#something something shared pain is half a pain

[madgastronomer]

I live in Seattle. I used to fly back to Florida, where most of my family lives, once every year or two (I no longer go to Florida, I don't feel safe). It's a 5.5-6 hour flight. Plus getting there 2 hours before departure time to make sure I'm through security in plenty of time (up to 5 hours during the holidays). Plus an hour to get a ride share and get to the airport. Plus an hour to deplane and get my luggage. Plus an hour and a half to drive from the airport to my parents' home. I usually managed to get a direct flight, so there wasn't any nonsense with connecting flights. So that's like 11.5 hours right there. Not to mention that on the plane, I can't easily get up and move around as often as I should. And the seats are too narrow, sometimes to the point of being painful. (I'm lucky my legs are so short!) Not to mention that I sometimes have syncope on planes and pass out, and slight attendants are varying amounts of helpful if this happens.

Also I usually flew out there on red eye flights, which means I didn't actually sleep on the flight, but let me reset my internal clock when I got there more easily.

Yeah, I'd totally ride twice as long if it meant I didn't have to deal with airport security, I could get up and move when I needed to, and various other comforts. And was cheaper, my gods air travel is expensive. Also if I could get off the train and go do something in a city, just to be not-moving for a bit.

“Nobody’s going to want to sit on high-speed rail for fifteen hours to get from New York City to LA.”

Me. I will sit on high-speed rail for fifteen hours. I’ll sit on it for days. I’ll write and read and nap and eat and then do it all over again. I’ll stare out the windows and see America from ground level and not have to drive. I’ll see the Rockies and the deserts and cornfields and the Mississippi River and your house and yours and yours too. I’ll make up stories in my head about the small towns I see as we go along. I’ll see the states I’ve yet to see because driving or flying there is a fucking slog and expensive to boot. I’ll enjoy the ride as much as the destination. And then I’ll do it all over again to come the fuck home.

[crazylittlejester]

had an idea of Twilight getting real excited for whatever reason and hugging the absolute shit out of Warriors. like running up to him and grabbing him and lifting him up off the ground and just squeezing him to death (ofc giving Warriors plenty of time to run away from him if he was not in a mood to be touched because as excited as Twi gets he will always respect War’s boundaries), and as he’s like spinning him around and War is half heartedly grumbling at him and pretending to try to push him away, Twilight squeezes him real good and War’s back just explodes like a fire cracker. like a very loud very audible noise of his spine popping is heard and Twi just absolutely freezes. and they just stare at each other with incredibly wide eyes like “oh good gods” and Twi gently sets him back down and after they continue to stare at each other for a good long while Twi’s just like “are y- are you okay-“ and War is just standing there like “my back pain is gone- thanks….?”

ill write something for this when im less tired but i did wanna share the idea now cuz i thought it was silly and stupid

[lexawritex]

—perfect escape

★ in which you find yourself waking up from a car crash after running away from a cheating partner. you meet a woman who changed your life for the better. soon you discover something about the reality you live in.

[heavily inspired by a filipino movie 'my perfect you']

sophia laforteza × fem!reader

7.5k words

⚠️ car crash, injuries, blood, swearing, angst, fluff

it was your girlfriend’s birthday. you got off early from work, your hands full of gifts—cake, balloons, flowers—emptying your wallet just to make her day special. you drove to your shared apartment, picturing her lounging on the couch, watching her favorite movie.

but when you stepped inside, the cake slipped from your grasp and crashed to the floor. petals from the bouquet scattered, the sound shattering the silence—and the two people clinging to each other.

your girlfriend, straddling a man you once called your best friend. shock and guilt painted their faces as they caught sight of you. she was half-naked, scrambling off him and rushing toward you, trying to explain, to reach you—but everything around you went silent. you couldn’t hear her words, nor his.

all you saw was betrayal, and anger burning in your chest.

“don’t fucking touch me,” you said through gritted teeth, anger simmering beneath your skin.

“yn, please, let me—”

“i saw enough. fucking leave me alone! we’re done!” you snapped, turning away, leaving behind years of love shattered by infidelity.

you slammed into your car, the engine roaring as you sped off before she could even knock on the window. your mind spiraled, tears blurring your vision as you cried out your pain on the empty highway.

you grabbed your phone, desperate for someone—your sister, your brother, anyone—but no one answered. frustration and heartbreak overwhelmed you, and you threw the phone out the window with a grunt of anger.

then, suddenly, a loud crash. your car veered off the road and tumbled into a ditch.

everything went black.

you could’ve died. but you didn’t.

instead, you woke up to a hard surface beneath you, a thin mattress and a rough makeshift pillow. cloths were wrapped around your head, hands, and torso. the room was shabby—wooden walls patched poorly, a tilted handmade table beside you with a basin of bloodied water and cloth resting on it.

you tried standing up and almost fell, but you caught yourself. limping, you made your way toward the doorway. the door was made of bamboo wood, looking fragile enough to break if you kicked it.

the glare of the sun stabbed your eyes as you stepped outside. you winced, blinking rapidly, letting your eyes adjust to the brightness. when you finally opened them, you were greeted by the sight of trees—countless trees stretching as far as you could see. a waterfall glistened in the distance, just within walking range.

your hearing returned slowly, the song of birds and the steady rush of the waterfall filling your ears. the air was different here—fresh, clean, and alive. it smelled like health itself, a sharp contrast to the city air you were used to.

you walked to the riverbank, noticing you were barefoot. dipping your feet into the cool water, you let out a relieved sigh as the refreshing chill touched your skin.

“enjoying yourself?” a soft voice asked.

you whipped your head around and saw the most beautiful woman you’d ever laid eyes on.

she noticed your stunned expression and giggled—a sound like music to your ears.

she walked closer and stopped a respectful distance away. she smelled like flowers... and fish?

the odd scent snapped you out of your daze, and you cleared your throat, scrunching your nose at the fishy smell.

she giggled again and wiggled a makeshift basket filled with fish.

“today’s lunch—fish,” she said, then walked past you to crouch by the water, washing the catch.

you looked at her and finally found your voice.

“where am i?” your voice was raspy and broken.

she looked up, smiling gently. “you’re in my home.”

you glanced around, realizing her house was the only one in sight.

“you live alone out here?”

“no,” she replied, eyes flicking to your bandages. “i live with daniel and carrie. they’re like my siblings, though we’re not related by blood.”

“how are you feeling? you looked pretty messed up when we found you,” she asked.

suddenly, everything came rushing back—the pain, the betrayal, the desperate need for comfort... then the crash.

you tensed, and she quickly stood, waving her hands in front of your face. the motion pulled you out of your haze, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“god…”

—

you watched as the woman gently removed your bandages, her hands careful not to cause you pain. the tenderness in her touch was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside you.

“we were on our way back from the village when we saw your car from a distance,” she began, finishing the bandage on your arm before sitting back down beside you on the bed.

“the crash looked pretty bad. honestly, it’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

you let out a heavy sigh and looked down at the bandages wrapped around you.

“thank you…”

she hummed softly and stood up.

your eyes followed her as she walked toward the doorway.

“i’ll be preparing lunch. you take a rest or something,” she said before disappearing.

you stayed seated and nodded. maybe sleep would help you forget the pain? you tried, but closing your eyes only invited the memories back. you huffed in frustration and sat up.

the quiet was suffocating, and silence only let your thoughts swirl and consume you. so you stood and walked out, looking around for the woman.

your eyes widened as a sudden realization hit you.

“i didn’t even get to ask her name…”

you found her in a makeshift shed, sheltering a small fireplace, probably used for cooking.

“i’m yn,” you called out.

she looked back at you, amused and slightly surprised by your presence.

“hi yn, i’m sophia,” she said with a warm smile.

“done resting?” she asked, turning back to her cooking.

“couldn’t rest. thoughts are restless,” you admitted, watching her move with calm purpose.

“must be some bad thoughts if you want to silence them,” she said softly.

you hummed in agreement, feeling a strange comfort in her presence despite the storm inside you.

when the food was ready, sophia brought you to a small table near the riverbank. the place was peaceful, the gentle sound of the flowing water creating the perfect backdrop for a calm lunch.

you thanked her quietly for the meal and watched as she ate with her bare hands. stunned for a moment, you soon followed suit, digging in with your own hands. surprisingly, the food was delicious, and you found yourself enjoying it more than you expected.

sophia watched you with a soft smile.

“so,” she started, making you look up.

“what’s your story, if you don’t mind me asking?” she said gently.

you swallowed your food and took a moment before answering.

“my ex cheated on me. i tried surprising her for her birthday, but turns out i was the one surprised—seeing her with my best friend.” you sighed, your chest tightening as the memory flooded back.

sophia listened silently, sympathy shining in her eyes as she nodded.

“i couldn’t handle it and just drove off. and here i am,” you finished, chuckling bitterly, biting your lip as tears threatened to spill.

your vision blurred as the tears welled up. sophia noticed immediately.

without a word, she stood and walked to the river, facing the waterfall. then, she screamed—raw and loud, her voice swallowed by the roar of the water.

you watched, stunned by her sudden outburst.

she breathed deeply, then turned back to you with a gentle smile. jogging over, she held out her hand.

“come on, let it all out.”

and so you did—shouting your anger, your pain, cursing your ex and your best friend, letting every bottled-up emotion spill free.

when the heaviness in your chest finally lifted, you sighed and washed your face in the cool river water. feeling refreshed, you stepped out and returned to sophia, who was now carrying a basket full of something you couldn’t quite name.

“how are you feeling?” she asked.

you smiled genuinely. “better.”

she nodded and handed you the basket. you looked inside, then back at her, curious.

“what’s this?”

she smiled and picked up another basket filled with what looked like animal feed.

“you said you didn’t want to think. so let’s do something to keep your mind busy. help me feed the animals,” she said, turning and walking off.

you followed her and spent the rest of the afternoon feeding two pigs and a dozen chickens, the simple task grounding you in the present, easing your restless mind.

with each step you took around the small pen, the weight in your chest felt a little less heavy. the sharp edges of pain and betrayal dulled, softened by the rhythm of this peaceful place and the gentle presence of sophia beside you.

you caught yourself smiling more often than not, the tension in your shoulders easing with every laugh that escaped your lips—soft, genuine, and unexpected after so long.

for the first time in days, your mind quieted. the memories that had haunted you felt distant, like shadows fading with the light of the afternoon sun.

sophia glanced at you, her eyes warm and encouraging. “see? sometimes, the best way to heal is to just be present. no thinking, no overanalyzing. just living.”

you nodded, feeling the truth in her words. the pain hadn’t disappeared, but it no longer controlled you. here, in this quiet corner of the world, you could breathe again.

when the sun dipped, casting a hue of pink and orange across the sky, you and sophia headed back to the small house nestled among the trees. as you approached, two new figures came into view — the daniel and carrie sophia had mentioned earlier.

daniel was a big guy, broad-shouldered and imposing at first glance, someone you’d imagine could beat you into a pulp without breaking a sweat. but as you got to know him, you quickly realized he had a soft heart and a surprisingly sharp, funny sense of humor that caught you off guard.

carrie was different. sharp-tongued and unapologetically blunt, she spoke her mind without hesitation. the first words she said when she saw you were, “oh, you’re alive.” you didn’t mind her rough edges; in fact, you found yourself amazed at how their contrasting personalities somehow managed to collide and coexist.

and then there was sophia — soft, gentle, and endlessly patient. she was like a saint in comparison, her calm presence a soothing balm to the chaos inside you.

together, they formed an unlikely family, and for the first time since the crash, you felt a flicker of belonging.

and before you knew it, days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months.

you felt like you belonged. this place had become your new home, your sanctuary—a world away from the hectic, suffocating pace of your busy office life in the city.

every morning, you’d accompany daniel to catch fish by the river, learning the rhythms of the water and the patience it demanded. then, you’d head out with carrie to harvest plants and herbs, her sharp wit and no-nonsense attitude balancing daniel’s gentle humor. the bond you formed with them was like the siblings you never had, filling the hollow ache inside you that had longed for family.

in the afternoons, you’d go to the village with sophia, walking through the lush paths and sharing quiet moments beneath the canopy of trees.

the connection between you and sophia grew stronger with each passing day.

and maybe, just maybe, you allowed yourself to believe it was becoming something more than friendship.

you didn’t know exactly when it happened—perhaps it was the way she cared for you with a tenderness different from what she showed her siblings, or the way her eyes held something deep and untold whenever they met yours.

whatever it was, it stirred something in you—a fragile hope that healing could lead to something new.

—

the sun hid behind the clouds, the air fresh and cool, and the river waters looked so inviting. without hesitation, you slipped out of your clothes, leaving only your undergarments, before plunging into the river. the cool water spread through your body, washing away tension and filling you with a deep sense of relaxation.

you swam to a nearby rock, leaning your back against its smooth surface and closing your eyes, letting yourself fully unwind.

“enjoying yourself?” a familiar voice broke the quiet.

you opened your eyes and smiled.

“deja vu?” you teased, glancing at sophia, who returned the smile.

“mind if i join you?” you gestured toward the water.

without hesitation, she began to undress, causing a flush to rise in your cheeks. you quickly looked away, heart pounding in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

you heard her squeal and the splash of water. looking up, you saw sophia swimming toward you, a big smile lighting up her face.

feeling mischievous, you flicked water at her. her jaw dropped, eyes wide with surprise, before a playful grin spread across her perfect lips. without hesitation, she splashed water back at you.

soon, the two of you were locked in a playful splashing war. laughing, you dove underwater and swam away. sophia let out a shout and chased after you. you swam to a rock, climbed up, and hopped to another nearby one.

sophia followed but froze when she saw you slip and fall back into the water. she watched anxiously as you surfaced, then laughed when you looked at her with a grin. her laughter bubbled up too, and she jumped in, swimming over to you. she slapped your arm playfully before inspecting you carefully for any injuries.

“i didn’t hurt myself,” you said, amused by her worried gaze.

but you felt it again—that fluttering in your chest, the flip in your stomach.

“you idiot, you could’ve hurt yourself,” sophia muttered, then looked up at you.

you two locked eyes for a moment before you cleared your throat and chuckled.

“i’m fine—I survived a car crash.”

sophia playfully punched your shoulder, making you laugh. she climbed onto a rock and sat down, and you followed, sitting beside her. your eyes wandered to where she was looking—an old bridge, covered in vines and nature’s embrace. you’d noticed it before but never knew its story.

“want to go there?” sophia asked, turning to you.

you climbed the hill toward the bridge, hesitating before stepping onto the weathered wood. sophia walked confidently, as if the old bridge was brand new.

she turned and beckoned you forward. gripping the rails tightly for balance, you took a step. she giggled at your nervousness and reached out her hand. you grabbed it, and she pulled you close—maybe too close—causing you to lose your balance and crash against her.

you heard her heartbeat quicken, from calm to fast. you pulled back, clearing your throat awkwardly. sophia looked away.

“scared of heights?” she asked, trying to ease the sudden tension between you.

“not really. just that the bridge looks like it’ll collapse if i breathed on it.” sophia giggled softly.

“it’s stood through many typhoons,” she added, stepping toward the center of the bridge. from there, she overlooked the small house nestled below and the river that wound through the land—the place she had made her home, her sanctuary.

you stood beside her, taking in the view. it was so different from everything you’d ever known, yet it felt comforting—like the escape you didn’t realize you needed.

“don’t you miss your family?” she asked suddenly, her voice gentle.

you turned to look at her—her perfect eyes, delicate nose, soft lips—her perfect everything.

you swallowed hard before speaking, “i do. i really do…”

sophia’s gaze softened as she noticed your voice falter.

“i lost my parents when i was young. it was just me and my older siblings,” you sighed, the memory heavy on your heart.

“then my grandfather died, and that’s when the inheritance came into play. it tore us apart. my brother left overseas, my sister got married, and i was left alone.” a tear slipped down your cheek.

“ever since then… our relationship became one of strangers.”

sophia’s warm hand found yours, grounding you. you looked up at her, gratitude filling your voice.

“thank you for bringing me here… it… it really healed me. more than you know.”

sophia smiled, her eyes sparkling as the sun peeked from behind the clouds, casting a golden glow that kissed her skin. the sight stole your breath for a moment.

“beautiful…” you murmured.

her smile widened, her eyes curving into gentle crescents. your heart flipped.

“i should be thanking you for staying… even if it’s just for a little while,” she said, pulling you back from your reverie.

“i’ve never had someone like you in my life. ever. i almost believed i’d die a hopeless woman, but here you are—crashing into my life.”

she took your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours, and brought it to her chest, right over her heart.

“only you could make it beat this fast,” she whispered, “and i hope i’ll be the only one to make yours beat too.”

no words could ever describe the feeling blooming inside you—the way your heart seemed to explode with warmth, or how your stomach twisted in the most delightful way.

“you brought my heart to life, fixed whatever i believed was broken, and you make it go crazy—heck, i’d let you own it,” sophia giggled, pulling you close until your foreheads touched.

“then will you let me own it?” she asked softly.

you smiled, your voice steady but full of emotion. “with all of my heart, yes.”

her smile deepened as she closed the space between you, lips meeting yours in a gentle, tender kiss.

in that moment, you felt it—the fireworks bursting inside, confetti swirling in your mind, the drums of celebration pounding in your chest. every nerve in your body tingled, your heart racing, your lungs struggling for breath.

you pulled back slightly, breathless, but sophia wasted no time before crashing her lips to yours again. you giggled softly into the kiss, caught in the beautiful whirlwind of feeling alive.

—

the two of you stood in the center of the bridge, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of pink and gold. sophia rested comfortably in your arms, her warmth a comforting contrast to the chilly dusk air.

“did you know bridges are like threads?" you asked

sophia looked up at you, then turned to face you fully, wrapping her arms around your neck.

“why a thread?” she asked curiously.

“my brother once told me that bridges are like threads. they sew together lands to be connected. that’s why he became an engineer—to build bridges and bring lands closer.” pride swelled in your chest as you remembered the day he graduated, the joy in his eyes.

sophia smiled warmly. “that’s sweet of him.”

“but distance is good too,” she said suddenly, making you raise an eyebrow.

“how so?” you asked, confusion flickering across your face.

she pressed a gentle kiss on your cheek before stepping back, putting a good distance between you.

“stay there!” she called, stopping far away.

you chuckled. “what are you doing, sophia?”

“they say distance makes the heart grow fonder. that’s why i like distance,” she explained with a playful grin.

you laughed and whined, “but i like being close!”

“why?”

“because i miss you already!” you confessed, your voice soft but sincere.

sophia laughed, her eyes sparkling. “see? that’s my point!”

“alright! you proved your point—now come back to me!” you whined.

she smiled and walked back into your arms. you pulled her close and pressed a tender kiss on her head, making her chuckle softly against you.

the moment felt perfect—simple, warm, and full of quiet joy.

the two of you retreated to the house, hands intertwined and giggles coming out of your mouths.

daniel looked at you both before a grin broke in his lips. he nudged at carrie who looked at you both and groaned, handing her blade to daniel who wore a smug grin.

"told you they'd end up dating." he said, looking at a defeated carrie who lost their bet.

"ok, ok. you win, you have my favorite blade. now stop gloating and call sophia to make dinner before they start fu--"

"language!"

—

the night ended with you two nestled in the bed, tangled in each other's arms. her bare skin flushed against yours as you hold her waist, keeping her balanced on top of you.

lips pressed against each other, sharing a passionate kiss. sophia leaned back to breathe, her hands cradled your face as she looked at you with sparkling eyes.

"you're so beautiful." you whispered. she smiled and pressed a kiss on your lips.

"you never failed to remind me so." you kissed her nose, igniting a giggle from her.

"ill never stop doing so." you responded before letting your lips crash again.

“yn!”

“yn!”

“yn!”

everything was black.

you heard shuffling nearby and the faint, rhythmic beeping of a machine.

beep.

beep.

beep.

then a sterile smell invaded your nose—the faint scent of iron, blood, and a familiar perfume.

“yn, dear.”

that voice.

your eyes fluttered open to a blinding white ceiling. blinking, you saw an unfamiliar masked face leaning over you.

a nurse?

your gaze drifted around the room until it landed on two familiar faces.

“oh god, yn—she’s awake!” a man exclaimed, relief flooding his voice as the nurse checked your pulse.

your brother and sister sat beside you, their expressions a mix of worry and overwhelming joy.

the world felt surreal, but seeing them there grounded you—a fragile thread connecting you back to everything you’d left behind.

you tried to speak, but no words came out. your vision blurred, and you felt wetness on your cheeks—tears escaping despite yourself.

the two figures beside you stood up. your sister leaned in, gently taking your hand in hers.

she sobbed, her voice trembling with guilt, “i’m so sorry! i should’ve answered your calls! i’m so sorry!”

your brother knelt beside the bed, resting his forehead against it.

“i never should’ve left. i shouldn’t have. i should’ve stayed with you. i… i’m such a horrible brother…” he cried.

the three of you remained there, the room heavy with sorrow. your siblings poured out their regrets and apologies, while you stayed silent, your voice lost to your injuries, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions.

when everything finally settled, you found yourself alone in the room with your sister. she gently showed you pictures of her grandchild, her voice soft as she spoke, while your brother was elsewhere, talking quietly with the doctor.

“i really am sorry. i should’ve visited more regularly… i… i don’t know… i’m really sorry, dear,” she said, her eyes filled with regret. you squeezed her hand gently in reassurance.

if there was one thing you were weak against, it was your siblings. they were the only family you had left, and you cherished them deeply.

“it’s… fi… fine… i man… aged on… my… own,” you managed to say in broken, fragile words. her eyes widened, and a small smile touched her lips.

“you always let us go too easily,” she said with a sigh. you smiled faintly.

“love you… too much,” you whispered, she caressed your head tenderly.

soon, your brother returned and sat beside your sister. guilt weighed heavily in his eyes, but you reached out and took his hand.

“i’m fine, don’t be guilty now,” you said softly. he shook his head.

“no. i’m the eldest. i should’ve been there to protect you—I… i got so caught up with my dreams that i… i forgot i had a family…”

he confessed, lowering his head in shame.

the room was thick with emotion, but in that moment, the fragile threads of family began to mend, slowly weaving you all back together.

after dinner, you settled back into your bed, your body immobile beneath the many bandages and stitches that restricted your movement. with little else to do, you caught up with your siblings, their familiar presence a comfort in the quiet room.

“so, how are things going with your girl?” your brother asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

you frowned, the weight of the memory pressing down on you.

“sole reason why i’m in this state,” you answered simply.

he choked on his drink, eyes wide. “i’m sorry—what?”

“she cheated on me. i stormed out, sped off, then crashed,” you explained, voice low.

your sister shook her head, muttering under her breath, “knew she was a bitch.”

you sighed, then your eyes suddenly widened as a thought struck you. you began scanning the room frantically, touching your bandages, the bed, everything around you.

“sophia… sophia…” you called out, desperation creeping into your voice.

“dear, who’s sophia?” your sister asked gently, concern knitting her brows.

you swallowed hard, the name feeling like a lifeline in the fog of your memories.

“i woke up in sophia’s house and— and i met her siblings, daniel and carrie… s/n, how am i here?” you asked, your eyes fixed on the bandages wrapped tightly around your body.

“i healed—i healed. so why do i have these bandages? why am i in a hospital?” tears welled up, blurring your vision.

your sister reached out, trying to soothe you, but the flood of emotions was too strong. your cries grew louder, desperation bleeding into your voice. “sophia… i left her there! bring me there!”

your brother jumped up, rushing out of the room to find a nurse and doctor, urgently explaining your distress.

the room felt suffocating as you sobbed, the ache of separation from sophia overwhelming you, your heart aching to be reunited with the place—and the person—that had begun to heal you.

you tried to sit up, your fingers fumbling at the iv drip attached to your arm. panic surged through you as you struggled to detach it, desperate to get to sophia.

“yn, please! calm down!” your sister pleaded, gently but firmly holding you down despite your protests.

“no, sophia! i have to get to her!” you cried, your voice trembling with urgency.

just then, nurses rushed into the room, carefully but firmly restraining you. the doctor followed closely behind, while your brother stood nearby, wrapping his arms around your sister in a silent gesture of comfort.

the doctor spoke softly, explaining what he was about to do. before you could resist further, he administered a sedative. your eyelids grew heavy, your struggles fading as sleep claimed you, the desperate need to reach sophia lingering in your fading thoughts.

“yn, it’s time for dinner!” sophia called out, peeking her head into the room.

you looked at her, momentarily dumbfounded, before her perfect smile grounded you. you smiled back and walked toward her, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her in for a quick kiss.

“miss me already?” she teased, her voice light and playful.

“so much,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her soft lips.

after dinner, the four of you settled outside by a warm bonfire. you sat beside sophia, leaning your head on her shoulder as you watched daniel and carrie bicker good-naturedly.

you smiled softly. “i met my siblings.”

sophia glanced at you. “yeah?”

“they said they were sorry. they apologized. i forgave them,” you shared quietly.

she smiled warmly. “you have a soft heart for family.”

“they’re the only ones i have,” you replied, feeling the weight and warmth of those words in the quiet night.

“and you guys are like family too...” you added softly. sophia smiled and pressed a gentle kiss on your cheek.

daniel noticed and tossed a small pebble at your feet. sophia glanced at him, and he rolled his eyes at her. “ew.”

sophia mocked him playfully before turning back to you.

“come on, carrie. let’s leave these love birds alone,” daniel said, dragging carrie inside the house—leaving you two alone.

sophia watched them go with a smile, then turned to you, settling in your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck.

you looked up at her, smiling. “what are you up to now?”

“we’re alone,” sophia said, her tone hinting at something mischievous.

you chuckled and pulled her closer, your arms winding around her waist. your noses touched, and you teasingly rubbed yours against hers, igniting a soft giggle from sophia.

“i love you,” she whispered.

“i love you too,” you replied.

back in the hospital room, your brother watched as you smiled and mumbled incoherent words in your sleep, worry etched deep in his eyes. your sister sat nearby, holding back tears.

“god...” she let out a sob.

your brother turned to the doctor who had just entered, sharing a look of concern.

“the crash caused significant trauma to her head, making it difficult for her to separate reality from dreams,” the doctor explained.

"she may be suffering from dream-reality confusion disorder," the doctor explained gently. "it can be caused by stress and anxiety, and the trauma from the crash might have triggered it. don't worry, though—it can be managed and hopefully treated with therapy."

your brother sighed, glancing at you as you let out a soft laugh, clearly enjoying your dream. your sister sat beside you, gently rubbing your head.

“i will arrange for her to see a psychiatrist once she wakes up,” the doctor added.

your brother nodded as the doctor left, then looked back at you.

“it’s like when she was a baby... laughing in her dreams...” your sister said softly.

the room was heavy with both hope and worry, the fragile threads of healing slowly weaving through the night.

you woke up to your sister’s worried face hovering over you.

“hey, you okay?” she asked softly, helping you sit up.

you nodded and accepted the cup of water she handed you. as you took a sip, your thoughts drifted to sophia, and a smile spread across your lips.

“i think i met the one,” you said quietly.

your sister looked at you, surprised. “really?”

your brother glanced at her, and she gave him a silent ‘let it be’ look before turning back to you.

you nodded again, eyes dreamy. “yes. she’s perfect. she loves animals, she’s gentle—she’s an angel, a saint. she’s... perfect.”

“i miss her now,” you muttered, looking down.

“well, you’ll see her again, right?”

you smiled. “yes. you guys should meet her. you’ll love her!”

your sister nodded, letting you ramble on about your love for sophia and how perfect she was.

later, once she’d tucked you into bed and watched you fall asleep with a peaceful smile, she turned to your brother, who wore a look of concern.

“she’s really lost it,” he said quietly.

“i feel so bad,” she replied. “she looked so happy talking about this sophia person, and it feels like we’re taking away her happiness.”

"well, it's for her own good."

—

you sat in the observation room, a table separating you from an elderly woman—the psychiatrist your brother had arranged for you.

“hello, yn. how are you feeling?” she asked kindly.

“i’m okay,” you replied simply.

the woman nodded, a small smile touching her lips.

“that’s good. you can call me dr. park.”

you nodded in acknowledgment.

“do you remember why you were hospitalized?” she inquired.

“yes, i crashed,” you answered.

dr. park nodded thoughtfully. “and what do you remember after that incident?”

you looked down at your hands, recalling the memories that lingered.

“i woke up in sophia’s house. she healed my injuries and fed me,” you said softly.

the woman smiled, but it wasn’t a comforting smile.

“well, yn… you were rescued, yes, but not by sophia.”

confusion clouded your mind as you looked at her.

“a passing car happened to see your wreck and called an ambulance. that’s how you were rescued,” she explained.

you shook your head, laughing softly. “no, that’s not true. sophia rescued me.”

“and where did she bring you?” dr. park asked, jotting notes on her pad.

“she brought me to her home, in the middle of the woods—there was even a waterfall and a river there!” you said, eyes lighting up.

dr. park nodded again, recording your words.

“and where is this place?”

“it was probably near the crash site—there was a small village too,” you added.

she nodded and looked at you. “do you know what the dream-reality confusion disorder is?” she asked, and you shook your head no.

“well, it’s a disorder where people under great stress or trauma struggle to separate dreams from reality. they confuse dreams as real-life experiences.”

“and what’s it got to do with me?” you asked.

“you might be experiencing it.”

you shook your head, frowning.

“no. sophia is real. i don’t have it—can we end this please?”

when the session ended, as per your request, you were escorted back to your room. your sister fed you gently while your brother spoke quietly with dr. park outside, the weight of your story hanging between them.

“she insists this sophia person is real, and that what she experienced in her dreams is true. i looked up the place where she crashed and the nearby areas—there were no waterfalls, rivers, or villages like she described, which further proves that she is indeed suffering from the disorder,” dr. park said as b/n nodded solemnly.

“she’ll need frequent therapy and your encouragement to follow through. so far, she’s very insistent, and if she’s not treated immediately, she might lose her grip on reality.”

b/n watched as you talked to your sister, mostly about sophia, his face etched with concern.

later, when you had fallen asleep and drifted into your dreams again, b/n spoke quietly to your sister.

“can you stop encouraging her?” he asked.

your sister looked at him, confused. “what?”

“you’re encouraging her—saying you’ll meet this sophia person and all that. her psychiatrist said if yn doesn’t get treated immediately, she could become derealized. do you want that for her?”

s/n sighed deeply and held her head in her hands.

“of course i don’t want that. i just want what’s best for her. but i feel so guilty taking away her happiness... i neglected her... you did too! we’re partly responsible for what happened to her,” she said, her voice heavy with remorse.

“i know. that’s why i’m doing this for her,” he said, pausing as your laughter echoed softly through the room.

your sister’s eyes welled up again, watching you laugh peacefully in your dreams.

sophia ran ahead as you chased her, mud clutched in your hands.

you both were on your way home after feeding the animals when sophia playfully pushed you into the mud. wide-eyed and jaw dropped, you scooped up a handful of mud and gave chase. her laughter and playful screams filled the air.

“yn! no! i’m sorry!” she pleaded, scrambling up a tree to escape.

you looked up at her with a grin. “come on, sophia!”

“no!” she yelled back.

you laughed, dropping the mud and raising your hands in surrender.

“alright, i won’t. you win.”

sophia eyed you suspiciously before climbing down—too soon.

you smudged her cheek with your mud-covered hand, making her squeal as you darted away, plunging into the river. she stood on the bank, yelling and smiling.

“yn! you!” she shouted, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

you laughed, washing the mud off as you heard a splash—sophia had jumped in after you. she playfully tugged you underwater, splashing as you surfaced, gasping for air and laughing.

“i’m sorry, okay!” you apologized, wiping your face.

your eyes met hers, and she pulled you close, wrapping her arms around your neck as yours instinctively circled her waist.

your lips met in a soft kiss, warmth spreading through your body despite the cool water.

the night air was cold, but inside the room where your dream unfolded, it was hot as you shared a steamy kiss.

sophia had long since removed her shirt, leaving only bare skin. her hands tugged at your shirt, urging you to remove it. soon, you were skin to skin, tangled in thin sheets.

“i love you so much, sophia,” you whispered, gazing into her starry eyes. her glossy, perfect lips curved into a smile.

“i love you too, yn.”

—

you sat facing dr. park again.

“daniel and carrie are like your non-biological siblings, you say?” she asked.

you nodded.

“and you say you and your siblings hadn’t been in contact since your grandfather’s death until now?” dr. park hummed thoughtfully as you nodded, connecting the dots.

“interesting...” she murmured.

“so, how would you describe your love life?” she asked gently.

dr. park watched you fall asleep, mumbling incoherent words and smiling, through the monitor. with your siblings’ permission, she had recorded your sleep to observe your behavior.

b/n, watching alongside, shook his head and sighed.

“her experiences in real life have somehow influenced her dreams,” dr. park began.

“firstly, she shared how down she was when the bond between you as siblings faded after your grandfather’s death. in her dreams, she meets two individuals, daniel and carrie, with whom she develops a sibling bond.”

your sister nodded, following along.

“secondly, she shared how her past relationship ended badly, and in her dreams, she meets a woman—perfect, as she describes her—and develops a relationship with her.”

dr. park sighed and gathered her thoughts.

“her dreams are a manifestation of her ideal world. the stress and trauma forced her brain to create an escape.”

“basically, she’s been bottling up all these emotions, and the fallout from her ex was the trigger—causing her to lose grip on reality and allowing her brain to preserve itself by creating a world where she isn’t hurt.”

—

b/n sat beside you as you stared out into the distance.

“yn,” he called softly.

you hummed in response and looked at him.

“remember what i said about how bridges are like threads?” he asked.

you nodded.

“yeah, i told sophia about it,” you said with a small smile.

he sighed, his lips forming a sad smile.

“maybe it’s time to cut that thread connecting you to sophia.”

your smile faded as you looked into his eyes.

“what do you mean?”

“i know how hurt you were when we didn’t talk to you for years and how your ex betrayed you. we’re very sorry you had to go through all of that alone,” he said, reaching out to take your hand.

“i understand why you had to escape, run away. but we can’t always run away, can we?” you looked at him, seeing tears welling in his eyes—something you hadn’t seen since your mother died.

“you’ve always been so strong, even as a small child,” he smiled, his voice cracking as he tried to hold back his emotions.

“and it pains me so much to see you running away, hiding in your dreams.” he placed a gentle hand on your head, rubbing your hair softly.

“i just want to see you be happy—not in your dreams, but here, in this world. and i will be with you, i promise. we will be with you.”

“so please, come back to us...”

you held your hands out, and he embraced you in a warm hug. tears fell as his warmth gave you the comfort you always sought when scared—the comfort you so desperately needed in those moments when it felt like the world had betrayed you.

—

you frequented your visits to the psychiatrist, following her advice and doing whatever she told you to do.

she said you were slowly getting better. your siblings agreed.

but sophia didn’t.

you were slowly forgetting the things you used to do.

daniel watched as you threw the spear in a flimsy, uncertain way. his eyes filled with confusion as you sucked in a breath and picked the spear back up.

“yn?”

he called softly. you looked up at him.

“yeah?” he took the spear from you, eyed a nearby fish, and with a steady hand, speared it, catching it effortlessly.

“you used to be good at this. what happened?” he asked.

you chuckled quietly. “i’m not. you’re the one who does the work. i only help carry the fish,” you said.

daniel looked puzzled, about to say something, but sophia cut him off as she grabbed your hand and pulled you along.

“come on, carrie needs us to cook!” she said, dragging you toward the kitchen.

you looked at her, confused, raising an eyebrow. “who?”

sophia stopped in her tracks and giggled. “silly! my sister, carrie! now, come on.”

you were genuinely confused. who was carrie again?

sophia pointed toward a girl in the distance, but the face was blurry, indistinct. “oh, carrie...” you muttered, but you couldn’t remember what she looked like.

her presence felt like a distant memory, fading just beyond your grasp.

—

“my psychiatrist said i’m slowly getting better,” you shared softly.

you and sophia stood on the bridge—the very same bridge where you had once confessed your feelings. thick, gray clouds covered the sky, blotting out the sunset’s warm hues. the heavy clouds hung low, casting a somber mood over the scene.

“that’s good,” sophia chimed, looking at you with a gentle smile. you gazed at her gorgeous face, but for a brief moment, her features blurred, catching you off-guard.

she noticed your sudden distraction and looked at you, puzzled.

“what’s wrong?” you shook your head, returning her smile. “just caught off guard by your beauty.”

she smiled back and playfully pushed you. “you charmer,” she giggled.

something in you felt heavy—maybe it was the realization that you were slowly forgetting her and everything surrounding her. you had learned to accept the treatment, and that acceptance meant letting go of the world you had created, accepting that sophia was a creation of your mind.

sophia noticed the look in your eyes. she pulled you into a gentle hug, resting her head against your chest.

“what’s wrong, love?” she asked softly, listening to the steady rhythm of your heart.

“i’m slowly getting better... and i’m slowly forgetting you,” you whispered.

sophia pulled back, concern clouding her eyes. “what are you saying?”

you looked at her and held her hands, flashing a sad smile. “i love you, sophia. i really do,” you said.

“but sadly, our love is something my mind created for me—to escape, to hide, to run away from the painful reality.” sophia smiled sadly, cradling your face in her hands.

“well, at least i gave you real love,” you chuckled softly. “yes, you did,” you nodded.

a tear slipped down sophia’s cheek as she leaned her forehead against yours.

“i’m glad,” she whispered.

“why?”

“because you grew strong enough to accept reality.” you smiled. yes, you did. accepting the truth was painful, but it was for your own good—even if it meant letting go of the memories that had helped you emerge from darkness.

“and now, i want you to forget us—me, daniel, and carrie. everything. move on. wake up. live your life,” she said gently. you nodded, tears rolling down your face.

“i love you so much,” she whispered, pressing a tender kiss on your lips.

you sighed and let yourself be swept into a passionate kiss of goodbye.

when you pulled away, a cry escaped you. sophia looked at you with a sad smile, tears adorning her cheeks, making her eyes shine like diamonds.

then it happened again—her perfect features blurred. you cried, reaching out a hand.

“goodbye, yn.”

suddenly, you couldn’t remember what she looked like. you fell to your knees and wept. the figure of a woman looked down at you before the fog swallowed her, leaving you alone on the bridge. you cried out, wailing until your voice muffled and the sharp sound of something snapping rang in your ears.

“yn!”

you woke with a gasp. you sat up and looked around, spotting your sister sitting by your bed, concern etched across her face.

“dear, what happened? you were crying,” she asked, gently rubbing your arm.

“i... i had a dream... a really sad one... like i was saying goodbye and a bridge falling apart,” you said, recalling the dream though the memory felt foggy. like something you always knew existed but couldn't quite pinpoint what.

—

“ms. yn, the client is waiting for you outside,” your assistant informed you, and you nodded.

you opened your office door and were greeted by the sight of an angel’s beauty. her eyes, nose, lips—everything was perfect. then you felt it: the flutter in your chest, the flip in your stomach, and a lingering feeling of something familiar deep in your heart, like you’d seen her somewhere before.

the woman smiled at you as your eyes met. pulling yourself out of the stunned haze, you cleared your throat and stepped aside to let her enter.

your gaze followed her as you gestured for her to sit. you settled into your seat, composing yourself.

“it’s an honor for us to be collaborating with you,” you said to the woman before you. she was the representative of the company your firm was partnering with.

she smiled again, her beauty almost blinding. something about her smile stirred that same feeling of familiarity in your stomach.

then she spoke, her voice smooth and soothing—like it had spoken to you before, like it had whispered sweet nothings in your ear, stirring memories just beyond reach.

“it’s nice meeting you, ms. l/n. i’m sophia laforteza.”

[carlislefiles]

holding hands in the dark | fushiguro megumi ╰►some nights he talks in his sleep. you stay quiet, holding his hand in the dark…some nights you do just that; other nights you wake him, tell him that it’s going to be okay, that he’s going to be okay. some nights he rolls over, and pretends he isn’t wiping away tears. other nights, he believes you. but most nights, when he realizes that your hand is squeezing his, whether you’re awake or not, he squeezes back. 4.2k words

a/n: I would say that this piece reads as very self-indlugent, but honestly, writing in general is self-indulgent for me, so rarely will a finished piece not feel a bit self-indulgent to me. this feels like a quintessential megumi nightmare fic, so hopefully it's as good as some others you may have read; of course, I always appreciate interaction, but I love my ghost readers, too :)

rare is the night when you don’t find yourself tangled in megumi’s dark blue, fresh smelling sheets. you’d both lived on the campus long enough to know that the whole curfew idea was not enforced. your lives were hard enough; gojo, nor yaga would take away the precious, minute bits of comfort you could find, not when there was already so little of it. they didn’t seem to care that you found that comfort in each other, though gojo’s teasing did seem endless. it didn’t bother you, at least not like it bothered megumi. rosy cheeks, half-hearted scoffs, eyes rolling…it seemed to drive him crazy, but then in his haze of irritation, he’d catch your eyes, and instead of a grimace, you’d find a soft small. he could almost read your mind—tease us all you want, it won’t change anything. your thoughts, your mind, your still, simple presence was an anchor to him, tethering him to all that was good in his sorry, sorry world. not just when gojo decided to tease, but when things seemed, or even were, really, really bad. 

most nights, you lie awake for a long time. the intense, almost comforting silence preferable to the unpredictability sleep brings. when conscious, you choose what you remember. once you submit yourself to numbing, mindless sleep, you’re no longer in control of what your mind conjures up; memories too painful to share, too painful to even remember. megumi’s noticed this, but he’s yet to say anything. maybe he thinks it’s not his place. maybe he thinks it would piss you off. either way, he doesn’t have to say anything, his presence, his heavy, warm breath against your back, his tousled hair tickling your neck, his arm draped carelessly (not carelessly at all) over your stomach—that is more than enough. and he feels the same. tonight is quiet. no wind, no rain, no crickets, no creaking porch swing, just megumi’s lazy breathing, and maybe that’s why you fall asleep so quickly. or maybe your body is finally used to enjoying the sleep you’ve so agonizingly deprived it of now that you can actually relax. 

you wouldn’t consider yourself the sentimental type—maybe that’s why megumi likes you so much. no need to dwell on the past, not when it’s so fraught with pain, not when it hurts that much. but you find yourself thinking of one of the first nights you spent in his room often. 

you’d been in there hundreds of times: to study, to hangout with him and yuuji and nobara, to hide from yaga after screwing up a mission, to makeout on his desk chair until you were out of breath. but you’d never been in his bed. for some reason, it seemed like he didn’t want you there, but you knew better than to let this hurt your feelings. megumi was a creature of habit, and a creature of thought. if he felt a certain way about something, didn’t want you to do something, there was a good reason for it, and when he wanted you to know that reason, he’d tell you. until then, you’d let him to conclusions on his own. he was so sure you were crafted specifically and perfectly for him. no one had ever understood him quite that well, and he was confident no one else ever would. 

he didn’t attach particularly good memories to his dorm room. nightmares, lying awake at night, cold-sweat wicking into his t-shirt, being afraid, being alone. after one especially grueling day, he decided he couldn’t take it anymore. couldn’t take the silence, the painstaking loneliness, and why should he have to? you always tell him that “if you ever need anything, just ask me. please. I want you to want me,” and with pleading, sincere eyes, he believed you. he did want you; more than he’d ever wanted anything, and normally that scared him. but his fear of being alone, of waking up gasping, being just too late to save someone, trumped any nervousness he had in asking you to stay in his room.

at 9:30 he practically dragged you from the kitchen, forcing you to rush your goodnights to the other students, and trudged to his dorm, hand-in-hand. he’d texted you earlier, asking you to sleep in his dorm. you’d assumed something had happened on this mission, but patient and kind as you were, understanding of the situation, you wouldn’t force it out of him. 

he didn’t offer much when you got there, just a quiet “thanks,” and a change of clothes he tossed your way like the fabric might speak for him. the shirt smelled like him—clean detergent, something like pine—and you didn’t comment on how warm it felt, like it had just come out of the dryer. the both of you crawled into bed without the usual banter. no sleepy teasing, no shared scrolling through stupid videos, no jokingly whispered “did you lock your door?” that megumi always answered with a deadpan yes and a kiss to your temple. he was silent. curled inward. you didn’t press. you just shifted behind him, let him mold himself to your back like armor, latched onto his arm wrapped around your middle, and let the silence settle around the both of you. 

maybe that’s why you heard it. sometime in the middle of the night, when the moonlight through the blinds painted silver slats across the blanket, you woke up to the sound of his voice. not fully—your brain was swimming in that hazy, half-dream place—but enough to understand. “no—don’t go—I said stay back—” his voice was raw, like he was begging. you didn’t move at first. you weren’t sure if he was awake, if this was something he wanted you to witness. your hand was still resting on his stomach, but you stilled it. waited. you’d still been half awake, willing your eyes to fully close, forcing yourself to breathe in fours, clenching the mild headache out of your skull, so you felt a little guilty, witnessing this. "I can’t—I can’t lose—” and then he jolted slightly, not fully waking, but like his body was trying to escape whatever dream had him trapped. your hand, so slowly, so carefully, slid from his stomach to his chest. you pressed it there, gentle, warm, and you whispered, just once, “I'm here, gumi.” he didn’t open his eyes. but his breathing slowed. you stayed like that until dawn.

he was silent the next morning. got ready quickly, and rushed you over to your dorm so you could get ready too. the almost domestic quality of it pulled on his heart more than he liked. 

the worst part of his dreams is that they followed him around during the day, too. they were too vivid, too devastating, too real to be forgotten the next morning. he always remembered them. this one had been bad, though they usually were. too late to save someone, too late to save himself. picture-by-picture playbacks of deaths he’d witnessed, civilians he thought himself too weak to save. he’d voiced these anxieties to you before and sometimes you’d grab his wrists, plead with him using just your eyes, tell him that it wasn’t his fault, there was nothing more he could’ve done, that no one was mad at him—but most of the time, you’d slowly wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his chest, close your eyes and breathe deeply. "I know. I understand. I feel the same way.” your lips didn’t say those things, but your actions did. anchored. that’s how you made him feel. 

he doesn’t say anything about his nightmare, and you don’t feel the need to bring it up. and maybe you’re a little scared, worried that if you say something, he’ll clam up, stop inviting you over, stop letting you help him. as infuriating as it was, that was megumi. when you first started dating, you didn’t allow it, still didn't sometimes.

“just let it go, it’s nothing,” he choked out and you could see he was saying it through gritted teeth. blood was slowly seeping onto the carpet beneath him, long since soaked through his uniform. 

"I said sit down, fushiguro. shoko may not force you to let her heal you, but I will.” you spoke with a low, final quality that rumbled in your chest. he hated going to see shoko, having to rely on someone so constantly, having to admit to pain, to defeat, even if the mission was successful. after helping him out of his jacket, slowly cleaning his wound, meticulously taping gauze on it, and forcing him to change it every couple of hours, he decided he would go see shoko. it was too intimate, too raw, too bare. he’d rather admit weakness to shoko than to you. 

but as time went on, megumi got better at being honest with you, and you got better at letting him. if he said he was fine, you didn’t argue, even if you knew it wasn’t true. if it made him feel better to lie, then so be it. there was a line drawn, of course, you only allowed each other to become a certain amount of not fine before caving, taking turns like a seesaw. but most importantly, you trusted each other. 

it’s been a few days since that night, but something lingers. megumi hasn’t mentioned the dream. not once. not in passing, not with a joke, not even in the awkward, half-mumbled way he sometimes says things like “you helped” when what he really means is "I needed you.” you don’t ask. not because you don’t want to—god, you do—but because that night, when your hand had found his chest and your voice had cracked through whatever hell he was stuck in, something in him had…settled. and sometimes that’s enough.

still, the weight of it clings to the corners of the room. tonight, you’re back in his bed. your legs are tangled together like always, his arm casually slung around your waist like always, the room dim and hushed and safe. like always. but megumi’s not asleep. he’s tracing lazy circles over your wrist with his thumb, absent and rhythmic. the kind of touch that means I'm thinking about something I might actually say out loud. eventually. you give him time. you always give him time. you’re so fucking patient, it drives him insane. finally, he shifts behind you, voice low and gravelly from disuse. “did I…say anything weird?” his breath warms the nape of your neck. 

you don’t roll over. just blink at the shadows cast by his blinds and answer evenly, “weird? no.” a pause. then: “but you said something.” you let out a soft sigh. “you were dreaming.”

"I figured.” his fingers pause. “you said…'I'm here.'”

you nod against the pillow. “yeah.” yeah, I am here, and I'm not going anywhere, and I shouldn’t have to say that because I know you know it, but I'm gonna say it anyway. another long beat of silence. 

then he says, softer this time, more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard him, "I thought you were gone. in the dream. you wouldn’t listen to me.” you close your eyes. his voice has that raw edge again, like he’s apologizing for something he couldn’t control. like he’s ashamed of needing you, even in sleep. you don’t say I'm sorry. you don’t say it was just a dream. you just reach back and take his hand in yours, your fingers weaving together like it’s muscle memory. “I'm not going anywhere,” you murmur.

another beat. then he squeezes your hand. "I know.” good. 

you wake up the next morning before him. that never happens. megumi’s always the one with an internal clock so rigid it could qualify as a cursed technique. you, usually awake far into the night, could sleep well past any alarm. but today he’s out cold, face half-buried in the crook of your shoulder, his arm still wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. you lie there for a while, letting the steady sound of his breathing lull you into something like peace. 

it’s strange, this softness. you’d never imagined you’d crave it, not like this., not when it’s so wildly, horrifyingly foreign. but with him, it feels earned. you glance over at his nightstand. his phone is face down. his alarm hasn’t gone off yet (like he even needs one). you could wake him. you don’t. instead, you shift just enough to turn toward him. his hair is a mess—like usual—and there’s the faintest crease in his cheek from the pillow. he looks younger when he sleeps, like someone who hasn’t watched too many people die. you don’t touch him, don’t dare disturb this rare moment of peace. you just watch. and maybe—just maybe—you let yourself imagine a world where this is normal. where you both get to wake up like this every morning, in a world that doesn’t punish you for finding solace in each other.

but megumi stirs before you can get too far into the fantasy. his eyes blink open slowly, bleary and half-aware. “you’re awake?”

you smile faintly. “don’t sound so surprised.” 

he hums. “it’s early.”

you shrug. “didn’t want to wake you.”

he shifts, stretches slightly but doesn’t move away from you. “that’s new.”

“you needed it,” you say simply.

he’s quiet for a while. then: “thanks.” thanks for being here, thanks for staying, thanks for everything I’ve never thanked you for. you reach up, brushing a bit of hair from his forehead. “you don’t have to thank me for that. ever.” his eyes flicker down to your hand, then back up to meet yours. for once, he doesn’t look away.

……

he’s gotten comfortable—too comfortable, he tells himself. he sleeps, almost the whole night through, without waking up, and when he finally does wake up, he can’t remember whether or not he’s had a nightmare. but, again, too comfortable. 

it wasn’t uncommon for missions to take a long time, to keep you apart for even more than a whole day. as tenacious as you both were, you soldiered on in silence. rare, if ever, was the “miss you,” text after a two-day mission. in fact, rare was it that megumi texted you ever. either he was busy with a mission or babysitting gojo, or he was with you, no need to text. but it had been four whole fucking days, and you’d texted him once, only after he had texted you first. there was a pit growing in his stomach, coiling and widening with each night he spent in your dorm—god, it smelled like you, where the fuck else was he supposed to be able to sleep?

after the first 32 hours, he’d caved. “mission going ok?” it was perfect. not too needy, but not too detached, right? making sure you were safe, without coming right out and admitting he missed you. he was weirdly proud of how good his text was at accurately conveying what he wanted it to. but anything even remotely positive vanished with your reply. 

“kind of.” 

kind of? kind of?! what the hell does that mean. he’s gonna scold your ass when you get back. don’t ever text me something like that again, when I ask about your mission tell me it’s ok. that you’re ok. if you’re not, you should’ve already called me. kind of. 

he’s standing outside the door of yaga’s office approximately 60 seconds later. 

“fushiguro? you can come in…” he says tentatively, like he’s confused. his door is open to student concerns, even if he doesn’t actually give a shit about them. 

but fushiguro can’t come in. he can hardly breath, can hardly think. kind of.  “mission. gojo’s on a mission with-with…it’s been four days. what’s going on?” if yaga knew him better, he’d pick up on the tremble that coats his voice, on the shaky quality of his hands, which are wringing each other to the point of bruises. 

“oh, well as you know, it’s a retrieval mission. you of all people should know that these things take time and —” 

“when will they be back?” he’s reigned himself back in, anchor, anchor, anchor. his voice is restrained now, his fingernails are tearing into the skin of his palm. yaga looks at him curiously. never, in all the time he’s been at the school, had fushiguro come to check in on one of gojo’s missions. 

“I'm not entirely sure. my best guess? late tonight. according to gojo-san, they’ve retrieved the cursed object. now it’s just a matter of getting it back here safely.” 

“any known injuries?” 

“nothing severe enough to mention.” megumi is gone before yaga finishes his sentence. tonight. tonight. you’d be back tonight, and hopefully not too injured that you couldn’t sleep in his bed. but, it’s like he thought. he’s gotten far too comfortable. 

……

he hears the footsteps before he sees anything. too many of them. too heavy. not yours. megumi's halfway down the hall when he spots the group—gojo leading, shoko behind, and between them…you. 

no. not you. not like this.

your body is limp in gojo’s arms, head lolled against his shoulder, blood still wet in your hair and smeared across your cheek like war paint. you're wrapped in a school-issued jacket that isn’t yours. your fingers twitch once, then go still. megumi stops in his tracks. his stomach drops. actually drops—like his body has gone cold, like gravity just gave up on holding him together. for a second, he thinks he’s going to throw up. his ears ring. everything narrows to a single, white-hot point: you’re not supposed to look like that.

you’re supposed to be walking in on your own. you’re supposed to roll your eyes when you see him, say something like, “miss me?” like you didn’t almost die. like the world hasn't shattered in your absence. but instead—you look broken. like something someone tried to put back together but gave up halfway. megumi doesn’t remember moving, but suddenly he’s there, beside the stretcher as shoko rolls you down the hall. his hand reaches out, trembling, stopping just short of touching your shoulder. he can’t bring himself to do it.

shoko’s voice is calm, brisk, she's not talking to megumi. maybe to gojo, he doesn't know. “she’s stable. internal damage is healed. I'll need an hour, maybe two, to get her pain levels down. her vitals are holding.” holding. like you’re a system being kept online. not a person. megumi feels bile rise in his throat. gojo starts to speak—something low, serious, rare—and megumi doesn’t even hear him. the words flow around him, soft and useless. explanations, apologies, something about how things got out of hand, how “she handled herself better than anyone else could’ve.” that he didn’t mean for this. that no one expected—

megumi tunes out. he’s just so fucking tired. he doesn’t care about the mission. doesn’t care about strategy or odds or what went wrong or why shoko’s voice is tighter than usual, why gojo won’t meet his eyes. all he knows is this:

you’re here. you’re home. but it’s not right.

instead, your lips are cracked and stained with blood, and there’s a gash just beneath your collarbone that gojo keeps not looking at. the air smells like antiseptic and copper, like death that hasn’t quite arrived yet. megumi clenches his fists. and he counts—one, two, three—each second dragging its feet as he waits for shoko to finish what she has to do. for everyone else to leave. for them to stop talking like it means anything. like any of it will matter if you never wake up. his fingers twitch. you’re here. you’re home. but you’re not you. and until you are, he won’t breathe right again. and he’s sure he won’t sleep, right?

the fluorescent lights hum above him—steady, sterile, unfeeling—but megumi only hears the shallow, rhythmic sounds of your breathing. at least that hasn't stopped. he keeps a careful hand on your pulse anyway, thumb pressing just beneath your jaw like he's trying to hold time still with the pads of his fingers.

you don't move.

you're warm now, though. shoko made sure of that. bandaged, stitched, healed just enough. but it's not enough. not for megumi. not when he walked into the infirmary expecting you to smile at him—tease him about how he got taller while you were gone, make some offhanded joke about gojo probably crying when he saw your injuries—and instead you’re laid out on a cot like a ghost. limp. blood crusted at your temple. 

he stood for a long time, just watching, waiting, praying. then he moves.

it's clumsy, almost pitiful, how quickly he sheds the stiffness from his body and crawls onto the cot beside you. it’s too small for the both of you, barely wide enough to hold one person, let alone two. he doesn't care. his arms go around you like he’s afraid you’ll evaporate. and then—finally—his eyes fall shut.

it isn’t that the nightmares don’t come. they try. they always try. but your body shifts, instinctively, into his. you sigh, weakly, in your sleep, and your fingers twitch against his shirt like they’re trying to curl into something familiar. megumi exhales. his whole body softens. not a sigh, not a breath—just melts. he sleeps harder than he ever has. the kind of sleep that makes hours fold into seconds. the kind that turns pain into numbness and then into nothing at all.

and when he opens his eyes again, there’s light bleeding through. and your eyes are open, too. bleary, unfocused. but on him. your fingers are entwined with his. his heart leaps so hard it hurts. "...hey," you rasp, voice scratchy and paper-thin. "I drooled on your shirt."

he lets out a sound—half a laugh, half a sob—and tucks his face into your shoulder, tightening his hold like if he lets go, you’ll vanish. "I thought you were dead," he whispers.

"still might be," you mumble, eyes closing again. "...but at least I'm warm.”

he squeezes your hand. “you idiot.” and this time, when he cries, it’s quiet. it’s careful. it’s grateful.

……

things don’t necessarily change after that. at least, not in a spoken manner. but megumi…megumi changes. there’s little stoicism left in him. he tells you he loves you, everyday, when previously that was a scarce gift given only on the rarest of occasions. but the weight of it, despite it’s increased frequency, is just as heavy. 

shoko lets you leave later that day on strict orders of rest, no missions, and gallons of water. you don’t listen. megumi does. 

later that night, he’s worried again. or rather, he never stopped worrying. but now it’s worse. and he knows that you know, but he can’t bring himself to speak. to burden you with his anxieties, not when you’re already so burdened. 

however, he knows what you’d say if you could read his thoughts. “tell me anyway.”

"I had a dream the night before you came home. you were…we were…it wasn’t enough,” and god, why does voice sound like he’s crying?

you don’t say anything right away. you’re afraid if you do, it’ll break the moment like brittle glass. that if you turn around, you’ll see him pulling back into himself, tying those heavy emotional threads into too-tight knots again. so instead, you shift just a little—enough that your back presses more firmly to his chest, that your hand finds his and gently, deliberately, intertwines your fingers.

his thumb stills against your wrist, and then it squeezes, once. like a thank you.

“you don’t have to tell me about it,” you murmur, barely audible, eyes fluttering shut. “you don’t owe me anything.”

“yes, I do. I owe you everything,” he whispers. ”and even if I didn’t, I want to tell you.”

that’s how megumi says I love you. not in words, not directly. but in truths he fights to share. in silences he breaks for you and you alone. in the way he lets you stay—stay close, stay in, stay his.

and so, with the quiet hum of safety wrapping around both of you, he begins to talk. just softly, slowly. a few words at first—names, places, what he saw, what he felt. the way your voice cut through the nightmare like a tether to the real world. the way he woke up half-choking on a sob and found himself holding you instead of air. the relief, the shame, the aching tenderness of knowing you were real and warm and right there.

and you listen. you always do. you say little, not because you have nothing to say, but because he needs this. needs your silence. needs your hand. needs you here, breathing and alive and not a ghost. by the time his words run dry, you’ve turned to face him. he looks tired—hollow-eyed and frayed—but there’s something softer about him now. he’s unfurled, just a bit. just enough.

you reach up, brushing your fingers through his hair, and he closes his eyes like it physically relieves him. “megumi?”

“hm?”

“if I die, I'll haunt you.”

his eyes open again, and you see it—his reluctant smile, small and crooked. “you already do.”

you both fall asleep that night without meaning to. wrapped up in each other, wrapped in words spoken and unspoken. you fall asleep first, this time, not before searching through the blankets for his hand. and for once, so does megumi. no dreams. no terror. just you. just peace.

dividers by @cafekitsune

header images found on pinterest from an unnamed account, message for removal or credit

[fic-girlie]

hii, first of all ily your writing!! could you maybe write something about Joel and y/n having big communication issues that are pulling them apart, till y/n can’t take the distance anymore? then they finally talk it out and confess how scared they are of losing each other?

Distance

Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader Summary: Joel and you struggle with silence and fear, but finally open up, confessing how scared you are of losing each other — and begin to heal together. Warnings: established relationship, angst, communication issues, happy ending

You sit on the edge of the creaky bed, the dim light from the single lamp casting soft shadows over the room. Joel is on the other side, quiet, staring at the worn wooden floorboards like they hold some secret he can’t quite grasp. The air between you is thick—heavy with things unsaid, with feelings tangled and twisted, tangled so tightly that you can barely breathe without the weight of them pressing down on your chest.

It’s been weeks now. Weeks of half-words, of silences stretching longer than you can stand. The distance hasn’t just been physical; it’s seeped into every moment you share. The easy comfort you once found in each other’s presence is gone, replaced by a constant, gnawing unease. You want to reach out, to pull him close and shake him until he remembers that you’re still here. But every time you try, the words stick in your throat, or the look in his eyes shuts you down before you can even start.

You think about the last time you really talked—really talked, not just the small exchanges over dinner or the routine check-ins. It’s blurry now, like a half-remembered dream fading with the morning light. The conversation had twisted quickly into frustration and defensiveness, and by the end, you both walked away feeling smaller, more fragile than before. The silence that followed was louder than any argument could have been.

Joel’s always been the strong one, the protector, the man who carries more than his share of the world on his broad shoulders. But right now, that strength feels like a wall—cold, impenetrable. You know he’s hurting, but he hides it behind that quiet exterior, and you can’t find the key to unlock what’s really going on inside him. You want to understand, you want to help, but it feels like every step closer only pushes him further away.

You lean back against the headboard, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to steady your racing heart. It’s not just his distance that’s tearing at you—it’s your own fear, the fear that maybe this silence is the beginning of the end. That maybe all the cracks you’ve been ignoring are about to split wide open, and there’s no fixing what’s broken.

A soft sigh breaks the stillness. Joel shifts beside you, his hand hovering uncertainly near yours before retreating. The ache in your chest deepens. You swallow the lump in your throat and finally speak, your voice barely more than a whisper, “Joel... we can’t keep doing this.”

He doesn’t respond right away. You can hear the roughness in his breathing, the weight of years of pain and regret settling over the room. Then, slowly, his hand reaches out, brushing yours gently—tentative, like testing the waters. You grasp it, fingers intertwining, holding on as if to anchor yourself to the one person you refuse to lose.

“I know,” he says finally, voice low and raw. “I just... I don’t know how to say what’s been on my mind.”

You turn to face him, searching his face—every scar, every line telling a story of survival and sacrifice. “Then say it. Please. Don’t shut me out. I’m here, Joel. I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes flicker with something vulnerable, something scared. “I’m scared,” he admits, the words rough but honest. “Scared that if I let it all out, you’ll see the cracks I try so damn hard to hide. Scared I’ll lose you.”

You squeeze his hand tighter, the fear echoing in your own heart. “I’m scared too. Scared of losing you, of losing us. But we can’t keep burying it. We have to talk. We have to be honest, no matter how hard it is.”

A flicker of relief crosses his features, a small crack in his armor. He leans closer, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m sorry for shutting you out. For making you feel like you’re alone in this.”

You shake your head, tears threatening to spill. “No, Joel. I’m sorry too. For not pushing harder, for letting the silence grow between us. We’re supposed to be a team, remember? Through everything.”

He nods slowly, the tension between you softening like the first warm light after a long winter. “Yeah. We are. And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”

You lean into him, your forehead resting against his. The walls that kept you apart start to crumble with every breath you share. “Then let’s not be afraid anymore. Let’s face this—together.”

Joel’s hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear you didn’t know had fallen. “Together,” he echoes, voice steady now, grounded in the truth that’s finally free.

And in that quiet room, under the soft glow of the lamp, the distance that had pulled you apart begins to disappear, replaced by a fragile, fierce hope. Because sometimes, the hardest battles are fought not with fists or words, but with the courage to say, “I’m scared. But I’m here. And I’m not letting go.”

[alltimecharlo]

Frat bro Will (backwards cap and all) flirting and trying to impress Mack by being good at frat bro shenanigans at a party (ex: beer pong, keg stand etc) and it actually working cause Mack was already enamored by him.

hehe — just know my notes for this were ‘will is absolutely being rlly cringe, gabe and leno can’t even look at him, and mack’s like woah😍😍’ fic under the cut!! 🩵

Mack doesn’t even know who’s throwing this party. Someone from the swim team, he thinks. Or maybe lacrosse. One of those sports that has shirts off by default and guys who walk around like they invented protein powder. All he knows is that half the freshman class is packed into this sprawling off-campus house, the kitchen reeks of cheap tequila, and the music is loud enough to shake the floorboards.

And Will?

Will is in his element.

Backwards snapback, BC shirt, red Solo cup in one hand and a plastic ping-pong ball in the other, swaggering like the ghost of every frat guy ever. He’s got a shark chain around his neck—Mack doesn’t even know where he got that—and a wide, mischievous grin that makes Mack want to look away and stare at the same time.

“I got next,” Will announces, elbowing through the crowd toward the folding beer pong table. “Me and my boy Leno are about to go nuclear.”

Leon sighs. “I literally said no.”

“You said it with your heart,” Will insists. “C’mon, we got chemistry. Like, actual chemistry. I can feel it.”

Leon looks at Gabe like he’s begging for backup. Gabe takes a long drink and says nothing.

“Alright then,” Will says, turning to Mack. “Mackadoo. Macklinator. Baby shark. You in?”

Mack raises his cup. “I’m good.”

Will winks. “Don’t worry. I’ll win this one for you.”

Mack chokes on his beer.

Will turns back to the table with all the confidence of a man who once tripped over his own stick during warmups and still got the second star of the game. He sinks the first shot and whoops loud enough to draw the attention of at least six people, then chest-bumps some guy he just met two minutes ago.

“This is painful,” Gabe mutters beside Mack.

Leon grimaces. “I feel like I’m watching a golden retriever try to run a Ponzi scheme.”

“I heard that!” Will yells, not looking back. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, boys!”

He’s insufferable. He’s ridiculous. He just called himself “The Pong Master” with a straight face. And Mack is staring at him like he hung the moon.

There’s something about the way Will lights up like this—so open, so unafraid to look stupid, so sure that fun is meant to be loud and shared and shameless. His cheeks are flushed, his laugh is bright, and even when he overshoots the table completely and knocks over a plant, he just bows like he meant to do it.

“Two cups left,” he calls dramatically. “And if I hit this one, I get a kiss.”

Mack raises an eyebrow. “From who?”

Will points at him, grinning. “Obviously you.”

Mack tries not to blush. He fails.

The shot bounces off the rim. Will groans and collapses theatrically into Gabe’s arms. “He’s too hot. I’m too distracted.”

“Get off me,” Gabe says, shoving him.

“Love is real,” Will sighs. “But so is heartbreak.”

He eventually loses, but only after making a spectacle of himself so complete that even the guy hosting the party claps him on the back and asks if he wants to pledge.

“I’m already taken,” Will replies, throwing an arm around Mack’s shoulder as he passes. “Hockey bro forever.”

“You’re actually insane,” Mack says, laughing despite himself.

Will looks at him, eyes a little glassy but still clear. “Did I impress you?”

Mack blinks. “What?”

“C’mon,” Will says, tightening his grip. “Don’t pretend you didn’t swoon. I saw the way you were looking at me. Like I’m some kind of pong prodigy.”

Mack bites his lip. He should play it cool. He should roll his eyes or make a joke. But Will’s warm against his side, grinning like he knows he’s won, and Mack can’t pretend he didn’t enjoy the show.

“Maybe a little,” he admits.

Will stops walking. Turns to him, face suddenly earnest.

“Yeah?”

Mack nods. “Yeah.”

Will beams. “You wanna make out behind the shed or something?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Too forward?”

“A little.”

“Okay,” Will says. “But just so you know, I’ve also been known to dominate keg stands.”

Mack laughs. “I don’t doubt it.”

Will bumps their foreheads together, casual and intimate. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“You started it.”

And maybe they don’t sneak off behind the shed. Maybe they just lean against the porch railing, talking and grinning and letting their shoulders touch in the dark. But Mack can’t stop thinking about how Will looked at him before that last shot—serious for just a breath—and how much he wants to kiss him for real.

♡

[snail-day]

Mummy issue gojo has me thinking of him being in an arranged marriage that he accepts dutifully as another thing he must do, only to very quickly become enamored with his new wife who keeps warm meals waiting for him when he's home at an ungodly hour, quietly fussing over the state of him and, just showing him the maternal attention he never received. Thinking that you are beginning to care for him as much as he cares for you. Only until a little hiccup happens when he checks your phone, to find that the two of you have a mutual friend who you still are hung up on.

The only real solution is to put a baby into you as he begs you to never leave him. (Or invite geto to join in aswell)

🪻

OHHHH I love your sweet little brain, mwah mwah mwah, come here, let me kiss those slick-with-brain-juice grooves because I was just thinking about something similar the other day.

hold my hand 🪻 anon, i'm going to go a little off topic here:

TW: Yandere, Satoru is playing house with his parental issues, Power imbalance, brief smut, unedited, mdni

Satoru would absolutely love an arranged marriage with someone sweet like honey. Especially if you’re the type to keep dinner warm for him, no matter how late he gets home, brushing his white hair back and kissing his forehead while he rambles about his day. Quietly fussing over him while he curls into your lap like a child.

And sure, he still holds all the power in the relationship, so you’re not exactly eager to piss him off. His temper tantrums sometimes leave the house in shambles. Holes in the drywall. A shattered mirror or two. His hands shaking as he screams that you’re all he has left.

The night Suguru attacks the school... you fixed Satoru’s broken, needy heart in the past. So, of course, you could fix Suguru, too. He’s already halfway there - missing an arm, bloodied and weak, slumped in your shared bed, groaning in pain like a mere wounded animal.

Satoru watches you patch Suguru up, absolutely enamored, baby blues shimmering. Suguru’s half-conscious, muttering under his breath while you tend to him, gentle whispers shared between the two of you, and Satoru’s whining.

“Mommyyy,” he pouts, curled up with his cheek pressed to your shoulder. “You’re taking such good care of Daddy…”

The word hits your stomach like a stone. Daddy? You’ve known Suguru for about a year, back in high school, and then he became a cult leader. A murderer. You think you're going to be sick, when you catch that lovesick look in Satoru's eyes.

But it doesn’t stop.

Satoru starts calling you Mommy and Suguru Daddy.

Suddenly, he’s playing house.

He wants Mommy to spoon-feed him. To coo over him. To make everything better. And he wants Daddy to stop being so grumpy about the situation. Suguru should be taking you from behind, and putting a baby in you while Satoru watches from the floor, touching himself and murmuring how good his family looks. And of course, he's there to clean up the mess, on all fours licking your slick cunt mixed with his and Suguru's cum. It's a true family bonding experience. He just loves the way you and Daddy taste together.

Suguru, well, he's surviving; it's much like house arrest. He will play the game, though, only barely. There’s a flicker in his violet eyes that says he knows this is a farce. He’s humoring Satoru, indulging the delusion. Because Satoru is powerful and more unhinged by the day.

Because in Suguru's mind it’s safer to play house than to pull the curtain down. And you, well, you don't have much of a choice by being a weaker sorcerer. So how about you keep playing house wife, daddy will make sure to keep your cunt full and Satoru will happily lick up the seconds like the good boy he is. <3

[societyfolklore]

Bad Idea, Right?

Title: Bad Idea, Right?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary:  You swore you were done. You told your friends you blocked him. But Bucky Barnes always knew how to get under your skin and between your thighs.

Word Count: 4.2k  

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, Rough sex, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Praise & degradation mix, Hair pulling / wall sex, Toxic relationship themes, Lying to friends, Emotionally complicated dynamic, Post-sex emotional avoidance

A/N:  @sunday-bug… all because you shared that one damn edit (completely dif from this) but now I have ‘Olivia Rodrigo - Bad idea right’ on loop in my damn head..

Your back had hit the wall so hard you gasped, but not from pain. It was the way he did it with that desperate, reverent hunger, like he was trying to shove the world away just to get more of you. The contact shuddered through your spine, knocked the breath from your chest, and made your thighs tighten on instinct. His hands were already inside your shirt, fingers cold and rough against your overheated skin, dragging the fabric up like it had offended him just by existing. You felt the calluses scrape over your ribs, the pad of his thumb grazing the underside of your breast like he’d forgotten what it tasted like and now he needed to remember.

He mouthed down your throat, lips wet and hot, tongue flicking behind your ear with attack precision. It sent a shock straight to your core. Your knees threatened to buckle, and the only reason you stayed upright was because he pinned you there with his body; all sharp edges and heavy heat. His beard scraped your jaw and down your neck, and you hated that it made you wetter. Hated it even more when you tilted your head for more.

You were breathless, your palms splayed against the drywall, clutching for something solid while your mind went soft. Already halfway gone. You could feel him- hot breath, hard cock, clenched jaw.

It was always like this.

You always said no. You never meant it.

It wasn’t weakness. Not exactly. It was instinct. It was muscle memory. It was fire meeting gasoline in a dark room where nothing good ever happened, but you still lit the match.

This is a bad idea, you thought, right as his teeth caught the edge of your bra and dragged it down your shoulder. Had worse.

Hours earlier.

You weren’t going to go out tonight. Swore it. Even said it out loud in that tone you use when you're trying to convince yourself just as much as anyone else. You'd already taken off your makeup, put on that worn hoodie, queued up something half-hearted on Netflix.

But your friends were already dressed, already halfway to that bar you used to avoid like it had teeth. His bar. So you went. Just to prove it didn’t matter. Just to prove he didn’t matter. You told yourself you’d stay for one drink. One laugh. Maybe half a song.

And then you saw him.

Back corner. Hood up. Shoulders hunched like he didn’t want to be noticed- but his eyes were already on you. Locked in. Hungry in that quiet, heavy-lidded way that always made your heart skip a beat you didn’t want to admit to.

He didn’t come over. He didn’t need to. Just sat there, fingers tapping the glass in front of him, mouth barely twitching like he already knew how the night was going to end.

You pretended not to see him. Ordered something strong and downed it too fast. Laughed too loud at things that weren’t funny. You held your phone like a shield. Fidgeted with the rim of your glass. Said you had to pee just to get away.

But the longer you stayed, the more you felt it, that low hum under your skin, a dangerous ache that didn’t quite hurt but refused to go away. The way your body always seemed to tune to his presence like a song it hated but still knew by heart. That magnetic pull.

That slow, inevitable draw.

You lasted just over an hour before slipping outside for some air. The noise had gotten too loud, the lights too sharp, and the burn of your drink wasn’t doing what it was supposed to anymore. You told your friends you needed a smoke. You didn’t have one. But you needed something to do besides stare at the bar and feel the heat of his gaze crawling up your spine.

And of course, he found you there. Like always. He didn’t even pretend to be surprised.

You’d barely had time to breathe before the back door creaked again behind you.

You lasted just over an hour before slipping out the back door for air. The night was cool, but your skin was flushed, your blood buzzing in that restless way it always did when he was close. You paced, fiddled with the zipper of your jacket, stared out into the alley like it might give you an answer. Like maybe it’d remind you that walking away was still an option.

He found you there, like always. Slow footsteps, his shadow stretching long across the alley wall before you even heard the creak of the door closing behind him.

“Couldn’t even wait until last call?”

You turned at the sound of his voice, smooth and low, tinged with something smug and sharp. That voice always got under your skin. Familiar enough to drag up a hundred memories you didn’t want to sift through.

You let out a small, crooked smile. Not quite a laugh.

“Still playing vigilante?” you asked, your head tilted like you were trying to gauge the bruises you were sure were hidden under his hoodie. You never asked where they came from. He never offered.

“Still pretending you don’t miss me?” he shot back, and there it was, that grin. The smirk that had gotten him into your bed and under your skin more times than you could count. Hair falling around his jaw, eyes drinking you in like he hadn’t seen you in months, even if it had only been a couple of weeks. 

He stepped closer. His boots scraped softly over gravel, slow and deliberate, like he knew exactly how to draw this out. Not touching. Not yet. But his presence was thick, magnetic. You could feel it curling around you, pulling at your spine, daring you to move first.

The look in his eyes made your stomach flip. All dark amusement and something heavier behind it. Like even when he smiled, there was still something broken beneath it. Something that wanted, needed. Not just sex. You knew that look. You’d seen it before, usually right before he kissed you like an apology and fucked you like a promise. You knew better. You always knew better.

“You left fast,” he murmured. “Didn’t even give me a chance to say something reckless and stupid.”

You raised a brow. “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t even see you.”

He laughed once, under his breath. “Liar.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t deny it. Your gaze flicked down to his hands; scarred knuckles, a twitch of tension in his thumb. Then back up to his mouth, which was already curling again like he’d caught the slip.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty. It was full. Full of every fuck, every fight, every night you swore would be the last.

“One drink,” he said, stepping in close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body. His fingers brushed your wrist, barely a touch, but enough to make your stomach twist. Soft, like he knew he didn’t need to push.

You smirked. “Sure. One drink.”

He tilted his head, voice quiet. “I didn’t mean in there.”

You laughed despite yourself, and fuck, you hated that it felt good. “Didn’t think you did.”

You could pretend a little longer. Pretend you weren’t already leaning toward him. Pretend your hand didn’t slide into his just as easy as it always had.

“Still a bad idea,” you said, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Most fun ones are,” he replied.

And when he tugged gently, guiding you away from the alley wall and toward the edge of whatever this was, you didn’t stop him.

You never did.

Now.

His place had always been a mess- unmade bed, cluttered floor, that dim yellow lamp in the corner that buzzed when it was left on too long. But you didn’t see any of that. Not really. All you saw was the look in his eyes when he turned the lock. Like he’d been holding his breath since the alley and could finally exhale now that you were here.

You kicked your shoes off as he tugged your shirt over your head. You didn’t even remember the walk here, just the way his hand traveling your skin, pressing, possessive. You didn’t remember the elevator ride, but you remembered the heat of his mouth on your neck the second the door clicked shut. And you definitely remembered the sound you made when he pressed you into the wall like he needed to own you just to breathe.

His mouth had been on you before you could say a word. Hands rough, mouth softer than it had any right to be. And God, it was a hit- pure, concentrated need shot straight into your bloodstream. His tongue dragged across your throat like he was carving the shape of your name there, licking into your skin like he wanted it under his teeth forever.

You didn’t just take it, you gave it back.

One hand in his hair, tugging him closer, the other trailing down his side to feel the twitch of muscle under your palm. You traced the ridge of his spine, not for affection, but to anchor yourself. Because being with him was like balancing on a fault line, any second, you were going to break. And maybe you wanted to.

Your hips rolled against his thigh. His fingers pushed beneath the waistband of your jeans. You met his touch with your own, slipping your hand down between you, palming him through his jeans. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating into your chest. You liked the way his hips bucked into your hand. You liked knowing you could still pull that sound out of him.

It was a pattern. It was a loop. Your breath hitched when he bit your lip; his pulse jumped when you pressed harder, rubbing slow, lazy circles until you both lost track of who was chasing who. There was no rhythm, only craving, matching urges stacked on top of each other until your bodies didn’t care who had started it.

You kissed him hard, open-mouthed, your hand sliding up under his shirt to feel the twitch of his abs as he groaned. He gripped your hip like he was holding on for dear life. Like if he let go, he’d come apart. Maybe he would have.

It wasn’t just addiction.

It was relapse.

He backed you onto the bed, dragging your jeans down your legs like he was unwrapping something that had been meant for him all along. Like he was unwrapping a secret he’d kept hidden, a habit he wasn’t ready to kick. And maybe you were.

His eyes raked over you, pupils blown wide, lips slick from your mouth and smiling like he’d just won a prize. You were shirtless, flushed, the waistband of your panties biting into your hips and your jeans twisted around one ankle like you’d barely survived getting them off. Your chest rose and fell too fast. His hand slid up your thigh, lazy but sure.

Then your phone buzzed beside you on the mattress. Sharp. Interrupting.

You glanced at it. The name on the screen lit you up with guilt before you even answered.

Your best friend.

Bucky smirked against your stomach. “Go on,” he said, voice low and smug. “Tell her you blocked me.”

You answered before you could think better.

“Hey,” you said, voice tight, trying to sound bored. “What’s up?”

Your best friend didn’t waste time.

“Please tell me you’re not where I think you are.”

Bucky was already tugging your panties to the side, dragging the soaked fabric down with a slow, deliberate flick of his wrist, like he was savouring the reveal. One thick finger slid through your folds with ease, collecting wetness, and he groaned low against your skin like the sound alone might make you come apart. "You never came back inside.." 

Her voice sounded far away as Bucky stubble dragged along your inner thigh as he mouthed at the sensitive skin. The finger he’d dipped into you came back to circle your clit with practiced laziness, slick and filthy, and he chuckled into your skin when your thighs twitched involuntarily.

You glared down at him, trying to warn him off, but it only made him grin wider. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. His eyes set on your and then just tapped his ear, shit you were still on the phone. 

“No,” you lied, the word catching slightly as his finger made another circle. “Course I didn’t. I just went home.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, tongue flicking out once, twice. Lingering longer this time, pushing closer to the place you needed him most. You clamped your jaw shut, trying to keep your breathing even, trying not to moan his name with your best friend on the line.

He knew it. And he loved it.

“Seriously,” she said. “You need to block him for real this time.”

He dragged your panties down your thighs slow, deliberate, never breaking eye contact. You spread your legs wider for him, and he bit just above your knee- a sharp nip, enough to make you flinch.

“I did,” you whispered. “I’m done.”

His mouth moved up as he got settled on his stomach, tongue a firm stripe through your soaked folds, dragging from your entrance all the way up to your clit like he wanted to taste every bit of what he did to you. His groan was low and guttural, vibrating straight through your core, mouth open, tongue thick and wet, pressing in again to tease your fluttering hole before flattening and sliding up. His mouth closed over your clit like he was punishing you for the lie. He started to suck- slow at first, like he was building something. Like he wanted you to squirm, to shake. The suction was warm and steady, his tongue flicking under the hood with maddening precision, making your whole body arch into the pressure. Every inch of that stripe made you twitch, made your breath hitch, made your toes curl in the sheets.

“You okay? You sound- weird.”

You slammed the mute button as you arched chasing the feeling of him.

“Don’t you fucking stop,” you hissed

He didn’t.

Two fingers pushed inside you, thick and sure, curling up in that maddening rhythm that made your hips stutter against the bed, your entire lower half bucking toward his face like your body had a mind of its own. He was fucking you with them slow and deep, dragging against every nerve-ending inside you, fingertips pressing up into that sweet spot with a precision that made your vision blur.

His tongue worked your clit with slow, hungry circles, like he was savoring every second. Long licks became short, teasing flicks, then back again- until your breath was catching in your throat with every pass of his mouth.

You tried to unmute. Failed. Tried again, shaking, fingers fumbling across the screen.

“Sorry,” you gasped, voice wrecked and thin. “You know how tequila hits me. I need to go...”

You hung up without saying goodbye. Couldn’t. Not like this. Not with your mouth falling open around a moan you couldn’t swallow. Not when he had you laid out, open and trembling, every inch of your skin burning under his mouth. Not when your legs were shaking from the pressure building low and fast, like a fuse just waiting for his next move to set it off. You didn’t need to say goodbye, you needed to fall apart.

You dropped the phone to the sheets like it was too heavy to hold, both hands now gripping his hair, pulling him closer, grinding up into his face as his fingers drove into you again. The angle shifted just enough to make stars blink behind your eyes, and the way he groaned into your clit.

“God!” It shattered something in you. That groan wasn’t just arousal. It was possession. It was homecoming.

You came with his name caught between your teeth, thighs clamping around his head, one hand tangled in his hair, the other gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles cracked

He didn’t stop. Not right away. Just kept licking, slow and greedy, like a man making up for lost time.

Only when your legs went limp did he pull back.

He kissed the inside of your knee, soft and smug.

“Yeah,” he said, voice thick and wrecked. “Real done with me, huh?”

You tugged on his hair, rolling your eyes even as your thighs still trembled.

“Shut the fuck up and take off your pants.”

He fucked you like a man with something to prove. Not just to you, but to himself. Every thrust was a declaration, every roll of his hips a punishment and a plea tangled together in the heat of your bodies.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him like you were drowning in the drag of his pace. His hips slammed into yours, rough and relentless, like he needed to bury himself so deep he could erase every trace of anyone who had ever touched you. Like he wanted to carve himself into your walls and never leave.

You gasped into his shoulder as he lifted your leg over his arm and angled deeper, hitting something inside you that made your vision white out. The sound of skin slapping filled the room, obscene and rhythmic, matched only by the soft, guttural curses he muttered into your neck.

"You feel that? Fuck…" he grunted, his breath hot against your cheek. "You needed this. Needed me." "B-uck-y"  You moaned his name, the syllables breaking in your throat, because yes. You did. You always did.

He pulled you to the edge of the bed, one hand hooked back under your knee, the other wrapping around your throat just enough to make your breath catch and your pulse skip. He didn’t squeeze. Just held you there, steady, controlled, reminding you that he could if he wanted to. And fuck, part of you wanted him to. That edge, it lit you up like kindling.

He paused just long enough to lock eyes with you. "Say it," he muttered, grinding his hips forward.

"Say what?" you were panting.

"That you missed this. That you missed me."

You moaned instead, high and helpless.

Then he fucked you harder.

You clawed at his bed, dug your nails into his shoulder blades, into the sheets, into anything that could hold you down while he tore you apart, over and over. Your thighs wrapped tight around his waist, trying to keep him in, to hold him deeper. He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing heavy, groaning when you clenched around him.

"You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?"

"Fuck… yes… don’t stop."

You didn’t even know what number you were on. You just knew you couldn’t stop chasing the way he filled you, stretched you, ruined you.

When he slid back in after your second climax, he fucked you deep, slow at first, letting you feel every inch like he wanted to leave a mark somewhere inside. Then he grunted and started again with that brutal pace. The kind that made you cry out, the kind that had your back arching up off the mattress.

He flipped you over like you weighed nothing, shoved your face into the bed, and drove into you from behind with a growl that vibrated down your spine. His hand fisted in your hair, yanking until your throat was bared to the air and your back arched like a bow.

“Such a fucking liar,” he sneered, voice thick with dark amusement. “Lied to your friends just as easy as you lied to me.”

He pulled your hips higher, snapping his hips forward again with brutal force, making your breath hitch on a whimper. 

You tried to speak, tried to tell him off, to deny how wet you still were for him- but all that came out was a broken moan as his cock hit that spot again, deep and punishing. His fingers dug into your hips, bruising. Holding you still.

“Look at you,” he groaned. “Squeezing me like you’re starving for it. You were never gonna stay away.”

“F-fuck you,” you managed to gasp, even though you were pushing back onto him, desperate for more.

“Oh, you are,” he growled, fucking you harder, dirtier. “And you fucking love it.”

You didn’t disagree. You couldn’t. You only whimpered, pushed your hips back harder into him.

He didn’t stop. One hand tangled in your hair, yanking just enough to make you arch, the other splayed across your lower back, pinning you there while his cock slammed into you, relentless, desperate, almost angry with how much he wanted you.

Your thighs shook. Your vision blurred. You sobbed his name into the sheets as another orgasm hit you like a train.

All you could hear were his low groans, your cries, and the slick, messy sound of him ruining you in the dark.

You didn’t talk after. Not really.

He brought you water. Drank whiskey in just his underwear, perched on the edge of the bed like the last hour hadn’t wrecked both of you. His hair was a mess- your doing. You could still see the angry red crescents and lines your nails left on his ribs, fading but visible.

The room smelled like him. Or maybe it was you that did. The air felt thick with it; sweat and sex and the sharpness of his cologne. The evidence of him was still leaking from between your crossed thighs, soaking quietly into his sheets as you sat there, legs drawn up, trying to act like you weren’t completely unraveled.

“Your friends still hate me?” he asked after a stretch of silence, swirling the amber in his glass.

You snorted. “Told them I blocked you.” The lie came easy now. Just like all the others.

His mouth pulled into a lazy smirk. “Liar.”

“You’re one to talk. Told yours I was fucking my boss, didn’t you?”

“Maybe you should.” He didn’t even blink.

“I might.”

The silence returned, heavier now. Weighted with things neither of you were willing to say.

“I should go,” you murmured, making a vague reach for your underwear.

He didn’t move. “You want to?”

You didn’t answer. Just let your hand fall back to the sheets.

The next morning.

You’re still a little high off the night before.

Not just the orgasm- that was earth-shattering- but the feeling. The rush. The heat of his hands still echoes on your skin, phantom touches pressing into your thighs, your hips, your throat. You can feel where he bit you if you tilt your neck just right. Your panties are damp, your body humming like it’s waiting for round two. Or three. Or forever.

And the shame?

It’s only teasing at the edges, like a mean little whisper you haven’t let in yet.

It doesn’t matter. That’s what you tell yourself as your heels click against the sidewalk. That it’s your choice. That you’re allowed to have a dirty little secret. A vice. Something selfish and stupid and private. You’re not hurting anyone. Not really.

Only him. Only you.

Only every promise you both keep pretending not to make.

Your friend raised a brow over brunch, fork paused halfway to her mouth.

"Where’d you end up last night?"

You looked up from your coffee, careful to keep your face neutral. "Told you I went home."

Her brow lifted. "Uh-huh. Then why do you look like you got hit by a truck?"

You laughed a little too easily, stirring sugar into your cup. "Didn’t sleep well."

"Is that what we’re calling it now?" Her voice flat with disbelief.

You didn’t answer. Just shrugged and took a sip.

Technically not a lie. You hadn’t slept well. Not with the way Bucky had taken you apart on his mattress like he was trying to fuck the fight out of you. Not with how your body had ached afterward in all the places his hands had held you too tight. Your thighs were still sore. Your voice still rasped when you laughed.

Your phone buzzed on the table.

Bucky: One more drink?

She saw it. You watched her read his name. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. Just gave you that look. The one she always did when she was trying not to say, You deserve better.

"You’re not going, right?"

You laughed too quickly. Shrugged, like it meant nothing.

"God, no."

But the thing was, your legs were still sore under the table. You could still feel the bruises his fingers had left on your hips when he dragged you down onto him. You could still feel his come sliding out of you every time you shifted.

You left early.

You were already halfway to his place before the guilt even caught up to you.

And by then, it didn’t matter.

You were already buzzing from the anticipation. Already rationalizing.

It was your body, your decision. You were allowed to enjoy yourself. To take what you wanted. The only ones getting hurt were the two of you.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because you both just kept coming back anyway.

[acowardinmordor]

Hey so MK ultra style experiments plus a soulmate thing that connects to the idea of severing a daemon but also empaths.

An unconnected soulmate bond is neutral, it’s inactive, right? The possibility is there, but the switch hasn’t been flipped. But a connected, stable soulmate bond is fully active, and deeply woven into the people, so far that for a really really strong bond, killing one soulmate often kills the other. A new connection though, when it’s active but not sunk into place yet?

Those can be cut, and the possibilities it opens are extremely interesting to the scientists. The soulmate capacity isn’t destroyed by it, but the bond is disconnected. So the current of energy that would travel to the other half can now be directed to something else. Since every bond manifests in slightly different ways with sharing thoughts, emotions, health, pain, etc as primary features, that means the power that the connection can manipulate varies too.

There is greater plasticity in a bond if it’s formed when they’re children, and the scientists are fascinated by, but also pleased to learn that after a soulmate connection is split, it can impact their personality and behavior, making them more compliant and persuadable if it is done evenly.

It isn’t a well known thing, but there are groups that parents can contact if they have …concerns… about their child’s soulmate name.

The Harringtons contact one, furious when their four year old son wakes up with a boy’s name on his ribs. The group they contact explains the options, and the Harringtons don’t care about the expense, so they demand that the other boy be located and the connection split.

What good luck for Al Munson, three years later, to be offered a large payment if he’ll agree to bring his son to have his soulmate severed.

Not every split soulmate results in the kind of powers that the lab cares about. If it creates one of those, the parents are given the heartbreaking news, and the soulmates sent to different labs for training.

For Steve and Eddie, who have less than an a day of being soulmates, the lab doesn’t care.

The split was off alignment, or the timing was bad, or their connection was too weak to use. It splits, obviously, that was always certain, but the result is barely worth the paper to take the notes. An emotion based soulmate connection. Correctly done, it could give someone the ability to project or control emotions in others — once the child was taught to restrain their own, of course. The initial screening looks for an emotional outburst, and how much the scientists in the room feel from it, indicating the strength of their powers.

But after the procedure is done, neither boy does more than look at each other across the room and frown. It could have been worth more testing in the years to come, but the compliance was unbalanced. One boy was too persuadable. The other was entirely unpersuadable. Not worth the cost to keep them, especially when the Harringtons have paid an inflated cost to do this, and the money can be better spent.

Useless, so the parents are handed their children, Al Munson gets his payoff, and they’re told that under no circumstance should the boys see each other again. And they don’t, until the Harringtons have given up on their son being useful around the time he enters high school, until Wayne Munson finally gets custody of his nephew.

[planetarytransformation]

the original on my nsfw blog is getting notes so i'm putting it below the cut in its entirety as well for anyone who wants to take a look. there aren't that many differences between versions but for cleanliness' sake i'll drop it here. enjoy!

The bandit captain had dropped her guard a little too readily.

The thought crossed your mind a moment too late; you had already lunged forward, silver-blue ribbons of magic dancing down your arm and out across the blade of your rapier. She sidestepped you with ease, a practiced maneuver that brought her lean, menacing frame inches from your unguarded flank. Out of the corner of your eye you saw her lips curl into a giddy grin.

Oh.

Her leathery hands found their way to either side of your neck before you could raise an arm to defend. You felt a cold shock: Had you been cut?

You staggered back; she stood there motionless, arms folded, watching you with hungry intent as you grasped at your throat.

A band of heavy iron was clamped there, resting just below your Adam's apple. It hummed at your touch, just faintly enough to hear through your pounding heartbeat.

The captain—

The woman—

You—

Something was wrong.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words hitched in your mind, thoughts breaking like waves against stone.

Your duel had been a flurry of pounding, calculated maneuvers, a frantic chess match soaked in blood and adrenaline. It had taken you each mere seconds of fighting to learn one another's techniques, match one another's moves, exploit one another's weaknesses and cover up your own. Your body was a masterwork of discipline, your magic a testament to the roaring power of your intellect.

The fevered mental impulses that carried you through combat had been honed to perfection over years of training. You could only watch, slack and silent, as they faded into nothingness.

The borders of your vision grew foggy; your muscles relaxed. You heard a clattering from your right side as your rapier fell to the ground.

A quiet inner voice, the last vestige of your consciousness, screamed in fear as the captain strode towards you. It tried to protest, to fight, to flee, but it could not overpower the soft, deadening pulses that coursed out of the collar on your neck.

She brought a finger below your chin and raised your unfocused eyes to hers. The panic-voice grew quieter still as it struggled to wrest control of you.

Her hands found their way to your hair, tilting your head up as your limp, exhausted body staggered towards hers.

Not quick enough, darling. But such a good, docile thing, now, aren't you?

Warm tears welled at the corner of your eyes. A shaky breath escaped you as you tried in vain to offer any resistance, any at all.

This will be easier if you stop trying to fight it, precious.

You're not a soldier anymore, are you? Listen to the way you're whining. Look at how nice and empty I've made your pretty head.

You blinked your eyes, and when they opened again your memories were gone. 

You're a toy now.

Why don't you come back to my camp and see what I do to my toys?

--- --- ---

It had been days by the time your compatriots rescued you.

Through the haze of half-perception in which she kept you, the unbearable aches of hunger and pain muted by the collar's steady spell, you heard the slick sweep of Keo's blade as it found your captor's throat.

Harper had gasped when she threw open the door of the bandit's tent to find you there, naked except for the iron ring around your neck. Days later, she told you your eyes had barely betrayed a hint of recognition.

She and Keo had shared piteous glances as they bathed you in the basement of the inn, surveying the clusters of yellowing bruises on your body and inferring with awful certainty what the bandit and her posse had done to you. Keo told you one night how long it had taken them to devise the countercharm that would release the collar from you. It would have been easier with you there to help, they said, eyes wet with grief and anger.

All they could think about was how much they missed you.

That first night without it on, you sat motionless by the cauldron-fire as Harper rubbed ointment into the ringed lesions on your neck. Your weapons hung lifeless on the wall of the rented basement room in which the three of you slept.

The room had been yours for years, and the three of you had been one another's for almost as long. On any other day, Harper's practiced touch would have felt as familiar and comforting as a warm blanket, as love, as home.

With a start, you realized the steady pressure of Harper's fingers down your shoulder and the heat of the fire on your bare breasts were the first sensations you'd recognized in almost a week. In an instant, your conscious mind reawoke with a strangled gasp.

Your dry, bruised throat let out a formless croak, and your hands flew to your mouth to stop the sound. Harper's soft, heavy arms wrapped around your waist as your eyes went wide with dawning horror. She and Keo held you wordlessly as memory returned.

You fell back onto the bed, body lanced with pain. No, no, no, you sobbed, your willpower exercising itself for the first time since you had been taken.

Keo grabbed you, planting their lips on your forehead as they pulled you into their embrace. It's okay, darling. You're safe.

Harper, still seated behind you, stroked your hair and cooed into your ear. You felt her other arm tighten around your shoulder as she shuddered with rage.

Hours passed. Harper and Keo held you desperately close, whispering words of comfort and promises of safety as if to slow the deluge that consumed you.

The world around you warped. Your skin grew warm with awful, excruciating life. The room – your room – felt damp, claustrophobic, like a bandit's tent. Keo's breath was hot on your neck, hot like hers had been, hot like the body-warm metal of—

You let out a faltering cry as the cloying comfort of your companions' embraces curdled into agony. You had only just remembered who these people were. You had only just been reminded of your life, your work, what you'd been put through. Harper's heavy frame was smothering you; Keo's sharp hands were like knives on your skin.

Stop, you cried. Let me go.

Perhaps, on another night, you could have made yourself surrender to them. You could have told yourself that they knew what was best, that they'd take care of you, that your body was wounded and broken and needed healing. 

No, no, no.

Something to make it stop. To make it go away. Tears ran in rivulets down your flushed cheeks as your muscles tensed and shivered, wracked with pain and fear.

Something to make it stop. To make it go away. To make these unbearable sensations fade quietly into darkness. To shut up the screaming voice in your head.

The collar sat lifeless on the floor.

--- --- ---

A blue-white dart of force erupted from your fingertip and pierced the side of the horned marauder, knocking him backwards into his comrade. He snarled, lunging back towards you with redoubled ferocity. He could tell you were faltering.

Everyone could tell you were faltering.

It had been months since your rescue, months since Harper and Keo had pried the iron collar off your neck, and yet something in you had been broken seemingly beyond repair.

Your magic had no flourish anymore, no dancing ribbons or blinding lightshows. Bright, straight beams and discs lanced from your body, piercing vital organs with dispassionate, calculated ruthlessness. You leant harder and harder on your spellcasting, keeping distance between you and your foes and picking them apart with brutal, rhythmic precision. Gone were the days of the elegant dance, the happy confidence, the flicks of the wrist.

Your sword-arm, by contrast, was impotent and broken. Your guard was sloppy, your death-blows meek and yielding. You froze up, even during sparring, eyes glazing over at the slightest hint of enemy advantage.

Harper had screamed at you once, crouching over your supine form, the handle of her axe held tight against your neck. Please, she had said. You need to get better. You need to get well. Glistening tears had splashed onto the cold stone floor.

I won't watch you die because of this.

Even here, in pitched combat, your rapier hung lifeless at your side as luminescent rays burst from your trembling spell-arm. Before you could deliver a second strike, the marauder whirled into close quarters and dragged a smoking claw across the meat of your shoulder.

Blood sprayed from the fresh wound; brimstone filled your nose. You heard yourself scream, falling to the floor as your nerves began to burn.

This was the third and final change: Every sensation filled you now, like a cup that was too small.

The third night after the collar came off, Keo's familiar lips had met yours for the first time since your capture. You had reciprocated with frantic, pleading grasps, begging for them to purge your body of the choking sickness that still lingered.

Though the bruises on your ribs had all but healed, you had cried out in pain when their long, slender hand moved to cup your breast. Pure, cold terror had shot down your spine. And yet, still, your body melted with a need too powerful to ignore even a second longer.

Their touch had become violation, and so violation it would be.

Teeth clenched in contempt, you grabbed their wrist and wrenched it downwards between your legs. Your hips bucked into their flat, firm palm, your other hand digging its nails into the back of your companion's neck.

Keo's cries had awoken Harper. She arose instantly and stopped you both, hissing a withering reprimand to the wine-drunk Keo, and the pity and betrayal with which the two of them gazed at you was more blood-curdling than the hateful sneer of any devil-spawn.

Harper's battle-axe split the advancing fiend in two with a dull, sickening thud. A few feet away, Keo peeled a viscera-coated boot from the skull of the marauder captain.

Your eyes were glassy and your breathing was shallow. The floor of the temple felt cold against the back of your neck as your blood began to soak your clothes.

Harper and Keo moved to help you up. Once again, you recognized the looks on their faces.

---

Back at the inn, Keo had given you the last of your healing salves. Harper winced as she poured sharp-smelling whiskey over her wounds, staring at you across the floor as you laid on the ragged mattress.

There had always been a custom, after fights like this, if any one of you had ever come close to dying. You remember Harper's taste on the first night so many years ago, honey-sour, sweat and blood flowing in streams over her splinted leg and your smiling chin.

I'm so glad you're alive, Harper. Does that feel good, love?

Please, promise me you'll stay.

Or Keo, lean, furious Keo, rutting with desperate force into Harper's full frame as you gasped and twitched beneath the both of them.

You're not weak, Keo. Look at yourself. Look at yourself, Keo.

How strong you are.

It was your turn, now. You needed them with you, on you, coursing through you, and yet your recalcitrant body revolted at the thought. Tears of frustration and longing streaked down your face; you knew what their touch would be now.

It had been months, and you still could not bear it.

They must have heard you cry, must have known what you were thinking. They must have seen the flush on your skin, sensed the rustle of sheets as your hands gripped the bed.

The frame creaked as they moved to sit either side of you. Faintly, so faintly, Harper's hand rose to brush your hair. You winced, your body locking up between them.

Keo reached out towards you, and your vigilant eyes flew to their hands. They had something there, resting softly over their finger: a band of cold iron, held closed with a familiar clasp.

You doubled over in desperation, barely mustering the strength to compose yourself. You turned to look at Harper, then at them.

Please, said Keo. Let us do this for you.

Without a word, you raised the hair from the back of your neck, staring intently at Keo as they moved slowly, tenderly, to wrap the band back around the faded scar above your collarbone.

There.

The warm fog filled you like a mother's love. Harper's hand glided, knowing and gentle, across your scalp. Keo's mouth began to roam your body as your vision went soft and your tears began to dry.

The magic pulsed through you faster now that it had learned the contours of your psyche. In an instant, you could barely remember who these people were; you certainly couldn't have uttered their names. And yet they moved with such care, with such love, that no panicked voice spoke up from the depths of your subconscious.

Your mouth was in Keo's lap, now. Nothing in your tired body could have brought you to resist them as they pushed past your lips and into the back of your throat.

You heard a faint, familiar sigh of relief and pleasure from above you. Something told you you were doing such a good job, love, there. It's okay.

You're safe now, pretty bird.

Harper was working you, too, hands pressed up against your underside, soft fingers curled around you as her mouth moved close to whisper words of comfort in your ear.

There was nothing you had to fight to allow them to touch you.

There was no pain, no rejection, no yawning sense of terror to push you away from them.

You felt a warm, mounting pressure building in your abdomen. You didn't have to try and reach for it, even if you could have. It would come. Your friends were going to take you to it, and that was all you had to know.

Yes, love, that's it. That's it, love, keep going. 

Come for us.

You thrashed with a ferocity you had only ever known in combat. Your friends cradled you as it took hold, breaching the magic of the collar and welling up within you, spilling out of you, surpassing and transcending you.

You heard a fevered voice, your voice, echoing off the dark walls of the basement room as Harper and Keo's warm, wet bodies moved to contain your writhing form.

There was nothing your mind could do as your friends withdrew and you collapsed onto the warm bed.

There was only love, elemental love, pure and comfortable, too indistinct and cloudy for your addled mind to sense the dark, warped perversions at its heart.

You'd never have been able to recognize the pangs of unease that flashed across your companions' faces. If either of them had given voice to the doubt they felt over what they'd just done to their best friend, you wouldn't have understood.

To you, they were perfect, had been perfect, had taken such good care of you.

There was no past or future you could see from the soft, safe present in which you lay.

Your eyes fluttered closed in Harper's lap, and the world was a happy dream.

wrote some sort of weird pornographic trauma-study thing a while back and finally put it up somewhere that isn't my, like, 10-follower NSFW sideblog.

it was an attempt to write some cute high-fantasy bad-end with a mind-control collar, and it wound up being quite a bit darker than anticipated. the finished piece is a little more about the aftermath of painful experiences, and what it means to be cared for when your injuries are too complex to describe.

but there is still sex in it, and mind control, and polyamory, and i figure that might be of interest to some of you.

it's on AO3 if you want to check it out. 😘💜🦚

[burningdevotion]

best way to warm up

Joel Miller x fem!reader

summary: after spending the day out in the cold, Joel wants nothing more than to get back home to his girl. once he has you in his arms, you both agree to retire back to bed, so you can replace the shivers of cold with shivers of pleasure

a/n: this was my first time writing a proper fic for him and I ended up really enjoying it! theres just something about old man!Jackson!Joel that’s so... yeah. this is filth with a bit of plot <3 - (ca. 6k words)

warnings: big age gap (reader in her 20s, Joel close to 60), oral and fingering (r!receiving), brief hand and blowjob, unprotected p in v, praise, multiple orgasms, coming inside, cum eating, pet names, one singular use of "daddy", bf!Joel who goes hard in a loving way

Joel would never get used to the snow.

it didn’t matter how long he’d already lived in Jackson, it went the same way every year, him taking the cold as a personal attack on his summer-loving soul, cursing under his breath whenever his teeth chattered and the tip of his nose and ears turned red from the biting winds.

that particular day it was no different. a blizzard had swept through town a few days before and had left some damage on a few houses, which of course made people turn to your lover when they were looking for someone to help them fix it all up.

Joel was the resident handy man, along with a few other guys, and he wasn´t too happy about it, especially not once he got older and had a pretty girl waiting at home who he´d rather give all his energy to, since waking up sore from tending to you was pleasant, whereas waking up sore from work... not so much.

you had to push him out of the door that morning while he regretted being that skilled at home renovations, to which you just said “come on, show them how strong you still are compared to all the men here who are half your age” which gave him just the right amount of pride and spite to go out there and be a dutiful neighbor while flexing his skills in front of guys who´d tried their luck with you before, smug whenever they struggled to lift as much as he did, thinking about the countless times he´d used his strength for your pleasure, shooting daggers at them whenever they dared to ask him about you.

while he was out being helpful, you spent your day gathering wood for your fireplace and stoked the flames until they were intense enough to make the house feel cozy again. you cooked a hearty soup and left it to simmer on the stove, so you could share a nice dinner later on, taking your time with it, picking all the right herbs. just as you got done cleaning the kitchen, you heard the front door slam shut, followed by Joel kicking off his boots anf letting out a few foul words that made you smile to yourself.

his grumpiness always amused you, his blatant inability to keep his grievances to himself, to put on a convincing poker face - which had gotten him in trouble more than once - because it held no threat of true aggression, Joel was not an angry man, at least not with you, never with you, not over his dead body - one touch, one word from you was always enough turn him into a man about as tender as they come.

you´d managed to soften his tired spirit like a rough stone that got smoothed down over time, just as tough as before, but less prickly, less irritable, more at peace, and he worshipped you for it, the patience that you´d shown him when he had felt so undeserving of it, after everything he´d done, all the pain he’d caused. you both gave each other the kind of solace you never dared to hope for, especially during the darkest nights of the year, savoring the evenings spent cocooned in a glow of love on the couch, clinging to each other while the outside world was covered in ice. 

he came into the kitchen looking all gruff and flushed and achingly handsome, snow melting in his graying hair and beard, dressed in those jeans that fit him just right and a white shirt with a flannel on top, an appreciative long glance from you over his figure that matched his as he spotted you and rushed over. “hey baby” you cooed, smiling at him, “hey there.” he said, still a bit irritated by the whole ordeal outside, but glad to be home at last. “you´re freezing hm?” you asked and beckoned him closer, so he pulled you in and wrapped his arms around you while uttering “like a damn icicle, darling” shivering a bit as he buried his face in your neck and breathed in your familiar scent, his heartbeat slowing immediately, a tight grip on you as he soaked up your heat.

you mirrored his gesture and held him close, rested your head against his shoulder, caressed him up and down his back which made him hum in approval. “poor thing, gotta get you warmed up. what do you need? some coffee, a bath? both maybe?”.

“you” he murmured against your skin, eliciting goosebumps. “right now, all I need is you”, the words barely audible as he started trailing feathery light kisses up your neck, your pulse point, your jaw, your cheek, making you sigh and shut your eyes, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt to hold onto something, a smile as he took the sign to continue and gave the sensitive spot below your ear little licks and kisses, lavishing you with affection.

you let out a faint moan as he did this, your arousal stirred not just by his lips but the way he smelled, so fresh and crisp from the ice-cold air, musky and sweet from his own natural scent, leathery and woody from his jacket and the fire smoke he´d been around, a mix that was so deeply addictive to you.

without warning, he gripped your sides and lifted you onto the countertop, so you instantly wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer, as close as possible, hands on his neck, increasingly turned on, his own hands on your shoulders as he leaned in to whisper “thought of you the entire time I was out there, sweetheart…what I´d have done if I´d stayed in bed with you all mornin” his voice all low and husky as he said it, his breath tickling your ear, his thumbs kneading away the tension in your muscles.

“god..” was all you could respond, your voice all strained from the lust that was slowly spreading through you, pooling at your core, so he didn´t waste any time and leaned in, cupped your face and captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, teasingly licking over your bottom lip before you opened your mouth and made him turn the kiss into something more perverse and charged, making out in a way that would´ve been highly inappropriate in public, his hips moving forward in a way that made you feel it: that he was already straining against his jeans. a strangled moan escaped you as his clothed groin pressed against yours, already wet and waiting for him.

in the middle of kissing you, he pushed his hands under your shirt and heard you gasp into his mouth as he cupped your tits, his large, cold palms right over the swell of your breasts, squeezing, feeling you up, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples to soothe them, circling motions that made you moan louder than you intended and lean back in a way that nearly made you knock a jar to the floor, which didn´t deter him, at all, still pressing against your sensitive area, groping you, as he used your position to his advantage and sucked on your exposed throat, heard those little whimpers that drove him wild every damn time.

eventually, you pulled back, out of breath, and sighed “want me to help you get hot all over, hm?”, staring into his eyes with a kind of desire that rivaled even the brightest fire while un-buttoning the top of his flannel, so he skipped the talking and only gave a gravely sound in response as he lifted you up, your legs already where he needed them, carrying you up the stairs, your arms wrapped around his neck, your lips ghosting over his cheek as he reveled in the feeling of being strong enough to carry you over the threshold bridal style, which gave him the brief fantasy of making you his wife, slipping a lacy gown off your frame, pulling garter belt down your leg with his teeth.

the moment he laid you down on the bed, he hurried with getting his shirt and undershirt off, his jeans too, unbuckling his belt in a way that made you want him even more. he needed, he craved the body-to body feel, and the vision of him right then was like a wolf who´d roamed through miles and miles of snow and finally found something to sink his teeth into: impatient, greedy, salivating at the thought.

you pulled your shirt off too as he was already crawling over to you and told you “good girl, now lift your hips for me”, so you obeyed and tossed your top to the floor and helped him shimmy down your jeans, which left you in nothing but thin cotton panties, which drove him wild when he saw the dampness at the center, a brief brush of his fingers over it that made you twitch before his eyes fell to your chest, which made him pounce on you.

within seconds he was palming your left tit as he put his mouth to the other, switching between sucking and licking motions that made you squirm and whimper under him, the tip of his tongue flicking over your nipple before he put it between his lips and suckled on you like he was trying to get milk, so eager, so hungry, so lost in your softness, his knee purposely pressed up between your thighs, creating friction at your core that left you soaked and desperate for more. with a wet popping sound he finally let go but didn´t give himself or you time to catch your breaths, instead pinning your arms to the side, gently but firmly, while placing his mouth between your tits, then your sternum, moving down all the way to your lower stomach while leaving a trail of wet kisses. once he reached the waistband of your panties he paused and left few love bites until he looked up to see you all undone from his impact already, confessing to you “god I can´t take it… you´re too beautiful baby… too soft and delicious… need you all over my mouth, right now”.

before you could say anything, he ripped down your panties and praised “hmm, yeah, nice and open for me” as you parted your legs wider for him so he could settle between them, his kissing from before continuing all the way up your inner thigh, his teeth grazing the tender skin here and there. Joel needed you to a point where he almost humped the mattress, his cock throbbing just from a bit of foreplay, the way it always did, matching the utter sensitivity on your part that made you sound like he was already fucking you, when he hadn´t even reached the apex of your thighs yet. 

before he could taste you, he reached up and played with your pussy a bit, rubbing your clit with his middle and ring finger in circles as he heard you whine so beautifully for him, your eyes cast down, propped up on your arms, so you could get a good look at the way he savored the feel and sight of your slick folds, your swollen clit, pussy-whipped already, rubbing you so softly that it almost felt more shameless and filthy than if he´d jerked you off with force.

when he felt you losing your composure even more and heard a sweet little “baby…” tumbling from your lips, urging him to get to it, he gave a light slap of his hand against your needy pussy that made you wince not from pain but the bolt of pleasure, a devilish smile shot in your direction before he finally wrapped his big arms around your thighs and pulled you down against his mouth, buried himself in you, groaned like an animal as your cunt enveloped his nose and mouth, drowned out all previous worries, left him feeling like he was the luckiest man on planet earth, never ever getting used to your velvety, salty juices that could sustain him through the harshest winter, bring him back to life each time he got a taste of you.

you fell back against the pillows and mewled as he started eating you out, lapped at your cunt in broad, self-indulgent strokes, diving between your folds like a man starved, your slick heat healing his previously frozen up skin as he moved his face up and down to gather up every last drop, drenched in your fluids within no time, the way he needed and wanted it, all the time, sometimes spending entire evenings between your legs like that.

Joel made out with your pussy while you moaned and rocked your hips up to chase his mouth, whining to him about how good it felt, so he pushed you further and slipped a finger into you, no resistance, your cunt greedily taking it in, pleasure noises flowing from between his glistening lips as he pulled back to watch it, “yes, yes.. more” you cried, so he quickly pushed in a second finer and curled them up just right to hit your sweet spot over and over, adding his tongue again once you sounded like you might finish soon, sucking on your clit hard enough to make you see stars as his big fingers pumped in and out of you, got you read for something bigger, your walls throbbing around his knuckles, your back arching up, as the first orgasm hit you like lightning and made you shake and cry out, fully drenching his fingers as you rode it out while he kept his lips firmly suctioned to your clit, his free arm holding you in place as he soaked up the feeling of having you come all over his tongue and hand. 

as you laid there all flushed and riled up, he put his fingers between his lips and licked your cum off while uttering “divine.. like honey…”, keeping eye-contact with you in a way that made you breathe even heavier than before. the sight of you splayed out for him like that, so gorgeous and dripping and clearly in need of more of his service, it made him adore you so fiercely and need you so badly that he frantically pulled down his boxers and tossed them to where your underwear was already crumpled on the floor, his hardness springing free in a way that made him take a sharp breath in and stroke himself as he came over to you and saw your eyes turn down to where he was touching himself, clearly turned on by how rock hard he was, pre-cum leaking out of his tip, his big strong thighs and hairy chest and broad shoulders only driving you even wilder in combination with that view, his stature looming over you in the most dizzying way. “been like this all afternoon…” he groaned  “just from thinkin of you”. 

before he could protest, you sat up, spat into your palm, and reached forward to replace his hand with yours, his head falling back as he felt your palm close around his length, rubbing up and down, slicking him up as an almost pained “ohhh hmppff fuck” escaped him while he gripped your arm for support, bucked up into your grip without thinking, groaned like an animal as you just smiled all sweet and and kept stroking him, savoring the feel of him in your hand like that, aroused and throbbing for you, whispering to him “need this cock in me, baby”.

“yeah? need it right now?” he moaned and felt you going a bit faster to really tease him, so he slipped his thumb into your mouth in retaliation, felt you suck on it, his eyes dark and half-lidded then as you jerked him off and licked all over his finger, until you let go of both at once and leaned back, nodding and saying “hmm yeah, need you deep inside me” emphasis on the “deep”, your eyes never leaving his as you spread your thighs wide enough for him to see your cunt spread open and pulsating for him, inviting him in, so he lunged forward and whispered “oh youre really asking for it now, darlin…” and pushed you back onto the pillows.

you let out a squeal as Joel roughly put you into the position he needed you in, hovering over you, and went on to slide his tip over your wetness, teasing, slapping his cock onto your cunt a few times to watch you turn weak and helpless again, until he guided himself to your entrance and let go of his cock, put his hands by the sides of your face, stared down into your eyes and then kissed your neck right as he pushed himself into you, slowly for the first inches, and then all the way, one swift push, balls deep, no holding back anymore, your pussy aching in relief the moment he bottomed out and had you nice and full again. 

your heat and wetness overwhelmed him as he felt it all, a broken-up “Christ..” as he let you adjust to his size and held your gaze, both of you staring into each other´s soul´s with parted lips, hitched breaths, that delicious moment whenever he first entered you, his palm reaching up to caress you, soothe you, as you matched his low, rumbling sounds with a higher-pitched moan, your pussy stretching around his girth in just the right way, his hardness buried deep inside of you, the ache at your core suddenly pleasurable instead of maddening, a burning need to have him deepen that ache until you couldn´t take anymore, which he sensed, so he moved his hands to grip yours and pin them against the mattress as he slowly started moving in you as the scruff of his beard tickled your neck just right, his moans and kisses covering the skin right above your shoulder as you wrapped your legs around his waist and trapped him in the best way.

you ran your nails down his spine and felt him give you the most dizzying slow, yet hard, deep strokes, so you could feel every single thrust in its entirety, a whimper with each one, throbbing around him as you whined “yes…yes”, so he lifted his head a bit and breathed against your cheek “hmm yeah? like that, baby?”, a weak “hmm” and nod from you in response as you felt him go in and out of you, your pussy relaxed and soaking wet by then, both of you whispering sweet nothings to each other as he picked up the pace, unable to keep his desire contained any longer, his hands leaving yours then so he could brace himself better as he fucked you the way he wanted, intense, hard, and yet so loving, radiating such adoration with each push of his hips, his groans turning louder and more pornographic by the second, a mix of “ohh” and “ughh” sounds rising out of his depths as he got lost in you, the way you looked right then, all flushed and and pretty in your lust-induced haze, head pushed back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut from that deep pleasure that was starting to possess every little inch of your body, his strokes steady and skilled, his lips suddenly on yours so he could drink up all of your moans and whimpers, kissing you softly as he fucked you intensely, a contrast that drove you wild as you gripped his big arms and held on. 

you loved that he was big but not to a point where it hurt, his cock just girthy enough for you to have to adjust to it a bit at first every time, a mild kind of pain that was more thrilling than punishing, a perfect size and feel for you, the flesh of his length still slightly soft even when he was hard, ideal to a point where you became obsessed with it, sometimes having him fuck you on the couch in the middle of the day, just to feel him for a few minutes, or riding him on a chair in the kitchen, or if things got really heated making him take you inside other people´s bathrooms, one time even fully out in public, at night, too eager for him to fuck you to wait til you were home. Joel loved it. every time. how eager you were for him, the delicious build-up to it, the way you always made him feel like the most virile, desirable man who ever lived just by batting your eyelashes at him and nudging his leg to say “come here, take me, please.”

right then it was no different as he was fucking you into the mattress with determination until he lifted himself up onto his knees and quickly pushed your leg up into an angle that allowed him to really rail the fuck out of you, your back arching up as went as deep as possible then, fast and hard without ever neglecting your comfort, your need, your level of arousal, keeping a close eye on your body, the little tells that gave away how good it felt for you as he kept going and going, praising you, watching you twist your head to the side and bite your lip, groaning “goddd this pussys gonna ruin me one day… feel too fuckin good around me, baby...” and right then he hit the exact right spot, so you whimpered pathetically and stared up at him while moaning  “fuck right there, yes” your insides twisted in pleasure, threatening to burst within the next few minutes.

“yeah? right here? this the spot, sugar?” he asked, not actually needing an answer, only saying it to turn you on even more as he kept the exact pace he was going at and hit you deep inside, over and over, your muscles coiled tight, lewd wet sounds echoing through the room, his body looking all godly and manly like that, taking you as if he wasn´t pushing sixty at all, an ease and power to his movements that made you lose your mind completely.

just as you were bracing yourself for your impending climax, Joel reached down and added his thumb to the mix and oh. you were done for. the way he circled your clit right then.. the way he rubbed over your sensitive bundle of nerves.. it made you choke up for a second. “ohhh fuck baby, oh” you cried out, begging for mercy as he kept fucking and touching you just the right way, admiring the sight of you all sexy and primal in that state of pre-release, drunk on the power to please you that way.

“there you go.. look at you.. gorgeous girl..” he cooed as you begged “don´t stop, just like that, fuck”, so he assured you “shhh, you´re doin so well, takin me so damn well, baby” sweating by then, his scent only messing with you even more, that animalistic, intimate smell of his that always ruined you, Joel rutting into you with the need to see you lose yourself, which you were about to, your pussy leaking all over his cock as you moaned “I´m coming, I´m-” your words silenced by the orgasm that started to hit you, your whole body tensed up, your voice drowned out, right at the peak then, so he leaned forward during his relentless fucking and groaned “I´ve got you, I´ve got you baby girl, just let go for me”, and with that you did, unclenching every muscle at once, suddenly flooded by pleasure, crying out and shaking as he held you in place by your hips, caressed your sides, and slowed down bit by bit, let you ride it out, while uttering “hmm, good girl, such a good girl…”.

as you laid there catching your breath and twitching, he slowly moved his cock out and stroked it in a way that kept him riled up enough to keep going without coming too fast. he wanted to hold out, desperately, he needed more of you, and the second you had enough strength again, you moved your trembling body over to him, kneeled on the bed, and leaned down to lick his tip for him, nudging his hand away and replacing it with your own as you drooled all over his length and licked up the side of the shaft back up to the top, circled his tip, tasted yourself on him, and finally took him into your mouth, not all the way, but enough to make him moan “oh.. youre killin me” while he caressed your hair and watching in awe as you greedily sucked him off. he couldnt help but grunt and buck up a bit, trying his best not to choke or gag you, but so damn sensitive to your pretty mouth wrapped around him like that, a pained “goddammit” leaving him as you sucked his dick until he couldn´t take any more. before he could cum in your mouth, he peeled you off and grabbed you to get you where he wanted you, panting, desperate, hard as a rock.

Joel gave your leg a loving squeeze and told you “come here baby, come lay on your side for me, nice and comfortable, right here” maneuvering you into the position he was aiming for as he laid down behind you and watched you lift your own leg up, knowing what he wanted to do to you. “that´s it, perfect” he whispered as his arm slipped under your side and wrapped around your front, over your tits, to hold you flush against his chest, so strong and warm and comforting as he did it, his face right by your neck, a soft kiss as he settled in his big spoon position and groaned from the desire to dive back into your heat already. 

you needed it too, badly, your pussy twitching around the emptiness, so you moved your free hand down to guide his cock back into yourself, both him and you watching your lower half as he slipped right back in, both of you so sensitive and raw by then that he shuddered as you swallowed him up again while you let out a faint “ohh… oh” and pressed yourself back up against him to feel his entire body pressed against yours, your eyes shut as he kept his arm wrapped around your front and kissed your shoulder, your neck, groaned and bit down lightly as he picked up a pace and started fucking you from the side, possessive and protective at the same time the way he thrust himself into you with increasing passion while holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world, which to him, you were, always and forever.

the sensation of being filled over and over from that lazy angle did something to you, made you surrender and lay in his arms all docile and sweet, which got him good: the way you trusted him, moaned for him, let him take you like that, so he fucked you a bit faster and rougher while peppering gentle kisses over the slope of your shoulder, slapping sounds filling the room as he kept going, his cock nice and deep inside you, so good that you were overcome by love and twisted your head back a bit to chase his lips and kiss him, your tongue in his mouth as you struggled to kiss him properly but tried your best amidst the frenzied fucking, his heart beating faster not just from the way you felt on him but the adoration he saw mirrored in your eyes as you briefly looked at him, all dazed and fucked out, so perfect, so angelic for him, his girl, all his, another deep, sloppy kiss from him as you whimpered to him about how good his cock felt, his own affection for you ruining him then as he whispered “this pussy was made to be worshipped by me, this body, all of it” which got you good, clenching around him so hard that he groaned “oh god hmmm” and tightened his grip on you, slamming into you as you submitted to it and got fucked into a blissful oblivion while he was right behind you, steading you, warming you, the neighbors down the street probably well aware of what was going on by then, your cries too loud to be drowned out by wooden walls, which made you feel even more aroused: that smug feeling of spending the afternoon getting your brains fucked out instead of doing anything to prove how dutiful you were, sinfully self-induldent in the best way. 

the softness of the cuddle-fucking somehow got you wet to a degree that was so intense that each thrust made a squelching sound, filthy and nasty and just how he loved it, his finger back on your clit as he briefly slowed down and moaned “fuckkk gonna make me cum baby” less intense strokes then, a brief pause to draw the sex out longer, he refused to cum, needed a few more minutes, so you gave in and savored the sensual, romantic feel of having his cock slide in and out your mess without much force, which held its own intense pleasure, an ease to it that turned you on, made you push your ass back against him and whine “ohhh… oh yes please” so he kept going like that for a while as you made out in a way you couldn´t before, catching your breaths a bit until the went faster again and braced himself for his orgasm, but before he could finish like that, you had the urge to change positions once more to really get fucked hard for your next orgasm.

you mumbled “baby I need-” and trailed off as you freed yourself from his grip and pushed him onto his back to get up and straddle him, your cunt slipping over his thigh for a moment, a grinding motion as he held his length and nodded “yeah darlin, take just what you need, drench my lap, lemme see”, a few more desperate rocking motions of your hips against the muscle of his leg, leaving a glistening trail of your cum once you got up and aligned yourself with him and sat down on it, sighing in relief once you felt him all the way in again and started riding him. you were too weak to really bounce on it, to give him the whole fantasy, but frantic and needy enough to give him a perfect view of your tits bouncing as you slid up and down his cock and saw him lean back against the heaboard, watching in awe, his hands on your sides as he supported and guided you, eager to tease another high out of you before his own would leave him wrecked for good, marveling at you on top of him looking like a goddess.

after a moment, he ordered “come down here” and made you lay chest to chest, wrapped both of his strong arms around your back, and held onto you tightly as he said “just relax for me now baby, okay?”, so you braced yourself, aware of what he was gonna do, and muffled your cries against his shoulder as he slammed up into you from below, over and over and over, truly ruining you, giving you a final round of achingly deep, aggressive thrusts that left you helpless on him - you didn´t have to do a single thing but take it all and stop resisting the overwhelming feeling that was about to unravel you, body and soul. you held on for dear life as he moaned that he was getting close, so you begged “come in me, please baby, please”, so he groaned “yeah? want me to fill you up?”, which made you insist “yes daddy… please”.

the word slipped out. it wasn´t on purpose. and that was what killed him. the innocent, fully instinctual way you uttered it, the word "daddy" going right to his head and heart and groin all at once as he grunted “jesus baby.. gonna make you mine now, gonna fill you all the way up”, his movements stopping all at once as he kept himself all the way inside you after last thrust and released his cum, shaking and twitching as he felt himself leaking and heard you moan in relief as you came right at the same time from the heavenly warm sensation of having him claim you that way, a decent amount of his juices splurting out until he was empty and shuddered one last time before he went as slack as you were by then, his arms still around you, keeping you safe, always.

for a moment, you just laid there like that, inseparable, entwined, panting and sweating, lost in the haze of your shared orgasm, until you peeled yourself off and flopped down on your belly on the empty side of the bed.

Joel moved and told you “lift that pretty peach a bit for me, baby” so you smiled against the pillow and did as he said, arching your butt up a bit as you felt him press a few kisses against your backside before he leaned in and did something that almost made you black out during your intense afterglow: he lapped up his own cum where it was leaking out of you and gently ate you out from the back.

another man might’ve just gotten a towel but not him. Joel wanted to make sure that he was cleaning up the mess he´d made of you, while also using the excuse to spread your cheeks open and lick all the way from your puffy lips to right below your hole, teasing you, feeling you wiggle a bit in response. Joel was a tits man the same way he was an ass man, so he shamelessly ate you up and kissed the plump flesh as you laid there on your stomach, blissed out, enjoying your man´s lack of shame when it came to his desires - whenever he came on you or in you, it was an excuse for him to keep going for a little bit longer: if he came on your tits it was an excuse to suck on them again, if he came in your mouth it made him tongue kiss you again, if he came inside of you it was a way to make himself get a final taste of you. eventually, his primal energy left him and made him slump down next to you, your pussy nice and soothed by his soft tongue after all the fucking before.

you both laid there, spent, satisfied, quiet, his hand resting on your thigh, leaving you some space to calm down as he did the same, until you turned over and snuggled up to him, your head on his chest, his arm around your back again, a dazed smile on Joels face as you nuzzled up to him like that and asked “you all warm again now?”.

“hmm, you know just how to get me hot and bothered.. my pretty lil sunshine” he whispered and pulled your hand up to kiss each of your knuckles, adoration radiation from him in a way that almost made you shed a few tears when he briefly pressed your fingers against his cheek after that tender gesture, his eyes closed, a shuddering breath out that told you his level of comfort and happiness matched yours.

“needed this so bad...might´ve died without it, I swear” he mused and gazed down at you while he caressed you, traced your side, marveled at how silky smooth you were, drawing idle patterns right above your hip .“dont know how I survived the winters before you” he admitted, both to you and himself.

you turned your head to look up and smiled at him, “you wish you could keep me in here and just hibernate through the winter, don´t you, old man?”.

“excuse me, ma´am?” he asked, exaggerating his shock for effect, giving you a playful squeeze in response. “oh, I´ll show you old, you´re in for it next time, little lady, just you wait.”. 

“oh no, how will I manage?” you exclaimed, clearly not scared but very pleased by that threat, a barely suppressed smile on his face as you draped your leg over his and laid on him all boneless and smiley. 

it was a game you two liked to play: you making a remark about his advanced age, compared to yours, so he could willingly walk into that trap and prove himself to you, which always got you what you wanted, for example, one time when you made a comment about his knees being too weak when he got down in front of your chair after breakfast to give you head, which ended in him keeping you pinned to that chair until you´d come three times and had drenched his whole mouth, begging for him to go easy on you by the end, which had made him pull his head away, wipe his mouth all smug like “yeah, I think my knees work just fine, thanks for the concern though, baby”.

“such a tease” he said then, as he splayed his palm over your lower back and felt the heat there. “only for you” you murmured against his stomach, almost dozing off for a second there. “hmm damn right, all mine.. all mine..” he whispered in awe as he watched you, felt your weight on his body, thanked whichever version of God he was still capable of believing in that you´d been sent his way, that he got to have you like that, all to himself, throughout the harshest winters he´d ever known, his own personal sun, his source of light, his everything.

after ten more minutes of peaceful silence, he said “I´ll take that bath now, I think. only if you join, that is”. you got up and sat on the bed, caressed his arm and said “if you´re gonna wash my hair for me, then yes” giving him doe-eyes and rubbing his shoulder, which made him laugh “always, anything you need, princess. five more minutes though”. the last part was mumbled as he pulled you in, so you could sit on his legs and rest your head in the crook of his neck.

“ten.” you countered. “deal..” he whispered and rested his chin on your shoulder, eyes closed, relaxed, content, both of you melting into each other.

by that point it had started snowing again but you were blissfully unaware, not a care in the world about how cold it would be in the coming days or weeks or months until it would finally turn milder again, since you knew: we´ll keep each other warm. we´ll always come home to this. this endless source of life-affirming heat.

[cripplecharacters]

hi! this is more art-related, so i hope this is ok to ask. i know giving your characters strabismus or the "googly eyes" for a joke/to make the character look silly or "insane" is bad, but what about when characters are tired, half-lidded, and have their eyes pointing outward? or, are like, screaming in pain? would those types of drawings count as putting strabismus in a bad light?

i've also seen scenes in the cartoons i watch where the characters' eyes kind of go wall-eyed or unfocused (for a lack of a better term), usually when they're surprised or have a realization— i hope you know what im referring haha. is that also a bad trope and thus something i should avoid drawing? thank you so much!!

Hey!

In my opinion, it depends on how it's depicted. There's nothing inherently funny or wrong with someone's eyes unfocusing because of fatigue or something intense going on. When I take off my glasses my eyes immediately go in opposite directions, it happens.

Basically ask yourself: why am I putting strabismus here? Is it supposed to make the scene funnier, make the character seem less intelligent, more "derpy", get a specific reaction from the viewer that's specifically related to the character's condition, etc.? If that's the case, don't.

And the reverse: is it just a feature of that character, and it also shows up in more serious scenes? Go ahead. Generally speaking, if the character has actually consistent strabismus (=doesn't just show up in a few scenes) then you're probably fine by default.

As for the last question, IMO it's not as bad/boring as your standard "eye condition=funny" gag, but it's still used to make it more 'comedic' than it would've been otherwise.

As a rule of thumb, I wouldn't count on media who don't have

a singular character, who has actually consistent strabismus, isn't the comedic relief, and isn't shown as "stupid",

to be a good representation of it. If the funny eye condition only shows up once in a while for The Effect then it's probably tired and overdone at least.

If other followers with strabismus have Opinions feel free to share, I don't know what the community consensus is.

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[evilbihan]

Bi-Han's fate - Pt.1

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of canon-typical gore and violence, mentions of depression and s*icidal thoughts.

Disclaimer: I decided to write this after hearing MK1 has officially come to an end because I believe Bi-Han and his brothers deserved a better ending than what we've seen in the story mode. This is just me sharing my thoughts on how the story should have ended. It's purely written for entertainment purposes. I don't plan to upload it to ao3 as I don't have an ao3 account, but if someone wants to share it there, they have my permission and encouragement. All I ask is that you credit me. If anyone in this fandom is still alive, feel free to leave feedback. Also this shouldn't even need to be said, but don't reblog this with weird ship tags. The pairings that are canon in MK1 will be canon in this fic too (Bi-Han x Sektor, Kuai Liang x Harumi etc.)

Summary: Despite his best attempts to cure Bi-Han of the dark magic corrupting his soul, Liu Kang finds himself at a loss of what to do when he discovers that the former grandmaster has lost all his will to live and won't accept the help offered to him. By reuniting him with his brothers, Liu Kang hopes to save Bi-Han's life, but when haunting secrets surface, not even the fire god can forsee what happens next...

He doesn't remember dying, not in the way one would expect with a death that came to him so violently.

His final moments are a blur, too fleeting for him to be able to pinpoint the exact moment it happened. One second he can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage and – for the very first time in his life, fear – and the next that heartbeat is gone, silenced forever. Though hours pass before that happens. Reality becomes distorted. His head spins, ears ringing from the sound of his own screams echoing off the stone walls, his stomach lurches, sickened by the stench of his own blood, sweat and bile leaking out of his body, dripping and staining the wooden contraption he is strapped to. With gruesome precision, lines are etched into his skin. Needles drilling into flesh, piercing it, tearing it open. Agony. A pain so excruciating that no amount of screaming can bring relief. He drifts in and out of consciousness. Through some stages of it he's more awake than through others. The torture seems never-ending, the pain relentless, unlike anything he's ever felt before. The droning of the drills turns into laughter, mocking him with painfully familiar voices.

He remembers seeing his brothers in a memory of earlier days.

Books stack up in front of him, their pages yellowed with age. Father wants them transcribed before dinnertime. He hasn't even made it through half of them yet. His fingers hurt from holding the quill. Each character has to be perfect. Not a line too shaky, not a stain on the page. He knows what awaits him if he doesn't finish the work in time. His brows knit together as he tries to focus, but the noise outside keeps distracting him. Laughter. Humming, drilling, laughter. Lifting his head, he glances out the window and catches a glimpse of Kuai Liang and Tomáš in the yard, chasing each other in a game of tag.

They look happy without him.

The memory doesn't fade, it is torn from him as more skin gives way beneath the drills. Bi-Han tastes blood. Feels the urge to vomit as something tears at his insides. He looks down at what used to be his chest, now a repulsive mass of dead, discolored flesh and bright, oozing green. Disease. His once dark blue Lin Kuei uniform is no more. Bloodied strips of fabric dangle from his body, some of the cloth sewn into his skin and flesh. When the torment ends and they finally release him, they bring him new clothes and he wears them obediently. His fists clench in silent rage at the memory.

When he doesn't think of what happened, he dreams of it.

With every fiber of his being, Bi-Han resents Liu Kang for sparing him. For robbing him of his vengeance. But most of all, for letting him live.

There is mercy and solace in death.

He grants that mercy to his enemies, a quick, dignified end, without humiliation or suffering.

Liu Kang has no such thing in mind for him.

Bi-Han stares at the plate on his bedside table, a meal long gone cold. He hasn't touched it yet and doesn't plan to do so. In his current state he does not need to eat. Liu Kang urges him to do so regardless, claiming that his stomach needs to get used to food again for when the dark magic currently coursing through his veins is permanently removed from his body.

He doesn't care.

He is no longer Sub-Zero. No longer the proud grandmaster of his own clan. Not feared, respected or admired. Sektor leads the Lin Kuei now. Perhaps it's for the better. After all, he had failed to lead his clan into the glorious future he had promised them. He is nothing now, a husk of his former self, stripped of all his glory. Whenever Liu Kang or any of his worthless lackeys come to check on him, examining his scars, applying ointment to them, he sees pity in their eyes. Each time, he wants to rip their spines out for it.

His body had become a coffin, trapping him alive. He won't regret what he is about to do.

Carefully, Bi-Han retrieves the ornate dagger from underneath his pillow. He had accquired it this morning when he met another one of Liu Kang's "projects". A demon from the Netherrealm. She had introduced herself to him as Sareena, sister of Ashrah and a former assassin for Quan Chi. Initially, Bi-Han had held little interest in speaking to her. He despised all Netherrealmers, demons and wraiths and other beings, anything that crawled its way up from these pits to cause suffering and discord among mortals. However, he came to recognize that Sareena is... different. There is something oddly human about her and the way she shows interest in even the most mundane things around her, eager to learn more about the mortal world, not in pursuit of absolution like her sister, but rather to find her own way in the world she was introduced to. It is easy for him to engage in conversation with her. She asks him many questions and he answers them with a patience he usually doesn't possess. It is only because she has something he wants. To his disgruntlement, Liu Kang seems to trust her enough to let her keep weapons on her. She carries a pair of sickles and a much more concealed dagger on her belt. That one, he figures, she will hardly notice missing. By the end of their conversation, he holds the dagger in his hand. At least, he can still take some pride in the fact that even in his current weakened state, Liu Kang fears him enough to not allow him to carry weapons himself. He doesn't want to consider the other option, that Liu Kang is concerned he would use them against himself.

Bi-Han had never been the kind of person to sit idle. It makes his captivity unbearable. He hates the treatment. Not because it's agonizing, he had endured far worse than that. He hates how humiliating it is when he gets sick, over and over and Liu Kang patiently wipes the sweat from his forehead, whispering reassuring words to him. He hates it when the fire god helps him rinse his mouth with water after he's done vomiting, holding the cup for him and lifting it to his lips because his shaking hands are too weak to allow him to do it himself.

He would rather endure the Netherrealm's torment than continue this useless existence.

A strand of hair falls over his eyes and he blows it out of his face angrily.

His hair had grown back. Not quite to the length it used to have before his demise, but long enough to allow him to tie it back again. However, some strands are still too short to fit into the bun and he hates to feel them brush against his face. The earlier stages had been even more vexing. He couldn't stand how short his hair had been back then. He must have looked ridiculous.

His skin is the color of ash now. His appearance far more human and yet not human enough. His teeth are no longer black with rot and his eyes had lost their eerie white glow. Even he had to admit that Liu Kang's work at restoring him was remarkable. Were it not for the scars across his body and the undead color of his skin, one would not know what he had gone through. The green was still there, the color darker and dull, but still visible enough to sicken him. Bi-Han still can't bear it to see his own reflection. He is broken now, like an old toy covered in ugly patches and stitch lines because its owner refused to part with it.

When he points the blade at his own heart, he finally feels like he is in control again. He feels powerful again. His fate is back in his own hands, where it always should have been. The choice is his now. Not Liu Kang's. Not anyone else's. Only his alone. And it was a choice already made two years ago, the very moment Liu Kang had cured his mind of Havik's influence.

Despite his determination, he's not entirely sure that this is going to work. After all, he is not completely cured yet. Maybe it would be wiser to wait longer, but he doesn't want to wait anymore.

Bi-Han is not a sentimental man.

He has no intention to say his goodbyes to anyone.

Still, a small part of him misses his brothers. He thinks back to the summers of their youth, thunder roaring outside as the three of them hugged each other tightly, huddling together for warmth and safetly like a litter of newborn cats. He had never been afraid of the thunderstorms himself, but he had been happy to provide comfort for his brothers. His mind wanders back to a sparring session against an older Lin Kuei warrior, Bi-Han expertly weaving through the attacks, dodging and side-stepping punches and kicks while his brothers watched from the sidelines, eager to learn from him. Although the other warrior had been taller than him, Bi-Han had ended up throwing him over his shoulder and off the mat with ease. When he had stepped back, his face red and chest heaving, he had noticed his brothers cheering loudly, waving their arms and shouting his name. As he had approached them, Tomáš had grinned widely. "I want to be as strong as you one day, brother."

Bi-Han had merely scoffed in response. "You would not be able to handle the harshness of our training."

He had watched Smoke's face fall, but had not bothered apologizing for his words. He hadn't said them out of cruelty or to discourage his youngest brother. Back then, Tomáš had simply seemed like he was not cut out to be a Lin Kuei warrior with his spindly arms that wouldn't grow an ounce of muscle no matter how much food he scarfed down at dinner. It had taken him far longer to accquire the physique Kuai Liang and him possessed. But ultimately, he had caught up with them, his skills now matching theirs and perhaps, to some point, even exceeding them. Tomáš had truly become the warrior he had always wanted to be. Bi-Han knows it means nothing now, but he is proud of his brother. He wishes he could have told him that.

He knows he had been wrong to understimate Tomáš back then.

He had been wrong about many things.

His Lin Kuei training had taught him not to fear death. Still, it requires all his willpower to follow through with what he has planned. There is still a part of him, shockingly human, that doesn't want to perish. Is it not within the very instinct of every living thing to preserve itself? Even the most primitive beings desire to live. Today, he finds out he is no different. He looks back on all his failures, the bridges he had burned, the sacrifices he had made in vain... All to achieve nothing. The Lin Kuei were not stronger for it. Would Sektor be able to free them and lead them to greatness? Bi-Han wants to believe so. He knows Sektor is strong, a more than capable leader, ressourceful and brilliant. If anyone can do it, it's her.

The tip of the blade cuts into his skin, but draws no blood, only oily black liquid.

He despises what he is now. A creature of nightmares that shouldn't exist. The reminder of what he has turned into encourages him to push the blade in deeper. His mind barely registers the pain. The dagger slides effortlessly through muscle and flesh. Black blood streams down his hands. He doesn't want to waste his final moments thinking of the people who betrayed him and yet their images come alive in his mind.

Regret, buried so deep within him, it is easy for him to fool himself into believing he feels none at all.

The edges of his vision darken. His hands slip off the dagger's hilt.

If there is an afterlife, perhaps he will see his mother again...

The corners of his mouth lift into a smile as he finally embraces the coldness of death.

-

He hears the snap of a bone and a scream that follows.

"Hold him down!", someone commands.

The words make him panic. Suddenly, he is tied to the wheel again, hostile faces grinning down at him, mocking his suffering. He struggles with all the strength he has. His elbow connects with something soft and he hears a pained gasp. However, the tight grip on his shoulders doesn't loosen. He tries to kick his feet. Another sharp hiss of pain. His right leg is free now. He tries to throw himself against the hands pinning him down. Desperate. Furious.

"Bi-Han! Stop!" A voice, sharp and familiar, cuts through all the noise around him.

His eyes fly open wide and stare right into Liu Kang's concerned face.

Surrounding him are healers, some of them holding injured limbs. It takes him a moment to understand he is the one who injured them. He tries to sit up, but the attempt is cut short by a stabbing pain piercing his chest, paralyzing him. A growl, low and threatening, escapes his throat. It is coming back to him now. What he did... What he had failed to do...

He is still alive. Still imprisoned in this rotten body. In this temple.

"Are you aware of what you have done? You undid months of progress in your recovery."

He wants to laugh. Does Liu Kang still expect him to care? He has no one and nothing to return to. He's powerless now, declawed like a cat and turned into a pet for the fire god. A lap dog, as Shao had worded it. Liu Kang doesn't sound angry as he scolds him. Instead, there is an undertone of sadness in his voice, a hint of disappointment maybe. It only enrages Bi-Han more.

"You said that you would cure me", he snaps.

"It takes time, Bi-Han", Liu Kang responds calmly. With a nod, he dismisses the healers and takes a seat at his bedside. Only now, Bi-Han notices the bandages wrapping around his chest. Liu Kang follows his gaze and sighs.

"You were fortunate to have missed your heart by a few inches. Otherwise, not even my powers could have brought you back." The fire god pauses and meets his eyes. „Is that what you wanted?"

Bi-Han scowls. "I have lost my cryomancy and my shadow magic."

"Your cryomancy can be brought back. As for your shadow magic, it was corrupting you. It had to be removed."

He narrows his eyes at Liu Kang. "It made me deadlier. Is that why you removed it? Because you feared it?"

"Because it was destroying your soul, Bi-Han", Liu Kang explains patiently. He sounds like a father talking to his stubborn son now, stern, yet forgiving. It makes Bi-Han livid.

Silence follows. Bi-Han gazes out the window to avoid Liu Kang's eyes. He watches petals fall and trees sway gently in the breeze. He loathes this place almost as much as he misses the Arktican cold.

"Do you know why I stopped working with Shang Tsung?", Bi-Han asks. "I have seen the flesh pits. The twisted experiments these sorcerers conduct there. I knew I wanted no part of it."

Liu Kang nods understandingly. "You don't need to tell me that. I am aware that there is still good inside you."

"You misunderstand me." Bi-Han turns to face the fire god, glaring at him as though his hatred alone could pierce Liu Kang's heart. "This place reminds me of them. You and Shang Tsung have much more in common than you think. Keeping captives to experiment on. Mutilating others to fit your own design. So many similarities..."

Satisfied, he watches Liu Kang's perplexed expression.

"If you want to anger me, Bi-Han, save your energy. It won't work. You ran out of weapons, so you try to use your vile tongue against me. I advice you to get some rest instead." Liu Kang's voice sounds colder now, despite his attempts to seem calm and collected.

Bi-Han knows he found a weakness.

"I know why you're doing this", he continues. "You expect me to fall to my knees in gratitude and become your servant once again."

"I expect no such thing from you, Bi-Han. After you're cured and as long as you don't threaten the peace in this timeline again, you are free to go wherever you please."

"How generous of you", Bi-Han spits.

What is he supposed to go back to? The clan led by another that no longer needs him? His brothers who had turned their backs on him?

Liu Kang slowly stands up. "How soon you leave this place, is up to you, not me, Bi-Han. With your actions today, you have only prolonged the time you have to spend here."

"Why are you doing this?", Bi-Han growls. He doesn't understand why Liu Kang is so desperate to save him, to keep him alive at all costs. As some sort of punishment? Because he still believes he can force the Lin Kuei to surrender?

"Because Earthrealm still needs you", the fire god responds as if he had been reading his thoughts.

Bi-Han raises an eyebrow. "What for? I no longer have my cryomancy."

Liu Kang shakes his head as if to dismiss his argument. "Earthrealm needs your courage. You already saved this timeline once. Whether you like it or not, you already are one of its champions."

"I don't want to be Earthrealms champion."

"And I didn't want to be a god", Liu Kang admits with a small, almost sad smile. "We don't choose our fate, Bi-Han. Even the most powerful beings cannot do that. Resist your fate and suffer or accept it and prosper. I can't make the choice for you." He takes a few steps towards the door as if to leave, then stops and turns around again. "What you did today has proven that you are still unstable. I allowed you to roam the temple grounds and speak to others because I believed it would lift your spirits. I didn't want you to feel like a prisoner. Despite of what you may think, you are not being held captive here. And yet, you have abused my hospitality by looking for ways to cause further harm. Therefore, I have no other choice but to confine you to your quarters until you see reason. I am very sorry about that."

Bi-Han sits up straight, not caring if he's going to tear open his stitches.

"Confine me?", he hisses. "Why not just kill me? If I get my cryomancy back, I will use it to tear out your heart."

Liu Kang looks entirely unimpressed. "Your threats don't scare me. I won't kill you. Empress Mileena and I have already decided on a better punishment for you. You will live and spend the rest of your life making ammends for the damage you've done to this timeline by aiding in its defense."

"And if I refuse?"

"I hope for your sake that it won't come to that."

With that, Liu Kang turns around and leaves him to the deafening silence of his room.

-

"I don't know what to do anymore, Geras." With a long, heavy sigh, Liu Kang sits down at the desk in his study, its surface cluttered with tomes and scrolls. For months, he had studied them, trying to find out as much as possible about the magic corrupting Bi-Han and how it could be removed, yet he still doesn't know all the answers. Healing the former cryomancer is a long and complex process, one that requiers patience and trust from both sides. Bi-Han had run out of that within the first month of being out of the magical coma Liu Kang had placed him in for his own safety. Transferring him here, where he had more company and people he could speak to other than him had given him hope that Bi-Han would recover faster, that he would recognize his good intentions. However, it seems like Bi-Han still considers him the enemy.

"Tell me what I should do to save him. Feed him against his will? Put him in chains, so he can no longer resist the treatment? He would only hate me more for that."

"I cannot tell you what you should do, Lord Liu Kang", Geras responds calmly. "But it appears to me he does not want your help."

"If I give up on him now, I will never earn his trust." Liu Kang doesn't think he will ever be able to earn it, but he doesn't say so out loud.

"May I offer my advice?"

"Please do, Geras."

„You have asked me to look into Bi-Han's past because you believed it would help you better understand his motivations. I have made some discoveries that I cannot yet share with you. However, I am convinced that reuniting him with his brothers is the best course of action right now. They are vital to his recovery. To ensure the peace in this timeline, his brothers must learn the truth.“

Liu Kang knows that Geras has a point. However, he's also aware of Scorpion's temper and the grudge he holds against his older brother. The last thing he wants is a reunion that will end in bloodshed. Not to mention, he doubts that Kuai Liang will be willing to help him heal Bi-Han.

Regardless, Liu Kang nods. He has no other choice but to do what Geras suggested. If it's the only way to save Bi-Han, it's well worth the risk.

"I understand what I must do next."

-

Tomáš used to wake up to a cup of tea by his bedside every morning. He doesn't know where it comes from, only that it's been like that for as long as he can remember. Whoever puts it there wakes up early, earlier than him even, and they somehow make it in and out of his room without disturbing his sleep. By the time he's awake, the tea is sitting there on his nightstand, still warm but no longer steaming, just the right temperature to drink, even on the rare days when he allows himself to sleep in, almost as if whoever leaves it there knows exactly when he's going to wake up.

Every morning, he finishes the cup before going downstairs to join his brothers for breakfast.

"Good morning, Bi-Han. Good morning, Kuai Liang."

He only ever gets one response. Bi-Han greets him with the usual scowl. Tomáš doesn't take it personally. His eldest brother rarely smiles. That scowl seems to be a lingering expression on Bi-Han's face. They eat in silence. Not the awkward, uncomfortable kind of silence, but rather the quiet appreciation of each other's company, a meal and drink shared among family, among brothers.

That cup of tea is always there to help him begin his day, always – until it isn't. Tomáš can't help feeling disappointed. Along with everything else familiar to him, that one constant in his life is now gone too. He knows it's ridiculous to be upset over something so small, but for some reason the smallest things are the ones that hurt the most. He misses his old room, he misses the shared meals with his brothers, when Kuai Liang would tell a joke and Bi-Han's face would light up ever so briefly, reminding them that somewhere underneath the cold, stern exterior of the Lin Kuei's grandmaster, their older brother who used to read bedtime stories to them and help them tie the knots on their uniforms, was still alive...

Until he wasn't.

He is almost grateful when a voice interrupts his thoughts.

"I am glad you accepted my invitation, Tomáš." Liu Kang leads him down a quiet hallway, only briefly stopping to turn around and give him a reassuring smile as though the fire god had sensed his uneasiness. It doesn't calm him, but he has no time to dwell on his conflicting emotions as Liu Kang continues on and rounds a corner.

Anxiously, Tomáš follows him. Even at this early hour, the temple is busy. Monks are sweeping the ground, carrying laundry, some gathering outside in the yard for their training, the sound of wooden staffs clashing reduced to only a dull echo within the thick walls of the temple. It smells of spring blossoms and freshly cut grass. Normally, Tomáš finds comfort in the serenity of this place, but not today. Today, he will see Bi-Han again and he is not prepared to face him.

"I appreciate your trust in me, Lord Liu Kang, but I doubt that he wants to speak to me", Tomáš mumbles as they ascend a short staircase.

In all his years with the Lin Kuei, Tomáš cannot recall one occasion where Liu Kang had spoken to him directly. Maybe it was his new position as second in command of the Shirai Ryu that had finally convinced the fire god he was worthy of the same respect that was usually reserved for his brothers. Naturally, Tomáš was surprised when he received an invitation from Liu Kang. Addressed to him personally, not to Kuai Liang or their new clan. The letter didn't mention why he was being summoned, but he had assumed he was needed for a mission.

He shows the letter to Kuai Liang.

"It seems Lord Liu Kang might have an important task for you."

"For me?", Tomáš questions. "Even so, you're my grandmaster. Shouldn't he approach you with it first?"

Kuai Liang shrugs. "Lord Liu Kang must be aware that I'm busy training the new recruits. I can't leave the Shirai Ryu right now. I'm sure that you will do well on your own."

So, Tomáš packs a bag with only the necessities and leaves for the fire temple. It surprises him that Bi-Han was moved here from the Temple of the Elements. Maybe that means his recovery is going well, even though his conversations with Raiden so far have suggested otherwise. Whenever Raiden visits the Shirai Ryu to train with Kuai Liang, Tomáš asks about the progress of Bi-Han's treatment. Raiden knows disappointingly little about it, but from what he can gather, Bi-Han is doing everything in his power to complicate things for Liu Kang. Refusing help. Even going as far as to attack the healers.

Once again, he is pulled from his thoughts by Liu Kang's voice.

"I apologize for being so secretive in my letter. I feared you would not want to come had I mentioned why I need you here."

Tomáš raises his eyebrows. "And why is that exactly? You mentioned earlier that I am to see Bi-Han today."

Liu Kang nods. "Yes, you may indeed see him. I believe that having his family around would aid Bi-Han in his recovery. He seems... unwell lately." A short pause follows in which he seems to try to find the correct words to continue. "A few days ago, he injured himself."

The fire god must notice his worried expression because he quickly raises his hands in a soothing gesture. "He is safe right now. The injury was not life threatening. But I fear that Bi-Han had intended for it to be."

Tomáš doesn't know what to say, but he feels something deep within him ache at the thought. Bi-Han is the strongest and most resilient person he knows. Not just physically, but mentally too. The kind of person nothing can shake. Someone who never even considers giving up, even if all the odds are against him. If anyone out there can defeat even death itself, it's Bi-Han, the man Tomáš used to idolize and look up to almost all his life. He cannot imagine a world in which Bi-Han has given up. He doesn't want to.

"But why me? He hates me", Tomáš says quietly. "Maybe you should have asked Kuai Liang to come instead."

"I'm afraid Kuai Liang lacks the tactfulness needed in this situation", Liu Kang replies. "You seemed like the better choice."

"What about Sektor?"

"She is currently in charge of the Lin Kuei. If she were to leave, someone much worse might try to take control over the clan. We cannot take that risk."

"I see." Tomáš watches Liu Kang stop in front of a simple wooden door and gesturing towards it.

"You can go in whenever you're ready. I will wait for you here."

Tomáš nods, hesistantly lifts his hand and knocks. There is no response. He had expected none.

Slowly, he pushes down the handle and watches the door open.

Bi-Han is laying in bed, with his face turned towards the window. Only the back of his head is facing Tomáš, dark hair pulled up into a familiar low bun. He's dressed in the bright orange robes of the Wu Shi academy, an attire Tomáš would have never expected to see Bi-Han wear, but he figures it's out of necessity rather than choice. Bi-Han's senses have always been sharp. Surely, he must have heard the knocking and the sound of the door opening. Tomáš can tell he just doesn't care to turn around and see who came to visit him. At least, that gives him more time to look around. Not that there's much to see anyway. The room is almost empty, except for the bed and a small table next to it. A sheet had been thrown over what appears to be a mirror in the corner of the room. There are markings on the floor where furniture used to be. Judging by the lack of dust in the empty spots left behind, those furniture pieces must have been removed recently. He assumes it's to ensure Bi-Han won't use any parts of them to hurt himself. His heart becomes heavy at the thought. Despite everything, it saddens him to see his brother like this.

Awkwardly, Tomáš stands in the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Hello, Bi-Han. How are you feeling?"

It's the best he can come up with, even if he feels stupid for it. He regrets not having spent more time trying to come up with better words to say.

Bi-Han's head whips around so quickly it nearly makes him jump. First, his eyes widen in surprise, then they narrow in suspicion. "You!", he snaps. "You dare show your face here?"

Tomáš sighs. "I didn't come here to argue."

"If Liu Kang sent you, you might as well leave again." Bi-Han's voice is just as cold as he remembers, devoid of any emotion.

Although Tomáš had expected no other reaction, he can't help feeling disappointed that his brother already wants to send him away.

"We haven't seen each other in two years. This is how you greet me?"

"What's the proper way to greet a traitor?"

Tomáš sighs. Since he has no intention to leave yet, he shuts the door behind him and steps closer. There is nowhere to sit for him, unless he wants to sit on the edge of the bed and he's pretty sure Bi-Han will snap his neck if he dares to take a seat next to him.

He is surprised at how human Bi-Han looks now, compared to the last time they had seen each other. He is so nearly back to normal, back to how he used to be before his gruesome death. If one were to ignore the green mess of scars along his body, that is. Regardless, the treatment must be working well. Shouldn't Bi-Han be happy about that?

"You look healthier."

It's true, Tomáš thinks. Bi-Han's cheeks look sunken in and his skin is paler than he remembers it, but he assumes it must be due to the fatigue the treatment causes. He still looks a lot better than the last time Tomáš had seen him.

Bi-Han glowers at him. "Have you come to mock me?"

"What? No... Of course not", Tomáš stammers quickly. "I'm concerned about you. That's all."

"I don't need your concern. I'm fine."

"You seem unwell."

"Come closer then", Bi-Han hisses. "Perhaps a broken nose will prove you wrong."

Tomáš knows Bi-Han well enough to see through the empty threat. His brother had always been more bark than bite. Still, he doesn't want to take his chances, out of regard for Bi-Han's wellbeing, not his own. The last thing he wants is for Bi-Han to injure himself further trying to attack him.

"It's good to see you", Tomáš says sincerely. "I have wanted to speak to you for quite some time."

"Yet you didn't care to come earlier." Is that hurt in Bi-Han's voice?

"I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"You assumed correctly."

"Kuai Liang and I have also been very busy building our new clan", Tomáš says against his better judgement. He feels like it's a mistake to bring that up to Bi-Han. If anything, it will probably anger him more, but he simply doesn't know what else to talk about. "You know how difficult it can be to find new recruits. We had to set up rooms for them as well."

"Have you also dug their graves?"

Tomáš sighs. "Bi-Han, please... It doesn't have to be like that. Our clans don't have to be at war with each other. Is that really what you want? Pointless bloodshed? Where will it end?"

"In your defeat or mine."

Exasperated, Tomáš pinches the bridge of his nose. He's too tired for this. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the Shirai Ryu at all. However, he feels like it's on him to keep the conversation going and he doesn't know how to do that when Bi-Han and him have so little in common. While he desperately tries to search his mind for another, better topic, Bi-Han's voice interrupts the silence.

"Why did you come here?"

"Because you're still my brother." Tomáš swallows past the painful lump forming in his throat. "You might have never considered me your brother, but you have always been family to me."

Bi-Han's eyes narrow. "And yet you disobeyed me and betrayed me."

"We didn't betray you. We never intended for any of this to happen", Tomáš argues. "What did you expect us to do when we heard that you let father die? How could you expect us to still trust you? Why, Bi-Han? Why did he have to die?" He hates how his voice cracks towards the end.

"Because he was a weak old fool", Bi-Han seethes. "He was ruining the Lin Kuei."

"If you had waited a few more years, you would have succeeded him naturally. Father didn't have to die. Why did you refuse to save him?"

Bi-Han falls silent. He looks away, out of the window again. Does he feel guilty? Does he regret what happened or does he care so little that Tomáš is merely boring him with his questions?

"Please, answer me." Tomáš doesn't care that he's begging. He wants answers, he wants to be able to understand his brother. "I came here, so we can talk. The least you can do is–"

"I didn't ask you to come here“, Bi-Han cuts him off harshly. „I owe you nothing."

"That is not what I meant!" Tomáš throws his hands up in frustration. "Can't you see that this is why we fell out? You never talked to us! You never told us about your ambitions. If you had spoken to us, perhaps we could have figured out a solution together."

"What difference would it make?"

"All the difference. Please, Bi-Han, I'm just trying to understand." Tomáš knows it's pointless to try and reason with his brother. Even Kuai Liang had never really managed to get through to him. How is he supposed to achieve that now?

"You and Kuai Liang left me", Bi-Han spits out bitterly. "I have nothing more to say to you."

"We never left you. It was you who banished us. We had no choice."

He gets no response. Tomáš lets out a sigh. "What happened to you, Bi-Han? You used to be kind once." Maybe Bi-Han just needs to be reminded of that. That he's capable of kindness. Maybe he just needs to keep talking. "I remember you staying up whenever Kuai Liang or I got sick", he trails off, involuntarely smiling at the memory. "You brought us soup and our favorite snacks, even when father scolded you for stealing from the kitchen. You were so generous and caring. What happened to you?"

Still no reaction. Bi-Han stares out the window. Tomáš doesn't know if he's zoned out or if his brother is ignoring him on purpose. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to say and the reaction it might trigger.

"Liu Kang told me that you've hurt yourself."

Finally, Bi-Han turns his head to glare at him, his face twisted with barely contained rage. „It is none of your concern.“

"If you want to talk about it, we can–"

"Hold your tongue, Tomáš", Bi-Han growls. "I don't need your pity."

Tomáš shakes his head. They are getting nowhere with this.

Still, he's not willing to give up just yet.

"I know what it feels like to lose everything", he continues in a low voice. "To survive, but wish you hadn't. When my mother and sister died in front of me, I wanted to die with them. I didn't want to be spared. I was alive but I felt like my life had ended. But then I was taken in by father. I met you and Kuai Liang. I was given a family again. A second chance. Second chances matter, Bi-Han. Why are you trying to throw yours away? And why did you have to take mine from me?"

At his final sentence, Bi-Han looks up and for the first time, his eyes aren't cold like frozen ponds. They're no longer full of hatred or disdain. Perhaps he's imagining it, but he belives that Bi-Han looks almost sympathetic for a moment.

"You mentioned you have questions", Bi-Han says quietly after what feels like an eternity to him. So quietly, Tomáš nearly misses the words entirely. "Ask them."

This is progress, Tomáš tells himself. His brother is willing to talk now. Perhaps he is getting through to Bi-Han after all.

Tomáš swallows hard. "Why did you let father die?"

"I already told you. He was weak."

"That's it? You wanted him dead because he was weak to you?" Maybe that really is the sole reason for Bi-Han's actions. Tomáš doesn't know what other response he had hoped for. Something, anything, to at least help him understand why Bi-Han did what he did, so Tomáš can sympathize with him, even if he cannot forgive him for it.

"Because he was destroying the Lin Kuei", Bi-Han snaps. "Do you want to know why your family died?"

"Don't bring them into this."

Bi-Han ignores him. "It was because of father's failures. He made a mistake, sent out a group of inexperienced Lin Kuei novices on a mission they had not been trained for. He told them there were no civilians in that village, only members of a rival clan. They had orders to kill anyone they came across. Anyone who was armed." Bi-Han nods to the karambit at his side. "The intel he got was wrong. He... miscalculated, as he had put it. His miscalculation cost lives. The lives of your mother and sister and many others. It was not his first mistake and not the last one that caused people to die. Eventually, I understood he needed to be replaced."

Tomáš only stares at Bi-Han. He knows he should feel shock, anger, maybe even hatred, but he had buried those emotions a long time ago alongside the ghosts from the past. He knows that Lin Kuei warriors killed his family. Even if it's true and the former grandmaster was at fault for what happened, he hadn't killed his mother and sister intentionally and he had still taken Tomáš in.

"Don't pretend that you did what you did to protect innocent lives. Last time I checked, you were fine with using the soul stealers for your own gain, regardless of the cost."

Bi-Han scoffs. "I wanted to protect the Lin Kuei's reputation. Our legacy. All I ever cared about were the Lin Kuei. You're right, I didn't care about those lives. I didn't care that your family and the people in your pathetic village were slaughtered like wild beasts... They never mattered to me."

He says this with an almost gleefull expression and something inside Tomáš snaps.

He lunges at Bi-Han, but with impossible speed, Bi-Han dodges, grabs hold of him and throws him against the wall. He collides with it painfully, slides down and crumples to the floor. Suddenly, his mother's hunting knife is pointed at him, the cold steel pressing against his throat. He has no idea how Bi-Han had managed to disarm him so quickly.

"You were wrong, Tomáš. You don't know what it's like to lose everything. Allow me to show you." The knife in Bi-Han's grip begins to shake as green veins spread across the surface of the blade. He can almost hear the metal straining under the magic trying to eat its way into the material. Tomáš watches, his eyes wide in horror. The only thing he had left to remind him of his mother... And Bi-Han is about to destroy it.

"Bi-Han! Don't!", He begs. "Stop it!"

To his surprise, the advancing of the green veins pauses indeed, but they don't disappear fully.

Bi-Han watches him with raised eyebrows. "You want me to stop? Then kill me."

Kill him, a voice in the back of his head whispers. Do it.

A change comes over him. He can feel something in his mind shift, a toxic vapor obscuring his thoughts, taking control, so sudden and quick, he doesn't even have a chance to resist. His limbs move on their own as he rushes forward, grasping Bi-Han by the shoulders and slamming him down into the wooden bedside table. Splinters of broken furniture fly past him as the table shatters with the force of the impact. However, he's unable to hold Bi-Han down for long. A kick to his chest sends him flying backwards and knocks the breath out of his lungs. Even in his current state, Bi-Han possesses an incredible amount of strength. Tomáš doesn't want to fight or hurt him, but he finds himself no longer in control of his own body. He lunges at his older brother again, this time managing to wrestle his mother's knife out of his grip. The karambit clatters to the ground and slides across the floor. A punch lands in Bi-Han's gut, but he shows no reaction, no sign of pain. Another punch connects with his jaw. His older brother doesn't fight back. He makes no attempt to dodge or block the hits. Horrified by what is happening, Tomáš watches on, unable to do anything as he lives through one of his worst nightmares. He is attacking one of his brothers. Hurting him. Trying to kill him. In the back of his mind, he can feel the Enenra's influence on him grow stronger. He tries to fight back. He knows he has to resist somehow... He doesn't want to kill Bi-Han.

Suddenly, the door flies open and Liu Kang rushes into the room, followed by Geras who extends his hand, stopping time as Bi-Han is about to throw himself at him, hands shaped into claws like he wants to strangle him.

Tomáš finds himself unable to move either. In his head, the Enenra roars with fury, hating to be restrained. Finally, the fog in his mind clears, retreating for now. Were it not for the time freezing spell, Tomáš is convinced he would have collapsed on the spot.

"What is going on here?" Liu Kang looks at him first, then at Bi-Han.

Horrified, Tomáš notices the blood streaming down Bi-Han's chin. Had he broken his brother's nose? He almost hopes so as he thinks back to how Bi-Han had used his mother's knife to threaten him.

"Geras, let Tomáš go."

Finally, he's released. Tomáš falls down to his hands and knees, coughing as he reaches for the karambit. Across the room, he briefly meets Bi-Han's gaze. Hatred so deep burns within his brother's eyes, it causes Tomáš to shudder and look away first. Bi-Han might have been kind once, but there is no trace of that kindness left in him now. All Tomáš sees is malice and evil.

He stands up on shaky legs, wipes his sweaty palms on the trousers of his uniform and grips the hunting knife tightly as he stumbles away from the frozen image of Bi-Han. He looks down at his blade instead. It doesn't appear damaged as he inspects it. A wave of relief washes over him though it doesn't calm his anger.

"I want to leave", he chokes out.

"Please tell us what happened first." Liu Kang gently guides him out of the room, away from Bi-Han. Tomáš instantly feels better once the door closes behind them, even if only a little bit.

Once he no longer feels like he's suffocating, he tells Liu Kang about his conversation with Bi-Han, how his brother had threatened and provoked him and how the fight ensued... but the part about the Enenra possessing him, he keeps to himself.

"I'm sorry about what happened", Liu Kang says when he is done talking. "It is my fault. I should have known better... You should consider staying for the night to get some rest. Tomorrow morning, if you still wish to leave, I will open a portal to take you back home."

Tomáš hesitates to respond. Everything inside him is screaming at him to leave right now, to put as much distance between Bi-Han and himself as possible. He had been a fool to think he would be able to mend their bond, to guide Bi-Han back onto the path he strayed from, to save him. He is fully convinced now that Bi-Han is every bit the cruel and calculating monster everyone else makes him out to be. Using his family's keepsake against him. How could he?

"I'd rather leave now."

Liu Kang nods, his expression serious. "I understand and I won't stop you. However, if you leave now, I fear Bi-Han will not have much longer to live."

Tomáš feels guilty, but he can't find it in himself to care right now. Not after what happened today. But even then... There's still a part of him that wants his brother to live. He doesn't want to and yet he finds himself asking: "What do you mean?"

"He refuses to eat and he won't take the medicine I give him." Liu Kang exchanges a quick look with Geras before continuing: "I'm afraid his body won't last much longer."

Tomáš doesn't know how to respond to that, how to even feel about that. Bi-Han seems eager to continue down this path. He had chosen it for himself, all of this... No matter how much Tomáš wants to believe that his brother's soul can still be salvaged somehow, he knows better after today.

"I'm sorry, Lord Liu Kang, but you are wasting your efforts on him", Tomáš mumbles. "He is already beyond saving."

Behind him, Geras clears his throat. "If you want to leave immediately, Lord Liu Kang and I won't stand in your way. But since you came here already, allow me to show you something first. It will only take a few minutes."

Tomáš wants to protest, but he has a feeling Geras will insist and he already knows that arguing with the construct would be futile. At least, if he sits through whatever it is that Geras wants to show him, he can leave afterwards. "Alright", he says. "Show me."

-

They lead him to one of the temple's guest rooms and as the sand creates a canvas before him, images start to form in the mist, creating a scene from the past. The vision shows a younger Bi-Han, he is eighteen, nineteen maybe, his face not yet as stern as it is now. Back then, he used to wear his hair half up, the longer strands falling freely over his shoulders. His posture is tense, he seems troubled by something. Across from him stands a familiar figure. Xiaoqing, the Lin Kuei's master of arcane. The very man who had trained him and taught him the magic he wields today.

"This matter I asked you to look into... Do you have answers for me?", Bi-Han inquires, fingers tapping against the biceps of his crossed arms.

"Yes, Young Master, I was able to retrieve this from our archives." Xiaoqing hands Bi-Han a scroll. It looks old and brittle. Tomáš has never seen it before.

Bi-Han's frown deepens as he unrolls the scroll and scans the words written on the paper through narrowed eyes.

"Enenra... What is that? Some kind of... demon?"

"Beings from the Netherrealm.“ Xiaoqing points at something on the scroll. „They're particularly vicious and dangerous."

„What's the connection between them and Tomáš?"

"Enenra have the ability to possess or inhabit a mortal's body. His dreams might be a sign he has been chosen as a vessel“, Xiaoqing explains. „Perhaps it would be wiser to dispose of the threat right now. This is a serious matter. The grandmaster should be informed as well."

Bi-Han glares at him in response. „You will do no such thing. Father is a supersticious man. If he hears about this, Tomáš will be cast out."

"What do you propose instead, Young Master?"

There is a pause. Bi-Han's expression suggests he's weighing their options. „This will stay between us“, he finally decides, the familiar authority in his voice already present back then.

"But the grandmaster–"

"I will be the grandmaster one day", Bi-Han cuts him off sharply. "You would be best adviced to get used to taking your orders from me."

"Of course, Young Master."

"Can anything be done about the nightmares?"

Xiaoqing nods. "I have prepared a potion, like you instructed me to. The taste is subtle. If mixed with tea, it's barely noticable at all." He produces a vial and hands it to Bi-Han who quickly takes it and stores it inside the sleeve of his robe.

"Good. This should help suppress the Enenra's influence and keep his nightmares at bay. For now that's enough, but I expect you to find a permanent solution."

"I will do more research on this", Xiaoqing assures him.

"Do so descretely", Bi-Han responds. "I will not have harm come to either of my brothers, do you understand me?" With an imperious wave of his hand, he dismisses the master of arcane and the scene begins to dissolve into floating grains of sand.

Tomáš is too stunned to speak. His eyes feel wet as he blinks.

To either of my brothers... The words echo in his mind, they repeat, over and over.

Bi-Han had known about it. He had been aware of the Enenra's presence inside him all along. More than that, he had been trying to help him control it. This explains everything. Why his nightmares had returned after leaving the Lin Kuei. Why he had felt so unlike himself lately. Disoriented. Confused. Exhausted. Because he's no longer being given the medicine Bi-Han had the Lin Kuei's mages prepare for him.

You will regret leaving the Lin Kuei.

I advice you to return before it's too late.

All these things Bi-Han had said to him that he had brushed off as threats or attempts to intimidate him into surrendering had been warnings. Bi-Han had been trying to warn him...

Tomáš feels sick to his stomach.

The cup of tea he used to find by his bedside every morning... For the longest time he had assumed it was Kuai Liang who had placed it there for him. Not Bi-Han who barely spoke to him. Not Bi-Han who kept reminding him that his blood is not Lin Kuei.

"I... want to be alone", Tomáš hears himself say.

Liu Kang and Geras leave quietly. Tomáš is grateful for that. He doesn't want to talk to anyone right now. He slumps down on his bed, feeling overwhelmed and empty at the same time. He wants to go home, but he knows what will happen if he leaves. He cannot leave his brother. Not like this. Not after what he just witnessed. No matter how furious he is at Bi-Han, Tomáš doesn't want him to die. Bi-Han had saved and protected him from the darkness within him, in his own way, silently.

This time, Tomáš knows, it's his turn to save Bi-Han.

[oliversrarebooks]

Rare Bookseller CYOA Part 1

Masterlist > Next

tw: mind control, blood drinking, kidnapping, human auction

October 1999

Drew was awoken, as he often was these days, by the clock radio blaring the Bee Gees, courtesy of MOON 105.1's Friday Night 70s Jams. His boyfriend insisted on disco, and Drew generally didn't mind it when it wasn't playing as soon as he woke up. He rolled over and smacked the clock radio, noticing that Gregory was not in bed.

Damn it, he must've been working all day again.

Drew yawned, stretched, and walked out of the bedroom of their tiny shared apartment. Sure enough, Gregory was slumped over the computer, head resting uncomfortably on the keyboard. Hopefully he hadn't ruined the keyboard by drooling on it.

"Hey, Greg, wake up," said Drew, shaking him gently.

Greg startled awake, shaking the desk enough to disable the screensaver. The monitor displayed a half-finished flyer.

"I thought you said you were going to come to bed," said Drew.

"I am coming to bed. What time is it?"

"Eight pm."

"Oh."

Drew wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. "You got hardly any sleep, did you?"

Greg sighed. "No, and I know what you're thinking. It's just that this client is important. If I can impress her, it could open the door to a lot more work for me."

"I know."

"We could get a much nicer apartment, you could buy name brand food for a change…"

"Eh, Sergeant Cola is almost as good as Coke anyway."

"I'm serious." Greg nuzzled his face against Drew's chest. "I dragged you out here to the city. I owe you a better life than this."

"Life really isn't so bad," said Drew, allowing Greg to drape himself all over him. "Besides, you didn't drag me here. I was more eager than you to get out of that shithole. I'd rather live in any crappy apartment here than be rich there."

Genuinely, meeting Greg was the best thing that happened to him. What started as a simply transactional relationship -- blood in exchange for a place to crash -- had quickly turned into something more. Drew had known about vampires enough to know to stay away from them, but Greg was different. He didn't hypnotize Drew into submission, keeping him confined and subservient. He wanted an equal partner. And Drew, who'd been betrayed by just about everyone in his life, had finally learned to trust him and his bizarrely irrepressible optimism.

Of course, just because Drew was a boyfriend and not a thrall didn't mean he never supplied Greg with blood. His boyfriend was resting his head on Drew's shoulder now, kissing his neck with increasing ferocity.

"Hungry?" Drew teased.

"Huh?" Greg pulled back and looked genuinely surprised. "How did you know?"

"You're practically gnawing on my neck. Did you not notice?"

"Well, I mean…" He actually looked embarrassed, and Drew couldn't help but find that adorable. "Yeah, I guess I am a little hungry."

"It's been a couple days, you're sleep deprived, and I can just tell you've been marinating in self-loathing. You need to feed."

"I have not been marinating. And it would be irresponsible for me to feed from you right before you go to work."

"I can pour beer and shots with half my brain, and that's all anyone ever orders," said Drew, pulling back his collar. "Have a snack."

"Just a little, then?" Greg's resolve seemed to be crumbling.

"Yeah, just a little. More later."

Greg nodded, burying his face in Drew's neck once more, kissing deeply. "You know, someday you won't have to work at that shitty dive bar, either. You'll be at some fancy Michelin star restaurant, making cocktails with top-shelf booze and gold leaf, that kind of thing."

"I don't need that."

"You deserve it, though," said Greg. "Now would you please let me feed?" His voice changed as he said it, growing deeper, richer. Compelling. It was his enthrallment, which made humans want to do anything he asked as long as he asked nicely. He was careful to only ever use it on Drew to make sure there was no pain from his bite.

Drew nodded, now eager to comply. He gasped and arched his back involuntarily as the fangs sank in. Every time he was surprised all over again at how right it felt, how deliciously blissful it was to let his boyfriend feed. That was the enthrallment and the aura and the venom, but he liked to think there was something more there, a connection. Giving a bit of his life to Greg was proof that he was alive. He hadn't always felt alive.

Greg always made a point to drink slowly, as if he were savoring Drew's blood, giving Drew time to sink into their shared emotions. He could feel Greg's love for him and hope for the future, and that always helped to keep him going, even on rough days. His mind was clouded with Greg's dreams, the two of them rolling around a lavish bed in a mansion somewhere…

"Drew? Sorry, but you have to wake up."

And he was back in the shitty apartment.

Greg was flushed, his eyes bright and his smile brighter. "I didn't take too much, did I? I know you still have to get to work."

"I'm fine. It was fine," said Drew, trying to put his mind back together. They didn't live in the mansion of Greg's dreams, but he still did wish that they could just spend longer in bed together. Unfortunately, bills needed to be paid. "I'm going to wash up and pull on some clothes, then get going."

"I should walk you to work," said Greg, following him into the bedroom.

"No, you should get some sleep. I can walk myself to work. I've done it plenty of times."

"I know, but…" Greg was squirming. That was one problem with a vampire boyfriend, the inherent overprotectiveness. Greg tried to keep it reined in, but it still leaked around the edges, especially when he was tired and stressed. "I just worry."

Drew kissed his forehead. "I'll take a silver knife and watch the shadows. I'll be okay. Get some sleep."

"I still have to finish my work," said Greg, rubbing at his eyes. "Maybe just a quick nap."

Greg was sprawled across the bed, out cold, by the time Drew got ready and left for work. Another shift slinging beer at a hole in the wall bar. It was better than his job back home, though, if only because no one he knew was likely to show up. The smell of cigarettes filled the air as walked down the sidewalk past other bars and clubs. Nobody even glanced his way here, all caught up in their own personal dramas.

Drew liked the anonymity of the city at night. It was the sort of place where he could just disappear if he wanted -- and there had been many times he'd wanted to disappear, before Greg. It was the sort of place where you could be whoever you wanted to be, wear what you wanted to wear, and everyone else would mind their own business. It was also one of the places where the supernatural tended to gather, disappearing into their own secret clubs, and that was the main reason Drew needed to be wary.

Obnoxiously bright headlights blinded him, and Drew stopped in his tracks, trying to blink it away. The lights didn't go away, though, and Drew realized they weren't headlights. They were something else. The lights receded from his vision and split into many, dancing and sparkling.

What… what were they?

Drew's eyes followed the pretty sparkling lights, trying to figure out what they were. He knew there was somewhere he was supposed to be, but that idea seemed distant. It couldn't be as important as watching the lights. Nothing was as important as watching the lights.

"Good boy." A hand rested on his shoulder. "Just keep watching the pretty lights."

His eyes widened. Something was wrong. But he was frozen in place now, unable to do anything but stare slack-jawed at the twinkling light show. He willed his mind to think, pushing past the sludge that had accumulated in his head. This was enthrallment. A vampire. He was being kidnapped by a vampire.

"Relax. Everything is okay," said the voice. "There's no need to fight."

He had enough willpower to figure out what happened, but not enough to break himself free. He might not have long before he succumbed. All he could do was send out an SOS over the tenuous psychic link he shared with Greg, the one he almost never used.

"Such a good boy. You'll be obedient for me, won't you."

Drew shook his head, but he was already deep in a hypnotized stupor, his head starting to nod and his limbs weak and heavy. Stupid, he was so stupid. He should've just let Greg walk him to the bar. Assuming he got out of this, he'd have a hell of a time convincing Greg to ever let him leave his sight again.

"Sleep. Just sleep."

The sparkling lights dimmed as his eyes slipped shut. He was caught by strong arms as he slumped over, trying to keep himself at least awake enough to see where he was going. But that was his last lucid thought before he was off to dreamland.

----

The sparkles turned to flickers to blinding fluorescent lights. Drew opened them fully and found that he was in a medical clinic of sorts, seated in an examination chair. A professionally-dressed woman in an 80s-style floral-print power suit, complete with enormous shoulder pads, was sitting across from him, looking down at papers on a clipboard. He went to rub at his eyes, only to find that his wrist was strapped down tightly. His ankles were strapped down too, and there was another thick strap around his chest. A few experimental tugs made it clear he was immobilized.

Shit. Fuck! He'd let himself be hypnotized and captured. Greg was going to flip his shit. How the hell would he get out of this?

"Oh, you're awake. Good evening," said the woman. "I'm sure you're wondering where you are."

"You're a vampire," he said bluntly. "You kidnapped me off the street to make me your thrall."

"Close!" she said, amused. "I wasn't the one that kidnapped you, and you won't be my thrall, either. This is an auction house, a place where we turn raw material like you into excellent, obedient little servants."

His blood ran cold. He'd heard about these sorts of places from Greg, terrifying places where ancient, aristocratic vampires bent people's minds into servitude, laughing and socializing as they bought and sold human beings for astronomical sums of money.

"I do know that you have a vampire friend, and that you've been fed on before. That'll unfortunately reduce your price, but some vampires don't mind. Your blood smells delightful, and you seem like an easy will to break. Plenty of our clients will consider you a real bargain."

[lullaby-lilies]

How they flirt with you {Adar, Halbrand}

These two deserve their spotlight.

┏ •◦ Adar •◦ ┓

■ Unnerving and unintentional. Adar doesn’t flirt the way others do. He offers intensity, focus, and an almost painful kind of recognition. If he’s drawn to you, you’ll feel it – not in words, but in the way he watches you like you haunt him.

■ His gaze holds. Longer than is polite, longer than is safe. Not out of lust, but longing. His eyes say, You remind me of something I lost. Or something I never had.

You’re not sure if it flatters or chills you.

■ He speaks softly, always. Even when angry. But when he speaks to you, it’s even more quiet – measured, reverent, as if he’s trying not to ruin the moment.

“There is light in you… not blinding. Just enough to cast a shadow I can walk beside.”

■ He remembers things you didn’t know you said. Mentions them unexpectedly, like:

“You said you missed the smell of wild thyme in the morning. There’s a grove. North of here. Still untouched.”

You never told him that. Not directly.

■ His offerings are strange – not flowers or trinkets, but acts of protection, rare truths, or silence shared at his side. He gives you a curved blade and says nothing. Later, you find it’s been etched with your name in Quenya.

■ Adar doesn’t understand love the way he once did. It’s been burned out of him. What remains is memory and ruin, reshaped into something new. If he wants you, it frightens him because desire means attachment, and attachment has always led to loss.

So he draws near in half-measures:

Standing watch near your camp but saying nothing.

Leaving you food without admitting it.

Touching your wrist once, only once, when you’re wounded and staring at his own hand like it betrayed him.

■ If he ever speaks openly – truly openly – it would come in a moment of shared pain or devastation. Something like:

“I have seen beauty twisted into terror. I have seen light extinguished. But you… you remind me that there is still something worth kneeling for. And I don’t know if that’s love, or ruin.”

■ He wouldn’t kiss you – not unless you moved first. And even then, he might hesitate… before pulling you closer with all the desperation of someone who thought they no longer belonged in the world, and suddenly realizes he wants to.

┏ •◦ Halbrand •◦ ┓

■ Calculated charm masquerading as casual banter. But beneath the smirks and swagger is a man always toeing the edge of truth and manipulation. He flirts to disarm, to control, and – rarely – because something in you actually moves him.

■ His eyes are always watching, even when his smile is facing elsewhere. You’ll feel it – the weight of his gaze. The way he lingers a moment too long when you laugh. When you look away, he tilts his head slightly… as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle that just got interesting.

■ His words are fast, slick, and charming, but often laced with double meaning. He’ll say something like:

“Careful. Keep looking at me like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

Delivered with a grin, but something shifts behind his eyes. Daring you to admit it. Or deny it.

■ His compliments are masked as observations, framed to sound like jokes:

“You know, you don’t belong here… You walk like someone who’s never been afraid of anything.”

Then he’ll glance away, smirk.

“Or maybe you're just better at hiding it than I am.”

■ His flirtation is part push, part pull: One minute he’s right beside you, breath warm at your ear, teasing you over something minor. The next, he’s halfway across the room, as if putting space between you before he lets something real slip.

■ Halbrand doesn’t flirt to get close – he flirts to stay in control. It’s a shield, a tactic. He’s used to people being drawn in, and he knows how to make you lean closer without even touching you.

But if it’s real, if you actually matter to him?

That’s when it gets dangerous.

■ Because suddenly, he’s not playing anymore.

Suddenly, your presence is something he needs, and that means vulnerability – a thing he hates.

He’ll:

Bite back real compliments.

Touch your wrist like it’s a risk.

Almost say something… and then cover it with a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes.

■ If the mask slips – if he lets himself feel – it would be quiet. Unsteady. Brutal in its honesty.

“I wasn’t supposed to stay. I told myself I’d leave the moment it got too easy. Too human. But here I am… still looking at you. Still wondering what you’d say if I asked you to stop me.”

“From what?”

“From doing something unforgivable. From doing it again.”

■ He wouldn’t kiss you right away. Not unless you stepped in first. But if you did, he’d hesitate, for one heartbeat. Then give in like a man falling off a cliff, knowing there’s no going back.

These had been so fun to write, so if you have a request for any Tolkien characters or "what if's" feel free to request them!

[kissingraine]

Whew, it's been a hot minute— I meant to post this for mermay but I procrastinated ahaha😬 so have this tiny draft that's been rotting in my files instead:3

Stray — Seacons x Mermaidf!Reader

• The sea was quiet. Too quiet. A trench older than language, older than grief itself—it pulsed with an ancient hush, one your kind never dared to linger in. But the current had changed. Songs traveled through it now, whispering of danger. Of something new. Something wrong. Then again, when wasn’t the world dangerous for your kind? That’s why you were told to hide. Never linger above the surface. Never stray too close to human shores.

• Especially now, when they were becoming more advanced by the tide. Your world beneath the waves had grown so separate that even sea creatures had forgotten what humans were. Thought them myths—just as humans had dismissed you. But you? You still believed. In old tales, passed down by your grandmother in hushes and bubbles, when the deep went still enough to listen.

• Yes, they’re still here. Fewer now. They vanished into the sky with their great metal beasts, barely lifting a fin to mend the ocean. But it didn’t matter. The sea healed itself—slowly, violently, beautifully. Maybe they’d gone to ruin some other world. You didn’t care.

• You shouldn’t have come here. You knew that. And yet—despite every warning, despite every primal tug in your chest—you swam. Your iridescent tail glided through the dark, born in shades you cherished. Bioluminescent markings shimmered faintly—just enough to confuse predators, not enough to see. Because things down here? They didn’t like bright, flitting things.

Your hair drifted like seaweed, lips parted, eyes wide. Watching. Listening.

That’s when you saw it.

Not a shark.

Not a leviathan.

• A metal colossus, half-buried in silt, its jagged armor cracked and glowing faintly with something not of this world. You'd never seen a creature like it—if it could be called that. Its frame screamed ‘man-made,’ and that alone should’ve sent you sprinting back into the light. But the water shimmered around it—tainted with an unnatural glow. Strange energy leaked from it in violet ribbons, wrapping around your arm when you drifted close.

They curled around you. Inviting. Whispering.

You should have fled.

But you still didn’t.

• You moved closer, heart pounding. The face resembled a man’s—serene, almost sleeping. But you knew better. Whatever this was, it wasn’t resting. It was wounded. You hovered near it, hands brushing along the cold, metal chest. Confusion coiled in your gut, tangled with fear. Was it a statue? A dead god? A punishment cast to the depths?

Algae clung to its face. You slid closer, tail curling as you flicked it away with a swift, graceful move.

• Mother would’ve scolded you. “A lady doesn’t use her tail like that,” she’d say. But mothers didn’t wrestle krakens at thirteen tideturns either, did they? “It builds experience,” she claimed. Maybe. At least it gave you stories to share around hydrothermal vents with curious ears.

Then—

The water shifted.

Pressure surged outward. A presence pulsed from the thing before you. And then, two red eyes snapped open. They weren’t just glowing.

They were hungry.

Predatory, cold, and feral in the way sharks circle bleeding prey. It exhaled—slow and deliberate. Bubbles spiraled from its chest.

…How long had it been?

Snaptrap stirred. He didn't know the cycle. Didn't care. All he knew was pain. Rust in his joints. Seawater in his circuits. When the gate ripped him from his Seacons, he didn’t think he’d survive. Maybe he didn’t want to. He had leaked energon into the ocean for cycles. He should be drained. Gone. But something pulled him back.

Now his repair systems roared to life, clawing at broken metal and restarting his limbs. His cracked pauldron ached as it stitched itself back together. And then—movement.

Small. Slender.

Organic.

He scanned. A flash of skin. Fluid motion.

Hair like seaweed. A tail that shimmered with every twitch. It wasn’t a hallucination. Not this time. You.

Bare above the waist. Body built to glide, to flee. A flare of instinct blazed through you the moment his optics flared crimson. You turned, bolted—like a spear through the trench. But—

Not fast enough.

Snaptrap struck. One clawed servo lashed out, wrapping around your tail. Silken scales shifted under his grip. You twisted in a blur of grace and rage, nails digging into his armor. You didn’t scream. No. You fought. Like a beast. You clawed him, scratched silver lines into his plating—each one delicate, almost ornamental. His spark hiccuped. A tremor rolled through his frame.

He stared. Stunned. Then, a low rumble vibrated from his chest as he murmured, “…Organic. Not like the others.”

You were panicking. Your breaths came too fast. Your heart pulsed against your ribs like a biolight strobe. He saw it—every beat flashing beneath your skin.

He pulled you closer. Didn’t even realize he was doing it. Optics drinking in every inch. Your curves. The way your tail shifted with every wriggle. You’d brushed algae from his face. That softness still lingered. And now? It scratched at something buried in his code—something ancient, something hungry.

A chime snapped through the static.

His comms.

Overbite: “We’re coming to get you, commander.”

(may or may not continue this... still not sure(⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠))