#give me ALL the inspo

[velvet-paradox]

Vulnerable

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: König x Female reader Summary: somethings just don't stay on the battlefield. Length: Long Warnings: NSFW, 18 + ONLY, canon typical violence, blood, death, established relationship, explicit content, strong language, sexual assault, oral (m receiving), L-bomb, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up, you know the drill), creampie, smut.

Vulnerable.

König hates the word. Seethes it, loathes it, spits it out like broken teeth in a skin tearing fight. He knows the feeling well. He's missing four of his own (just a couple in the back, nothing too serious) and the front left one is chipped. It might worsen if he keeps tonguing it behind his mask though.

He's been here before. Not in this exact warehouse or chair but he'd been in a familiar position.

The mission was supposed to be a crystal clear cut and dry recon. Get in, get out, get the job done quietly and go the fuck home. Only to find out, the hard way, that himself, you and Ghost had stumbled across what was supposed to be a closed off base of operations. You were just looking for stolen black market weapons; not fucking terrorists.

Ultimately dispatched and taken hostage, they separated your company. The way your head knocked back when one of the men who'd grabbed you after giving your cheek a good blunt hit with his gun, made König wince. Anger, so much anger boiled deep in his belly, even more so when he watched them drag you limply into a different room.

The sound is deafening. His gloves feel too tight, his eyes are too hot, he's sweating and taking notes of how the other three men are pacing rhythmically behind him.

The main guy in front of König tilts his head to the radio attached to his shoulder, after it alerts to the room and he smiles sickly before tuning it to another channel. 

"Has he talked yet?" 

"Not yet. But he will." The bearded man crossed his arms over his lithe chest.

"See if this helps."

König grinds his jaw and flexes his fingers when he heard you in the background, your breathing is heavy and ragged and a multitude of scenarios are bouncing off the walls of his mind. And none of them are any good, each one more devastating then the last.

"Now you have a real audience. So speak up, cupcake." The other man speaks and scoffs when your reply is a spit. In his face, from the sound of it.

"That's cute."

König squinted when you are clearly slapped in the face, a wheeze of air leaving your throat.

"Let's try this again, hmmm?"

"You're not going to break me." Your voice crackles through the speaker. König shifts, as if he could make himself small enough to fit through the device and to where ever you were.

The man in your room laughs, mocking you. "Is that so? I'm going to tell you something now, sweetheart. The ones with fight, especially the broads with spunk, like you... are the best to break," König flared his nose at the enemies words. He'd seen what unhinged men were capable of. "Cut it off."

Your shouts of NO!, creaking and distress coming from you and whatever you were tied to came through, loudly. That got the attention of the three vultures.

The man in front of König chuckled darkly, turning up the volume some more. 

"Well look at that boys, she's been smuggling melons under all that gear!"

König growled against his restraints, scuffing his boots against the cement floor.

"Are you going to talk now, big guy? Your little girlfriend is getting a nice little once over from the boss himself. One should be such obliged," his grubby hand on his shoulder had him biting a chunk of cheek as he listened further. "I almost feel sorry for what he's going to do." 

"Don't fucking touch me! Don't you fuck-"

The man abruptly turned off the radio, which was a blessing as much as it was a curse. On the one hand it was enough to hear your assault, what he could and didn't want to imagine happening in a room similar to the one he was locked up in. But then he wanted to hear more, make sure you were alright, in one piece. 

König knew for years you could handle yourself accordingly but something like this, caught off guard in an ambush was a whole other can of worms.

"Now do you feel like talking?"

König's laugh lacked humor, he was already a cluster fuck of anxiety and emotions, you, the fucking love of his whole life were being tortured, traumatized, assaulted. He didn't have anything to lose from the jump, what would it take for him to just lunge forward and take a bite, rip out this guy's larynx like the feral animal felt caged in tactical gear and issued boots, that he was?

"You idiots..."

"Oh! So you can talk!" The man exclaimed, slapping his knee as the other men moved around him, one had the fucking balls to push König's head as he did so.

He snapped his teeth.

"We got you good, right where we want you. Locked up, tied up, nowhere to go. Tell us big fella'," one of the quieter men poked him in the shoulder, what was meant to be hard and stern König guessed by the smug look on his face when he did it. "We've been hidden away for months, then all of a sudden three military cunts like you just so happen upon our operation. Who are you? Who do you work for?"

Now that all four men were in front of him he could really work on his restraints. As soon as he woke up from being knocked out, similar to you, he realized the rope wasn't as tight as it could've been. 

Which was good for König; bad for them.

"I work for no one."

"Then how did you find us so quickly?"

"Just lucky I guess," König shrugged, focusing on the task at literal hand, and how to get to you. "Good thing we did though. It's been fun but I think I've had enough."

The main man laughed, the other soon joining, not realizing König was nearly free. 

"Oh man, there's four of us and one of you."

König smiled beneath his hood, eyes twinkling. "I like those odds. How simple minded of you, how one dimensional." König laughed, this time with humor, dripping and stinking with it. "You have no idea who you dealing with, do you?"

"What makes us stupid then, big guy? You're the one tied up."

His smile deepened, he could feel his own dimples indent against his sharp teeth. Another chortle. "Because you think you have me locked in here with you but buddy, that's a big mistake," his accent thickened as he dropped his tone and chin, looking up at his captures sinisterly. "You all have willing locked yourselves in here with me." 

König rose to his feet, inch by inch to his full weight and stature. To them he must've looked like a behemoth rising from the depths of the ocean and for most, he certainly was. In shock, in awe, in amazement they shouted obscenities and couldn't get a hold of their weapons fast enough. 

König gripped the sides of the chair before turning fast enough to knock one of the guys to the ground with it.

He swung it the opposite way making the others stumble backwards or to the floor, he couldn't tell until the rope slipped from one of his wrists. König lunged and grabbed the closest man, grappling with him as he coiled the rope around his neck and pulled him up and up. He used his body as a shield when they opened fire, lighting up their comrade. 

König threw the now limp and bloody body at them, he ducked and grabbed the chair, breaking off a leg hastily, the jagged wood found its new home in the groin and gut of another enemy. Another series of shots rang out in the room but for a man of König's size, he was quite cat-like. 

He grabbed the arm of the last one, twisting it behind his back before taking the gun from his hand and shot the man across from him followed by two executions shots to the one in his grip. The men dropped to the floor like flies, the smell and spray of blood and gun powder weren't foreign but in the small dank room, it reeked like battery acid.

König checked their ammo and weapons, along with his own they had taken, he cocked his shotgun before leaving the room. Red lights flickered above, close enough to his head, he figured the darker the exterior the better and bashed each light that stood in his way. After rounding a series of dark corners he heard the trigger of a gun and stopped in his tracks.

"She with you?"

Ghost. 

König paused and shook his head.

"Fuckin' hell." Ghost huffed and joined him.

This place was a maze, barrels of some greasy substance, weapon crates full and strapped together, metal tables stained with blood and what remained. 

Some dark shit was going down here and Captain Price would need as much intel as possible when they got back to base. By the look of it, this was a far bigger deal than the three of you could snuff out. Strewn crude tools that made König's heart slip up his throat, if anything more than what he'd heard earlier, were to happen to you he'd--

A guttural scream echoed off the cement walls.

Ghost touched his shoulder and signaled to pick up the pace, that you were nearby.

The scrape of metal had them stopping outside of a rusty, tetanus looking door. Ghost gave a nod and König charged the door with his shoulder once, then again, on the third thrust he broke it down, twisted on its old hinges.

"Fuck!"

"Shit!"

When König's eyes adjusted to the brighter room he was shocked by what he saw.

Two men had their guns trained on him and Ghost, the third had his gun pointed to the back of your head. But that was to be expected under the circumstances. What wasn't was the state you were in. 

Bent over another metal table, thankfully no tools were to be seen but there you were, pleading, your tact vest and gear were gone, so was your compression shirt and bra. Naked from the waist up, a split lip had joined your busted cheek. Tears had clumped your lashes and had stained your face, your eyes were wild when they had settled, locking eyes with your sniper. Your pants were at your thigh, thankfully your underwear were still on. That didn't mean a damn thing though as König readied his gun. 

No one said anything.

They didn't have time to.

The two men suddenly crumpled from two precise head shots before them, stunning everyone in the room. You managed to shift and duck under the filthy table, safely out of the way.

Sergeant Soap McTavish joined him and Ghost, looming into the room. "Well, finish 'em off! Wheels up in ten."

König made short strides to the last man as he scrambled back against the wall, his gun had jammed and König kicked it out of his hand anyway. He stomped on it actually, he could feel the knuckles pop as the man yelped. He'd threatened you, your life, your dignity and for what? 

König snorted and grabbed the son of a bitch by the throat, both hands clasped as he dragged him up. He squeezed. Tighter and tighter, his green eyes bulged and squinted in terror as the life was slowly leaving his body. The last thing this bag of bones would see was König's dark, narrowed eyes, avenging you within minutes. König dropped him when he saw nothing left behind them.

He finally looked at you, Simon doing his best to search for your gear while Soap attempted to lure you out from underneath the table.

You had your face pressed into the tops of your knees, shielding and covering your exposed skin.

"Little maus." 

König may have just killed several men, had their last breath and blood on him but he offered his hand to you gently as the name he called you.

You rose your head, anguish making your face pouty.

"Come on maus, you're safe now." König took off one of his gloves then offered it to you again.

This time you took it, he brought you carefully to his chest. Once on your feet you hugged him tightly, trying your hardest to press yourself into him, like you wanted to be apart of his armor, apart of him. He held you as you sobbed and stained his vest. You cried harder when he told you to watch your face, didn't want you to bust it up anymore against the straps and items on his person.

"It's alright maus. You're safe in my hands. Always." 

....

Once the dust cleared König could make you out, taking the stairs two at a time, L.T.'s distress call through the radios got your ass moving. You called for König, alerting him to your location.

You'd thrown yourself into mission after mission after that Russian snafu. He didn't blame you. None of them blamed you.

You blamed yourself though. 

König remembered leaving the debriefing room soon afterwards, waiting outside the door. He frowned under his hood when you made it a point to apologize to Price.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Sorry? And jus' what are you sorry for, solider?"

Your voice wavered and König could only imagine you wringing your wrists like you did when you got anxious. "It's my fault we had to abort the mission. We should've know it was an ambush."

Price chuckled, lightly. "And how we were supposed to know that, hmm? That bit was a surprise to us all, Y/L/N. They weren't supposed to even be there."

"Still... I know how important this was. I mean, you really stuck your neck out for me to be apart of this mission and I blew it."

"You didn't blow a damn thing, don't even talk like that in my presence again, understood?" Price was stern on you and it made König fidget and cross and re-cross his arms. A few other soldiers gave him a nod as they walked past. "Simon did mention an-- indiscretion. When you're ready to talk, we have plenty of staff at your beck and call. Take your time."

You wasted none of it.

Several gun shots brought him to the smoky building, he followed the direction he'd seen you take off in, making sure he had an extra magazine at the ready.

....

One thing about König is that he'd sensitive. Inside and out. Everywhere. Hence the full gear, skin fucking tight so not even a breeze can tickle the fine hairs on his arms, his thick legs or back of his neck. He gets the chills often, shouldering off the feeling.

You like to bring up the first time you accidentally tickled him in the weight room. How were you supposed to know he was as touch starved as he was? And all you'd done was pat his rear when he wavered on a dead lift.

Or the first time you sucked him off.

It was an out-of-body experience for the Austrian. He'd kept his compression shirt on, covered his eyes with his forearm as he tried desperately not to whine and jerk around while your mouth explored his midriff, thighs and sac. That didn't last long though.

Thinking back on it, as he was now, while you teased the crown of his cock with your nimble little fingers had him already bucking into your palm.

You said you wanted to keep yourself busy, occupied so your brain didn't just short-fucking-circuit back to that mission. It would haunt you sometimes, make you lash out. Make you mean. Caused nightmares and shouts in your sleep. Those nights he'd gently stir you awake, pull you to his chest and let you cry it all out. 

Laswell helped with the talking bits, König (your König) got the behind the scenes stuff.

"I can't-- fuck me... I can't take much more." König choked out, his mouth went slack when your snicker of control reached his ears.

"Oh sure you can, big boy. I've had you in worse positions then this." You shushed him before taking a bite of his thigh, the inner, softer meat was so sensitive he jumped. You were right though as he trembled beneath your ministrations.

You've had the big guy in a tapestry of ways, unraveling like an old sweater. You caught him staring, made him nervous, even more anxious when you wouldn't look away. You jerked him off once in a storage closet, he'd somehow not managed to crack his head on the low door frame. You gripped the front of his hood to keep him low and quiet as he came in your hand. The high pitch hum that came from his throat for the first time, startled both him and you when you swallowed him down in your room on base. The way you moved your hand from what you couldn't fit into your drooling mouth, smoothed your saliva down your chin then proceeded to cup your throat. You gave it a flash-in-the-pan squeeze, he could feel you grip his cock through the skin and muscle of your skin. He jerked and almost kicked you in the face.

The way you looked up at him from your sniper lay on his bed, reminded him of the look you gave him when you had him in the best position yet. Sitting on his kitchen counter, just in one of his ratty shirts the morning after a few rounds, caged behind him like some sort of spider monkey. One hand jerking his cock as slowly, toying with him as you pleased while the other held his chin, holding eye contact to save his fucking life while you pumped him to the fucking edge.

He fondly remembered how you matched his moans, breathy and exact as you coaxed him to completion.

....

"No... no don't."

König sighed in his sleep, he moved his leg just in time as yours came crashing into it. He jolted awake then when you whimpered and yelped, thrashing about in his bed. Caught up in his own sheets, he couldn't move his hood faster to see you making that terribly sad face, eyes scrunched tight, mouth open and shaking.

"Liebling, wake up."

You whined and coiled around, muttering somethings he couldn't understand. "Please my love, my maus. It's just a dream." König moved closer, careful of his groin when you kicked out again. His large hand held your wrist, easily rolling you over onto your side to face him. Your other hand balled into a fist when he scooted back.

"No no not again..."

"Bad dream, maus. Just a bad dream. I'm here, you're here." König touched your face, bringing his forehead to yours. "Breathe maus, breathe with me. I know you can hear me in there." This had worked before when nights were bad, like he could siphon himself into your consciousness, become as a real of a safety net in your dream-world, as he was in real life.

"König..."

"I'm here maus, I'm right here."

You suddenly opened your eyes and immediately tear up, your eyebrows making that shape he hates so much because it means you're upset, your hurt.

"I'm here." 

König hasn't cried in six months but he can feel himself cave in towards the water works if he looks at you any longer. So instead he grabs you, holds you against his chest, one of your legs automatically going over his hip to bring you as close as possible. He holds your head as you shakily sob into his neck.

"I'm s-o-orry. Bad dream. I hate this." 

"I know. They'll go away eventually," König soothes, slipping his hand now underneath your sleep shirt which used to fit him but just swamps your entire body. He likes it that way, says it looks better on you than it did on him anyway, joked that if you really wanted to, you could cinch in the sides and make it into a dress. "I've had my fair share of night terrors too, maus."

You wetly mumble against his skin.

"What was that?"

You swallowed and shakily answered with your hands against the bottom of his hood. Your eyes glistening as you tried to explain yourself in the dark. "I sa-a-id, I said... what would I do without yo-ou."

König was touched, his cold heart growing warmer with each look of your eyes, touch of your hand, your skin on his skin, your mouth on his, every laugh had built a hammer strong enough break down the highest of walls he'd built. Little cracks had formed in his healthy foundation but now they were threatened by your...

"I love you."

König blinked. Had he heard that right? Anxiety started to swirl and make his head spin.

"Maus--"

"I love you so much," you professed and gripped his mask tighter, hooking your ankle a little more above his hip, heart to heart. "I just h-hope you know it. If it weren't for you... even before you saved me. My mom was right; when you know, you know." You shrugged with a watery smile and little sniffle.

The big man was at a loss for words, drawing blanks on his tongue. So he did what he felt was right.

....

Lifting his mask to kiss you gently yet deep and with the most meaning, was on the table. How he'd managed to say 'fuck it' between kisses, had him lifting it further until it was off his hot head all together. Exposed to the elements of the room, to the night; to you.

You slipped your tongue into his mouth, sighing into him as a hand snaked under your shirt, running his fingers up and down your back, over your shoulder blades, down your vertebrae. He wanted to mold himself to you, fit inside your molecules, become one with you.

You nodded, rubbing your noses together when he asked, begged to be inside you. Show you he loved you too even though he couldn't bring his voice to let those three words escape it's cage.

König had moved the sheet, eyeing you as you lifted your hips to get rid of your sleep shorts, bare for him to breach your entrance. Which he did, slowly, surely. Holding and pressing just the tip of his cock against your folds, rutting just a little against you, more and more as you wrapped yourself around him. You stared into his eyes, unmasked and for the first time König  didn't feel scared or anxious about how you'd feel about his face, his scars, his insecurities. 

He was content.

"Take in a breath for me, maus. Can you do that?" He rushed, the blunt crown of his thick cock lay waiting and nestled against your hole.

"Yes."

You did as he asked after a few, your fingers tightened in the hair that rested against the base of his neck as he pressed forward. You mewled and huffed out his name. 

You moved together, in a rhythm neither one of you had intentionally set yet here you are, rocking together, fucking away the pain.

König bit his lip watching you writhe against him, his free hand ghosted over your hip pulling you back and forth against the rod that was plunging deeper and deeper into your gummy walls. The push and pull, the suction of your wet pussy drawing him back had left his throat dry with desire. 

Your mouth popped open and before you could make a sound he captured your mouth with his own, groaning against your tongue. He matched licks to your mouth to the thrusts you were chasing.

He held your leg and rolled you over, keeping his steady pace, caging arms around your head when you touched his bare face. He flinched and throbbed inside you. Nuzzling his jaw to yours.

"I don't even know where I end and you begin." König sat up a bit, giving you a chance to catch your breath, he arched and hit a deeper spot in your pussy that left you barring your teeth. Your hands moved up to touch his wrists.

Somehow you ended up in his lap, long legs dangling off the end of the bed, perched perfectly in an embrace; inside and out. He held you up with one hand on the back of your neck, looking over your pretty face, his throat itching to scream Ich liebe dich auch! Ich liebe dich auch!. He let the other one leave his own thigh to touch and rub your swollen clit. You yelped and wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

"I need you. Don't... don't let me go, König. Please baby, don't let me go alone."

He thought you might cry again until he realized what you meant. You took a bite out of his shoulder.

"Never. I'm with you maus, my little thing. My precious girl I'm right behind you, keep going like this and you'll drain me dry."

You shivered at that.

König chuckled in your ear.

"Together. Please cum with me, baby, please!" You wailed when his fingers, though thick and calloused were nimble and soft, knew how much pressure you could take before you snapped in his lap. Just a little more, a little more.

" 'm right there, I'm right there," König grunted your name, breathed out obscenities and thrust up when you rode down. "I can feel you squeezing me, let it go, maus. Let go. Give it to me, share it with me."

You cried against his neck, little puffs of  love you love you tattooed against his skin, your nails in his back, your hair in his face. Your scent and whimpers of your slippery climax pushed König over the edge. He pressed a lingering kiss to your head as you fell limp against his chest.

Once dislodged from your cunt, your joined juices that had stained his sac and the fitted sheet below, he'd laid you down, your back to his chest. You sleepily fit your fingers between his. His chest swelled at your gestures. 

You fell asleep soon after, your little hums and flutter of lashes on his forearm made him smile behind you, curling his massive frame around you like a shield. He whispered in your ear that you were safe, no more bad dreams, no bad men, no wrong.

Just you and him, safe in this bed and finally his throat relaxed enough to say those three words.

Ich liebe dich auch = I love you too Tagging: @synnersaint @kaplerrr

[mintybytes]

be a flower

[simmingonthelow]

A Dance of Remembrance

gif pictures and inspo below

Gif pics

Inspo

Thank you to @missatan for helping with my gif obsession 🥺💖

[phonification]

weird hsbc adjacent ii au doodles ,,

[paxerle]

A screenshot from a convo we had, and while I do not dispute this claim of yours I will however do one thing. I HERBY CHALLENGE YOU TO PUT ARTHUR IN THE SILLIEST, MOST STUPID OUTFIT YOU CAN IMAGINE (and still have him look like the model he is) (only if you want tho! No pressure)

Hehehe (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و

When I saw your ask I started thinking what would be the most silliest outfit I could ever imagine… and well here we are. There is no sillier outfit than Mephistos.

Mephisto's having the time of his life annoying Angel on another level.

So have this outfit swap-

Don’t you think Arthur still looks good? He seems not amused 🤭💛

[ihavesomejays]

troublemaker

to thank @keebssi for all the delicious raturine, have a quick modern au wangxian. nothing like wondering why your school's bad boy is asking you for your student id number in the middle of a random park (he is not in fact asking you for your student id number) !! also apologies to the mdzs fans i haven't read mdzs and i don't really plan to this one was just for a homie

closeups under keep reading

[basketobread]

what if i just made lunara romance everyone in this campaign since i got poly mod

[ignatiusteto]

i think sacred music in the kryn dynasty would be very cyclical and repetitive in form to symbolize the idea that life is a continuous thing (at least those who are consecuted right right) and is a cycle across lifetimes and yeah

[astorkes]

a dream too big

[emily-mooon]

Nancy Wheeler the shoujo manga protagonist you are what with your love triangle and everything about you my pookie <3

[eveningshowhost]

The quiet hunt

[hotcinnamonsunset]

you could yell "piss off! won't you stay away?" it'd still be sweet talk to my ears💕

[4th-make-quail]

the beginning is the end is the beginning casts it back the shadow of Occurian design! // history begins anew // together we go. come.

[toxooz]

👑

[18121]

here’s a walter

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.