#warmer hues au

[loboto-bear]

Okay, okay, I know Warmer Hues is about lowbloods, but, uh, these two are unintentionally kind of relevant to the plot, so I whipped up designs for them.

Behold! Warmer Hues Stelsa and Tagora :))

[ask-warmer-hues]

Hey skylla, do you know what a 'pet' is?

A real unsavoryy one, at that-

[minhosimthings]

Elysian || 18+

Synopsis: you never wanted to fall for the only son of the family yours hated. And yet you did.

Pairings: Mafia boss!Hyunjin × fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, mentions of dagger, kind of knife play?, P in v sex, fingering, angst, fluff, forbiddened love, mafia boss au, mention of poison, blood, food and alcohol, reader wears a dress, implied mental abuse, fluffy at the end but it's really angsty in the middle sorry yall

A/N: ahhh this took a lot of time to write because I wanted everything to be PERFECT. and in my opinion this is the best shit I've ever written Mona 2am brain go burr. Also this is dedicated to my beloved @astraystayyh and Hyunjin's photoshoots which have made me go feral approximately 143 times

Red.

You remembered it as a hibiscus, decorating the gardens of your family's estate as child. You remembered it as the ugly hue of your grandmother's rug, the only thing you'd fixate on whenever the stench of blood filled your nose. You remembered it as your family's emblem, in a kingdom of money and roses and whatnot. You remembered red as death.

But you never thought you would have remembered red as the colour which outlined the shadows of the painting in front you.

You never though red would remind you of one of your most favourite persons ever, of his plump pink lips and gorgeous waterfall of hair you would decorate with rose petals anyday.

You never thought red would remind you of Hwang Hyunjin.

Red, as the multifaceted colour it is, fascinated you. It was like an idea in your head, hard to drive out, impossible to kill. What was red truly? What shades did it hide?

Red as a ladybug or red as a lobster? Red as a tulip or red as red as a new bride's cheeks? Red as lipstick or red as a gown? Red as roses or red as blood?

Red as the dominating colour of Hyunjin's palette was the correct answer to you most of the time.

You could recall the first time you had ever met him. Five months ago or had it been a year? You didn't remember much, just the fact that Hwang Hyunjin saved you, the 'enemy' from a bullet wound when he could have let you rot and made his family proud. The Hwangs were nefarious for their merciless behaviour, and yet you found in Hyunjin, a different kind of warmer mercy.

A mercy which you preferred because no one else gave it to you.

And that was how you found comfort in Hyunjin, a sense of familiarity that made you believe that you could be your true self with him and not just another painted version of you. Granted, he did paint you, in various shades of golds, violets and reds.

Painstaking as they were, you loved your short lived secret sessions with him. He was like a thief, quietly sneaking in through a window, and stealing away your heart with his demeanor.

Both of you came from families who despised each other, there was a certain Romeo-Juliet element to it all that both amused and frightened you.

But no matter what thing troubled you, you always had your memories with him to come back to. Especially those soft tender moments when you realised how much you craved a normal life away from the money and the blood.

You remembered one moment better than most others. It was the first time you said the poisonous word. It was that time in Italy...or was it Belgium? All you seemed to actually recall was the time you first walked into the love which Hyunjin gave you.

Dark chocolate eyes flickered over your naked body as it sunk beneath warm water, a bottle of liquid soap shone a bit in the candlelight as Hyunjin poured it into your tub. His ethereal figure was like a God in the pale moonlight coming from the tiny window.

“Just a little something extra to provide you some… relief,” he smiled, dipping his elegant hand into the waters to stir it around.

Hyunjin knew you were an assassin, carefully molded into one by your family, nevertheless he saw more than what he was supposed to. He saw you as a human instead. A human who was tired of all the blood she had spilt.

Your body easing into the water, you barely noticed the ripples of Hyunjin slipping his carved body beside you. It barely registered, his arm wrapping around you, the warm water pouring down your neck to rinse off the blood, the trickles that run down your face as he wets your hair and washed it clean of sweat and more.

You couldn't remember the last time you had felt like this, so relaxed so taken care of. So you said it, you said the word without a moment's waste.

"I love you" you had blurted out without a second thought, "I love you, Hwang Hyunjin." The name mattered to you in ways you hadn't ever fathomed before.

And the worst thing was he said it back. With a kiss to imprint it.

And now here you were, eyes flickering between the ceiling and each other. The warm light of the massive ballroom shone its glory onto you as you clutched your champagne tight to your bosom, making sure to distract yourself with it, whenever your stolen glances at Hyunjin were caught by someone.

You hadn't been forced to attend the ball by any means by your family, in fact you volunteered for it. You had waited eagerly for your target's name, your mother stressed that it was an important one, and as the quietest daughter it would have been easy for you to kill in plain sight and prove once and for all to your father that you were ready to take over as the heir to his 'buisness'. Maybe you'd finally have the fame and the power you craved off as a child, like some starved deer eating its own kind.

But now, you clutched the tiny vile of hemlock close to your hip, carefully dropping it into your pocket, all the while staring at Hyunjin across the room, who was laughing with someone you recognised as a painter Hyunjin adored. His raucous yet polite laughter, gorgeous strands of hair framing his face, your heart sobbed at the thought of slipping poison into his veins.

If you had even a modicum of respect for your own head, maybe you would have sneaked the hemlock into his drink at the slightest moment. Unfortunately though, you didn't and so it came to be that you resorted to dissecting a serene painting until hopefully Hyunjin ultimately noticed you.

The painting fascinated you, it was one you hadn't ever seen before. Dark blue traced the outlines two people, with grey hair and wisened foreheads, holding hands through a rough brown canvas. You smiled at the painting before taking a sip of your champagne. Love, eternally, was one of Hyunjin's most beloved topics to waste all his blue paint on.

Words rushed through your mind as your eyes traced each brushstroke. Whips of harsh sentences and scenes of conversations, contrasting the soft daubs of paint, flashed in front of your eyes.

'The Parks? Mum I can't do that!'

'You want to be useful to this family? Marry him and you'll be more than useful'

'But Mum...!'

'You think you have a say in this? Shut up and do what's good for that useless head of yours'

"Admiring my work, my love?"

You flinched slightly at the different voice, which sounded like spring rain and lily pads. Spinning on your heel to face the source of the voice, you found yourself melting into a pair of beautiful eyes, the kind of eyes that made thieves wonder why they ever bothered to steal pieces of art. His eyes—the color of an intoxicating champagne—beckoned you over with nothing more than a warm smile.

"What?" Hyunjin chuckled, seeing you stare at him, "Did I get fondue on my lips again?"

"No, just..." You trailed off, not finding the correct words, "You look good."

"As you do, my sweet." Hyunjin's hand took yours and brought it up to his lips, "God, I wish I could paint you right here."

"Hyunjin," you gave him a playful look, unsure of whether or not it was hiding your fright, what if someone saw?

Hyunjin's arms went to your waist, pulling you closer to him, which felt like syrup wafting through the air, sweet with a touch of familiarity. He leaned in, you felt his hot breath on your neck as he whispered, "None of your family or their spies are here don't worry."

You took in a shaky breath, as you felt his long, dainty fingers reaching up your thigh, fiddling with something strapped tightly to it. Hyunjin smiled into your neck, as he continued to fiddle with the leather.

"That's how they plan to kill me?" He chuckled, "With a dagger strapped to the ravishing thigh of the love of my life?"

"That's just Plan B." You whispered, shoving his hand off gently, as your eye caught a waiter in the corner glancing at you and Hyunjin, "Just in case the hemlock doesn't work."

"Willing to test that theory?" Hyunjin stepped away from you, leaving your body colder than you wished. His cocky smile, his raised brow and relaxed demeanour, he was like a like a cat lounging in a garden, at peace with watching the world pass on.

"In front of everyone?" You questioned, "don't tell me the only son of the Hwangs is becoming soft for someone like me."

Hyunjin's mouth stretched lazily as he grinned at you, extending a hand for you to take.

"Let's go somewhere private?" He asked, not giving you time to answer as he basically dragged you across the hall, where magnificent stairs led to the upper floors of the luxurious mansion. Gossiping eyes followed your movements, well, more precisely, Hyunjin's movements, as he led you up the stairs, making sure not to step on your tartine dress, as you carried the fabric behind you with regal grace.

"Now," Hyunjin smirked as you climbed onto the last step, now well hidden from the party downstairs, "Shall we?" And he broke into a run, dragging you behind him, giggling maniacally like a child in the summer. You were sure you heard your dress rip, but you had not a care as you ran with Hyunjin down the corridor, to the last door, his bedroom. The walls of the corridors were lined with paintings, Hyunjin's evidently, fading edges of canvases standing out against the ruby of the wall paint and the carpeted floor. You recognised each and every painting. A painting of a woman amongst daffodils, another of the same woman in an abandoned mansion which Hyunjin had always told you would be that women's one day. The day he married that woman to be specific.

'The woman in my dreams', Hyunjin told his family when they asked him who she was. 'The woman in my dreams', Hyunjin told his patrons when they asked who she was. 'You', Hyunjin told you when you asked, though you knew, but you still questioned him, in between chaste kisses on the neck and giggles. Hyunjin came to a halt in front of the oak carved door, a tiny metal label on top spelling his name in cursive letters.

"How about we put that dagger to use then?" Hyunjin pressed your back against the door in no time, devouring your being as he tasted the honey of your elysian lips. His hands went again, to your thigh, fumbling to take the dagger out, but you were quicker in your actions. Your hand had been resting on the door's handle, and as you tugged on it, both of you fell back into the room, lips never wanting to leave each other's company.

"Jinnie," you made a sound of pleasure as you pulled away from him, suddenly aware of the audible music coming from downstairs, "Maybe not now."

"Come now love," Hyunjin laughed, striding into the room, where painting supplies lay cluttered next to a pristinely made bed, "Don't say that after we escaped from the prying eyes of everyone downstairs."

"Hyunjin," you looked at him with reprimanding eyes, how could you tell him the actual reason? "Don't you think it'd be suspicious to my family if I return today with messed up hair and a torn silken dress after merely slipping poison into someone's champagne?" How could you tell him to make you stop falling more for him? "This shit is expensive you know."

"Would it not be more dangerous if you were to return without killing the Hwang family's brightest hope?" Hyunjin's voice, though low, spoke it's volume, as he removed his coat, throwing it onto an empty chair.

Locked in a gaze that spoke volumes, you inched toward Hyunjin, a silent plea lingering in the air. As your fingers tightened around his hair, a palpable tension filled the space between you.

His ethereal eyes held yours, revealing a tumult of unspoken struggles and desires. Your gaze shifted to his lips—slightly chapped yet irresistibly inviting. 

Without even a moment of hesitation, you kissed him.

Hyunjin's initial surprise melted into a shared passion, and for a moment, the world around you faded. His arms encircled you, pulling you close as if trying to etch the moment into his memory. As the intensity deepened, you let go of his soft hair, your hands finding their way to his jaw, pulling him even closer.

He tasted your soft lips and felt your warm skin. He pulled away slightly, breath mingling with yours, lips lingering, an anguished pause in the silent night.

"so pretty..." he mutters, taking in the sight of your body.

Hyunjin's lips attach to your skin, leaving deep marks of love all over which wouldn't go away for days now. You stifled your moan, as his lips sucked on your collarbone, you could feel his erection pressing through his pants to your core, making you accidentally whimper.

Hyunjin's ringed hands made their way up your right thigh, the slit in your dress allowing him to caress the soft skin, the cold metal of the ruby created dagger hitting his skin like soft cotton to a wound.

He couldn't explain how attractive it was to him, the carved golden hilt, the blood red jewel in the centre, and the carefully shaped blade of the dagger, decorating his most favourite muse. You were a painting come to life for him.

You were his painting, his magnum opus, a canvas as precious as an angel's wing.

Your mind, on the other hand, was racing at a hundred miles per the hour. How could you tell him? How could you tell him the truth he'd always known? That your love was one the stars crossed each other to find?

You draw him into another uncertain kiss, this one your confused mind didn't think much about, and trailed a hand up the smooth skin of his exposed chest. Hyunjin signs into your mouth and runs both his hands down your sides, pausing to squeeze your thigh, and the cold blade pressed against your skin again.

“My love, that was by far one of the most sexy things I’ve ever seen.” Voice low and seductive, your lips barely pulling away from him. "I really can't believe you chose this one out of all. You know it's my gift don't you?"

"Hyunjin..." You trailed off, impatiently pulling away from his lips, "we shouldn't, we really shouldn't."

"Why not love?" Hyunjin's lips pressed against yours again morphing into a gentler kiss, he was evidently trying to calm you down.

"Hyunjin please don't." You begged with him, as if you were begging for your mind to stop itself before you went too far. You had to stop falling for him before it was too late. And yet how could you?

"Princess-" Hyunjin began before looking at you with worried eyes, "You're scaring me what's wrong? You can talk to me."

"What's wrong is we shouldn't be doing this." You tried to feign disgust, but all that came out was pathetic love for Hyunjin, 'Don't let me fall in love again' was what you had meant to say.

"Princess—"

"No!" You all as but screamed, forgetting that you were currently above a party filled with guns and roses, Hyunjin stood shocked in front of you at your sudden outburst, the air around you stilled, as words came out like vomit.

"listen, I am to get married to the Park family's eldest son, and if anyone, anyone, finds out about this," you stopped and took in a breath, "we're dead, Hyunjin, both of us! Or worse shit I can't even fathom to think about!" You took a breath at every word, stressing each note like a violin's vibrato, "And I'd really fucking take this poison myself rather than living in a world where everything tries to stop us from being together. So, please Hyunjin," your eyes held whispers of pained love, "Don't let me fall into this depth of love, because I just know I can never climb out."

The silence that overtook the room was heavy, heavier than you would have liked. You could have endured bullet heads, burn marks, fractures, but this was the greatest wound of all. The greatest pain you'd endured was the one you had always been deprived of.

Love, had it always been such a sin?

Your head felt dizzy as you say down on the bed, letting the soft material of the cover sink in. The dagger round your thigh and the air round your being felt tighter. You felt as if you could have drawn oceans of blood at that moment.

"Love," his voice echoed through your entire being, "look at me.

Your head turned to look up at him, as his hands quickly straddled you onto his lap, one of them squeezing your right thigh, eliciting a quiet moan out of you.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The ethereal, devilish angel, Hwang Hyunjin had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

"Hyunjin I-"

"I don't care what or who comes in our way. You, my dearest, are mine, and mine alone." Hyunjin growled into your ear, his anger would never seep through to you but on certain occasions it would certainly scare you, the way his anger was cold as an icicle, rather than fiery like a volcano.

A groan rumbles through Hyunjin's chest, and he dips down to give a playful bite to your bottom lip, earning a squeak you will deny if asked about later.

One of his hands moves down to delicately play with your breast, kneading softly before pinching your nipple between his finger and thumb. You break the kiss with a breathless gasp, tugging at Hyunjin’s roots, forcing a ragged groan from him. Hyunjin wastes no time to pepper kisses down the column of your neck. He pushed the hair out of his eyes before he grabbed you by the waist and rubbed his cock up against you. He could feel heat settle in his body as his cock throbbed for you. He wanted you, he needed you more than he needed air. And he was more than willing to let you know that.

Stripping off your clothes and throwing it to the side, Hyunjin climbed up the bed and grabbed your hand on the way, hauling you under him. He wasted no time in lining himself up with you, throwing his head back in a groan as your pussy enveloped him.

Hyunjin groaned through grit teeth as he pushed his cock into you. You tensed and he groaned louder, he held onto the bed under you and moved all the way inside of you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him tightly as he started to thrust. You moaned into his skin as he moved against you.

His mouth went to your neck, leaving dark scars there. His teeth hit the ruby of your necklace, as he took it in his mouth and tugged at it, making you gasp loudly.

Your body felt numb but in a pleasurable way. You could only lie there and accept all the pleasure that he was giving you. He kissed your soft face, he could feel your racing heartbeat under your skin. His face went back to your neck where he left more bruises on the flesh. He felt heat through his body as the pleasure coursed through his veins. It was arousing, he couldn’t deny what he was feeling.

"You're mine." Hyunjin growled through a symphony of soft sighs, "I will never let anything get in between us, alright?"

The only response he got was a pleasured moan escaping from your lips, but he took it. He took pride in the way he could make you feel like this.

Your head fills with pleasures, not a single thought could form in your head. “Fuck you feel so good doll” he groans holding your hips down and slamming deeper inside you. “G-god Hyunjin! Feels…s-so good!” You cry.

Your eyes begin to roll back feeling how good he felt. His tip hitting your G-spot making you ready to cum just as fast as before. “H-Hyune fuck I’m gonna c-“ you are interrupted by his hand gripping your throat, choking you.

“Fuck baby you got wetter just from that… god you're so good” his mixture of degradation and praise had your body a dripping, desperate mess. You couldn’t believe the hold he had over you.

His breathing is labored when he pulls his hips back and thrusts in, he goes slow at first, treating you like you were a fragile statue made from porcelain, but then you’re begging him to go faster, to go harder. His tongue swipes along the roof of his mouth before he speaks, “are you sure, doll? i don’t— fuck— want to hurt you.”

“h-hurt me, it’s okay,” you mumble out, and he truly does hesitate for a second, then his thrusts are suddenly faster, bumping you into the bed with the sheer snap of his hips. Your cries sound like noises formed from a blessed harp, passed down by the gods for him to listen to, each moan getting louder and louder until his ears are ringing, until the music sounds hushed compared to your screams.

He felt you trembling hard, pulsing around his cock as you got close to cumming. He works himself deeper inside you, stroking all the places you need to reach that high point. A few more thrusts and you burst. You gush around him with a long whine.

You squirm and buck as he holds you in place and keeps rutting into you until it becomes too much for him. He also lets loose and shoots his cum inside you. He fucks it into you a bit, before slowly pulling out.

Slightly panting and out of breath, Hyunjin's figure could be seen gracefully outlined by the moon's tears penetrating through the tall, stained windows. He gets up and fetches a towel, gently cleaning you up as your eyes flickered between sleep and consciousness.

"Are you alright, love?" He questioned you, his fingers tracing shapes on your hips as he layed down beside you again, clearly not in the mood for wearing his clothes. Neither were you, so you turned your body towards him, allowing him to wrap you into the cocoon of his warm muscles. Laying your head on his chest, you felt his hand, once again, reaching for your thigh.

"You really do like that dagger don't you?" You laughed, as he caressed the metal.

"You should wear it more often, maybe for a painting?" Hyunjin's suggested, a smile like the air after rain, fresh with the stench of earth and dew, imprinted on his face.

"Hyunjin I-", you began, taking a breath before continuing, "What about—about my family?"

You swore you could have heard Hyunjin gently scoff, but you ignored it as he brought you closer to him, the space in between you practically empty.

"Stay here for tonight." Hyunjin said, "and if they come in search of their 'beloved' daughter," he scoffed once again, muttering a curse underneath his breath, "I'll tell them I stole her away from her tower."

"More like stole her dagger away." You giggled, finding his obsession with the strap on your thigh amusing. Hyunjin merely smiled at that, and silence fell again.

"Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

Red wasn't that bad of a colour after all. Not when it reminded you of Hyunjin, not when it reminded you of secret kisses and poisoned paintings, and certainly not when it reminded you of love.

"I love you too, Hyunjin."

[joyful-enchantress]

Spring Heat (18+) | Loki x Fem!Reader

banner created by the amazing @springdandelixn

A/N: You help your husband through his yearly heat, which is part of the Jotun mating cycle. He's afraid he might hurt you, but you are determined to stay... I wrote this for @springdandelixn and her Double-Trouble Sleepover! Congratulations, Beanie, my love! I hope you enjoy this little fic that I put together for you 🖤

Genre/Warnings: Jotun mating cycle AU, smut (18+), rough sex, choking, dubcon? (everything is consensual but Loki is not entirely in control of himself), language, light angst, fluff too, filth with feeling, established relationship

Word Count: 3182

The sights and sounds of springtime were all around you as you strolled through the palace grounds —

The busy twittering of birds as they searched for food and fought over tree branches on which to build their nests.

The chattering of squirrels and rabbits and other small animals as they came out of hiding to begin a new season of life.

The rich shade of green returning to the grass in the meadow, speckled with pops of color where wildflowers were beginning to bloom.

Speaking of blooming flowers -- the palace gardens were thriving, and in the next couple of weeks were sure to become a spectacle of color, ranging from delicate pastel hues to bright, vibrant tones. Just in time for the Spring Festival that would be held at the end of the month.

Yes, spring was upon you. Your favorite season. It meant warmer temperatures and sunshine and new life.

But despite all the bright cheerfulness that spring brought with it, for your husband, Loki, it also brought with it a certain darkness.

His heat.

Loki was of Jotun blood; a Frost Giant. And with that heritage came certain Jotun traits, some more easily embraced than others. One such trait that your husband found more loathsome than the rest was the Jotun mating cycle.

Each year since his body matured, around the time of the Spring Equinox, Loki would find himself at the mercy of his primal instincts. Unable to control his animalistic urges to mate, he’d lock himself in his chambers until it would pass.

That is, until you had something to say about it.

When you learned of the agony he endured — both physically and emotionally — locked in his chambers for anywhere from one week to one month until his heat cycle passed, you couldn’t bear it. You had to do something to help, if you could.

You remembered the conversation you’d had with him well. It was shortly after your wedding…

————

“Loki, isn’t there anything that would make it easier to endure? Or at least make it come to an end more quickly? I can’t imagine a week of that, let alone a month.”

“Unfortunately, no, darling. There isn’t really anything that can be safely done to help it. The healers can give me an elixir that will suppress it, but I can’t take it every year, or it would lose its effectiveness. And besides, a heat the year after a suppressed heat is always more intense and agonizing.”

Your eyebrow cocked, looking at him with curiosity. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience…?”

He took a deep breath before answering, “Yes, I’ve taken suppressants occasionally in the past. The temptation of a year of reprieve was too great for me to resist at times. But I always found that the following year’s heat was far worse than what is typical. More desperation, more madness, more… pain.”

Your heart broke for him in that moment.

“Why does it last so long, Loki?”

He gave a mirthless chuckle. “It lasts as long as it takes for one of two things to happen. Either it quite literally burns its way out of my system, like a fever that takes weeks to break. Or…”

His voice trailed off, and he looked off into the distance, as if he was searching for his thought amongst the forests and rolling hills.

“Or…?” You gently encouraged him to continue.

Loki let out an exasperated sigh and quietly admitted, “Or… I mate. Breed. Fuck.”

Something about the way he enunciated the hard ‘k’, his Adam’s apple bobbing sinfully as the sound clicked in his throat, had your core throbbing with need and a wave of hot arousal unfolding over your body.

You blinked a few times as you contemplated what he said. “Well that seems easy enough,” you replied cooly, as if you were discussing the weather.

“What…?” He looked at you, perplexed.

“If having a good fuck will bring your agony to an end, then that seems like an easy solution to me. I can help you with that —”

“NO!” His rich baritone voice boomed as it cut you off, dripping with authority, anger, and — was that fear? “You don’t understand, my love. I am not myself when this happens. I lose myself, I lose control. I no longer am capable of keeping up the Asgardian façade; my Jotun form takes over and I am overcome with the primal desire to mate. I lose all regard for decency, I become… a monster. I am a monster.”

“Loki…” you reached a hand up to caress the side of his stupidly beautiful face, running your thumb soothingly along his sharp cheekbone and slotting your palm against his chiseled jaw, which was tightly clenched. A sign of his distress. “I love you, Loki. Let me help you through this.”

“I love you too, darling. More than my life itself. Which is exactly why I can’t let you do this.” He wrapped his large hand around the back of yours and turned his head to the side to tenderly kiss your palm. “It isn’t safe. I could hurt you. Badly.”

“I trust you, Loki. I trust you with my life, no matter what physical form you assume.” The next words you uttered came to you as easily as breathing, “I want to do this. Please. Use me. Use my body to sate your desires and end your own suffering.”

His emerald eyes widened at your words, most likely shocked at how brazen and self-assured they were. But swirling behind the shock was something else. Reverence. Trepidation. And lust.

He slowly swallowed, gathering himself together and collecting his thoughts after you scrambled them with your salacious plea.

“Alright then, darling.” He cautiously relented, his eyes boring into yours, searching for any sign that you were having second thoughts or hints of doubt. “Come springtime, when my next heat cycle is upon me, I’ll let you help me. I’ll let you be the balm that soothes my burning, searing ache.”

————

And now, spring was upon you. And any day now, it would be time to make good on your promise to him. For better or worse. You suddenly had a renewed appreciation for the words you spoke in your wedding vows to him, just 8 months ago.

Loki has been warning you for the past few days that his heat is imminent, and could take over at any time. He could feel it; all the warning signs were there. The restlessness. The irritability. The discomfort. Crawling under his skin like an itch he can't scratch. Until it makes him snap.

Each and every time, he asked if you were still sure. He reminded you that you could change your mind, that he didn't expect you to do this. That he'd never expect you to do this. It was entirely your choice.

And each and every time, you stood firm in your decision. You wanted to help him. You would do this.

The sun was beginning to set on your evening stroll, so you altered your route so that it would lead you back towards the private chambers that you shared with Loki. As you approached the hallway which led to your shared door, you could feel a distinct, unseasonal chill in the air.

Was this it? Was tonight the night?

Once you reached the ornate wooden door, you noticed a thin blanket of frost coating the edges of it, as if, behind the door, was the force of winter itself, its icy chill seeping through the gaps between the door and the frame.

You reflected for a moment on the irony that all this frost and chill was the result of something called a heat, and you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself.

But then you remembered that not just fire, but ice, too, can burn.

A shiver rolled down your spine, and the cold seeping through the doorframe wasn't entirely to blame.

You took a moment to gather your courage, reminding yourself that this was Loki. Your husband. Your one true love.

You could do this.

You softly knocked, each tap of your knuckles against the cold wood sending a jolt of bravery through you.

"Loki... can I come in?"

"Pet..." The voice that answered you was familiar, but more... ragged. It was deeper, if that was even possible, and assumed a huskiness that made your usually gentle husband sound nothing short of feral.

It sent a surge of hot, wet arousal through you, which pooled between your thighs.

"I'm here, Loki..." you whispered like a prayer. "Let me help you."

"This is your last chance, pet," he warned. "You can still change your mind. But the moment you open the door, I'm afraid there will be no going back."

Good thing you had no plans of going back.

You opened the door and stepped into your chambers; after ensuring the door was closed and locked, you took a deep breath. This was it.

As you turned around, you came face to face with your husband.

Except he wasn't quite the Loki you knew. For one thing, he was taller. Much taller. At least 8 feet tall. You briefly wondered how you'd be able to take him in this form. His usually porcelain skin was replaced with a brilliant cerulean, and across every bit of blue that your hungry eyes could find, were ridges that swept across his skin in bold strokes and delicate lines, forming intricate patterns that you longed to trace with your fingers. As your eyes settled on his face, you found some familiarity there. You recognized the bone structure and the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips; the luscious raven locks that framed his angular face were unchanged. But in place of the emerald orbs that you knew and loved were two glistening rubies, staring at you with an intensity that could only be described as ferocious.

He was beautiful. Flawless. You saw no monster before you. Only your husband. Showing you a side of himself that he has kept hidden from you. Until now.

You broke the silence first, and simply muttered, "I love you, and I am here. Use me."

And that was all the permission he needed.

He closed the distance between you impossibly fast, like a predator stalking its prey, and wrapped an icy hand around your throat, squeezing firmly, the coldness stinging like pins and needles against your skin.

His lips met yours with an urgency that you hadn't experienced before; any hint of gentleness was gone and in its place a brutal clash of tongues and teeth as he claimed your mouth, a throaty growl slipping past his lips as he basked in the taste of you on his tongue.

Fear crept up your spine for the first time since you entered, and you brought your small hands up to claw at his wrist, a desperate attempt to let him know that you needed a break; you needed to breathe.

Something within him seemed to get the message, because he peeled his mouth away from yours and released your throat, repurposing his hand to wrap around your midsection and toss you unceremoniously onto the large bed in the center of the room.

You had to admit that part of you enjoyed the way he was manhandling you.

He wasted no time freeing himself from his garments and strode towards the bed, where he situated himself over you, caging in your small frame like a hungry animal about to enjoy the spoils of its hunt.

You gulped at the sight of his enormous cock, as it bobbed angrily against his stomach, covered in the same ridges that decorated the rest of his body, the tip weeping with the evidence of his primal desire. For you.

"These pretty silks have got to go," he rasped against your ear, his breath somehow both hot and cold.

He roughly grabbed the fine fabric and you winced as you heard him rip it to shreds as easily as if your dress was made of flower petals from the garden.

Within seconds, you were bare before him, and his ravenous gaze lazily roamed over your body, savoring every dip and every curve like the sight of you alone could sate him.

Even though that couldn't be further from the truth.

When he decided that his eyes had had their fill, he brought two fingers up to prod against your lips, his gaze meeting yours, daring you to defy him.

But you didn't dare.

You submissively parted your lips and wrapped your mouth around his fingers, astonished at how much your mouth had to stretch just to accommodate them. A wicked smile tugged at his lips as your tongue danced over his digits, preparing them for exploration of another warm, wet hole.

A gasp escaped your lips as his fingers were abruptly pulled from your mouth and pushed inside your weeping cunt. They pumped and stretched you almost as much as his normal cock would, and you shuddered at the thought of what was to come.

The nerves melted away though, as his thumb found your clit and worked the sensitive nub in sweeping circles, pleasure taking over your senses and lulling you into a state of calm.

"Loki..." you whispered softly between your whimpers and pants.

He growled in response, withdrawing his fingers from your soaked pussy and wrapping his hand around your thigh, forcing your legs open as wide as they would go.

Before you had a chance to adjust to the new position, his huge cock was at your slick entrance and he thrust forward, forcing as much of himself inside you as he could, his girth stretching your walls and the tip pushing against your cervix. The sudden intrusion took your breath away, and the stinging pain you felt caused unshed tears to well in your eyes. The coldness of his skin only heightened the sensations, forcing your mouth open in a silent scream as he claimed you.

You loved him. You wanted this. You silently reminded yourself as a large blue hand found your throat once again and wrapped around tightly.

A feral moan left his lips as he began to rut into you roughly. Pushing himself in as far as your body would allow. Over and over. Chasing his own pleasure without regard for your own.

"So warm... So tight... You take me so well, pet." He grunted between thrusts. "You're mine."

You couldn't help the fresh pool of arousal that gushed between your legs in response to his words. Even as he wrecked your body and used it like a toy, you loved nothing more than being his.

His rhythm became sloppy and you knew he was close.

With a wild growl, he pulled out of you and violently flipped you over onto your stomach. You were thankful you were on the mattress and not on the floor in that moment.

His large hands dug into your hips, pulling them upwards and angling you so that he could sink himself once again into your tight cunt. You turned your head to the side, gasping for air between shameless moans as he pounded into you from behind like an animal.

It didn't take long for him to reach his peak; he let out a primal roar as he came, pumping you full of his seed. You felt it leaking out of you, dripping down your inner thighs as he continued to shallowly thrust into you while he rode out his high.

And that was the last thing you remembered before darkness blurred the edges of your vision and you succumbed to exhaustion, your body limp and spent.

--

Later, when you came to, you wiggled your fingers and toes first and slowly worked your way to moving each limb, assessing the soreness. There was an undeniable ache, but nothing you couldn't manage. You sat up in the bed and looked around the room, searching for Loki. Your eyes settled upon his familiar Asgardian form, huddled on the chair in the corner, as if he was putting as much distance as possible between the two of you without leaving you alone. His eyes were red, but not because of his Jotun blood. Because he had been crying.

"Loki, what's wrong?!" you frantically asked.

When he realized you were awake, he rushed to your side. "What's wrong? Love, look at what I've done to you!" He gestured to your body, to the bruises on your inner thighs, your hips, your wrists, your neck. He pointed to the mess between your thighs, to the bit of blood that was on the sheets between your legs. "I'm a monster. A vile, disgusting creature. I should have never let you do this!"

He looked away from you, ashamed.

You reached for his hand, in an effort to reassure him. "Loki, I wanted this. I wanted to help you. I insisted." Your thumb stroked the back of his hand in soothing circles, willing him to believe that you were okay. "And look! It worked. Your heat lasted only a few hours instead of weeks!"

"But at what cost?" He muttered, without meeting your gaze.

"I am your wife. We are a team, in everything. I vowed to be there for you and to love you no matter what, for better or for worse. A few bruises and some soreness are a small price to pay once a year if it means my husband isn't in agony for weeks at a time."

He sheepishly met your gaze then, peering up at you from under his eyelashes.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered softly.

"Yes you do. Because you are the most amazing person I know," you smiled easily as you said it. "Now, I did say we are a team, so if you're done sulking, I do believe it is your turn to do your part. Don't you have some magic healing powers that could soothe some of my aches, or am I misremembering?"

Now it was his turn to smile at you. He got to work straight away, a blanket of green seidr engulfing your body and buzzing through you, soothing away the worst of your residual pain. Then he spent the day spoiling you, running you a hot bath with your favorite rose scented bath oil, pampering you with a massage, and waiting on you hand and foot.

"Darling?"

"Yes, Loki?"

A wolfish grin crept across his lips. "When you've had a day or two to recover, I intend to make last night up to you, tenfold. To drown you in so much pleasure that the only word you'll remember is my name as it falls from your lips like a mantra."

You met his grin with your own cheeky smile. "And I intend to hold you to that, Laufeyson."

His lips met yours, then, in a passionate kiss; one that conveyed all the love and adoration he held for you. Your lover. Your husband. Your everything.

Spring was definitely your favorite season.

--

--

Tagging some lovely people who might be interested. No worries though if not, of course! @lokisgoodgirl @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @cheekyscamp @give-me-a-moose @sarahscribbles @gigglingtigger @ladyofthestayingpower @mischief2sarawr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @wheredafandomat @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @loopsreacts @maple-seed @fictive-sl0th @coldnique @thomase1 @peachyjinx @superficialdomina @peaches1958 @evelyn-kingsley @simplyholl @tallseaweed @cake-writes @tripleyeeet @lokiandbuckysdoll @vbecker10 @lovelysizzlingbluebird

[bedoballoons]

Hello! Just wanted to say I LUV ur workss!

I also have a little smth

Basically they take the reader out shopping specifically for undergarments and someone just so happens to walk in? W/ kazuha, albedo, lyney, xiao?

Awe thank you! I'm glad you do and I hope I can keep it up! Apologies for your request taking so long, but I hope you enjoy even so!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ🍂𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ🍂

{༻~You look mighty fine~༺}

CW: Very suggestive! MDNI! Almost smut but not! Established relationships! Gn pronouns used! Heated makeouts and the characters are kinda pervy cause they peek in on the reader! Modern au! Use of the words undies, panties etc.

(Includes: Lyney, Albedo, Kazuha, And Xiao!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Lyney:

Lyney's hands drummed against the armrest of his chair. All around him were others shopping for lacy undergarments and lingerie, but he was entirely to infatuated with the changing room to even care. Just knowing you were in there, trying on those enticing things, oh how it made his heart race...you were so close..just a peek and he could see exactly what you'd gotten for him. It was so tempting..

"Only a few more minutes I swear! Just trying on this one...it's a bit strappy though.."

Lyney chocked on air, trying to not think about what that could mean...but wanting so desperately to find out. Just. One. Peek. "Take your time Mon amour!" Perhaps this wasn't appropriate of him...he could really wait a bit longer, but his body was already in motion. Hand reaching out to touch the curtain and slightly open it..

You smiled to yourself, spinning around like you had no idea what he was doing, "Lyney? W-what are you-"

"Mon amour, apologies to interrupt you and invade your privacy...but I...I..nevermind words just let me have you." He pulled you close, kissing your soft lips as his hands ran down your body, snapping the straps of your undies so it would gently smack your skin. You made him absolutely dizzy with need, groans spilling out of him as the kiss grew more heated. If you didn't hurry and finish your shopping...you might just get kicked out of the store~

𑁍༄Albedo:

Albedo leaned his head back against the frame of the changing room, forcing himself to not glance into the parting between the curtain door and the frame itself...he had no idea shopping for new undergarments for you would leave him so...heated.

It felt like the store was growing warmer by the second, like the thoughts in his head were slowly corrupting him...he couldn't help it really. You were a masterpiece, your body a work of art...and the vivid picture of your trying on perfect little undies for him..."How much longer did you say love?"

"Not long! Just making sure the thong part fits as nice as it should! Oops I mean, just triple checking they fit~"

Albedos legs went numb for a second, his face dusted with a sweet pink hue...were you really trying on such a thing mere inches away from him? His heart began to beat harder in his chest, maybe if he had a bit more will power he could have stopped himself, but alas his eyes glanced into the small gap and there you were. Standing there so beautiful with your body basically on display for him...

He held back a soft moan, looking away almost as fast as he had peeked..."L-love...I think the fit is perfect, please I'm...in deserpate need to return home.."

𑁍༄Kazuha:

Kazuha loved shopping with you, wandering around the the mall aimlessly while you glanced in windows and occasionally tried things on. It was always such a soft couple experience that brought you two closer...

But now you'd decided to shop for new undies. Bringing him along as you picked out various lacy ones...themed ones, red ones, black ones, all while he trailed behind you with a bright red blush. He was a creative person, always envisioning things in a calming, breath taking way...and you were no exception. He kept thinking about all the different choices, picturing what they'd look like on you...what he'd do while you wore them.

It was starting to get a bit much for him...his own imagination swaying how he'd normally handle himself..

"Kazu? Are you doin okay? You look a bit red in the face.." You closed the curtain behind you, trying to get ahold of the butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you took of your clothing, intentionally leaving them visible on the ground while you started to try on the choices.

"Yes...no....?"

"What? Kazuha, what does that mean?" You paused for a moment, waiting for a answer..., but he'd already entered the small room. His warm hands gently grabbing onto your hips so he could pull you close...kiss you passionately while every so often opening his eyes to catch a glimpse of you in the mirror...

His lips trailed down to your neck, his body forcing yours against the changing room walls...maybe he should shop with you for these items more often~

𑁍༄Xiao:

Xiao sighed softly, watching the ground beneath his feet...wondering how such a simple shopping date had become such a flustering event. He wasn't even sure how you'd even convinced him to walk into the undergarment section...let alone try some on while he was just outside. He could hear you changing...see your clothes fall to floor out of the corner of his eye..

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"How...how many are you going to try?" His voice sounded strained..., like he was bound by something and he silently cursed himself for the neediness that coated each word.

"Just a few! What did you think of the sheer one hmm? It's super soft and I love it!"

He swallowed roughly, remembering the basically see through panties that you'd held up to him...the idea of you wearing them sent a shiver down his spine, "T-they were good."

"Good as in like I should get them, or good as in I could do better? Because I think they are hugging me in all the right places."

"Archons above..." He muttered...knowing that any grip he had on himself had been let go as he slipped into the room with you. His eyes ravaged you, taking in how the undies emphasized everything in the most perfect ways...

"X-xiao-"

"Enough." He leaned in close, his face barely a inch away from yours...his breath hot on your skin, "I'm not patient enough to do nothing...let me have you~"

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Have a nice day~*⁠.⁠✧

[littlelordfuckler0y]

Felix catton x reader Instagram au

yourusername if I can’t Oppenheimer my way out of this sem, I’ll Oppenheimer my way out

yourfriend NO LMFAO not the green apple 😭

yourusername was held hostage at the lab today

yourfriend you mean had to prepare a lab report right there?

yourusername had to perform the experiment three times.

yourfriend I support the green apple

fel1xcatt0n Pub tonight. See you?

yourusername I’ll try to make it but I think lab’s gonna run late…you guys carry on tho :)

-

Sun casted a bright yellow hue from the grass to the glass, making the general weather warmer than usual. Walking alongside her friend y/n was somewhat surprised to see the notification of felix’s comment pop up, voluntarily inviting her to the pub, again. Quite the modern day tragedy it felt like to have to decline it because their labs ran very late. But regardless it was surprising to say at the very least, “We just had drinks with his friends once and he’s inviting us again?” She said as she showed her friend the notification.

“Woah.” Her friend said as they looked at the notification and smiled “well, inviting you but this is-this is cool?”

“You and I are a package deal so inviting me is inviting you.” Y/n said as their friend stared at the comment and the reply, they were analysing the interaction.

“Oh okay yes” they nodded “Also when did he start following you?”

“Okay so we had drinks two days ago right? I think, that night, but it was after I returned to my dorm and I don’t remember exchanging socials.” Y/n said as she went through their interaction from drinks that night.

Her friend tilted their head raising brows, “oh so he looked you up. Plus your account’s open and he still commented? Wow.” They implied in a surprised yet elated tone.

“Wait-what? What do you mean by open account? Almost everyone has open accounts?” Y/n stated confused with a shrug.

“Yeah and anyone can see his comment on YOUR page. So he wasn’t embarrassed to comment now that’s the outlook.”

“Why would he be embarrassed to comment?” Y/n said as she looked at her friend in somewhat the offended tone.

“Are you serious? You have 79 followers.” Her friend said giving her a tight smile to comfort her through their brutal honestly.

“Exactly. Even the serving lady follows me. I get along with everybody.” She stood her ground with an obvious shrug.

“Do you hear yourself? Do you want to repeat that first sentence?” Her friend asked her with a sigh as y/n contemplated that. She needed the serving lady’s follow to reach upto 79 followers as social as it may seem. “Also, don’t forget how we got drinks with him and his friends in the first place.”

“Oh” she said nodding, “We were getting alcohol for lab work on a weekend, wow, yeah I see it now…”

“But. Come on. He commented.” Her friend said pointing her phone screen which still had her comment section open like a textbook.

“Him and his friends most definitely thinks we’re the coolest.” Y/n added regaining her optimism.

“Well…” her friend trailed off not wanting to dampen the enthusiasm “I like how you positive you are.”

“I wish we didn’t have lab today” She whined and rested her head on the lab table.

yourusername ideal study session

fel1xcatt0n can’t believe you never tried the Chinese place around the corner…

yourusername Sorry to break it to you but it is not crime

fel1xcatt0n literally is.

yourfriend ^^it is a crime

-

“So you ditched us to get Chinese last night?” Farleigh asked raising a sharp brow as he’d scroll through his phone and stumbled upon a certain post.

“How’d you know?” Felix asked as he turned in his chair to look at farleigh.

“Y/n has the dumbest social media presence” Farleigh stated as she scrolled through her previous posts “I mean all her posts are some ugly project model and if not that it’s some random cats?”

“Oh yeah it was a last minute plan-to get Chinese whatever…” felix trailed off with a sigh.

“What is this girl doing? She is too pretty to post stupid jokes and labs god” Farleigh complaint as he went through y/n’s posts. “2 likes on each post yeah, you’ve got to give it to her dedication to document everything.” He scoffed.

“Can you stop stalking her?” Felix urged rolling his eyes.

“Oh I’m stalking her?” Farleigh asked tilting her head. “I know you just out of curiosity asked around for the D wing lab timings and you just happened to be there by the end of her lecture yes sure” with not much reply felix just threw a pillow at farleigh which he happened to dodge.

-

Fel1xcatt0n local pen and paper girl in her natural habitat

yourusername LMFAO

yourusername didn’t see you click this one

Fel1xcatt0n ;)

farleigh_start you are not subtle.

Fel1xcatt0n thank you for your input

yourusername at that point in semester when breadboard starts looking like bread

farleigh_start why do stem majors follow diet culture the ugly way ew

yourusername I’m not dieting????

farleigh_start then why does your charcuterie board look so ugly

yourusername never mind…

yourfriend LITERALLY I was thinking the same thing

yourusername “what happened to your group project” well…professor…we got hungry

Fel1xcatt0n this is not funny

yourusername ouch.

Fel1xcatt0n be there in 5

Fel1xcatt0n healthiest thing she’s had in decades…

yourusername thanks MOM

Fel1xcatt0n laugh all you want but you can’t live on sugar donuts and ramen

yourusername try me

farleigh_start …

farleigh_start you have never passed me the table salt

—

I really like this and I’d like to do more parts but it feels pretty stupid idk if I’ll do more parts pls let me know what you think <3

DRINK WATER AND HIIII ILY

requests are open go nuts!!

[pretzel-box]

In case I haven't told you: I love you.

Streamer AU Chapter 10 [Finale]

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Established Relationship

Words: 9,4k

Authors Note: This is the official last chapter for this series and my blog. Thank you all for your support.

You sat on a chair at the kitchen counter, tinkering with your new keyboard. All the keycaps were pulled off as you swapped the old, plain ones for a custom set of resin-poured, sparkling caps. You’d spent a small fortune on these, enough to make even Sebastian raise an eyebrow as he walked by to grab a cup of coffee.

"You know, one of those caps could pay for my whole breakfast," he remarked, leaning over your shoulder and picking up one of the keys—the ESC key. It was a deep lapis lazuli blue mixed with a golden hue, with tiny koi fish suspended inside. The tiny keycap was a masterpiece all on its own, and even Sebastian’s gaze lingered a moment longer as he examined it.

You laughed, rolling your eyes as Sebastian inspected the tiny piece of art between his fingers. "I don’t hear you complaining when I splurge on things for you." You teased, nudging his arm playfully.

He smirked, setting the keycap down carefully, but not before his fingers brushed yours, lingering just a moment too long. "True, but I at least pretend to be reasonable about it." He countered, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin.

You arched an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh, is that so? I seem to remember a certain someone nearly buying an entire set of limited-edition streaming lights last month."

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Only because I knew it would make my streamer setup look amazing." His eyes sparkled as he held your gaze, the playful teasing fading just slightly, replaced with something softer, warmer.

"Well." You replied, trying to keep your composure despite the flutter in your chest, "Maybe I got these just to impress my favorite…roommate."

Sebastian laughed, a rich sound that made the moment feel more intimate. "Guess that means we both have good taste, then." he murmured, his fingers still lightly brushing against yours, as if neither of you wanted to pull away first.

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you glanced over to the corner of the room, where Sebastian’s laundry basket sat conspicuously overflowing. "Good taste, sure." You replied, smirking. "Though maybe your taste in doing laundry could use some improvement."

Sebastian groaned, leaning back against the counter with an exaggerated sigh. "I knew there was a catch to all this charm."

"You’re lucky I didn’t toss it all in the tub and call it ‘artistic installation.’" You teased, poking him playfully. "But hey, since you’re such a reasonable spender, maybe you can be reasonable about getting those clothes folded sometime this century?"

He raised an eyebrow, smirking as he folded his arms. "Maybe if someone would promise to make dinner while I do it?"

You feigned a thoughtful look, tapping your chin as you eyed him. "Fine. But only if it’s one of those nights where you’re my sous-chef." You said. "You know, like last time, when you almost sliced your finger but made the best pasta I’ve ever tasted."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Deal. Just don’t get too used to me in the kitchen—I don’t want you thinking this roommate thing comes with free cooking classes."

You snickered, leaning a little closer. "Oh, please, you love being my sous-chef. Plus, I think I caught you enjoying it last time."

He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. "Maybe I did." He said, his voice low, his gaze flicking between you and the pile of ingredients waiting on the counter. "Guess I don’t mind spending a little extra time with my favorite chef."

"Alright, hun." You replied, giving him a playful nudge toward the fridge. "Let’s get to work before we both end up ordering takeout."

You pulled out a recipe card, tapping it on the counter thoughtfully as Sebastian finished stacking his laundry basket against the wall. “Tonight,” you announced, “we’re making risotto.”

Sebastian’s face lit up with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Risotto, huh? I thought that was, like, advanced level.”

You gave him a mock serious nod. “It is, but don’t worry—under my expert guidance, I’m sure you’ll rise to the challenge.” You winked, grabbing an apron and tossing one his way. He caught it midair and slipped it over his head, looking surprisingly domestic in the soft light of the kitchen.

The two of you moved around the kitchen, gathering ingredients. Sebastian was on vegetable duty, meticulously chopping onions and garlic, his brows furrowed as he concentrated. You snuck a peek at his handiwork, grinning.

“Not bad.” You said approvingly, bumping his shoulder with yours. “I think you’re getting the hang of this.”

“Only because I have an exceptional teacher.” He replied smoothly, flashing you a grin. “Though,” he added with a chuckle, “I’m pretty sure you gave me onions just to make me cry.”

You laughed, watching him chop with surprising finesse. “I have a weakness for pretty boys with tears in their lashes. Onions aside, I think you’re ready to take on the mushrooms.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking at the bowl of fresh mushrooms with a dramatic sigh. “You’re sure this isn’t just you delegating all the tough parts?”

“Maybe.” You said with a smirk. “But also, mushrooms need love, and you seem like the right person for the job.”

While he chopped mushrooms, you turned your attention to heating up a pot of vegetable broth on the stove. The savory aroma of garlic and onion began to fill the kitchen, and you stirred the mixture in a pan, glancing over at Sebastian as he focused intently on his task.

After a while, he leaned over to inspect your progress, watching as you stirred the rice, coating it in the golden mix of garlic, onion, and butter. “Looks like you’re the expert risotto-stirrer.” He teased, resting his chin on your shoulder for a brief moment. “When do I get to try?”

You nudged him with your elbow, laughing. “Soon, sous-chef. I have to make sure it’s just right.”

He watched, fascinated, as you added a ladle of hot broth to the pan, explaining as you went. “See? You don’t add it all at once. You let each addition of broth absorb before adding more. It’s all about patience.”

“Patience?” he repeated, giving you an amused look. “Not exactly my strongest trait.”

You raised an eyebrow, shooting him a grin. “Well, consider this your culinary crash course in patience.”

For the next twenty minutes, you took turns stirring and adding broth, chatting in between as you shared old memories, random stories, and silly jokes. There was something intimate about the process, each of you moving with careful rhythm, enjoying each other’s company in the warm, quiet space of the kitchen.

"Remember that time we played that cooking game on stream with just one arm each? And you fried a rat?" Sebastian laughed, recalling the iconic moment. It was one of your very first streams together.

You gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me! You told me to be culinarily creative for our dear customers."

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back against the counter, his laughter warm and unrestrained. "Oh, I remember. How could I forget? You had the chat in absolute stitches when you served that poor pixelated rat like it was a five-star dish."

You placed a hand over your chest, feigning offense. "Excuse me! I was merely following instructions. You explicitly told me to be ‘culinarily creative for our loving customers.’ I just… took it to heart."

Sebastian wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. "And you succeeded, alright. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so passionate about frying something that was absolutely, one hundred percent not food." He mimed holding a frying pan, doing his best impression of you earnestly plating up the rat. “Gourmet rat, fresh from the chef’s hands.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his impression, remembering how you’d tried so hard to keep a straight face on stream, while the chat had been exploding with laughter. "Hey, I’d like to point out that I even garnished it with a sprinkle of virtual parsley."

"Yeah, and I had to pretend it was edible." Sebastian replied, still grinning. "The things I do for the art of streaming."

With a grin, you shrugged. “Guess it just shows what a great team we make, right? You keep up appearances, and I…” You paused, smirking, “I make the riskiest, most questionable food decisions.”

He looked down at you, his smile softening as he held your gaze. "Yeah." He murmured, "I guess it really does. We’re one heck of a team."

There was a gentle silence, one filled with warmth, as you both let the memories linger, the familiarity and playfulness wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. After a moment, you nudged his arm. "So, cooking game or real life—think you’re ready for another ‘creative’ culinary adventure with me?"

He chuckled, leaning a little closer, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Only if you promise me no rats this time."

At one point, he reached over and brushed a stray bit of flour off your cheek, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You’ve got a little something there.” He murmured, his eyes meeting yours with a soft expression that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thanks.” you replied, your voice a little softer than intended.

With the risotto nearly ready, you handed him a wooden spoon. “Alright, sous-chef. Moment of truth—taste test.”

Sebastian took the spoon from you, giving you an exaggerated nod before taking a careful bite. His eyes lit up as he tasted the creamy, savory dish. “Wow,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “I actually helped make this? Totally doesn't taste like pixel rat.”

“See?” you replied, laughing. “You’ve got more culinary skills than you think.”

He laughed, taking another spoonful. “Okay, I’ll admit, this is pretty fun. You might turn me into a chef yet.”

Together, you plated the risotto, sprinkling a bit of parmesan and fresh parsley on top. You each carried a plate to the small dining table, which you’d quickly decorated with a candle and a couple of mismatched napkins to make it feel a bit more special.

Sitting across from him, you clinked your fork against his with a grin. “To our first official cooking date.” You said, feeling a mix of pride and warmth.

“To the world’s most patient teacher.” He added, giving you a smile that made your cheeks warm.

You ate slowly, savoring not just the food, but the easy conversation and gentle glances shared between bites. Occasionally, he’d sneak his fork onto your plate, taking an extra bite with a laugh as you swatted at his hand.

After finishing, you both lingered at the table, caught in the comfortable glow of shared laughter and the lingering warmth of the meal. Finally, as you stood to clear the plates, Sebastian reached over, gently grabbing your wrist to stop you.

“You know.” he said softly, his gaze holding yours, “I think I’m starting to like cooking. Especially if it means nights like this.”

His hand stayed warm against your skin, and for a moment, you forgot about the dishes, the kitchen, everything around you.

“Well.” you replied with a smile, “Then I guess we’ll have to make it a tradition.”

He nodded, his smile softening as he released your hand, but not before giving it a light, lingering squeeze that promised many more evenings like this one.

The laughter still lingered in the air as you finished washing up from dinner, the lingering warmth from the meal creating a quiet, comfortable bubble around the two of you. Sebastian was drying the last of the dishes, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he talked about what to stream next week, teasing the idea of recreating your infamous “gourmet rat” moment in real life.

But then, a sharp knock echoed from the front door, slicing through the ease of the evening. You both paused, glancing at each other, puzzled by the unexpected sound. Who would be stopping by at this hour?

“I’ll get it.” He murmured, his voice low, as he dried his hands on a dish towel. You watched as he walked toward the door, pulling it open with a curious, cautious expression. But when he looked up, his whole face shifted. There, standing in the dim light of the hallway, were two police officers. Their stern faces were blank, unreadable, and behind them, a few more officers were stationed just outside. The sight of them sent an uneasy chill through you, and your stomach twisted.

“Sebastian Solace?” The officer closest to him asked, voice flat and all business. Sebastian blinked, bewildered.

“Yes? Is something wrong?” He asked, looking back at you as if trying to gauge if you knew anything about this. But before you could even register the question, the officer took a step forward, holding out a pair of handcuffs. It was like a perfect scene from your favourite drama, as if the characters jumped out of the television to fool you.

“Mr. Solace, you’re under arrest on suspicion of multiple homicides.” The officer said, his words like thunder in the silent apartment. “Please turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

The words took a moment to sink in, and when they did, it felt like the air had been ripped from the room. You stood frozen, mouth open, as Sebastian’s face went from confusion to utter shock.

“What?” He stammered, voice thick with disbelief. “There must be some mistake—I haven’t done anything. I don’t even—” But the officer was already reaching for his wrists, pulling them behind his back as he clicked the cuffs into place with a heavy metallic clink that reverberated in the space. The sound was sharp, final.

"Wait!" You exclaimed, stepping forward as panic washed over you. “This is insane! You can’t just—he hasn’t done anything! Sebastian couldn’t—”

The second officer turned toward you, his gaze steely. “Ma’am, I understand this is a shock, but please step back. We have probable cause, and Mr. Solace will be given the chance to explain himself at the station.”

Sebastian’s head turned, eyes wide as they locked onto yours. "I… I don’t know what’s going on," He said, his voice wavering as he struggled to keep calm. "I didn’t… I didn’t do anything." His eyes, usually filled with easy confidence and warmth, were filled with a mixture of confusion and fear, a look you had never seen on his face before.

“I know you didn’t.” You managed, voice choked. “This has to be a mistake. Tell them!”

But the officers were unmoved, beginning to guide him out the door, leaving you standing in the hallway, rooted in disbelief. You reached for his hand one last time, and he turned to you, gripping your fingers tightly, as if that small touch was an anchor. “It’s okay.” He said quietly, though the panic in his voice was clear. “I’ll sort this out. Don’t… don’t worry about me.”

But how could you not? How could you let them take him, when you knew deep down, in every part of you, that Sebastian was incapable of such a thing?

As they led him out, each step growing heavier, you were left alone in the silence, the stillness deafening. Sebastian’s plate was still on the table, his jacket draped over the back of the chair. It was as if he had only stepped out for a moment, and yet, he was gone. You could still feel the lingering warmth of his hand in yours, the echo of his words ringing in your mind.

You stumbled back against the counter, struggling to breathe as the weight of what just happened settled on you. Someone had framed him. Someone had set up this impossible, unfathomable trap, and Sebastian had walked right into it. And now, the life you’d built together—the quiet mornings, the shared streams, the countless inside jokes—all of it hung in the balance.

“Sebastian…” You whispered, gripping the edge of the counter as if you could steady yourself through sheer will. Your mind raced, images of him, terrified and alone, the weight of this false accusation pressing down on him. You had to do something. You couldn’t just stand by while the man you loved was being treated like a monster.

But as you looked around the quiet, empty apartment, you felt the sinking realization that things would never be the same. The warmth and laughter of the evening had been replaced by a cold, harsh reality, one that you couldn’t ignore. And as you stood there, a single, urgent thought echoed in your mind, louder and louder with each passing second. This couldn't be how it ends.

Hours passed in a blur, each moment more surreal than the last. You sat at the kitchen table, hands clutching a mug of tea you hadn’t even touched. The entire apartment was in disarray: Police officers moved from room to room, rifling through closets, drawers, and even the cabinets in search of… what? Evidence of Sebastian’s so-called crimes?

The entire scene felt like a waking nightmare. You watched in despair as they moved into Sebastian’s room, handling his belongings like they were pieces of some sinister puzzle, prying through his private life without hesitation. The familiar warmth and comfort of the apartment was stripped away, replaced by the cold efficiency of strangers treating your life as a crime scene.

“Ma’am?” A voice jolted you from your thoughts. One of the officers, Detective Hall, took the seat across from you, fixing you with a hard, calculating stare. He placed a notepad on the table and flipped it open, pen poised, ready to capture your every word. This wasn't just a small round of questions. It felt like the pen was a gun that he was holding against your forhead, wanting you to say that he wanted to hear and not the truth you believed in.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steel yourself. “I already told you.” You said, voice barely above a whisper, it was slightly shaking from the pressure. Your whole personality crumbled under the sheer panic. “Sebastian didn’t do this. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Detective Hall tilted his head, his lips curling into a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you want to believe that, but I have to be honest. The evidence suggests otherwise.”

You swallowed, fighting to keep your voice steady. “He’s kind, thoughtful… there’s no way he’d ever—”

“Let’s go over this again.” The detective interrupted, his tone patient yet cold. “You’ve been living with Mr. Solace for some time, yes?”

“Yes.” You answered, nodding slowly. “Some time...”

“And during that time, have you ever noticed anything… unusual about him? Unexplained absences, strange behavior, anything that might seem insignificant but could have been a red flag?”

The question felt like a trap, and you shook your head quickly, heart pounding. “No. Nothing like that. He’s just—he’s always been a good person. A little messy with his stuff sometimes, but that’s it. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Any wrong word could mean Sebastians end. Saying less means providing more support for your boyfriend.

Detective Hall leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Are you sure you’re not trying to protect him? It’s natural to want to defend someone close to you, but sometimes… people can hide dark sides we don’t see.”

“No, you don’t understand—Sebastian’s innocent.” You insisted, feeling the words burn on your tongue. “He wouldn’t—”

“But he did.” Hall’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air with brutal efficiency. He fired the imaginary gun at you with the following statement. “We’ve found DNA evidence at multiple crime scenes that match Mr. Solace’s. His fingerprints, his hair… even traces of his blood.”

The room spun for a moment as his words hit you like a physical blow. You gripped the edge of the table, forcing yourself to process the revelation. DNA evidence? It made no sense. How could that be possible?

“That… that can’t be right.” You stammered, shaking your head in disbelief. “There has to be a mistake. Maybe it’s someone who looks like him, or maybe the samples were contaminated—”

Detective Hall raised a brow, as if amused by your attempts to explain it away. “It’s no mistake. We’ve triple-checked. Mr. Solace’s DNA was found at every single crime scene. This isn’t a matter of chance or coincidence.”

You felt the weight of those words settle heavily, like stones in your chest. This was the kind of evidence that would seal a conviction, the kind of irrefutable proof that would convince a jury. But you knew Sebastian. You knew his heart, his kindness, his gentleness.

“He’s… he’s been with me.” You whispered, half a lie, desperation slipping into your voice. “We’re always together. If he was gone, I would have noticed. He’s not… he’s not capable of this.” There where times, where he was alone. You knew you couldn't cover Sebastian in that part.

„Well, last week, monday evening around 7...Where was he? With you?“ „Well he wasn't with m-“ „Then he wasn't always with you. Listen, we just wanna solve this case. This isn't a witch hunt to spill innocent blood.“ Hall’s gaze softened for a brief moment, as if he pitied you, but his tone was unwavering. “Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think, ma’am. It’s possible that there are sides to people we love that we never see. You wouldn’t be the first to be blindsided.”

Anger and frustration flared within you, mixed with helplessness as you struggled to find the right words. “No… you’re wrong. You have to be. He’s innocent. I don’t know how his DNA got there, but I know him, and he’s not a murderer.”

Detective Hall sighed, closing his notebook as he got up, leaving you trembling at the table. “I understand this is difficult to accept.” He said, his voice almost condescending. “But it’s better if you start facing the facts. If you think of anything—anything at all—that could help us, I suggest you reach out.”

You watched as he walked away, his words echoing in your mind like a curse. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, suffocating in their familiarity. Your hands trembled as you clutched the edge of the table, the mug of tea long forgotten and cold.

Detective Hall’s words echoed in your mind like a haunting refrain. DNA evidence. Fingerprints. Hair. You had fought so hard against the growing sense of dread, clinging to the belief that there had to be some explanation, some way to rationalize it all. But as time passed, the weight of those words settled on your chest, heavy and inescapable.

The more you thought about it, the more the pieces started to come together in a way that made your stomach churn. Sebastian’s late nights spent in the studio, the times he seemed distracted or distant, the odd comments he’d made that you’d brushed off as quirky or eccentric. What if there had been more going on?

You felt your breath quickening, the panic rising in your throat like a tide. The laughter and warmth of earlier days felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the horror that now loomed over you. How could you have been so naive? How could you have trusted him so completely?

Suddenly, it felt as if the walls themselves were pressing in on you, closing around your heart until you could hardly breathe. “No, no, no.” You whispered to yourself, shaking your head furiously. “He can’t be guilty. He wouldn’t… he couldn’t…”

But as you said it, doubt crept into your heart like a dark shadow. The evidence was overwhelming, and deep down, you knew it. There was a part of you that wanted to scream, to deny the truth, but the realization that the person you loved might be capable of something so horrific shattered your defenses.

You stood abruptly, pushing away from the table as your chair clattered to the ground. Your heart raced, and you stumbled into the living room, pacing back and forth as tears began to stream down your cheeks. “Sebastian… how could you?” The question hung in the air, heavy and full of anguish.

You could see his face in your mind—the smile that lit up his eyes, the kindness in his voice, the way he made you feel safe. But now, the image began to twist, tainted by the knowledge that he might be hiding something monstrous. You pressed your hands against your temples, fighting against the overwhelming sense of betrayal that surged within you.

What if the good times had all been a facade? What if he had been playing you all along?

Your legs gave out, and you sank to the floor, sobs breaking free as your entire world collapsed around you. The warmth of the apartment, once a sanctuary, felt like a prison. You buried your face in your hands, the weight of despair crushing you. “I believed in you.” You cried, voice muffled against your palms. “How could you do this to me?”

The sobs wracked your body, and you could feel your heart fracturing with every breath. The pain was all-consuming, a tempest of emotions swirling within you—anger, betrayal, sorrow. You felt utterly alone, abandoned in a nightmare you couldn’t escape.

It felt as if the walls themselves echoed your despair, a cruel reminder that you were trapped in this reality. The tears flowed freely, and you gasped for air, each breath feeling like a betrayal to the love you once held so fiercely. “Sebastian.” You choked out, the name a whisper tinged with heartbreak. “Please tell me this isn’t true…”

But deep down, a seed of doubt took root, a dark whisper that you couldn’t silence. And as you sat there, broken on the floor, you realized with chilling clarity that you might have to confront a truth you were terrified to face. Sebastian’s guilt. The possibility that the man you had loved so completely could be the monster hiding in plain sight.

The thought sent another wave of anguish crashing over you, and you curled into yourself, the weight of despair dragging you down into the depths of an all-consuming darkness.

The days turned into weeks, and the world outside faded into a distant blur. You had once filled your life with laughter and joy, sharing your passions and adventures with Sebastian on stream. But now, the only sound that echoed in the emptiness of your apartment was the relentless ticking of the clock, a constant reminder of the time that had passed since he was taken from you.

Sebastian’s execution had felt surreal, a nightmarish sequence that played out in slow motion. You had sat in the courtroom, heart pounding, as the gavel struck down on his fate, each word from the judge slicing through you like glass. “Guilty.” The word had reverberated in your mind, drowning out everything else. The cheers from those who had come to watch felt like daggers in your back, as you struggled to comprehend how the world could move on when yours had shattered.

In the days following, you had retreated into yourself, cocooning in the memories of what once was. The apartment felt hollow, the air heavy with the absence of his laughter and warmth. You’d tried to continue with your life, but every attempt felt futile. The vibrant colors of your past had drained away, leaving only shades of gray.

You found yourself staring at the walls, the pictures of you and Sebastian hanging like ghosts of a happier time. You avoided the streaming setup, the computer untouched and gathering dust. You couldn’t bear the thought of performing for an audience that had reveled in the spectacle of his downfall. The playful banter, the inside jokes—everything that had once felt like second nature was now suffocating.

It was in this state of isolation that you began to notice the ringing phone, the unknown number flashing on the screen each time. It became an annoyance, a constant reminder of the outside world that you had closed off. You ignored it at first, but as the calls persisted, you felt an overwhelming urge to pick up and shout into the void, to let whoever was on the other end know that you didn’t care. You were done.

“Just let it go.” You whispered to yourself, gripping the phone tightly in your hand, willing it to stop. But it only rang louder, taunting you, as if demanding a response. It felt like a ghost of your past, lingering reminders of what you had lost. You buried your face in your hands, tears streaming down your cheeks as you mourned for Sebastian—the man who had filled your life with love, laughter, and joy.

Days turned into weeks, and you often found yourself walking the familiar paths that you had taken together, hoping to feel a connection to him, to find something that could ease the ache in your heart. You walked to the small coffee shop where you’d spent countless mornings, the barista greeting you with a sad smile as if he could see the heaviness in your soul.

“Are you okay?” He asked gently, his voice low as he handed you your usual drink.

You forced a smile that felt hollow. “Yeah, just… missing a friend.” You replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, understanding etched in his features. “Take your time. We’re here for you if you need anything. I'm sure your friend will return soon.”

You returned to the apartment, the silence greeting you like an old friend. It was a comfort and a torment all at once, the echoes of Sebastian’s laughter haunting you at every turn. You stumbled through the rooms, feeling his presence everywhere, yet completely gone. The kitchen was a battlefield of untouched dishes, and the living room still bore witness to the chaos of that fateful night.

And yet, you felt compelled to keep ignoring the outside world. You and Sebastian had built a sanctuary here, and now it felt like a tomb—a space to remember and mourn, but also to be consumed by grief. You couldn’t bear the thought of facing Painter, or anyone else who might remind you of what you’d lost. Their calls went unanswered, your heart too heavy to even think of engaging with anyone.

But one night, as you sat curled up on the couch, a sudden urge struck you. You picked up the phone, thumb hovering over the contact list. It was almost automatic, a reflex driven by a desire to feel connected to someone, even if it was only a shadow of what you had with Sebastian. You clicked on Painter’s name, your heart racing as you prepared to dial. But just as your finger touched the screen, the phone rang again, the same unknown number flashing before you.

You hesitated, a surge of anger rising within you. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” you cried out into the stillness, your voice trembling with a whirlwind of emotion. You had no strength left to deal with this mystery, this constant reminder of a life that felt irretrievably lost.

With a trembling hand, you answered the call. “Hello?” The word felt foreign on your tongue, like a brittle leaf falling from a tree in autumn.

A pause followed, stretching into an eternity, and then a voice emerged from the silence, dripping with smugness and taunting glee. “A wonderful evening, isn’t it?”

Recognition hit you like a slap, anger and disbelief coiling in your stomach. “Who is this?” You demanded, your heart racing as you tried to mask the tremor in your voice.

“It’s me… Allison.” She said, and you could almost hear the smirk in her tone. “I’ve been trying to reach you. You see, I want to meet you. In person.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The mere mention of her name felt like a punch to your gut. “What do you want?” You spat, the words sharp and laced with hurt, a raw wound that refused to heal.

“Oh, come now.” She chided, her voice honeyed yet poisonous. “You must know by now that I have the information you crave. The kind of juicy details that could change everything. And let’s be honest, you could use a little excitement in your life after all that’s happened.”

You could almost picture her, leaning back in some luxurious chair, a smug smile on her lips, relishing every moment of your turmoil. “What makes you think I’d want to hear anything from you?” You countered, trying to maintain the semblance of strength. But beneath your bravado, you were shaken, your heart aching at the memories that flooded back, memories of trust and betrayal.

“I know you’re hurting.” Allison pressed, her tone shifting, turning almost persuasive. “But the truth is, I hold the keys to unlocking the real story. You think you know what happened? Think again. Sebastian’s innocence? It’s a farce, darling.” She laughed lightly, and it sent a chill down your spine. “You need to hear what I have to say.”

A cold dread settled in your chest, mingling with your fury. How could she speak of Sebastian like that? Your mind raced with confusion and anger, torn between the desire to protect his memory and the nagging curiosity of what she might reveal. “What do you mean?” You demanded, your voice barely a whisper.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m not going to just give it away.” She cooed, her tone patronizing, like she was speaking to a child. “But I promise you, once you hear me out, everything will make sense. This isn’t just about Sebastian. It’s about the bigger picture. The real culprits behind the chaos that’s torn your life apart. And believe me, darling, it’s going to be quite a revelation.”

A sick feeling settled in your stomach as you wrestled with your emotions. You were weary of being trapped in this darkness, of the isolation that suffocated you. But could you trust her? Deep down, you felt that small flicker of hope—the chance that perhaps, just perhaps, she might hold some truth that could change everything.

“Fine.” You said finally, your voice steadying as you took a deep breath. “But this better be good. I don’t have time for games, Allison.”

“Good! Meet me at the park, by the fountain. You know the one. Tomorrow at noon. Come alone.” She instructed, her tone brisk and commanding, as if she knew you’d comply without question.

The line went dead, and you stared at the phone in disbelief, a storm of emotions swirling within you. You felt the shadows of your grief deepen, intertwining with the threads of a truth you had yet to confront. What was she playing at? Was this a trap? But the thought of Sebastian’s name hanging in the air like a ghost pulled at you, urging you to seek answers, no matter how painful they might be.

You spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, the weight of uncertainty heavy on your chest. As the sun rose the next morning, you felt a mix of dread and determination settle in your bones. You had to know the truth, even if it meant facing the very person who had turned your world upside down. You were willing to confront your fears if it meant uncovering the secrets buried in the shadows of your past.

As you prepared to leave, a part of you wondered what you would discover in that conversation. Would it bring you closer to the truth, or would it only lead to more heartbreak? Only time would tell, but one thing was certain: You were no longer willing to let fear dictate your life. Today, you would seek the truth, whatever the cost.

The morning air was crisp as you made your way to the park, your heart pounding in your chest with each step. The sun peeked through the branches of the trees, casting dappled shadows on the path ahead. As you approached the fountain, a wave of nausea washed over you. You had no idea what to expect from your encounter with Allison, but the tension was palpable, thickening the air around you.

You spotted her seated on a bench, casually flicking through her phone, the picture of nonchalance. She looked up as you approached, a smile playing on her lips that sent a chill down your spine. “You came.” She said, her voice light as if you were simply meeting for coffee.

“I’m not here to play games, Allison.” You said, forcing your voice to steady despite the tremor in your hands. “What do you want?”

She motioned for you to sit, and despite every instinct telling you to run, you complied, tension coiling in your stomach. “I wanted to talk about Sebastian.” She said, her tone shifting to something more serious. “You need to understand the truth of what happened.”

“The truth?” you echoed, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. “What do you know about the truth?”

Allison leaned closer, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something darker. “Oh, darling, I know everything. I know what you’ve been through, the heartbreak, the isolation. I know you still believe in Sebastian’s innocence.” She paused, savoring your reaction. “But here’s the thing: He’s not innocent. Not in the way you think.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “What are you talking about?” You shook your head, trying to deny the implications of her words. “Sebastian would never—”

“Would never what?” She interrupted, her voice rising with feigned innocence. “Kill? You see, it’s easy to point fingers, especially when the truth is so beautifully complicated.” She leaned back, a smirk spreading across her face. “And I should know, because I orchestrated it all.”

A cold dread settled over you, a sickening realization dawning. “You’re lying,” you said weakly, but even as you spoke, the pieces began to click into place. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “I took my time, did my research. I switched out evidence, planted things to frame him perfectly. You see, the cops would never suspect the innocent ex-girlfriend, would they?” Her eyes sparkled with malice. “And I had just the plan to make sure it all fell into place.”

“Why? Why would you do this?” The words came out as a choked whisper, your heart racing as the reality of her confession settled in. “What did Sebastian ever do to you?”

Allison laughed, a cruel, mirthless sound. “Oh, sweetie, it was never about Sebastian. It was about you. I wanted to see you broken, to watch your world crumble. You had everything I wanted—his affection, his attention, his life. I just thought it would be so much fun to take it all away.” She paused, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. “And I must say, it’s been quite the show.”

“Stop it!” You shouted, your voice rising in desperation. “You can’t keep getting away with this. I’ll go to the police. I’ll tell them everything!”

“Oh, but you won’t.” She purred, leaning closer, her voice low and threatening. “Because I’ve already taken care of that. The evidence against Sebastian is airtight. His DNA was at the scenes, his clothes were planted. I even collected hair samples—he won’t be able to escape this.”

You felt your world tilt, your heart racing as the realization hit you. She was right: She had manipulated everything, and there was nothing you could do to stop her. “You’re insane.” You whispered, your body shaking with disbelief. “You can’t just play with people’s lives like this!”

“Why not?” Allison shrugged, her expression unfazed. “Life is a game, and I simply play to win. And right now, you’re just a pawn in my little chess match.”

A shuddering breath escaped you as the weight of her words crushed down on you. “You’re a monster.” You said, fighting back tears.

“Perhaps.” She said, her smile widening. “But I’m the one in control here. And you’re left with nothing but the truth—a truth that will haunt you for the rest of your life. Think of the fun you’ll have trying to navigate this new reality.”

You felt your heart break all over again, shattering into a million irretrievable pieces. “You can’t get away with this.” You said, but your voice lacked the conviction it once held.

“Oh, but I already have.” She replied, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “And if you’re smart, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Otherwise, who knows what might happen next?”

The weight of her threat hung heavy in the air, and you realized the truth of her power over you. The world felt like it was closing in, your vision blurring as the enormity of it all washed over you. With a sickening feeling of despair, you understood that you were utterly alone in this twisted game.

As you rose from the bench, every part of you screamed to run, to escape the grip of her twisted reality. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t. Not yet. The fight was far from over, but now, it was a fight for survival, and you had to gather every ounce of strength to confront the darkness that threatened to consume you. The battle was just beginning, and you would not let her win.

You stepped back, shaking your head as if that could somehow dispel the reality of the situation. “You’re delusional, Allison.” You said, but the conviction in your voice was wavering. “This can’t be real. You didn’t plan all of this from the beginning.”

Allison laughed again, a sound that echoed through the park like a chilling wind. “Oh, but it is real, darling. Every moment we spent together, every laugh we shared on those calls, it was all a performance. I played the role of the girlfriend to perfection, didn’t I?” She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a manic energy. “I had you all wrapped around my little finger, believing I on his side while I was orchestrating your downfall.”

Your heart raced as you felt the blood drain from your face. “No… No, you can’t mean that.” You stammered, disbelief mingling with a sickening realization. “You were there when Sebastian was arrested in court. You acted like you cared!”

“Cared?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I was reveling in your pain! Watching you grieve over someone you believed was innocent while I knew the truth all along was the highlight of my little game.” She paused, her expression shifting to something darker. “And the best part? I’ll always be three steps ahead of you.”

The breath caught in your throat, a chill running down your spine. “You’re a monster.” You whispered, your voice trembling. “How can you do this?”

“Because it’s fun.” She simply repeated, shrugging her shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “And let’s be real: I’m the only one who understands the beauty in chaos. This world is just a stage, and I’m the star of my own show.”

Every word dripped with malice, a taunting melody that twisted your insides. “You’re not a star, Allison. You’re just a pathetic coward hiding behind a mask of cruelty.”

She tilted her head, a smirk still playing on her lips. “But it’s the mask that gives me power, don’t you see? I can walk into any room and make people believe whatever I want them to believe. I’ve turned everyone against Sebastian. The evidence I planted, the stories I twisted—it’s all there. You can’t change the narrative once it’s set in stone.”

A fresh wave of anger surged through you, igniting a spark of defiance. “I won’t let you do this. I’ll find a way to expose you!”

“Oh, sweet naïve darling.” She mocked, her laughter sharp and cruel. “You think anyone will believe you? You’re just the broken girlfriend of a murderer. Who would trust your word against the solid evidence I’ve crafted? You’ll be seen as the girl who couldn’t let go, who couldn’t accept that her boyfriend was a monster.”

You felt your heart shatter all over again, each piece piercing you deeper. The weight of her manipulation suffocated you, leaving you gasping for air. “Why, Allison? Why all this?” You begged, desperation creeping into your voice. “What did you gain from ruining our lives?”

She leaned back, crossing her arms with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. “I told you. It’s all a game, and I just wanted to see how far I could push you. I wanted to watch you crumble, to see you lose everything you held dear. It was beautiful, really. Watching you struggle to come to terms with Sebastian’s guilt while I quietly reveled in your despair.”

As her words sank in, a wave of grief crashed over you, threatening to drown you in its depths. “You’re sick.” You murmured, tears brimming in your eyes. “You’re not a person...“

“Call me what you want.” She said, her tone breezy, as if your words didn’t affect her. “The truth is, I’m the only one left standing. You’re the one who has lost everything, and I’m just getting started.”

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. She was right. You had been so focused on saving Sebastian that you hadn’t seen the bigger picture—the twisted web she had spun around you both. You felt like a marionette, dancing to her strings, and the weight of your helplessness crashed down on you.

“And trust me, darling, I plan to keep it that way. The game has just begun, and you’re the perfect player. Let’s see how long you last.”

With that, she stood up, brushing off her clothes with a dismissive gesture. “I’ll be watching, of course. You won’t be able to escape me, not when I’m always just a step away, waiting for you to make your next move.”

As she turned to walk away, her laughter echoed behind her, a haunting reminder of the chaos she had unleashed in your life. You felt the tears finally spill over, hot and angry, as the weight of betrayal and loss crashed down around you.

The heavy silence of the dimly lit store enveloped Allison as she stepped through the door, the creak of the hinges echoing through the darkness. The air felt thick, laden with anticipation, and she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her. The usual comforting scents of paint and wood shavings were replaced by an unsettling stillness that set her on edge.

“Painter?” She called, her voice slicing through the gloom, only to be met with silence. She squinted, trying to make out any shapes in the shadows, but the darkness felt alive, shifting around her as if it were aware of her presence.

A moment later, a soft click broke the stillness as a solitary bulb flickered to life, casting a weak glow across the room. Painter sat behind the counter, his features partially obscured in shadow, but the intensity of his gaze was unmistakable. He leaned forward, his hands clasped around a canvas and some expensive painting tools as he sketched, and the tension in the air thickened.

“Well?” He asked, his voice low and steady. He didn't bothered to even glance at her. “How did it go?”

Allison stepped closer, her heart racing with a mix of exhilaration and trepidation. “It went exactly as I planned.” She replied, a smirk creeping onto her lips. “She’s fragile, Painter. Perfectly broken, just like we wanted. The meeting was… enlightening.”

Painter’s expression remained unreadable, but the way he tilted his head indicated he was hanging on her every word. “Enlightening how?” He pressed, his voice sharp.

“She is ready for the next step.” Allison continued, the thrill of her deception washing over her like a warm wave. “I spun the tale beautifully—she’s drowning in despair. I made sure to emphasize how she was the one left behind, how she had been played all along.”

“Good.” Painter replied, nodding slowly. “You have her right where we need her. But what about your end of the bargain? You have what you promised me?”

Allison laughed, a sound laced with a hint of darkness. “Of course. Everything is in place. I took care of the evidence. The hair samples, the clothes. No one will ever suspect a thing. It’s all beautifully orchestrated, just like a well-crafted film.”

Painter’s eyes gleamed with interest, and he leaned back, a satisfied smile slowly spreading across his face. “You’ve truly outdone yourself, Allison. I knew I could count on you to bring chaos to life.”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s just another day in our little game, isn’t it? But let’s be clear: I’m not here to play forever. I want my reward.”

“You’ll get it.” Painter assured her, his tone serious now. “But remember, the game isn’t over yet. There’s still more to be done.“

“I’m already steps ahead,” Allison replied, her confidence bubbling over. “She has no idea who’s really pulling the strings. With Sebastian out of the picture, and with me in her life pretending to the enemy, I can manipulate her emotions. It’s a beautiful arrangement.”

“Just ensure she doesn’t catch on too quickly.” Painter cautioned, a warning lacing his words. “Her grief could turn into something more dangerous if she realizes she’s being played.”

Allison waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that. I know how to handle her. Besides, she’s already broken. It won’t take much to keep her under my control.”

“Good.” Painter said, satisfaction evident in his voice. “Let’s keep her that way. I have plans for her, and we need her to stay in line.”

As the weight of their conversation settled around them, a shared understanding ignited in the darkness. They were both architects of chaos, and together they would build a world that thrived on manipulation and deceit.

Allison stepped back, a grin spreading across her face. “This is just the beginning, Painter. I can’t wait to see how this unfolds.”

Painter leaned back in his chair, a gleam of malice in his eyes. “Neither can I. But remember, the shadows are watching, and we must stay one step ahead. Let’s make sure that the show goes on.”

With that, the two conspirators shared a knowing glance, the darkness of the store wrapping around them like a cloak, sealing their plans in the hushed stillness of the night. The game was far from over, and they were ready to play.

In the dim, cluttered backroom of the art studio, the air was thick with an oppressive silence, broken only by the soft scratching of Painter’s pencil against the canvas. Each stroke was deliberate, each line imbued with a manic energy that crackled like electricity in the air. As he meticulously worked on capturing your likeness, the glee within him grew, bubbling to the surface like a sinister tide.

The whole sequence of events had been a carefully choreographed dance, an intricate play penned solely by him. From Allison’s arrival at the café to the shocking announcement of Sebastian’s (faked) death, every detail had been crafted with precision, each moment calculated to elicit the maximum emotional response from you. It was all part of his grand design—a masterpiece of manipulation that he reveled in as if it were the finest work of art.

Painter leaned back, admiring his handiwork, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and something darker. Yes, he was in love with you, utterly and completely, to the point where he would twist the very fabric of reality itself to ensure you would see him as your savior. For him, love had morphed into an obsession, one that transcended the boundaries of morality and reason. He had watched from the shadows as you and Sebastian grew closer, the connection between you blooming like a flower in spring, and it had driven him to the edge of madness.

The red strings of fate, which folklore claimed intertwined the lives of soulmates, had become a web of control and manipulation in his mind. He had to act before it was too late, before you were irrevocably lost to Sebastian. That was when he had reached out to Allison, a face from your past, and transformed her into the perfect pawn in his game.

“Skilled, wicked, and naive.” He murmured to himself, a cruel smile spreading across his lips as he remembered the lengths he had gone to secure her loyalty. He had paid her handsomely to infiltrate your life, to steal Sebastian from you, to take your identity, your streaming account, your very essence. It was all too easy to convince her that she was invincible under his protection, too blind to see the truth—that she was nothing more than a tool, a disposable piece in his elaborate scheme.

Painter’s thoughts raced, the joy of his manipulation coursing through him. The climax of his plan had been the final confrontation with Allison, the dramatic reveal that would shatter the illusion she had created. It had all been a performance, rehearsed to perfection. He had relished the moment, watching as her bravado crumbled and the reality of her situation settled in like a heavy fog. She had believed she was in control, but he had orchestrated every twist and turn, and now the stage was set for her downfall.

Yet, despite all his efforts, there was one unexpected variable—your unwavering loyalty to Sebastian. Painter had believed that once he exposed Allison, you would run to him, your savior, the one who had seen the truth beneath the layers of deceit. But you had returned to Sebastian instead, drawn back to the very man he had orchestrated the demise of. In that moment, rage ignited within him, a blazing inferno that threatened to consume everything he had built.

There was no other choice; Sebastian had to go. The thought danced through his mind like a dark melody, sweet and intoxicating. Painter was rich, clever, and dangerously unhinged. He had the resources to make anything happen, to erase any obstacle that stood in his way. It was an easy task to hire the right people, to ensure that the nine murders he orchestrated would lead the trail of blame directly to Allison.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he recalled how he had twisted her mind, making her believe she was untouchable. She would take the blame for everything, painted as the guilty party in a crime that was all his doing. It was a beautiful, tragic irony that thrilled him; the naïve little pawn would never see it coming. The moment she was caught, the world would believe her to be the real villain, and he would be the silent spectator, the mastermind hiding in plain sight.

But Sebastian? He would not be lost to the world. No, he had arranged for his dear friend to become a living test subject for Urbanshade, a dark experiment that would keep him alive, twisting in the shadows. Painter’s smile widened as he imagined the day you would finally see through the fog of lies and betrayal, when you would recognize him as the one who truly cared for you, the only one who had ever understood you.

“Soon.” He whispered, a predatory glint in his eyes, “You will see me, and then all will be right in this world I’ve created.” The canvas before him captured not just your face but the very essence of his twisted love, a love that would stop at nothing to ensure you were his and his alone.

As he continued to sketch, the darkness of his intentions wrapped around him like a cloak, and he couldn’t help but feel that, in this sinister game of puppets, he was the true artist. Each line, each shadow, was a testament to his genius—a dark narrative that would soon unfold, revealing the depths of his obsession and the horrifying lengths to which he would go to have you in his grasp.

Painter had played everyone. Sebastian, Allison, and especially YOU.

[omaano]

SW Hades AU September Update

Links and previous updates: May - June - July - August - everything else in this AU

For the month of September I have for you a finished character illustration for not only one but two characters for the Hades AU! One boon giver in the form of Shaak Ti,

and Obi-wan, this grumpy old desert hermit who is still missing shading from his dusty surroundings.

AND below the cut I will show you the designs for all the keepsakes I sketched out for the characters this month :3

But - before I go into some ramblings - let's have another poll:

(I know it's a lot like the last poll, but I'm really trying to work on drawings of the boon giver characters while I still remember all the layer settings I need for their glow and radiant spikes ^^;)

And now on for the ramblings and thoughts behind the process of the art I've created this month:

One last rant about me and replicating the Hades art style

I have touched on my struggles with how I translate the Hades art style into my project in the previous update, and unfortunately the perfectionist in me refuses to let it go... so I'll muse on that a bit more in this one as well. Last time, I promise. I've come to the necessary conclusions that I'll let the topic go once I typed these out.

I found this very interesting video that I wish I'd seen before I started this project.

It is a very interesting breakdown of the Hades art style. Now I have to admit that I am very very bad at observation. Therefore I heavily rely on others pointing out patterns and defining characteristics before I can consciously start building on those on my own. For example: when I started more seriously working on this Hades AU project my main objective was to get better at lineart. The way I saw it Hades artworks had very clean and solid linearts with lots of black (thanks to another video that pointed that out as one of the 3 major definig features of the style) but if I look at it more closely the lines and shading are a lot looser, and more confident than what I ended up using.

I quite enjoy doing it, don't get me wrong, but there is an up- and downside to hunting down single pixels that are out of order (b it for lineart or shading) and 100% zoom in... which is silly and unnecessary, since I have to scale down my art quite a bit before posting anyway, so who would see anyway?

Also at this point I'm very much facing the dilemma of how much I can change in my approach to this style to still keep this entire project coherent. I'm more in favour of coherency at this point, so I'm just trying to soak up these lessons for future references.

One of these lessons was another point that was very fascinating in this video (aside from how this video picks a multiply layer approach to shading... which I had abandoned after Boba and Cobb for whatever reason?) was to point out the one dominant, more saturated colour in a character art, and how all the rest are desaturated to support that dominating character.

Shaak Ti and my babies

And I actually was very consciously trying to apply that with Shaak Ti! (I'm so proud of myself, finally incorporating a lesson into my work, look at me go!) It didn't exactly go as I'd planned, in a great deal because initially I wanted the red of her skin to be the more dominant and defining colour. But as I went about colouring in the baby clones as well I realized that the blue of her montrals and lekku would be a much better choice, and have the other redish and warmer tones of her robe and clothes, and the skin tone of the cadets to play the supporting colour role. Yet again, half my screens keep eating away the hue and saturation of my reds, but I think that this approach worked out just fine in the end. The blue-purple of her stripes, her eyes and lips look nice and pretty, and the blue in the cadet uniforms tie the entire composition of all these characters nicely together.

I'd also switched up the gem sparkle highlight colours for this one (and Obi-wan too, since they worked so well with Shaak Ti) from the very limiting base 6 fully saturated colours on others (that don't really show up in print anyways...).

And lastly why they are little ghosties in the alternate version:

Ahead of that however a brief introduction is in order. From left to right they are Ray (depicted here the last time he was biggest of the bunch), Slider (my anxious little field medic), and Goldie (my silly little goldfish who claimed the name before it could stick to Slider). For the record they all grow up just fine to join the war effort.

In this case they are more of a stand-in for all the clone cadets on Kamino, especially those who didn't get to grow up, the training of whom Shaak Ti ended up overseeing. (I don't remember if canonically there had been any of them on Kamino when the Empire destroyed their facilities.... but I'd bet that there must have been.) They deserve someone to look after them too, after all.

Also I wanted to see if I can make the Hades shade design work for me. The answer is.... eh, jury's still out, but no, not really. Luckily however, before I have to figure out if I stubbornly would want to change that, it seems like I'm done with my semi-transparent or shade clones. Wolffe is gonna be just fine, solid and grumpy as you can imagine.

Obi-wan

I don't have much to say about the grouchy old man, except that he was surprisingly easy to finish once I got over worrying about the pressure I'd put on myself because of this character illustration.

I fear to say this, but I'm pretty sure I should draw another version of him... like how Patroclus stands up from his hunched over pose and stands tall and strong and matching Achilles with his own spear once you reunite them in the game. And call on them for assistance. So I guess it would be cool if he could stand back-to-back with Cody, with his lightsaber back in his hand, and looking like someone who (allegedly) has his life together XD

Oh! There is one thing. It was a last minute change but I'm so pleased with the stained glass pieces of his teacup! It's his keepsake as well :))

Keepsakes

These speak for themselves, I believe. Special thanks to Quatre for brainstorming a few of these with me <3 Funnily enough Cody's snapped of antennae is the one I feel least sure about now that I have the whole lineup. They feel very in character for Cody (and how he gets his entertainment out of trolling Din in this AU) but it feels a little silly, you know? Especially with how little they look like antennae X"D

Cody - antenna from his armor, Rex - one of his DC-17 blasters, Wolffe - a tooth with "Plo's bros" carved into it, Bo-Katan - a medal/locket with the pattern of the throne of Mandalore, Cobb - his scarf, Boba - a black melon surrounded by stained glass and a fistful of sand, Echo and Fives - a domino

Omega - a clone trooper doll, Kit - a shell and pearl, Paz - a nesting doll with a Pantoran on the inside and a Mandalorian on the outside, Shaak Ti - akul teeth, Satine - a calla lily brooch like she wears in her hair, Ahsoka - a glowing feather from Morai, Leia - Lola

Obi-wan - a fancy teacup, Quinlan - whatever is the Star Wars equivalent of a pendrive, Fennec - a handful of bullets, Sabine - airbrush, Ezra - a tooka brooch made of pebbles and snail shell, Maul - Talisman of finding (the one Savege used to find him)

Anakin - multitools, Mythosaur - a mythosaur pendant, Aphra - Spice Dice used for a variant of Sabacc, Luke - toy ship, The Armorer - her hammer

It's a bit wild to see all of them laid out like this i'm not gonna lie :D

So that's it for now. As for the next month I'm hoping to surprise-finish Aphra (like I did with Obi-wan), maybe do something about the surpirse I can maybe do for Fives and Echo and why they haven't gotten their character interaction yet, sketch out a new character and maybe start lining Bo-Katan and her gang. It should be doable, right? XD Also I promise that this was my last rant about my relationship to how I've given up replicating the game's style as close as possible. Cross my heart and all that.

Taglist of anyone who wants to be pinged once a month for these updates <3 If you want to be added to the list send me a message, or just reply to this post (a 👀 would do, nothing fancy required ;))

@elwinged @yeehawgeek @velsayshi @lionsaint

If you want to be taken off the list just message me and I'll take you off, no hard feelings :)

[irishmammonagenda]

hiiii ! ^_^ I love your writing sm

I was listening to music just relax, and randomly I thought of MC with "You're loosing me" AND I HAD TO SHARE IT WITH SOMEONE. Especially from minute 3:00 to the end 😭😭😭😭 imagine a fic inspired in that song with a traumatized mc after their death 🥲

hiya!! i'm so glad 🫶🫶🫶🫶 tbh i dont really listen to taylor so i had to look up this one, but oml it kinda does fit MC sm???!!!

honestly tysm for the ask, i don't normally write seriousish fics so this was a fun change grma <3

ALSO IM SO SORRY THE TITLES SO CRINGE I COULDNT THINK OF A GOOD ONE

Surface Tension- Obey Me x Reader

Summary: MC died 😱 and reincarnated as a demon, only their death affected them more than they thought. Word Count: 2.8k+ Warnings: Mentions of Death, leans more into Lucifer x Reader, especially at the end. (i am so sorry abt that I had no idea where this fic was going myself tbh) Descriptions of drowning. Hurt/Comfort? I have no idea how to write trauma I am so sorry, (this isn't apart of my 'Death is a Debatable thing Au) dividers are a mixmatch of ones by @plum98 @isisjupiter and @cafekitsune bc im indecisive

The thing you missed most were your pact marks. Intricate designs etched into your skin, that shone the colours of the people you loved, a reminder you were someone. You had something. A security blanket of sorts. Now they were gone, clear glass sin, almost poreless, uncanny replaced the lines and marks and humans´ perfect imperfection that provided a canvas for the hues that you were sure had painted your heart.

It hurt.

You fiddle with your hands, trying to contain the urge to just...pop. The horns and the tail had been disorienting to get used to. You still preferred your 'human' form, the only issue was controlling it. It would come with time, or so everyone had told you.

They told you a lot of things would come with time. You weren't so hopeful.

"I....it's just-" you flick your gaze around the room, looking anywhere but the demon in there with you. "...the dying part..."

"The dyin' part..." Mammon sits by your side, ever your first man, his eyes gaze at you, so loving, so adoring, it hurts your heart. "I don't understand the dyin' MC....I couldn't never understand the dyin'...." He brings a hand to rest on yours hesitantly, his false bravado nowhere to be found.

"I know you don't Mams..." You meet his gaze, his eyes as blue as the sky on a summer's day, warmer than the sun, and softer than silk when he looks into yours.

"It doesn' mean I won't try te....understand...I mean." He clears is throat awkwardly. "There's nothin' I wouldn't do for ye...not now not ever."

Your heart feels heavy.

Rushing water beats against porcelain. Steam slowly rose in swirls as the bathtub filled up. You fold your towels and set them by the sink beside the clothes you had set out. Pulling the satin robe that was a gift from a certain Asmodeus, you placed it on one of the hooks on the door, before twisting the taps to a stop. You submerged yourself into the warm water, your tense muscles relaxing as you leaned backwards in the tub from where you were sitting, legs touching the bottom of the porcelain. 

It had been so long. 

So long since you were able to just relax like this. You loved the brothers and the others, but sometimes you needed the solitude of your own thoughts. That wasn’t to say Asmo’s self care nights weren’t relaxing. 

You sighed. 

The water enveloped you, you had leaned back enough to where your head had begun to submerge. All was well. The water was warm, your muscles slowly relaxed, along with the rest of your body. Your eyes slowly blinked closed. 

All was fine. Your relaxed muscles let your head fall back. All was well. Your ears were now submerged. All was fine. 

Except it wasn’t. A switch had flicked. Your eyes shot wide open. You could no longer feel the bottom of the porcelain bathtub, panic and dread tugged at your arteries, squeezing your jugular. You flailed and thrashed your limbs, your head dipped under for a millisecond. 

Clear water turned murky. 

Your arms burnt after another weak attempt, head breaking the stormy surface of the lough for a moment; only a moment. Hardly long enough to draw a breath. Your eyes stung. Your throat ached, desperation choked at your airways. 

You found yourself submerged again. The currents slammed into rocks. Your hair rose upwards, strands sticking to your face like some sort of seaweed, hindering your vision as the waves flung you against hard rock. Your hands clawed at the stone, too slippery to catch a grip. The stormy water slammed you against another rock. You broke the horrid surface of the water, gasping and spluttering. Your throat burned like sinners in the 7th circle of hell. You just barely gasped in a morsel of oxygen before being dragged under by the force of the waves. 

You were slammed mercilessly into another hard wall of stone, your attempts at clawing for a grip so desperate you drew blood at your fingertips. 

You had survived demons, witches, angels. You had survived hell. Yet earth would be the one to take you out, so it seemed. You couldn’t hold your breath any longer, your mouth opened. You inhaled desperately, lungs aching for air. Water filled them instead. 

You gasped and spluttered. The surface of the water too rough to do a dead man’s float without risking your life further. The waves smacked you against hard rock once more, eroding at your hopes for survival. 

This was it. 

You were going to die. You’re drowning. You’ve drowned. 

The last thing you felt before you succumbed to the wild waves was the dull glow of your pact marks. With the last of your strength, you let out a silent scream, submerged by the water. 

You screamed. Frenzied hands pull your sobbing form out of the clear water of the bath pulling your soaked, sobbing form to their chest. You gasp for air, lungs burning. 

“MC! Y-you’re fine! Don’t worry…you’re okay…you’re okay…!” An uncharacteristically frenzied Beel holds you to his chest, massive arms enveloping you, he cards a gentle hand through your hair as you sob and upheave, your chest tight and your breath running from you. “You’re okay MC….follow my breathing…”

Hardly hearing him, you comply either way. Matching the breaths of the sixth born, your heart rate begins to slow, your breathing begins to even. Eventually, you sit wrapped in the arms of the Avatar of Gluttony, breathing deeply and slowly, your heart rate slowed, your sobs quitened to the occasional sniffle, the tightness in your chest remains. 

You chuckle humourlessly. “I’m sorry Beel….got your clothes all wet.” 

Beel shakes his head seriously, eyes on yours. “It’s never a problem. Not if it’s you MC.” He stands up with you still in his arms. Carefully, the redhead sets you down on your two feet. Strong hands on either side of you, a stabliser. “C’mon…let’s get you dressed MC…can you stand?”

Slowly you nod.

That night you found yourself in the living room, Belphie asleep, head on your shoulder. Mammon splayed across your lap, Asmo’s arm around your waist, Beel was on the other side of his twin, but held your hand, rubbing soothing circles subconsciously into your palm. Levi sat on the ground, switch in hand, cheek leaning against your thigh.  Satan and Lucifer sat on the nearest armchairs though they sat facing opposite each other, Lucifer half reading official documents, half watching the show his brothers and little human demon were watching, Satan doing the exact same, except his reading material was a book. 

You weren't sure how or if they knew what had happened an hour prior, but you were sure they knew this would cheer you up in some capacity.

You squeezed Beel’s hand, the knot in your chest coming undone just enough you feel light.

The transition from Human to Demon was a hard one to get used to, one thing that hadn't changed however; were the balls hosted by Lord Diavolo. The only difference being that now you sported curved horns on the top of your head. You quickly found that Asmo liked to decorate them with little trinkets.

Which he had done today, as well as helping you pick out your outfit for the ball. You gave a twirl in one of his full length mirrors.

"Thanks Asmo I love it." You smile, messing with an ornament on your horn. Those are taking a while to get used to.

Asmodeus laughs gleefully, waving his hand. "It was nothing darling. I'd love to do it again! Oh...~ You look so gorgeous...." He says dreamily before he turns back to his makeup, carefully lining his lips in a dark pink.

You blush at the praise before leaving the room, not wanting to risk being (fashionably) late.

"MC!" Lord Diavolo greets cheerfully, pulling you in for a hug against his bare, tanned chest. The gold in his eyes and horns glow like fire in the light of the ballroom. "I'm so glad you could make it! You look stunning!" He laughs, strong arms wrapping tighter around you.

You smile, "I'm glad to be here, Dia."

"I'm glad..." He says softer now. If the both of your words were an innuendo, neither of you pointed it out.

Barbatos appears silently at the left hand side of the Demon Prince, shaking your hand, you give him a sweet smile.

You barely get to greet him before the Demon Butler swiftly makes his way across the ballroom, and out of the glazed, oak door that led to a short corridor and then led to the kitchens.

After more peasant conversation with Diavolo, another Demon Noble had arrived, the scarlet haired prince pouted at the thought of leaving you before waving and making his way towards one of Hell's Aristocrats.

You wave him goodbye, you scan the Ballroom, eyes locking with violet ones. The seventh born gives a small smirk, lazily making his way toward you.

Belphegor had seen your dreams. He had felt the water pool into your lungs, the air escaping your grasp, the harsh bruising of the rocks you were slammed into.

He saw every dream, tried to stop them from reaching you. Sometimes he failed, your mind wanted to return to that moment. To pick it apart, to relive what it didn't understand itself, to find an impossible answer.

Sometimes your mind, your wonderful, horribly beautiful mind; would be too adamant, would loop back to it.

He didn't protect you. Not when he first betrayed you, not when he crushed your bones in his grip.

He couldn't protect you. Not when you were flung from rock to rock, sharp edges digging into fragile skin. Not when water burnt through your throat like fire.

He couldn't protect you. Not when your dreams bypassed his control. Not when the thin threads of your trauma induced nightmares slipped through the cracks.

The Avatar of Sloth could only do so much, yet, it never felt like enough. He couldn't protect you.

"Hey Belph!" You grin, closing the distance between the two of you. "You seem distracted, whats up?"

Belphegor snaps out of it, lips upturning. "Oh nothing, I just thought of something for the Anti-Lucifer League....What about you, MC, enjoying yourself?"

"For the most part yeah! But I haven't seen Mammon anywhere...." You say thoughtfully before deadpanning. "He's going to be strung up upside down by tomorrow morning, isn't he?"

"Yep."

Hours passed, a sleeping Belphegor had been handed over to Beelzebub, who was currently carrying his twin home. You were tempted to ask to join, but decided against it.

You weren't made of glass, you had agency. You could handle a silly ball.

Standing in one of the corners, beverage in hand, you'd elected to just people watch for a while.

Levi sat semi-hidden by a curtain at the grand window, switch in hand, noise cancelling headphones in, no doubt reaching the end of his social battery.

Satan stood at the other side of the Grand Hall, talking with contacts and connections you couldn't recognise. Golden blond hair perfectly in place. Asmo must've fixed it up for him.

Speaking of Asmo, he was on the dance floor with various succubi, giggling, smiling, and just in general being a social butterfly.

Mammon however, was still no where to be seen. Probably looking for treasure. Classic Mams. You smile to yourself.

Lucifer stood, being entertained by admirorers of all shapes and sizes. You stiffened.

Sometimes you forgot the brothers were Hell's Most Eligible Bachelors. It was easy to forget, seeing as you lived with them, and they were all idiots.

You could feel Levi's worried eyes on you none the less. Your stomach twisted with his sin, orange as a yolk, what came first? the chicken or the egg? You didn’t know nor did you care. Why would Lucifer choose you anyway? A weak human demon who couldn’t even survive a…-

You gripped your drink tightly, knuckles lightening. You took a sip, but with your tense muscles, the liquid burnt its way down the wrong side of your throat.

You spluttered.

Even the droplet. Even the sip. It grew, multiplied even, filling your lungs like goop, you gasped for air. The ballroom flooded a murky green. Stumbling, you pushed through the oak door to the hallway, where it was quieter.

Your heart beat out of your chest, your breathing was laboured, leaning against the wall, you lost your boyancy, dripping down until you sat on the ground, knees to your chest.

You stayed like that for a moment, catching your breath, engaging your senses.

Three things you could hear;

Idle chatter from the ballroom, completely muffled by the heavy wooden door and stone walls. Your own laboured breathing, although it was catching up to you. The blood rushing in your ears, evaporating from a rapid raging river to a small sparkling stream.

Three things you could see;

The stone wall, dark liath limestone blocks and bricks melded together, midievil in their design, they reflected the light of the overheard torches in a subtle, orange glow. The glazed panes of a glass window, the moon shone bright tonight, as it always did in the Devildom. You liked to think it was watching over you. Maybe it was.

If you turnt your head to the left, an archway was visible, a simple one. It dug into the stone wall and ceiling, pushing against the internal structures, standing out whilst holding together.

You continued your listing, smell and taste were ruled out, on account of you not being able to taste, and there not being any real noticable smells.

Three things you could feel;

The fabric of the clothes Asmo chose for you streched on your skin, the seams digging into your thighs where you sat on the ground.

The stone floor, hard and cold, even with the layers you had on, you shivered ever so slightly.

And lastly, you could feel the phantom ache of pact marks long faded, your heart heart, though it had stopped beating out of your chest. You felt calmer, more in control, yet still;

You sniffled.

After all; you didn’t have the best track record for keeping your head above water.

That’s how Lucifer found you. The door hissing open and his signature boots clacking softly along the ground announced his presence.

“MC, my love, are you alright?” He raises an eyebrow, The Avatar if Pride putting his aside and hunkering down so that he was more or less eye level with you, concern pooled in his expression. He reached a gloved hand out and caressed your cheek.

You nod, croaking out an "I'm okay now..."

"Are you sure, my darling?" The first born looks into your tired eyes, before tilting his head, asking for permission. You grant it.

He pulls you in for a hug.

"What upset you, dove?" He asks softly, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

"I-...I just feel like I've...like I've lost you all...and myself I guess...It sounds stupid! I know...but I just...-"

Lucifer hushes you, "Nothing you could say could ever sound stupid. He pauses. "Unless you're with Mammon...or planning something with Satan and Belphie."

That squeezes a giggle out of you. He smiles, tilting his head, a strand of raven hair falling ever so out of place at the movement, crimson eyes stare into yours.

"But that's not all, is it, dear?"

You mumble something unintelligible, but count on Lucifer Morningstar to hear it. "Have I told you yet? That you look absolutely gorgeous tonight, MC?" He asks in all seriousness. You avert your gaze.

He grabs your chin softly, "I'm serious, Darling. You're the best person at this ball, the best thing that has ever happened to my brothers...to me. Sometimes I feel you truly don't realise that...seems I must take care to remind you more often, my love."

You try to speak, but the air swallows up your words, your mouth open and gaping like a fish.

Lucifer's lips quirk up, he pulls you closer to his chest. You lean into him, giving a weak smile, ear pressed against his breast, listening to his heartbeat.

You felt calm; content even,

T he hug wasn't a fix it all. It wasn't some magic wand that had been waved, you weren't suddenly better. You were still traumatised, that emptiness, though dull, still ached in your heart, along with the places on your body the bright beautiful symbols of your pacts had been sketched onto your skin.

The hug was comforting none-the-less. Lucifer was impossibly gentle. He would cradle the ashes until you built yourself back up again in his arms, phoenixes need time to adjust before they can spread their wings, after all.

It would be hard. It would be so so difficult, so taxing, to rise from the ashes once more, to thrive again, but you had an army of idiots that loved you, who would go to the ends of the earth just to see you smile. It wasn't okay yet, you weren't 'fixed', you wouldn't be for a long time but you had years upon years, decades upon decades, centuries upon centuries.

i physically cannot write anything overly angsty bc im a wee softie smh this took me ages i am so sorry abt that </3 also i had another ask that i started planning out halfway through writing this and the contrast in the tone i was going for is so funny🧍‍♂️

[arliedraws]

Triwizard Tournament AU

James is Hogwarts Champion

Sirius is Durmstrang Champion

James fails the first task because he is too distracted when Sirius takes off his shirt to dive into the lake

Well, this was a fun lil exercise! Thank you!

—

Between the roar of the crowd behind him and the eerie calm of the lake that stretched for miles before him, James felt an odd rush of terror as he stepped out of his trousers, removed his socks and shoes, and waited until the last moment to peel off his coat until he stood shivering in nothing but his swimming trunks. It was snowing again and it must have been turning colder because his body had frozen to the bank. He’d played Quidditch in cold like this, but this wasn’t like flying out onto the Quidditch pitch with his teammates, confident he could win. Trembling in the February morning, he had never felt so exposed before the whole school—well, multiple schools. His parents were in the crowd alongside Remus, Peter, and Lily. Albus Dumbledore and all of his teachers were watching. His classmates were chanting that stupid chorus that made him laugh: James, James, he’ll win these games! Yet it all seemed so far away and no one could help him now.

“…and you shall hex anyone who gets in the way, yes?”

James rolled his shoulders as he pretended not to listen to Silvestrine Grawert, the Durmstrang headmistress, deliver sharp instructions to the Durmstrang champion—a Londoner called Sirius Black who was staring at the placid surface of the water.

“Yes, professor,” drawled Black, letting Gawert draw the black wool cloak from his shoulders.

As the cloak fell away, James hadn’t meant to stare at the snow that collected in Black’s hair and melted on his pale, muscular shoulders. It made Black gleam against the dull winter sky. Black cast an annoyed look at Grawert’s back as she retreated before he started shaking out his arms as if to rid himself of her presence. Breath misting from his mouth and nose, his bright eyes burning only a little warmer in hue than the lake before him, Black looked as if he’d just come from an invigorating swim instead of facing one in front of hundreds of people.

Black didn’t seem to need a warm up or stretch—there was an effortlessness in the way his chest expanded with each inhale, in the way he regarded the task before him, as if he’d simply woken up that morning and decided on a whim to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. It was so odd: the expectations forced upon him must have been smothering, but Black took all of the whispering and hissing of instructions in his ear as if they were nothing more than annoyances. There was nothing that reflected in his body any hint of terror or pressure to win that James hosted now.

When James had first seen Black months ago, he couldn’t quite believe that Sirius Black was a real person. Black shouldn’t have been the Durmstrang champion at all. He was supposed to have attended Hogwarts; as the heir to a very English pureblood family, he should have been educated in his homeland, but a disagreement between his parents had sent Black hundreds of miles away to the far north to learn what Hogwarts refused to teach him. Unfortunately, Hogwarts hadn’t been so lucky in avoiding the Black brothers entirely as Regulus Black, the youngest son, was a Slytherin who started two years after James. Yet Sirius Black was tolerable enough, as far as James could tell, though they’d not spoken much since Durmstrang’s arrival in the autumn. All James really knew about him as a person was that he was clever, powerful, and only seemed to have put his name in the Goblet of Fire out of curiosity of whether or not he could win. James wasn’t sure if Black even wanted to win.

And that was the most infuriating bit. Black’s secret to success was, apparently, a complete lack of ambition; the person who appeared to care the very least about the Triwizard Tournament was the person who was most likely to win it.

“Suppose those shoulders are loose enough yet?” said Black.

James snapped his gaze up from the line of dark hair of Black’s navel to catch Black’s curious look.

James realized with a rush of heat to his face that he was still rolling his shoulders as he assessed Black from head to toe. Amused, Black grinned, but he said nothing else. Except James could have sworn he saw a wink.

And then, without warning, Black was gone. He had sprung into the air and dove into the water, leaving hardly a ripple on the lake’s surface as he disappeared into the depths. James frowned, and as the crowd roared at him to get in the water and follow after Black and the Beauxbatons champion, he couldn’t remember why he was standing on the bank of the lake in the middle of winter with gillyweed in his hand. Black wasn’t competing to win the Triwizard Tournament, nor was he seeking glory for Durmstrang. And for the first time, he realized that the competition didn’t matter because the tournament meant nothing—because if it meant nothing to Black, then it could mean nothing to James.

As James stumbled awkwardly into the water and stuffed the gillyweed in his mouth, his heart began to thump anew. Winning didn’t matter now—he didn’t care about the gold or the glory. He just needed to catch Sirius Black.

[loboto-bear]

Oh boy! Warmer Hues designs :)))

Enjoy :>

[ask-warmer-hues]

Hello dammek, how's life?

[sweetcarrotsandroses97]

Spring | JJK

Hello darlings!!!

Pairing: royal guard!Jungkook x princess!Reader, prince!Jimin x princess!Reader (ft. Yoongi & Hoseok)

Summary: In which you, princess of the Gyeongdong Dynasty, were in the middle of wedding plans. An arranged marriage that would guarantee your father's bloodline to stay on the throne.

Or in which you are assigned a new royal guard that swore to protect you with his life. Jeon Jungkook. That's his name. A name you could never forget. A name that, slowly but surely got engraved not only in your memories but also in your heart.

Love, politics, betrayal and desire. All in ancient history. A love that never should have happened, two souls that wouldn't be allowed to be together.

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of past life, reincarnation! AU, implied soulmate! AU, flashbacks, ft. Yoongi and Hoseok, modern! AU, lost love, yearning, strangers to lovers???, all the feels, crying, there's a kiss, sweet and soft koo, hurt/comfort, (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 10.4 k

A/N: Hello, darlings! Welcome the the finale of "Four Seasons"! I know you guys have waited a looong time for this part to come out but it is finally here so let's see how Jungkook and our Princess will end their love story!

This whole story was highly inspired by "Moon Lovers" and the ending it should have had, (in my humble opinion). I included different scenes of other movies/shows/dramas that I liked with the hope you will like it as well.

Also thank you guys so much for 200 followers! Take this as my thank you gift, darlings!

Thank you so much for all the love this series got and thank you for sticking up with me to see the end of this journey and hopefully the beginning of many more! Please let me know your thoughts in the comments, darlings! Happy reading, everyone!

💜 Boraghae ARMY 💜

~Taglist for Four Season: @valhallawhispers @lovingkoalaface @seokout @ackercute @jksusawife

~Tagging people who were waiting for the finale (I apologise if you didn't want to be tagged) @jjanjankook @junghoseok07 @vminkookgf @allie-is-a-panda

We have lived through centuries, carrying many lives, carrying many deaths. Carrying a world only remembered by our pure soul.

Jungkook opened his eyes, it was still dark outside. He sighed, reaching over his nightstand and picking up his phone. His eyes burned with the sudden light coming from the small device as he turned off his morning alarm.

The phone rested on his chest as he hesitated whether to get up and go to work or probably call sick today once more. Yet a sudden weight getting on the bed made him sigh once more. His other hand blindly searched for his large and sweet dog to pet him lazily while remembering Bam was running out of food and he needed to buy another bag, that meant he had to go to work once more.

With a soft groan, he sat on the bed, searching for his slippers before he stood up and walked out of the bedroom with Bam hot on his heels.

The sun was barely out yet the sky was already painted in beautiful hues of blue and orange. Decorated with the soft looking clouds that seemed to have been delicate brushes over a painting in the museum Jungkook worked at.

Loneliness encapsulated Jungkook's heart as he gazed at the beautiful sky, he almost felt as if there was something missing in his life or rather, someone. He felt empty, divided and there was nothing that could fill that void in his soul.

He tried getting into cooking, but the soft ache was always there. Working out was the solution for some time but as soon as he was back home, that melancholy drowned his soul once more. It made him ache, dream and yearn for something he didn't even know what it was but he felt like he needed it to survive.

Spring had arrived a couple of weeks ago, the trees were blooming with beautiful pink flowers and the petals fell on the ground softly, creating an enchanting path to walk by. The parks were full of greenery and the birds began to sing after the crude winter. Warmer days were to come.

Jungkook found himself walking through the same streets like every morning to get to his full-time job. He walked monotonously, his earpods on only to stop people from talking to him, not that it had happened many times but there was something about today that he didn't wish to interact with people. The least he did it, the better.

No music filled his ears, the walk was monotonous; monochrome even. Without an ounce of colour in his life even when spring was flourishing around him.

However, the sudden smell of fresh roses invaded his senses and he was pulled back from his mind and looked around the crowd that walked alongside him but were unaware of his mundane existence.

Many people surrounded him. Many people continued their paths while he stood rooted to the ground. The scent so soft and calming it made his heart skip a beat without thinking about it. But the feeling was lost before he could fully grasp it. Something clawed at his heart to search for such a unique scent, to go after the person who owned it but the idea dissipated from his mind like fog in a spring morning as someone bumped his shoulder softly and Jungkook was forced to continue moving with the crowd who carried him away of his very first taste of spring.

You stared out of the window of your car, your chin rested over your knuckles as you lost yourself in your thoughts. You noticed the beautiful cherry blossoms have already bloomed, spring has arrived sooner than you thought. But despite the mesmerising view outside of your car, you felt nothing about the pink petals that signalled a new season has started.

Almost as if your heart was frozen. Many called you that. Ice Queen. For people have rarely ever seen you smile. As if it was physically harmful for you to do so. The public always had its eye on you given that you were the only and beautiful daughter of a very important politician, your life was surely of entertainment to the media.

"Did you check the files I sent you yesterday?"

Hoseok, your best friend and personal assistant, spoke next to you. His voice brought you back from your thoughts. You turned to look at him with that emotionless expression he had already gotten used to as you spoke with a dry voice.

"Of course. If I'm going to buy something, I inform myself well, Hoseok. You already know the drill."

He sighed, opening his phone as he checked a new message from your father.

"Is there anything that caught your eye?"

You took a deep breath, your fingers playing with the bracelet you never took off as you spoke with that same bored tone he honestly hated in you. Not because Hoseok had come to terms with it meant he liked it. He had once heard your beautiful laughter. Your precious smile was enough to illuminate a whole room. But that had been long ago. Many years had passed since those golden days. Days when you didn't have responsibilities, when there were no explicit expectations. Days when you both were only children.

"I want to see the paintings. The Gyeongdong Dynasty is known for their magnificent art but I won't be convinced until I see such art pieces with my own eyes."

Hoseok sighed yet again. If he got a dollar for every time he sighed these days he'd already be rich.

"Stubborn as ever."

He muttered under his breath and you turned around to look out of the window, hiding the minuscule smirk that threatened to break over your cherry red lips.

The car stopped in front of the Leeum Museum. You looked at the building, hearing how Hoseok stepped out of the car, just as your driver. Your best friend walked around the car and opened the door for you. With graceful movements you stepped out as well and stood tall on your ground as Hoseok closed the door behind you.

"I'll call you when we’ll be getting back."

Hoseok spoke to the driver, the older man bowed down at you both before he got in the car again and drove off. You stood in front of the museum, admiring the beautiful architecture. Soft wind made your hair fly slightly as you began walking to the castle of arts with Hoseok trailing behind you.

A sudden melancholy filled your heart with each step you took towards the building. As if you had been missing something and were only about to find it. It clawed at your heart and you shuddered at the feeling. Suppressing it as the double doors opened for you and you entered the elegant and modern museum, wanting to stay and leave at the same time.

"Today Miss Lee will be visiting us for her purchase, Jungkook."

Yoongi spoke as he leaned back on his office chair while twirling a pen between his fingers. Jungkook nodded, hands clasped in front of him as he listened attentively.

"She is an extremely special client, one of our main buyers. I am trusting you to tend to her every need. Don't mess with her. Let her roam around and when she decides what artefact she'd want to buy, bring her here. I'll sign the paperwork."

Jungkook looked at his boss and friend with curiosity in his big doe eyes.

"Is there anything specific I should know about her?"

Yoongi sighed deeply, twirling his chair a bit to the right as he looked outside the beautiful gardens of the elegant museum.

"You really don't follow the media, do you? Miss Lee (y/n) is known to have a very difficult temper. She has never been seen smiling and her attitude is as cold as ice, according to netizens. Don't follow her too closely, don't even look her in the eyes. We can't lose such an important purchaser as her."

"I understand."

Jungkook reassured with firmness in his voice, feeling something oddly familiar at the mention of the stoic woman's name. Something within himself he wasn't quick enough to grasp.

"You may go, she is expected to arrive any minute now."

The younger man nodded, bowing softly before he left the classy and minimalist office. Jungkook descended the marble staircase that led to the offices above only to come face to face with Jung Hoseok himself.

"Mr. Jung."

He acknowledged. Hoseok turned to look at Jungkook before a warm smile appeared on his delicate and beautiful features.

"Ah, you must be Jeon Jungkook, right?"

The latter nodded, extending his right hand forward. Hoseok shook his hand firmly before the both men began walking back to the gallery.

"I apologise. I wasn't notified when Miss Lee arrived. I'd like to introduce myself to her."

Jungkook spoke with professionalism in his deep voice. Silently earning Hoseok's silent approval about the younger man.

"Of course. I left her in the ancient relics hall. Let's go there, shall we?"

You had ventured on your own when Hoseok left you to search for the man who was going to accompany you and assess you in your purchase. You didn't pay him much thought as he disappeared around the corner, leaving you alone in the large and beautiful house of arts.

Your feet carried you through the halls, your heels clicking in the marble floors and echoing among the walls that told centuries of history.

The exhibition of the Gyeongdong Dynasty was one the public have been waiting for a long time now. Curious as ever as to what item were you to purchase as preservation of cultural treasure as per your father's own political project.

There was something terribly familiar about the artefacts you saw kept in glass boxes. Historical treasures were kept intact, there was jewellery from noble families and even the royal families of the dynasty that were managed to be restored.

Paintings, clothes, old parchments, vases and even toys were all around the place. You walked over to the hallway where the artefacts of the royal families were kept. Ignoring the heaviness in your steps, the sourness in your heart, the odd feelings that clawed at your heart.

A big glass wall allowed you to witness the mesmerising view of the gardens, cherry blossoms in all their resplandor bloomed at the very background, pink petals decorated the outer grounds and a small fountain was at the centre of the small yet lovely garden that you felt a sudden urge to go to.

You watched it in silence. The soft and pink petals falling behind you with delicate motions. Spring had arrived. But your heart was frozen. Cold as it missed something you yearned for yet didn't know what it was or how to find it. An empty feeling that had lived within you for as long as you can remember.

With a sigh, you forced yourself to avert your eyes from the garden and focus back on the artefacts around the big room. You watched replicas of the dynasty's royal robes. A dress colour orange picked your attention the most, perhaps for its intriguing details or beautiful tailoring. Maybe because of the extravagant colour but you found yourself staring at it for quite some time. A heaviness weighing your heart down as you forced yourself to move forward from the dress you knew once belonged to a princess.

You passed the row of robes and dresses in glass cages, focusing on the paintings hanging on the walls with their respective description below.

First family of the Gyeongdong Dynasty.

Second family of the Gyeongdong Dynasty.

Third family of the Gyeongdong Dynasty.

And so on. It was mostly a man and a woman in the painting, some had children others did not. And you guessed they were the kings and queens of the long lost dynasty that brought the land to prosperity before the Goryeo dynasty started.

You stopped in front of a painting of a man and a woman, both quite beautiful in the art piece. The woman in the painting was holding a baby in her arms and you couldn't help but tilt your head slightly at the strange familiarity you felt towards the beautiful portrait.

There were no names of the people in the painting, the Gyeongdong Dynasty had suffered quite the loss of information when the palace caught fire during the last family of the bloodline. However, you couldn't stop staring at the woman in the portrait. You didn't know why, but it almost felt as if you were watching yourself in a mirror.

You felt as if you resembled her, as if your soul recognised her even when you hadn't seen such a portrait before. The man however made you nostalgic over their sad story.

According to the description of the painting, the man and the woman were married and had a son but she had died of a heart disease. He never remarried and historians said the queen was deeply loved by her husband.

The more you looked at the painting, the heavier your heart felt. It was a family portrait. A family portrait that told a sad story. It made your heart clench in your chest and you took a step back, as if the painting was cursed by the heavens and you had to walk away from it.

Perhaps you needed to stop taking that herbal tea Hoseok always pestered you to drink on an empty stomach.

You felt your stomach sink when you saw the next painting. You recognised the man from the last portrait. The young king. His queen was by his side in the large throne hall and all the officers stood in front of the throne in line. You saw a man, standing next to the queen that wore dark robes and had rough and large hands clasped in front of him.

It felt as if you were dreaming. Watching a movie or remembering something you had forgotten as images flooded in your mind and you found yourself drowning in the violent waters that was the mind.

---

A soft smile was plastered over your features while still facing him. However, he ignored what you said and commented, his voice a bit more distant than before.

"You will trip if you walk like that."

It was a statement rather than a possibility and that had you frowning up at him. If he was going to be like this then your little trips to the city and nearby villages were going to be a bit dull, at least until you got to your desired destination.

"I won't! I don't lik-"

But your sentence got cut off when, just as he predicted, you tripped with a small rock. You gasped when you felt your body being pulled down to the ground by gravity, the heavy skirts of your dress not allowing you to gain back your footing.

It was only when you felt a firm hand grasping yours and a pull over your body when you were back on your feet.

"I told you you would trip over."

Officer Jeon said, his voice cold and distant but you were able to catch a tinge of humour behind his words. A soft blush painted your cheeks when you realised he was still holding your hand in his surprisingly warm one.

Out of a sudden you felt shy, retrieving your hand from his grasp and taking a couple of steps away from him as you hadn't noticed just how close the two of you were a mere second ago.

"That... that was- it wouldn't... aish. I don't like for people to walk behind me, I feel like I'm being followed. Just... just do me the favour, could you? Just walk next to me, I promise you won't get in trouble."

He sighed, looking around before agreeing with a silent nod.

"And, thanks by the way. For not letting me fall down."

He bowed slightly, the both of you continuing your path down to the city.

"I was just doing my work, Princess."

You had to bite down on your lip to keep the smile from shining all over your face. He indeed took that vow to heart. You thought. Looking up at him, you noticed just how handsome your personal guard was and a warm sensation spread all over your body.

"So... tell me. What's your name? How would you like me to call you?"

Your question made him look down at you for a split second but you continued to watch him with curiosity. If he was going to always be with you, at least you could be friends?

"I am the First Officer of the Royal Guards, Jeon Jungkook. You can call me as you please, My Lady."

Jeon Jungkook.

---

"Thank you for coming with me to the city."

He bowed down at you, not saying a word. When he straightened back up he was met with the sight of you holding a small bag towards him.

"You can have them, you looked like you wanted some of them. I won't be able to finish them all anyway."

Jungkook took the bag from your hand hesitantly, his fingers brushing yours for a split second before the contact was broken.

"I appreciate your generosity, Princess. Rest well."

You smiled a little wider at him, your hands clasping in front of you.

"You rest as well, Jungkook."

With that being said you entered your room, sliding the door shut. Only when Jungkook saw that you had closed the door did he begin walking back to his own room.

---

"You have good skills but your posture can be improved."

At Jungkook's words you lifted your gaze, meeting his dark brown eyes with your own once more. He gestured towards your bow with his chin and asked, his voice gentle like a summer breeze.

"May I?"

You nodded, handing him your bow. The warmth of his fingers brushed yours and you had to bite back a smile. He crouched down and picked up the arrow that had fallen from your grasp a moment ago.

Jungkook positioned himself and you watched his every move.

"You are too tense while holding the bow, if your hold is firm but at the same time gentle it will give you stability."

You listened carefully to his explanations as your eyes were glued to him and for the first time since he became your personal guard were you able to admire him. Properly admire him.

Your gaze landed on his focused face, on how his eyes were put on the target mark and nothing else. Then, you travelled to his lips and marvelled on the way he was pulling back the arrow until it touched the corner of his lips softly. His jawline was defined as if it had been sculpted by the gods.

His broad shoulders carried years of training and you could see how his muscles could be traced even with more than one layer of clothing. His veiny hands held the bow and the arrow with expertise and you found yourself trapped in a trance in which only Jungkook existed.

He fired the arrow, hitting the target in its centre. You looked amazed at the clean shot he did and he commented, giving you back your bow.

"Would you like to try again, Princess?"

You nodded and took the bow. Jungkook walked where the rest of the arrows were and picked one up. He handed it to you and you took it softly from his grasp. You positioned the arrow and prepared yourself to shoot.

You silently gasped when you felt a large hand over your left one, the one holding the bow and it took you less than a second to realise it was Jungkook who was guiding you. You smelled his scent from behind you and felt the light pressure of his body at your back but it wasn't uncomfortable, on the contrary, you felt safe being this close to him. It was... Soothing, to say the least.

"You need to relax your hand a bit more."

Following his instructions, he smiled.

"Good, now take a deep breath. Straighten up a bit more and concentrate."

You did as you were told, closing your eyes and relishing in the comfort Jungkook provided. The warm feeling of his hand over yours was nearly overwhelming. The moment you opened your eyes again, the only thing you could focus on was the target. Letting go of the arrow, it travelled through the air with a mute noise and landed directly on the mark.

A gasp left your lips and Jungkook let go of your hand just as you turned around and looked up at him. Your smile showed pure happiness, a happiness he was responsible for and for some reason, that settled a spark of proudness in his chest.

---

"I care for you, Princess."

You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall freely down your cheeks.

"You can't."

Whispered words reached his ears. Making his heart shake with the need to hold you, promise you that it was going to be alright.

"But I do."

You opened your eyes, looking at Jungkook through blurry vision. His eyes were filled with tears and you felt an ache in your heart at the sight of his tears.

"You weren't supposed to. You were only meant to protect me, Jungkook. That's it, nothing else."

He sighed, his eyes lowering to your trembling hands resting on your lap. He had a sudden urge to hold them. To hold you. To comfort you.

"I know. Love is blind, Princess. No-one gets to choose."

---

Your eyes were locked with his, not daring to break the eye contact that was grounding your thoughts, in a way at least.

"I'm begging you to put yourself in my shoes, it is not correct for me to write to you in such a way. Your fiancé is in the palace and you could get in trouble if someone finds out."

The way he said "you could get in trouble" not "me", not "we". It was you who he was worried about. His heart feared for you and the fact of such care brought tears to your eyes.

"It is not appropriate, Your Highness."

He bowed slightly at you, a lump forming in your throat as realisation hit you. You were losing him. You were losing the only man who could ever own your heart. The man you cared for over everyone else. The man you loved. You were losing your Jungkook but, was he really yours to begin with?

You could never claim yourself as his so no, he wasn't yours. He wasn't yours to love and care, he wasn't yours to be with you out of what was needed to be.

You took a deep breath, holding your head high and swallowing the lump in your throat. You were never going to say you loved him, you weren't going to put yourself in such pain. You didn't want his pity. The misery it'd come afterwards.

"You are right,"

This time, Jungkook flinched at your tone. Your words were void of any emotion, a sound that he used to know was as warm like the summer days felt now cold like winter.

"it is not right for us to write to each other. It will not happen again."

Even though that was what his mind desired for you to say, his heart hurt at your words. As if someone had just stabbed him directly in the heart. Your words had such an impact on him. Not because you were the Crown Princess but because he loved you. He loved you with all his body, soul and mind. He loved you more than love itself. But he knew the cruel reality. Jungkook knew that you both could never be together.

---

"Yes. You?"

He nodded. Not hearing the commotion from before. The intruders had been defeated by the remaining palace guards. He could hear Yoongi talking to the king about investigating the bloodbath that had just occurred in the throne room.

Jungkook looked down at you. The hand that once rested on your shoulder travelled down your arm until his fingers locked with yours, holding your hand and giving it a firm squeeze in reassurance.

But the moment was short-lived. The moment in which you lost yourself in his dark orbs and relished in the feeling of his touch as innocent and reassuring as was to hold your hand.

You saw, in a matter of milliseconds how his eyes shifted from you to something standing behind you. His sword clanked to the floor and his hand left yours, leaving it cold once more. You suddenly found yourself in his arms as he twisted you both. Being him who's back faced the entrance way.

You gasped at the motion. But nothing could have been worse than the pained groan he let out a mere second after he spun you around.

Tears gathered in your eyes when you saw one of the remaining intruders holding a bow, pointing it at you. Your eyes widened when you saw an arrow had pierced him on the back.

"Jungkook!"

He began to slump forward and you did your best to ease his fall. The hand that held the bow you had used to defend yourself clattered to the floor as you knelt on the ground, while Jungkook nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck.

Jimin, who stood next to the entrance way, had seen everything unfold before his eyes. He was quick to run towards the last intruder and kill him with his own sword before he turned back to you and watched how you held Jungkook in your embrace.

"Jungkook! Stay awake, you have to stay awake! Do you hear me? Jungkook!"

---

“I just remembered,”

He stood up, his hands leaving your grasp and you felt them cool down without the warmth of Jungkook’s large hands over your own. Your gaze followed him while he searched in one of his drawers until he pulled something out and walked back to you. 

“I made you something for your birthday but with everything that happened, I never got the chance to give it to you.”

You were glad you were sitting, if not, you would have probably fainted with the amount of love you had for this man. Had he really made you something despite the terms you were in before the engagement ceremony? Did he really love you that much?

Of course he did. 

When Jungkook loved, he loved with all his heart. And right now, you were the owner of that heart of his. He gave it to you without a second thought and his little actions kept proving it to you over and over again. He grabbed your left wrist and you looked down, watching as he tied a red braided bracelet around your skin. He tightened it with the perfect amount of force, tight enough for it to not fall but not that strong that it would hurt your precious skin. 

“Do you like it?”

You couldn’t take your eyes off his gift. It was a beautifully braided bracelet with small pearls in it. 

“It’s perfect.”

You whispered. Afraid that if you spoke any louder the moment would be ruined. His heart skipped a beat with your words.

“No-one has ever given me such a beautiful gift. Thank you, Jungkook.”

He scratched the back of his neck, clearing his throat and looking away. But you were having none of that so you, once more, grabbed his hand and made him look at you. Your (e/c) eyes met his big doe ones and you said, with tears prickling at the corner of your eyes.

“Thank you, Jungkook. For everything.”

He smiled, a warm smile that made butterflies go wild in your stomach. 

“You are very welcome, my princess.”

---

"Aren't you cold?"

That voice he enjoyed so much reached his ears, making him look up at you. He smiled. Shutting the book as his arm rested next to him. Your feet crunched the snow below as you made your way towards him.

"Not really, princess. I kept myself busy."

You smiled. Looking up at him as your hands clasped themselves in front of you.

"Aren't you cold, Your Highness?"

His voiced concern made your heart flutter. You feared he could hear just how fast your heart was beating inside your chest.

"No, I just came from taking a walk with the Crown Prince."

Jungkook kept his gaze on you yet you were aware how something flashed in his eyes at the mention of your future husband. It was there in those dark orbs you loved to get yourself lost into, a second in which he let his emotions take control over him. Where he was vulnerable to your watchful eyes.

But it was gone as you blinked. He gave you no time to question whatever you had seen in his gaze as he asked you next.

"Are you ready for your wedding day?"

The atmosphere turned sombre. As if clouds had hidden the sun of a summer day during tea time. Soft snowflakes began falling from the darkening skies in a soft motion. Delicately even.

"You know I'm not. How could I?"

The smile that once adorned Jungkook's handsome features was now gone. A sad look covered his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that."

You took a deep breath. The little bubble of happiness and freedom he provided was now popped and you were brought to the harsh reality. You didn't say anything but you could feel his eyes on you as the both of you walked slowly through your private gardens.

The playful and innocent mood like a summer breeze had been clouded by the cold winds of winter. Of reality.

---

"You came."

You breathed out. Not really believing he was standing there, in front of you when you were literally getting married tomorrow.

"You called."

Jungkook answered. A fond smile was painted over his pink lips. His eyes twinkled with happiness upon seeing you. His hand reached forward in an unconscious manner. But he paused his motion before his palm graced your cheeks with his loving touch.

He lowered his arm and cleared his throat. Speaking once more to break the silence that fell between you two.

"I will not ask how you managed to send that note to me, Princess."

You let out a short laugh, blessing his ears with such a pure sound. A melody his heart cherished more than life itself.

"I have my ways, Officer Jeon."

He snorted at that, his frame relaxing in your presence as he leaned his side to the tree. His eyes never leave your own.

"Can't you call me by my name, Jungkook? Just once?"

Your plea made his eyes harden. You asked for the impossible but you desired more than oxygen to hear your name in his voice. That sweet voice that lived in your mind rent-free. That would console you in your memories when you were sad and would bring a smile upon your face in the most random times of the day.

"I cannot, Your Highness. It is against His Majesty's order to address you improperly."

You frowned.

"Even if I am asking you that?"

He sighed. A hand running though his dark hair. How you wished you could run your own hands through his locks. You could bet on your life they were as soft as cotton.

"I can't, princess. I'm sorry."

Silence stretched between you both. Somehow, the air felt colder, breathing got more challenging upon your rejected request.

"Why did you want to see me? Did you miss me that much?"

Jungkook said, trying to lighten the mood. A playful smirk over his lips. You looked up at him, your eyes as transparent as the lake's water; revealing your soul.

"I don't know if you'll want to speak to me after I say what's been on my mind for the last two days."

He lifted an eyebrow at your response. Curiosity got the best of him as he took a step away from the tree, now standing fully in front of you. The soft snow continues to dance around you.

"It can't be that bad, now can it? Just tell me, Princess."

You took a deep breath, your pulse quickening. This was it. The opportunity to speak your mind. To reveal your most intimate desire to him.

"I don't want to get married, Jungkook. I don't want to marry the Crown Prince. Jimin is worthy of the throne but... I don't love him."

He remained silent. His eyes turned from playful to serious the moment you mentioned your marriage. And he listened. He listened with all his attention to each word that left your lips.

"I can't marry a man I don't love. I want... I want to be with you. It is you who I want to marry, to spend the rest of my time with. Only you can make me happy, Jungkook and it breaks my heart every time I am reminded you won't be at the other end of the altar tomorrow."

Tears began to cloud your vision. But you tried to blink them back. This was what you had been trying to say to him. Yet your most desired thing in the word was still to get revealed.

"I want to leave, I want to leave this place, Kookie. I don't want to be a princess if it means I cannot be yours entirely. I burn for you, in every extent of the word. I cannot breathe when you are not near, I cannot think when I cannot see you close to me. You are everything to me."

A lump began forming in his throat. He felt exactly the same. Jungkook was glad you spoke of this first, you revealed your soul to him, your thoughts, your heart. You needed him. You lived with him, for him. It'd be a pointless life if you couldn't share it with him, he saw that now.

But the surprise when he heard you next couldn't be hidden even if he had wished to do so.

"I want to run away with you, Jungkook. "

---

"What are you doing outside at this hour, Jungkook?"

He untangled his hands from behind him and let them rest by his side, his eyes never leaving yours. Not knowing how his gaze alone was enough to make your heart thump wildly inside you.

"I couldn't sleep. I'll assume you are here because of the same reason."

You nodded, he took a step forward and your breath hitched in your throat. The action of inhaling was already painful as the air was cold, as cold as your neglected heart. Was he really going to take the risk of being this close to you? Another step. Perhaps he was. Then another. He certainly was.

It wasn't until he stood so close to you that you could feel his warm breath dust over your cold cheeks that you silently gasped and took a step back on instinct.

If anyone saw you both, there'd be problems. You didn't want that, not for Jungkook at least.

"And because I missed you. I had to see you. You do not only own this kingdom, you own my heart too and I couldn't live another day without seeing you, my Queen. For you are the one who rules my heart and soul."

You savoured the way his sweet words sprinkled your sour soul with sugar. It was delicious. To think that you were his, that he loved you, that he thought of you, dreamed of you. That he wanted you, perhaps even more strongly than how you wanted him.

You allowed yourself to drown in his sweet words. If only for a moment. Just a moment. A minute. A second would suffice. You didn't ask for more. You didn't want more. The only thing that you needed was his love and he gave it to you on a silver tray.

"Do you really want me that much?"

He nearly flinched at the way your voice was so soft, delicate even. Carrying emotions that were only reflected in your eyes.

"I want you with every fibre of my body and I can't stop thinking about that day. The day when you wanted to leave this place, I only want you to know that if the circumstances had been different, I would have escaped with you but taking you with me only meant death. I would rather die every day for not having you by my side than being the reason for your demise. I love you too much to do that to you."

You didn't realise you were crying until he reached his hand to wipe the tears but you took a step back. Hurt flashed in his eyes and that alone was enough for more tears to roll down your cheeks.

"You can't touch me, Jungkook. Not without the King's permission. Not even in an innocent way."

Your mumbled words reached his ears and he lowered his hand, he clenched it in a tight fist by his side but you didn't notice. Not when your eyes were glued to his own.

"And I understand why you didn't run away with me. I love you too much to get you killed. I'm so sorry I even proposed it on the first place."

His own eyes reflected the sadness in his soul in the form of tears. They glistened under the moonlight, little tears that he refused to let go; to set free.

"Do you really want me that much?"

A question you had already asked. A question he had already answered.

"Do you really want me that much, Jungkook? Even when I am another man's woman?"

He had to physically hold himself back so as to not take another step towards you. It pained him. His feet ached. His heart ached. It was painful to have you so close yet so far away at the same time yet he knew it had been like that since those warm summer days. Since the very beginning of the forbidden love story you developed with your royal guard.

Even when I am another man's woman...

Those words would repeat themselves in his head until the end of his days. A tear rolled down Jungkook's cheek, the chilly air hitting him and making him shiver.

You weren't his. Not anymore. You had never been his. At least not in this lifetime.

"You could never be tainted for me. You are and will always be perfect to hold my heart in your hands. And in our next life you will be mine, and if not in our next one or our next one after that. "

---

"Congratulations, Your Majesty."

Your steps halted when you heard his voice. A big banquet was held to announce your pregnancy to the village. Your father had come to bless you himself, he even told you he'd be staying during the last trimester of the pregnancy as he didn't want to miss the moment his grandchild were to be born.

You could only smile at that thought. But a gulp in your throat upon hearing that voice dissipated the thought, like fog when the sun came out. You turned around, eyes meeting with Jungkook's dark orbs.

A soft smile graced your lips yet he noticed how it didn't reach your eyes.

"Thank you, Jungkook."

There were so many things unsaid between you both. But have words ever been enough? He could see the sadness in your soul, the remorse, the longing and the love that existed in you. How Jungkook wished to go back to those summer days when everything was perfect, when you were happy along with him. When there existed no such barrier between you two of you being married to another man.

You could see it too, how his posture was tense, his eyes sharp with swirling storms of emotions in his dark gaze. You felt the yearning, the pain, the heartbreak from his part. And it crushed your heart even more for you knew he loved you but Jungkook couldn't step closer to you. Literally and figuratively.

He didn't know what else to say, all the courage he had managed to gather in the ceremony was gone now. Leaving him standing before you. His Queen; owner of his heart.

"I do not wish for this encounter to be like the last one, my queen. I only hope that you find the happiness you deserve for I cannot express how proud I am of you. Your child will resemble you in many ways, I am sure of it."

You wanted to run to him, hold his hand and wipe the tears that threatened to escape his eyes. But you could not. Dare not step such boundaries for his sake.

"You must find your happiness too, Jungkook. Live your life and live it right so that we can meet in our next lifetime."

---

A sharp pain made you gasp as your knees hit the floor, your dress puffing out around you. Jungkook was by your side the next second, concern was written all over his face while worry filled his eyes.

"Your Majesty, what's wrong? Please, talk to me."

You took a deep breath between your gasps and whimpers. Your hand grabbed his in your pain-induced mind, trying to ground yourself onto something, someone.

"I-It hurts... Jungkook, it h-hurts."

Your water broke the next second but you felt as if there was something wrong, this was not how a natural birth was supposed to start.

"Please... something's wrong. It- it hurts so much."

Tears gathered in your eyes as you tried to suppress the scream that threatened to escape your throat. You felt him let go of your hand, positioning his arms beneath your kneeling figure only to be lifted by him the next second.

Your arms circled his neck on instinct as you curled yourself in his hold. Jungkook began walking back to the palace at a fast pace, the weight of your body grounded his mind while at the same time numbed his senses. If you hadn't been in so much pain at that moment you would have noticed how his hands were trembling.

"Hold on, my Queen. You'll be fine, I'm here. It's alright."

He cradled you against his chest firmly, not wanting to let you go ever again now that you were in his arms. His heart feared for your safety, you were only eight months pregnant by now, he knew the risks of pregnancy and Jungkook knew he wouldn't be able to live if something were to happen to you.

Tears soaked his robes, your hand fisted his collar. Your small whimpers were like poisonous needles piercing his heart. It hurt. It pained him to see you in so much distress.

"Hold on, love. Please."

---

"You called for me, Your Majesty."

He bowed down at you and you sighed, realising how much you hated when he bowed at you when you'd go on your knees with only a word falling from his lips. He had that power over you. That way to command you. To make you feel.

"Jungkook."

The man before you lifted his gaze and your eyes met his once more. Had it been within any other circumstances, you'd have smiled and ran toward him. How you wish you could embrace him, how you wish you could kiss him and declare your love for him. How you wish you could love him freely.

You were sitting between blankets and cushions, taking rest after the hard labour. The prince lied next to you as he slept soundly while being wrapped up in luxurious fabric.

"I haven't seen you in a while."

He smiled. Not that smile that reached his eyes or that warmed your insides. It made you shiver with the sadness within it. Like a cold breeze on a winter day.

"I was told you were to rest, my Queen. Captain Min ordered me to give you some space, at least until you are feeling better."

You smiled, gesturing for him to sit in front of you, which he did. A moment of silence passed between you both. Your gaze lingered on his handsome features, drawing a map of him in your mind.

"I missed you."

He sighed at your whispered confession. Those words clawed at his heart with nothing but a heavy guilt that existed within him.

"My Queen... please."

You took a deep breath at his pleading, his begging. You looked aside as your heart constricted in your chest.

"Forgive me."

He looked at you with eyes full of emotions you weren't quick enough to grasp. Why must love hurt so much? Jungkook shifted his gaze from your figure, focusing on the little bundle where the prince, your son, slept peacefully.

"Congratulations on your baby. May prince Ha-joon live a long and happy life with his family."

---

"Kook!"

Ha-joon had said. Your hands felt cold against the warm cup, your soul froze when you looked up. There he was. Jeon Jungkook. You hadn't seen him in days. And before today there were only small peaks here and there followed by short greetings.

Jungkook turned to look at you, your eyes met his from across the garden. You felt your breath hitch in your throat at the mere sight of him. Your hands trembled around the cup, forcing you to put it away.

He bowed down at you slowly yet his eyes never left yours. Emotions invaded your body as you stood up from your chair. Hoseok noticed your actions and sat up, Ha-joon left his side and ran with his little legs where Jungkook was.

Your royal guard smiled down at your son and Hoseok stood up from the ground, walking the steps to where you stood.

"Your Majesty, are you alright? You look pale, should I walk you to your chambers?"

But you shook your head, your eyes following Jungkook's figure as he approached you with Ha-joon by his side. The little prince was telling him something that you couldn't hear and he smiled widely. Flashed him that bunny smile you loved so much and had missed just as fiercely.

Jungkook bowed down at you once he stood in front of you. Ha-joon looked up at the man next to him and mimicked his actions. Your heart clenched at the sight. Having the man you loved and your child who was your husband's son before you was too much for your heart.

It clenched inside you, it burned, it ached.

"Your Majesty."

Jungkook acknowledged you. You nodded softly at him and he rose to his full height. Ha-joon doing the same.

"Kook! Play, together."

Hoseok watched the interaction from where he stood. His own heart clenched at the sight of your hidden pain. You have always been an open book for your best friend. You had been able to hide your love from your father, even from your husband but not from Hoseok. He had known you his entire life. He knew you, he knew the core of your heart. He knew your unspoken words. He knew.

"Only if the queen allows it, my prince."

Jungkook's eyes found yours once more. A sad smile painted his lips. Ha-joon was a clear resemblance of you but also of his father and Jungkook was reminded once more of what he had lost the day you married Jimin. Of that dream that he wished would become his reality was instead a mountain of ashes. Of burnt dreams and wishes.

You smiled tightly at the pair in front of you, not wanting to deny sweet Ha-joon of his free days and innocent happiness.

"You may play, but please be careful."

---

"Jungkook."

His name coming from your lips was the sweetest melody he has ever heard. He had missed it. He had missed you. His eyes locked with yours and he nearly gasped at the sight of you laying on the soft bedding, your skin was paler than usual, your eyes were tired and your body was beyond weakened.

"Your Majesty."

He acknowledged you. Bowing softly at you without tearing his gaze from you. He saw you shift in your position, laying on your left side so you could see him properly. You smiled and in an instant his dark world was lightened by your existence. 

"Come closer, Jungkook. Come here."

Your hand extended towards him as if trying to reach him. He couldn't hold himself back any longer upon your innocent request as his legs moved with a mind of their own. Nearly jumping until he was kneeling by your side, his hand holding yours ever so softly.

“I heard… I heard that you are sick, my Queen. Is it true?”

Jungkook asked almost shyly. Not meeting your eyes as his own gaze was fixed on your joined hands. 

“It is.”

He sighed at your response. Feeling how his heart clenched within him. Tears watered his dark eyes and a lump grew in your throat at the sight of his sadness. 

“Don’t cry, Jungkook. Don’t waste your tears over me.”

He looked up at you, his expression hurt with your words. A frown was between his brows, eyes watered with his materialised sadness and a soul that he could no longer carry on his own. 

“How can you say that to me? I am dying with you, my Queen. Only you are capable of causing me the greatest pain yet it is you who eradicates it as well.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling your chest aching. Your mind was shutting down as you gazed at the man you loved with your entire being. 

“Forgive me.”

He shook his head, refusing to let his tears roll down his cheeks as his eyes roamed over your face as if trying to memorise all your little details in his mind. 

“It is I who should beg for forgiveness. I cannot protect you from this, I have failed you. I cannot prevent you from leaving me.”

A tear left the corner of your eye as you looked at him with so many unsaid things and raging emotions you were never able to pour out. It was too much. Too much love. Too much longing. Too much sadness. Too much anger. Your heart couldn’t take it any more.

“Maybe you can’t make me stay, but you gave me the opportunity of knowing what it was to love. Even when we couldn’t be together in the end, I still love you. I will always love you, Jungkook. In each… in each lifetime.”

—

A choked gasp left your lips as the memory dissipated from your mind like morning fog during a summer day. You didn't even realise you were crying until you sniffled and your hand came up to your face and your skin was wet with your own liquid sadness.

What kind of dream was this? What kind of cruelty had fate bestowed upon you? What kind of crime did you commit to feel this pain? You had loved, you had been loved only for it to melt like ice in those warm summer days when everything was perfect. You couldn't help the sob that escaped your lips as the realisation hit you:

You were the queen of the portrait. A representation of your old soul trapped in your past life as the unfortunate lover.

It wasn't a dream. It was a memory. Your memories from your past life and that love you were once denied to have. 

Hoseok was nearing the hall of ancient artefacts when his phone rang and he stopped in his tracks. Jungkook halted beside him and waited in silence.

"I'm sorry, I have to take this. I left Miss (y/n) at the end of this hall. You shouldn't have difficulty finding her."

Jungkook bowed softly, his warm eyes meeting the ones of Hoseok as he spoke in his professional voice once more.

"Don't worry, Mr. Jung. I'll do my best to assist her."

Hoseok nodded before he accepted the call and walked away, leaving Jungkook to sigh to himself before he ventured on the journey of finding the eccentric politician's daughter.

He walked among the centuries of history around him, through the halls that held art and a lost empire through time. Something about his line of work had always intrigued him. It made him wonder just how insignificant life was. Years, decades and centuries of history, of people that once walked on this Earth were now kept in glass boxes, a strange way of trying to preserve what should have died years ago.

It made him think about all the lives, all the deaths, all the heartbreaks from the past. All those untold stories buried in time. In every aspect, in every lifetime, in every way. It was simply melancholic to acknowledge all the history around him.

Jungkook walked, allowing his mind to wander as he thought of the beautiful politician's daughter. He thought of the times he had seen her, seen you in important events. Always looking so beautiful, always captivating the media. Always perfect, always next to your powerful father.

He reached the end of the hall but there was no sight of you. A sudden tightness gripped his heart fiercely, as if he were in pain, as if someone clutched his heart in its claws and it bled out.

As if on instinct, Jungkook walked to the royal hall. His feet moved on their own, his mind spiralled with all kinds of thoughts. With dream-like memories that he would have sworn were from one of those historical dramas he knew were popular among the hopeless romantics.

The sound of a sob echoed over the walls and it was as painful as being stabbed on the heart. He turned around with urgency only to spot you looking at a painting, your back was facing him while your left hand covered your mouth.

"Miss (y/n)?"

Your eyes widened when you heard that voice. That voice that was lost in your thoughts. That voice that was from your forgotten memories. That same voice that had broken your heart was now stitching it back together.

You turned around, your misty eyes met his in a dance of emotions you were, for once, able to dance along. Pink petals from the cherry blossoms in the garden behind fell slowly and when your eyes locked with Jungkook's he saw it as well.

He saw everything. All those memories, all those experiences. He saw his love. His sadness. His life. His reason for living. His flower. His darling. All in ancient history.

Jungkook saw his past life with you.

Like a movie in front of his eyes. A dream he wanted to reach. A memory he had promised to not forget but time was cruel and it was buried in the depths of his soul.

"Jungkook? It's you, isn't it?"

Your voice brought him back from his forgotten memories. He looked at you with a familiarity and a strangeness in his eyes. It was enough to make tears roll down your cheeks while his own eyes watered at the impossible sight before him.

"...princess? H-how?...."

You sobbed and he walked toward you. Unable to resist the sight of your tears. Perhaps this was the first time he met you in this lifetime but your souls have been in love for centuries. Your heart hadn't changed, his feelings remained the same. Love cannot be killed, not even by death.

He stood at arms length, eyes gazing down at you with the urge to know the truth. To know if you were that missing piece in his life. To know if this lifetime was worth-living.

"You found me. You said you'd find me."

Was this a dream? Was this a false memory? Was this real? He deeply needed for it to be real. Jungkook felt whole when he looked down at you. As if you were the missing piece for this puzzle called life. And you? You didn't know if he still wanted you. If Jungkook was your Jungkook. Your lost lover. Your forbidden romance. Your unfinished story.

"In every lifetime, princess."

His hand flexed next to him with the urge to touch you. To hug you and never let you go. To kiss you. To finally kiss you after all those denied moments he had before. To love you like he had dreamt long ago.

You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand and something on your wrist caught his attention. It was a subtle glimpse of a red string around your wrist and he knew, in that moment he knew.

"You still wear it huh?"

A smile appeared on your lips at the same words he had spoken to you. A long time ago. Once upon a dream. In another lifetime. And the same answer is what he got. The same words that you had replied to him. The answer to his lovely sentence.

"I never took it off."

He was referring to your red bracelet. Something you remember always having, never truly knowing how you got to possess such a beautiful item but it simply felt right to wear it. So you did, you never took it off. As if it was engraved in your skin, almost like Jungkook's name was written in your soul and his whispered love was locked away in your heart.

"Can... Can I hold you?"

There was desperation in his voice. It sounded almost bitter that it pulled on your heartstrings. You nodded almost immediately. Burning just as him to feel him once more, to touch the man you had missed for centuries. To be held by your one and only love.

You were in his arms the next second. His hands pressed you against his chest as your own circled his waist. A long lost hug. A missed love. A romance out of time. But it was a timeless love nonetheless.

Something clicked inside you once you were held by Jungkook. As if your heart had been filled with his life, as if your broken soul was stitched back with just his simple touch. As if memories had been unlocked after your skin touched his.

"I missed you. I missed you so much, queen of my heart."

His hold on you tightened and you couldn't help but bury your face in his chest. How he had wished to do this in his first lifetime. How he wished he had been able to hold you like this. How he wished he had had you before just like this.

All the pain was gone. The tears were dried by his love. His hands held your heart so softly and purely you didn't want to part from him. You couldn't. You wouldn't. You wouldn't let go of him like that once more. You weren't going to lose him again. Not after all that pain, all that heartbreak, all those tears and all that yearning. Not again. Never again.

"I missed you too. So much, so much..."

Jungkook rested his chin at the top of your head, closing his eyes as he held you softly but firmly. It made him wonder just how much time you had been robbed in your past life. He realised just how evil fate had been to break you both like that. To separate two lovers is the worst cruelty of this fallen world.

But now, those cold days are over. Winter had passed. Even after centuries of living buried in the freezing snow, warmth had finally touched his heart. The soft rays of the sun were melting his once frozen soul. Your love did that. Only with you was he able to live in warmth. Only with you existed that flame in his heart that kept him alive.

You looked up at him and he met your gaze midway. It was magical. To look at the eyes you had unknowingly missed so much. How your soul was mourning the loss of Jungkook, how your life was always grey and cold was now warm and coloured in pink. Like the petals falling behind you.

One of his hands cradled your cheek and you smiled. Your heart was beating wildly in your heart at the proximity, at the love, at the emotions that came flooding like a waterfall from the sky.

You stood on your tippy toes only to press your lips against his. It was soft, delicate. Like a spring breeze. A kiss full of love. A healing kiss. A kiss that should have happened a long time ago. Jungkook kissed you back, burning at the feeling of your soft lips against his.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss and you sighed, tightening your grip around his waist as he poured all those long lost emotions into that kiss. A kiss he had wished he could give you centuries ago. All the love, all the yearning, all the heartbreak, all the feelings of missing you, missing your warmth, your love, your touch, your existence were poured into that kiss.

A sealed kiss of timeless love.

"Don't ever leave me again."

He whispered against your lips. voice desperate with the promise of your love. Of your devotion. Of eternity.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Your answer was said in a soft voice, only meant for Jungkook to hear. He pressed his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes as he felt the memories slowly come back to him. During those golden summer days, rainy autumn evenings and cold winter nights. Everything about his life with you came back like a soft spring drizzle over his soul.

Perhaps fate had been cruel when he separated you from your Jungkook with death. But it now gave you the opportunity with your rightful lover. That soulmate you were destined to love since the very beginning of life.

Through life and death, only time gets in between. Through tears and pain, it is love that keeps the hope alive and through silent feelings and absent minds; it is time that keeps them together in a dance with a melody only meant for the tangled lovers to hear.

In every lifetime, in every way, in every universe and in every season. Love is stronger than death. 

February/16/2024

~Masterpost

Please let me know your thoughts in the comments, darlings!

**I do NOT give my consent for this or any of my works to be posted or translated into any other platforms or languages. 

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Spell Book~

hi everyone! this is inspired by @procyonloser's sick adam au, where lucifer heals him in exchange for adam always giving him credit. procyonloser gave me permission to write it! it was so fun to write! i left it open-ended so you can decide what adam does!

i hope you like it!

@adamsappleweek

At the tender age of eight, Adam’s world began to unravel in ways he couldn’t quite grasp. Diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, a sickness that no child could understand, it seemed like a distant shadow at first—almost unnoticed amidst the chaos of his lively, carefree childhood. Adam had always been a whirlwind of energy, a little boy who couldn’t sit still for more than a minute. His legs always bounced, his hands always fidgeted, and his laughter echoed through every room he entered. He was the kind of boy who could run circles around anyone, always on the move, always chasing after something—until, suddenly, he wasn’t.

It began with a subtle shift, one that most adults chalked up to a boy finally tiring himself out. Adam, the perpetual motion machine, started to slow down. At first, he simply seemed exhausted. He would crash on the couch and nap for hours, something unheard of for him. When he was awake, the spark in his eyes had dimmed; the laughter that used to come so easily now took effort. But no one really noticed. After all, kids get tired sometimes, don’t they? He’d bounce back like he always did, everyone thought.

Except he didn’t. He wasn’t bouncing back. His body was betraying him in ways that no one saw—bone-deep fatigue, strange aches, and a growing pale hue to his once vibrant skin. His legs, which once carried him across fields and playgrounds, now wobbled after only a few steps. His appetite vanished. Bruises began to appear on his arms and legs, dark blotches that his parents dismissed as nothing more than a rough-and-tumble boy's usual scrapes. But underneath the surface, something far more sinister was happening. His white blood cells, the very cells meant to protect him, were turning against him, multiplying uncontrollably and crowding out the healthy cells his body so desperately needed.

Then came the day he felt almost like his old self again. It was a good day—one of the best days he’d had in a long while. He felt alive, felt that surge of energy that had been absent for what felt like forever. Adam raced around the schoolyard with his best friend, Lute, their laughter filling the air as they chased each other, kicking a ball, playing tag. It was the kind of day where everything felt right, where it seemed like maybe, just maybe, whatever had been dragging him down had finally passed.

But then the lunch bell rang, and as Adam stood up from his desk, a strange dizziness washed over him. The room spun violently, colors bleeding into one another, and his heart pounded in his chest like it was trying to escape. He blinked, hard, squeezing his eyes shut as if that might stop the spinning. His lips twitched involuntarily as he tried to steady his breath, drawing in shaky gulps of air. When he opened his eyes again, everything had returned to normal—or so it seemed. Adam shrugged it off, thinking it was just a weird moment, nothing more. He couldn’t wait to get back outside, to feel the grass under his feet and the ball at his toes.

Out in the playground, the sun felt warmer than usual, the laughter of the other kids louder. Adam grinned and sprinted toward the group, eager to join in the game. But his joy was short-lived when another boy, Steve, got in his way. It started with something small—a shove, a taunt. Maybe Steve was jealous, maybe he was just having a bad day. But for Adam, who was already fraying at the edges, it didn’t take much to spark his frustration. He shoved Steve back, harder than he realized.

The other kids circled around them, the tension growing. Steve retaliated, pushing Adam once more, but it wasn’t a hard push. Adam should have been able to take it. Instead, his knees buckled. His legs gave out beneath him like they were made of paper, and he collapsed to the ground in a heap. Everything blurred—his vision, the sounds around him. His body felt like it didn’t belong to him anymore. Panic surged through him, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

He heard Steve shouting, his voice cracking with fear, “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t push him that hard! I swear!”

Adam’s world faded to black.

When his eyes fluttered open again, the world was different. He was no longer in the playground but lying in a sterile hospital bed, his small body hooked up to wires and tubes. His head felt heavy, his body weak. The beep of the machines around him was steady, a constant reminder that something was wrong—very wrong. A kind nurse hovered near him, her face soft and warm, her smile gentle but tinged with sadness.

“Hey, sweet boy,” she whispered, brushing his hair back gently. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Adam blinked, confused and scared. His throat felt dry as he croaked out, “Where’s Mom?”

As if summoned by his words, the door burst open, and his mother rushed in, wild-eyed and pale. She looked like she had been crying for hours, her cheeks streaked with tears, her hair a mess. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him so tightly it almost hurt. She was trembling as she buried her face in his hair, her sobs muffled but endless.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” she kept repeating.

Adam, still half-dazed, mumbled, “Mom, don’t cry. I’ll be good. I’m sorry for getting in a fight. I’ll do better.”

He didn’t understand. Why was she crying so much? It was just a little push. He’d be fine, right? He wasn’t in trouble, was he?

But his mother’s sobs only grew louder, her tears soaking into his hospital gown as she held him like she was afraid to let go.

Moments later, his father stumbled into the room, his face red and swollen. Adam’s father never cried. He was the strongest man Adam knew, always composed, always telling him, “Men don’t cry.” But now his dad was crying too, and that scared Adam more than anything. His father knelt by the bed, gripping his son’s hand tightly, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re here, Adam. We’re not going anywhere.”

The doctor entered the room, his face serious, his voice gentle but firm as he began explaining something that Adam couldn’t quite follow. Words like “leukaemia,” “chemotherapy,” and “treatment” floated around him, but they didn’t make sense. His mother sobbed harder, and his father’s grip tightened on his hand. All Adam knew was that he was sick—really sick. Sicker than he had ever been in his entire life.

“I’ll get better, right?” Adam asked weakly, looking between his parents.

But the look on their faces—the overwhelming grief, the guilt, the helplessness—made his stomach turn. They couldn’t hide it from him anymore.

Adam was only eight years old, and he didn’t fully understand what was happening. But one thing was clear: his world would never be the same again.

Adam had been in the hospital for what felt like an eternity. The sterile smell, the steady hum of machines, and the rhythmic beeping that punctuated every moment had become the backdrop of his life. His parents stayed with him as much as they could, their worried faces always trying to look brave. When they weren’t there, his grandparents would come. Adam loved it when his grandpa sat by his side, especially during the long, quiet nights. His grandpa always told the best stories, tales of magic and faraway lands, of creatures and hidden worlds. Adam would close his eyes and imagine those places, feeling a little less scared.

But one night, when rain battered the hospital windows and thunder growled across the sky, something felt wrong. The darkness outside seemed thicker than usual, the shadows in the room heavier. Adam lay still, tucked beneath his blue and green quilt that rose to his chin. His grandpa was asleep in the chair beside him, softly snoring. Adam glanced at him, feeling a pang of loneliness creep in. Soon, his grandpa would leave for the night, just like he always did.

But it wasn’t his grandpa’s departure that unsettled him. It was the silence—the oppressive, unnatural silence. Hospitals were never quiet, not really. Adam had grown used to the sounds of nurses and doctors rushing about, the faint whispers of their footsteps outside his door, the distant murmur of voices. He had even learned to distinguish which steps belonged to nurses and which to doctors, a small game he played to pass the time. But tonight, something was different. There was an eerie stillness that made the hair on the back of Adam’s neck prickle.

He sighed, his breath shaky, and stared at the slightly ajar door to his room. The crack of light from the hallway usually brought him comfort, but now it only made him feel more isolated. The rain outside cracked against the window, the lightning casting brief flashes of light across his bed. Adam kept watching the door, waiting for the familiar sound of footsteps, but instead, something else caught his attention.

It was faint at first—barely noticeable. But then, it grew louder. A sound unlike anything Adam had ever heard in the hospital. It was a clicking noise, like...hooves? A chill ran down his spine. Why would there be hooves in the hospital? There couldn’t be animals here, that didn’t make sense. He frowned, straining his ears. The sound grew closer, each click distinct, echoing off the cold floors as if something heavy was walking down the corridor outside.

Adam’s heart raced. His eyes, wide with fear and curiosity, fixed on the door. He expected to see something—anything—pass by the small crack. But nothing appeared. Only the sound of hooves, clattering slowly down the hallway before fading into the distance.

When he finally told his parents and grandpa about it the next day, they all smiled at him with sad eyes, brushing his hair and telling him it was just a dream, a side effect of the medicine. But Adam knew better. It wasn’t a dream. It was real. He heard it.

And a week later, it happened again.

It was the dead of night, and Adam woke up to the same strange sound—those haunting clicks of hooves against the polished floor. The noise was unmistakable now, growing louder with each passing second. His heart pounded in his chest, but this time, he wasn’t content to lie in bed and wait. No. This time, he had to see it for himself.

He tossed the quilt aside, his small hands trembling as he tried to move. His body felt like lead, weighed down by the exhaustion that clung to him. The chemotherapy was brutal; it left him weak and tired, barely able to keep his eyes open some days. But tonight, curiosity gnawed at him, pulling him from the safety of his bed.

With a grunt, Adam swung his legs over the side, but his knees buckled the moment they hit the floor. He collapsed against the bed, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. His chest hurt, his limbs screamed for him to stop and lie back down. But the sound—the clinking of hooves—was getting closer. Adam sniffled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, before grabbing onto his IV stand for support. He pulled himself up, leaning heavily on the stand, the wheels squeaking faintly as he steadied himself.

The door was just a few feet away, but it felt like miles. Each step was a battle, his legs trembling beneath him as he inched forward. But Adam was determined. He had to know. He needed to see.

When he finally reached the door, his breath hitched. The corridor outside was eerily empty. Nothing but the soft glow of the overhead lights reflecting off the polished floors. In the distance, he saw a nurse exit one room and cross to another, but that was it. The hall was deserted.

But the sound—he could still hear it.

His fingers tightened around the IV stand as he peered down the hallway. And that’s when he saw it. At the far end, just for a fleeting second, something moved. A shadow. Long and thin. And then—just as it slipped around the corner—Adam swore he saw a tail. An animal’s tail.

Excitement surged through him, overpowering the exhaustion. He wasn’t imagining it. He had seen it. Ignoring the pain that rippled through his body, he stepped out into the hall, dragging his IV stand behind him. The wheels clattered softly as he moved, the stand wobbling with each unsteady step. He knew he shouldn’t be out of bed. The doctors had warned him repeatedly that he needed to rest, that his body was fragile, but he couldn’t stop now. Not when he was so close to discovering what was out there.

By the time Adam reached the end of the hallway, his legs were trembling so badly he thought they might give out. He leaned against the wall for support, his breath coming in short, labored gasps. He briefly considered turning back, returning to the safety of his room. But then, just as he was about to retreat, he heard it again.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

The sound of hooves, echoing from another hallway just ahead. Adam’s heart raced with excitement. He was close—so close. He couldn’t turn back now.

Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Adam pushed forward, his IV stand squeaking loudly in the silence. As he rounded the corner, his green eyes widened. There, at the far end of the hallway, was a figure. Tall and slender, almost too tall to be human. It stood in the shadows, its back turned to him. But what caught Adam’s attention most was the pair of long, curved horns protruding from its head—and the unmistakable sound of hooves tapping against the floor.

Adam’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The creature stood there for what felt like an eternity, its tail flicking once before it turned, disappearing into the darkness.

For a moment, Adam just stood there, frozen in place, his mind reeling. Had he really seen it? Or was this some strange dream conjured by his fevered mind?

But no. The clinking of hooves lingered in the air, fading slowly. He wasn’t imagining it. It was real.

With trembling hands, Adam clutched his IV stand tighter and slowly backed away. He would tell someone—he would tell his grandpa, maybe. But deep down, Adam knew they wouldn’t believe him. They never did.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the creature would return.

Adam knew, deep down, that no one would believe him. His parents, his grandparents, even the nurses—everyone would say the same thing.

"It’s just the medication, sweetheart," they’d coo. "You’re tired, you’re sick. It’s all in your head."

But how could it be in his head when his bare feet felt the cold, polished hospital floor beneath them? How could he be dreaming when he could hear the clatter of hooves just down the hall? The rhythmic click-clack grew louder as he inched forward, gripping his IV stand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His body was shaking—he knew he was pushing himself too far—but he had to prove it to himself. He wasn’t hallucinating. He wasn’t imagining things.

He could see the shadow of a tail swishing just around the corner. It was real.

Adam bit down on his bottom lip, hard enough to taste copper, but he didn’t stop. Step by trembling step, he followed the sound, dragging the IV stand with him. It squeaked against the floor, the wheels spinning unevenly, but Adam didn’t care. The world around him began to blur, the walls of the corridor fizzling in and out of focus, like the static on a broken TV screen. His vision wavered, and his head spun, but he kept going. The creature—whatever it was—was just ahead.

But then his body betrayed him. A weak gasp escaped Adam’s lips as the floor beneath him tilted and spun. His vision darkened, and his legs gave out beneath him. He felt the familiar sensation of falling, weightless and terrifying, but before he could hit the ground, something caught him.

Strong, warm arms wrapped around his fragile body, cradling him gently, as if the person holding him feared they might break him. Adam’s breath hitched. His mind swam in confusion, too tired to make sense of what was happening. All he knew was that he wasn’t lying on the cold floor. He was being held.

The warmth enveloped him like a blanket, comforting and soft. Adam sniffled, his half-lidded eyes struggling to focus as he tilted his head upwards, expecting to see a nurse or maybe his grandpa.

But what he saw instead was nothing short of impossible.

The figure that held him was unlike anyone—or anything—Adam had ever seen. A man, but not quite human. His skin was white, as pale as moonlight, with soft rosy cheeks and short blonde hair streaked with coral highlights that shimmered in the dim hospital light. His eyes, though, were the most striking of all—light yellow sclera and piercing red pupils that seemed to glow faintly, like embers in a dying fire. Despite their unnatural appearance, those eyes were... beautiful. Adam found himself staring into them, unable to look away.

The man’s mouth, framed by sharp, black eyebrows and light purple eyelids, curled into a gentle smile. It should have been frightening—his mouth full of sharp, predatory teeth, his pupils slitted like a serpent’s—but there was nothing menacing about his expression. Instead, he looked almost... concerned. Protective.

“Easy now,” the man murmured, his voice soft and soothing, almost musical. “You’ve gone too far, little one.”

Adam blinked, his thoughts muddled, his body heavy with exhaustion. He couldn’t understand what was happening. Who was this man? Why was he dressed so strangely? The man’s clothes were unlike anything Adam had ever seen—a long, white coat with red lining and golden buttons, worn over a red-and-white striped waistcoat. A black bowtie sat at his neck, and on his head was a wide-brimmed white top hat adorned with a golden snake and a red apple. He looked like something out of one of his grandpa’s stories, like a circus ringmaster who had stepped out of a fairy tale.

But the man’s most striking features were his snake-like eyes and his forked tongue, which flicked out briefly as he spoke, and the way his sharp, black boots clicked softly against the floor.

Adam sniffled again, his small body trembling as the man held him. He was too tired to speak, too weak to ask who—or what—this man was. His limbs felt like lead, and his eyelids fluttered, threatening to close. But the man’s warmth kept him anchored, his gentle smile offering a strange comfort.

“What...” Adam’s voice was barely a whisper, his throat dry and scratchy. “What are you?”

The man chuckled softly, the sound low and melodic. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you? Most would have run back to their beds by now.”

He tilted his head, his pale red cheeks catching the light. “But you... you wanted to see, didn’t you? You wanted to know if what you heard was real.”

Adam nodded weakly, his head lolling against the man’s chest. His vision swam again, and he felt the pull of sleep tugging at him, but he forced himself to stay awake. He needed answers.

The man’s forked tongue flicked out once more as he spoke, his voice soft and laced with amusement. “I am many things, little one. But tonight, I’m just someone who’s here to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

Adam blinked up at him, confusion clouding his tired mind. The man’s strange, serpent-like eyes held his gaze, and for a moment, Adam thought he saw something flicker in them—something ancient, something powerful. But then the man gently lowered him to the floor, making sure Adam was steady on his feet before stepping back.

Adam blinked up at the man, his mind swirling with confusion and exhaustion. The man’s serpent-like eyes held his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, Adam thought he saw something flicker deep within them—something ancient, something far more powerful than anything he could comprehend. Before he could question it, the man gently lifted him, cradling his small, frail body with surprising ease.

Adam peeked over the man’s shoulder when he heard the familiar squeak of wheels turning. He gasped in surprise as he saw a long, black tail, coiling around his IV stand, guiding it alongside them with a fluid, almost hypnotic motion.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” the man said with a warm smile, his sharp teeth oddly softening the words. “Most children rest when they’re going through something as intense as chemotherapy.”

Adam blinked up at him in surprise.

“You know I’m sick?” His voice was small, weak, laced with the unspoken fear of his illness.

The man grinned, a flash of sharp teeth gleaming under the dim hospital lights. “I know everything that goes on around me when I’m summoned.”

Adam’s brow furrowed, his mind sluggishly trying to piece together the puzzle.

“Summoned?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “What does that mean?”

The man’s grin softened into something more secretive, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“It’s nothing a child like you should concern yourself with.” His voice was gentle but firm, the kind of voice adults used when they didn’t want to explain something too complicated.

Adam tilted his head, curiosity gnawing at him, but before he could ask anything more, the door to his hospital room slid open with a soft hiss. The man stepped inside, his red and golden eyes sweeping over the room, taking in the colourful gifts—teddy bears, toys, balloons, and sweets—left by Adam’s family.

A tender smile crossed the man’s face.

“I can see how much you are loved,” he murmured, his voice filled with an unexpected warmth.

Adam blinked, confusion clouding his gaze. “Why wouldn’t my family love me?”

The man’s smile faltered, his eyes growing distant, touched by something sorrowful.

“Not all children are loved,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of an unspoken sadness.

Adam hummed in thought, his brow furrowing as he considered the man’s words.

“Do you have children?” he asked, his curiosity returning.

The man chuckled, a low, melodic sound that seemed to vibrate in the air around them. “No, not yet. Maybe someday, but not now.”

Adam tilted his head, his wide green eyes gleaming with innocent curiosity. “Do you want to have children?”

The man laughed again, a softer sound this time, and he shook his head in amusement. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

Blushing, Adam ducked his head, embarrassed by his inquisitiveness. He didn’t say anything else as the man gently laid him back down in his bed, carefully straightening out the colorful quilt that covered him. His movements were deliberate, tender, as though he feared Adam might shatter at the slightest touch.

“How old are you, Adam?” the man asked, his tone casual yet laced with a deeper undercurrent of interest.

Adam smiled proudly. “I’m eight years old.”

The man beamed at him, his sharp teeth gleaming once again, but there was a sadness in his eyes that Adam couldn’t quite understand. It was a look he had seen before, on the faces of nurses and doctors when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. It was the look people wore when they didn’t believe in happy endings.

Adam stared up at the man for a few moments before speaking quietly, his voice trembling. “I’m not going to get better, am I?”

The man blinked, visibly taken aback by the bluntness of Adam’s question. His face softened, and for the first time, a flicker of pain crossed his features.

“Why would you think that?” he asked, his voice low and tender.

Adam shrugged, his small shoulders sagging as his hands fidgeted with the edge of the quilt. “You have that look on your face. The same one the nurses have when they see me. I’m getting worse, not better… aren’t I?”

The man winced, his gaze turning even softer. His eyes, normally so sharp and piercing, now carried a depth of sorrow that seemed almost too heavy for him to bear.

“You shouldn’t have seen me otherwise,” he admitted quietly, his voice a whisper of regret.

Adam’s wide green eyes blinked up at him, filled with confusion and awe. “Are you an angel, then?”

The man smiled, but this time it wasn’t wide or bright. It was sad, almost mournful, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I suppose you could say that.”

Adam’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes grew wide with wonder as he gasped, “Are you here to take me away?”

The man stilled, his sharp features softening even further as something unreadable flickered across his face. He seemed to be thinking, considering something deeply. His hooves shifted slightly on the floor as he moved to sit on the edge of Adam’s bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip slightly.

“No,” he said after a long pause, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m not here to take you away.”

Adam tilted his head, confusion knitting his brow. “Then… why are you here?”

The man glanced away, his expression souring briefly, as though he were wrestling with something difficult. His eyes flicked back to Adam, and after a moment’s hesitation, he spoke again. “I’m... normally asked for help by... other types of people.”

Adam leaned forward, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “You’re here to help someone?”

The man nodded slowly, wearily, as if carrying a burden too heavy for words. “Something like that. The people I... help are different from you.”

“How different?” Adam asked, his curiosity piqued.

The man smiled warmly, his eyes softening once more as he reached out and gently brushed a stray curl from Adam’s forehead. “You’re pure, Adam. Innocent and sweet. All children are. That’s why I never deal with children in my... business.”

Adam’s curiosity only grew, but the man’s warm smile warned him not to push any further. Still, Adam couldn’t help but ask one more question, his voice small and hesitant. “Are you an angel of death? Like what my Nana calls them?”

The man’s expression darkened slightly, a deep frown creasing his brow as he shook his head.

“No,” he said quickly, his voice firm. “I’m not here to do that. I’m here for a different reason.” He paused, glancing down at Adam, his sharp features softening. “I want to help you.”

Adam blinked up at him, his heart fluttering in his chest. “Help me? How?”

The man sighed, his eyes filled with a strange, unreadable emotion. He reached out again, this time gently running his clawed fingers through Adam’s soft curls.

“I don’t normally do this,” he admitted, his voice quiet, almost as though he were speaking to himself. “I normally don’t get involved with humanity. But you’ve hardly lived... and it’s unfair to do nothing.”

Adam’s eyes widened, his heart racing with a mixture of hope and confusion. He didn’t fully understand what the man was saying, but something about his tone made Adam feel safe, like he could trust him.

The man’s fingers continued to stroke Adam’s hair gently as he spoke again, his voice tinged with both warmth and warning.

“I’m going to change your fate,” he whispered, “But I can’t promise it’ll stay changed forever. Nature has a way of... correcting things.”

Adam didn’t really understand the weight of the man’s words, but he found himself nodding, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His mother had always told him that angels were there to help, to protect.

And this man—this strange, beautiful angel—was here to help him.

“I’m going to heal you,” the man said, his voice stern and filled with an authority Adam couldn’t ignore.

Adam gasped; eyes wide with awe.

“Really? You’re going to make me better?” His voice was filled with hope, the kind of hope only a child could have after so much pain.

The man nodded seriously, his golden-red eyes locked on Adam’s. “Yes, I am. But when people ask you if angels healed you, or if God healed you, I want you to tell them no.”

Adam’s brows creased in confusion, the frown deepening on his small face. “Why wouldn’t I say God healed me? You’re an angel, aren’t you? One of His angels?”

The man—this strange, elegant figure with his sharp teeth and kind smile—sighed deeply, his expression growing sombre. “Let’s just say I don’t have the best relationship with God.”

There was a bitterness in his voice now, something far older and deeper than Adam could understand.

“But you can do this for me, right?” The man’s serpent-like eyes softened again. “If anybody asks who made you better, you tell them it was me. Not God. Not my siblings.”

Adam nodded eagerly, eyes gleaming with trust. “Yes! I’ll do that, I promise! I’ll tell them it was you!”

The man’s grin returned, his sharp teeth glinting once again in the dim light. “I knew I could trust you.”

Adam beamed back at him, but his expression faltered as another thought crossed his mind. His pout returned, and he looked up at the man, a flicker of uncertainty clouding his innocent gaze. “But... I don’t know who you are. How can I tell them it was you if I don’t know your name?”

Despite the man’s monstrous features—the black horns, the sharp teeth, the snake-like eyes—he still looked kind, his presence strangely comforting. Adam wasn’t afraid of him. Not at all.

The man hesitated for a moment, his golden eyes watching Adam closely.

“My name is...” He began to speak, but Adam was growing more and more tired, his eyelids heavy as sleep began to pull him under.

“When people ask who performed this miracle on you,” the man continued softly, his voice a soothing echo in the boy’s ears, “You say it was... me... Lucifer, the fallen, disgraced angel of Heaven.”

The name echoed in Adam’s mind, reverberating in the quiet space of his thoughts as his consciousness slipped away, drifting into the warm embrace of sleep. But even as he began to dream, his last words were clear:

“I promise!” Adam said, his voice a sleepy whisper. “Deal!”

Lucifer’s smile faded as he gazed down at the boy, his eyes filled with a sadness far deeper than the child could ever understand. His voice dropped to a near whisper, “...I hope I don’t see you again, Adam.”

And with that, Lucifer was gone.

After that night, Adam's health began to improve in a way that baffled the doctors. His acute lymphoblastic leukaemia, once viciously aggressive, seemed to retreat. It wasn’t an instant cure—he still underwent intensive chemotherapy—but the speed of his recovery was nothing short of miraculous. His parents wept with joy, and the hospital staff marvelled at what they called an act of divine intervention. Adam, however, remained quiet, a small secret blooming inside him like a hidden flower.

One evening, his grandparents came to visit. His grandpa, a tall, kindly man with silver hair and deep-set wrinkles, sat beside Adam's bed, his rough hand resting warmly on the boy’s shoulder. The scent of peppermint and pipe smoke clung to him, familiar and comforting.

"Thank God you’re feeling so much better, Adam," his grandpa said, his voice filled with relief.

But Adam’s reaction was immediate—his green eyes widened, and he shook his head, his curls bouncing slightly. “No, it wasn’t God.”

A moment of silence fell over the room. His parents exchanged glances, and his grandmother, who had been arranging flowers on the bedside table, turned around, her brows knitting together in curiosity.

“What do you mean, honey?” his mother asked softly, her voice gentle, as if she didn’t want to spook him.

Adam, ever earnest and bright-eyed, smiled as if revealing a treasured secret. “It wasn’t God who made me better. It was Lucifer.”

The room grew still, as if the air itself had frozen. His grandma’s hands faltered on the vase, water dripping onto the floor. His father’s grip tightened on the armrest of his chair, and his mother blinked rapidly, unsure if she had heard him correctly.

“Lucifer?” his grandma repeated, her voice edged with both caution and worry. “Do you know who Lucifer is, sweetie?”

Adam paused thoughtfully, recalling the golden-haired man with serpent-like eyes who had cradled him so tenderly. He could see the soft, sad smile on Lucifer’s face as if it had been etched into his memory.

“Of course I do,” Adam replied with the innocence only a child could possess. “Lucifer is the fallen angel of God. I don’t know why he fell or why he’s called ‘disgraced,’ but he made me feel better. And that’s got to count for something, right?”

The adults exchanged another round of uneasy glances. His grandpa leaned forward, his voice a little more serious now, but still kind. “Adam... Lucifer isn’t exactly known for helping people. He... he’s the one who rebelled against God, who—”

Adam cut him off, shaking his head fiercely. “No! That’s not true! He was nice to me. He carried me back to bed when I was too tired. He said he was going to heal me, and he did!”

His voice was filled with conviction, as if nothing could shake his belief in what he had experienced.

His grandmother, ever gentle, knelt beside him, her eyes soft but filled with concern. “Darling, Lucifer... he’s known as the angel who brings temptation and evil into the world. He’s...”

“No!” Adam protested again, his small hands clutching the quilt. “Lucifer wasn’t evil. He was kind! Why would he come to help me if he was bad?”

His mother, her voice barely above a whisper, chimed in, “Sweetheart, maybe it was just a dream... You’ve been through so much, and with all the medicine—”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Adam insisted, his voice steady and sure. “He was real. And he wasn’t like you all say. He wasn’t scary or mean. He looked a little different, but he was nice. He said he was going to heal me, and he did.”

His father, who had been silent up until now, cleared his throat. “Adam, son... why would Lucifer, of all God’s creations, come to help you? Why would he give you a second chance when everything we’ve been taught says he wants to take people away from God?”

Adam frowned, confusion knitting his young features.

“I don’t know,” he admitted softly, looking down at his hands, small and pale against the bedspread. “But he wasn’t what you’re saying. He... he smiled at me. He didn’t hurt me. He told me I was pure, and he wanted to help me because I hadn’t lived enough.”

His grandmother reached out and gently touched his arm. “Sweetheart, sometimes... our minds play tricks on us, especially when we’re very sick. We want to believe in things that comfort us—”

“No,” Adam whispered, his voice trembling. “He was real. He was real.”

His grandpa leaned back, sighing softly, trying to make sense of what Adam was saying. "I know you believe what you saw, but Lucifer is... well, he's not exactly a force of good, Adam."

Adam's eyes filled with stubborn determination. "But he was good to me! He didn't do anything bad. He didn't hurt anyone. He helped me!"

His voice cracked a little, but the fire in his eyes remained. “How can someone who did something so good be bad?”

The room was heavy with tension, the adults unsure how to respond to such conviction from such a young boy. His mother tried again, her voice wavering. “Honey... sometimes, things we can’t explain happen, but... it doesn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you say,” Adam interrupted, his voice softer now, but resolute.

“Lucifer made me better. He told me so himself. And if he was bad, why would he do that?” His eyes were wide, pleading for them to understand.

His father sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe... maybe we just don’t know everything there is to know, Adam. But we’ve always been taught that Lucifer isn’t someone to trust.”

Adam’s expression softened, the defiance still flickering, but now touched with something more vulnerable.

“I trust him,” he whispered. “He saved me.”

And for the first time since Adam had spoken, no one could find the words to argue.

As Adam grew up, he held steadfast to a truth few believed.

“If anybody asks me who healed me, it was not God—it was Lucifer!”

It was not a claim he made in passing, nor one he doubted. To his core, Adam knew it was Lucifer who had given him another chance, who had made his suffering as an eight-year-old bearable. As the years passed, Adam never wavered in this belief. Whenever his cancer came up in conversation—whether at family gatherings, school, or with curious strangers—he would tell the story, unwavering and proud, that it wasn’t a miracle from heaven but from Lucifer himself.

People often looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and concern. Friends drifted away, thinking Adam was eccentric, maybe even delusional. Bullies found new ammunition to taunt him with—mocking him for worshiping the "devil" as they saw it.

Even adults, teachers, and mentors gave him strange looks, some urging him to "come to his senses" or seek help for what they believed to be a confused memory. But Adam never let it truly get to him, not deep down. Sometimes the whispers stung, and the loneliness felt unbearable, but when he closed his eyes, he could still see the gentle, sorrowful smile of the man who had cradled him in his arms and carried him back to bed all those years ago. Lucifer.

No matter how hard the world tried to convince him otherwise, Adam knew the truth.

By the time he was twenty-one, fresh out of university with his entire life ahead of him, that truth became harder to hold on to. He had just begun his career, stepping into the adult world with excitement, when the first signs appeared. A tremor in his left hand. At first, he thought it was nothing—stress, maybe. He had just graduated, after all. But then the headaches began, sharp and blinding, like his skull was being squeezed from the inside. His balance wavered, and soon, even walking became difficult, his steps unsteady as though the ground was shifting beneath his feet.

When the symptoms worsened, Adam finally saw a doctor. The news hit him like a tidal wave, drowning every bit of hope he had built for his future.

Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma (DIPG).

The words echoed in his mind, but it was the explanation that hollowed him out. An aggressive, inoperable brain tumour located in the brainstem, the very core that controlled his breathing, his heart rate, his motor skills. There was no surgery, no effective chemotherapy, only temporary relief from radiation therapy. It was a sentence. A cruel one. The prognosis was brutally clear—less than a year to live.

Adam sat in the sterile hospital room, the soft hum of machines filling the silence as his doctor spoke gently, explaining the options—radiation, palliative care—but all Adam could hear was the countdown. Months. Weeks. Days.

“Do you understand, Adam?” the doctor asked quietly, his voice thick with sympathy.

Adam nodded; his throat too dry to speak. He understood all too well.

The nurses were kind, offering soft smiles, speaking in comforting tones. They told him about support groups, counselling services, anything to make the reality less crushing. But none of it mattered. His mind was a whirlwind of disbelief, anger, and sadness. He’d beaten cancer once, hadn't he? Why again? Why now? And the worst part—the lingering shadow of doubt that had crept in over the years, as the world’s logic and the voices around him chipped away at his unwavering belief.

That night, as Adam sat with his family, breaking the devastating news, he overheard a conversation between his aunt and uncle. It was soft, a murmur meant to be private, but the words reached him all the same.

“Why doesn’t fucking Lucifer come back and heal him again?” his uncle muttered bitterly.

His aunt snickered in response. “Yeah, where’s the fallen angel now?”

The words hit Adam like a punch to the gut. For years, he had faced mockery and disbelief from strangers but hearing it from his own family—he couldn’t bear it.

Something inside him broke. The dam he had kept strong for so long cracked, letting the flood of doubt and pain wash over him. He excused himself, slipping upstairs to his old childhood bedroom, the one that hadn’t changed much since he was little. The soft, faded wallpaper, the same toys collecting dust on the shelves, the bed that had cradled him during sleepless, sick nights. He slumped onto the bed, curling into himself, the weight of his illness pressing down on him like the air had grown thick and heavy.

For the first time in years, Adam felt like that terrified, sick eight-year-old again. So small. So fragile. So alone.

His hands pressed sharply into his face, trying to muffle the sob that broke free from his throat. He was sick again. The cancer had returned, this time as something far worse, far crueller. All those years of believing, of holding onto the memory of Lucifer's kindness, now felt distant, almost like a dream.

Maybe they’re right... Adam thought, his fingers digging into his skin. Maybe... it was just a hallucination. A figment of my medicated mind.

The doubt was sharp and merciless, cutting through his belief like a blade. It was possible. More than possible, really. The doctors had always said chemotherapy could cause vivid dreams, strange memories. What if Lucifer had never been real? What if, in his desperation as a sick child, he had conjured up the whole thing?

His chest tightened, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he curled further into the blankets. What if... Lucifer really was just a figment of his imagination?

As Adam lay in the dim light of his childhood room, the crushing weight of doubt settled heavily on his chest. He felt the fragile threads of his childhood beliefs fray, unraveling one by one until he was left staring at the truth he had fought so hard to deny. Lucifer hadn't saved him. It wasn’t the fallen angel who had healed him or given him a second chance at life. It was the hospital, the doctors and nurses, the medicine that coursed through his veins. Even God himself, if he had to admit it, was part of that miracle.

Tears slipped from the corners of Adam’s eyes, and he wiped them away, fatigue washing over him like a tide pulling him under. He shuffled back to his childhood bed, sinking into the familiar comfort of the blankets. Just as he began to drift off, a whisper escaped his lips, almost like a prayer.

“Lucifer didn’t heal me at all.”

Unbeknownst to him, the atmosphere in his room shifted, thickening with an oppressive darkness that curled into the corners, where shadows twisted and contorted into grotesque shapes. The temperature dropped, and an unnatural chill seeped through the walls, settling around Adam like a shroud.

From the centre of the ceiling, a small square object materialized, suspended in the air for a moment before falling with a dull thud onto the carpeted floor below. The sound barely disturbed Adam, lost as he was in the realm of sleep, turning over and curling up deeper into his quilts, a soft hum escaping his lips as he nestled into the darkness.

As morning crept in, golden rays of sunlight streamed through the window, piercing the veil of night. Adam grunted, squinting against the brightness as he pulled the quilts over his head, seeking refuge from the light. He could hear the familiar sounds of his family moving about, the low murmur of conversation interspersed with the faint sounds of his aunt and uncle arguing outside. With a huff, he sat up, stretching his legs out from the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

It was then that he felt it—something smooth and foreign beneath his foot. Adam jerked back, catching himself just in time as he looked down to see a book lying innocently on the floor.

He squinted at it; confusion etched across his face. The book was bound in a dark, leather-like material, its surface marred with strange symbols that seemed to shimmer ominously in the light. The edges were tattered, worn from what could only be ages of handling, and as he crouched down to pick it up, he noticed that it felt heavier than it looked—dense and almost warm to the touch, as if it pulsed with some sort of hidden energy.

“Is this one of my cousin’s paper mache projects?” he wondered aloud, dismissing the eerie sensation that skittered down his spine. Perhaps they had crafted some sort of strange art piece, an odd homage to their own creativity.

Adam shrugged off the creeping unease that threatened to invade his thoughts.

It must be powered by batteries, he mused, rolling his eyes at his own curiosity. He carelessly tossed the book over his shoulder onto his bed, dismissing it as nothing more than a curious oddity. His cousins probably snuck it into his room to mess with him.

But as the book landed softly on the blankets, a faint whisper escaped its pages, almost too low for Adam to hear. The sound slithered through the air, coiling around him like a shadow, leaving a faint echo of something ancient and foreboding, lingering just at the edges of his consciousness. He remained blissfully unaware, the darkness in the room retreating slightly, but not vanishing entirely, as it waited—patiently—for the moment when Adam might open the book and uncover its secrets.

With the sunlight flooding in and the scent of breakfast wafting through the house, Adam felt a flicker of warmth in his chest, but the strange object remained in the back of his mind, an unsettling presence that would soon demand his attention.

The sun climbed higher in the sky as Adam shuffled into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The warm scents of bacon and freshly brewed coffee enveloped him like a comforting embrace. His family buzzed around the table, laughter and chatter blending into a symphony of familiarity. Yet, beneath the surface, an undercurrent of tension rippled through the room.

As he sat down at the table, Adam’s cousins shot him knowing glances, whispering behind their hands while he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“I can’t believe he still believes in that fairy tale,” one of them muttered, laughter trailing behind the comment like a shadow.

“Right? What a weirdo,” another chimed in, and Adam felt the heat rise in his cheeks.

He wanted to retort, to defend the memories that had kept him afloat through the darkest times, but the words lodged in his throat. Instead, he forced a smile and sipped his coffee, pretending to focus on the cheerful conversation around him.

His mother entered the kitchen, hair pulled back in a loose bun, a soft smile gracing her lips. She caught the tail end of their jeering and frowned, her expression turning protective.

“What’s going on in here?” she asked, her voice firm.

“Nothing, auntie!” Adam’s cousins chorused, but the feigned innocence did little to mask the underlying malice.

“Leave him alone,” she said, shooting Adam a reassuring glance before moving on to serve breakfast. But the comments continued throughout the meal, punctuated by snickers and sideways glances.

“Maybe Lucifer will bring him a miracle breakfast,” one of his aunts said with a mocking tone, and Adam could feel their eyes on him, weighing him down like a heavy shroud.

“Let it go,” his grandmother interjected, her voice a soothing balm amidst the chaos. “You should be grateful for the time you have with him.”

But the laughter persisted, and Adam's heart sank deeper with each jab. He kept his head down, focusing on the plate in front of him, but the words cut like shards of glass. Each remark felt like a reminder of his vulnerability, of how quickly he could slip back into a darkness he had fought so hard to escape.

“I heard that your father would be ashamed of you for believing in such nonsense,” one of his uncles sneered, punctuating his words with a derisive chuckle.

The room fell silent, tension thickening the air, and Adam’s stomach twisted painfully at the thought. He had never met his father, but the weight of those words settled heavily on his shoulders.

“Enough!” his grandmother snapped, her eyes flashing. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. My son fought hard for his life, and he would be proud of Adam for holding on to his beliefs!”

But the moment of solidarity was short-lived. Adam’s uncle bristled at the defense, opening his mouth to retaliate when the front door swung open, and his father walked in, the atmosphere shifting immediately.

“What’s going on here?” his father asked, sensing the tension in the room as he hung up his coat.

“Just discussing how your son is still clinging to fairy tales,” the uncle shot back, his tone dripping with disdain.

“Leave him alone!” his father barked, anger igniting in his eyes as he fixed a glare on his brother. “He’s been through enough without you mocking him!”

Adam felt the world around him blur as the confrontation escalated, words flying like daggers. He looked between the adults, the chaos spiralling into a cacophony of shouts and insults. He wanted to disappear, to vanish into the shadows where he felt safe, but the harsh reality of the moment kept him anchored in place.

Finally, overwhelmed, Adam pushed his chair back, the scraping noise piercing through the tumult.

“I’m tired of this!” he shouted, surprising even himself with the strength in his voice. All eyes turned to him, stunned into silence. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to be sick. And I sure as hell didn’t ask to be ridiculed for believing in something that made me feel better!”

His heart raced as he stood, the exhaustion of the past few days crashing over him like a wave. He felt small and vulnerable, his defences crumbling under the weight of scrutiny.

“I just wanted to have a nice breakfast with my family!”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and fled the room, his footsteps echoing as he made his way back to his old childhood bedroom. He slammed the door behind him, and the world outside faded into a distant murmur.

Slumping onto the bed, Adam pressed his hands to his face, the emotions of the morning crashing over him like a storm. He felt so tired—tired of fighting, tired of trying to make everyone understand. He wanted to believe in the magic of his childhood, in the angel who had once saved him. But the laughter, the sneers, the doubt—they swirled around him like a tempest, and for the first time in years, he felt the fragile threads of his faith begin to fray.

At the close of a long, unsettling day, Adam found himself enveloped in the familiar shadows of his childhood room, a sanctuary that felt both comforting and haunting. The walls were adorned with remnants of a simpler time—framed photographs that captured fleeting moments of laughter, a once-vibrant blue that had faded with the years, now tinged with an unsettling melancholy.

He sighed, his breath hitching slightly as he leaned against the door, the wood cool against his back. Did he truly make the right decision in attending this reunion? The laughter that echoed in the air, laced with a hint of cruelty, lingered in his mind like an unwanted ghost. Each jab and mocking glance had felt like a dagger, piercing the fragile veil of confidence he had struggled to maintain since his diagnosis.

The evening’s festivities had felt like a masquerade, vibrant and chaotic, yet painfully dissonant. Whispers floated around him like wisps of fog, the kind that drifts through the twilight, and he could feel the eyes of his old classmates skimming over him, a curious blend of pity and schadenfreude that stung more than any sharp comment. His diagnosis, the looming spectre of Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma (DIPG), had transformed him into an unwelcome centrepiece in a conversation he never wanted to join.

Exhaustion washed over him as he raked a trembling hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his new reality pressing down on him. It was a constant reminder that he was now intertwined with an illness so cruel it felt like a shadow, ever-present and unyielding. Hope seemed like a distant memory, flickering dimly like a candle in a storm. The doctor’s words replayed in his mind, chilling and stark, casting a pall over any remaining brightness in his world.

But beneath the veil of despair, something stirred—a yearning that refused to be extinguished. He recalled the glances exchanged with Elise, her presence an ethereal glow amidst the darkness that surrounded him. She had been the first to reach out, her touch soft and warm against his skin, igniting a flicker of warmth in the depths of his cold anxiety.

The memories of her laughter had echoed through the hallways of his mind all evening, a haunting melody that contrasted sharply with the discord around him. In a world that felt increasingly filled with shadows, Elise had been a beacon, an unexpected solace in the storm.

He leaned over to the small window that framed the moonlight, casting an otherworldly glow across his room. The silvery light painted everything in a dreamlike hue, reminding him of those long-ago nights spent dreaming of futures unmarred by illness. He closed his eyes, allowing the serenity of the night to envelop him, wishing to escape the unrelenting dread that had become his constant companion.

What if he could slip back into those moments with her? Moments where laughter filled the air, and the world seemed so much brighter. There was something almost magical in the way she had looked at him, as if she could see beyond the illness and into the heart that still beat with hope and desire.

As he stood there, the chill of the night creeping in through the cracked window, he wondered if he could muster the courage to reach out to her. Perhaps in this labyrinth of fear and uncertainty, he could find solace not just in memories, but in the possibility of something more—something beautifully chaotic that could bloom even in the shadow of despair.

Adam let out a weary sigh, rubbing his face as if trying to erase the exhaustion etched into his skin. He took a step backward, feeling the familiar embrace of his childhood bed waiting for him like a long-lost friend.

"I know it now," he whispered into the stillness, his voice barely a breath against the oppressive silence. “Lucifer didn’t save me; he made me a sick kid.”

The words tumbled out like fallen leaves, each one weighted with the heaviness of his despair. "Can't everyone just stop making fun of me now?"

As those words hung in the air, a subtle shift occurred, the atmosphere in the room thickening with an almost sickening tension. Behind him, the ancient leather book that had always rested on the shelf stirred as if responding to his anguish. Without his awareness, the buckles unclasped with a soft, almost sinister click, and the pages flared open, dancing in the air like restless spirits. One golden page fluttered gracefully, pausing midair before crinkling slightly, then folding itself open with a deliberation that sent a shiver down Adam’s spine.

Turning around, Adam was oblivious to the unfolding spectacle. He stepped toward his bed, a sanctuary woven from memories and quilts, yearning to curl up and retreat into the cocoon of a simpler past. But as he caught sight of the book now agape, curiosity pulled him closer, luring him into the very heart of the mystery that flickered like shadows in the dark.

His breath caught as he approached the book, the pages inviting yet foreboding. Symbols adorned the open leaves, intricate and arcane, unlike anything he had ever seen. They twisted and curled in ways that sent chills racing up his arms. At first, Adam chuckled softly, half-convinced that his cousins had outdone themselves with some elaborate prank. But the moment he focused on the symbols, they began to shift, rearranging themselves into words that surged forth, demanding his attention.

Adam's eyebrows shot up as he shuffled to the edge of the bed, a mix of wariness and intrigue compelling him to sit. Tentatively, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the cool, pulsing surface of the book. It was as if it had a heartbeat, resonating beneath his touch. The pulse grew stronger, tenfold, sending a shockwave through him that jolted him back. This was no mere toy; something alive thrummed beneath the aged leather, something imbued with an energy that felt both intoxicating and terrifying.

Gathering his courage, Adam finally lifted the book, sliding it onto his knees. The pages fanned open, revealing even stranger incantations—words about spirits, whispered tales of sinners, and a figure referred to as a king. Confusion swirled in his mind, a tempest of questions. What was a summoning? What in the world was it supposed to conjure? His heart raced, each beat echoing in the silence as he blinked at the curious symbols that transformed before his eyes, melding into a language that resonated within him.

“Is this... a spell book?” he breathed out awkwardly, the weight of the realization settling heavily on his chest. “Where did... the devil's spell book come from?”

His thoughts froze, caught in a web of creeping dread. The cover caught his eye, ornate lettering shimmering with an unsettling allure.

"Devil's spell book?" The words echoed in his mind, morphing into a chilling realization. The devil?

Adam’s heart plummeted as his breath quickened, the air in the room thickening with an oppressive weight. The last shred of denial vanished as he muttered a name.

“Lucifer?”

The name slipped from his lips, a quiet confession filled with terror and awe. His hands trembled as he held the spell book, the reality of what he was now entwined with crashing over him like a relentless tide. What had he stumbled upon? And what dark path lay ahead?

The flickering shadows around him seemed to whisper secrets, beckoning him to delve deeper, to unravel the mysteries that coiled like serpents within the pages of this eerie tome. Each turn of the page held the promise of enchantment and danger—a dance with the devil himself.

Adam’s heart thundered in his chest at the thought of Lucifer—the kind stranger who had offered him solace during those dark days in the hospital when he was just eight. Memories of gentle words and comforting presence flickered in his mind, illuminated like candles in the shadows of his recollection. But now, doubt gnawed at him. Was this real, or merely a cruel trick played by the growing tumour in his brain, distorting reality into a tapestry of nightmares?

His fingers trembled as they cradled the spell book, its leather cover cool against his skin, an otherworldly pulse thrumming through its pages. He swept his gaze across the arcane symbols and incantations, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. What should I do? The answer emerged, raw and unfiltered: he wanted to see Lucifer, to dispel the darkness of doubt that clouded his mind. He needed to prove that it wasn’t a figment of his frail, sickly imagination—an invention of a desperate boy searching for hope amid despair.

“Summon him,” he mumbled to himself, the words tinged with both fear and determination. “I could summon Lucifer… here?”

Adam’s breath quickened as he stared down at the page, his heart racing with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. He carefully turned to the opposite side; the paper whispering secrets with each movement.

His excitement faltered as he blinked at the stark warning emblazoned before him: You could not get the King of Hell.

The words felt like ice water cascading down his spine. For the last century, the text revealed, Lucifer had grown weary of summoning spells, preferring instead to send forth one of his right-hand demons. A shudder rippled through Adam at the thought of summoning an unfamiliar entity—one that might harbour malevolent intentions.

What if I end up with something wicked? The weight of the decision settled heavily in his chest.

Could he really do this? What if it worked, and he actually opened a portal to Hell itself? A strange mixture of dread and exhilaration coursed through him, propelling him to his feet as if the book itself had willed him to act.

“I need a… sacrificial lamb?” His voice caught in disbelief, eyebrows arching in surprise.

Of course he did. The concept was absurd, ludicrous even, yet he couldn’t shake the pull of the spell or the possibility of reconnecting with the figure from his past.

In his mind, he envisioned a ritual, dark and ancient, surrounded by candles that flickered like lost souls. A shiver ran down his spine as he considered the implications of such an act. The idea of sacrificing something—a living creature, perhaps—sent a surge of panic through him.

But what if it brings me closer to him?

The weight of the choice pressed heavily upon him, but a flicker of defiance ignited within. Adam took a deep breath, allowing the thrill of danger to spark courage in his veins. He was already on the precipice of the unknown, so why not leap?

He could feel the pulse of the spell book intensifying beneath his fingers, urging him onward. A haunting whisper threaded through the air, the promise of forbidden knowledge tantalizing him. All he needed was to make a choice—to cross the threshold into a realm where shadows danced and the impossible became real.

“I’ll do it,” he breathed, voice trembling yet resolute. “I’ll summon him.”

Adam stared at the worn, leather-bound book on his bed, its pages yellowed with age, its spine cracked from use. The temptation had been gnawing at him for hours now. Despite the confirmation of summoning the devil, Adam hadn’t moved a foot.

Every passing second, he wasted, the sicker he was becoming.

Terminal. Inoperable.

He had laughed when the doctor said it, laughed because what else could he do? Yet that laughter had only lasted so long, eventually giving way to fear, desperation, and a dangerous kind of curiosity. That was when he started to remember.

As a child, he had been bedridden for months, cancer consuming his tiny body. The pain, the fear—it had made him vulnerable. And in that weakness, he had seen something in the shadows of the hospital room. He had told his parents, but they dismissed it as feverish hallucinations.

The book claimed to hold the key. A ritual. A summoning. To call upon the devil himself, the fallen angel, the king of hell. It was absurd. Insane. But then, wasn’t his situation insane too? It was either a sick fantasy or...something far worse.

He ran his hand over the aged parchment, fingers tracing the symbols. His heart raced at the thought of doing it, of actually standing face-to-face with Lucifer once more. Would it work? Or was it all just a deranged hoax—a final delusion born from his deteriorating mind?

Adam leaned back on his old childhood bed, closing his eyes. The house was still, eerily quiet, as if the very walls were waiting for his decision.

He smirked bitterly at the thought of his aunt and uncle, discovering the devil lounging in their living room, sipping tea, and making small talk. What would they say? Would they even believe what they were seeing, or would they assume Adam had finally lost his mind?

That brief flash of amusement faded quickly. His stomach churned with unease. What if it worked? What if the devil did come?

The room felt colder as the possibility took root in his mind. Lucifer had been kind to him once, yes, but back then he had been a fragile, innocent child—cancer-ridden, too weak to offer anything. Now, as an adult, with fewer illusions and far less innocence, would the devil’s attitude be the same? Would he even recognize Adam? Or worse, would he see him as just another soul ripe for the taking, no longer worthy of his mercy?

The thought sent a shiver down his spine. Adam sighed, rubbing his eyes. He was tired—so tired. The weight of everything pressed down on him, his illness, the memories, the uncertainty of what was to come. He wanted answers, but was this the right way to get them?

It was ridiculous, really. Even if he wanted to go through with it, where on earth was, he supposed to find a sacrificial lamb at this hour? The book said that Lucifer only accepted such an offering when summoned—an innocent life to bridge the gap between realms. A life for an audience with the devil.

But what if Lucifer didn’t answer? What if some other thing came through instead? A demon, or something worse, something that would use his desperation against him and drag him into a hell far worse than the one his cancer had made of his life?

He could lose everything. His family, his sanity—his soul.

And yet, the book lay there, waiting.

Adam reached for it, the pages crinkling under his fingertips. His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse deafening in his ears. What was he afraid of? That nothing would happen, and he’d be left with nothing but his crumbling faith in the supernatural? Or that everything he feared was real and the devil would step through the veil, drawn to him like a moth to flame?

He stood and crossed the room, opening the window to let in the cool night air. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the yard below. His fingers tightened around the window ledge. The ritual, the sacrifice, the summoning—it all felt like madness.

And yet...a voice inside whispered.

What if?

Adam stared at the book in front of him, its cracked spine and ancient pages beckoning him toward an abyss he wasn’t sure he could face. His heart raced as his fingers hovered over the text, every instinct telling him to stop—to turn back before it was too late. But what did it matter? He had already been given a death sentence. The tumor growing deep within his brain, robbing him of time, was a far crueler fate than anything Lucifer could offer.

He groaned, running his hands through his hair, the strands sticking to his damp forehead. His room, dimly lit by a single bedside lamp, seemed smaller than he remembered—claustrophobic. He awkwardly paced the floor, his thoughts pulsing in rhythm with the dull throb of pain in his head. His old room, the place where he'd once dreamed of life, now felt like the cage where he’d wait for death.

Fuck it. He muttered under his breath. “I’m gonna die anyway.”

His voice was raw, edged with desperation. He had nothing left to lose, not really. Cancer had taken that from him already. Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma, the doctors called it, as if naming the monster gave it less power. But Adam knew better. He had been here before, a sick child with a death sentence. He was eight when the devil came to him the first time, and now, here he was again—an adult, standing on the precipice, with nothing but his fading life to offer.

He opened the book and began preparing, his movements mechanical, numb. He gathered the items he would need: salt, six candles, each midnight black. He found them easily enough. His grandmother had been obsessed with candles—her strange little collection left untouched in the years since her passing. Adam had never thought much of it before, but now they felt like fate, like they were waiting for this exact moment.

He spread the salt carefully in a wide circle, each grain like a barrier between this world and the one he hoped to reach. The candles came next, framing the edges of the pentagram he had painstakingly painted on the floor. His hands shook slightly as he set each one in place, the cool orange flames flickering against the shadows. The soft light danced across the symbols, casting strange, twisting shadows on the walls.

Adam stood in the middle of the circle, his emerald eyes fixated on the candles. His shoulders sagged, and he bit down on his bottom lip, frustration rising. He had no lamb to sacrifice. He knew the rules—the blood of an innocent was required to call forth the devil. Without it, this whole thing would probably fail.

“I know I’m supposed to offer a lamb…” he breathed, his voice trembling, breaking the oppressive silence that pressed against his ears. His lips twitched downward, and he swallowed hard, glancing around at the circle of flickering flames. “But... you know me.”

His words hung heavy in the air. His chest tightened as the memories surged forward—the hospital, the cold sterile smell of antiseptic, the quiet beeping of machines keeping him tethered to life. And the figure—dark, imposing, yet strangely gentle. He had been only eight years old, sick, dying, suffering from Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. He had met Lucifer then. He knew it wasn’t a dream. The devil had healed him—offered him a second chance at life.

But at what cost?

He had promised, all those years ago, to never deny who had saved him. He had never broken that vow. No matter how many doctors had claimed it was a miracle, no matter how often his family had attributed it to medicine or blind luck—Adam had known the truth. It was Lucifer.

And now, he had nothing left to offer but himself.

His fingers gripped the handle of a small kitchen knife, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as he held it up to the candlelight. The blade glinted, cold and cruel. Adam watched it for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, a deep, aching fear swirling in his gut. He pressed the tip of the blade to his finger, his skin trembling under the pressure.

“You healed me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “But in exchange, I promised to always acknowledge it was you. No matter what.”

A sharp pain cut through the trembling silence as the blade pierced his skin. A single drop of blood welled up, crimson and stark against the pale surface of his finger. Adam watched it, mesmerized, as it slid slowly down and fell—sinking into the very center of the pentagram.

“So… I can only offer myself,” he said, his voice quaking. “I hope it’s enough.”

The moment the drop hit the floor, the temperature in the room seemed to plummet. The air grew thick, heavy, as if something was watching, waiting. The candle flames flickered wildly, casting frantic shadows across the walls. Adam’s breath caught in his throat as the sudden, deafening crack of a blackout plunged the room into near-total darkness.

Pop! One by one, the candles extinguished, their light snuffed out as if consumed by something unseen. The room seemed to close in on him, the darkness creeping in from every corner.

Then, behind him, the window exploded open, the glass rattling violently as a gust of wind surged through the room, icy and brutal. Adam staggered to his feet, heart pounding as he rushed to the window, fighting to close it against the force of the wind. His fingers fumbled with the lock, the chill biting into his skin as the curtains whipped wildly around him.

When he finally managed to slam the window shut, the room fell into a deafening silence. Adam stood there, his chest heaving, his pulse roaring in his ears. His eyes scanned the room, searching the shadows for movement, for any sign that something had answered his call.

But there was nothing.

The darkness was thick, suffocating, but still—silent.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he slowly backed away from the window, his hands shaking. He stared into the abyss of his childhood room, the place that had once been filled with warmth, now cold, empty.

Nothing had happened. No devil, no demon. Just a storm, and a foolish man clinging to the hope that death could be bargained with.

Adam exhaled, the tension draining from his body.

“Too good to be true,” he muttered bitterly. He let the knife fall from his fingers, clattering to the floor with a hollow thud.

He hadn’t summoned anything. There was no sign of Lucifer, no shift in the air, no presence hovering behind him. It was all in his head—just a desperate act of a dying man.

The exhaustion weighed heavily on him now, pressing down on his bones, his body too tired to fight the inevitable. He glanced one last time at the circle, the flickering remnants of the candles still casting faint shadows, before deciding he would clean up the mess in the morning.

He slipped out of the room, leaving the dark pentagram behind, and crawled into bed, his mind heavy with disappointment.

Sleep claimed him quickly, but in the silence of the night, the shadows shifted. Unseen eyes lingered in the darkness, waiting.

Adam awoke to the loud bang of his door swinging open, his cousin Jake barging in with his usual lack of subtlety. The bright morning light streamed into the room, assaulting his eyes, and Adam groaned, trying to pull himself up.

"Adam! Get your ass up! Family breakfast's in ten minutes," Jake said with a smirk, his eyes scanning the room.

Then his gaze landed on the pentagram still sprawled across the floor, the remnants of the black candles melted down to their stubs. Jake froze for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Dude, what the hell is this?” He doubled over, clutching his stomach as his laughter echoed through the room. "Oh my God—guys! You gotta see this!"

Before Adam could stop him, Jake had already called for his siblings. Soon, the doorway was filled with their faces, all peering in with varying degrees of amusement and disbelief. More laughter, more mocking.

His younger cousin, Molly, snorted as she elbowed her brother. “Oh wow, Adam's trying to summon demons now? Like, this is what you've been up to?”

"Lucifer, huh?" Jake teased, still gasping from laughter. "Man, you really have lost it."

Even their uncle, Tom, poked his head inside, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and mild concern. “What is this nonsense, Adam?”

In the past, Adam would have taken their jabs, let them mock him and say nothing. But not this time. The knot of anger, resentment, and frustration that had been sitting in his chest for years snapped.

Adam shot to his feet, his voice cutting through the laughter like a whip.

“You think this is funny?” he spat, glaring at his family. "Do you all seriously think this is how you should treat people? Where the hell are your manners? Who raised you?"

The room fell silent, the smirks vanishing from their faces. Jake blinked, taken aback by the sudden aggression. “Whoa, relax, man. We’re just messing with you.”

"Yeah? Well, you’re all a bunch of assholes," Adam snapped, stomping towards the door, his eyes blazing with anger. “Maybe if Aunt Linda and Uncle Tom weren’t such terrible parents, you wouldn’t all be such shitty people!”

Jake’s mouth twitched into a nervous smile; his voice laced with sarcasm as he tried to regain control of the situation. “Dude, are you seriously telling me you tried to summon Lucifer last night?”

Adam whirled around, his eyes narrowing. “So what if I did?”

Jake chuckled, though it lacked its earlier bravado. “And? Did he show up? Or are you just making all of this up?”

Adam felt the weight of their stares pressing in on him, his heart pounding in his chest. His hands trembled at his sides.

“No,” he admitted, his voice tight. “He didn’t.”

The tension broke as Jake and the others erupted into laughter again.

“See? Isn’t that proof enough that this is all just in your head?” one of his cousins chimed in between gasps of laughter. "You're losing it, dude."

The cruel comments stung, sharper than Adam had expected. They cut deep, twisting into old wounds he thought he’d buried.

He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “Yeah… fine. I made it up.”

Jake’s eyes widened in surprise, his grin faltering for a moment before it returned, full of smug satisfaction. “So, who healed you then? Back when you were a kid? Was it the doctors? Or are you finally going to admit it was God?”

Adam’s gaze flickered; the words heavy on his tongue.

“Yeah, maybe the doctors,” he mumbled. “Or… sure, maybe it was God.”

The silence that followed felt louder than any of their laughter. His cousins exchanged glances, snickering quietly amongst themselves before they finally stepped away from the door, their mocking voices fading as they walked down the hall.

The door clicked shut, leaving Adam alone in the quiet, suffocating darkness of his room. He let out a shaky breath, the weight of the interaction settling on his chest like a stone. He pressed his forehead against the cool wood of the door, blinking back the tears that had begun to well in his eyes.

After a few moments, he straightened up, wiping away the tears that had managed to escape.

“It’s fine,” he whispered to himself, his voice barely above a breath. “It’ll be alright.”

He cleared his throat, determined to shake off the lingering sting of their words. He needed to get ready for breakfast, for the inevitable awkwardness of sitting at the table with them. He turned around, his mind already preparing for the strained family meal.

But then he froze.

His heart stopped as his eyes locked onto the figure standing in the center of the room, right where the pentagram had been drawn. It was a man—or at least, he resembled one—his slender form framed by an aura of something ancient, something terrifying. His hooves were planted directly at the center of the now-faded pentagram, his skin pale and unsettlingly flawless, as if carved from marble. His hair, a striking blend of blonde with coral streaks, was slicked back in a ducktail style, except for one unruly tuft sticking up. His eyes—slit like a serpent’s—were closed, his sharp black eyebrows furrowed, and his arms were crossed firmly over his chest.

Adam’s breath caught in his throat, his brain struggling to process what he was seeing. The man’s silk-black tail, long and arrowed, swished back and forth like an irritated cat. His face, with its paler red cheeks and forked tongue flicking out briefly, was so familiar. Just as Adam had remembered.

Lucifer.

For five long, tense minutes, Adam stood frozen, his eyes wide, his body locked in disbelief. His heart pounded against his ribcage, and the room felt far too small. The silence between them stretched on, thick with tension.

Finally, Lucifer opened his eyes, his glowing red pupils fixing Adam with a disappointed glare.

“Whoa, Adam,” he huffed, his voice smooth but edged with annoyance. “That easy, huh?”

Adam’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His words seemed trapped in his throat, tangled up in his confusion and fear.

Lucifer’s gaze narrowed as he sighed, clearly unimpressed.

“You broke our deal, Adam,” he snapped, his voice darkening. “You were supposed to tell everyone I made you better, not credit the fucker in the clouds!”

Adam, despite his initial shock, felt a surge of anger rising within him. He glared back at Lucifer, his voice trembling but defiant. “Yeah, well, you broke your side of the deal too!”

Lucifer’s head cocked to the side, his brow arching.

“What?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Adam gestured wildly to his head, his voice cracking with frustration. “I’m sick again! I have cancer again! It’s back!”

Lucifer’s expression shifted. He stared at Adam for a long, unsettling moment before speaking, his tone oddly calm. “You have leukaemia again?”

Adam blinked, shaking his head. “No… no, not leukaemia. This time it’s Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma. DIPG.”

Lucifer sighed deeply, his eyes narrowing in thought.

“I told you, Adam,” he said softly, though the frustration lingered in his voice. “My power might not be able to keep you healthy forever. Nature… it has a way of reclaiming what it wants. I can heal you from one illness, but if nature decides it wants you… it will find another way.”

Adam’s heart sank at Lucifer’s words, the truth settling in like a weight he hadn’t anticipated.

Adam sat there, numb, as Lucifer’s words echoed in his mind like a slow, relentless drumbeat. Nature will keep claiming what it wants. The words swirled around him, the weight of their meaning slowly pressing down, suffocating his thoughts. He felt like he was underwater, every sound around him muffled, distorted, as if his body was betraying him again. His chest tightened, and his hands shook slightly as he rose from where he stood and, without a word, slowly walked past Lucifer.

It was as if the devil wasn't even there.

His feet carried him to the edge of his bed, and he collapsed onto it, his body folding in on itself. The soft mattress barely registered under him, the weight of the situation too heavy.

His lips parted as he mumbled quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, “So… I’m still going to die?”

Lucifer watched him, his snake-like eyes unreadable. There was no mocking grin this time, no sharp quip ready to escape his lips. He sighed, moving closer until he, too, was sitting beside Adam on the bed. It was strange, this proximity to the king of Hell, and yet it felt oddly familiar, like they’d been here before.

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer murmured, his voice softer now, almost… human. “I can try to heal you again, but… nature will just keep giving you new illnesses.”

His words carried a finality that made the room feel smaller, the air thicker. Adam sucked in a sharp breath, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he stared ahead. His eyes flickered over the remnants of the night—the melted wax from the candles, the salt scattered across the floor, the faded pentagram.

For a few moments, it was like none of this was real. The ritual, the candles, even Lucifer sitting next to him—it all felt like some kind of strange fever dream, a hallucination brought on by the growing tumour in his brain. Adam’s mind whirled with disbelief, his thoughts fragmented and disjointed.

Then, suddenly, it all snapped into focus.

His heart raced as his eyes widened, and he jerked his head around, staring at Lucifer as if seeing him for the first time.

“Lucifer?!” he gasped, his voice louder now, filled with shock and disbelief. “You’re… real?!”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, looking faintly amused, his mouth curling into a slight smirk.

“Well, no shit,” he said with a dry chuckle, leaning back on his hands. “Of course I’m real. Did you think you were imagining me this whole time?”

Adam gaped at him, his brain scrambling to catch up. The weight of everything hit him at once—the memories of being eight years old, lying in that hospital bed, and seeing this same figure standing at the foot of it. Back then, Adam had thought it was a dream, a feverish hallucination brought on by the pain and the treatments. But here he was, sitting beside the same demon he’d bargained with as a child.

“You’re—” Adam began again, his voice breaking as his mind fought to grasp the absurdity of it all. “You’re actually real…”

Lucifer let out a sigh, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the bed as if waiting for Adam to fully process the reality of the situation. “Yeah, kid. I’m real. And so was our deal.”

Adam's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, his thoughts racing. He had lived for so long with the memory of that strange encounter, pushing it to the back of his mind, convincing himself it had been a coping mechanism or a child’s fantasy. But now, face-to-face with the king of Hell, the truth loomed over him like a storm cloud.

“But if you’re real, then… then what the hell does that mean for me?” Adam asked, his voice cracking. His mind raced back to the present, to the terminal diagnosis hanging over him like a sword. His eyes, once wide with shock, now narrowed as he stared at Lucifer. “So, what now? You heal me again, and I just... wait for nature to throw something else at me? What’s the point?”

Lucifer’s gaze softened—if that was even possible for the ruler of Hell. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he spoke, his voice low. “Adam… there are things even I can’t control. The forces of life and death… they’re more powerful than any deal we could make. I gave you time once before, because I owed you that chance. But... the world has its balance. Take from one side, the other demands something in return.”

Adam shook his head, feeling that familiar sense of helplessness creep back in. “So, you’re telling me it’s all pointless? That no matter what, I’m just gonna die anyway?”

Lucifer stared at the floor, his black tail flicking once in agitation. “You could say that. But there’s a difference between knowing your time is limited and being afraid of it.”

Adam stared at the devil beside him, feeling the weight of those words sink in. The fear had always been there, lurking beneath every breath, every scan, every failed treatment. He’d lived in the shadow of death for so long that he barely remembered what it felt like not to fear it.

Lucifer turned his head, his glowing eyes meeting Adam’s, and for the first time, there was no mockery in his gaze, no smirk playing on his lips. “You’ve already lived with death once, Adam. And you fought it off. That takes strength.”

Adam blinked, his throat tightening as his confession hung heavy in the air.

"But I'm tired of fighting," he whispered, his voice trembling and eyes dim with the weight of it all. "I'm just... tired."

Lucifer, who had been quietly observing Adam, let the silence stretch between them for a moment longer, his golden, snake-like eyes softening in a way that seemed almost out of character. When he finally spoke, his voice was unexpectedly gentle, a warmth creeping into the words.

"Then come with me."

Adam stiffened, his body tensing as though he had been shocked awake. His eyes snapped toward Lucifer, wide and full of confusion.

"Excuse me?" he muttered, barely able to comprehend the offer.

Lucifer’s lips curved into a slow, crooked smile, the kind that spoke of dangerous promises and tantalizing secrets.

"You heard me," he said, his tone more playful now, a teasing lilt threading through his words.

"Come with me. Leave this...," he waved a hand dismissively at the room, at the mess of salt and wax and remnants of the life Adam had tried so hard to cling to. "Leave it all behind."

Adam’s breath hitched in his throat, his heart pounding in a sudden, wild rhythm.

"You’re... insane," he managed, though the conviction in his voice faltered. His mind raced, struggling to make sense of what Lucifer was suggesting. “Why would I—”

Lucifer interrupted him with a low, amused chuckle, taking a step closer. His presence seemed to fill the room, making the air feel thicker, more intoxicating.

"I've been watching you for a long time, Adam," he confessed smoothly, his eyes glinting with something dangerous yet irresistible. "Well, not right away, after you turned eighteen honestly. But I was curious to see if you'd keep your word. And you did. Through everything."

Adam swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure as Lucifer’s gaze held him captive. "What are you talking about?"

Lucifer exhaled softly, almost wistfully. "You never once broke our deal. No matter what the world threw at you—doubt, pain, fear—you still refused to say it was anything other than me. I healed you. Me. Not God. Not the angels. Not your precious doctors with their medicines.”

He took another step, his voice lowering to a sensual, velvety purr. “It was me, Lucifer, the king of Hell. And you always said so."

Adam’s breath quickened, his thoughts swirling into a chaotic mess as Lucifer’s words wrapped around him, pulling him closer with every syllable. There was a strange thrill in hearing it, a dark, seductive pull in being singled out by someone so... powerful. So otherworldly. It made him dizzy.

“And... that means what, exactly?" Adam asked, his voice catching as he tried to suppress the flutter of something dangerously close to excitement rising within him.

Lucifer leaned in slightly, his breath warm against Adam’s ear. "It means you intrigued me. You, out of all the mortals, were honest. Loyal. So, why not leave this all behind and join me? What do you have left here anyway? A dying body, a life filled with pain?”

“I could show you things... give you things you’ve never dreamed of." His voice was like a silken promise, and the air between them crackled with tension.

Adam’s skin prickled, a mixture of fear and undeniable curiosity twisting in his stomach. He could feel the devil's presence, his closeness, the heat radiating from him, and it was intoxicating.

Dangerously alluring.

His rational mind screamed for him to pull back, to break the spell Lucifer was weaving with his words, but another part of him—one buried deep and exhausted from years of battling the inevitable—wanted to listen, to let go.

"Things I've never dreamed of?" Adam muttered, his voice trembling, caught somewhere between disbelief and temptation. His green eyes, wide and conflicted, met Lucifer’s red and yellow ones. They flickered with amusement and something else, something darker.

"More than you could ever imagine," Lucifer whispered, his lips brushing just slightly against Adam's ear, sending a shiver down his spine. "You wouldn’t need to be afraid anymore, Adam. No more pain. No more suffering. Just... freedom. Power. You’d never have to fight again."

Adam’s heart raced in his chest, pounding in his ears as he absorbed Lucifer’s words. The idea of not having to fight anymore, of not waking up each day wondering if it would be his last, was intoxicating. But the devil’s offer—his closeness, his touch—it was also something else. Seductive. And Adam couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward the forbidden.

He inhaled deeply, trying to steady his nerves. “You’re serious? You’re asking me to… leave everything behind? My life? My family?”

Lucifer’s gaze softened, though a playful smirk still tugged at his lips. "Your life here is already fading, Adam. What do they offer you now? Pity? Pain? False hope?"

He shrugged as if the answer was obvious. “Come with me, and you can have... anything. Everything.”

Adam’s pulse quickened, and he found himself staring into Lucifer’s eyes, unable to look away. There was something magnetic about the devil’s presence, something that made his heart race for reasons far beyond fear. A mixture of heat and desire burned in the pit of his stomach, a pull he hadn’t expected.

“Why me?” Adam asked, his voice soft, uncertain.

Lucifer grinned, leaning even closer until their faces were mere inches apart.

“Because you were mine the moment you said yes. And you know that you belong with me, Adam,” he murmured, his voice a low, sultry promise. “It’s time to stop fighting. It’s time to let go.”

Adam’s breath hitched as Lucifer’s words wrapped around him like a warm, dangerous embrace. He wanted to deny it, wanted to fight the pull... but the longer he sat there, the harder it became. Lucifer’s gaze never wavered, his smile a seductive promise, his presence a dark temptation.

In that moment, Adam wasn’t sure what was more terrifying—the thought of leaving everything behind or the fact that he wanted to.

He licked his lips, his voice barely a whisper. “And if I say yes?”

Lucifer’s grin widened, his eyes darkening with satisfaction. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against Adam’s cheek, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

“Then, Adam,” Lucifer purred, his voice as smooth as silk, “you and I... will have an eternity to explore all the possibilities.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest as he felt the heat of Lucifer’s touch, the pull of his words. And for the first time in a long while... the fight inside him began to fade.

“I…”

[bgomtori]

☆ spin you round - c.yj

synopsis -> where yeonjun brings his beloved partner out at midnight to hang out

-> inspired by spin you round by rocco !! listen here

-> yeonjun x reader

-> established relationship,, non-idol au! theyre high schoolers ><

warnings! fluff. full on fluff,, sneaking out,, maybe some kissing,, do let me know if i missed out anything!!

note! i love rocco so much 😢😢 he's def one of my fav artists, also first written oneshot!! i hope you enjoy it ♡♡

you were awoken by the sound of something clanging on your bedroom window. you rubbed your eyes groggily, groaning as you switched on your phone to check the timing. your eyes scanned the notifications that were blowing up your phone, the bright blue light luminated onto your face.

jun ^^ : come down?

hello?? i know you're reading this.

wake up, i wanna see you :( sent 1:54am

you sighed, walking towards your bedroom window to see yeonjun waving at you with the biggest smile on his face.

"why are you here?" you whispered shouted, still slightly annoyed that your perfect sleep was being distrupted, but your pretty boy was the one who woke you up, so you didn't really mind.

"come down please?" yeonjun whispered shouted back, signalling to you that he has somewhere to take you. rolling your eyes, you shut your windows, immediately picking out the most comfortable outfit you could find, which was literally a hoodie that is probably yeonjun's and some comfortable pyjama shorts. you quietly walked down the creeky stairs of your house, praying that it wouldn't make a sound to wake your parents up. you quickly made your way out of the front door and towards where yeonjun was situated at.

"hey." you waved at him, yeonjun greeted you back, his stupid grin not leaving his pretty face. he held onto your hand, bringing you into the direction he was planninh to take you. you were stunned at first by the sudden quick movement, but slowly adjusted to his pace.

"why are you moving so fast." you questioned, your legs about to give out, it was literally 2 in the morning. yeonjun chuckled at your question before answering,

"the faster we go there, the longer we can be with each other." your face grew warmer as you heard those sweet words come out of his mouth, he's going to be the death of you.

"we're here." yeonjun smiled at you, moving aside so that he wouldn't block your view. the night sky was luminated by the bright moon that shone brightly above you two, multiple shimmering stars dancing along the nightsky, you couldn't help but smile brightly at the boy infront of you, who was watching you as you admired the view, his grip on your hand tightened as he brought you to sit on a bench, nearby a river, where you could see the moon's brightness reflecting onto the rhythmic motions of the water.

your eyes brightened at the sight, you have always loved admiring the nightsky, learning about different stars and facts about space.

"you know it's kinda crazy that these stars are actually from the past, like if you think about it, it takes a bunch of lightyears for the light of these stars to reach us.." you rambled on, not expecting any response from yeonjun. he smiled as you continued talking about different space facts, he could listen to your soothing voice all day, it calmed him down most, if not all the time. as long as he's always with you, his negative thoughts will disappear and be replaced by thoughts of you. yeonjun scootched closer to you, shoulder to shoulder, knees touching, you could smell the faint cologne he sprayed on his windbreaker. you turned your head towards him, staring at his handsome features that were accencuated by the moonlit sky, a faint glow shining on his perfect face.

"pretty boy.." you mumbled out loud on accident, yeonjun's eyes widened, his face turning into a light hue of red, his heart beating faster than usual. you slapped your hand against your mouth as you realised what you just said, you didn't think before speaking again. you quickly apologised to yeonjun, darting your eyes away from his strong gaze. yeonjun let out a hearty chuckle, he found you adorable. he intertwined his hands with yours, reassuring you that he didn't mind being called that.

"my pretty girl, wanna dance with me?" yeonjun asked, your mouth slightly ajar, no way he just asked you that, your heart started doing somersaults.

"i can't dance well.." you warned yeonjun, watching him as he picked a slow song for you two to dance to.

"just follow my lead." yeonjun smirked, pulling you up with him. you let out a quiet shriek as you bumped into yeonjun's chest, you were unsure, and stiff, you looked into yeonjun's eyes for reassurance. yeonjun rubbed your waist comfortingly, making you loosen up a little. as the music started playing, yeonjun did the first move, you were slightly confused on what to do but you quickly learned, carefully moving your feet, yeonjun smiled at your attempt. the song soon came to an end, yeonjun spun you around, and pulled you closer to him. your hands were placed on his hands for stability, you could feel his heart racing.

"you're heart's racing." you teased, yeonjun smirked at your playfulness, his arms snaking around your waist, leaning towards you, your noses touching each other.

"you make me act like this y/n." yeonjun smiled smugly, you felt the back of your neck grow warm as he closed the gap between your lips. you felt your arms subconsciously wrap around yeonjun's neck, wanting him closer to you than he already was. you could feel him smile against your lips as he felt your hands rubbing on his nape, he knew you enjoyed it a lot. soon you two pulled away, breathing heavily for more oxygen, yeonjun smiled at you, his eyes not leaving yours.

"i love you so much." yeonjun confessed, as if it was the first time he confessed to you.

"mmh, i love you too." you replied, feeling giddy in the head. suddenly, you phone vibrated, the screen turning on, you looked at the notification to see that it's your mum who texted you. you looked at yeonjun in panic as he returned the same look, you stared at the notification, then the time, not realising that it's almost 3am already. you internally screamed, grabbing everything on the bench before pulling yeonjun with you to run back to your home. you reached your front door, praying that you wouldn't get killed, you turned to yeonjun, giving him a peck on his lips before bidding goodbye. yeonjun waved apologetically as you entered your home, you were definitely screwed big time as you saw the living room's tv screen on.

[veronicaphoenix]

fairy dust series ✨ au — part three: the girl whose blood turned into fairy dust | wc: 3.1k

— previous part: the seducing kitsune

pairing: fae!oliver x ivy (ofc) x kitsune!noah tags & trigger warnings: self-indulgence (don't mind me), age gap (but it's also understood that in fairyland no one ages), no angst (just brief mentions of ivy feeling insecure about her body in the past), recurrent mentions of noah shifting back and forth from his kitsune form, fluff, noah loves to tickle ivy, oliver likes to have his hair pulled, implied/suggested sexual scenarios including the following: ivy's first time, handjobs, oral sex, intercourse, threesome, and a bunch of mentions about fluids 👀 my works 🌙

The Girl Whose Blood Turned Into Fairy Dust ೃ༄*ੈ

When Ivy wakes up, she feels a faint ache between her legs. It’s the first sensation her consciousness registers as she emerges from her dreamlike state. 

            Next, she becomes aware of the warmth of two bodies beside her, but it’s not just their presence that keeps her warm. Noah’s nine tails are enveloping her like a soft, protective cocoon, shielding her from the cold. Although their warmth is gentle, it’s exactly what she needs after the night’s activities and her subsequent drop in body temperature. Noah, with an instinctive understanding of her needs, had covered her with his fur just as she was about to drift off.

            She is, of course, naked.

            As she opens her eyes and adjusts to the soft morning light filtering through the trees, Ivy feels Noah’s tails gliding delicately over her skin. When her eyes locate him, she just sees a man, naked and sprawled on his stomach, with silky brown hair cascading over his face. His lips are relaxed, and his breathing is calm. He looks even younger than Ivy had perceived him the day before.

            On her other side, Oliver also sleeps peacefully and just as naked. His hand rests gently on his chest, and his head is turned toward her, his lips slightly parted. Despite his longer hair, it remains neatly away from his face, allowing Ivy to admire the ethereal glow of his skin. It seems as though his entire body is dusted with a shimmering blanket of stardust. The sight is almost surreal, but Ivy knows this is not a dream, especially after the experiences she shared with both of them last night.

            This is her world now, a place where she can spend as much time as she wishes admiring Oliver’s glowing skin, savoring the tender touches of Noah’s tails, and discovering all the secrets this world is keeping from her.

            Stretching her limbs and awakening her body, so used and gloriously spent, Ivy rises with grace. She takes a moment to survey her surroundings, her face lighting up with a smile as she realizes she remains in this idyllic paradise that feels like home. 

            It’s home.

            The gentle breeze kisses her cheeks, and two small yellow birds flutter around her, their cheerful chirping filling the air. They soon fly away, disappearing among the lush treetops, which seem to gently bow as if in gratitude for her presence in their world.

            As Ivy brushes her hair from her shoulders, she notices a sprinkling of glitter falling onto her feet. The glitter, likely from Oliver’s fairy dust, has adhered to her skin, which, along with her hair, now gleams with a warmer, more radiant hue.

            Feeling content, Ivy moves toward the edge of the large pond. She allows the crystal-clear water to gently lap at her feet. Gradually, she wades in, letting the cool, refreshing water envelop her. Once she is submerged up to her shoulders, she takes a deep breath and dips her head beneath the surface.

            The water feels divine.

            Ivy glides through the water with grace toward the opposite end, where the waterfall cascades majestically from the mountaintop. The mist rising from the cool, tumbling water envelops her in a refreshing embrace. The force of the waterfall is both intense and invigorating, massaging her body in a way that makes her burst into laughter from sheer delight. She feels as if the water is not just embracing her, but liberating her from all her insecurities and fears.

            In her adolescence, the reflection in the mirror had often been her harshest critic, but now, as she recalls the admiration and love in Oliver and Noah’s eyes, in their touch, her old wounds begin to heal. The vulnerability she once felt has been replaced by a glowing, confident self-assurance. She feels no discomfort in her nakedness; rather, she feels empowered, her skin radiating.

            As Ivy revels in the soothing bath, she closes her eyes and allows herself to immerse in the water, letting the waterfall envelop her completely. Around her, vibrant goldfish dart through the water like living jewels—gold, blue, and green. Their scales catch the sunlight, creating a dazzling display that complements the luminous quality of her own skin. Below her, the aquatic plants sway gently with the current.

            A few minutes go by, and suddenly, Ivy senses a presence behind the cascading curtain of water. The emerald green eyes that have lingered in her memory meet hers, causing her heart to race with excitement. Oliver emerges from behind the curtain, his laughter a crystal-clear melody that fills the space and makes her smile even wider.

            He joins her beneath the waterfall, wrapping her in a welcoming hug. His lips brush against her shoulders, chin, and cheeks with a tenderness that fills Ivy with a profound sense of joy. The connection between them feels so palpable that she can almost reach out and touch it. 

            With deliberate care, Ivy begins to massage Oliver’s hair, her fingers gliding through the silky strands. The ability to give him pleasure and comfort, just as he did for her during the night, brings her immense satisfaction.

            After enjoying this moment, Ivy wonders about Noah, realizing that she won’t be able to feel that complete unless both of them are around. “Where’s Noah?”

            “He can’t ever be too far,” he replies. With a confident motion, he takes her hand and guides her away from the waterfall. “Look,” he says, pointing to a spot in the forest.

            Following his gesture, Ivy’s eyes land on a tree. 

            Perched on a tree branch is Noah in his kitsune form. His nine tails form an enchanting halo around him making him appear majestic. His dark eyes watch her attentively as he licks his muzzle. 

            With a nimble, graceful leap, the creature drops into a clump of bushes below.

            When Noah emerges from the foliage, he’s back in his human form, naked and wearing a wicked grin. His confident, seductive stride sends a wave of excitement through Ivy. She’s certain that if Oliver weren’t by her side, she might stagger with excitement.

            Noah approaches her with large strides, stepping into the water with a feline grace. His gaze is a potent mix of dominance and affection that makes Ivy’s skin tingle. 

            In an instant, Ivy finds herself swimming toward him, and as she reaches him, Noah scoops her up with a strength and tenderness that makes her feel utterly cherished. Her sweet laughter mingles with Oliver’s from behind. She nuzzles her head into Noah’s neck, tightening her arms around his shoulders.

Hours later, Ivy sits on the sand, feeling its warm, soft texture beneath her bare feet. She is wearing a short green dress with delicate thin straps that drape gracefully over her shoulders. Oliver sits between her legs as she carefully combs his long brown hair, the strands shimmering with an etheral glow in the light.

            Behind Ivy, Noah lounges comfortably on the sand,  propped up on one elbow, shirtless, his tanned skin glowing in the sunlight. He playfully tugs at the straps of Ivy’s dress, and each time his fingers touch her skin, Ivy squirms, her giggles bubbling forth. 

            “Stop it,” she protests. 

            “You don’t mean that,” he replies with a husky voice, fully aware of the effect he has on her. He obeys, though, replacing his fingers with his lips, his smile widening into a broad grin as he revels in her reaction. 

            “I can’t braid Oliver’s hair if you keep doing that!”

            “Liar,” he mutters. 

            “I’m not—” Ivy starts to say, but Noah interrupts by nibbling at her neck while his hand slips around her waist and under the skirt of her dress.  

            Ivy erupts in laughter, accidentally tugging at Oliver’s hair as she falls back. Noah catches her in his arms, drowning in the joy of making her laugh.

            “Ouch,” Oliver complains, rubbing his scalp, smiling nonetheless. “I love having my hair pulled, but not like this.” 

            “You’re also a liar,” Noah tells him, continuing to shower Ivy with gentle nibbles and affectionate kisses on her shoulders and clavicle. Each touch feels like a warm spark on Ivy’s skin, and her laughter blends with the soft whispers of the breeze that drifts from the nearby pond. “Look at him, Ivy.” Noah grabs Ivy’s chin and guides her head towards Oliver’s spot between his legs. “You caused that by just pulling at his hair accidentally. Imagine how much harder you could get him if you did it on purpose.” 

            Oliver’s gaze is heated as it meets hers. 

            “Why didn’t you ask for it last night?” Ivy asks, fluttering her eyelashes at him. She’s still a bit shy about what they did the night before—at the things she let them do to her. 

            “Because last night was all about you.”

            Before she can reply, Noah’s voice is in her ear.  

            “Did we please you, Ivy?” 

            He knows they did; he just wants to hear her say it. 

            “You did,” she breathes out. “A lot.”

            At her answer, both Oliver and Noah smile.

            Still behind her, Noah reaches around to move a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear before placing a tender kiss on her earlobe. 

            “You were really, really sweet.”

            She melts. 

            She leans back against his chest, letting Oliver reposition himself at the front so that he can touch her thighs. Maybe they’ll cover her in flowers again, later replacing them by kisses and licks here and there. 

            No one had ever shown so much reverence to her as Noah and Oliver do. She’s only been here for a few hours, but she already feels so entertained, so cherished and loved. 

            Before Ivy began combing Oliver’s hair, she and Noah had been engrossed in what she’s learnt is Noah’s favorite game. He can never play hide-and-seek with Oliver because he always knows where he is, and all the other creatures in the realm show little interest. But Ivy? Oh, Ivy is thrilled to play with him, whether it’s hide-and-seek or something else.  With his kitsune agility, Noah makes the game challenging, speeding away from her and hiding in places he knows better than anyone else. Ivy spent what felt like hours running around barefoot, squirming through trees and plants she’d never seen before, peering into the bushes, and looking up the trees. Just as she was about to give up, Noah had appeared behind her, in human form, wrapping her in his arms and surprising her with a playful tickling attack of his lips and nose against her neck. He loved tickling her—she had learned that much by now. He caught her and laid her down in the sand, their laughter mingling as she squirmed with delight. 

            It was only when she felt a different kind of tickling on her arm that she realized she had been hurt—perhaps by a broken branch or a thorn hidden beneath the sand. Instead of blood, what emerged from her skin was fairy dust, drifting down to form a small, glittery pile beside her.  

            Her eyes widened in astonishment as she looked at the shimmering dust. Noah’s expression turned to one of concern, while Oliver, standing nearby, simply smiled.

            He knew everything had finally fallen into place, and Ivy belonged to them just as they belonged to her. 

Years later

Ivy stands in the water, which reaches only up to her navel, the breeze gently caressing her bare breasts. Her hands move in the water in a slow, cadent dance as her eyes remain fixed on the scene unfolding in front of her, on the sand. Ivy is biting her lip, her eyes darkening with a growing hunger and desire, the heat between her legs growing more scorching with every second despite being in the water. 

            On the shore, Noah and Oliver are playing with each other, stealing caresses, kisses, moans. Their hands are exploring each other’s bodies, their lips grazing each other’s skin. It’s an idyllic image, and while Ivy longs to be a part of it, she also finds a certain satisfaction in being an observer. 

            Of course, this isn’t the first time she’s seen Oliver and Noah like this. 

            They engage in such scenarios quite often, and they do it with her too, whether it’s by the pond, in a clearing in the woods, or in one of those castle rooms that appear and disappear at will, where the mattresses are the most comfortable imaginable, covered with soft pillows, and with streams of different vibrant colors filtering through the wide windows. 

            Ivy recalls the last time she was there, in one of those rooms. Noah and Oliver had instructed her to get on all fours, and she had complied obediently. One of them positioned himself in front of her, while the other took his place behind. 

            During those intimate moments, it’s almost transcendent how their bodies come together; the sensations so profound that it’s hard to distinguish where one body ends and the other begins. 

            When Ivy is between them, she feels a deep sense of completeness and an unexplainable self-confidence. 

            No matter how many caresses and kisses Noah and Oliver bestow upon her, they continually amplify that feeling, mirroring the crescendo of her orgasms. She’s never able to keep her eyes open when they happen, but Oliver has often told her that her body emits a magnificent glow when she comes—like watching the sunrise without any of the pain. He has called it the most beautiful sight he has ever seen.  

            Ivy remembers how different she was when she first got there. The girl she once was has been replaced by someone confident in her own skin, who embraces every curve and imperfection. Oliver and Noah have shown her the value of her body and soul, but it is her own effort that has shaped her into the confident person she is today, and now, years later, no one compares to the confidence Ivy exudes. You can see it in her eyes, in that determined, fierce gaze with which she watches like a hawk every touch Noah and Oliver give each other. She observes intently as Noah frowns and closes his eyes with every tug Oliver gives him. He’s about to come.

            When Ivy emerges from the water and approaches them, Noah is lying on his back, the remnants of his orgasm on his stomach, glistening under the sun, his breathing still ragged. Oliver lies beside him on his side, nibbling on Noah’s shoulder and tracing delicate patterns on his right pec. The picture is tripping, and Ivy’s smile, still teasingly nibbling on her lip, widens as Noah opens his eyes and greets her with an ecstatic smile. 

            There’s nothing prettier than seeing Noah in a post-orgasmic state, smiling, eyes shining, hair tousled, with his own semen smeared across his navel. And beside him, Oliver, lovingly tending to him, clearly eager to give him another orgasm as soon as he’s ready for it.  

            “Hi there, our pretty girl,” Oliver says to Ivy when he notices Ivy. He pulls back and props himself up on his forearms, fully exposing himself. His erection is powerful, still glowing as brightly as it did the first time Ivy saw him naked. He looks as delicious as Noah, and Ivy fantasizes about getting Oliver in the same state as Noah, and have them both lying exhausted on the sand, covered in their own sticky release and with those satisfied expressions on their faces. 

            She knows she can get them like that, and it fuels her confidence. However, she can’t deny her enjoyment of how they treat her with care and indulgence, with softness and delicacy. After reaching out to her, Oliver makes some space for Ivy to settle in between them, her body still covered in water droplets glistening in the rays of sunlight falling on her body. 

            Hours pass unnoticed. Time behaves differently here, and Ivy struggles to keep track of it with their hands and tongues working their magic on her, making her mind feel soft and hazy. 

            She lets them play with her, touch her, lick her. 

            They know how to taunt her. Oliver’s fingers glide down the valley between her breasts. He traces patterns all over her stomach. He watches as Ivy’s skin reacts with goosebumps and flushes. He wants her to beg him to go lower. When she does, the touch is already so familiar to her, but it never fails to elicit moans that Oliver says remind him of songs he’s heard in the past. 

            Meanwhile, Noah keeps his grasp on her chin, ensuring her face remains turned towards him so he can savor every expression she makes while Oliver touches her. 

            After a while, as Ivy’s most intimate spot becomes slick with her own release, Noah nuzzles her neck with his nose. Unexpectedly, he offers her a peach. 

            He holds it out for her. As she bites into it, keeping her eyes locked on Noah’s, the juice drips down her chin and onto her chest. 

            Noah moves his hand away and gestures for Oliver to hold the peach. He then lowers his lips to Ivy’s breasts and drinks the sweet juice that has dribbled onto her skin. As he sucks and licks, he’s intoxicated by the combined sweetness of the fruit and the softness of her nipples. He’s aware he’s going to come, even without her having to touch him. She has a power that he’s never encountered before, and he’s thankful that Oliver decided to wait ten years to get Ivy to come here by choice. 

            After some more time on the sand and then in the water, their bodies sated, stomachs full, and muscles tired, they find comfort under a large oak tree. Ivy and Oliver craft flower crowns together while Noah lies on his stomach, a pencil in hand, his eyes shifting between Oliver and Ivy and the paper on the ground. He keeps his drawings private, hiding them in a hole in the ground when he’s finished, planning to gift them to Ivy someday, perhaps in a book with a cover made of leaves.

            The sun sets one more time. Ivy curls up against Noah’s fur and lays her head on Oliver’s chest, so that she can fall asleep to his heartbeat. She has learned that Noah used to sleep on Oliver’s back, but since she joined them, the kitsune tattoo on Oliver’s back has not reappeared, leaving his skin a blank canvas. She understood long ago that this change signified that their bond had grown into a trio, and when they snuggle close at night, she swears she can touch the love they share.

Author's note ✍🏼: this is it! I looooooved writing this little thing and i'm so glad I got to share it with you all. Thank you so much for reading it and dropping a comment or message me after. It means the world and I love engaging with readers and other writers to discuss stories. I'm forever thankful <3

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