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aweina · 7 months

Note

Could I request the reverse of your ‘when you catch them staring’ headcannons? And with a lot of teasing from the reader too?

୨୧. heart eyes — mortal kombat one. kameos : sub-zero. scorpion. smoke + johnny cage & raiden

when you catch them staring at you.

bi-han tries to make his staring unnoticeable. with his silver mask blocking away any emotions that he could display, his eyes have become naturally expressive over time. they gleam whenever you pass by him, a foreign softness to them. the permanent scowl is less intense when he takes a moment to memorize details of your face. your eyes captivated him the most — a whirl of emotions so deep set into your irises. he could stare at them for hours on end.

it’s when you asked bi-han to revise tomorrow’s training module, his staring is much more obvious in such a closer proximity. his dull brown eyes look restful, more hazy with warmth that contrasted his deadly cold nature — yet he still looks terrifying, but it could never be helped when it came bi-han, it was his resting face. when you quickly look up for a reply, he realizes all too late that he’s caught, yet his stubbornness tells him not to falter under your gaze as he mentally cursing at himself for his blatant act of staring.

“are you angry at me or is there something on my face?” you quirked an amused brow with a smile, tilting your head cutely.

bi-han just grunted in response, snatching the scroll off your hands and raising it against his face to avoid your teasing gaze — thankful his mask hid his redden cheeks. the grandmaster would have to die of old age before he admits that he admires you from afar. but for now he’ll deal with your relentless teasing.

kuai liang loves to admire beauty whenever he encounters it. the vibrant, pink blossoms grown in wu shi academy always made him smile. the fresh greenery and exotic plants that he cared for always brightened his day. but all those things were incomparable to your beauty and intellect. he loves to watch you fight — even looking past the sweat and messy hair after intense training. he watches you with adoration when you converse with the younger trainees — resilient and beautiful — he thinks.

you tended to him after he comes back from a mission, offering herbal tea and a scenery of his garden under the moonlight. you converse with him, although it’s one sided. kuai liang stares at your lips, soft and pretty — curling into a sweet smile. you notice that his soften eyes were directed on your lips. a rush of heat flowed through your body, how long had he done this for?

“what is so interesting about my lips kuai liang?” you muster the courage to ask, mentally thanking madam bo for gifting you tinted lip balm.

his reaction seemed halted before he realizes he was indeed caught. he chuckled nervously as he propped himself up to turn towards the luminance of the moon. kuai liang was flustered, but when he felt your balmy lips on his cheek, all the shame in his body vanished.

tomas isn’t subtle. at all. he’s very much aware of that, even his brothers and the young trainees tease him for being so smitten at plain sight. even so, he still cannot help but continue to stare at you with a loving daze — nervously fiddling his fingers behind his back. through his daily admiring, tomas came to the conclusion that he loved everything about you. his eyes tend to dart to your bright eyes, soft lips, pretty hair, and silky skin.

when you’re accompanying him with his training, cheering and playfully applauding at the younger ninjas dueling in an tense battle. the action playing before tomas was lost in time. it was blurry, silent, unmoving but all he could see is you — manipulating this time stop in his mind with your raw radiance. then his eyes widen when you met his gaze and suddenly he’s panicking. with trained speed, he’s now looking down at his feet, whistling a broken tune.

“this is the third time i’ve caught you staring, you know that right?” you mused, uncontrollably giggling when tomas nods in flustered acknowledgment.

tomas looks up from his feet and sighs in defeat. even caught another time, he’ll still take the opportunity to look at the scene before him — your cheerful grin and gleaming eyes. if his staring problem can make you this happy, he doesn’t see why he should ever stop.

johnny cage is a shameless man. he loves to flirt and proudly embrace his failed attempts at flirting. eye contact is key, he believes. a very effective technique to swoon others and an act of intimacy without touching. johnny loves to stare at you, in hopes of meeting your eye and share a perfectly cliche romantic movie experience. but with your oblivious nature, he hasn’t been successful just yet. although he learned that he loved your smile — instead of his usual attraction to anything below the face.

mindlessly wondering around the fire temple, johnny finds you sitting on the stairs while reading a rather thick looking book. he immediately joins your side, flashing a white smile as he enthusiastically boast about his acting career. even if your eyes aren’t on him, to much to his disappointment, you acknowledged every word and responded in interest. then he gradually stops talking until he’s mute and you grow concerned.

“johnny, did you fall asleep?” your brows furrowed as you turned to him, his head resting on his knee.

with his frosty blue lens, you couldn’t tell if he’s awake or asleep. slowly, you took the frames off his face and flinch in shock. his eyes were wide open, staring at yours with unfamiliar intensity for a moment. then you smile and turn away flustered. finally! he made eye contact and was rewarded with your beautiful smile. johnny’s hollywood charm works … most of the time.

raiden is clueless when it comes to his staring problem. he doesn’t mean to stare half the time, it was a force of habit — automatic admiration. you were simply bewitching, even in simple attire that was paired with a stained apron. his eyes are big and soft when he looks at you, even so when he talks about you. it could take kung lao screaming in his ear for raiden to snap out of his enchanted state. he promises himself to be more subtle, and so he did.

you’re pacing around the tea house, serving refreshments with impressive finesse while warmly conversing with the local villagers. under his straw hat, raiden watches you intently — noticing the loose stands fall on your face as it tickles your neck. your soft hair frames your face perfectly, dancing through the air like silk in the wind — one of your most beautiful features. under a smitten daze, he doesn’t notice how your body is much closer and how your voice was much clearer, soothing his ears.

“it’s okay to call me over for a chat raiden, i don’t bite.” you jested as you tilted his hat back with a finger, meeting his eager gaze.

he’s blushing now, beet red. a nervous laugh escaped his lips as his eyes averted to the side — caught in the act. you only adoringly smile at him, leaving the check on his table as you tend to another customer. another friendly interaction, raiden thinks. but when he looks at the check, a small heart and the time you’re off work was written on the parchment. his cheeks suddenly hurt from smiling too hard, he couldn’t wait. but for now, he’ll kill time by watching you from afar.

#.୨୧ ina writes #smoke x reader #subzero x reader #scorpion x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #kuai liang x reader #bi han x reader #johnny cage x reader #raiden x reader #mk1 x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mk x reader

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crimsonbubble · 6 months

Text

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, oral, overstimulation, sex toys, face sitting, mentions of squirting, inappropriate use of sento/powers, temperature play *not proofread, just pure horny

[the horny got to me,, can you also tell who my favs are🛐🛐🛐]

kinktober masterlist

MINORS DNI!!

Johnny is a clit kisser. A pussy eating menace. You will not be able to push him away from you. He’ll happily drown himself in you if you let him. An avid enjoyer of face sitting. He has a nice nose, so you can sit on it if you want to. His face and lap are your personal thrones, sit where you want. He'd have a full-blown make-out session with your pussy, it's insane. But seriously he lives to eat you out. Always makes you cum at least twice with his mouth and fingers. Also loves to press a bullet vibrator to your clit while he tongue fucks you. And everyone's a squirter if you try hard enough.

Kenshi seems like one to be impartial to giving or receiving oral. If you offer him head, he'll happily let you blow him. If you want head, he'll kneel before you. Anyway, this is about you. I'd say he wants eye contact but given his current situation, I'll refrain from it. Has used Sento's ancestral guidance to aid him tho. As long as he can feel your eyes on him, then he'll give you the most toe-curling head. Once fucked you with the handle of Sento while his mouth worked on your clit. He doesn't want to admit how much he liked to use the ancestral sword on you.

Bi-Han makes great use of his powers. Pressing a cold tongue against your clit, sucking the nub into his mouth. Cold hands are pinning your hips down to the bed when you attempt to squirm away from him. Grinding the pad of his thumb into your clit while he fucks you open on his tongue. Can't help but laugh as you struggle against him.

Kuai Liang struggles to maintain his composure as he lapped at your slit. His restraint is wavering as you writhe and twitch under his ministrations. His body is radiating more heat than needed, leaving you sweaty and out of breath. His hands feel like they're going to burn you, the pain coming off in waves. Kuai would press a hand flat against your stomach, keeping your hips on the bed while his other hand held your thigh up. He'll leave nail marks on your skin before he dares to use his powers on you but sometimes he loses himself in you a little too quickly.

Tomas wants you to sit on his face more than anything. Don’t worry about if he can breathe, just sit on his face. He gets really handsy. Like he’s moving from your thighs to your hips, to your waist, to your ass and up to your chest. Loves to grab any and every part of you because he loves how you shudder and squirm under his touch.

Syzoth has an interesting tongue. Thin and forked, perfect to wrap around your sweet clit and flick over the sensitive bud as he pulls orgasms out of you. If you really want it, let him fuck you with his tongue. He'll hit every sweet spot that he can while grinding his nose into your clit. Savors the taste of you on his tongue for as long as you'll let him. He'll lick, suck and bite your thighs as he does so.

Raiden is pretty straightforward but that doesn’t mean that he doesn't like to spark things up a little. Toys with your clit using his thumb and sends you little shocks here and there. While Johnny is a teasing and arrogant clit kisser, Raiden is a kinder and more loving clit kisser. Holds you down by your hips or by pressing his hands flat against your stomach. Enjoys eye contact so he can see how your face contorts in pleasure.

Lui Kang is much stronger than you, so it’s easy for him to take over once you start getting tired. So when the speed of your grinds against his tongue slows down, he immediately takes hold of your hips and moves you himself. He devotes all his time to focusing on your pleasure, he wants to see you lose yourself before he even considers giving himself some relief.

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qdbs-writes · 10 months

Note

You don't have to if you're uncomfortable: but would you do Lao, Liu, Johnny and Takeda having to work with a very attractive MILF who calls them "pretty boy" and such?

MK Lads Get Called "Pretty Boy" By A Hot MILF

Johnny Cage

Now Johnny knows he's good-looking, his decade-spanning career in front of a camera is testament to that. But it's still rare for someone so beautiful to be so bold with calling him "pretty boy".

"Hope you know I'm more than just a pretty face, ma'am" he'll wink in return, while he leans in to match her proximity. "Is that so?" she chuckles, "Well, I hope to get a fill of some of your skills tonight" manicured hands raking across his sculpted chest. "Oh, fuck yes." he gasps while her palm presses into his nipple, the night would be fun.

Kung Lao

Kung Lao lives under the generally erroneous judgement that he's 'top dog' so to speak in any situation. Naturally, when someone like him is reminded that this is not the case, it's... strange, but in this case, in a very pleasant way.

Lao will take being called a "pretty boy" as a fun challenge. "Really? How about I show you just how much of a man I am?" he laughs. She purrs with satisfaction, "Oh I would love to see you try". Lao dives in to kiss her; determined to prove himself.

Liu Kang

Naturally, being the chosen one is a lot of pressure, and Kang is diligent with himself about not letting any of that crushing responsibility or prestige to get to his head, he's still human after all.

But getting called "pretty boy" is enough to make him choke on his drink. "Excuse me?" he coughs, "Was just saying you seemed tense, pretty boy" she hums. "I suppose I have been" he exhales, she steps closer, pulling soft knuckles to stroke his cheek so intimately that he whimpers. "I could take care of you if you like?" she whispers. Pupils blown and chest heaving, he looks at her, and without words, she knows his answer.

Takeda Takahashi

With the amount of mommy AND daddy issues swimming around in Takeda's head, calling him a "pretty boy" would have him ready to drop to his knees and start barking if you so wished.

He may also entirely miss what was said if a particularly voluptuous pair of breasts are involved, being far too distracted to meet your gaze. In this case, please feel free to grab him by the chin and pull him in close while you repeat yourself. "'Pretty boy', huh? You're not so bad yourself" he smirks. Nose to nose with a beautiful woman, Takeda can't think of a better place to be.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat headcanons #mortal kombat imagines #mortal kombat x reader #mk x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #kung lao #kung lao x reader #liu kang #liu kang x reader #takeda takahashi #takeda takahashi x reader #qdbs writing #queuedbs

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shangsclaws · 7 months

Text

Romantic Intro Dialogues

with Shang Tsung, Syzoth, and Reiko

don’t be fooled y’all i am still very much in writer’s hibernation lol. besides that tho, THANK YOU FOR 960 FOLLOWERS?! u guys r crazy. and i like crazy

tw: suggestive

Shang Tsung: Of all the things you’ve pitted against me in this timeline, you were generous to give me y/n.

Liu Kang: Be thankful only for the disarray. You two should not have met.

Johnny: I call bullshit. There’s no way anyone found you boyfriend material.

Shang Tsung: Well if you’re such a charming actor, care to tell me why your wife left?

Syzoth: Y/n?! So all those groans coming from your testing chambers were-

Shang Tsung: None of your business.

Reiko: Y/n has distracted you from the general’s orders.

Shang Tsung: Have you ever been in love with more than just your duties, little boy?

Y/N: If I win tonight, you shapeshift into whoever I please.

Shang Tsung: And if I win, I get to test my newest set of claws.

Shang Tsung: Either way y/n will have you, you’ll always be a freak.

Syzoth: Who’s to say they don’t enjoy freaks?

Johnny: So uh…what happens in bed? Skin or scale?

Syzoth: May you never know the answer to that.

Kung Lao: I still haven't recovered from what we saw in those dungeons, Syzoth.

Syzoth: Y/n has been kind enough to hear my burdens.

Syzoth: How did your court discover my relations with y/n that quickly?!

Mileena: They have their ways, Syzoth. I know this far too well.

Y/n: You used to do shows with Shang Tsung, is that right?

Syzoth: Win this fight, and I can do more than answer that question.

Shao: Of all the things we’ve won in war, I'm surprised a partner is what now satisfies you.

Reiko: To the victor go the spoils, general.

Bi Han: A true warrior would have no time for pointless relations. You’ve gone soft.

Reiko: You’re a fool to think they don’t invigorate me.

Shang Tsung: If it makes you feel any better, I don't think the general heard you sparring with y/n last night.

Reiko: Say another word and I’ll slit your throat.

Johnny: So the tough guy’s got heart eyes? I bet you’re a huge softie.

Reiko: All earthrealmers speak utter nonsense...

Y/N: Don't lie to Johnny — you’re softer than you think, Reiko.

Reiko, lowly: Have you forgotten the marks I've made on you?

masterlist

#i take great pleasure in writing shang tsung like a little bitch #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mk #mk1 #shang tsung #shang tsung x reader #syzoth #syzoth x reader #reptile #reptile x reader #reiko #reiko x reader #x reader #imagines

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azul-marie · 7 months

Text

— a touching of souls.

their kisses with you. fem. reader. suggestive. feat. bi-han, kuai, tomas, syzoth.

bi-han —

steady and sure, grabbing at your waist, wrapping a hand around your throat to keep you still as he indulges himself in your lips. although he is not the most affectionate man, bi-han has an exceptional fondness for kisses. perhaps it’s the breathless sounds you make, or the soft gasps in between his tongue — perhaps it is simply that he prefers you at his mercy, a pretty little thing caged beneath or within strong arms. typically at night, when the moon is high and all is silent, he allows himself to calm, to open before you and allow you to initiate. bi-han tends to lose himself in these moments all too easily, an annoyance at his expense. most times, without even trying, simple kisses from you lead to sleepless nights and sore bodies.

kuai liang —

ardent, unrestrained, grasping at hips and breasts and hair, unable to keep what little space remains between the two of you from heating up — figuratively, literally. his lin kuei ways may have taught him restraint, focus, but kuai’s hotheaded tendencies always get the best of him when it comes to you, only for you. his kisses trail like fire all across your body, his teeth leaving scorches in their wake, a tongue like that of flames licking at tender flesh until you melt like caramel in his hands. kuai is unrelentingly keen on smothering you with every bit of adoration he has; his lips alone are more than capable of proving it. you are a goddess worthy of worship, and he a devotee all too willing to bow down and serve, evermore shall his love burn for you.

tomas —

soft like daytime mist, cupping apples of cheeks, the tremble of fingers when his lips touch yours. he has little experience with romancing women, much less the gift of their kisses; you are his beginning, his end. it is precisely why tomas pecks, rather than lose himself to your lips, for a bashful nature keeps what eager will he has in check. his boyish charm only adds to the endearment, and often he finds you to be the one most content in initiating them. it’s a strange comfort, that you still pursue him despite his meeker approach to affection and love. assuring him that he is wanted sends his self-confidence soaring, and gradually does he ease into the idea of receiving and giving kisses on a more constant basis — privately, of course.

syzoth —

quick and light, flurries of kisses, all about your pretty face, your petalsoft lips, sometimes at those sensitive sweet spots across your décolletage if he’s feeling cheekier than usual. syzoth, fairly new to the concept of kissing with warm, wet mouths, tongue and teeth and all, hadn’t expected warm-blood affection to be so pleasant. he is cautious of physicality, having grown to live without its softer aspects for years prior to you, but kisses are easy, innocent enough to practice. you have made it this way for him, precious as you are. he kisses you hello, goodbye, as luck before either one of you leaves for calling duties, and simply when he feels like it, even if friends are around to witness and tease. he doesn’t mind them, as long as you don’t.

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glorysbox · 7 months

Text

bihan x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 1.1k

warnings: explicitly 18+, bihan is mean, slight mention of power imbalance, slightly possessive bihan, coming inside, brief breeding mention at the end

Your Grandmaster is stressed.

It’s evident in the way his hips snap into your own, his cock buried in the warmth of your sex. Evident in the way he has little regard for your feelings or your own pleasure—clearly displayed in the cruel way he fucks into you and the punishingly cold grip that he has on your body. It stings—the icy feeling of his fingertips dug into the flesh of your hips.

“You belong under me,” his voice is low and even, nearly drowned out by the obscenely wet sounds that have you clenching tightly around him. “Be glad that you have this opportunity.”

You don’t respond. It’s not like you can, anyway—your face is buried into the mat of the floor, lips bitten as you desperately try to prevent any moans that Bi-han forces out of you. Your wetness pools around the base of his cock, sticky strings breaking with each pull out of you and reforming with each brutal push inside of you. It dribbles down, down your thighs, staining the mat under the both of you. Messy enough to be clinging to his balls and painting his thighs. Had you not been turned away from him—face down and ass up—you’d be able to notice the way he’s struggling to hold back the noises that threaten to escape his throat. You’d be able to see the way he bites his lip; see the way that his eyebrows are so tightly drawn together and see the way his cheeks are painted a rosy shade of pink. There’s a reason why he only fucks you from behind.

You are glad, though. It’s beyond you why Bi-han has taken such a liking to specifically you—despite being Lin Kuei, you perform significantly worse than your peers and struggle to keep up with the intensive training that you’re all forced to endure every day. It’s clear that he only keeps you around for one reason. Stress relief.

There’s a part of him that secretly relishes in the way you’re so much weaker than he is.

Bi-han doesn’t ever touch you. Doesn’t truly ever lay claim to your body through possessive touches as much as you secretly would like—but you don’t complain. You never complain. The fact that your Grandmaster comes to you of all people to relieve his stress is enough—and you do your best to help him. You really do. It’s not shown on his face, evident in his words or displayed in his actions, but Bi-han does truly enjoy how easily you bend to his will. He finds himself reveling in how easily controlled you are—and you don’t mind. You never do. It’s okay for him to use you… he is your Grandmaster, after all.

Cold fingers snake their way up your body, resting on your back—dipping in the center to push you further towards the ground. You shudder. Bi-han, for once, decides to not be (so) rough with you. This time, he won’t bury your face into the mat and grip your hair and force you to take the brutal pace of his cock until you’re cumming all over him. He’s in a good mood today.

Bi-han takes advantage of the way he’s forced you to arch under him, his cock drilling into you faster and a tad bit harder than before—the loud noises of your arousal probably audible to anyone who’d walk by the room. You can’t help but whine at this. It’s unintentional. Something that you can’t hold back… usually, you’re better at keeping yourself quiet. Bi-han likes it when you’re quiet. That’s what you thought, at least.

“Who’s your Grandmaster?” Bi-han’s hand grips your hair, pulling you back and forcing your neck to crane. He’s not feeling so benevolent anymore. His pace increases, his cock pumping inside of you harshly enough to the point where you can’t help but moan. He makes an effort to tilt his hips ever so slightly—the blunt tip of his cock rubbing alongside the spots he knows makes you cream around him. For someone that claims to only care for his own pleasure… he knows your body very, very well. Your walls flutter and clench around his cock, hands clawing at the mat below you as his grip in your hair tightens. His tone is gravelly—low—and you find a strong feeling of need throbbing in your lower body at the sound of his voice. “Say it. Don’t disappoint me.”

You could never dream of it.

“B—Bi-han…” Your voice comes out as a long, drawn out whine. You’re usually more mindful of your volume—but the feeling of him pressing into you like this, so relentlessly—you can’t help it. Hands gripping the mat to steady yourself, there’s nothing to stop the sounds that you make from escaping. You try to bite your lip—but he just presses deeper into you. Making you whine more. Your body trembles under him—legs shaking—as he draws back to plunge further into you especially roughly.

Bi-han is starting to find that he doesn’t mind listening to the sound of you moaning under him like this.

“You belong to me,” he reiterates, his hand moving from your hair towards the junction of your legs. Cool fingertips make their way towards the bud in between your legs—two of his fingers rubbing your clit in soft circles, a stark contrast to the punishing pace that he’s set for you. “No other man can have you like this. Say it.”

“Y—yours,” your words come out in babbles, barely intelligible as you struggle—squirming and writhing under him as he toys with your clit and drills inside of you. “Yours—I’m—”

The feeling is too much. His cold fingers ghosting along your clit—the other hand gripping your hips harshly enough to leave bruises. It doesn’t take a long time for your squirming to become borderline uncontrollable; matching the way your walls flutter and tighten around him like a vice and matching the way your cream and arousal stain his cock. Bi-han fucks you through it. He always does—more focused on finishing himself than having any regard for you—his hips stuttering at the feeling of you creaming around him and his grip on your hip tightening even more.

He stuffs his cock inside of you, burying himself to the hilt—leaving no space between the both of you. You can feel his seed leaking inside of you—it’s warm, and hot, and unfamiliar.

“You’ll give me a son.” He tells you, voice akin to a demand as his grip on your hips keeps you in place.

Who are you to deny your Grandmaster?

#there arent enough mk fics i intend to deliver.#syzoth next #mk #mortal kombat smut #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mk bihan #bihan smut #bi han x reader #bi han smut #mk1 #mk1 smut #mortal kombat 1 smut #nsydfw #writing

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sarahghetti · 2 months

Text

moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?��

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing #mk bingo 2024

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iliketangerines · 2 months

Note

Bi-Han can and WILL put you in a headlock during sex. Specifically so he can growl degrading remarks into your ear through labored breaths.

you have me in a chokehold

a/n: i gotchu cutie, and anon, you are so right. i can't stop thinking about it now

pairing: dom!bi han x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), choking kink, pussy eating, finger fucking, overstimulation, slight bondage, slight breeding kink

you can’t really think at all, not with the way that Bi Han’s cock is dragging in and out of your sensitive and drooling cunt

he had been fucking into you for what felt like forever, never speeding up and only leaving teasing feather light touches on your clit

your mind was a puddle at the moment as your mouth blabbers out incomprehensible pleas for him to fuck into you

he just whispers that he is fucking you, punctuating his point with a rough thrust into your pussy that has you whining and clenching down on him

your legs are hooked over his, so you’re unable to close your legs, and your arms are tied behind your back, preventing you from touching yourself to try and please yourself

Bi Han’s fingers dig into your waist, leaving bruises on your skin with how tight he grips you

he drags you up and down his thick cock, relishing in the way you beg and whine for him to fuck into you faster like a desperate whore

he brings one of his arms up, wrapping and pressing his arm firmly into your neck, and you let out a choked moan as he cuts off your airflow

his action begins you flush to his chest, and you whine as he thrusts up into your pussy faster, abusing that sweet spot inside of you that has your cunt dripping even more

your mind spins at the lack of oxygen, and he brings his mouth close to your ear to degrade you

he tells you you’re such a whore for enjoying being choked like, that you’re such a slut for opening your legs for others and your pussy tightens around his cock

his grip tightens, and you whine at the feeling of his bicep pressing into your throat

he chuckles darkly into your ear, telling you that you’d like it if he whored you out to the foot soldiers, that you’d like it if you were just a hole for them, nothing but a cumdump for when they needed to blow off some steam

you keen and cum on Bi Han’s cock, your sweetness drenching his dick and dripping onto the bedroom floor

Bi Han grunts angrily as his hips thrust into you even faster, mocking you at how you came on his cock from just choking you

if he had known it would be so easy to make you cum, he would’ve done this earlier, and you whine as his cock pummels into you

his hand reaches down and rubs at your clit in fast tight circles, your hips jerk against him, sensitive from not being touched

he growls in your ear to stay still for him, slapping at the inside of your thigh harshly before returning his fingers to your puffy clit

even through the haze, you can tell Bi Han is getting close with the way his dick twitches inside of you and his breaths grow shorter and his words grow more curt

he pinches your clit, and it’s enough to send you over the edge, your vision going white as you clench down on Bi Han’s thick cock and cream on his dick

Bi Han groans and cums inside of you, fucking the both of you through your orgasms until they both die down

Bi Han releases you from his arms and settles his hands back on your waist, squeezing at it as you lean on Bi Han’s plush chest

you pant, tired and sensitive, and you whine as Bi Han’s fingers continue to rub slow circles into your sensitive clit, and you rut into him once more

Bi Han grunts in your ear about how insatiable you are and picks you up off his cock and throws you onto the bed on your back

your arms are uncomfortably pressed into your back, but you don’t have an opportunity to think about that as Bi Han shoves his fingers into your mouth and tells you to suck

you obediently do so as his other hand rubs at your clit

when he slips his fingers out of your mouth, there’s a string of drool connecting the two, and you watch his through lidded eyes as he gets close to your cunt, throwing your legs over his shoulders and pinning your hips to the bed with his thick arm

he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh before biting it roughly, and you yelp at the pain as he presses a soothing tongue at the bite mark

he continues that for a few minutes, biting your thighs and pressing soothing licks to the sensitive skin as you feel yourself grow wetter and wetter

soon, you’re whining for him to please touch you clit, please you need it so much

he hums and finally relents from the meat of your thighs and presses his nose into your clit and fucks you on his tongue

he moans at the taste of his cum mixing with yours, and you moan as the vibrations send shocks of pleasure shooting through you

he flicks and hums around your clit, and you can’t help but whine and grind your hips into his face as he slowly brings you to an orgasm

Bi Han presses the flat of his tongue into your clit firmly, eyes lidded as he stares at the way you react as he pleasures you

he brings his hand up, sliding a finger into your drooling cunt, fucking you on his fingers and shoving whatever cum was left in you even deeper

he slowly brings you to an orgasm, it’s a delicious torture as you go over the edge, moaning as he continues to fuck you on his fingers and suck on your clit

but it becomes too much, as little bursts of pain spark through you as he continues fucking you on his fingers

your legs twitch, and your hips buck away

but his arm keeps you on the bed, forcing you take the pleasure that he gives you, and he closes his eyes as he focuses on the sweet taste of you

he makes you come over and over again on his fingers, never letting up and continuing to wrack your body with pleasure

tears prick at your eyes, and you beg him to stop, wiggling frantically in his hold

but he ignores you and keeps on licking at you until you give up and let him send jolts and pleasure and pain sparking up your spine

your mind is hazy and dry tear tracks stain your face as he brings you to another orgasm, and you can barely whine at the stimulation

he lets go of your hips, and he comes up to kiss you

you whimper in his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue, and he grinds his hard cock into your abused pussy, collecting the juices on his cock

he slides into your cunt, and you whimper at the stretch as he fucks into you

he places a hand around your throat and presses light, watching at how your eyes glaze over in pleasure and listening to your broken moans

it’s all you need to cum, your pussy clenching down on his thick cock and your eyes squeezing shut at the onslaught of pleasure

it’s all Bi Han needs to, seeing the way you’re nothing but a limp doll in his hands as he fucks you through both of your orgasms

even as his cock softens inside of your, he stays inside of you, moving the both of you to your side, so he can keep his cum plugged inside of you

he quickly unties the rope holding your arms together and rubs the blood back into your arms and shoulders

he rubs a hand over your stomach and kisses your neck as you fall asleep quickly, tired and mind swimming from all the orgasms he had given you

he falls asleep soon as well, cradling your stomach carefully in his hands and murmuring a soft ‘i love you’ into your ear

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aweina · 7 months

Text

୨୧. staring problem — mortal kombat one. kameos : sub-zero. scorpion + smoke

when you stare at their arms for too long.

bi-han isn’t particularly amused by other people’s idiocy, but when it came to you — he looked forward to it. your staring problem was painfully obvious, he’s impressed how a person could have no awareness of their prying gaze. it’s when he curiously turns your way after debriefing training modules with his brother that he expected you to flinch at his icy glare and leave in embarrassment, but your dilated eyes remained on his flexing biceps. bi-han’s breath hitched by this sudden feeling of exposure from your dumb, mindless staring. he’s fuming at the fact that he was flustered instead and it isn’t until he sees the glimmer of saliva in the corner of your agape mouth that he believed you are utterly hopeless. with a dry swipe of his thumb over your wet lips, you finally break your hard gaze away from his sinewy arms to realize bi-han was caressing your mouth. “you’re a moron.” he says sternly, but there’s a hint of rare adoration in his insulting words.

kuai liang is constantly amused by your adamant staring at his arms. his pride swells when he catches your blatant gaze memorizing every curve and scar that represented his hard work and dedication. and to save you the embarrassment, he simply never called you out for your staring problem — rather he quite encouraged it. reading off a scroll sent by the fire god himself, kuai liang made sure that you could barely see past his thick muscles, the words written on the parchment shadowed by his strong form. he looks over your direction where you mindlessly hum at his faint words, greedily taking in the image of his arms without any shame. it’s not until he finishes the last words of the letter that you continue to hum at the silence, eyes slowly blinking like you were in a perverted daze. after holding it in for weeks, he finally boasts a vibrating laugh. “you have no shame, huh?” he quirks an amused brow when you turn away in realization, a smug grin on his face.

tomas never felt more confused in his life, were you okay? your constant staring over the past few weeks made him highly concerned over your wellbeing, every possibility swirling in his mind. did he knock you down too hard during training? is there some mind numbing enchantment that lingered down the halls that he wasn’t aware of? he refused to believe your unblinking eyes was on him for any reason other than some minor accident. and it’s when he’s sharpening the blade in his grasp, he feels your familiar gaze burning against his prickling, tense muscles — following each stroke with unwavering focus. after observing you from the corner of his eye for the past few minutes, he concluded that you were indeed checking out his arms the whole time. tomas was flustered, nonetheless, yet he couldn’t pretend to be oblivious much longer. “it’s not very polite to stare you know.” his words were confrontational, but playful. when you profusely apologized, his eyes crinkle as he smiled.

#.୨୧ ina writes #smoke x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #subzero x reader #bi han x reader #scorpion x reader #kuai liang x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mk x reader #mk1 x reader

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imminent-danger-came · 10 months

Text

Sun Wukong Knew About MK the Whole Time: A Theory

I am currently hyped up on leftovers and iced coffee, so let's do this!

I've talked about this before, here and here, but I think it's finally time I wrote an official post. You can go and read those posts if you want to (I definitely hit the nail on the head with some of this stuff), but I will be compiling a lot of what I said on those posts here!

So. Let's get the Mr. Elephant out of the room first: The David Breen Tweets. (thread here).

I see this tweet mentioned a lot whenever I bring up SWK knowing about MK, and honestly, this is a far cry from the "it's been confirmed that SWK didn't know" definite answer everyone's been implying.

So let's break it down!

#1: "Monkey King ain't the father"/"Monkey King isn't his dad." Well of course! Being born from a stone means you don't have any parents. I see it like this: Wukong isn't MK's dad, but he's also not NOT MK's dad, it's a secret third thing (creator and creation). Or, perhaps Wukong didn't help create MK at all, but he at the very least was involved in the circumstances that lead to MK being created/being born from the stone. (Aka eldritch abomination MK theory. My Beloved. Okay sorry.)

#2: "Monkey King was ripping his way through memories looking for MK, but kept coming back to the stone. He doesn't know why." So, while Wukong was ripping through memories, he didn't know why the scroll kept spitting him out by the stone. This is not a confirmation that Wukong didn't know about MK and his origins. It also begs the question: how did Wukong know MK was in the scroll to begin with? There's also some speculation to be had about why Wukong was so desperate to find MK to begin with:

MK: "Monkey King did this?" Macaque: "It looks like he's been tearing his way through his past—trying to find his way to.." MK: "Me."

(4x11 A Lifetime of Mistakes)

What was he so afraid of MK finding? Or, what was he afraid the scroll would force MK to experience? I think these are questions worth asking.

#3: "Wukong's trying real hard to leave the 'not being open with MK' days behind after s3. Problem is he's got lifetimes of info to catch them up on." Well, this one is a DOOZIE. One: we already know MK doesn't know everything about Wukong and his choices because he doesn't know Wukong killed Macaque (thank you 4x11). Two: "trying real hard" and "successfully doing" are very different things. And three: YOU DON'T JUST DROP INFO LIKE "Hey, did you know you're a Monkey Demon?" ON TOP OF SOMEONE RANDOMLY. Especially not MK. You have to prepare them for it.

Wukong is trying to do better and be better for everyone around him, but that still takes work. That still isn't easy. He's still going to make mistakes, which means he's not going to always go about being open with MK in the best way.

Sun Wukong: “Point is, mistakes happen, but so long as you leave the world in better shape than you found it, then it’s all good. Right?”

(4x01 Familiar Tales)

This scene—to me—feels like Wukong is trying prepare MK for his eventual "Hey did you know you're a Monkey Demon?" conversation he wants (and needs) to have down the line. Yes, SWK is trying to be more open with MK, but he's also just not going to be given that chance before the truth comes out.

MK: "Yeah right, if Monkey King really was my dad don't you think he would have said something by now?" Mei: "Yeah...because he's normally SOOOOO forth coming with information." MK: "Well uh, whatever—when we find Monkey King's stone, then we'll just ask him!"

(4x05 Court of the Yellow Robbed Demon)

Notice how they never asked Monkey King that question? From a writing standpoint, why bring this up at all if it wasn't to imply that (even if Monkey King isn't MK's dad) he wasn't involved with MK's creation in some way?

ANYWAYS.

NOW THAT THE BREEN TWEET THAT HAS RUINED MY LIFE IS OUT OF THE WAY, let's get into the evidence given to us throughout the entirety of the show. Starting with this:

This isn't a scene that takes place during the "A Hero is Born" special, as I'm sure plenty of people have noticed before now. Of course, this could have just been Monkey King "scouting out a successor", but with everything we know now doesn't that...feel kinda weird?

We were told at the beginning of the show that Monkey King gave MK his powers, but now we know that's not true. MK has had his own powers this whole time—and that's something Wukong, at the very least, knew:

Sun Wukong: "Listen kid: You fought demons, and you didn't die, and you made it here! Not just anyone can lift my staff, but you did." (1x00 A Hero is Born)

MK: "This whole time, I thought my powers came from the staff! Sun Wukong: "The staff's just a big 'ol stick bud! It takes someone special to lift it." (3x03 Smartie Kid)

There's also 1x09 Macaque, which I have mentioned before:

Macaque: "Ohohoh no, can't you hold the magic staff anymore? Well, you know what that means—there really isn't anything special about you. You're just a kid with a heavy stick."

This scene is then followed by MK lifting the staff, which only happens because Wukong encourages him.

MK: "Ugh, I can't! I'm not strong enough." Sun Wukong: "Kid! We're definitely going to have words later, but it's time for the Hero Stuff!"

(1x09 Macaque)

Ultimately, Wukong knows MK can lift the staff again even after Macaque supposedly stole all of MK's powers. He knows MK can beat DBK (more on that later). He does something similar to all this in 3x14, being the one to let MK face the Lady Bone Demon, powered by the Samadhi fire, alone (even after Pigsy tries to stop MK):

Wukong want's to protect MK. That's why he went to face the Lady Bone Demon alone in the first place—but here, he let's MK stop the end of the world all by himself. Why would he let his beloved student face not only LBD, but a reality ending flame alone?

Because he knows how much power MK has. Because he knows MK is capable of doing it.

This all brings me to my main point: If before now we were supposed to believe that Monkey King gave MK his powers, and he so clearly didn't, how would Wukong not know he didn't give MK powers. And because he clearly knew he didn't give MK any powers, why would he not question where this kid's insane level of power came from? He had to have "chosen" MK to be his successor for a reason right?

ESPECIALLY because Wukong never planned on being a mentor in the first place:

Sun Wukong: "I know I can never make it up to you. Honestly, I- I never thought I'd live as long as I have let alone be someone's mentor—turns out I'm not very good at it. I guess what I'm trying to say is...I'm sorry MK. For all of it."

(3x14 Destiny Fulfilled)

This was also alluded to in 3x05 Amnesia Rules:

Pigsy: "Of COURSE you don't remember the kid—one day you are going to grow up to be a terrible mentor!" Sun Wukong: "Ha! Zhu Bajie, can you imagine me teaching someone? HA!"

So, Wukong clearly didn't ever want to become a mentor, and this directly contradicts what Wukong says to MK in "A Hero is Born":

Sun Wukong: "You're perfect!" MK: "Perfect for what?" Sun Wukong: "To be...my successor!"

Honestly, think about it: has Wukong ever once actually needed a successor? When given the opportunity, he goes off and tries to handle things on his own anyways (Leaving in s2, wanting to go and reforge the Samadhi Fire on his own, going to stop LBD alone). It's the classic "we're being told one thing and shown another" trick.

Sun Wukong: "No no no- in case you forgot I'M retired, you're the one supposed to be taking care of the bad guys." (1x01 Bad Weather)

Even in 2x01 he's lying:

Sun Wukong: "Aw, come on bud! I promised myself that when I found a successor I'd go see some friends, take a tour of my old stomping grounds, just cut loose you know?" (2x01 Sleep bug)

It's proven in the next episode, and by the fact that all of his friends are dead/gone, that literally nothing he said here is true.

And, it's also note worthy to point out, that by this point Wukong had already disappeared for hundreds of years. Why step in again at all? Why put the effort into getting a successor you definitely were never prepared to have?

MK: "*sigh* You think Monkey King ever felt like this? Maybe that's why he stayed up on this mountain, just having a good time with you guys. You know cause- cause he knew he'd be out of the way where he couldn't hurt anyone he cared about." Macaque: "Or, he was doing his usual Wukong thing and being a lazy peach eating idiot. Ignoring all the worlds problems.

(4x09 Roast of the Monkie Kids)

So, I don't know about you, but I'm going to trust Macaque's insight on this. I'm not sure Wukong ever planned on coming back. Sealing DBK, he effectively cut off one of his last ties to the world (please go read wlw-wukong's thoughts, they are delightful), and he had already left the world alone for a long time. Why did he feel the need to train a successor now?

The simple answer is this: because he knew he needed to train MK and teach him to control his powers, and DBK's return was the perfect way to do it.

NOW. THE S4 MK VISIONS.

So, the visions MK see's all through out s4 (4x03, 4x04, 4x05, 4x06) are of Wukong ripping through the scroll and going to the stone—David Breen confirmed that himself in the above tweets.

Here's a list of what we see:

(4x03 The Great Tang Man)

(4x04 Pig Napped)

(4x05 Court of the Yellow Robbed Demon)

These are what I would say are the visions of Sun Wukong trying to find MK in the scroll. Yet, they are distinctly different from what Subodhi presses MK to remember ("Tell me of your childhood, your parents." "You do not remember?" "And what else?"):

(4x06 Show Me the Monster)

Look at that difference!

Every vision MK has includes the same scenes, except this one. That's why I think it's a memory; that and the way it's framed, with MK closing his eyes in focus. The other visions from 4x03, 4x04, and 4x05 all are unprompted, being forced upon MK. Why make this last "vision" so different from the others? Why show our mystery lady making the stone monkey? That would be because it's a memory—be it MK's, something from the scroll, or a mix of both.

There's also the matter of like, why Wukong going to the stone would trigger any sort of vision in MK to begin with. Overall, it just seems like there something more to those visions.

This would be how I imagine the general timeline playing out:

MK is created (through help of Sun Wukong), a beautiful baby boy pops out of the stone, and Sun Wukong "loses" that beautiful boy (if Wukong knew he was born to begin with) with MK finding his way to Pigsy's.

Then it's later Sun Wukong finds MK again, coming up with a plan to make MK his "successor" (still leaving MK with Pigsy, which I think was the right call lol). As Wukong says in 4x01, "You make ONE mistake, and no one ever let's you live it down! Looks like the ghosts of my past have finally caught up with me." That's what I think this parallel in particular is really trying to show off—in some way, MK is part of his past mistakes, just like Macaque is.

AND SO. I WILL CLOSE OFF THIS THEORY POST WITH EVERYTHING WE LEARNED IN THE SPECIAL.

Sun Wukong: "Heh, nothing gets under his skin more than a monkey. Leave Azure to MK and me."

(4x12 The Plan Man)

Sun Wukong: "Kinda embarrassing for the Jade Emperor to have two little cheeky monkeys running circles around him the first day on the job." MK: "Well, one monkey and one unconfirmed, but *laughs* yeah! I'd be embarrassed for sure!"

(4x13 Rip and Tear)

Wukong sounds suspiciously confident that MK is a monkey.

Not even MK is sure what he is (which he's probably just in denial, but also "Until I know what I am, what my destiny is?" from 4x08 anyone?), but Sun Wukong is extremely certain about what MK is.

Sun Wukong: "We got this bud. Would have liked to give you some new training with your monkey form, but-" MK: "Oh yeah yeah yeah- uh um- about that— um. I- I was thinking, I've never really needed a scary new monkey form before, so, I just thought maybe I'd use it next time." Sun Wukong: "Next time? Kid, there might not be a next time! This is the time."

MK: "It's be fine! Mei and I have got this awesome new armor and everything! You know, when we look this good? Ain't nothing gonna beat us." Sun Wukong: "Kid. New armor isn't going to cut it! We have to hit Azure with everything we've got! You can't just ignore this whole part of your power because it scares you!"

(4x12 The Plan Man)

If the writers were trying to highlight the fact that Wukong didn't know, this scene would have gone very differently. Instead of "You can't just ignore this whole part of your power because it scares you!" I think it would have been more along the lines of "I know this is new for all of us, but you've got to accept this part of your power!".

Even this exchange at the end of the special raises some alarm bells for me:

Pigsy: "Heh, don't bother. I've been telling him that for years but he LITERALLY never listens." Sun Wukong: "Yep! That's how we roll."

(4x14 Better Than We Found It)

That's how "we" roll? As in him and MK, as two monkeys? Again, Wukong is surprisingly chill and okay with this new form for someone whose first interaction with it was supposedly this:

MK, writhing on the ground in pain, completely destroying the world around him, and unable to control his powers.

Sun Wukong: "Yeah! Go MK, go! Just try not to totally wreck up my stuff would ya-"

(4x13 Rip and Tear)

Overall, it gives me the impression that Wukong already knew what MK was before 4x07. This new form didn't scare him because he always knew that's what MK was. MK, to Wukong, is MK! And MK has always been a Monkey Demon. He has unshakeable faith in his protege, and even while MK is absolutely tearing up the world around flower fruit mountain he can't help but cheer for him.

After all, Wukong knows MK is the only one who could defeat Azure:

MK: "Ne Zha's right—while Azure has the Jade Emperor's power and the scroll, there's NO way we could beat him head on!" Sun Wukong: "I mean, some of us could beat him! *ahem* One of us, specifically-" MK: "Nope! None of us at all."

(4x12 The Plan Man)

"But Imp!" I hear you say, "Wukong was talking about himself here!". To which I would reply, that's not true! This scene is right after Wukong has already said he only almost beat the Jade Emperor:

Sun Wukong: "But don't worry—I almost beat the Jade Emperor single handed once! Between both of us, Azure doesn't stand a chance." (4x12 The Plan Man)

Between this and Wukong's pre-fight convo with MK ("We have to hit Azure with everything we've got!"), he's clearly banking on MK using the full extent of his powers to win this fight. Wukong isn't banking on his own—if he were, he would never have left MK to go and collect the scroll pieces during their fight with Azure.

Conclusion

Sun Wukong knew MK was a monkey the whole time, lol—and fate has plans for MK. Great plans, or foul? Time will tell.

And Wukong has done his best to ensure that those plans are great.

#I am very open for having a discussion about this!#Prove me wrong!#But it is getting disheartening to see so many people just go ''Naw they confirmed he didn't know lol'' when they very much didn't.#Anyways!#This took a while to write asdfadsf #enjoy!#lmk theory #lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk MK #lmk SWK #lmk Sun Wukong

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crimsonbubble · 7 months

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cw. nsfw, afab!reader, implied thicker reader, threesome, double penetration, praise, nipple play, johnny has a daddy kink, creampies, oral, cum eating, handjobs, spanking *not proofread, just pure horny

[I NEED THEM IN A WAY THAT IS CONCERNING TO FEMINISM]

kinktober masterlist

MINORS DNI!!

It’s pathetic, really. The way you’re shamelessly fucking yourself down on their cocks. Kenshi’s hands squeeze your thighs, his lips pressed to your neck. You can feel the bruises forming on your hips as Johnny grips your hips tight, holding you steady as he rocks his hips.

“C’mon sweet girl, make a mess for daddy. I know you want to.” Your body trembled at his words, his tone patronizing. Kenshi seems to be doing just as bad as you, wanton moans falling from his lips. The fat of your thighs fills the gaps between Kenshi’s fingers. His lips trail further down your neck, pressing kisses to your chest. His hands slide up your body, groping and fondling your chest.

His tongue circles your nipple, leaving a ring of spit. He let out a short huff of air, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips as he felt your body jolt and shiver. Johnny reaches a hand around you, dipping between your thighs. His fingers toyed with and pinched at your clit. With the added stimulation, your slick cunt clenched and gushed around their thick cocks. Both men groaned, their grips tightening on you.

“Doing such a good job, baby. Just like that, darling.” Kenshi cooed softly, his breathing laboured. He let out a soft whimper, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pumped you full. Johnny seemed to be closer than he thought, thick spurts filling you mere seconds after Kenshi. His hands are tight on your hips, giving you shallow thrusts as he rode out both his and Kenshi’s highs.

His skilled fingers continued to toy with your clit, rubbing the swollen bud in tight circles. Kenshi pulled your hips up, lifting you off their cocks. Johnny’s hands moved to your ass, spreading them apart and watching with hazy eyes as the mix of cum spills out of you. “Oh fuck, you’re so fucking hot.” Was all he said as he dipped down between your thighs.

A loud whine leaves your lips as Johnny laps at your messy cunt. Kenshi resumed the soft circles on your clit, sucking shades of deep reds along the skin of your neck and collarbone. A full-body shiver ran through you as each stroke of Johnny’s tongue pushed you through a wave of constant pleasure.

You slumped against Kenshi’s chest, heaving out a pleasured sigh as Johnny pressed a messy kiss to your sticky and sore clit. As Johnny sat up again, Kenshi stroked your back with his free hand, shaking his head as he saw that Johnny was hard again. “You filthy horndog.” Johnny quirked a brow at Kenshi as if he wasn't hard again as well.

“Says you. I’m not the only one who wants to go again, ain’t that right, superstar?” Johnny landed a quick smack to your ass, watching as your body rippled. He let out a short wolf whistle as he stroked Kenshi’s cock, a smirk playing on his lips as he twitched in his palm. “C’mon big guy, I know you want it.” Johnny languidly stroked Kenshi’s cock, roughly slapping his swollen tip against your clit.

You let out a low moan, wiggling your hips lightly. “Don’t think it’s just us that wants more.” Kenshi pinched your hips, landing a quick swat to your ass. You jolted against his chest, your hands fisting into the sheets. You hid your face in Kenshi’s neck, pushing your hips back again as Johnny parted your slick folds with his fingers.

“We’ll take real good care of you, honey.”

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fffrost · 6 months

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Reiko au Post!! (Also a random Bi Han sketch I didn’t finish)

The basic synopsis of this au is that Reiko is good! He ends up working against the rebellion that he was once part of, after he comes to the realization that there is No honor in hurting the people he swore he was fighting for. He ends up working alongside the royal sisters, redeems himself, and over time works his way up through the ranks until he becomes Kitana’s second in command! They grow close and trusting of each other.

#Reiko au #mk1 au #mk1 #mk #Reiko #mk1 reiko #fffrost art #Teehees #I want to write about it

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snoozisworld · 3 months

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Bi-Han x Fem!Reader - Arranged Marriage HCS (Part II)

A/N: AHHH finally. part dos. its really late cuz i lowkey forgot to set a timer for this to post soooooo my bad. anyways part 2 is also long so buckle up.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.

It's finally the day of the wedding, how will this go?:

- Today's the day. Bi-han's most dreaded event. The wedding.

- The preparations were hell. Maids and workers frantically running around, making sure everything was perfect. Bi-han hated it.

- He wanted to train today, but his father forbade him from it, as the preparation's would take up most of the day and, "He cant have the groom be late for his own wedding".

- Bi-han was in a sour mood all day, everyone in the venue avoided him like the plague in fear that they would be the next victim he would verbally attack.

- He just didn't understand. If this wedding's sole purpose was to seal in the alliance for good, why go all out? its not like its an actual normal wedding, it was just . . . so fucking stupid.

- After a few hours, the venue was complete. It was beautiful, various decorations such as flowers, table cloths and the altar arch were all a soft blueish green color combined with a clean white.

- The blue symbolizing the Lin Kuei, the green symbolizing your clan. If this was a real wedding, between two people who actually loved each other, Bi-han would have actually enjoyed it.

- Instead he was silently brooding in his dressing room, staring daggers into the person who was working around his outfit. He was fitted in a traditional blue long tang suit, embroidered with different gold and white accents.

- He looked in the mirror and briefly wondered what his mother would think; as he took in his appearance he actually saw some truth in Kuai Liang's statement; his mother, despite the real reason, would be proud of him getting married.

- He had barely heard the nervous worker exclaim he was done, and that it was almost time for the wedding to start.

- Standing at the altar, Bi-han felt like he's been waiting an eternity. He tried to look for his father and brothers in the crowd, but after seeing everyones eyes on him he immediately went back to looking at the wall.

- Finally, he saw you walking down the aisle. you had a veil (honggaitou) covering your face, and you wore a traditional sage green cheongsam.

- After taking your place in front of the altar, the officiant started the wedding ceremony. but Bi-han couldn't care less.

- He was too busy staring at your damned veil, and despite his personal vendetta against you, not seeing your face was just was just as annoying as seeing it.

- Finally the vows are over, and he has to lift up your veil.

- And there it was, your face. Your annoyingly beautiful face. You looked up at him as the veil lifted and he briefly wondered if you felt the same emotions he was feeling.

- You wore such a calm expression, it only served to make Bi-han angrier.

- You both bowed and walked off the altar, and just like that, the wedding was officially over.

- The next few hours were the banquet, the drinks, the food, etc. None of which Bi-han, or you for that matter, participated in.

- You both made a beeline to your respective bedrooms and stayed there the rest of the night.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Life as a married couple:

- The first few weeks after the wedding were painfully quiet, with you spending most of your time in the kitchen, the bedroom or the garden, and Bi-han training with his brothers, doing paperwork and shadowing his father.

- Until one night Bi-han came back from a particularly dangerous mission, and had cuts and wounds all over his body.

- He sat in your now shared bedroom, much to Bi-han's dismay, trying to stitch himself up.

- Unfortunately for Bi-han, he was not the best medic, and just kept injuring himself further. That's when you entered the bedroom and saw him stumbling and fiddling around with a needle.

- When you offered to help for the first time, he just told you off rather rudely. You considered just leaving him there, maybe he'd get a nasty infection from all the horrible stitching he's doing. But you're not that evil.

- So you stubbornly ask again and again, until Bi-han looks at you with a pointed look and begrudgingly hands over the needle.

- You stitch him up gracefully, with the upmost care. Bi-han didn't know how to react, feeling your soft hands practically gliding over his skin gave him goosebumps.

- He eventually just closed his eyes, and let you work quietly. You softly hummed as you continued working, something Bi-han found strangely comforting.

- After you were done, you set down the tools and looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite figure out.

- He finally realized what you were looking at, the cut on his cheek.

- You weren't staring at him just to stare, you were asking for permission.

- And Bi-han relented, letting you mend his face too. And he didn't know whether he regretted his decision or if he was thankful that you were there.

- If he thought the feeling of your hands on his arms was nice, the feeling of your hands on his face was next level.

- Bi-han felt . . . good. He admittedly loved the feeling, and enjoyed being taken care of by you.

- Suddenly you were done, and you retracted your hands from his face faster than he would've liked.

- But that simple act of kindness managed to change how Bi-han viewed you.

- He started eating your food and eating with you.

- You started accompanying him to his office, helping with some of the paperwork.

- He even started engaging in conversations with you. The more he learned about you the more he fell in love. Something Bi-han didn't actually think was possible for him.

- After months of dancing around each other's feelings, something unexpected happened.

- You were sitting down at your vanity when Bi-han entered the room. He was holding something.

- You looked up at him, then down at his hands. You asked him about what he was holding and he just told you to stand up and face him.

- And when you did, he opened his hands to reveal a stunning necklace. You were in awe and so surprised that he got you a gift your eyes welled up.

- You turned around and faced away from him, and he clipped the necklace on your neck. You looked in the mirror and you couldn't hold back your tears.

- You faced him again and thanked him, you had no idea Bi-han was capable of doing this.

- For a moment Bi-han looked at your tear-filled face and thought you looked beautiful while you cried too.

- You hugged him, and while it took Bi-han by surprise, he just pulled away and cupped your face.

- He expressed his gratitude for you, and as the man of a few words that he is, he just finished by kissing you.

- After pulling away and seeing you look so . . . elated, he realized maybe this whole arranged marriage thing wouldn't be so bad after all.

(2/2)

.·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.

A/N: im finally done and my neck hurts. hope u guys enjoyed this :))

#mortal kombat #fanfic #mk1 #bi han sub zero #mk1 2023 #bi han x reader #sub zero #foryou #afab reader #bi han x you #lin kuei #smoke mk #scorpion mortal kombat #arranged marriage #subzero mk1 #female reader #bi han is whipped #writing #slow burn

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