There was something about that Ancient that drove Shadow Milk absolutely insane. It wasn’t the power. It wasn’t the annoyingly perfect sense of morality. It was the damn way you walked.

Proud. Composed. With that infuriating calmness of someone who knew the world belonged to them.

And with those damn thighs on full display.

Shadow Milk leaned against a stone wall, bathed in shadows cast by the dim light of the war hall. His eyes followed your every step as you spoke to Golden Cheese Cookie—too distracted to notice the dark stare that drank you in from afar.

“Where do you think you’re going with those legs?” he muttered to himself, tongue running over his lips. It was almost unfair, the way your outfit rose just enough when you moved—revealing skin far too soft for someone who had seen so many battles.

You turned your head, sensing the stare. And you saw him, leaning there, wearing that same irritatingly smug smirk.

— “Is something wrong, Shadow Milk?” you asked, walking toward him slowly.

He grinned wider, eyes still glued to your thighs. — “Nothing. Just wondering how many Cookies have died trying to get close to that.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t back away when he stepped forward.

— “Do you want me to cover up?” you teased, voice low and challenging.

— “I want you to stop teasing... unless you’re gonna let me taste,” he growled, pulling you in by the waist until your bodies nearly touched.

Your eyes locked—yours cold and proud, his wild and burning.

— “You hate me. And now this?” you said with a dry laugh.

— “Hate is just intense attention. And I’m very, very good at giving attention… especially to those legs,” he murmured, fingers trailing up your thigh like he was claiming what was his.

You sighed but didn’t push him away.

— “This changes nothing between us.”

— “Of course not,” he said, brushing his lips close to your skin. “I still want to break you… I just want to feel you tremble in my bed first.”

And that night, between provocations, heat, and whispered words in the dark, Shadow Milk could no longer pretend that his obsession was just about power.

It was you. Your poise. Your touch. And yes… those damn thighs.!