Lovely little bug

03:47

Three minutes and forty-seven seconds until the run ended.

One life and a timer with no saves or mercy.

He'd decided to spend the last of his minutes pinning you against one of the many caramel colored concrete walls of the Care Center’s west wing hall.

"Don't move," he growled, a rumble that vibrated out of his chest and into yours where it was crushed under the weight of him.

His leather jacket was left lying on the floor, boots planted wide as those arms hooked under the backs of your knees and hoisted you clean off the floor.

Back slammed against the wall and punched the air out of your lungs with no way of restoring them as his mouth crashed into yours with no finesse.

Just teeth first followed by his tongue along the hot wet shove of him in.

Strong muscular organ forcing your lips wider apart as it kept pushing, wrapping around yours and pressing flat against the roof of your mouth before dragging down along your teeth, kissing like he was trying to eat you whole.

Above his head (actually on his head, twitching and pivoting like they were picking up every sound in the building) the pair of tawny wolf ears flattened back against his hair when you whimpered into his mouth.

He liked that sound.

They pinned tighter and his throat rolled out a low purring growl, gravel-on-gravel noise that no human chest was supposed to be capable of.

"Mmmph—“ you tried to say anything, his name, maybe, but he didn't let you.

His slick and hot tongue shoved deeper, slick and hot as he tilted his head to fit his mouth harder against yours, nose mashing against the side of your own, stubble scraping your cheek and underside of your jaw, rough little burns of sensation that pricked up into pleasure every time he pressed in for more.

He pressed for more constantly.

Every time you broke to breathe he chased your mouth, caught your lower lip between his teeth and tugged before plunging his tongue back in with a low warning growl.

Your head knocked against the concrete behind from the fierce hunger he put for kisses, grounding his hips up into yours and the movement rolled your whole body up the wall a few inches.

Oh fuck, you could feel a thick, hot pressure wedged between the cheeks of your ass through the layers of fabric, nudging and insisting, grinding slow upward strokes that bullied right into your tailbone and higher.

Tail behind him, russet-brow plume of coarse fur, was whipping back and forth with manic speed, slapping against the side of his thighs and your toes located there, making soft whipping noises you could actually hear over the wet sounds of his mouth on yours.

He broke the kiss barely, his forehead stayed pressed to yours and a string of spit connected your bottom lip to his upper, breath panting hot against your mouth while his pupils were blown wolf-wide, black devouring the blue.

"Two minutes forty," he rasped, reading the clock somehow without looking at it like his ears had counted the ticks. "Clock's eatin' us."

"Leon—" you finally got the word out and it came shaky, close to half a moan as his bulge pushed up again at exactly the wrong moment and the word cracked in the middle. "Leon, the timer—"

"Yeah." Another harder roll of his hips letting you felt the large shape of him trapped behind denim and whatever thin layer of his underwear was keeping it from being skin, dragging up the cleft of your ass.

A low chuckle rolled out of his chest that sounded like a wolf who had cornered his prey.

"Don't care." His mouth dropped to your throat and he bit hard enough that the canines in his mouth, sharper than yours, dented your pulse.

He held the bite and sucked, growling into the wet seal of his lips around your neck until you felt the vibration down in your ribs. "Gonna lose? Fine. Losin' with you on my cock."

The gloves came off as he let one of your legs drop to yank the black tactical glove off his right hand with his teeth, spitting it onto the floor.

Bare palm coming back and cupping the side of your face, thumb dragging over your kiss-swollen lip and the pad of it was feverishly hot.

"Look at me."

Looking up at him, his eyes caught the red of the emergency light and threw it back.

"Good boy."

Your cock jumped so hard in your jeans you felt it slap the inside of the denim as he hitched your leg back up, reseating you on his hips so that his bulge aligned right where he wanted it.

When he pressed up, you gasped and it immediately broke into a moan when he started grinding in earnest drags of his clothed cock against the seat of your jeans, hitting that spot where the seam ran up between your cheeks and turning the pressure into torture.

"Feel that?" His voice was right against your ear now, flick of the tip of his tongue against your earlobe.

Another satisfied growl and the wolf ears on top of his head swiveled forward.

02:13

He broke off the kissing only to start work on your clothes, the leather of his jacket creaked as he shifted his grip with one massive bicep still hooked solidly under your left thigh, holding your entire weight while his freed right hand dropped between your bodies and yanked at your belt.

It gave with a clatter, button of your jeans popping, zipper hissing down in one pull.

His hand shoved inside, calloused palm hot and rough, fingers closing around your bare cock and squeezing as you keened and your head fell back against the wall with a thud you barely felt because his mouth was already at your throat again, sucking a bruise into the side of your neck while his hand started stroking, thumb dragging over the wet slit at your tip and spreading the precum down your shaft in one long slick pull.

"Leon—" His nose dragged up the side of your neck, inhaling as the ears flicked.

He could smell how turned on you were.

The idea short-circuited something in your brain and you felt yourself leak more into his palm, a hot bead of it running down the side of his thumb.

He hummed in approval, purr coming back and this time it didn't stop, a continuous low rumble coming out of him while he worked your cock with slow torturing strokes, twist at the top, drag at the base, squeeze under the head on the way up.

01:47

The countdown chirped an alert tone as he pulled his hand out of your jeans, now slick and shining with your precum, bringing it up to your mouth, two fingers pushing past your lips.

Tasting salt and musk from yourself while his fingers pressed down on your tongue, eyes watching your mouth work with hunger and ears staying forward while his tail kept lashing.

When he pulled his fingers free they came out with a wet pop right as he was shoving your and his own jeans down.

He had to let your leg drop again for a second to get the zipper done before he had you back up against the wall, legs splayed over his forearms as the hot weight of his bare cock was suddenly resting against the naked inside of your thigh.

Couldn't help but look down.

Fuck.

He was thick and veined, head already wet and shining where it had leaked against your leg.

A nest of dark blond hair at the heavy base as the weight of it rested on your skin like a brand.

lower, at the very root, something fuller and already distended, a swollen ring of flesh that hadn't been there the last time you'd seen him naked.

You stared at it for a heartbeat too long and his hips ground forward, hiding it from view.

"Eyes up here," he growled, nose bumping yours. "Eyes on me when I put it in."

His spit-wet fingers pressed between your cheeks, found your hole, circled it once before sinking the tip of one in. You jolted and he hushed you with a softer kiss, tongue sliding into your mouth in slow exploratory strokes while his finger worked its way knuckle-deeper, second knuckle and curl.

"Nngh—"

"Yeah. There it is."

Another finger as you stretched around him and he watched your face the whole time, drinking every micro-expression with predatory attention. The purring in his chest got louder and his tail had picked up speed again, hitting against the wall beside your hip constantly.

01:12

"Leon—please—"

"Please what?"

"Please—"

"Use your words, sweetheart." His fingers scissored and you sobbed. "Clock's tickin'. Tell me what you want."

"Fuck me. Please fuck me. Leon, please—"

The fingers vanished as something bitter and heat-radiating replaced them, blunt wet head of his cock pressed against your hole and his arms readjusted under your thighs, hitching you higher to angle you down.

Then he let gravity do the first half of the work.

Your own weight dragged your body down onto him inexorably as the stretch grew obscene along a burning, splitting fullness that made your mouth fall open in a silent scream.

His cock split you open inch by inch, grinding past the ring of muscle, shoving deeper and deeper until your ass finally met the base of his thighs and you were seated on him completely.

He was panting, tongue out a little and ears flicking back, purr taking a rougher tone, almost a growl now as his eyes had gone half-lidded with the effort of not just rutting into you immediately.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck. You're tight."

"Leon—"

The first thrust was upward, a hard snap of his hips that bounced you against the wall and punched the breath out of your lungs. The second was harder, by the third he had a rhythm as he was now fully fucking you, cock driving up into you over and over while his biceps held your thighs open and his mouth found yours again.

The kissing got sloppier as teeth clacked and his tongue wasn't doing technique anymore, just shoving into your mouth in time with his thrusts, fucking your mouth the same way he was fucking your ass.

High broken whimpers and gasped curses poured into his open mouth, tail on his back whipping crazily.

00:48

The countdown chirped another warning, drowned by the heavy panting against your mouth, grin of white and sharp teeth pulling up at one corner. Sharp teeth. "Hear the clock, baby?"

"Ngh—"

"Gonna lose balls-deep in you." A hard thrust and the head of his cock punched your prostate, making sparks explode behind your eyes. "Gonna lose with your ass clenchin' on me. That what you want?"

"Yes—"

"Yeah you do." Another thrust and those additional ears twitched, tail whipping harder. "Want me to fill you up while they're loggin' my death screen?"

"Leon—Leon, please—"

"Beg."

"Please, please, please, please—"

He snarled, lips pulled back off teeth and the rhythm broke into brutally deep strokes that jackhammered up into you and made your whole body bounce against the wall.

His mouth was on your throat, teeth right at your pulse as his cock was hitting that spot inside you on every single thrust.

His tail had gone wild, slapping out of rhythm with anything.

Your own hard member was trapped between your bodies, dragging back and forth against the hard ridges of his stomach where his shirt had ridden up. Every thrust ground the underside of your shaft against the cut of his abs with perfect friction and pressure.

The angle was killing you while the purr-growl in his chest had become a continuous rolling snarl and he was saying things against your neck. “Mine, take it, good boy, made for this… fuck fuck fuck.”

You came hard without warning with your whole body locked rigid in his arms and your hole clamping down on him so hard you heard him grunt, cock pulsing thick ropes of cum up between his abs and pooled hot in the dip of his navel before he ground forward and smeared it across both of you.

The mess spread up his chest, glossing the dark hair you could see in the open V of his collar, dripping back down onto your own stomach in long sticky strings.

"Fuck—" he snarled. His teeth bared. "Fuck, yeah, that's it—"

It started.

That swollen ring of flesh at the base of his cock you'd half-seen earlier was getting bigger fast, it pulsed where it pressed against your stretched rim and each one left it thicker and harder, inflating.

The width of it pressed against your hole from the outside before his next thrust shoved it past and popped it inside you, causing your whole body to seize around the sudden new fullness of it.

"Oh god—oh god, Leon, what is—"

"Shhh." His face dropped into the crook of your neck and bit down hard, canines dent on skin that held on.

Low growl in his chest had become continuous, broken only by short panted breaths against your throat, thrusts now jagged and stuttering, short hard jerks of his hips that couldn't pull out anymore because the knot wouldn't let him.

Every short stroke dragged the swollen base against the rim of your hole and the head hammered your prostate at the same time, causing you to sob into his hair, post-orgasm body wracked with aftershocks that hadn't stopped and might never do.

Couldn't help but clenching into him and dragging a helpless groan muffled into your neck, making his hips snap up one last time, burying himself to the absolute hilt and held.

The flesh at the base of him expanded inside you, ballooning out and locking against the inside of your rim with a pressure that bordered on too much before settling into a perfectly full feeling.

Bigger than anything you'd taken from him till now, distending you from the inside and pressing on your prostate from a new angle, locking the two of you together until it went down.

Spoilers: it wouldn't go down for a while.

Your weak and shaky hands found his head, scratching behind one of those ears with trembling fingers, soft and warm fur, cartilage under it twitching at your touch and the sound he made was a low, broken whine muffled into the side of your neck.

The ear pressed into your hand, tail had stopped lashing, now gone rigid behind him, fluffed out and frozen as he reached his end as well.

First pulse of it was a flood as he swelled briefly thicker, followed by so much heat. The first spurt of his cum jetted deep somewhere far inside and there was nowhere for it to go as the knot trapped every drop.

Another pulse came right behind it, followed by the next, third soon after and Leon was rumbling into your neck "good boy, takin' all of it, fuck, fuck," and you felt yourself filling, swell of it in your belly.

00:19

Warm pressure building up on the lower curve of your abdomen from load after load pumped into a space that had no exit. His cock twitched hard inside you with every pulse along the knot and the double rhythms together made your whole body shudder.

He kept coming, those pulses might have gotten weaker but they didn't stop. You stroked the back of his ear with shaking fingers and he whined again and his hips made a small involuntary jerk that ground the knot deeper and made you both moan in stereo.

00:09

00:08

00:07

The buzzer was about to drop.

"Leon…" you whispered. "Leon, the clock—"

He lifted his head from your neck, eyes unfocused with pupils still blown wide, a smear of sweat at his temple where his blond locks were sticking.

"Hold on." A faint but cocky smirk emerged on his face as his right hand left your thigh.

Your weight transferred entirely to that one massive bicep still hooked under your left leg and the knot anchoring you to him from inside.

Sudden redistribution made the knot shift inside you in a way that lit up every nerve at once.

His freed hand dropped to the small of his back.

There was a click, familiar hiss of a holster releasing and then the matte black weight of his sidearm was rising in his bare hand.

He sighted across the corridor in a single fluid motion, arm extended past your shoulder, muzzle inches from your ear and you saw what he was aiming at.

A spider the size of a dinner plate crawling up the far wall on long iridescent legs, its abdomen glittered gold.

The gunshot was deafening at that range and your ear rang, muzzle flash painting Leon's face orange for a split second and across the corridor the spider bursted while emanating a sparkle noise.

Timer increasing drastically as seventy more seconds were granted.

01:17

Leon holstered the gun one-handed without looking, smirk widening into a lazy grin against your jaw.

His tail had started moving again back and forth like a metronome.

"Well." His voice was a soft rasp. "Looks like we gotta stay just like this for a whole minute, sweetheart."

"Leon—"

He rolled his hips a fraction to make the trapped knot grind against the inner walls of your ass. "Might as well enjoy it."

His arms cinched tighter under your thighs, lifting you a fraction higher onto him and it made the knot tug at your rim from the inside in a way that made the entire load of cum he'd pumped into you slosh.

"Easy. Easy now." He peeled away from the wall and you felt every fucking step he took to carry you down the corridor with his cock still locked inside by that knot swollen and warm puddle of cum trapped behind it shifting while his balls were pressed snug to your ass.

Your spent cock, still trapped between your bodies and smearing through the mess of your earlier load on his stomach, was already trying to perk back up.

"Almost there." He murmured against your temple, smirking.

"Bastard."

He laughed lowly while the wolf ears flicked smugly forward. "Save room's right around the corner. Hang on."

He shouldered through a half-open door with a ruby placed in the center and kicked it shut behind him.

Moving close to the foosball table with you still impaled on him, he sat himself down on the edge of it. The new position settled you fully into his lap, your weight pressing down onto the knot and you whimpered as it ground deeper than it had been before.

"I gotcha." His hands skimmed up the backs of your thighs, voice gone soft, growl still there underneath, but the edges were softening.

His face dropped to your shoulder, tongue dragging up the side of your throat slowly, almost apologetic where the marks from his teeth were, purring satisfied.

You scratched behind the ear again and he shuddered, hips giving one involuntary little hitch up into you and the resultant slosh made you both groan in unison.

"Stop doin’ that or we’re gonna be here all night."

"That a threat?"

“It may not be okay to you,” it says, and for once there’s no edge to its voice. No hiss. No growl. Just something steady. Certain. “But to me… you being safe and happy is all that matters.”

You pause at that.

Actually pause.

Because the sincerity in its voice makes something ugly twist inside your chest.You stare at this creature—this thing that has done nothing but ruin your life since the moment it entered it. And suddenly the heat in your body has nowhere to go except outward.

Your chest tightens painfully as you pull away from it, climbing unsteadily from the nest to pace the edge of the smooth stone platform instead. “I was safe and happy on the boat before you decided to sink it,” you grind out, your voice shaking harder with every word.

Your bare feet slap softly against damp stone as you pace, arms wrapped tightly around yourself like you’re trying to hold your own body together. “I was safe before you decided that I wasn’t happy enough for you, and that you could make me happier even if it meant killing—and eating—everyone I knew.”

Your throat burns.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you spit, turning sharply to glare at it.

It hasn’t moved from where you left it.

Still kneeling partly in the water, watching you with those glowing eyes.

“And while I can give you some leeway because you don’t understand human customs—saying that you can make me happier than my own family is where I draw the fucking line.”

Your voice cracks at the word family. Pain flashes across your face before you can stop it. “If my heart ended up broken, I could’ve gone to my mom for comfort.” Your chest heaves. “My friends would’ve made me forget about it in a matter of days. We would’ve drank shitty wine and talked shit about him until I stopped caring.”

Your laugh comes out broken. Bitter. “But you didn’t give me that chance.”The tears come before you realize they’re there. Hot against your skin.“You killed them.”Your voice drops lower then, rough and trembling.

“You are the one who killed my happiness. Not that fucking rich prick I almost married.” You jab a finger toward it accusingly. “You didn’t give him the chance to ruin it. You killed him before he could.”

Silence.

Complete silence.

Even the bioluminescent glow in the water seems dimmer somehow.

You expect anger. Defensiveness. A hiss. A growl. Something. But it gives you nothing. It just… looks at you. And for the first time since you’ve known it, it looks genuinely lost. Not confused by your words. Not unable to understand them. But like it genuinely does not know how to fix what you’ve just said.

Slowly, it lowers its gaze. Its claws curl slightly against the stone beneath it. You mourn them still,” it says quietly. Not dismissive. Not mocking. Just… realizing it. As if some part of it truly believed that enough comfort, enough gifts, enough devotion could erase grief entirely.

Your laugh is wet and miserable. “Of course I fucking mourn them.” You wipe angrily at your face. “They were my family.”

Its throat works slightly. And then, quieter than you’ve ever heard it—“I did not understand.”That makes something in you snap. “You should’ve.”The words echo through the cave.

“You should’ve understood that people matter! That they aren’t just things you can take because you decided you wanted me!”Your breathing comes hard now, shoulders shaking with the force of it all. “You don’t get to decide what happiness means for me!”

It finally moves then. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal.

“You are right,” it says. The words hit harder than if it argued. Your breath catches. Its eyes stay fixed on you as it rises higher from the water. “I was selfish.”

Its voice roughens around the admission. “I saw your pain and thought only of ending it. I saw someone unworthy of you and believed removing him would solve everything.”

Its claws flex weakly. “In my kind, that is love. Protection. Possession.”

It looks almost ashamed saying it now. “But humans…”It exhales sharply through its teeth. “You carry your dead with you.”

The cave falls quiet again.Your chest aches painfully. Because yes. Yes you do. Every human does. And maybe that was the one thing this ancient creature never understood. That grief doesn’t disappear just because new happiness is offered in its place.

That love and mourning can exist together. That you can love it and still hate what it did to you. Its gaze softens slightly as it watches you cry. And this time when it reaches toward you, it stops before touching you.

Waiting.

Giving you the choice.

“I cannot return what I took,” it says softly. A horrible sort of honesty. “But if I could carve open my own chest and give them back to you, I would.”

Your breath stutters. “I know saying sorry means little to humans after death.” Its voice grows quieter still.

“But I am sorry.”

Its gaze doesn’t waver from yours.

“I can make you happy,” it continues, softer now, like it’s offering something instead of declaring it. “Or I can at least try.”

A pause.

“All you have to do… is let me.”The sincerity in its voice hits somewhere deep. Uncomfortably deep. Because it doesn’t sound like it’s lying. It doesn’t sound manipulative. It sounds like it believes it. Completely. And somehow—That makes it worse.

Your jaw tightens, your nails digging into your palms as something sharp and frustrated builds in your chest. Because it’s standing there—after everything—after everything it just admitted—and it still thinks this can be fixed.

That this can be… good. “Fine,” you snap, the word breaking out of you before you can stop it. Your voice echoes, louder than anything else that’s filled this cave.

“You think you can make me so happy?” you continue, stepping closer without realizing it, anger pushing you forward. “Do it.”

It doesn’t move.

It just watches you. “Make me happy,” you shout, the words cracking at the edges now, frustration bleeding into something more fragile. Something more raw.

“I’d love to see you try.”

Your chest rises and falls quickly, your breath uneven as you glare at it, every inch of you tense, braced—waiting. For what, you don’t even know. For it to fail? For it to finally understand?

For it to stop?

“Make me happy,” you grind out again, quieter this time but no less intense, your gaze locked onto its glowing eyes. And then—you see it. The shift. Subtle. But unmistakable. Its expression changes.

Not confusion.

Not hesitation.

Something else. Something… brighter. Your stomach drops. Because it looks—happy. Not in the way a human would be.

Not soft or relieved.

But pleased. Deeply, undeniably pleased. Like you’ve just given it something it’s been waiting for. For a long time. Its tail stirs beneath the water, a slow, controlled movement that sends ripples outward, the faint glow along its body seeming to pulse just a little brighter.

“You are allowing me,” it says quietly.

Not asking.

Understanding.

Accepting.

Your breath stutters. That’s not what you— “I will,” it continues, voice lowering, something almost reverent slipping into it now. “I will make you happy.”

A promise.

Not a challenge. Not a doubt. A promise. It moves closer. Slow this time. Intentional. Like it doesn’t want to startle you—like it’s learned that much at least.

Its hand lifts, hovering near you for just a moment before settling lightly against your cheek, tilting your face just enough so you can’t look away. “You will not feel pain like that again,” it murmurs. “I will not allow it.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs. Its thumb brushes just beneath your eye—where your tears had been earlier, where they still threaten now.

“I will give you everything you require.”

A pause. Then softer—“And everything you do not yet know you need.” Your breath catches. Because the way it says it—It doesn’t sound like a threat.

It sounds like devotion. Something you have never had before.

Complete.

Unyielding.

Terrifying.

Its hand lingers for just a second longer before pulling back slowly, like it’s reluctant to lose the contact. But it does. And despite everything—every thought, every memory, every reason you shouldn’t—You miss it.

The realization hits almost immediately.

Sharp.

Unwelcome.

Your stomach clenches as your gaze drops, your fingers twitching faintly at your sides like they don’t know what to do without something there—without it there. You hate that.

You hate how quickly your body betrays you. Because the moment you look back at it—You remember. Just how inhumanly beautiful it is. The faint glow beneath its skin, the way its eyes catch the dim light of the cave, the sharpness of its features softened only by the way it looks at you—like you’re something precious. Something worth everything it’s done.

Your chest aches. because you know—you know— If things were different…If it hadn’t done what it did—if it hadn’t taken everything from you in the name of loving you—you could have fallen.

Easily.

Dangerously.

You can see it so clearly it makes your throat tighten. The attention. The devotion. The way it learns you, watches you, adjusts itself for you.

No hesitation. No doubt. Just… certainty. And that’s the problem. Because even now—Even knowing what it is. What it’s done. Your heart stutters anyway.

Weak.

Confused.

Your fingers curl into your palms, grounding yourself as your jaw tightens, trying to push the feeling down before it can take root. Because you know how this ends. You know where this goes. You’re alone. Isolated.

And it’s the only thing here.

The only voice.

The only presence.

The only touch.

And if it keeps going like this— if it keeps looking at you like that, speaking to you like that, giving and giving and giving—your resistance won’t last forever.

It can’t.

Humans aren’t built for that. Your heart will bend. Slowly. Reluctantly. Until one day—It won’t feel like bending at all. It’ll feel natural.

Wanted.

And that thought terrifies you more than anything else. Because no matter how much you fight it—no matter how much you want to hate it—you can already feel it starting.

That subtle shift. That dangerous pull. And one day—your heart won’t just flutter for it.

It’ll choose it.

——

After that day, things shift. Not all at once.

Not in any way you can point to and say this is where it changed. But something does. And once you notice it—you can’t unsee it. It tries harder. That’s the first thing. More deliberate. More attentive. Like it’s taken your words—make me happy—and carved them into something permanent. Something it measures itself against.

It brings you more.

More gifts. Not just the strange, glittering things from the ocean floor, but things you can actually use. Clothes in different textures, different styles. Softer fabrics. Warmer ones. Things that almost feel like they were chosen with thought—like it’s learning your preferences the more you exist here.

And the food—It changes too. Fish is no longer the only option. It starts bringing crabs, cracking their shells open for you before handing them over. Shrimp, peeled with careful precision. Things that feel closer to what you used to eat—what you remember eating.

What you used to be. And slowly—without realizing when it started—you stop flinching every time it gets close. You stop watching it like it’s something that might snap at any second.

You stop… expecting the worst. It happens in small moments. You laugh once—quiet, surprised at yourself—when it says something unintentionally funny, misunderstanding a phrase, or repeating something you said earlier in the wrong context.

You freeze after. Like you’ve done something wrong. But it doesn’t react badly. If anything—it seems… pleased.

Encouraged.

And after that—It happens again.And again. You smile when it returns from hunting. Not every time. But enough that you notice.

Enough that it notices too.

Its movements grow lighter when it sees it, its presence less heavy, less overwhelming—like it’s learned that this is something good. Something it should seek out. And the realization creeps in, slow and suffocating—this is easy.

Too easy.

This—this quiet routine, this constant presence, this unwavering attention—this is what you wanted.

With him.

With your fiancé. A life where you were chosen. Where you were cared for. Where you didn’t have to question where you stood.

And now—you have it.

Just not with the person you were supposed to. With the thing that took him from you. The thing that ate him. Your stomach twists every time that thought resurfaces.

But it doesn’t stop the rest of it.

It laughs sometimes. Or at least—its version of laughing. A trill.Soft. Warbled. Strange—but not unpleasant. You find yourself recognizing the sound, learning the difference between its curiosity, its satisfaction, and its amusement. Learning it. And it learns you. What you like. What you don’t. When to come closer. When to give you space. It supplies you with everything. Clothes. Food. Water.

Comfort.

Stability.

Consistency.

Things you didn’t realize you were starving for until you had them. And the worst part—the most dangerous part—i s how your body responds. Every time it looks at you, something in your stomach flutters. Every time it touches you—brief, careful, almost reverent—your heart stumbles in your chest like it’s trying to catch up. You tell yourself it’s nothing.

A reaction.

A result of being isolated. Of having no one else. You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything.

Because if it does—if you let yourself believe it does—then everything else becomes harder to hold onto.

Your anger.

Your grief.

Your reasons.

So you push it down.

Ignore it.

Pretend it isn’t happening. But if you weren’t so determined to fight it—if you weren’t so focused on not letting it win—you might have noticed sooner…just how deep you’ve already fallen.

——

The day starts like any other.

You wake slowly, consciousness pulling you up from sleep in uneven waves, your body still heavy, still warm from the nest beneath you. For a moment, you don’t move. You just breathe—slow, steady—listening to the familiar silence of the cave.

You can feel it already .

That presence.

Watching.

Your eyes open, and there it is.

It’s already awake. Of course it is.

It always is.

Perched just at the edge of the briny pool, half-submerged, half-sprawled across the smooth stone, its glowing eyes fixed on you like you’re the first thing it wanted to see. Like you’re the only thing it ever wants to see.

You’ve gotten used to it.

Mostly.

It doesn’t make your heart race in fear anymore. Not like it used to. Now it just makes something else stir.

Something quieter.

Something more dangerous.

Your gaze drifts past it briefly—and lands on your breakfast.

Still alive.

Of course it is.

The crab in its grasp struggles weakly, legs twitching, claws snapping uselessly at the air as it tries to escape.“You wake,” it says, voice low, steady—like it’s been waiting for that exact moment. You push yourself up slightly, rubbing at your eyes as you sit upright, your hair a mess, your thoughts still slow to catch up.

It doesn’t wait.

With practiced ease, it cracks the crab in half. The sound is sharp, echoing faintly off the cave walls, followed by the quiet, efficient way it begins to clean it—discarding the shell, separating what you can eat from what you can’t.

It’s careful.

Always careful with you.

“Hurry,” it murmurs, handing the prepared pieces over, its claws brushing your fingers for only a second longer than necessary. “Eat.”You take it automatically, the warmth of the food grounding, familiar at this point.

“We have plans today.” You nod without thinking, already bringing the food to your mouth, your body moving on habit more than anything else.

But then—the words catch up to you.

Plans.

Your chewing slows.

Your brows knit together slightly as you glance back up at it.

“…plans?” you repeat, voice rough from sleep.

It’s already watching you again.

It always is.

There’s something different in the way it looks at you now, though. Something… expectant. Almost eager.

Your stomach twists. “What do you mean—” you start, lowering the food slightly, confusion creeping in. It cuts you off before you can finish. A small shake of its head. A quiet, firm grunt. “Eat.”

The word is softer this time—but no less final. Your lips press together. You hesitate. Then sigh quietly and take another bite, though your mind is no longer on the food. Plans. You can’t remember the last time you had plans. Anything beyond this cave. Beyond the routine.

Eat. Sleep. Talk. Watch. Repeat.

Your eyes flick back up to it again, suspicion and curiosity mixing uneasily in your chest.

It notices.

Of course it does.

But it doesn’t explain.

Doesn’t elaborate.

It just watches you eat, patient—waiting for you to finish like whatever it has planned can’t start until you do. And for the first time since you’ve been here—you feel something unfamiliar settle in your chest.

Not fear.

Not quite.

Something lighter.

Something uncertain.

Anticipation.

“Come. Get in the water,” it says, holding its hands out toward you. You glance down at your clothes before looking back at it, brows furrowing.

“I don’t have to—”

“No.”

It cuts you off before you can even finish. “Get in the water,” it repeats, more firmly this time, staring you down.

You huff softly, crossing your arms.

“I don’t know… anyone who’s ever gotten into the water after being told to by a siren or something never comes back out.” Its brows knit together at that, clearly not understanding. After all, you’ve gotten into the pool with it plenty of times—washing yourself, letting it help you even.

Moments you secretly look forward to.

If only for the excuse to feel its touch.

“Get in,” it grunts again, frustration slipping into its tone.

You roll your eyes.

“Fine,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from your nest. You make your way over carefully, steps slow and uneven against the smooth rock so you don’t slip. But the moment you reach the edge— It moves. Grabbing you with ease, like you weigh nothing, pulling you straight into its space.

A small gasp leaves you as your body presses against its, your hands instinctively bracing against its chest. Up close, it’s… overwhelming. You’re not exactly small by human standards, but compared to it—You feel tiny.

You hate how much you like that.

“Can’t you at least tell me what we’re doing?” you ask, glancing up at it, trying to ignore how close it is. Its gaze lingers on you for a moment.

Then—“You need sunlight, no?”

The words hit you all at once. Your breath stutters, your fingers tightening where they press against it, your body going still in its hold. “You—” you blink up at it, searching its face like you misheard. “You’re taking me… up?” It watches you carefully, like it’s gauging your reaction—like your answer matters more than anything else right now. A slow nod. “Yes.”

Simple.

Like it’s obvious.

Like it was always going to happen.

Your chest tightens painfully.

Because you did say that.

You remember it clearly—frustrated, angry, desperate for something normal. You told it you needed sunlight, needed something other than this endless dark or you’d die here.

And it—It listened.

It remembered.

It’s doing something about it.

Your throat feels dry.

“…and you’re just now telling me?” you mutter, though there’s no real bite to it, your voice quieter than you intended.

It tilts its head slightly, confused by the tone rather than the words. “You said you needed it,” it replies, like that’s the only explanation required. Like your needs are reason enough. Your gaze drops for a second, your thoughts tangling over themselves in a way you don’t like.

Because that shouldn’t matter.

It shouldn’t feel like anything.

But it does.

You swallow, forcing your attention back to the present—to the fact that you are currently being held against something that could drag you into the depths without effort. “…and I’m supposed to just trust you with that?” you ask, glancing back up at it.

“You are with me.”

The way it says it—so certain. So absolute.

It makes your stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with fear. You huff softly, rolling your eyes just a bit, even as your grip on it tightens slightly. “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” you mumble under your breath.

Another pause.

Then a quiet trill.

Amusement. It shifts its hold on you, one arm firm around your waist, pulling you closer—closer than necessary, your chest pressing against it, your breath catching at the sudden proximity. “You will not drown,” it says, softer now, like it’s trying to reassure you. “I will not allow it.”Your heart stumbles. There’s something about the way it says things like that—like it’s not a promise.

Like it’s a fact.

“…you better not,” you mutter, but there’s no real resistance left in your voice now. Not when your curiosity is already getting the better of you. Not when the thought of sunlight is sitting heavy in your chest. You barely have time to brace yourself before it moves.

Fast. The water surges up around you as it pulls you in completely, the cold rushing over your skin as your breath catches instinctively, your arms wrapping tighter around it without thinking.

It doesn’t stop.

It dives.

Then shifts—upward.

Your ears pop faintly, your lungs tightening as the darkness of the cave begins to fade the further it takes you, the faint glow replaced by something else.

Something brighter.

Something warmer.

Light.

Real light.

Your heart pounds harder as it grows, your body tense, your mind racing—until suddenly—you break through the surface. Air hits your lungs in a sharp gasp, your head spinning slightly as brightness floods your vision, forcing your eyes shut for a second before you blink them open again. The sky stretches endlessly above you.

Blue.

So blue.

It’s blinding.

After so long in darkness— It’s blinding. Your breath comes out shaky as you take it in. The ocean moves differently out here—wide, open, endless. Nothing like the cave. Nothing like the life you’ve been trapped in. “…oh,” you breathe, barely more than a whisper. Behind you, it holds you easily, one arm wrapped around you to keep you afloat.

“You like it,” it murmurs near your ear.

You don’t answer right away.

Instead, you stare at it—really stare at it.

This is the closest you’ve ever been, face to face, with nothing between you but the space you haven’t dared to close. And now—now even that feels too far. It’s beautiful. Not in the way humans are. Not in any way you can explain without it sounding wrong. It’s something deeper. Sharper. Something that feels like it was never meant to be seen this close, this clearly—like staring too long might burn the image into you permanently.

And maybe it already has.

Your breath comes out uneven.

“Yeah,” you pant softly—though you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to anymore.

The word barely leaves your lips before you’re moving.

Before you can think.

Before you can stop yourself.

You hesitate just inches away, your lips hovering over its—your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure it can hear it, feel it, taste it in the water around you.

There’s a moment.

A fragile, breakable moment—and then you close the distance.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like you’re testing something you don’t fully understand. Your lips press against its.

It reacts. Immediately.

Its hand comes up, claws gentle despite what they are, cradling the back of your head as it presses you closer, deeper into it.

A soft, unfamiliar sound leaves it— a trill.

Low. Vibrating.

It hums through you, through your chest, your lungs, settling somewhere deep inside you in a way that makes your breath hitch. Another follows. And another.

Not quite human. Not quite anything you’ve ever heard before.

But you understand it anyway.

You feel it. Its grip tightens just slightly, not enough to hurt—just enough to keep you there, to make sure you don’t pull away too soon. And you don’t. You don’t want to. For a moment—you forget everything else.

The cave.

The ship.

The people you lost.

What it did.

What it is.

All of it fades under the weight of this—this strange, consuming closeness.

Until—you feel it.

That shift.

That awareness creeping back in.

You’re not alone. You pull back just slightly, breath uneven as your eyes flick away—and land on them. Shapes in the water.

Multiple.

Watching.

Your stomach drops.

Its cove.

They followed. They’re all there—just beneath the surface, their glowing eyes fixed on you, their expressions unmistakable even from a distance.

Glee.

Excitement.

Approval.

Like they’ve just witnessed something important. Something expected. Your breath stutters as you freeze, your body suddenly too aware, too exposed under their gaze.

Slowly—you look back at it.

And it’s still close.

Still holding you.

Still watching you like you’ve just given it everything it’s ever wanted. Your cheeks burn as it sinks in—what you just did. What you let happen. This is supposed to be your enemy.

Not—not this.

“Sorry,” you mutter quickly, the word slipping out before you can stop it. You glance away from it, eyes darting up to the open sky like it might somehow steady you, ground you back into something familiar.

You swallow. “It was just— I was just…”Overwhelmed. That’s what you settle on.

That’s what you tell yourself. The sun, the air, the freedom—after so long in that cave, anyone would react like that. Anyone would lose their head for a second.

It doesn’t mean anything.

It can’t mean anything. You cling to that.

Desperately. “Is there a way for me to… um, stretch out?” you ask after a moment, your voice a little too casual, a little too forced. It’s a stupid question.

You’re surrounded by nothing but open water, endless in every direction. You could stretch out however you want. But that’s not really what you’re asking. You just—need to say something. Anything. To break whatever that was. To put space back between you.

It doesn’t question it.

“Of course,” it replies easily. And before you can even process what it means— It moves.

Its body shifts beneath you, long and fluid, stretching out across the surface of the water with effortless grace. Its tail extends behind it, cutting through the waves while its upper body steadies, creating a solid, unmoving base beneath you. And then—It guides you.

Carefully.

Lifting you just enough to reposition you until you’re lying across it.

On top of it.

Your breath catches.

Because it’s… stable. More stable than you expected. Its body beneath you is firm, unmoving despite the gentle sway of the ocean around you, its arms settling lightly at your sides—not trapping you, just… there.

Holding.

Supporting.

Your hands press lightly against it at first, unsure, testing

But when it doesn’t shift, doesn’t drop you—You slowly relax.

Stretching out.

Actually stretching out.

Your muscles pull and loosen in ways they haven’t in days—maybe longer—your back arching slightly as a quiet sigh slips past your lips without permission.

The sun warms your skin.

The breeze brushes against you.

The ocean rocks you gently.

And beneath you—It stays perfectly still. Like it was made for this. Like it was made to hold you. Your eyes flutter shut for just a second.

Just a second.

But it’s enough for something in your chest to loosen. To soften. And when you open them again, you don’t look at it. You look at the sky.

Because that’s easier.

Because if you look at it right now—you’re not sure what you’ll feel. You’re not sure if you can even handle how you feel.

It’s too much.

Too tangled.

Too… wrong.

You’ve been with this creature for—what? Weeks? Months? Years? You don’t know. Time doesn’t exist the same way down there. There’s no sun to rise or set, no clock ticking away in the background, no reminders that the world is still moving without you.

Just it.

And you.

Over and over again.

At first, you counted. You tried to keep track—marking time by its hunting trips, by how often you slept, by how many times it brought you food or gifts or something new to fill the emptiness.

But eventually…you stopped.

Because it didn’t matter.

Because there was nothing to count toward. And now—now you’re here. Lying on top of it, stretched out under an open sky you haven’t seen in what feels like a lifetime, your body warm, your mind quieter than it’s been in…too long. Your chest rises slowly, your fingers curling slightly where they rest against it, feeling the subtle strength beneath your touch.

You should hate this.

You should hate it.

After everything it did.

After everything it took.

But the longer you stay here—the harder that becomes. Because it hasn’t hurt you. Not once.

It feeds you.

Clothes you.

Listens to you.

Remembers what you need before you even say it again. Looks at you like you’re… everything. And that’s dangerous. Because part of you—a small, quiet, traitorous part—is starting to lean into it. Your throat tightens slightly at the thought. So you speak. Before you can think too hard about it.

“How long has it been…?” you ask softly, your voice almost getting lost in the sound of the waves.

You swallow.

“…since, um… everything?”You don’t say it. You don’t have to.

The ship.

The sinking.

Your life before all of this.

It knows.

You feel the shift beneath you.

Subtle. Its body stills just a bit more, like the question settles deeper than the others you’ve asked. For a moment—It doesn’t answer. The ocean moves around you both, gentle, endless, the sun warm against your skin as the silence stretches just long enough to make your chest tighten again.

Then—“Time moves differently below,” it says slowly.

Carefully.

Like it’s choosing its words in a way it usually doesn’t. “We do not measure it as you do.” That doesn’t help. You frown slightly, turning your head just enough to glance down at it.

“…that’s not really an answer.” Another pause.

Longer this time.

Like it’s thinking.

Like it’s trying.

“If I were to speak in a way you understand…” it begins again, quieter now, “it has been… many cycles of your sun.” Your brows knit. “How many is many?”Its gaze shifts briefly—up toward the sky, like it’s using it to measure something it rarely pays attention to.

Then back to you.

“…more than you would consider short,” it says.

“And less than you would consider a lifetime.”

That doesn’t make you feel better. If anything—it makes your chest feel heavier. Because that means…you’ve been gone long enough for things to change. For people to move on. For the world you knew to keep spinning without you. Your fingers curl slightly against it. “…so I’ve just been gone,” you murmur, more to yourself than to it.

Forgotten.

Buried.

A tragedy people talked about for a while before letting it fade into something distant.

Its hand moves then—slow, deliberate—resting lightly against your side. “You have not been gone,” it says. There’s something in its voice. Something firm. Something that doesn’t allow for argument.

“You have been with me.”Your breath hitsches.

You don’t know why that hits the way it does. But it does. Your gaze shifts away again, back to the sky, because that’s easier than looking at it right now.

“…that’s not the same thing,” you whisper.

But it doesn’t respond. It just stays there beneath you—steady, unmoving, present. Like it has nowhere else it would rather be. And the worst part is—you’re starting to feel the same way. Not that you’ll ever admit that.

Not out loud.

Not to it.

Not even to yourself, really. You let the thought pass as quickly as it came, burying it beneath everything else you should be feeling instead.

Anger.

Grief.

Resentment.

Those are safer. Those make more sense.

So you hold onto those—even as you stay right where you are.

You spend a few more minutes like that, stretched out across it, letting the warmth of the sun sink into your skin. It’s different up here. Alive in a way the cave never is. The light shifts slowly, the gold bleeding into softer hues, the sky deepening as the sun begins its descent.

You watch it.

Really watch it.

Like you’re afraid if you blink, it’ll be gone again for another unknowable stretch of time.

The warmth fades gradually, slipping away little by little until all that’s left is a gentle heat clinging to your skin, a memory of something brighter. Your chest tightens unexpectedly. Because you missed this. More than you realized. More than you let yourself think about.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. The words come out before you can stop them. Before you can question them. Before you can take them back. And for a moment—you don’t even know why you said it. Because it doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense.

This thing—this creature—it ruined your life. Took everything from you. Left you with nothing but itself. And yet—right now—with the sky stretching endlessly above you and the last of the sunlight warming your skin—you feel…Grateful.

The realization makes something twist uncomfortably in your chest. Because you shouldn’t feel that. You know you shouldn’t.

But you do anyway.

And you hate that. Hate how easily it slips in. How natural it feels. It doesn’t respond with words. It rarely does, when things get like this. Instead—Its head dips, brushing against you, its nose nudging just behind your ear in a soft, almost absent gesture.

A nuzzle.

Instinctive.

Affectionate.

The contact is cool compared to your warmed skin, sending a small shiver down your spine despite yourself. A low trill follows, quieter than before, softer—something that hums against you rather than through you.

You don’t pull away.

You don’t tell it to stop.

You just… stay there.

Watching as the sun finally dips below the horizon, the last sliver of light disappearing into the ocean. Darkness begins to creep back in.

Slow.

Inevitable.

But this time—it doesn’t feel as suffocating.

Not with it still beneath you.

Not with its presence grounding you in a way the light just did. And that thought—that quiet, dangerous thought—lingers long after the sun is gone. “We should head back,” you whisper, your voice quieter than you intend—strained, pulled tight by something you don’t quite have the words for. It’s not just the fading light. It’s not just the cold slowly replacing the sun’s warmth.

It’s something deeper.

Something heavier.

The kind of feeling that settles in your chest and refuses to be named. It doesn’t move right away. “You do not want to,” it says softly, like it already knows the answer before you even give it.

Its tail flicks lazily beneath the surface, sending a small splash of water up over both of you. The droplets cling to your skin, cool against the lingering warmth, and you blink at the sensation. For a brief, almost ridiculous moment, you think—This must be what it feels like to sit on a whale. The thought nearly makes you laugh.

Nearly.

But the feeling in your chest is too thick for it to fully form. Your fingers curl slightly against it instead. “No,” you admit, the word breaking softer than you expect. A small, pathetic sound slips past your lips as you sniff, your throat tightening. You don’t want to go back.

Not to the cave.

Not to the dark.

Not to the place where time doesn’t exist and the world feels so… small. Up here, everything feels endless.

Open.

Free.

And you know—the second you go back, that feeling will disappear again. Swallowed whole by stone and shadow. “But we have to,” you continue, forcing the words out like they make sense, like they’re logical, like they’re not just you trying to brace yourself before you lose something you barely got to have.

“There’s no point in staying. The sun has set after all.” Your voice wavers at the end despite your efforts. You swallow hard, blinking rapidly as you stare out at the horizon—now dark, the last traces of light completely gone.

“Let’s go back home.”

The word feels strange on your tongue.

Home.

You don’t know why you said it. You don’t know if you meant it.

But it’s out there now.

And it hears it. You feel the shift immediately.

Subtle—but there. Its hold on you tightens just slightly, not enough to trap you, just enough to acknowledge what you said. To hold onto it. For a moment, it doesn’t move. Like it’s giving you time. Like it’s letting you change your mind.

Or maybe…

Like it’s memorizing this. The way you look under the open sky. The way you sound when you say home and mean somewhere it exists.

Then—It hums.

Low.

Soft.

Something almost content slipping into the sound. “As you wish,” it murmurs. And this time— It doesn’t hesitate. Its body shifts beneath you, fluid and powerful, turning effortlessly in the water. One arm secures itself around you more firmly, pulling you closer against its chest as the other cuts through the surface.

“Hold,” it says quietly.

You don’t argue.

You can’t.

Your arms wrap around it instinctively, fingers gripping tighter than before—like you’re afraid of something, though you’re not sure what. The ocean moves differently now. Faster. The calm surface giving way to the pull of depth as it dives.

The last thing you see is the dark sky above—Endless.

Distant.

Before it disappears. Swallowed by the sea.

Cold rushes over you as you’re pulled under, the light fading quicker this time, your body pressing closer to it as your lungs instinctively tense.

But it’s there.

Steady.

Unyielding.

Guiding you back down.

Back to where it waits.

Back to the place you called home.

And as the faint glow of the cave begins to reappear in the distance—you realize something that makes your chest tighten all over again. You didn’t say that just to comfort it.

You said it because…a part of you meant it.

——

After the kiss, things were… different.

Subtle at first.

Then not so subtle at all.

Something had shifted between you—something unspoken, something neither of you addressed, yet both of you seemed to understand. The air felt heavier.

Warmer.

Charged in a way you didn’t quite know how to name.

It lingered in every glance, every touch, every moment where silence stretched just a little too long. Bathing became… complicated. What used to be careful—almost clinical—changed. Before, it kept its distance, movements slow and deliberate, always mindful of you, always giving you space like it feared crossing some invisible line.

Now—now it stayed close.

Too close.

Its body pressing lightly against your back as its clawed hands worked the liquid soap over your skin, spreading it in slow, thorough strokes. The slick glide of its touch, paired with the faint drag of its claws, sent unfamiliar shivers down your spine. Its scales brushed against you more often now.

Soft.

Unexpectedly soft.

They grazed your skin with every small movement, smooth and cool, yet somehow warming the longer they lingered. You told yourself it was accidental. That it didn’t understand. That this was just how it was. But deep down—you knew better. Because it watched you.

Always.

Closer now. More attentive.

Like it was studying every reaction, every breath, every slight shift in your body. And you hated—how aware of it you were.

Outside of that, it touched you more too. Not in ways that frightened you. Not like before, when every movement felt overwhelming and inescapable. Now it was… softer. Intentional. A hand resting on your shoulder when it spoke. Fingers brushing yours when it handed you food. A lingering touch at your wrist, your arm, your back—never enough to trap you, but enough to remind you it was there.

That it was there.

Sometimes—it would ask.

“May I?”

Its voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant in a way that didn’t suit something so powerful. You always knew what it meant. Your nest.

Your space.

Closer.

And sometimes—you said yes.

You didn’t know why. Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was the way it looked at you when it asked—like your answer actually mattered.

Or maybe…

Maybe it was because you were starting to want it there. On those nights, it would climb up behind you, careful despite its size, adjusting itself so you were comfortably settled against it. Half of its tail would remain in the water, shifting slowly beneath the surface, while the rest of it curved around you. Its arms would wrap around you—secure, firm, but never tight enough to hurt. Just enough to hold you.Like you were something fragile.

Something important.

Something it couldn’t afford to lose. At first, you stayed tense. Rigid in its hold. Waiting for the moment it would become too much. But it never did. It only… stayed.

Still.

And eventually—you relaxed.

Just a little.

Enough to let your weight rest against it.

Enough to let your breathing even out. On nights where sleep refused to come, when your thoughts grew too loud in the dark, it would do something else.

Something new.

It would sing.

Softly.

Low, melodic trills weaving into something almost hauntingly beautiful. Not quite a human song, not bound by words or structure, but something deeper—something that resonated in your chest, in your bones.

You didn’t understand it.

But you felt it.

And slowly—your body would loosen.

Your thoughts would quiet. And you would fall asleep to the sound of it, wrapped in something that should’ve terrified you—but didn’t. Not anymore.

And that was the problem.

Because despite all of it—despite the warmth, the closeness, the way your body had begun to respond instead of resist—you never kissed it again.

You couldn’t.

That moment…it felt too final. Too real. Like crossing a line you wouldn’t be able to uncross. Because if you did—if you let yourself do that again—then you’d have to face what this was becoming. What you were becoming. And you weren’t ready for that. But just because you weren’t ready—didn’t mean it wasn’t.

Rafayel—your creature—was patient.

It had to be.

Patience was what made it a good hunter. What allowed it to wait in the dark, unmoving, unseen, until the perfect moment to strike. What allowed it to gather its kin, to plan, to execute something as massive as sinking a ship without rushing, without error. Patience meant survival. Patience meant control. But with you—that patience began to thin.

Not gone.

Never gone.

But strained.

Stretched tighter than it had ever been before. Because you had kissed it.

And that…that meant something.

It knew that much.

It had learned enough about humans—about you—to understand that. Kissing was not meaningless to your kind. It was not something given freely, not something done without thought. It was reserved. Intentional.

For mates. For those you wished to be mated to.

And you—you had done that. You had leaned into it. Closed the distance. Pressed your lips to its like you wanted to. Like you chose to. And yet—you never did it again. You pulled back. Hesitated. Built walls where there hadn’t been any before. It didn’t understand that.

Not fully.

Because in its world—things were simple.

You wanted something?

You took it. You claimed it.

There was no waiting, no questioning, no hesitation born from doubt or fear or morality. Its kind did not hold back. They did not deny themselves. To hesitate was to risk losing. To fear was to invite death.

And yet—here it was.

Holding back.

For you.

It watched you constantly, more than before. Not in the same distant, observing way it once had—but closer. Sharper.

Studying.

Learning.

Trying to understand why you pulled away from something it knew you felt. Because it could feel it. In the way your body responded to its touch. In the way your breath shifted when it got too close. In the way your heart betrayed you every time it held you just a little longer than necessary. You wanted it.

It was sure of that. But you restrained yourself. Caged it behind something it could not see, could not touch, could not tear apart the way it would any other obstacle. And that frustrated it.

Deeply.

Its tail would flick sharper when you turned away too quickly. Its hands would linger longer when you let it touch you, like it was testing how far it could go before you pulled back again. Its voice would drop, quieter, more controlled—like it was forcing itself to remain calm. Because it didn’t want to hurt you. That much was… undeniable. Humans were fragile.

You were fragile.

Soft in ways its kind was not. Your skin bruised easily. Your bones could break. Your body could be damaged with far less force than it was used to exerting. It had learned that early.

The way it handled you—careful.

Measured.

Always aware of the strength it held back. Because it would be so easy to harm you.

Too easy.

And that thought alone was enough to keep its restraint intact. For now. So it stayed gentle. Even as something deeper in it stirred.

Even as that instinct—ancient and unyielding—pushed against the limits it had set for your sake. Even as it watched you lie beside it, just within reach—close enough to touch. Close enough to take. But not close enough to have. Not yet. You don’t necessarily like it sleeping in your nest.

Not because of what it is.

Not because of how close it gets.

But because of how it has to be there.

Half of its body always hangs off the edge, its tail disappearing back into the water while the rest of it curls awkwardly around you.

It looks… wrong.

Uncomfortable.

Unnatural.

Like something that was never meant to rest like this.

And every time you notice it—every time you feel the slight shift of its weight, the way it adjusts itself just a little too often—you can’t help the twist of guilt in your chest. It doesn’t complain. Not once. But you see it anyway. The way its movements are more careful when it settles. The way it stills completely once you’ve gotten comfortable, like it refuses to move again in case it disturbs you. Like your rest matters more than its own.

“…are you comfortable?” you ask one night, your voice quieter than usual as you shift slightly in its hold, glancing back at it. Its eyes meet yours almost instantly.

Always attentive.

Always there.

“It’s sufficient,” it replies. The same calm, steady tone. Like that’s the end of it. Like it doesn’t even consider anything beyond that. Your brows knit slightly.

Sufficient.

Not comfortable.

Not good.

Just… enough. And you don’t like that.

Not when it’s done nothing but make sure you’re more than comfortable. Not when it’s given you everything you’ve asked for—your nest, your clothes, your water, your space.

Not when it bends itself—literally—to fit into a world that wasn’t made for it. For you. “…that’s not the same thing,” you mutter, more to yourself than to it. It tilts its head slightly, watching you, waiting.

You hesitate.

Because you don’t know how to say it. Don’t know how to admit that you care. That you’ve been paying attention. That you don’t like seeing it like this. Your fingers curl slightly into the fur beneath you. “I just…” you trail off, exhaling softly. “You don’t have to stay up here, you know.”The words come out more awkward than you intended.“ You could just… stay in the water. Or something.”

A pause.

“I stay where you are.”

Simple.

Definite.

Like there was never another option to begin with. Your chest tightens again. “That doesn’t mean you have to be uncomfortable,” you push, glancing back at it again, a little more insistence in your voice this time. It watches you for a moment longer than usual.

Quiet.

Observing.

Then—slowly— its hand lifts, brushing lightly against your side, grounding. “I am not harmed by this,” it says. “That’s not what I—” you stop yourself, frustration bubbling up in a way you don’t expect. Because it doesn’t get it. Or maybe it does—and just doesn’t care.

“I just want you to be comfortable,” you finish instead, quieter now. There’s a beat of silence after that. A long one. Its gaze lingers on you, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface before it settles again into something softer. Something… quieter. Then— “I am,” it says. Your brows furrow again. “You just said—”

“When I am here,” it interrupts, voice low, steady. Its hand shifts slightly, resting more fully against you now. “With you.”

That…

That shuts you up.

Completely.

Your throat tightens, words catching before they can form.

Because you don’t know how to argue with that. You don’t know if you even can. So instead—you go quiet.

Turning your gaze away again, back toward the dim glow of the cave walls. But you don’t move away from it. You don’t tell it to leave. And after a moment—almost unconsciously—you shift just a little closer.” Will you tell me more about you? About your kind?” you ask softly, your voice cutting through the quiet of the cave. You don’t expect much.

Not really.

Every time you’ve tried before, it’s given you fragments—pieces of something bigger, something you can’t quite put together no matter how hard you try. Still—you ask anyway. Because you want to understand it. And that realization alone makes something in your chest twist uncomfortably.

For a moment, it doesn’t answer.

Its fingers continue their slow, absent tracing along your side, its gaze fixed somewhere beyond you—like it’s thinking, like it’s deciding how much to give. Then—“My kind lives as all things born of the sea do,” it begins, its voice low, steady, carrying that same strange cadence that never quite sounds human.

“We hunt. We kill. We eat.”

Simple.

Blunt.

Unapologetic.

Your stomach tightens slightly at the words, but you stay quiet, letting it continue. “Our prey varies,” it goes on. “It must. The sea does not promise consistency. One day, we eat fish. The next…”

It pauses.

Briefly.

Then its gaze flicks down to you.

“Humans.”Your stomach turns this time. Actually turns. A cold, uncomfortable feeling settling deep inside you.

“We have never favored your kind,” it continues, almost idly. “You are not very fatty. Not as sustaining.”The way it says it—so casual. So matter-of-fact. Like it’s talking about something insignificant. “But you are… interesting,” it adds, something shifting slightly in its tone. “You run. You scream. You beg.” Your throat tightens. “We find that amusing.”

Your fingers curl slightly against your nest.

“Fish do not do so,” it continues. “They cannot. They are simple. Predictable. They do not feel in the way you do.”There’s something almost curious in its voice now.

Like it’s comparing. Like it’s always been comparing. You swallow hard, trying to push down the unease crawling up your spine. “And you’re just… telling me this?” you murmur, your voice quieter now, strained in a way you can’t quite hide. It tilts its head slightly at that, like it doesn’t understand the problem.

“You asked,” it replies simply.

Right.

You did.

Your gaze drifts away for a moment, your mind trying—and failing—to reconcile the creature that holds you so carefully with the one that just described hunting humans like it’s a game.

It continues before you can say anything else.

“My kind can be considered the rulers of the sea,” it says, its voice shifting again—firmer now, more certain.

“There are creatures larger. Stronger, even. But none rule as we do.”

Your brows knit slightly.

“Rule?” you echo.

It hums softly.

“We maintain order,” it explains. “As much as order can exist in something as vast as the sea.”

Its hand moves slightly, tracing along your arm now.

“There are territories. Boundaries. Behaviors that must be enforced. Not all follow them willingly.”Your attention sharpens at that.

“So you’re like… what? A king?”

Its lips twitch slightly—not quite a smile, but close.“If that is how your kind understands it.”And then—“I am the one they follow.” There’s no arrogance in it.

No boasting.

Just… truth.

Unshakable.

Certain.

Your breath catches slightly. You knew it was important. You knew it held power. But hearing it like that—so plainly—ceels different.

“And when you accept my offer,” it continues, its gaze settling fully on you now, “you will rule beside me.”

Your chest tightens instantly. There it is. Again. That word. When. Not if. Never if. Your jaw clenches slightly, but you don’t interrupt.

“There is not much to ruling,” it adds, almost dismissively. “The sea does not bend to authority the way land does. Survival is the only constant.”

Its fingers still against your skin for a moment.

“But there are rules,” it says more seriously now.“Necessary ones.”

Your brows furrow. “What kind of rules?”

Its eyes flicker slightly—something deeper, darker passing through them before it answers. “The kind that keep balance,” it says. “The kind that prevent chaos from consuming everything.” That…That doesn’t really answer your question.

But the way it says it—you’re not sure you want more detail. Not right now. “That is why I exist,” it continues, its voice quieter now, closer. “To enforce them.”

A pause.

Then—“You will learn them.” Your stomach tightens again. “This, I swear.” The finality in its tone leaves no room for argument.

No room for doubt.

And as you lay there, wrapped in its hold, listening to it speak so casually about a world you don’t belong to—a world it fully expects you to become a part of—you can’t help but feel like you’ve just been given a glimpse into something far bigger than you ever realized. Something you’re already being pulled into. Whether you’re ready for it—or not.

Regardless of what you think—you’re in your nest—your bed—and you’re so, so sleepy.

It settles over you slowly at first, then all at once, heavy and unavoidable. Your limbs feel like they’re sinking into the softness beneath you, your muscles loosening in a way they haven’t in… you don’t even know how long.

And behind you—Rafayel.

Your creature.

It’s there like it always is, large and steady, its presence wrapping around you in a way that’s become far too familiar. One arm rests loosely over your waist, its touch light but grounding, while the rest of its body curves around you as best as it can.

It’s warm.

Comforting.

Safe.

Your eyes begin to slip shut, your lashes growing heavy as your breathing evens out, slow and soft. You don’t even try to fight it—not tonight. Not when your body is practically begging for rest.

Your thoughts blur. Your awareness dulls. And just as you’re about to fall—just as you begin to sink into that quiet, weightless space between waking and sleep—It speaks.

“I think it’s time for you to meet the cove.”Your eyes snap open. “What?”The word comes out rough, barely more than a breath as your body tenses instinctively, sleep slipping through your fingers as quickly as it came.

For a moment, you don’t move. Don’t fully process it. Then it hits you. The cove. Your heart stutters in your chest as your mind flashes back—unwanted, immediate.

The surface.

The water.

Those shapes beneath it.

Watching.

Waiting.

Your stomach twists. Slowly, you shift in its hold, turning just enough to look back at it, your brows furrowing as confusion and unease settle deep into your bones.

“…what did you just say?”

Your voice is quieter now, but there’s an edge to it. Something sharper. Something more awake. It doesn’t hesitate. “You will meet them,” it says, calm and certain, like this is something already decided, something inevitable. Like your opinion on it doesn’t quite matter.

Your chest tightens.

“The cove,” it continues, its gaze fixed on you, unwavering. “My people.”Your throat goes dry. Those weren’t just shapes in the water. Those weren’t just passing figures. They were watching you. And now—It wants you to stand in front of them.

To be seen.

To be known.

Your body shifts, pulling slightly away from it without even realizing it, the comfort from moments ago now replaced with something colder. “I…” you start, then stop, your thoughts scrambling to catch up. “I don’t think I can do that.”

It’s quiet.

Honest.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of your nest as your heart picks up, unease settling heavier in your chest. “I just got used to you,” you admit, frustration bleeding into your tone. “And now you want me to meet all of them?” Your voice tightens. “I don’t even know what they’ll do.”

Your mind fills in the blanks for you.

What they are. What they’ve done. What they’re capable of. It watches you.

Carefully.

Then—“They will not harm you,” it says, its voice steady, firm in a way that doesn’t allow room for doubt.

You let out a small, humorless breath.

“That’s easy for you to say,” you mutter, glancing away. A pause. “I would not allow it,” it adds.And that—That makes you hesitate. Because there’s something in its tone. Something certain.

Unyielding.

But still—your chest feels tight. Your thoughts too loud. “I’m not ready,” you say again, softer this time. And this time—It doesn’t argue.

Not immediately.

Instead, its hand shifts slightly against you, grounding rather than holding, its touch lighter than before. “You do not have to meet them now,” it says after a moment.

Your shoulders relax—just barely. “But you will meet them soon.” And there it is. That inevitability again. That quiet promise you can’t escape. Your breath slows, but sleep doesn’t come back as easily now. Your mind lingers on it.

On them.

On what it means to be brought before something like that. And as you lay there, caught between exhaustion and unease, one thought settles heavier than the rest—this isn’t just about meeting them.It’s about being introduced.

Claimed.

Shown off.

And you don’t know if that thought terrifies you—or something worse.

“Besides, you’ve seen them before,” it says, like that alone should ease the tension coiling tight in your chest. “Now you simply have to interact with them.”Like that makes it better.

Like seeing shadows beneath the water—watching eyes that didn’t blink—was the same as standing in front of them. Speaking to them. Being seen by them. “But still—” you start, your voice catching slightly as you try to push past the unease crawling up your spine. It doesn’t let you. “Shh.”The sound is soft, but firm.

Final.

Its hand shifts, sliding up your arm, fingers—clawed and careful—coming to rest just beneath your jaw, tilting your head ever so slightly back toward it. Not forceful. Not rough. But guiding. Silencing. “There is nothing else to discuss,” it murmurs, its voice low, steady, leaving no room for argument.

Your lips part—ready to protest again, to try again—but the words die before they can form. Because of the way it’s looking at you. Focused. Certain. Unmoving. Like this decision was made long before you even thought to question it.

“Now rest.”

Your chest rises slowly, uneven, your body caught somewhere between resisting and… not. Because you’re tired.

So tired.

And it’s still there. Still close. Still warm.

Its hand lingers for a moment longer beneath your jaw before slipping away, tracing down the side of your neck, your shoulder—slow, deliberate—until it settles once more around your waist. Pulling you back into it. Not tight enough to trap you. But enough that you feel it. Enough that you know it’s there.

Your body hesitates. Tense for just a moment longer. Then—slowly— It gives in. Your eyes fall shut again, though this time it’s not as peaceful. Not as easy.

Your thoughts linger.

On the cove.

On the way it didn’t even consider that you might refuse. And beneath all of that—something quieter. Something more unsettling. The way you didn’t fight harder.

Your breathing evens out again despite everything, exhaustion pulling you under whether you want it to or not. And as sleep finally drags you down—you can’t tell if the steady presence wrapped around you is what’s comforting you.

“Will you cease your staring?”

Jing Yuan disappeared from their regular sparring (and by regular, it usually entails the domineering skill of Jingliu upon her disciple) just a few moments ago. An action which understandably irked the legendary swordmaster, Jingliu, and incurred her wrath on anyone who dared to remain. Unrightfully so, Dan Feng felt. But there was no denying her demands, especially when her sword was a millimetre away from slicing his throat open.

Dan Feng would never let that happen in a million years. And if you asked him, which one? Being demanded to go on a wild goose chase or die in such an insignificant manner, you won’t get an answer anyway. But the slight roll of his eye and the muttering beneath his breath as he stood up, undoubtedly to go search for his… comrades wouldn’t go unnoticed. He was a softie at heart.

And so here he was, standing behind Yingxing who (disappeared after being sent off to find Jing Yuan. The nerve of these two, now Dan Feng was acting like some sort of unpaid nanny for a misbehaving child. Or two, to be specific.) was staring off into the distance, at two figures beneath a large tree.

The Vidyadhara has never been this irritable before.

From afar, Dan Feng could recognize one silhouette. That unruly mess of hair stuck him out like a Borisin amongst Foxians.

And speaking of Foxians…

“Who is it Yuan is speaking to?”

Yingxing, as a craftsman intending to master the way of the swords, has an ear for certain tunes. The way the metal may clink under pressure, or hiss when submerged in water, are not unknown to him. And despite Dan Feng’s calm exterior, he knew for certain the man was expressing… possessiveness?

A twitch of a smile threatened to lift Yingxing’s lips. Naturally. Blessed by the Aeon of Permanence Long: Vidyadhara’s were granted the blessing of constant reincarnation, could transform into dragons. And dragons in nature had a habit of… hoarding. Dan Feng would not admit it, but it’s clear to the quintet that they were already his.

Yingxing allowed for a slight sound to escape him. No way. No way this reserved man was jealous of someone speaking to Jing Yuan. Or perhaps it was the other way around.

But Dan Feng was not just feeling possessiveness. No, it intertwined with something stranger. Something unfamiliar. Their Jing Yuan, bringing a stranger so close to their circle would bring upon a dragon who protected his own. And yet, the idea of another treasure so close and yet so out of reach was tempting.

“A Foxian. Yuan has been dragging him around lately, I’m sure you’ve seen him.”

Dan Feng hummed. Of course he had. Who would expect him to forget a face like yours?

The very first time Dan Feng saw you, Jing Yuan was dragging you around Aurum Alley. From afar he could see that unsure look on your face, but the need and want to stick close to the other man in a sea full of people. Jing Yuan had that effect. But you…

You were captivating.

Captivating enough to pull him in and trudge on forward, abandon his initial plans to leave Jing Yuan and the mystery Foxian alone. Captivating enough that, upon reaching both of you at some stall, looking over local delicacies, Dan Feng’s eyes could not stray from yours. No matter how hard he tried.

He remembered the twitch of your ears at the sounds of scurrying people all around you, and the way the warm light got caught on your face.

“Hm. So you have as well?”

Yingxing barks out a laugh. “If I didn’t notice that idiot hauling around a man like that I’d be blind.” Whatever that sentence entailed depended on who you asked. Maybe the way Jing Yuan dragged you along was unruly, unbecoming. Or perhaps the man being dragged along was too interesting to be unnoticeable.

“Of course I have Feng'er. He’s been trailing behind Jing Yuan like a shadow as of late.”

Dan Feng quirked a brow. “Jingliu has sent me to look for both of you.” He crosses his arms, challenging Yingxing to look at his eyes. “And instead of bringing him back, you decided to step back and watch? Let me take the brunt of her anger?”

“Relax. Jingliu would not do that to you. Whatever anger she has would be directed to her disciple.” Yingxing chuckles. The sight of that woman rough housing Jing Yuan might as well be the best entertainment life could offer. It didn't help that Jing Yuan was of most interesting to look at.

The craftsman remains silent after that. His gaze is still to those two figures beneath the tree. “Besides, I can’t be blamed, can I? They make for a pretty image together.”

A beat. Dan Feng looks at your silhouettes once more.

“I suppose you’re right.”

The wrath of the legendary sword champion was worth it. Jing Yuan thought.

If sneaking around longer than he intended to reward him with more time with you, no stabbing ice would deter him from the sheer happiness he felt. Not when your simple company made his days brighter. It was those little moments that made him content, for every smile he wrung from your reserved character, Jing Yuan would promise to himself to slay a hundred more denizens of Abundance.

Jing Yuan took all of Jingliu’s strikes with stride, a confidence overflowing on the field. If he could take on his master, surely, he could slay 300 (he made you smile three times. so naturally, this amount would suffice.) abominations all at once. His glave—the very one Yingxing made for him— was put to use.

A slight thrum of pride made itself known in Yingxing’s chest. But as much as Yingxing enjoyed watching Jing Yuan getting beaten up, there was another presence he couldn’t ignore.

You.

Again, close enough to be seen, far enough to be out of reach.

Jing Yuan thought it’d be a good idea to bring you along. Neither Yingxing or Dan Feng complained. It wasn’t that uncommon for a few… outsiders to be around during their sessions. So long as they didn’t disturb the peace. Your presence was accepted anyway. Besides, he deeply enjoyed seeing that look on their faces. One of acceptance and longing. He knew they wanted to get to know you, he knew he had all the power of having you to himself. And he liked it. (He did not know that look was also for him. He did not think of himself that highly, to have the attention of his older comrades).

Only, Jingliu did not care about your arrival. Her focus was set on Jing Yuan. Baiheng however, was more than eager to have another Foxian on board.

“He’s like an eager puppy.” Yingxing sighed. No matter what Jing Yuan did, it would never be subtle. Every successful block, a glance given to the fox. Every hit, another. He was looking for approval from a man who probably didn’t know how to spar. Yingxing would know. One look at your hands, seeing the unblemished, delicate skin, he knew you were not meant for the harder labours of life.

Jing Yuan decided to pass by the Artisan Commission that day. To bother him, he imagined. That man enjoyed doing that too much. Spending his past time disrupting Yingxing's instead of doing something actually important. He was about to tell Jing Yuan off, tell him to leave him alone and annoy someone else with his pesky presence, when he spotted the tip of a Foxian's ears popping up behind his shoulders.

For the first time in a long while, Yingxing was stunned. He remembers Dan Feng describing you in passing, during their private meetings. He couldn't believe that a man so handsome would ever be on the Luofu, but he knew Dan Feng. And Dan Feng was not a liar.

Yingxing was pleasantly proven right.

But seeing you next to Jing Yuan, someone hardened by training and expectations, was a unique sight. He was taller, just by the tiniest bit, made that stubborn heart of his beat erratically. A soft-looking Foxian next to pure mass and muscle.

Maybe you were meant to be... delicate.

Perhaps that’s why you always had that distant look in your eyes. Maybe beneath that melancholy exterior, that icy fog, you were just dreaming of a place faraway from the grasp of Xianzhou. Somewhere not attacked by outsiders, forcing the alliance to share their secret to immortality. Somewhere safe. Like Jing Yuan.

“Well, if I had a pretty fox following me around, I’d be the same way!” Baiheng cheered, her tail wagging.

Yingxing's mind went elsewhere at the word pretty. Was that the word to describe you? He thought handsome would be more fitting. But thinking over it, both suited you quite well. Not that he would ever admit. You were no finely made sword he crafted. He huffed.

Dan Feng sighed. There was no doubt Baiheng was incredibly eager to get to know you. He couldn’t lie, all of them were. But Jing Yuan has been keeping you out of arms reach. It felt like he was dangling a precious gem for them to oogle at.

“Alright, enough with the fox. I’m sure Yuan will introduce him to us sooner or later.” Dan Feng crossed his arms, his striking gaze moving back and forth from the absolute unit crossing swords with his master, his long white hair that looked like an unkempt chicken nest flowing in the wind, to the silent yet ever constant presence that watched from the sidelines.

They would take you apart eventually. Nitpick and examine every crevice of you, your mind and soul, and if your pieces did not fit with theirs…

Unspeakable.

They would make it fit.

Yingxing and Dan Feng shared many things.

Their brash personality, for instance. Though in varying degrees: both of them came off rather blunt. Dan Feng’s words were calculated, made to strike where it hurt most. Yingxing was more of a brute. He said what came to mind and had no shame in it.

They’ve shared wine under the moon. A moment that turned their relationship around entirely. An intimate moment for themselves, when their hearts started beating differently for each other.

The matching bracers they wore, crafted by none other than Yingxing.

Jing Yuan.

They would have no problem sharing you, as well.

It was clear (no matter how much they wanted to deny it) that you… interested them, per say. Usually, such an oblivious personality irritated them both, but whatever it was that made Jing Yuan happy, made them happy. And your visage only helped to amplify these feelings. It was only when Jing Yuan trudged towards them—you inexplicably in tow—did they snap out of their stupors.

“Yingxing, Dan Feng,” Jing Yuan greeted. A slight huff to his words, chest rising and falling with tire in his physique. Handsome as always. “Hah. I would normally apologize for troubling you both with my adventures, but I’m afraid I have no reason to be. For if I was sorry, it means my dear friends' presence and company have not been fulfilling.”

He gestures to you, just three steps away from the Cloud Knight. “I suppose it’s time for introductions. Properly.” Jing Yuan offers you a kind smile, urging you to get closer. His eyes softened as if he was trying to tell you his friends didn’t bite.

And you did. Because Jing Yuan had no need to lie to you. For the past weeks you've been around him, he has been nothing but kind. You didn't have any close friends, not with your closed off nature. But that was fine. You had Jing Yuan. And he had you.

“This is my… friend. You’ve seen him every now and then, yeah? He’s a Foxian—” whatever it was Jing Yuan was saying ended up entering one ear, and leaving through the other. Neither man could focus. Not when you were so close. For the long lives they’ve been living, truly, no face could compare to yours.

There were plenty of good looking Foxians. Naturally mischievous beings, with a nature of trickery. Thrilling. They wondered, if they cleared that fog—that mist that kept you shrouded, would you be the same?

Xianzhou natives were charming and good-looking, and the Vidyadhara had a rare look to them none could replicate. So what in Lan’s name did you have to make you so special?

Whatever it was, they were sure they had enough time to figure it out.

Right?

Notes ... im sorry this took me so long to publish, i've been busy with college applications. this is kinda buns but i hope you guys enjoyed, it's only going downhill from here! ^^ taglist: @csys22 @gaozorous-rex-blog @ash4ree @tehyunnie @pip4everr @syxxtrey i couldn't tag some of you, sorry!

⎯⎯͟͟♥︎̼ series tag: #꒰ ͜ㅤ𝅼　fragmented fragrance