Yandere_Kou

You don’t know what possessed you to invite Valko in when your step-brother, Caleb had to leave to go out for something he left at aviation school, but you did and now here you was with his long thick cock wedged between your thighs as your pussy leaks juices along his hard shaft. You tilt your head back and moan in his ear as your hands scramble to pull at the short reddish auburn hair at his nape.

Honestly, what where you thinking when you answered the door in nothing but a towel on since you had just gotten out of the shower.  You even made the stupid decision to let him inside when he offered to wait for Caleb to return. But you always had a crush on Valko from the moment you saw him at a party with Caleb two and half years ago.

“Fuck, pup...” came his gruff voice as his hands grip your waist tightly. He drags his hips back and forth, sliding his dick between your silky thighs as your pussy leaks your slick juices; his precum dripping from his tip with every thrust. Valko throws his head back as he resists the urge to hike your leg up and push his thick cock deep into your aching pussy. You were still his best friend’s precious sister, blood or not between you and Caleb. Valko wonders if he should be an asshole and give you what you were clearly begging him everytime you slide that deliciously wet cunt over his shaft, moaning his name so sweetly in his ear.  A growl rumbles in his chest as he leans over and places his lips next to your ear and says, “You want me to fuck you, don’t you slutty pup? That‘s why you answered the door in nothing but your towel? Why you invited me up to your room? C’mon tell me~”

You let out a whimper as you curl your fingers around his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin. Your mouth parts, but no words formed as you buck and grind your hips faster, stroking his cock as your squeeze your thighs. You were so close, yet you could quiet bring yourself to that climax. A soft whimper rises in your throat as you open your eyes to gaze into Valko’s warm amber ones. “Val...ko...” You moan out softly, your head rolling back as his teeth nip at the tender flesh of your neck. The steady wet, plop-plop-plop of your skin meeting as he works you faster over his throbbing dick fills your head.

You knew in the back as a gush of your juices leaks out your cunt, coating his dick with your arousal. Dull white teeth bury into the plush of your bottom lip as you try to gather your thoughts. You knew that you shouldn’t be doing this. Your step brother could return any minute now and find you grinding your pussy over his best friend’s dick or worse. Valko fucking you. “I..I shouldn’t...fucking hell that feels so fucking good...We shouldn’t Vah-” Your voice breaks off in a moan when his hand slips between you two and his deft fingers find your clit, rubbing it in controlled tight circles that had you keening as your pussy gushes more, coating your thighs in cream.

“Hmm? You say something, Little red?” His lips curl into a wolfish smile, canines gleaming in the dim lighting of your room as he all but purrs the nickname out. His thumb continues to rub slow meticulous circles over your throbbing little clit until your keens turn into broken sobs. He stops pumping his hips, letting you grind down on his as his free hand comes up to cup your jaw and turns your eyes back onto his. “I asked you a question, pup? Gonna answer me or are you too blissed out, hmm? You want my cock in you?”

Your eyes dart over to your door. You locked it, right? Tongue slipping out to glide over your bottom lip as you swallow thickly, you nod your head and hike your leg up over his hip. “Fuck me, Valko. Please? I need to feel you.” You reach down behind you to grab his cock and position it at your entrance as you stand on your tip toes to rub the velvety head through your folds, coating the tip in your essence and feel his pre-cum leaking from the slit. “Ahh, please....I need it...Valko~”

The saccharine sound of your voice moaning his name so syrupy sweet was his undoing. He hooks your leg up in the crook of his arm, opening you up more for him as he bends his knees slightly as he lines up with your slick hole. Slowly, he pushes the large pierced mushroomed crown of his swollen cock into your tight little pussy. He rocks his hips back and forth as he works open your entrance until he breaches your channel and slides inch by delicious inch, every barbel of his Jacob's ladder scraping along your inner walls. His head falls back as he voice turns into a low whimper as his breathes, “Fuck..you’re so wet and warm. Could stay in this pussy forever.” His other hand hooks under your opposite leg, hoisting you up  to bounce you up and down on his cock, the reverse Prince Albert piercing battering against your cervix every time he bottoms out. “Take every single bit of me, little red~”

“Vah-” Your words come out in the choked moan as your arms come up to wrap around his neck as your legs dangle from the crooks of his elbows. The steady schlik schlik of your sopping pussy clinging to his dick with every thrust echoes in your head. Your eyes widen as you feel the row of piercings dragging along the inner walls of your cunt. How did you forget that Valko was pierced?! It was too much. Valko was too much. Stretching your little cunt to the limit and each thurst felt like he was trying to fuck past your cervix and into your womb, The pierced tip battering your insides, but it was all you could do was moan and cry out for him as his teeth left marks over your neck and chest. You feel his nose pressing into the crook of your neck and shoulder as he breathes in your scent. A gasp rises up in your chest as your feel his tongue drag over your pulse point.

The door to your room creaks open and you lift your head in surprise to see Caleb leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed and eye brow lifted.  He watches as Valko continues to bounce you on his cock, listening to the lewd sounds of your fucking. Just as you were about to shove Valko away, Caleb raises his hand and a smirk teases at his lips. “Val, you started without me. You’re such a bad boy.”

Valko lifts his head from your neck, never stopping his thrusting into your weeping cunt, a wolfish smile curls at his lips as he purrs out. “Sorry about that ‘leb. Pussy smelled too good to resist anymore.” He laughs softly as he turns back to look at you, that wolfish grin increasing until you swore you could see fangs gleaming in his mouth. He lets out a groan as your puffy walls squeeze down on him and his hands move to grip the rounded flesh of your ass to move you even faster. A growl rumbles in his chest as he tosses his head back, losing himself into the warm, wet feeling of your cunt gushing over his length, juices running down to his heavy balls. “Fuck, pup, you’re squeezing me s’tightly. You like that you got caught? Such a naughty girl~” He could feel the telltale signs of his orgasm approaching and he growled as he gritted his teeth. 

Were you ready to learn the truth?

Caleb’s eyes trail over the many blooming marks that litters your neck and shoulders as the lewd, wet sounds of skin meeting skin echoes throughout the room. His cock jumps in his pants as he hears the sounds of your whimpers as Valko fucks into you faster, harder. “She is a nasty girl, aint she, Val? Bet she wants us both, huh? Is that why you didn’t lock the door, pipsqueak?” He pushes himself off the door frame and stalks his way over to where you were, slowly stripping out of his clothes until his heavy cock bobs between his legs, pre-cum drooling from the leaky tip. He reaches where you were keening on Valko’s dick, his large hand wrapping around your waist and pressing down on the faint imprint on your belly, making you squeal out. “Feels good having my best friend so deep in your guts, meimei?”

Your eyes roll back when Caleb calls you that, drool seeping out your lips as you throw your head back with a lewd cry of his name. “That’s it...Cum on Valko’s cock for me, pips. That’s a good girl.” He watches as your body convulses, shaking and trembling as your back arches and your walls flutter around the redhead. “That’s a good meimei...Come here.” Caleb pulls you off of Valko and into his arms, shooting his best friend a  knowing look when he hears the growl that bubbles in the other man’s chest. He lifts you up on his shoulders, his nose nuzzles your slick inner thighs. “I’m borrowing her for a minute, Val? You don’t mind, do you?” Caleb moved over to your bed, hovering your body over it. “Let me clean up this mess you made, yeah?” Before you could even say anything, your back slams against your mattress as Caleb’s skilled tongue works its way through your folds. Your fingers immediately fly to his short brown hair, unsure if it was you pull him away or push him closer to your already sensitive core. “Gege!” You cry out, thrashing weakly underneath his massive body. Your clit was buzzing, throbbing in tune with your fluttering heart as you shook your head from side to side. You had just cum and yet, from the quick flicks and licks from Caleb’s tongue he was seeking to make you do it again. Your body lurches when he circles your leaky hole with his ring and middle fingers before slowly easing them inside. “Caleb!”

Caleb purrs into your cunt, slurping lewdly as your juices continue to leak out, making sure to catch her drop into his ravenous mouth. His presses his fingers in deep, curling them until he finds that rough, spongy patch that never ceases to make you cream and gush on his face. “C’mon...give gege what he wants. Then he’ll fill this pretty pussy up with his cock just like always~” His licks turn into quick lashes of his tongue against your pulsing clit as his fingers increase their pace. He ruts his hips into the mattress to find some relief as he slurps at your throbbing clit, massaging it with his lips and tongue as he thrusts into your weeping hole vigorously.

Valko whimpers as he strokes his hand over his aching cock, smearing your slick juices over the length, his palm gliding over the six barbells pierced on the underside of his shaft. He licks his lips as his eyes close as he pictures his hand as your sweet little cunt squeezing him as he fucks his firsts to sound of your moans. “Fuck, ‘leb...just had to take her before I could breed that little pussy, huh?”

Caleb lifts his head to shoot his best friend, a knowing smirk. His violet eyes to see the way his cock was twitching under his palm, the base trying to swell up. “Soon, Val...” Was his reply as his fingers found that spot that makes your body tremble as you squeak out. Your walls pulse and flutter around his fingers as he draws out of your orgasm. He sits up and kisses you, his tongue slipping inside and letting your taste yourself still clinging to his lips. “Pips, who do you want to fuck you? Me or Valko? Choose quickly or we’ll just take turns~”

You were reduced to a babbling mess of incoherent words. You did want Caleb’s cock knocking down  your walls like always whenever you two were alone, but this would be the first time you had an audience.Your eyes dart over to where Valko was standing, cock in hand as he strokes his fist over the thick length, each barbel shiny with traces of your slick cum as a bead of his milky seed drools down the barbel through his fat tip, You lick your lips, pink tongue gliding over them before you swallow. Your chest was still panting from the back to back orgasms, clit still buzzing from pleasure as you whine out your answer . “Want my gege to fuck me as I suck Valko off.” You flutter your lashes as you lift your hand in a weak effort to beckon Valko over.

Caleb’s lips curl into a smirk as he tips his head at his best friend. “You heard her, Val? She wants to suck your cock while I pound this sweet little cunt.” He grabs his dick by the base and rubs the leaking tip through your glistening folds. His eyes find his best friend’s amber ones as Valko crawls over to the head of the bed and lets you rest your head on his well muscled thigh. “Go on, meimei~ Suck him off.” He lines up with your quivering hole as he pushes your legs to your chest. “Stay just like this, pips.”

Before you could say anything, Caleb thrusts his length into your weeping hole, not giving you a chance to adjust as he begins a slow brutal pace. Your mouth drops open in a moan of his name as your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh and leaving red crescent shapes. 

“Aww, don’t forget about Valko, pipsqueak. Just look at how hard he is for you.” Caleb lets out a chuckle through his nose as drool begins to seep out of the corner of your mouth. His hips snap into yours, stretching your inner walls as you desperately try to squeeze around him. “Fuucckk,” He curses lowly under his breath as he slows his pace just enough for you to think properly. “Let Valko see those pretty eyes while you take him down that pretty throat, pipsqueak...” He smiles when you open your mouth and stick out your tongue.

Valko runs his fingers through your hair, his nails feeling sharp against your scalp. He takes his other hand and guides the pierced tip to your awaiting tongue. A shudder rolls down his spine as you swirl his tip around before suckling it. “Fuck, such a good girl.” His eyes began to glow as his hand reached around to wrap gently around your throat. “That’s it, red. Relax your throat f’me~ You can take me deeper. Yesss....” He hisses when you do as he says, the muscles of your neck relaxing and allowing him to slide even deeper, the six rows of barbels scarping along the walls, His thumb presses gently on the bulge his cock was making as he slowly thrusts his hips. “Fuck, Caleb....I don’t know how much longer I can hold out...”

You whimper as the two men share your body, pussy suelching as Caleb fucks you into the mattress as your mouth stretches to accommodate Valko’s thick cock. Spit pools on your tongue as you breathe, bubbles forming and popping with each thrust and leaving thick strings of spittle clinging to the neatly trimmed patch of auburn hair at Valko’s base. You swirl your tongue around his cock as you squeeze and clench your pussy around Caleb. Your ankles lock themselves around your step-brother’s neck as your free hand reaches to wrap around Valko’s cock to stroke what couldn’t fit. That’s when you felt it. The slight swelling at his base.

Caleb looks at his best friend, seeing the way his teeth were gritted and his fingers were trembling. A smug smirk spreads over his lips. You were in for a treat then. Thrusting inside deeply and holding it, grinding his pelvis against your clit, he feels your body convulse and a stream of hot liquid splashes up between you two. Caleb then reaches out and places his hand on Valko’s head, scratching. “Let go,Val.”

Valko’s body freezes as a pair of fluffy wolf ears spring up on his head and long thick tail fluffs out behind him, springing out the base of his spine. His canines lengthen into fangs as his pupils constrict slightly as the amber lightens to a golden sheen. “Fuck, Caleb.” Valko’s voice was a hard growl as he shakes his head, ears twitching on top of his head. “I need to be back inside her, breeding her until she’s stretched out on my knot.” 

Feeling your juices running down to his balls, Caleb removes his hand from Valko’s ears after flicking one playfully. “You wanna knot my meimei, Val?” He says teasingly as his hand slips between your thighs and quickly finds your clit. You let out a choked moan around Valko’s cock, still unaware of  the change in the wolf. Spittle spills from your mouth as you messily choke down Valko’s dick, your tongue swirling around his shaft. “You don’t wanna cum using her pretty little mouth?”

Valko growls once more as his squeezes his hand around your throat, pressing down more on the bulge his cock was making, he could feel his knot swelling as his dick twitched. His eyes glow a brilliant gold as he locks gazes with his best friend, noting the challenging look in Caleb’s violet eyes. “You and I both know it's not a good idea for me to cum in her mouth.” He lets out a whimper as a shiver crawls down his spine as your fingers move to caress his heavy sack. “Fucking hell, pup...I don’t wanna cum yet, but you’re making it hard~” His tail thumps lazily on the bed as he looks down at you. 

Caleb snaps his hips into yours once more, the wet smack echoing throughout the room, making you pull away from Valko’s cock to let out a scream of pleasure. “Gege!” You place your hand between you two, your hips pulling back to escape the intensity of his cockhead nudging so incessantly at your cervix, threatening to breach the tightly muscle. “Too much!”

He grabs your jaw gently with his left hand and pulls you in for another deep kiss, his tongue swirling in your mouth and licking up every drop of saliva. “Pipsqueak...” He purrs out before turning your face to look up at Valko. He chuckles as your eyes widen at the sight of the wolf ears twitching on top of the older man’s head. “Valko, here, wants to knot you. To breed that pretty little pussy and stuff you full of his cum. You want that, nasty girl?”

“What? Knot me?” Your gut twisted in anticipation as your eyes flicker between Valko and Caleb. Valko was a demihuman wolf? Your gaze drifts down to his cock and you could see that the base was more swollen than the rest of his shaft. You look up at Caleb, your bottom lip trembling as you nod. “Please? I’m on the pill, you know this, Caleb. I want to feel Valko’s knot...”

Valko’s lips twitch into a wide wolfish grin as he wraps her hand under your arms and pulls you off Caleb’s dick. “Gona borrow her back, ‘leb. You don’t mind so you?”He cheekily shot back the same line Caleb had said to him. “On your hands and knees, Little Red. Wanna see you present this pretty little pussy to me while I stuff you full of me~” He smiles and his eyes flashes as he watches as your lips part in a gasp. “That’s it, pup. Hands and knees for me. Such a good fucking girl.” He watches with sharp golden eyes as you flip around onto your hands and knees for him, back arching into a perfect bow as your ass wiggles enticingly in the air. “Look at how wet you are, pup. Fuck I can’t wait til I fill this needy hole. But first...”

Your body lurches when Valko smacks the flesh of your ass before lowering his head and swiping his tongue through your folds. “Shit!” You curse as you throw your head back, fingers curling into the sheets under you. “Vah-” Your words are cut off in a whimper as Caleb grips your jaw in his hands again, guiding your lips to his cock.

“Don’t forget about me, pipsqueak~ I still haven’t cum yet. You don't want gege to suffer, do you. C’mon, use that tongue while Valko gets you ready to take his knot.”

Valko growls as your taste spreads over his taste buds, better than even what you smelled like. “Fuck, red, you tatse s’good. Can get addicted to your flavor.” He pulls away, his tongue leaving a lon string of saliva behind before he gathers in all of the ti to spit it back on ti your protruding clit. His eyes watch as the glistening trail mixes with the slick juices that trickles out your quivering hole before leaning back in to capture it all on his tongue once more. His nose rubs at your folds as he shakes his head and thrusts his tongue in deep. 

You whine around Caleb’s dick as he guides your head in a steady rhythm by gripping your hair at the base of your skull. The thick tip of him battering the back of your throat as you swallow around him. Your belly flares with heat as you feel Valko begin to fuck your pussy wit his tongue in a similar way he had done with his cock earlier. You moan his name, the vibrations making Caleb groan out as his hips stutter in their rhythm.You try to pull away from the feeling of his tongue, but something soft and fluffy wraps around your waist and holds you in place as his hand smacks the round kesh of your ass.

”Nuh huh, pup...Stay right there and cum on my tongue for me. Let me drink you down before I fill you with my knot.” His tongue moves faster, working over your clit as his lips suction around it, Vlako starts letting out whiny little whimpers as he your scent fills him and his hips start canting and humping the air as his cock bobs heavily between his thighs, pre-cum leaking steadily from the tip. His thumb swipes over the puckered hole of your ass as he nudges at it gently, feeling your walls tighten around his tongue. “That’s it, lil’Red, you can do it. You're allowed to feel pleasure from my tongue. Squirt f’me. Squirt down my throat.”

The burning heat simmering low in your belly turns into a raging inferno as you hollow out your cheeks in a scream as your thighs quiver and your juices begin to leak out and drip down Valko’s awaiting tongue.”Mmph....” You swallow once more around Caleb’s cock as you feel your release squirt out of you, your thighs shaking and threatening to give out if Valko’s tail wasn’t supporting you as well as the firm grip his hands had on your asscheeks. You raise your eyes to look up at Caleb as you feel Valko pull away from your sensitive cunt to line his weeping tip up. 

Caleb catches your look and his hand cups your cheek that was pocketing his dick. “Take it, Pips. I know you can handle him.”

“You ready, pup?” Valko asks as he rubs the cool metal of his piercing along your folds, teasing your still buzzing clit from your orgasm. At your weak, pitiful sounding moan, Valko slowly pushes the flared, pierced head of his cock into your warm. A whine vibrates in his chest as his hands move to grip your waist, tail unfurling from around you to wag behind him. His jaw ached with the need to clamp down on your nape to hold you in place as he ruts his knot into you. “Fuckk...You’re still so goddamn tight even after Caleb pounded you into the mattress.” Valko sinks his cock in slowly, letting you feel every single inch, every bump of his Jacob’s ladder until his heavy sac smacks against your clit. 

You let out a garbled moan around Caleb’s cock as your tongue swirls around his shaft, drool leaking down your chin to drip over your chest. Pushing your hips back, you try to get Valko to set a fast pace, needing to feel him absolutely batter your insides with that pierced dick of his. You feel Caleb gather your hair at the base of your skull to pull you further down on his cock until your nose his buried in the neat brown hair trailing down his abs. you work your throat muscles around him as you turn your watery eyes up at him,  silently pleading with him to cum, to let you taste him on your tongue. You feel Valko’s fingers dig into your hips as he yanks you back onto his cock, fucking you at a brutal pace.

Caleb’s cock twitches within the warmth of your mouth and he knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer, especially if you kept looking at him with those eyes. “Shit, Pipsqueak, if you keep sucking me down like this, I’m gonna cum down this sinful little throat. That’s exactly what you want, huh?” He chuckles as he watches you nod your head, a hum of agreement vibrating down his length. His balls tighten as his cock swells slightly as he uses your hair to hold you close to his body. “Fuck...here it comes, naughty meimei~” Thick, creamy ropes of white paints your throat as Caleb’s body shivers from the force of his release. His breathing is hard as his softening cock slips out of your mouth. Caleb’s thumb reaches out to wipe at the excess that escaped your greedy little mouth. “She’s all yours, Val.”

No sooner than when those words left Caleb’s mouth, Valko’s wolf ears twitch as his fangs grit against each other. “C’mere, Red~” He growls as your hands move from your hips to your breasts as he sits back on his haunches. His hands squeeze at your breasts, tweaking your nipples until your voice is a high pitched whimper  as he thrusts up until you. He feels his knot swelling, pressing against your entrance with every thrust. “Fuck, gonna fill you with my knot, stuff you full of my cum, gonna breed you so fucking good.” His words came out in growls as one of his hands ghost back down your twitching little clit, rubbing it in fast circles. Valko bounces you up and down on his cock as his teeth bite down on the junction of your neck and shoulder. “Go on and cum for me again, mark with your scent, Red. Drown me in it.”

Your voice came out a high pitched keen as you scream out his name. Your juices squirt out of you, soaking the bed, your thighs and Valko’s thighs. “Valko...No more...I can’t...”

Valko chuckles. “I’m almost there.” He moves his hand away from your breasts and grabs your wrist and guides your hand down to the spot where you two were connected. “Feel that? That’s about to go inside you. You’re gonna be stuck with me for a while, You want that? Want my fat knot stretching that pretty hole? Yes, yes you do. Good fucking girl~” He snarls as his knot finally slips insidem growing bigger inside you as his balls tighten, drawing up as his cum paints your insides white in his color. His knot swells as he cums, keeping it all inside and not letting a single drop waste. “Fuck, you feel tat big fucking knot inside you, plugging in all that cum?”

You whine at the stretch, his knot filling your body and keeping Valko’s hot cum inside your body. “Haahh...” You let out a breath, spit clinging to your lips as your mouth hangs open. “Its so big...Feels so full...Valko....” Your arms reach behind you to curl around his neck, finger finding the fluffy ears perched on top of his head and the first thing tat came to your fucked out mind was, “Good boy, Valko...” You smile lazily as you could feel his cock still twitching inside you as his release slows to a trickle. Your head rolls back to rest against his shoulder as your chest heaves with every breath. you shift your gaze over to Caleb, who had already pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants. “How long?”

Caleb smirks. “How long what? His knot holds?  I don’t know, pips. First time I’ve seen him do this.” He flips Valko the bird with a grin. “Asshole move to start without me by the way, Val.”

Valko laughs as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and nuzzling the top of your head. “Bout 30-45 minutes. Her fault for smelling so good.”

“I meant how long have you known Valko was a wolf demihuman?!” You arch your brow as you pinch Valko’s thigh. “And how is this my fault?”

The redhead shrugged, barely flinching when you pinch him. “Maybe don’t answer the door dressed only in a towel, Little Red? How are you by the way? I wasn’t too rough was I?”

"N-No, it was perfect..." Your face heats up as you realize that tis was kind of your fault for answering the door in just your towel, then inviting Valko up to your room. You huff and cross your arms over your chest, “Shut up, wolfie.” You gingerly touch the mark on your neck that is sharp teeth left behind. “Kinda stings here.”

Valko’s tongue immediately slips out and laps at the bite mark he left behind. “Better?”

“You’re still an asshole, Val.” Caleb walks over to examine the bite, making sure it didn’t need to be tended to and cleaned up properly.

“Shut up, ‘leb”

Floyd’s knuckles turn white from how hard he’s clenching his fists. His bloodshot eyes stay locked on the man across the court. The one who started all this. His breathing is harsh, barely contained.

In the end, he decides to listen to Jamil. He stalks off the court before he does something he absolutely will not regret.

Ace Trappola trails after him, hands in his pockets, casting a look back at the shell-shocked opponent.

“You really had to wake up the real monster, dude,” Ace mutters under his breath.

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Several weeks passed, and your communication with Floyd settled back into its usual rhythm. You’d had no dream shared together after the last one, and you weren’t sure if you should be grateful for the silence or sick with dread because of it.

On the good side, you honestly had no idea how you would face him again in that raw, unfiltered space that is your subconscious. On the other hand… a small part of you wished you would see him there.

Specifically, so you could finally ask him what really happened during that match.

Floyd never told you. Not once. Every time you tried to bring it up, he dodged, deflected, or straight-up ignored the question. You kept waiting for another dream, thinking maybe that would be the only place he’d actually talk. But nothing ever came.

It made you start wondering about this whole soulmate quirk. How it triggered. Why it worked sometimes and not others. Neither of you had ever bothered to understand the mechanics before, because… well, there was never a reason.

But now? You wished you had researched the damn thing. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel so helpless, waiting for dreams that never appeared.

Yet all your thoughts flew out the window the moment you saw Floyd standing inside your shop with the cheekiest grin you’d ever seen on him.

Your hand froze mid–chop over a dried mandrake root, the knife hovering uselessly as you stared at him in shock.

“Floyd?” you breathed.

His grin widened, slow and bright. “Hi, Shrimpy.”

“Oh my gosh—”

Before you could finish, Floyd run toward you and swept you clean off your feet, spinning you around just like the very first time he’d seen you. You yelped, then broke into helpless giggles, arms looping around his shoulders as tightly as he held you.

He finally set you down, only to lift you again and plop you onto the counter. Heat rushed up your neck at the gesture, a blush blooming so fast you could feel it, even as you tried desperately to hide it.

“Why are you here?” you asked.

“To see you.”

“Hah!”

“What, Shrimpy? You don’t believe me?”

You scowled. It’s not that you don’t believe him, more that you’re not sure if you should. The thought alone sends butterflies somersaulting in your stomach.

Floyd leaned in again and wrapped you in a tight hug, resting his head on your shoulder. You opened your mouth to ask if something had happened, but closed it just as quickly. You wanted to give him time. If he was ready to talk, he would tell you himself.

“So,” Floyd straightened and unlatched himself from you, spinning around to take in the room with curious eyes. “Will you start by giving me a tour?”

You smiled and slid down from the counter.

You gave Floyd a little tour of your place. Starting from the shop, then the tiny kitchen tucked behind it, and finally the backyard where your greenhouse sat. Rows of herbs thrived under the warm lights, the ones you preferred to grow yourself so you didn’t have to rely on stockers.

Then you brought him upstairs to the second floor, your private residence. Just a small space with an open bedroom, a bathroom, and a narrow desk where you handled your tasks. The window in the center of the room opened directly onto the street.

“Heeeh, your nest is so cozy,” Floyd drawled.

“It’s just a humble place,” you said. “Also, no one calls their home a nest, Floyd.”

“We do in the Coral Sea.”

“No, you don’t.”

His grin was too wide. You knew Floyd too well to recognize his truth and his lies.

Then his eyes drifted slowly across the room, lingering on the little details. Your books stacked unevenly on the desk, the soft throw on your bed, the faint glow of the streetlight through your window.

“Anyway,” you cleared your throat, “you’re only here for a day or…?”

“Nope. I’m on vacation. I’ll stay there.” Floyd pointed out the window toward the building across the street.

“At the inn?”

“Yes, so I can have more time with you, Shrimpy.” His smile curled, mischievous and soft all at once. “Aren’t you happy?”

You tried your very best to hide your blush once more.

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Having Floyd around was a weird but nice change.

You were used to meeting him only in dreams. Fleeting, half-lit moments you could barely hold onto. But now? You saw him every day. Every morning. Every afternoon. Every time you turned around, he was there, because he insisted on bugging you at every possible moment.

He spent most of his days lounging around your place. Sprawled upside-down across your sofa, watching TV, rolling lazily across the floor to follow you from room to room, humming to himself as he trailed after you like a very tall, very dangerous cat—eel.

He helped in the backyard sometimes. Watering the herbs wearing your bear apron. And other times, he helped in the kitchen. He is a very good cook. You love everything he cook for you.

Occasionally, he even took over the shop when you had to run errands.

And honestly? He did well. Most of the time. He was a former server at the Mostro Lounge, after all.

But his mischievous tendencies slipped through here and there.

One time, your neighbor who also happened to be a regular customer burst out of your shop and ran down the street like his life depended on it.

When you came back and asked Floyd what happened, he just shrugged.

“What? I was just giving him some advice on what ingredients to use for what.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Floyd… did your ‘advice’ include threatening to test the ingredients on him?”

Floyd blinked innocently.

“…Maybe.”

You sighed.

He grinned.

And somehow despite the chaos, you didn’t mind him being around at all.

One cute thing about Floyd is how he pouts every time he has to go back to his inn.

Every single night.

He’d linger by the door, shoulders slumping, lips pulling into an exaggerated frown.

And every night, you’d smile and remind him gently, “You’ll come again tomorrow anyway.”

Another thing equally cute, equally dangerous to your heart, is how he always appears at his window every morning. His room directly faces yours, so as soon as you pull your curtains open, he’s already there, elbow propped on the sill, cheek resting on his palm, grinning like an idiot.

Floyd Leech is the very first face you see each morning.

You have to admit, he’s grown on you far more than he already had.

You always did have a crush on him, but now… now those feelings have sharpened into something you can no longer pretend not to feel.

The realization scared you.

And it was even worse now.

Now that he was kissing you so deeply you forgot how to breathe.

It happened so fast.

Floyd had stepped close, closer, until your back hit the counter. His hand slid to your waist, fingers curling around your hips, and then his mouth was on yours.

His kiss was overwhelming, warm and hungry but impossibly tender in between.

Every time you tried to pull back for air, he followed, catching your lips again, guiding you deeper, stealing your breath away. Your hands fisted in his shirt before you even realized it, clinging as the pressure of his body kept you caged between him and the counter.

Your heart hammered so loudly you were sure he could feel it.

Your knees went soft.

Heat curled up your spine in a wave that left you shivering.

You didn’t know where to put your feelings.

Floyd finally broke away, letting you inhale in one shaky, desperate breath. You panted, chest rising and falling rapidly, vision hazy.

He didn’t let you go far.

Floyd dipped down again, catching your lower lip between his teeth before releasing it slowly.

The soft sound that escaped you wasn’t something you meant to make.

Floyd cupped your cheek with both hands, thumb brushing your lips as if memorizing the shape of them. His voice was a whisper that tickled your skin.

“See you, Shrimpy.”

And then he left.

Just like that. Slipping out the door with a triumphant smirk you absolutely did not miss.

You sagged against the counter, legs too weak to hold you, and slowly slid down to the floor.

Ugh.

You collapsed in a pathetic heap.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You open your eyes to the sound of waves.

Lying on a bed. Floating in the middle of a vast, endless sea. The mattress is soft and familiar, draped in pale, fluttering sheets that ripple with every gentle sway of the water beneath you. There is no land in sight. Only moonlit blue stretching forever in every direction. The bed shouldn’t stay afloat, yet it does, rocking lightly like a boat without an anchor.

You recognize this place instantly.

This is where you first met Floyd in a dream.

A soft breeze brushes your collarbone, and the thin strings of your blue nightgown slip down your shoulder. Before you can pull them back up, the bed suddenly tilts.

Your body slides.

And then the entire bed capsizes into the sea.

Cold water smothers your breath as you plunge under. You gasp but swallow only salt. You kick wildly, fighting upward, hands slicing through glittering dark. Panic surges through your chest. Your lungs burn, your limbs grow heavy.

Then something long and powerful coils around your waist.

It yanks you backward.

You barely register it before the length wraps around your legs, your arms, your torso. Strong, sleek tail clamps over your mouth, muffling your cry, forcing you into silence as the thing draws you deeper into the shadows.

Your heartbeat slams against your ribs so fast, so loud it echoes in your ears.

And then you see it.

A massive silhouette gliding through the water toward you. Broad shoulders, a sculpted torso, and below that, a tail so long it vanishes into the abyss.

Floyd.

But not the Floyd you know on land.

This is Floyd in his true, grown form, larger, stronger and terrifyingly beautiful. His scales shimmer like polished obsidian when the moonlight hits them. He must be three, maybe four meters long, if not more. He circles you effortlessly, body weaving through the water like he owns it.

Because he does.

A glowing light flickers near his hip. You realize it’s the soulmate mark. Bright, pulsing softly on the lower part of his tail as he coils around you again.

“Hehehehe~ Shrimpy is so pretty looking all scared like that.”

Floyd’s laugh bubbles through the water.

You squeaked as his grip tightened.

"It's okay, Shrimpy, you can breathe. You're not gonna die here," he murmured against your ear, his tone a strange mix of soothing and predatory.

"Your scared expression just makes me want to devour you more." He released your mouth, and you gasped, pulling in lungful of water that felt as natural as air.

"Floyd—"

"You know," he interrupted, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your entire body, "I'd like to have you for real in the waking world, but I can't wait any longer, so I'll just have to take you here in this dream.” With every word, his long, powerful eel tail wrapped tighter, the smooth, muscular scales pressing against your skin.

You weren't truly breathless. This was a dream, and you could pull oxygen from the very water if you wished, but the sheer excitement made your chest tighten. You could feel a distinct heat traveling down your body, pooling deep between your legs.

Floyd inhaled sharply, a grin spreading across his face. "Ah, you smell so sweet." He covered his face with his hands, peeking at you through his fingers like a child playing a game, but his eyes were anything but innocent. You could see a bit of drool at the corner of his lips as a deep blush colored his cheeks. The slit on his upper tail began to part, and the tip of him slowly emerged, hard and ready.

You weren't sure where the sudden burst of clarity came from, but a wild strength surged through you. You tore yourself from his grasp. In one fluid motion, you used your newfound power to shove him against an underwater cliff edge, your arm pressing firmly against his throat.

Floyd's eyes went wide with shock for a single, stunned moment. Then, that look was replaced by pure, ecstatic glee. His crazed expression returned, sharper than ever.

"Yes! YES, Shrimpy! That's it! Please don't be boring!"

You silenced him with a fierce, possessive kiss. It was a clash of teeth and tongues, a desperate battle for dominance. You poured all of your frantic need into it, and he met it with a wild, hungry fervor, his hands coming up to tangle in your hair.

Breaking the kiss, you flicked your hand. Two long, tough strands of seaweed shot out from the cliff wall, wrapping around Floyd's arms and stretching them taut, effectively pinning him to the rock. You took a single swim back to admire your work.

Floyd, in all his glory, tied to a cliff and completely bare for you to taste. His member had fully emerged from its slit, pearly and thick, with a bead of white precum already oozing from the tip.

"Ahh, Shrimpy. I'm glad you did not disappoint," he rasped, his voice thick with anticipation.

You approached him again, running your hands all over his body. His cool, green skin was a soothing balm against your feverish flesh. Your mouth was busy, peppering kisses along the line of his neck and across his broad shoulders.You traced the patterns of his scales with your tongue, feeling him shudder beneath you. You explored the powerful muscles of his torso, the sensitive skin where his human half met his eel-like tail, loving the way he twitched and hissed with every touch.

But it was when you finally wrapped your hand around his fully erect member and began to stroke him that his control snapped.

With a roar, the seaweed bonds tore. He lunged, latching onto you once more. One hand shot out to grope your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, while the other dove between your legs, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing merciless circles.

You moaned loudly into his mouth as one finger prodded your entrance, then sank inside you. You instinctively gripped him, the coolness of his skin felt heavenly in you. You return the favor by stroking him in time with the thrusts of his finger.

The pleasure built into a frantic, desperate rhythm, a coil of heat tightening in your core. Yet just as you teetered on the edge of your climax, he suddenly withdrew.

You whimpered at the sudden, aching absence of his touch. Through your hazy mind, you could make out a few of the words he uttered. "No, Shrimpy... not here."

Suddenly, the dream world began to warp and dissolve around you. The cliff, the sea, the very water itself twisted into a vortex of color. You lost your footing as the world spun apart—

You woke up gasping, your body drenched in a sheen of sweat, feeling unbearably hot. You glanced down between your legs and could clearly see the dark, damp patch on your panties. And you were still so incredibly horny! Dammit!

A few seconds later, your door was knocked on so violently the frame shuddered. You didn't need to check twice; you knew who it was. You practically ran downstairs and threw the door open without hesitation.

Floyd's mouth immediately latched onto yours as he pushed you back into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. Once again, your back hit the counter, and his hands were all over you, roaming over your lower body. You gasped when his palm cupped your clothed pussy, pressing right against your soaked panties.

Floyd broke the kiss, his gaze dropping to your lower body. He pushed your nightgown up, grabbing your thigh to reveal the soulmate mark on your inner skin. His pupils dilated when he saw his name beautifully carved there.

"You were right, Shrimpy. You can't show your mark to strangers," he said, voice breathless and rough. His gaze snapped back to your face. "You should only show this to me."

He hooked a finger in the side of your panties and pulled them aside. In one smooth, powerful thrust, he filled you completely.

You cried out at the sudden intrusion, the stretch a perfect, burning pleasure-pain that stole your breath. He set a relentless pace, his hips snapping against yours, each stroke driving him deeper.

The counter dug into your back, but you didn't care. All that mattered was the overwhelming sensation of him inside you, the sound of his ragged breaths in your ear, and the building pressure that was quickly becoming unbearable.

The coil in your stomach finally snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave of ecstasy. Your inner walls clenched around him, and with a hoarse groan, he followed you over the edge. You felt him pulse inside you, spilling his load deep within your body. You writhed against him from the sheer, overwhelming sensation. It felt… denser than you were used to, thicker and more filling, a primal claim that left you trembling.

You’re not sure if it’s because he’s a merman or if it’s just Floyd.

You felt your body being lifted in an instant, and suddenly you were landing softly on top of your bed. Floyd had teleported both of you to your bedroom. He laid you down carefully in the middle of the mattress, cock still hard and buried deep inside you.

"More, Angel. More."

And he took you again, and again, to stars after stars and galaxies after galaxies that night. You were sure your cries and moans could be heard across the street. He was impossibly thorough, taking his time to explore every inch of you, drawing out pleasure until you were a sobbing, writhing mess.

Floyd took care of you so beautifully, so possessively, that tears began to leak from the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it all.

When it was finally over, Floyd tucked you into the bed, his body curling around yours as he prepared to sleep. You stared blankly at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his breathing as he nuzzled his head on your shoulder.

"Sleep well, Shrimpy."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The storm raged around you long before you opened your eyes.

You sat curled on the ground with your forehead pressed to your knees, and the world inside your dream was nothing but wind. Violent, endless, howling around your small, shivering form. Tornadoes spun in the distance, swallowing the horizon into a gray, writhing blur. Lightning cracked across the sky, coloring the gray with streaks of yellow.

It was strange how familiar this place felt.

Every gust, every roar, sounded like the echo of something you kept refusing to face.

Your chest trembled, and before you could stop yourself, you broke. The sob tore out of you loud, your voice shaking through the wind even as the storm tried to devour it.

You cried until your throat burned.

You cried because you knew deep down that you had not taken care of your own heart at all.

You hadn’t learned a single lesson.

You swore you would never allow yourself to feel anything for Floyd.

You swore you would never build hopes around someone who could never truly be yours.

You swore you would never repeat the same mistake.

Yet here you were again, throwing those promises away the moment you reached for him.

Succumbing to the loneliness you tried so hard to hide.

Succumbing to desire.

To wanting.

To selfishness.

And it felt so stupid.

Floyd was leagues above you.

Someone bright. Impossible for your reach.

Someone who liked you only because fate tied your marks together.

He would never choose you in the end.

Why would he?

When he could have someone better.

You curled tighter, nails digging into your arms.

You had fallen straight back into the pit you swore you’d never touch again.

And it terrified you.

Because just as Floyd clung to you in his own wild, unfiltered way, you clung to him too.

Maybe even worse.

You were always alone. Always unwanted.

An orphan with no memory of a mother, no family waiting for you, no one to tell you that you mattered.

Your teachers said your mother left you at an orphanage only months after you were born.

You learned early that people left you.

That you shouldn't expect to be chosen.

You were shy, strange, always the odd girl out.

No real friends growing up.

Every attachment flimsy and temporary.

Which is why Floyd became… complicated.

He wasn’t just a friend.

He wasn’t just a soulmate.

He was the closest thing you ever had to a partner—

and, painfully, the closest thing to family.

You realized, with a kind of shame that hollowed you from the inside, just how much it would destroy you if Floyd ever decided he didn’t want you anymore.

Yet you knew yourself too well.

If he walked away, you would still follow him.

Even if he never looked back.

Even if you broke yourself trailing behind him like a stray dog waiting for a command that would never come.

The thought alone made your stomach twist.

You hated yourself for letting him get this close.

For letting his warmth settle into places you swore would remain empty.

For letting the hope bloom. Even though you knew it would die.

You knew how this story always went. Men only stayed long enough to satisfy their curiosity.

Then they left.

You should have remembered that.

You should have remembered how your ex proved it mercilessly in college,

how he whispered your secrets to the very people who bullied you, how he turned your trust into a weapon,

how the rumors drowned your name until you became The Great Prostitute in their mouths.

Your entire college life is destroyed.

Your already brittle self-esteem shattered into dust.

And now… now you were doing it again.

Giving everything, your mind, your youth, your body, your heart, to someone who would one day walk away.

Leaving nothing of you for yourself.

And the truth was awful in its simplicity,

you wouldn’t even stop him.

You would follow.

Even if it killed you slowly.

So for now you would stay quiet.

Stay small. Stay grateful for whatever pieces of affection he offered you. No matter how temporary.

You pulled your knees tighter to your chest as the storm howled on.

If this was all you were allowed to have, then you would hold it gently,

carefully, and alone.

Almost comically, Floyd drifted toward you through the storm, floating down with an umbrella like those frog with their leaf in children book. He landed lightly in front of you, completely ignoring the raging storm around you.

“Shrimpy?” he called softly.

You tucked your head deeper against your knees, trying to disappear.

“Shrimpy,” he repeated, closer this time. He crouched in front of you, his hand gently guiding your chin up.

You didn’t have the strength to resist. So you let him lift your face, meeting his gaze through your blurry, tear-filled eyes.

“Just leave, Floyd.”

“Hm? Why?”

“Just leave!” You shoved his hands away from your face. The suddenness of it made Floyd flinch.

“You got everything you wanted from me… what more do you need?” you sniffled, voice cracking. “Just— please leave now, while it’s only beginning. Don’t hurt me any longer.”

For a moment, Floyd just stared at you. His fingers twitched like he didn’t know what to do with them.

Then he clicked his tongue in frustration and dropped down in front of you with a heavy plop.

“Man, this feeling thing is so hard. I hate this.”

You stared at him in disbelief, your eyebrows scrunching.

“You’re being so difficult, Shrimpy!” he snapped.

You blinked. “…excuse me?”

“Yes! You’re out here all sappy and stuff. It’s lame! One moment you cry, then you laugh, then you go quiet. I don’t understand!”

“Who are you to judge me?! Your mood swings are even worse!”

“Aww, come on. I at least say what I really feel and don’t make people guess what I want. But you? You deny everything, talk in circles, act all goody two-shoes like that’ll make things easier for everyone. Well, guess what? You’re a hypocrite. You’re confusing, and so annoying sometimes I wanna hit you in the face!”

You were left speechless, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Maybe a shrimp.

“And we literally just fucked,” Floyd added, throwing his hands up, “and now you’re crying in the middle of this disaster land!” He snapped, “Making me wonder, am I really that bad?!”

Shock and embarrassment hit you at the same time, flushing your face hot.

“That— That isn’t true!” you protested, face burning.

“So it’s good?” Floyd pressed.

“It’s the best sex I’ve ever had in my life!”

“Of fucking course it is!”

You both instantly went quiet.

You didn’t know what to say after blurting that out, and Floyd didn’t jump in with anything either. The silence between you was too awkward and embarrassing.

Only then did you notice the storm around you had softened. The thunder faded into distant grumbles, and the tornadoes that had been tearing through the horizon were thinning out, one by one. It was still a mess, but nowhere near what it was a moment ago.

Seems like the world itself didn’t know what to do with the two of you either.

“Why are you even here, anyway?” you finally broke the silence.

Floyd glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“I told you, didn’t I? I wanted to see you. Do I really need some big reason for that?”

You looked away, unsure how to take that.

“Well… what else do you want now? You already have everything of me. You can leave.”

Floyd groaned loudly. “You are exhausting.” He kicked a small pebble near his foot. “I never do this for anyone, you know. Catering to people’s feelings and moods. Usually it’s the other way around.”

“You don’t have to,” you muttered.

“Ugh.” Floyd flopped backward onto the ground like a dying fish. “This is karma. I just know it. Having a soulmate who’s basically my mirror but no one would believe it because she acts like an angel in public.”

He pointed a lazy finger at you. “Only I get to see the devil version.”

You kicked his foot, and he hissed dramatically.

Somehow, bickering like this with Floyd felt comforting. It transported you back to childhood with him.

Looking back, Floyd really was the only real—hah—friend you ever had. And he still was.

Though you weren’t sure you could call whatever you had now just “friends” anymore.

“Hey, Shrimpy,” Floyd said after a brief silence. “That guy on the court…”

You had an idea who he meant. It had to be that player from his last game. The one who somehow became the target of Floyd’s sudden wrath and dragged the whole team down with him. You straightened your posture. If he was bringing this up now, then this was finally the moment he’d share the thing you’d been dying to understand. “He said he knew you from college,” Floyd continued. “He saw that paparazzi photo the other day.”

The wind around you sharpened. The storm stirred again against your will, tornadoes reappearing in the distance like splintered echoes of your heartbeat.

“What… did he say?” you asked weakly.

“Mean stuff.”

Your chest tightened. Of course he did. Of course your past would come crawling back through someone else’s mouth.

You hugged your knees tighter.

You hated that strangers could still reach into your life like that. Hated that someone who barely knew you could twist your name into something ugly once again. You hated even more that Floyd heard it first.

“Was that the reason why you were so angry?” you whispered.

“Yes.”

You swallowed.

The storm answered before you could. Another funnel dropped in the distance.

You wished it would stop. You wished you could stop.

Floyd sighed, still spread out flat on the ground, staring at the sky you can clearly see his rare hesitation took sight on his face. You do hope he can just talk about the weather instead of tearing you open.

“You’re all fools if you think I don’t know anything about you,” he said lazily.

You lifted your head to look at him. He never bothered sitting up, just lay there, arms tucked behind his head.

“I knew you since you were a little kid. You had insane dreams back in college, so I did some digging,” Floyd added.

Your breath hitched.

“I was waiting for you to talk to me,” he said offhandedly. “But you never did.”

“Also, how dare you be with someone else when here I am, celibating for you!” Floyd snapped.

“What? Nonsense. You’re celibating for me? You probably had lots of girls considering how popular you are.”

“What? Why would I bother being with someone else when I have a soulmate?”

You stared at him, stunned. That couldn’t be real. It was hard to imagine the carefree, easily bored Floyd doing something like that for anyone. Much less for you.

“You, however, Shrimpy,” he said quietly, “seem to enjoy yourself.”

A heavy silence settled between you. Your throat tightened.

“…I’m scared,” you finally whispered.

Floyd shifted, turning just enough for his face to angle toward you. His mismatched eyes caught yours, and you quickly dropped your gaze to avoid them.

“You are… very different from me, Floyd.”

You drew a shaky breath. “You were born gifted. You’re tall, handsome, athletic, smart.” A faint smile tugged at your lips, small and sad. “And beyond all that, you’re lucky. You have loving parents, a loving sibling, real friends. You have fame, prestige, money, everything.”

Your voice softened. “You’re everything I’m insecure about.”

“Me, however? I’m a nobody. How could I ever dream of being with you?”

Your throat tightened as tears slipped free. “And I couldn’t bear losing you. You’re the one person who matters to me. You’re not just a friend, you’re my partner, my soulmate, my sanctuary.”

The words shook out of you. “I couldn’t face the thought that one day you’d get bored of me. That you’d hate me. That you’d leave.”

Your fingers curled into your palm. “That’s why I went with that other guy. I was a stupid, young, naive girl. I thought maybe if I distracted myself, I could lose interest in you first.”

You stared down at your hand before looking back at Floyd, who was now sitting upright, watching you quietly.

“But how could I ever lose interest when you’re so… lovely?” you whispered, a bitter smile tugging at your lips.

Floyd tackled you to the ground in a sudden, crushing hug. The force knocked the air out of you, but his arms wrapped around you with such fierce certainty that you couldn’t help but return it your hand stroking the back of his shoulder in slow circles.

As you held each other, the world around you shifted. The wind died. The sky brightened. The rumbling in the distance quieted into nothing. Where the storm once raged, a field of wildflowers bloomed in every direction. Soft purples, bright yellows, gentle whites swaying in a breeze that smelled like something sweet and clean. Sunlight spilled over the meadow like warm honey. You didn’t know if it was your imagination or Floyd’s that conjured it, but it didn’t matter. It so pretty.

“This is why I like this dream world,” Floyd murmured against your shoulder. “You’re more honest here.”

“And you’re gentler, and more mature here, Floyd. Have you noticed?” you replied.

“Meh. I’m just the same old me.”

He pulled back from the hug, stepping just far enough to look at you properly. “I’ve known this forever, but you really are an avid overthinker.”

You frowned at the sudden jab. “Excuse me?”

“Listen, Shrimpy. I wouldn’t bother celibating if I didn’t like you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please.”

“Mother likes you too.”

“She hasn’t even met me.”

“She likes you anyway,” he said with an infuriating shrug.

You huffed, but it came out soft and almost fond.

Floyd’s expression shifted then. Less playful and more open than you’d ever seen him. The meadow reflected in his mismatched eyes, the colors dancing in them like sunlight on water. He reached out, brushing his fingers against your cheek with a gentleness that felt almost unreal.

“Stop running away from me,” he said quietly.

You giggled against his lips, the sound spilling out before you could stop it.

Hm. It seemed you really did need to start accepting him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thus how you ended up here. Floyd lying on your bed with his back to you, facing the wall, sulking the moment you woke up because it finally hit him that he wasn’t your first.

“How can you do this to me, Shrimpy.”

You groaned. “Oh my god, Floyd. Not this again.”

“How dare you.”

You crawled closer, flicking his shoulder.

“I’m heartbroken,” he said.

Before you could say anything, he dragged you into his chest with a grip strong enough to compress air out of your lungs.

You giggled despite yourself.

Maybe accepting him wouldn’t be so hard after all.

END

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𝘢/𝘯: 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘵𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘴! 𝘚𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘈𝘜 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘊𝘭𝘶𝘣!

A swell rolled across the water, rocking you in a slow, lazy tumble. Again, you should have been alarmed, maybe even terrified, but your young mind couldn’t quite process danger. Everything felt distant and unreal so you simply let the ocean cradle you, staring up at the sky as though the world wasn’t shifting beneath you.

Then came the splash.

A quick, sharp burst of water beside you. Ripples danced around your little frame. Something moved beneath you, a large and fluid movement.

With a sudden plop, a head broke through the surface.

A boy.

No, not a boy. Not exactly.

Green-tinted skin glimmered faintly under the sun. Droopy eyes, one bright yellow, one muted olive, blinked back at you with a matching confusion. Fins twitched where ears should be. His teal hair stuck to his forehead in messy strands, and a streak of black trailed down on his left side, dark against the sea foam.

It took your small, bewildered brain several long seconds to fit the pieces together.

A merfolk.

“Who are you?” he asked.

You blinked back at him, just as confused.

First of all, you had no idea where you were.

Second, you didn’t even know what the hell was happening.

The boy swam closer, circling you with slow, curious movements before stopping right beside your floating form. He leaned in, eyes narrowing with interest. Then, without warning, he sniffed the air around you.

You jerked, startled.

“I don’t remember summoning you here,” he said, matter-of-fact. “And you don’t smell like anything I know.”

Your mouth finally caught up to your brain. “I… I don’t know what’s happening either. Where are we?”

The boy blinked at you innocently. “Oh! You’re in my dream.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together. “Dream?”

He smiled. Another loud boom echoed behind you, rattling the surface of the water, but before you could turn, he spoke again.

“Yes! This is my dream. And you…” His gaze swept over you, curious and unbothered. “I don’t know you.”

“You’re… aware that you’re dreaming?” you asked, baffled.

“Mm-hm. Aren’t you supposed to be aware?”

“Uh… I don’t know? I don’t think so?”

The boy shrugged, fins fluttering with the motion. “Well, I am aware.”

Now that he’d said it out loud, you finally took a proper moment to look around.

“So… I’m in a dream,” you murmured.

The words felt strange on your tongue. Nothing here made sense, how you floated so easily, how your clothes stayed perfectly dry despite being surrounded by ocean, how the sky felt both real and unreal at the same time. Your little brain tried to fit everything into a neat box, but the edges kept slipping.

The boy slipped back beneath the surface with a quiet bloop. You felt the gentle swirl of water move under you, circling, before he popped up again on your other side, making you twist around like a slow, confused turtle.

Up until now, you’d only seen pieces of him, flashes caught above the surface. But as he drifted closer, you finally took in more of his form. Delicate gills fluttering along his ribs, fins trailing from his arms and back. His fingers were webbed, thin and translucent between each digit. And below the water, you could just make out a long, serpentine-like tail, not the classic fishtail from your picture books at the orphanage, but something sleeker.

You knew there were many types of merfolk in the world, all kinds written about in books and whispered about in stories.

And now, suddenly, you found yourself wondering what kind of merfolk he was.

“Anyway,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest, “I’m a pirate captain. I’m in the middle of pirating a huge ship we found. It belongs to some king from another country. They have a ton of treasure. We have to get it.”

Only then did you register the shapes on the horizon: two large ships clashing in the distance. Smoke curled into the sky, flashes of magic lighting up the air like fireworks. Wooden debris splashed into the ocean every few seconds as cannon blasts echoed across the water.

You blinked. “How… how are you aware this is a dream?”

The boy looked at you like the answer was obvious. “Well, you can’t be a pirate captain when you’re eight, can you? Adults don’t listen to kids.”

You thought about that.

“…You’re right.”

He grinned, swaying side to side in the water. His movement stirred soft waves that splished and splashed around you again, rocking your small body in gentle circles.

“Hey, hey!” he chirped, suddenly excited. “Do you wanna join my crew? You might not be useful, but my ship is kind. We take any poor unfortunate soul.”

He flung an enthusiastic hand toward the distant ship, right as a deafening BOOM shook the air. A burst of blinding light tore across the sky, followed by a thick plume of smoke.

One of the ships was on fire.

Rapidly.

And sinking.

The boy’s expression shattered into pure horror. He slapped both hands on top of his head.

“AAAAA—NOOOO!! MY SHIP!!”

He wailed dramatically, tail thrashing. “It took me forever to convince the sharks to join! Uhuuhuuhuuu, they even made a handshake with their fins!”

He dragged his hands down his face in utter despair.

You gave him an apologetic smile, an instinctive, gentle expression, completely forgetting that you were still just… floating there like a starfish on the ocean’s surface.

The boy suddenly snapped his attention back to you, pointing a wet finger accusingly.

“You! Since I have no crew now, you have to be one.”

“Eeeh? Why should I?” you protested.

“Because I don’t have anyone,” he said firmly, “and my ship sank because of you.”

“How is that my fault?” you asked, baffled.

“Well, you were distracting me!” he declared, flipping his tail indignantly. “If I was there with my crew, we would’ve won!”

You raised a brow. “But… how were you going to get on the ship? You don’t even have legs.”

His eyes widened. Then, slowly, a greenish flush crept across his cheeks.

…Was he blushing?

“I can walk just fine,” he muttered defensively.

You closed your mouth and let it go. “Sure…”

The boy crossed his arms with a pout, fins flicking irritably.

“Anyway, I still don’t know why you’re here. I’ve never seen you before. Who are you?”

You blinked a few times, then told him your name.

His eyes went huge and his mouth dropped open.

“Oh my!”

Before you could ask what that meant, he disappeared beneath the water with a loud splash. A moment later, he shot out of the sea like a dolphin, twisting in the air before diving back down.

“Oh my! Oh my! Oh my!!” he shouted between jumps, his voice echoing across the calm dream-ocean.

Each time he burst from the water, you caught more glimpses of his body.

He was long, much longer than any merfolk you’d seen in books. His tail shapes like a sea snake or an eel, dark patterns shimmering along his scales.

He popped his head up again, grin so wide it nearly split his face, rows of sharp, shark-like teeth on full display.

“You’re my soulmate!” he yelled triumphantly.

Your eyes widened in disbelief.

“Floyd… Leech?” you asked, testing the name on your tongue.

The boy—Floyd—waved both hands above the water, practically bouncing in place despite having no legs.

“Hello!!” he beamed.

A laugh bubbled out of you at his antics. “Nice to meet you!”

Floyd circled you in happy loops, tail swishing so fast it churned little whirlpools in the water. Then he flicked the tip of his tail playfully, sending a splash right into your face.

You squeaked, then giggled. He lit up even more at the sound, splashing you again just to hear you do it twice.

Floyd suddenly dipped below the surface, then pushed himself upward until his upper body rose out of the water. Droplets streamed down his green-tinted skin as he pointed eagerly to his left lower hip, right where his torso met the slick beginning of his long tail.

“Look! Your name!”

There, etched into his skin as if painted with shimmering light, was your name.

It glowed faintly, soft and pearlescent, like moonlight reflected on water. The letters curved gently with the shape of his body, pulsing, almost like they were breathing along with him. It’s a luminous script against his darker scales, shimmering each time the sun hit it.

Your mouth formed a small ‘O’.

“Oooh.”

Floyd rolled onto his back and then onto his side, tail whipping excited circles around you.

“Show me yours!” he demanded, excitement bubbling in his voice.

You opened your mouth, ready to answer before you stop. Your lips tightened.

“…No.”

Floyd’s movements stopped immediately. His tail stilled in the water, fins hovering mid-sway.

“Why?” he asked, blinking in genuine confusion.

“Um…” You fidgeted, suddenly very aware of your little body floating awkwardly on the surface. “Teacher said not to show it to strangers.”

Floyd tilted his head.

“Stranger?”

“Yes. Teacher said I can’t show my lower area to anyone.”

You remember the lesson from your teacher at the orphanage. You must never show your lower area to anyone, especially your pelvis and upper thighs. Floyd's name is tattooed on your inner left thigh, a place your teacher explicitly declared forbidden. And you are a good girl, you would never disappoint her by breaking that rule.

“But I’m your soulmate,” he protested, voice rising with genuine offense.

You shook your head. “I’m sorry.”

Floyd’s expression twisted instantly. His mood souring like a storm rolling over the ocean. His brows scrunched, fins flattening against his head.

“Not fair!” he snapped. “I showed you yours!”

And before you could say anything else, he spun around sharply. His tail whipped the water with a loud fwssh, splashing straight into your face on purpose this time. Then he dove beneath the surface, disappearing into the deep with a single powerful flick, leaving only a trail of bubbles behind.

You sputtered, blinking ocean water from your eyes.

“Huh? Floyd? Huh?”

The sea around you rocked gently, but there was no sign of the boy anywhere.

“Floyd…? How am I supposed to get up?!” you called, voice pitching into panic.

“Floyd?!”

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The next time you meet him again, it’s in your dream. You’re absentmindedly chasing a dragonfly across the meadow, a little net swinging in your hand, when a long shadow suddenly looms over you, and another net swoops in, catching the dragonfly before you do.

You blinked up at the figure just as he touched down on land, a long tail hovering a few inches above the grass. Its owner grinned at you, sharp shark-like teeth on full display.

“I got it! It’s mine!”

You stared at him. “Floyd?”

He planted both hands on his hips proudly, still hovering a few inches above the ground in his mer-form.

You snorted, laughter slipping out before you could stop it. You slapped a hand over your mouth immediately.

“Wha—why are you laughing?!”

“I’m sorry, it’s just… a bit funny.”

Floyd’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t know how to imagine myself as a human,” he pouted, the edges of his smile drooping.

Guilt tugged at you, so you hastily corrected yourself. “Then we’re even. One–one. I can’t imagine myself as a merfolk either. That’s why I’m stuck floating until I wake up.”

Floyd’s face brightened at your words. “Once I’m old enough to safely drink transformation potions, I’ll have legs like you!”

You beamed. “Oh really? You can do that? That’s amazing!”

Floyd nodded enthusiastically, eyes sparkling.

“Can I become a merfolk too?” you asked.

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You should be able to. They have a potion for that, I think.”

“Yeaaay! That means I can visit you too!”

“Yeaaaay!”

The two of you bounced on your feet—and tail—as your laughter filled the dream-meadow.

“Oh, by the way, I told Mama about you,” Floyd said suddenly. “She says she’s so excited to meet you. And Jade’s super jealous that I met my soulmate first.” He grinned proudly, chest puffed out.

You smiled back, but your gaze drifted downward. You weren’t sure how to respond. You didn’t have a mama to tell.

Floyd seemed to sense the shift in your mood. His grin slowly faltered, concern flickering across his face.

Then, all at once, he inhaled deeply and held his breath. His whole expression tightened, like someone trying very, very hard to push out a poo you almost think he did want to poo. His cheeks puffed slightly, brows scrunched, and he looked strangely determined.

Your gaze snapped upward. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to become a human,” Floyd said through puffed cheeks and a strained voice.

Before you could ask how, a soft glow began to ripple over his mer-form. It started at the tip of his tail, light shimmering like scales turning to dust, then traveled upward in a swirl of bubbles and mist. His long, eel-like tail split in two, stretching and reshaping until legs formed where the fins once were. The glow wrapped around his torso, weaving itself into clothes: a loose green eel-print shirt and short pants that fell just past his knees.

The light popped like a soap bubble.

And standing in front of you was a human boy, wobbling a little on his new legs.

Floyd stared at his hands, then down at himself, eyes sparkling. “Yeaaay! I’m human!”

“Yeaaay!” you echoed, bouncing on your feet.

When he tried to bounce, however, Floyd lurched forward. Only barely saved by your hands catching his shoulders in time.

“Wow, easy!” you gasped.

“Oops.” He blinked, wobbling.

Floyd took a tentative step, then another, his legs moving stiff like a newborn fawn. “This feels so weird.”

“It seems you’re not very familiar with legs yet,” you said gently. “It’s okay, we can take it easy.” You smiled, trying to copy the soft voice your teacher used when she taught you how to ride a bike.

“Wanna practice walking?” you asked softly.

Floyd brightened. “Yes!”

So the two of you spent the rest of the dream practicing, hand in hand, step by shaky step, while he learned how to move in his human form. By the time you began to feel the dream thinning, the edges turning hazy, Floyd was taking steps all on his own without clinging to you.

“Yeaaay! We did it, Shrimpy!” he cheered, throwing his hands up proudly.

“Shrimpy?”

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The next dream has you becoming a merfolk.

To Floyd’s absolute delight, you were indeed a shrimp. A tiny, awkward little merfolk thing with a soft, translucent tail and flimsy fins that fluttered uselessly whenever you tried to move.

Now he was the one teaching you how to swim.

Floyd was practically vibrating with excitement as he circled you, guiding your body with gentle taps. “Like this! See? Wiggle, wiggle—no, Shrimpy, not like that—oh my god you’re so slow—okay, like thiiis—”

You tried. You really did. But for the first ten minutes you only managed to drift sideways and upside-down like a dying leaf.

Floyd didn’t mind. If anything, he found you hilarious.

He brought you everywhere once you finally managed to move in a straight line. Up, down, around colorful reefs, through glowing strands of kelp, and deeper into the ocean where everything looked quieter and darker.

That’s when you learned what he actually was.

A moray eel.

A deep-sea merfolk.

It explained his long body, the lack of the “typical” fish tail, the fins running along his back, and why he moved so effortlessly in the dark. You were a bit taken aback when his skin began to glow. Soft, greenish light pulsing faintly the closer he swam toward the dark seabed.

Floyd brought you to his house next, well, if you could call it a house. You weren’t sure if what you saw was real or just Floyd’s dream-distorted memory. But you followed him anyway, small shrimp-tail flicking anxiously.

And then you met his parents. And his twin, Jade.

You froze up a little. Meeting someone’s parent was already nerve-wracking. Meeting them while you were shaped like a literal shrimp was… something else.

But they were surprisingly nice.

Well, again, dream nice. You weren’t sure if real-life nice would be the same.

Mama Georgina especially. She had such a huge glowing halo around her entire body that you had to wear an illusionary pair of black glasses just to look at her without going blind.

You didn’t need anyone to tell you who Floyd’s favorite parent was.

Those dream encounters with Floyd continued all the way into adulthood.

By now, both of you had grown up, but the dreams still came once or twice a month, like clockwork.

Sometimes you wandered into Floyd’s dream.

Sometimes he slipped into yours.

There were a lot of interesting and downright bizarre dreams the two of you shared over the years. Things that made perfect sense while dreaming, and absolutely none the moment you woke up.

Once, Floyd dragged you into a dream where the two of you tried to teach a school of jellyfish how to dance.

You wanted them to follow a gentle rhythm.

Floyd wanted them to electrify the beat.

They ended up shocking the entire ocean floor, and you woke up with your hair sticking up. Physically impossible, but you blamed Floyd anyway.

Another time, Floyd decided he was a giant sea serpent who could coil around the entire Coral Sea. You rode on his back while he tried to scare passing ships, but every time he roared, only bubbles came out.

There was also the dream where Floyd dragged you through a haunted library because “the ghosts were being too quiet” and he wanted them to scream louder. You ended up running from a floating bookshelf while Floyd cheered it on.

And always, always,

Without fail…

Every time exam week approached, your dreams turned into full-blown warzones.

Explosions, dramatic speeches, last-stand battles on the school rooftop, you suspected your stress level spiked so high that even Floyd got dragged into your academic apocalypse.

He always complained about it.

“You study waaaay too hard, Shrimpy,” he would say while casually dodging dream-arrows or fireballs.

“That’s why you’re all stressed and weird!”

You usually mumbled something about grades being important while throwing another dream-textbook like a grenade.

Floyd never agreed, but he always stayed beside you anyway, no matter how ridiculous the battlefield got.

Just like today.

Your final exam was in two days, and of course, your dream had turned into a battlefield again.

You were currently hiding inside a hollow tree trunk, a military jacket perfectly camouflaging your form, clutching a long bean-shaped weapon in both hands while bullets and arrows whizzed past your head.

The ground shook. Smoke billowed. Someone screamed something about “study guides advancing from the west.”

You exhaled shakily.

A rustle came from your right, followed by the soft thud of someone dropping down beside you.

You didn’t even need to look.

Of course it was Floyd.

“Hello,” he said, sounding completely unbothered by the war raging outside.

He wore a jacket with a striking bean-camo pattern. Not the usual muddy military green, but a chaotic mosaic of colorful bean shapes. His fitted utility pants contrasted sharply with the jacket, and a black beret-style cap sat crookedly on his head, an orange emblem stitched right in the center.

In each hand, he wielded a bean gun, fingers twitching with anticipation.

“Hi,” you greeted him, then calmly fired a bean shot at an alien soldier’s chest. It splattered across their torso, and they dropped dramatically to the ground, defeated.

Floyd whistled. “Ooooh. So, what are we fighting today?”

“Aliens,” you replied. “They die by beans. Left. Go.”

Instead, Floyd rose to his feet with a spring in his step and unloaded a flurry of bean shots at the aliens.

Three splattered at once. Then five.

He laughed louder every time one collapsed dramatically.

“Ahahahaha! This is so much fun!”

Together, the two of you stormed the enemy base, clearing it room by room until the last alien soldier fell with a theatrical groan. Victory music blared from nowhere as you climbed the tallest platform and planted your flag right into their territory.

You raised your arm high.

Below, an entire dream-army cheered your name, chanting in unison.

Floyd bounced beside you, your personal hype boy, cupping his hands around his mouth as he shouted louder than all of them combined.

Dreaming with Floyd wasn’t an occasion anymore, it was expected.

A regular occurrence.

Something you—and maybe Floyd, too—waited for without ever needing to say it aloud.

You were close.

So close, in fact, that despite living in different countries, despite only meeting in dreams for most of your childhood… you dared to call the two of you childhood friends.

In real life, you eventually exchanged phone numbers.

Floyd would call you out of nowhere, sometimes in the middle of the afternoon, sometimes at ridiculous hours because he “felt like hearing Shrimpy’s voice.”

You’d listen to his stories, his rambles, his complaints, his excitement.

And he’d listen to yours just as eagerly. Though you rarely speak yourself.

He is now blooming into such a fine young man.

You were both juniors in your college, and Floyd often sent you pictures of his day. Once in a while, your heart would skip a bit if he sent you a particularly attractive photo, like when he had just woken up.

He looked so cute with his messy hair and sleepy face.

You always giggled.

You both knew each other on a more personal level now. He was your best friend, the one who was always there whenever you needed him. You knew his habits the same way he knew yours. You were also very aware of his sudden mood changes. It had been hard to navigate at first, but since you’d known him since he was little, it became easier to read and handle over time.

Yet, the two of you had never met. Not even once.

You lived so far away from each other, and both of you were always busy with your studies. Finding a suitable time to meet was almost impossible.

Floyd had been whining about it several times, saying it wasn’t fair that you’d known each other for so long yet never once met in person.

His mood only got worse when Jade met his soulmate in college. Trey Clover, if you remembered correctly.

It took you a long time to appease Floyd’s sulking. He lay on his bed with his back to you, facing the wall while on video call, refusing to look at you. It was honestly so funny, because he took the time to prop his phone—your face—on his bedside table, only to continue sulking with his back turned for hours straight while you tried to coax him out of it, doing your best not to laugh.

You managed it. Eventually.

You heard he threw another tantrum when he wasn’t chosen to visit Fleur City during his sophomore year. He even thrashed the Mostro Lounge, where he worked with his friend-slash-manager, Azul Ashengrotto, because, apparently, Azul was going.

Your college was located in Fleur City. It would’ve been a big opportunity for the two of you to finally meet.

Alas, NRC used a draw to select their delegation picks.

You were a bit relieved when you heard that.

Truth be told, you weren’t sure if you were ready to face Floyd yet.

The thought of seeing him in person scared you more than you cared to admit. So you kept delaying it, pushing the meeting further and further away whenever the chance appeared.

Though, deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before he barged into your life and flipped it upside down.

But until then, you would enjoy your sweet, quiet time.

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The chirping of morning birds accompanied your wide smile as you took in the sight before you. Of your dream that finally taking shape.

It was a tiny building, humble and cottage-like, with warm wooden beams and soft, honey-colored accents. A little potion shop. Your potion shop. Nestled right at the end of the busy road in your small town, only two hours away from Fleur City. Its size didn’t matter. The moment you saw it standing there, sturdy and real, your chest felt warm.

You sighed, dreamy, almost lightheaded with joy.

You’d wanted this for as long as you could remember.

Back when you were little, the dream felt impossibly far away. You still remembered your excitement whenever the orphanage teachers mentioned a restocking trip to this town. Out of all the children, you were always the first to volunteer, even though your tiny hands couldn’t help with much. Your teacher still brought you along every time, knowing how your eyes sparkled at the thought of going.

This area had always been known as the merchant’s strip. Rows of small shops, stalls pushed open at dawn, merchants calling out their wares to passing customers. If anyone in town needed anything, they came here. It was the heart of trade, noisy and alive.

Your younger self used to trail behind your teacher with bright, curious eyes, watching merchants weigh goods, haggle with customers, and stack crates with ease. You were far too shy to ask them questions directly, so you saved them all for your teacher, who answered each one patiently.

But your favorite part was the secret treat: when your teacher quietly bought you a lollipop and told you not to tell the other kids.

A luxury you could only experience once in a while.

You held those tiny joys close, and somewhere along the way, your little heart decided:

One day, you would have a shop here too.

And now, after all those years… you were standing in front of your own shop.

The sign dangling in front of your shop sways gently in the breeze, its painted letters catching the morning light. The little brass bell above the door jingles brightly as you step inside, announcing your arrival to the empty, sunlit space.

The interior still smells faintly of fresh wood and herbs. The first floor is your pride, warm wooden shelves line the walls, each carefully arranged with neatly labeled potion bottles, tiny jars of dried ingredients, and bundles of herbs tied with twine. A long counter sits near the entrance, polished smooth, with a tiny television mounted on the corner wall. Small enough to be unobtrusive, but perfect for keeping you company during slow hours.

A pot of mint tea simmers quietly behind the counter, its steam perfuming the room.

The color palette is soft. Sage greens, warm browns, and muted creams. Dried flowers hang upside-down from a ceiling beam. There’s a round rug in the center, woven from earthy tones, and a single potted fern that you fussed over for days before opening.

A narrow wooden staircase near the back leads to your private residence on the second floor. Up there is your quiet little sanctuary, a compact living space with a soft bed tucked at the corner, a small study table, shelves overflowing with books, and just enough room for the life you’re slowly building.

You flip the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN, exhaling softly. Your heartbeat skips with excitement.

Your shop is finally open.

You step back behind the counter and straighten your sweater, trying to appear calm even though your hands are fidgeting with the edge of the fabric.

Your first customer could walk in at any moment.

You already received warm greetings earlier from the townfolk passing by, and from your friends who texted their congratulations the moment dawn broke. Several locals mentioned they would visit today to support the opening.

You breathe in deeply, letting the familiar scent of mint and wood settle you.

While waiting, you decided to turn on the TV only to be greeted immediately by a sports channel broadcasting the ongoing match between Night Raven and Scarabia Sandstorm.

You jerk upright.

Crap.

You completely forgot about Floyd’s match in the chaos of opening day. If you don’t watch it, you’re done for. Floyd will sulk. He will absolutely sulk.

You snatch your phone from your pocket and unlock it, scrolling through your notifications. Three unread messages from Floyd stare at you.

Floyd: Shrimpy I will play in 14 minutes. Floyd: Shrimpy? :(

And then, when you didn’t reply he sent you another message.

Floyd: Well, good luck with opening of the shop!

You wince.

Thankfully, when you glance back at the TV, the first half isn’t over yet. They must’ve just started the match.

You watch Floyd laugh after sinking a clean point into the opponent’s net, Jamil Viper immediately meeting him with a high-five. The sight makes you chuckle.

Floyd always claims he doesn’t take his basketball career that seriously, but anyone watching him right now can see that he enjoys this. A lot.

You were honestly surprised when he first told you he wanted to become a basketball athlete. And when you asked why, he just shrugged and said it looked fun.

Sometimes, you can’t help but envy him for having that kind of freedom of choice.

You settled into your chair, eyes fixed on the tiny TV as the match played on. The court lights flickered across the screen, the commentators’ voices rising each time Floyd made a move. You watched him weave past defenders with that familiar, lazy confidence before tossing the ball cleanly into the net. The crowd roared. Floyd celebrated with a triumphant shout, crashing into Ace Trappola with a chest bump.

As you predicted, the Night Raven won.

After watching Floyd play for years—even in dreams—you could usually tell from the opening minutes whether the Ravens would take the match or not. Usually. It wasn’t absolute. There was that one infamous game where they completely threw the lead because they got… bored. Especially Floyd. He realized they were about to win and immediately lost interest, lounging under his own net like some oversized catfish until the opposing team overtook them.

You shook your head at the memory. Floyd had complained for almost an hour afterward about how “laaaame” the match was, and you’d simply replied that it was partly his fault.

He then sulked and gone quiet.

The rest of the call passed in silence, Floyd lying on his bed watching you crocheted a beanie. Eventually, his breathing evened out, and he fell asleep on the call.

You picked up your phone and quickly typed out a message to Floyd.

You: Congratulations on your victory!

Thirteen minutes passed after the match ended before your screen lit up again.

Floyd: Shrimpyyy!!! Guess where our next match will be?

You barely had time to blink before another message arrived.

Floyd: Maquillaville! You can come right?

Your fingers froze above the keyboard, and your palm went cold as you stared at the message.

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You found yourself fidgeting in your seat as the crowd and music blared across the stadium. The noise was overwhelming, vibrating through your chest.

You’d chosen the farthest seat from the court. High up, tucked into the corner where no one would look twice at you. Even then, you scrunched into yourself, pulling your coat up so it hid half your face.

Last night, in your dream, you told Floyd you might not be able to come.

You’d given no reason.

He didn’t ask.

But you saw the disappointment flicker in his eyes before he forced a grin.

And you… didn’t know how to explain it.

How could you tell him that the idea of meeting him after all these years, after growing up together through dreams, terrified you more than anything?

You debated it all night.

Going.

Not going.

Going.

Not going.

In the end, you decided to try.

So this morning, you locked up your shop, hung a Closed sign on the door, and walked to the nearest teleportation office. One jump later, you were in Maquillaville.

The city’s bustling streets immediately greeted you. Maquillaville was loud, colorful, and full of motion. It is so different from your quiet little town. In all your life, you’d only been here a handful of times. Twice? Maybe three? You couldn’t quite remember. It was far, and you’d never had a real reason to visit often.

You blended into the crowd as best you could, weaving through clusters of tourists, locals, and vendors calling out their morning deals. After a few wrong turns and one accidental detour into a cosmetics district, you finally made it to the stadium. The long line moved fast, and before you knew it, a ticket for the upcoming Night Raven match rested in your hand.

You didn’t tell Floyd you were coming.

Once again… because you weren’t sure if you should meet him now.

Not yet.

Not when your heart kept hammering at the very thought of it.

You weren’t ready.

But you did want to see him with your own eyes. That was why you were here.

The players had already started warming up before the match. From a distance, you spotted Floyd. He looks calm, composed, almost serene. You’d expected him to be in a mood, maybe even sulking after you told him you wouldn’t come. But no. He looked… fine. Completely fine.

Maybe you underestimated how much he’s grown.

Or maybe you’ve been overestimating your place in his life.

Your absence didn’t seem to affect him at all.

Which is good.

…Surely.

“Quick, quick! Oh my gosh. You’re the worst! Look, now we didn’t get any front row seats!”

You turn your head at the sound of two women bickering behind you. One of them looks genuinely distressed, dressed head-to-toe in Jamil Viper merch, while the other, equally committed to Ace Trappola gear, seems entirely unbothered as she calmly sips her cola.

You scan the rows. It’s true. Most of the seats are already taken. The turnout surprises you.

You didn’t think the people of Maquillaville cared that much about sports.

And once again, my friend, it seems you were wrong.

“Relax, it’s not like you need to watch them that intently anyway. You can meet your man every day,” the Ace girl said lazily.

The Jamil girl rolled her eyes. “Then how am I supposed to boo your man when he screws up from this distance, huh?”

Ace girl snorted. “You really are their coach. Apply to be one, will ya?”

She started down the steps, one, two, three, until she suddenly stopped right in front of your row.

“Excuse me,” she said, pointing at the two empty seats beside you. “Are these seats taken?”

You froze, staring at her like a deer caught in headlights. Your mind blanking at the sudden interaction you absolutely weren’t prepared for.

You parted your lips to answer, but the words died when your eyes widening as recognition struck you.

You knew her.

She was that girl. Ace Trappola’s infamous soulmate. The one the internet practically raised you on. You’d seen her face countless times on screens, interviews, paparazzi shots… and Floyd mentioned her often enough that she felt almost familiar.

Your gaze shifted to the other woman. The one decked out in Jamil’s colors.

Then she must be Jamil’s soulmate, the other one Floyd mentioned. They’d never publicly confirmed anything, but they’d never denied it either, leaving the world to speculate about their strangely close dynamic. You only knew the truth because Floyd talked.

Ace’s soulmate frowned a little at your silence, while Jamil’s tilted her head, studying you.

“Sweetie pie, I know I’m gorgeous, but you don’t have to stare at me that intently,” Jamil’s soulmate said.

You jolted at her words. Heat rushing up your neck as you realized you were indeed staring.

“OH MY GOODNESS, SHE’S SO CUTE!” Jamil’s screeched, delighted.

Ace’s rolled her eyes. “Please don’t tease her.”

Then her attention returned to the reddish you. “So, are you with someone else?”

“I—uh—no. I’m not.”

“Then was this seat taken?”

“N-no.”

She smiled. “Oh, okay. Can we sit here?”

“U-uhm… sure…” you shrank into your seat a little.

“Perfect. Thank you.”

They both took the seats beside you. Ace’s settling down at your immediate left, while Jamil’s slid into the seat next to her. Not before sending you a playful wink that made your blush deepen instantly.

Her entire demeanor shifted, however, the moment the match began. The teasing sparkle vanished, replaced by sharp focus as she leaned forward, eyes locked on the court. The sudden switch left you a little flustered.

Ace’s shot you a small smile. “Don’t mind her. She’s a huge fan of Night Raven. And basketball in general.”

You blinked, still half-hidden in your coat. “Yeah… okay.”

She kept staring at you, and it made you shift in your seat, a little uncomfortable under her attention.

“Do you like basketball?” she asked.

You wished that she would leave you alone and enjoy the match the way Jamil’s was doing. She seemed kind, the type who didn’t want anyone to feel left out. But you honestly wished she could just did.

“Sort of,” you replied quietly.

“Are you here for Night Raven then? Who’s your favorite?”

You closed your eyes for a second. You really didn’t want to socialize, but you didn’t want to seem rude either. And she was Ace’s girlfriend, which meant she was also Floyd’s friend and, ugh, there were layers and implications you didn’t have the energy to sort through right now.

You opened your eyes again, forcing a polite smile.

Before you could even open your mouth to reply, she continued.

“Let me guess. Floyd.”

You blinked, eyes flicking to her with a why-do-you-think-that? look.

She simply pointed at your purse. “Moray.”

Your gaze dropped.

Hanging from your bag was the little green moray keychain you’d bought at a town festival. Not official Floyd merch, just something that reminded you of him. Something you kept to yourself because you were far too shy to ever show it to him.

Your face warmed instantly, caught red-handed.

Ace’s girlfriend chuckled. “Arara~”

Even Jamil’s let out a low laugh beside her.

Both of them looked far too delighted by your embarrassment.

“I must admit, though. Floyd’s playing so well today. Looks like he’s at a hundred and twenty percent,” Jamil’s suddenly said in a serious tone.

Both you and Ace’s turned your heads toward the court.

She was right.

Floyd scored another point with a clean, effortless dunk… then immediately smacked the incoming ball away from his net, guarding his territory with that menacing grin you knew all too well.

Floyd wasn’t your typical center.

While most centers joined the offense regularly, Floyd usually lingered under the net. With his massive reach, he could block almost anything. His playstyle depended entirely on his mood. Sometimes he stayed back the whole game, sometimes he felt like joining the offense too. Most days, he did both. About 60% defense, 40% offense.

Night Raven’s inner offense was already strong, so even when Floyd chose to lean into defense, the team was generally just fine.

But today?

He was playing wild. Smacking and dunking the ball like it weighed nothing. Nearly a third of the team’s points were from him alone.

And judging by his expression… his mood was very good.

Jamil’s chuckled. “Seriously, I’ve never seen him play this eagerly before. I wonder why.”

And as if summoned by her words, Floyd suddenly turned his entire body toward your row.

He inhaled sharply, then yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice rumbling across the entire stadium,

“SHRIMPYYYYYY!!!”

The sound echoed, bouncing off every corner of the arena as he waved his arm wildly in your direction.

The crowd went dead silent.

Heads snapped around, confused, scanning the seats for whoever he was calling out to.

You swore you almost fainted on the spot.

The two women beside you froze as well, until their eyes snapped from Floyd’s waving arm to you.

Ace’s soulmate blinked once. Twice.

“Shrimpy? Is that you? THE Shrimpy?” she asked, disbelief dripping from every syllable.

Your mouth wouldn’t move. You couldn’t even breathe properly, your lungs seizing as panic crawled up your throat.

“Oh my gosh!” she gasped, suddenly bursting with excitement. “Welcome to the Soulmate Club!”

Before you could process that horrifying sentence, she tugged down the collar of her shirt, boldly flashing the soulmate mark on her cleavage.

The other woman whipped around, turned her back to you, and tugged down the waistband of her jeans to reveal her mark on her lower back.

Your soul nearly left your body for the second time today for being flashed by two gorgeous women in public.

You really really should’ve just stayed home.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Don’t get any ideas. You DID NOT want to be here. Not backstage, not in the arena’s restricted hallway where the athletes funnel in after a match, definitely not standing in a place that smells faintly of sweat, sports tape, and expensive cologne.

And yet here you were.

Dragged by two gorgeous women who had effortlessly looped their arms around yours, smiling like conspirators. You, being the awkward bundle of nerves that you were, had absolutely no defense against pretty girls. None. Zero. If someone wrote a thesis about you, that would be the first bullet point.

You shifted from foot to foot, unable to stop the restless, jittery fidgeting. The other girls chatted about something you weren’t sure. Their voices blurred together like background noise on a train.

Your stomach churned.

The longer you stared at the closed door, the more nausea crawled up your throat. Any second now, it would swing open. Any second now, he’d come out and you’d probably just… evaporate.

They’d told you the players were still showering. Some had already gone to meet their families or partners, but the Ace–Jamil–Floyd trio preferred to clean up first before seeing anyone. Apparently, it was Jamil’s influence.

“Ace only does it because Jamil does,” Ace’s soulmate had said casually. “I don’t like his sweat.”

Floyd, too, supposedly hated the feeling of sweat sticking to him, so he usually followed the same routine.

And a small, traitorous part of you hoped he stayed in the shower forever.

Alas, your tiny hope was cut brutally short. The door burst open, loud enough to make you flinch, and before you could even breathe, your feet left the floor.

Strong arms scooped you up, your body lifted clean off the ground as if you weighed nothing. The world spun in a dizzy blur, your stomach lurching while you were whirled around in a too-tight hug.

“Shrimpyyyyy~”

Floyd’s voice was right there beside your ear. Not dream-Floyd. Not hazy, blurred-around-the-edges Floyd.

Real. Warm. Solid. Alive. Floyd.

You froze. Eyes wide, lungs refusing to work, shock locking every muscle in place.

The other two couples took one look, exchanged a knowing expression, and immediately retreated down the hall to give you two space.

Traitors.

Absolute traitors.

You wanted to scream after them, call their names, beg them to come back, but your voice had evaporated the moment Floyd had touched you.

When he finally set you back on your feet, your knees wobbled. It took a painfully long second and a strained tilt of your neck to look up at him properly.

He was tall.

Like—TALL.

You knew he was more than two meters from his profile, from the TV broadcasts, from every stat page your friend shoved in your face. You knew he was taller than the average basketball player. You knew all of that.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared you for how big he was in person.

Broad shoulders. Long limbs. A ridiculous wingspan.

He towered over you like a skyscraper with a pulse.

In dreams, it was easy to ignore. Dreams were soft around the edges, even when they were vivid. In dreams, your brain helped you forget how massive he actually was.

But here, in real life, standing this close?

It was different.

It was… intimidating.

You’d always had a hard time being around big guys.

Didn’t matter if they were friendly, quiet, or harmless, something about their sheer size pressed on your nerves until your body screamed flight. You’d long ago perfected the art of slipping past them, keeping distance, avoiding eye contact altogether.

And now Floyd Leech was one of those guys, towering right in front of you.

Your head spun as you craned your neck just to meet his gaze. He was so tall your brain needed a second to adjust to the vertical reality of him.

“Oh nooo, you’re so small, Shrimpy! Makes me wanna squeeze you so hard.” Floyd pinched both of your cheeks, his voice laced with adoration.

You winced and tried to pry his hand off your face while taking two steps back.

The air between you grew awkward from being way too close.

“Hi, Floyd,” you murmured.

“Eeeeh? Shrimpy’s gettin’ shy?” he teased, bending down until his face was level with yours, his grin stretching wide.

Heat crawled up your neck. You stepped back instinctively, craving distance, space, and oxygen.

Floyd’s smile faltered. He blinked, confusion flickering across his expression before it softened into a pout.

“I’m sad, y’know. You said you wouldn’t come today… Then you show up, but you don’t tell me.” His tone dipped, barely a complaint, more like wounded.

You had no good answer so you stayed quiet.

But Floyd didn’t mind. His pout melted into a bright, eager smile.

“But it’s okay~ I knew you’d come anyway. And thaaat’s why—”

His hand landed on your waist without warning. You jolted, breath catching as he guided you down the corridor.

“I made a reservation for dinner.”

“Dinner?” you squeaked.

“Yes, dinner,” he said breezily. “Jade and Trey are in town. We’ll have dinner with the family.”

Your stomach flipped.

By the time you stepped out of the stadium, you were desperately trying to hide behind your coat, and behind Floyd’s towering body, as a storm of camera shutters erupted. Flashes burst in rapid succession, lighting up your vision like fireworks.

Your heartbeat pounded painfully in your chest as panic crept up your spine. You were already dreading tomorrow, when there would almost certainly be a headline about Floyd Leech leaving the arena with someone in his arms.

Floyd seemed to notice your discomfort. He clicked his tongue, clearly irritated at the reporters and paparazzi as well.

He tugged you closer, practically folding you into his side to shield you.

And you tried, really tried, to ignore the last word he said.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Floyd brought you to a fancy restaurant. You know this place, it’s pretty famous on the internet. And even though you’ve never stepped foot inside before, the design still feels strangely familiar. Floyd talks about it so much, and it even appears in some of his dreams. Sometimes you end up working here too in those dreams, cooking beside a lava monster who can bake a pizza in three seconds.

It’s one of the Mostro Lounge branches in Shaftlands.

Floyd’s hand stays on your waist as he leads you toward one of the VIP rooms, tucked away from the general public.

The moment you enter, your eyes drift around the room.

The lighting is soft and warm, reflecting off polished black floors. Velvet seats in deep purple line the walls, and soft lavender accents run along the edges of the room like quiet outlines. A faint scent of citrus and something ocean-like lingers in the air. Everything looks expensive but comfortable at the same time.

Then your gaze stops at the far side of the room.

One entire wall is made of clear glass. And through it, you can see the famous square of Maquillaville. Wide stone pavements, historic buildings glowing under golden lights, elegant sculptures surrounding a fountain in the middle. The kind of view people post online with filters and long captions.

In the center of the VIP room sits a long table prepared for a formal gathering, with several neatly arranged seats waiting to be filled.

The only time Floyd lets go of you is when he steps ahead and pulls a chair out for you.

The small, gentlemanly gesture makes your cheeks warm.

You sit down quietly, mumbling a soft, “Thank you.”

Floyd smiles at you. Though the smile quickly fades, replaced with a small, annoyed frown.

“Ugh, Shrimpy, I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Uh… sure, go ahead,” you reply.

“I’ll be right back. You stay here.”

And just like that, Floyd slips out of the room.

Only then do you finally allow yourself to breathe, placing a hand over your pounding chest. Your nerves twist uncomfortably. Meeting his family… gods, your stomach is doing somersaults. You wish nothing more than bolt straight out of the restaurant, run all the way home, and bury yourself in the safety of your tiny, familiar little abode.

Footsteps echo from behind you.

You turn around, expecting Floyd, but instead a green-haired man with glasses steps into the room. He dressed in a button-down shirt and a knitted vest with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. You recognize him immediately. Trey Clover. Though this time he looks a lot more normal, without the little ant antenna you kept seeing in Floyd’s dreams.

He holds a bouquet of purplish flowers in one hand, and his smile brightens the moment he sees you.

“Hello,” he greets.

You stand up from your seat on instinct. “Hello, nice to meet you.”

Trey lets out a small chuckle. “Please, no need to get up.”

He steps closer and gently offers the bouquet toward you.

You blink. “For me?” you point at yourself, unsure.

“Yes,” he says warmly. “A welcome gift. Nice to finally meet you. My name is Trey Clover.”

You let out an awkward little laugh as you accept the flowers and introduce yourself in return.

Trey takes the seat across from you, and you quietly settle back into yours.

“I heard from Floyd you like purple,” he says gently. “I hope you take a liking to the bouquet.”

“Oh, Yes, I do. It’s very pretty.”

You look down at the bouquet in your hands. Shades of lilac, deep violet, and soft lavender fill your vision. There are velvety moon violets, tiny clusters of larkspur, and elegant strands of purple freesia tied together with a simple silver ribbon. It smells faintly sweet.

“But… I didn’t bring anything,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Trey chuckles. “Oh, you don’t have to. Really, don’t stress. I’m guessing Floyd also didn’t tell you anything about today’s agenda, did he?”

You blink. “…How do you know?”

Trey gives you a knowing smile.

“Of course I know,” he says. “After all… those two are peas in the same pod.”

Your brow scrunched in confusion. “They?”

“He means me.”

You jolted at the voice right beside your ear.

When you turned, you were met with a face identical to Floyd’s. Same height, same features. Yet you knew instantly it wasn’t him. Something in the way he carried himself, calm and precise, made the difference obvious.

“Jade…?” you asked quietly.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Oh? You can already tell I’m not Floyd. Most people mix us up right away. Is it because you see him so much in your dreams?”

He leaned in closer, his face slipping straight into your personal space, way too close for your liking.

“Um—” You shrank back into your seat, overwhelmed by both the questions and the proximity.

Trey let out a tired sigh. “Jade. How many times do I have to remind you it’s impolite to appear right in someone’s face like that?”

Jade eased back, not looking the least bit sorry. “Ah, how inconsiderate of me.” He dipped his head politely. “My apologies, Miss Shrimpy. I’m simply very excited to finally meet you. I have so many questions.”

“Oi, oi, Jade. Don’t call her that.”

Floyd’s voice cut in out of nowhere as he slid his arms around you from behind, almost caging you in your seat. “Only I can call her that,” he said.

Jade chuckled and lowered himself into the chair beside Trey. Floyd finally released you just enough to flop into the seat next to yours.

For a moment, you just… stared at them.

Seeing Trey and Jade in real life like this felt bizarre, almost wrong, like a painting suddenly stepping off its canvas. You knew them, yet you didn’t. The versions you’d seen in Floyd’s dream were distorted reflections, echoes warped by his mind. They felt familiar now, but also entirely foreign. You had no idea which parts of their personalities were genuine and which parts were products of Floyd’s subconscious. It was unsettling, realizing how many gaps your mind had unknowingly filled in.

A soft glow flickered at the edge of your vision.

You turned just in time to see a faint light pulse along Trey’s left arm before fading. Only then did you recognize it as a soulmate mark… with Jade’s name etched across it.

Trey followed your gaze and lifted his sleeve a little higher, as if giving you silent permission to look.

“Ah,” he said with an easy smile, “you noticed.”

“It’s glowing,” you murmured.

“It is,” Trey confirmed warmly. “It happens every time the quirk activates.”

“They can teleport to each other’s location when they’re near enough,” Floyd added, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.

Your eyes widened. “That is so cool!”

“Meh, lame. They can only do it if they’re close enough,” Floyd muttered.

You shot him a glare for the unnecessary rudeness.

Jade chuckled, again. Everything seemed to amuse him, and somehow that made you even more uneasy. There was something about him, a sharpness behind the smile, that felt… off-putting.

“Floyd is right,” Jade said calmly. “We can only teleport if we’re within roughly two hundred meters of each other.” He turned that smooth, unreadable smile toward you. “I personally find yours and Floyd’s gift far more fascinating.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because it requires trust,” Jade replied. “And vulnerability. Teleportation is a convenience. But sharing a dream? That reveals a great deal about who a person truly is.” His eyes glimmered with something you couldn’t name. “Rarer, too.”

Before you could respond, Trey nudged Jade with a light elbow, as if reminding him to behave.

Despite the odd vibes here and there, Trey and Jade were nothing like the warped dream versions you’d known. They were grounded. Real. Their personalities had shape and texture you’d never been able to grasp through Floyd’s memories alone. They were surprisingly easy to talk to, and slowly, almost without noticing, you felt your shoulders loosen, your breath no longer catching in your throat.

As the dinner went on, you learned so much about them. Their background, their upbringing, their work. You found it so cool that Trey works in agricultural science because he likes baking, or how Jade ended up in botany research because of his fascination with flora, specifically mushrooms.

“Did you know that the nightcap mycena can glow faintly under the right humidity?” Jade launched into one of his mushroom facts.

They were cool. Effortlessly so. And it hit you, more than once, how out of place you felt among them.

Floyd’s inner circle was full of people that shines so brightly… and you couldn’t help thinking you held no candle to them.

You pushed the thought away before it could sour the evening, forcing it into a quiet corner of your mind.

Not tonight. You wouldn’t ruin something so unexpectedly pleasant.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately for Floyd, he has to fly to another continent again for his next match, and the two of you barely have any time together. Something that seems to irk him a lot.

But after that first meeting, you start seeing Floyd more often in your dreams. And Floyd is… different now. Clingier.

He’s always been clingy, but these days he takes it to a whole new level. Not to mention, he’s gotten touchy in the dreams, and the atmosphere has taken a weirdly romantic turn you absolutely do not know how to handle.

Of course you’re not stupid. You can see the way Floyd shows his interest in you. What you don’t understand is why.

You never denied that Floyd is attractive. And you never denied that you might have had a crush on him here and there.

But you never expected him to like you.

Not even a little.

You’re a nobody. You’re not as pretty or smart or gifted as him. You’re… mediocre at best.

Floyd, on the other hand, is everything you’ve always longed for. A source of envy in your chest.

Not only was he born with every advantage a person could have, but his life path is incredible too. He’s surrounded by amazing people, gorgeous fans who probably line up outside his door, ready to throw themselves at him the second they get the chance.

So you never really thought there could be any kind of romantic development between you two.

Yet when you see him rowing a beautiful white boat along the pink-tinted river, your heart can’t help but skip a bit.

Floyd brings the boat closer to the dock, where you stand waiting with your white gown and parasol. He’s wearing a matching white outfit, and the boat is decorated with soft pink and white flowers. All part of his dream setup.

Floyd rises from his seat and offers his hand to help you step in, but you ignore it and climb into the boat yourself, settling in the seat across from him.

Floyd lets out a small giggle, almost in disbelief, before sitting back down.

“You’re the only person in the entire world who can pull off that attitude,” he says. “And I’m the one who has to keep up with your mood.”

“I know,” you reply.

The cherry blossom trees stretch along the river, painting everything in a soft pink haze. A gentle wind brushes your cheek as you watch a group of white rabbits hop in and out of the tall grass, trailing the boat like curious little shadows. Floyd rows at an easy pace… and keeps staring at you.

Once again, you’re no fool. You understand his intention behind these dreams. But even so, they were never this straightforward before.

It’s strange. He’s always been blunt, but never romantic like this. You suppose it has something to do with him being grown up now, more mature. You don’t want to read too far into it or start convincing yourself that all of this is because of you.

But now that he’s openly expressing his interest, you don’t think you can hide anymore.

You have to face the way he’s giving you affection so plainly, so obviously.

And you’re not sure if you’re ready for it.

“Do you like the dream?” Floyd finally decided to start the conversation.

“I do,” you answered shortly.

Floyd hummed, still rowing. “Turns out Shrimpy is very different in real life and in dreams.”

His words pulled your attention away from the jumping rabbits. “How so?”

“Dream Shrimpy is brave, outspoken, carefree. Real Shrimpy, however…” He tilted his head, studying you. “Quiet. Keeps to herself. Gets startled easily.”

Your eye twitched. You have to admit he’s right. You are more carefree in dreams. You never thought about it deeply before, but maybe because it’s a dream, you feel freer to express yourself. Part of it is because you never expected to meet the person inside the dream in real life. Another part… well, human subconsciousness always slips through, and dreams are one of its manifestations.

You can’t say the same for Floyd though. His real self and dream self aren’t that different. But if you have to point out one thing, dream Floyd is a bit gentler.

“I wonder which one is the real Shrimpy,” Floyd mused. “Though whichever it is, I like you still.”

All thoughts evaporated at once. You had no reply for that. Your brain short-circuited, buzzing with too many thoughts hitting you all at once.

So instead of answering him directly, you lifted your hand, and a beautiful dock unfurled beside the boat, stretching toward the soft pink meadow.

“I am both.”

The wooden planks rose just enough to meet your feet as you stepped onto them. You walked toward the meadow with your head held high.

You feel suffocated by the thick tension between you and Floyd in a space as small as a boat. Every breath feels too tight, and you long to get out as soon as possible.

You stretch out your hands, letting the gentle breeze brush against your skin as you walk forward. You can sense Floyd following right behind you.

A hand creeps around your side. You don’t need to turn to know whose it is.

“Hey, Shrimpy.” He’s hugging you from behind now, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist. You keep your gaze forward, refusing to meet his eyes.

“You know I like you.”

Of course you know. It’s in everything he does.

“And you know I hate going around in roundabouts.”

His other hand settles on your hip. Then you feel a soft kiss pressed to the crown of your head.

“I really want to know your answer.”

You turn around and cup his face in your hands. His eyes search yours, waiting, too earnest for you to face head-on.

You don’t answer his question. You don’t even know what to say.

So you lean forward and kiss him instead. A gentle press of your lips against his.

His lips are cool, soft, and you feel the faint curve of a smile bloom against your mouth before he moves.

Floyd tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss with a slow, calculated motion. One of his hands slides up your back, the other settling at your waist as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. You were surprised at how desperate he feels. He kisses you like he’s been waiting this for a long time, like this was an answer he hoped for.

You breathe against his mouth, overwhelmed at how warm you feel despite the coolness of him.

His lips part just enough to draw in a shaky breath, and that tiny sound of half–gasp, half–laugh, sends heat crawling up your neck. He chases your mouth again, softer this time, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. His thumbs stroke your waist in slow circles, pulling you closer until your chest meets his steady, cold heartbeat.

You don’t realize your fingers have slipped into his hair until he lets out a low hum, vibrates against your lips. He leans into your touch greedily, like he’s been starved of this kind of gentleness.

He pulls back only a fraction, lips brushing yours as he murmurs a breathless, delighted,

“…Shrimpy.”

His voice breaks just a little on your nickname, as if you’ve knocked the wind out of him. His forehead rests against yours.

He looks at you like you just handed him the sun.

And you really don’t know how to handle him once again.

You drag him down with you, guiding him wordlessly until your back meets the softest surface you ever felt. The world has softens, cradle you, shifting into the most impossibly comfortable bed. Plush and warm. Floyd follows your pull easily, caging your form with his body without once breaking eye contact.

His weight above you is grounding. Dangerous in all the ways that your soulmate is. With the never dimmed mischief behind his charming yellow and olive eyes.

You lift a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb over his skin. He really is beautiful, you think. Sharp jaw, sea-glass eyes flickering with wild affection, lips still a little swollen from kissing you. Even the faint shadows under his eyes make him look unreal, like something carved from moonlight.

Floyd leans into your touch immediately, nuzzling your palm. His lashes lower, expression softening in a way you wonder if someone ever see this before.

He takes your hand gently and presses a kiss to your palm, lingering there. Tasting the warmth of your skin.

His gaze lifted to meet yours for a moment before he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your upper chest. You gasped, realizing your gown was gone. In its place was a delicate baby-pink sleep set you suspected he had conjured, its thin straps doing little to hide you. A blush crept up your cheeks as his eyes followed the lines of your body. Floyd chuckled softly. "Oh, Shrimpy. You're the cutest.”

He captured your lips once more, the kiss a slow, thoughtful deepening from a bold claim to a possessive, searching need. As he coaxed your mouth open, his tongue swept in to explore the hidden warmth of your cave. His mouth then began a languid trail downward, each press of his lips a brand against your skin. A path of hot, open-mouthed breath ghosted over the sensitive curve of your neck and the delicate slope of your shoulder. There, he paused, and you felt the exquisite, sharp graze of his teeth. The sting bloomed into a radiant possessive mark that pulsed with pleasure.

Your whimpers and whines were music to his ears, and his delightful attack grew wilder every time you made a sound. You could feel the wetness start to form on your panties. You always wondered about the limits of this dream land you and Floyd shared, how big it was, what it could conjure, and how real it could feel. All those questions were finally answered as your whole body shook with Floyd sucking on your nipple.

He nipped, nibbled, and licked your left tit with the fervor of a starved man. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was trying to draw milk from it himself. He didn't ignore your right tit either, his other hand groping and pinching the sensitive bundle of nerves eagerly. Your mini dress had been dragged down; you didn't even realize when Floyd had decided the straps were no longer needed, as it now pooled around your stomach. The skirt had been hiked up from your thighs, exposing your damp panties to the air.

Floyd’s eyes were fixed on the marking of his name on your left thigh, glowing gold with the beautiful cursive letters etched into your inner thigh, oh so very close to your dangerous area.

“Ah, so this is where it’s located,” Floyd sighed at the sight, his eyes caressing the letters as if memorizing every curve.

A possessive, triumphant smirk touched his lips as he lowered himself to your thigh, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss directly over his name. Your whimper joined the morning birds' chirps above.

Sensing your rising ecstasy, Floyd began peppering your inner thighs with kisses and sharp little bitemarks, marking a path toward his final destination. He stopped himself right at your very visible, wet, sticky clothed pussy, his hot breath ghosting over the damp fabric.

Floyd licked it and you let out a loud moan, one that echo across the vast field.

“Oh, Floyd.”

Your hand shot to grip his hair as he dragged your panties to the side, revealing your very dripping pussy. Without hesitation, he dived back down to lick, eager to catch the sweet, slick juice.

He flattened his tongue against your folds, licking a slow, broad stripe from your entrance to your clit. The rough, wet heat of his tongue made your hips buck. He wrapped his lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves and sucked, sending a jolt of pure pleasure through you.

Your grip on his hair tightened as he began to flick his tongue rapidly against your clit, over and over, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He slid one finger into your dripping entrance, then another, curling them to find that spot deep inside that made you see stars.

The dual assault of his tongue and fingers was overwhelming, a relentless, delicious pressure that built and built until you shattered, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

Floyd retracted his fingers, gazing at the slick sheen on them before deliberately licking them clean. The blatant, dirty display sent a shudder through your entire body. "I wonder if you taste this sweet in real life, too," he murmured.

Your hazy mind, overwhelmed with need, couldn't process the teasing. With a flick of your wrist, his clothes vanished, exposing his powerful, huge body to the air. "Oh?" Floyd watched in amusement, his erection jutting out, painfully hard and dripping with precum from the tip.

You wonder if you could take that size in reality. But this was a dream, and you were far too horny to care.

His marks glow brightly on his hip, teasing you to touch it.

You drag Floyd down, urging him to fill you immediately. He obliges, lining his cock up with your opening and rubbing it through your folds several times, gathering your slick to coat himself. The friction is too much for your oversensitive body, and you whimper into his ear, your heels digging into his back to pull him closer.

"My shrimpy is so eager," Floyd laughs.

He finally presses his tip against your entrance, and you moan at the initial stretch. But before he can slide in any further, your body convulses, a violent tremor wracking your frame as your vision floods with white.

You jolt upright. Pain spikes behind your eyes, and you immediately grab your head, hissing at the headache your sudden rise triggered.

Your vision swims in a hazy blur before the room finally comes into focus.

Your room.

Your ceiling.

Your bed.

Your eyes widen.

Dread pooling in your stomach. Slowly, you look down at your lower half. A damped trace clearly visible on your panty.

“…Oh, shit.”

You woke up.

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Safe to say, you refused every single one of Floyd’s attempts at a video call that morning. There was just no way. Not when every time the dream replayed in your head, your entire face heated up like a stove. At one point you even had to put down whatever you were carrying just to bury your face in your hands and quietly die in embarrassment.

Your phone had already exploded with messages the moment you woke up.

Floyd: NOOOOOOOOOOO. Floyd: SHRIMPY NOOOOOO. Floyd: Noooooo. No no no no, shrimpy. QAQ

He’d tried calling too. Multiple times. But you, still drowning in secondhand embarrassment from your own subconscious, slapped your phone into Do Not Disturb without hesitation.

And gods, the memory was too vivid. You could still feel his mouth on you, phantom traces of the kiss lingering on your skin until your knees nearly buckled.

To make matters worse, Floyd had a match this evening.

You weren’t even sure you could manage watching him through a TV screen without combusting on the spot.

You had no idea what gotten into your mind when you did that.

Once again, your subconsciousness betrayed you and got too brave on its own.

The bell above your shop door rings, snapping you out of your spiral.

“Welcome to the— Ack.”

Your voice dies the moment you see who stepped inside.

Trey Clover stands by the entrance, offering you a gentle, slightly puzzled smile. “Hello?”

He brushes the snow from his winter coat. The first dusting of the season melting against the warm air before slipping it off and hanging it neatly on the rack.

He walks toward you, standing frozen behind the counter in pure shock.

“It feels like I’m not very welcome,” he says with an easy chuckle.

You practically choke on air.

“N–No! Oh my god, no— please don’t think that!”

Trey laughs softly, the sound warm enough to ease your panic by a fraction.

“I’m just joking,” he assures you, adjusting his glasses as his smile settles into something kinder. “You always look so startled. It’s cute.”

Your heart does an acrobatic flip you did not authorize.

You clear your throat, forcing your brain to reboot. “Um… is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, yes.” Trey taps a gloved finger against his palm. “I’m here to buy some potion ingredients.”

“You are?” you blink.

He nods. “Yeah. I need some Moonflower Resin, a small pouch of Dewspark Herb, and… hm.” He scans the shelves behind you. “Also a bottle of Crushed Starlace Petals, if you still have those.”

You scramble to pull yourself together.

“R-Right. One moment.”

You gather his order with clumsy, bewildered hands. Still not fully over the fact that Trey Clover is just casually standing in your shop. You pack the ingredients neatly, then slide the bundle across the counter.

“Here. That’ll be a total of thirty-four thaumarks.”

Trey hands you the money without hesitation.

You clear your throat. “Um… you can buy these in the city, you know? Why come all the way here?”

He raises a brow, amused. “Oh?” He tucks his wallet back into his coat pocket. “Well, there’s no point in lying, is there?”

You mumble something under your breath that definitely isn’t a real sentence. Trey chuckles.

“I came to see you. And for the herbs, of course,” he adds lightly. “The shops in the city have decent stock, but store-bought will never beat herbs someone grows themselves.” He turns slightly, eyes scanning the rows of jars and dried bundles lining your shelves. “You grow most of these on your own, don’t you?”

“Not all,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck. “But… most, yeah.”

Your collection of stock is one of the few things you’re genuinely proud of. You learned most of what you know about herbs from your part-time job at your college, and later as an assistant in a potion shop.

If there’s anything you’re confident in, it’s potionology.

You grew most of these herbs yourself. Planting, tending, harvesting, drying. Every step done with care. You know your goods are top quality.

“And you know that because…?” you ask.

“Because Floyd told us,” Trey replies simply.

“Ah.” Of course he did.

“You have no idea how often he talks about you,” Trey adds, amused. “You’re basically our living unicorn. Never seen, always heard about.” He gives you a small smirk.

Just as Trey finishes his sentence, the first flakes of snow begin to fall outside your shop. The soft patter against the windows pulls both your gazes toward the door.

“Hmm… seems I’ll have to stay for a while. Don’t you think?” Trey asks, turning back to you.

You blink at him. “…Right.”

You let him take a seat while you brew a pot of tea. The snow keeps tapping gently at the windows, a quiet backdrop to your conversation. Talking to Trey is easy, maybe even easier than talking to Floyd or Jade. He always knows how to start a topic, how to steer it, how to make sure you’re comfortable the whole time. Before you realize it, your shoulders loosen, and you’re laughing as he slips in another joke.

You’ve often wondered how you’d ever handle meeting Floyd’s family someday. You didn’t exactly do terrible with Jade, but the idea of fitting into Floyd’s world is still terrifying. Yet having Trey here… it makes the thought feel a little less impossible. He’s an outsider to the Leech family too, yet he fits in effortlessly. Surely you’d find your way too, if you ever needed to.

Your cheeks grow warmer the moment you register what you’re thinking.

“By the way, I came to give you this as well.”

Trey handed you a sleek white envelope trimmed with a thin line of gold. On its cover, written in elegant, looping cursive, were the words:

‘To our lovely little shrimp.’

“That’s from Georgina,” Trey explained. “An invitation to their New Year family banquet. She wants to see you.”

Your gaze shifted to Trey, the envelope suddenly feeling heavier than it looked. You weren’t sure how to feel about it. Everything was becoming a little too real, and you didn’t know if you were ready. Meeting the Leech family would only make it happen faster. And now you understood why Georgina chose to send Trey instead of handing it to you through Floyd, Jade, or even by post. She must’ve known that having Trey deliver it was the gentlest way to approach you. The one least likely to startle you.

“Oh, dear.” Trey’s voice cuts in as he glances at his watch. “We almost forgot Floyd’s match.”

You jolt, the mention of Floyd’s name hitting you like a slap of cold air.

“Can we turn on the TV?” Trey asks, pointing toward it.

“Uh, y-yeah, s-sure.”

He lowers his hand slightly. “You don’t want to?”

You shake your head way too fast, waving your hand as if fanning away smoke. “No—not at all. Gosh, yes. Let’s watch it.”

You scramble to your feet, fumbling with the remote before finally managing to switch on the TV. Then you hurry back to your seat as if the couch might run away.

If Trey finds your behavior strange, he doesn’t comment on it.

The sports channel flashes into focus. Already deep into the second half. You and Trey both gasp at the same time.

The scoreboard blares in the corner of the screen:

47 – 0.

Night Raven leading.

Unbelievable.

“What on earth…” Trey leans forward, brows raised.

You just stare, slack-jawed.

Professional teams don’t lose like that. Not even on their worst day.

It’s one thing if they were a bunch of exhausted college kids, but these are trained, seasoned athletes. There’s no reason, no possible explanation, for a team to be crushed this brutally without landing a single point.

You do have an idea, though, when the camera cuts to Floyd.

Gone was the playful, chaotic Floyd you knew.

What stared back from the screen was someone else entirely.

He looks dangerous.

His eyes burn with a sharp, simmering rage as he stares down at the opponent crumpled beneath him.

The atmosphere around the court is so thick you can almost feel it through the screen. Even the jolly Ace Trappola is standing still with his hands on his hips, expression cold as he watches the opposing team struggle to regroup.

“Great Sevens, what is happening?” Trey murmurs beside you.

You don’t know.

You really, truly have no idea.

In all the years you’ve known Floyd, even with his moods and temper, you’ve never seen him angry like this.

Not like this.

His fury radiates right through the screen, and your heart kicks up painfully in your chest.

The referee blows the whistle and the game starts again.

But the pace is… off.

The flow is fast, aggressive, exciting even, but full of something wrong. You watch Floyd move, and it’s clear he’s playing by himself. His teammates trail behind him, hovering close yet letting him take full control as he storms toward the opponent’s side.

The opposing team tries to block him. Three at once, then four, but they can’t even slow him down. He cuts through them with brutal precision, takes a running leap, and slams the ball into the hoop.

The impact echoes through the stadium.

Even the commentator goes silent for a heartbeat.

Floyd hangs there for a moment, fingers tight on the rim, chest heaving, then he finally let go. He drops to the floor with a heavy thud that looks vibrates even through the television.

The ring sways.

Left.

Right.

Harder.

Harder.

Everyone’s eyes lock onto it.

And then, with a sharp metallic crack, the entire hoop gives out and collapses, shattering glass across the court. Screams erupt from the audience as staff rush forward.

Floyd broke the ring.

The referee immediately calls a 15-minute emergency timeout while they bring in a replacement.

You cover your mouth with both hand, breath caught in your throat.

What in the world is happening?

TBC

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PART 2 (Click Here)

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You woke to the sound of the train’s intercom crackling faintly through your headphones.

“We have arrived at the last destination.”

Your vision swam for a moment. The window outside was a pale wash of dawn. You rubbed your face with both hands and groaned under your breath. Your back ached from sleeping in the same position too long.

Grabbing your suitcase, you stepped off the train. The doors slid shut behind you with a metallic sigh.

The air outside was crisp, cool against your cheeks. You stretched lazily, arms reaching toward the ceiling of the world, and yawned so wide your jaw cracked. The movement tugged your jacket higher, baring a sliver of your stomach. You ran a hand through your hair, trying to fix the mess, then finally looked up.

The station platform was carved from white marble veined with gold, roses climbing along every pillar as though grown by invisible hands. Instead of fluorescent lights, floating lanterns drifted lazily above the rails, casting soft halos over the polished floor. The air smelled faintly of something sweet, sharp tang that made your skin prickle.

Beyond the platform, a row of ornate carriages hovered a few inches off the ground, wheels spinning without touching it. People in tailored suits and elegant cloaks strolled past, chatting casually as they waved polished wands that made their luggage levitate behind them.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

One woman flicked her wrist, and a large leather trunk floated off the ground to trail obediently after her.

You stared at the sight, mouth slightly open.

“...Motherfucker.”

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You stared at your reflection in the mirror, hands clasped tightly in front of your chest as if in prayer. The fluorescent light above flickered, casting pale halos over your trembling form.

Your denim jacket lay discarded on the sink. You were down to your white tank top now, one sleeve tugged low off your shoulder, exposing the soft curve of your left breast. If the women passing through the restroom had any opinion about you half-undressed and shaking form in front of the mirror, they kindly kept it to themselves.

Because on your chest, just above your heart, dangerously close to indecent, was a name.

A name written in a curling, graceful cursive that shimmered faintly under the light.

Ace Trappola.

The letters looked almost alive, the ink shifting from deep red to gold like a heartbeat beneath your skin.

You had nearly screamed when you first saw it.

Actually, no. You had screamed — the kind of sound that could curdle milk and shatter glass.

The chaos began the moment you realized this wasn’t your hometown station. You’d stumbled through unfamiliar marble halls and glowing sigils until your panic led you here, a tiled restroom that at least looked normal. You’d locked yourself in a stall, clutching your chest, trying to breathe past the pounding in your ears.

Fifteen minutes. Three skin pinches. Two slaps across the face. Zero success.

It was all real.

When you finally stumbled out, face flushed and eyes wide, the fabric of your jacket suddenly felt suffocating. You yanked it off, desperate for air, and that was when you noticed it. The words etched across your chest, faintly glowing under the restroom light.

You screamed. Loud enough to make the echo bounce off the tiled walls.

“OH MY GOD WHAT IS THIS?!”

Your hands flew to your chest, clawing at the ink as if you could rub it off, but it didn’t even smudge. “Is this a joke? Is this—what the hell—”

The poor woman washing her hands froze mid-motion, eyes wide. You must’ve looked deranged. Half-dressed, panicked, yelling at your own chest.

When you started rambling about human trafficking and branding, she rushed to calm you down. Gently. Carefully. Like someone trying to soothe a feral animal.

“Dear, that’s your soulmate mark,” she said kindly. “It’s… well, it’s a blessing.”

You blinked at her. “I’m sorry. My what?”

The woman smiled as if she hadn’t just dropped a spiritual nuke into your life. She explained, in soft tones, that this world, this place called Twisted Wonderland, had magic, myths, and a system that tied souls together. A name written on your skin meant destiny, fate, divine connection, whatever poetic nonsense people liked to believe in.

You weren’t stupid. You’d read fantasy books before. You knew how this trope went.

You just didn’t expect to live it.

The woman, bless her kind heart, even called it “a privilege.”

Apparently not everyone was lucky enough to have a soulmate.

That warmth in her eyes turned to dissaproval, though, when you asked which NPC role she was playing in this fever dream.

Now you were back in front of the mirror, whispering desperate prayers to any higher power that might be listening.

“Lord and Savior, please, please let this be a dream. I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

You stood there for thirty minutes. Still. Silent. Hoping the world would flicker like a broken screen and fade to black.

It didn’t.

The shriek of another train’s horn finally snapped you out of it.

You exhaled shakily, adjusted your clothes, and forced the denim jacket back onto your shoulders. The suitcase wheels rattled behind you as you walked toward the exit. Toward whatever the hell came next.

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You had to give the woman credit because, somehow, you really were lucky.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself while staring at the dead black screen of your phone. No matter how many times you held down the power button, switched outlets, or whispered threats to the device, it refused to turn on. One might call it karma. You called it one of the many perks of landing in Wonderland. Yay!

So you dragged yourself to the nearest library, luckily (again), right across the station, to use the public computer. Lucky number three: it still worked.

And as it turned out, you were even luckier. Because Ace Trappola wasn’t just some random guy. No.

He was the Ace Trappola. Professional basketball athlete for Night Raven, position: Power Forward. A rising star. The sensation of the season. The self-proclaimed “Raven Ace.” You even found his brand deals, sportswear ambassador, model, influencer, mage, poet… monk?

What the hell, sure.

You didn’t even want to scroll further. You didn’t care if he was a war hero or a pastry chef.

Bottom line: he was a celebrity.

And because luck apparently loved you today, Night Raven was playing a match right here in the Kingdom of Roses, and in the city you were currently stranded in. You scored another win when a poor, love-struck college student handed you one of his extra tickets after two minutes of your best flirt and push up bra. Lucky you.

So here you were.

Sitting among a sea of roaring fans, surrounded by glowing wands and banners, trying very hard to pretend you weren’t falling apart inside.

The game was already in full swing. The stadium pulsed with energy, lights sweeping across the polished court. You barely understood basketball beyond ‘ball goes in hoop = good,’ but you could tell Ace Trappola was good.

Like, ridiculously good.

Every time he scored, the crowd erupted in chants of “Raven Ace! Raven Ace!” His teammates hyped him up with chest bumps and half-dances. You didn’t know what a Power Forward did exactly, but he made it look like a main character role.

You almost felt bad for the poor guy from the Knights of Roses who kept getting wrecked by his formless shots —that’s what the college dude called—, Almost.

Then, somewhere between one of those plays, his gaze suddenly flicked toward the stands and locked on yours.

For a moment, it was like the air went still.

You raised a brow, silently daring him to look away.

He didn’t. He smirked. Sharp and cocky, the kind of grin that said yeah, I know I’m good.

You grimaced, disgust slipping from your lips in a quiet grunt.

This one’s a player, you thought.

Even if you weren’t sure he was actually looking at you, the dislike was instant and irrational. Soulmate mark or not, that man had trouble written all over him.

The match ended with a victory for Night Raven, 87–62. The crowd exploded into cheers. You heard the announcer say the players would meet fans in ten minutes.

Perfect.

You turned to the college guy sitting next to you. The one who’d given you the ticket and had been trying, unsuccessfully, to flirt the whole game.

“Take off your shirt,” you said.

His eyes went wide. “Huh?”

“The jersey,” you clarified impatiently. Pointing at Jersey no. 7, Trappola he wore. “Take it off.”

He hesitated. Big mistake.

Before he could finish saying why, you yanked the jersey off his head in one clean motion. “Do you want his autograph on your shirt or not?” you hissed.

You left him there, dazed, half-naked, and questioning his life choices, as you darted into the lobby.

By the time the players came back out to greet fans, you were already elbowing through the crowd. Lines? Rules? You didn’t have the patience. You had questions, and a half-magic tattoo over your heart that demanded answers.

You spotted him instantly. Ace Trappola, hair still damp from sweat, jersey replaced with a brand-new Night Raven shirt, laughing with his teammates.

The security guards noticed you too.

“Ma’am, please—”

You dodged one, swerved around another, and waved the stolen jersey above your head like a flag. But before they could grab you, Ace Trappola himself turned and noticed.

And for whatever reason, luck number seven, perhaps, he told them it was fine.

He flashed you a grin. “Hello, pretty girl. To what do I owe the honor?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you opened your denim jacket and tugged down your tank top.

“Whoa—hey!” Ace nearly choked, stumbling a step back. “Please don’t flash your tits at me! Not here, at least!”

His teammates froze. The tall one with teal hair and shark-like teeth burst into laughter, while the captain, a calm man with a dark ponytail, looked one second away from tackling you off the court.

“Not that, idiot,” you snapped.

Ace blinked, confused, then looked again.

His eyes dropped to your chest, and this time, they didn’t move.

The smirk disappeared. His pupils dilated. You watched his expression change from shock to disbelief.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

You crossed your arms. “Yeah. Holy shit.”

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Ace leaned his elbows on the kitchen island, fingers interlaced in front of his lips as he studied the strange woman devouring her meal across from him.

You didn’t seem to notice, or care, about his stare. You were too busy shoveling rice into your mouth, humming in quiet satisfaction as if you hadn’t eaten in days. Your denim jacket was draped carelessly on the counter, leaving your white tank top to expose a teasing sliver of skin and—unfortunately for Ace’s peace of mind—the faint golden mark just above your left breast.

Your suitcase sat obediently by the door like a loyal dog. You, on the other hand, looked entirely out of place in his apartment.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, still watching you.

You had stormed into his life, flashed him in front of a stadium, and then demanded dinner like it was his fault the universe decided to tattoo his name onto your chest.

Somehow, he already knew you were there before he even saw you. The second his team entered the court, there was this pull in his chest, a quiet hum beneath his ribs whispering, she’s here. It wasn’t something he could explain.

Every time the ball hit his hands, he felt it: that quiet pull, the awareness of being watched. His focus sharpened, his adrenaline spiked, and before he realized it, he was playing harder than he ever had before.

He wasn’t even sure if it had anything to do with his soulmate, but he couldn’t deny it, the presence had fueled him. Every sense felt alive, everything brighter, louder, more intense.

Excitement. Curiosity. A flicker of wonder. Even a faint thread of sadness.

And when he finally locked eyes with you, he knew.

That presence, that hum in his chest, it was you.

Then you went and flashed your tit—well, your mark at him.

And he finally understood.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or pass out.

Now, here you were, sitting in his kitchen, inhaling takeout rice while he contemplated every questionable life decision that led to this moment.

He sighed and tried not to look directly at your ti—mark again. He’d shown you his own, after all. The identical one etched along his right ribcage, glowing faintly with your name. You had only nodded, unimpressed, as if he’d shown you a receipt.

Ace’s gaze flicked back to you.

You were pretty. Really pretty. Hot, even.

If you were just some random fan or a girl hoping to get a chance, he wouldn’t have hesitated to accept your invitation. But you being his soulmate… complicated things. Especially since you’d been shooting him dirty looks like he’d personally ruined your life.

He was still lost in thought when a sudden whoosh echoed through the room. Blue flames erupted in the fireplace, and four sets of legs stepped out from the swirling fire.

Both you and Ace turned at the same time.

“OH MY GOODNESS! ACE’S SOULMATE! YOU’RE FINALLY HERE!”

You barely had time to process before a blur of orange hair slammed into you. You stumbled backward, rice box nearly flying out of your hand, as the stranger wrapped you in a crushing hug.

“Uh, what—”

“Do you know how hard I tried to find you?” The man gushed, pulling back just enough to look at you like a long-lost sister. “I searched every platform, every social feed, everywhere! I thought my research skills were failing me!”

“You mean your stalking skills,” said another voice dryly.

Behind him stood a calm man with glasses, holding a box of pastries. “Hello, Miss. I’m Trey, Ace’s friend. That’s Cater, and you’ve already met his enthusiasm.”

“Cater, let her go,” another voice snapped. Sharp, proper, and laced with authority. “That’s rude.”

A short redhead with perfect posture dusted soot off his coat. “Apologies,” he said curtly. “He can be overly excited at times. I’m Riddle Rosehearts. And this is Deuce Spade.”

"Hello," The man, Deuce, wave his hand.

“Sorry, cutie,” Cater grinned, finally releasing you.

You just blinked at them all, still clutching your half-empty rice box.

Ace ran a hand down his face, groaning. He didn’t even know why he’d called the group chat earlier. Just that he’d panicked and texted, my soulmate is here what do I do.

Cater’s response had been OMG IM COMING RN 🔥🔥🔥, followed by Trey’s I’ll bring dessert, Deuce’s LMAOOO, and Riddle’s Don’t do anything stupid.

Now they were all in his living room, uninvited, acting like this was a social event.

Trey set the cakes on the coffee table. “We should move to the sofa. We can chat while eating.”

“Yay, cake!” Cater cheered, already dragging you toward the sofa.

You looked mildly alarmed but followed anyway, muttering something under your breath. Ace cleaned up your rice box on instinct, caught himself mid-motion, and grimaced. Why was he being domestic?

You raised an eyebrow as he threw away your trash. Neither of you said anything.

Once everyone had settled, Ace deliberately took the seat farthest from you. Deuce shot him a pointed look. Something between “seriously?” and “coward”, but Ace ignored it.

Cater plopped beside you, eyes gleaming. “So, tell us! Why’d you only show up now?”

You dabbed at your lips with a napkin, unfazed. “Oh, that. I don’t come from this world.”

The entire room went still.

Even the blue fire seemed to pause mid-crackle.

Then you cut another slice of cake and said matter-of-factly, “I was on a train. Fell asleep. Woke up here. Thought it was human trafficking. Turns out it’s magic. Fun times.”

Trey blinked. Riddle’s jaw dropped. Cater looked like he’d just witnessed the plot twist of the century.

Ace leaned back in his chair, pressing a palm over his face.

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath.

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“So you’re telling us that you do not come from this world?” Trey asked carefully, as if afraid he’d misheard.

“Yep.” You didn’t even look up. Just kept eating cake, calm as a saint while sipping the tea Riddle had brewed for you himself per your request, which, frankly, was proof you were either brave or suicidal.

Ace leaned his elbows on his knees, watching you explain everything with unnerving casualness. How you’d woken up on a train, how you’d stumbled into his match, and how, for reasons he still couldn’t begin to understand, the universe decided he was the idiot you were cosmically attached to.

Then, for dramatic effect, you’d waved the stolen jersey you’d ripped from some poor college guy’s head and declared you were keeping it until Ace signed it.

“I believe my arrival here has something to do with that man over there,” you said, tilting your head toward him like he was a particularly troublesome object. “So I think he at least owes me a roof to stay under until I figure out how to go back.”

Ace blinked at you. Slowly.

“Interdimensional travel is theoretically possible,” Riddle chimed in, ever the scholar. “It’s been recorded in several ancient manuscripts… though I can’t recall any method of returning.”

Fantastic, Ace thought.

Deuce was grinning like he’d just found his new favorite comedy show. “Oh, I agree with you, Miss. I think Ace should take care of you until you find your way back.”

The amusement on his face was enough to make Ace want to hex him on the spot.

With a sigh, Ace stood, crossing the short distance between them until he was standing right in front of you. He could feel his friends’ stares behind him, but he didn’t care.

His voice came out flat. “How much do you want?”

The laughter and small chatter in the room froze.

You blinked up at him. “What?”

“How much money do you want?” he repeated, eyes cold. “You want gold, jewels, cash, whatever. Just say the number.”

Behind him, Trey let out a low sigh, and Cater muttered something like “Acey, don’t?” Riddle didn’t speak, but Ace could practically feel the disapproval radiating off him.

He ignored them all.

Because he’d seen it all before. The soulmate marks, the declarations, the promises that turned into ash. The idea that fate tied two people perfectly together was a beautiful lie. And he didn’t do lies. Not anymore.

Soulmates argued, broke up, betrayed each other, cheated, divorced. The red thread everyone romanticized snapped all the time. The world still spun. People still fell in love, and people still left.

Ace just happened to stop believing the story had a happy ending.

“I don’t know what you’re scheming,” he said finally, voice low. “Or who you’re working with. Frankly, I don’t care. Let’s cut to the point, how much money do you want?”

You stared at him for a long moment. Long enough for him to start feeling something he really didn’t want to name. Anger. Disbelief. Hurt. It pressed into his chest until he almost wished you’d just yell.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you exhaled softly and stood up, meeting his eyes with a coldness that mirrored his own.

“Forget it,” you said quietly. “I’d rather jump off a bridge than have a dickhead like you as a soulmate.”

You brushed past him, shoulder bumping his arm, not hard, but enough to sting. The slam of his front door echoed through the apartment.

Silence followed.

“What the heck, dude?” Deuce finally said, looking between Ace and the door.

Ace let out a long, heavy sigh.

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Ace found you crouched down by the station gate, head buried in your knees.

The station had long closed for the night. A lone security guard stood a few meters away, close enough to intervene, far enough to grant you a shred of privacy. Judging by the guard’s helpless look, Ace guessed he had already tried to help you at some point, only to be brushed off. So now he lingered, pretending not to notice your quiet sobs echoing against the tiled walls. How considerate.

The man straightened when Ace approached, posture alert. But when Ace lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal the soulmate mark carved into his ribs, the guard seemed to understand instantly. He nodded and stepped aside.

Ace stopped in front of you, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, looking down at the trembling figure on the cold floor. Your soft, broken cries filled the empty station.

He closed his eyes.

He hadn’t meant any of it. The cruel words, the accusation, the money.

Not really.

The mark had been there since the day he was born. A name written across his right ribs, a promise branded into skin. Soulmate marks were rare, a divine blessing, they said, proof that you were wanted. And so, as a kid, he’d shown it off like a trophy. Boasted about it to anyone who’d listen, imagining what kind of ‘perk’ he’d share with his destined other half.

He’d done all the research he could, read every paper, myth, or old archive he could find. He’d dreamed of the day his soulmate would appear. But years passed. College came and went. And his mark remained nothing more than ink on flesh.

He’d seen others find theirs. Riddle and Trey both meeting their soulmates in college, settling into their own small, perfect lives. He’d also seen the darker side: soulmates that fell apart, betrayed each other, tore the thread in two. So, eventually, Ace stopped caring. Stopped hoping.

Not even Cater, with all his tech and social media stalking skills, could find any trace of his supposed other half. Ortho, the humanoid genius with his advanced tracking systems, couldn’t find a match for the name on his ribs either.

Well, it made sense now. No one could find his soulmate if she came from another fucking world.

Cosmic comedy.

He huffed out a bitter laugh under his breath. At least his younger self’s obsession with soulmate research had paid off, because after tonight, he’d finally figured out what their shared perk was.

Empathic Resonance.

One of the rarest and most powerful bonds recorded. A psychic link that could transmit feelings, pain, even fleeting thoughts when emotions ran too high. A gift, and a curse.

And judging from the wave of sorrow rolling off you, you had no idea it even existed. Of course, you won’t.

He crouched down slowly, watching your shoulders tremble. He didn’t need to guess what you felt. He could feel it himself. Sadness. Anger. Frustration. Hurt so raw it almost bled through his own chest.

You really weren’t from this world.

And despite how badly you were handling it, you were still holding yourself together better than he probably would’ve. Thrown into a foreign land, surrounded by strangers, lost without a clue, and yet, you still had the courage to come to him. Maybe out of desperation, maybe because he was the only name you knew. Either way, he couldn’t blame you.

He reached out, hesitating for a second before sliding his arms under you. You didn’t resist when he lifted you. Bridal style, your body limp with exhaustion.

Your quiet sobs soaked into his jacket. He could feel your heartbeat against his chest, uneven and fragile.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer. Just kept crying, face pressed against his.

He adjusted his hold, using one arm to carry you and the other to drag your suitcase behind him. The wheels clattered over the tiles, echoing through the empty hall.

You whimpered when his hair brushed your face, and then whether by instinct or misplaced anger, you yanked at it.

“Ow,” he hissed. “...Yeah, I deserve that.”

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“Huh? So you can feel it all?”

“Yeah, and so are you,” Ace replied, moving to grab his takeout from the door.

You were happily munching on sushi at his kitchen island. Sushi you’d shamelessly ordered using his phone and his credit card.

Ace had just finished explaining that your soulmate perk was something called Empathic Resonance. Basically, you could feel each other’s strong emotions. Which was both cool and totally whacked.

“Then how come I didn’t feel anything?” you asked again.

He shrugged. “Maybe you’re not sensitive enough.”

You squinted at him. “And you are?”

He just smirked, sliding up to sit in front of you. You swallowed your sushi dramatically, elbows resting beside your sushi box. “Okay, guess what I’m feeling right now.”

Ace’s hand paused halfway through opening his lunch box. He squinted at you. “Feels like you wanna poop.”

“Aw, man!” You groaned, stabbing your sushi in defeat before shoving the entire roll into your mouth.

Ace snorted, laughter bubbling up in quiet bursts as he opened his own meal. A bland-looking athlete’s catering box. Balanced calories, protein ratios, all that depressing health math.

You peered at his food, nose wrinkling. “Do you eat that every day?”

“Only during the season,” he said with a shrug.

You frowned. “Just because it’s supposed to be healthy doesn’t mean it has to look like punishment.” You jabbed a finger at the sad, pale chicken. “Food’s supposed to make you happy, not… remind you of hospital food.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?”

You extended your hand. “Yeah. Give me that.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Give me your meal.”

Still confused but oddly obedient, he handed the box over.

“Think you can hold your hunger for a bit?”

“Sure,” he said, watching you start raiding his fridge like you owned the place.

You scanned the fridge. Soy sauce, sesame oil, a couple of lemons, garlic. That was enough. You skimmed the nutrition label printed on the catering box and decided to keep the macros intact, because, fine, he was an athlete or whatever.

The sound of sizzling garlic filled the kitchen. You tossed in the sad chicken breast with a few dashes of sauce and a squeeze of lemon, coaxing out flavor from its cardboard soul. The smell alone could probably resurrect it from its coma.

When you were done, you slid the plate toward Ace with a little flourish.

He blinked. “Wait. You can cook?”

“Yes. I’m a professional chef. Nice to meet you,” You puffed your chest a little.

He didn’t hesitate. One bite in and his eyes went wide. “Holy shit, this is actually good.”

You grinned, proud enough to glow. “Of course it is.”

Then you caught his smirk.

Your smile faltered. “Wait. You can feel that, can’t you?”

Ace’s smirk turned into a full grin.

“Dammit!” You groaned, slapping a hand over your face.

Ace’s laughter filled the apartment, echoing off the walls. You pouted into your hands, muttering something about the universe’s sense of humor.

But even as you sulked, somewhere deep in your chest, you felt it too. An emotion that wasn’t yours.

Joy.

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Turns out living with you wasn’t that bad, Ace had found.

You were bubbly, sassy, and constantly teetering somewhere between brave and stupid. Much like himself, really.

You’d printed out his dietary chart and pinned it on the fridge, determined that his catering food was a hospital tragedy. From then on, you took over the kitchen. You asked — well, forced — him to do grocery runs together, filling his once barren fridge (which previously held nothing but Diet Coke and regret) with actual ingredients. Now, Ace went to practice with your meals packed neatly in containers that smelled too good for someone who claimed she wasn’t staying forever.

Floyd grumbled constantly about it. “So unfair! I want a cute, soft soulmate who feeds me after practice too!” Too bad Floyd could only meet his soulmate in dreams.

You declared yourself his private live-in chef, insisting that cooking for him was your way of paying rent.

You’d claimed one of the spare bedrooms and made it your own. Soft curtains and the faint scent of spices clinging to the air. When Riddle introduced you to his soulmate, Azul, you were ecstatic to be offered a part-time job at Mostro Lounge. Staying home all day yelling at Ace to eat his vegetables was apparently getting boring. Azul was equally ecstatic once he learned your little secret about being from another world. He’d sworn to help you find a way back, though the gleam in his eyes had you and Riddle equally concerned. Ace still wasn’t sure whether Azul wanted to assist you or experiment on you, but Riddle reassure you that Azul won’t do anything bad to you. Yeah, sure.

Your search for a way home continued, with Riddle lending his connections and you spending sleepless nights poring over old magic texts. Ace didn’t say it, but he was getting used to your presence. Your laughter, your mess, your cooking. The thought of you finding your way back is… complicated, for him.

Another shot swished through the hoop, three points clean. The crowd roared, cameras flashed, and the rhythmic thump of basketballs echoed across the gleaming court. Ace caught the rebound and dribbled lazily toward the half-line, running through drills while the rest of his teammates doing their own warmed up.

Thirty minutes before the official match started.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted you in the stands. You sat beside Cater, both waving banners and snacks like overexcited kids. You were wearing a loose jersey, Jamil’s, Viper number 3, of all people, paired with baggy jeans. The sight made his eyebrow twitch.

“He’s just so cool and charismatic,” you’d once said, eyes sparkling.

Yeah, sure. Charismatic my ass.

Cater, on the other hand, looked like a walking merchandise stand. Full Night Raven merch, face stickers, jersey, everything. Ace noticed that the raven sticker on your right cheek matched the one on Cater’s left. Heh, Cute.

His manager’s voice snapped him back. “Ace! Get ready!”

Ace rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and moved into formation.

The whistle blew.

Floyd the giant eel leapt for the tip-off, easily grabbing the ball with his long reach. He passed to Jamil, who flowed across the court with liquid grace, his sharp eyes scanning for an opening. Ace broke through a defender, raising a hand for the pass.

Jamil feinted right, spun, and passed it cleanly into Ace’s waiting hands.

Ace caught it, quick as lightning, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. He dashed across half court, sidestepped his mark, and jumped for the shot—

—and suddenly froze.

A searing heat shot through his chest, spreading like wildfire up his throat, down his stomach, and straight to his groin.

What the hell?!

The ball flew from his hands almost on instinct, swishing perfectly through the hoop. The crowd erupted, thinking it was skill, but Ace could barely hear them. His heart hammered too hard. His skin felt like it was burning from the inside out.

“Ace!” Jamil’s voice cut through the noise. “Focus!”

Ace blinked, breath ragged, snapping out of whatever that was. “Huh? Oh. Yeah.”

He shook his head, trying to steady his breathing. The faint echo of a feeling not his own brushed against his mind, sharp, hot, embarrassingly familiar.

Oh, great.

Wherever you were sitting, you were definitely the culprit.

The fiery feeling didn’t stop.

In fact, it only got worse.

It crawled beneath his skin, pooled hot in his chest, then surged lower until it burned right in between his legs. Once, it hit so suddenly that he tripped over his own shoe mid-sprint. He barely managed to catch himself before face-planting into the floor.

“Yo, Ace, you good?” Floyd called from the other end, voice echoing over the squeak of sneakers.

“Oh, I’m great!” Ace yelled back, breath sharp. “Never been better!”

He was not great. He was not.

Another wave hit. Sharper, hotter, and he had to clench his jaw to stop a sound from escaping. His movements turned jerky, every pivot and dribble slightly off. His teammates started to notice, side-eyes exchanged mid-play.

Jamil hissed from the sideline, “Trappola, what’s wrong with you? Focus!”

“I’m trying!” Ace barked back, a little too loudly.

The audience laughed. He wanted to melt straight through the floor.

He knew exactly what was happening now. The surge of emotion, the electric rush of warmth that curled low in his lower hip.

It wasn’t his.

It was yours.

Desire. Pure, unfiltered lust.

It flooded his body in messy, confusing waves, making his pulse trip and his thoughts blur. He could feel you through that damned mark. Your heartbeat, your impatience, your… very distracting mood.

He groaned inwardly.

It felt like his entire nervous system was hijacked. Every heartbeat synced to the rhythm of your arousal. His grip on the ball tightened. He tried to shake it off, force himself to focus, but the heat only built higher, coiling in his stomach.

He pivoted, cut through the opponent’s defense, and dribbled fast, determination clashing with mortification. Each bounce of the ball seemed to sync perfectly with the pulse in his veins. The heat flared up again, fierce and dizzying, and before he could stop himself—

WHAM!

He dunked the ball with way too much force. It slammed off the rim, rebounded high, and nearly clocked Floyd in the head. The audience gasped, then cheered anyway, because, hey, points!

Oh, this was hell.

Literal, soulmate-induced hell.

His soulmate was somewhere out there, probably enjoying this, and he was burning alive in the middle of a basketball match.

The referee’s whistle cut through his internal agony. “Time out!”

Ace sat up in an instant, face flushed red from more than just effort. His teammates crowded around, voices blending into noise as the medic gestured for him to sit still. He ignored them all, eyes scanning the stands until he found you.

You were sitting there beside Cater, one hand over your mouth, eyes wide in mock innocence. And then — oh, then — your lips curved into the faintest, most infuriating smirk.

Ace’s eye twitched.

Oh, you minx.

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Ace slammed your body to his apartment wall with a light thud. His eyes burned with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine as you chuckled and linked your arms through his neck.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he growled, his voice low and commanding.

“Eeeh? Why? Isn’t it fun?” You teased, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and defiance.

You had been intentionally teasing him throughout the match, feeling the surge of your ovulation cycle that had started three days ago. It reminded you of how long it had been since your last sex, and your instincts kicked in. Who could possibly satisfy your needs better than your hot, muscular, athletic soulmate?

For days, you had tried to send signals of your horniness to Ace, even going so far as to rub yourself to sleep, hoping the strong feelings would channel through to him. The big eye bags he had in the morning made you wonder if he was indeed feeling it. You hoped he was jerking off to it too.

Yet, the man did nothing. No glances, no advances. Normally, you’d applaud his restraint for keeping his hands to himself despite sharing a roof with a sexy, hot chick. But not this time. You were horny, dammit!

In your final act of mischief, you decided to send your desire while he was in the middle of a match. You knew it would throw him off his game, but you told yourself you wouldn’t take it any further. You just wanted to see if it would actually work, if he could feel you, even when he was supposed to be focused.

You hadn’t expected the reaction that followed. When you saw him sprawled flat on the court, gasping and dazed, a thrill ran through you. Your breath hitched, and before you realized it, your thighs pressed together in a particularly firm motion.

You smirked when you saw the glare in his eyes and braced yourself for what was to come after he finished his match and arrived home.

Cater shot you a playful and suspicious look, knowing you had something to do with this, but you didn’t care. Your eyes were fixed on Ace only.

Ace slammed his lips on your neck, biting down on a particularly sensitive spot right below your right jaw. You let out a groan, your body already responding to his touch.

“Seriously, though. Never do that again,” Ace pulled his head back a bit to look you in the eyes. “Do you really want to jeopardize my career?”

You shrugged, “You guys won anyway.”

“That’s because I am good at the game.”

You stuck out your tongue in a mocking gesture, but Ace caught it with his mouth and bit it lightly. The gesture made you slap a hand over your mouth and stare at him in disbelief. You could feel the heat creep up your neck to your cheeks.

“Lol, you have no problem teasing me the entire week, but this makes you embarrassed?” He laughed.

Truth be told, you had no idea you would be this brave. Maybe your lust, coupled with a couple of alcoholic beverages you had with Cater earlier, made you braver than you usually would be. But the realization of your hot partner pinning you against the wall while his hands traveled up and down your body made you understand how crazy this situation truly was.

Ace brushed your hand aside and claimed your mouth with his. His hot, wet tongue explored your mouth with a hunger that matched your own, sending shivers down your spine. You moaned as his tongue danced with yours in a passionate tango.

You whined as you felt Ace slot his thigh between your legs, the rough fabric of your jeans contrasting with the smooth skin of your inner thighs. You absentmindedly ground your hips against his thigh, seeking friction and release, your mind clouded with desire.

You didn’t realize the hand that had crept under your jersey to cup your bra, fondling lightly before demanding you take the jersey off. His touch was electric, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You complied, eager to feel his skin against yours, and pulled the jersey over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought.

Ace took a moment to stare at your almost naked top, his hand still fondling your left chest as he admired your body. His eyes, dark with desire, fixated on his name etched on your chest. He leaned down and lightly bit the area around it, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. Your body shuddered in ecstasy, a gasp escaping your lips as you felt a surge of pleasure unlike anything you had experienced before. Holy fuck, you never knew that area was so sensitive.

Desperate to feel his body, you tugged at his shirt, wanting to get rid of the offending fabric that separated you from his skin. Ace complied, pulling the shirt over his head in one fluid motion. Your hands immediately roamed his whole torso, tracing the defined muscles. You loomed over his mark, admiring your name that was oh so beautifully carved on his lean ribs, feeling a sense of ownership and belonging.

Ace tugged down your baggy jeans, his fingers grazing your skin as he pulled them off your legs. He peppered kisses along your torso. Now off with your bra as he sucked your tits with so much vigor, mouth hot and wet, tongue swirling around your nipple. You arched your back, pressing yourself against him, wanting more, needing more.

Ace’s hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and contour. He cupped your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you closer, grinding his hard clothed length against your sensitive spot.

Your hands fumbling with the button of his pants, desperate to free his cock. You finally managed to undo it, pulling down his zipper with a satisfying rasp. Your hand slipped inside, wrapping around his hard length. He was big, thicker and longer than any man you ever had, and you stroked him gently, feeling him pulse in your hand. Ace groaned, his hips bucking into your touch, breath hitching as you explored his length.

Ace’s hand snaked between your legs, fingers finding your wet folds with ease as he shoved your underwear aside. He teased your entrance, circling it with his fingertip before sliding one digit inside. You moaned, your body clenching around his finger. He added another, scissoring them inside you, stretching you, preparing you for what was to come.

“Ace,” you gasped, your voice breathy and needy. “More. I need more.”

Ace’s mouth left your nipple with a pop before he lifted your body and brought you to the living room. Your and his clothes pooled near the door where you once were, a trail of discarded fabric leading to your current position. You instinctively linked your legs around his hips, moaning as you felt his dick grazing over your pussy. The sensation was electric. You ground on it enthusiastically, your body seeking the release it so desperately craved.

“Impatient,” he groaned, his voice a low rumble against your skin as he rummaged through one of the cabinets. You felt something cold and smooth poke your stomach, followed by a warmth that instantly filled your lower belly. You blinked as you see light coming from his magic pen. “Contraception,” he muttered slightly on your neck.

You were guiding him towards the sofa, body already aching with anticipation, but Ace seemed to have different ideas. He brought you closer to the large window instead, the city lights twinkling in the distance. He spun you around and shoved your body against the cool glass until your breasts pressed fully against it. Your eyes widened, your heart pounding in your chest as you took in the breathtaking view below.

Ace’s hand snaked around your hips, pulling you flush against him. You could feel his hard length pressing against your ass.

“Since you seem to like to show off so much,” he whispered in your ear, his voice a low growl, “why don’t we give the entire city a show?” His teeth nipped at your earlobe.

Your breath hitched. You were terrified. Heartbeat hammered in your chest, echoing in your ears. Someone could see your entire body in full view, exposed and vulnerable. Though it was highly unlikely, as his apartment was located on the 12th floor of a building and there were no nearby buildings as high as this one in close proximity. Yet the idea still made you terrified… and set your heart ablazed with a mix of fear and excitement.

Seems like Ace sensed it too, as you clamped down on nothing when he stroked your clit, his fingers expertly circling the sensitive nub. The sensation dragged your mind back to the current activity, your body responding to his touch.

“Never knew you would be so vulgar,” he teased, voice laced with amusement and desire.

His cock slid and bumped against your slit, teasing you, driving you crazy with want. It had been some time since he denied you your request of shoving his big dick in your hole immediately, and your body ached for the release only he could provide.

You tried to form a coherent retort, but the words escaped you as his fingers flicked your clit. Your hips bucked against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure. You were a mess of need and desire, your body begging for his touch, his cock, his everything.

Yet your stubborn mind refuses to back down. You snickered. “You seem to like the show yourself. If I did not know any better, I think you enjoy—”

Your words cut short as Ace shoved his entire length into your hole with one swift, powerful motion. You gasped, your mouth falling open in a silent scream as he filled the entirety of your pussy with his girthy length. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and a hint of pain that sent sparks of ecstasy through your entire being. You could feel every inch of him stretching you.

Ace began to thrust, his hips moving with a rhythm that was both relentless and hypnotic. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, your nerves ending alight with sensation. You found yourself struggling to keep your footing, your legs trembling beneath you as your body responded to his invasive, delicious invasion.

Luckily, your big strong soulmate was always willing to help. One of his hands stayed firmly on your hip, anchoring you, helping you maintain your balance as you bounced on his cock. His other hand roamed your body, cupping and squeezing your left breast with a firm, almost rough, tenderness. His fingers teased your nipple, rolling and pinching it until it stood taut and sensitive. Occasionally, his hand would graze over your mark, the place where his name was etched into your skin, making your heart race.

“You really drive me crazy with all of your emotions. I think you should have a taste of it yourself, no?”

You had no idea what he’s saying or if you even can manage to register it in your head. Until a wave of intense pleasure and desire hit you and you nearly screamed.

You often wondered if the perks you have are indeed working, as you never seem to really feel what Ace is feeling. You feel his occasional emotion, yes. But more often than not, you have no idea. You guessed it has anything to do with his magical ability or if he just never feels so strongly. Seems you are so wrong as you can feel the intense fire and lust you know weren’t yours, drilling inside of you both from his heart and his cock.

Your drool dripped down the floor as Ace picked up the pace. The intense pleasure multiplied by thousands now you can feel his as well. Seems he also feels it too as he can’t bite down his moans and groans anymore as his hips thrust nonstop in you.

“Ace, oh my god, Ace.” You screamed, your voice a mix of ecstasy and surrender as a blank white fog filled your entire vision. Your vagina clamped down on his cock with an intensity that bordered on pain, the pleasure so profound it was almost unbearable. Clear liquid shot to the floor, your body shaking from the force of your squirt, ruining the expensive carpet beneath you. Ace groaned, his hips thrusting in a frenzied rhythm as he rode you through your bliss, chasing his own release. With a final, powerful thrust, he shot his load inside of you, earning a moan from your throat in response.

You both took a couple of minutes to calm down from your high, your bodies still trembling with the aftershocks of your shared orgasm. Embarrassment filled your chest as you couldn’t bring your face up to see Ace. You had never squirted OR DROOL for someone before, and it was so embarrassing. But fuck if it wasn’t the best orgasm you ever felt in your entire life.

Ace seemed to feel it too, as he chuckled and leaned down to kiss your shoulder, his lips soft and gentle against your sweaty skin. “Another round?”

Fuck!

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You woke up to the weight of Ace’s arm slung over your waist, his steady breath warm against your shoulder. Morning sunlight spilled through the blinds, tracing golden lines over tangled sheets and love marks he’d left on your skin. Your muscles ached pleasantly, every movement a quiet reminder of your nightly activities.

Ace was still fast asleep, his face buried against your back. His body heat felt pleasant against your own, as you both remained fully naked. For a long moment, you lay there, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat against your spine and the lazy hum of the city outside his window.

Eventually, you felt him stir. You turned slightly, brushing your fingers through his messy orange hair.

“Good morning,” you murmured.

He grumbled something unintelligible and pulled you closer, pressing light, half-asleep kisses along your shoulder. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“You only have two hours before practice,” you reminded him.

“Ugh,” he groaned into your skin.

You smiled at the sight. His bed hair is so cute. He reached out as if trying to drag you back under the covers.

“I still have two hours left, right?” he asked, eventually laying flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah, you should take a shower. I’ll cook you something,”

He grins lazily at your offer, then stretches his arms above his head with a yawn that makes every muscle in his body ripple beneath his fair skin.

Ace got out of bed. The blanket slipped down, and you froze mid-breath.

He is so obviously teasing you as he turn to face you.

Tall, messy-haired, fully naked with his big schlong dangling between his legs, standing in all his glory. His skin still held the faint warmth of sleep, golden under the sunlight spilling through the window.

You sat there with the blanket pooled around you, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

A cocky grin tugged at Ace’s lips as he held a hand out to you. A perverted knight in shining armor.

“Come,” he said, voice low with teasing. “Enjoy my morning glory.”

You grinned, tossing the blanket aside before launching yourself at him. He caught you effortlessly, laughter bubbling between you as your arms looped around his neck and your lips trailed soft, playful kisses along his jaw.

Your giggles echoed through the apartment as he carried you toward the bathroom.

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The night air was cold, it nipped at your nose and made the glowing station lights feel almost too bright. You stood by the platform with Ace, Deuce, Trey, and Riddle, all waiting for Cater’s train.

Cater was dramatically clutching your hands, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes like he was about to be shipped off to war instead of just going back to Shaftlands for work.

“Ugh, I still want to stay with you guys,” he sniffled, hugging you tight enough to squeeze the air out of your lungs.

“You have to go back to your work, Cater,” Riddle scolded, though his voice softened when he said it.

Cater pouted. “I know. But I’m still gonna miss my bestie!” he wailed, pulling you into another hug. “Promise you won’t forget to text me!”

You laughed, patting his back. “Of course I won’t. You’ll probably text me first anyway.”

“Duh. I can’t trust you not to ghost me,” he teased, then looked at Ace. “Take care of her for me, okay?”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just get on the train before Riddle faints from your dramatics.”

Cater grinned through his sniffles. “Aaaah, I’ll come back soon, I promise!”

His train was the last of the night. Most passengers had already left, leaving the platform quiet except for the soft hum of the rails and the distant echo of announcements. You watched as Cater waved from the window, face pressed against the glass, still shouting your name until the train slipped into the dark.

You waved, grinning. “Bye, Cater! Don’t forget my souvenir!”

“Only if it’s sparkly!” he shouted back.

You chuckled, shaking your head. Behind you, the others were already turning toward the exit. Ace lingered a little, waiting for you to follow.

You had just turned to leave when a sudden whoosh of wind blasted through the platform. Your hair whipped across your face, and a cold shiver crawled down your neck.

The sound of rushing steel roared behind you. You froze as a chill swept through the air. It slithered down your spine and settled deep in your gut.

“Huh?” Deuce frowned, looking back at the tracks. “Wasn’t Cater’s train the last one tonight?”

No one answered.

Slowly, you turned.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

Because there, gleaming under the dim lights, its silver body still as a phantom, stood that train. The flickering LED above the door displayed your city’s name. The same train that had once carried you to Twisted Wonderland.

The world stopped moving.

The doors opened with a long, weary sigh, exhaling a thin veil of mist that curled around your shoes. You stared into the glowing corridor beyond, your breath caught somewhere between disbelief and dread.

Before you even realized it, your legs began to move. You didn’t think. Your body just knew.

Then, fingers closed around your wrist.

You spun around.

Ace’s hand was gripping your wrist so tightly you could feel the tremor in his fingers. His knuckles had turned white, his breath shallow, chest rising and falling with uneven urgency.

His scarlet eyes, usually bright with mischief, were wide and glassy now, stripped bare of every wall he’d ever built. Panic, sorrow, fear, they all bled together, raw and wordless. You could feel it through the mark, the emotion crashing into you in waves until you couldn’t tell which heartbeat was yours.

It thundered inside your chest, wild and frantic. His heartbeat. Your heartbeat. Both the same.

Your lips trembled. “This is my train.”

The words came out barely above a whisper. You couldn’t tell if it was your heart breaking—or his.

You turned away, stepping inside as the others watched in silence. You couldn’t face them, not Trey’s quiet sorrow, not Deuce’s unreadable, half-awkward stare, not Riddle’s conflicted gaze. And certainly not Ace’s eyes, which tugged at you like the gravity itself.

Memories flooded your mind: Laughter echoing through the kitchen, the smell of burnt pancakes and Trey’s exasperated sighs as you and Ace bickered over who ruined breakfast first. Cater snapping photos mid-chaos, teasing you both for your ‘domestic sitcom energy.’ Riddle trying to lecture everyone through the noise, only for Deuce to trip over a chair and send the entire table into hysterics.

Azul’s smug grin during poker nights, Floyd’s laughter spilling over when he lost on purpose just to see the look on your face. Even the quiet evenings spent in Ace’s apartment, where the air was thick with comfort and belonging.

But you had a family waiting for you, faces you hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. A mother’s voice, a friend’s laughter, the life you’d built piece by piece before all of this. A world that was still spinning without you. You couldn’t just throw it all away, no matter how much your heart begged you to stay.

You felt Ace’s heart drop as he realized you did not choose him, and the pain that followed shot through your entire body is sharp and suffocating. The bond between you trembled as the truth sank in: both of you had given up.

And in that crushing silence, memories began to stir. The warmth of his laughter echoing long after everyone had gone home. The way he’d always steal bites from your plate and grin when you scolded him. Late nights spent tangled in shared exhaustion and quiet affection. The soft press of his lips against your temple before sleep.

All those moments flashed before you like the last flickers of light before darkness.

Tears blurred your sight. You couldn’t take it anymore. You turned sharply, shouting over the hiss of the doors.

“I will come back!”

Ace froze, his eyes widen.

“I’ll come back here, I promise!” you cried, stumbling forward, trying to stop the doors from closing. “So don’t you dare fall in love with someone else while I’m gone!”

For a long, suspended second, the station was silent.

Then Ace chuckled softly, his mouth curling into that familiar crooked grin. “Idiot.”

Your nose scrunched as you gave him the warmest smile you could muster.

The doors slid shut with a metallic click. You pressed your palm against the cold glass, waving at your friends. They waved back. Riddle’s expression gentle, Deuce’s and Trey’s smile soft and sad.

Ace walked alongside the moving train, his feet picking up into a sprint, chasing you down the platform until he reached the end. You pressed your hand against the window, a silent kiss against the glass as the world blurred past.

Your vision swam with tears. Ace’s figure grew smaller and smaller, until there was nothing left but the rhythm of the wheels and the hollow ache in your chest.

But you promised.

You will come back.

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The sound of train horns had become a familiar melody for Ace. One that haunted him every night it echoed through the city.

It had been a year since your departure.

Life went on. Ace kept himself busy. Practice, games, interviews, endorsement shoots, anything that could fill the hours. His basketball career had taken off spectacularly after the big championship win, and the spotlight was hotter than ever. Everyone said he looked sharper, more focused, more mature.

He showed up to every practice early and left late. He worked out until his muscles ached and the exhaustion numbed everything else. When he wasn’t on the court, he filled his calendar with photo shoots and charity appearances, always smiling for the cameras, always trying to crack jokes.

Your second bedroom in his apartment remained untouched. Every little thing exactly where you had left it. A folded blanket on the bed. A half-burned candle by the window. A mug still sitting on the counter with faint lipstick marks he could never bring himself to wash away.

Sometimes, when his heart felt too heavy, Ace slept there. The faint trace of your scent still lingered on the pillow, and for a few moments, he could almost believe you’d just gone out for groceries.

He was back on his sad catering food now. No more home-cooked meals, no one fussing over his nutrition or yelling at him to eat his veggies. The fridge was depressingly neat, mostly filled with protein shakes, bottled water and diet coke like it used to.

But your playlist still played every night. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Sometimes he’d hum along, sometimes he’d just sit on the couch, staring at nothing, letting the music fill the space where your laughter used to be.

To everyone else, he was still Ace Trappola: cocky grin, loud laugh, sharp wit. But his friends noticed. His smiles didn’t reach his eyes anymore. His jokes hit softer. His plays on the court were cleaner, calmer, more controlled, but less alive.

Cater had since returned from Shaftlands and made it a habit to drop by his place often, usually with snacks and endless chatter. Ace knew Cater was worried about him, but he didn’t say it out loud.

He didn’t need pity.

You had promised you’d come back. So why should anyone look at him like he’d been left behind? You’d said you would return. And Ace believed you.

Still, there were nights when the noise in his head got too loud. Nights when the apartment lights stayed off, the glow from the city barely cutting through the blinds. Nights when he sat on the kitchen floor, a half-empty whiskey bottle beside him, and wondered if your world had trains that sang the same way his did.

And every night, without fail, he found himself at the station.

He never took the train. He just… watched. The same one where he’d last seen you disappear. The security guard who’d helped you before now greeted him with a silent nod whenever he came by. Sometimes the man would give him a look of understanding, but never said a word. Ace was grateful for that.

Tonight, his breath misted in the air. The cold bit at his fingertips as he stuffed them into his pockets. Winter had come early this year. Sharper, crueler. Almost poetic, really.

He exhaled slowly, watching the fog of his breath fade. The clock struck midnight. The last train departed, and silence fell heavy across the platform.

Then, a sudden whoosh of wind tore through the still air. His hair whipped across his face as the temperature plummeted, the chill slicing into his skin.

He knew that feeling.

The rails hummed faintly beneath his feet. Then, out of the fog, a silver train emerged, glowing faintly blue as it screeched to a stop in front of him.

Ace’s breath caught in his throat. His heartbeat was so loud it drowned out everything else.

The LED above the door flickered weakly, displaying the same city name he had memorized by heart. The one printed on your departure train.

His body moving before his brain could think.

He vaulted over the ticket gate before the guards could stop him. “Sir! Hey!” one of them shouted, but Ace didn’t even hear it. He was already sprinting down the platform, sneakers skidding across the cold tile, the winter air burning in his lungs.

He stopped right as the train door hissed open, a puff of cold mist spilling out into the night. The faint scent of iron and ozone hung in the air.

And then,

You stepped out.

Dragging the biggest suitcase he’d ever seen in his life, you let out an unflattering groan before setting it down on the platform with a thud.

“Oh my gosh, it’s winter here!” you exclaimed, rubbing your bare arms, shivering in your favorite baggy jeans and short-sleeved shirt.

Ace stared, frozen in place, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. The soulmate mark that had long since quieted burned again beneath his ribs.

You turned, your breath forming small clouds in the air as your eyes met his.

Then, you smiled. Wide, bright, the same smile that used to fill his apartment with sunlight.

“Hi,” you said simply.

That was all it took.

Ace sprinted toward you, and you met him halfway. The world blurred as he scooped you up, spinning you off the ground. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your laughter bubbling out as you buried your face against his neck. His arms tightened around you, trembling slightly.

“You’re back,” he breathed. His voice cracked, small and disbelieving.

“Didn’t I promise?” you whispered, smiling through the mist of your breath.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, and then you kissed him.

It was real. Warm, sweet, familiar and everything he’d been starving for. His hands came up to cradle your face as your lips moved against his, slow and tender, as if trying to make up for every lonely night in between.

He could taste salt on your lips, though he weren’t sure whose tears they were.

When you finally broke apart, Ace rested his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded. “You took your sweet time,” he muttered.

You laughed softly. “Trains don’t always run on schedule.”

Behind you, the security guard sighed and shook his head, but said nothing. He just turned away, pretending not to see.

Ace set you down gently, his arm still locked around your waist. You glanced at your massive suitcase proudly.

“Oh, by the way,” you said with a grin, “I brought souvenirs.”

Ace chuckled, leaning in to steal another quick kiss. “You better have brought more than that,” he murmured, his voice rough with affection.

Ace fucking loves trains.

END

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𝘢/𝘯: 𝘏𝘜𝘏𝘜𝘏𝘜𝘏𝘜 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶? 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩!

You twirled your phone between your fingers, eyes scanning the players in their black and gold Night Raven jerseys. Ace Trappola, grinning and waving to the audience like an idol meet and greet. Floyd Leech, half-stretching, half-menacing some poor assistant who’d wandered too close. And then your gaze stop at none other than the god himself, Jamil Viper.

You recognized him right away. His dark hair was tied back into a long braid that swayed with each movement, framing a face too sharp to forget. The warm-up jersey clung to his shoulders and arms just enough to hint at the strength beneath, and when he rolled his sleeves up, you caught the glint of sweat along his forearms.

You’d known his name literally since you were born. It had been there your whole life, written in annoyingly perfect cursive at the dip of your lower back, right above your tailbone. A permanent reminder that somewhere out there was a guy named Jamil Viper who was apparently your soulmate. Fabulous.

And, of course, that name had to belong to an actual person. A famous one, too. You didn’t need to watch interviews or scroll through sports news to know who he was. You’d already done your own research since long before. Purely for research purposes, obviously.

You knew he’d graduated from Night Raven College, the elite school every overachiever drooled over. You knew he was from the Scalding Sands, his family was traditional, he liked his tea barely sweet (a red flag, in your opinion), and that he owned way too many pairs of white sneakers. You’d even found his game stats, personal bests, and once—by pure accident—his old student ID photo.

Again, all for research purposes. Totally normal. Absolutely not stalker behavior.

Because if fate was going to hand you Jamil Viper as a soulmate, the least you could do was be prepared to make your move when the time came.

No?

You didn’t know if he knew. Probably not. You were just another non-magical citizen in a crowd of thousands. And even if he did, well, You didn’t really care.

Somewhere below, a shrill voice pierced through your thoughts.

“ACE! GO ACE! YOU CAN DO IT BABY!”

Your head turned just in time to spot a girl several rows down, decked out in full Ace Trappola merchandise. Hat, banner, even a handmade badge shaped like a heart with his jersey number scrawled across it.

You chuckled, that must be the famous couple.

That couple really was something. Ace Trappola, of all people, the guy once known for ghosting dates faster than magic smoke, had shocked the entire world when he announced he had a girlfriend. And, according to him, a soon-to-be fiancée.

You don’t really know much about them though, because you don’t care. You had your own headline-worthy sexy, talented, smokingly hot Jamil Viper on your mark.

Your attention drifted back to the court just as Jamil bent into another stretch, his muscles flexing under the taut fabric of his warm-up gear.

You swallowed, pressing your lips together.

“Damn,” you murmured softly, watching him shift positions. “They weren’t kidding about those arms.”

Without realizing it, you’d propped your chin on one hand, gaze lingering on him a little too long.

Truth be told, it wasn’t like you expected him to suddenly fall head over heels for you. Hell, you don’t even care if you both will ended up together. You just… wanted something. A little connection. A sign that the universe hadn’t made a mistake linking you to him.

After all, you’d both been adults for years now, and not once had any of those fabled soulmate perks shown up between you. No psychic tingle, no weird dreams, no magical bond. Nothing.

It made you wonder sometimes. Was the mark broken? Was the bond defective?

Most people would’ve shrugged it off by now, lived their lives, maybe even dated someone else and pretended the mark didn’t exist. However, you don’t want to.

Why?

Because how could you want to miss a possible fun night with THE Jamil Viper?

You lost count of how many nights you thrust your fingers into yourself, consumed by thoughts of him. The way his voice might sound in the dark, the warmth of his skin, the sharp curve of his smile. Even when another man is on top of you, you often imagine it is him instead.

They say that intimacy with your soulmate is an out-of-this-world experience you will never forget. You yearn to experience that.

You have long since admitted to yourself that you are, indeed, a pervert.

HOWEVER!

Let it be known! You were not desperate enough to slide into his Magicam DMs with a “Hello, I’m your soulmate. Wanna fuck?”

Hell no. Absolutely not.

You still had your dignity. And your pride. And, of course, your image as a baddie with standards to maintain.

…Though, if Jamil Viper ever decided to make the first move?

Yeah, dignity might just take a temporary leave of absence and throw out of the window.

Your rambling cut short when the sharp blast of the whistle echoed through the arena, followed by the announcer’s booming voice signaling the start of the game.

Players began gathering at the court, the energy in the air shifting from casual chatter to focused anticipation. Among the movement and noise, your eyes found him again. Jamil slipping easily into position as a Point Guard.

It should’ve been nothing unusual. Just him doing what he always did. But then he paused.

For a split second, his head lifted, and his gaze met yours across the stands.

A shiver slipped down your spine before you could stop it, your breath catching like the world had just paused between one heartbeat and the next.

Even with the distance between you, you were absolutely sure he was looking at you. Not at the blond guy beside you. Not at the overexcited grandma waving a foam finger in front. You.

Your jaw went slack just as the arena erupted in cheers. The girls around you were screaming his name, voices pitching higher the moment they realized Jamil was looking their way.

A faint, confident smirk tugged at his lips. So small that most people would’ve missed it.

Not you. Not after spending countless nights watching his game replays and his interviews. At this point, you were pretty sure you could tell when he needed to poo.

Just like that, his focus snapped back to the court and you clenched your thighs, slapping a hand over your mouth as you hunched forward, trying (and failing) to hide the blush spreading across your face.

Holy shit. You were so weak for that confident, yeah-I-know-I’m-a-big-deal kind of guy.

You were certain. Jamil knew you.

Of course he did. If you had done your research on him, why wouldn’t he have done the same?

Besides, according to your very thorough research, Jamil Viper was sharp, capable, and observant. The kind of man who noticed everything. He’d probably spotted you the moment he stepped onto the court.

The thought made you giggle to yourself, a little too loudly. The blond guy sitting next to you flinched and inched away, trying his hardest to add more space between you two as you probably looked like a perverted old man on the subway.

The whistle blew again, and the game began.

The crowd fell into a focused hush before erupting in cheers as the ball was tossed high into the air. As usual, Floyd the giant eel leapt effortlessly to claim it, but this time, the opposing team’s center was just as tall, meeting him midair. There was a split-second struggle, a blur of arms and sneakers, before the ball came crashing down near their feet.

Ace Trappola was the first to react, diving in and snatching it up like a street cat stealing food.

“Nice reflexes,” you murmured, leaning forward as he pivoted and passed the ball to Jamil without even looking.

Your eyes, of course, followed him.

Jamil moved like he was gliding. Efficient, no wasted motion. He handled the ball with one hand, testing the defense, then spun cleanly past a guard who’d underestimated his reach.

“Classic fake,” you muttered to yourself, smirking. “He always pulls that when the defender’s too close on the left.”

The blond guy next to you side-eyed you again. You ignored him.

Jamil dribbled once, twice, before flicking the ball back toward Floyd, who caught it with one hand and immediately dunked it. The arena exploded in cheers.

You clapped once, satisfied. “Textbook setup. He baited them into the wrong rotation.”

The play continued. Fast passes, quick drives, controlled chaos. Jamil orchestrated everything, his calm presence anchoring the whole team. You’d watched enough of his games to recognize the rhythm. He was the one who controled the pace.

Every time he shifted direction, you could see it coming a heartbeat before it happened. His footwork was too precise and his timing immaculate.

You sighed, unable to stop the fond smile curling at your lips. “God, he’s so damn perfect.”

Then, as if the universe wanted to mess with you, Jamil caught a rebound and launched into a fast break, sprinting across the court with that effortless stride that made it look too easy.

Your heart leapt. “There it is. Transition offense, baby.”

He passed to Ace again, who finished with a perfect layup. The crowd roared.

You joined in the cheering, grinning from ear to ear. Somewhere along the way, you’d become a genuine basketball fan. A Night Raven fan, to be exact.

You’d found yourself shouting at the TV when the referee dared to call a foul on your team, or when Floyd missed an easy shot, or when you were threatening to throw your remote control across the room because the opposing team scored a three-pointer in overtime.

At some point, the blond guy beside you speak.

“Uh.. why’d he pass it back when he was already open?” he asked, brow furrowed as Jamil redirected the ball instead of taking the shot.

You didn’t even hesitate to chirp in. “Because the defense was collapsing on him,” you said, eyes still glued to the court. “If he’d taken the shot, the angle would’ve been trash. Passing it back opened the lane for Floyd to drive in from the weak side. Watch—there.”

Right on cue, Floyd slipped past the defenders and slammed the ball in. The crowd went wild.

The blond guy blinked. Then purse his lips. “…Okay, what the hell.”

You just smirked, crossing your legs and leaning back casually.

He stared at you like he couldn’t decide if you were terrifying or impressive, and then, predictably, tried to scoot even farther away from you on the bleacher.

He now think you are a perverted basketball freak.

Somewhere in the second half, your chest suddenly tightened. It was getting harder to breathe. You weren’t sure why. One second you were on your feet cheering, the next your vision blurred, colors bleeding into one another. A nauseous coil twisted in your stomach.

“Oh, shit.” You gasped, clutching your chest, then everything went black.

When you opened your eyes again, you were in the middle of the court. The blinding lights above made your head spin. Around you, big, sweaty men ran and shouted, their sneakers squeaking against the polished floor.

Before you could process anything, a basketball came flying toward your face. Instinctively, you caught it, your body moving faster than your brain could follow.

“Jamil!” You heard Ace Trappola shouting somewhere in the chaos.

Jamil?

You blinked, trying to focus. Every sound was too loud, every breath too shallow. Panic clawed up your throat. You threw the ball out of bounds just to get it away from you, but your movement was clumsy. You stumbled, falling hard onto the court. The crowd screamed. The coach yelled for a timeout.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Until you heard a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Stop the game!”

Your voice.

Your eyes darted toward the stands and froze.

There you were, leaning against the railing, your mouth open in horror. Watching yourself.

“What the—” you began, but before the words could form, the world tilted. Darkness rushed back in, swallowing everything whole.

You fainted for real this time.

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You woke up to a blinding white light and the faint scent of antiseptic, rubbing alcohol, and something vaguely sterile like gauze and fresh linens. The surface beneath you was soft. It took your eyes a few seconds to adjust to the glare, your lashes fluttering as shapes slowly came into focus.

Your mind lagged behind your body, still foggy from… sleep? No, not sleep.

You frowned, trying to piece it together. The crowd. The game. The pounding in your chest. The moment your knees gave out on the court—oh gods.

Gosh, that was so embarrassing, you groaned inwardly, slapping the back of your palm against your forehead.

“Finally waking up?”

Another too familiar voice dripped through the air.

You stiffened, heart skipping. Slowly, you turned your head toward the source.

Only to see yourself sitting by the bed.

A gorgeous woman—heh—arms crossed, expression flat and unimpressed.

You.

“AAAAAA. A DOPPELGANGER!” you screamed.

You shot up so fast you almost fell off the bed, arms flailing until you grabbed a pillow and brandished it like a weapon.

She flinched at your outburst before standing and snatching the pillow right out of your hands.

“Hey! Stop it! I’m not a doppelganger, you stupid!”

You froze mid-motion, blinking at the beautiful—heh—pissed-off woman in front of you.

“Look at yourself!” she snapped, grabbing a small mirror from the bedside table and shoving it into your face.

Only to be met with a pair of dark grayish eyes staring back. Sharp, almond-shaped. Your reflection glared. Your reflection had Jamil Viper’s face.

“AAAAA. I AM THE DOPPELGANGER!”

The woman—you? him?—groaned so hard it sounded like her soul left her body. She dropped back into the chair, rubbing her temples like she was already tired of your existence.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered.

You pursed your lips, sneaking a cautious glance at her from the corner of your eye.

You—or that person—you really had no idea what to call her, but she was definitely you. The face, the posture, even the annoyed crease between her brows. Which meant… you were currently in his body.

“Umm… so can you please tell me what happened?” you asked carefully, your voice a little too deep and unfamiliar for your own comfort.

The woman—you, technically—let out a long, suffering sigh. Crossing her arms, she leaned back in the chair like she was trying to accept her fate.

“It seems you and I switched bodies,” she said flatly.

You blinked at her, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

“Yes. We switched bodies. I’m Jamil, currently in your body, and you’re in mine.” Her tone was calm yet a little murderous. “I don’t know how it happened, but I assume it has something to do with our soulmate perks. Though it’s a bit confusing since—Can you stop groping my chest?” She paused mid-sentence. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

Your hands stop at their tracks. Just slightly above his—your— nipples.

“Oops.”

Jamil stared at you in disgust.

“So, did we win?” you asked. Trying to get his attention away.

“Did I win?” Jamil corrected, emphasizing the pronoun.

You raised a brow and flashed him a lazy grin, saying absolutely nothing.

He sighed again, dear Seven. “Yes, we won. Barely. 72 to 78.”

You gasped dramatically. “I know I’m amazing.”

Jamil didn’t even bother responding. For a moment, the room was quiet until you smiled again, wide and satisfied.

Jamil visibly twitched. His brows furrowed as his shoulders tensed. “Do I really look like that when I smile, or is that just you?”

“Oh, this?” you teased, touching your—his—face with mock affection. “That’s all me, baby. Katching!”

He gave you the flattest stare imaginable.

You snorted softly and leaned forward, hand outstretched. “We haven’t properly introduced ourselves, have we? Hi, I’m your soulmate.”

Jamil exhaled sharply through his nose. “I know.”

You wiggled your fingers, still offering your hand. “You can shake it, you know. It won’t kill you.”

He stared. You dropped your hand with a small pout. “Rude.”

“So… you think this has anything to do with our perks?” you asked, shifting a little on the infirmary bed.

“Yes,” Jamil said, rubbing his temple. “Body-swapping is one the rarer side of soulmate abilities. Usually temporary. Triggered by emotional or physical contact. Though in our case, it’s likely unstable because we’ve never interacted before.”

“Translation: we’re stuck like this for a while?”

He didn’t answer. Which, to you, was basically a yes.

You hummed. “So, what do we do now?”

Jamil straightened his posture, tone change to serious. “Find a way to switch back.”

You stared at him, lips twitching into a slow grin.

“Boring. I was thinking we could try making out or something. You know, for research purposes.”

You almost think he would kill you.

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“Okay, so how are we going to do this.”

Jamil let out his breath slowly, trying to calm himself while you stood menacingly in front of him. He had already given up on making you act normal a while ago, right after you hit a T-pose at some kid in his apartment building to ‘assert dominance,’ as you said.

No matter how much he tried, you wouldn’t listen. You kept looking at him with that mischievous glint in your eyes, staring down at his (your) much shorter body.

“Nice boobs,” you’d said once in the elevator on your way up to his apartment.

He smacked your shoulder instantly.

You thought that was rude. He hit a lady, for crying out loud! But technically, he was the lady now, and you were the guy.

“As far as I know, body-switching happens when you feel a strong emotion. Something that triggers your soul to seek shelter in another body,” Jamil explained. “In my opinion, it’s more like self-defense. You know DID? That... split-personality? Similar to that, I guess.”

You nodded, humming thoughtfully. “I see. You seem to know a lot about this soulmate thingy.”

Jamil shrugged. “NRC’s library has a pretty complete collection on the topic. I used to hang around there when I was bored.”

“Heh, must be nice being enrolled in such a prestigious magic academy.”

Jamil went quiet for a moment. “Can you use magic?”

“Nope. But I can use tech really well. Wanna see?”

You inhaled dramatically, then unleashed a torrent of information like you were reading off a classified file.

“Jamil Viper, five-seven in college, six-foot now. Shoe size forty-four. You don’t like your tea too sweet, hate milk, and prefer spicy food. You like breakdancing, and you’ve got a pretty good voice—oh, and you performed in the VDC once with Vil Schoenheit as your team leader. You’ve played in exactly sixty-seven matches for Night Raven and have been offered contracts by Sunset Jackals and Scarabia Sandstorm to join their rosters. Your average stat line is sixteen points, eight assists, and two steals per game. You hit the gym five times a week, and your body fat percentage is probably—”

“Okay—oh my god, stop.” Jamil threw up both hands, backing up a step. “I don’t need to know how much of a creep you are.”

You stood proudly, hands on your hips, puffing your chest out to make yourself seem taller.

“Anyway,” Jamil continued, “like I told you before, I think the reason we switched bodies is because we just met, and our perks activated.”

You nodded.

“The only idea that pops into my head is trying to find an emotion strong enough to trigger the switch again.”

“Okay.” You nodded once more.

Jamil exhaled slowly, as if mentally preparing for disaster. “Alright. Ready?”

You pursed your lips in determination. “Ready.”

“Okay, go.”

On his cue, you stared at him. Trying to feel something. Any emotion, really.

Anger? Sadness? Fear?

You had no clue what was supposed to happen, so you settled on the one that popped into your head. And the one you wanted most.

Determination. Determination to get back to your own body.

So you took a stance. Strengthened your core like one of those karate masters. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared as hard as you could into Jamil’s—your—eyes.

He, on the other hand, stood lazily with his arms crossed, weight leaning to one side.

“You look like you’re trying to poo,” Jamil said flatly.

“YOU look like you wanted to poo.” You shot back instantly.

He sighed, uncrossing his arms. “This isn’t working.”

“You’re not feeling enough, Jamil,” you protested, starting to get annoyed at his complete lack of effort while you were practically summoning your inner spirit poo animal.

“I don’t know, okay? I can’t think of anything! This came out of nowhere. In the middle of my match, nearly made me lose, and my soulmate isn’t helping. You just keep joking around!” Jamil’s voice rose, frustrated.

You went quiet, lips jutting into a pout because, well… he was right.

Jamil’s shoulders slumped. “I’m so tired right now I could sleep on the floor.”

You felt bad.

Well, when you think about it, of course he had it harder than you. Switching bodies mid-game, in front of a full crowd, with cameras rolling? Coupled with exhaustion? If it were you, you might’ve jumped straight out of his apartment window by now.

But right now, you had something far more urgent to deal with.

“Jamil, I need to pee.”

Jamil’s face instantly twisted in disbelief.

“This is no time for jokes. We really need to figure out how to switch back.”

“I know! I’m not joking, I really need to pee!”

“Stop trying to find excuses to peek into my body,” he snapped, voice rising an octave.

“I’m serious!” you yelled back. “I really, really need to pee! And I need to shower too. You smell!”

“Hey! I do not smell!” he protested.

“Okay, sure, fine. Yeah, you don’t smell. In fact, I kinda like your scent. But still! It’s uncomfortable, Jamil. You just finished your match, remember? I need to wash the sweat off!”

Jamil’s lips tightened. Silence. You could almost see the internal conflict behind his eyes. Because, well… you had a point.

“Would you wash me, then?” you asked after a beat.

Jamil froze. You could see the color drain from his face before coming back twice as red.

“Hell no!”

“Then what am I supposed to do?!” you threw your arms up, exasperated. “Should I shower with my clothes on? Or what, you gonna help me change? Either way, I’m still gonna see your dick, Jamil!”

His blush deepened. His knuckles going pale as he buried his face in his hands. Then, without a word, he spun on his heel, stormed into his room, and slammed the door shut.

“DO WHATEVER YOU WANT!”

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You stared down at the toilet in front of you.

Jamil stood in the doorway, back turned stiffly toward you like a soldier facing execution.

After his outburst earlier, you tried your best to be considerate. You’d held your bladder, kept quiet, and even sat obediently in his living room because apparently doing anything in his body was a violation of personal boundaries.

You respected that. For about fifteen minutes.

But after fifteen agonizing minutes and zero signs of switching back, your bladder was staging a rebellion. So you knocked on his bedroom door.

“Jamil, man. Really. I seriously need to pee.”

You could practically hear the internal screaming from behind the door before he finally opened it and led you to the guest bathroom.

Where you were now, standing in front of the toilet, trying to free his member from his pants.

“Wow, you really don’t disappoint, Mr. Viper,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder at Jamil who was still leaning against the door, back rigidly turned to you.

“Ck. Shut up.”

You chuckled. “Okay, how do I do this?”

You’d successfully freed his junior, and it now hung awkwardly in front of the toilet.

“Just do it,” Jamil said.

“...How?”

“Just—let it out.”

“Yeah, how?”

Jamil visibly irked, groaning as he threw his head back. “Ugh, I don’t know! I never think about it, it just happens! Try to do it like you’d do it yourself!”

Instruction unclear, but you really had no better idea. So you angled his member toward the bowl and, after some awkward hesitation and a few mental pushes, you finally felt the stream flow.

A sigh of deep, genuine relief escaped you. “This is really cool. You guys have, like, a built-in handle or something.”

Jamil didn’t respond.

“What if I splash the wall?” you added, voice far too thoughtful.

“Please be normal.”

Jamil had long ushered himself out of the room by the time you finally got into the shower.

You were speechless the moment you stood completely naked in his bathroom. Not just because—wow—he had a really nice body, but because the whole situation felt weirdly disorienting. His frame was taller, heavier, stronger. Moving felt like wearing a human exosuit that wasn’t entirely yours.

You’ve also found the soulmate mark on his body, proudly written on the left side of his back. Beautiful cursive words near his scapula.

As you scrubbed away the grime with his ridiculously good-smelling body wash, you hesitated at the… pelvic zone. After an intense moral debate with yourself, you decided to skip it entirely and settled for scrubbing your butt instead. Carefully avoiding any dangerous proximity to the butthole.

At some point, the embarrassment finally caught up with you. You buried your face in your hands, groaning. The water cascaded down his—your—back as you stood there, blushing like a schoolgirl caught ogling her crush.

Somewhere in another universe, this probably looked hilarious: a 6-foot-tall pro athlete standing awkwardly under the shower, knees slightly bent, acting like he just realized what a naked man is.

Once you were clean, you slipped into the pajamas Jamil had laid out. Soft, neat, and very much smelling like him. You toweled off his hair as best as you could, still feeling weirdly bashful, before stepping out of the bathroom like a guilty cat returning from crime.

You spotted Jamil in the pantry just as he ended a call. When he turned toward you, his expression was back to that calm, tired neutrality that probably took every ounce of his self-control to maintain.

“I just called someone to ask if they can provide a potion to amplify emotions,” he said evenly. “We’ll keep it as a last resort in case we can’t switch back in a few days. For now, let’s just rest and hope things return to normal tomorrow.”

You nodded as if that made perfect sense, then immediately wandered toward his fridge. “Do you have something light to eat? I’m kinda hungry,” you said, already tugging the door open.

Jamil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you think you should ask the owner first before raiding their fridge? You know, basic manners?”

You turned to him with your best innocent look. “I am the owner of this fridge.”

“That—”

“Wait, hold on.” You gasped theatrically. “Who are you? Oh my god, someone’s intruding in my apartment! Security!”

You clutched your imaginary pearls, fake-screaming in mock terror.

Jamil just stared at you. “You’re insufferable.”

You burst into laughter.

You popped open a yogurt from his fridge and took a big spoonful. “Yum,” you said, all too pleased with yourself.

Jamil didn’t even bother to respond, his attention glued to his phone, thumbs moving fast. Probably messaging his coach or someone equally boring.

“You know,” you began, mouth still half-full, “if you wanna pee, just pee. I don’t mind you peeking at my body.” You gave him a playful wink.

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing in disgust. “No, thank you. I’m good."

You snorted and went back to eating, the silence that followed oddly comfortable.

After a while, you hummed. “I once prayed to God to make me a man in my next life.” You licked the spoon thoughtfully. “Maybe this is the universe cashing that wish in. Or maybe it’s payback for something I did last time.”

Jamil didn’t reply, but you saw the subtle flick of his eyes. He was listening.

You leaned on the counter, tilting your head at him. “Would you be a girl if you could?”

He finally looked up from his phone, cautious. “…Why?”

You grinned. “’Cause if you were, I’d still want you.” You scooped another bite of yogurt, eyes gleaming. “I take you in any form, Jamil. Girl, boy, alien, animal, whatever. I take you every time.”

That earned you the most spectacular look of exasperation you’d ever seen.

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Turns out, practicing how to control body-swapping was harder than either of you imagined. You often switched at the most unfortunate times. In the middle of Jamil’s basketball match, during your work presentation, and once, disastrously, while you were in the middle of pooping.

You had demanded to know if he at least finished it for you.

That, of course, left him staring at you in disbelieve, genuinely wondering if your emotions got that intense whenever you used the bathroom.

Still, you both noticed something, the duration of each switch was getting shorter. Sometimes, it lasted only five minutes before you’d snap back into your own bodies.

Just in case things went wrong, or either of you needed to rush over quickly, you decided to set up a teleportation device between your residences.

So far, Jamil had found that body-swapping wasn’t all that bad once the two of you learned to adapt. Sure, it came with its fair share of drawbacks, but it also had its perks.

Like right now, for example, when he ordered takeout and happily devoured junk food while inhabiting your body.

He inhaled a massive slice of pizza in one sitting, a can of Diet Coke in hand. You, meanwhile, were whining endlessly about it. You needed to keep your body in shape too, not just his. But honestly, when else could Jamil get away with something like this? He had a strict diet to follow, and craving a greasy, satisfying meal every once in a while wasn’t exactly a crime.

“Yeah, by once in a while you mean almost every day,” you snorted.

He had an entire stash of snacks and canned drinks tucked away in his pantry, and now that he’d found a loophole, he was making the most of it. Each time he indulged, your distant scream of agony echoed through your teleporter.

You’d started tagging along to the gym with him more often because, God forbid you get any unhealthier than you already are, you said.

But hey, could you really blame him?

Lord knows what you’d done while you were in his body. You swore up and down that you hadn’t done anything indecent, but did Jamil trust you? Absolutely not.

So maybe this was at the very least, fair play.

Unfortunately, up until now, neither of you had figured out how to switch back at will and it was starting to seriously affect Jamil’s career.

To make up for the losses, his coach decided you needed to practice basketball while in his body. You didn’t need to be perfect, of course, everyone knew it’d take you an eternity to match his skill. You just needed to hold your own for the few chaotic minutes whenever the switch happened mid-game.

Thanks to his muscle memory (and your endless research about his plays), you’d actually developed decent reflexes on the court. Watching you play alongside his teammates, Jamil couldn’t help but be a little impressed. You looked good out there. Still awkward, sure, but capable.

However, it didn’t take long for him to notice your mood souring. From the bench, he could sense your growing frustration with every missed pass, every stumble, every bit of laughter exchanged between the team.

At first, you were doing fine, even pulling off a few decent tricks despite your sloppy footwork. But as the mistakes piled up, your expression hardened.

The sharp sound of a whistle cut through the air, signaling a break. You turned and threw a furious pass at Ace Trappola. One that nearly smacked him in the head.

“The heck was that for?!” Ace barked, his face scrunching in protest.

You didn’t answer. You just stood there, chest heaving, anger still flickering in your borrowed eyes.

The coach blew his whistle and called everyone to the bench.

“This isn’t good. You’re so bad,” he said flatly, turning to you. “Why did you do that?”

You pouted, head bowed low, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

Jamil stood up from the bench and walked over to you. He believed you could do it. He knew you could. You’d been moving fine, reading plays fine… it was your mood dragging everything down. Trying too hard at things you didn’t need to, and holding back on things that mattered.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

You pressed your lips into a thin line.

“I don’t like it,” you muttered.

“Huh?”

“I don’t like it!” you snapped, lifting your head at last. Your eyes were red, glimmering with unshed tears, leaving everyone frozen in place, including Jamil.

“People keep chasing me for this goddamn ball!” you yelled, stomping your foot in frustration. “They keep surrounding me! Bodying me, trying to get the ball, don’t hit me!”

The gym went dead quiet.

The entire team stared in stunned disbelief. Even the coach’s jaw went slack.

Then, you broke down crying. Loud, wailing sobs that echoed across the gym.

Floyd was the first to lose it, howling with laughter so hard he had to clutch his stomach. Ace followed right after, practically collapsing onto the floor, screeching like a dying hyena.

The rest of the team tried, and failed, to hold it together. Someone actually had tears streaming down their face from trying not to laugh.

Another strangled screech came from Ace as he fumbled with his phone. “I have to document this—”

Before he could finish, Jamil snatched the device from his hands and hurled it across the gym. It hit the wall with a dramatic thud, followed by Ace’s horrified scream.

Jamil made a mental note to kill him later.

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Jamil’s—your—eyes scanned the aisle for the items he needed. The cart’s wheels hummed softly as he pushed it past rows of neatly stacked produce and boxes of cereal. He stopped in front of the milk section, frowning slightly at the endless selection.

He didn’t even like milk. But you did. He’d caught you drinking it plenty of times while in his body. Sometimes straight from the carton, to his eternal horror.

It was nice, though. Being able to walk around freely like this. No hood, no mask, no people whispering behind his back or sneaking pictures from afar. No one here knew you, so to them, he was just another face in the crowd.

He was in the middle of grabbing the second carton of milk when his phone dinged. Jamil fished it out of his pocket, and saw that you had sent him yet another ridiculous message.

You: Jamil please suck my dick.

He grimaced before sending a curt reply.

Jamil: No.

Another message came almost instantly.

You: Dang it. I wanna know how it feels.

Jamil stared at the screen. At this point, nothing you said could really faze him anymore. He’d grown far too accustomed to your endless nonsense.

Still, a thought popped into his head. Drive from impulse and mischief. He typed back:

Jamil: You said you’d take me in any form. What if I were a worm? Would you still want me?

His thumb hit send before he could think twice.

A minute later, your reply came through.

You: You sound like a teenage girl asking her boyfriend silly questions.

Then another:

You: But yeah, don’t worry, baby girl. I’ll always want you in every form you take. I’d even want you as a barnacle on a stupid sunfish’s body.

“Ew,” Jamil scoffed but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

He slipped his phone back into his jeans pocket and was just about to head for the next aisle when his path was suddenly blocked by what could only be described as an imbecile.

A man, roughly around his and your age, stood right in front of the trolley.

“There you are. I finally found you.”

Jamil’s brows knitted.

He had no idea who this man was. But judging by the familiarity in his tone, this stranger clearly knew you.

Jamil didn’t want to accidentally insult someone important to you… but the guy’s face screamed trouble.

And his tone is not exactly friendly either.

“Do you really think you can escape me forever?” the man asked, voice sharp enough to cut through the hum of the grocery store. “Do you really think I couldn’t find you? The only reason you’ve managed to get away this long is because I let you.”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward. Each movement heavy with anger, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes.

Jamil instinctively stepped back, his mind working fast as he studied the man’s face before it clicked.

“If you ever stumble upon a man, around five-seven, looks like a jerk, scar on his right eyebrow, star tattoo on his neck, ignore him,” you had once said between breaths during a run at the gym.

“Oh yeah? Who is he?” Jamil had asked.

“My stalker.”

His pace had faltered then.

“And my crazy ex.”

This must be him.

Jamil’s entire body went on alert the moment realization hit. The man’s angry stare finally made sense.

This situation wasn’t good. The guy was bigger than your body—his current one—and you didn’t have any magic to defend yourself with. Sure, Jamil was well-trained in self-defense, but he’d rather avoid a violent encounter. He had no idea what this man would do to you if he ever found you alone.

So, carefully, Jamil began stepping back. Slowly edging toward the middle of the store, where more people could see them if things went south.

Before anything else could happen, someone from a few aisles over called out to the man. The stalker’s head jerked toward the sound, distracted for a second, but Jamil didn’t take his eyes off him. Not even once.

The man grit his teeth and turned back, his glare cutting sharp.

“You’re lucky today. Next time, you won’t get away.”

Jamil’s eyes narrowed.

“I see... you’ve gotten cockier,” the man sneered. “I’ll wipe that arrogance off your face. You better come back to our house if you don’t want something to happen.”

Then he turned and left.

Jamil’s knuckles went white with how much he gripped the trolley in anger.

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You were happily munching on caramel popcorn while watching a sitcom together with Jamil. The man himself was sprawled lazily on the couch, half-lying, half-sliding, staring at the TV with the enthusiasm of a dying sunfish.

It was one of those rare days where both of you actually had time off, no matches, no work deadlines, no switching-body chaos in the middle of a meeting or a basketball court. Just peace.

You’d just wrapped another practice with his team yesterday, and honestly? You’d improved a lot. After The Crying Incident™, as Ace liked to call it, you and Jamil had a long, serious talk about it. And you agreed, if you were stuck like this for a while, you might as well give it your best.

Now you were actually decent enough to play in an official match. Sure, you still sat most of them out unless it was absolutely necessary, but you couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline whenever the crowd cheered Jamil’s—well, your—name.

You had to admit: being an athlete had its perks.

The euphoria of winning, the thrill of movement, the way your heart pounded when the scoreboard flipped in your favor.

You grinned to yourself, grabbing another handful of popcorn.

You kinda liked your other life.

“I’m so bored,” Jamil said suddenly.

You smirked. “Lol. Wanna fuck?” you teased, chuckling at your own joke.

Jamil didn’t respond. He just stared at you.

You stared back, waiting for his usual sarcastic retort, but it never came. His face was unreadable, serious even. You straightened up.

“Holy shit,” you blurted, “you want to fuck.”

“Why?” he asked lazily. “You don’t?”

“No—I mean, yes—I mean—HUH?!” You gawked at him, your brain lagging behind your mouth.

He shifted, sitting up from his sprawled position, and moved toward your couch.

“Wait, hold on. Oh my gosh—” Your voice shot a pitch higher as you scrambled back, abandoning your popcorn. “You’re serious?!”

“You’re not?”

Your jaw dropped, no words coming out before Jamil threw his entire weight onto you. You let out a strangled grunt from the impact.

His lips envelop yours in an instant, soft, searching, exploring in slow, languid strokes. He bites at your bottom lip, a silent request for entry. Still dazed and shocked, you comply, letting him deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours before he bites a little too hard.

“Ouch,” you protest, breathless.

“You taste like caramel.”

“Duh.” you rolled your eyes.

He chuckled before returning his lips to yours, deepening the kiss with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

Jamil parted your lips once again, his tongue exploring your mouth with a fierce intensity. “Not here,” he murmured, pulling away. He lifted your body effortlessly, carrying you in his strong arms while you were still in a daze. Even as he kissed your neck and shoulder, his steps were steady and purposeful, carrying you to his room.

He laid you down gently on his bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “Wait, wait, hold on,” you said, feeling his hand on your stomach, sneaking under your shirt. “We are really going to do this?”

Jamil stopped his movement and stared at you, his expression softening. “If you don't want to, we can stop.”

“No, I was just a bit shocked and still processing it,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jamil’s lips moved to your neck, kissing and biting gently, leaving marks that would surely bruise. “By the way, this one is my favorite perfume on you,” he said, lifting himself to stare into your eyes. “Though I like your natural scent better.”

Your cheek lit up with a reddish hue, and you couldn’t help but hide your face in your palms. “Stop teasing me!” You protested.

Jamil laughed, a low, throaty sound. “So, teasing me endlessly is fine, but me teasing you is not?”

You pouted at his words, which he returned with another kiss, this one more passionate and demanding.

With you now completely on board, the kiss turned hotter, more desperate. Jamil was a tentative lover, his movements slow and deliberate as he kissed your cheeks, eyes, nose, temple, and forehead, giving you time to catch your breath. You truly felt loved, if you didn’t know any better.

You felt his hand press firmly against your clothed pelvis, coaxing a moan from your lips. His fingers then traced delicate circles on your mound, teasing your clit and drawing out a symphony of sounds from your throat.

“Fuck,” you cursed, your own hands slipping through his shirt, desperate to feel his skin. “My goodness, these rippling pectorals,” you said in awe as you shamelessly ran your fingers over his body.

Jamil chuckled and helped you remove his shirt in one motion, revealing more of his body. You found yourself almost embarrassed by his unabashed shamelessness, so at odds with his typically composed demeanor. Yet, this side of him only served to heighten your arousal, drawing you deeper into the intensity of the moment.

Jamil quickly slid your pants and panties off in one smooth move, leaving your dampness exposed to the cool air. His fingers immediately found your slit, and you let out a soft hum of pleasure at the touch. Without thinking, you reached for his arm, holding on as the sensations began to overwhelm you.

His fingers gently glided along your slit, from top to bottom, teasing and exploring with a tender touch. He circled your clit, sending shivers of pleasure through you, and his thick fingertips playfully prodded at your entrance, igniting a fire within. You tried to hold back, but his skillful touch was irresistible, and soft moans escaped your lips.

As he slipped his index finger inside, stretching you slowly, your mewls grew louder. Each movement, in and out, built a delicious tension, making it harder to keep your composure. The warmth of his hand and the intensity of his gaze added to the intimacy, leaving you breathless and craving more.

Your shirt clung to your body, the fabric hot against your skin, so you peeled it off, along with your bra, revealing yourself completely to Jamil. Lying bare and exposed before him, you saw his pupils widen with desire as he added another finger to your entrance, stretching you even more. You arched your back, throwing your head back in ecstasy, as you reached up to caress your own breast, pinching your nipple to intensify the sensation. Jamil's fingers continued their rhythm.

From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of him releasing a sharp, ragged breath, clearly struggling to contain his own desire. You arched your body slightly, reaching out to him, and gently removed his hair tie, allowing his long hair to cascade down, framing his form beautifully.

“Holy fuck, you are so gorgeous,” you muttered under your breath.

Jamil chuckled. The sight of him, the intensity in his eyes, was almost enough to push you over the edge. He intensified his movements, his fingers working inside you with increased fervor, and added a third finger, stretching you even further. Making you throw curses and moans his way.

“Right back at you.”

When he pressed against the sensitive spot on your inner walls, you lost all control. White light exploded behind your eyes, and your body convulsed with pleasure as you came hard on his fingers. Waves of ecstasy washed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling. He continued to move his fingers gently, prolonging your orgasm, before slowly withdrawing, leaving you sated and utterly spent.

He slid his glistening fingers into your mouth, and you moaned at your own taste.

“Clean it up, will you.”

Eagerly, you sucked on his fingers, your tongue swirling and lapping between them, all while maintaining a deep, intense eye contact with him.

Jamil took your arms and pulled you up, positioning you on your knees in front of him. You understood his unspoken command and leaned in, ready to take him into your mouth. But before you could, you blinked, and in an instant, you found yourself on Jamil's body.

Now, Jamil was in your position, his fingers working to remove your pants.

"Wait, oh my god," you exclaimed, caught off guard.

Jamil had successfully freed your cock, and now his hand was wrapped around it, pumping it slowly, spreading the precum down the shaft, making it glisten. He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing against you, and you jerked.

“Wait, Jamil. What are you doing?” You asked in disbelief.

“You said you want me to suck your dick.”

As he took your tip into his mouth, the sensation was overwhelming, almost too intense to bear. You felt a surge of pleasure that made your mind go blank, your thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. The warmth of his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips, sent shivers down your spine.

Your legs threatened to buckle beneath you, and you nearly collapsed as he took more of you, his mouth enveloping you with a wet, delicious heat. He began to bob his head, each movement a wave of pleasure that crashed through your body, leaving you breathless and trembling. His tongue, a masterful instrument, pressed against the underside of your shaft, tracing the sensitive vein with precision, drawing out every ounce of pleasure from your most intimate spots. Of course, he knew his own body better than anyone else, knowing which part could draw the most pleasure.

Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, a mixture of overwhelming joy and the sheer intensity of the experience. You wanted to beg him to stop, to pause, because the pleasure was almost too much to handle. Yet, your voice was lost, stolen by the waves of ecstasy.

"Shit, no wonder—ahh... my ex liked it so much," you gasped between breaths, your words slipping out before you could catch them.

Jamil's movements stilled abruptly, and he withdrew, your cock slipping from his mouth just before you reached the edge. You opened your mouth to apologize, but the words caught in your throat as Jamil suddenly shifted, his chest and arms pressing against the mattress while he raised his ass toward your face.

In a blink, you were back in your own body, your heart pounding wildly. You turned your head just in time to see Jamil thrusting his hips forward, his cock sliding into you with a swift, smooth motion.

You both moaned at the sensation.

He wasted no time, his hips moving with a fluid, rhythmic motion as he thrust in and out of you with ease. His touch was everywhere, hands roaming your body with a sense of ownership and desire. He gripped your ass firmly, his fingers digging into your flesh. His palms stroked your thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

But it was his touch on your lower back that made you shudder, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of your soulmate mark with reverence. He lingered there, his touch gentle yet firm, as if he were memorizing every curve and line.

You were already far gone, drooling on the sheet as Jamil kept pounding into you. His cock scratched deliciously at every sensitive spot, and kissed your cervix.

Jamil leaned down, resting his body weight on yours as he moved faster, desperately chasing both your and his release.

“Yes, yes, yes. Baby, yes!” You shouted, hands gripping the sheet.

Jamil’s hand found yours, squeezing it tightly as he tried to ground himself. His other hand located your clit, rubbing it with skilled precision. You let out a choked moan, drooling on the sheet once more as fireworks exploded behind your eyes. Your body spasmed and shivered violently as you came, your orgasm rippling around Jamil’s cock, still deeply embedded within you.

Jamil’s movements grew more erratic as he pursued his own release, spilling his thick semen deep inside you with a series of final, urgent thrusts. You moaned deeply, relishing the sensation of your belly filling with his warmth. Jamil followed with a few lazy, drawn-out strokes, savoring the tail end of his climax.

You reached out, gathering a mix of your essences on your fingertip as he slowly withdrew. Raising your glistening finger to your lips, you sucked it clean, your eyes locked with Jamil’s in a playful, flirtatious gaze.

He let out a low, throaty chuckle. 'Freak,' he murmured, but you couldn't miss the mischievous glint in his eyes as he said it.

He rose from his position and gently turned your body, positioning your back snugly against the bed. Settling himself between your legs once more, he stroked his hardened member along your lips, ready to begin another round of passion.

You let out a hiss at the friction, your body responding instinctively before your mind caught up. Suddenly, realization dawned on you.

“Wait!” You exclaimed, and Jamil halted his movement, his eyes questioning. You pointed an accusatory finger at his face. “You switched out on your own will!” You yelled.

Jamil burst out laughing before claiming your heat once more.

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The wind tugged gently at his hair as he leaned against the railing, one hand resting on the cold metal. Below, the city pulsed with light and motion, the hum of traffic, the faint echo of cheering from the arena. His team jacket clung snugly to his frame, warding off the bite of the evening air.

Jamil’s mind ran in a hundred directions at once. In fifteen minutes, he’d be back on the court and the game would begin.

He’d asked the manager for a moment to get some air before tip-off to steady himself, to think.

He was lucky no one else came to this part of the stadium. It was quiet here, peaceful in a way that felt almost foreign. A brief calm before he had to throw himself back into the rhythm of the court.

The truth was, Jamil was nervous. Immensely so.

Scared, even, for the match ahead.

This particular team had been a nightmare last season. Especially for him.

Jamil lifted his hand, staring at his open palm. The faint calluses on his skin caught the cold light, reminders of every hour he’d spent training, preparing. And still, it hadn’t been enough.

Last season, they’d shut him down completely. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Every pass was intercepted, every rhythm broken. He had been rendered useless on the court.

Losing was normal in any sport, he’d accepted that much. But that particular loss had lodged itself somewhere deep, festering like an old wound that refused to heal. It was the only match in his career where he couldn’t contribute a single point through his plays.

The others had picked up the slack. The team still fought hard. But by the final quarter, even the coach had seen the panic in his eyes and benched him, swapping out their captain.

He’d sat there, helpless, as the scoreboard sealed their defeat. Just a few points short.

That was not his best play, and he knew he shouldn’t feel this disheartened. But what is an athlete’s trait, if not competitiveness?

Jamil’s fingers curled into a fist, knuckles whitening as he squeezed until his palm trembled. His stomach churned with that familiar, bitter nausea.

He couldn’t let that happen again.

“Scared?”

A familiar voice cut through his reverie.

Jamil raised his head to see you standing a few steps in front of him, wearing his team’s warm-up jacket and his jersey number proudly across your chest.

You walked toward him, your sneakers quiet against the concrete floor, the faint echo swallowed by the wind.

Jamil sighed, turning his gaze back to the horizon. “Maybe?”

You stopped in front of him, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

“Heee? Did I hear that right? The Jamil Viper, scared?”

Jamil huffed, rolling his eyes. “Apparently I’m also still human.”

You chuckled softly at his response.

Jamil wants to say something. wanting to tell you what he feels. Whatever it is to let out the annoying tight on his chest. but his words lump in his throat. He just open and closed his mouth again and again, without really saying any words.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, I know.” your words. “I know what happened.”

Jamil stared at you in silence, words trapped somewhere between his chest and his throat, his mind running a thousand laps but none of them forming into coherent sound. Of course you would know. With how much you had been watching him, studying him, memorizing his plays and habits, it would be stranger if you didn’t know anything about it.

The thought made him snort, a small, incredulous sound that barely escaped his lips. Unbelievable.

He flicked your forehead sharply. You flinched, pressing your hand against it.

“What was that for?”

“Creep,” Jamil muttered, his tone deadpan but the corners of his mouth twitching.

“What the fuck?!” you protested.

A little, almost imperceptible smile bloomed on his lips, betraying just how much he was enjoying this.

You rolled your eyes, pretending to scold him, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“Don’t worry too much. We’re gonna win.”

Jamil raised an eyebrow, amused. “We?”

“Yes, we. Us. With how much time we’ve spent in each other’s body—heh—don’t you think you can count me as your other version?”

A small giggle escaped him, the tension in his shoulders easing. He had never been more grateful for your ridiculous, goofy personality than right now.

You grinned at him, satisfied to see him relax.

“Let’s go. Your match is about to begin.” You nudged him forward, guiding him back inside.

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To Jamil’s horror, the match unfolded exactly as he had feared. From the opening whistle, the opposing team pressed hard, their defense tight and merciless. Every time he tried to advance, three bodies seemed to materialize around him, circling like sharks, cutting off passing lanes and forcing him to pivot again and again.

He dribbled with precise control, heart hammering, passing the ball to teammates only to see them blocked or forced into rushed shots. The roar of the crowd barely registered over the pounding of his own pulse. Each steal against him felt personal, each interception a reminder of last season’s humiliation.

Yet, unlike before, Jamil wasn’t entirely paralyzed. His movements were sharper, more deliberate. His passes weren’t perfect, but they weren’t disasters either. Still, the relentless pressure gnawed at him, a constant reminder that the rivals weren’t just playing the game, they were gunning for him, trying to clip his wings and crush the team’s morale starting from their captain.

He felt the weight of three opponents pinning him in the same spot, hands reaching, bodies leaning, trying to force errors. Each second stretched painfully, and Jamil realized that even though he was free to move, freedom wasn’t enough if his mind kept replaying past failures and screwed his steps again and again.

In his frustration, Jamil passed the ball to Ace, who caught it effortlessly and scored a point. The roar of the crowd barely registered in Jamil’s ears.

Now defense time. Jamil positioned himself near the net, eyes locked on the ball, muscles tense, ready to block or intercept anything the opponents might throw at him. His heartbeat thundered so loudly he swore he could feel it in his throat.

The opposing players charged at him like bulls heading for their prey. Panic surged through him, his breath hitching, and before he even realized it, his feet betrayed him. He stumbled, legs giving way, and suddenly he was in the stands, forced out of the court entirely, watching the play unfold from above.

The stadium fell into a hush for a split second as everyone’s gaze turned toward Jamil’s empty spot.

“Why is Jamil just standing there?” one voice from the audience asked, confused.

Jamil—now in your body—gripped the bench. His hand tightened, knuckles white.

He cursed himself inwardly as he watched you stunned in the middle of the court.

Dammit. Why did he have to switch out in such a crucial moment?

His chest tightened, and he gripped it. Panic rose from his pounding heart once again, cold in his veins. The noise of the crowd blurred into nothing.

You must feel so shocked and confused right now. Suddenly thrown into the middle of the court, surrounded by players and eyes, with no clue what had just happened.

Jamil’s breath hitched. He realized it then.

He was a coward.

His fear was what triggered the switch. The moment he felt cornered, his body gave in, wanting to run away, and the bond dragged you into his place instead.

And now, he couldn’t even bring himself to face you.

Not when he knew the first thing he’d see would be your disappointed eyes.

But when he finally raised his head to search for you, you were already looking up at him, wearing the gentlest smile he had ever seen from you. Or rather, from his face.

“Breathe.” You mouthed the word softly.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath until that very moment. His chest loosened, air slowly returning to his lungs as he stared down at you, the noise of the crowd fading into a distant hum.

Then you threw him a cheeky grin, one that made the entire row of girls behind him scream and swoon. And just like that, your attention snapped back to the court, confidence radiating from your every move.

You placed your hands on your hips, a wide, almost cocky grin spreading across your face. Then, you pointed straight at one of the opponents who had been cornering him since the start.

Jamil had no idea what you said, but whatever it was, it must be foul as the guy’s jaw slacked and face twisted in irritation. Making Floyd doubled over laughing from across the court.

Jamil couldn’t tear his eyes away.

You moved differently from him. Less restrained, more fluid, reckless even. You darted through the court like you were dancing, not playing. Where Jamil calculated, you flowed. Where he measured, you improvised. Every feint, every spin, every bounce seemed to come out of pure instinct, and somehow, it worked.

You stole the ball with a cheeky flick of the wrist, grinning like a devil when your opponent cursed under his breath. You didn’t even seem to care about form, your passes were a little too playful, your dribble a little too showy, but it made you unpredictable, infuriatingly so.

Even from the stands, Jamil could tell what you were doing. You were getting under their skin.

You must’ve thrown some comment here and there too, because the more you talked, the redder the opposing team got.

Without realizing it, Jamil’s tense shoulders had softened. The knot in his chest eased, the panic that once clawed at his lungs now replaced by something gentler, something warm.

He exhaled, a quiet, shaky breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. Watching you move, laugh, shine out there. Somehow, it melted everything away.

Then your gaze found his. Even amidst the roar of the crowd and the pounding rhythm of the game, your eyes met his with startling clarity.

‘Ready?’ you mouthed from below.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. For the first time since the switch, he felt steady.

“Ready,” he breathed back.

With a blink, the world tilted and Jamil switched back in his own body.

One of Jamil’s rivals blinked at him, brows furrowed. “...What the hell? Did you just smile at me?”

Jamil only blinked back, expression soft and guileless before his lips curved into a friendly grin.

“Ah, yes. You played really great today. It makes me pumped up as well. Let’s have some fun.”

The guy just stared, slack-jawed. “What the— What’s with the mood swing?! You’re even worse than Leech!”

Ace’s laughter rang out as he jogged past them. “Welcome back, Captain~!” he sang, all too amused.

“FLOOOOYD! STOP LAZING AROUND! YOU CAN STILL GET THAT BALL!”

Every head on the court turned toward the stands. You stood there, eyes blazing, finger stabbing the air like a sword aimed straight at Floyd.

“Yeeees…” Floyd drawled from under the hoop, dragging himself into motion.

Jamil couldn’t help it, he laughed.

The rival beside him gawked. “Who is that lady? And why the hell did Leech actually listen to her?!”

Jamil tilted his head, a faint, knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh, that?” he said lightly. “That’s the other me.”

And before the guy could even process that sentence, Jamil had already jogged past, leaving him standing there, utterly dumbfounded.

The rest of the play went smoothly. Jamil moved with quiet precision, each pass and drive flowing naturally as if the rhythm of the court finally matched his own.

In the end, Night Raven won by two points. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to break their chain. Especially his.

You were jumping on the stands, laughing, shouting, celebrating the victory with everyone else.

You didn’t notice the way Jamil looked up at you from the court, eyes wide and a little dazed. The crowd roared around him, but his gaze stayed fixed at you before he smiled to himself.

Ah.

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Jamil was lounging casually in the living room, a piece of candy tucked in his cheek. He adjusted the position of his—well, your—boobs, settling deeper into the sofa with a sigh.

He had adapted surprisingly well to being in a woman’s body. It took some time, but now he understood things he’d never even thought about before. The subtle shifts in balance, the heightened senses, the way emotions could feel heavier in some areas.

The first time he experienced period cramps, though, he’d been completely wrecked. The color had drained from his face as he yelled at anyone who dared interrupt his misery with questions. Including you.

From behind the bathroom door, Jamil could hear the water running, the faint rhythm of you scrubbing his body while humming a tune he didn’t recognize.

By now, both of you knew how to switch back at will, though sometimes the switch just happened on its own. If it happened when neither of you had anything important going on, you usually just let it be.

You still didn’t fully understand the mechanics of your shared quirk, but both of you worried that forcing the switch too often might cause problems later. So you tried to limit it as much as you could.

Not that it was really a problem. Being each other for a while wasn’t so bad. Sometimes, you even did it on purpose.

If you didn’t feel like dealing with a sharp-tongued stakeholder or a particularly demanding client, you’d ask Jamil to take over. Likewise, if Jamil was too exhausted to face his fans, he’d let you handle it. And you, being just a little narcissistic, would always deliver flawless fanservice.

“Hey, I am not!” you’d complained once.

The romcom on TV was reaching its peak. The two leads were in the middle of a heated yet funny argument, voices rising, faces flushed, when they suddenly blurted out their love for each other. Jamil sneered at them.

"Idiots."

Just as the confession hung in the air, the apartment doorbell rang.

Jamil turned his head toward the sound. He rose from the sofa, frowning slightly. Who could that be? He didn’t have any appointments today, and he was pretty sure you didn’t either.

A delivery, maybe? Did you order something?

However, his body went rigid the moment he saw the figure standing outside his apartment through the doorbell camera.

It was your stalker.

His pulse spiked. This wasn’t good.

You were still in the shower, completely defenseless.

He couldn’t switch now. Not when you were vulnerable and unprepared. If he did, he didn’t know what might happen in those few seconds it took for him to get his bearings and grab his magic pen.

Jamil watched the man carefully through the camera feed. Creeps like your ex were capable of anything, and he wasn’t about to take any risks when it came to your safety.

Still, a part of him wanted to know what this man was after. Curiosity tugged at him. If he could figure out what this creep was planning, maybe he could finally find a way to keep him away from you for good.

For your safety.

Jamil quickly reached for the defense magic device from one of the cabinets, his other hand already gripping his phone, ready to call security or the police if it came to that.

On the screen, he could see the man glancing around nervously before stepping closer to the door panel. The creep started punching in numbers, trying to guess the code.

Jamil didn’t wait. He yanked the door open before the man could finish.

Not that it would’ve worked anyway, Jamil had changed the passcode just a few days ago.

He had actually sensed something off about your stalker days ago. That same ominous presence kept showing up at nearly every event you attended, always just out of reach, always watching.

It had made Jamil increasingly uneasy. He’d already hired a private investigator to gather enough evidence to put the man behind bars, tightened the apartment’s security system, and even arranged for a bodyguard to follow you whenever you went out.

Not that you did, often times you spent most of your time at home, sincee you also working remotely. And on the rare occasions you did go out, it was usually with him.

Jamil always made sure you stayed close. Always within reach.

“What do you want?” Jamil snapped, shoving his phone up to the man’s face. “Don’t try anything. Security will be here in minutes.”

The man spread his hands, trying to look harmless. “I just wanted to talk.” His tone grated on Jamil like a nail on glass. He kept looking at your bod, leering, and Jamil felt something cold and animal in his chest. An urge to gauge those eyes out.

“I don’t want to hear any of your nonsense,” Jamil said, forcing his voice flat and hard. He kept the phone in one hand, ready to call, while the other hovered near the defense device in his pocket.

The man let out a low, mocking chuckle, his eyes gleaming with spite.

“I’ll admit,” he sneered, “you’ve gotten a lot braver since you started hanging around that pretty boy.” He tilted his head, smirk widening. “What’s the matter? Think you’ve caught yourself a big shot now?”

He took a step closer.

Jamil’s grip on the phone tightened, knuckles whitening as he steadied his stance.

“Soulmate? Bullshit.”

The man’s voice dripped with venom. “You really think he’ll stay with you? With you? Who do you think you are?”

Jamil’s body trembled.

“You’re a nobody,” the man spat. “Nothing to be proud of. Just a pathetic, stupid, naive girl who thought running to your so-called soulmate would save you. Clinging to that man, desperate for love—”

His words grew sharper, crueler, each one cutting deeper.

“Well, guess what? You’re still nothing. No one will ever love you. Especially not him. He’ll leave once he’s done tasting your body. He doesn’t love you. He’ll throw you away, just like your mom and dad—”

The sentence never finished.

Jamil’s fist connected squarely with his jaw, the impact echoing through the hall. His knuckles burned from the force, your smaller hand trembling from the recoil, but he didn’t care.

He hurled the defense device to the floor, and with a pulse of energy, ropes of conjured vine shot out, wrapping around the man’s limbs, binding him from head to toe.

The stalker hit the ground with a heavy thud, struggling uselessly against the restraint.

Jamil exhaled sharply, chest heaving as he grabbed his phone and alerted building security.

“There’s an intruder,” he said. “Send someone up ASAP.”

Feeling that it still wasn’t enough, Jamil kicked the man’s side before planting his foot squarely on his chest. He glared down at him.

“Listen here, you dipshit.” His voice was low, trembling with rage. “That man loves me. He loves me so much he does everything I ask him to do. He hates milk, but he keeps stuffing his fridge full because he knows I like it. He’s allergic to prawns, but he still went out of his way to cook them for me, just because he thought it would make me happy. He had to scrub down his entire kitchen afterward to get rid of any trace. And you know what? I didn’t even know he had that allergy until after I finished eating. You wanna know why he did it?”

Jamil leaned in closer, voice shaking now from the sheer weight of what he felt.

“Because he loves me. He puts up with my weird-smelling collection of rare plants because he loves me. He listens to me ramble about fictional men from video games he doesn’t understand because he loves me. He stays up late when I forget to sleep, just to make sure I don’t burn myself out. Because. He. Loves. Me.”

By the time he finished, Jamil was breathless. He blinked, realization dawning as his words echoed faintly off the walls. The way he talked, the rapid, emotional tumble of words, it was just like you.

He had just done exactly what you always did when you were overwhelmed, or passionate, or trying to make a point.

Jamil slammed his foot down harder on the man's chest. The intruder let out a yelp.

“That man never had anything good in his life and I brought so much joy into it. So if you think he’ll leave me, keep dreaming. He will never leave me. In fact, if I ever left, he would chase me across the fucking world and beg me to come back. Do not ever underestimate what I mean to him, because he has never, ever been happier!”

By the end of the sentence his voice was raw, half a shout. He jabbed a finger at the man's face and leaned close, making sure his expression was as fierce as he could muster.

His foot lifted from the man’s chest as the guards dragged the intruder toward the elevator. The stalker’s face was still twisted in disbelief.

“Have fun in jail!” Jamil called after him.

“Fuck you!” The man’s snapped back.

“No, thank you. I’d rather fuck Jamil. His dick is bigger than yours!”

Jamil huffed. He knew this was petty and completely unlike him, this was your kind of behavior. But it felt good to let loose for once. Besides, he was technically you right now, so it was fine… right?

You really had rubbed off on him.

He turned his heels around and froze.

You were standing in the middle of the living room, dripping water from your hair, staring at him like your brain had short-circuited. And you were dressed his body in the ridiculous bear-print pajamas you’d once insisted he buy and wear. He never did, of course, yet apparently, you’d taken matters into your own hands.

You looked absolutely stupid.

“Uh… how long have you been standing there?” he asked slowly.

You stuttered, still too stunned to process what you’d just heard. “Well, uh, since ‘listen here, you dipshit,’ and—‘he has never, ever been happier.’”

Jamil closed his eyes. Of course. Of course he had to black out and shout all that while you were around to hear it.

He apologized to the romcom leads he’d mocked earlier on TV, because apparently, Jamil was a fool too.

“And also about the part where you said my dick’s bigger,” you added.

“My dick is bigger,” Jamil corrected flatly.

“Yeah,” you nodded, dead serious. “Our dick is bigger.”

Jamil nodded too.

“Our balls are bigger, too. Literally and figuratively.” You continue.

Silence fell between you two.

Too awkward. Too confused to move.

The embarrassment finally caught up to him. His cheeks burned, and the back of his neck grew unbearably hot.

You placed both palms over your face.

“Oh my gosh,” your lips formed a perfect ‘o’ of disbelief. “Oh my gosh, Jamil Viper loves me.”

Jamil’s blush deepened instantly. “Shut up!”

“Oh my gosh!” you kept flailing. “Oh no, what do I do? Should I—should I propose? Wait, do I propose? I’m technically the man right now, right? Eh? Or—or should you—oh my gosh, I’m panicking!”

Jamil burst out laughing, pushing your larger body toward his room while closing the apartment door behind him. The click of the lock echoed through the hall.

“Hey, about your question,” he said, pausing mid-push.

“Huh?”

He tilted his head, meeting your still-confused face.

“I don’t think I’d mind being a girl in my next life, or being your soulmate again.” He shrugged lightly. “Though I’d rather not be a barnacle.”

You snorted. “Don’t worry, we can be mosquitoes and humans instead. You know, I suck your blood, you slap me later.”

“Haha, yeah? Really?” he replied lazily, resuming his mission of sweeping you straight to the bed.

Yeah, shit.

He really has never ever been happier.

END

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𝘢/𝘯: 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦. 𝘋𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺?

Affinity level: 71%

Your hands flew up, bracing against his chest. “Wait,” you croaked. The blood rushing through you was roaring in your ears. This wasn’t the right time to panic. You needed to be smart about this.

He grunted in frustration, muscles going rigid under your palms, but allowed the distance to happen. You felt his palms retracting to your waist in a loose hold, allowing for you to slip sideways. The concern on his face seemed real; you didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

“I—sorry,” you stammered, already backing toward the door. “I’m not feeling too well after all. Think something I ate is staging a coup.”

His brows drew together, skeptical. “Now?”

“Yeah, well, my timing’s shit,” you said, forcing a weak laugh. Your chest felt tight. “I just—need a minute. Or several. Preferably horizontal and not in a sexy way.”

His gaze swept over you, searching, weighing. You could practically see the calculation running behind his eyes: you were shaking, breathing too fast, heart hammering against his chest a moment ago. Your reaction could easily be mistaken with feeling unwell and you used it to your advantage. The colonel could see through lies and for a second you thought he was going to call you out. Press you. Pin you there and demand answers you couldn’t safely give.

Instead, his jaw flexed and he stepped back half a pace, giving you a sliver of space. Reluctant. Frustrated. But worried. In his eyes you probably did look overwhelmed, which was an understatement.

“Fine,” he said slowly. “Go. Get checked out. If it’s anything serious, I want to know.”

Relief filled you. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” you lied, already reaching for the door panel. “Just need to sleep it off.”

His eyes lingered on your mouth. The heat there hadn’t gone anywhere; it had just banked, coiled deeper. It made your skin break out in goosebumps and not in the best of ways.

“Don’t run from me,” he murmured, so soft you almost missed it and for a second you almost pitied him, but you knew better. The same man hadn’t hesitated to pull the trigger mere seconds ago.

Your hand fumbled on the panel. “I’m not. Just… tactical retreat.”

He huffed a quiet, disbelieving sound and watched you go.

You slipped out before the system could throw another prompt in your face, boots too loud in the corridor as you hurried back toward your quarters.

The door hissed shut behind you, sealing you in. You sagged back against it, sucking in a breath like you’d been underwater. Your hands were still shaking.

The room came back into focus in slow, ugly layers: the dim overhead lights, the scuffed floor, the neatly folded blanket on the bunk you hadn’t really slept in. The air felt too thin.

You sighed loudly, defeated. You had no idea how to fix it and you didn’t want to in the first place. Your plan had been to have a little fun with him and then break up when MC showed up, but the system wasn’t willing to even give you that much. Guess it was time to move to the second part of your plan. Cut your losses and move on.

—

You called in sick the next morning.

The lie tasted thin even as you transmitted it, citing “food poisoning” and “headache” and “persistent nausea.” None of that was technically untrue. Your stomach did feel like it was tying itself in knots, but not from illness. You’d just decided you were done playing whatever game last night had tried to turn into. If it was one thing you learnt from all this, it was that the system was never on your side.

You dozed, dreamt in flashes, Caleb’s hand on your throat, his sneer, the nonsensical words he spat right before the shot. You woke up with your heart racing and your fingers clawed in the blanket, but you forced yourself to breathe through it, teeth clenched. You were not going to fall apart over him. Not again.

The chime at your door jolted you upright.

You froze.

Another chime. More insistent. The camera flashed Caleb’s face. You stared at it, jaw tightening, and decided to ignore it. You could just pretend you were asleep. Let him go bother someone who still wanted to be dragged into his orbit.

Authorization: Colonel Rank – Access Granted.

The lock disengaged with a soft, treacherous hiss. Of. Fucking. Course.

You pushed off the bed, not scrambling this time so much as moving fast and deliberate, tugging your oversized shirt straight, rolling your shoulders back. You scrubbed a hand down your face, not to erase panic, but to wipe away anything that might look like it. By the time the door slid open, you were braced.

Caleb filled the doorway.

His uniform felt sharper than usual, as his eyes swept the room once, cataloging everything, then settled on you. His eyes flickered with heat and worry and something darker, coiled under the surface. Confidence, like he already knew exactly how this conversation would play out.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said by way of greeting.

Your mouth went dry, but you didn’t look away. “Good morning to you too, sir.”

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. The door closed behind him with a quiet, final click that sounded way too much like a lock sliding into place.

“You called in sick,” he went on. “No medbay check-in. No medication requisition. No incident report from the mess hall. No one else reported symptoms. Interesting outbreak.”

You forced a thin, sharp smile. “Maybe I’m just special.”

“You are,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

He moved closer. Not with the sharp, predatory snap from before, but with focused patience, like he was stalking a skittish animal he fully expected to corner. You felt the air shift as he narrowed the distance between you, stopping only when your calves hit the edge of the bunk.

“Colonel—”

“What happened last night?” he asked, cutting clean through your attempt to stall. His voice was soft, edged in something that might have been frustration, might have been bruised pride. “One minute you’re… there. With me. The next, you’re shaking like I put a gun to your head.”

You flinched, then forced yourself to straighten. Oh the irony.

You swallowed once and held his gaze. “I told you. I didn’t feel well.”

“Right.” He took another half-step, nudging you back until you half-sat, half-fell onto the bunk. He loomed over you, hands braced on either side of your hips, caging you without quite touching. “And this sudden, miraculous illness just happened to strike the moment things got… heated.”

Your pulse hammered, but you refused to shrink. “Look,” you said, forcing each word out slow, controlled. “Last night was… a lot. For me. And after I got back here and calmed down, I realized something.”

“Did you now.” His voice flatlined, as if he already decided that whatever you were about to say would be wrong.

You met his gaze head-on. “You’re my superior officer... I shouldn’t have kissed you.” The words landed flat in the space between you. Caleb didn’t move, just looked at you, a scowl slowly twisting on his face.

“Is that what you think last night was? A mistake?” he scoffed, clearly offended.

Your breathing hitched. “Yes.” You forced yourself to look him straight in the eyes, so he couldn’t accuse you of lying later. “I was out of line. It won’t happen again.”

He went silent and studied you for a long moment, head tilting slightly. Then he straightened, putting an inch of space between you.

He exhaled forcefully, like he was trying to keep level headed. “So you’re ending this because what? You suddenly decided to act professional? Don’t make me laugh.”

“There’s nothing to end, Caleb. That’s the point.”

He flinched, like your words physically hurt. His brows furrowing in that pained look, you’ve seen so many times on the screen and your heart squeezed.

“Don’t call me by my name now of all times,” he said, voice dropping low. “What really happened Y/n? What was it that made you change your mind half way? You’re the one who kissed me first.” His eyes didn’t leave yours.

Your throat tightened. “I decided it wasn’t worth risking my career for a fling.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose. The controlled kind of exhale that meant he was working very hard to stay inside his own skin. “You’re lying,” he said simply.

You held your ground, “I’m not.”

Alert: Affinity Fluctuation Detected.

You clocked it in your peripheral vision and did nothing, jaw tight. The system was being vague as always. It didn’t even bother showing the percentage of the affinity like you were somehow supposed to know what the warning meant.

“Don’t do this,” he said, barely above a whisper. His forehead dropped to yours, the gesture so unguarded it stole the breath from your lungs. His hands moved to your your face, trembling slightly now, barely perceptibly. “Whatever this is, whatever is making you think you need to do this, we can fix it. Just talk to me.”

Your eyes burned. You kept them dry through sheer stubbornness.

“There’s nothing to fix,” you said softly.

Warning: Emotional Instability Detected. Stabilize subject Caleb.

You almost laughed. You, who were barely holding yourself together, were supposed to stabilize the man whose hands were shaking on your face. The system kept issuing commands like you had any idea what you were doing. Like there was a manual somewhere you’d missed. There wasn’t. There never had been.

“There is.” His voice broke on the second word. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes searching, bright with something he was fighting very hard to keep contained. “There has to be. Because last night—” He stopped, swallowed, started again. “Last night was the first time in a long time that things felt like they were finally clicking into place. Like something had been returned to me that I can’t name.” His thumbs moved against your cheeks, slow and involuntary, like he couldn’t stop. “And I need you to understand what I’m telling you. I need you to hear me.”

Your heart broke cleanly in two, but you held the pieces together through willpower alone. You couldn’t save him. It had never been your place to begin with.

“I hear you, but I—” you started before the system interrupted you.

Warning: Instability Escalating

You didn’t know what the threshold was. The system never told you how far was too far, what the exact cliff edge looked like before you went over it, just kept issuing warnings whenever you got too close for comfort. Too close to what exactly? You never knew.

Caleb who was unaware of your inner distress continued. “Then please,” The words came out raw, scraped down to the bone. “Whatever I need to do differently, I’ll do it. Whatever you need from me, space or time, I’ll give it to you. Just don’t—”

His jaw worked. He pressed his forehead back to yours, eyes closing briefly, breath unsteady. “Don’t end this before it starts. You owe us both more than that.”

“Caleb.” Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you saw him respond to it immediately, the slight lean toward you, the tightening of his hands on your face, hope and desperation braided together in his expression. It gutted you. “I’m sorry,” you said. “I really am. But my answer isn’t going to change.”

You needed to do this. Needed to at least try. As long as the system didn’t—

His eyes opened, looking deeply into yours, searching them one last time with the focused, exhausted look of a man who already knew what he was going to find and was looking anyway, because not looking meant accepting it.

Critical Deviation Detected. Reset Imminent.

Your stomach dropped straight through the floor. No. No, no, no! Your pulse spiked so fast it made your vision swim, the system text burning red and urgent at the edges of everything, a countdown with no numbers, just the certainty of erasure and waking up somewhere you didn’t choose to be, again.

“Wait—” The word ripped out of you before you could stop it.

Caleb blinked, startled by the sudden shift, the crack in your composure you hadn’t meant to show. His hands stilled on your face. “What—”

“Just—” Your breath came out ragged. You could feel the reset gathering like pressure behind your eardrums, like the moment before a storm broke. You had seconds, maybe less, and no good options, just one, the same one that made everything worse.

You grabbed the front of his uniform and kissed him.

It was graceless. Desperate. Nothing like the careful, deliberate kiss from the night before. He made a startled sound against your mouth, body going rigid for a half-second, before his hands tightened in your hair and he kissed you back with something that felt like relief and fury all at once.

The red text flickered.

Reset Imminent.

Reset Imminent.

Notice: Stabilization Registered.

You sagged with the relief of it, mouth still against his, fingers twisted in the fabric of his chest. Your heart was still slamming. Your hands were shaking, but you were still here, still breathing, still in one piece. You had never managed to reverse a reset before. That had to count for something.

It chimed again.

Affinity level: 71%

So the system wasn’t going to let you break things off with Caleb on your own terms. Big surprise. The only option you realistically had was to play its game and bring the affinity back to 0%.

*****************************************

previous part ….. next part | ‘F*ck the system’ series

Once inside, you sat on the bed and grabbed your phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up with notifications—unread messages in the home group MC had added you to. You scrolled through absently, eyes skimming over the words.

Everyone was busy. Zayne was running late shifts at the hospital. Sylus had “meetings” that would keep him out most of the week. Even Caleb had mentioned being out of town for a few days. All of them rearranging their schedules, working overtime, stacking their free time in preparation for one thing.

Rafayel’s Ebb.

You stared at the thread for a long moment, thumb hovering above the screen. A hollow laugh slipped out before you could stop it, barely more than a breath. Not a big deal, huh? The words rang bitter in your mind, Rafayel’s voice overlapping with the memory of his dismissive tone, that careful indifference he used like armor. You pressed your lips together, shaking your head.

It obviously was a big deal. Big enough that everyone was shifting their lives around it. Yet… you weren’t invited. You briefly wondered if the others knew, if Rafayel had let everyone know that you weren’t going to be there. It was hard to imagine that Caleb or MC would be ok with it, but then again a lot of things had changed in the last 7 years you were apart.

You sighed, letting the phone fall onto the bed beside you. The hollow ache in your chest throbbed again, familiar but exhausting. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe he was right. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like for him. Maybe your presence really would make it worse. Maybe he had certain expectations that you wouldn’t be able to fulfill…

Still, it hurt.

You rubbed at your temple, trying to chase the thoughts away. They kept circling back, sharp and insistent, whispering all the things you didn’t want to admit. That you were being excluded. That he didn’t trust you. That maybe, deep down, they all thought you were too fragile for their world. Especially now, since the cat was out of the bag with your past sexual assault.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to breathe. No point in moping. Not when you could still make something good out of this week.

Your eyes drifted to the small framed photo on your nightstand—Abel’s crooked smile missing a front tooth, his wild hair sticking up in every direction. You felt a faint tug in your chest, the first genuine warmth you’d felt all morning. You’d been busy lately with everything going on. You hadn’t spent any time alone with Abel, like the old days.

Maybe you should take some time off. Get away from all this tension and uncertainty. A small vacation, just the two of you—somewhere quiet, where he could run wild and you could finally breathe without feeling like you were walking on glass. Back when it was just the two of you, there was never a time where you didn’t have to work double shifts to provide for him, so things like vacations were merely a dream.

You ran the numbers in your head, mentally tallying your savings. It would be tight, but doable. You didn’t need luxury—just air, space, peace. Somewhere far from the city. Somewhere you would have wanted to go before all this.

“Yeah,” you murmured to yourself, a tired smile tugging at your lips. “That’s what we’ll do.”

You pulled your robe tighter around yourself and glanced once more at your phone, at the unread messages filling the group chat with cheerful logistics and carefully constructed plans.

If he didn’t want you there, then fine. You’d make other plans.

You exhaled slowly and looked around your quiet room, staring at your unused luggage bags. The same ones that carried your stuff here not so long ago. Then you picked up your phone again, thumb hovering over the search bar.

“Somewhere quiet,” you murmured to yourself. “Somewhere by the sea.”

A humorless smile tugged at your lips at the irony.

“Just not his sea.”

You’d spent the last hour scrolling through endless travel listings — seaside cottages with pale blue shutters, quiet cliffside rentals with too-perfect sunsets, cheap train routes that promised peaceful escapes. They all started to blur together after a while: bright skies, gentle waves, strangers smiling like they’d never known the ache of uncertainty.

You wanted that calm. That illusion of being untethered. Just a week to reset — to forget how small you’d felt standing in front of Rafayel’s walls. And of course to spend time with Abel. You weren’t doing this just for yourself.

The page loaded revealing the words seaside rental. You hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen but never pressing enter. It wasn’t even a plan — just a thought. A maybe. A quiet rebellion against being left behind.

Then your phone chimed, causing you to nearly drop it. You blinked staring at the top of your screen.

Sylus: You’re not very subtle, sweetheart.

Your stomach dropped. Before you could type a response, another bubble appeared.

Sylus: Planning a trip without telling anyone?

You groaned and let yourself fall back onto the bed, covering your face with your hands. Of course. You’d forgotten—Sylus could see everything. His access to the house systems, the servers, the quiet way he always seemed to know more than he should. You really should’ve known better. The phone buzzed again.

Sylus: By the sea, no less… You know he’ll notice if you leave without saying anything, right?

You stared at the message, your chest tightening. You knew who he was referring to, Rafayel. He wasn’t accusing you — his tone, even through text, was gentle. Concerned. Protective. You bit your lip, typing and deleting several replies before settling on one.

You: You can’t just snoop through my phone, Sylus.

The three dots appeared almost immediately.

Sylus: Didn’t have to. Your searches sync to the house server, remember? Security protocol… So. A vacation? Or a getaway?

You sighed.

You: I was just looking. I thought Abel and I could use a break. That’s all.

The dots lingered on the screen for a long moment before his next message came through.

Sylus: Mhm. And this has nothing to do with Rafayel shutting you out this morning?

You froze, breath catching. You could almost hear the way he’d say it—dry, teasing, but with that quiet undercurrent of understanding that made it impossible to lie to him.

You didn’t answer. Another message followed, slower this time, as though he’d hesitated before sending it.

Sylus: Okay. Just don’t decide anything while you’re hurting. Talk to us. Don’t run from him.

A pause. Then another line appeared.

Sylus: He’s scared, that’s all. And if you leave now, you’ll just prove him right.

You exhaled shakily and set your phone aside. The guilt sat heavy in your chest, curling tighter the longer you stared at the ceiling. He was right. But what were you supposed to do? Sit there, smile, and pretend you were fine with it? No, but…

You knew it would be unfair of you, especially towards Caleb and MC. They weren’t the ones shutting you out. They were acting like the usual, rearranging their lives around something they thought you already understood.

Only the lemurain had drawn that invisible line between you. And somehow, that hurt more than if they’d all turned away.

You glanced at your phone again, the open tab still glowing faintly — a picture of a seaside cottage, sunlight spilling through its windows — and guilt twisted in your chest, sharp and cold. Caleb… it would probably destroy him, disappearing like that, again. You didn’t even want to think what MC and the rest would do. They were all out there, unaware, trusting you to stay, while you were here quietly planning your escape.

You drew in a steady breath and closed all tabs.

By late afternoon, the room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric. Caleb had offered to pick Abel up from daycare and you had a day off. You stood by the bed, folding laundry into neat piles. It was simple, mindless work, but it helped you stay tethered. Just something to keep your hands busy while your thoughts refused to settle.

“You’re leaving.”

Startled, a shirt slipped from your hands. You turned, to see Rafayel in the doorway. Silver light spilled over him, catching faintly in the shimmering pink of his orbs. His expression was unreadable — too still, too composed, like he was holding himself together by sheer will. His gaze flicked to the half-folded clothes, the open drawers, then back to you.

It wasn’t a question.

You blinked. “What?”

He stepped closer, tension bleeding through every movement. “So this is how it happens,” he said, voice low, frayed around the edges. “You pack quietly. No warning. No goodbye.”

Your brows knit. “Rafayel, I’m not—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice sharpened. “You’re leaving me. Because of this morning, aren’t you? Because of what I said.” He looked at the clothes again, jaw tight.

You exhaled shakily, the confusion giving way to something heavier. “I’m not leaving. I’m just folding the laundry, Raf,” you said softly.

That made him pause — really pause — as if the words didn’t compute. He blinked taken aback and his eyes darted to the folded shirts, the tidy piles, the absence of luggage. The color rose faintly in his cheeks, embarrassment cutting through his defensiveness. “...Oh.”

For a second, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, fragile and strange, until you sighed and turned back to the bed. “But I won’t lie and say I didn’t consider it…” You answered, voice trembling. “You acted like my presence was an inconvenience.”

He flinched, like the words were a physical thing. “I said that to protect you.” He swallowed. “I said it because I don’t want you to see that side of me. Not if I can help it. Not yet…”

“Why? Because you think I can’t handle it?” Your voice hardened, steadier than you felt. “You don’t get to make that decision for me.”

He stopped, struggling with the right way to say it. “You don’t understand.” His eyes glimmered with flecks of electric blue, searching yours so fiercely it hurt. “When the Ebb hits, I’m not kind. I’m not gentle. I take what I want, and I don’t stop. I become… dangerous.” The word scraped out of him.

“I do understand,” you cut in. “I understand more than you think.”

He sighed, eyes hardening. “You think you do, but—”

You swallowed, hands curling at your sides. There was no taking it back now. “I’ve seen it before. Your Ebb. The way you fight it, the way it tears at you. I knew about it before you ever told me.”

A beat of silence. The air felt heavier.

Rafayel stared, many expressions painting his features all at once — shock, confusion, suspicion flickering behind his eyes. “How?” His voice was barely a breath. “How could you possibly—?”

You took another step forward, your pulse racing. “Because I lived it once already. Because before all this, before I ever woke up in this world, back in my past like, I played a game that featured your world… this world.” You met his gaze, your voice trembling but steady. “I knew you before I met you. I knew about your Ebb, about the way you hide behind charm and laughter. About the fear that someone will see you as a monster. I knew everything… and I still chose to be with you.”

Rafayel’s breath stuttered, the color draining from his face. “That’s not— that doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.” You shook your head, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “It doesn’t make sense to me either. But it’s the truth. I didn’t stumble into this relationship blindly — I came knowing what you were, what everyone in this household is, and what you could become. And I’m still here, Raf.”

He looked at you like he didn’t dare breathe. His voice came out rough, hoarse. “You’re saying you know what happens during Ebb… and you still want to stay?”

“Yes.” The word cracked, but it was firm. “Because I love you.”

He let out a laugh — soft, breathless — that didn’t reach his eyes. “You shouldn’t have said that,” he murmured, his voice trembling with quiet hunger. “Because now I’ll never let you walk away.”

You smiled faintly. “Good. Then don’t.”

“Ah—so laundry time doubles as a pre-vacation ritual now?”

The voice came from the hall, smooth and teasing, and both you and Rafayel turned toward it. Sylus leaned against the doorframe, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his white hair still damp from a recent shower. His flame-bright eyes flicked between the two of you, lingering first on Rafayel’s rigid shoulders, then on the half-folded clothes scattered across the bed.

Rafayel groaned under his breath. “Of course…”

“Don’t ‘of course’ me,” Sylus said lightly, pushing off the frame and strolling into the room with unhurried ease. “You were making enough noise to wake up the whole neighborhood. Imagine my surprise when it turns out she’s just folding shirts.”

Rafayel pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard. “It’s not— I misread the situation.”

“Oh, I can see that.” Sylus’s grin tilted, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement as he glanced at you. “Heard something about someone leaving, did you?”

You crossed your arms and shot him a flat look. “I wonder where he heard it from.”

Sylus shrugged, the very picture of innocence. “Who can say, really?”

Rafayel scowled, looking every bit the offended sea god. “Must you always insert yourself into private conversations?”

“When those conversations echo through the entire house?” Sylus countered smoothly, his grin widening. “Absolutely.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, glaring up at him. “You are the worst secret keeper I’ve ever met.”

“Now that’s just not true.” His grin softened into something sly, a glint of mischief sparking in his eyes. “There’s at least one secret I’ve kept—so far.”

You froze, stomach lurching. “Sylus,” you warned, your tone sharp enough to make him smirk wider.

He tilted his head, feigning thought. “Although… maybe now’s as good a time as any to let it slip.”

“Don’t you dare.” You pointed at him, heat rushing to your cheeks.

Rafayel’s brow furrowed, gaze darting between you both. “Let what slip?” His lower lip pouting. “What are you hiding from me now?”

Sylus’s grin turned positively wicked. “Oh, nothing scandalous. Just that our sweet human here had… let’s say, a certain bias before she ever met us.”

You gaped at him. “Sylus.”

Rafayel’s ears twitched — not literally, but close enough — his curiosity sharpening. “What is he talking about, cutie?”

Sylus leaned lazily against the bedpost, pretending to ponder. “You know… she might’ve had a favorite character in that game she played… in her past life. A certain charming, dramatic, artist who liked to brood about beauty and the sea.”

Your hands flew to your face. “Oh my god—Sylus!”

Rafayel blinked once, confusion giving way to dawning realization. Then, slow as sunrise, a grin began to spread across his face. “Wait—what? Me? I was your favorite?” His voice trembled somewhere between smug disbelief and sheer delight.

Sylus chuckled. “So I’ve been told. Quite the loyal fan too, apparently.”

You groaned, half hiding behind your sleeve. “I swear I’m going to revoke your access to everything, Sylus. Right after I smother you with one of these shirts.”

“Oh come now, sweetie,” Sylus said with mock innocence. “It’s important for relationships to have honesty, isn’t it?”

Rafayel ignored him entirely, stepping closer to you with a kind of radiant, boyish awe that made your stomach twist helplessly. “Tell me everything,” he said, voice soft but insistent. “What did I look like? What did you think of me?”

“Rafayel—”

“No, no, I want details.” His grin widened, blueish pink eyes gleaming with amused vanity and genuine curiosity all at once. “Did I charm you instantly? Was it my looks? My voice? My impeccable fashion sense?”

“I—It was just a game,” you stammered, face burning. “You were pixels on a screen!”

“Pixels that clearly made quite an impression,” Sylus drawled from the nearby chair he’d claimed, far too entertained for your liking. You threw him a murderous glare.

Rafayel, of course, was far too delighted to care. His grin had turned near feral with satisfaction. “So you chose me,” he said, the words reverent, triumphant. “Out of all the others — you saw me first. Loved me first.”

“That’s not—!” You stopped yourself, groaning as you buried your face in your hands. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

“Oh, I can,” Sylus laughed softly, leaning back. “He’s going to milk this for months.”

“Years,” Rafayel corrected immediately, without missing a beat. “Possibly decades. You can’t just drop something like that and expect me to move on.” He leaned closer, his tone dipping to something low and teasing, eyes glinting with possessive warmth. “So tell me, cutie — what was it that won you over? My art? My eyes? Or my tragic, misunderstood brilliance?”

You groaned into your sleeve, trying to hide the smile you couldn’t quite suppress. “Please stop talking.”

“Not a chance,” he murmured, grin spreading wider. Sylus just chuckled quietly from the chair — and for once, the tension that had hung between all three of you melted into something warm, bright, and almost unbearably human.

***

Zayne, ever the pragmatic one with his surgeon’s precision, had taken the lead on the most delicate arrangement. Over breakfast—simple toast and coffee that you barely touched, your mind still replaying the teasing glow in Rafayel’s eyes from the night before—he announced it casually, as if discussing a routine check-up. “I’ve spoken with Yvonne. She’s more than happy to have Abel for the week. It’ll give him a break from the house’s… energy, and she mentioned baking cookies with him as a special treat.” His voice was steady, green eyes meeting yours with that quiet reassurance he always offered, but you caught the underlying concern.

Abel, your bright-eyed six-year-old with Caleb’s mischievous grin, was too young to navigate the raw edges of Rafayel’s cycle. Yvonne, Zayne’s trusted colleague, had become something of an self appointed honorary aunt, her home a safe haven in Linkon City away from the Wanderer threats.

You nodded, grateful but a pang twisting in your chest as you packed Abel’s little backpack with his favorite stuffed shark (a gift from Rafayel, ironically) and some change of clothes. Caleb knelt beside him, ruffling his dark hair. “Be good for Auntie Yvonne, buddy. I’ll call every night, okay? And when you get back, we’ll hit the arcade—promise.”

Abel beamed, oblivious to the subtext, chattering about showing Yvonne his latest drawing of a “sea monster uncle.” As Zayne drove them off, you watched from the window, feeling the polycule’s protective web tighten around you all.

The others were no less occupied. Xavier, with his Hunter duties, had already pulled strings at the Association to front-load his patrols, trading sleep for double shifts that left him yawning but determined. “Can’t let the Wanderers catch us off-guard while we’re… focused,” he said with a soft smile, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before heading out.

Sylus, lounging against the kitchen counter with his usual smirk, mentioned rescheduling meetings—vague as always about the details, but his crimson eyes held a promise of undivided attention once the week hit. Even MC, balancing her own Resonator responsibilities, had coordinated with you earlier, offering to cover any loose ends at work so you could be fully present. “We’ve got this,” she texted, followed by a heart emoji that made you smile despite the nerves.

And then there was Rafayel. He’d been restless since dawn, his usual artistic whimsy giving way to something sharper, more primal. It was just the two of you now, back in the kitchen. Sylus had just stepped out while you were busy doing the dishes. The lemurian’s scales were shimmering faintly along his collarbone, iridescent silver peeking through his unbuttoned shirt like hidden jewels.

Those electric blue eyes, once playful violet, locked onto you with an intensity that sent heat pooling low in your belly. You felt his stare burning into the back of your head. He was eerily quiet. His presence felt overbearing as it was, but his silence made your hair stand on end. You felt him before you heard him move, his fingers brushing your waist with deliberate intent—light at first, then possessive, tracing the curve of your hip as if mapping territory.

Your breath hitched, hands tightening on the plate you were holding. “Raf…” your tone was meant to sound like a warning, but came out like a plea instead. It went ignored by the lemurian. You gripped the edge of the sink with one hand, the warm soapy water still swirling around the last plate held tightly in your other palm. You opened your mouth, but your focus shattered as Rafayel's body pressed flush against your back.

His breath ghosted over your neck, hot and uneven, carrying the faint salt-tang of the sea that always clung to him. “Shh, let me take care of you,” he murmured, his voice a low, siren lure that wrapped around your thoughts like silk threads, pulling gently but insistently. Your mind went blank and pliant.

His Ebb was coursing through him, that ancient heat surging through his veins, making his touch electric against your skin. You could feel the hard line of his arousal nudging your ass through his pants, but he held back, his hands hovering at your sides as if afraid one wrong move might send you fleeing.

“I... Rafayel, the dishes,” you whispered, your voice trembling, cheeks burning even as your body leaned into him, eager despite the reluctance knotting in your chest. The tension hummed between you like a live wire. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you, and nuzzled your ear, his lips brushing the lobe. “The dishes can wait. I can't.” His fingers danced along the hem of your shirt, teasing the bare skin of your waist, waiting for that sign, that subtle arch of your back that betrayed how much you wanted this.

Slowly, so slowly, you nodded, your mind softening under the spell of his whispers. “That's it, my love. Just relax for me.” His hands slipped beneath your shirt then, palms warm and calloused from his paints and sculptures, sliding up your sides to cup your breasts. He kneaded them gently at first, thumbs circling your nipples until they pebbled hard under his touch. You bit your lip, a soft whimper escaping as heat bloomed between your thighs. He was worshipping you, every caress deliberate, like you were a canvas he was afraid to mar.

Rafayel's mouth found the curve of your shoulder, pressing open-mouthed kisses there while one hand trailed lower, dipping into the waistband of your pants. “I need to taste you, feel you come undone,” he breathed, his voice husky with restraint. His fingers found your clit, rubbing slow circles that made your knees buckle.

You braced against the sink, water splashing faintly as your hips rocked back against him instinctively. He groaned, the sound raw, but he kept the pace languid, building the pressure inch by inch, his other hand pinching your nipple just hard enough to spark pleasure-pain.

Your reluctance melted away in waves, replaced by that eager pull toward him. “Rafayel... please,” you gasped, words tumbling out as your pussy clenched around nothing, aching for more. He obliged, sliding two fingers inside you, curling them against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. He pumped them steadily, his thumb still working your clit, his body a solid anchor behind you.

The kitchen faded—the clink of dishes, the morning light—until it was just his touch, his whispers urging you higher. “Come for me, just like this. Let me feel it.” Your orgasm crashed over you slowly, a deep, rolling wave that had you shuddering, walls fluttering around his fingers as you soaked them with your release.

Rafayel's hands snaked back to your hips gripping them firmly, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he guided you forward. The cool edge of the sink pressed against your belly, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body behind you. Your pants were already shoved down to your knees, leaving your ass exposed to the air, your pussy still throbbing from the earlier teasing. He leaned in close, his breath hot against the nape of your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. “Bend over for me,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble laced with the raw edge of his Ebb, that ancient hunger making his words vibrate through you.

You complied, palms flattening on the countertop, your body arching instinctively as you pushed your ass back toward him. The position left you vulnerable, your thighs parting slightly to balance yourself, your slick folds parting with the movement. Rafayel's chuckle was dark and approving, his hands sliding down to spread your cheeks wider, thumbs pulling you open. You felt the cool air kiss your most intimate spots, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of his gaze—he was drinking you in, his electric blue eyes hooded with possession.

Without warning, his mouth descended. His tongue flattened against your pussy, lapping from your entrance up to your clit in one long, deliberate stroke. The wet heat of it made you gasp, your knees buckling slightly as pleasure jolted through you. He didn't stop there; his lips sealed around your folds, sucking gently at first, then harder, drawing your arousal into his mouth with obscene slurping sounds that echoed in the quiet kitchen. His nose nudged against your perineum, the scent of you filling his senses, driving his Ebb wilder.

One hand stayed on your ass cheek, holding you spread, while the other ventured higher. His index finger circled your tight asshole, slicking it with the juices dripping from your cunt. You tensed at the touch, a shy whimper escaping your lips, but he soothed you with a murmur against your skin. '”Relax, my love. Let me in.” The tip of his finger pressed forward, breaching the ring of muscle slowly, inch by careful inch. The stretch burned faintly, a mix of discomfort and building ecstasy that made your toes curl against the tile floor.

He worked his finger deeper, twisting it gently to ease the way, while his tongue plunged into your pussy, fucking you with quick, insistent thrusts. The dual sensations overwhelmed you—his mouth devouring your cunt, tongue curling inside to lap at your walls, and his finger now buried to the second knuckle in your ass, crooking to stroke that sensitive spots within. Your body responded eagerly, hips rocking back to meet his efforts, chasing the friction.

Rafayel's free hand snaked around to your front, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, firm circles that matched the rhythm of his tongue. He hummed against you, the vibration buzzing straight to your core, making your pussy clench around nothing. Saliva and your wetness mingled, dripping down your thighs, the sounds growing louder—wet smacks of his lips on your folds, the squelch of his finger pumping in and out of your asshole, now joined by a second finger stretching you further.

The fullness in your ass intensified as he scissored his fingers, opening you up while his tongue flicked relentlessly over your clit, sucking it between his lips and grazing it with his teeth just enough to make you cry out. Pressure built low in your belly, a coiling heat that spread like wildfire. Your breaths came in short, desperate pants, fogging the window above the sink, your nails scraping the counter as you braced yourself. “Rafayel... oh god, it's too much,” you gasped, but your body betrayed you, grinding back harder, pussy fluttering against his mouth.

He growled in response, the sound primal, his scales shimmering brighter along his collarbone as the heat under his skin surged. His fingers thrust deeper into your ass, while his tongue lashed your clit without mercy. The world narrowed to those points of contact—the stretch, the suck, the rub—until the coil snapped. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your pussy spasming wildly, gushing against his face as you came hard. Waves of ecstasy ripped through you, your asshole clenching rhythmically around his fingers, milking them as your thighs trembled and your vision blurred with stars.

You sagged against the sink, a keening moan tearing from your throat, body shaking with the intensity of it. Rafayel didn't pull away immediately; he licked you through the aftershocks, gentling his touches until you were spent, his fingers withdrawing slowly to leave you achingly empty. He rose then, pressing a kiss to the small of your back, his chin glistening with your release, blue eyes locked on you with fierce satisfaction.

“You're exquisite when you shatter like that,” he whispered against your ear lobe, his siren voice threading through the haze in your mind, coaxing away the last threads of reluctance. His free hand stroked down your spine, possessive yet tender, as if committing every curve to memory.

You felt exposed, vulnerable in the best way, your pants tangled around your ankles, thighs slick with your own arousal. Rafayel turned you gently, his blue eyes locking onto yours—darkened with the Ebb's fire, but softened by the love that tempered it. He cupped your face, thumb brushing your swollen lips. “Did I frighten you?” he asked, voice rough, searching your gaze for any sign of retreat. The heat in him was still coiled tight, his cock straining visibly against his pants, but he waited, always waiting for you.

Heat flooded your cheeks, as realization of what just happened sunk in, but you shook your head, leaning into his touch. “No... it was... intense. Good.” Your words were soft, hesitant, but honest, and that seemed to unravel something in him. A low groan escaped his lips as he pulled you closer, his mouth claiming yours in a deep, unhurried kiss. You tasted yourself on his tongue, salty and intimate, and your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him nearer. The tension between you simmered, not extinguished but banked, ready to flare again.

——————————————————————

previous part ….. next part | ‘Wanna be sisters (?)’ Series

Your lips curled in a smile before you could stop yourself, burning his image into your retinas before you were reminded of the reason you woke up. You shifted in the arms of your ‘captor’ trying to gauge out who it was and the air caught in your throat. Violet hair spilled over the pillow, soft waves framing a face that could have been carved from temptation itself. Light slid over his cheek, revealing a faint shimmer of scales. They gleamed like fragments of stars scattered over his skin.

Your heart stuttered, and without thinking, your hand lifted and fingers brushed one of the scales, warm, smooth, alive. His eyes snapped open, twin stormy electric blue orbs seared into you with a merciless glare. You jerked your hand back, but before you could recoil fully, his arm tightened around your waist, dragging you flush against him.

“Caught you,” he growled, like a predatory cat cornering a mouse. Your heart fluttered wildly, and you could hear the blood rushing in your ears. You gulped audibly as your dry mouth forced a swallow and hiccuped. His gaze softened as he took in your panicked face and a grin flourished in the corner of his lip.

He huffed a quiet laugh, “Do I frighten you?” The words ripple through the air, his tone, smooth and dangerous, and you froze under his gaze that seemed to see straight through you. For a moment you forgot how to breathe.

“N-no,” you managed, though it sounded like a lie, even to you. You cursed your feeble self, but there was something about Rafayel this morning that made him not quite like his usual self, more imposing, haughty.

His lips curved into a smirk, the kind that always made your heart trip over itself. “Liar.”

He leaned closer, his breath, brushing your ear. “You touch me, then flinch away the moment I look at you. Which is it, cutie, curiosity or fear?”

You tried to look away, but his hand came up, fingers tracing your chin, gently guiding your gaze back to his. The teasing arrogance in his eyes softened for just a flicker, replaced by something warmer, almost tender. Your eyes started all over his face, the glimmer of scales shifting as if alive, catching the damn morning light and scattering it across his skin like shards of ocean glass. Dangerous. Beautiful.

“I—,” you started, but your voice came out as a croak. You cleared your throat, pulse racing. “You startled me, that’s all.”

A soft hum rumbled in his chest, and his grin widened, sharp and knowing. “Startled,“ he repeated, rolling the word around like he was tasting it. “You were touching me in my sleep, darling, what did you think was going to happen? Or… were you perhaps hoping I wouldn’t wake up?”

Your cheeks flamed, and you pushed at his chest in embarrassment, though your effort was half hearted at best. His skin was hot beneath your palms, the muscle underneath unyielding. “No, I— I was just…” you drilled off, realizing you didn’t have a good excuse. The scales had mesmerized you, their glow had been softer than moonlight, impossible to ignore.

A low hum rumbled from his chest, the sound almost amused. “Just what? Curious?” Your heartbeat quickened and you tried the shift, to put a little distance between you, but his arm grip on you was unyielding.

He moved closer, slow and predatory, until his lips hovered near your ear. “Curiosity,” he murmured, “can be… dangerous in the presence of the god of the sea. Next time you decide to touch me while I sleep,” he continued, amused, “ you should be ready to face what you awaken.”

He pulled back to look at you, and you shivered under his gaze. His eyes roamed over your face, from your parted lips to the faint flesh rising to your cheeks, and when he looked back into your eyes, there was affection there, threaded through the hunger.

“I should warn you now,” he whispered, softer now, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. “Every time you look at me like that… Every time you whisper my name… You stir the waves inside of me.”

“Rafayel…” You breathed, unsure if it was a plea or a warning.

He smiled, slow and wicked, utterly enticing. “Yes,” he murmured, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours. “That’s it. Say it again.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. The teasing arrogance was still there, the the predators grace, the God’s control, but beneath it you felt the steady pulse of something else. Love. Possession. Devotion wrapped in temptation.

Rafayel’s grin faltered, just barely — the intensity in his eyes dimming to something softer, the glaring blue drowned in fuzzy pink glimmers. He leaned back a fraction, watching you with mock offense, the faintest pout forming on his lips. “Oh, come on,” he said, voice dipping into that boyish lilt that always caught you off guard after his more godlike arrogance. “You’re looking at me like I’m some terrifying sea monster who’s getting ready to devour your soul.”

You blinked, the sudden shift disarming. “You… kind of were acting like one,” you murmured, still catching your breath.

He gasped — dramatically, hand to his chest, scales along his collarbone shimmering as he moved. “Me? Acting like a monster?” His lower lip jutted out just slightly, exaggerated and ridiculous, and somehow heartbreakingly charming. “I was flirting, cutie. There’s a difference. A very beautiful difference, if I might add.”

Your laugh slipped out before you could stop it, quiet but genuine. “You call that flirting?”

His pout deepened. “You wound me.” Rafayel tilted his head, violet strands falling into his eyes, and he peered at you with mock sadness. “Here I am, practically glowing for you — quite literally — and you call me frightening.”

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched. “You’re ridiculous,” you said softly.

“Ridiculously handsome, yes, I know,” he interrupted, his pout morphing into a teasing smirk as he scooted closer. “But don’t think I didn’t notice how you couldn’t keep your hands off me while I was sleeping.”

Your face flamed instantly. “That’s not— I wasn’t—”

“Oh?” he interrupted again, leaning closer, eyes glinting mischievously. “So you didn’t touch me?”

You hesitated, caught, and that was all the confirmation he needed. His grin broke wide and smug, but the pout still lingered at the corners of his mouth — a strange mix of self-satisfaction and wounded pride. “And yet,” he said, sighing dramatically, “the moment I open my eyes, you flinch away like I’ve committed some terrible sin. Tragic, really.”

“Maybe don’t wake up glaring at me like you’re about to drag me into the sea,” you countered, folding your arms.

Rafayel blinked, then buried his head into the pillow beside you and let out an exaggerated groan. “Ugh, I was going for mysterious and alluring, not terrifying.” He peeked up at you from under his lashes, still pouting. “You really have no idea how much effort that look takes, do you?”

You snorted. “You practice your brooding?”

“Of course I do,” he said indignantly, lifting his head again. “A god must maintain standards. Do you think this level of charm just… happens?”

“Charm,” you echoed skeptically.

He hummed and reached out, brushing his thumb along your jaw in a featherlight touch that made your pulse skip. The teasing glint in his eyes softened, the pout still lingering. “Fine,” he murmured. “Maybe I got carried away. You make it hard not to.”

You stared at him, caught between laughter and something far warmer. “You’re hopeless.”

Rafayel smiled faintly, no longer arrogant, but tender. “Mmh,” he said, leaning in until his forehead touched yours again. “Hopelessly in love,” his pout melting into a grin as he whispered. “Now… do I get another chance to prove I can be charming without the scary sea god act?”

You flushed and giggled, the tension dissolving between you. “Maybe,” you said softly.

He beamed, triumphant and boyish all at once. “I’ll take maybe. Progress, cutie.”

Then as if on queue, a low soft chuckle broke from the other side of the bed, velvety and warm.

You turned your head just in time to see Sylus blinking awake, silver hair tousled, one arm lazily draped across the pillow. His eyes, those molten rubies, shimmered with amusement as they took in the sight before him, you caught between the two of them, Rafayel slightly leaning over you, lips still parted from his last teasing remark.

“Well,” Sylus murmured, his voice thick with sleep but smooth as always, “seems I woke up just in time for the morning drama.”

Rafayel’s pout reappeared instantly, coupled with a frown that tried to be indignant but couldn’t quite hide the way his ears flushed pink. “Drama?” he repeated, tone clipped. “I was having a conversation.”

Sylus propped himself up on one elbow, the movement graceful in a way that only he could manage, all of a sudden fully invested in what was happening next to him. His lips curled into a lazy smirk. “Mm. Is that what we’re calling it now?” His gaze flicked to you, then back to Rafayel, clearly delighted by the sea god’s flustered expression. “You’ve got her pinned under you, glowing like a sunrise, and you call it a conversation? Maybe I should partake in this conversation too… we can have a three way debate.”

Rafayel stiffened, his hand still resting beside your head. “I— I wasn’t—” He stumbled over his words, the faintest shade of red dusting across his cheeks.

Sylus’s laughter rumbled softly through the air, rich and melodic. “God of the sea, undone by a bit of teasing,” he mused, leaning closer, the corners of his eyes soft with fondness. “You’re beautiful when you’re like this, you know. All that divine composure washed away.”

Rafayel’s mouth opened, a retort forming, but no sound came out. His blue eyes, glowing with specks of pink, darted away, and that alone made Sylus grin wider. “Oh? Did I make our mighty sea god blush?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you. “You did,” you said under your breath, earning a scandalized look from Rafayel.

“Don’t encourage him,” he huffed, trying to shift back, but Sylus’s arm slid across your waist before he could move away.

The dragon’s touch was warm, warmer than Rafayel’s ocean heat, a deep, grounding warmth that seeped into your skin. He leaned over you with languid confidence, his hand brushing against Rafayel’s cheek. “Don’t be mad, love,” Sylus murmured, the endearment soft, coaxing. “You pout so prettily, it’s hard to resist.”

Rafayel froze, torn between indignation and flustered disbelief. “Sylus—”

But Sylus only chuckled again, leaning in to press a quick peck to the corner of Rafayel’s lips, his silver hair falling forward, framing his face. “Shh,” he whispered against his mouth, voice low and playful. “Let me admire you a little before you start biting again.”

You felt Rafayel’s sigh vibrate through the mattress — part exasperation, part surrender. “I give up,” he muttered.

Sylus hummed, nuzzling his cheek with a grin. “Good boy.” Then, with deliberate ease, he wrapped his arm around both of you. “Now,” he whispered, voice thick with sleepy contentment, “why don’t we start over? Less glaring, more cuddling.”

You laughed softly as Rafayel sighed but didn’t pull away, Sylus’s warmth pressing against your back, Rafayel’s chest solid against your front. The lemurain muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Ridiculous dragon,” but when Sylus’s arm tightened around both of you, he didn’t protest.

And when said dragon tilted his head and kissed Rafayel’s shoulder, just a brush, soft and wordless, the sea god’s pout melted completely, leaving behind only that quiet, secret smile you loved most.

Rafayel’s scales shimmered faintly as he lay back beside you, the light catching on his skin like glass dipped in water. Your fingers twitched with the urge to touch them again — that iridescent glint had always fascinated you — and curiosity won.

You reached out slowly, tracing the air near his cheek without touching this time, remembering they were sensitive. “Rafayel,” you said softly, “why are they showing? Your scales, I mean. They weren’t there yesterday.”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly. Sylus, still half-curled on your other side, opened one molten eye, watching quietly but saying nothing. The tension in the room shifted, subtle but palpable. As if the question had somehow touched on something too delicate.

Rafayel let out a slow breath, as if you’d asked him a question he’d been hoping you wouldn’t. “It’s a sign that my Ebb and Flow day is coming soon,” he said finally, brushing a hand through his wavy purple hair with feigned nonchalance.

You blinked. “Ebb and Flow?” You froze for a moment, but quickly caught yourself. You already knew what that meant. You remembered the scene from the game — fragments of who he became, of what he felt, of the fever that overtook him. Rafayel's behavior, the hints about his true nature, the way his energy fluctuated. But you weren’t supposed to know. Not in this world. Not yet anyway.

It’s not like you didn’t want to tell the rest about your past life, but you got a bit apprehensive after Zayne voiced his thoughts on the matter. You wanted Rafayel to tell you in his own time and his own words. Besides the game only revealed so much and you had a feeling it was more than that, so it would be better not to assume anything.

Sylus watched the exchange with that quiet, knowing expression of his — respectful, but aware that you knew more than you let on. Still it wasn’t his place to say anything, so he chose to observe.

You could tell that this wasn’t a subject easily shared, but you couldn’t help the pang of envy at how easily the lemurian had revealed it to MC in the game, yet he was being weary with you.

Rafayel finally exhaled, his usual theatrical air returning as he waved one elegant hand. “It’s not as mysterious as it sounds,” he said lightly, but there was a weight under the words. “Just something that happens to me once in a while. My energy shifts, my scales appear, I get a little... restless.” He smirked, trying to make light of it. “It’s terribly inconvenient. Imagine being too beautiful to hide.”

You smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “You make it sound like it’s no big deal.” When in fact you knew it was.

“It isn’t.” His tone was sharp at first, defensive — then softer. “It’s just… an inconvenience. Nothing you need to worry your pretty head with.”

Your heart dropped when it registered that he was dismissing it. He wasn’t going to share it with you. You felt that awful tightening in your throat that always came when you realized you were carefully being shoved to the side. Always too fragile, too soft, too much trouble to let in.

You told yourself not to take it personally, but you could already feel the excuses bubbling up inside you like poison. Of course he wouldn’t tell you. You’re not as close as the others. You’re still new. You’re easy to leave behind.

And something inside you cracked at that.

Because you had believed you were past this. That you’d finally earned your place beside him, beside them, that he trusted you enough to let you in. But now… now you could feel that invisible line between you, drawn with careful precision, separating what he wanted you to see from everything he kept hidden, his true self.

Inside, your thoughts spiraled anyway. He doesn’t trust you. Maybe he never will. Maybe this is as close as you’re allowed to get—close enough to touch him, to love him, but not enough to be trusted. After all you weren’t her.

Oblivious to your internal turmoil, Rafayel continued with a small, forced laugh, rolling onto his side to face you. “Cute, please. The last thing I need is you fretting over me like Sylus does when I skip a meal.”

Sylus let out a low hum, eyes closing again as he leaned back against the headboard. “You do forget to eat,” he murmured, the corners of his lips twitching.

Rafayel shot him a glare, though the faint pink at his ears betrayed him. “You’re not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” Sylus said mildly, ruby eyes flicking open long enough to catch yours before softening. He said nothing, but the look he gave you was quietly reassuring — let him speak in his own time.

You nodded faintly, though your heart felt heavier by the second, buried in uncertainty. The inner critic hacking away at your delicate self esteem. They were carrying on the conversation like it was nothing, just jokes and banter, as usual.

Then Rafayel said it — too casually. “It doesn’t matter. You won’t be there for it, anyway.”

The words hit you hard. You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him right. “What?”

He shrugged, gaze darting away again. “It’s not exactly pleasant to be around me during that time, trust me.” The casualness of his tone was worse than if he’d said it coldly. It was like it didn’t matter to him at all… whether you were there or not.

He didn’t meet your eyes, leaning back into the cushions with that practiced, aloof air of his. "Really, it’s just... better if you're not around for it. You don’t need to see me like that. I’ll handle it the way I always do.” His voice was soft, almost like he was trying to soothe you, but it was all wrong. It felt empty.

The words without you went unsaid, but you heard them anyway.

Your throat tightened. “Oh.” You tried to sound understanding, but your voice cracked. You nodded afraid you’d burst into tears if you spoke, your chest felt tight, your tongue heavy. Every insecure whisper in your head was louder than your voice. He doesn’t want you there. You’d just get in the way. He’s tolerating you. He doesn’t love—

Rafayel leaned in slightly, that teasing lilt returning, the one he used to fill silence before it could grow too heavy. “You should be relieved, darling,” he said with a lazy half-smile. “You won’t have to put up with me acting like an uncivilized creature for a few days. Consider it my gift to you.” He chuckled. Chuckled. And it broke you something inside of you, but before things progressed any further, your mind intervened pushing forward your defense mechanism. That defaulted mode you had practiced to perfection. Disassociating.

“I see…” You focused on your hands instead, pressing your thumbs together, your pulse fluttering in your wrists. You could still feel the heat burning behind your eyes, but you wouldn’t cry. You didn’t have the right to cry. It wasn’t your place. Instead numbness filled you.

Rafayel leaned back with a sigh that was entirely casual. “You’ll hardly notice I’m gone,” he said. “You’ll have the others to keep you company. They’re more entertaining than I am anyway. It’s not personal, darling.” His grin returned, half-hearted. “You’d grow bored of me within an hour.”

You forces a laugh on cue — robotic, practiced — because that’s what you did. You made things easier for people, easier for you. You made yourself small so others didn’t have to feel uncomfortable and you locked away your heart behind a vault, that way you wouldn’t have to feel the hurt of his words anymore. That way everything could go back to ‘normal’.

“I doubt that,” you said, your voice lighter than it should’ve been. “You’re… never boring.” You smiled anyway, hoping it looked convincing enough.

“Anyway,” Rafayel continued, stretching in that languid, practiced way of his, as if to dispel the tension he’d created. “It’s just a couple of days of... indulgence, I suppose. Sylus or the others can handle me during it. They always do.”

Sylus smirked faintly, though his tone was mild. “I’m not sure handle is the right word.”

Rafayel threw him a glance over your shoulder, trying for a grin but missing its mark. “Please. You adore it.”

Sylus didn’t answer. He was watching you again, closely, too quietly.

You pretended not to notice. “Well,” you said, keeping your tone bright, “if you’d rather I not be around, I understand.”

Rafayel’s gaze snapped to you again, something unspoken flickering in the depths of his eyes — regret, maybe, or guilt — but he looked away before you could read it. “It’s for the best,” he said simply.

You nodded, smiling as if it didn’t sting. “Right. For the best.”

The silence that followed pressed at your ribs. Rafayel leaned back, clearly satisfied to let the matter drop, while Sylus’s eyes lingered — not in pity, but in quiet recognition. He’d seen this before: the way you swallowed pain whole and called it understanding.

You swallowed hard, turning away. “I should... get cleaned up,” you murmured, pushing off the bed before either of them could respond.

The bathroom door closed softly behind you.

For a moment, you just stood there, your hands gripping the cool edge of the sink, staring at your reflection. You hated the way your chest ached, the way disappointment sat heavy in your stomach. You shouldn’t be feeling like this. You knew how complicated Rafayel could be — his moods, his evasions, his self-protective pride. It was his choice who he wanted by his side. This wasn’t about you and your wants.

But hearing him talk like you didn’t matter — like your presence made no difference — that was something else entirely.

You turned on the faucet, letting the sound of running water fill the silence, trying to drown out the sound of your own thoughts.

Back in the bedroom, the quiet lingered.

Sylus sat up slowly, his gaze still fixed on the bathroom door. “You shouldn’t have said it like that,” he said quietly. “You didn’t have to push her away that crudely.”

Rafayel didn’t respond at first. His fingers were clenched tightly around the edge of the pillow, the muscles in his jaw working. Finally, he let out a long breath. “It’s for her own good. She doesn’t deserve to see me like that. I don’t want her to— You know what it’s like when I... when it gets bad.” His voice cracked slightly, “She’d hate me if she saw what I become.”

Sylus studied him, a quiet understanding in his eyes. “She won’t hate you. You have to let her decide, Rafayel,” Sylus said quietly, his voice a soft weight against the tension in the room. “You’re not saving her by shutting her out. You’re just making her think she’s not worth it, that she doesn’t belong here.”

Rafayel’s jaw tightened, the muscles along his neck visibly straining. He didn’t respond immediately, but his gaze drifted toward the bathroom door again, as if he could somehow will you to emerge, to see things the way he saw them. He swallowed hard. “I don’t want her to be afraid of me, Sylus. You know what happens when I’m like that.” His voice, though low, trembled with the weight of his fear, and for a moment, he looked vulnerable in a way you rarely saw.

“You know what I’m capable of when I lose control.” His words were more of a confession than an argument. “I can’t take that risk. Not with her. Not now when our relationship is just budding. And definitely not after knowing what she’s been through.”

Sylus’ hand tightened on Rafayel’s shoulder, his grip firm but not painful. "Rafayel, she’s not that fragile. You’re not doing her any favors by keeping her at arm’s length. You’re hurting her more by treating her like she’s… a victim."

Rafayel’s eyes snapped up, fiery with frustration and a flicker of guilt that he couldn’t quite suppress. “I’m not treating her like that. I just—” He paused, rubbing his face with a hand, his voice strained. “I just can’t... I won’t be the one who breaks her... when the Ebb hits, it’s like I’m a different person. I— I don’t want to be someone she fears… I’m terrified, Sylus, terrified I’ll hurt her in a way that... she’ll never forgive me.” Rafayel’s voice broke, low and strained.

“You know what it’s like, don’t you?” His eyes flickered with an emotion so raw, it was almost unbearable to witness. “What if I do something—anything—that makes her feel it’s unsafe to be around me anymore?”

Sylus didn’t move, his hand still resting on Rafayel’s shoulder, a quiet weight of support. He knew this fear—knew it like he knew his own heart. It was the same fear that had gnawed at him when he'd lost control with you. He could still feel the sting of the moment when he thought he had hurt you, the feeling of absolute devastation that came with the thought of you pulling away from him.

But then, he remembered you—you—the way you had shown him time and time again that you trusted him. That you refused to let him drown in guilt. You’d never let him blame himself. You stood firm, showing him through your actions that you didn’t need him to be perfect; you needed him to be real. You needed him to be present.

Sylus' voice was gentle, but unwavering. "I know what it's like," he said, his eyes steady on the lemurian. "I’ve been there, Raf. I thought I’d hurt her, and it... it nearly killed me, thinking I could never touch her again. The guilt, the fear of losing her. But you know what she did?" He let the question hang in the air for a moment before continuing, his voice quieter but laden with meaning.

"She never blamed me. She didn’t pull away. She chose to stay. She showed me that she trusted me, even when I was afraid of myself. She was the one who showed me that I could never hurt her, because she knows we’re not monsters, Rafayel… You can’t protect her from everything and we can make sure she knows she’s safe with you. She’s not fragile. She knows where her limits are. She won’t break because you lose control for a moment. If you shut her out now... you’ll make her believe she’s a burden to you. And that’s the last thing she needs.”

Rafayel was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the bathroom door again, lips pressed tight together in an almost painful effort to keep them from trembling. “I’m not you, Sy," the lemurian said, his voice rough, but not unkind. "She forgave you because you didn’t hurt her. I... I can’t promise that I won’t." His voice quivered at the end, as if he were admitting something more profound than even he realized.

“I can’t promise I won’t take something from her that she doesn’t want to give. I don’t want her to think she has to put up with me, or that she has to do things because of me. I don’t want her to feel like she has to force herself into something she doesn’t really want. I don’t want to be that... that man for her.”

Sylus leaned forward, placing both hands on the lemurian’s shoulders now, grounding him. “You’ve never gone through your Ebb alone, not after we’ve defeated Astra,” Sylus said softly, his voice steady, almost like a gentle reminder. “You’ve always had us. We all understand, accept and love you. Every part of you. Even when you’re like that. And I know it’s hard, but she deserves that same chance. To love you in your entirety, not just the polished pieces you choose to let her see.”

The words hung between them. Sylus gave him one last, lingering look, a mix of support and quiet knowing, before leaning back against the headboard. “You have to face this sooner or later, sweetie. Let her in. She’ll love you, even the worst parts of you. I believe that.”

Rafayel’s gaze lingered on the bathroom door, his thumb absently tracing the line of his jaw as silence settled thick and heavy between them. His voice, when it finally came, was low — stripped of his usual flair. “Maybe I’ve already ruined it,” he murmured, voice low. “But if she knew what I really am during Ebb, she’d—”

“She wouldn’t,” Sylus interrupted gently.

Rafayel’s head snapped toward him, a faint frown tugging between his brows. “You sound awfully sure of that.”

Sylus’s fiery eyes glinted with that maddening calm he always wore. “Let’s just say,” he began, tone lazy, but his voice threaded with quiet meaning, “she’s seen more of you than you think. And she’s still here.”

Rafayel blinked, confusion flickering across his face before he narrowed his eyes, sitting up straighter. “What are you implying, dragon?”

Sylus only smiled, slow and secretive. “Nothing. Just that maybe you underestimate her.”

Rafayel groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Don’t do that. Don’t get cryptic with me, Sylus. I hate when you get cryptic.”

“I’m not being cryptic,” Sylus said, far too innocently. “I’m being considerate.”

Rafayel turned to him fully, squinting suspiciously. “You know something.”

“I know a lot of things,” Sylus replied smoothly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “It comes with age.”

Rafayel scowled, shoulders tensing. “You definitely know something. Tell me.”

Sylus kept smiling, that slow, teasing curve of his lips that always seemed to make Rafayel scowl. “Just that maybe you’re not the only one who keeps secrets to protect the people you love.”

Rafayel’s mouth fell open in a mix of outrage and fluster. “You are infuriating! I’m baring my soul here, drowning in self-loathing, and you’re playing word games!”

Sylus grinned, utterly unbothered. “You’re cute when you pout.”

“I am not pouting!” Rafayel snapped, crossing his arms and glaring at him in a way that would’ve been intimidating if it weren’t so heartbreakingly earnest. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation about my mental state and—”

“You’re pouting,” Sylus interrupted smoothly. “Admit it.”

Rafayel groaned and dropped his face into his hands, his voice muffled. “Why do I even talk to you?”

“Because you love me,” Sylus said simply, leaning over to nudge his shoulder affectionately. His grin softened just enough to let the sincerity peek through. “And because, whether you believe it or not, she loves you too. Ebb or not.”

Rafayel huffed, lifting his chin in defiance, though the color had risen to his cheeks. “You’re both conspiring against me,” he muttered.

Sylus chuckled, the sound deep and amused. “Not conspiring,” he said, leaning back with a stretch. “Just... waiting for her to fill you in… on certain things.”

Rafayel’s scowl faltered, curiosity and uncertainty warring in his expression. For a fleeting second, something warm flickered there—hope, fragile but real. Then, with his typical flair, he tossed his hair back dramatically and declared, “If there is a secret that pertains me, and I‘m sensing there is, I am entitled to know.”

Sylus rolled his eyes, but his smile lingered. “Oh you are definitely entitled, my sea prince.”

Rafayel gasped in mock offense. “Prince? I am a god, Sylus. A god!”

Sylus only laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet room, breaking what was left of the tension. “Yes, yes,” he said, tone teasing, “one who pouts when he’s left out.”

Rafayel’s pout deepened, his lower lip jutting slightly, eyes glinting with wounded pride. “You both think it’s amusing to keep me in the dark, don’t you? While I—”

“While you overthink everything?” Sylus interrupted smoothly, his tail of amusement evident.

Rafayel glared, pointing at him. “Exactly! I—wait, no. Don’t twist my words.”

“But I am right, no?” Sylus’s grin softened as he added, “You don’t need to worry so much. She’s not afraid of you. Not even a little. Let’s just say,” he murmured, “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. And from where I’m standing, she looks at you like you hung the moon. Scales and all.”

Rafayel blinked, caught off guard. The pout wavered, his heart giving an unsteady lurch before he masked it again with an exaggerated sigh. The tension that had weighed heavy between them moments ago finally eased into something lighter—playful, familiar. Rafayel huffed, half turning away, though the faintest pink dusted his cheeks. Sylus only chuckled, reaching over to ruffle his hair, earning a half-hearted glare.

“Stop that,” Rafayel muttered, trying and failing to hide the way his lips curved upward.

Sylus grinned wider. “Make me, pretty boy.”

Rafayel’s sigh was dramatic, his tone sharp but fond. “One day, I will.”

Sylus only laughed again, ruby eyes glinting. “I’ll look forward to it.”

And as the laughter faded into the quiet hum of morning light, Rafayel’s gaze drifted once more toward the bathroom door. Maybe Sylus was right. Maybe you already knew. And maybe, just maybe… you’d accept all of him. Ebb and all.

———————————————————————

previous part ….. next part | ‘Wanna be sisters (?)’ Series | LaDS Masterlist

Your lips curled in a smile before you could stop yourself, burning his image into your retinas before you were reminded of the reason you woke up. You shifted in the arms of your ‘captor’ trying to gauge out who it was and the air caught in your throat. Violet hair spilled over the pillow, soft waves framing a face that could have been carved from temptation itself. Light slid over his cheek, revealing a faint shimmer of scales. They gleamed like fragments of stars scattered over his skin.

Your heart stuttered, and without thinking, your hand lifted and fingers brushed one of the scales, warm, smooth, alive. His eyes snapped open, twin stormy electric blue orbs seared into you with a merciless glare. You jerked your hand back, but before you could recoil fully, his arm tightened around your waist, dragging you flush against him.

“Caught you,” he growled, like a predatory cat cornering a mouse. Your heart fluttered wildly, and you could hear the blood rushing in your ears. You gulped audibly as your dry mouth forced a swallow and hiccuped. His gaze softened as he took in your panicked face and a grin flourished in the corner of his lip.

He huffed a quiet laugh, “Do I frighten you?” The words ripple through the air, his tone, smooth and dangerous, and you froze under his gaze that seemed to see straight through you. For a moment you forgot how to breathe.

“N-no,” you managed, though it sounded like a lie, even to you. You cursed your feeble self, but there was something about Rafayel this morning that made him not quite like his usual self, more imposing, haughty.

His lips curved into a smirk, the kind that always made your heart trip over itself. “Liar.”

He leaned closer, his breath, brushing your ear. “You touch me, then flinch away the moment I look at you. Which is it, cutie, curiosity or fear?”

You tried to look away, but his hand came up, fingers tracing your chin, gently guiding your gaze back to his. The teasing arrogance in his eyes softened for just a flicker, replaced by something warmer, almost tender. Your eyes started all over his face, the glimmer of scales shifting as if alive, catching the damn morning light and scattering it across his skin like shards of ocean glass. Dangerous. Beautiful.

“I—,” you started, but your voice came out as a croak. You cleared your throat, pulse racing. “You startled me, that’s all.”

A soft hum rumbled in his chest, and his grin widened, sharp and knowing. “Startled,“ he repeated, rolling the word around like he was tasting it. “You were touching me in my sleep, darling, what did you think was going to happen? Or… were you perhaps hoping I wouldn’t wake up?”

Your cheeks flamed, and you pushed at his chest in embarrassment, though your effort was half hearted at best. His skin was hot beneath your palms, the muscle underneath unyielding. “No, I— I was just…” you drilled off, realizing you didn’t have a good excuse. The scales had mesmerized you, their glow had been softer than moonlight, impossible to ignore.

A low hum rumbled from his chest, the sound almost amused. “Just what? Curious?” Your heartbeat quickened and you tried the shift, to put a little distance between you, but his arm grip on you was unyielding.

He moved closer, slow and predatory, until his lips hovered near your ear. “Curiosity,” he murmured, “can be… dangerous in the presence of the god of the sea. Next time you decide to touch me while I sleep,” he continued, amused, “ you should be ready to face what you awaken.”

He pulled back to look at you, and you shivered under his gaze. His eyes roamed over your face, from your parted lips to the faint flesh rising to your cheeks, and when he looked back into your eyes, there was affection there, threaded through the hunger.

“I should warn you now,” he whispered, softer now, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. “Every time you look at me like that… Every time you whisper my name… You stir the waves inside of me.”

“Rafayel…” You breathed, unsure if it was a plea or a warning.

He smiled, slow and wicked, utterly enticing. “Yes,” he murmured, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours. “That’s it. Say it again.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. The teasing arrogance was still there, the the predators grace, the God’s control, but beneath it you felt the steady pulse of something else. Love. Possession. Devotion wrapped in temptation.

Rafayel’s grin faltered, just barely — the intensity in his eyes dimming to something softer, the glaring blue drowned in fuzzy pink glimmers. He leaned back a fraction, watching you with mock offense, the faintest pout forming on his lips. “Oh, come on,” he said, voice dipping into that boyish lilt that always caught you off guard after his more godlike arrogance. “You’re looking at me like I’m some terrifying sea monster who’s getting ready to devour your soul.”

You blinked, the sudden shift disarming. “You… kind of were acting like one,” you murmured, still catching your breath.

He gasped — dramatically, hand to his chest, scales along his collarbone shimmering as he moved. “Me? Acting like a monster?” His lower lip jutted out just slightly, exaggerated and ridiculous, and somehow heartbreakingly charming. “I was flirting, cutie. There’s a difference. A very beautiful difference, if I might add.”

Your laugh slipped out before you could stop it, quiet but genuine. “You call that flirting?”

His pout deepened. “You wound me.” Rafayel tilted his head, violet strands falling into his eyes, and he peered at you with mock sadness. “Here I am, practically glowing for you — quite literally — and you call me frightening.”

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched. “You’re ridiculous,” you said softly.

“Ridiculously handsome, yes, I know,” he interrupted, his pout morphing into a teasing smirk as he scooted closer. “But don’t think I didn’t notice how you couldn’t keep your hands off me while I was sleeping.”

Your face flamed instantly. “That’s not— I wasn’t—”

“Oh?” he interrupted again, leaning closer, eyes glinting mischievously. “So you didn’t touch me?”

You hesitated, caught, and that was all the confirmation he needed. His grin broke wide and smug, but the pout still lingered at the corners of his mouth — a strange mix of self-satisfaction and wounded pride. “And yet,” he said, sighing dramatically, “the moment I open my eyes, you flinch away like I’ve committed some terrible sin. Tragic, really.”

“Maybe don’t wake up glaring at me like you’re about to drag me into the sea,” you countered, folding your arms.

Rafayel blinked, then buried his head into the pillow beside you and let out an exaggerated groan. “Ugh, I was going for mysterious and alluring, not terrifying.” He peeked up at you from under his lashes, still pouting. “You really have no idea how much effort that look takes, do you?”

You snorted. “You practice your brooding?”

“Of course I do,” he said indignantly, lifting his head again. “A god must maintain standards. Do you think this level of charm just… happens?”

“Charm,” you echoed skeptically.

He hummed and reached out, brushing his thumb along your jaw in a featherlight touch that made your pulse skip. The teasing glint in his eyes softened, the pout still lingering. “Fine,” he murmured. “Maybe I got carried away. You make it hard not to.”

You stared at him, caught between laughter and something far warmer. “You’re hopeless.”

Rafayel smiled faintly, no longer arrogant, but tender. “Mmh,” he said, leaning in until his forehead touched yours again. “Hopelessly in love,” his pout melting into a grin as he whispered. “Now… do I get another chance to prove I can be charming without the scary sea god act?”

You flushed and giggled, the tension dissolving between you. “Maybe,” you said softly.

He beamed, triumphant and boyish all at once. “I’ll take maybe. Progress, cutie.”

Then as if on queue, a low soft chuckle broke from the other side of the bed, velvety and warm.

You turned your head just in time to see Sylus blinking awake, silver hair tousled, one arm lazily draped across the pillow. His eyes, those molten rubies, shimmered with amusement as they took in the sight before him, you caught between the two of them, Rafayel slightly leaning over you, lips still parted from his last teasing remark.

“Well,” Sylus murmured, his voice thick with sleep but smooth as always, “seems I woke up just in time for the morning drama.”

Rafayel’s pout reappeared instantly, coupled with a frown that tried to be indignant but couldn’t quite hide the way his ears flushed pink. “Drama?” he repeated, tone clipped. “I was having a conversation.”

Sylus propped himself up on one elbow, the movement graceful in a way that only he could manage, all of a sudden fully invested in what was happening next to him. His lips curled into a lazy smirk. “Mm. Is that what we’re calling it now?” His gaze flicked to you, then back to Rafayel, clearly delighted by the sea god’s flustered expression. “You’ve got her pinned under you, glowing like a sunrise, and you call it a conversation? Maybe I should partake in this conversation too… we can have a three way debate.”

Rafayel stiffened, his hand still resting beside your head. “I— I wasn’t—” He stumbled over his words, the faintest shade of red dusting across his cheeks.

Sylus’s laughter rumbled softly through the air, rich and melodic. “God of the sea, undone by a bit of teasing,” he mused, leaning closer, the corners of his eyes soft with fondness. “You’re beautiful when you’re like this, you know. All that divine composure washed away.”

Rafayel’s mouth opened, a retort forming, but no sound came out. His blue eyes, glowing with specks of pink, darted away, and that alone made Sylus grin wider. “Oh? Did I make our mighty sea god blush?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you. “You did,” you said under your breath, earning a scandalized look from Rafayel.

“Don’t encourage him,” he huffed, trying to shift back, but Sylus’s arm slid across your waist before he could move away.

The dragon’s touch was warm, warmer than Rafayel’s ocean heat, a deep, grounding warmth that seeped into your skin. He leaned over you with languid confidence, his hand brushing against Rafayel’s cheek. “Don’t be mad, love,” Sylus murmured, the endearment soft, coaxing. “You pout so prettily, it’s hard to resist.”

Rafayel froze, torn between indignation and flustered disbelief. “Sylus—”

But Sylus only chuckled again, leaning in to press a quick peck to the corner of Rafayel’s lips, his silver hair falling forward, framing his face. “Shh,” he whispered against his mouth, voice low and playful. “Let me admire you a little before you start biting again.”

You felt Rafayel’s sigh vibrate through the mattress — part exasperation, part surrender. “I give up,” he muttered.

Sylus hummed, nuzzling his cheek with a grin. “Good boy.” Then, with deliberate ease, he wrapped his arm around both of you. “Now,” he whispered, voice thick with sleepy contentment, “why don’t we start over? Less glaring, more cuddling.”

You laughed softly as Rafayel sighed but didn’t pull away, Sylus’s warmth pressing against your back, Rafayel’s chest solid against your front. The lemurain muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Ridiculous dragon,” but when Sylus’s arm tightened around both of you, he didn’t protest.

And when said dragon tilted his head and kissed Rafayel’s shoulder, just a brush, soft and wordless, the sea god’s pout melted completely, leaving behind only that quiet, secret smile you loved most.

Rafayel’s scales shimmered faintly as he lay back beside you, the light catching on his skin like glass dipped in water. Your fingers twitched with the urge to touch them again — that iridescent glint had always fascinated you — and curiosity won.

You reached out slowly, tracing the air near his cheek without touching this time, remembering they were sensitive. “Rafayel,” you said softly, “why are they showing? Your scales, I mean. They weren’t there yesterday.”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly. Sylus, still half-curled on your other side, opened one molten eye, watching quietly but saying nothing. The tension in the room shifted, subtle but palpable. As if the question had somehow touched on something too delicate.

Rafayel let out a slow breath, as if you’d asked him a question he’d been hoping you wouldn’t. “It’s a sign that my Ebb and Flow day is coming soon,” he said finally, brushing a hand through his wavy purple hair with feigned nonchalance.

You blinked. “Ebb and Flow?” You froze for a moment, but quickly caught yourself. You already knew what that meant. You remembered the scene from the game — fragments of who he became, of what he felt, of the fever that overtook him. Rafayel's behavior, the hints about his true nature, the way his energy fluctuated. But you weren’t supposed to know. Not in this world. Not yet anyway.

It’s not like you didn’t want to tell the rest about your past life, but you got a bit apprehensive after Zayne voiced his thoughts on the matter. You wanted Rafayel to tell you in his own time and his own words. Besides the game only revealed so much and you had a feeling it was more than that, so it would be better not to assume anything.

Sylus watched the exchange with that quiet, knowing expression of his — respectful, but aware that you knew more than you let on. Still it wasn’t his place to say anything, so he chose to observe.

You could tell that this wasn’t a subject easily shared, but you couldn’t help the pang of envy at how easily the lemurian had revealed it to MC in the game, yet he was being weary with you.

Rafayel finally exhaled, his usual theatrical air returning as he waved one elegant hand. “It’s not as mysterious as it sounds,” he said lightly, but there was a weight under the words. “Just something that happens to me once in a while. My energy shifts, my scales appear, I get a little... restless.” He smirked, trying to make light of it. “It’s terribly inconvenient. Imagine being too beautiful to hide.”

You smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “You make it sound like it’s no big deal.” When in fact you knew it was.

“It isn’t.” His tone was sharp at first, defensive — then softer. “It’s just… an inconvenience. Nothing you need to worry your pretty head with.”

Your heart dropped when it registered that he was dismissing it. He wasn’t going to share it with you. You felt that awful tightening in your throat that always came when you realized you were carefully being shoved to the side. Always too fragile, too soft, too much trouble to let in.

You told yourself not to take it personally, but you could already feel the excuses bubbling up inside you like poison. Of course he wouldn’t tell you. You’re not as close as the others. You’re still new. You’re easy to leave behind.

And something inside you cracked at that.

Because you had believed you were past this. That you’d finally earned your place beside him, beside them, that he trusted you enough to let you in. But now… now you could feel that invisible line between you, drawn with careful precision, separating what he wanted you to see from everything he kept hidden, his true self.

Inside, your thoughts spiraled anyway. He doesn’t trust you. Maybe he never will. Maybe this is as close as you’re allowed to get—close enough to touch him, to love him, but not enough to be trusted. After all you weren’t her.

Oblivious to your internal turmoil, Rafayel continued with a small, forced laugh, rolling onto his side to face you. “Cute, please. The last thing I need is you fretting over me like Sylus does when I skip a meal.”

Sylus let out a low hum, eyes closing again as he leaned back against the headboard. “You do forget to eat,” he murmured, the corners of his lips twitching.

Rafayel shot him a glare, though the faint pink at his ears betrayed him. “You’re not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” Sylus said mildly, ruby eyes flicking open long enough to catch yours before softening. He said nothing, but the look he gave you was quietly reassuring — let him speak in his own time.

You nodded faintly, though your heart felt heavier by the second, buried in uncertainty. The inner critic hacking away at your delicate self esteem. They were carrying on the conversation like it was nothing, just jokes and banter, as usual.

Then Rafayel said it — too casually. “It doesn’t matter. You won’t be there for it, anyway.”

The words hit you hard. You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him right. “What?”

He shrugged, gaze darting away again. “It’s not exactly pleasant to be around me during that time, trust me.” The casualness of his tone was worse than if he’d said it coldly. It was like it didn’t matter to him at all… whether you were there or not.

He didn’t meet your eyes, leaning back into the cushions with that practiced, aloof air of his. "Really, it’s just... better if you're not around for it. You don’t need to see me like that. I’ll handle it the way I always do.” His voice was soft, almost like he was trying to soothe you, but it was all wrong. It felt empty.

The words without you went unsaid, but you heard them anyway.

Your throat tightened. “Oh.” You tried to sound understanding, but your voice cracked. You nodded afraid you’d burst into tears if you spoke, your chest felt tight, your tongue heavy. Every insecure whisper in your head was louder than your voice. He doesn’t want you there. You’d just get in the way. He’s tolerating you. He doesn’t love—

Rafayel leaned in slightly, that teasing lilt returning, the one he used to fill silence before it could grow too heavy. “You should be relieved, darling,” he said with a lazy half-smile. “You won’t have to put up with me acting like an uncivilized creature for a few days. Consider it my gift to you.” He chuckled. Chuckled. And it broke you something inside of you, but before things progressed any further, your mind intervened pushing forward your defense mechanism. That defaulted mode you had practiced to perfection. Disassociating.

“I see…” You focused on your hands instead, pressing your thumbs together, your pulse fluttering in your wrists. You could still feel the heat burning behind your eyes, but you wouldn’t cry. You didn’t have the right to cry. It wasn’t your place. Instead numbness filled you.

Rafayel leaned back with a sigh that was entirely casual. “You’ll hardly notice I’m gone,” he said. “You’ll have the others to keep you company. They’re more entertaining than I am anyway. It’s not personal, darling.” His grin returned, half-hearted. “You’d grow bored of me within an hour.”

You forces a laugh on cue — robotic, practiced — because that’s what you did. You made things easier for people, easier for you. You made yourself small so others didn’t have to feel uncomfortable and you locked away your heart behind a vault, that way you wouldn’t have to feel the hurt of his words anymore. That way everything could go back to ‘normal’.

“I doubt that,” you said, your voice lighter than it should’ve been. “You’re… never boring.” You smiled anyway, hoping it looked convincing enough.

“Anyway,” Rafayel continued, stretching in that languid, practiced way of his, as if to dispel the tension he’d created. “It’s just a couple of days of... indulgence, I suppose. Sylus or the others can handle me during it. They always do.”

Sylus smirked faintly, though his tone was mild. “I’m not sure handle is the right word.”

Rafayel threw him a glance over your shoulder, trying for a grin but missing its mark. “Please. You adore it.”

Sylus didn’t answer. He was watching you again, closely, too quietly.

You pretended not to notice. “Well,” you said, keeping your tone bright, “if you’d rather I not be around, I understand.”

Rafayel’s gaze snapped to you again, something unspoken flickering in the depths of his eyes — regret, maybe, or guilt — but he looked away before you could read it. “It’s for the best,” he said simply.

You nodded, smiling as if it didn’t sting. “Right. For the best.”

The silence that followed pressed at your ribs. Rafayel leaned back, clearly satisfied to let the matter drop, while Sylus’s eyes lingered — not in pity, but in quiet recognition. He’d seen this before: the way you swallowed pain whole and called it understanding.

You swallowed hard, turning away. “I should... get cleaned up,” you murmured, pushing off the bed before either of them could respond.

The bathroom door closed softly behind you.

For a moment, you just stood there, your hands gripping the cool edge of the sink, staring at your reflection. You hated the way your chest ached, the way disappointment sat heavy in your stomach. You shouldn’t be feeling like this. You knew how complicated Rafayel could be — his moods, his evasions, his self-protective pride. It was his choice who he wanted by his side. This wasn’t about you and your wants.

But hearing him talk like you didn’t matter — like your presence made no difference — that was something else entirely.

You turned on the faucet, letting the sound of running water fill the silence, trying to drown out the sound of your own thoughts.

Back in the bedroom, the quiet lingered.

Sylus sat up slowly, his gaze still fixed on the bathroom door. “You shouldn’t have said it like that,” he said quietly. “You didn’t have to push her away that crudely.”

Rafayel didn’t respond at first. His fingers were clenched tightly around the edge of the pillow, the muscles in his jaw working. Finally, he let out a long breath. “It’s for her own good. She doesn’t deserve to see me like that. I don’t want her to— You know what it’s like when I... when it gets bad.” His voice cracked slightly, “She’d hate me if she saw what I become.”

Sylus studied him, a quiet understanding in his eyes. “She won’t hate you. You have to let her decide, Rafayel,” Sylus said quietly, his voice a soft weight against the tension in the room. “You’re not saving her by shutting her out. You’re just making her think she’s not worth it, that she doesn’t belong here.”

Rafayel’s jaw tightened, the muscles along his neck visibly straining. He didn’t respond immediately, but his gaze drifted toward the bathroom door again, as if he could somehow will you to emerge, to see things the way he saw them. He swallowed hard. “I don’t want her to be afraid of me, Sylus. You know what happens when I’m like that.” His voice, though low, trembled with the weight of his fear, and for a moment, he looked vulnerable in a way you rarely saw.

“You know what I’m capable of when I lose control.” His words were more of a confession than an argument. “I can’t take that risk. Not with her. Not now when our relationship is just budding. And definitely not after knowing what she’s been through.”

Sylus’ hand tightened on Rafayel’s shoulder, his grip firm but not painful. "Rafayel, she’s not that fragile. You’re not doing her any favors by keeping her at arm’s length. You’re hurting her more by treating her like she’s… a victim."

Rafayel’s eyes snapped up, fiery with frustration and a flicker of guilt that he couldn’t quite suppress. “I’m not treating her like that. I just—” He paused, rubbing his face with a hand, his voice strained. “I just can’t... I won’t be the one who breaks her... when the Ebb hits, it’s like I’m a different person. I— I don’t want to be someone she fears… I’m terrified, Sylus, terrified I’ll hurt her in a way that... she’ll never forgive me.” Rafayel’s voice broke, low and strained.

“You know what it’s like, don’t you?” His eyes flickered with an emotion so raw, it was almost unbearable to witness. “What if I do something—anything—that makes her feel it’s unsafe to be around me anymore?”

Sylus didn’t move, his hand still resting on Rafayel’s shoulder, a quiet weight of support. He knew this fear—knew it like he knew his own heart. It was the same fear that had gnawed at him when he'd lost control with you. He could still feel the sting of the moment when he thought he had hurt you, the feeling of absolute devastation that came with the thought of you pulling away from him.

But then, he remembered you—you—the way you had shown him time and time again that you trusted him. That you refused to let him drown in guilt. You’d never let him blame himself. You stood firm, showing him through your actions that you didn’t need him to be perfect; you needed him to be real. You needed him to be present.

Sylus' voice was gentle, but unwavering. "I know what it's like," he said, his eyes steady on the lemurian. "I’ve been there, Raf. I thought I’d hurt her, and it... it nearly killed me, thinking I could never touch her again. The guilt, the fear of losing her. But you know what she did?" He let the question hang in the air for a moment before continuing, his voice quieter but laden with meaning.

"She never blamed me. She didn’t pull away. She chose to stay. She showed me that she trusted me, even when I was afraid of myself. She was the one who showed me that I could never hurt her, because she knows we’re not monsters, Rafayel… You can’t protect her from everything and we can make sure she knows she’s safe with you. She’s not fragile. She knows where her limits are. She won’t break because you lose control for a moment. If you shut her out now... you’ll make her believe she’s a burden to you. And that’s the last thing she needs.”

Rafayel was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the bathroom door again, lips pressed tight together in an almost painful effort to keep them from trembling. “I’m not you, Sy," the lemurian said, his voice rough, but not unkind. "She forgave you because you didn’t hurt her. I... I can’t promise that I won’t." His voice quivered at the end, as if he were admitting something more profound than even he realized.

“I can’t promise I won’t take something from her that she doesn’t want to give. I don’t want her to think she has to put up with me, or that she has to do things because of me. I don’t want her to feel like she has to force herself into something she doesn’t really want. I don’t want to be that... that man for her.”

Sylus leaned forward, placing both hands on the lemurian’s shoulders now, grounding him. “You’ve never gone through your Ebb alone, not after we’ve defeated Astra,” Sylus said softly, his voice steady, almost like a gentle reminder. “You’ve always had us. We all understand, accept and love you. Every part of you. Even when you’re like that. And I know it’s hard, but she deserves that same chance. To love you in your entirety, not just the polished pieces you choose to let her see.”

The words hung between them. Sylus gave him one last, lingering look, a mix of support and quiet knowing, before leaning back against the headboard. “You have to face this sooner or later, sweetie. Let her in. She’ll love you, even the worst parts of you. I believe that.”

Rafayel’s gaze lingered on the bathroom door, his thumb absently tracing the line of his jaw as silence settled thick and heavy between them. His voice, when it finally came, was low — stripped of his usual flair. “Maybe I’ve already ruined it,” he murmured, voice low. “But if she knew what I really am during Ebb, she’d—”

“She wouldn’t,” Sylus interrupted gently.

Rafayel’s head snapped toward him, a faint frown tugging between his brows. “You sound awfully sure of that.”

Sylus’s fiery eyes glinted with that maddening calm he always wore. “Let’s just say,” he began, tone lazy, but his voice threaded with quiet meaning, “she’s seen more of you than you think. And she’s still here.”

Rafayel blinked, confusion flickering across his face before he narrowed his eyes, sitting up straighter. “What are you implying, dragon?”

Sylus only smiled, slow and secretive. “Nothing. Just that maybe you underestimate her.”

Rafayel groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Don’t do that. Don’t get cryptic with me, Sylus. I hate when you get cryptic.”

“I’m not being cryptic,” Sylus said, far too innocently. “I’m being considerate.”

Rafayel turned to him fully, squinting suspiciously. “You know something.”

“I know a lot of things,” Sylus replied smoothly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “It comes with age.”

Rafayel scowled, shoulders tensing. “You definitely know something. Tell me.”

Sylus kept smiling, that slow, teasing curve of his lips that always seemed to make Rafayel scowl. “Just that maybe you’re not the only one who keeps secrets to protect the people you love.”

Rafayel’s mouth fell open in a mix of outrage and fluster. “You are infuriating! I’m baring my soul here, drowning in self-loathing, and you’re playing word games!”

Sylus grinned, utterly unbothered. “You’re cute when you pout.”

“I am not pouting!” Rafayel snapped, crossing his arms and glaring at him in a way that would’ve been intimidating if it weren’t so heartbreakingly earnest. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation about my mental state and—”

“You’re pouting,” Sylus interrupted smoothly. “Admit it.”

Rafayel groaned and dropped his face into his hands, his voice muffled. “Why do I even talk to you?”

“Because you love me,” Sylus said simply, leaning over to nudge his shoulder affectionately. His grin softened just enough to let the sincerity peek through. “And because, whether you believe it or not, she loves you too. Ebb or not.”

Rafayel huffed, lifting his chin in defiance, though the color had risen to his cheeks. “You’re both conspiring against me,” he muttered.

Sylus chuckled, the sound deep and amused. “Not conspiring,” he said, leaning back with a stretch. “Just... waiting for her to fill you in… on certain things.”

Rafayel’s scowl faltered, curiosity and uncertainty warring in his expression. For a fleeting second, something warm flickered there—hope, fragile but real. Then, with his typical flair, he tossed his hair back dramatically and declared, “If there is a secret that pertains me, and I‘m sensing there is, I am entitled to know.”

Sylus rolled his eyes, but his smile lingered. “Oh you are definitely entitled, my sea prince.”

Rafayel gasped in mock offense. “Prince? I am a god, Sylus. A god!”

Sylus only laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet room, breaking what was left of the tension. “Yes, yes,” he said, tone teasing, “one who pouts when he’s left out.”

Rafayel’s pout deepened, his lower lip jutting slightly, eyes glinting with wounded pride. “You both think it’s amusing to keep me in the dark, don’t you? While I—”

“While you overthink everything?” Sylus interrupted smoothly, his tail of amusement evident.

Rafayel glared, pointing at him. “Exactly! I—wait, no. Don’t twist my words.”

“But I am right, no?” Sylus’s grin softened as he added, “You don’t need to worry so much. She’s not afraid of you. Not even a little. Let’s just say,” he murmured, “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. And from where I’m standing, she looks at you like you hung the moon. Scales and all.”

Rafayel blinked, caught off guard. The pout wavered, his heart giving an unsteady lurch before he masked it again with an exaggerated sigh. The tension that had weighed heavy between them moments ago finally eased into something lighter—playful, familiar. Rafayel huffed, half turning away, though the faintest pink dusted his cheeks. Sylus only chuckled, reaching over to ruffle his hair, earning a half-hearted glare.

“Stop that,” Rafayel muttered, trying and failing to hide the way his lips curved upward.

Sylus grinned wider. “Make me, pretty boy.”

Rafayel’s sigh was dramatic, his tone sharp but fond. “One day, I will.”

Sylus only laughed again, ruby eyes glinting. “I’ll look forward to it.”

And as the laughter faded into the quiet hum of morning light, Rafayel’s gaze drifted once more toward the bathroom door. Maybe Sylus was right. Maybe you already knew. And maybe, just maybe… you’d accept all of him. Ebb and all.

———————————————————————

previous part ….. next part | ‘Wanna be sisters (?)’ Series | LaDS Masterlist

His mind was constantly circling back to the night you talked about your trauma, he remembered it so vividly and he dreaded thinking you would regard him like those men, his stomach folded in on itself, but he refused to dwell on it. He constantly repeated to himself that this was about you, not him, never him, he couldn’t allow himself to wallow in self pity, not now, not ever.

He carefully helped you fix your panties and dress first before he hastily dressed himself. He quickly pulled out of his phone and texted everyone including Zayne, giving them a quick rundown of the situation while you were still snapping out of it, the effects of the pill was slowly wearing off. Zayne texted back first letting Sylus know that he was going to drive straight to the hospital and talk with the gynecologist on duty. Rafayel was going to stay behind to watch Abel.

As you watched him stress about, you couldn’t help but notice that Sylus’ usual arrogant demeanor was replaced by something far more vulnerable, guilt. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes tracked your every movement. He was looking at you but his mind was somewhere else.

“—us. Sylus!” His head snapped out of his reverie, mind swirling with emotions as he was furiously typing away at his phone, alerting everyone else of the situation. His eyes snapped to you, his gaze muddled as self loathing gnawed at him. He silently cursed himself, you wanted his attention and he was silently unraveling.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm. “Sylus, it’s okay. I’m fine. Really. It’s probably nothing.”

His carmine eyes softened as he took your hands into his “You don’t know that sweetheart. I could have easily injured you. I shouldn’t have—“

You quickly pressed you free hand to his lips “Please don’t say it. I wanted this, I wanted you. Don’t say you regret it.” You leaned closer, using both hands to cup his face, looking straight into his eyes. “Sylus, listen to me. I knew what I was getting myself into, I knew the risks and I would have done it regardless of the pill. I— I love you” you confessed, realizing that it was the first time you’d actually said it to him, but it was true.

Your relationship transcended this world, this wasn’t just a fleeting thing and you didn’t care to hear it back. You wanted to get your point across because you knew him, knew he would just take all the blame and then pull away from you and you sure as hell refused to let it to happen. His eyes desperately searched yours for any uncertainty, but found none. You meant every word.

He gave a shuddering breath melting into your touch. “I love you too kitten. I—”

Caleb all but burst into the room, followed closely by MC and Xavier. Their arrival was perfectly timed, or perhaps, perfectly unfortunate.

The colonel’s face darkened instantly, taking in your disheveled appearance and he stormed towards Sylus, his fists clenched. "What the fuck do you mean some bleeding?" he snarled, getting right in Sylus's face. "What the fuck happened?"

Caleb had been seething ever since he got the message. Sylus was taken aback, albeit he understood where Caleb’s sudden outburst came from, but he never expected to be at the end of it. He knew exactly how overprotective the colonel got over you and how uneasy he actually felt under his calm persona. Though Caleb would never say it out loud he was constantly haunted by the idea that you could just up and leave at any given moment, that anything could set you off packing.

“Caleb, calm down” MC hissed as she took in the scene. Sylus was clearly distressed, his clothes a complete mess, the evidence of your recent activity was everywhere. The sofa was still soaked with your juices and the discarded condom was openly mocking you at this point.

"So what exactly happened?" MC asked, her voice a mix of concern and curiosity. Her eyes darted between you and Sylus, trying to piece together the situation.

Sylus gave a brief explanation, his voice heavy with remorse. "Things got a little bit intense while she was riding me" he sighed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose "We— I got carried away and I think I might have hurt her during it. I didn't realize it at the time, until after. There were faint traces of blood mixed with the cum" he gestured vaguely towards your lower body.

"I already notified Zayne and I’m taking her to the hospital to get her checked out" he grimaced. "I should have been more careful" he murmured in a small voice.

Caleb exploded, he grabbed the front of Sylus's shirt, his knuckles white. "You're damn right you should have! You're supposed to be the responsible one, the one who thinks with his head instead of his dick! You don’t fucking get to be—"

Sylus didn’t fight back, his shoulders slumping with guilt. He let Caleb's anger wash over him, the accusations stinging him like a whip. He felt the weight of his words, the potential for harm, and accepted Caleb's condemnation. He deserved it.

“Caleb, that’s enough! You don’t get to talk to him like that” your voice cut through the tension, sharp and angry.

Caleb turned to you, his expression softening slightly despite his frustration. “But baby, you’re hurt—“

“But nothing, I’m fine” you interrupted, your tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m just a little sore.”

Sylus turned to you, his eyes filled with worry. “But the blood—”

“I’m fine. You said it yourself, it was faint traces, it might be something else” you said quickly, though you weren’t entirely sure yourself, you’ve had spotting before between periods so it wasn’t all that crazy. “Either way, I’m okay. He didn’t force me into anything. I wanted it. I wanted him. He warned me, and I still chose to go through with it. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Are you serious? He could’ve seriously hurt you!” Caleb’s snapped at you, anger flashing in his eyes.

“But he didn’t” you shot back. “So back off! Need I remind you that you also got carried away on our first time? The pot calling the kettle much?" You crossed your arms defiantly cocking an eyebrow at him.

Caleb instantly mellowed out and looked at you sheepishly as a pink blush tinged his cheeks, despite his frustration. "I know, baby, but he should have been more responsible, kept better control. I was just a dumb kid” he mumbled under his breath.

Xavier stepped between them, placing a hand on Caleb's chest, his calm presence a stark contrast to Caleb’s anger “Sylus is clearly upset and we don’t know for sure if she’s hurt or not so let’s not jump to conclusions.”

"It takes two to tango and Y/n just said she wanted this just as much as Sylus did. Don't put all the blame on him" MC argued, her voice cutting through the tension. "Let's just go see Zayne, figure out what happened and make sure she's okay!" She then turned her attention to you, her expression softening as she moved to help you get up, ignoring the men’s argument.

"Let's put the blame game on hold for now" Xavier said diplomatically. He turned to you, his blue eyes gentle. "If you're sure about this and don't want us to press the issue, then we'll respect that."

Caleb huffed, clearly not thrilled but unwilling to press further. "Fine. But this conversation isn't over" he muttered shooting Sylus a warning look before turning to you with concern.

"Let's get you to the hospital then. I’ll get the car ready” he sighed before he turned and walked out the door.

MC and Xavier exchange a weary glance. "Come on, let’s get go" MC coaxed, her voice tinged with exhaustion. As they lead you towards the exit, Sylus hesitated, his hand hovering near yours, he was afraid to touch you, afraid of causing you further pain or discomfort. His mind was plagued by the information you shared with him about having gone through abuse in your previous life and how he just added to your number of bad experiences, what if you never allow him to touch you again—

You saw his hesitation and reached out, taking his hand in yours, your fingers intertwining, a silent reassurance passing between you. His hand was cold, his skin clammy, and you could feel the tension radiating from him. Sylus peered at you, his eyes filled with a mix of tenderness and despair, he felt torn, your kindness was like a dagger twisting in his sides.

“I’m fine” you repeated softly. “Please don’t blame yourself for this.”

“I just… I don’t want to lose you” he admitted quietly, his voice wavering. He didn’t know if he could survive losing you, not now after he’s had you in his arms.

“You won’t” you promised, squeezing his hand. “Never, not over this.”

The cool night air hit your face as you stepped out of the club, the events of the last hour replaying in your mind. You saw Caleb, already seated behind the wheel of the car, his silhouette illuminated by the interior lights. He glanced at you as you climbed into the back seat, MC sliding in beside you, and Sylus following, his movements still hesitant. Xavier got in the front, the car settling with the weight of the occupants.

The drive was mostly silent, a palpable tension hanging in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. The city lights blur past, reflecting in the windows, but none of you seemed to notice the scenery.

You kept your hand intertwined with Sylus's, offering silent reassurance, whispering "I'm okay, really. Please don't worry." He squeezed your hand in response, but his face remained unreadable.

You were angry at yourself for creating this whole situation. Once again your body betrayed you and everyone else was paying the consequences. In times like these it was difficult keep that nagging toxic inner self at bay, especially when it whispered how helpless and useless you were, how you managed to fail at something yet again, hurting everyone in the process.

You kept glancing at Sylus, beating yourself for ruining your first time together. You’d probably scarred him. What if he never wants to touch you again now? You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to quiet the voices, all these thoughts were sitting in the pit of your stomach, causing you anxiety. The last thing you needed right now was to start crying over your pathetic self, causing more worry.

The car pulled up to the hospital. Zayne was waiting for you, his face etched with concern when he saw you. He lead you through the sterile hallways of the hospital, asking questions about the actions leading up to the event. He directed everyone to the waiting room, but you refused to let go of Sylus’s hand. You insisted that you wanted him to come with. Caleb opened his mouth to argue, but stopped himself, he wanted to put your feelings first so he held his tongue.

The bright fluorescent lights seem to amplify the already tense atmosphere. Zayne spoke in hushed tones, explaining the situation to the attending gynecologist, a woman with kind eyes and a reassuring smile. The gynecologist nodded, her expression serious as she listened intently.

They guided you to an examination room, the familiar scent of antiseptic filling your nostrils. The gynecologist, after hearing the details of what happened, swiftly began the examination. The initial awkwardness of the situation was quickly replaced by a sense of clinical detachment as she efficiently performs her tasks.

The Z pill, thankfully, left your system by then, leaving behind only a lingering sense of unease and the beginnings of mild cramps, along with an uncomfortable soreness. You clenched your jaw slightly, trying to focus on your breathing as you were gently probed and examined. Sylus was there cooing and gently stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

The gynecologist finished the examination, her expression softening. She straightened up, offering a reassuring smile. "Everything looks perfectly fine" she said, her voice calm and professional. "There's no cause for concern."

A wave of relief washed over all of you, a lightness replacing the worry that had been building within Sylus. He let out a shaky breath.

"The bleeding...?" you asked.

The gynecologist nodded. "Taking your menstrual cycle into consideration it’s fair to conclude that what you saw was ovulation spotting. During ovulation your cervix becomes more sensitive so it’s not unusual for there to be a bit of blood if it was stimulated during intense sexual activity. Given the timing, and the fact that everything else looks normal, that's the most likely explanation."

A burst of laughter bubbled up from your throat, a mixture of relief and the absurdity of the situation. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. "Wait so all this because she’s ovulating?" Sylus asked, the words laced with incredulity.

"Precisely" the gynecologist smiled.

The second you hopped off the table and got dressed, you rushed forward, wrapping your arms around Sylus. You hugged him tightly, burying your face in his chest. "Told you I was okay" you whispered.

Sylus wrapped his hands around you, thanking all the gods, tears of relief prickling at the corner of his eyes. All of his guilt and self loathing melted away in a second, it was quickly replaced with tenderness and wistfulness directed at you. In every lifetime you had always put him first and yourself second, this time was no different. You were a goddess, his goddess, and he would prostrate himself at your feet, for as long as he needs, to win back your favor.

As you stepped out of the examination room, the relief was palpable, a weight lifting from your shoulders. You were mostly thankful that you could offer Sylus some comfort and you were glad you had the bright idea to having him there with you. You were sure he wouldn’t have believed you otherwise, not because he didn’t trust you, but because he would have accused you of minimizing the damage on yourself.

You were met with the anxious faces of Caleb, MC, and Xavier, all of them eagerly awaiting the news. Their expressions shifted as soon as they saw you, a mixture of hope and concern etched on their features.

"Everything's fine. It was just... ovulation spotting. I’ve had it happen before, not during sex mind you, but hey, there’s a first for everything” you laughed awkwardly.

The words hung in the air for a few seconds before the tension melted away as the reality of the situation sank in. MC and Xavier let out sighs of relief, while Caleb's made a pained sound in the back of his throat, a look of genuine remorse crossing his features.

He was relieved, of course, but he instantly felt guilty for having snapped at Sylus like that. He should have been more level headed, especially since he’d just accused Sylus of letting things get out of control, while having done the exact same thing.

"I'm so sorry, Sylus" Caleb murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "I— I shouldn't have reacted like that. It’s true I was worried, but that doesn’t justify my behavior." Caleb wanted to kick himself for once again letting his impulsive nature overcome him.

Sylus looked at him, his expression softening. He walked over to Caleb and cupped his face, apple boy’s gaze was muddled with emotions as he peered up at the dragon and he all but melted in his palms. Sylus puffed out a breath, he hated seeing Caleb beat himself up, he understood all to well what was going through the colonel’s head.

"It's okay, Caleb" he said, his voice gentle "I’m not upset with you" he smoothed the knitted skin between the colonel’s brows and he meant it.

A small pained whimper escaped Caleb’s chest and as if on cue Sylus leaned down a placed a chaste kiss on his forehead before pulling him in a hug, rubbing a soothing palm across his back. Caleb was quick to reciprocate, burying his face in the dragon’s neck, silently conveying how grateful he was to have such an understanding partner.

You sighed and went to hug both of them, but instead you got sandwiched between them. You giggled doing your best to console both your lovers.

You finally got back home and filled in Rafayel with what happened, poor little fishie was relieved to hear you were fine. Caleb had insisted on sleeping with you and you let him. Sylus retreated back to his room as soon as you got back home.

As you laid back in bed with Caleb’s arms around you the events of the evening replayed in your mind—Sylus’ guilt, Caleb’s outburst, the way Sylus had looked at you with such vulnerability. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the night had ended unfinished, like a story cut off mid-sentence. Your body thrummed with restless energy, and before you could second-guess yourself, you slipped out of bed and padded down the hallway to Sylus’ room.

You knocked softly, your heart pounding in your chest. The door opened a moment later, and Sylus stood there, shirtless, his silvery hair tousled from how he’d obviously been resting in bed. His piercing red eyes widened in surprise, but quickly melted as he gazed at you with adoration. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind you. “I couldn’t sleep” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I keep replaying the events in my head.”

Sylus frowned, his hands quickly going to stroke the side of your arms. “Are you worried? Do you want to talk—”

“No” you interrupted, shaking your head. “It’s not that. I just… I want a re-do. Tonight didn’t end the way I wanted it to.”

His expression softened, but he took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “Not after what happened.”

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing against his arm. “But you didn’t hurt me” you insisted. “You heard what the doctor said, besides I wanted it. I still want it. You’re not too much for me, Sy.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “You don’t understand. I’m afraid I’ll get carried away again. I’ll lose control. I can’t—”

“Then let me help you” you said, cutting him off again. Your voice was firm now, your gaze locking with his. “Let me show you that I can handle you. That I want to handle you.”

Sylus looked torn, but he could recognize the look of determination on your face, you weren’t going to let up. He just stared at you contemplating on the best course of action, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Then, he let out a long breath and nodded. “Okay” he whispered in a small voice.

You reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw before sliding into his hair. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before they opened again, dark with desire. You pulled him down to you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, but quickly deepened as he responded with equal intensity.

His hands settled on your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown, the hard planes of his chest against yours. His kiss was hungry, desperate, as if he was trying to pour all of his guilt and longing into it. You matched his intensity, your hands roaming over his shoulders and down his back, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily. Sylus rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed. “Are you sure about this sweetie?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“Yes, I love you, I trust you” you whispered, your hands sliding down to the hem of your nightgown. You pulled it over your head in one smooth motion, letting it fall to the floor. Sylus’ eyes snapped open as he sucked in a breath, his gaze raking over your body with a mix of awe and hunger.

“You’re beautiful” he murmured, his hands skimming over your hips and up your sides. His touch was reverent, as if he was afraid you might break under his fingers. You shivered at the sensation, your skin tingling wherever he touched.

You hooked your fingers in the hem of your panties and let them slide down your legs smoothly until they pooled at your feet, you stepped out of them and stood naked in front of him, feeling yourself getting wet under his heated gaze. He kneeled in front of you, looking up at you like you hung the moon and the stars, ready to serve the world on a silver plate at your feet.

You plated your foot on one of his thighs and he huffed out a breath, locking eyes with your shimmery pussy lips dripping in your sweet dew. He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on your knee, working his lips higher and higher on the inside of your thigh. You raised your hands and combed them through his silvery locks as his lips found your core. He moaned as he delved his tongue in between your folds.

He raised your leg to rest your upper thigh on his shoulder as his palms went around to cup your plush behind holding you steady as he pulled you to rest your drooling cunt against his lips. He french kissed your sweet pussy, taking his time as you moaned and whimpered above him.

“Sy, please” you begged and he grunted into your heat, determined to take his time to break you apart slowly until you were a trembling mess for him. He focused on teasing your swollen clit with his flat tongue, sucking it softly between his lips while he had two fingers circling your pulsating hole.

He finally pushed his fingers inside, making you mewl as the pads of his finger hit and massaged your sweet spot perfectly. He took his sweet time, eating you out while stretching your gummy walls with his thick fingers. You fisted your hands into his hair crying out softly as you felt yourself building up to a slow but powerful orgasm and you shattered all to quickly calling out his name as he moaned into your folds lapping away at your release.

You felt Sylus' strong hands guide your naked body down onto his silky sheets. The cool fabric caressed your skin, sending a shiver up your spine. Sylus took his place seated against the headboard, gazing at you with those piercing red eyes that never failed to make your heart race. "Come here, kitten" he purred, patting his thighs.

Obediently, you crawled closer to him and let him position you, kneeling with your knees on either side of his muscular thighs and your palms resting on his broad shoulders. That close, you could smell his intoxicating cologne and feel the heat radiating from his bare chest. He smiled at you adoringly, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind your ear, even with you on your knees you didn’t tower over him, instead you were merely eye-level "You look so beautiful like this, sweetie. Absolutely perfect."

His hands skimmed down your sides, coming to rest on your hips, his thumbs rubbing you skin in soothing small circles. You shuddered at his touch, already aching for more. As if reading your mind, Sylus slowly trailed his right hand knuckles across your stomach and down between your legs. "Is this what you want?" he breathed.

You nodded frantically, unable to form words. His thumb circled your bundle of nerves, pressing down lightly on it, sending sparks of pleasure down your spine, teasing you. "Mmm, already so wet for me. You are such a good girl." He ran his index and middle fingers through your soaked folds, tracing your entrance with the pads of his fingers, making you gasp and rock against his hand, rubbing your swollen bud against his palm.

Sylus continued to stroke and caress you back and forth, digging his fingers into your sensitive core, lightly crushing your poor puffy clit under his big thumb as his fingers probed at your hole, winding you tighter and tighter. All the while, he murmured endearments and praise. "That's it, kitten. Just relax and let me take care of you. You're doing so well, my sweet baby girl."

He finally slid one thick digit, knuckle by knuckle, taking his time, making you whine at his slow pace, but he merely chuckled, finding your lack of patience cute. You were still somewhat loose from earlier, but not stretched enough to take his cock yet. Your hips moved of their own accord, meeting his thrusts when he slipped a second finger, hitting that spot deep inside that made whimper and mewl. You could feel yourself getting close, coiling pleasure building low in your belly.

Sylus leaned forward, his hot breath ghosting over your chest. His lips wrapped around one stiff peak and he sucked gently, sending electric shocks racing through you. You cried out, fisting your hands in his hair, pulling him closer. He chuckled darkly, the vibrations traveling straight to your core.

"Please," you whimpered, not even sure what you were asking for. More. Less. Everything. "Sylus, please..."

"Hmm, you want more, sweetie? You need something else?" He licked up your chest to nip at your throat, his free hand flicking and pinching your nubs "Do you want my cock? Is that what you're begging for?"

"Please, Sylus. I need you. Fuck me, please!" You would do anything he asked, if only he would fill you up and end this delicious torment.

But Sylus just smiled that secretive smirk and continued working you with his fingers. "Not yet, kitten. I'm enjoying this far too much to rush to the end. Just feel, sweetie. Focus on my fingers inside you, how good it feels when I do this..."

He curled his fingers, rubbing against that magical spot that made your toes curl. Your head fell back, spine arching, pushing your stiff nipples into his face. It was so intense it was almost painful. You were whining, begging, saying anything you thought might convince him to give you what you needed.

"Soon, sweetie" Sylus promised. "I'll fuck you soon. I'll make you feel so full. But first, I want you to cum for me. Can you do that for me, kitten? Can you fall apart all over my fingers like the good girl you are?"

You keened, hips bucking wildly. Sylus' thumb moved rougher on your clit, rubbing in tighter circles, while he dug his fingers deep into your gspot and it was all over. You shattered with a wordless cry, muscles clamping down on his fingers. He worked you through it until you collapsed against his chest, shuddering and spent, his heated eyes raking over your orgasming face.

"There's my good girl" Sylus cooed, withdrawing his fingers and wrapping his arms around you. "You did so well for me, sweetie." He peppered kisses along your hairline, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

Sylus gripped your hips bruise-hard, holding you still. The blunt head of his cock nudged against your entrance and you tried to slam yourself down on him, but his grip on you was unmoving. "Tsk, good things come to those who wait" he chided.

He dragged his pulsating cockhead through your folds, hissing at the contact, gathering wetness but not penetrating. You mewled and writhed, desperate for more friction, but he kept you in place effortlessly. It was not enough and it was too much all at once.

"Look at you, sweetie" Sylus rasped. "So needy for me. You're practically dripping all over my lap. Is this all for me?" He pumped himself against you with shallow thrusts that only grazed where you needed him most, your thick creamy juices dribbling down his shaft.

It was exquisite torture for the both of you. Tears of frustration pricked at your eyes. You felt like you would fly apart at any second. "Please," you begged again. "I can't...I need—"

"I know exactly what you need" Sylus said, voice rough with his own desire. "And I'm going to give it to you... but first, I want to hear you say it."

"Say what?" You were having trouble forming coherent thoughts, let alone sentences.

"Tell me that you're mine" he commanded. The broad head of his cock notched against your fluttering folds and your whole body tensed in anticipation. "Say that this sweet little pussy belongs to me. Tell me that I can use you however I want and you'll love every second of it."

He punctuated his words with tiny rocking motions, pressing his thickness against your puffy clit, making you seeing stars. You were babbling, agreeing to anything and everything he said. "Yes, Sylus! I'm yours, all yours! Please, I need you so badly! Take me, use me, fuck me! I'll do anything, just please—"

Sylus grinned and finally took mercy on you, allowing you to sink down onto his impressive length inch by delicious inch. You moaned long and low as he stretched and filled you so perfectly, the friction almost felt like too much as your walls split wide enough to take him.

"That's it, sweetie" he encouraged. "Take your time. Take all of me."

Once he was fully seated inside you as far as he could go, Sylus banded an arm around your waist, holding you flush against him. His other hand cradled the back of your head, tangling in your hair. He pulled you into a deep, filthy kiss, all tongue and teeth. You tasted your own arousal on his lips.

"Ride me" he murmured hotly against your mouth. "Use me to make yourself feel good. I want to watch you use my cock." His hands dropped to grip your hips, urging you to move.

You braced your palms on his broad shoulders and slowly rose up until only the tip remained inside you, then you sank back down, rolling your hips wantonly. You both gasped and moaned at the exquisite drag and glide. Sylus' head fell back, the tendons in his neck straining.

"Yes, kitten, just like that" he groaned. "You look so fucking beautiful riding my cock. That's it, take what you need from me." He rocked up his hips to meet you thrust for thrust, the wet slap of flesh against flesh mixing with your pants and moans.

You found a rhythm, working yourself on his hard length in undulating waves. Every downstroke had him hitting that perfect spot inside you, making your toes curl. His praise and obscenities were like tinder on your flames of lust. You chased your pleasure higher and higher, taking him deeper each time.

"Fuck, sweetie, you're going to be the death of me" he growled placing his soles flat on the bed and started pistoning into you frantically. "Your perfect little cunt is strangling my cock. I can't—" his control was fraying as he worked you up and down his cock like a rag doll chasing his own pleasure.

Your juices frothed along his length forming a creamy ring around his base as he pounded vigorously into your tight heat, over and over again. He crushed your your poor abused cervix with his fat tip, making your eyes roll back and drool dribble down the corners on your mouth, fucking you dumb on his stupidly large cock.

His loss of control sent you hurtling towards the edge. Your nails dug into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood as you fucked yourself on him desperately. You could feel your orgasm building like a tidal wave, ready to crash over you at any moment.

Sylus reached between your bodies to pinch your swollen bud and that was all it took to send you flying. You came with a scream, walls clamping down on him like a vice. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you as you rode out your climax, barely aware of anything but the feel of him inside you.

As you started to come down, Sylus pulled out abruptly, making you whine at the sudden loss. He gave himself a few rough strokes before he erupted with a grunt, spilling his hot seed all over his stomach and your still fluttering entrance. The sight of his cum painting his skin sent a final shudder through you.

In the aftermath, you collapsed over him in a boneless heap, limbs intertwined. Sylus rolled you on your back, covering your body with his as he rested on his forearms over you. He pressed soft kisses over every inch of skin he could reach, murmuring endearments. "You were incredible, kitten," he whispered resting bis forehead against your sweat-slicked chest. "So perfect. Thank you."

His eyes screwed shut as a pang of emotion wrecked through him. He rose his head to stare down at you, carmine eyes full of tenderness. In that moment, it was just the two of you, existing in a bubble of bliss. The outside world seemed a million miles away. Nothing else mattered except the beat of his heart against yours and the brush of his fingertips along the side of your face.

"I love you so much," he said simply as he watched you with dark, sated eyes, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"I love you too," you murmured back, meaning it with your whole heart. No matter what the future held, you knew you would always have that perfect moment of closeness and connection. Everything else would work itself out in time.

——————————————————————

previous part ….. next part | ‘Wanna be sisters (?)’ Series

He pulled back, strings of spit connecting your mouths and leaving you gasping for air, eyes lidded, arousal pooling in your stomach. He ran his thumb over your swollen lip shiny with spit and you shivered, his calloused fingers rough against your soft skin.

“Now go have fun kitten” he coaxed, pushing you towards MC.

The bass vibrated through you, a physical sensation that seemed to pulse in time with your own racing heart. The VIP room of the club turned into a sensory overload: hushed lights, the bodies of your lovers pressed together, the thrum of music, and the intoxicating scent of expensive perfume and sweat. You were lost in the moment, dancing with Xavier, his body moving against yours with a practiced ease, his hands tracing the curve of your back, and you felt a delicious flush spread through your veins. This Z pill was something else. You’ve never felt so… free. So uninhibited.