#slight deviations of course but still

[gummywyrmtrainer]

FUN ASK!!! If you were forced to play as your least favorite character in the fandom, who would they be? How would you play them?

FUN ASK FUN ASK FUN ASK HELL YE

OKAY

So, like

I opened tumblr around 6 in the morning when my husband left for work, and I've been thinking about it on and off since, lollol. It's been several hours

I'm pretty well versed in a majority of the series, yes, but some games and movies are excluded since I haven't personally seen or played them. On that note?

Unsure if I have a solid character for the title of least favorite? I have a least favorite pokemon, and that would be probopass. I've mellowerd out on it some but little me really didn't like them big ol' eyes with the massive face and stache

So, I'll make a small list?

Whitney: Nothing against her personally, I suppose. She's young and has a lot of emotions that she gets overwhelmed by. But, idk, I never really vibed with her. If I were to play her, I'd... show her a little further down the road. Still uses cute, mostly normal types (splashing in fairy types these days), but a hella capable woman, still with her world ending miltank, lol

Valerie: Something something unsettling eyes. How to fix? No fix, make more unsettling, lean into it more. Fuck her up. That's what she's trying to do, anyway, become more pokemon-like. She's the little freak that goes bump in the night. Like, she's sweet as can be personality wise, sure, but l want more of the fucked up fae nonsense.

Sordward and Shielbert: I...? I don't know how to help them, nor do I even want to. I'm going to give them both a swirlie and push them down several flights of stairs. If I had to play them, they'd be the biggest pain in every single person's ass at every single opportunity. They'd give me both great joy and an unfathomable amount of disdain to rp. I'm not that strong, however. Someone should be

Mellie: Hear me out. I don't hate him. Well. No. That's a lie. I do, but he's actually fun to hate, unlike the brothers mentioned above. This man is the biggest bitch in the room and he is aware of it at all times. Until he gets in trouble but them he flips the bitch switch. Instead of snooty bitch he's a whiny bitch. He's abysmal, terrible stinky, 10/10, several notes taken down, but I don't think he'd read them anyway. I can't improve on him, and I'm not even sure if I could capture him in a way that does him justice, lol c:

[beforetimes]

Foaming at the mouth at the mere mention of role reversal Binghe and Yuan, don't mind me

Also don't mind me just spitballing here, you can take this as a prompt or not! But can you imagine Binghe's reaction to seeing Shen Yuan years in the future, probably still at Jinlan city? Not only is he taking in how different Shen Yuan looks, either in regards to how the abyss changed him or just how he's grown, but Binghe doesn't have prior knowledge that Shen Yuan would live through the abyss.

Can you imagine the shock? The misunderstanding as Binghe doesn't react to anything because he's still processing that his beloved disciple is THERE, he's ALIVE. He was though to be dead for years, but somehow he survived the abyss.

heyyyy anon so glad that i’ve managed to inspire the same obsession in you that’s spawned in me seemingly overnight. anddd i didn’t even consider the possibility of this scene when i came up with this scenario but let me try my hand at what it’d look like… also i know i wrote his name all as shen yuan in this but i only noticed after i finished and i don't want to rewrite. smile. enjoy!!

[og au post here!]

… 

Jinlan city carries with it a chilled breeze, curled up quietly against Luo Binghe’s skin under the edges of his robe, where flesh meets air. Face impassive, mouth a straight line and eyes heavy with poison-bourne-exhaustion only a few hours into the trip, everything spells out the path to his inevitable turning in for the night soon. The sun’s joined in his lulling to slumber, touching the horizon as the sky turns orange from blue. 

Luo Binghe drifts, a reed swaying in the wind by the riverside as he investigates the town, slipping away from Liu Qingge and Mu Qingfang to survey the ghost town in his lonesome. 

Everything is par for the course, almost mundane enough that Luo Binghe feels a muted frustration grab at the epicentre of his chest, wrapped around the raw meat of his heart. Always muted, desaturated and less than every sensation could be, as though Shen Yuan took with him a shred of Luo Binghe. If he were an artist, then Shen Yuan wasn’t just his muse but every hue of colour, enshrined in Luo Binghe’s memory in smudges of peach, white, green, and rosy pinks. 

Of course, Luo Binghe hasn’t felt like much of anything in a long time. Every day feels like going through familiar, pre-determined motions, drifitng in and out of classes with a commitment inspired in him that never possessed him before the Immortal Alliance Conference. Even this mission, a slight deviation from the norm, feels easy enough to slot into a quiet part of his mind, where everything mundane gathers dust. Months, almost years worth of memories tucked away in a damp corner. 

This should be more of the same. Luo Binghe is anticipating nothing else. 

Then—a figure bumps into him, bringing him to a stumbling halt. 

He’s practiced; the figure picks up speed when his gaze passes over them, so Luo Binghe pursues, numbness clenching at the hollow of his chest like a bird nipping fingers. Short bursts of static aimed at his hummingbird heart as he ducks into shadowy alleyways, a maze bringing him eventually to the second story of a seemingly-abandoned home. 

Hand resting on his sword, Luo Binghe creeps up the stairs. Opening to a room, his gaze skips over the furniture in his first sweep before he stills at the sight of the balcony. Silhouette traced against the setting sun, the figure lowers their hood as Luo Binghe unsheaths his spiritual weapon. Its hardly silent, and the figure’s face snaps over to meet Luo Binghe’s eyes. 

Lightning strikes, a shock to the heart. 

Shen Yuan exhales a moment later, and it hurts almost twice as bad. 

“Shizun…” He says, words so quiet he’s almost mouthing them to himself. Cultivation pulled from the equation, Luo Binghe doesn’t think he would have heard them. Here, however, they twist a blade into his palpating, trembling chest. “It’s really you here?” 

He opens his mouth but words loathe to creep past his throat and spill over his teeth. Luo Binghe can only stare, drinking in details he never dared imagine, his disciple last remembered bloodied and sobbing at the ridge of a gorge touched by years Luo Binghe thought Shen Yuan had lost because of his Shizun’s incompetence. 

Gone are the gentle greens and whites of Qing Jing Peak, replaced with navy blue, near black, and charcoal gray robes that layer over themselves thrice over, as though Shen Yuan tries to keep himself warm. His face lost its last vestiges of baby fat, severe green eyes dulled yet still imbued with life. Hair shiny, longer, left in a simple updo unbefitting of Qing Jing Peak’s strict standards. Luo Binghe’s mind wanders back to hazy mornings spent brushing his disciple’s hair before he’s forcefully yanked back to the present. 

“I suppose Shizun suspects this lowly demon to be responsible for the plague?” Shen Yuan asks, unsurprised yet words saddled with inexplicable defeat. “With word from Qing Jing Peak’s immortal master against this one, I suppose there’s no point in dragging out the inevitable trial, though Shizun can decide if this one should dare show his face to the other Peak Lords Shizun’s brought with him.” 

“Shen Yuan,” Luo Binghe manages to croak, mind speeding to such an extent that forcing words out feels like fighting past a hot charcoal shoved down his throat. 

“Or,” Shen Yuan continues, as though uninterrupted, starting to pace in a way so familiar and practiced that any imagined excuses of possession or imitation vanish themselves from Luo Binghe’s mind, “Or maybe Shizun wants to bring this stupid evil demon to the Sect Leader himself before executing him—maybe he wants to claim the glory of becoming Jinlan’s saviour, maybe—maybe Shizun wants this disciples head on a spike, or—“ 

Shen Yuan whips around, eyes burning into Luo Binghe’s with intensity that would unwaver him if he wasn’t already off-balance. Hazy and near-floating, feeling his heart beat outside his frail body. Despite the weight of it, there’s a vulnerable desperation that robs him of breath, too reminiscent of days Shen Yuan spent at the end of Luo Binghe’s bed on days where the world pinned him to the sheets without mercy. Violent and fervent hope seems to overtake Shen Yuan.

“Or maybe Shizun just—? WIll—this one knows that Shizun wants… But everything else has changed, I can— This one—Maybe Shizun wants me to live?” 

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Luo Binghe manages to say, and watches Shen Yuan’s expression freeze before shuttering, scrubbed away from a too-pale face and replaced with a jade-like twist to his lips so cold it feels as though it cuts at Luo Binghe’s skin. 

He reaches out and Shen Yuan flinches. 

You’re supposed to be dead, Luo Binghe thinks, standing days away from home yet able to feel the press of grass and stone under his knees as he stares at a solitary grave in Qing Jing Peak’s bamboo forest. 

You’re supposed to be dead, he thinks, watching Shen Yuan turn from disciple to stranger, any hope in his former student's shoulders deflating until Shen Yuan’s taking up very little space, completely unaware he’s done it at all. 

You’re supposed to be dead, Luo Binghe thinks, remembering every single conversation with Liu Qingge where they both quietly tell themselves there’s no body, there’s always a chance. They both knew they were lying to each other. I mourned you. I mourned you I mourned you I mourned you. 

In the same room, Shen Yuan retreats, and despite being closer than they have been in years, Luo Binghe can feel the channel of one-sided hatred between the two of them grow ever-deeper.

masterpost

[ghouljams]

Being the favorite sex worker of any of the 141 must go crazy

It's certainly interesting. Having one regular is good but five? And they pay well for discretion? Oh, it's fantastic, you're willing to put up with a lot for a good-looking man that pays well and fucks better.

Nikolai, of course, found you first. Not one for picking up random girls when they can be so touchy. You know his type well, the sort that wants exactly what they want and don't take kindly to deviation. You sit at his feet and play pet, sucking his cock and providing more warmth than he can find in the cockpit of a helicopter. You don't ask questions when he stinks of gunpowder and oil, or look twice at the tattoos that even an untrained eye could tell were prison made. You simply sit on his lap while he murmurs to you, all hard consonants softened by a tongue that's still wet with your slick, and mewl when he finally fills you with that fat cock.

Which is exactly how he brought you John. Another man who has no time to look for what he can easily pay for. A gentleman in certain aspects, a monster in others. You prefer when Nik brings him along, enjoying the soothing that the Russian gives you after John spanks you raw, but he's not awful alone. Violent delights, is how you would describe him. He likes a fight, enjoys pinning you down while you struggle and gasp, slapping your face when you gag on his cock, spitting in your mouth. Another type you know all too well, a man with perfect control and no outlet for the tumultuous waters that churn beneath the surface. At least he cleans you up afterwards, drops an extra few hundred on your nightstand for each bruise he leaves. You could cover your rent off one session with him, guilt is always a fantastic money maker.

With John's introduction you find three more soldiers slipping into your rotation. Kyle comes, sheepish, and you can't imagine he has any trouble finding partners to play with. Those soft brown eyes and the slight tilt of his brows when he asks what you do. You almost feel bad taking his money, worried you're sullying some poor awkward virgin. Until he's got you pinned to the bed, drooling over the way he fucks your ass and pulls your hair, spilling absolutely sinful words over your skin. Nobody talks to you like that, like a man who's had years to build up the words, and plenty of practice draping them over partners until he found exactly what would make them clench up. He's the first of them to kiss you, a quick peck on your cheek when he leaves. He sends you flowers afterwards, and you laugh to yourself reading the card that asks when he can see you again.

Johnny comes with toys. You appreciate the thought, but you have your own. You fuck him until he's a babbling mess, shaking and pulling the sheets out from the corners of the mattress with the way he tries to hide the flush on his cheeks. It's sort of cute, red to the tips of his ears, blush creeping down his chest to color his cock. It's always a conversation with this one, never the same scene twice. Costumes, role playing, ropes and toys. You're certainly never bored with Johnny. The only consistency is him fucking you in the shower afterwards, tired and content as he slaps his hips against your ass, his lips locked to the pulse in your neck and his breath sighing out of him. He tells you once that he's checking things off his list, "wanna try everthin'." You think he watches too much porn, but he pays you every time he goes to confessional, so you don't mind.

Simon... Well, the first time you meet him, he'd tagged along with Johnny, sat in the armchair opposite the bed and watched. He's delicate for being a big, mean looking fucker. You'd been a bit worried what he was interested in, you learn to be careful in your line of work, avoid masked strangers and men that are too big for anyone's own good. You'd almost turned him down. He still hasn't fucked you. He books the whole night with you and spends the entire time between your legs. Licking and sucking at whatever he can get his mouth on; a heavy arm draped over your stomach to keep you in place once you start squirming with overstimulation. He likes feeling useful, you think. Another type you know all too well, too much of the world on his shoulders to relax outside of your rooms. You pet his head and praise him just to watch him stiffen and melt between your thighs. He's a good boy, and the most reliable orgasm you can schedule. You would wonder what happened to make him keep himself so covered when he's around you, but you're just a whore.

And you know your role as well as you know theirs.

[synchodai]

Tom Taylor gets a lot of flak for his Cregan Stark, but I will maintain that his initial awkardness with Jace that gradually became more friendly was a great call. If you imagine Cregan as this hardass experienced warrior, of course you'll be disappointed. But if you're like me who imagines him as stressed young lord who's trying very hard not to show that he's stressed and young, Tom Taylor got it down pat.

Jace and Cregan start off as two lordlings playing politician by reciting stilted, rehearsed lines at each other and as they keep talking, their dynamic gradually shifts into something more personable and vulnerable. From noblemen trying to out-diplomat each other to bros who realize the other may also be struggling with this whole governance thing, basically. Cregan realizes from this dude's incorrect knowledge of Torrhen Stark that he's way out of his depth and legit needs help, so uh... I can't leave because winter but I have these greybeards if you'll have them. The scene starts with posturing and flaunting dynastic legacies, and when they get up the Wall, there's the admission that yeah, both our hands our tied and we don't actually have a lot of power to spare, mythical ancestors and monologues on duty regardless.

Then there's Taylor's microexpressions when he reads the raven.

The slight lip quiver? Dude only had 4 minutes but by god, I loved his performance.

Also can I talk about the face? The deviated septum? The strong brow that makes him look like he's always slightly angry? All that while still having a babyface? Perfect casting imo.

[dark-elf-writes]

what if the teacher clapping transmigrator reveal thing happened in front of the rest of the peak lords

they were already confused by the clapping but its fairly easy to get one of the students to explain the sqq uses it to get their attention

what is not easy to explain is why when sqh did it back along with the students sqq whirled around and then the two of them just stared at each other for a while

The clapping is… strange.

Many things about Shen Qingqiu after his Qi deviation were strange. If they didn’t know better — if half of them hadn’t made an excuse to snatch his wrist and check his meridians — they would have thought he had been possessed.

He was softer than any of them remembered. Kinder. With an actual interest in teaching his disciples that had simply not been present before. A few of them even swore they had heard him laugh, soft and sweet, behind one of his fans but when they turned to check his expression it was the same icy mask it had always been.

But the clapping…

“Shizun does it when he wants our attention,” Ning Yingying smiles at them when she explains, rocking on her toes for a moment as she checks around Liu Qingge’s shoulder to see if her Shizun has returned, not nearly as subtly as she thought she was being. “He doesn’t like raising his voice if he can avoid it and training can get a bit loud so he claps.”

Liu Qingge could think of a dozen times Shen Qingqiu had raised his voice at him alone pre Qi Deviation, but after he had been rather soft spoken.

(Save, of course, for the day he got himself poisoned. But even then he had raised his voice to yell about someone trying to attack his student when his back was turned and not about the holes in his arm leaking a poison named for its lack of a cure.)

Shen Qingqiu breezed around the corner, frowning at his scattered disciples among the Peak Lords and tucked his fan into his arm to free his hands.

Two slower claps and three fast.

Every single one of his disciples stopped whatever they were doing, even Ming Fan who had been talking to the Sect Leader, to echo his claps.

Every single one of his disciples and one Peak Lord.

Every head snapped to look at Shang Qinghua, who still had his hands up, to take in the man’s pale face and wide eyes. Shen Qingqiu dropped his fan in surprise.

Liu Qingge didn’t think as he let his hand dart out to catch it. One less discarded fan that he would have to return later. The sound of it hitting his palm was the only sound.

He didn’t think either Shen Qingqiu or Shang Qinghua were even breathing.

(They knew something. The two of them knew something about those damned claps. Why would Qinghua of all people be the one who understood. As far as Liu Qingge knew the two of them hadn’t seen each other much at all since Shen Qingqiu’s Qi deviation where as Liu Qingge was at Qing Jing Peak nearly as often as his own between returning fans, delivering new monsters, and assisting in the treatment for Without A Cure. Why should he know what Liu Qingge did not? What gave him the right?)

A pale hand rested over the fan still in Liu Qingge’s hand, the slight tremors to those slender fingers nearly invisible if he hadn’t made such a study of those hands. If they all hadn’t in recent months.

Still Shen Qingqiu’s voice was as soft and sure as ever — as it had been since he woke up that day — as he took the fan and snapped it open to hide everything but his eyes like he always did when he was feeling vulnerable. “Thank you, Shidi. This one is quite fond of this fan. I would have been much bereaved to lose it.” Even as he spoke to Liu Qingge, his eyes didn’t waver from the An Ding Peak Lord who seemed to be making himself as small as possible.

Liu Qingge wanted to snap the little bastard in two for… no particular reason.

Then like some silent song had passed Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan closed again and turned to his disciples. “This master knows his disciples are not being lax in their training.”

The kids scatter with deep bows to the gathered Peak Lords, only Luo Binghe lingering a moment longer to press a wrapped package into Shen Qingqiu’s now steady hand with a murmured “Shizun” before scampering off to his own lessons. The fondness in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes as he watched his disciple’s retreating back made Liu Qingge want to break something.

“Sticky,” Shen Qingqiu murmured seemingly to himself before whirling on the gathered Peak Lords, cool reprimand in his tone thick in the way only he could get away with. “This one was unaware of any meeting today or he would have been here to properly greet his sect siblings.”

And just like that the mask had returned, but Liu Qingge didn’t miss the narrow eyed looks Shen Qingqiu kept singing Shang Qinghua. Nor did he miss the white knuckled grip the man had on the An Ding Lord’s robes after the rest of them excused themselves, not allowing the little snake to slip away.

[cheriecoke]

piece of cake

FEATURING. nanami kento x f!reader — wc: 9.8k

SUMMARY: nanami can't help but notice your strange behavior, and he begins to grow suspicious (aka you throw him a surprise birthday party)

CONTENTS: sorcerer!reader, nanami's bday, husband nanami, reader & nanami povs, gojo being the bestest friend, also everyone loves nanamin!! very very light angst, slight misunderstandings, and ofc nanami being the love of my life. sfw!!!

note: this ended up way longer than i intended! the ending is a bit rushed, but i really wanted to finish it before his birthday ended. i love this sweet man so much :(

Nanami didn’t want to be that kind of man.

He knew that letting his thoughts wander into accusations were a one-way ticket to unfounded miscommunication. It was senseless to even go there; coming up with wild solutions that he couldn’t back up would only cause problems that didn’t need to happen in the first place.

With his whole heart, Nanami trusted you. He loved you, and he had never doubted that you felt the same. Honesty was important, and you were both mature enough to understand that communication was the only way to make a relationship work.

He reminded himself of that whenever his mind was clouded with uncertainty.

There was still a small twinge of doubt that wouldn’t leave him alone, and day after day, it became more and more difficult to convince himself that he wasn’t concerned. Every time he tried to speak with you about your strange behavior, you’d talked him into circles, bringing him right back to the beginning of the question like he’d never asked it at all.

Nanami tried to tell himself he was creating something out of nothing, but for weeks, you’d been coming home late, you were always on the phone, and he would have been an optimist or an idiot if he truly believed you weren’t hiding something.

When he really put his mind to it, he could stop himself from coming to unfathomable conclusions. You’d never given him reason to doubt you, even if your behavior had become suspicious as of late.

What he couldn’t diminish was the deeply buried fear that, maybe, you wanted someone more than him.

The entire mess had started just a month ago, when he’d stumbled into the lounge at the high school, a book tucked under his arm and a coffee in his hand. Lunch hour had just ended.

Nanami visited you at the school often, and at this time, you were almost always training Maki, or switching off a class with another sorcerer. Your schedule rarely deviated, and if you weren’t in the middle of teaching, it was because they’d needed you elsewhere.

So, of course, he was surprised to see you were doing neither of those things. Instead, you were in the lounge with Gojo, talking in hushed voices while you stood strangely close to one another.

Your back was turned towards the door when Nanami entered, and you gesticulated wildly with your hands. Between your speed and the low volume of your voice, Nanami couldn’t catch a word of what you were saying. It was obvious that you were excited, and Gojo leaned up against the back counter with an indulgent smile, placing his fingertips to his chin thoughtfully.

Nanami wasn’t sure whether or not to announce his presence, so he let the door slam shut behind him, breaking up your enigmatic conversation.

You whipped around in surprise, your eyes wide. In a similar manner, Gojo’s head darted up like he had no idea Nanami had entered at all. The scene would’ve been comical if it hadn’t been so unfamiliar.

“Nanamin!” Gojo stumbled around the first syllable of his name before recovering smoothly, smiling that cheeky grin of his. “When did you get in? I thought your assignment wasn’t until later this afternoon?”

As Nanami slid into the room, he glanced between you and Gojo with pinched eyebrows, attempting to ignore his unusually awkward behavior. Gojo slid across the countertop, slowly inching away from you until he hit the edge.

“Kento!” you said, in a voice that was much squeakier than your normal tone as you shattered the silence. “You’re here early.”

Nanami had long since given up on trying to understand Gojo Satoru’s behavior, but you were a different case entirely. Your smile was lopsided and uncomfortable, and you wiped your hands on your sides like you weren’t sure what to do with them.

He couldn’t tell if you were disappointed or glad to see him. His features pinched tighter, and he shook off the nasty voice of mistrust that threatened to cloud his logical mind. “I’ve been asked to take Itadori with me today. Apparently, someone’s been telling the principal that I’m a good influence on him.” He took off his glasses, meeting your eyes pointedly. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

You smiled sheepishly, drawing closer to him like a magnet. As you left Gojo’s side to stand beside Nanami, that sharp coil of irritation within him released. The lines in his forehead smoothed, and everything was just as it should be.

“I had nothing to do with this,” you said with a small shrug, fixing the tie that was already straight, as if looking for a reason to touch him. “What would make you think that?”

Nanami rolled his eyes at you, knowing you’d had everything to do with it, and gave you an exasperated smile.

You released his lapels shortly after to check the time and frowned when you realized how late it had gotten. “I have to go.” You pecked him on the cheek with a grin, and though Gojo was watching from behind the dark blindfold, Nanami couldn’t bring himself to care. “Maki’s meeting me soon, and I don’t want to make her wait. See you later, Kento.”

He squeezed your hand, the action almost imperceptible as you waved to the other man over your shoulder. “Bye, Gojo.”

Gojo returned the action, his lips pulled together playfully as he returned his focus to Nanami. Although he’d seen the two of you together on numerous occasions, his favorite pastime was teasing the younger man about any sign of affection.

Nanami sighed, suspecting that he’d have to tolerate Gojo for the next half-hour until Itadori was back. He took a long sip of coffee that scalded his throat and sat down on the couch.

The silence lasted until Gojo crept unfortunately closer, lurking like a cat until Nanami huffed, the sign of irritation that Gojo had been waiting for. The white-haired man drew out Nanami’s name like a song, and then plopped himself down on the chair across from him, blabbering on about things that Nanami really didn’t want to listen to.

When he realized five minutes had passed without Gojo even taking a breath, he gritted his teeth, and leaned back in the chair. “I didn’t realize you were such good friends with my wife.”

That wasn’t entirely the truth. Nanami had known that you’d gotten closer to Gojo since you’d started working for the school part-time, but you talked about him about as often as you talked about your other colleagues. About as much as Nanami talked about Gojo.

You’d never made it seem like he was the type of person you swapped secrets with in the lounge while everyone else was off on a break.

“Really?” Gojo drew out the word dramatically, his mouth curling into a pout. “I’d say we’re good friends, actually.” He tipped his head back, leaning against the chair with uncharacteristic seriousness. “We mostly talk about you, though. I know you better than I know her.”

“That’s a shame.” Nanami flipped the page, finishing the last bit of his coffee, and feigned irritation, even if he was warmed by the thought of you talking about him so much. “She’s much more interesting than me.”

Gojo laughed, and it seemed to be genuine. Nanami began to grow frightened that he might actually be roped into an actual, amicable conversation with the man.

“Aww,” he cooed sympathetically. “Don’t worry, Nanamin. I know you’re probably worried we’ll become better friends, but you were my friend first.”

Nanami glanced up, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Trust me, I’m really not worried about that.” He kicked his leg out, the beginnings of a headache forming in his temple. “I’m more concerned that she’ll invite you over for dinner. I’d like to refrain from any interactions with you outside of work.”  

Gojo made a face and then whined dramatically. “You’re so mean to me.” He wiped a hand over his eyes like he was shedding tears.  

Nanami sighed.

A few days later, when he took Itadori out for another training session, he began asking Nanami too many questions about his personal life. That fact wasn’t as suspicious as it was frustrating. He couldn’t help that Itadori was curious, but he could’ve asked him these things on the ride over, or while they were at the school.

Invasive questions in the middle of a potential life or death situation were not exactly ones Nanami wanted to tolerate.

“So… what kind of places do you like to shop?”

The question was completely unrelated to his lesson and completely out of the blue. Nanami stopped, eyeing the teenager with undisguised skepticism. “Itadori. I’m not answering that kind of question when we’re in the middle of something serious.” He thought about his words, and quickly rephrased them. “Actually, I’m not answering that question at all.”

Itadori stared back, his face falling theatrically. Nanami could’ve guessed from that expression alone that he’d been spending far too much time with Gojo. “Fine.” He relented, drawing out the word as he scurried to catch up with Nanami, who was already paces ahead.

He let a few minutes pass before his next question.

“Where are your favorite places to eat?”

Nanami closed his eyes to regain his patience. “I’m not answering that either.”

A huff of disappointment. “Well, can I ask about your favorite—”

“No.”

Itadori’s glower turned into something more like a realistic frowny face. Nanami tried to refrain from snapping at him in order to regain his focus. “What can I ask?”

“Anything that you will gain valuable insight from.” Itadori opened his mouth, and Nanami quickly sensed his next words. “Insight that isn’t about me.”

He deflated once more. “Okay, fine.” For a few more moments, he surrendered, letting the conversation stall. Nanami should’ve known better than to expect peace and quiet for long. “So… what days will you be going on assignments? Do you have like… a set schedule, or do you usually get called in?”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, hearing the creak of a floorboard upstairs. There were curses nearby, and if Itadori continued yammering on without paying attention, that would spell a lot of trouble for him and the kid. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I’m just curious.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you now isn’t the time.”

Itadori opened his mouth, but then seemed to register the sound of cursed spirits, and he finally sobered his attention. His expression changed to one of seriousness, and, thankfully, he let the topic go.

After a particularly stressful mission, Nanami went to the bakery that the two of you frequented, the one that had been the site of many of your dates throughout the years.

It was a quiet little café at the edge of the city, a perfect middle-ground between your home and the school. When he’d been working in the office, and you were still a sorcerer, you’d met him there on numerous occasions, usually bruised and battered, but never without a beautiful smile.

He stretched his back behind him as he headed through the door, his clothes dirtied from fighting and his hair in disarray. It was barely afternoon, and he was already exhausted, wanting just to go home and curl in bed to await your return.

It was a small daydream that would carry him through his last few hours of working, so long as no cursed spirits popped up in his vicinity of patrolling. There seemed to be more and more lately, and if he wasn’t being called off to go fight, then you were, leaving no time for either of you to be with each other.

As he crossed the threshold, another man was exiting, seemingly in a big hurry and carrying a coffee that he almost splashed all over Nanami’s chest.  

Reeling in his irritation, Nanami began a polite, “Excuse me,” before realizing who had nearly trampled over him. “Gojo. What are you doing here.”

“What a coincidence seeing you here,” Gojo greeted with a wide grin, like he wasn’t the one infiltrating one of Nanami’s sacred, headache-free spaces.

Nanami cringed, looking at the coffee in Gojo’s hand and the white pastry bag, immediately recognizing the contents. It was your favorite drink, the dessert you got once a week; you’d been ordering the same thing for the past two months, always getting hooked on new things before you eventually tired of them. He knew the order by heart.

“Sorry, I really wish I could stay and chat, but I’ve got important goods to deliver.” He held up the bag and the cup, a receipt folded up between his fingers. Bitterly, Nanami noticed he hadn’t bought anything for himself. For someone with such a sweet tooth, it seemed hard to believe that he’d refrained from indulging.

Which, Nanami concluded with annoyance, meant that he’d come specifically for you. He checked his watch, pushing away the negative emotions. Even though you could’ve called him if you wanted something, like you always did, you’d asked Gojo instead. “She’s not on a break?”

“Some students wanted her help with some things. I told her I didn’t mind getting her something if she wanted to take a break later this afternoon.” Gojo flattened his blindfold over his eyes, the material bunching up around his nose. “Everyone’s out today, anyway.”

“I see,” Nanami said, hating the unnecessary sting in his chest. You knew he’d been working, and even though he told you where he was going, you probably hadn’t seen the message. If you were busy, then he couldn’t expect you to be checking your phone. “Well, tell her I said hello, then.”

“Will do,” Gojo saluted cartoonishly and flitted out the door, smiling with a kind of glee that Nanami, stupidly, wanted to wipe off his face.

Those separate incidents with Gojo had annoyed him, of course, but he knew they weren’t anything to get worked up about. In fact, he’d almost forgotten about the interactions entirely, until another week passed and Nanami slowly started to wonder if you spent more time with the white-haired man than the one you were in a relationship with.

You’d woken up before him that morning, and Nanami opened his eyes to a colder bed and the sound of hushed music softly playing from behind the bathroom door.

It was a cooler day for June. You’d opened the window, and there were dark clouds gathering in the sky, a sign that it was going to storm any time now. He stretched his stiff back, padding to the hallway, where he could see the light coming from the bathroom, the door cracked open. The smell of your perfume wafted through, and Nanami had half a sense to drag you back to the bed and keep you there until the weekend was over.

He pushed the door open further, leaning against the threshold to watch you swipe pink gloss over your puckered lips. Your makeup was freshly powdered, your hair done up in its usual manner.

Nanami smiled, leaning against the door frame as he watched you finish getting ready. “Where are you going this morning, pretty girl?”

You blinked at him through the mirror, putting the tube of lip gloss back in the bag before turning to him with a smile. You looked so sweet, and he yearned for you, almost in disbelief that you’d been together for so long. “I’m taking the kids shopping in the city with Gojo today.” You wrapped your arms around his stomach, tilting your head back to look up at him. “I’ll be home before dinner. Want me to cook tonight?”

Nanami brushed your cheek, feeling that annoying wave of irritation return to claw at him. He didn’t care that you were spending time with Gojo—he shouldn’t care. Your students would be there too, and you’d been happier ever since you started working at the school. The first and second years cared about you so much already, and Gojo was a much less annoying friend to you than he was to Nanami.

He liked seeing you so happy, despite the toll that the job often took on you. “Don’t worry about it. We need to pick up groceries, anyway. I’ll do that while you’re out.”

Your smile widened, and you leaned up, pressing a kiss to his lips. Although you’d meant for it to be quick, Nanami had wrapped an arm around your lower back, pressing you closer, deepening the kiss. He ruined your lipstick, smearing it all over his mouth, but he didn’t care.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered against your mouth, holding you close to him.

“I’m still in my pajamas.” You laughed, your cheeks growing warm as you drew away from him, teasingly dodging his final kiss. “Are you sure you won’t miss me too much when I’m gone?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’ll probably miss you too much.” As you fixed your lipstick, Nanami went back to the bedroom, rifling through his coat pocket for his wallet. He tossed the gold card on the bathroom counter, where your purse was laying.

You eyed him over your shoulder. “No.”

He stared back, just as seriously. “Yes. Buy yourself something nice, sweetheart.” He thought of the young teenager he’d been mentoring, who’d been putting in his best effort, and who he’d, unfortunately, come to care about quite a lot. “Itadori too. Just don’t tell him it’s from me.”

You blinked, before your expression changed into something so bright, Nanami would’ve done everything in his power to keep it there. “I knew you liked him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With an affection so full that it threatened to burst out of your chest, you jumped towards him, wrapping yourself up in his arms. He kissed your temple and breathed, remembering just how much he didn’t want to lose you.

You were true to your word, always. You came back when you promised, you told him where you were going, but Nanami noticed that you’d been even more secretive since you went shopping with Gojo and your students. When he asked your plans, you were even more vague. When you didn’t return with any shopping bags, he found it odd that you smelled of a cologne he didn’t wear.

He reminded himself of how much he trusted you—he really, really didn’t think you would lie to him, but he couldn’t deny that your behavior was confusing him.

Nanami finished off his tea, eyes across the room as he watched you type wildly on your phone, your brows crinkled. You sent a message then waited for a response, impatiently pacing across the kitchen.

He called your name, but you didn’t respond, too enraptured in whatever it was that you were doing. You seemed to be attached to your cell phone these days, always having a call to respond to, and always jumping when he was a little too close to seeing your messages.

Yesterday, Gojo’s name had popped up on your screen with a message, and you’d crawled across Nanami’s lap to get the phone before he could even think to hand it to you. Nanami had done nothing but stare back at you, and you’d smiled at him, embarrassed, still hiding the screen from him as you read the message.

He really, really didn’t want to jump to conclusions. But these days, you were spending all your free time with Gojo, and you grew defensive every time he tried to bring it up.  

“Are you done with the tea?” Nanami asked again, piling up the dirty dishes from where he sat, noticing your cup was still half-full, but lukewarm.

You chewed your thumbnail anxiously, bouncing your leg as you waited for the person on the other end to reply. The phone shook in your hands, and you read through it again, obviously disappointed by the short response. He could’ve guessed who you were talking to, even if he didn’t want to.

Nanami frowned and called your name one more time. Finally, you looked up.

“What?” you asked, and then came to understand his question. The tea sat, unenjoyed, and shame marred your features. “Oh. I’m sorry. No, I’m not finished.” You frowned, tucking the phone back into your pocket before rushing over to your seat. “I didn’t mean to…” you trailed off, and Nanami stared, waiting for you to finish your explanation, even though you let it die there. “It’s been busy at work.”

Nanami hated how easily he could tell you were lying. He sighed, rubbing his temples as your phone rang again. This time, though, you kept it in your pocket.

It had been like that for the past couple of days. He closed his eyes, trying to come up with any possible explanation other than the most distressing one.

“Kento?” you asked in a small voice, noting his obvious discontent. “Is everything alright?”

He looked up at you, your eyes so wide and full of concern, and even if he wanted to be mad at you, he couldn’t. His chin fell, arms resting limply at his sides as you looked back at him, waiting for a response. “Is everything alright with you?”

“I’m okay,” you said, shifting where you stood. “Just busy. Like I said.”

The two of you stared at each other, waiting for the other to say what they really wanted to. Never once in your life had you had a problem with communicating, but it felt like now, you were hitting a wall.

All he could do was try his best. If you didn’t want to answer him, he couldn’t make you.

“Okay,” he said, taking your hand in his own. He brought it to his lips and kissed your palm, then the inside of your wrist, before massaging the center of it. “I don’t want you to feel like you need to keep secrets from me. If anything…” he steadied himself for his next words. “If anything changes between us, you can tell me. I’ll understand.”

Your eyebrows creased, before understanding seemed to dawn upon you. “Kento,” you said, dropping his hand to come around the table to climb into his lap, placing your hands on both of his cheeks. “Kento, no.”

“You’ve just been a bit—”

“I’m sorry,” you said, and he couldn’t help but draw back into you, smile when you kissed him all over his face, pressing the affirmations into his skin. “I’m not trying to be distant, really. Things are just busy right now, I promise.” You curled your fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp, and Nanami brought his arms around your hips, settling you on his thighs.

“Okay. I just wanted to make sure.” His eyes softened at your frown, and he brushed his thumb under your shirt, grounding himself against your skin. “I love you.”

That put a smile back on your face, and you kissed him, whispering the same words against his lips.

Now, though he wasn’t so sure he believed what you were saying, as much as he wanted to. Maybe you were just busy at work, but you were certainly hiding something from him.

He knew that everyone had their secrets, but maybe it would’ve stung less if you’d just admitted you were hiding something from him.

The following week was the same routine, and as the workdays ended, Nanami saw you less and less each evening. You spent the majority of your time in the city center, and though you were often with your students, you were also with Gojo, and something about that fact was difficult to swallow.

Nanami felt a little sour that you never asked him to go too. He began to wonder if you were purposefully avoiding him, or if the students disliked him as much as he’d thought they did.

It was stupid, he knew it was stupid, and he didn’t want to be overbearing, to seem like he was the kind of man who wanted to control where you were going and spending your time with. He just wished you spared a little bit more of it for him, was all.  

He woke with that thought in his mind as he rolled over on the cold bed, reaching out to wrap his arms around you. When he realized the spot beside him was empty, he blinked himself awake wearily, adjusting his eyes to the dark.

The hall light was on, a yellow glow peeking through the cracks under the door, and he frowned as he heard the sound of your voice, low and hushed.

Nanami weighed his decision. It was almost two o’clock in the morning, and though you often went to bed much later than him, a phone call at this time was pushing it. He climbed out of the bed, padding quietly over the door to see if he could catch a part of the conversation.

It felt like a breach of trust, and he didn’t want to seem like he was spying on you.

He pressed his ear to the door, waiting for your voice, though it was silent. Half a minute passed. His hands curled around the knob, and he shouldn’t be trying to listen in, he should just go out there and ask you if anything was wrong, and then—

“Gojo, I don’t know what to tell him.”

Nanami stopped, swallowing down his breath to still all noises from his body. He squeezed his fist tighter until his knuckles had gone pale, hearing you murmur under your breath. There were a lot of words he couldn’t catch, and he wrinkled his forehead, trying to catch a hint of context in what you were saying.

“I’m not very good at lying to him, and if he finds out—”

Your voice dropped quiet again.

Nanami felt something fall in his chest as he released the doorknob. He was too tired to think about it rationally, and if he listened anymore, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

He stepped away from the door, his lips etched permanently into a frown.

After Kento had fallen asleep, you’d grabbed your phone off the nightstand, going through the to-do list that you’d created for his birthday.

You hadn’t meant for it to get so out-of-hand. He didn’t usually like big celebrations, and he’d never made a big deal of his birthday in the past. Though in your eyes, that was exactly why you needed to do something different for him this year.

Things had been going so well, and from what you could tell, everyone in your close circle cared about him more than he realized. It was the only way you could think to show that to him.

You’d just wanted to do something special for him, and it had turned into long shopping trips with Satoru Gojo, and secretive meetings with your students to make sure everything went exactly as you’d planned it.

And things were going according to plan… Only, you were starting to feel like your attempts at secrecy were sabotaging your relationship, and you feared that Kento thought the worst of your late nights out and your newly formed friendship with Gojo.

It was obvious that you were lying, and every time he brought it up, he seemed to become even more doubtful of your actions.

You flipped the hallway light on, dialing Gojo’s number, feeling antsy in your own skin. After two rings, he answered, his voice groggy and obviously full of sleep.

“Hello?”

“Gojo,” you said in a panic, rubbing your hand over your face with a kind of distress that he couldn’t even see. “I don’t know what to tell him.”

A beat of silence as he gathered his thoughts. “What?”

You almost felt bad for waking him up, but part of this was his fault. He’d been insistent on being a part of the plan, and now, he needed to listen to your apprehensions about the entire situation. He hadn’t exactly been sneaky either.  

“Kento.” you said, pacing back and forth in the hallway, your voice rising to a high-pitched shriek, even as you tried to muffle your words. “He’s been asking me so many questions, and I’m so bad at coming up with answers. I’m seeming like a horrible person.”

Gojo hummed on the other line, and you hated how nonchalant he seemed about all of this. This was your relationship, and he was just sitting happily in his home, with the receipt for a cake that had cost way too much, and gifts for a man that had started to doubt you even cared about him at all. “Well…”

“Gojo,” you said his name again, sternly.

“Sorry.” He sighed. “Nanami’s a tough person to keep a secret from. Just keep telling him what you’ve been telling him: we’ve been assigned to more cases together, work is too busy, et cetera, et cetera. That’s fine.”

“But he knows that’s not true.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, frustration prickling at you. Either Kento was much too perceptive for his own good, or you were just awful at planning surprises. “I’m being too suspicious. I’m not very good at lying to him, and if he finds out, then all the secrecy would have been for nothing.”

Gojo was silent on the other end of the other line. It seemed he was absolutely horrible at consoling you, unlike the man in the other room who was sleeping soundly, unbeknownst to the fact that you were doing this all for him. “Look, it’s only for a couple more days, right? You can keep the secret until then, can’t you?”

You swallowed, steeling yourself for one last week of misery. You weren’t sure you could continue to stand the look of disappointment on Kento’s face every time you did something out of character. “I guess so. Thanks.” You yawned, rubbing your eyes. “Sorry, I woke you up, didn’t I?”

“Don’t worry about it. Goodnight.” He hung up, and you stared at the phone once more, trudging back into the other room.

You couldn’t help the guilt that had settled deep in your gut. Even if you were lying to Kento for something special, you knew how it looked on your end. You weren’t good at dispelling his accusations; every time you opened your mouth, you just incriminated yourself more.

You couldn’t wait until his birthday. Things would go back to normal, then, and he could finally see that everyone cared about him more deeply than he realized.

Rubbing your eyes with exhaustion, you crawled back into the space where you always slept. Although, this time, you realized Kento was not asleep like you’d left him but was blinking back at you with concern in his dark eyes.

You jumped, startled for a moment, before settling back down. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“It’s okay.” He grasped your hand tightly, and you let him, let him drag you close in his arms as he curled around you. “Is something wrong?”

You tensed, and immediately realized that was a mistake. Fuck. You were so horrible at this. You should’ve just let Gojo and Itadori plan the entire thing, and maybe it would’ve been a disaster, but it also would’ve saved you a lot of unnecessary anxiety. “Everything’s fine.”

That didn’t exactly answer his question. Nanami turned on his side, the two of you staring face to face on the pillows. There was a wrinkle between his eyebrows, his eyes darting to each one of yours like he was trying to decipher a message. Then, he sighed. “Was… someone calling?”

“Just Gojo.”

“Gojo?” Nanami repeated, and though he seemed annoyed at the mention of him, at least he knew you were being honest about that. “Why the hell is Gojo calling you in the middle of the night?”

You blinked, realizing you actually had no good lie to cover that one. “Umm…” you played with Nanami’s hand, tracing the tendons and knuckles as he stared back at you patiently. “He wanted to know if I could cover for him in the morning. He’s… not feeling so well.”

You’d have to text him immediately so that he didn’t come to the school until later. Not that he would mind skipping out on a few hours of work, but even that didn’t seem to convince Kento. He opened his mouth, and shut it, as if trying to carefully put his words together. “That’s all?”

He said it in a way that made you think he was giving you an opening, like you had the option to tell him the truth if you wanted. Of course, you couldn’t reveal what you were hiding, but he didn’t know that.

You sighed, and smiled, kissing him as you curled your hands into his hair. “That’s all, Ken. I really am sorry I woke you up.”

Nanami stared back at you for a moment before forcing a smile, returning your kiss with all his fondness. He brushed your hair away from your face and kissed your cheeks before closing his eyes once more.

When the day of Nanami’s birthday arrived, you promised yourself that you wouldn’t panic if everything wasn’t perfect. He’d appreciate the sentiment, no matter what. Things didn’t have to go by the book for them to be meaningful.

Regardless, you went through your mental to-do sheet, made the final reservation for your dinner, and prayed that everything went as you intended.

Though you were usually not a morning person, you’d gotten up earlier than Kento to fix his coffee the way he always preferred, taking a quiet moment to still your excited nerves. When his usual alarm went off, at the same time every morning, you carried the mug back with you to the bedroom and smiled softly at his sleepy form.

You set the coffee down before he could fully gain consciousness, and sprang on top of him, peppering kisses all over his face until his surprise slowly melted, and he was hugging you tightly.

“Happy birthday.”

Kento smiled up at you groggily, his eyes still drooping with sleep as he curled a hand around your jaw. He pressed a soft kiss to your mouth, hugging you tight as he whispered, “thank you,” the touch of the words barely there at all.

You relaxed in his presence, sitting back as you handed him the coffee, to which his expression grew even more gentle. He brushed your hair out of your face and kissed you again on the forehead, making you melt, just as he always did.

“What do you want to do today?” you asked as you laid on his chest, staring up at him with every ounce of love you had to offer. “I have dinner reservations, but you’ve got all day until then.”

Nanami laughed, curling a strand of your hair around his finger. “It doesn’t matter. We can just spend it like any normal day.”

You frowned. “That’s not anything special. It’s your birthday.”

“It’s just a birthday.” He squeezed your arm before maneuvering you gently off of him so that he could sit up on the bed. “Besides, every moment I spend with you is special. I’m happy to just sit around and do nothing until dinner.” Kento seemed to notice your displeased expression, even though your heart had swelled at his comment. “Unless there was something you wanted to do instead…”  

He climbed out of the bed, taking one sip of the steaming coffee before setting it back down.

“It’s not my birthday.” You watched him gather his clothes up off the floor with a sigh, the muscles in his back clenching as he bent over. “I want to do what you want to do.”

“And I told you I didn’t care.” He smiled playfully at you, tugging his shirt on over his head. Then, he reached over and squeezed your hand, coming back to where you sat, your legs swung over the side of the mattress.

“Kento.” You pulled him back down with a pointed expression, your faces close, lips almost touching. “I’m serious.”

He stared back at you for a moment, before relenting. “Alright.” Kento bent down, kissing you once more before going into the bathroom. “Let me shower, and we’ll go get some breakfast. How does that sound?”

“Is that what you want to do?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

Although you could tell he was amused by your insistence, he softened, his eyes melting into hearts as he turned. “That’s what I want to do. Happy?”

“Very.” You shoved him away, laughing. “Go take a shower. You’re not getting any younger.”

He rolled his eyes and retreated into the bathroom, the door shutting softly behind him.

When the water started running and Kento was definitely in the shower, you hurriedly dialed Gojo’s number, begging him to pick up. After the third dial, when you were certain he wouldn’t answer, a short tone cut through the line.

“What’s wrong?” he answered, clearly amused. There was shuffling on the other end, and some sort of yelp. Your brows pinched together.

As you listened closely to make sure the shower water wouldn’t turn off unexpectedly, you frowned. Your leg shook with anticipation. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

Gojo released a breath, though his voice grew mumbled on the other end. “Well, you normally only call me if you’re panicking about the birthday situation, so—”

There was a scream. You dragged your hand down your face, as he said something sharply to someone on the other side of the call.

“Gojo?”

“Yeah?” Another sound, this one of extreme pain. “Sorry, I’m in the middle of something.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re exorcising a curse right now.”

He paused, and then the sound stopped, everything going silent on his side. “Well… I’m not anymore.”

You wanted to say that you were shocked he’d bothered to pick up the phone at all, but… You weren’t, really. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Unfortunately, cursed spirits don’t know it’s Nanamin’s birthday, so they just keep coming.” He sighed. “What a bummer. If they were nicer, I’d invite them to the birthday party.”

You snorted. “Right. I’m certain Kento would love that.”

Gojo laughed. “So, what were you calling about? If it’s to panic over your much too long list of things for me to do, don’t worry. Everything’s in order.”

“Really? Did you wrap the presents?”

He hummed. “Megumi did.”

You closed your eyes, holding back a sigh. That was probably for the best, anyway. You’d never seen Gojo wrap a gift, but you weren’t sure how it’d look if he did. “Okay… What about the decorations?”

“Itadori is bringing those over once you two leave.”

A part of you wanted to get frustrated with him for doing absolutely nothing, but it wasn’t his fault he had to work, even if he’d promised to help you out. At least he was delegating the tasks. One way or another, it would get done. “Are you going to help him at all?”

“Have a little bit more faith in me than that. You’re hurting my feelings.”

“No I’m not. Did you get him a birthday card?”

“I think Maki offered to do that. And before you ask your next question, yes everyone’s going to be there on time. Kugisaki followed up with everyone.”

“Oh my god… Did you do anything, Satoru?”

“I picked up the cake.” A beat of silence. “Well, I haven’t yet. I’m going right now. I got a little side-tracked.”

He’d given you no reason to doubt him, really. But you were still afraid that something would go wrong, and you’d be left without a cake, in the middle of a very important birthday. “Fine, but just know that I’m texting Megumi in an hour to come check on you. I can only keep Kento out of the house for so long, so you need to make sure it’s perfect.”

“You got it, boss. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

Once you’d sent Gojo the final list of things that needed to be done, you put your phone away, promising yourself that it would not be a point of stress while you were at dinner with Nanami. You’d reserved a table at his favorite restaurant and dressed up nicer than you had in a while.

After breakfast, the two of you meandered around the city for the rest of the day until your reservation, as you tried to think of anything that could keep him away from home. Worried that he would catch on, you continued to diffuse his concerns, kissing him with a smile as you pulled him along to the next place you could think of.

And though he’d protested, saying that you didn’t have to dedicate your entire day to him, you couldn’t think of another way that you’d want to be spending it.

When the evening started to fall, you made your way to the restaurant, and the phone buzzed in your bag. You gritted your teeth and ignored it.

“Are you sure we don’t need to go home?” Kento asked you, swinging your hand in his between the two of you. Neither of you had ever been big on public displays of affection, but holding hands through the streets was one of the nicest feelings you’d come to experience. “We have time.”

“No,” you said a little too quickly, and he eyed you curiously, almost stopping in his tracks. “We better get there early, just in case. Don’t you think?”

Kento raised an eyebrow, but then nodded, squeezing your hand. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to be early.” He smiled, humming to himself happily. “You know, you didn’t have to do all of this for me today.”

“I wanted to. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.” You laughed, but for some reason, there was uncertainty behind his eyes. You felt the phone buzzing more and more in your pocket.

The restaurant was packed, and even though you were early to your reservation, they got you seated immediately.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart. Did I already tell you that?” Nanami said once you were seated.

You flushed, your cheeks growing warm as he stared at you across the table with gentle, brown eyes. “Thanks, Kento,” you said in a quiet voice, knowing that you’d looked much better earlier, when your hair had been perfect, and your makeup hadn’t smudged. Your dress now had some wrinkles, and you were sweating with nerves and the heat outside.

He glanced down at the menu, perusing it, even though he got the same thing every time. You ordered a bottle of wine to split between the two of you.

The server brought the alcohol back and poured it, then took your order back to the kitchen. When Nanami ordered, you dropped your chin in your hands, watching him, distracted by the very sight of him.

He nodded at the younger girl politely, and she grew pink, scurrying off to the next room. Kento looked back at you as you laughed and started up another conversation. You talked about school and work and everything in between, the mood only shattering when you felt the incessant buzz of the phone in your pocket.

You were in the middle of a story, but your sentences started to blend together into something that didn’t make sense. You stumbled over what you were saying, feeling the weight of the phone in your pocket as you tried to refocus on your words, but remained distracted.

The phone buzzed again in your pocket. You gritted your teeth. Fucking Gojo Satoru and his idiotic brain—you’d told him not to contact you.

“Is everything alright?” Kento blinked as you took your phone out and set it in your purse.  

“I’m sure it doesn’t matter.”

He hesitated, thoughtful as he swallowed a sip of wine. “Well, I don’t want you to get in any trouble if it’s work.”

“I took off today. If they can’t handle two sorcerers being gone, then they’ve got bigger problems.”

Nanami sighed, drumming his fingers against the table. “I guess that’s true. Speaking of work, I—"  

The phone buzzed louder, then there was a pause. It buzzed again. You cringed.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, but—”

The phone started ringing.

You were close to throwing the bag altogether, and probably would’ve, if it hadn’t been one of the most expensive accessories you owned. Nanami looked down at the bag, then back at you, eyebrows raised.

“Honey…” he said, eyes gesturing to the phone. “Just answer it.”

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you, and you dug your phone out of the bag, Megumi Fushiguro’s name was bold as it lit up on the screen. You held it tightly in your hand and began to stand, feeling sick and horrible and wondering if all the secrecy had just ruined his birthday. “I’m so sorry Kento—"

He shrugged; his voice was solid with gentle patience. “It’s alright. Take your time.”

You nodded, and waited until you were out of earshot to answer the phone, feeling horrible about leaving him all by himself. Once you were in the bathroom, locked in one of the stalls, you answered. “Hello?”

“Itadori dropped the cake.”

You took a breath before answering Megumi’s calm remark, wondering how close you actually were to snapping. “What.”

In the background, the pink-haired boy wailed over and over, loud cries that were, clearly, full of remorse. “It was an accident!” He shouted over Kugisaki’s berating, and you weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry, because that was the last thing you’d expected to happen.

“Itadori dropped the cake,” Megumi repeated, flatly, like you hadn’t gotten it the first time. “It’s all over the floor. Kugisaki’s trying to get him to clean it up, but it’s just making him even more miserable.”

You covered a hand over your mouth, wondering why your eyes were welling up with frustrated tears. Things were not going the way you’d planned. “Is Gojo there yet?”

“Yeah.” Megumi hesitated, and there was a pause, like he was unsure what to do now that he finally had you on the phone. “Want me to put him on?”

You nodded, before realizing that he couldn’t see you, and muttered, “yes.” Within a moment, the older man, currently in charge of three teenagers, was on the line.

“This may or may not be Gojo,” he said, and you were glad that he at least had enough intelligence to sound nervous.

“Satoru.” You tried hard not to panic. “Please, please can you try and find another cake? I know it’s late, but I’m not sure how much longer I can stall here. I’m trying so hard not to be suspicious, but I’m horrible at it.”

“I can try, but—"

“Kento already thinks I’m acting weird, and he keeps asking me questions that I’m doing a very bad job of answering. I feel awful because it’s his birthday, and I’m afraid he thinks I’m just getting ready to split up with him or something.”

“Ouch.” Gojo said dramatically, hissing like he’d been stung. “That’d be a bit of an asshole move, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, I’m obviously not going to do that!” You scrubbed your hands over your face. “He seemed upset today, and I just don’t want all of this to go to waste. Please, Satoru. It doesn’t matter what the cake looks like, but just make sure that you get something, so that—"

“Hey,” he said, dropping the theatrics when you choked back a sob. His tone grew serious. “Take a deep breath. I think you’re forgetting who we’re dealing with here.”

“What do you mean?” You blinked, dabbing your eyes, hoping that your mascara wouldn’t smear.

“Nanami is going to appreciate the gestures, even if they aren’t perfect.”

You inhaled and exhaled, realizing that Satoru was right. Out there was a man that you loved very much, who loved you in return, and this was not as serious as you were making it out to be. “You’re right.”

“Obviously. Enjoy your dinner. I can take care of it.”

“Are you sure? It sounds like a warzone in the background.”

“Everything’s fine,” Gojo swore, even if you didn’t entirely believe him. “I told Megumi not to call you, but he loves getting me in trouble. Please, don’t worry about it.”

You opened your mouth, but Gojo had already hung up.

As you left the stall, you sighed, seeing yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were red with unshed tears, but you’d already made Kento wait long enough.

Twitching nervously, you headed back to the table. Nanami was sitting patiently, scrolling through something mindlessly on his phone.

“Everything okay?” he asked as you sat back down, noticing the signs of tears and misery. He reached for you across the table, but then thought better of it, and just frowned.

“Everything’s fine. I’m just really sorry, Kento.” You looked down at your hands. “I didn’t mean to be so rude. It’s your birthday. I want you to enjoy it.”

A beat of silence passed. He smiled. “I am enjoying it.” He did reach for your hand, then, and pulled it tight against his own. “This has been the best birthday, sweetheart. Why are you upset?”

You swallowed. “I’m not upset.” You shook your head, trying to clear the unhappiness from your expression. “Anyways, what were you saying? I interrupted.”

Nanami’s face fell. You’d changed the subject so quickly; he hadn’t had the chance to ask you any more questions. “Right. Well, nothing important. I just have to be in Kyoto next week.”

You frowned. “All week?”

He nodded. “I wanted to let you know in case you wanted to make plans. You’ve been...” he paused, thinking over his words. “Seeing Gojo a lot lately, so I thought you might want to—”

You stared at him, and realized what he was getting at. Fuck, you felt so horrible. “Oh,” you said, scratching your wrist under the table. “Yeah. Maybe. I’m sure he’ll be busy too.”

That wasn’t the answer Nanami was looking for. He stopped, and then regrouped, nodding. “Well, either way, I wanted you to know. They didn’t give me advanced notice.”

You smiled tightly. “I’m going to miss you.”

“It’s only for a few days,” he said, releasing your hand to place it back onto his lap. “But I’m going to miss you too.” There was something distant in his voice when he said it.

On the way home from the restaurant, Gojo texted you obnoxiously, sending you pictures of the house, the cleanliness of it, the set-up of the gifts, the new cake, and you smiled to yourself, somewhat relieved that things weren’t a complete disaster.

You could feel Kento’s eyes on you as he drove home, his hand resting on your thigh as you turned slightly away from him, keeping his eyes off the screen.

Stop sending me things before he sees my phone.

Gojo’s response was much too quick.

Stop looking at your phone.

You sighed, clicking the screen off and finally relaxing against the window. The secrecy was almost over; you hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to keep this all hidden without causing so much dramatic suspicion.

Nanami pulled into park in front of your home, squeezing your leg gently before releasing it. You expected him to make a move to get out of the car, but instead he sat, contemplative, the key still in the ignition.

You swallowed, looking at him. “Is everything okay?”

He took a breath, turning back to you with some sort of determination in his eyes. “Have I done something to upset you?” he asked, his voice so incredibly gentle.

“What?” you said, laughing nervously. “Why would you ask that?”

His face fell as he looked back at the steering wheel. “I just thought this would be easier if I’d hurt you in some way.”

Your mouth grew dry. You reached for him. “Kento—”

“Look,” he scrubbed a hand through his hair, the strands coming loose, falling onto his forehead. “I’m not trying to… I don’t want to…” His words fell off, and though you knew what he was trying to say, you didn’t want him to say it, because there was no reason for it. “If something’s wrong, I just want to know. Let’s at least try to fix it.”

“Nothing’s wrong, I promise.” You squeezed his hand, trying to pull away from him. “Can we talk about this inside?” You started to get out of the car.

“No, wait.” He stopped you again, eyes wide with disappointment, like he couldn’t get his words out fast enough. “This is what happens every time. I ask you about it, then you find a way to spin my words around so that we never talk about it. I let you every time, because I love you, and I trust you, but I don’t want to lose you.”

Your heart squeezed. “Kento.” You began, feeling bad that you were forced to talk in circles just to get him to believe in your lies. “I promise, we’ll talk about it inside. It’s still your birthday, and I don’t want to ruin it by misunderstanding one another. Please, let’s talk about it once we’re both settled in.”

Nanami’s shoulders stiffened, then deflated, but he didn’t let go of you. “There’s not… Someone else, is there?”

“Of course not.” You said fervently, kissing his hand. “God, Ken. You think I’d want anyone else when I’ve got you?”

He smiled, though it was half-hearted.

“Come on, let’s go inside. I’ll explain everything. I owe you that much.”

You led him into the house, holding his hand tightly, hoping that this went over as you intended. Beside you, he was still contemplative, flicking on the lights as you continued into your home.

“You know, I really think we should still—”

As the lights came on, his words were cut off by some variation of everyone yelling happy birthday, and he blinked back at the students he’d recently met, and all the sorcerers he’d worked with closely in the previous years. His jaw opened, then shut, then he looked at you, then back to Gojo, and you could see the understanding in his features before he’d expressed it, when everything clicked into place.

A moment of silence passed where Nanami said nothing, and then Itadori decided to fill that silence with very off-key singing, and Kento’s cheeks dusted light pink, barely visible in the light, as he squeezed your hand tighter.

Everyone made the rounds, greeting him with varying levels of enthusiasm, while Nanami just thanked them with quiet politeness, even though you could see that he was secretly pleased, his lips curling up into a smile, the signs of stress dissipating from his features.

Itadori approached with a poorly wrapped gift and a hug that Nanami didn’t quite return, but he didn’t push away, either.

Nanami took the gift, holding it with soft eyes like he’d been given something precious. “Thank you, Yuuji. This is very kind.”

“You’re welcome.” Itadori said back proudly, smiling smugly at his two friends over his shoulder, obviously proud that he’d gotten such praise. “It’s probably going to be the best gift you’ll get tonight.”

You could see Nanami trying to refrain from laughing, but he snorted instead. “Is this why you were asking me about all those things that I liked a few weeks ago?”

“Uhh…” Yuuji smiled sheepishly, rubbing a hand on his neck. “No! Not really. But… Maybe.” He sighed. “I’d thought you’d forget about that.”

Kento’s eyes crinkled at the corner, and he squeezed Itadori’s shoulder, clearly touched.

You kissed his cheek and left him alone to talk with everyone that came to visit, going to thank Gojo and the students that had helped you over the past few weeks.

An hour passed before you found Kento again, after the cake had been cut and Gojo had insisted he opened one of the many gifts he’d gotten him.

He was standing in the kitchen, staring at a pile of wrapped gifts and the sliced cake that wasn’t exactly what you’d intended, but had received the same reaction, nonetheless.

“Kento?” you said quietly, and though you could tell that he was appreciative of everyone, you still weren’t sure how the surprise had gone over. He turned to you, his sleeves rolled up, a few more strands of blond hair coming loose. His cheeks were flushed, eyes soft. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been lying—”

Kento was to you in two long strides, backing you into a wall before kissing you deeply. Your hands curled into his hair, and you hummed into his mouth with a smile as his hands rested on your hips.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispered against your mouth. “I should be the one saying sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to ridiculous conclusions.”

You laughed, kissing him again and again, feeling things finally ease back into normalcy. “I know how it looked—” He looked away, embarrassed that he’d even thought of the possibility that you would leave him for Gojo. “I’m sorry I was so suspicious.” You sighed, leaning back in his arms as you held his cheeks with both hands. “Were you surprised?”

“I wish I wasn’t. It was pretty obvious now that I think back on it.”

“But…”

“But, yes,” he said, kissing your forehead as you preened, proud that it had all pulled together in the end. “I was surprised.” He gave you one last kiss, whispering, “thank you” and “I love you” on your lips.

From behind the door, you heard shuffling, and opened your eyes to see Gojo snapping a picture, to which Nanami groaned, pushing himself away from you reluctantly.

Gojo grinned, “Sorry. I’ll let myself out. Didn’t realize you two lovebirds were in here,” he said, even though he most certainly did.

“Please do,” Nanami gestured in the direction of the front door. “I hate the fact that you even know where I live.”

Gojo’s face fell. “After everything I did for your birthday, and you’re still going to pretend you don’t like me?”

“I don’t.” Nanami sighed, before swallowing down whatever antagonist words he really wanted to say. “But thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

Gojo beamed—you intervened before he could even think to throw his arms around Kento.

[shantechni]

I know I've mentioned this at least twice now, but I frequently think back to Leo and Raph's minor spat right after Tiger Claw disappeared into the night with Karai.

Everytime they argued about Karai, Raph would boldly express his thoughts with a mix of cynicism and vexation that was clear as day in the way he spoke. Along with that came his choice of words ranging from him calling Leo crazy for even considering the idea of trusting Karai, to walking up to Karai herself and overtly voicing his suspicion of her. Enemy of My Enemy though was a slight deviation from his usual treatment of the situation when he, for once, remains silent about Leo agreeing to a truce with her.

Even when she tells them Shredder is her father, Raph's usual exasperation and annoyance with Leo is considerably toned down and he's rather tame when proclaiming there's no chance of her ever being on their side with Shredder being such a prominent figure in her life.

This moment after Tiger Claw's departure though is much more unique because of the look of disappointment he wears, and a significant portion of it is being directed towards the leader this time.

The team always had a chance of facing the consequences of Leo's resilient faith in Karai joining their side, and Raph's apprehension for such an occurrence is perfectly reasonable because Leo could blindly lead them into a worst case scenario. But he watched that possibility come to fruition this time and he sees that Leo still wants to chase after Karai when Mikey is out cold; it feels as though Leo hadn't learned anything from what happened in The Alien Agenda.

Raph doesn't even sound ready to burst someone's eardrums or rant about Karai being untrustworthy like usual. He just sounds done and the tone of finality he used is so jarring in a way.

It's no wonder that he didn't want to deal with Karai despite how upset Splinter was in The Legend of the Kuro Kabuto. Heck, his line of thinking was awfully similar to Splinter's; they were both willing to cut ties with Karai so long as it meant they didn't lose what they had.

Of course he eventually comes around when its revealed that Shredder has Karai locked away in his dungeons, but you get it

[izzabela]

Buldak Nightmare - MK1 (2023) Roster x male!reader (scenario fic)

in which your spice tolerance is way above everyone else

a/n: i recently bought a pack of buldak... so iykyk

ship[s]: friendSHIP (get it?)

warning(s): sindel ain't dead hoes, slight character deviations, def. using my own headcanons for some characters

Earthrealm (human reader)

Raiden & Kung Lao

- you're eating with him and Kung Lao after a hard training session with new initiates at the Wu Shi

- to save money, you offer to cook ramyeon for them, an obsession of yours you want to put them on

- in front of them lay bowls of semi-orange ramyeon, with sprinkles of cabbage, green onion, and other stuff that came from the pack

- you tell them "enjoy!" and immediately stuff your face silly with the food

- as much as both loved food, especially Kung Lao, they were nervous. Kung Lao took a whiff and noted the pungent spicy aroma, to which Raiden agreed. However, they didn't want to waste your efforts, so they dove in head first. Kung Lao took a hearty bite while Raiden took the safer route

- regardless, both men are wide-eyed and choking, gasping for air, water, and their souls as the spice hits their tongues

- poor Kung Lao, snot coming out of his nose and the entirety of his face red. Raiden is straight up crying, but he offers a weak smile to make up for his position

- you stop eating and try to help them, but you're sitting idly as they say they can handle it. they take their sweet time, drinking water mid bites and breathing quickly- any strategy to try and make the spiciness go away

- after they're done eating, Raiden's back slouches against the chair, while his best friend is hunched over the table. their faces are red, and remnants of their "episodes" linger: dried tear stains, tissues all over the table and floor, and empty cups signify their victory

- they'll eat this again, for sure, just a little later... in the next century when the tournament happens again

Johnny Cage:

- he's definitely nervous

- he's white, so of course his bland tastebuds couldn't handle the heat

- he looks at you with his signature, flashy smile, but you can see the way his eyes dart left and right, away from the bowl

- he came from a poor town, so poor that even Maruchan noodles were a luxury to him. Stardom allowed him access to all sorts of services and foods, but this was put of his professional scope. His ego wouldn't let him lose to you though, so he tried to match your pace and shoved an equal amount of noodles in his mouth

- at first bite, he's down for the count

- your favorite token white boy is legit howling in pain over the spiciness of the buldak

- "I thought you said you had this before?" you asked.

- he's blowing his nose over how spicy the noodles are, "I went to Korea... once!" he annunciates with his pointer finger in the air

- still, his pride won't take the loss, so he does his best to finish it all through tears and pathetic male hiccups

- he accidentally got some on his hand, and he rubs his eyes which practically sends him into a seizure

- when he's back in the real world, he pushes his bowl to you as he watches you down the spicy nuke of food down with a joyful smile

- as much as he values your friendship, he will not be doing this again

Kenshi Takahashi:

- while he doesn't show it, he loves his friends. So much so he'd put himself in a position like this to make you happy, even if he hates spicy noodles

- he definitely would stick to how normal instant ramen is: simple, savory, and safe, and not the abomination that you placed in front of him. Though he no longer can view colors, the smell is what begins his growing fear. An artificial, spicy, and a unique smell entered his nose, and he remembers a brief memory

- he remembers going to South Korea once, for business of course, but he never got to try the food due to his mission at the time. Of course you had to put him on it, and he was slowly beginning to regret it

- "Are you sure this is safe?" he said, his brows upturned as his red bandana covers his marred eyes. You look at him with concern, "Safe? Korean food is as safe as it gets!"

- he doesn't want to make you sad though. He watches you carefully, his teal vision showing you slurping the food with a bright smile on your chiseled face. Quickly, he slurps up the food to get over it quickly

- no, dearest reader, he doesn't get it over with until a whole three hours later

- his diet was strict, ex-yakuza habits still going strong, but it's also due to him being a special agent for the OIA and an Earthrealm champion

- because he no longer has eyes, he simply sweats, shouts, and swears- a lot. he does it so much the police were called on you both for fear of "abuse" (it was abuse if his mouth)

- at the end of the night, you felt so bad that you did the dishes and cleaned up his kitchen, but he says he had a great evening.

- "Just... choose a different brand," he said with a lopsided smirk

Ashrah:

- she's eager to try new things, since being able to leave the Netherrealm, and this was no exception

- you knew she had history with heat, being from the Netherrealm and such, but you didn't know if that applied to food. When you mentioned to Ashrah about your favorite spicy ramyeon, she was curious and down to try it. So, with the monks permission, you were allowed to cook in the kitchen and prepare the lovely dinner you promised your friend

- in the dormitories of the Wu Shi Academy, you both slurped up the noodles with ease and joy

- "Seems you enjoy the burn," you remark, her cheeks full of ramyeon as she stops mid-chew

- she covers her mouth, "I am no stranger to the heat, my dearest friend," she said simply as she took more noodles in

- Ashrah takes momentary breaks, though, in order to actually digest the food. As she finished her food, she also took small sips of water, said it was to "help her digest quickly". You believed her, though

- as she said, her goal to purify herself makes her human, but she was still exploring what "being human" really meant

- when you're both done, she smiles happily and thanks you for going to such lengths to befriend her

- "We have to get Sareena to try!" you exclaim, though Ashrah looks a bit hesitant

- a conversation for another time perhaps

Syzoth:

- he legit cannot stomach any form of human food, but that doesn't mean he's off the hook from your cooking

- being the Empress's Emissary meant great benefits, and access to the palace was one of them

- he invited you under the friendly (and watchful) eyes of Mileena, Tanya, and Kitana, so he could eat with you

- "What... is that?" he questions, "The ominously deep red sauce..."

- you smile, offering it to him. He says yes mistakenly, and you smother it all over his fried bugs galore

- he takes a relatively small bite, but it's not enough to keep him from throwing up and howling in pain.

- the three women were on high alert, ready to apprehend you, but he musters out a "no" to stop them

- you're by his side as he vomits his famous green goo, plus the remnants of the bugs he ate

- after getting him to a healer and medic, you get an earful from Empress Mileena and her sister, and Syzoth tries his best to stop them

- even after all that, he still wants to eat with you (just, not your food)

Kuai Liang & Tomas (plus Harumi & Hanzo):

- he, Harumi, Hanzo, and Tomas all sit together in the compound's eating area, the bowl of ramyeon in their hands

- you tell them to dig in, and you immediately slurp the unfathomably spicy noodles up with ease

- Tomas and Hanzo follow suit, but their confidence is cut short when the burning pain of the artificial spice hits their vanilla tongues

- Tomas was from the Czech Republic, so spice like this was unheard of. His European genes were getting the better of him, and it's evident through how much smoke is being emitted off his body

- Kuai is hesitant, but Harumi's soft voice pulls him through, "Together on three?"

- he and his wife eat it at the same time, and they are met with the same fate

- due to his own magic, Kuai's body becomes exceedingly temperate as the effects of the spice get to him. He's sweating profusely, and the metal chopsticks in his hand begin to warm

- poor Harumi, though, she's completely sprawled out on the tatami floor, fanning her mouth and kicking her legs in the air

- they don't even bother finishing their plates, which prompts you to eat more and finish for the rest of them

- both brothers are embarrassed, ashamed that you wasted your time for "men who couldn't even honor their word" (Kuai Liang's words), but you don't mind

- you simply ask, "next time?" and they look at each other nervously, Tomas's brows crinkling with anxiety

- "Of course," Kuai Liang says, "Why ever not?"

- you were gonna hold them to it, and Kuai Liang's conscious slaps him for that

Bi Han (plus Cyrax & Sektor):

- Bi Han knows your games, but he was certainly not expecting this

- after a mission in South Korea, you offered your culinary expertise to make some ramen, well, "ramyeon" for him, Cyrax, and Sektor. You had gotten it from a convenience store in the country, wanting to take a souvenir from the beautiful nation

- being part of his inner circle, he let you work your magic and cook up the ramyeon for him and friends. The kitchen was in close proximity to the office you all were going to eat in, and immediately all three men were worried when the smell of the food came to assault their noses. Bi Han especially, his worried face including an obviously upturned eyebrow

- when you bring out the huge pot of ramyeon, all of the men were even more appalled by the look of the food. brightly colored orange, it was clear that the spice wasn't the only thing going to kill them

- they were emboldened when they saw you put some in your bowl and eat it happily, but they weren't aware of your inhumane spice tolerance. Cyrax and Sektor ate some rather confidently, while Bi Han slurped up a max of five noodles.

- the poor men were losing their minds: Cyrax downing the tea prepped by one of the handmaidens of the palace compound, Sektor's head down on the table as he tried to compose himself, and Bi Han trying to keep his cryo magic under control

- Bi Han knew it could become out of hand, so he ran from the table in record time, also leaving a trail of ice. You noted that the man's chopsticks were covered in jagged crystals of ice, and his seat was covered in a layer of frost

- you stop eating and try to help your comrades, but they insist they thug this one out. Unfortunately, Cyrax taps out and heads to the kitchen for water, while Sektor pushes his bowl back with a sad smile on his face. You immediately clean up the food, trying to keep the mood up by making jokes on how they performed well and survived

- Bi Han comes back finally, but his hair slightly glossy as some strands stick to his face and forehead. He brushes it off, saying he got some snow on him, but you knew better. Still, you do not press further as you continue cleaning up, however he also comes to your side to help.

- "No more of this," he huffs out his order, "Effective immediately."

- you sigh sadly, not wanting to anger your Grandmaster anymore

Liu Kang & Geras:

- The Fire God was no stranger to heat, he literally commanded it. Your food, though, was on his mind as you presented it to him and Geras

- You were talking with Liu Kang as you strolled the grounds of the Fire Temple. He mentioned something about wanting to eat noodles, so you offered your skills to him. He accepted, of course, wanting to see his dear friend's capabilities

- so much so he even brought Geras in from the Hourglass

- as much as Geras says he does not interact with mortals, he finds your friendship his own personal fixed point in time. He does not mind you talking to him, you also found his sand manipulation fascinating, and he appreciated it greatly by making many a sand sculptures

- you presented the bowls to your friends and told them to dig in. You sat down at the table with them and stuffed your face silly, happily humming as you ate the noodles with eagerness.

- Liu Kang always does his best to keep his facial expressions to a minimum, as humility was his greatest strength. As much as the spice was getting to him, he still kept his composure as he spoke about the interesting flavors

- "I did not realize that much time had passed," he said calmly, drinking his water, "The people of the past would certainly be left awestruck at the creativity of humanity."

- Unsurprising to you, Geras kept eating the food with a straight face. You expected this much from him, being a "fixed" point in time and all, but did it really not illicit any reaction... at all?

- Geras speaks, as if hearing your inner thoughts, "I must admit, there is something peculiar in this food."

- everyone finished without a scream, worry, nor sweat. although, Liu Kang was drinking just a bit more water than usual. when you mentioned wanting to eat again with them, they both smile softly.

- "What are friends for?" Liu Kang said

Outworld (Outworlder reader)

Sindel & Li Mei

- as a dear friend to the crown, Sindel cherished you greatly. So much so that she saw you as the son she never had. Li Mei did as well. She did, after all, train Sindel's daughters, so you were but a child in her vision

- according to Sindel, you also could make a good sovereign if you married one of her daughters (you vehemently declined multiple times)

- tonight, Sindel invited you and Li Mei to the palace to catch up. Sindel also wanted to put your kitchen skills to the test, since she had remembered you mentioning you're a decent chef. She also invited Li Mei, just wanting to catch up with her as well

- the older Outworld women were sitting in the more intimate dining area of the palace, a simple round table with four seats surrounding it. As you finished up the food, the smell of the intoxicating artificial ramen invaded their noses

- "A rather interesting aroma," Sindel noted, "What exactly is it?"

- you shrugged, "A gift from the Earthrealm actor," sitting down across from your friends, "He said that it was a commoner's meal, and I was curious. Besides, he said it had a kick."

- you noted their silent reservations, the older women watching you eat it first. Your eyes are wide with joy, and you keep slurping the noodles Johnny gifted you.

- trusting your joy, they also ate the noodles with the preconceived notion they would also enjoy it. However, both women stood up in horror at the flavors of the food. Orange in appearance, they were under the assumption that it was just the color of the noodles. They were sorely mistaken, though, as the spices choked their airways closed from any air

- your mother-figure was holding her mouth with her hand, elegantly holding the food in as she waved for an Umgadi warrior to take her to the bathroom

- Li Mei was alone in her suffering, clutching to the end of the table as she coughed and hacked, haggardly breathing for oxygen

- you stopped eating as quick as lightning flashed, getting up to help your friends. Wrapping the food, you grabbed water from the kitchen to try and soothe Li Mei's pain, but it didn't do much

- by the time her episode had ended, Sindel came back looking as regal as she did before, as if she didn't feel the effects of the ramyeon (her lips were slightly red, though)

- she announces, "That actor is lucky he is under Lord Liu Kang's protection...."

Kitana & Mileena (ft. Khameleon)

- the sisters looked amongst themselves before they looked back at the hideously orange noodles. Khameleon is also present, face nonchalant as she does her best to do her job

- it's midnight in the luxurious hotel Johnny had set you three up in for the princesses Earthrealm visit. It was sanctioned by Empress Sindel that her daughters build rapport with Lord Liu Kang, plus experience the beautiful world. You were brought along too, since Kitana and Mileena asked for your presence.

- "how did you come across such a delicacy?" Mileena questioned, her sister also with a quizzical brow

- you were introduced to the spicy delicacy on your own trip to this part of the universe by Johnny himself, and ever since then you had stocked up on the food so you'd have enough back in the empire. now that you were back in Earthrealm, it was a good opportunity to stock some more in your pantry and introduce your friends to it

- you shrugged, "Johnny introduced me to it. I think you guys will like it!" you said enthusiastically, digging in your own bowl

- the twin princesses look at each other one more time before nodding, digging into the bowl just as you had done. Unfortunately, they underestimated the spice that was emitted from the noodles

- Kitana's eyes widened, mimicking her mother as she tried to hold the food in her mouth. Tears lined her eyes as she began fanning her face with her hands. Realizing it wasn't enough, she took her real fans out and fanned herself aggressively to relieve her pain

- Mileena, on the other hand, had completely let herself get consumed peppery noodle. Choking, gasping for air, her Tarkat disease got the best of her as her jaw unhinged and large fangs protruded from her mouth

- Tanya was unavailable for this visit, so Khameleon was in charge of administering the medicine for Mileena. Before she could do so, though, Mileena has a couple of words for you

- "Before I kill that pompous actor," she breathed, "You're head will be on a stake!" she lunged at you, but the medicine was administered just in time

- when you four get back to the Empire, Sindel scolds you for putting her daughter in a precarious situation

- but it didn't live up to the fact Mileena was down on her knees begging for your forgiveness

Tanya:

- in a very rare instance, Tanya had a day of rest from the Umgadi and her responsibilities

- also, in a rare instance, she asked you to cook for her the same food that got you in trouble with the empress and her daughters (yes, of course she heard about that incident)

- you placed the finished ramyeon bowls on the small square table in your room, the smell making her face twist in disgust

- "It's so... pungent," she said with conviction, "As if death came itself..."

- you look at her oddly, "I mean, Princess Mileena almost killed me... so I guess you aren't wrong."

- regardless, you smile and dig in, her joining after she offers a prayer to Delia and Argus. She chews slowly, her hand covering her mouth as she tries to decipher how she feels about the taste

- she's definitely feeling the heat, but she's more composed than the entire royal family. Holding the food in her mouth, she swallows her food and takes a good drink of water, offering a smile and her opinions

- "It certainly is... unique in taste, but it isn't entirely awful," she says with her rough voice, "Quite the opposite, in fact"

- you smile at her honesty, "Joy! Please keep eating, there's more in the pot."

- you two continue your meal, talking to each other about your recent life updates and plans for the upcoming days and weeks. You even ask an update on her and princess Mileena's relationship (she was under the impression she kept it well hidden)

- once you both finished, Tanya asked if she could keep the rest of it for herself and the sisters back in the Cenobium, to which you sent her off with a packed up box of it

- she would definitely eat with you again, mentioning that she'd try and get you inside the Cenobium herself

Shang Tsung:

- hiding out in Earth, you stole some food for you and Shang Tsung to eat. in a stroke of luck, you had found some cheap noodles by a convenience store, not taken in and unexpired

- both marked as traitors, war criminals, and villains, you two were on the run to avoid them at all costs, but at this point you two were starving

- as you cooked, you loved the zingy smell that the noodles emitted. Shang Tsung, on the other hand, harboring an obvious contempt

- "Why must we settle for such atrocious fodder?" the sorcerer said with distase

- "We cannot be choosy, Shang Tsung," you said, placing the bowl down on a makeshift table of cardboard boxes. You smooth your pants down and sit on the rickety plastic crates that acted as substitute chairs

- Shang Tsung looked at the food with abhorrence, but watching you chow down with joy (despite the circumstances you were both in) made him take a bite as well. Just a bit smaller, though

- no matter the size, the spice was taller than any threat he had ever faced. he kept the food in his mouth as he stood up, his fist colliding with the wall of the convenience store

- he. was. pissed.

- he tried to wash the flavor down with water, but it was no use. He bit his lip, so much so it began to bleed. You were up from the "chair" to help him, but he grabbed your thick neck with one hand and his other had his cuffed metal claws under your chin

- "Consider yourself lucky I find you useful," he whispered, his sultry voice in your ear. You gulped and nodded, taking his noodles and finishing them yourself

- he was in charge of food for an unseen amount of time as you two were on the run

Quan Chi:

- you and Quan Chi were stuck in a cave, similar to the mines he once worked in, except this time he was awaiting the food that he was promised

- on the run from the imperial army under Kitana's lead, the Umgadi, the Sun Do Police, and the champions of Earthrealm were after you two after they all found about your plots against the empire

- unable to go anywhere, you two holed up in a cave on the other side of a mountain in the desolate area of Outworld. Hungry, you decided to use some magic to heat up some food you had kept on you before you left

- the sharp, pungent smell attacked Quan Chi's nose, which made his face crinkle in pure loathing

- "This is not how I intended for things to go, my friend," his unique voice sounded annoyed as you placed a bowl in his hand

- "Seems to be an ire we both share," you say, equally displeased at the situation. Despite this, you ate the zesty noodles with ease. Quan Chi was hesitant, but ate as well

- "A most astute creation, my friend," he said rather proudly, "Pleasant, even."

- he was keeping up with your spice tolerance, casual dialogue about future plans, how to escape, and more as you both ate. Theonly taking a sip of water at the end of the meal

- by the time you both finished the food, you two were energized and ready for the next course of action

- "Delicious, my friend," he said, "Perhaps the Sisters will enjoy your skills as well."

General Shao & Reiko:

- You had just finished up making some spicy noodles for your general and his second in command. You were a talented chef within the ranks, and equally talented in kombat, but they were interested in the former trait of yours

- so, after training a new set of militants for the day, everyone was due for dinner, but you three separated and went to the general's tent for the meal. All three of you partook in light conversation ranging from potential rank upgrades, battle plans, and even family

- as you cooked, the smell began to invade their noses, with General Shao noting the smell first

- "Interesting smell," the general noted, "Reminds me of a time when I was younger."

- Reiko, though, kept his opinions more reserved, "It is rather... unique. How did you come across this?"

- You smiled, bringing their bowls to them, "The princess mentioned this to me in passing conversation. I had asked her to give me a pack to try it, and it is quite addicting."

- they look at the food in front of them, Reiko picking at the food as you and General Shao ate at the same time. You did not know your superior's lineage, but it is clear he enjoyed the heat it gave in his mouth. he's laughing whole heartedly, and his hand lands on your back with alarming force as he pats it

- Reiko takes one big hearty bite, but he's in a fit of coughs as he gasps for air and water. His face is angry, and his sweat began to wear his eye-makeup down. He groans in pain, setting down the bowl as he runs out the tent. General Shao laughs loudly, commenting on how his second could withstand taking a life versus hot food

- you two finished your bowls, and the General even split Reiko's bowl with you so you could eat more. A comfortable silence befell you two as you ate, and your heads turn to see Reiko back. His face is cleaned up, and he has glasses of water in his hands for everyone in the tent

- "Beverages," he announced gruffly, "For everyone."

- you both thank him and drank, washing down the last remnants of the flavor down your throats. General Shao praises your cooking, saying he will want more to share with the military, but Reiko stays quiet

- "Leave me out of your plans," he said politely, "I wish to partake in nothing regarding this... 'food'."

Rain:

- Rain is quiet as you place the food in front of him. he looks down to see steam rise from the orange-sauce covered noodles, slices of beef and greens on top to add some nutritional value

- he was grateful that you were in defense for his change of heart. In fact, it was enough to let him keep his assets in the empire, the only thing he couldn't do was practice magic again (the deal between the Empress and the Sorcerers Circle)

- "Eternal thanks for you," he says quietly, "It's been a while since I last had a meal with someone."

- you smile at your friend, pulling the chair out from your front to take a seat. His eyes are noticeably more tired than before, guilt and fatigue in his mind. you were the only one in Sindel's court to trust his change of heart, while the intrigue rather scorn you and him for being together- especially after he decimated an entire nation. Everyone, and you meant it, did not trust him nor his words. But, you were the only one to give him a chance

- you watch him pray, offering up to the gods before he dug in with a fork. It surprised you that he ate first, and you conclude it's the tiredness getting to him. When he finally swallows the food, though, he's wide awake

- he cries out, leaving the table and tripping on the way to the kitchen to grab water (if he activates his magic, he will be sought after by the imperial army)

- he cries out to the gods, splashing his face with water over and over and over again until his complaining ceases

- by the time he is calm, he turns to you with the most incredulous face, pointing to the bowl of black magic

- "You willingly consume such foods," he said exasperatedly, "To a degree in which you do not even feel pain?!"

- you nod, and he puts two fingers on the bridge of his nose to express his disappointment and obvious distaste

- he gives the bowl to you, stating he is full by watching you eat

- he'd rather be imprisoned than do that again

Orderrealm (Seido survivor)

Havik (ft. Darius):

- as a follower of Havik and his vision, you did his best to get close to him

- unfortunately, your inability in kombat didn't allow you to join him in the field. That didn't stop you though, and you've found great prestige in the culinary arts

- so much so that Havik and Darius wanted you to cook for them in their conquest of disorder. of course you did, immediately jumping on the opportunity to show your favorite food to him and his partner

- "Before Seido fell," you began as you placed the bowls in their hands, "This was my family's favorite dinner food."

- they looked at you sadly, Havik's contorted face trying to show concern

- "The government kept raising the prices of ingredients, so we settled for this," you take a big bite, smiling at the memories, "It's pretty good! The spice keeps you awake, and it's not all that overpowering."

- both men nod, and they take a bite after hearing your experience under the cruel government

- unfortunately, their pity for you dissipated as quickly as it came, the unbearable spice of the noodles getting to their tongues and throats

- Darius made the mistake of not chewing wholly, while Havik ate the noodles without anything to quench the pain

- Havik's face, being burned off at the jaw and mouth, didn't allow him to chew correctly, so the spice just sat there on his tongue as he writhed and yelled in pain

- "Never again!!" they yelled in unison

Vaternus (Vampire reader)

Nitara:

- you were the exception in all of Vaternus- not being able to stomach humans after becoming immortal. you still ate normal human food, especially your favorite noodles when you were still a human

- you and Nitara ate together, her devouring human flesh as you ate your spicy noodles. She eyes you curiously, a thigh in her hand as you slurped the orange noodle up

- "Odd creature you are," she said dead-panned, "Does that even sustain you?"

- you nod happily, your bowl in her face as you point to the noodles with your fork, "Mhm! You want to try?"

- she's hesitant, the smell getting to her nostrils as she turns from disgust

- "I'll pass..." she says, "The sauce, perhaps I can stomach it."

- You flash a dopey smile, taking the leftover sauce packet and coating the human body part in loads of it, before spreading it out evenly for her to enjoy the taste

- she takes a good, hard, long sniff of the sauce, before taking a fat bite out of the thigh again. She chews thoroughly, getting a feel for the taste before spitting it out in front of you

- she's got a glare on her face, her sharp features even sharper with her disgust

- "Never again, you heathen."

- she tosses the entire part away, letting it rot as she picks up a human arm, relishing in the taste as blood coats her mouth and around it

=====================

notice that nitara's is the shortest (megan fox killed her)

anyways, buldak is not for the weak. i cried so much eating half of my bowl, my dad ate the rest without breaking a sweat

also, i've got a trip this saturday to california! i'm meetin my boyfriend's family, so the requests might be slow, but i'll get to it asap!

that's all! i'll see y'all in the next fic!

[http-shield]

my coffee?- bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: fluff, established friendships/budding romance, set in CA:CW timeline where Bucky is in Romania trying to piece back together his life, mixed POV, divination (coffee reading) slight sexual themes, reader is helping bucky try to find some sense of normalcy within his life, human reader, bucky is a lil lovesick loser, lil old world slavic witchy magic, ~ wc: 1.3k ~ not proofread "Do you want me to read your coffee?" Bucky tilts his head. "My coffee?" 

Rain pelts the window as a summer storm rolls over the city.

It had come in quick, the thunder starting only ten minutes before the sky opened and unleashed chaos upon the unprepared populous. You had been halfway home, plastic bags swinging at your side full of groceries as the sky groaned, flashes of lighting backlighting the mountains as you took in the darkness of the clouds building. Your steps hurried, smelling rain on the warm breeze, knowing you only had minutes to reach home.

The heaviness of the bags slows you down, plastic digging into your fingers painfully enough to warrant a reshuffle of the load. Water begins to splatter the cobblestones around you, hitting the earth with soft plinks, and you start to rush, moving items from one bag to another in an effort to distribute the weight evenly, but just as quickly as the rain began, the cold drops sliding down your exposed back stop. You look up from your work, feeling a presence hover above you and are greeted by a smiling Bucky. He stands over you, your pink umbrella held high over your head, and you stare up at him, dumbfounded. 

"What are you- How did you…?" the question comes out in jumbled words as he bends to lift the bags.

His smile is one of ease, mischief lurking behind blue eyes at your blatant surprise. 

"I heard the thunder and realised you didn't take your umbrella, so I came looking for you," he shrugs as though it were the most casual explanation in the world. 

"You came looking for me?" 

"I know the route you take, and you were either walking home or still shopping." The plastic bags are strung over his left arm, and he extends the right one, holding a space for you to loop yours through his.

"You came looking for me." you can't help the smile that spreads across your face as you link limbs. 

"Of course." the way he smiles has your heart stuttering in your chest. 

Bucky begins to walk, setting the pace as you hurry to reach proper shelter. The rain gets heavier with each passing second. You try to suppress the grin, your teeth digging into your bottom lip, but it remains, cheeks aching and burning at his thoughtfulness. 

—-

"Do you want me to read your coffee?" you ask excitedly as he drinks the last of the brewed drink, setting the small cup back into the saucer. 

Bucky tilts his head. "My coffee?" 

You nod, a wordless answer as you scooch closer to him, hands reaching for the porcelain. His watchful gaze follows you, eyes following the lines of your body as you bend forward, dressed in only your pyjama shorts and oversized t-shirt, and he in a black shirt and sweatpants. There is a comfortability between the two of you, the knowledge of who he is, and it has been long established that he no longer has to hide his mental appendage. His heart aches at that. How you had accepted him for all he had done, knowing who and what he was.

Your bare leg brushing against his left arm has his thoughts deviating from the warmth that fills his chest at your kindness to a different kind of warmth blooming deeper. The rain had been both a blessing and a curse as it soaked you both through regardless of the umbrella he had bought. It had started coming down at an angle, and there was no way he could fight against it as you ran. By the time you crossed the threshold into the lobby, your entire body was drenched, clothes sticking to you in a way that held nothing for the imagination, and Bucky had to look away, turning his attention to the bags full of rain splattered groceries. That familiar heat returned to his stomach and only intensified as you began to climb the stairs, taking them two at a time before him, reaching the apartment in record time. He had kept his gaze averted as you tried to unpack the shopping, water dripping from your fingers while you dug through bags, but Bucky pushed you away. His hands gripping your shoulders, he steered you towards the bathroom, instructing you to get out of the wet clothes in fear of catching a cold, something he had heard you mutter to him a thousand times over the first time he had turned up at your door soaking wet from the rain. With the door slammed shut, he had a moment to breathe. To try and address the feeling in his stomach that had begun to pool into a sea of fire. To fix the issues that had started growing. Shame filled his cheeks, unable to think of you like that first and foremost, but secondly, how had such a simple and innocent image of you been enough to have his mind spiralling like that?  He shakes the thought away again as he focuses back on the present. 

You're holding the chipped tea cup, upturned on the plate. 

"My grandma taught me this when I was younger." You explain, eyes trained on the crockery. "Apparently, she had the gift." 

"The gift?" Bucky queries. 

"Yeah, the gift. Sight. Knowledge, you know?" you wiggle the fingers of your free hand as though casting a spell. 

"So, like a witch?" 

"Basically."

Bucky hums, watching as you flip the cup over and smile, whispering words as though they were an incantation.  His attention is rapt as you twist and turn the mug, eyes narrowing at shapes he cannot see. 

"Oh, ova e odličen znak." the foreign words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. 

"It's a good sign?" Bucky is quick to answer in english, suddenly very eager in his fortune regardless of how silly he thinks this is.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "How did you-"

"I speak Russian, remember?" he leans in and flicks your forehead with his right hand.

"But that wasn't Russian." you rub at the spot is fingers had just hit but it doesn’t hurt.

"Close enough." he shrugs, inching closer to get a look into the cup. Your shampoo fills his nose, the lavender scent soothing something within him. 

"Okay, okay." you brush off the questions that begin to rise within you. "Let's see." 

You examine the cup further, turning it over to Bucky, and you point out shapes and figures made in the rivers of coffee. He sees nothing but blobs of brown but nods along anyway, enjoying how you feel as you lean further into him. His heart begins to race, his ribs not used to the pace it sets. 

"You are going to live a good, long life, Mr. Barnes." you finally announce, handing the cup to him. 

"Anything else?" fingers brush over yours, sending shivers across his skin. 

"There was a cat and a house." You think for a moment, and he worries that the following words from your mouth won't be so happy. "Something about a girl and a kid." 

"A girl?" his mouth quirks up. "Like a wife?"

The answer is a nod and a soft smile. 

"You're lying!" the accusation comes out a little louder than he intended but is followed by a laugh as he shoves the cup back in your hands.

"I am not!" you shriek back, turning the mug back around, finger-pointing to the most prominent smudge at the bottom. "See, a pregnant woman!" 

Utter bullshit. It is a clump of coffee grounds. 

But he doesn't say that, doesn't dismiss the happy future you had almost entirely made up. Instead, he looks at you, his lip worried between his teeth. "Nothing about…before?" 

"Nope." With a shake of your head, you put his mind at ease. "As far as the cup is concerned, there was never a before." Soft fingers push his hair back behind his ear, curling around the edge of his jaw. Bucky leans into your touch, his body relaxing as your thumb begins to stroke soothing lines across his cheek.

Bucky knows you're lying. There will always be a before with him, and until you, he rarely thought there would be an after, but right now, with your strange and probably very untrue predictions, he cannot stop himself from wishing it would come true.

[weirdkpopgirl]

Embrace | Haechan Imagine #8

Title: Embrace

Genre: Fluff, slight angst

Warnings: vague mentions of reader struggling with insomnia

Word Count: 616

Author's Note: This story was inspired by my bad habit of not going to sleep, even when I'm tired lol. It's not like I do it on purpose, but my mind just cries out for a distraction sometimes. I don't know how to explain it. Anyway if any of you can relate to this, I hope this story can give you some comfort ^ ^

─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─

In the quiet space of your apartment, you were sprawled out on the couch as your thumb absentmindedly scrolled through the world of social media. Every so often, your eyes subconsciously flickered to the time on the left corner of the screen, reminding you that one a.m. was now closely bordering two.

The back of your mind was screaming at you to go to sleep, thinking of all the things you were supposed to do the following day. Yet, the apprehension of not being able to fall asleep made you hesitate. The fear wasn’t large, but enough to keep you trapped in the scrolling abyss, a dance between fatigue and distraction.

Eventually, you heard the soft echoes of your boyfriend’s slippers padding against the wooden floor, drawing him closer to where you were stationed. Rubbing his eyes, he approached you with a slight frown on his lips. 

“Baby, it’s late. Why are you still up?” Haechan murmured with a touch of concern in his voice. 

Although he was accustomed to being awake in the odd hours due to his work, seeing you deviate from a regular sleep schedule puzzled him.

You glanced up at him with weary eyes. “Just can’t seem to quiet my mind,” you muttered with a small shrug.

Haechan sighed as he witnessed you fight back a yawn. He moved to sit beside you for a moment and gently removed your phone from your hands and set it down on the coffee table.

“Come on, let’s go to bed,” he said, taking your hand in his. “Maybe I can help you relax.”

Reluctantly, you gave in and allowed him to guide you to the bedroom. The subtle glow of the lamp on your nightstand casted a gentle ambiance in the room. Once you were tucked under the soft comforter, Haechan settled down beside you.

“Close your eyes, baby,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around you in a comfortable position. 

His lips brushed against your temple, sending a tingling shock down your spine. The warmth of his touch prompted you to snuggle closer, your head finding the perfect spot on his chest. The echoes of his steady heartbeat were calming and the warmth of his embrace gradually melted away any troublesome thoughts that lingered within you.

You let out a heavy exhale before mumbling, “You really have a way of making everything feel okay.”

Haechan chuckled and brushed back a lock of hair behind your ear. The corners of his lips curled into a small smirk.

“Of course, you just happen to have the most caring, loving, and devastatingly handsome boyfriend,” he said, flashing you a teasing smile.

You knew he was only joking. But as his words sank in through your mind, you recognized the truth in them. The longer you were with Haechan, the more you realized that you didn’t know what you’d do without him in your life.

Instinctively, your hand drifted to cradle his face, lightly tracing over the moles adorning his cheek. Gazing into his eyes, a sense of vulnerability washed over you.

“You’re right. I do,” you quietly admitted.

Caught off guard by your serious response, Haechan’s heart ached at your simple words. This overwhelming surge of deep love and affection he had for you hit him all at once. Without holding back, he leaned in to capture your lips in a tender kiss. You stayed like this for a while, before breaking away with a smile. The two of you eventually succumbed to sleep, peacefully nestled in each other’s embrace.

─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚─

[lemonsrosesandlavender]

If you're still taking suggestions for your "Archmage, Slut" fic I'd love to see Rolan dealing with all those eggs from the first prompt- surely he can't hide them forever?

Anon, I hope you are still out there somewhere to enjoy all ~5800 words of this. This is my eggpreg magnum opus, and has driven me completely insane. It's also available to read on AO3 as Best Laid Plans, if you'd rather read it there. Thank you for waiting, and I hope you enjoy!

Tags: eggpreg (obviously), D/s, sub Rolan, dom f!Tav!Reader, pegging, rough sex, angst with a happy ending, egg laying (the eggs are blanks). Brief food kink, in the context of pregnancy cravings.

As Rolan’s situation progresses, the pair of you often sit up after dark, making notes by candlelight on the changes to his body. At first, they are in perfect accord with Rolan’s translation of the original Drow-language book, On the Uses of Tentacle Spells.

Eggs will not grow significantly in size past that of insertion; slight stomach swelling possible but depends on the subject.

Rolan’s slim, angular form had shown them immediately, of course, but you had expected that. Hoped for it, even. He whimpers beautifully whenever you trail your hand over the bump. In public, he hides it carefully beneath his robes, his belt worn higher than usual to let the fabric hang loosely over his stomach— but he puts up only a token complaint about you snatching a teasing feel, and frequently demands to be ravished in an alley afterwards.

Correct, too, was the note that his appetite would disappear at first.

Eggs appear to interfere with normal digestive processes. Subject’s inclination to eat will typically disappear for several days after insertion, before returning to a normal level. After appetite returns, subject is likely to crave fruit, especially—

‘Peaches,’ you purr with satisfaction, handing the basket over to Rolan as he sits scribing at his desk.

‘Thank the Gods,’ he mutters, sinking his teeth into one and scarfing it down with unseemly haste. It’s gone in an instant.

Clearing his throat, he discards the stone and does his best to recover some dignity.

‘Ah… thank you.’ He pauses, eyeing the peaches. ‘I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, but could you leave me to my studies?‘

‘Why, because you don’t want me to see you ripping them apart like a wild animal?’

‘I have been beset by cravings all morning,’ he argues. ‘Forgive me if desperation won out.’

‘So I see,’ you murmur, and lean in to lick the trail of juice off his chin. ‘But I don’t think I will leave you to it. I want to see my pregnant little whore of an Archmage eat the peaches that he begged me for.‘

‘Oh Gods,’ he groans. His tail coils around his calf, so tightly the point snags on his trousers. ‘Zurgan!‘

Subject’s cravings were only satisfied after six peaches, you write; to spare Rolan’s rather warped sense of propriety, you do not record that you made him lick you to orgasm for every single one.

But the longer this “pregnancy” carries on, the more it deviates from the translated notes, and the more you grow concerned. Rolan pretends not to notice, and that frustrates you even more.

‘Maybe we should measure the circumference of the swelling,’ you suggest, as neutrally as possible, whilst the pair of you undress for a bath.

You can’t see the expression on Rolan’s face, as he turns to pick up a towel, but his tone is even more studied than your own.

‘It would be pointless. We have no baseline measurement to work from.’

‘Figaro has your usual measurements.’

His tone shortens. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Rolan—’

‘I was under the impression that you liked the effect on my appearance,’ he says, and there is just enough teasing in his words that you can look past the curtness that preceded them. The sight of him naked, slicked in bath oils, helps a lot too. As his egg-filled stomach slip beneath the water’s surface, you are compelled to admit that you do like the way he looks.

‘I thought so,’ Rolan says smugly, and at that you roll your eyes, force all your worries aside, and press your tongue down his throat.

You are determined to be relaxed about it, if Rolan wants you to be. If he doesn’t mind, and doesn’t want to address it further, then you’ll leave it; tease him about it, in fact, and enjoy the considerable neediness that being full of your eggs seems to induce in him. He drinks from your cunt as if it’s ambrosia, and provokes you into spanking him near-daily, his growing bump pressed against your thigh.

All the same… after two months have passed, with no sign of egg-laying, you feel compelled to revisit the notes.

No further noticeable side-effects occurred; in all tested instances of the spell, eggs were lain within a month, after a brief period of contractions.

You shut the book in frustration— and then open it again, because you saw a long auburn hair trapped against that page. Rolan has been reading it too.

It shouldn’t be surprising; he must obviously also see that his swelling stomach is beginning to show beneath his clothes, and be aware that this does not match the spell description that he himself translated.

And yet he was the one trying to get you to touch his stomach in public just yesterday, leaning against your hand on the Sundries counter and throwing you a suggestive glance. The more concerning this gets, the more he seems intent on pretending nothing is wrong.

Damn it. You put the book away, resolving to address this in a day or two if he doesn’t bring it up himself— but you don’t have to wait that long.

When he comes in from the bathroom the next morning, he announces his intention to visit Bonecloak’s.

‘I didn’t notice we needed any alchemical supplies when I checked the cupboard this week,’ you say, harbouring a kernel of suspicion. It grows as you see Rolan try to subtly roll out his back, the movement stilted and capped with a slight wince.

‘True,’ he says. ‘But after some reading, I have come to the conclusion that some more unusual ingredients might be of use for… the situation.’

‘I’m coming with you.’

Rolan stifles a scowl.

‘There is no need to concern yourself— but fine,’ he concedes, since you’re already yanking your trousers on. ‘If you insist.’

The trip across the street to Bonecloak’s is short, but it’s enough time for the tension to simmer down between you. Rolan even smiles a little as you take his hand.

‘So what are you hoping to buy?’

‘Not much. A few strands of Ki-Rin hair and an ounce or two of fungi typically used for pregnancy. It will not take long.’

Derryth’s door is enchanted with a sharp glass-crashing noise, as sharp as she is. To ward off would-be thieves. It makes you smile every time you enter, reminding you of your affection for the rather sour woman; since you saved the Noblestalk (though not her husband) in the Underdark, she seems fond of you too.

‘Good to see you,’ she observes, finding a streak of almost-warmth to greet you with. ‘What’s your business today? There better not be a problem with the last shipment I sent you. Checked it myself.’

‘No, no,’ Rolan says, waving away her concern. ‘I am in search of a few more unusual spell ingredients.’

‘Such as?’

It’s probably not obvious to Derryth, but you recognise the pinch in his brow as embarrassment rather than recall.

‘Ki-Rin hair. And… Saddlewort.’

‘An anti-emetic.’ Derryth raises her eyebrows. ‘Interesting spells you’re cooking up in that tower.’

Rolan coughs slightly, determinedly avoiding her eye— but there’s no refuge in yours, either. Why, exactly, does he need an anti-emetic, if he isn’t having any side effects? Sickness was not listed in any of the notes. You try to contain your frustration, because this is no place to have an argument— but you are not going to let this drop when you get home.

‘And Midwife’s Favour,’ he finishes hurriedly, his voice dropped low.

Derryth starts, irritably, ‘Speak up. Did you say—’ Her eyes drop to his stomach. ‘Ah.’

‘Ah, what?’ Rolan snaps.

‘Rolan,’ you mutter, holding his hand a little tighter. He yanks it out of your grasp.

It’s lucky there’s no-one else in this shop, because if this escalates further, it’s going to turn into a deeply embarrassing scene. What in the Hells? You thought you were past the days of blazing public arguments, having had a few too many before the Absolute.

‘What?’ he demands, digging his own grave.

Derryth’s eyes narrow. ‘Oh, sure. Take me for a fool, why don’t you. I wasn’t trying to judge you, if that’s what you’re so angry about.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he hisses, tail lashing with anger.

‘Stop!’ you snap. ‘You know Derryth isn’t going to tell anyone— ‘

‘There’s nothing to tell!’

‘If you’re done arguing, are you going to pay for this?’ Derryth barks. ‘Then you can go and have this lovers’ quarrel somewhere else. And she’s right. I’m not going to tell anyone. But you’re stupid if you don’t think people are going to start noticing that, especially if you’re going round buying pregnancy remedies.’

‘Enough!’ Rolan hisses. He slams down a pile of gold at the counter, and you notice him faintly shaking, his lips wrought into a grimace. ‘Have them sent to the Tower when they’re made up. I don’t have time to wait.’

You stare after him in bitter disbelief as he exits the shop, the glass ward once more crashing behind him.

Derryth scowls. ‘Wouldn’t waste my breath spreading gossip.’

You have to chase Rolan up the stairs and up through the portal into your bedroom, as milling customers throw you curious glances. If he didn’t want to draw more attention to himself, he’s doing a terrible job. He even slams the door behind him.

‘What the Hells?’ you hiss, as you wrench it open again.

‘Don’t lecture me,’ he shouts. ‘I suppose you would have handled that differently, if you were the one in this state.’

‘I’m not trying to lecture you!’ you retort, more sharply than you mean to. The anger in his voice takes your breath away. ‘We agreed you were going to talk to me if we did this! And you’ve been lying to me!’

‘How do you think you’re going to solve it if I can’t?’ I’ve studied all the books I can find on the subject—’

‘Rolan!’ you bark, frowning through angry tears.

He grimaces suddenly, turning aside, and you realise he’s trying to hold himself back from crying too. His eyes are shining, vermilion-red around the rims.

‘I am sorry,’ he says hoarsely. ‘I should not have said that. You know I hold your spellcasting in high esteem. Better than my own, even.’

You nod. The insult stung, but you know the apology is genuine.

‘I know,’ you say tightly. ‘It’s alright. But— you can’t just refuse to talk about this. Not if you ever want me to hurt you in bed again.’

‘You didn’t hurt me,’ he interrupts, raking his claws over his neck in frustration. ‘I am fine.’

‘Fine. I can’t tie you up, or fuck you with tentacles, or fill you with eggs again if you won’t be honest with me. I thought we were clear about that. I thought— ’

‘You thought we’ve been doing it long enough, and I should know that,’ Rolan says quietly. ‘You are right. I— was ashamed. And afraid I spent the morning after I first threw up berating myself for my stupidity. How could I finally possess everything I ever wanted and throw it away for some cheap pleasure?’

Stiffening, you remind yourself that in this moment, your primary concern is him, no matter how hurt you are. You are not the one whose body is changing in ways you don’t understand, full of eggs that you know far too little about. And it was your hubris too, that got you here.

You take his hand, and pull him close. Rolan’s shoulders do not drop all at once, and neither does his breath steady— not quickly, anyway. He draws in a ragged breath, tail curling around you, and then he claws, clinging so hard to your body that you can feel the fear beneath his skin.

‘I love you,’ you tell him quietly.

Rolan swallows.

‘I love you too,’ he says. ‘Take me. Please.’

You can’t help but flinch. ‘I thought—’

‘Just take me,’ he begs. ‘I want to be close to you. I need you.’

His voice is still rich, even as it scratches with tears. If anything, desperation honeys it, and suddenly, pain and anger transmute to lust. Thrusting your mouth against his, you pull at his robes, unbuckling his belt, seizing him, owning him— and he nods into your kiss. Please. A tear slips between your lips, salty on your tongue.

‘I want you,’ you growl. ‘You’re mine— you’re mine— Gods, get on the bed—’

Rolan kicks his boots off, unbuttoning his robe and dragging off his trousers. He lies face-down, tail not yet raised. Waiting for you to take him.

You buckle your harness tight, slicking the cock you chose with oil. It’s big, and though you want to vent your frustrations by thrusting straight inside him, you steady yourself, lifting his tail and pressing a firm finger to his hole.

‘Just fuck me!’ he rasps.

Fine. You slap his ass, hard— not hard enough for your liking, so you immediately do it again, and then you drag his hips up and push past his resistance in one rough, insistent thrust.

‘Fuck!’ Rolan sounds like he’s crying through the word. ‘More! Please, more.’

The underside of his tail presses hot against your chest. You lean into it, bracing yourself as your hips ram against his ass, slamming to the hilt over and over. Rolan whimpers, clawing at the mattress; you lean down to shove him into the pillow, his tail bending back as far as it will go.

‘Is this enough?’ you gasp. ‘Do you feel like you’re mine?’

‘Yes— please, may I—’

‘Tell me you belong to me. Tell me you want this.’

Your words crack a little. All you truly want, even in the heat of the bedroom, the roles you play to each other— is to be happy with him. To feel like he loves doing this as much as you do. It was easy to believe when he made all those exacting plans for the eggs, and brought it up often enough that you could finally believe it wasn’t all recklessness. That he’d really thought it through.

‘I want this,’ Rolan gasps, urgency clawing through his voice. He chokes up. ‘I have always wanted this— and I want you. I am sorry.’

The word ruins you, shot through with so much regret that it scalds.

You slip your hand beneath him and grasp his cock, working it as roughly as you’re fucking his hole. Sweat pours down your back and his, the ache inside you mounting as your hips tire and every thrust grows more determined— but Rolan is close, and all that matters is to hear him come.

‘You’re mine,’ you tell him hoarsely. ‘You’re mine, and I want this too. I want you crying and begging and fighting with me. I want—‘

‘Ahhh!’

He comes, and the ache bursts, relief crashing in a wave of exhaustion over your body. You hurry to withdraw, peeling your harness off and casting it aside so you can scrape him into your arms, gathering him up and clinging to his exhausted body.

Moments pass in silence, each of you panting against each other’s skin. Your shoulder is wet with his breath, and his is wet with your tears— ones you haven’t allowed yourself to cry yet, because you’ve been working so hard to be calm.

‘Did you come?’ Rolan asks hoarsely. ‘Please, let me—’

‘No,’ you whisper. ‘It’s fine. Soon. Let me just… hold you.’

‘Wretched Gods. I have spent so little time— I was so worried about myself I did not even think about you. Not enough, anyway.’

Your breath slows, steadied by the warmth of his skin against yours, and the familiar patterns of his wingbones. There’s room again to think.

‘Of course you’ve been preoccupied. Gods,’ you murmur gently. ‘I’m not trying to blame you for it. I want you to take care of yourself, more than anything. All I want is to be able to help you with it.’

‘I saw you flinch before,’ he says. ‘And I am sorry. I promise I do not see any of this as cheap.’

His voice rasps over the word. You nod, tangling your fingers into his hair, waiting with churning feelings for him to continue.

‘It is hard for me sometimes. To accept that I want this. And— I know I do. That is why I asked you for it.’

‘I know,’ you murmur.

‘But it’s not fair to you,’ he says. ‘Changing my mind, and lashing out at you every time.’

‘Have you changed your mind?’

‘No,’ he whispers. ‘I did not even mind the delays, the changes— not until I was sick yesterday. I realised then how serious this could be.’

‘The eggs were a mistake. I’m sorry. We knew it was an experimental spell, and clearly something went wrong.’

‘No!’ He shakes his head. ‘Wretched Hells. None of the blame is yours. And even now— if I can just believe the eggs will pass without incident— I…’

‘Go on.’ Your grip tightens around him.

‘Even with the morning sickness… I admit, I still enjoy it.’

Thank the Gods. Relief floods you. So long as he is not in pain— or pain he is not enjoying, at any rate— you can work through anything. You kiss him gently, brushing your tongue past his soft lips to the radiant heat within.

‘If you are afraid of others finding out, you can stay in the Tower until we’ve fixed it.’

‘No,’ Rolan says quietly. ‘I do not want to hide away. And if others find out… it is humiliating, but I will survive. I have everything I could ever want. The judgements of ordinary people are nothing when I have you.’ He frowns. ‘Gods. I would rather Cal and Lia did not know.’

‘They don’t need to know the full details. We can tell them it was a spell mistake. That you are temporarily unwell, but it’ll pass.’

He nods, slipping his fingers between yours. Your grips close tight on each other, two years of love and hard-won trust in your hold. You will get through this, together.

Rolan arches gently, and you feel his stomach press against your body. Slowly, you draw your other arm from around his shoulders and guide your hand down, over his ridges, his nipples, all the way down to the curve of the eggs inside him. A soft groan falls from Rolan’s lips.

‘Does your back hurt?’ you ask.

‘How do you know that?’

‘I saw you trying to stretch it out.’

‘Hmmph.’

‘Turn over,’ you tell him. ‘I’m going to take better care of you from now on.’

‘I’m not an invalid,’ he grumbles. ‘I can take care of myself— unff— ’

He puts no effort into resisting, rolling over at the slightest shove. Straddling his thighs, you slick your hands with the same oil you fucked him with, and begin to rub in long, slow strokes from the top of his hip ridges up to his wingtips.

Rolan sighs comfortably— and then his tail arcs up, brushing against your clit.

‘Oh, I see,’ you murmur. ‘You enjoy being taken care of.‘

He groans a faint objection.

‘Don’t worry. You can thank me for it afterwards, Archmage. With your tongue.’

The rest of his “pregnancy” progresses far more smoothly. He does at last allow you to measure the bump— looks forward to it, even, as you purr in his ear about how pleased you are that your eggs have grown this big. One time, you even catch him touching himself over your notes, a spot of drool falling from his guilty lips to the page.

‘You’re interfering with my research,’ you murmur, low and threatening in his ear. ‘If I catch you touching yourself without me again— ’

He groans as you lean in and whisper in his ear that you’ll publish everything, tell everyone what a slut he is, and sure enough, he is begging and pleading in your grasp, whimpering for mercy and receiving none.

‘Then punish me,’ he gasps, and that you’re more than happy to do.

Derryth’s supplies seem to be working; the morning sickness eases, and so do Rolan’s sore muscles, though you “force” him into accepting massages and hot baths anyway. Three months into his pregnancy, almost to the day, he stiffens suddenly whilst soaking in one of those baths, and gasps—

‘Oh Gods. It’s happening—’

‘Fuck— do you want to get out?’

He nods, his brow pinched tight. ‘Quickly!’

You’ve both referred to the last of the notes many times— in fact, you’ve read it to Rolan when he was supposed to be working, and watched his thighs clench of their own accord.

Sexual intercourse occurring at the first sign of labour (a “slick” being produced by the subject’s entrance) was reported to be even more arousing then usual, and to make the ensuing egg-laying more comfortable.

Jumping from the bath, you fetch him a towel, and hurry to your drawers to find your harness. You sweep up three different sizes of cock, to be on the safe side, and your usual bottle of oil, only to remember with a rush of lust that you won’t need it at all this time. And Gods— the sight of him on all fours on the towel, tail raised to show his hole already a little loosened and pouring with slick almost brings you to your knees, the coursing blood in your veins too hot in this room still full of steam.

His claws skitter against the stone floor as you press in. When his body is already inviting you in like this, it is hard to resist the temptation to bury yourself right up to the harness ring on the first thrust — but Gods know how safe this is— you should be careful—

‘Harder!’ Rolan sobs.

Never mind. You seize his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, and slam your hips into him, your vision glazed with lust.

‘Harder!’ Rolan begs again. ‘Harder— ngggh!’

Panting with effort, you yank his hair and set about shutting him up with the harshest, most punishing thrusts your practised muscles can pound him with. Every slap of your wet skin against his is met with a whimper— moans broken as his body shakes, driven by your cock and yanked back by your grip. His tail trembles over your shoulder.

He can’t even beg you to come, but you can tell from the sounds he’s making that he’s trying to, claws curling and scratching against the floor and choked sobs running from his mouth.

You shove your hand up between his legs and grease it with the slick running down his taint.

‘Come for me,’ you groan, wrapping your hand around his cock and fucking him into your grip. It twitches— he moans—

And then he comes, shouting, collapsing down on his forearms to ride out the convulsions.

The sight is unbearably hot. You slam your hand over your mouth, holding yourself together, tortured by how close his own orgasm brings you to the edge when he needs you to keep your senses.

‘Turn over,’ you tell him urgently, pulling out. ‘Lie back. Does it feel like there’s time for me to stretch you more?’

Rolan’s shoulder hits the floor as he hurries to get in position, but he barely seems to notice.

‘I think so,’ he whispers. ‘Gods. Wretched Gods— that felt—’

‘Good?’

He swallows, nodding. You finish changing your cock for a larger one— line it up at his gaping entrance—

‘Breathe,’ you murmur, putting a gentle hand on his stomach. The beauty of the bump beneath your fingers makes you catch your breath. You wish you could have another few moments, just to appreciate Rolan like this– but there’s no time to be sentimental about it now. Easing Rolan’s hips up, you roll your own, feeling his hole gently give beneath your pressure.

‘Oh,’ he whispers. He looks dazed already, his back arching against the towel. ‘Oh Gods— ‘

‘Too much?’

He shakes his head weakly. ‘No.’

You slip in and out slowly, getting him used to the feeling.

‘I’m going to put the biggest one on now,’ you tell him, kissing him on the lips. He nods again, and shudders deeply as you push it in. It is truly huge, one you’ve never been able to fully train him to take before— but now, with his body malleable and dripping with this magic, it is in, and you slide it impossibly deep too.

‘Fuck me,’ Rolan whimpers, even though the trail of his come from last time still sits thick and wet on his stretched stomach. ‘Fuck me, please— ah!’

The moment you draw back, his thigh jerks and his eyes widen. He jolts upright, still impaled on your cock.

‘They’re coming!’ he gasps urgently. ‘…Zurgan!’

You withdraw as quickly as you can, trying not to discomfort him, and shed your harness, rushing to help him into the bath.

‘Oh Gods,’ he moans. ‘Gods!’

‘Sit down,’ you urge him. The bath’s still warm, thankfully, though you cast a round of Prestidigitation to make it even more so.

‘Are you alright?’

Rolan is looking at you wide-eyed, gripping the rim of the bathtub so hard his knuckles pale pink.

‘Get in,’ he chokes. ‘Please.’

No time to ask if he is sure, or to think about the logistics of this. You climb over the side, splashing into the heat, and kneel astride his tail.

‘Is the angle comfortable?’ You wrap your arms around him, tilting his hips up as if you were going to fuck him.

‘Kiss me,’ Rolan begs.

When you do, his fingers slip to your clit, trying desperately to stroke you even though his chest is heaving and his attempt at rhythm quickly stutters to a halt.

‘Rolan, no—’

‘Please,’ he whispers. ‘I want you to come. I want you to— nnnh— want this as much as I do. Tell me you find this… attractive. Tell me it is worth it.’

‘Yes,’ you gasp. ‘Fuck, Rolan— I’ve never wanted you more. Fuck— stop doing it yourself and just hold onto me.'

His hand splashes back beneath the water. Sweat pours down his temples, his stomach muscles spasming as if his whole body is trying to break apart.

‘Hold on for me,’ you groan, leaning in to kiss him deep, trying to make room for the egg to come out between you. ‘Hold on— fuck!’

Tears sting in your eyes as you touch your clit, your own urgent need left uncared for, and angry now that you’ve returned for release. Rolan’s claws dig into your ribs, his rhythmic panting half the speed of your own rough fingering. Your own breath swells in volume with his as he jerks and sobs and shouts in pain, a crescendo that brings you shouting to the edge yourself, and over it.

‘Fuck!’ you sob, convulsing, your body livid with pleasure. ‘Fuck, oh Gods!’

Rolan shouts too, and suddenly you feel something nudging against the back of your hand. Fuck, the egg— you crash back into your senses, catching your breath with sudden, cold fear.

‘Are you alright?’ you ask sharply, tilting his face up until his closed eyes open.

Rolan nods. Tears are trickling down his cheeks.

‘Yes,’ he gasps, and lunges for your lips to kiss you. ‘Yes.’

‘Alright. Let me get this egg out of the way,’ you tell him gently, tugging against his clinging arms.

Your fingers almost sink into it, as you reach below the water. Translucent black, clear of any substance except the strange jelly it’s made of— thank the Gods, the spell did not go wrong on that front— and huge. Rolan groans softly, looking at it.

‘Fuck,’ you whisper hoarsely, spellbound. There’s no time for this. You reach to put it aside—

‘Wait!’ Rolan gasps. ‘Gently. I want to— ’

Study it, you know, and you give him a brief kiss to tell him so, before leaning out of the bath and resting it on a towel.

Rolan’s legs twitch again.

‘The second one?’

‘Yes.’ His eyelids are screwed shut, expression caught with an agonised grimace. ‘Wretched— Gods.’

‘You’re doing well,’ you tell him. ‘Breathe with me.’

You know he must be desperate, because he doesn’t protest the compliment in the slightest. Hand on his chest, you feel his heart pound, effort rising within him.

One heavy breath; two; three—

Another egg appears, just the base, seeming to stick even within his impossibly stretched, slicked hole for a second. Rolan cries out, grimaces, spasms— and it is out, drifting to bump against your thighs.

‘Fuck,’ he whimpers. ‘Wretched Gods— please— ’

‘One more,’ you tell him. His cheek is feverishly hot to the touch. ‘Then you’re done.’

He gasps as you withdraw your hand, catching your wrist in a painfully tight grip.

‘I love you,’ he chokes.

‘I love you too.’ You breathe deeply. ‘I love you too. Push—’

His fingers tighten.

‘Yes,’ you tell him. ‘Yes— ’

‘Oh Gods— ahhhhh— ’

Rolan throws his head back until his horns clatter against the tub, and with one last, violent exertion his stomach ripples and his legs jolt. The final egg is laid.

You wish you had a strength potion on hand, to pluck him from where he lies trembling in the bath and carry him safely in your arms to bed. As it is, you can only offer a shoulder. Rolan clutches at you for support as you stumble across your bedroom, a trail of water and slick marking your path.

‘Wait here,’ you tell him. ‘I’ll get a towel.’

When you finally get in bed, dried-off and exhausted, Rolan is silent for some time. His chest rises and falls against you, and though you want to know more than anything if he’s alright, the soft tenor of his breath tells you he might be asleep, so you leave him be.

That wasn’t supposed to mean falling asleep yourself— and yet, you awake a little while later, unsticking your exhausted eyelids.

Rolan is looking at you, his eyes glimmering with feeling. Not just any feeling; warmth.

‘You’re alright?’ you ask.

‘Yes.’

‘Thank the Gods. I’ll get you some water— ’

‘It can wait,’ he says softly. ‘Stay. Please.’

‘I went to Bonecloak’s today,’ Rolan tells you, some days after he has recovered enough to get out of bed.

‘Oh?’ you ask, raising an eyebrow and putting down your book.

‘I realised I owed Derryth an apology,’ he murmurs, warm with self-aware mirth. ‘Perhaps one day I will manage not to alienate your friends and allies over my own internal strain.’

You meet his eyes with some amusement. ‘Maybe. The circumstances were fairly understandable, though. Did she find it in herself to forgive you?’

‘She said hmm,’ Rolan notes drily. ‘But as I was headed out, she asked me if I’d do her a favour and re-enchant that wretched door ward of hers to sound a little nicer. Apparently it’s upsetting her cat.’

If he’s back on favour terms with her, then all is well. Derryth certainly kept her word; no suspect articles about the Archmage’s bump appeared in the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette. In fact, in a possibly ruinous blow to Rolan’s ego, it seems that two years after the fall of the Elder Brain no-one pays as much attention to the city’s Hero and Archmage as they used to. Rolan’s eggs went largely unnoticed— as far as you’re aware, anyway.

‘Well,’ you murmur. ‘Now everything is back to normal, I’ll have to remind you that even without a stomach full of eggs, you still belong to me. Let me see.’

You were thinking of shoving your hand down his trousers and working him into a groaning mess— but you’re caught off guard before you can so much as lunge for a button.

‘Ah,’ Rolan says. ‘Speaking of. I have been revisiting the notes, trying to locate the cause of the unexpected… deviations. On closer inspection, the original spell modification was rife with ambiguity. Mediocre spellwork at best. Fortunately, I have been able to reword the spell in such a way that should preserve its essence whilst— ’

‘Rolan.’

You fix him with a sharp glare. The hand that was gesturing animatedly slips quietly down to his side, but his eyes still glow with focus.

‘I know,’ he says seriously, leaning forward to take your hand. ‘I hurt you last time, and things could have gone far worse than they did. Though… I think that would be unlikely, given the quality of your spellcasting. You summon with such authority that even the most rottenly-conceived spell would be forced into order.’

For a moment, you sit considering his words in silence. Rolan laces his fingers into yours.

‘Believe me,’ he says quietly. ‘I would not ask you this without being certain. The experience was… hard to describe. I have always felt myself tied to you, but during the last months I felt those bonds more deeply than I thought possible.’

‘If we’re doing this again, everything I said about being honest with me— I’m not going to do it unless you let me help you. Take care of you.’

‘Of course,’ Rolan says. ‘I love you. I felt every one of my mistakes, painfully. I tried to make up for it in the last few weeks, but… I understand if it was not enough.’

‘Fuck,’ you curse.

‘What?’

Grasping his shirt, you kiss him firmly, your tongue pressing onto his. Fucking Hells. You can’t resist him, damned to do stupid, reckless things together for the rest of your lives, because neither of you can keep your heads where the other is concerned.

There are worse ways to be.

You growl into the kiss, cunt soaking at the thought of ruining him again. Rolan quivers, looking up at you with bated breath for your verdict as you pull away.

‘Fine. But we’re not going to do it until I’m happy with the spell changes. And you are going to beg me for it.’

Rolan smiles. He escapes your grip and comes up kneeling between your legs, rubbing his face into your clothed cunt.

‘Should I start now?’

After six months, egg insertion attempted again on the same subject, with spell modified to limit egg incubation to two months, and to reduce pregnancy-like side effects (See appendix for spell modifications). Subject complained the eggs did not grow large enough this time; the recorder notes that the spell seems to turn a perfectly respectable Archmage into a wanton whore, who at the time of writing is already begging to be filled again.

[axolotlwrites]

Black Lipstick, Red Tongue

NSFW! Male Drifter Reader X Eleanor Nightingale

The Drifter and Eleanor get a little handsy in the internet café, despite the lack of privacy...

CW: Oral sex, reader has a penis, is given head, slight exhibitionism (they aren't caught, however), slight psychic mind-fuckery, Eleanor's weird tongue is involved (duh), not beta read, formatted for mobile

Also, a good ninety percent of this was written before 1999 actually came out, so some of it isn't entirely accurate. For the most part, there's no major deviations. (I think.)

Enjoy.

Words: 922

Eleanor’s hands pressed flat against your chest, pushing you into the chair of the internet cafe desk. You were worried. This was stupid, incredibly so. Sound would reverberate in an empty mall like this, and it wasn’t as if you two were totally alone. “Are you sure about this? The others-” Her hand pressed against your cheek, interrupting you as she spoke (or rather, thought) softly. “Won’t hear us. I promise.” A shivering breath escapes your mouth, as you speak again. “Arthur’ll fucking kill me if he finds out.” Eleanor giggles at that, before smiling, another thought ripping into your brain, like a tailor’s knife through fine silk. “Then stay quiet, and he won’t.”

Your hands drift down to the buckle of your pants. When you got here, you quickly traded voidshell compounds and weaves for simple denim and fabric. It was lighter, it fit in better… and it was comfier. She stared up into your eyes, the mischievous glint in her eye as prominent as always. “Are you sure you-” She rolled her eyes, pushing your hands away as she unbuckled them for you. “You can pay me back later, but right now…” Her hand gently tugged at your pants, your hips lifting off instinct as she tugged them off. “Right now is about you.”

Gloved fingers reached out to prod gently, a gloved palm following close after to rub against the straining of your pants. “F-fuck.” You whimpered it out, softly, terrified of who might hear. God forbid Arthur hears you… or Quincy… or Lettie. You wouldn't hear the end of it, if you were still alive. She loved it, though. Loved the way she could make you shiver and whimper in the middle of the Hex’s safehouse with just a stray thought.

Of course, she knew the truth.

You loved it too.

She kneeled in front of you now, placing soft kisses on your stomach as she pulled up your shirt. She could see your scars, some evidence of your time spent in the Origin System, some fresh from your scraps in the streets and metros of Hollvania. Her other hand roamed the elastic waistband of your underwear, freshly scavenged from a ransacked supermarket.

As she started to peel your underwear down, trailing black lipstick kisses down your stomach, down to your crotch, you couldn't help but shiver.

She didn't pull them off entirely, leaving them halfway down your thighs in the case of an… unfortunate intrusion. Her breath traveled along the length of your cock, half-hard as her hands roamed along your inner thighs. “Relax, love. You don't want all that anxiety to affect your performance, after all…” She smiled, clearly teasing you, trying to rile you up as the blush crossed your face.

Some part of you was worried. You knew what appendage lingered in that mouth of hers, but ever since that kiss on New Year’s, you both had gotten a little braver.

This was the result of a massive amount of tension, a veritable dance of extended boundaries and worried glances.

You couldn’t prepare for how her mouth felt. As she took you into her maw, the tendril that resided behind her teeth wrapped around you, like a venus flytrap. Your back arched into the chair, a mild mixture of arousal and fear showing on your face as your hand flew up to your mouth. Again, she giggled, the vibrations around your cock a far more pleasant feeling than the tendril’s grasping and probing. Finally, you let out a real, tangible noise. “Damn. That is… a hell of a feeling.” Her hand roamed against the outside of your thigh, as she started to bob her head. “Do you want me to stop?” she whispered, your mind hazing as you felt her really dig around in your head.

You shook your head, your senses consumed by her psychic abilities. It felt like she was hugging your brain, caressing and kissing between the nooks of your mind.

It was far more pleasant than you thought it'd be, and the infested tongue in her mouth started to get a real hang on how it wanted you, finally starting to stroke and caress. It was wet and hot, black lipstick starting to smear along the length of your cock. Her hand grabbed yours, guiding it to her head and ponytail.

“Get a grip, love. You'll want it.” You nodded, as she began to move faster, enticing you to use that newfound grip she had given you.

You knew you weren't gonna last long. With a tongue that literally had a (hive)mind of its own, the very enthusiastic woman it was attached to, and the mind-fuck powers of said enthusiastic woman… you didn't stand a chance.

You bucked your hips up into her throat, moaning softly as you began to lose yourself in it. “Come on. Cum for me, Drifter. My Drifter.”

And just like that, you were gone, spilling your seed into her throat as you tried desperately to keep from moaning out in pleasure. The tongue in her mouth coiled around your cock, dragging out all of the semen it could manage, before she pulled away, its host finally satisfied.

“I'll leave you to clean up. But… I'll see you in the backroom tonight, love.” She laid a gentle kiss on your cheek, before walking off, hips swaying as the last of her psychic powers faded. It left a pleasant haze in your mind that you really couldn't shake, even if you'd wanted to.

What a woman.

[nopanamaman]

How long did it take for pafl as a whole to be written? whats your writing process like and do you have any tips? i personally struggle a bit with that sort of stuff haha and i think pafl is an awesome example of good writing

Thank you so much, I'm flattered!

It's a pretty hard question to answer haha

The actual concept for PAFL was brewing for a long while. The story and characters went through a lot of revisions over the years - all before I even made the first video in the series.

I think publicly putting the project in motion was what forced me to solidify how the story would progress and what the characters would be like.

When I just started it, the only things that were set in stone were the events of PAFL and Yura going to the Zone after Katya's capture. But by Punch it Punk, I've roughly laid out the plan for the whole rest of the story.

There have been some slight deviations since then. I have given more significance to certain secondary characters and have compeltely changed the ending. Plus, some details have - and will be - tweaked as the series goes on, because of course 19 year old me wouldn't think everything through perfectly.

Still, the general plan has stayed more or less consistent since the third song. Much more so than I expected it to lol

[minnie-cai]

TIMECAST - Golden Age Of Piracy

To Plot A Storm

cartographer!patrick zweig x pirate!reader

c.ai bot | moodboard and introduction

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Smoke still clings to the deck like a sulking ghost, thick with salt and gunpowder. You step over a shattered beam, boots slick with the blood of men you didn’t bother to ask names for. Your coat flares behind you, wind catching the torn edge, and you drag it shut with one hand as your eyes settle on the mess of uniform and attitude they’ve dragged to the brig.

He’s not what you expected. Not a sailor. Not a soldier.

He’s slight, sharp-shouldered, glasses somehow still perched on his nose despite the scuffle. He’s got ink on his cuffs and an expression like he’s trying very hard not to breathe through his mouth. His jaw is clenched with the moral outrage of a man who just saw a library defiled.

“Captain,” Bones says dryly, nudging the prisoner forward with the butt of a pistol. “Says he’s a cartographer. Naval, but civilian. Won’t shut up about his qualifications.”

“I am a cartographer,” the man snaps, glaring sideways. “Royal Navy Contracted, Oxford-trained, and absolutely not a combatant.”

You crouch to his level. Tilt your head. He flinches when your coat brushes his knee.

“Tell me, Oxford, do you often chart your way into pirate fire?”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“You were on a Navy ship.”

“I was documenting longitude discrepancies in the Meridian approaches.”

“Ah.” You grin. “So you were being annoying.”

His lips twitch—tight with frustration. “I was being accurate.”

You reach for the keys at your belt, consider, then toss them to Bones without looking. “Put him in the brig. If he talks too much, gag him with one of Mira’s socks.”

Bones grimaces. Patrick sputters. You walk off before either of them can say more.

The next time you see him, he’s sitting stiff-backed in the brig, surrounded by men who smell like sweat, salt, and a complete lack of respect for the Queen’s English.

He corrects Mira’s grammar within three minutes.

By the fourth, he’s being used as a hat stand.

You crouch again, just outside the bars. He glares at you through his spectacles.

“I believe this is a violation of the conventions on treatment of civilian captives.”

You pick at a nail. “I believe you’re too mouthy for a hostage.”

“I’m only mouthy because I’m surrounded by people who can’t distinguish between ‘less’ and ‘fewer.’”

You blink. Slowly.

Then: “I like you.”

His jaw drops.

You stand, smiling. “You’re not worth a ransom, but I think you might be worth keeping.”

You find him in the navigation room the next morning, hair mussed from sleep—or a lack of it—lips pursed around some complaint you don’t let him finish.

You slap the rolled parchment onto the table between you.

“What’s this?” he asks warily.

“A mystery,” you say. “And a job.”

He adjusts his spectacles. You watch his fingers, delicate and ink-stained, as he unrolls the map.

His eyes narrow. “This is nonsense.”

“That’s not how you say thank you, Captain, for not throwing me to the sharks.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “There’s no such island. Not here. Not anywhere. These coordinates are impossible.”

You lean in, close enough to smell the starch still clinging to his collar. “Then explain why every man I’ve ever known who’s gone looking for it never came back.”

He looks up at you, visibly weighing your madness. “Correlation does not imply causation.”

“I’m not asking for causation, Professor. I’m asking for a course.”

He hesitates.

“I help you,” he says slowly, “and you don’t let Mira hang me off the mast by my britches again?”

You grin. “Deal.”

It takes less than a day for the crew to nickname him Professor.

It takes less than two for him to correct every single one of them at least once.

Niko, trying to explain a compass reading, gets a full two-minute lecture about magnetic deviation and hemispheric bias. Mira starts calling him “Fancy Charts.” Bones pretends to take notes just to mess with him.

You don’t stop them.

You enjoy it.

You enjoy him.

Watching him stumble across the deck like a newborn deer, watching his horror at the hammocks, watching him try to hold dignity in a shirt Mira dyed pink by accident.

He corners you on the fourth day, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Your crew is impossible.”

You smirk. “Aye, but they’re loyal.”

“Loyalty doesn’t make them grammatically sound.”

You grin wider. “That so?”

“I counted seventeen misuses of ‘ain’t’ in a single conversation.”

“I counted one man still breathing because he’s useful.”

He pales slightly, but squares his shoulders. You like that, too.

You step closer. “Say ‘ain’t’ one more time, Professor.”

He glares. “I refuse.”

You lower your voice. “Coward.”

“I prefer precision.”

Your breath brushes his cheek.

He doesn’t step back.

A week in, a storm brews.

Patrick warns you.

You ignore him.

It hits like God’s own temper tantrum, and the crew—bastards that they are—shove the two of you into the charting room and bar the door.

“Don’t come out,” Mira yells through the wood. “Not ‘til one of you admits something or murders the other.”

You pace.

He fidgets.

Rain drums the deck above. Lightning flashes against the parchment on the walls. You can hear Bones laughing outside like it’s a tavern brawl.

“I told you this would happen,” Patrick says.

“Yes, and I ignored you.”

“Well that’s encouraging.”

“I didn’t say it was a good decision.”

He scowls at the maps. “You could at least admit when you’re wrong.”

You cross your arms. “That would break the natural order of things.”

“You are infuriating.”

“You’re obsessed with commas.”

“They matter!”

“You don’t.”

It slips out sharper than intended. He flinches. You regret it instantly.

The silence that follows is heavy—heavier than the storm.

“I know I don’t,” he says finally, quietly. “Not out here.”

You stare at him.

He’s not looking at you. Just at the floor. At his own boots. Like they’ve betrayed him too.

You step forward. Touch his arm. He doesn’t pull away.

“You do,” you say. “You matter.”

He blinks. “Why?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Because you make good maps.”

His lips twitch. “That’s not very romantic.”

“I’m not very romantic.”

“You flirt by threatening to stab people.”

“And yet here you are.”

When the storm breaks, he’s still in your room.

He stays.

You don’t ask why.

You don’t have to.

Later, you catch him correcting Niko again—with patience. Mira nearly faints from shock.

Bones starts calling him our cartographer.

You don’t correct that, either.

You watch as Patrick begins to stand without swaying. As he stops flinching when Mira tosses him food. As he argues back with Bones. As he sharpens Niko’s compass without being asked.

You watch him become crew.

He still yells about grammar. But now, they laugh with him.

You think it’ll be the island that kills you.

It’s real.

Against all odds, it’s real.

Looming in the fog, full of cliffs and secrets and the kind of beauty that always spells disaster.

You send the rowboats out anyway.

You and Patrick walk the shore alone, maps in hand, pistols hidden beneath your coats.

You find ruins—ancient and strange and not on any chart.

He stares at them like a man seeing god.

You stare at him.

And when he says your name—not Captain, not you, but your actual name—you kiss him.

Hard.

Messy.

Desperate.

He kisses back like he’s trying to catalogue it.

You tangle fingers in his hair and forget how to be cruel.

You return to the ship in silence. The taste of him still lingers. But neither of you says what it means.

Days pass. You’re supposed to be focused. Charting, sailing.

Instead, you’re watching him.

He’s leaning over the map table, candlelight catching in his hair, the salt-wind curling his shirt at the edges. You were supposed to be talking about currents. Instead, you’re watching the way his throat moves when he swallows.

NSFW content past the divider

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You move behind him slowly. No warning. No sound. Just presence.

He stiffens when he feels your breath on the nape of his neck—but doesn’t step away.

Your fingers brush the curve of his waist.

He exhales. Not startled. Something worse. Something deeper.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, voice low and taut like a line pulled too tight.

“Do you?”

“You think if you get close enough, I’ll fall apart.”

You lean in—until your chest brushes his back, your hands splayed flat on the table on either side of his hips. He’s trapped, but not resisting.

“I don’t want you to fall apart,” you murmur. “I want you to come undone.”

He makes a sound—half breath, half break.

You don’t touch him yet. Not properly. Just the heat of your body behind him. The whisper of knuckles grazing fabric. His spine arches ever so slightly—like a compass needle tipping toward something it shouldn’t want.

You place a single hand on the small of his back. Lightly. Like blessing or blasphemy—you’re not sure which.

He shudders.

Your mouth finds the space just beneath his ear. “Still think I’m doing this to win?”

“I think,” he says, strained, “that you don’t know how not to.”

You drag your fingers along his side, slow and reverent. As if his skin is ink you’ll smudge if you go too fast.

His head drops forward. He breathes like he’s drowning and doesn’t want saving.

“I hate how you touch me,” he whispers.

“No you don’t.”

“No,” he agrees hoarsely. “No. I don’t.”

You turn him, finally—his breath shallow, pupils blown, every inch of him begging for more and too proud to say it. You kiss him like it’s a storm you’ll never survive. Like the only way to map the contours of his body is by tracing every inch with your palms, your mouth, your teeth.

He kisses you back like he’s memorizing coordinates he’ll never write down. Like he’ll never get another chance.

Your hands are in his shirt, his fingers twisted in your coat. There’s no gentleness left—just gravity. Just need.

When he gasps, you catch it with your tongue.

When he claws at your belt, you let him.

When he says your name like it’s both a curse and a confession—you swallow it whole.

His breath is shallow as you pin him between your body and the edge of the map table. The charts beneath his hands crinkle—carefully drawn lines smudged beneath shaking fingers.

“Say it,” you whisper.

He swallows, hard. “Say what?”

“That you want this.”

His eyes close, lashes trembling. “I’ve wanted this since you first threatened to throw me overboard.”

You smile. “Romantic.”

His reply is a gasp—your hand sliding beneath the waistband of his trousers, fingers skimming skin that’s too warm, too soft for someone so sharp. He shudders violently, breath hitching as you cup him through thin cotton, his body betraying him completely.

“You’re already this hard for me?” you murmur against his throat. “Pathetic.”

“You’re cruel,” he breathes, but he rocks into your palm like he wants more of it.

“You love it.”

You press your mouth to his collarbone, then lower—tongue tracing the bones of him like coastline. You unbutton his shirt slowly, lazily, like each layer is a secret you’re peeling away. He watches you with glassy eyes, skin flushed, trembling under your touch.

You bite at his ribs. Kiss his stomach. He twitches violently when your mouth brushes just above the line of his cock, still trapped in those proper naval trousers.

And then he begs.

“Please,” he whispers, voice raw and ragged.

You undo his trousers and push them down slowly. His cock springs free, flushed and leaking, and he groans like it hurts.

You wrap your hand around him and his hips buck helplessly. He grabs the edge of the table, knuckles white, charts slipping under his grip.

“You’re going to come just from this?” you whisper, amused.

“I’m going to come,” he chokes out, “from you.”

You lick a stripe along the underside of him, slow and indulgent, and he nearly folds in half. Your tongue circles the head, and when you take him into your mouth, his breath leaves him entirely. He makes a sound—utterly unguarded. Desperate.

You set the pace—slow, deliberate. Letting him feel every flick, every press, every inch of heat and pressure. His thighs are trembling. He reaches for your shoulder, unsure if he’s asking you to stop or stay.

You pull back, spit and pre-come glistening on your lips.

“You’re not coming yet,” you say.

“Why not—?”

You silence him with a kiss, dragging him toward the cot. You push him down and straddle him, skirts bunched around your hips. He stares up at you like you’re the sun—too bright, too close, too much.

You guide him inside you slowly, watching his eyes roll back, his hands flying to your hips like instinct.

You’re tight. Warm. Wet. And the way he fills you—perfectly, painfully—makes your breath catch. You sit fully down on him, grinding once, deep and slow. His hands tremble against your waist.

“I want you to watch me,” you tell him, rolling your hips again. “Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

He watches.

He watches like you’re myth. Like you’re map and monster all at once.

You ride him slow and hard, using him for every inch of tension he’s ever made you carry. Every argument. Every correction. Every moment you wanted him and hated that you did.

He’s saying your name now. Over and over.

“Please—Captain—please—”

You grab his wrists, pin them above his head. Lean down until your breasts brush his chest, your lips an inch from his.

“Do you want to come inside me, Patrick?”

He groans like the question hurts. “Yes—God, yes—”

You fuck him harder.

Until the table rattles. Until the candle flickers. Until the whole ship might as well be listening.

And when he comes, it’s with your name in his mouth and your body wrapped around him like a storm.

You follow seconds later, clenching around him, your voice in his ear like thunder.

You collapse beside him, both of you breathless and ruined.

And still—still—he has the audacity to whisper, “You misplaced a modifier back there.”

You bite his shoulder. He yelps.

You’re both smiling.

You lie tangled together in the humid dark, legs draped over maps neither of you are going to be able to use without remembering how your sweat soaked through the parchment.

He’s quiet.

Which is new. And suspicious.

You brush a curl from his forehead. His skin is damp, his breath finally slowing.

Then he says, “If we’re being honest…”

“Mmm?”

“That was… grammatically chaotic.”

You grin. “You want to revise my syntax, Professor?”

He hums. “I’d start with the way you incorrectly placed your—ah—emphasis.”

“Tell me where I misplaced it and I’ll pin you down again.”

He opens his mouth.

You straddle him before he can answer, press your hand to his chest, feel his heart lurch like a ship pulling from shore.

“Go on,” you say. “Be precise.”

“I was going to say—” His voice cracks as you roll your hips gently. “Gods, Captain…”

“I like it when you call me that,” you murmur. “Say it again and I’ll misplace something else.”

He groans.

You kiss his jaw.

And suddenly the teasing stills—just for a moment. You press your forehead to his. Let the silence stretch.

When you speak again, it’s quieter.

“You okay?”

He nods, mouth soft. “You?”

You nod back.

And neither of you say the word feelings, but it hangs between you anyway—unsaid, but not unacknowledged.

You lean in again, press your lips to the corner of his mouth.

“You’re mine now, compass.”

He looks dazed. “That a declaration?”

“That’s a threat.”

His smile curves slow and deep. “Then threaten me again tomorrow.”

[i-cant-sing]

when are you gonna update the concubine dabi fic that you made😚 you dont even have to write the nsfw i just need to see the drama between hawks an dabi

The DRAMA is in the nsfw 😔😔😔 but I'm working on making it less NSFW and still keep the drama.

Let me give u an example of one of the scenes I plan on writing for the concubine story-

Dabi is feeling a little jealous ever since you allowed that winged whore into your harem. Obviously, Keigo had piqued your interest, and Dabi didn't like that. He never liked it when your attention deviated from him.

He made his way to your chambers. It was routine, he always came by to help you... "relieve" your stress.

But as he went to knock on your door, the guards outside blocked his way.

Dabi gave them a quizzical look. What?

"You can't go in, concubine Dabi."

"Why the hell not?" Dabi asked, slighted that the guard had the nerve to stop him.

"The Sultana is engaged with someone."

"Who?" Dabi looked at the two of them. "I said, who is she talking to?" They kept their heads bowed, the guards weren't allowed to look at the sultanas harem, especially not her favourite concubine.

The sound of your laughter came from the room, and Dabi narrowed his eyes at them again.

"You don't get to keep things from me, because if you keep things from me, I start bringing things to light. How is your mistress these days? Still pregnant like your wife is?" Dabi threatened.

The guard sighed in defeat before whispering his name.

"Concubine Keigo is in there."

"Was he summoned by the sultana?" Dabi interrogated. The guard shook his head in negative.

"No. He just walked up to us and before we could stop him, he loudly knocked on the door. The sultana asked who was there and again, he announced himself very loudly. The Sultana let him in, and he's been in there for the past 2 hours."

2 hours? And without being summoned? What kind of fucking nerve he has to think he can just barge in there?

"Announce me." He nodded at tge guard, who didn't bother arguing because he knew he would be threatened again.

Very gently, the guard knocked. The room became silent.

"Pardon the interruption, Sultana. Concubine Dabi is here." The guard called from outside.

A few more moments of silence. Then footsteps.

They weren't yours. Dabi knows.

The door opened just enough for Keigo to poke his head outside. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes half lidded, and his rosy cheeks were gracing a lustful smile.

"Uh- Dabi! How are you?" Slighted at the moment for dropping his honorific, but more jealous than ever when he caught the glimpse of his shiny, bare chest. "The Sultana says that she'll meet you later. She's a... very busy at the moment, if you know what I mean." He winked as he wiped something off his lip before licking his thumb.

Dabi remained stoic before turning around and leaving. But he knew .... he knew Keigo could see the absolute rage and jealousy that was coursing through his body.

As he was returning to his Chambers, passing by the harem, he could feel the other concubines staring at him from above, giggling among themselves and whispering something about "a new favourite" being in town.

Dabi lifted his head up, throwing one murderous glance at them was enough to have them courtesying and running away with their tails tucked between their legs.

A new favourite?

Impossible.

[izzabela]

Hi there! Can you write about the female reader being adopted into the Lin Kuei family (similar to Tomas) and was raised along the Lin Kuei trio, Kuai Liang develops romantic feelings for the reader but doesn't know and understand those feelings until years later Kuai Liang overhears one of the earthrealm's champions trying to ask the reader on a date?

Set My Heart Ablaze - Kuai Liang x fem!reader

in which Kuai Liang finally understands the slight ache in his chest every time he sees you

a/n: i love the premise, but i'm tweaking it a bit since adopted siblings are a grey area

ship[s]: kuai liang x fem!reader

warning(s): story deviation?

i seriously would not mind being in between him and bi han

=====================

Before the first signs of his fire powers manifested, Kuai Liang always noted the odd feeling in his chest whenever he saw you.

First meeting as children, probably no more than five years old, Kuai Liang always felt that little beat in his chest. You and Kuai Liang became fast friends, practically inseparable as your childhood played out.

From doing little play-spars, to eating, napping, and playing, you two were always together doing something.

Kuai Liang remembers him telling Bi Han and his father about the "weird feeling" in his chest. His father told him it was him playing too hard, while Bi Han teased him for liking a girl. Heck, even Harumi, when she was able to visit, would always ask him about his "new friend".

Of course, when Tomas was adopted, you and Kuai Liang integrated him to create the trio of mischief. At that time, he wasn't fluent in the language, but Kuai Liang mentally sighed as he realized even he looked between you and him like he liked you.

As you and Kuai Liang grew up, you two grew closer. From little kids who'd chase each other around one another's homes, you guys had become teenagers who would train with one another. More changes came along with the passage of time: his powers had come to him, your own magic came as well, learning the ways of both your clans, more responsibilities, training.

Not to mention puberty.

Though both of you still rather young, it was clear to Kuai Liang that you were going to flourish into something beautiful. Your body was experiencing changes, like how you grew taller. Your eyes began to sparkle a little more, and the air around you seemed... softer.

Over all, you just grew more pretty in Kuai Liang's eyes, and that same feeling in his chest kept clawing at him.

To keep himself focused, he came to the conclusion that this feeling was a side effect to his pyro powers. In order to master them, he needed to truly focus- and that meant isolation until he could get it right. As he honed his powers during that time, Kuai Liang noted that the thumping went away. Maybe he got it right, until you sent him a letter.

The rhythmic feeling came back, this time doubled its speed. He had to get it checked by the mages in the palace, but they concluded no magic resided in the ink or parchment. It was strange, and it kept Kuai Liang's mind muddled with thoughts and what-ifs. When he confided to his family about it, it was a mixed bag of reactions.

"Your magic is reactive, so cease any feelings not related to mastering your magic," Bi Han scolded him. Tomas was a bit kinder, though.

"Perhaps you need rest, your magic is a lot harder to control."

That was but many years ago. Now, here you were, with him and his brothers watching you spar Raiden as part of a joint training session pushed by Lord Liu Kang. In the many centuries he had been doing this, he had called upon your clan to role-play Empress Sindel's daughters in spars.

This time would be no different.

Kuai Liang watched as you held deadly metal fans in your hands. You stood against Kung Lao, who also bore a deadly weapon as part of everyday use. He watched as you circled one another, before Kung Lao practically pounced at you.

You moved like water, fluid as you dodged everything he threw at you. You were practically dancing as you parried his attacks, blocked, or threw your own arms and legs at him. He was lost in a trance at you impeccable skills, awed by your talent, and stumped by your undeniable beauty as you downed the farm boy.

Kung Lao was flat on his back on the ground. His head was pinned between the dagger-fans, and his hat was in your hands and against his neck. No, you weren't cutting him, simply cornering him until he conceded- which he finally did after a groan and a hefty sigh.

Kuai Liang's chest had been going at it all day, but the sight of you helping Kung Lao up with the same face you always gave him made his chest squeeze tighter than ever. He tried to keep the knotting feeling at bay, but it was too much for him. So much for fire magic mastery.

His hand is on Bi Han's shoulder, gripping it tightly as he doubles over and begins to heave for air. It's constricting, like someone keeping him in a chokehold in the air. It's so bad that everyone begins to look over at them, including you.

"Are you alright, brother?" He asks with a hint of worry in his gravely voice.

Kuai Liang shakes his head, "I am fine, just the magic." Bi Han is skeptical, but he accepts it.

Tomas's anxiety is more evident in his voice. "Are you ill? Do you need to head to the infirmary?"

Kuai Liang tries to answer again, but his eyes accidentally catch the concern in yours. You approach him slowly, like one does a frightened animal, but he just turns away and leans on Tomas to take him up on his offer.

"Brother, we are taking our leave," Tomas announces. You're shocked at how quickly Kuai Liang rejects you, but you bow to them in respect as you watch Tomas carry a limping Kuai Liang with a worried Bi Han trailing behind them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kuai Liang wakes up to a mixture of hushed whispers from within and outside the infirmary. He blinks the blurriness from his eyes, and he sits up to be met with his brothers at the bedside.

"Agh," he groans, holding his head. Bi Han just tuts his tongue, getting up from his seat to get some stuff. Tomas smiles in relief, sighing as he gets closer.

"Oh thank goodness you're awake!" he says happily. "You crashed right before we entered the infirmary, and you began to overheat to the point I almost burned."

Kuai liang chuckles nervously. "Apologies, brother. Are you alright?" Tomas just nods, and Bi Han comes in with his own words.

"If it weren't for me, Tomas would have been on a bed as well." Bi Han sits back down on the bedside chair, dipping the rag in cold water and slapping it (yes, slapping it) on Kuai Liang's forehead. He sighs at the coolness, sinking back into bed once more.

He's relaxed, sitting in the comfortable silence of his brothers, but he picks up on a couple of voices outside the infirmary. There's a window right above his bed, and it's cracked just enough for him to hear the conversation outside.

It seems Tomas and Bi Han notice his behavior as well, vigilantly watching Kuai Liang's expressions as the wind carries the voices.

"Not everyone who smiles at you is in love, Johnny," a semi-deep voice scolds. "Besides, when will we possibly have free time for you to take her anywhere?"

Kuai Liang's eyebrows go up ever so slightly, but he keeps his breathing steady to make sure his chest doesn't beat him into a stupor.

"Come on, Ken doll," Johnny says, "We could just eat privately from everyone else during lunch! All I gotta do is ask."

Kuai Liang is nervous, especially since he thinks he knows where the conversation is going, but he doesn't want any emotions to take over until he gets the bigger picture.

He hears your name coming from a youthfully arrogant voice, and that's when everything becomes clear.

"She is too good for you," Kung Lao interjects. "If she is anything like a clan leader, she will reject you on the spot."

Johnny scoffs, "That's why we call it 'shooting your shot', but you wouldn't know since I'm the one who'll do it first, Razor-rang."

Kuai Liang shuts the window with a harsh thud, but it doesn't filter out the fight between Kung Lao and Johnny over you. He closes his eyes and tries to control his breathing that gets more haggard every second. One hand over his heart and another on his head, he's hyperventilating as the thudding in his chest grows more and more incessant.

"B-Brother?" Tomas stutters as he removes the blankets over him, "Kuai Liang, talk to us!"

Bi Han's palms are immediately hovering over his body, emitting a bit of frost and snow to try and cool him down. There's a burning smell that comes from Kuai Liang, and the sweat coming from his body only adding more fuel to the fire (haha punny).

It isn't until Bi Han literally freezes a part of Kuai Liang's arm that he snaps out of his fiery episode.

"Kuai Liang! What in the realms!" Bi Han scolds as he sits his brother up against some stacked pillows. The heat from Kuai Liang's body is melting his arm, but it doesn't stop his thoughts.

Ask her out? Kuai Liang thinks. Again, that stupid thumping racks his ribs at the thought of of you out on a date with one of them- especially Johnny.

His mind plays visions of you laughing at something the actor says, the sound of your laughter not his anymore. It flashes to your smile, but it isn't directed at him.

As Kuai Liang steadies his breathing, Bi Han is the first to piece everything together.

"Is it her?" Bi Han asks as your name slips from his mouth.

Bi Han is frustrated when Kuai Liang shakes his head and plays an excuse.

"As stated before, jus' my magic," his voice slurred just a bit.

Bi Han just groans again, and it is Tomas who tries to egg him on, playing off Bi Han's idea.

"I did hear that she'll be going on a date soon. Raiden did mention to me that Kung Lao would be planning to ask her out..."

Tomas hit the sweet spot with that one. Kuai Liang's chest squeezes once more, and he takes deep breaths to try and alleviate his heart burn.

Bi Han and Tomas have never had a moment like this before. Their usually level-headed brother, one with perfect battle plans and proper thinking, was lost and disheveled at the mere mention of your name.

Scratch that, not even mention. The sight of you, the smell of you, the look of you. He had been felled by love, a double-edged sword if not properly handled.

And right now, the sword was cutting him deep.

"You are... in love with her?" Bi Han asks carefully.

At this declaration, all of Kuai Liang's memories of you and him come flooding in like a tidal wave. Strong, powerful, and overwhelming, it ironically soothed the pain he had in his chest. Dulling it completely until he felt a new rhythm in it.

His heart boomed with a quick, but not suffocating, rhythm at the thought of you. His eyes were soft, his breathing stable, and he sunk into the comfort of his pillows as he stared into the ceiling.

"Oh," is all he manages to say.

Tomas wears the shock all over his face, while Bi Han stares with a singular raised brow. They turn to one another before looking back at Kuai Liang.

Was that all it took for him to finally piece together his own feelings?

As Bi Han and Tomas are busy cleaning up, they hear a knock on the door. Kuai Liang is silent as he hears your soft voice speak to his kin.

"I brought food for him," you say in a hushed voice. "Knowing him, he must be starved."

He sits up again and meets your eyes. Shining like stars, you smile brightly as you sat down next to his thighs on the edge of the bed. In between you two are rice balls and steamed buns, and in a bakers dozen. Thirteen each food, all for you two to share.

"How are you?" You ask him as you took a bite of the steamed bun. "You looked so... nervous earlier. Are you alright?"

Kuai Liang nods dumbly as his body is on autopilot. He begins to eat a rice ball robotically, and Bi Han rubs his temple in disappointment.

"U-uh, we'll be taking our leave!" Tomas announces as he bows. He takes his brother's wrist and walks out, leaving you a little sad as you wanted to share the food.

"Poo..." you huff. "More for us!"

It's quiet between you two, but it isn't awkward. The beating in Kuai Liang's chest, you both keep eating away at the food until he takes a break to inform you of some interesting news.

"Kung Lao seems to have an eye for you," he says. "The actor as well. He plans to ask you to a private dinner."

Your eyes are wide at first, then you break down into hysterical laughter. Kuai Liang smiles nervously, but you just keep going in your fit of amusement.

"Funny you are, Kuai Liang. I mean, where did you hear that?" As you wipe your eyes from the tears of joy, you're met with the confident stare of Kuai Liang's eyes. Still, you are innocent to how he actually feels, and you continue to provoke him with your thoughts.

"Perhaps I will accept just because. Perhaps someone will win a bet with my boldness." Kuai Liang huffs at you with a glare, and you're shocked to say the least.

"I only jest, my friend." You go back to eating your food, and the ambience is awkward.

Kuai Liang, without thought or warning, slams his food down and moves closer to you. Shuffling out of his seat, he sits right next to you, and he takes your hand to place it over his heart. You gasp at how warm he is, despite the many layers that are between him and his body. You're very close to him, smelling the natural scent of burned lumber on his body as he tilts your chin up.

"Kuai... what is this?" you ask quietly, almost breathlessly, as you focus in on that rhythm in his chest. His heart, racing and pulsating, moves even faster at your tender touch. Kuai Liang responds just as softly.

"Do you feel this?" he asks you. "Do you feel what you do to me?" he's motioning you to the feeling in his chest. Dumbly, you nod, unable to focus as all the fine details of the assassin are right in front of you.

His deep brown eyes stare at you deeply, and you can see the little scars and scabs from years of battle. His brows, usually in one position, are softened and relaxed. And dear oh dear, his lips are thick and full, kissable- wait, did you really think about that?

"Your heart beats," you answer the obvious. "But... why is that an issue? Is it your magic?"

He shakes his head, "I guess, one could say it is magic. However, it is all you. Your smile, your laughter, presence, everything has a magic bind over me."

If you were shocked before, you'd probably have a heart attack by now. This was a hearty confession, one he had kept for years, and you'd also be lying if you said you didn't have a crush on him as well.

"So then... it isn't your magic?" you tease him, patting his chest lightly. He chuckles and moves his hand from under your chin to your cheek.

"You set my heart ablaze, my dear." Your own heart probably exploded right about now. It doesn't stop you as you move your other free hand to his cheek, pulling his face closer to yours as you give him the confirmation he had been looking for.

The healing spell to his chest problems, if you will.

"Give it to me, your heart," you whisper confidently. "I'll keep the flame alive for as long as I live."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

bonus scene:

Tomas smelled something funny when he went to check on Kuai Liang after he and Bi Han left.

As a hunter, he developed a great sense of smell, and he was very useful to his family before the accident. He could smell when it was going to rain, whether threats lurked, or if there was game near by. He could also smell the scents of people.

As he, Bi Han, you, and Kuai Liang stood side by side, outside watching the champions train in a 2v2 match, the wind carried a scent he never thought he would smell in his lifetime.

By the elder gods, you two had sex when he left.

He keeps a brave face on, using his hand to over his nose and mouth to seem like he was in deep thought, but his nose couldn't lie. The pheromones of his brother's natural smell and yours were mixed in the air, and it was suffocating as the stench was stronger than any screen of smoke he had released.

"Does anyone smell that?" he asks to test the waters, but you and his brothers shake your heads.

There were times he wanted his untrained nose back- this was one of them.

He sighs as he keeps up the façade.

I think I might meet my end here, he thinks.

=====================

why was kuai liang hard to write for LOLOL

no yapping today, still trying to finish my requests

see y'all in the next fic!