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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

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❝Uncle Aegon said you threatened muña— threatened!❞

[ Aegon amusingly reveals to your children how his brother actually met you. ]

[ 2,272 ] | aemond targaryen x dr. wife!reader, modern au!

contains— no warnings, just fluff, innuendo - children (you & aems have four kids hsdhjsdhs) - aemond being a dick the first time he met you!! but within reason ig??? - you're a doctor, hon, cos you're so smart - aegon being the fun, shit-stirrer uncle help - hospital? accident but no graphic depictions.

a/n— enjoy my first fic mwa ♡ comment, like & reblog at will!

Every weekend, you spend your days with your mother in law and the rest of the family. Family— to your husband — is very important. Spending it surrounded not just you and your kids, but his mother, his siblings, and the afternoon sun casting a glow over the family home that he grew up in, through hells and heavens, was everything to Aemond Targaryen.

A few times a year, Aemond forgets his family also included his older brother.

Because when the birds are chirping, the music of the trees swaying in the breeze are calming, and you are lying on top of him on the hammock, lazily swaying about as he relished in the feel of your body on top of his, your warmth engulfing his senses, and a book he placed gently on top of your back— of course Aegon Targaryen was going to be the reason his oldest child and teenage daughter, was going to come thundering in big steps and a huff, smacking her hands to her hips and glaring at her father.

"You lied to me, daddy!" she half roared as she stopped right in front of him. Her siblings, like little ducks, followed suit as they clamoured all over the hammock, giggling at their mother who woke up from her drowsy reverie, blowing raspberries at them before turning amusedly at their daughter, then to Aemond.

"What'd you lie about, hon?" you asked with sleepy mirth in your eyes.

"Apart from Santa and the Easter Bunny incident, I have no idea." He kissed the top of your nose, then sighed, as you rose and untangled yourself from him, picking up your youngest, Daegon, only about four years old, murmurs of asking about his day and did he enjoy having tea with his grandma.

He then turned to his eldest daughters, impatience and betrayal exuding from them in spades (he often enjoyed how much his daughters resembled him; not so much in fiery-licked rage), and he sighed again before he turned to Valera, his eldest. "Can you elaborate better, little dragon? As far as I can remember, I have not lied to you since you were six."

"You said you met mom through Auntie Hel, you lied," your third child and eldest boy, Rhaegar, said with a happy little giggle as he hid from his father into the dress of your skirt, clinging to your leg. Both of you froze, you with a slow, widening smile as you realised the kids knew.

Aemond on the other hand, wasn't as amused. In fact, his entire soul froze.

"Who—"

"Uncle Aegon said you threatened muña, threatened!" your second daughter, Rhaella, shouted, eyes bugged out in disbelief. Rhaegar giggled again, no doubt remembering the chaos that ensued once their uncle told the magnificent story without his permission as his sisters lost their mind.

"I—"

Valera, often sweet and admired her father fiercely (she had three years of being an only child before Rhaella was born, and Aemond did not hold back in spoiling her), started to have tears in her eyes as his heart squeezed at the sight.

"You lied, daddy, how could you?" There was devastation in her voice that mirrored Aemond's, a panic growing deep in the pit of his stomach while you tried to muffle your snickers behind your youngest's head.

He would have glared at you if he didn't feel like he was about to lose his mind, instead employing his best 'please help me i will literally do anything you want' wide eye, before you chuckled, shaking your head as you put down Daegon who immediately plopped down on the ground, yanking grass. Rhaegar followed, trying to find bugs; a habit he formed by hanging out with Auntie Helaena.

As you keep a mindful peripheral eye on your boys, you gathered your daughters to you, they immediately latched to your torso as if they weren't thirteen and ten respectively, sniffling and glaring at their father as he was made public enemy number one.

You bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from bursting into laughter as his face sunk deeper into despair, standing up, unable to stay seated any longer, offering them open palms of mournful looks and piercing glares at the manor behind his girls where the reason for his current predicament was no doubt giggling like an idiot.

"My loves, tell me, what did Uncle Aegon actually tell you?" you ask soothingly, running your hands through their silver hair. They looked up at you mournfully, and you bit your lip harder as you realised they even looked like their father in this moment.

"H-he said," Rhaella sniffed. "That he was angry at you. At the hospital."

"And that he yelled at you!" Valera wailed, shooting his father a withering look that had Aemond sinking into himself before he shot his own withering look at the house again, murder in his eye.

"I did not yell at your mother, Valera."

Amused, you raised an eyebrow. "And what would you call it?"

He shot you a 'you're not helping' look as he ave a disgruntled little hum. "I wouldn't it call it 'yelling', my love, merely raising my voice."

At the sort of confirmation, Val and Rhae let out a hiccuped wail. Aemond begun marching back at the house, fingers flexing with a mutter of, I'm going to rip him from spleen to spine, break every bone in his body and stomp on his—

You jolt out your arm, grasping his, laughing lightly as you brought him close and gave him a peck to the corner of his lips. This abated him, if slightly.

"Please don't kill your brother at your mother's house," you whispered against his lips, grinning.

He rubbed your back, more a habit he used to keep himself in control, whispering back, "Wouldn't be the first attempt."

"Then don't kill your brother with your children present, and your wife, who is a doctor. It is literally against my Hippocratic Oath, darling."

"It's why you're the doctor, my love. My job is to defend our honour freely."

"I really think this is your honour instead of mine." You giggled against his lips as he groaned, and you turned back at your daughters who frowned at both of you. You smiled calmly at them. "Okay, okay, girls. I don't think your Uncle Aegon told you the full story. Let Kepa tell you, hm?"

"Is it a good story?" Rhaella asked, wide eyed. "I don't want to know it if kepa sucked."

"If kepa sucked, does that mean we're bastard children?" Val frowned. "Lyanna said bastard children happens when fathers suck, her father said so."

Aemond and you shared a look, his in alarm, yours in complete mirth, before you burst out laughing, unable to stop yourself anymore.

"What is with everyone saying things to children?!" Aemond inhaled deeply. "Please let me explain. It's a long, longer story than just me raising my voice at your mother. Very interesting that your Uncle Aegon left out the part that I was panicking because of your Aunt Helaena and Uncle Daeron."

"Ha?" Rhaella's eyes comically widened further as she pulled away from you and moved closer to her father. In relief, like a cartoon cat dangling the cheese in front of a mouse, Aemond pulled her hand gently until he managed to wound her arms over his torso. "What happened to Auntie and Uncle?"

"They got into an accident, dōna mēre sweet one," Aemond murmured against her head, palpable relief as he kept her close. Rhaegar, bored brought himself and his little brother to their father, until Aemond swept them the four of them into the hammock, Daegon giggling and blowing bubbles at his father's rearranging of them so they wouldn't fall.

"Wanna go?" you teased your eldest daughter who was squirming not being part of the little huddle. Aemond opened his arms, smiling hopefully. You laughed as Valera gave you a kiss to your chest and raced to her father and siblings, moving around until they all managed to fit together.

The tree creaked as you placed your hands on your hips, pouting at them playfully as Aemond met your gaze with a shit-eating proud smirk on his face.

"Come, ñuha prūmia my heart."

"And risk crashing and burning? No, thank you. Go tell your little story while I avenge your honour and maybe get lemon cakes."

At the chorus of 'me toos' and 'yays', Aemond mouthed 'I love you' before you disappeared off, and he turned to your kids, keeping them close to his ribcage; little pieces of his hearts that grew legs and arms.

"Okay, ñuha byka zaldrīzoti my little dragons, so it all started with an accident that was entirely your Uncle Aegon's fault. . ."

Your Uncle Aegon had borrowed your Uncle Daeron's motorcycle to get to a frat party because the girl he liked would be there— this is irresponsible, children, and this is why you shouldn't be riding motorcycles and going to frat parties, yes Val, it's not as cool as it looks — anyway, his car had a broken taillight and he forgot to had it changed or tell anyone.

Your Uncle Aegon... didn't return the bike— or returned back home for the rest of the night, yes Rhaella, it was because he was, um, reading with the girl all night, like your mom and I do when we go to bed, yes Rhaegar, like how we read to you but, um, just with them.

Anyway! Your Aunt Helaena's little pup at the time, Dreamfyre, yes, baby, Dreamfyre was a puppy before she was a big dog, just like you— Dreamfyre got sick, and since Uncle Daeron was at home and he had a bike, Hel asked him. But then they saw it was gone, they had no choice but to take your uncle's car. They didn't notice the taillights.

They were speeding through, which is bad, yes, don't speed, but this was an emergency and Uncle Daeron was doing his best to hit every red stoplight when they tried to go one way but the light didn't go on, and they got into an accident.

No, Rhaegar, they didn't die, you know this, your Uncle Daeron is with Auntie Nyra, remember? And Aunt Hel is just inside, don't cry, baby. Ok, so where were we? Right, accident.

I get the call and I was panicking, out of my mind. All they said was that both of my siblings were at the hospital, declaring your uncle's plate number and I just knew it was his fault. I was already pretty angry then, and I might have transferred most of that to your mom.

Your mom, at the time, was a resident. A first year resident so she still had bad hours, and at the time, her shift mate had gotten sick and no one was able to take her shift.

Yes, dōna mēre sweet one, the times when muña can't come home fast enough. Because she has to be at the hospital to save people.

That night, your mom had been awake for 32 hours. She was not having a good day. She had lost a patient that day too, but I didn't know that, hm? She was just trying to get through the rest of her shift, having finished checking up on your uncle, when I had barrelled through like an angry beast.

All I could really remember was that I couldn't see your Aunt Hel, and your Uncle Daeron was on the hospital bed with a cast on his foot, and your mom had just looked away when I... well...

"— When you started ranting like an absolute madman, demanding better care of your baby brother when he wasn't even wincing in pain, asking for a real doctor because I looked five shies away from having graduated high school," you said, grinning wide as you handed your procured lemon cakes, and outright laughing at Aemond's sheepish, flustered look as both of his girls stared at him wide eyed.

"Kepa, oh my god," Val murmured, munching on her pastry. "That is so bad."

"You had no game," Rhae continued, sort of perplexed about the reason for her conception. "How did mom ever like you?"

"I would've slapped you," Val confirmed, nodding. "Just like you told me I would do if boys acted stupid."

As you couldn't stop laughing so hard you were bent over, your boys found your joyous display wonderful, pushed and kicked around their father while their sisters yelled about their lemon cakes, before reaching your skirts and you started spinning them around, plopping on the ground not a minute later, snuggling your babies close.

Aemond breathed a laugh, pulling his daughters close. "I know, I know, it was so bad. I was actually impressed your mother didn't slap me."

"I wanted to strangle him with the dextrose!" you chirped. "But I made an Oath, so I didn't. But ohh, with that haughty look your father sometimes get when he thinks— no, when he knows he's right? When he doesn't even need to say I told you so, he's just smirking like it?"

At your daughters— even your darling Rhaegar's triple nods, Aemond made a hm of offense, lips flattening.

"I made you three," Aemond said.

You coughed.

"I helped make you three. This is betrayal," he declared before his hands found its way to your daughters sides and tickled them with no mercy. Crows of 'Kepa, please!' between giggles warmed your chest.

"Aemond," you chidded as Rhaella gasped, snorting, and he stopped.

"So how'd you make mom fall in love with you?"

You and Aemond shared a look, your entire life stretching with one warm gaze, and a smile stretches both of your lips. Its lovesick, and familiar to your kids. Rhaella coos at it, but Rhaegar, having favoured his Uncle Aegon, makes a gagging noise before you started tickling him too.

"He apologised," you said. "Took him several tries. Your Uncle Daeron was actually ready to be discharged by the third day. Your Kepa brought him everyday to have a 'check up'."

"Daddy... that is still so lame," Rhaella whispered, in awe of how dorky her father is. Val is hiding herself in shame.

"Got her to accept my apology, and say yes to a date, you two should be grateful," Aemond said smugly.

"Why, mom?"

"Well, he was handsome for one." You snorted at his smirk. "He was sweet for another, explaining he just panicked, and I could understand that. Also he groveled for a long, long while."

"Even after the first date?" Val asked, eyes owlish.

You smirked. "Oh, definitely."

"I did deserve it."

"You did."

He smirked. "But I charmed you anyway."

You rolled your eyes. "You did."

"Come and give me a kiss, my love."

"Ewwww!"

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒

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chibsandchill · 3 months

Text

See me

Fandom: Saltburn

Pairing: Felix x AFAB!Reader

Summary: Each room in Saltburn is bursting at the seam with memories with you, and Felix remembers some of his favorite moments as he makes his way to his prize.

Warnings: Felix, Mentions and descriptions of acts of violence and murder, NSFW content, MDNI, 18+, unreliable narrator (Felix), toxic relationship, obsessive tendencies, grammatical and spelling errors, p in v sex, oral sex (m receiving), Felix is a creep, themes of violence - self-harm and equivalent themes are prevalent through the imagine, some parts of their dynamic takes inspiration from Hannigram but with my spin on obsession

I am not responsible for your media consumption. Read the tags.

MDNI

Masterlist

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

It’s a cloudy day when Felix first saw you,

but with you came the sun,

warmth, empathy, love.

Oh, how he loved your heart. But, oh, how careless you were with it. It was a gift,

one meant for him,

from you.

Then why did you waste it on those beneath you? You chipped away at it to mend sobbing students, tore at it until it bled and thick scars rose like mountains. You took on their pain with a blindingly bright smile,

only Felix saw how their burdens weighed you down.

The sun was meant to warm, to burn from far away,

but they tore you down from your place in the sky so that they might leech your warmth until you are left barren. Their sorrows were cold as ice against you.

They stole you from him. Piece by piece they ripped at you with filthy nails. You became known on campus as someone who’d listen. Who wouldn’t judge. How could you when you felt their problems as if they were your own? The more they spoke those words dripping with poison, the more they tainted the very blood in your veins with their darkness.

‘Walk in their shoes’.

You didn’t need to. You could walk in their skin, feel their emotions as if they were yours. Heartbreak plagued you, sorrow fell on you like an ever present shadow. The death of a family not yours turned your face gray and your eyes misty.

Until Felix put a stop to it all. How could he stand by and watch it happen? The slow destruction of a bright star, who burned so bright that all envied it.

Jenny from history of art, Carl from math, Robert from physics, Matilda from psychology, Caroline, Jeremy, Han, Thomas, Harry, Derek, Henry, Linda, Nico, Mark, John, Hans, William, Frederic. All turned away at your door.

“Yes, I’ll tell her.”

“I’ll let her know.”

“Sure thing, buddy.”

Oh, how they believed his lies. Sweet, sweet, Felix Catton wouldn’t lie to them. Surely not.

But lie, he did. It spewed from his lips like honey. All to have his sun beam at him again. To wash away the taint of the others from your skin, your heart, your eyes. He would have you look at him with soft, relaxed eyes.

Him. Him. Him. Him.

Your protector. Even if you didn’t know it yet.

“Felix.”

He hummed.

Your eyes are heavy with sleep when you look up at him, but the affection is hard to miss. It makes you glow. Felix curled his arm further around you, bringing you closer to him. But even then it is not close enough. He aches. It’s a want deeper than skin, deeper than bones or even his soul. It was as if his very being was made of want, of longing so intense he was blinded by it. If God was indeed real then he had created Felix with a thread laced with obsession, with love transcending all else.

Even thinking about you made his heart race, pound.

“Can I braid your hair?”

“‘Course.” He said against your skin.

As if you needed to ask. All of him was yours.

You try to sit up but Felix isn’t ready to break the contact yet. He feels like a battery, no matter how bizarre a comparison it is, constantly needing to be recharged so that he might survive when you part. He’s constantly cold without you, he feels empty; hollow. His hands are too light with the lack of you, he breathes too easy without the weight of you on his chest. If he could he’d carve his heart out so that you could carry it with you, for that was how he felt anyway. He’d gouge himself hollow so that he could fit you inside. Never to be parted again, joined together by shared blood, flesh and bone.

It’s not easy with his hold on you, but you manage to shift so that you sit in his lap instead. It’s not ideal if you mean to truly braid his hair but Felix won’t complain. He pushed his head into your touch when your fingers hover over him.

“Patience.” You half-heartedly scold him.

Your fingers weave through his hair, nails scratching just right against his scalp. With deft hands you untangle the mess you’d created during the night. There’s not much to braid but more than enough for you to wrap around your fingers and tug. The action pulls a low groan from his throat.

He grabs your hips. Felix wonders if you’ve noticed how he’s caged you in. You probably don’t, as sweet and trusting a being as you surely wouldn’t peel back his layers to gasp at the thriving darkness beneath. With you he was his truest self. Could you see him? Would you run if he were to cast off the layers? Let you see him?

Maybe you already could. You had seen the others. Even the empty ones, the ones who had gouged themselves hollow and shoved the essence of what they thought he wanted until it spilled from every hole in their body.

Felix wasn’t hollow. He was bursting at the seams with life, same as you. And yet you stayed. Surely you knew. You had to. You and he were one. Two pieces of a whole finally reunited.

He breaths in your scent, noses along your throat before allowing his head to rest in the crook of your neck. There’s a bruise there hidden on your shoulder blade. Late one night when you’d already fallen asleep he mouthed it into your skin with the moon as his witness,

only,

it had started to fade.

He’d have to do it again. Closer. Marking you under the cover of darkness wasn’t enough anymore. An unspoken claim didn’t satisfy him anymore. It wasn’t enough. He was beginning to think it never would be. He could bruise every inch of your skin with his love and his skin would still itch to do more – to prove himself more to you.

Just as his hands slide down to rest on the curve of your ass the scene slips through his fingers like sand.

He blinks it away. He’s standing in the driveway of Saltburn. Your favorite statue is left in shambles on the gravel with his blood splattered across the white marble.

“What the fuck.” Felix’s hand shakes and burns with pain. His knuckles are split open.

It had been a slip of a thought he had once when you first came to Saltburn and you’d taken to leaning on the statues, the furniture, walls, pillars. He’d wanted them all gone. He’d be your pillar. He wouldn’t crumble with age, would never make you think they stood strong only for the core to be riddled with holes from pests.

Felix was whole and strong, had made himself such,

for you.

He’d burnt the tendrils of influence his mother had dug into him since childhood. Torn the threads of her darkness right out of the tapestry. Oh, how she cried when she noticed. ‘Felix,’ she’d whispered, a rare show of emotion plastered across her face, ‘what have you done?’.

She shouldn’t have worried about what he had done. No, she should’ve worried about what he was going to do.

He watched you for weeks before approaching you. He noticed what made you laugh, what made you smile, frown, scowl. And so he took that too. Cut out the parts of himself that would drop the smile from your face and sewed on the parts that he lacked until he was left a patch-work version of perfecting befitting a Mary Shelley novel. Pus and blood seeped from the stitches. The sight was unseemly. So he waited until he’d perfected himself, until the stolen was assimilated, until it was like another Felix had never existed.

Felix throws the heavy doors open and the maids scurry away from his sight.

Duncan emerges from the pack. Even after all he’d seen, his adoration for Felix remained. “Welcome back, Felix.”

He nods.

And then he’s off.

The route he takes is reminiscent of your first tour of the mansion. He’s even nodding along as if hearing himself introduce it all. The staircase where he “fingered” his cousin. As if. Your face had reddened with equal parts jealousy and sheer disbelief of ‘what the fuck’.

One of the smaller sitting rooms. The green one. He fucking hates that room. But you love it. He went down on you for the first time there. Right on the couch with his granny’s ghost knocking down a shelf of antique plates over his head. The blood had driven you crazy.

The thought alone made him hard.

But this was also the first room you’d held him properly in. He’d been crying.

“What's wrong?” You ask when he threw the door open.

You’d been doing some summer reading for uni, but your fingers clutched the opening pages with strength that betrayed your pounding headache.

“Fucking Ollie.”

Your brows furrow “Oliver?”

Felix lay down on the couch with his head in your lap. You smell good. And you’re soft.

“Yeah.” He sigh. “He was lying to us this whole time. Turns out poor Oliver Quick has both a dad and mum who loves him. Even siblings! They live in a lovely house in a picture perfect neighborhood.”

‘I just need you to understand how much I fucking love you!’

As if there was even a sliver of Felix that didn’t belong to you, that didn’t scream out for you every second you were apart. Had Oliver not been paying attention? Could he not see the need that permated him? It ran so deep, was so all-consuming that he couldn’t contain it all. He breathed desire, cried longing, even fucking pissed envy. Envy even over the very air you breathed, the clothing that hugged you, the sheets for the audacity to imply he wasn’t enough to keep you warm.

You hum as your fingers drift down to cup his face.

“He was in love with me.”

“Isn’t everyone?” You joke.

Felix’s eyes opened (he hadn’t realized he closed them). “You love me?”

“Of course.” You trace a scar on his cheekbone.

“Say it.”

“I love you, Felix.”

Even that memory fades, but your words linger.

I love you, Felix.

You always linger. Your kisses burn his skin and he wishes it left a scar so that he could look upon it and relive it all.

The green room is abandoned quickly, and he’s off.

“A blue room!” You exclaim, and to Felix’s displeasure you let go of him to take it all in.

“Yeah. It’s… blue.”

“What? No ghosts? No artifacts?”

Felix shakes his head. “Nope. Just blue.”

Felix sees himself leaning against the door while you spin around the room. It’s like a movie, almost. Only it’s his memories and he can remember every second he’s ever spent in your presence. Including this one. And the next one.

The one where you’re on your knees.

You’re pressing soft kisses to the tip of his cock, pressing your love into every inch of skin you can find as if you wanted to stay there, to have your love replace the tar that ran through his veins.

It’s odd. He can almost feel the tingles left by your touch, but he’s untouched. Felix’s hands form fists at the sight. Was it possible to be jealous even of himself? The envy boiling in his stomach certainly said so. He would not share you even with himself.

Felix strides forward and sinks into the place his past self sits. He unbuckles his jeans and frees his cock from his underwear. If he were not so deep in madness he might’ve felt the cold of the room, but he was, and so he felt the warmth of your hands, the wetness of your mouth as you wrap your lips around his tip.

He moans. He didn’t know what he liked the most about it. The vulnerability, the act itself, your presence, or that it left you with a part of him inside you. You’d kneel in front of him for as long as it took, but Felix would not have you be uncomfortable and so he slid a pillow under your knees.

Your hands cup his balls. He twitches. You take more of him into you. It feels like heaven to have you wrap yourself around him. Wet, warm, silky heaven. All for him.

Him. Him. Him. Him. His.

You moan around him. It sends vibrations straight through him. It pulls a low groan straight from his chest, one that makes you moan. His pleasure is your pleasure, and your pleasure is his, and so the circle begins.

His eyes roll into the back of his head when you begin bobbing your head up and down. You slurp. Electricity runs down his spine. It’s wet. Sloppy. Saliva drips down your mouth as you press your nose into his abdomen.

Someone drops a plate somewhere in the house and the spell is broken. Not unlike a reflection in a lake is the memory distorted, wrong. You’re on your knees without the pillow. He’s standing above you, not sitting. Your knees are bruised and bleeding. You’re crying.

Some small part of him, one that he’d allowed to fester for far too long, enjoys the scene. Enjoys the submission, thrives in the knowledge that it is not only he that longs and wants and would press and press until nothing remains if only to bring you a sliver of happiness. You smile around his cock. It’s not the pain that brings you to tears.

This isn’t right. This isn’t him. It’s Elspeth messing with his head. It’s Oliver whispering his lies in his ear.

He wants to vomit. Why would they punish him so? To make him see you hurt,

to force him to see himself hurt you, brutalize you,

humiliate you.

Why, when he adored you, worshiped you. If there was a puddle he’d lay himself down to let you walk over him. He’d drown himself so that you would not have to dirty yourself. Like a tumor he’d performed surgery after surgery to remove what you didn’t like.

And you did the same.

The image is restored, but he’s already on his feet.

He would wait no longer.

Felix runs up the stairs but is forced to a halt by the moans coming from the king’s bedroom. Another memory? The door is already open.

“Tell me your vows again.”

You’ve got your legs up in the air behind you, head resting in your hands as you stare at him.

“Dear,” Felix turns around from where he stood by the window. Your name sounds like prayer on his lips. “I’ve never been alone. People have flocked to me since before I can remember. But they didn’t see me. But you… you, I let you see me. It’s a rare gift. And it’s one that I’ve never regretted giving you. I’ve never felt more loved than in your arms. Do I need to continue, Mrs Catton?”

You laugh.

“Come to bed, Felix.”

The memory changes before he can enjoy the sight of you in your wedding dress. The happiest day of his life. Gone in a blink.

You’re no longer on the bed. You’re in his arms, crying yet again. There’s blood on his shirt. No finger graces your finger. Felix closes his eyes. He knows this memory. KNows very well what he’d have to endure to get back to you.

“Y-you killed him!” You shudder.

Felix shushes you. “There was no other way.”

“There’s always another way.”

“Not this time."

Truly, there wasn’t. You saw much, but Oliver was so good at pretending to be someone else that he even fooled himself into believing his own lies. And so, you thought nothing of it when Oliver offered you his bottle of wine. Had no idea of the drugs that he’d shoved in there.

“Are you scared of me?” Felix asks you. His voice shakes. He remembers his own fear, how his stomach churned. He could write a thousand words and not even chip at the surface of the emotions he felt. A thrill at the thought of you finally seeing the deepest deepest parts of him? Disgust that he’d slipped and revealed a crack in his mask? Such fear that it clung to his very bones, stopped his lungs from working and had his own eyes water with tears? All true. And yet all of them are false. There wasn’t a single emotion he could place, they all blended together to form a concoction of heart-wrenching pain and fear.

The memory fades away. He doesn’t remember the rest. All he remembers is how it ended.

The headboard bangs against the wall with the force of his thrusts. His hands are cradling your face, kissing away the tears of pleasure. You push your legs up higher on his back where you’ve hitched them, your own hands pressing against his own face to bring him closer. He’s inside you but he’s not close enough.

Felix leans down to cover your whole body with his. You squeak at the change.

“Oh god,” you throw your head back with a moan.

He moves a deft finger down to press down on your clit. He experimented with pressure, directions, even spelled out his own name with your pleasure. Felix feels as though he’s on fire, but still he wants more. He wants to be closer. Closer. Closer. Closer.

You clench around his cock, and he stutters.

The love in your eyes makes him falter, before he drives into you faster than before. The bed squeaks, one hard thrust away from breaking. Fitting. So is he. Your right hand moved up his cheekbone, past his ear and to the back of his head. Your touch is gentle, barely-there pressure as you guide him down to slant your mouth over his. His heart aches with love, adoration, you. You’ve made it your home.

Yet again he is denied release as the memory is gone. The room is empty.

“Fuck.”

It’s not graceful the way he stalks out of the room. No more interruptions, he thinks.

The last door in the corridor. Yours. And his. Your marital chambers, as Duncan would call it. Old fashioned bastard.

He pushes it open without as much as a knock. And there you are.

“Felix!” You cross the room in seconds and then you’ve thrown yourself in his arms. “We missed you!”

Your rounded stomach presses into him. He rests his forehead on yours, pressing long, soft kisses against your lips, even as you giggle and try to move away. When you do, he chases after you. He’s not done. Never done.

His legs feel like jelly, his soul is on fire,

but he finally found you.

In a house full of memories and vengeful ghosts he found you.

And you saw him, as you always do, and he’s tugged back into bed with the comforting weight of you pressing him down into the mattress.

And he’s almost content.

Almost.

Taglist:

@fedyascoffin

#felix catton x reader #felix catton #felix catton x you #saltburn imagine #saltburn smut #saltburn x reader #saltburn #felix catton smut #felix catton imagine

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chinesehanfu · 4 months

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[Hanfu · 漢服]China's national Important Cultural Relics Impression Series By Artist @陆曼陀

China Neolithic Period:The Hongshan culture(4700-2900 BC)Relics<玉猪龙/Pig dragon>

China Shang dynasty / Western Zhou dynasty(1200–800 BC) · Shu state Relics < 太阳神鸟金饰/Golden Sun Bird>

China Western Han Dynasty (202 BC – 9 AD)Artifact Relics<长信宫灯/oil lamp in the shape of a kneeling female servant>

After the lamp is lit, the soot enters the base of the palace lantern through the sleeve to achieve the purpose of cleaning the air.

China Eastern Han Dynasty(25–220 AD)Artifact Relics<铜奔马 or the Galloping Horse Treading on a Flying Swallow (馬踏飛燕)>

China Eastern Han Dynasty(25–220 AD) Artifact Relics<摇钱树/Money tree (myth)>

China Tang Dynasty(618–907CE) Artifact Relics<女立俑/Female standing figurine >

China Song Dynasty (960–1279) Artifact Relics<汝窑天蓝釉刻花鹅颈瓶/Ru kiln sky blue glaze carved gooseneck bottle>

China Song Dynasty (960–1279) Painting<千里江山图/A Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains>by 王希孟(Wang Ximeng)

China Yuan dynasty (1279–1368) Artifact Relics<霁蓝釉白龙纹梅瓶/Ji blue-glazed plum vase with white dragon pattern>

【Artist:陆曼陀 Social Media】 ————————

Twitter：https://twitter.com/LuDanling

Weibo：https://weibo.com/u/2846691957

Post Source：https://weibo.com/2846691957/NzQ9IyzKL

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#chinese hanfu #陆曼陀 #China history #chinese art #hanfu illustration #hanfu accessories #hanfu #hanfu history #china #chinese #history #chinese aesthetics #culture relic #汉服 #漢服 #heritage #civilization

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kasagia · 6 months

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In the darkness

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/General Kirigan/The Darkling x fem! Alina's sister! Sun Summoner! reader Summary: After you and Alina destroyed the fold, she killed Aleksander and became queen at Nikolai's side, you took the place, tittle and chambers of the General of the Second Army. And then... strange things starts to happen in the darkness. Warning(s): obsessive behaviour; toxic relationship; voyeurism; Aleks manipulates the reader, the reader gives in to him; the reader is alone and needs someone *cough* her Darkling; fight; violence; dark reader; Word Count: 9,2 k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~

You won. Alina won. The fold did not exist anymore… as well as he. Ravka was safe. And the new royal couple was supposed to provide it with peace and splendor. That's what they were saying.

Nobody talked about the fallen. About the thousands of Grishas still living in fear. About thousands were imprisoned by Fjerdans and Shu-Hans who experimented on them.

All that mattered was that the Darkling was dead. The darkness disappeared. The shadows left with their last summoner, whose body he begged you to burn.

And maybe, after all, he was cruel. Maybe he knew that despite everything he had done, you still loved him, and his request (as well as his staring at you as if you were his only light and the only one thing he wanted to look at before his death) would completely break your already battered heart.

Maybe that was his last act of manipulation and control over you. A pleasure he couldn't slip out of his fingers. Maybe seeing you sobbing over him was the last goal he set for himself, before he leaves this world after the centuries he has lived. Centuries of constant fighting and flight. Centuries of leaving in his own shadows, in hatred, each time he looked at the fold, he was reminded that he wasn't able to achieve his goal.

That he was utterly alone...

Just as you are now.

Or maybe he just loved you, and you didn't want to admit it to yourself...

And now, laying on the bed in which he used to sleep, on the bed he used to hold you, on the bed he spent with you many sleepless nights and long, late mornings, you know that no matter what renovation this room will have, it will always remind you of him.

Your Aleksander... your equal... your monster.

You shiver as the cold, winter air comes to his... your room. You get up from the bed and walk to the window to close the door.

You look at the palace gardens and immediately remind yourself of the days before you found out he was Black Heretic, before that fatal Winter Fete.

Two years ago, Aleksander was chasing you around gardens, laughing, snowballs fighting, and doing all the stupid things he couldn't do in the daylight.

Two years ago, your life looked like a fairytale, and you were blessed to live in it. Now it is much closer to tragedy. And knowing how the events would turn out, you would have definitely cherished those simple, peaceful days with Aleksander by your side more while they lasted.

You sigh, absently stroking your right hand where Aleksander ordered David to physically embed the amplifier into you a few months ago.

You were pathetic. Missing the man who manipulated you, who hurt your sister, who wanted to kill your friends, who hurt Genya... but that was why you couldn't fully hate him. He did everything to achieve his goal. He hurt everyone who stood in his way.

Except you.

Never you.

And it hurt more than if he had physically hurt you.

He always held you up as his equal. The son of a bitch even had his kefta re-stitched to have gold embroidery to represent your power. He wore your combined colours with pride. Just like you did before you discovered how many sweet lies he had fed you since the day you first met him.

Tears come to your eyes as you remember how that fucking bastard, moments before Alina drove the shadow sword through his abdomen, lunged at his Nichevo'yas to stop them from attacking you. You saw the vulnerability and the fear in his eyes until your light drove the shadow monsters away from you. And relief, which was replaced by painful shock when Alina took advantage of his moment of inattention and killed him.

It had never occurred to you to hurt Alina before... except that fateful day.

You wipe the tears from your cheeks with your hand and turn to go back to the bed. You had a meeting with several colonels, including Fedyor and Ivan. The two were also torn apart by the war.

At least Fedyor still has his Ivan alive to atone for his sins. - you think bitterly, even jealousy, as you somehow manage to fall asleep in this big, empty, cold bed.

And when you close your eyes, the candle that was lit on the nightstand that once belonged to Aleksander goes out as you fall into a deep sleep.

If you had been a little more alert, you would have seen shadows that created a curtain covering the window, thus blocking the moonlight from entering your chamber.

"I have no intention of punishing them, Alina." you tell your sister as you work at the war table. Aleksander's plans were somehow still preserved. And you review them, updating and changing them according to your needs.

"They fought alongside the Darkling. What kind of general are you? What example will you set by not punishing those who defied the crown and followed their Black General?"

"That's why I have no intention of doing anything about it, your majesty. You were Grisha yourself before you lost your powers. Whose side would you fight for—the king who hates them or the general who gave them a safe place? And please try to put aside our personal prejudices and see the whole thing, not just a little peace through the prism of your hatred towards him, because we both know damn well that Aleksander was many things. A good commander was one of them."

"I never wanted to be a Grisha." Alina says this with pain in her eyes. You know this very well. You wouldn't have wanted to be a Sankta or general either... if it weren't for Aleksander.

"But you were. You can't just forget about that, Sol Koroleva."

"You're definitely not making it easy for me." she sighs tiredly, smiling at you. She sits down in the chair next to you and takes your hand. "If I could turn back time and... not bring Mal back to life and not lose my power, I would. I wouldn't leave you alone with this, you know, right?"

"I know... but that's not how things went..." you say, swallowing, as you let go of the papers and look at your sister. "But that's okay. I will keep an eye on your children and grandchildren... Maybe one of them will become the next Sun Summoner? Who knows?" you laugh, trying to lighten the mood, but by the look Alina gives you, you know that your tone wasn't as carefree as you wanted it to be.

"Y/N... I'm sorry." you interrupt her before she begins to pity you, before her compassion overwhelms you to the point where you sink into your own pain and suffering, which inevitably entails an eternity ahead of you. And that was just the beginning.

"You don't have to... I... I can always die somehow. I don't have to live forever."

"We both know that's not in your blood to give up. You will fight till the end... till Grishas and Ravkans will live as equals in a safe country."

"Maybe yes... or maybe I will throw it all to hell and go around the world. I remember that Kaz once proposed to me to join their little group of thieves. It could be fun."

You both laugh at that. Then Alina gives you a sad, apologetic look before asking you a very dangerous and… hurting question.

"Do you miss him? Aleksander?"

A dead silence falls between you after her whispering question. As if his name were something forbidden to say out loud between you two. You play with the sleeve of your white kefta with gold embroidery, wondering how to answer this obvious question.

"Sometimes... but I guess it's only because I don't want to... to be alone like him..."

"Did you love him? At the day I killed him?" she asks, assuming that you stopped loving him at the moment he stopped breathing; at the moment when his black, poisoned by Merzost heart stopped beating… as it was just that simple for you to forget about him. The man who made you who you are now. The man who was first to show you how extraoridnary you are. Who understood you more than your sister - your supposed closest person in the world.

"I care more to have someone by my side through all of this that's about to happen… someone who will stay for longer than almost a century. I guess I'm starting to understand why he was chasing after us… why he wanted us by his side in his damn glorious purpose."

"He was chasing after you. He only cared about you. Not only because you were a Sun Summoner." she says it so lightly and so obviously that you start to wonder if she's deliberately trying to break you.

But if Aleksander taught you anything, it was how to keep your true emotions deep inside your heart. So you put your lips into a mocking smile and reply to her in a joking tone.

"Maybe. We will never find out. Anyway, I don't want to."

Fedyor's and Ivan's arrival rescued you from this unconvenient conversation. You nod to Alina as she leaves. She gives Ivan a hating, untrusyful look before guards close the door behind her. You look at the two heartrenders.

"It's good to see you both. I have some questions about these plans, and as general Kirigan's closest people, I assume, you both can explain some things to me, which I don't quite get right now."

You clear your throat, trying to forget about what you and Alina were talking about and focus on what the two men in front of you are saying. But it's hard to look at the Dark General's notes and plans and just not think of your Aleksander... Especially when those damn wooden soldiers are just as spread out on his war table as they were on the night of the Winter Fiesta when you run away from him.

And you have neither the heart nor the strength to move it to another place…

"Fedyor, can you leave us both for a while? You can wait for Ivan behind the door." you say after you've gotten through most of the stuff. Fedyor gives you a surprised look but doesn't question your order. He goes out, leaving you with Ivan, who has been giving you an unfavourable, almost hostile look since he sat down in the chair. You wouldn't care if the situation didn't require you to cooperate with him. After all, he was Aleksander's right-hand man. He probably knew the most about war tactics in the entire Second Army. And now that the fold was gone and you had to defend and fortify yourselves on all fronts, you would need all the help you could get. "Why are you looking at me like that? What's your problem?" you ask the heartrender, watching him carefully.

You both stared at each other for a moment. Ivan tries to hold back something, but the moment he notices Aleksander's ring—the only souvenir you let yourself leave after him—something inside him breaks.

"How dare you sit in his chair, having his tittle, want to do exactly the same things in the Second Army, using the same tactics as he did? You all are no different from him. Actually, you are much worse, and you call him a monster when everything he did was for us. For our safety, so that we can finally break free from the power of Otkazat'syas."

"I know you were loyal to him, but..."

"He had done nothing wrong. And you know it." he cuts you off before you can say anything else. The feeling of guilt awakens within you again, the uncomfortable lump in your throat every time you talk to someone about him growing stronger again. "I hope you also know that you and your sister destroyed everything he was working at. That Ravka will spill blood under your rule. That Lantsov prince will be the same as his father, as every king from their dynasty was."

"Be careful how you talk to me. I am your general now, Ivan. You should probably get used to it, before I change my mind and let Alina execute you." you say it coldly and grab a glass from the table to drink the whisky. "You can leave now."

"Of course, general." he said coldly, but before he stood up to leave, he put a black envelope on your desk.

"What is that?" you ask him, but he just bows to you and leaves. Only when the door closes behind him with a bang do you allow yourself to take the envelope in your hands.

Seeing Aleksander's seal—the eclipsed sun—makes you release the envelope from your hand as if it was burning you. You let it fall to the desk; your eyes focused only on it.

You hold your breath as your fingers land on the seal and stroke it tenderly. You remember the first letter you received from him... right after your first night together, when he had to leave the Little Palace for a while on important matters. He wrote to you every day until he came back again, heading straight into your arms and ignoring the fact that the General of the First Army and the colonels were waiting for him in the council chamber.

With trembling hands, you take the dagger and cut the envelope at the top so as not to break the last seal he left behind and get into the contents of the envelope.

A pendant falls from the envelope with a clatter onto the table. You leave the envelope with the letter and take the pendant in your hands, looking at it carefully.

It is a silver, convex oval with some vines engraved on the front, decorated with small, round pieces (your favourite gemstone). Initials are engraved on the back: A.M. You huff, realising that even in death, he wanted to make sure you were his in some way. And you're about to put the pendant down and hide it somewhere, where you would never find it again, but then suddenly you press something and it opens.

You gasp as you see what's hidden inside. Bone. A medium-sized, most likely from a wrist, finger, or other small part of the skeletal system.

You rummage through the envelope, and, apart from the letter, you find a small note that was probably attached to the necklace.

In case you need a reminder of your real power...

You lift the bone and feel your power flow through you, amplified. You sigh, feeling just like those months ago when his skin pressed against yours as he let you draw on his empowering abilities. You feel a tear roll down your cheek as you tremble with an overwhelming, long-forgotten feeling.

A knock on the door makes you panic, opening your desk drawer and gathering all your items into it. You close the drawer just as Zoya walks in, followed by your colonels. You rub your forehead, mentally getting ready for the next meeting.

However, you can't stop thinking about the envelope and necklace from Aleksander hidden in the drawer.

And if you were more observant, you would notice how shadows are hiding in the corner of the war room, watching you attentively, waiting for the right moment when they can come out of their hiding place. Or at least a bee that flew out of an open window.

You lie in your bed late at night. You stopped trying to fall asleep a long time ago. You laied on your back, breathing calmly with your eyes closed as you were wondering about the new informations from the camps close to the border.

The war was comming. You had right. Aleksander had right. Fjerdans and Shu-Hans wanted to use occasion and attack Ravka, since a fold has gone and now nothing stopped them from attack a West Ravka. If you lost your ports and supplies of food, raw materials and gold, you will lose that war and many will lose their lifes.

You were laying there, wondering about your next move in upcoming war. You shiver suddenly, feeling oddly. A strange chill spread through your body as you went into a more alert mode.

Subconsciously, you look around in the dark, trying to spot the dark, familiar irises. You're doing it under some irrational delusion that he is able to observe you even when he is dead. That he can watch your every move even though you watched his body burn...

Although he has already proved many times in his long, many-centuries life that he is capable of anything he wants...

With a flip of your wrist, a ball of light appears in a room. There was no one. Just you and your paranoya You frown and remove the ball of light as you lay back on the bed.

You sigh heavily, lying on your side. You watch a candle burning on the nightstand on the side that used to be Aleksander's. You watch the fire for a moment, admiring the colours of the flame and how it goes along with a soft wind from the opened window, and then blow it out. You close your eyes, listening to your surroundings, and just as you're about to drift off into blissful unconsciousness, you hear something like a cold whisper in your ear, which makes you shiver.

They are going to lose. They can't rule this country. They know nothing about the pain of war.

That tought appear in your mind, sounding extremaly like somebody you used to know very well... you shake your head. You were not going to imagine his voice on your head. You weren't go mad, were you?

Besides, that was a stupid tought. You will figure it out with Alina and the rest, just as you always do. Grishas will be safe. You will sacrifice your life to make it happen. Horrifyingly, you realise that someone before you has taken a similar oath.

Yet still, you can't help but look at the side of your chamber where Aleksander's letter is, hidden in your desk's drawer. You are so tempting to read it, even after all that happened between you both.

"Get out of my head." you whisper to yourself, as he was still linked with you somehow. As he was still able to appear in a room with you at any second.

You missed him. You admit it to yourself in the darkness of the bedroom you two used to share. But that didn't mean that you would bring him back in some way. He was too dangerous for the good of other people and too unpredictable. Irronicaly, he cared too much. And you were afraid that you were inevitably walking in his path; you were in the same place as he was all those years and centuries ago. But, contrary to him, you will have no one by your side. You will be utterly alone.

You try fall asleep, closing your eyes and ignoring the tears that fall on your pillow. If you learned anything from Aleksander, it was to let no one witness your suffering. They wouldn't understand your pain anyway.

There were no others like you. And there will never be ever again…

Against your better judgement, you quickly get up from the bed, and, before you can change your mind, with a ball of white light in your hand, you walk to the desk, illuminating your path.

You open the drawer and pull out that damned letter, hoping that reading it will give you some kind of closure you need.

You hold it with trembling hands, trying to ignore the fact that Aleksander's familiar handwriting was less refined and more cursive and simpler. There were also black traces of his blood in some places on the page. Even before you start reading, your heart sinks as you think about how Merzost was slowly killing him, as he was completely alone after Baghra's death—as alone as you are now.

And the first line is enough to bring the first pitiful tears to your eyes.

Moya milaya. Moya soverenyia,

The damn bastard knew you would take over his position. He was probably having a lark in hell right now, watching you cry over his letter, how you regretted every decision you made that got you here, and how you tried so hard to hate him with all your heart, but you just simply couldn't. And that made you hate yourself more when, despite everything, you entered the trap he had prepared specially for you while he was still living and clutched the letter in your hands, trying to read it despite the tears constantly appearing in your eyes and blurring your vision.

He wrote to you what you have already heard. That he isn't sorry, that he would do the exact same things except that he would make you his equal, that he wouldn't let you escape his grasp so easily, that he would kill all your loved ones just to be your only shelter where you could go in case of any danger, or simply when you were too overwhelmed by loneliness, like he was many times in his very long life.

And you should hate him. You should be disgusted by this toxic relationship, by his obsessive desire for possession, and by his fear of abandonment. And you could already feel yourself being filled with spite and resentment towards this man, a man who had ruined the relatively peaceful lives of you and your sister... But as you read the last lines of his letter, your feelings towards him became more unclear than before reading that damn letter.

I will be waiting for you. With open arms.

Maybe time will help you realise that there is no other way and that my actions will be yours in the future… that I was not the villain in this story, even if I seemed to be a monster to you, my little Sankta.

Maybe you will finally come to accept that you and I are unity and that we belonged to each other even before the saints decided to create the two of us.

Eya fyela chi(I love you), moya solnyshka.

I always did.

Yours,

Aleksander

You didn't sleep anymore that night. Instead, you lie in bed, your thoughts filled with this damn man who, even after his death, continues to abuse your already bleeding heart for him.

Midnights become your afternoons, that were the hours when your brain works best. You stoped burning candles at night. Surprisingly, you were thinking much better when you were in complete darkness, where the only light comed from the moon shining through the open balcony door.

You spent many nights in bed writing in a notebook, taking notes and plans that came to you as the moon hung in the sky and most of the Little Palace fell asleep.

It has become your little ritual. You sipped kvass or whisky, thinking of military tactics and other manoeuvres in case Ravka was attacked by its neighbors. You often had Aleksander's old notes spread around you. And even more often, you twirled his necklace in your fingers as you pondered over your plans.

You stopped visiting Alina in the Grand Palace. You were less and less likely to be seen by her side. But you were almost always in Alexander's library, the war room, and the training field, looking after the young Grishas who trained under the supervision of Ivan, Fedyor and Zoya.

Without knowing why, you always waited until dusk. It was your favorite time and you couldn't even say why…

Maybe if you noticed that every time you fell asleep, tired, over your notebook, thoughts that didn't belong to you suddenly appeared on the paper; maybe if you noticed how your rooms were covered with more and more shadows night after night, blocking out the moonlight, to get you to sleep faster; and maybe if you noticed how the blanket wrapped tighter around you as you drifted off to sleep and your forehead was tickled by the touch of something soft and warm; then you would realise what was inevitably to come.

Or rather, who kept his eyes on you each night, hidden in the darkness and shadows of the chamber...

Kissing someone else's lips seemed sacrilegious to you. You felt like you were doing something wrong, like you were desecrating and breaking all moral laws. But after all, you were a free, single woman, a general leading her people to war.

You could have relaxed and slept with some handsome Inferni who offered to worship his saint, couldn't you?

As it turned out, you couldn't.

You kissed the man hungrily and threw off his kefta. The moment he reached for the buttoms of your own, he unexpectedly stumbled and fell straight into the spear that was in the rack for swords and other weapons.

You stood there in shock for a moment, wondering how on earth he did this. And if you had been more attentive, you would have noticed how the shadows quickly fled from your gaze, and two dark eyes watched intently as you helped Inferni stop the bleeding enough for him to make it to the healers' tent.

You sigh in frustration as the man disappears from your sight. You clean up his blood and wash your hands before taking off your clothes.

It gives you chills. Not because the cold air of the tent hits your hot skin, but because you feel a slight tickle at the most sensitive point of your neck.

You turn and look around the tent carefully.

For the past few weeks, as soon as you left the Little Palace, you had a strange feeling that something was fleetingly brushing against you from time to time. The feeling of this strange, ghostly touch accompanied you both day and night, whenever you were alone with your thoughts. You thought it was some kind of paranoia and tried to brush this feeling off. After all, no one could touch you if you were clearly alone in the room, with no sign of another living soul.

Once you're sure you're alone, you rub your hands over your arms. Your arousal and desire quickly fade as you remember the battle that awaits you tomorrow—the first as a general of the Second Army. You make sure your weapons and combat kefta are ready and in place before you go into bed and fall into a fitful sleep.

A few hours later, as you lie there, dreaming deeply, your tent fades to black. From the shadows emerged none other than Aleksander.

The man slowly walked towards you, careful not to make any move that would increase your vigilance. Ever since you left the walls of the Little Palace, it has become easier and easier for him to make his way to you, thanks to the bond he established between the two of you by giving you a piece of his bone in a necklace.

It boiled inside him when he saw you with another man. He acted rashly and instinctively, pushing him onto the spear. He was glad that you were careless enough not to notice his presence.

You weren't ready. Not yet.

And this time, he knew better than to push you forcefully into his plan.

"My little Sankta." he whispers, his hand gently brushing your curves hidden from his eyes under the blanket.

He doesn't do anything inappropriate. He would never take advantage of you or touch you against your will... well, at least not in any invasive way. He had several scenarios prepared in his head about how the night would go, when you would finally admit your true feelings and abandon the façade of a righteous Sankta of Ravkans and Grishas.

"Soon you'll realise what you're really missing." he whispers as his fingers tips caress the skin of your collarbones.

He picks up the necklace he gave you that you wore around your neck. He lets his shadows surround you, allowing the moonlight to shine on you enough for the silver pendant to reflect it, making it seem like it was glowing, as if it were a source of your powers.

"I will wait for you… until you finally come to me willingly and accept the obvious truth—that we belong together. I promise you, moya milaya, I won't let you forget this even for a moment. You're mine. You were mine the moment you entered that damn tent—the moment our eyes met before you went on the ship through the fold. You can't deny the connection between us. And soon, you will come to accept that you need a monster by your side. That without me, there will only be suffering, loss, and eternal struggle waiting for you. I've spent centuries struggling with all of this and much more… let's see how long this charming and annoying stubbornness of yours will last, lapushka. I have all the time on earth to watch you struggle with the hatred of this world all alone…"

He pulls the blanket tighter around you and takes the opportunity to inhale your scent, which he had missed so much during those months he had been hanging between the worlds of the living and the dead. He clung to his life with his claws... just to be this close to you again. And he knew he would do the exact same thing in a heartbeat if it led him close to you.

"And in time, when you realise that your little friends of yours are not enough for you, I will be back to you. And I will take you into my arms without hesitation. We are destined to be together. Sweet dreams, moya soverenyia." he whispers and places a tender kiss on your forehead.

You jump out of bed, screaming. You take a few quick breaths and put your hand to your mouth, trying to calm yourself down and not let the tears fall. Your tent is in complete darkness as you try to calm down from your nightmare in which all of your Grishas died in the battle, in which everyone blamed you and started to hunt you and chase after you, just like the king once chased after Aleks...

You let yourself cry silently into your pillow, unaware of the figure sitting next to you and a lifting hand that was just above you, moving as if stroking your back soothingly.

Eventually, you fall asleep, shaking. The shadow of your enemy and lover watches over you and keeps an eye on you without you being even slightly aware of it.

Two years, four months, one week and three days. That's how long the war with Fjerda and Shu Han lasted.

That's how long it took them to take over Ravka.

You have failed. Both the First and Second Armies.

Nikolai was dead. Alina was either dead or in hiding like you, although judging by the recent public execution of Zoya and Alina's other guards, you suspect they had her locked up somewhere until they caught you.

And they were doing very well, considering you were currently running through the forest, escaping from a group of Drüskelles.

You ran through the forest, the cold air stinging your hot cheeks as you made your way through the snowdrifts, occasionally sending a ball of light behind you to daze your pursuers and lose them, if only for a moment. But covering up your tracks was the worst thing—a nuisance worse than the cold seeping into your bones through your soaked clothes.

You hear a gunshot. You groan as the bullet bounces off your kefta, most likely adding another bruise to your collection.

Then everything happens quickly. You are surrounded and forced to fight with both your power and your melee. You're doing quite well when suddenly one of them twists your arm. You groan in pain and use one hand to summon a cut, but it is so weak that it only reaches the lesser half of the men.

As if in slow motion, you see one of the Drüskells pointing a gun at you. Then the clearing becomes dark. You step back in fear and stumble upon the body of one of the men you killed.

Everything goes quiet. There is a deathly silence in which you can only hear your wheezing and breathing. You summon your light and dispel the shadows to see the last person you expected to see... at least when you are still alive.

"But... I saw your death... I watched you burn..." you manage to stammer.

Aleksander just walks towards you, like it was a casual thing for him to do. His black kefta with gold embroidery is intact, at least compared to yours, which is blackened from bullets and patched in a few places. He looks practically like the day he died... except his face is devoid of black scars.

"Won't you even say hello to me, my Y/N?" he asks maliciously and extends his hand for you to take it and stand up with his help. You've seen this scene before. You've been in this situation before, and you promised yourself that you would never step into the same river again.

"You should be dead." you snap at him coldly and stand up on your own without his help. You see him frown as he takes a closer look at your dilapidated and miserable state as you try to move away from him as far as you can.

"Moya lapushka... do you think I would let something like death to keep me apart from you? That your little Sol Koroleva could ever kill me? After I lived a hundreds lifes? Fake a hundred deaths?" he asks mockingly, walking over to you. He cups your cheek in his hand and strokes it tenderly with his thumb. "No. I have too much experience with eternity, milaya. I promised you that you and I will change the world. I intend to keep that promise. As well as the one where I will always come back to you, remember?"

"You were here all this time... you watched me..."

"Simply keeping an eye on you." he interrupts you, and you give him a mad look, knowing full well that he's lying as you realise that all the random things and disasters that were happening around you were his fault... just like the few times you felt someone's ghostly touch on you. "Well... maybe I had also done a little bit more. But don't dramatise... after all, I have to look after what's mine."

"I was never yours." you say furiously, causing a hostile tension to arise between the two of you.

His presence brings you some relief, despite everything. But you know this feeling too well; you know HIM too well to let him manipulate you so he can use you in his plans again.

"Leave me. Live your life. I doubt anyone would be insane enough to resurrect you a second time." you growl angrily and run past him, hitting his shoulder with yours.

Before you can get away, he grabs your elbow. You hiss in pain, making him automatically let go of you. But he steps closer to you and carefully grabs your wrist, observing the blood seeping from your forearm and the swollen, bruised elbow—the result of your hand being twisted and falling to the ground—and the hard roots of the tree that had somehow broken through the now-red snow.

"You need a healer." he says calmly. He seems worried, as he is trying to stop the bleeding from your wound.

"I can handle it. Let me go." you say firmly. His dark-brown eyes meet yours, and you mentally curse yourself for how they can still charm you.

"Let me help you." he says it with such tenderness that you want to immerse yourself in his sweet words again, to surrender to that attraction that has always been present between you. "You don't have to be alone, moya milaya."

"I'm not alone." you deny quickly. However, you give in partially when the logical part of you allows him to give you a band-aid; this is something you are willing to accept from him.

"Aren't you, Y/N? Don't you feel a the weight of the fate of all Grishas on your beautiful, delicate shoulders? Haven't you misssed me all these single nights? When you were dreaming of my touch, of my voice..."

"And where were you when I really needed you?! When your people were dying on the borders! When innocent people died when they took Ravka! Where the hell were you then?!" you shout at him in anger and move away from him before he can tie a makeshift sling around your arm from the black shawl he untucked from around his neck.

"Making sure that YOU will not kill yourself, while playing a hero." he replies calmly, his gaze unwavering on you as his composure throws you even further off balance.

"If you care about me so much, why didn't you stand by my side? Why didn't you help me save Grishas?"

"You said yourself that you don't need a monster. That you can handle it perfectly well on your own, little Saint. I told you and tried to warn you that you can't do it on your own, and neither can I. But you had to be stubborn. These are your words: 'Let them come.' I did. I let them come. Are you satisfied?"

"You let all these people die to just prove your point?" you ask, shocked. He takes advantage of your momentary lapse in vigilance to bandage your arm and place it in a sling made of his black shawl.

"No. I let all these people die to make you see the truth that you are trying to avoid so hard."

"Which is?"

"Don't pretend, moya milaya. I am a patient man, but we lost enough time. Can you honestly claim that you are against me? That you would choose these fools over me again? That you didn't wish to have an equal again? Someone who will stand by your side no matter what? Someone who will protect you? I can be all of this to you and even more. All you have to do, lapushka, is accept that we are all we need. That you and I was enchanted to unite a long time ago. I want you to see all these things from my side of the story, to understand why I did what I did, and why I intend to continue what I have planned."

He talks so smoothly about death, as if it were nothing. And you would have the right to feel outraged by this fact and hate him again if the smell of the metallic blood of the people who hunted you wasn't in the air. People you killed without blinking an eye.

As he caresses your cheek tenderly and stares at you with affection and an understanding you haven't seen in anyone else's face since his death, you can't help but wonder... if he was actually right when he said that in time his actions would be yours.

He leans closer to you. Your noses brush as he rests his forehead against yours. You shiver, feeling his warm breath on your cheek.

"Aleksander..." you whisper shakily as his scent reaches you, his warmth warming your body, frozen from the cold and the exertion of running away. You feel like you're just realising that he's really here. That he's alive.

And you welcome the familiar tingle of your power inside you that he brings back to life with his amplifier powers as his lips capture yours.

And you wanted to move away. Really. You wanted to remain indifferent towards him and laugh at him for still feeling something for you. Scold him for even hoping that you would just melt back into his touch after what happened between you, how he hurt you, and how obsessive and possessive he was.

But all you do is moan against his lips as you respond to his kiss.

It's not one of those hungry, greedy kisses stolen in moments when you were completely alone and couldn't fight the growing tension between you any longer and just had to release it by consuming each other with your desires.

It's gentle, so much so that you're afraid that the butterfly feeling of his lips on yours will disappear in any moment and you'll find that he never came back, that he was just a sweet, cruel delusion of your exhausted mind.

But the moment he tangles one of his hands in the hair at the back of your head and puts the other on your waist to press you against the tree so gently as to not hurt you accidentally, you know it's real. And you can't stop responding to his kiss or pretending that you don't want to caress his lips with yours just as passionately. Or pretend that the thought of pulling away isn't sinful to you.

You pull away from each other after a long moment. Not far, though. His nose brushes against yours as you breathe heavily, both of you with your eyes closed, drinking in the other's warmth and scent after so many years of fighting with each other and your desires... after so many years of being utterly alone.

Your shaky breaths come out of your mouths in grey clouds and merge together. Only now do you notice how warm he is compared to you.

"Come. You can't stay here." he says, taking off his warm coat with black fur sewn to the hood. He puts it on you and pulls the hood over your head.

"You don't need to..." he interrupts you, picking you up in bridal style. He holds you close to his chest and walks in a direction unknown to you, a clear plan etched on his face as he scans the surroundings for any danger in your path. "Hey! Put me down! I can walk by myself! Besides, I don't want to go anywhere with you!" you protest, struggling in his arms.

"I know, milaya. Rest. I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to. I'm just making sure you will be safe when I'm gone. That's why I'm taking you to Grishas' camp. They will cure you there. Besides, your followers anxiously await your return, my little Saint. You are their only hope now."

"When you gone?" you ask slightly panicked and shift your gaze to him.

The weight of responsibility settles on your shoulders once again as you realise how many lives are counting on you... and the one person you can look to for support is, inconveniently, now something of an enemy to you.

But... can you feel towards your enemy the way you feel for him? Can you kiss an enemy as passionately as you did just a second ago? Can an enemy look at you with such care and adoration?

"Do you wish me to stay with you, lapushka?" he glanced at you briefly, just enough to ask you his question.

A dead silence falls between you. You don't need words to understand each other. And it was something that had always both terrified you and made the bond between you more and more irresistible. He knows the answer to your question. He knows you'll never admit it out loud. Or at least not at this moment.

Despite all this, he still holds you close. He leans down to place a kiss on your temple and whispers in your ear:

"I am... a very patient man, Y/N... I can wait, and I will. You will come to me yourself. And when you did... you wouldn't be able to resist or deny the truth about your feelings for another damn second. I will have you by my side. I can assure you that it will happen sooner than you think or are willing to admit."

You don't argue with him anymore. You just don't have the strength. Instead, you lean against him and fall asleep, wrapped in his scent, his warm coat, and his arms that make you feel safe. You decide to hate yourself later for what you feel right now.

After so many years, months, weeks, and days of fighting for your people and country completely on your own, you could afford the comfort of feeling his arms around you for just another few minutes, couldn't you?

It's been three months since you last saw him.

He left you at Grishas' camp just before the sun rose with a kiss on your forehead and a promise that you would meet again and that you would call for him again. Which you highly doubted. You already despised yourself and him enough to stay away from him... or at least pretend that's what you wanted.

During this months, you managed to save and lose many people—many good soldiers. And although you don't want to admit it, this time it makes you even more aware of the truth that Aleksander was trying to drill into your head before you destroyed the fold.

You wandered around like a child in the fog, trying to keep your morality, set an example for people, and play the role of a Sankta who abhors all evil and darkness. Only he had survived enough to know that morality could only be keept in human conditions—when you didn't have to worry about food, a warm place to sleep, or whether every breath you took wouldn't be your last.

But what really broke you wasn't the constant death, suffering, and screaming around you. It was the news of Alina's death.

It was this terrible emptiness, this feeling of helplessness and loneliness that grew inside you with each day, with each Grishas lost, with each drop of blood that soaked into your kefta.

And then you gave up.

"You won! Do you hear me?! YOU WON!" you screamed in your room at the camp after you returned from another mission to rescue imprisoned Grishas, which ended in the bloodiest of all. Which ended with the death of the last person you cared about. "Just come here… I can't… Aleksander, please. Please, I need you."

In your rage, you throw the bottle of alcohol against the wall and scream, falling to your knees. You wrap your arms tightly around yourself and cry, feeling the dried blood on your clothes.

You have enough. You had enough of this war. You didn't want to see your friends lose their lives. You were fed up with constant wars, fighting, and deaths around you.

You only knew one thing: you couldn't stand this alone. You simply must have had him by your side again Somoeone who will stay by your side and simply just be there for you. Someone who won't require you to save the world all by yourself.

"Aleksander, I beg you... please..." you whisper desperately while holding a pendant with his bone tightly in your hand. Maybe the fact that you never parted with that stupid necklace was a sign of what was inevitably to come.

Your failure. Your ruin.

But still, all you can do is melt into his arms as he comes to you through your bond and embraces you, pulling your shaking body into his lap and as close to him as possible.

"Shhh... it's okay, moya milaya, you are safe." he whispers in your ear as he holds you close to his chest with a hand on you mouth so you can make a sound. "As long as I am here, nothing will happen to you. You are not alone anymore and you never will be again, lapushka."

He strokes your hair and whispers words of comfort. A sweet nothing meant to calm you down. You still can't tell whether he does it out of love or because he needs you in his plans. And the scariest thing was that you didn't care as long as he held you, stayed by your side and didn't let you be alone.

If you were any less grief-stricken, you would wonder about the irony of this situation. The irony of how he foretold your fate. How he fulfilled his promise. How he became your only shelter.

"I will take care of everything. I'm not going anywhere. It is you and me, my Y/N. It's only you and me against them all. And we are all we need anyway. I will take good care of you, solnyshka. No more tears; no more lies and betrayals. Our life together is getting started exactly right now. And I can already promise you it will be an incredible future... moya tsaritsa. Ravka will be ours. We will free our people. We will made all of them pay for what they did to our kind. Grishas will enter their golden age under our rules. Nothing will stop us."

"Just... please come back." you sob into him. He tightened his arms around you and pressed his lips against your temple.

"I'm on my way, lapushka." he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear.

You shiver as the warmth of his arms suddenly disappears, and you're left alone, kneeling on the cold floor. You couldn't afford even the slightest remorse. All you could think about, and all you could wait for, was the moment he would come back here in the flesh.

You realised that loneliness was too dangerous an enemy for you that you (or anyone) were unable to defeat. Aleksander has been patiently waiting for years for you to come to this conclusion. A conclusion he understood the moment you fled the Little Palace with Alina and the crows, just before he could have a proper chance to propose to you.

But this time, he won't make that mistake again. He won't let you go of his grip once you came back to him.

The world needs a monster.

You understood his words the moment you created your own fold. A fold of white, pure light which killed anyone who tried to walk past it.

You saw the fear in everyone's eyes. Even your Grishas, whom you swore to protect. Only Aleksander's dark irises stared at you with admiration. Only he doesn't turn away from you, doesn't show any traces of dread.

Only he was brave enough to walk to you, and after that, he kissed you greedily after you all realised you won. Ravka belonged to Grishas. And the new fold that you create will make sure no one will ever think of attacking your people again.

And now you were standing in front of the mirror in the Little Palace. Your people bravely dismantled what was left of the Grand Palace and worked to rebuild the house of Grishas and expand it.

You were entering a new era. And the flags with the eclipse of the sun that now fluttered on the masts of the palace reminded you of that, as did your black and gold dresses, keftas, and the crown that had recently become an extra burden on your head. Just like two rings on your finger.

"I knew you would look stunning in the crown, moya Sol Koroleva." he whispers, making you shiver at his sudden presence. He wraps his arms around your waist, pressing you against his chest. Shadows circle lazily around you as his dark eyes catch yours in the mirror.

"You could at least pretend you didn't plan this from the beginning."

"I didn't plan it. I didn't want to be king. But when the dynasty kept taking advantage of us, I had no other choice. I had to start planning to take over the throne. Taking on the burden of power to make sure that the Grishas are finally treated as they should be. And then you appeared. My sunshine, my ray of hope, my little saint."

"A candidate for your queen and a means to a desired goal." you finish bitterly, resting your head on his shoulder to rest for a moment from the irritating weight of the crown. Looking in the mirror, you reluctantly admit that he looks handsome, dressing all like a king.

"Don't be so mean, milaya. You know very well that you shattered any evil plans I had for you when those lips of yours enchanted me. You made me feel like I could control it all for the first time in hundreds of years. That my plans will finally come true. We've come a long way, my Y/N, but we both know this is where we were meant to be. Next to each other. Equals. Together at the helm of Ravka. We are the only ones who will ever wield such power and who can stand next to each other forever."

You sigh. He is right. He is all you have. And you both know that you won't let go of each other anytime soon. You hated solitude. You knew yourselves so well that even for a second, consider leaving the only person who could ever stick so long with you. The ones who understood and were willing to share the burden the world put on the arms of the two of you.

So you turn in his arms, place your hand gently on his cheek, and after caressing his skin with your thumb, pull him in for a kiss.

He pulls you closer to him; you both need the other's touch and tenderness, the reassurance that after so many wars, fights, and betrays, you are finally together and that you will rely on each other to build the greatness of Ravka, leading your Grishas into the years of glory.

Not just as king and queen, tsar and tsaritsa. But also husband and wife. Partners. Equalls. Summoner of the sun and shadows united for the good of all your people.

"I love you, moi sol ye tselai. My Y/N." he whispers into the skin of your neck, placing kisses, especially where was the necklace he gave you, which you didn't dare to take off for so many years, afraid that the last connection and the memento you had left of him would disappear as soon as you lost it from your sight.

But behind these great goals was one common need, to which you agreed only for yourself. The need to love and be loved. The need to have a shelter that will last through the eternity that awaits both of you. And you finally had to admit that despite the darkness in your life and the problems and disasters mostly caused by your new husband, you couldn't imagine anyone else next to you.

"I love you, Aleksander. I've always have." you admit as his hands roam over you, caressing you. Shadows surround you, creating a protective bubble as you kiss passionately, forgetting about the rest of the world for a moment and you give in to your deepest desires.

The prospect of loneliness and everything that you went through in your life have effectively killed any sense of guilt or morality inside you. You could have allowed yourself that one selfish act. Especially when being with him in the darkness was such a tempting and blissful experience after years of loneliness.

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chiqelatasblog · 25 days

Text

In the Middle Of the Night🌙

-> Ao3 link is here.

-> Part One is here.

Pairings : Bi-Han/ Sub-Zero x You, Kuai Liang/ Scorpion x You, Tomas Vrbada/ Smoke x You

Author’s Note: Hey there everyone! First of all, I’m beyond excited by the interest you’ve shown in my fic. Thank you so much! I poured all my love into this chapter, and I’m incredibly proud of the result. This bad boy clocks in at over 10k words, so buckle up and enjoy the ride! Happy reading!

I summoned you, please come to me,

Don’t bury thoughts that you really want.

I fill you up, drink from my cup,

Within me lies what you really want.

CHAPTER TWO : TOMAS

Tomas had always harbored a discomfort with darkness.

One vivid childhood memory was the time he and his twin sister sneaked out of the house to fish by the creek. They had visited this place with their mother many times before, surrounded by tall grasses and dense trees lining the riverbanks. In addition to fishing, they splashed in the stream as the spring weather warmed the water, engaging in playful water fights and skipping stones. However, they had not anticipated the difficulty of finding their way home after nightfall. Time seemed to slip away unnoticed until the sun vanished, leaving behind only faint orange rays. Amidst the sounds of creatures in the dark and the dim moonlight, Tomas found himself more frightened than ever. Seeking refuge beneath the shelter of a towering oak tree, he and his twin waited anxiously for the morning light without daring to blink.

Another poignant memory was his first night after being adopted by the Lin Kuei following the tragic loss of his parents. Given a room of his own within the clan’s compound, it marked a stark contrast to the cramped quarter he shared with his sister at home—a small room with a cold-leaking window and a wooden floor that creaked with every step. Despite the spaciousness of his new accommodations, the room only served to accentuate his overwhelming sense of loneliness. Confusion, fear, and sorrow weighed heavily upon him, compounded by the haunting memories of his family’s demise. The image of his mother’s final gaze, the sound of her voice uttering his name as she drew her last breath, remained painfully fresh in Tomas’s mind. Standing alone in the darkness, he hesitated to emerge from the refuge of his hidden position, fearing the harsh reality that awaited him—a reality that felt more like a terrible nightmare than the truth.

Later that same night, Kuai Liang, the son of the grandmaster, whom Tomas had only glimpsed out of the corner of his eye and estimated to be a few years older than himself, sought him out. Tomas never expected anyone to visit his room, especially someone whose language, lifestyle, and appearance were so foreign to him. Despite being a complete stranger, Kuai Liang persisted in his efforts to communicate with him.

Over the years, Tomas had learned to leave the past behind and devote himself to the Lin Kuei with unwavering respect and loyalty. He seized every opportunity for growth, not limiting himself to combat training alone. In addition to mastering multiple languages, he immersed himself in various fields of knowledge, receiving specialized education ranging from geography to mathematics. Inspired by his brothers, Tomas aspired to become a formidable assassin, striving to emulate their strength and steadfastness. His determination to bridge the gap and prove himself led him to seek training in magic from clan elders. Before long, he mastered the art of smoke magic, earning his code name in the process.

As time passed, Tomas emerged as one of Lin Kuei’s most skilled assassins, earning the respect and admiration of his peers. Though differences still lingered between him and his brothers, they no longer served as barriers; instead, they became markers of individual experiences and growth. Tomas gained renown for his stealth and speed during missions, aided by his mastery of the smoke magic for concealment. Yet, he also understood the value of leveraging shadows for support. Through discipline and practice, he learned to embrace the darkness, transforming his fear into a potent weapon.

Until Quan Chi sealed him and his brothers inside the book…

Tomas couldn’t recall the last time he had been free. It must have been ages ago. While he had anticipated the relief of escaping, the reality proved disorienting. After spending so long confined within the book’s pages, reentering the world was akin to landing on an alien planet. Colors seemed brighter, sensations felt unfamiliar, and even the taste of things seemed strange.

It had only been a day or two since they emerged from the book’s depths. During that time, Tomas had been reluctant to close his eyes, fearing a return to the vast darkness that had engulfed him for so long. In the book, there was only emptiness—a void that left him disoriented and disconnected from time and reality. The experience had shattered his ability to cope with darkness; although it was bad to have a new master, he would prefer this situation to eternal darkness.

Inside the book, the only connection to the outside world was through sounds, which provided a vague sense of the passage of time. Now, sitting in the living room, an overwhelming surge of pent-up energy coursed through him. He longed to move, to run, to stretch his limbs freely. Yet, his heightened senses left him feeling overwhelmed by the outside world. It was as if everything had become too much to bear at once, triggering a cascade of emotions.

Such experiences were not uncommon when they remained dormant for extended periods. It took several days for them to readjust. Kuai Liang, in particular, struggled with the transition. His pyromancer abilities meant his metabolism was faster than both him and Bi-Han’s, making the initial days a nightmare as he grappled with an accumulation of pent-up energy. Bi-Han fared better in comparison, his cryomancer abilities allowing him to maintain control despite the prolonged dormancy.

“Are you all right?” Tomas inquired, glancing at his brother who sat a little distance away. Drops of sweat glistened on Kuai Liang’s forehead, his face flushed. His usually dark hair, kept in a bun, was now disheveled, with tufts of hair glued to his skin due to sweat. Despite his typically bronze skin, it appeared pale under the strain of his condition, a deep frown creased his brow, accentuating the thick veins that bulged on his neck from the tension of his clenched jaw. He spoke in a muffled voice, his fists tightly gripping the cushion beneath him.

“It’s more intense compared to the previous ones. It’s becoming increasingly difficult for me to cope.” Kuai Liang muttered, his voice strained.

“You should lie down on the sofa,” Tomas suggested, rising from his seat and closing the distance between them in an instant. “Standing like this isn’t good for you. Let me help.”

“I’m fine,” Kuai Liang insisted stubbornly, his words almost a hiss through clenched teeth. “It’ll pass soon.”

“We both know it’ll take a few days,” Tomas reasoned gently. “Come on, lie down and stop being so stubborn. You need to rest.”

“I’ve been inactive enough already from being trapped in that damn book.”

“And now you need to rest so your body can recover.”

“Is everything all right?” Your soft voice floated from the entrance of the room, drawing Tomas’s attention. You stood there in an old plush robe, your legs and feet bare beneath your long nightgown. The bandages he wrapped around your legs from the first night they emerged from the book still in place. Like him, your face was colorless, and the purple rings under your eyes betrayed the sleeplessness you shared with them.

“Kuai Liang?” Bi-Han’s sudden appearance next to you, like a dark, silent shadow, caused you to jump in place with a start. Tomas observed your startled reaction, your eyes reflecting fear at Bi-Han’s sudden presence. Since they emerged from the book, they had noticed your agitated demeanor and your constant efforts to maintain a clear distance from them. It was evident in every gesture that you had yet to adapt to the situation and were still struggling to accept what was happening.

As Bi-Han approached them with purposeful strides, he rested his hand on his brother’s forehead, from which a thin, cold smoke wafted. Upon contact, a sizzling sound filled the room as cold and heat met. Kuai Liang’s eyes closed with a slight sense of relief, his tense posture relaxing slightly. Bi-Han’s expression remained stern.

“You’re burning,” Bi-Han remarked, his dark gaze fixed on his brother. “How long has he been like this?”

“For about half an hour, he suddenly relapsed. When he insists on not resting—”

“Nonsense. We both know you’re not going to get through this without lying down somewhere, Kuai Liang. Don’t be stubborn and do as you’re told.”

“What’s going on?” You hesitantly approached them, your anxious eyes shifting between Kuai Liang, who was breathing rapidly and starting to sweat profusely, and the two brothers. “Is he ill?”

As Bi-Han gave you a piercing, stern look, you stumbled back a step. Tomas felt a surge of anger at his brother’s harsh demeanor. Bi-Han had always been somewhat rude and obstinate; as the grandmaster before being trapped in the book, he was accustomed to looking down on others, being condescending, and considering everyone except the Lin Kuei as worthless. This attitude had persisted over the years, even when they served various masters of the book.

Many masters had attempted to break his demeanor and relished in the opportunity, but when they realized Bi-Han could not be tamed, both he and Kuai Liang were held accountable for his actions. That was when Bi-Han had to learn to control his sharp tongue and condescending gaze. But when it comes to you, you seem different from the masters who came and went. You were an ordinary person, with neither unusual strength nor fighting skills to suggest you knew how to protect yourself.

Tomas had scrutinized you closely the first day he emerged from the book and quickly formed a profile. Your physique seemed too delicate to be that of a warrior, and your gaze exuded kindness and compassion. The fact that you didn’t assert any authority over them indicated you might be harmless. While he hesitated to fully embrace this belief, it often proved true when reality differed from their initial assumptions. This made Bi-Han’s treatment of you seem inappropriate and cruel.

“Kuai Liang is a pyromancer, master,” Tomas interjected, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them. “When he’s unable to release his power for an extended period, it accumulates inside him, causing sensory overload and physical strain.”

As Tomas explained in simpler terms, given your unfamiliarity with their world, another layer of concern clouded your expression.

“Oh, I see. That sounds truly awful. Does the same situation apply to you?”

Bi-Han had been on the verge of making a rude remark once again, but Tomas acted swiftly to prevent him from further upsetting you. “No, our powers and metabolic rates vary among us.”

“Then is there anything I can do for Kuai Liang? I have antipyretics and painkillers; perhaps they might help.”

“Are you daft, woman? We’re dealing with a man whose metabolism is four times faster than normal. Do you think mere drugs will affect him?”

“I-I just wanted to help.”

“You’d be of greater help by not interfering,”

The moment Bi-Han hurled the words at you with a tongue as sharp as a knife, Tomas watched you swallow silently and your eyes glistened with tears for a moment. His chest ached with a slight pain for you, whom he had never known; you stood so vulnerable and small in front of them. But you collected your composure quickly, surprising him, squaring your shoulders and lifting your head.

“He can sleep in my bed until he’s better. It’ll be more comfortable than the couch. Can you move him there?”

***

After they carried Kuai Liang to your room and Bi-Han pulled a chair next to him, settling in, Tomas returned to the living room with you.

“He hates me.” you muttered in a hoarse voice.

“He hates everyone.” Tomas replied, realizing you were referring to Bi-Han. With a pillow tucked under one arm and a not-too-thick, pink-purple patterned blanket in the other, you prepared the makeshift bed on the couch.

With a sigh, you settled onto the end of the couch, which Kuai Liang had been using as a bed for the past few days. While he and Kuai Liang shared the living room, Bi-Han had taken refuge in your study. Your house was quite small, and Tomas had initially doubted whether they could all fit in here.

“If I hadn’t been protected by the book, he would have torn me in half already, wouldn’t he?”

“It can’t be said that he gets along well with strangers,” Tomas replied politely. “He needs time, master.” As the last word slipped from his lips in the usual manner, he observed your gentle expression falter, your lips pressing together into a straight line. He knew you disliked being addressed that way, but after years of habit, it was difficult for him to remove it from his vocabulary. His body ached with a twinge of pain for disobeying your request once again—a never-ending side effect of the curse. They had to obey their masters unconditionally, and if they did not, and this situation persisted, their suffering increased exponentially.

“Tomas, please don’t call me that. I am not your master, and it makes me very uncomfortable every time you address me as such.”

“I’m sorry,” Tomas murmured in a low voice, avoiding your gaze as he stared out at the nighttime landscape of tall buildings and colorful lights beyond the window. “It’s just a habit.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I just want you to know that there are no distinct classes between us. We are equals.” You leaned back against the armrest, pulling your knees toward your stomach and wrapping your arms around yourself. “It’s very strange. I haven’t slept a wink since yesterday, and yet I still don’t feel like I can sleep.”

When Tomas turned his gaze back to you, he noticed your tired eyes staring into emptiness. He could imagine how surreal and overwhelming the unfolding events must have sounded from your perspective. Moreover, sharing your home with three unfamiliar, burly men, and constantly feeling on edge because of Bi-Han, must have added to your nerves.

“So do I.” Tomas replied after a moment, joining you. “I’ve been inside the book for so long that it’s hard to believe I’m out now.”

“If you don’t mind, may I ask how long you’ve been there?”

“What year is it?” He asked.

“Two thousand twenty-four.”

“Then it has been nearly two years since we last emerged.”

Your eyes widened in horror at his response.

“Two years? That’s terrible! What have you been doing all this time in the book? Is there any way you can pass the time?”

The question sounded so innocent to Tomas’s ears that he almost wanted to laugh. It was the first time he had encountered a master like you—a master who, despite having the power to use them as mere tools, condoned Bi-Han’s rude behavior and tried to create a small comfort zone to help Kuai Liang through the process. Even though you knew the power you held over them, you chose not to exploit it fully. If you had wanted to, you could have expelled Bi-Han, and even him and Kuai Liang, from your home. After all, they had no choice but to obey your orders if they wished to avoid excruciating pain.

They hadn’t revealed this detail to you yet, as it was too valuable and represented one of their greatest vulnerabilities. However, whether you were aware of this information or not didn’t change the truth. By opening your home to them and engaging in conversation with Tomas, you were trying to understand the situation despite the risks involved. He doubted every now and then, as you seemed so sincere. You cannot act all the time, can you? As he was a professional in reading people, he couldn’t be entirely sure about you.

“No, we can only wait until our new master reads the words in the book,” Tomas explained.

“How so?” Your eyes widened slightly. “Can’t you do anything?”

“No, except for waiting in the dark, we can only sometimes hear voices coming from outside the book. This helps us understand where we are, and sometimes even the year.”

“God, this is—this is so cruel… How have you been able to maintain your sanity until today? This is officially torture.”

He also pondered the answer to this question himself. If he had been sealed inside that book alone, Tomas doubted he would be capable of forming coherent sentences right now. It would be a miracle if he could even speak.

“My brothers… Without them, it would have been inevitable that I would have lost my mind,” he admitted through clenched teeth. “But sometimes even that is not enough. That’s why we pressured you to read the book when you found it.”

“I thought I was going to die of fear at that moment,” you confessed in a low voice, cheeks slightly flushed, as you turned away from him and focused on your clasped hands. “But I’m glad I made you get out of there after hearing what you’ve told me. I hope I can help you break this curse as well.”

Tomas remained silent, grappling with uncertainty about the sincerity of your words. They had encountered similar displays of kindness before. In the past, there was a master they believed to be compassionate and well-intentioned, who had convinced them to lower their guards and give their trust a chance. They had fallen for gentle touches, pleas instead of commands, sweet compliments, and precious gifts. Even Bi-Han, typically skeptical, had thought that previous master was different.

But they were mistaken. They soon discovered that everything she did was merely a facade to gain their trust and manipulate them, raising their hopes only to shatter them. They had sworn never to trust again after that betrayal. As long as they were trapped in the book, they would always have a master, and their relationships would remain purely transactional.

Tomas had learned the hard way not to put faith in anyone. So your words held little weight for him. Each of them represented a month, and when they returned to the book three months later, you would be out of their lives. It seemed foolish to invest in a bond for something that would soon disappear.

‘’Tomas? Are you okay? You’ve become quiet,” you asked, noticing his distant expression.

Hearing your voice, Tomas snapped out of his thoughts and looked at you. “I have a lot on my mind. My thoughts are too loud,” he confessed with a tight smile.

“I have a solution that might help. Since neither of us has had any sleep,” you suggested, rising from your seat and making your way to the kitchen, which was adjacent to the living room. Tomas felt a twinge of curiosity as he watched you move. ‘’I hope you like chocolate.’’

“What are you going to do?”

“Hot chocolate. Sweet things are always good for stress. I think we both need some relaxation and serotonin,” you explained, retrieving two mugs from the kitchen cabinet and placing them on the counter. As you continued to prepare the hot chocolate, you asked, “Do you want to watch a movie?”

Tomas repeated the question as if to confirm that he had heard you correctly. “A movie?”

“Yes,” you affirmed cheerfully, without glancing at him, as you arranged the ingredients on the counter. “I like to watch something on Netflix when I can’t sleep. It helps distract my mind.”

“Netflix?” Tomas queried, unfamiliar with the term. As you briefly explained what Netflix was, Tomas observed you moving around the kitchen with a sweet smile, pouring steaming hot chocolate into the mugs and adorning them with white toppings resembling candy. He was familiar with the concept of movies, but his upbringing with the Lin Kuei left little room for leisure activities, such as watching television or electronic devices. Thus, while he understood the concept of movies, he had never encountered anything related to them until now.

“We can watch something that won’t require too much thought,” you suggested as you placed the mugs on the coffee table in front of them. Retrieving your laptop from a nearby spot, you positioned it on your lap and adjusted the screen so that Tomas could see. “Here, you can browse the movies from here.”

Tomas curiously scanned through the films from various categories displayed on the screen. There were so many options that he found it difficult to decide which one to choose, unsure of what would be the right choice.

“How about action?” you proposed, attempting to assist him. Your understanding expression conveyed that you recognized his struggle to make a choice. “We could watch Johnny Cage’s movies. The Ninja Mime movie series is legendary! What do you think? If you don’t like it, we can explore other options, of course.”

When Tomas agreed, your smile grew, and you placed the laptop in the center of the coffee table for both of you to see. As you leaned down to switch off the nearby lamp, he impulsively reached out and grabbed your wrist, causing a small, sweet electric sensation to pass between them. You both shared a momentary pause, as if sensing something peculiar, and Tomas noticed the sound of your interrupted breathing. What the hell was that? Tomas had never felt anything like this before.

“Tomas? Is something wrong?” you asked, your concern evident in your voice.

Tomas tried to ignore the tender feeling as he quickly released your wrist, as if it had burned him. Despite facing numerous sorcerers and warriors without fear, you, with your delicate demeanor, seemed more fragile to him, easily susceptible to harm even without the protection of the book.

“Could the light stay on?” he requested hoarsely, instantly noticing the understanding in your eyes, realizing the underlying reason for his question.

“Of course. Is it alright if we share the seat until the movie ends? There’s no other way for me to see the screen.”

Tomas found it strange that you asked, considering it was your home. You didn’t need his permission to use your own belongings.

“This is already your couch.” Tomas replied, showing his confusion.

“You’re also my guest. I want you to feel comfortable, not like you’re on edge,” you explained. Surprised by your response, Tomas nodded in agreement instead of verbally responding. “Great! Then I’ll start the movie. Come on, start drinking the hot chocolate before it gets cold. Your marshmallows are about to melt.”

Following your instructions, Tomas picked up a yellowish-white ceramic mug with daisy and bee patterns and took a sip of the steaming, incredibly fragrant drink. The sweet liquid danced on his taste buds, flooding his mouth with an unparalleled delight. It had been an eternity since he had savored something so delicious and sweet, a rare treat that he hadn’t experienced in years. Closing his eyes in bliss, he relished every moment of it.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Tomas replied honestly.

“Really?” Your face lit up with a huge, almost radiant smile, and Tomas once again felt that sweet ache in his chest, far from painful. “I’m glad to hear that! If you want more, don’t hesitate to tell me. I still have plenty of chocolates in the cupboard.”

After your words, when the movie started, Tomas watched you eagerly settle on the end of the seat and sip your hot chocolate out of the corner of his eye. Despite the seat not being too large, there was a noticeable distance between you; someone thinner could have squeezed in between with a little effort. Although Tomas still couldn’t quite decipher your intentions, he turned his attention to the film after stealing a few glances at you, and slowly felt his troubled thoughts quiet down, his overly active senses beginning to relax.

Settling more comfortably on the couch, he took another sip of the hot chocolate you had made. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something like this for him. Usually, the situation would be the opposite—he would serve someone, fulfilling their wishes and desires. Now, it felt strange and unfamiliar to him to drink the beverage you had offered without expecting anything in return, as if you would later chastise him for such naivety. However, that never happened. Instead, you were completely engrossed in the film, occasionally giggling at the jokes inaudibly. Your smile, perhaps even sweeter than the hot chocolate he was drinking, had a warmth that made one want to hear your voice again.

Despite being occasionally distracted by your voice, Tomas found himself unexpectedly enjoying the movie. The action scenes were realistic, the jokes humorous, and the flow of the film simple yet intriguing. During one of the fight scenes, Tomas mumbled, “He fights well.”

“Isn’t he? He’s also a master of martial arts. All of these scenes were shot without the use of stunts. That’s why I have a lot of respect for the work he does. He’s one of the few actors I’d like to meet.” you remarked as you popped a half-melted marshmallow into your mouth, causing Tomas to watch your soft lips open and close on your fingers. He felt a warmth again, but this time it was burning and dangerous rather than sweet. He shifted in his seat as if trying to shake off the feeling.

“Do you want to watch the second one too?” you asked after finishing chewing. Tomas responded in a muffled voice. “I can’t deny that I’m interested.”

“Wonderful! I’ll refresh our drinks then. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Tomas rose once more, feeling uneasy about being served by you again, as you asked nothing of him. As he approached, you were just about to open the milk lid when you looked up, meeting his gaze with inquisitive eyes.

“Did you want something?”

“Tell me what I should do, please,” Tomas said through clenched teeth. How long would you leave him in this state of uncertainty, without giving him any orders? This unfamiliarity, persisting for days, was making him nervous. It was vastly different from the structured system he was accustomed to.

“I am not your master, Tomas,” you responded calmly, looking into his eyes, your voice gentle yet firm. “You are your own person. I will not give you orders, neither now nor later.”

“This is wrong,” Tomas said akin to a snarl, his voice sounding foreign even to himself. Even before an assassin, he was a hunter, and now, he felt more trapped than ever as he still couldn’t grapple with your rules. Do you even have rules? “Something is always expected.”

“This situation doesn’t apply here. I can see that you don’t trust and believe in me, and I don’t blame you for that,” you said, your face filled with a sadness Tomas couldn’t comprehend, your gaze softening even further. “Tomas, please try to believe that I’m sincere in what I’m saying. I do not demand anything from you, and I will not. You are free to act as you want, make your own decisions and choices.”

“Why?” Tomas questioned.

Why were you being so kind?

“Because it’s the right and humane thing to do,” you said simply, without hesitation. Then, you turned your attention to the task at hand. “Now, how many marshmallows do you want? I think I can put at least six on top.”

Did you realize the power you held in your hands? A word from you could compel action. But it seemed like you didn’t even care about this power; instead, you focused on trivial details about the second movie you were going to watch.

Once you had assembled a small mountain of marshmallows on the mug and handed it to him, Tomas accepted it in silence and settled back into the seat with you to resume the movie. He felt oddly content in a way. Though part of him still awaited the unveiling of the mask he thought you wore, he found some solace in the simplicity and normalcy of the current situation. Even though he had forgotten what it felt like, experiencing it again now stirred a mix of emotions within him, difficult to define.

While watching the movie, it was your harmless chats that occasionally provided small pieces of information about the actor or the movie, though it usually remained one-sided. Tomas lost track of how many movies you watched that night, ceasing to count after the second film. As soft yellow lights appeared and the sky began to brighten, he realized that an entire night had passed watching movies. Stretching his muscles, which had stiffened from remaining in the same position for so long, he turned his neck from right to left. When he glanced back at you, he saw that you were quietly curled up in your corner, fast asleep.

You had your arms crossed over the armrest of the chair, using them as a makeshift pillow for your head. Your mouth was slightly ajar, and the gentle rise and fall of your chest indicated deep sleep. Bathed in the morning sunlight, a peaceful expression graced your face.Tomas felt relieved watching you, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, akin to lying on a calm sea.

On one hand, he was surprised that you felt comfortable enough to sleep next to him. You likely couldn’t resist the fatigue any longer and succumbed to it. Tomas couldn’t help but notice how vulnerable you looked, despite not wanting to admit it. You appeared delicate enough to be easily hurt.

Careful not to disturb you, Tomas pulled a blanket up to your shoulders, ensuring you were completely covered. As he did so, Bi-Han appeared at the entrance of the living room, his expression as cold and discontented as ever.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bi-Han demanded.

“You’ll wake her up,” Said Tomas, in a voice that sounded like a whisper, slightly scolding. Carefully getting up from where he was sitting, he made his way to his brother’s side, his shoulders tense and his posture upright. He changed the subject directly, not allowing Bi-Han to scold him further. “How is Kuai Liang?”

“It’s bad, but he’ll pull through. He’s unconscious right now; I don’t think he’ll wake up for a while.”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen him this bad.”

“We stayed in the book for too long this time,” Bi-Han growled hoarsely, his voice tinged with wildness. Clenching his fists at his sides, his eyebrows furrowed deeply, and his gaze darkened. Tomas could feel the cold emanating from him, chilling his skin like a winter wind. “This cramped place is suffocating me. I’m going out to explore. Take care of Kuai Liang.”

As Bi-Han stormed out of the house without waiting for a reply, Tomas sighed and headed for the room where Kuai Liang was staying, ignoring his weary eyes due to insomnia. Opening the door slightly, he peered inside and saw his brother lying motionless on the bed. Stepping into the room and closing the door quitely behind him, Tomas prepared to tend to his brother.

Although he felt a twinge of guilt for intruding into your private space by entering your bedroom, Tomas didn’t dwell on it much, knowing that you had opened this place up for their use like any other part of the house. After opening the window to let in some fresh air, Tomas couldn’t resist looking around curiously. Your room, like the rest of the house, was small, with a closet and a standing mirror in one corner, and a bookcase filled to the brim with books and pictures scattered haphazardly on the shelves in another corner.

Approaching the bookcase, Tomas found some books filled with confusing information about computers and programming, which he couldn’t quite comprehend. Was this your interest? After glancing at a few of them, his attention was drawn to the photos. Some were framed, while others were hung around the shelves with wicker ropes. The photos depicted people with wide, friendly smiles, along with various landscapes. In the photos, you appeared pleasant, happy, and cheerful, almost laughing in the eyes.

Tomas frowned slightly as he picked up a frame that caught his attention. He hadn’t seen such an expression on your face since they came out of the book; instead, you seemed agitated, with traces of fear in your eyes. He wished he could see you with that same expression from the photos; laughing seemed to suit you, exuding a pure aura that inspired trust. Maybe you truly were like the person in the photos… maybe—

Shaking his head, Tomas tried to dispel the thoughts and returned the frame to its place. He then sat on the chair pulled to the right side of the bed and looked at Kuai Liang. His brother looked worse than he had ever seen him before—his bronze face even paler than the day before, sweat glistening on his skin, chest heaving with rapid breaths, and a contracted expression indicating distress.

Tomas changed the cloth on Kuai Liang’s forehead and listened to his audible breathing, occasionally wheezing softly. Though he wished he could offer his brother some relief, there was little they could do in such circumstances. Kuai Liang had to fight this battle alone and regain control. Tomas watched him for a long time, his hand resting on his chin as he became lost in thought.

It was the sounds emanating from the kitchen that snapped him out of his reverie. Thinking that Bi-Han might have returned, he left the room and found you sipping coffee while cooking something on the stove. When you noticed his presence, you turned around, raising the mug in your hand with a sincere smile as you greeted him.

“Good morning. Did you get any sleep?”

“Not really,” Tomas admitted.

The smile on your face faltered slightly. “Hmm, so the movies didn’t do the trick. Fortunately, I have more remedies up my sleeve. I bought some herbal teas and aromatherapy candles a while ago. We can give them a try tonight,” you suggested with a cheerful tone, taking another sip of your coffee. Before returning to your cooking, you asked curiously. “How is your brother?”

“He’s sleeping. He’s not well, but he’s a strong and stubborn man. I’m sure he’ll recover soon,” Tomas replied.

“I’m glad to hear that. Bi-Han didn’t want me to help, but I made some porridge for Kuai Liang. I hope he won’t be upset with me. Of course, if you think he will be, we can keep it between us. Eating can be difficult when you’re sick, so I thought some comfort food might help him,” you explained, gesturing to the pot on the stove. “I’ve also prepared something for you. Have a seat. You drink coffee, right?”

Once again surprised by your thoughtfulness, Tomas couldn’t tear his gaze away from you as you served him pancakes smothered with a generous amount of maple syrup, a plate of perfectly crisped bacon and eggs cooked to perfection, and a steaming mug of coffee, its aroma wafting through the air and tantalizing his senses.

“Is Bi-Han awake too? I saved some for him.”

“He went out to explore. I don’t think he’ll be back before noon,” Tomas replied, still eyeing the food before him, unsure of where to start. Despite knowing he could eat without waiting for your command, it was difficult to break the years-long habit of awaiting orders. You must have noticed this detail, as you called out to him in a soft voice.

“You should eat before it gets cold, Tomas. You may not enjoy it as much later,” you said gently.

Tomas, relieved, filled his fork with food and began to eat his breakfast with great pleasure, savoring each piece slowly as it settled warmly in his stomach. As he ate, he noticed you quietly watching him while sipping your coffee from the bench you leaned against.

“I hope I didn’t burn the egg,” you remarked after a while. Tomas shook his head, indicating ‘No’ since his mouth was full. After a sip of coffee, he managed to give a straight answer.

“Everything is quite delicious, maste—thank you.” he said, correcting himself at the last moment. A warm smile settled on your face, exposing your teeth, reminiscent of the photos he had seen. Despite your simple appearance in a loosely tied robe and a nightgown, you radiated natural beauty and warmth, filling Tomas with a sense of comfort he hadn’t dared to believe.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you chirped like a bird. “Because I almost burned it while I was taking care of the porridge. I kept breakfast simple since I wasn’t sure what you liked.’’ While taking another sip of coffee, you sat down a little further away, collapsing into one of the chairs placed around the kitchen island. “There is a local library very close to here. I have to stop by there for half an hour. There are some books I want to look at. Do you want to come with me? I think coming out after being in the book will make you feel better.”

Tomas’ body immediately contracted with tension, almost instinctively. He was curious about how much the outside world had changed, but on the one hand, he was not ready to encounter innovations, re-enter among people, noise, and much more. His senses were still at a hyper level, and that fidgety feeling swirling inside him had not calmed down yet.

“Perhaps some other time. Besides, I don’t want to leave Kuai Liang alone like this,” Tomas replied.

“Oh, you’re right. It was a rude question on my part,” you admitted, taking another sip of your coffee before looking at Tomas with curious yet deceptive eyes. Tomas met your gaze and asked after swallowing the food in his mouth, “You want to ask something, am I right?”

“There’s just one thing I’m curious about. But I don’t think it’s right to ask.”

One edge of Tomas’s lip curled upwards; he was starting to like the way you were approaching more and more. You were treating him like a human being rather than an object, and he’d forgotten how that made him feel.

‘’You can ask, it’s okay,’’ he encouraged.

‘’Your hair… Is this your original color?’’

An unexpected chuckle spilled from Tomas’ lips. It seemed funny and innocent enough to make his heart ache that you chose this when there were tons of questions you could ask.

‘‘No, it’s that color because of the smoke magic. Its previous color was brown.’’

‘’Smoke magic? Do you have the power like the others?’’

“Yes.’’

You took a breath with excitement; Tomas could have sworn your eyes were shining.

‘‘Will you show it to me?’’

Tomas let go of the mug he was holding with another smirk that he couldn’t stop, and thanks to the thin, gray cloud of smoke rising from his fingers, he made the mug float in the air. While your eyes opened wide, you took a sharp breath and stared at the floating mug in amazement, and Tomas took great pleasure in watching your reaction.

‘’This is incredible! What else can you do?’’

‘’I can be invisible.’’

‘’No way!’’ You said it in an incredulous voice. Tomas raised an eyebrow, gave you a sarcastic look, and then made his body invisible, watching you keep your mouth open with amazement. Your reaction was so sweet that Tomas laughed out loud this time, and when he made his body visible again, you looked at him with big eyes for a few seconds as if he had grown out a second head.

‘‘That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. You’re incredible!’’ Against your obvious compliment, Tomas’s heart misfired once again, and he felt his cheeks getting hot. Not knowing what to say, as you kept talking excitedly, he squeezed a big mouthful morsel in his mouth before saying something ridiculous. ‘‘It must be great to have such a talent. You can even go to North Korea without anyone hearing a sound.’’

Tomas barely swallowed the morsel in his mouth and looked at you with a manner that showed he didn’t understand why you could want such a thing.

‘‘Why would you want to go there?’’

‘‘Out of curiosity, of course.’’ After giving him a little look with your flushed cheeks, you cleared your throat with an artificial cough. ‘’There’s something else I’m curious about.’’

‘’Are you going to ask why I don’t resemble my brothers in appearance?’’

‘’No, actually, I was going to ask why Kuai Liang said ‘Earthrealm’ that night. The other one is a personal question; it wouldn’t be right for me to ask you to explain.’’

Even so, when you were talking to him like that, Tomas felt the need to explain to you. He decided to sit back in his chair and calmly tell you everything from the beginning, so that he could make you understand the world you’ve fallen into a little better and make sense of it, maybe so that you could also start feeling safer around them. After all, you were going to be together for three months, and no one knew better than him how exhausting it was to be constantly on edge, both physically and mentally.

‘‘I am not their brother by blood; I am adopted,’’ Tomas said simply. ‘’Before I became a part of Lin Kuei, I had my mother and twin sister; we were hunters. We made our living by selling the meat and fur of the animals we hunted, until one day we hunted in the wrong territory. There was an accident.’’ As Tomas slowly began to tell you about his life, he was surprised at how easily the words fell from his lips. Normally, he was a closed box to someone he didn’t know; he wouldn’t open his past easily, but something in you was preventing him from doing so.

‘‘I am so sorry for your loss.’’ It was impossible not to hear the sadness and sincerity in your voice; your gaze had an expression that showed that you were really sorry for his loss. One hand was hesitantly raised, then Tomas did not pull or push his hand away when you placed your hand on his hand, quite delicately, indicating that he could easily get out of your grip if he wanted to. Your touch defined you; it was warm and reassuring, and it also made him realize how much he really needed it.

‘‘Thank you,’’ said Tomas, involuntarily. With his thumb, he gently stroked the top of your hand as a token of his gratitude. When he started to retell where he left off, you were listening to him with great attention. You didn’t interrupt for once; your facial expression was lit up with a warm expression, sometimes sad, sometimes showing that you were proud of his achievements. After briefly mentioning his past, when he came to the question you asked, he actually mentioned that there is more than one world, the details of Lin Kuei’s purpose, creature from other worlds, and gods. While listening to what you were saying with great interest, Tomas was starting to enjoy watching your expression more and more.

"It turns out that I've been sleeping under a rock all this time.’’ You said, gasping in amazement. ‘’So you're superheroes, are you?’’

Tomas chuckled at your comparison.

‘’It was an overly generous comparison. It would be more accurate to say protector than superhero; we served under the orders of Lord Liu Kang to protect Earthrealm from external dangers.’’

“Lord Liu Kang… He was the one who was the Fire God, wasn’t he?’’

‘‘Yes, that’s him.’’

‘’I can’t believe it, God, huh?” You were like a little girl sitting on the edge of a chair, warmed up with excitement, cheeks flushed as if you held a huge candy in your hand. ‘‘No wonder Bi-Han got mad at me when I accidentally branded you as blood lust murderers. After what you said, my own life suddenly seemed very… simple.’’

Tomas reached for his now cold coffee, hiding his laughter. ‘’I’d like to hear it.’’ He said, trusting in the small, fragile bond established between you through the conversation.

‘’Well, what I’m going to tell you may not sound as cool as yours. I graduated from the software engineering department last year, I was working as a programmer at a game company until a few days ago, but I lost the job.’’

‘‘I’m sorry to hear that.’’ Tomas said in a genuine voice. You shrugged your shoulders as if it were all right, but your face had fallen a little, revealing what was going through your mind.

‘‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t happy working there anyway, it was more about making money. Actually, my dream is to one day secure a partnership with one of the big companies by releasing my own game, but when you face the real world, you realize it’s not that simple. No one wants to partner with a novice; someone without a background. Plus, I haven’t found any inspiration for my so-called game yet anyway.’’

Leaning one hand on your chin, your face fell with a mix of unhappiness and a hint of pessimism. Tomas felt a strong need to console you and put a smile back on your face.

‘‘It doesn’t sound impossible.’’ He said with a smile. ‘’Besides, it’s their loss that they’ve lost a talented woman like you.’’

Watching your cheeks flush with his compliment filled Tomas with pride and an irresistible desire for more. As you shyly murmured a small ‘’Thank you’’, Tomas heard the front door open. While his body reflexively tensed, his muscles were ready and alert until he saw who was coming.

When Bi-Han’s imposing body appeared at the entrance, you stood up, moving before him.

‘’Bi-Han! Welcome, we were having breakfast. Are you hungry? I’ve saved something for you too.’’

‘’I’m none of your concern.’’ Bi-Han’s words cut yours short, and within seconds, the smile vanished from your face, shattering the warmth Tomas had worked to foster, and you retreated into your former guarded and distant demeanor. ‘’I remember I told you to take care of Kuai Liang.’’

‘‘His condition hasn’t changed since you left, brother.’’ Tomas responded in kind, his words adding to the escalating tension between them. Sensing the growing unease, you delicately cleared your throat, subtly redirecting both their attention.

‘’I’d better go to the library, as always you can use the things in the house as you like. Tomas, if you want to watch something on Netflix, please don’t hesitate to use it.’’ With your head bowed, you left the room after finishing your words quietly, leaving Tomas and Bi-Han alone.

Tomas ended up near Bi-Han, taking a hard breath. ‘’Why are you acting like this? She’s done nothing but help us so far.’’

‘’And did you believe it?’’ Bi-Han’s voice was thick and authoritative, sounding incredibly deep. “You’re still very naive, Tomas.’’

‘’If you can’t choose your words carefully, can’t you at least pay a little more attention to your intonation? You’re scaring her.’’

‘’And why should I care? As long as the book exists, there will always be a master, and that woman is no different from the others. You have to understand, Tomas, it would just be foolish to trust anyone but each other, especially when you have such tremendous power in your hands. Don’t get your hopes up.’’

Tomas wanted to oppose him, but unfortunately, although Bi-Han spoke with his usual brutality, he was right on one point; as long as the master-slave relationship existed, it carried a power that could easily deconstruct the delicate trust established despite everything. An order that would come out of one’s lips was enough to take away their consent.

After Tomas stayed silent, Bi-Han approached him, his intense gaze lingering for a moment before shifting to the food simmering on the stove.

‘’What is this?’’ Opening the lid curiously, he looked at what was inside. ‘’Did you do it?’’

‘’No, she prepared the porridge so that Kuai Liang could eat comfortably.’’

With his answer, one of the muscles in Bi-Han’s jaw twitched.

‘’I told her to not interfere.’’

‘’She may not be the person we thought, Bi-Han.’’ Said Tomas, there was an opposition in his voice that he didn’t understand where it was coming from. ‘’Tell me, which master has prepared breakfast or something similar for us before?’’

‘’Stop calling them masters!’’ Although Bi-Han turned to him angrily with furious eyes and stood in front of him as if he were a mountain of intimidation, Tomas did not allow him to intimidate him. He wanted him to hear what he was thinking.

‘’I’m not saying we should trust her, but you know as well as I do that she hasn’t done anything to deserve your cruel approach so far. She wants us to be comfortable in his house, she even gave Kuai Liang her bedroom, just to help him in the healing process. She tried to set us free the very first moment we came out of the book-‘’

‘’This is not the first time we have encountered this situation.’’ Bi-Han interjected once again. “At some point, she’ll be compelled to give us orders. I wonder if you’ll still defend her then.”

***

It’s been a few hours since you returned from the library. Throughout your time there, you remained engrossed in the books you brought back, occasionally scribbling something in your notebook and muttering to yourself. Finally, Tomas approached, more curious about your activities than the movie he was watching. When you lifted your head from among the books at his approach, you asked, ‘’The movie didn’t catch your attention?’’

‘’Frankly, I was more interested in what you were doing. You’ve been sitting there for hours, doesn’t your neck hurt?’’

As you tested his words by moving your neck, a hint of pain crossed your face, accompanied by a soft whimper. ‘’Ouch, you were right. My neck is terribly stiff.’’

Offering to help, Tomas raised his hands in the air, gesturing to massage your neck. ‘’If you want?’’

‘’If it’s all right with you, please,’’ you responded, your voice a blend of shyness and gratitude. As Tomas took his place behind you and began massaging your shoulders and neck, he felt a strange electric current once again. Your skin felt soft and tender between his calloused fingers, and he couldn’t help but notice the clean and beautiful scent emanating from you, enveloping him in a sweet warmth. Slowly, your stiffened body began to unravel and relax under his touch. Curious about your reading material, Tomas inquired, ‘‘May I ask what you are reading?’

‘‘I’m doing research. These books contain a ton of information about witchcraft, spells, and curses. I thought maybe there might be some useful information in it for your situation.’’

‘’Have you been looking at these for hours?’’ Tomas asked incredulously.

With a simple ‘’Yes,’’ you innocently confirmed. As Tomas watched you turn another page, he felt a familiar ache in his heart. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was for understanding and kindness. Every movement, every word, every soft look and smile you shared seemed to weave into Tomas’ soul, confirming his growing certainty that you were unlike anyone he had ever met before.

‘’You must be tired, thank you, Tomas, that’s enough,’’ When you spoke from the book without raising your head, Tomas reluctantly withdrew his hands, even though he didn’t want to. Touching you like this felt nice; it was a rare sensation to interact with another body of his own accord, free from orders. Moreover, it was confined to a simple touch without fulfilling desires, a sensation he had almost forgotten. It also made him feel powerful, as it was an action he took by his own decision, highlighting the profound impact of a simple gesture on him.

“May I accompany you?” Tomas asked.

“Of course, you don’t even need to ask. You can look at whatever you want, and if you want to have a drink, you know where they are,” you replied, smiling at him. Tomas opted to brew herbal tea for the both of them. He carefully poured the freshly boiled water into two mugs before selecting green tea bags to steep in each one. As he settled next to you, he glanced at what you had written.

“Have you found anything yet?”

“To be honest, not really,” you admitted, reaching for the mug he offered. With a sigh, you glanced wearily over the open books. “Salt baths, incense, and natural stones have been mentioned, but these seem more for balancing energy. I haven’t come across anything about how to deal with black magic yet.”

“Don’t push yourself for our sake.”

“What? What do you mean?” You looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, a slight hint of frustration in your expression, urging him to explain.

“The demon who cursed us, Quan Chi, is a master of black magic and is cruel as well. You’re not the first person to promise to help us; I’ve seen this scenario before. I don’t think the solution is found in these books, so you shouldn’t burden yourself too much searching for answers you may not find. Our past attempts to break the curse only led to more suffering, it only led to disappointment and despair.”

Your eyebrows furrowed further in response, and though your expression darkened, your eyes betrayed a hurt that softened your features.

“I can understand why you’re hesitant to trust given your past experiences, and it infuriates me to think that others have exploited you in this way.’’ you asserted, your tone tinged with emotion. ‘’While the solution may not be found in these books, we won’t know unless we try, Tomas. I refuse to simply stand by and watch as time slips away and you’re forced back into that book. Our paths have crossed for some reason, and I will help you as much as my means allow. I understand that trusting again is daunting, even frightening, but I’m asking you to give it a chance.”

‘Only a fool would hope,’ Bi-Han’s words from years ago echoed in Tomas’s mind. It was easier to believe that you were playing some kind of game than to trust. But, on the other hand, it was undeniable that there was a hint of truth in your words. If you had a different purpose, you wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble or greeted Bi-Han’s rude words with silence. Even though you knew the power you had over them, you were always careful about the words you used, afraid to abuse it and put them in a difficult situation. Tomas didn’t want to make the same mistake again. He had been in that book for ten years and had seen and experienced a lot. He could navigate the familiar order, knowing the rules and what to expect. But this situation was different.

Maybe after a few days, you would change your mind and want to take advantage of this opportunity that fell into your lap. You might be overwhelmed while searching for a solution, realizing it wasn’t a problem you had to solve, or you might grow tired of them invading your home. The possibilities were endless. Despite this, Tomas still didn’t know what would be left of himself if he chose to trust again, only for it to end badly.

“Tomas?” Your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he met your worried gaze. “Are you all right? If what I said made you feel uncomfortable, I’m sorry.”

Your words, whispered gently, stirred the dilemma Tomas found himself in. It was too early for him to make a decision, as he didn’t even know you properly. Yet, there was a part of him that wanted to believe in you. Despite all the challenges he had faced, you were the first master he wanted to give a chance to after all these years. But he avoided saying it, not wanting to give you the power to manipulate him. As much as he wanted to give you a chance, the part of him that longed to escape from this situation and the complex emotions you evoked in him was more dominant.

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” Tomas replied, brushing off your concern. “I want to take a look at this book.”

As Tomas changed the subject and reached for one of the books in front of him, you eyed him one more time then resumed your reading quietly, allowing him the space to process his thoughts.

A serene silence enveloped the room, punctuated only by the rain outside tapping against the window, the gentle rustling of paper, and the occasional exchange of words between you. Tomas found himself once again enveloped in the same sense of peace he had felt while watching the movie with you last night. It was a rare feeling, one that he hadn’t experienced since being sealed within the book—time spent according to his own will, without orders or prohibitions.

As you sat back after having a snack and took a deep breath, Tomas’s attention was drawn to you like a magnet. Although he had been pretending to focus on the books in front of him, he found himself increasingly intrigued by observing you. Your facial expressions were as transparent as the pages of the books, and Tomas couldn’t help but watch you intently, captivated by your every movement and expression.

“It’s getting late,” you remarked with a tired smile, stifling a yawn with the back of your hand. “Are you feeling sleepy yet?”

“Not really,” Tomas replied honestly, though the idea of closing his eyes lingered in the corner of his mind. Despite having spent close to two years inside the book and therefore doing nothing, he couldn’t shake off the effects of insomnia. Trained to be a perfect assassin, he was accustomed to enduring extreme challenges beyond those faced by ordinary human. However, beneath the facade of strength and resilience, he was still human and had basic needs like everyone else. This included the need for sleep, a fundamental requirement that even his demanding training couldn’t negate.

“We could try lighting these candles, what do you think?” you suggested gently. “I also have another idea that might help, but we need to move to the couch for it.”

“I’m fine here, thank you,” Tomas replied, his voice betraying a hint of tension. You glanced at him, as if trying to discern what was bothering him, and placed a hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Tomas felt his resistance waver at the contact, the part of him that craved connection stirring to life once again.

“Let’s give it a try, and if it doesn’t work, I promise not to insist.” you said softly.

Tomas wanted to refuse your offer, but he couldn’t resist your comforting smile and reassuring words any longer. “Alright,” With a sigh, he rose from his chair and settled into a corner of the couch, while you searched for candles in the room. As you lit a candle and placed it on the coffee table, dimming the other lights, Tomas’s body tensed instinctively.

“The smell will spread soon—Tomas?” Though he felt your weight settle into the seat beside him, Tomas couldn’t bring himself to turn and look at you. His eyes scanned every dimly lit corner of the room, searching for the perfect escape route. His muscles were tense, rendering him immobile like a statue, and his breath seemed to freeze in his lungs, causing his chest to barely rise and fall. His hunter instincts stirred to life, hazy with the need to survive, to prevent shadows from drawing near him as if they harbored fatal threats. Memories of his days as a hunter flickered in his mind, images of tracking prey through dense forests and navigating treacherous terrain. It was a life defined by instinct and survival, skills honed through years of relentless pursuit. Even now, those instincts remained sharp, guiding his every move in this unfamiliar setting.

“Tomas, what’s wrong?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

“It’s dark,” Tomas managed to utter, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t like the darkness. It reminds me of the time I spent in the book.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I completely forgot! Just wait here, I’ll take care of it right away.” you responded, moving to get up. But Tomas stopped you abruptly, his fingers closing around your wrist with an iron grip. Though his hold may have been too tight, he felt powerless to loosen it, trapped in the conflict between fight or flight. His muscles tensed like coiled springs, his focus hazy with panic, aggravated and feeling more vulnerable than ever his instincts screaming at him to do something.

“Don’t go,” Tomas said, surprised at how foreign and commanding his own voice sounded. Though he intended it as a request, it came out more like an order. His voice was hoarse and strained, and he wasn’t even sure if you could hear him clearly.

“Okay, okay, I’m not going anywhere,” you assured him calmly, radiating a confidence that suggested you knew exactly what to do. “Tomas, it’s okay. Look at me.”

Your words cut through his panicked mind like a knife, and though his body remained tense, he obeyed, attempting to slow his breathing and regain his focus.

“Tomas,” you said softly, placing a hand on his cheek. He flinched at first, his body tensed more than before, ready to strike. If the circumstances had been different and he had seen you as a threat, he would have already broken your wrist because of this move. But you were no threat; your touch brought an unexpected sense of relief, like a balm to his frayed nerves. “Come on, turn your face to me. It’s okay.”

Though your hand rested gently on his cheek, you exerted no pressure, leaving the choice entirely up to Tomas. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his head to face you, meeting your warm smile.

“That’s it, you’re safe. They’re just shadows. There’s no one here who can hurt you,” you reassured him, stroking his cheek gently. As he gazed into your soft, comforting eyes, Tomas felt the urge to fight slowly ebb away under your touch and gaze.

Along with your soothing words, Tomas allowed himself to be guided, feeling as though he were a stuffed rag doll after the sudden surge of adrenaline. His head came to rest on your legs, though he couldn’t quite decipher how he had ended up in this position. His muscles felt heavy, as if he were underwater, and his senses dulled, making it difficult to perceive movements and even more so to choose your words. All he could do was inhale the subtle scent of chamomile emanating from the candle and focus on the sensation your fingers created on his skin.

“It’s okay… Tomas… You won’t get hurt again… I’m here, I’ll keep you safe…” you murmured softly. Tomas wanted to laugh at your words, which he could only catch in pieces. How could you shield them? You had no power or ability, yet, your expression of wanting to safeguard these men, twice your size and skilled in taking lives, stirred something within Tomas. Despite the lingering adrenaline, he felt a wave of calmness wash over him, like a gentle ray of light caressing him. He found himself leaning into your touch, seeking comfort in the gentle caress of your fingers against his hair. Truly, you were unlike anyone he had ever met before, and it would be unfair to pretend otherwise.

As you gently stroked his hair, Tomas felt his body grow heavier, his eyelids drooping halfway. Despite a wave of panic at feeling so powerless and vulnerable, your words reassured him.

“I’m here, and I’ll be here when you wake up. Don’t worry, Tomas. You’re safe. You’re not in the book. You’re here in my house, next to me. Can you feel my touch?”

As your fingers continued to run through his short hair, Tomas succumbed to the weight pressing down on him, feeling as though he were being completely submerged underwater. His body went lax, not even having the power to lift a finger. Every muscle seemed to surrender to the fatigue, and he found himself unable to muster the slightest resistance. With a gasp, his eyes closed, enveloping him in the darkness of his own exhaustion.

***

When the light hit Tomas’s face, he initially frowned and attempted to shield his eyes by turning his head to the side. However, as the light persisted, his eyebrows furrowed even more, and a displeased expression formed on his lips. In response, a sweet giggle reached his ears, prompting him to open his eyes quickly. There, he was met with your image, and for a moment, he simply stared at you like a fool. Your greeting, delivered in a calm and soft voice reminiscent of the morning sun, warmed him from within.

“Good morning,” you said with a kind smile. “Did you sleep well?”

Confusion clouded Tomas’s mind. Sleep? Did he really sleep last night? He remembered his body aching but couldn’t recall falling asleep, his mind retracing the events of the previous night. The last thing he remembered was the delicate sensation of your fingers in his hair. Still resting his head on your lap, Tomas’s cheeks warmed as he managed a small “Yes,” filled with disbelief. Your smile widened at his response.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you replied. With your hand still resting gently among his short silver hair, Tomas marveled at how natural the moment felt. Your presence brought him peace, as if you had always been there just waiting for him to find it, and there was something undeniably addictive about it. It was as though the chaos and uncertainty of his past had been momentarily suspended, replaced by a soothing tranquility he had longed for without even realizing it. In your company, the weight of his past seemed to lift, leaving behind a sense of clarity and hope that he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in a long while, Tomas allowed himself to simply be, basking in the warmth of your touch and the serenity of the moment.

“You didn’t sleep?” he asked.

“No, I stayed awake because I was worried about you having another attack,” you confessed.

As Tomas’s cheeks flushed with shame, your unwavering concern only deepened the impact you had on him. Your words ignited within him a desire to shield and safeguard you. No one had ever approached him with such genuine kindness before. You were truly a kind-hearted and innocent person, evoking so many forgotten emotions within him. It was a feeling so unfamiliar and rare for him, he found himself instinctively wanting to protect you from any harm in that moment, unable to bear the thought of you suffering in any way. In his life, he had never felt this protective over someone in such a short amount of time. It was a fierce and raw instinct, almost primal in nature. Even he himself couldn’t fully grasp or comprehend this feeling.

“Thank you,” he said, lifting his head from your lap and reaching to touch your cheek. You smiled, leaning into his touch, and replied, “No big deal.” As Tomas gently stroked your soft, dreamy skin, he felt an alien sensation he hadn’t experienced in years. Could it be… happiness? The last time he had felt such pure joy was when he and his sister found a piece of glass they thought was a precious stone, believing it would improve their income. Looking at you now, he was transported back to that moment, reliving the feeling exactly.

His body rested and fit, and in the morning light illuminating the room, you looked more beautiful than ever in his eyes. Your presence felt like a remedy to his damaged body and mind, something he never expected but needed.

As he gently pulled you towards him, his touch so light that you could have easily slipped away, you didn’t resist. Your lips were soft, your breath warm, and as your lips met his with a sweet sigh, Tomas felt the walls he had built to resist crumbling. The sensation of your lips against his sent an electrifying jolt through him, every touch igniting a warmth in his chest that seemed to spread to every corner of his being. Each moment of it felt like an eternity, every brush of your lips against his sending waves of longing coursing through him. The kiss was delicate and soft, each movement cautious yet filled with desire. Tomas feared disrupting the moment, afraid to harm you as he savored the intoxicating sweetness of your scent mingled with the warmth of the morning light against his back.

Perhaps it was a foolish move, one that would invite reproachful glances from his brothers, especially Bi-Han, but it was worth experiencing this feeling. He wanted to trust—this moment, your words, you. It was a basic and burning need. Tomas had never fully believed in the promise that light comes after darkness, but in your presence, you made it seem believable, like there could be more. Your body nestled between his arms felt right, as if you were meant to be there, and he had finally found his way home. In that moment of kissing you, Tomas felt a sense of completeness wash over him.

He had never liked the dark, but with you by his side, it didn’t seem so daunting to face it anymore.

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kdram-chjh · 5 months

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youtube

Cdrama: Shen Jun Jia De Xiao Bai Hu (2022)

Watch this video on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egIdSjijqTI

#youtube #Shen Jun Jia De Xiao Bai Hu #神君家的小白狐 #Little White Fox of the God King's House #Xiao Bai Hu Zhui Fu Ji #小白狐追夫记 #小白狐追夫記 #2022 #Tencent Video #cdrama #chinese drama #Sun Li Han #Dan Ni #Xia Hai Tao #Li Zhuo Yang #full version #free full version

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houpss · 2 months

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SKZ's reaction to your death ver. maknae line

hyung line (please pay attention to this work, I tried 😿)

It pains me to write this work, my heart breaks and I begin to believe in this nonsense... BUT REMEMBER THAT ONLY PERSONALITIES ARE TAKEN FROM THE REAL SKZ, EVERYTHING REST IS FICTION!

Mentions of explosions, drugs, addictions, fatal diseases, a lot of tears, fatal diseases . ANGST.

Han Jisung

He begged you not to go, because he had a nightmare where you died.

You just laughed it off and kissed Jisung on the cheek, what could have happened?

He literally knew this would happen.

He calls Changbin: “The company building Y/N was in was blown up.”

He knew.

He felt nothing, complete emptiness.

His hands were shaking madly, he wanted to disappear.

Your body was not found, perhaps it was torn to pieces.

An empty coffin was buried, it's so scary.

The feeling of your morning kiss is still on his cheek. You promised him to come in the evening and watch new episodes of anime.

But you'll never come back again.

He dreams about you, but he wants more.

Yes, he will start taking drugs to prolong the effect of your presence.

Members will notice this only over time.

Minho and Hyunjin dragged Jisung to psychotherapist and addiction specialists while the other members cleared out Jisung's room.

You are no longer in his room, there is nothing connected with you there anymore.

“Jisung, Y/N wouldn’t like it that you became a drug addict.”

"There is no more Y/N, which means I don’t care about myself."

His eyes are full of pain, he hasn’t cried since your death, the tears just won’t come.

"It's like I died with her"

"Bro, you need to move on with your life for her sake, she would want that."

"What's the point if it doesn't exist?"

"You're destroying yourself"

Jisung doesn't care.

He walks a lot, he doesn't eat and he writes a lot, he wrote so many lyrics.

Felix spoon feeding Jisung is so wrong.

He needs to learn to take care of himself.

No one else will be as caring as you.

Han Jisung will never cry, because he sees you regularly, he practically doesn’t miss you anymore.

After a while he will return to drugs again, it just hurts him. he misses.

And again he will go to a narcologist and psychotherapist.

And again, again, again. It's a vicious circle.

He doesn’t want you to leave, stay with him some more. He can't handle it.

Lee Felix

"You are very beautiful today, Y/n"

"Lixie, I feel worse every day... don't say that."

"But you are so beautiful..we will get out together"

He lied, you won't get out. He lied to you and himself.

He forbade the doctors to tell you about your condition. Everything was handed over to him personally.

He knew you didn't have much time left.

On your last day, he baked you your favorite cookies, as if he felt that you would leave him.

He wasn't ready.

Late in the evening, he fed you cookies and read your favorite book, you squeezed his hand tightly.

"Felix, I love you very much...you are my happiness, freckle"

Your last words. The sun has gone out, the world is falling apart.

Changbin and Minho led him out of the room; other participants were already waiting in the corridor.

It was so painful and empty, as if happiness had disappeared. You disappeared.

He returned to the dorm, his request to return to your apartment was refused.

You refused to be hospitalized until the very end, but Felix still managed to drag you to the hospital. You even felt better.

He was lying on his back in a cold bed, it was cold without you.

This will be his first birthday without you.

He doesn't want to celebrate it.

Your stuffed animal was lying on his bed, he held it tightly in his hands.

It hurt, he was all alone now.

This will go on for several weeks. Felix doesn't remember anything, like stills from a movie.

Members constantly come to see him.

He pretends to live, and is even happy that it’s his birthday. His first birthday without your presence.

He doesn't want it that way.

"Felix, let's go, you need to take a walk."

Chan lifted Felix out of bed, washed him, changed him and fed him. Felix is so grateful to Chan.

Chan drove Felix to your apartment, he said he would pick Felix up later.

Everywhere there was the smell of you and your love, on the table there was food for Felix and the usual note. The bed is rumpled.

He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. it absolutely hurt, he felt nothing but pain.

For some reason, for the first time he felt so painful and sad. In general, Felix is very vulnerable, but...

He never imagined how he would cry over the loss of someone.

He couldn't even contact your family.

You had no family or friends; you were abandoned as a child. Felix and SKZ were the only people close to you.

You never really wanted to tell Felix about your family, it was too painful to remember.

He so wanted to hug you, stroke your pretty cheeks and tell you that everything is good in this world. you have nothing to fear.

You loved it when he hugged you and smiled brightly.

He always lied.

He always lied and said that your condition was improving.

Did he regret that he lied? No

He was delaying the moment of death for you.

He put on your huge sweater, your bright smell is on it. He loves this smell so much.

He loves you so much.

Loving people don't leave. stupid lie.

Why does it hurt so much? Why does it hurt so much to love someone?

Then Chan took him, Felix might feel better for a few days.

Felix will even appear at a fashion event.

But...

You will have to bury two coffins, he will die after you.

Felix realized that it was so stupid... it was stupid to live without you.

You will find him in the afterlife, right?

" Lee Felix 15.09.2000–08.10.202*"—"Lee Y/N 01.01.2000–08.09.202*"

Kim Seungmin

You were strangled in an alley while returning home.

Kim didn't have time to meet you.

He blamed himself and only himself.

Your body was found only in the morning.

Pale suits you, dear.

Seungmin looked at you as usual, like you were the eighth wonder of the world...why did you go to that alley?

No, Seungmin never cries.

He did not ask for the support of his members or the support of his family, he will cope on his own, as always.

He will become closed and taciturn. The company won't even release a statement about his rest.

He will throw himself into his work, he will work day and night.

The members are too worried about his condition.

Seungmin doesn't feel anything anymore, he doesn't feel joy, sadness, or pain.

As if the body exists separately from him. Inside he is nobody.

He returns to your shared apartment only a few weeks later, his lips frozen: “Y/N, I’m home.”

But there was no one at home except him.

The apartment is dark and cold, it was so empty without you.

On the dresser he will find an envelope with a letter, you left him one every time when he returned late.

It said: “I love you very much, Kim Seungmin. Come to me in my dreams.”

This was not as usual, you had never written to him like this.

Everything that had accumulated over several weeks came out.

Seungmin hates crying, he never cries.

Tears flow limply down his face as he presses the paper to his chest.

You won't come back anymore, it's time to get used to it.

He will find your album with photos, he is so in love with you.

Then he will fall asleep and see you in his dreams for the first time. Thank you for coming.

then you told him to move on... but how to live without you?

For the first time, he felt unbearable pain and despair.

He will write songs about you, breathing you and living in the past.

Why does Kim Seungmin continue to live?

Yang Jeongin

Baby, he killed you himself.

How did it happen?

"I could be a better boyfriend than him"

He was always very jealous of you, but to the point of killing you?

This is a terrible case.

Jeongin has no regrets, you're mine or nobody's

No one will know about this, it is disguised as an accident. What a pity.

Perhaps he will be bored.

He's so bored without you

A few times he will come to your grave, it's quite rude.

He keeps all your things with him, he will never be missed, you are nearby.

tell me why did you kill her?

“Jeongin, why don’t you miss her?”

"She is forever in my heart"

It's like he's lying.

"I killed her simply because I was so jealous." Pure confession

He might even cry to show that he misses you.

You don't want to look for it in the next life, a very cruel death at the hands of a loved one.

And Jeongin won’t look for anyone else, because he loves YOU.

Sometimes his conscience torments him, but he did it for the good.

185 notes · View notes

jinnie-ret · 4 months

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Welcome to my 1000 followers special!!! I can't thank you all enough for how much your support has continued to amaze me and motivate me to continue writing on tumblr. I love you all and I love the friendships I've built on this platform with all of you and really am thankful for the likes, the replies, the reblogs, and of course the follows! Which is what we're celebrating today! It's even weird to think we have 1000 followers omg-

I'm on a mission to craft the perfect playlist for all of us to enjoy, and what better way to do that then to do that through imagining different scenarios with Stray Kids?! I've started it off but I want to hear songs from you too, as this is a playlist for us all!! :)

¶________________________________¶

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤

🖤 black friday - tom odell added by jinnie-ret!

(han x plus size!reader) | angst it should have been a nice, fun evening out, but your insecurities win and jisung is just as upset as you are when he finds out why

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

💚 perfect places - lorde added by jinnie-ret!

(lee know x reader) | fluff | angst y/n never thought she'd be talking to a stranger til the sun rose, but it was better than feeling trapped at the local bar

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

🖤 video games - lana del rey added by @3rachas-angel!

(bang chan x reader) | fluff it's nights like these, when you're staring up at the pretty stars, admiring the city lights, that you realise just how much you love your boyfriend

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

💚 perfect nights - le sserafim added by @moe-kyun-kyun!

(poly stray kids x reader) | fluff in which skz is watching the opening show of their girlfriend's tour, sonder, and they come to realise a song is dedicated purely to them

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

🖤 hellevator - stray kids added by anonnie!

(stray kids x male ninth member!reader) | angst he's going through voice changes in their predebut era and fans are already sending in hate

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

💚 cigarette duet - princess chelsea added by @ihrtlix!

(poly stray kids x ninth member!reader) | angst you get hounded by your boyfriends after they catch you smoking. how will they react when you disappear and go off the radar?

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

🖤 silent cry - stray kids added by 🕷️ anonnie!

(changbin x reader) | angst | fluff she hid her thoughts and struggles to not burden her boyfriend, but he catches her in tears

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

🖤 take a chance with me - niki added by anonnie!

(lee know x reader) | fluff one of you is bad at expressing your feelings, the other, desperate to convince the one they've been pining after for so long to give them a chance

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

🖤 seasons - wave to earth added by anonnie!

(seungmin x best friend!reader) | fluff you and seungmin have been best friends forever, and your strong bond really shines through when he comforts you through a tough time

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

💚 perfect blues - hannah bahng added by @cheesemonky!

(chan x reader) | fluff she's been letting too much get to her head, so chan, being the loving boyfriend he his, decides she needs a holiday

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

💚 cover me - stray kids added by @straykidsnerd255!

(poly stray kids x reader) | angst money, work, school. it was only a matter of time before the boys would see her crumble, and be there to pick up the pieces

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

💚 poison - brent faiyaz added by @keen-li!

(lee know x reader) | angst minho is crazy over you, as much as he'd hate to admit it, but you won't even bat an eyelid

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

🖤 we are family - sister sledge added by @turtledove824!

(ot8 stray kids x reader (platonic)) | fluff having one brother in stray kids means you have 7 other brothers too

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

💚 arcade - duncan lawrence added by anonnie!

(chan x reader) | angst when you find yourself reverting to old bad habits, chan is there to comfort you and pick up the pieces

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

🖤 breathe - lee hi added by @skzoologist!

(hyunjin x reader (platonic)) | angst you let yourself belittle your own problems because surely they couldn't be as bad as your idol friend's own ones?

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

💚 i miss you, i'm sorry - gracie abrams added by anonnie!

(felix x reader) | angst it hurts seeing that your ex has already moved on

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

🖤 hurts like hell - fleurie added by @skzoologist!

(felix x gender neutral!reader) | angst felix grieves the loss of them over something he thinks he was responsible for.

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

💚 the wisp sings - winter aid added by @skzoologist!

(jeongin x reader) | angst | fluff jeongin never confesses his love to you and it's to his own detriment that he becomes exhausted

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

🖤 carry you - ruelle, fleurie added by @skzoologist!

(seungmin x reader) | fluff at a low point, seungmin finds out how much reader has been supporting him, no matter what. it fills him with a warmth that is nearly searing him from the inside, but he would have it no other way.

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

💚 mixtape: time out - stray kids added by @hannahhbahng!

(felix x reader) | fluff felix makes sure that you take some time out to focus on yourself

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

🖤 even when I'm not with you - pierce the veil added by 🩹 anonnie!

(changbin x reader) | fluff changbin finally returns after tour and that is when the love you two share really shines through

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

Play again?

140 notes · View notes

rottendollface · 2 months

Text

Smoke Relationship Headcanons

Character: Smoke | Tomas Vrbada.

Warnings: NSFW, fem!reader, dom!Tomas, toxic relationship, jealousy; mental and physical abuse; unprotected sex, thoughts of baby trapping, oral sex; the action takes place before Bi-Han's betrayal, 18+.

• Tomas, who is searching for a civilian woman on purpose. He knows how to make a good impression, and he is well aware of his soft, lovely appearance. Once he has his eyes on you, he will act his best only to lure you into his trap.

• Tomas knows whom to target. He doesn't want a strong woman. He wants a shy, soft girl, a damsel in distress, so he can be her hero; but don't be fooled by such a valiant motive: the more he saves you, the more you owe him, and he won't hesitate to charge you for everything he has ever done to you.

• He lies about his background shamelessly. For you, he is a good guy, Tomas, who works as a policeman in a neighborhood district department. What about his family? His mother and sister tragically perished, and he was adopted by family friends. Tomas is a nice guy, and so are his brothers. He never tells you the names, dates, and places – and you can't even notice it because Tomas just doesn't shut up. He tells you so many things that you constantly lose the plot. However, from you, he expects to hear the whole story with all the following facts.

• Tomas is very caring with you. He assures you that you can trust him all your worries and your mind. His words are sweet, and his hands are gentle when he touches you. Tomas helps you with everything – you don't even have to ask. He is perfect, but he does it only to learn your weaknesses. Got too emotional and told him about your mental struggles? Tomas will make a note on how to put you into stress. Shared your fears with him? He is already planning on how to use it against you to make you vulnerable.

• He always belittles himself in front of you to hear you praising him. You put your whole pure soul into the kindest words he has ever heard in his life. Sometimes, he thinks that even his mother loved him less than you do. You are a marvelous persona, and he does everything in his might to become like you. Staying in your presence feels like basking in the Sun, and Tomas wants to become a better person for you. Did you really believe it? Well, it's better for him. Tomas does it on purpose – he gives you a false feeling of being a savior, an angel in a relationship to make your bond feel special.

• Does Tomas love you? Of course, he does, but the way he shows it is a little... different. He was raised by people who massacred his family. Since childhood, he had to kill to survive. He is a disgusting, sick creature, a predator who lives by animal impulses. Tomas doesn't know love in its normal way. He is afraid to lose you due to this reason, so he is hunting you in a different way: he wants to bind you to himself, make you addicted to him. Tomas will succeed, he believes.

• Tomas is jealous of you. He hates every man for looking at you, he hates you for being so kind with everyone around you, and he hates himself for allowing you to walk everywhere you want. It would be better for him if you were isolated from society. Tomas starts to scare you with police statistics on assaults on young women; he asks you to be extra careful when you leave your home, recommends you to give him access to your location, controls your outfits and makeup. You can shine with your beauty only when he is around, and while he isn't with you, you are allowed to wear something neutral so as not to draw attention to yourself. If you want to party with your friends, he has to know all their phone numbers and be in constant contact with you: if you aren't answering his messages for more than an hour, he will call you until you pick up. Tomas is aware that it scares you to see so many missed calls, and he does it to force a guilt on you. You have to excuse yourself and leave for half an hour in the best case to call him back, mentally prepared to hear his annoyed voice.

"...was found in an alleyway with her throat slashed."

"...her eyes were gouged."

"...drugged her drink and then raped her unconscious body."

Begging him to stop won't give you any results. Tomas wants you to remember once and for all: without him, you can easily become a heroine of tragic news reports. He will continue to intimidate you until you become too scared to exist in society.

• In relationship fights, he uses dirty tricks. Tomas gives you silent treatment to provide you an opportunity to think about your actions and goes on missions, keeping his phone turned off. It drives you crazy – every time you are afraid that he will be injured, and you will be the last to know about it. You would prefer him to scream at you than look you over and keep silent.

• Sometimes, when you two are not fighting, but starting to argue, he grabs your hands or claws his fingers in your shoulder dangerously close to your neck. Tomas is a strong man with an impressive physique – and some of his touches leave bruises on your skin. You ask him to be more careful with you, yet it goes unheard by him. His way to say sorry in this situation is to kiss each bruise after it gets its beautiful cornflower-blue color with purple streaks. The tenderness in his lips when he is doing that makes you think that Tomas likes to hurt you.

• Still, Tomas is a good husband material! He provides you, always makes sure your fridge is full of the best food. With Tomas, you don't have to worry about money. He will easily pay for your education and your cravings.

Tomas is traditional and believes that you should be a stay-at-home mother for your future children. To be honest, in Lin Kuei, you will have nothing else to do but to watch after kids. Sometimes, he dreams of leaving the clan and living with you like his parents did. One day, when it will be safe for him and you will have nowhere to run, he is going to tell you the whole truth about himself.

• Talking about children, Tomas loves the idea to be a family man. His foster parents made sure to raise all of the sons this way. It is also a good way to chain you to him. Constantly pregnant, you will have no other way but to stay with him.

• Tomas just feels the urge to breed you. Like an animal in rut, he won't cum anywhere, but inside you. Want it or not, he will force his seed in your womb. Tomas is the type to sabotage your birth control if you take any and impale condoms. He will find the words to assure you to have unprotected sex – he knows you so well he can convince you in everything.

• Tomas lives to grope you. He adores the way his big palms squeeze your buttcheecks, this delicious fat taking the form of his hands. He will grab you by your thighs when you sit next to him, making his way in between your legs by pressing on your skin roughly, impelling you to spread them.

• Thigh-sex from behind is a must for him: just one thought of his dick nestling in between your sweet inner thigs, right under your dripping pussy, gives him a boner. Your slick makes it easy to move, and Tomas shamelessly uses it for his pleasure. For you, it is nothing more, but a sweet torture, as you feel his throbbing length rubbing under your awaiting hole. You beg him and whine for him, but Tomas just grabs you by your hands, making you arch your back, and goes faster, bringing his climax closer.

• He won't go further without oral. Expect him to eat you out until you go stupid. Tomas is an expert in what he is doing: toying with your clit by sucking, munching and licking on it, he is then sliding his tongue down to your hole. Stuffing you with his saliva and tongue, he changes it on his thick fingers when it's time to go back to your trembling clitoris. He will slide up and down, his tongue flat to cover all the parts of your pussy.

Tomas expects you to give him head back after he finishes with you. The clouded gaze with heavy eyelids you give him when your plump pink lips close on the tip of his dick makes it more erotic. He is training you to take all of him in your mouth in one go, yet it brings Tomas more pleasure when you're starting at the tip and slowly making it down to the base, letting his length into your hot tight throat. You are sucking him, trailing every vein with your tongue. Saliva is streaming down from the corners of your mouth to your chin, making bubbles – Tomas is watching you with attentive eyes, memorizing every detail. Tomas is the type to grab you by your hair and start fucking your mouth roughly, enjoying you choking on his cock.

• No matter the position, Tomas is always in control of you. His hands never leave your body, helping you to adapt to his pace instead. Yet Tomas' favorites are doggy and missionary. For him, deeper penetration means better chances to make you pregnant. Taking you from behind allows him to go rougher on your poor cunt, that certainly will be swollen by the end of the intercourse. Pulling you on his cock, Tomas shivers at the feeling of your wet walls spasming around his length. His head is spinning when he sees his seed leaking out your red and messy pussy. Tomas pushes it back with his fingers, watching you squirm under him, as he is stuffing your already sensitive insides. For sure, he will go on you for another round, fucking his cum at the deepest parts of your womb.

• Every time you fall asleep by his side, Tomas is thinking about introducing you to his reality. It will be a long, painful process of your complete disappearance from previous life. Saying goodbye to old friends and family is never an easy task, but you will do it for Tomas – he will gladly help you with it.

#smoke smut #mk1 smut #mk1 smoke #mk1 smoke smut #tomas vrbada smut #smoke x femreader #mortal kombat 1 smut #tomas vrbada x you #tomas vrbada x reader

79 notes · View notes

uhdrienne · 4 months

Text

there’s text under the cut! 🫶🏻

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

“Hello?”

“Hey...I’m downstairs.”

“Okay, wait for me. I’ll be right down.”

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

“Hey,” Seungcheol says, hair blowing in the gentle breeze.

“Hey you.” You reply quietly, walking over to take a seat on the bench next to him.

He sees your mildly red eyes and frowns, upset. “I’m sorry.”

Your head jerks up at that. “What?” You ask incredulously. “Why are you apologising? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“For running off like that.” He sighs. “I must have made you upset.”

“I get it, Cheol.” You place a hand on his. “I get why you misunderstood and I’m sorry for that too-”

“No, no! Don’t be sorry! You didn’t know. And I figured I was overreacting because you didn’t feel the-” He stops himself, embarrassed.

“What did you say?” You ask, eyes wide.

“N-nothing!”

“No, tell me. What were you going to say?” You insist.

“I..I mean I like you a lot and I was jealous so that’s why I overreacted! And I know you maybe don’t feel the same so you got confused about why I was so angry and I swear I didn’t want to tell you this way-” He puts his head in his hands.

“Seungcheol-”

“And you can ignore me for the rest of my life! I won’t be mad and I’m literally so sorry you have to hear this-”

“Seungcheol!” You take his shoulders to make him look at you.

“H-huh?”

“Seungcheol… who told you that… I don’t feel the same?” You ask, trying not to smile at his utterly bewildered expression.

“What?”

“I’m not sure if anyone’s told you, and by that I mean Han or Gyu,” you continue, slightly smiling now. “I don’t go out with people I’m not interested in.”

“You-”

“I can literally show you my texts with Han,” you say, shrugging. “I called you the cute library boy at the start, and I freaked out after we had breakfast the other day.”

"But-"

"And the bouquet you got me," You carry on, "The flowers are still alive and just as pretty. I ordered a vase for them, and it came late so I was so worried they were gonna wilt before I got it. I arranged it really nicely, you know."

He blushes at the mention of the flowers, and you laugh at how red his ears have gone. “…Same. The freaking out, I mean,” he admits shyly. “Minghao blocked me after that and didn’t talk to me because I wouldn’t shut up.”

“You’re cute!” You let out a giggle, and reach out to pinch his beetroot-coloured cheeks.

“Stop it,” He pouts. “I still got the wrong idea and it was silly of me not to just ask.”

“Don’t be silly.” You wave his apology off. “I made you misunderstand. So we're even. We were just both being idiots.”

“I’m your idiot.” He suddenly says, and as if it was even possible, you swear he blushes even more. But before he can retract what he said, you nod confidently, reaching out to hug him. He immediately pulls you in, rocking you back and forth and smoothing out your hair.

“Yep,” you say, arms wrapping around his middle. “You’re my idiot. I’m your idiot, too. If we’re both going to be idiots, we may as well be together.”

“So let’s get together,” he says as he suddenly pulls away, eyes wide, in a sudden burst of confidence. A couple days from now, he will scream into his pillow in embarrassment upon recollection. But for now, his smile is so wide it’s hurting his cheeks.

He leans forward, his grin now turning a bit cheeky.

“I hope you have no objections?”

The smile and accompanying nod you give in return is so bright, it beats any sun and moon and gold and promise he’s ever seen.

The sound of your laughter carries on as you launch yourself into his awaiting arms. His eyes squeeze shut as he entwines himself around you, soaking in the bliss and the joy that is you both, together.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

Seungcheol's sitting down at his desk. He just made sure you got into the building safely before he trekked back to his own.

The inspiration for his song hits him as soon as remembers the look on your face. The lyrics he pens down in his notebook flow through him like water, so easily and so smoothly it's like he always knew it in the back of his head and in his heart.

But he didn't, actually, not until now. But he knows he'll never forget.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

The flowers look a little more vibrant to you. Alive, breathing, just being, even as they sit in your vase that came late. You never knew flowers could look this beautiful.

Maybe the magic had a little to do with the sender.

You snap a photo of the flowers again for memory's sake, their shadows dancing against the wall in your darkened room. When you look at the photo, they're beautiful, but they're not the same as the ones you're seeing. You laugh out in relief and joy, and lay back on your bed, eyes already closing from the excitement of tonight.

It's okay if you didn't see it in the photo. You didn't need a photo to remember it, anyway. You'd never forget.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

bonus: after they get home!

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

ﾟﾟ･｡ all’s fair in love and law (c.sc x reader)

09. objection?

prev. masterlist. next.

a/n: one chap before the last :( we're coming to the end of my first ever series! sad to let this go but also excited for what's to come in the future 🥲

💌 summary: falling for the cute library assistant while struggling through a law degree may not have been in your plans or his — but it was the best thing to happen.

oh, how did something as simple as losing your notes turn into this?

series taglist 🤍:

@myjaeyunn @sun-daddy-yoriichi @rakshithanotrao @leewonkyeom @luchiet @keylex @buffhoshi @malikazz243 @kokoiinuts @jj-ever-lovely-jewel @90s-belladonna @gh0stbonez @k07-1313

thank you for reading ✨

95 notes · View notes

rel124c41 · 23 days

Text

SUNDO. jade leech

This is the beginning: you walk into Osaka Bay, sound asleep. This is the end: you are dragged into Osaka Bay, wide awake … and screaming.

tags: japanese mythology & folklore, religious imagery & symbolism, yokai AU, attempted rape/non-con, inspired by Den lille Havfrue by Hans Christian Andersen, sleepwalking, yandere, blood and gore, immortality, declaration of love, did andersen want to fuck fish? i think so!

word count: 9,114

Timid, you step into the water.

Behind closed eyelids, the muscle and nerves of your eyeball flicker like insect wings. Your eyelashes may rest delicate in the closed oyster position but your eyeballs move alert underneath the thin skin.

By closing your eyes, it allows you to see a new world. Sight often blocks and trumps other sensations. With purpose, you narrow yourself to reflect upon the touch of a breeze, the sound of cicadas, and the shape of water embracing your ankles. You spread yourself out, imaging yourself in the wind, and then your eyes pulse under your eyelid skin.

You fly deeper into the lake with a yell of, “I see you!” And suddenly, you shrink down to the size of a six year old child from your adult body, missing your top left canine tooth and wearing a kimono pattern with abstract art of yellow squares and violet rectangles.

In the water, a boy laughs and says, “That can’t be true!”

“Yes it is!”

“But your eyes are closed!”

Eager hands squirm and dive through the water. Fingers reach out like hawk talons, squeezing unsqueezable water. In your hark of the earth, you hear the fierce splashes of you punching into the water to grab your friend. Laughing, you trip over yourself, falling breast first in water, managing to pick yourself up in time just as the lake licks at your throat. Three different voices laugh at you but you only hunt for one.

“I swear, I see you!”

“No way!”

In your attentiveness of your surroundings, you feel the smile that grows on your face. Water leaps up at your cheeks like sparks of a fire. When you laugh, salt slips in your mouth. Suddenly, you change angles and reach to your right instead of your left. The water there moves in a panic. Laughing, you bring up both your hands, readying to push them into the water.

The sun is warm. The water is cool. From the tree, in the breeze, thousands of leaves say in one voice, “My little Muyūbyō. My little sleepwalker. You are going too deep.”

“Mom?”

The hanging leaves are green and lush. “You’re going too deep, (Name).”

You wake up. The rainbow of ways one can wake up is endless and numerous. However, no one really considers waking up to be a varying, changeable state of things. Each unique rise into the waking realm differs slightly.

Today, you wake up like a crab has pinched firmly the tendon running down your upper hamstring. Today, you wake up shin-deep in the lake. Your mother is right. You are going too deep. The water usually stays up to your ankles. The sight greatly disturbs you and your hamstring tendon drums with the full body pain.

That boy. You wonder on the identity of that young boy. Why could you not catch him if you had him right in your sight? Your seeing varies often; sometimes the world is as clear as newly polished glass and other times you are trying to look through a looking glass that is grime and sand stained. His voice – his voice was almost as familiar as your mother's warning.

Eyes enucleated, you would always know your mother’s voice.

Backpedaling, you move and watch until the embrace around your legs slides down goosebumped skin and lies quivering around your ankles.

You look at the sunrise peering over the lake. Hinode starts the upward ascend, pink and orange light falling over the world. Water almost shimmers around your ankles with the welcome benevolence of the rising sun.

Yet with its welcome comes the banishment of the only company you have. Well, for the most part. Even the mischievous kappa, river spirits, will vanish with the sun. You look for them nonetheless, knowing you make sure to fall asleep with cucumbers in your nightwear; food for the yokai, just to certain their volatile hungers are quelled.

You —

You have always been able to see yokai.

Your parents have called you blessed because of it. As a sleepwalker, you are closer to the spirit world than the normal, spirit-blind citizens of the island Kyushu. Despite being blessed, your parents kept your habit of sleepwalking out of the village’s hippocampus — as they would surely see it as a mark of possession.

So much for parental precaution, you are already seen as the village’s resident boogeyman even without them knowing you move in nightly rest.

Perhaps it is a fault of your own.

Perhaps the blame lies on your parents.

You can pinpoint where it went wrong though. Since the incident, you have known you would be kindred to the boogeyman. Despite all the piling up evidence, there is no clearly given perpetrator. Who does the blame of the crime go to for being a boogeyman against one’s will? The crime of that day and then the crime of being yourself. You: eldritch evil in human clothings.

Sekia (the walking world) and ikai (the ‘other’ world), you walk between those and that is a crime.

You would never point the fingers at your God though. The very thought of it makes your stomach tighten like rope and you press your palms flat into your abdomen to resist the urge to puke. God, your last remaining parent.

Shinto is an indigenous faith in Japan but you are born of a time period far too back to even toy with the idea of calling it indigenous. Shinto believes that one is born fundamentally good but struggles with evil spirits. You are born with a mark of evil. Born bad, you defy the religion you preach, practice, and love as if it is an old friend.

Despite that, where you live is in a Shinto shrine, atop a mountain, by a lake.

And, with a frown blemishing your pretty face, you look behind, up at the mountain you have to climb to go home.

Behind the Shinto shrine is a clothesline for drying cottons and silks. It stretches, a pinned butterfly wing, from tree to tree. All that hangs from them is only wet at the bottom. You squeeze the bottom of the nightwear you put there the previous day. Still damp. Ah, if only the elevation was not so high up. This would dry up quicker if I was living off the mountain. It is April and spring is ushering in. Still, it is mildly cold at the isolated point where you live.

You do not think you could stomach the air down in the village. Thin air is all you know. Adapting to glutinous air would be like drowning on land, a paradox regarding your lungs. You pull your nightwear off the skin covering your twin lungs, one hand on each tomoerio of the yogi.

It gathers delicately around your hamstrings before you pull it around the crook of your elbow. Straightening it out, you add the damp fabric to the clothesline. One arm cupping your nude breasts, you compare the height of water to previous nightwear. There is slight discoloration, the bottom a dark gray and navy blue and the rest white and blue as cornflower.

You tense when you look down the clothesline. Finding by one by one that the height of damp decreases in a staircase pattern. It would make sense. Ones that have been on the clothesline longer would be less soaked. But you know better.

You have been going deeper. You have no idea why but you have been walking deeper into the lake.

When you were very young – on the journey to turn two years old in a month or so – you were found in the lake. Above, in the mountaintop, horrified, mournful screams stabbed the air. Your name – screamed with tears and fright in each letter – soared like a tengu bird. Sleeping upright, you were unaware until a hand grabbed you and wrenched you back into the world.

“(Name). Oh my, (Name), my baby!”

When your fretful mother realizes years later that you cannot stop sleepwalking, she only asks one thing of you: to not go deeper than your ankles. You claw at the softest on your chest to get your heart to stop pounding so fretful. Next time, you will reel yourself back before you disobey.

There are a hundred eyes peeking through the paper sliding doors and a trail of footsteps that are too petite to be yours trailing across the cypress wood floors of your home. These are curing images to your heart.

With a smile and hum, you trail a finger across the wall. Multiple eyes blink at the motion like a herd of butterfly wings twitching at a breeze. Leaving behind wet, much larger footprints, you walk through the Shinto shrine to your bedroom. It is time to dress for the arising sun. The sticky smell of stale sulfur and sea trails after you. The yokai of your father’s Shino shrine welcome this familiar scent.

You never had any childhood friends. Quite a desolate thought, yes? Not entirely for you. Never having childhood friends, you cannot sensibly yearn for it with a desperate longing or be saddened by the statement. You never had any childhood friends.

For some reason, you have false snippets of a sekai, a waking world, with a childhood friend with one sun eye and one moon eye. Blended between the realities like you are. And an odd shattered dream made by your hippocampus made of yearning you do not have.

Origami is today’s shared activity. With slices of colored paper the boy has gifted you, you take to folding them into numerous animals. Creasing paper between your fingers and pinching edges with your nails. You work diligently on yours, spine facing the mountain.

You squish down the snake-head-shape the paper has fallen into until you get the diamond you want. With a prideful smile, you continue, fold by fold. You pull bottom up and get an open mouth; when you push both edges inward, you get the squashed wings done, halfway there.

Spine facing the lake, your companion continues on with his. His nails are whetted like a cleaver so he gets preciser and cleaner edges with his origami. Despite the fact he could make something more challenging, his design is simpler and less complicated than yours. He is just finishing up the tail by folding the right corner of the tiny triangle into the middle.

“Azul’s been making a lot of frogs. He says each frog he makes is another coin his future self will soon have.”

“There must be a whole army of them by now then!”

“A militia is more appropriate. I worry one day he will find himself lying down in the grave he has made, drowning under washi paper. The folly of his want.” The boy says this with a facade’s frown; there is really no concern in his mannerisms.

“You say that like you aren’t greedy.”

“Hm … not for things like money, other things.”

You miss the way his eyes burn and shine because you are working on modeling the paper body of your animal. You enjoy your time spent with Jade, this fabricated friend your hippocampus made of the clay of your brain, dearly.

“Food?”

“Ah … well, I suppose that is one of the other things.”

“What else are you greedy for?” You cannot fathom that Jade wants anything more to eat. He is very gluttonous like his brother and octopus friend besides his lithe, feminine frame.

“For one thing –”

“Aha! Finished!”

Eager and proud, you hold up the origami animal. Your creases and folds are not too pristine but the product of effort is still majestic. A crane. The bird said to live a thousand years. “Pretty isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Let’s switch ours.” Your hands make a grab for the origami fish in Jade’s hands.

“But it is the first time you have been able to make a crane successfully. Most people want to keep milestones.” He cannot fathom why you are so eager to share. “The crane should stay with you.”

“But I want to share it with my best friend.”

You wake up like the clap of a baseball in a mitt. Your eyes fly open as the baseball is thrown with a resounding bark of fetch, soaring like an arrow and returning to the second glove. A consciousness thrown between two gloves. The left side of your face feels numb and medicated.The water is up to your shins again, disobedient. Backpedaling without hesitation, you scratch at the side of your face. It feels like a cluster of barnacles are weighing down west facing skin.

You yawn as the sun, the hinode, comes up. A thousand years. What a long time; you could never fathom living such an infinite amount of time. Salt and grime staining your nightwear, you step onto the shore. You would never want to live a thousand years like this.

Another never of yours? You never had any childhood friends.

There are no absolutes in Shinto.

“This is impossible,” you whisper.

“There are no absolutes,” a man replies.

Somehow and someway, you are being wedded. Done with your fruitless attempts to open your eyes, you resign to verbally negotiating your way out of this lucid dream. You have to get out of here but the water has hardened to cement around your legs. You are unsure if this is a fabricated dream, a fabricated memory of a fake world, or if this is the ‘other’ world. Unsure of where you tread, you desperately want the sun to break apart this nightmare.

That is impossible. I am a miko. A miko must be unmarried. I am my father’s helper and I cannot be wedded.

The man replies to your thoughts: That is not true. You are not a miko. The priest is dead. You can be wedded.

No. I cannot wed.

The white kosode kimono covers over your skin like a constant itch. Somehow and someway, without opening your eyes, you know that you are wearing wedding attire. You feel the distribution of another set of legs in the lake. There is an awful weight on your finger.

There are vows being spoken by a siren’s voice. A trickling scale on a piano voice. It feels oddly like you cannot create new memories. Your dreams and thoughts evaporate like trickling sand, stolen. Everything dwindles and moves away like retreating waves.

Do you relinquish your immortal soul to this man?

Do you?

“Yes.”

“My love, a snake is coming.”

You wake up, off-kilter. You fall immediately due to that poor balancing board provided by uneven rocks. With a gasp, your hands go out to catch you, splashes resounding as you kneel down in the water. Another fierce splash follows. You scream as you watch a mamushi dive into the water where you were standing.

“Aa-Agh,” you gasp as you scramble up. “AH!” The world feels like trickling sand, all cascading down around you. A stumbling body turns wildly as the snake attacks. It bites the air and jumps in the water.

Its venomous fangs however are directed at the rising sun. Protectively, it attacks air. The mamushi does not attack you or your retreating, repeatedly falling form. You do not remember what you had just dreamed, pink sunlight on your back.

The only evidence that the impossible happened are your fast, retreating footprints embedded into the shore. But even those washed away with the brine of water, trickling away, stolen.

Tiny footsteps litter the inside of your shrine. After so many years, the footprints have become an infestation comparable to cockroaches, a black sole and five dotting toes. Prints from a zashiki warashi, a ghost girl. They are only seen by children and the house’s owner, but they stay visible to you because you became the owner of the house when you stopped being a child.

Zashiki warashi are said to bring good fortune and be guardians of the house they inhabit. You have had no problems unlike the slight troubles you have had with the eyes in your home. However, a little otherworldly company does not bother you like human company.

Footprints unsourced from a tangible body and eyes unsourced from a tangible head. How odd that you have grown used to that.

You make sure to avoid stepping on the trails of footprints as you walk through the honden, the main sanctity. You notice that the ghost girl’s footprints seem to avoid the heart of the shrine. Behind a cupboard that is seldom opened lies your God, the heart, your last remaining parent. You pass the cupboard and make your way to a window.

You watch the sunrise, contemplative. Sunlight intrudes in long rectangles and breaks the steady zig-zag lines of the zashiki warashi’s footprints. You kneel, clothed in wet nightwear, feet damp.

You remember the day of your parents’ death. It was the only day you awoke in bed instead of ankle deep in water. Thinking you were cured, excitement fueled your feet to the entrance of your father and mother’s bedroom. Excitement skids and burns down to ash as you hold the paper sliding door open, looking upon an empty bed.

It took only a few minutes to find them because even a fool could have guessed where this would end.

For some unlucky reason, you never slipped when walking down the mountain to the lake. Your mother worried it would happen so often. The image of your foot kissing and missing the ground. Like a ram miscalculating his step, you would plummet in her mind, body crunching and breaking as it ping-ponged down a dangerous slope.

Throat thick with salvia, you find them with a terrified cry. You press yourself tightly into a tree, weeping and screaming your miserable mind’s woes into the sekia.

Below you, they lie. Bodies bent like a cluster of twigs snapped for a fireplace and flesh smudged with blood and dirt. Bones point out elbows and knees, breaking the blanket of skin. Wrists and ankles are turned in unnatural positions. Their eyes stare up at the morning sky, the lilac pinks and blue amber of the sunrise like a colorful coffin above them. Up there, their God.

The incident made you the village’s boogeyman. Even if you were the good priest's daughter, their little blessing, the only suspect left for the crime was you.

“You were so wrong. I am not a blessing.”

The window gives no reply. Done with the standoffish nature of the glass fixture, you stand up. The seaweed squishes under your feet, salt grinding into your soles.

“And I am sorry that you were wrong.”

Lakes do not carry seaweed like this.

There is a hand around my ankle.

You wake up. Not violently like the times where your dreams throw you and not softly like your dreams kiss your eyelids open. Instead, you wake up like you have already been awake. No disturbance. Miraculously, there is no disjoint between dreaming and waking. So there is no need to find your footing as you look down.

You and a garappa stare at each other. His yellow eyes blink up at you, flicking water. Skin fern green and dotted with a dalmatian pattern of dark forest green is mostly submerged underwater. The only part of him that rises above the water is his snout and the webbed thumbnail around your right ankle.

In your ribcage, your heart pounds hard like a frog moving to a lilypad before it settles completely. Your one heartbeat length terror came from a single thought: God, he is huge.

Garappas and kappas can only be told apart by size. A garappa has limbs much longer than its twin, stretching out twice the typical size of a kappa. His entire arm is equivalent to your leg. Dizzy eyes track over his lengthy form. If he stood up, the estimated height would be about nine feet.

Rocks may be under your feet but you feel like the ground is shifting sand, webbing itself through your reality. At least, the garappa seems to not be hostile right now. Who’s to say about later?

You look down at the hand embracing around your ankle. Distorted under the water, it looks like your ankle and his hand are off center from the goosebump flesh of your leg above water. Solid flesh, green contrasting to brown, ripples together in up and down motions. You are so dizzy.

Touch-taste senses are a peculiar faucet of aquatic life. Octopus can lay their suckers upon a prey and drink up the sweetness of fear like a butterfly with nectar. You wonder what kind of taste the garappa might be siphoning from cold pores.

“Foon foon foon.” The garappa says, mouth of his snout circling to form the soft Os.

You do not fool yourself into thinking that is a friendly sound.

Garappas are elusive and cowards. This male might have been biding his time waiting for weeks of your sleepwalking to know if you were a threat or friend. To be caught by him and his inhuman strength means this was premedicated. Garappas are extremely fond of pranks and mischief, this you remember.

But what are you forgetting?

“Foon foon foon,” he says again.

“Hoon, hoon, hoon,” you reply, trying to replicate the call of his.

His eyes squint at you from behind the waving mass of black hair. It trails across his face like seaweed but his bright yellow irises are easy to spot among the ebony. His hold on you readjusts slightly at the sound of your voice, not tightening or loosening, just twisting around the indents of where your fibula and tibia met like someone using a pepper crusher.

There is definitely intelligence in those golden suns but that is not really the cause of unease. The unease comes from his size; the image you paint of him standing up and crowding over you. His legs would perhaps end where your collarbone starts.

Please do not stand up. Please do not stand up.

You wonder back to your taste. Would the spice of fear be hidden in the dish of your normal taste or would the spice of fear be an overpowering burn? The heart kept in your chest is very calm. It is tranquil as a sheep, resting in the dropped palpitations of sleep. Perhaps this is still a dream.

Then, the garappa starts to pull. It is a light, hesitant tug. When you hold firm, toes curling up to press tighter into the rocks underfoot, he lets up. His hold goes back to being concrete, unmoving even though the dilating ripples of water suggest different. You and him lock eyes again.

Then, the streamlined face vanishes and you are looking up at a sky of stars. You gasp as water hugs the back of your cotton yogi. A rock cushions your skull’s rapid descent and you wince. The hand on your ankle tugs and tugs.

As if the harsh kiss of the rock breaks a spell, you finally remember what you were trying to recount about the mischievous, prank-loving garappas. You look over the valley of your body, clothed in blue yogi nightwear, the supine side of you soaking wet, remembering. Garappas are known to be sexually aggressive.

“DAMNIT!”

Your arms move fast, grabbing at the sand and rock beside your chest, trying to lift yourself up. A fearful cry escapes you as the next tug disorients your arms and causes you to spill deeper into the lake. You watch wide-eyed as a webbed hand peels back the left side of your nightwear.

“Cut it out! Get off me! Get off!”

Ripples of water jump around your struggling form. You were correct about his measurements. The entire arm is the size of your leg. He trails it up past the gray and blue camellia sewn on your garment. You scream as you feel the touch of soft tissue of webbed fingers on your inner thigh.

A lucid part of you thinks the taste of your fear must be explosive.

You twist violently in the oppressing grip like a fish caught in a net. Chilled fingers grab at rocks around you, trying to pull yourself up onto shore. Your free leg kicks at the shoulder of the garrapa. Warmth blooms on your face when you are dragged again and a cut from ear to cheek is birthed.

“Get the fuck off!” You scream as loud as a banshee. Around you, summer cicadas answer your cry with their own melody and you hear a foon foon foon, almost like a laugh bubbling under the water.

And, just as webbed fingers hover over the apple of your sex, the world falls still and silent. Even the everlasting cicadas stop for the only time in their life. In the bubble of unreal quiet, you stare over your body at the hand dug into the skull of the garrapa.

The piscine hand is the color of tooth white. The knuckles are gradients of green bleeding off into an ebony black. You can tell because the only part of the hand that is not sunk into the garappa’s skull is a single thumb. The thumbnail is sharp as a knife, pressed in the mass of black hair. The arm trails down the neck and back of the garrapa and is indistinguishable under the black water.

You watch the garappa twitch. Still alive despite the four fingers bayonet through his head. His golden sun eyes stare at you as his hand moves down and wraps itself around your lower thigh. He squeezes hard as the four fingers press down, pull out, and press down once again, almost sensually erotic in their motions.

“Fo-Fo-Fo-Fo-Fo.”

You watch pleased as a trail of blood runs down the streamlined snout. Good. Die; never swim again; die-die-die!

Your respite is short lived as you are suddenly pulled down. A terrified cry rockets out of your throat. The hand burrow in the garrapa’s head stops in its descent back into black water, contemplative. The alive yet rigor-mortis grip is desperate and relentless on your thigh.

“Fo-Fo-Fo-Fo-Fo.” The dying garrapa coos like the cicadas chirp. If I go down, I will take you with me.

His circular mouth falls still, an empty O. You watch as red rushes up in an inking squirt to the surface of the night lake. Then, with a breakneck speed, the garappa and pearl white hand disappear. The now blood-stained water rises and moves like scales as their interlocked bodies go under without another word.

The cicadas start to make noise again. The marble surface of the lake reshape back into its flat, glossy appearance. Just a different color. On trembling arms, you start to shift yourself to sit with your posture up straight.

You glance down at the purling motions of your yogi. Under the cotton lies the amputated hand, torn at the shoulder, and now stuck on your thigh in true rigor-mortis. Mind blanking, you stand back up, ankle deep in red water.

Latched garrapa arm swinging between your legs like a front facing tail, you walk out of the lake, soaking wet all over.

You scrape yourself up the summit like a stubborn earthworm. Shaking hands grab familiar tree branches to hoist yourself. Frost-nibbled feet press hard into sediment to keep yourself up. At the top of the summit, just outside your home, the two lanterns of the entrance are lit. You shake harder and shiver harder with the cold.

The lake is on the backside of the shrine, so you slowly round the building. Inch by inch, more of the entrance is revealed to you beyond the thumping glow of lanterns. Two stone lion-dogs, komainu, guard protectively under the gold. The long tongue entrance grows with each hesitant step you take. Resting your hand on the Shinto shrine, you look towards the offering hall.

A man with silver hair kneels, hands clasped in prayer. His cheeks are tinted a pink from the chill of morning.

“I am not taking prayers at this time, Sir. Please return another day.”

The man does not startle at your voice in the same capacity that you startled at the sight of him. His words erode in his mouth before a smile pulls up his lips. You think his eyes are blue. It is hard to tell with glass obscuring them. He is wearing spectacles that look like the melted pattern of a tortoise shell.

“I did not know God was on a schedule. I suppose I can see why. The importance of transactions, why, those can keep someone quite occupied. I am a bit disheartened to see my deal is not worth His time.” The man’s smile is sympathetic like he knows you are suffering.

You grimace at your slip-up. Wanting to be inside, you round around the front porch area so you can meet with him at the entrance. You wonder what he must think of you, soaking wet, leaving behind puddles. “I’m terribly sorry, Sir. You may continue. I cannot offer the services of a Shinto shrine today however. My deepest apologies.” You bow.

“It is no worries. I just came to check if you were okay and make certain that you are.”

“If I’m,” your eyes flicker up in confusion. Straightening, you imagine your face must be the face of confusion like you are a spirit-blind person seeing yokai for the first time. Why would anyone? Does he not know you as the village boogeyman, someone that no one would dare check upon. “I’m quite fine, Sir.”

“Certain?”

“Certainly.”

The silver-haired man seems very pleased at that. Enough to the point where he stands up. Gratitude fills your lungs, almost relieving yourself of the chill. You hate that this is the first human interaction you have had in years and you are so happy to see it be gone.

Maybe you should try to be hospitable. That thought dies as you watch the man. Why, that is really curious – “Sir?”

“Yes?” His tone is acquiescent.

“The direction to the village is that way.” You point past the torii gate and the two guardian lions. He had been rounding the front porch, walking in the damp footsteps you had left behind. The man blushes an even heavier pink at that.

“Ah, my apologies,” he amends sheepishly. He stalks towards you and you wholeheartedly expect him to slip past. Instead, his presence surprises you for a second time. He grabs your salt encrusted hands and holds them dearly. “I am glad to see you in good health.”

You blank at the touch of his hands and go completely vacant at his sincere words. Like a stuttering fish, your lips move up and down wordlessly. Where did that even come from? “Do I know you?”

“I’m afraid not, godfather.”

He squeezes your hands and lets go. His spectacles are a beautiful pattern. The strange man walks off, towards the village, but his gait makes it look like he is walking in the wrong direction. You watch him until he vanishes into nothing. To make certain that he leaves.

Shaking and clenching your hands to get the blood-flow back to them, you enter the shrine. There are no armies of footprints waiting to greet you. You grow colder.

You are hot to the touch.

After such a grievous experience, you develop a fever as May births herself into the world, stabbing April to death. It lasts for a week longer than a normal fever should. Having to climb back up a mountain for an hour each morning is not any aid to the medicinal herbs you take. And now, when you want to rest, you cannot even do that.

You have already taken the bath salts. Inhaling the cathinone crystals, you walk from one end of the shrine to the other end like the ghost of a sailor haunting/walking a shoreline. You sniffle each time you feel the tickle of the drugs in your nose. Walk. Walk. Walk. Do not fall asleep no matter what.

Tonight is hyakki yagyo, because of course the night parade of one hundred demons falls upon the night you want to gain any semblance of rest after debilitating illness. The parades are inauspicious and untrackable.

The hordes of eyes in your walls watch you walk, relatively close to make indents into the flooring by method of your repetitive pacing. Mokumokuren, that is what the eyes in your walls are, an infestation yokai. They take a fancy to inviting in other yokai instead of protecting as the little girl does … did.

You can not risk going outside because of the yokai parade. Thus, due to your sleepwalking, you absolutely cannot fall asleep. People foolish enough to go outside during a hyakki yagyo or peek through their windows are killed or spirited away. It is considered divine punishment for looking upon that which must not be seen.

I have been looking upon yokai since my birth, would this parade really harm me? You never bother to test the floating theory, leaving it to trickle away until the next hyakki yagyo commences the following month. However —

“PLEASE! PLEASE HELP ME! SOMEONE LET ME IN!”

You have never had someone pleading at your door on a night like this. The horde of eyes watch as you consider the bottle of drugs in your nightwear pocket. You only inhale the crystals to stay alert and awake during night but they do cause hallucinations.

“One of your friends,” you ask the cluster of eyes peering through a Swiss cheese wall. One blinks a wet, sticky eye at your question. Then all of them blink when the stranger outside your door starts pounding on the front door.

You hold your hands over your breasts anxiously. Inside the bottle, your drugs gleam like coarse Himiylaian sea salt under the one eye made of light. The lantern is your only company, you remind yourself, not a human or a yokai.

You are alone and will remain alone until death.

It is probably an onmoraki at the door. A bird-like monster who has a talent for mimicking human voices. Onmorkai appear near temples, particularly in the presence of neglectful priests. It is almost too predictable of the yokai. Impiety needs no originality as all the old tricks have always worked.

You wish someone was here but you cannot remember their name. But you have always been alone?

Before you know it, your hand is opening the door. You stare down at the flesh like it is a foreign parasite, like a person stares at a leech after removing a limb from black lake water. When did you even – Why is your memory like this – Before you know, a sun and moon eye are staring down at you.

“Godfather! Priest!” You blank at the stranger’s jovial voice, completely singing a different tone when compared to his previous fright. He is frighteningly tall. “Oh thank God, you are here.” The man laughs. And with a flourish, he steps inside your shrine.

“I – I –”

“Good priest,” you blank when the man gets on his knees. He grabs your hands and squeezes them tightly, holding them over the ring of his teal hair. “I am indebted to you. I swear I was almost killed because of those yokai. A garrapa came from the lake and tried to –”

“A-A garrapa?”

“Yes, good priest, but thanks to –”

You slam the door shut, wrenching your hands from the man. Slamming the door with the man now inside the shrine. Quickly, you turn and start to look for the materials to make a protective talisman.

You miss the grin curling on your guest’s lips.“Not a fan of yokai, godfather?”

The tone used this time is soft and worrying. You turn at the volatile changes of his voice. The man still kneels on the ground, downturned eyes following your movements. He is frowning sympathetically at you.

“Yokai – why I –”

“I’m not. Awful spirits. Killed my twin.”

“I can’t –” you trail off as you search the wooden box in the honden frantically. An honorific fuda should be in here — and — and you have bottles of ink inside your bedroom right! Just a simple protective ward to keep yokai out. You might miss the company of the eyes but you will make those sacrifices. A human hand wraps around your wrist, pulling it up from the mouth of the wooden box before you can grasp the card plate.

“Ya didn’t answer my question. Not a big fan of yokai?” There he goes, switching his tone again. This time is deadly like he is barely concealing a thousand years of bottled up rage.

“I –” You fumble with your words, feeling akin to a child being scolded. Is it psychosis from the bath salts or are you losing your mind – this feeling is so – his eyes are so familiar but also completely alien. “Just garrapas. I can’t with garrapas.”

My best friend’s a yokai. You think but do not vocalize it. Because it is a false thought caused by the bath salts and a faulty memory.

He brightens up. “That’s good! That’s really good, priest. I just wanna check.”

“I’m so-sorry about being so erratic. I just —“

“A talisman. Don’t worry, I’ll help! My name’s Floyd, godfather!”

Your new acquaintance seems eager to leave minutes before the first fingers of pink and orange peer over the horizon. After calming down, the two of you shared tea and refused to look out the windows due to the parade. He is an eager talker, not letting conversation fall still at all. He talks like he has been wanting to talk to you forever. You are glad he wants to leave early despite the parade. A good priest would advise against it but you want him gone.

Something about interacting with him is familiar yet alien.

Cobalt skies turning more cerulean, you and Floyd take to walking outside. As he busies himself with petting your stone lion-dogs smugly, you carry a torch. Dark still lingers with hesitation. You banish a bit of it by lighting the torches by the torii gate. Orange dances on the ground like a wagging wave.

Blanketed by shadows, you turn to look up at Floyd, standing behind you as you lit the last lantern. He is staring up at the gate.

“Are you sure you will be alright leaving a whole hour before sunrise,” you contradict your own agenda with your words.

“Yeah, got to go check on my brother. Make sure he ain’t messin’ anything up.”

Wasn’t his brother killed? The orange from the second lantern dances like a snake. “Sir,” you hesitate when his eyes descend from the gate to you. “Do we know each other?”

“Course, little priest, I just spent all hyakki yagyo talkin’ with ya! Ahehe!” Then happily, the man walks off, down past the torii gate.

Inside the two lanterns, the fire stirs with his departure, locked in a swaying dance.

The fire goes up like a mountain-climber. Wall to wall, it ascends like a sticky hand falling in reverse. In amber and scarlet waves, it weasels through the holes in the sliding doors and eats up the structure like a caterpillar on a leaf. Hypnotic and great, the fire acids through more and more of the Shinto shrine’s stomach.

You cannot live here anymore. You have known for a while these religious bowels held you in a painful kidney stone.

Raising up the torch, you kiss it to the main scanatary’s wall and watch all the wood smolder. Man-made clouds of gray lie heavy on the ceiling, the finely tuned acoustics of the building rumbling with the crackles and pops. Onward, you move until you reach the heart of this system. The cupboard where the sacred object, cloaked in cloth like a newborn, represents your God.

You have no idea what the object could be. Your parents died before you turned sixteen and thus you never got to learn what the yorishiro, the sacred object, is. It could be a single comb or a paper crane or a child’s shoe.

It does not matter when you raise up the torch, holding the flames so they may embrace the cupboard’s two doors. You hold it until fire successfully transfers. Then, as destruction curls over the piety, you leave the heart, walking down the vertebrates, until you reach the anus.

Behind you, the Shinto shrine burns. In front of you, you see nothing as your eyes are as blind as two spider-eggs, glossed and webbed over. You feel the earth distinctively however, water undertows and rough sediment.

The fire, blindingly bright and energetic, speaks. “Good priest, you have done well. The night is near its end.”

You wake up. You wake up like someone has driven a knife into your heart.

Coupled with a pained groan, your eyelashes flutter open. The pain in your chest is defibrillating and runs over your shoulders with a hot white electric current. It feels so unique and so awful. Rapidly, you shove your hand into your yogi and touch over the layer of skin. Your heart hammers against the skin like a woodpecker.

“Oh my God,” you groan, spit running off your lips from the excruciating pain. Coughing around the phlegm, you press your hand hard into your skin, hoping pressure would mimic the job of a tourniquet. Your heart remains relentless.

More spit runs off your bottom lip like a long, opaque slug. He stretches and plops into the lake around your waist. Bile will not be summoned so you settle with fruitlessly spitting into the lake, groaning in pain. Phlegm hangs like snot on your lip as you look up, expecting to see golden sun-rays that will cure you.

Before you stand a man.

Those features seem too feminine to make him a man. His thin, cupid bow lips are just a bit too delicate to be a man’s. It looks like his skin is breathing marble and pearl. Monolids and upturned, his eyes are alluring as a concubine. A sun and a moon eye, shining with something indescribable when the two of you make eye contact. Is that genuine love in his womanly eyes?

“Who … Who are you? Why do I?” His eyes are distantly familiar yet juxtaposingly alien to you. Your vision blurs and his face shrinks and distorts, causing his eyes to overlap into an eclipse. Blinking and spitting, you clear your head. “Why do I know your face?”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” For a second, you think him narcissistic until he says, “The omagatoki tonight is beautiful.”

A sudden chill causes your hairs to stand on end. Those dueling eyes seem to brighten in the pitch black dark. If he were any further from you, it would be impossible to see him. He too stands waist deep in the lake with you, many inches taller than yourself.

The sudden acknowledgement of existing as prey washes over you. “It’s omagatoki already?” Of course it is. The moon lies behind the man like a dot engulfing a canvas. You blink your eyes thrice as if there is a plastic filter cutting into them.

How did you not notice the telltale signs: cold wind blowing, the strange scent in the air like fish or blood, a sudden chill that causes one’s hairs to stand on end. It is as dark as if you were an explorer in the deep sea. It is omagatoki; how have you not noticed?

The spirit realm is so active around you.

“Who are you,” you ask again, full of questions.

“Me? Why, I am wounded that you do not recognize me. That would be like if I asked you: who are you? Who are you, (Name)?” You stay silent. “A niiyomjei perhaps?” A newlywed bride, he coos.

“I am no yamahime.”

A filthy yamahime is a mountain princess, but they are alternatively called mountain woman or newlywed bride. In a rare pleasure of luck, you have only encountered a yamahime once despite spending your entire life sharing the same home as them: the mountains.

You remember standing guard in front of the Shinto shrine, on the cusp of your thirteenth birthday, arms folded as the yamahime laughed and laughed. The laugh of a mountain princess is a lethal poison, those who hear are either dead or driven mad. Blood snailing down your ears, you stood her down for a sleepless night, refusing to let harm to befall either mother or father.

“Do not call me such a word.” You spit like a cobra at the man.

“My apologies, I misjudged that such a pretty woman as yourself would be honored at the comparison. I would never think to lessen your humanity down to a yokai. Though, why, I have always thought of you as the mountain princess you are.”

The moon backdrops on his body like a halo. All his features are dark besides his eyes and the outline of him pressed tight to the glowing night sun. “And, a newlywed bride? That is a true statement by all measures.”

“I am no bride. I am my father’s shrine maiden – a miko.” Mikos must remain unmarried to help out in a Shinto shrine. Coupled by your isolation, that question seems world-breaking insanity. This man is ridiculous.

But you are no longer a miko. You graduated when you made two graves; you are a priest. A Shinto priest – man or woman – is allowed to marry and have children. This is all insanity.

The man puts his hand to his mouth, closing his eyes and frowning delicately into his fist as if that statement is a physical injury to him. “Come now, (Name),” his moon and sun eyes shine like beetles when he opens them, “the priest is dead. Your father is dead. And you will find that your own priesthood is no longer required.”

“As long as there is a shrine, I’m needed.” The water around you is wrong and peculiar. Weightless and nebulous water clings up your thighs, ending an inch below your belly-button. You have to get back to your ankles. You do not want to cause anyone to worry that you have gone too far in.

“There are guests up there. You really should not disturb their prayers,” the man says as you start to turn, barely making it ninety degrees.

“I am the shrine’s priest, it will be fine.”

“They should go undisturbed; it will only take a moment. They want to explore the shrine inside too. Talk with me some more, bride.”

You ignore that word, unpausing your body. Your yogi floats around like a giant jellyfish cape and you must leave. “No one can get into the shrine, even if it is omagatoki. They would be banished. The yokai of the shrine would recognize a stranger.”

“Only by scent. And you smell like salt water every morning. It is safe to say my brother and boss can continue their prayers unaided and uninterrupted.”

The man, padding through water as he walks over to you, gently takes your left face in the cradle of his webbed hand. His features may be human but you can feel the slime as it sticks. The bone white of his palm almost glows under moonlight. With soft eyebrows, he looks upon you with idolization.

“Why do I know your face?”

As serious as a grave, he says, “I was there. In your dreams. And even when they weren’t dreams, I was still there.”

Each innard organ of yours stirs like a bed of worms at his exigent tone. “Yo .. You’re a umi nyobo … no, a umi no otto.” A sea wife, but then you correct yourself, a sea husband. His features might be delicate but his voice is entirely a man’s. You remember two things about them. Very strong. Very dangerous.

You jerk your head away from the hold of a piscine hand. Frantic, you twist your body away to get back up shore, to lower the embrace the lake has over your body back down to your ankles. You make it only one step before you stop. Eyes facing the mountain, you stare in horror.

Beyond the summit, between the armies of trees, a thick plume of smoke rises up and points it black fingers up to the twilight hours.

Fumbling with your mind, you are drawn back to the present as the man attacks you. He wraps his arms like chains around your waist, pinning your arms. Water stirs around the bottom of the contact. The world tilts as he suddenly pushes you down. Water floods into the front of your yogi, spilling down between your breasts. You fight to be upward and he allows it, leaning his body over you in an acute angle. Water comes to a respite.

Both of you fall still, your chest heaving heavy. He presses his flat chest to your spine. The left side of his face lands on top of the crown of your head. For a minute, you two stay statue-like.

“If you can remember my face and species then you must know my name.”

“I do not,” clenched teeth grit together. “I do not know you,” you deny.

“Yes, you do. We grew up together. You were my only friend. I was your only friend. I gave you a fish to keep you in good health and you gave me a crane in the promise of our life together. As a child, we do things unclouded by hesitation. Don’t you remember that?”

“I was only a child. I had no way to understand that,” you bargain.

“But you participated in our wedlock as an adult. Just a month ago, at night, didn’t you?”

“I can’t remember.”

“I will help you remember. All your dreams and all your thoughts, they will be ours.” A piscine hand carefully picks up wet tendrils of hair from the humid skin of your body. He tucks it behind your ear where cold sweat accumulates. “I’ve only thought and dreamed of you, (Name). I only ever wanted to share an eternal life with you by my side.”

“That’s impossible,” you shiver when he draws a claw over the bridge of the bone in your ear, down to the lobe. “Yokai and humans live in different worlds. The sekai and ikai can’t –”

“I know. I know but you promised. You promised to share that immortal soul humans have with me; the immortal soul that yokai lack. I will be turning you into an umi bozu.”

Umi bōzu … a sea priest.

You have never seen one; you never want to see and much less want to become one. They may look humanoid but they are truly a monstrous sight. Shoulders and a head rising and appearing from rough, killing waves. Giants. Umi bōzu are as tall as a coastal redwood tree, incomprehensible in size. More fearsome than a whale to a sailor and more dangerous than a plague to a newborn. Black as shadow with bulbous, white-blue eyes, umi bōzu are titans of mystery.

Some believe they are the progenitors of the sea and others … believe they come from drowned priests. You watch the smoke move serpentine into the skies. You are almost grateful for the rough, constituting grip because you feel you are going to pass out with the thought of becoming one of those behemoth sea monks.

“I’ll – I’ll wake up. The sun isn’t up. I still have time to wake up.”

There is no way that fire is real. And even if it is real, it is not made by your hands – his brother and his boss –

“You say that the yokai of your shrine would vanish my brother and boss, but you forgot that those eyes are a sign of infestation. Mokumokumen invite other yokai in. You knew that and left them alone to watch you. It is almost like you were waiting for this … the consummation of our marriage. How duplicitous you are.”

“Jade. Jade, wake me up right now.”

His face splits apart in a smile unseen. He knew you remembered.

“You are awake, my wife. You are.”

It is almost disorienting how calm the water is. You feel like a riptide is tearing you up and throwing you left and right. Around your sandwiched waists, you and Jade stand in completely still waters. The current fluidly pushes at your legs but it is like a docile comfort. All is calming and accepting except for yourself. In the air, the scent of blood and fish swims with the breeze.

“Don’t you see that I love you? That I have only cared and protected you. That one garrapa, you must remember that,” you jolt at the reminder. “Though I am a bit sad to learn you remember him so well, you must remember the end of it too. I even sent my boss to make sure you would be in good health. (Name)?”

You see it clearly: your body distorted into a giant as tall as the Great Wall of China is long, a nebulous black form of head and shoulders surrounded by turbulent waves as a tiny ship is thrown left and right with the force of your existence. A ship carrying twenty plus men comparable to a rubber duck in a child’s tub.

You cannot become that monster. You cannot become an umi bōzu. Please God please.

Feverish, you chant Norito, a Shinto prayer only said by Shinto priests. It is a prayer to God to prevent bad things from happening. The words fly off your lips like a flight of birds taking off. You feel like your mind is an empty cavern.

Lord, give me one more chance.

“I really wish this could precede differently; your tender disposition is something I do not wish to upset.”

“God, help me,” you cry.

Jade listens to your tongue wag like it is the sound of a babbling brook. “The shrine is ash, dear.”

Waiting a minute longer, the sea husband grabs your face with his webbed hand. The last of your prayer is whispered as he tilts you to look at him, backdropped by the mammoth moon. His sun and moon eyes shine. “I have waited long enough. Let us start our honeymoon. Let us say goodbye to the sun.”

Then, Jade’s nails cut into you, making gill-shaped marks in the breast of your chest, just over the space where your lungs sit.

And as he drags you down, you scream the last scream of your mortal life.

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