#sunnys work

[sunandflame]

Threaded in Fire - Part 1/3

He wasn’t supposed to exist. But neither were you. And now, in the sky above Onigashima, your flames have found each other.

Warnings: slow burn romance, canon-typical violence, implied torture (punk hazard trauma, King's backstory), ptsd, flashbacks to genocide/cultural erasure, survivor's guilt, grief and loneliness, found family elements, hurt-comfort, angst, lunarian headcanons, oda please let me write the lunarians

Word Count: 9000~

Pairing: King (Alber) x Female Lunarian!Reader

crossposted on AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Chapter 1: The Spark of a Rumor

The tavern is dim, all flickering lamps and low murmurs drowned beneath the heavy coastal rain. The scent of sea salt clings to the air, blending with ale and wet wood. You sit in the farthest, darkest corner—hunched low, hood drawn deep. Still, you can feel the eyes.

You’re nearly six meters tall. You try not to stand out, wrapping your black-feathered wings tightly under your thick coat, letting the hunch of your shoulders fake the illusion of deformity. But even slouched and shadowed, you take up space. You always have. And people notice.

So you keep still. You listen.

At a table not far from you, a group of pirates is deep in drink and louder than they should be. One of them slams his mug on the table, golden liquid spilling across the wood.

“I swear on my life,” he says, swaying with every word, “Kaido’s got a monster in his crew. Wings—black wings like a damned bird. Bronze skin. Fire on his back. Saw it with my own eyes out by Wano.”

You don’t move, but something in you stills.

His companion laughs, scoffing through crooked teeth. “You were high on Sea Prism fumes, idiot.”

“I wasn’t!” the first snaps. “I know what I saw. That thing looked like a god. No, a demon. One of them Lunarians.”

Your fingers clench beneath the table. Your wings itch under the coat, reacting instinctively—wanting to flare, to stretch, to rise. But you don’t let them. You’ve trained your body to shrink, even if it never truly can. You’ve learned to fold yourself small despite your size. Even now, pressed into this corner, you know you’re too big for it.

“I thought they were extinct,” the second mutters, voice lowering. “Didn’t the World Government wipe 'em out? You know they’re still offering a hundred million Berries for any intel on one?”

You grit your teeth. 

Yes. You know.

You know what it means to live hunted. To keep running, island after island, hiding your wings, your skin, your truth. You know what it means to wake up in cold sweat remembering flames, screams, the fall of your people. You’ve lived with the belief that you were the last. Alone in a world that wants you dead or dissected.

But now... this.

A rumor.

Another.

Your heart slams against your ribs like it wants out. You rise, quiet and smooth, towering over the rest of the tavern as you move toward the door. You hear the pause in conversation as your shadow passes—feel the tension—but no one dares speak.

Outside, the rain soaks through your hood in seconds. The sea roars against the cliffs. You don’t care. You vanish into the storm, your wings shifting restlessly beneath your coat.

If this rumor is true—if one of your kind still breathes beneath Kaido’s flag—then you must find him. You will find them.

Even if it means walking straight into the empire of a Yonko.

Even if it means risking everything.

Because you are not the last.

And neither are they.

~~~

Chapter 2: Ashes and Sky

You move before dawn.

The sea still groans in its sleep, the clouds low and heavy like they remember the storms of yesterday. You pack little. You’ve learned to live light—just enough food and coin to get you to the next island. You’ve never had the luxury of more.

Your wings ache beneath the coat, pressing tightly against your back. They want to stretch. To remember the sky.

But not here. Not yet.

The docks are quiet as you board a modest cargo ship heading toward a cluster of islands near Wano. You pay double to be ignored. The sailors ask no questions—they can tell from your size alone that you’re not to be messed with. Good. You don’t want words. You need the silence. Because in that silence, the past always comes back.

You were only a child when the fire stopped meaning safety.

You remember the screams first. Not the words—just the sound of them. Your people didn’t cry often, but that day, the sound was endless. Like the wind caught fire and turned into voices. The walls of the citadel burned, but no one inside did. You didn’t know yet that that made you different.

What you remember most is running—tiny legs, barely able to lift off the ground. Your wings weren't strong enough yet. You flapped, you tried, but the sky wouldn't hold you. You stumbled through ash and flame, your silver hair catching cinders, your skin blistering not from heat but from grief.

And when you looked back, no one followed.

They died. Or scattered.

You’ve been running ever since.

The ship rocks beneath your feet. You sit beneath the deck, hunched as always, eyes fixed on the grain of the wood. Sleep won’t come. It never does when your thoughts spiral.

What if the rumor is true?

What if it's real?

But deeper down: what if it isn’t?

What if they lied? Or if the creature you find under Kaido’s flag is nothing like you? What if they doesn’t care? Or worse—what if they forgotten what you are? What you are?

You don’t even know what you’d say to them.

"Hello, I thought I was alone."

"Do you remember what it felt like to fall?"

You imagine their face and can't picture anything. Just fire. Wings. A towering shadow that might mirror your own. You wonder if they ever dreamed of others like you. Or if Kaido has beaten that out of them. Controlled him. Branded him.

You know this: if Kaido has them, then they are not free.

And maybe neither are you.

The days pass slowly. You change ships twice. Each time, more eyes linger. More risk. You keep to yourself, never letting your wings breathe. Not yet. Not until you're closer.

You pass the nights tracing the lines of your arms, your shoulders. No scars mark your skin—your body never held onto wounds. But memory did. Your hands remember every fall, every hunger, every night you faced the dark alone. You are strong, but not untouched. And every silent breath you take whispers the same thing:

You survived.

By the time the final island appears on the horizon—one step from Wano—your heart feels like it’s carrying your whole bloodline.

You stand at the edge of the ship, the wind catching in your hood. The skies feel heavier here. Charged. Like Wano is alive and watching.

You're almost there.

They are out there.

And no matter what you find…

You have to see them.

~~~

Chapter 3: Wings Unbound

No ship would take you to Wano.

Not for any price.

The moment you asked—carefully, discreetly—eyes would sharpen, conversations would end. You knew what it meant: Wano wasn’t just dangerous, it was closed. Sealed off like a tomb. The country rejected the world with swords drawn. Outsiders were hunted, cut down before they touched its soil. No port, no passage. No welcome.

So you wait.

For the moon to rise. For the sky to blacken into a sea of stars. And then—when the coast is clear—you shed the weight you’ve carried for days.

You shrug off the coat. Your wings unfurl with a slow, aching stretch, each feather shaking from disuse. The span of them gleams in the dark like storm-drenched obsidian. And for the first time in weeks, you inhale like the air belongs to you.

You leap. And the wind catches you.

The sky embraces you like it remembers. You rise silently, skimming through clouds, the cold air sharp against your cheeks. Your white hair is tucked under a dark scarf, your flame dimmed to near nothing, hidden carefully between your shoulder blades. You are just a shadow in the night, passing over the sea.

The journey is longer than you thought.

But finally—through breaks in the mist—you see it. A chain of sharp islands, black cliffs rising from the water like jagged teeth. You slow your flight. Study the terrain. Then you see it: a separate island—ominous, carved with a massive oni face in its stone. It stares out over the sea with empty eyes and curled tusks, as if daring anyone to land.

You furrow your brow. That must be it. The base. The stronghold. The place they keep monsters. 

Your wings fold slightly as you descend, circling silently toward a rocky landing spot near the edge of the cliff. And that’s when you see it— a flicker of orange light—

Instinct screams through you, and you twist in midair just in time to dodge the fireball. It explodes past you with a roar, searing heat licking at your side. You spin upward, feathers scorched at the tips, adrenaline flooding your limbs.

Where—?

You scan the darkness frantically— Then you see it. A massive form cutting through the sky, wings stretched wide—leather, not feathered—flames trailing from its back. A beast. A predator. A man. A pteranodon.

Your heart stutters. He’s enormous, even at a distance, but he’s closing in fast. The flare of his wings glows with fury. You can see the glint of metal, leather armor—his eyes locked onto you.

You panic. You’ve never fought something like this in the air. You don’t want to fight at all. You try to flee—push higher, faster— But he follows.

No choice.

You let your flame ignite.

The heat floods down your spine. The fire erupts between your wings, not like a torch—but like a warning. Your body surges with power as the flame shields you, reinforcing your back and bones, your core strengthening to withstand what’s coming.

Let him try.

You twist through the sky, heart pounding. The wind howls around you as you dodge another strike, your wings banking sharply left, cutting through the darkness.

You're no longer hiding.

But you’re still alone.

And you're not sure what this winged attacker is yet— Only that he's not the one you came for.

~~~

Chapter 4: The Sky Burns Twice

The guards on the night watch were shouting.

King heard the alarm just as he stepped onto the balcony that overlooked the sea cliffs. Onigashima’s towering fortress loomed behind him, its walls lit by a dull, ever-burning flame. The wind pulled at his coat, cold and salty. He narrowed his eyes toward the horizon, his sharp gaze catching a flicker of movement above the dark water.

Something was in the sky.

“Large shadow, moving fast!” one of the guards called. “Too big to be a bird—!”

King didn’t wait to hear more.

With a flare of heat and a rush of air, his body shifted mid-step—mass expanding, limbs elongating into wings and talons. Flames erupted from his back as he launched into the air, his form fully shifted into the massive pteranodon granted by his Devil Fruit.

If something dares fly near Onigashima, he would be the one to tear it down.

The night wind howled as he soared, black wings cutting through the clouds. He spotted it quickly—a shadow just ahead, matching his altitude, trying to move silently against the stars. Not a bird. Not a bat. Something… humanoid?

Without hesitation, he dove in for a strike, fire trailing in his wake as he launched a fireball toward the target. It spun—graceful, deliberate—and dodged.

His eyes narrowed.

That kind of speed in midair wasn’t human. But it wasn’t another Beast Pirate either. He circled again, drawing closer, preparing to strike once more—

Then he saw it. 

In the dark sky, the figure turned just enough for the moonlight to catch them.

Feathered wings. Not leathery like his pteranodon form. But vast—long, black, glossy feathers catching the wind. And then the unmistakable flare of a flame between their shoulder blades.

He halted mid-flight, wings beating once to steady himself as shock struck him like a blade to the chest.

No…

It wasn’t possible.

He was the last.

He had to be the last.

Yet before him, midair and burning like a phantom, was someone else. Someone with wings, with flame, with the ancient markers of the gods they used to be. Her body was massive—nearly his own height, easily towering over any ordinary human. A brief flash of white hair escaped her scarf, and brown skin caught the glint of firelight.

A woman.

He could tell from the form, from the frame. Powerful, but not like his own. Different.

His instincts screamed—questions burned through his skull—but his body refused to move. For the first time in decades, he faltered in the sky. Was this an illusion? A trap? A trick of his memory? But no hallucination would burn with that kind of flame.

His mouth went dry beneath the leather mask.

She’s Lunarian.

And that changed everything.

~~~

Chapter 5: Flame Meeting Flame

The sky was silent for a long heartbeat.

You hovered midair, your wings outstretched and burning with effort. The flame at your back flickered brightly, no longer hidden. Your lungs ached from the sharp dodge, your body taut with adrenaline. You could feel him watching you—that monstrous presence that had nearly taken your head off. He was massive, all claw and fury and fire. And yet…

He wasn’t moving.

The pteranodon hovered, tail whipping in the wind, fire curling from his back just like yours. You saw hesitation in the tilt of his wings, in the way his body stopped short of another attack. The moonlight reflected against his leather uniform and mask.

You didn’t speak first.

You couldn’t. You didn’t even know how.

Then, slowly—deliberately—he began to descend.

He shifted as he landed on a jagged outcrop of Onigashima’s outer cliffs, the transformation folding in on itself until the beast was gone and the man stood tall again. Almost as tall as you. Just as dark. His black wings flexed wide, like yours. His flame still burned behind him. The heat from it swept across the sky like a warning.

He raised his head, that mask unmoving.

“…Who are you?”

His voice was low. Guttural. Suspicious. And underneath it, something else. Shaken.

You hovered above him still, not daring to get closer. Not yet.

“…You’re like me,” you managed, your voice hoarse with disbelief.

His flame pulsed slightly.

“Impossible.” He took a step forward, fists clenched at his sides. “There are no others.”

You slowly descended, boots landing with a crunch against the stone. You stayed on the edge—ready to launch yourself away if he made another move. Your wings twitched, tense.

“I thought I was the last,” you said, eyes locked with the slits of his mask. “But then I heard a rumor… about someone in leather, with wings and fire on their back, who fights for Kaido. And I couldn’t ignore it.”

He didn’t speak. He didn’t breathe. You could feel the heat rolling off of him like a furnace. You didn’t know what he’d do. You had no idea how he’d react.

“I needed to see if it was true,” you continued, barely above a whisper. “I needed to know I wasn’t… alone anymore.”

His wings curled slowly in, not in hostility—but something else. Containment. Restraint. The silence stretched again. Finally, his voice came low, but steady.

“…You were a child. During the purge?”

You nodded, a thick knot forming in your throat.

He tilted his head, unreadable. “And you survived.”

“Barely,” you said. “You?”

“I was taken,” he replied stiffly. “Experimented on. Used.” A pause. He was still watching you like a hawk, but something inside him had shifted. That rigid tension… cracked. Even just slightly.

“You have a name?” he asked, voice softer. Almost reluctant.

You gave it. Quietly.

He stared for a long second.

“…I’m King,” he said.

Your lips parted. You hadn’t expected him to give it. But something about the way he said it—the slight pause, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours—told you that it wasn’t his real name.

You didn’t press it.

And you both stood there, strangers bound by fire and memory, at the edge of the Beast Pirates’ fortress. Two Lunarians. Both thought lost. Now staring at one another, uncertain what to do next.

But no longer alone.

~~~

Chapter 6: Smoke Without Sound

The night clung to the cliffs like a second skin. Wind swept across the jagged stone, whispering between the peaks of Onigashima, carrying the scent of smoke, sea, and something ancient.

You walked in silence behind him.

He said nothing. Just moved with purpose, wings tucked, stride long and sure. The only sound was the quiet scuff of your boots against the stone path and the occasional rattle of armor where his gauntlet brushed against his side. His flame dimmed slightly, though never vanished. Yours did the same in quiet response.

He led you through narrow ridges, behind a hidden outcrop high above the main encampments. A place shielded by the natural terrain. No patrols. No sentries. Just a quiet overlook lit only by moonlight and flickering embers.

“This spot isn’t watched,” he said simply, glancing behind him to make sure you followed. “No one comes here.”

You nodded once, black cloak rustling as you stepped further in. The hood had fallen back during flight and remained off, your white hair catching pale light like frost in firelight.

You sat near the cliff’s edge, stretching your wings just slightly before folding them in. It felt like exhaling after holding your breath for hours. He stood for a long moment before slowly settling across from you, not too close—but not far either.

Silence.

His eyes hadn’t left you. Behind the black mask, he stared. Still. Unblinking. As if he expected you to vanish if he turned away.

You didn’t look away either. He was slightly taller and his frame was built for battle. Broad shoulders, long limbs, all wrapped in hardened leather and flame. His wings were larger than yours too, stronger. You watched the fire behind him burn quietly. Familiar. Sacred. And yet…

You furrowed your brows, frustrated. That mask.

You didn’t want to be ungrateful. You didn’t want to question him, not after everything. But something in you twisted. You needed to see. To be sure. That he was real. That you weren’t just losing your mind after years of loneliness and grief. That the one other Lunarian in the world wasn’t just fire and wings, but him. Face and all.

Still, you said nothing.

Not yet.

He finally broke the silence.

“…You don’t hide your face,” he murmured, low and observant.

You tilted your head slightly. “Do you always hide yours?”

His jaw shifted slightly beneath the mask. “It’s easier this way.”

You didn’t press. But your gaze stayed on him. You hoped—maybe—that he’d take it off on his own.

He didn’t. But his wings twitched. Like he was… thinking about it.

And for a moment, the two of you just watched each other.

No threats. No questions. Just the quiet tension of recognition. Two people who had no words yet for what they were feeling. Two Lunarians in exile, staring across a forgotten cliffside as the night wrapped around them.

And for the first time in years, you weren’t alone.

~~~

Chapter 7: A Flicker Before Flame

The quiet stretched.

You sat on opposite sides of the small outcrop, stone beneath you, wind curling between. He hadn’t spoken since you landed. Neither had you. The weight of what you’d both seen—the truth of each other—still pressed like heat between your lungs.

Another Lunarian.

Another one.

Your eyes never strayed far from him. Even as the stars turned overhead. Even as the fire between your shoulder blades softened to a calm, rhythmic pulse. He sat still as stone, save for the subtle shift of his wings adjusting to the wind. His flame flickered low but steady behind him.

You studied the curve of his shoulders. The way he sat—alert, but not aggressive. Quiet, but not disinterested. You couldn’t see his face behind the black mask, but somehow, you felt his eyes on you too. And for a while, that was enough.

There were too many things to say. Too much to ask. Too much you were afraid to voice, in case doing so might break whatever fragile thing had just formed in the space between your hearts.

Time passed. Minutes. Maybe longer.

Eventually, he looked away—toward the sky, wings folding behind him as if in thought.

“I have to return,” he said, voice low, like it pained him to say the words out loud. “They’ll start asking questions.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t ask who they were. You didn’t want to. He stood, the motion precise. Silent. His eyes lingered on you a moment longer, fire flickering faintly in the dark.

“Stay here.”

It wasn’t a command. It was something else. A request. A promise buried in a single line of certainty. You didn’t understand why, but you nodded. Something in you trusted him. Trusted the flame you saw in him—one that echoed your own.

You said nothing as he turned. His wings spread, fire flaring, lifting him into the air. You watched him until he vanished into the sky.

You didn’t sleep that night. You waited.

~~~

Alber had returned to Onigashima saying little.

“The object was neutralized,” he told when asked. “No threat.”

It was a lie. And yet, it was the only truth he could speak without giving anything away.

He told himself it was nothing. That it had to be a mistake. A ghost. A hallucination born from hope long dead. Another Lunarian couldn’t just exist. Not after what the world had done to their kind.

But still—he didn’t sleep either.

He couldn’t.

And when the moon climbed the sky again, he was already in the air. A wrapped satchel clutched in his hand, filled with fruit he’d taken from the storehouse. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t planned to bring anything. He didn’t even know if you were real.

But his fire stirred the closer he flew to the cliffs. And when he landed—there it was again. Your flame. Your wings. Your brown skin and white-silver hair catching the night wind just like before.

You turned the moment his boots touched stone.

And he just… stared. No words.

He stepped forward and placed the satchel of fruit down between you, the leather soft against the rock. Then, without explanation, he sat across from you. Saying nothing.

You blinked once, your expression caught between surprise and something gentler. Slowly, almost cautiously, you reached forward and took one of the fruits—a ripe persimmon—and bit into it.

The juice touched your lips. Sweet. Real. You ate slowly, your gaze never leaving his. And he watched you, flame low, silent.

And this time… he stayed.

~~~

Chapter 8: The Weight of Names

The silence between you stretched long. Not cold—just heavy. Weighted with recognition. You sat across from each other beneath the outcrop’s shelter, the hush of the sea distant beneath the cliffs, the night wind curling around you in soft, measured breaths.

You didn’t speak for a while. Maybe minutes. Maybe more. Just… watched him. Watched the way his flame flickered low at his back, how it pulsed steady and quiet—like your own. You didn’t know what to say. Or if you even should.

He didn’t seem like the type to speak freely. His presence was vast and silent, like some stone carved by fire that had chosen not to crumble. But still, your gaze returned to him again and again. As if to remind yourself he was real. And then—too fast, too sudden—you spoke.

“…Why are you with him?”

The words were out before you could stop them. You blinked, lips parting like you might take them back. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

His eyes didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t answer.

Your stomach twisted. You stared at the shadows, your own voice echoing in your ears, sharper than you intended. You tried to speak again—to soften it—but nothing came. Just the quiet hum of your flame.

A minute passed. Maybe more.

You thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then, finally—soft and low, his voice cut through the hush.

“Because he saved me.”

Your eyes widened slightly.

“I was held at Punk Hazard. A test subject. Since I was a child.” His tone was flat, factual. But something twisted beneath it—like rusted steel beginning to bend under pressure. “They tried to burn me. Over and over. In some kind of kiln. Testing how much heat a Lunarian body could take.”

His gaze dropped for a moment, jaw tight. “Kaido broke in. Looking for power. He saw what they were doing. Destroyed the machine himself.”

There was a pause. The air around him seemed to grow heavier. “He knew what I was. Knew I was Lunarian. Asked me if I wanted to come with him. Said he wanted to change the world.”

You stayed quiet, watching him.

“I said yes,” he said simply. “So we fled. He gave me a place. Gave me a name.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “King?”

“Yes. So I could live free under his wing. So the world government wouldn’t find me.” A soft, almost bitter sound escaped him—too sharp to be a laugh, too quiet to be anger. “I don’t know why I’m telling you that,” he muttered. “I never tell anyone.”

You didn’t smile—but inside, something softened. Because you had known. You had guessed it the moment he said it.

King. It didn’t fit—not for a Lunarian. Not for your kind.

The names of your people had once been softer. Melodic. A contradiction to the harshness of their endurance. The cruelty they’d survived. Names passed down like lullabies—warm even in fire. His was a title, not a name. Something placed upon him. Something that erased what came before. But also something that protected him all these years.

“I knew it wasn’t yours,” you said gently, watching his masked face. “It doesn’t sound like… us.”

He didn’t deny it.

You let your eyes drift to the distant sky, the wind curling around the cliff.

“…I’m glad,” you whispered after a moment. “That you weren’t alone all this time.”

He turned slightly toward you, but didn’t speak.

You hugged your cloak a little closer. “I was. After the purge. I ran. Hid. Moved between islands. Never stayed long. No one… no one knew what I was. Or cared.” Your voice caught slightly, but you pushed forward. “I thought maybe… I was some punishment. Or mistake.”

His wings shifted.

“I envied the ones who died quickly,” you added, quieter now. “They didn’t have to carry the ache. But I knew I had to survive. For their sake.”

Still no reply—but his posture changed. A flicker of tension in his shoulders. Like your words had struck something deep.

“And then,” you said, “I heard the rumor. Someone with black wings. Fire. Untouchable. I thought it had to be a lie. But if it wasn’t…” You looked at him again. “If there was even a chance…”

His voice was low. “…You came all this way.”

You nodded once. “Because I had to know.”

King leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. His flame flared once and then stilled.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, but there was no heat in it. “They’ll kill you if they find out.”

You met his gaze, unwavering. “Then they won’t find out.”

The wind swept between you again, stirring the edges of your cloak, the ends of his long coat. The fire behind both of you burned quietly. Not hidden anymore. Not pretending to be human.

For a long moment, you both just sat there—two survivors of a vanished race, finally face to face.

And for the first time since your wings had grown strong enough to fly—you felt seen.

~~~

Chapter 9: Emberlight

The silence wasn’t unwelcome.

It lingered between you, warm despite the wind, like a breath neither of you wanted to disturb. Strange, yes. But not uncomfortable. The kind of silence that lives between people who carry the same scars.

You sat across from him, knees drawn up beneath your cloak. The distance was small—just enough for the firelight to flicker in the space between—but it felt more like a thread than a gap. The hood of your cloak had fallen back, exposing your face to the wind, and still, you didn’t reach for it. You noticed again how he kept glancing at you—quick, subtle. Still disbelieving.

You didn’t blame him.

You looked at him too, really looked. He was a little taller than you. Broad-shouldered, long-limbed, built like something forged to survive. His black wings stretched, settling behind him with a quiet rustle. That mask still covered his face, hiding the truth beneath. But the fire behind him… that wasn’t hidden. Not from you.

You exhaled slowly, then spoke—tentative. “I remember a garden.”

King looked at you, but said nothing.

You let your mind drift. “There was this old woman… She taught the children. All of us. Even when we were too wild to listen. She had this voice—calm, like the sea after a storm. And she always smelled like herbs and ash.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “I haven’t thought about her in years.”

King’s head tilted. “…Dari.”

You blinked.

“That was her name,” he said. “She had a crooked finger. Always used it to scold me.” There was a roughness in his voice—something lighter, flickering. “She made me memorize the stars. Said I’d need them when I flew far.”

Your breath caught softly. “She made me plant seeds,” you murmured. “Even when I was angry. Said it was good for the spirit to wait for something to grow.”

“She gave me a carved stone. Said it was for strength. I lost it.”

You met his eyes—or what you could see of them through the mask.

“She never raised her voice,” you said.

“She didn’t need to,” he answered.

The quiet returned—but this time, it was filled with something golden. Memory. Recognition. A shared thread of light from before the fire took everything. You hugged your knees to your chest, the warmth of his presence still so new, so unexpected. The ache of loneliness in your bones had dulled, just slightly.

But it didn’t last. King shifted suddenly, wings flexing.

“I have to go,” he said. The warmth in his voice had cooled again, cautious. “They’ll notice if I’m gone too long.”

You nodded, understanding. “I won’t be seen.”

He rose to his full height, standing above you now. “Stay here. For now.”

You looked up at him. “Will you come back?” This time you dared to ask.

A pause.

“Yes.”

That was all he said before launching into the sky. His wings beat strong against the wind, flame trailing behind him like a comet. Within moments, he vanished into the shadows above Onigashima’s jagged ridges.

You watched until the last flicker of fire disappeared. Then, slowly, you pulled your cloak back over your head. The warmth of the moment dimmed as the cold returned. You stood and walked to the wind-still side of the outcrop, where the cliff cradled the air like a quiet cave. There, you lowered yourself to the ground, using your travel bag as a pillow. The stars above were dim behind drifting clouds.

You stared at them anyway.

Exhaustion settled into your bones—but your thoughts moved in slow, circling patterns. Restless wings.

King.

The conversation. His voice. The way he never took off the mask. You understood why. He couldn’t afford vulnerability—not as Kaido’s right hand. Not in this world. And still…

You didn’t know his name. Not the name from the scientists. Not the one Kaido gave him. But his name. The one given in fire and love, before the world turned cruel.

You wanted to know it. But you wouldn’t ask. Not yet.

You closed your eyes. And for the first time in years, you dreamed of a garden blooming under flame-kissed skies.

~~~

Chapter 10: Ashes That Remember

He didn’t usually think this much.

Not unless it involved tactics, terrain, or the fault lines in enemy ranks. Kaido didn’t keep him for softness. He kept him because King executed. Without hesitation. Without question. But now, thoughts weighed down his chest like stones. And they all circled the same center.

You.

Even with Onigashima’s walls humming with noise—rowdy crews, clinking cups, the thunder of Kaido’s voice down the hall—his mind wandered. Drifted. Pulled back to the cliffs outside the fortress, where fire still lingered in the stone. Where you waited.

You, with wings like his. With the voice that knew the songs of his people. With the scent of ash and home.

He’d told you to stay hidden. Not knowing why he expected obedience. But you had. You listened. You trusted him. That trust unsettled him in ways no battlefield ever had.

His hand hovered over the untouched meal in front of him—roasted fish, bread, slices of citrus. He’d sat through dinner without a word, Kaido’s presence at the head of the long table like a stormcloud. He felt the older man watching him, but Kaido never spoke. Only grunted once or twice, assessing.

Now, alone in his quarters, King wrapped the food in cloth, his movements precise. Silent.

His wings stretched wide before he leapt from the balcony. His fire left a soft trail across the sky as he cut through the clouds, leaving Onigashima behind. The outcrop was hidden well, a carved overlook against the jagged cliffs. And when he landed, you were still there—perched near the edge like a sentinel, your white-silver hair catching the moonlight. Your cloak tugged by the wind.

You turned before he made a sound.

“You came back,” you said quietly.

He held out the bundle of food. Said nothing.

You blinked, surprise flickering through your features. “Is that… for me?”

He gave a slow nod. 

You stepped closer and took it, fingers brushing against his gloved palm. Your warmth lingered longer than it should have. He felt it like a brand. You didn’t open it yet. You only looked at him—long, steady—and then settled down on the cold stone again. A wordless invitation. He joined you.

The silence stretched. But it wasn’t cold. Not anymore.

“I didn’t think I’d ever hear someone say her name again,” you said softly, your gaze fixed on the sea.

“Neither did I,” he murmured.

And so you talked. In low voices, slow and steady—like embers reigniting. You spoke of the old ones, of fire rites and cliff rituals, of stories passed down in firelight. You spoke of a childhood neither of you had truly left behind, only buried beneath survival.

He didn’t laugh—he rarely ever did—but something loosened in his chest when you imitated an old elder who always accused the children of stealing his walking stick. You laughed, though. And the sound made something deep in him ache.

He watched you more than he listened. Noticed everything.

The tilt of your head when you were deep in thought. The twitch in your wings when you remembered something painful and tried to hide it. The way you didn’t flinch when silence fell—you simply let it breathe. You didn’t ask about his name. Or his mask. Or the things that weighed down his past. You didn’t ask anything from him. That alone shook something loose in his chest.

Then—

Purururu—Purururu.

The Den Den Mushi at his side chirped, shrill in the stillness. He didn’t curse aloud, but something in his jaw flexed. He answered it with steady hands.

Kaido’s voice, deep and gravel-thick, rumbled through. “Where are you, King? Come.”

King’s eyes flicked to you. You’d gone quiet, gaze sharp now, instinctual. 

“Scouting perimeter,” he said. “I’ll return shortly.”

A pause. Then Kaido grunted. “Something’s moving near the northern line. Be quick.” The line cut out.

He stood but didn’t leave.

“You should go,” you said gently.

“I know.” Still, he hesitated.

He owed Kaido everything. A name. A purpose. Freedom. No one had ever given him that before. But this—what he found here with you—this wasn’t a rebellion. This wasn’t disloyalty. It was instinct.

And Kaido hadn’t seen what he’d seen. Yet.

King looked at you once more. Then stepped toward the ledge.

“Be careful… King,” you said, softer now.

He paused.

Then flew into the darkness, the fire trailing from his back dimmer than usual—because part of his flame stayed behind.

~~~

Chapter 11: The Space Between Fire

The fortress was noise and movement. Steel boots, laughter, cannon blasts echoing from practice drills, and Kaido’s voice roaring through stone walls when someone disappointed him. It was normal. Familiar.

But ever since you appeared, it all felt distant. Off-kilter.

Like he was floating between two flames—one scorching and loud, the other warm and quiet.

He moved through the fortress as he always had, his towering figure unreadable behind the leather mask, his presence enough to part the lesser members of the crew. No one dared question him. Not out loud. But they were looking. He felt it.

His silences had grown longer. His patrols stretched minutes into hours, and he’d started returning with dirt on his boots, wind in his feathers. And more than once… food missing from the stores.

He didn’t know why he kept doing it. The extra food. The cloth he tucked into his leather armor and later left behind for you to use as a blanket. The small trinket—an old wind chime he’d found half-buried in the ruins near the mountain path. He hadn’t even known if you’d like it, but when you’d turned it over in your hands with a strange softness in your eyes, something in him had settled.

Still, he didn’t speak about you. Not to anyone. 

Kaido hadn’t asked. Not yet.

And if that day came…

He didn’t know what he’d say.

~~~

The cave he’d found was nestled into the side of the cliffs, away from the patrol lines and air paths. No one from the Beasts Pirates ever came this far unless under orders—and he made damn sure no such orders were ever given.

He didn’t know why he’d brought you there the first night.

Maybe because it was the only place he knew that had room for silence.

And space to breathe.

~~~

When he landed this time, it was just past twilight. The sky bleeding gold and ink.

You were already there—curled at the edge of the overlook, your black cloak pooling around you like shadowed wings, your eyes cast toward the sea. The moment you turned to see him, his chest tightened. Every time, it happened. Every time, your face struck something in him—something soft and bone-deep.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. 

He handed you the wrapped food. Your fingers brushed his gloves, and his flame flared once—faint and fleeting.

You smiled like it meant something. And it did. Neither of you talked about what was happening. You didn’t define it. You didn’t dare. It was shy, but not awkward. Silent, but not hollow. Just sacred.

Some days, you asked questions. About the old ways. About the elder you’d both remembered. About the songs sung over fire in a tongue the world had long forgotten. You spoke of things that felt older than memory, yet etched into your bones.

Names were spoken with care. Not often. But when they were, they carried weight. Not for definition. But for remembrance.

One night, you asked if he ever missed them—the others. He didn’t answer at first. Just looked out into the dark. Thought of ashes.

Then he’d said, low and quiet, “Every time I fly.”

You hadn’t asked anything else. But your hand had moved close to his. Not touching. Just near enough to feel.

He hadn’t moved it away.

~~~

Back in the fortress, whispers had begun.

One of the grunts muttered that “King’s been off lately.” Another mentioned he hadn’t yelled once during drills. Hadn’t lit anything on fire in over a week.

He caught Kaido looking at him once during a strategy meeting. Just once. King held that stare. Neutral. Blank.

Kaido said nothing. He didn’t ask where King disappeared to when the sky turned black and the world quieted, because he trusted him. And King was grateful. Because you were still there, waiting. Always cloaked. Always careful. Never flying near the fortress, never testing the borderlines. You moved like wind over still water—quiet and cautious.

For his sake.

It made his chest ache. You trusted him without asking for anything in return. And that was becoming a problem. Because he wanted things. To see your face in the full light. To know your past, not because it mattered, but because it was yours. To hear your laugh again. To protect you from the world that hunted them both.

He didn’t understand the depth of it yet, only that he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Even in battle. Even in silence. Even now, sitting beside you as the sea moved endlessly below, and you leaned your head against the cave wall—not touching him, but close enough that he could feel the heat of your presence.

He realized something terrifying.

You weren’t his secret.

You were his sanctuary.

~~~

Chapter 12: A Flame That Waits

The days blurred when he was gone. Not from boredom. Not from despair. But from the strange, soft ache that filled the quiet between one heartbeat and the next.

You never knew how long he would be away. Sometimes it was a full day. Sometimes longer. The sun would dip below the cliffs and rise again, the wind shifting over the rocks like fingers threading through old memories. And still, you waited. 

Not because you were trapped. But because you wanted to be here when he came back.

This place—this wind-bitten cave on the cliffs, shaped by time and silence—was not a prison. It was the first place you ever felt seen.

He never told you much, but he brought things.

Food wrapped in cloth, still warm. A smooth piece of volcanic glass shaped like a wing. A coil of soft rope, useful for climbing. A single carved piece of driftwood with a swirl etched into it—your people’s symbol for “home.”

And once, an old wind chime made of bone and scorched metal, rusted by the salt air but still able to catch the breeze. It didn’t sing like it once did. But it made a sound—low, hollow, gentle—that reminded you of the skies your ancestors once ruled.

You hung it near the cave mouth, and when the wind blew just right, it whispered. Every morning, you ran your fingers over the carved driftwood. And every night, when the wind rose, you listened to the chime and remembered that someone—he—had thought of you enough to bring it.

He didn’t have to say anything.

You understood.

~~~

You weren’t sure when it started, but the humming crept in slowly.

Like warmth returning to fingers left too long in the cold.

At first it was just a sound in your throat—something your body remembered even if your mind had buried it. Then it became a lullaby, the old kind, with no true lyrics—just syllables and fragments of feeling passed from voice to voice across generations now gone. Maybe your people were dead, but this song still remembered them. And you.

You didn’t even realize you were singing until you felt the echo in your bones. Your voice was low. Barely more than breath. But it felt… right.

So you sang. 

Eyes closed, your back against the stone wall. One wing extended slightly, the other curled tighter against your back like it always did. You weren’t sure when that had become a habit—tucking one wing in close, making yourself smaller, quieter, easier to overlook.

You had learned young: wings drew eyes. And eyes brought questions. So you hid them. Over and over, until the motion carved itself into muscle memory. Until it no longer felt like hiding. Just surviving.

You didn’t hear him land. But you felt him. You always did.

The shift in the air. The fire in your blood answering his like a quiet drumbeat. You opened your eyes and saw him, standing just inside the cave mouth, his figure framed by shadow and flame. His leather mask hid his face, as always—but you could feel his gaze like a hand pressed over your heart.

Heat bloomed across your cheeks as you realized he had heard you.

“I didn’t know you were back,” you said quickly, voice smaller than you wanted it to be.

He stepped forward and placed the food down on the rock near you. Quiet. Careful.

“I didn’t want to interrupt.”

You looked away, the blush still warming your skin. But something about his silence tonight felt different. Quieter. Softer. And when you glanced back, he was still looking at you. Not moving. Not speaking. Just seeing you. And something in your chest squeezed tight at the thought that maybe—just maybe—you were seen the same way you saw him.

His voice broke the silence. 

“You always press your wings in,” he said, low. “Like you’re hiding them.”

You blinked. A breath caught in your throat.

“I’ve had to,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “All my life, I’ve had to hide everything. Wings catch eyes. Eyes invite questions.”

He was silent for a beat. Then: “They were made to soar.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt thick with unsaid things. You looked away, but not before you saw the way he said it—softly, without judgment. Then, he surprised you again.

“I want to show you something.”

You looked up.

“There’s a route in the cliffs,” he said, glancing to the side of the cave. “A hidden path I use to train. No one else knows it.”

Your heart stuttered. He’d never spoken like this before. And certainly never mentioned a place that was his. A sanctuary.

He turned toward the exit, then paused and looked back. 

“I want you to teach me something,” he added. “A maneuver. One I saw when you glided near the ridge a few nights ago.”

You blinked, surprised.

“That was just—” you hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Something from when I was younger. It’s nothing special.”

He didn’t reply. Just waited. 

And suddenly, your wings twitched—almost eager. And for once, you didn’t press them in tight.

You let them stretch.

Just a little.

~~~

Chapter 13: Spiral

The path was narrow.

Too narrow for any normal being to cross. Jagged, steep, and curling along a cliffside that plunged straight into the roaring sea. Wind lashed at the rocks, the salt stung your eyes—but your heart… your heart was beating with something else. 

He was ahead of you. Silent, always silent, but his presence said enough. The path ended at a precipice, jutting out like the edge of the world. There was nothing beyond it but open sky. 

And it was open. Endless. Untouched. You felt your breath catch in your throat. This was no ordinary overlook. No human could come here.

Only you.

Only him.

Your eyes found him. He nodded once.

It is safe.

You took a single step forward, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you did not hold yourself back. Your wings unfurled with a low, powerful sweep—dark, massive, long-restrained limbs that shuddered as they stretched to their full span. Wind curled beneath them as if the sky itself sighed in recognition.

Then you leapt.

The wind caught you instantly. It didn't resist. It welcomed you. You soared, heart breaking open like light through a cracked sky, flying fast, high, sharp—cutting across the open air like you'd been born for this. Because you had.

You laughed. Truly laughed, the sound ripped from your chest like fire being freed. Behind you, you felt him.

King launched off the cliff with a deep, thunderous push of his wings, rising to join you. His figure was powerful in the sky, steady, controlled—until you dipped low beside him, brushing close, the ends of your feathers just barely touching his. His fire rippled in response.

You showed him the maneuver—a sharp twist, a tight arc. He followed on instinct. Fumbled once, then mastered it with stunning speed.

You grinned, circling him, teasing.

Catch me.

And something in him shifted. You could feel it. His energy warmed, subtly, fiercely. And though his face was hidden, you knew—he was smiling. Your giddy laughter echoed in the open sky as you flew faster, higher, dancing in the thermals with him.

And then—instinct moved.

You didn’t think. Neither did he.

You reached.

Your right arm stretched out across the wind—and so did his. Your forearms locked midair, fingers grasping tight. And together—you fell.

The wind screamed around you as your wings folded just slightly, enough to spiral. Not panic. Not fear. Just—Surrender.

You were falling, but not alone. Not anymore. The air roared, your fires igniting from your shoulders and heels, streaming like twin comets hurtling toward the sea. Flames licked the sky behind you, red and gold and white. 

A cyclone of feathers and fire. Of freedom. Of trust.

You clung to each other, spinning downward, faster, tighter—no fear, just gravity and instinct and something deeper that neither of you dared name yet.

And for a moment, the world stopped.

You weren’t sure if you would pull out. Maybe it would end here. Maybe you’d crash into the sea, burned by beauty and longing. But then—

Snap.

Your wings flared. So did his.

The air caught you both with a thunderclap, lifting you just before the water kissed your heels. You rose again—high, high, wind and sea swirling below like applause. Together, you landed back on the cliff.

Panting.

Alive.

Scorched—not by fire, but by trust.

You stood close. Closer than you’d ever dared before. So close that the heat from his skin, even through leather and armor, was all you could feel. Your chest rose and fell. So did his.

You looked into his eyes—what little of them you could see through the black and flame. Something unspoken passed between you. You both knew what had happened.

It wasn’t just a stunt. It wasn’t just instinct. 

That spiral—

It was ancient.

It was a ritual.

A courtship display once performed by Lunarian couples to show absolute trust. To fall together, not knowing if the other would save them. And choosing to believe anyway.

You had both chosen.

You lowered your gaze for just a breath, suddenly aware of what you’d done.

But when you looked back at him, he hadn’t moved.

He was still there.

Still looking at you like you were sky itself.

~~~

Chapter 14: Alber

You didn’t move at first. The wind still whispered around you, sweeping the last of the sea spray off your wings, but the sky felt utterly still—held in the space between your breaths.

His eyes hadn’t left yours. Neither had yours his.

Your chest was still heaving, slower now, but enough to feel every breath pull you gently toward him. Closer. As if your bodies knew something your minds were still too stunned to say. 

You stepped forward. Just one step. And your chest brushed his. The contact was subtle—but not small. Not in the weight of it. Not in what it stirred in your belly and in your heart. The warmth of him, through leather and heat and fire, met yours, and neither of you flinched. Neither of you drew back.

You looked up at him, hands trembling slightly as you reached—slow, reverent.

To his face. To the mask.

He didn’t stop you. He didn’t speak. He only looked at you with those crimson eyes, steady and unguarded, as you carefully slipped your fingers beneath the edge of his leather mask, just above the curve of his jaw.

The metal buckles gave a soft creak as you pulled. And the mask came down.

Silver-white hair—thick, long, and wavy—fell loose in a single slow cascade, tousled by wind and flight. A braid ran down one side, tight and worn with ritual care. The sides of his head were shaved, the cut sharp and purposeful, and the fire behind his shoulders pulsed in rhythm with your own.

Your breath caught in your throat.

His face… Sharp, beautiful, severe.

A straight, elegant nose, a square chin shadowed in stubble, strong cheekbones. His lips full and still slightly parted from exertion. And those narrow red eyes—piercing, ancient, the kind you could fall into and never stop. 

Your eyes traced the black tattoo arcing over half of his left eye, curling like a wreath—a symbol of his people. Your people.

Without thinking, your fingers rose and gently touched the mark. He didn’t flinch. Your thumb swept along the line of it, memorizing its shape, its warmth. He watched you in silence, gaze softening at the edges like heat fading into ember. Your eyes shimmered, awe swimming in their depths.

You smiled.

Not a grin. Not something playful. Something quieter. Full of wonder. Full of recognition. You saw him. And he knew it. And then he leaned down. So slowly. Until your mouths met.

The kiss was soft.

No urgency. No hunger. Just… truth.

His lips pressed to yours, warm, firm, and full of all the things he’d never said. All the moments he stood beside you without touching. All the times he watched you and didn’t speak. All the silent rituals building up to this breath.

Your fires ignited. Not in violence. In reverence. Flames poured from your backs in arcs of light—stronger, brighter—intertwined in the air like red and gold silk streaming into the sky. You felt it down to your bones.

His hands hovered at your waist but didn’t pull you closer. They didn’t need to. You were already his. And he… he had already become yours.

The kiss broke slowly. Lips parted, breath mingled, and you rested your foreheads together. His hand came up then, cradling the side of your face. You closed your eyes, the warmth of him grounding you.

He whispered it then. A name. Not a title. Not a weapon. But his name.

“Alber.”

Your eyes opened. His were waiting.

The name settled in your chest like a spark finding dry kindling. Not explosive—but transformative. It was the name he was given in love, in trust, in the language of your people. And now—he had given it to you.

A vow without words.

A soul unmasked.

A fire shared.

And you understood. 

You understood everything.

Taglist: @7wanne @kisechiii @iglb12 @spicy-gordita-crunch @itspronouncedshi-theed @lessie-oxj @thatanonymouschocolate @mellyrally @sagyunaro @celestedangelica @hunbunbumdum @i-love-cat-bitch @cryptip0wer-blog @haru-naechi @nin-dy-tro

[idolomantises]

Me for like the past year: Yeah Sunny is genderless rn (because all angels are genderless) but he’s gonna identify as a male later

Me now: but what if… genderfluid?

[canisalbus]

✦ Come hell or high water ✦

[rottenm33]

DRAGONETS OF DESTIINYYYYY

[crabussy]

"well it's obvious this person is faking being part of a system LOOK! the way they draw one of their alters is super similar to an old OC they had!!" hey man so. I don't really know how to explain this to you but the way the brain works. is that anything your brain creates. FOR EXAMPLE an ENTIRE INDIVIDUAL. will usually draw from things YOU PERSONALLY KNOW. and that are PERSONALLY SIGNIFICANT TO YOU IN SOME WAY. "why doesn't this so-called system have a 30 year old bricklayer called bob in their system" that person is a queer teenager heavily invested in the alt fashion community. bricklayer bob is not in any way relevant to this person's life. why would their brain form an individual like that when it is not significant at all to this persons experiences or memories. shut up shut up shut up stop making the lives of traumatised strangers harder I'll EAT YOU

[biscylbenzene]

day 29 - draw fanart (bonus points if it's super obscure or unknown)

a series of unfortunate events isn't exactly "obscure" per se but idk any other adults who are into it and i need that to change immediately so here's your sign to go read it

[cybersunnie]

rock-a-bye baby

RAFE CAMERON helps his drunk stepsister get ready for bed.

includes 18+ MDNI / DUBCON / STEPCEST / fem!drunk!reader / unprotected sex (pull out method) / rafe being an unreliable narrator / emotional manipulation / misogynistic undertones / wc 1.9k this is a work of fiction. the behaviors depicted do not reflect my personal beliefs, nor do i endorse or condone such behavior in real life.

Rafe hated that you were his stepsister. 

A little over two years ago, you and your mom moved into his home, and because you all lived under the same roof, that made you family. Bullshit. What you were was an extra mouth to feed. A new problem he didn’t want.

And now, with your arm thrown over his shoulders, Rafe was forced to help you up the stairs. 

A party was thrown at the Boneyard, and you clearly had too much to drink. He wasn’t exactly sober either, but you were slurring your words and couldn’t walk straight to save your life. A part of him wondered if you were playing it up. While he was tempted to leave you behind as not to deal with you, he knew his dad would be pissed if he had, and his dad already disliked him enough.

Eventually, the two of you made it to your room, and you fell face-first to your bed, nuzzling into your warm sheets. Rafe scoffed, a hand running down his face as he turned to leave, but you stopped him.

“Rafe,” your muffled voice called out.

He looked at you and saw you hadn’t moved a muscle. “What?”

You raised an arm. “Clothes.”

“What fucking clothes?”

When he failed to read your mind, a groan left your lips, and you rolled onto your back, a frown tugging your features. 

Oh, he would do anything to wipe that off your face. 

You squinted and then pointed at the clothes dresser behind him. “Nightgown. Top left drawer,” you ordered, the words strung together. Rafe couldn’t believe you were bossing him around. When he didn’t move, you pouted, “Please?”

Spoiled brat. 

But because he was a good stepbrother, he bit back his snippy comments and went to retrieve your nightgown. As he opened the designated drawer, his eyes were immediately drawn to your lace panties. You must have forgotten that those were with your collection of nightgowns. He cocked a brow and picked one up, the fabric soft between his fingers. Who the fuck were you wearing these for? A little boyfriend he didn’t know about? 

Rafe looked over his shoulder, and while you were preoccupied counting how many fingers you had on each hand, he slid it into his pocket. He didn’t know why he did it. An act on pure impulse, he supposed. You wouldn’t notice if one went missing, right? 

He cleared his throat and grabbed a nightgown, tossing it to you. 

“Nice panties,” he commented, maybe a little too casually.

Once you processed his words, a smirk tugged on his lips. You wore a scowl, but he knew you were embarrassed. 

You huffed. “Shut up. You’re so weird.”

Before he could say anything more, you started taking off your shirt. 

Everything within Rafe told him that that was his cue to leave, but his feet were glued to the ground. You didn’t ask him to go. Maybe you still needed him there. Maybe you wanted him to watch. That must be it. You wanted him to see what you were hiding under those clothes. 

After some struggle, you pulled your shirt over your head, movements sluggish. His eyes traced the length of your shoulders, then lingered on your tits for a second too long. Even if he was your stepbrother, he was still a man. And a man had the right to admire the female body. Surely, you would understand.

“You can go now, y’know?” 

His gaze snapped to your face. You looked confused, wary. Fuck, what was he doing? He should leave like you said. No, he couldn’t. Not yet. 

Rafe found himself closing your bedroom door. He turned the lock. Click. “Nah, I’m gonna help you get ready for bed.” 

There was a long pause. “I don’t need help.”

“Cut the shit. You can’t even walk without tripping over yourself.” Rafe walked towards your bed, crouching once he was in front of you. He placed a hand on your knee. “C’mon, just let your big brother help, hm?”

He could see the gears in your mind starting to turn, but you must have ignored it because you said, “You’re barely a year older than me.”

Rafe hummed, unfazed. 

The hand on your knee lifted to the button of your shorts. “Let’s take this shit off,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to your face. You were just watching. 

When he unbuttoned and unzipped it, you moved, putting on your nightgown. Poor thing. Were you getting shy? Did you not want him to see you in just your lingerie? His fingers curled into the waistband of your shorts and gave a light tug. Not needing further instruction, you stood up, and he pulled it down your legs, fighting back a grin.

Too fucking easy.

As you stepped out of your shorts, a hand on his shoulder to keep yourself steady, Rafe stared up at you. The nightgown you wore was white and silky and stopped above your knees. He itched to push them up. Luckily, he didn’t have to do a thing. You raised the silk fabric just enough to allow you to remove your bra, and his gaze dropped to where your breasts were, your nipples hardening underneath. His lips parted, and he sank to his knees.

“Rafe, what’re you doing?” you asked, your eyes still hazy from the alcohol you drank.

Only then did he realize that his hands snuck up your nightgown, fingers gripping your thighs. He was mortified. Not because of what he was doing but rather at the thought you would reject him completely.

He loosened his hold on you. “I’m just, uh, testing the waters.” 

A crease formed between your brows. “What?”

“I’m testing—” his hands slid further up, “—the waters.”

And then Rafe paused. He waited for a reaction from you. For you to slap him. Curse him out. Anything. But it never came. 

Instead, you reached down to pry his hands off you. “Stop, what—? I don’t understand.”

“I do.” He held you tighter, closer, his chin hitting your abdomen as he stared at you, eyes wide and frantic. You pushed his head, though your attempt was weak. “You want this. You want me.”

You stilled. There was a look that loomed over your eyes. Fear. Fear because he was right. No matter how forbidden it was. How fucked it was. You wanted him. You wouldn’t admit that to yourself, but he knew that to be true. He just needed to find proof to help you realize. So, Rafe pushed up your nightgown and worked to spread your legs apart. And there it was, your cotton panties clinging to your already weeping cunt. 

“I fucking knew it,” he whispered, and his thumb hovered over your clothed pussy. “Shit, you’re so wet.” 

You shoved his hand away and squeezed your thighs shut. He watched your gaze dart around your room as if the walls were closing in. You looked overwhelmed—ashamed that you had been caught wanting him the same way he wanted you. No, he couldn’t have that. 

He stood up, hands reaching for your face. “Hey, hey, you’re good,” he soothed, searching for your eyes, your cheeks hot under his palms. 

Finally, you looked at him. “Rafe, I—”

“You trust me, right?” He gestured to himself, fingers tapping his chest. “Right?”

You shook your head. “Yes, but we can’t—”

He shushed you, your name a whisper. “We can. We just gotta be lowkey ‘bout it, yeah?”

You looked torn, your morals pulling you one way and your desires another. But Rafe had you stretched thin, and you caved in like he knew you would. “Right, yeah.”

A pleased smile flashed across his face. “I’m gonna take care of you,” he promised, your cheeks smushed between his hands, “gonna make you feel so good.”

Then he leaned in, his nose nudging yours. You didn’t pull away. He took that as an invitation and kissed you. The first was fleeting, lips brushing, barely there. You still didn’t pull away. After that, he didn’t hold back. He licked into your mouth, hungry. You tasted like the beer you got drunk on, and now he was getting drunk on you. For something considered so vile, he never felt more alive. If this sin were his doom, he would die a happy man.

Rafe was the first to part. “Turn ‘round.” You did as you were told. He placed a hand on your shoulder and another on the small of your back. “Bend over for me. That’s it, fuck, look at you.”

He had envisioned you like this before, but seeing it with his own eyes made his cock stir. With a suppressed groan, he folded over you, his chest pressed against your back, trapping you between him and your mattress. “Gonna make this quick, don’t worry.” His hand slid between the two bodies, working to get his shorts off. “Wouldn’t want us getting caught.”

He felt you nod. You didn’t resist. 

Everything after that blurred together. Movements rushed and jittery and fueled by unadulterated lust.

Rafe had your nightgown flipped over your ass and your panties down at your ankles, his hips rutting into you. He had to clamp his hand over your mouth to mute your whines, one of the sweetest sounds he had ever heard. He knew he should feel disgusted with himself, but he wasn’t. Not one bit. He was right where he wanted to be, buried deep in your warm, wet pussy. And you wanted this, too. He knew you did, despite the glazed look in your eyes. You were just lost in the pleasure of it all. 

“Takin’ this dick so well,” he breathed into your ear, his thrusts growing desperate. “Shit, gonna make sure you don’t need anyone else. Just me. That sounds nice, huh?” 

His mindless murmurs went unanswered. 

You blinked once. Twice. You whimpered into his palm. 

That was enough for him.

It was better you stayed quiet, anyway. You wouldn’t want everyone in Tannyhill to know how much of a slut you were, letting your stepbrother fuck you like this. Rafe would hate for that to happen to you. 

When your cunt fluttered around his cock, he stifled a moan and sunk his teeth into your shoulder. He wasn’t going to last much longer. But he was keeping his word—he would make this quick. His hips stuttered against your ass, chasing his release, wishing he could just cum in your tight pussy with no risk of you getting pregnant. 

With one last thrust, he pulled out, stroking his cock until he came, painting your ass with his cum. 

He panted, his chest rising and falling. Satisfied, he stuffed his softening dick back into his boxers and put on his shorts, making sure the lace panty he took was still in his pocket. Slowly, you lifted your head off your bed and tried to push yourself up, your arms trembling. 

“Don’t, alright?” Rafe leaned over you, his hand brushing back the strands of hair stuck to your face. “I told you, I’m gonna take care of you.”

There wasn’t much fight left in you. Not when you were drunk and all fucked out. So when your eyes found him, you dropped back to the mattress, nodding. He smoothed his thumb across your cheek then kissed your temple. And Rafe did as promised. He cleaned you up, helped you brush your teeth, and tucked you into bed. 

Like a good stepbrother would.

sunnie speaks! stepbro!rafe lacks sooo much self-awareness its crazy. also literally the filthiest thing i ever wrote. but i hope you freaks found how fucked up he is interesting to read?? i guess??? — remember, this is a work of fiction! let's chat about stepbro!rafe

if you like my work, consider following @sunniefics to stay up to date on all my future fics!

[bixels]

Happy post-relationship Sunset.

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: The other Pillars are convinced Tomioka has something against the latest Hashira, but have no idea your husband is simply looking for you during your pregnancy. A/N: I think something glitched when I was making the header...didn't crop properly. Anyway, enjoy this trash and I'm sorry if it's not up to my usual standard but I just got the random idea in the middle of the night! WARNINGS: Fem Reader, pregnancy MASTERLIST/PREVIOUS FICS

Everyone was convinced Tomioka Giyuu hated you right from the start.

You were first introduced to the Hashira when Oyakata-sama called them all for a meeting on the latest reports of demon activity, but requested them all to stay a little longer before being dismissed. Amane gestured for you to come forward with a gentle smile and you shuffled out of the shadows with your hands clasped together in nervousness but with a bright bream upon your face. The Hashira’s eyes caught yours in surprise, wondering if you were perhaps a new Kakushi since you weren’t wearing a slayer uniform, but instead a traditional (f/c) yukata.

Then their eyes strayed downwards and changed their minds about that, but nonetheless still remained in confusion.

“This is our newest member, (y/n) (y/l/n), the (b/f) Hashira. She was supposed to join our ranks quite some months ago but due to her sudden pregnancy she will for now be an honorary member.”

The only sign of your anxiety was the blush on your cheeks and the hand rubbing at your swollen abdomen. “Hi everyone! I’m so happy to meet you all! I won’t be on the battlefield for some time and I’m sorry I can’t fight alongside you for now, but I look forward to getting to know you all. If you need anything, I’m always at the (e/n) Estate.”

The ice was broken and you were immediately approached by many of the Hashira. Himejima-san cried and wished you and your child good health, making you feel a little embarrassed but thanked him anyway. The Mist Pillar Tokito simply stared at you, then at the sky, then at you again before asking what were you doing here again (later on, he startled you by appearing behind and questioning you in that airheaded manner of his if he could talk to the baby).

You were also tackled by the Love Pillar who introduced herself as Kanroji Mitsuri and your new best friend as well as the calmer Insect Pillar, Kocho Shinobu, who despite slightly unnerving you with her smile touched you greatly when she said you could always stop by the Butterfly Mansion for checkups or simply a visit.

“How far along are you?”

“About five months, I think!”

“KYAAAAAAAAAAH! Your baby is going to be so cute! What’s it’s name? Do you know if it’s a he or a she yet? I can’t wait to be an aunt!”

“Heh, I’m not too sure yet, but I have a feeling it’s going to be a boy!”

Mitsuri squealed again, causing you to laugh at her genuine happiness. She whipped her head behind her and called out to the silently glowering Snake Pillar. “Iguro-san, don’t you think the baby will be cute? I really wish I’ll have some of my own one day!”

You and Shinobu shared a smirk as the Wind Pillar grumpily slapped his friend’s back and dragged the furiously red Iguro away, muttering viciously about not wasting any more time in hunting a Twelve Kizuki.

“Oh look, there's Tomioka-san. Why hasn't he come and said hello yet?”

“Ah well, a lone friendless wolf as always.” Shinobu didn't see you originally visibly brighten at Mitsuri’s words and turn surprised at hers.

Indeed Tomioka was standing awkwardly as always a little - long, actually - way off. What was not as always was that horrified, slack jawed look on his face instead of his usual blank, emotionless one.

“Tomioka-san? Are you alright? You've been making that face for a long time already…” Shinobu's eye twitched, but you didn't notice, suddenly preoccupied with Muichiro’s intense questioning of whether he could play with the baby when it was born.

“She shouldn't be a Hashira.”

The remaining Hashira found themselves narrowing their eyes at the Water Pillar's blunt, if not rude, words.

That would be just one of the many events that further convinced them of his intense dislike of you.

***

You started going over a lot to the Butterfly Mansion over then next few months, becoming a fast favorite among the girls for your cheerful attitude and your baby; even Kanao cracked a smile at you when you came around. When the other Hashira arrived to be healed you always made it a point to go pay them a visit and in turn you pretty soon had every one of them in your back pocket, including the harsh, loudmouthed Wind Pillar Shinazugawa who constantly gave you a jolt with the complete 360 with his attitude around you, to the point you could call him a good friend.

Being friends with him usually meant hearing him grumble about the stupid waterboy.

“Why doesn’t he ever look at you anyway, turning away like that. So rude, that little (beep) (beep) (beep)-”

“Eheh, Shinazugawa-san, don’t swear so loudly, he’ll hear you!”

You had stopped by to Sanemi’s room when Shinobu had mentioned he was there to be patched up after a mission and knowing how busy she was, had offered to go help change his bandages with the basic medical knowledge you had picked up over the years of being a slayer. Reluctantly she had agreed and so here you were, chatting away with him until he spotted Tomioka passing by (he poked his head in actually, otherwise Sanemi would never have noticed him) and started complaining about him once more, especially when you had called out to him and Tomioka had simply whipped his head to the side to stare into the distance.

Really, Sanemi wasn’t the only one to notice how Tomioka avoided you like the plague with that stupid, vacant, red expression of his.

“He’s just shy, he doesn’t mean to be rude!” You defended the poor Pillar, continuing with rewinding the new wrappings.

“Tch, you should see how he acts at the meetings, like he’s better than us or something,” was the growling reply. “(beep) doesn’t know how to (beep) talk with anyone with his (beep) attitude.”

“I don’t think he thinks he’s better than all of you, maybe it’s just something else,” You hum, finishing up. “That’s all! I’m glad the demon didn’t go any further than a scratch.”

Shinazugawa grunted, then his gaze caught yours and softened. “By the way, who’s the dad?”

“Oh, it’s -”

“(y/n)-san!” Three heads peeked in from the door shyly. “Can you come and play with us?”

“Of course! Bye, Shinazugawa!”

Like always the reply was only a “tch”.

***

Another thing was that he never stopped repeating what he said at the first time everyone met you: “She shouldn’t be a Hashira”, going as far as to attempt to prevent you from wielding a sword, although this was only noticed by Tanjiro.

You had agreed to the Kamaboko Squad’s requests (aka demands by Inosuke and begging from Zenitsu) to train together, despite Tanjiro’s worries which you brushed off. The boys were very rambunctious and did tire you out quite a bit, but you were having so much fun and they were so eager you just went on sparring with them until even Inosuke muttered a plead for a quick break, unable to beat your incredible swordsmanship.

“(y/n)-chan!!! Who’s the lucky guy you married?! You never told us and I want to know how he managed to score someone so beautiful like you so I can do it with Nezuko-chan!” Zenitsu simpered, scooting closer, ignoring Tanjiro’s scandalized look.

“What’s married?” Inosuke’s voice was muffled underneath his boar mask and the mountain of onigiri you had brought he was stuffing into his mouth, so none of you heard him.

You giggle, placing a hand on your stomach. “He’s very sweet, although he’s honestly very shy and doesn’t talk much. I’m sure you’ve met him before! Can you guess?”

“Woah, really?” Tanjiro brightened, wondering who it could be, but his next question was interrupted by an interrogative monotone.

“What are you doing? You shouldn’t be training.” Tomioka stood in front of them, the first time anyone had seen him interact with you without just staring at the ground. His face was as empty as the void but there was a tiny crease between his eyebrows and Tanjiro didn’t have to inhale to smell the worry reeking off him.

“I didn’t know you were so concerned about (y/n)-chan, Tomioka-san.” Zenitsu’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his hair while he glowered judgmentally.

Tomioka made no reply, only swiftly grabbing and removing the sword from your hand. “She shouldn’t be a Hashira, much less train. You nearly died fighting a demon not too long ago, you’re in no shape to be doing this.”

With that he abruptly walked off and left Zenitsu and Inosuke to scream at him for being such an un-gentleman and for not fighting with them while you looked away sadly.

Tanjiro wondered why he didn’t once smell dislike on Tomioka. Only fear.

***

“What’s he got against (l/n)?” Obanai joined in on the conversation from his perch on the tree. He’d look for reasons to hate against the Water Pillar all the time, but unlike the others this time round his hatred was justified.

Tengen rolled his eyes flamboyantly. “I know! He’s constantly acting like she’s a pest to be around, but she doesn’t seem to have beef with him. What’s wrong with that bland creature?”

“Oh come on! We don’t actually know if he hates her,” Rengoku protested mildly.

“Then why does he keep refusing to even make eye contact with her?”

“I mean, Iguro, you can’t talk, you only ever look at Kanroji” - Obanai turned away, blushing furiously as Tengen cackled - “but I get your point. The other day I walked in on them arguing. I can’t believe he would keep reminding her of past failures without keeping her current state in mind!”

“Perhaps he only wants to try and convince her to stay safe during this time and discourage her from slaying for now?”

“Rengoku, my best buddy, you’re too optimistic.”

“There’s no other reason he’d give her the cold shoulder 24/7.”

Soon the conversation drifted to other topics, but little would they know Rengoku was the closest to the truth…

***

Shinobu already had enough on her hands with all the screaming, panic and blood, but of course Tomioka just had to show up at the most inopportune moment.

It had been a relatively quiet day as the two of you sat on the engawa, exchanging war stories over tea when with a sudden cry you had doubled over in pain. Your water had broken and you were heading into labour - quickly.

Just barely the Insect Pillar had managed to get you to a bed and sent the Butterfly Girls scurrying for the necessities, hiding her uneasiness at the slight earliness of your boy’s arrival to keep you calm and help you through it. You were doing well under her coaxing to use Total Concentration Breathing, and thankfully Shinazugawa was still around to help you relax with a familiar face.

Then Aoi had burst in with a frantic expression and thundering footsteps from behind that certainly weren’t hers.

“Shinobu-san, Tomioka is demanding to be let in-”

“Keep him out!” Shinobu grimaced, returning her attention to you. She’s heard and seen what he’s like around you, and other than the fact he has no business to be here she didn’t want to send you into a further state of panic. “He doesn’t like her, and if he opens that mouth of his to say anything more I might be responsible for two deaths.”

You dug your nails into Sanemi’s proffered hand, screaming in pain. He winced but said nothing, only looking up with a determined look in his eyes at Shinobu. “I’ll go keep Tomioka out, just make sure she delivers safely.”

Without waiting for a reply Sanemi rushed out to bar the doorway, leaving Shinobu to assure and handle your birthing with the anxious assistance of the Butterfly Girls. The pain in your stomach was surely abominable, intolerable, and Shinobu found herself growing more alarmed with every minute the baby wasn’t coming out.

“(y/n), I need you to push harder, alright? Can you do that for me?”

“N-no - where is he?”

“Your husband? I’ll get someone to call him, don’t worry,” Shinobu lied with dawning horror that in the entire time she had known you…she had no actual idea who you were married to. “But he wouldn’t like you see you like this, right? You can do it. Just keep your breathing under control.”

“JUST (beep) OFF, TOMIOKA!” Shinazugawa’s voice bellowed through the Mansion. His stocky form soon appeared, stubbornly acting as an indomitable barrier against the equally stubborn Tomioka who was desperately trying to barge his way through.

“Tomioka, we don’t need unnecessary people here to worry (y/n) more-”

”THAT’S MY WIFE!”

Whether it was because Tomioka had never raised his voice before or the sheer shock of it all or the fact you reached out for his hand, Shinobu and Sanemi let him through.

***

“I thought I was going to lose you when I heard you screaming like that from outside.” Giyuu nuzzled deeper into your neck, absently stroking your baby’s tiny hand. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

You played with the strands of his hair with a teasing smirk. “You did to, banging into the room like that, with the “That’s my wife!”. It was very romantic of you, Giyuu~”

“I was in a rush.” Giyuu smacked his face into the pillow, embarrassed while you laugh.

“Ara ara~ Are you both done cuddling? I want to perform a quick checkup on your baby now, if you don’t mind, and all the Hashira are here to ask you a lot of things, Tomioka.” Shinobu stood at the doorway with her customary smile, a twitching eye and crossed arms. Behind her were the shadows of the others trying to peek over her shoulder or head into the room to congratulate you on your baby or beat up Tomioka (both for some).

“Ask about what?” Giyuu lifted up his head in confusion. You snort at his obliviousness, cooing at your precious sleeping baby before gently passing him to Shinobu.

“MAYBE ABOUT HOW (Y/N) IS YOUR WIFE AND YOU NEVER TOLD US?”

“KYAAAAAAAAAH! That’s so cute of you, Tomioka!”

“Do you hate us all or something?!”

“No…? No one asked and I thought (y/n) would have told you,” Giyuu said blankly, glancing at you with wide blue eyes. You sheepishly raised your shoulders.

“I tried to tell them but we kept getting interrupted or had no chance.”

“You did make us all think you hated (y/n) with your behaviour, Tomioka.” Shinobu raised an eyebrow. “After all, you rarely spoke to her and when you did it was only to reprimand her, but I can see now it was probably out of worry for your child and her…although rather harshly.”

“Oh!” You burst out laughing, shaking so hard you nearly couldn’t take back your awakening baby Shinobu was handing over. “Giyuu’s just very shy! See-”

You pressed a quick peck to his cheek.

giyuu.exe has stopped working.

[lovscb97]

— enhypen links [hyung line]

tags: hyung line!enhypen x fem!reader, established relationship, squirting (like . a Lot), daddy kink, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex (plz don't), creampie, rough sex, exhibitionism, bondage, edging, overstimulation, punishments, spanking, nicknames (princess, angel, etc), degradation (slut, whore, etc), reader being a brat, slight dacryphilia, etc

wc: 2.35k

add. notes: reposting bcs blr shadowbanned the last post BOOOOO also plz do not interact if u r a minor!!! look away shoo shoo!!! n also do lmk if some of the links r not working for u guys :] Also. sorry one last thing but u can tell how these answers got progressively longer LMFAOOOOO

. . .

⥽ … LEE HEESEUNG: 

link one.

heeseung loves making you squirt, it's a given knowing his ego and how much pride he takes in the fact that he's the only one who can make you feel so good. some days, he'll fuck up into you until you're shaking and squirming on top of him, crying out wanton moans of his name and incoherent pleas begging him to stop, but he doesn't listen of course. his one and only goal when engaging sexually with you is to make you shoot streams of liquid all over his dick and sheets, and he'll stop at nothing to achieve that. i'd even go so far as to say he can be pretty mean, although i wouldn't put him at the top of that list when comparing with the rest.

"seungie, please!" you sob, fresh tears streaming down your face as your boyfriend milks a third orgasm from you. "just one more, angel. you can do it." heeseung grunts, his cock painfully sensitive after having already cum inside you. but, of course, that won't stop him from giving you the fuck of a lifetime. his current goal right now is to make you cream all over his dick, but what he doesn't expect is clear droplets to be released from your pussy as he overstimulates you. your body slumps on top of his, tired and spent, but it's only a matter of seconds until you're being manhandled onto your back. before you can even ask what he's doing, your boyfriend cuts you off. "i need to see you do that again." he grins wickedly, and you sigh. it's going to be a long night today.

link two.

whenever you act out in front of heeseung, like going so far as to tease him in front of his friends by sending promiscuous photos of yourself or running a hand sensually against his clothed bulge, he never hesistates to put you back in your place. sometimes he'll be so pent up after trying to have enjoyed a boys night out only to have cut it short because of your raunchy actions, he won't even make it past the living room, dragging you towards the couch and yanking your panties down before he's sheathing himself inside you. he'll grip a fistful of your hair whilst drilling himself into your cunt, making sure to remind you who's in charge despite the fact that you both know you'll never learn your lesson.

"you wanna act like a slut, i'll fuck you like one." heeseung growls, his thrusts sharp and precise with the way he's delivering them inside you. by now, you've been reduced to a mess of gasps and moans, too fucked out to speak, which only makes your boyfriend chuckle darkly. "what, now you wanna go all quiet on me? what happened to all that attitude, princess?" he mocks, his palm striking a harsh slap on your ass which makes you yelp. "s-sorry, 'm sorry!" you whine, trying to push back on him with a hand, but heeseung only swats it away, tsk-ing at your behavior. "oh, it's too late for sorry, baby." he mumbles, bending down close to whisper in your ear, his words making you shiver. "i'm gonna fuck you until there's nothing left in that stupid, little whore brain of yours. and you're gonna take it. got that?"

⥽ … PARK JONGSEONG: 

link one.

jay loves giving it to you like he'll never be able to fuck you again. his movements are always precise, hitting that spot hidden deep inside of you with each angled thrust. his favourite way to have you is on your back in missionary too, both your legs hanging off the side of his waist as he pounds himself in you, making sure to coax lots of sweet noises from your mouth that he knows only he can make you let out. it's no secret that you love it too, relishing in the way his muscles flex as he thrusts inside your cunt that he's already cum in, his only current goal to make you cum once more before he'll pull out and wipe you down. or, if he's feeling particularly up for it, he'll continue fucking you even after you've both cum for the second time, making sure you're both overstimulated and tired by the end of things.

the only sounds audible by now are the noises of your loud whimpers and skin slapping as jay brutally bullies his cock in and out of you, your hands shooting out to resist his actions despite the fact that he's so much stronger than you. your attempts to resist him are completely futile, and it only makes him laugh sadistically at you struggling to take him. "aww, 's too much for you, honey?" he coos, and you only cry out with a nod, strings of curses leaving your lips at an expertly placed thrust that slams deep inside you. at this point, you're worried he's going to batter your cervix to a pulp, but that thought is long lost when his thumb comes down to swipe at your clit. "don't worry, sweetheart. daddy's gonna make sure he fucks you until you're crying, yeah?"

link two.

every once in a while, namely when you're both too lazy to indulge in it, your boyfriend will forego the dramatics and fuck you with nothing but love in his eyes. he'll kiss you so sweetly, his actions nothing short of gentle yet firm with the way he'll grip your waist and push himself into you bit by bit until you're clenching down on him in utter pleasure. he'll revel in the way your tits bounce in his face, leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking on it which only makes the coil in your stomach that much closer to snapping. it won't take long until you're both reaching your highs, you creaming around jay's cock and him shooting ropes of white deep inside you to the point you can feel it gushing out from how much there is.

"fuck, princess. don't squeeze me like that, i'll cum." jay groans, confused when you simply shake your head with a moan. "wan' your cum, jjongie, please." you beg, and his heart positively melts because who is he to deny the request of such a beautiful girl, no less his own beautiful girl? it's only when you clench down on him and grab his hand to bring it up to squeeze your chest when he feels the band in his lower half snap, emptying himself inside of you with a long drawn grunt that only pushes you off the edge. there's so much cum that you can feel it seep out of your hole when he goes to pull his softening cock out, watching him eye it in awe. "you're so perfect f'me." jay praises, kissing you gently on the lips as you muster a tired smile back.

⥽ … SIM JAEYUN:

link one.

firm believer of the munch jake agenda just like anyone else because have you seen the man? his oral fixation goes craaaazy, up until the point he constantly needs to have your clit throbbing against his tongue as he drags the wet muscle through your folds. jake will happily spend hours upon no end between your thighs, his face buried into your cunt as he noisily whines into it. everything about it is intoxicating to him; your scent, the way your arousal leaks onto the sheets, how your tight hole clenches in need, all of it. he'd die a fulfilled man if you smoothered him to death in the midst of his endeavours so as long as it's because of your pussy that he's passing away. of course, you think he's a little insane, but you love him regardless.

"mm, jakey.." you whimper, feeling your boyfriend lick into every crevice of your core with meticulous precision, so focused on the task at hand that he doesn't even bother to pull away and only responds with a hum. before you can even get a word out, he's dragging his plump lips up to wrap around your swollen bundle of nerves, not caring how sensitive you may be because to him, this is the sweetest treat of all. "s-shit, 'm gonna cum." you whine, trying to warn him as the band in your stomach grows closer to snapping, but jake doesn't let up. he continues to eat you out even through your orgasm, his chin getting splattered with your juices in the process as he messily slurps everything up. by the time he finally pulls away, you're panting heavily, but your boyfriend is far from done. "again, please." he bats his puppy dog eyes at you, and who are you to deny him?

link two.

jake is also a certified freak. he's into risky situations where anyone could catch him, which makes sense when you consider how your picnic date with him turned into you getting absolutely wrecked by his dick inside your pussy. it started out so innocent, with you in your little sundress, and him in his favourite hoodie, but all of that was soon discarded and you were on your back against the scratchy grass, gushing around your boyfriend's cock as he pummeled into you with a fervor you'd never seen him have before. something about the prospect of fucking in public turned him on so much, and if you were being very honest, it turned you on too.

"ah, jake. we r-really shouldn't." you stutter, feeling your boyfriend's mushroom tip catch against your clit. you shuffle on the uncomfortable bed of grass underneath just as jake hushes you, slowly pushing himself in with one fluid motion that makes the both of you sigh in relief. "sorry, baby. you just looked so good in your pretty little dress, i had to have you." he groans, hiking said dress up your thighs as you whine, kicking your legs up. jake seems to get your cue because before you can continue pleading him to move at last, he's thrusting into you, thick cock plunging deliciously inside. your noises are loud, and there's no way anyone could mistaken what you two are up to if they were to pass by, so you really are glad for the fact that the entire area is deserted, especially considering that once jake's started, he's going to be insatiable, sure to cum inside you at least twice before he even thinks of taking you home to repeat the process all over again.

⥽ … PARK SUNGHOON:  

link one.

sunghoon's a perv, and like any other perv, he has his secret fantasies; your panties. even before he started dating you, he'd dream about fucking you after having tugged your underwear to the side, pushing his cock in your tiny hole while the flimsy article of clothing you've yanked aside becomes wet from your leaking juices, even better if it's after he's cum on them. sometimes, when he wants to punish you, he'll fuck you through your panties, making sure he indulges himself without directly giving you what you want— his seed. he'll even go so far as to edge you, cockhead bumping against your clit through the messy fabric, just enough stimulation to build up your orgasm, but not enough to have you tipping over the edge. how mean, indeed.

"hoonie," you cry, tears welling up in your eyes out of frustration after your fourth ruined orgasm, especially since this is the second time your boyfriend has cum, much less without you. "what is it now, you ungrateful slut?" he spits out, eyebrows furrowed in a glare as he stares you down, making you gulp. sunghoon got mean a lot, and each time he did, it never failed to have you leaking everywhere. "wan' cum. wan' your cum, too. please. 'm sorry. i'll be good, please." you beg shamelessly, and your boyfriend laughs with a sinister air to his voice. "oh yeah? you're sorry?" he bites his lip, admiring the way his cum has stained the pretty pink laces you've worn today. "too fucking bad." he hisses as he slides his red tip against your clothed clit once more, making you whine. "sluts don't get cum. they get punishments. so, be a good bitch and take what i give you."

link two.

tying you up is one of sunghoon's favourite things to do to you in sex. he loves the way you look, all pliant and moulded into the position he desires to have you in, especially with how the silk of the fabric decorates your skin. of course he'll kiss away the bruises you get after you're done, but that'll only be after he's had his way with you. he also gets off on the power trip it gives him. when you're bound by some material to the headboard, it gives him the liberty to do whatever he wants with you. it's like you're giving your body up as bait, except instead of missing out on it as the predator, he's seizing his opportunity to have his way with you, and boy does he enjoy it far too much.

"oh, my pretty angel. you look so beautiful like this, completely spread out and at my mercy." sunghoon purrs, his cold fingers grazing the skin of your back as you shiver. your face is muffled by the pillows he's buried your head against, the position your boyfriend has tied you up in this time leaving no room for speaking when you're ass up in front of him. you'd be a liar if you said you didn't love relinquishing control and satiating his desires like this, plus sunghoon always fucks you so deep whenever he has you bound for him. "now," sunghoon licks his lips, pumping his free cock in one hand as he brings it up to your opening. "i'm gonna fuck you, and if you stay quiet, maybe i'll think about letting you cum." your eyes widen, a quiet moan escaping you when he suddenly enters. it dies down in your throat when you feel a harsh slap land on your inner thigh. "i said be quiet, slut." sunghoon growls, causing you to swallow. oh, you were royally fucked.

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[sunandflame]

Threaded in Fire - Part 2/3

The bond was only supposed to burn quietly—but it raged. And in the stillness between battles, your bodies, your fire, and your fate began to entwine beyond undoing.

Warnings: nsfw, smut, sacred smut intimacy, slow burn romance, mating ritual, soulmate themes, canon-typical violence, emotional manipulation, psychological trauma, emotional angst, found family, loss, survival, emotional trauma, emotional healing, hurt-comfort, lunarian headcanons, oda please let me write the lunarians

Word Count: 11000~

Pairing: King (Alber) x Female Lunarian!Reader

crossposted on AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Chapter 15: I see you

You took his hands.

They were rough and strong and warm in yours. You didn’t let go.

Silently, you turned and began to walk, guiding him back along the narrow cliff path. His footsteps were heavy but soundless, wings tucked behind him. You led. He followed. Not because he had to—but because he wanted to.

And every few steps, you looked back. Just to see his face again. Just to make sure it wasn’t a dream.

When you reached the cave, the hush fell again. The sea’s distant thunder softened. The shadows welcomed you like an old home.

You turned. Faced him.

He was close. The cave walls brought you close. But it wasn’t just the stone. It was the gravity between your bodies. The fire that whispered without flame.

Your hands lifted, rising to his face. You brushed his cheekbone, pushed his white hair back behind his ear. Let your fingers graze the braid he still wore. He closed his eyes at the touch, just for a breath.

Then you stepped back. And slowly, you began to undress. One piece at a time. Each movement calm. Certain. Eyes never leaving his.

You watched how his gaze changed—how reverence overtook it, followed by want. Not hunger. Not demand. But want. As if he saw something sacred unveiled. As if he didn’t dare breathe too loud and disturb the moment. 

He began to undress too. Leather fell away from fire-darkened skin, and your breath caught when you saw the shape of him—broad, carved like something ancient, his body a weapon and a temple in one. Muscle wrapped around his frame like fire made flesh.

And he was watching you. Only you.

Naked now, you stood before him. Your bodies almost touched. Heat shimmered between you. But it was not heat alone. It was the quiet. The care.

Your hands reached for him. And his reached for you. Fingertips met skin. Tentative at first. Curious. Worshipful. And then your mouths found each other again. This kiss was deeper.

His lips opened against yours. His breath mingled with yours. His hands—bolder now—roamed your back, tracing each curve, each muscle, each line that had grown in hiding. When his fingers swept between your shoulder blades, just where your wings met—you gasped.

His head lifted slightly, eyes searching. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head, breathless. “No. I… I didn’t know it would feel like that.”

His expression shifted—subtle but unmistakable. A quiet smile, born not of amusement, but discovery. He had found a place in you that hadn’t been touched. That hadn’t even known it could be touched. And he honored it.

He kissed you again.

His mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, down the line of your throat. His tongue tasted your skin. His lips sucked lightly where your pulse danced. Every now and then, his fingers returned to that space where your wings met your body—each touch making you shiver, ache.

You felt your knees weaken, and your hands clutched his shoulders, his hair. He groaned softly when your fingers threaded into the braid, when your body pressed closer, when you gasped again as his hardened length brushed your thigh.

You grew bolder too. Your hands mapped his chest, his ribs, his hips—each touch more assured. You wanted to know him. All of him. And he let you.

The cave was quiet, holding your bodies in a hush as sacred as prayer.

King’s breath was warm against your throat, each exhale brushing your skin like a secret. His lips moved slowly, mapping you—not with hunger, but awe. Your fingers traced the long, powerful line of his spine, feeling the heat of his flame pulsing softly behind him. His wings flexed once, then tucked close, as if he was afraid to touch too much at once. As if reverence made him cautious.

You leaned into him.

Let your body press fully to his—bare, heat to heat. His breath caught when your curves slid against the ridges of his stomach and chest. His hands found your waist, then your back, trailing down the lines of your body like he was memorizing you through touch alone. You were strong, beautiful—and so was he.

When your foreheads touched, he stayed like that for a long moment. As if the contact steadied him. As if you did.

“I never thought…” he whispered, voice low, unsure. “That I’d ever feel this.”

You cupped his jaw gently. “You don’t have to think. Just feel.”

And he did.

When he kissed you again, it was slower than before—deeper. His mouth parted yours, his tongue stroking with quiet patience, coaxing. Not demanding. One of his hands lifted, fingers threading through your white hair, cradling the back of your head while the other slid down your spine, curved over your hip, and pulled you closer.

His arousal pressed firm and hot against your thigh, but he didn’t push.

He waited.

You met his eyes.

Then nodded, once, silently.

Your fingers slid between you, guiding him gently to you—and his whole body shuddered at your touch. You gasped softly when he began to enter you, the stretch slow, deliberate, your bodies aligning like they had always been meant to. His hands trembled slightly where they held you.

He sank into you in silence.

No sharp movements. Just the closeness. Just the fullness of him inside you, your arms wrapped around his neck, your wings flexing once in a ripple of sensation. He groaned low into your shoulder—barely restrained, like the sound itself was sacred.

The first movements were tentative. Barely a rhythm. Just a breath shared between two survivors, testing the boundary of a connection that had never existed before now. But your bodies remembered. Or perhaps they learned.

You tilted your hips gently. He answered with a quiet thrust. Every time his hips met yours, your flames surged, casting golden shadows across the walls. His mouth worshipped every inch of your throat, your shoulders, your chest. His hands splayed against your hips, your thighs, holding you like he would never let you go.

Your cries filled the cave. Soft, sacred, rising. His name on your lips. Over and over.

“Alber.”

And his mouth—on your lips, your neck, your shoulder. He whispered yours back.

The way your name sounded in his voice would haunt you forever.

Each movement became easier, smoother. Heat pooling low, your legs curling around his waist as he cradled you close, each stroke sinking deeper—not just into your body, but into the space you’d both buried for years. That place that ached for belonging. For softness.

His lips found your neck again. He licked, then sucked gently, his mouth warm and wet where it trailed over your pulse. His hand slid along your back again, brushing between your shoulder blades where feathers met skin—

You gasped again. Sharper this time. He paused, lips still. His eyes met yours. You shook your head with a shaky smile. 

“Still not pain. Just… sensitive.”

A flicker of a smile passed across his lips. Something rare. Soft. You felt it like sunlight. Then he kissed you again, deep and slow and anchoring.

The rhythm between you built gently—never fast, never rough. Just the sound of breath, the shift of skin, the quiet rustle of feathers and the soft clap of bodies moving in sync. Your hands cradled his face as he moved within you, your touch calming his fire even as it grew. His eyes never left yours, even as his jaw tightened and his thrusts deepened.

You pressed your forehead to his again, and you whispered, “I see you.”

That was when he broke.

His breath faltered. His movements grew ragged. But still he held you—hands splayed across your back, fingers brushing the base of your wings again, drawing another shiver from you. And then—together—you trembled.

Your body arched, your voice a soft sound against his shoulder, and he followed you with a groan muffled against your skin. His release was full-bodied—like something being let go after too long held back.

For a long time, you stayed like that. Entwined. Silent.

He didn’t pull away, and you didn’t ask him to. His flame was steady now. Yours, too. The heat of both your bodies mingled like a shared memory—like a promise that you were no longer alone.

You held each other in the hush, naked and trembling, he lifted a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your eye and when your eyes found each other again—you saw it.

The vow. The bond. The truth of who you were to one another.

It was not spoken.

It was known.

~~~

Chapter 16: Threaded in Fire

You slept. 

Or something close to it.

Your limbs tangled with his, wings wrapped around one another like a sheltering cocoon—black feathers layered, gleaming softly where the moonlight kissed them. The fire between your shoulder blades flickered low and calm, and his echoed it—your heartbeats syncing in that primal, ancient rhythm only your kind could know.

You woke first.

Not from a nightmare. Not from fear. But from contentment. The kind so unfamiliar it startled you. You lay atop him now, your cheek resting on folded hands over his chest, your body stretched the length of his. His arms still around you. His face peaceful. Unmasked. The strongest man you had ever known... asleep beneath you, trusting you with his flame.

You smiled softly.

His scent clung to your skin. Your fire curled and purred with it. And the thread—gods, the thread still hummed between you, an invisible line of heat that pulsed in your belly and heart and wings. A pull, soft and constant, like gravity with breath.

Something stirred at the edge of memory, a distant echo carried in your blood. You searched for it like reaching into a dream, fingers brushing old warmth. Something about what came after the courtship. After the trust had been won.

Not a ceremony. Not a kiss. But a joining. Something older. Something sacred.

You frowned faintly, sifting through the half-remembered stories told in secret during your girlhood—whispers passed between elders on long-forgotten islands. The Lunarians had been a people of silence, of sacred rites passed through fire and hush. You remembered fragments: the cartwheel of trust, the way your ancestors had once chosen one another—not with rings or promises, but with fire. With body. With soul.

Only once in a lifetime did they choose. Like the bald eagles did. And when they did… they knew.

You looked at him again, your gaze softening. You felt it in your chest now—no, in both your hearts, thudding quietly in rhythm with his. Your body had known him. Welcomed him. 

Your wings had wrapped around him without thought, brushing his. He stirred but didn’t wake. Not yet. You watched him. Memorized every line of his face. Trying to realize it.

He was not a lover. But a mate.

A bond for life. For soul. For fire.

You swallowed. Heart thudding.

Was that what had happened? Your body knew. Your fire knew. But the mind—the part of you raised in hiding, in loneliness—struggled to name it.

So, you whispered, shy and low against the hush of his chest. “Alber…?”

His eyes opened immediately. Not startled. But aware. Present. His hand slid up your back, splaying between your wings, grounding you in that instant.

You searched his face, heat brushing your cheeks. “Is this… what I think it is?”

He was silent for a moment. Not because he didn’t know—but because he wanted the words to be true.

Then he nodded. Slowly. “Yes.”

Your breath caught.

“There is a bond now,” he said. His voice deep and rough with sleep and something more ancient. “Threaded in fire. Between you and me. Just as our people once did.” His hand cupped your face, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. “It’s not something that can be broken. And even if it could—I wouldn’t survive trying.”

Your fingers curled around his wrist, your heart breaking and healing in the same breath.

“You’re mine now?” you whispered.

He looked at you and said, simply—without hesitation: “I’ve always been yours. As much as you are mine. I just didn’t know it.”

You laid your cheek to his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. And your wings—those great, dark wings—tightened around him once more. As if your body already knew the truth your mind had just caught up to.

Not lovers. Not just partners. Bonded. One soul in two flames.

You closed your eyes, a quiet sound escaping your lips—a hum, a sigh, something caught between relief and awe. His arms encircled you more fully, one hand splayed across your back, the other resting at the curve of your waist.

For the first time since you were a child, you felt wholly safe.

Whole.

~~~

You stayed like that until the first light of morning stretched across the cliffs, seeping slowly into the cave in soft gold.

The fire between your bodies had calmed, but it hadn’t gone out. It never would now. You lay tangled together on the furs, your breathing matched, your wings brushing gently in the quiet.

Outside, the wind stirred. Not harsh. Not unwelcome. Just a reminder that he had to go.

He dressed in silence, the leather armor going back on piece by piece. You watched him, sitting on the furs, wrapped in his scent and yours. Neither of you wanted to say goodbye.

The mating thread pulled. Tight.

Every step away from you cost him something. His fire flared with reluctance. Your chest ached, as if a phantom hand tugged at your sternum. Your wings twitched, itching to follow.

He reached for the final piece—the mask. And stopped. Turned.

The pull was too strong.

You stood too, moving to him without thinking, caught in the same invisible current.

And then his hands were in your hair. His mouth was on yours. This kiss wasn’t tender. It was hungry. Fierce. Deep enough to steal breath and thought and memory. His hands fisted in your white-silver strands, your wings spread in instinct, wrapping around his once more.

You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound like he was starving for it.

He kissed you like he might never again. Like the parting would rip something from him if he didn’t take this with him. His fire surged—hot, possessive, sacred. Your hands clutched his back, fingers curling against the leather as your mouths clashed and lingered. When he pulled back—barely—it was only to rest his forehead against yours, your fires catching between your bodies.

“I will come back,” he murmured. “I will always come back.”

You nodded, your breath still shaky. “I know.”

He kissed you once more, slow this time. Final. Then the mask came down. And King was gone. But the bond remained.

Unseen.

Unbreakable.

~~~

Chapter 17: Strengthened by the Bond

He soared back toward Onigashima, the wind whipping cold against his face, his mask locked tight once more. The armor was back on. The name King too. But the man inside it, Alber, was... shifting.

His wings, vast and black, cut through the sky with relentless rhythm. His expression, as always, unreadable. But under the steel, under the fire, something stirred.

You.

The bond throbbed like a second heartbeat in his chest, ancient and alive. It didn’t fade with distance. It pulled—slow, relentless, sacred. Not a chain. A tether. A reminder. 

He thought it would distract him. It didn’t. It sharpened him. Yes, it hurt—deep and dull, a hollow in his chest that only your fire could fill—but it was pain with purpose. It kept his instincts honed, his senses alert, his soul lit with something no warlord could forge.

You were his mate now.

Chosen not by command, not by timing or circumstance—but by something older than breath. Something true. A Lunarian bond didn’t ask for permission. It simply was.

He clenched his jaw behind the mask and fixed his focus on the fortress rising from the mist—Onigashima, iron and bone and fire. Kaido was there. And Alber—King—still believed in him. Still carried out every mission in his name. Still looked at him and saw the Pirate King, Joy Boy.

That hadn’t changed. That would not change.

Kaido had pulled him from the wreckage of extinction. Had given him purpose. Fire. A reason to rise when he’d been half-dead in a lab cage. No one else had ever done that.

Until you.

But this bond didn’t divide him.

It refined him.

Like heat through obsidian, shaping the blade sharper.

~~~

He entered the great hall, quiet as ever, footsteps echoing like thunder beneath the high arches. The usual chaos unfolded below—Jack muttering, Queen snorting, subordinates shouting over territory maps. And still, King said nothing. Just stood there, arms crossed, wings still, flame low and steady behind his mask.

Kaido’s eyes slid toward him eventually. Slow. Sharp. A sip from the jug. A pause. 

“You’re quiet,” Kaido said.

King didn’t move. “Always am.”

“Not like this,” Kaido muttered, half amused. “You disappeared. Came back burning hotter. Like you found something.”

King didn’t deny it. Didn't confirm it either. But the silence was enough.

Kaido’s grin was faint—not mocking, just knowing. “There a woman behind that fire?”

Jack blinked. Queen choked on his drink. But Kaido just leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes steady.

“Good. Took you long enough.”

No mocking. No threat. Just quiet satisfaction.

“You fight better when something’s at stake,” Kaido added. “Keep burning like this, I don’t care what stoked the flame.”

King inclined his head once. Acknowledgment.

Kaido raised his jug again. “Treat yourself well, King. You’ve earned that much.”

~~~

That night, when the fortress finally quieted and the wind swept high through the rafters of Onigashima, he climbed to the tallest tower and stood at its edge, wings spread like shadows torn against the stars.

He said nothing. Did nothing. Just felt. Just burned.

And when the thread between you tugged again—faint but steady, a heartbeat in the hollow of his chest— He didn’t resist it. Not this time. 

Because it didn’t make him weak.

It made him whole.

~~~

Chapter 18: The Hollow Sky

He was gone.

The world hadn’t ended. The trees still whispered in the wind. The ocean still moved. The sky stretched wide and open. But everything felt wrong.

You sat in the mouth of the cave, wings folded close around your shoulders, knees drawn up to your chest. The horizon where he had vanished shimmered in the morning light, still empty. The fire between your shoulder blades burned—not violently, not with pain, but with a steady, aching heat. A low flame. A hollow thrum. Like a nest without its mate.

You tried to ground yourself. Fingers brushing the stone. Toes curling into the soil. But nothing helped. Not when the tether between you was still so alive.

You had only just found him—another Lunarian. The other half of a people erased from the world. And in that sacred, wordless courtship of fire and instinct, you had chosen each other. No rituals. No declarations. Just a bond forged in marrow. Threaded in fire.

It was supposed to bring peace. Instead, it brought this: a constant, quiet ache. As if half your soul had taken flight and the other half couldn’t follow.

You had never known what mating truly meant. Not in the old way. Not in the Lunarian way. You’d been too young when your people fell. But now, the bond had awakened something ancient in you—something buried so deep it had survived extinction. 

Now every breath felt thin. Every gust of wind that didn’t carry his scent made your pulse stutter in disappointment. Then—sharp. A flicker. The fire between your wings pulsed once, sudden and bright. You gasped. Clutched your chest—not in pain, but recognition.

He was thinking of you.

He was missing you.

You could feel it—like heat bleeding through stone. The pull of his longing. His restraint. His war with silence. He had returned to Onigashima. To Kaido. To the mask. But the thread between you didn’t dim. It trembled. Tight and taut and alive. And he was burning too.

Your wings curled tighter around you as you pressed your forehead to your arms, breath shaking.

“Alber…” you whispered.

His true name fell from your lips like a sacred vow, soft and trembling. And your body ached. Your soul reached. But still—you stayed. Because that’s what the bond meant, too.

Not just instinct.

Not just fire.

But trust.

You trusted he would return. So you waited, flame flickering softly in the morning wind, eyes locked on the sky.

Watching.

Listening.

And when the tether in your chest pulsed again—stronger this time, like a heartbeat in the dark—You closed your eyes. And let it burn.

~~~

Chapter 19: The Breaking Point

The pain had evolved.

No longer a dull ache. No longer a whisper under the surface. Now it pulsed—wild, primal, alive—with every breath he took too far from you. It wasn’t a wound. It was a warning.

Something sacred inside him was tipping, demanding, burning. Not with weakness, but with need. The bond had waited. Endured. But Alber had pushed it too far. The distance, the silence—it wasn’t sustainable anymore. You were too far.

And every step he took inside Onigashima felt like defiance. Not against Kaido. Not against his captain’s orders. But against the fire stitched through his soul.

The thread had started as a quiet tether. Now it was a roar.

Still, he wore the armor. Fastened the mask. Fulfilled his duties like a ghost with a sword. To the Beast Pirates, he was unchanged—stoic, merciless, perfect. But Kaido had noticed. A breath too shallow. A movement a fraction late.

“You’ve been somewhere,” Kaido said the night before, low and amused. “Or… with someone.”

Alber hadn’t answered. 

Kaido didn’t press.

But the suspicion curled like smoke between them. So he carried on. Gave orders. Flew patrols. Trained with steel and fire. Tried to burn out the tension. To prove to himself he still had control.

But the bond had grown teeth now.

It bit into him with every hour apart. Every night without your fire pressed to his. Every moment your scent didn’t ride the wind. He felt it in his bones, in the marrow. In the way his hands ached when they weren’t on your skin. In the way his flame stuttered.

He still believed in Kaido. Still trusted him. But belief was no longer the loudest voice in his soul.

You were.

You, who had touched the part of him Kaido never could.

You, who had called him Alber, not King.

And that made all the difference.

He tried discipline. Meditation. Flight until his wings went numb. Brutal sparring with Queen until his knuckles split open. But nothing silenced the hum of the bond now. It didn’t want to be silenced. It wanted to be answered. And tonight—under a too-bright moon and too-empty sky—it demanded everything.

He was alone in the high tower, perched on stone, fire low behind his shoulders, wings twitching with tension. He hadn’t spoken all day. Hadn’t slept in three. His heartbeat was a hammer. His flame, erratic. The pressure in his chest—not emotional. Instinctual. Sacred.

And then— The thread snapped. Not broken. Pulled taut. Alive. Screaming.

He doubled over with a gasp, eyes flashing behind the mask. His wings unfurled wide with a sound like a thunderclap. His hands trembled. His breath hitched once, sharp. He had pushed it too far. The bond wasn’t asking anymore.

It was summoning.

Without a thought, without even conscious choice, he launched himself into the sky. The ledge vanished beneath his boots. The wind howled past his ears as fire exploded from his back.

He didn’t think. Didn’t plan. Didn’t care who saw. All that mattered was the direction. All that mattered was you. Because whatever the world thought he was—Kaido’s weapon, the Beast Pirates’ calamity, King of the skies—he knew the truth now.

He was yours.

And nothing—nothing—would keep him from you another night.

~~~

Chapter 20: Starved Flame

You felt him before you saw him.

It wasn’t sound, or scent, or even the rhythm of wingbeats tearing through the sky. It was the bond—your bond. A roar through your veins, a flare of heat along the sacred thread that tethered you to him. It slammed into your chest so suddenly your knees buckled, your breath catching in your throat.

Alber.

Your heart called his name before your voice could. 

You stepped outside the cave where you had waited these long, heavy days. Nights had crawled across your soul like shadows, but none of it mattered now. 

Because he was here.

He landed with the force of a meteor, wings snapping wide before folding behind him like twin shadows. There was no armor. No mask. Not anymore. Because the moment his eyes locked onto yours, he ripped the mask away.

And then he was on you.

No words. No hesitation. Just the crash of his mouth on yours—hot, rough, relentless. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claiming. A furious collision of breath and soul and ache. His hands gripped your face, then your hips, then your ass, dragging you against him like skin contact was the only thing keeping him alive.

You gasped into his mouth, head tipping back as he kissed you deeper—tongue sweeping past your lips, devouring you like a man long starved. Your fingers speared into his thick white hair, clinging, trembling, your flame igniting up your spine in response.

His wings snapped wide, trembling with restraint, encasing you both—and your own flared to meet them, feathers brushing his back. It was instinct. It was bond. It was biology screaming: now.

He carried you. Lips never leaving yours, hands locking beneath your thighs as your legs wrapped around his waist. You could feel the hard line of him pressed against you through his leathers, feel the way he shook from holding back.

He brought you into the cave—your cave—lit only by firelight and need. Your back hit the wall with a gasp, stone cold against your skin, his body burning into yours like a sun pressed too close. His mouth moved to your throat—biting, sucking, marking. Not gentle.

“Never again,” he growled into your neck, voice low and rough. “Never again this long.”

You nodded against him, panting, hips already grinding to meet his. “It hurt, Alber.”

His grip tightened, fire flaring hotter. “I know. I felt everything.”

Then his hand slipped between your legs, fingers stroking you through soaked folds—rough, fast, no teasing. “Already dripping for me,” he snarled.

“For you,” you gasped, hips canting into his palm. “Always you.”

He didn’t wait. 

He yanked his pants low just enough to free himself—thick, hard, leaking—and aligned in one smooth, brutal thrust. He sank into you fully. Deep.

You cried out—head slamming back into the wall, legs locking tighter around his waist—as he filled you in a single, devastating stroke. Your walls clenched around him, hot and pulsing, the bond singing with re-connection. Alber groaned against your collarbone, forehead pressed to your skin as he held still, shaking.

Then he moved.

No rhythm. No gentleness. Just raw need, hips slamming into yours, bodies crashing together with wet, filthy sounds and the scent of fire and sex thick in the air. His hand cupped your ass, guiding your body down on each thrust, making you take him to the hilt.

You moaned—open, wild, desperate. “More,” you breathed. “Harder.”

He gave it.

Your flames burst across your back, wings shivering as he drove into you like he could carve his name into your soul. His name—Alber, Alber—fell from your lips like prayer. His teeth grazed your jaw, your throat, your shoulder, finding the spots that made you writhe and clench tighter around him.

Your nails raked down his back, dragging growls from him that were all animal. Each thrust knocked you harder into the wall, legs trembling from the intensity.

The cave lit with fire—your fire, then his. Red and gold. Fever-bright. Sacred. The bond between you throbbed like a second heart.

Your orgasm slammed into you—sudden, blinding. Your body seized, walls fluttering around him, wings flaring wide as your flame burst across the stone in a wave of heat. You cried out, head tossed back, flame echoing in your voice. He felt it. Growled. But he didn’t stop.

“Not done,” he rasped. “Not nearly done.”

He slammed deeper, harder, until the wet slap of your bodies echoed off the walls. Your body took him greedily, stretching, opening, begging for more. And when he came, he did it with a snarl, hips grinding deep as he emptied into you, forehead pressed to yours, fire exploding from his back in a halo of gold.

He shuddered, and then stilled—panting, trembling, one palm pressed over the place between your wings.

The place no one touched beside him.

~~~

You weren’t sure how long it lasted—how many times you reached for each other, lost yourselves in each other. Time fractured. It was ancient. Primal. Not just pleasure. It was salvation. Soul-starvation fed.

And when it was over—when you collapsed into him, tangled and dazed, his forehead pressed to yours, your wings limp and twitching in the aftermath, clothes long gone—you whispered the question that had haunted the silence between you.

“Do you think… our ancestors felt this too?”

His chest rose against yours. His hand found yours, lacing your fingers together, slick and warm.

“They must’ve,” he murmured. “How else would they have survived this madness?”

You swallowed, dazed. “They must’ve known the moment they found each other.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. Then, quiet. “So did I,” he whispered. “From the second I saw you.”

The fire between your shoulders bloomed again. But even in the warmth of his arms, in the silence that followed the storm, something stirred. A question you hadn’t dared to voice until now.

Were you truly meant for each other… or had fate simply thrown you together because you were the last?

It dug into your ribs like thorns, and you knew he felt it. The bond flinched, rippling with the shadow of your fear. His hand rose gently to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin. His eyes—crimson and unreadable—held no anger. Only understanding.

You turned your face into his chest, not in shame, but in the quiet ache of doubt. Of wondering whether love had found you by choice… or because there was no one else left.

Still, you whispered it. “Do you think we only bonded because we’re the last of our kind…?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just held you tighter. 

Then he shifted, pulling back enough to look into your face. He didn’t force eye contact—he waited. Patient, steady, his fingers threading through your silver-white hair like it was something sacred.

“No,” he said softly. “I think the fire between us knows the difference.”

You blinked and he continued, voice low and sure.

“If it were just biology… just survival… I wouldn’t lose my mind every second I’m away from you. I wouldn’t crave your soul like this.” His gaze didn’t waver. “The bond didn’t form because we’re alone. It formed because we found each other.”

A silence stretched. Full. Heavy. Then, quieter:

“I don’t know what our ancestors called it. But this… this is real.” And then, nearly a whisper: “I chose you. Not because I had to. Because I couldn’t help it.”

You stared at him. Breathless. Your heart burning wild in your chest. And in that moment, it didn’t matter what fate had decided. Because he had chosen you.

And you—despite the fear, despite the questions—chose him back all over again.

~~~

Chapter 21: Morning Flame

The sun was just beginning to rise, soft gold filtering into the cave through cracks in the stone. Light stretched across the furs, across tangled limbs and fading embers, warming skin that still hummed with the echo of flame and bond.

You stirred slowly, breath deep, limbs heavy with satisfaction. Your body ached—but not in pain. In memory. In fulfillment.

Alber was behind you, his chest warm against your back, one strong arm slung around your waist, the other tucked beneath your head. His wings were draped loosely around you both, black and soft and protective. You felt his face buried in your hair, breath ghosting over your neck in slow, contented rhythm.

The bond between you stirred—bright, content, steady.

You smiled.

He was still asleep, or at least somewhere between sleep and waking. His grip on you tightened slightly when you shifted, your bare skin brushing against his as you arched just enough to feel the heat of him pressing low against your spine.

A pleased sound rumbled in his chest. 

You wriggled, slow and teasing, grinning when he groaned softly behind you. His hand at your waist flexed. You could feel him hardening already.

"Good morning," you whispered with a smile, twisting slightly in his arms.

You turned to face him, his eyes still half-lidded, hair tousled, lips parted with sleep. You gave him a playful nose nuzzle—your grin brushing his—and then pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his lips.

But he didn’t let you go. His hand came up fast, cradling your face with both palms, his eyes suddenly sharp and alive with mischief.

“No,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep and smoke. “Come back here.”

And then he pulled you in.

The kiss that followed was nothing like the one before. It was hungry. Deep. Slow. You gasped into it, your body melting against his as his mouth devoured yours like he’d been waiting all night for this moment. The bond flared—warm and vibrant—sparking through your chest and down to your toes.

You both moaned into the kiss, the sound shared, breathless.

When he broke away, it was only to shift you beneath him, his body sliding over yours with reverent ease. His hands explored—slow this time. Worshipful. He kissed your neck, your collarbones, the top of each breast. His tongue circled one nipple, then the other, until your back arched and your fingers tangled in his hair again.

He growled softly at your response, lips moving lower, trailing kisses down your stomach, slow and deliberate. When he reached your thighs, he paused only to look up at you—eyes glowing, wings fluttering faintly behind him.

And then he buried his face between your legs.

Your gasp echoed off the stone walls, hips jerking as his tongue found you, slow at first, then deeper. His grip on your thighs tightened as he held you in place, devouring you with the same focus he gave to battle—like this was the only war he ever wanted to fight.

You moaned his name—“Alber…”—voice breaking as the heat coiled in your belly. Your hands clutched his hair, guiding him, anchoring yourself to him as he worshiped you with his mouth.

When your climax hit, it was sharp and shaking, your thighs trembling around his head as your flame flared behind you, golden light dancing along the cave walls. He didn’t stop until your moans turned to whimpers, until you were gasping his name through the aftershocks, limp and glowing beneath him.

And only then did he crawl back up your body—slowly, reverently—his mouth slick with you, his expression dark with awe and desire. He kissed you again, deep and slow, letting you taste yourself on his lips, before guiding himself inside you once more.

This time it was different. No desperation. No frenzy. Just heat. Connection. Knowing.

His thrusts were slow, deep, his hands cradling your face, your hips, your wings. You clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist, gasping each time he pushed deeper, your nails trailing down his back. You breathed together, moved together, flames dancing between your shoulders—steady, calm, content.

You were still burning.

But now you were whole.

~~~

Chapter 22: What Comes Next

You lay tangled in him, breath slowly evening, the fire in your chest soft and steady again. The heat between your bodies had cooled to something gentler—warm skin, lazy limbs, wings unfolded across the furs in messy, unguarded sprawl.

His arm was wrapped beneath you, holding you against his chest. The other hand stroked along your spine, fingers idling near the edge of your wings—never too close to the center, just enough to trace comfort into your bones.

He was quiet. And you liked that about him. When he didn’t speak, you didn’t feel ignored. You felt watched. Considered.

Your palm rested against his chest, rising and falling beneath you, strong and steady. You closed your eyes and let yourself listen to the bond again, the way it curled around your soul now, no longer screaming—but purring.

“That’s… better,” you murmured against his skin.

He made a low sound of agreement.

You felt him shift slightly behind you, adjusting one wing so it curved protectively over your bare back, and pressed a kiss to your temple. His hand stilled against your shoulder.

You tilted your head. “You’re thinking.”

“Always,” he said softly.

You smiled. “About what?”

He was silent for a beat longer this time.

“We can’t be apart that long again.”

The statement was simple. Absolute. It settled in your chest like an anchor. You turned to look up at him, face warm with affection.

“You make it sound like a command.”

His lips twitched—just barely. “No. A fact.”

You huffed softly, amused, but his expression stayed serious. His gaze searched yours.

“Do you know how to fight?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked. Then let out a quiet, startled laugh. “Are you serious?”

His expression didn’t change.

You propped yourself up on your elbow, smirking. “You mean… aside from surviving extinction, dodging hunters, hiding for half my life, and setting traps on cliff faces?”

Still, he waited.

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Yes, Alber. We learned the basics when we were kids. It was part of our schooling—spear forms, aerial maneuvering, coordinated fire usage. Lunarian education was a little more intense than just books.”

His brow lifted faintly. “But most of your life has been running.”

“Hiding,” you corrected, not without pride. “There’s an art to that too.” Then your smile softened. “I’ve never been trained for open combat, but I know my fire. I know how to move. I’m fast in the air.”

That made something in his face shift. The smallest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re faster than me.”

You raised a brow, surprised. “You admit that?”

He didn’t answer right away—just brushed his fingers down the curve of your wing, the gesture unexpectedly reverent.

“It’s rare,” he said quietly. “I’ve never been out flown before. Until you.”

You blinked. The simple praise hit harder than you expected.

“Why are you asking all that?”

His gaze settled on yours again—steady, focused. “Because I want you with me.” A pause. “At my side. Not just here. There.”

“There?”

“Onigashima.”

You stilled.

“You want me to…?”

“Meet Kaido. Join the Beast Pirates.”

Your breath caught. “Alber—he’s…” You trailed off, swallowing. “He’s the strongest man in the world. Would he even approve of me?”

He didn’t scoff. Didn’t brush off your fear. He let it sit for a moment. Then he nodded once. 

“Yes. He will.”

“You sound so sure.”

“Because I’ll vouch for you.”

You looked at him, wide-eyed. “You’d do that?”

His voice was quiet. “You’re my mate.”

The words fell like flame in still air. You exhaled slowly, overwhelmed, eyes searching his.

“What if I’m not ready?”

“Then I’ll train you.” He paused. “So you can assert yourself. No one will take you lightly—not if I bring you in. But I want them to respect you.”

You swallowed around the knot in your throat.

He leaned in, brushing his forehead lightly against yours. His voice was lower now, but certain. “You’re not just my bond, or my weakness. You’re my equal. And if you walk into that world with me…” His hand found yours, lacing your fingers together. “…I want them to see what I see.”

You didn’t answer at first. Just breathed. Then: “Alright.”

His eyes flicked up, just barely, as if asking if you were sure.

You kissed his knuckles. “Train me, Alber. Let them see what we are.”

And his smile—small, rare, genuine—was answer enough.

~~~

Chapter 23: Flame Without Form

The sand was cool beneath your bare feet, sun casting long shadows from the cliff behind you. Wind stirred gently at the edges of your wings. The ocean rumbled far below, but up here—on this stretch of flat stone and scorched earth—it was only the two of you.

Alber stood across from you, armored in black leather, sword sheathed at his back, his wings half-furled in a loose stance. His mask was gone, discarded beside your cloak. His flame flickered low and steady behind him.

You, for once, stood exposed. No cloak. No hiding. Just practical clothes clinging to your form, hair tied back, wings open and braced against the breeze.

His gaze moved over you, slow and deliberate—not with hunger, but with focus. The way a soldier assesses terrain. The way a warrior reads wind.

"You’re faster than most," he said, voice even. "Faster than me. That’s rare. You need to use that. Turn it into your advantage."

You nodded, alert and listening.

"Opponents who rely on strength—on brute speed—they want you to stand still. To root. You don’t."

He stepped forward, dragging a line in the sand with the heel of his boot.

"You stay moving. Let them chase you. Burn them when they try."

You exhaled, flame flickering faintly in your palms.

"But don’t just run," he added. "Turn their momentum against them. When they overreach—"

He lunged. You didn’t think. You moved.

Your wings flared as you launched backward, your heel digging into the sand as you twisted and burst upward, fire kicking off your soles in a sudden flash of heat.

"—that’s when you strike," he finished, now behind you.

You turned sharply in midair, evading the arc of his next blow with a breath’s grace. You landed with control, fire steady at your back. He didn’t praise you. He didn’t smile. He just nodded once, wings flexing.

"Again."

You launched forward, darting low, flames bursting at your feet in sharp propulsion. You feinted left, then twisted upward, circling, scanning. You didn’t strike yet—only dodged, read him, learned his movement. His rhythm was chaos, brutal and unpredictable. But even chaos had a pattern.

You moved without form. Without discipline. But not without purpose. And he noticed. Then—he caught you. A sudden pivot, his grip closing around your wrist, a sharp twist of his hips, and you hit the sand with a thud, breath knocked from your lungs.

"You’re fast," he said from above, crouched beside you. "But not unpredictable. Yet."

You nodded once, swallowing your frustration.

"Again."

You stood. This time, you let your instincts take over completely. You didn’t plan your next move. You didn’t analyze. You just felt. The heat built in your chest. In your bones.

He rushed again—harder. 

And you vanished. 

A flash of fire burst from your soles and you disappeared from his path, reappearing behind him in a flare of heat. Before he could pivot, you released a sharp pulse of flame that scorched the ground in a perfect arc around him.

Controlled. Contained.

His coat stirred in the heat. The edge of one wing singed. He froze. So did you. His sword lowered. You stood across from him, breath ragged, fire fading at your fingertips. He stared at you. Unmoving. Unblinking.

And in that silence, something shifted behind his eyes. He didn’t say a word. But he didn’t need to. Because he saw it now—not just your speed. Not just your fire. He saw you.

You weren’t weak. You weren’t small. You weren’t delicate. You were restrained. Tamed—but only by your own will. By necessity. By years of silence and survival that hadn’t shattered you, but sharpened you into something fierce. Something worthy.

A low heat curled beneath his sternum—something between awe and pride. Not just for what you could do. But for who you were. His mate. The last of their kind. A reminder of what Lunarians had been before the world forgot.

He took a step forward, slow, measured, watching the rise and fall of your chest. His fingers brushed the edge of your jaw—just lightly.

“Again,” he murmured—quite, rough. And the reverence in his voice was all the praise you needed.

~~~

Chapter 24: Heat in the Air

When you moved, you didn’t go for the same feint. This time, you danced.

You twisted away from him in a flash of heat, the sand beneath your feet igniting briefly as your wings flared and launched you skyward. Alber didn’t hesitate—he followed instantly, black wings slicing through the wind like blades, fire bursting at his heels.

You didn’t fly fast. Not yet. You let him chase you. Circling the cliffs, wind in your hair, flame trailing from your palms in ribbons, you spun and dipped and rose again, just high enough to tempt. Just low enough to test.

He followed. And for the first time, you saw it: his smile. Small. Sharp. He was enjoying this. His fighting style had always been chaos—brute strength and instinct sharpened by years of war. But here in the sky, with you ahead of him, there was no need for brutality. Only pursuit.

You twisted midair and dared him closer with a look. 

"Try to catch me," you said, breathless.

His wings snapped out. His eyes narrowed.

You burst forward—faster than before—fire launching you through the air in a blur of heat and motion. He gave chase, growling low, his silhouette wild and dark against the sky. But you were quicker. You always had been.

You looped back behind him in a sudden arc, twisting around his flight path, then darted forward—catching him off-guard. Your hands curled around his shoulders as you passed, and you stole a kiss against the corner of his mouth before shooting ahead with a laugh.

He snarled. But it wasn’t anger. It was hunger.

You heard his wings beat harder, the air behind you shuddering from his flameburst. He was closing in now, learning your rhythm, adapting.

You twisted again, dropped low over the cliffs, then swept back up—only to find him there, waiting, one hand catching your wrist mid-air. But you twisted out of his grip and leaned in, laughing against his throat as your lips brushed the skin just beneath his jaw.

"Too slow," you whispered.

His hand caught your waist before you could shoot away again.

“Enough,” he growled—and then kissed you.

Hard. Mid-flight. Bodies pressed together, wings trembling in the wind.

You gasped into his mouth as your fire sparked between you—chest to chest, heart to heart. The heat of his grip seared into your hips as he held you aloft, wings beating in tandem with yours to keep you both suspended in the air.

The kiss deepened—no longer playful.

His tongue claimed yours, mouth rough and needing. Your legs wrapped around his waist before you could think, your hands tangled in his hair as your body pressed against the hard line of his armor. Heat pulsed between your thighs as his hips rolled instinctively into yours.

The air stilled around you, the wind yielding to the fire now curling around your limbs like golden threads. His fire. Yours. The bond thrummed louder with each breath.

You moaned into his mouth.

His hands were on your thighs now, gripping tight as he adjusted your weight, one hand slipping beneath your shirt to press against the bare skin of your back—right between your wings. The sacred place.

You shuddered. And then—you didn’t fly anymore. He held you, floating high above the cliffs, fire spilling from both your backs in quiet waves, wings spread wide as his body pressed yours against the empty sky.

“Here?” you whispered between kisses, dazed, lips swollen.

“Here,” he answered, voice hoarse, forehead against yours.

~~~

Chapter 25: Skyfire

There was no ground beneath you. No sky above. Only him. Only flame.

Alber’s arms held you tight, one beneath your thighs, the other wrapped around your back, fingers splayed between your wings where your bond pulsed strongest. Your bodies hovered high above the cliffs, the ocean wind sweeping beneath your feet, but you barely felt it—your flame pushed against it, keeping you both aloft, suspended in a halo of heat and power.

He entered you slowly—thick, deep, deliberate.

A moan spilled from your lips as your head fell forward against his shoulder. He grunted low in return, the sound vibrating through his chest, through yours. You tightened around him instinctively, your legs wrapping higher, wings twitching in rhythm with your pulse.

His cock filled you completely, stretching you, grounding you even as you floated—an anchor made of fire and flesh. He paused for a breath, forehead pressed to yours, nose brushing against your cheek.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice ragged with awe and restraint. “You feel like…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t have to. 

You moved your hips in a slow roll against him, gasping at the deep drag of friction as his breath caught. He held you tighter, his muscles tense beneath his leather armor, his wings shifting to adjust their balance.

And then he moved. A sharp thrust—controlled, precise.

You cried out, your voice lost to the wind as he began to fuck you in the air, each motion fluid, powerful. Your wings beat in time with his, not flapping, just holding—guiding your suspended rhythm. His fire licked around your bodies, not burning, but glowing red-gold with each pulse of his hips.

Your hands buried in his white-silver hair, your nails dragging against his scalp. He grunted at the sting, thrusting harder. You met him with every movement, your body tuned to his, the bond between you vibrating now—hot, thrumming, alive.

Your back arched, pressing your breasts against his chest, your shirt riding high around your ribs. Alber pulled back slightly to look down at you—your flushed face, your parted lips, the way your body clenched around him.

And he snapped.

One arm wrapped around your lower back while the other grabbed your jaw, tilting your face toward his. He kissed you again—fierce and unrelenting—as he began to move faster, deeper. The wet sounds of your bodies colliding echoed faintly in the open air, drowned by your moans and his growls.

Your wings trembled as you began to lose rhythm, pleasure overtaking control.

“Alber—” you gasped.

“Hold on,” he warned, low and primal.

Then he drove into you with a sharp thrust that had your head snapping back, your cry open and unrestrained.

Your orgasm hit like fire through your bloodstream—sudden and full, your body clenching tight around him as your flame burst in a flash behind you, wings flaring wide in instinct. You shook in his arms, moaning his name over and over.

He held you through it, chest rising hard against yours, every muscle tight as he buried himself deep, letting you ride the wave out in the sky. And then he chased his own.

His wings beat twice, sharp and heavy, lifting you slightly as his grip crushed you against him. He pounded into you—three, four more brutal thrusts—before he growled low against your throat and came inside you, deep and hot and overflowing. His flame exploded from his back in a brilliant arc that lit the sky behind him.

You clung to him, barely breathing. Floating. Entwined.

His forehead rested against yours, both of you panting in silence, your wings trembling, fire still simmering low around you like embers that refused to die.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to.

Because in that moment, high above the cliffs, midair and soul-deep inside each other, you were everything your ancestors must have dreamed of—survivors, sacred, burning. Together.

~~~

Chapter 26: The Mask and the Cloak

The wind still carried your fire when you finally began to descend.

You hovered with him for a while, limbs wrapped tight, the bond still pulsing like a second heartbeat between your chests. Neither of you spoke. Words felt too small for what had just passed between you.

He brushed his lips against your temple before he pulled back, adjusting your weight in his arms. Together, your wings caught the air. You spiraled downward slowly, flames flickering gently in your wake. The sea stretched out below, cliffs waiting, the cave already etched into your memory like home.

You landed barefoot in the sand, the stillness between you warm and golden.

He didn’t say we should train again.

He said, “Tomorrow.”

And you nodded.

~~~

The next day, you returned to the cliffs with the same steady rhythm in your bones. Your cloak was gone again, folded at the edge of the stone. He waited for you in the sand, masked once more, flame low but focused.

You sparred. Again and again.

He tested you with sharp, brutal movements—attacks meant to overwhelm, to force a mistake. But you never stayed still. You used speed like a weapon, agility like instinct. Every time he reached for you, you vanished in fire and reappeared behind him, forcing him to adapt. Again.

The day after, you trained again. Sweat coated your spine. Your wings trembled with exertion. Fire had scorched the sand in curling, sacred marks—evidence of who you were, of what you were becoming.

He didn’t praise you. Not in words. But he watched you like he saw more each time. And when he finally lowered his sword, the silence between you was full of something final.

“You’re ready,” he said.

You looked at him. His mask was in place, but you felt the weight of his pride behind it. You said nothing. Just reached for your cloak and draped it over your shoulders, hiding your fire once more.

He nodded once. 

And you flew.

~~~

You followed him over the ocean, wings strong and certain now. The wind caught beneath you like a memory. Alber—King—led ahead, a dark shape outlined in red-gold flame. Onigashima waited on the horizon, all stone and smoke and power. 

Your pulse didn’t quicken. You weren’t afraid. Not anymore.

When you landed on the high ramparts, King gave you a single glance before turning to the guards at Kaido’s chamber doors.

“I need to speak with Kaido,” he said. “Privately.”

They hesitated. He didn’t repeat himself. They stepped aside. You entered at his back, your hood drawn over your face once more. Kaido sat on his throne, a jug of sake in one hand, the other braced on his knee. The room smelled of smoke, steel, and heat. King stepped forward first, standing tall before the warlord.

“I want her to join the crew,” he said without preamble. “I vouch for her.”

Kaido’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And who the hell is this?”

You stepped forward before King could speak. Your hands rose. And you pulled the hood back. 

Your face met the firelight, calm. Strong. Your wings stretched slowly behind you, feathers gleaming dark and sacred. The flames rising at your back licked the air in quiet pulses, a signature written in your very blood.

Kaido froze. For a long breath, he said nothing. Then a sharp whistle. He stood, jug set down, towering as he stepped forward.

“Another Lunarian,” he said, low. “And a pretty one, too.” His eyes flicked to King. “Where’d you find her?”

“I didn’t,” King said. “She found me.”

Kaido grunted. His massive form moved closer, casting you in his shadow. Your fire rose behind you, instinctive—but you didn’t flinch. You met his gaze.

“She strong?”

“Yes.”

“Loyal?”

“Yes.” King’s voice was firmer now. Final. The air shifted.

Kaido looked you up and down again, but not like prey. Like something rare. Like something ancient. His gaze lingered on your wings, then on your eyes.

“She yours?”

King answered without hesitation.

“She is.” Then quieter: “And I am hers.”

Kaido’s grin widened—not in mockery, but in something like amused satisfaction. He let out a low chuckle, thick as smoke.

“She is, huh?” he said, glancing between the two of you. “And you’re hers?”

King didn’t flinch. He didn’t repeat himself.

Kaido’s tongue clicked behind his teeth, and then he let out a deep, pleased sound.

“Good.” His gaze shifted to you again, still measuring, still assessing—but now with approval in his eyes. “Then she’s safe under my wing.” He turned back to King. “If she’s yours, she’s one of us. I won’t let anyone else have her.”

His massive shoulders rolled once as he stepped back toward his throne.

“Train her. Test her. Let her earn her place. But she’s got it.”

Then his grin curved wider, teeth flashing.

“Let the world see what they tried to erase.”

~~~

Chapter 27: Siren

You stood still in the high-ceilinged chamber, cloak pulled tight across your shoulders, hood drawn low over your brow. The weight of the fabric, the silence of the room, the tailor’s hesitant breath—it all pressed around you like fog before the storm.

Across from you stood a human. A tailor. Barely taller than your calves. He was staring up at you with a nervous smile, measuring tape clutched like a lifeline in his hand. You hadn’t moved yet. Not because you were unsure. But because your mind had returned to him—just hours earlier.

Kaido.

Still in his throne, still grinning from ear to ear with sake sloshing down his beard. You could see him clearly, as if you stood before him again.

“What the hell are you wearin’, girl?” he’d said, squinting at your plain, practical clothes. “Those rags? That cloak?” He'd barked a laugh. “You look like a ghost. A pretty one—but still.” He'd swayed slightly as he downed half his jug and pointed the rim in your direction. “You want in this crew? Dress like it. Something fireproof. Sharp. Hell, pick anything. Whatever you want.”

No one had ever offered you anything like that before. And you had bowed your head—not because you feared him, but because for the first time, your voice had weight.

“Thank you,” you’d said. “Not just for this. For finding him. For saving…” You’d caught yourself. Corrected: “King.”

His gaze had darkened—not unkindly. You had lifted your chin, voice steady.

“If you hadn’t, I’d still be alone. And he might be gone. So my loyalty belongs to him—and to you.”

Kaido had stared at you for a moment. Then the laughter had returned in full, rich and wild.

“Wororororororoo! She speaks—and sounds like a damn siren while doin’ it!” He’d pointed at you, drunk and delighted. “That’s your name now. Siren.” He took another big gulp. “Not just for the pretty face—but for the fire under it. Let her sing her song—and let the world fall in line.”

His words echoed through your chest now, not as memory, but as thunder still rolling through your bones. 

You blinked back to the present, standing beneath the tailor’s measuring tape and tentative eyes.

"Miss?" he asked, voice thin. "What… would you like to wear?"

A simple question. But for the first time, you had the power to answer it freely. And your thoughts flicked to King. To the way he stood unbending in his leather armor, wrapped in shadows and fire. Untouchable. Iconic. Feared. The way the mask and suit hid everything—but never dulled the power of who he was.

The idea struck you cleanly. And when it did, it bloomed into joy. 

Not vanity.

Not imitation.

But something closer to alignment.

“Black,” you said quietly. “Tight. Leather. Like his.”

The tailor looked up, nodding.

“Pants. A fitted jacket. A white blouse underneath.” You paused, eyes narrowing behind your hood. “And a full mask. Like his.”

A breath. Then softer: “But no spikes.”

The tailor scribbled furiously, stammering something about stitching and materials, and you stood still as stone, wings low, cloak tight.

~~~

When the suit was ready, you returned to the cave to dress.

The leather was stiff at first, but softened the moment it touched your skin—molding to your body like shadow given form. The pants clung to your legs with precision, hugging every line of muscle from thigh to calf. The blouse beneath was crisp and pale, the neckline open just enough to soften the edge of the jacket’s severity, creating contrast rather than weakness.

The way the cut cinched your waist, framed your chest, followed the curve of your hips—it didn’t hide you. It defined you.

Your breasts rose perfectly beneath the snug front, bold and firm. Your silhouette looked carved from something sleek and powerful, your thighs stretching the leather with every slow, deliberate step. Even the weight of the fabric felt good—secure, firm, chosen.

You pulled the gloves on last. Smooth. Tight. Seamless.

Not a single inch of skin remained visible. Your hands, your neck—everything was masked, armored, fire-hidden. The mask slid into place like it belonged there, sealing over your hair, your features, your identity.

And still, when you stretched your shoulders— 

Your flames bloomed. 

Controlled. Glorious. Free.

The suit had been made with care. Special design. A seam at the back parted when your heat flared, allowing your wings to spread without resistance. You felt the rush of flame pulse between your shoulder blades, the sacred fire of your people, alive.

And something in you lifted.

Yes, your face was hidden. Yes, the world wouldn’t see your eyes or your flame unless you allowed it. But that was power, too. And it wasn’t the kind of hiding you’d once known. This wasn’t survival through silence. 

This was a different kind of freedom.

You looked at yourself one last time—masked, armored, flames curling behind you. Not nameless. Not lost. You were Siren now. And you had never felt more like yourself.

Then you stepped out into the firelight.

~~~

When you stepped into the cave, the light caught on the slick black leather, highlighting every contour of your form. Alber turned toward you the moment you crossed the threshold. He stilled. Utterly.

His body didn’t move—only his eyes, glowing red beneath the dark mask, followed your every step. Down the shape of your legs, up the curve of your hips, lingering at your waist where the jacket hugged you tight. Across your chest, where the white blouse beneath made the rise of your breasts all the more visible. Every inch of you was covered—but none of you was hidden.

And he felt it. Your flame. Your strength. Your bond.

You stopped a few paces in front of him, shoulders drawing in slightly, unsure. 

“Is it…” you hesitated, your voice quiet behind your mask. “Is it okay that I took inspiration from you?” You touched your side, gloved fingers brushing the edge of your jacket. “I just… I wanted to match you,” you admitted softly.

The silence that followed was sharp. Heavy. Then Alber stepped forward. His boots moved soundlessly across the stone, his broad figure closing the distance between you like a tide. When he reached you, he didn’t speak. His gloved hands found your waist—slow, deliberate—and curled around it with quiet possession. His fingers flexed once, firm against your hips, the leather of his palms gliding over the leather of yours.

Still, no words. But your bond trembled.

The air between you grew thick, charged, your flames pulsing faintly behind your backs in perfect time. Then he looked into your eyes—mask to mask, flame to flame.

And you felt it. That raw, dark hunger.

Not just desire. Not just pride.

Claiming.

Your breath caught as the bond flared hot inside your chest, the want rolling off him like heat from a forge. Your thighs clenched instinctively, your lips parting just under the mask.

He didn’t speak. He burned.

But then—low and deep, almost a growl, from somewhere behind his mask: “It suits you.” Another pause. His thumbs stroked once along your sides, slow and reverent. “Too well.”

Your heart thundered behind the armor. Your fingers twitched at your sides, aching to touch him back, to close the last few centimeters between your masked faces. But you didn’t move. Neither did he. And still—you were closer than breath.

The fire behind you purred in time with his. The bond surged, warm and whole. You didn’t need to kiss. Not yet. Because you already knew:

In his eyes, you were fire made flesh. His equal. His mate.

And now that he’d seen you like this—standing strong, masked and burning— he would follow you into any storm.

Taglist: @7wanne @kisechiii @iglb12 @spicy-gordita-crunch @itspronouncedshi-theed@lessie-oxj @thatanonymouschocolate @mellyrally @sagyunaro @celestedangelica @hunbunbumdum @i-love-cat-bitch @cryptip0wer-blog @haru-naechi @nin-dy-tro

Please let me know if you want to be tagged for part 3!

[the-lions-art-cave]

very rough doodle of sunny and glory, loosely based on the designs of the cancelled netflix show

[clunkyderp]

iasip fans be like: god i wish they were canon *photo of two men engaging in homosexual acts*

[sunny-sourzii]

‘Be grateful to stand in the presence of the Golden Sovereign!’

[theoldkyokodied]

[Hi Dennis. How was the lion feeding?...?]

This has been something I've been working on for quite a while now, as some people who look at my insta story might know, but I'm finally done!! those text messages from s14ep5 are so unhinged, they haunt me every goddamn day. To drop "i love you so much" just to follow it with what essentially is a "no homo.. for u... even tho u r so hot and i like you so much!". exploading them with my mind into a million pieces, okay?

[shadowcryptid0321]

Finding sunken treasure

(Bonus picture for a better look at their tail patterns pardon my paint splattered desk)