#the designs cascading across the walls & over the floor

[radio-4-is-static]

大団円 / DAI-DAN-EN | RADWIMPS feat. ZORN

Ooh ooh 運命なんてヤツがもしも本当にいたとしても Ooh ooh そいつにだって勝って目の前で書き換えさすだけ Ooh ooh 台本なんて一つもないこの映画のラストの 大団円を描くのは この俺以外にはいねぇ 狂喜乱舞絶叫まで あと少し

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Ooh ooh Even if there's such a thing as fate Ooh ooh I’m gonna win it over and rewrite it before your eyes Ooh ooh No one but me could write such a finale Of this film without a single script It’s almost there, the ecstatic moment

[itsswritten]

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

[eunseoksimp]

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.

[mxnsterbabe]

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.

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Thigh Fucking~

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

@adamsappleweek

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purple has never been Lilith’s colour."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you so much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucifer Morningstar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh…” he whispered, his voice trembling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crash.

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

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

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

And froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adam blinked, utterly floored by the words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see you around, Adam.”

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

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

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

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

But it wasn’t.

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

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

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

Then came the day that everything truly fell apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucifer’s voice took on a more thoughtful note.

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

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

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

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

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

Adam’s brow furrowed in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucifer tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued.

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

Adam shifted uncomfortably, his embarrassment now tinged with frustration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A daughter.

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

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

His gaze landed on Charlotte Haz, and he froze.

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

The Princess of Hell. Lucifer’s daughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was really good, Lucifer mouthed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Purple isn't really my colour."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hum escaped Adam. “Always.”

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

Adam stared. His mind fuzzy.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucifer grinned at that.

[mcntsee]

— 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.

[outofgloom]

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

∵∴∵∴∵∴∵

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. 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.

[daybreakerangel]

Title: Mall Date [Part 1]

Word Count: 1,168

Another fanfic, yay! This fic takes place in my AU.

This is Adamsapple Harvest lite. The prompts 'Coffee Date' and 'Falling Leaves' if you squint are featured. I never went to Mall of America, but I would love to go. Part two will come out whenever.

Adam stood outside Lucifer’s craft room, his hand hovering over the door. Lucifer had been locked in there for two days straight, and Adam was beginning to worry.

“Lulu, are you okay?” Adam called softly; his voice tinged with concern. No response.

He hesitated, then placed his hand on the doorknob. It was unlocked. He pushed the door, but something blocked it from fully opening. A cascade of rubber duckies spilled out into the hallway.

“Lucifer?” Adam peeked his head inside the dimly lit room. There were no lights on, but the soft glow of his halo allowed him to make out piles upon piles of rubber duckies scattered across the floor.

Among the mess, Adam spotted a silhouette. Lucifer was lying on top of the duckies, his body sprawled across the heap. Adam could not tell if Lucifer was facing him or the wall. His eyes widened, and he pushed harder against the door, squeezing through the narrow opening.

Climbing onto the pile, Adam crawled toward Lucifer, his halo’s glow highlighted the various rubber duckies designs. As he got closer, he noticed Lucifer’s blonde hair was a tangled mess, and his hands were stained with dried acrylic paint. Gently, Adam placed a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder and shook him.

“Babe, wake up,” Adam said softly.

Lucifer’s eyes shot open, startling Adam, who jumped back. Lucifer groaned but did not speak, attempting to rise. His lower half sank further into the mass of rubber duckies, trapping him. Adam could not help but smile tenderly at the sight.

“You are not okay,” Adam said, his voice gentle.

Lucifer sighed, exhaustion written across his face, and nodded slowly.

“Do you want to go to Earth to clear your head?” Adam asked.

Lucifer managed a faint smile, a wistful expression passing over his features. Adam cupped Lucifer’s rosy cheeks between his hands.

“Alright, we will leave before 2 PM. But you need to freshen up first, you smell like sulfur. Adam chuckled, then crawled his way back out of the craft room. Lucifer stuck out his forked tongue as a response.

By 2:15 PM, Adam was lounging on the couch in a grey sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, flipping through a book listing popular tourist destinations in the United States. His yellow eyes caught a particular entry, and he folded the corner of the page before setting the book on the coffee table. Rising to his feet, he began drawing Lucifer’s sigil on the floor in preparation for their trip.

“So, where are we going?” Lucifer’s voice broke the silence.

Adam turned his head to see Lucifer standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking much better than he had that morning. His expression, however, was flat. He wore a romper covered in an apple pattern, with a matching apple-colored bag slung over his shoulder.

“Oh, um…” Adam fumbled for the book on the table, flipping to the saved page. “Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, looking puzzled. “A mall?”

“Yeah! It has over 500 stores, an aquarium, and" Adam grinned "an indoor theme park.”

Lucifer’s expression softened at the mention of the theme park. “Okay, you had me at indoor theme park. Let’s go.”

Adam smiled, and together they stepped into the center of the glowing sigil. As Lucifer tapped his left foot on each letter of his name, he bit into the tip of his pointer finger, causing a drop of angelic blood to fall onto the sigil. The glowing red intensified. Adam shielded his eyes, and in an instant, they were standing in the parking lot of the mall. Lucifer had shifted into his human disguise, “Lux.”

The air was crisp, with the gentle rustle of red, yellow, and orange leaves swirling around the lot. They made their way toward one of the mall’s anchor stores, L.L. Bean.

“Ugh, I hate that I shrink when we come to Earth,” Adam groaned, now standing at 6’5”, much shorter than his usual 8-foot height.

“Adam, you are still taller than most humans,” Lucifer replied flatly, stuck at 5’2” even in his Earth-bound form.

“Can we go to the theme park first?” Lucifer asked, his voice hopeful.

“We will go before we leave. There is somewhere I want to go first.”

Lucifer frowned slightly but nodded, curious. They walked into L.L. Bean but barely glanced around. Lucifer found the clothes uninteresting, and Adam quickly agreed. Instead, they wandered through the bustling mall, weaving through the crowds of shoppers.

Adam noticed Lucifer started to tense up, crowds always made him anxious. Without a word, Adam took Lucifer’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as they continued walking.

After a short while, they arrived at their destination. “We are here!” Adam said, smiling as he led Lucifer to the entrance.

Lucifer looked up at the sign. “Barnes & Noble?” he asked, confused. “You are not exactly a bookworm, Addy.”

Adam’s cheeks flushed. “I thought having coffee with my apple pie surrounded by books, would be romantic,” he said sheepishly.

Lucifer’s heart melted, trying his best not to blush. He loves Adam’s odd but sweet romantic gestures. They made their way to the café, where the display cases were filled with tempting pastries. While waiting in the short line, they looked over the menu.

“That Four Cheese Grilled Cheese sounds fucking delicious. I am definitely getting one, two,” Adam said excitedly.

“Of course you are,” Lucifer teased, pinching Adam’s love handles “I am getting the Tomato Caprese and an Americano. What about you?”

“Just a brewed coffee. You know I am basic. I hope they have brown sugar, though.”

Once they ordered, they found a table by the window. Lucifer slumped into his chair and, with a wave of his hand, materialized two rubber duckies, making them float lazily in the air.

“You should at least look around before using magic in public,” Adam whispered, scanning the café to make sure no one was watching.

“Whatever,” Lucifer sighed, he placed the duckies onto the table. Adam considered bringing up the unusual rubber ducky hoard, but he did not want to ruin the mood. The silence between them felt heavy for a moment. Adam pulled out his phone, scrolling through information about the mall.

“There is a bowling alley!? Holy shit, we have to check that out!” Adam grinned.

“What about the theme park?” Lucifer asked, sounding a little dejected.

Before Adam could respond, their order was ready. He got up to fetch their food, while Lucifer grabbed Adam’s phone to search for info about the theme park. When Adam returned with the trays, Lucifer looked frustrated.

 “What is wrong?” Adam asked softly as he sat down.

“The theme park sucks,” Lucifer scoffed. “It is just a bunch of kiddie and family rides and only four thrill rides.” he put Adam’s phone down and grabbed the tray with his order and bit into his sandwich aggressively. Adam sighed, sipping his coffee. This date was not going quite the way he had hoped.

[biscuitblinkeu]

You Fell, but She Fell Harder; Confessions [10]

Jennie Kim x Fem!reader

A/N: I’m sorry if I use incorrect terms about rivers, creeks— stuff like that. It’s easier to explain in my head..

We’re getting somewhere!

………………………………………………………………..…………….

Jennie stands there, leaning against the door. Eyes dark and cat-like stare back at yours.

You can’t help but feel like you walked into a trap. Cat and mouse, predator and prey.

Of course you’re the mouse.

The flames from the fireplace reflect light across the room, dancing in Jennie’s eyes and making them a lighter brown shade because of it.

Her hair is down and curled, cascading over her shoulder in a wave. She wears a different sweater today: magenta colored and cropped with a patch design, this is paired with black trousers.

She smiles, the corners of her lips quirking upwards into a sexy grin that has you weak in the knees and swallowing thickly as your heart races to a new level.

She crosses the floor, taking light steps towards you. She stands in your personal space now. Her hands move up to your cheeks and her thumbs caress along your cheeks gently as she leans in closer, her eyes shut.

Jennie was going to kiss you.

But she stops short, her motions hesitant, like she forgot something. She forgot to ask.

“Can I kiss you?” She whispers, her breath hitting your face. Please. You’ll say yes won’t you? (obviously)

You nod slowly, still processing what's going on. Processing the fact that Jennie might like you back. You felt giddy at the thought.

After your confirmation, Jennie was quick to press her lips against yours. A shiver passes through your body when your lips meet. It’s soft, it’s delicate. It tastes sweet.

Jennie sighs into the kiss, her body finally feeling lighter. When her door opened and you walked in, her heart was filled with joy. It was as if everything came together. Like everything had been leading to this day. It was you.

“I’m so happy it was you.” She mumbles before deepening the kiss. The eagerness in it has you both occasionally letting moans out. Along the way you’ve gravitated to the wall. Jennie’s back resting against it, you pin her there. She kisses you like a drowned man clutching to pieces of a shipwreck, you're her oxygen.

Your hands slide to Jennie’s waist and her perfume invades your senses. The citrus smell you’ve come to love. Your stomach tingles in the best way possible and your chest buzzes with warmth. Her fingers tangle themselves in your hair.

You pull away when air becomes a problem, giving her a moment to breathe. You lean down, pressing-open mouthed kisses along her jaw and neck, your fingers caressing the exposed skin of her waist. You couldn’t help it, Jennie’s skin was so soft. Her chest moved up and down in a rhythm that had you memorized. Her heavy breaths filled the air, occasionally mixed with soft moans. You loved all the sounds she was giving, drinking them up like fine wine as you kissed at her pulse point.

When she catches her breath she tugs you by the collar back up to her. Impatient to feel your lips against hers.

Once again your mouths locked together. Jennie grinned into the kiss. She was addicted. She was.

You much the same. You couldn’t get enough. You couldn’t.

Experimentally, your tongue swipes at her bottom lip, wanting to deepen the kiss but Jennie tapped your shoulder and you worry you’ve overstepped. You pulled away, words quickly coming out your mouth.

“I’m sorry, was It too much? I can’t seem to help myself.” You say sheepishly. Jennie shakes her head. You didn’t do anything wrong.

“No,” Jennie whispers, “this is perfect. You’re perfect.” Her words make your face heat up.

Jennie takes a deep breath, multiple deep breaths before continuing. She pecks your lips once more, “But I really want to be able to talk about this with you, and if we continue on...” She doesn’t think she’ll be able to stop.

You take some time to take a look at Jennie. Her face is flushed and her lips are red and swollen. Her feline-eyes dilated and dark. You're sure you look similar. “You’re so beautiful.” You blurt out.

She basks in your words like they’re the sun, a grin exploring her entire face and her nose scrunching up adorably.

You go back to her previous words, coming to the realization. “Oh….oh! Of course.”

She takes your hand and you move into the living room, sitting down on the couch. You sat close to each other, cuddling into each other's side and holding hands.

“I have so much to tell you.” You whispered into Jennie's hair.

“So do I.” She did, really.

“Go first?” You suggested, needing more time to formulate your words, your thoughts.

“I love you.” Jennie finally said it, the words that’s been weighing on her, causing her sleepless nights. She’s wanted to tell you that since you saved her at the creek.

You were speechless, really. You stared at Jennie with wide eyes. Jennie smiled at you, albeit nervously before she continued, playing with the rings on her fingers, “It’s completely fine if you're not there yet. I’ve loved you for some time now. I just want you to know I was overjoyed when you walked through my door.”

You wiggled your eyebrows, “It seems so.” Seeing how you were welcomed.

You took Jennie’s hands in yours, opening your mouth to speak, only to change your words. A thought occurred to you. “Where’s Mandu? Is she hiding from me?”

“No she’s here…” Jennie got up, not before kissing you a few times. She squeezed your hand, “I believe this would be your final test, Love.”

“What?” , “Trust me? I’ll be right back.”

Jennie came back into the room shortly. She stood about two meters in front of you, a nervous smile on her face. “I usually keep this in my pocket,” she held the key Mandu usually wears before pulling it over her head, “here goes nothing.” She sighed.

“What-?” Your mind raced to catch up. Make sense of the situation. What was she doing?

You watched as she shrunk, almost like an illusion, her body became smaller and smaller till it morphed, and once you blinked, your familiar multicolored feline friend, Mandu, stood there. Your mouth closed and opened like a fish before you ultimately gave up. You blinked and pinched yourself, thinking a trick was being played on you, but no it was all real.

“Jennie?” You called out tentatively. Mandu meowed in response— or should you say Jennie instead? She didn’t move, making you frown, she simply looked at you.

“Come back next to me, please? You're too far away.” You laugh as Jennie changes back and settles down next to you now in human form. She has an unreadable expression paired with a small smile. You turn your body towards her before holding her hands and look into her eyes.

“I admit I’m a bit shocked,” You muse as Jennie frowns, her eyes turning downcast. Of course you would be freaked out, this isn’t normal at all. She’s not normal.

You cup Jennie’s face so she looks at you again. “Wait, I didn't finish. But I also am willing to understand this, you. I love you, furry creature or human. A part of me thinks it’s really cool, actually.” Your tone was soft, as was your gaze. Jennie and Mandu were the same. You loved both of them dearly, and knowing that, your heart was full.

A tear slipped from Jennie’s eyes, more following after. She cried into your chest. Overwhelming love and joy, she felt. You loved her. You accepted this fairytale part of her life.

You on the other hand we’re coming to the realization, inputting Jennie and Mandu’s place with all your encounters.

One, Jennie almost scratched your face off. Two, she broke your favorite pottery piece, and others. Three, she was scared of thunder— and she saw you in just a bra. (which explains why the cat was shy) Four, Jennie got poisoned— thank god, you saved her in time. Five, she was so cool scratching Minho’s face off!

Soon, Jennie calmed down and you sat in a comfortable silence. But you had…questions, of course, and maybe it showed on your face.

“Love? Don’t be shy to ask me about my abilities.” She laughed, and you sighed dramatically.

“I have so many!”

You hummed, asking the first question that came to mind, “Are you the only one?” You remembered the abnormal acting coyotes.

“In Furusato? Not at all.” She answered.

“Then who—”

You're interrupted by the doorbell being rung repeatedly, like someone was pressing the button multiple times. Jennie didn’t even have time to get up before the door opened, three familiar loud voices filling the house. Jennie rolled her eyes before snuggling closer into you.

Lisa and Jisoo walked into the living room, Roseanne coming in later shortly with a pepper in her hand. She’s gotten to Jennie’s kitchen already.

“So! I’m guessing everything went well.” Roseanne commented as she settled onto the armchair couch across the room.

“Obviously, look at them!” Lisa answered for Roseanne as she and Jisoo took a seat on the other long couch, amusement in her voice. Jennie was indeed cuddled into your side, looking content as ever, and it didn’t help seeing your head resting atop Jennie’s.

“Leave them alone, they’re cute.” Jisoo scolded.

“Well, meet your coyotes.” Jennie deadpanned, rolling her eyes playfully at the couple's antics. Lisa and Jisoo froze. “Why?” They wined, “we could’ve had a field day teasing her about that!” Jennie just had to ruin their plans. Welp.

“Show me? Please.” You watched as they transformed, the process similar to Jennie’s. Now a white and gray coyote stood in the living room.

The gray one padded up to you (Lisa), and you tentatively pet its fur. It snorted against your hand and you giggled. The white one(Jisoo) padded up to you as well, standing next to the other.

“I can’t believe my bosses are coyotes.” You teased. You looked towards Roseanne expectantly, who was in the middle of chomping on the pepper. Her eyes widened, knowing what you were going to say. “Are you a chipmunk?” You asked excitedly. It would make sense wouldn’t it?

Jennie, and Lisa and Jisoo— who had shifted back, began to laugh obnoxiously.

Roseanne spluttered, her face red. “What? No, I'm not!” She frowned. Your mouth formed an O-shape.

“Then..?” She had to be something.

“I’m a goddess. I gave those two,” she pointed at Jisoo and Lisa, “the ability to shape shift, actually. And I watch over Jennie.” Wow. You were baffled.

“What do you mean ‘watch over Jennie?’”

“I have to make sure she gets her happily ever after. Make sure she’s happy. I promised.” Roseanne replied. The mood in the room turned serious.

“You know how in fairy tales there’s always a villain? The villain always puts a curse on someone, right? Jennie was cursed.” Jisoo says solemnly.

Would you like to continue? ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ

[lovehugsandcandy]

Aerin drabble inspired by the amazing AerinxMC piece by @erixafleur here. I love this artwork so much <3

When her hand hits the cold, empty sheet, Raine groans. It’s been hours and, still, she is alone in this forest bed.

It isn’t even her bed, not technically. She has traveled often, opening realms, visiting friends, and supporting Valax in improving the Shadow Realm. But when she can, Raine stays here, rebuilding the Goblin lands in the Deadwood center. While this place may not be her home, she’s realized, in all her travels, that home is not a location, not a marking on a map, not a set of coordinates. 

It’s a person.

And right now, her person is not beside her.

Long gone are the days when she would fear his disappearance. In the beginning, every absence was concerning; where had Aerin gone? Would he be there when she returned? But slowly, carefully, piece by earnest piece, they had rebuilt that which betrayal and distance had torn asunder. Now, he was a constant presence, a steady thrum echoing in the beat of her heart, regardless of how far she traveled.

And now, with the empty expanse of mattress beside her, there is only one place he could be.

She shivers as her bare feet hit the wooden floor. The moon hangs high in the sky, flooding the room with light. Shadows dance over the careful construction of the walls as she toes on her boots and slips out the door.

The path takes her past Willow’s house, over a short boardwalk, and to the magnificent tree that forms one corner of the Community Center. The building is sturdy, two floors of sprawling space designed for the entire community to congregate, and large enough for even humans to slip inside the arched door. She wanders through the halls until pausing just outside the library; from within is a distinct noise, the soft scratch of pencil to paper, and she carefully pulls on the handle as silently as possible to not disturb the occupant within.

Once she is sure he hasn’t noticed, she takes a step forward, leaning against the doorframe to watch him work. Candlelight flickers over his face, making his eyes glow over the shadows below his cheekbones, and Aerin is engrossed in the sketchbook in front of him. The tip of his tongue pokes out between lush lips as he scribbles frantically and every so often, an impatient hand will swipe at the curls at his forehead, batting them out of the way so he can continue his single-minded focus on the page. She can’t see the image, not at this angle, but it’s either a detailed design for additional housing near the lake or a more… personal project.

A few steps further and he still doesn’t notice, so she gracelessly plops into the seat next to him.

He jumps, mouth dropping open as he blinks at her. “Raine! You startled me.” Quickly, he flips through the papers in front of him until there’s only an empty one in view. 

Ah, a personal project then.

“Well, you worried me. It’s late; come to bed.”

He glances out the window, where a few twinkling stars peek through the branches. “I didn’t realize, I was so caught up in-”

“-in your work?” His face flushes scarlet, and his skin is warm as she cups his cheek. “May I see?”

He sighs. “You know it’s of you, don’t you?”

“Please? You know I love your drawings.” she asks, dropping into the chair next to him, and his teeth dig into his plush lower lip before he responds.

“It’s not done yet.” He flips back a few pages, past an architectural sketch, a labeled diagram of a medicinal plant, until he stops, glancing at her. Peering closer, it’s undoubtedly her- she’s sitting in the woods, braids cascading down her shoulder and a pensive look on her face.

“Is this…?” She squints. “Is this today?”

The blush across his cheeks somehow deepens and spreads to his ears. “Yes. I saw you in front of the campfire and I was… inspired.”

She edges closer, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You know, your muse is right here,” Raine curls her fingers into his tunic, “and she would like to go to sleep.”

His eyes flash mischief and love as he glances down. “She would, would she?”

“She would. Aerin, I’m tired; come back to bed. Please?”

He drops a kiss on her forehead. “Certainly. But will you let me draw you tomorrow?”

“I will let you draw me any time you want. Just not now.”

“Of course.” Aerin closes his sketchbook, offering her a hand. “My muse needs rest.”

She giggles as he leads her out of the community center, her hand in his the entire way. And no matter how far she travels, when she returns to the wood, he will slide next to her in their bed, warm and sure, and she will pose for his art, smiling and laughing, and the portraits will serve as a memory of when her heart is home.

[garthcelyn]

Risen - A (Unfinished) Version of Chapter One

I'll be real, I don't know how to feel about the direction this is going but hey, it's something.

It was on that planet, at the very edge of the universe, a decade after anything remotely interesting had happened, centuries after the important bits, that the city of Kingshill thrived. The city glimmered in the morning light, its geometric designs of gold and brass cogs shining brightly and its white buildings towering proudly above. The overhead wires crackled with Lancer & Co branded electricity, connecting every house and business and small, forgotten shack to the beauty that was a danger to society, but very good at powering newfangled appliances. Cars and shuttlebuses created by the Godricks of Godrick Gears rushed around to no end through busy streets and polished roads. The same city that was protected by its many soldiers, from those of the military academy to the templars of the twin temples that stood mirrored on opposite ends of this glorious place. A perfect haven, where nothing wrong ever happened. Ever.

In the courtyard of the Temple of Omera, a dog knight lay dying. Flat on her back, her chest a concave broken mess. She wore no armour - that was a first, and now her last. She assumed that when the time came, as it does for all, she would go peacefully and quietly. No such mercy ever came her way.

When the elders dragged her still-wheezing corpse from that patch of evergreen grass, she could not fight. Her eyelids were heavy, eyes staring unfocused into the sky, sending one sloppy glare into Sanctum. Behind her, she left a red carpet across the marble flooring, a snail trail of gore that wouldn’t be her problem.

And there, in the back room semi-used as a mortuary, she lay across the stone table. An altar to her. A bottle pressed to her lips, thick liquid forcing itself down her throat as if it were a living thing. Minutes. An eternity. No time whatsoever. Her chest re-inflated with a violent pop, bones sewing back together, skin mending. She sat up with a start, gasping to fill her semi-fixed lungs, hands grasping at her front, feeling how the skin pulled itself together.

She was alive, and that was awful.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, patting her gently. A rook, one that the humble dog knight knew years ago, though time is a fickle thing that does what it wants. His name was Rutherford, once. If it still was, she could never be sure. A fellow barbaric cocktail of etain and human, big catlike eyes and pointed ears hidden beneath a thick cascading mass of black hair.

“Cooper,” he said, voice low but crackling like a hearth. A warning. “You need to be more careful, if anything happened to you-”

“Well, I can’t die,” she said through blood-stained lips, the sound closer to a gurgle than her voice. Closer to water fighting to flow down a plughole. “Idris would get lonely.”

“Forget about the damn dog for two seconds. You have a duty. To the temple and your squad.”

“You had that duty, once.”

Rutherford huffed, blowing air forcefully through his nose as if he could breathe fire. He couldn’t, Cooper had checked. His big purple eyes regarded her, stared through her, before he sighed once more. “Get some rest, Cooper. You still need it.”

Nails scratched at the door, shaking it on its hinges. A loud whine shattered the air before Rutherford opened the door and let the bounding mass of fluff and muscle.

“Hey puppy!” greeted Cooper, voice raising several uncharacteristic octaves; reaching over to rub the overly large wardog between his drooping ears.

Rutherford clicked his tongue. “It’s not a pet, Cooper. It’s also not allowed within temple walls. Your bond shouldn’t have called him.”

Cooper did not have a bond with Idris, not how she expected. They were not connected in any way, either through magic or some other means. She cared for him and, in return, he cared for her. The very fact that he was allowed to grow up without that link is likely the reason for his size, the largest out of his litter, who looked closer to a lycan tank than a typical wardog. His size, unfortunately, came at both their downfalls.

Despite this, the temple was unaware that she skipped the bonding ritual so many years ago. Now standing at the ripe old age of twenty-one, she didn’t see a reason to do so. “I need to get back to the barracks somehow, yeah? Were you going to carry me? Probably not.”

“Don’t let me catch it in here again.”

“Yes, sir.”

She swung her legs over the edge of the table, Idris instinctively laying down so that she could climb onto his back. Her spine cracked, joints popping, but sore now rather than dead. Digging her fingers into thick black fur, Idris stood and carefully walked out of the room, his colossal body squeezing through the doorway once more.

The grey room was still and cold, and the only sound was the soft chatter of the other Templars. After everything, it was a welcome sight. Nothing could have been more comforting than the straw of her bed that she gained from wearing her old mattress down for the past twelve years. Idris lay beside her, his big head dropping into her lap with a thump. One step away from perfection, that last step being positively ruined by Hawkins, the rampant bitch of the twelfth herself, changing in the corner of her eye.

“Back already?” she called over, torso bared and a white cotton shirt that was practically the same colour as her skin bundled in her hand. “And you brought the mutt. Of course. Weren’t you busy dying?”

“Rutherford gave me ichor.”

“Ah.”

Cooper rolled her eyes. “Don’t get too worked up about it.”

“Oh, I’m not. If anything, I’m more upset that you’re still here.”

“I hate you.”

“Who got the better of you? I’ll buy them a drink.”

Cooper replied rather eloquently with a middle finger in Hawkins’ general direction.

It was Mayburn who spectacularly ruined her chest. A child. A child, who both wielded a hammer and was raised by Cooper herself. A young dog knight who had, actually, had the temple’s bond with her animal. Was it pride that Cooper felt blooming in her chest, that the girl she trained bested her so royally? No. No, it was likely heartburn from where her ribs continued to fuse back into place.

Regardless, she did not want to encourage the ten-year-old to gain a drinking problem. Not just yet.

“I think they’d only fight you.”

“Then I welcome the challenge.”

Cooper snorted, hand flying to her chest as it throbbed. Fingers pressed at the bones beneath, massaging out the flames that grew within her heart. Hawkins cast a look that could only be described as pitiful, or rather, pitying. A horrific thought. Her eyes soft and scrunched, focused on Cooper and only Cooper, before hardening once more before strapping a pauldron onto her otherwise unarmoured self.

“The Bishop wants to talk to you.” A roll of the shoulders. “Talk to us.”

“Now?”

“Get some rest, Lieutenant.”

As the sun set over the city, bathing the land in a warm golden glow, Cooper found herself once more in the chilling breeze that haunted her. She lead Idris back to his pen, back to his pups and pack mates, hand lost in the mass of fur of his front leg. The sun disappeared over the gleaming white buildings, the city’s gold glinting for the last time that day.

She sucked in a long breath, lungs chilling and filling with the scent of old mutts that would have once caused her to gag, was now a strange comfort. The dogs understood her like no other templar. She ushered Idris in, rubbing him between the ears one last time before closing the door and locking it behind her. The last stop before her summons.

In the temple’s backfield, she felt the wind on her face, and was free for a few glorious moments. Free in the chilling air as the day slowly but surely turned to night. Above her inky black ate away at the pinks and ambers, the twin moons still out of sight behind the paint dabs of clouds. Free. Cooper couldn’t say what the word meant.

The inside of the temple was hardly any warmer. The chill followed her in, hiding within her bones and gripping its withered fingers into her skin. In the ribcage of marble, the only thing that resembled home, the world fell silent. There she stood before her greatest foe, the dark wooden doorway to the Bishop’s quarters. Her heart hammered away, stomach rolling. She hadn’t been in that room in many years; she could still feel the desperation of leaving Andrin behind, even all these years later. For him to never return from the Bishop’s lair, buried with the rest. She alone left victorious, a new title to pin on her chest.

She didn’t regret it one bit.

Cooper knocked. The sound echoed down the empty hallway. She mustered her courage and struck again, the sound ringing in her ears. It was this time a muffled voice came from within, words unknown but assumedly a “come in” or “go away”. Gambling, she entered.

Bishop Nyxus sat hunched behind his desk, his back arched in such a way it almost overshadowed his head. The same man who took issue with his shining templar’s posture looked closer to an uncooked shrimp in purple robes than the head of their fine regime. Slowly he raised his head, green eyes staring unblinking at Cooper, pupils slits in the soft lamplight.

“Late, isn’t it, Cub?”

“You wanted to speak with me?”

The Bishop nodded slowly, gesturing towards the seat before him. Cooper sat, unaccustomed to the soft fabric that stretched over its overstuffed form. She fingered at the deep purple velvet of the armrests, rolling the pads across its surface. Soft. Cosy. Not for her, but she indulged nonetheless. He watched her. Looked through her. Searching for something beneath the surface.

“Bonbon?” he asked, finally breaking his unblinking stare. Cooper grabbed one from the little ornate bowl on the desk with very little hesitation and popped it in her mouth. It was awful. Chalky and bitter, like licking at where the stone had began to crumble in the courtyard, or the powder that had accumulated behind the peeling wallpaper of the armoury. It coated her tongue, viscous and sour, and stayed there like her own personal punishment. The Bishop gave a small smile at her struggle. “You died today. Perhaps I should be impressed, that the one you trained has overtaken you so quickly, though I invested a lot into you. You do understand how hard it is to fill our ranks since the war, yes?”

She nodded, despite not understanding at all. The temple was worthy to serve, no matter how curious she was about life outside. Four hundred shills, she cost. She had never seen that much money in her life, wasn’t allowed. Too valuable, Nyxus had told her. That, paired with free room and meals for the past twelve years, was more than she could ever give back. Twelve years. She had been dragged through the temple gates kicking and screaming, a feral little thing; underfed and sharp. She had been placed under Rutherford’s care, and had bitten him plenty of times during those first few weeks. That, too, had been beaten from her, trained from her.

She scarfed another bonbon to fill the silence.

The Bishop poured a glass of red, swirling the liquid around the chalice. “Now, Cooper, you’re better than this. You’ve always been better than this.” Cooper grew warm and uncomfortable, sweat prickling her skin. It was a compliment. She was sure it was a compliment. With a long sip, and a lazy appraisal, the Bishop spoke again. “Make it up to me?”

Cooper nodded without hesitation, sitting forward in her seat, though not daring to touch the desk. An over eager child in adulthood. Her skin itched, burned with the need to please despite it all. She could count on both hands the times she had seen him, spoken to him, in all her years serving the Goddess. A busy man who the Goddess chose as her eyes and ears over the Kingshill temple. Too busy to raise her and too busy to father her, but pushed her forward the best he could. She owed him.

“How?” she croaked out. She cursed herself, swallowing the words like a bitter pill. For the Goddess, she’d do anything. It was only right. “How do I make this right?”

“I would have told you in the morning, though there’s no harm in telling you now.” He sat back in his chair, chalice abandoned and fingers steepled. Still, he watched her. Never once had he taken his gaze off of her. “You’re needed on a search party, as you’re likely aware Prince Kirran is missing, and his siblings have asked for you personally.”

Cooper’s stomach dropped. It twisted and boiled, raging against the flesh it was housed in.

Through gritted teeth she said “of course.” And left it at that, which brought a little smile to Nyxus’ lips.

“You’re our best,” he said like a threat. “I agreed on your behalf, though I will have to send Captain Hawkins alongside you. Should take a few months, and I have something in mind for when you return.”

That something, Cooper hoped was the greatest reward of all; no longer being under Hawkins’ leadership.

“Of course, sir,” she nodded, “anything for the Goddess.”

Nyxus smiled at her now, teeth gleaming like the paste advertisements littered around on posters around the city. Very white, and dripping charisma. “You’re dismissed, my cub. You have a long week ahead.”

After sleeping the day away, it now evaded her. The silver moonlight washed over the barracks, untainted by the stained glass that filled the front half of the temple, barely kept out by heavy purple curtains. There in her once-white shirt that had belonged to at least a dozen templars before her, now drenched due to the warm night air; Cooper wanted to die.

As silently as she could she shifted her legs to the side, pulling on her worn down excuse for shoes, she fled the barracks as she had many nights before. It was something she would have considered herself quite good at, if it wasn’t for the knowledge that Nyxus had given the order to let her leave whenever it fancied her. A perk of training under Stykes Academy, though that in itself was only natural for templars. Despite it all, they had a better training ground.

[embervoices]

Dominoes in tidy rows strung across a wooden floor

None occupy undue space No walls protect them from influence

Each given attention only to ensure alignment

When I was a kid nobody told me what homework teaches. They didn't lie. They honestly thought it was math, history, science... Now I turn in paperwork like bills to pay No credit for overdue No sympathy for confusion I hate it almost as much as I hated school With school it was personal

A house of cards is precarious Mere breath breaks paper mansions

You should know better

Tiles are sturdy

Mah Jong is yet more sound. Pictographs form beautiful patterns

More intricate equally precise language says more than mere numbers

Over 330 million out of almost 8 billion human beings live In this country Fair means equally bad service. Sorry, they can't pay too much attention to specific problems Extra time on me means somebody else loses their turn It's nothing personal

One domino is chipped at the corner

It can't stand alone

It tilts,

   striking its neighbor

       which tilts,

          striking its neighbor

              which tilts…

All that careful work a cascading failure

Makes you wonder were they designed to fall?

I understand why they give us all numbers 90210? 24601? Maybe it's better than zero But I still prefer my name

[fabricationeventsfl]

How Can Party Transformation Draping and Lighting In Florida Metamorphose Your Room?

 Florida, the Sunshine State, is inseparable from lively celebrations and unforgettable gatherings. Whether you're hosting a poolside slam, an intimate dinner party, or a grand wedding gathering, party transformation draping and lighting in Florida is critical to creating a lasting impression.

Ways Party Transformation Draping and Lighting In Florida Metamorphose Your Room

Looking to transform your room? If you just nodded, transformation draping and lighting can be the solution you are seeking. Below pointers will assist you understand it better.

Beyond The Obvious, Resourcefulness

Florida's natural beauty provides a stunning backdrop for any event. However, resourceful draping and lighting techniques can elevate your space beyond the ordinary. Imagine transforming a plain patio into a whimsical garden oasis using sheer fabric draped over pergolas, or creating a cozy cabana atmosphere with strategically placed lanterns and fairy lights. By using readily available elements like palm fronds, seashells, and driftwood for your pipe and drape from fabrication events Florida, you can add a touch of local flair without breaking the bank.

Crafting The Perfect Ambiance

The right ambiance sets the tone for your entire event. Draping fabrics in strategic locations can create distinct zones within your venue. Flowing white curtains can transform a harsh outdoor space into a soft, romantic setting, while bold colored drapes can add a touch of drama and energy to a dance floor. Lighting plays an equally crucial role. String lights strung across patios or fairy lights cascading down trees create a magical atmosphere, while strategically placed spotlights can highlight key areas like a buffet or cake table.

Illuminated Furniture, A Touch of Enchantment

Take your party transformation a step further with illuminated furniture. Lease or Do-It-Yourself glow-in-the-dark tables, seats, or bars to make a modern or unusual mood. Luminous stools and seats can act as ice breakers and add a hint of playful intrigue. Uplight furniture pieces with colored gels to cast a captivating glow on your surroundings.

Here Are Some Additional Tips For A Mesmerizing Transformation

Embrace Texture: Consolidate various textures like sheer textures, velvet curtains, and metallic accents to add profundity and visual interest to your space.

Play With Patterns: Don't avoid designed textures like stripes, polka spots, or florals. Use them decisively to make central focuses or add a bit of eccentricity.

Go Green: Integrate regular components like pruned plants, decorative designs, or hanging plants to make an invigorating and welcoming environment.

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall: Decisively positioned mirrors can mirror light and make the illusion of a bigger space, adding an additional bit of greatness.

Meet Florida's Party Transformation Experts - Fabrication Events FL

Fabrication Events FL specializes in Party Transformation Draping and Lighting Florida. With over 20 years of experience, they use fabric and light to create stunning and personalized atmospheres for weddings, events, and celebrations. From transforming patios into whimsical gardens to crafting romantic ambiance with flowing drapes, they help you bring your vision to life.

By incorporating these creative draping and lighting techniques, you can transform any ordinary Florida space into an extraordinary setting that reflects your unique style and leaves your guests in awe. Remember, with a little imagination and resourcefulness, you can create a party atmosphere that is both unforgettable and uniquely Floridian.

[burned-out-match]

Sparrowdow - an original story by yours truly (this is just a short drabble leading up to some more of the story - hopefully you guys like it!)

Night is underestimated and underappreciated. It was a concept that she had considered many times before, although tonight the idea seemed all the more prominent in her mind. Perhaps it was the way she saw a vast vermillion sky sink into the depths of a midnight hue, the sky submitting to the same depth she felt in the evenings.

She didn’t sleep often. While the idea of slipping away from her thoughts was appealing, there was something more appealing about exploring her own mind… something intriguing about confronting the beast… something exciting about entering the cave in which the dragon slept, poking and prodding at it until she got to see the vibrance of its breath of flame. So she did, many nights.

Picturing herself in this setting, she was in a haze that distracted her from the reality of her position. Her eyes were closed and her arms crossed, standing against a brick wall and only being pulled out of her fantasy by the feeling of a gush of wind across her face. The night was cold, and so were her hands, her ears, her nose… all flushed pink as if they were kissed by the wind and stained with rouge.

She didn’t know how long she had been standing there, so she figured she may as well stay put. She observed the streetlamp in front of her… the worn metal holding the bright light that cascaded over dirty roads.

“Excuse me?” The stranger in front of her seemed erratic, having a rather skittish nature about her and a very threatening presence, which was partially encouraged by the scar on her eye. The stranger was practically littered with scars, in fact, and her clothes were as tattered and worn as her skin. The only attractive thing about this person was the particular shade of jade iris in her skull.

“Do you know where I can find the nearest library? It’s urgent.”

“Whatever is the library for?”

“Well… uh… it’s for… um… things…”

“...I see you’re quite eloquent.” A smirk graced her pale face, a glimmer in her silver eyes that were shining in the moonlight. To the stranger, her eyes may have been seen as a silver blade, daring them to come closer.

“Follow me, and don’t get lost.” The elegant woman sauntered along the pathway before them, following it through the old town. Floors groaned and walls whispered, gossiping about the strange pair before them. A finely dressed woman, draped with purple silk and adorned with gems, being accompanied by a shabby nobody.

Their journey continued until they were no longer in the town, rather entering a forest clearing covered in moss and mushrooms. Fireflies flew about them and illuminated their path… a path guarded by vine covered trees and the sounds of scattering feet across dried leaves and dead flowers. A stone street emerged from the dirt after a certain point, and gradually, this street turned into a bridge complete with lanterns that led to a rather large mansion in the woods… the house was almost entirely wooden, seemingly carved from a rather large tree in the forest. The two wanderers continued onward to the door to the place.

“I figured we weren’t actually headed towards a library, but I’ll admit…”

They entered a grand foyer with statues springing up from the floors, still all wooden, and various paintings that were directly illustrated on the walls.

“You’ll admit what, exactly?”

The stranger realized that she was too stunned to speak. The grandiose nature of the place combined with the intricacies of its design… she felt as though she was standing in a living, breathing being. The elegant woman looked at her with a familiar mischief in her eyes and seemed to understand everything that she was thinking, all at once. The wood of the structure creaked and groaned as they stared at each other in silence.

“Now, on to the library-” The elegant woman was about to continue on, but she felt a calloused hand grasp her wrist as an exclamation met her ears.

“Wait! Wait… what’s your name?”

“My name, darling?”

“Yes. I would like to know.”

There was a brief pause between them.

“Theo. I expect you to reveal the same?”

“Arche.”

Theo led them into a musty room, clouded with the scent of musk and pine, with vines on the walls and filled with bookshelves. The sides of the bookshelves were trees, and the shelves themselves were composed of branches. This place was well and truly alive. The mass of literature in the room made it seem almost as if this was the mind of the house… each book representing a thought of the living being.

“So, what sort of book would interest you?” Theo was running her hands over the pristine leather of an array of books as she made the remark. She turned to Arche and quirked a brow.

Arche’s first thought was of how she could never reveal to this woman, who may be affiliated with the palace, her true identity. She could not, and would not, reveal what she was looking for and why she was looking for it.

“You seem to be a kindred spirit, Arche. Perhaps you were seeking to learn of the new mutations taking our world by storm?”

Arche was, indeed, seeking answers to questions that weren’t yet fully mature in her mind… roots of predicament that were nourishing an underdeveloped bud of pondering. These young considerations were, indeed, concerning the mutations that had recently infiltrated their world. The mutations that would turn a joyful mother horrified in a matter of seconds after the birth of their child. The mutations that would lead to elven ears, sharp teeth, large bones, eagle eyes, furry faces, and everything in between.

Arche was lost in her memories… the memories of things seen and words heard… and didn’t notice the book that Theo was holding until it landed on a nearby table with an audible ‘thud.’

The book was bound in white leather and pressed with golden letters. Theo’s hands, upon further inspection were covered in scars and possessed a rather sharp collection of nails.

“I’ve conducted meticulous research, along with a colleague of mine, and these were our findings. Our conclusions have been met, and therefore, we no longer have any need for the book. Consider it yours. Take good care of it.”

Theo’s words dripped like honey from her tongue, and there was something magnificent about the way her words graced Arche’s ears. Her voice was silk, slipping out from her lips and caressing the ears… the soul… of those who had the pleasure to listen.

Arche found herself staring at the gorgeous woman, and before she realized it, the house was descending back into the dirt, furniture and all. The wooden structure devolved into twigs on dirt until there was nothing left but a small sprout in the midst of where the house once was.

Distracted by the enigmatic disappearance of this grand mansion, Arche did not notice the woman before her revealing a somehow hidden pair of magnificent wings. Theo spread the mass of feathers on her back and ascended into the air. Arche’s thoughts were interrupted by a gust of wind that carried the creature in front of her upwards, into the clouds, and past the trees, until there was nothing to see but a twinkle of the sun’s rays reflected off of golden quills.

[carloswilliamcarlos]

Since it's Valentine's season could you maybe to a 12 types of K**o kisses?

Sure thing, sweet love! Kylo says happy Valentine's day!

The 12 Types of Kylo Kisses (Kylo Ren x Reader)

The first kiss, so sudden and swift it took your breath away. He’d asked you to meet him in a back hallway after weeks of interactions that were somewhere between flirting and fighting. As you craned your neck to check for onlookers, he suddenly appeared, paused, and whipped off his mask, letting it thud to the floor. The face revealed was a strange mix of confused, determined, and terrified, a little flushed and capped with a messy black mop of hair. His hands clenched and flexed nervously in his gloves as he strode toward you, alarmingly fast. In a breath you were against the wall, a huge hand holding your face with fingertips behind your ear and a strong thumb crossing your neck. He kissed you hard, fast, and before you could even register what was happening he pulled away, looking frantically back and forth between your eyes. You swore you saw him nod just a bit, and then he was gone, stomping away. It wasn’t until he stooped down to retrieve his mask and his eyes caught yours that you glimpsed just a hint of a smile.

The second kiss, this time by your design. He’d been avoiding you, or so he thought. His frequent curious peeks at you from across the room weren’t nearly as covert as he meant them to be. So with a well-concealed note you summoned him to your quarters that night. He sat beside you on the edge of your bed, a tense coil of unsure energy. But your hand on his knee melted him. He could feel the soothing warmth radiate across him, urging his muscles to let go and surrender to your soft serenity. You brushed a lock of hair from his face and moved in slowly, watching his eyelids flutter shut in bliss. And you kissed him slowly, tenderly, until he was languid putty in your hands. And from that moment on you were the center of his galaxy.

The secret kisses, like teenagers stealing moments from the watchful eyes of unapproving parents. All desperation and rush and grabbing hands and crooked teeth peeking out from behind plush lips as he let himself laugh like a kid again, laugh in a moment that been taken from him in the wake of war and legacy and the obligation to grow up far, far too fast. With you, all that time was his again. A first love, hidden exchanges, the tingling that lingered on his lips long after you left through separate doors.

The kiss the first time you’re on top of him, and his head is spinning and he thinks he may explode. It’s all breath, shaky breath, panting breath, and bitten lips flush red with desire. His chest heaves, his fingertips bite into your hips, and then it happens, and all of the lights in his room blow out at once, sparks falling in cascades to the floor.

The first morning kiss, the one you press to the very tip of his nose while he’s still asleep, before the burdens and worries and dangers have shadowed his face. He looks so young now. Not a Commander, but a boy. A boy who, for the first time in many years, has fallen asleep without dreaming of a traitor standing over him, waiting to strike. A boy who reaches for you without realizing. A boy who loves you.

The one million and one kisses you dot across his skin- one for every freckle. He’s stolen you away to some planet he discovered by accident a while back, one only he knows exists. The sun shines bright, no stars or moons to be seen. Waves crash against the shore and his freckles darken, constellations of them, more than you ever knew were there. You kiss them all with equal affection, anointing each one with a blessing of gratitude and protection.

The searing kiss he bites into your inner thigh when he’s got all your all sprawled out and sweating on his bed. He’s nothing if not devoted, and oh, does he love to show you. Over and over again, until even just his breath against you makes you spasm and shiver and shake.

The kiss that gets you caught, interrupted by the terse clearing of a throat. You only see a flash of fear in Kylo’s eyes before they’re overtaken with incendiary rage, turning slowly to face the offender. To this day, you’re not sure how Hux was lucky enough to survive.

The tearful kiss, the one you’re sure will be your last. You tell him you won’t be the one to come between him and the power he was destined for. He’s unstoppable, like nothing and no one the galaxy has ever seen, and you both know there’s a throne waiting for him- only him- someday soon. It’s not that you don’t love him. It’s that you do. You love him too much to cost him what belongs to him. So you tell him goodbye, and when you can barely choke the word out, you don’t bother trying again.

The all-consuming kiss that lifts you off the ground with its force, This time it’s Kylo who thinks it may be your last, and he takes everything he can from you, gives everything he has to you- no reason to leave anything behind. He’s fighting for you, he tells you. Fighting to take the throne now and to bring you with him, to rewrite the rules and begin a new era of the Order. If he succeeds, you’ll be his empress, seated beside him at the helm of the galaxy. If he fails… You won’t let that thought catch flame. You snuff it out until it’s only smoke, trailing behind him as stomps toward the steps of his ship.

The kiss that revives him. He’s in the med bay, where the air is deathly still and even the droids seem to be holding their breath. He’s won. But barely. His victory only matters if he lives, if he’s here to take the throne with you. A victory won for you means nothing now, nothing without him. He’s slashed nearly to bits, some of his burns still searing. So you sit on his bed, brush his hair away just how you did in your quarters so long ago, hoping this will call him to you once again. You brush your kiss across his lips, lingering, a tear falling on his cheek. It hisses as it hits an open wound. And there’s nothing, nothing from him at all, and you’re about to fall to your knees when a hand comes to rest at your lower back. You turn to look, and it’s his, of course it is, of course he did it. When you turn back to him, his eyes are open, the smallest of smiles fighting its way to the corner of his mouth. He’s won.

The wedding kiss you share before your thrones, crowds fighting to catch a glimpse of you up on the obsidian steps. It’s the beginning of forever, a bright sun and a shadowed moon, swirling together through space until the end of time.

[denkamis]

Can you please write a fluff one shot about a sk8 the infinity like his girlfriend/boyfriend/s/o falls asleep on him

to anon: omg first request omgomg thank you so much for sending one in! i wasn’t sure which sk8 character you were referring to, so i decided to write one for both reki and langa! hope you don’t mind hehe <3 this is the one for reki, the one for langa will take a little bit longer bc of valentine’s & other requests but i hope you like this one regardless!

warnings: none, just some fluffy times with the best boy. reader is gn!

word count: 1.3k

sleepyhead. (reki x reader)

Late nights were certainly not a rare occurrence with your boyfriend, Reki. He was filled to the brim with energy and passion that practically flowed out of him like a geyser. Not that you were opposed to that at all, you found that it was one of the qualities that made you fall for him in the first place. Though, you worried that he wasn’t taking into consideration his own personal health during these late night excursions. Take for instance tonight, as it was slowly approaching two thirty am, it seemed that the redhead had no clear intention of stopping his work.

The two of you were cooped up in his workshop behind his house, Reki singing along to some “cool jams” as he called them. In reality, it was his Spotify playlist of the “best 2000’s alternative” music like Sk8er Boi by Avril Lavigne and Dear Maria, Count Me In by All Time Low. You were barely hanging onto your string of consciousness, the mere idea of sleep sounding like absolute heaven at this very moment. You were propped up on a stool in the corner, the stack of skating magazines Reki had given you to flick through in case you got bored now sat in a neat pile off to the side. You had read each one of them front to back twice already tonight.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love spending time with Reki. You enjoyed listening to his midnight ramblings of whatever came to mind. His ideas for new boards, designs for stickers, and other creative ways to beat his future S opponents were usually his topics of interest. No one really noticed how much of an imaginative person your boyfriend was. He could be impulsive and over excited at times, but his fantastic mind and his willingness to create made your heart soar. Not only that, but he was fairly handy when it came to fixing up and assembling his own boards like he was some mad scientist waiting for one of his many experiments to go right. You indulged him as much as you could, you really did enjoy his company. Even if you would much rather be curled up beside him snuggling in bed rather than hear Reki precariously make his way through the lyrics of Check Yes Juliet for what seemed like the seventh time.

“Reki,” you spoke up finally as the analog clock on the wall indicated the current time of two forty-three am. Reki looked up from Langa’s custom longboard, hair bouncing about despite already being contained by the headband he wore everyday. “Yeah?” he asked, throwing a glance over his shoulder only to see your weary eyelids and tired expression. His entire demeanour melted, lips jutted out in a tiny pout upon seeing his poor baby so tired.

He backed away from his worktable, dancing and tiptoeing across the floor to avoid stepping on any spare parts or tools he had left lying about his mishmash of a workshop.

“Is baby tired?” he cooed, sawdusted fingers beginning to tug and pinch at the corners of your cheeks. You groaned in annoyance, your sleep deprived state causing you to be a tad more irritable at this hour. “Reki,” you repeated in a more serious tone, ember coloured irises meeting your e/c ones. His calloused hands moved to cup your face, warmth enveloping you in a way that felt like home. The scent of pine and the remnants of orange crush soda invaded your senses. He smiled at you with that goofy face of his, the one that Langa constantly teased for being weird. Maybe it was your sleepy nature, but he looked even more gorgeous in the harsh LED lighting of his garage. Tiny strands of his auburn hair fell in front of his face as he tilted his head to the side, his smile growing as he watched your eyes begin to droop.

“Please. Let’s go to bed,” you asked of him as kindly yet firmly as you could. Reki clicked his tongue a bit, thinking for a moment before delivering a cute peck to your nose. “A few more minutes! Then we can head inside, grab a cookie or two and crawl into bed together! It’ll be just a jiffy okay? Here, you can even set an alarm,” Reki was already reaching for his phone in his hoodie pocket so that you could do just as he suggested. He stopped in his tracks as he felt your hands clasp around his hoodie, pulling him close so that you could hug his torso. He laughed at how clingy you could be while being so sleepy, his hand patting atop your head as a form of affection.

“Wow, you really are.. sleeping,” Reki’s voice trailed off as he looked down to be greeted by you completely passed out against him. Your arms held your boyfriend close, your face buried within the fabric of his yellow skater boy hoodie. Soft snores escaped you, your breathing slowed and calm as you finally let your consciousness slip out of your ever fleeting grasp. Reki’s face began to bloom with colour the longer he stared at you, panic setting in as he realized what was truly happening.

You had fallen asleep against him. Oh shit. Oh god. You were asleep against him. That meant you were so comfortable that you just so happened to pass out in his arms. Reki bit back a giddy smile, warmth cascading through him in a form of nothing but love radiating solely for you at nearly three in the morning. His heart thumped rapidly against his rib cage. No matter how long he had been with you, he kept discovering new things about you that made him absolutely lose his mind. You falling asleep against him definitely being one of those many things. You looked so peaceful, so unbothered and safe within his embrace. This warmth you had given him overtook his will to keep working, his hands moving your hair out of the way of your face to kiss your forehead.

“Sorry for making you stay up, sweet baby,” he apologized in a quiet tone. His hands moved your arms to around his neck, using his strength to lift you up and wrap your legs securely around his waist. “I can’t say I’m not grateful for you being here for me, though. You could have left too, yet you stayed here for me,” Reki spoke to your sleeping form. The fact that you had stayed up with him this late made him even more grateful to have you. Reki grunted a bit as he adjusted to the newfound weight of you around him, your hair getting in his mouth and his eyes squinting to find the light switch so that he could flick it off before leaving. Reki was always careful with you, handling you as if you were a sort of glass figurine he barely even had the permission to touch.

“You look so damn cute like this, y’know,” he continued to speak as he maneuvered his way about his house, trying his best to subdue his footsteps and make as little noise as possible. He didn’t want to wake up his mom or little sisters. “Man, I’m so lucky. Seriously really lucky to have someone like you in my life.”

In your sleep, you subconsciously nuzzled your head against his chest. He melted a bit, holding back a tiny noise of happiness as he began to beam like an idiot holding his partner. You were the most amazing person, the person who made him happy every single day without fail, the person who picked him up no matter how much he bailed or got hurt. He loved you more than anything, and he wanted to treat you as well as you treated him. Even if it meant carrying you to bed after a late night of him talking your ear off about skateboarding for three consecutive hours.

all works © denkamis 2021.

tags:

@meilbox

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