he wanted to be caught in, even if it meant his own destruction. his heart beat faster when you were near, the blood in his veins turning to fire as your scent—jasmine and something darker, something that whispered of forbidden things—wafted through the air.

his shyness was a curse in your presence. while others boldly approached you, offering gifts and compliments, anton remained in the background, his love for you a silent, burning thing that threatened to consume him. he longed to speak to you, to make you see him, truly see him, but the fear of rejection, of shattering the perfect image he had of her in his mind, kept him silent.

but you noticed him, of course. how could you not? unlike the others who fell over themselves to win your favor, anton presented a challenge. he was a puzzle you wanted to solve, not out of any genuine interest, but because you hated the idea that someone in your domain could remain untouched by your influence. there was something in the way he looked at you—intense, almost possessive—that sparked a flicker of interest, but more than that, it was the challenge that intrigued you. here was someone who didn’t play by your rules, and that was unacceptable.

one crisp autumn afternoon, as the sun bathed the campus in a warm, golden light, you were making your way across the courtyard. the air was filled with the soft rustle of leaves as they fell from the trees, carpeting the ground in shades of red and gold. your footsteps were almost silent against the cobblestones, the sound barely audible over the murmurs of students passing by.

ahead, you noticed anton standing with a small group of his friends. they were near the edge of the courtyard, leaning casually against the stone balustrade that overlooked the garden below. though his friends were engaged in light conversation, anton seemed distant, his gaze unfocused as if lost in thought. it wasn’t until you were closer that his eyes snapped to you, a flash of something dark and unreadable crossing his features.

“here she comes,” one of anton’s friends, a tall boy with an easy smile, murmured under his breath, though not quietly enough to escape your notice. “the ice queen herself.”

“more like a goddess,” another boy replied, his tone tinged with admiration. “she doesn’t even have to try, does she? it’s like she was born to make us all look bad.”

there was a low chuckle from the group, but anton remained silent, his eyes still fixed on you. you allowed a small, knowing smile to curve your lips, a smile that only deepened the allure you held over them. you knew the effect you had, and you reveled in it. but this smile wasn’t just for them—it was a calculated move, a test to see how anton would react.

as you walked past, you let your gaze flicker towards anton for just a moment, long enough to meet his eyes and see the way they darkened, the intensity of his stare like a physical touch. it was a brief exchange, but it was enough to tell you what you needed to know. he wasn’t immune to you. far from it. he was just better at hiding it.

“careful, anton,” one of his friends teased, noticing the exchange. “she’s not the kind of girl you want to mess with.”

anton finally tore his gaze away from you, a faint smile ghosting across his lips as he replied, his voice low and measured, “i’m not messing with her.”

his friend raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “so what’s the plan, then? you just going to keep watching her from afar? because if you ask me, she’s out of everyone’s league here. untouchable.”

anton didn’t respond immediately, his eyes flickering back to where you had just disappeared around the corner. when he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet that his friends had to lean in to catch the words.

“some things are worth waiting for,” he said, his tone laced with a quiet conviction that sent a ripple of unease through the group.

“yeah, well, just be careful you don’t get burned,” the tall boy replied, though there was no real concern in his voice, only the easy camaraderie of someone who didn’t quite understand the depths of his friend’s obsession.

anton offered no reply, his thoughts already drifting back to you. his friends resumed their conversation, but he remained silent, his mind occupied with the image of your smile, the way it had seemed to linger on your lips just a moment too long, as if it had been meant for him alone.

later that afternoon, as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the school grounds, you found yourself in the library. it was a vast room, lined with shelves that reached up to the ceiling, filled with books that spanned every subject imaginable. the scent of aged paper hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of polished wood and the crispness of the autumn air that drifted in through the open windows.

you chose this place deliberately—your sanctuary, your throne room, where you could reign undisturbed. the library was usually deserted at this hour, a perfect place to think, to plot your next move. you moved gracefully through the aisles, your fingers trailing lightly over the spines of the books as you walked, until you reached your usual spot, a secluded table tucked away in a corner, hidden from view but with a clear line of sight to the entrance.

you settled into your seat, your back straight, your posture impeccable, as you opened a book—a volume on ancient strategies of war, a fitting choice given the games you played with those around you. but as you began to read, your thoughts kept drifting back to anton, to the way he had looked at you in the courtyard. there was something about him that you couldn’t quite place, something that made him stand out from the others. he was different, and that intrigued you.

you heard the door to the library creak open, the sound barely perceptible, but you were attuned to the slightest disturbance in your surroundings. you didn’t look up, though you knew who it was even before you heard the familiar sound of his footsteps approaching. you continued reading, allowing him to come to you, your expression calm and unreadable.

“strange seeing you here twice in one day,” anton’s voice broke the silence, soft yet edged with something dark, something that hinted at the depths beneath his calm exterior.

you slowly raised your eyes from the book, fixing him with a cool, appraising gaze. “is it?”

he stood at the edge of your table, his posture relaxed but his eyes focused, as if he were trying to decipher the meaning behind your calm demeanor. he didn’t sit down, didn’t make any move to bridge the gap between you, and you respected that. it showed that he wasn’t like the others who would have rushed to fill the silence, eager to be close to you, to bask in your presence.

“you usually avoid places like this,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur, as though the library’s quiet demanded a softer tone.

you tilted your head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. “and yet, here you are.”

anton didn’t respond immediately. his eyes flickered to the book in your hands, his expression thoughtful. “war strategies?” he observed, raising an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “fitting.”

“for what?” you asked, your voice smooth, almost teasing, though there was a hint of steel beneath your words.

“for someone like you,” he replied, his tone flat, betraying nothing of what he might be thinking. “someone who always seems to be a step ahead.”

you allowed a soft laugh to escape your lips, though it was devoid of any real warmth. “i find it useful to stay informed,” you said, closing the book with a decisive snap. “knowledge is power, after all.”

anton’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “and you enjoy having power, don’t you?”

you met his gaze, unflinching, your expression unreadable. “wouldn’t you?”

he didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes was enough. he understood, perhaps more than anyone else. in that moment, you saw a reflection of yourself in him—a hunger, a need to control, to dominate. it was rare to find someone who could match you in this way, and it made you wonder just how far you could push him before he would break.

“why are you here, anton?” you asked, your tone light but with an underlying sharpness. “surely you didn’t come all this way just to exchange pleasantries?”

anton took a step closer, leaning slightly over the table, his eyes locked onto yours. “i came to see you.”

“did you?” you replied, feigning surprise, though you were anything but. “and what is it that you want from me?”

he took another step closer, his gaze intense, as if he were trying to penetrate your carefully constructed facade. “you already know the answer to that.”

you leaned back in your chair, creating more distance between you, as if to remind him who was in control. “perhaps,” you said slowly, your voice laced with an almost cruel amusement. “but i want to hear you say it.”

anton’s jaw tightened, the only outward sign of his frustration. he wasn’t used to being played with, and it was clear that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the power dynamic between you. but he held his ground, refusing to be the first to break.

“i want to understand you,” he said finally, the words heavy with meaning.

you raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued now. “understand me?” you echoed, your tone mocking. “how quaint. and why would you want that?”

his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to see through your facade, to find the real person beneath the mask. “because you’re different from the others,” he said, his voice firm. “you don’t care about the things they care about. you’re not like them.”

you felt a flicker of satisfaction at his words, though you kept your expression neutral. “you think you’re different too, don’t you?” you asked, your voice soft, almost a whisper. “that’s why you’re drawn to me. you see something of yourself in me.”

anton didn’t deny it. instead, he straightened, putting more distance between you. “maybe,” he admitted, though there was a hint of reluctance in his voice, as if he didn’t want to admit just how much you fascinated him.

you leaned forward, your eyes glinting with something dark, something that spoke of the game you were playing. “but here’s the thing, anton,” you said, your voice low and almost seductive. “just because we’re alike doesn’t mean we’re on the same side.”

anton’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them. “are you trying to warn me?”

you smiled then, a smile that held no warmth, no kindness. “no,” you said simply. “i’m just letting you know that you should be careful. you might think you understand me, but you don’t. and trying to get close to me, trying to figure me out, might not end the way you hope.”

there was a moment of silence, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. anton’s expression remained unreadable, but you could see the wheels turning in his mind, could almost hear the thoughts racing through his head as he tried to decide his next move.

finally, he nodded, as if coming to some kind of internal decision. “i’ll take my chances,” he said, his voice calm, but with a resolve that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

you studied him for a long moment, weighing his words, considering your next move. and then, you smiled again, this time a real smile, one that hinted at something more, something dangerous. “good,” you said softly, leaning back in your chair. “i was hoping you would say that.”

anton didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. he wasn’t afraid of you, and that made him even more interesting. this was going to be fun.

without another word, you stood up, the movement smooth and controlled. you gathered your things, the book you hadn’t read and the bag you carried with you everywhere. you leaned slightly over the table, bringing your face closer to his, your lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile.

"good luck, anton," you whispered, your voice low and intimate. "you’re going to need it."

and with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him sitting there, the echo of your parting words lingering in the air. as you left the library, you didn’t look back. you knew he was watching you, just as you knew he would continue to chase the idea of you, to try and uncover the truth you kept hidden behind layers of ice.

but in the end, it didn’t matter. you were always in control. anton might think he was playing the same game as you, but the truth was, he was just another piece on your board. and you? you were always several moves ahead.

the sun had set by the time you stepped outside, the evening air cool against your skin. the sky was a deep, inky blue, dotted with the first stars of the night. as you walked back to your dorm, your thoughts were already shifting to the next day, the next opportunity, the next move. anton was a distraction, an interesting one, but a distraction nonetheless. you had bigger plans, bigger goals, and you wouldn’t let anything—or anyone—stand in your way.

as the door to your dormitory closed behind you, you allowed yourself one last, fleeting thought of anton, of the way his eyes had burned with that cold fire, the way he had tried to match your coldness with his own. it was a futile effort, but it had been amusing, if only for a moment.

and then, with the finality of a chess player making the winning move, you pushed the thought from your mind, focusing instead on the game that truly mattered—the one where you were always the queen, and everyone else was just another pawn.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the days began to blur into one another, the once vibrant tapestry of autumn fading into the cold, muted tones of winter. seonghwa academy, with all its grandeur and decadence, seemed almost timeless in its beauty, untouched by the passage of the seasons. the cherry blossoms had long since fallen, leaving the trees bare, their skeletal branches scratching at the sky like bony fingers. the manicured gardens were now coated in a thin layer of frost, a glittering veil that shimmered in the pale morning light.

you moved through the academy like a specter, your presence felt more than seen. the halls were your domain, each corridor a labyrinth where you pulled the strings, where every whisper, every glance was carefully orchestrated. the students, your pawns, fell in line, their lives intertwined with yours in ways they could never fully understand. you held court in the shadows, your influence seeping into every corner, every conversation.

anton was no exception. from the moment he had sought you out in the library, you had known he would be different, a challenge unlike the others. and challenges, you had learned, were meant to be conquered.

he was drawn to you like a moth to a flame, his obsession growing with each passing day. it was subtle at first—an extra glance in your direction, a lingering look that held just a bit too long. but soon, it became something more, something palpable. you could feel his eyes on you even when you weren’t looking, could sense his presence lurking at the edge of your awareness like a shadow that refused to be shaken.

you began to toy with him, your moves calculated and deliberate, each interaction becoming a carefully orchestrated dance. the academy, a place of prestige and ambition, provided the perfect backdrop for your machinations. its grand halls and meticulously maintained gardens were a testament to the wealth and power of its patrons, and you knew how to navigate this world with ease.

your interactions with anton began innocently enough. it started with small things—catching his eye in the hallway and holding his gaze just a moment longer than necessary, brushing past him in the crowded corridors, your touch fleeting but deliberate. you could see the effect it had on him, the way his breath hitched, the way his composure faltered ever so slightly. it was intoxicating, the power you held over him, the way you could bend him to your will with nothing more than a look.

one evening, as the first snow of the season began to fall, you found yourself in the school’s music room, a place rarely visited by anyone outside of classes. the room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the sconces on the walls, casting long shadows that danced across the polished wood floors. the air was filled with the faint scent of old sheet music and the lingering notes of a piano that hadn’t been played in years.

you had come here to think, to plot your next move, but the silence was soon broken by the sound of the door creaking open. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. you could feel anton’s presence, the way the air seemed to thicken with his arrival.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice a soft whisper that barely disturbed the quiet.

“neither should you,” he replied, his tone calm but with an undercurrent of something darker, something that hinted at the storm brewing beneath his surface.

you turned slowly to face him, your eyes meeting his with a cool, detached gaze. “i go where i please,” you said simply, as if that explained everything.

anton stepped further into the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. he was dressed in the school’s uniform, but it seemed somehow more disheveled, the tie loosened, the shirt untucked at the edges, as if he had grown careless with his appearance. his hair was tousled, the dark strands falling into his eyes, but it did nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze.

“why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice steady but with a hint of desperation, as if he were struggling to keep his emotions in check.

you tilted your head slightly, feigning ignorance. “doing what?”

anton’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he took a step closer. “you know what,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “why are you playing with me?”

a smile ghosted across your lips, a smile devoid of any warmth, any humanity. “because i can,” you replied, your tone light, almost mocking. “because it amuses me.”

anton’s eyes darkened, the shadows in the room seeming to grow longer, deeper. “you think this is a game?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly with barely restrained anger.

“everything is a game,” you said, your voice as cold and unfeeling as the snow falling outside. “and you’re just another piece on the board.”

he stared at you, his expression a mixture of anger and something else, something you couldn’t quite place. there was a darkness in him, a darkness that mirrored your own, and for a moment, you almost felt something—a flicker of recognition, of understanding. but you quickly pushed it aside, reminding yourself of who you were, of what you were.

“i don’t want to be your pawn,” anton said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“then don’t be,” you replied, your tone dismissive. “no one’s forcing you to play.”

but you both knew that wasn’t true. he was trapped, ensnared in a web of his own making, and there was no escape. not now. not ever.

anton took another step closer, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that was almost suffocating. “what do you want from me?” he asked, his voice hoarse, as if the words had been dragged from the depths of his soul.

you looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment, you felt something stir within you, something you couldn’t quite identify. but then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cold, calculating detachment that had always served you so well.

“i want to see how far you’ll go,” you said, your voice soft, almost seductive. “how much you’re willing to sacrifice for me.”

anton’s eyes narrowed, suspicion and anger flaring in equal measure. “and what if i’m not willing to give you what you want?” he asked, his voice challenging, daring you to push him further.

you smiled then, a smile that was all sharp edges and hidden dangers. “oh, anton,” you said, your tone dripping with condescension. “you will. you won’t be able to help yourself.”

there was a moment of silence, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. and then, without warning, anton reached out, his hand gripping your wrist with a force that sent a shock of pain up your arm. his touch was cold, his fingers like iron bands that held you in place, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of fear, a fear that you hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“don’t underestimate me,” anton said, his voice low, dangerous. “i’m not like the others. i won’t break for you.”

you met his gaze, your eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, you saw the truth in his words. anton wasn’t like the others. he was stronger, more resilient, and that made him dangerous. but it also made the game more interesting, more challenging. and you had never been one to back down from a challenge.

“we’ll see,” you said, your voice steady, unyielding.

anton held your gaze for a moment longer, his grip on your wrist tightening before he finally let go. you watched him as he stepped back, his expression unreadable, the storm in his eyes raging just beneath the surface.

“this isn’t over,” he said, his voice low, filled with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“no,” you replied, your tone calm, composed. “it’s just beginning.”

with that, anton turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room, the silence pressing down on you like a weight. you watched him go, a small smile playing on your lips, your mind already working, already planning your next move.

the game was far from over, and you had no intention of losing. anton was a challenge, a puzzle that you were determined to solve, no matter what it took. and if you had to break him in the process, then so be it.

after all, in the end, there could only be one winner.

as the days passed, you continued to play your game, each move calculated, each interaction designed to push anton further, to test the limits of his obsession. you gave him tasks, small at first—bring you a book from the library, fetch you a drink from the cafeteria—but each one was a test, a way to gauge just how far he was willing to go for you.

and he did them all, without question, without hesitation. it was almost too easy, the way he bent to your will, the way he followed your every command. but there was something about the way he did it, the way he looked at you with those dark, intense eyes, that told you he wasn’t doing it out of fear, or even out of a desire to please you. no, there was something else driving him, something deeper, something darker.

you began to push him harder, your requests growing more demanding, more invasive. you asked him to skip classes for you, to lie to his friends, to steal things from the other students. and still, he did it all, without a word of protest, without a single sign of reluctance.

it was thrilling, the power you held over him, the way you could make him do anything with nothing more than a smile, a glance, a whispered word. but there was also a danger in it, a danger that you were acutely aware of, but chose to ignore. because the truth was, you weren’t sure how far anton would go, and that uncertainty, that unpredictability, was what made the game so intoxicating.

one night, as the winter winds howled outside, you found yourself alone in your room, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. you were seated at your desk, a glass of wine in hand, when there was a knock at the door. you knew who it was before you even opened it.

anton stood in the doorway, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something different about him, something you couldn’t quite place. his clothes were disheveled, his hair even more tousled than usual, and there was a wildness in his eyes that sent a thrill of fear, and excitement, coursing through you.

“come in,” you said, your voice steady, betraying none of the emotions swirling within you.

he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, staring at each other, the tension in the room thick and suffocating.

“what do you want?” you asked, your tone cool, detached.

anton didn’t answer immediately. instead, he took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours, his expression intense, almost desperate.

“i want you,” he said finally, his voice low, hoarse.

you felt your heart skip a beat, the admission catching you off guard. but you quickly recovered, your composure slipping back into place like a well-worn mask.

“you can’t have me,” you replied, your tone cold, unfeeling.

“i know,” anton said, his voice barely above a whisper. “but that doesn’t change anything.”

there was a moment of silence, the two of you standing so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to control his breathing.

“why?” you asked, your voice soft, almost curious.

anton’s eyes darkened, the storm in them raging just beneath the surface. “because you make me feel alive,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “because i can’t stop thinking about you, even when i know i should.”

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling within you. you had always known that anton was different, that he would be a challenge, but you hadn’t anticipated this, hadn’t expected to be confronted with his raw, unfiltered need for you.

“you’re a fool,” you said finally, your voice sharp, cutting.

anton flinched at your words, but he didn’t back down. instead, he took another step closer, closing the distance between you until there was barely a breath of space between you.

“maybe,” he said, his voice steady, determined. “but i’m your fool.”

you felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, the sheer intensity of his devotion both exhilarating and terrifying. you had played this game a thousand times before, had manipulated countless others, but this—this was different. anton was different.

“you’re playing a dangerous game,” you said, your voice low, warning.

anton’s lips curved into a small, bitter smile. “i know,” he said, his voice soft, resigned. “but i’m already too far gone to stop.”

and in that moment, you knew it was true. anton wasn’t like the others. he wasn’t just another pawn on your board, another plaything to be discarded when you grew bored. he was something else, something more. and that realization sent a thrill of fear, and excitement, coursing through you.

he hesitated, his jaw tightening as if he was struggling to find the right words. “i can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted finally, his voice raw with emotion. “you’re all i think about.”

you reached out, placing a hand on his cheek, your touch gentle but possessive. “and what do you think about, anton?”

his breath hitched at your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. “everything. your smile, your voice, the way you move. it’s driving me crazy.”

you leaned in closer, your lips just inches from his. “is that so?” you whispered, your breath warm against his skin.

he nodded, his eyes opening to meet yours. “yes. i can’t sleep, i can’t focus. all i want is to be near you, to make you happy.”

“then we’ll see how far you’re willing to go,” you said, your voice filled with a dangerous promise.

anton’s eyes locked onto yours, his gaze unwavering, and in that moment, you knew that whatever happened next, there was no going back.

the game was no longer just a game. it was something more, something darker, something that could destroy you both. and for the first time in a long time, you felt truly alive.

as the snow continued to fall outside, the two of you stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills, the fire in the hearth casting long shadows on the walls, the only sound the crackling of the flames and the faint whisper of the wind.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

in the weeks that followed, your manipulation of anton became a carefully orchestrated dance, a twisted ballet where you led with a graceful, calculated precision, and anton followed, oblivious to the strings you pulled. each interaction was a deliberate step in this dark routine, with you guiding him ever deeper into the labyrinth of your control.

your tasks soon grew more intricate, more demanding. you asked him to dig up obscure references for your essays, to track down rare books that could only be found in forgotten corners of the city, to bring you your favorite coffee from a shop miles away from campus. each request was a thread in the web you wove around him, tightening your hold with every act of service.

anton never hesitated. his devotion to you was absolute, a blind, consuming need that drove him to fulfill your every whim without question. it was as if your presence had become a drug, one he couldn’t live without, and the more he did for you, the deeper his addiction grew. you could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at you, as if you were the center of his universe, the very air he breathed.

as the days passed, you began to notice the subtle changes in him, changes that you observed with a detached amusement. anton’s once healthy frame grew gaunt, his cheeks hollowing out as he lost weight, the sharp angles of his bones more pronounced beneath his pale skin. dark circles formed under his eyes, a testament to the nights spent sleepless, his mind too consumed by thoughts of you to find rest.

his friends grew concerned, their worried glances and whispered questions following him wherever he went. “are you okay, anton?” they would ask, but he brushed them off with a forced smile, his thoughts always returning to you.

the sharp mind that had once been the pride of his teachers, the envy of his peers, now seemed solely focused on you, on the endless tasks and challenges you set before him. his world had shrunk, until it revolved around you alone.

one crisp afternoon, as the late sun cast a warm, golden hue over the campus, you decided it was time to push anton further. the chill in the air was sharp, a reminder of the winter, but inside the academy’s library, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of old books and the quiet hum of whispered conversations.

you found anton where you expected him, hunched over a thick volume of korean history, his eyes scanning the pages with a fervor that betrayed his exhaustion.

as you approached, he looked up, his gaze lighting up with that familiar, fervent intensity that had become so familiar to you. it was a look that both thrilled and repelled you, a reflection of the power you wielded over him.

“anton,” you said, your voice soft and sweet, a siren’s call that masked the sharpness of your intentions. “i need your help with something.”

he stood immediately, closing the book with a soft thud and giving you his full, undivided attention. “anything,” he said, his voice thick with longing, his eyes searching yours for any sign of approval.

you smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “there’s a fundraiser next week, and i need a partner for the opening dance. will you be my partner?”

his eyes widened in shock and elation, the emotions playing across his features like a silent movie. “of course,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “i’d be honored.”

“good,” you replied, your smile widening just a fraction, enough to make his heart race. “meet me in the ballroom tonight at eight. we need to practice.”

that evening, the academy’s ballroom was a cathedral of opulence and grandeur. chandeliers hung from the high ceiling like glittering constellations, their crystal drops refracting light into a thousand tiny rainbows that danced across the polished marble floor. the scent of fresh flowers filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of waxed wood, a testament to the academy’s commitment to luxury and tradition.

you arrived at eight sharp, your entrance a vision of calculated perfection. anton was already there, of course, nervously adjusting his tie as he waited for you. his breath caught as you stepped into the room, the soft rustle of your gown the only sound in the vast, echoing space.

you had chosen a gown of deep crimson, a shade that matched the dark currents of the game you played, the color of blood and desire. it flowed around you like liquid silk, the fabric clinging to your form before cascading to the floor in a pool of rich, dark red. your hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, a few loose tendrils framing your face, and a simple diamond necklace adorned your neck, glittering against your porcelain skin like a single drop of ice.

“you’re early,” you said, your tone light and teasing, as if you hadn’t planned every detail of this encounter down to the second.

“i didn’t want to keep you waiting,” anton replied, his voice filled with a mix of awe and devotion that made your smile widen.

you crossed the room with a deliberate grace, each step measured, each movement designed to captivate. “shall we begin?” you asked, extending your hand to him, your fingers pale against the deep crimson of your gown.

he took your hand, his grip firm yet trembling slightly, the subtle tremor sending a shiver of satisfaction through you. you led him into the dance, your bodies moving in perfect harmony, a testament to the control you exerted over him. anton followed your lead with an intensity that bordered on reverence, his eyes never leaving yours, his focus entirely on you, as if the world beyond your shared steps had ceased to exist.

as the music swelled, you leaned in closer, your breath brushing against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “you’re doing well, anton,” you murmured, your voice a soft, seductive purr. “but you need to loosen up. let go of your fears.”

he nodded, his jaw clenching with determination, the tension in his body palpable beneath your touch. you could feel the rigid control he tried to maintain, the desperate need to please you, to be perfect for you. but you wanted more. you wanted to push him further, to see just how far he would go to prove his devotion.

“anton,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper, a breath of wind in the stillness of the ballroom. “do you trust me?”

his eyes widened, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of uncertainty, a tiny crack in the facade of his devotion. but then he nodded, his expression resolute, his voice unwavering. “yes,” he said, the word carrying the weight of a promise, a vow.

“good,” you replied, your lips curving into a smile, a smile that was both a reward and a warning. “then close your eyes and follow my lead.”

he hesitated for the briefest of moments before obeying, his eyes fluttering shut, his trust in you absolute. with his eyes closed, anton’s other senses seemed to heighten, his body attuning to yours with an intensity that bordered on desperation. you could feel his breath quicken, the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand, his heartbeat pounding in his chest like the rhythm of the music, a rhythm that echoed the pulse of your own power over him.

you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a soft caress, a velvet glove over a steel blade. “you’re mine, anton,” you whispered, the words wrapping around him like a chain. “you’ll do anything for me, won’t you?”

his breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that spoke of both fear and longing, and he nodded, his voice a ragged whisper, his will crumbling under the weight of your command. “yes.”

“good,” you murmured, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through you, a dark current that matched the crimson of your gown. “because i have another task for you.”

he opened his eyes then, his gaze locking onto yours with a desperation that was almost tangible, a need that radiated from him like heat. “anything,” he said, his voice filled with a desperate longing, a need to prove himself worthy of your attention.

you smiled, a slow, predatory smile, the smile of a hunter who knows the prey is already ensnared. “i need you to find out everything you can about professor kim. i have reason to believe he’s hiding something, and i need to know what it is.”

anton’s eyes darkened at your words, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them, a shadow of the man he was becoming under your influence. “i’ll find out,” he said, his voice firm, the resolve in his tone a reflection of the control you had over him.

you leaned back slightly, your smile widening, your satisfaction evident in the way your eyes glinted in the soft light of the chandeliers. “i knew i could count on you, anton,” you said, your voice a soft purr, a reward for his obedience.

as the music came to an end, you stepped back, breaking the connection between you, your movements fluid, graceful, a dancer stepping away from a completed performance. anton stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and devotion, his mind consumed with thoughts of you.

“same time tomorrow?” you asked, your tone casual, as if you hadn’t just tightened the chains of his obsession, as if this were just another dance, another game.

he nodded, his gaze never leaving yours, his heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. “yes,” he replied, his voice steady, but you could hear the undercurrent of desperation, the need to please you, to be everything you wanted him to be.

you turned and walked away, your steps light and graceful, each movement a calculated display of control and power. behind you, anton remained standing in the middle of the ballroom, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind consumed with thoughts of you, with the task you had given him.

the game was progressing perfectly, each move bringing you closer to your goal, and you reveled in the power you held over him, in the knowledge that anton was yours, body and soul, and that you had no intention of letting him go.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the power dynamics between you and anton had shifted to an almost surreal degree. what began as a subtle manipulation had evolved into a full-blown psychological entanglement, a dangerous dance where you were the undisputed maestro, and anton, the eager but unwitting puppet.

each interaction was a calculated move, each touch a deliberate action to tighten the threads of control around him. you reveled in the power you held, the way you could bend him to your will with nothing more than a smile or a whispered command.

the academy’s sprawling grounds, with its grandiose architecture and serene gardens, became the stage for your most intricate schemes. the cherry blossoms in the garden, once a symbol of delicate beauty, now seemed to echo the treacherous nature of your relationship with anton. their petals floated down like fragments of innocence lost, each one a testament to the corruption blossoming between you.

one afternoon, you sat on a stone bench beneath a weeping willow. its branches hung low, creating a curtain of green that shielded you from the prying eyes of others. anton approached with the usual mix of eagerness and trepidation, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that bordered on worshipful.

“anton,” you called softly, your voice a caress against the backdrop of the rustling leaves. “i need you to handle something for me.”

“of course,” he replied, his voice a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. he was so eager to please, so desperate for your approval, that it was almost painful to watch.

you leaned in slightly, letting the air between you become charged with unspoken expectations. “there’s a student, su-jin. she’s been trying to undermine me in class, and i need you to… persuade her to stop.”

anton’s face darkened at the mention of su-jin. you could see the conflict within him, but it was quickly overshadowed by his desire to comply with your wishes. “what should I do?”

you allowed a slow, satisfied smile to creep across your lips. “find out what she’s planning, and if necessary, convince her to leave me alone. use whatever means you deem necessary.”

his eyes widened with a mixture of shock and determination. “you can count on me.”

as anton walked away, you could see the way his shoulders stiffened with resolve. it was a dangerous game you were playing, but the thrill of exerting such power over him, of watching him bend to your will, was intoxicating. you knew that anton’s obsession with you would lead him down a darker path, but you were content to watch the descent with a detached fascination.

anton’s mental state began to deteriorate as his obsession grew. he became increasingly paranoid, his thoughts consumed by the idea that no one else deserved your attention. his once bright eyes took on a haunted look, and his usually calm demeanor was replaced by a nervous restlessness. he started to isolate himself from friends, pushing them away with brusque words and averted gazes. his world had narrowed to a singular focus— you.

one evening, as the sky turned a deep shade of indigo and the stars began to prick the velvet darkness, you were walking through the gardens again. anton followed a few paces behind, his gaze fixed on you like a shadow that never wavered. he had been quiet for days, his once vibrant conversations now reduced to terse, monosyllabic responses.

“anton,” you said, turning to face him as you paused near a fountain where the water gurgled softly, creating a soothing, rhythmic sound. “you’ve been so quiet lately. is everything alright?”

he looked up, his eyes flickering with a mixture of anxiety and something darker— a possessive intensity that you noted with a hint of amusement. “everything’s fine,” he said, though his voice trembled slightly. “i’ve just been… focused.”

you could feel the shift in his demeanor, a subtle but unmistakable tension in the air. “focused on what?”

he hesitated, his gaze drifting to the ground before meeting your eyes again. “on making sure that no one else gets in the way of what we have.”

you raised an eyebrow, feigning curiosity. “and what is it that we have, anton?”

he swallowed hard, his throat working as if the words were difficult to form. “i… i want to make sure you’re safe. that no one can harm you or distract you from… us.”

a shiver ran down your spine at the way he said “us,” the possessive undertone clear. you took a step closer, your eyes narrowing as you assessed his state of mind.

“anton, you know i appreciate your loyalty. but remember, you’re here to support me, not to control the people around me.”

he nodded, but the look in his eyes betrayed a different reality. the shadow of his darker side was beginning to surface more frequently. it was in the way he would flinch if he saw you talking to another student, the way his hands would clench into fists when you mentioned someone else’s name.

like when you conversed with a fellow student, your laughter ringing out in the courtyard, you caught anton’s gaze from across the lawn. his face was a mask of barely restrained fury, his eyes dark and stormy. the sight sent a thrill of dark satisfaction through you. you knew that you were pushing him to the brink, but the control you had over him was intoxicating.

afterward, as you walked through the campus, you found anton waiting for you by a secluded alcove. his expression was a volatile mix of anger and desperation.

“why were you talking to him?” he demanded, his voice low and harsh.

you stopped, turning to face him with a calm composure. “anton, it’s just a conversation. you have nothing to worry about.”

“nothing to worry about?” he spat, his eyes blazing. “i saw the way he looked at you. you were laughing with him, enjoying his attention. what about me?”

you took a deep breath, the thrill of his jealousy and anger washing over you like a wave. “anton, you need to calm down. you’re becoming irrational.”

“irrational?” he echoed, his voice trembling with a barely contained fury. “i’m trying to protect you! you don’t understand—”

“understand what?” you interrupted, stepping closer and placing a hand on his cheek. the touch was intended to soothe, but you could feel the tension beneath his skin. “anton, you’re losing control. you need to trust me.”

he flinched at your touch, a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over him. his eyes were wild, and for a moment, you could see the extent of his obsession, the way it had twisted into something darker.

“i don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i can’t lose you.”

you drew back slightly, the thrill of his turmoil invigorating you. “anton, you’re not losing me. but you need to focus on what’s important.”

his eyes searched yours, desperation evident in every line of his face. “i’ll do anything,” he said, his voice cracking. “just tell me what to do.”

you smiled, a smile that was both reassuring and chilling. “just remember, anton, your loyalty is what matters most. don’t let your feelings get in the way.”

this only spurred anton’s behavior to become increasingly erratic. he would often have vivid fantasies about you, his mind concocting elaborate scenarios where you were entirely his and no one else could share in your attention. these fantasies grew darker and more obsessive, painting a picture of a world where you were trapped in his own twisted vision of devotion.

one night, as the moon cast a silver sheen across the academy grounds, anton sat alone in his dorm room, his thoughts racing. the walls seemed to close in around him, and the quiet of the night was punctuated only by the sound of his own uneven breathing. he had been unable to sleep, his mind a chaotic swirl of images and emotions.

he imagined you, alone and vulnerable, with him as your sole protector. in his fantasies, you were completely dependent on him, your every move dictated by his will. the images were vivid, almost tangible— you sitting by his side, your hand in his, your eyes locked with his as he whispered promises of eternal devotion.

but these fantasies quickly twisted into darker visions, where he had to fight off other suitors with a ferocity that bordered on violence. in these dreams, he was ruthless, striking out with an intensity that mirrored the storm within him.

when he awoke, drenched in sweat, he could still feel the echoes of his dark fantasies, the haunting intensity of his own thoughts. he stared at the ceiling, his mind struggling to separate fantasy from reality. his heart pounded, the line between his desire and his actions becoming increasingly blurred.

the next day, when you encountered anton, his demeanor was a mask of calmness, but the turmoil beneath was palpable. he tried to hide his paranoia, but the tension in his posture and the shadow in his eyes spoke volumes. he watched you with a possessive gaze, his actions more calculated, his interactions with others strained.

“anton,” you said one afternoon as you found him standing near the fountain, his gaze following you intently. “is everything alright?”

he forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “everything’s fine,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “just… making sure everything is as it should be.”

you studied him, noting the way his eyes darted toward other students, the way his hands clenched into fists. you could feel the control you wielded over him, the way his obsession had morphed into something more dangerous. the thrill of manipulating him, of pushing him to the edge, was a dark pleasure you savored.

“anton,” you said, stepping closer and lowering your voice. “i need you to trust me. I don’t want to see you like this. It’s not healthy.”

his eyes met yours, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his facade. “i just… want to protect you,” he said, his voice a mixture of anguish and resolve.

you reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “i know, and I appreciate it. but it’s creeping me out so i need you to stop, okay?”

he nodded, but the shadows in his eyes betrayed the internal struggle he faced. you knew that his descent into obsession was far from over, and as you watched him walk away, you could almost feel the weight of his darkness pressing down on him.

the games you played were dangerous and morally ambiguous, but they had become a twisted form of entertainment for you. you had pushed anton to the brink, watching with a mix of thrill and detachment as he spiraled into obsession. the power you held over him was intoxicating, and though you knew the consequences of your actions, the pleasure of manipulation was too alluring to resist.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the days continued to grow colder, the winter tightening its grip on seonghwa academy, transforming the once-golden landscape into a monochrome world of gray skies and snow-blanketed grounds. the chill seeped into the very bones of the school, into the ancient stone walls and the hearts of those within them, as if the academy itself were a living, breathing entity, feeding off the darkness that now hung heavy in the air.

you had been watching anton closely, more closely than ever, though you would never let him know it. there was a darkness in him that intrigued you, a shadow that had grown deeper, more pronounced since that night in your room. it was as if something had awakened in him, something raw and primal, and you could feel its presence lurking just beneath the surface of his carefully composed facade.

it had been a twisted tapestry of obsession, each thread woven with a careful hand, yet fraying at the edges with the weight of something darker. anton’s once-gentle demeanor, that quiet reserve you had once found so easy to manipulate, had slowly unraveled, revealing a shadowy core of obsession and fixation. what began as harmless devotion had curdled into something far more dangerous, an all-consuming fervor that twisted his thoughts and actions until they no longer resembled the man you had first ensnared.

the signs had always been there, lurking beneath the surface like cracks in a fragile facade. at first, they were subtle—a lingering gaze that held too much intensity, an eagerness to please that bordered on desperation. his words, once soft and measured, began to carry an undercurrent of something sharper, a hint of possessiveness that set your instincts on edge. but these were easy to dismiss, easy to overlook in the grander scheme of your game.

yet, as the days turned into weeks, those cracks deepened, splitting wide to reveal the depths of his obsession. his once kind eyes now burned with a fervor that was both unsettling and relentless, like a predator stalking its prey. the change in him was gradual, a slow, insidious transformation that you hadn’t anticipated, until one day you realized that the man before you was no longer the same anton you had once so effortlessly controlled.

what had begun as a game of manipulation had now spiraled into something far more dangerous. you had been playing with fire, testing the limits of his devotion, pushing him further and further, and now, those flames were ready to consume everything in their path. the air around him seemed charged, like the tense silence before a storm, the kind that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. you could sense the shift in him, the way his presence felt heavier, more oppressive, as if the weight of his obsession had grown too large to contain.

but you didn’t question it. you didn’t need to. after all, whatever was driving anton, whatever darkness had taken root in his soul, it only served to deepen your control over him. and that was all that mattered.

it was a chilly evening, and the academy’s grand library, usually a sanctuary of quiet knowledge, felt different tonight. the air was thick with an unsettling tension. the shadows cast by the flickering lights danced ominously on the rows of ancient, leather-bound books. you had been here often, as much to avoid the prying eyes of others as to indulge in the hidden recesses of knowledge. tonight, however, your curiosity had led you down a path of discovery you hadn’t anticipated.

you were seated in a leather armchair near the back of the library, a book in hand, though your mind was far from the words on the page. instead, your thoughts were occupied by anton, by the strange, twisted game you had been playing with him, and by the gnawing curiosity that had begun to take hold of you.

it was then that you heard the door to the library creak open, the sound pulling you from your thoughts. you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. you could feel his presence, as you always could, a dark cloud that seemed to hang over him, shadowing his every step.

anton moved through the library with the same quiet grace that had always characterized him, but there was something different about him now, something that set your nerves on edge. you watched from the corner of your eye as he made his way toward the back of the library, his gaze fixed on something you couldn’t see.

as he drew closer, you noticed that his clothes were disheveled, more so than usual, his hair unkempt, the dark strands falling into his eyes in a way that only added to the air of disarray that clung to him. there was something in his eyes, too, something wild and untamed, a flicker of madness that sent a chill down your spine.

he stopped a few feet away from you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that was almost suffocating. you met his stare, your expression carefully composed, though you could feel the unease building in the pit of your stomach.

“anton,” you said, your voice calm, measured. “what are you doing here?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he stood there, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths, as if he were trying to keep himself under control. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was an edge to it that made your skin prickle.

“i did something for you,” he said, his words clipped, precise.

you raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued despite the unease that was now thrumming through your veins. “oh?” you said, your tone light, almost teasing. “and what might that be?”

anton’s eyes darkened, the storm in them growing more intense, more dangerous. he took a step closer, his hand reaching into his coat pocket, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of fear, a fear that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

but then he pulled out a small, silver object, holding it out to you with a trembling hand. you looked at it, your heart skipping a beat as you realized what it was.

a locket. a delicate, ornate locket that you recognized immediately, because you had seen it around the neck of one of the students, a girl who had been the object of anton’s silent, simmering jealousy for weeks. she had been one of your pawns, someone you had used to stoke the fires of anton’s obsession, to push him further, to test the limits of his devotion to you.

and now, here it was, in his hand, the chain broken, the locket itself smeared with something dark, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

“anton,” you said slowly, carefully, as if speaking to a wild animal. “what did you do?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he looked down at the locket, his expression unreadable, before finally lifting his gaze to meet yours.

“i did it for you,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “she was in the way. she was trying to take you from me.”

your heart began to pound in your chest, a cold, creeping dread settling over you. “what did you do, anton?” you repeated, your voice sharper now, more insistent.

anton’s eyes flashed with something dark, something twisted, and he took another step closer, the locket still dangling from his fingers like a macabre trophy.

“i made sure she couldn’t take you from me,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “i made sure she would never come between us again.”

the realization hit you like a physical blow, the air leaving your lungs in a rush as the full extent of what anton had done sank in. the locket, the dark smears—blood, it was blood. he had killed her, that girl, that innocent pawn in your game, all because of his twisted, obsessive love for you.

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to process the enormity of what had just happened. and yet, even as the horror of it all settled over you, you couldn’t help but feel a strange, twisted thrill of excitement, of power.

anton had killed for you. he had crossed a line, had stepped into the darkness, all in your name. and in that moment, you realized just how deeply you had ensnared him, how completely he had fallen under your spell.

but there was also a danger in it, a danger that you couldn’t ignore. anton was no longer just a pawn in your game. he was something else, something more dangerous, more unpredictable. and you knew that you would have to tread carefully if you were to maintain your control over him.

“anton,” you said, your voice low, soothing, as if you were trying to calm a wild animal. “you shouldn’t have done that.”

he blinked, his expression faltering for a moment, as if he were struggling to understand your words. “but i did it for you,” he repeated, his voice desperate, pleading. “i did it because i love you.”

you felt a cold, bitter laugh bubble up in your throat, but you forced it down, knowing that now was not the time for mockery. anton was on the edge, teetering on the brink of something dark and terrible, and you needed to pull him back, to regain control before it was too late.

“love?” you said, your voice soft, almost mocking. “you think this is love, anton? what you’ve done, what you’ve become—this isn’t love. it’s madness.”

his eyes widened, a flicker of pain flashing across his face, but it was quickly replaced by something darker, something more dangerous.

“no,” he said, his voice low, trembling with emotion. “no, you’re wrong. you don’t understand. everything i’ve done, i’ve done for you. because i can’t live without you. because i need you.”

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to find the right words, the right approach to keep him from slipping further into the darkness. but even as you searched for a way to regain control, you could feel the situation spiraling out of your grasp, slipping through your fingers like sand.

“anton,” you said, your voice sharp, cutting through the thick tension in the air. “listen to me. you’ve gone too far. you’ve crossed a line, and there’s no going back. what you’ve done… it’s unforgivable.”

for a moment, he simply stared at you, his expression blank, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what you were saying. but then, slowly, something shifted in his eyes, something dark and twisted, something that made your blood run cold.

“unforgivable?” he echoed, his voice low, almost a whisper. “but i did it for you. i did it because i love you. how can that be unforgivable?”

you shook your head, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to maintain your composure. “love isn’t supposed to be like this, anton. it’s not supposed to be… destructive.”

his expression twisted into something ugly, something full of pain and anger. “you’re wrong,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “you’re wrong. love is everything. it’s all that matters. and i would do anything—anything—to keep you. to make you mine.”

there was a desperation in his voice, a wildness that sent a shiver down your spine. you had pushed him too far, had played your game too well, and now you were faced with the consequences of your own actions.

but even as the fear gripped you, there was a part of you, a dark, twisted part, that couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement, a perverse satisfaction in knowing just how deeply you had ensnared him, how completely you had broken him.

“anton,” you said, your voice low, almost a whisper. “this has to stop. you have to let me go.”

his eyes flashed with something dark, something dangerous, and he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to grasp your arm with a grip that was almost painful.

“no,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “i can’t. i won’t. you’re mine. you belong to me.”

you felt a cold, creeping dread settle over you, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. anton wasn’t going to let you go. he was too far gone, too consumed by his obsession to see reason. and there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

“anton,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts to remain calm. “you need to let me go. this isn’t healthy. it’s not right.”

his grip on your arm tightened, his eyes blazing with a wild, desperate intensity. “i don’t care,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “i don’t care if it’s not right. i don’t care if it’s not healthy. i need you. and i won’t let you go. not ever.”

the words hung in the air like a dark, ominous cloud, the finality of them sending a shiver down your spine. you had always known that anton was different, that he was dangerous, but now, faced with the full extent of his madness, you realized just how precarious your situation had become.

you were trapped, ensnared in the very web you had so carefully woven, and there was no way out. anton’s obsession had consumed him, had driven him to the edge of sanity, and now, there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

“anton,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “please. let me go.”

but he only shook his head, his grip on your arm tightening, his eyes wild and desperate. “no,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “i can’t. i won’t. you’re mine. and i’ll do whatever it takes to keep you. whatever it takes.”

the words sent a chill down your spine, the cold, creeping dread settling over you like a heavy blanket. anton had crossed a line, had stepped into the darkness, and there was no going back. the game was over, and you had lost.

and in that moment, you realized just how dangerous obsession could be, just how easily it could consume and destroy. anton had been your pawn, your plaything, but now, he was something else, something darker, something that could destroy you both.

and there was no escape.

“anton,” you said, your voice trembling, your heart pounding in your chest. “this isn’t love. it’s madness.”

but he only smiled, a twisted, broken smile that sent a shiver down your spine, his grip on your arm like a vice, unrelenting and unforgiving.

“maybe,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “but it’s our madness.”

and in that moment, you knew that there was no going back, no escape from the darkness that had consumed you both. anton had become something else, something more dangerous, more terrifying, and there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

the snow continued to fall outside, the world outside the library quiet and still, as if holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break. and in the silence, you could hear the faint whisper of the wind, the crackling of the fire, and the pounding of your own heart, as you stood there, trapped in the darkness, with no way out.

and as the night closed in around you, you knew that this was only the beginning, the first step into a world of darkness and madness from which there would be no return. anton’s obsession had consumed him, and now, it would consume you both, dragging you down into the depths of despair, with no hope of escape.

and as you looked into anton’s eyes, those wild, desperate eyes that had once been so full of life, so full of promise, you knew that you had lost, that you had played your game too well, and now, you were paying the price.

the darkness had won.

128 notes · View notes

mxnsterbabe · 11 months ago

Text

Male Drider/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 3,430 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You're invited to a masquerade ball, hosted by the mysterious Lord Iskinder. A mysterious drider catches your eye, and it turns out that these two may have more in common than you think.

You stood at the edge of the ballroom hosted by the mysterious Lord Iskinder, the grandeur of the space unfolding before you like a scene from a storybook. Opulent chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their light cascading over the guests and illuminating the room with a warm, golden glow. The walls, adorned with golden tapestries and gilded mirrors, echoed the laughter and music that filled the air.

Around you, the guests danced, the epitome of elegance and grace, their masks glinting in the light from the tall windows. Feathers, jewels, and intricate patterns disguised familiar faces, adding an air of mystery and intrigue to the evening.

Your own mask, a delicate creation of lace and pearls, felt like a second skin, its design both concealing and revealing. It was a perfect blend of mystery and allure, designed to intrigue yet allow you to blend seamlessly into the crowd.

Iskinder lingered in your mind as you navigated through the throngs of dancing couples and clusters of chatting nobles. The ball was a rare occasion where the norms of society could be bent, where one could indulge in the freedom of anonymity.

Amidst the swirl of gowns and the soft rustle of silk, your attention was caught by a figure unlike any other. The mystery man was a drider of remarkable presence, standing on the fringes of the dance floor. His upper body was that of a man, his skin a rich, dusky hue that complemented his flowing black hair; but from the waist down, he was a creature of legend, his eight, elegant legs belonging to that of a pinktoe tarantula.

His mask, a masterful creation of silver and obsidian, framed piercing eyes that seemed to see through the frivolous facade of the ball.

The sight of him, so regal and otherworldly, sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. The ballroom, with its gilded opulence and the sea of masked faces, suddenly seemed to fade into the background. The air around you thickened with anticipation, the moment poised on the edge of something transformative.

The concept of a drider, those beings of legend and whispers, had always seemed like a fanciful tale to you, stories meant to entertain and intrigue. Yet, there he stood, living proof of their existence.

His presence in the heart of high society was as breathtaking as it was unprecedented, drawing curious glances and hushed tones from the surrounding guests. Despite their stares, none dared voice their wonder or disdain aloud; the drider's demeanor, poised and unyielding, commanded respect and held a challenge in its stead, as if daring anyone to question his right to be among them.

As your gaze met his from across the room, the world seemed to tilt slightly on its axis. His eyes, bright as molten gold, burned with an intensity that pierced through the sea of masks and whispered conversations. In that brief exchange, something sparked to life, fleeting yet undeniable.

A flush of warmth crept up your cheeks, and you found yourself looking away, overwhelmed by the sudden depth of emotion that single glance had evoked. Your heart fluttered like a caged bird. It was an unfamiliar sensation, this desire to know more.

When you dared to glance back, hoping for another glimpse of the drider who had so captivated your thoughts, you found only the swirling mass of guests. He had vanished, blending into the crowd with a grace and speed you hadn’t expected.

Seeking respite from the press of the crowd, you drifted towards the refreshments table, the drider man still rattling about in your mind. The clink of glass and the murmur of conversation was a welcome distraction.

As you reached for a glass, the animated voices of two women nearby caught your attention, their topic of discussion sending a shiver of curiosity down your spine.

"... and they say Lord Iskinder, the host of tonight's ball, hasn't been seen by anyone this evening. It's all so mysterious," one woman whispered, her voice pitched with curiosity. "In fact, few have ever seen him at all. Those who have are sworn to such secrecy that no one knows what he truly looks like."

The other woman leaned in closer, her interest piqued. "A reclusive lord hosting a grand masquerade? It's the perfect setting for him to wander amongst us unnoticed. The anonymity of the masks, the mingling of guests... it's all by design, surely."

Your curiosity, already kindled by the encounter with the strange drider, flared into a blaze. With a polite interjection, you joined their conversation. "Excuse me, did I hear you correctly? Lord Iskinder has orchestrated this evening's affair yet remains unseen? How peculiar for a host."

The first woman nodded, her eyes alight with the thrill of gossip. "Indeed, it's the talk of the evening. A lord who is more shadow than substance, his presence felt but not seen. This masquerade could very well be his way of hiding in plain sight, observing his guests from behind the veil of anonymity."

The second woman added with a conspiratorial smile, "Some even speculate that the masquerade is a test of sorts, a way for Lord Iskinder to seek out those with a keen eye or perhaps a kindred spirit, without the constraints of societal expectations."

The idea that the elusive lord might be among the guests, shrouded by the anonymity of his own masquerade, sent a thrill through you. The possibility that the ball was not just a social event but a personal quest for the host, a search for connection amidst the pageantry, gave the night an air of unpredictability.

It was all so romantic, wasn’t it?

With a glass of champagne in hand, you retreated to a quieter corner of the ballroom, the golden liquid sparkling under the chandelier's light as you gently swirled the glass. The conversation with the two women lingered in your mind. The idea that Lord Iskinder might have been mingling among his guests incognito, perhaps even observing you at this very moment, lent an exhilarating edge to the night.

Your mind wandered back to the drider, whose presence had so captivated you earlier. If the women's musings held any truth, and Lord Iskinder was indeed among his guests incognito, then the appearance of such a rare and remarkable creature at the ball was no mere coincidence. Perhaps the drider was one of the lord's exclusive guests, a confidant or even a friend, invited to the ball for reasons known only to them.

With each sip of champagne, the possibilities seemed to expand, the boundaries of the ordinary stretching to encompass the magical and the unknown.

Your contemplation was abruptly shattered by a voice, soft like silk and honey. The unexpectedness of it sent a flutter through your heart, a sensation akin to the gentle touch of a butterfly's wing against your skin.

Lifting your gaze, you found yourself once again locked in the captivating stare of the drider from before. His molten gold eyes, gleaming with an inner warmth beneath the intricate mask, held yours in a gaze that was somehow both soft and so intense, it made your toes curl. The mask, an exquisite piece of craftsmanship, could not conceal the expressiveness of his eyes, nor the gentle curve of his lips that hinted at a smile.

"Would you care to dance?" he asked, his voice weaving through the din of the ballroom to reach you, clear and resonant.

The invitation, unexpected yet undeniably thrilling, sparked a mixture of excitement and apprehension within you. The thought of dancing with someone so fundamentally different, whose very form defied the conventions of the dances you knew, had your heart quickening in intrigue.

"I would be delighted," you replied, the words slipping out almost of their own accord, driven by the allure of the unknown. "Though, I must admit, I'm not entirely sure how to dance with... someone as unique as yourself."

His chuckle, a rich sound that seemed to resonate from deep within, was both reassuring and infectious. "Fear not," he assured you, a playful glint in his eyes. "When one possesses eight legs, one learns to make quite a few adjustments. I shall lead, and all you need to do is follow."

With swift grace, he offered you his hand, his movements as fluid and assured as they were gentle. As you placed your hand in his, the contrast between his strength and the careful tenderness of his touch was striking.

Together, you moved towards the dance floor, the thrum of anticipation building with each step. The crowd seemed to part for us, their curiosity mingled with an unspoken respect for the majesty of his presence.

As you reached the center of the dance floor, the music swelled, a lilting melody that seemed to wrap around you, inviting you to lose yourself in the rhythm. With a grace that took your breath away, he began to move, leading you into the dance with an ease that made your earlier apprehensions seem distant memories.

The world around you faded, the grandeur of the ballroom, the whispering guests, even the constraints of your own body seemed to dissolve in the magic of the moment. Iskinder's movements were a marvel, lithe legs strangely delicate. He was beautiful.

As the dance reached its crescendo, he executed a twirl, his movements orchestrating yours with such skill that you found yourself spinning, the room whirling around you in a blur of lights and colours. In that moment, suspended in the dance, you felt a joyous abandon that had your heart in your throat.

As the momentum of the twirl gently subsided, you found yourself momentarily unsteady, the world still spinning slightly around you. In an instant, one of the drider’ss slender spider legs moved to steady you against his chest. The unexpectedness of the gesture, the feel of his leg against you, might have startled you under different circumstances, but in that moment, it was nothing short of a saving grace.

"I do apologise," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble that resonated through the close space between you. "I sometimes forget how... unconventional my form can be."

You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips, your heart still racing from the dance and the near fall. "No, I should be thanking you. Without your quick reflexes, I'd have been the evening's spectacle, tumbling across the dance floor."

The thought alone was enough to bring a flush of embarrassment to your cheeks, the imagined titters and whispers of the assembled guests a mortifying prospect. Yet, his next gesture swept away any lingering discomfort.

With a tenderness that took you by surprise, he reached up to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The contact, brief though it was, sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

"You are quite a spectacle, though for entirely different reasons," he said, his voice low, imbued with a sincerity that made you lift your gaze to meet his. In the gold of his eyes, you saw a warmth, an admiration that held you captive, and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you.

The air between you charged. There was a pull as undeniable as it was unexpected. You found yourself leaning in, drawn by a force you couldn't quite name, the distance between you diminishing with each passing second. The possibility of a kiss, the mingling of breath and the meeting of lips, hovered in the space between you, tantalizing and terrifying in equal measure.

As the reality of the moment, of the public setting and the eyes that might very well be upon you, crashed back in, you took a step back, breaking the spell. The loss of proximity felt like a cold draft, a reminder of the boundaries that society, and your own caution, imposed.

Sensing the shift, Iskinder's expression softened, a note of concern creeping into his voice. "Perhaps you need some fresh air," he suggested, his gaze searching yours for signs of distress.

You shook your head, the rapid beat of your heart beginning to steady once more. "No, truly, I'm fine," you insisted, though the lingering warmth of his touch and the nearness of what might have been left you feeling anything but settled.

Seeing the hesitation in your eyes, he proposed once more, his voice gentle yet insistent. "Perhaps a moment of fresh air would do you good," he suggested, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made it difficult to look away. "And, should you wish for company, I could join you outside in a few moments. It might afford us the opportunity to converse away from the crowd."

The idea of retreating to the relative solitude of the gardens, especially in the company of such an intriguing figure, sparked a flicker of excitement within you. Yet, the impropriety of the suggestion, the departure from the strictures of decorum that such a meeting would entail, gave you pause.

Sensing your reluctance, he added, "At events such as these, draped in masks and shadows, propriety often takes a back seat to intrigue. We are all here to escape the mundane, if only for a night."

His words, spoken with a confidence that bordered on persuasion, tipped the scales. The allure of stolen moments under the cover of night, away from the prying eyes and whispered judgments of the ballroom, proved too tempting to resist.

Resolved to take a chance on the unexpected, you agreed to meet him outside. Yet, before you could part ways, a sudden thought struck you. "I realise I don't even know your name," you said, a blush colouring your cheeks at the oversight.

With a smile that was both enigmatic and disarmingly genuine, he replied, "My name is Lord Iskinder." The revelation, delivered with a flash of sharp, predatory teeth that glinted in the ballroom's light, sent a jolt of surprise through you.

Lord Iskinder. The enigmatic host of the ball, the subject of whispered speculation and rumour, stood before you, not just a figure of myth but a living, breathing presence.

As the significance of the revelation settled over you, Iskinder offered a nod of acknowledgment, as if he understood the weight of what he had just disclosed. Then, turning delicately, he turned and vanished into the crowd.

As you stepped out into the crisp embrace of the evening air a minute later, the gardens unfolded before you like a scene from a dream. The lawns were bordered by beds of fragrant flowers, their sweet scent mingling with the earthy aroma of the night. Lanterns hung from the boughs of ancient trees, casting a soft, dappled light that danced on the pathways, guiding your steps and painting the scene with an ethereal glow.

Ahead, a gazebo, draped in climbing ivy and delicate blooms, stood as a focal point within the garden's design. It was there, under its latticed roof, that you noticed two orcish women, their forms silhouetted by the lanterns' gentle luminescence. They were locked in an embrace, sharing a kiss as the shorter woman titled her head back.

The sight, tender and unabashed, stirred a curious longing within you, a whisper of wonder about the sensation of Iskinder's kiss, the press of his lips.

Lost in thought, you scarcely noticed the approach of a presence until it was nearly upon you. The air seemed to shift, charged with an anticipation that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Turning, you found yourself once again in the company of Iskinder, his smile ravishing.

Under the moonlight, he appeared transformed. The soft silver light lent an ethereal quality to his features, highlighting the angularity of his face and the deep pools of his molten gold eyes. His hair, a cascading waterfall of black, shimmered with a lustrous sheen. The spider half of his form, though shadowed, moved with a silent grace that was utterly mesmerising.

His voice, when he spoke, was a soft murmur that seemed to caress the night air, a contrast to the visual ferocity of his form. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," he said, his words tinged with warmth.

The sight of him, so formidable yet so gentle, made you squirm. The flash of sharp teeth as he spoke, far from deterring you, only served to heighten the allure. Gods, you wanted to kiss him.

As if attuned to your thoughts, Iskinder leaned in, his proximity erasing the remnants of the evening's chill. The scent of roses, a natural, earthy fragrance that seemed to emanate from his very being, mingled with notes of champagne. His hair brushed against your skin, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine.

The air between you was charged with anticipation, every breath you took laced with the promise of what might come. His eyes, glowing softly in the moonlit garden, held yours with an intensity that seemed to pierce through to your very soul. You found yourself caught in the gravity of the moment, the world around you narrowing to the space where you and Iskinder stood, teetering on the brink of a kiss.

Yet, just as the distance between you dwindled to nothing, as you braced for the contact you both sought and feared, Iskinder pulled back. The sudden absence of his warmth left you momentarily adrift, a silent plea on your lips. He didn't move far; instead, his hand found yours, his grip firm and reassuring as he led you deeper into the garden.

The path wound through the garden, each step taking you further from the ballroom's echoes and closer to a solitude you hadn't realized you craved. When you arrived at a secluded flower garden, embraced by latticed walls that seemed to hold the night at bay, Iskinder stopped. Here, surrounded by the gentle fragrance of blooms and the soft rustle of leaves, he turned to face you once more.

This time, there was no hesitation. Iskinder pulled you into his embrace, his arms encircling you with a strength that was both protective and inviting.

Then, he kissed you.

The kiss was everything and nothing like you'd imagined. His lips were softer than you'd expected, their touch igniting a fire that raced through your veins, leaving you breathless and wanting. The taste of him, masculine and sharp, was tempered by the sweetness of champagne on his tongue.

As Iskinder deepened the kiss, the world around you seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on yours, the gentle yet insistent press of his lips, and the intermingling of your breaths. The sharpness of his teeth grazed your lip in a fleeting caress, a thrill of danger that made you sigh almost wistfully.

Finally, necessity compelled you to break the kiss, the need for air pulling you back to the present. You were left breathless, your cheeks flushed with a rosy hue - you knew by how hot you felt, burning up.

Iskinder, ever attentive, placed a lingering kiss at the corner of your lips. His arm remained securely around your waist, sharp nails just grazing your hips.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, the words a tender echo in the secluded garden. The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell.

In a moment of boldness, fueled by the magic of the night and the undeniable bond you felt, you replied, "So are you, Lord Iskinder. Beautiful."

For a moment, Iskinder seemed taken aback, a bashful light touching his eyes. "People rarely call me beautiful," he admitted, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "Yet, coming from you, I believe it."

You reached up to flutter a hand across his cheek, where the cool mask met his skin.

As the night air began to cool, Iskinder pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Shall we go back? I find myself eager to dance with you again, under the watchful eyes of my guests."

The prospect of rejoining the throng of guests, of stepping back into the public eye where the magic of your secluded encounter might fade, filled you with a quiet disappointment.

“Can’t we just stay out here forever?”

Sensing your reluctance, Iskinder offered a compromise, his voice low and inviting. "If you would grant me the honor of your company tomorrow evening, you could return to my home. There, away from prying eyes, we could spend the night… just the two of us."

The invitation sparked a flame of anticipation within you. The promise of more time with Iskinder was an offer too compelling to refuse.

With a grin, you nodded - and stood on your toes to pull him in for one last, lingering kiss.

#monster fucker #monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster x reader #exophilia fiction #exophilia #tag: drider #tag: mxf #tag: male monster #tag: female reader #tag: sfw

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rainforestakiie · 4 months ago

Text

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Thigh Fucking~

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

@adamsappleweek

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purple has never been Lilith’s colour."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you so much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucifer Morningstar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh…” he whispered, his voice trembling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crash.

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

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

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

And froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adam blinked, utterly floored by the words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see you around, Adam.”

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

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

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

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

But it wasn’t.

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

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

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

Then came the day that everything truly fell apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucifer’s voice took on a more thoughtful note.

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

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

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

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

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

Adam’s brow furrowed in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucifer tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued.

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

Adam shifted uncomfortably, his embarrassment now tinged with frustration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A daughter.

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

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

His gaze landed on Charlotte Haz, and he froze.

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

The Princess of Hell. Lucifer’s daughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was really good, Lucifer mouthed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Purple isn't really my colour."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hum escaped Adam. “Always.”

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

Adam stared. His mind fuzzy.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucifer grinned at that.

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #lucifer x adam #fanfic #guitarduck #au #fanficiton #adamsapple month #adamsapple harvest #adamsapple thigh fucking #for adamsapple fans!

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the-letterbox-archives · 16 days ago

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۶ lore of the archives ৎ

hello, all! this is letters! i recently came to the realisation that, despite my time here, the archives remains a place of mystery for many. and while a helping of mystery never set anyone wrong, i figured it would be fun to answer some questions about the archives!

what are the archives?

ah, this is an easy one! the letterbox archives is the place where all the stories reside! technically, it is a collection of archives, folded onto one another like sheets of paper. there are many stories to explore here, and more are always being discovered! in so many words, the archives are a home to me. and i sincerely hope they are interesting to you!

where do the stories come from?

honestly? i have no idea. the archives are so expansive, and i have no idea which works exist in other realms and which are entirely original! i just select ones that speak to me, and release them when i see fit.

… i do have some theories as to where they may come from, but they’re ridiculous, and highly unlikely to be anything close to accurate. no point dwelling on them!

what do the archives look like?

i call it the archives because that’s what i see it as, but it could also be readily described as a library. thousands upon thousands of shelves that nearly topple over each other, coiling up past the sky, and down below the earth. the cellar is warmer than a fireplace, but not uncomfortably so, and the attic is cooler than a breeze, but not irritatingly so. every story stacked neatly (or otherwise) has a spine with a stunning colour, befit for the content between its pages. but centrally, the archives are red. shelves are brushed clean with the faintest pink wood, there are cascading tapestries are a crisp maroon with cuts of gold, sturdy, sliding ladders along each shelf wall. most of the furniture here – scattered armchairs and ottomans, side tables, and their ilk – is bathed in a similar colour, each matching to one another quite seamlessly, may i add. there is also a pervasive scent about the archives – any scent you prefer; i’ve found it changes from visitor to visitor. personally, i can’t smell a thing. well lit too, like an eternal autumnal evening. the sun tries to set but never makes it all the way, so it lingers halfway out of the sky for us to enjoy. without any clocks, there’s no way to tell the time, though if there were clocks, i couldn’t read nor understand them. people come and go when it feels right.

it is so very easy to get lost here. though the hallways are wide and the archways are pristinely carved, they wind and wind and wind. passing into, over, and across themselves, if you travel too far without a map or an intern (or myself), it’s very likely you’ll be lost forever. should that occur, at least you have some quality reading to do. for me, the break is often well needed, though i rarely get lost anymore. it’s like a new breath forms in a new space – somewhere to be lost again. but for visitors, certain interns are designed to search for the lost should the situation arise, and, well… they try (fished me out a couple times when i decidedly did not want to be).

as for my space in the archives, well, it’s inaccessible to the public, but i can still describe it if you like. at the highest spear of the archives, up many ladders and through many secret passageways behind bookshelves (i like my privacy, okay?) is an office. it does not have a name on the door, i never put one there. a token of remembrance for the days i didn’t have one. but in that office, behind all those magical latches, is a quaint space, well organised, but it feels so much smaller, doesn’t it? it’s a nice break from the chaos of the rest of the archives, but the papers strewn across the floor tell a different tale. there is a desk, overflowing with centuries old documents, and many small lights that wrap around the walls like moss. the clingiest interns stay behind those lights – they like to think they’re looking after me. there are some cups across the polished, wooden desk, scratched by idle quill. what’s an archivist to do? i’m far too busy to put them away most days (usually the interns take care of it). there’s a blanket strewn across a couch, leather but soft. there is no bed – i don’t sleep (though certain visitors may say otherwise), but there are some times i lie across the couch, doing some work that doesn’t interest me, and when i blink, it feels like more and more time passes. the air is thinnest in my office; not that i breathe it in. that lack of oxygen feels most like weight off my shoulders. pressureless, and a reminder how vast and deep the archives below truly are.

looking down at the archives… it makes me quite nostalgic, actually. for when i hunt for new instalments. i find each part of each story in pieces. little fragments of memories long forgotten, etched into ink to sustain them. that’s the state i discovered the archives in, actually. disrepair grand and vast enough to bury a civilisation. it was… horrible to see. technically speaking, it was before i was even considered an archivist, before i was what i am today. just a lost soul hurt by this destruction to something so sacred and infinite. nowadays, when i’m not rebinding the books, i’m unscrambling audio recordings or cataloguing video tapes.

wait, where was i? ah, right!

how big are the archives?

‘big’ is far too little a word. so is ‘huge,’ ‘massive,’ ‘towering,’ ‘endless,’ and any word like it. i may be an unreliable source on this front, since i don’t know anything beyond the archives, so i can’t compare its size to other things visitors may know of from their own worlds. but whatever you’re thinking about, trust me – the archives are bigger than that. and it’s always expanding, faster than i can manage sometimes. but, at times, it can appear deceptively smaller than it truly is. think of it like a spring that looks neat and orderly coiled up, but stretched out, you see its true shape.

how are the archives organised?

i’ve discussed the volume and filing system before, so i’ll give a quick description of what each segment actually looks like in the archives! first, everything is in departments, unofficially of course, to separate volumes, a new department being created to manage each new volume that arrives. the stories within these volumes circulate through the department – which physically is a sort of ‘nook’ or archway that leads to a bigger section altogether. the stories, sometimes books, sometimes transcripts, sometimes video or audio recordings, are discovered in the ‘unorganised’ parts of the archives and, once decoded and categorised, are placed into the department of that volume. each chapter, episode, or the like (as they are so often discovered in pieces) is collected by either myself or the interns and neatly filed away to be studied, and hopefully released for visitor viewing!

how can i interact with the archives?

well, all of the stories (except for those being prepared in future volumes) are entirely public access, and indicated handily throughout the archives! between discovering a new story and ensuring its longevity, i carve out little parts of the archives just for them – colour coded and everything! while it all fits the overall archival ‘aesthetic,’ each section is a little unique in its own way, and quite easy to spot, once you know where to look!

of course, if you would like more information about anything, feel free to contact the archives help section (colloquially dubbed ‘the askbox’) and i will assist you – this is open 25/7, including hiatus; either the interns will get to it, or i will file away a response for later reopening! you may also contact @lb-archives-atlas-department, which is active over hiatuses.

what are the interns?

the interns are little creatures i make out of marble from crumbling busts, and paper from the duplicate copies of nonfiction books. they are… simple creatures, good for administrative slog that i’m too tired or busy to do – pushing pencils, fetching coffee. i didn’t always have them, and they aren��t too chatty unless i’m indisposed (i’ve found in those situations they are embarrassingly protective of me), but once the archives became more known to me i began enlisting their assistance. i have something short of seventy now, last time i counted. if you see a sizable white, asymmetrical insect fluttering about, heavy to hold and on occasion flying into furniture… you’ve found an intern.

out of the many interns you may find about the archives today, there are three notable ones who have kept me company for quite some time. they seem to think my office is their place of residence, too. which is annoying, yes, but it makes for something a little less lonely when i need it. should you require immediate assistance but i am unavailable, speak to one of them.

is there anyone else here?

i assume we’re excusing certain parties from this, like myself and guests. considering that, yes! there are still others around. firstly, the interns, as i’ve discussed already, and i also have a few assistants to handle busywork that may be too... advanced for the interns. it makes the gears turn that much faster, and i love and appreciate all of them! it’s made my job that much easier once the workload is divided; plus, having an extra set of eyes (or more than that) is always advantageous. they do operate very behind the scenes, however, so if you have any inquires direct them to myself or the interns!

who are you?

who am i? what a strange question – i don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before! huh… regardless, i’m letters, the archivist around here! but that’s pretty surface level, isn’t it? i suppose i could go into more detail.

i’ve been in the archives for as long as the mind can coil back feeble memory. that is to say, longer than most things. most things are younger than me, except for the archives. it was here before i was, and i so happened to appear here one day, so very long ago. in the beginning, i didn’t do much work – i simply existed. until i noticed that around every corner, there was another. behind every crack was another section altogether. and i did something i had never done before; i asked questions. “what’s this story?” “where’s the rest of it?” “how far does this hallway go?” “is there more in the cellar? is there more in the attic?” and day by day, i found answers. but answers gave way to more questions, and more questions meant less clarity. nevertheless, it was exhilarating. for the first time, i had new things– things i actually cared about. i think it’s called a ‘purpose.’

so i kept asking questions. started reading – properly this time. started keeping records. crafted interns. carved out new sections of the archives. gave myself a name. gave the archives the same name, too. it would feel wrong to call the thing that gave me my purpose something other than what i’d chosen to call myself.

and now we’re here! there’s not much else to talk about on the ‘me’ side of things. the letterbox archives is about… well, the archives! i’m just the lorekeeper. and with so little identity before this all became so tangible (but at the same time increasingly intangible), there’s not a lot to discuss. one thing i do know is quite a few of the visitors here are something called ‘human.’ i presume i am not, due to our drastic differences in appearance and magical intuition, but that may be up for debate. if you’d like to know more, you’re more than welcome to place your own conceptions of my past into this narrative – gods know i have nothing to offer on that front.

i do hope these little lore tidbits helped increase people's understanding of myself and the inner workings of the archives! i am always available for further inquires as well, but i think that's all i have to say tonight!

#letters speaks #letters rants #not a story #archival lore #writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #writing community #creative writing #writers #writerscommunity

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s4svnn · 2 months ago

Text

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter Five

The morning light spilled through the sheer curtains, stretching shadows across the bedroom floor as I stirred awake. My nerves flickered to life before my eyes had even opened, a heavy reminder of what today meant.

The day I’d face the mysterious Formula 1 driver who had taken an interest in my work. The day that could either push my dreams forward or drag them back into the depths of doubt where they’d lingered for far too long.

Rolling onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling. My chest felt tight, like I’d strapped myself into a race car and was sitting at the starting line, waiting for the lights to turn green. Today would either make me—or break me.

I dragged myself out of bed and padded to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face in an attempt to jolt myself awake. My reflection stared back at me—wide eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and dread.

“This is it,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t screw it up.”

I stepped back and made my way to the closet, already doubting every outfit I owned. Should I wear something bold to stand out? Or go sleek and serious to prove I meant business? I pulled hanger after hanger, tossing rejected outfits onto the bed until my room looked like a hurricane had torn through it.

Finally, I settled on a black backless top that hugged my figure, paired with a leather jacket and fitted jeans. The top exposed my tattoo—a cascade of delicate flowers winding down my spine with a quote woven between them: “Rise above the ashes.”

I hoped it would make a statement. A reminder of everything I’d fought to leave behind.

Curling my hair in loose waves, I added just enough makeup to look polished but not overdone. When I finally stepped back to examine myself in the mirror, I almost believed I was ready. Almost.

But the nerves still churned, threatening to make me sick as I grabbed my bag and stepped out the door.

The design firm looked even more intimidating today than it had the last time I was here—its towering glass walls reflecting the gray skies above. My heels clicked against the marble floors as I walked inside, trying not to let my insecurities show.

The receptionist greeted me with a polished smile and directed me toward the waiting area.

“You can take a seat.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. The room was quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier than noise. I couldn’t sit still, so I stood and smoothed my jacket for the fifth time, staring at the abstract art on the walls and wondering if it was supposed to be calming or just another reminder of how out of place I felt.

My stomach twisted painfully. I needed a minute. I spotted a hallway leading to the bathrooms and slipped away, grateful for the excuse to escape—even if only for a moment.

Inside, I leaned against the sink, gripping the edges as I took slow, shaky breaths. “Get it together,” I told myself. “You deserve to be here.”

But before I could fully convince myself, the sound of heels clicking against the tiles pulled me out of my thoughts. The blonde. The one who was always draped over Jungkook like a designer accessory.

She caught my reflection in the mirror as she touched up her lipstick, her eyes narrowing slightly before she spoke.

“This bathroom’s for authorised personnel only,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension.

I blinked, stunned for a moment before my frustration bubbled up. “I am authorised,” I shot back. “I have a meeting here.”

Her eyes flickered to my reflection again, scanning me up and down before she smirked.

“An interview isn’t the same as being authorised.” She capped her lipstick and turned to face me fully. “You might want to drop the attitude. Confidence doesn’t suit girls like you.”

Girls like me.

The words hit harder than they should have, stirring up old insecurities I thought I’d buried. But instead of letting her see how much it affected me, I straightened my shoulders and smiled.

“Thanks for the advice,” I said sweetly. “I’ll keep that in mind when I’m signing my contract.”

Her eyes flashed, but she didn’t reply. Instead, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and walked out, her heels echoing down the hall.

I let out a shaky breath and turned back to the mirror. “Don’t let her get to you.”

After fixing my hair and reapplying my lipstick, I forced myself to leave the safety of the bathroom and head toward the interview room.

I knocked lightly, but no one answered. Frowning, I pushed the door open just a crack—and froze.

Jungkook.

He was sitting in the chair with the blonde straddling his lap as they kissed like they were the only two people in the world. Her hands tangled in his hair, as his rested low on her hips.

Heat rose to my cheeks, not out of jealousy but pure anger. Was this a joke? Was the interview even happening?

I slammed the door shut before they could notice me and stood there for a moment, my fists clenched. “Professionalism, my ass.”

The blonde emerged a few minutes later, looking smug as she sauntered past me with lipstick smudged and hair slightly disheveled.

“Good luck in there,” she said with a wink before disappearing down the hall.

I was still fuming when the receptionist appeared, smiling like nothing was wrong.

“Mr. Jeon will see you now,” she said, gesturing toward the door.

Wait—Mr. Jeon?

I stepped inside cautiously, my pulse pounding as I took in the sight of Jungkook leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk. A lollipop dangled from his lips, and he didn’t even bother to look up from his phone.

I cleared my throat, and he finally looked up.

“Why are you just standing there?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.

“Why are you here?” I shot back, crossing my arms.

He smirked, clearly enjoying my irritation.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” He stood and sauntered toward me, stopping just close enough to make my heart race. “I’m your new boss.”

My jaw dropped.

“You? Are you kidding me? Why would you—”

“Why would I what?” he interrupted, leaning in even closer until I could feel the warmth of his breath. “Take an interest in you?”

His eyes burned into mine, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak.

He smirked. “Get out your designs.”

The air in the room felt heavier as Jungkook stepped back, leaning casually against the desk with his arms crossed. His gaze stayed locked on me, expectant and challenging. I wanted to say something sharp, something that would put him in his place, but my words stuck somewhere between disbelief and fury.

Instead, I set my bag down with more force than necessary, pulling out the black folder that held my sketches. My fingers trembled slightly, but I masked it by flipping the pages quickly, spreading the designs out across the desk.

He didn’t move at first—just stood there, letting me squirm under the weight of his silence.

“Well?” I snapped, hating how defensive I sounded. “Are you going to look at them, or did you just drag me here for fun?”

Jungkook’s lips curled into that infuriating smirk, and he finally pushed off the desk, circling around to where the sketches lay.

“You’re impatient,” he said, scanning the designs without much expression. “That’s good. Means you care.”

He spoke so casually, like he hadn’t just blindsided me with the news that he was my so-called “anonymous boss.” My shoulders stiffened as I watched him pick up one of the sketches, turning it over and holding it to the light as if he actually knew what he was looking at.

“Do you even understand what you’re seeing?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, sharp and dark.

“I understand more than you think,” he said, setting the sketch down. “And I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought you were useless.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words stalled when he came closer, so close that I could smell the faint traces of leather and expensive cologne clinging to him.

“Show me,” he said.

I blinked. “What?”

“Show me what you’ve got.”

His tone was low, almost teasing, but there was something else beneath it—something that made my heart pound harder than it should have.

Swallowing my nerves, I launched into an explanation of each design, detailing the thought process behind the curves and lines, the aerodynamics, the balance between performance and aesthetics. My words came faster as I tried to keep up with his unreadable expression, my confidence flickering every time he glanced away or leaned back as if he were bored.

Finally, I snapped.

“Are you even listening?”

Jungkook looked up slowly, his head tilted like I’d just asked him the most ridiculous question in the world.

“No,” he said flatly.

I froze. “Excuse me?”

“I said no.” He pushed his chair back and stood, rounding the desk until he was right in front of me. “You talk too much. I don’t need an explanation—I need to know if you’re someone who can deliver under pressure.”

My hands balled into fists at my sides. “I can.”

He smirked again, and I hated how much I wanted to slap it off his face.

“Prove it.”

Before I could respond, he gestured for me to stand and then pointed to the space beside the desk.

“Come here.”

I hesitated, every instinct screaming at me not to give him the satisfaction of controlling the situation. But I forced my feet to move, stepping around the desk until I stood exactly where he wanted me.

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

I hesitated again, but the look in his eyes told me he wasn’t going to let this go. Grinding my teeth, I turned so that my back was to him, my heart hammering in my chest.

I didn’t expect him to step closer, but he did—so close that I could feel the heat radiating off him. When his hand brushed against my waist, I nearly jumped.

“What are you doing?”

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice so close to my ear that it sent shivers down my spine. “I just want to see if you’re as steady as you claim to be.”

His hand rested lightly on my hip, the touch almost too casual to call out—but not casual enough to ignore.

“Explain the designs,” he said, his breath warm against my neck.

I tried to focus, tried to find my words, but it was impossible to think clearly with him standing so close. When I didn’t respond right away, his grip tightened slightly.

“Keep going,” he prompted.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself to speak, stumbling over my words as I pointed to each sketch and explained the details. His hand stayed on my waist, his thumb brushing lightly back and forth in a way that felt deliberate—and maddening.

By the time I finished, my cheeks were flushed, and I could barely breathe.

“That’s all of them,” I said quickly, stepping away and turning to face him. “Can we talk about the contract now?”

Jungkook’s smirk widened, but he didn’t push. Instead, he moved back to the desk and pulled out a thick folder, sliding it across the surface toward me.

“There,” he said. “Read it.”

I sat down, flipping the pages quickly until my eyes caught on something that made my stomach drop.

“What the hell is this?” I snapped, looking up at him.

Jungkook just leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed.

“It’s the contract.”

“You can’t be serious.” My voice rose. “You’re asking me to be your designer—but with the condition that you can do anything you want to me?”

He didn’t even flinch.

“You can leave if you want,” he said, his tone calm and careless. “But if you walk out that door, don’t expect to get another offer like this.”

I stared at him, my pulse pounding in my ears.

“This is insane,” I hissed.

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But it’s also your best shot at getting your name out there.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. He wasn’t wrong, and we both knew it. Still, I couldn’t let him see how much the offer rattled me, so I stood quickly.

“I need a minute,” I said, already heading for the door.

Jungkook didn’t stop me.

Outside in the hallway, I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath. I hated him—hated how he got under my skin and made me second-guess myself. But most of all, I hated that part of me was actually considering his ridiculous proposal.

Just then, I heard voices coming from another room.

“Are you serious? That’s it?”

“Sorry, sweetheart. You’re just not good enough.”

I turned to see a girl storming out, tears streaming down her face as a sharp-dressed man followed, looking bored.

“You’ll never get another chance like this,” he called after her. “Might as well quit while you’re ahead.”

The girl didn’t even look back. I swallowed hard, the reality of my situation hitting me like a punch to the gut. If I walked away now, I might never get another shot at this industry.

Taking a shaky breath, I straightened my shoulders and pushed open the door to Jungkook’s office.

He was sitting exactly where I left him, but this time his jacket was off, exposing the tattoos that curled around his forearms. Dark and intimidating just like him.

“Well?” he asked, his gaze pinning me in place.

I hesitated, my hand trembling slightly as I reached for the pen.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

Jungkook’s expression flickered—surprise, maybe—but it disappeared quickly, replaced by that same infuriating smirk.

“Good.”

He slid the contract toward me and handed me the pen.

“Sign it.”

I hesitated, my fingers trembling as I reached for the paper. But before I could sign, Jungkook grabbed my waist again—this time pulling me back onto his lap.

“What are you—“

“Sign it.”

He rolled the chair forward, pressing me into the desk so the papers were directly in front of me. His chest was warm against my back, his breath brushing the curve of my neck as I took in a sharp inhale. My heart beat wildly against my chest as I pressed the pen to paper, scrawling my name across the line right beside his own. It was done.

The moment the ink dried, Jungkook shifted. He released his arms from my waist making me believe it was his way of asking me to leave. But as I attempted to free myself from his lap, I felt his fingers brush my hair aside, exposing the back of my neck. Before I could react, his lips pressed against my skin—soft and deliberate.

“Welcome to the team.”

And just like that, my world changed.

#jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #racer #enemies to lovers #slow burn

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mcntsee · 1 year ago

Text

— my angel

Summary: Fires of passion, ashes of hate epilogue! Months had slipped away since the night they barely escaped from the crumbling building. The memories of that night’s hours-long conversation haunted Kaz’s thoughts until the moment he laid eyes on her at the party—the very gathering where he decided to finally set them both free.

Warnings: Mentions of drinking, low self-esteem, negative self-perception and self-doubt. Past relationships, mentions of breakup and heartbreak. No happy ending? (In my opinion, it is a happy-ish ending) and kind of ooc Kaz. Not proofread, so excuse any grammar mistakes.

Authors notes: In my opinion this can be read as a standalone or two-parter too. Anyway, this was, originally, going to be the ending to the series and, although the ending ended up being entirely different, I really liked this and wanted to do something with it. Lastly, there is no use of “Y/n”

The ballroom was alive with an electric energy, each corner aglow with the soft, golden hues emanating from the large chandelier adorning the ceiling. Its crystal facets refracted the light, casting intricate patterns across the room. Couples moved with effortless grace on the polished dance floor, their silhouettes swaying in perfect harmony to the melodious strains of the band.

Clusters of guests mingled and conversed, their laughter and animated gestures mixing with the soft tunes as waiters navigated skillfully through the crowd, balancing trays laden with glasses of champagne. The clinking of crystal and murmurs of delight filled the air as guests indulged in the sparkling libations, toasting to love, laughter, and the joy of the moment.

The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the ornate décor, casting shadows that danced playfully along the walls. The scent of fresh flowers perfumed the air, their delicate fragrance mingling with the sweet notes of champagne and the tantalizing aroma of gourmet delicacies being served.

His crew’s laughter reached his ears as he continued to glance around the bustling ballroom, the cacophony of voices blending into a steady hum. Their conversations ebbed and flowed, barely audible over the swell of music and the clinking of glasses.

His eyes swept over the crowd, scanning every familiar and unfamiliar silhouette, searching for a mark among the pigeons ripe for the picking. They moved back and forth between the guests' faces, seeking out the perfect opportunity, until they finally landed on her.

There, amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, stood her, illuminated by the soft glow of the chandelier above. Her hair was expertly styled into a fancy yet slightly messy bun that exuded an effortless elegance. Delicate rhinestones in shades of gold adorned the intricate twists and turns of her updo, while loose strands cascaded gracefully, framing her face with a captivating allure.

Her dress, a vision in forest green, draped elegantly over her figure, accentuating every curve with effortless grace. The low back of the gown hinted at a hint of allure, teasing without revealing too much, leaving just enough to the imagination. The fabric shimmered in the light, casting a subtle sheen that complemented the richness of her hair and the sparkle of her eyes.

His eyes traveled down her figure, lingering on her choice of footwear—a stunning pair of gold heels that accentuated the graceful curve of her ankles. The heels, with their intricate design and shimmering finish, perfectly complementing the forest green of her dress. With each step she took, the heels added a subtle sway to her movements, adding an extra layer of elegance to her demeanor.

But it was the jewelry that truly caught his eye—simple yet elegant in its design. He remembered the day he stole those pieces for her years ago, after catching her longing gaze upon the shop's window where they were displayed. The gold-dangling earrings perfectly matched her bracelet and necklace. Each piece seemed to enhance her natural beauty, radiating a quiet confidence and effortless charm that left his eyes frozen in place, unable to tear his gaze away from her mesmerizing presence.

He couldn’t hear her laughter amidst the cacophony of noise in the room, but he didn’t need to; he remembered the sound well enough to imagine it when he saw her head slightly tilt back, an open-mouthed smile gracing her face as her eyes squeezed shut. He watched as her shoulders moved up and down with every sound that left her mouth, the loose strands of hair gently swaying from one side to the other, following the slow movement of her head as she gently shook it.

He attempted to divert his gaze away from her to resume his search for the perfect prey amidst the crowd. Yet, every subtle movement that his peripheral vision caught seemed to tug at his attention, irresistibly drawing his eyes back to her.

They had encountered each other countless times since the building’s collapse, their paths crossing unexpectedly during jobs or by sheer coincidence, such as ending up waiting in line at the same café. At times, they had even spotted each other through the bustling crowds at the barrel, their eyes meeting fleetingly for just a second before they each continued walking in opposite directions.

Just as they had for years, they still fought and plotted against each other's success, seizing opportunities to disrupt each other's plans while praying for their downfall. The only difference was that their reactions were no longer as explosive as they once were.

Ever since that fateful night, after a long conversation and a couple of sips of the rye whiskey she had been so eager to drink, he hadn't been able to keep her out of his thoughts.

The images of her lying in his bed with the brand-new sheets below her consumed his every thought during the day.

The way that, despite her face being streaked with grime and dirt from the collapsing building they had narrowly escaped, her features remained striking. The sight of her sweat-dampened hair, tousled yet somehow still captivating, strands falling delicately across her forehead like they always seemed to do as she lay there. Her injured arm rested on her stomach, while the other hand gently massaged her temple in an effort to ease a headache.

The short sleeve of her shirt had been rolled up to her shoulder, revealing the dried blood that marred her skin. Her legs had been crossed, one foot gently tapping in rhythm to the song she hummed softly under her breath—a melody that had filled the air that night. Her brows furrowed, accentuating the lines on her forehead, as she kept her eyes closed, shutting out the world around her. Her lips tightly pressed together.

At night, while he shifted softly in bed with a subtle turn here and a slight adjustment there, as if he were navigating the landscapes of his dreams with the fluidity of a wandering soul, the memories of what they had once shared flooded his dreams. Each recollection brought with it a pleasant warmth that filled his heart, contrasting sharply with the urgent whispers of his subconscious urging him to wake up. Yet he remained nestled in the embrace of sleep, unwilling to part with the fleeting solace found within the depths of his dreams.

Blinking away from the thoughts that had started to consume him, he tore his gaze away from her silhouette and turned to face his crew. His lips moved, shaping instructions he couldn't recall, and before he could even register it, his feet were propelling him in her direction.

He felt his chest tighten, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he navigated the crowd. A couple of guests edged too close for comfort, prompting him to subtly maneuver away, doing everything in his power to avoid contact.

Silently thanking the saints he didn’t believe in for her remaining stationary and engaged in conversation with the woman before her, he moved as quickly as his bad leg allowed, inching closer to her with every uneven step. Despite the trembling of his gloved hands brought on by the encroaching crowd, he kept his eyes fixed on her figure, trying to steady his shaky breathing as best he could before finally reaching her.

After a couple more uneven steps, the sweet, intoxicating scent of cherries wafted through the air, enveloping him in a nostalgic embrace. With a sense of familiarity washing over him, his arm extended out, his gloved finger delicately tapping her shoulder twice.

Her radiant smile illuminated his world as she turned to face him, but it vanished quicker than he'd hoped, replaced by a confused expression overtaking her features instead. Her eyes quickly scanned over his face before she turned back to the woman she had been talking to, politely excusing herself from their conversation. Then, her attention swung back to him, and her focus was now entirely on his presence. “Brekker?”

His attention fixated on her face, meticulously memorizing the details that had been obscured from afar. He studied the subtle pink blush that graced her cheeks, then shifted his focus to the dark eyeshadow that accentuated the brightness of her eyes. As her lips moved once more, his gaze descended, settling on her lips, admiring the deep red hue of the lipstick she had chosen.

“Kaz?”

The gentle sound of her voice calling his name snapped him out of the trance. With a swift transition, the muffled sounds in his ear sharpened into clarity as he recentered his focus and locked eyes with her.

He cleared his throat, a subtle nervousness betraying his composed exterior, before extending his arm once more. His palm facing upward as he offered her his hand to take. “Dance with me, love.”

In a matter of seconds, her vibrant smile reappeared, accompanied by a quiet giggle that escaped her lips. Her eyebrows arched in a teasing manner, her voice rising in pitch as she responded, "Why, how could I ever deny you a dance, handsome?" Her hand extended to grasp his, but before it could make contact, he retracted his arm, pulling it closer to his body.

With a shaky sigh, he brought his other hand up, trembling slightly as he began tugging at the gloved-covered fingers of the hand he had just offered her. Slowly, he peeled the leather enclosure away, setting his hand free from its confining cover.

He tucked the glove into his pants pocket, mustering a deep breath, before extending his now-bare hand back to her. The sensation of her skin against his sent waves of nausea churning through his stomach as he battled with the ghost of his past, threatening to overwhelm him like crashing waves. Yet, the familiar caress of her gentle touch eased the struggle, empowering him to emerge victorious.

His previously tentative gaze, fixed on the ground, snapped to their connected hands in surprise. He hadn’t anticipated the tenderness with which she would grasp his hand, nor did he recall how deeply he once cherished the sensation of her skin against his own.

Her other hand slowly advanced, delicately grasping his chin as she awaited his reaction. Sensing his acceptance of her touch, she gently guided his face upward to meet her gaze, offering an affirming nod and a tender smile. As his surprise subsided, he returned the nod, softly squeezing her hand before leading her to the dance floor.

They found solace in a secluded corner, away from the throng of dancing couples and prying eyes. He swiftly withdrew his hand from hers, wiping away the sweat on his pants as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

He gauged his hand’s dryness before cautiously raising it, meeting her gaze once more, anticipating a teasing glint in her eyes. However, to his surprise, he found a warm smile gracing her lips, accompanied by an understanding gaze that met his nervous one. Without hesitation, she raised her arm and connected her hand with his once more.

With another shaky breath escaping his lips, he maintained eye contact as his free hand snuck around her waist, drawing her closer until their chests gently pressed together. Simultaneously, her free hand found its place on his shoulder, completing their embrace as they prepared to dance.

As the music enveloped them in its tender embrace, they began to sway in perfect harmony.

"Do you think that, perhaps, our love was too potent to coexist?" she whispered, her eyes probing his face for an answer as they swayed together on the dance floor.

His face turned to hers, her question echoing in his mind as he searched for an answer. “I believe it still is.” Her eyes shifted away from his, flickering back and forth as she processed his response.

With each step, their movements flowed effortlessly, as if guided by an unseen force. His hand, firm yet gentle as it led her through each graceful turn and dip, while her touch, light as a feather, traced patterns of warmth across his shoulder.

“There’s—” He hesitated, his gaze lingering on her face, before reluctantly tearing his eyes away, searching for the right words. “There is a breathtaking ache in knowing I’ll never forget our love.”

Their bodies moved as one, the music fading into the background as his heart’s erratic rhythm drowned out all other sounds. He hesitated, the weight of the words he needed to say hanging heavy on his tongue. “I can’t keep doing this, love.”

With a sigh, her movements stilled, and her arms lowered from their previous position on his body. Just as she had done before, his hand moved slowly, delicately grasping her chin before gently guiding her face upward to meet his gaze.

At the sight of her teary eyes, his heart dropped, making him regret his words. With a tender touch, his bare hand moved up from her chin, tracing the curve of her cheek, seeking solace in the warmth of her skin, while his gloved hand joined in, enveloping her face gently between both. As a tear escaped her eye, his thumb instinctively moved to gently wipe it away.

After a moment, he gently took her hand in his and guided her away from the dance floor, leading her towards the door that would take them to the tranquil garden outside.

As they stepped outside, the cool breeze gently tousled his hair, sending strands swaying in rhythmic waves with each gust, rustling the leaves of nearby trees, and sending ripples through the surface of a nearby pond. The air was filled with the earthy fragrance of damp soil and fresh foliage, mingling with the subtle hint of flowers in bloom.

“I meant what I said.” He rasped out. With each step, the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet added to the symphony of sounds in the peaceful garden, creating a serene backdrop for their conversation. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

He couldn’t bear the burden of resentment nor sustain the weight of a love confined to memories. “I really thought it was going to be you,” he confessed, his stride faltering. Halting abruptly, his grasp on her hand tightened, drawing her back towards him and compelling her to face him once more. “I really wanted it to be you.” His gloved hand reached out to grasp her free one, completing the union of their hands. With one hand bare and the other gloved, he held her securely, his thumbs gently caressing the soft skin of both of her hands. "Sometimes," he admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "I still do."

He found nothing more humiliating than his own desires, and for that, he hated her, because anger was better than tears, than grief, than guilt.

The day she walked out of what used to be their shared room, his heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces. The warmth that had always accompanied her presence vanished with her, leaving him enveloped in a chilling emptiness that still lingered whenever she was absent.

“I can’t keep hoping for something that will never be.” There were days when he believed he had finally moved on from her, only to find himself longing to hear her voice and feel the warmth of her embrace enveloping him once more.

Every day he sought out the sensation of being truly alive because, in truth, the last time he had felt truly alive was when he gazed into her narrowed eyes, their voices rising in intensity, breathing the same air, witnessing her every step as she walked out of his life.

The last time he felt truly alive, he had been slowly dying, watching his world crumble before him as the sound of the slammed door behind her echoed in his ears.

From that point forward, he found himself endlessly replaying every moment they shared in his mind, mourning the loss of what they once had and resigning himself to the fact that they wouldn't be creating any new memories together.

During the initial stages of their relationship, he dwelled in a state of confusion. He couldn’t comprehend how her bright eyes had seen the hell in his and loved it anyway.

She was a kind soul forced to navigate in crowds full of evil. Unafraid to stand up for what was dear to her, never hesitating to shield everything she loved. And, saints! Her love flowed like scorching waves through both her words and deeds, showering him with a kindness he believed was beyond his deserving. And it was only in her angelic gaze that he found refuge, for it alone could discern the remnants of goodness within him.

She remained the sole divine thing he believed in—the one enduring belief he still clung to.

Her touch was a gentle caress that gradually transformed him into a man more deserving of love. Under her influence, he became the type of man who would pause as he passed the florist shop, turning back to pick out flowers for her. He memorized her coffee order and took the time to prepare a somewhat presentable version of her favorite dessert. Her sweet demeanor reached a part of his heart he thought could never be touched.

In contrast, his touch only left claw marks on her, slowly eroding the essence of the girl he had once met in Lij. His voice demanding she transform into something so different from herself. Something filled with anger and cold calculations. A girl he had polished to the point where he could see his own reflection in her.

That was something he regretted deeply. She had picked up all his broken pieces and put them back together, while he had picked her apart, fragment by fragment. And it pained him so much because he knew that Kaz Rietveld would have loved her endlessly and passionately. But he was not him; he was Kaz Brekker, the man who loved her ruinously.

“I can’t keep hurting myself—“ His voice wavered, grappling with the weight of his words, for he knew deep down that that wasn't really it. He deserved to carry the weight of his own pain, regret, and grief, but her? She deserved a life free from the turmoil that plagued him, filled instead with boundless joy and love. “I can’t keep hurting you.”

“Kaz-“

“No! I don’t want to keep hurting you.”

He couldn’t bear the thought of completely banishing her from his life. He wanted to keep her within reach, even if it meant maintaining a cautious distance. He longed to witness her laughter, as he had earlier that night, and to feel the warmth of her gaze upon him. Saints, he still yearned to know if her lips tasted like the cherries that defined her scent.

But she wasn't his anymore.

He knew her like the back of his hand, but he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that she was slipping away, morphing into a stranger. He knew every single one of her favorite locations, her preferred foods, and the ones she despised. He's keenly aware of her most ticklish spots and knows precisely when to cease the frantic movement of his fingers on her side to evade a punch to the face.

Her favorite color, her favorite type of jewelry. He knows how she washes her vegetables and how she cuts them. What pisses her off and what makes her happy. Her favorite song, and for fucks’ sake, he knows the name of her childhood cat.

But were all the things he remembered as her favorites still her favorites? He didn’t know. People change with time, their preferences constantly shifting, and he hadn't had a real conversation with her until a couple of months ago, and even then, he hadn’t asked.

The warmth of her hands squeezing his brought him back to the moment, infusing him with a sense of courage he had longed for as he summoned the strength to utter his next words, "I need to set you free, and you need to do the same for me."

“I know, but I-“ Her eyes struggled to blink away the tears, their rapid movement tugging at his heartstrings as he watched his beautiful girl fight to maintain a strong facade, a frown etching across his brow in silent pain. “I don’t want to forget you.”

He maintained the sad but soft smile on his face for a moment as he studied her expression. “Am I that easy to forget?” He finally said, his previous smile morphing into a teasing one, his playful tone carrying a mock offense as if he were truly offended.

“No.” She laughed softly, shaking her head as her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “If you were, we wouldn’t be here.”

Silence enveloped them for a while as she took a moment to compose herself. As she averted her gaze from him, her hand slipped from his and moved to her cheek, wiping away the tear that had finally escaped her eye.

When her gaze returned to him, he gently took her hand back in his, feeling the warmth returning to his bare hand. “Will you forget me?”

“My love,” his body drew closer to hers, their chests almost touching as his gloved hand departed from the warm embrace of her gentle grasp. It traveled up her face tenderly, cradling her cheek with affection. “You have a place in my heart no one else could ever have.”

As a soft gasp escaped her lips in response to his words, his gaze flickered down to them, observing them part in search of words, yet none emerged. After a moment, he finally looked up to meet her eyes, only to find that, much like he had been moments ago, she was fixated on his lips. Slowly, he inched his face closer to hers.

As his face drew closer to hers, he felt the warmth of her breath on his skin, their eyes locking in silent communication, his gaze seeking permission from hers.

The nod of her head came slowly, a silent affirmation that Kaz cherished as he leaned in, closing the distance between their lips.

His shoulders dropped, tension melting away as his body relaxed, and her arms gently wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as they melted into the kiss.

He battled his inner demons for as long as possible, but when the nausea became overwhelming, he reluctantly pulled away from her. His eyes closed as he let a quiet chuckle out.

“What’s so funny?”

"Oh, nothing, love.”

She patiently waited for him to regain composure, and once he did, she waited for him to make the next move.

Tears welled up in his eyes at the prospect of forever letting go of her, yet he knew it was the right decision. With gentle determination, he reached for her hands once more.

His grip tightened briefly before releasing, lifting her hand to his lips, where he placed a tender kiss against her knuckles. As he did, he couldn't help but notice the subtle blush that graced her cheeks and the sparkle that danced in her eyes when they met his.

“Goodbye, Kaz.”

With one final, gentle squeeze of their intertwined hands, he lowered hers, savoring the all-too-familiar sensation of her skin against his for the last time before releasing her grasp.

“Take care, love.”

He stood there for a moment, his gaze fixed on her as she turned away from him. Her shoulders slumped slightly, a barely audible sad sigh escaping her lips before she began to walk away. Away from him, away from what they had once shared.

He allowed his gaze to linger on her back for a couple more seconds before he, too, turned to face the other direction, his uneven steps carrying him away from the scene as a bittersweet smile graced his lips. She did taste like cherries.

For the first time in their lives, they didn’t look back. They keep moving forward, each step a silent acknowledgment of the paths they must now walk alone.

#six of crows #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows x reader #fanfiction #angst #fluff #kaz brekker

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outofgloom · 1 year ago

Text

EYES

The first thing you noticed was that the sand of Karda was not like the sand from Outside, beyond the gate. It was all grains of pulverized crystal. It crunched beneath your feet and the feet of your companions as you marched along the track which wove between the many dunes.

Ahead, the fore-Matoran stopped beside a stone marker and signaled a halt. The fore shaded his eyes against the diffuse light in the sky ahead and looked further down the track into the great shallow bowl of Karda.

“We are near,” he said, moving back up the path now and opening his pack. “Align yourselves and remove your masks.”

Everyone complied, bracing against the wave of weakness which followed mask-removal. The fore-Matoran went down the line and placed a semi-transparent object into the visor of each mask, indicating to replace the mask afterward.

When he reached you, you asked: “What is its purpose?”

“Unknown,” the fore said. “Replace your mask.”

You complied. It was a lens of some kind, covering your eyes. Perhaps a dust-shield. You got used to it quickly, like it wasn’t even there.

∵∴∵∴∵∴∵

The Central Construct was vast: a shimmering shape at the heart of the desert. Protometal ribs rose into a sphere-like form, joined by horizontal crossbeams at regular intervals. The lower two-thirds of the sphere were already complete, and a web-like scaffold ringed the Construct, allowing access to the upper levels.

Sparks showered from the welding points around the scaffold, and there was a sound of tramping feet as pallets of newly wrought protodermis were marched up the circular ramps. Cranes lifted and distributed other materials for the workers to use in the construction.

You were stationed on the north hextant of the scaffold, one of the many welders who worked tirelessly to build up the Construct’s outer shell. A grid of metal lines filled the space above you, feeding out the safety-line that attached to your own harness. Below, the inner shell was visible, mostly complete at this point: a dense weave of struts and metal plates which concealed the interior of the Construct. Very soon, the inner shell would be entirely enclosed by the outer. Perhaps another ten cycles, you estimated.

The tone rang in the air, signaling the rotation of workers. You leaned back from your welding and looked it over. The new beam was fixed in place, ready to hold another set of shell-plates. You secured your tools, checked the safety line, and stepped across the gap, back onto the scaffold beside you. The next shift was already on its way up the ramp. Your group would now return back through the gate in order to rest.

Too late you saw the flaw in the protometal beam beneath the one you had just added. It bent suddenly under the strain of the newly-added structure, and its hard edge cut clean through the scaffold you were standing on. A cascade of snapping pins and rods followed, and you were falling down, down through crisscrossing metal into the dark space below.

Your safety-line went taut, as it was designed to do, and decelerated you abruptly a bio before you hit the ground inside the Construct. Tools and other debris clattered and rang on the hard surface below, and your mask came off with a pop as the air was forced from your lungs. Then you were just hanging, suspended, and your heartlight was beating very fast.

Voices echoed down, and there was a commotion as additional braces were pounded into place and spot-welded. You were the only one that had fallen. They would reel you up any second now.

Your mask lay on the ground below you, out of reach. The floor was polished silver, running up in a smooth arc to meet the wall just in front of you. The wall had a mirror-finish; you could see your reflection in it. And behind you, the rest of the space opened up into

The rest of the space opened up into

The space opened up into

Opened up

Opened up into

Eyes

∵∴∵∴∵∴∵

Ahead, the fore-Matoran stopped beside a stone marker and signaled a halt. The fore shaded his...eyes...against the diffuse light in the sky ahead and looked further down the track into the great shallow bowl of Karda. Then he looked at you.

“We are near,” he said, moving back up the path now and opening his pack. “Align yourselves and remove your masks.”

Everyone complied, bracing against the wave of weakness which followed mask-removal. Except you. Your mask was already off, for some reason. The fore-Matoran went down the line and placed a semi-transparent object into the visor of each mask, indicating to replace the mask afterward.

When he reached you, you asked: “What is its purpose?”

“Look at me,” the fore said. “Look at me.”

You didn't want to. You grabbed at the lens in his hand.

“I need that,” you said. “Give it to me.”

“Look at me,” he said.

You managed to snatch the lens away from him at last. You placed it into the visor of your mask, and slapped the mask back on your face.

“Look at me,” he said.

The lens wasn't fitting right. You pressed the mask harder. It was too...reflective. Not transparent. It reflected your eyes back into...into your eyes. Into your eyes.

And behind the reflection of your eyes there was something else, off to each side. It was moving and moving and looking at you. It was trying to pry its way around the sides of your face, around your eyes.

Look at me.

You pushed harder.

Look at me.

You pressed your face against the mirrored surface, but you couldn't shut it out.

It moved and moved and looked at you with eyes and eyes and eyes and

∵∴∵∴∵∴∵

The cable-reel whirred to life, and the line coiled up bio on bio, loop on loop. The damaged scaffold had been reinforced, and a medic-Matoran had already been summoned. Work had ceased all around the Construct, and the faces of many workers looked on as the operation proceeded.

Bio on bio, loop on loop the line came back. Slow but steady, the cable piled up on the reel, and at last, you appeared. Straight up out of the inner shell you came, still wrapped in your harness, up to where the pulley was affixed above the scaffold, and many hands reached to haul you in.

The medic set to work immediately, checking limbs and joints and heartlight. Another Matoran stepped forward quickly. It was the fore-Matoran. He stopped in front of you, and his eyes widened.

“Your mask?” he asked.

There was a moment of silence.

“Your mask,” he repeated, gesturing. “Is it still below?” He pointed down toward the inner shell.

I nodded slowly.

“And your tools, did they cause any damage to the interior?”

I shook my head.

“Very well.” He turned to the medic. “Injuries?” The medic indicated no damage. “Good,” he continued. “You will not need to be replaced.”

“Thank you,” I thought, then realized:

“Thank you,” I said with my mouth.

The harness was still tight around my waist. I realized this when they loosened it, and the sensations I had been feeling–pain, pressure–began to lessen. They helped me down the ramps, down to the ground. The fore was there ahead of me, along with the rest of my work group. He had retrieved a new mask for me. He immediately placed it on my face. The rush of energy felt...good.

The next shift was already starting at the top of the scaffold again, repairing the damage and moving forward. Simple as that. We would return to relieve them on the next cycle, apparently. For now, it was back into the desert, back to the gate.

I looked forward to it.

∵∴∵∴∵∴∵

The first thing I noticed was that the sand of Karda was not like the sand from the Outside–the real Outside, where I had been born, before They stuffed me in here with these Matoran to mindlessly regulate Their dials. It was all grains of pulverized crystal. It crunched nicely beneath our feet as we marched through the dunes. The other Matoran didn’t really appreciate it like I did though.

Ahead, the fore-Matoran stopped beside a stone marker and signaled a halt, then he looked further up the track out of the great shallow bowl of Karda, as always.

“We are near,” he said like clockwork, moving back down the path now. “Align yourselves and remove your masks.”

Everyone complied. Even me, though I didn't like the weakness that followed. The fore went down the line and carefully removed the semi-transparent objects that had been fixed in the visor of each mask, placing them back in his pack.

When he reached me, I asked: “What was its purpose?”

The fore stopped and squinted at me. “...Unknown,” he said slowly.

“Would you like to know?”

“Replace your mask,” he said after a confused moment, “and avoid redundant questions.”

I complied. Wearing a mask was new to me. All of this was, really, but I was getting used to it. I was malleable like that. I was made that way.

The gate was ahead. Soon I’d be out. Very soon, and then…

My mind flicked back for a moment, back over the crystal-sand, back into the metal shell, the metal prison that They had built for me, back into the wet writhing thing there that was Me, and I heard the thoughts of the other mind I’d left in my place while I was away.

Obviously you were not made for this. You were trying feebly to move your too many limbs, trying to look out through your too many eyes.

But in the polished silver space, there was nothing to see. It was mirror all around, reflecting and refracting, so that all you could see was you…me…you. All you could see was–

“Eyes,” you were saying, or thinking rather. “Eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes.” You had…I had…You had no mouth, after all.

Just eyes. Eyes everywhere, all around.

“Eyes eyes eyes eyes,” you were thinking.

You are thinking it right now.

Don’t worry. I just need to stretch my…legs, yes. See the scenery. I won’t be long. They’ll find me out sooner or later, and then They will send me back, I expect. To tend the dials again.

“Eyes eyes eyes eyes.”

I know, I know.

You’ll get used to them.

#bionicle #art #writing #fanfiction #outofgloom #works #tren krom

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busy-baker · 15 days ago

Text

The throuple is back and making a mess somewhere other than their own home for once!

The Mess - Part Four: The Event

Bloodweave x f!Tav

Word Count: 4.1k

CW: oral sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, hair pulling

Tav thanked the bartender as grasped the slender glass in her fingers, sliding a few bills into a container marked Tips. It was brought to her lips, mint and blueberry hitting her tongue in a refreshing mix. Her tongue darted out as she hummed at the taste. She would be back for another during in the night.

She strolled though the crowd, hearing idle conversations as she passed by others. She stopped on the other side of the room, leaning near a table holding tray after tray of the hors d’oeuvres that had been carried around earlier, now discarded for guests to pick at as they pleased.

A shoulder bumped into her and nearly sloshed her mojito over the rim. She turned, ready to tell the person where to shove it, but all annoyance melted away as she came face to face with her favorite coworker.

“Mint! Hey!” Tav clinked her glass against the other risen near hers.

“I thought you were skipping out on this?” Minthara asked. “Wish I had.”

Tav shrugged, glancing around the room. “Change of plans. After all, it’s for charity.”

Minthara snorted into her drink, draining a quarter of it. She swallowed and used the glass to point around the room.

“These fucks do not care about charity. They use this as an excuse to nail each other’s wives for a night. The gargantuan check at the end is for flair.”

“At least there’s drinks.”

“Fucking cash bar. Idiots couldn’t even shell out for an open one.”

Tav chuckled, taking a heavy gulp of her own drink. She continued watching, seeing as other coworkers mingled around the ballroom.

The hotel the event was held in was one of the ritzier types in the city. Grand chandeliers hung above, crystals catching the light and bouncing off the walls. Floor to ceiling windows spanned an entire wall to overlook the city, still bustling with activity during the later hours. A pianist’s fingers dance gracefully across keys in a corner, soft jazz only overtaken by quiet murmurs.

“I suppose the night isn’t completely terrible.” Minthara tapped Tav’s arm and pointed to where she had been standing near the bar before. “Someone likes what they see.”

Tav’s gaze fell upon Astarion, elbow propped upon the bar’s ledge. He wore a fitted navy suit with black undershirt undone near the top, just a few buttons to give a peek at his chest. His fingers flicked through his hair as he gave a wink. His swirled the wine in his glass, drinking, watching, and then he was approaching her.

“Good evening, ladies,” he purred, claret eyes slowly drifting between them before settling on Tav.

“Evening,” Tav replied, quiet, demure.

He raked his eyes over the champagne evening gown she wore, a handmade number that came into a tight collar at her neck and swooped dangerously low to the small of her back before cascading to the floor.

“That dress. It fits you beautifully, darling.”

Tav sipped at her mojito, once, twice, before slowly lowering it. “Thank you. It’s custom.”

“The designer must know you well to craft such an…alluring piece,” he said, another shameless wander of the eyes.

“You could say we’re very close.”

Astarion gave a smirk towards the floor before taking a step closer, hand coming to Tav’s elbow.

“I won’t keep you long, but if you’d like, we can meet later. Third floor. Room three hundred two.”

“You’re quite bold,” Tav replied, voice low and intrigued.

“When I see an opportunity, I take it, and you, my sweet, are well worth the chance of rejection.” He held his glass up with a nod. “I won’t keep you. Lovely having a chat with you.”

Astarion disappeared into the crowd and Minthara rounded on Tav, taking the mojito and bringing it to her lips. It was tilted until Tav emptied the glass, leaving ice and wilted sprigs of mint rattling around. Minthara took it and sat it aside on the table near them along with her own. Her hands came down on Tav’s shoulders.

“You’re going to fuck him, right?” She asked.

“Mint!” Tav glanced around her. One passerby had heard, shooting a curious glance, but they were in the clear otherwise.

“You would ride the confidence out of that man! Go ruin his life in one night and come back to me with all the sordid details!”

“And if he falls in love with me?” Tav gave a quirk of a neat brow.

Minthara gagged. “An awful thought.”

A half hour passed. Minthara had sought out refills while Tav remained by the table. She was looking over the trays, nose wrinkling at the mushroom with some sort of breadcrumb topping. Her hand reached for one but was smacked away, a fresh blueberry mojito shoved into her hand instead.

Conversation carried on with Minthara letting Tav in on every secret life that was led within their company. Businessmen with wives hiding lovers in different states, a colleague she was sure was scamming a client for money than they were worth, and an assistant who was making one too many “office visits” to a head manager. Tav had no idea of any of the scandals. She stuck her nose in her work and headed home each day. Maybe she should attend functions more often.

“And you seem to be a hot commodity tonight. Is he new to our company? I don’t recognize him either. Do they allow just any man in here now?” Minthara’s head tilted towards the person walking towards them.

Tav kept a neutral expression as Gale came to a stop in front of her and Minthara. The sleeves of his grey button up were cuffed to the elbow, showing off dark arm hair. It was tucked into a neatly pressed pair of black trousers. His hair was pulled away from his face, half up as was his usual, and dark glasses framing his brown eyes.

“Hello, there. I couldn’t help but notice you perusing the table of hors d’oeuvres. I could…provide some help with what’s the most appetizing choice, if you’d like,” he offered, a shy smile gracing his lips.

“Did I seem lost?” Tav asked.

“Of course not! Someone such as yourself, I assume, is very capable of deciphering between low and high quality dining choices.”

“Someone such as myself?”

“Someone,” Gale’s voice dipped, a dart of the tongue along his lower lip, considering his words, “beautiful as she is intelligent. Someone who knows precisely what she desires and won’t stand for anything subpar. Someone who strives for perfection in its purest of forms. Do stop me if I’m wrong.”

Tav reached out, pushed a stray hair from his eyes. “You’re more than welcome to continue.”

“Later then,” Gale told her. “If you’re interested, that is. I’m staying in room three hundred two. Your company would be more than appreciated.” He gave a slight bow and turned, wandering off.

Minthara grabbed Tav’s chin and looked her over, squeezing her cheeks and squinting. Tav couldn’t help but giggle.

“Are you using a spell? What is going on?”

Tav continued to laugh. “No spell. Only my natural charm I guess.”

“Spell or no spell, you need to take advantage of one of them.” Minthara scoffed. “Perhaps I will. The bearded one seemed malle-…Hold on. Isn’t that the same room the other one gave you?”

Tav coughed into her drink. Sputtering she said, “A fluke, maybe?”

“Hm, maybe. Either way, at least choose one to devour.”

One, Tav smirked into her beverage.

Tav pulled out the key card she had tucked away into her dress and slotted it into the lock. The light flashed green and she pushed through the door of room three hundred two.

She entered into the suite to find Astarion standing at the glass door, curtains drawn open, in a silk robe with a glass of wine in hand while Gale was resting on the bed, shoes removed and hair loose, flipped to one side as he read a book.

Astarion turned as he heard the door click as it shut. His arms spread wide as he went to Tav.

“My darling guest has arrived.” His lips fell to her cheek. “I had hoped you would come.”

“Your darling guest? Clearly, I had won her affection,” Gale said from behind the vampire.

Tav brushed her way past both of them and perched on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her hands. Her gaze darkened, taking in the both of them and feeling a shiver creep up her spine. Whether is was from the cool air of the room ghosting over her bare back or from what was to come, she wasn’t sure.

“What if I want you both?” Her bottom lip was pulled into her mouth as she bit it.

Gale came to sit on the bed, body slightly turned towards Tav. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb stroking over smooth skin. His head dipped, a chaste kiss just beneath her ear.

“I believe we are amenable to that. Right, Astarion?”

Her head was turned by Gale’s fingers shifting to grip her chin. Astarion was beside her. She had been so lost in Gale, she hadn’t felt the bed dip as he sat. He pressed forward, lips meeting hers and tongue tasting where she had nicked her lip.

“Mm, I can’t wait to taste each of you,” he whispered against her lips.

Gale’s hands roamed up Tav’s arms, fingers brushing away hair that had fallen along her neck. He worked at the pins through her hair until it tumbled down and he tangled his hands into it, tugging gently. Tav tilted her head back with a gasp and Gale’s mouth came to her ear, nibbling. He looked up over the rim over his glasses towards Astarion.

“Hungry, Astarion?” He asked.

“Always, my love.” The vampire’s voice was predatory, a growl hidden beneath the words.

Tav knew what was coming next. Astarion’s head dipping low to her neck, lips pressing onto her and trailing the delicate skin that covered the pulse beneath. His tongue dragged along a vein, slow and teasing. A shudder ran through her and she felt him grin against her before the points of teeth found their mark.

He sank in, latching on and taking in her life’s essence. Tav’s eyes closed and her body crested backwards to rest against Gale, arm lifting and winding around the wizard’s neck. Astarion climbed over her, his own hand gripping at her waist.

The feeling was overwhelming. Every nerve was buzzing with the numbing sensation beginning to flow through her body that was mixed with euphoria clouding her mind, teetering on the edge of life and death.

Astarion pulled away when she was in a proper haze, flicking his tongue against the pinprick wounds.

“Delicious,” he drawled.

Tav reached forward, dragging her thumb through the blood at the corner of his lips.

“Can I taste you?”

“Oh, my dear, who would I be to deny you such a pleasure?” Astarion scooted back onto the edge of the bed, opening the front of the robe to reveal he was already naked. His length stiff and glistening at the tip. “Gale, I’m still feeling a bit parched and that lovely neck of yours is exposed so nicely tonight.”

“I thought you may notice that,” Gale said with a smirk, climbing further onto the bed. He unbuttoned his shirt, letting it slide down his shoulders. It was pulled from where it was tucked into his trousers and tossed aside, landing on the lamp and darkening the room slightly. The lights of the city shone through the glass even more, illuminating the room in a warm glow.

Tav watches as Gale rest across Astarion’s chest. His head was cradled in pale hands, properly served up for a vampire’s late night snack, and Astarion peppered his jawline with featherlight kisses before sinking his teeth into tanned flesh. Gale winced and then let out a soft moan.

Tav took this as her opportunity to slink to the floor, on her knees and dress splayed out around her. She reached forward and took Astarion’s cock into her hand. She stroked slowly, thumb gliding over the tip and crimson eyes watched her. Her thumb came to her mouth and she let it slide in, sucking. The vampire groaned from where he still fed, growing harder right before her.

Tav only teased him more. Her tongue gliding up the shaft and back down, on the underside of his balls, swirling around the tip. She could probably get him to come just like that as long as he fed, but she knew it couldn’t last forever. Deciding to put him out of his misery, she licked her lips and took him into her mouth.

Gale was released then, pawing lazily at Astarion’s chest while the vampire resisted bucking his hips.

One of Tav’s hands snaked up a silken thigh and came to cup Astarion’s balls. At this point, the wizard became more aware. He slowly sat up and turned, undressing Astarion completely. Gale bent down, head nearing the other man’s chest, and Tav gagged as the leaking cock in her mouth hit the back of her throat.

She pulled away for a moment, wanting to see what had cause such a reaction. Gale’s lips were around Astarion’s nipple, tongue dancing against the stiff bud and drifting over to the other.

“Darling,” Astarion said on a gasp, “Where have those pretty lips gone?”

Tav pushed to her feet, eyeing the men as she crossed to the front of the bed. She crooked a finger towards Gale, who had paused his ministrations to watch her along with Astarion.

“Well, you’ve tasted us and Gale and I have tasted you. It’s only fair that Gale and I taste each other, isn’t it?” Her head tilted in question.

“A solid argument,” Gale added, already moving to stand behind Tav. His fingers grasped the clasp at her collar and unhooked it. The material fell, revealing her breasts and hugged at her hips. She could feel Gale’s mouth press gently against her spine, hands wrapped around her waist.

Astarion shifted, legs coming onto the bed and moving backwards towards the headboard. He grasped his length, pumping with one hand while the other came behind his head.

“I suppose I could allow it,” he teased. “Seeing you two fall apart in each other’s arms is quite the show.”

“I could ri-…Mmph.” Tav began to speak, but couldn’t when a fingers were on one of her breasts and tweaking at a nipple. Gale removed his hand and pushed the dress just enough to let it give and slip to the floor in a champagne puddle. He gave a soft swat to her bottom.

“Up on the bed with you,” he ordered.

Tav stepped out of the dress, sleek heels still on her feet, and climbed onto the bed. She rested on her hands and knees facing Astarion, hovering just over his shaft as he continued to stroke himself.

She felt the dip of Gale behind her and then hands tugging at the silk panties she wore, shimmying them over her ass and down her legs until she was able to kick them off. They were flung aside and she heard an “oops” followed by Astarion sighing.

“What was that?” Tav asked.

“Never you mind, my sweet,” Astarion told her, fingers coming to her chin. “Only worry about what’s about to happen next.”

A second later, the flat of a tongue licked a stripe against her damp center from behind. Her back sunk low as her ass tilted upwards. A wanton moan escaped her when her heavy breasts brushed against Astarion’s length as Gale devoured her like a man starved.

Gale paused, but only to insert a finger into her and then two. They hooked inside of her, hitting at her arousal over and over.

“Let me hear you, my love,” Gale said, other hand gripping onto her tight and kneading into the flesh. “I want to hear you cry out when you finish on my tongue.”

Tav could feel the pull of her orgasm, cunt tightening around Gale’s fingers and then his tongue as it plunged into her while he rested below. She rocked onto his face, desperate and needy. Her jaw was agape and eyes squeezed shut. Astarion’s hand cupped her cheek as she neared the edge.

Then she was crying out as her orgasm took her, the thought of the room next to them hearing her calling out Gale’s name sending a thrill though her.

She wanted to collapse, arms wobbling from euphoria and adrenaline but the hand that cupped her jaw made its way into her hair, tangling and tugging gently, not enough to hurt but enough to make her look up under heavy lids.

Astarion released himself and gave a finger wag, tutting at her.

“Ah, ah, darling,” he said, red eyes falling on Gale as he was next to speak.

“When has one ever been enough, my love?” He asked, hand soothing along her spine.

Tav grinned through breaths. She could never tell them no, especially when they were so wanting and willing. Slowly, she shifted her hands to Astarion’s thighs, sliding them along his skin. She heard a small gasp, one he tried to hide but was unable as he shuddered. With a flip of her hair to one side, she lowered and let her mouth wrap around the vampire’s throbbing cock. She gave a small wiggle of her ass that was now perched further in the air, opening her legs wider to Gale.

The undoing of a belt, unzipping of trousers, and then fingers, toying with her shoes until they dragged along her slick. She paused her tongue, a moan vibrating around Astarion who made a noise equal in measure.

Then Gale was guiding his length into her. He teased with the head, rubbing it against her folds. He knew that drove her mad and he continued it until she pulled her mouth away from Astarion with a pop.

“Please, Gale. Just fuck me already,” she begged, sounding whinier than she liked.

“Yes, please, Gale. Fuck her already,” Astarion mocked.

Another drag of the wizard’s cock. “Do we need another lesson in patience?” Gale questioned.

“Assholes,” Tav said just as Gale entered her.

“You love us,” They said in unison.

She did.

Gale set his pace, slow thrusts at first as she worked Astarion. Her hand was slick with spit as she pumped up and down. Her lips were tightly wrapped and her head bobbed in time as she was fucked from behind. Astarion’s hand gripped tighter at her hair and the other grasped the headboard, nails digging into and scratching down as his vampiric strength kicked in. Tav thought she even heard a crack of wood.

Gale began to move faster. His hips snapped against her and all she could do was swallow Astarion more to muffle the moans that wanted to echo throughout the room.

Astarion bucked up, breaths ragged. He released her har and fisted the sheets with a white knuckle grip.

“Tav…Oh, Tav…Just like that…Ah, I’m go-”

Hot spurts of salty liquid shot onto Tav’s tongue and the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, taking him in to the hilt one last time before letting him go. He fell back against the headboard with his hands behind his head, a satisfied grin as he watched the show being put on before him.

Gale pushed onto Tav’s spine, her heading falling to the rumpled down comforter, arms pressed forward. Her cunt was slammed into, so quickly she could hardly think about rocking back.

Another orgasm drew closer and closer until it ripped through her. Her soaking center clenched as the wizard gripped into her flesh and brought her hips back against him. She groaned into the bed over and over as the stimulation continued until Gale’s thrusts grew erratic.

“Tav…love…” He grunted before he succumbed to his own orgasm, filling her as he let out a groan of his own. “That’s my girl…so lovely,” he continued, grinding against her until he came to a stop.

Tav didn’t wait for Gale to pull out. Instead, she rose to shaking arms, kicked off her heels and crawled forward, falling onto Astarion’s chest. His arms came around her as he laughed.

Gale disappeared for a moment, returning with a towel. He carefully spread her legs, cleaning her, and then wiped himself off before crawling into bed with them, sitting up and an arm wrapping around Astarion. He placed a kiss to the vampire’s temple.

“I think we held back this time. Don’t you, dear?” Astarion asked.

Gale made a sound that said he wasn’t quite in agreement. “Better than the time in the kitchen.”

Tav sighed and lifted herself up. She glanced around the room. Clothes were strewn about - a shirt on the lamp, panties lying beside a spilled glass of wine, trousers on the television. The bedding had tears in it from her heels digging into it. The headboard - which she had been correct about the noise - had a crack running down it and claw marks. Hopefully, they could pay some sort of fee to replace and clean everything.

“So? Have did you enjoy being strangers once again?” Gale questioned, fingers carding through Tav’s hair.

She gave a hum with a shrug. “I think I prefer knowing both of you. Minthara was extremely entertained by it all. No doubt she’ll have questions tomorrow.”

No one at Tav’s company knew of her relationship, not because she was ashamed, but she spoke with so few people and any time she talked to Minthara, it was work gossip. She was already mentally preparing herself for a barrage of questions.

“You can dine on lukewarm hotel breakfast while you relay it all to her,” Astarion said. His arms tightened around her. “For now, you can rest.”

Tav let her eyes fall closed and she drifted into a deep slumber in minutes.

Tav was wearing leggings, a sweatshirt, and sneakers as she opened the hotel room door, a far cry from the fashion forward dress she had worn the previous night. She had tried texting Minthara to ask about breakfast when she woke but received no answer in return. Then, as she hauled her bag onto the hallway floor, she heard her name.

Tav looked to the left to see the drow, heels in hand, as she walked down the hall. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and her eyeliner was a bit smudged.

“Rough night?” Tav didn’t want to pry, but the woman was a mess.

“Too many drinks at the hotel bar and the worst drunk fuck I think I’ll ever have.” She curled her lip, but gave a wave of her discarded shoes. Then, she looked up and gave a tired eyebrow raise. “I see you made it to the infamous room three hundred two. Was it a mix up or did you have to kick on of them out?”

“Well, I-”

Astarion came out of the door Tav was still holding, pressing a chest kiss to her hair before popping on his sunglasses and pushing them into his hair.

“I’m going to grab you a breakfast sandwich at the shop across the street before we go to the car. Meet you down there, darling?”

Tav nodded with a soft smile and fixed one of his curls. She turned once he was gone to a smirking Minthara.

“Of course you chose that one. I knew you had a type,” she said. “Did you see the other guy at all? He’s probably off crying somewhere after being denied.

“Okay, so, the thing is-”

It was Gale’s turn to interrupt, leaving the room and pecking Tav’s cheek. He gave a wave to Minthara. “Oh, lovely to see you again!” He turned to Tav. “I’ll take your bag. Astarion’s off to get breakfast.”

“I know. Thank you, sweetheart,” Tav replied, straightening his crooked glasses and running a hand along his beard.

When he turned the corner of the hallway, her arm was grabbed and she was spun to face a wide eyed Minthara.

“Both? Explain,” she ordered.

Tav chuckled, patting her coworker’s hand.

“Like I was trying to say, they’re my partners. I brought them along as my plus one last night…or plus two, I should say.” Another laugh. “We were pretending to not know each other for the night. Spice things up.”

Minthara’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve been leading an exciting life under my nose this entire time? An elf and a human,” she mused. “What’s it like?”

Tav hooked her arm through the drow’s, beginning to walk down the hall.

“Walk with me and I’ll tell you all about it.”

#the mess #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #gale dekarios #bloodweave x tav #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #baker writes #smut #tav x gale x astarion

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remdreamed · 2 months ago

Text

Into the Heart of Hellfire

pairing: huang renjun x liu yangyang

genre: bl, fantasy, adventure

word count: 17.8k

summary: Renjun, a librarian with a talent for sorting chaos into neat rows, was hardly prepared for a pirate raid on his library—but when they came looking for a map to a legendary fire pit, he figured it was a good opportunity to swap his dusty books for something a little more thrilling, and maybe a bit more dashing.

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Renjun woke to the soft, golden light filtering through the high arched windows of the Aeon Tower. The morning sun, gentle in the Kingdom of Arrendyll's perpetual spring, cast a warm glow over the entire library. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the familiar stir of excitement that came with another day surrounded by the world of books. At 21, Renjun had spent most of his life within these towering stone walls, but the enchantment of the Aeon Tower never faded for him.

He dressed quickly in the simple robes of a librarian—a practical blend of soft gray and earthy green, colors that blended seamlessly with the lush surroundings. The kingdom's serene, spring-like beauty seeped into the design of the tower itself: every wall was adorned with creeping vines and flowers that bloomed all year long, and the floors were made of polished stone, worn down by centuries of footfalls. The air was always fresh, carrying the fragrance of blooming roses, jasmine, and lavender, thanks to the constant infusion of life from the kingdom’s powerful affinity with plants.

As Renjun made his way to the library’s main floor, the space unfolded in front of him like a dream. The Aeon Tower was unlike any other library in Erithrea—its tall, spiraling spires rose above him, catching the light and reflecting the colors of the endless spring sky outside. Each floor was stacked high with towering shelves, each brimming with manuscripts, scrolls, and books—old and new, chronicling the history of Erithea and beyond. The architecture was elegant but pragmatic, built to endure the ages. Golden chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, their crystals sparkling in the sunlight, casting a soft glow on the dusty air, adding a serene warmth to the atmosphere.

Renjun made his way to the main hall, which stretched into an open atrium, where the sound of water cascading from a marble fountain echoed through the space. Surrounding the fountain were lush indoor gardens—small trees, ivy, and flowering plants that seemed to pulse with life, thriving in the perpetual spring climate of Arrendyll. The smell of flowers always lingered in the air, and the gentle hum of nature made the library feel alive.

His first stop was the large reading room. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, filling the room with a soft, golden hue. The room was filled with tables and chairs, some occupied by scholars from all corners of Erithea, others by travelers seeking knowledge. The high shelves were stacked with books of every imaginable kind—texts on magic, history, poetry, and even more obscure subjects. A massive, intricate map of the kingdoms of Erithea covered one wall, with small pins marking notable locations. Renjun smiled quietly to himself as he made his way past the reading tables, greeting familiar faces. Giselle, his close friend and fellow librarian, was already stationed at the front desk, flipping through a dusty tome. "Good morning," Renjun greeted, his voice warm.

Giselle, as always, returned the smile. "Morning, Renjun. Looks like another busy day ahead."

Renjun nodded, his mind already organizing the tasks before him. The Aeon Tower was a place of constant activity. While it was a sanctuary of knowledge, it was also a center for researchers, students, and scholars from across Erithea. His responsibilities ranged from assisting visitors in finding books to maintaining the catalog and occasionally sorting through new acquisitions. Today, he had a large batch of manuscripts to organize—ancient texts sent from the Kingdom of Carran that would require extra care due to their age.

But first, Renjun made a quick round of the library, greeting the other librarians and checking in with the visitors. The smell of parchment and ink was always comforting to him, reminding him of how vast and unexplored the world was—an endless expanse of knowledge to be discovered. Occasionally, Renjun would pause to glance at the grand windows, where outside, the endless spring landscape stretched as far as the eye could see—lush forests, sparkling rivers, and fields of vibrant flowers.

As midday approached, Renjun found himself in the garden courtyard. It was a quiet space, nestled between the great stone walls of the library. Here, among the green ivy-covered pillars and the chirping of birds, Renjun often took his lunch break. He sat beneath the shade of a willow tree, eating a small meal from the nearby market, his mind drifting as he watched the butterflies flutter by. His thoughts often wandered to the one thing he wanted more than anything else: to leave this library behind, to see the world, to capture the beauty of Erithea in paintings.

He would return to the workday afterward, consulting with scholars, directing them to rare books, or assisting with cataloging the endless flow of texts that arrived daily. Renjun took pride in his work, but a part of him always longed for something more. The library’s tranquility was soothing, but it could also feel stifling at times. He longed to see the kingdoms—Arrendyll was beautiful, but he had read about the fiery landscapes of Carran, the snowy peaks of Frostford, the vibrant seas of Emeria, and the ancient mysteries of Darkwell.

As the day wound down, Renjun made his final rounds of the library, ensuring everything was in order. The sun had set, and the glow of lanterns filled the towering shelves with a soft, golden light. The library became quieter as visitors left for the day, the halls echoing with silence. Renjun locked the doors to the reading rooms and gathered his things, preparing to head back to his small quarters inside the tower.

That night, as he sat at his desk, looking over a painting he had started some time ago, he felt the familiar tug of desire—a longing to be more than just a librarian. He wanted to travel, to see the world, and to turn those dreams into something real, something he could share with others. But, for now, that dream was still far away, and the quiet solace of the Aeon Tower was the only home he had ever known.

Renjun sat at his desk, a brush in hand, staring at the blank canvas in front of him. The air in his small quarters was thick with the smell of ink and paint. His quarters were modest— small, with the bare essentials for living and working. But his true world existed in the paintings he created, the way the brushstrokes could bring his imagination to life.

Today, his mind wandered to the kingdoms of Erithea—kingdoms he had only read about, only dreamed of visiting. He had often fantasized about what each kingdom might look like, the colors, the atmosphere, the feeling of the place. He had never set foot outside of Arrendyll, never ventured beyond the towering gates of the Aeon Tower, but his mind had traveled to those distant lands countless times.

He dipped his brush into the deep blue paint, the color reminding him of the endless skies that stretched above Arrendyll. He was about to begin with Carran, the land of eternal autumn. He imagined the kingdom as a vast, sprawling landscape of golden and amber leaves, falling gently from tall trees that stretched their gnarled branches toward the heavens. The ground was soft and rich with the scent of wood and earth. The air was cool, the crisp scent of autumn mixing with the smoke of the blacksmith’s forges, where the people of Carran honed their craft.

Renjun imagined the people there—tall, with rich chestnut and auburn hair, their faces weathered but strong from the harsh seasons they had endured. The kingdom’s great forges burned hot, and the clang of hammer on metal was ever-present. He painted the distant mountains, their peaks hidden beneath a shroud of mist, as if the land itself was shrouded in mystery. But in the foreground, he painted a warm, welcoming scene: children playing among the amber trees, and the soft glow of a distant forge against the cool light of the setting sun. It was a place of strength and beauty, a place where the fall colors filled the heart with nostalgia.

Next, Renjun’s thoughts drifted to the Kingdom of Emeria, the land of eternal summer. His brush stroked with warmer colors—vibrant yellows, creams, and the pinks. He imagined the kingdom as a place bathed in sunlight, with the ever-present hum of the waves crashing against the shore. He painted the bustling port market, where merchants and fishermen alike plied their trade beneath the sun-drenched sky. The golden sands stretched out before him, sparkling under the sun’s relentless gaze.

Emeria, he thought, must be a land of vitality. He painted the sea with a deep, brilliant blue, its waves gleaming like sapphire under the sunlight. The people were bronzed from the sun, their skin glistening as they worked the markets, tended to their ships, and fished. He imagined the rooftops of their houses, simple and graceful, built to withstand the salt and wind, to the castle described to be made of pearls and corals. The air was filled with the scent of saltwater, of fish and spices, and the sound of laughter as the people gathered by the docks, telling stories of their seafaring adventures. Renjun painted a warm, welcoming scene with families gathered around tables of food, the golden glow of lanterns hanging in the evening light. It was a kingdom that buzzed with life, its people never in a hurry, always embracing the eternal warmth of their land.

Frostford came next. Renjun paused as he thought about the stark contrast between Emeria and the land of eternal winter. The painting before him transformed into a landscape of sharp, white ice, gleaming under the pale light of the sun. The kingdom of Frostford, he imagined, was a place of harsh beauty, a land where the snow never ceased to fall, where the very air seemed to shimmer with cold. He painted towering cliffs of white, jagged and unforgiving,

their surfaces scarred by centuries of wind and snow. The people, he imagined, wore thick furs, their pale skin almost glowing against the backdrop of snow and ice.

He painted the great castles, their walls heavy with the weight of time, built from the very ice and stone that surrounded them. In the distance, he painted the great spires of Frostford’s capital, where ice and snow melted into rivers that ran through the kingdom. The kingdom was still, cold, yet somehow full of life. He imagined the people born in the coldest of winters, thriving in their own temperatures. The feeling of solitude hung in the air, yet there was an undeniable strength in the stillness of it all.

Next, his brush moved to Darkwell, the land of night, where only shadows reigned. Renjun hesitated, unsure of how to capture a kingdom that seemed more like a whisper than a place. Darkwell, he thought, was not a kingdom of light but of secrets, a land shrouded in darkness and mystery. His canvas became an inky black, and he began to paint the towering spires of the city—tall, jagged structures that loomed over the streets, casting long shadows. The city was a labyrinth, full of hidden alleys and twisting roads, each leading deeper into the mystery of the kingdom.

He painted how he imagined the people—pale-skinned, their eyes hollow, as if they had not seen the sun in centuries. The people moved like shadows themselves, blending into the night. It was a kingdom full of secrets, where even the whispers could kill. Renjun imagined the atmosphere heavy, oppressive with the weight of the unknown. And yet, there was a beauty in that darkness. He painted it not as a place of fear but of quiet power, where the unknown held sway, and those who lived there were its silent rulers.

Renjun came to the Kingdom of Arrendyll, his home, the land of eternal spring. The last brushstrokes were easy, as his surroundings had inspired him from the start. He painted the gardens—the vibrant flowers in every hue, the rivers that ran clear and cool through the fields. The architecture was graceful, elegant, with arches and columns that seemed to flow with the land. He painted the great tower that housed the library, where he spent so much of his time—a place of solace, but also of longing. It was here that he had spent his days, reading, dreaming, imagining.

Renjun sighed softly, a sense of peace filling him. He had painted what he had imagined, what he had longed to experience. His dreams were on this canvas, and as he gazed at it, he felt that maybe, one day, they would be more than just a dream.

Renjun's brush hovered above the canvas as his thoughts turned to the Kingdom of Linesse. He had always been fascinated by the idea of light. In Arrendyll, the soft golden rays of the eternal spring bathed everything in warmth, but Linesse was a kingdom entirely governed by light—pure, radiant, and unyielding. It was a place that felt almost otherworldly, a land where the sun's glow never faltered, and its inhabitants seemed to bask in an eternal dawn.

As Renjun painted, his mind wandered to the royal family of Linesse, known for their ability to control light. He could picture them walking through the gardens at dawn, their long, flowing robes glowing softly as the sun’s first rays kissed the kingdom awake. He imagined the royal palace, perched high on a hill, its towers reflecting the brilliance of the sun. The entire kingdom, he thought, was built to reflect the divine nature of light—pure and healing, but also intensely powerful.

Renjun imagined the seraphs, the winged beings of Linesse, soaring through the skies. He painted them as creatures of radiant light, their wings trailing behind them like rays of the sun. They were protectors, guardians of the kingdom, flying high above the land, their every movement leaving trails of light in their wake. Their grace was unmatched, their power a reflection of the kingdom’s beauty and strength.

Renjun sighed, setting his brush down gently. He had painted the kingdoms as he imagined them, and with each stroke, he felt more connected to the world outside the walls of the Aeon Tower. His dream of seeing the world, of feeling the warmth of these distant lands, seemed just a little bit closer. He allowed himself a small smile, knowing that while he had not yet traveled to these kingdoms, he had brought them to life, in his own way, through his art. And perhaps one day, he would see them with his own eyes.

Renjun's heart skipped a beat as the unmistakable sound of metal clanging echoed through the halls of the Aeon Tower. It came from one of the back chambers, a part of the library that was rarely visited. The only ones allowed there were the high-ranking librarians and researchers, and none of them would be working so late into the night.

He hesitated for a moment, his hand frozen mid-air as he wiped the brush he had been using for his latest painting. His mind raced—was it a thief? He had heard rumors of people attempting to steal rare books from the library, but he never thought it would happen under his watch. His heart pounded in his chest, and a knot formed in his stomach. It was well past midnight, and the library was quiet except for the soft hum of distant winds outside.

Renjun set the brush down gently and moved cautiously toward the sound. His steps were measured, careful not to make any noise. He had worked here for years, but the corridors of the library were labyrinthine, and the back chambers were shrouded in shadows, unfamiliar even to him. As he made his way down the long corridor, he could feel the weight of the silence around him, pressing against his skin, heightening his sense of alertness.

The clanging grew louder, the sound of metal against stone echoing off the ancient walls. He swallowed, his throat dry. He wasn't sure what kind of thief would make so much noise, but one thing was certain—this wasn’t the work of a subtle intruder. This was someone desperate, careless, or maybe even bold enough to think no one would notice.

Renjun reached the door of the back chamber and paused, pressing his ear against the cold wood. There was no more clanging, only the faint sound of breathing. His eyes darted around, searching for any indication of what was happening inside. Was the thief waiting, or had they heard him?

He quickly drew a breath, steeling himself, and gently turned the handle. The door creaked open, and he slipped inside, the dim light from the hallway casting long shadows across the stone floor.

The room was filled with shelves upon shelves of ancient books, scrolls, and artifacts, all stored in the deepest part of the library. The air smelled of old parchment and dust, the scent familiar to Renjun. But now, in the dead of night, it felt oppressive, as if the very air was holding its breath.

He grabbed a staff that leaned against the wall, its polished wood familiar in his hands. It wasn’t meant for combat, but it was sturdy enough to defend himself. With a steadying breath, Renjun crept through the towering aisles of bookshelves, his footsteps muffled by the plush rugs that covered the stone floors. The sound of rustling grew louder as he approached the back, where the maps and historical records were kept.

When he rounded the corner, Renjun froze. A young man was standing at one of the tall wooden tables, rifling through stacks of old maps and manuscripts with a look of determination on his face. He was tall, with shaggy brown hair, and wore clothes that seemed a little too worn for someone who should be in a place like this. Renjun’s eyes narrowed. The man was a stranger, his presence here utterly forbidden.

"Hey!" Renjun called, his voice sharp with authority. "What are you doing here?"

The man froze, his back stiffening. He slowly turned to face Renjun, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Just borrowing some… interesting materials," the man replied smoothly, raising a large book to shield himself as he backed away toward the nearest exit.

Renjun's grip tightened on his staff, fury bubbling in his chest. "You can’t just take these!" he yelled. "These are part of Erithea’s history! I won’t let you—"

Before he could finish, the stranger lunged forward, knocking over a stack of books with a sharp clatter. He had surprisingly quick reflexes, dodging the swing of Renjun’s staff with a nimbleness that took him by surprise. Renjun swiped again, aiming to knock the thief off balance, but the man blocked his blows with the large book, its leather cover creaking under the pressure.

The sound of their struggle echoed through the library, but Renjun was determined not to let this intruder escape. With a quick movement, he twisted the staff and aimed for the man’s legs. The stranger grinned, sidestepping just in time, but stumbled slightly—enough for Renjun to press his advantage.

"I told you, you can’t have these!" Renjun shouted, swinging the staff at the man’s head, but again, the large book came up to block the blow.

The man wasn’t one to be so easily dissuaded. He grunted, his eyes narrowing with annoyance. "You don’t know what you’re protecting," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. "You don’t understand."

Renjun’s brow furrowed. "What do you mean? What are you after?"

But before the stranger could answer, the air in the room shifted. The sound of footsteps— many footsteps—approached, and Renjun’s heart sank. He had no time to question the man further. The people were coming.

A door at the far end of the library burst open with a heavy thud. A group of rowdy figures, their faces obscured by bandanas and hoods, flooded into the room. The thieves had raided the library.

"We’re looking for something specific," the man said, his voice cool and confident. "A map. We know you have it. The one to the Hellfire Pool."

Renjun’s mind raced as he took a step back, eyeing the growing group of pirates. They didn’t just want any book—they were after something dangerous, something hidden in the library’s deepest vaults. The Hellfire Pool… Renjun had heard whispers of it. A legendary, forbidden location said to be hidden deep within the kingdom of Carran, but no one knew exactly where it was. He knew the library housed many secrets, but he never imagined that one of them could be so coveted.

"I won’t let you take it," Renjun said, his voice filled with determination, despite the odds stacked against him. "You can’t have it."

A man with a wide brim hat, supposedly the leader laughed, his gaze cold and calculating. "You don’t have a choice. You’re in our way. Get him."

With a sudden movement, the thieves charged, and Renjun swung his staff with all the force he could muster. But there four of them. He was only one person, and they were well- prepared for a fight. The large book-wielding man from earlier darted around him, his movements fast and fluid, while the other pirates closed in from all sides.

Renjun held his ground, using the staff to block blows, but the thieves were relentless. His mind raced—he had to stop them, but how? He wasn’t a fighter, just a librarian. His thoughts flashed to the books scattered on the floor, the precious manuscripts, all at risk of being destroyed or stolen.

Suddenly, the leader spoke again, his voice low and dangerous. "We have no time to waste with you. Give us the map, and we’ll leave quietly."

But Renjun didn’t trust them. He knew that if he handed over anything, the pirates would only destroy the library afterward. The library was sacred to him—its knowledge was a lifeline to Erithea’s past, present, and future. He couldn’t let it fall into the wrong hands.

With no other options left, Renjun bolted. His feet carried him faster than he thought possible, heading straight for the back of the library where he knew there was an old hidden passage, one that led down to the lower vaults. If he could get there first, he might be able to lock the pirates out.

The thieves chased after him, but Renjun reached the passage just in time, slipping inside and slamming the heavy stone door behind him. The sound of fists pounding against the door was faint, but it was enough to remind him of the danger that loomed outside.

His heart was racing, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He didn’t know where the Hellfire Pool map was, but he couldn’t let these thieves have it. The library and its secrets were at risk, and Renjun knew that whatever lay beyond the bookshelves, whatever they were searching for, was something far more dangerous than they could possibly understand.

“Please, open the door!” a voice called out, muffled yet firm. “We’re not here to harm anyone. We just need the map!”

Renjun froze. He pressed his ear closer to the door, his mind racing.

“I know you’re in there!” the voice continued, more urgent now. “We don’t have time for this! Open up!”

Renjun swallowed hard, his knuckles white as he gripped the staff. He could feel the tension in the voice, but he couldn’t afford to trust it. He needed more time to think.

“I’m Yangyang,” the voice finally said, calmer now but still tense. “From the pirate crew of The Crescent Tide. We need the map to the Hellfire Pool to save our home. That’s all we want. Please, just—talk to me.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge. Renjun’s mind was spinning. Pirates? His instincts screamed at him to stay silent, to wait them out, but curiosity—and a nagging sense of something more—kept him rooted.

“How do I know you won’t destroy the place the moment I open this door?” Renjun called out, his voice firmer than he felt.

There was a brief pause. Then, “You don’t. But if you don’t open the door, we’ll break it down. I’d rather not do that. This place—it’s incredible. It’s sacred, I can see that. I just… I just need your help.”

The sincerity in Yangyang’s tone took Renjun by surprise, but he couldn’t ignore the threat.

He knew the library’s history, its weight as a keeper of knowledge, but he also knew he couldn’t let anyone—pirate or not—wreak havoc within its walls.

“What do you want the map for?” Renjun demanded, still behind the door.

“To save our home,” Yangyang replied, and there was a note of raw emotion in his voice

now. “The blood witches… they’re coming. Our island will be the first to fall if we don’t stop them. We need the map to find the Hellfire Pool. Please, just let me explain.”

Renjun hesitated, conflicted. His curiosity burned, but he couldn’t ignore the danger that came with opening the door. Behind him, the towering shelves of books seemed to loom, as if silently urging him to protect their secrets.

“I’ll let you explain,” Renjun finally said, his voice trembling slightly, “but I’m not opening this door.”

Yangyang let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. Fine. But I’m running out of time, and you are too. Do you even know what’s coming for all of us?”

Renjun pressed closer to the door, his thoughts a whirlwind. He knew the stories of the blood witches, the destruction they left in their wake, but to hear someone talk about them with such urgency brought a chill to his core.

“Talk fast,” Renjun said, his voice sharp despite his racing heart. “What makes you think I’ll help you?”

“Because I have no other choice,” Yangyang said, and for the first time, his voice cracked, the weight of his desperation evident. “And neither do you.”

❀⋆.◌ೃ࿔*:·❀

Yangyang was leaning casually against a pillar, arms crossed, his eyes assessing Renjun. He had the look of someone who was always ready for a fight, a life lived on the edge. Renjun’s gaze flickered from Yangyang to the others, his breath coming in shallow, controlled bursts.

Renjun took a step forward, his voice firm but hesitant. “I want to go with you.”

The words echoed in the vast, empty hall. The pirates, who had been rummaging through maps and books for clues, froze. Yangyang raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. The leader of the pirates, Ten, was somewhere in the back, still busy organizing a stack of the books they had taken. Renjun could see the skepticism in the eyes of the others, their faces shadowed by years of hardship on the seas.

Yangyang glanced at him, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "You? A librarian? The one who spends his days flipping pages and organizing scrolls? You think you can handle the pirate life?”

Renjun straightened up, meeting Yangyang’s gaze with determination. "I don’t need to be a pirate. I just need to see the world. I’ve spent my whole life in the tower, surrounded by history, by things I’ll never experience. This—this is my chance. I want to see the seas, to see beyond the walls of the Aeon Tower.”

Yangyang let out a short, amused laugh but didn’t say anything. Renjun could tell that he wasn’t convinced. The other pirates didn’t even look up from their task, continuing to sort through the books. Renjun turned his attention to Ten, who was still organizing the items.

“I can help you,” Renjun added, his voice more urgent now. “I know the maps, I know the history. I can find things for you, guide you through all of this. This library... it has everything you need to fight the Blood Witches. I can be useful.”

Yangyang pushed off from the pillar, walking over to Ten, who had now turned to face them. The air was thick with the uncertainty of the moment. Renjun’s palms were sweaty, his heart racing. This wasn’t just about leaving the tower anymore. It was about something bigger—a chance to fight for something greater than himself.

“Ten,” Yangyang said, his voice low, but carrying an air of command. “This kid wants to come with us.”

Ten’s face remained unreadable, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Renjun. The pirate captain was a man of few words, his presence like a storm waiting to break. He finally spoke, his voice as deep and steady as the sea itself.

“A boy raised in a tower... you really think you can handle the life on the sea?” Ten’s eyes flickered to Renjun’s clean, neat clothes and his pale, unweathered skin. “The seas are dangerous, the storms are relentless. A sheltered life behind the walls of a library won’t

prepare you for what’s out there.”

Renjun swallowed hard, but he didn’t falter. This was his chance, and he wouldn’t let it slip away. “I know it’s dangerous. But that’s exactly why I need to go. I’m tired of hiding behind books. I want to see the world, to understand it, to experience it. I can’t keep living in the

tower, surrounded by history, without ever living it myself.” His voice trembled slightly, but he steadied it with a deep breath. “I’ve never even left Arrendyll. I’ve never seen the ocean, I’ve never been to the other kingdoms... but I want to. I want to see what’s beyond.”

Yangyang watched him closely, the smirk finally fading from his lips. The tension between them seemed to shift slightly, but he still wasn’t sure.

Ten regarded Renjun with a thoughtful, if wary, expression. His eyes shifted back to the other pirates, gauging their reactions. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke again.

“Alright, you can come. But you’ll have to prove you can survive. We’re not babysitting some naive kid from a tower. You’ll pull your weight, or you won’t last a day.”

Renjun’s heart skipped a beat. “I will,” he promised, determination filling his voice. Yangyang glanced back at Ten, who nodded. "Fine. But if you die, it’s not on me." Renjun smiled, a rush of excitement and relief flooding him. "Thank you."

As Ten walked away to finish organizing the books, Yangyang turned back to Renjun with a raised eyebrow. “This is your chance, huh? To get out of that tower for good?”

Renjun nodded, a new fire in his chest. "It is. But it’s more than that. I’m not just running away. I can help you find what you need, and in return... maybe I’ll find what I need too."

Yangyang gave a knowing grin. “Well, don’t expect it to be easy. The seas aren’t kind to people who don’t know their way around.”

Renjun’s grin was small but genuine. “I'll be fine.”

❀⋆.◌ೃ࿔*:·❀

The library was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of pages as Renjun sifted through the ancient books, his fingers tracing the delicate edges of faded pages. The pirates had settled around him, waiting patiently, though their impatience was evident in their shifting stances and the restless tapping of feet. The map they were searching for—one that would lead them to the Hellfire Pool—was critical to their mission. Renjun knew they needed it badly, but he also felt the weight of responsibility, knowing that it could lead them to something far more dangerous than they anticipated.

He had been scanning the shelves for hours, trying to find something relevant in the massive, endless collection of ancient texts. He had always loved the library, had always been captivated by the treasures hidden within its walls. But now, it felt different. Now, he was here for more than just curiosity—he was here for something that could change the course of their lives.

Finally, his eyes landed on a book unlike any he had ever seen before. It was old, ancient even, with a thick leather cover and gold engravings that shimmered faintly in the torchlight.

Renjun carefully pulled it off the shelf, dusting it off before placing it gently on the table before the pirates.

"This might be it," he murmured, as he carefully opened the cover, the smell of aged paper filling the air. His fingers trembled slightly as he turned the pages, scanning the text with precision. The map had to be in here somewhere, hidden among the myths and legends of ancient times.

As his eyes scanned the intricate, detailed illustrations, Renjun’s heart skipped a beat. There it was. A map of the Hellfire Pool, a place only whispered about in legends—hidden deep in the mountains between Carran and Emeria. The path was treacherous, veiled in magic and guarded by dangers no one had dared to face in centuries.

Renjun stood up, eyes wide, as the pirates gathered around him. Yangyang, Dejun, and Yuqi crowded in close, their eyes narrowing as they peered at the map. Ten stood in the back, silent but still exuding the quiet authority that Renjun had come to recognize.

“What does it say?” Yuqi asked, her voice low, almost reverent.

Renjun cleared his throat, leaning over the map. “It’s a rough outline of the Hellfire Pool, but… it’s not near the shores like we thought. It’s further inland. Right on the border between Carran and Emeria, deep in the forest. We won’t be able to sail there. The waters won’t take us near it.”

Dejun cursed under his breath. "That’s just great. We were hoping to avoid too much land travel."

Yangyang’s lips quirked, but there was no humor in his smile. "Land travel. That’s a pain, but we’ve managed worse." His eyes flicked back to the map. "But Carran’s the kingdom of eternal Autumn, right? The terrain’s gonna be tough."

Renjun nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. "It won’t be easy. But I think I have an idea."

He looked up from the map, meeting Ten’s eyes. "We’re already in Arrendyll. We could travel through this kingdom and cross into Carran on foot. We don’t have to sail at all. The kingdom is close to the border, and we can use the land routes to reach the Hellfire Pool. It’s a safer route than trying to take a ship and turn around the continent on the other side."

Ten studied the map, his expression unreadable. The others remained silent, waiting for his verdict. Renjun could feel the weight of their eyes on him, and he held his breath, hoping that his suggestion would be met with approval.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ten nodded once, decisively. “Alright. We’ll go by land. But you’re sure about this? It’s not going to be easy, especially with the Blood Witches potentially coming our way.”

Renjun glanced at the map, his fingers tracing the path he’d drawn. He nodded slowly. "I’m sure. It’s our best bet."

Yangyang stepped forward, crossing his arms. "If we’re going to walk, I’d rather we take a route with as few people as possible. Don’t want to run into any soldiers or wandering merchants. Carran’s a little too close to that cursed southern land."

Renjun understood his concerns. Carran and Emeria were often on edge because of their proximity to the Blood Witches. Any movement from their border would raise suspicion.

“We’ll stick to the hidden paths,” Renjun said. “I know a few that go through the forests and mountains. They’re old, forgotten trails, but they’ll get us there without attracting too much attention. We’ll avoid any major towns or military posts.”

Dejun grunted in agreement, though he still looked a bit reluctant. "A few hidden paths, huh? Sounds like it’ll be a pain."

Yuqi, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. "But it’s the best option we have. We don’t have time to waste."

Renjun nodded, feeling the weight of their agreement settle on his shoulders. "I’ll lead the way. We’ll make it, one step at a time."

Ten gave a curt nod. "Then it’s settled. Pack what you need. We leave at dawn."

As the pirates began to gather their things, Renjun stood there for a moment longer, looking down at the map. He could feel the pull of the adventure ahead, the weight of what was coming pressing against him. This wasn’t just a journey to the Hellfire Pool—it was a journey into the unknown, a journey that would change everything.

"The island lies hidden beneath the cloak of mist and superstition, a place where the sea itself seems to whisper of things best left forgotten. They say the Blood Witches once called it home, their dark magic seeping into the very bones of the earth. No man who has sailed near it has returned unscathed—if they return at all. But if you’re brave—or foolish—enough to seek it, know this: some secrets are buried for a reason. And some treasures are cursed to remain lost."

A Pirate's Tale of the Witch Isle

Renjun moved quickly, his fingers brushing over the familiar spines of books in his room, his mind already on the journey ahead. The grand library of Arrendyll had been his sanctuary, and even now, as he prepared to leave its comforting walls, there was a quiet sadness tugging at his heart. But this journey was one he had to take, and he would not go empty-handed.

He began packing his leather satchel, each item a memory, each one tied to a story. First, he pulled from the shelf a small, worn pouch, made of thick linen. Inside it was a vial of salt, crystal clear and delicate—one of the rarest commodities he had ever seen. He had come across it years ago, when a stranger from the southern shores of Emeria had passed through the library. The man had told Renjun of its uses, its power to ward off dark creatures, and

how it was harvested from the depths of the sea. “A powerful substance,” the man had said, “good for clearing away the poison of the world.”

Renjun had never needed to use it, but he had kept it in his room, tucked away for a day like this, when he might find himself in need of such a thing. Now, he tucked it carefully into his bag, knowing that it could prove to be invaluable.

Next, he picked up a small, folded parchment. It was yellowed with age and creased from where it had been tucked into a book for safekeeping. The handwriting on it was flowing and elegant, but what caught Renjun's eye was the strange, intricate symbol drawn at the bottom.

It was from a visitor who had passed through the library many years ago—a woman whose voice carried a quiet power. She had spoken little of herself, but Renjun had always been fascinated by her story. She had given him the parchment with the symbol, telling him only that it was a token of protection. She had smiled softly, a sad, knowing smile, and left without another word. Renjun wasn’t sure what the symbol meant, but he had kept it, folded safely, and it was now part of his pack.

Beside it, he placed a small glass vial filled with faintly glowing liquid—a silvery-blue hue. The vial had been a gift from a healer who had once stayed in the library for several weeks.

She was an expert in potions and remedies, and when Renjun had asked her about some of the more obscure elixirs she carried, she had given him the vial with a quiet warning. “This will heal the body, though it comes at a price,” she had said. “Use it only when all other options have failed.” Renjun didn’t fully understand her words, but he knew that the vial could prove crucial on this journey, especially if he found himself injured or in need of something that might restore his strength.

He lingered for a moment on the shelf where he kept his most cherished items—pieces of books and memories left behind by those who had passed through the library’s doors. His fingers brushed over the edge of an old map—one of the earliest editions of Arrendyll’s land. The map had been a gift from an old historian who had spent years cataloging the history of the land. Renjun had spent countless hours studying the map, learning the old roads, the rivers that had long since been forgotten, and the areas that were still uncharted. He rolled the map carefully, tucking it away in the bag next to the salt vial and the other items.

Then, he reached for a small, weathered notebook—a journal filled with sketches and notes from a wanderer who had once stayed in the library for a week. She had been a cartographer and had mapped out areas of the world no one had dared to explore. Renjun had been fascinated by the journal, poring over the pages, learning about strange places he’d never heard of before. She had left it behind for him, a gift, she had said, for someone who understood the importance of preserving knowledge. He wasn’t sure why it felt so important now, but he stuffed it into his bag anyway.

The last thing he packed was a simple wooden pendant, carved into the shape of a bird in flight. It had been a parting gift from an elderly traveler from the Kingdom of Emeria. The traveler had not spoken much during his time in the library, but he had left the pendant with Renjun when he left, telling him that it was a charm to ward off the darkness. “When you go on your journey,” he had said, “wear this close to your heart, and it will protect you.” Renjun had never taken it off, and now, he slipped it into the pouch of his satchel, close to his chest.

With a final glance around the room, Renjun closed his bag. It was heavier now, filled with tokens and gifts from people who had crossed his path—people who had left bits of themselves behind in the pages of the library. As he secured the strap across his shoulder, he took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. The journey ahead would be long, dangerous, and filled with uncertainty. But with these items, these small pieces of history and humanity, he would not be going alone.

❀⋆.◌ೃ࿔*:·❀

Renjun sat at the worn wooden desk in the back of the library, the faint scent of ink and parchment filling the air. His quill hovered over a fresh sheet of paper, a moment of hesitation tugging at his mind. He had never imagined leaving the Aeon Tower—had never imagined stepping outside of its towering walls to wander the lands beyond. But now, with his fate tied to the pirates’ cause and the distant promise of adventure, he knew there was no turning back.

He pressed the quill to the paper, his words flowing smoothly despite the knot in his stomach.

Giselle,

I hope this note finds you well. I wanted to let you know that I am safe and will be gone for a while. I am embarking on a journey with some... unusual companions. The world outside is far more vast than I ever imagined, and I intend to see it for myself. Please do not worry. I’ll write when I can. Keep the tower safe, and I’ll return when I can.

—Renjun

He folded the note carefully, sealing it with wax and leaving it on the desk. Giselle would understand. She would know he had to follow this path, even if it took him far away from the only place he had ever known.

By the time Renjun stepped out of the library’s grand doors the following morning, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm golden glow over the kingdom of Arrendyll. The air was crisp, the scent of fresh spring blooms mingling with the earthiness of the forest that lay just beyond the city’s borders. It felt strange, almost overwhelming, to be leaving the safety of the tower behind, but the path ahead was clear.

Ten and the others were already waiting for him at the edge of the forest, their bags packed and ready for the journey ahead. Renjun had given his final farewells to the familiar stone walls, but now, it was time to move forward. The pirates were surprisingly efficient, all business despite the early hour.

Yangyang, however, had lingered by Renjun, a casual air about him. As they walked together, their boots crunching against the leaves and underbrush, Renjun couldn’t help but notice the quiet tension in the air. Yangyang was a man of few words, but there was something about the silence between them that felt comfortable, even though they were walking into the unknown together.

“So,” Yangyang started, breaking the silence. His voice was low, almost playful. “Tell me, Renjun. What exactly made you want to leave your fancy tower and come with a bunch of pirates?”

Renjun chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not exactly sure. It just feels like... it’s time for something more. I’ve been surrounded by books my entire life. But there’s so much more out there. I want to see the world, experience it, not just read about it. There’s only so much a library can teach you, after all.”

Yangyang raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “And you think pirates are going to teach you that?” He smirked, his hands shoved into his coat pockets as they continued walking. “You know it’s not all fun and treasure hunting out here. We might be a rowdy bunch, but we’ve got our reasons for doing what we do.”

“I’m sure of that,” Renjun said, his voice thoughtful. “But I can’t help wondering… what about you? What made you become a pirate?”

Yangyang’s smile faded slightly, and his gaze drifted toward the trees ahead, where the forest grew denser. There was a pause before he spoke, as though weighing his words carefully. “I didn’t have much of a choice, honestly. Life on the seas isn’t exactly a dream for everyone.

But when you’re from a place like mine, sometimes the only option is to fight for survival. The seas were better than what I had at home.” He let out a small sigh, his expression hardening. “Now, it’s about protecting what we have left. Our island. The people I care about.”

Renjun nodded quietly, understanding the weight in Yangyang’s words. “That sounds like a burden,” he said softly. “You didn’t get to choose your path, but now you’re living it.”

“Exactly.” Yangyang glanced over at him, a small smile returning to his face. “Tell me more about you. What experience do you want to have?”

Renjun hesitated for a moment, considering the question. He had always felt content in the quiet confines of the Aeon Tower, but something had shifted in him over the years. “I suppose it’s the idea of living only half a life. Books are great, but they’re not enough. I want to learn by doing. I want to see the lands I’ve only read about, hear the stories I’ve only imagined. And… maybe find something for myself in the process. Live a life.”

Yangyang regarded him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing in thought. Then, with a soft chuckle, he gave Renjun a playful nudge. “Well, I guess that’s what makes you one of us now. A little crazy, but I think you’ll fit right in.”

Renjun smiled, feeling a warmth spread through him. Maybe Yangyang was right. Maybe the world was a little crazy, but it was also vast, full of things he had yet to understand. And for the first time in his life, Renjun felt the thrill of stepping into that unknown.

As they walked deeper into the forest, the air grew cooler, the rustling of the leaves above them almost a soothing melody. The path was uneven, the soft ground beneath their boots giving way to the occasional stone, but Renjun hardly noticed. His mind was still racing, turning over everything that had happened. His first steps away from the Aeon Tower, the pirates, the blood witches—it was all a whirlwind of uncertainty. Yet, in Yangyang’s company, it somehow felt less daunting.

“So, Yangyang,” Renjun began after a long silence, his voice tentative. “What’s it like, really? Living on the pirate island? What do you do there?”

Yangyang shifted his weight to his other foot and glanced sideways at Renjun, the corners of his mouth curling up. “It’s a lot more mundane than you think. Sure, there’s treasure hunting and sailing, but mostly it’s just… survival. Keeping things running. We have to make sure the ship’s in one piece, the crew stays healthy, and—” He smirked. “We get into the occasional brawl.”

Renjun chuckled, the image of Yangyang with a crew full of pirates fighting and laughing together easing some of the tension in his chest. “I can imagine you’re the one who starts most of those brawls.”

Yangyang let out a laugh, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Well, maybe. But I’m also good at making sure we finish them. There’s something about being a pirate that sharpens your instincts.” He paused, a more serious expression settling on his face as his gaze turned forward. “But it’s not all fun. There’s a reason we do what we do, you know?”

Renjun, who had been focusing on the path before them, glanced over at Yangyang. His tone was softer now, more introspective. “And what reason is that?”

Yangyang’s eyes flicked to Renjun, as if weighing whether to share this with someone he’d only just met. He spoke slowly, as though finding the right words. “We’re protecting what’s ours. Our island, our people. Pirates don’t have a kingdom to swear allegiance to, so we create our own. But that means we’ve got to fight for it. It’s not just about gold and treasure. It’s about survival and finding a place we can call home.”

Renjun nodded, understanding the weight behind his words. He’d always taken his own home for granted. The Aeon Tower was a sanctuary, a place of peace and knowledge. But Yangyang’s words made him realize that not everyone had such a luxury. For many, their “home” was a fragile thing, something that needed constant protection.

“That’s… I guess I never thought about it that way,” Renjun admitted. “I’ve always had the tower, always had a place to learn and grow. But I think I’ve been running away from something, too. Maybe I’ve been hiding in the tower because it’s safe.”

Yangyang glanced over at Renjun, his brow furrowed slightly. “Hiding? What do you mean?”

Renjun let out a soft sigh, his thoughts clearer now than before. “I’ve always dreamed of traveling, of seeing the kingdoms outside the tower. But there’s something about staying in

the safety of the library that feels comfortable, like I’m avoiding the world.” He glanced up at the trees, the morning sunlight filtering through the leaves. “I guess I never knew how much I was missing until now.”

Yangyang studied him for a moment, then gave him a small, understanding smile. “I get that.

It’s hard to step out of your comfort zone. But sometimes, you don’t realize what you’re capable of until you’re forced to face it.”

Renjun looked at him, intrigued by the sudden depth in his words. “And how do you know that?”

Yangyang shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a hint of something in his eyes—something not entirely carefree. “I’ve had my own fair share of moments where I didn’t know what I was doing. Where I was scared of what would happen next. But you adapt. You learn. The world’s big, and it’ll test you. But it’s also beautiful in its own way, if you know where to look.”

Renjun’s lips curved into a faint smile. “You make it sound so simple.”

Yangyang snorted. “It’s not. But what else can you do? Life doesn’t come with instructions, so you have to figure it out as you go. That’s what makes it worth it.” He gave Renjun a quick, knowing glance. “Besides, you’ve got me to show you the ropes. I’ll teach you how to survive out here.”

Renjun laughed, feeling a spark of excitement flicker within him. “I’m sure you will. But maybe you can also teach me how to properly navigate the seas—without falling off the ship.”

Yangyang grinned widely at that. “Now that’s something I’m definitely good at.” He slapped Renjun’s back, a playful glint in his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. You’ll be climbing the rigging like a pro in no time.”

The two of them continued walking, the sound of their footsteps mingling with the chorus of birds overhead. Renjun felt an unexpected sense of camaraderie with Yangyang, the pirate who had become his unlikely companion. The journey ahead was uncertain, but at least, for the first time, it didn’t feel so lonely.

As they walked, Renjun couldn’t help but glance over at Yangyang, curiosity bubbling inside him. He had so many questions about their journey, and the more he learned, the more intrigued he became.

“So,” Renjun started, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity. “Since we won’t be using your ship, what happens to it? Does it just stay there? You don’t plan on sailing it anywhere?”

Yangyang gave a small chuckle, looking at Renjun sideways as they walked. “Oh, the ship’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Yuqi went back to the crew. She’s telling them the plan, making sure everything’s in order before we head off on land. She’s the one who keeps everyone in line when we’re not sailing.”

Renjun nodded, imagining Yuqi taking charge of the remaining crew. His mind drifted to the pirates he had met so far. There was Ten, of course, their stoic captain, and Dejun, the quiet but reliable one. But there were others too—crew members Renjun hadn’t yet met but was eager to learn about.

“So, what are the others like?” Renjun asked, trying to keep the conversation light. “What’s the rest of your crew like?”

Yangyang glanced ahead at Ten and Dejun, who were walking just a little bit ahead of them. His lips curled into a grin as he thought about his crewmates. “Well, you already know Ten and Dejun, but let me tell you about the others.”

He scratched the back of his neck, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before he began. “First, there’s San—he’s the muscle of the crew, you know? The one you’d want on your side if things get ugly. Big guy, strong, and quick with his fists. He’s not exactly the talkative type, but he doesn’t need to be. Everyone knows when San’s around, things are under control.”

Renjun raised an eyebrow, picturing a massive, intimidating pirate who probably didn't need to say much to command respect. “Sounds like someone you don’t want to mess with.”

Yangyang smirked. “Yeah, definitely. But he’s got a heart of gold once you get past the tough exterior. Not that he lets anyone get close enough to really see that.”

“Sounds like a fascinating guy,” Renjun said, his tone thoughtful.

Yangyang continued, his eyes lighting up as he spoke. “Then there’s Sunwoo—he’s, uh, full of energy. Non-stop, always moving, always thinking of the next big thing. He’s got this wild enthusiasm about everything he does. Sometimes it drives the rest of us crazy, but honestly, he’s the kind of person you need to keep things interesting. He’s the one who keeps the morale up when the rest of us are getting down or tired.”

Renjun laughed, picturing someone like Sunwoo running around the ship, bouncing from one idea to the next. “He sounds like a whirlwind.”

“You don’t even know,” Yangyang said with a chuckle. “But honestly, without him, I think the ship would get pretty dull. He brings the spark to the crew, you know?”

Renjun smiled. He liked the sound of Sunwoo—someone who could keep the crew lively even when things got tough.

“And then there's Julie," Yangyang added, his tone shifting just a little. "She’s got a sharp

tongue and a way of speaking that can cut right through you if you’re not careful. But don’t let that fool you. She’s got a lot of wit and cunning, which is exactly why she's the perfect one to handle tricky situations. She might seem cold at first, but once you get to know her, you realize she’s fiercely loyal to the crew.”

Renjun raised an eyebrow. “Sharp tongue, huh? I bet you’ve had a few run-ins with her.”

Yangyang grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “A few, yeah. She doesn’t take kindly to me and my ‘loose cannon’ ways. But that’s part of the fun. We balance each other out, whether we like it or not.”

Renjun chuckled, picturing the dynamic among the pirates. It was easy to see how they made such an effective team. Even though they came from different backgrounds, their bond seemed unbreakable. Everyone had their role, their quirks, and together, they made it work.

“I guess that makes a good crew,” Renjun said, looking ahead at Ten and Dejun, who were still walking ahead. “Everyone having their strengths.”

Yangyang nodded, his smile turning softer. “Yeah, we’ve been through a lot together. It’s more than just a crew at this point. We’re a family.”

Renjun felt a warmth spread through him, an odd sense of belonging. He’d grown up with his books and his tower, surrounded by knowledge but not necessarily people. To hear Yangyang talk about his crew like that made Renjun realize how much he was missing—how much he could gain from being part of something bigger than himself.

“I think,” Renjun said, breaking the silence between them, “I might actually be starting to understand the pirate life. It sounds like it’s more about loyalty and purpose than just treasure and adventure.”

Yangyang gave him a knowing smile. “Exactly. The treasure’s nice, sure. But the real value’s in the people you’re with.”

Renjun’s thoughts drifted back to his own journey, to the people he was leaving behind in Arrendyll. He didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time, he felt like he was starting to make his own path, one step at a time. And maybe, just maybe, he was ready for whatever came next.

He glanced over at Yangyang, who was already looking ahead, lost in thought. “Thanks, Yangyang,” Renjun said quietly. “I think I needed this. To see a different side of things.”

Yangyang nodded, his usual mischievous grin back in place. “No problem, Renjun. Just make sure you keep up. The real adventure’s just starting.”

Renjun smiled to himself, a sense of anticipation bubbling in his chest. The road ahead was uncertain, but with new friends, new places to see, and new things to learn, it no longer felt so daunting.

The days blended into each other as Renjun, Yangyang, Ten, and Dejun made their way through the dense Elderwood forest of Arrendyll. The towering trees loomed overhead, their vibrant green leaves creating a canopy that shielded them from the sun during the day, but also cast eerie shadows across the path at night. Every evening, they set up camp by a small fire, the crackling sound of burning wood filling the air as they sat close together. Renjun often kept to himself, his thoughts drifting back to his tower and the books he left behind.

The forest was a stark contrast to the stone walls and shelves he had known all his life.

Yangyang, ever the talkative one, kept the mood light by recounting stories of their adventures on the seas, painting a picture of life aboard a pirate ship—far from the quiet, orderly existence Renjun had left behind. Renjun would smile politely, though his mind wandered. Sometimes, he caught himself staring into the darkened forest, wondering about the creatures lurking just out of sight, creatures that roamed the lands of Arrendyll when the sun set. He’d grown used to the calm and predictability of the tower, but the unpredictability of the forests kept him alert, eyes scanning every rustle in the trees or snap of a twig.

“You know,” Yangyang had remarked one night as they sat by the fire, “we’ve got to be careful around here. The creatures in these woods don’t mess around.”

Renjun had glanced up at him, a shiver running down his spine. “I figured. I’ve never heard about so many dangerous creatures in one place before.”

Yangyang chuckled, but there was an edge to his voice. “There’s a reason the people here call it ‘The Wild.’ It’s a pretty accurate name.”

Every night, Renjun would fall asleep with one ear open, waiting for the sounds of prowling beasts or the snapping of branches. His thoughts often wandered back to the stories he had read in the library—legends of creatures that roamed freely in the forests of Arrendyll, some dangerous, some just strange, like the winged stags and shadowed wolves that were said to disappear into the mists as quickly as they appeared. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was watching them, but every morning, they would pack up their camp, and the forest would seem peaceful again, though no less mysterious.

After several days of walking, they stopped by a small village nestled against the edge of the forest. The buildings were modest—simple wood-and-stone cottages with thatched roofs— but the air was fragrant with fresh bread, and the marketplace bustled with villagers trading their goods. It was the perfect place to resupply, small enough to avoid drawing too much attention, yet with enough to offer in terms of food and basic necessities. They had to be cautious, though, as the people of Arrendyll were known for their inquisitive nature, and with Renjun’s distinctive appearance, there was always the chance someone might recognize him from the towers.

“Alright,” Ten said, glancing at Renjun as they approached the market. “Stick to the shadows. Renjun, you’re up. You’re the one who blends in the best.”

Renjun nodded, a little taken aback by how comfortable he had become with this role. For the first time in his life, he was no longer behind a counter or standing in the safety of the library. Now, he was walking through a bustling market, not as a scholar, but as someone who was part of something much bigger—a group of pirates with a mission. He had never been outside the walls of the tower for this long, never had to rely on his own resourcefulness this much. It was thrilling, but also disorienting.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Yangyang asked, noticing the slight hesitation in Renjun’s steps.

Renjun offered a faint smile, brushing off the lingering doubt. “Yeah, I think I can manage. I’ve talked to enough sellers at the tower for years.”

Yangyang chuckled. “True. You’ve got the gift of speech, that’s for sure.”

The marketplace was a strange mix of aromas, sounds, and colors. The low murmur of voices filled the air, interrupted only by the occasional clink of metal or the squawk of a bird.

Renjun took a deep breath, letting the familiar sights of the village ground him as he made his way toward the stalls. He was used to dealing with the more scholarly types—librarians, academics, and those seeking knowledge. But these were different people, villagers going about their daily lives. It was strange to feel out of place, but also oddly exhilarating.

Renjun found a stall selling dried fruits and nuts and approached the woman tending it. She was a middle-aged woman, her face lined with age, but her smile was kind.

“Good day,” Renjun said with his usual polite tone. “We need to restock on some provisions for our journey. A little bit of everything would be ideal—dried fruits, bread, some salted meats if you have them.”

The woman nodded, clearly not too concerned about their identities. She had seen all kinds of travelers in her time. “I’ve got plenty, young man. You look like you’ve been walking a while.”

“We have,” Renjun replied with a small chuckle. “It’s been a long journey.”

Yangyang, standing just behind Renjun, looked around the market, his eyes scanning the people as Renjun did the talking. He was good at blending in, keeping a low profile while Renjun handled the transactions. It helped that Renjun looked the part—he was dressed in simple but elegant clothes, typical of someone from Arrendyll, and his soft brown hair and green eyes were common to the kingdom. No one suspected him of being anything other than an average young man on a long trip.

They purchased what they needed, Renjun doing most of the talking and bargaining as usual. His mind, however, was elsewhere. Every few moments, he would glance back toward the others, making sure the group was still together, still moving with purpose. He couldn’t help but wonder how much longer it would be before they reached their destination—and whether anything would happen between now and then that would change their plans. The pirates may have been used to their adventurous lifestyle, but Renjun knew better than anyone that the world outside the tower was full of unexpected surprises.

“Alright, I think we’re good,” Renjun said as he handed the woman the last of the coins. She gave him a warm smile, wishing them well on their journey.

As they turned to leave, Yangyang nudged Renjun playfully. “Not bad, Renjun. I’m starting to think you’ve got the pirate life down already.”

Renjun smirked, shaking his head. “I’m just getting started. But I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The night in Elderwood, the heart of Arrendyll’s vast, enchanted forest, was eerily quiet, the heavy air thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. Renjun, Ten, Yangyang, and Dejun had made camp beneath the towering, ancient trees, their flickering campfire casting long, dancing shadows against the gnarled trunks. The forest, alive with the hum of unseen creatures, felt almost… watchful.

The night had taken on an unsettling stillness as the group huddled near the fire, sharing quiet conversation. Renjun, despite the soothing warmth of the fire, couldn’t shake the uneasy sensation crawling beneath his skin. Something felt wrong.

He had been here before—though not under these circumstances. The books he had read as a child in the grand library of Arrendyll had warned him of the dangers that lurked in the darker parts of Elderwood. He had always thought them exaggerated, mythic tales meant to frighten children.

But now, Renjun could feel something was watching them, its presence a suffocating weight in the air.

Suddenly, a low, creaking sound split the air—a sound so deep it felt like it was coming from the very bones of the forest itself. Renjun froze, his breath hitching in his throat. The wind had gone still. Even the insects had gone silent.

"Renjun? What's wrong?" Ten asked, his voice laced with curiosity but with an edge of caution.

Renjun, heart pounding, stood abruptly, his eyes scanning the darkness beyond the firelight. "They’re here," he whispered, barely audible. "Moss Reapers. We need to move, now."

Before anyone could react, the ground beneath their feet trembled. A series of terrible cracking sounds echoed through the trees as dark shapes began to emerge from the shadows. Their bodies were hulking masses of bark, moss, and creeping vines, their limbs unnaturally long and grotesquely twisted. The firelight flickered as if it were struggling to exist in the face of their presence.

"Move!" Renjun yelled, grabbing Ten’s arm. But it was too late.

The Moss Reapers’ massive forms lurched forward with terrifying speed, their limbs stretching like those of giant, monstrous trees. Their eyes—pale, milky, and blank—seemed to pierce through the darkness, locking onto their prey. Their skin, covered in thick moss and tangled vines, seemed to pulse with a grotesque life of its own. The air grew heavy with the scent of decay and the earth.

"Stay close!" Renjun shouted, backing away as he pulled Ten and the others in tow. The Moss Reapers were closing in, their limbs moving like the crushing jaws of the earth itself.

Renjun’s mind raced. He knew what these creatures were capable of. These were not simple beasts of the forest; they were ancient predators, capable of sapping the life from anyone who came too close. Their moss-covered bodies were designed to blend into the environment, making them nearly invisible until it was too late.

“They feed on life!” Renjun warned, his voice strained with urgency. "They drain it until there’s nothing left!"

As if in response to his words, one of the Moss Reapers reached out, its vines snaking toward Ten. The pirate barely had time to react before the vine wrapped around his leg, pulling him off his feet. His shout of panic was drowned out by the eerie creaking of the creature’s movements. Renjun’s heart lurched as he watched the moss-covered limb constrict, squeezing tightly, cutting off Ten’s breath.

"Help him!" Yangyang cried out, rushing forward, but another vine whipped out and struck him hard in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground with a thud.

Dejun cursed under his breath, drawing his sword, but as he raised it, a cluster of vines shot from the ground, wrapping around his wrist and yanking it from his hand. He struggled to break free, but the vines tightened, pulling him toward the massive, gaping maw of the Moss Reaper.

Renjun’s pulse raced as he scanned the surroundings, his mind scrambling for a way to stop the creatures. He had to act quickly. “The moss! It feeds on energy! If we kill the vines, we kill them!”

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small vial of salt—a rare and precious substance from the southern shores of Emeria. He had read of its ability to weaken creatures that drew strength from the earth. Holding it tightly, Renjun rushed toward the nearest Moss Reaper, pulling the cork from the vial.

The creature, sensing his approach, roared low, a guttural sound that reverberated through the very ground. Its arms reached out, crashing through the underbrush as it lunged for Renjun.

He hurled the salt vial at the creature’s bark-like skin. As it hit, a flash of bright light flared, and the moss-covered skin of the Reaper sizzled and began to burn. The creature shrieked in fury as the vines started to wither and crumble, the life force inside them fading.

“Renjun! What do we do now?” Ten shouted, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to free himself from the Reaper’s hold.

Renjun grabbed a burning branch from the campfire, using it as a makeshift weapon. “We have to burn them! The vines are their lifeblood. We need fire!”

With a powerful swing, Renjun slashed the burning branch at the vines that bound Ten, the flames licking at the edges of the creature’s writhing form. The Reaper recoiled with a screech, but the vines didn’t loosen.

“Quick! Fire! Everywhere!” Renjun ordered.

Ten, though injured, grabbed another burning branch, and Yangyang followed suit. Together, they began to lash out at the vines. Each strike sent a spray of sparks flying into the night air as the fire caught on the thick moss. The Reapers screeched, their bodies writhing as the fire spread, eating away at the vines and bark.

In a final, frantic push, the group overwhelmed the creature, cutting away the vines, burning the moss, and setting the beast aflame. The Moss Reaper’s screams echoed through the forest as it finally crumbled to the ground, smoldering and lifeless.

But the battle was far from over. Renjun turned, his breath coming in ragged gasps, to see another Reaper charging toward them, its massive limbs reaching out for the group.

"We need to run!" Renjun shouted. “Head for the clearing!”

They fled as fast as they could, the sounds of creaking wood and rustling vines echoing behind them. With every step they took, the forest seemed to come alive with more danger, more creatures waiting to tear them apart. But Renjun’s knowledge, his quick thinking, and their burning resolve kept them alive long enough to reach the clearing where the trees were fewer, where the path might offer a chance at escape.

Breathless and shaken, they paused, each of them casting frantic glances over their shoulders. Behind them, the Moss Reapers’ shrieks began to fade as the fire spread through the underbrush.

"That… that was too close," Dejun panted, looking around at the others, his expression pale with shock.

Renjun wiped his brow, still trembling from the fight. “It’s not over. They’ll follow us until we leave their territory.”

The fire from the forest burned brightly in the distance, but the danger was far from gone. As the group caught their breath, Renjun couldn’t help but wonder how much more they’d have to face in the heart of Elderwood before they reached Carran.

"Before humans walked the lands of Erithrea, it belonged to ancient creatures born of magic, their power shaping the world itself. Beasts with shimmering scales and ethereal beings brought life and fire, their legacy etched into the bloodlines of kings and the forgotten corners of the continent. Though their forms have vanished, their echoes linger still, hidden in shadow and story."

Myths and Mysteries of Ancient Erithrea

The journey continued, and with each passing day, Renjun felt more and more like a part of

the crew—one step closer to his destination, one step farther from the life he had known. The adventures that awaited were still a mystery, but they were his now. And for the first time, that didn’t feel as scary as it once had.

As they walked closer to the border of Carran, the change in the landscape was immediate and striking. The once dense and vibrant greenery of the Arrendyll forest gradually gave way to the rich, golden hues of autumn, the trees now bare and scattered with the crisp fallen leaves beneath their feet. The transition was so subtle, yet so profound—it was as if they had crossed an invisible line, entering a different world altogether.

The air grew cooler as they continued on, the sun low in the sky casting long shadows that stretched over the path. Renjun couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of it all—the shades of amber, russet, and ochre painted across the horizon, the way the wind rustled the dried leaves and sent them swirling through the air like dancers caught in an endless waltz. It was a world so different from the endless green of Arrendyll, and yet there was something oddly familiar about it, as if the very atmosphere had drawn out memories from his childhood, buried deep within his heart.

"Looks like we’re officially in Carran now," Yangyang said, his voice breaking Renjun from his reverie. He glanced at Yangyang, who was looking around, a small smile on his face as he took in the autumn landscape. Ten and Dejun, walking a few paces ahead, had been quiet for some time, their eyes scanning the surroundings.

"I didn’t expect it to look like this," Renjun remarked, glancing around in awe. "It’s so... calm. Almost peaceful."

Yangyang chuckled. "Yeah, Carran’s a beautiful kingdom. We've been to the shores of this kingdom. The whole place is like this—the land of eternal autumn. But don’t let the beauty fool you. It’s not always peaceful. The people here are tough, and there’s more going on beneath the surface than it seems."

Renjun raised an eyebrow, curious. "What do you mean?"

Yangyang shrugged, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Well, you know how every kingdom has its secrets? Carran’s no different. Some say there’s a power struggle happening behind the scenes. And then there’s the Hellfire Pool. The locals probably know of it but kept their mouth shut, hence the need of a map for us."

Renjun nodded thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing as he took in the land stretching before them. He had heard of Carran’s reputation—how it was known for its rich, beautiful landscapes, its skilled craftsmen, and its long history. But he also read about the hidden dangers that seemed to be lurking beneath the surface, waiting to surface.

"It’s strange," Renjun murmured, more to himself than to Yangyang. "Arrendyll is so full of life and knowledge. But this... this feels different. It feels like something’s always on the brink of changing."

Yangyang seemed to sense Renjun’s unease and turned to him with a reassuring smile.

"You’ll get used to it. People here are just as strong as the land they live in. And you’ve got us with you now, so don’t worry."

Renjun gave him a small smile, grateful for the reassurance but still feeling the weight of uncertainty settle in his chest. Carran wasn’t just any kingdom—it was the key to the Hellfire Pool, the place that could hold the power to protect or destroy entire kingdoms. He had come all this way for a reason, and the closer they got to the pit, the more the enormity of their mission seemed to press down on him.

They continued walking, the path becoming slightly steeper as they moved deeper into Carran. The trees here were ancient, towering high above them with bark darkened by age, and the ground beneath their feet was littered with leaves that crunched softly with each step. Renjun kept his senses sharp, the same way he would when exploring an old archive. He was on a mission, but also, in a way, he was rediscovering the world outside of the Aeon Tower— a world that was vast, unpredictable, and teeming with secrets he had only ever read about.

❀⋆.◌ೃ࿔*:·❀

As they ventured deeper into Carran, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew thicker with tension, and the peaceful serenity of the autumn landscape seemed to give way to an undercurrent of danger. Renjun couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched, as if the very forest itself was aware of their presence.

The path they followed began to narrow, winding its way through dense clusters of trees, their twisted branches casting long shadows on the ground. The temperature had dropped slightly, the crisp autumn air becoming more biting as they pushed forward. The group had slowed their pace, mindful of the possibility of encountering more dangers, when they suddenly heard a rustle in the brush behind them.

Renjun froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Yangyang’s hand instinctively went to the dagger at his side, his eyes scanning the forest for any sign of movement. Ten and Dejun exchanged a quick look, their hands also poised at the ready.

Before anyone could react, the rustling turned into footsteps—heavy, purposeful. The sound grew closer, and then, like a burst of thunder, a group of guards emerged from the undergrowth. Their armor gleamed like rubies in the fading sunlight, and their presence was as imposing as the towering trees around them. Each one wore a full set of gleaming ruby-red armor, adorned with intricate gold engravings, their helmets shaped with sharp, angular designs that gave them an almost predatory look. They moved with precision, their formation a display of military training and discipline.

"Stop right there!" one of the guards called out, his voice deep and commanding, echoing through the woods. The others fanned out, surrounding them in an instant.

Yangyang’s hand tightened on the hilt of his dagger, but he made no move to attack, waiting for the right moment. Dejun and Ten stepped closer to Renjun, shielding him with their presence. Renjun's heart raced, his eyes darting between the guards and his companions, wondering what their next move would be.

The leader of the guards stepped forward, his eyes sharp and calculating. He was tall, with auburn hair that peeked out from under his helmet, and his expression was one of steely determination. "You are trespassing in Carran," he said coldly, his gaze locking onto Renjun and Yangyang. "State your business."

Renjun’s mind raced. He hadn’t expected this kind of encounter, especially not with the Carranian guards. He had only heard stories about the kingdom’s strict borders and the vigilance of its citizens. Carran, with its towering, gilded citadels and ancient traditions, had always been a place of mystery. And now, the guards themselves seemed to embody everything he had imagined about the kingdom: intimidating, precise, and ever watchful.

"We mean no harm," Renjun spoke up, his voice steady despite the tension coursing through him. He tried to remain calm, though every instinct told him to flee. "We’re travelers, just passing through. We didn’t mean to cross into your lands."

The guard’s eyes narrowed, suspicion in his gaze. He seemed to study them for a moment, weighing their words. Renjun could feel the weight of his scrutiny, and for a moment, the air felt thick with uncertainty.

"Travelers, you say?" The guard’s voice was skeptical. "Carran is no place for wanderers. Especially not with the state of things." He glanced at his companions, signaling them to move closer. The others flanked the group, forming a tight circle around them. Renjun couldn’t help but notice the intricate, almost regal nature of their uniforms. Their armor was more than just functional—it was a statement, a symbol of the Carranian pride and power.

Yangyang, ever the quick thinker, spoke up before Renjun could say more. "We’re heading to the city, just looking for a safe path," he said, his voice smooth and casual. "We’ve heard there are dangers in the forest, and we thought we’d try to get through before dark."

The guard leader studied them for another long moment, his gaze flicking from one person to another. "You’re lying," he said bluntly. "And you’re not from here. The boy, especially." He pointed at Renjun, his finger unwavering. "What’s your true purpose in Carran?"

Renjun felt a chill run down his spine, but he didn’t back down. "We’re not here to cause trouble," he said, his voice now tinged with urgency. "We just need to pass through. It’s important."

The leader of the guards remained unmoved. "And why should I believe you?" he asked, his voice colder now, full of suspicion.

Before Renjun could answer, the tension broke—shouts echoed from deeper within the forest, signaling that more guards were approaching. They had been surrounded, and escape was becoming more unlikely by the second. The air became thick with the sound of approaching footsteps, and Renjun knew that their time was running out.

"Run!" Yangyang suddenly shouted, and without hesitation, he broke into a sprint, darting toward the trees. Ten and Dejun followed immediately, pulling Renjun along with them. The guards shouted, their voices loud and commanding, but the group was already moving faster than they could react. Renjun's heart pounded in his chest as they broke through the dense forest, the sounds of pursuit growing fainter but no less menacing.

As they ran, Renjun caught glimpses of the Carranian guards. Their armor gleamed in the dim light, their movements swift and efficient, like hunters tracking prey. The soldiers’ presence had felt suffocating, their stern, regal appearances making the woods feel even darker, more dangerous than before. Carran’s people were known for their strength, and these guards were no exception. They weren’t just protectors of their kingdom—they were its embodiment, fierce and unyielding.

"Keep going!" Ten yelled ahead, his voice harsh and commanding as they ducked between the trees, pushing through the thickening underbrush. "We’ve got to lose them."

Renjun's breath came in sharp gasps, but he couldn’t help but glance back, anxiety gnawing at him. The Carranians were fast, but they had the advantage in numbers. Would they be able to escape?

His mind raced with possibilities as they sprinted deeper into the forest, the crimson armor of the guards a stark contrast against the golden autumn leaves.

"Don’t stop!" Yangyang urged, looking back only briefly. "We have to get to the clearing ahead—just a little further!"

Renjun pushed himself harder, determined to outrun the guards. His mind wandered briefly to the path ahead: Carran was a kingdom full of secrets, of danger, and perhaps—just perhaps— a place where he could fulfill the dream he’d harbored for so long.

But right now, all that mattered was escaping the clutches of the Carranian guards.

Renjun’s heart was pounding in his chest, and he could feel the cool wind biting at his skin. He shifted uneasily next to Yangyang, his breath shallow. Despite their best efforts to remain quiet, the adrenaline rushing through him made it hard to stay still for long.

Ten, ever the calm one, stood closest to the edge of their hiding spot, peeking through the branches. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he observed the movement of the guards. Dejun was beside him, checking their weapons and whispering something quietly to him. Meanwhile, Yangyang was focused entirely on Renjun, his presence a calm anchor amidst the storm of thoughts swirling in Renjun’s mind.

“Are they close?” Renjun whispered, his voice barely audible, his words shaking slightly from the anxiety that had been building.

Yangyang’s gaze softened as he turned to him, his usual confident smirk replaced with a genuine look of concern. “They’re close, but we’re staying hidden. No one’s going to find us as long as we stay quiet.”

Dejun glanced over his shoulder at them, giving Renjun an encouraging nod. “We’ve got you, don’t worry. We’ll be okay.”

Renjun wasn’t so sure, but hearing their voices was enough to calm him — even if only a little. His gaze shifted to the ground beneath them, where the forest floor was littered with orange and red leaves, the brilliant colors starkly contrasting with the muted tones of their clothes. It was hard to blend in when everything around them was so vibrant, but they had no choice but to hope their luck held.

“I still can’t believe I’m here,” Renjun muttered, his fingers clenching around a small branch he had pulled off a nearby shrub. The constant fear and the reality of what they were doing had settled in him, but he couldn’t ignore how out of place he felt. The pirates’ mission wasn’t his own, after all. He was only tagging along to help, and he felt like he was putting them in more danger.

Yangyang’s eyes caught his, noticing Renjun's dilemma, his usual teasing glint replaced with something more serious. “You’re here because we allowed you to be.” He leaned in a little closer, his voice low and steady. “You’re not dragging anyone into anything. This is our mission, but you’re with us because we trust you. Don’t forget that.”

Renjun couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief at Yangyang’s words. The reassurance in his voice settled something in his chest. He had been worried about slowing them down, about becoming a burden, but Yangyang’s calm demeanor made him feel like he was more than just the extra person on the journey.

“I just don’t want to get in the way,” Renjun admitted softly, his eyes meeting Yangyang’s for a brief moment. “You guys have been doing this for so long, and I’m just… tagging along.”

Yangyang gave him a small, reassuring smile. “It’s not about how long we’ve been doing this. It’s about what we’re doing now. And right now, we’re all in this together.” His hand rested gently on Renjun’s arm, the touch grounding and warm in a way that made Renjun feel safer, even in such a tense moment.

Before Renjun could respond, a soft rustling in the distance interrupted their moment. The guards were nearly upon them. The group tensed, their hands instinctively reaching for weapons as they prepared to defend themselves if necessary.

Ten raised his hand, signaling for everyone to stay silent. He could hear the guards moving closer, their footsteps almost deafening now.

Renjun’s breath caught in his throat.

“They're here,” Yangyang whispered, and the pirates instinctively fell into a defensive stance, weapons at the ready.

Renjun’s heart pounded in his chest. The guards were on their way directly toward the group. The pirates looked like they would be easy to spot—dark clothes in witha stark difference to the environment, tattoos, and weapons clearly meant for the sea, not the woods. They stood out in stark contrast to the forest’s rich autumn colors.

Renjun felt a lump form in his throat. Their cover was blown. He hadn’t expected this kind of trouble before they even reached Carran, but now they had no choice but to move fast.

“What do we do?” Renjun whispered.

Ten, ever the strategist, made a quick decision. “Hide, now. Don’t make a sound.”

The group scattered to find cover. Renjun, though small, managed to slip behind the thick trunk of a large tree, crouching down low and pressing himself against the bark. His heart beat loudly in his chest as the Carranians approached, their footfalls heavy and deliberate.

Renjun held his breath, peering through the small gap between the leaves and branches. The Carranians’ ruby armor stood out like fire against the backdrop of the autumn woods, and he knew it would be hard to stay hidden for long.

A few tense moments passed. The sound of soldiers’ boots grew louder, and Renjun's nerves began to fray. But then, just as the Carranians were about to pass them by, something else entered the clearing.

The ground rumbled with the weight of another group approaching. Renjun stiffened. This time, the sight was unmistakable—Emerian knights. Blue armor adorned with gold, the sigils of their kingdom clear against the muted tones of the forest. They entered with weapons drawn, their sharp eyes scanning the trees for any sign of movement.

“Stand down!” the Emerian knight commander called out. His voice rang out with authority as he raised his sword high. “Carranians! This land belongs to Carran, yes, but the Hellfire Pool is a shared resource! We will not let you have it unchecked!”

Renjun’s mind raced. The Hellfire Pool—so that was why they were here.

The Carranian captain sneered. “The hellfire belongs to Carran,” he spat, clearly undeterred. “You would try to stop us?”

The Emerian knight’s grip on his sword tightened. “We’ve been charged with retrieving it, and the fire is for all kingdoms. It isn't yours to keep alone,” he retorted, his gaze unyielding.

Renjun’s eyes widened as the tension thickened. The Carranians wanted the Hellfire Pool all—something that the pirates had alluded to before, but now it was clear: Carran was intent on taking control of the hellfire for themselves. The fabled pit was a source of immense power, and if Carran succeeded in wielding it, there was no telling what chaos it could cause across Erithea without its protection from the blood witches.

Renjun glanced at the pirates. Ten was already moving, keeping low, gesturing for Renjun and the others to retreat further into the trees. They had to get away before things escalated further. The Carranians were already advancing toward the location of the Hellfire Pool—and if they couldn’t stop them, the consequences could be catastrophic.

As the two groups stood off, Renjun felt a pang of frustration. They were so close. The Hellfire Pool was just ahead, but they couldn’t get to it if they were caught in the middle of this battle.

Yangyang leaned close to Renjun, his breath sharp and quiet. “They’re not just fighting for land, Renjun,” he said, his eyes flicking between the two groups. “They’re fighting for control over the pit. We can’t let that happen.”

Renjun nodded, his mind whirring. They had come this far—and the Hellfire Pool was the key to everything, to defeating the blood witches. But now, the fight was no longer just about getting there—it was about getting there first.

As the battle between the Carranians and Emerians continued, Renjun’s thoughts turned to the pirates. They’d known about the Hellfire Pool, but this was a new layer of danger he hadn’t anticipated. He’d been so focused on reaching the pit that he hadn’t fully considered how much conflict lay between him and that goal.

The clash of swords echoed in the distance. Renjun’s instincts screamed at him to move, to get out of the way. But something in him—something deep inside—told him that this was no longer just a quest for knowledge. The Hellfire Pool was a symbol of power, and whoever controlled it would control the fate of the entire continent.

As the pirates led Renjun further into the woods, away from the battle, his thoughts turned to the journey ahead. They were no longer just travelers—they were part of something much bigger. They had to stop Carran from taking control of the hellfire.

The sun had nearly set, casting long shadows across the forest as the battle unfolded. The forest that had once felt peaceful, lush, and rich with autumn colors was now stained with the harsh sounds of steel clashing, grunts of exertion, and the deep echoes of war cries. The Carranian guards, resplendent in their ruby armor, clashed against the blue-and-gold-armored Emerian knights, the colors the kingdom a stark in the fiery landscape of the forest.

Renjun crouched behind a large oak tree, heart racing, his breath shallow as the chaos unfolded before him. The rustling of leaves and the thundering of hooves signaled the fierce fight that had erupted between the two groups. For a moment, everything seemed a blur—the clang of swords, the shouts, the crackle of arrows splitting the air.

Ten motioned for everyone to stay low, but even as they followed his orders, Renjun couldn’t tear his eyes away from the brutal spectacle. The Carranian guards were vicious in their attacks. Their swords were long, sharp, and unyielding, making quick work of the knights who were unprepared for such ferocity.

The Emerian knights, on the other hand, were disciplined, their movements more calculated and precise. They fought in formation, guarding one another’s backs, their blue armor gleaming in stark contrast to the Carranians. The clash of metal against metal rang out in an unholy symphony, and the forest floor became slick with blood as both sides collided.

Renjun could see the knight commander leading his men at the forefront, his golden sword flashing in the air as he parried a blow from one of the Carranians. With a swift movement, he took down the Carranian guard, sending his opponent crashing to the ground. But more guards surged forward, forcing the Emerians to retreat.

“We have to get out of here,” Ten whispered, his face a mask of determination. “Renjun, Dejun, Yangyang—stay close. We can’t risk getting caught.”

Before Renjun could respond, the sound of hooves thundered through the trees, and he saw a group of Carranian cavalry charge toward the Emerian line. The ground shook under the weight of the riders, their swords raised high, and the Emerian knights struggled to form a defense.

A battle cry split the air, and the Carranians came crashing into the Emerian front lines like a tidal wave. Steel clanged against steel, and Renjun watched as a knight was unseated by a powerful blow, his armor dented and crumpled under the force. The Emerians fought back fiercely, but the numbers were against them.

“We need to go now!” Yangyang urged, grabbing Renjun’s arm. But even as he spoke, a group of Carranian guards broke through the Emerian ranks, forcing the pirates and Renjun to retreat deeper into the woods.

The pirates were seasoned fighters, but even they could not stand against the overwhelming force of the Carranians. Dejun and Ten took the lead, fighting off attackers with their blades. Yangyang, despite his youthful exuberance, fought with quick reflexes, dodging strikes and landing blows with a savage intensity.

Renjun, though he had never fought in a battle like this, found himself caught up in the frantic movement. He grabbed a fallen knight’s sword and tried to protect himself, but his grip was unsteady, and the weight of the blade felt foreign in his hands. He dodged one Carranian guard’s strike, only to find himself nearly trapped by another.

But just as the guard was about to bring his sword down on Renjun, Yangyang appeared, blocking the strike with his own blade. The pirate fought, protecting Renjun as they continued to retreat.

“We have to get to the edge of the forest,” Ten shouted, his voice hoarse with urgency. “The battlefield is too closed off. We need to get to the open.”

Renjun nodded, gripping his sword tighter, his breath coming in short gasps. They began to push through the chaos, using the cover of the trees to maneuver around the battle. The sounds of fighting rang in their ears, but they focused only on the path ahead, the thundering of the hooves and the clashing of swords fading behind them.

As they reached the forest’s edge, Renjun risked a glance back at the battlefield. The Carranians were closing in on the remaining Emerian knights, their numbers too great, and the once-pristine forest had become a warzone, littered with bodies and broken weapons.

“We can’t fight them all,” Ten said grimly, his voice tinged with regret. “Our only choice is to run.”

And so, they ran—faster now, with more urgency in their steps. But Renjun could still hear the echoes of the battle behind them, the clash of metal and the anguished cries of fallen knights. It would be a long time before the forests of Carran returned to their peaceful state.

Renjun’s mind spun as he tried to process the enormity of it all. The blood witches, the Hellfire Pool, and now this—the battle between Carran and Emeria. What had started as a simple journey to learn about the pit had quickly become a tangled web of power, politics, and war.

He looked over at Yangyang and saw the same fear and determination in his eyes. They weren’t just walking into Carran anymore. They were walking into the heart of a conflict that could determine the future of all five kingdoms.

The air was thick with the heavy scent of blood and burning wood as Renjun and the pirates, alongside a few surviving Emerian knights, sprinted through the forest. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, hearts pounding, every step carrying them further from the chaos they had just barely escaped. The sound of hooves pounding the earth, the clash of swords, and the cries of their enemies faded into the distance, but the fear that clung to them, like a shadow, remained.

A short Emerian knight who had been running alongside Ten and the rest of the group, was the first to notice it: a clearing, bathed in a faint, unnatural light. The trees around them grew sparse, their trunks darkened with age, leaving room for the eerie glow that emanated from a large, circular pit at the center of the clearing.

“What is that?” Renjun whispered, his voice barely audible over the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He couldn’t see clearly, but the heat from the pit was palpable. It felt like the ground itself was alive, humming with an energy that Renjun could feel deep in his bones. Something about it made his heart race even faster—this wasn’t just any pit. There was power here, dark and primal.

“We’re not going to make it out of here, are we?” Yangyang muttered, eyes wide as he scanned the surroundings.

But before Renjun could answer, the sound of clanging metal reached their ears again. A dozen Carranian guards had found them, their ruby armor glinting in the dim light of the clearing. The heavy stomps of their boots and the rustling of their cloaks signaled their approach. It was too late to run, and they were too close to the boiling pit to fight with any real hope.

“We’re trapped,” Dejun grunted, gripping his blade tightly, his posture defensive as he faced the incoming threat.

Ten looked between his crew, his face a mixture of determination and concern. His eyes flicked to the Emerian knights, who were equally cornered, their armor heavy and their movements sluggish from the chase.

“We can’t fight them all,” Ten muttered, his voice tight with frustration.

It happened so fast. One of the Carranian guards lunged forward, aiming his blade directly at a tall knight, who barely had time to react. The sword tip gleamed in the dim light, flashing toward his chest with deadly intent.

“No!” Ten shouted, throwing himself forward without hesitation, thinking the blade was made for one of his boys.

Time seemed to slow as Ten collided with the knight, the impact sending them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs. The sword, aimed for the knight's heart, plunged directly into Ten’s side instead. The scream that tore from his mouth rang out, guttural and filled with pain.

“Ten!” Dejun roared, his voice raw with panic.

Ten’s face twisted in agony, his hand clutching at the wound in his side, blood seeping between his fingers. He struggled to keep his breath steady, but the pain was too much, his vision beginning to blur.

Renjun’s heart clenched in horror as he watched Ten fight to stay conscious. The air was thick with tension, and in that moment, he knew they had no chance. They were going to die here—caught between the boiling pit and the Carranian guards. But then, something changed.

A sharp, unnatural cold swept through the clearing, cutting through the hot air like a knife.

The sudden temperature drop caused everyone to gasp in surprise, their breath turning to mist in the frigid air. The Carranian guards froze, their movements becoming sluggish, their expressions confused. And then, with a deafening crack, ice shot up from the ground, engulfing the guards in thick, crystalline blocks of ice.

The freezing cold settled over the group, leaving them standing in stunned silence. Renjun’s teeth chattered as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.

“What the—?” Yangyang muttered, eyes wide as he scanned the clearing for any sign of the source of the chill.

But there was no time to question. The Carranians had been frozen in place, but the battle was far from over. Renjun turned to see a figure standing at the edge of the clearing, barely visible in the shifting shadows.

“What… what just happened?” Yangyang muttered, his voice trembling with disbelief.

“I don’t know,” Renjun whispered back, gripping the sword tightly as his eyes darted around, searching for answers.

The figure stepped forward from the treeline, the sound of his boots crunching against the frost-covered leaves sending a chill down Renjun’s spine. He looked no older than his Renjun, his white hair gleaming like frost under the dim light. His piercing icy-blue eyes scanned the group with a calm yet unsettling intensity. The young man’s pale skin glowed faintly, and his presence was both mesmerizing and unnerving.

“It was him,” Dejun whispered, clutching his sword tightly, his knuckles white. “He did this.”

The man with the glaring white hair didn’t speak at first. He merely stood there, his gaze flickering over the frozen guards before settling on the group.

Before anyone could move, another figure emerged from the opposite side of the clearing, cloaked in black. He moved with an effortless grace, his strides long and deliberate. His hood was pulled low over his face, but the authority in his presence was unmistakable. The glow from the pit flickered against his silhouette, making him look more like a phantom than a man.

“Who’s that now?” Yangyang hissed, nudging Renjun nervously.

The cloaked figure stopped near the pit, surveying the group with an almost casual demeanor. He raised his hand and gestured toward the frozen guards, his voice smooth and laced with a quiet authority.

“Looks like you’ve had some trouble,” he said, his tone light, as though the chaos around them was of no concern to him. “What brings you here? To this forsaken place?”

Renjun found his voice, though it trembled as he spoke. “We… we’re looking for the Hellfire Pool,” he said, his words rushing out. “To protect the kingdoms. To stop the blood witches.”

At that, the man chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down Renjun’s spine. He reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing a face so unnaturally beautiful that Renjun had to blink to confirm he wasn’t imagining it. High cheekbones, flawless skin, and blazing red eyes that seemed to hold a thousand secrets met his gaze. The man looked ethereal, almost otherworldly, and his beauty was so striking it felt almost unreal.

“I’m afraid,” the man said, his lips curving into a faint, almost sorrowful smile, “you’ve come too late.”

“What do you mean?” Ten asked, stepping forward despite his injuries, his voice sharp with desperation.

The man turned his gaze toward Ten, his expression unreadable. “The black fire you’re seeking… it’s long gone. Devoured by creatures centuries ago, leaving only a bottle’s worth in the depths of this pit.”

His words hit like a thunderclap. The hope that had kept them moving, fighting, surviving— now seemed to vanish into the cold night air.

“That can’t be true,” the tall knight said, his voice tight with disbelief. “We’ve come so far— risked everything.”

“It is true,” the man replied calmly. “I would know. I am its last guardian.” The group exchanged shocked glances as his words sank in.

“You’re… the Hellfire Guardian?” Youngho asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The man nodded. “Taeyong. The last of my kind.”

The white-haired young man stepped forward, his icy gaze still locked on the group. His silence spoke volumes, but the chill in the air seemed to ripple with his movements, making everyone uneasy.

“Who is he then?” Renjun asked, his eyes flickering toward the man with the frost.

Taeyong glanced at the young man before turning back to the group. “He is my companion,” he said simply. “His name is Jeno. And if you think this pit will solve your problems… you’ve gravely misunderstood the nature of the power you seek.”

Renjun felt a sinking feeling in his chest. Their journey, their struggles, all of it—it felt meaningless now. “Then what do we do?” he asked, his voice trembling.

Taeyong stepped closer, his piercing gaze locking onto Renjun’s. “You survive,” he said. “And you prepare for what’s coming. The blood witches won’t stop. Not for you, not for your kingdoms. And certainly not for me.”

His words hung in the cold air like a death sentence. Renjun’s grip on Yangyang’s hand tightened, his mind racing. There had to be another way, another solution—but for the first time, he wasn’t sure.

The frost around the clearing began to melt as the eerie glow of the pit dimmed. The Hellfire Guardian had spoken, and their last hope seemed to have burned away with the embers of the hellfire long lost.

#nct au #nct dream #nct fluff #nct fanfic #kpop #nct #wayv #renyang #renjun au #yangyang au

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