#wip: mark of the shadow

[xfand0mfr34kx]

full page of this idiot idek

[elysia-nsimp]

Screw you *headcanons ur Shadow Milk Cookie*

(This is a wip I’ll finish it eventually maybe)

[wildcatpaws]

chat how do we feel about the milk shadow cookie sketch

[pastel-rights]

Can I just say I adore you sonic gijinkas designs and that it's tempting me to try and make one of my sonic oc? They just so pretty.. especially shadow//smacked

STOPP??? AWWW BETH.. THAT’S SO SWEET…. awawawa

omg… the Beth oc ginjika arc? Hold on I have the perfect image for this

To the salon!!

[incognit0slut]

All I Need

Spencer realizes how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. What better time is there to propose if not in the middle of making love? Based on:

Warnings: 18+ mature content but nothing too explicit, this is just sweet love making

words: 2077

A/n: I’m supposed to finish my last kinktober and update my series, but both are very heavy and I needed something sweet to defrost my writer's block. I hope you don’t mind me squeezing something else until I finish my other WIPs🥲

“…every time I look into your eyes I see it, you’re all I need…”

SPENCER KNEW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. There wasn't a single thing he wasn't familiar with—from every mole, every scar, to every stretch mark. Any imperfection you considered of yourself he found to be perfect.

He was well aware of the small scar on your hip bone. Or the mole resting at the back of your thigh. Or the way you disliked caffeine, because every time you drank it, it increased your heart rate drastically. Which was why you always judged him every time he had a cup of coffee in his hand, especially with the amount of sugar he never seemed to stop adding.

"That is definitely not healthy," you would always say, to which he simply responded with a small peck on your lips. It was his way to shut you up without saying anything.

He also knew how soft you actually were underneath that hard exterior you always carried. You were an enigma the first time you joined the team, but Spencer always had a soft spot for mystery, and solving you became his mission even when he wasn't the best at maintaining conversations. He remembered making a fool of himself when he talked to you, stuttering about one of the random facts engraved in his brain.

But you still listened to him, and for once in his life, he finally found someone who didn't mind hearing him talk. It was nice to have somebody who found his knowledge interesting, and with that thought in mind, it didn't take long for him to take an interest in you.

Not that he wasn't interested at first, because honestly, you were a splendid sight when you first walked through the door. It was more so an interest that was considered surpassing a simple friendship. An interest that had him push his confidence into asking you out.

Spencer never pegged himself as someone who would be content having a significant other in his daily routine—his past relationships never seemed to work out, after all—but the more time he spent with you, the more he realized he was actually in pure bliss. It seemed as if you had cast a spell, drawing him deeper into your presence, a magnetic force of affection that went beyond the superficial. Every smile, every touch, seemed to emanate a radiant heat, and he couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer magnitude of your warmth.

Especially at this moment, staring into your eyes as they slowly fluttered open from a long night of slumber, he found himself leaning forward. You were so warm, so inviting. The soft light coming from the curtains cast a shadow over your curves and he couldn't help himself from trailing down your body.

You were fully awake now as he pressed his lips on every part of your skin. The slight movement of your arms wrapping around his neck had him grunting, and somehow he was suddenly positioned between your legs, pressing his hot length onto your wet folds, wanting nothing else but to push himself deep into your warmth.

As he watched you beneath him, eyes half closed, mouth open in anticipation, he couldn't help but mutter his next words because you looked breathtakingly beautiful. Heavenly gorgeous covered in a sheen of sweat, so damn pretty with eyes full of desire. You looked like a siren, an angel, and a lustful woman all rolled into one.

Everything about you was so divine, and the desire to consume every part of your existence became an insatiable hunger. It was a need, a yearning that made the idea of spending a lifetime without you seem unfathomable as if oxygen slowly drained from his world, leaving him breathless. 

The words bubbled up from the depths of his heart, and before he could second-guess himself, he blurted out, "Marry me." 

Your eyes snapped open as he finally sank his hips into you, and before you could even respond, before you could even register his words, his rough thrust stole the breath from your lungs. Rational thoughts shattered as he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was slightly painful yet completely pleasurable.

He slowly pulled out, then pushed back in, your back arching, legs wrapping around his waist. "Spence," you moaned as he started a steady pace, trying to gain your focus but failing miserably. You couldn't think of anything else except the sensation between your legs. "Oh, God."

Languid and smooth, his hips continued to roll into you. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

The feel of his cock sinking in and out of you had your head falling back against the mattress. Your fingernails tightened upon his back, and he drove you gently into the bed with low grunts. His voice was rough, broken by focused breaths. "We could do this every morning."

A whine broke out of you.

"I'd wake up first," he told you. "I'd make you breakfast in bed..." He slipped out again before thrusting into you slowly, dragging his cock along your inner walls that had you mewling. "...right after I wake you with my tongue between your thighs."

You let out another moan. He drank in the sound with a smile before lowering his mouth to the base of your neck. Heated kisses trailed along your skin as his fingers trailed down the outline of your body before they stopped at the warmth between your legs.

Your mouth was wide open against his shoulder, eyes watering with the force of pleasure from having his cock smacking through your wetness, his body forcefully shoving your knees apart. You felt his fingers trailing your clit in slow circles and you arched your back, each tender brush tightened that coil of heat simmering in the pit of your stomach. The simulation drove you further into a haze of pleasure that a soft yes finally escaped your lips without you realizing it.

The barely whispered word didn't go unnoticed by him.

"Yes to this," he wondered as prompted his weight on his other hand. "Or to my proposal?"

You glanced up at him, your face a mixture of pleasure and alarm as you gave him a look. "You're crazy."

He watched you closely, mesmerized by the way your hips were bucking every time his cock hit that soft spot inside you while his fingers continued their tease. "Maybe." He leaned down and softly bit your shoulder. "But I am crazy in love with you."

When you didn't respond, he slowly pulled away and fixed his gaze on you. Your reaction, or lack thereof, spoke volumes, and as his eyes met yours, he found himself captivated by the reflective pools of emotion within. There was a hint of fear and concern, shadows that danced with the flicker of uncertainty. Yet, beneath those layers, he could see the distinct longing in your eyes. It was hard not to distinguish it as it matched the same look in his. Your stare was warm and domineering.

They were so full of love.

And that moment, Spencer realized, that was what you were to him—love. You were the greatest passion he had ever known.

You felt completely in the moment with him as you let your gaze scan over his features. His eyes appeared darker in this light of the room, but you could still see the soft lightness of them. Then, you leaned up, noses brushing gently against each other before you pressed your lips onto his. His body moved again in response, hips bucking into you and you felt him pulsing inside your core as his mouth worked harmoniously along yours.

"Marry." Thrust. "Me." Thrust.

You whimpered. Everything was too much. The intensity of the pleasure was almost intoxicating, a heady concoction that wrapped around you, rendering you momentarily breathless.

"Having you for the rest of my life is a privilege." He continued, grunting as you clenched around him. He lost himself with one final, jagged plea. "Marry me and make me the happiest man alive."

His words, touch, and the stroke of him inside you—it all blurred together. It pushed you so wildly that the coil in your stomach twisted sharply through along your body. He lunged down to kiss you again, tongue pushing deep as he stole your moan before it could break into the air. He tugged you into him at the same time that you submitted to his pull.

There were times when you would appreciate this. The contact, the intimacy, the warmth of your boyfriend connected with you. Right now though, you needed release. So you buried your hand in his curls, all messy and askew.

"Spencer," you breathed out against his lips. Each of his thrusts fed the growing flame in your body as your body turned pliant for him. “Oh god, yes,” you cried, head thrashing side to side as your eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by pleasure.

He peppered kisses over your neck, your jaw, your temple, desperate to be even closer to you, to melt into you. "Yes to what?"

Your senses were heightened, every touch and every breath seemed magnified in the intensity of the moment. Your body shuddered with every vicious thrust.

"Yes, yes, yes." A desperate, needy little whine slipped past your lips and you opened your eyes wide to give him a pleading look. "Spencer, please, please."

You were panting, your breath hot and your skin even hotter, and you could barely hear him when he spoke, "Yes to what, Angel?"

Angel. The syllables carried a warmth that resonated deep within your heart. Sometimes you were his Angel. Sometimes you were his Sweetheart. While you cherished the way he expressed his affection, a yearning for more had taken root.

Marry me.

You could be more than his angel. You could be his wife. But it wasn't just about the affectionate words anymore; it was about a promise, a shared future, and you realized as he hovered above you, all sweaty and desperate, that you wanted to feel this bliss every day. How could you not when he fits so perfectly inside you that you could swear he was made for you?

And then you felt it, his hand trailing down your arm before it stopped right along your fingers, intertwining them with his. Your hand clutched onto his as his thrust sped up a fraction—but it was still deep and lazy, enough to make you squirm. His cock was achingly hard inside you and when you clenched down on him, you adored the twitch and resounding moan it drew out of him.

You wanted this for your life. You wanted him every day. You wanted to wake up each morning in his arms, him whispering sweet nothings as he buried himself inside you.

You wanted him so much you would be a fool not to accept his proposal.

"Yes," you breathed out. "I'll marry you."

He grunted against your lips. "Say that again."

His thrusts were now fast and ruthless, his groans filling the room while the sound of skin slapping together echoed with it. Every time you could feel him deep inside you, it brought you closer to that familiar coil in your stomach. It was a heady sensation, an intoxicating blend of desire that quickened your pulse and set your senses ablaze.

"I—shit," you cried out, legs shaking at the pleasure traveling along your body you were starting to wail desperately for your release. "Fuck, baby, I'll marry you."

A sound of satisfaction erupted from him as he kissed you with every ounce of power he had. He kissed you as he had never kissed anyone before. He kissed you deeply, possessively even, and it was messy and rough and probably looked horrific from different angles, but it felt perfect.

You felt perfect. Your lips. Your curves. Your scent. It was as if you were made especially for him. He was fully consumed with you, consumed by you, and yet he couldn't get enough. Though you were beneath him, he was at your mercy, and the fact that you could still have such control over him made his stomach twist even more.

He was so in love with you. He was so sure of it, so sure of this abundance of passion, for Spencer Reid could sometimes be dense when it came to sudden bursts of emotions, but he was not stupid. He wasn't oblivious, nor was he lacking in perception. It wasn't about intelligence or lack thereof, it was simply about the purity of his emotion. 

And he was deeply, unequivocally in love.

.

Oneshot taglist: @simpingforharryandcevans @strawbeerossi @lightvixxen @dim-i-try @annabellexox @baby-banana @natarataca @wolfbeanpotion @nagemasstuff @alexander-arcturus-black @rosieee491 @s00dastereo @no-honey-no @donttrustlove @tylevx @kailey-rae @sailorholly @ducksong @infinitegalaxiesworld @dreamsarebig @brilliantreid @boimlers-gonna-boim

PLEASE READ: The crossed out ones are blogs I can’t tag. And if any of you asked me to be added and you're not on the list OR you want to be added in the future, please comment on this post so I can see it. But make sure your blog can be searched by anyone or I can't tag you. Thank you :)

Don’t forget to interact with the story!

[pricetagged]

Part 2 of that wifehunter john piece instead of working on my wips 💖

Masterlist l Previous l Next

Warnings: implied stalking and voyeurism. Nothing too bad...yet.

Unedited, typed on my phone during break, abrupt ending (part 3 ig?)

_________________

He thumbs at the book, tracing the swirls of your penmanship until the ink fades off and the paper turns to felt. It leaves his fingertips stained, dark as indian ink, and he can't help the satisfied burr that catches his breath as he presses the sticky whorls of his prints into the pages.

Stained. Blackened.

Imprinted.

It's what he wants to do to you in something more indelible than ink, something that would burrow under your skin and linger. (This parasitic desire, he'll bury it in you, make you feel his presence deep in your guts, squirming and wriggling at the back of your mind-)

Of course he returns the book. Returns it to you marked and dogeared and of course you're grateful for it. Tripping over your words and choking on the thanks that build up and tumble from your delicate throat, feelings and words too big for you. 

He knows that, sees the slight hesitance in your eyes as they flit to the window where he knows your useless Buck is ambling about. Shambling. (This marriage is a sham, his claim on you is a sham, one that John is more than willing to seize upon and squeeze until it all crumbles and all that is left is you malleable and soft in his hands).

"Where...where did you find this? I thought-" He sees how you choke down condemnations, not wanting to crack open that door that leaves your husband exposed.

Is it loyalty? Obedience?

Whatever it is, he wants it. Wants to redirect it his way. It itches at him, sits awkwardly like a broken seam, seeing you waste this fidelity on something still wet behind the ears.

On a man who can't even protect his own home, can't even cherish his own wife and has to call John in to pick up the mantle-

"It's good work. Shouldn't leave it lying around, sweetheart," he raps against the front cover, needs to do something with his hands before the impulses take over and he does something hasty. Something that would send you darting back to your husband's arms instead of in to his. "Would be a real waste if it got lost. Taught me how to transplant herbs, now I've got some parsley on my windowsill that's still alive."

It's a lie. He must have strangled the roots, harvested it too soon, something-

But it makes you happy. He can see the glow that warms your cheeks and brightens your eyes. They way your face plumps up, softens, due to your shy smile.

"You should've tried mint, first. It grows like crazy, basically does its own thing. Basil, too." You're grinning, in your element out here. Surrounded by green and the rich, earthy scent of the soil that you till. Geosmin. Oakmoss.

"I'll have to get you over to show me sometime."

He plays gallant so well, offering to help you with the weeding and trimming. It wouldn't be the first time he got down into the muck and the mire. Wouldn't be the first time he stuck his hands in, got them caked and dirty right up to the elbow in order to get what he wants. In order to do what needs done. It's as familiar to him as the uniform he wears.

And your company makes it so much more pleasant.

You smile at him, glancing up from the flowerbeds each and every time he passes you a tool. Eventually you feel comfortable enough to call for him - John? - to tap at his wrist and redirect his hands around the roots and stems below you both. It's a beautiful symbiosis: you, who are so good at wringing life and he who is so good at taking it.

He catches the way the living room curtains twitch, the shadow of the young buck pacing and pawing just out of sight. Too much energy, not enough courage. Not seasoned enough to come out and plant himself between the challenger and his wife. It's stable vice, sending him spinning, uselessly watching as John sidles in and digs his paws into the very foundations of the house. It makes him smile, big and broad as he tugs at a particularly stubborn weed with a grunt.

And when you can't quite get the rubber of the yard gloves to slide over your wrist, he just has to help you. Has to grip at your soft forearm, cooing as you wince.

"Big pull, that's it sweetheart."

You brace yourself so well, pulling back in a counterweight that just digs his fingers in tighter. Blinking back tears, you laugh a little awkwardly. A little thrilled.

And you thank him for it, shaking your arm out and stretching your fingers. All damp from the soil and your sweat.

Unoticing uncaring of the ring that's no longer on your finger.

He has the urge to shake it out of the glove onto the dirt. To burry it and trample all over it until it's dull and forgotten and dead.

But -

But it's still warm from your hand.

It's so fragile, too small to fit properly over his thick fingers and swollen knuckles.

He thumbs at it on his drive home, plays with the smooth face and angled edges as he thinks.

He won't give it back, the thought draws a scoff as he signals into his driveway. No, the only way you're getting a ring from him is on the same day that the ink dries on your marriage license.

But there's the matter of that ugly possesive thing that lives in his ribcage, so close to the surface that the lines blur and shimmer until he's not sure which skin he's wearing. It has him feeling hot, burning up and itching to watch the fall out.

He settles on the settee, cigar in one hand and your wedding ring in the other.

It sits tight just barely at the first knuckle of his forefinger. The screen in front of him illuminates it, makes it glint cold and sharp as it moves lower and lower, over the slight give of his stomach until it reaches the bulge pressing into his zipper. He palms himself, hisses as he feels the metal dig in a little to the sensitive, aching flesh.

With another slow drag, he flicks open his fly and settles in.

Even the slight pixelation of the monitor can't disguise how pretty you are.

_________________________

Someone with a big brain please help me to name this haha 💖

Sorry for the delay. Been super demotivated lately. Still got several k of wips that need attention :/

[phyrestartr]

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.1)

W/C: 3.5k #full is NSFW, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, mentions of abuse, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, sukuna has FEELINGS but is BAD AT FEELINGS, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, dubcon elements, soz if anything is clunky asdkjf; i can only reread the same fic so many times for editing sadge

A/N: Decided to separate this into parts since I'm dying to post some of it lol I've held it in a chokehold in the shadows of my WIPs for too long, some of it has to come out before I explode o(--( there is more to come!

tag: @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9

The scripture was incomplete, worn away by age.

…herein lays the God...imprisoned...by...Disgraced One…

Yet the society felt this, the coffin uncovered decades ago, could be an invaluable asset. The vessel was decrepit and ancient, yet still stood strong against the test of time and the wear of nature. Seal papers, no doubt left by a monk of sorts, covered the entirety of its surface, hiding away rotting wood and rusted bands of metal from modern sorcerer's curious eyes.

Few knew why the higher ups kept the vessel under lock and key. Fewer knew why they kept it at all; however, those few understood the importance of such a relic. They'd been the ones to seek it out, to steal it away before malicious forces took it for themselves, warping the supposed deity inside for their own, malevolent purpose, whatever that may be.

And with Ryoumen Sukuna's fingers being found one by one, they could not allow anyone to possess humanity's failsafe: you. A great being imprisoned by the devil.

“Anything?” Gojo trilled, patting Yuuji’s shoulders frantically as he stood behind him and beheld the wooden tub covered in sigils. 

“Uh…” Yuuji tried to focus on Sukuna’s presence inside of him. He didn’t seem intrigued or frightened, nor did he seem too bothered with the idea of them trying to smite him down with a sealed god–he was, however, annoyed that Yuuji continued to poke and prod at him. 

Piss off, runt. 

“Yep. Nope. Sukuna doesn't care,” Yuuji sighed. “He's getting all pissy now that I'm bothering him, though.” 

Gojo laughed and patted Yuuji's shoulders a few more times before all but twirling towards the bound box. “Well, that's a pretty good sign that he's not the one that did this, then! In that case,” he started, walking up to the seal papers keeping everything locked down, “let's pop ‘er open.” 

Before Yuuji could even wonder if that was a good idea, the white-haired witch used an overzealous amount of cursed energy and disintegrated every scrap of seal paper. 

Yuuji braced for impact. Surely something terrible like a bankai or a spirit bomb would send them flying once the coffin came undone. Surely they'd pay for this, for unleashing whatever godly spirit laid locked up for far too long, only to release it back into the modern age and–

“Huh. Weird.”

Yuuji cracked open an eye and saw the dull shine of tattered onyx fur, and his control slipped with a blitz of vertigo. 

Markings flared across his skin as he stormed toward the coffin, heart howling with thoughts and memories crashing through a shared mind; a face he didn't know but knew so well bloomed at the forefront of it all, eyes framed in pointed scarlet, skin bathed in ancient, dappled sunlight.

They reached the edge of the coffin and gripped the edges, splintering the wood as they took in the sight; crimson and curse decay pooled around a figure, curled up and half-submerged. Several black, tattered tails spilled free from the tub, no longer crushed from the force of the lid sealing them inside, but they were bent awkwardly and matted with whatever tincture lay at the bottom.

Then there was the so-called god in the middle of it all–you. Still. Quiet. Curled up in a haori far too big for you. Eyes closed. Almost peaceful.

Confusion tore at Sukuna while nausea ripped through Yuuji; he couldn't bear to look at such a morose scene.

So, Sukuna pushed him aside.

[Heian Era]

You were never supposed to be anything more than a trinket. 

You were a gift from some family trying to show off for Sukuna, so much so that they offered him a delicacy, something he surely didn't have yet–a yokai. A kitsune, to be more exact. One with peculiar black tails. 

Sukuna found it interesting, and similarly desperate, to be brought such a creature as tribute. Certainly, it was meant to be seen as a high honour, yet somehow it felt…off. Why would humans give up something so powerful? 

Unexpectedly, it'd be you who told him. 

They submit me for the sake of convenience and mockery, your withering voice whispered where no one else could hear. You sounded weak. Tired. Maybe afraid, yet brave enough to reach towards the king and unveil the intentions of the men who brought you before him. 

Sukuna's eyes flicked to you, his feigned interest in what the sorcerers said falling straight into dismissal. You were much more intriguing. 

“Oh?” Sukuna asked, a smile creeping onto his face. The speakers ceased their jabbering and stared at your back with fierce intensity. Sukuna grinned wider. Oh, how he loved the way fear twisted mortal faces. 

You didn't shift or crumple into yourself under the eyes of so many, however. You pushed on with what little energy and life you had, so intent on dragging that clan through the mud. 

What I say is true, you assured simply. I expect to die today–

“Speak so everyone hears you, fox,” Sukuna commanded.

“--so I–I–” you coughed and cleared your throat, trying to rid your voice of the scratchy, weakness it struggled through. “I wish to not die with regrets.

"They have rendered me ill and unable to produce children, they see the black of my tails and regard me as an ill omen; yet they bring me to you, daring to spin sweet tales about the value of such an offering. But they lie,” You hissed. Your eyes glinted with molten malice, and Sukuna fell captivated.

“They throw me to you as they would diseased meat to dogs.” 

The courtyard fell silent, and Sukuna basked in it. You really were such a little troublemaker. A quietly chaotic force of nature. 

The king stood, rolling his shoulders as he did, and his pride flared as you dropped to your knees before him in respect. He walked to you and patted your head as one might a child's before appraising the sorcerers stood before him. 

“What a disappointment,” Sukuna sighed, raising another hand. The couple took up position, pooling their cursed energy in hopes of fending off the monster standing before them. The effort was quite cute. “Here I thought your clan might actually earn my mercy.” His hand dropped as the two lunged. Then, the two clansmen fell, too, both in neat, vertical halves. Quite overkill, yes, but he had a point to make. 

Where he expected a reaction from you, he got nothing. Only panting and poorly-stifled coughs came from you, racking through the entirety of your skin and bones frame. Sukuna could see it up close now, the way your body trembled from fatigue, the sickly greying of your skin, the scent of disease clinging to you. 

That wouldn't do. Sukuna liked his things to be in good shape. 

“Uraume,” Sukuna droned as he stared down at you, “fix this.”

It took some time, but you managed to recover. It was an unnerving experience, with the way Uraume tended to you with sincerity. Perhaps it was genuinity born from their devotion to Ryoumen Sukuna, but you greedily soaked it in, filling your stomach with the care they offered you. 

Sukuna didn't bother much with you, not that you really minded; you were much more content to be fed and forgotten than hunted down by the creature that supposedly took ownership of you without enforcing it. If he didn't cause harm or good, if he simply existed somewhere else and forgot you breathed the same air as him, you'd still be at peace. 

But he was more intrigued than you gave him credit for. 

“Ho? So this is where you scamper off to,” Sukuna hummed, leaning over you as you dozed in the nice little spot you'd made for yourself in the garden, right under the crimson cover of a maple tree. You jumped the slightest bit, your daydreams and sunbathing interrupted by the brute’s silhouette eclipsing the sun, but you settled again quickly. The beast of a man wasn't a cause for panic in your little world, after all. 

“Does it displease you?” You inquired, fixing your hair and straightening out your robes. 

Sukuna held onto an overhead branch of the tree as he looked down at you. “Pets are supposed to play in the yard, aren't they?” He smirked as you pursed your lips and flicked your tail before calming it with hasty pets. “What, you don't like being my pet?” 

“I would not refer to myself as a pet,” you countered as the man sat down with you and leaned against the tree. The king's presence calmed you. With him, you knew you were invincible. 

“Pft. Then pray tell what your damn role is around here.” One set of arms folded behind his head while the other set crossed over his chest. “Pets are freeloaders. Pretty sure that's exactly what you are.”

You huffed. “Freeloader. Tch. How rude.” 

“Lookit that. You're copping an attitude now that you're fat and fed. Used to be so much more polite.” 

“Fat and–I am not fat.” You headbutted his side lightly, something that would make more sense had you been in your fox form. You grinding your forehead against him suggested this was more of a human move, however. “I am perfectly normal now. I was brittle and nonexistent prior to now. This is a grand improvement.”

Sukuna scoffed a laugh and looked down at your head pressed up against his side. “Thanks to me,” he boasted. 

“Yes,” you agreed. You held onto his haori and looked up at him, placid and intense. “It is thanks to you. I would not be here if not for your mercy and intervention.” 

Sukuna raised a brow as he regarded you. “Hm. And what will you do to repay me?” 

“My very presence grants you luck, good fortune and fertility.” You tilted your head. “I already repay you by being here.”

Tch. But the gardens and surrounding lands did look more lush and lively since your arrival, he couldn't deny that fact. But he was a king; he could always ask for more and expect to get it. 

“What more?” He prodded.

Your tail flicked as you thought. “What would you ask of me?” 

“Something you haven't given another,” Sukuna replied. Ugh, your flowery, poetry-y, bullshit speak was rubbing off on him. 

You stared at him, gemstone eyes glinting with earthen hues and shards of gold in the yawning afternoon sun. The leaves bristled just perfectly, letting in dapples of citrus sunlight as if trying to make this moment something special, as if to burn your ethereal presence into history for all eternity. All this, just while you thought of what to give him. Perhaps a riddle is what you wanted. Perhaps purple prose suited your fancy. Perhaps it was something else. 

You sat up, carefully raising yourself onto your knees before leaning up towards the hulking king. He turned his face to you in interest, feeling a sort of natural energy begin to pool around the both of you, reaching from the far depths of the earth and the wide stretch of the sky to converge on your existence as you framed his face with gentle hands, and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

It lasted only a second. But a second was long enough to catch the scent of petrichor and petals on your skin, to indulge in the heat of wildfires raging in your soul, to feel the blasphemy of you against him; then, you parted. 

“For now,” you murmured, and Sukuna swore he saw your single tail fan out into nine, “I give you my divine favor, Ryoumen Sukuna.”

You wondered if your favor was enough. He'd been gone some time, off to accept a duel from the snotty shitheads Sukuna had received you from. Apparently, having two of the eldest boys murdered rubbed them the wrong way. Sukuna was glad for it, you knew–the man lived and breathed for a fight. 

Of course, you stayed put. Uraume assured you'd be fine on your own, and Sukuna reminded his staff they'd all be eaten alive by the king himself if anything uncouth were to take place in his absence. It was more so that Sukuna didn't like the idea of idiots touching his stuff than it was the notion you were important to him, from your understanding. 

Regardless, the time alone left you restless. That king made you invincible. Without him, you were nothing more than the scared kit locked away in darkness, never to emerge lest your stubbornness trick them. But things were different here. Everyday was filled with unknowns and uncertainties when the two you'd forged fragile bonds with fell absent. 

So, you thought of how to repay Sukuna. Your divine favor would only do so much, after all–you didn't think a man like that really needed the extra luck, but he seemed more than intrigued by the manner of delivering the blessing; you remembered how he looked at you, eyes half-lidded, shielding you from the inferno burning out of control. He grumbled something low in his chest, just loud enough that you heard: 

You better be here when I get back.

“Ah–” The thrill those catastrophic words gave you nearly led to stabbing yourself with the needle. You tutted and regained focus, continuing to carefully embroider the sleeves of one of Sukuna's many plain black haori.

You learned how to sew and embroider from watching an elder from that clan work her magic on old, tattered clothes. She never spoke to you nor regarded you, but she never turned you away the rare times you watched her fix garments; you thought it was beautiful–the art of turning something mundane into something meaningful.

Though you wondered if Ryoumen Sukuna, the most powerful sorcerer, the most feared man alive, had a desire for anything useless and meaningful. 

The answer came quickly. You'd found yourself void of confidence when the monarch returned to his palace after (obviously) winning whatever duel he'd agreed to; you weren't sure if you were to congratulate him, celebrate him or something more. On top of that, he'd eventually find that haori you'd slaved over for days, and you weren't sure you could take the heartbreak of dismissal. 

However, those fears were quashed when, from a new little secret garden hovel, you spied the man donning the very haori you slaved over; it wasn't a flashy piece, you didn't want to subtract from the marvel that was the king of curses, so you opted for using black, shimmery thread to weave intricate twisting trees and blackened blooms along the sleeve. Only if the design caught the light would one be able to notice it. 

But that was enough for you. Knowing he accepted such a meaningless gift was reassuring of your place in his world. 

So, you finally let Uraume convince you to stay in the room they'd prepared for you. 

“No need to be nervous,” you hummed, that undying urge inside you to take care of something helping you soothe the young woman's nerves. You fixed her hair, your deft fingers carefully slipping strands into place before sliding a decorative pin in to hold it all together. You took a step back to appraise her, Sukuna's latest concubine. 

“I–thank you.” Sachiko blushed fiercely and bowed the slightest bit, not risking a deep bow for the fear of her hair falling loose. “I can see why all the girls love you.” 

You laughed, low and warm. “Well, it's hard not to love someone who takes care of you, no?” Gently, you tilted her chin up and leaned in, carefully examining the red lacquer staining her lips. The colour matched her kimono and the gems in that exquisite hairpin keeping dark locks at bay. “But I'm glad. I know it's difficult to find respite in these times.” 

Sachiko held her breath as she looked over the natural paint of crimson adorning your eyes. “I-I, um–yes, I do agree.” 

You hummed and carefully fixed the smallest smudge on the corner of her mouth. “Mh. So I hope you do your best to please him.” 

“I will!” Sachiko promised. “But–I wish to–may I give you something?” 

“Of course.” 

She gathered her kimono up in her hands and leaned up toward you. You leaned down, expecting a secret or hushed words, but perfect red lips pressed against your skin instead. And you were dumbfounded; you'd never been kissed before. You'd never had a lady show that interest in you. 

Sachiko got down from her tiptoes and hid her mouth with her sleeve. “Just for good luck!” She squeaked before bowing and hastily running through the doors where Sukuna would no doubt be waiting for his woman for the evening’s events. 

You looked at the doors sliding closed and caught a glimpse of Sukuna stood before the young woman, his frame swallowing hers as you looked on. And you caught a glimpse of his eyes, his stare of shock and utter vexation–clearly, he'd seen the short woman give you a kiss for good luck. 

You turned away, choosing to abandon the girl to her demise as your fingers ghosted against your lips in wonder. 

He showed up in your chambers later that night. You were still awake, quietly embroidering another haori; this time, it was for Uraume. They insisted they didn't want to burden you, but they crumbled under your more insistent insistence, and accepted the offer on the condition it looked subtle and muted. 

Sukuna padded toward you, hardly bothering to announce himself or ask to join you (ugh, how annoying) before plopping himself onto the futon beside you, sighing as he laid down. 

“I see you finished early,” you commented, jumping the littlest bit when large hands caught your flickering tails. He didn't hurt you, no; he was simply an overgrown toddler with a penchant for examining whatever wiggled before him. 

“That woman kissed you,” Sukuna answered, unhelpful. “Ruined it.” 

“Ah. Well. I didn't expect it either.” You cleared your throat, feeling an unexpected bubble of embarrassment rise in your chest. “I have…I've never been given a kiss before. Not from what I can recall, at the very least.” 

“The hell are you talking about?” Sukuna grouched. “You planted one on me in the gardens.” 

“Giving is not receiving,” you corrected, flicking your tail so as to hit his face. “I've never given a kiss on another's lips, regardless. Though I find myself wondering why I–” 

You yowled when he yanked your tail like he meant to rip the thing off, and you whirled on him, eyes drawn into slits and chunky fangs bared as you dug your nails into his wrist in an effort to make him let go.

Yet the king looked unfazed. He sat up and  tugged you closer by your tail, yank after yank, ripping an impressive collection of vexed noises from you until his broad hand caught you by the throat. You clawed at his wrist and forearm, scrambling to find purchase, idly wondering if he'd finally had enough of you and sought to put you down after dirtying one of his concubines–

But he kissed you instead. His lips were warm and dry, not quite soft yet not unwelcoming. Sukuna knew what he was doing, too; his tongue licked at your bottom lip before pushing inside to finally taste you and taint you from within just a little bit. 

Your grip on him laxed the slightest bit, and you even eased into his hold as he, too, refused to harm you further. If you weren't aware of his malevolent spirit, you might've thought him gentle in that long, simple moment–a special brand of “gentle” that was wholly Sukuna's. Kind, but jagged around the edges. 

He started pulling back, though, and you followed after his touch like a bewitched maiden chasing after the lips of a lover. You nipped at the air like that'd do something for you, but soon settled on leaning into the hand holding you still, even if your throat scratched and ached because of it. 

You found Sukuna's calm stare watching you when you opened your eyes a crack. For once, you thought he looked content; the cruel, mocking lines of his face had smoothed and relaxed, and that annoying, cocky smirk he'd been born sporting had been replaced with a placid, normal lilt. Even the inferno blazing in crimson depths eased into pools of yawning embers–warm and spirited, yet contained. 

The sight relaxed you despite the confusion it brought to your rationale. 

“That,” Sukuna said, so odd and quiet, but powerful and judicial. “Is your first.” His thumb stroked against the side of your neck, pausing to feel the pitter patter of your heart thrumming under his mercy. “It'd serve you to remember that.” 

You nodded shallowly. “Of course.” 

Pleased, he let go of your quite breakable neck and moved like he was about to get up. You grabbed at his hand and pressed his palm to the side of your face like he was cupping your cheek. Your insistence on touching gave the beast pause, but he settled again, content to let you keep him hostage for as long as you wanted.

And you indulged in the simple favour. You nuzzled into his palm with a very fox-like chitter as a bassy, quiet trill of a purr lazily rolled through your chest, eventually reaching Sukuna himself. It somehow had him feeling content. Relaxed. Like he was basking in the warmth of the sun. 

“I request another,” you chirped, and Sukuna quirked a brow. 

“Another?” 

“Kiss.” 

Sukuna twitched a smirk. “It'll cost ya.” 

“Oh?” 

“Give me another blessing.”

And you agreed.

[theonottsbxtch]

PREACHER’S DAUGHTER | MV1

an: can you tell i have an amazing music taste, anyway i’m finishing up a lot of my wips this weekend therefore be ready for a bit of stuff to come out!! i need to update my master list

warnings: domestic abuse, religious themes obvs

wc: 10.2k

Max was never one for church.

Never believed in any of that.

But God, would he get on his knees for a girl.

He couldn’t even remember when he first saw her—it was like she’d always been there, glowing in a way that made his chest tighten and his palms itch to touch what he had no business reaching for.

She was perfect in that untouchable kind of way. Always smiling, always polite. The kind of girl who said "please" and "thank you" without sounding fake. She had a laugh that could make angels jealous and a silver cross around her neck that caught the light just right, like some divine shield.

And Max? He was everything she wasn’t. Grease under his nails, a cigarette always tucked behind his ear, and a devil-may-care attitude that had sent half the town clutching their pearls. He’d been watching her for weeks now, maybe months. The way she walked, her little rituals—Bible study on Wednesday nights, choir practice on Saturdays, and the absolute certainty that she’d be on her family’s porch every evening at seven, helping her mom snap beans or some other domestic chore that Max couldn’t wrap his head around.

She didn’t belong in his world. Hell, she probably didn’t even know it existed. But that didn’t stop him from wanting her. No, needing her.

It was the way she looked so... pure, he supposed. Untouched by the grime and shadows he carried around like second skin. And it wasn’t just her innocence he wanted to wreck. It was the thought of making her his—really his. Of seeing her in his world, in his trailer, on his bike, wearing his marks, not that dainty little cross that probably smelled of Sunday mornings and lavender soap.

Max didn’t follow her. Not exactly. But he always seemed to know where she’d be, and tonight wasn’t any different. Wednesday night Bible study. He parked his beat-up car down the street from the little white church, hidden enough to keep from drawing attention. Not that anyone would think twice—it wasn’t like he blended in with the choir crowd.

The stained-glass windows glowed softly, warm light spilling out into the cool evening air. He could hear the faint hum of voices, maybe a hymn being sung, as he leaned back against the hood of his car and waited. He lit another cigarette, the flicker of the lighter briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face.

When the front doors finally swung open, he straightened, tossing the half-smoked cigarette onto the pavement and crushing it under his boot. She was the last to leave, as he knew she would be. Everyone else had trickled out in pairs and groups, chatting and laughing as they headed home. But she stayed behind, always locking up on her own.

Tonight, she was struggling with a box full of what looked like hymnals and Bible study materials, juggling it while trying to fit the key into the heavy wooden doors. Max could see the way her fingers fumbled, her brow furrowing in frustration.

Before he could think better of it, he started across the street. The click of his boots on the pavement caught her attention, and she turned her head sharply, her soft eyes widening as she saw him.

“Need a hand?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking from his face to the box in her arms and then back again. He noticed how she clutched it tighter, like she wasn’t sure if she should trust him.

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, her voice as soft and sweet as he’d imagined. “I’ve got it.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said, stepping closer. Before she could protest, he reached out and took the box from her. Their fingers brushed, and the contrast hit him like a punch to the gut. Her hands were soft, smooth, and clean, while his were rough, calloused, and stained with grease that never seemed to wash off.

“Thanks,” she said reluctantly, looking up at him. He noticed how small she seemed compared to him, how her cross caught the light even in the dark.

“You’re the boy that fixes Daddy’s car,” she said after a beat. “From the shop in town.”

Max raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Didn’t know you knew me.”

“I don’t,” she said quickly, her cheeks flushing. “I just… heard Daddy talking about you. Said you do good work.”

He smirked at that, carrying the box like it weighed nothing and setting it gently down beside her. “Guess I’m a little famous, then.”

She laughed softly, and it was the kind of sound that made something deep in his chest tighten. She reached for her key again, this time managing to lock the doors without the box in her way.

“Thanks for the help,” she said, stepping back and brushing her hands against her skirt.

“Anytime,” he replied, his grin widening. He leaned against the doors, watching her as she adjusted her bag over her shoulder. “What’s your name?”

She hesitated for a moment, her lips parting as if she were about to answer, but then she shook her head. “I should go. My family will be waiting.”

And just like that, she was walking away, her head held high, her skirt swaying gently with each step.

Max watched her until she disappeared around the corner, his grin fading into something darker, more determined.

“See you around,” he muttered under his breath.

Because he would. One way or another.

Max didn’t see her again for days, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t on his mind. She had a way of lingering there, like the scent of rain after a storm—clean, fresh, and completely out of place in his world.

The more he thought about her, the more he couldn’t shake the way her voice had sounded when she’d called him "the boy that fixes Daddy’s car." There was no judgment in it, no disdain. Just a simple observation, like she hadn’t even realised how different their worlds were.

But Max knew. Oh, he knew.

She was the preacher’s daughter, for God’s sake. The girl who probably spent her nights reading scripture and praying for sinners like him. And he? He was the guy people crossed the street to avoid, the one mothers warned their daughters about. He’d left home at fifteen, slept on park benches and under bridges until he’d scraped together enough to buy that rusted-out trailer. He worked double shifts at the garage, spent his weekends drinking cheap beer with guys who wouldn’t bat an eye at a bar fight, and had a reputation that kept most people from looking him in the eye.

He wasn’t good enough for her. He knew that.

Didn’t mean he didn’t want her anyway.

The next Wednesday, he found himself back outside the church, parked in the same spot as before. He hadn’t planned it—at least, that’s what he told himself. But when he saw her again, her laugh carrying across the parking lot as she said goodbye to the last of her Bible study group, he felt that same pull in his chest.

This time, he didn’t approach her. Not yet. Instead, he leaned against his shit box car and watched as she locked the doors, her movements quick and practiced. She wasn’t carrying anything tonight, but she still seemed to pause for a moment, glancing around like she could feel his eyes on her.

He ducked his head, pretending to light a cigarette even though it was already burning. When he glanced back up, she was gone.

The next few days passed in a blur of oil changes, engine repairs, and sleepless nights. Max couldn’t shake the image of her—the way her hands had brushed his, the way she’d looked at him like she was trying to figure him out.

By the time Sunday rolled around, he couldn’t stay away.

He parked his bike a few blocks from the church, out of sight, and watched as families filed in for the morning service. They were all dressed in their Sunday best—dads in pressed suits, moms in floral dresses, kids squirming in their fancy clothes.

And then there she was, walking up the steps with her family. She wore a white dress that stopped just below her knees, her hair pulled back in a way that showed off the delicate line of her neck. The silver cross around her neck gleamed in the sunlight, and Max found himself staring at it, wondering what it would look like tangled with the chains he wore.

Her father was at her side, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder as he greeted the congregation. He was everything Max wasn’t—clean-cut, well-spoken, a man who commanded respect just by standing there.

Max stayed until the doors closed behind her, then turned and walked back to his bike.

He didn’t know what he was doing, or why he couldn’t just let it go. All he knew was that he’d see her again.

And when he did, he’d make her notice him.

Max didn’t plan to follow her after the service, not really. But when he saw her step out of the church alone, her family nowhere in sight, curiosity got the better of him. She walked with purpose, her hands clutching a small book—probably her Bible, he figured—and her expression calm, like she knew exactly where she was going.

He stayed a block or so behind, keeping his footsteps quiet on the pavement. She didn’t seem like the type to sneak off after church, and yet, here she was, turning off the main road and heading toward the park.

When she reached a shaded bench near the pond, she sat down, smoothing her dress before opening her book. Max hung back, watching as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and began to read, her lips moving silently.

He couldn’t stop himself. Hands shoved in his pockets, he sauntered over, his boots crunching on the gravel path. She looked up as he approached, her eyes widening for a moment before settling into something softer, almost expectant.

“I told my daddy I saw you,” she said, closing the book and resting it on her lap.

Max raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And what did he say?”

“That I shouldn’t hang around with people like you,” she replied simply, her voice steady, but her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the book.

He stepped closer, leaning down slightly so they were almost at eye level. “But I don’t see you running,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze, her expression unflinching. “I’ve noticed you, you know,” she said, tilting her head. “You’re always… around. Outside the church. Watching.”

He straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can’t help it,” he admitted. “You’re hard to ignore.”

She blinked, her lashes fluttering like she wasn’t sure what to make of that. Then, to his surprise, she smiled—a small, hesitant thing that made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t used to.

“I’ve been praying for you,” she said softly, her hands tightening on the book.

Max couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him, low and rough. “Praying for me, huh? What for?”

“That you’ll find peace,” she said simply, her voice so earnest it made him pause.

He looked at her, really looked at her—the way the sunlight caught in her hair, the way her fingers trembled just a little against the leather cover of her book, the way she seemed so fragile and so unshakable all at once.

“Peace,” he repeated, the word foreign on his tongue. “You think that’s something I’m missing?”

Her smile grew just a fraction, her eyes softening. “Don’t you?”

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to laugh it off, to brush her words aside like they didn’t hit somewhere deep and uncomfortable. But the way she was looking at him made it impossible.

She shifted slightly on the bench, her hands resting in her lap as she looked at him. “Everyone finds their way,” she said softly, her voice carrying the kind of conviction that made Max’s chest ache. “One way or another. You just have to be willing to see it.”

Max wanted to scoff, to tell her he didn’t have a “way” to find, but the words died in his throat when he noticed it—a faint bruise just below the cuff of her sleeve, barely visible as she adjusted the book in her lap. His eyes narrowed, the casual smirk on his face fading.

“What happened there?” he asked, nodding toward her arm.

She followed his gaze, quickly tugging her sleeve down to cover the mark. “Oh, that?” She gave a small, nervous laugh. “It’s nothing. I play volleyball sometimes with the girls from church. Just got a little too close to the net.”

Max didn’t buy it. The way she spoke, the way her fingers tightened on the fabric of her dress—it didn’t add up. But he didn’t push. Not yet.

“You sure about that?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

She nodded quickly, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Positive.”

The silence between them stretched, and Max could feel the distance growing, even though they were sitting inches apart.

“I should get home,” she said suddenly, standing and smoothing out her skirt. “It’s getting late.”

He watched as she picked up her book and slung her bag over her shoulder, the hesitant smile she gave him feeling more like a goodbye than a see-you-later.

“You walking?” he asked, standing as well.

She nodded. “It’s not far.”

He didn’t offer to walk her, knowing she’d probably say no. Instead, he stayed where he was, watching her disappear down the path until she was out of sight.

The next Wednesday, Max found himself back at the church. He hadn’t planned it—at least, that’s what he told himself—but when he saw her locking up the doors again, he couldn’t stop himself from approaching.

She glanced up as he stepped up to the doors, her face lighting up with a mixture of surprise and something softer that made his chest tighten.

“You’re here again,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of teasing.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he replied, leaning casually against the doorframe.

She hesitated for a moment, then tilted her head toward the doors. “Do you want to see the inside?”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You offering to give me a tour?”

“Maybe,” she said with a small smile. “If you’re interested.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Show me.”

She unlocked the doors and pushed them open, leading him into the dimly lit sanctuary. The air was cool and quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier than normal.

“This is where we hold services,” she said, gesturing toward the rows of wooden pews. “And over there is the choir loft.”

Max followed her, his eyes drifting over the stained-glass windows and the simple but elegant decor. It wasn’t the kind of place he ever pictured himself in, but being here with her made it feel… different.

“And where do you ask for forgiveness?” he asked, his voice low as he stepped closer to her.

She paused, then turned and led him to the front of the church. “Here,” she said, motioning toward the altar. “This is where people kneel to pray.”

Max’s gaze flicked from the altar to her, and for a moment, he couldn’t help the thought that slipped into his mind. The idea of her on her knees, not in prayer but for him, sent a rush of something dark and hungry through him.

She knelt down, her hands clasped in front of her as if demonstrating. “You just… let it all out here. Whatever’s on your heart, you bring it to God.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched her, his throat tightening as the image burned itself into his memory. He wondered, fleetingly, what she’d look like if she weren’t here for forgiveness but for him.

“You going to try?” she asked, looking up at him, her expression earnest and full of trust.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. “Not my thing,” he muttered, stepping back.

She stood, brushing off her skirt. “Maybe one day,” she said softly.

Max wasn’t so sure. But he’d come back, if only to see her again.

He didn’t ever think he’d see her in his stomping ground, ever.

The garage smelled like oil and metal, the kind of earthy, gritty scent that clung to Max no matter how much he scrubbed his hands. He was leaned under the hood of an old Chevy—her dad’s car—when he heard the soft jingle of the bell above the shop door.

He straightened, wiping his hands on a rag as she stepped inside. Her presence was like sunlight cutting through the dim, grease-streaked world he lived in.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, leaning against the car and smirking. “Ain’t I usually the one picking you up?”

She stopped a few steps in, her hands clasping the strap of her bag. “I left some college work in my daddy’s car,” she said, her voice steady but careful, like she wasn’t sure how to navigate him in this setting.

Max raised an eyebrow, tossing the rag onto a workbench. “Well, aren’t you lucky I’ve got it right here.”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the car before meeting his. “Can I…?”

He stepped aside, gesturing toward the passenger door. “Be my guest.”

She nodded, walking over and leaning into the open door to retrieve her things. Max’s eyes flicked down before he could stop himself, catching a glimpse of her skirt riding up as she bent over, exposing plain white cotton panties that clung to her hips.

It was innocent, unintentional—but it made his pulse spike, his throat tightening as he quickly looked away. His hand clenched into a fist, nails biting into his palm as he forced himself to focus.

Then he saw it—a jagged gash on the side of her thigh, red and raw against her pale skin. His smirk faded, replaced by a frown as something twisted in his gut.

“You gonna tell me what happened there?” he asked, nodding toward her leg.

She froze for a moment before straightening, clutching her notebook tightly against her chest. “Oh,” she said, glancing down at the cut. “It’s nothing. I was playing with my brother in the park, and the ball rolled into some bushes. I went to get it and scratched myself on a branch.”

Max folded his arms, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. “You’ve got an awful lot of bad luck, don’t you? First volleyball, now this.”

Her eyes darted to his, wide and a little panicked. “It’s the truth,” she said quickly, but her voice wavered just enough to betray her.

He stepped closer, his presence looming as he leaned in, his voice a low whisper. “Lying’s a sin, you know.”

Her lips parted, and for a moment, she looked like she might crumble. But then her shoulders straightened, and she lifted her chin, defiance flashing in her eyes. “I believe you should worry about the long list of sins you’ve racked up,” she shot back, her voice trembling but firm.

Max smirked at that, the sharp edge of his grin making her swallow hard. “I thought you were praying for me,” he said, his tone almost teasing but laced with something darker.

She stared at him, her hands tightening on her notebook until her knuckles turned white. “I should go,” she said finally, her voice clipped.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he replied, stepping back just enough to let her pass.

She turned and walked out, her steps quick and purposeful, the door swinging shut behind her with a jingle that felt louder than it should have.

Max watched her go, the tension in his chest twisting into something heavier. He didn’t believe her for a second. But the look in her eyes—the mix of fear, defiance, and something else he couldn’t quite name—made him want to figure out exactly what she was hiding.

And he would. One way or another.

A few days later, Max was leaning under the hood of yet another clunker when his manager strolled over, clipboard in hand.

“Got a favor to ask,” the older man grumbled. “Preacher’s too busy to pick up his car. Needs it dropped off at his place.”

Max straightened, rubbing his hands on a rag, his pulse quickening at the mention of her house. He didn’t even have to think about it.

“I’ll do it,” he said casually, masking the eagerness bubbling under his skin. “Got time.”

His manager raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Max tossed the rag aside, the corner of his mouth tugging into a grin. “Consider it handled.”

By the time he pulled up to the preacher’s house in the old Chevy, the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the house in a warm, golden light. He killed the engine, climbing out and leaning against the car for a moment.

That’s when he heard it.

The sound drifted through the open window—a soft, mournful piano melody that sent a shiver down his spine. It was beautiful, haunting even, and he knew immediately that it was her.

He stood there, listening, his chest tightening as each note seemed to carry a weight he couldn’t quite place. Then, as the song trailed off, he forced himself to move, stepping up to the door and knocking firmly.

The music stopped. A few seconds later, the door creaked open, and there she was.

She looked different. Vulnerable.

Her hair was loose, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and she was wearing a simple pair of pyjamas—pale blue cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt that hung loosely on her frame. She blinked up at him, clearly surprised, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “Brought your dad’s car back.”

“Thanks,” she said, her voice soft and a little hoarse.

His eyes drifted lower, and that’s when he saw it—a dark, fresh bruise blooming along her forearm, just visible under the edge of her sleeve.

His chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, his hand reached out, his rough fingers brushing against the tender skin.

She flinched, but not away. Her lips parted, her eyes flicking up to meet his, wide and uncertain.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice low but laced with tension.

She pulled her arm back, wrapping it around herself like a shield. “I’ve been sick,” she murmured, her words hesitant. “That’s why I’ve been home. Just… clumsy, I guess.”

He didn’t believe her. Not for a second.

“Sick, huh?” he said, his voice edged with scepticism.

She nodded, but the way her gaze darted to the floor gave her away.

For a moment, the air between them felt heavy, charged with something neither of them seemed able to name. Max’s hand hovered at his side, aching to reach out again, but he forced himself to step back.

The sound of heavy footsteps broke the moment, and Max turned just as her father appeared in the doorway.

“Evening,” the preacher said, his voice warm but commanding, his eyes flicking between Max and his daughter.

“Car’s good as new,” Max said, holding out the keys. “She’ll run smooth for you.”

“Appreciate it,” the preacher replied, taking the keys with a nod.

Max hesitated, glancing at her one last time. “You know where to find me if you need anything. Always here for you to rely on the car.”

His words were meant for her father, but his eyes stayed on her, making sure she understood the double meaning.

The preacher didn’t seem to notice. “Thank you, son,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crisp bill. He handed it to Max with a firm handshake.

Max nodded, pocketing the tip without looking at it. As he stepped back, the preacher gave him a polite smile before closing the door firmly, leaving Max staring at the wood grain.

The following morning sun filtered weakly through the dusty blinds of Max’s trailer, casting long shadows over the cluttered space. He was sprawled on his bed, one leg hanging off the side, barely awake when he heard it—a soft, hesitant knock at the door.

For a moment, he thought he was imagining it, the sound so light it could’ve been the wind rattling the screen. But then it came again, firmer this time.

Grumbling under his breath, Max swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. He shuffled to the door in nothing but his boxers, too groggy to care about decency.

When he pulled the door open, he froze.

There she was, standing on the cracked wooden steps of his trailer.

She looked like she’d stepped out of another world—her crisp white blouse tucked into a pale blue skirt that swayed lightly in the breeze, her hair perfectly combed and pinned back. But her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy, and there was a tremble in her lip that told him she’d been crying.

Her gaze flicked downward, catching sight of his bare chest and boxer-clad frame. Her face flushed pink, and she quickly looked away, clutching the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Max blinked, his grogginess evaporating in an instant. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep.

She didn’t answer right away, just stared down at the ground like she couldn’t meet his eyes. He stepped back, holding the door open wider. “You wanna come in?”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, stepping over the threshold.

As she entered, the contrast between her polished appearance and the rough, lived-in state of his trailer couldn’t have been starker. The cramped space was cluttered with tools, half-empty coffee mugs, and a laundry basket overflowing with clothes. She looked out of place, like a dove dropped into the middle of a storm.

Max closed the door behind her, leaning against it as he crossed his arms. “You okay?” he asked, his tone softer now.

She stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around herself. “I… I didn’t want to stay at home,” she said quietly.

The way her voice cracked on the last word made his chest tighten.

“What happened?” he asked, stepping closer but keeping his distance, giving her space to speak.

She shook her head, her fingers gripping her bag tighter. “I… I snuck out,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I couldn’t stay there anymore.”

Max’s jaw tightened. He wanted to ask why, but he already knew. He’d known for weeks.

Finally, she looked up at him, tears brimming in her wide, frightened eyes. “It’s my daddy,” she whispered. “He… he hits me.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

Max’s fists clenched at his sides, his whole body going rigid. “How long’s this been going on?” he asked, his voice low and tight.

She looked away, her gaze darting to the corner of the room as if she could hide from the question. “As long as I can remember,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.

Max swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to punch something, to drag her father out into the street and make him pay. But more than anything, he wanted to make her feel safe.

“You should’ve told someone,” he said, his voice softer now, though the anger still simmered just beneath the surface.

Her eyes snapped back to his, a flash of fear and desperation in them. “I couldn’t,” she said quickly. “I can’t. If people knew, it’d ruin everything. My daddy’s the preacher. People look up to him. They’d never believe me.”

Max stepped closer, his rough hands itching to reach out and touch her, to ground her somehow. But he didn’t. Not yet.

“You don’t have to go back there,” he said firmly. “You can stay here. No one’s gonna hurt you while I’m around.”

Her gaze softened, her lips trembling as she whispered, “Why do you care so much?”

Max let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You think I can just stand by and let this happen? After everything I’ve seen…” He paused, meeting her gaze head-on. “You’re not like the rest of us. You don’t belong in a place like that.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the space between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken words. She looked like she might say something, but then a tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she said suddenly, backing toward the door. “I didn’t mean to bother you—”

“You’re not bothering me,” Max said firmly, cutting her off.

She hesitated, her hand hovering near the door handle.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if trying to decide whether she could trust him. Finally, she nodded, just barely, and let her hand fall away from the door.

Max rubbed the back of his neck again, his eyes never leaving her face as she stood there, caught between leaving and staying. He could see the battle in her—wanting to run but needing something, someone, to anchor her.

“You can stay here tonight,” he said, his voice steady but gentle, like he was trying not to spook her.

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. She looked around the cramped trailer, at the cluttered counters and the sagging couch, her delicate hands gripping the strap of her bag like it was a lifeline.

“I don’t know…” she started, her voice faltering.

“No one’ll bother you here,” Max said, stepping closer. “You’ll be safe. And if you want to leave in the morning, you can. No strings.”

She bit her lip, the hesitation etched in every line of her face.

“But…” she whispered, looking up at him, “I need to go to Sunday service.”

Max blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone.

“While I’m mad at my daddy,” she continued, her voice growing steadier, “I still have to go. I can’t not be there. It’s… it’s important to me.”

Her words hung in the air, a quiet plea wrapped in conviction.

Max nodded without hesitation. “I’ll take you,” he said simply. “First thing in the morning.”

She blinked up at him, a flicker of relief crossing her features. “You promise?”

“Yeah,” he said, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Scout’s honor.”

That drew a small, hesitant smile from her, though it quickly faded as her gaze dropped to the floor again.

“I’ll stay,” she said softly, almost like she didn’t believe the words herself.

Max exhaled, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. “Good. Make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing vaguely around the trailer. “It’s not much, but it’s better than where you came from.”

She nodded, her movements stiff and unsure, like she didn’t quite know how to exist in this space.

“I gotta get to work,” Max added, glancing at the clock on the wall. “But you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Bed is yours, and there’s food in the fridge—though, fair warning, it’s mostly leftovers and beer.”

That earned him a faint, almost amused look, and he felt a strange sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“I’ll be fine,” she said quietly.

Max hesitated for a moment, then reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. His touch was light, careful, but firm enough to ground her.

“You’re safe here,” he said, his voice low but certain.

She nodded again, her gaze flicking up to meet his, and for a moment, the silence between them felt warm, comforting.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, stepping toward his makeshift bedroom grabbing some clothes and slipping them on. “If you need anything—anything at all—you call me, alright? Danny down the road has my number, he’s got the graffiti all over his trailer.”

“Alright,” she replied, her voice steadier now.

With one last glance over his shoulder, Max stepped out into the morning light, the door clicking shut behind him. As he walked toward his beat-up car, a strange mix of emotions swirled in his chest—anger, protectiveness, and something else he couldn’t quite name.

She’d taken a risk coming to him, and he wasn’t about to let her down. Not now. Not ever.

Max worked through the afternoon with his head barely in the game. The thought of her in his trailer—his space—kept creeping into his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of her standing there, looking so out of place, like she belonged somewhere far away from this rundown world he inhabited. The image of her soft eyes and trembling lip haunted him as he fixed engines and cleaned up at the shop.

By the time he came back to the trailer, the evening sun had already dipped behind the horizon, casting a pale, dusky glow over everything. He turned the key in the door, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing in the quiet.

And then he froze.

The trailer didn’t look the same.

It was spotless.

The clutter on the counters, the dirty dishes, the laundry piled up in the corner—all of it was gone. The floor was swept, the counters wiped down, and there was even a faint smell of something cooking, something hearty and savory. Max took a step inside, his eyes scanning the room as if he was seeing it for the first time.

And there she was, standing in the kitchen.

She had slipped into one of his old band t-shirts—black and faded with the edges curling up—and paired it with the skirt she’d worn earlier. Her hair was still down, a little messy from the day, but there was something about the way she moved around his space that made her seem... at ease. She was focused on the stove, stirring something in a pot, humming quietly to herself as if she belonged.

Max felt a sudden knot in his stomach, a wave of desire mixed with something deeper—something protective. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping down to her legs, exposed beneath the hem of the shirt, and then back up to her face. She didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in what she was doing, and he took a few moments to just watch her.

She looked so out of place in his world—his messy, cluttered world—but at the same time, she fit perfectly.

She caught sight of him, and a warm, almost shy smile spread across her face. "I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I found some stuff in the cupboard. It’s not much, but I thought… I could make you something."

Max’s chest tightened at the sincerity in her voice. He had no idea she could cook.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, his voice rough with something unspoken. He stepped further into the trailer, noticing that she’d even made the bed. The blankets were neatly arranged, the pillow fluffed, the whole room looking like it belonged in some kind of hotel. It felt... new.

She shrugged, a little embarrassed. "It's the least I could do. You’ve been so kind to me... I wanted to help, in some way."

Max ran a hand over his jaw, fighting the urge to reach out and pull her close. Her presence was intoxicating, her gentle kindness disarming. The way she stood there, so effortless in his space, made something inside him shift. His heart beat faster as he moved toward the kitchen, unable to resist the pull of her.

She turned back to the stove, unaware of the war going on inside him. He couldn’t help but glance at the way her shirt rode up on her thighs, the curve of her hips, and the soft skin of her exposed legs. His mind flashed to earlier—when she’d stepped into his trailer with those wide eyes, trembling and vulnerable. And now, she was here, looking like she belonged to him in ways she probably didn’t even realise.

His hands clenched at his sides. He needed to calm down.

“You didn’t have to clean everything up,” he said, trying to focus on something other than how badly he wanted to kiss her, touch her, feel her beneath his hands.

“I don’t mind,” she replied, her voice soft. “It felt wrong to just sit around, so I figured I could do something. It’s a mess here, but I… I wanted it to feel like home for a bit.”

Home.

The word hit him harder than he expected. Max didn’t know what it meant to feel at home. His life had always been a constant hustle, scraping by, living in his car, barely getting by. But here, with her, in the middle of this trailer—he felt like maybe he could understand it, just a little bit.

She stirred the pot again, and Max took a deep breath. His body was tight with the need to do something—to touch her, hold her—but he fought it down.

He stepped closer, casually leaning against the counter. “You sure you’re okay with all this?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, casual.

She glanced at him, her eyes soft but unreadable. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing, her gaze steady. “I just… I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m scared, Max.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, his fingers brushing the back of her hand. Her skin was soft, delicate, and his pulse skipped in response. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at him either.

Max leaned in just slightly, his breath catching in his throat as he whispered, “I’ll keep you safe, I swear.”

There was a moment of silence. And then, in the quietest voice, almost as if she were speaking to herself, she whispered, “I believe you.”

And in that moment, something inside Max shifted completely. He didn’t just want her. He needed to protect her. To keep her from harm.

The tension in the air was thick, and he knew if he didn’t walk away now, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. His hand lingered on hers for just a second longer before he pulled away, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Let’s eat,” he said, trying to mask the urgency in his voice, trying to ground himself again.

Max didn’t have a proper dining table—hell, he barely had enough room for his sofa—but tonight, that didn’t matter.

He took a seat on the old sofa, and she settled beside him, carefully placing the plates of food between them. The smell of whatever she’d made filled the air—something simple but satisfying, with just a hint of warmth that made it feel like a real meal. It was the first time in a while that Max had felt something other than hunger when he sat down to eat.

As she set her fork down and looked at her hands, she murmured something under her breath, her voice soft and steady. Max was halfway through a bite when he realised she was praying.

He watched her quietly, noting the calmness in her demeanor, the way her hands were folded neatly in front of her. Her lips moved with the words, a quiet reverence that made the air in the room feel still, almost sacred.

When she finished, she looked at him, a small, shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry,” she said, her cheeks flushed. “It’s just… habit.”

Max shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. “No need to apologise,” he said, his voice softer than usual. He found it cute—no, charming—how she prayed before every meal, how that simple act of faith seemed to give her some semblance of peace. He had no idea what that kind of peace felt like.

They ate quietly, the sound of forks scraping against plates the only noise between them. There was something almost intimate about this simple moment—the way she sat beside him, the way she kept her space but still seemed to fill the room.

It wasn’t long before Max’s mind started to wander again, and his gaze drifted down to her hand as she picked up her glass of water. He noticed the ring on her finger, the simple silver band catching the light.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice casual, though his stomach clenched slightly.

She looked down at it, almost absentmindedly, before meeting his gaze. “It’s a purity ring,” she said, her voice quiet, almost reverent.

Max froze, his fork half-raised to his mouth. A purity ring. The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, a wave of something dark and primal swirling beneath the surface. She wore it like a promise, a promise to stay pure, to wait for marriage, to avoid the kinds of things he’d spent most of his life seeking out—things he wasn’t sure he could even offer her if she wanted them.

His thoughts scrambled, his chest tightening. He forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat and shifted on the couch, trying to ignore the tightening in his jeans. He couldn’t help himself. The idea of her—innocent, pure, wearing a ring like that—drove him mad. It made him think things he shouldn’t, things that went against the very core of who she was.

He cleared his throat, trying to distract himself from the thoughts swirling in his head. “I, uh… I think you should take the bed,” he said abruptly. “I’ll crash here on the couch.”

She gave him a soft look, her expression kind, though there was something in her eyes that told him she wasn’t used to accepting charity—or favours of any kind.

“Thank you,” she said, glancing at the bed and then back at him.

She stood up, taking both their plates to the sink and left him in the makeshift living room.

Max settled back onto the small couch, but sleep didn’t come easy. He was restless, his mind too filled with thoughts of her, her innocence, her sweetness, and that damn purity ring. Even though there was a whole doorframe separating the two of them, the room felt too small. His chest too tight. His body too aware of everything that was happening in that tiny space between them.

Eventually, he shifted again, sighing in frustration as he tossed the blanket off of himself. The couch wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was too small for someone his size. He needed to stretch out.

A few minutes later, he heard the soft creak of the floorboards. He turned his head slightly, squinting through the dim light. She was standing in the doorway, her silhouette outlined by the faint glow of his beside table.

“Max?” Her voice was soft, tentative.

He sat up, blinking. “Yeah?”

“I—uh, I can’t sleep,” she admitted, stepping further into the room. “And you look... uncomfortable on the couch.” She hesitated, then bit her lip. “Would you, um, want to sleep in the bed with me? Just... just for tonight?”

Max felt his breath catch in his throat. He should’ve said no. He knew he should’ve. But she was standing there in his shirt, her hair falling messily around her shoulders, and her eyes—those soft, uncertain eyes—were pleading with him in a way that made him feel like he was the one who needed her comfort.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice tight.

She nodded, her hands trembling just slightly as she pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Please. I just—” She paused, biting her lip, as if searching for the right words. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Max’s heart twisted in his chest. He could’ve said something else—told her it was fine, that she should rest, or something like that. But he was done with pretending he didn’t want to be close to her, to feel her next to him.

“Alright,” he muttered, standing up. “But, uh... let me put on a shirt.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and he could’ve sworn he saw the smallest flicker of a smile on her lips. “Okay,” she whispered, turning her back to give him some space.

He grabbed a random shirt from the pile of clean laundry on the floor, pulling it on over his bare chest, and then slipped under the covers beside her. She had already crawled under the blankets, pulling them tightly around her.

Max settled in beside her, keeping a careful distance at first. But the bed was small, and it didn’t take long for her to inch closer. He could feel her warmth at his side, the soft rise and fall of her chest with each breath, the delicate scent of her hair mixing with the familiar scent of his worn sheets.

The morning light filtered through the thin curtains of the trailer, casting a soft glow across the room. Max slowly woke up, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against his side. Her head rested on his chest, her soft breathing filling the quiet room.

For a moment, Max just stayed still, letting the comfort of her closeness wash over him. His arm had instinctively wrapped around her while they slept, and he could feel the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

But as his body began to wake up fully, so did a familiar discomfort: the pressure of his morning problem, straining against the fabric of his boxers. His breath caught, and he tried to shift subtly, hoping she wouldn’t wake up and notice the situation. She didn’t. She just remained nestled against him, her breath slow and steady.

Max let out a slow breath, trying to ignore the growing tension in his body. He kept his arm around her for a moment longer, relishing the softness of her against him, before reluctantly moving it.

Her movements eventually stirred him from his thoughts, though. He felt her shift and heard her small, quiet sigh as she began to stir. She slowly pushed herself up and away from him, the weight of her head leaving his chest.

Max watched as she stood up, stretching lightly before walking toward the small kitchen area. The simple act of her moving around his trailer felt domestic, a little surreal. He never imagined a girl like her would be here, in his space, making herself at home.

She turned on the old coffee maker and started washing the dishes from the night before, humming softly to herself. Her bare feet moved across the worn linoleum floor as she worked, picking up the plates, scrubbing them clean with a kind of focused determination. Max watched her, a little mesmerised by the way she went about everything with ease. She was so domestic, so... pure.

After a while, she glanced over her shoulder, catching his eye. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said quietly. “I usually make something nice on a Sunday.”

Max shook his head, trying to get his bearings. “I don’t mind at all.” His voice was still rough with sleep. “Thank you.”

She smiled softly and got to work, preparing eggs, toast, and whatever else she could find in his meager supplies. Max sat up, rubbing his eyes. He watched her as she moved, the way her shirt clung to her in all the right places, how she seemed so comfortable here despite how out of place she looked in his world.

Eventually, she finished up with the dishes and turned to him. “I need to get ready for church.” Her eyes softened a little, as though she could sense the hesitation in his. “Can y—“

“I’ll take you. I just don’t have a car right now. It’s in the garage.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and for a moment, Max thought she might protest, but instead, she just nodded. “Okay.”

He took a quick shower and threw on some old jeans and a t-shirt. He didn’t exactly have a wardrobe that screamed “church-going,” but it was the best he could do. He wasn’t there to make a statement anyway—just to get her there and make sure she was safe.

When he stepped out of the small bathroom, he found her already dressed in her Sunday best—yesterday’s shirt and skirt with a cardigan she must have pulled out her bag. Her hair was perfectly styled, like she’d just walked out of a church bulletin. She looked so out of place in his trailer, so polished and pristine compared to the worn, dirty space they were in.

Max grabbed his helmet and walked over to her, holding it out. “Here,” he said, the words laced with a slight smirk. “You’re gonna need this.”

She looked at him curiously but didn’t argue. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. You’re not walking to church, and you’re definitely not riding behind me without it.” He grinned, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

With a small, reluctant smile, she took the helmet from him, adjusting it over her head, the loose strands of her hair sticking out slightly. Max handed her the extra jacket he had and then motioned to the door. “Let’s get going. I’ll get you there early so no one sees you.”

She nodded, slipping on the jacket and walking toward the door with him. Max grabbed the keys to his bike and headed outside, securing the helmet on her head.

The engine of his old bike roared to life, the sound rattling the air around them. Max felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, the wind in his face as they drove, but his focus wasn’t on the speed or the feel of the bike. It was on her, sitting behind him, her body pressed close to his, the weight of her on his back both grounding and electrifying him.

They took the back roads, keeping a low profile, making sure no one would notice them together. Max didn’t want to bring any attention to her. He didn’t want anyone to see her with him, not yet. She was too pure, too innocent to be caught up in his world.

They arrived just before everyone else, the small church looming in front of them as the sun began to rise. Max parked the bike in the back and cut the engine, then turned to look at her.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she said softly, slipping off the bike.

Max nodded, watching her walk toward the steps of the church, her figure straight and composed. As she walked away from him, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something—something he couldn’t quite name. It was a mix of jealousy, admiration, and something darker that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He didn’t know why he stayed in the parking lot. Maybe it was the quiet that clung to the air after the service ended, or maybe it was the feeling of something unfinished between him and her. He waited, watching as the congregation filed out of the church, families chatting, some with smiles on their faces, others with the weight of the week still on their shoulders.

He saw her mother, walking alongside her brother, exchanging a few words with the other churchgoers. But no sign of her. His gaze swept over the parking lot once more, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Maybe she had stayed behind for a little longer.

Minutes passed, and Max’s unease grew. She hadn’t come out.

Frowning, he swung his leg off the bike and walked toward the church’s front doors. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to check on her, but something in him insisted. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, as if sensing danger.

Max approached the side of the church, his boots scraping the gravel beneath him. A faint voice reached his ears—just a whisper at first, but then it grew louder, more frantic. It sounded like shouting, distorted by the walls of the building, but it was unmistakably hers.

His heart skipped a beat.

He moved quickly toward the sound, pushing open a side door. The hallway inside was dimly lit, the walls cold and echoing with every step. He followed the noise, barely hearing his own footsteps as he crept closer to the source.

And then he saw them.

She was on the floor, her hands trembling in front of her, her back hunched as though she was trying to make herself as small as possible. Her father was standing over her, his voice a low growl of fury, loud enough to rattle the air between them.

“You’re a dirty slut!” he spat. “You’re going to hell for what you’ve done!”

Max’s blood ran cold, and for a moment, he didn’t think.

With a quick motion, he stepped forward, his voice calm but cold. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The preacher spun around, his face twisted with rage, recognizing Max.

“Stay out of this, boy,” the preacher growled, his hand still raised in the air.

But before the preacher could make another move, she stood up, her breath ragged, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and something else—hope? Maybe it was desperation.

Without a second thought, she ran toward Max. She didn’t hesitate, her arms reaching out to him as if he were her only anchor in the storm.

“Max,” she whispered, almost too softly to hear, but Max felt the weight of it all the same.

Max put his hands on her shoulders, turning her so that she was standing slightly behind him. His eyes never left the preacher, his voice steady.

“You know, preacher,” Max began, his voice low and measured, “God loves justice and establishes equity.” He tilted his head slightly, as if recalling something. “Psalm 99:4, right? I’m sure that’s a scripture I heard your daughter read once in Bible study. Can’t be exerting your authority in such ways, can you?”

The preacher’s face went red with anger, his hands balling into fists. “Get out of here, boy. This is none of your business.”

Max didn’t flinch. “You’re right,” he said calmly. “It’s none of my business. But I’ll make sure it’s yours.”

He motioned to her. “Go wait by the bike.” His voice softened just for her, the harshness fading away. “Go on, I’ll be right there.”

She hesitated for just a moment, looking at him like she wanted to say something, but instead, she turned and walked quickly toward the door. Max watched her go, his heart pounding in his chest.

The preacher made a move to stop her, but Max stepped forward, his patience snapping.

“Don’t you ever touch her again,” Max growled.

The preacher lunged at him, but Max was faster, his fist connecting with the preacher’s jaw before he had a chance to land a blow. The sound of the punch echoed in the small hallway, and the preacher staggered backward, his hands gripping the edge of the wall for support.

Max stepped forward, his voice cold. “I don’t care who you think you are. You put your hands on her again, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The preacher was on his knees now, his face a mixture of shock and fury. Max didn’t wait to hear more. He turned on his heel, walking out the door to find her standing by his bike, waiting as if she hadn’t just been on the receiving end of a storm.

He nodded to her, not saying anything more, his mind racing with the anger he’d just unleashed. But all he wanted now was to get her away from here, away from him.

“Let’s go,” he said softly, handing her the helmet.

She didn’t say anything as she put it on, but the silent understanding between them spoke volumes. Max revved the engine, feeling the rush of power beneath him as he led her away from the church, away from the hell that had just erupted there.

The ride back to the trailer was eerily quiet. Max could feel the tension in the air between them, thick and heavy, the weight of everything that had just happened hanging between them. She sat behind him, her grip tight on his waist, but there was no laughter, no playful banter like there had been before. It felt like the world had shifted somehow, and the silence stretched endlessly as they rode.

Max didn’t glance back at her. He kept his eyes straight ahead, focusing on the road, but all he could think about was what he’d just done. He knew he’d put himself in danger, confronting her father like that. He didn’t care. But for the first time, he couldn’t ignore the burning question: What did he really think he was doing?

The only sound on the road was the roar of the engine beneath them, a constant reminder of the distance they had yet to travel. Every twist and turn of the road seemed to reflect the turmoil inside of him, but he had no words for it, no way to express the chaos in his head.

When they finally pulled into the trailer park, the sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the worn pavement. Max parked the bike and cut the engine, the sudden silence of the world around them making the tension between them all the more palpable.

They didn’t speak as they walked inside, the door creaking as it opened into the small, dimly lit space. Max stepped aside to let her enter first, but the moment the door closed behind them, she removed the helmet and her composure seemed to crumble.

She stood there for a long moment, just breathing, as if she was trying to collect herself, but it was clear she wasn’t okay. Max watched her, his heart tightening when he saw the tears beginning to well in her eyes. She couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Before he could say anything, she collapsed into him. Her body shook as she buried her face against his chest, her sobs muffled against his shirt. Max’s arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her in close, his own breath shaky from the unexpected surge of emotion he felt at seeing her so broken.

“It’s okay,” he whispered softly, his voice a soothing murmur. “I’ve got you, shhh.”

She didn’t respond, just continued to cry, the sound raw and heartbreaking. Max gently ran his hand down her back, trying to comfort her in the only way he knew how. He wiped the tears off her face with his thumb, brushing her hair back from her forehead. His chest tightened with every sob that wracked her body, every quiet sob that he couldn’t take away.

“Don’t cry,” he said quietly, though his words felt powerless against the pain she was clearly feeling. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it, sweetheart.”

She pulled away slightly, her tear-streaked face making his chest ache even more. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable, a rawness that shook him to his core. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t need to. He could see everything in her expression, the hurt and confusion and fear.

Without a word, Max guided her to the small bed in the corner of the trailer, not sure what else to do. He wanted to fix everything, to make her feel safe, but he knew that wasn’t something he could do with words alone.

They sat on the edge of the bed, and she let him help her lie down. He crawled in next to her, his arm draping over her shoulders as she curled up against him. The space felt small, but it was warm. She was warm.

Max didn’t say anything as he laid beside her, his chest rising and falling with every breath he took. He just held her. The silence between them was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was quiet, like the calm after the storm, both of them lost in the stillness of the moment.

Her breathing eventually slowed, her sobs quieter now, though her body still trembled slightly from the emotions that had flooded her. Max stayed close, not letting go. His fingers gently traced the outline of her arm as he held her close, not knowing exactly what to say to make it better, but knowing that being there, holding her, was enough—for now.

“I’m here,” he whispered again, his voice soft and unwavering, as he placed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not anymore.”

Then a weird thought came to Max as he watched hee sleep in his arms.

She’d prayed for his peace.

And while he wasn’t a believer.

He sure as hell felt at peace.

part two out now!

[winterarmyy]

A Fucking Treasure

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: A date gone wrong? Same old, same old. But, having Bucky pinning her against the wall, now that’s new.

Pairing: avenger!bucky x female!reader

Words: 6.1k++

Warnings: 18+ content, no minors allowed, nsfw, fingering, nipple play, marking kink(?), multiple orgasm, praise kink, dry wet humping, cum eating(?), p in v, going in raw, creampie and well you know me, i can’t write smut without some sort of angst or fluff, so yeah, body insecurities, super sweet bucky but also needy and insatiable bucky.

Inspiration: i was mentioned by @mercurial-chuckles in her Smutty September Fest post and some of the prompts fit nicely with one of my wip. Btw, thank you for tagging me! I feel included 💕

Prompt number: #5 body worshipping + #16 accidental i love you’s during sex

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Bucky’s footsteps were heavy as he made his way to the kitchen, but the quiet hum of the refrigerator was enough to mask the sound of his movements. The dim light from the hallway barely reached the living room, casting long shadows across the area.

It has been a routine for him to wake up in the middle of the night, the nightmares of his memories haunting his sleep, dragging him back into the darkest corners of his past. He was used to it. But tonight was different. There were no memories clawing at him, no ghosts whispering in his ear. Instead, his mind was consumed by thoughts of her.

He wished to hold her, to feel the warmth of her skin against his, to trace the curve of her cheek with his fingertips. He longed to pull her close, to bury his face in the crook of her neck and breathe in her scent, to hear the soft, steady rhythm of her breath as she slept beside him. The thought of it sent a shiver down his spine; a yearning so deep it bordered on desperation. 

So he decided to clear his head, avoiding letting his head stay in the gutter.

He let out a sigh, not one of sadness, but of suppressed desire, the kind that made his heart race and his cock stirred. As he reached for a glass, something caught his eye; a silhouette on the couch. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat when he recognized the figure lying there, motionless, as if the day had been too much to bear.

It was Y/N.

Confusion clouded his mind. She wasn’t supposed to be here. 

A few hours ago, she’d been dressed to kill, draped in that black satin dress that clung to her in all the right places. The sweetheart neckline framed her delicate collarbones; the softness of her cleavage was bare for him, and the high slit teased him with every step she took. He had admired her silently, his gaze dark with something he didn’t dare voice. The way the fabric had caressed her skin, the soft curve of her shoulders, the way the dress accentuated her body; he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

She was breathtaking.

They had made eye contact, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. His gaze was feral, full of unspoken want, yet his lips remained sealed tight, trapping the words he wanted so desperately to say. If she had super hearing, she’d have heard the low, approving hum that rumbled deep in his throat. But then, the moment shattered. His heart broke a little when he heard her mention to Natasha that she was going on a date. The words were like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of him.

He had been sitting at the kitchen counter at that time, listening as Sam and Natasha hyped her up, teasing her about how lucky her date was going to be. Bucky stayed quiet, forcing himself to look away, fighting the jealousy that gnawed at him. It wasn’t fair; he had no right to feel this way, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of her with someone else, someone who could give her everything he couldn’t; it was unbearable.

But now, she was here. Alone.

Sleeping on the couch in the same sinful dress that had driven him to distraction earlier. But the sight of her now was different. Her face was tear-streaked, her eyes puffy and red. It was clear she had been crying, and the sight of it twisted something deep within him.

Gently, he knelt to her level. He knew she was a light sleeper, so he approached with care, his metal fingers brushing softly against her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, and the moment they met his, they were filled with a mixture of surprise and vulnerability.

Bucky's voice was a low murmur, intimate and tender. “What are you doing sleeping here, babydoll?”

Her cheeks reddened, the flush deepening as she realised he was seeing her at her most unfiltered state. The thought made her heart race, and the way he spoke, so close and personal, only made it worse. The intimacy of the moment was too much.

She gathered herself, sitting up with a sigh. “I didn’t plan to… I was just…” Her voice trailed off, and her expression softened into one of sadness as the memories of the evening came flooding back.

It had started off well enough. They had connected online, his messages charming and full of wit, making her think that maybe, just maybe; this could be something. But the moment she met him in person, she noticed a shift. The easy smile he’d worn in his profile pictures seemed a little tighter, the warmth in his eyes dimmed.

As they sat across from each other at the restaurant, she couldn’t ignore how his gaze kept drifting downwards. His eyes lingered a little too long on the exposed parts of her chest, his attention fixating on the stretch marks that she usually tried so hard to ignore. She had seen the change in his expression; the way his gaze hardened, a slight frown creasing his brow, followed by a low scowl that he probably thought she couldn’t hear.

Then, out of nowhere, he just left. No explanation, no goodbye; just a curt excuse about needing to use the restroom, and then he was gone, leaving her alone at the table with a half-finished meal and a hollow ache in her chest.

She knew why he left. She had seen that look before, the way his eyes lingered on her stretch marks, the way his expression shifted from interest to disdain. It was the same with most of the guys she went on dates with. The moment they saw the imperfections, they would withdraw, their interest waning before her very eyes.

She knew they hated the stretch marks on her skin, found them hideous. It was in the way their eyes would momentarily widen in surprise, followed by a barely concealed grimace. She could see the discomfort in their expressions, the way they quickly looked away as if trying to erase the image from their minds.

At first she always thought stretch marks were normal. It was human nature, a part of life, a testament to growth and change. She had tried to embrace them, reminding herself that they were natural, that everyone had imperfections. But each time she saw that look of disgust, it chipped away at her resolve, making her question everything she’d tried so hard to believe. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t normal. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to have them. Maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with her.

She didn’t even know how she got back home. The memory was a blur, a haze of tears and jumbled thoughts. She remembered crying, feeling the tears stream down her cheeks as she stumbled out of the restaurant. But the rest was an utter fog. Did she walk home? She couldn’t remember. The city lights and the sound of her own sobs were all that lingered in her mind. It was as if her body moved without her conscious thought, carrying her back to the one place where she didn’t have to pretend everything was okay.

Bucky waited, his eyes searching hers, but she remained silent, fidgeting with the fabric of her dress. He could see the sadness lingering in her expression, and it didn’t take much for him to piece together that the date hadn’t gone well. A part of him was furious; how could anyone make her feel like this? She deserved to be cherished, not hurt. If it were him… if only she were his… He clenched his jaw at the thought, forcing himself to stay calm.

But, he knew better than to push her to talk about it. Instead, he simply reached out and took her hand in his, his touch gentle yet reassuring. “You must be tired. How about we get you to bed, hmm?” he said softly, his voice filled with a warmth that made her heart ache.

She nodded, still too caught up in her thoughts to speak. They walked in silence, Bucky leading the way while she followed just a step behind. Her eyes drifted down to their hands; knitly intertwined. His hand felt warm, comforting in a way that made her wish she could stay like this forever. The truth was, she didn’t even know why she kept trying to go out and date other men when the one she truly craved was right here, holding her hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

But then, the doubts crept in, as they always did. She was self-sabotaging, she knew that. She kept telling herself that she wasn’t good enough for him, that he could never truly want someone like her. Someone who didn’t have Natasha’s confidence, her grace, her perfect everything. Why would he look at her the way she longed for him to, when he could have someone like that?

Despite all her doubts, she couldn’t ignore the way his touch made her feel. 

Safe. 

Wanted.

Y/N almost bumped into Bucky’s back when he suddenly stopped. She blinked in surprise, realising they had already arrived at her room. “Oh, we’re here”, she thought to herself, feeling a strange mix of disappointment and relief. Bucky turned slightly, his gaze dropping to their still-intertwined hands before he gently led her to the door.

“Will you be alright, doll?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern. His thumb moved in slow, comforting circles on the back of her hand, a gesture so natural it was almost as if he didn’t realise he was doing it.

She nodded, but her response was barely more than a whisper. “Yeah…”

She tried to sound convincing, but her voice wavered, betraying the turmoil swirling inside her. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, she was caught in the warmth of his gaze. Bucky looked at her with such tenderness, such genuine care, that it made the butterflies flutter wildly within her.

Bucky took a step closer, closing the small distance between them. His free hand reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with pure adoration. As he touched her, his fingers lingered slightly, savouring the softness of her skin. 

He took in every detail: her eyes, even puffy and red from crying, held a beauty that made his heart go mushy. The tears that had streaked down her cheeks were a testament to the raw emotion she was feeling, a vulnerability he wished to protect. Her skin was delicate, and the way her lashes brushed against her flushed cheeks. Despite the distress she was experiencing, she was still incredibly beautiful in his eyes.

Bucky’s gaze finally settled on her pink, pouty lips, he felt an overwhelming urge to press his own lips against hers, if not to comfort her, then to taste the sweetness that he imagined was there. The thought of kissing her once, just once; seemed to consume him. He couldn’t hold back any longer. “You’re gorgeous, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice filled with sincere admiration, hoping to convey just how deeply he felt about her.

But Y/N’s reaction was not what he expected. The words, rather than warming her, seemed to chill her further. She didn’t think he was insulting her by blatantly lying to her face; she just couldn’t bring herself to believe that he truly meant it. It sounded to her like a polite gesture, just another way of saying something nice in the face of her misery; a form of lip service.

Her lips twisted into a small, almost imperceptible frown, and she quickly looked away, her gaze falling to the floor. It was as if her brain refused to process the sincerity in his tone, unable to reconcile his words with the image she had of herself.

She scoffed, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Yeah, thanks,” she said, unable to fully accept the compliment.

Bucky’s hand stilled on hers, his thumb halting its comforting motion as her response sank in. He was taken aback, not by any notion of insult, but by the realisation that she didn’t seem to believe the sincerity of his words. His brows furrowed with concern, and he stepped even closer, his body nearly touching hers. His hands came back to gently hold her face, tilting it up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“I mean it, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet tender. “You are beautiful. You always are.”

He searched her eyes, silently pleading with her to see herself through his eyes. His tone was unwavering, full of the affection he felt for her. 

But even as she looked into those blue eyes, the doubts that clouded her mind made it hard to fully accept his compliment. She couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that Bucky’s words were anything more than a kind attempt to cheer her up. The sincerity in his eyes was almost too much to process. Even if his compliments were meant to lift her spirits without fully reflecting his true feelings, she appreciated his kindness more than she could express.

A soft, fond smile appeared on her lips as she took in his earnest expression. “You’re so sweet,” she murmured, her voice tender. Gently, she stood on tiptoe, reaching up to pull him closer. With a delicate touch, she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Her lips lingered there for a brief moment, and she whispered against his skin, her breath warm, “Thank you for saying that, Bucky.”

Bucky’s heart pounded wildly in his chest as Y/N’s lips brushed against his cheek. The soft, lingering touch of her kiss, combined with the faint, intoxicating scent of her perfume, overwhelmed his senses. But when she pulled away, he felt a rush of heat flood through him, his control slipping. 

Overcome by an intense wave of feelings, Bucky pulled her back to him with a force and urgency that surprised even him. As he did, he could feel the warmth of her soft body pressing against his own, her delicate form moulding perfectly against him. He snuggled into the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet, intoxicating scent, which seemed to envelop him entirely.

His lips found her neck, and he kissed her with a fervour that spoke of his overwhelming need. Each kiss was infused with a deep, desperate longing that he could no longer contain. Y/N didn’t push him away; instead, she clung to him, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, as if seeking comfort and reassurance in his embrace. The contact between them was electric, and the soft moans that escaped her lips only fueled his desire further.

When she leaned in closer, a low, guttural growl escaped Bucky. He responded eagerly as he sucked gently on her skin, enjoying the taste of her as his hands roamed over her back and sides, his touch possessive and desperate. His palms pawed at every curve he could reach, exploring her with a need that bordered on frantic.

Y/N’s moan was soft, a sound that almost drove him further into the depths of his desire. But as the sound of her pleasure reached his ears, reality hit him like a splash of cold water. He realised what he had done; his actions were driven by raw, sinful need rather than the tenderness he had intended; that she deserved. The realisation struck him hard, making him feel as though he had somehow taken something that wasn’t his to claim. 

So he pulled away abruptly, his eyes wide with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he stammered, his voice heavy with contrition. “I didn’t mean—”

But then, it was as if time slowed, allowing him to savour every delicate moment. As he pulled away, the sight that greeted him was almost more than he could handle. The tiny strap of her dress had slipped from her shoulders, revealing even more of the gentle curve of her cleavage, her doe-like eyes were fixed on him; hazed and heavy with emotion, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps, “Bucky…?”

The rush of desire he was so desperately trying to hold off, surged back through him, intensified by the vulnerability displayed before him. Bucky was barely able to maintain control. His heart raced, and the urge to be close to her again, to touch her, became nearly unbearable. In a moment of desperation and need, he guided her into her room, almost too urgent, too needy.

Once inside, Bucky pinned her gently against the door, his body pressing close to hers as he closed it with a soft click. His arms braced on either side of her, trapping her in a way that made her feel both vulnerable and electrified. The intensity in his gaze was palpable as he looked down at her, the hunger in his eyes undeniable.

“Fuck, babydoll,” he growled, his voice low and raw with yearning. “Please, let me touch you.”

His plea was a mix of desperation and want, a testament to how deeply he felt for her, even as he grappled with the boundaries he had momentarily crossed. The room was filled with an electrifying silence, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing and the lingering intensity of the moment.

The voice she let out was almost too quiet, her tone tinged with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “You want to touch me?” The question was almost a whisper, her eyes searching his ocean blues for the truth.

Bucky’s response was immediate, driven by the urgent need that surged through him. When his body responded faster than his words. He pressed his hardened bulge against her thigh, the physical evidence of his desire unmistakable. “Hmm, I wanna touch you, kiss you… want you so bad,” he murmured, his voice thick with desperation and lust.

Y/N’s breath hitched at the feeling of him against her, and her own passion began to match his intensity. “Touch me, Bucky,” she breathed out, her voice trembling with a mix of eagerness and anticipation. “Want you too. Want you all over me.”

His response was immediate. Bucky crashed his lips onto hers in a passionate kiss, their tongues dancing together as moans and groans filled the space between them. He effortlessly lifted her, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and carried her to the bed. The heat between them was unfiltered, and as he laid her down, his hands were already working to strip himself of his clothes.

With a sensual precision, he unzipped her dress, whispering praises against her skin. But as the fabric slipped from her shoulders, revealing more of her body, she hesitated. Her hands moved to cover her breasts, instinctively hiding the marks she had always felt so self-conscious about. The events of the night had taken their toll, and though she wanted to believe him, doubt crept in.

Bucky noticed the shift in her eyes, the uncertainty that dimmed her earlier confidence. He paused, his gaze softening as he gently coaxed her. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, doll,” he murmured, his voice tender and reassuring. “You’re safe with me.” his fingers tracing soothing patterns on her skin as he waited for her to continue.

She hesitated, then took a deep breath, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “It’s just… the stretch marks,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “My date tonight, he left because of them. It’s happened before, and I—I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help feeling like they’re… ugly.”

Bucky’s heart twisted at her words, anger flaring briefly at the thought of anyone making her feel this way. But he forced himself to remain calm, to be the comfort she needed. His thumb brushed the underside of her breast, sending shivers down her spine as he tried to ease her worries. “Well, aren’t I lucky to have these all to myself?” he teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

She whined softly, her tone serious. “I’m being serious, Bucky.”

His expression sobered, his brow furrowing with concern. “So am I.”

“Y/N,” he began, his voice soft yet firm, “...there is nothing ugly about you. Not your stretch marks, not anything. I’m so sorry those idiots couldn’t see that. But I do. And I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

He watched as her defences slowly crumbled, her eyes searching his; for any sign of insincerity, but finding none. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice wavering.

Bucky’s lips curled into a tender smile, “I’m very sure, Y/N. You have no idea how obsessed I am with you. All of you.” his hands gently pried hers away from her chest, revealing the parts of her that she wanted to hide the most. The sight before him made his cock twitch, arousal leaking from the tip as he took her in, completely captivated. “And these stretch marks?” His voice dropped to a husky whisper as his fingers traced over the marks on her skin. 

Y/N’s body responded instinctively. A shiver ran through her, her breath hitching at the sensation of his touch. The warmth of his hand contrasted with the coolness of the air, making her skin tingle where he caressed her. 

“Fuck, I love them.” His touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as he continued, “They’re proof of how your body adapts, changes, grows. It’s like your skin’s telling a story, and every line, every mark, is beautiful.” He pressed a kiss against one of the marks, his lips lingering as he added, “You’re a masterpiece, babydoll, every inch of you.” His words were heavy with pure hunger, his admiration clear as he looked up at her, eyes dark with passion.

Bucky's breath was warm against her skin, the contrast between his sweet words and the raw hunger in his eyes sending a shiver down her spine. As he leaned in, his lips brushed softly over the stretch marks he had just praised, and then his kisses deepened, becoming more fervent. He trailed his mouth along the curve of her breast, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin before he began to suck, leaving his own mark on her as if staking a claim.

Her body responded instantly, arching toward him, a quiet whimper escaping her lips. The combination of his hot mouth on her breast and the cool metal of his fingers tracing circles on her other nipple sent shockwaves of pleasure through her. His metal thumb and index finger rolled the sensitive bud, each movement sending a jolt of sensation that made her gasp, her breaths coming in short, rapid bursts.

Bucky didn’t stop there. He switched sides, his tongue flicking over her other nipple before capturing it between his lips, sucking and nibbling in a way that made her toes curl. Every touch was deliberate, meant to drive her wild, and it was working. Her hands found their way into his hair, tugging gently as if to anchor herself to reality amid the whirlwind of pleasure he was creating.

As his mouth worshipped her breasts, his fleshed hand began a slow descent, sliding across her stomach and leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When he reached the edge of her panties, he paused, revelling in the moment before pressing his flesh fingers against the soaked fabric. A low, approving growl rumbled in his chest as he felt how wet she was for him, the sound vibrating against her skin and making her moan louder.

He started to rub her clothed pussy with agonising slowness, applying just enough pressure to make her hips buck toward him, seeking more. His thumb found her clit through the fabric, rubbing slow circles that had her whimpering his name, her body begging for more of his touch. 

The dual sensations of his mouth and metal hand on her breasts and his warm fingers rubbing her pussy were too much. She was on fire, her entire body trembling under his touch, her mind lost in the addicting pleasure. Every nerve ending was alive with sensation, her moans growing louder as he increased the pressure, her body responding instinctively to the pleasure he was giving her.

Bucky, too, was lost in the moment. He groaned against her skin, the taste of her driving him insane. The way she reacted to his touch, the way she moaned his name, only fueled his desire. He needed more of her, needed to make her feel just how much he wanted her.

With a growl of pure need, he slid his hand under the waistband of her panties, and pulled the last piece of fabric off her. His fingers find her wet folds, slipping between them. "Fuck, babydoll, you're so wet for me,"  he murmured, his voice rough with passion. The way she responded to his touch only made him more desperate to worship every inch of her.

As his fingers moved inside her, Bucky’s thumb continued to circle her clit, the sensations pushing her closer and closer to the edge. His mouth and metal hand never left her breasts, continuing to tease her nipples until she was writhing beneath him. Her moans were desperate now, her body begging for release, and Bucky was more than happy to give it to her.

He pulled back for a moment, looking up at her with dark, adoring eyes. "You're so beautiful, Y/N," he whispered, pressing kisses along her chest. "I love the way you feel. Every part of you is perfect." His praises were soft, sincere, each word filled with pure admiration.

When he curled his fingers just right inside her, she arched off the bed, and he couldn’t help but marvel at her reaction. "Fuck, you’re incredible" he groaned, adding a second finger and feeling her tighten around him. “Love the way you taste, how you feel... hmmm, I need you so bad, Y/N” He was relentless yet tender, his every movement calculated to bring her to the edge of pleasure.

His lips found her breast again, tongue flicking over her nipple as he sucked and kissed her sensitive skin. His free hand never stopped caressing her, moving from her breast down to her stomach, then back to her other nipple, never leaving her wanting. "I wanna hear you scream for me, wanna feel you cum all over my fingers,” he growled between kisses, his words thick with arousal. 

Bucky’s thick fingers worked inside her with deliberate intensity, each thrust pushing deeper into her soaked core. He pumped his fingers in and out of her, his movements rhythmic and forceful. With each thrust, her wet juices squirted out, dripping and mixing with his harsh movements. The slick sound of his fingers sliding in and out, combined with the feeling of her arousal, drove him feral. His pace grew faster, his fingers curling and stroking with expert precision, drawing out her moans and cries of pleasure.

Y/N’s body responded to every touch, every word, her hips grinding against his hand as she chased the pleasure he was giving her. She was so close, so desperately close, and when Bucky twisted his fingers inside her, in places she never was able to reach before, and her world exploded in a blinding rush of pleasure. 

Bucky kept hitting that right spot inside her in every deep plunge of his fingers, until he could feel her tightening around him, her body trembling with the approach of her orgasm. His own need was growing unbearable, the taste of her nipples, the feel of her wet hole, driving him to the brink. He moaned against her breast, his voice thick with arousal as he told her how beautiful she was, how much he needed her, how much he loved the way she felt around him.

As her moans turned into desperate whimpers, he groaned in response. "That’s it, babydoll, let go for me. Let me feel how much you need this, need me," he urged, his voice thick with arousal. His thumb pressed harder against her clit, and his fingers pumped faster, pushing her closer and closer. “Cum for me yeah, fucking cum for me that’s it angel.”

“Buckyyyy”, She cried out his name, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she rode out the waves of ecstasy. Bucky groaned in response, feeling her tighten around his fingers, her pleasure only increasing make his cock throbbed with need.

He continued to move his hand, "So perfect. So fucking perfect." drawing out her orgasm until she was left panting, trembling beneath him. Only then did he finally pull his fingers from her, his hand wet with her arousal, and brought them to his lips, tasting her with a deep, satisfied groan.

Bucky’s own need was reaching a fever pitch, the taste of her, the feel of her soaking wet pussy gripping his fingers was too much to bear any longer. "Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you, can’t wait to make you mine," he moaned, his lips trailing down her body, leaving a path of hot kisses.

Bucky’s cock was almost unbearable as he pressed himself against her, his hard cock sliding between her drenched folds. Every night, he had fantasized about this moment, dreaming of the warmth and wetness of her body. So many nights, he’d ended up frustrated; his cum laid there wasted on his abs as he jerked off to thoughts of her.

Now, finally feeling her hot and wet against him, he was nearly driven mad with raging lust. He groaned softly, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. His cock, heavy and throbbing, glided between her folds with a hunger that bordered on desperation. Each stroke elicited a shiver from her, her body sensitive and responsive from their earlier intimacy.

Bucky’s movements were urgent and almost primal. He humped against her, his moans a testament to his pleasure. “Fuck babyyy, you feel so amazing," he rasped, his breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. "You’re so fucking wet, Y/N. I’ve wanted this for so long, and it feels so. fucking. good."

Y/N’s has been a moaning mess under him, her body still tingling from the previous orgasm. The lingering sensations of his thick fingers inside her made every touch feel electric. Now, with his big, thick cock rubbing against her, her pussy twitched and pulsed in response.Each stroke was a jolt of heat, his tip bumping against her clit with every movement. Her hips trembled under his tight grip, her body reacting intensely to the pleasure.

Bucky’s moans were guttural, full of raw need as he lost himself in the sensation. "I’m not even inside you yet, angel," his cock rubbing insistently against her sensitive flesh as he panted, his voice trembling with desperation. "But, you feel so good, I’m gonna cum."

“Hmmm, Bucky… Bucky, please,” she whined, her voice trembling with need. “Feels so good… oh fuck! Cum on me, cum on me please...” Her words were almost incoherent, her pleasure overflowed from within, her body quivering and almost drooling from the way his cock was rubbing against her needy cunt.

Lost in his own world of lust, Bucky couldn’t get enough of her. He worshipped her pussy with a passion that left him breathless, his dirty talk coming out in desperate, needy groans. "You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N. I can’t get enough of you," he rasped. "You’re driving me insane. I want to mark you, claim you completely."

Their pleasure reached higher, each thrust and touch sending them both spiraling towards their orgasms. Bucky’s thrusts grew harsher, more insistent, as he chanted, “I’m cumming, doll. I’m cumming so hard.” His voice was raw with need, his body moving with a frenzied desire.

She was pleading, her voice a mix of desperation and pleasure. “Please, please, please…” Her words were breathless, each plea a testament to the intensity of their shared ecstasy. “I’m cumming, cumming on you baby, ‘m cummingg fuckkk,,”Bucky whined in absolute pleasure.

As they both came together, Bucky’s release was intense and overwhelming. His cock throbbed and twitched with every spasm, cum spilling endlessly from his tip in hot, thick ropes. Each pulse of his orgasm sent more of his seed dripping down onto her, coating her skin with the evidence of their union.

Even in the throes of his orgasm, Bucky continued to rub desperately against her twitching pussy, his movements frantic and unrelenting. “Still cumming for you, baby, paint you so pretty with my cum,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. The heat and friction were almost too much, his need to feel her and mark her as his luring him to continue. His cum painted a path up to her breasts, the warmth of it a vivid testament to his desire and dominance. 

He marked her completely, his release a physical declaration of his claim.

As Bucky’s release subsided, he looked down at her with eyes still feral and full of desire. She lay beneath him, breathing heavily, her body still quivering from the intensity of their climax. Bucky’s gaze lingered on her, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “So gorgeous, covered with my cream,” he murmured, his voice rough and slow. He lazily rubbed his still-hard cock against her swollen pussy, his movements deliberate and teasing. “Now I’m gonna paint your insides, then fill you to the brim.”

Her whimpers of need were barely coherent. “Please, wanna feel your cum inside me so bad,” she begged, her voice trembling with craving.

Bucky slipped inside her easily, his cock finding its way with a smooth, satisfying glide. “So fuckin’ tight, shittt,” he groaned, feeling the exquisite heat of her around him. His thrusts were powerful and deep, each movement sending waves of pleasure through them both. “Tight little pussy’s mine,” he growled. “You take me so perfect, baby.”

His filthy words gradually transformed into sincere praise, his voice softening with affection. “You’re so good to me,” he panted, his hands exploring her body with tender care. One hand played with her clit, rubbing it with a skilled touch that made her moan and writhe beneath him. The other hand teased her nipple, tugging it gently as he thrust harder and deeper.

And as Bucky continued to thrust into her, the sound of their bodies connecting was raw and unrestrained, each movement accompanied by the slick, wet noises of their joined pleasure. Despite the intensity, their dialogue remained tender and sweet. “I love you, Y/N,” Bucky whispered lovingly, his voice a mix of pleasure and adoration. “I love you so much, doll.”

She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Normally, such words would be met with doubt, but the way his cock was filling her completely, the intense pleasure he was giving her, and the look in his eyes—filled with an earnest, almost desperate longing—made it impossible to ignore. 

She moaned in response, her own voice trembling with emotion. “I love you too, Bucky,” she gasped, her words mingling with the sounds of their physical connection. 

Bucky’s thrusts grew more deep and harsh as he neared his climax. “I love you. I love you. I love you, Y/N,” he groaned, his hands rubbing a tight circle on her clit and tugging at her nipple. “Now, take my fucking cum.”

When Bucky finally released inside her, the sensation was nothing he ever felt before. He felt so good his eyes rolled back and his mouth fell open. His cock pulsing and throbbing with each spasm of his orgasm. His endless cream was flooding her, and with every thrust, it leaked out, creating a hot, sticky mess. The warmth and thickness of his release filled her completely, and the sensation of it escaping with each of his movements made him groan in pleasure.

Even as Bucky reached his high, he continued to fuck her through it, each thrust pushing his cum deeper into her. “You take me so well,” he moaned, his voice thick with emotion and need. Her own pleasure was amplified by the sensation of his cum inside her, her body responding eagerly to each thrust.

Afterward, Bucky remained inside her, relishing the intimate connection. He carefully cleaned the traces of his cum from her skin, his tongue gently licking and slurping it clean. “You’re perfect, babydoll,” he praised between licks, his voice soft and affectionate. “So beautiful, so fucking amazing.” He took his time, his lips brushing against her with care. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” he murmured. “You feel so good, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

She responded with soft moans and shivers of pleasure, her body reacting eagerly to his touches. Each lick and gentle caress made her quiver, her breaths coming in quick, shallow bursts as she felt his adoration and need. Her eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the sensation of being worshipped so completely.

Occasionally, Bucky would grind into her, savouring the way her pussy tightened around him, deepening his pleasure. “You’re such a fucking treasure,” he continued, his voice a blend of awe and desire. “I can’t get enough of you. You’re mine, and I’m never letting go.” She whimpered needily, her body responding to his movements with a mix of pleasure and longing.

He continued to move his hips against her, thrusting with a renewed sense of urgency and need. “It’s gonna be a long night ahead, baby,” he murmured, his voice filled with determination and passion. “I’m not gonna let you leave this bed until the only thing that leaks out of you is me.”

With that, he pressed into her once more, his movements both firm and tender, as he prepared for another round of intense, passionate connection.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Been collecting dust in my drafts for way too long. Now lemme hear your thoughts. Please? 🥹 And go send @mercurial-chuckles some love!

[williamverse]

Jayce in my dishonored au! I’ll leave a few more sketches and wip pics under the cut, along with his lore for anyone curious)

Jayce is an immigrant from Serkonos — he’s a part of an impoverished noble family. They move to Dunwall after Jayce’s father dies. During their voyage, the ship gets lost at sea, caught up in a storm. Death seems inevitable, until a mark-bearer aboard uses his magic to call the whales, who get the ship on their backs and bring it to safety. The mark-bearer than hands Jayce a rune and that’s when his fascination with void begins.

So, he starts studying the void, magic, different runes, their meanings, trying to harness magic and make it do good. At some point he even meets Sokolov, who shares his fascination, but they part ways soon because of moral differences. Once, when looking for new material for study, he makes his way to the Brigmore mansion, but is quickly stopped by a certain someone. “They will eat you alive if you set foot there, boy,” the stranger says.

That stranger is none other than Viktor, of course. He’s from an industrial district. Dirty air, constantly filled with toxic fumes from the factories never served him well and worsened his already weak health. Still, he has a sharp mind, and is known and respected among workers. They know: if something doesn’t work right, he knows how to fix it. However, his genius was never satiated, so when he learned about Jayce’s research he was intrigued to say the least.

The two had to work in shadow as to not get caught by the overseers, spreading their little successes among the poor, in total secret. Then, during one of their experiments, something went wrong, and Viktor touched the void — maybe a bit too deeply for a regular human being. It scarred him, making the two stop their research.

When, the plague comes. Viktor falls victim to it and soon dies. Jayce, however, can’t accept a truth like that and strives to return him no matter the cost. He believes: Viktor’s soul is somewhere within the void and he only needs to find a way to pull it out and tie it back to his body. And so, he looks for an answer, nearly goes crazy, sees visions from the void, while Viktor’s body starts to rot.

Nonetheless, he finally finds a way to accomplish what he had in mind, tying Viktor’s soul back to his body. But Viktor is different. He’s already dead and he’d spent too long in the void — so, even with his soul back in his body, he’s not at home in the real world anymore

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Alles zu seiner Zeit

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, mentions of death and loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Fifteen years after a plague struck Wisborg, the widower Harding continues to visit his wife and daughter at the cemetery where you work. His devotion spans across seasons but it might be more than those he lost drawing him back.

Characters: Friedrich Harding

Note: this is a new character for me so...

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Winter 

Bristles scrape on stone. Each push of the broom tugs in your arms, the layers against the chill inspiring a slake of sweat along your back. The trickle makes you itch as your efforts scratch across the ground, sending clouds of snow into heaps. 

Where once greenery blossomed and flowers smiled at sunlight remain only bristly sticks and frozen dirt 'neath the rug of January's malaise. The sombre grey skies form a thin curtain against the shadow of memories. The spectre of plague and whispers of a curse carry in the winds and swirl the flakes around your skirts. 

You were young the winter the sickness came. You'd known eight up until that blight and your brothers knew no other. They were of the forsaken, left in pine boxes to be buried when the frozen ground could be cracked with a spade. Your mother joined them soon after, though of a different malady; despair. 

Your father suffered the same disease but to a very different effect. At the bottom of a bottle. He lingers there in the depths of distraught distraction.  

You sweep the path clear to the doors of the mausoleum, then perpendicular around the perimeter. When the walkways are done, you will put your mind to the stones. And by the time those are revealed, a new sheet will litter the ground and your work will begin anew. 

Emmett, the youngest of the diggers, sits in wool and a leather cap, drinking hot barley from a cup. He shivers as you pass, mindful not to push the snow his way. He doffs the cup amiably. 

"How's it, fraulein?" He greets. 

"You would know so well as I, herr," you reply, moving the bristles anon. Your mittened hands cling tightly as the cold nips through to your knuckles. You keep your chin tucked into your scarf, 

"Frigid, ja," he cradles the cup and curls into its warmth. Adelaine, daughter of the sexton, must have offered the kindness. She does make certain to know all the diggers' names. "Would you do all this by your own?" He peers around the rolling expanse marked by headstones and monuments. 

"Someone must mind the spirits," you carry on without hamper.  

"For a pretty thaler or so, I'd pray," he remarks and clucks. 

You will not tell the truth. It is a thaler for the whole of a fortnight of sweeping and clearing the cobwebs; of breaking the frost from the keyholes and dusting away the musty leaves and stirred pebbles. 

"I pray you keep warm, herr. The almanac calls for a long winter." You bid as you progress away from him. 

"And you, Fraulein. Mind the ice," he girds. 

You keep careful steps as you press on. Emmett rises with his cup of barley and retreats to the shed with the shovels. A mean gale blows around you, nearly taking you off your feet. 

You steady yourself as you plant the broom and chatter against the deathly gust. There's a shrill whine from behind you. You turn as Adelaine clings to her fur-trimmed hood and hides behind a statue of the Holy Mother. 

"Fraulein," she trills in her creaky tones. "Have you seen Herr Emmett?" 

"Mm," you hum in hesitation. Her father, Wilhelm, warned you against encouraging her comingling. He is a pious man, minding the sacred grounds and all. "I'm not certain where he's strayed, Fraulein Adelaine." 

"Mercy," she huddles down against another violent draught. "The bishops says it's not been so cold since... well, he would not speak of it." 

She makes the sign of the cross and bows her head, clutching her hand where her golden necklace is hidden beneath her dress and cloak. Many would not wear holy icons so gregarious in their clothing. Simple wood or iron is more in line with the protestant pragmatism.  

The gate bell tolls and she cranes to see beyond you. Snow blows across her cheeks as the wind billows in her hood. Your own lets the bitter chill right through its weave.  

"There he is," she exclaims before your mind might follow her previous allusion. That corrupt wintertide. 

You turn to peer across the ivory swathes. Henrick and Emmett approach the gate and open it to the visitor. A figure on a horse rides through impatiently, nearly catching Henrick beneath the hooves. The gentleman wears simple black though the richness of its cut can be seen even from your purview. The breed of his coldblood steed attests to his fortune.  

Adelaine gasps and steps out close to you. You have seen the man before. As often you've seen the drape of his cloak, you would only know him by the emblem pinned upon the horse's harness.  

"It is the widower, Harding." She whispers.  

The man draws his horse around the stone crypt marked with his name. The one barren of any other decoration; no flowers in Fruhling, no ornament upon the door, nor even a cross carved into the lintel. You note the plainness each time you tend its grounds. 

He drops off his horse heavily. His boots send up a cloud and you grip the broom tighter. How quickly it's piled up all over again. Flecks fall along the folds of his cloak as he marches to the doors. You can hear the twist of the key as he lets himself within. The door slams sonorously and casts a pall over the grounds. 

"My father says he was young when his wife and daughters succumbed to the ague," Adelaine says. 

"Do not speak of it," you chide. "It is ill tidings to call upon the dead who wish to remain undisturbed." 

She tuts, "he comes every day. He disturbs them oft enough." 

"They are his to disturb," you sniff. "I should be certain it does not snow him in." 

She would not know what it is to have those beyond your grasp. To spend the nocturne longing for them to be there again. To hear them sing a lullaby or tuck you into sleep.

"Have you ever been inside? Even a glimpse? Father does not have a key." She grabs your sleeve before you can depart. "What do you presume he does within? I've heard him talking..." 

"It isn't of my concern," you tug away from her. "Nor yours." 

"Hmph, mind your lip," she sneers. "Or I'll have father find another broom sweep. Perhaps one more droll, ja?" 

"Apologies, fraulein, I only mean to do my work," you say. "The snow comes more and more. Perhaps you should go within, be warm." 

"Perhaps I might and perhaps I mightn't," she retorts and rubs together her gloved hands. "Very well, go about and do you work, little dormouse." 

You part before her temper can rise. Adelaine can be as prickly as she is pleasant. One moment a giggle, the next a growl. 

You retrace your steps along the path, uncovering the stone with the bristles as you do. You glance over at the yellow crypt as the wind wails as a wraith might. None are permitted within but the widower. It is a rule never broken. Never questioned. All know of the heartbroken Harding and his sorrow, even beyond those gates. Even as he hides within the walls of the house he once made a home of. 

Fruhling (Spring) 

As the annual thaw softens the earth, the frozen ground churns to mud, and the air bristles with the damp threat of rain. The early sprigs of green poke up from the flattened grasses and the cracks between the stonework fill with wet sludge. Your bristles clump with mud and you trade the broom for shovel to scrape it all away. 

Adelaine’s song carries with those of the songbirds, returned from their winter nests. She sits upon a bench and chimes as Emmett and Matthias dig into a new plot nearby. Her ploy is not subtle. 

Even as the season marks rebirth, death is to be expected. The hole is meant for the wife of a cobbler who did not survive her child. The infant, as you heard, is well. A reverence carries on the whispers as the old wives and grandmothers praise her noble sacrifice. It is as close as a woman might come to the bravery of man, though there isn’t much choice in the matter. 

Your mind wanders as the tedium of your work inspires preoccupation. Adelaine will be a wife one day. Will she end up in the ground upon her own sacrifice? Or will she sing then to her child instead of the diggers? 

What of yourself? You are no lady, your father is not rich but a drunkard feeding his demise off your tuppence. Should you have a husband when he succumbs to the rye’s dark tides? It would be practical. You father has no son, his house cannot pass to a daughter. 

With your days spent in the cemetery, you know that inevitability is closer than you should like. Your father should’ve died the night he was kicked in the skull by that old mule he slapped while in his cups. It is a miracle he lived to laugh so bawdily about the farce. 

You sigh and carry on, as you do many things in life. You will need to think on it more thoroughly before Winter comes again. It is a godsend your father did not catch the same ague as poor Frau Elke. You spent wakeless nights listening to his snores, searching for a cough or a choke. 

The day wears on and the burial happens in a bout of sunshine which beams down sardonically on the party’s grief. When the forsaken mother is buried, never to kiss the face of her child, they depart. Emmett and Matthias pat firm the earth as Sexton Wilhelm whistles for you. 

His daughter has been sent away. She cannot stomach the funerals. Ironic given her lot in life. Her family is not from Wisborn, they did not witness the plague, only heard of it. Her mother is well and alive, she never had any sibling, and her father is in fine enough health for a man his age. 

“These flowers are for the woman’s plot,” he gestures to a crate of marigolds. 

“Yes, Herr,” you reply diligently.  

“I will have one of the diggers assist,” he assures and struts off. 

You turn to face the plot. You heard the woman was younger than even you. A new bride. Not even twenty. You trace the cross over your chest and shoulders then pick up a basket of the marigolds 

Matthias comes with two hand spades. You take one and begin your work. You transplant the rooted flowers into the ground carefully. He grumbles as he kills more than he preserves. His hands are not delicate but calloused and well-worn. 

“Herr, I will finish,” you say. “You’ve done plenty today.” 

“Are you certain? There are still very many.” He glances over at the crate. 

“Too many. I will find them homes,” you promise. 

The gate bell rings as if supporting your suggestion. Matthias rises and dusts of his hands. Emmett and Henrick run down to open the doors to the visitor. Black velvet flaps over short bristles of reddish-brown. The widower canters in as the thick hooves clop over the stone. 

You pack down the earth around another stem. Harding dismounts as the diggers keep their distance. The lock grinds and the door drags on its hinges. It closes with a clunk as your shovel bites into the earth again and again. 

When you have lined the plot with the pleasant orange blooms, there is still a basket left. You peer around the fruhling blossom. Your eyes are drawn to the most bland swath among the sprawl. The yellow crypt and its vacant brick walls. Not even the ivy grows upon it. 

You are not so presumptuous as to disturb the soil. You cut the stems and bound them together with a headless one. Little bundles all snug together. You place them along the front of the crypt. They will die and blow away but it is a small blessing for the lost. 

You set above wiping clean the foot of the statue of the splattered mud. As you do, the crypt opens again. The cloak almost seems to float as its wearer remains hidden in its folds. He stops only two steps from the threshold. 

You scrape off dried muck with your fingernail as the clouds shift above. The sudden frantic scuffing and stomping draws your attention. Harding crushes the petals into the ground, decapitating the stems, twisting them into strands with his heels. His hood shifts you think for a moment he is looking at you. 

He kicks away what is left of the bouquets and approaches his dulcet steed. The beast is still as its rider mounts. It trods around the crypt then up the path to the gates. You frown and watch the widower’s departure. You did not mean to offend. You hope that Herr Wilhelm does not hear of this error. 

Sommer (Summer) 

Pollen floats in the air, tickling nostril and throat, mingling with the aromas of June. In the early morning dim, a cool breeze stirs the hem of your skirts and wafts around your clogs. You walk with a stick in hand, using it to traverse the cobbled roadway, chipped by the passing of carriage and hoof. 

Your trek to the cemetery is peaceful in the sommer. In the winter, it can grow quite eerie with the whistling winds like wailing wretches and the spindly branches like skeletons. In the summer, the trees are lush and rustling, waving like companions, and the grass ripples like water beneath the gentle flow. 

That morning, you hum to yourself as you peer ahead at the distant cemetery wall. There are houses along the old street but most still sleep in the dawn’s hue. You must be early to the graveyard so that you may ready the plots and paths. 

As you plod along, the posts of the cemetery gate come clearer over the rooftops. Your low melody is punctured by a sudden tempo. Slow and plodding. You move aside as you sense the nearing horse. The merchants rise as early as you; eager to deliver or claim their cargo at the dock. 

They do not hurry. They do not change measure. You traipse along and await their passing. As the shadow of the great steed nears, you do not count the creak of a wheel or axle. It is only a rider. 

Yet, they do not continue past you. The hooves keep a patient pace in tune with yours. You’ve never heard or seen a horse go so slow. Any beast you ever saw would tremble to be at full tilt amid the meadows. 

You peer over your shoulder curiously and follows the white fur around the wide hoof up the brown leg to the reddish sheen further up, the strands of a well-brushed main draping around the coldblood’s thick neck. Black velvet pleats around its rider but does not catch the wind. The fabric is too heavy for riding and for the season. 

The emblem on the horse’s chest gleams in your eye. It is him, the widower, in his mourning ebon. His hood shrouds his face as ever and he is silent as his horse walks beside you, as if an escort. 

You wait but he does not canter nor trot. He keeps the gait. You look ahead again then back to him. You wouldn’t want to be uncouth. 

“Guten morgen, Herr Harding.” 

As you’ve never heard him speak, you’re not certain you’ve ever heard any speak to him. Not the bold Adelaine or the stern Sexton Wilhelm. He only ever brought dire silence with him to the crypt. And then, as always, he remains quiet. 

You gulp and once more put your attention ahead of you. You are nearly at the gates, though you would not enter through the mainway. There is a smaller door round the east corner.

The gentleman and his horse bear down on you, their shadow rippling in the rising sunlight. Sweat trickles down your spine as a chill speckles across your skin. You feel as if he watches you but dare not look upon him in turn. You don’t believe you would see anything beneath his hood. You do wonder if the widower might indeed be a phantom himself. 

He steers to the gates and you pass them and head for the door behind the English oak. You pull the cord to lift the lever and glance over at Herr Harding. The widower’s hood shifts in your direction. You cannot see his eyes but you feel them. Like worms crawling over a corpse. You press inside and quickly swing the iron door shut. 

The gate bell pierces the early din of tweeting birds and skittering critters. Dandelion dust powders the air and bristles in your nose. You go to the shed to fetch your broom as the gates open at the widower’s behest. 

When you come out, he is gone. His horse is by the crypt and the doors are closed. You are deliberate in your work. Since that day with the marigolds, you’ve not gone near the yellow brick while Harding was as visitation. You always wait and say a silent prayer for his family as you clear the debris. 

There is much to do in the aged cemetery. There is no shortage of dead, forgotten or new. The stones must be cleaned or repaired. Wilhelm takes care to apply mortar to new cracks are to fix an eroded etching, so long as a thaler is offered for the effort.  

You brush the broom back and forth, pausing to watch a bee pollinate a flowerbed or a caterpillar make his slow progress over the stone. There is so much life here despite the purpose of the land. Where others come only to see death, you see what is still there. 

The sun ascends higher and higher. You leave your shawl in the shed and take a can to water the blooms. You marvel at how some petals seem to open and drink in the moisture. In the sommer, there is splendour. In sommer, you can hardly believe that winter could ever be. 

As you come around the path, the horse stands by the crypt, chewing the patchy grass. You pass by its swaying tail as you return the can to the shed. While there, you steal a handful of feed meant for the horses that draw the wagons of the lost. 

You cautiously near the large beast. It has been some hours since your arrival and it is a hot day. You open your palm, curving back your fingers to avoid the flat gnashing teeth. The horse smears spit on your hand as he eats the oats. 

The crypt door whines on the thick hinges and you wince and back away. You tuck yourself into an alcove as the door shuts heavily. You press into the brick as your heart races and you spot the littered trail of feed that leads to you. 

As Herr Harding comes around to mount his horse, he spies it too. He pauses as he bows beneath his hood, the edges of lifting slightly as he follows the seed and oat to you. You stare at him haplessly. You don’t know what to do or say. 

He turns and grabs the reins. He hauls himself onto the hours and clicks his teeth, driving his heels into its belly. The horse snorts and obeys, its hooves dusting along the stone toward the main gates. 

Herbst (Autumn) 

Summer wilts with the crisp bite of Herbst. One last breath of life before the grey winter. The leaves mellow to rustic tones of umber and gold, the pine cones litter the dirt, and the wet grass shine from the kiss of the morning fog. You sweep aside the wet leaves with your broom, skirts sodden along the hem. 

As you follow your usual progress across the grounds, the gate bell chimes. The echo rolls through the air and earth. The steady chafe of bristles guides you through the musty mist. It is a beautiful season but wet. 

You pause to brush leaves that have caught on plinths or statues, to wipe away the twigs across the stones embedded in the flats, and to tidy the plots of the leafy carpet. You can only count the blessing that it is not snow. 

Adelaine’s laughter flutters up to you. Her father helps her into a carriage. She has been entertaining a suitor as of late. She always spoke of a summer wedding but it seems a winter one may be on the horizon. She is off to see the bishop and her betrothed.  

Emmett and Matthias open the gates with little heed to their employer and his daughter. They must feel spurned after so long of her fawning over them. It is unfair of her to give them such false longings.  They shut the gates and stomp off back to their digging.

There was a family that perished in a fire. They will each need a hole among their designated plot. It is sombre and back-breaking work. You do not envy the diggers for more than their wage. Were you a man, you could take a shovel and make at least a thaler more than you do now. 

You shiver again. You’ve not been warm for days. You’ve not the money for fuel so the hearth remains dormant in favour of your father’s habit. The drink keeps him warm and you are left to wool and the friction of your palms. Thank the lord you have walls at the least. 

The voices of the men fade as they climb to the new plot and you come down the low incline toward the main row of the cemetery; the large mausoleum for the fallen soldiers and the next for the vaunted nobles.

As you near the yellow crypt, you are met with a most unlikely sight. The doors are open. You search around the desolate grounds.

The coldblood is not there awaiting his rider. The gate bell rang but you did not see the black hood enter. How can that be? Perhaps he did leave it unlocked the day prior. 

Looters are not uncommon. Henrick chases them off in the mornings as they sleep in an alcove or on a bench. Though, unless they have a chisel, they do not claim much. 

You rest your broom against the yellow brick. You stand before the open doors. Both are drawn wide. You look up at the arch as shadows plume within. As you stare inside, you swear you can see the darkness furling and unfurling. 

You make yourself move. Step by step you approach the doors. You grab the large iron ring on the left one and pull. It is much too heavy. Or you are much too weak. You grunt and try again, shifting it a few inches. 

A scratching noise stills your efforts. You squint as you try see through the thick gloom. 

“Allo?” You call through, “is someone within?” 

You wait for an answer. There is nothing, but then, a skittering noise. A rat, perhaps. 

A swirls of leaves blows around you and skid over the stone floor within. You look over your shoulder, hoping someone might pass and help you shut the place up. There is only you. 

You take your broom and enter cautiously. You hold your breath as you gather the leaves and push them back out. You might shove a door shut from within then use the broom to somehow leverage the other. 

You bat the last of the clutter out and turn to peer out at the red sky. Your feet leave the stone and your cry is smothered by a gloved palm. You kick out in fright as the broom clatters from your grasp.

You claw behind you blindly as you are spun to face the crypts black belly. You jolt back with your captor as he pushes the door closed with his weight, then the other. You writhe and flail, grabbing at the arm hooked around your waist.

He pants but does not speak. He carries you forward as your soles bounce off the floor. 

Your stomach meets something hard. A stone ledge engraved in tiers. You brace it as you’re crushed against it. Your arms shake as you try to shove yourself away, try to free yourself of this treacherous adversary. 

You whimper and wiggle your head helplessly, unable to free your mouth from behind his hand. You know by his strength, by his size that it is a man indeed. He shushes you and squeezes your jaw.

You quiver and splay your fingers on the stone shape before you. It is a sarcophagus. You shudder as your throat tightens. 

He presses flush to you. His warmth seeps through the damp layers of wool wrapped around you as his nose brushes up the brim of your ear. He exhales and his breath wraps around your neck. He sucks in air and nuzzles along your hair. He’s smelling you. 

He buries his nose in you locks and purrs. The deep gristle makes you quake. He continues to smell you, to feel you as his hand spreads on your stomach and grazes up your bodice. You tap your foot around in a frantic search for his, driving your heel down upon his toe. 

He grunts and brings his hand up to tap your cheek. He hums derisively. That noise alone freezes your blood. There’s something so base about it. 

He slips his hand down again and the other follows. He keeps you penned in with his arms and removes his gloves, letting them fall to the floor. His fingertips dance up your bodice and back down. He kneads and pokes and caresses. He fondles you until you’re a trembling mess. 

“Herr, please--” 

He nips your ear and snarls. You close your eyes but it cannot save you from this. You are only deeper into the darkness. He drags his nose down to your neck and nuzzles into you there. His hand curls around your hip, squeezing before climb up your back and down again. 

He draws his face from your neck and his hands descend further. He tugs and yanks at your skirts, bundling them up in his grasp. He pulls them up to your waist and leans into you until your middle is right against the stone, your body bent with his. 

He hooks his arm under the layers of your skirt as his other hand wanders beneath. His nails skim your skin, goosebumps rising with his touch, and traces down to thighs. He pokes beneath them meanly and forces his foot between yours. He kicks your boots wide and you whine again.  

“Herr, please--” 

“Ta ta,” he warns in a hiss. 

He pushes his hand between your legs, cupping it over your cunt. He inhales again as he takes in the scent of your scalp, his nose once more delving into your hair. He slips his middle finger between your lips and rubs you. Gently at first, then firmer, quaking as he pinpoints on your clit, rolling it beneath his fingertip. 

Your legs tingle and tremble. You dip your head down and he growls. He spreads the slickness that rises with his uninvited touch. Your lips form around a silent prayer as you beg the lord for forgiveness.  

He pushes his finger into you, his hand against your cunt as he rocks in and out. He does not heed your babbling pleas or the shattering of your body and soul. He takes what he covets without repentance. 

He continues to pet you, coaxing you until you are heavy, writhing in a maddened state. You do not welcome him and yet it is pleasureful. It is joy like you’ve never known. And it bursts within you like damn, coursing free as a river as it slakes down your thighs. 

You wail between your teeth as you bite down on your shame. Father, Mary, forgive me. I do not want this. I swear it. 

He groans and exhales into you. He pulls his hand back and leaves you hollow and squirming. He reaches between your bodies and fusses with his own clothing. You squeak and try to crawl over the sarcophagus. He keeps you trapped as he clutches the rumpled fabric of your skirt. 

He once more scoops his hand around your pelvis and along your cunt. He spreads you and guides his cock along your bottom. You whimper and reach to stop him. He ignores you as he delves down along your cunt. He stops at your entrance and wets himself with your sinful excess. 

He snakes his hand up to your hip and pushes you onto him. Just his swollen tip. You gasp and gulp as you twitch around him.

He lets go of your skirts and they fall down over the front of your legs, the back caught between your bodies. He tilts and slowly impales you.

His hand crawls up your bodice and he pushes beneath the taught fabric. He squeezes your breast, two fingers framing your nipple as he snarls and burrows into you with subtle and slow thrusts. 

You tense and tremour as he gets deeper, crying out as he breaks past the last thread of innocence. He huffs and bows his head down. His lips brush over the meat of your shoulder close to your neck and he bites into it. You sob again and he bucks his hips. 

He puts you on your toes as he repeats the motion. He pulls back then snaps against your rear. Each time he bites harder, he gropes you tighter. He pumps into you, faster, more furious, more frantic. 

His voice trickles out between his eager rutting. He teethes at you as he pinches your nipple. He bends you over the sarcophagus as his breath billows all around you.  

He pounds into you so that the stone cuts into your hips and stomach. You snivel as your tears soak your cheeks and your head thrums. You grip the lid beneath you and hide your face against your arm. 

He spasms and buckles, his legs seeming to give out, though he keeps his hips moving. He fucks you until he cannot any longer. Until he is weak and panting into your nape.  

He sniffs and reaches to cover your hand on the stone. He slips his palm away and feels the sarcophagus. He slowly eases out of you and leaves you to hang off the lid.

He chokes into the blackness, “forgive me, Anna.” 

Your legs give out and you sink onto the floor. You hang your head as you barely keep yourself from heaping into a puddle. Herr Harding weeps over his wife as you do the same for yourself. 

[kiestrokes]

Day 4: Stardust | NSFW

▸ Idol: Xu Minghao of SVT ▸ Rating: NSFW. Mature (18+) Minors DNI. ▸ Genre: active WIP, smut, monster fucking, dubcon. ▸ Vibe: Hao is the sleep paralysis demon that has been sexually edging you for months. Until one night you decided to edge him back. ▸ Warnings: language, demons, sleep paralysis.

Sexually Explicit Content: MONSTER FUCKING, DUBCON, DNI IF THESE THEMES ICK YOU OUT - IT IS FICTION - KINKSHAMING WILL BE BLOCKED/DELETED - intercourse (penis in vagina), raw sex, demon semen that has special effects, multiple orgasms for both, cum eating mentioned, mostly missionary, some cowgirl, kissing, marking, biting, clit stim, nipple stim.

🗝️ Note: Has not beta-ed by me or anyone else. Ok so listen…I toyed with the idea ever even posting this WIP. But then Hao goes and drops this single. I am bumping Jeonghan and Chanyeol to days 5 & 6 (you will get both at the same time). Minghao is taking day 4. I wrote this over the summer after being plagued with thoughts, that stemmed from an ask about SVT as Sex Workers. Good luck? Be nice.

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

「 25 Hours: Hard, Soft and WIP-mas Masterlist 」

Xu Minghao is the sleep paralysis demon that has been edging you for months. He enchants your hands so you cannot get yourself off. Having to seek out men to do the job. As Minghao watches from the shadows.

None of them satisfy you.

He gives you just a little bit more during each of his visits. So close, left with frustratingly damp panties each time.

Until one night you say fuck the panties and go to bed nude.

Catching the demon off guard, his restraint shredding like nylon tights without your usual physical barriers to stop him.

He noses at your slit, a full glide, bumping of his nose against your clit. You moan groggily in your sleep, and he hisses in response.

Pinning your legs to the bed and licking you open. Your hips rock into his steady lapping until you start to come. You try to close your legs, but he won’t let you. His muffled groans as he eats away, pushing you into something far beyond overstimulation. You’re crying his name, body shaking.

Minghao finally relents and sits up to remove his pants. Stroking through your folds until he’s well lubricated.

“Wait-ah” you moan at the feeling of him bursting in.

You don’t see stars, you see swirls of dark purple and pink, a whole galaxy.

“Sorry little human my precum is a little…seductive.”

You come back into yourself to him hovering over you, hips plush against yours as he waits. Suddenly the patient demon you're used to haunting the corner of your bedroom.

“If you cum inside me, will I die?”

He laughs, “no you'll just have a really deep sleep.”

“Ok, that sounds nice.”

You nod and he smirks, “as if you had an option in this.”

Minghao flexes out and you gasp, “so tight.”

He snaps his hips, and you bow against the bed slightly in response. His long fingers grip your hips setting to work. Stroking your insides until you’re trembling on his cock, arousal coating his length with a creamy ring.

“Been that long huh?”

He chuckles at your intimate display, tugging your hips down a little harder enticing you become more vocal.

“Come on little human, come on my cock, milk me a little, let me fuck you sleepy.”

Your body tightens and so do your legs around his hips, “ahhh but wait-wait.”

You want a kiss but you’re coming around him and he’s moaning and picking up the pace as he releases just a little into you. His hips slowing as your body limps and falls into a light sleep.

“That’s it,” he fucks into you lightly as you doze.

Painted hands stroking your breasts and nipples before he lifts you up to sit in his lap. Cock buried deep inside so that he can have access to nuzzle your chest. Lips and teeth and tongue, kissing and sucking each breast and nipple.

Your skin silky under his turning him on so much so that he releases the love bite he had been sucking on your neck to choke out a surprised moan, leaking another release into you accidentally.

He pulls out to lay his dick against your clit, nestled in the valley of your netherlips. Hips rubbing listlessly as he explores your body. Until his palms clench handfuls of your ass to rut against you.

You cry out softly in your sleep at the clit stimulation and he ruts back inside. Fucking into you roughly as he lays you back down

“Mmm kiss” you whine.

Minghao rasps a laugh, clutching your jaw and to kiss your pouting lips before licking inside with a growl. You groan groggily and wrap your limbs around him.

He huffs, hips falling back into a steady rhythm with yours. Deeper this time in your embraced state. Gasping into your mouth between your needy kisses as he thrusts. Eating your moans.

“Could stay here all night, just fucking you like this.”

“Please,” you sigh.

The demon swirls his toned hips and your head presses back into the pillow climax building again. He watches you pumping you through it as you gush around him. Sweat slicking your bodies. His tongue flicks out to lap at your clavicle. Panting into your neck. Other hand tucked behind you on the small of your back.

“Another?”

“Yes,” he groans and sits back on his calves' lips parted fingers biting into your hips “so messy.”

- at one point he finishes but wants to eat you out and accidentally causes himself to fall asleep -

You wake up to him still in your bed and climb on top. He’s surprised that you’re not freaked out and lets you ride him.

“I’m not going to cum, you can fuck me as much as you want.”

You whine, “I want you to cum again.”

Minghao lets out a wispy laugh and cups your face.

“I’ll pull out?”

You nod eagerly. His head kicks back and he lets go as you ride him. Eyebrows furrowing as he watches you through slit eyes. Squeezing your thighs and ass appreciatively as you bounce on his cock. Your climax reaches you frustratingly quick, body falling out of rhythm. Minghao fucks up into you when you can’t continue on top, your muscles tightening on themselves, trying to fold you up. He flips you over, thrusting hard from above.

You’re mesmerized. His hair shimmers a rainbow colors in the morning light leaking through your curtains. You let out a choked moan as you orgasm hits you at the sight of him.

“Fuck, look at you," the demon gasps.

His hips stuttering and stills himself; muscles flexing before continuing.

“Not yet,” he hisses to himself.

Minghao slows his stroke, focusing on burying himself inside you. Stretching your sensitive core in a way that has you clutching the sheets to ground yourself.

“I want to consume you.”

You cry out, “you are, all I see is you, all I feel.”

© COPYRIGHT 2021 - 2024 by kiestrokes  All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

you wrote a fanfic the other day about Sebastian gaining some weight but I’d love to see a fanfic where MC gains some weight + Sebastian’s reassurance <3

Pool Side | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Anon! I want to apologize for the very long wait (like... two months...) for this fic! It has been a WIP since you submitted this request but the story took on a life of its own and it took a hot minute for me to finish. I hope it was worth the wait!

Also I promised some more fluff/smut on the blog so enjoy everyone💚

Words: ~16,100

Tags: Smut, Modern AU, Reader Insert, Female MC, Plus Sized MC, No Y/N, Post Hogwarts, Fluff, Actually Unrequited Love, Romance

Beta: @newdreamlove95 💚

The coastline stretched before you, the sea a glimmering expanse of blue beneath the midday sun. White limestone cliffs loomed in the distance, dramatic and weathered by time, framing the golden sand of Durdle Door Beach. It was the kind of place people romanticized—secluded, picturesque, the perfect setting for a group of old friends to escape their busy lives for a single, carefree afternoon.

Except, you hadn’t felt carefree all day.

The sound of crashing waves filled the spaces between laughter, between playful shouts and splashes as your friends waded deeper into the water. The air smelled of sea salt and sunscreen, the sand warm and fine beneath your towel. It should have felt perfect. But as you sat beneath the wide shade of your umbrella, the book in your hands barely touched, all you could think about was how different you felt—how different you were.

Time had shaped all of you in its own way—careers, travels, lessons learned, heartbreaks and triumphs, all of it leaving its mark. Garreth had finally cut his hair, and his once-boyish face was now set with sharper features. Imelda had somehow managed to look even more athletic than she had in school, toned and lean, her features even more fierce. Natty had grown taller, even more poised, carrying herself with quiet confidence. Even Ominis, who you’d always considered the most put-together of the group, had softened somewhat, the weight of his family name no longer pressing so heavily on his shoulders.

And Sebastian—He wasn’t the same as he had been at eighteen, either.

You let your gaze drift toward him, tracking him where he stood near the water’s edge, talking with Ominis. His once-boyish face had sharpened, the angles of his jawline more pronounced, the shadow of scruff darkening his face where smooth skin had once been. Even his curls had changed—longer now, though the wind still toyed with them the same way it always had.

And his body—

He had always been strong, lean from Quidditch and dueling, but now he had filled out, broader in the shoulders, thicker in the arms and chest. Not as sharply cut as he had been at eighteen, no longer carved from restless youth and constant training, but something better—something balanced, something solid—not chiseled, not sculpted, just strong, in a way that felt effortless. Comfortable.

Yet while everyone had changed, you had changed the most.

You adjusted the loose cover-up draped over your shoulders, tugging it down to make sure it hid as much of you as possible. Not that anyone in this group would say anything—but that didn’t mean they hadn’t noticed. Because people always noticed. In fact, people commented. Not cruelly, not always, but enough. Enough that when you saw someone again for the first time in years, you had learned to brace yourself, waiting for the inevitable remark, whether it was an aunt’s offhanded, Oh, you were always such a slip of a thing before! or the faux-concerned, Are you taking care of yourself?

The world never let you forget that you used to be different, better.

At least, that’s how it felt.

You had been confident in your teenage years, running through the halls of Hogwarts with reckless energy, sharp-tongued and sharp-witted, always ready to challenge someone in a duel or throw yourself into something new without hesitation. Back then, your body had never been something you thought about—it had just been yours.

You weren’t sure when that had changed.

Somewhere along the way, your body had shifted, weight settling onto you in ways you couldn’t ignore, in ways other people refused to ignore. It didn’t matter that you were still you, still clever and kind and capable—it was as if the world had collectively decided that none of that mattered as much as the shape of you.

It wasn’t fair, but fairness had never been a rule the world followed. So even though your friends never said anything, you knew they had noticed. How could they not?

The weight of your thoughts pressed down heavier than the sun, hotter than the sand beneath your towel.

You felt guilty.

This weekend had been planned for months—a rare break in everyone’s busy schedules, a chance to reconnect without the distractions of work, responsibilities, or the sheer exhaustion of adulthood. It had taken forever to arrange, largely because of them.

Imelda and Natty were impossible to pin down.

Imelda, who had thrown herself headfirst into professional Quidditch after Hogwarts, had spent the last several years building a name for herself as one of the fiercest Beaters in the league.

And Natty—Natty had never stayed still. She had left the Ministry years ago for international work, teaching and training young witches and wizards abroad. If she wasn’t in Africa, she was in Asia, and if she wasn’t in Asia, she was in Australia.

Getting both of them in the same place at the same time, on holiday no less, had been a miracle.

You should have been thrilled. You were thrilled.

And yet all you could think about was how different you felt—how different you were.

You had tried to prepare. You had tried.

Dieting. Exercising. Starving yourself. Hyping yourself up by buying a new bikini, thinking that maybe—maybe—if it was flattering enough, if you just forced yourself into the right mindset, you’d be okay.

But stepping into it today had made you feel sick.

You had stood in front of the mirror in the beach house bathroom that morning, stomach churning, as you studied the reflection that didn’t match the version of yourself in your memories.

You had stared at your body, turning slightly, tugging at the waistband of the bottoms, at the straps over your shoulders. No matter how you adjusted them, you still looked like this.

So, instead of running into the water, instead of being the girl you wanted to be, the girl used to be, you had thrown on your cover-up and settled under the umbrella, staying there like an anchor while the others ran free.

You watched as Imelda and Poppy tossed a beach ball back and forth, their laughter carrying over the sound of the waves. Imelda, ever the athlete, barely had to move to intercept each pass, her sharp reflexes making it look effortless. Poppy, for all her gentleness, was surprisingly competitive, her playful smirk clear even from where you sat under the umbrella.

A little farther out, Natty floated on her back, arms stretched, face tilted toward the sky. She looked serene, perfectly at ease in the water, her dark braids fanning out around her like a halo.

A little closer to shore, Garreth waded through the shallows, carrying a handful of bottles, the brown glass glinting in the sunlight. He trudged toward Ominis and Sebastian, where they stood in the the surf, the waves lapping lazily at their calves.

Sebastian popped off the cap and lifted the bottle to his lips without a care, his other hand raking through his hair. The sunlight made the water droplets on his skin glisten, tracing the lines of his shoulders, his arms, the long stretch of his back where his swim trunks sat low on his hips. You hated how easy it was to look at him, how easy it had always been.

You wrenched your gaze away, but you heard Garreth open his own bottle with a sharp hiss before sighing dramatically.

“Merlin’s balls,” he laughed. “I forgot to tell you. I finally took Eloise out last weekend.”

Sebastian, already a few swallows into his drink, raised a brow. “That sounds promising. Do tell.”

"It went brilliantly," Garreth continued. "Dinner, drinks, and by the end of the night—" He took a swig of his beer, then grinned wolfishly. "Let’s just say I made quite the impression."

"Spare us the details, Weasley," Ominis huffed, tipping his head back.

"Oh, come on, mate. Don’t pretend you’re not interested."

"I assure you, I am not."

Garreth rolled his eyes before continuing anyway. "She’s gorgeous. You know, tall, really fit, amazing legs. I mean she plays for the Falcons, and bloody hell, you can tell." He whistled low, shaking his head in admiration.

Sebastian made a knowing sound, half a chuckle, half a sigh. “Of course. Tall, leggy, tiny waist. Garreth Weasley’s classic type.”

“Right, well, can you blame me? She's something else,” Garreth pointed at him with his bottle.

Sebastian hummed appreciatively. “I get it. Hard to argue with a body like that.”

Garreth nodded firmly. “Of course you get it, you're a man of taste.”

Your grip on your book tightened, the pages bending beneath your fingers. Of course, Sebastian understood. Of course, he got it.

Because women like that were meant to be wanted.

Women like Poppy, who was soft in the way that was delicate, the kind of pretty that made people want to protect her.

Women like Natty, who carried herself with effortless grace, whose body was carved from strength and discipline.

Women like Imelda, who was lean, fit, sharp-edged and powerful.

Women, apparently, like Eloise, whose body was a gift, something to be admired, appreciated, worshiped.

It made sense. Of course it made sense. But it didn’t stop the ache that settled deep in your ribs, the quiet, sinking certainty that you would never be the kind of woman men spoke about like that.

And then—

“Well,” Ominis drawled, tipping his bottle toward Garreth, “not all of us are so visually inclined, I suppose.”

Garreth snorted. “Are you calling me shallow?”

Sebastian let out a quiet huff of laughter. “Knowing what you like isn’t shallow.”

“Perhaps,” Ominis allowed, tilting his head. “But I still think I have better taste.”

Garreth groaned. “Here we go.”

Ominis smirked, lazy and self-assured. “Forgive me for thinking there’s more to a woman than her legs, Garreth.”

Sebastian snorted. “Alright, we get it, you’re enlightened.”

Ominis only hummed, amused. “It’s just that I, personally, prefer someone with a bit of substance—quite literally.” He tapped his own ribs lightly with a knowing smirk. “I’ve already got enough bone for the both of us. A bit of cushion is good for a man.”

You froze.

Ominis' words hung in the air, settling between the easy laughter and the rhythmic pull of the tide.

On one hand, it was almost comforting in a way, hearing Ominis brush aside such narrow ideals. At least someone—someone you respected, someone you trusted—didn’t think a woman’s worth was measured by how well she fit into a neat little mold.

But at the same time his words didn’t fix anything. Not really. Because it wasn’t him you needed reassurance from.

It was Sebastian.

Garreth laughed, raising his bottle. “Well, cheers to that, then,” he said, clearly unbothered. “Honestly, better for both of us. I’d rather not compete with you, mate. If I had to go up against you and your good looks? I’d be doomed.”

Ominis rolled his eyes but clinked his bottle against Garreth’s all the same.

Sebastian made a sound—low, amused, noncommittal.

And that was it.

No teasing rebuttal. No agreement, but no disagreement either. Just a simple, easy acknowledgment that meant nothing.

Or maybe it meant everything.

Because Sebastian had spoken up earlier, when he’d defended Garreth’s tastes. But now? Now, he said nothing.

He didn’t joke with Ominis. Didn’t agree. Didn’t disagree. He just let the conversation move on, unbothered, unthinking.

And that was your answer. The truth you had known somewhere deep down but had tried so hard to ignore.

Sebastian got it. Sebastian agreed. Because of course he did. Because why wouldn’t he?

Hard to argue with a body like that.

A sudden burst of splashing pulled you from your spiraling thoughts.

You blinked up just in time to see Natty emerging from the water, droplets rolling down her sun-warmed skin as she pushed her braids back from her face. She was beaming, looking as effortlessly radiant as ever, and you felt a twinge of guilt when your first instinct was to shrink further into the shade.

She cupped her hands around her mouth, calling toward the shore. "I am going for ice cream. Who’s coming?"

The response was instant.

“Ooh, absolutely,” Poppy chirped, catching the beach ball Imelda had just tossed her before jogging toward Natty.

“I could go for something,” Imelda agreed, squeezing the seawater from her ponytail. “Haven’t had a proper cone in ages.”

Sebastian tipped his beer back for a final sip, then turned to Ominis. "You coming?"

Ominis scoffed. "Do you even have to ask?"

You didn’t have time to react before the whole group was moving, heading toward the shore in a mess of dripping bodies and sun-warmed skin, shaking the saltwater from their limbs as they made their way toward you.

"That book must be fascinating if you’re still at it," Garreth teased as he approached your umbrella.

You forced a smile, gripping the novel a little tighter. "Riveting."

Sebastian was right behind him, running a hand through his damp curls as he reached for the towel he’d left beside his bag. "What’s it about?"

You hesitated. You had no idea. You hadn’t read a single word in—how long had it even been?

"It's romance-mystery-crossover," you lied offhandedly, hoping the vague genre mashup would be enough to satisfy him.

Sebastian gave you a slow, amused look, clearly unconvinced. "Sounds made up."

"Of course it is, it's a fiction novel, Sebastian," you countered, flipping the book closed and setting it aside, hoping the conversation would move on.

It did.

Garreth reached for his t-shirt, shaking off the sand before pulling it over his head. "You going to join us in the water after we get ice cream?"

You hesitated.

The question was casual, easy, but you could feel the weight of expectation behind it. Not just from Garreth, but from the others too. Poppy was already looking at you with hopeful anticipation, Natty giving you a small, encouraging nod.

They wanted you to say yes.

And for a second, you wanted to say it too. To be the girl you used to be, the one who wouldn’t have thought twice before running headfirst into the waves, salt-stung and laughing, sand stuck to her legs and hair damp with seawater.

But that wasn’t you anymore.

So you mustered up a small, apologetic smile and said, “Maybe later.”

Garreth groaned. “Oh, come on. You said that last time."

But before he could complain further, Natty had already tossed on her sunhat and pulled her dress over her swimsuit, slinging her tote bag over her shoulder. She didn’t waste time waiting for further debate.

"Come on," she called over her shoulder, already walking down the beach toward the path leading up to the ice cream stand. "Before the ice cream all melts."

That was enough to get the others moving.

Poppy hurried after her, still wringing the seawater from the ends of her hair, Imelda not far behind. Garreth quickly followed, dragging Ominis along with him, still grumbling about how one day you’d actually keep your word and join them in the water.

And then, just like that, they were gone.

You could have followed. You should have followed. But you didn’t.

You stayed put beneath the shade of your umbrella, hands clenched in your lap, your book abandoned beside you.

Because you didn’t need ice cream. You certainly didn’t need the extra sugar, nor the extra calories.

Then a shadow fell over you. You knew who it was before you even looked up.

Sebastian.

His presence was unmistakable—always had been. Something about him was too big, too bold, to ignore.

For a few beats, he didn’t say anything. Just stood there. And then—

"You’re not coming?"

His voice was casual, but there was something beneath it. Something pointed.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes fixed on the page in front of you as if that would be enough to make him move on. "I’m not really in the mood for ice cream."

Sebastian didn’t move. Didn’t turn to leave. Didn’t let the conversation drop like you needed him to.

"You were in the mood for it last summer," he pointed out. "And the summer before that. And the one before that. And before that."

"Well, people change, Sebastian."

You hoped that would be enough. That he’d just let it go. But you’d been friends with Sebastian Sallow for over a decade, and Sebastian Sallow never let anything go. Not when it came to you. He would poke and prod, just like he always did, the way he had when you were fifteen, sixteen, eighteen—always tugging at you, always unraveling you.

You heard a heavy sigh, followed by the soft sound of shifting sand as he sat down beside you, uninvited but entirely unsurprising.

His skin was warm from the sun, his shoulders still glistening from the water. He didn’t crowd you, but he was close, the scent of salt and sun-bleached fabric clinging to him as he leaned back on his hands, his gaze now trained fully on you.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you, brows pulling together slightly, head tilting the way it always did when he was trying to figure something out.

"Are you okay?"

You exhaled sharply through your nose. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

Sebastian hummed, tilting his head toward the horizon, pretending—pretending—like he wasn’t watching you carefully, like he wasn’t studying you the way he always did when he knew you were lying.

"You’ve been avoiding the water all day," he mused. "Didn’t eat much at lunch." He nodded toward your book. "And I’d bet my wand you haven’t actually read a single page of that."

You gritted your teeth. "What’s your point?"

Sebastian turned his head then, looking at you fully. "My point is that you’re clearly not okay," he said, voice steady, measured.

"Sebastian," you sighed, voice tired, "just drop it."

For a second, he actually looked like he might. But then his gaze flickered, his expression shifting with realization.

"Is it because of what Garreth said? I know how much you hate when guys objectify—"

“No.” The word left you quickly, too quickly, your chest lurching at the assumption—not because it was wrong, but because it was almost right.

Because Garreth’s words did matter. Just not in the way Sebastian thought.

He assumed you were bothered on principle, that this was about your usual distaste for men reducing women to their bodies. Because that was who you were to him—sharp-tongued, quick-witted, never one to let careless words slide.

And in a way, it felt good that he saw you like that. It meant he wasn’t thinking about your body. It meant that, in Sebastian’s mind, at least, you weren’t standing on the outside of their conversation, trying to pretend the words didn’t sting.

That was… a relief.

But it didn’t loosen the tight, twisting knot in your stomach, because even though Sebastian hadn’t thought of it that way—you had.

And it wasn’t about Garreth having a type. It wasn’t even about Eloise specifically. You didn’t care who Garreth found attractive—everyone had their preferences.

It was Sebastian. Because he had agreed with Garreth.

And it was stupid, really, that it should hurt at all. You had no claim to Sebastian. No right to expect him to think of you that way. He had never given you any reason to believe he did. The only person who had spent the last ten years hopelessly in love with an idea—with him—was you.

But it still hurt.

"I'm sure you overheard him," Sebastian continued, "I know you like to eavesdrop," he added teasingly.

You let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, please. I wasn’t eavesdropping. You lot were talking loud enough for the entire beach to hear."

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, but it lacked any real amusement. “Fair enough. But for the record, I don’t think Garreth meant anything by what he said.”

You scoffed. “Oh, I know that.”

And you did know. Garreth didn't have a single mean-spirited bone in his body.

Sebastian was still watching you carefully. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong."

“Right,” he said, stretching the word out and leaning back on his hands. “So you’re sitting here, sulking under this umbrella, avoiding the water, avoiding ice cream, barely speaking to anyone—all because nothing is wrong?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Sebastian—”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the book, your nails pressing into the cover. “You are wrong.”

Sebastian let out a dry, knowing laugh. “Yeah, no, see—that’s the thing about lying. You’re shit at it. Always have been.”

Your jaw clenched. “I swear to Merlin—”

“What?” He turned to you fully, one eyebrow raised. “You’ll hex me? Go on, then. Should be entertaining for the rest of the beach.”

You exhaled harshly, fingers flexing against the cover of your book. “Look, Sebastian, it—” You shook your head, forcing out a small, humorless laugh. “It doesn’t matter.”

Sebastian made a sound in the back of his throat—somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. "You’re not even arguing properly.”

That made you glance at him, brow furrowing. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sebastian gave you a pointed look. “It means when you actually don’t care about something, you normally fight back with something biting, something clever. You roll your eyes, you call me an idiot, you tell me to piss off.” His gaze flickered over your face, sharp and assessing. “You’re not doing that now.”

Your stomach twisted. Damn him. Damn him for knowing you this well.

Sebastian sighed, shaking his head. "Just tell me the truth."

You clenched your jaw, looking out at the waves instead of at him. "Sebastian—"

"No, really." His voice was steady, firm. "What’s the point of this? Of going around in circles when we both know I won’t let up?" He gave you a pointed look, eyes sharp. "You’re wasting your breath trying to lie to me. I see right through it, and you know I do. I’ve got a decade of experience, love."

His voice was light, teasing, but you could hear the weight beneath it. The concern. The care.

And maybe that was what did it. Maybe that was what made something in you snap.

Because you were so tired. Tired of pretending, of swallowing things down, of trying to act like it didn’t hurt.

So you turned to him, something bitter curling in your chest.

“Sebastian, you know why I don’t want to go in the water. Why I don’t want to eat in front of everyone. Why I haven’t taken off my cover-up. Why I don’t want ice cream.”

Your breath was heavy, uneven, your fingers curling into the fabric draped over your shoulders.

Sebastian didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

So you shook your head, voice quieter but no less raw.

"You know." Your chest tightened. "And I know that you know, because you have eyes."

Sebastian just stared at you. It seemed, for once, you had managed to stun him into silence. A difficult feat. And yet, here you were.

The weight of his gaze pressed into you like an iron brand, unrelenting, burning. His lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing, something unreadable flickering across his face.

Hurt. Frustration. Anger.

“That’s what this is about?” His voice was lower now, but no less intense. “That’s what it’s been about this whole time?”

And when he said this whole time, you knew he didn’t just mean today. He meant the past few years.

The slow retreat. The way you had pulled away, little by little, until the girl he had grown up with—the one who had been fearless, the one who had laughed loudly and took up space without hesitation—had hidden herself away.

His jaw clenched.

“Who?” His voice was rough, barely more than a growl. “Who made you feel like this?”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Who?” You shook your head, gripping the edge of your towel like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Everyone, Sebastian.” Your voice wavered, bitter and exhausted. “The whole fucking world.”

Sebastian inhaled sharply, his whole body tense like he was barely holding something back. And then his voice came low, simmering with something dangerous.

“Just give me names.”

You let out a shaky laugh, running a hand over your face. “And what, exactly, are you going to do?”

Sebastian’s jaw was tight, his entire body radiating tension. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted, voice clipped. “But I’d very much like the opportunity to find out.”

Your stomach twisted, a mess of emotions you didn’t have the energy to untangle. You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “It’s not just one person, Sebastian. It’s in the looks, the comments, the offhand remarks. It’s in the way people notice, the way they always notice, the way they feel entitled to remind you, like maybe you hadn’t already noticed yourself.” Your breath hitched, throat closing up. “It’s in the way people talk about women like me—if they even bother talking about us at all.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, dragging it down to his mouth like he needed to physically stop himself from doing something. "Merlin, you—why have you never said anything?"

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. "And say what, exactly?" Your voice wavered, edged with exhaustion and bitterness. "That every time I see someone after a long time, I can feel them sizing me up, silently comparing me to who I used to be? That I can’t eat in front of people without obsessing over every bite?" A humorless scoff escaped you. "Or maybe I should’ve told you that whenever people talk about a ‘real woman,’ it never seems to include someone like me—because to them, we’re always just a consolation prize?"

Sebastian stood abruptly, sending a small spray of sand scattering as he pushed to his feet. The suddenness of it startled you, your breath still uneven in your chest, your body tense from the weight of the conversation that had just unraveled between you.

"Come on."

"...What?"

He rolled his eyes, but there was something determined in his stance, something resolute in the way he held his hand out to you.

"Don’t ask questions. Just get up."

You hesitated, glancing from his open palm to his face—his stubborn, determined face, the one you knew far too well. The one that meant arguing would be pointless.

Still, you narrowed your eyes, skepticism thick in your voice. "Sebastian—"

He exhaled sharply, already exasperated, and before you could pull away, he reached down, grasping your wrist with a careful but firm grip. His fingers were warm, rough from years of dueling, calloused in that way you knew too well.

"Just come with me," he murmured, voice softer now, quieter.

You let out a sharp breath but after a long, weighted pause—you let him pull you to your feet.

Sebastian's grip remained steady as he led you away—away from the crashing waves, away from the shade of your umbrella, away from the book you had never actually been reading. Away from the water that had once felt like freedom but now felt like something else entirely.

Instead, he walked you back toward the beach house your group had rented, his pace unrelenting.

You followed reluctantly, the damp sand clinging to your feet as the distant sounds of laughter and crashing waves softened behind you, replaced by the rustling of palm fronds and the creak of wooden steps as the two of you moved past the deck.

"Seriously—what are we doing?"

"Patience."

You scowled. "You’re not exactly known for patience."

"Yeah, well, I’m trying something new," he muttered.

The two of you rounded the deck, past the side gate, until you stepped onto the lush grass of the backyard to where the pool remained untouched.

Because why would anyone use the pool when the ocean was right there? When the horizon stretched endlessly, inviting and vast?

But Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He walked straight to the edge, dropping his towel onto a chair before turning back to you and he reaching for the hem of his shirt.

Your brain barely had time to catch up before he pulled the fabric over his head, revealing his sun-warmed skin, broad shoulders, and sun kissed freckles.

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up the back of your neck.

"...What are you doing?"

"Getting in the pool."

"Why?"

Sebastian shot you a flat look. "Because you won’t go in the ocean. And if you don’t want to swim in front of the whole world—fine. But you’re not allowed to hide from me."

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head. "Sebastian—"

"You love swimming." His said, low and steady, like he was stating an irrefutable truth. "I know you do. And back here, it's just me and you."

You swallowed, your throat tightening.

"Sebastian, it’s not that simple—"

"Why not?"

You inhaled sharply, feeling the words clog in your throat. Because I don’t want you to look at me like everyone else does.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to keep your gaze locked on his. "Because it just isn’t."

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was barely holding something back.

"That’s not an answer."

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "It’s the only one I’ve got."

For a moment, he just looked at you—eyes dark, searching, unreadable. Then, before you could react, before you could argue or stop him, he stepped closer, reaching for your wrist again.

"Could you, for once in your life, not argue with me?"

He said it with his usual teasing tone, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

You sighed.

"Fine."

Sebastian blinked, as if he hadn’t actually expected you to agree.

You barely expected it yourself.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence between you stretching taut.

Then slowly, reluctantly, he let go before finally turning toward the pool and lowering himself into it. The water lapped around his waist as he submerged himself, stretching his arms out with a satisfied sigh.

"The temperature is perfect," he announced. "Trust me, you’re going to love it."

You exhaled sharply through your nose, stomach churning as you reached for the tie at your waist.

This was a mistake.

Your fingers fumbled with the knot, hesitating. Your pulse pounded in your ears. You regretted this already. The bikini—the one you had somehow convinced yourself was a good idea when you bought it—was bright fucking yellow.

Unmissable. Unavoidable. A beacon of self-inflicted torment.

What the hell had you been thinking?

You should have picked something darker, something less obnoxious, something that wouldn’t make you feel like every single part of you was on display.

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, floating lazily on his back, watching you. "You’re thinking too hard again."

You clenched your jaw. Your fingers curled around the fabric, tight, hesitant. This was stupid. This was so, so stupid.

But he was watching you. Not impatiently. Not expectantly.

Just waiting.

And that was the only reason you finally, finally pulled at the knot.

The cover-up slipped from your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet. Immediately, your stomach flipped, your arms twitching with the immediate urge to cover yourself, to retreat, to run—

But then, slowly, deliberately, Sebastian let his feet drop beneath him, standing fully in the water. His gaze dragged over you. Slow. Lingering.

"Sebastian—"

"Yellow."

"What?"

His lips curled slightly, tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your swimsuit. It’s yellow."

Your face burned. "No shit."

Sebastian hummed, his brown eyes dark and unreadable. "It suits you."

Your breath caught.

"Are you coming in or what?" he murmured.

Your throat felt tight.

"Yes."

You forced your legs to move, stepping toward the pool’s edge as if you were approaching a cliff, bracing for the drop.

Every sensation was amplified—the way your thighs brushed together, the curve of your stomach, the stretch marks etched across it. The way your skin dimpled, the way your body moved, the way there was no concealing any of it.

Sebastian was still watching. You felt the weight of his gaze, and it took everything in you not to cross your arms over yourself as you stepped onto the first stair.

The cool water lapped at your ankles. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to move faster, descending step by step, letting the water claim you inch by inch.

By the time it reached your waist, you exhaled, relief flooding through you.

Safe. At least partially.

Sebastian had shifted slightly, leaning back against the edge of the pool, elbows braced along the tiled rim.

"See?" he drawled, tilting his head slightly. "Not so bad, is it?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to focus on the water instead of the fact that you were sitting in a bright fucking yellow bikini with Sebastian watching you like you were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Easy for you to say," you muttered. "You’re not the one out here feeling like a goddamn highlighter."

Sebastian’s laugh was quiet, warm. "I don’t know," he mused. "I think you make a pretty good highlighter."

Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck. "Shut up."

"I’m serious."

"You’re messing with me," you muttered, dragging your fingers through the water, watching as the ripples lapped against his arm.

"I’m not," he said, and something about the quiet certainty in his voice made you hesitate.

Your breath hitched as you lifted your gaze to his.

The teasing was gone. His expression was steady, unreadable, but there was something beneath it—something weighty, something real.

Heat crept up your neck, prickling despite the cool water surrounding you. The moment felt too heavy, too close, pressing in on you in a way you weren’t ready for. So, you did what you always did when you felt yourself slipping—deflected.

"Stop looking at me like that," you scoffed.

Sebastian didn’t answer right away. His gaze was steady, focused in a way that made your stomach twist.

Then, finally, he asked, “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

Your brows pulled together. “What?”

“About... feeling like a consolation prize?”

Your stomach lurched. “Sebastian—”

“Did you mean it?”

You let out a breath, gaze flicking away as you trailed your fingertips absently through the water. “It’s not exactly something I pulled out of thin air.”

He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening where his arms braced along the pool's edge.

“So that’s a yes."

You glanced back at him, at the tight set of his jaw, at the way his fingers flexed against the tiles, like he was reining something in.

“Why does it matter?” you asked.

Sebastian let out a short, humorless laugh, dragging a hand through his hair before tipping his head back against the pool's rim. “Because it’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

You blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

Sebastian huffed, shaking his head, his eyes sliding back to yours, darker now. “I mean, do you honestly think no one looks at you like... like you're all they bloody want?”

You frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “Sebastian—”

“I’m serious.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “You think no one’s wanted you? No one’s looked at you and thought about what it’d be like to have you under them, or against them, or—”

“Sebastian!” Your face burned, heat spreading like wildfire from your chest to the very tips of your ears.

It wasn’t like you and Sebastian had never talked about sex before—you’d been best friends for over ten years. You’d sat beside him while he’d swapped crude jokes with Garreth, rolled your eyes at his commentary when Imelda complained about whatever hopeless bloke she was entertaining that week, even endured drunken late-night conversations about past flings and failed dates when the two of you had stayed out too long at the pub.

But never—not once—had you talked about it so blatantly.

Because discussing sex in general was one thing. Listening to Sebastian drunkenly mock some disastrous one-night stand was one thing. But this—this was him, talking about you, saying your name in the same breath as under them, against them—

The thought too much, too impossible, too close to something you’d spent the last decade trying to bury so deep it could never surface.

It was unbearable. Unthinkable. Because you knew if you let yourself really hear him, if you let yourself linger on those words, on that voice murmuring them so low and rough, then you would—

You would implode.

So instead, you reacted, your body moving on instinct, on sheer mortified desperation.

Your hand shot forward, cutting through the water as you splashed hard in his direction, your heart slamming against your ribs as you tried to drown out the image of Sebastian's mouth, the sound of his voice, the way he had said it—

The water hit him square in the face, droplets clinging to his dark hair, his skin glistening beneath the late afternoon sun.

Sebastian blinked, expression shifting from intense to something unreadable as he wiped a hand down his face, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“What the hell was that?”

Your breath came out shaky, your skin too hot, your arms twitching with the urge to cover yourself, to disappear.

“You can’t—you can’t just say shit like that!” you managed, your voice bordering on frantic, your pulse hammering so violently you thought it might shake you apart.

Sebastian’s brows lifted, his face still dripping. “Why not?”

“Because!"

“Look, ’m just saying,” he said, voice rougher now, lower, “that you might want to reconsider your stance.”

Your mouth opened, then closed, because Sebastian wasn't done.

“I hear the things guys say about you.” His gaze flickered over your face, then lower—just for a moment, just enough to make your stomach flip. “I hear the things they want to say to you all the fucking time."

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like you were sinking despite being fully buoyant in the water.

“...What are you talking about?”

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose. "At work. When we go out. The pubs, the shops, wherever we are. Doesn’t matter." His gaze flickered over you, something simmering behind it. "I hear it."

Your pulse spiked.

“The only reason you don’t hear the shit they say about you is either because they know better,” he said, voice almost bitter. “Because they know you’d hex them into next week if they ever let you hear it. Or—”

Sebastian let out another low laugh, shaking his head.

“Because I scare them off.”

“You... what?”

Sebastian gave you a look, like it was obvious. “I scare them off.”

You just stared at him.

“You think it’s a coincidence no one approaches you when we go out?”

You felt your breath falter, your hands balling into fists at your side. "You’re making that up."

"I promise you," he asked, tipping his head slightly. " I’m not."

You swallowed thickly, your pulse hammering. “That can't be true—”

Sebastian’s jaw ticked. "I know it for a fact. And I can tell you exactly what they say, if you really want to know.”

You clenched your jaw, pressing your lips together, but it didn’t matter—because Sebastian kept going.

“They talk about your ass, how it moves when you walk, how they’d kill to get their hands on it, the kind marks they'd leave if they got the chance.”

You felt burning heat creep up your spine.

“They talk about your tits,” he went on, his eyes flickering over you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “How full they are, how they sit just right, how fucking soft they look, how they’d kill to watch them move if you rode them."

His voice dipped lower, rougher. “They talk about the way your stomach curves when you sit, how they know you’d feel so fucking good under their hands, under their weight.” His jaw ticked, his fists tightening until his knuckles went white. “How they’d bury their face between your legs and press their hands against your waist and feel all of you.”

You felt your pulse hammering, your entire body caught somewhere between stunned disbelief and mortification.

“And your mouth,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Merlin, they talk about your mouth—that sharp fucking wit of yours that makes them either want to win you or get on their knees for you.”

You made a strangled noise in the back of your throat. Your arms twitched with the immediate, desperate urge to cover yourself, to run, to deny, deny, deny—

“I know the world is fucked,” he admitted. “And it sure as hell isn’t fair to women like you. But just because you’re not plastered across a fucking Quidditch magazine doesn’t mean you’re not wanted.” His voice was softer now, but no less intense. “Doesn’t mean men don’t look at you and think about fucking you senseless."

Your breath came out uneven, your heart hammering against your ribs as Sebastian’s words settled around you like something heavy, something undeniable.

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You refused to believe it.

You shook your head, forcing your voice to come out.

“You’re just—” You exhaled sharply. “You’re just trying to make a point.”

“A point?”

“Yes,” you insisted shakily. “Because you’re frustrated with me, and you hate when I don’t believe you, so you’re just—” You shook your head, your throat tightening. “You’re making a point!"

Sebastian’s jaw ticked, his nostrils flaring slightly. “You really think I’d make all this up?”

You swallowed thickly, your stomach twisting into itself. “Okay, maybe you’re not making it up entirely,” you admitted, voice quieter now, unsure, searching. “Maybe they do say those things, but that doesn’t mean I’m what they want.”

Sebastian frowned, his brows drawing together like he couldn’t believe you were still pushing this.

“I’m what they go for when what they really want isn’t available,” you pressed, voice bitter, thick with something sharp and worn down. “I’m the one they settle for.”

Sebastian stilled. The air changed. His expression darkened, a muscle jumping in his jaw as something sharp flashed behind his eyes. Then he moved—

Closer. Slow. Deliberate.

The water shifted around you, rippling, the cool contrast of it doing nothing to temper the heat pressing into the space between you, heat that came from him.

He loomed, his shadow blocking out the sun, his presence so much heavier now.

“Fine,” he muttered, voice low, tight. “You want to argue? Let's argue."

Sebastian’s brown eyes flickered over you, intent, his focus sharp, almost cutting. “If that were true,” he continued, voice rough, firm, “if guys were only settling for you, then why have I spent years scaring them off?”

“You—” You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding, forcing yourself to lift your chin, to meet his stare head-on. “Because you’re... territorial.”

Sebastian snorted, something dark and frustrated flickering across his face. “Why do you think that is?”

“Because you’re my best friend,” you shot back, shaking your head, like that explained everything. “Because you're you!”

Sebastian scoffed, rolling his eyes. “If you really think that’s all it is,” he muttered, voice thick with exasperation, “that it's because I'm your friend, then you’re fucking delusional.”

Your stomach flipped, something deep in your ribs twisting, recoiling.

“Then maybe it’s because you don’t trust them,” you argued, voice more desperate now, more pleading. “Men can be pricks, Sebastian, you know that.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, they can,” he agreed, his voice rougher now. “But that’s not why.”

“Sebastian—”

“You really think I’d waste my time running off blokes if I thought they weren’t serious?” His voice was incredulous now, like he was talking to someone being insufferable. “For Merlin's sake, I know the things they say about you, and I know they fucking mean it because I’ve said the same shit!”

The world tilted. Your heart stopped. Something in your chest lurched, your breath coming out too shallow, too thin, like your lungs had forgotten how to work, like your ribs had locked up, trapping something inside of you that was too big, too impossible to comprehend.

Sebastian just looked at you. Unwavering. Unshaken. Like he hadn’t just ripped open the very fabric of your reality and upended a decade’s worth of carefully constructed walls, of every defense mechanism you had ever built to keep this exact thing from happening.

“No.”

The word was instant, instinctive, ripped from you like it had been lodged in your throat, an immediate act of defense, of self-preservation.

Sebastian’s brows furrowed, the muscle in his jaw twitching slightly.

“No?” he repeated, his voice edged with something that almost sounded offended.

Your head shook before you could even stop it, panic rising fast, too fast, crashing through you like a wave you hadn’t braced for.

“No,” you repeated, voice higher, tighter, desperate. “That’s not true, it can't be true, you—”

Sebastian let out a sharp breath, his jaw tight, his nostrils flaring slightly as he shook his head. Then he laughed—a short, humorless sound that didn’t reach his eyes, a huff of sheer disbelief as stared down at you.

“Do you really think I would say this if it weren’t true?”

His voice was low, unwavering—something dangerous simmering beneath the surface, something unyielding, something that said enough.

You could see it in the way his fingers curled into fists beneath the water, in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his throat bobbed like he was forcing the words out, pushing past something that had been buried for too long.

“You’re just—” You swallowed. “You’re just saying that—”

"—No. I have always wanted you."

Sebastian’s voice was rough, edged with something aching, something raw, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the words were leaving his mouth, like he couldn’t believe you were making him say this.

"For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, "I was in love with you at sixteen, and I have been every damn day since.”

Your breath came out uneven, barely a whisper. “Sebastian—”

"I don’t know where you got it in your head that you’re supposed to look like you did when we were kids, but yeah," His jaw clenched. "We’ve changed. And I, as you so aptly pointed out, have eyes—so yeah, you’re right." His brown eyes flickered over you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "I do see it. I know you don’t weigh 130 fucking pounds anymore," he continued, voice rougher now, firmer. "And I am fucking thrilled."

You stiffened. Your chest felt too tight, like your ribs had shrunk around your lungs.

"Do you want to know why?" His voice dropped lower, something dark flickering behind his eyes.

Your mouth was too dry to answer, but it didn’t matter. Because he kept going.

"Because every single thing you seem to hate about yourself ruins me," he bit out, his hands clenching and unclenching like he was physically restraining himself. "You have no fucking idea how many nights I’ve spent thinking about this," he admitted, voice rough. "Thinking about you."

You were so hot now it felt like you were burning alive, fire coursing through your veins and settling low in your stomach, thick and dangerous.

“I’ve thought about your thighs around my waist.” Sebastian's voice was lower now, almost reverent. “How you’d taste when I spread them apart. How you’d feel pressed against me.”

Your legs clenched instinctively beneath the water.

“I’ve thought about your ass in my hands.” Sebastian shifted, his brown eyes flickering lower, dark and intense. “How it’d feel to have you in my lap, to make you ride me until you forget your own fucking name.”

“And your tits.” He licked his lips, tiling his head back slightly. “They fucking kill me. I mean, god, you were pretty before, but now? Now, they’re full and heavy and fucking perfect, and all I’ve ever wanted is to get my mouth on them."

Your breath came out shaky, your arms twitching like you needed to hold yourself together.

“Merlin, I have spent years trying to behave,” His voice turned almost gritted, like the words were physically pulling something out of him. Hhe muttered, his voice lower now, darker. “But you—fuck, you have no idea how hard it is when you’re standing here looking like this—”

His gaze dragged over you, hungry, slow, like he was devouring every inch of exposed skin, every soft curve, every part of you, like he had spent years looking and wanting, and now that the words were out in the open, he refused to hold back.

“Trust me, I’ve tried,” he admitted, voice lower now, rougher. “I’ve really fucking tried to keep this in. To pretend I don’t notice, to keep my mouth shut, to respect that you don’t see me that way, that you don’t want me that way.”

Sebastian’s brown eyes flickered over you, dark and certain. “But now I find out that you won’t even step in the water because you think you don’t look good enough?” His voice was sharper now, like the words were physically pulled out of him. “That you think you need to hide?! When you look this fucking good?! It's a crime."

The world wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be.

Not when Sebastian was standing there, saying these things. Not when the same voice you had spent years aching over, pining for, was suddenly confessing all the things you had only ever dared to dream about in your weakest, most hopeless moments.

It was impossible. It was wrong. Not because you didn’t want it to be true, but because it couldn’t be. Because you had spent years overhearing men talk about other women like this.

Women they wanted. Women who fit the mold of desirable, women they admired, lusted after, fantasized about.

You had listened to Garreth wax poetic about Quidditch players, about girls with long legs and sharp features. You had heard Imelda talk about the men who trailed after her, about how they couldn’t help themselves, about how they looked at her like she was something worth having.

But never you. Never you.

So hearing it now—like this, in Sebastian’s voice, in Sebastian’s gaze, in the way his words hit you like a blow straight to the chest—

You felt dizzy, lightheaded, the words pressing against you, into you, wrapping around your ribs, curling low in your stomach, twisting and knotting and refusing to let go.

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, his voice hoarse, desperate in a way you had never heard before. “Say something,” he muttered, “Please."

You couldn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out, your breath caught somewhere in your chest, your lungs squeezing tight as your mind raced, as your body fought to catch up to what was happening.

How could you accept that the same boy who had haunted your every dream, every stupid little fantasy, every sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling with want pressed into your bones— How could you accept that he had been living through the same thing?

Sebastian let out another low, frustrated breath.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice gritted, dark. “Let me make this absolutely clear.”

Then, suddenly, he moved, fast. Aand deliberate.

The water swelled around you as he closed the distance in an instant, surging forward with a force that sent ripples crashing against your skin. Before you could react, his hands were on you—gripping your waist, anchoring you in place. His fingers pressed firm and unyielding against the soft curve of your sides, holding you steady, pulling you closer until there was nothing left between you.

Every inch of him was flush against you—solid, warm, inescapable. You could feel the tension in his body, the quiet strength beneath the water, the way his fingers dug in, pressing, gripping—possessive in a way that stole the breath straight from your lungs.

Sebastian’s breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling hard against yours. His jaw was clenched tight, the muscle feathering beneath his skin, and when he spoke, his voice was nothing but gravel and heat.

“You feel that?”

"Feel wha—oh."

Oh.

Oh.

Heat flooded your face, your pulse hammering, your skin burning. Because fuck, he was hard. Right there—there—pressed against your stomach, undeniable proof that every word he had just said wasn’t just frustration, wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment reassurance, wasn’t just a desperate attempt to make you see.

It was real.

It was real.

It was so fucking real.

“Yeah.” His voice was rough, strained. “That.”

Your mouth parted, but nothing came out. Your thoughts tangled, scrambled, lost somewhere between disbelief and something hotter, deeper—something that made your fingers twitch against his shoulders, your breath come quicker, your body suddenly hyperaware of every single point where you touched.

But then he went rigid. And suddenly—too suddenly—his hands dropped from your waist.

The moment he stepped back, the absence of him was like a shock to your system, your body instantly missing the heat, the weight, the certainty of him pressed against you.

Sebastian ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply, his jaw clenching.

"I—fuck. I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh, but it sounded frustrated, almost self-loathing, his expression twisting like he was kicking himself for losing control.

“That was—” He exhaled harshly, shaking his head again. “That was out of line. I’m sorry.”

Your pulse pounded, your skin still burning where he had touched you, still hyperaware of every place your bodies had been pressed together.

He was still so close. You could still feel the ghost of him. But Sebastian wouldn’t look at you.

His brown eyes flickered away, somewhere over your shoulder, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for you again but was physically forcing himself not to.

“I know you don’t feel the same,” he said, his voice gritted, like he was forcing the words out despite the fact that they physically hurt him. “I know you never have.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, but he kept going.

“I mean, how could you?” His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was trying to keep himself from reaching for you again. “It’s been ten years, for fuck’s sake. You’ve never—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t expect you to just, just change your mind.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Your mind was reeling. Because what the fuck was he talking about?

You didn’t feel the same? You had never felt the same?

It was so absurd, so absolutely mad, that you actually laughed—a short, startled sound of pure disbelief, because he could not be serious.

Sebastian’s head snapped up at the sound, his eyes narrowing, his entire body going tense. "What?"

You shook your head, still breathless, still dizzy, heat and disbelief and something else—something sharp—twisting in your chest.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you demanded, voice thin, incredulous. “You think I don’t want you back?!”

Sebastian stiffened then rolled his eyes, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were even trying to argue this. “Oh, come on.”

“No—no, you come on,” you shot back, your hands lifting out of the water, gesturing sharply. “Do you hear yourself right now? Do you actually believe that? You think I—” You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Merlin’s sake, Sebastian, are you insane?”

Sebastian’s nostrils flared, frustration flashing across his face. “I don’t know, am I? Because for years, you—”

“For years, I have been in love with you, you dolt,” you snapped, cutting him off.

The words rang between you, loud and final.

Sebastian froze. His breath stopped. His brown eyes went wide.

For a long, weighted beat, neither of you moved. The only sound was the water lapping gently around you, the distant crash of the waves against the shore, the sharp thud of your pulse in your ears.

Sebastian’s mouth parted slightly, his breath coming out uneven. His voice, when he finally spoke, was hoarse. “...are you serious?”

With a surge of boldness that felt almost foreign, you stepped forward, closing the space between you. Your hands found his waist, fingers curling tight, anchoring him in place as if daring him to move, to run, to deny what was right in front of him.

You tilted your chin up, locking onto his gaze, refusing to let him look away.

“Sebastian, for ten fucking years, I have been in love with you.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging in, grasping, clinging, and Sebastian let out a low, desperate sound against your lips. His grip shifted, one hand sliding up your spine, pressing against your bare skin, holding you there, anchoring you to him.

And the other—fuck.

His fingers skimmed down your hip, tracing the soft curve of your side before sliding lower, gripping your ass with a reverence that made your stomach flip. Like he wanted to memorize every inch of you beneath his hands. Like he had dreamed of this—fantasized about this—but never allowed himself to take it.

A quiet, breathless whimper slipped from your lips, and the moment it reached him, Sebastian groaned into your mouth. His hands tightened, his hold possessive, his body pressing against yours, solid and burning and real. You could feel everything—the heat of his skin, the hard planes of his body, the tension coiling beneath every touch, every breath.

He was shaking. Like he was barely holding himself together. Like he was one second away from losing control.

And honestly—

So were you.

Your fingers slid into his wet hair, tangling, tugging just slightly, and Sebastian moaned. His grip flexed, his breath hitched—and then he moved.

In one swift motion, his hands pressed against the curve of your ass, lifting you effortlessly as he backed you against the edge of the pool, pinning you there, chest heaving, eyes dark and wild as he hovered over you.

“Fuck.” His voice was low, rough, like it had been dragged over gravel.

Those dark, hungry brown eyes locked onto yours, burning with something thick and dangerous, something that sent heat licking up your spine and pooling low in your stomach.

His fingers flexed against your skin.

“Do you want to get out of this bloody pool?”

Your breath hitched. The weight of the question slammed into you, wrapping tight around your ribs and squeezing. Because this wasn’t about getting out of the water. This was about what came next.

Sebastian knew exactly what he was asking. And, Merlin help you, you knew exactly what you were answering.

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering, fingers twitching against the bare skin of his shoulders.

“Yes,” you murmured.

Sebastian inhaled sharply. His grip tightened. And then he was lifting you, strong hands braced beneath your thighs, guiding you up onto the ledge. The water sluiced off your skin, the cool air shocking against the heat burning through you.

You blinked down at him, chest rising and falling, heart slamming against your ribs.

He stayed in the water, hands still on you, grip firm, unwavering.

His gaze roamed.

You knew exactly what he saw.

Your thighs, still slick from the water, parted where he had positioned you. Droplets clung to the soft curve of your stomach, catching in the dimming sunlight, tracing slow, deliberate paths down to the plush flesh of your hips, slipping lower—between your legs. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, the thin, taut fabric of your bikini stretching over the swell of your breasts, highlighting every dip, every line, every part of you he had spent years trying not to look at.

His hands left your thighs for only a second. Just long enough for him to hoist himself out of the water in one fluid motion, muscles flexing, skin dripping, water cascading down his chest and stomach—catching on the waistband of his swim trunks, pooling at his feet.

And fuck, he was beautiful.

You barely had time to process before he was reaching for you again—one hand extended, palm open, waiting.

You placed your hand in his and then he pulled. Not gentle. Not soft. Claiming.

Your breath hitched as you stumbled forward, but before you could find your footing, his grip shifted, and before you could think, before you could question, he was dragging you across the deck—his grip firm, his pace unforgiving. Like he had already decided. Like nothing—not a single fucking thing—was going to get in his way.

Your heart pounded as he led you straight to the lounge chairs, his breathing heavy, uneven.

Your thighs hit the edge of the lounge, and suddenly, there was nowhere left to go. Nowhere but down.

Your stomach flipped. Your pulse hammered. Because—fuck—this was happening.

You sank onto the chair. Sebastian followed. No hesitation. No second-guessing. No pause to let you catch up.

He just moved.

Climbing over you. Caging you in. Settling between your legs, his hands braced on either side of you, thighs pressing against yours—the weight of him hovering just above, heavy, consuming.

Dripping water.

Dripping heat.

Dripping desperation.

His gaze dropped, drinking you in—your parted lips, your heaving chest, your bare stomach, the mess of your thighs spread open beneath him, the fabric of your bikini clinging to wet skin.

"Tell me you want this." His voice was rough, barely above a whisper, his fingers pressing into your waist, grounding himself in you. "Because if you don’t, if I’m wrong, I need to fucking stop before I—"

"You’re not wrong," you interrupted, breathless. "You have never been more right about anything in your entire life."

Sebastian huffed a laugh, and in the next breath, his lips crashed against yours, claiming, taking, devouring. It was rough, messy, all instinct. All heat.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers flying up to his hair, tangling in the damp curls, pulling him closer, needing him closer, needing more. Sebastian groaned, low and wrecked, shifting his weight, pressing against you, forcing you to sink further into the lounge chair.

His hands were everywhere, hot and demanding, tracing the dips and curves of your body like he was mapping them out after years of pretending they weren’t his to touch. His fingers pressed into your waist, sliding over the soft curve of your stomach, his grip firm, reverent, like he needed to feel every inch of you beneath him.

“God,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough, strained. “You feel so fucking good.”

You let out a quiet, desperate sound, fingers tightening in his hair, tugging slightly, and Sebastian growled, low and wrecked, pressing his hips harder against you, grinding down just enough to let you feel exactly what you were doing to him.

Your head tipped back, a gasp breaking free, and Sebastian wasted no time, his lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat, hot and wet.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, voice dark. “You’ve always been mine.”

Your stomach clenched, your entire body burning, too hot, too much, and you didn’t even realize you were saying his name until his teeth grazed the sensitive spot beneath your ear and you whimpered it, breathless and wanting.

Sebastian groaned, his hands flying to your thighs, gripping tight, spreading them wider beneath him, pressing himself between them, flush against you. His lips dragged lower, down the slope of your shoulder, his hands skimming higher, fingers teasing at the strings of your bikini top.

"Please," he muttered, voice thick, unsteady. "Let me see you."

You nodded.

Sebastian sat back on his knees. His breath came out heavy, uneven, as his eyes dragged over you—taking in the way you looked beneath him, sprawled out, wet, wanting.

His jaw tensed, and then slowly, carefully, his fingers found the ties of your bikini top.

Your breath hitched as he tugged at the strings, the knot loosening, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly for a moment before slipping, before baring you completely to him.

Sebastian inhaled sharply, his throat working, his hands freezing where they had been resting against your ribs.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just looked.

And—Merlin help you—the way he looked at you was like you were something to be worshiped. Like he couldn’t believe you were real, that you were here, that you were his.

His hands twitched.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud, like the words had been ripped straight from his chest.

Heat flooded your face, your entire body burning beneath his gaze. “Sebastian—”

But then his hands were on you, and you couldn’t breathe.

Fingertips, warm and reverent, traced over the breadth of newly exposed skin, slow, unhurried. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, featherlight, teasing, making your breath stutter, making heat coil low in your stomach, before he pressed more insistently, fingers disappearing into the plushness of your breasts.

Sebastian exhaled hard, his pupils blown wide, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip like he was barely holding himself back.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You’re so soft."

Sebastian cursed again, leaning in to kiss you again, deeper, rougher, his hips pressing into yours, his hands gripping, exploring, memorizing.

Your mind was spinning, your pulse erratic, heat licking at every inch of your body, and fuck, this was happening. This was really happening.

Sebastian’s hands trailed lower, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, gripping them tight before sliding to the ties of your bottoms. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled at them, loosening the fabric with each tug.

They clung stubbornly to your skin for a second before he slid it away, baring you completely beneath him.

Sebastian inhaled sharply.

His eyes traced the soft curve of your stomach, the way the dimming sunlight caught the droplets still clinging to your skin, rolling in slow, lazy paths over your navel, down to the plushness of your hips, the swell of your thighs, settling lower, lower—

His throat bobbed, a sharp inhale shuddering through him as his gaze caught between your legs, at the glistening wet heat of you, already slick, already open for him.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his voice strained, thick with want. His grip on your thighs flexed, his fingers pressing into soft flesh, kneading, his eyes locked onto you, staring like he was witnessing something divine.

Then, finally, finally, he tilted his head up, his brown eyes locking onto yours.

“You’re soaked,” he rasped, voice wrecked.

"Whose fault is that?" you murmured, gazing up at his though half-lidded eyes.

Sebastian let out a low, strangled sound—somewhere between a groan and a curse—his grip sliding up to your hips, tightening, his fingers flexing against soft flesh like he was grounding himself, steadying himself.

"Mine," he muttered, almost to himself, almost reverent. "All mine."

And then he moved lower.

His lips brushed the inside of your thigh, slow, deliberate, his breath hot against your damp skin. His hands, one on your hip, one on your breast, pressed, kneading, gripping, holding you in place as he trailed his mouth along the sensitive skin.

Your breath hitched, your fingers twitching at your sides, instinct begging you to reach for him, to pull him closer, to demand more.

Sebastian hummed against your thigh, slow and pleased, his lips curling against your skin. “You’ve always had such a sharp mouth,” he murmured, voice like gravel, teasing.  “But now? Now, you’re going to be too busy moaning my name to run that pretty mouth.”

And before you could even react, before you could do anything but shudder beneath him, Sebastian’s mouth was on you.

A sharp, breathless sound broke from your lips as his tongue pressed against the slick heat of you, slow and thorough, licking through your folds like he wanted to savor you, consume you.

Sebastian groaned, low and wrecked, his fingers digging into your thighs as he buried himself between them, licking, sucking, devouring like he was a man starved—like he had been waiting for this for years.

Your fingers flew to his hair, tangling in the strands, pulling him closer, needing him closer, needing more.

He shuddered, his tongue flicking against your clit, slow and deliberate, before dragging lower, teasing and pressing inside.

A whimper spilled from your lips, your thighs twitching around his head, your entire body trembling at the heat of him, of what he was doing to you.

“You taste so fucking good.” Sebastian muttered, his fingers flexing, holding you open for him, his mouth moving with precision, slow and intentional, like he was mapping you out, memorizing every reaction, every sound, every tiny movement that told him exactly what you liked.

Your hips bucked, your fingers tightening in his curls, and Sebastian let out a sound that was nothing short of filthy, his grip on your thighs tightening before his tongue stroked, pressed, teased—

"Look at you," he rasped, voice thick with something dark, something possessive, something hungry. "Falling apart for me already, hm?"

You let out a desperate, broken sound, your body aching for more, for him, and Sebastian just smirked, grinned, before plunging his fingers inside you, insistent and deep.

Your body jolted, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your hips bucked into his hand, chasing the pressure, the feeling of him inside you. Sebastian groaned at the reaction, his fingers flexing, curling, teasing—spreading you open in the most devastating way.

His mouth was back on you in an instant, tongue flicking over your clit, slow and purposeful, as his fingers worked inside you, stroking, coaxing, ruining.

Your head tipped back, pleasure surging through you, sharp and overwhelming, And this time—

You did moan his name.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And then—

“Let me fuck you,” he rasped.

Your breath hitched.

“Wha—”

Sebastian’s grip tightened, his nails digging into your skin just enough to make your breath stutter.

“Answer me,” he repeated, his voice lower this time, more desperate. “Before I forget how to be a gentleman and do it anyway."

You huffed, a flicker of defiance sparking through the haze of pleasure. "How demanding of you," you murmured.

Sebastian's grip flexed against your thighs, his fingers still buried inside you, his mouth hovering just above where you needed him most. His jaw tensed, his pupils dark and blown, his expression twisted with want, with something near desperation.

"Answer me," he repeated, his voice thick with warning as his fingers curled inside you, imploring you to respond.

But you just smirked, still gasping, still wrecked, but unwilling to give in that easily.  Sebastian wanted an answer? He could wait.

Your fingers twitched against his shoulders before you moved, pushing yourself up. Sebastian’s gaze flickered up to yours, pupils blown, his lips still slick with you, his hands flexing against your thighs like he knew what you were doing—like he knew you were about to make him suffer.

Good.

You reached for him, your fingers curling around his biceps, pushing him back, and Sebastian let you, let you take, let you flip the balance of control.

Your hands trailed lower, down his chest, his stomach, and then your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his swim trunks.

Sebastian inhaled sharply, his entire body going rigid, his jaw tight, his hands twitching where they still braced against your thighs.

You smirked, slow and deliberate, tilting your head as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “What’s wrong?” you murmured. “You were so talkative a second ago.”

Sebastian let out a breath that was more growl than exhale, his head tipping forward slightly, his entire body coiled like he was barely holding himself back.

Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of his trunks, teasing the band, pulling just slightly.

“Let me see you,” you whispered.

Sebastian stared at you, eyes dark, lips parted, his hands clenching, flexing, aching to touch, to take. Then, without breaking your gaze, he reached down, fingers curling over yours, helping you undo the ties.

Your breath caught when the fabric slid down, when his cock sprang free, hard and thick, flushed and leaking, heavy against his stomach, every inch of him aching, straining.

"Like what you see?" he asked, voice smug despite the raw edge of need in it.

Yes.

You swallowed hard.

"I'm deciding," you managed to shoot back.

Sebastian barked out a laugh—short, strained—before he caught your chin between his slick fingers, tilting your face up, forcing your eyes back to his. "Fucking tease," he muttered.

You arched a brow, smirking, and without breaking eye contact, you leaned in.

Your lips brushed over the flushed, aching tip of him, barely there, just enough to make his entire body shudder, to make him suck in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

His cock twitched against your mouth, a bead of precum glistening at the tip, and you—slowly, deliberately—dragged your tongue across it.

Sebastian jerked, his grip tightening on your chin, his breath stuttering, a low, guttural groan escaping him.

You hummed, pleased with his reaction, with the way his muscles tensed beneath your fingers, with the way his jaw clenched like he was barely holding on.

But you didn’t take him fully. Not yet.

You let your lips trail down his length, your tongue flicking out just enough to taste him, to tease him, your hands smoothing over his thighs, slow, measured, unrushed.

Sebastian groaned, low and dangerous, his grip tangling in your hair, tugging and demanding, his body vibrating with restraint, with the barely leashed need to take control, to take you.

“Enough,” he ground out, his voice a raw, strained command. “Either stop teasing, or I’ll fuck your mouth like I know you want me to.”

Heat flooded your stomach, your entire body pulsing at the sheer dominance in his tone, at the way he looked at you like he was losing his mind, like he was aching to wreck you.

You pulled back just enough to make him groan in frustration, enough to make his fingers flex against your scalp, enough to make his cock twitch in anticipation.

Then you licked your lips, slow and deliberate, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes. “What’s the rush?” you asked, voice syrupy sweet, filled with challenge. “I thought you wanted to be a gentleman.”

Sebastian snapped.

A growl rumbled from deep in his chest, his grip shifting as he pushed you back onto the lounge chair, his body pressing against yours, hot and unyielding.

“You really want to test me right now?” he muttered, his voice dark, dangerous, his cock pressing hard and heavy against your stomach.

“Maybe."

Sebastian exhaled sharply, shaking his head, a rough, strained chuckle escaping him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his grip shifting to your thighs, spreading you open for him again, positioning himself exactly where he wanted to be, where you wanted him to be.

His gaze locked onto yours, dark and searing, one last time.

“You’re done teasing,” he rasped, voice raw as he pressed the thick, aching length of himself more firmly against your stomach, teasing, taunting. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”

You grinned, fingers curling into the damp mess of his hair, tugging him down to kiss you. His groan vibrated against your lips, his hands clenching against your thighs as you deepened it, licking into his mouth, tasting the desperation there.

And then, you shifted beneath him, twisting, arching—attempting to flip yourself over, to press your chest to the lounge, to give him the perfect view of your ass as you braced yourself on your forearms.

But before you could turn completely, Sebastian’s hands flew to your waist, stopping you.

Your brow furrowed, confusion flickering through the haze of heat as you turned to look at him, your breath coming in short pants. “Sebastian—”

He shook his head, softly, slowly, like he wasn’t rejecting you—like he was pleading with you.

“No, don't,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked but suddenly softer.

Your brow furrowed, eyes searching his. "Don’t?"

Sebastian's lips curved into a small, strained smile, one hand reaching to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

"As much as I love your ass," he admitted, his jaw tightening as his gaze dipped, sweeping over the soft curves of your body—lingering, wanting. "And as much as I’d love to see it against my hips, to watch myself sink into you, to see the way your back arches, to hold onto these soft, perfect fucking hips and bury myself so deep—”

His voice broke, his breath coming out sharp, shuddering.

“That's not what I want, not for our first time.”

Your stomach flipped, something warm and devastatingly tender blooming in your chest, twisting around your ribs.

Sebastian sighed, his grip on your face tightening just slightly, his gaze flickering back up to yours, something raw, vulnerable shining behind the wrecked hunger in his eyes.

“The first time,” he murmured, voice rough, stripped down, honest. “I want to see you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I want to watch you come.” His lips ghosted over yours, featherlight, reverent. “Want to see every expression, every little fucking reaction. All of you.”

You swallowed, your breath still unsteady, your body still burning, aching—but the heat had shifted, changed.

This wasn’t just need. It was something more.

His lips brushed over yours, featherlight, his hands framing your jaw like you were something fragile, something precious. "Is that okay?"

Your fingers curled around his wrists, your pulse hammering beneath his touch.

You nodded.

Sebastian exhaled, a breath that felt like it had been trapped inside him for years. Then, so softly—so reverently—he kissed you.

Not like before.

Not feverish. Not desperate. Not a frantic chase of pleasure.

This was different.

This was tender. This was worship.

“I love you,” he said against your lips.

Your hands slid up to his face, cupping his jaw. "I love you too."

He huffed a soft laugh, the sound breathless, almost disbelieving, like he couldn't quite process that this was real. That after everything, after years of tension and stolen glances, after all the pushing and pulling, you were here, beneath him, wrapped up in him, saying the words he'd never let himself hope to hear.

His lips found yours again—slow, unhurried, savoring—before he finally shifted, positioning himself exactly where he wanted to be. Where you wanted him to be.

He teased, barely pressing into you, the slick heat of your body driving him to the edge of his restraint. His breath fanned against your lips, uneven, ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

His gaze locked onto yours, dark, devouring, and his voice, when it came, was hoarse.

"Tell me if—if I need to stop."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath stutter, your own lips parting as you whispered, "I will."

Sebastian exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against yours, his grip tightening at your waist, anchoring himself to you.

"Keep your eyes on me," he murmured, fingers flexing against your skin, voice rough, edged with something deeper than desire. "I want to see everything."

A shudder ran through you, your breath catching, your pulse hammering beneath the weight of him, the weight of this moment.

Because this wasn’t just need.

This wasn’t just giving in to years of tension.

This was love. A love that burned. That consumed. That settled into your bones and refused to let go.

Then, with a slow, steady roll of his hips, he pushed inside.

Your breath caught, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as he stretched you open, filling you completely, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, until you could feel him in every part of you, until there was nothing between you.

Sebastian shuddered, his grip tightening, his fingers pressing hard into the soft flesh of your hips.

"Fuck," he rasped, voice trembling with the weight of his own need. "You—God, you feel unreal."

You clung to him, your hands grasping blindly at his shoulders, his back, needing something to hold onto, needing to ground yourself as pleasure crashed over you in waves, hot and overwhelming.

And Sebastian—God, Sebastian—

His head dipped, his lips brushing against your jaw, the column of your throat, breathing you in, his hands roaming and greedy, mapping every curve, every dip, every soft, yielding part of you like he was memorizing you, like he wanted to brand this moment into his soul.

“Move,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your nails scraping against his skin. “Sebastian—please—"

He didn’t make you wait.

A ragged groan tore from his lips as his hips pulled back, slow and deliberate, before thrusting forward again, deeper, dragging another gasp from your throat as he filled you again and again, his movements measured but devastating.

His lips found yours, desperate, consuming, claiming, swallowing every sound that escaped you, every broken moan, every whispered plea.

And he was watching—just like he said he would.

His gaze flickered over your face, drinking in every expression, every quiver of your lips, every flutter of your lashes, memorizing you.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he murmured, voice thick with reverence, his hands gliding up your sides, over your ribs and gripping at your breasts.

You whimpered, your body arching into him, your thighs tightening around his waist as he kept moving, slow and deep, dragging out every inch of pleasure, unraveling you entirely.

Heat curled low in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter, every shift of his hips, every roll, every stroke against the most sensitive parts of you sending you hurtling closer to the edge.

"Oh god," you moaned, head falling back, tension coiling tighter as he stroked the bundle of nerves inside you, the one that made you see stars, the one that made your entire body tighten around him.

Sebastian let out a wrecked, filthy sound, his hands flexing against your waist, like he was barely holding himself back, like he was trying to keep himself from unraveling too soon—because he wanted to watch you come first.

He moved faster now. Rougher, deeper, every thrust dragging a desperate, broken moans from your lips, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside you, sharp and electric, ready to snap.

"Sebastian," you whimpered, your fingers fisting in his curls, your head tilting back, your body begging for release, needing it.

"I've got you," he murmured, breathless, his lips brushing against yours, his movements never faltering, never slowing. His forehead pressed against yours, his voice a ragged whisper. "Let go. Come all over my cock—let me feel it."

And fuck—you did.

Pleasure ripped through you, blinding and all-consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs, the world narrowing to just him, just this, just the way he held you, the way he filled you, the way he worshipped every sound you made.

Sebastian followed you over the edge, his body jerking, his thrusts turning erratic and desperate as he groaned, his fingers digging into your waist, pulling you closer, deeper, until he was buried impossibly deep, spilling inside you, hot and thick and completely undone.

You felt utterly spent, boneless beneath him, warmth pooling in every inch of your body, but you welcomed his weight, the way he sank into you like he belonged there, like this was exactly where he was always meant to be.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your chests rising and falling in tandem, your heartbeats thrumming in sync, a quiet, unspoken connection settling between you.

Sebastian finally let out a slow, shaky breath, his lips pressing against your temple, lingering there for a heartbeat, maybe two.

Then, his fingers—still gripping your waist—softened, smoothing over your skin in slow, lazy strokes.

"Holy shit," he murmured, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "That was—"

"Perfect," you finished for him, your voice still breathless, still heavy with everything this was, everything it meant.

Sebastian's lips curled upwards, nudging his nose against yours, his breaths still uneven. "Yeah," he murmured. "Perfect."

You smiled, cupping his jaw and tugging him down for another slow, lingering kiss—one that wasn’t filled with hunger or urgency, but something deeper. Sebastian melted into you, sighing against your lips.

"You're beautiful," he murmured. "You're so fucking beautiful, I'll remind you until the day I die."

You swallowed, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you pulled back, dazed, overwhelmed, utterly wrecked by the way he looked at you—like you were something sacred, something cherished, something he had never once doubted wanting.

“You really believe that?”

Sebastian let out a soft, breathy chuckle against your mouth, nudging his nose against yours, his hands still tracing over your body.

"I don't believe it, I know it," he murmured, pressing another kiss to your lips. "You’re the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

Another kiss.

"Perfect, really."

Another.

"Always have been."

Your chest tightened, your stomach twisting, something thick and overwhelming settling in your throat. Because God, you had spent so long believing you weren’t enough—so long shrinking yourself, making yourself smaller, convincing yourself that someone like him could never want you like this.

But he did.

He always had.

And now, with his body wrapped around yours, with the heat of him still lingering between your thighs, with the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—it was undeniable.

It had always been you.

A shaky breath left your lips, and you smiled—small, but real—your fingers tracing over the sharp edge of his jaw, feeling the tension there, feeling the way he was holding himself together, barely, just for you.

"I love you," you whispered, and God, it felt good to say it again. To let it out. To give it weight. "I will for the rest of my life—" your thumb brushed over the corner of his mouth, and you grinned, "and after that too. I'll fucking haunt you, Sebastian Sallow."

A rough, breathless laugh escaped him, and his head dropped, his forehead pressing against yours. "Good," he murmured, his voice warm and teasing but full of something deeper, something raw. "Because you're mine. Completely stuck with me."

You huffed a quiet laugh, fingers threading through his curls, nails scraping gently against his scalp.

"Obviously," you mused, voice still breathless. "I can feel you dripping down my thighs right now."

Sebastian groaned, deep and wrecked, his grip on you tightening like he physically couldn't handle what you'd just said. His forehead still rested against yours, but you could feel the way his body tensed, the way his fingers flexed against your hips, like he was resisting the urge to do something about it.

"Fuck," he muttered, and his breath was hot against your lips, his nose brushing yours. "Don't say shit like that unless you're ready for round two."

You smirked, utterly sated, utterly pleased with yourself, your body still thrumming with euphoria. Your hands trailed lazily down his back.

"Who said I wasn't?"

He groaned, half in frustration, half in amusement, and buried his face against the crook of your neck. "You have no idea how badly I want to," he admitted, voice muffled against you, breath hot and uneven. "But I’m pretty sure I have nothing left to give you."

You giggled, running your fingers through his sweat-damp curls, tugging lightly just to feel him groan.

"Nothing?" you teased.

"Love," he mumbled. "I think I came enough for three sessions in one. My soul left my fucking body at some point."

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh. "Sebastian Sallow, surrendering? What in Merlin's name am I hearing right now?"

He groaned again, lifting his head to glare at you—though the effect was utterly ruined by the small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not surrendering," he argued. "I'm just acknowledging that I may need to recover before you completely break me."

You laughed outright this time, the sound bright and breathless, warmth blooming in your chest at the sheer wreckage of him.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "Give me, like, ten minutes. Maybe fifteen."

"You might as well use that time wisely, then," you mused, voice teasing, but laced with something softer, something full.

Sebastian hummed against your skin, pressing a lazy, absentminded kiss to your collarbone. "Mmm, and how’s that?"

You smirked. "By cleaning me up. Preferably with your tongue.”

A low, wrecked sound rumbled from his chest, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, and suddenly his grip on your waist tightened.

"You're killing me," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin.

You grinned. "Am I?"

Sebastian lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, his pupils still blown wide, his expression caught somewhere between utterly ruined and utterly obsessed with you.

"You are," he admitted, voice rough, hoarse, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your hip. "Because now I have to."

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Oh? Have to?"

His lips curved into a smirk, dark and lazy. "You asked me to," he murmured, voice dipping into something dangerous, something possessive. "And I'm a very considerate boyfriend."

You arched a brow, amusement flickering in your expression as you lifted your head slightly to meet his gaze.

"Boyfriend?" you mused, voice teasing, but beneath it was something softer, something real. "When did that happen?"

Sebastian blinked, then scoffed, like you had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

"Merlin’s balls, woman," he muttered, shaking his head as he let his weight settle more firmly against you. "You just let me fuck you into a patio chair, told me you’d haunt me, that you've loved me since we were sixteen, and now you’re questioning whether I’m your boyfriend?"

You grinned. "Well," you drawled, tilting your head, feigning deep thought. "You never asked."

Sebastian groaned, dropping his forehead onto your chest like he physically couldn’t handle you right now. "Unbelievable."

"You’re the one making assumptions," you teased.

He lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze again, and there was something fond in his expression, something soft beneath all that exhaustion and wreckage.

"Alright," he murmured, voice low, hoarse. "Be my fucking girlfriend."

You huffed out a laugh, amused, delighted. "Wow, so romantic."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips twitched upward. "Please be my fucking girlfriend," he corrected, smirking as he trailed a hand down your thigh, fingers teasing, possessive. "Though, given the fact that I've also loved you for a decade, and the fact that I’m about to devour you, I’d say the answer’s pretty obvious."

Your breath hitched slightly, your amusement shifting into something warmer, something deeper, something that curled low in your stomach.

But you weren’t going to let him off that easy.

"Hmm," you hummed, running your fingers down his back, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, enjoying the way he shuddered beneath your touch. "I don’t know..."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, his smirk turning wicked, dangerous. "You don’t know?" he echoed, voice dipping low, teasing, edged with something predatory.

You grinned, thoroughly pleased with yourself, fingers still lazily tracing patterns down his back. "Mmm. Maybe you should convince me."

A deep, wrecked groan rumbled from his chest, and his grip on your thigh tightened. "You really don’t know when to quit, do you?"

You shivered beneath him, your breath catching, anticipation coiling in your stomach. You opened your mouth—maybe to challenge him, maybe to tease him further—

A sharp click rang through the air, the unmistakable sound of the gate latch unlatching.

Sebastian froze.

You froze.

Then—

"OH MY GOD."

You barely had time to process before a chorus of voices erupted from behind you, overlapping in shock, amusement, and sheer disbelief.

"Finally!"

“Sweet Merlin—”

"No fucking WAY."

"I cannot bloody believe this!"

Sebastian flinched, his entire body going rigid, his head snapping up so fast you thought he might injure himself.

A strangled sound ripped from your throat as you followed his gaze toward the entrance of the secluded deck—where your friends stood, frozen, their expressions ranging from amusement to absolute agony.

Poppy had both hands clapped over her mouth, her wide eyes darting everywhere but you. Natty looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or leave the country. Garreth, the absolute menace, was grinning like he'd just won the lottery, nudging Imelda—who was looking at the two of you like she was seconds away from hexing you both for subjecting her to this.

And then—

"Thank fucking Merlin I'm blind," Ominis declared, his expression nothing short of relieved, even as his face twisted in mild disgust. "This was the single greatest blessing Salazar ever granted me."

Sebastian dropped his head onto your shoulder, his damp hair sticking to your skin. His breath hitched—somewhere between a groan and barely-contained laughter—as you immediately scrambled to cup your breasts with frantic desperation.

Mercifully, blessedly, he was still positioned between your legs, hiding the most damning evidence from your group of unwitting, horrified spectators.

"Fuck," he laughed, voice wrecked, his arms tightening around your waist. "This is so much worse than getting caught by a professor at Hogwarts."

You let out a strangled, humiliated sound. "Sebastian, please, we need to get a towel or—!"

Garreth howled with laughter, his voice ringing loud and delighted over the deck. "We left you alone for an hour," he crowed, "and you two finally decided to stop pining and start—”

"SHUT UP," you and Sebastian both shouted at the exact same time.

Poppy let out a giggle from somewhere behind Garreth, and you could practically hear the barely-concealed amusement in Natty's voice when she muttered, "It's about bloody time."

Imelda groaned. “I just—why here?” She gestured toward the deck, still looking like she wanted to bleach her eyes. “This is communal property!”

“Technically,” Sebastian muttered against your thigh, “we were here first.”

“Oh, so that makes it better?” Imelda practically screeched.

You groaned, feeling the heat of absolute mortification creeping up your neck.

Ominis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t care how inevitable it was,” he said, voice utterly flat. “I do care that I now have to suffer through knowing where it happened.”

Poppy giggled behind her hands. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Ominis.”

“You try sharing a living space with Sebastian after this,” he deadpanned.

Sebastian grunted, finally sitting up, his broad frame still angled protectively in front of you, shielding as much of you as he could manage. His hair was a disheveled mess, his expression caught somewhere between resigned acceptance and unapologetic defiance—like a man who had been caught red-handed but had absolutely no regrets.

“Well,” he exhaled, his arm still braced protectively in front of you, still shielding as much of you as he possibly could. “Guess we’re not keeping this a secret anymore.”

Natty snorted, crossing her arms, her smirk barely contained. “You two thought this was a secret?”

Poppy giggled from behind her hands, her eyes still squeezed shut like she wasn’t quite brave enough to risk seeing something scarring. “We’ve known for years.”

Garreth grinned like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. “I knew you two were in love, but this—” He gestured wildly to the deck, to the situation, to Sebastian still bracing himself between your legs like a human barricade. “This is beyond what I could have ever imagined.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Alright, that's enough commentary from the peanut gallery.”

Imelda scoffed. “Peanut gallery? We walked in on this absolute nightmare! You don’t get to act like we’re the ones inconveniencing you.”

“I do, actually,” Sebastian quipped, deadpan. “You’re the ones interrupting our afterglow.”

Natty’s voice was full of strained patience, but there was no hiding her mirth. "Alright, alright, everyone, let’s give them some space before they die of embarrassment."

"Bit late for that," you muttered under your breath.

There was a collective shuffle of movement, a few muffled laughs, and one last dramatic sigh from Garreth before the door clicked shut behind them. Silence settled over the space, thick and still buzzing with lingering mortification.

Sebastian snorted. "You think they’re ever gonna drop this?"

"Absolutely not," you muttered, knowing full well that the moment you and Sebastian emerged from this, you would never hear the end of it.

And yet—

Somewhere beneath the mortification, beneath the utter embarrassment, there was something else.

Something warm. Something real.

Something that felt like forever.

Sebastian shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his brown eyes still twinkling with amusement, but soft, fond, full of something deeper than just humor.

"You still gonna haunt me?" he murmured, smirking.

You huffed a laugh, still hiding against his shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to the bare skin there.

"Now more than ever, Sallow."

Banner Credit

[writingmochi]

cast: soobin ✗ fem.reader (ft. odd eye circle)

synopsis: as you stood on the crowded train while making eye contact with the boy from the neighboring school, light shines into the dim train car as it becomes empty and filled with sand. approaching you is a humanoid figure, who calls you the king and queen of viliya—the island kingdom that is plagued with nightmares that haunt its people which you and the boy are also not immune to

genre: two lost souls find comfort, silent lovers, magical realism, meet ugly, hurt/comfort, adventure, thriller, coming of age, romance, high school au, late 2010s au, angst, fluff, mature content (phobias, trauma, war, explicit smut)

inspired by: music my bloody valentine's "i only said" (1991), txt's 2019-2020 star seekers music videos ("nap of the star", "magic island", "eternally"), and movies bridge to terabithia (2007) and tigers are not afraid (2017)

word count: 28472 (28.4k)

warning(s): numerous traumas and phobias, war imagery (refugees, weapons, etc), bruises, scars, and blood, suicide and suicide attempt, parental abuse (physical and mental), minor character deaths, parental neglect, sex addiction and its impact on a child, sharp object(s) drug consumption (cigarette, soobin's character is addicted to nicotine) and more mentioned, mention of self-harming, mention of bullying, explicit smut, lost of virginities (m&f), hand job (m&f receiving), oral (m&f receiving), marking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie (if there is something that i forgot, let me know!)

message of the moon: remember that this story is fiction and do be careful and read the warnings at the top. all the idols mentioned here are not what they are in real life.

hello! it's been nearly a year since i've posted the visualizer and people seemed to dig it. having much more time of my hands, i decide to pick up the pace for this fic to skim my wips, especially those that i have released teasers to~ if you will be reading this, thank you for giving it a chance and hope you enjoy it!

playlist | visualizer part of the loveless anthology | an entry for discovery: 400 and solstice: a comeback story

everything around you is either orange or black.

a hand reaches up and is placed gently on the side of your head, brushing against the throbbing sense as you tilt back to breathe in such suffocating air. the dark scenery lights up as more of the orange comes into sight. that’s when you hear it. voices. fearful voices.

the blurriness went away in an instant as you looked at your surroundings covered only in shadows and silhouettes. screams combined with crashes as you watch humanoid figures running around you. tall dark buildings enveloping from the sides as you noted how their corners are torn away—leaving behind leftover bricks that are awaiting gravity to pull it down and join with the rubble. your body trembles as you view the haunting scene masked in the darkness where the orange decorates the sky alongside a purple-ish hue coming from the silhouettes.

that’s when you feel something cold trailing down your cheek. the side where you put your hand previously.

as the orange light illuminates you, you raise both hands to find the palms covered in darkness. a dark, gooey substance that makes you want to gag as your vision gazes back to the silhouettes. only to be met with their rigid lines becoming more blurry, more wavey. paralleling the outline of the substance on your hands.

your jaw unhinges, yet no voice comes out.

the sound of the announcement startles you as you turn your head to find yourself in the underground station you are standing in. breath ragged as you push your body from the thick column you were leaning against, your heartbeat still going at a fast pace as your breathing calms it down.

looking down at your palms, you find nothing on them except the sticky sweat coming from their pores—making you hastily rub them against your uniform skirt to dry them before straightening the rest of your clothing pieces; your school’s plain navy vest that has its logo and the pin with your name on it. you also repair the black arm sleeves covering both of your forearms as you pick up the rumbling sound of the train coming in on the other side of the glass barriers: finding yourself in the dark reflection before you stand behind the people waiting in line to get in.

tugging your wired earphone buds into both of your ears from your skirt pocket, the train cars stop in front of their assigned doors as they open simultaneously. your eyes glance at the gap between the platform and the train car as you step across it before settling at your usual place by the door of the opposite side where it won’t open. your nimble fingers quickly open the music application as you turn on the playlist you usually listen to when you commute. you find yourself in the reflection of the glass window of the door you stood in front of, seeing your frazzled self as you notice the signature of your dark under-eye area in a half-circle shape. when you hear the train door close and sense the force of the train pushing you along the track, you take a long breath as you put another pin on the daydream that you have envisioned in your memory.

the music chugs along with the train as you ride under the district of gangnam in seoul metro’s line 7; the usual olive green color you encounter every time you commute to and from school from station number 731. your train is filled with mostly working commuters as gangnam is where many businesses reside. schools also litter around the district in the different neighborhoods where you see a few students as young as elementary schoolers to people your age in high school commuting. you didn’t expect to actually feel melancholic about it, but it is expected when this is the last semester you’ll be riding this line before you graduate later this year. but, you also feel melancholic for another thing other than the train ride—that’s why, as you pick up the train wheel screeching from beneath you, you turn around and face the door across that will be open in station 730.

people came into and went out from the train as you looked at the blinking light of the station name above the door, seeing the other unlit dots of your journey with this line as you’ll see them lit up soon. you felt your backpack rest beside the thin glass wall that protects the people sitting from the people standing by the door as you felt the rush of the autumn wind getting sucked up with the door closing. as the train continues its journey, you shift your head to the side, finding the sight that you’ve waited every time you ride this line in this particular time.

on the other side from where you at, across the long line of seats where people rested, stand a few people who got in from the other doors available in this train car. there amongst the crowd stands a tall boy who is dressed in a similar outfit to yours. the autumn uniform’s vest is a light grey color instead—representing his high school. a neighbor of your own school, since it is only blocks away.

ever since you’ve ridden this train car in your 2nd year of high school, you always come across him. every time you ride on the train as you commute to school, you always find him in that very spot as the train comes to pick you up. and you always watch him step out at station 730, tugging onto his backpack as he heads to his classes and leaving you to ride one more stop so you can go to yours. yet, you realized that this was not a one-sided interaction when you caught onto him looking your way. well, looking at you as you catch his eyes following yours while you move to stand nearer to the door of your stop.

yet, neither of you has approached each other. the stretch of seats between both of you and the people sitting on them or standing in the narrow lane separating them becoming the barrier between you two.

you rarely have crushes. but you consider him as one. every time you look at him, you can feel warmth and calmness spreading across your body; making you seem slightly better before facing the other tribulations of life. your lips protruding into a small pout as you see him wearing his headphones, head nodding along with the music he heard when you catch small shadows on his cheeks—dimples as you presumed—before he glances his eyes at you as you let the music entering your ears also entertaining your day; giving you even a small smile, acknowledging your existence. sometimes you stand in the lane where the seats at, halfway closer to where he stood as your usual spot is filled. but something seems to still make you stand apart as you observe his side of the train covered with a crowd.

the realization hits you. that he is something to be admired from afar, to lighten up your day before darkness finds a way to cover it up again.

the train stops as you watch him gently putting on the headphones that were hanging around his neck, pivoting as you lean your head back to find the station where you arrived lit up with a bright red dot. station 729: cheongdam. then, you sense it. your breath hitches and your senses heightened as you can feel your blood rushing in your blood vessels. eyes blinking as you can already sense presence all over you. looming inside and even outside of the train car. when the door closes, the thumb that was caressing your fingertips stops and you balled your hand into a fist. head now straight and mighty as you follow the train’s journey progressing to the part of the line that always haunts you more and more.

you always experience something weird when the train is nearing the cheongdam bridge. it is as if your senses are being attacked in a sweep when goosebumps form in a wave before it calms down. then it starts again as the train approaches the outdoor part of its journey to cross the body of water. the lights inside flicker as you look outside to view the han river from under the bridge, yet sometimes, it’s not a river, but a beach.

the sky is the clear turquoise blue that reflects the seawater. the view of the river bank turns into sand that’s lining the barrier of land and sea. you could sometimes hear crashing waves from it even if you only see the setting sky as it changes from day to night. though now, that turquoise sky is getting darker and darker, even darker than the sunset you usually find when you cross on the hanging tracks from the cheongdam bridge to ttukseom park.

then you see it: the visions.

quick time-lapse of the neon streetlights, crumbling buildings crashing down as their support couldn’t hold on, humanoid beings who can fly as they attacked something dark. only the color orange highlights everything before you see flickers of a woman with long platinum blonde locks and white dress, calling out your name as your eyes are trying to focus on her heterochromia ones.

you’ve always held onto the nearest surface as you glance at the dots turning red between cheongdam and ttukseom park stations, breathing in and out as you felt your palm getting sweatier when you felt the whole compartment seemed to shake more and more as you approached the bridge and let the light from outside coming in. recently, the shakiness is getting rougher and the vision more frequent. but you’ve always tried to comfort yourself and look at the boy across from you if he is okay.

because it seems like you’re not the only one noticing all the things you’ve experienced, especially when you see him mumbling whilst staring at the red dots lighting up on top of the door when the train approaches the bridge.

with your eyes widened with the realization, the train car rattles as you nearly fall. hands up and legs placed wide as you don’t want to fall and nudge someone, you stumble forward as you reach for the handle hanging from the ceiling. your vision glances back at the dots lining the top of the car door. the train on its journey away from cheongdam station clearly with three red dots lighting up. it returns to the boy as you catch him staring at you, eyes communicating with each other with something more to it. the usual shy glances were gone as you stayed in eye contact with him, saying to him ‘yes, i do feel what you felt’.

the light on the train flickers as you hear the screeching noise from the train running along the rail, sensing the train car curve following the underground tracks. and yet, your eyes remain on him before glancing to view the progress of the dots. shivers suddenly rise and send chills to your skin as you remind yourself of the specific dot where the train car will emerge out of the tunnel and into the outside area of the line even under the cheongdam bridge. then, you see it. the visions.

it flickers in your eyes and changes as you blink, showing a few frames. the orange view on top and black on the bottom. the silhouette of winged people and other variants running away. falling debris of buildings crushing on vehicles. shadow figures stand from the edge of your vision as it approaches you closer and closer. the familiar blonde-haired girl showing up in front of you, blinking in and out of existence as you have a close of her different colored eyes. shaking your head, you turn to look at the dots, the red light getting closer to the specific one as the train car shakes around you, yet none of the people seems to be bothered as you only see the boy standing across from you reacting to it discreetly.

he also gazes at the dots as you watch him mumble words you couldn’t decipher. the sound of music you are listening to also glitches out in your ears, making them allowing you to listen to the environmental noises that it makes. the boy catches your eyes staring at him, eyebrows furrowed as he also has the same. yet, he nods his head, only to you. only for you to understand. the train is ever so close to the opening as you hear strange sounds that you shouldn’t hear. the calls of your name, the sound of the waves, the sound of cries. and your eyes remain on his as they also perturbed him. but he continues to nod his head until he closes his eyes, soothing himself as he focuses on the sound he listens to from his headphones. you follow alongside him, focusing on the music entering your eyes that seemed to cut off as the car trembles. your grip on the handle tightens as you stand your ground, spreading your weight so you don’t fling as easily.

from your closed eyelids, you see it. the light level rising as a gush of wind hits you. your hands gripping onto the handle and your backpack strap tight so you don’t fall. the rubber exterior of your wired earphones flapping against your cheek and jaw as the light enters, nearly blinding you. your hair flails around from the quick airflow as you hold on for your dear life for survival. to find yourself arriving at the next station safe and sound. to see the boy with your very eyes once again.

then you smell it. the salt in the air. even sharper than before. the sound of the train moving comes crashing with the wave noise that arrives on the land, even overcoming it. the wind blows yet it doesn’t come the way the train is going, which is northward. it enters and caresses you gently from the sides where the windows are. when you try to balance yourself, you instead felt the ground uneven and one of your feet being sucked by gravity.

something is different.

with courage and curiosity, you open your eyes. the strong sunlight emitting into the car hits you, making you bow your head, examining the gray-colored floor now filled with creme colors and your feet sunken into it. sand.

the sound of seagulls catches your attention as you glance outside of the window, finding a shoreline on the other side. the foam created from the moving wave meeting the sand as its sizzling sound makes your ticklish. looking upwards, the red dots are off alongside the open doors on both sides of the cart. you didn’t realize you were still holding onto the hanging handle until you look straight forward from where you are, finding the boy in the same pose as you; expressing the thought you are currently experiencing.

loosening the grip, you turn to see your palm and find a distinct long rectangle marked on it from the handle, sensing the blood rushing to put back the oxygen you held back from grabbing it too tight. you remain standing there, hearing your music still playing in your ears, even with one earbud off. and your sight remains on him, not wanting to let go. so, you step first. and he follows.

one step at a time, you gaze at the created footsteps from your sneakers’ soles on the sand. the boy was looking at his palm whilst walking towards you. there, in the middle between two lines of seats across from each other, you and he finally stand before each other. your breath is haggard as you focus on your drumming heartbeat, gazing at him who stands before you. jaw lower as you calm your inhales, you pick up another set of footsteps before you even say “hi.”

with both of your heads turn towards the same direction, you notice an approaching figure coming towards the train car. they wear a flowy white dress as the sun reflects on the light hair color, blonde. they approach the car fast whilst having a brown-hued backpack on their back, the soft footsteps getting hard as she steps onto the sand-covered floor. the long flowy blonde hair frames her face as she controls her breath. while she’s doing that, you gaze at her hair and see how her earlobe pokes through the long hair strands. an elven type of ear that you’ve seen illustrations of before. yet, when she lifts her head, both you and the boy gasp together.

there, as she brushes her cheek from specks of sand, is a face you’ve often seen. the long blonde hair and the heterochromia eyes. an odd blue eye.

“thank caelum.” she lets out a gasp before she pauses, a wide smile threatening to show up even with the smile that she has. and she bows down half her body.

“your majesties.”

your majesty?

turning your head, you catch the boy’s face looking at you, catching each other speaking the same thing at the same time.

“yes, king soobin and queen (y/n)...” she mentioned your name as you glanced back at him, looking down to his pin name tag on his vest, reading “choi soobin” before moving your eyes upward to his eyes to find his eyeline on your own name tag, confirming your name to him too.

the blonde girl clears her throat before continuing to speak. “you’ve been slipping in and out of this part of the beach. when i heard a horn and something heavy crashing by the beach, i knew that it was going to be the two of you.”

“how do you know us?” the voice startles you as you return your eyeline to the boy, his voice much deeper than you realized from his face when asking. with the number of things you wanted to learn about him, you’ve always wondered about his voice. and you can feel butterflies flying around in your stomach because of it.

“well...” she steps closer to where you at, “both of you were originally from here. but then, you had to leave and trust us to keep viliya in order. the prophecies, tales, and legends were told in the past 200 years of when both of you will be back, that the people will witness the return of the true leaders of viliya come back in their corporeal form. as you both have only appeared in soul and voice to us.”

“wait...” you sounded, nearly cutting her voice yet she finished hers faster. hearing the way she described how you interacted before—other than seeing a blinking vision of her—reminds you of the many images that are ingrained in your mind. sure, the visions are enough, but this is where it differs. because you have also seen her in your dreams.

the sight of a lush forest in the background of a bustling town where people mostly walk with a few cars moving around. its architectural design looks similar to your usual neighborhood block but with the intricacies of something gothic. the sight of the orange-colored view comes back as the blurriness becomes clearer. you remember looking around the familiar plaza with strung decorations hanging above you. people crowding around you as their silhouettes shaped them in varieties you don’t see in “regular” humans, and you remember turning your head to the side, finding the boy you’ve always seen in the train car looking back at you in a long-sleeved white shirt: opening his palm for you to grasp. and you did.

“the dreams?” he, soobin, takes the word out of your mouth as you return your gaze back at him, finding his eyes looking around as he also seems to remember something. something he has experienced like you also did. shifting back to the elven girl, she gives a stern nod as your suspicions are answered instantly.

your breath hitches, shivers creating goosebumps as it runs all over your body, taking in that the most magical thing you’ve experienced in your life was in fact something of a reality. yet doubt comes back in as you say, “start from the beginning.” your eyes are now fixed on the blonde, “please...”

she gives a small smile and starts.

“my name is jinsoul. i am one of the three keepers of the kingdom trusted by you to take care of this island in your absence. i worked on most of the exterior administration stuff, deals, conflicts, and more. we, viliyans, are... you can see for yourselves.” she pointed the peeking part of her elven ear between the hairs. “though, currently, we are not in the best shape to accommodate your arrival, your majesties.”

“shadows...” soobin said whilst also letting out his breath. her—jinsoul’s—blue heterochromia eye is sparkling as she takes in that he and you seem to know what is going on. that is probably why you’ve been having dreamless sleep for the past week but the increasing vision every time you ride between cheongdam and the ttukseom park station. how the warm hue of the sun-shined beach has become darker. how it relates to the vision you’ve seen in that train station. how you notice your own shadow getting bigger than before.

“correct. we...” she sighs, contemplation moving in her eyes before saying something. “we are currently in an ongoing skirmish. well, war, as lip would say, against these shadow beings. they,” jinsoul nipped her lip, “have been wrecking heavy on the buildings-“

“ruins. crumbling.”

your head stood tall as your words entered hers and the boy’s ears, “many of the buildings are in ruin. some even obscured behind the shadows unseeable to the other side. people running around trying to find shelter.”

“with what the caelum has given us upon your arrival, it is genuinely a blessing. the citizens are in despair, losing hope.” her two different irises glance at you both. “to know that their leaders are here with them now could be a turning point for this war.”

something vibrates as you watch floating music note shapes coming out from jinsoul’s side, the red music note getting more prominent as pull out what looks to be a regular stone, but you can hear mumbles coming from it. that is when you pick up coherent voices talking, followed by another set of floating music notes now in purple.

“is it them?” the red voice calls out.

“yes,” jinsoul said, the corner of her lips raised, “it is them.”

“then don’t let them stay there. come to the forest and let them meet us.” red continues with jinsoul replying, noticing how the stone glows blue every time she talks before she tugs the stone away once again, looking back at the two of you. “well, you’ve heard what lip said. follow me, your majesties.”

turning around, she leads the way as you give a glance at soobin. his eyes looking back at you before signaling with his chin, making you follow behind jinsoul as you caught onto the footsteps behind you from him. stepping out of the capsized train car, you see how the end of it gets hit by the incoming wave that comes and goes. scratches adorned its metal body as it saves you from even feeling that scratches themselves while arriving here. pivoting towards the right from where you are walking, you find the footsteps that were coming towards the car as jinsoul treks back with it, arriving in a small opening of an emerald-colored forest.

the trees create a perfect shield against the sky and sun as only a few openings create sunbeams that light the space closest to it. the leaves create a noisy barrier obscuring everything over them. that is until you see the spacious area in between the trunks where vines hang and colorful flowers bloom by bushes. sounds of rustling create a peaceful atmosphere—contrasting the actual situation this very place is living in. every time your foot steps forward, another follows it as you peek behind you, finding the boy following your path as you follow jinsoul’s white dress that looks so bright compared to the greenery. the little branches of the bushes you have to go past tickle your legs as the opening within the biological shield seems to get wider.

then, you hear it. the rustling of the breeze dissipates as you catch more noise: voices.

behind a few glimmers between the leaves, silhouettes of structures stood out. some look sturdier than others as you see their tippy top leaning from the way the wind blows. walking closer, the silhouette becoming richer as jinsoul peels away a draping vine to let you and soobin stand inside a haven.

a large opening lets the skylight into the ground. the tall trees around create space in between to let people live. inside its area stood shelters made from wood but also tents made of cloth hanging between the sticks that made them stand. few wide areas for commune where there is a campfire placed cooking food, another is a place a tad bit wider where people are training for combat—melee and ranged—and the last one is a commune area with a makeshift table holding onto pieces of paper all with some shapes and sizes of darkness on them.

the people around you are beings you’ve only seen in a fantasy story. people with a pair of horns curling on their heads, wings of various sizes adorning their back, spikes protruding from the spine along with tails, fangs, or talons peeking out from their lips. some people are more animal-esque with a hybrid of their ears or beaks to a full-on humanoid version of said animals. a few of them have scales on their skin to full-on gills that marked their neck. some are centaurs to minotaurs. all various combinations of humanoids all being here, now looking towards you and the boy as they realized your presence.

their stares are intimidating, yet jinsoul still gestures for you to walk onto the path opening from where you stand. every time you walk, the beings closest to you stop what they’re doing and bow down in their various styles. soobin, now standing beside you, also looks around as the more of them see you, they also pause their activities to bow down. the graze of wind against your skin creates shivers as you can only give minuscule nods to them, not knowing what to do with this immense greeting that is much more than your 19 years of life have ever experienced. from the youngest to the oldest-looking one, all know what to do; like they know of your arrival.

your eyes glanced at the boy who showed a thin yet dimpled smile; the people seemed to identify what he was saying, rising from their bows to continue what they were doing as he shifted his head to catch your sight. both of you turning to stare forward as the elven girl brought you towards the place where the table stood full of blotches on top of the light-colored paper.

there in front of you stood another blonde girl with the same elven ears peeking out from between her long locks, yet her outfit was such a contrasting sight to jinsoul’s white dress. she is adorned in what looks to be heavy-looking leather armor and dark pants. her boots have long ties wrapped around both her calves with similar-looking gloves from what you notice from the side. the girl turns around with an expectant smile on her face, knowing of your presence before her.

“your majesties,” she says, your eyes focusing on her face and how she blushes on the skin beneath her eyes. yet, your vision was distracted by the sight of the black stains on the front of her outfit, adorning the armor like specks of dirt and seeping into the cloth of her gloves. the black stain you sensed is too familiar with a certain vision you got at the station.

“your majesties. this is lip,” jinsoul introduces, “one of the three keepers of the throne. she works in the defense and security of viliya and our general in the current war efforts.”

“pleasure to meet you.” lip replies, her laid-back response showing the presence she exudes alongside her clothing style. giving a small smile, you instead glance towards the table she is standing beside. from this closer angle, you can make out a much more prominent shape of these blotches of darkness.

they scan for familiarity with things you’ve seen in your life before. these blotches could look like a regular being with its own variations like the ones you see the citizens of this island have. some look much more wildlife-like with numerous bird and dragon shapes. but there is one—well, two—paper that caught your attention.

on the edge of the table where one of lip’s soldiers is working, coloring another of these beings with the dark pigment, lays two pieces of paper that are put next to each other. connecting it is a drawing of a tall humanoid presence. it has a hunched upper back and a thin neck area where its head looks like it is draping with long hair. two uncolored areas on its head make them look like a pair of eyes.

observing it makes your pulse quicker.

you could see the dark room enveloping you in an instant, sitting with your knees folded upright and tucked towards your chest, eyes staring at the other side of the hallway where you find a slither of light spilling out from behind a room, the noise of haunting scream echos even out of the layer of the wall. there the dark humanoid stood, its white eyes piercing into your young self. the memories flicker quick of the many times you’ve seen this being. as a taller shadow standing behind you, through the even little reflective item that you see yourself from, and it stands in your peripheral vision. it stops flickering as you find yourself in the same position, much older yet still a young girl. now, the being is joined by silhouettes as dark as it slumps on the hallway’s floor. the only breathing sound you hear is yours.

you must’ve turned your head so quick as you found the boy stood beside you with his eyebrows scrunched as he looks at the caricature. his eyes moving rapidly before staying a few seconds on one specific of paper before moving away, letting you observe in the same way as you can identify the same circles in various sizes, shaping these blotches with eyes: making them much more alive.

his breath hitches before you feel lip’s hand on your shoulder, giving a light massage as she is the one that has been observing both of you. and both of you react the same way as she settles in the space between the two of you. that’s when you see the familiar purple music note floating upwards with a voice muffled. turning your head, you watch as lip picks up the speaking stone once again as you can finally catch onto the sound from the other side as the music note continues.

“the palace is all clear. we can bring the refugees into its complex.” the voice spoke, recognizing it as someone who seems young and cheerful.

“will do. thank you, choerry. the majesties are also here with us,” blue music note flowing out as it echoes jinsoul’s voice who is standing nearby.

“welcome back, your majesties!” you can imagine how the owner of the voice—choerry as jinsoul calls her—lifts both corners of her lips as she speaks. then you hear the rummage from the other side before continuous apologies are uttered as choerry seems to tell more people about yours and his arrival in this very place. lip chuckles as she tucks the stone before separating both of your spaces.

“well, we have to tell the people that they can refuge at the palace grounds. your palace grounds,” she said before giving a tight-lip smile. you know what she is implying as you nod your head whilst soobin becomes your voice.

“they can definitely refuge there,” he spoke the words that are also formed in your mind.

“thank you, your majesties.” lip does her bow before approaching other people, sharing the news as you watch it being spread. a smile unconsciously growing when you sense how dry your lips seem to be. but seeing your people all motivated to move to a place more comfortable makes you want to be there with them. at least help them pack up their belongings before moving away.

“i believe you should rest for a bit while we pack up to move.” jinsoul answers your predicament in an instant, reading through your facial expression that is portraying such complex thoughts and emotions. yours and soobin’s who stood ajar from you. “especially with what happened and the information that we give you about all of this. here...”

jinsoul held both of your hands in hers respectively as she brought you to a fallen log, jutting with her chin to it as you sat down on it—the boy does the same. the girl goes to the box beside the fallen log as she grabs something from inside it; a refracted surface holding tight in her palm before she stands in front of you both. opening it, two water orbs rest as they move slightly along with her hand that is balancing both of them.

“take a bit of the water orb and it will hydrate you like regular drinking water.”

the boy reaches first, his hand much larger than jinsoul’s as he gently pinched the orb in between his thumb and forefinger. cupping your hand, jinsoul puts the other one on your palm as she turns away, letting you watch her doing the work that you want to do before she tells you the rest.

well, you need to rest for everything that has happened today. the class you were having, the pain you had to endure again, the tiredness of walking and standing in the train and on the platform, to this new happenstance that you found yourself in with the boy that you’ve been secretly admiring. carefully, you nibble on the orb as you feel the bitten part instantly dissolve into water as it travels down your esophagus, wetting your throat that you didn’t realize was also dried up. you tuck on your uniform skirt so it can rest comfortably on your lap, your shoulder feeling much lighter as your backpack rests on the rest of the log you are sitting on.

you let your eyes peek from the corner, seeing the boy has also taken a bite into a water orb as he watches the things happening around the two of you. from a third-person perspective, you and he are just two teens resting beside each other. but from their perspective, you and he are the queen and king that they’ve been believing in who has come back.

blinking away the feeling, you finish the water orb as you lick your bottom lip to heal it from the dryness. the serenity of the lush forest contrasts against the view of tents being torn down and objects being moved, leaving only the sturdy structure behind as people are moving away from the beach you find yourself at.

“we haven’t introduced ourselves.” you caught someone’s voice beside yours, pivoting to find the boy’s cream-colored vest before your eyes lifted from the ground to see his face.

his black hair was in array as the white headphones still rested on his nape. you caught his eyes that is also darting right on you. tugging your arm sleeve, you give a small pouty smile as you can feel your trembling knee touching his from the nervousness. the way the sun lights him makes his skin glow, casting a shadow that makes his nose much pointier, and the gentle shade on his eyelashes. that is when you trail your sight to his cheek area when you find his blushing skin.

your hand lifts before you know it and lightly cup his warm cheek, wanting to pull away yet his head also seemed to reach instantly, cooling his cheek with your palm before you successfully tug it away to your lap.

“i’m (y/n).” you try to not make your lips quiver whilst pointing to the name tag pinned on your uniform vest. yet, you seemed to be so hyperaware as you still sensed his knee touching yours. that is when something envelops your cool hand, making you let out such a silent hiss as the boy across from you is also catching on to things that are culminating into your first true meeting with him. the boy who stood across from you in the train, only glancing at each other yet it creates such a huge emotion in yourself that you’ve never felt in a long time.

“soobin,” he replied, following you by leaning one side of his body so you could read his name clearly. his hand still gently rests on top of yours when you can sense his pulse pumping in a quick yet steady rhythm.

“metro line 7,” you mumbled and felt his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

“cheongdam and ttukseom park,” he said, threatening to smile as you held it down when your mind kicked in. and as a reply, you slowly flipped your hand as his palm rested on top of yours, gently locking your finger between his as he does the same.

“do you also see them?” your eyes flick upwards to be in contact with his, “the vision when you daydream or dream at night? the vision when our train rides to the bridge when we go back home?”

“yes” you don’t hesitate to answer, nodding to emphasize it more as you lick your lips to continue, “i see you there too.”

“i also see you. there’s one with this orange light all around us, yet the view of the things surrounding us are-“

“blurry.” you complete his sentence. “blurry that it seemed to resemble a shield of some sort.”

“exactly.” soobin replied, his curled fingers curled between yours holding so tight that it made you adapt to his pulse.

“to be a, a monarch is something i didn’t expect from this.” your chuckle is echoed by his as you find a hint of dimples on his cheek as he nods. something you wish you could notice quicker if you want to stand closer in the train covered by people also on their way home after doing their activities for the day.

“yet, it all seems to be true. and they could confirm that it was us too. i’ve seen jinsoul multiple times than i’ve ever expected.” he finishes his thought and you answer by nodding. you let out your breath openly, calming your expression as your fingers twitch from the nerve of holding soobin’s hand—or him holding yours.

“i don’t see a way for us to do other than believing them. being thrust into this position...” you sigh, now realizing just how suffocating the many expectations all of this is, especially with what you have faced in life outside this. and how you can't see a way to get back home in the near future.

“i, i’ll be here with you. i know how you feel.” his voice pierces through your clouded thoughts like a beam of light. his eyes rapidly move as he takes in every information. “and i think we should ask more questions about all of this when we meet all three of the keepers or whatever they call each other.”

you gulped before a small smile quickly shows from his relaxed face while ending part of the sentence. following you, he also shows a small smile that decorates his facial features beautifully. that’s when you lifted your eyes to finally notice the dark presence behind soobin.

the very shadowy being you’ve seen drawn on the paper.

its head is at the tippy top of the body, looking like a pillar that you have to tilt your head backward so much to find its eyes. some part of the shadow that seemed to resemble a dangling set of hair also blows along even with the little breeze. unconsciously, your grip on his hand tightened and curled even further. blinking your eyes and shaking your head seemed to work as you find the shadow gone for this time—you recognize that this spiritual fellow might not leave you at all just like when you see it for the first time back when you were 6.

shaking away from the influence, you stare back at soobin, who also has his eyes looking elsewhere from you and the environment surrounding both of you. his hold competes with your grip as you recognize he might also see another shadow figure. well, the shadow that is behind you.

“hey... hey...” you speak, at least helping him to stay grounded as he blinks quickly before facing you and that’s when you felt a seemingly hard push on your shoulder, instantly relieved as he caught onto your eye contact. you could also see his eyes glistening from whatever he looked at behind you. and with that, you try to compose yourself. giving a small squeeze to the hand holding soobin’s as he follows your breathing exercise. your mind is now clear from the unnecessary information as you and soobin settle in this very part of the woods. the white noise from rustling leaves clears your mind and increases the overall ambient of what you are doing. staring at each other as you breathe in the same calming rhythm.

“your majesties...” the soft voice of jinsoul’s makes both of your heads turn, noticing that most of the people have disappeared and only staggers remain.

“we could go now. we’ll be bringing you to your home,” her soft smile assures you as you take a long breath before standing up, turning your head towards soobin as only the lingering touch of your fingertips connected you to him.

“well, shall we?” you let out a little smile, watching the way your hand sleeve slides down for a bit because of gravity, touching soobin’s hand with a little caress. and your smile widens as said hand adjusts to wrap with yours as the owner stands up. both of you now following the path heading outside of the forest that greets you and the train that you arrived from.

-

with what soobin has seen through the orange-filtered and blurry visions of the place he can’t comprehend to actually be in, he didn’t expect such familiar yet intricate shapes in such a fantastic atmosphere.

he walks upon a road made by bricks, buildings standing tall until the maximum of three floors let the wind flow in between them. their design incorporating much of the familiar architectural design that he had watched from some videos on youtube. but the blocks upon blocks full of buildings remind him more of seoul, especially where he goes to school in gangnam. blue-tinted glass walls replaced with a look that combines natural but also regality, but it also has a traditional-looking shape, especially in the usage of wood as frames and floors to the roof that are still made of tiles—unlike most of seoul’s buildings and apartments.

the path he walks on—though partially destroyed—would still be considered clean. no trash other than rock debris or the black puddles are present. the road is wide enough to carry items, as he also came across vehicles that look like carts. but its walkable paths are the main highlight as he came across dirty war-torn parks and a familiar plaza. the plaza where he sees you beside him and you both hold hands.

well, his hand is still connected to yours as you both walk, following jinsoul’s bright blonde hair. your grip with each other so tight that it makes soobin think that his other thoughts about the whole of this may be true. yet, the sight of the town on this very magical island captivated him more. and because of that, he didn’t see the very place that jinsoul is bringing him and you to.

it is evident by the presence of fences that this is supposed to be his palace. its features blend too well that it doesn’t look like what a palace would appear. yet, the existing yards were big enough to be little parks said otherwise.

stepping through the gate full of many people—some wearing outfits similar to lip and are bowing their bodies to both of you—soobin tilts his head as he gazes upon the palace jinsoul said is home for both of you. makeshift barriers created using wood panels and hay bales as the yard is filled with more of what he had seen in the forest. more humanoids with their unique features litter around the ground as they settle down and continue to... live. he heard sounds of children laughing as it sends shivers down his spine, before he felt a sudden grip on his hand, looking back at you who has turned your head to him, a small pout formed with your lips with a little tilt on your head.

“your majesties!”

both you and he face forward as a figure rushing down the steps from the palace door. she also has blonde hair, though not as light as lip and jinsoul, hers has a brunette shine through it. her outfit looks more like similar to the uniforms he and you are wearing than the dress jinsoul is wearing and the armor lip has worn. then, he sees it: the purple heterochromia eye resembling jinsoul’s blue.

the figure curtsies in front of you, her youthful aura exuding that it can make him believe if she introduces herself as younger than both of you. yet, standing beside jinsoul, he can sense the camaraderie between them and maybe also lip.

“this is choerry-“

“i am choerry.” she cuts jinsoul as she stepped forward, pushing her hand towards you who is also staring at her, making you connect your hand with the covered sleeve with hers as you shake it before she changes to soobin. his eyes were still looking at your hand a few seconds longer before her voice cut in again.

“keeper and usually taking care more on the cleaning, construction, and social side. other than these two, who are more serious.” she points her thumb towards jinsoul and also lip, who has now joined you. soobin lets out a small smile as he sees both the other keepers rolling their eyes at choerry who is cleaning her fallen hair, letting him see the distinct pointed ears of the keepers that he had counted for.

“we have cleaned your bedroom and much of the important areas inside the palace, especially with your arrival. my team and i are also planning to help clean up and prepare for the rest of the viliyans to settle here first, until much more of the town is safe from the umbraes.” choerry spoke in a lengthy speech, getting the right note and rhythm like she has prepared for this moment.

“the umbraes?” yet, you catch something that he didn’t.

“ah- yes.” choerry stopped before turning to jinsoul.

“we have to catch both of you up on the situation here in viliya. so, may we go inside to the meeting room, choerry?” the blue-eyed girl asked.

“certainly. follow me,” choerry turned her body around, and he sees jinsoul and lip following her a few steps behind. he sensed a tug on his hand as he followed your moving body up the flight of stairs to the entrance of the palace. his and yours palace as what choerry implied. the door does blend in with the other doors around, but this one is bigger in height and width.

footsteps echo as he is met with a large room that has spots of colors coming from the glass ceilings above. a long hall greets him as he looks at the end of the room and finds what looks to be two similar-looking chairs. dust and debris scatter around the room, yet it still creates a clear path towards the seats at the end of the corridor. a throne room. a throne room for him and you.

his hand felt lighter as he gazed down to find it empty, before he tilted to find you a few steps in front. your head leaning back as you gaze at the light entering from the glass ceiling, squinting your eyes because of it, yet you continue. seeing how the colors decorate your face, soobin can sense the thumping from his heart and his body getting warm.

ever since he looked across from where he stood on the very train and saw you, he had always felt the same thing. and it grows to his cheek, always getting warm as he takes slight glances at you. you with your recognizable uniform and wired earbuds, unlike his bluetooth headphones, tugging the signature black hand sleeves that cover both of your forearms. soobin always notice a tug showing up every time he stepped inside the train to find you, either when you both are departing to gangnam when his eyes are finding you as you stepped inside the train or on the way home where he had already guessed your position on the door across the set of seats from where he is standing.

he also spots that you felt the tremors that he felt every time the train moves after cheongdam station. his tall stature let him hold on to the handle dangling from the bars connected to the car’s ceiling. your eyes glance at the dots above the door, watching the red dot showing up one by one as it gets nearer and nearer to the bridge, before he peeks at the one closest to him. in that moment, soobin detected there is an electricity between you two. that even if you both only share glances, it seems like you are connected by it. and it happens so many times that when he sees your beautiful figure across from him, he can already feel his stress slipping away.

when you mentioned dreams while you figure out what jinsoul said, soobin put the pieces together for the visions he got. every keyword you spoke pulls out the specific vision of what is mentioned. ruined buildings. shadows seeping and obscured sight. but also of a blurry sight with orange ambience. the only clear thing from it is you, in a flowy white blouse, holding hands with him.

“soobin?”

he blinks his eyes as he looks forward to find you turning your body to face him, hands holding onto your school backpack that is also reflected on him. there is a set of doors opened beside the area with the chairs, where he can see the three keepers gazing at both of you. soobin shakes his head and strides towards you, making a smile lift on your face as you walk beside him towards the door where the keepers are.

soobin didn’t expect such a vast catalogue of books to decorate the walls of this room. its ceiling is high as he views the balcony where more bookshelves are before he landed on the circular table at the center of the room. some of the scribbles and black stains he saw on lip’s table are there. beside them, a stack of books and papers that is approached by jinsoul—he can already guess by the vibe that it must be hers.

two chairs are there side by side as choerry brings a moving board with what looks to be notes and lines connecting pieces of information. all are connected to a thick word, written multiple times on top of each other: umbrae.

“welcome, king soobin and queen (y/n), to viliya.” choerry started as jinsoul and lip sat down on their respective chair. putting his backpack down by his legs like in a classroom, he can feel the weight of his shoulders relax as he moves his body and sits down on the cushioned seat. you also sit on the other chair beside him, choerry’s hum can be picked up.

“let’s get to the chase then,” choerry claps her hands, but the loud ring trembles in the room that soobin can perceive the dusts falling down in front of him, making him look up to view the hole in the room's corner, letting the sun ray in brighter than even the lights coming from the windows. the three also look up, and he can hear them grimace in their own ways.

“as we can see from the destruction, we are in a war against these creatures,” choerry pointed with her finger as she highlights the name. “we call them umbraes as they are shadow creatures. from what lip and her team got from observation, umbrae stay in groups where they don’t allow any light to pass through them. some will separate and mold into various familiar and unfamiliar shapes; creating a quick lapse in judgement from people seeing them before they retreat.”

“yet, what they see differs from what others see. all three of us see different images from them, even from the same blob.” jinsoul added, a grit in her voice like she was holding back from not exploding when saying her thoughts.

“even with these lapses of judgement, not all will retreat. some will stay and stand quietly as the umbrae slithers to them and touching them, usually on their arms, before someone saves them.” lip completed the explanation.

soobin looks down at his hands that are on top of the table, rubbing them as he internalizes the information as best as he can. the blob that changes its shape according to the person who sees it. no person can see the exact same thing. the umbrae create a sudden lapse in judgement of people that make them want to retreat, even some staying because of that.

if it is like that, then why does he see the boy that has been with him since he was little here?

the boy wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place. he always stays back at home—well, wherever home is for soobin now that he is always nomadic, moving to grandpa’s house. the boy was always in the hallway, looking back at him as they both held on to a bunny plushie, its appearance distracting him from the disturbing sounds coming from the living room where his mother was. her shadows tangled with other people as soobin grits his teeth, not letting the unpleasant sound of moans and groans bother him anymore. yet, it stays even until the present time.

when he found the boy showing up again in the environment so weird to what soobin used to see, his eyes wavered. your figure was straying to the tables as you observed the papers when he caught onto the familiar silhouette right across from them. and again as you and he sit together. hands holding onto each other as you give words of reassurance. he saw your eyes lifting, gazing above his head as you both compete to out-grip each other. that’s because he was also doing the same thing, gazing at the familiar shadow boy who is sitting on top of your shoulders. its arms settle lightly on your head, that you seemed to not notice, holding onto something akin to a stuffed toy just like soobin usually sees it with. when he flicks his eyes towards you, your touch overcoming his senses: the shadow disappeared instantly.

“then they affect all of us. the images.” soobin stumbles his words as they turn their head towards him. he rubs his fingers with the palms soothingly. “do you have any more information about them?”

“as of right now, this,” lip points towards the board, “is what we summarize. our people are also researching them this very instant, especially if we want to beat them.”

silence covers the room as soobin lets himself think. leadership isn’t a foreign concept to him. having been class president for most of the time, he feels familiarity with it. but the title of king itself is strange. the title itself can be derived that you are a leader so great, people respect you that way. yet, soobin never sensed that before. his mom is always before him in almost everything. her wants and needs. that makes soobin always retreat to his grandpa’s home, conversing with him even until past midnight even if the next day he still has school. the dad of his mom who seems to be the better parent out of the two, yet he still doesn’t want soobin to stay with him all the time,

“your mom is still here. she still wants you to be there.”

does she? does she even think about him that way when all soobin could see is her being tangled in various limbs of foreign men and women all the time with unknown substances entering her body? he is the one taking care of her more than what she supposed to before he travels back into the safe place that is their shared bedroom he could call his cause mom always has a rotating door system where anyone will step in.

“i would,” his thoughts were cut off as he tilted his head, looking at your beautiful side profile that is shone by the light entering the room.

“i would like to ask,” you nibble on your bottom lip, “every being here on viliya has their own abilities, like, all of you,” you extend your open palm to point towards the three blonde woman, “have your own uniqueness. yet, soobin and i,” he caught your eyes as you give a small glance at him with a small, yet nervous smile, “we are just regular human. but we are monarchs?”

all three of the elven girls all staring at each other as you and soobin watch, his eyes looking at choerry who nods her head to jinsoul before going to lip, doing the exact same thing. jinsoul’s look still seems so steady, as if she is pulling out the speech in her mind cabinet of the right words to say. as she knew she would be asked this very question.

“our kingdom of viliya has various humanoid. us with our elf ears. people with wings, horns, animal hybrids, tails, and more. these traits come to all of us, except for both of you. as far as the history of this world, both of you are the only fully human beings we have known. your ancestors are our ancestors that are still pure. even if we have different abilities with our traits, such as the ability to fly or have more strength, humans are much more capable of everything equally. strength, agility, intelligence, charisma, and wisdom.” jinsoul connects both of her hands on the table, the grip is reassuring about everything she just said. “your capability to be anything is the reason both of you are our monarchs.”

is it?

soobin never seemed to feel special as a regular human, nor even feeling special between the humans themselves. his introverted side makes him much more blend in with the walls of his class rather than with a bunch of people. his eyes gazed at the numerous people with their own stories they are living through while he stayed as a spectator. being human, for him, is painful. he hates how he can feel so much being exposed to such vile things where he has to be numb. he doesn’t even know the idea of love between humans when the only one he got exposed to explicitly is with his mother and her various paramours. being human is to acknowledge everything and nothing on the same path, focusing on a path that will just double down on survival.

being in between humanoids while you are a regular human will be weird. what is it to admire when you are alongside people more capable than you are in various ways?

the boy turned his head to glance at you once again, noticing how you remain silent yet with a bit of your eyebrows furrowed—thinking back on the words the keepers had said to your question. his glance turns down towards your hands, one of them rubbing against the sleeve that covered your forearm. your nails are picking through the woven material when he glimpses a shadowy line peeking from the top near your elbow.

being human is focusing on a path that is doubling down on survival. and that is the core of what you then say next.

“if you don’t know many things about them, maybe i can help?”

creaking chair sounds filled the room as the keepers all turned towards you, shifting their position with their colorful eyes widened.

“we can divide jobs. i’ll be outside with lip to observe the umbraes. while soobin here can help with figuring out what to fix and accommodating the refugees. he is the king.”

and you are the queen, he wanted to say. hoping that by saying that, that you’ll be by his side more. you’re an even more of a leader than he is. he doesn’t want to let you go because this is the first time he had ever stood so close to you, unlike the regular occurrences on the train.

yet, when he looks at how you’re steeling yourself; holding onto your opinion, he seemed to agree. many things have happened to him recently, and he needs a break. maybe taking on a more earth-bounding activity is much better than being on the battlefield in his state of mind.

“be careful,” he whispered out when he turned his head towards you. you mirrored him, beautiful trembling eyes staring at him as you let out a small smile. a familiar warmth enveloped his hand that comes from you once again.

“i’ll get back to you.” you brush your thumb against his hand.

still in both of your school attire with a difference of all the items inside your bag are now held by jinsoul; you let lip put things into your backpack as you tug your forearm sleeves back up as soobin watches on with the other two keepers beside him. glancing back at him before stepping out into the town, you give a small yet endearing smile towards him as he shows up with a tinge of melancholy. the rattling of the gate pushes him out of his trance from looking at your retreating figure, then looking at the other two beside him.

“can i, uh, take a short break first?”

“of course, your majesty.” jinsoul spoke as she looked at choerry, who said, “i’ll be giving you the list of things to do when you are ready.”

“thank you,” he replied, making the other two bow their head before retreating inside. soobin lets out a tremendous sigh as he glances upwards at the sky. seeing the star that this island’s planet is orbiting nearly setting, he walked towards the terrace overlooking the courtyard where the viliyans will stay until it is safe enough for some of them to go back to their homes. he pulls the straps of his backpack as he settles down on the steps leading down to the open space, the star crawling down near the line of forest beyond the space and buildings.

opening the zipper of his front pocket, he grabbed onto the two items he had that would always successfully calm him down. the familiar flicking noise enters his ear as he nears the fire towards the end of the cigarette, inhaling the first smoke to let the fire on before he lets go and the fire dies off, satiating his nicotine needs that he had since he was so young.

soobin didn’t have a perfect upbringing, you see. born without a father there, the little baby was already addicted to nicotine as his mom didn’t stop smoking during her pregnancy—having to be treated by the hospital in more weeks when he learned from his grandpa that he was the one being there while his mom got out as fast as she could after the doctor said “yes, you can go now.” even with that happening still, his mom still doesn’t want him to go back to her father and still lets him stay in the house. that’s when he first heard sounds of monsters at night when he wants to go to sleep, a loud screaming similar to his own, yet more exasperated. it haunts him all the time, and he cried himself to sleep most of the time, his mom doing something in the other room.

when he was a bit older, he noticed more and more faces entering and exiting his house. he stood there with his tiny legs as he peeks from behind the doorframe, seeing how the owner of the face he saw today has his body tangled with his mom, her face lets out a look that he had seen from books to be known as surprised with a rhythmic sound coming from them. and he heard it all the time since then, before even learning that what he is seeing is the act of sex. those glimpses of memory are stuck in his mind as he sees his mom more like that than her in clothes, and bringing him to see his grandpa. because of that, he had to bear it for himself. passing by the group of people in his “living” room to the kitchen where he could eat his dinner. learning about that in fifth grade, he didn’t think that topic was taboo, unlike the many boys around him giggling with themselves as they see an illustration of a female body. yet he understands now what he has been seeing since he was so young and what can result from that.

yet he wonders. his mom never got pregnant again.

soobin got introduced to cigarettes when he slipped out of the fifth-grade class to see a bunch of sixth graders, hiding near the back of the school. he smelled a familiar smell from home as he turned to see the older boys staring at him. expecting them to be annoyed and disgusted if soobin decides to snitch on them, one of them approaches him as he offers the burning stick.

“wanna try?”

tasting the substance for the first time was disgusting, he was coughing up the smoke alongside some phlegm that was stuck there. however, the warmth coming from it surges deep down inside, heating up his inner side that has been cold for a long time. his senses become sharper. every caress on his fingertips is something so detailed. so he started doing more. he made a deal with the older boys by doing all of their homework at that time to get one pack of cigarettes filled with 10 sticks. because of that, soobin never chain smokes. he always savoured every cigarette he had ever burned because he didn’t know when he would get another pack. that is until he decided to grab one from his mom’s drawer, and she didn’t notice it vanished.

when he ran away from home, backpack zippers jingling against each other into the setting sky. he arrived at his grandpa's house to knock on his door. 10 times knocking with no answer. getting cold, he sat down on the entrance patio looking towards the quiet street and pulled out the pack and lighter that the older boys gave him before they graduated, thanking him for the time and for helping them even with such a miniscule thing. the smoke covers the clear sky from his sight as he senses the tingling feeling on the back of his throat, a breeze touching his ankle from his middle school pants that are getting too short because of his growing body. soobin closed his eyes, letting the cigarette and nature’s smells combine for him to inhale, not noticing the sound of the rumbling old sedan parking in the car park.

opening his eyes, he sees the familiar grey-headed man from inside the driver’s seat, looking back at him as soobin immediately pulls the stick and crushes it with the sole of his shoe. but his grandpa was just sitting there, a somewhat smirk on his lips as he shook his head.

with a hot, steaming noodle in front of him replacing the cigarette’s warmth, he sat across his grandpa on the dining table who had his own bowl. soobin bit the inside of his cheek. the expectation of his grandpa being angry at him for smoking at 13 was not fulfilled as he does his usual thing when his grandson comes to visit, his eyes communicating to the younger that he seemed to understand why soobin did it in the first place. the same look on the older’s face still visible as they settle to eat dinner, and so, soobin speaks.

“could i stay with you? i don’t think i can’t live with mom anymore when she is like... that...” the boy’s voice getting quieter in the end. hesitance bubbling inside him spontaneously.

“i would like that...” the older’s gritty voice said, “but your mother will search for you and i don’t want to fight her again.”

soobin furrowed his eyebrows, putting the pin on the word “again” for him to ask next. and with that, his grandpa told him anything soobin could know at that time in straightforward words, a complete contrast with his daughter’s more long-winded words with layers of secret hidden in between their spaces. how she wanted to abort the baby, but the doctor said that it would endanger her more. how choi soobin was conceived with one of the random man his mom got it with. how she realized now she has a child. it gave her an advantage when it comes to taxes and costs. how grandpa choi—mom’s father—wanted to get his grandson under his care, yet his daughter decided to do a temper tantrum, threatening to take her own and the little baby boy’s life if her dad continued.

how his mom decided to sterilize herself, not wanting ever to get pregnant again.

the brain inside the boy goes into overdrive as he disassociates himself, staring at him outside of his body, as he thinks of the implications of what has transpired from his mom and his grandpa. his heart aches without a clear reason, the steam of the noodle broth doesn’t help in calming him down anymore, and he looks straight at his grandpa who has a steady face yet creases in between her eyebrows and the familiar shadow of the little boy standing beside his chair.

starting from that day, soobin spends his time outside of his mom’s house. not wanting to hear her moan that is crushing him more, the sight of needles left there as the living room looks more like a crack house. the sight of the different people entering his home every night after his mom finished her restaurant and bar waiting job for nearly a decade now. his head leaning against the wall on the other side of the living room, where his mom is having sex, his eyes and fists closed as he had to hold on for a bit to grab something from the fridge to snack on while he does his homework. every time he is not at school—both morning and evening, he will go home to stay at his grandpa’s house 15 minutes away from his mom’s, taking care of him with his house chores just like the older one is taking care of his grandson by providing him food. grandpa was the one that gave him his wireless headphones, noticing how his grandson likes to experiment with his collections of vinyl discs that have specks of dust on them.

since that day, he started to dream something. flickers of lush greenery standing in harmony beside buildings. silhouettes of people with horns and wings against an intricate wall. the sight of small waves grazing his feet on the sand. a reflection of seeing him older, taller, seemingly wiser in the reflection of a window overlooking such a beautiful town that is unlike the neighborhood he lives in.

grandpa’s house is the closest place for him to go to the seoul metro to school in the contrasting greater gangnam area. soobin doesn’t even want to know his mom get a connection for him to go there. a school so cold, yet he also knows that they produced outstanding students who will do various things to improve his country. if his grandpa didn’t allow him to eat his meals at his home, he would’ve ridden another seoul metro line instead of the olive green he is riding now. he won’t see the visions in the train that seemed to complete more and more of the dreams he had since he was young. he would’ve not seen you, the girl that starts to make his dream make sense when your blurry self becomes clearer.

the skin of his fingers is hotter as soobin lets out another puff of smoke, glancing down at the stick to see it nearly burning the line of the filter between his mouth and the tobacco. soobin gently throws the butt by his shoes, crushing it on the step of the stair until it is flat before he pinches it with his finger and put it on the side of the step near the bushes. he eyes the settlements that are growing as the orange sky mixed with purple as night comes. his first night here in the town he leads and called home a lifetime ago.

“your majesty?”

soobin tilts his head to see choerry looking down at his sitting figure, her eyes flickering between him and the flat cigarette butt on the edge of the step with a tight lip smile.

“some people have started to make dinner. i would like to cordially invite you to join them. you have eaten nothing since you’ve arrived, and we would wait for the queen, lip, and the others to come then.”

the mention of you makes his breath hitch, gulping the heavy smoky taste inside his mouth cavern. he glances forward once again, seeing the familiar sight of the people he saw in the forest now seemingly happier with the larger space. it much resembles more of a scene in a movie he watched, never seen it with his own eyes. soobin’s stomach suddenly grumbles, making choerry chuckle as the boy’s height standing taller when he finally stands up. using his open palm and gestures towards the courtyard for her to lead the way.

many more people bowed at him as he walked by, their various eyes full of sparkles as they took a glimpse of him. he was still in his school uniform and backpack hanging on his shoulders. soobin’s eyes go to an enormous cauldron heated by a bonfire underneath it, the bubbling boiling of what looks to be vegetable soup looks like a delight, reminding him of his grandpa’s love of stews, soups, and broths. a woman with ears and nose that look more like a doe and her fawn curling up behind her, his head on her shoulder, letting him view the approaching king makes him grin.

“look, mother! the king!” the little doe mentions as his giddiness shakes his mother’s body. with steady hands, she grabs a makeshift bowl made from coconut and pours in a ladle full of delicious soup towards soobin.

“i’ll be giving you another scoop, your majesty. it must have been a journey to finally be here,” the woman says as soobin lets out his dimple smile, earning chuckles from people around him at how sweet he looks.

“thank you. and yes, it has been a long journey,” he replies.

his figure glides towards the bigger space where people are scattered around and sitting on the grass to eat and slurp up the soup he holds in his hands. gulping down his saliva, the people he was looking at turned their heads to see their king approaching closer to the seat. jinsoul and choerry following behind him as they reached one long bench similar to those benches he sees in the cafeteria. raising his long leg up to slot on the other side of the bench, the people all were darting towards him as he settled down the bowl on the table.

pouting his lips, soobin can feel the tension growing within him, reminding him of the times he had to publicly speak in front of people for class and performing on stage for a school talent performance that every student must go through. his hands subconsciously rubbed together as he only took brief looks towards the surrounding people—identifying their uniqueness in comparison to him. yet, as the sun sets and night comes, the color also changes. the dark seems to be more purple, popping out the color from every object visible, creating a rainbow full of colors. the colors get brighter, their tints making them have a white outline, especially with white lights of the street lamps, the fires on the candles, torches, and lanterns, and also the white of his uniform buttoned-up shirt.

beautiful is the word that comes to mind when soobin sees this. it has a calming effect that helps soothe his beating heart even for just a bit. then he lets out a huge sigh and places his hands against the wooden table. turning his head to both sides to see the two keepers expecting him, pushing him to do so.

“viliyans,” the demonym seemed to flow easily out of his mouth like he had said it for a long time now. “i’m soobin or as you might know me as the king of this town.” he taps his feet on the ground.

“island town.” jinsoul added beside him.

“island town.” soobin repeats, nodding his head to thank her, “and, well, i am...” he opens his palms and points toward his body. tracing up and down his body. “i don’t look like your typical royal look right now, as i am learning as much about this, where you all have known about this for a long time. and i...” soobin pauses, yet the words itch in his mouth that he has to continue.

“i have to apologize for not being here in a long time. i know you might find me or (y/n), the queen, as these amazing people, even though i know we might not be them. both of us are high school students who are facing adulthood and we... i don’t know where to go next...”

the gaze of him is heavy as he looks in between the people sitting on the benches, the mother and son standing by the cauldron as they are also in a pause to hear him speak.

“but believe me when i say that i will try my best for these war efforts against the shadows.” soobin glances upwards with a sharp fiery look, pining it to the sight of the people. “the move from the forest to even the castle’s courtyard is revolutionary in a why that we are one step nearer to the enemi’s line. the soldiers and keepers are working to figure out how to beat the umbraes.”

soobin takes a peek down, looking at the steamy bowl of soup, before looking up, “i hope that the people of viliya will support us.” then he closed his eyes, bracing for any reaction that could come from his messy speech.

instead, he picked up multiple claps in the dark room. colors start to bloom as it looks like fireworks behind the lid of his eyes when he heard the sound of cheering, creating a cacophony of harmony. the eyelids are open slowly, the color is familiar as he saw this in a dream before. an orange-ish color of the sky with a tinge of vignette. he eyes the people one by one, trailing through the faces before grabbing his bowl. lifting it up, the people followed as they raised their own bowls or cups. the delicious smell makes soobin tilt the container against his lip, letting him swallow the food that warms his stomach. he hears the slurps coming from around him. following him.

their proof of being loyal.

soobin places the bowl down as he grabs his spoon, spinning the vegetables inside the soup to let it seep the tasty broth. his eyes looked at the other table around him. a few of the people were still queuing up to get their meal before he focused back on the gate that led outside of the castle grounds. it opens slightly, allowing a few people in to take refuge. but that’s when he saw the people near the gate move towards it, crowding it as something, some people, goes inside while holding onto each other.

that’s when he saw you, heaving lip’s body up with her arm behind your shoulders.

he stands up and gets out of the seat as fast as he could, making the people around him turn their heads to see what’s happening. the footsteps on the grassy area make him hear his crunchy footsteps. steps are also following behind him as he took a quick glance on both sides to find both choerry and jinsoul striding towards the other two. soobin notices the dark goo even on your black school uniform vest. the keepers walk faster than him, reaching you and lip as they hold on to her. lip look... empty.

numb.

stepping closer, he can finally hear you as you bowed, hands on your knees as you heaved to breathe in. he can’t help but to stand closer, now standing in front of you as he gently reaches out. he had to hold you. he had to comfort you somehow, like you do him.

yet, when you lift your upper body, leaning your head to let him see the entirety of your face, feeling your hand shaking against his, soobin finally just how glassy your eyes are. their outer corners pointing downward with your furrowed eyebrows. a look that he had worn before many times in his life.

“the umbraes... they,” you gulped, “they feed off of fear.”

-

the night breeze entered through the open window, grazing your skin. yet you stayed there, sitting and looking at the empty wall in front of you. hands gripping onto the soft sheets as you tremble.

the view of vast darkness is imprinted into your mind. remembering every step you put down as you reached the other side of town, saturated colors creeping out from a shadowy, hazy side. your fingers are digging into your palm as you stood beside lip, observing the wall of shadow as the breeze grazes your exposed legs. then, it started.

tendrils started to poke out of the shadow with dots of white on them, landing on the space in front of you as you heard footsteps from the guards that were tasked to keep you safe start to shuffle. the tendrils got cut off from the source as you couldn’t take your eyes off of it. it erects itself as you also see other blobs starting to form as well. shapeshifting into large and small beings.

one depicts a wall of waves incoming, going towards one side of the guards as you turned your head to hear the gasps. moving your body, you look at the rest of the guards getting damp by the slimy texture before surging towards the panicking soldier, cowering on the ground as little tendrils come out of the silhouette and wrap around the soldier’s arm. the horror on their face makes you shiver as you push the blob hard enough for it to scurry into the bigger shadow. the soldier’s eyes were closed as you tried to help them sit up, making the other guards help their mate as you then picked up more screams.

turning your body, you view the harrowing scenery of multiple umbraes approaching each person in different shapes and sizes. one umbrae specific to one person. you keep track of their expressions as the umbrae approaches. depicting wide eyes, flared nostrils, and a sense of flight response you are all too familiar with. a voice penetrates your thoughts as you shift your head once again to where you were standing before, seeing lip being covered by a shadowy blob on her arm as she stood her ground, yet grimacing. approaching as fast as you could, you see the shape of the umbrae as little spiders climbing around her skin.

adrenaline pushes you as you grab the weird texture and throws them on the ground near their shadowy haven. yet, this blob didn’t go back like the other ones. lip was scratching her arms so much that it turned red as you helped to hold her hands. not wanting to make it worse. yet the situation seems to be more dire than ever before. the guards were able to push back, attacking with their weapons as best as they could. but their leader stood behind you, hands gripped tightly on your arm as you turned back to face the wall of darkness, breathing quick because of your pounding heart.

then you see it, the blob transforming right before you into the shadow that haunts you. the figure standing so tall that you have to lean your head back. hair-like tendrils flowing in front of the body as you can see in between them. two white lights at the top making its appearance humanoid, yet you cannot identify what is behind the curtain. you could hear your teeth chatter as it grows bigger before you. specifically for you. yet, you can also hear lip’s whimper from behind you. such a brave girl now cowering and your brain connects the relations to all of it, as it also rattles you.

that they attack by becoming something a certain person is afraid of. that include yours.

you could recognize fear in an instant as it has been on your face in the times so hard that you become numb to it. the exact expression you’ve seen when you look into the towering mirror in your little body. splotches of colors on your arms and legs when you can hear people bickering at the back that rattles along with pots and pans, knowing that you couldn’t do anything because they don’t even think of you seriously. that is when you try to lift your head up high as you see the shadowy figure standing behind you, covering the torn wallpaper with its body, as you could feel a graze of their touch on your back.

even if the umbrae represents fear as it shows up alongside lip’s spiders—which she clarifies she was afraid of—it gives a sense of unease comfort for you. the shadow being has been there, like it is waiting for you, watching along your activities. yet, seeing it still gives a bitter taste in your mouth, especially that sting in your head as flashes of memories of the earliest time you’ve seen it show up. then, it continues as your body also stings, remembering every hit and cut you’ve gotten by the people that have semblance to you. before you see them lifeless as the shadow stood on the other side of the hallway.

you were 13. starting your middle school with a numbness to yourself as the same thing that happened in elementary also happens. one of your teachers nagging you to take your cardigan off because you have to stick to uniformity, sneakily taking it off for a quick moment before your homeroom teacher tells him that you are a sickly child and you are allowed to wear a cardigan; knowing she has done the same and found spots on your arms. your homeroom teacher introduces you to the arm sleeves, saying to you that even if you like wearing the same black cardigan all the time, using it interchangeably will be greater. and it grows until today just as your arms become longer, making you buy a bunch more of arm sleeves that you change weekly. especially when the cause of your spots is not here anymore and it has been replaced by something else, something that elevates the hurt and fear you’ve been facing when you were younger.

the black arm sleeves that cover your forearms are still there, their tightness contrasts the flowy white pajama shirt that choerry gave for you to wear. its color has a tinge of neon to it as jinsoul says about an ultraviolet aspect of the night in villiya as you could see your white school shirt glowing underneath your vest, alongside soobin’s. the moonlight cast through the open ceiling corner of the room, lighting up the space in a glow that creates a dreamy look. your eyes gaze at the spotlight, trailing to the dust floating and highlighted for you to see better.

a soft touch caresses your hand, making you turn your head to the side and take a glimpse of the boy that you’ve always seen across from you. now very close. he hugged you as your body continued to shake, his inner warmth wrapping you like a truly warm blanket, something you don’t recognise. he reaches out towards your side of the bed in the room, a request of yours so that he doesn’t have to sleep on the dusty sofa. soobin wears the same pajama set as you are. he smelled of a combination of a fresh lemon but with a tinge of smoky scent—a familiar scent you’ve heard lingering around the room where your aunt and uncle live.

his reminder makes you move as you let out a huge sigh, lifting your legs as it rests on the soft mattress before tugging them into the comforter, laying your head slowly onto the pillow before looking around the room, finding your school uniform on the sofa alongside the boy’s, creating a symmetry alongside both of your backpacks. looking at the ceiling, the bed ruffles as a tiny breeze hits your hand before being covered by the warmth of both the comforter and soobin. glancing from the corner of your eye, soobin lays down on his side, an arm of his rested in the space between you and him. his head rested on the pillow on one side as he still waits patiently after what you said during dinner. to finish all of that shenanigans before returning to the bedroom where you both can have a talk about this.

“well...” you started, shifting your head to the side to copy soobin. “i piece things up. all the umbraes- they’re...” your eyes cast downwards along the space between yours and his body, “they gather into this gigantic wall of darkness before they come out one by one. a big shape with a dot of white in them before they transformed. it’s, i recognize just by the looks on their faces they are afraid...”

“lip, who was looking so brave when we met her, becomes so... petrified.” you continue after shifting your upper body. your arm lies down underneath your body for a more comfortable position. soobin’s eyes are skittering as it moves all over the place, between your face, your hand, and more. he lets out an understanding hum, and he then questions.

“what did you see?” his eyes instantly widen as he lifts the free hand on the pillow, his facial expression changes to deny and take back what he said, but was stopped as your nearest hand reaches his, connecting your palm with each other as you can sense warmth.

“it’s okay. it is a justified question given we’re in this situation...” another sigh comes out of you after that, a slight moment that allows you to recollect your words to describe the monstrosity that haunts. “i see a figure. like a woman with long hair almost reaching the floor, hunching forward so the hair covers the front of the body. yet...”

you felt the boy’s fingers slide in between yours, giving a gentle grip that soothes you as he heard how your breathing is wavering. “yet, i can see a glimpse of its white dots resembling eyes peeking between the hair strands. but with this one, it is large. larger than i’ve ever seen before when i see on the end of the room or behind me when i look at my own reflection.”

“but you stop it. you successfully flee out of the situation...”

“yet someone got hurt. their face is trauma-inducing that i can’t even imagine feeling it myself. especially with,“ you stopped yourself before you say too much. the boy seemingly did not notice as he continues to calm you, fingers now lock with yours as he uses his thumb to rub soothing patterns on the back of your hand. “yet, i can get rid of the spiders on lip’s arm.”

“you don’t fear spiders?” he asked.

you used to. but when you lived in a house so untidy and unkempt, little critters will live with you. you used to be disgusted by the sight of a spider on the corner of the room, creating their web there to collect other insects to digest and to reproduce. yet, why should you fear spiders who are trying to live their life when you have something more to fear?

“no.” a concise answer comes from you. your eyes view soobin’s face, looking at him as he processes every information you gave in his mind. seeing the boy you had a crush on up close is different. the only smooth edges of his nose bridge when you see from afar now look so pointy and rigid. so real. the unconscious closeness both of you have with each other seems natural. no words needed as you can understand through gestures and expressions. it feels like your body is remembering something, the time when you were with him before. queen of viliya at that time. the connection feels too electric sometimes that it overwhelms you, but it is purely because you find comfort in him—other than being a fellow “normal” human like you are. the warmth you see even when glancing at him is expanding ten to a hundred-fold when you are with him right now, wrapping around your body, protecting you from danger.

the sparkle in soobin’s irises starts to grow, his eyebrows raised as he realized something. the answer and excitement uplift him as he lets out his dimples as he spoke, “if it is fear that they are searching and it is specified for each person, then we have to make the people brave.”

yet doubt comes into you, “could be. but people’s reaction to being afraid is different. i don’t think that forcing them to face tough up and face their fear is a good idea.”

“that’s one side of it, but...” he stops to collect himself, the little droop on his face from your comment is lifted once again, “what if we use something to make them brave other than making them fight their fear. we can maybe empower them by doing something else. distract them of this whole thing and let them have something worth fighting for so they dare to fight back...” soobin comes back with a tangent; pouring his thoughts out, no matter how unorganized it is. but something came into your mind as he said so.

the vision of that yellow-esque blurry background. buildings standing tall beside you as you walk around with soobin beside you, holding onto your hand. pushing yourself to remember, you could see the blurriness becoming more defined. the familiar structure erects around you as a place you’ve been before. the place you walk past to get to the castle grounds from the forest. the empty yet wide space in between the town that you walk on as you, lip, and the others are investigating the umbraes.

“have you dreamt of a vision where you are walking around this huge place where the background was yellow-ish and blurry and-“

“i was on your side? yeah, i’ve seen it too.” you chuckle as he finished your question and answered it right away. “it looks like a gathering of some sort behind that blurriness.”

“we could make that, a gathering of people just being happy and having fun to make them brave. we can do it at the plaza we walked past to go here.” you continued adding more detail of your plan based on soobin’s thought. and by the look on his face, you can see it exuding positivity.

“we definitely could. we have to lift their hopes up. i see so much of them are down and becoming desperate alongside instability,” he remarked.

“we can definitely kick their asses.” your comment makes both of you laughed, pining on top of your head to tell the keepers of your plan. a somewhat childish point of view of looking at it, you noticed. yet, it is a method that seemed so simple yet could be effective in yours as well as soobin’s minds.

the process of creating this gathering is something that the keepers didn’t account for but openly agree to. “the people have been down because of this war. i sure hope that even with the minimal resources, we can make this happen.” jinsoul, representing the rest of the keepers, as both of you give out your ideas to them. after telling them of the assumptions and deductions you and soobin have thought about together, soobin seems to be more at ease as he takes control in the “fighting against fear” aspect of this entire event. while you now work alongside choerry and a few of the viliyans who want to take part as you gaze at the plaza. rubbles and dust are still scattered everywhere as you can see a run-down version of what viliya supposed to look like. hanging signs stand out from the buildings that host them as you can identify what looks like a tram track on the street, its rails embedded within the material to create the busy atmosphere.

you don’t really care that your seemingly new clothes are grimy because of the amount of dust accumulated when you get rid of the rubble with your bare hands. the rocks and bricks you have to remove are so familiar with your touch even with the amount of people that were trying to help you. being independent is something you are used to, especially with the little to no regard to your livelihood at home. you had to manage it all by yourself because, if not, your aunt and uncle would use any valuables to enrich themselves. the brick texture reminds you of the gloomy day as you gaze down at the stone plate that engraves both of your parents’ names. your tense jaw relaxes as you stare at their name before shaping into more of the usual numb expression you have always seen if you think of them. the same numb face that rests on your face all the time since then until you either smile to yourself and for yourself, or when you encounter the boy in the metro.

a large space becomes clear as some viliyans are moving out from the courtyard after soobin gives such a motivational speech to you. his conversation with lip and jinsoul about strategies coming into play right now as he is being as transparent as possible. his honesty of his thoughts and opinions is such a breath of fresh air for you to take in. your hand slowly reaching for his, reassuring him of his speech but also reassuring yourself from what you are feeling, an overwhelming sense of authenticity coming from a background where the people all around you are manipulators in one way or another.

you stare at yourself in the shattered mirror of the room in the castle as you wear a white flared dress that feels too unfamiliar for you. the light from outside coming in lights up the room as you have your hands in front of you, rubbing against each other as you can’t help but to compare yourself to the keepers, especially jinsoul and choerry in their own white dresses. realising just how plain you are. nothing special. you gaze at the black arm sleeves remaining of your original outfit, resting nicely on your skin. lip actually made a custom white arm sleeves that coordinate with your dress. yet, because of its thin material, you cannot wear it as you could see the skin layer beneath it, even if it is pretty obscured. it is the part of you that you are not ready for the world to see, keeping it hidden for nearly 4 years now. maybe that black arm sleeves could be the thing that made you stand out. but why should you? you always like to support more from the back instead of being at the forefront. and with just how “normally human” you look like, you won’t be standing out at all.

subconsciously, you let your vision drop to gaze at the flowy ends of the dress moving around, biting your bottom lip as gently as possible because you didn’t want to break skin. you listen to the sounds from outside, the cheers of excitement coming from the viliyans who are ready there as means to have fun and create a synergy that could, at least, defend the people against umbraes. a shadow approaches your figure, though its color is much more faded. a genuine shadow of someone by your side.

“how are you feeling?” the soft-spoken voice calls to you as you lift your head to glance back in the mirror, finding soobin in a flowy white dress shirt with brown pants. his head tilts so you can see him peeking from behind you. a dimple shows on his cheek as he looks at you, reading you like a book that you can’t push yourself to move away.

“i,” you instantly give up, returning to gaze at the lower part of your body reflected in the mirror. both of your hands are rubbing against each other, and soobin looks at the same reflection. you watch as his hand moves to the front of your figure, soothing down the skin as he grazes the texture of your black arm sleeve, noticing just how thick it feels with the material. thinking about it again, you should’ve actually pushed yourself to put the white arm sleeve on instead. it will be much more cohesive with the rest of your outfit and it will look better with soobin’s too. maybe, you can finally let that patch of skin you covered breathe once again-

“you don’t need to.”

in the reflection, soobin’s hand rested on top of yours that is reaching for the end of the arm sleeve from the inside of your elbow. his fingers intermingled with yours that made you loosen the grip of the material. tilting back, you found soobin’s head resting beside yours on your shoulder. his chin so close to resting on top of the boney foundation of your collar as you caught his eyes, looking downwards at the arms before back to your face.

“you don’t need to remove them. whatever makes you more comfortable.” his reassuring tone lets you let out such a shaky exhale.

“but it wouldn’t match-“

“and so what? it doesn’t have to be matching.” soobin remarked, “everything will be okay, even if you don’t wear matching arm sleeves. the people will still love you. i’ll-“ he paused himself as he then rested his body against you. his body temperature feeling more like a blanket that envelops you. “i’ll still be beside you.”

you nodded your head. your face hardens as it takes shape from your frowning expression. taking a deep breath, you stare back at soobin with a much straighter posture. his hand resting on top of yours on your abdomen. your heartbeat pumping more than ever.

“we have to be brave for them.” your turn to speak as soobin caress gives you the silent agreement.

“they will be.” the boy straightens his body as he allows you to turn around inside his embrace. your arms instantly wrapping around his body as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“thank you.” your muffled voice calls to him as you felt him caressing the back of your body. knocks suddenly come from the door as you pull away.

“are you both ready, your majesties?” you heard the familiar sound of choerry before you looked into soobin’s eyes. his head nods as he signals for you to move first.

the sky is beautiful when you step outside of the palace. the clear blue space has little shades of orange as the sun is setting down as you walk. by the gate, you notice both lip and jinsoul waiting for your arrival. lip still has her outfit together, but with an extra set of a thick vest on her chest. her hands holding onto her speaking stone as she talks to her underlings in the defense force. yet, you still can’t get rid of the petrified expression she has when you get rid of the shadow spider on her arm. as you walk nearer to them, you nod your heads to greet them as soobin stood beside you. your hands are brushing against each other, with jinsoul looking between the two of you.

“doesn’t she look beautiful?” choerry commented, wrapping her arm behind your shoulder, making you appear like friends. you could feel your heart flutter because of it. because you don’t have someone who you can call your friend to do these types of things back in seoul.

“she does.” jinsoul replied, her eyes not looking at your bashful face but at the person beside you, observing him as he stares at you as well.

“well, we don’t want the people to wait. come...” jinsoul gestures with her hand as you all walk past the gate of the castle on the way to the plaza. you had seen little of what the plaza has become, only trusting in choerry’s giddiness to decorate for this impromptu festival. you had watched as she and a few others were bringing out boxes of multiple decorations out of a room in the castle. some looking more botanic than the others. you had only seen blurry images of these decorations from your vision and you can’t wait to see them with your eyes.

approaching the plaza, you could hear the rush and sound of people talking, enjoying this little festival you made in order to entertain them in the danger, to reassure them that happiness can actually battle against the umbrae’s personification of fear. to know that there is a collective who will face all of this war together.

from the nearest crowd of the plaza area, where buildings that host shops and homes were partially destroyed by the war, they all bowed as you walked past. they create a wave as you continue to walk; the sight choking you up as you turn your head to look at soobin, who is also seeing around. the amount of people with their uniqueness, all bowing their heads for both of you. your heartbeat fastens as you capture his hand with yours, feeling his fingers already move to then curl in between yours.

in the middle of the plaza is a destroyed fountain, rubble of its structure pooling in there instead of water. all three of the keepers set aside as you find a little stage beside it, bowing their heads as you both step onto the stage. the crowd that bowed first have gathered closer to the fountain as you stood behind soobin, hands still connected.

“citizen of viliya.” soobin started, your eyes gleaming with adoration as you could see the little rise on the corner of his lips.

“we welcome you to the plaza where we gather to celebrate and entertain ourselves even during the war we are facing. we would like to express our gratitude to the people who contributed to this. the cooking, the games, the music. i know this time is hard for all of us and we aren’t able to fully prepare for this to the fullest. but it is enough for me, and i hope it still will do its job.” soobin spoke like a true king, then turns his head to face you.

“this gathering will not happen without the queen’s idea. so, i would like to invite her to take center stage." he tugs your hand to make you take a few steps to stand beside him. your eyes are fleeting around the crowd as you observe the many variations of people you’ve ever seen.

“uh,” you gulp your saliva, “hello everyone. well, soobin and i got the idea for this gathering after the attack that we had endured a few days ago. i was also scouting with them as we approach the barrier between us and the shadows.” your eyes blink, head lifting to stand tall and straight.

“what i observed is traumatizing to the people who experience and also see it. it’s such a familiar notion soobin and i know about. i conclude that these shadows feed off of our fear. they get stronger when we fear them.” you spoke like how you converse with yourself in your head, calculated and clearly. eyeing the viliyans as much more like-minded people rather than recognizing the position you are in.

“this is the reason we want to gather all of us here. i recognized that you cannot face fear alone and we want to tell the umbraes that we are not alone. we are here together, full of love and care, encouraging us to face each other’s fear and any fears that can tear all of us apart. families, friendships, any types of relationships.” you felt a tug on your hand from soobin’s reassuring grip. his eyes finding yours glowing with a warm smile on his face.

“let’s all have fun and make the umbraes fear us instead. thank you.”

the crowd cheers as you find soobin also lets out a wide grin, bringing you into his grasp as you let out a chuckle full of various emotions. turning your head, you listen as the music continues on. both of you jump down off the stage as you widen your arms wide, taking in the unfamiliar feeling of gratitude and joyfulness that you are scared you might be addicted to. the ends of your dress floating as you playfully twirl with them, letting go just for this moment of the baggage that weighs you down.

your hand grasps inside of soobin’s as he takes you to the area where you can see pots of cooking are standing upright. his eloquent request contrasts the timid soobin you know, creating a much more complete idea of the boy in your head. he hands you the bowl as you say “thank you” and bow your head. the sky is getting much more orange as you both find a seat with a bunch of tweens that looked star-struck when they see you. all of them with their own uniqueness, from deer horns to fluffy bird-like wings.

“you are so cool, your majesties.” one of them says as you sit across from soobin. you share their enthusiasm for the world; how one of them is interested in the pattern of stars shining in the raven sky. soobin and you are not that far in a gap with them in level of maturity, just two teenagers who find themselves on a magic island that can be a playground for both of you if you were just a tad bit younger.

at the end of the row of tables, you see people gathering around before they form into the dance floor. your eyes resting on them as you watch them moving around, even in the most mundane fashion. small taps against your shoulder make you shift your body to meet soobin’s outstretched hand. his chin subtly pointing to the dancing crowd as your smile grew, and you went with him, waving goodbye at the tweens as you looked between your beautiful surroundings and the boy before you.

the music is loud as you see a group of bards playing their instruments in sync, watching the people as they dance the living daylights out in their own fashions. seeing a little space in the crowd, you could hear them cheer as soobin pulled you in. he starts to move his head and arms, wiggling to the beat and melody as it makes you giggle. his movement goes in a pattern that you could mirror and you did, mirroring his movement in front of you and following his lead. your eyes continue to stare at him as he does to you. smiles etched on both of your faces as you can’t help but move forward and hug him tight. his breath brushes against the crook of your neck, resting it behind you as you sway along with the music.

your eyes looked at the orange sky, admiring the atmosphere that is much better than your vision. and yet, you still have doubt inside of you. and when the sky suddenly darkens into a red hue, you know your hunch was correct.

a large silhouette flies and covers the sky, its long body with wide head and expansive middle area, flying along the sky before the once cheer silent and turns into screams. the orange that you see is no longer the sky, but the ball of fire that is going to hit you.

the very vision that you’ve just seen when you waited for your train to arrive

you pushed soobin away, separating you both as he stumbled to the ground and the fire landed where you both were dancing. he is heaving to breathe, pushing himself up off the ground as he looks across the fire to find you. but when he caught onto the numerous people who needed immediate help, he instantly moved to help them to safety by the buildings. soobin looked up to find the shadowy dragon continued to rage the fire against the plaza, destroying more of them as he could also see blobs of shadow slithering on the ground before forming into various things before people. haunting screams bringing him to his own baggage once again. and it reminds him of the sleep talk you say the night before the gathering.

“please don’t burn them. don’t burn viliya again.”

when he looks at you from the reflection of the mirror, he knew you were not in the best mood to face this whole thing. so that’s why he had to get rid of his usual fears and be as nonchalant and confident as ever. the conversation he had with the viliyans makes him see them more as family rather than subjects and that’s how they want to serve them as their king. he had to be your anchor, and he has been so throughout today until this very moment.

the usual anxiety riddles him as he watches more people either run away from the shadows or being taken by them. his feet already move him to a clearing as he watches everything going into shambles. one last turn and his eyes landed on the familiar shadow of the boy—its white eyes staring at him as his heart beats faster. but his mind nudges to somewhere else in the palace of his mind as another fireball flew above him and the one side of the fire dissipates, letting him see someone in a white dress kneeling, cowering their body, and covering their head under the red sky.

“(Y/N)!” soobin yells to you as he surges forward. his eyes landed on your cowering body as he pushed himself to move faster. however, the shadows were faster as they reached you and formed into a humanoid. a flick of its fingers shows a burning fire as it toys with you, pushing the fire closer to your covered face. that’s before soobin catches its attention with a push and a strong snarl, observing it explodes into drops of goo as he reaches for you.

your head slightly lifted when you looked at your hand to see someone grabbing for you. his soothing touch is something you can recognize as you found soobin with the front side of his shirt covered with drops of black liquid. his hand curls around you as you let him pull you up.

soobin rested his arm behind you, dragging you away from the crowd as you stay close to him, feeling your hot tears free falling against him as he has to bring you to safety, because he fears for you being hurt.

-

the blurriness of your vision slowly dissipates as the overwhelming orange shine piercing your sight is now out of sight. your feet are dragging across the ground. one of your arms is around the body of the familiar boy as he half-carried you back towards the palace. your hooded eyelids are lifted open as you meet several silhouettes protecting themselves, commotion everywhere and even out of your sight as your body continues to move along with the boy’s stride. the imposing gate meets you as he pushes open the gate and brings you towards the foyer and into the palace.

and when you stepped into the closed area of the palace, you could already feel the tears brimming by the corner of your eyes before they fell into freefall.

the thought in your head already won the battle: you caused this.

“i’m sor-sorry,” you mumbled, making soobin turn his head to look at you. the cloudiness in your eyes is now gone as it is replaced with such gigantic eyes instead. but you’ve spoken sorry too many times for his liking. his sight is set on the shared bedroom you sleep in starting from a few days ago. letting the constant murmur of sorry flies back passes him as you walk past the vacant throne room.

when you felt a soft material behind your knees, you rubbed it with your hand before you sat down and looked upon your quivering arms resting on your lap. the black sleeves threatening to fall down as soobin now stands beside you. then, the familiar itchiness starts once again. your thumb pushes against one side of your hand, trailing it down one by one, following the trail of itchiness beneath the dark material as a few firm pushes against them help in remedying the pain. a remedy you always do time and time again.

but now it doesn’t stop. the itchiness doesn’t stop, and you continue mumbling apologies with a few gasps of breath.

the edge of your nails rubbing against the sleeves instead of pressing it, putting more and more pressure as the nails hooked into the grooves in between the woven material. your sight becoming more and more blurry as you can’t stop. if you stop, it will hurt more. the sight of something you don’t want people to think about.

and yet, you could see the face of the boy kneeling down beside your legs. his hand putting a stop to yours, widening the space in between each finger. apologies are still mutter out of you as you blink the tears away, looking down on your lap. that is when you felt your lips pause as a warm touch lands softly on your cheek. eyebrows furrowed and raised when you look towards soobin and his outstretched arm.

his eyes darting all across your figure, the other hand now holds onto your hand as he could see how rough it looks from the scratching.

“i’m sorry…” you say one last time, recollecting the numerous happenings all around you, “it’s all my fault-“

“hey, hey, no. (y/n).” soobin’s voice calms you, holding onto your hand and yet, you still shake your head.

“yeah, it is. we were supposed to be brave for them. but i screw up. i let my fear get to me and it became a disaster.” your hands try to pull away from his grasp. the itchiness from your forearms slowly turning hot. just a look at the top of the sleeves lets you see the sliver of the thing that is hiding.

but, you knew deep down and how soobin is looking at you with care. that even though it was wrong, doubt is a normal thing.

“then, the only thing to overcome that fear is to face it,” you answered yourself loudly as the boy looks at how your expression changes along with how you think. his hand still holds onto your own softly as he sits down beside you. the outfit that he is wearing makes him look bare, especially with him voicing out his worries about the plan the night before. how he had put much of his fear and hope on his sleeves, and yet you failed him.

your hand gently moves instead of the shakiness soobin stopped, letting him pull off his hand as carefully as possible. the fingertips reach one end of the black that is nearly exposed. you looked down at it and took a deep breath. in one sweep, you peel away the black sleeves that have been part of your day-to-day life—soobin’s gasp is enough of a reaction you have expected.

fluttering open the lid of your eyes, you peer at the gnashing straight line scars across your forearm. the memories of the bleeding cutter coming back to you as you look at the multiple lines. the healing skin makes the scar much more visible to your skin tone. your hand doesn’t stop, reaching for the other black sleeve as the skin mirrors the other side. you clenched your hands, seeing the muscles on your wrists react as you can see the crimson liquid trailing down until the end of your fingertip. that is before your aunt found you and stopped it—not wanting to let her anchor go.

all you wanted to do was to join your parents. your forsaken parents that left you behind with more scars than these. but the only thing they left behind is the looming shadow that stood at the end of the hallway and behind you everywhere you go.

“these are my attempts.” you push yourself to speak, facing those very memories you wanted to suppress hiding behind the black sleeves. you return to your child self as you look forward to the shadow across the hallway standing tall, facing you who is sitting with your knees close to your chest.

“my parents were not the best. they, they-“ furrowing your eyebrows, the slice of the memories of yourself hitting the ground flickers by the second, “they hit me. hard. i was still a child then and... they, they’ve done it multiple times and i lost count of it.”

“it was hard living in this household. we...” shaking your head, pushing yourself to not defend them like you always do, “they don’t live in the best conditions. shards of glass all around the floor from thrown bottles. screaming matches that lasted all night long. i- i don’t know if they even love each other to stay married until the end when they...”

your breath heaved, eyes still staring down at the scars when you felt a warm touch from beside you. his hand covers one forearm, making you tilt your head as you find soobin’s sparkling eyes staring back at you. his matching furrowed brows contorting his face that exactly show what emotion he is feeling. nodding your head, you let the words on the tip of your tongue.

“after school, i was probably 13. i found them in the hallway, laid there in a pool of their blood. each with a shard of glass in their hand. the house was dark when i entered, yet the sunlight from the living room shines perfectly on their laid bodies. even at that young age, i knew it would happen someday. but not that day.” you flutter your eyes as the images came again, “i just found out that i got into the middle school i wanted. that they wanted to. and i found them lifeless instead, when all i wanted was to give them the envelope showing that i got accepted. so i cried and cried and i only called 119 a few hours later.”

you can’t help but to let out a chuckle. one way for you to cope against these experiences as you reimagined them by looking at the bird's-eye view—taking everything into account. “being a middle schooler, i have to have a guardian who will be there until i’m old enough to inherit their wealth. in comes my aunt and her dead-beat husband, and they start to chew away all of that wealth, leaving me with scrapes that is enough for me to fulfill my primary and secondary needs, but no more. it doesn’t get better at school too when they see vulnerable me as an easy target to be mugged off. so i started cutting myself.”

your free hand moves as you fold your fingers, except your pointer and middle fingers. resembling a cutter, you put it down beside soobin’s hand, doing a slicing motion. “it started with that. a pressure from two fingers. mimicking what it feels like. then when i started high school, i started using a cutter. just a top layer of skin enough to make it hurt. not as hurtful as what i genuinely feel the whole time. but i add more and more pressure until one day, it got deep and broke a blood vessel.”

“in my mind, this is it. this is the moment that i can go meet my parents and berate them for leaving me behind to bear their weight. but my aunt found me, and she stopped it just so that she can still get the cut from the will because it said that if anything happens to me, all the wealth will go to charity instead. and she was having the time of her life mugging me back home, too. so i hide them behind the black forearm sleeves. her eyes were always on me and seeing that sleeve is an assuring thing for her that i will continue my life until high school ends.” your words end with a clear quiver.

“even with all this time, i still love my parents for them being my parents. and i feel lost without them around. my perception of love is so messed up that it is hard for me to let go and know that they are truly gone until their funeral. and now, i don’t know how to truly love something.”

you duck your head and cover your forehead with your free hand, sensing just how hot it has become from you talking as you felt the touch on your other arm creeps up and envelops your palm—curling your fingers with his. bare yourself out for him to see. the true you.

the boy turns away as he grabs something from his backpack, his heavy footsteps ring against the room as he walks back to the bed. a familiarly branded cigarette box in hand alongside a lighter. his nimble fingers reach to take out one of the sticks and quickly place it between his lips as he lights it up with fire. a light grey smoke coming from it as he takes an inhale and blows it out. the familiar scent you have smelled on his body, even last night before you slept.

“sorry for surprising you like that. i-“

“it’s okay,” you cut him off, “whatever makes you comfortable.”

soobin lets out a light scoff as you see him moving his tongue across his teeth, tasting the flavor that sticks to the bone before it’s his turn to talk.

“well, i also have a not-so-great upbringing,” he started as you put your full attention to him. the itchiness of your scars is being soothed down by the gentle breeze. “the best way i say of my existence is that i am a mistake. my mom doesn’t want me at all. she’s a single mom and i am made from one of her sexual escapades. she was still smoking when she was growing me, and so, i was born addicted to nicotine. and, that’s why...” he nudges the burning cigarette between his fingers before taking a puff.

“i feel like she hates me all throughout her life. i still don’t know why she birthed me, even when she has the connection to do an abortion, but maybe she made sure she birthed me to remind her of that mistake she made. well, you see...” he leans down, eyeing the cigarette before looking back at you. “she’s a nymphomaniac. i was exposed to that side of her when i was two. just think of a small boy walking around the house after gaining the ability to walk, to then go into the living room to find your mother riding someone’s cock.”

his vulgar words took you aback, but you could feel the raging flame inside of him, similar to the fire burning through that cigarette. “but it doesn’t stop. it continues. one moment, she took care of me by bringing me snacks to eat inside the bedroom. and next, her moans vibrate all across the house. it doesn’t stop. she prefers men, but sometimes women are there as well. it’s an everyday sex party at the house and she even hosted an orgy one time. 20-something people having sex in the living room, and i was in the bedroom, closing my ears as i continue to watch crayon shinchan.” soobin flicks the cigarette away before stomping it beneath his sneakers.

“her dad—my grandpa—sometimes had to take care of me when she hosted a large-scale sex party with alcohol and drugs after the first one. i learned a lot from him, mostly about things in life that my mom doesn’t even care to think to teach me. i wanted to live with him so much, to ask him why he doesn’t act when it comes to her daughter and why she is never pregnant. so, i was in middle school when he gave me the letter from a clinic, a written evidence of my mom’s tubal ligation. sterilizing herself so she would never get pregnant again.” his head turns to you to read your expression, seeing just how wet it is. “when i told my mom i want to live with grandpa, she doesn’t allow it, along with her many reasons like tax cut. but i know she is doing that to torture me, just like having me for her is the consequence of her nymphomaniac lifestyle.”

his hand reaches back for yours, returning to the previous position with his fingers locking with yours, “my only perception of love is the care my grandpa has for me. his willingness to introduce the world he knows, and he has to learn to know for me. but i don’t have an idea of romantic love especially with my perception of lovemaking, which is all gone when you have a mom who is just seeking sex and not romantic love. maybe only a glimpse of it from the episodes grandpa said about grandma, but that is it.”

your eyes lock with his, trailing down his face until you read his moving lips. “until i see you across from me on the train.”

“why me?” you looked down at your connected hands.

“you always caught my eye. the black sleeves on your arms. how you are always there right across from me when i go back into train after school like the way you always see me at the same time every time we go to school.” soobin had to turn down a smile, calming himself down. “you with your uniform and wired earphones compare to me. it’s like seeing your own reflection that has its uniqueness. i just... know that i will connect with you and i love you for that.”

“i- wow...” you lightly exclaimed. “the thing is...” scooting closer to him, letting his knees meet with yours. “i wholeheartedly agree with the reflection thing you said. i... i don’t know. this is just based on the things, but i believe that if we talk, we will talk like we know each other for our whole life. i see myself in you. and i’m glad that we ride that same train.”

“i do too.” he raises his other hand. his eyes asking for permission as you give a small nod when you felt his warm touch now on your cheek. your head leans closer as both of your foreheads meet, closing your eyes to take in just the love that spreads between the two of you. silent. introverted. yet familiar.

that’s when you feel his thick lips against yours, making you move to adapt to it by giving little nibbles. it was innocent—expressing just enough of your emotions to not overwhelm each other. all of that and the discovery you’ve uncovered in viliya of your previous connection.

when you pull away, feeling his breath against your mouth as you rest your forehead against his once again, you then ask.

“what do you see?”

soobin’s eyes also flutter open, meeting yours as he pulls away to take a better look at you. his eyes looking away as he recollects what he had seen.

“a shadow of a boy around 5 to 7 years old. his silhouette looks like mine when i was younger, but he’s different. much more forward and active than i am and holding onto a bunny plushie,” he chuckles. “i think he encompasses my fear perfectly. being an only child of a sterilized nymphomaniac, i can’t help but to think of the numerous times that my mom’s escapades will result in another baby being made. he was one of the lost children that could be my siblings and because of that, i just... i fear in making a connection with people, especially the way my mom does. people see it as superficial, but that’s what i always see. so i don’t know which is the ‘authentic’ way for that..."

you gulp your saliva as you stare at soobin and the familiar shadow behind him. looming tall as its eyes peers down at your seated self. “mine is a tall humanoid. two white eyes covered by long trails of hair in front. it’s like its bending their neck, purposely so that anyone can see the face of the being underneath it but it steel peeks at you.” your thumb plays above his hand, “i also have a fear of connecting with people, but more in a way that... they will be ashamed of me. an orphan who cuts herself while having some attachment issue to her dead parents.”

“you don’t need to be ashamed of yourself. you’re...” he takes a slight glimpse at you from your face to your dress. “you’re pretty.”

your giggles trail towards him before you return to seriousness. “we seem to be each other’s reflections.”

“and that means that to overcome the fear, we can help each other.” soobin remarked, his dimples showing as he held a long smile.

“genuine connection...” you muttered, looking down at your connected hands before going to his plump lips you have felt on your own. soobin seemed to read your mind as he pulls you closer. the end of your dress grazes along your legs as he carefully sits you on his lap.

“the most fully genuine connection i have is with you, (y/n).” he presses his forehead back on yours. “i will be willing to face my fear for this.”

“yet, i don’t want to force you.” you shake your head, but the way his hand moves yours to his nape says otherwise. pulling you close with a tight grip on your waist.

“even so, i don’t want to do this if it is not with you,” he muttered before brushing his lips against your neck, soft caresses across your body. timidness coming along with how soft it feels, letting himself go for you to take care of him.

both of your hands slowly peel each other’s outfit, standing across from each other as you looked at soobin’s unmarked skin compared to yours, which has scars leading all the way from your childhood. yet, with the way he stood there tense, you knew he would not be the one in charge. solidifying his trust in this very connection you made. ignoring the past life you have with him. that even being across from each other on that train, you could still create a genuine connection.

soobin’s face follows your touch, staring back at you with vulnerable eyes that still reflected a dark shine. he leans down, hesitation clear but follows through with your soft grasp on him as he kisses you once again. pushing forward more and more to let you feel him more and more, and all of this has cumulated for you two. his skin is soft until the brush of your hand gives him goosebumps. soobin reach out for you, feeling the scars decorated your love handle to your hips, pressing each of them to replace the painful memories of love instead.

he is the one who drags you to the bed, moving you into a comfortable position for him because he’s the one who is more fragile in this position. looking down at his laid body on the white mattress. his cock is starting to stand straight, more color moving into his shaft as he looks at himself before your hand sitting close to his thigh. peering back to his face who looks at you with expectation, you crawl your fingers across the skin of his thigh and reach his growing member. hisses comes out from soobin’s lips when he felt your soft touch from one side before enveloping altogether. you give him a small stroke, feeling him hardened under your palm.

“you’re doing so well.” your words flow to him, now using both of your hands to stroke him as he gets harder. whines now coming out of him as he focuses back on your face. eyes looking at someone that constantly runs in his mind, who is slowly changing the perspective of action he had seen since he was a young child. his eyes focused on your furrowed brows, looking between his face and his hardening member before you decided to switch position and lean forward. the tip of the head brushes against the tip of your nose as you guide him to your lips. a searing lick makes him jump as you pull away.

“are you alright?”

“i- i am. yeah... just...” soobin looks away, not wanting to look at the concern on your face.

“we’ll go at your pace, soobin.” you sit down on your kneeling position before him, hands slowly letting go of his cock—now standing tall.

“i want to feel you. down there,” he gasps, eyes gazing back at you as you nodded. you lift your hand up to your lips as you spit on the palm, the sense of the cold liquid added to his pleasure while you stroke him in a steady rhythm. your gaze looks between his face and his member, adding more pressure with your grip that makes shivers running down his spine. then, you lean forward and he stayed still, feeling your tongue touching his head, making the shiver spread more.

it turns into warmth as you envelop the top part of his cock, your lips enclosing around it as he hears the slurping noise. his hand that was on his side reaches for you, giving your head a caress that encourages you alongside his moans. soobin’s eyelids are hooded as he stares at you, not believing the idea of such a beautiful person taking care of him—letting everything go his way. and it continues to go his way when he pushed the back of your head unconsciously, making you take him deeper in your cavern as he lets out a loud groan.

the tip of your nose brushes against his skin, taking him deep as your hand assures his when you sensed it tense as he heard you gag. pulling away from the shaft, the area around your lips are covered in your drools and saliva, a string of them hanging onto his cock as you can see just how red his tip has become. soobin’s eyes are enlarged as he admires you, wiping the saliva away with his thumb as you playfully give it a peck before it trails down to your waist.

knowing the signal, you climb up onto his lap as you press your wet lower region against him. you grind yourself on his elongated cock, feeling the ridges of his tense muscle brushing against your clitoris, making you grab his grasp once again as you make his thumb find and rub against your bundle of nerves. hisses coming from you, eyelids dropping as you feel just how good it feels. soobin continues to eye you, rubbing softly against your skin before lifting yourself up. your thighs standing straight as the boy looks at how your hand grab his shaft and rubs the tip against your opening.

“i know that this is going to hurt,” mumbling to him, “but i also want to do it with you.”

“(y/n)...” he sighs, and it slowly gets louder as he felt your warm walls wrapped around him. the boy’s hands that were by your thighs and waist reach up as you lean your head back. sensing the stretch of the muscles down there to adapt to him.

and when you lean forward again—body now sitting upright—you peer down to reassure yourself on soobin. and the sight you see makes your heart that was already beating fast even faster. diamond-like shimmer is present in his eyes, but alongside tears that added more shine. you lean your body much more forward, hands reaching to cup his face and kiss all along his visible skin. yet, you felt his hands caressing your scars instead, especially the one you left behind in your arms.

your eyes flutter shut as you give his lips a kiss that takes your breath away. pecking away from his addicting kisses as you put the rest of them along his face—the shift of your body on him creating more moans coming from the both of you. you sensed his hands moving to your behind, cupping your cheeks as you pulled away from his neck to look back at him.

“you can move.” soobin’s word gives a signal, pushing yourself until your arm is straight as you slowly move on his lap and give him a teasing bounce—something that you found on the internet as a pleasurable way to tackle your position. your hands grip onto his shoulders, eyes on his as you continue your movement. you let him roam his hands around you as you try your best to get him as deep as you can before lifting yourself so that only a sliver of his member is inside you.

soobin’s eyes lock on the way your walls envelop his hardened cock that is standing straight, caressing the skin of yours as he hold you by the waist. you alternate your motion, including some grinding as both of your moans filled the room and night. shame all come across him as he couldn’t believe he left the people of viliya go and fend for themselves. letting fear consume all of them instead of encouraging them to go on. but with a graze of your hand now resting on the pillow beside his head, he could fear the biggest fear he has dissipate away with each fluid movement and the aftermath of emotion.

genuine connection.

the boy’s hips followed your movement, following your action that even made you widen your eyes in surprise. his hands move upwards to your upper back before pulling you down, letting him give light kisses across your breasts and trails up to the column of your neck and meeting your lips as the final destination. one hand holds onto the back of your head as the other still rests above your hips, using his stamina to follow along with you. both of your eyes stay in contact, communicating like the many times you both have done so on that very train. now with much more feelings than a mere silent love.

he wraps his arms around your body when you fully lean down, head beside his. the grip of his hands loosens when he hears soft sobs coming from you, sobs that he understand so well as he also ssensed the same warmth thawing his frozen interior, breaking away the dense walls as it crumbles to allow you in. soobin reaches to cup your cheeks with trails of tears on them, a small smile adorning your face as your gaze at him expresses the very emotion he also feels for you. you both meet at the middle, enrapturing your lips with each other as you both chase your high.

“i’m going to cum.” his lips move against yours when he whispered and your head nods in reply. your walls tighten as you both continue to move. both of your moans meeting each other’s as his eyes are blown wide to see yours, who is peering at him dearly. then, he felt himself choking, his breath caught, and he spurted himself inside your walls. your little whining hum tells him you sense his release, slowing down your motion as soobin can’t help but feel the tears that are threatening to come out now in a free fall.

yet, his hips move again, making you claw your hand against his chest as he exerts to get you to your high as well. your eyes stare back at him, chin leaning against his chest so you could watch him as you chase his fluid movement. your walls clamp, holding onto him as you mentioned “i- i’m cum-“

“cum for me,” he encourages, helping more to chase you as you let out a shriek. your walls are pounding as flashes came about in your eyes and you felt yourself wetter and more aware of soobin’s release inside you. instantly, he brought your body down to his as your faces are leaning close to each other. swollen eyes, swollen lips. both are what you have as he brought you into the last searing kiss. embracing each other with a new booster of encouragement from each of you: readying yourself to face what tomorrow offers.

-

in the dawn of the next day, you both wake up with a determination you both haven’t felt before.

with each other, you both took care of your body, lathering the suds of the soap across both of your bodies as you stayed with soobin. both of your high school uniforms are the only clean outfits you both have as you pull them on. every piece from the socks to the vest. but you left your black sleeves behind drying up, sensing the cool breeze soothing it down as you embrace them as a unique part of you. soobin approaches as he lifts both of your hands, kissing the marred skin as he gazes at you, communicating without words once again as you nod.

as the sun rises across the magical island of viliya, you both emerge from the crumbling room from the palace empty of people. yet, both of your minds are onto something else. soobin pushes open the palace walls, finding many people taking cover and safety across the safe place of the palace walls. some were asleep, and some were awake with numbness in their eyes. yet they all glide to both of your figures as they all gasp.

“your majesties, are you both alright?“ choerry calls as she sees the familiar figures coming out of the palace, not tending after them when she has to take care of more people. but it stopped as she sees the rush in both of your movements, the two leaders of viliya walk to the barracks.

light exuding from them.

choerry runs to get to jinsoul as soon as she realizes it. her dirty white dress flowing as she goes past the number of viliyans all around her as she meets the blonde elven woman who is looking at the papers upon papers of letters that signify the situation of each building destroyed in viliya. her breath turning into heaves when jinsoul turns her head to look at her fellow keeper.

“what again, choerry-“

“the majesties.” she instantly cuts, “they’re glowing- they’re going to the barracks.”

“oh, oh!” jinsoul exclaims before picking up her speaking stone, telling the piece of information to the red music note replying on the other side.

“i’ll come to you. just let me get my things.” choerry looks at jinsoul who is replying to the speaking stone before they set off to the barracks. where lip is located as she just put away the speaking stone to her satchel before jinsoul’s words came true with the appearance of the two leaders coming into the area as she quickly bows down.

“your majesties, we-“

“do you still have any melee weapons?” you’re the one that asked, eyes looking towards the shelves of bows you come across.

“yes! yes, we do. right here, what do you prefer?” lip quickly accommodates the two of you as you both find the shelves full of melee weapons.

“daggers for (y/n). short sword for me,” soobin replies, recollecting the memories of what you both quietly discuss the night before.

lip grabs a short sword and its scabbard before giving it to soobin and walks to grab the daggers for you when her eyes peer down to give you the dagger by the handle. her eyes thought they were deceiving her as she didn’t see the black sleeves associated with you, but instead found scars on where the skin was covered.

“your majesty-“ she raises her head to look at you when you give her a small nod. her eyes seeing a shimmering outline coming from your body as you give her a tight lip smile. she watches as you take a glance at soobin, a small knowing nod shared between you to him as you about to turn your body away,

“your majesty!” jinsoul comes in with choerry trailing behind her, her eyes now looking at the glowing outline the two you had. connected and brighter as you stand side by side. “did you two found out how-“

“yeah, we did.” soobin answered, “i was saving (y/n) from the umbrae attack when one of them morphs in front of me. rather than think otherwise, i just hissed at it and it quickly falters. we both talked about facing our fears and about the situation when we realized that this is a now or never situation. that we have to be the one to move first so the others can get courage to fight back.”

“and we have a new determination flowing through us. that whatever happens and the experience we both have gone through, it will strengthen us rather than weakening us. it’s why we...” you paused as you peek at soobin, “decide to embrace that and face them by ourselves.”

lip steps forward and speaks, “it is only the two of you, your majesties, versus them.”

“then so be it. the umbraes are trained to find the weakest part of each person in viliya. it knows your doubts too, and soobin knows that by straight up being in front of them, confidence that it will work, it will cower away.” the steadiness in your sound shocks the keepers as soobin looks at you with pride. the keepers eyeing their leaders, the glow getting brighter than before as it inspires lip more and more. her furrowed brows loosen as you recognize the fire that is growing in her, and her realization.

“your majesty,” your head turns towards jinsoul who comes to step before you, a smile growing on her face, “your confidence will help us. your glow can help us. can you share them?” her hands reach for yours. whilst looking down, the glow on your hand travels to jinsoul as you search into her eyes and see the hope growing in them. you sense soobin standing close to you, his hand reaches for your own.

“as long as it helps the others to fight,” he answered for you and you both chuckle as you watch the grin on jinsoul’s face. choerry grabs a big glass jar as jinsoul uses her magic to transfer some of the glow into the jar until it is full. her eyes gleaming more as both you and soobin seemed to glow even more when choerry gave the jar to lip.

“jinsoul said the glow can be used to coat the swords and arrows.” choerry reiterates as lip looks down at the glow, a smile on her face.

“i will rally the people to join you along with the other keepers,” the elven girl said as you both nod, turning your head to soobin before pointing to the entrance with your chin. his grip on your hand doesn’t let go as you both fled from the barrack and towards the gate, seeing the eyes of the people watching the two of you as you jog through the gate with confidence.

each step you both take brings you to the plaza where it was attacked by the umbrae. the clean area is now filled with stains of soot and rubble from more collapsing buildings. at the end of the plaza is darkness, trails of them crawling on the ground as the sky above it is as purple as yesterday. your thumb caresses his hand as you face them, a dagger in your other hand as you stood at the being that has threatened so many people. when the doubt comes in, the shadow reacts more, slithering a tendril out to reach for both of you.

yet, you felt soobin raising his hand up to his lips and kiss the back of yours, reassuring you of his confidence as the slithering shadows stopped before them and morphed into a giant snake head. but before it finishes morphing, soobin has already let go of your hand and charged to the shadow with his sword in hand. giving the neck a slice, the snake head crumbles into smithereens and the slimy substance instantly dries out.

a grin grows on your face as you step forward beside him. your dagger swings lightly on your hand as you threw it towards the umbraes. the glow on it making it more visible as it reaches where the umbrae settles. when you first thought that it would have disappeared into the dark, it subverts your thought as you see a cut made of light and the view of the road on the other side. the umbrae reacting as its waves move to the other side and you eyed how it takes over 30 seconds for it to heal itself.

“let’s go!” you exclaimed as soobin follows beside. the slow march turns into confident steps and a charge as you approach the darkness that is getting larger and larger. the shadow reacts, shifting their presence as you watch more tendrils trailing out of the darkness. with soobin’s sword, he slices the nearest one before it shifts into the shape that it wants. your eyes glance beside you as a limping humanoid walks towards you, like the zombies you’ve watched in the movies. reaching for a dagger, you stab it through its head as it shatters and stains your uniform. your hands scrambling to get the other dagger in your hand, double-wielding it as you slice through many of the shapes of umbrae. from humanoid to animal-like to something beyond your imagination.

the smear of black goo sprites to your cheek as you felt it dripping down your face, throwing another dagger to the umbrae that was going to morph into a dragon as it bleeds black gooey substance when it slices across its throat. your eyes look around, staying alert to the nearest umbrae from you, when you heard the shout of someone calling for you.

“soobin?!” you shouted back, looking at the direction where the voice calls you to see a circle of umbraes and a sliver of soobin’s white shirt showing between the gap.

quickly, you push away the approaching umbrae as the graze of the blade is enough for it to crumble. your sight focusing on soobin’s body that is being overwhelmed by the amount surrounding him. his blade is already moving in a circle, yet the barrier is thickening, the claustrophobic situation that you count as the primary tactics of the umbrae to fight: using the most common phobias.

raising your arms up, you slice through the umbraes to create a clear path for you to soobin. cutting off one side of their image and even the middle as it fell and dirtied the ground even more. the boy’s furrowed brows were the first thing you noticed as you approached and sliced through the umbrae so close to his back as he stabbed one in front of him.

“i’m here!” he turns around as he finds you. your vision now sees clearly that he had some tears trickling down his cheek. soobin wraps his arms around you, embracing you to never let go again. seeing how this fighting affects him makes you pause your action, and you feel just how tiring it is facing them. your head instantly searched for the warmth of his shoulders as you wrapped your arms behind his back. not caring if the umbrae will reach for you and consume you whole—you can come back out from this even if you try.

but the barriers of darkness didn’t come closer. instead, it stops.

you open your eyelids to see the familiar blurriness from the many visions you have of viliya. of the old you walking around the plaza. the blurriness that makes the light slightly curved and things far away so distorted that you have to walk closer. the glow that was sticking onto the outline of your body now gone, but the blurriness has the substance of the glow, like it is expanding.

from your vision, you thought the blurriness is the uncertainty of the images you conjured.

instead, it is a shield for both soobin and you.

his sobs stop when he pulls away, finally realizing the familiar blurriness that he had also seen in his vision. he looks at you, a face full of assurance gazing back as you soothe him down with your hand by his arm. he notices that when either of you moves, some of the umbraes shatter as it still gathers to create a barrier that is being stopped by your glowing shield. you eyed him and then to the daggers in both of your hands, nodding your head as a signal for him to continue on. bringing the stained sword back beside him, you lean in and give him a peck on his lips as he answered with a small chuckle.

“CHARGE!”

a war cry sounded from outside of the barrier of umbrae as you gaze upon the large darkness. launches of arrows piercing through the darkness and chips it away. you turn your head when a gap between the barrier opens as you find lip’s determined face, double wielding rapiers in her hands as you both quickly get a grip of your weapons and continue to slice through the shadows.

as the last of it went from you both, you eyed the various citizens of viliya fighting back with their own weapons. horned people using their glow imbued blades to go through the shapes forming before them, to the winged people doing aerial attacks with their bow and arrows. a smile grows on your face as you shift to find soobin who has his own looking back at you. the two of you march as you stand beside the people, fighting away the darkness that has shrouded the island for so much time and many more that have been inside of people.

the large darkness is getting smaller and smaller, tendrils are still going out of it hastily but quickly stopped by the confidently powered viliyans. your figure approaches the source as it’s getting obliterated, chipping away by the ways it tries to fight back from the appearances of skeletons, giant spiders, and to even a mirror version of them. soobin joins you as you watched the darkness that is trying to attack you—block by your glowing shields. when it is only the last fistful of darkness there, soobin instantly stabs it with his sword, staring at it as it shifts around the blade before it drops onto the ground. your heavy breaths are the noises you heard outside of the battle, finishing outside of the barrier.

turning your body to face him, your eyes widen to see the familiar shadowy figure that haunts you behind him. and you stare at his eyes that is looking up, sensing the weight of your back as you learned of what he described of his shadow: a little boy sitting on top of your shoulders. the shadows stopped to look at you, their glowing white eyes glaring with the gaze of something that used to haunt you, but is now just a husk of fear.

dropping your dagger down beside you, you reached for soobin’s warm hands. craving his touch that comforts you through your trials and tribulations here. he doesn’t care that both of your hands are stained with the black goo, meeting his palm with yours as you finally let out the tears that you’ve been holding. and then, you suddenly cough. both of you cough as you still let your hands connect, ready to fight back against what happens to you.

you sensed something emerging from inside you as you continued to cough to let it out. your free hand in front of your lips as you spit something out. it feels heavy on your hand as you blink away the water in your eyes from the pain. the shape is jagged as you look upon a dark crystal. the core of it is a swirling raven but the outline of it is white with a glow—a wall to make the shape sturdy as ever. across from you, soobin’s hand is holding onto the same thing. the swirling substance inside looks like the one the umbrae has.

tilting your head upwards, you watched as the giant shadow behind soobin eyes the crystal in your palm. its eyes emoting for the first time—showing it getting elongated in a familiar look of joyful people as it slowly disappears. with the sound of a gasp from soobin, he finally sees the smile expression of the boy before it disappears as well, your shoulders now so light that the force of gravity tumbles you into his embrace.

the viliyans all cheer around you as you brought your arms around him, hugging him so close as you finally find the comfort of him you long to meet before finishing the war. lip and the rest of the keepers approached you. their white dresses are also stained with black substance. their eyes look at the crystals wrapped in your palm when you both pull away. that is before a white glow forms a circle behind both of you. coming from it is the familiar muffled sound of trains running on the track, people talking as they commute to their destination, and the chime of the doors.

“thank you.” jinsoul first spoke, “for coming back to us, for helping us.” you didn’t realize that there are backpack straps on them as you find yours on choerry’s back.

“it is time for you to go back to your obligations. we know it is a sudden thing for you as you both are still teenagers to face all of this.” lip added, her tight lip smile still feels so genuine as you could sense the tears brimming in your eyes. your hand is still gripping the crystal tight as you open it. soobin follows as he slowly lets the crystal in his palm slide into yours. the three keepers stand before you as well as the rest of the viliyans who looked at their leaders—courageous enough to fight at the front and motivating the rest. the boy’s hand holds onto the back of your waist.

you push your hand forward towards choerry who is looking back at you, a small pout showing on her face, “fear is always going to be here. so no need to destroy these cause fear also motivate us to continue our lives.” choerry has her palm open after you ended your words, placing it gently on it. “take good care of them. those are the fears we have to let go to continue life.”

“we sure do and...” choerry puts the crystals in her pouch before giving you your backpack. “you are always welcome to come here again. this island is yours to lead. it would be better if both of you have an input for them as well.”

“well, i trust all three of you to build viliya back. we...” soobin looks at you as you give him a small smile, “have something to do in our lives first before fully committing to viliya.”

“like graduations and all that...” you jumped in.

the three keepers look at both of you fondly as you give a smile and feel a drop of a tear falling down your cheek. lip seems to reach for her pouch and pull out the familiar pairs of black and white sleeves. “you almost forgot these,” she replies as you give a warm smile and hold the sleeves in your grasp.

with a nod, you pack your things and step closer towards the bright portal. the sight of the rest of viliyans waving their hands towards you makes you coo. even with such a short time here, many of your problems in life are solved when you just have to be brave enough to face them. and to know that there is a safe place to be uniquely you is all enough for you to have a place you can rely on. that even with no matter “normal” you are, you still have a power to change things in the world.

you turned around and faced the bright portal. looking through it, you find a vivid vision of the station where you usually wait for the seoul metro to take you home. a hand grasps into yours and the figure stood beside you, staring back at the portal as the vivid picture becomes clearer and clearer.

“will i be seeing you again?” soobin muttered as you turned your head, seeing him now looking at you.

you reach out and give him a searing kiss on his cheek, “i’m sure we will...”

both of you take a step together into the bright portal, letting the light blind and embrace you.

-

the door of the train car opens along with the familiar chime.

the passengers of seoul metro line 7 are in various outfits. from the shirts of corporate workers to the blazers of uniforms of students, the sight of elderly people who are still walking along the station to get their exercise, to the street style fashion of young adults. they decorate the sight of both the underground stations and the streets above, especially the affluent neighborhood of gangnam. it is also the sight that you see again alongside the ride from hongdae, and often see now as you tug your backpack to head back from your part-time job.

you lift your bluetooth headphones on your neck and place it on your ears, pressing play on the phone as it lets you filter out the outside sound in alongside the background music. your eyes peer up at the display now, instead of the dots have changed into screens that signals the journey along the tracks.

when the train stops at the familiar name of the station—one before cheongdam—your head already turns to the side as you watch people get in and out of the train car. your eyes searching for a specific person.

his black hair is ruffled as well as the white t-shirt he is wearing with his black tie. his hand is holding onto his phone while the other hangs on tight to his backpack. the familiar sight of him after heading back from his internship. and he turns his head to look across the set of chairs.

soobin’s eyes finding yours. and you reciprocate.

a smile adorning your face as you take a step across those seats, crossing the gap to his embrace as you head back to your home together.

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[shirecorn]

Shirecorn's Ponyverse Masterpost

So for the last 2 months I've fixated on doing redesigns based somewhat loosely on My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I've had so much fun filling in the gaps and extrapolating until my version is less of a redesign and more of an AU.

"Ponies" are three species of sentient hoofed creatures that populate Equestria. They worship giant goddesses that fill the sky and ferry the moon and sun across the world.

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#Shire draws mlp - drawings only. Leaves out the lore

#Skyscraper gods lore - drawings, posts, and asks that expand on the world. Talks about biology, genetics, ritual, society, politics, religion, but mostly creature design and magic.

#Skyscraper Gods - Art, asks, posts, and fanart! Everything to do with both my little pony canon and my version of things. Includes drawings without lore, and lore without drawings. This is the tag to browse to make sure you see it all

Characters

In progress: Discord

○ The Mane Six ○ All Alicorns,

○ Rarity ○ Fluttershy ○ Flutterbat ○ Applejack ○ Pinkie Pie ○ Pinkie Pie Pegasus ○ Rainbow Dash ○ Twilight Sparkle ○ Raritwi ○ Spike

○ Princess Celestia + Princess Luna ○ Princess Cadance + Shining Armor + Flurry Heart ○ Sunset Shimmer ○ Sunburst ○ Apple Bloom + Scootaloo + Sweetie Belle (Cutie Mark Crusaders) ○ Big Macintosh/Ochard Blossom (she is a woman) ○ Granny Smith ○ Mr & Mrs Cake + Pound Cake and Pumpkin Cake ○ Maud Pie + Mudbriar ○ Trixie Lulamoon + Starlight Glimmer ○ Cozy Glow ○ Zephyr Breeze ○ Escape Room Guy + Dusty Pages ○ Berry Punch/Berryshine ○ Vapor Trail ○ Bulk Biceps ○ Tempest Shadow ○ Flim and Flam ○ Queen Chrysalis + Thorax + Ocellus (Changelings) ○ Autumn Blaze (kirin) ○ Rain Shine (kirin leader) ○ Sky Beak (hippogriff) ○ Starcatcher and Skywishes (G3)

Lore

○ The 3 pony species ○ Breeding/genetics ○ The 4 Alicorns stories ○ Gods of non-pony species? Seapony god? ○ Unicorn Horns: Starlight physics, Different shapes, Alicorn horns, Horn colors, ○ Where did Spike come from? (1) (2) ○ Your daughter has won the favor of God (fic) ○ Nightmare moon playlist ○ Cutie marks are cultural not physical: (1) (2) ○ Starlight Glimmer's hometown and her cult ○ Alicorns don't fit inside buildings ○ Discord is a headache to behold ○ Government in the world of gods ○ Gender and matriarchy ○ Scootaloo's flightless disability ○ Equestria Girls Vs Skyscraper Gods, existential horror ○ Pinkie Pie breaks the forth wall because she hopped worlds once ○ Vampire fruit bat ecology and virus ○ How ponies caught it

Meta

○ Using Skyscraper Gods as inspiration (2) ○ Why I like expanding on MLP: its simplicity ○ MLP Creature designs are already good ○ If you don't like my designs ○ I'm just having fun: (1) (2) ○ Mane 6 doodle to finished design ○ After ponies ○ Designing based on birds and animals ○ Starcatcher dove

Shitposts and Doodles

○ My fursona in mlp style ○ Daytime! Nighttime! ○ Baby god ○ Local horse fistfights the sun ○ Shining armor alicorn ○ Sunset shimmer becomes god (2) ○ Poodle rarity ○ Zephyr Breeze thinks RD is a man ○ Season 9 ○ Why is EQ an hour long ○ Being held at gunpoint to watch Equestria Girls ○ World's gayest dash ○ 18 pounds of crake

Fanart by others

○ Fanart tag

Commissions

○ People request a lot and that normal ○ Prices are low because I'm already fixated

Ko-fi requests || Classic commissions

Shirecorn Discord

Join any tier of my patreon to access my art discord

○ See WIPs, discussion, the occasional meltdown, and more ○ The content is all done through discord, so if the patreon looks dead it's all just on the server instead.

I hope you enjoy seeing my MLP creations as much as I enjoy making them!

[thursdayinspace]

I started writing porn during my work breaks to torture my friends (as you do) and sometimes it turns into feelings, so whatever, I'll drop this here. Possibly part of a WIP now because isn't everything these days? (My poor WIP folder.)

They spent so much time apart, first because he was dead, then because he distanced himself from her after coming back, and then because he was in hiding. Now that they’re back together, they can’t stop kissing, they can’t stop touching. They’re always connected, holding hands, standing with their sides pressed together, small pecks hello or goodbye turning into long, hungry kisses, hands clawing at each other to get closer, closer, always closer.

At night they fall asleep with their legs tangled, her head on his chest, or him spooned up behind her; they fit together so perfectly. Words are still difficult. So much has happened. He feels endless guilt for leaving her alone, leaving her to deal with the fallout of their decisions all on her own. She feels guilt heavy in her heart for giving up their son, for depriving him of his chance to be a father, she feels like the destroyer of their little family.

Touch comes easier to them and they tell each other what they can’t say through letting their bodies speak for them. It’s hard and rough some nights, pure desperation, don’t ever leave me again because I’d die, mark me, make me yours, ruin me for anyone else. Most nights it’s unbearably slow and tender, laced with a melancholy sadness mixed with tentative hope growing in the shadows that hold both danger and promise. It’s apology and affirmation, I’m sorry, I love you, here’s my heart for you to keep, it’s always been yours and always will be.

She opens her legs for him and he pushes into her slowly, coming home, covering her with his body as she holds him close. He doesn’t move, just kisses her, and she kisses back. This is what they need, connection, physical metaphor for everything language can’t yet express. When he starts rolling his hips it’s slow and shallow; they’re full of need, burning with desire for release, but every time they fall over that edge it means it’s over. Until next time. And they never take next times for granted anymore. Not after everything they’ve lost.

His forehead rests against hers as they breathe each other’s air, as her hands roam his back and he fucks her so gently, with such soul-deep devotion it brings tears to her eyes as she clenches around him, holding onto him so tightly with every part of her being.

They’re still unpracticed, they’d only just started when he was taken from her, they didn’t have a chance after he returned. But they’re learning, learning each other, learning this new language. The sounds that mean they need more, or less, or that it’s perfect.

She comes first, and he knows what to do, how to move to make it good for her, to keep her coming and coming until her moans turn into whimpers through that final crest before her body goes soft under him, and only then does he let himself go, spilling into her with a broken sound escaping his throat. It’s an ending and an oath, a beginning, a confirmation of continuity: them against the world, forever. In this moment, they’re a part of each other, their combined pleasure stronger and more meaningful than any marriage vow could ever be.

He stays inside her as long as he can and they part reluctantly, only to come back together later, always. There are no guarantees, but there are promises, there’s love. They’ll make it work.