Sebastian Stan/Superhero Fan Page

The prank wasn’t completed yet, there was another step, another stop, he had to do.

After some good walking, the young Parker found his way to the 177A Bleeker Street, standing now face to face with the Sanctum Sanctorum, the residence of Dr Strange.

Peter wasn’t sure if the doctor would accept the request he was about to make, but there was only one way to figure it out. He took in a deep breath and knocked at the door, waiting patiently to be answered. Steps were heard approaching the other side of the door, and then the locks started to come off, before the door opened revealing Wong on the other side.

Wong stares at Peter, confused at first, and then nods at him. “What do you want?”

Peter smiles nervously, holding tighter the bag with the little and special surprise. “Is Strange here?”

“Why do you ask? I sense something from you, and I’m not sure if I like it…” Wong said, hesitant on if he should just close the door, or let him come in.

“I came to ask for a small favor to Strange.” Peter shows him the closed bag, hoping Wong would let him come inside to talk to the wizard.

Wong shook his head. “He’s busy right now, come back another day.” He was about to close the door, but Peter insisted, moving his foot in the gap against the door.

“Pl-please! I promise it’ll just take one second!” Wong was about to tell him to move his foot away, but another voice joined the conversation, and the door fully opened to reveal the person Peter was looking for.

“What’s going on? Why so much noise?” Strange levitated downstairs, holding a cup of tea with one hand while with the other he held a grimoire.

Peter smiled, relieved to find the wizard in time. “The arachnid boy wants to ask you for a favor, I told him to come back another day due to our duties for today,” explained Wong, stepping aside from the entrance, letting Peter come inside now that there was no point on keeping him outside.

Stephen raised an eyebrow at Peter, curious. It wasn’t everyday the young Parker came asking him for favors. “And, what’s that favor?”

The spider hero approached him; bag still tightly held in his hand. “Oh it’s nothing complicated, I promise, just a binding work, that’s all.”

The doctor’s curiosity just increased with the lack of detail. “Binding of what, exactly?”

“Of an object to a person.”

Silence took over the room for a moment, both Stephen and Wong looking at each other, unsure of whether this was a good idea or not. “Alright,” said Stephen, “what is it that you want me to bind. Show me the object and I’ll decide if I’ll do it or not.”

Peter’s cheeks turned pink, his eyes widened, embarrassed. “Ah, haha, yeah, so, about that, well, uhm… I’d prefer if we did that somewhere more… private?” He gestures with his head at Wong discreetly, and Stephen sighs before nodding at Wong.

Both the wizard and Peter went upstairs and entered a silent room, the doors closed and Stephen turned to stare at Parker. “So, the object, what is it?” By the tone on Strange’s voice, it was obvious he just wanted to get done with this fast, as he had more important matters to attend to.

Peter nodded and opened the bag before taking the fleshlight out of the bag to show it to the wizard.

Stephen is speechless, staring at the object, and then back at Peter, concerned for the kid’s mental health. “That’s not happening.”

The nervous smile of Peter quickly fades. “Wait, wait, wait, let me explain it!”

“I already knew this was going to be a bad idea, please leave this place and leave me out of your intimate life.” Stephen was about to leave the room, but Peter quickly moved on the way of the wizard.

“It’s for April’s fool! It’s a joke for someone!” he tries to explain.

“That’s another reason why this is a bad idea, now let me go before I move you.” The doctor’s patience was starting to wear thin with the young hero’s insistence.

“It’s for my boyfriend, I promise, truly promise, that’s an inoffensive joke! Look, bind it to me!” Stephen groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, tired from listening to details that should be kept private.

Stephen sighs. “I’ll do it, but I won’t be responsible for any consequences because I warned you. Understood?” Peter nods, his smile returning on his lips. The doctor just rolls his eyes and conjures a small binding, non permanent, between the sexual toy and Peter. He didn’t want to know how Peter was going to put that binding to use, already by seeing the object, he believed it was enough unwanted information. “Done. Now please, leave.” The door of the room opened with a swift movement of the wizard’s hand.

Peter stared at the object, amazed, and quickly put it back inside the bag. “Thanks Doctor Strange! Have a nice day!” he shouts as he leaves the room and then the mansion running. Everything was ready and Peter could now proceed with the following step of his April’s fool plan. Excitement invaded Peter’s mind, he couldn’t wait for the moment to come.

Hours passed, Peter was now at school, the little enhanced gift hiding at the bottom of his backpack. Lunch break came and him and his best friend, Ned, were eating at the corner of the cafeteria, sharing little fun facts about the latest boardgame and also the recent activity they just did in science class.

Ned sighed, ready to change the subject. “Hey Parker, have you thought on what you’re going to do for April’s fool?” The question hung in the air for a moment, Peter’s cheeks turned bright pink as he remembered the surprise he has for you right in his backpack. “I’m thinking on pranking MJ,” resumed Ned as he supported the bottom of his chin with the palm of his hand. “You know, because she’s so serious all the time, laughing a bit won’t hurt her. But… sigh… I’m doomed to fail. Either she doesn’t laugh, or she punches me right on my face. You know how she is.” Peter hummed and nodded in understanding. MJ was definitely a special girl, always ready to throw hands when needed, and she’s also very distant. No wonder Ned wants to prank her, she’s almost like the perfect target for April’s fool, but Ned might pay the price for it.

“True, what were you thinking on doing?”

“Hmm, nothing too crazy, just spook her with the old prank of my guts falling out of my stomach, or a pen in my eye.” Peter raised an eyebrow at Ned, that prank was surely doomed to fail. Ned’s eyes brightened and leaned closer towards Peter. “What about you? I bet you’re thinking on pranking your boyfriend Y/n, right?”

Peter blushed again. “Y-yeah,” he answers with a shy grin.

Ned giggles, so curious and excited. “So? What are you going to do tomorrow?”

The young hero thought whether telling his best friend or not, but Ned knows so much about Peter already, he finds it hard to believe his best friend would ever judge him. He leans closer to Ned and whispers, “I bought a flesh light to prank Y/n with it.” Ned frowned, confused at first, then his eyes widened as the words processed in his minds. He gasped, ready to shout, but Peter was quicker and covered his friend’s mouth with his hand. “Shhh!”

Ned calms down, and Peter slowly removes his hand. “A flesh light?” Ned whispers. “Didn’t you tell me your boyfriend doesn’t use that kind of stuff? He’s not a big fan of sex toys, right?” Peter nods, a little embarrassed now. “So, why a sex toy for April’s fool?”

“I don’t really care if he uses it or not, I’m just interested on his reaction, you understand? He’s so cute when flustered.”

His best friend nods, now understanding where Peter is coming from. “Yeah, Y/n gets easily frustrated and flustered, mhmm… that’s a good prank… that’s a good prank.”

Peter nods. “See? I told you.”

The next day came, and classes had come to an end. Ned and Peter went to Peter’s apartment, where you’d be already waiting for him.

Tonight it was Star Wars marathon, it was a plan that was waiting in the chat group for months already. And tonight was also the perfect occasion for Peter’s prank to be put to work.

There, popcorn, sodas and candies were set in place on the coffee table in the living room. Blankets and pillows were also ready, and a bunch of comics and figurines of Star Wars accompanied the decoration of the living room.

“Alright, everything’s set, are you guys ready?” you asked, sitting down by your boyfriend’s side before wrapping an arm around his shoulder, bringing his head on yours.

“Yes! Bring it on! May the force guide us through all the movies and series…” said Ned, shifting his voice to a darker tone, trying to sound like Darth Vader as he moved his hand to cover his mouth, muffling his voice.

Peter chuckled and nodded at you, so you put the first movie.

At the beginning everything went lovely, you occasionally kissed the top of Peter’s head, rubbed his shoulder with your hand, nuzzled your head with his. You felt very cuddly with him. Peter liked the sweet attention, kissing your cheek from time to time, moving his hand to your thigh, or giving you popcorn. Poor Ned, he was truly the ultimate third wheel.

The latter stood up from the couch and stretched. “Gotta go take a piss, be right back!” he announces before living with his Darth Vader cape. Before turning on the corner to the hallway, he gives a quick wink at Peter, the spider hero smiles knowingly at him. It was time.

Peter grabs the remote for the TV and pauses the movie; he then grabs the popcorn bag from your lap and leaves it with the remote on the coffee table. You frown confused at your boyfriend’s action, your attention goes on him, and you find him staring at you with guilty puppy eyes, as if he had done something wrong.

“Babe?” you call. “Is there something wrong? Why did you pause the movie at my favorite part?” Peter didn’t answer right away, his eyes went down, and a little pout formed on his lips. You were starting to get concerned. Did something bad happen to him? “Babe… are you okay?”

Peter grabs your hands and looks at you, again with those guilty puppy eyes. “Y/n… I have to tell you something very important…” Oh fuck. You never thought you could ever be so scared of words. In an instant you sat straight, getting closer to Peter, so concerned of what he might possibly say.

“What is it, love? You’re worrying me. If something bad happened, we can fix it, together.”

Your boyfriend shifted his attention elsewhere, sighing, breathing heavily. “I… you… I, uh…” Was it a breakup? Did Peter want to break up with you? But why? What did you do wrong?

Your boyfriend takes a deep breath in, closing his eyes, then lets it out slowly and opens his eyes again, giving you puppy eyes. You’re still confused, but now, you can feel there’s something fishy about his attitude. Peter releases your hands and gets off the couch to walk behind it and come back to sit by your side, this time with a wrapped box between his hands. “This is for you, babe, it took me so long to find a good gift for the person I most love… Wanted to make sure it was something that you’d love and enjoy, and I’m so happy and honored to be the one to give this to you.” He holds the gift to you with a warm smile. You’re speechless, eyes wide and locked on the gift.

“You… you bought me a gift?” You felt so touched. It was more than evident that you really found a great partner. And yet, why did you have the feeling that something was up? You grab the box and bring it to your lap hesitantly. Your attention keeps moving between the box and the puppy eyes of your boyfriend. Yeah, there’s something wrong, absolutely.

You slowly start unwrapping the gift, and Peter notices you’re suspecting the whole situation. He had to distract you. “And, uhm, I noticed that you’re trying on a new shirt, it looks so good on you. Makes you even more handsome, good looking, I’d definitely kiss you on it.” His random chatting distracted you successfully. Your eyes were locked with his, with the way he was staring at you, so adorable with a hint of mischief. That’s a hot look on him.

It took you a minute to realize how distracted you were. The gift was already unwrapped and just needed to be opened. “Alright, let’s see what you got for me…” You open the box and your eyes widen while your cheeks flush bright red from embarrassment.

“W-what? What’s this? Why- why are you giving me this…? Huh?”

Peter just burst out laughing, glad and proud his prank worked just fine. You’re still speechless, looking at your boyfriend and the sexual toy inside the box.

“Oh, wow…” A voice joins. Ned is back from the bathroom, and he’s now staring at you with mocking surprise. “I didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff, Y/n.”

“N-no! This isn’t-! It- It was Peter! He gave this to me! I- I had nothing to do-! Agh!” you start to panic. Now both students can’t stop laughing at your reaction, high fiving each other as they don’t stop saying how you fell for the prank so easily.

Neither of them was listening to you, too lost in the laughter, pointing fingers at you. It was bothering you, making you feel uncomfortable.

You stood up abruptly from the couch, gaining the attention from your boyfriend and his best friend back on you. Cheeks still red from embarrassment, yet eyebrows frowned noticeably from anger, you shouted, “I hate the two of you!” And without adding anything else, you stormed out of Peter’s apartment.

“W-wait babe, we were just joking…” said Peter still laughing a bit, but you didn’t stop for him, slamming the door loudly at them. Silence took over the room for several minutes. “Damn…”

Ned and Peter exchanged looks, before both of them shrugged and went back to watching movies.

Minutes later, Ned noticed something. “Oh… your boyfriend left with the box in hands.” Another round of laughter came.

The next day came, Ned and Peter woke up from their deep sleep on the couch with Aunt May’s voice talking to the phone. Peter couldn’t quite hear what she was saying or with who she was talking, and he didn’t have the chance to know when May hung up the phone and sighed as she turned to look at the two students.

“What’s wrong?” mutters Peter, still slightly sleepy, stretching his limbs and sitting back on the couch.

“It’s Y/n’s parents, he caught a cold, it seems he left the apartment without a jacket right when it was starting to rain outside,” she explained. “Poor him, he won’t be able to go to school today.”

What? You were sick?

“Ooouuhh…” said Ned as he looked at Peter with a mocking grin. “Damn bro, you got your own boyfriend sick. Ouch, that hits hard.”

The words were slowly processed in Peter’s mind before he could react. “Wh-what?! No! I didn’t mean to! It-it was a joke, how was I supposed to know it was going to rain?!” Despite him trying to defend himself, he deeply knew that it was partly his fault that you were sick. He shouldn’t have laughed at you, he should have apologized and gone to stop you from leaving so late at night while it was raining. Fuck… maybe he was a bad boyfriend. “He-hey! You also laughed at him! You’re as guilty as I!”

“What? No!”

“Yes! You even helped set everything up!”

“Only because I’m a good friend!”

“I never asked you to help me!”

“Boys,” interrupts May with a tired expression. “You have school, now go get ready.”

The bus ride was buzzy, Ned was focused on his game while Peter kept staring at the screen of his phone where your name and phone number appeared.

He let out a soft sigh before pressing the call button and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” a raspy voice could be heard from the other side of the line. Indeed, it was clear you were very sick.

“Hey babe…I- I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I’m sorry you’re sick right now, I shouldn’t have laughed at you. Please babe, sorry.”

You cough for a moment before clearing your voice. “No need to apologize, it was stupid of me to run like that… plus, there was now way you could have known It was going to rain.”

The corner of Peter’s lips curl into a soft smile at his boyfriend’s words, you were always so kind and forgiving. “I love you, and I miss you.”

“I miss you and love you too, love…” Peter’s smile widens at your word, feeling blushy and more relieved that everything was good between you two.

“Wish I could be by your side, taking care of you, nuzzling and cuddling by your side.”

He could hear you letting out a raspy, soft laugh. “You’d get sick as well, love. I don’t want you to be sick.”

“It would be worth it; there’s nothing I want more than to be by your side.” Your words were too corny; Ned would agree on that. Thankfully for him, the school was now close, and the bus started to slow down as it reached the station. Peter grabbed his stuff as he got ready to exit the bus. “Alright love, I’m now at school, I’ll take and pass all the notes to you and will also grab your notebooks and homework. Oh! And I’ll also help you do the homework, okay?”

Peter could guess you were smiling on the other side of the line. “Yes love, okay, thank you. Love you.”

“Love you too, bye.” Peter ended the call, that cheesy smile still adorning his lips as he got out of the bus. Ned waited for him with a mocking disgust face. “What?”

“You two make me sick.”

Later that day, you found yourself still buried in the sheets of your warm bed, relaxing, trying to regain some energy to fight that cold you just caught. Shivers ran down your body less frequently thanks to your parents’ care, to which you’re extremely grateful for.

No one else was in the apartment except of you. After some insistence from you, telling your parents that you would be alright alone, your parents left to work, which meant you won’t see them until six pm, or later. There was nothing to do in your bedroom, you were boring yourself to death.

Your eyes found that one box under your desk, the one containing that little prank from your boyfriend. You could still hear his guilty voice from the last call, he was such an adorable dork.

Back to the box, you got out of your bed and took it in your hands before going back under the bed covers. You opened it, revealing the sexual toy that made you panic yesterday, and took it in your hand. You still felt a little ashamed from that flesh light, but you were also very curious. Oh well, no one else is watching you, so why not try it?

You move your hands with the toy under the covers and clumsily lower down your pyjama pants to release your soft cock.

You had no lubrication, but it couldn’t be that important, right?

With a deep breath in, you slowly push the tip of your cock head in. The gummy walls are tight, and a groan leaves your lips from how sensitive you are.

“Fuck…”

The head pops in, and you need to take a break of five seconds to get used to the tightness. Maybe the lubricant was necessary. Another deep breath goes inside your lungs, and you keep pushing. “Oh…” And pushing. “Oh fuck…” Until all of your cock is inside that nice flesh light. “Hmmff…”

A mental note was added; you needed to thank your boyfriend for this gift. What a blessing.

The math class was slightly boring today, Peter tried to pay attention to what the teacher said, but the teacher spoke so slowly and in a torturing monotone voice, that Peter was almost convinced his life was going in slow motion. Ned sat by his side, cheek resting on his hand as he tried so hard not to fall asleep. Peter’s eyes went back to the clock hanging above the door, and to his own bad luck, that clock was broken. Another sigh of pure defeat left him as he held his head between his hands.

A soft tingle suddenly made its presence known between his ass cheeks. The student just moved a little on his chair to be more comfortable, not paying much attention to the weird feeling against his skin. However, that strange feeling never left, it just got worse. Now it felt as if a whole thumb was pressing right against his puckered asshole. Peter grunted under his breath, clenching around nothing. What was going on? Was there something inside his pants? He contemplated the idea of going to the bathroom, but the teacher hardly ever let anyone exit the class during the lesson.

He lifts his hips slightly, trying to maybe pull away from that strange thing, but it doesn’t disappear.

Peter starts to get a little anxious, confused at what’s happening. Ned has woken up and is staring at Peter, confused.

“Hey man, are you okay?” he whispers.

“There’s something- tsk, in my pants… I can’t- ah!” Peter’s sentence is interrupted abruptly with a yelp that almost caught everyone’s attention for a second. Peter covered his mouth with his hand and slowly sat back on his seat.

Something just went inside his ass, he could feel it, something solid, big and slightly round shaped was just inside his hole. He tried not to do any loud and weird sound.

Everything quickly cleared in his mind; the flesh light, you were using the flesh light that he gave you as a prank yesterday. Oh god.

You’re supposed to be sick, Y/n, what the fuck?

Deep breaths. Peter tried to take deep breaths in, not wanting to bring more undesired attention on him. The words of the teacher and Ned were hardly heard by him as he couldn’t help but focus on that cock head ramming its way inside his tight hole. And no lubrication, it hurts so much, fuck.

Peter bound that flesh light to him with hopes of Y/n using it and make things more fun, sure, but he did not expect for you to use when he was in class. He wanted you to use it on him while you two were together, alone, in the safety of your room or his room at least.

“Mr Parker, is everything okay?” asked the teacher, a bit annoyed. Peter didn’t notice everyone’s eyes were on him.

He swallowed thickly and sat straight. “I, uh, yeah, just a little thirsty, I’m sorry, please continue.” He sits back correctly, his cheeks pink from embarrassment. That invisible presence inside his hole disappears for a moment, giving him the chance to relax for a second, before returning, this time deeper than before. Peter bites his knuckles, stifling an embarrassing sound as he clenches around nothing. You’re pushing deeper, fuck, fuck! He feels you pull back for a moment, before going in even deeper. “Ngh-!” Quickly, he covers his mouth with his hand. This was just getting worse with every minute that passed.

“You sure you’re okay, Peter?” asked Ned, concerned for his best friend that was blushing so red, and even drops of sweat were forming on the top of his forehead. “You don’t look so good.”

Peter was panting lowly, his hands moved to hold the edge of the desk with so much strength, he feared he might break it. “The… hmmf… the flesh light, of yesterday…” he whispered, not daring to look at Ned in the eyes, not wanting to look even more ridiculous than what he probably looks like now.

Ned just frowned, not understanding why Peter was bringing that sexual toy up. It was a prank for your boyfriend and that’s all, was Peter regretting the choice? “What about it? Y/n has it, right?’

Peter nodded quickly. “Y-yeah…”

“So? What’s the problem?”

“It’s bound to me… oh- fuck… I can feel it…”

Ned didn’t say anything for a moment as he slowly connected the dots together. His eyes widened, Ned looked everywhere in shock before going back to Peter. “What?!” he hissed. “You- he- right now?! Like, right right now?”

“Ned and Peter, what’s so important that you’re interrupting me while I’m talking?” asked the teacher, now clearly annoyed.

“Uhm,” started Ned, sitting straight on his chair. “We just heard that we will have more science homework, yikes.”

The teacher sighed. “How unfortunate.” The class resumed with its lesson.

Peter groaned lowly, he could still feel your dick pushing inside him. His hole was now stretched, and you were sliding in with no issues. “Oh fuck… oh…” His thighs were pressed together as his cock slowly grew hard inside his jeans.

“Why did you bind it on you? That’s crazy!” hissed Ned, alarmed and perhaps even uncomfortable as he saw his friend getting fucked by an invisible dick in the middle of the class.

“F-fuck off…” Your cock hit close to that sweet spot and Peter almost saw stars. He quickly bit his arm, muffling a moan as his eyes rolled back. “It’s too much…”

Your thrusts turn quicker, hitting deeper inside and faster. Peter’s eyes widen in shock and panic.

“Ah- ah… haa…” His mouth hangs wide open, yet no other moan comes out as he’s doing his best to not bring more attention on him. His forehead rests on the surface of the cold desk, you’re driving him insane, and you don’t even know it yet. “Nghh… ah, ah… ahn…” His moans are becoming high pitched every time you rub that sweet spot with your thick shaft.

Peter couldn’t keep his eyes open, his back arched as the thrusts became harder. Everything around him went silent as he just got drowned in the dangerous pleasure.

“Hmmf… aah…unnh… fuck…” He clenched hard. One brutal thrust forced him to grind his teeth to prevent a loud moan to come out. His body won’t stop twitching, he’s so close to losing it. His brain is melting as he gets closer and closer. Your cock… it feels so good. Fuck, he has never been so hard before. “Hmmghh-“

“Peter,” Ned calls.

But Peter just raises his hand at him, shaking his head. “D-don’t! Don’t ask me what’s wrong, I- haa… Please…” Ned shuts his mouth close, staring around him to make sure no other student was seeing this.

Peter is too busy trying not to lose it in the middle of the class, but he’s so tempted to surrender to the incredible feeling and just moan out loud. Shout how good you’re fucking him, how good your cock feels buried inside his ass.

His own cock won’t stop leaking inside his pants, the prominent bulge feeling so painful inside the tight confines and a dark stain could be seen at the front of his trousers. “Need to cum…” he mumbles to himself. Your cock is now hitting his prostate nonstop, it feels great, how your cock head hits it, how your large and fat shaft stretches him. He can almost feel the warmth of it, the pulsing veins. So good.

You go even faster, and a whine comes out from him. “Ahn! Ah, ah, ah… Y/n…” More… more…!

Give me more! Fuck me up!

The class ended and the school’s bell rang loudly. And at that very second, something hot and warm and stick started to fill Peter’s slick, warm walls; cum. Just as the bell rang, Peter rolled his eyes and let out the loudest moan he could give. Mentally thanking the bell was loud enough to muffle such embarrassing sound. “Aaahnn!” Large and thick loads of cum kept spurting inside his ass while his own cock spurted cum right in his pants.

Peter collapsed on the desk, too full, too stuffed with your spunk. He felt so done, and pathetic. Ned stared at him, horrified, but Peter couldn’t care less.

Students left the classroom in just a few minutes, leaving Ned and Peter alone. Peter’s panting was the only thing to be heard among the walls. His first time was done through a portal bound to a sexual toy in school, with you… how unique.

“So full…” he mumbled, tired.

Y/n, you’re such a monster.

Your cum was dripping slowly out of his agape hole, ruining his underwear. But it wasn’t really important now, everything from his waist down to his crotch was covered with your and his cum.

Ned cleared his throat. “So… ready to go home?”

Peter didn’t answer right away, catching his breath slowly. He sighed. “Can’t move…”

“What?”

“Can’t move… can’t get up… hmm…”

“Jesus Christ, Peter…” Ned shook his head in awe and disappointment. He just started to pack the things from the desk before helping Peter stand up from his seat. Peter’s legs felt wobbly, but with a few steps he regained his balance. “Are you okay?”

Peter nodded. “Just… just go without me, I’ll see you outside in a minute.”

“There’s no way, you can’t even stand straight.”

“Please.”

“You need me, don’t be so stubborn.”

“Please.”

At his words, Ned decided to be silent.

Peter just stared at him with begging, tired eyes. “I’ll be alright, please, wait for me outside.”

His best friend was hesitant at first, not sure if leaving Peter would be a good idea, but he understood Peter might want to be alone for a minute. So he left.

The spider hero sighed in relief, regaining his composure slowly. What a good fuck.

Peter was left with doubts now, not knowing what was worse about this situation; the fact that he hoped you’d go even deeper, or that he wanted to have another fuck with you so badly, but without the sexual toy. He just wanted to feel your cock in all of its glory inside his hungry hole.

________________________________________

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You almost groaned at the 3 AM staring tauntingly back at you, reminding you that if you failed to go back to sleep, you'd be wasting one or two hours of sleep before your shift.

Quiet muttering again, from behind you, close to your ear. The body pressed against your back jerked with a flinch, and further down the bed, Haley released a quiet huff, similarly roused from her sleep. You dug your elbow into the bed to prop yourself up and craned your head over your shoulder to take a peek at the man clinging to you.

Dick's brows were scrunched together in a tight furrow, and lines had formed around his mouth from how deeply he frowned. His body twitched, his fingers curling until they were tightly fisting your shirt. You moved around, sitting up completely and facing the hero, a frown of your own tugging at your lips. 

"Babe," You called out quietly, voice hoarse with sleep and throat aching for a sip of water. You touched his shoulder, giving it a little shake. "Baby, wake up."

Nightmares were a common occurrence during the night, though sometimes it felt like the more time passed, the worse they got. They'd started small, at first, to you at least.

You'd notice the faint smell of sweat clinging to Dick in the mornings, and on the rare times he'd wear a shirt to bed, there'd be marks of sweat along his back and armpits. From then, it grew into mutterings, twitching, gasping. 

He never spoke about his nightmares, always brushing them aside and distracting you with a kiss, but you had a vague idea of what kept him up at night; the same reason he doubled security measures after you moved in with him and insisted on teaching you the basics of self-defense. 

"Baby." You called a little louder and shook his shoulder a little rougher.

He hummed softly and loosened his hold on your shirt, but his features were still tight with worry and stress. You sighed and spared Haley, who'd begun to doze off again, an apologetic glance.

"Grayson!"

Dick shot upright with a gasp, his wide sky blue eyes flying open and darting around in a panic. His chest heaved with breaths, and he leaned over, his hand stretching out toward his nightstand where he kept some of his gadgets.

Haley, startled by the sudden movement, stumbled onto her clumsy paws and growled, similarly searching for danger.

"What? What?" Dick asked, the sleep entirely spooked out of him.

His eyes continued to dart around the room, the tension in his shoulders dying when he realized it was empty. His puzzled gaze settled on you, lowering to inspect your upper body as he tipped forward to wrap his arms around you.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?

You gave him a sympathetic smile, your hand raising to brush back the raven-black strands clinging to his sweaty forehead. "I'm fine, baby... you..." You took in a deep breath, your head lolling to the side. "You were having a nightmare again. You woke me up."

"Oh," Dick's body deflated. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." You assured him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering slightly. Haley settled back down again, her ears remaining perked just in case. "Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what's going on."

Dick's nostrils flared with his inhale. "I... I keep dreaming that you're taken... sometimes by Bane or Scarecrow or some wannabe gangster. Those dreams aren't as bad, but... sometimes I.. I dream that it's Joker, and... and that I'm too late, like Bruce was with Jason." He admitted quietly, his features tightening with grief.

"Oh, Dick.."

You clicked your tongue softly and curled your arms around him, tightening your hold to be squeezing. Dick buried his face in the nape of your neck, his following breath trembling.

"I'm right here, sweetheart. I'm right here, and I'll always be right here. You know me, baby. I'm like a cockroach; I'm hard to get rid of."

Dick's shoulders shook with a laugh, and he leaned back, his glossy eyes crinkling with amusement. "You're not a cockroach, baby."

"Well, you called me one, remember?" You arched your brow at him teasingly.

Dick blew a raspberry, blinking away his unshed tears. "Back in school when we hated each other, which was ages ago. I always knew you'd bring it up someday." He laughed again, pressing his forehead to yours. "Well... you're my cockroach now."

"Ugh."

Another laugh, deep from within his chest, a sound that rumbled pleasantly through you. Dick slumped back onto the mattress, bringing you along with him, his hold on your body never faltering or loosening.

You went easily, your legs naturally tangling with his and your head coming to rest over his shoulder. His lips brushed over your head.

"I love you." He sighed.

“Then I’m not coming back... I need to know, Bi-Han, I need to be fucking certain that all this shit you’ve put me through is done… I can’t love a man who thinks that torturing me is nothing but a game to see how much you can hit a dog before it bites.”

Everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion, watching the traces of you leave his quarters; you took the Michael Jackson CDs, which gutted him more than anything, it meant that you were finally gone and out of his life. Bi-Han had too proud for weeks, for months, too proud to try and win you back; you went to stay with mutual friends somewhere else, refused to see him when he came to the door to ask you to speak to him.

He found out from a friend of a friend that you had been going out with another man, and that all but brought him to his knees; when they said that you were going out with Kenshi Takahashi, some guy that you had met through other people, Bi-Han almost lost it. Only held back by Cyrax and Sektor, and even then, they hardly managed. You were gone, and Bi-Han had allowed the one good part of him to fall from his grip.

For weeks, for months, he spent all but every second pouring over trying to find the right thing to say to you; you didn't want to see him. You refused his visits, refused his calls, burned his letters. You threw the ring you used to wear at his chest, and he should have gotten the hint when he found the collar at his doorstep, burnt and all but turned to ashes; he should have taken the hint, but he didn't want to let you go.

All of his other suitors, frivolous men with hot blood and an appetite for status, meant nothing to him; he resigned himself to you, waiting for you to come back even though he knew that you wouldn't. Even in his dreams, Bi-Han ran it through his mind over and over again; trying to find the right thing to say, trying to find out how he could have changed things. But there wasn't anything. He wasn't getting you back, and maybe he should have accepted it and maybe he should have moved on, but he couldn't.

He was doing his best to go back to how he used to be, the stoic and grumpy Grandmaster who everybody knew had a soft spot, but now he was completely frozen; all of his pain got in the way of thinking clearly, all of his pride forcing him to put the blame on you every time he explained things. His brothers tried reaching out and apologising, he refused to see them.

He wasn't going to let himself sink so low; he wasn't going to admit that he was the walking wounded, that he was pouring everything into someone who didn't want to even acknowledge that he existed anymore. Maybe he should have been kinder to you, maybe he shouldn't have pushed you as far as he did when you had so eagerly put yourself on the line for him like that; you had risked your life, and he had given you nothing but pain.

The only thing that Bi-Han wished for every time that he went to sleep was that you would agree to see him, and tell him what he would need to do to tell you that he had been seriously and tell him what to do to get you to stay; every night, in the darkness of his quarters, surrounded by shadow and the faint lingering scent of you on the jacket of his that you used to steal, Bi-Han would quietly murmur to himself, begging into bleakness for you to come back and just tell him what he was supposed to do to get you to stay again.

To get you to come back, and to come home. A deep, hollow, feeling had settled into his chest that he just couldn't shake; it felt as if his own physical shadow had been torn and ripped from him, leaving the muscles open and raw as they twitched and trembled against cold air.

Maybe he should have gotten down on his knees at your feet and begged like all the other pathetic people did when they were losing somebody, maybe he should have prayed every night instead of wishing into shadows; maybe he should have left it alone and left you to get on with your life.

But the thought of you with another man wasn't something he could stomach so easily; you were his husband, you had vowed to be at his side for years, ever since you were just children. And now you were gone, and Bi-Han was lost; he was lost without his Shadow, unsure exactly of what the fuck he was meant to do but too proud to admit it and too proud to reach out and ask for help.

Too proud to do anything but keep it all to himself and then take it out on the other Lin Kuei when he was training them.

How was he meant to stop losing you, when the only scrap that he had left was the jacket he refused to wear because it still smelled ever so faintly like you; when he hated his own bed because suddenly it was too big and he felt the creeping realisation of being alone every night, when he would snap and scold everyone around him for trying to take your place.

There would never be another you, he wouldn't let there be another you; he couldn't stop losing you, everywhere he looked was another reminder of that. The spiders in every room that you would growl at him about not killing until he left them alone; the snakes in the garden that you would put water out for on hotter days. The birds that you would feed, bugs in the summer and seeds in the winter. Everywhere he looked, Bi-Han was reminded of you, and reminded that he had lost you.

He couldn't begin to explain it, how he wanted to burn the world entire down and rebuild it just so you wouldn't be around anymore to remind him of what he had lost; the framed picture of you and him in Egypt that he still kept on his desk, and would threaten Cyrax and Sektor over when they pointed out that it was still there and he would have been better off getting rid of it.

He couldn't bring himself, as much as he had tried to work up the courage to do it; he couldn't get rid of you, couldn't bring himself to discard the memories of the shadow that he longer for but could no longer have. The way you used to smile at him, and how you used to be the only one in the world who he could bring himself to let his walls come down around. He didn't know how he was supposed to say it, and a bigger part of him didn't want to let the words fall from his lips, either.

Bi-Han knew, though, he knew that he did not leave you with much of a choice after the way that he had treated you; after all his jealousy and hate, and the way he treated you both like a stranger and a ghost despite everything, he knew that he had not given you a choice but to walk away. It had been his decisions and his choices that had left you with nothing; no home, no husband, no opportunity to do anything except walk away.

He had driven you to that brink and to that edge, and he knew that there was no one to blame but himself, no matter how he tried to justify it when he was running it through his head again and again. No matter how many times he tried to frame you as the villain who had hurt him, Bi-Han knew that it just wasn't true, and that alone was more than what he could have taken.

『•••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••』

You wouldn't have said that you were happy, not by a long shot; you had been forced out of your marriage, out of the only home that you had ever known, and you didn't have many safe connections. But life with Kenshi was kind to you; he was respectful and honest, always making sure that you were comfortable around him and that you were comfortable with the pace that the relationship was going, and he didn't expect anything.

Kenshi didn't expect absolutes with you; he didn't mind that you had friends, and actively encouraged you to spend time with them. He didn't mind that you were unsure and hesitant about trying new things. He never expected anything from you the way that Bi-Han used to, and you liked it. You liked that he listened and that he seemed to actually care, and you liked how he smiled at you.

But when you closed your eyes at night, you couldn't help but to think about the love that you had lost; the years and years that you had spent with Bi-Han and how you never wanted to see him again. You couldn't help but to think about Spain and Egypt, and the collar around your throat that he used to pull on; you couldn't help but to remember all the times when you had fallen in love with him over and over again. On the beach, on the phone.

You liked Kenshi a lot, and you could see yourself settling down with him, but that didn't mean that you couldn't mourn the things that used to be; it didn't mean that you couldn't mourn the remembrance of the time you had been given with Bi-Han. But Kenshi seemed to notice it, putting his hand on your leg as he cleared his throat and smiled softly.

"It's okay if you miss him," he said quietly. "I don't mind. I know you spent a lot of time together."

You nodded, leaning into his side as you sighed, so unsure about being reassured, so unsure of genuine kindness and understanding and respect. "I just... I want to move on, and I want to be with you, I just don't... I don't want you to get tangled up in my messes and-"

"Isn't that why you're my boyfriend, though?" Kenshi asked softly, his hand moving up until it found yours, holding it tightly as he tilted his head. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I thought it was my job to get involved with my boyfriend's mess, and get tangled up in it."

It was so odd, to have someone so genuinely on your side; to feel the softness of touch when it wasn't hidden, and to be able to laugh and smile without worrying about being scolded and scoffed at for it.

Maybe he was right, though, and maybe you should have let him get tangled up in your mess, but you didn't want to scare him off; Bi-Han was a force of nature on his own when he was in a good mood, you didn't doubt that he had a lot of resentment and hate towards Kenshi for sweeping you off of your feet.

Still, when he felt you flinch when he tried to pull you in a little closer, Kenshi apologised, and backed up; you didn't know how to react to such a thing.

『•••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••』

It was late when Bi-Han saw you, after letting Cyrax and Sektor drag him out of his quarters for a meeting with another high profile clan, he all but fell to his knees at the sight, looking at you and Kenshi as you walked past without even a second glance.

Your arm was around his, and it was clear to see the smile on your face; it had been so long since Bi-Han had seen you smile like that, and he wouldn't have been lying if he said that he wanted Kenshi dead for being the one to have brought it to your lips.

Bi-Han knew, at that moment, he knew more than he ever realised that he would have, that he had lost you entirely; he had lost you to another man, and no scheming plan was going to pull you back or bring you back to him. You were gone.

For the first time in his life, Bi-Han didn't want to do anything but cry. He had told himself that he was over you and that he didn't care about you, and that he was done pining for a time that he didn't even want to remember; but the photograph framed on his desk said otherwise, and the stack of letters under his bed suggested something else, and the jacket that still had your scent on it and hung on the back of his wardrobe door was glaringly obvious.

But when he saw you arm in arm and grinning like a lovesick puppy at another man, all Bi-Han could feel was a growing resentment, and the all too familiar sting of something wet in the corners of his brown eyes. His fists balled as he clenched his jaw tightly, teeth grinding loud enough that it was audible.

There had been so many times when he had been able to take it away, to move on with someone else, but no suitor was close to meeting his demands. They were all too short, too tall, too weak, too strong; their eyes were always the wrong colour, their hair always the wrong texture, their laugh was too loud or too quiet, their voice was too high or too low.

He didn't even have to marry them, he could have just bedded them for a night and moved on, but none of them looked like you, none of them sounded like you, none of them were you. Even though he had promised himself that he had moved on, that he had forgotten about you, that he didn't care about you, he still couldn't take his eyes from you as he watched you walk down that street.

There was an aching pain in his chest, and when you stopped and looked over at him, it only grew stronger; it felt like a dagger had been placed between his ribs, and was being turned and ripping at the layers of muscle and tendon and vein within him. Tearing him up until he couldn't help but to seethe, and when you started to cross the road, your hand still firmly in Kenshi's, Bi-Han was almost on the floor writhing in agony.

You looked amazing, you looked exactly as handsome as the day that you had left him, and all the days before that when he had fallen in love with you all over again; but there was no softness in your eyes when you looked at him, and no gentle whimper to your voice when you greeted him, either. There was just a cold, casual, tone.

"Why are you here, Bi-Han?"

"I had a meeting," he huffed out, shaking his head. "This the boyfriend?"

You nodded, and that softness came to your eyes the moment that you looked at Kenshi with a smile. "Kenshi, this is my ex-husband. Ex-husband, Kenshi Takahashi."

Bi-Han looked him up and down with a scowl; the red lense glasses dazzled with champagne stars from the nearby Street lamps. The finely tailored muted red suit. "He isn't right for you."

"And you were?" You asked with a slight scowl. "Were you right for me all those times when you treated me like a traitor? Or was that just foreplay?"

His jaw clenched as he shook his head, debating reaching out and just grabbing your wrist like he did last time; but he knew that you were of the right mind and the right strength to be able to snap the bones in half, and that you wouldn't have hesitated to do so either.

Still, when he scowled at Kenshi, Bi-Han did debate it; you were still his husband, you would always be his husband no matter how many times he tried to tell himself that he was over you and he was moved on. You would still always be his Shadow, and Bi-Han wasn't going to let you go so easily; he especially was not going to allow some bearded, tattooed, nobody to whisk you away so easily.

"You should come home, Shadow."

You shook your head, laughing quietly as you rolled your eyes. "You should go fuck yourself, Bi-Han... you pushed me too far back then, that was your choice. I've moved on, and it's your turn."

The coldness to your voice, the stoic steel in your eyes, Bi-Han knew it all too well as he sucked in a harsh breath; he wasn't anything to you anymore, and you were done with him.

How was he supposed to move on?

How was he supposed to forget you when he watched you walk away with Kenshi, muttering and laughing with one another like two pups sharing a bone; Bi-Han hated it, and more than anything, all he wanted to see was Kenshi dead... but then, when he thought about it, such a thing would have devastated you, and he wouldn't allow that.

As much as Bi-Han wanted you back, needed you back in his arms, he wouldn't bring himself to upset you; he wouldn't bring himself to make you miserable, and you wouldn't have been the same man if you were. It wasn't fair, he couldn't kill off your new boyfriend but you also wouldn't give him much more than the time of day, either.

So how was he supposed to begin again, to live life without his one and only shadow?

How was he supposed to understand that you wouldn't go home?

Everything that your life had been from childhood, had been within those same walls where he had spent his; when you used to defend him and fight for him and stand between him and his father. All those times when you had proved yourself to be moulded into the perfect soldier; strong and competent and capable and obedient and loyal and efficient. You never used to ask questions, you never used to hesitate, you never used to think or feel.

Maybe that was what he missed, the idealised version that he had of you in the back of his mind; the vicious guard dog he kept on the short chain just to let loose when he felt like it. The guard dog who was at his every beck and call, who he could push around and hit and kick and know that you would never bite him.

But not for the first time, Bi-Han was forced to watch you walk away from him without even considering looking back; making a big show of being openly passionate and affectionate with your new boyfriend. Letting him pin you against a wall to kiss your lips, grinning into it and letting him grab your thigh to pull it up to bring you closer; Bi-Han couldn't stand it.

You were never made for such affection and such public showing of it, at that; your new boyfriend didn't know what you really were, what Bi-Han knew you were. Sure, maybe you told him about your past, but only Bi-Han knew the truth; only Bi-Han knew that you were an aggressive and out of control guard dog just waiting for the right hand to let you loose on someone who deserved it... but maybe you weren't that anymore.

Maybe you were a pampered house pet who thrived off of attention and affection. Maybe Bi-Han had been wrong along.

『•••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••』

The night went the rest of the way that it usually did; Kenshi showered whilst you got into his bed and waited for him, he put his head on your chest with his hair still a little bit damp but not horribly so, listening to your breaths and your voice as you read to him quietly.

He would trace little patterns and shapes into your skin as he started to drift off, and you were never far behind him, relaxed and comfortable with the way he held you so gently against his own body; content and pleased to know that you wouldn't need to be shy or embarrassed about wanting affection.

It was nice with Kenshi, and if you had been an honest man, you would have admitted that you did see a future with him; you could see yourself getting old and grey with him, learning to be more affectionate, learning to not be so stoic all the time. Learning to be a man, instead of a guard dog.

But unfortunately that didn't stop the broken dreams; the ones where you and Bi-Han were still together, where he was still treating you like a ghost in your own home, and a stranger to your own husband.

They were broken and you kept waking up with tears in your eyes, but they never stopped; you took it as a reminder of what you had been through and needed to work on to be truly happy again.

You always kept reminding yourself of those last few weeks with Bi-Han, how miserable and awful you had been treated by everyone, not just him, and how you had been exiled and pushed from your own home and your own life; every dream reminded you of that, and made you want to work harder to have a kinder, gentler, future where you did have a home, and where you were loved.

A future with Kenshi.

Sure, you didn't know where the relationship was going with him; you didn't know if he thought or felt the same way, and you wanted to ask, but those kinds of things had never been your strong suit and he knew it. You were still working on initiating contact, still working on asking for affection when you wanted it instead of being ashamed of it.

But when you woke up crying about Bi-Han, Kenshi stirred, grumbling as he asked if it was another dream; you told him that it was, and instead of leaving you in the dark to deal with it yourself like Bi-Han used to when you had nightmares, Kenshi got closer.

He told you that he wasn't going anywhere, not if you wanted him to stay. He was gentle and reassuring, he cracked a few really bad jokes just to hear you laugh, and you weren't sure why, but you couldn't help but to ask.

"Do you think we'll be together for a while?"

"If you want to be," Kenshi told you softly. "I get it if you don't want to get married. But I wouldn't mind getting old and grey with you, marriage or not."

It was that odd kind of reassurance that left you without words, only able to lean into him and snuggle into him a little bit more; he wanted you to stay, he wanted to be with you as long as you wanted to be with him, and it was all you needed to hear and he would never know.

Everything that you had done and said to Bi-Han was long done, and it was over; you were letting go of him and his influence more and more with every passing day that you spent with Kenshi. Getting used to kindness and understanding, getting used to not getting up in the morning just because he was up; in the softest way possible, usually with some sort of snarky comment just to make you laugh, Kenshi would demand that you stayed in bed for as long as you wanted to.

There wasn't any pressure with him, there wasn't any expectations with him; sure, he liked to take you out on dates and wanted you to wear nice clothes when he did, but the most he ever expected was that you showed up. It was different, and you weren't sure how long it was going to take to adjust to it, but when everything was said and done, you were still hopeful.

You wanted to let go more than anything else in the world, you wanted to move on and leave Bi-Han where he belonged in your past; you were trying, after walking away for good and leaving him behind, you were trying, and every day with Kenshi, you were making the baby steps to get rid of him completely.

You deserved to be happy, you deserved to be loved and to be so known that, on the hard days, he would put on those Michael Jackson songs that you loved so much and get you to dance with him in the kitchen; Bi-Han never did such a thing and would never be caught being so weak, but Kenshi didn't see it that way, and always knew that if you had a hard day, it was the easiest way to make you smile again.

Bi-Han never did that, but Kenshi did.

Kenshi took the time to see you as much more than an extension of himself, and a presentation of what he could do with enough resources for training; he showed you off to his friends and his family, especially his cousin Takeda, because he was proud of you, and because he wasn't shy about being open about how he felt about you.

If you expressed that you liked something, Kenshi found a way to give it to you; he remembered how you liked your coffee and that you liked the feeling of his hand between your shoulder blades when you slept.

So he always made your coffee in the morning, and he always made sure to sleep in positions that meant that he could keep his hand between your shoulder blades. Kenshi was good to you, he was good for you.

"I think I'm good now," you said eventually, pulling away a little bit. "You can go back to sleep, I was-"

"There's a packet of cigarettes by the door," he said with a soft grumble to his voice. "I'll come with you, just let me grab-"

"You don't have to," you said softly.

"No, but I want to," Kenshi whispered. "I don't... you don't need to act like that with me. I don't... I'm not going to be angry if you need me to be a little louder."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded, feeling around for a moment until he caught your hand and gently kissed your wrist. "I'm sure."

『•••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••』

Bi-Han couldn't sleep that night, trying to track all of where it went wrong; by all means, in his mind, when he told you to come home, you should have dropped everything and ran off with him. There was no plausible reason he could think of that you would want to stay with Kenshi; he wasn't going to be good for you the way that Bi-Han was.

He was soft and affectionate and sweet and... and all the things that Bi-Han had never been to you in all the years that you had known each other. It didn't seem right. You were bred and trained to be stoic and steely and stern; you had been trained to see affection and attention as weakness and as something awful. Not something that made you smile. Not something to want and to need.

He hated the thought that you had denied him, breaking all of his dreams to the point where he couldn't even sleep, and when Cyrax came in with the phone, Bi-Han could only scowl; for whatever reason, Kuai Liang had asked for him, and although he knew better than to agree, he still answered.

His brother sounded excited, even bragging a little bit, and when Bi-Han demanded to know what was happening, there was a pause before the explanation; Kenshi was planning on asking for your hand in marriage, and Kuai Liang had to admit, he was only calling to make sure that Bi-Han wouldn't do anything irrational or foolish. But then he paused again, and ever so quietly admitted that you had asked for the message to be passed on.

Bi-Han broke the phone.

『•••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••』

It was a few weeks after you had asked Kuai Liang to pass the message along, when Kenshi told you that he had a surprise for you; you didn't know where you were going, just happy to go along and thinking that it would be a good while before he was planning on asking for your hand in marriage, all but skipping next to him as he swung his arm a little bit whilst holding your hand.

A small smile on his face when he heard your little bouts of laughter; he was glad that he had asked Johnny to pull some strings, even more glad that Johnny had actually agreed. But Kenshi knew what was waiting for you, and he couldn't deny that he was almost just as excited as you, but he had to hide it, because he knew that it would have spoiled it if he didn't.

Everything had begun to set you free; between Kenshi's kind earnestness and how he never pressured you into anything except trying a different brand of cigarettes than what you normally got, you had the best luck of any man in the world. Everything about you had finally been set free of Bi-Han, of the life that you used to know and the coldness of it; where you first felt like you wouldn't belong in the domestic, kind, life, you now knew that you were more than built for it.

You weren't jealous, and neither was Kenshi; he wasn't possessive to the point of cruelty, and he trusted you enough to know that you had secrets and not care. Your secrets were your own, and he wouldn't hold them against you. He trusted you enough to give you space and to give you autonomy and privacy, letting you decide what you wanted him to know and what you didn't; it was the kind of freedom that came with being known, and came with being loved properly and truly.

"Is Takeda over to your left?" Kenshi asked, stopping in his tracks. When you said yes, he almost grinned. "I know you don't want to, but I need you to walk away from me, and go over to him."

You were going to question why, until you heard the small giggle in the back of his throat, so you did as his said, leaving him with a fond kiss before you went over to his cousin; Takeda greeted you with a warm hug, humming softly as he clapped your shoulder and cleared your throat.

He said something about a big surprise, and you guessed that it was, but you didn't want to spoil it for yourself by asking too many questions, so you went along with him. Your heart pounding in your chest, but not out of nervousness.

"And don't worry, you can forget about your ex showing up," he told you. "We got Tomas and Kuai Liang running security for you."

You couldn't help but to laugh at the thought of them trudging around in suits and blazers, searching for their brother just to get into a fight like when you were children together; you were fond of those memories, still, but for a different reason.

Since getting with Kenshi, the memories had been a fondness for Kuai Liang and Tomas; they had helped you to settle down and find your feet, and had helped you to adjust to no longer being part of any clan. Always ready to welcome and accept you with open arms and something warm and hearty to eat and a soft bed to sleep in; they had introduced you to Raiden and Kung Lao, who you had become fast friends with, and had helped you with what Kenshi couldn't.

You still had that odd feeling, though, thinking that Bi-Han was going to come and crash whatever good thing that you had going for you; it almost didn't seem fair that he wouldn't let you be happy without him, that he wouldn't let you go despite what he had done and how he treated you like the dog that bit the hand that fed.

You prayed and hoped that he wouldn't as Takeda whisked you away into a desolate but fancy restaurant; you were breathless when you stepped in, but that soon turned to soft laughter when Kung Lao and Raiden welcomed you with warm hugs and soft words and a little bit of teasing about how you and Kenshi had a big night ahead of you. You still didn't have an explanation as to what was going on, but seeing everyone crowded in one place made your chest feel funny; all warm and fuzzy and relaxed.

It was only when Kenshi was ushered to your side, his hand finding its way to sit between your shoulder blades, that you finally had an explanation; since Bi-Han had never celebrated anything with you, and since he would not allow you to leave the Lin Kuei grounds, Kenshi had taken it upon himself to throw you a large celebration mixed with a gathering.

Just because he wanted to, and because he wanted you to know what it felt like to be appreciated and loved; there were gifts and food and music and everything that you thought there would have been, but when you softly thanked him with a slight squeak to your voice, Kenshi shook his head.

"Please don't cry," he murmured, pulling you close enough to hold you steady in his arms. "I just... I just wanted to give you something back that you never had. Please, I just wanted to-"

"Are you seriously making them play You're Still The One?" You asked with a sniffle.

Kenshi nodded. "Yeah, I know that you like singing it in the shower and I-"

"I love you," you blurted out, shaking your head with a soft laugh. "It's so thoughtful, Kenshi, I... I don't know how... how am I gonna repay you?"

"You could kiss me," he told you. "I'd call it even... if you want to, I won't hold it-"

You kissed him, hard and deep as you grinned against his mouth; you wanted to thank him in another way, but you figured that you would get your chance when you went home with him. He wasn't Bi-Han, and you knew it; he was tender and dedicated and thoughtful and put the effort in to make sure that you were his island in the stream.

You were a changed man, you were nothing like the man who had been Bi-Han's shadow, and you were glad of it; you were happy and you had a man who loved you because he wanted to, not because you were his personal guard dog. He didn't need you to be, and he didn't want you to be; to Kenshi, you were just his boyfriend, and that was enough.

You didn't need to be anyone else, he didn't want you to be anything else; he didn't want or need you to protect him, he didn't want or need you to be intimidated by him.

It was enough that you were going to kiss him when you woke up, that you were going to share your cigarettes with him and you were going to slow your pace when you were walking with him somewhere just to press your shoulder to his.

It was enough that he could rely on you, and knew that you could rely on him in return; it was the respect, it was the warmth, it was the acceptance and the fact that he was more than happy to let you exist outside of your relationship with him.

Kenshi was good for you, and you were good for him.

author’s notes: The reader’s pronouns are he/him and he wears glasses; otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used. The reader replaces Elio as the son of the archeology professor! Except he’s aged up, written to be 22ish. As such, this’ll be canon divergent and non-compliant.

When I say this fic has been in my drafts for FOREVER, know that I mean it. Like, at least a year. I need to let it fly free. Fly free, you stupid thing! Lmao.

Warnings: canon-accurate nosebleed. lol.

Oliver is excited, admittedly, to stay at his mentor’s residence over the summer. He’s never been to Italy before; not to mention, it’s an incredible opportunity for his career. Studying under the archeology professor Samuel Perlman is practically a dream come true. While he doesn’t know him too well, Oliver does remember being told that the residence is shared with his family: Samuel’s wife and son. Supposedly, the spare bedroom he’ll inhabit is connected to the son’s bedroom. He only hopes the little guy isn’t too loud. 

Samuel is kind enough to pick Oliver up from the airport and drive him to his residence, which is only about 30 minutes away. Before long, they’re pulling up to a picturesque Italian villa with vines crawling up its walls. There are trees all around and the windows of the house are open, letting the warm summer air breeze in. It’s a beautiful house. Oliver drags his suitcase across the cobbled path and follows Samuel into the foyer. 

His wife Annella shakes his hand and welcomes him into their home, before beckoning for someone. Oliver watches as a new person enters the room at Samuel’s request. 

Samuel smiles. “Oliver, this is my boy,” he says, clapping a hand on your shoulder. 

“I’m not a boy anymore,” you remind him lightly. No, you are not a boy at all. Oliver stares in disbelief. He isn’t sure why he expected you to be a juvenile, adolescent, or teenager. You’re a fully-grown adult, right around his age. That throws him off, for some reason. Why does it throw him off? 

“Close enough,” your father says to you with a teasing shrug, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “This is Oliver. He’ll be helping with my research this summer; he’s staying with us.”

“Hey,” you say with a nod. There’s a polite but flat pull to your lips; your eyes find him for a moment, studying him before looking away. Whatever you were looking for, it’s clear you didn’t quite find it. 

Oliver does take advantage of your distraction to get a better look at you. You’re wearing breezy clothing and a somewhat bored expression on your face. He nearly forgets to respond to your greeting. “Hey,” Oliver remembers to say. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” you respond. 

“How about you show him to his room?” Samuel prompts you. 

“Sure,” you sigh. You motion for Oliver to walk after you, and he follows you up a set of winding stairs to the second floor. It’s just as elegant and pleasant as the first, with lots of windows letting in natural sunlight. You walk through the house with practiced ease, entirely silent as you head through a sitting room and down a hall. 

“This is my room,” you announce, heading through and reaching for a conjoining door. You freeze for a moment, looking back at him. “Don’t come in here unless you’re dying. Actually, just don’t come in here.” 

Oliver chokes on a disbelieving laugh. You hold the door open for him and he steps into a room nearly identical in shape and size, but more sparsely decorated. “This is your room,” you explain. “I won’t come here unless I’m dying. So that’ll make us even.” 

“The bathroom’s right here,” you continue awkwardly. “Hallway’s there. Your room doesn’t have a balcony, but you have a bed, a desk… All of that stuff.” 

“And… I think Americans eat dinner early, right?” you say with a slightly confused look. Oliver nods silently, a bit overwhelmed. “We eat around 8 p.m., usually.” 

“Thanks—” he tries to say, only for you to disappear into your room and close the door behind you. 

Oh well.

Oliver doesn’t see you much in the following days. He only catches glimpses of you at meals. You’re pretty withdrawn and quiet—you never seek him out, and Oliver has never heard so much as a single sound from your bedroom. Sometimes, he wonders if you’re just a figment of his imagination. 

So when he sees you outside one morning, talking to some guy and smiling, Oliver rubs his face and convinces himself to get more sleep. He inhales slowly, his eyes wandering the Italian countryside as he takes in the wind weaving through the grass, the trees swaying to greet him. You’re in his line of sight again soon enough: leaning against a fence, talking to a man. The guy’s standing pretty close to you; the two of you look like you’re immersed in your own world. Oliver stares.

And stares, and stares. He watches for too long, because you soon catch on and glance over at him. 

“Oliver, right?” you ask, as if you’re meeting for the first time. Oliver nods wordlessly, not trusting himself to speak. “Did you need something?”

Fuck. He doesn’t need anything, but he’ll have to come up with something to dispel your suspicions. 

“Yeah, mind showing me to the laundry room?” Oliver asks. It’s the first thing that comes to his mind, and it’s not necessarily the most logical request, considering he just got here a few days ago. 

“Um, sure,” you say, blinking at him as if sensing that there’s something he isn’t saying. The man at your side whispers something to you, placing a hand on your forearm before eventually slipping away. You watch him leave for a second before looking back at Oliver. 

The question falls from his lips before he can stop it. “Who was that?” he asks. 

“Just a friend,” you respond nonchalantly, as if entirely unaware of the mental breakdown you’re giving Oliver. 

“You seemed pretty close,” Oliver continues. He isn’t sure exactly what response he’s expecting from you, but it’s not a simple hum. You don’t bother to explain, instead walking past him. 

Oliver is reeling, even as you lead him up the stairs and to the modest laundry room. The window above the machines is open, allowing a slight breeze to run through the space. It rustles his clothing and yours. He’s trying to pay attention to what you’re saying, he really is. But the afternoon sunlight is practically making your skin glow, and you look so composed. So comfortable with who you are. That casual intimacy Oliver witnessed earlier… He envies it. 

“Were you even listening?” Your question drags him back to the present. Oliver looks at you, feeling slightly guilty when he sees the expectant look on your face. It takes him a second to process what he just heard. 

“Not really,” Oliver admits breathlessly. 

“Great,” you sigh.

Contrary to his expectations, Oliver doesn’t see you around too often. Between helping your father with his research, getting accustomed to life here in Italy, and continuing his own research, he’s very busy. The two of you share the small bathroom across the hall, but your schedules are different enough that he still barely sees you. 

Another thing he’s growing to appreciate about the Italian countryside is the quiet, brisk night air. The stars are blanketed across a dark canvas each night—a welcome change from the light pollution Oliver is used to in America. Sometimes he’ll leave his window open overnight, just to get that cool breeze in the room. 

Tonight is just the same. The constant buzz of cicadas; the gentle sway of the wind; the occasional sound of laughter from downstairs. And a slight shuffling… the rustle of clothing… and a muttered curse. 

Oliver frowns. That sounds like it’s coming from just outside his window. He opens his window some more and glances to his left, only to find you sitting on the rooftop past your own window. Before he can think better of it, he heads to your bedroom and acknowledges you. 

“What are you doing?” Oliver asks. You’re sitting there in your thin sleep clothes, a simple shirt and pants. It’s a pretty mild night, but the wind makes it a little chilly. He’s surprised to see you’re wearing so little clothing. 

At the sound of his voice, you turn and look over your shoulder. “Not much,” you say with a slight shrug. “Why?”

“You’re on the roof,” Oliver states, “and you’re barely wearing any clothing. You’re going to get sick.”

“I’ll be fine,” you remark, waving off his concern. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t,” Oliver says with a shake of his head. “Seriously, you’re freaking me out.” 

“I’m just sitting,” you respond nonchalantly. 

“Just come down,” Oliver says, beckoning you closer. “I need help with something.” 

You sigh. For a second, Oliver thinks you’ll ignore him. But after a few seconds, you shift and crouch down to sneak back in through the window. Oliver extends a hand and you grasp his arm for a moment, swiftly coming back in before looking over at him. “What’d you need help with?”

“Nothing,” he remembers to say, trying not to remember the feeling of your hand on his arm. “I just wanted you to get off the roof,” he admits with a smile, reaching behind you to close the window.

“Damn it,” you huff. 

Oliver laughs. 

“And hey,” you start with a frown, “you weren’t supposed to come in here unless you were dying.” 

“I mean, aren’t we always dying?” he muses. 

“Ugh, just go,” you groan. 

Oliver does laugh at that, before ultimately obeying your request and returning to his room.

After that, he starts to see you around a bit more often. You’ll be helping your parents with the dishes in the kitchen, sitting on the couch and reading, reclining in the shade outside. 

Oliver walks into the living room one morning to find you immersed in whatever’s playing on the television across from you. An amused smile quirks his lips. “Hey.”

You look over at him briefly. “Hey.”

“You know, it’s pretty nice outside,” Oliver says carefully. 

“Not you too,” you sigh. “I get enough of that from my parents.” 

“Just saying,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Then, to your evident bewilderment, Oliver moves to sit on the couch next to you. “I’m surprised you have a television.” 

“Yeah,” you agree. “I had to fight my parents tooth and nail to let me even put it in here.” 

“I bet,” Oliver remarks. He squints. “It’s hard to see anything on it.” 

“That’s what the glasses are for,” you say, pointedly tapping at the frame of your glasses. 

Oliver lets out an awkward laugh. It sounds too enthusiastic for his liking. “Right.” 

He sits with you in silence, watching you instead of the movie. You’re almost statuesque, eyes occasionally shifting as the screen changes. Oliver feels his body moving of its own accord, almost gravitating towards you.

“Don’t corrupt the American with your technology,” your mother says jokingly as she passes through the living room. Oliver flinches at the sudden confirmation that the two of you aren’t alone. 

“Hey, I’m not corrupting him,” you argue with a frown. “Television is more popular there than it is here.” 

“It’s true,” Oliver admits begrudgingly. You look at your mother victoriously and she surrenders the argument. She walks away with a fond smile on her face. 

Oliver can see the moment you truly comprehend what he just said—and how he just agreed with you. You blink, almost seeming stunned for a second, before quickly looking back at the screen. The movement isn’t quite fast enough to hide the slight smile at the edge of your lips. Oliver watches this with a fuzzy feeling growing in his chest.

The silence between you is a bit more comfortable after that.

The nearby town comes alive at night. At least, from Oliver’s perspective. When the sun sets in the sky and the moon gleams to greet passersby, the restaurants and bars almost explode with noise. There are things to do and people to meet as far as the eye can see, and Oliver is often leaving to take it all in. 

It’s nice to return to your family’s home, though. As the days bled into weeks, the residence became Oliver’s home, too. He knows it’s only a temporary one — but it’s a home all the same. Seeing the swooping curves of the doorway, the trees bending in the chilled night air… It all fills him with a strange sense of contentment. 

Tonight’s a night like any other. Oliver goes downtown, trying to distract himself with this sudden maelstrom of feelings that are undoubtedly because of you. He tries to dance, sing, and laugh. He exchanges a smile with a woman and convinces himself that the gesture is meaningful to him. 

When he returns hours later, he unlocks the back door with the spare key he’s been given, carefully closing the door and locking it once he enters the house. Everyone else seems to be asleep, so he takes care to be quiet as he heads to the stairs. 

As Oliver passes through the living room, he freezes in his tracks. The small television resting near the wall is humming and buzzing with noise, as muted voices discuss something. The screen is still barely big enough for him to even discern what’s happening. But that isn’t what has truly drawn his attention. 

You’re slumped on the couch, limbs almost sprawled as you lean against the arm of the furniture and rest. You must’ve fallen asleep as you were watching. It is pretty late now: Oliver idly wonders how long you were sitting here in the dark, watching television quietly. 

He can’t quite tear his eyes away. There’s something incredibly endearing about the sight. Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look this vulnerable. You’ve always been so closed-off and stoic with him, barely expressing any emotion at all. Seeing you like this is weird. It’s not bad. Just… strange. 

Oliver sighs. He quietly walks over to the television and turns it off, paying you one last look before returning to his own room.

You love your family. But they can get a bit too passionate sometimes. You never like being involved in their arguments, and right now is no exception. Plus, it doesn’t help that they’re arguing in Italian—leaving Oliver to just sit there helplessly. 

You don’t even know why they’re bickering anymore. You don’t remember what started it; you just know that they’re going to take a while. Sighing, you grab your glass of water and take a sip. It leaves a weird taste in your mouth; you frown and look down at it, only to find a slightly pink stain spreading through the water. You bring a hand up to your nose and realize you’re bleeding. Damn it. 

That’s as good of an excuse as any to leave the table. You don’t bother excusing yourself, just getting up and heading into the house. You make your way to the kitchen to grab some tissue and attempt to stop the blood flow. Feeling a bit wobbly, you crouch down and sit on the cool tile floor for a few minutes. 

“What’s the matter?” Oliver asks, lingering in the doorway. You hadn’t even heard him approach. He’s wearing an open-collared short sleeved shirt and shorts with sneakers. His skin is tanner than when he first arrived, and his blond hair almost seems to glow in the lazy rays of sunlight. 

“Nosebleed,” you answer, pressing the tissue to your nose. You pull your legs up a bit, fiddling with your sneakers. “The air’s been a bit dry for the past few days.”

Oliver hums. He considers you for a second. “You okay? You seemed upset.” 

“Just family stuff,” you sigh. “Arguing about politics and all that.” 

“Ah,” he says smartly. The air is silent but almost… charged. There’s tension between you, for some reason. It’s hard for you to focus on that, though—you’re feeling a bit of vertigo at the moment. That’s why you had sat down in the first place. “Need a hand?” Oliver offers.

“Nah, I’m good,” you say, quickly getting to your feet. Unfortunately, you seem to be a bit too confident—because your vision soon spirals and grows fuzzy. You blink and place a hand on the counter behind you, trying to keep still and let the dizziness fade. 

“Careful,” Oliver says. When your vision finally clears, you’re surprised to find him at your side—a hand on your upper arm for support. 

“Thanks,” you say a bit breathlessly. 

The weather is beautiful, and Samuel insists he doesn’t need assistance today, so Oliver is free to enjoy the perfect weather. He takes a bit of a walk throughout the surrounding area, before eventually returning and heading to the backyard. There are people swimming in the pool and lounging about in the grass. 

He finds a solitary figure sitting in the single patch of shade scattered across the wall. Oliver looks up at you with amusement. There’s a paperback book in your hand. Despite how warm it is, you haven’t opted for a swimsuit—instead wearing a pair of loose-fitting slacks and a collared shirt. Oliver’s eyes find your exposed collarbones and he can’t look away. 

It takes him far longer than it should to regain his composure. “Your parents forced you out of the house, I take it,” he says with a smile. 

“Unfortunately,” you sigh. You look up from your book, your gaze finding him. For a millisecond, it flits up and down his form. Then you look at a point past him, an echo of a smile on your lips when you look back at him. “Someone’s looking for you.” You nod over at the pool, where a woman is staring at him. Oliver doesn’t remember her name; just knows they had spoken for a short while. He had been too preoccupied with glancing over at you to comprehend what she was saying. It’s ironic: she’s showing a lot of skin, but he had barely noticed—too busy looking over at you, committing the peaceful expression on your face to memory. 

It’s always amusing to see your surprise when Oliver chooses to join you, and now is no exception. He jumps up to sit on the wall next to you. It’s a pleasant day, and the shade provides some much-needed solace from the bright sun. 

“What are you reading?” he asks. You just tilt the face of the book up so he can see it. “The Picture of Dorian Gray? I thought you’d be the Edgar Allan Poe type,” Oliver continues. “Or reading Dracula, maybe.” 

“I love Edgar Allan Poe,” you say with a blink. “And I just read Carmilla.” 

“Cool. You read a lot, then?” Oliver’s almost nervous—this is the longest conversation he’s ever had with you. 

“Yeah,” you answer. “There’s not much else to do around here.” 

“That and watch your television,” he jokes. 

“Of course,” you respond.

Oliver’s saved from coming up with another topic of conversation when your mother appears, looking up at the two of them on the wall. She looks up at you. 

“I told you to get some sun, dear,” your mother says with a sigh. 

“You just said to go outside,” you respond, “and I am outside.” Are you pouting? Oliver thinks you are. Your face scrunches up in annoyance and he feels like he has to rip his eyes away from you. It’s too late, though—the sight is already burned into his mind. 

Your mother shakes her head and walks away, murmuring something under her breath as she goes. You watch her depart, while Oliver watches you. 

“You just can’t win, can you?” Oliver smiles. And he’s too distracted to even notice how the woman from before is beckoning him over. 

“Not really,” you agree, not seeming very torn up about it.

He sits with you until it’s time for lunch.

“Where are you going?” a familiar voice asks you the next morning as you’re slinging your bag over your shoulder.

You frown and turn around to find Oliver standing in the doorway of your house, like some kind of widow waiting for her husband to return from the war. Except, obviously, you’re not a soldier and Oliver isn’t a widow. But still. 

That thought promptly breaks your focus, forcing Oliver to clear his throat to get your attention. You remember he was asking you something. “Just heading to the market,” you respond. 

“Can I come?” he asks. 

“Um… sure,” you reply helplessly, not sure why he even wants to join you. “It’s nothing special,” you try to warn him. But Oliver is already heading into the villa and emerging with his things, before walking over to the bike he’s been borrowing and throwing a leg over it. 

The ride to the market is both peaceful and incredibly awkward. Usually, you would enjoy the silence—but when it’s shared with Oliver, it feels tense, somehow. You swear you can sense his eyes on you, but whenever you glance back to make sure he’s following, he’s looking elsewhere. 

There’s one thing you forget to warn Oliver about until it’s too late. It’s your fault, really. Oliver sticks out like a sore thumb here, even if he doesn’t want to. The market’s bustling, and a wayward American is the perfect target for a pickpocket. 

Fortunately, you see it when it happens. A guy brushes past Oliver, his hand expertly slipping in and out of his pocket. You quickly grab the guy’s wrist and admonish him; the guy murmurs an apology and gives it back to you. 

“Sorry, I should’ve warned you,” you say with a sigh, holding Oliver’s wallet out to him. “You look pretty American, so that makes you an easy target.” 

Oliver looks speechless. You hold your hand out expectantly, reminding him of his wallet. He shakes his head and takes it, murmuring a word of gratitude before falling silent again. You head towards the next stall, refusing to admit that the helpless expression on his face was rather cute.

Accompanying you to the market is easily one of the worst ideas Oliver has ever had. Seeing you at the villa is bad enough: you’re comfortable and at ease there. But seeing you weave through the crowded aisles, speaking with the merchants in quiet tones… There’s something almost intimate about it. Oliver feels like a spectator, some kind of pet on your leash as you deftly maneuver through the space. 

His hand falls to his wallet in his pocket. You saved him there. Oliver has to admit, he was very distracted and he didn’t notice. But you did. You gave him his wallet back, without any smart or demeaning remarks. You just… handed it to him casually, even apologizing to him. As if it was your fault, somehow. 

Oliver thinks on this as you proceed through the market, occasionally stopping at a few stalls. Your parents tasked you with picking up fruit for a breakfast your mother will prepare tomorrow. You flit around for a bit before looking at an assortment of plums. Oliver watches as you search them. 

Apparently, he isn’t the only one watching. The vendor, a woman around their age, greets you with a smile on her face. You smile politely and respond to her greeting, before the two of you are speaking in a flurry of Italian that Oliver can’t comprehend. He really should’ve studied up before he arrived here.

Your body language is interesting, though. You’re usually closed off, and you still are. But when the vendor continues speaking, you almost seem to freeze. Your eyes widen and you look genuinely surprised. An awkward, not quite laugh reaches your lips and you’re glancing around like it’s difficult to make eye contact. Oliver watches as she presses the fruit into your hands, his jaw clenching as he notices how her fingers brush against yours. 

Then, mercifully, it’s over. You place the fruit in your basket and continue walking. Oliver can’t hide his curiosity for very long. “What was she saying?” he asks. He wants to sound unaffected, unbothered. He can only hope he accomplishes that. 

“Um… nothing,” you say quickly, your eyes flitting around restlessly. Oliver’s never seen you like this before: almost nervous. Human. It’s strange.  

“It didn’t look like nothing,” Oliver says casually, trying to fight off the inexplicable irritation in his chest. His hand’s moving before he can stop it. “She touched you here,” he continues, resting his hand on your forearm. You blink in surprise. 

“Come on, you can tell me,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Did she wax poetic about your eyes or something?”

You promptly roll your eyes at the thought, because of course you do. “No. Come on, let’s go.” You motion for him to follow after you as you keep walking. 

Oliver falls in step behind you, lost in his thoughts. One way or another, he’s going to find out what that woman said to make you react like that.

“Why are you reading an Italian dictionary?”

Oliver looks up to find you staring at him in perplexed amusement. He tries to hide an embarrassed smile, placing the book next to him on the couch cushion. It’s been a few days since your trip to the market, and he finally gave into his curiosity. 

“I’m trying to figure out what that lady said to you,” Oliver admits. 

“Seriously?” you blink. “You’re ridiculous. And you’re going to have a hard time finding it in there.” 

Oliver’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “Now I’m really curious,” he says. “She must’ve said something borderline pornographic.” The mere thought is enough to bring that ugly feeling in his chest back.

“No, no,” you sigh. You look around the room, crossing your arms over your chest for a second. “Fine. But we’re not doing this here.” 

Oliver is dying of curiosity. And jealousy. But he’s trying not to think about that, because it provokes several complex feelings in him. He follows you as you head up the stairs and into your room, before sliding the screen door open and entering the balcony. Oliver settles next to you, resting his arms on the railing. 

It’s a quiet night. The stars wink in the night sky; the moon is big and bright. Tree branches sway and shift in the calm breeze. It’s not very cold, but Oliver still feels a shiver run up his spine at your proximity. He tries not to notice, tries to focus on something other than the roar of his heart echoing in his ears. 

Then, the question he’s been dreading. “Why do you want to know so badly?” you ask, your arms resting on the balcony railing.  

“I’m… not sure,” Oliver admits. 

“Okay,” you say, squinting at him for a second. “She was just flirting with me.” 

I know. I know, and it’s driving me fucking insane. 

But Oliver doesn’t trust himself to say that, so he doesn’t. “Humor me,” he remarks instead, inviting you to explain. He wants to pretend like he doesn’t know why he’s so fixated on that moment. But Oliver knows why it’s been running through his mind: because you’ve never looked so vulnerable and open before. So… human. He’s certainly never seen you that way when you’re with him. It’s as if you close yourself off from him, which is a bit perplexing. Why do words from a stranger in the market garner more of a reaction than his do?

“You’re going to have me thinking you actually care,” you huff, breaking him out of his thoughts.  

Oliver’s hands tighten on the railing. Of course he cares. He cares far, far more than he should. He keeps silent, battling with his impatience. Eventually, this pays off, because you inhale slowly and look out to the trees. As if embarrassed to even meet his eyes as you say it. What the fuck did she say to you? 

“It wasn’t anything crazy,” you remark, almost seeming to study him as you say it. “She just said I looked handsome.” Then your eyes flit away, as if you’re embarrassed. You probably are, judging from how shifty you’ve been acting since it happened.

Still, it’s not nearly as detailed as Oliver was expecting. Maybe he can relax. “You’ve heard that before, surely,” Oliver says, more of a throwaway comment than anything. He expects you to agree, or to just keep silent and look out at the trees again. 

Instead, out of the corner of his eye, he sees you almost freeze. You sneak a glance at him, and he notices. Oliver blinks in disbelief. “No?” he says, shocked. “Seriously?” 

This is where any reasonable man would stop. Any man with an ounce of restraint would step away here, enforce the distance between you and try to pick up the scattered pieces of his dignity. But Oliver isn’t a reasonable man. Not here, in the northern Italian countryside; not now, standing so close to you that your shoulders brush and your breaths meet in the night air. 

“You should,” he continues, digging his grave deeper with each word. “Hear it more often, I mean.”

“Oh,” you remark in an exhale of breath. “...Thanks?” You’re not sure. You think he’s being insincere, maybe having a laugh at your expense. But Oliver’s never been so sincere in his entire life. He places a hand on yours, practically dragging your eyes to his. For a moment, he just lingers there. 

And then. “I’m serious,” Oliver maintains. It comes out in a flood. “You’re handsome. Very handsome. And that’s—you should hear that every day. Every moment.”  

There’s a slight hitch in your breath. Oliver latches onto it like a lifeline, watches as the pressure almost seems to seep from your shoulders as you relax. Trusting his judgment. “Thank you,” you respond. 

“I’m just telling the truth,” he says. Oh, and how easy it would be to shout it from the rooftops. To praise you each and every day. To wake up next to you, to fall asleep next to you. To slip a hand over yours, wrap an arm around your shoulders, embrace you without second-guessing himself. It would be so very easy. 

“Why?” you ask quietly. Why, indeed. 

It doesn’t take long for Oliver to find his answer: I like who I am, when I’m with you. The self-loathing, the grief, the anger and frustration and helplessness… It all goes away when he meets your eyes. Because you see all of those emotions, and you don’t care. You aren’t overtaken by the veneer, the facade he’s fastened on tightly enough to meld with his skin. You don’t just look at him, you look through him—to the core of his very being. And you don’t do anything with that knowledge. You don’t poke or prod at him for your own amusement; you don’t hold him delicately, as if he’s about to break. You just look at Oliver, and see him. 

He doesn’t know how to put the feelings into words. But he tries. “I can’t stop,” Oliver chokes out. “Thinking about you, looking at you. Just… everything about you. I feel like I can barely remember what my life was like, when you weren’t in it.” 

Your eyes are wide. Oliver doesn’t even remember when he moved to touch you, but his hand is resting over yours now. You haven’t returned the gesture, but you also haven’t pushed him away. There’s a conflicted expression on your face. You don’t want to allow yourself this moment. And that’s a feeling Oliver can relate to more than anything. 

“You don’t want this,” you say with a shake of your head, your hand starting to slip from his. “You don’t want me.” 

“I do,” Oliver insists. I want you more than anything, anyone. And it scares me. His hand finds your forearm and his grip tightens a bit. He won’t falter; he won’t let you slip away. 

“You have to go back soon,” you maintain. Your uncaring facade is starting to crack a bit. He can tell. You’re looking for excuses, justifications, reasons to stop you from embracing this tension in the air. 

“No, I don’t,” Oliver remarks. 

“Yes, you do,” you insist. 

“No, I don’t,” he repeats. He takes a slow breath. Now is as good of a time as any. “I’ve been… talking with your parents. Some people I’ve met here. I’ve been touring villas the past few days. Looking for places to stay.” 

“Honestly, I’ve felt at home here since I first arrived,” he continues, the words coming out in a rush. Oliver pauses to catch his breath, to quell his racing heart. 

“Your family shared your home with me, and I’m very grateful,” he acknowledges. “And one day, maybe even soon… I hope to repay the favor. I’ve been looking at places nearby; I’d only be a bike ride away.” 

Oliver could drown in the ensuing silence. It’s so quiet. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. He tries to watch your thoughts pass over your face, but none of it is tangible enough. He needs a word, something, anything—

You’re leaning forward, pressing a hesitant hand to his shoulder and kissing him. Oliver reacts, quick to return the gesture and allow himself this moment. His hands brush your cheeks, one slipping down your throat to rest at the junction of your shoulder. 

“You stole my move,” Oliver says breathlessly when you break apart, an easy smile on his lips. He wants to laugh, cry. He wasn’t sure how you would react to any of this, if you’d even want this with him. But here you are, tangible and real beneath his grasp. Staring at him with that gleam in your eyes, that quirk to your lips. 

“Yeah?” you say with a slight smirk. Another new expression. Oliver wants to preserve it in his memory. “You’ll have to make it up to me sometime.” 

Sometime. Sure. Or… right now. The adrenaline coursing through his veins, the giddy feeling in his chest… They push him forward, pulling him towards you until he’s kissing you. He’s holding you almost tightly, his hands nearly shaking from where he grasps your shirt collar.

“Or now,” you remark when you break apart. Your hand is tangled in his. “I guess that works too.” 

Oliver laughs. “I’ll spend my entire life making it up to you,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand reassuringly. 

“You’re such a sap,” you say with a huff. There’s nothing but fondness in your voice, an affectionate gleam in your eyes. Oliver feels like he’s dreaming. 

…And he doesn’t ever want to wake up.

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Bi-Han had given you everything that you possibly could have desired, anything that you asked for was immediately yours no matter how large or small it was and no matter how much it took to get his hands on it; you were his husband, the only person in his life who actually mattered as much to him as his own hide.

He had given you everything, and could not believe it when Cyrax and Sektor had come into his office, and told him that you had been spotted fraternising with the one clan who he could not crush with his icy will; they faced the most of his wrath, they hated uttering the words and what they had seen and showing him the photographs, but they knew it was for the best.

Even though they hoped that you had a damn good reason for such a betrayal, even though they hoped that it was just some big misunderstanding that would be cleared up in the morning. 

He had given you time, allowed you to be at his side during the best years of his life as much as the worst moments of it; he had given you all the time in the world that he possibly could have.

He had allowed time to gloss over the constant arrogance and self centred entitlement that he was all too well known for; he had given you the best years of his life, he had promised you so many more on top of that, he didn’t know what to do when they told him.

His jaw clenched when they came back time after time, telling him that you had defected; you were on their side, you were working for the one clan that Bi-Han despised. You were conspiring against him, planning to take him down despite all the time that he had given you, and despite the time he had promised you. 

He had given you everything, because you had been his everything; his best friend, his confidant, his right-hand man, his husband.

You had been his everything, and he had given that to you just for you to betray him for another clan, for another man; something that had not been previously coated in ice had turned to stone, and dropped inside of his chest when he heard the news from Sektor, who said it with a flinch and closed eyes, expecting her head to be chopped off even though it never came.

She regretted telling him almost immediately, as did Cyrax. They knew how much Bi-Han had given you, how much you had meant to him. They knew, and they could not do anything about it. The clan was much larger, much stronger, than the Lin Kuei; if you had defected, they would never be able to bring you back home, where you truly belonged. 

However angry he was, no matter how many times he cursed your entire bloodline and said your name with a spit to the ground and a scowl, Bi-Han knew inside of his one, singular, shattered heart that he would not be able to treat you how he had treated other defectors; anyone else, and he would have frozen their spine up to their skull and beat them to death with it.

But he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that to you, not when he could still hear your quiet, growling, laughter from behind his desk; all those times you stood behind it with your eyes forward. Not when he could still smell your cologne against the bedsheets that he hadn’t been in since you had left; not when he could still feel the weight on his left hand finger, how it felt like it burned into his skin and scarred it. 

There were too many nights when Bi-Han patrolled the grounds the way that you used to, finding your prints in the snow from the desire path you had carved out, still able to tell where you would sit for a cigarette, still able to tell where you would watch him for a while with a soft gaze in your eyes; he had given you his passion, he had given you his trust.

And he still couldn’t believe that you had betrayed him like that, that you would do something like that; he thought about the possibility of mind control, of magic, of anything except what he knew was true.

Justifying your actions so he wouldn’t have to feel like his chest was on fire every single time that he whispered your name into the wind, every time that he wrecked and destroyed something just to get it out without crying.

He had given you his very soul, promised that it would always be tethered to yours, it would always be linked to yours; he had promised that he would always be yours, and that you would always be his, that his soul would always find yours no matter how distant and how much time could have passed.

Even still, Bi-Han rarely slept at night; he would pace the bedroom floor and look at your clothes, still half-folded and half-crumpled into the wardrobe where you had left them. Still stinking of your cologne enough that it made him cough when he opened the doors; he slept with your shirt against his chest a lot, hoping that he would be able to rest but knowing that he never could. 

He had promised you so fucking much, he had given you a thousand and one promises that he was slowly working his way through, and this was how you repayred him?

All those years, all that pining, all that time and that part of his soul and that part of his heart that now weighed him down more than any boulder ever could; he still could not, and maybe part of him just would not, believe that it was true.

He didn’t want it to be, he didn’t want to be all alone with the rage and the wrath and nothing to do with it, nowhere to put it until it would eat away at him until he was as weak as those two peasants he had once called his brothers. 

Even worse, Bi-Han had told you everything, about how and where and why he had killed his own father; why he betrayed Kuai Liang and Smoke, why he tried to have the former assassinated. His secrets, so untold, were yours; you knew everything about him, you knew everything that he had done, everything that he had planned… but then, why didn’t the other clan act on them?

If you were so entwined with their ranks like you had been with the Lin Kuei, why didn’t they act?

No, no, it was a stupid idea and Bi-Han knew it. It was just the ramblings of a man grieving that one little piece of goodness, one little piece of loyalty and semblance of joy, after it had been ripped out of his hands in the worst way possible. 

You had promised him forever, you had promised him the end of eternity, you had made a thousand little different promises to him the night that you had married, and Bi-Han now hated that he had believed even one of them; you had always been another part of him, the only bit of good that he had left in himself had belonged to you.

Your betrayal, all of those broken promises, it had been ripped away from him, and Bi-Han knew, he knew that he would never be the same again. He knew he could never trust anyone ever again, not if he didn’t have his shadow, not if he didn’t have his guard dog; you had bitten the hand that fed, and Bi-Han could never know another like you again. 

There used to be a time when you would mutter about there being a day when you would live as one, retired and old and lazy and living out the twilight years together somewhere warm, somewhere inviting and soft; Bi-Han used to like the idea of it, as much as he would never admit to such a thing, he used to enjoy the odd thought about it.

That one day would always be on his mind more than he could admit, usually when he was busy and trying to keep his mind on anything except whatever bullshit was on his desk, whatever fucking stupid new recruit had wanted to show off just to fail miserably when Bi-Han put them in the ring with you. 

All those vows that you had made and he had made… did they mean nothing to you? As he paced and paced around the grounds, following your exact trails that you had made, Bi-Han couldn’t help it when the thought crossed his mind; he had never doubted your loyalty before, he never had any reason to, but now he figured that he had been a fool, as much as his father, and promised that he would not make that same mistake again.

You had broken every vow you had made; as his friend, as his right-hand man, as his husband, as his protector. Every single sacred vow you had made, laid shattered and glittering in the sun, and Bi-Han hated himself for keeping a sliver of doubt, a small crumb of hope. 

All those things that you had told him in secret, all those things that he had told you with his head on the pillow, looking at your face as the night began to fade after your regular evening activities; all the little things that he had murmured against your lips, like how he had been the one to execute one of your schoolmates solely for the crime of looking at you the wrong way. How he would have done it again if you asked him to.

All those things that you had promised him in secret, all those things that he told you; had it all meant nothing?

Was your entire life, as his friend as much as his guard dog, had it all been a lie just for you to betray him when the time was right and he had allowed his guard to falter?

You told him, over and over and over, just as he had told you the same time and time and time again, that the love would be for all time; you had told one another so many times that it no longer seemed like such a big thing to say.

Was it for nothing?

Did it mean nothing?

Was it all a fabrication?

Did you ever really feel anything?

Bi-Han hated that he was doubting you, he hated that he was falling into the conspiracy and couldn’t get himself out of it, but he didn’t know what else he was supposed to have done; his own husband had betrayed him.

How the fuck was he meant to handle it?

Every promise had been little more than a lie, something so untrue that he was left with nothing else but to sit on the same log where you would smoke and glare at the new recruits that he had brought in for training; he spread his legs, sitting in the same way that you would, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together.

The frozen ashtray next to his foot as he frowned, able to see his brown eyes reflecting against the thick, icy brown chunks; he had told you so many times to quit, he had told you so many times that it was a disgusting habit that he despised, but as much as he thought he could, Bi-Han never was able to control you. Maybe he should have known back then, when you had refused to carry out one singular order. 

Nobody was around to advise him anymore, nobody could tell him what to do and how to go about dealing with such a crushing, brutal blow; you were the only one he ever listened to, the only one who he actually paid attention to in terms of giving advice, and now you weren’t around, and although he wouldn’t even admit it to himself, let alone anyone else, he didn’t know what to do, and he was lost.

He was lost, and the only person in the world who could have helped had betrayed him, and ran off to join another clan, to be with another man.

What the fuck was he meant to do? 

『•••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••』

You knew that nothing you did mattered to the others, watching as the leader took it upon himself to treat you like shit whilst you quietly worked at dismantling his entire system; you kept your head down, worked day and night whilst your mind ran away to Bi-Han constantly.

It didn’t seem to matter that you were always thinking about him, it didn't seem to matter that you knew you would pay the ultimate price; it would guarantee his safety, it would guarantee one less threat to him and to the Lin Kuei and his status as leader. It wouldn’t matter if you paid the ultimate price for it, and you were ready to accept such a fate.

It never seemed right, though, no matter how many times you reminded yourself that it was for the best; no one could find out that you had defected in order to bring the entire clan down, piece by piece, and dismantle it entirely.

One wrong word from the wrong person, and your entire plan would crumble immediately, and not only would you lose your life, but you would lose Bi-Han, and that you couldn’t stand for.

They were stronger, with more numbers and equipment and everything else; it was your only choice, no matter how much it didn’t, wouldn’t, sit properly in your chest. 

They did a lot to you, beatings and worse, and you stomached it all solely by thinking about how good it would feel to know that Bi-Han would be safe; your only will and testament, just in case, was put into the safe hands of Kuai Liang a long time ago. Right when you had conceptualised the plan, and a lot longer before you had even thought of acting upon it just to ward off suspicion; if something happened, you could sleep at night knowing that Bi-Han would be safe in the end.

He would be safe, and he would be looked after in your absence; you could deal with the beatings and the constant abuse with that knowledge. 

There was no fortune to come of it, you knew that much; no wealth and certainly no luck, no fortune of any kind would ever come of your actions. You were certain that you would never be welcomed back at Lin Kuei, that you would forever be branded and scorned as a traitor.

That you would die a traitor, but you knew that it was for the right reasons; your deceit and your sabotage of the other clan would destroy them, and they would never know that it was you, you hoped; at least it meant that Bi-Han would be safe. At least it meant that the man who meant everything to you and always would, would be safe. 

Still, nothing seemed to stop the tears when you were alone at night, holding yourself and trying to think of Bi-Han; the way he fucked you, the way he kissed you, the way he always smiled a little bit but tried to hide it when he caught you glaring at new recruits that you knew he was going to throw you into the pit with.

You would sob when you thought about it, when you thought about how he used to tell you off for trying to cuddle up to him at night but you would always wake up to find him snugged into you with his lips against your neck and his soft breath fanning across your skin. You would sob, and hope that no one heard you whimpering his name. 

The others, they would always judge how tired your eyes looked and how you were always complaining about headaches and having a dry mouth and a hoarse voice; you didn’t care about their judgement of your composure.

They figured they were wearing you down, getting you to finally get ready to tell them Bi-Han’s secrets; none of them had any idea of what you were actually doing, how you were slowly pulling them apart at the seams.

The older, more disenfranchised, members were beginning to fight like starving dogs over a bone; they were fractioned, and you would soon be free of them. You would get to go home soon.

But you knew that that part was a lie that you kept telling yourself; there was no home for you anymore, if you made it out alive. Home was where Bi-Han was, and you knew that he would not welcome you back after you had betrayed him, after you had seemingly become a traitor and sold him out to another clan; you knew that he would not welcome you back, that he would surely kill you where you stood if you ever saw him again.

You had no home, and you were constantly lying to yourself trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t true, that you did still have a home, that he did still care for you after your awful sabotage. 

You never wanted to leave him in the dark, you never wanted to leave him point blank, but you knew that he needed that clan gone for his own safety as much as the survival of his clan’s; you knew that they needed to be gone, and you knew that the only way to do so was from the inside.

Little seeds of doubt, little things gone wrong and inconveniences sowing the seeds of discontent until they were tearing each other’s throats out, fractioned and splintered until they were doomed.

You knew that you should have told Bi-Han, you knew that he would have been against it but ultimately would have known that you weren’t a traitor; but if he had known, and if you had been found out, they would have killed him. 

You would never find another like him, you would never want to find someone else if you lived and he did not welcome you back; you could not possibly love another the way that you did him.

He had been everything to you for so long, and you supposed that was why you were always so protective over him, why you were always so keen to be his guard dog despite the fact that you had never been rewarded for it; the other Lin Kuei mocked you, but you never saw harm in that. It was funny when they did it, and you missed them.

You missed them all, and your heart would not stop aching despite how much you tried to make it stop.

You knew that Bi-Han would want to know who had set you up to defect, you knew that he would turn on Cyrax and Sektor, the only other semi-friends of his; you knew that he would lash out at them and that he would take it out on them above the others.

You knew that he would be screaming at them every night, and as bad as you felt, it was a small price to pay for survival and safety on their end, even if they didn’t know it. Especially because they would never know about it; you had left no trace, you had left nothing that could have given your plans away and put them at risk. You were on your own. 

After he was done lashing out and taking his wrath out on Lin Kuei, you knew that Bi-Han would assume that it had been his brothers; he would go for Smoke first, as he was the weakest, and accuse him of setting you up, he would accuse Smoke of being the one to force you to betray the Lin Kuei, and he would punish Smoke for it so badly that there was no doubt that he would end up in the hospital or worse.

After that, Bi-Han would accuse Kuai Liang, and that fight would not go well for either of them; it cut like a knife knowing that he would do such a thing, that he would put himself into a fight he could not win without you like that, but you knew why he would do such a thing either way, and you couldn’t stop him. 

Your soul ached every day that you were with the other clan, it hurt to get up in the morning and it hurt to keep working at their demise every day; your entire body was beaten down and bloodied and bruised, and you had no doubt that it would surely scar, but it did not compare to the way that your soul screamed in agony.

A constant sharp, stabbing, pain that left you whimpering and crying in a corner; your soul ached, and kept telling you to quit while you were ahead and to go and explain everything to Bi-Han so that the Lin Kuei could strike them whilst they were weak, but you knew it didn’t, couldn’t, work like that. 

You couldn’t take it anymore, and when they were all asleep, you finally started the fires that you should have done earlier; you found the easiest way to get them to spread whilst only pointing to the wrong culprits, the dead of night mixed with the soft silence and the fact that you still remembered how to easily blend into shadows whilst they all searched for water and blankets, anything to stop the fires as they tore through every sleeping quarters, every equipment shed, everything.

All while they pointed the finger at their own members, and tore each other’s throats out. Fights broke out, and when the bodies began to drop, you made away into the shadows, going to the only place that you knew was home. 

『•••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••』

In the dead of night, Bi-Han was awoken by someone wrenching his window open, and when he got up with an ice axe in his hand, he froze; his jaw clenched as he looked at the familiar shadow, brows knitted together as he saw the condition that you were in.

Battered and bloodied and bruised, but alive; you had not been sent to the Netherrealm just yet, you were still clinging on as you collapsed to your knees, and glanced at him with those puppy dog eyes that had once rendered him weak. For once in his life, Bi-Han didn’t know if he was supposed to kill you or spare you, just watching you, and noting the injuries that you were covered in. 

You should have been a dead man.

You should have been dead the moment that he had seen you, but the axe in his hand was slowly slipping from his grasp the more that he looked at you; his expression unreadable, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he watched the pitiful sight before him.

You should have been dead, you were a dead man walking and you knew it when you met his gaze and saw nothing behind those brown eyes; you swallowed hard, accepting your fate as you hung your head, and counted the breaths until the last one; ragged and sore as they spilled from your throat and past your lips.

You wanted to explain yourself, wanted to beg for him to forgive you, but you were on borrowed time and you could hardly breathe; your chest was tight, you were shaking as your heart raced and you hoped that he would at least be quick about it. But Bi-Han only stood there, his stern expression never moving as he clenched his jaw and started to grind his teeth; he should have swung the axe, should have ended it there, but his arm wouldn’t raise it, and his hand was struggling to grip it.

You were in agony, every muscle aching and every bone either freshly healed from breaking, partially broken, or entirely broken; you wanted him to swing the axe. 

Your head felt like it was beginning to die already, so sore and achy that you couldn’t even raise it to meet his gaze; but you felt a rough hand on your arm, and before you could ask, you were all but pushed onto the bed. Forced to lie down as you struggled to breathe, choking on every single breath. 

“I should kill you,” Bi-Han hissed. “You betrayed m- us!”

You shook your head, coughing wetly as you struggled to find the words amongst your body begging to die. “I didn’t… I promise… I… I snuck in… infiltrated them… they’re gone… you’re… my love…”

Bi-Han scowled as he stared at you, his top lip ever so slightly curled as he shook his head. He had never seen you look so pathetic, struggling to beg for his forgiveness between ragged and hoarse breaths that didn’t quite manage to be more than the odd wheeze; you were a mess, and he knew it, and he knew that he could never fix you. He could never fix you. 

“Sleep,” he growled out. “I will deal with you in the morning.”

//

“This is injustice!” You heard Sektor’s voice echo from behind the door. “He betrayed us all! You should show him what happens-”

“Enough,” Bi-Han growled. “I will deal with him how I see fit. I am your Grandmaster, you either obey me, or I will make sure that you feel injustice. Do you understand me? Go. Go! Leave him to me.”

The door lurched open, and you moaned softly as you started to come to your senses; there were bandages and casts on your body, entirely littered in the marks of doctors and nurses who had seen to you whilst you were out cold. You looked at Bi-Han, met his cold brown eyes, and you swallowed hard as you shook your head, silently begging him not to be so rash in his decisions, silently begging for a chance to explain yourself.

“Explain, and be quick about it,” he growled, pressing a dagger to your throat as he frowned. “Woe unto thee, husband, but I will kill you if you lie to me.”

You nodded, trying to rush through the details as you told him everything, starting with the will and ending with the fire and watching them kill each other; you knew that he would know if you were lying, and you knew that he would know if you were skipping anything.

But when you got to last night, how you had forced yourself to accept that he was going to kill you, he put the dagger down, and sighed; he knew that you were telling the truth, he didn’t know if he should have believed you, didn’t know if he should have forgiven you, but something that he couldn’t see, some type of force that he did not properly comprehend, was begging him to. 

When the doctors and nurses had patched you up and gotten you stable, he had seen that you had been through punishment enough; they told him everything that they had seen.

From beatings through to batterings with blunt and sharp objects, your body had been pushed to such an extreme that you were lucky you had survived at all; you had been through enough, and although he shouldn’t have, although he knew that was a fool for doing so, Bi-Han could not help but to allow a momentary lapse in his judgement, and a show of something he would not dare show to another. 

Mercy.

Maybe he shouldn’t have shown you any, maybe he shouldn’t have accepted that you were telling the truth, but he couldn’t stop himself, and sighed as he raked a hand through his hair; he screamed and shouted and raved and ranted and howled and hollered for a good while, pacing around the bed until he eventually stopped, looked you dead in the eyes, and asked you one question that you had not been prepared to answer.

It left you sat there for a moment, eyes wide and slightly panicked as you thought about where the fuck he had come up with such a stupid thought. 

“Was there another?”

“I promised you forever,” you pointed out with a thick groan from the back of your throat that you could not contain. “I promised you that I would always protect you, I would always keep your secrets as my secrets… I promised you forever, Bi-Han.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he hissed out quietly, glaring at you a little sharper as he shook his head and sighed. “Was there another?”

You shook your head, whimpering out a beg for him to stop, to realise that you had not done anything against him and you would never do such a thing; you could never do such a thing, not to him. “No…. not to you, never to you… I love you… I love only you.”

He nodded curtly, and although he made no effort to reassure you, he stayed by your side around the clock after that; every bandage change, every meal, everything throughout the day, he stayed right there, and never left. 

You weren’t sure if you were more surprised or scared, as you figured and hoped that maybe it was him showing that he had forgiven you, and that you could go back to living your life as one again, but you also knew what he was like; you knew that he was probably thinking or planning, and although you wished that he would allow you back in, you knew it would probably be a long time before he even thought about something like that.

He told everyone else that he was just making sure that you were telling the truth, and although it pained you to hear it, you knew that he was right to do so.

“Do you remember our vows?” You asked softly, watching as his shoulders tensed and he shook his head, turning to you with that icy glare that immediately made you go quiet and look away. “Sorry…”

“I do remember,” Bi-Han growled out, moving to look out of the window, his eyes almost always finding your reflection as he frowned and shook his head, trying to keep himself strong and stern as he always had been. “You should have told me you were doing something so foolish. You talk of risk, but you know nothing of it… what if Sektor or Cyrax had found you, not me? What if they had been the ones to see you come in through the window?”

“We live a love so true,” you wheezed out with a shake of your head. “I could never hurt you, you know that…”

“I spent weeks thinking that you had betrayed me,” he mumbled. “I resented you. I hated you. I woke up every night thinking that you had plunged a knife into my back and ran off to the enemy.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I’m sorry…”

“You don’t understand,” he turned around, pinning you with his gaze as he shook his head. “You never will…”

『•••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••』

You noticed, in the following days, that it seemed as if Bi-Han had all but left you; he stayed at your side, he helped with everything that you needed help with despite your protests, but he was cold, and he had completely iced you out of everything despite your begs and your pleading for him to help you to work on things.

You resigned yourself to a loveless marriage after a while, not expecting him to ever bounce back and love you again; you had broken it all, but at least he was still alive, and at least his biggest competitor had been rid of, and at least his clan’s survival had been ensured. It didn’t matter if he left you or not. 

What you never understood, though, was why he stuck around all the time, and why he allowed you to usurp the bedroom while you healed; he insisted on it, he would not let you go anywhere else, and he would not allow anyone else to look after you. Only he was allowed to do it, only he was allowed to be in the bedroom alone with you; if anyone else came to see you, they would have to tolerate his constant presence and how it was impossible to ignore it. 

You wanted to know the truth, you wanted to know why he still stuck around and kept you in what used to be your private space together; you needed to know the truth, as it was the only thing that allowed your heart to stop pounding for more than a few seconds.

You just didn’t know how you were meant to find it when you were confined to the bed until the doctors said you could start moving around again, until you could finally get up and stop lying there, watching him all the time. 

It didn’t seem to matter how often you told him that you were sorry, didn’t seem to matter how often you told him that it was for his own safety; even when Sektor and Cyrax confirmed that the other clan was gone and buried in the ground, it didn’t seem to matter to Bi-Han.

He didn’t seem to care about it, didn’t seem to even register it on his mind for the longest of times; it was unsettling, it scared you a little bit even though you knew he wasn’t going to hurt you.

It just didn’t seem right that he was taking so little notice, and it didn’t seem right that he wasn’t letting you go anywhere, and it didn’t seem right that he was so cold and so frosty towards you; there was no sharp burn from his arctic breath when he stabbed you with words, there was no punishment.

Just ignorance and indifference to your presence; it didn’t seem right, he wasn’t acting like the same Bi-Han you had known forever. It didn’t seem right at all. 

It was only when, one night, he trudged in to help you with your pyjamas, and he found you crying all on your own; you were curled up in as much of a ball as your injuries would allow, the pillow so damp that he could see the stains on it, and he frowned as he sat next to you, putting his hand on yours as he sighed and clenched his jaw.

He realised then that that was all you had been doing every night since your alleged betrayal; he wasn’t sure what came over him when he gave your hand a squeeze, and muttered one of the vows he had made. 

“Don’t judge my composure,” you sniffled, shaking your head. “I’m bothered by this shit every day, I-”

“Have been punished enough,” he mumbled with a curt nod. “I’d agree.”

“Wait-”

“I just don’t know why you didn’t leave a letter,” Bi-Han huffed. “You just got up and ran away, and left me… left me doubting your loyalty.”

“Bi-Han-”

He shook his head, and sighed heavily as he grumbled. “I am not going to punish you even more. You have had enough of that, and I… you did well. It was a foolish plan, you were given a fool’s luck for it to work out.”

“We’re not splitting up?” You asked quietly.

He shook his head again. “You are still my husband, and I know that my trust was well placed in you. This will not happen again… you’re not leaving my sight again, Shadow.”

You looked at his lap, then, seeing the collar he had given you laying across his thighs, and you managed to smile a little. “You still have to think of a better title.”

“Consider it what you deserve after the stunt you pulled,” he grumbled. “Move over, I can’t reach from here.”

You could still remember when you were a child alongside Bi-Han, always jumping to his defence and always obeying every single command that he gave; he was bossy and stubborn and self-centred even then, but you would never hear a thing about it.

Things had not changed much since then, even if you now shared his bed and woke up to find his cold fingertips on your shoulder; he would deny it every time, so you pushed it from your mind. Still obedient and loyal as ever, still his own guard dog; he would take you to his meetings, his dealings with other clans, and you were always standing behind him, waiting for the command.

He rarely had to take the muzzle off, you still obeyed every single command without question; he would say jump, you would jump. 

He would introduce you as his fiance to those he knew would not use such a thing against him, and they would not believe it; they would not believe that the man they looked at when they glanced your way was the one Bi-Han had settled for.

They always assumed that he would have had a political marriage, but they saw how he treated you; how he was a little more lenient and tolerant towards your presence; he never barked at you to get out of the room, always told you to stay for confidential talks.

He didn’t even allow Cyrax and Sektor that privilege, and they were tied for second most loyal Lin Kuei. 

You did spend a lot of time lost in thought, though, remembering all the years that you had been at his side; back when you were a pup and you were still as loyal to him then as you were now.

None of the other children training on Lin Kuei grounds liked him, he was always too gruff and too stubborn and, at times, a bit of a bully; you stayed at his side. If he got caught causing fights, you would always show that your bite was worse than your back, always holding the fort up when it came to his defence.

He had always been the king of the castle, and you had always been the loyal guard dog at his feet; you had always been his best friend, usually his only friend. You lived for his praises, as cold and short as they were; you adored the way he told you that you did a good job, that you were a fine warrior for him. 

You had been so young and innocent back then, you did not know better, and you still did not know better; the older you got, the more loyal you became.

You were still his only confidant, you were still his best friend, and now you were going to marry him and you weren’t sure how you thought about it, if you were honest; you didn’t want him to worry when you were out on business, dealing with whatever he sent you to, you didn’t want him to panic if you ever got an injury or came home with a new bruise.

You didn’t want to marry him, if it meant that he would be stressed; so, one fine sunny afternoon whilst everyone else was training, you snuck into his office, and decided that you would attempt to talk to him about it. 

“Grandmaster?” You cleared your throat, and he glared at you for half of a second before his gaze softened ever so slightly. 

“Bi-Han,” he corrected with a soft growl. “What do you want?”

You dared to approach, holding your hands behind your back as you coughed out a little bit and shook your head. He seemed to notice your nervousness, furrowing his brows as he looked at how your gaze shifted to the various details in his office, including the framed photograph of two of you when he had brought you with him to Egypt.

You were stood beside him, hands clasped behind your back as he stood beside you stone faced. The top of the sky was a dull pinkish colour, fading into lilac as the dark greyish purple pyramids stood proudly behind you; he had awkwardly put his arms around you after it had been taken, pulling you close as he growled out that he did not want you to leave him.

Maybe that was where it had all begun. 

Slowly, Bi-Han got up, circling around you as he hummed and nodded in approval; you were looking around nervously, until he paused next to you, and cleared his throat. 

“You look well today,” he hissed. “And before you keep thinking about it, yes, I do think this is a good idea. You are my most competent, loyal, obedient warrior. I am not going to worry about you.”

He watched the nervousness fall from your shoulders, and was hit with an odd feeling; you had done that before, back when you were children and he had been caught pushing Kuai Liang down the stairs, and you had, as always, ran to his defence.

Barking at his father about how Kuai Liang had been picking on poor Bi-Han; you were nervous then, when you knew that you were lying but your loyalty had pushed you to do it, and he remembered putting his hand on your shoulder to thank you, just in time to see it drop from your shoulders again. He remembered that time, along with the others. 

He could still remember that time back in the autumn when you had refused to leave his side to the point where you slept on the floor by the side of his bed; he had been nursing a particularly nasty broken leg, and had no choice but to stay in bed whilst you protected him, staying by his side and only moving away to get him whatever he asked.

He could still remember how he had snapped at you and shouted at you for being so fucking clingy, and you had said nothing in return, just stayed right there; even at his worst, when he had taken his shit out on you, you still stayed. You still stayed loyal, still stayed right at his side; he was certain that that was the first time he had ever felt guilt for anything. It didn’t last long, but it did happen. 

More often than not these days, you were together all day long anyway, and that was mostly your fault rather than his; you always insisted on keeping an eye on him, on being close and protecting him. It was never a shock when he went into a room and didn’t hear the door slam behind him just to see you creeping in; it was never a shock when he looked up from doing something to see you nearby.

You were always close, always nearby, and he liked that; he had always liked that you followed him around like a stray, and that you lapped at his attention like one, too. Unwavering loyalty that should have gotten on his nerves but never did; he did think about giving you a name, like how his brother Tomas was called Smoke, but Shadow was a little cliche and he chastised Cyrax and Sektor for agreeing to give you such a title. 

Slowly, Bi-Han made his way to the door, and you followed closely, your brows furrowing and your fingers shaking when he took his hand in yours; it was tight, almost bruising, and your breath hitched in the back of your throat as you looked at what should have been a small sign of affection.

He grumbled, locking the door and raising his brows slightly, brown eyes filled with that glint that you would always remember; it was the same one that he had when he had first asked to court you, and the same one that he had had when you agreed.

You relaxed, and his grip grew a little looser, but you didn’t miss a step as you followed him to the window and watched him draw the blinds. For most, holding hands was a small and simple little affectionate thing, for Bi-Han to hold your hand, you weren’t exactly sure what it had meant. 

He coaxed you to sit on his desk, letting the afternoon light creep in through the cracks in the blinds, staring into his eyes as you put your hands on his shoulders; his hands went to your thighs, keeping you there before he sighed, closing his eyes as you pressed your forehead to his.

Every bit of tension dropped from you as you put one hand at the back of his neck, bending over as you grumbled under your breath; his breathing slowed, cold and controlled breaths hitting your skin as you swallowed hard. You had known Bi-Han for years, you could not remember a time without him; you weren’t sure why he was making you more nervous by the day.

You didn’t want to initiate anything, you couldn’t bring yourself to initiate anything, as you thought that if you did, he would suddenly call everything off, and he would abandon you; you figured that if you stepped out of your position as his guard dog even a little bit, he would call you an embarrassment and cast you out. 

“Something is wrong,” he growled out eventually, pulling back and staring up at you as he tilted his head and squinted slightly, trying to see if he could tell just by focusing on the details of your face and your eyes. “Tell me.”

“I don’t really understand what I did to gain this kind of affection from you,” you admitted. “You said I would soon enough, but the wedding’s coming up and I-”

Slowly, he smiled, and cleared his throat. “There’s a bottle of that rum you like in the second drawer. Take it, drink it, and I’ll explain.”

You did as he said, grabbing the bottle and opening it; it was chilled to the exact way you liked it, and you looked at him nervously as he stood back, and watched you.

“Do you remember the time, when you refused to leave my side after I’d broken my leg?”

You nodded, still sure that that autumn had left you with a permanent crick in your neck from where you had slept on the floor every single night; you could still remember how he had gotten you to run out and get food and get drinks and get anything else he wanted, and you had done it at the drop of a hat without daring to question it.

You remembered that autumn well, and you never wanted to forget it; the way that he had been a little more generous with his praises, the way that he slept with his hand dangled down so his fingertips were brushing against your shoulder. You never wanted to forget that.

“Do you remember our trip to Egypt to meet our allies?” He asked, and again, you nodded. “You have shown incredible loyalty, you are competent, you are capable, and you are obedient. You always have been… you have always been my favourite guard dog. Since we were children, you have always been at my side. I do not wish for that to stop.”

You smiled a little, taking a swig of the rum and hoping that the liquid courage would at least give you a little bit of relief from how nervous you were suddenly feeling; it felt like a break-up, if you were honest, and you hated the thought of that.

“You have always been my closest ally,” Bi-Han carried on, “and Egypt made me realise that… I don’t need anyone, you know that. But I do want you around, permanently.”

You cleared your throat. Fuck it. “Do you love me?”

He nodded once. You had your answer, and breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Do you remember the time you came to my chambers crying?” He asked, and you hummed in agreement as you took another swig from the bottle of rum. “You told me that you had had trouble with one of our classmates when he had called you a name. I dealt with it, and I said that I would never let you cry again.”

You scoffed out a quiet laugh, trying to hide it as you swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath. “You nearly took his spine out, Grandmas-”

“Bi-Han,” he corrected with a growl. “When will you realise, you are not one of them anymore?”

You shrugged, shaking your head as you cleared your throat and looked down. “My apologies.”

“Good boy,” he saw the way your attention snapped to him again, the way you clenched your jaw a little bit and slid back on the desk ever so slightly. He saw the excitement in your eyes, and took note of it. “Do you remember when we first met?”

You nodded. “Your father took me to meet you before the others. He said we’d be good together. We’d make a good team.”

“The only thing the old fool was right about,” he hissed out, slotting himself between your legs and sighing as he took hold of the bottom of the bottle and let his ice cool it so it would stay just right. “I will always remember that day.”

When you thought about it, there was one time in particular that you could never shake from your mind; it was long ago, and you doubted that he would remember it.

But it was always there, at the back of your mind whenever you looked at him; it was one memory that you always kept to yourself, just so you could think back on it and smile whenever you did.

You bit the inside of your bottom lip as you thought about it again for a moment, looking at his brown eyes and how focused on you they were; you did not want to touch despite your body telling you to, you did not want to make a move in case he rejected it and told you that the marriage was little more than politics. You focused on holding the bottle, your fingertips gracing his for a moment and making you shake your head. 

Egypt had been the real turning point, when you finally realised that you never wanted to be without him, that you would never want to be around another man the way that you did with him; you could never be so protective of anyone else, you could never be so loyal to anyone else.

Everything that you were, it belonged to Bi-Han, and only to Bi-Han. What had happened back then, on that hot summer night, that had been the time that you and Bi-Han had fallen in love for good, when something inside of you both clicked so tightly that it could never be pulled apart, it was stuck. It would always be stuck. 

It was impossible not to remember it, it was impossible not to think about it, and you both knew that a little too well; you did not need asking, he knew that you remembered it. He did not doubt his guard dog, his childhood best friend; he might have doubted anyone else, he definitely did not think anyone else was as intelligent as him, but he was more lenient with you.

You weren’t as smart, but you were smarter than most, and you had certainly earned his lack of doubt and his lack of skepticism. You were special to him, and he had made it clear for so long but you had been completely oblivious for much longer. He all but had to spell it out for you and then get you to repeat it back to him. 

“Do you remember when my brothers and I were away?” He asked with a growl to his voice, and you nodded slowly. “I detested that you could not come with us. You should have been there, not Tomas… he was not as competent as you, not as strong. He was not as capable as you are. You… you are the only other person besides myself that I trust.”

You took two more swigs from the bottle, and feeling that it was about to hit you with more weight than a boulder, you screwed the lid back on, and put it aside for later; the liquid courage was beginning to flow through your veins, making you a little braver as you put your hand on his shoulder and let the other rest at the back of his neck, pulling him closer between your legs as you grumbled quietly.

“But we used to talk on the phone,” you pointed out quietly, daring to trail your hand from his shoulder to his belt as you hummed under your breath. “It’s a shame we didn’t put all that talking to good use.”

Bi-Han paused, pleasantly surprised by your bravery and your courage as he leaned into you, grabbing your thigh tightly as he softly bit at your neck. “And what should we have done to put it to good use?”

You shuddered as he sucked on the skin, cold breath meeting hot flesh as you tugged on his belt and groaned softly. “You could have sent me pictures, let me know what I was missing… gotten me all going for you…”

“We were on the phone at night ‘til dawn,” Bi-Han growled out with a gruff, smug, chuckle. “I don’t think you would have lasted that long, pup.”

You groaned softly, hips jerking as you let out a shuddering breath; he was quick, snapping his belt out and letting you take his cock in your hand, grumbling at how you slid from the desk and peppered short kisses up and down the shaft, lapping up his precum as you started to run your fist up and down it, making him groan and seethe as he bit down on his bottom lip and harshly let out a curt, cold praise. 

He sucked in a harsh breath when you took him into your mouth, looking up at him and taking him all the way back, your nose brushing against the thick black curls at the base as he slammed his hand on the desk to steady himself; short ragged breaths leaving his mouth as he growled out for you to keep going, his mouth suddenly dry as you let him fuck your mouth, letting him rut and snap his hips against you enough to make you whimper, the noises sending little vibrations right through him.

Enough to make his eyes roll a little as he tried to keep hold of his resolve, tried to keep control of himself.

“I love you, so I’ll never let you go,” he breathed out, not even realising or caring what he had said.

It didn’t matter, you probably didn’t hear it with how hard he was fucking your throat coupled with the slurping and gulping sounds that you were making. Humping the air as you used both hands to help your mouth.

Fuck, it was his favourite sight all of a sudden; you were so eager to please him, so eager to win his affection, so eager for him. You were so good for him, obeying every command, chasing the praise and chasing the way he humped your mouth and used it like a toy. 

It didn’t feel the same way as when you were both around twenty and had decided to experiment with each other one spring; it wasn’t clumsy and awkward, it wasn’t exactly great and he only lasted a minute, but fuck, if it didn’t feel so good now.

You were taking his cock better than he ever thought possible, soft little hums and groans mixing with the slurping and sucking sounds as you tilted your head to the side ever so slightly, giving him better access to almost every bit of your throat, so warm and wet and welcoming that he couldn’t help the way his head tilted back, exposing his throat as he snapped his hips into you, feeling you drool all over him as he grunted and groaned lowly. The sounds animalistic and gruffer than the way he usually spoke. 

You pulled away, grinning up at him as the drool connected your tongue to his cock like the best lead in the world, his brown eyes slightly widened, his breath getting harder and harsher as he watched you swirl your tongue around his tip; you peppered it with kisses, licked every single bit of it before slowly taking his cock all the way to the back of your throat again.

Bobbing your head up and down as you allowed your tongue to fall flat against the underside each time, licking a long stripe up it as drool slipped from your lips and splashed down to the floor. Every gruff and low moan of his sounding like birds singing the morning after a particularly bad storm. 

Fuck, Bi-Han would never forget the sight of you like that; on your knees and so greedily, hungrily, taking his cock whilst refusing to touch yourself despite how tented your trousers were.

Just completely focused on him, needing to feel him fill your throat just so you could swallow it and lick him clean; he was getting closer by the second, and he didn’t want it to stop. So he pulled away, looking down at you and how you whimpered, and he growled softly; you didn’t make a single move, staying right there with your tongue hanging out of your mouth, waiting eagerly for the next command, and it made him suck in a harsh breath. 

He knew he couldn’t be trusted with such a sight; knew that it would go on and on in the back of his mind every day for the rest of his life. Knew that he would never find someone who could occupy his mind the way that you could.

He bit down on his bottom lip for a moment, just looking at you before he clicked his fingers and pointed to the spot between his legs; you were there immediately, kneeling down and looking at him expectantly, eagerly. It was enough to have made any other man weak, and it was almost enough to make Bi-Han weak; his breath hitching in his throat as he looked at how fucking hard you were. 

“Puppy want a treat?” He asked gruffly, and you nodded eagerly.

“Please, Bi-Han,” you whimpered, flashing the puppy dog eyes in hopes that it would make him a little more lenient with you. 

He smiled. “Hump my leg until you cum, like a good boy.”

You nodded eagerly, kneeling against his leg and clinging to it as you began to hump it, feeling the fabric of your trousers rub against your aching cock as you whimpered; your brows knitted as you felt him move his leg just enough to add to it and spur you on.

It felt so good, all the friction and the pressure making you moan softly, quietly, the sound broken and coming out as a cry as you sped up your movements, humping his leg so eagerly that you were losing breath faster than you could catch it, not wanting to stop as you listened to the way he groaned and grumbled at you. Spurred on by the way he whispered that you were good, that you were doing good and being good for him, spurred on by the rare praise. 

You were so desperate for him, your cock aching and twitching with every stroke against his leg; you were all but squirming where you were so fucking needy, moving to kiss and suck on his cock as you whimpered and clung to him with such sweet little noises that Bi-Han was almost tempted to be nice to you, almost tempted to give you what you really wanted.

You were determined, he had to give you that, enough that he had to hold you by the throat as he hummed and swiped the drool from your lip with the pad of his thumb. His big bad guard dog suddenly just a needy little pup that had but one thing on his mind.

“How bad do you want me to fuck you?”

You grinned, teeth bared as much as your eyes went wide with excitement. “Please, please, please. Please, please-”

“So needy,” he tutted, shaking his head and pulling you up so he could kiss you, able to taste his precum on your tongue as he slid his cold hands under your shirt, lifting it up and over your head. “Should get you a collar.”

You bucked your hips against him as you nodded. “Please.”

It clicked in the back of his mind, the little joke that Cyrax and Sektor had made whilst you were in Egypt with him, it was still in the drawer; a black and blue leather collar with spikes on it and the word “Shadow” embroidered in his colours with the Lin Kuei symbol next to it, which he knew was too cliche.

They had done it in an effort to make him laugh when he caught wind of how people were calling you his guard dog; he had intended to throw it away, he should have really, but now? 

Now, he had a use for it.

“Stay,” he growled, licking your exposed tongue before he went to the other side of the desk and quickly found the collar. “Take everything else off.”

You did as he said, eagerly stripping down to nothing and waiting for him with baited breath until he clipped the collar around your neck and scoffed. 

“Do you like it?”

“Bi-Han…” you breathed out. “Shadow?”

“It’s cliche, I know,” he agreed. “I think I prefer “mine” better.”

You hummed in agreement, taking his cock in your hand as you kissed him hard and let him lick your tongue before he took control, holding the collar tightly and using it to direct you to the desk; you bent over it, exposing and presenting your ass to him only to moan loudly when he slipped two fingers into it, feeling you clench tightly around him as you bucked your hips. 

He spat onto the digits as he thrust them in and out of you, getting you prepared as quickly as possible as you jerked and rolled your hips with every piston of his fingers, every pound into your ass that hit your prostate and made your cock ache a little more to finally be able to cum; you hung your head, desperately clinging onto what little control of yourself that you had left, and when you felt him tease you with his tip, you couldn’t help the loud and lewd rumble of his name that left the back of your throat and echoed and ricocheted throughout his office.

Locking the door and closing the blinds had been a good idea. 

“You ready, pup?” He asked with a gruff, cold, groan that made you shiver and shake as you nodded eagerly, needing and wanting his cock more than anything else.

Enough that you were dumb and drunk off of just the thought of him using you like his own personal fuck toy, the thought of him filling you with his cum making your eyes roll as you thought about how fucking good it would feel, and how you knew that no one else would ever know what it felt like; how you were all his and, although he wouldn’t admit it, he loved you enough that he was yours in return.

He could have died, and he would have found his way back to you if you didn’t follow him first; you probably would have followed him first. 

Bi-Han didn’t waste time, bottoming out and rutting into you quickly as he grabbed the collar to keep you steady with one hand, clinging to your hip with the other and making sure that he conjured just enough ice to make it burn and leave a long lasting mark; you were his, no one else’s, and only his and he had meant that.

The thought of you being with another man made him sick, as he knew that you were made for one another; you couldn’t belong to anyone else, you were too competent and smart and too much of a decent warrior. You were too protective and too loyal to a fault, no one else would be able to handle a man like you. 

You would always be his, and when he started to fuck you loud enough for the noises to drown everything else out, you knew it; no one else would be able to treat you the way that he could, no one else would be able to make you feel the way that he did.

No other man’s cock could make you so hard just from thinking about it, no other man’s cock could bully your prostate just to make you squirm and beg to be bred so quickly. No one would ever be on Bi-Han’s level, and you knew it; you were his, and you would always be his. If he ever died, you would be seconds after him; protective even after death. 

No matter what he did, no matter if he deserved to have you at his side or not, you would always be there for him, you would always be that constant presence in his life, and you both knew it; getting married was just the next logical step, even if maybe it should not have waited so long.

Even if it was probably ideal to have gotten married earlier and done away with the awkwardness sooner. But you did have something special, you both knew that you did; you had something special that others rarely ever had. You had something that would last for all of eternity, and across any timeline; you would always be together, no matter what.

Bi-Han wasn’t himself if he didn’t have his guard dog. 

But fuck, you felt so good as you whimpered and begged him to fuck you until he bred you and made sure that you kept his cum stuffed inside your ass; you needed it to fucking bad, needed his cock and his freezing touches and everything that came with them.

You needed him so fucking bad, you needed everything that he was willing to give you as you pushed back against him and loudly moaned his name, letting it stain and paint the air vividly. You were certain that you wouldn’t last so long, certain that the moment you felt him cum you would be doing the exact same; it was all too good and too natural as he rutted into you and claimed you all for himself, for good. 

You were completely his, and you would never want to be anything different, you would never want to go back to being just his best friend, just his only friend; you were his in every way that he wanted you, every part of you belonged entirely to him. 

He was pounding into you, watching with a breathless smile as you took his cock so eagerly; keenly stretching for him as you moaned and grabbed the opposite edge of the desk, fingers clicking loudly as your head hit it and you closed your eyes.

Too much pleasure, but too greedy and too needy to want to stop as you pathetically whimpered his name, feeling the collar suddenly go slack before he grabbed your hips with both hands so he could get the right angle.

Bullying you and pushing you further and further until you were screaming for him to go harder, deeper, faster. To fuck you and breed you like you meant nothing to him. 

He would have loved to have heard those sweet little noises, those pathetic whimpers, over the phone when he was away; he would have loved to have heard those noises and made you get to the point of climax before hanging up just to make you wait for him.

Now he could, and he smiled at the thought of having that control over you; knowing that you would follow every order and every command without question, with the most eager loyalty, so keen to please and to be good for him. He definitely made the right choice when it came to who he was going to marry, and he fucking knew it the moment that you stopped moving when he told you to, letting him fuck you for his own sake, letting him use you.

If it wasn’t for the need boiling in his stomach, Bi-Han would have happily kept fucking you and bringing you to the edge just to make you stop and keep you waiting until dawn, and then pushed it more, until two or three in the morning the next day; just to keep you needy and all riled up for him.

His grip grew a little tighter, enough frost sticking to your sweat soaked skin that it burned and seared his fingerprints into you. You begged to cum, tongue hanging out of your mouth as you sobbed and begged him to cum; Bi-Han shook his head, and smacked your ass hard enough to make you yelp. 

“Not until I tell you.”

The authority in his voice, the lowness of it and how he hissed at you, it made your eyes roll back as you felt his cock bully you a little harder; you didn’t want him to stop, wanted him to fuck you until his thrusts left bruises and marks that would last for days.

The sound of your whimpers mixing into a melody with the sound of skin against skin and his grunts and growls as he leaned over, biting into your shoulder as he rutted into you hard enough to make you squirm and beg for him to cum in you; your hand found his hair when you reached back, tugging it to keep him close, to keep him humping into you and bullying you. 

You thought about all the times when you could have and should have been fucked like that; when you were at a park together and you were sitting between his legs whilst he was sat on a rock. No one was around, his hands were on your shoulders as he looked around before handing you something to drink. He should have bent you over that rock and fucked you until you were sobbing and begging him to keep going despite being so sensitive that you couldn’t take it even though you wanted, needed, to.

When you had gone to the beach during a heatwave and he had looked at you with something you didn’t understand in his eyes the moment you took your shirt off; he had acted so odd that day, and now you knew. You really wished he had put down a block of that ice he could make with his calloused, thick, fingers and fucked you on it with the sun blazing down on you both; he should have made you suck his dick in an effort to cool down, should have made you gag and drool until you were crying. 

Then, of course, there was Spain; he had been given every chance in Spain. He had walked in on you naked, he had caught you being flirted with by a ninja from one of the allies you were visiting for a meeting.

He should have made it clear then and there that you were his; he should have made it clear and fucked you in front of everybody and… fuck, the idea of being fucked in public was not helping to keep your resolve as you whimpered and tried to fuck yourself on his cock. Making him groan and bite down a little harder as he hissed out a long, cold, breath. 

“Don’t think about Egypt or Spain,” he growled. “Just think about holding on until I’m finished with you.”

But he was so fucking close, he had to admit; the way you whimpered and how you clenched around him was too much to ignore and he could feel his resolve beginning to melt as his control over himself began to thaw.

His movements were sharp and calculated with one thrust, then dull and sloppy the next, and he could feel his body protesting against carrying on. His thighs kept shaking, his heart kept hammering, and he kept having to expose his teeth and seethe in order to try and keep up; he didn’t want it to end, and you were begging him to keep going, but he couldn’t help it. Suddenly tensing with a moan of your name as his balls tightened and he finally started to cum inside you. 

It was a chain reaction as your toes curled, your thighs shaking wildly as your grip on the desk became hard enough that you almost worried about splinters in your fingers; your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you moaned loudly until it became a guttural, groaning growl that soon tapered off into a muffled sob.

It felt so fucking good, cumming with him and feeling him fuck his cum into you, determined to breed you and keep his cum stuffed inside you; your jaw clenched as you humped the desk, brows knitted and drooling heavily. You were sweating and panting, mouth dry and sticky.

But Bi-Han didn’t stop until he had finally gotten enough, and pulled out. He gently ran a cold hand from the back of your neck to your ass, admiring how it looked with his cum leaking from the gaping hole.

A nod of approval, and he swiped a hand through his hair to make sure it was still tidy despite the strenuous activities. 

“You should make the move first more often,” he growled out with a sly laugh. “And keep that collar on.”

You nodded, daring to smile at him as you slowly pushed yourself up; he roughly grabbed your arm, and kissed you quickly as you hummed against him. “You mean that?”

Bi-Han nodded once, and you immediately had your answer as you grinned.

“Get dressed, unlock the door, open the blinds, and when I sit down, I expect you on my lap.”

You nodded in eager obedience, but couldn’t resist another quick little kiss to his lips.

You had been brought up as Lin Kuei, dedicated your life to them and trained with them for years, and you had always had a soft spot for Bi-Han; he was grumpy and gruff and he was harsh and he was a little bit of an asshole at times, but you had always been right there behind him no matter what.

For whatever reason it was, you could not deny that you liked being around him; loyal to a fault and often taking on the role of his personal guard dog even when you should never have done such a thing. Even when he didn't deserve it for the way that he had treated his brothers and their father.

Bi-Han had noticed that, your unwavering loyalty and how you followed him around like a puppy who didn't know any better; how you craved and yearned for his attention like a dog cast out.

Your constant whimpering and whining at him when you thought he was going to be unsafe for any reason.

He enjoyed it, knowing that one of his oldest friends and confidants was all but his personal guard dog. Tall and skilled and competent, but his guard dog nonetheless.

You were far more loyal than the others, and he took note of that; he didn't need to explain any of his orders the way that he did with Cyrax and Sektor. He said jump, you jumped. He said roll over, and you rolled over.

You never questioned anything, never doubted his authority, never did anything but show him absolute loyalty and obedience; you never saw any faults in him or his actions, you never saw anything, but the same Bi-Han that you had grown up with.

The same Bi-Han who used to run behind you and tell you to beat up his brothers because they were picking on him; the same Bi-Han who got shouted at by his father for such an action. They weren't picking on him, and you were too blinded by loyalty to do anything except obey; maybe that was why he was more lenient with you than the other Lin Kuei.

Maybe that was why he was more tolerable of you than the others, and maybe that was why he saw you in a different light than anybody else. Handsome as he was, Bi-Han always see everybody else as beneath him, and although you were just as much, you did tend to have his favour just a little much.

After a long heatwave, there had been a storm all night; skies had turned into the same colour as ink, whilst silver lightning flashed against the sound of roaring thunder, and hailstones as big as golf balls shattered against the cobblestone outside.

Bi-Han had called you into his office, and you stood there, staring at him blankly whilst he glared at you.

"You've grown into a fine warrior," Bi-Han growled out, as if it pained him to say something nice about anyone. "Strong, capable, loyal."

You nodded slowly. "Thank you, Grandmaster, I do try."

"You've done a lot for me," he hissed out, the pain getting worse as he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "You've done a lot for the Lin Kuei."

"Thank you, Grandmaster," you nodded again, wondering what had gotten into his system. "Is everything alright?"

Bi-Han noticed the slight nervousness in your eyes, and how oblivious you had been the entire time; he was never nice to you for the sake of it. He was never tolerable and gentle with you for the sake of it. He couldn't be.

"As you know," he sighed out. "Only Lin Kuei and our allies can be together. We cannot allow outsiders into our ranks."

You nodded curtly.

"Do you think someone is trying to bring in outsiders?"

For centuries, your family had been Lin Kuei, just as his had been; just as Madam Bo's had been. It was an honourable and noble thing to be part of, which was why only certain families could send their children off for training; those who never made it back were cast upon the same light as heroes. Those who were sent back got to grow up as normal adults with normal lives.

"No," he admitted. "I don't."

You did not understand why he was bringing up such a thing now, but you knew that there would be a good explanation; Bi-Han had always had a good eye for things, and he was never wrong as far as you knew.

You chose to remain silent, watching as he stood from the desk and crossed over to you, his brown eyes catching the dull warm light as he looked up at you with an expression you had never seen on his face before.

"You have been my best and closest ally since we were children," he started, "you would serve well, I think, if you were my husband."

You tilted your head to the side. "Beg pardon, Grandmaster?"

"I wish to court you," Bi-Han growled out. "Do you accept?"

You nodded. "Yeah, we can give it a go... we've known each other long enough, might be nice to take the next step... since when do you... y'know..."

Bi-Han glared at you, and chose not to answer.

"I do accept, though," you admitted perhaps a little quickly. "I just don't really understand what I did to gain those kinds of affections from you."

He hummed, taking a step back as he looked you up and down. "You will soon enough."