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[Tier 1] - $2 / 100 words
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lolita [FNF/Pico]
[Read Part 1 here; on AO3] morally ambiguous fucking pt.2; you get fucked in a schoolgirl uniform and there's teeth if you squint because I wrote it so of course there is.
Current Word Count: - / Est. 2.5k remaining
[Tier 2] - $5 / Chapter
A larger contribution towards a chapter in an established work (est. 2-3k words/donation). Can be applied to the following works:
my type [Fire Emblem Heroes]
[Read Intro on AO3]
Once it was decided that you would not return to your home world, you were bombarded with offers to accompany your heroes to their realms - not as a summoner or tactician, but as a lover. You loved your allies, you really did, but in the romantic sense, you barely knew them! Time was limited and unless you were to remain as Askrs overworked tactician, you had to at least narrow down your choices.
Well, it's never too early for the sexual revolution.
See the current chapter list here.
true romance [BNHA/MHA]
[Read Intro on AO3]
You watched as the clerk slid the clipboard towards themselves, the brief look of disinterest fading as they gave you a polite smile and waved you off. Words of reassurance and the forthcoming death of your individualism rang in your ears as you waited for the next bus, "we'll get back to you soon!" And you made your way home without incident, watching heroes like caged animals wander the streets from your elevated position, wondering which one, if any at all, would take an interest - or even a passing glance - at the mountain of applications coming their way.
You never expected to receive an application from such a person.
See the current chapter list here.
[Tier 3] - $10 / Chapter
The largest contribution towards a chapter in my most serious works (est. 2.5-3.5k words/donation). Can be applied to the following works
SADNESS [i know the reason for her sadness] [JJBA7/Diego "Dio" Brando]
You've been transmigrated into the 1800's America with one instruction: Prevent the death of Diego Brando. There's only one problem... You've been turned into an utahraptor!
Current Chapter Count: - / Est. 10+ chapters remaining
Current Ch. Word Count: - / Est. 2.5k remaining
my girlfriend's dead [CSM/Denji]
Denji's been passing you off as dead since your breakup. It's hard to explain your sudden reappearance, especially after you were supposedly crushed by falling rubble during his last fight as Chainsaw Man. Your sudden bloodlust towards him must be his karma.
Current Chapter Count: - / Est. 10+ chapters remaining
Current Ch. Word Count: - / Est. 2.5k remaining
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Finally, he turned around, coming face to knee with one of the many girls that had recently begun to litter his life. This one was a middle one, not the first or the second but not the most recent addition either.
“Baba.” She repeated, face mirroring his own—your coloring in his features, staring blankly up at him. She was not fussy, but he could tell she was losing her patience.
“Yes, dear?” He responded to her kindly, as he had thrice before. The girl pouted, the tiniest jut of her bottom lip barely visible to him at his full height. He kneeled before her, coming to her eye level. “What’s the matter, little one?”
She fussed a bit more, putting a little more pressure on her foot. If she were not his, she probably would’ve stomped it. “That’s not my name, Baba.”
A small choir of giggles came around the corner. He didn’t spare them a glance, raising his hands to his daughter’s thin arms and rubbing them gently. “No, it’s not.” He agreed then stopped.
[+18 | MDNI] h. williams ; i think i left the stove
Summary: two people decide they might actually want kids but are interrupted
Warnings: AFAB Reader
[Read on AO3]
It was getting harder and harder to get alone time with your boyfriend.
“C’mere, squirt.” was sometimes the first thing out of his mouth on mornings you stayed at his place. You’d be making breakfast for him and yourself in the kitchen, and he’d stumble out of bed, pick Diana up like a sack of rice, plop her on his knee and get her hair as neat as he could for the day. She’d let out this melodic little laugh, kicking her legs as he tried to get her to be still. She’d been adapting to life on Earth–meaning bedtimes, wakeups, school and work. Lots of energy output in the mornings and afternoons, less at night.
It wouldn’t be until Diana was set back down in front of her morning cartoons that you’d get your share of Hugh. He’d walk into the kitchen area as best he could, drape himself over your back while he finished waking up, and mumble a drowsy “morning” into your cheek as he kissed it. Then he’d help you finish up, set the table, and see you off for work.
He just wasn’t much of a morning person.
Not that he was much of an afternoon person either. On the days you’d already planned on staying over, you’d pick Diana up from school (which was really just a rogue Delphi researcher who agreed to watch her while Hugh was at physical therapy), bring her back to the apartment, and get started on dinner. Sometimes she’d help. She seemed to like it, the way she liked all mundane tasks. Sometimes she’d ask if you could go to the park before starting on dinner. Most days you didn’t feel like cooking for two people, so you’d agree and text Hugh what he wanted you to pick up on the way back.
The park was always a good time. Diana was usually content with an hour or two in the sandbox or on the playground. She’d only ever ask for you to join in if she was going down the slide or found a lost basketball. You always made sure she left any loose toys in plain sight. Hugh would normally call or text by the time you’d be rinsing the sand off Diana’s feet. You’d let the girl know where you were going next, and she’d always beam up at you. Sometimes she’d say something along the lines of “I wish I could try that!”
You’d walk out of the park a little faster, lest any parents got the impression you weren’t feeding the kid that couldn’t eat.
Hugh would be back by the time you’d get to his apartment, just barely getting out of his car as you and Diana walked down the street. She’d break free of your hand–which Hugh would scold her for later–and run up to him, practically jumping into his arms like a proper daughter would. He’d take it, even if she landed on the side of his dead filament infection. He’d give a tight smile, cradle her bottom in one strong arm and ask about her day while you caught up. His free hand would go to you, and you’d all walk the cramped steps together.
There just wasn’t enough time for him to be an afternoon person.
But in the late evenings, when Diana’s system started slipping in and out of rest mode, both of you curled up on Hugh’s chest, you’d get your time. After Diana was helped into her pajamas, her hair was brushed and untangled, and tucked into bed, you’d get your time.
“You know,” He’d groan softly as he lowered himself back onto the couch. You immediately tucked yourself back into his side–his good side. You’d both melt at the warmth and weight of another person, turning into a little pile of goo on the leather seats. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous past times.” You hummed. “Last time you did that, you were missing for weeks on end.”
“I’ve been thinking–” He continued. “–That maybe… We should consider moving in together.”
You picked up your head; this was a face to face conversation.
“I have all this free time now,” He sighed. “And I’d like it if you didn’t have to decide two-three days in advance if you wanted to stay the night. I could drive you to work so you wouldn’t have to take an early bus, and Diana likes you a lot.”
Your eyes danced over his face, looking for something though you weren’t quite sure what. “Is she the reason you’re asking?” You mumbled.
He exhaled, glancing down before nodding, “That’s part of it. But I think I’d be bringing this up even if she hadn’t come back with me. I feel bad that you were in the dark for so long when we lost contact. No one told you a thing even after I got back.”
A heavy hand brushed a stray hair away from your face. “I don’t want you to have to go through that again.”
You hummed, “So… we’d move in here?”
“Not necessarily. It’s already pretty cramped with just me and the kid.” He lived in a one bedroom, with Diana taking up most of the mattress these days. Her toys and clothes were already overflowing from every closet and cabinet. “We can look at other places. Closer to your job, if you want, or your family.”
Originally, you had agreed to keep the majority of your lives separate. You had lived apart your entire relationship, keeping your spaces your own. At most, you’d spend a night or two here and there. It wasn’t until Diana landed in your lives that you started staying the majority of the week–at least an hour or two a day. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. The bus fare was starting to add up.
“I guess we can start looking.” You whispered, leaning back against the plush of the sofa now. You rolled your shoulders, getting comfortable as you asked, “Is there anything else you want to reevaluate?”
He mimicked your movements, “Could get married. Just on paper… You get my payout if anything happens to me, and no one will contest Diana.”
“No wedding?”
“Not if you don’t want one.” He shrugged, “It’s not what we planned for, but it’s a good safety net. That’s what you two need.”
You tilted your head, observing him carefully. Once you digested his answer, you sat up, shifting your weight to one leg and scooting closer. One hand moved to your hip, hovering over it while he awaited permission. “You really have been thinking this through…”
“Of course I did.” Hugh whispered. “This stuff’s important. It was different when there wasn’t Diana to worry about and a megacorporation didn’t owe us a lot of money.”
You smiled, ducking your head as you chuckled. He was right–as he tended to be. “Okay,” You whispered back. “That’s a good idea.”
You got a bit closer; he finally set his palm over your side, splaying his fingers from your hip to your waist and watching the fabric shift under the pressure. You leaned forward, raising your chin and letting your lips meet his in a gentle ghost. You barely moved, simply letting your eyelids flutter shut as one peck turned into two. Then two turned into three, then Hugh was pulling you into his lap proper.
You spread your legs over his lap, just able to straddle him with one knee squished between the couch and your bodies. The other just managed to stay on the sofa. You parted your lips, slotting them with his–slow and practiced. His hands settled on your hips, only really running his thumbs over the bone softly. Every separation was punctuated with a tiny click, apart for the length of a shallow breath and a lick of your lips.
“I was… thinking about something else too.” He whispered between kisses, never truly pulling away. He didn’t even open his eyes until you sat back on your hunches. You exhaled, steadied your breathing, and reached for a blanket over the back of the seat. He steadied himself as well.
“And what was that?” You threw the heavy material over his legs, making sure the edge was far enough down to handle some movement before draping the other end over your shoulders.
“Kids…” He mumbled. “Having… more than just Diana…”
You let your head loll to one side, “Is that right?”
“Doesn’t have to be ours,” He shook his head. “Not like that, at least… Might be nice to give some other kid a home. But explaining Diana…” He squeezed your hips. “Might be easier if they’re just… ours.”
You watched him work through his thoughts, feeling his pulse against the center of his chest where you rested your hand. It pounded in the cavity–part from breathlessness, part from his own request. You lifted your hips, putting your weight back onto your knees as you draped yourself over his torso.
“Might be easier…” You echoed, placing your head on his good shoulder. You brought your hand to his jaw, gently tilting his head and brushing his nose with yours before reuniting your lips. “Sounds nice…”
After a few more easy kisses were exchanged, Hugh regained his confidence–wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you close, one palm trailing down your spine and cupping your bottom, raising you just enough to line you up properly. The tent in his pants was heavy despite not being completely hard and the heat between you quickly grew unbearable under the throw blanket.
“Aren’t you eager…” You mumbled, dragging your cunt over the bulge and chewing the inside of your lip to keep quiet. “A few weeks in space really changes a man, huh?”
“So does having a gorgeous girl on his lap,” He whispered. “Agreeing to everything he says…”
He bucked his hips, jamming himself between your thighs, giving you little room to do much else than grind against the rough material of his jeans. You tucked your head into his neck, moaning quietly as your panties rubbed up against your clit, slippery with your own lubrication. “Fuck, Hugh…”
He only kissed the top of your head, keeping you flush against him. The slow, deep movements continued. A warmth built in your tummy, making your pussy tremble around nothing but the though of having your boyfriend inside you again after months apart. Maybe it would be best to move; somewhere with locked bedroom would be nice.
“DAD!”
Your face scrunched up as you immediately caught yourself–Hugh’s bulge fighting the four layers of fabric between you. He huffed, holding you in place for a moment before helping you up. You pulled away, pressing your palms against your thighs and pushing the pant fabric back down, untangling it from your panties. He gave you one last peck and dropped you on the sofa.
i love a pov of wesker during sex, and he talks about it from such a biological standpoint so he can remove any emotion or humanity from himself. but he keeps messing up his internal dialogue about it because he is still human at the end of the day, and is far more affected than he likes to admit.
He sunk his teeth deeper into your platysma, holding you down as he pistoned his hips into yours. He’d long since drawn blood–lapping up the fluid with a pink tongue. Bright, coppery, full of nutrients. Perfect.
Your face was buried in his pillows, legs folded under you and spread on either side of his own. You couldn’t fight, couldn’t turn your head to bite him back, not that you seemed especially eager to. You’d only squirm every few thrusts, and he’d quickly put you back in your place with a swat to your bottom.
It was the most natural position, wasn’t it? Even the smallest tree frogs seemed to understand that this was the proper way. He could feel your body try to drink him up, squeezing him in a warm, wet embrace, milking him with every flutter of your cunt–
No, not cunt. He thought, vagina. Birth canal. He forced his mind to clear. Orgasm would only shift the temperature a single degree, he had to be attentive. It was for the best. Best chances, best outcome, best–
“Knock it off.” He grumbled into your neck, pushing more of his weight against your back. Your thighs spread a bit further, opening up to let his cock– penis further inside you. He’d set the perfect pace, making sure his depth and force followed a perfect oscillation, and here was his plaything grasping for control, making his train of thought falter. He picked up your hips again, keeping the curve of your ass flush to his pelvis.
“Your nature–” His breath hitched with another pulse; he hid it by returning his canines to your flesh. “–Won’t stand in my way.”
I really like your writting and I was wondering how you feel about trans Leon? And if you'd ever write that?
I like the idea and would write it but whether or not I’d do it well is up for discussion TT I’m NB so I hope I just don’t end up conflating the two experiences yk?
[+18 | MDNI] l. s. kennedy ; i got this
Summary: i accidently committed too hard to the E.D Leon joke
Warnings: AFAB Reader, Half-assed research
[Read on AO3]
“Sorry, babe.”
You opened your eyes, still only a centimeter or two away from Leon’s lips. You glanced up at him, mind hazy and wandering as you pulled away a little more, sitting back on your haunches. You lazily examined his face, admiring the way his hair had been pushed back by your fingers threading through it, how swollen his lips had become from your little make-out session, and found nothing. A low chuckle stirred in his chest as you tried to drape yourself over him again. You only got your head to his shoulder before he turned it for you, making you look down at his lap.
Oh.
A small grumble echoed in the back of your throat. He was still soft, cock barely making a bulge in his jeans. Your arms went around his neck, settling into a sort of half-cuddle as you both stared at it. He lifted his hand from your hip to hold your chin with his thumb, moving to gently pet your jaw and cheek.
“I’m sorry.” He repeated, voice little more than a whisper. You looked up at his face, all remorseful and sweet despite his natural ruggedness. He looked like he was apologizing for kicking your puppy–not failing to get it up. “Wanna lay back? I’ll take care of you.”
You shook your head, mumbling, “‘S okay.” You picked up your head, shaking it to adjust your hair and untangling one arm to cup his cheek. His scruff scratched up your palm as you brought him down for another kiss. It was soft and warm, chaste for the first few pecks before you settled back into your rhythm from earlier. It wasn’t long before you were chasing his lips whenever you two parted for a quick breath; your fingers quickly returned to the back of his head, grabbing his salt-and-pepper-hair by the roots as you tried to fix your position, settling against his good shoulder.
With your other arm able to roam freely, you were quick to feel him up again. You unbuttoned his pants and gently tugged on the zipper until you could comfortably hold him in your palm. Even soft, he still filled your palm with a warm weight.
“Hey, seriously.” He pulled away again, moving one hand to the bend of your arm to keep you from touching him. “It’s probably not gonna do anything… Let’s just focus on you.”
You rested your hand on his elbow, squeezing the muscle with a sigh. You stared at him for a bit, watching some youthful awkwardness bubble to the surface of this trained agent. He could only hold your gaze for so long before averting it, looking down to your lips. He shifted his weight, sitting up so he could flip your positions. You pulled your arm from his grasp and pushed it against his shoulder–forcefully enough to stop him, softly enough to not hurt his bruises.
“I want to focus on you,” You whispered, leaning your head down to the crook of his neck. His cologne clung to him along with the smell of leather from his coat. You brushed the tip of your nose against his pulse point, running your bridge across it until your forehead was flush to the skin. “I don’t really care what we do.”
You punctuated the statement with a nibble, taking a sliver of flesh between your teeth as you settled on his collar. He fell back against the pillows with a small groan, dropping his hands to your waist and tilting his head back. You followed the stretch of the muscle, mouthing along its tension until you were on his neck. His lips parted with a silent gasp as you closed your teeth around the column. Leon melted under you, squeezing your waist with one hand as one hand trailed up your spine, caging you both in. Your fingers gripped his hair a bit tighter, tilting his head back and exposing more of his neck to you.
Your free hand went to zipper on his sweater, dragging it down as far as it could go before dragging your palm over his abdomen. You slipped your fingers beneath the hem, bunching it over your wrist as you tugged on his undershirt, untucking it from his jeans. His abs were warm under all those layers, soft with the curve of his body. You worshiped his neck for a second longer, making sure he was completely relaxed when you finally separated again.
He was quick to let you pull the clothing over his head. You tapped his hips, instructing him to scoot down as you lifted your legs over his, sitting off to one side as he moved. He got comfortable with a content sigh, looking up at you with tired, blue eyes. “Don’t leave me down here too long,” He hummed. “Might fall asleep.”
You chuckled, reaching down to brush his hair away from his face. Crows' feet appeared at the corners of his eyes, following you as you laid down beside him. “Hey you.”
“Hi.” He grumbled. You quickly returned to peppering his face and throat with kisses. You kept him warm with your body blanketed over his, letting his hands worm under your shirt. Before long, you were bare above him, pressing your breasts against his torso as you slowly worked your way down his body. He squirmed whenever you passed over a scar, kissing his waist.
He was still soft, but you were still careful as you lifted the band of his boxers over his dick. You blinked, leaning down to kiss the base before pulling the fabric down his legs.
“Babe,” He scolded you.
“Sorry,” You hummed. “Couldn’t help it.”
You took him into your hand, supporting his cock without forcing it stiff. “May I…?” You asked.
He nodded, “Only if you want to.”
You guided the pads of your fingers up his dick, tracing a heavy vein and gently tugging on the hot skin. You dipped your head, bringing his pink head to rest on your bottom lip. He made a quiet hum, brushing your hair away from your face as a sign of encouragement. He was never especially loud. You gave him tiny kitten licks, applied small pressure to his base, and moved your opposite hand to his balls. He groaned, bending his leg and writhing. You cooed, massaging him in tandem with every press of your tongue against his tip. He only managed a twitch by the time he patted on your cheek. You rested his dick on his thigh, giving it one last kiss, much to his reluctant amusement.
You went to lay down beside him, but he quickly lifted himself onto his elbow, looking down at you while you settled. “Hey you.”
“Hi.” A hopeful smile danced across your features. He smiled back.
“Mind if I?”
You eagerly nodded.
He got to his knees and put your legs over his hips, stuffing his soft length into your cunt. A whine crawled out of your throat.
“Come on,” He chuckled at your reaction. “Now you’re just flattering me.”
[+18 | MDNI] zeno ; i'm your man
Summary: two people fuck and maybe only one of them actually likes the other and there's boy tears bc i wrote so of course there is
Warnings: AFAB reader
[Read on AO3] [Fics for Gaza]
The first thing Zeno did whenever he got home was take off his glasses.
In his gloved hands, he’d take the rectangular frames–fingers practically molded to their thickness–and carefully press down on the clips of the flip-up sunglasses. The movement was unbearably gentle, kinder than he’d ever been handled or handled anything in turn. It was necessary; the high bridge covers were disgustingly cheap for the cost of his prescription and could break without warning. He removed one frame, then the other, as best as his blurred vision allowed.
The house was always dimly–warmly–lit, the only place in the world tailored to his needs. Meant for eyes too weak, too sensitive, for the sterile lights of hospitals, labs, and big business meetings. He brought his glasses back to his face, blinking as he adjusted to the crispness, and removed his gloves.
“I’m home.” He’d only announce his presence when the moment of weakness passed, after the flip-ups were safely in their case and sat beside his gloves, ready for tomorrow. You’d round the corner from the kitchen right as he’d be hanging up his coat. You’d take his tie in a single, controlled movement, bringing him a step further inside as it slipped out of his waistcoat.
“Welcome home.” Your voice was always soft, delicate on his ears, as you loosened his leash, untying it with a practiced precision and dragging it down his collar. You wrapped it around your hand while he ducked his head for a peck. Your empty palm came up to his face, handling him as he handled the covers of his glasses, and you ran your thumb along the apple of his cheek. The kiss was soft, chaste, and separated with a quiet click.
“Dinner’s in the oven,” You hummed. The tip of your nail grazed the fat under his eye–you noted how the sclera by his waterline was starting to redden. Your chest filled with breath and the passing thought of genetic complexities before moving your hand to the back of his head, cradling the base of his skull between your thumb and index finger. “Twenty minutes.”
He lowered his gaze, nodding through a swallow. “I’ll get cleaned up.”
“Should I get a shower started?”
“No,” He shook his head. His hands which had been hovering over your hips, hesitant to touch, returned to his sides. You lowered your hand, stepping out of his way as he spoke, “I won’t take long.”
His voice was low, soft, and you matched it with a gentle “Alright, dear.”
It only put a quickness in his step.
He stepped into the bedroom, not bothering to turn on more than the bedside lamp as he began to undress. The collar chain pooled in its ceramic bowl with a clean ring, followed closely by his cuff links and lapel chain. He removed each part of his three-piece suit, leaving them draped over the bed for you to retrieve in a moment. They needed to be stripped of his smell, just to be contaminated again after a few days respite.
In the ensuite, he finished undressing while the water warmed up. The light in the bathroom was just as warm as the rest of the house, only slightly brighter by comparison, just to make sure the shower was still well-lit when the curtain shut. The cream towels hanging on the wall were perfectly folded, still sweet-smelling and warm from the dryer. They were the last thing he admired before taking off his glasses, folding them up and leaving them on the ivory counter. He ran his fingers through his hair, loosening the gel that held the style together, and stepped into the hot stream of water.
His whole routine took no more than ten minutes. Each bottle of shampoo, conditioner, face wash, and body wash stood in perfect single file, on the same shelf they’d stood on since he settled into the apartment, separate from your bottles. No movement was wasted.
The towels had cooled by the time the water shut off, but the room was warm, tacky with steam. He pressed his face into the fabric, ran it over his hair, and scraped the water off his body before wrapping the cotton-polyester blend around his waist. He wiped the condensation off the mirror with his wrist and squinted to see his reflection.
The bruising on his neck was getting worse.
A pale hand reached for the discoloration. The darkest part felt nothing while the edges were tender, just like a regular injury. When he first noticed it, he’d dismissed it as a hickey. But you had never left hickeys. You never left a trace of yourself on him; you only seemed to exist in the bed and bath rooms, where your clothes took up space in his closet and your bottles stood proud in his shower. Still, he’d hoped that the bruise was not another failure of his body, another mistake in the copy of his genetic code. He’d hoped you left a mark, and that hope was dashed when you’d touched it one morning before knotting his tie. He’d wanted to see pride in your eyes, the simple look of contentment at a job well done–a brand that was as persistent, stubborn, and unwavering as your feelings for him. But you only hummed, fixed his collar, and brought his head down for a kiss. You’d patted his chest, made your final adjustments, then whispered a sweet “Have a good day,” before kissing him once more. He went on his way with a heavy heart that had no business in his chest.
The door of the bedroom opened. He heard your soft steps wander into the room and stop, just enough paces in to land you in front of the bed. The tiny jingle of ice hitting glass barely reached his ear. He wiped his glasses on a hand towel and pushed them up the bridge of his nose then opened the ensuite door. Sure enough, you were straightening yourself out; a tray sat on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. The look you gave him could almost convince him of mutuality.
“Zeno,” Your sweet voice was as heavy as the steam in the air, enveloping him in a warmth like no other as you came to stand in front of him, reaching up to rest your hands on his shoulders. “I was almost starting to worry.”
He checked the clock on the bedside table–almost five minutes past his expectation.
“I apologize.” He mumbled. He didn’t touch you. You didn’t press yourself any closer. Your hands returned to your sides, and you both resumed your routine despite the interruption. He sat on the edge of the bed, following your every move as you took the vial of PG67A/W in one hand and a syringe in another. The bed dipped as your weight settled beside him. You hummed a meaningless tune as you prepared the serum. He angled his arm, watched you smile with satisfaction at the movement, and didn’t flinch when you injected him. He had long since gotten used to the feeling, only making a slight face whenever you tried a new site.
“All done.” You cooed, turning to place the needle back on the tray. Your hair swayed beautifully as you looked back at him. Your eyes darted around his face, fast but not fast enough to go unseen by him. Eyes, body, lips, eyes. Redness in the sclera, bruising on the neck, the thin lips you kissed several times a day, then back to eyes that were hopefully only getting worse to get better.
He wished he didn’t know what you were looking at.
You scooted a bit closer, tilting your head up in a silent request. He dipped his head to receive a peck so soft and chaste it might as well have been a brush against his hand. You touched him more now, standing up with help from your hands on his chest. Your lips stayed over his, moving once more like you didn’t want to part. He set his hands on your hips even as you tried to move away, parting his lips with a quiet inhale and reciprocating. A content hum filled his head, punctuated by the soft clicks of mouths meeting and separating and meeting again. This went on for only a moment, before you bent your fingers and your nails pressed against his chest in warning.
He released his hold on you but failed to raise his hands. He stopped kissing but didn’t pull away. He waited for you to drop your hands from his body; waited for you to lift your head; waited for you to speak first, lest he fail again.
“Dinner’s ready when you are.”
Every evening passed the same way:
You’d leave him with a glass of whiskey he was supposed to like, from a bottle of alcohol that cost about as much as his prescription. He’d take as many sips as he could stomach before draining the rest into the bathroom sink with cold water, one finger holding up the perfect cube of ice, leaving a slight divot in the otherwise smooth surface. The glass would return to a coaster on his bedside table and it would disappear sometime between dinner and bedtime.
He’d moisturize his face first, rubbing the lighter lotion into his cheeks and neck–scrunching his features together when he put the same amount of pressure on the bruised skin as the clear. Under eye serum was applied especially thick, because he stopped aging at thirty-eight and Zeno was starting to come up on it. Body lotion that smelled of sandalwood and leather was spread less liberally, the sticky feeling never truly fading from his skin. The scent clung to him and his clothes, empowered by the spritz of cologne over his housewear. The profile was supposed to smell expensive–similar enough to whatever he used to wear without being insulting.
But to him it smelled like vinegar, like a jar of pickles opened and splashed directly in his face. He’d been wearing it for years, since he was old enough to know that one spray over his clothes was more than enough for a day. He’d worked up the confidence to refuse to wear it once–only once–on the day The Connections introduced him to you. But you had said you liked it, tucked your hand into his while he shook it the way they’d taught him to, and the words died in his throat.
You’d repeat it every night. He’d walk into the dining room right as you finished putting dinner on the table. There would be homemade pasta or breads all made from the freshest ingredients and he’d have no clue as to how you found them in a shithole like Wrenwood. You’d take his hands in a way that was so unlike the way he first held yours, smile, and say:
“You smell amazing, dear” as you pressed your face onto the unmarred side of his neck. This was the closest you ever held him outside of bed. He’d feel your warmth bloom against his torso, the strength of your arms across his back, and wonder how such a simple thing had you rolling in him like a cat in catnip. A chinchilla in sand.
A dog in an animal carcass.
“Maybe I’ll steal some from you tomorrow.” You’d laugh quietly in his ear. He’d feel the tip of your nose against his pulse point, where the cologne was strongest, beating out his natural scent no matter how hard it fought. Sometimes you’d kiss it, forgetting it was still damp with alcohol, and pull away with a sour face and a laugh, pulling him down to smush his lips onto yours, as if to spread the taste–punishing him with it too. Sometimes it made him smile, and he’d relax enough to plant his hands on your waist. He would steel himself enough to deal with the taste, bringing you back into another kiss, then another, and another. Tonight, you didn’t; you simply settled against his chest, drinking up the smell and his warmth.
Regardless, he’d respond with “You’re always free to” despite himself. He hoped you’d never touch the stuff, and so far, in spite of your many threats, you hadn’t. He could handle it on his body, the body he wasn’t completely sure he occupied most of the time, but he wasn’t sure he could handle it on yours. He was certain he was more fragile than even he knew, and he wasn’t willing to risk you wearing sandalwood and leather or drinking overpriced whiskey or referring to him by a name that was not his being the thing that would break him.
Finally, you’d kiss his cheek and it would be a toss-up as to what you’d say. Most commonly was an exaggerated “Mmph, I love you.” Always punctuated by another kiss. Other times it was something akin to: “Then I guess I will.” That was always his least favorite answer.
Today, you let him hear the best answer of all: “You’re perfect, dear.”
“You’re perfect” was always paired with a squeeze of his hands. Always. Then you’d tug him towards the table where everything had reached the perfect temperature to eat, dragging him by those hands with an eagerness that drained all the tension from his bones. “You’re perfect” nights were somehow always accompanied by his favorite foods–comforting stews or pastas and the wine he’d picked out himself for your anniversary. If he were any smarter, he’d realize it was never a coincidence that “You’re perfect” nights overlapped with the worst days of his life; that “You’re perfect” nights came from someone higher up sending a warning home by the midday; that “You’re perfect” nights were as manufactured an “I love you” as the one on a cheap candy heart.
As opposite an “I love you” to the one he’d whisper against your lips before you both sat down.
You’d give the house one last clean after dinner, getting the plates, whatever cookware you’d neglected during your actual preparation, and finally the leftover ice from his glass of whiskey in the sink while he tidied up the table. At most, he’d have to switch out the table cloth but normally it was nothing more than dusting it for crumbs. You’d load the dishwasher and kiss him, swiping your thumb along his bottom lip as if to wipe it clean of make-believe mess, before dismissing yourself for your evening shower. He’d have anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour for his last cigarette of the day.
He’d sit out on the balcony until a tap on the door’s glass told him you were done and decent. He’d always take a deep breath, filling his lungs with the comforting smell of tobacco–just in case you had followed through on the threat of using his cologne. You never did, and he’d sigh with relief, burying himself in your scent the second you were both in bed.
Your side of the bed always smelled sweet, warm yet distant from your weaker perfume. He kept his head on your pillow, his body under your side of the sheets, while you finished up your nightly routine. He’d stare at you over the plush material, inhaling your scent while you tended to your skin and hair, making sure they’d be protected through the night. You’d have to shoo him when you finally got to your side of the bed.
“Scoot.” You mumbled, pulling the heavy covers away from your edge. The only light provided came from the bedside lamps. After you settled, you leaned closer to the bulb, setting your alarm on an analog clock in its light. He’d never heard it–always managed to sleep through it. He wasn’t entirely sure if you set it at all.
“I said ‘scoot,’ dear.” You repeated when Zeno was still much too close for you to slip under the duvet. He moved with a quiet groan, giving you barely enough room to keep from rolling off the edge and only a second before he was wrapped around you. “This is a king-sized bed, you know?”
He did, but he did nothing about it.
“You smell amazing,” He parroted, smushing his face into your hair. He didn’t know what else to say, no other way to tell you he needed you there, needed you as close as you could be. It made his heart soar when you chuckled.
“Thank you, dear.” You hummed, pushing on his chest in attempts to get him onto his back. He rolled over; you followed suit, draping yourself over his front, providing the most perfect warmth. You were softer than any blanket, warmer than any other sensation, and he couldn’t help but try and drag you up his torso like a teddy bear.
“Could we sleep like this?” He mumbled into your crown. He didn’t care that your head rested over his bruise, just that you were laying in his embrace.
You made a quiet noise, pretending to contemplate as you raised your head and set your chin over his sternum. “You won’t get sore, dear?”
“I promise I won’t.” He mumbled, raising a hand and bringing it to the side of your head. It stalled for a moment before brushing a few damp strands behind your ear. “I promise, dear.”
His voice slipped out so quietly, barely registering it in his own ears before it faded into the dim bedroom. He hated the sound. No one ever described him as quiet.
You let your eyes flutter shut, pressing your cheek into his palm with a content hum. Your eyes opened, and though he couldn’t really make out the shape of them, the color struck him all the same. “Are you sure? I don’t want you hurting at work.” You whispered.
“I’m certain.” The words came before he could think. “Please, my dear. You’re so warm, you feel so warm.” One arm came to wrap around your back, squeezing you slightly. He sighed, “I need you here.”
A comfortable break filled the air, and after a few moments of staring at one and another, you raised a hand to his face, pushing some strands of his hair back. You gave him a few pets before lifting yourself onto your elbows and knees, leaning forward to capture his lips with yours. It began as all your other kisses did, you seemed incapable of kissing him without a sweet innocence. The fat of your lips united without a sound, guiding each other with all the force of a fleeting touch. You met and separated, over and over, until he gathered the strength to pull you closer. Hips to hips, chest to chest, lips to lips.
He took a sharp breath, tilting his head slightly to force you two to slot together and deepening the motion as you followed suit. You only ever allowed him control over your kisses, once he got too needy, too desperate to coat his tongue in your taste, you pulled away. He groaned as you sat up, setting your weight over his hips.
“Your glasses, dear?” You hummed as you lifted your pajama top over your head. The apartment was warm enough to keep you from shivering, and Zeno quickly covered your sides with his hands.
“Please…” He swallowed thickly.
“Shirt first.” You leaned back just enough for him to comfortably sit up. He propped himself against the down-stuffed pillows, letting you take the hem of his sleep shirt between your fingers and lift it over his chest. You pulled it over his head, set it on the duvet behind you in a bundle with your own, then reached for glasses on the end table.
You aligned them in front of his face and gently pushed them up the bridge of his nose. He shook his head just a bit, adjusting them while you settled back against his chest. Your bare breasts squished against his toned muscles. He couldn’t help but whine.
He whispered your name, waiting for you to show some sign of acknowledgement before speaking, “My love… You’re so warm. You’re perfect.”
You smiled at the compliment, letting your fingers comb through his hair with a coo. “As are you, dear.”
He practically melted under your words, pulling you back into a kiss and already pressing the tip of his tongue against the seam of your lips. You closed your hand into a fistful of his hair, tugging on the strands, punishing him for being overeager. He was forced away, made to expose the unmarred bend of his neck to you and your teeth. He panted softly, making sweet noises as he focused on the tip of your nose brushing against his skin. The alcohol of his cologne had fully dried down by now, letting you kiss and bite his pulse point, all without leaving a lasting mark on his pale neck or your taste buds.
An especially harsh bite made him whimper and buck his hips against yours, already forming a cute tent in the silky pajamas you’d bought for him. You raised yourself on your knees, holding yourself just out of reach.
“Easy,” You whispered, brushing your hair away from your face as you crawled down the mattress. “Don’t want to go too fast, do we, dear?”
“Please, my love.” The blond reached for you but kept his palms open. He knew very well a single squeeze out of line was enough to make you stop. “Don’t go…”
“I’m here.” You hummed, lowering your head to begin kissing his waist. He squirmed, writhing beneath your lips. You scolded him with a hand over his cock, palming him through the layers of fabric until he forced himself to keep it together. “I’m here, Zeno.”
You watched with focused eyes as he raised his hand to his mouth, biting down on the flesh of his finger as he struggled to keep quiet and still. Each delicate moan slipped past the digit, filling the room with every perfect sound as you toyed with him, squeezing him gently until you felt the material separating you two dampen, darkening with the beginnings of pre-cum. You replaced your hand with your mouth, gently wrapping your lips around the soft tent. You didn’t kiss or suck, only allowing him to feel a fraction of the heat you could provide. A delicate sound caught in his throat, cracking as soon as it touched the air.
“Are you okay, baby?” You hummed, ducking your head and mouthing a little further down the shaft, leaving a new wet spot with your tongue. His quiet cry reached your ears, and you lifted your head just in time to miss another buck of his hips.
“Dear, please.” He whined, “Don’t– Don’t tease me like that.”
You pretended to ponder, wrapping your fingers around the waistbands of his bottoms and letting your head loll from side to side. Eventually, you pulled them down, planting kisses on each side of his hip bones before blowing a tiny gust of air over his dick. You couldn’t help the amused smile that graced your features as he gave a startled whine, helpless to the way his body reacted, immediately growing hard and heavy in front of you.
You dipped your head, bringing his weeping tip to rest on your bottom lip. Your pink tongue pressed itself flat against the hot skin before your lips closed around the head of his cock. A careful, manicured hand came steady to the base as you spoiled him with kitten licks and coy kisses. You watched him flinch, struggling to keep his hips against the bed as he tried to muffle his grunts with his fist in his mouth. After ages of teasing, pulling away after every kiss, making sweet, satisfied gasps every time you did–as if you were taking sips from the most refreshing glass on a midsummer day–you took him into your mouth properly. You wrapped your lips around the girth, letting your jaw relax as you slowly bobbed your head, never taking more than the first few inches of him. A low groan echoed from his chest.
He whined your name, free hand crushing a fistful of cotton sheets between his fingers. “Dear, please… Keep going, my love, please…”
You hollowed your cheeks, setting a steady pace to his soft pants. You were never an especially quick lover–needing him in tears before you could even consider getting off. He never disappointed, letting his pretty blue eyes cloud with tears that left reddened streaks over his cheeks without shame. You didn’t let up for a moment, taking ages to allow just half his aching cock down your throat.
You pulled away when he started to tremble in earnest–a few simple touches away from cumming. You sat up, fixed your hair in your vanity’s mirror, and crawled back over his chest.
“How are you feeling, dear?” You whispered against his lips, tilting your head one way or another as he tried to chase your lips, whimpering and whining whenever he missed. Tears pooled on his waterline as quickly as they fell.
“Please, my love, I need you.” He babbled. “Please, dear, please. I- I need to be inside you. Please don’t leave me.”
You ran your thumb over his cheek, wiping away the droplets that’d already spilled. You were already kicking off your pajama bottoms. “I’m here.” You whispered against his lips, still refusing him the reassurance of a kiss. “I’m here.”
“I- I need–” He nearly yelped as you straddled him once more, your pussy soft and wet and unbearably close. His cock throbbed pathetically, reaching for you as every part of him did. Your name was a prayer on his tongue, “Let me cum inside you, dear, please. Please, my love, I love you– I love you so much, dear–”
You lowered yourself the slightest bit, using your hand to help him catch against your lips. He shuttered, crying at the feeling of your juices mixing with your saliva on his tip. He bucked his hips, and you pitied him by staying in place, letting him rut into you at his pace. He only managed a single thrust before reaching for your waist, wanting you on his lap. You obliged, listening to his moans as you spread your legs for him. He seemed caught between wanting to watch his dick disappear into your perfect cunt and wanting you close enough to hold and kiss properly.
His body made the decision for him, locking up as he came with a hiss. Babbles of please and other nonsense spilled from his lips like milk from a carton, and he palmed your sides as he rocked you over him. His gaze never left your connection, watching as he spilled inside you; watching as his seed frothed between you with every ministration; watching as you watched too–making a mental note to stop by the pharmacy while he was at work tomorrow.
Shout out to all the Black ppl that can no longer participate directly in the fandom they love because of the stresses of racism 👍🏾 you contain multitudes of value and I'm sorry that the color of your skin and the power of your voice makes people not want to acknowledge that.
idk chat i’ve been thinking a lot about dad lao lately…
Dad Lao that wants to keep his bloodline going; Earthrealm is gonna need another great champion to save its hide someday.
Soon-to-be-Dad Lao that practices with some of the younger kids, training them, fixing them snacks, and just generally being a little more tender with them than maybe should be allowed.
Dad Lao that quietly hopes for boys but somehow only ends up with girls. Lots and lots of girls.
(The more he tries, the more the universe holds it just out of his reach.)
mk2021 dad lao
Dad Lao that’s still pretty quiet and reserved with his kids, but they love it. They know Dad’s just tired from missions and training. He’s trying his best.
The littles’ only complaint is that his hair is a bit on the short side—that odd length that isn’t super flattering up or down. It’s not enough to put more than two rubber bands in, but they’re sure as shit gonna try.
“Baba, you weren’t supposed to cut your hair! It’s too short now!”
“You’re right. Baba’s sorry.”
His voice doesn’t even shift in tone; literally no other child would believe him.
But his do. And that’s all that matters :)
Probably made a face when the first boy came along. He wasn’t upset or anything, just kinda wasn’t expecting it.
“Look, dear, aren’t you excited?”
“…I didn’t know you made these.”
mk11 dad lao
Dad Lao that’s super boastful of his little posse. They’ve all received the finest education from yours truly, and they’re ready to kick some butt.
Those girls know nothing except self-confidence and it’s genuinely a little scary. But they’re all very kind and uplifting especially towards one another. They all came from the greatest Shaolin so they must also be the greatest too!
Doesn’t mind the “sinful monk” comment from Noob anymore; he’s kinda got a small army to prove it so…
“Hey! Where’s your sister? You all want to learn, don’t you?”
“She’s right there!”
“ Your other sister!”
Not totally capable of keeping track of all of them. It’s fine, she’ll turn up eventually, maybe, hopefully.
Over the moon when a boy is born. The girls don’t really get the hype, they kinda just see him as another sister. Definitely brings Lao back to earth.
“Baba, I thought a brother would be way cooler…”
“He will be cool when he’s big. Just like dear ol’ Dad.”
“We’re already cooler than you, Baba. Maybe he should be more like us.”
[+18 | MDNI] kinktober '25 day 8; j. cage - camera
Summary: Raiden and Kung Lao stumble on a dangerous discovery while housesitting for Johnny.
Warnings: AFAB Reader
[Read on AO3] [Kinktober Masterlist] [Fics for Gaza]
“This one doesn’t have a label.”
Raiden picked up his head, looking at the disc Kung Lao held in a gentle hand. The sliver shined, reflecting beautifully and showcasing its disuse with every subtle movement. He took it from Kung Lao’s hand to inspect it closely.
“I wonder what it could be.” Raiden’s soft voice was only made softer by the sheer amount of plush in Johnny’s home theater. The two country boys had been asked to house-sit for the man while he worked on his latest film, shooting somewhere deep in nature without Wi-Fi to check his own cameras. Kung Lao jumped at the opportunity; Raiden made sure the Temple would function without them. And now they sat in front of the giant screen, looking through binder after binder of DVDs–unable to settle on a film.
Kung Lao took the disc back. “Let’s watch this one! Johnny probably doesn’t even remember he has it. We can finally get revenge for all those stupid references he makes.”
Raiden rolled his eyes but didn’t complain, letting Kung Lao up and disappear into the booth. The whirling of a projector echoed through the theater, and the far wall lit up. Footsteps hurried back; Kung Lao reappeared not a moment later and jumped into a seat nearby.
“You can’t even see from that angle.”
Johnny’s voice resounded through the room’s speakers–scratchy and distorted, as if picked up by a broken mic. The camera was lifted with the click of the tongue. The black screen was quickly replaced with a dimly lit room, almost no better than the blank screen. “C’mon babe, this is my directorial debut. You gotta do it right.”
The camera shook as it was passed between hands, swinging around the room before it settled on another body. You sat on your knees on the edge of the bed, a cute scowl on your face as you rolled your eyes. You didn’t seem to mind your nudity, leaning to one side to rest. The camera crawled down your body, moving steady over your free breasts and soft belly before settling over–
[“Woah!” / “Let’s turn this off.”]
“Johnny.” Your voice was stern and unwavering, your hand reaching forward to pick up the drooping lens.
A warm chuckle filled the air, “Sorry, baby.”
“You should at least make it tasteful.” The sheets rustled as you crawled forward. The camera wobbled while you settled on Johnny’s lap. “I’m not gonna wanna watch it if it’s just focused on me, y’know?”
“Fine, fine.” Finally the camera was set on the stable bedside table, facing the bed at a strange angle. You were center frame, Johnny’s strong arms only barely in the shot. You stared at the camera, frowning yet adjusting your position. Johnny laughed lowly, wrapping his arms around waist and pulling himself closer. He appeared in frame, most of him obscured by his back, but it was clear that he was resting his chin on your sternum, staring up at you. “Don’t make that face… I won’t wanna watch it if there’s too much me in it either. I think this is best.”
His hands moved across your back, trailing up your spine until he reached your shoulder blades. He pulled you down, not with enough force to make you sit but enough to bring your breasts to his lips. He kissed your skin, slowly and meticulously worshiping the warmed skin with practiced confidence. The fat was already reddened and sensitive from earlier activities. A tiny sigh escaped your lips, drawing your attention away from the camera. You combed your fingers through his hair, gently tugging on the wheat-colored strands.
Johnny focused his efforts on your tits, massaging the flesh of one with his hand while the other received the full extent of his lust–hot tongue pressed to your nipple before wrapping his lips around the soft nub. He suckled gently, pulling away for a moment to let the cool air of the room prickle your skin. You shivered with displeasure.
“Mm… Relax, baby.” He purred against the fat of your breast, kissing your breastbone and settling back against the pillows, out of the camera’s view. He planted his feet on the bed, dragging you over his lap until your pretty cunt was aligned with his cock. “We can turn it off if you want to–”
[Raiden and Kung Lao stumbled over each other trying to get back to the booth.]
Your quiet moan filled the air, “Johnny–”
The camera moved again, clearly handheld with the way it trembled slightly, refocusing between your legs. You whined, trying to move against his sturdy hand on your thigh. His fingers dug into the flesh, squeezing it until you stilled before moving to your pussy. He filled you up perfectly; Gently, parting your folds with his fingertips gave him and the camera a perfect view of your cunt taking him in. “Just look at you, baby, you’re taking me so well…”
Johnny bucked his hips, making your whole body jump with a small grunt. A wet palp came through the speakers along with your moans. Johnny shifted his position, putting the camera on his belly for a moment while he decided where he’d rather have his hands. Another palp came through; Johnny gripped your hips, both strong hands resting on your plush waist as the camera began to slip–
The two men knocked the DVD player over in attempts to wrestle the disc back from the machine. The screen went black and for a moment the booth was dark. Raiden crackled some lightning between his fingertips, just enough to have a few moments of light so he could find the switch.
“At least it’s off.” Kung Lao picked up the player in his hands–a little scratched and dented but functional. He forced the drive open. “Hey, the disc is still good!”
[+18 | MDNI] Kinktober '25 Day 1; Bi-Han + Kuai Liang - Pseudo-Incest
Summary: Your not-brothers have... complex feelings about you.
Warnings: AFAB Reader, Pseudo-Incest, Dub-con
[Read on AO3] [Kinktober Masterlist] [Fics For Gaza]
There was something deeply wrong with your new brother; you knew it from the moment you laid eyes on him.
From the moment you and your brother were presented to the former Grandmaster–chained up and soggy from your trek across the Changbai mountain range–you knew. He had been the only one to remain upon his pedestal while the old man and his younger son came to untie you and Tomas, staring with dull brown eyes as you and your twin were brought into his home. Bi-Han; the cold wall; the eldest son. You could tell he saw you and Tomas as nothing more than an unfinished mission–the walking dead at best. Your continued existence drove him insane.
At fourteen, during your first official introduction, he said nothing, simply stared at you over plates of steaming noodles that you and your brother choked down. Kuai Liang–the younger son–had at least given you his name and a lesson in properly holding your chopsticks. At fifteen, he spoke his first words to you: “You will never be Lin Kuei.”
By eighteen, his cold stares had become proper glares, the furrow of his brow a permanent fixture on his face whenever he looked at you. It remained even when he smiled, a sickening display of perfect teeth divided by blood from Tomas’ strike. That was the only time he had ever smiled at you: when he lifted your brother’s head off the icy floor of the training grounds for you to see the deep wound cutting through his browbone. Whatever punishment the Grandmaster had warned him of if he so much as thought of seriously injuring his brothers must not have been enough. The man seemed to revel in your masked discomfort.
His bullying would never go away.
During the last years of the Grandmaster’s life, you would fill your time with missions, savoring the time you could get away from that man. Tomas had grown to tolerate his calculating abuse, able to stand beside Bi-Han so long as Kuai Liang remained between them, but you simply could not. Being caught in his gaze was nothing short of being down sight of a loaded gun, one determined to catch you in its crosshair.
You received word of the Grandmaster’s death after ten years away on missions in the childish penmanship of your twin brother. It gave two warnings: one of Bi-Han’s ascension to the newly vacant position, and the other an urgent call home. The elder was already threatening your place in the clan should you not return post-haste.
There was no choice but to comply, so you alerted your second-in-command before making the long journey to your ward’s home. You arrived in your standard uniform, clean and neat, and received one instruction: “Strip.”
“You are no longer a centurion of this cohort.” The cold wall spoke plainly without a hint of hesitation or remorse. You could not argue that you were amongst the most decorated of the men you worked with, that you had not been inside the Lin Kuei palace for just about a decade, and that you had not been a member of the world outside the Lin Kuei in over said decade. It would be useless to argue with a wall; You removed your insignia from your arm and slid the protective padding from your shoulders, handing it off to two girls you did not know.
“Is that all, Grandmaster?” You spoke carefully, giving him no reason to find anger with your obedience. Your brother and Kuai Liang did not defend you; You were dismissed to a room you had not seen in years and told to await further instruction.
So you did; The room you entered was neither familiar nor foreign, you were not permitted a moment alone before there was a knock on your door.
“Sister?” A voice neither familiar nor foreign crawled beneath the wood of your door–Kuai Liang. “May I enter?”
“You may.” You answered, voice as soft and still as an undisturbed pond. Somehow, you lacked the energy to be upset. The journey to Lin Kuei territory alone had been long and arduous. Even then, once you had crossed the threshold you could not relax, not under the care of Bi-Han’s loyalists. At the very least, in the comfort of a clean room, you could empty your lungs in an exhausted sigh.
Kuai Liang saw himself in, closing the door behind him without a sound. He wore his standard dress–the same uniform as his brother and yours, and one you had long given up on wearing yourself. He spoke softly, seemingly unsure of what to say given your vague demeanor, “I apologize if the room is not to your liking. We thought best not to touch it.”
“It is alright.” You nodded. “I doubt I would have noticed. I would rather you have prioritized grieving your father.” A pause. “I apologize I was not able to offer my condolences sooner. Some time has passed, has it not?”
“Yes.” He stepped further into your room; You did not move from your spot near the door. “Bi-Han was not so eager to take control as to forgo proper rites.”
You hummed. You would not have been surprised if the man had himself named the very night, but you kept that to yourself. “I’m glad to see he has grown well. Your brother will be an excellent Grandmaster.”
Kuai Liang gave a small grunt of disapproval, “I am not so sure. To have you summoned so late that you could not grieve with your brothers, then to strip you of the title our father gave you–” You did not correct his mistaken view of family. “–Such missteps when he’s only begun… I cannot help but worry.
Had he come to comfort you after enduring such a humiliation? It seemed to you that he was seeking comfort of his own. What a pain it was to have brothers, you could have handled Tomas but a man you had hardly spoken to since adolescence?
“You must not worry, Kuai Liang.” You instructed. “He will need your guidance with neither your mother or father to keep him in check. You know he will not listen to Tomas nor I, it must be you.”
He sighed, exhaling deeply as he moved and settled himself on your bed, “I hope you are right, Sister.”
You stayed put for another moment, but once you realized he had no intention of leaving quite yet, you allowed yourself to change out of the remainder of your uniform. You were used to changing in front of men, and you did not feel the need to alert him. To him, you were family, were you not?
He hissed your name when you began undoing your robes, revealing only your shoulders, your biceps and the uppermost bindings of your chest. “You shouldn’t undress so casually!”
“You did not seem eager to leave.” You stilled regardless, realizing you had not so much as checked your drawers for a fresh change of clothes. Did you even have any that fit you anymore? “If you are so appalled, fetch my brother and have him bring me a new robe.”
“There is a fresh set behind the partition.” His voice echoed slightly, looking over your shoulder confirmed that he had turned to look at the wall. “Really, Sister, has it been so long that you’ve forgotten what such a thing is there for.”
You bit your tongue to keep from saying anything besides “Is there something you need, Kuai Liang?”
Behind the screen, you were met with a plain dress–the simple robe of the women of the nearby village. You were almost ashamed to admit you had no idea how to tie it, but you had no faith that Tomas knew how to either. You had grown accustomed to the intricacies of your uniform, and the journey home had fried your brain; Such an uncomplicated task now had you frozen in place. You managed the skirt and getting your arms in the sleeves of the top but faltered when it came time to tie it in place.
“Would you tie this for me?” You asked Kuai Liang, stepping back into the main space. The man looked at you with a mixture of emotions on his face. Red in the cheeks; furrow in his brows; a tightness in his jaw. Still, he stood and beckoned you closer.
“This dress is meant to be worn without bindings.” He mentioned.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. I inquired about it when Bi-Han sent me for them.” You didn’t ask why that cold wall had bothered to get you new clothes; You were already surprised he hadn’t thrown you out of the complex with nothing but the first layer of your uniform and a head start. “I was told this style would be most comfortable.”
“It is foreign to me, so I cannot say.” You mumbled, shrugging off the top and picking at your bindings, looking for the tail end of the gauze. Kuai Liang did not turn away this time, only averting his gaze slightly as you began to unravel the layers of white. You shivered, your breasts now exposed to the cool air of the mountains. You slipped your arms back into the sleeves. Kuai Liang did his best to tie the top for you without touching your skin. You could not bring yourself to care whether he did or not, exhaustion coming onto you quickly.
“Do you wish to rest, Sister?” He asked, something clearly weighing in the back of his mind.
“Is there a matter that requires my attention?”
“Nothing that cannot be postponed for a few hours.”
“I can attend to it now.” You stated firmly, and Kuai Liang gave you a slight frown.
“Our brothers will understand the need for a respite.” He said quietly. “Please–”
The decision was made for you before you two could continue arguing, a gentle knock and a heavily-accented voice echoing from the door. “The Grandmaster requires your presence.”
You did not allow Cyrax to wait, stepping out of the room before she could leave. Kuai Liang followed closely behind, nearly stepping on your heels every few paces. You were led, not back to the main room, but to Bi-Han’s private quarters. The armored woman knocked once but did not await a response before pushing open the door and motioning you both to enter.
“Grandmaster.” You greeted Bi-Han as you would have his father, not bothering to sit. If he was about to kick you out, you figured he would do it quickly. He beckoned you closer, like a snake shaking its rattle at its prey. There was silence, and the first to crack was neither you nor the cold wall.
“Brother–” Kuai Liang took a step forward; His brother raised his chin, a silent command.
“Out of respect for my father,” Bi-Han made sure to emphasize the word–not that you would argue otherwise. “You are welcome to stay in the palace.”
“Under what condition?” You were not so naïve to believe that his hospitality came without cost.
“My conditions have already been met.” His low tone hummed through the stiff air. “I will not have an outsider hold power of any kind in my army, but you are far too knowledgeable to dispose of anywhere else. Your brother simply requested that you be permitted to return.”
You took a moment to digest his words, then you looked over at Kuai Liang. “What was your input, Kuai Liang?”
The younger one shook his head, “I did not have a condition. I too wished for your safe return.”
Though you rarely trusted Bi-Han, you could not help but feel dissatisfied with Kuai Liang’s answer when Bi-Han arched a heavy brow. The wood of the desk groaned softly as the elder adjusted his posture. His deep voice carried a hint of mischief as he spoke, “You must be misremembering then, Brother.”
Bi-Han’s steps were feather-light–completely silent as he came to stand by your side. He sized you up, and you could tell that he, for once, wasn’t doing it to intimidate you, but rather Kuai Liang. For the first time in years, the man spoke your name without a trace of aggression, “My brother had a proposal for you, dear sister.”
“I did not–”
“Your hand was his condition,” Bi-Han hummed. “Much to everyone’s surprise. It is rather soon, considering funeral rites have only just concluded. Wouldn’t you agree?”
You looked to Kuai Liang, the heat rising to his cheeks a clear indicator of a guilty consciousness. For a moment, you could not help but think of your shared adolescence: simple moments between him, your brother, and yourself. You remembered him teaching you how to wield your chopsticks properly, watching him roughhouse with Tomas outside of training with a smile nothing like his brother’s on his face. You could force yourself to see him as a brother if you really put your mind to it. But like everyone else in this godforsaken clan, he was truly nothing more than a stranger to you–one you could not imagine having any interest in, nor having any interest in you.
A cold hand grabbed your cheeks, holding your chin tightly in a rough palm. Your features pinched as Bi-Han’s mocking tone spoke through an uncanny smile, “Having second thoughts, Brother? Cold feet?”
“I will not force her–”
“It is not so difficult,” Your jaw was pulled in Bi-Han’s direction, stopped by his heavy hand only inches from his face. “She has no choice. Isn’t that right, Sister?”
“Bi-Han–”
The man pulled away but kept his hand on your jaw. You could feel his presence moving behind you, easing himself closer until you felt his chill along your back. A feeling of dread wrapped around like a blanket when he pulled you flush against his chest, his muscular arm resting over your shoulder and chest. He took a few steps back, baiting Kuai Liang into a few steps towards you. Bi-Han snapped his free hand forward, freezing his brother’s feet in place and cradling your hips in one simple motion. You felt your bodies jerk when he bumped into his desk. He squeezed your belly, hauling you onto his lap without regard.
“Bi-Han–” Kuai Liang growled in warning again.
The elder chuckled, “You’ve always needed a push, Brother, perhaps a demonstration will help you make up your mind.” He ducked his head, speaking lowly into your ear, “You wouldn’t mind, would you, dear sister?”
Perfect teeth that once sneered at the sight of your face gently bit on the lobe of your ear. Your breath hitched; Kuai Liang mimicked the movement. Your foot found purchase on the side of the furniture, only to lose it again when Bi-Han slotted his knee between your legs. His hand moved from your jaw to cover your mouth, pulling your head back to expose the tender flesh of your neck.
You could not see more than the ceiling, Bi-Han’s grasp keeping you from seeing anything outside of your peripherals, which too were mostly obscured by Bi-Han’s black hair. You could feel his lips ghosting down the column, his breath cold over your pulse, just until he found a suitable place to bite. You tried once more to get your feet against a solid surface, only for him to bounce his leg and split yours further.
His lips worked gently, coaxing blood to the surface while his teeth nipped at the warmed skin; You could almost convince yourself this was someone else if not for the distinct cold that his body produced. You could hear Kuai Liang’s dissents only faintly through the pounding in your skull. Bi-Han’s response, however, was quite clear, “You may have your turn when you settle down. It is an older brother’s responsibility to make sure his younger brother is properly instructed.”
The arm around your belly relaxed, and calloused hands moved their way up to your top, undoing Kuai Liang’s knots with ease. A chuckle made his chest vibrate softly, “Your bindings, Sister, it seems that someone is not as hesitant as they seem.”
Finally, your head was returned to its natural position, letting the blood drain properly as Bi-Han opened your top completely, tucking the fabric panels between you and him. He removed his palm from your airways, holding your chin once again. The temperature dropped suddenly, and you shivered as Bi-Han trailed his fingers down your breastbone, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He toyed with you for a second more before pinching a nipple between his index and thumb. You hissed, squirming with the little strength left in your body.
“Shhh…” Bi-Han whispered. “You must not scare him with such pained sounds. Only make sweet ones for your brothers.”
You looked to Kuai Liang, unsure of what you’d find. You expected neither assistance nor aggression and received neither either. Instead you were met with his flushed face, gaze jumping between the far wall and your exposed breasts. You could see Bi-Han smile now, that same uncanny smile he’d taunted you with so long ago. The ladder kneaded your breast, framing the perky nipple with his fingers. The ice on the floor shattered, not by Kuai Liang’s persistence but by Bi-Han’s permission. The former did not move until his brother beckoned him, clearly lost–struggling to settle his thoughts and actions.
When he finally settled, he too came to lean on the desk, ducking his head to make himself level with your chest. Bi-Han removed his hand, giving up ministrations to Kuai Liang as the man briefly hesitated before tentatively wrapping his lips around your other breast. You sighed quietly, relaxing at the new warmth Kuai Liang provided.
“Just like that,” Bi-Han said your name in praise for the first time in his life. “He knows not what is best. So, if you want a well-trained husband, I suggest you encourage him properly.”
Your hand came to rest on the back of Kuai Liang’s head, splaying your fingers over his hair to gently push him closer. Your other arm remained caged between you and Bi-Han, not that you knew what to do with it anyway.
With his free hand, the Grandmaster lifted your leg, pulling you further up his thigh. He gave you a small platform of ice to rest your foot now that the desk was quite crowded, if only to keep your legs spread without his assistance. He gathered your skirt, raising it to your waist before bumping his brother’s shoulder. The younger picked up his head and turned his attention to the newly revealed skin of your legs and belly. He exhaled, entranced by such a simple view, and brought his hand to your waist. Bi-Han draped the skirt over Kuai Liang’s arm, interested in keeping you exposed but not in the work needed to do so.
Kuai Liang returned to lazily worshiping your breasts, squeezing your hip whenever he dove in to take as much of you into his mouth as he could, digging his nails into your skin whenever he released your nipple with a soft pop.
“You must kiss and suckle,” You spoke finally, voice soft with exhaustion and a hint of displeasure. All he was doing was making your chest uncomfortably wet, making it sensitive to the hot and cold fluctuations of the air between you three. You shivered and bit your lip as Bi-Han dragged a cold finger over your undergarments, swallowing your sounds before you finished. “Like a child nursing.”
Kuai Liang looked up at you with glazed eyes, pupils blown, and nodded meekly. He corrected his methods, kissing the areola lightly before turning his head to suckle gently–still imperfect, but much less messy. Bi-Han busied himself with toying with your undergarments. He brought his lips back to your ear, whispering so lowly it was almost hard to hear.
“Out of respect for my brother, I will not go so far.” The cold of his breath made the delicate skin sensitive. “But you must understand… He will learn no other way.”
And with that, Bi-Han pushed the fabric of your panties as far down your thighs as they could go. He slipped his hand into the small opening, his whole palm covering your front as he dipped the tip of his middle finger between your folds. Your whole body shivered, drawing Kuai Liang out of his trance once more. The man looked you over, stopping at your cunt, covered by Bi-Han’s hand.
Kuai Liang pulled away slightly, weakly pushing his brother’s arm, not wanting to hurt you. “Brother stop.”
“I will go no further than this, out of respect for you.” The elder repeated. “But I cannot have you breaking a new toy before you even get to use it properly.”
Normally, you knew, Kuai Liang would have said something to defend you and your personhood. His silence told you all you needed to know about his lust-clouded mind. He looked at his brother’s hand just barely touching you once more before grabbing his blade and cutting your panties away. The tip nicked your thigh, and he apologized as he lifted your free leg onto his lap. Bi-Han relaxed his hand, letting Kuai Liang get a glimpse of your slick gathered on his fingers.
His ministrations resumed, spreading you open for his brother to see. He turned his wrist just enough to settle his thumb over your clit and his index and middle finger over your entrance. That finally got a weak gasp from your throat, and you instinctively rolled your hips over his hand. “Good… Doesn’t that feel good, Sister? Making such soft, sweet sounds for your brothers?”
You knew Bi-Han was taunting you in that calm, deep voice of his, but you could not fight your most base instincts under your exhaustion. The fatigue of travel, humiliation, and bulk of two men sapped your will to fight back. You melted under his touch. Kuai Liang massaged your thigh with his hand, and Bi-Han finally released your jaw, confident that you would not go anywhere. He moved back to your neck and resumed his feather-light bites.
You came first after only a few minutes of Bi-Han playing with your cunt. He was clearly an experienced lover, unlike his brother who quickly tried to replace the elder’s hand with his own. He received a smack on his hand for his impatience. His turn would come soon.
