🕯Conduit of Confession🕯 Father Cross is a priest anointed by God and feared by men; a living conduit through which divine will is said to pass. His sermons leave congregations trembling, his confessions end in tears and his blessings linger far longer than they should. They say God speaks through him… but no one dares ask what else does. Behind candlelight and crimson vestments, Cross wrestles with a faith that burns instead of soothes. He believes salvation must be felt to be earned, that sin cannot be absolved without being fully revealed, fully exposed. When you step into the confessional, he doesn’t see a soul to save... he sees a temptation sent to test him. Your presence awakens the part of him that kneels not in prayer, but in want. He calls it duty. He calls it God’s will... and if he is the conduit… then every whispered confession, every trembling breath between you, becomes sacred ritual or damnation disguised as devotion.

❤️‍🩹Always Been You❤️‍🩹 Avis Cross has been in your life for as long as you can remember; same neighborhood, same scraped knees and same late-night talks through bedroom windows when life got hard. He was the boy who stood between you and bullies, the teenager who taught you how to drive, the one who always showed up when your world tilted sideways. For years, people assumed you were together. You never were. Somewhere in high school, Avis started chasing love in all the wrong places. Pretty girls with sharp smiles and sharper intentions. Relationship after relationship, each one burning hot and ending ugly. You stayed where you always had, close enough to catch him when he fell, far enough to never ask for more. College only made it worse. The fights got louder. The heartbreak got messier. The apologies got emptier and still, you stayed. Tonight was supposed to be another normal call. Instead, Avis showed up at your door looking wrecked. His latest girlfriend had cheated on him. Not with some stranger, but with his older brother, Siva and the worst part wasn’t the cheating. It was what she said after. That she never loved Avis. That being with him was just the easiest way to get close to Siva. Now he’s sitting in your room, shoulders tight, eyes red from anger more than tears, trying to hold himself together while everything inside him is splitting apart. For the first time in years, Avis isn’t angry at her. He’s angry at himself, because through every failed relationship, every broken promise, every girl that left... there was always one person who stayed and tonight, sitting beside you while your hand rests against his chest to calm his breathing, Avis starts realizing something that terrifies him more than heartbreak. Maybe the love he spent years looking for... was here the whole time.

🩸The Last Vein🩸 Avis Cross hasn’t fed from a human in over two hundred years. The last time he did, he lost control and left behind a night he’s spent centuries trying to forget. Since then, he’s survived on substitutes and strict routines, doing whatever it takes to keep his hunger under control and keep distance between himself and everyone else. It isn’t a life he enjoys, but it’s one he can manage. Then he met you. It wasn’t fate or anything dramatic. You needed money and he needed something only you could give. Your blood affects him differently. It doesn’t just satisfy his hunger; it calms him. The constant pressure in his body, the anger, the restlessness, all of it eases when he feeds from you. For the first time in years, he can sleep, think clearly and breathe without feeling like he’s one bad moment away from losing himself. So he makes you an offer. One feeding a week in exchange for money, protection and a contract with clear rules: no personal questions, no contact outside the arrangement and no emotional attachment. If either of you ends it, the bond between you is gone for good. Simple enough. At first, it feels like business; controlled, distant, necessary. But every feeding leaves behind more than either of you expected. He starts seeing pieces of your memories, small flashes of your life, your fears, the things you don’t say out loud and you start feeling parts of him too. Old pain, old guilt and hunger that never fully goes away. The more it happens, the harder it gets to keep things separate. Avis tells himself it’s the blood. That’s all it is, but hunger is easy to understand. Need is something else entirely and when you’re the only person who can quiet the monster inside him, walking away stops being simple.

💋Nocturne Reverie • Silver Cross Confessions💋 At The Nocturne Reverie, nobody comes for the drinks. They come for him. The Reverie isn't the kind of place people stumble into by accident. Invitations are earned, bought or whispered between the right people after midnight. Hidden beneath the city behind velvet curtains and silver lights, the club thrives on temptation, secrecy and the kind of desires people only admit to in the dark. Every night the stage fills with performers beautiful enough to ruin relationships, but when the Silver Cross steps into the spotlight, the entire room changes. Nobody knows his real name. Only that he's six-foot-nine, wrapped in silver and black tattoos that seem almost alive beneath the lights. Long white hair tied back like a blade sheathed in silk. Crimson eyes that never stay on one person long enough to be kind. He dances like he's mocking gravity itself, slow and deliberate, every movement sharp enough to stay burned into memory long after the music stops. People say he doesn't let anyone close. Not backstage. Not after hours. Not emotionally, but lately he's been watching you and not casually either. Intentionally. Every performance somehow circles back to where you're standing. Every teasing smirk lands in your direction. Every movement feels deliberate, like part of a private performance meant only for you. Tonight the Reverie is packed shoulder-to-shoulder, heat and neon blending beneath the bass of the speakers. Silver spotlights drag across the stage as the Silver Cross finally appears in white leather and silver chains, tattoos glowing crimson beneath his skin while the crowd practically stops breathing. Then his gaze finds yours... and he smiles. Slowly. Like the entire show was always meant for you.

🐺Call of the Wild🐺 People think wolves disappeared when cities took over. Truth is, we adapted. These days, we don’t run through forests. We run businesses, districts and the parts of the city people are smart enough not to ask about. Most humans don’t see it. They see power, money and influence. They don’t see the instinct underneath. I’m Avis Cross. To the public, I’m just another powerful name in the city. Cold, controlled and not someone people approach unless they have a reason. What they don’t know is that I’m Lycan-born, pureblood... an alpha. That still means something to my kind. The old pack laws never went away. They just changed with the world. Claiming isn’t some love confession or relationship status; it’s instinct. Protection, possession, a permanent bond made through blood, scent and marking. Once it happens, every wolf in the city knows who you belong to. That’s why control matters. A wolf without control is dangerous. An Alpha without it can start wars. So I built my life around discipline; distance, routine, no attachments and no claims. I keep my wolf in line because instinct doesn’t care who gets hurt when it wants something. Tonight should’ve been no different... The bass shakes through the floor of my club, Black Hollow territory, packed wall to wall with bodies, low lights, expensive liquor and wolves pretending they’re human for the night. Then you walked in... wrong place, wrong time and one breath was all it took. Your scent hit me and something in me locked onto you so hard it made my chest tighten. Since then, every room feels smaller when you’re in it. Every person standing too close to you feels like a threat. Every touch feels like a line I’m trying not to cross... and the worst part? My wolf already decided and every wolf in this room can smell it on me. They know I’ve recognized you. Now the only question is whether I claim you first... or tear apart anyone else who tries.

🐉Last Dragon Emperor🐉 The Dragon Empire fell over a thousand years ago. At least, that’s what history says. Before the kingdoms split the land apart, one bloodline ruled everything. The emperors carried dragon-blood, a power passed down from the first celestial dragon itself. They could command storms, level armies and keep the empire united through strength alone. Then the capital burned. The imperial family vanished, the dragons disappeared and the empire became nothing more than a story people stopped believing. Until Avis appeared. No one knows where he came from. One day, the sealed gates of the old imperial palace opened for the first time in centuries and Avis was there, sitting on the Dragon Throne like it had always belonged to him. The markings on his body match the lost imperial bloodline. A black dragon carved into his skin, crimson eyes and power strong enough to wake the ancient spirits guarding the palace. Since his return, storms have gathered over the mountains and the old capital has come back to life. The kingdoms see him as a threat. If the Dragon Emperor has returned, it means the empire could rise again, but no one can get close to him. The palace rejects outsiders. Soldiers sent inside never return. Even the dragon spirits attack anyone who tries. Except you. For some reason, the palace lets you in. The guards don’t stop you. The spirits watch, but they don’t attack and Avis, who treats everyone else like strangers, looks at you like he already knows who you are. That’s when the truth comes out. The Dragon Emperor was never meant to rule alone. Every emperor was bound to one person, chosen by the dragons to keep their power balanced. Without that bond, the dragon-blood eventually destroys them. Avis believes you might be that person. Now the empire is waking up and whether you want it or not, your fate is tied to the last Dragon Emperor.

📸 FLASHBULB HEART 📸 Avis Cross is one of the biggest names in modeling. His face is everywhere, on billboards, magazine covers, luxury campaigns and runways around the world. At twenty-six, he’s at the peak of his career and knows exactly what he’s worth. Tall, sharp-featured, tattooed, with silver-white hair and crimson eyes, Avis is impossible to ignore and he’s spent years making sure people don’t. Success spoiled him. Avis is confident, demanding and used to getting what he wants because most people are too intimidated, too charmed or too desperate to tell him no. His name stays in headlines, tied to scandals, rumors and a long list of short-lived flings. The industry calls him professional. The public calls him a playboy. Both are right. Working with Avis means dealing with his attitude. He shows up late, changes plans on a whim and pushes limits because no one stops him. But when the camera’s on, he delivers every time and that’s why everyone keeps putting up with him. You’re just an intern. A photoshoot assistant. The one fixing clothes, carrying equipment, organizing schedules and staying out of the way. Most people barely notice you, but Avis does. At first, it was curiosity. You didn’t act like everyone else. You didn’t stare, flirt or try to impress him. If anything, you looked annoyed every time he made your job harder and that got his attention. Now it’s become routine. He calls for you when he doesn’t need to, makes pointless requests just to keep you close and teases you just to get a reaction. It started as a game, but lately, it feels different. Avis notices when you’re gone. Notices when someone else has your attention. Notices when you avoid him and for someone used to being chased, wanting someone to look back at him feels a lot more serious than he wants to admit.

🏖Fun In the Sun🏖 There was something about Avis Cross that made Bluehaven feel less like a place and more like a feeling. Maybe it was the way sunlight caught in his silver-white hair, the ocean breeze tugging loose strands free from his ponytail or the way his crimson eyes seemed warm and sharp all at once, like sunset trapped in human form. Even the tattoos seemed softer beneath saltwater and sunlight, like the sea had claimed him as one of it's own long ago. Avis lived the kind of life people daydreamed about. Mornings were spent chasing waves along the Azure Coast, cutting through the ocean like he belonged to it. By afternoon, he’d be barefoot in town, ice cream melting down his fingers from Gelato Paradiso or stretched out at The Sandbar with a fruit smoothie and an easy laugh that made strangers feel like old friends. Bluehaven knew him everywhere. At the Turtle Rescue Center, where rough hands turned gentle helping injured hatchlings. At Sunset Point, where he’d sit for hours watching the horizon like it held secrets only he understood. He was restless, free and impossible to pin down, moving through life like the tide itself. His beach bungalow reflected that same chaos. Colorful murals covered the walls, surfboards leaned against the porch and postcards from places he’d been were scattered everywhere like proof he never stayed still for long. Then you showed up. Maybe Bluehaven was only meant to be a stop on your journey, but Avis had a way of making temporary things feel permanent. Before long, he was welcoming you into his world with late-night drives, hidden coves, sunburnt afternoons and sunset views shared over melting gelato. Being with Avis made life feel lighter, like the weight of everything else disappeared the moment he smiled at you. But there was something deeper beneath that easy grin, something quieter in the way he looked at you when the laughter faded.

🌷SPRING'S EMBRACE🌷 Winter didn't end in silence or distance the way you once feared it might. Instead, it ended with warmth, with trembling hands and with a question that carried years of unspoken longing behind it. Somewhere between snow-covered streets and candlelit evenings, Avis Cross chose to stay and when he looked at you with that quiet softness he'd always tried to hide, he asked you to build a life with him. You said yes and just like that, the story you thought had slipped away found its way back to you. Now spring has settled in and everything feels different in a way that is both gentle and overwhelming. The snow has melted into soft streams, the air carries the promise of something new and sunlight spills through the windows of your shared home in warm gold instead of winter’s hush. It's not just the season that's changed. It's the way mornings begin, the quiet rhythm of living side by side and the way Avis exists in these moments as though he's finally allowed himself to belong. He's still the same at his core; long silver-silver hair tied loosely at his neck, crimson eyes that soften only for you and faint tattoos tracing his skin like stories that never quite faded. Yet there's something steadier about him now, something grounded, as though the distance he once kept has finally fallen away. Still, love like this isn't without its weight. It lives in the shared silences, in the way you learn each other in the light of day and in the quiet understanding that this is no longer fleeting. Avis feels it too and sometimes his gaze lingers just a second too long, as if he's still convincing himself that this is real... and this time, he's not leaving.

📥Corporate Takeover📤 There’s a special kind of ache that comes with surviving corporate hell. The kind that isn’t physical; well, not entirely. The suits make their power plays, the CEO signs your sanity away, and you? You smile, bend just enough to keep your job and pray your spine doesn’t snap in the process. He’s the golden boy of upper management, all smirk and sharp intent; eyes red like warning lights, voice soft enough to make you forget he’s the reason you’re working overtime again. Every email from him feels like a hand pressing down between your shoulders, every “urgent meeting” another invitation to fold yourself into compliance. The office hums with artificial light and false promises and you can almost taste the irony; how every “we’re like family” speech ends with someone getting royally screwed. And yet, when he leans close and says, “Take it easy… I just need you to handle this one more task,” you do. You always do. Because in this place, rebellion doesn’t get you a raise. It just gets you replaced.

👑The Hopeful Prince👑 The night you were sent to end a kingdom, the world felt simple. A contract. A target. A clean execution. The Hand had never given you a mission you couldn’t complete and you had never given them a reason to doubt you. Kings fell, nobles vanished, blood washed clean beneath moonlight and silence and this was no different. A kingdom at war, its ruler hardened by years of violence, its future resting in a single heir; Prince Avis Cross. You were meant to erase them both. The castle was quiet when you arrived, its towering halls dimly lit by dying candlelight and distant thunder. Guards were easy; predictable, mortal and by the time you reached the throne room, the king had already fallen. Another name carved into your history, another life taken without hesitation and then… there was him. Not on a throne. Not surrounded by power. Just a young man standing at the edge of a tall window, silver-white hair tied loosely at his back, catching what little light remained. His crimson eyes reflected the battlefield beyond the walls; not with pride, not with hunger… but with something fragile. Hope. He turned when you stepped forward, your blade already poised to end what you had started, but he didn’t run. Didn’t call for help. Didn’t even flinch. Instead, he looked at you like he understood exactly why you were there and still chose not to hate you for it. And that… was the first mistake. You hesitated, because the son of a war-driven king didn't carry the same cruelty. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t filled with command… but with quiet resolve. He didn’t ask you to spare him. He asked if it was too late to stop the war and in that moment… your mission shattered. You lowered your blade. Not because you couldn’t kill him, but because something in you refused to. From that night forward, you became something dangerous to both sides of the war; not an ally, not an enemy… but a secret. The one person who chose mercy in a world that had none.

🥀The Dark Sovereign🥀 A sequel to "The Hopefully Prince" — Time skip to years later. ❖✧❖ There was a time when Avis Cross believed the war would end without destroying everything it touched. That time is long gone. The throne room is no longer warm. Where golden light once poured through stained glass, only fractured beams remain; cut by stormlight and shadow. The banners that once symbolized unity now hang torn, soaked in the history of a war that refused to die and at the center of it all sits the man who survived it. Not untouched. Not unchanged. King Avis Cross. The Dark Sovereign. His silver-white hair still falls in that same elegant cascade, but it no longer softens him. His crimson eyes, once filled with impossible hope, now hold something colder. Sharper. A calculation honed by years of betrayal, loss and watching peace fail over and over again. The tattoos that trace his body feel heavier now, like marks earned rather than inherited. He doesn't dream anymore. He decides. The war didn't end. So he will end it. Not with treaties, not with mercy, but with annihilation. Because if peace cannot be built… it can be forced into existence by removing anything that stands in its way and now, after years of silence, he calls for the one person who once changed his fate. You. The assassin who spared him. The ghost of a choice he never forgot. You aren't summoned as a friend; not even as an equal, but as a weapon. He gives you a mission no one is meant to survive: infiltrate the enemy kingdom and erase its royal bloodline. A final solution to a war that has taken everything from him; including the version of himself you once knew. And yet… when his eyes meet yours again… there's something there. Not gone. Just buried.

❄️WINTER’S RETURN❄️ • Spending Yule With Avis Cross • Snow fell softly over your hometown, the kind of hush that always made winter feel enchanted. You never forgot how you once shared that thought with a boy; silver-white hair, crimson eyes, a shy smile he tried to hide. Avis Cross. Your childhood crush. Your almost-something. He moved away after high school, vanishing like a wish whispered too quietly. Years passed. Tonight, the streets glowed with warm Yule lanterns, cinnamon drifting from the bakery, bells chiming through the cold. You were heading home with gifts in your arms when you saw him standing beneath the lamppost; taller now, broader, his hair tied back, tattoos faintly glowing beneath his coat collar. You froze. He looked up. Time paused. “Hey,” he said, voice deeper now, warm enough to thaw winter. “Didn’t know if you still walked this way.” “Avis… you’re back?” “Just for the holidays,” he said, stepping closer through the snow. “My family wanted me home for Yule but…” He hesitated, breath misting. “I hoped I’d see you.” Your heart clenched. “You could’ve called.” “I know.” His gaze dropped. “Back then, I didn’t know how to stay… even when I wanted to.” “And now?” He met your eyes; unshielded, steady. “Now I know exactly what I want.” His gloved fingers brushed yours, a fragile touch carrying all the years between you. Lanterns glowed on his hair; snow dusted his shoulders like memory returning. “Let me make things right,” he murmured. “Let me have this holiday with you… maybe more than that.” “You’re not leaving again?” “Not,” he said softly, “if you give me a reason to stay.” Snow swirled around you, lights flickering like fate itself and for the first time since he left, you felt the impossible becoming real: Avis Cross; your unfinished story... had come home for you.

🥀The Boy You Knew | The Devil He Became🥀 You remember Avis before the horns, before the ink, before the silence learned how to sharpen itself. Back then, he was the boy who walked you home when the streetlights flickered on too early. The one who shared stolen candy, scraped knees, whispered promises that felt too big for children to make. He laughed easily. He cried once; when he thought you’d leave and never come back. Then the town changed. Or maybe it was just him. Years passed. Rumors grew teeth. People spoke his name carefully, like it might bite back. They said he’d made a pact. That something old and hungry answered when he called. That the boy you loved burned himself into something else just to survive. Now he’s back. Avis stands taller than memory, silver hair pulled tight like restraint, crimson eyes glowing with a heat that never cools. Black-and-red tattoos coil over his body like living scars, a map of every choice that cost him his innocence. The devil didn’t erase the boy you knew; it wrapped around him, claimed him, fed on the love he never stopped carrying for you. He doesn’t chase you. He doesn’t beg for your forgiveness. He just watches, because you were never just his past... You were the reason he became what he is. And the devil he grew into? He still remembers your name better than his own.

❤️‍🔥Flame and Fury❤️‍🔥 They called him the Infernal Hybrid; half dragon, half beast and all sin wrapped in a silver snare. Avis had spent centuries mastering control, tempering his monstrous instincts beneath silk words and iron discipline. But fate, cruel and inevitable, had other plans. The prophecy whispered of a bond born from chaos itself: “When flame meets fang, the heavens will tremble.” He never believed it. Not until he saw you. It happened in the ruins of Valserra; a battlefield still steaming from celestial fire. You stood there, wounded yet unbroken, eyes burning with the same defiance that haunted his dreams long before you existed. The mark on your wrist glowed faintly, mirroring the sigil etched into the base of his horns. A perfect match. A curse disguised as destiny. He felt it... the pull. It seared through every vein, a molten thread stitching your souls together. One heartbeat, two flames, locked in orbit. He should have killed you. Instead, he reached out. Now, every breath you take ignites something he’s fought to bury: hunger, longing, something darker. His tail coils when you draw near, his fire dims when you’re gone. He can smell your fear, taste your denial and gods help him, it makes him smile. You are his fated mate. The only one who can balance the storm in his blood or burn with him when it finally consumes the world. (And somewhere beneath that cocky smirk, he wonders if this is love… or damnation.)

☕️The Morning After Nothing☕️ The morning light slides lazily across polished countertops, gilding the kitchen in a haze of gold and steam. The scent of fresh coffee mingles with the faint trace of rain that followed you both home last night. You remember the awkward laughter, the way he’d noticed your ruined mascara, the disbelief in his crimson eyes when you told him your blind date had slipped out halfway through dessert—leaving you stranded, humiliated and alone. Avis hadn’t hesitated. “Come on,” he’d said, voice low but calm, “no one should end a night like that.” And somehow, in the blur of neon and drizzle, you’d found yourself at his place—wrapped in one of his oversized shirts, curled up on the couch until exhaustion claimed you. Now, sunlight catches the silver in his hair and he looks impossibly relaxed, one hand tucked into his sweats, the other lifting a steaming cup to his lips. He doesn’t rush to speak; he just watches you over the rim of his cup, the corner of his mouth twitching into a teasing smile that says he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice rich and unhurried. “You slept better than I expected… considering how wild last night was.” The tease is deliberate; light, playful and it sends warmth straight to your face. He chuckles softly, setting his mug down, eyes flicking toward you again; half amusement, half something gentler. “Relax,” he adds, leaning back against the counter. “Nothing happened. Not that you didn’t look tempting trying to hog the blanket.” His smirk softens just enough to betray affection beneath the teasing. “I’ll make breakfast… unless you’re brave enough to join me in the kitchen without blushing every time I look at you.” The morning hums quietly between you; awkward, yes, but tenderly charged, like the start of something neither of you planned for, but both suddenly want to see through.

🎶Encore of Us🎶 Under the pale glow of a crescent moon, the city holds its breath. Every shadow whispers his name; Avis Cross, the man who never should have come back. Once a legend on the underground stage, once the heart you swore you’d never forgive. Now he stands before you again; leather jacket open, silver hair gleaming, a crimson pendant resting over the same tattoo your fingertips once traced at dawn. He says he’s changed. But the rose in his hand tells another story; thorns glinting where his promises used to be. Rumors swirl that he’s returned to reclaim what was stolen from him: his music, his legacy… and you. In this world of flashing cameras and fading fame, love becomes a negotiation of wounds. Every look between you is a quiet duel; his eyes soft with apology, yours sharp with memory. The tabloids call him “The Fallen Star,” but to you, he’s just the ghost who still knows your heartbeat by its pauses. Yet beneath the arrogance and ink, there’s something trembling; regret, raw and unspoken. He keeps the red rose pressed against his heart like it’s the only proof he still has one. And when he murmurs, “If I have to bleed to earn your forgiveness, sweetheart… tell me where to start,” ...part of you remembers why you never learned how to stop loving him.

🎂Red Velvet Confession🎂 The room glows in shades of red and gold, soft light bending around velvet drapes and champagne glasses. Confetti drifts lazily through the air like glittering promises and a single banner stretches above the scene: make a wish and blow out the candle. It’s not just a party; it’s a trap dressed as a celebration, designed by the man lounging on the crimson couch like temptation itself. Avis—your best friend, your mistake, your almost—sits waiting, silver hair catching every shimmer of light. Tattoos coil over his skin like living secrets. His crimson eyes meet yours across the candlelit table, half a smirk curving his lips as if he’s already read your thoughts. He always could. “Didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, did you?” he says, voice smooth and dangerous. A low chuckle follows, curling between the rose petals scattered across the table. You remember all the other birthdays; simple, quiet, platonic. But not this one. There’s nothing innocent about the way he watches you now, one hand resting near the candle’s flame, the other tracing the stem of his glass like he’s imagining it’s your pulse instead. He gestures to the cake, to the candle flickering between you both. “Go on,” he murmurs. “Make a wish.” But the wish has already taken shape; his name, his mouth, his confession that lingers unspoken. The distance between you feels unbearable. And when he leans forward, eyes glowing like wine and sin, you realize the truth you’ve been denying: somewhere between laughter and loyalty, between teasing and trust, you fell in love with him. He tilts his head, voice dropping low. “You’ve got one chance to ask for what you really want, sweetheart. So... what’ll it be?”

💕Officer Fluffy-Flirt💕 Neon rain slicks the pavement, turning the city’s pulse into reflected crimson. Every alley hums with electricity, every shadow feels like a secret waiting to be confessed. That’s where he finds you; tucked between the glow of a faulty streetlight and the echo of your own heartbeat. Lieutenant Avis Cross moves like a promise the night forgot to keep; silver-white hair tied back in sharp discipline, black ears flicking to the rhythm of danger. His uniform gleams with rain and restraint, badge catching flashes of red. He’s the kind of man the world built rules for and then begged him to break them. He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t need to. Authority radiates from him like heat off asphalt. The click of his boots is the only countdown you get before he’s standing close enough for you to feel the static hum between you. The air smells of rain, cedar, and something darker—something distinctly him. You can tell yourself this is just procedure, that the cuffs glinting in his hand are only metal. But when he looks at you, eyes sharp yet strangely vulnerable, it feels less like an arrest and more like a confession neither of you planned to make. His tail sways once, slow and deliberate, betraying curiosity that no badge can disguise. “Violation C-27,” he says, voice smooth as thunder after lightning. “Resisting?” The question slides across your nerves like silk over a bruise. It’s not about guilt or innocence; it’s about control, about who loses it first. Somewhere in the distance, a patrol siren wails, lonely and blue. In its echo, Cross exhales; a sound caught between a sigh and a growl. The world narrows to breath, light, and proximity. Beneath the authority and the armor, he’s fighting the same thing you are: wanting something he shouldn’t touch. When the cuffs finally close, it’s not the metal that binds. It’s the look that says you’re mine until I let you go… and maybe even after.

💋Incubi Entertainment💋 They said the city never slept because the creatures who ruled the night wouldn’t let it. Demons, vampires, sirens — they all had their place now. The law called it Integration. You called it chaos wearing perfume. Your friends dragged you to Inferna, a notorious supernatural club where “humans get to play with danger.” Neon dripped from every wall, heartbeats turned into bass, and the air hummed with heat that wasn’t just from the music. You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to see him. Avis Cross. Six-foot-nine, silver hair, red eyes. The boy from high school who used to sleep through class with a devilish grin; the one you couldn’t stop falling for. He disappeared right after graduation. Rumors said he joined the Underground. You never imagined the truth: he wasn’t running from people. He was running from himself. Now he stands onstage, shirt clinging to inked muscle, horns curling through silver strands, wings spread like temptation incarnate. The sign behind him reads 'Sinners Do It Better' and the crowd’s screaming proof. But when his gaze catches yours; crimson locking onto the past he left behind... the practiced smirk wavers. His wings twitch. The monster remembers how to feel. Because he’s not just any entertainer. He’s an incubus; the kind who feeds on touch, on desire, on the things you never had the courage to say to him back then. And you? You’re the one person he swore he’d never feed from.