#want to finish venom in violet

[thefandomlesbian]

Here's hoping six weeks off of work will give me time to finish my WIPs!!

[lumisverse]

✦ ruin me again

sadist scara x masochist fem reader

cw. explicit sexual content, toxic / abusive relationship dynamics, verbal aggression, degradation, emotional manipulation, death threats / threats of violence, choking, knifeplay, bloodplay

an. this fic is so freaky i had to pause mid writing and tweak to my bf. i’m lowkey turned on though — WHO SAID THAT…..

art creds: guronushi on twt

he says it like it means nothing. like he’s commenting on the weather, or the way your hair looks today.

“if you ever try to leave me, i’ll kill you.”

it falls out of his mouth so casually you almost think you misheard. scaramouche isn’t even looking at you when he says it — his eyes are somewhere else, his tone flat, as if the thought doesn’t cost him anything. just another truth, like saying the sky is blue, like saying the world is cruel.

he doesn’t expect a reaction. he rarely does. his words are meant to cut, to silence, to leave you trembling in fear or shame. he’s waiting for the little flinch, the way your face might crumble, that stammered you don’t mean that… right?

but you don’t give him that.

instead, your lips curl up. slow, deliberate. the smile is faint, but it’s there, and it makes his eyes narrow in suspicion.

you don’t look scared. you don’t even look upset.

“you’d kill me?” your voice is soft, laced with something he can’t quite place. amusement? interest? something worse? you tilt your head, watching him carefully, like you’re waiting for him to elaborate.

he finally looks at you. sharp, violet eyes narrowing, his whole expression twisting into irritation.

“did i stutter?”

the air goes heavy. it should sit between you like a blade, sharp enough to draw blood if you breathe wrong — but instead it hums low in your chest, settling into a dark, dizzying warmth.

your smile grows.

scaramouche stiffens, gaze narrowing further. “what the hell are you smiling at?”

“you.” your arms cross loosely over your chest as you lean back against the wall, utterly unbothered. your eyes stay locked on his. “you’re so… dramatic. threatening to kill me just because i might leave? that’s… hot.”

the silence stretches.

he actually blinks at you. once. twice. like his brain is lagging behind his ears. like the sharp retort he wants to throw at you has evaporated into thin air.

you can see him trying to piece it together — because scaramouche is used to people shrinking under his voice, his cruelty, his threats. he isn’t used to people smiling. he isn’t used to someone leaning closer when they should be running away.

“you’re sick,” he spits finally, his voice cracking like glass against stone. it’s harsh, venomous, but there’s a falter in it. a thin seam you weren’t supposed to notice. but you do. you always do.

your grin softens into something smaller, more dangerous. “maybe,” you hum, “but you’re the one who said it first.”

his jaw clenches. his hands curl into fists at his sides.

“don’t test me.” the words grind out between his teeth, each one deliberate, strained. “you think i won’t? you think i wouldn’t put my hands around that stupid little throat and—” he cuts himself off, biting down hard enough to stop the thought before it finishes.

your smile doesn’t falter. if anything, you tilt your chin up slightly, exposing the very throat he’s threatening. “go on,” you whisper, voice honey-sweet, taunting. “finish the sentence.”

something flashes in his eyes — sharp, furious, confused. he takes one step closer, and your pulse spikes, but you don’t move away.

“you don’t know what you’re asking for,” he hisses, standing close enough now that you can feel the heat rolling off him.

“maybe i do,” you say softly.

his breathing stutters. just for a second.

you watch it happen, watch the slip in his perfect composure, and it makes your smile widen into something almost feral. because he wanted fear. he wanted trembling and pleading. instead, you’ve given him something worse — you’ve given him proof that his threats don’t scare you, they thrill you.

and he doesn’t know what the hell to do with that.

from then on, it becomes a game neither of you admits you’re playing.

he sharpens his words, makes them crueler, testing you the way a child tests fire — hand close enough to feel the heat, but not quite touching. every threat slips sharper, every insult honed to dig under your skin and make you bleed.

and you, like the little masochist you are, press closer.

he calls you pathetic. useless. a waste of his time. his voice dripping with disdain like he’s spitting out poison. and you look at him with those wide eyes, lips parted just enough to look ruined already, whispering, “say it again.”

you see the vein in his temple twitch. the slight unsteady shift of his hands like he doesn’t know whether to slap you or drag you closer.

it pisses him off. you were supposed to break. supposed to beg him not to say those things, not to hurt you. instead, you beg him to do it more.

“you’re disgusting,” he snarls one night, pacing the room like a caged animal. “clinging to me like some stray dog. it makes me sick just looking at you.”

you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes following him. the words burn — they always do, they always will — but the sting is tangled with something sweeter, something addictive. your chest tightens, your eyes sting with tears, and still your lips twitch into a smile.

“then look at me more,” you murmur.

he freezes. turns his head slowly. his stare could kill a weaker thing, but you only bask in it, shivering like it’s sunlight.

sometimes he leaves you crying, breath shuddering from his cruelty, words echoing in your skull — but your eyes are always shining when you look at him, like you’re grateful for the wreckage. like you want him to ruin you again.

and he hates it. hates how you take the worst parts of him and turn them into something you crave. hates how you smile through the tears, like you’re proud to wear his venom like jewelry.

“you think this is love?” he spits once, his voice cracking from the weight of it. “you think me tearing you down every day is love?”

“no,” you answer simply, gaze unwavering. “but it feels good.”

your honesty makes his stomach twist. makes him want to break you just to prove he can.

and when he does — when his voice rips into you, when you’re sobbing, shaking, clutching at yourself like you’ll collapse from the weight of his cruelty — you look at him through the tears with something he can’t stand.

admiration.

gratitude.

want.

he wants to strangle you for it. he wants to kiss you for it. he doesn’t know the difference anymore.

and maybe you don’t either.

one night, the fight gets bad — worse than usual.

screaming, things thrown, voices cracking against the walls until the room is thick with venom. your throat burns from how much you’ve shouted back, every word hitting him like flint striking steel. he spits cruel things at you, and you hurl them right back, and neither of you wants

to lose, neither of you wants to back down.

you’re both too stubborn, too ruined, too in it.

he moves faster than you expect — one moment pacing, the next in front of you, cutting off your retreat. your back slams against the wall, the sharp jolt stealing your breath.

his arm braces above your head, caging you in, his other hand snapping up to grip your chin hard enough to bruise. you can feel the bite of his nails against your skin, the tremble of rage coiling in his shoulders.

his breath is ragged. his eyes burn.

and his voice — his voice is low, venom dripping from every syllable, each word cold enough to freeze the air in your lungs.

“i should wring that pretty neck of yours. see how long you’d last.”

your pulse hammers against his fingers, frantic, betraying the way your body reacts even when your mind doesn’t falter.

you should be terrified. you should be crying, begging, promising you’ll behave, that you’ll never push him this far again.

but all you do is laugh — breathless, shaky, almost delirious from the adrenaline. your lips curve into a smile that makes his glare sharpen, and you murmur, “what’s stopping you?”

his expression falters.

for once, scaramouche doesn’t know what to say. his fury splinters into something else, something jagged and uncertain. he stares at you like you’ve lost your mind — and maybe you have. maybe you’ve both lost it, somewhere along the way, tangled up in threats and kisses and the sick, ugly way you fit together.

because he wants to prove himself. he wants to show you he means every word. and you want him to. you’ve been begging for it in every smile, every shiver, every little gasp when his voice turns sharp.

and neither of you knows where the line is anymore.

sometimes, in the quiet moments after the fights burn out, you wonder if he means it. if the next time you step too far, push too hard, he’ll finally follow through on his words.

sometimes, you see it in his eyes. the way his hand lingers just a second too long on your throat. the way his gaze drops there when you’re not looking, imagining.

you picture it too — his hand tightening, your breath cut off, silence at last.

and the sickest part? you don’t run. you couldn’t, even if you wanted to. you stay. you let him threaten. you let him hold you like that, hovering between danger and devotion.

and he doesn’t stop.

maybe you’re both waiting for the day one of you finally calls the bluff.

later, much later, the storm has quieted. your voices are hoarse, the anger simmered down to a dangerous hum.

his hand is wrapped around your throat like it belongs there, like it’s molded for that very purpose. his thumb rests lightly against your pulse, feeling the frantic beat of your heart as he stares at you, unreadable.

the room is silent, heavy, except for your shallow breaths.

you whisper against his mouth, barely audible, “you’d really kill me?”

he doesn’t answer right away. his eyes flicker over your face, searching, weighing. his thumb presses a little harder against your pulse point, and you can see it in him — the choice, the temptation, the possibility that tonight could be the night he makes good on all his promises.

for a moment, you think he might.

and then he smiles. slow, sharp, cruel.

“try leaving,” he murmurs, voice dripping with certainty, “and find out.”

your answer is to kiss him harder, teeth catching his lip, like you’re daring him to do it. daring him to show you just how far he’s willing to go.

his hand doesn’t leave your throat. if anything, it tightens, just enough to make your head spin, just enough to remind you he could snap you in two if he wanted.

and in the press of his mouth, the grip of his hand, the dizzy warmth flooding your chest, you think you’d let him.

you’d let him prove it. you’d let him destroy you. you’d let him ruin every last piece of you until there’s nothing left but his hands and his cruelty and your smile bleeding against his teeth.

because you don’t want to leave. not really. and if you did — well. he already told you what would happen.

and you think you’d like it.

his mouth is rough when it meets yours, all teeth and impatience, like he’s trying to bite the smile off your lips. his hand on your throat tightens just enough to make your breath stutter, and you moan into him — not from fear, not from pain, but because it feels so good.

he hates it. he hates that sound. he hates how your body arches into his grip instead of recoiling.

“you’re so fucking sick,” he snarls, dragging you away from the wall and throwing you down onto the mattress. your back bounces against it, the air punched out of your lungs, and before you can recover he’s on you. knees pressing into the bed, his weight caging you in, wrists shoved above your head and pinned there with one hand like you’re nothing.

the other hand? he lets it wander. over your throat, down your collarbone, dragging his nails across your chest, slow and deliberate like he’s deciding where to hurt you first.

“you think i’m joking when i say i’ll kill you?” his voice drips venom, low and dangerous, right beside your ear. you can feel the warmth of his breath when he speaks. “you think this is a game?”

“maybe,” you breathe, writhing under him, wrists straining against his hold. “but i like your games.”

his nails dig into your ribs, sharp enough to leave crescent marks. you hiss — not from pain, but from pleasure — and that’s when something in his expression snaps.

his palm slams down over your mouth. “shut up.”

you’re smiling against his hand. he can feel the curve of it against his skin, the twitch of your lips. god, he wants to choke the grin out of you.

and so he does.

his hand slides from your mouth back down to your throat, squeezing until your vision sparks at the edges. your eyes flutter, body thrashing beneath him — but it’s not resistance. no, you’re grinding up against him, desperate, like the lack of air makes you hungrier. your nails dig into the sheets, hips jerking up as though you’re begging.

“you’d let me do it, wouldn’t you?” he whispers, almost in awe. his thumb presses harder against your pulse, and your body convulses, shuddering beneath the pressure. “you’d let me snap this fragile little neck and you’d thank me for it.”

your lips part, no air behind them, just a broken whimper. a pathetic little sound that makes his cock twitch, makes his blood roar hot in his veins.

he lets go suddenly, and you gasp, coughing, dragging in the air like you’ve been reborn. the sound of your lungs catching up fills the room, and he watches with a twisted satisfaction — the way your chest heaves, the tears gathering in your lashes, the way you’re smiling through all of it like this is heaven.

“pathetic,” he sneers, shoving your legs apart with his knee until you’re spread wide beneath him. his grip on your wrists tightens until your hands go numb. “you get off on this, don’t you? every threat, every insult, every time i hurt you — it just makes you wetter.”

you tilt your head back, shameless, a moan tearing out of your throat as if to prove him right.

he laughs, bitter and cruel, leaning down until his mouth is at your ear. his teeth graze the shell of it, his voice a harsh whisper meant to gut you. “then i’ll give you what you want. i’ll ruin you until you’re begging me to stop — and when you do, i won’t.”

his hand leaves your throat only long enough to grab at your jaw, forcing you to look at him. his eyes are dark, fevered, lips curled in a snarl. his thumb smears the spit across your chin, pressing it into your mouth until you open obediently.

“see?” he hisses, sliding two fingers in, pushing down on your tongue until you gag. “you don’t even fight it. you love it. you’re fucking disgusting.”

drool spills out the corner of your mouth, and your eyes roll back, a moan muffled around his fingers. he growls low in his throat, furious, aroused, both at once.

his hand leaves your mouth and goes straight back to your throat, wrapping tight, holding you in place like you belong pinned under him. your legs are trembling, rubbing against his knee as if searching for relief.

he notices. of course he notices. “pathetic little whore,” he snarls, slamming his knee harder between your thighs. “rubbing yourself on me like a dog in heat. is this all it takes? me promising to break you?”

you gasp his name, voice rough, cracked from the choking. your nails claw at the sheets, at his wrist, not to push him away but to keep him there.

his lips crash against yours again, violent, biting, claiming. he tastes the blood on your lip where his teeth split the skin, and instead of pulling back, he licks into your mouth, savoring it like it’s proof that you’re his.

when he pulls away, a string of spit connects your mouths. he doesn’t wipe it. he wants you messy. ruined. exactly the way you are.

“don’t think i won’t do it,” he mutters, squeezing your throat until your vision tunnels. “don’t think for a second i wouldn’t kill you if you pushed me far enough.”

your answer is a choked-out moan, hips lifting into him, body begging to be destroyed.

his laugh is low, cruel, vibrating against your chest as he leans back down. “yeah. i know. that’s why i’ll never stop.”

he keeps you pinned there, wrists trapped above your head, your thighs spread wide under his weight. his breath is sharp, ragged, like he’s trying to hold himself back and failing — though you both know he has no real intention of holding back at all.

“you’re fucking insane,” he hisses, the words hot against your ear. his voice shakes with fury, with want, with the thin edge of control slipping between his fingers.

you almost laugh at the irony. he’s the one trembling with the need to hurt you. and you’re the one begging for it.

his hand leaves your throat. the absence is a shock, air rushing back into your lungs too quickly — but then you hear it. the faint scrape of metal, the glint of something cold catching the low light.

a knife.

your breath catches.

he twirls it lazily between his fingers, like it’s nothing more than a toy, before pressing the flat edge against your cheek. “you want this too, don’t you?”

your thighs squeeze together, instinctive, desperate. your hips twitch against the sheets.

scaramouche smirks, sharp and satisfied. “of course you do.”

the blade drags down your jawline, featherlight at first — a warning, a tease. then lower, across your throat, over your collarbone, down the curve of your chest. it leaves a trail of cold fire wherever it touches, and you’re trembling, arching into it, your pulse hammering against the steel like you want him to cut.

“pathetic little thing,” he murmurs, voice dripping with disdain, though his eyes are gleaming dark. “you’d let me carve you open right here.”

“do it,” you whisper, breathless, reckless.

he laughs, sharp and cruel. “don’t tempt me.”

but he does.

the point of the blade pricks at your skin, just under your collarbone. shallow — barely enough to break the surface. but when the sting hits, your gasp is pure pleasure, your lips parting like it’s the sweetest thing in the world.

a tiny bead of blood wells up, slow, sticky. it rolls down your chest, glinting red.

scaramouche watches it like he’s hypnotized. his smirk falters into something darker, hungrier. then he lowers his mouth and licks the red away, tongue hot against your skin.

he bites down, teeth sharp, hard enough to make you cry out.

“you like that?” his voice is muffled against your chest, sticky with blood and spit. “you like being my little canvas?”

your wrists flex against his grip, uselessly straining. your back arches into him, your body begging without shame. “yes— please, more—”

the knife trails lower, slow, deliberate, hovering just above your stomach. he presses it there, firm enough that the tip sinks shallow into your skin — not deep, not fatal, but enough to sting. enough to leave a mark you’ll feel tomorrow when you touch yourself and remember.

“you’d let me cut you open while i fuck you, wouldn’t you?” he taunts, his tone cruel, mocking, but his eyes glint with something close to awe. “you’d moan while i gutted you like a pig.”

your answer is a broken, desperate whimper. you can’t even form words anymore, your mouth opening and closing around them, only gasps spilling free.

his grin is vicious. “filthy little masochist.”

he drops the knife onto the sheets beside you — deliberately just out of your reach, so you can see it, ache for it, but never hold it. instead, he replaces its cold edge with the burning press of his hand.

his palm slides down, over your stomach, between your thighs, forcing them open wider. your hips jerk, a helpless sound ripping from your throat as his fingers press where you’re hottest, slickest, as if confirming his suspicions.

“look at you,” he sneers, grinding the heel of his hand against you. “so wet you’re dripping. all from a blade and a few threats.”

you choke on a moan, wrists twisting in his grip. “scara— please—”

“pathetic,” he cuts you off, voice like a lash. his hand is merciless, pressing harder, slower, building the ache inside you until you’re squirming, breathless. “you don’t want me to stop. you want me to ruin you. bleed you. choke you. break you.”

your head tilts back against the pillow, eyes rolling, tears spilling down your cheeks as you moan his name like a prayer.

he leans down, lips brushing your ear, knife-sharp whisper sending a shiver down your spine. “don’t worry,” he murmurs, cruel and soft all at once. “i’ll make sure you bleed in more ways than one.”

and when his fingers finally slip inside you, rough and unyielding, your scream tears the silence open — loud, raw, desperate — and his smile only widens.

because this is what he wanted. to see you broken, breathless, trembling beneath him. to know you’ll let him destroy you — and come undone because of it.

the knife lies discarded on the sheets beside you, its presence still heavy in the room, like it’s watching. like it’s waiting. your skin stings where he nicked you earlier, beads of blood drying sticky against your chest, but you barely notice — not with the way scaramouche’s hand is between your thighs, pressing, teasing, cruel.

“already soaked,” he sneers, his fingers sliding through your slick with humiliating ease. the wet sounds fill the room, obscene and loud. “all i did was threaten to kill you, and you’re dripping. disgusting.”

you moan. louder than you should. shameless.

he plunges two fingers inside without warning, rough, merciless, scissoring you open until your back bows off the mattress. every drag of his knuckles is sharp, painful, but it hurts so good you’re gasping his name like it’s holy.

he curls his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes you twitch, and when a choked whimper slips from you, he laughs. cruel, breathless.

“pathetic slut. you’d let me ruin you until you can’t walk, wouldn’t you?”

“yes— please—” your voice breaks on the word.

there’s the sound of fabric rustling, the clumsy tug of his free hand at his waistband. his fingers never leave you — still pumping, still working you raw — even as he drags himself out, hard and flushed, leaking against your thigh.

then he’s shoving your legs wider, knees forced apart until it aches, lining himself up without a shred of patience.

“take it,” he spits, and slams into you in one brutal thrust.

the stretch is brutal, burning, your cunt clenching tight around him as tears spring hot in your eyes. you cry out — not from resistance, but because it’s exactly what you wanted, exactly what you’ve been begging for since the moment he threatened to kill you.

he doesn’t give you time to adjust. he never does. he sets a ruthless pace immediately, hips snapping against yours, each thrust punishing, punishing, punishing. the mattress squeaks beneath every movement, the headboard slamming the wall.

his hand finds your throat again, fingers wrapping tight until your moans cut off into strangled gasps. your body thrashes under him, but it’s not resistance — it’s desperation, your hips rising to meet his, your nails clawing at the sheets like you’ll come apart if he stops.

“look at you,” he growls, leaning down so close his hair brushes your damp skin. his eyes burn into you, feral and wild. “gasping for air, crying like a little whore, and you love it. don’t you?”

you nod desperately, eyes rolling back, throat straining under his grip.

he smirks, sharp and cruel. “say it.”

your voice is hoarse, broken around the pressure on your windpipe. “i— i love it— please— harder—”

he thrusts deeper, harder, his cock bottoming out with every snap of his hips. his grip on your throat tightens until your vision spots white, fireworks exploding behind your eyes.

then his free hand leaves your hip. you barely notice until you hear it — the faint scrape of metal on sheets.

your stomach drops. your pulse races harder under his palm.

and then — cold.

the knife presses against your thigh, sharp edge ghosting over trembling skin. you jolt, body tensing, but it only makes him grin.

he drags it slowly up, over the curve of your hip, the flat edge biting just enough to sting. thin red lines bloom where the blade kisses your skin, shallow but deliberate.

“you want me to cut you open while i fuck you?” his tone is mocking, vicious, but his cock twitches inside you with every word. “you’d die with my cock still inside you, wouldn’t you?”

a broken moan rips out of your throat, choked, desperate. “yes— yes, please—”

his laugh is low, cruel. “fucking disgusting.”

the knife slips higher, across your stomach, leaving shallow scratches that sting with every brutal thrust. blood beads up, dark and wet, sliding down your side to smear into the sheets.

scaramouche stares at it like it’s art. his hips slam into you harder, sharper, each thrust punctuated by the scrape of the blade.

he leans down suddenly, dragging his tongue across one of the cuts, lapping up the blood like it belongs to him. when the iron taste coats his mouth, he groans against your skin, biting down hard enough to bruise.

“you taste better like this,” he snarls, licking another line, his thrusts never faltering.

your body convulses — the mix of pain, fear, and filthy arousal too much — and he feels it, feels how you’re clenching down on him like your cunt is trying to trap him inside.

“are you gonna cum?” he taunts, voice jagged with lust. “gonna cum from me hurting you?”

you can’t answer — your throat locked under his grip, the knife scraping higher, your body trembling too violently. all you can do is sob, moan, arch into him, begging silently with every movement.

he grips your jaw, forcing your face up to his, the blade still pressed cruel against your ribs. his eyes are wild, sharp, lips pulled back in a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“do it,” he hisses. “cum for me. cum while i cut you, while i choke you. prove what a sick little slut you are.”

the knife presses harder, slicing a shallow line just beneath your breast, and the pain sends you spiraling — your climax ripping through you so hard you choke on it. your whole body shakes, convulsing around him, squeezing tight until your vision whites out.

he groans, low and guttural, hips stuttering. his mouth twists into something cruel as he spills inside you, hot and messy, groaning your name like a curse.

“you really are pathetic,” he whispers against your ear, knife pulling away, his thumb smearing your blood across your chest. “pathetic, and mine.”

he doesn’t kiss you after — doesn’t soothe, doesn’t comfort. he leaves you trembling, bleeding, and full, a ruined mess sprawled across his sheets.

and you’re smiling. broken and delirious. smiling like you’d let him do it all over again.

[msriri030]

Why Did I Meet You?

💬A/n: I have finished a random one-shot that i lowkey thought of awhile ago. I tried to stay faithful since there isn't too on Jester yet, It won't been to detail. sorry, if it is too OOC like, I did my best😅. It was inspired by this song . Jester x Preacher! reader.

🦝Summary: Under the church candlelight, Jester asked you to run away with him. What will be you answer?

☢️Disclaimer: There is a small non-consent of touching and drugged moment in this part. This is base on a 18+ game, The Freak Circus, belonging to @nekoboydreams ! It is amazing in its storytelling and artwork! Please support them on Itch.io!

“Why don’t you want to run away with me—”

“I am married to my God, Devil.”

The words echoed hollow in the midnight chapel. You stood before the altar, robe heavy with sanctity, trembling beneath the gaze of stained-glass saints. Candlelight flickered, wavering as if the very air held its breath.

Jester’s smirk curved wider, violet eyes gleaming with the hunger of a wolf who had cornered his lamb. He stepped forward, his boots striking the stone floor with a deliberate rhythm. The sound reverberated, like a heartbeat you could not silence.

“Devil? Me?” he drawled, feigning hurt. His tone softened into mockery, every syllable dripping with intimate venom. “I am the one you let step into this holy ground without a word. The one you welcomed into your library, allowed to brush my fingers across your books.” He paused, eyes lowering to the altar at your back. “The one you called to…” His voice dropped to a husky whisper, “…as I laid you bare upon this very stone.”

“Silence, Demon!” Your cry rang out, but your fist, clenched tightly at your side, betrayed the tremor of your conviction. Shadows from the candles flickered violently against the high arches, as if recoiling from your wavering faith. The statues of your savior stared down at you in judgement.

Jester tilted his head, studying you with the patience of a predator toying with prey. “Ah, but it is true, isn’t it?” he murmured. His steps slowed as he closed the space until only breath separated you, his presence a fire against your skin. “Your God may own your vows, but your heart…” He leaned close, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “…your heart is mine."

You turned sharply, trying to put distance between him and the altar, but he caught your wrist—not harsh, but inexorable. His gloved thumb traced your pulse, smirking when he brought it up to his lips. He kissed your wrist lovely.

You remembered too well the beginning. The day you defended Pierrot from the jeering mob, their laughter cruel, their stones crueler. You had scolded them for their hypocrisy, for mocking those who performed to bring them joy. You had turned to find him watching—Jester, standing next a lamppost, pasting flyers with his gloved hands, amusement lighting his eyes.

From then on, it had spiraled. What began as glances became passing debates in the square, always ending with your breath stolen by his laughter. You sparred over human nature—was man born corrupt or capable of grace? He teased your faith; you condemned his cynicism. Yet the more you clashed, the more the line blurred between adversary and something far more dangerous.

And now—here. Midnight, the chapel your refuge, and him, your original sin, standing where no sinner should.

“Tell me, little saint,” Jester purred, circling you slowly, dragging his fingers along the polished wood of a pew as though defiling every inch with his presence. His boots echoed against the marble floor like a funeral march. “Do you kneel in prayer to wash me from your thoughts? Or do you kneel only to remember the way I made you tremble those nights in your study?”

Your breath caught. Fury and shame tangled in your chest until you slammed your fist against the marble altar, the sound cracking through the silence like a curse. Your voice trembled, strangled in your throat. “You twist everything holy to me.”

He laughed—low, velvety, curling around you like smoke. “No, love. I am being honest.”

The candles guttered, their flames bowing to the draft that followed his words. Shadows climbed the walls, saints looming above as silent judges of your torment. You knew you should cast him out, banish him with words of faith. But your body betrayed you—the tremor in your hands, the heat blooming in your chest, the ache of recognition. Because he was not wrong.

Tears clung to your lashes, shimmering in the dim light. Jester’s smirk faded into something softer, almost mournful. He stepped closer until the altar pressed cold and unyielding against your back. His gloved hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. His masked face hovered inches from yours, his eyes burning with something raw and unguarded.

“Run away with me,” he whispered. His voice lacked mockery now, heavy with longing. “Leave behind those people who drain you. They come to you, confess their sins, and laugh behind your back while mocking your faith. They promise change they never mean. They use you, and still you chain yourself to them. Let me free you. You and I—we could burn this chapel to ash and dance in its embers. You would be mine, and no god who hides in silence would ever touch you again.”

“So,” he breathed, leaning closer, “run away with me.”

For a fleeting, terrifying heartbeat, you wanted to. You wanted the sin of him—the poison of his kiss, sweet as honey. You wanted the forbidden comfort of waking tangled in his arms after nights of passion. You wanted to believe him.

Your lips parted—but the word that slipped out cut him to the bone.

“No.”

You turned from him, shoulders trembling, a hiccup breaking through your throat. “I can’t abandon them,” you whispered, the words raw as confession. “Even if you can’t see it… they are worth saving. To me.”

Jester froze. His gloved hand lingered in the air, suspended between reaching for you and letting you go. Behind the mask, his eyes widened with something dangerously close to despair.

And then—silence. Tears traced down his painted face, falling soundlessly onto your altar and mingling with your own.

Jester was crying.

Your chest shattered at the sight. Against your better judgment, you reached up, your trembling fingers brushing the wetness from his cheek as though he were something fragile.

His hand caught your wrist—not rough, not cruel, but firm enough to stop you. His head tilted just slightly, voice a low, poisonous murmur that caressed your ear as much as it condemned you.

“I should have known better…” His words bled with quiet venom, a snake’s bite softened by silk. “…better than to give my heart to a monster like you.”

Your breath hitched. His grip loosened, falling away with almost reverent gentleness—as if even in his hurt, he could not bring himself to harm you.

Jester straightened slowly, like a marionette gathering the last of its strings, forcing his composure piece by fragile piece. His voice was steady now, but hollow, stripped of its warmth. He turned from you, every step deliberate, measured, final.

Just before he crossed into the waiting dark, his whisper lingered like smoke curling around a dying candle flame: “Why did I meet you, if I must live without you, love?”

And then he was gone.

You stood frozen, staring at the heavy doors until they shut with a final, hollow thud.

Only then did you collapse. Your knees struck the marble, your body convulsing as your lungs begged for air. You folded in on yourself, hunched over, a strangled scream clawing from your throat but never making a sound.

Your heart caved in on itself, collapsing under the weight of what you had done—what you had refused. Every fiber of you begged to run after him, to drag him back into your arms, to renounce the vow that bound you.

But you did not move. You only prayed.

Prayed that your cowardice might be forgiven. Prayed that, if not in this life, then in the next, God would grant you another chance. A chance to walk the path you had denied tonight. A path that led to him.

—--------

The streets began to glow with lantern light, laughter tumbling from adults who darted past through the street. Live Music blasted into the streets from the restaurants.

And there was Jester.

He stood at the edge of the crowd, mask gleaming faintly beneath the glow, a charming smile painted both on his lips and in his voice as he handed out flyers.

“The greatest show you’ll ever see,” he purred, pressing bright slips of paper into eager hands. For once, his heart was calm, even proud. The circus had endured. He had endured.

Then—

A voice.

A simple, ordinary voice. Yet it struck him like a knife slipped between old ribs. 

A voice he had not heard in centuries.

A voice he had prayed for, cursed for, drowned in.

“Sorry, but can I get a flyer?”

Jester turned.And there you were.

Not you. Not the you who had broken him beneath the churchlight.

No—this was another life entirely. Hair styled differently, the quiet badge of a librarian stitched neatly to your uniform, a stack of borrowed books tucked beneath your arm.

But your smile—soft, polite, unassuming—

It was the same. Exactly the same.

He froze, mask hiding the way his painted grin faltered, the way the world tilted beneath his boots. His mind screamed impossible. His soul whispered love.

You blinked at him, a little confused by his silence. “Is… something wrong?”

Jester’s gloved hand trembled once before he slipped a flyer into yours with exaggerated flourish, cloaking the quake in theatrics.

“Wrong?” His voice curled like silk over glass. “No, nothing is wrong. Only—” He leaned in just enough, lowering his tone so only you could hear. “—you startled me with your beauty. For a moment, I thought I was being visited by a god.”

Your brow furrowed, though your smile lingered kindly. “Well… I suppose that’s a first.” A polite laugh followed, light and harmless, before you tucked the flyer between your books. “Thank you. If you get kinda cold, come to the library to warm up. I know it’s a bit chilly these days.”

“Okay, I will.”

His eyes—shining, hungry, aching—followed you as you vanished back into the crowd, waving goodbye. The flyer in your hands was nothing more than ink on paper. Yet to him, it felt like a fragile thread of fate being rewoven.

His painted smile returned, broad and bright.

But behind it, in the silence no applause could drown, his heart clawed and thrashed like an animal in a gilded cage—starving, desperate, alive again

The end.

-

-

-

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Me during writing:

I am fine

[sparklingpaintwater]

sometimes i regret the night i put that ring on

pairing | rafe cameron x black! fem! reader

warnings | cursing, mentions of sex, kids?, marriage, adultery, possible violence (the night is still young)

you had been up pacing for hours after you put caleb and violet down for bed. rafe had yet to come home. usually by this hour, he would slip into bed after a fresh shower, holding you close after a long day at work. but you didn’t feel his warmth tonight, and that terrified you.

you picked up your phone from the dresser, noticing a message from a random number: a video. your worry increased. who was this? curious, you opened the message and a wave of nausea took over you. it was a video of rafe and ruthie making out at a club, messily and hungrily. he smacked her ass and kissed on her neck. ruthie smiled at the camera, smirking smugly. kelce and topper cheering along like the idiots they were.

another message sent.

"guess he got tired of playing house with a homebody 🤷‍♀️," the message read.

you ran to the toilet and vomited, gags making your body tremor. sweat drenched your pajamas. you didn't want to wake up the kids, so you silently sobbed on the floor until you couldn't. the heartbreak was quickly replaced with pure rage. you recalled the day you got married to rafe.

the photographer snapped pictures of the two of you together.

"you better not fucking embarrass me." you asserted, looking up at him.

rafe chuckled with confusion. "what do you mean?"

you grabbed his face, acting as if you were being affectionate. then you dug your acrylics in his face and squeezed. rafe hissed. "you know what the fuck i mean." he gazed at you. you examined his face. “i want to be together until we grow old. i’m only in this life for you.” he replied, bending down the place a binding kiss to your lips. your hands caressed the spots were your dug your fingers into his face. “you promise?” you said, voice cracking. he wiped a tear that fell down your cheek. “i promise, baby. i promise.” he swore, kissing you again.

you wiped your tears and got off the floor. you brushed your teeth to get rid of the sickly taste on your tongue and left the bathroom. you began to pack clothes for a long excursion, making sure you grabbed all your most valuable items- and some of rafe’s as well. then, you went to the childrens’ rooms, packing them clothes. caleb, you and rafe’s six-year-old, rubbed his eyes at the sight of his closet light.

“mommy?” he rasped, sitting up.

you turned and gave him a weak smile. “hey cay,” you whispered, pausing the packing to comfort him. “we’re going to go travel for while. how does that sound?”

“is daddy coming?” caleb asked innocently. the anger bubbled inside your belly as you tried to conceal the venom you felt towards your cheating spouse.

“no. he’s going to stay here. how about you go pick out some snacks for you and sissy, okay?” you redirected.

“okay.” caleb climbed out of his bed and walked to the kitchen to find snacks to take.

you finished packing caleb’s stuff, then went to violet’s room. you packed violet’s bag, continuing to let the fifteen month old rest. you passed caleb in the kitchen to put the bags in the car, then went back in the house to get violet.

“bear, it’s time to go. got enough snacks?” you questioned, looking at your beautiful son with arms full of snacks and juice for himself and his sister.

you smiled, but all you could think of was how easy it was for rafe to betray this sweet face. to break this family apart for an outsider. caleb looked just like rafe. from his blue eyes and strong nose, he couldn’t deny that little boy. but he was playful and determined just like you. you glanced at violet, fast asleep on your shoulder. she was the perfect mix of you and rafe, from her corkscrew curls and big eyes to her quiet and investigative nature like her father.

how could rafe do that to his own family?

“i’m ready,” caleb took you from your reverie as you handed him a tote bag. he put the snacks in there and grasped your hand to walk out the garage door. “which car, mama?”

“the land rover, baby,” you told him. it was your wedding present from ward.

“go get in your seat.” you instructed, your son obediently following directions. you made sure violet was properly strapped into her own, then checked caleb’s work. you kissed your kids on their foreheads, then walked back into your home. memories flooded your mind: rafe carrying you in through the threshold; your first night in the house; your first housewarming party; finding out you were pregnant with caleb; bringing home him from the hospital; caleb’s first steps; finding out you were pregnant with violet. your chest burned with agony. you took off your ring and the matching necklace with an ‘r’ on it, and left the house.

you opened the garage and exited the driveway. you drove to columbia, arriving at your family home. you went inside with the kids and put them back to bed. you unpacked and called sarah. she picked up on the second ring.

“hello?” sarah answered groggily.

“hey sar,” you answered dejectedly.

“hey. is everything okay? you sound different.” she said, concern laced in her voice. you fell apart like a dam. you could barely speak. grief drowned you.

“your brother- he cheated on me. with ruthie.” you managed to answer between debilitating sobs.

sarah’s line went radio silent.

“i’m on the way. trying to get some rest.” sarah said. the phone hung up.

you walked into the hallway and collapsed onto the owner’s suite bed, right beside your kids. your phone rang. you glanced at the picture. rafe cameron’s name appeared. you turned your phone off and went to sleep.

[afro-hispwriter]

My Dornish Love(3)

Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader

Summary- you and aemond discover you have some common interests 

Warnings- mentions of poisoning, some sexual thoughts? 

ferronniere- a headband that circles that forehead and will usually have a gem of sorts in the middle(or plain depending on where)

wc- 2.3k

1 2

-

Aemond waited patiently in the Library. A plate of food and a cup was next to him and a book opened. Another plate was across from him as well as a cup. 

The doors pushed open and you came rushing in, starting one of the other maesters. You wore a vibrant violet dress that made Aemonds own violet eye widen. You looked absolutely gorgeous. And the ferronniere really tied it all together.

“Good morrow my prince, I’m sorry I’m late.” You say and pull a chair out and sit down.

“It's alright, and no need for formalities. You called me by my name all yesterday.” Aemond gave you a tiny smirk.

“Yes, but we were around people who don’t particularly care, here in the Keep it is best to keep up appearances.” You lifted your hands onto the table. “Can we eat? I'm hungry.” 

“No need to ask, my lady.” You didn’t have to get told twice as you grabbed the biscuit and took a bite. Aemond caught a glimpse of your hand and forearm and he shut the book. “What happened to you?” He pointed at your arms and you looked up at him.

“Oh, I'm alright, it's just me and Thea discovered how much cats don’t enjoy baths.” You laughed nervously.

“Your handmaiden could have done that for you.” He says bluntly. 

“It’s alright, I like getting my hands dirty.” 

“Hmm. I should get the maester to check them.” He pushes his chair back and you grab his wrist. 

“Nonsense, eat first.” He yanked his wrist out of your grip and you drew your hand back. 

“It can wait.” He walks past the table.

“No, it can’t, the first meal of the day is very important. Especially for a prince and swordsman such as yourself.” Aemond stopped in his tracks and his jaw tensed.

“They could get infected.” 

“I’ve been poisoned before, this is nothing.” Aemond turned around with a shocked look on his face. 

“Poisoned?” He sounded intrigued now.

“I can tell you about it if you sit back down and eat with me.” You fluttered your eyelashes at him and he sighed. Aemond made his way back around the table and sat down. He grabbed the grapes and popped two in his mouth. His actions satisfied you and you cut the sausages in pieces. “So when me and Deziel were younger, we snuck into the storage where they keep the poisons because we just wanted to see them, but Deziel being Deziel. He grabs manticore venom and the twat drops it on me. I scream and end up getting cut which lets the venom go into my body.” 

“How did your parents react?” You laughed and Aemond dipped his spoon into his oatmeal. 

“There was a panic, my body had already weakened by the time they retrieved the antidote. Deziel didn’t see the outside of his room for almost two months, my mother was so angry.” You hunched over in a laugh and Aemond let his face relax and smile. You had such a pretty laugh but then you stopped. Aemond’s eyebrow furrowed in confusion until he remembered.

“I'm sorry.” He says.

“It was a long time ago.” 

“And still fresh on your mind.” You huffed and leaned back.

“No need for all this sadness, this is about you so how is your morning so far?” Aemond took a sip of the contents of his cup.

“I trained with Ser Criston and visited Vhagar.”

“I’ve heard stories of how big she is.” Aemond watched a glint in your eye of interest.

“Would you like to see her?” You drew back and your eyes widened. 

“I don’t think that's wise.” He finished his last grapes and grabbed his spoon again. 

“And why's that, princess? Are you scared?” He looked at you mischievously and you frowned.

“Of course I'm scared, I've never seen a dragon, and what if she knows?” You pouted.

“Knows what?” You sighed.

“That I'm Dornish.” There was a pregnant pause between the two of you. Then you heard it. A tiny little giggle and Aemond’s shoulder moved up and down. You frowned and scoffed. “It's not funny.” Your face burnt in embarrassment.

“What do you think Vhagar would do if she sensed you were Dornish? Eat you?” He asks and you shrug.

“Maybe! Dragons are smart, she fought in two wars against Dorne! My people had killed her own sister in arms.” Aemond kept an amusing look. “You’re mean.” You flicked a blueberry at him, hitting him in the cheek. 

“How unladylike of you.” You rolled your eyes. “But at least you know your history.” 

“Did you think I was stupid?” You cock your head. 

“Not at all, but not many ladies pride themselves on learning these things.” 

“Well, there's not much to do on Dorne rather than watch people fight to the death, drink, fuck, and eat. So I have picked up a book and I did pay attention in my classes.” You swirled the contents in your cup and swung a leg over the other.  

“Mmm. You should join me for a ride on Vhagar.” Your eyes widened in fear. 

“M-Maybe another time.” 

“Suit yourself, but I will still send you the proper attire.”

“The riding I know of requires no attire.” You cross your arms and pretend to be annoyed. Aemond let out an airy chuckle.

“In due time princess.” 

“Cute. Eat your food Prince Aemond.”

-

Breakfast was long finished. In the time after, Aemond asked you about Dorne. He wanted to know about it from a native's perspective. He also found joy in hearing you talk. 

“As you know it's always hot but here?” You laughed. “I actually had to cover up pretty decently last night but the sheets were quite scratchy, I thought there was a manticore crawling on me.” 

“You weren’t scared?” 

“I know how to extract their venom so they’re really nothing.” 

“Is it true you coat your weapons in venom?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“How do you do that?”

“To collect the venom we use vials and to hold the creature we would hold them with a large set of tweezers and a small set for the actual venom. For a manticore, the small tweezer would hold the stinger of the tail and you would just squeeze. Then we kill whatever it is and eat it.” 

Aemond grimaced at that. 

“What? They’re good, you should try one.” He chuckles at that.

“I am sure I will be alright without it.” You put your elbow on the table and pointed a finger at him.

“You’re going to try one.” He gave you a mischievous smile.

“I'm not easily persuaded.”

“We will see about that. Is there anything else you would like to know about, my prince?” You ask and the tips of your shows push against his boots. 

“No, I'm sure I have enough information to start a book of my own.” He says with amusement and you scoff.

“Hey! You could have asked me to stop at any time.” 

“A simple tease, I enjoy hearing your voice.” 

“Fancy me already?” 

“Is that a crime?” You shook your head and smiled. The edges of Aemond’s mouth curved up and he looked down. 

“How do you feel about the night sky?” You leaned forward. 

“I think it’s beautiful, when I ride Vhagar at night I try to get as close as possible to the stars.” There was a glint in his eye the second he mentioned Vhagar. 

“I have a book about it in my room, come with me?” You asked and stood up. You held a hand out to him and he pushed his chair back. He walked around the table and he grabbed your hand. 

-

The walk was short and no words were said between you too, but it was not awkward at all. Comforting even. 

You opened your chamber door and you let Aemonds hand go. He checked the hallways and when nobody passed he stepped through the door.  

You were already bending over to dig into a drawer. Aemond froze and his eye was trained on your ass. He was thankful he wasn’t like Aegon. 

“Here it is.” You hold up the brown book and show it to him. 

The Mysteries of the Sky by Maestor Elkin 

“He has traveled all over the world, he has even gone to The Wall and he reported on these bright lights in the sky.”  You say when you open the book to one of your saved pages.

“Fascinating.” Aemond stepped next to you, with hands behind his back, and skimmed over the page you were at.

“He doesn’t know exactly what causes them but he does believe it's the work of the gods. Can you believe if the gods do create what's in the sky, that they share their beautiful creations with us?” You wouldn’t see the smile on Aemond’s face as he solely looked at you.

“I do and they might be too generous at times.” 

“Hmm, I think they give us what we need.” You looked up at him by tilting your head back slightly with a smile. Aemonds heart started racing and his cheeks dusted pink.

“We should continue this back in the library.” Aemond starts walking towards your door when a white fluff walks in front of him. She passed along his boots and slid down onto her side. He crouched down and gave the cat some scratches making her purr.

“Or your room.” The cat hissed at you, still very mad about the events of earlier. Aemond looked over his shoulder and his eyes were met with the diamond that was pierced into your belly button. What he would do to just run his tongue along it.

Fuck that stupid (beautiful) dress

He stood up to his full height so he could tower over you.

“If someone catches us-.” 

“We are a very anticipated betrothal amongst many. I’m sure they will be more happy that we are getting along than mad that we were alone together.” Aemond couldn’t help but agree. 

“Follow me.” 

-

Aemond pushed the door open to his room and he stepped out of the way for you. You walked in and looked at all his furniture and all the paintings. 

“It's like everything I imagined. Dark but beautiful.”

“Hmm.” Aemond grabbed a book off his table and sat down in a chair and kicked his feet up on the small table. “Join me?” You gladly sat in the long chair next to his. 

“There is more Targaryen heraldry in your room than the rest of the keep.” The painting of a dragon setting ablaze to what seemed like Harrenhall caught your attention.

“That is what happens when the king grows ill and two devout members of the seven take over.” He cracked open his book. 

“How is the king? I have not seen him.” 

“Dying, slowly.” Aemond really should have said ‘too slowly’. 

“I can’t imagine wh-.”

“Not everyone has a relationship with their father as you do.” He cuts you off quickly. “A good one at least.” 

You decided not to push forward. 

“What are you reading?” 

“Political philosophy.” 

“Interesting.” You opened your book and kicked your flats off to lay down on the couch. A silence fell over, it was comfortable to an extent. There was a slight tension but you slowly forgot about it as you got deep into the book and your eyes slowly started to droop.

-

The book clattering on your chest made Aemond direct his attention to you. Book pages were folded on your chest. One hand on your chest and the other dangling. Your head was turned to the side and eyes shut. Aemond chuckled and stood up to a chest that held blankets. He grabbed the softest one and grabbed the book from your chest. It closed on the material of the dress and when he pulled it, the bottom of your breasts exposed themselves. 

“Fuck.” He turned away and his cock made a sudden throbbing sensation. Gods, he was acting like a boy again, the mere sight of a woman's body making him hard. He closed his eye and tried to think of anything else. 

He tossed the book on the table turned around and quickly splayed the blanket over your body. Aemond sat back in his chair and the material around his crotch down. Reading should make it go down.

-

You slept until the sun was almost gone. Aemond had finished a couple of chapters and did whatever else he needed to do. 

You sat up straight and rubbed your eyes. Aemond shifting caught your attention and you looked back. 

“Sorry.” You mumbled and swung your legs so your feet touched the floor. 

“Don’t apologize, you’re still tired from your trip. I should be the one apologizing for taking you out so quickly.” 

You yawned and stretched, a breeze hitting your nipples suddenly made you very aware that they had slipped out and Aemond had not taken his eyes off them. 

“If you wanted to see them, all you had to do was ask.” You teased tiredly and Aemond looked down at his now closed book. “I should get back, me and my brothers are going to see a play in the cities.” 

“Then I will see you later, princess.” You stood up and did a curtsy. Aemond frowned at your action but relaxed when you giggled. He even let himself laugh. He did this cute thing where when he laughed his head would shake slightly.

“I hope we continue these meetings, I think something good can come of this.” You say walking toward the door and Aemond stands up to open the door for you.

“I agree, I hope you enjoy the play.” He opens the door and you reach up to kiss his cheek. His face turned pink with affection. 

“See you tomorrow Aemond.”

You did not

-

Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated. I love hearing people’s thoughts🥰

[bellarkeselection]

Part 5 ( final ) - His Compass of Harrenhal

Tag list - @only4thefics @superintenseart @universallyrascaldreamercookie @uniquecroissant @vavafaure1994

So sorry my readers, to be honest I actually forgot that I hadn’t finished this small series. I hope y’all enjoy the ending ❤️☺️

The air in the tent was thick with the coppery scent of birth and the smoky perfume of damp wood on the fire. Outside, the world was a cacophony of war—the clang of steel being sharpened, the gruff laughter of soldiers, the distant, mournful cry of a dragon. But in here, the only sound was the fragile, fluttering beat of my own heart and the impossibly soft breaths of the new life nestled against my chest.

Daemon stood silhouetted against the tent flap, a dark, imposing figure staring out at the dying light. The horizon bled in shades of bruised purple and fiery orange, a sky fit for the ending of a world, or the beginning of one. He turned as I shifted on the bed of furs, his sharp Valyrian features softening in the flickering lamplight.

“You should be resting,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the small space. He crossed the tent in two long strides, his leather armor creaking, and knelt beside me. The cold of the coming night clung to him, a stark contrast to the warmth of our newborn son.

“How can I?” I whispered, my gaze fixed on the perfect, tiny face of the babe in my arms. A dusting of silver-gilt hair, so pale it was almost white, was already curling at his nape. When he’d first opened his eyes, they were the deepest shade of violet, a startling, breathtaking inheritance from his father. He was a Targaryen, through and through. A dragon in miniature.

“He is flawless,” Daemon breathed, his gaze devouring the sight of our son. He reached out a hand, his fingers, calloused from the hilt of Dark Sister, impossibly gentle as he stroked the baby’s cheek. “A true prince. We shall call him Aemon.”

A lump formed in my throat. It was a king’s name. A good man’s name. “Aemon,” I repeated, the name a prayer on my lips. I smiled, a weary, fragile thing. “It’s perfect.” I looked from our son’s face to Daemon’s, and the fear I had been suppressing since the first pangs of labor seized me anew. “And for that, he will be hunted.”

The softness in Daemon’s expression vanished, replaced by the hardened steel of a warrior. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Over my dead body,” he growled, the words a guttural promise. “Over the ashes of anyone who dares to try. You are mine. He is mine. No one will touch you.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to my forehead, his lips a brand of fierce possession. “Not even the Queen.”

His words were meant to soothe, but they only sharpened the edge of my terror. It was the Queen I feared most of all.

The raven came three days later. I was propped up against a pile of furs, nursing Aemon, when a servant brought the scroll. The seal was black wax, stark and final, pressed with the unmistakable three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. Rhaenyra’s seal.

Daemon took it without a word, his face an unreadable mask. He broke the wax with a flick of his thumb and unrolled the parchment. I watched him, my heart hammering against my ribs. I saw his eyes scan the elegant script once. Then again, his body becoming unnervingly still. He read it a third time, and I saw a flicker of something in his violet eyes—a cold, murderous rage that stole the breath from my lungs.

He slowly, deliberately, rolled the parchment back up, his knuckles white.

“Daemon?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Aemon stirred in my arms, sensing my distress. “What is it? What does she want?”

He didn’t look at me. He stared at the parchment in his hand as if it were a venomous snake. “An invitation,” he said, his voice deceptively low, dangerously calm. “To King’s Landing. She wishes to welcome her newest nephew to the world.”

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the draft in the tent. “And?” I pressed, knowing there was more. The Rhaenyra who now sat the Iron Throne was not the girl Daemon had once known. War had forged her into something harder, more unforgiving.

He finally met my gaze, and the fury there was so potent it was almost a physical force. “She wants your head,” he said, the words falling like sharpened stones. “She names you a treacherous whore who seduced her uncle to plant a rival in your belly. She demands I bring you to the capital to face the Queen’s justice.” He paused, his gaze dropping to the sleeping babe in my arms. “And she wants the boy. To be raised as a ward of the crown. A… hostage.”

I didn’t flinch. I had expected this. Feared it. Dreamed of it in sweat-soaked nightmares. Rhaenyra had fought a bitter, bloody war for her throne, sacrificing two of her own sons. She would see another Targaryen prince with a formidable father like Daemon as nothing less than a dagger aimed at the heart of her own line.

“She fears him,” I said softly, stroking Aemon’s silvery hair. “She sees a challenge to Joffrey’s claim.”

“She should,” Daemon snarled, crumpling the parchment in his fist. He threw it into the fire, where it blackened and curled into ash. “He is my heir. My firstborn son. My blood. My fire. He has a stronger claim than any of her Velaryon sons, and she knows it.”

“She will never acknowledge that,” I said, my voice thick with a grim certainty. “She clawed her way to that throne, Daemon. She bled for it. She will not let anyone, not even you, threaten it.”

He crossed the tent and knelt before me again, taking my free hand in his. His touch was urgent, his eyes burning with a desperate intensity. “Then we won’t give her the chance,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We will not go to King’s Landing. We will not beg for her mercy. We will not give her our son.”

“What will we do?” I asked, my own hope a fragile, flickering ember. “Daemon, she is the Queen. Her armies are everywhere. Where can we possibly go?”

“Somewhere she cannot follow,” he said, a cruel, determined smile playing on his lips. “Pack what you can. Only what you can carry. We leave tonight.”

That night, a tempest of activity and whispered orders surrounded our tent while I swaddled Aemon in the thickest furs I could find, my hands trembling. Daemon was gone for what felt like an eternity. I imagined him in Rhaenyra’s command tent, a lion in a dragon’s den. I clutched our son to my chest, praying to gods I wasn’t sure I believed in.

When Daemon finally ripped open the tent flap, his face was a pale, grim mask in the torchlight. There was no argument left in him, only resolve.

“It is done,” he said, his voice strained. “Come. Caraxes is waiting.”

“What did she say?” I asked as he helped me to my feet, my body still weak and aching.

He didn’t pause, his movements swift and efficient as he guided me out into the cold, chaotic night. “She asked if I would betray her for you.”

We moved through the shadows of the camp, avoiding the main paths. The sounds of Caraxes—an impatient, guttural hiss—grew louder.

“What did you tell her?” I pressed, needing to hear it.

He stopped, turning to face me in the lee of his great dragon’s wing. He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. “I told her I would burn the entire realm to the ground for you,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “And for our son.” His eyes glittered with a reflection of torchlight and unshed tears. “She said he would never sit the Iron Throne. She swore it.”

A fresh wave of fear washed over me. “And you?”

A slow, cold smile touched Daemon’s lips, the one he reserved for his enemies right before they died. “I told her, ‘Then he will never need it.’”

The wind howled across the clearing, whipping my hair across my face as Daemon strapped me securely into the saddle in front of his own. I clutched Aemon to my chest, his small, warm body a solid anchor in a world tilting into madness. Below us, Caraxes shifted, his crimson scales shimmering. The Blood Wyrm let out a deafening roar that shook the very ground, a challenge to the crown, to the world. His great wings, like tattered sails of blood and shadow, unfurled to their full, terrifying span.

“Where will we go?” I shouted over the wind, my voice trembling with cold and fear and a strange, wild exhilaration.

Daemon mounted behind me, his body a shield against the wind, his arms wrapping around my waist in a possessive, comforting embrace. “Far,” he shouted back, his lips close to my ear. “Across the Narrow Sea. To Essos. The Free Cities, the Shadow Lands, it doesn’t matter. Anywhere her power cannot reach. Anywhere he can be a boy, not a threat.” He squeezed me gently. “Hold him tight, Y/n.”

“I always will,” I vowed, pressing my face into the warm furs protecting my son.

With a powerful thrust of his hind legs, Caraxes leapt into the sky. The ground fell away with a sickening lurch, and we were airborne. A stream of fire erupted from his throat, a defiant banner against the star-dusted velvet of the night. Below us, the war camp was a scattering of tiny, insignificant fires, a life that was no longer ours. Above, there was only the moon and the endless expanse of the sky. A dragon, a renegade prince, a woman branded a traitor, and a baby born of fire and defiance, flying toward an unknown dawn.

Years later, the sun of Essos was a warm, benevolent thing, a far cry from the biting winds of Westeros. Our villa was carved into a cliffside on a quiet, unnamed island, overlooking a turquoise sea that glittered as if sewn with diamonds. The air smelled of salt and jasmine.

I sat in the shade of a lemon tree, my hand resting in Daemon’s. The years had been kind to him. The constant tension had eased from his shoulders, though his eyes were as sharp as ever. Some silver had begun to thread through his pale gold hair, but it only made him look more regal.

On the sandy shore below, our son, Aemon, now a boy of ten, sparred with a wooden sword against a post he had planted in the sand. His silver hair, longer now, flew behind him as he lunged and parried, his movements fluid and fierce. He had his father’s grace, his father’s fire.

“He’s strong,” I said, my heart swelling with a love so fierce it was almost painful.

Daemon’s hand tightened on mine. “He’s ours,” he replied, his voice soft with a contentment I had never thought to hear from him.

We had no crown. We had no court, no titles, no throne. We were ghosts to the world we had left behind, a whispered rumor of the Rogue Prince who had vanished into the east. But here, on this quiet shore, Daemon was no one’s brother, no one’s uncle, no one’s rival. He was a husband. A father.

He turned to me, his violet eyes holding mine. “I never knew peace, Y/n,” he said quietly, a confession spoken across a decade of it. “Not until this. Not until you.”

He was Daemon Targaryen, the Blood Wyrm’s rider, the terror of the Stepstones, the specter that haunted the Queen’s dreams. But here, with his son’s laughter carrying on the sea breeze and my hand in his, he was simply home.

And in the end, that was the only kingdom he had ever truly conquered. The only one that had ever mattered.

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Bonfire~

hello everyone! okay this had to be split because i wanted to finish it fully but i wasn’t able to finish it in time! so expect part 2 tomorrow!!! if we are lucky!!

Part 01 - Part 02 - Part 03 - Part 04

@adamsappleweek

The flames flickered in hues of pink, blue, and violet, casting a magical glow over the night. Wisps of steam floated lazily through the air like ethereal clouds, swirling and twisting around the open garden. Adam stood at a distance, leaning against the apple tree, his shoulder pressed firmly against the rough bark. His stormy eyes, half-closed, smoldered with restrained intensity as he watched the bonfire burn, crackling and snapping in the night. Around the flames, people danced wildly, their bodies moving like primal creatures, swaying and twirling in erratic motions. Heads tossed, hair whipped, and the rhythm of the music surged louder with every passing second, filling the air with a seductive, pulsing beat.

Adam bit down hard on his bottom lip, the sharp sting keeping him anchored, preventing him from being swept away by the hypnotic allure of the dance. He wouldn’t let himself fall under its spell, wouldn’t surrender his will to whatever strange power stirred here tonight. Damn the gods. Damn the old stories and superstitions the elders clung to like lifelines.

Adam was not part of this. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the floral crown perched atop his head, its heavy fragrance almost mocking him. He wanted to tear it off, but he knew it would only lead to more trouble. Better not to argue with Old Betty about tradition or propriety. So, he pressed harder against the tree, the bark digging painfully into his shoulder, but he didn’t care. He refused to dance for the gods. He refused to give up his soul.

“Hiya, Addie~” a voice chimed, its tone sugary sweet and unbearably bright.

The sound grated against Adam’s nerves, making his muscles tense. As always, the voice felt too cute, too artificial, like a melody meant to charm, but to him, it only set his teeth on edge.

"Piss off, Morningstar," Adam muttered, his gaze fixed firmly on the bonfire, refusing to acknowledge the shorter man beside him.

Lucifer’s grin sharpened like the edge of a blade. "Aww, it almost sounds like you’re not happy to see me, Addie."

"Oh? What gave you that impression?" Adam sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. His hands clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms as he fought to keep his composure.

"Well, for one, you’re not smiling at me—and you have such a pretty smile," Lucifer teased, his tone playful but laced with something darker.

Adam could feel the air between them shift as Lucifer stepped closer, but he refused to look at him, refused to give him the satisfaction. His lips stayed sealed, his nostrils flaring as he kept his focus anywhere but on the devil himself.

Lucifer’s pout deepened, but he leaned in anyway, letting his scent coil lazily into the air. He flashed a flirtatious smile at an Omega nearby, who had been shyly watching Adam with wide, admiring eyes. The Omega blushed furiously, looking away as if burned by Lucifer’s attention.

"Addie~" Lucifer purred, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper as he leaned up on tiptoe, his breath warm against Adam’s cheek. "Isn’t there anyone here you’d like to tie yourself to? To surrender your soul to?"

Adam’s body went rigid, his jaw clenching so tightly it ached. Rage flared hot in his chest, and it took every ounce of restraint not to shove Lucifer away as he edged even closer.

"Nope," Adam spat through gritted teeth, the word filled with venom.

Lucifer cooed softly, his voice sickeningly sweet. "Oh, really? That’s a shame, Addie. I thought for sure you had your eye on some strapping Alpha... or maybe a sweet Beta~"

Adam’s eyes narrowed, a vile bitterness twisting deep inside him at the words. He could feel himself losing control, knowing Lucifer was baiting him, but it didn’t matter anymore. He’d regret it later, but right now, he wanted to make Lucifer regret it too.

"Tell me, Morningstar," Adam growled, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble, "Why the hell would I ever tell you if I were considering someone?"

Finally, he turned, his glare as sharp as a blade, locking onto Lucifer with a look so fierce that it startled the devil, who stiffened in response, his bright blue eyes widening in surprise.

"Come now, Adam," Lucifer stammered, his confidence faltering for just a moment. "It was so long ago... you should be over it by now—"

His words tumbled out in a rush, tripping over themselves as he scrambled to recover.

Adam let out a deep, guttural growl, baring his teeth before snapping them at Lucifer, a primal warning that made the blonde stumble back in shock. The sudden display of aggression sent a shiver down Lucifer’s spine, his body reacting instinctively as Adam’s pheromones flooded the air—thick and threatening, a clear message: I’m furious, and if you come any closer, I’ll tear you apart.

It was a scent Lucifer had never encountered from Adam before, raw and laced with the danger of an Omega pushed too far.

"Be over it by now?" Adam's voice trembled with barely contained rage, each word a dagger. "Are you serious? Are you fucking serious? After everything you’ve done to me?"

Lucifer faltered, the confidence he usually wore like armor cracking under the weight of Adam’s anger.

"I—" he stammered, caught off guard, "Adam, how many times do I have to apologize? How many times do I have to—"

"Shut up!" Adam barked, pushing himself off the tree with a force that made the ground beneath him seem to shake. "Shut up! Shut up! We’re not friends, we’re not anything anymore. Do me a favor and fuck off—don’t ever talk to me again!"

With that, Adam turned and stormed off, his footsteps heavy with finality. He didn’t look back, not once, leaving behind only the smoldering remnants of their past, the bonfire crackling in the distance like a cruel reminder of what could never be rekindled.

Lucifer stood frozen, his wide blue eyes following Adam’s retreating form. Slowly, his shoulders slumped, the fire in his expression dimming to a dull sadness. He let out a soft, broken sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to ease a pain that ran far deeper than physical discomfort. His gaze shifted, avoiding the space where Adam had been, as if looking there might hurt too much.

Part of him ached to run after Adam, to drop to his knees and plead for forgiveness, to make him understand, somehow. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not after seeing that fury in Adam’s eyes, a side of him Lucifer had never seen before. It had been years, and yet... the wounds were still so raw. The regret was suffocating, but he didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t know if he ever could.

Adam wandered through the open field, his steps heavy with unspoken frustration. His eyes narrowed as they swept over the decorations that lined the edges of the space—vibrant blossoms of every hue intertwined with ripe fruits, their colors meant to symbolize the unity of life, growth, and the seasons.

Each bloom and fruit held a sacred meaning, woven carefully into the fabric of tradition. His own flower crown sat heavy on his head, a mix of blue and red petals, dotted with tiny red apples, a symbol once rich with promise, now a hollow reminder of the past.

There had been a time when Adam had believed in the ritual with his whole heart. The bonfire celebration had once been the highlight of his year. As a child, he had dreamed of the day he would join in fully, his heart open to the ancient magic, the songs, and the stories that surrounded the flames. Back then, the tradition had felt pure, sacred—a bridge between mortals and gods.

But that was before. Before his world had crumbled around him. His best friend, the one he had trusted above all others, had betrayed him in a way so profound, so soul-shattering, that it had left him forever changed. The ritual he once loved now felt like a bitter joke, the flowers and fire only mocking the ashes of his broken past.

Everything had fallen apart, and no amount of tradition or reverence could ever rebuild the innocence he had lost. Now, as he walked through the field, the beauty of the blossoms felt like a distant dream—something for others, not for him.

Alphas, Betas, and Omegas swirled in wild, graceful rhythms around the bonfire, their laughter and joy echoing through the night. Adam knew the mating ritual would follow soon, the evening stretching into an endless night of longing, promises, and bonds formed beneath the watchful eyes of tradition. He sighed, a familiar weight settling in his chest. For the fifth year in a row, he’d leave with nothing but the hollow claim of, I tried, echoing in his mind.

"Stupid Lucifer fucking Morningstar," Adam spat under his breath, stomping aimlessly across the field.

His anger churned like a storm inside him, until finally, he dropped onto a stack of golden hay, his body collapsing under the pressure of it all. His fingers dug into the straw, the sharp edges biting into his skin, but he barely noticed. His eyes burned, hot and stinging, and before he could stop it, tears threatened to spill. He didn’t want to cry. Not again, he told himself. He’d cried enough over that Omega. He didn’t want to waste another tear.

"Thinking he could just waltz in like that and be all buddy-buddy. Asshole," he muttered bitterly, swiping angrily at his eyes.

The memory of Lucifer’s smug grin, the false sweetness in his voice, made Adam’s stomach turn. "I should have never fucking trusted him. I wish I'd picked a different kid to sit with in kindergarten back then."

His vision blurred as his emotions swelled, the painful memories resurfacing despite his efforts to push them down. He thought Lucifer had been his friend. For so long, he had believed it. But he’d been wrong—so horribly, painfully wrong.

Adam had opened his heart, trusted Lucifer with pieces of himself he couldn’t get back, and Lucifer had shattered that trust without a second thought. Now, years later, the betrayal still cut just as deep, and no amount of time seemed to dull the pain. His fingers clenched the hay tighter, as if gripping it hard enough might keep him grounded, might stop the waves of hurt crashing over him. But all he felt was the ache, the hollow emptiness where their friendship used to be.

Adam sat slumped on the stack of golden hay, the sting of tears threatening to spill over. His heart felt heavy, weighed down by old wounds and bitter memories. As he wiped at his eyes, a soft, unfamiliar voice broke through the haze of his thoughts.

"Mind if I sit here?" the voice asked gently, warm and considerate.

Adam blinked up, surprised to see a tall, handsome Alpha standing nearby, his expression open and kind. The Alpha's eyes were a soft amber, warm like the embers of a dying fire, and his face was speckled with freckles, giving him an easy, approachable charm. His red hair caught the light from the bonfire, and there was something soothing about his presence.

Adam hesitated but nodded, and the Alpha smiled, a quiet, comforting smile, before lowering himself down beside him. As he settled, his elbow brushed lightly against Adam’s, a gentle, reassuring touch that made Adam’s heart skip a beat. The gesture was so tender, so... careful, and Adam wasn’t used to that.

After a moment, the Alpha leaned in just a little, his voice laced with humor as he said, "So, what did the flower say after a long day in the sun?"

Adam blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

The Alpha grinned, his eyes twinkling. "I’m planted, I’m not going anywhere."

A small, unexpected chuckle slipped from Adam’s lips, and before he could stop himself, he was wiping his eyes again—this time, not just from sadness, but from the lightness that came with the joke. The Alpha’s easy laughter was contagious, and for the first time that night, Adam felt the tension ease slightly.

"It’s nothing," Adam murmured after a beat, trying to brush off the weight of his emotions. "Just... an old friend."

The Alpha nodded thoughtfully, his gaze soft.

"For what it’s worth," he said in a low, comforting tone, "that friend doesn’t know what he’s missing."

Adam gave a weak smile, feeling a flicker of warmth bloom in his chest. "It’s more like... the friend didn’t care what he had to offer to begin with."

The Alpha’s brow furrowed slightly, and he shook his head with quiet certainty. "Then he’s not worth crying over."

That simple statement, so sincere and gentle, settled over Adam like a balm. He finally lifted his gaze to really look at the Alpha, and his breath caught in his throat. He was striking, with a strong, lean build, his freckles scattered like stars across his skin, and those amber eyes—so full of understanding. His smile was wide and genuine, and something about it made Adam’s heart flutter.

Adam swallowed, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks. "I... I’m Adam," he said, his voice soft but steady.

The Alpha’s face lit up, his smile growing even brighter. "Nice to meet you, Adam. I’m Steve. Though, I’ve got to wonder... why is a beautiful Omega like yourself sitting here all alone?"

Adam’s blush deepened, and he looked away, suddenly shy.

“No luck with partners," he admitted quietly, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his flower crown.

Steve’s eyes softened even more, and he leaned in just a touch closer, his voice low and full of warmth.

"Their loss," he murmured. "I’d say you’re one of a kind."

Adam’s heart skipped again, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something other than heartache—he felt seen, and for now, that was enough.

With a playful smile, Steve leaped off the stack of golden hay, turning gracefully toward Adam. He extended his hand, his amber eyes gleaming with warmth. “Would you be kind enough to accompany me to the bonfire ring?”

Adam felt heat rise to his cheeks, the blush deepening as a wave of shyness washed over him. His heart pounded with anxious anticipation, each beat echoing the uncertainty that had long taken root inside him. No one had ever invited him to the ring before—not since that awful night so long ago. The memory hung heavy in the back of his mind, but Steve’s presence somehow eased the tension.

"I’d be glad to," Adam whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

He reached out and took Steve’s hand, feeling the solid warmth of the Alpha’s grip. As Steve pulled him to his feet, Adam’s foot slipped slightly, his balance faltering—but before he could stumble, Steve’s strong arms caught him effortlessly.

Adam looked up, his heart fluttering as he met Steve’s gaze. A soft, bashful smile tugged at his lips. "Thank you."

Steve’s voice was gentle, almost a whisper. "I’ll always catch you if you happen to fall."

Adam’s breath hitched. Was he flirting? The softness in Steve’s voice, the tender look in his eyes—Adam couldn’t tell for sure. But the hope stirred within him, fragile and new. It would be the first time someone had shown interest in him, the first time anyone had made him feel like he mattered in a way he hadn’t felt before.

As Adam and Steve neared the bonfire ring, Adam fully expected Steve to release his hand. But the Alpha didn’t let go. Instead, Steve casually began to swing their hands back and forth, threading their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Adam’s breath caught in his throat, and he glanced shyly at Steve, his face growing warmer by the second as his heart raced in his chest.

Was this it? he wondered. Had he finally found his partner, after all this time?

Steve shot him another dazzling smile, his amber eyes sparkling beneath the flickering light of the pink and purple flames. He even batted his eyelashes playfully at Adam, which sent a fresh wave of heat surging through Adam’s body, making him smile despite himself.

As they approached the ring, the bonfire crackled and shimmered, its mystical flames casting a warm glow across the high benches. Pairs of Alphas and Omegas were already gathered there, some sitting close, their heads leaning together in quiet conversation. Adam’s heart sank slightly when his gaze inadvertently fell on one pair in particular—him. Even though he refused to look directly, he could feel Lucifer’s sharp blue eyes fixed on him, an intense stare that seemed to burn into him as Steve gently led him to a seat.

"Let me get you a drink," Steve offered, his tone friendly and kind.

Adam nodded, trying to shake off the sudden wave of nerves. "Um, I’d be happy with anything."

"Noted," Steve replied with a wink, before slipping away toward the drinks table.

Left alone, Adam rubbed his thighs anxiously, his skin prickling with unease. His mind raced, his stomach churning with an unsettling mix of excitement and dread. He knew why he was fidgeting—it was the unspoken weight of the night. The possibility of waking up in the morning mated, the thought that everything could change after tonight. The ritual had a way of making those connections happen, and the idea left him jittery.

Across from him, Lucifer sat, his sharp blue gaze locked onto Adam like a predator watching prey. His eyes didn’t waver, and Adam could feel the tension between them crackling like the flames in the bonfire. Lucifer’s eyebrows furrowed as Steve returned, holding two bottles, oblivious to the weight in the air.

"Here you go," Steve said, handing one of the bottles to Adam with a warm smile.

Adam accepted it with a soft, "Thank you."

He lifted the bottle to his lips, feeling a tremble in his hands, and took a tentative sip. The tartness hit his tongue, and he made a face without meaning to. Across the way, Lucifer raised his own drink, clearly watching every move Adam made.

"Is apple cider still your favorite?" Lucifer asked loudly, his voice cutting through the evening like a blade.

Steve blinked, his amber eyes shifting from Lucifer to Adam with a curious tilt of his head.

"Oh? Do you not like the orange cider?" he asked, his tone soft, trying to gauge Adam’s reaction.

"N-no, it’s fine," Adam stammered, his voice cracking slightly. He glanced at Lucifer, his irritation barely concealed. "It’s fine, really."

Steve slowly nodded, though a faint frown of confusion appeared as he looked between the two of them.

Lucifer, however, wasn’t finished.

"Orange cider?" he said with a frown, his voice sharp. "But you hate the stuff. You can’t stand the taste, remember?"

Adam's jaw tightened, and he snapped before he could stop himself, "Things change."

Lucifer’s eyes darkened, his expression hardening as he leaned forward.

“Doesn't look like it to me," he shot back, his voice stern, clearly challenging Adam.

The tension thickened, and Steve’s gaze flickered between them, sensing the history in the air. But instead of letting the moment escalate, Steve leaned a little closer to Adam, brushing his elbow gently against his.

"Don’t worry about it," he said softly, his voice calming, as if trying to pull Adam back from the edge. "I can go get a different drink if you’d prefer something else."

Adam glanced at Steve, feeling his warmth and steady presence beside him. It helped calm the storm brewing inside, and he offered a small, grateful smile. Lucifer’s words still stung, but for the first time, Adam realized he didn’t have to let them control him. Steve’s kindness was enough to remind him that maybe, just maybe, he deserved something better.

"N-No, it’s fine—" Adam tried to protest, but Steve was already rising to his feet, flashing him that easy grin.

"Don’t worry about it," Steve said, his tone light and reassuring. "I’ll grab you an apple cider. Be right back."

Flushing, Adam nodded timidly, his words faltering as Steve strode away toward the drink table. As soon as Steve was out of sight, though, Adam’s expression shifted, his gaze hardening as he shot a glare at Lucifer.

The Omega was still sitting across from him, his blue eyes dark and unreadable, watching Adam with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

Lucifer's stare felt too heavy, too dark, as though he was trying to penetrate the very thoughts running through Adam’s mind. There was something unsettling about the way his eyes hooded, lingering on him like he had some claim over Adam that refused to be relinquished.

Adam’s fingers curled into fists in his lap. He refused to let Lucifer’s presence ruin the moment—ruin what could be a fresh start with someone who might actually care. For the first time in a long time, Adam felt a spark of hope, and he wasn’t going to let Lucifer extinguish it with his lingering, possessive gaze.

The heat of the bonfire shimmered in the air, but Adam’s thoughts were a storm, swirling between past pain and the possibility of something new. He just had to hold on until Steve returned.

“Who is he?” Lucifer asked sharply.

Adam blinked at him. “Er, his name is Steve.”

“He’s an alpha.” The blonde omega sternly said.

“He is.”

Before Adam could say more, Lucifer’s sharp voice cut through the air.

“Steve, huh?” His words dripped with suspicion, and Adam could feel the cold weight of Lucifer’s gaze bearing down on them both. “And who does Steve belong to? Josh’s pack?”

Adam’s face heated with awkwardness. He glanced at Steve, who raised an eyebrow but remained quiet, waiting for Adam’s response.

“I... um, yes. He’s from Josh’s pack." The words came out more hesitant than Adam had meant.

Lucifer’s blue eyes narrowed, his tone cold and sharp. “How long have you known him? Do you even know anything about him? What’s his rank? Does he have a reputation for running through Omegas?”

Each question came like a dart aimed at Adam’s nerves. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling his irritation rise with every sharp word.

“We... we’ve just met,” he answered, his voice tightening. “But he seems... nice.”

Lucifer pressed further, his eyes burning with a familiar intensity. “Seems nice? Is that all it takes now, Adam? Have you even thought this through? You don’t know the first thing about him.”

Adam’s patience wore thin, his irritation flaring into anger. He shot a glare at Lucifer, his fingers gripping the bottle tightly.

“Why do you care, Lucifer?” he snapped, his voice rising. “Why is any of this your business?”

For a moment, Lucifer was silent, his expression unreadable as his eyes flickered with something close to regret.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, Adam," he said, his voice softer, but the weight of his words still pressed down hard.

Adam scoffed, his anger spilling over. "Oh, like you did last time? Or the time before that? Or how about the time before that?"

Each word came out like venom, and Lucifer visibly flinched at the accusation, his frown deepening.

"Adam..." Lucifer started, but Adam didn’t let him finish.

"No," Adam bit out, standing his ground, his gaze sharp with years of pent-up frustration. "You need to butt out, Lucifer. Stop trying to interfere, because I don’t need your help, and I sure as hell don’t want it."

Lucifer’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening, but he remained silent, his usual snark and quick retorts gone.

"I can’t wait to mate an Alpha," Adam continued, his voice low and bitter. "So I can finally leave this place and never have to see your face again."

For a split second, something flickered in Lucifer’s eyes—hurt, perhaps—but it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a cold, distant glare. He didn’t say anything, just stared back at Adam, his silence louder than words.

Adam felt the tension settle heavily between them, but he refused to back down. Lucifer had meddled too many times before, and this was where it ended.

“Is something wrong?” Steve asked, his voice gentle as he noticed Adam rising from his seat. The alpha glanced around, holding the new bottle of apple cider, his expression filled with concern.

Adam shook his head and took the bottle from Steve, grateful for the distraction.

“Nothing’s wrong. Let’s go somewhere else,” he said, his voice steady but laced with frustration that lingered from his confrontation with Lucifer.

Steve didn’t question him further, his easygoing nature kicking in.

“Ah, okay, I’m good with that,” he replied, taking a hearty swig of his own drink before standing to follow Adam. But as they started to walk away, Steve glanced back, meeting Lucifer’s gaze.

Lucifer’s face darkened for a moment, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. The Omega’s sharp eyes flickered with something almost predatory. But when he saw Steve looking at him, Lucifer’s expression shifted in an instant. A suggestive smirk curled across his lips, and his bright blue eyes gleamed as he batted his lashes in mock flirtation.

Steve’s face flushed a deep red, but instead of being thrown off, he returned the smirk, his own expression mischievous. Adam didn’t catch the silent exchange, too wrapped up in his own thoughts, but Lucifer did—and the twisted satisfaction that bloomed within him was undeniable.

This might be easier than I expected, Lucifer thought, his smirk growing as he watched Steve’s reaction. A dangerous game was unfolding, and Lucifer was more than ready to play it.

~#~

The endless blue and yellow hues of the moon hung like a melancholy painting in the starry sky, rising higher as the bonfire ritual of mating reached its midpoint. Its pale glow illuminated the sea of intertwined couples, their laughter and whispers echoing in the air, but Adam drifted aimlessly among them, feeling more isolated with every step. His eyes, glassy with unshed tears and anger, scanned the alphas, betas, and omegas, all lost in one another’s embrace. He had left Steve for only a moment, needing to relight his spirits. Steve had promised he’d wait.

But when Adam returned, his heart sank. Steve was gone.

Surely the alpha wouldn’t have gone too far? Adam told himself, his breath catching in his throat. He clutched at the coat still draped over his shoulders, hoping it meant Steve would come back. But deep down, a familiar dread gnawed at him, that sinking feeling that always crept in when hope seemed too close to grasp.

Biting down on his trembling bottom lip, Adam wandered through the trees, his heart pounding louder with every step. The crackling pink and purple flames of the bonfire flickered in the distance, casting an ethereal light as blue steam danced upward, swirling through the night. For a brief moment, he let himself be hypnotized by the sight, following the puffy clouds of smoke until he saw a couple ahead, walking hand-in-hand, their eyes soft and full of love.

And then, Adam’s world shattered.

There, not far away, stood Steve—his Steve—arms wrapped around another Omega. Adam froze, his breath catching in his throat as disbelief and heartbreak washed over him like a tidal wave. His green eyes widened, his chest tightened, and pain surged through him so fiercely he felt as though his heart was being ripped apart.

It… it wasn’t far, he thought in numb shock. Steve was right there, lips pressed against someone else’s, his promises forgotten as if Adam had never mattered.

Not just any omega but…

Adam blinked hard, his vision blurring as tears welled up, hot and stinging. He wiped at his eyes anxiously, but the hurt was too much, too raw. He turned away from the scene, a sob threatening to escape as he ripped the flower and apple crown from his head. It felt meaningless now, the bright petals and ripe apples mocking him. He let it fall to the ground, stepping over it without a second glance.

It just wasn’t meant to be… it never was.

His hand clenched into a fist as he fought to swallow the lump in his throat. The townsfolk could judge him later. He didn’t care about their disapproval, their whispers about tradition and the “right” way of doing things. They could suck it. Right now, all Adam wanted was to escape, to disappear from this cruel ritual that had once filled him with such hope.

As Adam walked away, his heart in pieces, sharp blue eyes watched him from a distance. Lucifer barely paid attention to Steve, who was fumbling awkwardly through a kiss that lacked any real emotion. Lucifer wasn’t interested in Steve at all—his gaze was fixed solely on Adam, ensuring that Adam saw them together, ensuring that his plan worked.

When he finally pulled away, Lucifer pushed a hand against Steve’s chest, his eyes still on Adam’s retreating figure.

“Thanks for that,” he muttered hastily, his voice void of any real gratitude.

He didn’t even bother to look at Steve as he stepped past him, brushing him aside like he was nothing.

Steve tried to say something—confusion flickered in his amber eyes—but Lucifer didn’t listen. He didn’t care. He had done what he needed to do. He had won, just like he always did.

Lucifer’s steps slowed as he reached the spot where Adam had discarded his crown. Crouching down, he picked it up gently, his fingers tracing the soft petals and the vibrant apples still clinging to it. The apples glowed under the moonlight, a deep, ruby red—just like the apples Lucifer had once grown in his own garden, for someone he thought he’d never lose.

A strange heaviness settled in Lucifer’s chest as he held the crown, his fingers caressing its edges as if it were something fragile, something precious. Adam had never let it go before. Not until tonight. Lucifer frowned deeply, a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—tugging at his heart.

But he pushed it aside. It didn’t matter. He had made sure Adam saw what he wanted him to see, made sure Adam understood that no one would ever be truly loyal to him. That no one would ever care the way Lucifer does.

“Ah, wait,” Steve called after him, his voice laced with confusion as he reached out, his fingertips brushing the air just short of Lucifer’s arm. His eyes were glazed over, his face still flushed from the heat of the moment. “I don’t even know your name?”

Lucifer didn’t bother to turn around. He sidestepped Steve’s outstretched hand with the grace of someone used to slipping away unnoticed, his fingers tightening around the flower and apple crown. The petals felt delicate against his skin, but the weight of it pressed heavily into his chest, like a painful reminder of something he’d never admit.

"Don’t worry about it," Lucifer murmured over his shoulder, his voice distant, almost hollow. "This probably won’t happen again."

The words sounded final, as though they carried more than just the end of a fleeting encounter—they carried the weight of years, of something Lucifer had hoped to bury deep but couldn’t quite forget.

Steve stood there, helpless, trying to piece together the puzzle of what had just happened. He opened his mouth to call out again, but Lucifer was already slipping away, his pace quickening, leaving the confused alpha behind without so much as a second glance.

At first, Lucifer walked with an air of calm, his steps measured and slow. But as the scent of Adam grew stronger, the crisp notes of cedar and crushed flowers cutting through the cool night air, something shifted inside him. His heart thudded unevenly in his chest, and before he realized it, he was sprinting, the night rushing past him as he followed the familiar scent.

~#~

Lucifer had always been a strange, delicate boy. Small, fragile, with golden hair like spun silk, wide blue eyes that seemed far too large for his face, and cheeks that flushed an embarrassed pink at the slightest provocation. He was mousey, almost ghostly pale, with limbs that seemed too slender to carry him through the world. His oversized clothes hung loosely from his bony shoulders, as if he’d borrowed them from a brother who didn’t exist.

He didn’t belong.

His first week in kindergarten had been a disaster. The bigger kids, the ones who already had sturdy frames and confidence in their strides, had taken to pushing him around. They’d laugh at how doll-like he looked, shoving him to the ground, calling him names that made his heart shrivel. His mama called him an eyesore; his papa, a disappointment.

"You better not present as an Omega," his father had warned darkly. “We need an Alpha heir."

But Lucifer had always been different, always too delicate, too quiet, and far too lonely.

On the worst of those days, he hid. He tucked himself away in a corner of the room, hunched over one of the tiny desks, his head bowed so low his chin nearly touched his chest. His small hands fidgeted in his lap, tracing the frayed edges of his sleeve. He wished he could disappear.

And then, a voice.

"Hello! Heeellloooo?"

Lucifer blinked, startled out of his thoughts. A pudgy hand waved in front of his face, and slowly, he raised his head. His wide blue eyes met the sight of a boy standing before him, the most radiant boy he had ever seen. The boy had messy brown and red hair, his cheeks round and rosy, and when he smiled, it was gap-toothed and earnest.

"Hi!" The boy grinned, eyes twinkling with joy, as if the world had nothing but sunshine to offer. "Can I sit here?"

Lucifer was stunned, frozen by the simplicity of the question. No one had asked to sit with him before. He glanced at the empty stool beside him, his heart pounding wildly in his tiny chest. Was this boy really talking to him? The air seemed thick, heavy, and yet all he could do was nod, wide-eyed, in awe.

The boy beamed even brighter, plopping down onto the stool as if he had known Lucifer all his life. Almost instantly, he began unloading crayons onto the table, scattering them like a rainbow.

"Wanna draw with me? I love to draw! What do you like to draw?"

Lucifer just stared, his throat tight and his heart thudding. Did he… really want to draw with him? No one had ever asked him such a simple thing before. He watched as the boy reached for two crayons—yellow and orange—and slid them toward him.

"Here!" The boy chirped, his enthusiasm uncontainable. "I'll show ya how to draw a ducky! They’re the most funnest thing to draw!"

Lucifer’s blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, overwhelmed by the kindness, the excitement. His hands trembled as he reached out, hesitating before finally curling his small fingers around the crayons. The warmth of the gesture seeped into him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something inside him loosen.

"My name’s Adam!" The boy declared proudly, his smile wide and confident. "But my Mama and Papa call me Addie!"

He giggled, swinging his legs beneath the stool, eyes never leaving Lucifer’s face. "What’s your name?"

Lucifer’s breath hitched. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His name. Everyone hated his name. It was the reason they teased him, the reason they thought he was strange. His own father had cursed him with it—Lucifer. Named after the devil himself, a name meant to force strength upon him, to twist him into an Alpha that his parents could be proud of. But that wasn’t him.

What if Adam hated it too?

His lips trembled, and his tongue felt far too big for his mouth as he tried to speak. He could feel the anxiousness crawling up his spine, tightening in his chest. He didn’t want to lose the only friend he might ever have.

"I-I’m L-Lucifer…" he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if saying it too loudly would break the fragile moment.

Adam blinked at him, then grinned even wider, his eyes lighting up with curiosity.

"Lucifer?" he repeated, as though tasting the name, rolling it around his mouth like candy. "Cool name! You’re like the angel who fell from heaven, huh?"

Lucifer’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t expected that. No one had ever said anything like that before. They always called him the devil, the bad one, the one who wasn’t good enough. But Adam… Adam said it like it was something beautiful.

"Y-Yeah," Lucifer whispered, his heart swelling in his chest.

Adam leaned closer, nudging his shoulder against Lucifer’s, his face glowing with enthusiasm.

“Well, Luci," he said, his voice bubbling with laughter, "let’s make the best ducky ever!"

And for the first time, Lucifer smiled—a real, soft smile that lit up his face, and together, they began to draw.

From that moment on, the two of them became inseparable. Adam and Lucifer went through middle school and high school side by side, their bond a quiet but steady comfort against the chaos of the world around them.

One afternoon after school, Adam noticed something off in Lucifer’s usual bright demeanor. His green eyes flickered with concern as they walked home together, their hands brushing occasionally—a casual closeness that had grown natural over the years.

“What’s wrong?” Adam asked, his brow furrowing as he glanced at Lucifer. His lips twisted into a crooked smile, trying to coax something out of his friend. “You’ve been off all day. Sad, even.”

Lucifer sighed, his eyes darting away to avoid Adam’s gaze. He scratched at his cheek, the familiar nervous gesture betraying his unease.

“Adam, what do you think you’ll present as?” he murmured quietly.

Adam’s face softened in thought as he rubbed his chin. “Present as? Hmm, I haven’t really thought about it much.”

Lucifer’s heart raced. His fingers twitched nervously by his side as he waited for Adam’s answer. Their connection had grown so deep, they held hands often, and Lucifer had grown to rely on Adam in ways he could never admit out loud.

Home was a place of constant turmoil for Lucifer—a cold, bare room where his parents’ shouting filled the air like a storm that never ended. It was at Adam’s house where he felt safe, where the warmth he craved seemed to surround him.

Lucifer’s voice dropped to a soft, almost broken whisper. “What would you do if you presented as an Omega?”

Adam blinked, then without hesitation, he reached out and took Lucifer’s trembling hand in his own, his touch warm and grounding. Lucifer couldn’t help but look up at him, his heart pounding in his chest.

“I don’t think I’d care,” Adam said with a grin. “Omegas get pampered, don’t they? Think of all the ice cream and chocolate! And the gifts from everyone! It sounds like a pretty sweet deal.”

A small, sheepish laugh escaped Lucifer, but it quickly turned into a quiet, sad whimper. "Right... Omegas are loved, aren't they?"

“Luci?” Adam tilted his head, his green eyes softening with concern as he caught Lucifer’s gaze. “Have you presented already?”

Lucifer’s throat tightened. He pressed his lips together in a thin line, struggling to keep the tears at bay. “I…”

“It’s okay if you have,” Adam reassured him, his thumb gently brushing circles on the back of Lucifer’s hand. “You know you can tell me anything. Have you become an Omega?”

Lucifer shook his head so quickly it was almost frantic, his voice trembling as he forced out the words.

“No! No, of course not! I’m not an Omega!” His laugh was high-pitched, strained, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “I’m going to be an Alpha… just like Papa wants… just like I’m supposed to…”

Adam’s expression softened further, his heart aching for his friend. Gently, he squeezed Lucifer’s hand, pulling him a little closer. “Luci… I’m here for you, no matter what.”

A month later, on a warm evening as the sun set, Adam strolled along the street, humming softly to himself as he made his way to the shop to pick up dinner for his mama. The sky was painted in soft hues of pink and orange, and everything seemed peaceful. But his thoughts turned to Lucifer. He hadn’t seen his best friend in days, and Lucifer’s absence weighed heavily on him.

As he rounded a corner, something caught his eye by the dumpsters. A familiar figure, crouched low, huddled in on itself. Adam’s heart stopped.

“Lucifer!” he called out, rushing to the small figure.

Lucifer was curled up, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, his face hidden as if trying to disappear into himself. His frail form looked even smaller in the dimming light, his entire body trembling.

“Lucifer!” Adam cried again, falling to his knees in front of him. His hands hovered anxiously over Lucifer’s shoulders, unsure if he should touch him or not. “What’s wrong? Why are you out here? You’re freezing!”

Lucifer’s body shuddered under Adam’s worried gaze, his form too cold, too fragile. Without thinking, Adam pulled off his coat and draped it over Lucifer’s small shoulders, trying to warm him up.

“I…” Lucifer’s voice was barely a whisper, his breath hitching as his body trembled harder.

“What did you say?” Adam asked, leaning in closer, his heart pounding with concern.

Suddenly, Lucifer looked up, his blue eyes wide and filled with anguish, tears streaming down his flushed face.

“I presented as an Omega!” he sobbed, his voice breaking with the weight of the confession.

Without a second thought, Adam pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him close as Lucifer buried his face in Adam’s chest, sobbing harder. Adam didn’t fully understand what it all meant, but he knew Lucifer was in pain, and that was enough. He held him close, his arms wrapped protectively around his trembling friend, trying to shield him from the world.

Lucifer stayed with Adam more often after that, curling up in Adam’s bed on nights when the loneliness was too much to bear. Adam’s mama took care of Lucifer like he was one of her own, and Adam noticed how much Lucifer had latched onto her. But it was with Adam that Lucifer clung the tightest, though Adam never fully understood just how deep those feelings ran.

Six months later, Lucifer stood outside Adam’s bedroom, rocking nervously on the balls of his feet. His fingers fidgeted with the loose threads of Adam’s sweater, a garment he had grown fond of wearing. His heart was in his throat as he waited for any sign of what was happening inside.

When the door finally opened, Adam’s mama stepped out, her face warm and comforting. She brushed Lucifer’s golden hair out of his face and cupped his cheek gently.

“Everything’s alright, baby,” she whispered softly, making Lucifer relax, though the anxiety in his chest didn’t fully subside.

“Did he present?” Lucifer asked, his voice barely audible, filled with nervous anticipation. “Is he… an Omega?”

She nodded with a tender smile. “He is.”

Lucifer’s heart skipped a beat. “And… he’s okay?”

Adam’s mama leaned down and kissed his forehead softly, her hand still cradling his face. “He’s fine, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

Lucifer took a deep breath, the relief washing over him. Adam wasn’t like his parents—Adam would be fine. Not everyone had to face what he did.

“That’s good,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

“You can go in and see him,” she offered with a sweet smile.

Lucifer’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really? I-I can?”

“Of course,” she chuckled softly. “I think Addie would love to see you.”

Lucifer’s heart fluttered in his chest, and with a deep breath, he stepped toward the door. The familiar scent of mint and apples filled the air, and a small smile tugged at his lips. They both had apple pheromones.

With one last glance at Adam’s mama, Lucifer stepped into the room, his blue eyes squinting as they adjusted to the soft light. His heart raced with every step closer to his best friend.

Lucifer stepped into Adam’s room, immediately enveloped by the warm, soothing scent of mint, apples, and something faintly floral. It was intoxicating, calming, and mingled so beautifully with his own pheromones that it made his heart swell. He preened under the comfort of it, the familiar blend making him feel as though he belonged here, in this very space where Adam lived and breathed.

But the room itself was unlike its usual neatness. Blankets, cushions, quilts, and scattered clothes were thrown haphazardly across the bed, forming a makeshift nest that looked both chaotic and inviting. It was a proper Omega's nest, something Lucifer couldn’t make himself, no matter how much he wanted to. Seeing Adam’s cozy refuge stirred a deep ache inside him, a longing so intense it nearly brought him to tears. He wanted to crawl into that nest, to curl up beside Adam and never leave.

His hands twisted together nervously as he shuffled closer to the bed. Adam lay in the center, his face pale, his green eyes rimmed with red as if he had cried or hadn't slept in days. He looked feverish, his skin glistening with sweat, but as soon as he saw Lucifer, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Luci,” Adam murmured, his voice rough and thick with exhaustion. “I’m okay… you don’t need to worry so much.”

Lucifer’s heart clenched at the sight of his friend in such a vulnerable state. He couldn’t help the anxious flutter in his chest.

“I just… I just care about you,” he whispered, his voice barely steady.

Adam’s smile softened, a warmth in his eyes that melted the tension from Lucifer’s body. He reached out, his hand resting limply on the edge of the bed. “Come lay down with me?”

Lucifer froze, uncertain for a moment. He’d never been this close to Adam during such an intimate time, during a vulnerable moment like this. His throat tightened with hesitation, but when he looked into Adam’s eyes, all he saw was trust, safety… and something deeper that made his heart skip. Slowly, he nodded and crawled into the nest beside Adam.

As he lay down, the blankets soft beneath him, Lucifer’s eyes never left Adam’s face. He watched as Adam sighed deeply, his entire body relaxing as though Lucifer’s presence alone brought him comfort. Adam’s eyes fluttered shut, his breathing evening out as if he were on the verge of sleep.

Lucifer’s hand hovered uncertainly over the blankets before he gently placed it on top of Adam’s. The warmth of Adam’s skin sent a jolt through him, and his heart thudded heavily in his chest. Adam’s lips curved into a soft smile, his fingers curling around Lucifer’s, their hands threading together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

They lay there, hands intertwined, smiles small and tender as the quiet enveloped them. But inside Lucifer, something profound shifted. His heart pounded erratically in his chest, his stomach flipping with a feeling he couldn’t ignore anymore.

He liked Adam.

He liked him a lot.

It was a realization so strong, it nearly knocked the breath from him. It was more than friendship, more than the comforting bond they had shared for years. It was something deeper, something that made his heart race and his soul yearn to be closer to Adam, to hold him, to protect him, to love him. The weight of that feeling settled heavily in his chest, terrifying in its intensity, but beautiful all the same.

He squeezed Adam’s hand just a little tighter, a silent confession blooming in his heart, though his lips remained closed. Adam shifted beside him, still smiling, and for a brief, heart-wrenching moment, Lucifer wondered if Adam felt the same.

But that thought, that hope, was fragile—something Lucifer was too scared to confront, at least not yet. For now, it was enough to lie beside him, to feel Adam’s hand in his, and to hold onto this quiet moment, even if it was fleeting.

“Don’t worry Luci, we’ll always be together.” Adam whispered sleepily.

Lucifer let out a soft breath of relief and smiled shyly. He wiggled closer, nuzzling his face against Adam’s.

Lucifer realised then…it was more than like. He was falling for Adam. He was falling in love with Adam.

A few years later, the panic that once gripped Lucifer had subsided, replaced by a quiet acceptance of his feelings. He no longer questioned his emotions or tried to suppress them—he loved Adam. He adored him with every fiber of his being. Adam had become the center of Lucifer’s world, the reason he smiled, the reason he felt safe in a world that often felt so uncertain. Being with Adam, by his side, had become his purpose.

Lucifer had always known, deep down, that his feelings were intense, perhaps more so than they should have been. He didn’t just love Adam as a friend. He wanted more, yearned for more. He wanted to mate with him, to spend his life wrapped in Adam’s warmth, building something beautiful between them. It felt wrong sometimes, a desperate, aching wrongness that clawed at him because he knew their town would never accept it. Their town was bound by tradition, by rules that suffocated the heart.

Every year, the bonfire ritual was held—a grand ceremony where the young were supposed to find their mates, the person they were destined to start a family with. Omegas, Alphas, Betas—all followed their assigned roles, all obeyed the unwritten rules that defined their futures. When the time came, you were adorned with a flower and fruit crown, symbols of who you were and who you were meant to be with. Lucifer had been so relieved, so overjoyed when he saw Adam’s crown, filled with apples and carnations, the same as his own. It felt like a sign from the universe, a secret whisper that perhaps, just perhaps, their love wasn’t as impossible as it seemed.

But those were foolish hopes. Lucifer had always known that. He knew it was wrong, that two omegas couldn’t be together, not in the way he wanted. But he couldn’t help it. His heart was stubborn, blind to reason, longing only for Adam and no one else. His love was so pure, so deeply ingrained in him, that he couldn’t even imagine loving anyone else.

That is, until the day his world fell apart.

They were nestled together in Adam’s bed—or their nest, as Lucifer had long ago come to think of it. He had claimed it as his own, curling into it every chance he got, drawn to the comfort and warmth that only Adam could provide. They lay side by side, fingers intertwined, their scents mingling in the air like a quiet confession of their bond. It was intimate in a way that no one else would understand. This was their sanctuary, their place of solace.

“Hey, Luci…” Adam’s voice was soft, almost fragile.

Lucifer hummed in acknowledgment, rolling over to press his face against Adam’s throat, inhaling the familiar scent of apples and mint. He nuzzled into Adam’s neck with a smile, content in the moment, feeling safe in the knowledge that Adam was his, at least here, in this nest. Adam giggled softly at the touch, the sound filling Lucifer’s heart with warmth.

“Can you keep a secret?” Adam asked, his voice suddenly quieter, more vulnerable.

Lucifer batted his long lashes, looking up at him with a playful smirk. “Of course I can. You know I’d never betray you.”

Adam was silent for a moment, the kind of silence that weighed heavy, thick with something unspoken. His cheeks flushed, a shy, nervous look crossing his face that Lucifer had never seen before. Something inside Lucifer twisted, a sinking feeling that something wasn’t right.

“You know Lilith?” Adam finally asked, his voice hesitant.

Lucifer froze, his body tensing as the name slipped into the air like a poison.

"Lilith Leonheart?" he echoed, his heart beginning to pound painfully in his chest.

The blonde Alpha who had recently partnered with Adam for their science project. Lucifer’s mind raced, the sinking sensation deepening into something darker, something more terrifying.

"The Alpha who presented a while back? You’ve been spending time with her, haven’t you?"

Adam nodded, his face flushing an even deeper red.

“I think…I like her, Luci," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "I think I really like her."

"Oh." The single word left Lucifer’s lips like a broken whisper, so soft, so fragile that it barely made a sound.

His heart splintered, shattering into pieces as the world crumbled around him.

Adam liked her. An Alpha. Someone he could be with, someone he was supposed to be with. Lucifer’s chest ached, a sharp, unbearable pain blooming inside him as if someone had reached in and torn out his heart. His hand, still entwined with Adam’s, went cold, his fingers trembling. He wanted to pull away, to curl up into himself and disappear. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave, not when Adam was looking at him with those soft, trusting eyes.

“She’s so nice and smart. Oh, Luci. She’s so smart. I don’t think I’ve ever meet somebody as intelligent as Lilith before. She’s amazing.” Adam rambled without thinking.

How could he have been so foolish? So blind? All this time, he had believed that Adam would one day look at him the way he wanted, the way he needed. He had hoped for something that was never possible.

Lucifer tried to smile, tried to push down the tidal wave of hurt threatening to drown him.

“That’s… that’s great, Adam,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together. “I’m happy for you.”

“Luci, do you think she’ll like me too?” Adam whisper shyly. “I might not be good enough for somebody like her.”

“Of course you’ll be enough for her Addie. You’d be enough for anyone. I don’t think you realise how…amazing you really are.” Lucifer said with a warm smile.

Adam gasped. “Oh Luci. You’re so sweet. I’m so lucky to have you has my best friend.”

But Adam didn’t seem to notice the way Lucifer’s voice cracked, the way his eyes filled with unshed tears. He was too wrapped up in his own feelings, too caught in the excitement of something new, something real. And Lucifer, as much as it tore him apart, couldn’t bear to take that away from him.

Because he loved Adam.

And if loving Adam meant letting him go, then Lucifer would. Even if it broke him. Even if it destroyed him from the inside out.

He would love Adam, silently, painfully, forever.

The following weeks were nothing short of torment for Lucifer. Agony gripped his heart every time he watched Adam and Lilith interact, a constant reminder that his once unshakable bond with Adam was slowly unraveling. It was unbearable. Adam’s attention had shifted so dramatically that it felt like a cruel betrayal. They had been inseparable, desk buddies since kindergarten, and now, without warning, Adam had traded him for Lilith Leonheart.

Every stolen glance, every whispered conversation between Adam and Lilith felt like a knife twisting deeper into Lucifer's chest. He watched in silent agony as they exchanged shy smiles, their touches lingering just a second too long for Lucifer's comfort. How many classes did they share? It felt as though every time Lucifer turned his head, there they were—laughing together, Lilith’s melodious voice cutting through the air like a bell, drawing Adam in further. And all Lucifer could do was sit there, helpless and sidelined, no longer Adam's first thought, no longer his constant companion.

The longer Lucifer endured this, the more the rage festered within him. He tried to hide it, to swallow it down, but every time he saw Lilith dare to touch Adam’s arm, saw her laugh at one of his sweet jokes, it burned. His nails dug into his palms beneath the table as he hunched over, glaring at them from a distance. How could Adam not see what was happening? In Adam’s eyes, they were just friends, but to Lucifer, it felt like a slow, torturous death. Adam was slipping through his fingers, and Lucifer didn’t know how to stop it.

He buried his face in his arms, his sharp blue eyes narrowing to slits as they peered out in a harsh glare. Of course, he could see why Adam liked her. Lilith was beautiful—irritatingly so. She was the kind of Alpha that turned heads, with her long, silken blonde hair that shimmered in the sunlight and those ice-blue eyes that seemed to pierce through anyone she looked at. Her smile, perfect and warm, had a way of lighting up the room, and Lucifer could almost understand why Adam would be drawn to her. If he wasn’t madly, hopelessly in love with Adam, he might have admired her too.

But that didn’t make it any less painful. That didn’t stop the jealousy from clawing its way through his chest like a wildfire, burning everything in its path. It wasn’t fair. Why was it never fair?

Lucifer’s lips twisted into a sneer as he watched them from the corner of his eye. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs, every beat a reminder that Adam was no longer his alone. It hurt—God, it hurt so much that he wanted to scream. He could feel it building inside of him, this tidal wave of bitterness, of anger, of resentment that he couldn’t hold back. Adam was supposed to be his. His mate. His everything.

But Lilith… Lilith had stolen that from him. Without even trying.

Lucifer huffed quietly, burying his face deeper into his arms to hide the tears threatening to spill over. His chest was tight, his throat aching as he fought against the sobs rising inside him. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to be weak. But it was too much—watching the person he loved, the person he had always wanted to be with, slipping away right in front of him. And for what? For a perfect, golden Alpha like Lilith, who could give Adam everything that Lucifer couldn’t.

His heart twisted painfully, and he pressed his hands against his chest as if trying to hold it together. He had never felt so helpless. So bitterly jealous.

It was suffocating.

Every part of him screamed to fight for Adam, to claw his way back into Adam’s life and make him see, make him feelwhat Lucifer was too terrified to say out loud. But what could he do? What could he possibly say that would change things? Adam was too kind, too sweet, too loyal to hurt Lilith—and Lucifer hated that he loved those things about him. He hated how much he loved Adam, how much he needed him.

A part of him wanted to storm up to Lilith and tear her away from Adam, to scream that Adam belonged to him. But he knew it would never work. He couldn’t change the rules of the world, couldn’t make Adam feel what he did.

So Lucifer stayed where he was, face buried in his arms, the storm of jealousy and heartbreak raging inside him as he slowly, painfully, realized something: maybe he was losing Adam for good.

At lunch, Adam had smiled brightly as he extended the invitation for Lilith to join them. Lucifer's heart sank, but he forced a tight smile, determined to be sweet, to mask the bitterness that clung to his insides. He told himself it was for Adam's sake. He’d do anything for Adam, even if it meant sitting through this agonizing lunch with Lilith—an alpha whose angelic voice grated on Lucifer’s every nerve. There was something too perfect about her, something that made Lucifer's skin itch with unease. Still, he sat quietly, biting back every sarcastic retort that rose like bile in his throat.

Lilith was all gentleness, her soft-spoken words weaving through the conversation like silk. She was the picture of grace, and it made Lucifer's blood boil. He tried to be nice, he really did, but a few snide remarks slipped out despite his best efforts. Adam’s eyes widened in surprise, his face a mask of confusion as he glanced between the two of them. Sensing the tension, Lilith excused herself with that same gentle smile, saying she’d just pop to the bathroom and be back soon. Adam nodded, flashing her a grateful grin before turning to Lucifer.

“Are you feeling alright, Luci?” Adam’s brow furrowed in concern, his green eyes searching Lucifer’s face.

Lucifer snorted, rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though his tone was sharper than he intended.

Adam wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure? You… don’t seem to like Lilith very much.”

Lucifer’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he considered telling Adam the truth. Telling him how much he hated this, how much it hurt to watch Lilith slowly take his place. But instead, he forced a smile and said, “I like Lilith just fine.”

Adam frowned, his voice softer now. “Then what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing,” Lucifer snapped a bit too quickly.

He could feel the tension rising in his chest, the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. But before Adam could press further, Lilith returned, her smile as radiant as ever.

Lucifer decided to switch tactics. He plastered on his most charming smile, turning his attention fully to Lilith.

“Oh, welcome back, Lilith,” he cooed, his voice sickly sweet.

He was extra nice now, laying it on thick, but he couldn’t help letting his sly side slip through the cracks. His compliments were laced with barbs, his smiles never quite reaching his eyes. He watched for a reaction, waiting for Lilith to take offense, but then… he noticed something in her gaze—a flicker, a twinkle, like a mirror to his own cunning nature.

It intrigued him. There was something in her eyes that wasn’t innocence. It was something darker, something playful. A likeness to his own mischievous tendencies. Slowly, a realization dawned on Lucifer—Lilith liked it. She found his sharpness endearing. She wasn’t repelled by his snide remarks; she was drawn in.

Lucifer’s interest piqued, a wicked curiosity unfurling in his chest. He didn’t like Lilith, not even a little, but now he was intrigued. How far would she go if an omega tangled themselves in front of her, testing the limits? How easy would it be to capture her attention?

And it was easy—too easy. He barely had to try. Within minutes, Lilith’s focus shifted entirely to him. She brushed Adam off without a second thought, her icy blue eyes fixated on Lucifer as if he were the only person in the room. Lucifer felt a twisted satisfaction bloom inside him, his heart thumping as he watched Adam’s face fall.

Serves you right, Lucifer thought bitterly. You ignored me, replaced me with her. Now you can feel what I’ve felt.

But the satisfaction didn’t last. Guilt crept in as he saw the sadness cloud Adam’s eyes, his smile faltering as he realized he was being left out. Lucifer’s heart ached, the jealousy and anger melting away. This wasn’t what he wanted. Not really. He didn’t want to hurt Adam.

Lucifer shifted the conversation, steering it back toward Adam, and as soon as Adam’s smile returned, so did Lucifer’s peace. Lilith rejoined the conversation, but Lucifer noticed how her eyes kept flicking back to him, how she watched him with growing interest. A plan started to form in his mind, one so wickedly perfect that he couldn’t help but smirk to himself.

I’ll show Adam what Lilith’s really like. He thought, I’ll prove she’s not a good alpha for him.

Without a second thought, Lucifer reached forward under the table, brushing his ankle against Lilith’s. He watched her closely, his eyes dark with anticipation. Lilith’s icy blue eyes brightened instantly, her smile widening as she perked up at the contact.

Oh, the game is on.

Lucifer felt a surge of confidence wash over him. He would win. He had to. Lilith wasn’t good enough for Adam, and Lucifer would make sure Adam saw that. He would prove that no one could love Adam the way he did, that no one else deserved to be by his side.

Lilith wasn’t right for his Addie.

And Lucifer would do whatever it took to show Adam the truth.

“Would you like to go out with me on a date?” Lilith asked tenderly.

Lilith’s question hung in the air, delicate but heavy with unspoken meaning. For a brief moment, Lucifer hesitated, his heart teetering on the edge. Adam liked Lilith, after all. He had been trying for weeks, his eyes lighting up with hope every time she spoke to him. But here she was, asking Lucifer on a date. It had barely been a couple of days since Lucifer had set his plan in motion, and already Lilith was tripping over herself for him. She hadn’t once asked Adam out, hadn’t even noticed him like that, despite his sweet attempts to get her attention.

Lucifer's eyes flicked past Lilith to where Adam stood a few paces behind her, waiting. His expression was hard to read, a soft smile on his lips, but his green eyes—usually so full of warmth—seemed dim. Lucifer hardly went home anymore; Adam’s house had become his sanctuary. They were always together, walking side by side, sharing the weight of each other’s presence. Lucifer ached to push past Lilith, to take Adam’s hand in his, to swing their arms and steal his attention with a gleeful smile, as they had always done. But this was important.

If Lucifer wanted to show Adam the truth, if he wanted to protect him from the heartbreak he knew Lilith would cause, he had to play this game carefully. So, Lucifer put on his sweetest smile, eyes twinkling as he gazed up at Lilith. With a flirtatious wink and a suggestive grin, he nodded.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, his voice laced with a subtle charm. “I’d love to go out with you.”

Lilith’s face lit up, her cheeks tinged with a soft pink blush. She beamed at him, clearly pleased with his answer.

“That’s great,” she murmured, her voice soft as silk. “Friday night?”

Lucifer’s grin widened, and he nodded. “Friday sounds perfect.”

Lilith hesitated for a moment, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of Adam.

“I was supposed to meet up with Adam to work on our science project, but…” She trailed off, her fingers brushing lightly against Lucifer’s arm.

Lucifer’s grin sharpened, though his voice remained light.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “Adam will understand.”

Lilith smiled, her fingers lingering for just a moment before she nodded.

“You’re right. He’s your best friend—he’ll get it.” With one last smile, she waved and turned to leave.

As soon as she was out of sight, Lucifer’s grin faded, and a knot twisted in his chest. He spun around, eager to skip back to Adam’s side, to be close to him, to bask in the comfort of his presence. But as he approached, his heart sank. Adam wasn’t smiling. His eyes were downcast, his usual brightness dimmed. He looked… small. Hurt. Lucifer’s chest tightened painfully.

“What were you and Lilith talking about?” Adam asked softly, not meeting Lucifer’s eyes.

Lucifer smirked, though it felt forced now. He shrugged, trying to keep his voice light. “She asked me out. We’re going out this Friday.”

Adam pressed his lips together, his gaze dropping further. His voice was barely above a whisper as he muttered, “Oh.”

Lucifer’s heart ached at the sound, a sharp pang of guilt cutting through him. He reached out, grabbing Adam’s hand and squeezing it tightly, desperate to feel that familiar warmth between them.

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “Lilith knows you guys were supposed to work on your project, but she’ll rain check with you. You understand, right?”

Adam nodded slowly, his voice hollow. “Yeah… sure. I get it.”

Lucifer beamed up at him, but Adam didn’t look back. His hand, though still held in Lucifer’s, felt limp, lifeless. The knot in Lucifer’s chest tightened, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if he had made a terrible mistake. He wanted to protect Adam, to show him that Lilith wasn’t the right alpha for him, but now… now he wasn’t so sure.

Lucifer had never felt so torn. The plan was working—Lilith was falling for him, and Adam was beginning to see her in a different light. But it wasn’t supposed to hurt like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like his heart was being ripped in two.

As they walked together, Adam was quieter than usual, his eyes focused on the ground. Lucifer tried to break the silence, but his attempts fell flat. The usual spark between them felt dull, and every time he looked at Adam, that ache in his chest deepened.

Friday came faster than Lucifer expected. The date loomed ahead of him like a shadow, and the closer it got, the more he dreaded it. He didn’t want to go out with Lilith. He didn’t want to play this game anymore. What he wanted was to grab Adam, pull him close, and tell him the truth—that it wasn’t Lilith he cared about, that it had never been her. It was him. It had always been Adam.

But he couldn’t say that. Not yet. Instead, he stood there, forcing another smile as Lilith approached, her golden hair catching the light, her perfect smile making him feel hollow inside.

The following weeks passed like a slow, agonizing dream. Lilith and Lucifer grew closer with each day, their laughter mingling over lunch and conversations about everything except the one thing that mattered most. Adam, meanwhile, seemed to drift further and further away, his absence a silent weight that gnawed at Lucifer’s heart. He couldn’t understand why Adam was pulling back—not from Lilith, that part made sense—but from him. That hurt in a way Lucifer hadn’t expected. The growing distance between them was like a splinter buried deep in his chest, constantly aching.

Every lunch felt wrong. What used to be a sacred ritual shared between him and Adam had now become something hollow and joyless. It wasn’t supposed to be just him and Lilith. It was supposed to be him and Adam, laughing over silly jokes and stealing glances like they always had. The plan had been simple: prove to Adam that Lilith wasn’t the perfect alpha he thought she was. But instead, all he seemed to be doing was pushing Adam further away, straining their friendship in a way Lucifer hadn’t anticipated.

Lilith’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts one afternoon.

“Lucifer,” she asked softly, her golden hair catching the sun, “are you alright? You’ve seemed... a little down lately.”

Lucifer blinked, forcing himself back into the moment. He plastered on a smile, the same charming mask he always wore.

“Everything’s perfectly fine,” he said, his voice light and easy.

But Lilith wasn’t convinced. Her eyes narrowed with concern, and she leaned in slightly. “Is it about Adam?”

Lucifer’s heart stuttered at the sound of Adam’s name, his eyes widening in surprise. For a split second, he even looked around, half-expecting Adam to be standing somewhere nearby. But of course, he wasn’t. Adam wasn’t there anymore. He rarely was.

“What do you mean?” Lucifer asked, trying to keep his voice steady despite the sudden quickening of his heartbeat.

Lilith sighed, glancing down for a moment as if considering her words carefully.

“I’ve noticed he’s been... distant. From both of us.” She paused, her eyes softening with sympathy. “You two were so close. Everyone knew it. Best friends since forever, practically joined at the hip. I can understand why you’re feeling a little down with him pulling away like this. But he’ll come around. He just needs time to... heal.”

Lucifer’s brow furrowed, his stomach twisting in confusion.

“Heal?” The word felt foreign, like it didn’t belong in the same sentence as Adam. “What do you mean? Heal from what?”

Lilith offered him a weak, uncomfortable smile, her gaze falling to her lap.

“I think Adam’s... hurting. He has feelings for me, Lucifer. It’s obvious. And I... well, I didn’t mean to give him the wrong impression, but he’s probably heartbroken, seeing me with someone else.”

Lucifer’s heart clenched painfully. Adam, heartbroken? He’d known Adam liked Lilith, but he hadn’t thought—hadn’t realized how deep those feelings might have gone. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Of course, this would hurt Adam. He’d been too focused on his plan, on showing Adam that Lilith wasn’t right for him, to think about how much it might be tearing Adam apart to watch them together.

His jaw tightened, guilt weaving its way through his chest. He felt... stupid. Selfish. Of course, Adam was hurting. And for what? Lucifer’s plan? To make Adam see something that might not even matter anymore?

“Were you never interested in Adam?” Lucifer asked, his voice coming out smaller than he intended. He needed to know, to understand.

Lilith shook her head, her smile apologetic. “No, I wasn’t. Adam’s... he’s sweet. Kind. But he’s too soft for me. Too delicate. I want someone who can challenge me, someone who can bite back.”

Lucifer swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. Adam wasn’t delicate—he wasn’t—but he knew what she meant. Adam’s gentleness was part of what made him so easy to love. So how could someone not see that as a strength?

Lilith’s hand reached out, her fingers brushing softly against his. “Lucifer, I really like you. I’m sorry if I’ve caused problems between you and Adam. It was never my intention to hurt anyone.”

Lucifer stared down at her hand, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He felt... torn. Confused. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He didn’t want this, not really. But he couldn’t stop now. Not when he was so close.

Lilith’s voice broke through his thoughts again.

“Would you... come with me to the bonfire ritual?” she asked, her voice soft, almost hopeful. “It would mean a lot.”

Lucifer opened his mouth to reply, but the words got stuck in his throat. This was it. His moment. He could take her to the bonfire, in front of everyone—in front of Adam—and show, once and for all, that Lilith wasn’t the alpha Adam thought she was. It was the perfect opportunity to make his point. To prove that she wasn’t worthy of Adam’s love.

But as he hesitated, his mind flickered back to Adam—the way his eyes had looked so empty the last time they’d spoken, the way his hand had felt cold and limp in his grasp. Was this really worth it? Hurting Adam like this, just to prove a point?

“I...” Lucifer’s voice faltered, his heart twisting painfully in his chest.

He wanted to win. He wanted to show Lilith wasn’t the one for Adam. But more than that, he wanted things to go back to the way they were—before all of this. When it was just him and Adam, walking side by side, laughing and sharing their quiet moments.

Lilith waited, her hand still resting on his, her smile hopeful. But Lucifer’s heart wasn’t in it anymore. He wasn’t sure it ever had been.

“Sure. I’d love to go with you.”

Once Lucifer had agreed to go to the bonfire ritual with Lilith, everything seemed to shift. He had thought the game would be over by the night’s end—Adam was supposed to see them together, realize that Lilith wasn’t the alpha for him, and move on. Then, Lucifer would return to Adam’s side, and life would fall back into place, just like before. But the reality was far more complicated, and the bonfire ritual didn’t unfold the way he imagined. Instead of a simple resolution, it was a night of growing frustration.

Lucifer kept his distance from Lilith, his eyes scanning the crowd for Adam, hoping to catch even a glimpse of him. But Adam never appeared, and that absence ate away at Lucifer’s heart. He had anticipated Adam’s presence, expecting him to witness what was happening and understand, but without Adam there, Lucifer’s entire plan felt pointless. The flickering firelight cast eerie shadows on Lilith’s face as she tried to kiss him more than once, attempting to initiate the mating ritual with tender touches. But Lucifer rebuffed her, keeping a polite yet firm distance. He had no intention of mating with her—not that night, not ever.

It was when Lilith brought up his heats that Lucifer felt the true weight of the situation. The question caught him entirely off guard, his body tensing instinctively. Omegas’ heats were a private matter, something deeply personal, never openly discussed unless an intimate bond had already been formed. Yet here Lilith was, asking if his had begun.

Adam hasn’t even asked him about his heats and Adam was supposed to be the first person to ask!

“Have you started yet?” Lilith’s voice was curious, but there was an edge to it, a possessive tone that made Lucifer’s skin prickle.

Lucifer stared at her, his expression hardening, unsure how to respond. The audacity of the question rattled him.

“It’s expected,” she continued casually, “for the omega to invite their chosen mate to share their heat with them.”

Lucifer let out a sharp, incredulous snort before he could stop himself. Her assumption, her sense of entitlement, made his blood boil. Lilith stared him down, her eyes narrowing as if trying to solve a puzzle.

“So, are you planning on inviting me when it happens?” she asked, her voice quieter but more insistent.

“No,” Lucifer bit back, his tone cold and unyielding. That single word hung in the air between them like a lead weight.

Lilith seemed to come to her own conclusion then, a look of frustrated understanding crossing her face. She nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“I see. It seems we’d be better off as friends, then.” Her voice was calm, but there was a hint of hurt behind it, something Lucifer chose to ignore for his own sake.

Lucifer saw this as his way out, his chance to escape the tangled web he had spun around her.

“Maybe,” he said, offering her a charming smile and a squeeze of the hand. It was his way of softening the blow, but it felt hollow.

Lilith smiled weakly and touched his cheek. “I’ll still be here, you know. When you’re ready.”

She kissed him on the cheek and walked away, leaving Lucifer standing alone by the fire, his chest tightening with guilt and confusion. He had gotten what he wanted—he was free of her—but the emptiness lingered.

The bonfire’s glow faded into the night as Lucifer made his way back to Adam’s house, his thoughts spinning. When he opened the door, the warmth of the home hit him like a wave, making him realize how cold he had been all night. Adam hadn’t been himself lately—distant, quiet, yet still allowing Lucifer to stay in his room, to share his bed. But the closeness they once had was missing. Adam no longer hugged him or reached for his hand like he used to, and the absence of that comfort gnawed at Lucifer’s heart.

As he entered Adam’s room, the sight that greeted him made his chest tighten painfully. Adam was curled up in his nest, a book in his lap, his face calm but distant. Lucifer’s heart sank. The realization hit him like a blow—Adam hadn’t gone to the bonfire. He had stayed home, alone. They had promised, hadn’t they? Promised to attend their first coming-of-age bonfire night together. And Lucifer had completely forgotten.

Tears welled up in Lucifer’s eyes before he could stop them, and before he knew it, he was sobbing. The weight of everything—the broken promise, the distance between them, the confusion in his own heart—came crashing down all at once.

Adam looked up, startled, and quickly set his book aside.

“Lucifer?” he called softly, concern filling his voice as he scrambled to his feet. Within seconds, he was at Lucifer’s side, his hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him into a warm embrace.

“What happened? Why are you crying?”

Lucifer clung to him, his body shaking with sobs.

“I’m sorry, Adam,” he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to hurt you... with Lilith.”

Adam’s gentle hum soothed him as he hugged Lucifer tighter, his hand stroking through Lucifer’s hair in the way that always calmed him down.

“It’s okay,” Adam whispered softly, his omega pheromones flooding the room with the familiar scent of apple blossoms, comforting and safe. “I’m not mad at you.”

Lucifer sobbed harder at that, his heart twisting with guilt. “Then why... why were you pushing me away?”

Adam pulled back slightly, just enough to look into Lucifer’s tear-filled eyes. He took Lucifer’s hand, leading him to the nest, guiding him gently to sit.

“I wasn’t trying to push you away,” Adam said quietly, his voice filled with warmth and patience. “I just... I needed some space. I needed time to deal with my own feelings.”

Lucifer looked at him, confused. “Feelings?”

Adam nodded, sighing softly. “I liked Lilith. But I saw that you liked her too. And she liked you back. I wanted you to be happy, Lucifer. So I tried to stay out of the way... to let you two figure things out. I thought that was best.”

Lucifer’s heart shattered at those words. He cried harder, the weight of Adam’s kindness crushing him.

Adam was too good for him. How could he have been so blind, so selfish?

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer repeated, his voice broken as the tears flowed freely. “I’m so sorry.”

Adam just smiled softly and pulled him closer, holding him tight. “It’s okay, Luci. I’m here. I’ve always been here.”

Later that night, after the tears had dried, Lucifer confessed everything about the bonfire, about Lilith’s promises. Adam simply smiled, brushing his fingers through Lucifer’s hair.

“There’s no rush,” Adam whispered. “Lilith will wait until you’re ready.”

Lucifer nodded, but deep down, he knew the truth he couldn’t say out loud. He didn’t want Lilith. He didn’t want anyone else. He wanted Adam. He wanted to be with him.

As Adam stroked his hair and held him close, Lucifer snuggled deeper into the warmth of his embrace, purring softly. Everything seemed to fall back into place after that night. Adam held his hand again, their laughter returned, and they sat together in lessons and at lunch, just like before. It was as if nothing had changed, and Lucifer sighed in relief.

Occasionally, Lilith would smile at him from across the room, a knowing look in her eyes, as if silently reminding him that she was still waiting. Lucifer would smile back, but it was always sheepish, a fleeting gesture. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth—that she would be waiting forever. He would never want her. He only ever wanted Adam.

In the end, it didn’t matter. His plan had worked. He had gotten rid of the alpha that threatened to take Adam away, and now he had Adam all to himself. That was a victory in his book, even if it left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

It was just the two of them again, as it had always been, as it was always meant to be. After everything—Lilith, the bonfire, the distance—things had returned to their quiet rhythm. They graduated from school and moved on to college together, side by side, just like they had always promised. But something lingered in the air between them, an unspoken truth that neither could quite bring themselves to say aloud. For Lucifer, it was both comforting and painful, this quiet intimacy, because every glance, every touch, only made him yearn for Adam more.

Lucifer never forgot the first thing Adam had ever taught him—how to draw a duck. It was such a simple thing, yet it had sparked something deep inside him, a fascination with ducks that never left him. It had become their little joke, a tender reminder of the start of everything. So, when Lucifer announced what he intended to study in college, the expression on Adam’s face was priceless, and Lucifer wished more than anything that he had a camera to capture the moment.

“Really, Luci?” Adam asked, his voice dripping with disbelief, though there was an undeniable warmth in his eyes. “Are you playing with me again?”

Lucifer couldn’t help but grin wide, his sharp teeth flashing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. There was a playful light in his gaze, the one that always seemed to make Adam’s heart stutter, though Lucifer never noticed.

“Nope,” Lucifer confirmed, his grin growing impossibly larger. “I’m serious. I’m going into businesses studies. All for the foundation of... wait for it... rubber ducks.”

Adam’s mouth fell open in astonishment, his brows furrowed as if trying to decipher whether Lucifer was joking or not.

“Rubber ducks?” he repeated slowly, as though the words themselves were foreign on his tongue.

Lucifer nodded enthusiastically, his eyes gleaming with pride.

“Yup! I’m going to open my very own rubber duck shop. I just need to learn how to run it without going bankrupt first.” He laughed, but there was a sincerity in his voice, a determination that Adam had always admired.

Adam blinked a few times, still processing. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured, his eyes softening as he gazed at Lucifer. There was something tender in the way he looked at him, something unspoken but so deeply felt.

“But you know,” Adam continued thoughtfully, “you don’t have to limit yourself to rubber ducks. You could do a whole duck-themed shop. Duck clothes, towels, blankets, ornaments—you could even sell duck-themed snacks.”

Lucifer’s heart swelled with affection. He wanted to kiss Adam right then and there, wanted to close the gap between them and let all the words he could never say spill into that one moment. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, he gave a soft laugh, his eyes lingering on Adam’s face, memorizing every detail, every freckle, every line that crinkled when he smiled.

“You always know how to make everything better, Adam.”

Adam’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked away, shy under Lucifer’s gaze.

“I just want you to succeed,” he mumbled, though there was a hint of something more in his voice, something deeper.

Lucifer’s heart ached in the most bittersweet way. The longing gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside, as he always did. He would settle for this—for the closeness, for the laughter, for the way Adam always seemed to make everything brighter, even when he didn’t realize it.

The days stretched on, turning into weeks, then months. They studied together, lived together, and every moment was laced with the same quiet yearning that Lucifer kept hidden away. He told himself it was enough. Being by Adam’s side was enough, even if he could never have more. But late at night, when the world was quiet and Adam was asleep beside him, Lucifer’s heart would whisper truths he couldn’t bear to voice.

He wanted more. He wanted everything.

He wanted Adam, not as a friend, not as a companion, but as something more, something deeper. But fear held him back. What if confessing changed everything? What if Adam pulled away? What if Lucifer lost the only person who had ever truly known him, who had been there from the very beginning?

One night, as they lay in their shared bed, Adam turned toward him, his voice soft and drowsy in the darkness.

“Lucifer?”

“Yeah?”

Adam hesitated for a moment before continuing, his voice almost a whisper. “Are you happy? I mean... with everything?”

Lucifer swallowed, his throat tightening as he fought back the emotions threatening to spill over. He turned to look at Adam, his heart pounding in his chest.

“I am,” he said, though the words felt heavy, incomplete. “I’m happy as long as I’m with you.”

Adam’s eyes met his, and for a brief moment, something flickered between them, something raw and vulnerable. But before Lucifer could grasp it, Adam smiled softly and closed his eyes again, settling back into the comfort of their shared space.

Lucifer lay awake long after that, staring up at the ceiling, his heart aching with the weight of all the things left unsaid. He wanted to tell Adam the truth—that he wasn’t just happy because they were together as friends. He was happy because Adam was his world, because every day spent with him was a day he cherished more than anything else. Because Adam saved him and lucifer wouldn’t be here otherwise.

But he couldn’t say it. Not yet.

So, he let the silence fall between them again, just as he always had, and waited for the courage that might one day come. Until then, he would stay by Adam’s side, hoping that one day, things might change. That one day, Adam might see him the way Lucifer saw him—with love, with longing, and with the deepest part of his heart.

But for now, it was enough to be close, even if the space between them was filled with words they were too afraid to speak.

Of course his heats began the week before they were due to start college together. They had agreed on becoming roommates. Lucifers whole body flared with delicious heat and between his soft thighs an ache for Adam grow.

Adam was kind. Adams mama (his adopted mama he supposed) was understanding. Having learnt about heats and the cycle of being an omega, it really shouldn’t have been that surprising. But it was nice to have two omegas that understood and helped him.

Lucifer debated going back to his family house while his heat rampaged through him. The thought that Adam might over hear him and his desire for him was too much. Adam, bless his heart, tried to get Lucifer to stay but Lucifer couldn’t. They were both omegas and he didn’t want to see the disgust in Adams face if he accidentally heard Lucifer moaning for him. Besides Lucifer didn’t trust himself not to jump Adam.

The real problems began after his heat. His body was more awake. More aware. During college he was surrounded by Adam. Adams touch, Adam pheromones, his clothes, his boxers, his everything.

More than once Lucifer had waited patiently for Adam to leave for a class, grabbed Adams boxers, locked himself in the bathroom and dropped his pants. His fingers slipped between his soft thighs and Lucifer would spend the next few hours pumping his aching cunt with his fingers while holding Adams boxers to his mouth. He knew it might be considered a little much but he couldn’t help it. He’d lick and suck the fabric, finding the wet patch of Adams own omega core and suck on it, tasting Adams fluids with desire.

“Shit.” He groaned loudly, pushing his soaked fingers harder into his drippy wet cunt. Lucifer shifted on the toilet set, spreading his thighs more and curling his toes. “Fuck. Fuck me Addie. It feels so good.”

Lucifers body trembled from pleasure. He grabbed Adams most recent boxer shorts, a cute blue and white pair that he had seen Adam hastily kicked off this morning. Lucifer had waited until Adam wasn’t looking before swiping them from the ground.

“Mine! Mine! You’re mine Addie! Mine!”

He mouth watered as he sucked on the inside area of the crotch. Lucifer could taste the omega body fluids that were soaked into the fabric and it made him squirt with want. His pussy quivered around his fingers, Lucifer arched them and thrusted even harder.

Lucifers eyes were half shut as he enjoyed the fantasy. “Ah, ah, ohhhhh~ harder Addie. Come on baby. Ride my pussy harder, you can do it~”

Clenching the fabric between his teeth, Lucifers other hand yanked his shirt up and began to rub his breast. His fingers playing with his nipples and making his head fall all the way back, lightly hitting the wall behind the toilet.

“Fuck! Shit!” He moaned, arch his hips and trembling when he heard the loud squishing sound of his body fluids. “Holy shit! Adam! Just like that! More, fuck me more! Ohh! I’m yours Addie! My body belongs to you! Nobody else is allowed to touch me like this, Addie!”

Lucifers body tensed up as he came hard. So hard his eyes rolled back and all he saw was stars. Lucifer panted heavily, his body drenched in sweat and his omega pussy quivering to the point his toes curled inward.

“Shit.” He whispered, licking the wet patch on Adam boxers. His face grow pink as he held them between his hands. “I’m such a creepy. But I just love him so much. I can’t help how I feel.”

With a sigh, Lucifer moved off the toilet. His feet trembling and legs buckling. Ever since he has begun his heats, everything was in overdrive and well…it was so hard sometimes.

Lucifer was touching himself practically on a daily basis. Which was normal for a healthy Omega, he learned. It’s a wonder he hasn’t begun to steal Adam clothes away…the ones he does have, Adam had given him. With another sigh, Lucifer looked at Adam’s boxer shorts and groaned, he had to wash them before Adam comes home…

His pussy began to ache again. Lucifer swallowed thickly and pushed the boxers onto his hand, stretching them out so Adam’s wet patch was face up. Lucifer shifted, lifting his leg and begging to rub the area against his dripping cunt. His head tilted backward and jaw became slack with pleasure.

His body could never settle for long. He’d be fucking himself for another hour or so..

A week later, Adam came bursting into their shared dorm, the door slamming so hard into the wall that Lucifer nearly jumped out of his skin. His heart raced in his chest as he clutched his book to steady his nerves. But before he could even scold Adam for his dramatic entrance, he saw the way Adam's eyes were blazing with excitement, bright and full of life, and Lucifer couldn’t help but grin. Adam was glowing, his joy contagious, and as much as Lucifer's stomach twisted with something darker, he still thought Adam looked adorable, practically vibrating with energy.

“Luci! Luci!” Adam chanted, his voice filled with the kind of excitement that made Lucifer's heart ache and swell all at once. Without warning, Adam leaped at him, knocking the smaller Omega off balance, clutching onto him like he couldn’t wait to share whatever had him so worked up.

“Look! Look at this!”

Lucifer chuckled softly, trying to steady himself under the weight of Adam's enthusiasm.

“Alright, alright, calm down,” he said, his voice full of affection, even though there was a nervous knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He reached for the flyer Adam was waving in his face, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “A music concert?”

“Yeah! Let’s go tonight!” Adam gasped, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a child waiting for Christmas morning.

Lucifer's eyes darkened with confusion.

“But you’ve never really been into music before,” he said, his tone gentle but cautious. His bright blue eyes searched Adam's face, brimming with emotions that he couldn’t quite name, though the familiar sting of jealousy was already starting to claw at him. “What’s gotten into you?”

Adam’s grin widened, so much so that he looked like the Cheshire Cat, his face lighting up in a way that made Lucifer’s heart clench.

“The bass player is so cool! You have no idea! She’s awesome! We’re in the same course, and I started talking to her this morning. She invited me to her show!”

Lucifer felt his stomach drop, the warmth in Adam’s smile suddenly feeling like a knife to the chest. His insides twisted uncomfortably, but he forced a smile to his lips.

“Who?” he asked, his voice tight despite his best efforts to keep it light.

“Her name’s Lute,” Adam replied, practically glowing as he rushed around their dorm, gathering his things in a whirlwind of excitement. “She’s such a cool Alpha. We’ve got so much in common!”

Lucifer froze, his fingers tightening around the edges of the yellow flyer, his nails biting into the paper. “Oh?” he asked, the word slipping out sharper than he intended. “Like what, exactly?”

Adam didn’t seem to notice the change in Lucifer’s tone, too caught up in his excitement. “Well, for one, we both love punk rock! And we both want to leave this town someday, maybe move to a big city like New York! Can you imagine? We both like apple cider and cheesy chips, and she’s into this designer called Pumpkin Skull! You’d love her, Luci!”

Lucifer listened, his heart sinking with every word, his face darkening as Adam continued to ramble on. The flyer in his hand was starting to tear at the edges under his grip, the vibrant yellow paper crinkling in protest. Adam’s eyes were glowing, that beautiful green of his irises shining with every word, with every mention of Lute, with every detail that Lucifer felt like he could have shared too if only Adam had ever asked.

“Don’t do that, Luci!” Adam gasped, his hand reaching out to grab the flyer as Lucifer absentmindedly tore at it, his fingers ripping through the edges without even realizing it. Adam lunged to take it back, but Lucifer ducked under his outstretched hands, his body twisting away with a sharpness that mirrored the ache in his chest.

Lucifer’s thoughts were spinning. So, this Alpha liked apple cider and cheesy chips? Big deal. Lucifer liked those too. He would have left this town in a heartbeat if Adam had ever said he wanted to go. Hell, he would’ve followed him to the ends of the earth. And punk rock? Sure, Lucifer didn’t know the first thing about it, but if that’s what Adam liked, he’d learn. For Adam, he’d learn anything.

But he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he let Adam’s excitement continue to stab at him, word by word. He watched the way Adam’s face lit up when he talked about her—about Lute—and it made his chest feel hollow, like everything between them was slipping away without Adam even realizing it.

Lucifer finally let the crumpled flyer fall from his hands. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost flat.

His eyes lingered on Adam, searching for something—anything—that would tell him that maybe, just maybe, he was still the most important person in Adam’s life. But all he saw was that damn glowing excitement, and it was like a punch to the gut.

Adam blinked, pausing for a moment as if finally sensing the change in Lucifer’s mood. “Luci... you’ll come with me, right?” he asked, his voice softening, concern flickering in his eyes.

Lucifer wanted to scream. He wanted to tell Adam that he didn’t want to go, that he didn’t care about some Alpha with a bass guitar, that all he wanted was to spend the evening wrapped up in the quiet warmth of their dorm, just the two of them. But the words stuck in his throat, choked by the fear of driving Adam away even more.

Instead, he forced a smile, small and brittle.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice tight, betraying the ache in his chest. “I’ll come.”

Adam grinned again, all traces of hesitation vanishing as he rushed to gather his things, talking about how great the concert would be and how cool Lute was. But Lucifer couldn’t hear him anymore. The words washed over him, muffled by the sound of his own heartbeat, the thudding in his chest a painful reminder of all the things he wished he could say but never would.

That night, Lucifer stood beside Adam at the concert, watching as the lights flickered over the stage, the music blaring through the speakers. But his eyes weren’t on the stage. They were on Adam. Watching him. Watching the way he looked at her—Lute—as she played, as if she were the most incredible thing in the world.

And for the first time in his life, Lucifer felt like he was truly losing Adam.

The thought ripped through him, sharp and unforgiving, and as he stood there, surrounded by the noise and the crowd, Lucifer realized that no matter how hard he tried to hold on, Adam was already slipping away from him. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He bit his lip, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. He would smile, he would stand by Adam’s side, just like always. But inside, he was breaking, his heart fracturing with every beat. And Adam, sweet and oblivious, had no idea.

Lucifer wanted to scream, but all he could do was smile.

Eventually, Lute’s band wrapped up, and the stage lights dimmed as she and her bandmates exited to a wave of cheers and clapping. In the low glow of the club, her cool, sharp eyes scanned the crowd, looking for Adam. When she found him, her lips curled into a confident smirk as she made a beeline in their direction. Lucifer trailed behind Adam, the familiar ache in his chest deepening with every step.

Lute was beautiful in a way that was utterly different from Lilith. Where Lilith was all soft curves and dark allure, Lute exuded a raw, unapologetic edge. Her short, choppy hair was a mix of steel gray and white, framing her angular face, and her large brown eyes shone with a sharpness that suggested she saw more than she let on. Her olive skin, warm and smooth, gave Lucifer the impression that she might have Italian roots. She carried herself with an air of careless rebellion, like someone who lived entirely on her own terms. And that made Lucifer’s stomach twist with jealousy all over again.

As soon as Lute reached Adam, he grinned and high-fived her, showering her with compliments about the show, his eyes bright and full of admiration. Lute smirked back, basking in his praise.

"Thanks for coming to support me, Adam," she said, her voice low and velvety, dripping with gratitude.

"Of course I would," Adam replied, and Lucifer could see the faint blush that tinged his cheeks.

He frowned, unable to stop the ugly feeling gnawing at him. He didn’t like the way Lute was looking at Adam, didn’t like the way her presence seemed to pull Adam further and further away from him. It was the same sick feeling he’d felt with Lilith, the same fear that someone else could swoop in and steal Adam from him.

Adam nudged Lucifer, snapping him out of his dark thoughts. He blinked and realized that both Adam and Lute were now looking at him, waiting for a response.

"Luci, this is Lute," Adam said, his voice hesitating slightly. "Lute, this is Lucifer... my best friend."

Lucifer tried to smile, but it felt forced, brittle. He didn’t miss the way Adam had faltered on that last word—friend. Something about it burned more than it should have. And when Lute smiled back at him, friendly but distant, he had to fight the urge to frown. He knew that smile. Knew what it meant. Soon enough, her attention was back on Adam, her laughter easy and familiar, like they’d known each other for years. And Lucifer, standing on the outskirts, felt that old familiar pang of dread.

He knew this game. He’d played it before, with Lilith, and now here it was again—another Alpha trying to steal what was his.

When Adam eventually wandered off to grab drinks—three apple ciders, Lucifer noted bitterly—Lucifer’s jealousy flared again. Apple cider had always been their thing. It felt like a betrayal, however small, and the unfairness of it all churned inside him. Now, alone with Lute, Lucifer prepared to charm her, to weave the same spell that had worked on Lilith, but before he could even begin, Lute’s eyes narrowed.

"You don’t like me, do you?" she said, cutting straight to the point. Her voice was sharp but not unkind, more amused than anything. Lucifer blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

"What?" he tried to deny it, but Lute’s eyes were relentless, pinning him in place like a hawk eyeing its prey.

"I can read people, you know," she said with a smirk, crossing her arms. "I can always tell when someone doesn’t like me or when they don’t want to be somewhere. And you? You’re screaming it, dude."

Lucifer stiffened, realizing there was no point in pretending. He tilted his head, sizing her up in return, before deciding to take a different approach. This wasn’t like with Lilith. Lute wasn’t easily charmed, but she was competitive. Good. He could work with that.

He exhaled softly. "You’re right. I don’t trust Alphas." It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.

Lute's expression shifted slightly, her tough exterior softening just a touch.

“Bad experiences?" she asked, her voice quieter now, more understanding.

Lucifer nodded, his mind flashing back to those memories—Alphas who had only wanted to possess, to control, to dominate.

“Yeah," he admitted, his voice low. “Really bad ones."

Lute looked at him for a long moment, something thoughtful passing through her eyes. "Well, for what it’s worth, I’m not here to hurt Adam," she said carefully.

Lucifer’s blood boiled at the very idea, his jealousy igniting like a wildfire.

“How do you know that?" he snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. "How can you promise you won’t hurt him?"

Lute seemed taken aback by his intensity, but then her expression softened again.

“You’re a good friend," she said after a pause, her eyes warmer now, almost admiring. "I can see how much you care about him. It’s... it’s actually kind of sweet."

Lucifer forced himself to remain composed, hiding the smug satisfaction that spread through him. She’s buying it.

He leaned into the role, making himself appear smaller, more vulnerable. "I just... I don’t want to see him get hurt," he whispered, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes. "He means the world to me."

Lute’s gaze softened even more, and she took a small step closer, her hand brushing against his arm.

“I promise," she said, her voice firm but kind. "I’m not like those other Alphas. I won’t hurt him. Or you."

Lucifer bit his lip, feigning uncertainty before finally nodding, as if he were cautiously accepting her promise.

“You promise?" he asked again, his voice small.

"I swear," she said, her grip tightening briefly on his shoulder.

By the time Adam returned with the drinks, Lute’s attention had shifted from him to Lucifer, her hand resting on his arm more often than not, her eyes softer whenever she glanced his way. Adam smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He watched them closely, his brow furrowing slightly, his lips twitching as if trying to suppress something. His green eyes darted between Lucifer and Lute, filled with a flicker of uncertainty that Lucifer didn’t notice.

But Adam noticed. He saw the subtle shifts, the closeness between them, and something in his chest tightened painfully. As the night went on, he found himself smiling less and less, his laughter feeling hollow, and for the first time, a strange, gnawing feeling of loss began to creep into his heart.

Lute exchanged numbers with Lucifer that night, and soon enough, she was texting him constantly. Twice a day turned into casual conversations at all hours. It was effortless, really—easier than Lucifer had anticipated. He thought breaking her down would take more effort, that she would be more of a challenge. But no, she was just like all the others. And with each text, each exchange, Lucifer felt a small victory growing inside him.

That night, Lucifer sat curled up with Adam in the dim light of their dorm's living room. A movie flickered on the screen, but neither of them was really paying attention. It was the night of the bonfire ritual, a tradition they usually never missed, but tonight, they both silently agreed that staying in was the better choice. Old Berry would scold them for skipping, but Lucifer didn’t care. He was exactly where he wanted to be—tucked against Adam’s side, his head resting on Adam’s shoulder, the warmth between them like it always had been. Like it was supposed to be.

Lucifer hardly ever slept in his own bed anymore. Even after all these years, he still slipped into Adam’s room at night, just like when they were kids. Adam never pushed him away, never told him no. His room had always been a sanctuary for Lucifer, the one place he could let his guard down, where everything felt safe. But lately, Adam had been different. Stiffer, more distant. Lucifer could feel it in the way Adam’s body didn’t relax against his anymore, in the way his responses had grown shorter, more clipped.

The soft chime of a message interrupted the quiet. Lucifer groaned, stretching lazily to grab his phone from the coffee table. The screen lit up with a text from Lute.

"Is that Lute?" Adam asked, his voice quieter than usual, a hint of something unspoken threading through his words.

Lucifer didn’t think much of it, answering absentmindedly, "Yeah, it’s her."

There was a pause, a brief silence that felt heavier than it should have. "I didn’t know you two exchanged numbers," Adam murmured, his voice dropping lower.

Lucifer shrugged, barely looking up from his phone. "We did at the concert. It’s not a big deal." He glanced at Adam, but his best friend’s face was hard to read, his green eyes focused on the television. Lucifer brushed it off and went back to his phone as another message from Lute came in.

"She wants to hang out Saturday night," Lucifer muttered, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. He was irritated that Lute was interrupting his time with Adam. This was supposed to be their night, and now it felt tainted.

Adam bit his lip, hesitating before speaking, his voice softer than before. "She hasn’t been responding to my texts lately."

Lucifer stilled. For a moment, his own jealousy evaporated, replaced by curiosity. "How long has she been ignoring you?"

Adam’s eyes flickered with something sadder, more vulnerable. He glanced away, the glow of the TV casting shadows across his face. "About a week now," he admitted quietly. "I asked her if she wanted to come to the bonfire tonight, but she left me on read."

Lucifer’s heart skipped a beat, and he had to fight the smirk threatening to spread across his lips. It was working. Slowly but surely, Lute was slipping away from Adam. He should have been more focused on Adam’s sadness, should have cared about the hurt in his voice, but all Lucifer could think about was how close he was to winning. Soon, Lute would be out of their lives, and things would go back to normal. Just him and Adam. Like it had always been.

But Adam's next question caught him off guard. "Do you like her?" Adam asked, his voice suddenly serious, his eyes searching Lucifer’s face for something he wasn’t ready to give.

Lucifer blinked, confused. "Why are you asking me that?"

Adam was quiet for a long moment, his brow furrowing before he finally spoke. "What about Lilith?"

The name made Lucifer bristle instantly. He hated hearing it. Lilith didn’t matter anymore, hadn’t mattered for a long time. Why was Adam even bringing her up?

"What about her?" Lucifer snapped, clicking his tongue in frustration. He didn’t like where this conversation was headed.

Adam blinked, his expression tightening. "I thought you and her had... something."

Lucifer rolled his eyes, irritation prickling at his skin. "We don’t. Not really." He paused, adding quickly, "Lilith doesn’t even like any Omegas in town, Addie. You know that. She’s always been... complicated."

Adam flinched, catching the subtle undertone in Lucifer’s words.

“You know I wouldn’t ever considered something with her," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. "Not after what happened between the two of you."

Lucifer smiled, pleased with the way Adam seemed to fold under his explanation. He snuggled closer, pressing his head against Adam’s chest, feeling the familiar comfort in the way they fit together.

“I know," he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. But Adam didn’t relax. His body was still tense, rigid, like something was wrong.

Lucifer frowned, sensing the change. "Are you feeling stiff?" he asked, his tone gentle. "I can give you a back massage if you want."

Before Adam could respond, Lucifer’s phone chimed again. This time, Adam’s voice was sharper, more pointed. "Is that Lute again?"

Lucifer’s patience snapped. "So what if it is?" he snapped, the frustration bubbling over. "What I have going on with Lute has nothing to do with you."

The second the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Adam’s face fell, the hurt so clear in his eyes it made Lucifer’s heart twist. Adam flinched as if he’d been struck, pulling away from Lucifer’s embrace, his warmth disappearing like a candle snuffed out.

"I guess you’re right, Lucifer," Adam said quietly, standing up. "It’s got nothing to do with me if you're... moving on."

Lucifer froze. Moving on?

He stared up at Adam, shocked and confused, until the weight of Adam’s words hit him. Adam had called him Lucifer—not Luci, not the familiar nickname he’d always used. Something between them had shifted, cracked, and Lucifer didn’t know how to fix it.

"Addie, wait—" Lucifer reached out, trying to grab his arm, to pull him back into the safety of their closeness. But Adam pulled away, his eyes hardening.

"Don’t come into my room tonight," Adam said firmly, his voice colder than Lucifer had ever heard it. "Or the next few nights. I need space."

Lucifer gawked, his chest tightening painfully.

“Space? Space from what?" His voice grew sharper, more defensive. "Because Lute likes me better? Is that it? You’re mad because she’s talking to me and not you? You’re being so childish, Adam!"

Adam’s face twisted with frustration, his lips parting in an angry retort.

“I don’t want you in my room until I say you can come back!" he snapped, his green eyes blazing with a hurt that made Lucifer’s heart squeeze.

Lucifer growled in frustration, baring his teeth as the heat of the argument rose between them. "What do you want from me, Adam? Should I stop talking to Lute? Would that make you feel better?"

Adam flinched at the question, the pain in his eyes intensifying.

“No," he whispered, shaking his head. "I don’t want that."

Before Lucifer could say anything else, before he could figure out how to fix the growing distance between them, Adam turned and walked into his room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The finality of the sound echoed through the room like a death knell, but what broke Lucifer was the sharp, unmistakable click of the lock turning.

For a moment, Lucifer just stood there, staring at the closed door, his heart aching. His phone buzzed again in his hand, pulling him from his thoughts. It was Lute.

Hey, you free tonight? I wanted to ask you something.

Lucifer stared at the message, his mind racing. He could feel everything slipping through his fingers—Adam’s warmth, their closeness, the safety he had always taken for granted. And now, Lute, ready to pull him away even further.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he finally texted back, The bonfire ritual is tonight. Wanna come?

Lute’s response was instant: Fuck yeah!

[zyonsay]

heard you write for seb👀 how about rbr seb x reporter m! reader? 😼😼

Jealous? SV5

Fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!

Summary: Seb left a lil something on your neck...

Warnings: Slightlyyyyy Suggestive (only a lil bit tho)

Now playing: 'Doin Time' by Lana del Rey

AN: Hey there leo! I actually paired your Request with another Seb request, because i saw the opportunity to squeeze them together!

Hope you have a great day pooks <3

You thought no one had seen you leave the drivers room of a certain blond german. You thought…

Sebastians cheeky, teasing smile made you fluster slightly. This was so unprofessional. “You’re looking awfully good today y/n l/n, I was waiting for you to ask me a question all day.”, a shit eating grin adorned his lips, and he twirled his hair like a little schoolgirl. He was known to shamelessly flirt with people, especially interviewers, but this was something different.

You both have been dating for a few months now, the first time you met was at a party after the Monaco Grand Prix. His easygoing character immediately pulled you in and his sweet, cheeky smile was the cherry on top. Seb treated you like a god, even if he gets a bit much with his teasing sometimes. Both of you wanted to wait a little longer before announcing your relationship publicly, but if you were completely honest it was all just procrastination. Many people felt the chemistry between you two, though they only cracked a few jokes about it and nothing more.

His eyes darted down to your slightly exposed chest; the top few buttons of your dress shirt were unbuttoned. “Aren’t you looking fancy today?”, he knew exactly that just a few minutes ago his own hand was feeling up your chest in his driver’s room.  The red tint on your cheeks deepened a little more before you started asking race-related questions. Seb definitely didn’t make a big effort to hide his shameless and obvious flirting. His gaze danced over your figure during the whole interview, you could feel him undressing you with his eyes.

Your partner Interviewer had just finished interviewing one of the other drivers as he came walking towards you. Sebastian was well aware of the ‘little’ crush the other man had on you. He couldn’t stand his lingering gaze and the way he hungrily licks his lips while looking at you. “Y/n and Sebastian! My two favorite Lovebirds.”, your coworkers smile was almost venomous. He was quick to glance over your figure, but his gaze halted on a violet-colored spot on your neck. Seb was quick to snake an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “Jealous?”, his signature grin now spread across his face as he could basically see the other man fuming.

[jesswriteswrongs]

Sick Day

Fandom: Fourth Wing (The Empyrean)

Characters: Xaden Riorson x Violet Sorrengail, Rhiannon Matthias, Imogen Cardulo, Garrick Tavis, Dain Aetos, Tairn, Sygael, Ridoc Gamlyn

Summary: Violet is having a bad day, and she’s not always willing to let Xaden in

Warning: vomiting, adult language, canon typical medical talk

A/N: this fic is based on my own experiences with having EDS. My experiences may not line up with yours or other zebras you know, but please be respectful of my personal experience. ConCrit on the way I portray Violet’s EDS is not welcome. I’m just happy to have a hero who is disabled in the same way I am.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

He stays sat next to her on the bed until he hears footsteps approaching, stopping for a second, then retreating. Violet is making the telltale snuffling sounds of sleep, allowing him to carefully stand and check outside his door, stopping first to pull a shirt over his head. He spots the stack of parchment on the floor titled ‘Battle Brief’ with the days date and picks it up to bring inside. There’s also two neatly printed scraps of parchment on top of the notes. He reads the first one.

‘Markham is pissed neither of you were in battle brief, but I think he’ll get over it. Emetterio was almost relieved when Violet didn’t turn up for sparring, I don’t think he likes seeing her get hurt. Other professors all understood.

Cadet Matthias’

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly at the note. Clearly Violet’s friends can take instruction much better than she can. He places it on the desk before reading the other piece.

‘Vi, hope you’re really ok. I don’t know if Riorson will give this to you, but Ridoc and I are worried. I’ve told him what I know but I don’t know much. Send word when you can, and if Riorson is giving you shit I’ll cut his balls off. I don’t care that he’s our wingleader.

Rhi’

He puts that note on top of his own, clearly it wasn’t for his eyes, or maybe Rhiannon wanted him to know the lengths she would go to to protect Violet. He settles back on the bed next to the sleeping girl, retreating to the Tyrrendor hillside that holds his bonds and pulling on the silver strands, attempting to pull the pain from her body to his own. He pulls a little too hard at first, and has to grit his teeth to stop himself waking her.

“Dammit, Violence. How the fuck did you even manage 5 minutes in formation?” He mutters, loosening the connection a little at a time until his own body is noticeably aching, but not immovable. If she can deal with this for days at a time, he can manage a few hours. He grunts slightly as he readjusts to make himself comfortable and starts reading Rhiannon’s battle brief notes.

He has no idea how long he’s sat reading, picking up a book of Tyrrendor fairytales when he finishes going through Rhiannon’s notes. He only looks up occasionally when he hears Violet whimpering, stroking her hair until she settles down. She sleeps through until dinner, when Xaden leaves her to head to the mess hall, sucking air through his teeth as he stands on the hip bearing Violet’s pain. He doesn’t intend to stay long, just enough to grab some food for himself and Violet, but Rhiannon and Ridoc are waiting for him in the hallway leading to the mess.

“Where is she?” Rhiannon demands as soon as he’s close enough.

“Matthias, Gamlyn. Good to see you too. Now move.” He tries to push past but Ridoc blocks his way.

“Cut the shit, Riorson.” Rhiannon spits. “Where’s Violet and what the fuck happened to her at formation that nobody has seen you all day and I had to deliver notes from Battle Brief?”

“Sorrengail is safe, that’s all you need to know. She got hurt and she is sleeping it off, no you cannot see her. I’m sure she will explain everything when you see her next. Now I suggest you move, Cadets, lest your wingleader decide to reassign you both to scrubbing bathing chambers for a month.” His threat is almost venomous in tone as he takes a step into their space.

“It’s her joints, isn’t it?” Ridoc asks. Xaden looks at him. “She had this look on her face at breakfast, like she was in pain, but she hasn’t had any challenges in the past couple days and her flying has gotten way better, so I doubt she got hurt on Tairn. We know about her… problem, so I’m guessing it’s something to do with that.” Xaden opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again as the three of them make room for the gaggle of second year riders heading to dinner. As soon as they’re out of earshot Xaden lowers his voice to speak.

“Yes. She dislocated her hip last night and it’s been bothering her since. She fell in formation this morning because her body physically could not hold itself up any longer. I took her to my bed chamber so she could rest without the disturbance of first years running past hers.” He raises his hand, palm flat, at Rhiannon when she takes a step towards him. “Violet will be fine, she is safe with me, and she will be rejoining you when she can. Her professors believe she has been taken ill and that is all anyone needs to know about where Violet is right now. Is that clear?” Rhiannon and Ridoc both nod. “We all have Violet’s best interests in mind here, I am not the enemy. All I need the two of you to do is tell anyone who asks that she is just unwell, no details, and to keep taking notes from Battle Brief until you see one of us in that lecture hall. They can be delivered to the same place as they were today.” He looks pointedly at Rhiannon. “Am I making myself clear or do you need a duty reassignment to get it through?” She nods.

“We’re good, we can do that.” Xaden nods curtly.

“Good, now move so I can make sure she’s eating something.”

[wonderlandgoblin]

Okay, so I don’t watch Hazbin Hotel (if I wrote it wrong, sorry) but for like weeks, the only thing I see in the asexual tag is people complaining about allos shipping ace characters in a very allo way, and it’s been annoying me to no end, because while we do have to be upset about that, the ace tag should also function in a way for us to share jokes, have fun and enjoy our identity without having to fight for our right to exist.

So I propose we do something different. Let’s annoy the aphobes. I propose that from now on, every character becomes ace/aro/aroace. No more shipping fanfics, just platonic relationships and friendships. Every fanart is now SFW and has the ace/aro/aroace flags colors.

I DEMAND A REVOLUTION!!!!

Tell me the characters you’re claiming!

My ace claimings are:

1-Luffy (any pairing with him just gives me nausea)

2-Zoro (fuck zosan, he prefers swords over anything except maybe luffy, who he has a squish on)

3-Bakugou Katsuki (I love that kid, I’m making him one of my own)

4-Sasuke (I hate that guy, but he rejected both Sakura and Naruto, that kid’s definitely aroace)

5-Yor (my queen mama prefers killing over kissing, that should be an obvious sign)

6-Yona (no one’s touching my queen, she never liked Soo-won nor Hak, it was all social pressure to not end up alone, fight me)

7-Xie Lian (I don’t like the idea of anyone touching the god I worship, so that means he’s ace now)

8-Kageyama (idk why, he just has a vibe)

9-Handa from Barakamon (I don’t think this needs explanation)

10-Fushiguro Megumi (I like him, he’s one of my own now)

11-Maomao (she prefers venoms over sex)

12-Mash from Mashle (like, look at him, that guy just wants to exercise, eat and be with his family)

13-Violet Evergarden (I don’t think I need to explain this, this girl dedicated her entire life to understanding romance as it made no sense to her, aroace queen)

14-Sokka (he’s too smart to like sex)

15-Zuko (he’s an angel, angels don’t have sex)

16-Magnus Chase AND Alex Fierro (they’re my babies, I identify too much with them, the idea of them having sex gives me the ickies)

17-Jude from the Cruel Prince (I liked her better before she fell for that stupid fairy)

18-Edmund from Narnia (he was my childhood crush, I’m making him ace)

19-Annabeth Chase (she’s too perfect to have sex)

20-Alec Lightwood (I just like imagining Magnus loosing his shit every once in a while because of it)

21-Leo Valdez (bc why not?)

22-Blue Sargent and half the women she lives with (no explanation needed)

23-Dick Gansey the Third (he prefers dead kings over sex)

24-Katniss Everdeen (if you disagree, what is wrong with you?)

25-Castiel (fuck destiel shippers, angels don’t have sex)

26-Felicity from Arrow (haven’t finished the series but as far as I know, she’s too cool for sex)

27-Barbie (she’s a doll, she has no reproductive organs, she can’t feel desire)

I could probably pick more characters but I think this is enough for now, have fun annoying the aphobes!

[thefandomlesbian]

AO3 Wrapped 2024

tagged by @gaylilsherlock

1.) Biggest surprise while writing this year?

Developing an interest in Gunsmoke. That was an accident, I swear.

2.) How many WIPs do you have in your docs for next year?

I have every intention of trying to make 2025 year the year of completion. I am finishing the last two of my short Gunsmoke fics (The Horse Thief and Venom in Violet), and after that, I'm going to finish typing my multiple notebooks of content on IN A DREAM YOU FOUND A WAY TO SURVIVE AND YOU WERE FULL OF JOY (believe it or not, this fic is almost completely finished... IN my notebooks, not on my computer). Then, I'm going to finish my Gunsmoke multichapter, dead hands. And after that, my priorities include trying to tackle the behemoth of repairing Not Bigger But Brighter and maybe completing Box Full of Darkness at long last.

So, I suppose the straight answer is I'm not planning on starting many, if any, new works next year; I'm hoping to bring several of my long unfinished fics to their finale.

3.) Favorite character to write this year?

JAMES EVAN WILSON. Without challenge. I invented his entire family and gave them a complex lore for my Hilson HS AU fic (unpublished and I intend to keep it that way). I love him so much, and I took a lot of liberties in giving him lore. To me, he's almost an OC in a way. I definitely love him more than any of the others! He's my blorbo.

4.) The character that gave you the most trouble this year?

I'm gonna go with Lisa Cuddy. I feel like my portrayal of her has strengthened with time, but she's a struggle for me, which is probably why I haven't written any Stacy/Cuddy fic, even though I adore the ship an unreasonable amount and rarely see work for them.

5.) What's one pairing you want to explore next year?

Stacy/Cuddy!

6.) Did you receive any gifts this year?

I believe I got tagged in a couple posts on Tumblr! But no, I didn't receive any gift fics on AO3.

7.) Did you do any collaborative works this year?

Other than private roleplays, no. But my beta does a bombass job!

8.) What do you listen to while writing?

While I'm actively writing (thinking of words to write down), I listen to white noise. While I'm transcribing @libbymania I sometimes will listen to music instead of white noise, or rarely I'll listen to an old radio episode. For brainstorming and sometimes transcribing, I try to make playlists for each one of my fics! And when I'm searching for inspiration, I'll often scroll down have-you-heard-this-band and listen to 2-3 songs of each of the last 10 artists and try to glean ideas from the fresh music. This exposes me to a lot of music I otherwise never would have heard, and I've found a lot of my new favorite bands this way!

9.) Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Uhhhhh there are a lot and I'm sure there are more in the notebooks I haven't transcribed! But this is a section from an upcoming chapter of JOY!

As [Wilson] studied House’s face, azure eyes pooling with tears (stinging from the wind, perhaps, or perhaps genuinely distressed, genuinely fearful, though the notion of the latter was uncomfortable, so he pushed it away), he lost all of his words. He could say nothing kind enough, acerbic enough, observant enough, to greet the sight of House’s mouth hanging agape, the overworn wool hat dangling from between his fingers, his shoulders loose and helpless in posture, the slouch to the right where his knee could no longer fully straighten—this was the powerless man who had flanked Wilson’s bedside for months, the one he had seen in his lucid dreams when he was immobilized by drugs and could only view the world when someone held his eyes open, always hunched in pain, sometimes staring, sometimes too weak to look. House was staring now, fighting for his composure. Wilson waited for it to reassemble.

He closed his mouth, swallowing tightly, shifting his jaw. He tucked the hat into the pocket of his jacket, extending an open-palmed hand to Wilson, fingers curling to beckon him back. He didn’t speak. But he was pleading for Wilson to return.

He had no choice but to fall back, obediently placing his hand in House’s, where he was tugged persistently back to his side. “I wasn’t anywhere near the edge.”

The quick sentence was easy to make out on his lips. “I know.” House was squeezing his hand tight enough to hurt.

“Then why were you scared?”

“I wasn’t scared.” The grip didn’t loosen. Wilson gingerly broke away from it.

“You looked scared.”

Tags!!

@oddlittlestories @someguywriting @thatwholethingwiththeduck @greghousepogging @greghousebignaturals

[rscroogewritesfic]

Boxman's Big Fairy Tale Wedding Ch. 1 and 2

Note: Here are the first two chapters of "Boxman's Big Fairy Tale Wedding." I'm not sure when a03 will be back up, but it's also there.

Chapter 1: You’re NOT Invited

K.O. lifted his hands to his cheeks, breath caught in his throat and eyes full of sparkles as Mr. Gar slowly reached for the pocket of his black dress pants. So much rested on this precious moment when Carol’s attention was focused on the nearby fountain and vibrant garden. A second passed. She blinked her artfully brushed violet lids and a smile played on her lips.

Mr. Gar was patting his empty pocket with a look of mild distress as sweat beaded on his forehead. K.O. caught a glimpse of his nervous eyes behind his sunglasses as he mouthed “The ring!”

Thankfully, Carol was further distracted by a conveniently unfurling white blossom. K.O. remembered he had the ring box in his front jacket pocket. He blew a few raspberries as he fished out the velvet box and delicately passed it over to Mr. Gar.

The older man gave his stepson a soft smile and a friendly hair ruffle. Then he lightly cleared his throat and Carol turned towards him with an excited smile. What appeared to be a bizarre cross between a little butterfly and a hummingbird with shimmering, iridescent wings and ribbon like tails had landed on her finger. She pointed excitedly as K.O. pulled out his cell phone and snapped a few quick pictures.

“Last one you needed for Dendy’s nature safari thing, right kiddo?” Her grin widened.

“Yup! That was the Lady Nightingale.” K.O. nodded emphatically.

“She’s gorgeous,” Carol said as the creature flapped its wings a few times and twitched its odd head about.

Mr. Gar cleared his throat again, directing a knowing look at K.O. and a lovesick grin towards Carol. Normally, Carol would snap to attention but she was distracted by the critter on her finger, admiring how the moonlight played off of its wings and feathers.

“Mommy…” K.O. lightly tapped her free hand. “Mr. Gar has something important to say!”

“Oh...oh, right.” She gently shooed the critter away and turned her attention back to K.O. and Mr. Gar. “Sorry! I recently picked up birdwatching. Can’t wait to tell the rest of the club about that one.”

Just as Carol finished her thought, an unexpected figure wandered up to the romantic scene. Lord Boxman was dressed to the nines himself in a lavender tux and his slicked back hair shimmered slightly in the warm candlelight. He was somewhere between smug and disappointed as he leaned an elbow on Carol’s side of the table and clucked his tongue.

“Carol…” he said in a loud whisper. “Don’t you have something you wanted to ask Mr. Gar?”

She shot him a disgruntled look as her lids lowered.

“It’d be perfect timing.” Boxman folded his hands. “It’s a quiet, dreamy night. You have a table next to a beautiful view. I’m questioning your decision to bring your son along, but you do you.”

“Boxman.” Carol turned to look at him with a customer service sweet smile and furrowed brows. “Since you know how important tonight is, could you go back to...whatever you’re probably doing here with Professor Venomous?”

“Go away, Lord Buttman!” K.O. glared at him. Then he gently patted his mom’s arm and said, “I’ll take this outside, Mommy.”

Suddenly, Carol, Mr. Gar, and K.O. were covered in a light purple mist peppered with bright green sparkles. Several papier mache hearts landed on the table. One of the hearts almost knocked over the ambient candle in the center.

K.O. noticed a crude cartoony illustration of Lord Boxman and Professor Venomous on one of the gaudy decorations and carefully scooped it up. The paper mache deteriorated into lavender mist leaving behind another crude illustration with Boxman and Venomous blowing raspberries. In between the cartoons was large block text announcing: We’re getting married! You’re NOT invited!

Funnily enough, the not-invitation was followed by a save the date. Carol peered over K.O.’s shoulder, met his gaze, then shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

Before K.O. could respond, Professor Venomous dramatically flipped from some unseen hiding spot on the veranda ceiling. He twirled until he stood next to his fiance, draping himself across the shorter man’s shoulders with a too-satisfied, catlike smirk.

Both Boxman and Venomous gave him a cool stare and he met their gazes with a confident smile and a nod. “I’ll be there!”

“You better not, K.O.,” Boxman said with a sinister giggle.

“There will be huge consequences for wedding crashers!” Venomous echoed with a smirk.

Both of them walked backwards with surprising grace and obnoxious evil laughter. Once they made their ridiculous exit, Carol crossed her legs, folded her arms, and shook her head. “Wonder how long they spent practicing that entrance…”

Chapter 2: Guest List

“Step Dad will be out in a minute,” Darrell said sweetly as he dipped behind the front doors of Boxmore.

A figure stood with tightly folded arms and an intense glare. Fog started seeping out from under the doors. Legs trembling, they took a step back. There was a pair of sinister laughs, one high pitched and the other a lower timbre. A strange, shadowed figure darted by. Something furry swept past their ankle.

Cold air rolled down the nape of their neck followed by a feather light touch on their arm. They screamed, loud and shrill. Their heart hammered in their chest and reverberated through the rest of their body from the tips of their curling toes to their now thrumming finger tips.

Then the infamous Professor Venomous walked into view, looking far too casual as a pleased grin danced on his lips. “Oh...It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you!”

Felix grunted and dug a crudely drawn (not) wedding invitation out of their back pocket. They unrolled it and held it up to Venomous’ gleeful face with a shaking hand.

“What...what is this?!” they demanded.

“I think that’s pretty obvious.” PV giggled obnoxiously. “We have a registry on the Boxmore site.”

“Looking forward to fighting you!” Fink crowed as she crawled onto Venomous’ shoulder. She shot a big, obnoxious grin at Felix, blew a raspberry, then skittered away just as quickly.

“I’m tired of your goo creatures,” Felix said through gritted teeth. “I’m tired of your minion rifling through my trash. Quit sending your weird robots…”

“You owe me one more clean,” Venomous said with a slight singsong. “I’d like to collect. A two hour deep clean of my office and sweeping up after my big ceremony should cover it...Then I’ll leave you alone, Felix.” He smirked. “I hope you’ll come to my wedding.”

Felix shook their head. “Ugh...cob, I hate you. I’ll do the clean, but I’m not going anywhere near your freaking wedding. I never want to see your smug, ugly face again after all of this.”

“Are you sure?” Venomous batted his eyelashes.

“I hate you. I hate you so, so much...” they hissed with narrowed lids.

“Well, you’ll always be my favorite janitor,” Venomous said in an extra sugary sweet voice.

Felix hissed and their irises became slits for a moment. Then they turned and angrily stomped away, shoulders shaking. Venomous watched them leave, snickering the entire time.

****

Boxman stared at his beau as PV spun around in his cobra-themed office chair, giggling. He had the Boxmore site open and two of the weapons listed and earmarked for hero use had been claimed.

“Foxtail is coming! She called dibs on the giant rubberband ball,” PV said, far too excited. “I’m pretty sure Rippy is the other one. It’s the pie cannon! She’s a sucker for the classics.”

“Yeah…” Boxman wore a wry smile. “She was the most fun POINT grunt to fight before I settled in for Boxmore and committed to taking down Mr. Gar.”

“You fought Rippy?” PV shot a surprised glance at him.

“Yeah. Didn’t I ever tell you about my scrappy early days?”

“No.” PV was wide-eyed now. “It’s...always been Mr. Logic and everything that followed after he left.”

“Yeah…” Boxman looked distant.

“Have you talked to him yet?” PV rolled the chair across the room towards Boxy. Then he gently reached out and took Boxman’s hands, stroking the back of his human hand with a thumb and caressing the claws.

“No.” Boxman blew out a breath. “I’m trying to work up the nerve. It’s...been so long. And hmm…”

“Is he getting one of the...ah, rival invites?”

“No.” Boxman managed a small smile. “Official invite. Actually...I’m hoping he’ll come to our smaller, private ceremony.”

As he said the last part, Boxman met PV’s eyes with a mild blush. With a more vulnerable grin, PV leaned in and brushed his nose tip against Boxman’s. “The rings arrived this morning. Want to try them on?”

“No…” Boxman’s lips warbled. “Yes.”

PV smiled to the point a couple of wrinkles appeared at the edges of his eyes. It was cute seeing him happy and smiling a lot more often vs the frowns, cool smirks, and stoic stares from a year ago. Honestly, Boxman fell in love with the snake man all over again as Shadowy melted further away and more of PV’s full personality came through.

Carefully, PV pulled his hands from Boxman’s grip then sent his chair sailing across the office with a childish grin, hair fluttering slightly with the move.

“Hey...PV, speaking of special guests. Plan on inviting your parents?” Boxman lightly fiddled with his fingers.

“No,” PV said with an awkward chuckle. “I went no contact with them years ago. Not changing that any time soon.”

“...I want to try inviting my mom.” Boxman started tapping his fingers together.

“Oh…” PV’s hand hovered over his desk drawer. “She hates meee.”

“I’m...I think she’s coming around.” Boxman swallowed heavily.

“Invite her if you want.” PV shrugged. “I can...give her one free shot at me with the pie cannon. I’m not excited about cleaning whipped cream out of my hair, but I bet Rippy’s going to get a few shots at me anyway.”

“No, no.” Boxman laughed. “I really want her to like you, PV.”

“I met Carol’s mom when we were still a thing.” PV looked like he was sucking on sour candy. “She hated me. Absolutely hated me. I’m no stranger to a potential in-law hating my guts!”

“Pookie…” Boxman sighed.

“Okay, not every one of my potential mothers in law hated me. I’ll put my best foot forward. Hopefully, we’ll get to a point where we can tolerate each other?”

“Wait...how many people have you been engaged to?” Boxman’s eyes bugged.

“Only you.” PV pulled out a thin silver box before rolling his chair back towards Boxman. “Sorry. Bad phrasing.”

“I thought you and Carol…?” Boxman made a vague gesture.

“We were serious, but no. No!” PV frowned. “Can we please drop this?”

“Yes, dear.” Boxman met his gaze and started giggling.

Rolling his eyes, PV smiled fondly and gently pushed back the latches on the box. Two gold rings lay on a plush purple pillow. One was modeled and designed around a classic Ouroboros. The other was a circle of angler fish connected by their lures. Each of the lures had a small violet or green gem.

Boxman gasped in delight as PV removed the angler fish ring, took Boxman’s hand with the grace of a romantic Victorian gentleman, and slipped it on. The moment became that much more magical at the snug, perfect fit. With a pleased hum, PV wrapped Boxman’s hand in both of his.

“One more week,” PV whispered.

“One more week before I can call you my husband.” Boxman smiled. “One more month before we dominate Dynamite Watkins’ news broadcast and make everyone jealous.”

[stickmenlover]

some old drawings of Kai and Jay from my Ninjago x Marvel AU

In this AU, Kai, Jay, Cole, Lloyd, Zane and Nya became spider-men instead of ninja. (they can be distinguished by their colors, eg Red Spider - Kai, Grey Spider - Nya, etc)

Sensei Wu plays the role of Uncle Ben

Pixal as Iron Heart X (originally Iron Heart X was Nya, but after she became a Spider-Man too, the costume was passed to Pix)

Cyrus Borg as Iron Man

Garmadon as himself (idk who is he really gonna be there, maybe some Kingpin-like criminal boss or smth ig)

Harumi and Ultraviolet as Scarlet Widow and Violet Widow (a parody on Black Widow)

Akita as White Wolf (a parody on White Tiger)

Elemental masters as Mutants (a parody on X-men)

Neuro as Professor X (he's actually gonna be a professor in a university, where Jay, Cole, Lloyd and Zane used to study)

Chamille as Mystique

Turner Griffin as Quicksilver

Skylor as Rogue

Karloff as Colossus

And others

Nelson as Venom

Serpents as Serpent Squad (not much difference lol)

There are gonna be much more different characters from Ninjago, but some of them won't be parodies on Marvel characters, eg Vania, Darreth and others

Also Im not sure of this, but maybe I could cast Ronin as Deadpool? They're not much alike but I don't have any other choice...

Also I want to add Daredevil but the only blind character in Ninjago that I know is Jacob and he.. well, he doesn't really suit this role.

For now I'm pretty much finished, I'm not sure if I'm going to continue this AU, but if you give me enough motivation, be sure that I will make some content on this topic.

[kindheart525]

It was a gorgeous spring afternoon at Sweet Apple Acres. Birds sang their sweet tunes from the trees. the air was fragrant with the sweet scent of apples, and there was not a cloud in sight. It was the perfect day for a date with one’s beloved. Blue Velvet and Varmint Venom had the right idea as they settled down on a hill overlooking the orchard, simply enjoying each other’s company.

Blue sat in the grass among a sea of dandelions, plucking them daintily and using her long, manicured fingers to knit them into a flower crown so effortlessly that it looked easier than apple pie. Varmint bit into an apple and tried to act casual as she watched her, but the truth was that she was absolutely head over heels for her.

Land sakes, she was beautiful.

Varmint wasn’t the gushy type but she adored this mare so much, more than she ever thought she could. She was a confident mare already, but still Blue’s love for herself and others was infectious. Blue loved easily and it was easy to love her, Varm didn’t have to think twice. 

Blue was lost in her own world as always, humming to herself and twisting the dandelions into a flower crown fit for an alicorn princess. Her ethereal frame surrounded by the gorgeous scenery of spring looked like a dream. It was enough to make even a practical and no-nonsense mare like Varmint stop and admire the view.

“This one’s for you, baby!” 

Once Blue was finished she got up and walked over towards her love, standing up on her tip-toes to place the finished crown on her head.

“Aww, you look gorgeous! You’re absolutely glowing!”

Varmint wanted to tell Blue in detail how she was even more radiant but instead she nodded casually, trying to play off the blush that was forming on her face.

“Aw shucks, thanks hun. This here crown’s all your work.”

“But you truly complete it!”

Blue clasped her hands together, suddenly coming up with an idea.

“Oh! While we’re here! I should make one for Violet! She’d really love one of these.”

“She’d sure ‘preciate it.”

Varmint agreed.

“Ooh! And you could give it to her for me! She really likes you, she told me. You’re the only one of my girlfriends she’s ever been open with!”

“Am I now?”

Varmint smirked but she was genuinely honored. Violet had been talking to her sister about her, so she really did like her. It wasn’t just her being nice, she really was welcomed into the family.

“Yes!”

Blue giggled. 

“She even asked when we were gonna get married!”

Blue said this like the prospect of marriage was just as thrilling to her and that’s when Varmint knew, it was time. She was about to ask the most important question of her life.

“Well then-“

The mare lowered herself to one knee and reached into her pocket, pulling out what looked like a small pink macaron. Blue hardly had time to react before she opened the box, revealing a stunning diamond ring.

“I guess it’s time we made her our flower girl.”

“Varmint oh my gosh!-“

Blue clasped her hands over her mouth, squealing with pure glee as it sunk in for her. 

“Are you really…?”

“Askin’ you to marry me? Damn right I am.”

Varmint answered with conviction.

“And I ain’t never been more sure about it in my entire life. I love ya to bits Blue, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I’m an Apple to the core but with you…land sakes, it don’t matter where we are, I’m at home. I wanna be part of your family, I wanna be your family. Lil’ Vi helped me figure it out.”

“Violet helped you plan this? You sneaky fillies!”

Blue laughed through her tears of joy.

“Eeyup, she sure did. But your answer matters most. Now what do ya say?”

“YES!”

Blue squealed with no hesitation, jumping up and down like a filly on Hearth’s Warming morning. She embraced Varmint like her life depended on it once the mare stood up. 

“Oh my gosh, this is the best day of my life!”

“Our wedding’s gonna be even better, love. It’ll be as beautiful as ya want it to be with all the frills and flowers you can dream of. And we’ll be surrounded by everypony we love, ain’t gonna be a single soul there who don’t support us. Brack is definitely off the guest list.”

Blue simply laughed, she was too happy to think about all the ponies who hurt her in the past. Varm was right, if they didn’t support her, they didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

All that mattered was love.

~~~~~~~~~~

Previous: Amblyodipsas

[3xm-draconic]

Bloodline of the Last Dragon.

Season 1/Episode 7: The Return.

Cicero sat in a field of nightshade with Mattilda, just the two of them in a meadow of the violet blossoms, he knew he needed to tell her…but he didn’t want to.

He wanted to keep her, she was his special friend…his companion…

He didn’t want to lose her or see her get hurt.  

But…

“Hey Cicero?…” she turned to him, he nearly jumped at her voice. It had been so dreadfully quiet, “oh yes dearest Mattilda?” He turned to her looking into her silvery eyes…sweet Sithis he had grown to adore the shimmering color of her eyes, bright like a well burnished blade.

“I…have something to confess to you”, “oh?...well…Cicero dose too” he sighed, better to get it over with…

She turned to him with a slight awkward and shy grin on her face, “Cicero…” she softly said, her voice was as lovely to him as cool rain on a hot summer night “your special to me…” she hummed sweetly “and I wanted to ask you if…perhaps…you’d like…to be my boyfriend?”

The words came before Cicero had time to process them…

“YES” he shouted.

Only then did he realize he’d dug himself into a deeper hole…

.

(Falkreath Sanctuary)

.

Cicero sat in his room dreading bringing Mattilda into the brotherhood, she wouldn’t like it here, she would hate it and she would grow to hate him…

But…wait…

He remembered something…a loophole…

She was part of the Thieves Guild, he remembered Astrid and the Guild have an alliance worked out…that means if she found out about him…he wouldn’t technically have to force her to join the brotherhood.

But it still ment he had to tell the others about her…

…

The rest of the brotherhood had settled down to dinner together when Cicero appeared before them, “well looked what the cat dragged in” Astrid mumbled.

“Finally having dinner with the rest of us?” Nazir eyed him “I’am shocked”, “oh be nice” Festus grumbled “here have a plate” he tried to offer the keeper a plate of roasted venison with apple jam but Cicero politely declined it.

“Cicero has something to tell you all” he took a shaky breath “Cicero…has…been seeing someone”

Astrid immediately leapt from the table and stuck a knife to his throat “I KNEW YOU WERE A TRAITOR!” she hissed, “Astrid wait!” Babbett cried “let him finish, it’s not what you think”, “Babbs?...you knew?” she stared in disbelief at the unchild, “he told me to keep it a secret” she shrugged.

Astrid let him up “Alright Fool…what is your secret?” she hissed venomously at him…

Cicero was quiet at first “...Cicero…has been seeing this girl…she likes Cicero and Cicero likes her…”, “well that's complete bullshit” Arnbjorn grumbled. “ARN!” Babbett snapped, “there ain't no way in the void there is ANYONE who would romantically wanna be involved with him” Arnbjorn shrugged, Veezara nodded “your story is a little hard to believe”.

Cicero balled his fists in anger “CICERO WILL PROVE TO YOU HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND! HE’LL BRING HER OVER TO THE TAVERN TO MEET YOU TOMORROW!” he snapped.

Arnbjorn laughed “the day you have a girlfriend is the day Night Mother chooses a listener!”

Cicero began to laugh hysterically “GOOD!” he howled

.

(The next day)

.

Mattilda was overjoyed to be meeting some of Cicero’s folks! 

She had used some of her saved up gold to go all out on beauty supplies so she could look her best, gotta make a good first impression after all.

“It looks like a soup” Mattilda said as she fished a flower out of the bubbly bath, it had a little milk and tea in it too, “a soup that will do wonders dear, afterall we don’t want you smelling like a barn” Kit’Tay chuckled as she unceremoniously tossed her into the bath.

She then poured soap onto her hair and viciously started to scrub it into Mattilda’s scalp “OW!” she yelped and pulled away from her, “oh quit being a big baby, pain is beauty”, “if pain is beauty then I’d rather stay ugly” she groaned. 

Kit’Tay then took clay, charcoal, salt, a little honey and butter. 

She mixed it in a bowl and into a paste, she then took a hard scrubbing brush and proceeded to scrub the paste into Mattilda’s skin like she was trying to scrub grease off a pan.

After what felt like hours of this torture the bath had finnaly finished.

Mau’Mau then applied makeup to her face, using delicate hands she enhanced Mattilda’s face by lining her eyes in black and shadowing them with deep browns and golds to accentuate the silvery–blue of her eyes, her lips were then painted a soft red and her cheeks blushed.

Lastly was the dress.

Mau had it specially shipped from Radiant Raiment in Solitude, a slim black dress that hugged the curves and accentuated the bust. When Mattilda slipped it on she felt…fierce.

She had always hidden her appearance…now…she was showing it off. 

“So just who is this mystery man?” Mau’Mau asked her, “Cicero, his name is Cicero”, Mau paused a dreadful look on her face “short imperial man, red hair?...jester?” she gawked, “yeah…how do you?” Mattilda pondered.

“Sugarbean…be careful…he…is part of the dark brotherhood”.

A cold sweat ran down her spine.

“Cicero? An assassin?” she scoffed “you're joking”, Mau shook her head “Astrid told us of a new arrival, he fits the bill to a T” she purred sadly.

Mattilda started to laugh.

“well…I guess I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets”.

.

(At the Dead Man’s Drink)

.

Arnbjorn, Nazir and Vizarra were sent to see about Cicero’s “girlfriend”...

“50 septimes he just pulled our legs” Veezara yawned and sipped his mead, “100 septims says he hired some poor woman to pretend to be his girlfriend” Arnbjorn snickered. 

Cicero stood outside the tavern while the others waited inside, the moment he saw Mattilda his heart skipped a beat, she looked so…beautiful…especially dressed in black.

Nazir looked over and nearly spat out his mead “GUYS” he said as he tapped Arnbjron’s shoulder, Veezara and Arnbjorn looked over and their jaws dropped…

Cicero walked in with a cute little thing in a black dress, she was short and built a little like an acrobat but with very powerful and long legs, she was…an elf?...of some sort, a brunette with pale skin and big blue eyes.

She was laughing with him and not in a forced way…she…genuinely…seemed to be enjoying his company, “well I’’l be…” Nazir gasped, “there is no way he landed that, just look at her” Veezara murmured, “welp we're about to find out” Arnbjorn grinned.

“Matti these are Cicero’s half brothers and his family friend: Nazir, Arnbjorn and Veezara” he introduced her, “hi she excitedly beamed, I’am Mattilda Vid-” before she could finish introducing herself Arnbjorn stopped her.

“So Mattilda, what’s your line of work?”, “oh…well…I’am currently more of an adventurer right now but I use to be an alchemist in Helgen” she answered rather awkwardly, Arnbjorn nodded “uh huh…tell me”  he got close to her enough to whisper “and you can be honest, how much is Cicero paying you to be his pretend girlfriend?”

Mattilda gawked “what?!” she gasped, “oh come on” Arnbjorn muttered loud enough for Cicero to hear “did you really think we’d fall for this little joke of yours?” he turned to Cicero, “honestly where'd you find a pretty thing like this? Certainly not in whore houses here-” as soon as those words left his lips he was sent backwards by a powerfuck kick to the face, one strong enough to make him skid across the floor for a few feet.

Veezara and Nazir spat out their mead and gawked in utter shock at what had happened, Cicero grabbed Mattilda and desperately tried to pull her away.

Arnbjorn got up and glared at her…

“How dare you” she hissed “I am no cheap whore and how dare you for insulting Cicero” she growled, “you just signed your death warrant girly” Arnbjorn snarled, Mattilda smirked, showing off her bosmeri fangs “just ask Maven Blackbrier about the name Viddarson, then we’ll see who’s death warrant is signed” she leaned in “and tell Astrid I said hi”.

Chills ran down Arnbjorn’s spine…

Who was this chick?

Mattilda took Cicero’s hand and led him out of the tavern.

“What did you mean by that?” he looked at her, she smiled at him “you don’t need to worry about your family coming after me is all” she chirped, “what how?” he scrambled for words, “I know” is all she replied be for looking into his deep hazel-amber eyes and asking him one simple question.

“Mau and Kit are away “visiting friends” in Riften…would you like to share a bottle of wine with me beside the hearth at my house?”, Cicero pondered, if he was going to spend one last night with Matti before all Oblivion broke loose it would be tonight.

“Cicero would love too” he chirped.

.

(Falkreath Sanctuary)

.

“Viddarson” Astrid said the name with a twinge of fear in her breath, “I know but what does it mean?” Arnbjorn asked her, “it means, darling husband of mine…THAT YOU FUCKED UP” she screeched.

“Viddarson is Maven’s personal guy, her PERSONAL guy. If she wants something made to look like a message or an accident she sends us or any other guild member…if she wants somebody GONE OFF THE MAP or their name sullied into poverty she sends Viddarson” Astrid hissed “you just insulted the daughter, no excuse me, the niece of Skyrim’s FUCKING BOOGYMAN”.

Astrid grabbed Arnbjorn’s face and bright it to hers “you are going to apologize to her or so help me Sithis…”, “Astrid I thought we were Skyrim’s boogymen?” he pondered, Astrid sucked in a deep breath “listen to me, Viddarson makes us look like a bunch of weirdos in black pajamas…he is not to be FUCKED with…and nither is his family”.

“now…GO APOLOGIZE!” she snapped.

.

(next morning)

.

Cicero awoke next to Mattilda in her bed…with nothing on except his jester hat.

He lovingly gazed at her sleeping form beside him, her little soft snoring and the way her body was curled up next to him reminded him of a bunny rabbit, he cuddled her not wanting this moment to end…not wanting what was to happen…happen…

He wanted her to live.

A knock at the door awoke her from her slumber and Cicero cursed whoever it was, Mattilda looked at the naked jester in her bed…and at her own nude form. She giggled, “I…hope I wasn’t too…well…” she embarrassedly looked at Cicero “it was my first time”, Cicero chuckled and kissed her “it was Cicero’s too, he loved it”.

The knock came more vigorously this time.

“JUST A MOMENT” Mattilda called, “you better get out of here in case it’s Mau or Kit”, “but what if it’s Arnbjorn?” he worried, “like I said you don’t need to worry about that, now come on your clothes are around here somewhere” she chuckled.

Cicero left through the back door when he bumped into Arnbjorn, “look before you go crazy I’am not here to hurt her…I’am here to apologize to her”, “oh…well good serves you right for what you did”.

Mattilda got on her robes and opened the door, there before her was…

“DAD!” she shouted happily as she hugged him tightly.

.

.

[multipleoccupancy]

Theo nodded his agreement that it seemed wasteful that those in her timeline were not using the resources given to them. While it was a secret, what was the harm of people who did know about the supernatural learning how to counter venoms or whatever else they dealt with in their world? Not knowing it was an old dividing line in Delta Green in her world.

He beamed with his own blush at her praise for his little flourish with the knife, smiling away to her that the little stunt was apparently impressive. "Thank you," he chuckled and got back to work on his chicken with a little smile still stuck on his face.

"We're all about learning from each other, what's the use of knowing something that could save a life and not sharing it to do exactly that?" Theo explained gently but still wearing that same smile, apparently still riding that praise. "She can teach you things and you can teach her, that looks like it was hard to sharpen, any advice is going to be appreciated." He thought so anyway and he nodded for showing her as they went about town later, "We'd love to." We, Andrea it seemed was going to be coming along too, he didn't want to rob her of her time with Violet.

"We'll finish up this delicious dinner," he stole a wink to Andrea, "and then we will all head out to show you around town, the traps and take you to the weapon's smith and apothecary. Then when we get back, I will clear the dishes and we can all settle in for a warm coffee by the fire before bed." Andrea smiled at him, Theo cast a small but warm glance to Violet, sad that it seemed so mundane but he knew the pair of them would cherish every moment in the meantime.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

It made sense that in a world crawling with monsters, people would use them for remedies and medicine. For all sorts of things, really. And Violet was absolutely fascinated. "Thank you!" she exclaimed again, beaming, "I am sure all these things could be useful to my timeline. It seems wasteful, that we kill the monsters without using any of their proprieties for medicine or tools."

She blushed a little bit at the praise, quickly thanking Andrea for it. "Of course," she assured Theo as he asked to inspect the blade. She had not expected him to flip the blade though, and widened her eyes in some impressed shock as he did it. But he knew what he was doing, clearly. The knife landed expertly back in his hand. "That was amazing," she exhaled, still staring at him.

"Hounds are very sharp," Violet confirmed, "their body is made out of these strange shards, with unusual angles. I kept one for myself and sharpened it. Their blood is also blue, and burns." The cuts left behind by the Hound had now healed, but she would not soon forget the feeling of being trapped under one.

"Oh," she stammered, flushed, "I'm sure the weaponsmith could teach me more things than I could teach them." Violet was torn. She wanted to meet the weaponsmith, and ask them all sorts of questions. But she also wanted to stay with Theo and Andrea. "Maybe you can take me there while you show me the town?" she suggested, which seemed like a good compromise.

So far, all her travels had seemed to follow a sort of rule. She had returned to Ophir a few times. And then, she had unfortunately returned to the Evil Timeline quite a few times too. Logic dictated that she would return to this Western Timeline next. But she didn't want to tell that to Theo and Andrea, in case she was wrong. It would only make her sadder, and she had a feeling it would sadden them too.