Floral Flames

INACTIVE - Ind. Sel. Multi-Muse Blog Penned by: Bethany

[floral-flames-aa]

I WAS BEING SHACKLED ━━━

and held fast with new roots to the outside, to the dark and alien world. For the first time in my life I tasted death, and death tasted bitter, for death is birth, is fear and dread of some terrible renewal.

independent & selective multi-muse, featuring canon and oc characters from fandoms like Mortal Kombat, Marvel, Ashes of Love, Word of Honor & more: strong content warnings apply: dark themes, depression, mentions of death, graphic descriptions, body horror, violence, gore, & substance abuse. Loved by: Bethany

DOCS || TAGS || CREDITS

[floral-flames-aa]

OKAY!

The new blog is not finished yet, but I have the base down :) This blog is officially archived.

Now located at @floral-flames

[floral-flames-aa]

Hello, long time no see. I have come to a few decisions AND I am going to be completely re-doing my whole blog.

A new blog and everything, going to update my google docs as well as say goodbye to a few muses.

It's going to take me a little while, so until then this blog will be inactive. I will pop by once the new blog is up and running :)

Hope everyone has been doing well <3

Bethany

[floral-flames-aa]

The sky looked onimous, like the heavens had torn open- light dimming, the sound of battle horns echoing alongside the winds. It wouldn't be the first time, nor would it be the last time Bae Hanuel would witness such an event happen for it seemed like for the fallen angel he got to witness the great battle above every 300 years. 

A long frustrated sigh came from the angel's lips, brows in a furrow whilsit he just contuined to walk, to have his eyes gaze upon what laid before him instead of what was to happen above. It was no longer any of his concern what went on, what battle raged throughout the heavens for he was banished long ago. Yet, even he found it hard to ignore, for it was his home afterall- even after everyhting. 

"It is not my worries anymore" he whispers more so to himself, ignoring the passing people on either side of him, head shaling ever so slightly- matching the trembling feeling he had deep within his gut, like something was going to happen. No, it was going to happen Bae Hanuel just couldn't pinpoint when, or why. He just knew it wouldn't end well, for it truly never does no matter how one approches it- sees it, as it's always a losing battle. 

[of-theveil]

˚｡⋆ ↪ The tone of his voice still struck a chord she hated — low, measured, threaded through with that careful calm that made her wonder if he’d ever once lost control. Rook exhaled through her nose, the faintest trace of a wry smile tugging at her lips as she stepped from the shadows of the ruined alleyway.

“Still talking to the air, Lucanis?” she murmured, her words soft but edged like flint. “Or is that one actually meant for me this time?” Rook teased every so lightly, a faint smirk forming along her features.

The scent of ash and burnt lyrium clung to the air, and she could feel the Fade pulsing wrong here — that same hum she’d learned to recognize when Spite stirred behind his eyes. Her fingers flexed at her sides, an instinctive response, the faint ripple of necromantic magic curling like smoke before she forced it still. He didn’t need her pity. He never had.

She took him in — the stance, the watchful stillness, the way his blade caught the moonlight just enough to warn her not to get too close. Maker, he hadn’t changed much. Maybe a little more worn around the edges, a little less inclined to pretend he wasn’t dangerous.

“You’ve gotten better at brooding,” she went on, tone dipping into that familiar dry humor that softened her words. “But you still have a terrible sense of timing. You pick a fight with ghosts again, or are we about to have company?”

Her gaze flicked to the street below, to the faint glint of armor moving through the haze. “Never could resist a dramatic setup, could you?”

The whisper of the Veil pressed harder now, and she felt it — the tug, faint but certain — death coming closer.

Her voice dropped, quieter, almost reluctant. “I told you last time, if you start something in front of me, you don’t get to bleed out alone.”

A pause. A heartbeat shared in the silence between them. Then, with the faintest smirk, she tilted her chin toward him.

“So, my dear,” she said softly, “what kind of trouble did you drag me into this time?”

[floral-flames-aa]

Lucanis didn’t turn at first — the sound of her voice slid through the fog like the edge of a knife, familiar enough to cut and still sharp enough to draw blood. His jaw tensed, shoulders rigid beneath the dark leather of his coat as Spite stirred, recognizing her before he did. The demon’s whisper bled through his mind in a low, serpentine hiss, half amusement, half hunger.

She remembers you. The clever corpse-girl. Do you still think she’d spare you, if she saw what’s left inside?

He exhaled slowly through his nose, a sound almost like a scoff. “If I wanted the air to answer me,” he muttered, finally glancing over his shoulder, “I’d have stayed in Minrathous.”

There it was — that glint of sardonic humor that never reached his eyes, the one that tried to hide how they burned even now with some half-choked exhaustion. The alley’s dim light caught on the faint silver of his vambrace as he straightened, the movement precise, controlled — a performance, perhaps, for both her and himself.

“Still skulking after me, Rook?” he asked, voice low, threading effortlessly between wry and weary. “Or did you just happen to be haunting the same ruin at the same cursed hour?”

The words were almost casual, but his gaze — when it finally found hers — carried something heavier. Recognition. Wariness. That ache of something they never quite named and never dared to keep.

The scrape of steel whispered faintly as he shifted his grip on the dagger. Spite was still pacing in his skull, itching beneath his skin like wildfire searching for tinder. The Fade was too close here, pressing against the edges of reality, thick with a scent that reeked of lyrium and rot.

“They’re coming,” he said at last, all humor dying from his tone. “Templars. Or what’s left of them. Half-mad, half-worshipping whatever filth’s leaking through that rift up there.” His chin lifted slightly, toward the pulsing light that throbbed in the distance beyond the haze. “I was going to finish this quietly.”

A grim smile ghosted across his face — tired, humorless, almost fond. “Then again, you never did let me finish anything quietly, did you?”

Spite laughed somewhere deep in his bones, delighted. It wanted a fight. It wanted her near. It wanted to see who he was when both bled into one another.

Lucanis rolled his shoulders, expression settling into something cool, resolute, dangerous. “You should leave before this turns ugly.” His voice softened a fraction, the smallest crack of something unspoken in it. “You always were better at surviving than I was.”

But even as he said it, he stepped forward, positioning himself between her and the distant shimmer of movement — the line of figures in armor emerging through the smoke, their eyes glinting red where blue once shone.

“Too late,” he muttered, half to her, half to himself. The dagger twirled once between his fingers, catching the reflection of the burning sky. “Stay behind me, Rook.” A pause — the corner of his mouth twitching into something dark, almost amused despite everything. “Or don’t. You never did listen worth a damn.”

[albrakia]

[floral-flames-aa]

【 ✴. ⸻ ⤖ .Lucanis Dellamorte. 】

The city breathed uneasily tonight.

Darktown’s alleys carried a tension Lucanis knew too well — the silence that fell before blood spilled, before someone’s last scream tore the night open. He had hunted in places like this more times than he cared to count, and each time the air grew heavier, like the walls themselves had learned to hold their breath.

Spite writhed under his skin, eager, impatient. It pressed against his thoughts, a hot, stinging itch behind his eyes that threatened to unravel his composure. Take them now. Take them all. Blood is blood. It makes no difference. Lucanis clenched his jaw and shifted his grip on the dagger hidden beneath his cloak. The demon’s hunger was a constant — sometimes a whisper, sometimes a scream — but tonight it had teeth.

His quarry had chosen this place well: a ruin of collapsed stone and broken archways, half-swallowed by weeds and shadow. A battlefield in waiting. He could already sense movement beyond the crumbled façade, the subtle scrape of boots, the faint metal clink of a blade being drawn. Not just his target. Others.

Lucanis’ lips curved in a ghost of a smile, humorless, sharp. Of course. Why should anything be simple?

He leaned against the wall of the nearest building, letting the weight of stillness cloak him, every nerve attuned to the shifting currents around him. His mind traced the steps he could take: three strides forward, one cut, silence. Or perhaps retreat, slip back into shadow, let them wonder if he had ever been here at all. Spite hissed at the thought, coiling with fury. Coward. Fledgling. Kill them or I will.

The burn behind his eyes grew until he almost welcomed the sting of cool night air, grounding him, anchoring him. He would not lose control. Not yet.

“Whoever waits out there,” his voice cut low through the quiet, carrying more steel than volume, “choose wisely. Step forward, and we end this with blades. Stay hidden, and I will still find you.”

The night stretched thin, brittle. All that remained was the choice — theirs or his. And Lucanis, poised on the edge of violence with a demon gnawing at the cage of his mind, was ready for either.

[sasorikigai]

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Hanzo stills, though stillness does not mean calm. It is the pause before the conflagration, the breath drawn at the lip of an inferno. Kuai’s words linger against his ear like sparks teasing dry tinder, and the fire in him answers - not with restraint, but with inevitability.

The line of Kuai’s hand upon his jaw lingers like a brand; he turns into it, lips parting just enough to drag a kiss against the pad of a fingertip, reverent and aching. His breath trembles through it, a sound caught between worship and hunger. The cords of his neck strain when Kuai’s touch drifts lower, and Hanzo yields to it - head tilting back, throat exposed, surrender offered not as weakness but as a vow; Here. Take what I am. Take all that burns in me.

But reverence cannot cage wanton desire for long. His hand snakes to Kuai’s nape with sudden urgency, fingers threading into the cool silk of hair, grip tightening as though afraid the permeated ice between them might vanish. With a guttural exhale, he drags him down into another kiss - no longer tempered, no longer tender. It is possession, collision, teeth grazing, lips bruising. He tastes the coolness and melts it with every press, every desperate claiming. A groan vibrates in his chest when Kuai teases his pulse, the sound spilling into Kuai’s mouth like a secret torn loose. His other hand traces along Kuai’s flank, mapping muscle and armor, until he hooks fingers into fabric and drags him flush against his body. The grind of hips leaves no doubt - fire straining, begging release, the ache of years condensed into the friction of this single moment.

"Burn with you?" he rasps, lips brushing against the hollow of Kuai’s throat, the heat of his breath searing trails into sensitive skin. His teeth follow - grazing, biting, leaving the faintest sting where frigid spell of winter once reigned. His tongue soothes over it, a vow sealed in heat. “I was born in fire… and it has waited - for you."

He drags his mouth along Kuai’s collar, down the hard line of his chest, each kiss deeper, wetter, branding ownership as much as devotion. The tremor in his hands betrays the war between reverence and raw need, but when he looks up - obsidian eyes molten, pupils wide, lips slick with the taste of him - there is no hesitation.

"Ask?" His voice breaks into a hoarse laugh, sharp and desperate, as though Kuai has dared him to cage the sun. His fingers tighten at Kuai’s hip, pulling him closer still. "I will not ask. I will take. And you will not stop me." And then he does - claiming him again, deeper, rougher, as if to fuse fire and ice until no boundary remains, until the world is ash and snow and their bodies the only truth left burning. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[floral-flames-aa]

Kuai Liang lets himself yield—not fully, not yet, but enough that the heat of Hanzo’s claim presses into him, solid, undeniable, like the first strike of a forge against tempered steel. His hands rise, sliding along the curve of Hanzo’s spine, fingertips tracing ribs beneath fabric, memorizing the taut power beneath the skin, letting the friction of contact fuel the ache coiling low in his belly.

A shiver escapes him, caught in the press of lips and teeth, the way Hanzo drags fire along the pale stretch of his throat. Kuai tilts his head, granting access, teasing back the pulse beneath his jaw, letting breath and heartbeat mingle. “I… want it,” he murmurs, voice trembling somewhere between challenge and invitation, the words barely audible over the sound of their collision. “Want… all of it.”

He presses closer, hips nudging forward with subtle insistence, a deliberate answer to the hunger brushing against him. His lips find Hanzo’s again, slow and demanding this time, tongue tracing the seam between bite and kiss, tasting, claiming, returning every ounce of fire pressed into him. Fingers clutch at the curve of Hanzo’s shoulders, kneading and holding, as though grounding them both in this impossible conflagration.

“I don’t want restraint,” Kuai breathes against him, teeth grazing Hanzo’s jaw in a mischievous, heated tease. “I want you reckless. I want the flames you’ve been starving to unleash.” A grin ghosts over his lips, fleeting, sinful, though the heat in his chest belies it—ice and fire coiled together, impossibly fused. “So… come on, Hasashi. Burn me. Show me why I can’t look away.”

Every brush, every press, every heat-wrapped exhale is confession and provocation both: I am yours. I dare you to prove it. The space between reverence and want blurs, and Kuai lets himself smile into the chaos, letting the fire take him as much as he takes it.

[thunderousmemes]

✧ Obsessive Love / Stalker Starters ✧

Fixation / Obsession

“I know your schedule better than you do.”

“You don’t have to tell me where you’ve been—I already know.”

“Every room you’ve ever stood in, I’ve memorized.”

“You smiled at them today… you never smile at me like that.”

“I’ve kept everything you’ve ever touched. Little souvenirs.”

“Do you realize how much of my world revolves around you?”

“Even your flaws are perfect to me.”

“I’ve read every message you’ve ever sent—again and again.”

Possession / Control

“You belong to me, whether you admit it or not.”

“No one else will ever love you the way I do.”

“Talk to them again, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy—you’re the one who drove me to this.”

“I’d rather destroy you than let someone else have you.”

“You don’t need friends. You don’t need anyone. You just need me.”

“I don’t like sharing what’s mine. And you are mine.”

“The sooner you accept that you’re not going anywhere, the happier we’ll both be.”

Watching / Lurking

“Did you like the flowers on your doorstep? I thought they’d remind you of me.”

“I saw you last night, walking home… you really shouldn’t be out so late.”

“Your window was open. I couldn’t help but watch you sleep.”

“That new café you like… I was sitting two tables behind you.”

“Every time you run, you lead me straight back to you.”

“I’ve seen the way you toss and turn in your sleep. Do you dream of me too?”

“I know what perfume you wore yesterday. I can still smell it.”

“The camera doesn’t lie—you’re beautiful from every angle.”

Devotion, Twisted Love

“I’d kill for you. I already have.”

“If the world hurt you, I’d burn it down piece by piece.”

“You don’t need anyone else—I can give you everything.”

“Say the word, and I’ll make your problems disappear.”

“I don’t care if you hate me. Love and hate both mean you’re still thinking about me.”

“I don’t care what you’ve done, I’ll always stay by your side.”

“Even if you’re broken, I’ll worship every shattered part of you.”

“I’d carve my devotion into the world if it meant you’d believe me.”

Emotional Hooks / Desperation

“Don’t you see? I only do this because I love you.”

“If you leave, I’ll fall apart. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”

“I know I’m not perfect, but no one will love you more than I do.”

“Even if you scream, even if you curse me—I’ll still be here.”

“I’ve given up everything for you. Don’t throw me away.”

“You saved me once. Now you’re mine forever.”

“Tell me you need me, even if it’s a lie. I’ll believe it.”

“Hurt me, hate me, but don’t ignore me. Anything but that.”

Dangerous Promises

“Run if you want—I’ll always find you.”

“If I can’t have you, no one will.”

“You don’t understand—I’d tear down kingdoms for you.”

“Try to leave me, and I’ll remind you why you can’t.”

“You’re my obsession, my religion, my reason to breathe.”

“Even if you kill me, I’ll haunt you forever.”

“Nothing in this world will stop me from coming back to you.”

“Your heart already beats for me—you just don’t know it yet.”

[floral-flames-aa]

【 ✴. ⸻ ⤖ .Lucanis Dellamorte. 】

Lucanis crouched in the shadowed corner of the alley, the faint stench of burnt wood and charred stone filling his senses. Every footstep, every shift of wind against the narrow buildings, registered with a predator’s precision. Spite hissed in the back of his mind, tugging at the edges of his focus, and he ground his teeth to keep the demon in check. Not now. Not here.

His quarry moved below, oblivious to the eyes tracing every calculated step, every weight shift, every slight glint of weaponry. Lucanis’ dagger felt like an extension of his arm, cool and balanced, ready to strike with a whisper of motion. He could have taken them now — no hesitation, no mistakes — but the thrill of anticipation, of control, kept him in the shadows a heartbeat longer.

A voice startled him, lightly teasing the edge of awareness. He froze, head tilting toward the sound, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite the tension in his body. “I would suggest moving more carefully next time, friend,” he murmured, tone smooth but edged with warning. Even this, a moment of levity, cannot betray vigilance.

And yet, as the moonlight caught the narrow angles of his face, there was a ghost of amusement in his dark eyes — a trace of the man behind the blade, the one who could still enjoy the absurdities of the world, even while walking its deadliest paths.

🐦‍⬛|| @of-wisteriakisses

[floral-flames-aa]

Hit that heart for a short starter from our coffee loving crow <3

If a multi-muse blog, please comment which muse you'd like the starter for thank you!

[dellamortte]

i saw a man so beautiful i started crying

[floral-flames-aa]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── L U C A N I S D E L L A M O R T E

༄ - Bitter Like Coffee - Faceclaim 

༄ - A Crow's Whisper - Aesthetic 

༄ - I'd Kill for a Decent Cup of Coffee - Thread

༄ - With Spite - Answered 

༄ - Coffee is the Way to Live - Headcanon 

༄ - Caw Caw Motherfu- - Open Thread 

[floral-flames-aa]

The fire gutters as though ashamed of its own birth, a faltering coil of embers dragging Hanzo from the abyss he has wandered. The Netherrealm’s smoke clings to him still, its taste acrid upon his tongue, its chains seared into the marrow of his bones. His body is no more than a vessel broken open - blood congealed into black rivers that trace his limbs, each step a prayer whispered to pain.

And then - light. Not the gentle dawn of mercy, but the blinding flare of recognition; Kuai Liang. The figure he feared he would never behold again, wrought in living flesh.

Yet the world tilts. His vision fractures - his own shadowed self, Scorpion, rises in his mind like a specter of derision, snarling that this is illusion, that love is a cruelty woven by the damned. Hanzo’s throat convulses; no sound escapes but a ragged hiss, the echo of every time he has died and returned to nothing.

He stumbles, the Fire Gardens bending beneath him like reeds in storm. His blood stains their earth as he nearly collapses into darkness once more, terror gnawing at his failing heart: that Kuai Liang will look upon him not as Hanzo Hasashi, but as the revenant who murdered without restraint.

His hand stretches - not steady, but trembling, fevered - toward the frostborn man he swore he would never betray. Between his cracked lips, only a breath emerges, fragile as silk singed by flame.

“…Kuai…”

【 ✴. ⸻ ⤖ .Kuai Liang. 】

Kuai Liang doesn’t wait for Hanzo to find his balance—he steps forward, filling the space between them with the steady, unyielding presence of someone who has chosen to stay. His fingers curl around Hanzo’s trembling hand, holding it like a lifeline, warm and deliberate against the chill of ash and smoke.

“Don’t fight it,” Kuai murmurs, low and intimate, letting his voice wrap around the ragged edges of Hanzo’s panic. “Not here. Not now. I’m not leaving.” His thumb brushes along the pulse beneath Hanzo’s wrist, slow and teasing, anchoring him to something real, something human, something that refuses to break.

He leans in closer, chest pressing just enough against the other’s, feeling the taut coil of muscle, the fire barely restrained, the shiver of need that runs through him. Kuai’s other hand rises, brushing a scarred cheek, tracing the line of jaw, a touch half-reverent, half-demanding in hopes it will help bring the warrior back, help ease his troubling mind. “It’s always been you,” he whispers, letting the words hang against Hanzo’s lips, tasting the heat of breath and blood mingling with smoke. “Not the darkness. Not the vengeance. You… right here before me.”

Kuai tilts his head, pulling in Hanzo.. scorpion closer without pressure, without haste. “And if you fall again…” he spoke once more, a soft breath to fall from his lips “I’ll be here to catch you. Every time. I’ve waited too long to let you go now.”

The Fire Gardens fade around them, the world narrowing to the press of their bodies, the warmth of hands against skin, the silent, unspoken promise that neither ash nor shadow can undo.

[sasorikigai]

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥|| The ground beneath him shift in ways no battlefield ever has, as though the very earth answers the pull between them. Kuai Liang’s words coil within him, loosening the bindings of restraint he has worn like chains. What once was a discipline forged in fire now falters, fissures running through its surface until only truth can spill free.

The press of skin beneath his palm is searing - not with heat, but with the impossible contrast of Kuai’s cool steadiness. His fingertips memorize the contours of jaw and cheek, the faint give of living flesh beneath the tempered strength. It grounds him, yet sparks run through the nerves of his hand, up his arm, and into his chest, a current he can no longer contain. The faint brush of breath shared between them is intoxicating - smoke meeting frost, warmth seeking balance.

When his lips finally claim Kuai’s, the world stills. The contact is softer than he imagined, and yet it unravels him entirely. The taste is subtle - cool as snowmelt, yet beneath it lies a richness that sends shivers down his spine. His breath catches in the rhythm of it, the exhale against Kuai’s mouth carrying the weight of years spent starved of such closeness. The scent of him - steel, faint frost, something clean and sharp - threads into his senses until he cannot tell where fire ends and ice begins.

Every nerve sings. The scar along his lip tingles with the tenderness of the meeting, each brush of skin against skin a hymn in its own right. He leans in deeper, not with hunger, but with reverence, as though the kiss itself is sacred ground he dares not trespass upon too hastily. The trembling that ripples through him is not from fear, but from the sheer force of holding back the torrent threatening to undo him.

Against Kuai’s lips he breathes, hoarse, words nearly devoured by the closeness. “Tell me… you’ll answer me.” A whisper, a plea, the fragile edge of a man offering the fire within his chest not as a weapon, but as a gift.

And in that kiss, in the taste of breath shared, the warmth mingling with coolness, Hanzo feels everything he has withheld surge through him. Longing. Ache. Devotion. It is no longer caged fire. It is a flame at last given air, burning steady, burning true. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥||

[floral-flames-aa]

【 ✴. ⸻ ⤖ .Kuai Liang. 】

Kuai Liang parts from the kiss just enough to let a slow breath tremble past his lips, eyes hooded with heat and something unspoken, something intimate that burns between them. His fingers linger along the line of Hanzo’s jaw, tracing the subtle tension there, memorizing it like scripture, before dipping to brush the curve of his throat, deliberate and teasing.

“Answer you…” he whispers, voice low, thick with the weight of want and quiet mischief. His lips ghost over the shell of Hanzo’s ear, the faintest graze sending a shiver through him, and he leans closer, chest pressing against the steady warmth beneath him. “I’ll answer you… if you dare ask the questions that might burn us both.”

A faint teasing smirk curves his mouth as his hand drifts lower along Hanzo’s arm, brushing over muscle, feeling the taut coiled strength beneath the skin. Every brush, every slight press is a silent provocation, a challenge wrapped in reverence. I want him to unravel, piece by piece… and I want to be the one holding the fragments.

Kuai Liang tilts his head ever so slightly, letting their breaths mingle again, warm against the frost of his own, and whispers, “I’ve been waiting for this… for you.” The words are soft, almost a confession, carrying the pull of patience stretched thin. “So tell me… are you ready to burn with me, or do I need to tempt you a little longer?”

His thumb brushes along the pulse at the base of Hanzo’s wrist, slow and deliberate, coaxing a reaction, a tremor, a confession of the fire he’s held back. Every inch of him is an offering, an invitation to the edge, to surrender, to taste the heat of closeness without fear. And still, Kuai’s gaze holds Hanzo’s, molten and steady, as if to say: Step closer, let me see how far you’ll go… because I’m not stopping.

[dciisymoved-deactivated20260220]

her tongue darted out to moisten her lesser lip, her greater one alike before a chuckle tumbled past her lips not long afterward. ❝ distractions are life savers. ❞ she responded simply. she usually did things on her own, causing a distraction so the person who was in trouble can make a run for it, whether they were a child or a full-grown adult. ❝ i'd like to see how well you are at causing a scene. ❞ the angel admitted.

[floral-flames-aa]

【   ✴.   ⸻   ⤖ .Bae Haneul.   】 

Bae Haneul’s smirk deepened, sharp and easy, like sunlight glinting off broken glass. His wings remained folded, hidden beneath his back, a subtle reminder of what he’d lost and what he now had to finesse in other ways. “A scene, you say?” His voice was smooth, low, teasing, each syllable deliberate. “I can be very… convincing when I want to be.”

The fallen angel took a step closer, just enough to let the warmth of his presence brush against the space between them. Fingers traced the rim of a hidden pocket, an idle motion that belied the storm of ideas already spinning behind his eyes. “Smoke, a scream, a misplaced tray… a spilled drink, a clatter of armor—chaos is just a matter of timing. People never notice the one who matters most, as long as the rest of the world is distracted.”

A small laugh escaped him, soft and musical, teasing. “But here’s the catch,” he added, voice dipping just slightly, intimate, daring. “I’ve never tested someone like you before. Think you can survive the fireworks I have planned, or will you run when the lights go out?”

His amber gaze flicked upward, playful, mischievous, teasing as though he already knew the answer and wanted to watch the other figure squirm just to be sure. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, leaning just slightly closer, letting the shadow of his hidden wings brush the edge of space like a secret.

[sasorikigai]

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Hanzo does not yield to the touch upon his chest, nor does he retreat from the whisper that dares him closer - he claims it instead, as though Kuai Liang’s provocation were fuel to a fire already ravenous. The stillness that cloaked him shatters into motion, measured and inexorable; the predator uncoils, not with violence, but with a precision that makes restraint itself a weapon. His thumb presses more firmly into Kuai’s pulse, savoring the quickened beat that betrays curiosity turned into desire, into hunger.

He lowers his head, the faintest graze of breath trailing the line of Kuai’s jaw, his lips hovering dangerously close, never quite touching, savoring the agony of almost. His words come roughened with smoldering heat, every syllable a tease drawn sharp as a blade.

“You think restraint an illusion?” His voice thrums low, like embers crackling against the cold. “Perhaps. But even illusion, when wielded well, can bind tighter than steel.” His lips ghost along Kuai’s skin, deliberately close to the vulnerable thrum beneath his ear, a promise sharpened into ache. Hanzo leans in further, letting the hard chiseled lines of his body press into Kuai’s, chest to chest, heat spilling into every sliver of space until frost itself feels caged. His hand at Kuai’s wrist slides, slow and deliberate, up along the forearm, until it brackets his elbow and holds him in place - not harsh, but undeniable, a claim drawn in the language of dominance and reverence entwined.

“Do not mistake fire for something tame enough to bend,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of Kuai’s ear now, just enough to sear without touching fully. “It consumes, yes… but not all is turned to ash. Some things… it fuses, forges, makes unbreakable.” His teeth graze, the faintest scrape of danger, and then retreat, leaving only the pulse of heat where threat and promise bleed together.

Hanzo tilts back just enough to meet his gaze again, obsidian eyes molten with unveiled hunger. “You wish to see if I burn easily?” The curve of his mouth is not quite a smile, but something darker, sharper - mocking, inviting. His free hand lifts, gloved fingertips brushing along Kuai’s jawline, tracing slow fire into pale skin. “Then stand closer, Kuai Liang. Stand so close the flames cannot tell where I end and you begin.” He pauses only long enough for tension to coil unbearable, then dips closer, their lips a breath apart, heat spilling like a tide. His voice lowers into a dangerous whisper, intimate and raw. “And when it consumes us both,” he breathes, the final syllables grazing Kuai’s mouth, “know it was you who summoned the fire - and I who chose… to let it take us.”

The bowstring of restraint trembles, stretched to breaking, every muscle of him singing with the promise of surrender edged in ruin. Hanzo does not close the distance yet, but the storm in his gaze makes clear - when he does, it will not be with hesitation. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[floral-flames-aa]

【 ✴. ⸻ ⤖ .Kuai Liang. 】

Kuai Liang lets a shiver roll through him, not from fear, but from the pressure of Hanzo’s heat pressed so deliberately against his chest. Every careful movement, every teasing brush of a thumb along his pulse, sends a spark crawling through him, coiling low in his stomach and up his spine. His eyes trace the sharp planes of the warriors face, memorizing the slight tremor in his jaw, the glint in obsidian eyes that mirrors his own hunger. He wants this as much as I do… Kuai Liang thinks, letting himself revel in the dangerous knowledge.

A slow breath escapes him, thick with anticipation, as he tips his head, exposing the hollow of his neck to the ghost of Hanzo’s lips, letting the whisper of air brush his skin. “Then burn,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, a promise and a dare in the same syllable. “But know… I will not flinch. Not from you. Not now. Not ever.” His pulse hammers under Hanzo’s hold, and he doesn’t pull back; if anything, he leans in just a fraction, testing the boundary, feeling the heat radiate from the other man, tasting it on the air between them.

Kuai Liang lets his wrist shift subtly beneath Hanzo’s grasp, playful in his submission, nudging the hold just enough to invite deeper contact without breaking the restraint. His chest presses closer, bone to bone, skin to skin, letting the warmth spill and mingle, the space between them shrinking to a razor-thin line of temptation. A soft, almost breathless chuckle escapes him, low and intimate, as his lips part in a mixture of amusement and want. Gods… he’s unbearable. And I don’t want him to stop.

“You speak of fusion,” Kuai Liang whispers, his voice dragging, teasing, as he tilts his jaw into Hanzo’s gloved fingers, letting the tips brush the tender skin, deliberate and daring. “But some fires…” He leans closer, lips barely grazing Hanzo’s ear, a whisper of heat that isn’t quite a kiss. “…are meant to melt before they forge.” The words hang between them, heavy with unspoken desire, a mixture of promise and challenge.

His fingers slide along Hanzo’s arm, exploring the hard muscle beneath the fabric, deliberate in their slow, teasing pressure. He can feel the subtle give of restraint in the other man, the tremor of desire barely held in check, and it makes something deep in him coil tighter, a mixture of thrill and satisfaction. I want to see how far I can push him… how much fire he’ll give me before he snaps.

Kuai Liang drags a fingertip along the curve of Hanzo’s jaw again, deliberate, lingering, as if each trace of his touch is a confession, a claim, a promise. His chest rises in shallow, controlled breaths, each inhale drawing in Hanzo’s scent, each exhale carrying the quiet confession he can’t voice: I am his. I am not afraid. And I want more.

“Closer,” The Lin Kuei grandmaster hums, letting the word curl and slither through the space between them, sultry, deliberate, teasing. “Step closer, and let me see… if it’s still your fire, or if it’s already devoured us both.” His lips brush the shell of Hanzo’s ear again, soft, almost playful, almost dangerous, leaving the barest hint of heat, the faintest scrape of temptation. And in that intimate nearness, Kuai Liang’s chest presses harder against Hanzo’s, every inch of him a quiet surrender to the storm he’s summoned, even as he smirks against the line of the other’s jaw.

“I don’t want you to hold back,” he adds in a low and intimate tone, letting the words vibrate through the space between them. “I want to feel it—all of it. Let it consume us… and know that I’m not running. Not now. Not ever.” His pulse thrums, a taut rhythm of anticipation and desire, as his amber eyes lock with Hanzo’s, dark with want, playful danger, and the quiet, aching admission he refuses to speak aloud. I am yours if you’ll take me… and I want you to.