#he was frigid and cold and could be cruel

[pink-psychic]

​the fact that his final moments were spent thinking of his family, the people he loved most, while burning his literal heart out

[chimcess]

⮞ Teaser Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other Tags: Hockey Player!Jungkook, Figure Skater!Reader, Hockey Player!Taehyung, Hockey Player!Jimin, Coach!Yoongi, Hockey Player!Namjoon, Hockey Player!Hoseok, Figure Skater!Jin, Genre: Hockey!AU, Figure Skating!AU, Olympic!AU, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Self-Discovery, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn Drop Date: 01/20/2025 Summary: Y/N Y/L/N has always been destined for greatness as a competitive figure skater, her dreams of the Olympics sparkling like the ice beneath her blades. But when a devastating injury sidelines her, those dreams seem to melt away. Just when she feels lost, she unexpectedly meets Jeon Jungkook, a talented NHL hockey player.

I never used to think about what came after. Why would I? It felt pointless, like trying to guess the end of a novel when you’re still tangled in the middle. Every chapter rushing by, barely letting you catch your breath. Sometimes, life dangled a dream so vivid, so close, you could almost feel it in your hands. But right when you thought you had it? That’s when life reminded you—pages stop turning. Lights flick off. And suddenly, you’re back in the grind, stuck right where you started.

Normal? No chance. I wouldn’t recognize normal if it jumped out of the shadows and hit me. Normal was for people who punched clocks and sipped lukewarm coffee in beige cubicles. My mornings started when the world was still dark—lacing up my skates, the cold air biting at my face. Stretch until the pain dulled, practice until my routines were burned into my mind like a broken record. The rink smelled like sweat, frost, and desperation, clinging to me as I chased that perfect moment, day in and day out.

That was my life. Until it wasn’t.

From the moment I took my first steps, the ice had been my escape. My personal sanctuary. Each time my skates touched the frozen surface, electricity sparked through me, alive in my bones. My mom, Emily, she saw it first. She recognized that fire in me and latched on, pulling me headfirst into the competitive skating world. She wasn’t just supportive—she was relentless, like a storm barreling down on me, pushing me to be perfect. To her, maybe that was all that mattered.

People whispered behind her back, saying she was living vicariously through me, chasing dreams she’d lost. But I didn’t resent her for it. Her ambition, fierce and all-consuming, burned like a fire. It kept me warm—even when it scorched me. It wasn’t the trophies or the standing ovations that drove me. It was the ice itself. Out there, I wasn’t just a name on a roster. I was free.

Emily had been a skater once, too. But life, cruel and chaotic, had other plans. Her dreams fizzled out, lost somewhere between time and circumstance. When she got pregnant with me, she married my dad, Jim, and watched her ambitions wither like dead leaves. Year by year, regret settled in, until all she had left was me—and the ice. I became her second chance.

She met Jim when she was still a bright-eyed girl in a small town, dreaming big. He came to Michigan for police training; she was restless, yearning for more. They fell in love—or something close to it. Soon enough, I came along, and after a quick courthouse wedding, our lives unraveled. Emily and I left Michigan for Colorado, chasing skating dreams. Jim drifted back to Olympia, Washington, sinking into his routine like it was quicksand.

I became the bridge between them, constantly tugged between my dad’s predictable world and my mom’s fierce drive. Stability—something I longed for—was never in the cards. Emily hated Michigan, so we stayed away. Jim became less of a father and more of a ghost.

The crackle of the intercom yanked me from my thoughts. My knee throbbed, a bitter reminder.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We’re starting our descent into Detroit, where it’s currently five-eighteen p.m., and a frigid fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. Please secure your belongings.”

Michigan. I was back, but it didn’t feel like home. It hadn’t for years. And yet, here I was. Family wasn’t a refuge—not with Jim. He felt more like a stranger now, a shadow of someone I used to know. The home we once had? Long gone.

Monday, I’d meet with Dr. Jeon. People swore he was the best, but deep down, I already knew none of it mattered. The moment my skate hit that rough patch of ice, when my body twisted and the world flipped upside down, I knew—my skating days were over.

I could still see it. The rink, bathed in soft afternoon light, the sound of *Swan Lake* floating through the air. I wasn’t competing that day, just skating for the sheer joy of it. Emily and my coach were in the bleachers, discussing my next routine. I built up speed, heading into a fan spiral, when it happened. My blade caught. My leg buckled. I hit the ice hard. Everything went dark.

The plane’s landing gear screeched, snapping me back to the present. My heart raced, the memory fading like smoke. As the plane stopped, passengers scrambled for their bags. I waited, letting them pass, before grabbing my things. The crutches in my hands were cold, unfamiliar. I used to glide effortlessly across the ice, and now, here I was—struggling just to stay upright on solid ground.

At baggage claim, I stared at the mountain of luggage, feeling the weight of it all sink in. How was I supposed to manage with no free hands?

“You need a hand?”

The voice startled me. I turned and saw him—tall, with warm brown eyes that somehow felt like they saw right through me. Before I could respond, someone bumped into me, and my crutch clattered to the floor. I wobbled, reaching out to steady myself, but he was faster. He caught me.

For a moment, the noise, the crowd, everything blurred. It was just us, frozen in time.

“You alright?” His voice was soft, steady, his hands still gripping my arms. I nodded, heat flushing my face as I pulled away.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” I muttered. He bent down, picking up my crutch. As he handed it back, his eyes lingered on me, not with pity, but with something else. Understanding, maybe.

“No problem.” His smile was easy, casual, but there was something behind it, like he had more to say.

Around us, life resumed its frantic pace—people rushing by, voices bouncing off the airport’s high ceilings. But for just a second longer, it was still only us.

“Need help with your bags?” he asked, glancing at the heap of luggage. 

I hesitated, my pride prickling. “I’ve got it,” I said, even though I clearly didn’t. My knee throbbed in protest.

He didn’t push. Just smiled, unbothered, and shrugged. “Alright. But it’s no trouble if you change your mind.”

As I shifted my weight, feeling the twinge in my leg, I sighed. “Okay, yeah, I could use some help.” The words tasted like defeat, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He easily grabbed my suitcase, balancing my smaller bag on top. I clung to my messenger bag, determined to carry something myself.

"Is someone picking you up?" he asked as we walked toward the sliding glass doors, the cold Michigan air sneaking in like a thief in the night.

"No, I'll just grab a cab," I said, weaving through the crowd. His presence next to me felt steady, comforting, like a life raft I didn’t even know I needed. 

“I’ve got my car in the overnight lot,” he offered casually, like it was no big deal. “I could give you a ride if you want.”

For a moment, I hesitated, caught off guard by the offer. “No, it’s okay,” I said, almost too quickly. “A cab’s fine.” But something shifted in his face—just for a second. Disappointment? Or was that just my imagination?

We stepped outside, and the cold hit me like a slap, sharp and biting. I cursed under my breath for not grabbing my gloves. 

He noticed, his lips quirking up in a knowing smile. “Forgot what Michigan feels like in January?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, pulling my coat tighter. “Something like that.” I should’ve been used to it by now. I grew up on ice, for God’s sake. But standing there in the freezing wind felt different, like the cold wasn’t just outside—it was creeping inside me, gnawing at the edges of something deeper.

“So, where were you before this?” he asked, his curiosity genuine, his breath hanging in the air like smoke.

“Nevada. Before that, Colorado. We moved around a lot.” I don’t even know why I was telling him this. I didn’t even know his name.

“We?” He raised an eyebrow, the question soft, but pointed.

“Me and my mom,” I said, my voice quieter now. “She’s never been one to stay put. Wherever she went, I followed.”

He nodded, like he understood more than he should. “A modern-day nomad. Sounds... exhausting.”

I let out a small laugh, more out of habit than anything else. “Yeah, it can be.” But there was something easy about him, something that made this whole conversation feel less strange, less fleeting.

“You staying here for a while?” he asked, his dark eyes locking with mine, the cold forgotten for a moment.

“For the foreseeable future,” I replied, surprising myself with how easily the words slipped out.

“Good to know.” His voice softened, like he was letting me in on some secret only we shared. That crooked smile crept back, and I felt my pulse quicken again. He had no idea what he was doing to me.

I bit my lip, trying to steady the rush of nerves rising in my chest. What was I even doing? Standing here, flirting with a stranger in the dead of winter? This wasn’t real life—it was the stuff of daydreams. But somehow, with him, it felt real. Almost too real.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said, his hand lifting to ruffle his hair again. The messy strands fell back into place like he didn’t care—like he knew exactly how disheveled he looked and leaned into it.

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it. The airport, the cold wind—it all seemed to fade away, leaving just us in this strange, fleeting moment.

“You live nearby?” I asked, even though I knew I should’ve been hopping into a cab by now, getting out of this freezing wind and back to whatever was left of my life.

“Detroit,” he said, his breath fogging in the air like a ghost of something lost.

“Me too,” I said, a little too quickly. “Just moved there, actually.”

“Downtown?” He asked it casually, but his eyes were sharp, as if my answer might mean more than I realized.

“Royal Oak,” I said, nodding. “The old houses there... they’re beautiful.”

“They are,” he agreed, and there was something in the way he said it, like he was noticing things I didn’t even realize I was showing. His gaze flicked between my eyes and my lips, and for a moment, the air between us stretched thin, a fragile thread pulling us closer until a sharp gust of wind snapped it, jolting me back to reality.

"Welcome to Michigan," he said with a laugh, his voice warm against the icy air. Without warning, he reached down and took my bare hands in his. The warmth of his touch jolted through me, electric, racing straight to my core. For a second, I swore the ground shifted beneath us. Something unspoken buzzed between our hands.

“We should get you a cab,” he said, glancing down at my frozen fingers, his expression softening with concern. “You’re not exactly dressed for this weather.”

"Yeah, I probably should’ve planned better,” I admitted with a laugh, still caught up in the warmth of his hands, the way they made everything else feel just a little less cold. 

He waved down a cab with the ease of someone who’s done it a hundred times. I watched him as he loaded my bags into the trunk, every movement feeling like a countdown. And then, when he opened the passenger door for me, I hesitated. I stood at the edge of that moment, torn between the part of me that wanted to leave and the part that wanted to stay, just a little longer.

“Thanks for the help,” I said, looking up at him, my heart thudding hard in my chest.

“Jungkook,” he said, his voice soft, that crooked smile still tugging at his lips. “I’m Jungkook.”

“Y/N,” I replied, the name slipping out of my mouth so naturally it felt like it was meant for him, like it was always supposed to be said here, in this cold, surreal moment.

“Y/N,” he repeated, like he was testing it on his tongue, like it was something fragile and precious. He leaned in just a little, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Y/N?" His hand hovered near my shoulder, his voice even quieter now, almost as if he was about to share a secret meant only for me.

And suddenly, the world around us—everything—fell away. The cold, the noise, the blur of people rushing past. It was just him, standing there with that crooked grin, making me wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end of whatever this was.

“Yeah, Jungkook?” I asked, my breath catching, anticipation curling low in my stomach.

“My friends and I... we hang out at this bar on Grand most Tuesdays. Billy’s?” He said it like a suggestion, but it felt like more. Like a bridge to whatever might come next. “Maybe I’ll see you there sometime?”

A thrill shot through me, quick and unexpected. This wasn’t just some random, fleeting connection. He wanted to see me again. “Yeah,” I stammered, my voice barely steady. “I could swing by. Once I’m settled in.”

“Great.” His whole face lit up, and it was like watching a door creak open, revealing something softer, something vulnerable underneath. "I’ll see you around then, Y/N." He stepped back, shut the door behind me with a quiet finality.

As the cab pulled away, I turned, craning for one last look. He waved, easy and casual, and I lifted my hand in return, my heart still racing. Part of me wanted to freeze this moment, hold onto it before it slipped away. But the cab turned the corner, and just like that, he was gone.

I slumped back in the seat, exhaustion settling in like a heavy weight. I rested my head against the cold window, letting the chill ground me. This wasn’t just some daydream—it was real. And yet, as the city lights blurred by, doubts started creeping in, shadows curling at the edges of my mind. Would I really show up at Billy’s? Or would I let this whole thing fade, convincing myself it was just a fluke? 

But then I thought about him—Jungkook. That crooked smile. And a small part of me couldn’t help but wonder... What if?

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[white-poppie]

𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇 ⎯⎯⎯ s.suguru x fem!reader (part 1/?)

SYNOPSIS: You were young, dumb and so in love. There was always this adrenaline rush when you and Suguru were together; harmony, romance and protection. Fate, you called it. Our youth ⎯ you cherished it. But every high ends doesn't it? When Suguru left; the sorcerer society and you, Shoko and Satoru. And you were left with the weight of more than what you could carry. Decisions of your youth, testament of your love. TW: sexual intercourse <not really explicit, but I'll tag it as smut>, Satoru and Shoko being super depressed, heartbreak, abandonment, !!mentions of teen-pregnancy and abortion!!, crying, smoking, suguru being cruel, panic attacks

Series masterlist ── Chapter 2 : Moon Child

"This is the last time." He whispers, his voice hoarse, his lips pressing against the nape of your neck. His large hands grip your waist tightly, his hot breath fanning on your skin as he looks at you, and you feel your chest tighten into knots. "I won't be able to see you again anymore." He says, deftly pulling on the hem of your top.

Your lips part, a shaky breath leaving the warm cavern. You knew this was coming. The way he was spiralling out of despair. His long lashes flutter against his cheek, eyebrows scrunched ever so slightly at the centre of his forehead. His teeth are clenched tightly, a muscle lightly feathers on his jaw. Little lilac veins bedeck the expanse of his pale neck, its a strange hue. Starting with a purple undertone it fades into a soft greenish-blue.

You gulp and remain silent as you wrap your arms around his neck. Shaky breaths, and the rustle of the sheets is the only sound that echoes with the walls of the room. You are hyperaware, as if your brain is wracking hard to absorb every single sensory detail of tonight.

Slowly, he lays you down on the bed, his large and calloused hand coming to cup your cheek, his eyes taking in the sight of you underneath him. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, a silent command for you to look him in the eye. "I hope you hate me." He whispers, his chest rising and falling quickly. "If the last thought you have of me is disgust and disdain, I could die a happy man."

You look up at him, your hand clenching the sheets as he removes your t-shirt. Your skin feels frigid under air con, cold blood washing upto your head; your throat is parched. You just wish the world would swallow me down, burn your body with lapping tongues of fire...at least then you would be warm. "I could never hate you..." you manage to croak out, your eyes blankly looking at the ceiling, anywhere but him.

"You're a fool." He whispers quietly, his mouth trailing down your neck, and you can feel his warm breath ghosting over your skin, his fingers dancing along the lace pattern of your black brassiere. "You're so foolish," he whispers again, his other hand grabbing your thigh and pulling you closer. "To love someone and expect them to love you back."

"I know...." You whisper out, its like an invisible hand is constricting your heart. A cruel reminder that it's written in the stars to be an ominous little thing undeserving of any love from anyone.

His voice is quiet, but you can still hear his words ringing in your ears as you feel his hot breath fan over your skin as he whispers in your ear. "You should hate me for leaving you like this, you should scream and yell, you should curse my name," He says, and you feel his teeth gently biting down on your earlobe.

A muffled gasp leaves your mouth at his nibble. You look up at his eyes, a watery smile making its way on your face as he tells you to hate him. "Suguru." You whisper out so lovingly, in a worshipping way, yout eyes so full of devotion and reverence. Even when tears line your eyes, even when his words rip you apart. "Suguru, my love."

His eyes go wide at your soft whisper, and you can feel his hands tighten on your waist as he lowers his head onto your shoulder, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "Fuck" He whispers out his voice so heavy, you almost think he would cry. "You're so beautiful," He tells you, his voice choked up. "You're the prettiest person I've ever seen." He whispers, feverishly moving to unclasp your clothes, throwing it on the ground. His jaw trembles just a little, a shaky breath leaving his mouth.

He buries his face between your chest, fists clenching the fabric of the sheets, just inhaling sharply, you can feel the rough pads of his fingers trail up your sides. His breath is hot, his kisses searing your skin, you feel warm now. Its a given under his smouldering gaze as he looks up at you.

You can't help but whimper softly, hands weaving into his dark locks. His finds purchase on the smooth flesh of your hips, his fingers squeezing gently. "Pretty girl," he whispers under his breath as a strange sensation runs down your spine like you had walked into a lukewarm bath, the water rising till your tailbone. Its a sickly feeling.

His hand trails down, till all your clothes are discarded somewhere in the void, the corners of your eyes are blurry, you can't exactly see anything but him.

You shiver and peer at him, watching him discard his clothing. he's so pretty, you think, like some dark seraph who's wrath was a but too much for the pearly gates and so he fell down....into your bed. A sudden dread claws at your ribs. There would be other woman who would see him like this. Others who he'd use for his vendetta, but regardless they'd see him in all his glory.

His eyes a dark like pools of tar, dripping down and defiling your cherub-blood. You want to sink you teeth into his skin and rip his heart out, cradle it to your chest and never let go. You need him to be yours. Its so unfair.

He pulls you up towards him, his hands settling under your thighs as he spreads your legs on either side of him. A low grumble leaves your mouth as your eyebrows furrow. Your heart hurts in a way that makes you dizzy. Your throat runs dry with this sudden tsunami of emotions that hits your so hard that your ribs hurt.

His breathing is heavy and loud, his eyes staring down at you intently as you look up at him. You can hear his heart pounding in his chest as he moves slowly, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly it almost hurts, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You let out sharp, shaky whimpers. Trembling as your nose reddens, your heart feels like it’s breaking. You are never gonna see him again, feel him again. The world should cease to move.

He holds you close to his chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breath coming out in a hot, heavy puff, fanning your skin with each passing moment.

Your hands shiver, and throat becomes so dry that its hard to breathe. You can't breathe. You can't let him go. The stoicness you had maintained to not look pathetic, to not cry in front of him when he was abandoning you. Its all crumbling down at this intimacy. This warmth has you feeling so vulnerable that you want to curl up and burrow to hide myself. A soft sob leaves your mouth as tears melt down from your eyes at the slightest bit of his warmth, breathlessly.

He freezes at the sound of your sob, his body stilling completely as he looks down at you. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear that threatens to fall. His eyes soften as he looks at you, his breathing slowing down as he gazes at you in wonder. His thumb trails across your skin and wipes another tear that threatens to fall, the look in his eyes heartbreaking as he looks at you.

And beyond that, you can't help the stream of soft sobs that you try so hard to stifle. You rest my arm over my eyes to stop looking, to stop feeling. Your shoulders tremble as all the indifference you were putting up, shatters down painfully.

His eyes go blank, and it’s as if everything comes crashing down around the two of you. He tries to stay strong, he truly does - but watching you cry like this, hearing the sounds you make as you try and hold it in, it’s almost too much. He pulls you up towards him, his arms encircling around your waist as he buries his face in your neck.

You cry out against his skin, your fingers tremble as your arms firmly wrap around him, afraid to let him go. Your stomach churns, and body burns. You want it to be a terrible dream. "Don't go." You cry out pathetically, sobbing. "Please don't go."

He stiffens, his arms tightening around your middle as he hears you say that. Your plea is like a knife in his heart, and he can’t help the way his arms tighten around you, as if trying to cling on to something that’s about to slip away. "Don’t…” He whispers out, his voice rough. “I told you… don’t make this harder than it already is," he says, his voice choked up. The pain in your voice is enough to break his heart, and he can’t help but feel utterly horrible as he holds you in his arms - but he can’t change his mind, he can’t stay with you, he can’t allow himself to get too attached to you. He already is, but he refuses to admit it, to even acknowledge the possibility of it.

And before you know it, your eyebrows furrow as you are lain back down again, a feathered gasp of pleasure and the pain that grips your heart leaves your throat.

He gasps as he looks down at you, your moans making his heart flutter with something almost akin to love. He leans forward, his face mere inches away from yours as his breath fans over your skin, and in a moment of weakness, he leans down and presses his lips against yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

And you unravel. He feels his heart ache as he looks at you, unable to stop the feelings that flood his chest, making his emotions go into overdrive. He leans down and presses his lips against your skin, kissing a trail down your neck as he whispers soft words of praise into the crook of your neck.

You pant as your eyes flutter in tiredness, hand coming to tuck the strand of his hair behind his ear. You can't sleep...you are scared to sleep. He'll dissapear.

He slumps against your body, his breathing coming out in heavy, laboured pants, his heart racing at a rapid pace in his chest. He stays like that, his fingers trailing up your back aimlessly, feeling the smooth expanse of your skin under his fingertips. For a moment, he imagines this is their life, that he could have the privilege of waking up next to you, caress your skin and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. But that can’t happen. He knows that, no matter how hard his heart is beating or how loud his mind begs him to stay.

You sniffle softly and he shifts, letting you bury face in his chest, your tears hollowing him again. He's leaving you, Satoru, Shoko...its all memories now. He has a greater purpose, he'll raise a Jujutsu only world. The world is far too cruel for people like you...its his way of protecting you.

He lays in bed for a long, long time, holding you close to his chest. He watches you for hours, his heart pounding in his ears as he listens to your breathing, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheek, the way your mouth opens just a bit when you breathe. He memorizes every inch of your face, the way you look when asleep, the way your face softens when you’re in your most vulnerable state. He looks at you for hours, before gently untangling your hand from his arm and getting out of bed.

You wake up hours later at Shoko's phone call. Your eyes fluttering as you answer her sleepily.

"Hm?"

"Y/N, Suguru's killed 152 civillians, including his parents. He's left." She says and your breath hitches. You look around the room, heart racing when you don't see him. It wasn't a dream. He was here, he left. You could've stopped this massacre from happening. You could've convinced him. You could've killed him. It was your duty as a sorcerer when you knew what he would do.

You end the call and sit like that for hours, crying and sobbing into the sheets that still smell like him, the faint trace of his cologne sticking to the sheets long after he's gone. You stay there, unable to move, unable to bring yourself to get out of bed and face the empty apartment without him in it, facing the fact that he's gone. You cry until your throat is raw, and your eyes sting, and you can only hiccup and sob quietly into the sheets. Suguru Geto is a cruel, cold-blooded murderer.

Days turn to weeks, you feel yourself get paler, wearier. It was pathetic in some way to be this despondent after a heartache, but here you were. You try to get on with your life; you, Shoko and Satoru; working as Jujutsu students during the day, but no one talks about the loneliness that claws at the three of you during the nights. No one even mentions him, its painfully obvious how the topics are shifted at the slightest mention of him...

You sigh, resting your head against the wall of the infirmary tiredly as the smell of the nicotine and smoke from Shoko's cig permeates through the room. Its nauseating.

"Shoko, can you not smoke?" you grumble in frustration and Shoko briefly glances at you, before continuing to smoke.

You take a deep shaky breath as you look at her with your eyes furrowed. "Shoko. put the cigarette down." You punctuate and she frowns but either way puts the cigarette down on the ashtray with a scoff.

"You are being a bitch right now." She scoffs as she walks towards you, leaning against the wall where you are sitting down.

"Well I am sorry if the smell is making me feel sick." You sigh, running your hands through your hair and she hums, her eyes briefly flickering to the wallpaper on your flip-phone, a picture of you and Suguru she herself had clicked on his last birthday.

"Did you eat since the morning?" she asks casually and you close your eyes, shaking your head.

"Didn't feel like it." You mutter before you feel her cool hand against your forehead, seeing if you are warm.

"I do not have a fever Suguru-- I mean Shoko." you correct yourself, but your voice dies down a whisper at your error. Her eyes soften lightly at your words and she sighs, plopping down on the floor next to you.

The two of you sit in silence for several minutes. The faint whirr of the infirmary fridge and light ticks of the wall clock being the only dominating sounds in the room.

"Have you ben sleeping?" she asks quietly and you let out a mirthless snigger.

"Can't remember the last time I did." you say and she breathes out.

"Me neither," she says, shifting her hands and resting them on her knees

"Shoko..." you croak out, gulping slightly. The sound immediately draws her attention as she whips her head towards you. "I missed my cycle..." you say and your voice wavers like a little sapling underneath a harsh storm.

Her eyes widen, slowly, gradually as it hits. She sucks a deep breath about to say something before the infirmary door opens harshly, Satoru holding two dango sticks in his hand, on the door sill.

"Yo." he says and you sigh, looking back at Shoko. Satoru's smile falters slightly as he looks at the both of you, noticing the tense atmosphere in the room. He looks at Shoko with a questioning look, his eyes then flicking over to you. Satoru had always been a brilliant observer, almost too brilliant. He frowns slightly at the way your face looks as you look at him, the look on your face making his heart feel heavy. "What's wrong?"

"I think I have kept some spare pregnancy tests in the infirmary." she says and Satoru's eyes widen he feels this strange sense of dread wash over him as he looks at you, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach. "Wait...what?"

You look at Shoko get up and fetch them from the drawers. Satoru looking between the two of you anxiously. His blue eyes softened in worry.

You take the kits from Shoko and shakily gulp, looking at her as you sigh. It felt dystopian, taking a few deep breaths you walk into the washroom and follow the instructions, waiting for the three sticks to turn out.

Your breath seemed logdged in your throat. No matter how much your tried, it felt stuck. Suguru...you needed him. You needed your lover to take care of you, press you to his chest, whispering sweet-nothings. "Everything will be okay. Whatever decision you make I am going to be by your side, forever."

You gulp and look at the three sticks. Positive. All of them. Not even a single a negative one. Its always said these sticks are not a good measure for pregnancy test, but here there are all of them positive. Even if one turned out to be erroneous, the majority still said positive.

You felt your world shift in its axis...no- it stilled, completely. Your pbottom lip trembled as a soft hiccup left your throat, and as soon as that, a harsh knock rebounded on the door, making you flinch.

"Y/N?" Gojo sounded. He seemed frantic, panicked, worried. "Is everything alright?" You couldn't speak, little cries taht you tried so hard to stiffle left your mouth.

You could hear Satoru take a sharp breath outside, followed by Shoko's muffled voice. All at once he opened the door, his cerulean pupil shrunken as he looked at the three tests on the slab.

"Shit..." He gasped, his hand flying to his mouth as he hesitantly looked at you. His heart shattering at the sight of you so small, crying, shaking. Immediately he envolved his arms around you, pressing you to his chest...

"Its okay, its fine," he whispered but his own voice was shaky. Never in his life had he momentarily detested Suguru so much. He wanted to search every corner of the world, slap him and bring him back to you.

Shoko frowns slightly, her fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides. "Do you..." She hesitates for a moment, looking at you and Satoru before she continues. "Do you want to keep it?" She asks you softly, her eyes flickering down to your stomach for a moment before looking back at your face. "You know it's your choice...it's your body. No one can force you to keep it if you don't want to."

You gulp sharply, your shoulders shivering against Satoru's broad chest. Your baby, you and Suguru's baby...you couldn't possibly give it up! You were a healer, your job was to save lives! How could you give on the testament of your and Suguru's love?

"No...I am keeping them." You whisper with an anguished look, parting from Satoru.

Shoko sighs softly as she looks at you with a conflicted look on her face. She knew that deep down, that's what you were going to decide. She knew that you could never get rid of the one thing that was keeping you tied to Suguru forever. No matter how hard your heart will ache every time you look at the child growing in your stomach, the child that looks or acts like him, the one thing that can keep him in your life forever. Shoko can tell from the bittersweet look on your face: you are going to keep this baby.

Satoru's heart aches at your words, the reality of the situation crashing down on his shoulders all at once. Here you are, pregnant with Suguru's baby, and Suguru isn't going to be here to see the baby. He isn't going to be here to help you with your cravings and your hormones, or to be there by your side, holding your hand as you scream and cry during birth. He isn't going to be there to see the baby's first steps, or the first time they say 'daddy'.

You couldn't help but look back at your phone's wallpaper, only to be interjected by Satoru.

"That kid is going to know how to curse people before they even know the times table." He says with a proud grin. Shoko sighs softly at Satoru's ridiculous declaration and rolls her eyes. "I'll teach them to get on your nerves before they're even born."

You let out a shaky breath and nod, tears rolling down your eyes. It was going to be terribly hard, you know that, but the burden would be slightly less with Shoko and Satoru on your side.

"Don't cry..." Satoru murmurs, wiping your tears with his thumb, "It'll be alright, you'll be a great mom." He says, his big cerulean eyes pooling with adoration as he looks at you.

Continued.

11 months later.... ── Chapter 2 : Moon Child

- FANFICTIONS

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[sukioyakio]

“Use me then”- R. 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

PART TWO IS OUT

Sukuna hadn’t been the best person in your life,he was a dumb fuck and he knew that.He knew he shouldn’t have left you alone when you needed him the most.

When you were pregnant with his baby girl.He knew he fucked up.Moreover his whole life has been fucked up,finding his parents died in a young age and how he knew that violence was the thing that bring him a long way.

Foster home wasn’t just hell but a free for all,only those who are willing to make a name out of themselves will get to see a future themselves.He would have to learn that having feeling is just a useless thing.

After being heartbroken by someone he thought he could love,after being someone punching bag for entertainment and being beaten almost to death.Scars all over him with each of them being a reminder of how bad it was for him.

He didn’t get to live a normal life when he was younger constantly fighting for himself.He became more cruel and more cold,no longer giving a fuck about anyone else.

He knew that nothing he could make up for his own mistakes for treating like you did anything to deserve it.

You both knew each other from college but that not when you guys started dating,you started to date after a one and a half year later.

You fell for him despite of his frigid behavior.You wanted to prove that you would be the best girlfriend.You were just a hopeless romantic and you didn’t care about his cold behavior.

And he just accepted it to only used you for his benefits.

But no matter what you did he’ll just blocked you out and constantly being used.And when you guys did it,he forgot to put the condom on and so a week later you had called him when he was flirting with some other girl at a bar.

he just told you that he’ll come later.

While he was cheating with you with someone else,you were excited about it,to tell him about the future you had thought about.And how you couldn’t wait to be a mother.

But when you had open the front doors to your apartment,something in your gut told you that you weren’t going to like this talk but you were love sick idiot for him and completely ignored that feeling.

When you were talking about how your day went,being animated and all.He nonchalantly told you just to get to the point.

You had such a big smile on when you announced it. “I’m pregnant! Sukuna I’m having your baby,we’ll be parents”

You looked at him with warm smile to only see his eyebrows furrowed down in an utter disbelief.You said it again guessing that he didn’t hear you correctly but his face made a unreadable expression as he started to walk towards the door.

All in that moment you could almost hear the tearing sound of your heart being broken into pieces and it hurt.

“Sukuna?”

“Sukuna?”

“Sukuna!?”

“SUKUNA?!?”

You yelled at him while running after him grabbing his wrists pleading with him,cause you didnt know if you’ll be okay with just yourself supporting a baby.Your lips were trembling and your every breath was like it was venom had token your lungs.

Tears were flowing down your cheeks.And he just stood there with complete silence.You began to beg for him to talk,for you guys to talk about it together.

“Please don’t l-leave me , p-please” you choke on your tears.Red optics eye bore into her widened,watering eyes.Finally saying something to you.

“I think it just better to break up” He says that and nothing more and then snatched off his hand now walking away leaving you alone with hot painful tears flowing down your cheeks.

The only thing you heard was the sounds of his Shoes slowly getting quieter until it was just silence.Your heart right there summer in the depths of your chest broken by your vision of love.

It was a vast expanse of emptiness,where even the smallest sound wouldn’t dare not tread the silence. [*]

A few years later Sukuna was now more stable than before,Having a big success with his company.

Making collaboration with other big brands and marketers.Having multiple modeling teams to make sure of his presence is well known and that only made a fan base of him.He was making multiple big deals that people would only dream off.

He was particularly smart at making sure that his company wouldn’t go down anything time soon.Even after all this success in Japan he would still have much more work to accomplish in others countries but he doesn’t have to worry about that right now.

He now had everything that he never had when he was young and everything he’ll need.Every decision he made was to make it all work in the end.

Right?

But some wounds weren’t meant to heal and some will eventually hurt you more than others.

When he left you he thought that he would be the best for him and for you too.He didn’t want any of unavoidable feeling of love,it wouldn’t do anything but drag him. He already knew at some point he was going to break up with you sometime soon.

But your voice of pain still rings throughout his head after all these years.Sometimes even coming back as nightmares or some sorts.

He thought that maybe if he just have nights stands he would get over it.It irritated him for some reason.He didn’t need some extra feelings of you.

But nothing worked,and now he’s sit in his office at random point of time thinking about what was the gender of his baby.

But now he knows that he is the worst father ever to have.And he didn’t have to hear those words from anyone else to tell him that.The better thing to do is just to move forward and forget about it.

It was just a normal day walking around the city without the need of being followed or being bothered by the paparazzi or whatever the case would be.

The sun light shining the city with a bright golden glow making the city warm.And with the sun shining it’s companion with the wind breeze keeping citizens of Tokyo from dying from the heat.In perfect sense it was a great day to go out and enjoy the day off.

Multiple citizens walked through the streets of Tokyo the streets were filled with lifeness sparkling with color all around and people walking with a smile or with a sense of urgent need to get to a certain place.While Sukuna didn’t have any place to go to so he just walked throughout the city even the high crime rates part of Tokyo.

The only reason he wasn’t getting bothered was because he had a black washable dye and it work wonders and having his tattoos covered by makeup. No one recognize him.

Now he made his way towards a park,to get away from the crowd of people.His body walking down the entrance of it.Completely in his head space enjoying the scenery.Not minding the children running around with their sequels.

Until he heard a voice in the group of parents with their children who were playing or watching their children play.

A distant Laughter came through the group there;A laugh he knew too well.His legs taking him towards that voice without even noticing his actions. His large figure making it way to move around,his eyes looking around in such an intense manner.

His body froze,his mind going silent.As his almost blood like eyes widened.His heart slowly beating against his chest.

He spotted a child with striking pink long hair with such a radiant laughter,a young girl that is made his heart began to filled with warmth.

Something that he thought was meaningless.

Sukuna’s heart raced with uncertainty as he faced the unknowingly future.

He just stood there watching the girl with an urge to ask the girl question.Whether if the girl dyed the hair pink or did she ever get to see her dad or-And then you showed In his view.

“There you are,you little troll” you spoke with a playful voice,grabbing your daughter and swinging her around in the air.You were smiling so care carefullyfree,with the little spawn of joy giggling wildly.

“PffhaHahhaha!!Stop it mom!Your gonna get me dizzy if uou continue” The young girl says as her laughter danced through the air like a soft melody.

The world blurs itself out as he watches you.when he sees you he immediately knows that you were something that shouldn’t have been token so dryly;all the nights were you were there for him,all the love you spent on him and what did he gave you in return.

Nothing,nothing not even a small amount of time of love to you.You have every right to hate him for that.

There a lot of ‘what if’s’ in his mind but one thing is certain that he would’ve had a family.

He probably didnt know that he was looking at you guys to long.That was until your eyes meet his making eye contact.

Their stares remained interlocked, neither of them making a move to look away.It you could tell who is his even with all the disguise.Your eyes widened with disbelief as Your face turned into an icy expression.You turned your head now forcing yourself to walk forward paying attention to your daughter that was in your arms.

Sukuna soul felt burdened with the echoes of her sorrows.

“It doesn’t matter now,at least that their better without me” Sukuna spoke in his mind,but he’s heart felt heavy like it knew that if he thinks by walking away from all this is going to make it better then he wrong.

Blinded by his own heart he walks after you,keeping his composure straight and stern.As he reaches his hand to lay his hand on your shoulder,getting your attention and your daughter as well.

Your head turned around to see his body but you stare up to see his ironic red eyes the same one you have nightmares about,the same one that broke your heart a thousand times.

The same blood like eyes that you fall in love with.

Your heart sting with dreadful pain just from looking at him,you knew it was him even if he’s hide his most dominant features.

Your daughter looks at you with concern that you don’t mistake it for sadness.

You place her down on the ground and whipser her something softly,to not her pretty face worry about it.You told her simply to wait and sit in the grass until she come back then they will get ice cream after and which she does.

Now paying mind to him as you changed your expression to the same icy expression.

“What do you want” You said straight to the point as you won’t allow yourself to break down again infront of him.

Nothing come out,because he didn’t know what to say to you,Nothing came out of his mouth.He usually always had something to say.

You couldn’t take it,you hated the man that stand in front of you.

”I doubt you’ll forgive me for all of this-

you instantly interrupted him.

“it too late for apologize Sukuna,you already showed me that I’ll have to be guarded when it comes to giving people my heart.”

You said heartlessly,almost with coming out hurt.But you didn't stop there,all the suspense emotions were coming out.

“God I hate you! I hate you for leaving me!!A simple Fucking sorry ISNT going to make up for the things you made me go through! You-tears falling down your cheeks rapidly-… I fucking hate you.I hate that I fell for you,g-Gave you my heart for what?”

You wipe off your tears.Your voice rising in pitch as your eyes brow knitting together in frustration and hands clenching tightly in a ball into fist.

“B-but I’ll n-never . . Hate you for her,for g-giving me a beautiful g-girl”

you said with a sad smile that quickly removed from your face,Your chest rising up and down.As you could hear the voices of the kids giggling in the background.

The tension between you and him was unpalatable,the air was so thick that it felt like he was going to suffocate.

A pair of warm hands warp around you pulling you into a warm embrace.

“I-I -a heavy sigh came out of his mouth- . . . Sorry,I don’t -no I know that you won’t forgive me.You have every reason to yell at me, . . tell me that I’m shit for everything.” His voice swiftly He felt your hands were pushing him away but he continued on his embrace.He could fell your tears dampen his clothes.

“L-let go of me . . . I Don’t h-have time for you-u,i don’t need you anymore in my life,Sukuna.So it better if we just don’t talk.”

His throat felt so dry like as if he didn’t drink any water.He fucked up so badly.A wound that would never heal.You politely removed your body from his embrace and wipe your face with your hands wiping off the tears.Now walking away from him and towards where your daughter was.

The wind blows gently through your body as you see your daughter playing around with a boy with black hair;smiling with joy, making you form a small smile.

You felt a hand on your shoulder immediately knowing it was Sukuna,you brushed off his hand off your shoulder.Before you could even get anything out your mouth.

“Use me then”

A shiver ran down her spine as his voice took on an eerie, otherworldly quality of vulnerability.That made her question if it was the wind that was playing with her mind or it just herself thinking that she heard him in such a state.

”what” You said with disbelief lancing your voice,Your uncertainty was reflected in your hesitant movements and furrowed brow.

You tilted your head in confusion,your eyes trying to discern the almost-too-serious expression on Sukuna face.Just for Sukuna repeat his words.

“Use me then” He said in a serious manner,His red eyes looking straight at you.He knew what he was saying was stupid and wouldn’t cure anything but it worth trying.

Your eyes widens lanced with disbelief.you let out a huff out laugh as you ran your finger though your hair.

“What . . No Sukuna,I-a deep shaky sigh gets out of your lungs- I told you I want nothing to deal with you” You said with a bit of raspiness to your voice from the crying and yelling.You eyes finally looking at Sukuna’s eyes.His eyes usually showed a stern cold expression but right now it soften and regretful glazes upon his blood like eyes.

“Use me then, Use me for money,for paying your bills,driving you and her placing,Use me for anything,it doesn’t matter” He said as you just notice how close he got to you.You could hear it now,it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you;you could hear that vulnerability in his voice so much clearer.

You didn’t know what to say or respond to him,your mouth was shut and like it sealed up.That until you felt a strong hit towards your knee,to only see your daughter squealing.

“MOMM!! Hahah-HELp me!!Before Cole Comes and get me!!” Your daughter says with A loud giggle as She let go of your legs and runs a distance away from you and Sukuna to get playfully tackled by a boy with black hair and purple eyes.

You hadn’t completely forgotten his offer,You take a deep breath before looking at your phone to see how much time as pass.

His eyes were dead set on you but You can see that he’s eyes had a bit of amusement in them.To you you could recognize him even if he had black hair or hide his tattoos on his face and body,you could still tell it him from his red ironic eyes.His body cast a shadow over you.

“I-ill think about this later” You said,now completely walking towards your daughter.With head now full of thoughts now.As you smiling see your daughter ‘Nova ryomen’ Tackling the boy down with a playful smirk on her soft cheek.

You told her that it time to go home and to say goodbye to the boy,which she kinda refused to do having a big sad pout of your cute little face.But she eventually did,as you hold her hand in and then taking her to a ice cream shop for her.You order with a genuine smile on your lips as you watched her eat her ice cream while you guys were walking towards the house.

“use me then”

his words were repeated in your head like a curse.You don’t need him anyway right?You just gotta keep moving forward even if life isn’t the best for you but it could be and will be better for nova.That night you had received a text from a unknown person but you ignore it went to sleep.

Credits to my lovely editor(my bestie) who I made her read this 🫶.

tag list: @10yo-anonnie @scoobysnakz @lynxslokley @kenntolog

+anyone want to be tagged in part2

@mononijikayu

Made by @sukioyakio

reblogs, likes and shares are always welcome and appreciated

If anyone has any comments of suggestion of part two then be my guest

PART TWO IS OUT NOW!!

[girlwiththoughts13]

No place for a Dragon

Aemond Targaryen x F!reader

Warnings: Targ-cest/ smut!

Word count: 1k

~~~~~

The cold winds and bitter snow that dust over your skin feels far more harsh against the heat your body naturally emits. The frigid temperatures of Winterfell is no place for a dragon. The thought of remaining here until the ends of your days is more frightening than the prospect of marriage. For the lord stark is a kind and honorable man, that rarity alone makes your dreadful thoughts gently fade.

Despite this union being an arranged one-all to strengthen the north as a ally for your mother Rhaenrya- Cregan Stark had done his best the last 2 sennights of your residence in the foreboding halls to quail your concerns of a loveless marriage. He vowed to aways be faithful, and in time, come to love you as deeply as a man loves a woman.

There was no doubt you would preform your duties and give the wolf of the north your companionship, your body, and your name, but your heart was not as compliant.

It's not that you didn't find him attractive or kind or all the things a lady would hope for in a future husband; however your heart simply did not beat, at his more than adequate attributes.

How you wished to rip put your own heart, tear it asunder and remold it to fit the lord stark. He may speak true, as the years come love will grow.

In the main Hall of the keep you clutch onto the furs wrapped around your shoulders and await to meet the kinslayer himself. It has been long since you set your eyes upon your uncle. It seems he is still as brazen as ever, showing up to a house that went against Aegon's claim and alone at that. You wondered what was crossing through his mind. Did he think to take on the soldiers on his own? Even vhagar would not be able to defeat thousands of angry northern men.

Regardless of the trap you suspected, if able, capturing the second son of the whore Queen would be a feat for your side.

Lord stark stood beside you, jaw set and hand tightened around his sword. You could feel his eyes move to the side of your face, no doubt blaming you for the arrival of the man with the largest dragon in the known world.

Continuing to stare straight you decide to break the thick silence. "Will you turn me in to save your house?" The worry has set in your thoughts since the circling of the monstrous beast was spotted. Aemond surely is not here to discuss the notion of peace.

"Do you think so low of me?" You finally meet his gaze and find nothing short of offense, Starks were no oath breakers, to be accused by his betrothed of all people, made him believe he was not doing enough for you or the war efforts.

Before you could answer, the large wooden doors creaked open snapping your stare to the approaching men.

Four men surrounded the dragon prince as they walked, ensuring he did not try to assassinate there liege lord or their princess.

When the men came to a halt your betrothed stepped forward shielding you from view.

"I'd say I admire your boldness but I believe it's just stupidity that has lead you to my lands" Cregan spoke with clear distain and although his back was to you, you know his face is just as thunderous.

"I had to see for myself if the rumors were true, my dear niece being sold off. Tell me Lord Stark has she spread her legs for you yet? If she's anything like her mother then I suppose that answers that." Aemond speaks with a cruel tone and a smirk that never falters splayed across his face. The allegations against you and your mother, wretches a small gasp from your lips.

"How dare you, come here, dishonor Lord Stark and spew vile insults toward my mother the Queen and her daughter? I could have your head for that, send it to your bitch of a mother" The sudden sound of your voice and the threat against his mother struck a nerve if the hard-set in his eye was anything to go by.

"Nyke gōntan daor māzigon kesīr naejot vīlībagon nyke jorrāelagon naejot ȳdragon lēda ao mērī" I did not come here to fight I need to speak with you, alone. His switch to your mother tongue was a obvious slight to Cregan, but you had not time to dwell on that, not when he was asking the impossible of you.

You did not give him the satisfaction of answering him in your native language. "Do you think I'd go anywhere with you alone? So that you may slit my throat or worse take me to the red keep as a hostage of the usurpers?"

"Give me one reason not to string you up? Or send you to the Dragon Queen?" Cregan obviously had picked up on Aemond's intentions and had begun to reach his limits of his presence.

The sinister smile returned on Aemond's face, making your blood run cold, knowing his hand was about to be revealed. "You're right. You could kill me right now or keep me as a prisoner, but not before Vhager burns this entire castle to the ground. I am prepared to meet my maker, are you Lord Stark?"

The Lord of Winterfell goes to rebuttal such a threat but Aemond continues. "Or, niece, we could have civil conversation, after which I promise to return you to your pup."

You step around Cregan, prompting him to reach his hand out to stop you from advancing. He gives you a pointed look, one you return.

You place your hand atop his to soothe his worries. You lean up to his ear and he angles his face down to meet yours. "I'll be okay, your house shouldn't suffer over a mere denial of conversation" The whisper of your voice reaches him and only him. You pull away to show your resolve leaning up once more to press a firm kiss on his cheek. Squeezing his arm as you pass.

Reaching Aemond he holds out his own arm to you, one you ignore. He lets out a chuckle and gives his head a light shake.

As you walk Aemond tells you of a cottage he happened upon, a near by place he had left Vhagar awaiting his return. Although you hate the idea of leaving the safety of Winterfell grounds, Aemond will not budge to a private audience in your quarters, therefore you walk silently beside him.

You stop walking when you both reach the door of the quaint cottage. Vhagar a little off to the side puffing out hot air, that reaches you from where you stand. He looks back at you with amusement. "Scared niece?"

Donning a smirk of your own you proceed onward aware of the mistake you were making and finding you did not care at all.

"Ohh.. Fuck!" The moans run out of your open mouth as your slammed up and down on Aemond's cock in rapid motions. The echo of your skins clapping together Is heard throughout the small space and should any one happen to find themselves taking a stroll near the grounds would surely hear the raptures of your pure pleasure.

Aemond latches onto your bouncing tit, suckling at your nipple and bringing a hand to knead the other. His free hand that rested upon your lower back, reaches up to take a strong hold on the back of your head, yanking the sliver tresses back from where you hidden your head in the crook of his neck.

He moves his feet to root them to the ground, to meet your thrust, your rhythm restrained by the small chair you ride him on.

"Does your pup still believe you a maiden?" His thrust growing harsher at the mention of your intended. "Does he know I've ruined you? Gotten deep inside this tight cunt and imprinted my name on the mouth of your womb?" It is a wonder he speaks as if not strained from supporting your weight atop him and the excursion of fucking up into you.

There is no desire within you to answer. You wish to forget of the realities of the outside world and be here and now. Feeling his warm skin on yours creating fire that stokes you completely alight. This will be the last time you lay together the war of fire and blood rearing its rotten head. You realize that was the reason for this. Showing up and demanding an audience with you. Risking his life for one more night with his princess, his niece, his love.

You place one small palm on his mouth to stop more vulgarness from spewing out. "Just shut up and fuck me harder, unless the dragon would like to yield to the wolf?" Aemond lets out a growl and winds his arms around you, standing to his full height with you in his arms. He manages to stay inside you as he walks you to the near by table. When he sets you down he pushes down on your stomach to lay your back flat against it,

The way he was fucking you earlier has nothing on the way he pounded into you now, practically embedding your skin in the oak of the table. Aemond has one hand on your hip and the other comes up to wrap tightly around your throat cutting off your air immediately. Your hand grabs his wrist but you make no attempt to free yourself from his grasp. Despite the circumstances there is no fear in your body, instead you find hot arousal, one that makes your already wet cunt gush more liquid at the base of his cock.

"My, my, look at this, what a sight" You glance up at him, his eye trained directly on the place where his cock disappears within you.

His deft fingers circle up to your clit and that is your undoing, your legs shake from around his waist and your back arches up, head thrown back, a loud moan tearing through you.

Aemond lifts you up to him, from the gap you made when your back raised off the table. Your head falls on his shoulder, limp from being throughly sated. Gone are the precise thrusts, replaced by quick hard shoves inside you, desperate to reach his peak. Once more he tugs your head back and kisses you deeply passionately, It remind you of when you were children, ignored by your elders and seeking love in each other. Kisses hidden beneath the blanket of darkness.

Aemond's stills and groans quietly as his seed fills you to the very end of you and there is a small part of you that hopes it takes root, so that you may have a piece of him always, even when he is gone.

"I love you" You both whisper, low as if you will be strike down by all the gods if heard.

Mayhap's you have already been scorned by their fury.

[pricetagged]

that death is a very stable job

Poor little Dormouse, with her cruel father and labourer's hands. You find an unexpected guard dog in one of the passing knights.

Enjoy 4.8k words of half inaccurate-medieval, half poorly-built-fantasy AU. Inspired by a few existing historical AUs (like @bi-writes 1600s au, 391780's 'the rus') and a scene from 'The Serpent Queen'. Also, I stan 'old grizzled dog with a heart Ghost' so here you go.

Warnings/content: implied domestic abuse/sex work (not Ghost), very mild suicidal ideation, violence, power imbalance (social hierarchy ew), kissing & intimacy (no smut. yet.). Reader is described as a young woman, generally body-neutral (one reference to being 'plump').

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

What makes betrayal so potent is that, by its very nature, it can only come from someone you trust. Of course, as a child you knew little of the abstracts and intricacies of trust. You knew the warmth of your mother's bosom. You knew the sharp, lingering smell of lye that clung to her chapped hands. You knew that you were not hungry or hurt for those blissful early years, at least.

You did not know that you had a father.

He spent those blissful, early years of yours fighting for a King and cause that meant far less to him than the pocketful of coins he earned and promptly spent on pleasures. But a soldier cannot earn coin in times of peace, not if he weren't a member of the standing army, so with treaties signed he shipped back to neglected wife and babe.

You did not know that fathers could be cruel.

Your mother protected you as best as she could, but slippery riverbanks and lixivium fumes were hardly safe for a little girl. So you learned to scurry about, eyes wide and feet soft as a dormouse. When your mother's whimpers and father's shouts split the silence of dusk you crouched and covered your mouth lest his attention switched to you. On the rare times your father called for you, you remembered your mother's hushed advice - be quiet, be meek, be sweet - and bobbed along to the waves of his fickle moods. When your stomach growled and gnawed you stifled it with a look at your mother's wan face, her fingers worked to the bone for mere pennies that were no longer spent on peat and produce. You lived in a cold house, an empty house. A strained house.

'Look at the size o'her, running wild, eating me out of house and home!' Lies. Your father hunched over your mother's shaking form, three meager brass farthings spilled across the crooked kitchen bench. 'You put her to work, or I will.'

The lye stung your skin. Sometimes you imagined yourself floating off, down in the frigid waters, your funeral clothes being salvinia and your shroud made of pennywort. Those thoughts rose like lily pads, big and blooming and plentiful, the autumn your mother passed.

'You've really got to work now, girl,' your Father sneered. 'Got to earn your keep now that your mother can't cry on your behalf.'

The glint in his eye pricked at your neck, made your spine stiffen and eyes shift away. Be quiet, be meek, be sweet. You wondered if your mother's advice would save you from his basest assertions, or encourage them. You would soon find out.

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

Ordinarily the Mid-Autumn festival was a slight reprieve, allowing a few days for your aching, numb fingers to warm and stretch as you enjoyed the city turned to colour. Ordinarily.

This year, you found yourself hauled down to the drinking district, your Father's blunt, filthy fingers digging into the soft meat of your upper arm. It was still daylight, thankfully, but you already felt exposed as he had you linger in the square near the public houses. You could already hear the hoots and laughter of raucous men enlivened by drink and company. The smell of stale ale and piss was not enough to cover the scent of fresh baking and roasted game drifting on the breeze. You shivered, your burned, you hungered.

Meek little dormouse, scurrying around the greasy ferret who held her tail under his claws.

Your Father's chance came as the sun was setting, candlelight just now visible through the slats and windows of taverns. Far from cozy, it reminded you of the lidded eyes of some lazy predator about to watch your ruination.

'I don't care if you are crusader to the gods themselves! Knight of the Realm or not, you can't come into my pub and throw furniture around like you're at the Solstice games!'

The snarling Madame looked comically small next to the absolute beast of a man currently ducking under the doorframe. Watching her chuck the splintered leg of a chair after him you thought her lucky that he didn't want more of a fuss. You had never seen a man so big, so broad, seeming bigger whilst dressed still in his mail and wearing the colours of the King. He merely grunted as he made his way to the tethering post, letting her threats and screeches fizzle into the cool, twilight air. Leather-gloved hands worked at the harness of the dappled stallion you had been admiring earlier, easily more than 18 hands tall and capable of carrying this brute. You had imagined earlier slicing that very harness and riding hard across the cobblestones away from your father. Away anywhere.

'Good sir, are you in need of lodgings?' The words dripped from your Father's lips like ichor. You could smell the sickly underlying rot.

The Knight's hands stilled, head still lowered. His voice rumbled out, deep and rough as gravel.

'You offerin', then? 'ow much will that cost me?'

'Well, it's busy in the Festival. The guest houses are full but my home is open to weary travelers-'

A barked laugh cut him off. The Knight raised his head, pinning your father in place like a moth in a hobbybook. You quickly looked away, pretending to busy yourself with a nearby fruit cart. His face was covered, a dark black slash across his lower face like an empty maw. But his eyes. You could have drowned in those eyes, dark as they were. They pulled you in more than the call of the river on your bad days. If you stared too long you'd never wade out.

'Ain't you charitable,' you couldn’t see his mouth but you were sure that he sneered.

'Well, a former soldier should be willing to support the Crown. Although, with a mouth to feed a few coins wouldn't go amiss..' his hand swept back and you tried not to cringe away.

'Former solider, eh?' Your Father clearly had the Knight's attention now. As did you. Though you continued to look away you felt his gaze like you felt touch. Like he was grasping you, keeping you still. Your head felt heavy as you raised it towards them, now a part of this bargain whether you wanted to be or not.

'I know what it's like to seek the comfort of a warm hearth and soft bed. I would not see you ride off into the cold night.'

The Knight huffed; you could almost mistake it for a laugh. Though quiet, the voices and laughter of the nearby inns seemed quieter, like all sound and light was absorbed by this armoured beast. Once, just after your mother died, you headed to the riverbank as always for work. It was barley daybreak, some of the older more experienced women already beginning their washing, but you walked on. And on. Until the river led you to its mouth, rushing and rocky and dangerous. You wanted to jump in. You felt the same now, gazing at this man.

'How much for the girl, then?' He looked right at you as he said it, catching your wide, staring eyes. You didn't blink, couldn't look away.

'She is my daughter! Sir, I-' that same rot, spewing out of his mouth.

'I didn't ask who she is, I asked 'ow much?'

Your Father took a step towards him, faltering under the weight of his gaze. He leaned, then, trying to seem ashamed. Trying to seem like a father should.

'Sir, she is my daughter. I can do nothing but take offence at what you are suggesting.'

The Knight pulled out a small velvet purse, heavy and distended with coins. They clinked as they smacked into the cobbles at your Father's feet. All pretenses dropped, then, as he scrambled to pick it up with greedily shaking fingers. Prize in hand, he found his courage as he sidled closer to him, thick neck open and exposed as he leaned in to whisper his betrayal. His filicide.

'She's a bit older, yes, but unused to the ways of men, mind. With a firm hand I'm sure she cou-' a gloved fist at his throat turned perfidy to gasps. You watched red bloom instantly under those fingers, and marveled at the strength. The violence.

'Your own daughter,' he sneered. 'What kind of man, soldier at that, would sell his daughter to a man like me?'

Your Father was bigger than you, yes, but looked like a poppet in the hands of this beast, so easily dragged towards him ready to be shaken in his maw.

'I'd love to think that she isn't yours, that she's some whore you peddle out to drunken leches in the alley. But you're slimier than an eel in birdshit, aren't ya?'

You didn't move, didn't speak as you saw his fingernails scrabbling uselessly against the unforgiving strength. You, for a small moment, felt the claw release your tail. Run, you thought. A look at this behemoth and his horse had you thinking again. Run where?

Be quiet, be meek, be sweet.

'Please!' The plea bubbled up your throat like acid.

He said nothing, did not loosen his grasp, as he tilted his head like a dog.

'It is as he says. He is my father,' you continued.

A scoff stilled your words.

'Some father, look at the state of ya.'

You looked down at your chapped, scarred hands. Your patched, slightly-too-short skirts. You felt the throb of the bruises on your upper arms, the beginnings of hollowness eating away at your usually plump cheeks.

'You mistake me, Sir,' You could barely hear your voice over the blood rushing in your ears. 'I am not asking for his life. I am asking you to take me with you. Please.'

Silence. His eyes flickered over you anew, contemplating. Your hummingbird heart fluttered in your chest.

'Close y'r eyes, girl. Until I say.' Your shocked hesitance made him growl. 'Now!'

The imprints of tavern candlelight burned behind your lids. You let the corners of your mouth flick up.

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

Your Knight's name was Simon. The Ghost, it was rumoured. You weren't seasoned on the field so you knew not of his reputation, but the reaction of those you encountered gave it away. Even without the blood staining his hands he was imposing. Tall, broad, intense. You still hadn't seen under the kerchief he kept around his face, but you spent many nights imagining. Was his nose crooked, or was it a trick of the light on fabric? Did he have stubble across his jaw that matched the fine, blond strands that decorated the top of his head? Did he smile? Scowl? Was he handsome?

He was gruff, certainly. You spent the first few days obeying your mantra - be quiet, be meek, be sweet -but it didn't provoke anything in him at all. Neither praise nor censure. It seemed, rather, that he was determined that your presence would be nothing more than a fact of circumstance. Not worth much fuss.

'She needs winter clothes. A nice dress. A travelling cloak. And some boots.'

That was how you found yourself perfectly still, getting prodded and pinned in the parlour of a tailor shop in the city's mid-tier. The seamstress' cheeks burned red as she turned her disapproving eyes between her task and the Knight who refused to leave the dressing area. He dwarfed the chaise, leather and chains indenting delicate brocade. After a grunted 'She's my Charge. If you want my coin, then 'm not leavin'' he sat silent. Just kept his eyes on your face. As always.

You couldn't find it in you to feel embarrassed. He'd done no more than see you in your petticoats, even at the guesthouses where you lodged for the night. An altogether better set up that you could've envisioned for yourself. You had thought your Father like a sly weasel, thought any future husband like a carrion crow ready to pick over whatever your Father left. But you thought Simon like a grizzled old guard dog. A dormouse held no interest when bigger prey was to be had. When you didn't pose a threat.

He clothed you. Fed you. Ordered hot bathwater for your room - a luxury you had never experienced - and otherwise left you alone. All he touched you with was his gaze, steady and unashamed. Strange how you now saw your silence -quiet, meek- as a barrier.

'Where are we going?' You worked up the courage to ask as you rode behind him up to the next tier of the city, seeing wooden roofs change to tile.

'The Palace.'

'The Palace? What, but what about me?'

'You asked me to take you wiv me, didn' ya?' you felt the rumble of his words all the way from his chest to your arms.

'Yes, but.. What, what will I do there? How will you explain this?'

You realised now your lack of foresight. You foolishly assumed that someone high-ranking wouldn't be starting brawls in lower-tier taverns. Or magistrating over scoundrels due to the sale of their daughters. You thought, perhaps, of an impoverished country knight who came to the city only for the festivities. You could bargain your way (or slip away) if he turned out to be just as bad as your progenitor, and make a living in one of the towns or hamlets that stretched along the woodlands of the Kingdom. Foolish girl.

'No one will ask questions. No one will bother ya,' You believed him, felt the threat in his words.

'But they'll think. They'll wonder.' I wonder, you thought to yourself.

'Can't stop that,' He snorted. 'Why don't you ask me what you really want to ask?' He pulled sharply on the reigns, causing you to clutch hard around his waist and whisper your words pressed into his back.

'What are you going to do with me?'

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

"Ho, Simon! Hard to drag ye from yer hermitage in Northmire,' you stared as a smiling Isleman slapped your Knight hard on the back, hooking his arm and dragging him down into the booth. 'And ye've brought a wee Bonnie thing with y-'

'That'll do, Johnny,' Simon growled. Still, he let himself be handled onto the bench. He looked at you, standing still, staring at the other side of the table. 'Well? You sitting down or wot?'

You scrambled down beside him, too timid to sit next to the laughing stranger. Too wary to put your back to the rest of the tavern. Past Simon's profile, you snuck a peek at the man - Johnny - and found him looking back at you. He looked friendly, sure, but you were reminded of the harriers that plucked young hens from the woods. His eyes were too sharp, too bright. His smile was a little wicked, too. Too intense to be without danger.

'Well, the King'll be happy. He'll finally have a real reason to say naw to all the harpy mothers pecking at him about their single daughters. Cannae say I expected it, but congratulations,' You blinked. 'Cannae believe you beat Garrick to it an' all, thought fer sure he'd be the dutiful one. Well, first that is.'

Simon ignored him as he flagged down the serving girl. He ordered for you, as always.

'Bit bold of ye, though, plastering her in your colours. Scared o' a challenge to her? Like anyone would chance their arm seeing her wi' you, Your Grace,' Johnny laughed again, blue eyes shining as he watched Simon's jaw tick under the scarf. 'Go oan then, introduce us.'

'Dormouse, meet Johnny.'

'Aw, come oan!' Johnny leaned over, then. 'He's forgotten his manners all the way oot in Northmire. I'm John MacTavish, of the Northern Isles. I've known this one fer a while, but never knew him tae settle.'

You squeaked out your own name in return, quickly taking a sip of the weak ale Simon pushed in front of you. Gave yourself more time to take stock. He too had the King's colours in a sash across his chest. Unlike Simon, he wasn't wearing full mail or a face covering. A heavy shirt of forest green, a red tartan kilt, and thick knitted socks were his attire of choice. Blue warpaint swirled from his temples down to his jaw, and he'd shaved his hair only on the sides. Not commonly seen in the Tiered City, but you knew the islanders to the North of the mountain wore similar garb. You let your eyes catch the glint of a dagger in his socks, as well as the hefty broadsword hooked by the table. The warpaint on his face was not just for decoration.  

You stayed quiet, munching on thick slices of bread dipped in broth as they talked, Low, rumbling voices and warmth from the hearth lulled you to a wakeful sleep, eyes still open but mind calm. MacTavish had called Simon 'Your Grace'. You were wearing his colours. You were going to the Palace. Something about that niggled at you, deep at the base of your skull.

You woke to Simon gently sliding you along the bench. Big hands and stained fingers so soft, like you were an overripe damson he wanted to preserve.

'Time for bed. C'mon, mouse.'

'Why do you call me that?' You murmured, still feeling his arm around you as he led you to your rooms. 'I never told you that was my Mother's nickname for me. Dormouse.'

You felt him huff out a laugh, pressed close against you.

'Didn't need ya to. It's obvious.' he answered after a pause. He leaned down, bracing you against the  room door. Only his scarf separated you from his flesh, close as you were. Wide eyes meeting dark. You shared the same breath.

'You're quiet like one. Seem sweet. But I saw you'd be willing to chew y'r own leg off to escape a trap,' he whispered that horrible truth so tenderly. His blunt, calloused fingers left firetrails on your cheek. 'My mouse. My survivor.'

His thick forearm braced your back as he opened the door, stopping your from tumbling into the emptiness behind. He needn't have bothered; you'd already fallen into him.

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

'How many more days' to the Palace?'

'Two, if we don't loiter. Johnny'll meet us at the gates to the Citadel.'

You looked up, seeing the Palace fortress taller and more intimidating than it had ever seemed down at the city's lowest levels. You were awed by the mason and marble buildings up here, the clean streets and cleaner people. Everything seemed to gleam this high-up. This close to the sun. Close to the Palace. Your skin had started to heal, after a week or so without labour and with good meals and rest, but you could see the discolouration that would never fade. It made you pick at your sleeves. Dormice didn't gleam. They hid.

You looked at the wide streets and their sun-bleached stones. Nowhere to hide here.

'And when we get there? What will happen?'

'We'll greet the Court. I have news for the King. They'll be a Ball f' the Festival. And you,' Simon stilled your steps, 'You will be good. You'll do as I tell ya. Not everyone is a friend. And I won't always be wiv ya.'

Perhaps you imagined it but you swore you could see something soft - warm - in those dark eyes of his as you nodded. You had years of experience avoiding the attentions of predators; you could do the same for Simon.

When you reached the Citadel Gates Johnny was waiting as foretold, chatting with a guardsman by the pulleys. He perked up as he spotted Simon's horse, all dappled grey with black skull harness. A proud danse macabre, carrying The Ghost.

'Here they are, the Duke and Duchess of Northmire! Let them pass, go oan. Here, raise his banner.'

It was a good thing that your blood turned to ice in your veins; it prevented you from letting go of Simon's waist. You watched as a square banneret in the same colours as your new travelling cloak - and dresses, and overskirts, and, and - rose to flutter slightly below the banner of the King. The wind lured the heavy fabric to thwack against the sky, echoing the drumbeats of your tambour heart. What were you marching towards?

Johnny had mounted his own stead, canting a light pace next to you and Simon.

'Ye should hae seen the ponces and pricks - sorry, My Lady - who came riding up here in their carriages this mornin'. I ken they think they were showing off but the guards and I were havin' a barry laugh watching the wheels get stuck in the cobbles and streets from the mid-tier all the way up-'

'Y'r point, Johnny?'

'Alright, cool yer blood. The point is, we've got tae change our travel plans. Be at the Palace tomorrow, nae a day later.' He sent Simon a significant look that you weren't so stunned as to miss. 'We've got a night hosted by Garrick's sister, then we'll be off in the morning.'

'Garrick's sister' was a comely, slender woman with sharp eyes and a kind smile. She, or rather the Garrick family, kept a townhouse in the top tier close to the Citadel as well as their estate at Thamesbury.  As a close peers and allies of her brother, her doors and hospitality were open to you all. You didn't want to seem like the uncultured urchin you were, but even the entry hall surpassed any luxury you'd seen thus far. You had to suppress an instinctual flinch as her manservant stepped behind you to reach for your cloak. Or perhaps the lessons from the streets were written all over your wide eyes. You saw Johnny chew on a smile as Simon glared down at the man, massive arms crossing across his great oak chest.

'That'll do,' he growled. 'There are saddlebags to be seen to.'

The poor man scarpered with a stuttered, 'Of course, Your Grace.'

You stared after your Knight as he stomped up the stairs, heavy footfalls disturbing the frames of the Garrick ancestors across the walls. He looked back, silhouetted with a hand outstretched.

'C'mon then.'

His rough, warm hand enclosed yours and you followed him to exegesis.

Ensconced in your chambers - shared chambers, marriage chambers - you found your tongue.

'Should I be calling you 'Your Grace'?' Be meek, be sweet.

He snorted, inelegant against the filigree and flowers that bore witness to your unsettled feelings.

Be meek, be sweet. Be meek, be sweet. Be meek-

'I do not speak in jest, Simon. Sorry, 'Your Grace',' Your mouth twisted, trembling with the force of holding back. 'I asked you to take me with you, yes, and I have tried not to inconvenience you beyond…beyond the circumstances of our meeting. But I must demand, now. Tell me what is going on.'

He merely tilted his head, old grizzled dog on a velvet chaise. You could see his lips - what did they look like, what did they feel like? - move under the black of his kerchief.

'We're in a guest room, talkin'. Listenin' to you ask stupid questions.'

'If the question seems stupid it is because you have made it so!' You felt your stubby nails bite into your calloused palms. The feeling made you shake, brought tears to your eyes. Shame and fear turned saliva to acid. You flung your hands towards him. 'Look! You see these. These are not the hands of a girl addressed as 'Duchess'. If this is a joke, I ask you to stop it now. I am grateful to you, I will remain so always, but playing in this manner is lower than whatever my Father had-'

"Do not. Compare me. To that man.' His growl cut you from cutaneous to cartilage, exposing your raw, soft innards. You hoped he'd be kind. Even if he chewed on your heart, popping gristle between sharp canines, perhaps you'd be a part of him, dripping down his throat with an intimacy you longed to initiate.

Viper-quick, your hands were in his. Your lap was in his too. Too warm, too bulky, too close.

'Quit y'r squirmin'. Look at me, no. Look!' Your jaw was turned more gently than you expected from hands made for violence. You couldn't meet his eyes, but that mattered not as he brought your hand and his up to your sight. 'Look. My hands aren't delicate neither.'

You took a deep breath, feeling him pant underneath you, and reached to cup his hand in yours. Butterfly-soft, you turned it, watching candlelight catch on silver scars and pockmarks. Deep gouges and veins raised valleys between knuckles and wrist. One finger seemed slightly too short, like the top joint had been lost in some gruesome accident. When you looked at the palm, it was calloused. You had already felt its roughness, deep imprints from years of work. Of war. He flexed, closing his fingers around yours.

'I'm not 'of the blood'. I'm good at spillin' it, but the stuff inside me isn't worth much. Was a Squire. Then a Knight. Caught some eyes on the battlefield and was sent to defend the borders. Became a Margrave for it an' all. Now I'm a Duke. The titles don't mean much t'me, except I've got more coin and can tell nobles to fuck off without spending a day in the stocks.'

You're not sure whether your sigh was a laugh.

'Then, what? Please, Simon. What are we doing here?'

With your face this close to him you were reminded of the night in the tavern where you first met Johnny. You felt that you were sharing the same breath then. Now, here on his lap, you felt more. The warmth of his body that leeched through your skirts. The hard press of tough leather plackart. The pounding of his heartbeat - or was it yours - as you clutched his hand with trembling strength. That same trembling strength had you meeting his eyes at last, your position allowing you to be equal in height. His pupils dilated under scarred eyebrows, deep brown melting into pitch black.

'I took you wiv' me. It was sealed in blood. You're mine.'

You cupped his jaw, feeling stubble peek through his scarf. The sensation grounded you, kept you from flying off as his words used all the world's gravity.

'Bit of a terrible dowry, blood.' You whispered, a whisker away from his lips.

'I'm not made for anything else.'

Wrong, you thought as you pressed your parted lips to his covered ones. You were made for me.

His hand trailed up your arm as yours trailed across his jaw, two bodies with one mind. With deft, strong fingers you removed the last barrier between you. Black fluttered to the floor, still flesh-warm, and your lips met again. His lips were a little thin, but hungry. He groaned, supplicant to your taste, as you sought to press him closer. You could feel stubble tickling your chin, and the firm outline of another scar close to his cupid's bow. Lightning struck across the back of your neck, making you shudder against him. All you could taste, all you could smell, all you could feel was Simon.

And he all was yours.

After his face mask fell, so too did all barriers. You feel asleep together, entwined on the same bed. You awoke to his face made soft in the morning light. Sunbeams danced in the crevices of his scars, pale and rugged like the mountain you'd looked up at as a child. You watched, sentry, as you mapped the features of his face. Golden hair, golden stubble. A crooked nose that had been broken and set several times. Tributaries of scars running down to a strong jaw. And dark, unwavering eyes that creased a little as you met his gaze.

'G'mornin'.'

'Good morning,' You murmured, still sleep-soft. You traced along his lips, laughing as he nipped softly. 'Why do you cover this up?'

'To preserve my modesty,' he smirked as his tongue flicked out to soothe your nipped fingertips.

'Simon!'

'I'll tell ya. One day. When we get back 'ome. I don't trust everyone in this city.'

'You can trust me,' you whispered as you pressed your tingling digits into his mouth, catching on blunt teeth.

You felt the heat of his gaze bring blood to your cheeks. His eyes didn't leave yours as he pressed his teeth down softly. You knew the dog wouldn't bite.

'I know, Simon. I trust you too,' You leaned your forehead against his. 'Just, wherever you go, take me with you.'

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

Got a part ii drafted (palace intrigue, meet John and Gaz, Ghost and his mouse finally enjoy marital rites *wink*, conflict, etc., eventual HEA) but I'm not sure if there's an audience for it. And this is the first writing I've published in y e a r s since my cringe forays into dark videogame smut as a 19 y/o, so I'm not really confident. This is unedited/not proofread. Here ya go~

[imwetforyourmom]

GLISTENING UNDER THE STARS.

CW: Breaking up, mutually(?) wanted breaking up, sex for the last time, softdom!chris, romantic sex?, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (pleaseeee dont do this), crying during sex but we all know why 🫤, oral f!recieving, not much dirty talk, not really meant to make you horny but if it works ig it works!!

SUMMARY: You and Chris dont workout as good as you’d hoped for, and thats okay. But, just one last goodbye kiss, one for the road.

A/N: Drowning in a bath of my own tears

·˚ ༘

"Can- could we spend, y’know.. one last night together?"

His unrelenting gaze laid upon you, it held the same similarity as a cold hand had rested on your shoulder, the frigid temperature seeping through the cotton of your shirt. The palm rubbing into your shoulder, in a comforting, assuring rub, as if to remind you, ‘you’re okay.’ Even when everything wasn’t okay. Like the world had come crashing, burning down before your very own eyes, the cause your very own hands - maybe even tongue in this situation.

What were you to do in this moment? The pure look in his eyes was enough to make you sick with guilt. How were you expected to speak, when the ball in your throat began to shape into a fist? The sick with you-don't-know-what being your most prime feeling, as if it was tearing your body apart, slitting it in half and moving to wriggle inside, replacing the blood coursing through your veins with that feeling. Changing the thrum of your heartbeat against your ribs to constantly remind you of the illness you felt. Each pump a sick, cruel manner as to give that dreaded reminder above your head, that this was all entirely your fault. Everything you felt was of your doing. What did you do?

The fist in your throat began relaxing, instead now clawing its way up your throat, reaching to the base of your tongue, where a sob slipped through. Why were you crying? You’re the one who’d suggested it, told him straight to his face.

“Chris, this isnt working out.” No sympathy lingering in the undertones of your voice, not even a spared, merciful glance towards his now shattered demeanor before speaking again,

“And I know you think the same Chris. Its so painfully obvious, you’re constantly out with your friends, never at home with me. You almost never speak to me enthusiastically,” you trailed off. Your sentence finishing off with a sigh, your head tilted upwards to meet his gaze. What you saw was no less than what you’d expected, but what you hadn't looked past, was the fact Chris had redeemed himself almost everytime after one of your listed incovencies, after hanging out with his friends all day, he’d always have brought you more than one gift back, and spent the night with you for as long as you wanted (or needed).

But, because the boy was so helplessly inlove with you, he’d agreed. Wanting you the best, completely leaving his own feelings in the trail of your footsteps. He’d told you he wasn't doing well in the relationship either, that he couldn't find contentment - or whatever bullshit excuse he could think of. But, what he didn't say, was how sick he felt whenever he thought of you anytime, his body full to the brim with love, and the butterflies flapping inside his stomach. He’d be happy, as long as you were happy. Whatever it takes, he’d told himself.

You felt his eyes heavy upon you, his lips twitching in a beg to twist his words together, ask for a simple favor, or, task in your hands.

“Can- could we spend, y’know.. one last night together?” He whispered, his voice only a crack away from collapsing entirely ontop of himself. His tears only relying to stay put on the dam he’d built inside his mind, his voice keeping what it could, together.

Your heart dulled in acceptance, the sick feeling running throughout your veins falling to a stop. If it’d help him relax throughout his unspoken words, then so be it.

You nodded, making no effort to form your lips to speak, instead you only stood from the bed, now holding all of your previous guilt. Your hand traveled to his body, running it gently along his chest to the nape of his neck, where you gently wrapped your fingers to twist the waved, shorter hair. Your eyes holding significant love inside them, Chris ignored it. You didnt love him.

His hands begin their journey to the rightful place on your body, wrapping his own palms on your waist, gently. His hands holding a silent, subtle passion behind them, like hands that have longed for their lover, they’ve waited for forever to rest upon this one person. You basked in it, enjoying it for the last time you probably ever would. Whose to tell the future?

You gently pulled his face closer to yours, interlocking your lips in a quiet, loving kiss. No movement being made, or even an effort to be made, just a simple, slow, loving kiss. All you’d need for now, there was no reason to bring it any further, to rush this already treasuring moment, what better than to just, slow down and let it go as it goes?

Your lips were the first to make a move, finally kissing with more passion, it felt right. It felt as if the moment had desired this, this was the way it was meant to go. Your hand gently squeezed as your lips grew along his with more passion, his tongue sliding inside the enclosure of your mouth.

His own hands slid further down your body, his fingertips tracing across till they found the desired plush of your ass. While his other hand held a hold on your lower back, pulling you closer into his embrace, closer to him.

With a slow begin, Chris guided your body to the bed behind you, the hand on your back serving as a quiet reminder that he’d catch you if you’d fallen. Your back met with the soft plush of your comforter, your back painfully easing, causing a soft moan to slip, which only served to intensify Chris’ desire, but he showed no movement to act on it.

Sliding his hand from underneath you, his hand rested on the cotton plush beside your head, while his other went to your hip, digging the tip of his finger through the fabric just enough to feel his caress teasing as it went further, and further down. Eventually falling to a stop once it’d connected to your inner thigh, mere inches away from your heat.

A soft, palpable whine of need escaped your throat, you reached down to grab his wrist, urge him to get closer, to fulfill your desires without a word spoken, but he stopped you. Shaking his head softly as he leant up to connect your lips in a soft kiss, his hands attached to the waistband of your pants, slowly pulling them down in an act to expand the moment, let it linger longer.

His fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties as well, bringing them along with your pants as he tugged them down, closer to fully off with each sound of your lips in the otherwise quiet atmosphere.

Eventually tugging them down your ankles, he de-attached almost immediately, the eagerness underlying his now quicker movements to move between your legs, his hands now moving to your inner thighs again, where he’d spread them wider. His eyes glued to your sex, watching as your wetness dripped to the blanket below you. His tongue licked over his teeth, his fingertips digging into the plush of your thighs.

“Y’look so pretty,” all f’me he murmured, swallowing down the words he wanted to say, all laced with possessiveness. With the guilt he felt pooling inside his stomach, he leaned forward, attaching his mouth to your clit at his own attempt at distracting himself from the overwhelming thought of you no longer being his.

A moan slid from the capture of your throat, already in a prep for bliss. God, you were gonna miss this, miss him- him and his, tongue..? That's what you wanted to tell yourself.

His grasped hands around your thighs squeezed tighter, already finding himself entranced within your heat. His tongue swirling around the bundle of nerves, sucking before sticking his tongue out to trail down to your opening, sliding his tongue into the hole, and back out, creating a rhythmic pace.

His tongue kept up with the pace, his eyes peering into yours as he watched you slowly begin to become out of it, your moans falling even smoother from your lips than before. Not a thought behind your eyes, only the way you felt. His tongue curled into what your face contorted into when he brought you pleasure, yet he’d rather have your body curled into his as he brought you the warmth he seeked. Pleasuring your body with the simple affection of a kiss to your cheek.

Your hips bucked into his face, nudging his nose to your clit in the process, spiking pleasure throughout your veins, the ache for more surging blended within. Your stomach seeped till it fell through an endless pit, either mixing with the underlying guilt, or the start of an orgasm. You weren’t sure.

His hands gripped around your thighs, kneading the flesh beneath his fingers and palms. His tongue moving in desperate acts of more, more, more and more. Perchance more of the unrequited love he wanted to be requited, but that wasn't fitting.

His tongue departed as his hand slid from your thigh, his thumb tracing tight circles on your clit as his ring and index finger slid inside your entrance, quickening his previous pace, sliding deeper against your soft walls, the pleasure ricocheting onto you.

His lips meshed with yours, your lingering taste slipping inside your mouth and dawning onto your taste buds. Yet the pleasure from your legs was bundling your head far too much to care for the luscious taste coating your mouth.

The previous knot — or, ‘endless pit’ fell snapped, a moan sliding off your tongue and whispered into Chris’ mouth, swallowing what was left of the efforted moan, yet it only bounced off the walls of only being needed of one thing.

His fingers retracted from your legs and moved to the buckle of his belt, retrieving it from its locked position, and sliding his throbbing dick from the tight enclosure of fabric. He continued the motions of pulling off his pants and boxers, his movements yearning, yet a coat of desperation blinded longing, leaving the yearning to be of what it was, yet tiny and unnoticable.

His lips never disattached from yours, even when he slid his length inside your entrance, but a striking, pleasurable pain overtook his lip once your teeth had bitten onto it at an attempt to soothe yourself, probably stabilization but all Chris could focus on was the squeeze of your walls bringing the pleasure he so badly seeked earlier. His cock almost begging with the leaking pre-cum.

With one last kiss, bathing in the warmth of your lips, he’d pulled away. His hands grabbing at your hips, groping at the flesh of your stomach, caressing the skin of your ribs as well as the skin below your boobs. His fingertips dancing along the skin left for his eyes, left for the moon to shine onto, casting an ethereal spell on your skin to reflect, let Chris deliver the satisfaction of being inevitably perfect.

His hips moved along with the rhythm of your moans, moving deeper whilst your moans grew louder and harder as your moans strained in the journey of your scratchy, used throat. Your eyes bathing in the tears of your pleasure. The sway of his hips meeting with yours urging the tears to produce, lay this last drop of mercy.

Despite the ache of how hard & deep he went, his movements were soft, cherishing in the bath of your body kneeling to his actions, taking in what it could get and giving back the pleasure he proclaimed. He wanted to soak in the soft hum of the tiny whimpers that failed to succeed from slipping your throat, he wanted to dry your tears with his lips - even if they weren’t from mental or physical pain. He wanted to be able to let the praises slide from his lips as easily as they used to, let each word bathe inside a pool of his possessiveness, reminding your conscious of just whom you’d ‘belonged’ to.

He wanted this one last given opportunity to be by your side, linger in the warmth of your being and skin to be memorable, not any other time you’d have sex, just, lacking the speech.

Your hand slithered to his bicep, squeezing hard, digging a crescent moon shape of your nails into his skin, your eyes closing as the returning feeling of an endless pit formed into your stomach. Perchance this time it wasn’t because of your orgasm. You could see the glint in Chris’ eyes, neither irises carrying a wash of lust inside them, rather, only a form of yearn and— longing. He longed and longed, for what you didn't know.

He was touching you, staring at you, embracing you, inside you for fucks sakes. What more did the man want? What more could a man ask for? Your body laid vulnerable in front of him, your flaws for his eyes, your insecurities lie for his hands to caress, yet he had done neither. Not a whisper of a praise sliding from his pretty pink lips.

Your hand slid to the nape of his neck, running your fingertips up his head, gripping at the loose curls, you pulled his face closer to yours, your lips a breath away from his.

You opened your eyes, meeting his in a long, tension full eye contact. Your face churned in pleasure when he thrusted especially hard in that moment, his cock slamming inside you, as his gaze didn't falter. A cocky smirk laid over his features, clearly enjoying the sight of you, the sounds you were making. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, his gaze unrelenting, his lips moved to form the letters he was yet to pronounce.

His previous yearn drowned in his now lust filled irises, a grunt slipping past his lips before he muttered possessively, “C’mon pretty, be a little louder for me baby. Wanna hear your moans and whimpers.” His thrusts slowed with each word his spoke, a seemingly threat.

“Fuck Chris, please don’t slow down, faster, please.” You’d begged, your knees curling into your chest as the feel of his cock drove into your insides, ridding any of the guilt that remained.

Low and behold, the mustered strength provided to your lustful needs was rooted from the tightening in his throat and burning eyes. Each thrust was a way to take his mind off of what was to come after this, each syllable said was a beg of the peace he desired for such an intimate moment. He wanted, he so badly wanted to want to fuck into you, whisper his possesive lacen words into your neck, his re occuring hands keeping your under him as you pleaded for him. Yet, he just couldn't.

Instead, your body lie before him, the window allowing the moon to assure you as the most beautiful thing he’d ever lain his eyes on, sweat dripping down the creases of your body, a mesmerized expression etched on your face, you glistening under the stars as a guiltiful apology sat on the shine coating your body from the moon. Reflected onto your body as it slightly shook with the forces of his thrusts. Each sparkle dancing on your skin a haunting taunt for the body he no longer could love and adore. Only to watch as memories and need for more relentlessly took over his mind.

2578 words.

TAGS

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[bunniekittiee]

Shattered Ice- Bi-Han x Fem. Reader

This is my first Bi-Han fic (besides headcanons) I promised you all, and I tried to get his characterization correct in the way I wanted it to be. Credits to @magic-schoolbusdropout ‘s post and their ideas! I did not base it solely on their idea but I incorporated it into the fic. I wanted to give it a shot.

It is not exactly proof-read so there may be errors!

CW: a lot of angst, bi-han going crazy, yea this is not the usual fluff stuff guys im sorry :(, also this is extremely long so like beware.

“Where are your brothers, Bi-Han?” she asked so quietly, her voice barely reaching his ears. Like a little mouse squeaking.

“They have forsaken our clan.” He rasped back. “They do not want the Lin Kuei to succeed. They want us to be at the hands of Liu Kang.”

Her heart dropped. Memories of the faces of the two brothers echoed in her head. Never to be seen again. “You have… abandoned them?”

Jaw clenched, Bi-Han’s eyes narrowed at his wife. “Abandoned them? They have abandoned our clan. They made that decision when they did not follow me.”

“Bi-Han, they are your brothers-”

“They believe we should be shackled by Liu Kang’s rule.” He interrupted her. “The Lin Kuei deserve much more than we receive, and the only way to accomplish that is by removing ourselves as Earthrealm’s protectors. Kuai Liang and Tomas have departed from us, they are banned from coming into our land.”

Her eyes watered. “Bi-Han… this is not right. You have forsaken your brothers.”

“Do not talk back to me in that tone.” He said harshly. “You are my wife. Know your place.”

“Abandoned your brothers for complete rule? Your father would be so devastated Bi-Han!” She fought back against him. “The Lin Kuei are supposed to be Earthrealm’s protectors.”

He rolled his eyes. “My father was a foolish old man, he did not know how to truly rule the clan. Sektor has been advising the development of the Cyber Initiative with me. We will flourish.” He was certainly proud of his decision, which made her feel worse.

“I do not know who you are anymore, Bi-Han.” She said, tears falling from her eyes as her wide (e/c) locking with his brown eyes. Eyes that were once soft to look at now held frigidness and irritation.

“I am still your husband.”

“Hardly.” She choked out as she got up from her seat. “You are someone else, a stranger.” She stormed away from him, his eyes still stuck onto her figure. His heart ached. In the worst ways possible. But he could not waste his time on making her understand. He had a lot to do, and he needed to work.

The couple’s home was silent for many months. She avoided him at what chance she could, hardly interacting with Bi-Han when he came into their room. He did not make an effort to talk to her either. Bi-Han felt lonely in their large bed as her body was on the opposite side of him. She stopped cuddling with him like she used to. She stopped giving him her sleepy kisses that warmed his cold heart. It was as if she hated him. It hurt in ways Bi-Han thought it would not hurt, but he could not let his pain show. It was weak, and he was angry at himself for being so bothered.

She struggled sleeping. It was difficult to rest when her husband, an entirely different man, was so cruel. Leaving his brothers behind. The faces she loved like her own brothers, now gone due to Bi-Han’s thirst for something more for the Lin Kuei that costed him his family. How much was it all worth? That, she did not know.

Dearly missing the brothers, she conspired. She loved Bi-Han very much. It was obvious as many commented on her look of infatuation and adoration when looking at him, but she was lonely. And deep inside of her, there was an intense feeling of terror building up as Bi-Han’s personality began to change drastically. He was much more agitated and withdrawn. When their eyes met, he would quickly turn away from her. Sometimes, if he stared at her for too long, his once comforting brown eyes would shift to a blue hue. It ached deeply. She wanted the old Bi-Han to return back to her once more, but she was not so sure if that would ever be possible.

Bi-Han was always busy with Lin Kuei matters that he never discussed with her. Before, he would make time to come back and rest with her, or at least sleep with her during the nights. However, he was slowly stopping that. So she decided that it was the perfect time to try and find Bi-Han’s brothers. It was a matter of slinking past the guards and others that roamed the grounds, but it was something she could manage.

She quickly packed a few things just in case she decided to stay with them for a few days. As much as she did not want to be with a tyrannical clan, she could not leave forever. And she could not leave Bi-Han, for he was her husband. They were tied together for the rest of their lives.

Bi-Han was not in bed by the time she decided to leave, so she carefully descended down the stairs of the palace and avoided the guards. He had taught her a few tricks to not be seen by others and she never thought she would need it, but here she was now. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as her adrenaline rushed. She was terrified of being found by Bi-Han or even Sektor. Bi-Han had never raised a hand to her, but with his personality changes, she was not too sure anymore.

It was incredibly dark outside, the wind swaying the trees to a slight rustling. This enhanced her paranoia as she snuck in the shadows, hiding from more guards. The Lin Kuei were much more guarded now due to Bi-Han breaking away from Liu Kang. Whether it was due to the fact the Shirai Ryu were beginning to rise up or Bi-Han was trying to increase numbers, the areas were guarded heavily. It made her escape difficult.

After some time of slinking past the darkest parts of the Arctika, she let out a small breath as she quickly padded in the direction of the horses’ stable. She knew that her journey would hardly be accomplished on foot, so having a way of transportation would grant her enough time to get away before Bi-Han realized she was missing. Whether it was the Gods’ way of helping her, the stables were not guarded. Luck must have been on her side tonight.

Quickly getting the gear on her horse, she frantically looked around to make sure no one would walk in on her. She could not be found out now. As she led her horse out of the stable, she looked around once more before lifting herself up onto her horse. She tried her best at being silent as she left, and the stables were on the outskirts of the Arctika. Once she hit the main pathway out, she looked down at the map she had stolen from Bi-Han of where the Shirai Ryu could possibly be at. It was in preparation for her trip. Her anxieties lessened as she increased her distance from the Lin Kuei, but guilt chewed her insides up. Bi-Han was going to be ravenous with revenge and fury.

Exhaustion hounded him like a starving stray dog. He had hardly slept for a while, the dark circles under his eyes darkening as he continued his bad habits. He craved the touch of his wife and her voice. Bi-Han missed her dearly. She had not taken the news of his new ruling well, and Bi-Han suspected that she was beginning to loathe him. But he tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Firefly,” he whispered as he creaked their bedroom door open. “I have missed you so.” He entered the room, eyebrows scrunching at the sight of an empty bed. His mind wracked where she could possibly be at during this hour of the night. Jaw clenched, he turned away from the room and began to stomp around their home, asking his soldiers if they had seen her. They had not.

Panic ensued within him, however he did the best he could to compose himself in front of his clan. If they had not seen her, maybe Sektor had. He hunted him down rather quickly.

“No, I have not seen her.” He replied back to the Grandmaster as he studied one of the cybers on the table. He looked up at Bi-Han. “You don’t think she left, do you?”

“I do not know.” Bi-Han snapped. He was extremely worried. His brain was running a million miles per hour thinking about where she could have went.

Sektor ignored his tone and thought over what could possibly be the reason why the Grandmaster’s wife had disappeared.

“Unless… you don’t think the Shirai Ryu could have possibly taken her?” Sektor suggested.

Bi-Han’s blood froze. He felt the room spin as his eyes widened and he thought deeply about Sektor’s suggestion. It made sense. But how did they sneak inside so easily? Bi-Han had it heavily overseen with troops. They were on lock down practically, but he did not put it past them to kidnap his one and only weakness.

His brown eyes began to slightly shift in color, beginning to turn blue as energy surged through him. “We have to infiltrate their base immediately.” He said gruffly. “We cannot let them hurt her.”

She studied the map more as her horse carried her further away from her home. It had been at least eight hours with a few breaks in between for her horse and herself. At a galloping speed, she was able to get across more distance. She was cold, shivering from the wind. It reminded her of Bi-Han’s cold body when he changed his body temperature. Sometimes if she had hot flashes or extreme high temperatures, he would simmer his own in order to give her relief. He would cuddle her close to him as he did so, making sure to not overdo it. Her heart hurt as she thought about their memories together. After his betrayal, he was not the same.

Glancing around at her surroundings, she heard rustling in the trees around her. Her paranoia had risen once more and her horse had heard the noises as well, ears standing on end. She swiveled her head to see if it was an animal or a person. The rustling quickened, and she dug her heels into the side of her companion to run. But she was not so lucky, as they were both caught in a net. Her horse stopped dead in his tracks, squealing angrily as they were both thrown to the ground by the force of the net. Surrounded by unknown soldiers who had wrapped rope around her horse, she screamed. Adrenaline coursed through her body as her fear made her nauseated. Bi-Han was not around to save her, and she had led herself straight into the jaws of death.

As she attempted to get up, she was tackled back down to the ground once more. Her forehead was painfully wounded as she struggled against her captor who was much stronger than she was. Blood blurring her vision, she could not see very well. The soldiers had tied her extremities and picked her off the ground, silently making their way back to where they came from before. She continued to scream and thrash her body around, until another solider roughly tied a gag around her mouth to shut her up. Tears ran down her face and she could not help but sob. Her heart felt like it was going to come out of her throat as she knew she was meeting her demise. Without ever saying good-bye to Bi-Han.

She saw the dirt ground turn into a pathway, but soon after she had seen a glimpse of it, her head was obscured by a burlap sack by the same soldier that gagged her. They must not want prisoners to know the layout of their land. That made sense to her, she had seen the Lin Kuei practice the same method. For a moment, a fleeting thought passed through her brain. Maybe this was the Shirai Ryu clan. That meant she was near Tomas and Kuai Liang.

But then again, she was not so sure. That made the anxiety in her stomach twist. If she was wrong, it meant it would cost her her life. After some time of walking, she assumed she was where she needed to be when she was tossed to the ground like a rag doll. Her body ached tremendously from the cold, as well as the rough state her body was in.

“Unmask her.” A familiar voice rang out, but it was muffled by the burlap sack and her stinging head wound that made her lightheaded and dizzy. The sack was violently torn off of her head as her eyes adjusted to the light that the torches gave off.

Looking up, her vision was blurry as she could barely make out the two figures that sat near her. “By the Gods! Untie her immediately!” said one as he approached her fast. “Now now!”

“Y/N…” said the other who came near her form. “Is it really you?”

Kuai Liang and Tomas engulfed her in a hug as she began to cry. From pain and relief. She found them…

“I have been searching for you both.” she said, her words wavering. “I am so grateful to have found you.”

“We need to take you to the medics, little sister.” Kuai Liang said as Tomas gently picked her up off the ground. “That is a nasty head wound they gave you.”

“My horse…”

“They will take care of him.” Tomas said as Kuai ordered them to free her horse and put him in the stables. That was if they could avoid getting kicked in the face.

Reaching the medics, Tomas set her down on the bed as they began to work on her scrapes and wound. “If we had known it was you, we would have not allowed them to hurt you like that.”

She sighed quietly. “It is okay, Tomas. I was in your territory, a stranger. They were only doing what they were ordered to do.”

“How did you escape the Arctika?” Kuai asked. “I thought Bi-Han would have everything guarded heavily.”

“Well, he does. I was able to sneak past the guards and get to the stables. They do not exactly have soldiers patrolling the stables, and since it is on the outskirts of the Arctika, it is easy to escape.” She explained.

Tomas grabbed your hand gently. “If you have escaped, Bi-Han will not be that far behind you. He will go to the ends of the earth to find you.”

Looking down, she frowned. “I just… missed you both very much. Bi-Han is not the man he once was. He is much more aggressive and distant. He is searching for the Shirai Ryu. I have barely interacted with him since his betrayal, and I cannot bring myself to stay in a place that does not bring me joy.”

“Do not twist my words, I still love Bi-Han very much, but what he is doing is not what your father would have wanted. He has corrupted the Lin Kuei.”

Kuai Liang furrowed his eyebrows. “I heard that he was following through with the Cyber Initiative. That is what Shang Tsung had promised him. I cannot believe that he is doing all of this.”

“Neither can I. I wish he was easier to reason with, but he is very relentless on this matter. He believes you both have betrayed him, not the other way around.” She explained while gripping Tomas’ hand. “He is blinded by his own anger.”

“Bi-Han was never one to master his own anger, that was always an issue he has struggled with.” Kuai Liang replied. “I do not see him having mercy, especially now that you are with us.”

“But do not fret,” Tomas interjected. “We are happy to have you here until you recover. That is, if Bi-Han does not find you until then.” He exchanged a worried look with Kuai Liang who only nodded his head. “He will not take it lightly that we have his wife.”

She understood. She knew how much they were risking letting her stay with them. Bi-Han’s rage was not one to be in the crossfire of. She had hoped he would not find her just yet, she had barely reunited with the brothers and wanted to spend more time with them.

After cleaning her wounds up and bandaging her, the brothers led her out of the infirmary to walk to the temple. They talked about old memories of being together, the adventures they would go on. Tomas had asked how Jia was, which Jia was a little sad since the brothers were exiled. They were a part of her life since she was a kitten, it was not a surprise she carried melancholy since they had left. Many of their conversations were reminiscing as they did not want to talk about the present. It was saddening to know that they would never have the same bond they once did with Bi-Han, he would always crave for bloodshed. He already spilled Kuai Liang’s blood when he gave him that scar on his eye, he would continue his journey to spill more. Bi-Han did not see them as brothers anymore, they were enemies. Kuai Liang and Tomas understood that.

The brothers made sure she was fed and had a comfortable space to sleep. She was exhausted. She quickly fell asleep the minute her head hit the pillow, forgetting the events of her day in the dream state she entered.

However, Kuai Liang and Tomas were not so easily able to do the same as her. They stayed up, their anxieties chewing away at them.

“If Bi-Han finds her here, he will assume we took her.” Kuai Liang said while he brushed his hair. “He is not one for reasoning while he is angry.”

“Believe me,” Tomas replied. “I know he will be wrathful. There will be no way of explaining anything to him. He will ignore it.”

Kuai sighed. “As much as I am happy she is here, it also created a disaster in the long run. I just hope that Bi-Han will not be able to find her, at least for some time.”

“But if he already had a map developed of where we are at, then he will not take long.” said Tomas. “Once he is on a mission, he will never get side tracked.”

“You are right, brother.”

The glaring sun bore through the window near her bed, making her shift her body and scrunch her face up. She was not used to this as the Arctika did not have much sunlight coming through in the mornings. But where the Shirai Ryu were, there were lots of lighting. Eventually, it woke her up.

Blinking slowly, she remembered her journey that she had taken to get here. Her breathing increased when she remembered Bi-Han, and how he was going to eventually find her. It scared her. She did not know what he would do once he found her with his brothers. Maybe he would kill her? Keep her prisoner? Leave her to stay with the Shirai Ryu? The possibilities were endless, and Bi-Han was not exactly predictable like he used to be.

She crawled out of bed and made her way outside to enjoy the sunshine. The Arctika did not have sunshine with this amount of intensity, so she decided to embrace it as much as she could before she would have to leave. She sat down in a spot with direct sunlight, sighing with such peace as she closed her eyes. The sun felt good on her skin as the morning dew created a refreshing feeling.

Hearing the crunching of footsteps, she opened her eyes and saw the brothers approaching her. She smiled at them. “Good morning, brothers.”

They nodded their heads. “Good morning, sister.” They both said as they sat down next to her.

“It is a beautiful morning.” She said with a small smile on her lips. “Much better than the ones at home.”

Kuai Liang chuckled. “Definitely. The sun feels great out here.”

“I can see why Syzoth enjoys it, although he is a reptile, so it makes sense.” Tomas said. “It makes you feel good.”

They sat in a comfortable silence. However, they all had the same thoughts in the back of their mind. It always lead back up to Bi-Han no matter what. The worries of him arriving soon had nagged at Tomas and Kuai Liang. They could not abandon Bi-Han’s wife, as she was like a sister to them, and they knew they had to take care of her. But they knew they had to prepare for war. Bi-Han could arrive at any time, and they knew that.

“We came to greet you, but we must be on our way. Sorry, little sister.” Kuai Liang said as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “We have to prepare for war as a precaution. I hope you understand.”

Smiling sadly, she nodded solemnly. “I understand. I am very sorry.”

“Don’t ever be sorry, we are glad we found you. We hate to let you go so soon.” Tomas frowned. “We wish you could stay here forever, but your life is with Bi-Han. He…”

“He would not know what to do without you. It is better if you are with him, even if he is corrupt.” Kuai Liang finished Tomas’ thought. “But we will not throw you out, of course.”

Nodding once again, she said her goodbyes to the brothers so they could tend to their duties and prepare for Bi-Han’s arrival. She felt her eyes water, but she blinked her tears away. She could not allow herself to cry, not yet. She had nothing to cry over, until it was time.

Eyes ablaze with rage and distress, Bi-Han lead his army to where he speculated the Shirai Ryu were at. He did take notice of the map missing from his study, he had almost believed that his wife may have taken it, but he did not think so. Why would she scheme against him? His trustworthiness for her was beginning to diminish, but he could not let it go too far. He could be wrong.

After planning with Sektor and Cyrax, they gathered what they had of the cyber Lin Kuei and combined it with their human counterparts. They could overpower the Shirai Ryu. At least, that is what Sektor had promised him. All three of them were riding their horses in front of their army, the only sounds echoing around them being synchronized footsteps and the click-clack of the horses’ hooves.

It was now sometime in the late afternoon to evening, and they had hardly taken any breaks. Cyrax was looking down at the map they had, thankful that Bi-Han had more than one map of the possible location of the Shirai Ryu. As he did this, Sektor was beginning to converse with Bi-Han.

“Grandmaster, I do not want to worry you, but-” he started.

“What is it, Sektor?” Bi-Han snapped as he was led out of his own thoughts.

Sektor raised his head a little higher and bit back his retaliation. “When I went to get our horses from their stables, your wife’s horse was gone.”

Bi-Han glowered. “There is no way of her horse walking out on its own, were any of the stable doors open.”

Sektor shook his head. “Not at all, Grandmaster. In fact, some of the gear was missing as well. I do not want to assume she may have left on her own, but it would explain why her horse was missing.” He carefully chose his words.

Bi-Han tightened his grip on his horse’s reins. “Why would she leave me like that? She has nowhere else to go. Besides the Shirai Ryu.”

“Either way, it is still a positive sign to continue our journey.” Sektor replied.

Sektor’s information did not ease Bi-Han’s heart. He felt like it was going to shatter. Why would she betray him like this? It was bad enough that his own brothers did the same, but she? His own wife, the love of his life? His heart was beginning to harden after everything he had known. Why show her mercy if she was disloyal to him and the Lin Kuei?

“Halt!” Cyrax called out loud. “There is something on the ground.”

Bi-Han rolled his eyes. “Why are we stopping over something that pathetic?”

Cyrax hopped down from his horse as he approached the spot on the ground, studying it carefully. “Grandmaster, it is blood.”

Narrowing his eyes, he let himself down from his horse as he approached him. “Blood you say? Is there a chance it could be hers?”

Sektor had decided to leave his horse as well and study different parts of the area to find more clues.

“I am not too sure, Grandmaster. It could be an animal’s but there is also a chance it could be hers. But this is not near the assumed location on the map.”

Sektor was studying some sharp branches closely. There was something off about them. Almost as if-

“Grandmaster. Cyrax. I have found another clue!” He said as he pointed at the clothing. Bi-Han quickly approached him. “Look at the branches. There is clothing caught on them.”

“That is the colors of the Lin Kuei.” Cyrax said in slight awe. “You have great eyesight, Sektor.” Bi-Han reached forward and grabbed the cloth. He rubbed it between his fingers. It felt just like the clothing she wore. His eyes darkened as he glanced back at the blood and the clothing that was now pointing them into the right direction.

“They hurt her. They are where the cloth will take us, in that direction.” Bi-Han said as he pointed. “We must act fast before they cause more harm again.”

Kuai Liang was meditating, taking a small break from the large amounts of preparing he and Tomas were doing. They had to get their soldiers ready for any threat, as well as their land guarded at every point possible. They had to stay on high alert of the Lin Kuei showing up. Kuai Liang knew it was coming no matter what.

His eyes widened as the hair on his arms stood on end. He had a sense of impending doom, a feeling all too familiar to him. From experience, his senses were hardly ever wrong. Getting up rather fast, he had to warn Tomas. Bi-Han was here and he was ready for warfare.

Bi-Han’s lovely wife was resting due to her head wound causing her to feel dizzy. Tomas and Kuai Liang did not pressure her to leave her bed. They were already busy as it was due to her staying with them. It was only a matter of time before Bi-Han arrived like a bat out of hell. Eyes closed, she drifted off to an in between state of sleep and alertness. That was, until a solider of theirs stormed into her room. “Grandmaster Bi-Han’s wife,” he said. “We need to put you into hiding, they are here.”

Her heart sank. She nodded, getting up from the bed and following the soldier to a spot underneath the floor where should could possibly be safe at. That was if Bi-Han did not find her. He was a very thorough man, there was a good chance he would.

Encased in mostly darkness, she sat on the dirt floor and pulled her knees to her chest. She could hear the footsteps of the Shirai Ryu overhead, and the approaching sounds of their rivals. It was only a matter of time before they were murdering each other. All because she left. She realized how much trouble she had caused for Kuai Liang and Tomas just by arriving at their home. She shouldn’t be hiding underneath the floor, she should be trying to reason with Bi-Han.

“Where is she, Kuai Liang?” Bi-Han spat while placing a hand on the handle of his sword. “Give me back my wife that you took from me!”

“Brother, I did not do such a thing.” Kuai Liang said, eyebrows scrunched. “She came here looking for us. We did not tread on your land.”

Bi-Han did not want to believe them. Why would his own wife betray him like that? “You defile her name, you speak lies, snake. Why have you hurt her? There is blood on the ground.”

Tomas internally cursed and looked sullen. “Bi-Han, it was an accident. They did not know who wandered into our territory.”

Gritting his teeth, Bi-Han’s eyes glimmered with anger as he began to pull his sword out of its sheath. “Incompetent. I do not expect anything less from either of you. Give her back to me, now. Before I rip apart your home.”

Tomas and Kuai exchanged a look before averting their eyes back to Bi-Han. “Only if you stop your mission to kill us. And you will leave her alone.”

Bi-Han signaled his soldiers to attack, not wanting to hear more out of his enemies. Kuai and Tomas knew it was going to come to this, so they wasted no time in lunging at Bi-Han to calm him down. Despite all he had done, they did not want to hurt their brother. But he was starting a war that neither side could not afford.

Curling into a ball, she felt terrified and lonely. She wondered when it would all be over, but then, their faces appeared in her head. Bi-Han had the chance to kill his brothers if he wanted to, all because she made the choice to leave. To find them. It was unfair, and she knew that. As she gained courage, she rummaged around the small space, trying to find anything she could to break out of the confinements. She had to reason with Bi-Han. It was the only way to get him to stop this.

She wrapped her hands around the handle of what she assumed was a broom and began to slam it into the trapdoor. Over and over. Continuously, until the floor began to somewhat break. She used her hands to strike at it as it was weak, and it eventually gave away. Pulling herself up, she squinted her eyes as she adjusted to the lighting. She could hear the yells of the soldiers much more clearer. With adrenaline rushing, she sprinted out one of the doors and whipped her head around. In her attempts to find Kuai Liang and Bi-Han. Back farther into the forest, she saw glimpses of smoke, fire, and ice. They must have taken their fight away from the Shirai Ryu Temple.

Avoiding as much as the bloodshed as possible, as well as the soldiers fighting to the death, she ran in the general direction she had seen the men’s powers. The soldiers were too occupied with one another to see her. Otherwise, the Lin Kuei would have immediately attacked her. The sight of the cybers increased her fear. That is what Bi-Han and Sektor were developing. It was horrifying.

As she got closer to where the brothers and her husband were at, the smell of blood stung her nostrils. Her worries almost came out of her mouth as bile, but she could not let herself be so weak in this moment. She needed to help them.

“Surrender, and I will call off the Lin Kuei.” Bi-Han rasped as he stared down Kuai Liang.

“Now you lie, brother.” Kuai replied as they paced around. “You will never call them off.”

Bi-Han’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “Obey your Grandmaster and heed my orders!”

“You are not my Grandmaster no longer, brother.” said Kuai as his emotions were written on his face. Sadness, betrayal, and grief. “You are not who you once were.”

“And you are not my brother, a mere stranger to me.” Bi-Han lunged forward at Kuai as their swords clashed together. Bi-Han stepped back once again.

“Bi-Han,” said that sweet voice, one that brought him comfort, love, and warmth. “Bi-Han, you need to stop this!”

“Little sister!” Tomas said as he went to her side. “You are not supposed to be here!”

“Get away from her you fool!” Bi-Han yelled at Tomas as he began to walk forward. Kuai pointed his sword out at Bi-Han to stop.

“You will not touch her,” Kuai growled. “You leave her out of this, Bi-Han.”

“I want my wife back, the one that was wrongfully taken from me!”

“Bi-Han, I made the decision to leave.” She blurted. “I left to find them. They did not take me away from you.”

Another blow to his heart. His beloved, his most cherished human being in his life, left him. To find the Shirai Ryu. Sektor was correct in his theory. “You betrayed me!”

“You betrayed them first, Bi-Han.” She argued back. “You made that mistake.”

“You have forsaken all the Lin Kuei principles!” His voice increased in loudness and raspiness. “What have you done to me? You were supposed to rule beside me!”

“I missed them, Bi-Han! You cannot blame me for my sadness, you brought it upon me and I had no other option but to accept it. You are not the same man you once were, and it shows. I wanted to see them again, Bi-Han.”

Jaw clenched, his eyes moved from his wife, to Kuai, to Tomas, and back to her again. “All three of you have abandoned the Lin Kuei. For your own selfish purposes. You all could have ruled beside me and witnessed us flourishing. Instead, you have betrayed me.” His eyes began to shift in color, his arms beginning to turn icy and the nature around them as well. His feet created ice underneath them.

Kuai Liang took a step back as Bi-Han’s rage was focused on him, his now blue eyes staring into his soul. Raising his hands, Bi-Han shot ice out of his hands, enough to give Kuai injuries and more. But, it did not hit Kuai Liang.

Body thudding the ground, her face paled quickly as the ice began to seep into her body and penetrate her blood. Bi-Han’s eyes slowly moved down to her small form laying on the ground. It did not register in him that he hurt his own wife. The woman he promised to never hurt and always protect. Yet here she was, lying on the ground as her limbs encapsulated themselves in ice.

“Bi-Han…”

“What have you done?” Tomas said as he kneeled down next to her. “Kuai, we need your fire now.”

“Unhand her now!” Bi-Han said as he ripped her body away from Tomas. “You… will not touch her again.”

“Bi-Han, she needs immediate attention! She is going to die.” Kuai said as he stepped towards Bi-Han.

His eyes began to glow which did not settle right with Tomas and Kuai. They had never seen him do this before. “I do not need your help. Leave it to me, now.”

“Brother-”

“Silence!” He screamed, breathing unevenly and placing his hands gently on her pale face.

"Bi-Han, she will die if she does not-"

Their vision was immediately obscured by white, ears ringing as the whistling of the winds began to pick up. They were surrounded by snow and snowflakes. They squinted their eyes at attempts to find Bi-Han and his wife, but they could not see very much.

"Kuai Liang!" Tomas yelled over the whistling wind. "I think he created a blizzard!"

"I did not know he was capable of doing so!" he replied as he grabbed onto Tomas. "He will be easily angered in this form, I do not see him reasoning with us."

"We need to help her! If she does not get the help she needs, she will die!" Tomas yelled again. The look of defeat crossed their faces. They were not going to have much power to reason with Bi-Han to accept their help.

Bi-Han felt his word shatter as he stared at her limp form. Her heart beat was still there but it was rather faint. Her lips were beginning to turn blue from being surrounded by cold and ice. Bi-Han's eyes were still glowing as the winds increased more, as well as the snow fall. Picking them both off the ground, Bi-Han began to walk in the general direction he assumed where the Shirai Ryu were at. He had to leave now. They had to make it back to the Arctika before she gave up on them. He could not rely on the Shirai Ryu to help, as they would only use it as leverage. And Bi-Han knew that he could not bite his pride back and let them help her.

The blizzard Bi-Han created followed the Lin Kuei all the way back home to the Arctika. They had difficulty navigating back because of how heavy the snowfall and winds were. It only seemed to get worse as they approached their home. Bi-Han attempted to keep his wife warm with many blankets as possible as Sektor kept track of her heart rate, but her condition did not improve much. Bi-Han felt hopeless, his moods taking a turn for the worst. He was distraught as he felt many emotions he did not think he could feel. He was hurt. His heart hurt so much. How could she do this to him? How much did she tell Kuai and Tomas? He was not sure, and he almost did not want to ask. He felt like he could not trust the only person who he loved so much, for she had taken his trust and ran with it.

But Bi-Han loved her. He loved her so much and he knew he could not stop loving her no matter what. Could he stop trusting her? Yes, yes he could, but stop loving her? That was impossible as much as he wished he did not turn soft. For many hours of their trip, Bi-Han continued to monitor her closely as they were far from their home. Any moment Sektor's facial expression somewhat changed when he listened to her heart rate was another stab into his heart.

After many grueling hours, the Lin Kuei and their Grandmaster made it home. The blizzard was at its peak, but the soldiers hurried inside the confinements of their home. Sektor and Cyrax instantly began to prepare the infirmary for the Grandmaster's wife. Bi-Han was relieved to be home, but his anxiety was not at ease. It made him nauseated. He felt out of control, it was not normal for Bi-Han.

He waited impatiently, pacing and rubbing his face constantly as Cyrax and Sektor began to work on her hypothermia. No matter how much warmth they used, she did not improve. They knew it would take time, but telling the Grandmaster that was as if they were telling him she was going to die. Cyrax and Sektor exchanged small, concerned glances as they continued their work. Bi-Han was not acting normal, in fact, it seemed as if his defenses were down.

"Grandmaster, we can give you a moment alone if you want." Cyrax said to him, noticing how pained he looked. Bi-Han did not reply as he got up which signaled to them to leave. Closing the door on the way out, Bi-Han sat next to his wife, gently cradling her freezing hand between his own. If anyone had seen Bi-Han, it would look as if he was in mourning. His dark circles were extremely dark, his eyes bloodshot and containing no glimmer of hope. His lips were pulled into a tight line, whether it was to prevent himself from showing any other emotions or another reason, it was unknown.

"Firefly," he said softly. "Never underestimate how much I love you. You have to be strong, you are Lin Kuei. Lin Kuei fight their battles well, no matter if it is in physical battle or in health. Do not give up." He did not know if she could hear him, but a small part of him wished she did. His eyes scanned her face while his grip began to slowly increase. She was alive, a fact that put his certain worries at ease, but she was lying on her death bed. That he put her on. It was his fault, he had lost control and was not disciplined enough to master his own powers apparently. That was evident to Bi-Han.

Lowering his head, he continued to hold her hand as he closed his eyes. All the fighting and long nights were beginning to hit him all at once. He could not help but feel himself drift off to sleep. It was not peaceful, that was something he could not argue against.

Drowsily opening her eyes, her teeth chattered immensely at the freezing cold that pricked at her body. She was covered in multiple blankets and had some sort of heaters around her, but it was not able to fight against the cold that made her body convulse. She looked over and her mouth opened agape. Bi-Han was sitting next to her with his eyes closed, holding her hand in his large one. She felt her fear consume her, as she began to move away from Bi-Han’s figure. She could hardly move her limbs, it was as if they were frozen.

Bi-Han heard her struggles and awoke fast. He got up on his feet, now awake and registering his own wife moving away from him. He placed a hand onto her. “Firefly-”

“Get away from me!” She croaked. Bi-Han retreated his hand, as if he had touched a red, hot knife. “Stay away from me, Bi-Han.”

“You should know I never meant to hurt you.” He replied solemnly. “It was meant for Kuai Liang.”

She felt herself tear up. “Hurting me or your brothers will not help your cause. Get away from me, Bi-Han.” She tried to say this sternly but she could not help the few cracks in her voice. “You frighten me.”

It anguished him to hear her sharp words. The pit of his stomach fizzled with nausea and bile, his chest felt that broken, horrifyingly warm feeling as his vision blurred and his ears began to ring. His breathing increased. “My beloved, you do not understand.”

“Understand what? That you are a monster?”

He gritted his teeth. “It was you that left me. Had you not left me, this would have never happened.”

“Well, it happened, didn’t it? All for what? So you could get the upper hand against the Shirai Ryu?” She spat back, bringing her knees to her chest as she cuddled against the blankets. “You were going to hurt your brothers.”

“They are not my brothers no more. You of all people should know that.” His irritation was beginning to increase. “You have betrayed me. I cannot trust you.”

“I can’t trust you either. Now I am going to be fearful if you will hurt me again or cover me in ice.” She replied with venom dripping off her words. “You are a cruel man, Bi-Han. Leave me alone. I cannot bear to be around you.”

With her last words, Bi-Han stormed out of the room. He did not spare her a passing glance. She let herself cry, sobs wracking her body as she pulled the blankets closer to her and tried to warm herself up. But she could not. She craved Bi-Han’s warmth and touch, but she could not be held by him. He was corrupted.

Sektor and Cyrax recommended lots of bed rest, warm foods, and extra warmth to help her condition. She was eventually moved from the infirmary to the comfort of her and Bi-Han’s bedroom. Servants gave her what she needed, and they gave her warm baths in order to ease the aching cold. But it was hardly improving much. It was as if Bi-Han had given her a deadly frost bite.

Ever since their last argument, Bi-Han had avoided her like she was an illness. She had not seen him since. But little did she know, Bi-Han did see her. He was check in on her when she was asleep to see if she was still breathing. She was just as beautiful as the day he married her. He wanted to crawl into bed with her and hold her close to him. Give her warmth. But he had to listen to her orders to stay away. It was for her own good. He could not bear to hurt her again like he did. She was even lucky to still be alive.

He occupied himself with work and overworked himself in large amounts. He had to oversee the production of the Cyber Initiative as he had taken some to battle the Shirai Ryu. They found out their weaknesses and made the cybers stronger. Soon, they would be unstoppable.

Yet his achievements did not make him feel any better. He missed his wife dearly. He wanted to hear from her how proud she was of him, and how the Lin Kuei would never have to be servants again. Instead, he felt like a monster living within human flesh. The blizzards hardly faltered since that day she had gotten hurt. The weather conditions were horrible on the Arctika due to this. Bi-Han did not know he was capable of such a powerful weapon, but he had concluded that he could only do so when he was agonized.

In dire need of seeing his wife once again, Bi-Han had risen from his chair and decided to take a stroll and find her in their room. That was where she mainly stayed at due to medical orders. Cyrax made sure she did not disobey these orders, as she had already broken Bi-Han’s trust.

His feet carried him to their room while he was deep in thought. It felt as if he had teleported his way to their sanctuary. His hand turning the door knob quietly, he peered inside and was taken aback. She was not asleep like usual, she was awake. Her head swiveled to him, their eyes locking together as they stared at one another. Bi-Han entered the room and she began to flinch away from him. She moved her body further away, and it tugged at Bi-Han’s heartstrings. She was afraid.

“What do you want?” She asked him, still looking at him.

“I came to see you.” He breathed quietly. “I always do when you are asleep.”

She felt her heart beat faster at his words. Despite how much they were hurting, he still came to see her. It warmed her heart, but she could not bring herself to forgive him just yet.

“I know I hurt you.” He said with his arms crossed. “I am truly sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“It is hard to believe you. With your behavior changes and what you have done.” She frowned at him and felt herself begin to tear up.

Bi-Han started to approach her but she scooted back quickly. “Please stay away, Bi-Han.”

He stopped where he stood and put his arms behind his back. “I am sorry, my beloved. I never wanted this to happen.”

As much as she craved his touch, she could not trust him. Just as he could not trust her. “We both need time, Bi-Han. It is too soon.”

He nodded his head. “Understood. We both do.”

Many months had passed since her accident. Bi-Han tried to keep his distance away from her, but here and there she warmed up to his advances. They had not made love for almost a year, although Bi-Han was not a fiend for such an act, he still wished they could divulge in it with her. He missed being so close to her and her body. But he knew she needed time to trust him, just as he needed time to trust her once again.

“Bi-Han,” she spoke softly.

He raised his head up. “Yes, my firefly?”

She stepped closer to him. “Please hold me, Bi-Han.”

This was a huge step for them, but Bi-Han did not want this opportunity to slip from his hands. He gently wrapped his arms around her waist as he brought her closer to him. He felt her arms wrap around his body. He breathed in her scent deeply. She smelled wonderful. It was comforting to Bi-Han.

He wondered if their relationship would recover fully from what had happened. It felt that these wounds were partially healed, but Bi-Han did not want them to re-open. His brown eyes started to tear up as he held her close to him, but he blinked them away. He wanted to stay like this forever.

“I love you, Bi-Han.” She said as she closed her eyes.

“I love you much more, my sweet firefly.”

[sinkovia]

Yes, Lieutenant: III

Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Violence, angst, blood.

Yes, Lieutenant Masterlist

You sat alone in your dimly lit room, the harsh words Ghost said echoing through your mind like a relentless chant.

You're not my type.

You're always following me around like a lost puppy, always watching my every move, and it's annoying as hell.

His words crushed your heart.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, soaking into your pillow as you sobbed in silence. It felt like the walls were closing in on you, the weight of rejection pressing down with an unbearable force.

He was the one to make a move on you first. Yeah, you harbored feelings for him deep down, but you always told yourself you would never act upon them because it was unprofessional, and you were okay admiring him from afar.

How could he have been so cruel? You had let your feelings show, and it had only resulted in heartache.

As Ghost stood at your door, he couldn't help but notice the telltale signs of your sadness. Your eyes were puffy and red, your cheeks stained with tears that you had fought so hard to hide. It crushed his heart, seeing the pain he had caused you etched across your face.

Deep down, he felt a crushing weight of guilt. He knew he had hurt you, and it tore at his conscience. But he also knew he needed to push you away, to keep up the facade of a calm and cold demeanor. His own internal struggle was hidden behind a mask of detachment, a facade he had become a master at maintaining.

It was a battle within him, torn between his feelings for you and his desire to protect you from himself. The guilt coursed through his veins like poison, but he couldn't let it show.

"Price wants everyone in the debriefing room," he said, his voice carrying an undertone of regret.

You fail to catch it.

"Is that all you have to say?" You couldn't hide the bitterness in your voice.

Ghost hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor before he quietly replied, "Yes." He turned away, leaving you to grapple with the pain he had caused, all the while carrying the heavy burden of his own remorse.

Leaving you alone with your shattered heart, the room once again enveloped in the heavy silence of your unspoken pain.

Price had debriefed us on a mission that Laswell was sending us on. It would take place in a couple of hours; we were going to breach a safe house not far from here. Laswell had received an intelligence report that the enemy was supposedly using the building to transport cargo underground.

You quickly changed into your tactical gear before heading down to the storage locker. As you walked in, you bumped into Ghost as he was walking out.

He didn't say a word, only shooting you a cold glare before walking away.

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the desolate street where the safehouse stood. The building, a nondescript two-story structure, was tucked away in a dimly lit alley.

Your team moved with calculated precision. The air was frigid, each exhale visible as a ghostly vapor. The mission had a sense of urgency, a feeling that time was of the essence. On the flight over, the team had received intel that a high-ranking operative was holed up in the safe house, and extracting valuable information from him was paramount.

The plan was simple, in theory. Breach the perimeter, gain entry without alerting the guards, and capture the operative before he had a chance to react. But in the world of covert operations, simple plans often took unforeseen turns.

As you approached the entrance, your heart pounded in your chest. The adrenaline coursing through your veins was a constant reminder of the danger that lay ahead. The silence of the night seemed to amplify every breath and rustle, heightening the tension.

With a subtle hand signal, Ghost gave the go-ahead. You moved like shadows, silently closing in on the safe house. The breach was executed flawlessly, the door swinging open with a well-timed kick, and the element of surprise on your side.

Inside, the safehouse was dimly lit, the air heavy with anticipation. As you cleared room after room, you could hear faint murmurs and hurried footsteps from the operatives inside. The tension escalated with each passing moment.

The sound of muffled voices ahead signaled that you were closing in on your target. As you pushed forward, you couldn't help but feel the weight of dread pressing down on you.

As you slowly opened the door, silently walking through, you pointed your suppressed pistol at the man standing next to your target. But in the rush of the moment, you failed to realize that there was another man waiting behind the door.

A strong hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your startled gasp. With a swift, calculated move, he managed to pin you down onto the floor. Your heart sank as he took both of your hands and zip tied them. You attempted to scream out, but he quickly taped your mouth shut, your cries stifled.

The target slowly walked over, laughing.

"What do we have here?" he sneered as he kneeled down next to you, harshly grabbing your face and scanning your features.

"You have such a pretty face." His words dripped with malice as he raised his fist and brought it down, striking you hard across the face. The force of the blow sent shockwaves of pain radiating through your body. Your vision blurred, and the room seemed to tilt dangerously. You attempted to scream for help, but all that escaped your lips were muffled groans.

Panic surged through your veins as the unbearable pain consumed you. You squeezed your eyes shut, struggling and flailing in desperation, attempting to get up from the floor. Adrenaline surged through your veins, but it was no match for the overwhelming force of your assailants.

They would just kick you down again...

And again...

And again.

Pain flared in your ribs and jaw, making it difficult to breathe or defend yourself.

Panic set in as oxygen became a rare commodity, and your vision darkened at the edges.

Desperation fueled your adrenaline. With one last surge of strength, you managed to land a solid strike with your foot, pushing back one of the men. But it was too little, too late. The damage had been done, and your body, battered and overwhelmed, finally gave in. 

As consciousness slipped away, you felt a sense of helplessness, a silent plea for someone to intervene and save you from the relentless onslaught.

You felt the blood seeping from your nose...

You felt your blood seeping everywhere.

They continued to beat you as your eyes began to flutter close. Your consciousness slipping further and further away. Suddenly the pain had stopped all at once and you heard a voice.

They kept trying to tell you something,  but your ears were ringing.

A sense of weightlessness overcame you. It was as though you were floating in a vast, featureless void. Unseen forces tugged at your consciousness, pulling you deeper into the abyss.

And then, like a beacon in the night, a presence emerged from the shadows. Strong arms enveloped you, cradling you with unwavering support. The warmth of another human being pressed against you, grounding you in the midst of your descent into the abyss.

You could sense the urgency in the touch, the desperation of the one who held you. Faint words and pleas reached your ears, but they were like distant whispers, struggling to penetrate the thick fog that enveloped your senses. Your vision remained shrouded in darkness, your ears ringing.

He gently cradled you, his heart pounding as he tried tried to wake you up. Your pulse was weak. Desperate words spilled from his lips, as he was running to the med evac. 

You remained unresponsive, caught in a world between consciousness and oblivion.

"Y/n it's me please look at me" As Ghost gently, but firmly, holds you in his arms, he cups your face in his hands trying to get you to open your eyes. Your body was limp in his arms. 

"Y/n open your eyes it's Simon, Please just look at me. Please just open your eyes." Despite his pleas, you were still unresponsive.

"Fuck."

In a few minutes you had landed being put on a stretcher as you were rushed into surgery. 

Five hours of stitching you back together.

The night had turned into a battleground of emotions for Ghost, and as they transferred you into a room, Ghost dragged a chair next to your bed, carefully holding your hand in his. The only signs of life were the rhythmic beeping of machines and the steady rise and fall of your chest as you lay in a deep coma. 

He scanned over your face, you had stitches going across your eyebrow into your hairline, you had stitches on your cheek and lip. Your shoulder had been dislocated and you were bleeding internally. 

You were still unconscious , the doctor had told Ghost it might take awhile for you to wake up but that he should talk to you, to help your consciousness find its way back to your body.

With each passing second, he spoke to you. Talking about the missions you had went on, the nights spent in the rec room, the time Soap had rammed his head into a glass display at a bakery. Any fond memories that he could think of. 

His voice, soft and laden with emotion, filled the room like a whispered secret, the words falling on your unconscious ears. His hand rested gently atop yours, a warm anchor in the cold, sterile room.

"Remember that mission in Prague?" Ghost began, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "It was pouring rain, and you slipped on that wet cobblestone, but you didn't let it slow you down. You just flashed that stubborn grin of yours and kept moving."

A brief pause followed, as if he were savoring the memory. "And those late nights in the rec room, when you'd talk about anything and everything until the sun came up. Those were some of the best moments I had with you. Just listening you talk about all the things you loved."

He shifted in his chair, his eyes never leaving your form. "I need you to wake up, Y/n," his voice trembling with vulnerability. 

"I need you to hear me out. I said some awful things, things I regret more than anything. I... I didn't want to ruin you, to drag you into the darkness that clings to me like a shadow."

The weight of his confession hung heavily in the air. "But when I realized you felt the same way about me, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope, a ray of light in all this darkness. I want you to know that I love you… I have for a long time, more than I can ever put into words. And that's why I pushed you away, to protect you from me."

The room was filled with the unspoken words that lingered between you, the raw emotions that had finally found their voice. Ghost's gaze never wavered, his grip on your hand never loosened, as if he hoped his love and remorse could transcend the silent chasm that separated you.

He was praying that you would hear him, he prayed to a god he no longer believed in, prayed that you would open your eyes and be okay.

You heard every word. If you could smile you would. 

Your heart swelled with warmth at his confession, an overwhelming desire to hold him close, to reassure him that you weren't afraid of the darkness he spoke of, that you were willing to run into it together. 

As his words hung in the air, your inner voice echoed your silent response. You fought with all your might to wake up, to bring your consciousness back to your body, to reach out and tell Ghost that you were there, you wanted to tell him that you were willing to stand beside him, to face whatever darkness the world had to offer together.

But you couldn't speak or move, you could only feel. You felt the touch of his hand on yours. You felt the sincerity in his voice, the love that had remained hidden for too long.

With every word, you fought to regain control, to claw your way back from the abyss. Ghost's confession had breathed life into your soul, and you were determined to answer in kind.

[ninibeingdelulu]

Am I in love with just a theme ? ✧

Plot: You watch your boyfriend becoming a serial killer…

An eerie hush permeated the modest bedroom save for the scratching of Light's pen etching yet another convicted criminal's name into that innocuous black notebook.

You couldn't tear your gaze away, stomach roiling in uneasy revulsion at how...casually he wielded such monstrous power these days.

Like some self-appointed deity passing judgment with a flick of his wrist.

This merciless, arrogant demigod bore only the barest fleeting resemblance to the brilliant yet tenderhearted boyfriend you once adored.

Since acquiring the Death Note's insidious abilities, your Light had steadily devolved into a twisted shell of his former self, driven by an all-consuming messiah complex.

You barely recognized him anymore - the Light you knew would've recoiled in horror over such wanton slaughter, dismissing the very notion as abhorrent. These days? He didn't so much as blink as person after person perished at his whim, swaths of human lives extinguished with infuriatingly casual indifference.

Swallowing thickly, you finally found your voice. Hesitant, yet brimming with desperation to reach whatever tattered remnants of the man you loved still lurked beneath Kira's pitiless exterior.

"Light?"

When those russet eyes flickered up towards you, glacial and utterly devoid of warmth, the words shriveled in your throat for an agonizing heartbeat.

Plunging onwards with a strained exhale, you barrelled through before your nerve could crumble entirely.

"Why don't you just...pass the notebook off to someone else?" Achingly wistful, you curled your arms across your midsection like a flimsy shield.

"You don't...you don't have to keep doing this yourself. We could go back to how things were before and-"

"Enough." Light cut you off with a curt growl, snapping the Death Note closed with a dull thud that made you flinch.

Abruptly he stood, stalking towards the bed with leonine grace yet stiff, clipped movements radiating frigid menace. Too late, you shrank from his imposing form looming over you now.

Face to face, scarcely inches apart, you could see the fanatical glint smoldering behind those impassive, handsome features.

A shudder slithered down your vertebrae under his unnerving scrutiny.

"I can't let this power slip into anyone else's hands."

The words emerged through gritted teeth, a muscle feathering along Light's taut jawline.

"I was chosen to become the God of this new world, to execute divine justice and establish true order with my own hands. No one else is worthy."

An errant tear slipped from the corner of your eye, tracing a glistening trail down your cheek in the tense standoff's wake. You tried valiantly to fortify your resolve, to not flinch away from the sheer gravity of that unnervingly cold, callous resolution etched into his very marrow.

But it was too much.

"Light, please..."

The words gurgled out in a desperate rasp, thick with anguished pleading and unshed tears.

"I love you, b-but I can't keep watching as you lose every shred of your humanity like this! If you won't give up that thing, then...then I have to go. I can't stay by and watch this anymore!"

At the achingly soft admission spilling through your wobbling lips, Light's expression didn't flicker for a protracted, agonizing heartbeat.

But then his mouth curled into the ghost of a smirk, utterly devoid of genuine mirth - just cruel, calculating self-assurance.

"Go ahead and try," he crooned with scathing disinterest, callused fingers seizing a rough fistful of your hair to forcibly tilt your face up towards his. Tears spilled freely now, sobs raking your trembling frame.

"You don't honestly think I'd let you walk away with everything you know about me still intact, do you?"

The icy finality behind those mocking words washed over you in a suffocating wave, stealing what little tenuous purchase on hope you still possessed.

You sagged, terror-fuelled adrenaline rapidly leaching away into numb hopelessness and misery.

Without ceremony, Light shoved you away with a scoff, leaving you sprawled across the mattress amidst your pitiful puddle of grief.

With a few perfunctory swipes of his sleeve across those chiseled features, he'd already vanished whatever fleeting glimpses of genuine emotion had flickered there just moments ago.

"You'll stay right here, powerless and silent as my humble concubine," the words emerged crisp, cold, and utterly inflexible as he returned to the Death Note splayed open in indifferent expectation.

"Embrace your purpose, devote yourself to watching over the birth of a new utopia...or perish like any other obstacle beneath my heel."

Through a fresh torrent of searing tears, you could only bring yourself to rasp out a pitiful whimper of surrender.

Beaten. Broken.

Any facade of control or dignity had long fled along with the better parts of Light's withering soul.

Beneath the weight of sickening realization settling like a shroud, darkness crept across your vision as the soft scratching of pen against paper resumed.

You were well and truly his hapless pawn now.

[doumadono]

Synopsis: after a passionate yet fleeting romance, Dabi cruelly dismisses you, leaving you heartbroken and alone, but determined to rise stronger from the ashes of your shattered hopes

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The neon lights of the bar flickered erratically, casting eerie shadows that danced on the grime-covered walls. 

You downed another shot, the burn of alcohol barely numbing the ache of your recent heartbreak. Your ex had left a gaping wound, and tonight, you sought solace in the chaotic embrace of strangers. 

And then, he appeared. 

Dabi. 

His piercing turquoise eyes, marred skin, and a smile that spelled trouble drew you in like a moth to a flame. You knew he was a dangerous villain, the kind of guy mothers warned their daughters about, but you didn't care. You wanted to forget, to lose yourself in something — someone — who could make you feel alive again.

It started with a heated exchange of glances across the bar, a smirk tugging at his lips as he sauntered over to you. Words were few, but the chemistry was undeniable. His touch was electric, his kiss incendiary. He was everything your ex wasn't — wild, unpredictable, intoxicating.

You knew better than to fall for a guy like Dabi, yet here you were, craving his touch, his presence. He never promised you anything, but the nights you spent tangled in sheets, the whispered confessions in the dead of night, made you hope. 

Then, without warning, he vanished. Days turned into weeks with no word, no explanation. 

Your calls went unanswered, texts unread. You should've seen it coming. He was a shadow, a fleeting storm that left destruction in his wake.

You replayed every moment, every touch, trying to decipher where it all went wrong. Was it something you said? Something you did? The doubts gnawed at you, each one a dagger to the heart. 

The silence was unbearable, each day a reminder of his absence. Nights were the worst, the memories of his touch haunting you, leaving you restless and aching. He had marked you in ways that went beyond the physical.

You went back to the bar, hoping against hope to see him, to get some closure. The familiar smell of smoke and regret hung in the air, but Dabi was nowhere to be found. You sat in your usual corner, nursing a drink, the memories crashing over you like a wave. The way he made you feel — alive, invincible, desired — was now a cruel taunt.

Reality set in, cold and harsh. You were just another fling for him, a temporary thrill. The pain of rejection was a familiar sting, but beneath it simmered anger. How dare he make you feel this way? How dare he make you believe, even for a second, that you were more than just a fleeting distraction?

Then, one night, as you lay staring at the ceiling, lost in the whirlpool of your thoughts, you heard the knock. It was forceful, almost impatient, and it jolted you upright. Your heart raced as you crossed the room, a mixture of hope and dread tightening your chest. When you opened the door, Dabi stood there, his presence as imposing and unnerving as ever.

“Hey,” you said, attempting to sound nonchalant despite the way your hands were shaking. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Clearly,” he replied, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. His tone was cold, detached. The warmth you had once felt in his presence seemed to have vanished, leaving only a frigid distance in its wake.

He stepped inside without a word, his eyes scanning the narrow corridor leading to your bedroom as if searching for something. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension. He looked different — harsher, more distant. The man who had once held you close now seemed like a stranger.

“I came to talk,” he finally said, his tone clipped and cold.

You closed the door behind him, trying to steady your nerves. “Talk? You haven’t responded to any of my messages. You just vanished.”

“I came here because you wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone. I thought I’d come and get this over with.”

The casual cruelty in his tone cut through you like a blade. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sting of his words and the lump forming within your throat. “I thought we had something real,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “I thought you cared.”

Dabi’s expression hardened further. He took a seat on the edge of the couch after making it casually to the living room. He scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back, taking a long drag from a cigarette he had managed to light on the way in. “You thought wrong. I never promised you anything. You built this whole thing up in your head, princess.”

The harshness of his words felt like a physical blow. You had opened your home, your heart, hoping that beneath his rough exterior, there was something worth holding onto. But now, it felt like all those moments you shared were nothing more than a cruel illusion.

“Is that it?” you asked, a mixture of anger and despair bubbling up inside you. “You come here to tell me you don’t owe me anything and then leave?”

“Pretty much,” he uttered, his voice dripping with indifference. “I didn’t ask for this. You’re the one who got it into your head that there was something more.” He stood up abruptly, his movement slicing through the air like a final, brutal punctuation mark. The cigarette burned down to a stub in his hand as he flicked it down on the floor. “I’m done here,” he added coldly. “If you’re looking for some sort of apology or explanation, you’re not going to get it from me.”

You watched him walk toward the door, his silhouette framed by the weak light from the hallway. 

“No!” you cried out, rushing to block the door as he made to leave. “You can’t just walk out like this. You can’t just say it’s over without anything.”

His eyes darkened, the harsh lines of his face hardening even further. “Move.”

“Please, Dabi,” you begged, tears streaming down your face as you clutched the hem of his coat. “Don’t leave like this. Just tell me why. Tell me what I did wrong.”

He grabbed your wrist, yanking it away from his coat with a force that made you wince. “I told you to move. I don’t fucking want to hurt ya, princess, so better listen to me.”

“Why are you doing this?!” you cried, your voice breaking. “I thought you cared. I thought —”

“Stop thinking,” he snarled, his voice like ice. “Stop imagining there was ever anything more than a distraction. What did you think this was? Some kind of romance? You were a cheap fuck, that’s all. At least you were clean, not like the whores I usually fuck.”

The venom in his words left you stunned, your grip slackening on the doorframe. 

He pushed past you, the touch cold and unfeeling, and opened the door. 

You stumbled back, feeling as if the ground was falling away beneath you. “Get out,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Just get out.”

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes devoid of any compassion. “Gladly,” he snarled, turning towards the door. As he opened it, he glanced back one last time. “Don’t contact me again. We’re done.” He paused for the briefest moment, then stepped out, the door closing behind him with a final, echoing thud. 

You sank to the floor, the tears you had been holding back finally breaking free. The pain was raw, tearing through you like a wildfire. You screamed, the sound filled with all the anguish and betrayal you felt. “Why?” you cried out, your voice echoing in the empty apartment. “Why did you do this to me?!! You sick fuck!”

There was no answer, only the oppressive silence that seemed to swallow your cries whole. The walls of your sanctuary felt like they were closing in, the weight of Dabi’s rejection crushing you from all sides.

Eventually, your screams turned to muffled sobs, your energy spent. You lay on the cold floor, feeling more alone than you ever had. The apartment, once a place of comfort, now felt like a cage, the shadows lengthening as if to mock your despair.

You had survived heartbreak before, and you would survive this. Dabi was a chapter in your story, not the whole book. The scars he left would fade, just like the memory of his touch. You would move on, even if it meant facing loneliness head-on. But for now, you allowed yourself to grieve, to feel every ounce of the hurt he had inflicted. And in that grief, you found the first stirrings of resolve — a faint promise that someday, you would rise from these ashes like a phoenix.

[shalomniscient]

ONCE UPON A TIME...

⤷ a series re-imagining famous fairy tales with assorted genshin women !

⤷ featuring:

beauty and the beast [eula lawrence] ➳ on the edges of mondstadt, nestled in the frigid mountains of dragonspine, is a lonely, forgotten castle. word around town is that within the cold stone walls is a monstrous beast, a scion of the cursed lawrence family. you are content to live your days far ignorant of such a rumor, but when your father gets into a terrible accident in the mountains, you have no choice but to take your chances with whatever lurks in the castle to save him.

the little mermaid [raiden ei] ➳ the world above the water has always fascinated you. the tales of rolling hills and towering mountains, vast plains and mystical forests; and of course, the people. the people who sing and dance and run along the shore, carefree and lively. you wish, and you wonder, what it's like to be part of that world. your wish is granted somewhat on a stormy night, when a ship crashes against the rocks and scatters its human occupants to the waves. against what you've been told, you rush to save the one person you can find--a beautiful, purple-haired woman, dressed in fine, ornate clothing. it's a meeting that will change your life, forever.

snow white [arlecchino] ➳ your step-mother wants you dead. you know as much, when she cast you from your own home and into the cold woods, setting a hunstman on your tail. you barely escape with your life. the little cottage you stumble upon as you run, and the seven little fools you find inside become your saving graces. you spend your days there in peace, and even meet a handsome, dual-tone haired prince who passes by the cottage ever so often on her hunts. but peace, as you've learned, is fragile, and your world is upended again when your step-mother discovers that you're alive. and you can't help but wonder--is a happily ever after simply not in your cards?

rapunzel [beidou] ➳ when you were born, your parents gave you to a sea monster. you don't know why, and you were never told why. all you know is that you are this beast's prisoner, forever to be locked away in a tower by the sea. there is no escape for you; the only exit is the window, and the only thing waiting beneath it are jagged rocks and harsh waves. the beast comes and goes, ascending your tower using your hair as a rope. he calls your name in a singing rhyme, and you let down your hair. only one night, it is not the beast whom climbs through your window--but a charming, pretty pirate, who brings the first light of companionship to your life.

cinderella [jean gunnhildr] ➳ life is not easy after your mother's death. your father does his best, yet the woman he brings home to replace her is cruel. but she makes your father happy (or at least, you tell yourself as much) so you keep your head down and do as she and her daughters order you to. it isn't too bad. the attic is your refuge, and the barn mice keep you company. in the dark you gaze through the window at the glittering palace in the distance, and you let yourself dream of a sweeter life. but magic--magic has a way of turning dreams to reality, and there is more magic in your life than you know.

⤷ notes/disclaimers : ➹ this will not be a 1:1 retelling! i will of course do my best to be as close as possible to the source material, but since i will be incorporating genshin lore into this as well, i will be taking several creative liberties. also, some of the source material is... dark, and i'll be changing that because i personally don't enjoy writing dark content of that level. ➹ this is currently not the finalised list! i plan to add maybe two more characters, but i have yet to figure out how to work their corresponding fairy tales. ➹ unfortunately, there won't be a upload schedule! as much as i wish i could write only this for the next few weeks, i have other life things to handle, so i'll only be working on this in my free time. nonetheless, i'll do my best to get them up as soon as i can.

[wolven91]

It's Cold Outside

Space isn't as cold as one expects.

Oh sure, in the shadow of something; it's freezing, but exposed to a star and no way to naturally dissipate the heat? It gets hot quickly. Having a robust method of cooling one's ship is vital, otherwise the crew would cook within hours. One's ability to cool one's systems is the deciding factor of how much a ship can do in most situations. Problem arise though when that system goes on the fritz and doesn't stop cooling.

On its own, Neil wouldn't have really had an issue. Maybe put on an extra jacket or hoodie? Sure, it was cool, but it wasn't cold. Unfortunately, Yil'ro was a ssypno and cold blooded.

She wasn't cruel, evil, or mean. She was not cold blooded in that sense, but more literally; she made very little of her own heat and without enough heat, she would slow down, become sluggish and eventually fall into a coma. The ship wasn't huge, it was enough for a grand total of eleven crew members. Yil'ro was missed when she didn't appear at breakfast.

When the human had gone to check on her in her, comparatively to her size, tiny quarters, he'd keyed the door open to find her trying desperately to warm up. Blankets covered her and several instant hot food snacks resting against her gently steaming into the air-conditioned room.

"It's... Not... not enough..." She explained haltingly. Coiling herself into a tight knot, causing the hot-pots to wobble. 

Neils, unafraid of the blue Titanoboa, stepped up and placed a hand on the nearest loop of her tail in a show of care and solidarity.

"Is there anything I can do? I can bring more blankets?" The man suggested, genuinely concerned for his friend of the last three months. However, she reacted to his touch, pushing into his palm.

"By the storm snake's blessing, your hands are like a fire..." She murmured, seemingly not hearing him.

Emboldened, the man rubbed his palms together quickly and placed both back onto the coil, which surged up again and into his hands. Neil had always delighted in the deep blue scales of Yil'ro, they were so dark that without light they looked almost black. Currently they shimmered and moulded under his touch. 

"Is this helping?"

"Yes!"

"Should I get everyone else?"

"It doesn't work like this with t-them. Too much fur. Feels cold."

The skin. Humans were alone in the universe with regards to how little they had to cover them. A bit of hair, here and there, but nothing even close to the full head to tail covering of pelt that most of the other races had. Skin on scale transferred heat with such efficiency, that it had been reported that humans who touched the draconians, geckins or the ssypno; felt heavenly.

Neils frowned as he tried to think of a solution, before his mind offered him one.

There was a second of debate, but all it took was to see Yil'ro's miserable face, pulled tight against her coils to make the decision for him.

The man put his weight onto the coil in front of him and vaulted it, swinging a leg up and over it. The size of a ssypno can not be understated. They regularly reached forty to forty-five feet in length with the potential to get much, much bigger. Even with his leg thrown over one of her smaller coils, his toes barely touched the floor.

"Ooh.. What-? Neil?!" Yil'ro started, apparently opening her eyes to see what had just briefly provided two legs' worth of heat across one section of her tail. "What are you... you doing?" She asked, flinching as she shivered with the cold.

"It's an old human trick, sharing body heat."

"But-"

"In life and death situations, skin on skin contact can save your life. I'm not offering, I'm instructing you-" Neil removed his top, the frigid air making his skin pebble. "-To coil me. Shut up! Just do it." Neil ordered with a firm tone, silencing Yil'ro before she could say another word.

Despite her cooled state, the speed at which a ssypno could move shocked the human as her torso appeared from the depths of her coils and embraced him with all four arms. Then, thick, muscular coils wrapped and coiled around the pair of them, sandwiching them together before the outside world was lost and all the remained was the sound of the ssypno and the human's breathing.

She was cool to the touch and Neils could feel the heat sap from him, before the air in the confined space began to warm notably.

"Oooh..." the chest Neil was pressed to rumbled. "Oh my..." Yil'ro murmured.

"I had always wondered... what it was like to hold you- I mean a human..." She corrected hastily. Neil just grinned.

"Enjoy what you like, I just want y-" Neil's words were cut off as he squeaked. One of the broad hands that were clasped down his back had twitched sidesways and given his rump a hard squeeze having him jerk forwards into her.

"You said 'enjoy'..." Yil'ro giggled, already seeming much closer to her old self. "Can we... do this every morning? It would definitely help me get moving..."

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[hellshire-harlot]

Father of Serpents | Albert Wesker x Reader Halloween Special

Taglist: @gothghostiie @weskie @destinationtrekk @nomansgunssmoke

The stone altar beneath you is cold, bitterly so, sapping the warmth from your bare skin.

Despite your best efforts, you can’t escape the cruel fetters keeping you bound. Spread-eagle, chained to the slab of granite, you can’t help but writhe, desperate to evade your inevitable fate. It seems like so long ago that you were snatched from the dim street, dragged to this unknown place of shadows and ominous reliefs carved into the stone walls, thrown in a cell to wait. But it hasn’t even been a day; you’d wager the sun hasn’t even risen yet. After all, what better time to perform a ritual sacrifice than on All Hallow’s Eve?

You know you’re being sacrificed, of course. For what other reason would a cabal of silent, hooded men abduct you, strip you naked, and bathe you in rose-water & honey milk? For what other reason would they drag you sobbing and pleading to a stone altar in the center of a spacious sanctum and tie you to it?

Your chest heaves, your lungs unable to get a full breath between your terrified sobbing. You’ve long since given up pleading for your life. You’d done all you could think of- promised not to tell, offered them your money, and when they ripped off your clothes you did your best to play along, thinking your kidnappers were going to simply fuck you and move on. Nothing so far has worked. None of them has even whispered a word. As they washed you in their ceremonial bath, their hands pouring the water all over you and carding through your hair, they never pulled or groped, only touched to clean you. In the beginning, when you had more energy, you struggled and kicked and hit all you could, and one of them evidently had had enough. He’d struck you, a vicious backhand that left your ears ringing and a cruel mark on your cheek.

For whatever reason, the others seemed angry that he had hit you. They led him away, and one turned your face side to side as if to check the damage. Now that you lay on the frigid stone that grows warmer only because your flesh is bound to it, you understand why they cared at all, and it only makes you weep harder.

They didn’t want their lamb to be bruised before the slaughter. It would ruin the meat, wouldn’t it?

Tears stream down your temples as a handful of the cultists circle you. You rest your head against the small cushion beneath it and bite your lip. You don’t want to give them the satisfaction of your terror, but you can only do so much. Your heart pounds as you scan them for weapons. You expected a sacrificial dagger or ceremonial blade, one designed to rip your heart from your chest or cleave your head from your shoulders. But none of them carry any weapons that you can see. Poison, then? Drowning? Smothering? There are many ways they could kill you that don’t involve marring your skin. Your stomach fills with dread as the visions of yourself vomiting blood, writhing beneath a pillow over your face, thrashing against arms that hold your head underwater, parade before your mind. You can only desperately pray for your death to be swift and painless.

As the cultists form a ring around your prone form, you ball your hands into fists and brace yourself. Throat hoarse from screaming and crying, you nonetheless summon your voice once more, a last, desperate plea for salvation. “Please, don’t hurt me,” you beseech, “I- I don’t want to die. Please.”

None of them respond, or even indicate that they’ve heard you. You close your eyes tight, another despairing sob tearing from your chest. I’m going to die here.

You only open your teary eyes when a voice that is not your own echoes throughout the sanctum. “Hac nocte noctes,” a deep-voiced man intones, the words unknown to you but their meaning ominous all the same. You haven’t heard someone speak other than yourself since this ordeal began, and it startles you. Your eyes snap open and you watch as the cultist who spoke raises his arms in prayer, and you glance to the side, heart stopping as you look upon the tens of cultists who now fill the chamber. All of them bow before the altar, heads lowered in prayer, and echo the mantra started by the man near you. Hac nocte noctes.

Another continues, and you can’t differentiate the voices in your terrified state. “Ad te vocamus” and the acolytes follow as your eyes dart around frightfully. You can’t stifle a nervous whimper. You wish you understood what they’re saying.

Vocate nos Patrem Serpentium

Something about snakes, you think? Are they trying to summon some snake-demon out of myth to swallow you whole?

Sicut serpans caudam suam devorat

Bare, spread open like a flower on the altar, you wish you could cover yourself. You try as best you can, grunting as you struggle against the chains around your ankles, but you can’t hide your flushed crotch from view. You hate the way the attention makes you involuntarily heat up.

Tibi hanc oblationem damus

The air around you feels colder than ever. The meager wetness gathering in your core chills, further sapping your body’s warmth. You can feel eyes all over your bare flesh, but with each cultist’s face hidden, you can’t tell if they’re actually looking at you or not. Do they gaze upon your helpless form with unadulterated lust? Do they long to sink their teeth into you and fuck you until you haven’t the strength to say no any longer? Or do they simply size you up like the butcher does his sow? You wish you could say for sure.

In reditu nihil petimus

Half-heartedly, you wonder what god you’re being offered to. Satan? Baphomet? Leviathan? Cthulhu? Kali? Some nameless, formless entity known only to these gathered men? As you were brought here, you took notice of the carved reliefs on the walls. Even now, they surround you, decorating the stone womb you are trapped within. All of them depict snakes, writhing and coiling in on themselves, devouring their own tails and lashing out at unseen enemies. One relief in the far corner depicts a rat in the process of being swallowed whole by a cobra, only for the cobra to be bitten and mauled by a great bear. Another relief, this one continuing the tale, shows the injured serpent biting its own tail and taking new form as a halo behind a humanoid figure, body undefined, unknowable. Then, the halo-snake rides along the arm of the figure, coiling and constricting the throat of a fox. The final relief you can see from your position shows the fox standing at the figure’s side as the same bear from the first relief, accompanied by a jackal, lunges for them. Behind the silhouettes you can make out etchings of roiling flames.

Such evocative, ominous imagery. You can only assume these people mean to sacrifice you to the serpent in their carvings. Do they believe him to be dead, and your blood will revive him? Is he slumbering, and you’re merely bait to awaken him? So many questions, and with not one of the cultists willing to even acknowledge you, each one will die on your leaden tongue and with your terrified heart.

Serva benedictionem intuitus tui

Somehow, you can sense their mantra is nearing its end. Your breathing speeds up. You still can’t see any of them carrying weapons, or anything at all. Each cultist has his hands raised in the air as if offering something to the sky, empty. You pull against your fetters again, to no avail. Do your family and friends even know you’re gone? Are they looking for you? What will they say when you never come home? Your heart aches to think of it. You hope that these cultists at least let your body be found. You don’t want your loved ones to spend the rest of their lives listening for a heartbeat that no longer exists.

You steel yourself. You will face death with gritted teeth, pursed lips, and stony eyes. You will not grant these lunatics the pleasure of turning you into a damsel.

Vivat Uroboros

Now, that phrase you can understand somewhat. Long live Uroboros. Is that the name of their god? Uroboros? Judging by the imagery of snakes all around you, and the mentions of serpents in the chant, you anticipate being swallowed whole by a leviathan summoned from below, or maybe tossed into a pit of vipers.

What you don’t expect is for a suffocating silence to fall over the sanctum.

It feels wholly unnatural, unearthly. Like there’s a bubble that encases you, preventing you from hearing anything save your own frantic heartbeat. None of the cultists are moving. Your breaths become shallow as you try to understand what’s happening, why the shadows in the corners seem to undulate.

And then you look up.

The eyes, unblinking, burn away your bones, leaving only your soul behind. They’re made of hellfire, with only slivers of onyx to act as pupils. They bore right into your own, and you suddenly find yourself even more paralyzed than you already were.

The silence is broken by something new- a low, droning hum, like the gastric functions of some titanic monster. You watch as the void above you shifts, shimmers like oil, distorts into something new. Tendrils- writhing, black, wet, vile, foreboding -emerge from the infinite pitch and encircle you and the altar you lay on, blocking out the rest of the world with moving, living walls. You can barely breathe as those brimstone eyes continue to appraise you, pupils dilating and shrinking as the seconds pass. They come closer, closer, until you can feel them hovering in the air just above your face. You can’t blink. If you do, you’ll die, you’re sure of it.

A nightmare. That’s what this is. All you need to do is wait it out and you’ll wake up at home, hungover from the party, tangled in your sheets and pillows. All you need to do is wake up.

But then, why does everything feel too real? Why does the oily tentacle that prods under your chin, tilting you up to face the unfathomable being it belongs to, feel so utterly visceral?

The appendage retracts, leaving a faint, sticky residue on your skin. Your head falls back against the cushion, your eyes still trained on the nightmare above you. A voice comes to you, a voice that echoes from the depths of your psyche like the death rattle of a vanquished god. It feels invasive, and yet completely native. It feels unearthly, and yet natural.

Hello.

The voice, deep and cold, is overpowering. You finally capitulate, squeezing your eyes shut against the pounding echo of the single word. Bursts of color flash behind your eyelids as the word reverberates, fades in and out, as if your mind is trying to consume it. It’s horrifying, making your skin crawl and your bones itch, but bound as you are, there is nothing you can do. You feel as though you’re being lobotomized from the inside out, the forbidden knowledge somehow contained within those two benign syllables putting a trepanning tool to the inside of your skull and pounding pounding pounding. The pressure builds, your heart running in circles, thrashing against your screaming ribcage, and stars die in your eyes as the pain crescendos and you feel your skull shattering-

And then you open your eyes. Half-blind with tears, you still recognize the form above you, standing astride your hips on the altar.

A man.

The most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

The shock blasts away all the agony in your mind like a bomb at ground zero. Suddenly you see with perfect clarity, cold calmness draped over you like a paper-thin blanket of hoarfrost. All that is allowed to exist in your newly-cleared mind is the image of him. Tall, with blonde hair slicked back perfectly, not one strand out of place. Pale skin, like bone china, and thin lips, an angular face that simultaneously warns you away, lest you cut yourself on its edge, and beckons you to throw your body into the blade. His eyes, the color of magma, are the only indication that this is the same being that hovered over you moments ago. The same being, now in a new, impossibly-beautiful form. He looks down upon you, eyes harsh and stern but curious. Interested. The midnight leather that covers his body drapes around you, the ends of his long coat transforming into the same tendrils that encased you before. He tilts his head, appraising your naked form.

The same voice that scorched your sanity returns, though its razor edge is dulled. Be calm. It’s a command, one you physically cannot refuse. At the very least, this time it doesn’t crack open your skull and drain from it the fluid within. Like a computer given an executive command, your body instantly obeys. Your heart rate slows, your breathing evens out. You watch as his gaze leaves you, looking out over the prostrate assemblage before him.

It’s the same voice as in your head, but now audible to everyone else, that shatters the silence. “I have yet to be disappointed with your offerings,” he speaks, and he would sound like any other man if not for the way the bones of the earth tremble at his words, “it would be a shame to jeopardize our… relationship now.

“Which is why I can’t help but ask- who among you thought to touch what is mine?” Suddenly the detached cadence of his voice breaks away, revealing the cold, calculated anger beneath. For some reason, be it your exhausted heart or the command he gave you, you don’t feel uncomfortable the way you usually do when so close to such rage. You know it isn’t directed at you, but that hasn’t stopped your anxiety from rearing its ugly head in the past. Somehow, you are utterly calm in the face of the wrath of a god.

There is a pause, long and heavy, that clamps down on the room. For a painful moment, no one moves. Not him, not you, not the cultists around the altar or the assemblage before you. And then, a single figure rises from kneeling to stand tall and stiff among the crowd. Somehow, you know- this is the man who struck you. The bruise on your cheek stings with the echo of his attack.

The deity above you, nameless, hums in unknowable emotion as the perpetrator reveals himself. Like a bolt of black lightning, he thrusts his arm forward, gloved hand splayed out as if reaching for the man. In response, the man convulses, body twitching, doubling over and clutching at his stomach. He remains silent save for a few faint gurgling sounds, pained and sickening. Slowly, the summoned god draws his fingers into a fist.

“I haven’t felt the need to demonstrate what will happen to anyone who thinks they know better than I,” he says conversationally, as though a man isn’t dying in the middle of the room. Some of the cultists surrounding him turn to watch the spectacle, while others remain kneeling, albeit shaking. “But I suppose now is as good a time as ever, hm?” The tendrils that make up his coattails are writhing, charged with vitriolic power, hovering just over you. The sight of the man being tormented makes you sick, and you close your eyes to bite back the bile in your throat.

The voice returns, still gentle in comparison to his introduction, but stern. No, little one. Watch.

You already know you have no choice. Your eyelids open of their own volition, against the signals your brain sends. Now that you’re looking, you can’t tear your eyes away, like a car accident of eldritch proportions. It is nightmarish, and yet, you stand transfixed.

“Let this serve as a lesson to the rest of you,” the unholy being continues, watching with bored eyes as his victim falls to his knees, “this isn’t the most painful way I can kill. Lay hands on what belongs to me, and you will suffer. Am I understood?” In response, the cultists assembled nod their heads vigorously, or else give a terse cry of yes, Serpent-Father. Both reactions serve the same end, and their recipient seems satisfied. “Good,” he concludes with a pleasant tone.

His hand clenches into a fist, and the man’s head explodes into a mass of ravenous black tendrils.

Some of the devotees gasp, others flinch, and some remain still, though clearly at great personal cost. You can’t stop the horrified cry that escapes you, but the command of the voice evidently can. Hush. And your mouth closes.

As the body falls, twitching, to the stone floor, you watch the grotesque spectacle continue, more ebon tendrils eating their way out of the torso and abdomen. They detach from the body, slithering across the floor in unison towards the altar, and you realize they’re not tendrils at all, but snakes. They slide up the altar, over your trembling flesh, and up the legs of the man above you, who welcomes his servants with no issue. They obey their master unerringly, coiling in a braid around his outstretched arm, before becoming one with the shimmering leather itself. They are an extension of him, and so they merge seamlessly. One blink, and they’re gone, leaving behind only their master.

To their credit, the cultists surrounding the altar haven’t strayed from their positions, as much as you imagine they wish to. You look up at him, their patron, this Serpent-Father they’ve served you up to. You wonder if that is his name, or merely a moniker. He glances about the room, surveying the mass of devotees in attendance, and nods.

In response, one of the cultists at the altar begins another chant. The words remain unknown to you, but they set a strange rhythm, one that seems to put your soul into motion. Elsewhere, someone rings out a ceremonial bell, a sepulchral beat to accompany the tuneless song. You can’t help but wonder if this is where you die. If the beautiful, terrifying man above you will be the one to spill your blood, in his own name, and devour your beating heart.

But then, he isn’t above you anymore. He stands at the side of the altar you’re bound to, the other cultists having backed up against the wall with heads lowered in respect. He has free reign to run his gloved fingertips across the stone surface, and across your vulnerable skin. The slow, sensual touch makes you tense, expecting pain where there is none. At the frightened gasp you let out, he tilts his head in amusement.

His voice echoes in your mind again, a baritone murmur that curls against your innermost thoughts. He coils across your deepest self, probing, plucking the synapses of your brain like harpstrings. Each gentle tug coaxes your body into a pliant, heated state. Privately, he speaks to you. My pets gave you quite the scare, didn’t they? He hums, his corporeal hands gliding across the length of your leg, your arm, your side. He touches you with obvious intent, though what that intention is somewhat eludes you still. Are you not a sacrifice? Are you not meant to be killed in his name? Don’t mind all that, dearheart. Set dressing, really. You’re here to give me a different kind of offering.

Slowly, deliberately, he climbs atop the altar and sits astride your hips. He continues his exploration of your body until one gloved hand finds its way to cradle your cheek, an unexpectedly-comforting touch that you can’t help but lean into with a quiet whine. The other trails down, down, until his fingertips caress the sensitive flesh of your cunt. It makes you jolt, which consequently gives him better access to you, and his fingers greedily explore the velvety skin, nerves firing off with sparks of pleasure. As one finger dips inside, coating itself in the slick of your inner walls, you suddenly find yourself understanding the true nature of your predicament. “Oh,” you breathe, any and all confusion draining from you to the beat of the chanting.

You’re not here to give your life. You’re here to give your body. You’re here to fuck a god.

Both inwardly and outwardly, said god chuckles, amused by your wide eyes and heated cheeks. Whatever did you think was going to happen, hm? He asks, despite knowing full well what you expected. Your body responds eagerly to his ministrations, skin heating up, hips bucking against the restraints keeping you prone. You summon your higher brain functions to glare halfheartedly up at him for teasing you, to which he only coos condescendingly. “Did you think I’d eat you or something, little one?” He speaks aloud, voice soft but still cool and dark, “Oh no, nothing so gauche. The only screams that will fill the halls tonight will be of pleasure.”

The line is so cheesy; if an ordinary man used it on you, you’d roll your eyes. But in this place, surrounded by devoted onlookers and helpless before a god, it only makes you keen for more. You arch your back against the stone, meeting the languid thrusts of his fingers with the bucking of your hips. He looks down at you with such unbridled desire that your head spins. Speaking of screaming- he whispers into your head -My name is Wesker. You’re among my acolytes now, you may speak it freely. Don’t be shy.

A second finger, just as deft as the first, finds its way inside of you. It’s so good and yet not nearly enough. You can’t help but writhe beneath the god- Wesker -as he teases you. Your restraints hold fast, chafing against your wrists and ankles, denying you from taking more than what is offered. It’s agonizing, but the pain sears you from the inside out so deliciously. Any modesty lingering within you is burnt away in the wake of his fiery eyes and the horrible pleasure he brings. Your own eyes blown out, misty with tears, you can’t help but stare out at the procession of chanting cultists.

They treat your debauchment as though it’s a sermon. They offer prayers over your escalating moans, and you may be delirious enough to hallucinate but surely you aren’t simply making up the visible tents in some of their robes. The knowledge that they’re aroused simply by watching their god unravel you on his fingers, that they have the discipline to continue their worship regardless, sends a piercing bolt of arousal straight to your pulsing clit.

You can feel your climax sneaking up on you, choking you from behind. “Please,” you gasp, suddenly breathless as you look back to your tormentor, “pl- ah- please, make me cum, ‘m almost- almost there…” it’s as much a prayer as the ones being offered by your voyeurs. You wriggle your torso invitingly, begging him with your body to give you the building ecstasy.

Wesker smiles in satisfaction at the mess he’s made of you. The hand not burying three of its deliciously-long, slender fingers in your sopping cunt comes up, grabs your chin between thumb and forefinger. He drinks in your wrecked expression like the finest liquor. “You can have it, pet,” he coos, lowering his face to hover just over yours, and you’ve never wanted to kiss someone more in your fucking life, “go on. Scream my name while I ruin you.”

And you do. By every strange deity in this cult’s perverted pantheon, you do. Your downright pornographic cry of Wesker echoes through the halls of the sanctum, and the way you can see him shudder at the sound of his own name is what finally tips you over the edge. It’s sinful, the flush that comes to his pale cheeks, but it’s delicious. His being pulses with a surge of power at having his name invoked, especially during such passion as yours. The cultists chant a devoted hymn in unison, voices raised in victory, seemingly empowered by your climax. Your better judgment leaks out of you alongside the juices of your orgasm, pooling in a clear puddle of slick on the granite. Of any fluid from your body to give to Wesker, this is the one you would gleefully offer again.

As you come down from the ravenous high, your wonderfully-foggy mind registers something else prodding at your fluttering hole in replacement of his fingers. It feels hot and hard, and though you can’t crane your head enough to look down and see what it is, you can hedge a bet. The thought of having him fill you, claim you from the inside out, is enough to have you writhing desperately again. You keen pathetically as your chains keep you steadfastly held down, wishing more than ever that they were gone and you could simply wrap your arms and legs around this god and cling to him while he gives you all he has to give. You strain your wrists, your ankles, against the fetters, praying for them to just snap out of existence.

As though sensing your frustration, Wesker leans down, pressing his lips against the side of your head in a strange pantomime of a kiss that leaves your chest feeling unexpectedly fluttery and light. His voice swims in your head. Feeling trapped, are we? He asks rhetorically, the hand not guiding his cock to rest against your winking cunt wrapping around the chain on your right wrist. You nod frantically, babbling out quiet, incomprehensible pleas to be freed. Oh, alright. I know you’ll behave for me. After all, I’m sure you remember what I do to pets I find unsatisfactory.

The small ripple of dread in the pool of hot lust makes you whimper. It’s an unwelcome reminder that though you may be enjoying yourself, you’re not here by choice, and you even have the cold corpse of the man who slapped you to act as visual aid. But you’ll be good. You’ve been good thus far, been sweet and obedient under his ministrations, and you have every intention of continuing that. You’ll be good for him. For Wesker.

With a subtle squeeze, the god in mortal flesh releases your shackled wrist. The chain turns warm, scaly, as do the ones on the rest of your limbs. The newly-transformed snakes, just as vantablack as the ones he summoned to kill the errant cultist, slither away from your wrists and ankles, leaving you blessedly free. They return to their master, merging with his writhing coat, but you don’t care, only concerned with satiating the bottomless lust eating through your core. You take hold of the gloved hand cradling the apple of your cheek, entwining your fingers with his. “Please,” you whisper, summoning your headiest, lustiest voice, “I’m ready. Take me, Serpent-Father.”

The deep, lustful growl Wesker lets out at your usage of the honorific you picked up on from the cultists lets you know you made the right call. You brace your feet against the stone just as he finally enters you, hot cockhead breaching your cunt and stretching you around him. Connected to the divine in a way more literal than most could ever hope for, you moan, utterly lost in the heavy liquid pleasure that fills you. Like molten gold, it keeps you pressed down, prone and pliant for your god, unable to even fathom saying no. A new chant begins, some cultists diverging from the herd in their own hymns and calls of prayer, all to the constant call of the ceremonial bell. It’s overwhelming, and you can’t help but feel the devotion of the assemblage is directed to you as much as it is to Wesker. This feeling, being watched with hungry, obsessive eyes, would normally frighten you. But safe within the solid embrace of your god, spread out for him and him only, it only makes you shudder and clench around him.

Another deep, baritone groan rumbles into you from his chest as he pushes inward, filling you thoroughly and making a pleasant weight in your core. Chancing a look down, you see he’s only about halfway, and your stomach drops out as you realize just how much you have left to take. A firm hand grips your cheeks and forces your head back up to his, though not painfully. “Look at me while I fuck you, little mortal. There is nothing else. Only me.” He orders, and you have no choice but to obey him. The hand not clasped in his and pressed down to the stone slab comes up to press at his back, forcing him closer to you. He chuckles at your insistence, but obliges, leaning in closer until you can feel his hot breath against your face.

The first thrust, once he finally sheathes himself in your cunt, makes you white out in sensation. It isn’t pain, nor pleasure, merely the feeling of being filled so profoundly. But it’s strong enough to leave you gasping for air while your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. The second plants a blooming seed of euphoria deep within you, and the third sees that seed take root and sprout. Wesker lets go of your face, assured of your obedience, and presses the hand instead to your abdomen, where you realize his cock leaves a bulge in your belly. The full-body tremor that shakes you and him both as he presses down, constricting your cunt and his cock in unison, is soul-shattering. The part of your brain not melting out of your ears right now is determined to join this cult after the ritual concludes, if only to experience such glorious sex again. You already know no mortal, man, woman, or otherwise, will ever be able to satisfy you now that you’ve tasted the forbidden fruit. Maybe Eve’s garden was tainted by the serpent, but yours is left bursting with new life by his touch. Your Eden is here, with him and him alone.

The rest of the world fades away, leaving behind only the faint chiming of the bell and the singing of your devotees behind the lewd sounds of leather against flesh. You float in a void of ecstasy in which exists only you and Wesker, you and your god. You cling to his hand like the lifeline it is, being fucked half to death as you are, his inhuman thrusts bullying his cockhead cruelly against your cervix. Never before has anything (or anyone) reached so deep inside you, and you’ve heard it said that having your cervix touched is horrifyingly painful. But all you feel is a profound sense of fullness, near bursting, as he rams against your innermost walls. You half expect him to breach even that and make his home directly in your womb, but thankfully, he doesn’t. Your soul sings out, and Wesker hears it, his presence already entrenched in your mind forever. He pulls the strings of your psyche as though you’re the most beautiful marionette, and he the most perfect puppetmaster. Your body, and all that comes with it, is stripped away, and you feel as if he’s fucking your very soul instead, making his home in the space between your astral projection and the back of your eyes. It’s unreal, unlike anything you’ve felt before, like the protective skin around your clit has been stripped leaving only the bare nerves to be stimulated directly. Without the hindrance of flesh, he drags you upwards to a climax more intense than you could have imagined before.

He holds you there, at the edge of the beautiful abyss, taking his pleasure from you first. Your ecstasy builds, peaks-

And when he brings your entwined hands to his mouth and buries his fangs in the delicate meat of your inner wrist, it crests. Instead of being thrown to the wave, the wave throws itself over you, dwarfing you even as you stand on the mountain of built-up pleasure, washing you away. You hear a high-pitched scream, and barely, you register it as your own. You open your teary eyes, seeing double for a moment as you fall back into your body, and watch as Wesker hungrily sinks his teeth into your wrist. It hurts, yes, and your body jolts at the pain, but it’s quickly washed away by the aftershocks of your orgasm. His eyes never leave yours as he laps at your blood, consuming your life essence while you tremble beneath him in a broken mess of cum and slick. He continues thrusting into you, and you feel his cock twitch, and your own arousal stirs again somehow at the thought of him breeding you, filling you with his seed and making you bear his divine children. All at once, he releases from your wrist, letting out a monumental growl of pleasure as he cums deep within you.

Your body simultaneously feels like it’s completely numb, void of any tactile sensation at all, and also oversensitive to the point of pain. A foreign presence makes itself known in your bloodstream, flowing from your bitten wrist to the rest of you. Somehow, you understand that this is his way of claiming you- marking you. No rival gods, much less mortals, will dare lay their hands on you now.

The exhaustion has caught up to you finally. The room splits into four, your eyes barely able to stay open and your body going completely limp. It’s a little frightening, and you look up at Wesker with fearful eyes, asking for guidance. His hand returns to hold yours, squeezing as if to reassure you. You are mine, he murmurs from within you, there is no turning back now.

His. You are his. Mortal plaything of the Serpent-Father, of Wesker. It should horrify you.

But the thought is comforting enough to make you relax. He brushes gloved fingertips across your eyelids, closing them for you. His voice is the last thing you hear. Sleep, pet.

When you wake, the cold stone beneath you has been replaced by sleek, soft sheets, warmed by your body.

Slowly, delicately, you sit up, taking stock of your body’s condition. You feel fine, well-rested, even. But then the previous night’s events flash before your eyes.

Being tied to a stone altar. A god of unfathomable power taking shape over you. Giving you his name, taking the most beautiful form. Fucking you until you passed out. His teeth in your flesh.

A phantom ache makes itself known in your sex, protesting the rigorous activity of the night. But that’s the least of your concern as you look at your wrist. In place of what should be a healing bite mark, there is a rune.

At least, you think it’s a rune. It’s the color of midnight, pure black, in the shape of a striped 8-sided star, with a snake coiling around it. The mark of Wesker. As you think of his name, an echo of the unrelenting euphoria he showed you last night washes over you. Your face heats up, and you subconsciously rub your thighs together.

There are worse gods to belong to, I guess.

You already know you’re not at home. Your bed isn’t nearly this comfy, nor is it covered in sleek silk sheets. You assume you’re somewhere else in the cultists’ hideout, somewhere offerings such as yourself are left to recuperate from their endeavor. You’re also no longer naked- looking down at yourself, sliding off the smooth fabric, you watch the sheer gown you’re wearing billow out around your legs. Like the bed, it’s black, and you can only assume it’s made of chiffon or gossamer given the weightlessness of the fabric. It hugs your body absolutely perfectly, draping over your skin and leaving your back & shoulders bare. It feels like a dream.

A pair of gloved hands suddenly takes hold of your hips. Gasping, you attempt to turn, only for the grip to tighten, keeping you in place. “Hush,” Wesker speaks, allaying your surprise somewhat, “it’s only me, dearheart.”

His body, hot and firm, presses against your back, possessively looming over you. He kneads your hips idly as you recover from the minor scare. His presence is soothing, reassuring. With his claim on you thoroughly set, you know he will keep you safe, even if it is only to protect his investment. “Where are we?” You ask softly, unsure of how to carry yourself around the god who fucked you so well you converted to his religion.

He hums quietly, hands trailing down to your thighs. “We are in my domain. After the ritual concluded, I brought you back with me. And here you will stay.”

“…what?” You breathe. His domain? As in, his realm of reality? A place outside of the mortal plane as you know it? You’re not meant to be here. You should be home, with your friends and family. You belong back on earth, not as a caged pet to an ancient god. As alluring, as magnetic, as he is, you cannot stay with him.

Wesker laughs, a touch of cruelty entering his voice as he takes in your slight panic. “What, pet, did you think that was a one-and-done affair? That I’d be satisfied with breeding you only once? Think again.” One hand comes up to grasp your face, forcing you to turn towards a large mirror you hadn’t noticed. Your reflection greets you, as does his, looming behind you.

The first thing you notice is the band around your neck. Made of black silver, it circles your neck perfectly, staying in place without being uncomfortably tight or even chafing. A collar, shaped like a snake devouring its own tail. Your collar.

Wesker’s calm voice breaks you from your investigation. “I do hope you like your collar, little one. You won’t be parting with it any time soon.

“It’s as I said- there is no turning back now, my dear. There is nothing else for you. Only me.”

And the rest of existence fades away, leaving only you. Only him.

Only pleasure.

[bratbby333]

even if it hurts

fushiguro megumi x fem!reader ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ angst, kinda toxic, college au, 21+ warnings: language, alcohol consumption summary: unrequited love word count: 3.2k

“I just don’t understand what she sees in that guy,” Megumi thinks to himself. He watches you as you exit the library from his vantage point, seated by the window. You walk toward your boyfriend, who’s leaning up against his car. Megumi’s chest gets tighter the longer he watches you, wincing as your boyfriend pulls you in close, your lips connecting with his for way longer than Megumi can handle. 

“It should be me,” he sighs within, eventually turning away from the window, bringing his attention back to Yuuji and Kugisaki, the two of them oblivious to his mental anguish. But, of course they are, and so are you, his unchanging, neutral facial expression never giving away his true, tortured feelings. 

Then again, Megumi doesn’t know what you’d see in him, either. He knows everything about you; the good, the bad and the ugly, caring deeply for your well-being and happiness, but that doesn’t outweigh the negatives that come along with him. His lack of empathy, his overly analytical nature, his disdain for small talk, the permanent frown on his face. He hopes one day you take a chance after all these years and accept him in the same way he already accepts you; flawed, but so beautiful. 

“Aren’t they just so cute together,” Kugisaki gushes out, before looking to her friends for input. Yuuji smiles wide, nodding in agreement.

“They seem very happy together. I’m glad she’s finally found someone.” Yuuji adds, before looking back at his notes. Megumi glances outside again, observing that you’re now seated in the passenger seat. He stays quiet, which isn’t unusual for him. Neither of his friends bat an eye at his lack of commentary, chalking it up to Megumi being typical Megumi. He wishes he could rejoice on your behalf, to congratulate you on your new found romance without stifling a gag. Even if he could fake his way through it, his words would be coated in jealousy. Instead, he continues to retreat within. You’d see right through his bleak attempts to be supportive, anyway. So he packs his feelings up in a box, stowing them away on a forgotten shelf deep in the darkest corners of his mind.

Within his tormented psyche, Megumi is anything but his normal self. Looking down at his textbook again, he can’t comprehend a single thing in front of him. He stares longingly into the book, willing himself to read, but his mind can’t help but always find its way back to you. One of his best friends. Your cheery disposition contradicts his cold, closed-off demeanor. The way your perfume lingers on his shirt after a friendly hug, how your body feels pressing against his. The way your lips curl before you laugh, how you wrinkle your nose after someone tells a joke, or the soft smiles you always send his way. How your eyes gleam with excitement when you see him (well, not just him, but your friends, collectively). You’re everything he isn’t, and everything he wishes he was. You make his normally frigid skin run warm, feverish even.

He knows it will never be you and him. Like the sun and moon; coexisting, but never coming together, a constant, cruel cycle. You two meet briefly in the same sky, before you disappear under the horizon and his world goes dark. That part doesn’t hurt nearly as much as what the actual outcome is: You will always be in his life, just out of reach; so close yet so infuriatingly far. He will always be an outsider looking in; a friend. It’s a tortuous realization. But the moon cannot glow without the sun. So he wills himself to stay put. To watch you fall in and out of love, over and over again; listening to you rave or rant about your relationship, he inevitably being a voice of reason for you when you need advice, even if it burns his throat when his supportive words leave his mouth; and it will never be him. And he accepts that as the painful reality he’s condemned to live in. Purgatory. It would hurt much less if he wasn’t as close to you; if you were just a friend of a friend, or even strangers; an unknown face, a passing daydream. Someone easier to lose. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You press your hands against the metal bar of the library doors, sighing as you push against them. The setting sun dances across your hair, the warmth kissing your skin. You smile softly at your boyfriend, who always insists on picking you up after class. He pulls you into him, his lips meeting yours. Pulling away, you smile up at him before taking a step back, allowing him to open up the passenger side door for you. You turn your head back toward the library before getting in, looking through the window at the table you were just sitting at with your three best friends. Your eyes linger on Megumi, whose attention is back on his textbook. 

“I wish he was you, Meg.” You think to yourself, looking at the ground before sitting in the passenger seat. You’re quiet on the drive back to your boyfriend's apartment, thoughts utterly consumed by Megumi. But you know it will never be him. You’re too talkative, too excitable. Too different from him. With the two of you being such close friends, by the time you realized how your heart ached for him, it was too late. You don’t want to ruin what you have. You can’t confess. That would make the dynamic shift towards awkwardness and tension, possibly even destroying the friendships you cherish so deeply. So you stay quiet. You date other people in hopes that someone can replace him. But your attempts are all in vain. No one can replace Megumi. He knows everything about you, appreciates you for everything you are and accepts you for everything you’re not. But you know the deeper connection that you desire will never be reciprocated. He does all these things for me because we’re best friends, you rationalize.

You reconcile with the silver lining of it all; enjoying the time you’re able to spend with him, relishing in the jokes between you two, cherishing the glances you steal when you know he's not paying attention. You ignore the gnawing deep within you, the hunger for more. You cling to the way his smooth voice delivers eloquently thought out sentences to your yearning ears, the way your heart leaps when his deep blue eyes gaze attentively into yours. At least you can hold on to the notion that he will always be in your life, at the very least, as a friend.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You can’t settle for meaningless connections. You’ve decided that you’ll take Megumi however you can get him, the cards dealt to you leaning in favor of just being friends. And that’s okay. You’ll hold on to the hope that one day he’ll take the risk. Such a selfish desire, you acknowledge that. You refuse to fight these feelings any longer, the stark realization that it will never not be him coming to fruition on that fateful car ride, which is why you’re at your boyfriend’s house, sitting across from him, attempting to explain that it isn’t him, it’s you.

“I’m sorry,” you start. You can’t seem to find the right words that will soften the blow. Your mind is an endless sea of thoughts, a similar deep blue that you find in Megumi's eyes. Oh, his eyes. One thing at a time. 

“You did everything right, I promise. I just think we’re looking for different things.” You don’t have much more to say, tuning out your now ex boyfriend’s pleas and questions as you stand and walk towards the door, not uttering another word. Your movements shift to being calculated and emotionless; maybe you are more like Megumi than you thought. You take a deep breath once outside, pulling your phone out and dialing Kugisaki. 

“Hey, what’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be with your boyfriend?” she asks. She can hear the whizzing of cars in the background of the phone call. You walk along a busy freeway with no destination in mind. But your body knows where it wants to be; with Megumi. Your heart drives you with such conviction that you’re nearly running now.

“I was, yeah, I just broke up with him. Can we go out for drinks? Ask Yuu and Meg, too.” You reply. Nobara pauses, waiting for more information before realizing you weren’t interested in sharing. Your tone was emotionless and commandeering; very out of character for you. She decides not to pry. After a moment of silence, you hear the soft murmur of voices echo through the speaker of your phone, before she returns to the call, the plan being set to meet at a local bar just outside the campus at 6pm. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The study session is interrupted by an incoming call to Nobara’s phone. Megumi’s heart soars at the sight of your name on the screen. Kugisaki smiles before answering, but her twinkling demeanor drops almost immediately. He hears her ask a couple questions, but he can’t comprehend what was said over the loud roar of blood rushing through his ears. He doesn’t understand how you elicit such unusual responses from him. These feelings are getting harder and harder for him to fight. He snaps back to reality when Kugisaki relays that you want to grab drinks tonight. He’d do anything and go anywhere for you, jumping on the chance to be around you. Keep your composure, they can’t know. Megumi stoically agrees to the plans, as does Yuuji. The call ends a moment later.

“I did not see that coming,” Kugisaki sighs, placing her phone back down on the table. Megumi looks to his friend, anxiously anticipating her debrief of the conversation she just had. The possibility that you were hurt made Megumi want to jump out of his skin, to console you in a deeper, more intimate way that friends probably shouldn’t do. Kugisaki’s vagueness of the whole situation was making his nerves run cold. 

“It’s not unusual for her to want to grab some drinks…did something happen?” Yuuji asks, concern painted across his normally cheerful face. Kugisaki just glances between the two boys, her brow furrowed. Megumi’s blood is ice in his veins when Nobara finally tells them. He tunes out his friends, his mind inundating with possibilities, sending a silent prayer to the heavens that you’ll soon take a chance on him. He kicks himself for thinking that way, guilt soon replacing his desperation. How dare he attempt to take advantage of your pain for his own pleasure. What kind of man has he become? 

You want nothing more than to run into Megumi’s arms, to hold his face in your hands. You can’t help but feel sinful for what you’ve done. But being with someone when you crave someone else’s touch goes against everything you believe. Inauthenticity. It’s causing you more harm than good. You can’t stand it anymore. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry it didn’t work out…just earlier today we were talking about how happy you two seemed together. Can’t help but think we jinxed it,” Yuuji apologizes as he crashes into you, his arms constricting you tightly. Such a sweet boy. He holds you there for a moment, rocking you back and forth, before breaking away, Kugisaki taking his place. 

“His loss, you’ll forget about him soon enough. Let’s get drunk. Maybe you’ll find someone new while we’re here!” Nobara smirks. Megumi can’t help but cringe at that suggestion, the thought of seeing you engaged with yet another man, a man that isn’t him, shoots a lead bullet through his chest. He reaches his boiling point. He can’t patch up his wounds anymore. 

Megumi approaches you last, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, patting gently and saying nothing. Pretty on brand for Megumi’s way of showing comfort, but there’s something different behind his eyes; a new, unknown feeling that you can sense while looking up at him. You fight every urge in your body telling you to ask about it, to pry deeper into his mind, knowing he wouldn’t tell you, anyway. You desperately want to lean into his touch, electricity shooting through your body. You smile gently at his unreadable expression before the four of you head inside. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Seated at a table away from the bar, the four of you talk about the upcoming exams. You set plans for your next study session. Yuuji invites the group to a movie premier on Saturday night. Everyone reluctantly agrees, even though the premise of the film sounds dreadful. As the night goes on, the drinks keep coming, and you and your friends are properly buzzed, giggling and joking around. Everyone except Megumi, only offering the occasional smile and quiet chuckle. Everytime he laughs, your heart beats faster. Unbeknownst to the group, he’s clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, fighting every urge to spill his deepest, darkest secret. 

Your eyes trace lines along his face, taking in every curve and angle of his disposition. Something is bothering him. Your stare is burning holes into his side profile, and he shifts his weight in search of relief from your intensity. The sun and her rays. You’re snapped out of your trance as Yuuji stands from the table, pointing his finger in Nobara’s direction. 

“Nobara Kugisaki, I challenge you to a Skee-Ball tournament!” he shouts. The abruptness of his actions shocks the three of you. You glance at Kugisaki, who’s smirking at Yuuji. 

“You are so on.”

The two abandon the table, trash talking one another on their way to the machine, leaving you and Megumi alone. You feel elated at the time you get to spend one on one with him. He feels differently.

“It was for the best, he seemed like an ass anyway,” Megumi huffs out, avoiding your gaze as he takes another sip of his drink. His comment catches you off guard, but it leaps from his mouth before he can give it a second thought, as if he had been waiting the entire night to say that to you, only feeling confident enough to do so with the liquor in his system and the listening ears now on the opposite end of the bar. 

“Well, no, he was perfectly nice, Meg,” you retort, confusion painted across your face. This is so unlike Megumi, the man of few words.

“So why dump him if he was so nice? There must be a reason,” he challenges. Megumi has moved from denial, to bargaining, to anger in the span of a day. He can’t help but lash out. He’s bursting at the seams. Being near you is no longer enough, and his ego is his last line of defense before you fully break his heart without even meaning to. The constant torment he’s felt since meeting you has slowly been chipping away at him. All he knows is that he’s had enough. If you leave, if he pushes hard enough, he won’t hurt anymore. He will no longer have a constant reminder of what could be. He will finally reach acceptance. 

The hostility of his words bruise you, anger plastered across his face. Why is he upset with me? I did this for him, not that he’d ever know that. You brush off the sting from his comment. You’re just happy to hear him speak. You’d do anything to listen to him express whatever thought popped in his head, hanging on every word that leaves his lips, even if they send shards of glass into your heart. It aches so beautifully. You can’t muster up the courage to tell him that he’s the reason it didn’t work out. You’re exhausted from trying to force connections with other people in hopes that they could replace him, the constant back and forth leaving your life in ruins. You cut ties with perfectly good people because you know they will never be Megumi. So you cling to anything you can get from him, even if it destroys you.

“I…I don’t know, Meg. I think I’m searching for something else,” you reply quietly, your response insinuating much more than you intended. Your words float through the air so inaudibly that they are nearly drowned out by the music pouring out of the bar’s speakers. But Megumi hears you. He always does. His head snaps to face you, meeting your gaze. He feels his blood pressure spike. Is she referring to me? No…that can’t be what she means. She’s just feeling vulnerable right now. He maintains eye contact with you, looking past your eyes and searching deep within your soul, hoping something in there will guide him towards the answers he so hopelessly needs.

Your breath catches in your throat. Why is he looking at me like that? Did I make it too obvious? Did I ruin everything? Megumi’s eyes dart around your face, searching for something, anything, that would alleviate his pain. It doesn’t matter what you meant by that statement. He can’t stand this anymore, teetering on the edge of insanity. If I can’t have her, and I can’t stand keeping her around without torturing myself, then… fuck it. He decides to jump.

He grabs your face with both hands before crashing his lips into yours, a muffled yelp escaping you. Your eyes go wide, your body freezes. Time slows to an insufferable pace. You can’t comprehend a single thing, a part of you trying to convince yourself that this isn’t real; if it’s nothing more than a drunken kiss. But it’s real. It’s everything and more. You close your eyes, surrendering to this moment. You move your lips against his, desperate to savor him. He feels the exact way you imagined him to, the taste of him clouding your senses. You can’t get enough. The two of you fit together perfectly. You are utterly and completely consumed by him.

His heart races as he feels you reciprocate. His hands run up and down your body with urgency, trying to make up for years of wasted time. The loud bar fades to black as he pulls you deeper into him. All he can feel is you; you’re all that matters, that has mattered. Your hands meet his cheeks, moving to thread themselves in his hair at the nape of his neck. He groans into your mouth, his tongue battling against yours. You claw at one another hungrily. After years of starving, you are finally satiated. Every doubt that clouded your mind is cast to the wayside. All the pain and suffering has come to an end. The outcome that you both desired comes to fruition. 

“Fucking FINALLY!” You break away from one another, the sound of Kugisaki’s voice bringing you back to reality. She's standing before you two with her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side. Yuuji is positioned beside her, grinning from ear to ear. Megumi takes your face in his hands again, pulling you close.

“Fucking finally,” he whispers. 

author notes: if this seemed very unhinged and scatterbrained it's bc it most definitely was..and i tried to write this is in a specific way so that it bounced back and forth and contradicted one another and...u get it. im sure u do.

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[holidayinhell]

CWs: pet whump, public humiliation, urination, noncon nudity

Not now. 

Not right fucking now, Jesus Christ, his body couldn’t have chosen a worse time. Whumpee’s face was burning with shame, the frigid night air doing nothing to cool his embarrassment.

The biting cold had him urgently needing to pee. He’d have to go soon, his bladder was practically bursting from holding it in so long.

“What’s that weird face you’re making?”

Whumpee didn’t want to respond. He knew that his predicament would delight his so-called ‘Master’.

Whumpee’s pride urged him to wait-- to hold it for as long as he possibly could-- but it was well past that point. Holding it in wasn’t an option anymore.

“I… drank a lot of water.” Whumpee hung his head, mumbling into the dew-coated grass under his hands and knees. “Please, just let me go to the bathroom.”

A cruel smile spread across Whumper’s face.

“So go.”

“No. Not here.”

“Where else would you go? Do it.” He whipped Whumpee’s leash up and down. “Pissssss.” he urged devilishly.

Whumpee's eyebrows knit together in a desperate expression. What the hell else could he do? He began sliding his mud-coated knees out from under him, attempting to stand up to relieve himself…

Whumper kicked his bare ass, bringing the action to a halt.

“Not like that. Piss like a dog, you fucking mutt.” 

Whumpee couldn’t fucking hold it any longer. 

“Leg up.” Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s ankle and hoisted it into the air, sending Whumpee’s face to the ground. His genitals fell forward uselessly, bouncing over his stomach. Every last inch of his body was on full display, all for the sadistic satisfaction of his Master. The man would stop at nothing to humiliate Whumpee to the fullest extent, and nothing gave him more pleasure. 

Dew speckled Whumpee’s burning cheeks. Face-down in the grass with his leg lifted high, he started pissing. Once the floodgates opened, he was powerless to stem the tide of relief.

He forced his eyes closed as the stream of warmth trickled out of him onto the cold grass. Whumpee's shame burned so intensely that he hardly noticed the cold night air. 

Once his bladder was finally empty, a fleeting wave of relief washed over Whumpee. For one sacred second, nothing mattered. His life didn’t matter, his pride didn’t matter, nothing mattered anymore. In that moment, all he felt was relief.

“Goooood fuckin’ boy, Whumpee.”

Behind the phone screen, Whumper’s sadistic eyes shone with glee.

Whumpee hadn’t noticed Whumper recording the whole thing.