#chemical elements notes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pandoraslxna · 1 year

Text

Lost and found – Chapter 1

adult Neteyam x female human scientist

Words: 3k

Summary: Neteyam hates humans. One day, he finds you all alone and lost in the forest, but quickly decides against killing you. What might be the odd reason for that?

Warnings: explicit smut, minors dni, non-con elements / dub-con, p in v, creampie, Na‘vi in heat, alien biology, language barrier, kinda dark!neteyam, neteyams pov, size kink, size difference

Notes: check my masterlist for all parts

Neteyam isn’t really fond of humans.

Spider wasn’t an exception. Neteyam was sure that even he would one day betray his family for his own race. The oldest Sully had his reasons for keeping his distance towards them, no matter if they considered themselves his family’s friends or ally’s. For all his life, he hadn’t exchanged much more than a few words with Norm and Max and avoids them for most of the time. Neteyam also makes sure to stay away from the laboratories and most human technology.

It’s not just that he doesn’t like them. Neteyam despises humans. They can’t be trusted. All they bring, is pain and suffering. His mother had raised him that way. And that's exactly why he doesn't hesitate to draw his bow, when he stumbles upon a human female in the forest. She seems to be alone, unarmed and visible lost. An easy target and it would be one less of them on Pandora.

Neteyam takes a deep breath, draws his bow, ready to shoot, but then… then there’s a breeze of wind and some of her scent is blown in his direction. He stops himself immediately.

Usually humans smell gross. Disgusting even. They smell like something they call soap, a weird chemical and something he can't really describe. They just smell like human.

But that little female is different. He can’t pinpoint it. She smells sweet, like a fruit even. Neteyam can almost taste it on his tongue. Hesitantly, he lowers his bow and keeps watching her from afar. She’s not necessarily ugly, not even for a human, but she’s still weird to his eyes. Alien looking. She’s mumbling something in her foreign language, a language he’s never bothered to learn. Was she talking to herself?

She seems nervous, almost scared as she looks around. Paranoid. She’s definitely lost.

Neteyam can’t spot any weapons on her, so he figures she’s not one of the human warriors or dream walkers. She probably lost her people somewhere in the forest. They might’ve been killed by some predator. Neteyam kinda hopes that’s the case.

A light breeze blows her scent in his direction once again and he can't help but inhale deeply. The humans scent clouds his head, like a thick fog that makes it hard to think of anything else than to— to mate. His eyes widen in shock at the realization. The tall Na’vi can almost feel his pupils dilate. His body seemed to act without his consent. Her scent had really triggered his urge to mate with her. A human, of all things. He shakes his head as if that would’ve helped to clear his mind. Of course it didn’t.

Neteyam should feel disgusted with himself. But there was really nothing he could do to restrain himself anymore. Once a male Na‘vi has chosen a female, their body acts immediately, whether they like it or not… He was done for.

Neteyam knows he has to mate right now or the next few hours are going to be really, really painful for him. Usually, female Na‘vi can scent the males hormones too and both of them fall into heat together– if they’ve chosen each other. But she’s a human. She can’t fall into heat. She can’t smell his scent, with her small, useless human nose. It’s covered with one of those oxygen masks anyways. She’s unable to choose him as a mate, can’t form the tsaheylu with him… so why would his body curse him by choosing her?

If a Na‘vi isn’t chosen by their preferred mate, they usually go through heat alone. It’s really painful and can last twice as long without a way to release.

But she’s no Na‘vi. She’s a human. It doesn’t matter if she chooses him. He had chosen her and that should be enough, Neteyam decides for himself.

Quietly, Neteyam jumps from the branch he was watching her from and lands almost silently on the moss covered ground, right in front of her feet. The female shrieks and falls backwards to land on her bottom with a thump. His much larger frame towers over her and a gasp leaves her lips when she looks up at him. Neteyam tilts his head and the movement causes some strands of his braided hair to fall over his shoulder.

"P-Please don’t kill me!" She squeaks. Some of the words he actually does understand and with his ears flat against his head, he crouches down in front of her. Despite everything, he doesn’t want to scare her too much.

Protectively, she holds her hands up in front of her face. Neteyam curiously reaches out and grabs her thin wrists to get a better look at her fingers. Four fingers and a thumb, just like dad and his siblings. Frightened, she wants to withdraw her hand, but the Na’vi is superior to her strength and doesn’t move an inch. She struggles against his hold, unknown words falling from her mouth as she tries to free herself. He can’t help it, the sight in front of him was pathetic and comically and he chuckles. The tiny female looks at him dumbfounded.

With her wrist still firmly in his hold, he pulls her a little closer, until he's close enough to sniff at the skin of her neck. She smells a lot stronger from up close. It’s so sweet and intense, it makes his tail sway in excitement. When he inhales again, he can feel heat bloom in his chest, spreading like a fever until he feels hot all over. His cock stiffens, presses hard against his loincloth. The need for touch was slowly becoming overwhelming and unbearable, eclipsing all of his rational thoughts. He needs her. Now.

Neteyam can feel how her breathing stops, as if she believed he couldn’t see her if she stopped breathing. Cute, he thinks.

With one swift motion, the Na‘vi has the tiny human flat on her stomach. He’s quick to hold her slim arms tight together behind her back, needing just one hand, before she starts to squirm below him. He crouches over her legs, his thighs spread wide to cage her in. "Hey, s-stop!", she protests loudly, "What are you doing?"

"I won’t hurt you", Neteyam tells her with a sigh and it’s the honest truth. Hurting his future mate wouldn’t be very honorable of him. And he wasn’t the type for these kind of things either– human or not. But she doesn’t respond. She only turns her head, to look at him over her shoulder, with a frown. The human obviously had no idea what he was saying, which makes this whole thing a lot harder. But there was something else that slowly got harder too…

Neteyam palms himself over his loincloth and her eyes widen. "Wait, wait a minute–", she wiggles in his hold and unintentionally arches her back against him, much to his surprise. With his free hand, he holds her hips right there. Her body is much different compared to a Na‘vi. Her hips are wide and her bottom is plump. She’s also wearing those strange alien clothes, much to his distaste. To his eyes, they’re simply ugly. And they’re covering most of her body, shielding it from his hungry gaze. But not for much longer, Neteyam decides and reaches for his knife. The human immediately pleads in her native tongue and he rolls his eyes. With a squeeze to her wrists he tries to signal to her, that she better not dare to move. It seems like she actually understood this time, because when he slowly let’s go of her arms, she really doesn’t move an inch- even keeps her arms behind her back. "That’s right", he nods and it sounds as if he was talking to a newly claimed ikran, "Stay still."

With his knife, he makes quick work to cut through the seams of her pants, top and those weird undergarments. The humans eyes are squeezed shut as her clothes fall off of her, leaving her bare before him. Her skin is oddly flawless. No stripes, obviously. But no scars either. So she’s definitely no warrior. Matter of fact, she looks like she’s never been outside before. There’s not a single scratch on her perfect skin. She might be one of those scientists, like Norm and Max, maybe?

She’s shaking like a leaf in the wind and her breathing is rapid and anxious. Neteyam hesitates for a moment, but then he lowers his head to place a gentle, comforting kiss on the nape of her neck and she gasps. "I won’t hurt you", he tells her again, but slower this time. Carefully, he moves her arms and places them next to her head in a position that seems more comfortable for her. He wanted her to feel good, enjoy this too.

Neteyam kisses her again, on her shoulder this time. And then against the shell of her ear. Her ear is soft and round and so different from his own, he can’t help but close his teeth around her earlobe, gently nibbling on it. Then he moves further, trailing small kisses down her spine and her back arches even more, almost instinctively. He moves quietly behind her, undoing his loincloth before giving his length a few experimental thrusts into his palm. His cock is painfully hard, throbbing in his hand. The head is already leaking pre-cum, swollen and neglected and he can’t help but groan and pray that he’s able to restraint himself a little longer, enough to prepare her for his size– otherwise he would probably rip the little human clean in half.

Another wave of her sweet scent rolls off of her and Neteyam‘s lips widen into a smug grin.

“I can smell you, little one", he tells her with a chuckle, "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” But she doesn’t respond. She’s silent, save for the sound of her breathing.

Neteyam’s hands then find the curve of her bottom. He kneads her plumb flesh, curiously spreading her soft cheeks to get a better view of what he longed for. The human mewls for him to 'don’t look' and 'not there' as far as he can understand, yet she keeps holding completely still. And that only makes him want to tease her even more. With his thumbs, he then proceeds to spread her lips and he can’t help but lick his lips at the sight of her tiny cunt clenching around nothing. She leaks of slickness, the clear, sticky liquid immediately coating his digits as he slides them through her folds. A small moan escapes her mouth and Neteyam can see how she immediately covers her mouth with her small, five fingered hands.

Ever so slowly, he then slides his index finger inside her. It’s rewarded by another one of her sweet moans and the squelching sounds that form once he’s starting to thrust his finger in and out of her. She’s warm and wet and Neteyam feels her heart beat under every inch of skin his other hand can reach. He holds her hip, guides her to keep her back arched and then adds another finger to scissor her open.

Her breath comes in quick gasps and Neteyam can feel her limbs tremble. He wishes he would understand the words falling from her mouth, wondering if she wanted more, if she wanted him to make her come like this or if she was already begging to be mated. He really hopes it’s the latter, because he was slowly reaching is limit. He retreats his fingers from her pussy, his arms encircle her and then draw her bottom closer to his crotch. He leans over her, his body dwarfs her slender frame, his nose presses into the hollow of her neck and he’s inhaling her scent once again. "So sweet", he mumbles and then leans back on his heels.

"Spread yourself for me", Neteyam tells her but the look she throws at him over her shoulder let’s him know that she struggles to understand. "Like this", he then guides her hands, helps her understand what he wants her do to and she gets it immediately. With her small hands spreading her own cheeks, he‘s able to line up the thick head of his cock with her entrance.

He pushes forward with some effort, the tip slowly sinking into her tight, wet tunnel, spreading her wide around his cock. The human bites her lip, whimpering softly when he enters her, hands trembling as she continues to spread herself. "That’s it", Neteyam huffs out a breath, sinking further into the heat of her cunt, "Just like that, keep yourself open for me." His shaft, hard and thick, pushes past her lips and he can feel her soft walls clench around him. It was a tight fit but Neteyam manages to make it work and if the sharp breath he heard underneath him was any indication, it must’ve felt good for her as well.

Neteyam was completely absorbed by the feeling of the tiny humans pussy. It seemed to lovingly embrace his cock, to massage it and cling to it when he pulls out a few inches. He’s transfixed by the way her plump cheeks jiggle when his hips met hers, so he repeats the motion, thrusting his cock into her again and again. The familiar melody of the forest was now expanded by her moaning and the steady beat of their flesh slapping together.

Neteyam moves his hips fast and hard, panting heavily. His face was bright with arousal, his bare chest wet with sweat and it felt so, so fucking good. Nothing on Pandora could be compared to this feeling, to the tight clutch of this humans pussy and the noises she made just for him– for her mate.

"Shit– you feel so good, so tight, little human." His eyes were foggy with lust, and his shaft twitched and throbbed wildly inside her. The velvety-soft feeling of her walls was enough to make him forget everything but the pleasure he craved. Neteyam wasn’t himself anymore. Everything about her made him lose his mind further, made him want nothing else but to cum inside her and claim her as his mate. The Na‘vi was working single mindedly towards that goal, desperately thrusting over and over into her, chasing the ecstasy of his oncoming climax.

The tiny human below him panted and gasped, shuddering from each firm, deep stroke of his cock. Her inner walls clung tightly to his shaft, squeezing him, flexing around his warm, intruding length, coaxing him deep inside with each thrust.  Neteyam fell into a steady pace, the swing of his hips becoming quick and rhythmic. The slap of skin on skin filled his ears, joined by the breathless panting and moans that escaped her lips, sounding more and more desperate with each passing second. He could see her eyes rolling back as pleasure overtook her. "I‘m gonna come", were the words she repeated alongside curses and moans, again and again and Neteyam came to realize that she was probably trying to tell him that she was close to her release.

Everything was too much. The firm snap of his hips against hers, the lingering smell of sex in the air and her sweet, heavenly pheromones coursing through his system all mixed together, creating the perfect storm to completely break his mind. The human didn’t scream when she came, but her lips parted in a silent cry, followed by shamelessly moaning of words and curses he did not understand and Neteyam regrets not telling her his name beforehand. He wanted her to moan it, scream it from the top of her lunges for everyone to hear. "Fuck, yes, cum for me", he curses under his breath while his tail instinctively wraps around her leg as if trying to hold her even closer, "Feels so good, sweet girl. Can feel you squeezing my cock, oh shit—"  The human comes hard, her pussy clenching tight around his cock as he thrust forward one last time. The Na‘vi groans, ears flattened as he reached his limit with a hiss. He buries his cock deep inside her rhythmically-pulsing cunt, grunting as he pumps his release straight into her womb. She moans and quivers as she‘s filled, his heat pouring into her, filling her to the absolute brim before spilling over and bubbling onto the soft moss below her knees.

Neteyam doesn’t know how much time had passed, how long he had stayed buried inside the tightness of her warm, spongy walls. But the heavy fog in his brain slowly starts to thin out and finally, he’s able to think straight again. When he glances over her shoulder, he finds her eyes closed shut, her face flushed red, yet her features seem entirely relaxed and calm. Neteyam can’t help but smile. Poor thing, he thinks. Humans were known for their low stamina amongst his kind, so it was likely that she must’ve fallen asleep.

The human below him squirms in her sleep, once he’s found the strength to pull out and more of his release seeps out of her cunt. The sight before him is almost enough to make him hard again, but then, somewhere near them, a twig breaks as if something or someone had stepped on it.

Neteyam’s ears rise, senses immediately on high alert. It’s suspiciously silent for a while so the Na‘vi quickly shuffles to his feet, hastily tying his loincloth around his hip again. The humans breathing is still slow and shallow, even as he picks her up. He gently tugs her arms over his shoulder and adjusts her legs around his hips, so she can cross them behind his back. With one hand on her bottom and the other one securing the back of her head, he carries the unconscious human, his mate, away from any possible danger. Deeper into the forest and to the safety of his home, as she was now his. And he would protect what was his.

#avatar 2 #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x reader smut #avatar the way of water #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #avatar way of water #avatar loak #atwow neteyam #atwow x reader #atwow #awow #･｡ﾟ☆: *my works* :☆ﾟ.

8K notes · View notes

malleleothreesome · 4 months

Text

Azul Ashengrotto x afab Reader - Aphrodisiac + Breeding

💜 summary: After an alchemy accident, you and Azul end up covered in an aphrodisiac potion ༶༶༶ 💜 warnings: afab reader, smut, LOTS OF BREEDING KINK, pregnancy mention, porn with plot??? ༶༶༶ 💜 word count: 8.4k words I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED ༶༶༶ 💜 song: Vapor - 5 Seconds of Summer "I wanna feel you in my veins I want to breathe you in like a vapor I want to be the one you remember I want to feel your love like the weather, all over me" ༶༶༶ 💜 inspired by: this ask thank you! ♡✧*:･ﾟ

As a magicless human, Alchemy had always been your favorite class at Night Raven College. Despite lacking an innate aptitude for spell-casting, mixing and crafting potions was an artform that didn't require magic in order to bring spectacular effects into the world. Alchemy classes provided a refuge—a safe space with no barrier for entry where you could excel instead of feeling singled out for being an oddity in a sea of talented mages. You relished in the opportunity to learn about new components and elements, excitedly observing as volatile chemicals bubbled in heated pots to produce glowing, glittery pastes.

Much to your suspicion, Azul had always been particularly enthused to help you with potions, boasting how he was the most adept in the class due to his academic proficiencies, and that he was certain you'd find success with his aid. He took special interest in mentoring you, watching your delicate, nimble movements as you worked, walking you through procedures and detailed steps, and speaking knowledgeably about the ingredients in a tone that oozed expertise. His tutelage had helped you reach impressive grades on even the most challenging assignments. It wasn’t long before you found yourself spellbound by his charming intellect, deceivingly sweet demeanor, and the addictively intense gaze of his unique blue eyes.

There was always a subtle mischief hidden behind the smiling eyes and the easy charisma that suggested an ulterior motive lurking beneath his silver-tongue. Based on your observations of his interactions with other students, you assumed this was a ploy in hopes that if you had taste of the sweet, intoxicating elixir of power and success, you'd become desperate for more of his help, consequentially making you subservient and open to the idea of contracting yourself to him. In defiance of your paranoia that his motivations are not entirely altruistic, you did always feel an odd prickle in the air when he stood right behind you to monitor your actions. That sensation, a fiery buzz that hummed in your lower abdomen, always gave your heart flutters and kept you on edge as Azul's calm breaths ghosted against your hair and sent ripples of warm pleasure tingling through you. Your breath hitched in your throat as his large, gloved palms gently guided you through your motions, brushing over the bare skin on your knuckles or arms, leaving electric jolts where you felt his warmth. He smelled crisp like ocean breeze, an inviting fragrance that enveloped your mind and wrenched you out of reality and into his heady fantasy—a scene in which all you can taste are the thick, sweet notes of his dark intentions, and all you could do was choke on his cloying, dominating allure. He didn't ask permission to touch you or indicate an appropriate method to teach—no, his hands simply snaked around your waist and ran along your curves, slowly learning the feeling of your soft flesh through his gloves. Each time, you couldn't help but sink a little closer to his chest, instinctively chasing the seductive ambience radiating off of him, drowning in his captivating presence as though he was the tide pulling you under. There was no denying it—you wanted more of him.

Today's lab was no different, the air was tense and thick with charged attraction, filled with sexual tension so palpable it could be cut with a knife. The assignment was to experimentally combine various liquids, mixing and adjusting for better consistency, until you found a formula to concoct a viable, bountiful healing potion that would greatly ease the effects of injury. This assignment was a notoriously difficult, energy-draining procedure that required extreme vigilance to avoid an adverse chemical reaction that would result in a completely different type of potion, although Crewel didn’t elaborate on the exact details. After carefully pouring two compounds—one a milky white, and the other a vivid magenta—into a tall, cylindrical flask, Azul cautiously peered over your shoulder to check your concoction's progress as you stirred them. With one arm outstretched against the table to secure a good vantage point, he rested his other on your waist and leaned in closer as he studied the bubbling pink mixture. After adding an infusion of ground powder, a burst of sparkles clouded the interior of the flask, a telltale sign you were on the right track. This is the portion of the experiment where you needed to take extra caution to mix the elements together in perfect precision without faltering or taking your eyes away from your project, a delicate operation requiring the utmost concentration. Suddenly, Grim barges in and jumps on the lab station in excitement, yapping about how he wants to help, despite you and Azul explaining multiple times he has a proven history of destroying your projects.

The moment the little cat-monster attempts to extend his claws into your precious potion, Azul reacts automatically with surprising speed, his hands fly in a frenzy to scoop Grim away from your chemistry equipment. "Get off that this instant, Grim! You have no business here! Get your little paws out of that glassware this instant before you ruin another assignment! Do not interrupt us! Get away from there immediately!" Azul scolds him repeatedly while chasing him around the room, attempting to steer him to the door. "Why you foolish beast! You're far more of a liability than an asset! This experiment requires extreme care and concentration to avoid failure—a common result of your erratic, clumsy behavior!" His expression hardens with anger, eyebrows drawing into a line as Grim hisses defiantly. The little monster still hasn't relented, his hind legs clumsily scrabbling and slipping in Azul's grip as he tries desperately to cling onto the edge of the lab table, hoping for a quick paw-hold. A heavy, frustrated sigh escapes Azul's nostrils, his face morphing into one of desperation, pleading with the troublesome cat-creature to just leave you to focus your project in peace.

"How very annoying... To think he would willingly place himself in danger without even stopping to consider the consequences... what a foolish and irresponsible creature," he exhales irritably, struggling to wrestle Grim from his precarious position as his composure begins to slip, agitation creeping through his voice and shattering his typical polished and suave illusion of unflappable equanimity. He continues to scold Grim as he chases him around your station, gritting his teeth and losing his cool as the monster's cries of distress and denial ring through the entire room. Grim is an unrelenting little bastard who won't quit squirming. There isn't the slightest semblance of remorse or pity on his stupid, feline face, and Azul feels his resolve crack as he becomes utterly fed up with this spoiled brat's behavior. Grim continues to kick and howl his way through Azul's grip, determined to aid with your Alchemy project, but his clumsy movements start causing your potion to bubble and ripple in an unsettling manner. You shriek his name, begging him to just settle the hell down and be a team player.

It happens in a matter of seconds—a fizzling sound grabs your attention. You turn back around quickly and notice your reaction beginning to froth violently. Your eyes widen in horror and your mouth drops in disbelief. Azul notices your fear-wide eyes and immediately stops his futile efforts to reprimand Grim. In an instant, his gaze reflects the alarm in yours and the blood drains from his already pale cheeks. Grim runs out in a screaming huff as he exits in a frenzied flurry, knowing when to take a hint and make a clean getaway. At this point, the compound is pouring heavily from the top of the flask, spewing out onto the heating device and coating the table below. The chemical reaction is completely beyond your control now, its speed increasing exponentially, bubbling and exploding, kicking out thick, unmanageable clouds of murky pink and purple fumes. Within seconds, it covers the lab tables in an almost misty haze as you choke and sputter in a coughing fit, Azul gasping and choking right alongside you, panic flashing across his face. An eerie glow seeps through the thick liquid as a swirling mist appears from inside the glass. Without warning, it erupts directly toward the two of you before either of you have time to take cover—shattering the flask and showering the fronts of your faces and bodies in its noxious, intoxicating fluids. Both you and Azul choke out muffled yells and groans, the sticky, glittering mixture clinging to the fabric of your clothes and the exposed skin on your faces.

The next thing either of you register is Crewel's obnoxious bark as he spits out sharp commands to open the windows and clear out all the air from the room. Coughing, you gasp for fresh oxygen, suddenly becoming very aware of how fast your heart is racing. It thumps so hard and so forcefully inside of your ribcage that the noise reverberates loudly in your ears, overwhelming your senses. However, no amount of labored inhaling can free you from the toxic, vaporous gas; every molecule in your lungs has already been bombarded and completely overcome by the potion’s effects. As its intoxication takes hold of you, a wicked fever seems to roar within you, followed by a horribly slow heat that makes your limbs ache. Every orifice of your body is saturated by the miasma—liquid slips between your lips, gushing down the front of your body to coat your exposed neck and chest. You taste the surprisingly sweet potion on the inside of your mouth; its taste lingers sweet and tacky on the flat of your tongue, coating your throat. You'd panic that you just consumed some horrific cocktail with traces of corrosion or stomach-rotting acid, if it weren't for the fact that Crewel seems more frustrated than concerned for your well-being. Rather than damaging you, whatever substance was expelled seems to be having quite the opposite effect; you feel your body becoming more energetic, your head becoming lighter, and a bubbling rush of warmth seems to radiate all over from the inside out, changing your physiology into a fertile garden in need of sowing. Adrenaline rushes through you and awakens your basal instincts, forcing you to acknowledge every excruciating detail of your body in an erotic manner. Arousal slithers through your veins like venom, poisoning all remaining thoughts and rationality, as a throbbing, almost blinding wave of pleasure overtakes your body. You become intensely, achingly aware of your physical needs, and all those needs center upon an impassioned desire to be filled, stretched, and seeded full—the frantic urge to be bred nearly splits you in half and makes your lower belly cramp in a hot flash of want. For a second, you hear Azul stutter something to you, his voice wavering on the verge of cracking with the desire that the aphrodisiac had triggered. You lock eyes with Azul, pupils blown wide as lust makes his oceanic gaze shimmer. The front of his slacks have grown embarrassingly tight with the straining girth of his aroused cock. You meet his clouded eyes, almost embarrassed by your wanton thoughts and the desperate throbbing between your thighs.

It is only a split second of recognition, a blurry, sweaty haze of unfathomable passion, before your shared moment is interrupted. Crewel shouts at you to look him in the eyes, snapping you out of your sexual frenzy, even if only for a split second. He stares at you, his gray-streaked hair framing the contoured features of his face as he cocks an eyebrow. The elder gives your flushed skin and trembling body a once-over.

"Just as I thought. It's a dopamine-based aphrodisiac. At least nothing fatal or life threatening, but enough to send you both into a delirious, euphoric-fueled rut," he assesses calmly, unfazed. "What's more, the way the explosion altered the structure of the compound has made its properties even more potent and uncontrollable. In terms you incompetent pups will understand, we're past the stage of antidote or reprieve, and you both have mere moments before the hormones will reach maximum capacity and you two will need to find some private location to release the effects..." He trails off. From his expression, you can tell there is more he would like to add to the situation, yet a worrisome crinkle furrows his brow as his eyes remain on Azul, as though assessing whether the situation is really as under control as he wishes. "Both of you bad dogs listen carefully. Do not even dare to even breathe a word of what transpired here—you are to wait in isolation for five to eight hours until its effects wear off. Under no circumstances should you share physical contact with anyone else for the remainder of the day." He holds Azul's gaze longer than necessary, silently threatening him not to take advantage of this situation—but Azul seems far too caught up in the spell and too infatuated by the burning image of you, sweating, panting, and splayed before him.

"Should anyone at all realize that the two of you have taken any sort of love potion or been afflicted in this manner, it could create a massive scandal, and I'll punish you both so mercilessly for causing such an indiscretion, you'll be licking my boots in front of the entire school!" his deep voice booms in threat. "Have I made myself understood, dear pets?" Crewel snaps, the sting of his whip making both you and Azul wince and nod profusely. He leads you and Azul to the decontamination area of the lab, ushering you two into separate stalls so you can change into fresh, dry garments and wipe off the evidence of the explosion from the potion. When you both emerge, it takes Crewel less than a second to glance from the massive bulge straining against Azul's clothing, to where your heaving, quivering chest is spilling over the low neckline, your nipples hard and pressing obscenely through the thin fabric. He glares down his nose at the two of you in distaste.

"Five to eight hours," he hisses, eyes narrowing, almost sizing you and Azul up like he's waiting for one of you to give in to the pressure of the aphrodisiac. He throws open a back door, gesturing for you and Azul to disappear. Azul leaves first, a flushed, jumbled mess of conflicting emotions that are only intensified as he can feel every agonizing beat of his aroused heart pulse in the heat of his hard dick. You follow closely behind, but before you can cross the doorway, Crewel shoots his hand out to grip you by the upper arm, turning you to him as he towers over you, giving you an intense glare before sighing and pulling a small vial of bluish, iridescent potion from his bag and thrusting it into your hands.

"Since I know you won't be able to resist such a delectable temptation from that damn fishy bastard," his words drip with annoyance as he continues, "at least be safe, Pup. Go have a nice screw if that's what you really desire. The serum I just gave you is a contraceptive—just one sip and you will have full reproductive control, in case Azul isn't a decent man about his desires." You blink up at him in utter bewilderment. "Under no circumstances will I allow my star pupils to fall prey to the temptations and consequences of unprotected intimacy in the midst of this reckless hormone rush... I can't allow something like this to affect you or your ambitions. My students can only go to greater places." You feel his eyes burning with concern as he brushes your cheek, sending you a warning in his eyes and urging you to please think it through and consider it. "You are interested in Azul, are you not? I won't allow you to get involved in anything you don't consent to. If you don't feel safe, I can escort you straight to Ramshackle dorm and I will handle Ashengrotto myself." His stare, once cold and imposing, is now warm with protective care, as he looks you up and down with a gentle softness you didn't expect from your professor. The paternalistic expression on his face strikes your soul and pulls on your heartstrings a bit. After all, it's the type of support you feared was lost to you once you found yourself trapped in Twisted Wonderland with no hope of ever seeing your family again. With all the gentleness of a father, he squeezes your shoulder and gazes deeply into your eyes. You assure him that it's okay, you trust Azul. Nodding, your professor finally allows you passage out the door.

You had barely made it beyond the courtyard doors before Azul approached you with a sickly sweet, almost giddy look on his face. His steel-blue irises burned bright with anticipation, accompanied by a hint of something dark and salacious flickering in the shadows. The corners of his lips pulled taut, curling upward in a devious smile. A tremulous shudder passed through you and prickled up your spine at the thought of those hypnotizing eyes studying you while you lay enraptured beneath him, completely at his mercy. As he takes a few tentative steps toward you, his right hand glides and rests softly on your hip, making you gasp with surprise, your heartbeat fluttering and pounding deafeningly in your ears. Azul leans close to your ear, his breath coming out in hot, rapid pants, a carnal excitement that threatens to spill over and devour you whole. You swallow in nervous expectation, hardly daring to look into his lustful gaze. With his elegant index finger, he lifts your chin up and you are left gasping and flushed beneath him, lips parted to beg him for more as his gentle caress lingers. He flashes a devilishly handsome smile before tracing your lower lip with a seductive slowness. "Please, allow me to escort you back to Octavinelle where I can properly tend to you and your condition," the breathiness of his voice and his lack of composure cause your clit to throb, your inner walls pulsating, pleading to be stretched and ravaged. His lecherous advances and insinuations combined with the aphrodisiac coursing through your veins is making you so aroused, even standing close to him is threatening to make you cum. The very fabric of his essence seems to burn a shade darker—there is a terrifying intensity to his ardent desire for you, yet also a rawness and exposure you hadn't seen on his usually suave and polished facade.

Your whole body flushes when your gaze lands upon the size of his aching erection, an impressive tent straining tightly against his immaculate slacks, begging for attention through the dark material of his trousers. There is a manic, primal gleam that's spreading rapidly across his entire visage; he looks rabid with uncontainable greed, and you shudder at the thought that Azul will use your body to satisfy his own dark and twisted curiosities. "Please... It's the least I could do. After all, our most unfortunate situation is all due to my own recklessness," Azul pleads. His tone of voice is unwaveringly convincing in its sweet charm, yet you cannot escape the licentious twinkle that betrays his intentions, eyes ablaze with passion and lips quivering at the thought of making you his forever.

"Please... Just let me serve you and tend to your every whim," he begs. Even though the tone of his voice suggests innocence, you're reminded once more that Azul Ashengrotto believes the true intent in a plea is only to benefit his own ambitions—how ironic, then, that you find yourself overwhelmed with the desire to listen to the velvety cadence of his whispered sweet-nothings until you orgasm multiple times around the girth of his hard dick. Before you can speak, he reaches out and threads his fingers between your own. It was impossible to say no to the lilting honey of his tone, nor was there any will to fight as his firm and commanding hands ushered you towards the teleportation door. He practically pulls you into the mirror with him, and with a twinkly, delighted laugh, his covetous hand grasps you harder than ever as the portal draws closer, his eyes and touch almost reverential—eager, desperate, craving. The surface of the mirror swallows both of you up as the shadows distort the edges of your vision. The whole world spins around you both before the smell of the sea overwhelms your senses—the crispness of ocean air fills your lungs, and a feeling of cool relief washes over your flushed skin. In seconds, Azul is shoving you into an elevator and hitting the button to his suite. When the metal doors slide open, he gently shuffles you forward as he urges your body closer and closer toward his bedroom.

After his dorm door slams shut, your bodies mindlessly work to free the other's of their pesky and offending clothing, eager and restless fingers tearing and ripping at each article as though your lives depended on it. As each piece of clothing is discarded on the floor, new heated skin presses desperately into another as your erotic moans reverberate through the air. It feels electric, the way your sensitive, exposed bodies seek each other out, pawing and grasping at any available flesh and kissing any naked skin you can reach. Your hot, yearning mouth hungrily seeks Azul's for an urgent, feverish kiss—it is sloppy, desperate, almost savage as you share the intensity of your lusty feelings, gasping into each other's mouths, sucking, nibbling, tasting the sweet and sticky aphrodisiac concoction still lingering on both of your tongues. When Azul finally sheds his trousers, his painfully erect member juts out, throbbing and eager, bouncing happily and proudly as it quivers with eagerness. His knees weaken at the sudden release of the tension he'd suffered since the accident, the air a bit brisk against the heat of his erection, which begs to nestle itself securely into an inviting heat and fill your womb with the lusty seed it desires to spurt forth. His cock is ruddy and reddened, and his sack hangs swollen and tight with pent-up pressure. He doesn't think it possible for it to throb and swell even larger, yet its angry head and veins grow dark and twitch from his hot blood pumping. His hand mindlessly falls to his cock, and at the first stroke to his aching member, a needy whine catches in his throat. There is no time for shyness or apprehension. Whatever spell you were both under was driving you forward—like two planets caught in the gravity of an irresistible force, each gravitationally pulled toward the other with no means to stop. The rational part of his brain has been overwhelmed by an urgent instinct. Azul knows without a shadow of doubt that the only cure for this overwhelming haze of sexual depravity is to thrust himself deep inside the hot, velvety cunt of his precious lab partner.

Next thing you knew, you were pushed roughly, falling backwards before connecting against the smooth, luxurious blankets covering his mattress. He follows eagerly, letting his entire weight drop against your form and trapping your supple body beneath his. It was then, right then, when Azul found that the feeling of his aroused cock pressing against your thigh was unbelievably divine—a warm and pleasant tingling sensation spreading all over his hot, hard shaft and emanating out from his loins. With a contented hum, Azul can't resist the urge to buck his hips against your warm skin, stroking his arousal a little further, groaning at the exquisite friction. What a delicious sight you are—all nude and aroused—splayed and exposed across his bed. The effects of the potion have left you looking thoroughly wrecked, legs open, dripping and hot with an aroma so alluring, it nearly knocks the air out of his lungs. You are positively lovely, just as he'd always dreamed, with your petals unfurled and beckoning, enticing him further and drawing him in as your soft moans coaxed his cock in closer. To see you writhing and panting, the flush of your skin as you burned with longing for him...it was exactly as he'd always wanted it, almost as though someone had crafted the perfect image just to fulfill his darkest wishes. A surge of erotic fantasy comes upon him, and Azul's breath hitches in his throat as he ponders, briefly, about your womb filled with his seed, his beautiful angelfish round with child. He wants nothing more than to unceremoniously bury himself as deep within as he can, to push his thick, pulsating shaft as far as you could manage and stay buried to the hilt for days. His body quivers with excitement as a particularly vulgar dream reenters his mind. He had longed, always, to possess a most lascivious power over you—the power to make you writhe and squirm in bliss, and more importantly, in total and unbreakable dependence and submission for him—the neediest, sluttiest mess imaginable. Perhaps he'd have to thank Grim later for consequentially bringing about this fortunate chain of events.

Azul begins stroking himself fully, unabashed in his view of the sight before him. You don't protest the show. In fact, a high pitched, whimpery moan escapes you as you bite into your thumb to stifle the volume, but the sound is not missed, the harsh pang in his cock proof enough. After some thought, he realizes that he much preferred when you had been writhing and moaning quite uninhibitedly a moment earlier. You shift uncomfortably underneath his heated gaze as his eyes drink in every little curve, every little wrinkle and fold of your dripping pussy. Your toes curl inward and the ache deep within you demands attention. "You're so perfect, my little angelfish. Your body is exactly as I imagined," his saccharine voice admits as he leans forward, letting his fingers dance across the swell of your breasts. His left hand cradles your jaw and throat as his right continues its delicate massage across the plush pillow of your breasts, toying with the perked nubs of your nipples as his thumbs swirl small circles against the delicate flesh.

Azul's gentle touch ignites flames under his fingertips that follow his descent down to the juncture of your legs. The first brush against your swollen bundle of nerves and slit has your spine arching upwards, making his cock throb even more painfully, stiffening under the visual of your trembling body. A whine escapes and your hips grind involuntarily, the heat building intensely as his fingers begin to experimentally spread your folds slowly, running the tip of a finger from your core to the hood of your pearl. Without warning, Azul swipes upwards, expertly pulling back the hood and exposing the raw, sensitive flesh of nerves underneath, pinching down on the fleshy bud and causing you to yelp loudly in shock. With a satisfied grin, his forefinger begins to toy and tweak the hardened bud, rubbing gentle, rhythmic patterns over and over against the bundle as a chorus of delightful, high-pitched squeals fill his dormitory. After a few more ministrations, his hands continue down, delving his fingers straight into the moistened and heated opening, swiping up the slick mess you had coated his palm in. Two long fingers deftly slip right between your folds, caressing their way around your labia, your wet walls clenching around his fingertips desperately. "This wetness, for me?" Azul chuckles wickedly, crooking his fingers upward and brushing your g-spot with a knowing curl of his fingers, sending you spasming, gasping, and writhing in ecstasy, eyelashes fluttering wildly. "Oh, my dearest—so precious, my angelfish. That's it, so beautiful, just for me..." His voice drips with lecherous intent, his body moving without even the slightest hint of hesitation as though you were merely an extension of his own and not even a separate entity. Your wetness coats his fingers easily as Azul keeps sliding his fingers into your wet heat until the pads of his fingers touch all your deepest, hidden places, causing more sweet moans to fall from your lips and echo through his room. He scissors and curls his digits inside, stroking you slowly as though wanting to feel every bump, crease, and ridge along your walls, claiming his ownership over your deepest parts with a sinister delight.

A pressure builds and teeters precariously right at the precipice—the curling of his digits work feverishly to milk every drop of pleasure he can from your shuddering body, the warm flood of wetness drenching his eager fingers and making his head fall back with a sensuous moan. He continues with his relentless assault against your pussy, whispering filthy compliments about how badly he wanted to fuck you and how sexy it is when you take his fingers so well. Your legs flutter open wider, inviting his slim and nimble digits deeper within you, fucking them vigorously as your release begins to pool, rising closer to the boiling point. The aphrodisiac grips its poisonous talons deeper into your mind, warping and bending everything into an unshakable desire to submit yourself and your pleasure to the hands of the devious sea creature above you. He leans down, his silvery eyes roving over your face in an intense appraisal, his features drawn in with concentration, mapping out how to unravel you—there wasn't an emotion or micro expression that slipped past his vision as he carefully considered all the factors of how best to please and overwhelm your body with incomparable rapture. There isn't anything else beyond the present—no outside forces, nor worries about the consequences of being intimate. There's simply no room in your mind to think at this point, the cloudiness of the effects rendering your body vulnerable—you give yourself up entirely. He drinks up every breath, every shake and shiver, as he continues calculating your climax, relishing in each tiny noise or action he drew from you, meticulous with the acquisition of your bliss.

"Yes. Give in." he laughs maniacally, his face fully consumed in the intense madness of his lustful insanity. "Give in to every sensation. Let me drive you wild... Do as I command and cum," Azul demands you through his laughter, his breathing rapid and heavy as he watches your eyes rolling back. He moans in awe as the loud, slick sounds of his hand filling your soaking cunt meet his ears and a deep flush travels across his collarbones. His own needy cock leaks, eagerly anticipating what's next as its engorged state bulges obscenely, its every vein throbbing with virile desperation. Your high-pitched moans continue for some time as his pace stays fast, until you can finally feel your entire body tensing up, the fire coiling inside your gut ready to explode any moment. Everything builds higher and higher to the peak, every muscle and nerve fiber in your body primed to receive that last push that would send you catapulting over the cliff. As he feels your walls tremble, Azul moans along with your high-pitched wailing. A deranged smile stretches across his face and his silver eyes fill with amusement and fascination.

Azul leans into your ear, whispering sweet nothings mixed with commanding, demanding words to finally succumb, "That's it...Let go..." He twists and digs deeper, stroking the perfect places inside you, hitting the correct spots relentlessly in an overload of mind-bending, debauchery-fueled, electric-spark pleasure, forcing your senses to dissociate from reality. His thrusting hand matches the frantic racing of his own heart, unable to keep the carnal fever down. "Give in... submit yourself fully, and surrender that orgasm. It's mine. I've worked for it, and now it belongs only to me." He whispers in a devilish growl, nibbling on your ear as his strokes become rougher, harder, faster—you can hardly stand the overwhelming force of your pleasure before its sweet relief crashes like waves. A broken moan leaves your mouth, a pure exaltation of uncontrolled passion. Noises come tumbling out and spilling over until you finally dissolve into a messy orgasm, shrieking his name in pleasure as his hand slows its motions but doesn't stop, keeping its pressure steady and rocking the whole of your existence until your mind goes blank. "Such a good, obedient angelfish, giving me all of your sweet, succulent cum... all for me, yes?" Azul hums sweetly, teasingly. "Oh, this is so precious," he sighs, feeling the quaking and trembling of your fluttering walls. His expression melts into one of deep satisfaction and pride.

"There you go, my lovely angelfish. Just as I said I would," Azul croons. Without another word, his hand, wet with your desire, abandons its ministrations, pulling from your depths with a slick pop, leaving your empty cunt to tremble from his absence. Azul brings his fingers to his mouth for a lewd taste test, licking the juices from his hand as a self-indulgent smirk plays upon his lips. As he rolls the digits around his tongue, sampling the essence of your cunt, a sharp groan rumbles deep from within his chest, the vibration coursing down his spine and directly into his throbbing member. Even as his breath grows heavy from the feeling of his needy cock, the smug, triumphant smirk doesn't disappear. He enjoys the honeyed, tangy sweetness and savors the lingering sensation on his taste buds—another string attached, making it utterly impossible for him to let go. A low chuckle is heard from deep in his chest, dark and hauntingly mirthful. From his pleased sigh, you could easily read the insatiable hunger growing within his gleaming eyes—clearly the lust in his loins has only been ignited further—a starving, manic beast hungry for even more from your yielding form, an insatiable craving that can't be satiated so easily. His cock visibly twitches, begging for him to mount you and thrust his painfully aroused length as far as he can manage deep into your eager, spasming pussy. The aphrodisiac courses through his veins with all the potency of a tropical storm, whipping every nerve into a frenzy as the instinct takes hold in Azul's most primordial thoughts and drives all those cravings with an irrepressible urgency—he simply has to get your pregnant. Azul's cheeks flush with a reddish-pink shade as he fixates on you, the hunger in his gaze absolutely feral, filled with a single-minded lustful determination to breed you.

When your eyes meet his maddened, love-struck stare, you are overcome with the same desperation radiating from your womb, urging to be stuffed and claimed by his thick load. At last, the two of you had connected in this all-consuming fire—a conflagration of desire so severe and a love so encompassing that both of you could do nothing more than dance on the ashes and burn with the flames. In that moment of recognition, an irresistible, bewitching aura emanates from him and mesmerizes you as the air of mystery dissipates from his visage, the eroticized specter of the fearsome and dangerous, devious mogul melts away to reveal the raw intensity of the young man underneath, exposed in all his ardent, unfettered passions. Here stands Azul, naked with vulnerability, desiring only a love that no other has been able to truly give. He's always tried to prevent access to his real emotions, afraid of the kind of cruelty they would reap upon him if they were found. He didn't believe himself to be worthy of their regard, let alone capable of receiving someone's genuine affections. With you, though, there were none of his signature theatrics, no polite deflection, nor charming evasiveness; he gave you full permission to view him and all of his repressed feelings on full display. An open book, Azul trusts you enough to expose his heart fully, so transparent in his neediness. Since he brought you to his bedroom, there was never the slightest hint of deception in his tone—not once had he attempted to distract you, nor used a tactic or trick. Perhaps his true intentions for getting close to you were more admirable than you thought, his desperation to get close to you was merely just a pining for your love rather than a sordid trick. His earnest, loving gaze, combined with the grip of your desire, makes something finally shift within, like the turning of the tide—a sense that it was fated for you to fall and crash so desperately, madly, and completely for him—a long-awaited inevitability, just as he had already done for you long before this Alchemy accident. Azul was an adoringly gentle yet brutally powerful force, a pillar in your life you can lean into without hesitation. All of your fears, worries, and frustrations are suddenly null, evaporating into the thin air of Octavinelle, carried into the gentle waters outside the window and disappearing into the seas.

Nothing is more erotic than seeing his carefully maintained veneer crumbling before you and letting himself fall apart at the seams. No longer hiding his desires or his ambitions for you, Azul's lusty hunger has you excited, aroused, and turned on like never before. You return his lustful, hazy expression and Azul is drawn right into the softness of your inviting stare. Your mouth parts to allow a needy moan to pass as you buck your hips slightly, inviting him to finally claim your body as his, a beautiful sacrifice you're eager to make for a beautiful siren such as him. With a deep, lewd groan, Azul pushes off your trembling body, propping himself onto his knees and groping at your chest, making you mewl. There's no trace left of the smooth businessman persona, not even a hint of it lingers when his wet mouth kisses at your mounds and his large hands explore the contours of your curves, his fingertips desperately memorizing the way you're put together, tracing every bit of available flesh. His eager tongue swirls at your peaked nipples, moaning in appreciation and delight. Your mind is being swallowed by a bubbling wave of bliss that has no end as his hand trails across your hips, his touch is as gentle as a ripple in the water. With a shyly embarrassed flush and a sigh of wanton abandonment, you surrender entirely to him—letting the sea creature drown you in ecstasy, deeper and deeper, into the endless ocean. He caresses your stomach gently, the calloused pads of his fingers exploring the sensitive skin where he knows your womb lies. Your heart stumbles as his lips twist upward in an impish smirk at the thought of all the cum he's soon going to pump straight into the cavity. He palms your belly, which would soon carry his progeny as an inevitable result of this union, imagining his angelfish's stomach rounded and taut with his unborn child, perhaps, even more than once—Azul's thoughts are full of fantasies about filling you and fucking your pretty little womb over and over until he succeeds and you're blessed with his babies. Azul hums at the image of your pregnant body, worshiping the slope of your thighs and rubbing his hands up your waist and the undersides of your breasts. Azul knows that even if it doesn't work right away, he is more than prepared to breed you again and again as many times as necessary. He is more than certain you'll eventually give him a consortium of little octopus-human hybrids. After all, you'd offered yourself up in the end. Who was he not to take what was freely given?

He grasps the back of your knee to prop up your leg in the air, shifting closer. In one fell swoop, your tender thighs are flung open, revealing your glistening cunt. Azul moans, running the rough pad of his finger right up the slit of your lips. You're already a mess, his slick hand had not been able to satisfy your heat at all, it only created a further yearning deep within that could only be satisfied by his aching cock. Azul settles against the fronts of your thighs, letting the stiff heat of his bulging erection nestle against the dripping lips of your cunt, already poised and eager for insertion. The anticipation causes the two of you to tremble slightly at the intimacy, your lips wet and sticky as they run against the length, his cock drooling freely from the tip and leaking beads of sticky, precum fluid right across your folds. With one more affectionate, sweet peck against the corner of your lip, and another one right upon your forehead, Azul slowly glides inside. A shared cry of euphoria leaves your mouths simultaneously as Azul buries the full length of his throbbing cock into your sopping entrance, thrusting powerfully to hilt balls-deep. The pure, erotic rapture of finally consummating your love floods both of your veins. His dick is filling you in the most indescribable way and stretching your cunt so deliciously that stars appear behind your eyes. A glorious symphony of relief sings in your blood while his hard girth massages your innermost walls as though he were meant for no other—like he was perfectly made to be the puzzle piece filling your immaculate pussy. You both gasp sharply in unison as the sensation sends tremors down his shaft. Every vein, ridge, and inch of his length drags deeply with each thrust as he grinds you thoroughly, bringing your clits into tantric connection and rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves back and forth in perfect time with the rocking motion. Each snap of his hip makes the two of you share a joyful sob as he pleasures you in the most divine manner.

A low and sinful groan passes through your lips as your hands grip him tighter, begging him to increase his momentum and pace. Azul's hands clutch you in a tight embrace, his chest to yours with every inch of his hardness fully embedded into your velvety passage, sending white-hot sparks of pleasure shooting to the deepest recesses of your innermost being, triggering the sudden rush of a climax that is starting to rise to its precipice. Azul groans as your juices run down his balls, pooling around his sack and providing more lubrication for his relentless drive inside of you. You clench and flutter around him, squeezing your inner walls with every desperate urge for friction and movement, drawing Azul's eye right up to yours in a lusty daze. His body is coiling for release, ready to cum, and there's a glitter of utter happiness in his expression. His lips quiver with desire and he smirks as he feels you clamping and spasming around his rock-hard dick, begging him to breed you like the little slut that he secretly knows you are, all while knowing deep down you'd get so unbelievably plump and swollen with his hatchlings, he'd hardly be able to move his tentacles with all the kids crawling over him.

It's more intense, and far more electrifying than the filthy fantasies that had invaded his sleep every lonely evening whenever he gave in to his insufferable yearning for you. He'd envisioned this, over and over—what it would feel like to make you orgasm, just how satisfying it would feel to cum with you at the same time, and how heavenly it would be to stretch your cunt so snugly—and yet, in this moment, it surpasses his imagination exponentially, eliciting a complete flood of sensual pleasure all throughout his senses. Not even his wildest wet dreams had prepared him for the heady intoxication and undeniable high he experiences with you—being passionately and physically intertwined, wrapped around the most sublime euphoria that was possible—a wave so dizzying that there's absolutely no going back to life without the other once your bodies have succumbed and reached that ultimate, highest peak.

When Azul hits the point of no-return, his legs start shaking as though his limbs were going to fall off. His fingers tangle roughly in your hair as he drags your mouth closer to meet his. With each heavy thrust, he swallows every moan that erupts from your throat. His movements become less coherent, rougher, and disjointed as the strength of your cunt's embrace pulses tightly around his shaft and urges him toward the edge. Suddenly, an intense wave of satisfaction takes hold and shoots to the tip of his cock, pulsating violently in need to release its seed. Azul can't help but groan loudly into your ear as he slams his cock into you with ferocious strength, fucking the life and soul right out of your being while a high-pitched scream accompanies the splash and squelching noises of your pussy. Your mouth has gone slack, jaw dropping as you cry out his name and climax with such power that it whips you into a complete frenzy of desperation, sending your vision dancing with lights. You quake and shiver under the force of his fervor and ecstasy, writhing on the mattress and throwing your head backward to soak in your overwhelming, toe-curling rapture. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, pounding you fiercely as you wail and shatter with a rush of emotions so intense, you don't know if you will ever put yourself back together. A strained whine and a few sharp pumps later, a surge of hot, wet euphoric heat shoots from Azul's balls and spurts out in ribbons of his own spent climax as he spends his load of pearly cum directly into your waiting womb, splashing your tight channel with a continuous stream—painting every crevice of your silken, fluttering, vice-like depths a glossy white. Azul is unable to help himself as his hips start grinding into yours with slow rolls, fucking and stuffing every drop of his sticky cream deeply and ensuring it remains securely nestled in your folds. Every remaining bit of sexual tension floods out as though you'd been submerged in the most heavenly waterfall of pleasure imaginable. Azul whines weakly into the pillow and your moans join, eventually dissipating into a heavenly silence as you sink heavily back to reality.

Time slows to an almost stop and your vision gets a bit hazy and bleary as the aphrodisiac magic completely pulses away. You two lay side by side on the soft blankets, still in the bed and soaked with sweat. Neither of you move for quite some time. Just in the wake of your post-orgasm, everything becomes intensely surreal. You try to breathe quietly so Azul doesn't hear and as his head rests on your breasts. He, too, is heaving with difficulty, each inhale is a conscious decision. He clings tightly against you, hands threaded together like a lifeline, afraid to let go. One last sentence leaves his mouth—a whisper that could have easily been missed by anyone except for you. It was a question.

"Are we both in love?" Azul asks with such hesitance, you think maybe you've misheard his inquiry. He is lying right by your side. His face is dangerously close to yours, and the way his stormy, ocean azure eyes reflect every emotion swirling inside allows you to see the years of hurt that's plagued him. He's absolutely enchanted, like you are the perfect dream come true—everything he'd ever imagined in one living, breathing, precious human body—a lover so magnificent he could hardly comprehend. He studies your expression with awe and reverence. A look so intensely raw it burns right through your heart and lights up the space in your soul that you never before realized was reserved just for him. "Because I love you... Truly and deeply. So much that I don't know how it was possible, even," Azul admits freely, without the least hint of apprehension or nervousness. You can feel the intensity and honesty of his words radiate through his trembling fingertips, through the places where his naked skin touched yours—he doesn't try to mask the pure unadulterated warmth and delight that leaks through the shaky but firm expression on his flushed face.

A wide, cheerful and genuine grin breaks out against your features as you nod enthusiastically, and it is almost as though a heavenly, soothing light has poured over his entire world. It feels like a dream, a fairytale that is too good to be true. Yet here you both lie, doused in the magic of the concoction, clinging to each other and to that euphoric elation after giving in to the passions and the chemical bonds. It felt incredible, it felt natural and familiar and right. This wasn't anything artificial, rather the long overdue acknowledgement of feelings that were there all along—a kindling of romance that was never forced, but rather fanned to life after many days spent as Alchemy partners. After seeing each other every day, getting to know each other's quirks, and learning of each other's daily habits, the intimacy had bloomed and nurtured into something tender and real. The closeness the potion provided simply allowed the two of you the confidence needed to step across a boundary and pursue things.

"This won't be something short lived... you understand what I am saying, yes?" His tone has a tinge of fear creeping in and you can't help but stroke the outline of his cheekbones. This feeling will not end with a simple fuck, you knew that deep in the marrow. There will be more of that to come. In fact, the thought of it has your cunt pulsing, your sex aching at the idea. "I simply won't have you anywhere else but with me, and here in my dorm. I just won't be able to be happy otherwise..." Azul's voice quivers as the vulnerable sincerity flows.

"Yes, Azul. Yes, I understand and I feel the exact same," you chuckle and cradle his head. His blue eyes crinkle slightly from the beam across his lips, and Azul can't resist pulling you in for a feverish kiss, groaning from the rush. That familiar, sinfully blissful high is starting to take hold again, the rush of the aphrodisiac stirring something fiery back into a pleasant burn. The chemical’s grip on the two of you continues. After all, nothing will stop the magic from bringing you closer together. He murmurs a seductive promise into the curve of your throat that he won't stop until his load drips and slides right out of your swollen cunt—he's going to breed you the rest of the night and spill as much of himself deep within as he can. He has no doubt you're going to give him a child that will cement this loving bond permanently.

Listen I don't know HOW this HAPPENED, I DON'T understand how I wrote this much. I am DELIRIOUS and I need to go pick up some pizza for dinner, so I wish I could say more here but I can't right now. I'll update this part when I get back home. I just needed to get this out into the UNIVERSE. THANK YOU ALL!!! HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!! <3333 Erica Malleleothreesome

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland smut #twisted wonderland x reader smut #twst smut #twst x reader smut #twst azul ashengrotto x reader smut #twst azul ashengrotto smut #twisted wonderland azul x reader smut #azul ashengrotto x reader smut #twst azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto smut #twst azul #twisted wonderland azul x reader #azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland azul #azul x reader #my writing

2K notes · View notes

neopuppy · 2 years

Text

Sleep Therapy (M)

Pairing. demon Jaemin x femaler reader

Genre. That Boys Is A Monster AU, life after Be There For You, explicit smut, M/F, dark fic

Warnings. heavy dubcon/noncon elements(don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable. I’m serious. thanks.), somnophilia, breeding, rough and unprotected sex, impreg kink, demon lore, camera use, praise, degradation, obsessive behavior

WC. 6.6(6)k

Now Playing. Slept So Long/Jay Gordon

‘Just wanted to watch you sleep. Wanted to be part of your dreams.’

It’s been hours.

It’s been days.

It’s been weeks.

Herbal teas, over the counter Melatonin, even prescribed sleep medication that could knock out a small child for days scattered your living room table; piled up only to mock you.

Useless, all of it completely useless as you enter another night of restless sleep.

Debilitated by lack of rest has forced you to take a sabbatical from work, per the suggestion of your regular physician. One week at the hospital under careful watch had you in tears every morning, pleading for something to help you. Anything.

It was more than the bags formed under your eyes. Hallucinations had become a reoccurring issue the longer you walked around like a living dead girl, unclear visions of men transforming into monsters; nightmares turned into reality.

“A sleep clinic might be our last hope,” your physician shrugs, having only reached this point with you after insisting you must be exaggerating. “I’ve contacted Dr. Na at the Vision Clinic, he’s the best Somnologist in the district. You should be in great hands.”

Great hands.

Great hands that led up to built up arms confined in a lab coat. Broad shoulders and a warm handsome smile that seems too blinding to even stare at for much long.

Dr. Na floats around his desk to greet you, light as a feather with the most calm of demeanors.

He smells lovely, soothing in a way similar to a hot stove warming up holiday cookies. Nothing too strong, but just enough to pick up a whiff of as he embraces your hand in greeting.

“My new patient.” He speaks with sparkling pearly white teeth on display. Every inch of him is a reminder of how wealthy Doctors are, from the silver Rolex watch adorning his wrist down to his freshly shined designer shoes.

He manages to maintain warmth in his gaze despite the obvious differences between the two of you.

Greasy hair, flesh empty of life and sweats you’ve turned into daily wear paired with fluffy Ugg slippers stand before him on your meek frame. Shyly nodding when he double checks how to pronounce your name and directs you to sit.

Dr. Na seemed too young to be a seasoned professional in this field. He couldn’t be much older than his mid-twenties. Albeit difficult to truly take him in full admiration as he sits against the ledge of the large crimson wooden oak desk placed in the center of his office. He takes time to run through your chart again, repeating the things you’ve heard for months now. No prior health issues or concerning conditions, a proper diet and lifestyle, nothing that could conclude how you’d end up here.

“How’s your caffeine intake?” Dr. Na asks with a charming lift at the corners of his mouth.

“Haven’t had any in two months now.”

“There are many causes behind insomnia.” Dr. Na nods, scribbling notes down while explaining. “I’ll schedule an MRI scan for later today to conduce if this could be connected to a chemical imbalance.”

“Chemical imbalance?”

“Emotional stress, perhaps trauma, lifestyle changes.” He smiles, akin to the way a Kindergarten teacher may when speaking to a naive child. “We will figure it out.”

Scribbling a few more notes, Dr. Na rips out a section of paper instructing you to head down to the cafeteria designated for patients to eat a proper meal. “I’ll be sending out the order for new medication to try. When it arrives at your room please make sure to follow the nurses directions and take them all. I will come by to check on you as soon as I have an open window of time.”

Dr. Na shifts to stand, the full size of him shadowed above your frail exhausted frame. “We’ll see how your nightmares play out this evening, once I can look through your MRI scan results we can move on to other options, such as hypnosis.”

“Hypnosis?” Even your speech comes out in a lazy drawl. Tongue heavy and dry, dizzy on your feet when you get up to head down. Already aware that you wouldn’t be eating much, even lifting a fork to your lips drained you.

“Of course, it’s one of my specialties.” He chuckles. “Might sound silly but I have a real knack for mind control, you’d be surprised how easy it is to dominate the human mind. It’s easier than training an animal.”

If it wasn’t for the speckled white dots infiltrating your vision, you might’ve noticed the slight change in Dr. Na’s expression. The flicker of black consuming his iris, the drag of his tongue across his upper row of teeth, and the amused hum passing through his throat as he takes in your appearance up close.

It’s been hours.

It’s been days.

It’s been weeks.

It’s been longer than that, months of watching you come in and out of your apartment. Endless days of parking far enough across from you to fly under your radar.

There was no rush, until there was.

Suddenly you had a companion walking you to your car after work, you had a reason to shop for pretty dresses, you sprayed more perfume on and smiled to yourself when opening up notifications on your phone.

Suddenly you felt further away, distracted by him. The stupid new much too friendly Economics professor who had found a way to stayed plastered to your side.

It’s too late anyway.

The sound of Jaemin’s knuckles cracked, echoing loud enough to lift your head with a glance around the coffee shop you frequented. He stayed leaned back in a corner less lit up, less noticeable, especially to someone as oblivious as you.

Someone so carefree and innocent, someone who didn’t even bother to make sure to grab the right drink from the counter when the barista called out your name. It was too easy to blindside you, drop a concoction of sleep medication in your cup as he picked up a quad shot Americano sitting near your milky vanilla latte.

Sip after sip had you yawning despite the powerful caffeine. Time and time again your usual morning pick-me-up failed you, to the point that you argued with the baristas about changing ingredients and formula.

It was too late.

Half asleep and drowsy, your key prodded at your front door in frustration, collapsing against it with your eyes shut and a crushed sigh.

The trap had been laid out, more out of enjoying the breakdown of watching you suffer and lose interests in everything the more you stayed awake night after night.

It made him laugh, entertained pulling on invisible puppet strings where he watched from down the hall as you crumbled to your knees, whining desperately for the key to unlock your apartment.

Weak, a perfect victim.

Jaemin had spent time finding you, it hadn’t been easy. Escaping hell never is afterall, bargains had to be made.

A vessel for his spawn, a strong healthy human vessel that could survive demonic childbirth. That was Johnny’s demands.

‘More than 1, I expect you to bring back many.’

You’d only be the first of the batch, the first to carry his lineage, the first to take his seed and hand over every bit of strength your little body had left in it after he finished.

and you’re perfect, immaculate in every way to carry his first child. The epitome of woman from the inside out. The sole purpose of your existence to be bred full, nothing but a hole to fuck.

Jaemin can’t deny the sick pleasure he gets just from watching you nearly pass out at your front door. A bump on your head the next day would be the only hint of what possibly took place. The bulky arms cradling your limp figure to bed would feel like a faded memory, the sound of your door being kicked shut, nothing more than a foreign thought, a distorted picture of a man hovering above you stripping off your clothing to settle you into your bed more of a nightmare than a dream.

Demons don’t have hearts, they don’t feel, they don’t care.

But you’d always be the first.

You’d always be special in comparison to the rest. The first kill of the hunt, the first prey to fall victim, the conquest alone would be more monumental than any of the rest. You’d be his favorite memory, the one he chose first.

Hunger and ache to destroy mattered more, and as his thick fingers dragged down your stomach, following the path of breaths lifting your ribs higher and lower, he salivates. He swallows at a dry itch at the bottom of his throat, fingers crushing your waist to dip in harder.

“Sleep tight princess.” He always spoke to you, a mere muffled sound in your mind.

Muffled sounds, staggered breaths, heavy weight suppressing your lungs and throat. Pain and fear, a dark sensation followed whenever the recollection of thoughts swarmed around.

It could be after a shower, brushing through your hair, applying lotion, dressing for work. The shadowed memory of something you can’t prove ever happened lingers.

Not even the pain in your lower back, the soreness between your thighs or marks blooming across your skin make any sense. Every idea or thought only seemed less plausible. No sign of break in, no clue to indicate intrusion to your home.

The thought of a demon stalking you day and night would never cross your mind.

Demons aren’t real.

Religion had never been an interest for you, your family hadn’t pushed any beliefs to follow. Most of what you’d learn about religious mythology stemmed from horror films, and demons just seemed like such an outlandish idea. A joke.

Why would you ever assume the doctor assigned to solve your problems could be the root of them.

Jaemin watches you sleep for the hundredth time, removing the crisp white lab coat to hang on a hook. He sits near the special bed for out-patients, away from the noise of machines and heart monitors. It’s quiet, peaceful and calm even as you sweat, breathe heavily and twist to hide your face.

Ruined. Mind deteriorated by dark evil, by happenings you have no control over.

It’s not the first time he’s visited your slumbering figure, your bare skin more ingrained in his mind than your clothed one.

The doors locked, nurses working the night shift too busy with sick patients to check on someone knocked out with sleep disorder.

Upon Dr. Na’s instructions no one should come by. As he undoes the buttons of his smooth ironed shirt he grins to himself. A camera’s set up in the room to capture your sleep schedule, how often you wake, if you sleep at all.

The dosage of medication you consumed tonight would be enough to tranquilize even a large dog. There’s no way you’d wake up tonight.

He didn’t want you to remember tonight, as much as the thought of your eyes fluttering open letting out a shrill scream when you see the visual above you made his cock twitch. A tingle burned from the bottom of his spine to his throat. It’d be fun to have you half-lucid, shouting and begging for him to stop.

But it’s more appealing to watch your arm flop limp at your side. Entertained by the way you seem uncomfortable even as you sleep.

Special.

Jaemin thinks about it, pushing the hospital gown up past your waist. He sucks at saliva filling his cheeks taking in the cute pair of light rosey toned panties hiding your center. You’re not even wet, yet, not that he cares. His cock only hardens thinking about it, smoothing down the expanse of your inner thighs. You’ll struggle more to take his size, cry and curl in to get away. Grip at the sheets by your head for some semblance, for anything to ground you and focus your pain elsewhere.

It’s not the first time he’s slowly tugged off your underwear. It’s not the first time he’s stretched your thighs open as far as they’re willing to go. The small scrunch in your nose informing him the pull hurts your hips, it aches up to your groin.

This is good, Jaemin thinks, this is good because he wants you to remember this. He wants you to know you’ve been claimed, fucked by something devilish and unholy. Touched and destroyed by sin in its human form. He wants you to see how well you take it, how your pilant body still manages to jerk and roll up seeking more of his length to dig deeper inside of you.

Tossing your underwear aside, he pauses to blink at the red light flashing on the camera. Recording everything he’s about to do.

He’s waited, waited so long that his cock twitches fiercely against his thigh at the visual of your exposed cunt.

Jaemin wants to take his time, savor the natural scent flowing from your middle. Drag his fingers aimlessly between your folds until you slicken up obscenely, bite every inch of skin, slap and knead handfuls of meaty flesh in a rough manner. Turn you on your stomach to force your ass up in his face, push your pussy folds open just to watch your hole plead. Empty. Begging for a fucking demon to fuck you even if it hurts, even if you don’t actually want it.

He wants to take his time, but he can’t. It’s been months of pulling out, jerking off on your pretty face, cooing and mewling above your cum splattered stomach. Smearing the warm arousal up your chest dreaming of the day he pours load after load inside of you.

and it’s time, it’s time to ruin you for good. Force your unconscious body to take and take.

One hand delicately tugs and strokes himself, hissing as he jerks away from his thumb rubbing across the head. Precum gathered there smearing around the tip, coating it in a thin layer of sticky gloss. His other hand works away the gown hiding your full breasts, ripping off the flimsy garment easily. Easy access to strip a patient, easier access to have you bare and ready for him.

His breath staggers, gliding the pads of his fingers down your chest. Your sternum rising and falling as a human should, because you’re full of life, full of emotions and feelings he could never understand anymore.

The connection to his human self evaded his memory years ago. Void of the life he once had, lifeless, mindless and consumed by nothing but the desire to create pain. To watch a stupid human like you in agony.

A stupid, stupid, pretty little human. Nothing more than a warm blood filled fleshlight to fuck.

Jaemin lets out a chuckle, dropping his neck back to stroke himself above your stomach. Slapping down the middle of your abdomen a few times just to watch your skin tremble beneath, just to picture how far deep inside of you he can reach. With your hips pushed up and expanded, he knows you’ll birth a child for him easily. A new spawn to create a powerful army in hell. The first of his bloodline to lead and carry on the fight for evil.

He knows you’ll make it through, because he won’t give you a choice.

Rubbing the head of his cock up from where your stomach dips to your navel, he almost wishes you’d wake up. Your weak arms would push up, slap his chest, punch his arms, burst into tears with protests.

That will come, in time.

In the meantime, he prods your belly button, smirking at the thought of fucking you there too. Fucking every hole on you just for fun, because who fucking cares what the king of hell demanded. Jaemin’s going to fuck you until only his needs are met and fulfilled.

The thought races through him spine to balls, hunching forward as he shifts on his knees. The bed dipping and creaking under his weight, switching to rub the tip on your clit.

Still dry.

Dry but warm. Warm enough to be incinerated by the jagged rub of his size passing between your folds. It’s dry, but it’s fucking good, just to feel your fleshy folds struggle along his veiny stiff rod. Just to feel your skin pucker against the sticky pre-cum coating areas of his shaft.

He grunts, rubbing his cock against the plush feel of your parted pussy folds, sneaking quick glimpses of your hole— so tight and closed up. Too tight to take his size without it hurting, without ruining your pussy to only take his cock.

He’s way too big, and he knows it. He knows it from the amount of times he's played with you, just swiping against your cunt. Teasing himself to the point of mind-numbing overstimulation by putting in just the tip. Whimpering even in your sleep from the push ripping you open.

Sucking at the drool lining his bottom lip, he staggers for a minute, pushing side to side against your pussy. Lazily drawing his eyelids up to take in your angelic face once more, so much purity and tenderness. All of it soon to be his.

The slumber you’ve drifted off into isn’t peaceful in the least. It’s hot, weighing down on your chest, an itch passing through your nerves. Running through endless hallways filled with doors leading to nothing, nothing but black emptiness.

It’s been Jaemin all along, smoothing your hair away from your face. Snaking his lips over your body layering patterns of kisses. Jerking off for hours on your face, chest, stomach, anywhere he felt like.

He thinks about it again, nudging in not even half of the tip against your resistant entrance. A rubber band-like snap pinches around the width of his size. The skin sucking around him already appears damaged, further arousing him to inflict pain upon you, to make it hurt. Make it hurt knowing you have no choice but to take it and enjoy it against your will.

Groping your jaw with one thick hand, he turns your restless passed out face to watch him; easy to picture your eyes shooting up full of red vessels and tears. It burns from his chest to his lower back, swiveling his hips to push in the rest of the tip of his length. The bulbous mushroom shaped cap suffocates inside of you. Dry and tight as fuck, he thinks fervently, hissing between his teeth shining under the dim light as his lips part in moan.

It’s more than good just to feel you choke around the tip, your mouth falling open with a staggered breath allowing him to pinch and roll your plump bottom lip between his fingers.

Jaemin pauses, once more absorbing just how lifeless and limp you lay spread open. Part of him craves for you to wake, to stare up in shock paralyzed by fear, to be able to relive the torture he’s prepared to demonstrate. To enjoy it, because you’re actually nothing but a filthy slut; his own little human fuck doll.

It’s time. It’s finally time.

Saliva drenched digits drag down your chin, the center of your throat, dipping between your exposed breasts. Hardened pebbled nipples peak upward, more stiff from the chilled air circulating the room than excitement. You’re too unaware to feel aroused or anxious, too lucid, lost in the nightmare grappling you through hell.

Even if you were to wake up, Jaemin would only fuck you harder, tackle you down to take, take, take.

A shot of exhilaration curls through his gut, tugging his spine toward his navel as he hunches closer with one hand planted by your head to stay propped up. Jaemin’s gaze locks on your core, a pussy made just for him, because it doesn’t matter who fucked you before. He’d be the last.

The slow drag out of you draws an anguished sounds from the back of his throat. He needs to see you one more time, one more time before he claims and makes you useless for anyone else.

With a fist wrapped around his length, his other hand palms your cunt, shoving your swelling slit open to see the full visual of your hole. So empty, tiny, like a fucking virgin.

It really makes his head spin for a minute, rubbing the pad of his finger in a circular motion over your entrance. The airy gurgle that escapes your lungs shoots his eyes wide, focused on your face burying into a pillow. He tugs on himself a few more times, mindlessly rolling two digits over the precum that won’t stop leaking. He needs to fuck you, now.

Stifling a grunt, Jaemin shifts an inch closer, wrapping a thick bicep under your thigh to spread you open more. The head of his cock swipes between your core, slapping down heavy. Heavy and loud despite the lack of wet to clash against. Wedged up as close as possible between your thighs, and Jaemin has to grit his teeth to contain a growl. Pushing his hips forward to rub the underside of his cock against your clit, he wants to let out a throaty cry; a muted sound of pain when he feels it.

You’re clenching around nothing, seeking something.. someone to fuck you. Unaware of what your body is even asking him to do. Each drag spurs your hole to clamp down more, the first push of wetness spewing out smears against his balls. His throat tightens up swiping between you again, the tip teasing and brushing against your entrance without entering.

Jaemin’s nostrils suck in, inhaling a deep breath as he watches his cock bounce off your fleshy folds in slow-like-motion. Nasty, so nasty and raw, wet for anyone like the textbook definition of a fucking whore.

The next stroke along his cock glides easily, wet from your dripping pussy, wet because your body wants him whether you’re awake or not. He doesn’t care, but he knows it, he knows from the way you stare. The dreams you have of him not even under his influence.

Pressing at your hole again has him drooling, laving at the innerwalls of his mouth to collect the saliva that won’t stop from pouring.

“Fuck.” Jaemin finally grunts, biting down on his teeth as he sinks inside of you. It’s wet and tighter than he could have ever imagined. The hand wrapped around himself hardly comparable after many nights spent jerking off on your backside.

A smooth thrust fills you up eagerly, a perfect fit making it too hard to hold back from cramming into you balls deep.

Jaemin stills for a minute, long eyelashes fan on the tops of his cheeks. Swallowing harsh enough for his Adam's apple to visibly bob up and down the length of his dipped back neck. “So fucking good, just like I knew you would be.”

Palms scramble along the sides of your thighs, grinding forward to watch your mouth fall open again. A silent cry he wants to hear echo through the room simply not enough. Reaching for your waist, Jaemin pins your upper half to the bed, wiggling his hips to keep your thighs around his sides.

“Wet like a whore.” Jaemin snickers, clicking his tongue along the backs of his teeth. The painful circle of his hips fills the room with gasped whines, grinning to himself because you’re enjoying it. You like getting fucked, even in your sleep. He could care less with the sole mission to breed you full of cum consuming his head. He thrusts finally, the head of his size catching on your hole earning a louder moan.

The warmth gripping his dick feels mind-numbing, the most he’s felt in months since hunting you down, and his pace alters immediately as the feeling finally gets to him. You’re his for the taking, his and only his.

“Mine.” Jaemin mutters to himself, ruthlessly thrusting back into you in a jerky motion. It’d be painful if you were awake, his pace alternating from meticulously deep rolls of his hips to sloppy, aggressive and messy. The sound of wetness more overbearing than the clap of your skin colliding.

He’s frantic, knowing he can fuck you like his as long as he pleases, and you can’t do anything about it.

Jaemin’s thick arms bracket your head, nose hovered above your lips. Moan after moan sounding more excruciating than the last. Fucking into your tight cunt like a man who just discovered the glory of a fleshlight, reckless abandonment. The ache against your groin and thighs one guaranteed to last for weeks to come.

“So fucking good for me angel.” Jaemin praises, head thrown back when you clench around him. It makes him laugh like a maniac, amused by the idea of you listening, hearing everything he says. Dropping his face to your throat, he licks up your jaw to your earlobe, nibbling before he whispers. “Pretty baby loves getting fucked like a slut.”

A sigh sings from your lips, the prettiest sigh he’s ever heard. A sigh that runs in circles throughout his mind, turning to drop his cheek against yours with wide eyes focused on shut ones. The heavy weight of your eyelids taunting him, pushing him to fuck harder for just a glimpse of your hidden iris.

He could cum off that alone, and it punches through him with the next thrust, burying his thick fat length as deep inside of you as he can. Surely deep enough to rip through your insides, the weight of his heavy cock poking between your pressed together stomachs with each pointed thrust.

Jaemin’s obsessed with the grip your pussy gives, needing to feel you lock you and struggle to take him through your unwanted pleasure once more. Snaking his hand between your connected lower halves, he roughly rubs at your engorged clit, fat between his fingers from neglect. The need to cum more prevalent for the both of you than he cares about, but it feels too good to force his size past your shrunken entrance.

“You’re so fucking good for me. You don’t even know.” Jaemin babbles to himself, nose digging into your cheekbone to quiet the groan ripping through his chest. The sound of your wetness fills the room up in the most obscene way, splashing against his thighs and stomach with each impactful land of his hips.

“Ah��fuck!” A string of curses soars free, jostling you up the hospital bed that struggles to stay in place as he fucks you at a near inhumane pace. The whites of your eyes gleam with his next thrust, rolled back from the powerful hit that arches your back involuntarily.

“Fuck you all night, gonna fuck you everyday.”

Jaemin cries out, ripping a chunk of your hair with a balled up fist to unveil the column of your throat, biting down as the coiling heat in his gut becomes too overwhelming.

And he cums, screaming with his teeth dug into your skin. Bits of flesh scraped off by his sharp canine teeth, but still not enough to wake you, even as you let out a weak moan intensely squirting release around his size.

It’s almost too hard to stay put inside of you, having to realign his weight to keep his cock in despite the wet arousal bursting trying to shove him out.

It’s more desperate than he wanted, to fuck you like he owns you, because he does now. You’re his from inside out now. You’ll always be his.

Jaemin’s flopping down to his stomach, pushing your pussy folds open to ensure every drop of cum disappears. He has to fight back the urge to lean in, slurp of the slick wet coating your labia to watch your hole convulse, twitch and swallow down the white mess of cum passing through.

“We always have tomorrow to keep trying.” He grins wolfishly, throwing your gown back on without a care. “and the day after that.”

The camera shuts off, near the end of it’s battery life, and he thinks the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Scooting back toward your heaving figure, he leisurely trails up one of your thighs, playfully pushing them apart to memorize how damaged he’s left you. A fat wad of cum bubbles deep in your stretched out hole, gaped around nothing, sore and painful looking.

When morning comes you’ll wonder again why your body hurts so much. You’ll cry miserably, losing your patience, ready to end your battle, ready to give up. That’s what Jaemin wants anyway.

“Goodnight angel.”

It’s been over a week now of staying at the clinic, and you feel worse than when you arrived.

“How long has it been since you’ve had a good nights sleep?”

The questions rhetorical, not that you’d be able to decipher the true meaning behind your doctors words.

Between nightmares altering reality and mixing up different prescribed medications, you no longer had a grasp on time. Nothing felt real anymore, even the metal table before you reflecting your exhausted lifeless appearance felt like some horrific illusion.

“I can’t remember.”

Dr. Na leans closer to you with his elbows propped on the table to perch his chin in his hands. A soft yet devious smile painted on his lips as he watches you lose your fight.

“I’ll show you what you have forgotten.”

Dr. Na could say anything to you at this point really. Beyond the horrific visions taking over your brain, your body felt like it was breaking down on you. Every muscle sore, even your bones ached, new marks of bruising appeared everyday.

“I believe, I’ve figured out what’s keeping you awake.” The doctor says, turning to a rolly table at his side. Click clacks of typing sounds throughout the empty room, clearing his throat as he turns a black screen to face you.

“You have?”

Dr. Na stands, he smooths back a bang piece of hair that's fallen loose. The lab coat fitting his frame perfectly begins to slip from his wide shoulders and he removes it without breaking eye contact.

“You see, you’re a special case to me.” He continues, rounding the table to stand behind where you sit with his heavy palms weighing down on your slumped shoulders. “I’ve invested so much time and energy into you.”

Dr. Na’s lips pout behind you, gathering your hair off to one side to tickle down the side of your marked up throat. Marks left behind from his ruthless grip choking away your breath while he fucked you harder and deeper without anything or anyone to restrain him.

“In return, I need you to listen.”

“Doctor?” He could be speaking a foreign language as far as you’re concerned. Tilting your chin to the side to look up at him, your forehead wrinkles confused, met with the always handsome comforting face. Big doe eyes that round in a precious way that makes you feel as if everything will be ok.

“Shh shh” pinching your chin, Dr. Na turns you to face the screen, leaning the weight of his chest against the back of your head as he reaches over. Fingers click down, a video of your sleeping figure taking over the laptop screen.

“Did I do something in my sleep?” You wonder, watching as you struggle to stay still. Your feet kick the more you turn side to side, it’s uncomfortable to see yourself in distress.

“Not quite, angel.” Dr. Na huffs, continuing to push his chest closer to you. He has you hunched in closer, face lit up by the screen. Surprised as the doctor appears, and bright red eyes flash in the direction of the camera. A glitch because of the dim-lighting, you decide. “But I did.”

It’s shocking, disgusting, and humiliating to see what happens next. The choked gasp that pours from your mouth trapped by a large hand slapping down on your lips.

“You see, I chose you sweetie.” Dr. Na’s tone falls an octave, the sugary sweetness behind his words disappearing. “This whole time, I molded you, prepared you for this.”

He nods, pushing his other hand down to grip and hold your stomach. “To carry my future child, to birth my spawn.”

Screams go muffled beneath the palm splayed over your mouth, shoved up with an arm belted around your waist to bend over on the table. Dr. Na rips at the hospital gown covering your backside, arching your neck with his powerful hold on your face to force you to continue watching him take advantage and use your body.

“I said shush!” He sounds more demonic now, displaying an inhuman strength as he shreds off your underwear. The chill air floating through the room smacks your core quickly sending your knees to clink together. Fearful as you watch the man on screen rip you open from the inside. “Almost liked you better asleep.”

He has the audacity to laugh when tears trickle down his fingers, kicking your thighs open with a knee as he plants against your bent body. The cool table melting against your heated flesh with his hips smacking into your bottom. Three fingers shove into your mouth as you attempt to scream for help, someone, anyone to hear you and stop what happens next.

“You see,” fingers drag up the backs of your thighs, gripping roughly where they land on your ass to spread you apart. Sucking in air between his teeth at the sight of your ruined hole, swollen and painfully stretched from the amount of times he’s fucked you through the night now. “You’re perfectly healthy, couldn’t be better. A little stupid, but you’re human afterall.”

He doesn’t explain more than that, thrusting his fingers deeper into your mouth to quiet the coughs and cries spilling out of you. The sound of a zipper opening has you weakly attempting to thrash back, fight him off.

He’s too big, he’s too strong, too powerful to kick away.

The first touch of his bare skin shoots your eyes open, crying out as his girth lands against your core.

He’s too big. He’s too fucking big, and he’ll break you.

Pleads fall empty trying to pray for mercy, his cock only leaking out more spurts of precum as a murmured ‘please God’ sounds.

“God can’t help you now, sweet little angel.” He sneers, rubbing the length of his size between your folds just as he begins to on the screen. The hold on your jaw forces you to watch each action, to watch the way he manipulates your body to do as he pleases.

“Don’t want it princess?” He grunts shakily, growling in his chest because you’re already wet. So fucking nasty, hot and wet between your thighs, canting back to meet his cock ramming against your meaty folds. “But look at how much you loved it.”

He shakes your head in a mocking manner, much like a child being punished for uttering a bad word. The screen too blurry behind your tears, but the image is clear enough to see your doctor take advantage of you in your most innocent helpless state.

“Please, please doctor…please.”

The sound of his tongue clicking in dismay echoes like a jeer, circling your entrance with the tip the more you plead. “Jaemin. Enough of this bullshit doctor act.”

Nothing he says to you makes sense anymore, incapacitated by his weight crushing your feeble body to the table. Deeming your pussy wet enough, he scoots forward to sandwich past your clamped thighs, kicking a foot roughly between your knees for more leverage. He wants it to hurt, wants you to scream to make up for all the times he’s let you enjoy it, wants to see you cry and beg for him to stop.

One swoop forward gives him exactly what he desires, shallowly fucking his full heavy girth in even with how tight you still manage to be. The video on screen displays a similar act, different in position, lacking the blood curdling screams and cries you let out as he mocks and laughs.

“So pretty baby, you’re so pretty for me.” Jaemin licks at his upper lip, jostling against you a few times as he turns you by your chin to look at him, cracking your neck with the strain. “Can I fuck you? Huh?”

He laughs again, an arrogant disgusting laugh, emphasizing the question with another piston of his hips. “Can I? My sweet angel can take it. You already have.”

It’s too easy, you’re nothing but a mindless hole succumbed to his strength. The man behind you more demonic than anything, the gentle features of your concerned doctor turned dark, menacing, purely evil.

His hips hammer wildly, keeping your face turned to the side to watch the way he ravages your body. To watch him destroy and rip away your soul.

Every choked miserable cry you let out only heightens his pleasure, snapping his hips brutally against your backside. The pain hits from both ends with each dig of your thighs and pelvic bone cutting against the table.

“You were tighter the other night.” He spits, wadding up saliva to aim at the middle of your fast. The nasty thick wetness trickling from the bridge of your nose to the puddle of snot and drool accumulated on your lips. “Already fucking loose, you know what that means?”

Fingers squeeze past his relentless hips, shoving between your buttcheeks to scratch at your rim earning a shriek and scurry of your feet to get away. The sadistic laugh that booms out behind you sending shrill fear up your spine, tightening up around the length punching in and out of you with intention to hurt.

“Ah, fuck, yeah. Like that.” Jaemin pushes back, choking your neck from behind to hold you down. Palm smacking down angrily on your rim. “but not today.”

He reaches around, finding your clit between his middle and index finger to pinch and roll until you lift onto your tippy toes with a gurgled scream. “Can’t fuck a baby into you back there.”

“Doctor, please! Stop!” Between heavy breaths and sniffles, Jaemin keeps laughing, biting on his lips from the conflict in your tone. Your pussy locked around his length begging for more the louder you cry and protests.

“Don’t have to beg.” He taunts, licking up your back to bite down on your jaw, his fingers continuing to pleasure your bundle of nerves incessantly. “Gonna fuck you full of cum regardless. You’re so wet for me princess.”

It’s sick, sensing the last semblance of energy leaving your fingertips, the hold you had on the table goes numb, shaking against your will as orgasm rips through you making Jaemin growl and fuck harder past the convulsing around his size. He crushes against you completely, knocking your lungs free of all air, desperately twitching as he paints your insides once again.

He’s quick to recover, faster than you can process, pulling out to throw you down onto your knees and stroke the last spurts of cum onto your lips before you can try to crawl away.

“You’re mine now.” Dr. Na’s chest beats up and down drenched in sweat. You shouldn’t like it, but as you wait for the bile to rise up your esophagus you can’t look away. The pads of his fingers clean your chin, pushing release past your swollen abused lips. Nodding with his chin that you swallow it all.

“What did I just say?” He tuts, pushing two digits down on the middle of your tongue until you cough and choke. Jerking out with a river of drool streaming out onto the floor, onto his designer loafers.

“I’m yours.” You repeat, sniffling with a cough as the tangy taste of cum lodges in your throat. It’s everywhere, rubbed raw onto your skin, stuck between your teeth. The statement is nothing but true as he watches you swallow.

“Exactly.” Dr. Na scoops you up, perched on the edge of the table to slap your thighs open. “You’re mine, and I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

#jaemin smut #na jaemin smut #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct jaemin #jaemin fanfic #na jaemin fanfic #nct dream fanfic #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #neopuppy fics #jaemin imagines #onek #jaemin scenarios #nct dream imagines

2K notes · View notes

genshin-squabbles-and-wobbles · 9 months

Note

can i request for albedo, tighnari, and xiao scenario where the reader asked them a question to the genshin men if they find the reader annoying?

this scenario being all fluff/comfort <3

Yes I can, darling. Since I am someone, who very much knows, that I myself, is the most annoying thing to ever spawn upon this earth, I can relate. (ಥ﹏ಥ)

Albedo ═══════════════════════════════════════

"Albedo..." You walked up to him and timidly and fiddled with your fingers. You never really knew what Albedo was thinking as he always had a straight face. What was he thinking when he decided to be in a relationship with you. Did he truly mean it?

Albedo was in his zone, in his alchemist lab. He was researching elemental reactions and what more can be done with, as a new way to create a better stance on fighting with elemental reactions. Once he heard your voice, he didn’t turn around, he continued to work on his research.

"Yes? Everything okay, my dear?"

" Am I...annoying?"

Albedo turned around and raised his eyebrows up at you. "Now, curiously, what is motivating you to ask such a question?"

"I-I don’t know...I just...want to know if I happen to annoy you..."

Albedo put his vile of chemicals down and walked to you. He took your hands into his and looked at you. "No, I don’t find you the least bit annoying. Your accompany is enjoyable, along with our conversations, and you helping me with my research. It's impossible to find you annoying."

He pulled you into a hug, and rested his cheek on your forehead. "Now, cease these silly questions. Come. Have dinner with me. I'll show you how much you mean to me." He smiled at you gently.

Tighnari ══════════════════════════════════════

"Hey, Nari sweeite?" You tried to get Tighnari's attention as you both were walking through the trails of the forest ranger paths. You were checking on the plants, and animals and making sure that the ecosystem remained balanced and safe. "Yes?" He said as he kneeled to look more into a plant, and began noting it in his journal. His tail swayed a bit with interest.

You when to kneel next to him and looked at his focused side view profile. You sighed. "Um..nevermind. Maybe later." Tighnari put his journal down and looked at you. "No no, talk to me. What is on your mind right now?"

You sighed and looked at him. "Nari, am I annoying? Like, do you find me annoying in anyway?" Tighnari sighed and shook his head. "I never once found you annoying, why are you thinking such things? Have I done something to upset you?"

"No no...I just..." All of a sudden, Tighnari went in front of you and held two hands behind him. "Come, I'll carry you on my back. I have a place to show you."

You blushed as you climbed onto his back, you felt him lift you up with ease, as he started to give you a piggyback ride. He took a detour and walked down a different path, you rested your head on his back and stayed still.

"Here.." He took you under a large tree as there was a crater in the tree trunk, as he took you in, there was a large clean pond in there. "This is my secret spot, I come here to get away. I want to show that you are special to me by bringing you here." He gently wrapped his tail loosely around you. "You are NOT annoying, not one bit."

Xiao ══════════════════════════════════════

You were waiting at Wangshu inn for Xiao, as he was out doing his duties. Fighting demons, and monsters. Once he returned, he saw that you were there waiting for him. You had Almond Tofu set aside, as you were deep in thought. Once Xiao was next to you, he took off his mask. "You...why do you look like that?"

Xiao picked up the fork and took a bite of the food. "Well...Xiao am I annoying?"

Xiao looked at you confused. "What? Is this a human custom in relationship to ask these questions? I wouldn’t be in a relationship with you, if you were annoying." Xiao looked at you with a scolding look.

However you looked back at him, defeated. "I see..." You weren’t really satisfied with his response but you didn’t want to bother him anymore then you need to. All of a sudden, you felt texture on your lips. You realized, Xiao was feeding you. You looked at him in surprised as you opened your mouth and ate the tofu.

"You overthink these things too much." Xiao cupped your face. "Listen here, I will always protect you, it is my job to love you rather you are annoying or not, I prefer annoyance, rather than a silent grave. No matter how I act, it is truly happiness for me overall."

434 notes · View notes

rock-swag-tournament · 10 months

Text

Mineral Swag Tournament Finals

Okay y'all, this is it. The FINAL for the Mineral Swag Tournament.

Fluorite.

Fluorite is a fantastic mineral. It would not have gotten this far otherwise. It comes in a ton of colors, it naturally forms both octahedra and cubes (and massive deposits), and it show brilliant bright blue color under UV light. Fluorescence (the phenomena) is named that because of fluorite!

It also does this fun thing (that other minerals do as well, but it is common among fluorite) where it changes color as it forms because of changing impurities in the solution from which it grows! Elements like iron, copper, manganese, chromium (and more!) can replace individual ions in fluorite's chemical structure and cause the light to reflect different wavelengths and we therefore see that as a different color. This can also happen if a fluorite ion is missing because the sample has been irradiated (for example) and NOTHING replaces it and so the light still reflects in a different way! That is one of the ways we get purple fluorite and this method of producing color is known as color centers.

Of course, not all fluorite fluoresces. Not all fluorite forms cubes or octahedra. Some fluorite is colorless. Some of it looks like an ugly little piece of translucent rock. Or a vein of purple mineral in a crack between two other rocks. It would be irresponsible for me to insinuate that all fluorite is this majestic.

But there are some properties that you will always find in fluorite. It has four directions of cleavage. It is the defining mineral for a 4 on the Mohs hardness scale. It will always be made of calcium and fluoride in a 1:2 ratio. These things are some of what define fluorite as a distinct mineral!

Opal.

Opal is a beautiful gemstone. Please note that I did not call it a "beautiful mineral" because it is not technically a mineral. It is a solid, inorganic substance with a defined chemical formula, but it lacks the specific crystal structure which minerals MUST have to be considered a mineral.

This crystal structure is the entire reason why fluorite is capable of forming cubes and octahedra. And why garnet forms dodecahedra and beryl forms columns and so on. Opal only comes in those fun little oval shaped stones because it was cut that way! Fluorite forms cubes because it just knows how. Otherwise, opal forms shapeless masses that fracture rather than cleave (fluorite cleaves--four ways). That being said, opal's lack of crystal structure allows it to sometimes be iridescent.

After all, there is a reason opal made it this far. When it shines, it is beautiful. There are several varieties of precious opal (opal that displays its trademark play-of-color/iridescence) and they are all very fun to look at. These precious opals are made of microscopic silica spheres that light reflects off of in weird ways and causes opal to look like it is glittering with a dozen different colors.

However, one would be remiss to forget common opal! Some opal is milky white or a translucent blue, and if you're going to love opal at her fire opal, you better also love her at her common opal.

Here are some raw pieces of opal (common opal on the left). Note how they break irregularly. They have conchoidal fracture, which both quartz and normal glass (all of which are just silica) also have. I personally think conchoidal fracture is pretty neat.

Also, while the opals on the right would still be considered precious opal, they are what the average person is likely to find. Just little bits of iridescence here and there.

And, like fluorite, while not all opals have all of the cool features, they do have some similarities. They will always have conchoidal fracture if they break. And they will always be made of hydrated SiO2.

...That's all I have for these guys, I think! I hope I have been as impartial (and accurate) as possible while presenting these, your FINAL mineral swag contestants. If you have any questions or anything, let me know. The Rock Swag Tournament will start shortly after this concludes! Submit your rocks here! And specific rock formations or named rock varieties here!

#vote fluorite ;)#mineral swag finals #minerals #opal #fluorite #geology #as always send an ask or make a comment and i'll do my best to answer questions #if you just tag a question i might not see it but i do try and read all the tags because i like seeing what y'all have to say

436 notes · View notes

hundredandsix · 11 months

Text

spiderman!ellie

I saw this TikTok and I'm having thoughts. I feel like I've had a revelation because Ellie and Andrew Garfield's Peter Parker give off the exact same energy. Dorky losers who are somehow simultaneously cool, especially when they're in their element. They even look similar. And they both have hot gfs. Oh, sorry. I should say they both had hot gfs.

Just imagine Ellie being confident and goofy when she's in the suit, but then when she actually has to see you face-to-face, she gets all blushy and nervous. The angst! College!Ellie?? Joel as Aunt May?? And her doing the little spidey pose!

I'm actually disintegrating. Someone help.

I'll be posting what could potentially be the start of a spiderman!ellie series very soon. In the meantime, here's a sneak peek ;)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. It's just-I forgot my phone and I..."

You stop in your tracks after taking a better look at her. She's cute. Her face is covered in a constellation of freckles, and her eyes are the same shade of green as the Nirvana t-shirt beneath her flannel. From this side, you can see the piece of soft, auburn hair that's fallen from her up-do. Your hand twitches forward, as if to push it back where it belongs.

But that's not all you realize. You've seen her before. You're sure of it, but you can't seem to place where. Those green eyes. It would be hard to forget being under their scrutiny.

She's still gathering her notes, but there are so many papers that she's crumpling them all. Your hands reach over to pull hers away, and you begin to place the papers in a neat stack.

You don't miss the sharp inhale she takes when your hand grazes hers. She reaches over to begin storing the chemicals of whatever project she's working on. Her nervous energy is rubbing off on you, and you feel your heart start to race.

She's the first to break the silence.

"No, God, please don't apologize. I didn't mean to... never mind."

Her mind seems to be following your train of thought because she says, "You're in Huxley's Gen Chem, right? Are you..." she pauses, eyes turning up in thought, "Y/N?"

"Yeah, that's me! I knew you looked familiar. You're in there helping sometimes, right? What's your name again?"

She quirks an eyebrow. "You don't know my name?"

You think she's teasing, but you can't be sure. The apples of your cheeks heat up under her gaze. The room feels too hot, like a sweltering July afternoon.

"No, I know your name. I just wanna know if you know your name?" you say, the corner of your mouth turning up.

She lets out a shaky laugh and pulls her bag out from under the desk. Taking the stack of papers from your hands, she shoves them into the front pocket.

"Ellie," she says.

You motion for her to keep going. There are a million girls named Ellie in New York.

"Sorry," she says, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. "Williams. Ellie Williams."

"Okay, good. Just had to make sure."

She nods. In the split second you look away, she manages to clear the rest of her supplies from the table.

All that's left is a single sheet of paper on the floor that she missed. You reach down to grab it, and Ellie's eyes widen. She shoots down to the floor to grab it before you can, but you don't miss the comically large letters titling the page.

Web Fluid Version 3.01

"Web fluid?" you let out a laugh. "Are you Spiderman or something?"

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#hundredandsix #ellie tlou #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams #ellie williams x female reader #lesbian #tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie x y/n #spiderman!ellie #spiderman #peter parker #joel miller #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n

375 notes · View notes

er-cryptid · 12 days

Text

Palladium Difluoride

Patreon

3 notes · View notes

sleeping-circle-old · 7 months

Text

Chemical Symbols - Chemistry

The name of an element depends on the language being spoken

However, the world of science forms a global 🌍community

That is why we have chemical symbols; universal 1 or 2 letter symbols each representing an element - so every scientist, no matter what nationality can understand! 😄

#chemical symbols #element #science #chemistry #gcse #study notes #notes

88 notes · View notes

whatsnewalycat · 3 months

Text

Psychomanteum / Chapter 16

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 16: Famous Last Words

Chapter Summary: Revelations.

Word Count: 7.7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, hunger, hangover, driving, psychomanteum, ethan, drug addiction, domestic abuse, journal

Notes: Chapter title from “Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance. Babe I told you we'd get one more MCR-titled chapter before this was over. Chapter 17 will be the last chapter, then an epilogue. Huge thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the best 🖤✨

[ Previous Chapter ] [ Series Masterlist ] [ Next Chapter ]

The sun feels like a spotlight as you trudge your way from the bedroom to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Nausea grips your sour, empty stomach. Your head throbs, pulse pounding in your ears.

The past few mornings, you’ve become well-acquainted with the wine hangover. It’s a love-hate relationship, you and wine. It numbs the overwhelming emotional pain, emptying your brain at night so that you can sleep. In return, it makes you so fucking sick the morning after, you think it might be plotting to kill you.

You carefully place a few logs in the fireplace and poke the glowing embers in the hearth back to life, then plop down on the couch, draping a blanket around your shoulders as you curl up with a notebook and pen.

You stare at the blank page, unsure what to tell it.

You could tell it that, same as yesterday and the day before, the aftereffects of drinking yourself to sleep have tainted your morning green. Not a cute green, either, like forest or emerald. Think Dieter’s bathrobe or pea soup. Think seasick.

You could tell it that the hangover causing every subtle noise to strike your temples like a ball-pein hammer only incentivizes you further. Nothing makes you want to die quite like a wine hangover.

You could tell it that, really, it doesn’t fucking matter that you’re hungover. If you weren’t miserable in this way, you’d be miserable in another.

You could ask it if this is what Ethan was feeling one year ago today. Sick and determined to end it all. Did he plan it out like you’ve been doing, or was it spur of the moment? When did he decide he would do it?

When did he decide to take you with him? Was it the ink? Had this been his plan all along?

All the things you never asked him in the psychomanteum seem so important now. Especially one: Why?

Sure, things were bad. Fucking awful, even. But there were still little moments here and there.

Like when the gas bill went neglected and they disconnected service. You couldn’t fall asleep because it was too cold, so he set up the only space heater on your side of the bed. He wrapped his arms around your shivering body and held you to his chest all night, keeping you warm. Or like when he was in the neighborhood of your favorite bakery and he stopped to pick up glazed donuts on his way home.

There were days when you couldn’t fucking stand to look at him. It hurt too much to see the physical toll of his addiction. How emaciated he had become, his boyish face all hollowed out and gaunt, dark bags drooping under his eyes.

But there were also days when he still opened the apartment door, calling out, “Louie, I’m home!” Like Ricky Ricardo in I Love Lucy. It was his favorite bit.

He’d jabber on about the customers, or the traffic, or the news. There were still days when he paid you compliments and kissed you like he meant it. When he brought home things he knew you’d like. Little presents here and there, nothing big, but enough to be reassured he was thinking about you.

A week before he died, he gifted you a journal.

He was supposed to pick up groceries, but got sidetracked in a bookstore and forgot the errand. When he came home holding a brown paper parcel wrapped in twine instead of plastic bags filled with food, you were furious.

“What’s that?” you asked, crossing your arms.

He tossed it on the counter as he shucked off his jacket, “It’s for you.”

“Is it edible?”

“Edible? No,” he scoffed, sliding it closer, “C’mon, open it up.”

You stared at him for a moment, at his Cheshire grin, jaw clenched and grinding. At his eyes all wide with intense excitement, the pupils blown-out and black. He vibrated with energy, his long limbs twitching in constant motion.

So fucking high.

Trying to avoid the violent downswing of his pendulum mood, you sighed and unwrapped the parcel, revealing an orange journal embossed with the phrase A New Chapter. The pages inside were buttery soft but thick, lined with delicate margins.

“A notebook?”

“A journal, yeah,” he sniffed and tugged at the tip of his nose, “I came by this rad looking bookstore and poked around a bit, thought you’d like it.”

You didn’t immediately react, so he kept talking.

“When I was out the other night, I was talking to a friend and she said journaling has helped her work through some of her feelings and all that, and… well, I know you used to journal all the time, I thought maybe it would help since you’ve been a little… out of sorts lately.”

You wanted to ask him who this friend was and why he didn’t call her by name. You wanted to ask him what else he bought with the grocery money. You wanted to ask him why he’d rather you spill your guts to a journal than to him.

Instead, you nodded, put on a smile, and said, “Thank you. It’s very thoughtful. I—I love it.”

The words felt dead in your mouth. Foul and rotten. He returned your fake smile with his own, then excused himself to his office.

You remember thinking the whole thing was a farce. A sham. A two-person act where you both pretended not to smell the decay between you.

The journal he gave you went to your bedside drawer. It remained untouched for months before you rediscovered it while spring cleaning.

At first, you didn’t recognize it. Then a gut-wrenching nostalgia took hold. A New Chapter. It felt more like a relic from a past life than a journal for the future.

Weeks went by before you wrote inside.

It felt blasphemous at first, marking the perfect blank pages with your script. Like you were shattering an artifact. But it helped to offload some of your rumination onto paper. It became a central coping mechanism for you.

There are passages going back at least six months, maybe more. Before you and Dieter ever even spent time alone in a room together. When he was just a goofy, handsome guy who lived on the other side of the country. Your long-distance friend that maybe sometimes gave you butterflies every time you talked to him. Even then, his name made frequent appearances on those pages.

The journal contains all your innermost thoughts, the long-winded rambling narrations of your waxing and waning between cynicism and optimism, the whole disgusting freak show inside your head laid out on the counter for anyone to rifle through.

And I forgot it on his kitchen counter like an idiot.

When you picture Dieter flipping through the journal, reading your school-girl crush ramblings and earnest thoughts about him, your face gets hot with embarrassment.

If you’re being honest with yourself, though, maybe it’s better he has it. Maybe one day he’ll look through it and read your crazy thoughts and know you’ll love him until you’re dust and then even after. In the next life, and the next, until the sea of love runs dry and humanity goes bust. Maybe he’ll read through it and know that you were struggling by no fault of his own.

With a sharp inhale, you put your pencil to paper and write: I miss my journal. I miss my Dee.

Then you toss the notebook aside and go to make some breakfast.

—

The first thing Dieter does when he wakes is grab his phone off the nightstand.

One eye squinting open, he plugs your name into a search engine and scrolls through the results. Nothing new, just tabloids recycling old information and speculating. Fucking vultures.

A boulder settles on his chest, cold and massive, squeezing the air from his lungs.

He should be used to this sort of feeling, considering how often he’s felt it the past few days.

Every lead they had came up a dead end. You put up an impenetrable wall around yourself, so the most he can do is scour the internet for signs of you and live in the disappointment that follows each search.

He drops his phone and looks over at the empty spot beside him.

In an alternate universe, maybe one where your apartment wasn’t raided or you didn’t run away, the two of you are probably right here in bed, all intertwined under the covers, murmuring sweet affirmations to each other. Or maybe you’re seated next to one another in some unsuspecting diner, ordering greasy breakfast foods and sipping watered-down coffee. Or maybe he’s leaning on the kitchen island, watching you throw together some kind of sweet treat that the two of you would share throughout the day.

Or maybe there is no alternate universe. Maybe this was the way this was always going to be.

While you were still here, he made plans for Christmas. They weren’t big plans or anything. Nothing too showy, just some stuff to bring you comfort on the anniversary of your husband’s passing. Figured he could make you breakfast, then the two of you could take a bath. He got you a robe, pajamas, and some slippers so you’d be at the height of comfort for a trashy reality show marathon. Smoking pot, ordering takeout, that kind of thing. Low key.

It would’ve been nice. Definitely would’ve beat his long-standing Christmas tradition of going on a bender.

Dieter sighs, reaching across the bed to pull your pillow into an embrace. He buries his face in it and inhales your lingering scent. His eyes clench shut as he tries to picture what you’re doing, where you are, how you’re feeling, but he gets nothing.

Intuition tells him he’s running out of time.

He knows you’re still out there as sure as he knows there’s a pulse beneath his skin. But if you’ve held out this far, you’ll do it today or tomorrow. You’re a romantic like that.

He prays that’s enough time for a miracle.

—

You crouch down at the river’s edge and dig your fingers into the cold, damp sand, clamping down around a gray speckled rock. It comes loose with a firm tug, leaving an indent behind. Turning it over in your hand, you admire its weight and size.

A keeper.

You toss it in your backpack along with the other rocks and zip the bag shut. Hands numb and filthy, you heave the backpack onto your shoulders and jump up and down a little, nodding in approval at the considerable effort it takes to do so.

That should do just fine.

The backpack stays on the beach while you walk back to the cabin. Once inside, you thaw your hands with hot, soapy water, then eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the fireplace, staring at the flickering flames as you chew. Your mind is white noise. A static-screened TV. An engine seized.

After cleaning the minimal mess from lunch, you consult your to-do list, cross off Gather the means of your destruction, and move to the next item: Build the psychomanteum.

—

“I printed all the information we’ve found and put it in here,” Darlene flips open the cover of a black binder and leafs through the color-coded, tabbed off sections, “Inside, I have call logs, typed out my notes from all my interviews, made a timeline of her last known movements, and basically everything we know so far. Table of contents at the front.”

She heaves the binder closed and straightens its bottom edge perfectly parallel to the edge of the dining room table, then takes a sideways step to the manila envelope beside it.

“I printed out some pictures and wrote a detailed description of her in the event that you decide to file the missing persons report. All of that information is in the manila envelope here,” she taps the envelope and looks up at Dieter, “Why did you fly to New York the day your girlfriend went missing?”

“To bribe an elected official.”

She blinks, “Try again.”

“I thought she went home.”

“And why did you go to the opera?”

“Parker and I were following up on a lead. Someone texted me and said they thought they saw her—”

“Who texted you?”

“Uhhhh…”

“Do you have a copy of the text message?”

“I, um—”

“Exactly. Too vague, and traceable. Try again.”

“Parker told me to.”

“Bitch, what the fuck?” Parker swats him.

“Ow,” Dieter hisses, rubbing the fresh welt, “No, uhhh… I went to New York to look for her because she lives there. She always told me about wanting to go to the Met to catch a show, so we went to see if we could spot her.”

“She went missing and you wanted to look for her at the Metropolitan Opera House?”

“It was a long shot, yeah,” he sighs and scratches his chin, “Waste of time, we ended up leaving at intermission.”

“That’s… not bad,” Darlene gives him an impressed nod, then looks down at her folder and straightens it in line with the binder, “Probably enough to keep you from getting arrested, at least. What about you, Parker?”

“I helped him look for her in New York, even though I knew it was a dumb idea and told him so to his face.“

“Do you think he was up to anything, covering up his tracks?”

“No,” Parker scoffs, “Poor boy was worried sick the whole time. He wouldn’t stop beating himself up for going on that goddamn wild goose chase.”

“Good,” Darlene smiles, crossing her arms, and tilts her head at Dieter, “Are you sure it’s ok if I go?”

“Oh, yeah, go,” he waves his hand dismissively, “You’ve done more than enough, really. Thank you for everything.”

“Well… don’t thank me yet,” she mutters, taking another side step to the second manila envelope. She picks it up and holds it with both hands, pausing for a moment before passing it across the table to him. ‘

He takes it and frowns at her, “What’s this?”

“It’s her journal.”

His breathing stops. All the moisture in his mouth evaporates, tongue sticking Velcro to the roof when he opens his mouth to ask a thousand questions. Darlene speaks before he can utter a syllable.

“You gave it to me. Unintentionally, I think, but I jotted down some notes from that first morning when I was calling around.”

Dieter opens the envelope and pulls out the orange, spiral-bound notebook. A New Chapter. He traces the phrase.

“I didn’t realize what it was until last night when I was double-checking I copied the notes down right. I flipped to the front, and…”

As if under a spell, he opens the cover, eyes falling on the first line.

I am the haunted house

He closes it and stares at the cover, then across the table at Darlene, “How much did you read?”

“I went through the last few entries,” she tells him, “Skimmed them to see if she mentioned anything helpful. She didn’t, but you might want to take a closer look at them. Maybe something will jump out at you.”

Dieter glances at Parker. They exchange a look that says neither of them will make a fuss about the invasion of your privacy. Given the circumstances, it’s understandable.

“I worked backwards and marked where I left off with a tab. You should read it.”

He nods and clears his throat, then says, “Yeah, I, umm… I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

—

The Friedman family cabin had limited options when it came to putting together the psychomanteum.

It calls for a dark and preferably small enclosed space, a challenge in itself. The common rooms are open concept, with the obvious exception of the bathroom. Both of the bedrooms on the first floor and the loft upstairs have dressers in lieu of closets. Thinking about setting up in the dirt-floor wine cellar, alongside its long-term creepy-crawly residents, made you queasy.

This left you with one practical option: the cedar linen closet.

After transferring the neat stacks of towels, bedding, and pillows from the shelves, you take out the shelves themselves. You find some dark quilts to line the walls with and, through an arduous process of trial and error, accomplish a mirror-angle combination that creates the desired effect.

Throughout this process, you try to concentrate on what you would say to him, telling yourself that this time you wouldn’t spin out and lose your nerve. This time you would ask the questions that haunt your every waking breath.

Your mind keeps wandering to Dieter, though.

You think about his experiences in the psychomanteum.

About James and the river and the scars left on Dieter’s young heart. You think about the ghost that haunts him, his monster, and how it might whisper similarities in his ear. How it might coax him into the darkness forever.

The thought strikes you hard and heavy, square in the chest.

All the air leaves your body and your hands go numb. You crumple up into a ball on the closet floor and weep. Pained, warbled sobs shake your body. The noises that come out of you sound foreign and animalistic.

You cry for him, and for you, and for all the things that could have been. You cry and cry until you can't cry anymore.

It feels cleansing. Therapeutic. Like a purge to overly-ripe, buzzing nerves.

In the messy afterglow of this release, you stare up at the ceiling and wish Dieter would come barging through the door.

If he found you here, all curled up on the closet floor of your in-laws cabin, he would probably let out a big sigh of relief, then lay down beside you. He would pull you into an embrace and squeeze you tight and make you take a blood oath to never leave him again.

For the first time since you set out on this literal suicide mission, you really consider not following through with it.

Something dark flickers out the corner of your eye. When you hear the faint whisper of a noise, your breath halts.

You fine-tune your ears, focusing on each minute sound that crops up. Wind rustling the trees outside. Your heart pumping blood. The deafening silence in between.

Then you hear it.

A coarse, abrasive noise like fingernails on sheetrock. Scratching.

It sneaks.

Your pulse jumps, muscles going tense with fear. You pinch your eyes shut. Try to stay still and quiet, but each shaky breath sounds louder than the last.

Another scratch, slow and dry, from inside the closet this time.

“Leave me alone,” you whisper, “Please.”

—

I am the haunted house Full of ghosts Myself and others

Living in the past I cannot escape Neither can they

Dieter stares at the page, re-reading that first passage in your journal at least ten times before shaking his head and closing the cover.

This feels fucked up and invasive. It doesn’t sit right in his body, all hard corners stretching out his stomach. He should hurl the journal into the canyon, but something stops him from doing so.

His leg starts bouncing, jaw gnashing back and forth with indecision. He leans forward in the patio chair and flips the journal open a few pages.

I think I like him and I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel like it’s too soon and I’m not ready, but at the same time, I am drawn to him. Almost every time we talk on the phone it turns into a three-hour long conversation and even then I wish I could keep talking to him. He makes me laugh. He’s sweet and odd and insanely fucking hot. He seems to party a lot, which makes me unjustifiably nervous. The other night when I was talking to him, he mentioned another woman and I felt fucking jealous?? I’ve literally met the man twice. What the fuck am I doing. I am actually insane. I think it would be a real problem if we did anything beyond flirting, I would probably need to be committed.

Warmth and affection flood his veins.

You must have written this sometime between the party at Katie’s and the first time he traveled to New York to see you. Probably last spring when the two of you began to contact each other more and more.

He remembers how tedious it was at first.

Getting to know each other was a delicate dance both of you performed without acknowledgment. A text here and there, sporadic communication at best. He didn’t want you to think he was too eager. In fact, he didn’t want to be eager at all.

Past friendships left him jaded and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On top of that, he was going through a divorce and pretty dedicated to a full-time coke habit.

He dreaded the day you would reveal yourself as a snake. But you never did.

As the text messages grew more frequent and reliable, he couldn’t deny the temptation to let his feelings blossom instead of nipping them in the bud. Soon the messages accompanied weekly phone calls and video chats, until it became an almost daily ritual to hear your voice.

He wasn’t sure what to think or feel about you, he just knew that he always found himself wondering about you. What you were doing, who you were with. Like you, he felt a tinge of jealousy on the rare occasion you would drop another man’s name.

It’s comforting to know you felt the same way. Weary, but intrigued. Resistant to the pull of attraction, yet not entirely immune.

The glass patio door slides open, then shut.

Dieter looks over his shoulder and nods in greeting to Parker, who plops down in the patio chair next to him. With him, he carries a navy blue gift bag emblazoned with a shiny gold logo that reads Bizarre Bazaar.

“You boys have fun shopping?”

Parker holds the bag out to Dieter, letting the ribbon handle dangle from his slender fingers, “It’s for you. Merry Christmas.”

“Oh fuck off, really?”

“It was Lincoln’s idea,” he shakes the bag, “Take it!”

Rolling his eyes, Dieter sets your journal aside and takes the gift.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know.”

He pushes aside tissue paper and pulls a black frame from the bag. A shadow box. Suspended inside the glass is a moth with an impressive wingspan. Its creamy white wings have dark stripes that zigzag close together to create an almost disorienting effect, making his vision blur into abstract.

“Thysania Agrippina,” Parker tells him, “The White Witch moth, or ghost moth. They’re the biggest moths, typically found in forests of Central and South America. Back in ye olden days, when explorers encountered them, they would try to shoot them like they did with birds and bats, but the moths would evade the attacks, making the explorers think they were witches. Really, their body is just incredibly small in comparison to their wings.”

Dieter nods, unable to tear his eyes away from the specimen.

“People see moths as a symbol of transformation and rebirth. White witch moths are especially considered good luck.”

“I need all the luck I can get,” he mutters and looks at Parker, “It's beautiful, thank you.”

Parker gives him a half-hearted smile, glancing at your journal, “Did you find anything?”

With a sigh, Dieter carefully slides the taxidermy moth back into the gift bag, then picks up your journal and flips through it.

“Not really. I haven’t gone through much, though. Here are Darlene’s notes,” he opens to a page with her sparse, neat script, and flips backwards through the pages, passing a few blanks before finding your last entry, “This is from the day before. I don’t know.”

Parker frowns, “Can I see it?”

Shrugging, Dieter hands it to him.

He watches as Parker studies the blank pages, tilting and turning the journal against the light of the overhead sun. When Parker jumps to his feet, Dieter’s stomach flips.

“What?”

“I think I see something.”

“Something like what?”

“I need a pencil.”

Dieter leaps into action, leading the way inside to a cup of writing utensils on the kitchen counter. He finds a lead pencil and hands it to Parker, who starts lightly shading over a small section of paper. Contrast carves out negative space from idents in the page.

A phone number.

“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes, stunned for a moment before pulling out his phone and dialing the number.

—

The bottle lets out a glug-glug-glug as you pour plum wine into your glass. You tilt your head, watching with dead eyes as the golden elixir fills your cup to the brim, then you set the empty bottle aside and take a sip.

Not bad. Tart well-balanced with sweet. The taste doesn’t matter as much to you as the alcohol content, but it helps.

Staring at the blank page, you remember what Dieter said when you tried and failed to reach Ethan through the psychomanteum. That you were too closed-off. You click your pen a few times, then bring the tip to paper.

I cried myself to sleep that night.

Ethan locked himself in his room after pouring the ink I gave him on the living room floor. I could hear him in there, pacing back and forth and talking to himself. A squeaky floorboard tracked his movements like a metronome.

Even though he was in his own little world, I muffled my sobs in my pillow so he couldn’t hear me. Before falling asleep, I remember feeling hopeless. I loved and hated him at the same time. It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore. That fact scared the ever-loving shit out of me.

It didn’t seem real when I woke up.

He took me by the hair and pulled me out of bed. My legs didn’t work. I kept collapsing and tripping all over the place, which made him even more angry. Each time I faltered, he yanked me up to my feet by the hair. He called me a bitch. A rat. A spineless fucking worm.

Before taking me out in the hallway, he showed me a pocket knife and told me if I screamed he would slit my throat. I believed him.

You pause here, considering whether or not to drink more wine. For a while, you watch the low flames in the fireplace dance around on ashy, glowing logs. You rise to your feet and approach it, pulling open the hearth to carefully stack more firewood atop the hungry beast. It thanks you with a crackle and a burst of heat and light, the newborn fire blazing your face and hands.

Returning to your seat, you cross your legs under the coffee table and re-read what you’ve written. The memories hold space in your chest.

This deep, dull ache starts at your sternum and spreads across your body. Instinctively, you reach for the wine, but pause before your fingertips touch the glass.

It seems important that you experience the pain, not anesthetize it.

You pick up the pen and keep going.

He led me down to the parking garage and threw me in the passenger seat. When I tried to buckle my seatbelt, he threatened me again, told me to leave it. He took off, driving like a fucking maniac. Swerving around traffic, running red lights, going the wrong way down one way streets. It was snowing and the roads were slick. Every time we lost traction, he howled with laughter as he righted his course.

I remember being fucking terrified and thinking this couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t real, it was a nightmare. I don’t remember everything I said to him. I just remember screaming and crying, begging him to let me out. He ignored me. I tried to snap him out of it by punching him in the face as hard as I could. This got his attention.

The car skidded to a stop. He looked at me. His eyes were black and vacant and unrecognizable. I knew then that Ethan wasn’t coming back. It was me and his monster. I asked him to let me out. He said no. He said we had to do this together. I told him I fucking hated him and reached for the door handle to get out.

He grabbed my throat and hit me hard, his fist landing on my left eye. I saw stars, then everything went black.

When I came to, the engine was roaring. Red traffic lights zoomed by overhead. He was looking through the windshield with a blank, emotionless stare, picking up speed fast. It became very clear what he was going to do. Still dazed, I tried to put on my seatbelt, but before I could click it into place, I heard a horrible metallic crunching noise from everywhere. Everything went black again.

Hot tears burn trails down your cheeks. You drop the pen down and bury your face in your hands, releasing a guttural sob from your chest like some kind of rabid animal. It splits you in two, claws tearing at your rib cage and carving you out.

This is what it feels like to be an aluminum can. Drained of utility, crushed for scrap metal.

This is what it feels like to be a jack-o-lantern. Gutted, empty, rotting.

This is what it feels like to have your heart broken for the first and last time.

Eventually, you manage to catch your breath. Then you rise to your feet and start towards the psychomanteum.

Headlights cut through the pitch black night onto the highway ahead.

“In two miles, take Exit 31 to merge onto CA-41 North towards Yosemite.”

Dieter glances at his phone mounted to the dash. It estimates his arrival time as 10:53, putting him 36 minutes and 23 miles out. He punches the gas, watching the speedometer jump from 76-mph to 90.

If he’s gonna shave off more time, it’ll be here, not in the foothills. Pretty soon the roads will get narrow and curvy. Not to mention, they might be slick as it gets colder with elevation, and he’d like to make it to you alive, thankyouverymuch.

His nerves buzz at the thought, tangling in a mess of anticipation and worry and guilt.

He should have figured it out sooner. This should have been a first day call. It would’ve been if he wasn’t so fucking blind. He handed your journal to Darlene, not realizing it had the answer the whole goddamn time.

Nobody answered at first. He held his breath as the line trilled. It rang long enough for him to wonder if he died and went to hell and was doomed to exist in the moment for eternity.

Then the voicemail picked up.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Sarah Friedman. Sorry I missed you, leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”

BEEP

“Hi, Sarah. My name is Dieter Bravo. I’m calling about my, uhh… Louella Friedman. I found your phone number in her notebook, and she’s been missing for a few days. I’m—I’m worried about her. She left a note, and, umm… yeah. I don’t know. I’m hoping you have information on her whereabouts. Please call me back. Thanks.”

He hung up and looked between Parker and Lincoln, “Sarah Friedman?”

Parker’s eyes went wide, “That’s Ethan’s mom—oh my god—” He gasped, jumping up and down, “Their fucking cabin, Dieter! Fresno—mountains, forest, holy shit—”

“Oh my god!” Dieter started jumping up and down too, only getting two hops in before bolting for the door, “I GO NOW!”

“Wait—shoes! Your wallet! And keys!” Lincoln called to him, making him circle back into the house and grab the items off the sideboard and shove his feet into a pair of crocs.

“And a charger, do you want an overnight bag? What about Lua’s things—her phone—”

His phone buzzed in his hand. Sarah returning his call.

“You have thirty fucking seconds,” he told Lincoln before answering, “This is Dieter.”

“Hi, Dieter. This is Sarah calling you back.”

“Yeah, thank you so much—Is she, Lua, is she ok?”

When she didn’t immediately respond yes, his stomach plummeted.

“I actually, I don’t know,” Sarah sighed, “I’m glad you called, because I wasn’t sure—”

“What do you mean?”

He started snapping his fingers at Lincoln, who was stumbling down the hall towards him, shoving things into a backpack.

“She’s been staying at our cabin and I haven’t been able to reach her.”

“I have her phone, she left it here. At my house.”

“No, on the landline. I’ve talked to her the past few days, but when I tried earlier the call wouldn’t go through.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing the backpack from Lincoln, “Send me the address, I’m going.”

It took him about two and a half hours to drive the some-odd 200 miles to where he is now. The most excruciating drive of his life, just him and Siri and his anxious thoughts.

“Take the exit.”

He flips on the blinker and glances in the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder before merging.

“Hang on a little bit longer, baby.”

—

Your head swims as you relax into the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor. Behind you, the electric lantern casts a dim glow, reflecting off the frame of the mirror. The mirror shows you a black abyss. You stare into it, letting your vision blur abstract.

Then you wait.

After some time, a strange feeling comes over you. A shifting, surreal sensation like you’re changing gears and reaching a higher plane of existence. Invisible tendrils slither out from beneath your skin and branch out before you, stretching into the abyss. You feel connected to it. Tapped into something larger than yourself.

“Ethan, I need to talk to you.”

Something clicks into place, like a tether coupling you to him. His presence lingers near yours somewhere within the abyss, but you gather the notion that he wants you to come closer, and lean into the strange sensation.

Static energy pulses around you on all sides as you move forward through the darkness. Light years ahead of you, a star twinkles. A single pinprick of brightness in the inky black.

You follow the beacon, gliding through the space with surprising speed.

The light grows from a pinprick to a beam, from a beam to a dinner plate, from a dinner plate to a beach ball, stretching wider and brighter with each passing moment.

You come to a halt when you realize that it’s not just a far-off daydream, but a tangible object.

An orb, roughly the same size as you, glowing with pure white light.

It emits familiar ambient noises, flickering brighter with each sound wave. Muffled car horns. Stomping from the upstairs neighbors. Ethan’s low, quiet humming in the tune of “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by the Everly Brothers.

The orb seems to possess a gravitational pull. You find yourself drifting closer. When you reach out to touch it, your fingertips brush against something warm and inviting.

In the blink of an eye, you appear somewhere else entirely.

It takes a moment to reorient yourself to these new surroundings. Your focus flickers to the steeple of your drawn-back emerald curtains, giving you a peep show of the electric blue sky. Afternoon sun pours in through the window, spilling across the bedspread.

The foreground of your vision clears to a crisp image. Ethan’s bare chest, rising and falling with breath. Beneath your ear, the steady thump-thump of his heart beats true and steady. His fingertips gently rake against your skin in lazy, comforting circles.

You tilt your head to look at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are clear and present like you haven’t seen in ages. He looks healthy. Full of life. Reaching up to trace the curve of his lips, you whisper, “Is this heaven? Did I die?”

He huffs a little chuckle, “No.”

You grin at the sight of his smile, eyes flicking all over his face, “Then what is it?”

“It’s what you needed,” he shrugs, “What you came here for.” When you arch a suspicious brow, he smirks, “What?”

“I came here to yell at you.”

“Then yell at me.”

He stares at you, his brown eyes both sincere and mischievous. Your teeth catch your bottom lip and you glance out the window.

“C’man, Lou. Look at me.”

You do, and he shifts around a little, rolling on his side to face you, “Hit me with the truth, baby. I can take it.”

“If I ask you something, will you lie?”

“I’ve got nothing to gain from lying to you.”

You search his face for signs of falsehood, but find none.

“Were there other women?”

“Do you really wanna know?”

You nod.

He licks his lips, glancing down, then back to you, “Yeah, there were a few.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

It shocks you a little, his honesty. And soothes you. You forgot it could be like this with him. No games, no bullshit.

“Were they serious? Did you love them?”

“No,” he scoffs, waving his hand dismissively, “They were… distractions.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and nod, dropping your gaze.

“If you’re waiting for excuses, I don’t have any. It was wrong and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. The cheating, the lies, the… the way I hurt you—”

“You tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You did kill me. Slowly. Inside and out.” Your vision swims with tears, but you look up to meet his eyes anyway, “You broke me. You were supposed to love me and you broke me, Ethan. I don’t know if I can even love right anymore, I’m so fucked up.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with such naked anguish that you believe he means the apology with his whole heart. It still hurts.

“Please say something else.”

“What do you want me to say, Lou?”

A hard knot of emotion works its way up your throat, making your face crumble and your eyes sting with tears.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Then, as if it’s an answer, you tell him, “I’m… I’m scared.”

“What’re you so scared of?”

“What if we’re just cursed to keep living this over and over? Loving and losing?”

You picture your dad. Ethan. James. Anika.

You picture Dieter. You picture one hundred ways he could break you beyond recognition. One hundred ways you could do the same to him.

It all seems so fragile.

“Lou, look at me,” he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, “You will never know what the future holds. That doesn’t mean it can’t be good. That doesn’t mean you should hide from it.”

“Is it worth it?”

“Don’t you think?”

You picture the ghost trail of your ink-stained hand clasping Dieter’s and feeling his soul from the inside out. The phone calls. Hours and hours—weeks, really—listening to his voice over one electronic device or another. Him sitting next to you, eating Chinese food and watching shitty tv. His laugh, those dimples. The night at the Plaza. Big brown tootsie pop eyes. Snow angels. The ocean—the sea of love.

He smirks, flicking his eyes around your face, “You love him, huh?”

“I do,” you nod, a knot of guilt tugging at your stomach, “I love him so much. I just… what if he hurts me like you did? What if I hurt him? I—I don’t think I can be put back together if I break again.”

“Tell me something. And be honest with me, I’ll know if you’re lying, ok? If you could go back and do something different, forever changing the course of your life up to this moment… would you?”

You think about it, long and hard. You consider the different paths your life could have taken.

If your dad never developed cancer, you might’ve felt secure enough to stay in Ohio. Maybe you would have attended culinary classes in a local community college instead of running away to New York. You never would have met Parker. You never would have moved to the city. You never would have had the opportunities to establish your culinary skills the way you did. You never would have met Ethan.

If Ethan would have stayed clean, the two of you might have existed in happily-ever-after until your dying day… but you never would have met Dieter.

Dieter.

Your chest aches with love, tears welling up in your eyes. Loving him feels perfect and magical and right. Otherworldly. It feels like forever.

Every passing moment since you met him has felt like you are exactly where you need to be.

Even the bad times, like the first time you tried the psychomanteum and he lost it. You learned so much about him. He revealed some of the most tender spots in his heart. You started to trust him.

Or when you found out he slept with Katie and it felt like your world came crashing down. You learned that, even when you pushed him away, he would fight tooth and nail for you.

Intrusions from the tabloids and your mother, the interview, dinner with Lilly and Jay. All of these instances forced you both to reconcile with parts of yourselves you thought were thoroughly unloveable and come out the other side somehow more intact than you were before.

You realize that even now, with the threat of prison and the destruction of Dieter’s career lingering in your periphery, with you tucked away in the psychomanteum in the middle of nowhere, hiding from everything… it’s where you need to be. And despite the impossible odds, you believe that your love for each other will come out the other side.

You shake your head.

“No. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Ethan nods, brushing his fingertips along your cheek, “So, you tell me. Is it worth the risk?”

—

When Dieter spots the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN, his heart jumps up and gets lodged in his throat.

"The destination is on your right. Arrived."

He slows and turns the wheel, steering the car down the gravel driveway. Outside, the night is impossibly black. The only thing he can see in the high beams are tall pine trees on either side of the path and an occasional flicker of reflective eyes in the forest.

“Could it be any fucking creepier out here, Jesus Christ—”

Thunk

One of the tires hits a pothole, making him grimace. The car jostles back and forth in protest, then rights its path.

Goddamnit, not now.

If he breaks down out here he might spontaneously combust. Any other time, just not now, he's so fucking close. Steering around another deep gash in the path, Dieter grits his teeth and squints into the darkness.

A light in the distance makes him sit up straighter and lean forward.

It has to be a porch light, that has to be it.

Anxious energy pounds thick through his veins. He can’t clear his head enough to glean anything about your current state. Horrible images flash through his mind, torturing him.

The trees open up into a clearing.

As soon as his headlights graze the cabin, he throws the car into park and jumps from the vehicle, screaming your name as he runs up the steps onto the patio.

He pounds on the door, peeking in through the window, “Lua, it’s me.”

His voice is garbled and frantic.

Inside, he sees a fireplace glowing with warm light. He twists the doorknob and pushes it open, “LOUELLA?”

Dead silence.

White hot panic spikes his blood.

He runs numb, trembling hands through his hair and calls your name again, starting through the house.

There are signs of life. The crackling fireplace. Towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. Your open suitcase in one of the downstairs bedrooms.

On the coffee table in the living room, he finds a full glass of wine and a notebook. He picks it up and starts reading, throat letting out an involuntary dry whimper as he tries again and again to read the words, but they blur and don’t make sense.

The sound of the front door opening makes him spin around.

—

Your exhale fogs in the cool night air as you pull a rock from the backpack and chuck it towards the sound of flowing water.

Ker-plunk!

Squinting into the darkness, you make out ripples on the river’s surface and smile.

The next one is heavier.

You have to grab it with two hands and heave it over your shoulder to send it launching it into the air, crashing through the water with a loud splash.

Delight shivers up your spine.

You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and look up at the stars. With the expanse of the universe stretching across the atmosphere, you should feel small and hopeless. But you don’t. Instead, a deep sense of optimism and wonder steals your breath.

Somehow it feels like every other time you’ve crawled out of the shit, but different. Like you’re the same person you were, although not at all. Like the good parts stayed intact, but the fear sloughed off at your feet.

You feel weightless. Hopeful. Infinite.

It doesn’t matter that you don’t have transportation, or food, or anything. It doesn’t matter that your return to society might result in your arrest. All that matters is you find Dieter and face this with him.

For the first time in a long time, you have faith that everything will be ok.

The sound of an approaching car draws your attention. A beam of light scans through the night sky, then you hear a car door.

“LOUELLA!”

You gasp, voice cracking as you whisper, “Dieter?”

Your heart skitters in your chest and your feet spring into action, trudging up the riverbed as fast as they can. Chest heaving, vision blurring, you climb up the hill and make a mad dash towards the cabin.

When you reach the door and twist the doorknob, you can’t feel the cold metal on your hands. You shove it open and step into the house, every cell in your body buzzing with shock and awe and fear and excitement when you lay your eyes upon him.

“Dee?”

[ Next Chapter ]

#psychomanteum #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x female reader #x reader #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo angst #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo the bubble #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic

112 notes · View notes

escxelle · 3 months

Text

i'm convinced sleep token are stem girlies because the amount of physics, maths and chemistry in their lyrics hmmm. lemme list all the references below the cut <3 (just as an fyi: this is a joke and i'm not being serious!! i'm just pointing out all the science references in their songs, dw)

alright, bit of a stretch to start but: "sulfur on your breath, granite in my chest." - granite from take me back to eden (2023). sulfur obviously being an element and granite is a rock (i'm not a chem student, i do astrophysics sorry idk anything else skdjsjd)

i'm being really picky but like "these days i'm a circuit board, integrated hardware you cannot afford." - aqua regia from take me back to eden (2023). vessel is an engineering girlie!! /j also i could point out the latin title is a mixture of nitric acid and hydrochloric acid sooo

still in aqua regia, we have "sugar on the blood cells, carbon on the brain." mhm, speak stem girlie!

aqua regia is full of stem textbooks: "oxytocin running in the ether. silicon ballrooms. subatomic interactions if it's all good. gold rush, acid flux. saturate me, i can't get enough. cold love, hot blood." so the debrief: oxytocin is a hormone. ether are a class of compounds. the rest i think is self-explanatory, as they're elements and cute little stem terms oxox

i love stretching. "your viscera welcome me in." - vore from take me back to eden (2023). viscera are the large organs inside the body, including the heart, stomach, lungs, and intestines. biology girlies!! /j

more stretching <3 "who encrypted your dark gospel in body language? synapses snap back in blissful anguish." - ascensionism from take me back to eden (2023). encryption is the process of encoding information!! a computer science girlie!! then synapses are the places where neurons connect and communicate with each other <3

"half algorithm, half deity. glitches in the code or gaps in a strange dream." who ate a programming textbook?! /j

"digital demons make the night feel heavenly." side note but i think we should start calling trolls digital demons.

"lipstick, chemtrails, red flags, pink nails." has someone maybe studied chemtrails in their chemistry classes hmmm? /j

as i'm an astrophysics student i have to mention this: "the shifting states you follow me through." - the apparition from take me back to eden (2023). states, huh? liquid turning into a solid time is it? /j

"i feel my shadown dissolving." - rain from take me back to eden (2023). a metaphor or a chemistry textbook? /j

"it's that chemical cut that i can get down with." have many chemical cuts, huh?? /j

i'm an astrophysics girlie (gn) so i have to include this one: "a dangerous disposition somehow refracted in light, reflected in sound."

"i dream in phosphorescence." - take me back to eden from take me back to eden (2023). phosphorescence is a type of photoluminescence related to fluorescence. i mean, come on! the rest lyric? really?

"sink porcelain stained, choking up brain matter and make-up. just two days since the mainframe went down and i'm still messed up." biology and software engineering much? /j

"if my fate is a bad collision." - euclid from take me back to eden (2023). collision? huh are you a particle, hm? also euclid was a greek mathematician ! currently in my special relativity notes i have written "flat euclidean space"! riddle me that, sleep token. /j

"just orbiting the vacuum i am." - atlantic from this place will become your tomb (2021). yes, orbiting like the sun and moon and planets, right?? /j

"push down into membranes and layers, creating a slow dissection." - like that from this place will become your tomb (2021). yeah we get it, you're a biology student /j

"you lie an inch apart on your own continuum." - the love you want from this place will become your tomb (2021). continuum, huh?

"and though echoing futures are the buckling sutures." - fall for me from this place will become your tomb (2021). i bet you've seen many sutures huh dr. vessel! /j

right prepare for a lot of references here folks. "she's not acid nor alkaline." - alkaline from this place will become your tomb (2021). do i really have to explain the actions of this chem girlie? /j

"ooh, let's talk about chemistry 'cause i'm dying to melt through to the heart of her molecules 'til the particles part like holy water. if anything, she's an undiscovered element." i'm sure you'd love to infodump about your favourite subject! /j

"'cause i am broken into fractions." - distraction from this place will become your tomb (2021). i bet you deal with fractions all the time, you maths nerd!! /j

"and we go beyond the farthest reaches where the light bends and wraps beneath us and i know as you collapse into me." - telomeres from this place will become your tomb (2021). light bending? how very relativity of you. also telomeres are structures made from DNA sequences and proteins found at the ends of chromosomes.

"and i choke myself on sacred vapour." - high water from this place will become your tomb (2021). vapour because it's changed state, right? /j

"keep up on the charm offensive anymore." - missing limbs from this place will become your tomb (2021). i'm doing particle physics right now so i know exactly what a charm quark is! also limbs??? hello again dr. vessel /j

"'cause i look for scarlet and you look for ultraviolet." - higher from sundowning (2019). using ultraviolet filters for your astrophotography are you?? /j

"let the impulse to love and the instinct to kill entangle to one." - say that you will from sundowning (2019). entangle? entanglement? quantum entanglement? i'm connecting the dots.

"i want to roll the numbers. i want to feel my stars align again even if the earth breaks like burnt skin." - blood sport from sundowning (2019). an astrophysics fr /j

"and somewhere, somewhere the atoms stopped fusing." more stem!

"and out there, stuck in a quantum pattern, tangled with what i never said." this is something a theoretical physicist would say is all i'm saying. /j

now you have to listen to sleep token to hear these bangers >:)

#i've been obsessively listening to nothing but st for like a straight week #the brain rot got to me okay #sleep token #elle's interests hyperfixiations and shenanigans #escxelle

92 notes · View notes

dynamites-ao3 · 5 months

Text

An Exigency

Sub-Zero (Bi-Han) x f! Reader

explicit ; 7k words ; post-MK1 ending, aphrodisiac-addled pwp

Tasked to investigate Shang Tsung’s laboratory for his whereabouts, you find you are not alone in the endeavour. You should have known better.

Or, a mission goes awry.

read here on ao3! or read under the cut.

(a/n: forewarning for nonconsensual elements.)

You had not spoken aloud since you left the city gates.

It was silence borne out of practicality for the most part - not only were you traveling alone but the persisting heat had willed you to preserve your breath. Though it had gotten better once you passed the stretch of desert, the forest’s humidity was no less a pain.

Should this be all a test of your flesh and spirit, it is certainly an arduous one. Every so often, sweat trickles into your stinging eyes. You check and re-check your pack every hour, even if you hadn’t touched it since. Your blinks are slower, or maybe it just feels that way.

At any rate by the time you reach the laboratory, a dark mar in the idle forest, your mind is far away, dreaming of chalices of ice-cold water; and fully, entirely unable to appreciate the vast land you’ve trekked under the order of Lord Liu Kang.

Only now does it strike you: you should have asked him to create a portal. It would have been so aggravatingly easy.

And you’re only half-lucid when you finish securing its perimeters. It’s more of a tedious affair than you anticipated but for what it was worth, you’re content in doing it by yourself. You all but rush in once you were confident there hadn’t been any indication that a certain sorcerer had come back for his supplies.

Shang Tsung’s laboratory, entirely deserted, exists like a picture: it possessed still the facade of a living machine, but the absence of its quasi-scientist owner kept it frozen in time. Had you not known any better, you could easily imagine in your mind’s eye someone returning for their scribbled notes at any given second. You had to concede that Shang Tsung maintained the upper floors with impressive care, no matter its artificiality.

And for all that you endured out in the elements - best yet, the room feels like paradise on your skin. Cool, dry air, if a bit dusty. If you just ignored the sharp chemical odor that also pervaded the room, the sensation was almost entirely pleasant.

Where the smell originated, you were unsure: there were innumerable flasks on the wall shelves that contained liquid behind its amber glass.

Curious, you lean over the desk and flick absentmindedly at a plugged flask with a half-gaseous, half-liquid residue in it, watching the dark particles convect up the neck. Lord Liu Kang ought to have sent a scholar, you think: they’d know how to separate the valuable information from the drivel.

Even an imperial mage would be familiar with some of this writing scattered across the table. Still, with the discord done unto the Shirai Ryu and disappearance of Shang Tsung’s allies, having to outsource in other measures was a fair choice to make - just not one you would have made.

With your head lowered, you take stock of the papers, taking any that looked of import and folding them away into your pack on the ground. This carries on until goosebumps crop up on your arms, a particularly chilling wind sailing up your skin. The room had sapped all warmth from your body.

You almost don’t even realise the atmosphere has changed, the air growing heavier: only when you pull back far enough to witness your visible breath wisp into the air.

Not merely sheltered from the blistering heat outside any longer -

You’re cold.

In a matter of milliseconds, you turn your cheek and something sings through the air right over the bridge of your nose, freezing your eyelashes. It drives right through the window, leaving a splintered hole in the glass pane in the wake.

Your body moves on instinct, rolling to the side. You keep from flinching even as a shard of glass - or was it ice? - scrapes your cheekbone.

You hold a gasp back in your mouth, willing the stinging to subside. By the stairs, an approaching silhouette sharpens against the cloud of pale frost. You’re slowed down by shock, disbelieving in your sight.

He shouldn’t be here, not in Outerrealm. Well, you think miserably. Lord Liu Kang isn’t going to like hearing about this encounter. That is, if you survive it.

“Stand down,” Sub-Zero barks, a guttural demand cutting through the air. In his palm he draws together another stake. It comes together with a splintering crunch, like the collapse of hard plastic.

It doesn’t make sense - you’re unsure what sorcery, what technology he’s equipped to sneak into this realm without alerting the empire. Though you don’t have time to hypothesise on this as he draws his arm back and jets the projectile your way. You push away from the desks and onto your knees, tucking in your shoulder just in time for the frozen stake to pierce through wood to your left, embedding in a drawer.

Your breath is bedraggled, the frozen air hard on your lungs. Still, you ask, “Where is Shang Tsung? Earthrealm?”

Sub-Zero’s eyebrows come together; you can easily imagine a snarl under his mask. “Like I’d tell you even if I knew.”

If he knew?

He hadn’t seemed concerned with divulging this, which demanded further questions. If he knew not of Shang Tsung’s location and spoke truthfully, then it was clear he had the same objective as you here. Before you could act on this understanding, his gaze slides away, focused on something on the ground. You follow its trajectory, dread burrowing in your stomach when you realise he’s looking towards your pack where you’ve tucked away the majority of Shang Tsung’s discarded notes. Half-open, loose corners of scrolls peek out the top.

Under no circumstances were the Lin Kuei to possess those. Should there be something important, you couldn’t even fathom how Sub-Zero might exploit it for his own ambitions.

Forcing yourself to your feet, you manage to utter, “Fine. But there is nothing here for you. Leave!”

He doesn’t turn his head but his dark gaze flits back to you. You refuse to let yourself be intimidated by his vitriol - you are better than that. Although you’ve once before met Sub-Zero and his brother in the capital, you doubt any familiarity would give you a boon to this encounter. It was better that he did not recognise you, even, as it would make subduing him all the more professional.

You can only hope you are choosing correctly to not kill him outright, for that ought to be the choice of the Shirai Ryu. He doesn’t seem to be so self-limiting however, what with the way his hands twitch. It was clear now if it hadn’t been before: he was not to let you leave alive and with your stolen intel.

“You dare tell me what to do?” he says, rounding on you.

You warn, “They will stop at nothing to capture you.”

“They? Of whom do you speak - the empress or Liu Kang? Both?” He makes a condescending noise, a wisp of pale breath seeping out his mask. “You’re a lackey of theirs. Of course.”

You exhale low. You need only to grab your pack and make it down the stairs past him. You were positive you could shake him in the forest, even if he had stationed more of his assassins around the building.

“You’re a fool,” he is saying but you are only half-listening, mind racing in a multitude of directions. You could afford a fight, one that would only impede him but it would not be feasible in this space given your arsenal.

Leaving without one would, of course, be ideal but it seemed almost exponentially worse to be later ambushed in the scorching outdoors.

Perhaps you should not have come alone, after all. It’s too late now. Over the course of your perusals, you’ve familiarised yourself with your surroundings, which were really full of unidentifiable baubles. Any real weapon was out of reach from where you stood, and you’d do anything to avoid touching the various scalpels on the desk - gods know where they’ve been.

Your options were whittled down to pure martial arts - which was fine, really. But you could appreciate an advantage. So you don’t think too hard at what exactly you’re grabbing as you lean back, fingers in search of something sizeable.

They clutch around a smooth glass bottle neck that feels somewhat heavy, as though partially filled with something, and the choice is made for you.

The bottle is an amber blur in the air once it leaves your hand. With a narrow arch, you swing a rogue bottle aimed at his head, in dire hopes it would combust grand enough for you to flee.

As it turns out, nothing of the sort happens. Of course not.

With an unnatural deftness, Sub-Zero crosses his forearms, steeling them in ice just as the bottle makes impact. Though the glass explodes, it is hardly to the extent you would have liked. They merely drop in shards to the ground by his feet, nary a cut made. A viscous and inky liquid concurrently splatters his gauntlets and across his face, not even enough to blind him. He grunts.

Gasoline? It didn’t seem likely, as you would have smelt its pungency if it was. Unfortunate, of course. Lighting him on fire would certainly be a fast solution to this problem.

For a moment, Sub-Zero stills. He wipes a droplet from above his brow and inspects the dark stain between his fingertips; when nothing happens, he growls, snapping back to you.

“Pathetic,” he spits out, seething.

Sub-Zero launches himself at you. On the defensive, you slip out the way, narrowly missing the sheet of ice that would have trapped you in place behind you. You prowl one another in a circle. You’ve angered him and you could only hope this would make him sloppy.

As you soon discover, he is terribly ferocious. A performance befitting a clan grandmaster. You spend most of the engagement on the defensive, narrowly avoiding being split in half by axes and maces. Every time an ice-formed weapon swipes by your head, needles of ice spray you, buffeting your skin painfully.

No longer than a few minutes in, you think you should just go ahead and kill him after all. Jumping around like this only serves to tire you out. The blade you carry burns where you’ve hidden it in your jacket uniform. You surge forward, not yet unsheathing it as to surprise him, but your boots skid.

What - ?

When had he frozen the ground…?

You miss your mark by what must have been a finger’s width, your energy spent on balancing yourself instead. As you grapple for that stability, he closes the distance.

With one large hand on the base of your throat, you are brought hard to the ground, pretty much thrown. You wince when the back of your skull taps the rug below you but that is hardly a concern with the weight on your entire body, Sub-Zero boxing you in from above.

He is everywhere and all that you can see, his large body hovering yours and his sash dropping onto your torso.

The metal of his gauntlets are streaked with the unidentifiable dark liquid and it smears you below the chin, cold and wet like blood.

Out of sight, one of his knees dig painfully into your thigh but you do not allow him a single cry of pain. Spots dance in your vision and although the pressure on the sides of your throat grows, fogging your brain, he isn’t putting in nearly enough to end you. When you wheeze, you barely feel it pass through your lips.

It is a despicable move. You thought him merciless, indeed, but you hadn’t thought him cruel. You grab at his wrist, staunchly attempting to pull him off but with gravity on his side, it was a near futile effort. He watches with acuteness as your chest lifts and drops unevenly. “Get off,” you grit out.

He leans so close you could see his blown-out pupils quivering. Then, he speaks.

“I know you.”

For a flash, you tense. “No,” you say. “But I know you.”

“Liar.”

Unblinking and unfazed, he lifts his free hand and in one rough motion, rips off your mask. He throws it to the side, not bothering to look at where it lands and immediately you scowl.

His eyes thin - you realise he’s strangely humoured and sneering.

“How dare you,” you say.

Though he doesn’t seem to hear you, his gaze is concentrated on your mouth. “I knew it. One of Liu Kang’s lapdogs from the academy. How honoured you must feel, to be sent on a suicide mission by him.”

There is nothing to be gained in entertaining his goading. Still, something inflates inside you. “He’s done nothing of the sort. His rule is just.”

“You must mean restrictive.”

“You will not blame your greed for power on him!”

He blinks at your anger, his visage relaxing ever so slightly though no less blazing. “Your fealty is commendable,” he says. “How did he train you?”

“Fuck you.” Like a dance, you lift forward and he shoves your shoulder back against the floor harshly.

“What do you anticipate as a reward, should you return successfully?” he asks, ignoring you. “Acknowledgement, praise? That he’ll tell you ‘good work’ and bend you over the nearest table?”

The image is so violently crass, you shudder. His eyes glitter, delighting in your discomfort. The mouth on this man - if you could move, you had half the mind to sock him in the jaw as hard as you could.

It’s hard to believe that someone this provoking was once a close confidante to Lord Liu Kang. And having only ever met Sub-Zero during conferences with Lord Liu Kang present, you felt appalled just hearing this vulgarity uttered with little fanfare. Unexpected was an understatement.

Mind games! Mind games, of which you never thought him capable.

You grimace, glaring up at him through your eyelashes. “I suggest you keep your fantasies to yourself, unless you speak from experience.”

A dark scoff leaves him before it is cut out abruptly. All of sudden, Sub-Zero blinks and breaks eye contact, dipping his head to the side and although you’re unsure what he is looking at exactly, you don’t care to enquire.

At a glacially-slow pace, you try to wiggle free the fabric of your pants from where he kneeled. As soon as you could bring your own knee up, you would have leverage for a number of things that could put distance between you and him. To distract him from your legs, you continue to claw at his arm. “What is this wait, Sub-Zero? Are you going to kill me or what?”

A deep crease forms between his eyebrows as he regains his focus. “You,” he mutters accusatively. “You did something to me.”

You frown. “What?”

He makes another low noise that you vaguely register as a chuckle. “You monks are all the same, convinced your training gives you supreme dominion over the body. Wrong, of course. The Lin Kuei will still best you in that respect, as with all.”

“Your pride will be your clan’s downfall.”

“Wrong, again. And your little distractions are child’s play.”

Then, Sub-Zero looks down. As best you could, you follow the trajectory to your own fidgeting legs. He knows. The window to react and wiggle free shrinks into nothing but before you can plan contingently, he moves.

Without warning, the knee that was on your thigh lifts - and nestles hard instead right in the apex of your legs.

It’s like all the air leaves your chest in one fell swoop.

This time, you do groan aloud, noises vibrating under his palm. And, worst of all, it is a shameful sound, mortifyingly loud in the spacious room and ringing in your own ears. Oh, gods. Your eyes snap open, the unexpected pressure not excruciating but stimulating, enough to have you jolting out of your skin.

It must be an accident, because there is no way, no reason why Sub-Zero should be threatening you like this. It must be - isn’t it?

Dumbfounded beyond belief, you go slack; it no longer figured a good idea to knee him in the crotch. For the first time, you look at him directly and see beyond his feverish eyes and the streaks of black residue flecked across his skin from the liquid you threw. In fact, you find his ears are flushed pink, and have been pink for some time now.

Something inside you awakens. “What - what the hell do you think you’re doing?” you snap, now scrambling on the floor with a renewed determination. Arching your back to put some distance between his legs and yours comes at a terrible price: your chest lifts up to his. Sub-Zero, fully cognisant of the motion, says nothing. “Unhand me!”

“Had you been smarter and stood down when I ordered it, none of this would be necessary,” he tells you.

You found yourself baring your teeth. “I will not be humiliated by you.”

This captures his attention in particular, his gaze morphing and settling into something indescribable. For a beat, you could almost consider it something as gentle as curiosity - then, it disappears as quickly as it came.

In a cool voice, he says, “Look at me.”

When you ignore him, the pressure on your throat disappears, replaced by a new force on your jaw. His hand from under your chin yanks your head straight. The hand holding your wrists down tightens its grasp.

“Look at me,” he repeats. He grinds his knee between your legs again, this time with malicious purpose.

Be it distress or arousal mounting in your flesh, a soft gasp escapes your mouth. You’re desperate for relief and with him getting you this far but then stopping, you had to take measures into your own hands. Your hips roll against him and you’re only vaguely aware of your body moving, as if you aren’t even in control anymore. You drag yourself on his leg once more and for what it’s worth, you appreciate him staying so still.

There’s a pause, before -

“Humiliate?” he echoes you, intonation unbearably slow. “I could not humiliate you any more than you have already done to yourself.”

You can say nothing in protest. Your insides thrum, wanting to come so badly they ache. You should feel terrible, having debased yourself with an enemy but your brain is too hazy to think ethically. What a descent you watched yourself fall into.

You were not in control of yourself, that much you could deduce for yourself. It ought to take much more than this to distract you and yet -

When his hands relaxed, affording you space, you still had not shoved him square in the chest even though it would have been so easy. Something was terribly wrong with you. You should gut him alive for what he’s done to you.

Nonplussed, Sub-Zero rearranges himself on top of you, pulling his knees in and sitting straddle on your leg. He rests on one forearm parallel to the floor as the other arm trails down your abdomen.

The cold leather and metal of his gauntlets slip under your hem and you are much too aware of how his fingers dig into your flesh, groping and demanding. What should feel brutalising and repugnant is instead entrancing. There is nothing else to think about from below him, because if it wasn’t his touch you concentrated on it would have been his equally penetrative gaze that which never leaves your face.

Every soft shift in your expression is noticed, internalised, and responded to accordingly. When his rough fingertips find the swell of your breasts, your diaphragm unsteadies and there is no way he does not feel the tightening of your stomach under the skin. He rolls your nipple under a callused thumb until it hardens, your bra shoved aside. Nothing you do is unseen.

For once, he says nothing grating but that is hardly a relief - you can feel his domination over your flesh and spirit through physical means alone.

It was impossible to avert your eyes from the truth: you were letting him take control of you.

Your weakness was worthy of condemnation. The odes you chanted at the academy - limiting yourself from carnal pleasures in the pursuit of the ethereal - were as solid as steam slipping through your fingers. As Sub-Zero touched you, the heat of his palm skimming up and down your navel, you could not cohesively pull any dictum of asceticism into the forefront of your mind. You need not absolute chastity, but even a modicum of self-preservation for your own pride was adequate enough to absolve your acts, present or those soon to come.

As it were, you possessed neither. Something else entirely was unfurling inside you, ravenous and anxious, encouraging you devilishly to deplete yourself.

As though somehow able to hear your internal conflict, Sub-Zero speaks. “It is a fool’s errand to deny one’s truths,” he calmly says.

Truths? What truths? His affliction had spread to you and he was blaming you for it. Mindless carnality was not in your nature, and if it wasn’t his, then you had… then you had unwittingly poisoned yourself. And him.

You grimace, thinking he is trying to assuage you in your position, console you through your own guilty arousal. “There must be another way,” you say, but then he sighs through his nose and his palm grows ice-cold in a flash. Pushing under your waistband, he cups your mound and you gasp, the frigid sensation sparking up your spine.

“Fuck!” you hiss, splaying a hand on his chest and pushing but there is no force. Your other hand comes around his wrist; he doesn’t budge. Rather, his fingertips press in-between your folds, testing your limits.

“What were you saying,” he says although the edge in his voice indicates it is rhetorical.

Your face scrunches as he continues to pet you. You begin to throb painfully, anticipating being properly filled. “Stop that. You’re going to - ”

“Give you frostbite? No. There would be no point in that,” he says, flatly and hardly convincing, “I still want you to feel me.”

He didn’t seem to care about breaking you off necessarily but rather in pursuing his own pleasure, he liked making you squirm in obscene desperation.

His solid metal gauntlets press against your front as his exploratory hand slips further between your thighs. Though you’ve clamped your knees together, his own movements don’t seem impeded; you gasp for the second time, grasping the air, as he enters two cold fingers into you and pushes against your walls.

It is a strange sensation. You loathe it and yet you’re so wet, so much so that he takes off his gauntlets intermittently before returning. When he cupped you again, your hips rolled for him, lifting off the floor. It’s so lowly of you, to be done in by an erotic touch.

As with yours, his patience seemed to be thinning.

You blink and his fingers are hooked at your waistband, pulling your pants and underwear to your knees; you blink again and his weight disappears. On his haunches before you, you watch in silence - voyeuristically - as he pries loose his sash, his own pleated pants sliding halfway down to his solid thighs. Although the front of his outer jacket fell long enough that it covered his front, even the slightest sight of his exposed body made you shiver.

By now, the drug had dried on your skin; it came off in flecks as you rubbed your chin. “What the hell?” you mutter drunkenly, only half able to focus. The other half went into spectation, making certain he didn’t make any sudden moves. For this reason, you could not be sure whether the tingling you felt was real or not.

You try to vocalise this to Sub-Zero, who was splashed much more heavily than you, but he wasn’t listening. “The bottle… I think - ”

“Shut up. Move.”

Although he’s the one who put forth the command, he decidedly manipulates your body himself. Without so much another word, he puts you on your stomach, your bare thighs against the rough floor rug. You don’t fight back because… well, why don’t you fight back, actually? Cognisant of your own compliancy, this question stumps you.

Astride your legs, you feel the heaviness of his cock prod your skin. With one hand, Sub-Zero spreads your cheeks apart and guides himself into the cleft with his other. There are no warnings besides a husky sigh when he broaches you, the head of his cock stretching you out so luxuriantly. Mercilessly, he drives into you half-way and the speedy intrusion rips a filthy moan from your mouth.

Pragmatically, you know you should feel some discomfort by nature of anatomy at least - but none of that is a reality for now. He slides the rest of the way in snug, hips flush against your backside, arms straight supporting himself on either side of you. You are so wet that all you feel is full.

You almost wished it was painful, especially when he begins to move, inching his pelvis away from your rear and coming close to pulling out entirely but it really never does. It’s a disquieting revelation.

If it were painful, you would have reason to rue this entire encounter as a nightmare. Worse, you’ve never felt so comfortable in your life, with your forearms on the hard ground and being taken by a man who has half the mind to kill you after this.

“Fuck,” he says, dragging out the syllable. You had to agree with the sentiment.

He gives a few perfunctory thrusts before finding a sustainable rhythm. The carefulness he exhibits dissipates into thin air once he does, his first real thrust almost pushing your body forward by sheer force alone. It knocks the air out of you and you wiggle to establish yourself against the rug.

Apparently frustrated by your sliding forward, you feel large hands shove your shoulders down, smushing your cheek against the rug. You breathe hard through your nose, eyes rolling back in your skull.

Distantly, you hear a clatter of something hitting the ground in a haphazard fashion. Before you toss a look to the side, cold fingers find themselves back on the developing bruises on your neck, twisting your head back to look up at Sub-Zero instead. You only have a second to register that he has removed his mask before he compels you to his mouth.

As per his disposition, his kiss is equally as vicious; he does not let up until you’re dizzy and spent. It’s an awkward angle too, given his large stature, making you feel you’re about to drool out the corner of your mouth. You expected no less.

And he must have done something especially delirious to you because as he draws away, you find yourself already wanting him back, to violate you in every which way he could. He smells of incense and his stubble ghosts you. It is not enough to just feel Sub-Zero pulse inside you, you need to hear his faint huffs by your ear, to feel his tongue against yours -

“This is your doing,” he says, ticklish breath against your nape. He inhales deeply, his cold nose against your sensitive skin. “What was in that fluid?”

“I don’t know,” you cry out. So he was already aware. Then why did it feel like you were the only one objecting to its lures?

“More lies. You wanted this. For me to take you like a bitch in heat.”

“I didn’t know. I don’t know. If I did, this would never - I would never have… it’s affecting me, too - ”

He pulls off your backside, dragging his cock out. It slides onto your back thigh, leaving a wet glaze. “Turn over,” he demands, putting a hand on your hip and squeezing hard.

You do so because there is no alternative. Carefully and inspite of your lightheadedness, you roll onto your back, knees bent and shoes flat against the ground. He pragmatically removes one of your pant legs entirely off you, leaving the other still hanging, and it’s such a desperate, heated scrabble to get you further out of your clothes that at once, your heart quivers in your chest.

Unexpectedly, you find then that he doesn’t crawl on top to take you vis-a-vis this time, but rather he yanks you forward into his lap, your centre of balance going utterly wayside. You take his collar in fistfuls to counter the inertia. You see your reflection in the shine of his eyes and it is almost too intimate for you to handle.

“You wanted this,” he repeats. “So take it.”

In his lap and resting against your stomach is his erection, wet and shiny and flushed. It does not take a scholar to know what he wants - what you want. You swallow, and draw in.

His breathing is all you can hear as your hands spread out on his broad chest, sliding down. Two fingers hook at the junction point of his jacket and shakily, you pull it open. When he doesn’t move to stop you - or do anything for that matter - you undo the knots to his inner jackets as well. The jacket sides fall naturally to the sides, exposing his firm chest. He’s warm - you don’t know why that surprises you - and clean-shaven; and as you pass down his abdomen, feeling the jump of hard muscle under your palms, you remember yourself.

It feels almost embarrassing to appreciate his body, especially so since you were still covered up fully from the waist-up. Now, with him more exposed as well below you, odd emotions were in order, none of which you cared to examine.

You tear your hands away, missing the heat all the same. His heavy gaze on you doesn’t fetter. Still, at this point you were existing on borrowed time. You lift yourself on your knees and with a breath tampered in your lungs, you guide yourself down on him.

You watch him as he watches his cock disappear into you, his expression tight. There is a muscle visibly twitching in his jaw and though his palms are flat against the floor for support, his fingers are ever-roving and flexed, a moment away from grabbing your waist and taking lead. You settle onto him, the blunt head of his cock easing into you with a satisfying pressure.

“Go ahead,” he says - or rather, commands, with a razor-like edge of competition. “Get yourself off.”

The remark is so unnatural you inadvertently shoot him a bewildered look. It was difficult to take it face value, after all: you had no capacity to believe he meant it charitably. But when he counters your bewilderment with a subtle lift of an eyebrow, inciting you to question him aloud, you end up backing off.

You don’t need to be asked twice. An orgasm to rebalance your hormones that were thrown off by that drug seemed logical in any case, but before you even get to moving, he hums, his head tilted to the side, the expanse of his throat appearing particularly inviting.

“What?” you have to ask, bracing yourself in suspicion.

“You listen so well.” He purses his lips, clearly in mock-thought of what to say next, before, “Liu Kang wastes your talents.”

Your whole face flushes at the insulting implication that doing this was your talent. But what should take you right out of the mood, has you instead clenching down around him, agitation channeled elsewhere. The sudden pressure makes him grunt, a hand pulling forward to clutch your waist.

“I am no more in control than you are,” you say and you lift yourself on your knees. His cock drags slipperily against your walls.

Even so, riding him is no easy feat.

The angle forces you to take his full length every time you lower and though his thick legs cushion you, you have an inkling that he presses right up to your cervix. It doesn’t hurt thankfully but it feels a lot, certainly much more than before. You think he’s probably getting more out of this than you given the flashes of unsteadiness that cross his face when you least expect it, until you roll your hips at a different angle and it makes your calves tremble, to the extent your hands whip out and land on his shoulders for support.

You take one hand off and slide it down your front, resting at the crux of your legs. You’re close now, and you’re convinced that a little attention towards your clit will get you the rest of the way there. Abruptly then, he smacks the back of your hand away, the lasting prickles of pain on your knuckles startling you.

“No,” Sub-Zero says. “Don’t you fucking touch yourself.” You glare at him, having no interest in complying. But, almost like consolation, he raises his hips and claps against you in perfect tandem as you’re coming down. You pull your hand away, albeit begrudgingly.

His energetic thrusts back… it helps round off the ache, a little, you must admit. You possess a perfect view of his core muscles flexing every time your pelvises connect; it is impossible to not be in awe of his stamina.

You fear that it is this notion, the recognition of his pure strength and endurance, that eventually turns erotic for you. A tension builds in your lower stomach, all endeavours pointed to quelling the heat. You’re pawing him, entranced and stupefied, when you exert the last of your might to will his hips to a standstill.

Resting your full weight on his lap and rocking back-and-forth gently, you come powerfully. Your toes curl at the full-body sensation that tickles every nerve; even he cannot deny himself a ragged groan upon feeling your convulsions wrap around him, contracting and vibrating on his cock.

He shifts under you, and you let him remove the rest of your uniform, tossing it somewhere to the side. He wraps a thick arm around your waist, dragging you flush against him. You wriggle, grimacing, his cock still rigid inside you. Without much effort at all, he tucks his legs under himself, forcing you to anchor yourself with hands linked behind his neck lest risk falling backwards. It brings your faces closer together than anticipated and as you try again to find your footing and weasel out, his arm tightens.

His opposite hand grips your ass, rooting you to him as deeply as possible. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls by your temple. “I didn’t say we were done.”

You don’t get an opportunity to bemoan, still twitching in his lap. It should be both impressive and frightening, how quickly he pins you down exactly where he wants you, but you’re too dazed to appreciate it. You loosely hang off him as he crushes you, chest to chest, your soft breasts against his pecs, your hands on his nape and neck. Where you and him are still connected is a complete and utter wet mess, fluids running down the cleft of your ass and onto the damp rug beneath. Every slap of skin has a sticky noise following in its immediate wake.

His head ducks into the corner between your shoulder and neck. With your chin beside his hair, you inhale the scent of warm, clean incense. You get the debilitating thought that this isn’t so bad. It’s not great either, given the circumstances, but after a while, his barraging into you was a pleasant sting.

You found you did want him to orgasm, with haste - genuinely. Just as you were beginning to think he was being predictable, Sub-Zero skates his teeth on your shoulder and bites, earning himself a cry. You don’t think much of it until he laves his tongue on the bite mark, and it actually stings - he must have drawn blood.

You lose it a little more this time.

“Oh, gods,” you begin to plead, your voice so strangled and wimpish it’s hard to believe it’s coming from you, “I can’t…”

His scoff is warm against your collarbone. Sub-Zero lifts his head: his hair is messy, his bun coming undone; several long locks of stray hair now spill over his eyes. “Yes, you can,” he says. “Open your mouth.” He draws away and your lips part, unthinkingly but so very obediently.

Stilling ever so briefly, he spits into your mouth and your eyes widen, unable to process the sheer depravity of what he’d done. It lands squarely on your tongue and under his heavy-lidded anticipation, you swallow. It reminds you that this - the pain, the domineering, the humiliation - is all for him now; you already got your orgasm.

It gets him closer, you can tell from the way his hips speed up, deep strokes reduced to pumps, though with still enough force to ripple the flesh of your thighs. In a way, it does help - if you could handle something as vile as that, why, what couldn’t you handle?

But toleration and voluntariness were two different functional spheres entirely. Part of you thinks you would have preferred an outright fight, because then the victor and the loser would be clearly defined. Being orgasm-wrung and panting on the floor, you could constitute yourself as neither.

Thoroughly robbed of any remaining decorum, you chase after his mouth hotly, groaning into him. Sub-Zero adapts to your strain of desperation, hands planted on the sides of your face to keep you from ever wriggling away before he allows it. And yet his kiss is a respite, ridiculously enough, from how he is making you ache below.

Your hands run along his bulging triceps, stroking him almost affectionately. Your core was growing tight again and the feeling grew no matter how you tried to suppress it. “I need to… I need…” So muddled, you don’t think your words are even coherent.

Unable to restrain yourself any longer, you convulse around him for the second time. Pleasure buzzes in your chest, spreading in every direction.

“Coming again?” he huffs. “I thought your type - ngh - valued self-discipline.” The gait of his taunt is erratic, clearly moved by your sudden tightness.

“It’s the drug,” you counter, but you don’t believe that at all. No, this must be all you now.

He does not deign to reply, because right then he tenses - and you felt a liquid heat begin to pool inside you. It registers too belatedly that you should have said something earlier to stop him from ejaculating inside. It rests heavy in you, real evidence of what you’ve done if the scatter of bruises up and down your body wasn’t a sign enough. He pumps in small oscillating movements until you’ve milked him completely and you lay there, stunned and in resignation.

He sighs again, deep and low, more of a rumble than anything else. Sub-Zero blinks languidly, his eyes downcast and for the first time, you see the exertion in his expression. The loose hair that sweeps across his forehead begs to be tucked away but knowing better, you keep your hands to yourself.

Sub-Zero pulls off you unceremoniously, dick soft enough to tuck away into his pants. With every passing second, you drop from your high. In silence you drag yourself into a sitting position, eyes trailing him lazily as he stalks off and without warning rips a hanging red cloth off a stand, so violently it leaves the metal stand wobbling. It’s as large as a body towel. He wipes himself first before rolling it up and tossing it to you, its large golden tassels smacking you in the outer leg.

It is, again, a funny gesture that feels out of place with the rest of his conduct. As you clean yourself with the dry velvet - Shang Tsung’s cloak, seemingly, a fact which you drove yourself to ignore - you had to face the reality of Sub-Zero’s come dripping out of you. Even without contorting yourself, your sopping and battered cunt was obviously the culprit of the dark stain spreading across the rug.

There was, of course, no point in protesting now. And had you said something, you figured without resentment that there was no guarantee he would have listened anyway. Nevertheless, you’ll need to remedy this as soon as possible lest there be undue surprises…

You gather yourself on legs like a newborn faun, teetering until you grasp the edge of the desk, toppling a miniature astrolabe. You shove the stained cloak to the side. Your libido has wicked into almost nothingness for which you had to be relieved, but that did not quell the perceptible imbalance in your energy.

Perhaps the true purpose of that poison was to affect your chi, not your… sexual appetite, after all. It merited further research but too bad the liquid off the floor already evaporated and the bottle itself was unlabeled.

Leaning for support, you redress yourself whilst thinking about your filled womb; it makes you just cringe. Shit. It’s a major inconvenience to now have this on the forefront of your personal concerns and though you hardly had the mind to tell Sub-Zero, the mere thought of him made you faintly aware of how deathly quiet he had become.

You look up. Immediately your adrenaline spikes because he’s not there, not in your line of sight. His mask was no longer where it once was tossed either.

This, in hindsight, is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. You had no intention to rest in any afterglow, but it appeared even a moment to catch your breath was overly-indulgent.

Movement flicks on your left. And you have to blame your fatigue because otherwise you’d beat yourself up about this, because before you know it you hear that familiar crunch of ice coming together and the entire room drops several degrees.

You duck but it is the wrong direction and within a millisecond both your shoes are encased in ice. You lurch, unsteady in the trap.

You exhale. You suppose it was always going to converge back to a tussle, one way or another. But then you spot him kneeling by your pack, invasively filing through what you’ve uncovered, and you’re incensed again. Already having wasted enough time, you snap, “You won’t get away with this, Sub-Zero.”

He lifts the pack by one handle and sends a provoking look your way. “I already have,” he says and you bristle. You’re so stupid for letting your guard down, letting him leave your sight for even a second. The muffle of his mask is not enough to conceal the smarmy condescension oozing out.

Of course, you weren’t expecting him to be romantic, beaming in post-coital bliss, but going back to wanting each other dead so promptly after being drugged up feels dramatically unhinged.

“We need to figure out what that stimulant was,” you say. “You felt what it did to you - what it did to us. This place is dangerous and I have contacts with the Edenians to help us sort through it. I just need… you to hand that bag over.”

You think it’s convincing enough because it’s true. Like hell you’d ever want to be caught up in a position like that, being splashed by liquid that had the ability to strip you of your chi and basic self-control.

“Come on,” you insist, more aggrieved than ever before, “you were just induced into having sex with a complete stranger. Shouldn’t you be more worried?”

Sub-Zero pauses, smoothing his hair back with the heel of his palm. Somehow in that short span of time, he’d managed to equip all his gear back sublimely. This fact only aggravates you further. “Hm. I didn’t expect you to think so lowly of yourself.”

“You cannot be serious - ”

Then, like a gut punch to cap-end the entire affair, he interrupts, “Should you want this back, you know where to find me.”

No. No, no, no.

It’s the last thing he bothers saying. None of your angry shouts purportedly get to him, even as he vanishes down the stairs and although your backup knife is miserably tiny, it’s the only one you have on-hand. At a loss, you bend your knees and start chipping away the ice.

The upside, you find, is that the ice is very hard: it provides for you an exercise in releasing your stress by hacking into it without holding back. The downside, equally, was that it was very hard, so hard it would seemingly take you ages to free yourself.

Shards of brittle ice spit up from where you stab. Your body trembles; your face is so flushed that you’re surprised the ice hadn’t already melted under the spotlight of your anger and embarrassment.

You’ve scarcely a desire to enter Earthrealm, and certainly none in hurtling towards a viper’s den like a Lin Kuei stronghold, but -

You also cannot go back to Sun Do empty-handed.

What would you even say to Lord Liu Kang when he requests your report? Should you even mention Sub-Zero? You’re sick to the stomach at the mere thought of having let Lord Liu Kang down so gravely… your fretting was giving you a headache.

It did not help that you were already dehydrated the moment you stepped inside the building.

Pinched between your thumb and forefinger, you break off a small chunk of ice and place it on your tongue. It’s so brilliantly cold it practically burns. As you wait for it to melt into water by sucking gently, you try very, very hard to not think about how the cold felt on the rest of your body.

For what it’s worth, you almost do succeed.

#subzero x reader #bihan x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mk1 x reader #dynamites writes

143 notes · View notes