Hey I love the last Bi-han fic you wrote. And your other stuff. I firmly believe in The trope He hates everyone but only loves x (his partner) Maybe something about that? Like example he has grandmaster duties involving the clan , and Sektor and Cyrax and he’s just in a typical Bi-Han mood then reader shows up and it’s like His asshole mood just disappeared or he lightened up completely. If not that maybe How after a long day he just wants to come home to reader put his walls down aka big tough guy . Sorry if i basically wrote it all or it’s a mess . Thank you!
Short and sweet, for now…
The halls are dimly lit as the day winds down. Your shoes tap against the tile as you peek through a door- the door leading to Bi-Han's office. It's better lit, and you can make out him, Cyrax, and Sector. The two women stand next to each other, with Sector's arms crossed and Cyrax closing herself off from the other two
You gaze at Bi-Han, his hands holding his head, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes
“You two are dismissed, I expect it to be figured out in our next meeting.”
As they walk out you walk in, hard eyes softening when they are upon you
“My wife, have I kept you waiting? I've missed you”
His arms open for you, strong and warm around your body despite the cold they could bring
“You’re too sweet on me…I’ve missed you as well, is everything alright?”
He huffs and buries you deeper into him, taking a long drag of your scent before answering
“It's nonsense; a simple miscommunication, do not fret”
Running his knuckles along your spine, he hums in content, his face now relaxed
“You work hard, please, don't put too much pressure on yourself to do things alone”
He puts his hand on your cheek and looks you in the eye
“I won't, I know my limits…”
He murmurs, putting his forehead against yours
“Of course…”
You press your lips into his, and your affection is returned
“Are you accompanying me to bed?”
You get a low hum as a response, feeling his hand take yours
“I shall”
You smile at that, letting him immerse himself in your presence as you both walk to your room, and he allows himself to be at peace until he must go back to being grandmaster
But, for now, he is just Bi-Han, and he doesn't need to be anything more
I will start doing my request again lol, maybe a Tomas one next ^.^
HI!!I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!Can you do bi-Han smut (female anatomy but uses they/them) idc what it is I just need new stuff:3
Thank you so much silly 💗💗
Notes at the end ^^
Content: p in v 😧, that one position thats like missionary but the bottom is on their side and their leg is up, pet names, you make LOVE
You can feel the cool air pouring in from the window, the silk sheets doing little to warm you. But the body above provides enough heat to keep you satisfied in more than one way.
His head is on your chest, breathing in your scent, counting your drags of air.
Your nipples are hardened when he drags his fingers across them, blowing cold air to get a reaction.
“Your hair looks best when the moonlight can give my eyes a glimpse of you, it's almost ethereal,” He almost murmurs, like a moment of weakness, a flaw in the emotional wall he has built, an opportunity for something more vulnerable between you.
“Thank you.” You aren't sure how to give him the same feeling he just gave you, but you want to
So you grab his face, pressing your foreheads together.
“May I please have a kiss, Grandmaster?”
He hums for a second and closes his eyes as if deciding.
“You may...”
Pulling his face closer, you smack his lips into yours, spit smudging across his lips
You fall into the bed giggling, his hands grabbing you as your bodies roll around for a few long seconds. You feel his hands massage your breast in a teasing manner, something more gentle than what he's used to, an act to show you he wants to be the person who kisses the scars on your skin and cools the bruises on your skin
Goosebumps rise on your skin as he blows cool air against your ear, an invitation for more.
Palming your heat, his hand cups your cheek
"You're perfect.."
He breaths out- a fact, there isn't room to question or argue against it
"I see you, Bi-Han."
The air escapes his lungs for the second time this night as he aligns himself with you, slowly slipping in as you embrace each other
Embraced in his arms as he holds you tight, savoring the time you spare him with
The way he moves feels as if he is trying to make you feel something deeper, something more sensitive
You feel a calloused thumb rub your clit, switching the movement from side to side and in circles.
He allows himself to fall into you as you spaz around him, groaning in pleasure as he cums inside of you, twitching as he stays inside of you after
The night grows older as both of you hold each other, embraced, until the early morning, when he parts from you again, yearning for the next night you spend together.
hi.... so i had to log on to show some love for bibi for the new year!! perhaps for some other characters....? we will see... love you guys!!!
Prompt: Falling in love is so complicated. This is why you prefer communication in the form of sex than… y’know.. actual words.
Pairing: Lin Kuei Trio x Reader
Warnings: NSFW, fluff, vaginal sex, rough sex, overstimulation, fingering, creampie, Kuai breaks ur coochie, Bi-Han's pissed ab it, Tomas takes care of u and ur boo boo.
The only sound breaking the stillness of the empty room at a dead hour was the raw, rhythmic clash of bodies, sharp enough to echo off the walls. Heat rolled off your skin in waves, every inhale shaky, every exhale turning into a bitten-off gasp as you arched forward.
A harsh hiss tore from your throat, the kind that slipped out when your body was pushed far past its limit. Every nerve felt lit up, overwhelmed, worked within an inch of unraveling. Your legs trembled, your grip faltered, and still—still—you were held right on that razor’s edge, nowhere to run from the onslaught of sensation battering your core.
You weren’t being handled.
You were being claimed.
You could hear your own slick desperation filling the empty room louder than your breathing. The sound alone made your face burn as you dug your fingers deeper into his shoulder, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you conscious.
The Lin Kuei were infamous for their brutality on the battlefield, but no one ever warned you how seamlessly that intensity carried over into… this.
You’d already fallen apart more times than you could count, mind fuzzy and limbs trembling, but the man above you showed absolutely no sign of mercy. If anything, your exhaustion only seemed to fuel him.
A low groan rumbled out of his chest—raw, involuntary, hungry—when your body tightened around him again, reacting on instinct, on need, on every overstimulated nerve he’d already wrung out of you. His fingers dug into your hips like he was trying to anchor you in place, like letting you go wasn’t an option he intended to entertain.
You shouldn’t have wanted more.
But god… the way he moved, the way he breathed against your throat, the way he handled you like he was nowhere near finished—
Yeah.
You wanted more.
His hand slid up your throat in one smooth, practiced motion, fingers curling around the sides of your neck just firmly enough to make your breath catch. As he leaned over you, the scorpion tattoo on his upper arm shifted with every flex of muscle, its tail coiling ominously as if daring you to even think about pulling away.
“Y/N…” his voice dropped into a deep, molten rasp that vibrated straight through your chest.
“…give me one more.”
You let out a broken sound, somewhere between a whine and a plea, your nails digging into his shoulders as your whole body trembled.
“K-Kuai… you’re gonna kill me…!” you gasped, breath shaking against his palm.
He didn’t tighten his hold—just kept you exactly where he wanted you, steady, claimed—while the faintest dangerous smirk tugged at his lips, like your desperation was the sweetest praise he could earn.
Kuai didn’t relent. Not even a little.
He drove into you harder, deeper, each thrust punching the air out of your lungs and forcing another needy, broken whine out of you. Your whole body jolted with every movement, nerves fried and trembling, yet your release still clawed its way back up your spine like it had a mind of its own.
You could feel your high building again, traitorous and overwhelming, even as your body begged for mercy.
Both of you were wrecked in your own ways.
Your skin was a battlefield—bitten, claimed, marked in every place his mouth had landed. Hickies bloomed dark and wild across your neck and chest. Finger-shaped bruises wrapped your hips and thighs where he’d held you in place hours ago… or minutes ago, you couldn’t even tell anymore. A shimmer of sweat and slick covered your flushed skin, making you look like you’d been pulled straight out of a fever dream.
And Kuai? He wasn’t faring much better.
His back and shoulders were shredded with angry red scratch marks, some bleeding lightly where you’d lost control. His arms carried more of them, long streaks of desperation you’d left behind. Hickies trailed down his chest and abdomen, your teeth imprinted on his skin like he’d been devoured. Sweat dripped down the curves of his muscles, each hard flex beneath his slick-covered skin only making him look darker, hungrier.
He slammed into you again, jaw clenched, breath ragged.
“Don’t you dare stop now…” he growled, voice shaking with his own restraint—or lack of it.
He threw his head back with a sharp, guttural inhale—your walls squeezing him like a vice, dragging a broken pant from deep in his chest. For all his soft smiles and gentle nature outside the bedroom, Kuai Liang was a mean lover in every possible sense.
He loved pushing you until you shattered, loved coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of your overstimulated body–until you were sobbing into the sheets. And the worst part? He teased you for it every single time.
With Kuai, nights never ended early.
They bled into dawn, into early morning, into the kind of exhaustion that made your legs useless and your throat raw from begging. He always left you so sore you could barely move for days—chewed up and marked like his personal masterpiece—and your sheets ended up ruined more often than not.
“Kuai..!” you hissed through your teeth, voice cracking and wet with tears.
You were trembling, overwhelmed, pleasure twisting in your stomach so violently you felt like you might combust from it.
You couldn’t handle it.
You couldn’t—one more orgasm and you swear your soul’s leaving your body.
“Kuai, I— I can’t—” you choked, nails digging into his arms.
He stared down at you–eyes gleaming, pupils blown wide, a predator savoring the final twitch of its prey. Then he slammed in deeper, ripping a strangled gasp out of you as your whole body spasmed helplessly in his grip.
That dark smirk curved across his lips again. The one that always meant you’re not getting out of this alive, sweetheart.
“Come on, sweet girl…” he purred, voice a smug rumble as he dragged his hips back and drove into you again, “…make a mess on me.”
He dipped his head, lips brushing your cheek, breath hot on your ear as he taunted,
“You already made several… one more won’t hurt.”
You could feel the lie in his voice.
This one was going to hurt.
Your abdomen was tight, trembling, the orgasm curling viciously low in your stomach, the kind that promised to rip you in half.
You bared your teeth, desperation and pleasure mixing in your chest. Your nails raked savagely down his abdomen, feeling every flex, every twitch of muscle under your hand as he hissed sharply between his teeth.
“Kuai— you’re going to kill me,” you gasped again, voice breaking as you tried to squirm away from the punishing thrusts. His grip on you only tightened, holding you exactly where he wanted you.
“And— a-ah— Bi-Han will… he will murder you— if you keep us up this late—” you hissed out desperately, trying anything, anything to get him to slow down, to give your poor body a sliver of mercy.
Kuai’s laugh was low, amused, and completely merciless.
“Give me what I want then,” he said like he was asking you to pass him a towel.
Like he wasn’t already tearing you apart at the seams.
So simple.
So casual.
And you were fighting for your life to even hold it together.
The pressure in your abdomen tightened painfully—sharp, electric, overwhelming. Your breath hitched, legs trembling in his grip.
“Kuai… h-hurts… too much, I can’t—” you babbled, voice breaking in warning, body twitching violently beneath him. You could barely think. You were seconds away from losing control entirely.
He grunted in understanding.
Not sympathy.
Understanding.
His hands slid down, gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise. And in a single, fluid motion, he folded you into a brutal mating press, pinning you beneath him like you weighed nothing.
Then he drilled into you—
Deep, punishing thrusts.
Designed for one thing and one thing only:
To make you break.
Your eyes rolled back instantly.
Your voice disappeared—completely gone—your mouth open in a silent cry as your body seized around him.
That knot snapped like a whip.
And you exploded.
You squirted violently, spraying across his abdomen, down your thighs, onto the sheets—your whole body jerking as the orgasm ripped through you, shaking you from head to toe.
Kuai groaned above you, watching you fall apart for him exactly the way he wanted. His voice dropped to a ragged growl, thick with pleasure and triumph.
“Sweet… sweet girl…” he grunted, hips snapping desperately as he chased his high.
His eyes dragged over you—your trembling thighs, the slick coating his stomach, the way your body still spasmed from the force of your release. You were wrecked beautifully, drenched, dazed… and it pushed him right to the edge.
He didn’t want to paint your skin this time.
Not when you looked like this.
He wanted it inside you.
Kuai drove into you hard—once, twice, three times—each thrust deeper than the last, each one so heavy it knocked little sounds out of your throat. Then he slammed home with a guttural growl, burying himself to the hilt.
His head dropped, breath shuddering against your neck as he came.
A low, rumbling sound tore out of him as his release spilled hot inside you, pulse after pulse, thick enough that you could feel it coating your walls, feel the warmth bloom deep and heavy. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe—just held you there, pinned and open, forcing your body to take every drop.
Your face twisted with overwhelmed bliss, a weak moan slipping out at the sensation of being so full. Your cunt fluttered around him reflexively, milking him for everything he had left.
Kuai hissed sharply, gripping your hips harder.
“Greedy little thing…” he muttered, voice barely holding together as your body coaxed out the last spurts.
You whimpered, voice thin and dreamy, eyes barely able to focus on him.
“…always… for you…” you breathed out, completely delirious from the overstimulation.
Kuai’s chest rumbled with a satisfied hum, the sound low and pleased. He eased your legs down from the brutal press he’d folded you into, moving them like they were something delicate, expensive, his thumbs sweeping slow circles into your tense muscles. It almost felt like an apology. Almost.
His hands traced along your hips, your waist, your ribs—mapping over the bruises he’d left, the tremors still running through your body. Every touch was gentle now, reverent in a way he’d never admit out loud.
He didn’t pull out.
Not even close.
Kuai stayed buried to the hilt, cock still heavy inside your overstretched walls, keeping his release exactly where he wanted it.
His fingers glided down your stomach, brushing lightly over the subtle bulge where he filled you so deeply. You jolted, a weak sound escaping your lips.
He smirked faintly.
“Good,” he murmured, voice soft but soaked in possessive pride. “Stay like this a moment…”
A slow exhale left him, warm against your cheek as he leaned in just enough for you to feel him everywhere.
“I’m not done holding you yet.”
You stiffened for a heartbeat at his words, your sore muscles twitching under his palms, but you didn’t pull away. Couldn’t, really—your body was too wrung out, too wrecked to do more than breathe and exist.
The stickiness between your thighs finally started to get… unpleasant. Your skin felt hot, slick, messy in a way that made you squirm instinctively. The tiny movement shifted him inside you, and a sharp sting raced up your spine.
You hissed and immediately froze.
Gods, he had ruined you.
“Bi-Han is going to be pissed you put me out of commission.... again” you muttered, sounding half-defeated, half-resigned.
Kuai’s fingers swept over your hips again, tracing the fresh bruises he’d left—slow, oddly tender strokes that made your body twitch. He rolled his eyes, the gesture dripping with casual arrogance.
“He’s done the same thing to you,” he scoffed, thumb brushing over one purple mark with infuriating pride. “He can’t complain about this.”
You snorted softly, even though your entire lower body felt like it had been hit by a firestorm.
“…you say that,” you grumbled, “but I know he’s gonna bitch about it the second I can’t get out of bed tomorrow.”
Kuai only smirked, leaning down to kiss your jaw lazily.
“That sounds like a him problem,” he murmured, still very much inside you, “not mine.”
You shot back, snark sharpened by exhaustion, “It’s going to be your problem when he realizes you’re the one who fucked me.”
Kuai just rolled his eyes like you’d accused him of misplacing a sock.
Then—finally—he moved.
A slow pull, careful, controlled, and still somehow smug as hell. The second his tip slipped free, his cum spilled out of you in a thick, warm rush. He let out a low, satisfied exhale, like the sight alone scratched some primal itch in his soul.
He got up without a word, grabbed a warm wet rag, and came back to you. The moment the cloth neared your overstimulated core you flinched, hips jerking away instinctively.
His brow rose, unimpressed.
“Want me to leave you dripping with my cum then?” he asked, tone borderline cheeky for someone who had just rearranged your spine.
You glared murderously. Or… as murderously as someone limp on a bed and barely conscious could manage.
“…No,” you grumbled. “But I really can’t handle touch right now. You broke me, Kuai Liang.”
Your scowl only made him grin, wide and unrepentant.
“Then perhaps,” he said, leaning closer with that infuriatingly calm voice, “you should stop tempting me into breaking you.”
You swore at him under your breath, smacking his chest with all the deadly force of a damp noodle. Kuai laughed—soft, smug, absolutely unhelpful—before tossing the used rag somewhere it definitely didn’t belong and coming back for you.
Without warning, he scooped you up like you weighed nothing and shifted you into a more comfortable sprawl, then slid in behind you. His arm wrapped around your waist, firm and warm, pulling your wrecked body back against the solid wall of his chest.
Your face went slack with startled confusion. You turned just enough to peek at him.
“…You’re… staying?” you asked, trying so hard to sound casual despite being one stiff breeze away from panic.
His eyes were already shut, expression softening into something dangerously close to… content. Relaxed. Comfortable. Like this wasn’t a crime against Lin Kuei emotional laws.
“Yeah,” he exhaled, voice thick with exhaustion. “I’m tired. And someone’s gonna have to help you walk in the morning.”
His hand lazily drifted up, thumb brushing over your nipple just to be a menace, before dropping back down to clamp around your waist again.
“Might as well be me,” he yawned, “since I caused the damage.”
He sounded so smug you wanted to throw him off the bed. Or yourself. Either would do.
You sighed, tension melting because you genuinely didn’t have the energy to argue anymore.
“Fine… just don’t wake me up too early,” you muttered, pouting like a child robbed of cupcakes.
“Mmm,” he grunted, already halfway asleep.
Asshole.
You woke up to the sun stabbing you directly in the eyeballs like it had a personal vendetta. Late morning. Maybe almost noon. Who knows. Time wasn’t real and your spine had dissolved.
You yawned, stretched—
—and immediately reeled back in on yourself with a pathetic wounded-animal noise. Every muscle in your body screamed in betrayal. Your core throbbed like you’d been hit by a truck. Your thighs felt like wet noodles. Your hips? Gone. Stolen. Vaporized.
You groaned into your blankets, cursing Kuai Liang with every insult known to mankind and a few you invented on the spot. The bed beside you was already cold, meaning he’d slipped out hours ago like the smug little menace he was.
You flopped onto your back, staring blankly at the ceiling, defeated beyond measure.
“…Damn it, Kuai…” you whined to absolutely no one, “how am I supposed to move like this…”
A soft knock cut through your sulking, making your eye twitch.
You stared at the door like it had personally offended you. There was absolutely no universe in which you were getting up. Your body wasn’t just sore. It had been spiritually defeated. And you sure as hell weren’t yelling for anyone to “come in”—you were bare, wrecked, and feral-looking at best.
Another knock. Still gentle. Still annoyingly persistent.
You groaned into your pillow.
Whoever that was clearly had zero survival instincts.
“Y/N?” came Tomas’ soft voice through the door.
Your frown melted into something less murderous, though the sigh you let out was heavy with regret for your life choices. You dragged the sheets up to cover your exposed chest, shifting just enough to pretend you looked somewhat decent.
“…enter,” you called out, voice tired and a little raspy from last night’s screaming.
Tomas slipped inside, closing the door gently with his foot. You still didn’t bother sitting up, so all you saw at first was the vague silhouette of a tray. Then came the low whistle—soft, impressed, and smug enough to make your stomach drop.
You turned your head with the grace of a corpse.
Tomas was standing beside your bed, tray balanced in one hand, the other braced on his hip as he openly admired the disaster zone that was your body. His smile was small, amused, and absolutely illegal this early in the morning.
“Brother sure did a number on you,” he snorted, eyes dragging over the bruises, bite marks, the finger-shaped imprints along your hips. “Damn.”
You lifted a shaky hand… and flipped him off on pure instinct.
Then you let your arm fall like dead weight and flopped your head back onto the pillow with a groan that radiated defeat.
He laughed quietly at your misery, the bastard.
He set the tray down within reach, then moved to sit beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. You stayed still, glaring at the ceiling like it personally wronged you… until his hand slipped into your line of vision.
Tomas brushed his fingers over the bruises scattered across your arm, then along the faint marks painting your collarbone. His touch was slow, deliberate, almost appreciative.
“…You look good…” he whispered, so soft it barely counted as sound.
His fingers drifted to the edge of the sheet, hooked in it lightly, and tugged it down just enough to expose a little more of your chest. His breath caught—quiet but obvious—eyes lingering on the newly revealed skin before flicking up to your face with that small, wicked smile.
You whined at the way his fingers skimmed your skin, trying to wriggle out of reach like a wounded woodland creature. Tomas only laughed under his breath, letting his hand fall to the mattress with exaggerated innocence.
“I can’t, Tomas. My body is broken right now,” you grumbled like a gremlin who’d been personally victimized.
“Kuai is such an ass. I told him to slow down,” you kept grouching, voice getting weaker the more you remembered how thoroughly you’d been ravaged.
Tomas’s smile twitched wider, equal parts sympathy and very obvious amusement. Without comment, he reached for the tray and helped ease you into a sitting position, steady hands guiding you up even while you hissed at every tiny movement. He pressed painkillers into your palm and offered a glass of water.
You took both with a defeated sigh and swallowed them down, peering at the tray afterward. Light breakfast, soothing cream, and backup painkillers lined up neatly—as if he’d anticipated every stage of your recovery.
Honestly? It was infuriatingly sweet.
Tomas cleared his throat with this fake, diplomatic politeness that immediately told you he was about to say something stupid.
“Kuai sends his regards,” he announced, voice dripping with smug. “He’s sorry he couldn’t stay until you woke up, but he asked the kitchen staff to prep this for you. Something light so it doesn’t sit too heavy on your stomach.”
You hummed, picking up your fork, choosing—for now—to ignore the part where Kuai caused the destruction in the first place. Thoughtful menace. Whatever.
Tomas let out a soft snicker. “Bi-Han’s pissed, by the way.”
You paused mid–bite.
“Started lecturing Kuai at sunrise,” Tomas went on, shaking his head like he’d witnessed a car crash. “Said something about ‘treating you more gently’ and ‘not breaking you in two.’”
He imitated Bi-Han’s stern tone just enough to make your eye twitch.
Honestly? You weren’t sure what was worse—how accurate the impression was, or how much worse Bi-Han was going to get when he saw the rest of the bruises.
You shook your head, somewhat defeated.
“Y’know he’s only going to get worse if he sees me like this, right?” you muttered, already dreading Bi-Han’s attitude.
Tomas just shrugged, completely unbothered. Of course he was. He wasn’t the one who rearranged your spine last night.
And honestly? He was in a much better position than Kuai right now, considering he was the one assigned to take care of you this morning.
Once you finished eating, Tomas smoothly took the plate from your hands, placing it back onto the tray. Then he turned back to you — and without warning, peeled the sheets away from your battered, naked body. His eyes swept over you briefly, admiration flickering there even if he tried to hide it.
Before you could complain, he slid his arms under you and lifted you up with ridiculous ease.
You gasped, instantly clutching at his shoulders as your sore muscles screamed in protest.
“Tomas… ngh—!” you whimpered, breath hitching. “Gentle, please… everything hurts…”
“Sorry, láska,” he murmured softly, adjusting his hold to jostle you less as he carried you toward the bathroom.
He set you down as carefully as he could on the closed toilet seat, your body sagging where he placed you, and turned away to start preparing your bath. Warm water filled the tub, the steam rising lazily as he added oils and herbs you knew Kuai told him to use — the ones meant to soothe bruises and overworked muscles.
Once he was done setting up the bath, Tomas started undressing himself.
You didn’t even pretend not to stare.
Piece by piece, layer by layer, every inch of smooth bronzed skin he revealed made your breath leave you in a slow, hungry sigh. Your eyes trailed over the lines of his chest, the defined slope of his waist, the faint V leading down—yeah, you were absolutely ogling him, and not being subtle about it.
Tomas didn’t say a word.
He didn’t have to.
The slight tilt of his head, the tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips — it told you loud and clear that he heard you, felt your attention, and maybe enjoyed it more than he should.
When he finally stripped off the last of his clothing, he turned toward you, completely bare, completely unbothered by your blatant staring.
Strong arms slid under your legs and back, lifting you like you weighed nothing. You let out a quiet breath, more from the soreness than surprise, clinging to him weakly as he stepped into the tub with you held close against his chest.
Warm water lapped at your skin as he lowered both of you into the bath, slow and careful, making sure not to jostle your tender body more than absolutely necessary.
You sighed in pure, blissed-out relief — that deep, full-body looseness that only came after a night of getting absolutely wrecked by a Lin Kuei assassin who had zero concept of “taking it easy.” The warm bathwater soaked into your abused muscles, herbs and oils already easing the ache as steam curled lazily around you.
You melted back against Tomas’ chest, humming without meaning to. The exhaustion in your bones finally loosened for the first time since Kuai Liang decided your legs were optional equipment.
Tomas worked slowly, carefully. His hands guided the washcloth over your skin with practiced gentleness, wiping away the dried sweat and the mess clinging to your body. Every stroke was cautious, like he knew you might bruise if he pressed a little too hard — which, honestly, was accurate.
When his hands drifted upward, cupping your breasts beneath the water, you shivered. His palms were warm, steady, teasing over your already sensitive nipples as if testing just how sore you truly were. His thumbs brushed over them once — then again — before he rinsed the suds from your skin with slow, deliberate motions.
It was tender. Almost indulgently so.
And despite how wrecked your body felt, you melted deeper into him, letting the assassin take care of you without protest for once.
He kept washing you in slow, steady strokes, every movement unhurried, every touch more delicate than anyone with his build had any right to manage. Then he paused.
Tomas adjusted you higher against his chest, settling you so your weight rested fully on him. His hands slid down your stomach, stopping just above your navel as he murmured a soft, regretful warning.
Then his fingers dipped lower.
Your thighs twitched automatically, instinctively trying to close — but he gently guided them apart with firm, careful pressure. When his hand brushed your swollen, overworked core, a sharp hiss tore out of you before you could catch it. The soreness flared hot and immediate.
“Shh… laska,” Tomas whispered against your temple, voice low and soothing. “I know. I’m sorry.”
He cleaned you slowly, as if afraid you’d break under his fingertips. His touch stayed feather-light, barely there, wiping away the mess Kuai left behind. Every pass had him murmuring another small apology, like he felt guilty for even touching you in such a tender spot.
You whimpered anyway, your body giving little tremors of discomfort with each careful swipe.
Tomas shushed you again, wrapping one arm around your waist to steady you while he finished, his voice soft… softer than anyone would expect from a Lin Kuei assassin.
His touch slowly shifted from soothing to something you felt low in your stomach, warmth curling where soreness had been. Every soft stroke of his fingers through the water made your thighs twitch just a little, your breath hitching against his chest.
Another small whine escaped you. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck to hide it, pretending it was just the ache, just exhaustion. Tomas didn’t question it—he simply kept washing you with slow, gentle movements, humming faintly as the water rippled around his hand.
But the more he touched you, the more your body reacted. Your legs eased open without you meaning to. His fingers brushed over you again, slow and careful, and this time your hips gave a barely-there jolt beneath the water.
Still unaware, he continued, focused only on being gentle.
Your pulse fluttered wildly. The heat in your chest crawled lower, spreading warm and heavy. You bit your lip hard, trying to control the quiet, needy sound that still slipped out.
Your hand moved on instinct—sliding down his forearm under the water until your fingers wrapped softly around his wrist, holding him still.
Tomas paused, his hand suspended between your thighs. Bubbles drifted lazily around you both as he waited, not yet realizing why your breathing had changed… just that you were holding him there.
You flushed hard, the heat rising all the way to your ears as your body moved restlessly against him. The moment you stilled his hand between your thighs, the need spiked sharp and helpless.
“…please…” you breathed, voice so small it barely reached the surface of the water.
Tomas’s fingers twitched at the sound. You felt his chest expand behind you before he dipped his head, his lips brushing your temple in something far too tender for how desperately your body was begging.
He shifted you slightly, his arms steady as he coaxed your legs apart as wide as the tub allowed. The water rippled warmly around both of you, steam curling up between your bodies. He pressed another kiss to your hairline, slow and grounding, as his fingers slipped lower—over your thigh first, then inward, trailing toward the entrance of your sore, needy core.
His touch stopped just shy of where you wanted him.
“…tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, voice edged with restraint, “or if it hurts.”
His breath hit your cheek.
His fingers hovered—close enough to feel the warmth of his skin, but not close enough to ease the ache thrumming through you.
You nodded, shy and warm and trembling just the way he loved you.
“Okay…” you breathed.
“Good…” Tomas whispered back, and then his hand moved.
The moment his finger slipped inside, your breath caught. A sting of soreness flared first, sharp and thin, but it melted almost instantly under the slow, careful slide of his digit pushing deeper. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up—your back arching out of the water, chest rising high enough for the cool air to kiss your skin.
Tomas’s gaze dragged over you like a touch of its own.
Your breasts rose above the surface, slick and shining from the bath, suds clinging to the curves as droplets trickled down the swell. The peaks of your nipples strained through the film of soap, hardened from the mix of heat and his attention.
He exhaled softly, fingers moving inside you with a patience that felt sinful.
Slow. Gentle. Testing each motion.
A soft pump, then another—deep enough to pull a gasp from your lips but cautious enough to stop the moment your body flinched.
He watched every twitch, every breath, the faint tremble in your thighs.
He was ready—waiting—to pull back if even a hint of pain crossed your face.
But you didn’t pull away.
You leaned into his touch, lips parting with the beginning of a moan, your hips giving the faintest roll to invite more.
You whined his name in this impossibly soft, ruined tone that went straight to his chest and lower, like you’d reached inside him and squeezed.
“Tomas… please… more, need more…”
You sounded like a prayer.
He didn’t stand a chance.
A quiet curse slipped from him as he eased a second finger to your entrance. He lingered there—barely a breath—before sliding it in beside the first. The stretch made your thighs jolt, your toes curling against the porcelain.
His free hand moved almost without his permission, gliding up your soaked skin until his fingers found your breast. He rolled your nipple gently, tender yet deliberate, and that was all it took.
Your back bowed out of the water like a drawn bowstring.
“Tomas!” you mewled, the sound higher, sweeter, desperate in a way that made his pulse throb violently.
Gods, he was hard. Painfully so.
But all he cared about was this. You. The way you melted around him even while sore, how you trembled for him despite everything Kuai had done to you hours ago.
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice low and warm enough to melt bone.
“Laska…” he whispered, almost reverent, his fingers curling just right inside you.
You could practically feel your heartbeat in your throat, every pulse syncing perfectly with the slow, deliberate drag of Tomas’ fingers inside you. The water sloshed quietly around your bodies, but it was drowned out by the soft, desperate sounds leaving your lips.
Each little mewl slipped out sweeter than the last. You couldn’t help it. Your hips kept trying to move, even though the soreness made every shift feel dangerous. Tomas held you steady, one arm firm around your waist, the other buried between your thighs—slow, careful, purposeful.
Your skin glowed under the soft bath light, heat blooming everywhere his fingertips brushed. Your nipples peaked above the water each time your back arched, and Tomas’ gaze flicked down every single time, hungry and reverent. He looked like he could drown just watching you.
“Tomas…” you whispered, breath hitching when his fingers curled.
Your legs twitched, trying—and failing—to close around his arm.
He exhaled shakily into the crook of your neck. Hearing his name like that… it was lethal.
The pads of his fingers pressed deeper, stroking the sore, sensitive spot inside you with maddening tenderness. You whimpered, twisting in his hold, unsure if you were trying to escape or melt into him.
You felt it building—slow, heavy, coiling tight in your belly. A trembling knot that hurt and begged all at once. You clenched around his fingers so sharply he hissed under his breath.
Your voice fell apart into breathy fragments.
“Please… please… oh gods—please Tomas…”
His hand stilled for just a heartbeat. Dark eyes dropped to where he was buried inside you, mesmerized by the way you kept gripping him so tight.
He groaned—low, gravelly, like he was barely holding himself together.
“That’s it…” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “My angel, you sound so perfect for me.”
He began moving again, slower but deeper, gently coaxing you toward that trembling peak.
“Go on,” he whispered, tone thick, soothing, intoxicating. “Fall apart for me. Take whatever you need.”
His thumb circled your clit, achingly soft, and your whole body jolted. Breath caught in your throat, chest rising sharply, thighs trembling uncontrollably. Every nerve felt stretched thin, ready to snap.
Tomas tightened his arm around your waist, anchoring you against him as your body tried to give out.
“Let go,” he breathed, warm and reverent against your ear. “I’ve got you.”
And you did just that.
It hit you in a slow, deep wave at first, your breath catching in your throat before spilling out in a thin, trembling moan. Then the real crash followed. Your entire body arched, bowstring-tight, head thrown back against Tomas’ shoulder as your pussy clamped down around his fingers like you were trying to pull him deeper, keep him there forever.
Your orgasm pulsed through you in sharp, rhythmic squeezes, every throb making water ripple around your waist. The sound of your moan rang across the bathroom tiles, soft but devastatingly sweet, echoing in a way that made Tomas’ breathing stutter.
“Tomasss…”
You dragged out his name like a plea, like a promise, nails lightly scraping down his forearm in a helpless, needy gesture.
Tomas bit down hard on his lower lip, chest rising against your back. Watching you come apart like this—slow, trembling, absolutely undone—was turning his brain to static. Your slick squeezing him, the tiny shivers running through your thighs, your voice saying his name like it belonged to you… it all made something feral twist low in his stomach.
“Good… good girl,” he murmured, voice thick, unable to stop himself.
“My precious angel… falling apart so perfectly.”
He kissed your temple as his fingers kept moving, slow coaxing motions meant to ease you through it, not overwhelm you. “That’s it. Let me hear you… gods, you sound beautiful.”
Your breathing hitched again when another pulse rolled through you, your walls fluttering helplessly around the steady curl of his fingers. Tomas groaned softly at the sensation but stayed tender, gentle, drawing out every last trembling aftershock.
He didn’t stop until your body gave a little involuntary jerk—your signal that it was becoming too much, too sensitive. The moment he felt you squirm, he slowed… slowed… then gradually withdrew his fingers, easing them out of you with a reverence that made your breath shudder.
Your pussy clenched around nothing, still twitching from the remnants of your orgasm.
You sagged back against his chest, dazed and warm, while Tomas held you like you were something fragile and precious he couldn’t bear to drop.
Tomas allowed you a moment to come down, palms sliding in slow, comforting circles along your thighs. The warmth of the bath, the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you, and the delicious haze of your orgasm wrapped around you like a blanket. Your breathing softened, a lazy little smile tugging at your lips.
“Thank you…” you whispered, voice small and sweet in the steamy room.
Tomas hummed in acknowledgment, the sound low and pleased against your ear. He didn’t rush. He took his time cleaning you again, quick but careful, fingertips moving in gentle, respectful sweeps. Even that soft touch had you moaning, hips giving tiny involuntary twitches under the water, but you let him work.
And gods… you could feel him.
Hard. Heavy. Throbbing against your lower back, his cock flushed and aching, pressed between your bodies with no attempt on his part to hide it. The sheer restraint made your lips part on a quiet exhale.
When Tomas was done, his hands slipped back to your hips, holding you steady.
That’s when you reached behind you.
Blindly at first, fingers trailing over wet skin, then wrapping around him—warm, thick, pulsing beneath your touch. Tomas’ breath hitched sharply in your ear, body tensing as your hand slid down the length of him.
He didn’t say a word, but the way his hips gave the slightest, helpless jerk into your palm said everything.
Tomas let you stroke him a few times, his breath coming out in low, shaky groans. His cock twitched hard in your hand when you squeezed the tip just right, heat flaring against your palm—
But then his fingers wrapped around your wrist, gentle but firm, guiding your hand away.
“…Not today, baby…” he murmured, voice soft but unyielding. “You’ve been through enough. You need rest.”
You pouted immediately, eyes turning wide and pleading as you looked up at him. It wasn’t fair. Not when he was right there, flushed and gorgeous and so obviously fighting himself.
He just smiled, slow and sweet, and shook his head.
“No.”
Before you could argue, he slid his arms around you and lifted you effortlessly from the tub. You shivered when the cooler air hit your skin, clinging to him instinctively. Tomas steadied you on your feet, hands warm on your waist, making sure you didn’t wobble too much.
Then he grabbed a towel and began drying you off with the same tenderness he’d shown the whole time—slow, careful sweeps over your skin, patting instead of rubbing, treating you like you might crack under rougher hands.
You pouted again.
He just smirked.
And kept taking care of you.
He wrapped the towel snugly around your body first, tucking the edge in so it wouldn’t slip. Then he eased you back down onto the toilet lid, making sure you were steady before stepping away to grab another towel for himself.
Tomas tipped his head back for a moment as he ran the towel through his hair, water dripping down the lines of his shoulders. Every shift of muscle—every flex—had your thighs twitching helplessly. The towel moved lower, dragging over his chest, his abdomen, the deep V leading down to—
Yeah. There.
You sucked in a breath, eyes glued to the heavy length between his thighs. His cock was flushed deep, veins standing out, thick and curved in a way that made your mouth flood. You licked your lips on instinct, heat pooling hard and fast in your belly.
He was hard for you. Still. Even after everything.
And the bastard wouldn’t let you have it.
You pouted aggressively at him, silently seething, glaring holes into the back of his skull as if you could will him into changing his mind.
He did not change his mind.
Tomas dried off calmly, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t depriving you of one of the prettiest cocks you’d ever seen. Then he wrapped the towel low around his waist, knotting it casually, not even sparing you a smug glance.
Which somehow made it worse.
You huffed again, crossing your arms across the towel wrapped around you.
He still didn’t look your way.
Against your wishes (your very reasonable wishes—like, you literally just wanted to suck his dick, was that such a federal offense?), Tomas had dressed you in something soft, lifted you like you weighed nothing, and tucked you back into clean sheets. Clean. Fresh. Still warm from his hands.
Then he’d climbed in beside you, only bothering with his pants, and pulled you right onto his chest. The second his arms were around you, your entire body melted into him like muscle memory.
You could pout and cuddle at the same time. It was a skill.
He ran his fingers through your hair slowly, gently, like you weren’t radiating petty annoyance directly into his soul.
“You could have let me take care of you, you know…” you grumbled, muffled against his skin but loud enough to make your complaint known.
Tomas just shook his head, calm and immovable.
“No, láska,” he said softly, thumb brushing your temple. “Not today.”
Ugh. Infuriating.
You gripped his waist anyway and snuggled in closer, because apparently your dignity had clocked out for the day.
You two drifted through the hours wrapped up in each other’s warmth, the kind of lazy intimacy that made the whole world feel far away. Tomas barely moved except to stroke your back or adjust the blankets. The only time he left was to return the breakfast tray and reappear moments later with lunch, settling beside you again as if he had no intention of letting you go for the rest of the day.
By the time evening light spilled through your window, you felt… not fine, but better. The worst of the soreness had eased into a deep, manageable throb. Walking was still out of the question, but at least you could shift without whining like a wounded animal.
The door opened quietly.
Kuai stepped in as though he already knew exactly what he’d find: you tucked against Tomas’ chest, both of you soft-eyed and comfortable. His expression didn’t flicker with jealousy or surprise—just a slow, warm smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, the kind reserved for moments like this.
He shut the door behind him and crossed the room with unhurried steps, gaze sweeping you over as if verifying you were still in one piece. When he reached the bed, he climbed onto the edge without asking, sliding his hands around your ankle with practiced familiarity.
His palms were warm. Steady. A little rough.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as he began to massage your foot, thumbs pressing into the sore arches, fingers gliding over the delicate bruises blooming there from last night’s enthusiasm. The relief was instant, rolling up your leg like heat from a fire.
He watched your face closely—too closely—eyes softening when your lashes fluttered at the feeling.
“How are you feeling, my little flame?” he murmured, voice dropping into that tender register he tried to pretend he didn’t have. His hands kept working slow, deliberate strokes, as if coaxing the ache right out of your bones.
You lifted your head from Tomas’ chest only a fraction, just enough to meet Kuai’s gaze. The movement alone made your muscles pull tight, a faint tremor traveling through your body.
“Better…” you whispered, voice barely more than a breath.
The moment the word left your lips, Kuai’s thumbs pressed deeper into the arch of your foot, right where the soreness was sharpest. A helpless sound escaped you—half-mewl, half-whine—your toes curling, knee giving the weakest twitch. Tomas’ chest vibrated with a quiet laugh, his fingers drifting over your shoulder in lazy, featherlight patterns that made you relax right back into him.
Kuai watched every reaction with intent focus.
His hands didn’t stop moving; if anything, his touch got slower, more deliberate. His gaze dragged up the line of your leg, over the curve of your hips and stomach, past the marks he had left on you the night before. His expression shifted—still hungry, still pleased, but softened by something like responsibility.
“That’s good,” he murmured, voice a shade quieter than usual.
His eyes met yours again—really met them—holding you in place for a long, unreadable moment. Then his thumbs brushed more gently across your foot, almost tender. Almost apologetic.
“…I may have gone a bit too harsh on you last night.”
It wasn’t exactly an apology—Kuai didn’t deal in apologies. But the way his voice dropped, the way his fingers eased their pressure, the way he continued massaging you with genuine care…
You gave him a small playful smile, hiding shyly into Tomas’ neck.
“It’s okay,” you murmured, “I had fun.”
Kuai laughed under his breath, shaking his head before pushing himself up from the bed with a dramatic groan. He shot the both of you a look—wide-eyed, pitiful, borderline tragic—like he was pleading for mercy from the universe itself. You and Tomas raised your brows at him in sync, quietly amused.
“Bi-Han sent me to patrol during the nighttime,” he lamented, pure misery dripping from every syllable.
You both snickered, knowing full well that was his punishment. You lifted your hand and gave him a playful little wave while Tomas chuckled beside you.
“Well, brother… guess you better get a move on,” Tomas teased.
Kuai rolled his eyes at the two of you before muttering something under his breath and heading out.
Moments later, the temperature in the room dropped sharply, the chill creeping under the blankets.
Tomas sighed, long-suffering, and rolled his eyes.
“He came a lot later than I thought he would,” he murmured, sarcasm thick in his voice.
The door opened a heartbeat later, and Bi-Han stepped inside without ceremony, cold presence swallowing the room as naturally as breathing.
“Bi-Han…” you murmured softly.
His gaze swept over you in a slow, assessing drag, taking in every bruise, every dark mark, every sign of exactly what Kuai had done to you. His eyes narrowed, jaw tensing, a cold displeasure rolling off him as thick as frost.
“…Y/N.” he answered gruffly, voice low enough to vibrate through the room.
You shivered at the deep baritone of his voice before you even looked up. Bi-Han stepped closer, the air dipping colder around him, and slid a chilled hand across your lower back. The relief hit instantly — a soft exhale slipped out of you as you leaned into his touch, eyes falling shut for a moment.
He studied you with that intense, unreadable stare. “How do you feel?”
You hummed, shoulders lifting in a tiny shrug. “Better… not as sore. Still can’t move though.”
Bi-Han’s expression darkened immediately. He shook his head, annoyed, the temperature dropping a few degrees like he couldn’t help himself. “He went too harshly on you.”
You cracked an eye open and raised a brow up at him. “So have you.”
His frown deepened. Actually deepened. He looked away like the walls suddenly became very interesting. Tomas snickered quietly behind you, no help at all.
Bi-Han grumbled something under his breath before looking back at you, jaw set. “It is not the same.” Completely deadpan. Like he genuinely believed that was a valid argument.
You stared right back, unimpressed, tone dripping sarcasm. “Isn’t it? Hmmm… ironic.”
Bi-Han’s eye twitched. Tomas silently lost his mind laughing.
And Bi-Han — utterly offended, absolutely seething, yet still rubbing your lower back like you were made of glass — muttered under his breath:
“…You will recover.”
Tomas chuckled under his breath one last time before shifting, disturbing the perfect little perch you’d made of his chest. You whined immediately, confused and mildly offended that your warm human pillow was trying to escape. He just gave you that soft apologetic smile, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to your hairline.
“Sorry, láska…” he murmured as he slid out from beneath you, already reaching for his discarded clothes. “Duty calls for me as well. I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”
You pouted dramatically at him, betrayal written all over your face. But you still nodded. “Thank you… for taking care of me today.”
That earned you a warm, genuine smile. “Anytime, láska.” He finished fastening his gear and headed toward the door before glancing back over his shoulder, mischief tugging at his mouth.
“I’ll be leaving you with Bi-Han now… try and give brother a hard time, yeah?”
Bi-Han shot him a deadly glare. Tomas only laughed, ducking out the door before the grandmaster could retaliate, leaving the room quiet… and leaving you alone with the frostbitten menace himself.
Bi-Han was definitely muttering death threats under his breath, probably plotting fifteen different ways to haunt Tomas’ entire bloodline. But the moment he looked back at you, all that lethal frost simmered into something quieter. You lifted a hand toward him in a silent little beckon.
He exhaled like you were the biggest inconvenience of his life… and then stood, stripping out of his gear with efficient, annoyed movements. He left his boxers on, because of course he did, then slid into the bed beside you with a controlled huff.
The second you settled onto his chest, you let out a pleased little sigh. His natural cold seeped into your sore muscles like a blessing. A few hours in his arms and you’d feel good as new. (Even if, realistically, you’d still be walking like you just lost a fight with a brick wall.)
“How was your day?” you asked quietly.
Bi-Han responded with a single, deep grunt.
Classic.
You rolled your eyes at the grunt, tracing a lazy finger down the center of his chest. You didn’t push, didn’t nag—just waited him out like you always did. And, like clockwork, the glacier eventually cracked.
He exhaled through his nose, low and irritated.
“Training was inefficient,” he muttered. “Paperwork was worse. Half the clan apparently forgot how to follow basic directives. As usual, I am the only one capable of completing anything correctly.”
You smiled into his skin, because somehow his complaining always sounded like affection wrapped in frostbite.
He scowled at the ceiling, continuing under his breath, “Grandmaster duties are… endless.”
You hummed at him, playful and smug all at once.
“At least you had Kuai to help out, no?”
Bi-Han cut you a cold side-eye sharp enough to peel paint, then grunted like you’d personally offended his ancestors.
“Do not mention my brother. He has earned my ire for the time being.”
You snorted softly, letting your fingers trail lower, brushing over the firm plane of his abdomen.
“Bi-Han… you can’t be harsh on him. You’ve done much worse,” you sing-songed, utterly unbothered.
“I have not,” he denied instantly. With zero shame. Zero hesitation. Like you were discussing cloud shapes.
You slowly lifted your head to look at him, expression flat.
“Bi-Han.”
His frown deepened into something almost comical.
“…Do not ostracize me, woman.”
“I’m not,” you replied evenly, fingers tracing idle little patterns on his belly. “I’m reminding you to be fair. You have done worse.”
His jaw clenched. His glare sharpened.
But he didn’t argue.
Which, for Bi-Han, was basically the same as admitting defeat.
He huffed, clearly done with being proven wrong, and pivoted like a man slamming a door on the topic.
“I’ll be having you moved to private quarters near my room,” he announced, tone blank and final.
You froze like someone had hit pause.
Then slowly, you lifted your head from his chest, brows pulled tight, mouth a thin, unimpressed line.
“…And why is that?”
Bi-Han stared at you like you’d just asked him to explain what two plus two equals.
“Why else?” he answered, utterly deadpan. “I want you close. I can keep a better eye on you… and so can my brothers.”
Said so calmly, so casually, like he wasn’t out here dropping full territorial claims at bedtime.
Admittedly… you were unsure of the decision.
You weren’t stupid. You understood perfectly well how the three of them treated you. How they touched you, handled you, sought you out. Anyone with eyes could see you were their favorite indulgence. But in your mind, it always made sense: you give them your body, they give you theirs. Intense, satisfying, addictive—sure. But still something rooted in desire, not definition.
But this?
This wasn’t “we like having sex with you.”
This was “move into the wing near my room so I can keep you close.”
This was… relationship territory. Serious territory. Territory you weren’t sure belonged to you and them.
A strange knot formed in your chest—not fear, not excitement, something muddled and blurry between the two. You weren’t exactly against the idea, but you definitely weren’t ready to pretend it wasn’t a massive shift. And the worst part?
You didn’t get a say.
Bi-Han’s tone made that painfully clear.
So you swallowed, your thoughts a mess as the reality settled over you:
Your life with the Lin Kuei just became a whole lot more complicated.
Warnings: Angst, NSFW, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cheating, u got an addicting coochie
A/N: I do have a part 2 in mind but dunno if I should write it jejeje
It didn’t happen all at once.
It never does.
You were all just kids at first — four little shadows running through Lin Kuei halls like you owned the place. Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas, and you. Always together. Always orbiting each other. If one of you wasn’t around, the others were already asking who you buried in the courtyard.
You grew up together. Bled together. Learned each other in ways no outsider ever could.
Bi-Han was the first one to see you shatter — really shatter — during the worst moment of your life. And you were the only one he ever let near the soft, fragile piece of him he denies exists. The part of him that still felt human.
Kuai Liang survived every unhinged teenage phase you threw at him and never once flinched. You were there the night he broke over losing his mother, hands fisted in your clothes, trying so hard not to cry and failing anyway.
Tomas held you during your first real heartbreak, and you held him when Bi-Han’s words carved deep enough to bruise bone. He always tried to act cheerful, but you knew exactly how heavy expectations were on his shoulders.
The four of you weren’t just close. You were stitched into each other.
Which is why, when Bi-Han betrayed all of you and walked straight into Shang Tsung’s waiting arms… something inside you cracked in a way you didn’t know how to fix.
Because it wasn’t just a clan brother turning traitor.
It was your family.
Your childhood.
Your history.
Walking away without looking back.
And the worst part?
You felt it like a death.
You supposed it wasn’t a surprise that things shifted between you and Kuai after that.
How could they not?
You were both hurting — not just wounded, but gutted in a way only the betrayal of someone you called family could do. The kind of pain that stripped you clean and left you raw.
You were returning from an attempt at meditation that had gone about as well as everything else lately. You’d sat there for an hour, trying to untangle the knot in your chest, trying to breathe past the image of Bi-Han’s back as he walked away from all of you. But the hurt clung like frostbite.
It was late — dead quiet, dead cold. The kind of night where the whole compound felt hollow.
That’s when you saw the light under Kuai’s door.
You shouldn’t have stopped. You weren’t in the position to lecture anyone about sleep, and you definitely weren’t emotionally stable enough to be checking on someone else.
But concern beat caution every time when it came to him.
You knocked softly.
The door opened a second later.
Kuai looked… exhausted. Eyes lidded, shoulders heavy, expression as dim as the lantern behind him. He didn’t say anything. Just stepped aside and let you in.
You still don’t know how it happened. Neither does he.
One moment he was sitting beside you, head bowed, hands trembling from the weight of everything he was trying not to feel. The next, his mouth was on yours — desperate, aching, starved for something that wasn’t loss.
And suddenly you were beneath him, fingers clawing down the strong lines of his back as he thrust into you as deep as your body would allow. His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged, movements frantic, like burying himself inside you was the only way he could drown out the pain.
No words.
Just pure need.
Just two people trying to forget the same wound.
You didn’t talk about that night.
Not then.
Not ever.
It simply became the new normal.
Kuai would come to you on nights when the world felt too heavy, when grief or frustration or loneliness pushed him past his limits. And you would open your door for him without hesitation, without question.
You let him inside your arms.
Inside your bed.
Inside your body.
Warm, tight, trembling around him — and pretending it didn’t destroy you a little more each time he softened afterward, thanked you quietly, and went back to his life like you were nothing more than a momentary comfort.
But you kept letting him in.
Because he needed somewhere to fall.
And you were stupid enough to always, always catch him.
You weren’t even sure when you started falling for him.
Maybe it was between the hours spent training side by side, laughing like the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it was the nights he came to you, hands trembling, seeking comfort you were too willing to give. Maybe it was the way he whispered your name when he came undone inside you, voice cracked and breathless.
Or maybe it was all of it.
Everything.
Every second he let you pretend there was something more.
You blamed yourself.
They were your feelings.
Your mess.
You had no right to expect anything in return.
But you did anyway.
Delusion is a kind storyteller that turns cruel fast.
Because you weren’t prepared. Not even close. Not when he brought her up.
You were both sprawled across his bed, panting, drenched in sweat. His release was still dripping down your core when he shifted beside you, voice soft, almost shy.
“I think I know what to name my clan,” he murmured.
You hummed, still catching your breath. “Yeah?”
“Shirai Ryu.”
Your heart clenched.
You didn’t know why yet.
Not until he kept talking.
“It’s after Harumi.” His tone warmed instantly. “She… inspires me.”
You stopped breathing for a second.
Kuai kept going, oblivious to the way the world had just collapsed in your chest. He talked about her kindness, her strength, how she challenged him. How he admired her. How he was starting to fall for her. How he confessed to her today and she smiled at him.
He sounded happy.
Really happy.
And you… froze.
Just for a moment.
Just long enough for something inside you to break cleanly.
Then you slid on the mask you’d perfected your whole life. The perfect best friend. Supportive. Unshakable. Loyal to a fault.
“That’s… that’s amazing, Kuai,” you whispered, forcing your voice steady. “I’m happy for you.”
You even smiled.
You hated yourself for it.
He didn’t notice.
Of course he didn’t.
He just kept talking about her while you lay there, body still warm from him, heart going ice-cold inside your chest.
And all you could think was:
This is my fault.
I let myself hope.
I should’ve known better.
That night, after Kuai finally drifted to sleep beside you, you moved with the caution of someone trying not to wake a sleeping dragon. His arm was draped over your waist, warm and heavy, and removing it felt like peeling off your own skin. You dressed in silence, ignoring the sting in your chest every time his breathing hitched, soft and content, completely unaware of the devastation he’d left behind on his sheets.
You slipped out of his room with the numb, floating feeling of someone watching their own body move without them. Your feet carried you before your mind could catch up. Down the corridors. Past the courtyard. Past the training hall.
Until you were standing at Tomas’ door.
You knocked once.
Then again.
And again.
The door swung open.
Tomas blinked groggily at you, shirtless, hair flattened on one side from sleep. Confusion softened into immediate concern the second he got a proper look at your face.
You didn’t say a word.
You didn’t have to.
He recognized that expression. He’d seen it once before — years ago, when someone else had torn your heart out. But this… this was worse. This had carved deeper.
His brows knitted, eyes quietly asking the question he didn’t want to voice: Who did this to you?
Because you hadn’t spoken about liking anyone in years. There was no one for him to even guess at.
You didn’t answer.
You couldn’t.
Your throat closed, your vision blurred, and your body moved on instinct — falling into him like gravity had finally remembered you existed.
He caught you instantly.
Your fingers curled into his shoulders, clutching him like he was the only thing stopping you from collapsing into dust. The first sob tore out of you violently, then another, and another, until you were shaking so hard he had to steady you with both arms.
Your heart broke openly, loudly, desperately — pieces slipping through your grasp faster than you could hold onto them.
Tomas held you closer, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other wrapping tightly around your waist. He didn’t ask again. Didn’t push. Didn’t speak.
He just held you like he was trying to keep you from falling apart entirely.
Like he knew if he let go, you’d shatter.
And in that moment, he was the only person who understood how it felt to lose a brother and a best friend all at once — even if Kuai hadn’t meant to take that much from you.
You began pulling away in small, quiet ways.
A missed training session here.
A “sorry, I’m busy” there.
A strategically timed errand or mission whenever he sought you out.
You made sure every excuse was believable — natural, casual, easily dismissed. And Kuai… he never questioned them. Not once. He was too busy stepping into the role of Grandmaster, too occupied with shaping his new clan, too wrapped up in the bright, blooming warmth of Harumi’s presence.
You were grateful for it.
And it broke you anyway.
Days passed. Weeks. You drifted just far enough that he didn’t feel your absence, and just close enough that every glimpse of him felt like reopening the same wound.
The first time you met Harumi, your heart reacted before your mind did.
You despised her.
Instantly.
Violently.
Not that you let it show.
You smiled warmly, kindly, even as your chest darkened until it felt like something inside you was rotting. And gods, it would’ve been easier if she’d been awful — arrogant, rude, cruel. But she wasn’t.
Harumi was everything you weren’t.
Kind.
Composed.
Brilliant.
Soft in a way that drew Kuai toward her like a tide.
It wasn’t fair.
Not because you deserved him.
But because she made it painfully, undeniably clear that she did.
Your heart folded in on itself the longer you stood near them. The way she spoke to him. The way he listened to her. How gently she teased him. How brightly he smiled around her — a smile he had never once given you, not even in the moments you’d held his trembling body against yours.
Harumi didn’t steal him from you.
He’d never been yours to begin with.
She simply walked into his life…and he looked at her with all the tenderness you had once prayed he’d look at you with.
You could never draw from him the softness she did so effortlessly. You could never be the reason his eyes softened, or the reason his shoulders eased, or the reason he let go of the weight he carried.
Watching them together was a quiet, private kind of agony.
Because for the first time, you realized the truth:
She wasn’t your rival.
She was simply the right choice.
And you had never stood a chance.
You started to think fate had a personal vendetta against you.
Because logically, after weeks without touching each other, without those nights tangled in sheets and sweat, Kuai should’ve forgotten the feel of your body. He should’ve moved on, focused on Harumi, focused on the future he was building with her.
And part of you clung to that belief — that he’d let go of you the way you had tried, desperately, to let go of him.
But you forgot the core of your history.
You forgot that he always came to you when he fell apart.
Which is why the sharp, urgent knock on your door sent a shock through you.
You set your book down carefully, a chill running down your spine as you padded toward the door, your thin nightgown swaying around your bare thighs. You weren’t expecting anyone. Especially not this late.
But when you opened the door—
Kuai stood there.
His eyes were dark, stormy. His jaw tight. Something unspoken and dangerous simmered in the space between you.
“Kuai…?” you began, concern bubbling up.
You didn’t get another word out.
He grabbed you — not roughly, but with desperate strength — lifting you off the ground as your breath caught in surprise. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, arms coming up to steady yourself.
And then his mouth was on yours.
Crashing. Claiming. Hunger and frustration and need poured into the kiss so fiercely that your knees would’ve buckled if he wasn’t holding you up.
A moan tore out of you the second your lips met. Your body reacted faster than your mind could protest, lighting up like it had been starved. Because it had. You hadn’t touched him in so long, hadn’t tasted him, hadn’t felt his heat, his weight, his breath trembling against your skin.
And gods, you missed him.
Even when you shouldn’t have.
He broke the kiss just long enough to gasp against your lips:
“I need you.”
Your resolve fractured in an instant.
Against your better judgment — against every boundary you’d tried to build, against every piece of self-preservation you had fought for — you clung to him and let him in again.
He carried you inside, kicking the door shut behind him. His mouth found your throat, your collarbone, your shoulder — kissing you everywhere he could reach with frantic reverence. You were already trembling, already unraveling, already falling apart for him.
He laid you onto your bed only to immediately sink into you, pushing inside you with a slow, devastating thrust that stole the air from your lungs.
A sound ripped out of you — half-moan, half-cry — as he filled you completely.
He moved like he’d been dying without you. Like he was returning to something he hadn’t realized he needed. His hips snapped against yours, firm and deep, hitting that familiar spot inside you that made your back arch off the sheets.
Your moans came out helpless, forced from your chest with every thrust as his length carved into the space your body had memorized for him alone.
He kissed you everywhere — your jaw, your neck, your breasts, your stomach — as if he were relearning you, mapping you all over again. His hands trembled against your skin, dragging down your sides, gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him.
When you clenched around him, his breath shattered.
“Gods—” he gasped, head dropping against your shoulder. “Your body—”
Another thrust, deeper.
“—it remembers me.”
He moaned your name against your neck, voice wrecked. And hearing it — hearing him say your name like that — sent a violent rush of heat spiraling through your core.
You hated him.
You loved him.
And you were losing to him all over again.
“Missed this,” he muttered, voice low and ragged, more confession than comment. His breath ghosted over your lips as he thrust deeper. “Missed feeling this tight pussy… fuck…”
Your body reacted instantly — clenching around him so hard you felt his rhythm falter.
“K–Kuai…!” You moaned his name, voice cracking, the sound embarrassingly close to a whine. Heat surged through your body, lighting every nerve on fire.
He swore under his breath, a sharp, guttural sound. Your voice always did something to him, but hearing it now after so long — ruined, desperate, needy for him — it pushed him straight into that place where he stopped holding back.
He drove into you harder, hips snapping, breath hot and uneven. One of his hands slid down your stomach, fingers brushing your trembling skin before settling exactly where you needed him.
His thumb circled your clit — slow at first, then faster when your back arched off the bed.
“That’s it…” he murmured, voice dropping into something dark and hungry. His eyes pinned you in place, drinking in every twitch, every gasp, every helpless tremble your body gave him. “Fall apart for me.”
Your breath stuttered, a sharp cry slipping out before you could stop it.
He leaned down, mouth grazing your ear, thrusts hitting deep and devastating.
“Fall apart on my cock,” he whispered, breath hot and sinful against your skin.
Your entire body clenched around him, the words hitting you harder than the thrust that followed.
Kuai’s hand tightened on your hip, pulling you flush against him as he fucked you deeper, harder, coaxing every sound, every tremble, every bit of collapsing restraint from your body — as if he needed to feel you unravel for him, needed to see the proof that you still responded to him like this, needed to remind himself that no matter how much time had passed…
…your body still opened for him like he was the only one it remembered.
You didn’t know how long it lasted.
Hours blurred into moans and gasps, into the sound of skin meeting skin, into the breathless desperation in his voice when he said your name like he’d been starved for it. You mewled beneath him, clinging to him with shaking hands, your body raw from taking everything he demanded.
Kuai didn’t stop.
Not until your legs trembled uncontrollably.
Not until your throat was hoarse from crying out for him.
Not until he’d wrung orgasm after orgasm from you like he intended to leave you unable to stand.
The two of you fell apart again and again, the room smelling of sweat and sex and something far more dangerous. He took you everywhere — on the bed, against the wall, straddling his lap while he murmured filth into your mouth.
It felt endless.
It felt inevitable.
It felt like a nightmare disguised as a dream.
When morning came, you woke sore and hazy, your body thrumming with the remnants of everything the night had taken from you.
Kuai lay beside you.
Still.
Peaceful.
His arm draped around your waist, holding you close in the way he only ever did when he wasn’t conscious enough to stop himself. His face was relaxed, his hair messy, his breath warm against your shoulder.
For a split second, something gentle twisted in your chest.
Then you saw them.
The angry, deep red lines you’d carved down his arms.
His chest.
His back.
Marks that traced every moment you’d dug your nails into him, every time he’d driven you into the mattress so hard you clung to him like a lifeline.
Your stomach dropped.
Guilt hit you so sharply that you had to cover your mouth to keep from making a sound. The regret followed a second later, heavy and suffocating.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
You had worked so hard to stop this.
To stop wanting him.
And yet you opened your door the moment he knocked.
And you opened your legs the moment he touched you.
You let yourself fall all over again.
And the worst part?
Kuai didn’t seem to think anything of it.
Because that night was only the beginning.
He came again the next night.
And the night after.
And the one after that.
Always after dark.
Always quietly.
Always with that same hungry desperation, like something inside him only broke open when he stepped into your room.
He would take your body, pull orgasm after orgasm from you, bury himself deep inside you with a low, ruined moan — then leave before sunrise to return to his life. To his clan. To Harumi.
You kept telling yourself you’d put an end to it.
You kept telling yourself this would be the last time.
But every night, when you heard that familiar knock…
…you let him in again.
And each time, a little more of you disappeared.
Even the announcement of his engagement didn’t stop anything.
It should have.
It should’ve slammed every door shut, should’ve forced you to sever whatever this twisted thread between you was. But instead—
You found yourself beneath him again.
Kuai’s hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.
Your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locking behind him.
His thrusts deep, frantic, guttural sounds torn from his throat as he chased release inside the body he had no right to keep touching.
“Fuck—” he gasped, voice cracking as he buried himself to the hilt. “So tight— gods—”
Your nails dug into his back as he pushed deeper, harder, panting your name like he was falling apart.
His hips stuttered.
A choked groan ripped from his chest.
And he came.
Deep.
Hard.
Spilling inside you while your legs held him there, keeping every pulse of his release buried exactly where it didn’t belong.
Your eyes squeezed shut.
Because the pleasure was real.
The need was real.
And the grief was just as real.
He collapsed over you, breathing heavily, forehead pressed to your shoulder. You felt the warmth of him, the weight of him, the familiarity of every tremble in his body as he came down from the high you gave him.
None of it should have been yours.
He slipped out slowly, breath still uneven, your legs finally falling open as the remnants of his release slid out of you and onto the sheets.
You stared at the ceiling, chest tight and hollow.
This wasn’t just wrong.
It was self-destruction dressed as intimacy.
But even as the guilt twisted in your stomach, even as the ache in your chest sharpened at the thought of Harumi wearing his ring—
You knew the truth.
You had to stop.
You had to end this.
You had to let him go.
At some point, you had to.
Because every time you let him inside you, you lost something you couldn’t get back.
And if you didn’t walk away soon…
There would be nothing left of you at all.
“Kuai…”
Your voice barely made it past your lips, trembling like the rest of you.
He looked up from the sight of his release trailing out of you, eyes curious, almost dazed from the high you’d just given him. His hands still held your thighs open, fingers pressing into your skin like he wasn’t ready to let go yet.
You swallowed hard.
Because if you didn’t say it now, you never would.
“We have to stop,” you whispered.
His expression went blank — too blank — like his mind hadn’t even processed the words. You lay there beneath him, shivering from the aftershocks rolling through your body, chest rising and falling rapidly, looking utterly wrecked… and still, you forced out the truth both of you had avoided for far too long.
“This… this isn’t fair to her.”
Your voice cracked. You shut your eyes, unable to look at him. “Y-you know this…”
Silence.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t breathe.
His grip on your thighs remained firm, bordering on possessive, but the rest of him went unnervingly still, like he was waiting for a command he didn’t want to follow.
Then—
A long, slow exhale left him.
An acceptance.
A reluctant acknowledgment that you were right.
You cracked your eyes open, meeting his dark, unreadable stare. The quiet stretched between you, tense and fragile.
Finally, he nodded.
But before relief could settle in your chest—
He moved.
He leaned down suddenly, bracing himself over you, eyes burning with a hunger you had never seen directed at you so fiercely. Something raw and feral lit behind them, something that snapped loose the moment he realized he was about to lose you.
“Then let me take you one more time,” he growled.
His mouth crashed against yours, the kiss hot and consuming, ripping the breath from your lungs.
“Let me make you feel good for a final night,” he murmured against your lips, the words sinking straight into your core.
You gasped, heat flaring violently in your stomach.
“Kuai—”
But he didn’t let you finish.
His hips pressed forward, the tip of him nudging your entrance before he pushed in — slow, deep, deeper than he had ever gone before. The stretch was overwhelming, intimate in a way that made your breath stutter.
“Let me make sure your body never forgets,” he snarled softly into your neck. “That no other man will ever compare.”
Your mouth fell open in a broken moan as he sank to the hilt, your walls fluttering helplessly around him.
“Let me make you mine for one last night,” he rasped, his thrusts slow and devastating, each one carving into you with a tenderness he had never allowed himself to show.
You didn’t fight him.
You couldn’t.
You wrapped your arms around him, giving him everything left in you, every piece you hadn’t already sacrificed.
That night, Kuai didn’t just fuck you.
He claimed you.
Deeply.
Ruthlessly.
Reverently.
He marked your neck, your hips, your chest, your thighs — dark bruises blooming under his mouth and hands like signatures, like goodbye inked directly into your skin.
And in the morning, when Tomas accidentally walked in on you changing, his eyes widened at the sight of the trail of bruises scattered across your body. His brow shot up, silent questions burning behind his stare.
You couldn’t answer any of them.
Because even you didn’t know how to.
The wedding passed in a blur.
Kuai stood at the altar, looking happier than you had ever seen him. His eyes shone with a warmth that used to feel reserved only for the people closest to him — but now refocused entirely on her.
And Harumi…
She was stunning.
Radiant in a way that made your chest cave in.
The picture of a bride who had everything, including the man you had loved far too deeply and far too quietly.
The ceremony was beautiful.
Painfully so.
Every vow felt like a knife.
Every soft smile between them felt like a goodbye meant for you alone.
When the crowd applauded their kiss, you slipped away — quiet, unnoticed, unseen. You couldn’t stay. You couldn’t watch him pledge himself to someone else. You couldn’t risk him catching the look in your eyes.
But he did look.
Kuai’s gaze swept the audience, searching. His brow furrowed slightly when he didn’t find you. For half a heartbeat, his expression softened with a question only you would’ve recognized.
Then Harumi lifted her head to him, smiling gently.
He kissed her again, and the world moved on without you.
A month later, you put in your request.
Retirement.
Departure.
Severance from the Shirai Ryu.
You cited wanting to return to your family — a believable reason, simple enough that no one pushed too hard. Not even Kuai.
The morning of your departure, Tomas hugged you so tightly your ribs protested. He sniffed once, trying not to show how much it bothered him.
“You better write,” he muttered into your shoulder. “I swear, if you disappear like a ghost—”
“I won’t,” you laughed, bright and warm for his sake. “I promise.”
When you finally turned to Kuai, your smile faltered just slightly — not enough to be obvious, but enough for him to notice. Something flickered in your eyes, an emotion he couldn’t name, disappearing before he could fully register it.
You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.
He froze for half a second.
Then he hugged you back — hard — crushing you against his chest like he wasn’t ready to let go. His heart hammered painfully against yours. You didn’t know what that meant, and you weren’t going to ask.
You leaned closer, letting your lips hover near his ear, whispering so softly that no one else could possibly hear:
“Take care. I love you.”
The words hit him like a blow.
His arms tightened around you instantly, breath stuttering in a way only you could feel. He didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.
He just held you.
Harumi stood nearby, smiling at the display of closeness between lifelong friends, oblivious to the quiet storm breaking between your bodies.
When you pulled away, you forced yourself to meet Kuai’s eyes one last time. Whatever emotion lived there — whatever regret or confusion or unspoken plea — you turned away before it could unravel you.
You stepped toward Harumi next and hugged her lightly. She returned it with genuine warmth, wishing you safe travels and promising you’d always be welcome back.
And then—
You walked away.
Away from the clan.
Away from him.
Away from the life that had become too painful to live in anymore.
A cat is a small creature in the middle of the food chain that is fully aware that you are a very large thing that could stomp its head in at any moment and yet it chooses to rest its tiny little head on your leg for a nap and spreads out on the floor near you exposing its belly and its most sensitive organs. It brings dead mice and bugs to you to share food.
Don’t you get it? This tiny thing trusts you. It wants to help you too. It licks your leg thinking that it’s helping. It kneads on you to find comfort. It shares its body warmth with you in the cold and gives you your space in the heat. It hisses at other mammals it sees outside including other cats in an effort to protect its family.
Cats love you so so much. But they will keep trying to eat plastic.
There is a node in Invasion that tells us that Kuai Liang was his father's favorite son. If I'm not mistaken, the nodes always refer to the character you're about to face. In the case of Kuai Liang, the said node is called "Dad's favorite":
Personally, I have a headcanon that tattoos are forbidden in the Lin Kuei, but that his father didn't hesitate to break with tradition (the very same tradition that this man was hypocritically adamant about following and that Kuai Liang, on his behalf, accuses Bi-Han of abandoning) by giving Kuai Liang permission to get one.
Hi guys! I made a small piece of art for my fic! This is how old Bi-Han was when they first met. Here’s baby Bi-Han, he’s around eleven or twelve years old 🥺
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