He says their name. Not Sidestep, not even the rotten moniker of his ghost. The closest thing he’s stolen from them, their real name. He can’t stop—it shudders out from him against his will and tastes sweetly forbidden on his tongue.
Sidestep recoils as though struck—then leans in, drawn closer then before, stealing all the air.
october sketch request for a patron (of a scene from my fallen hero fic 🧡) see K-’s uncensored hairy butt here
