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stiltonbasket · 4 months

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If you do Bingyuan prompts:

Bingge discovering/realizing that his children’s beloved head teacher is the friendly Shizun from the other world would be a delight!

(Shen Yuan with a miniature army of tiny heavenly demon children who adore him is just super cute!)

By the age of twenty-five, Luo Binghe possessed—or thought he possessed—all the wealth and treasures in the world that a man could want. His vengeance upon the Cang Qiong Mountain sect was complete, the mountain range burned and its peak lords slain but for the master of Qian Cao Peak and Qi Qingqi, whom he had spared for Liu Mingyan’s sake—and he had long since established himself as Emperor of the demon realm, with no small amount of influence in the world he was born to by virtue of his marriage to the Little Palace Mistress, Hua Zhihan.

But then—half-way through his twenty-seventh year, and three years after the construction of his great fortress close to Huan Hua Palace—he stumbled through a rent in the very skin of the world and found himself back upon Qing Jing Peak, cradled in the arms of a man who wore the face of Luo Binghe’s hated shizun.

He had hardly been there an hour before he discovered that that Shen Qingqiu had been nothing like the jealous fiend who tormented Luo Binghe in his youth. On the contrary, he had welcomed Luo Binghe into his home and bed like a new bride reuniting with her husband at the end of a long day’s work; and for several months after Luo Binghe returned to his own palace in the demon realm, he found no satisfaction in his endless riches, or the tens of wives in his harem.

He spent a full season hunting for that Shen Qingqiu in his own world afterwards, for he knew somehow that the living Shen Qingqiu who had married the other Luo Binghe and his own former Shizun were not one and the same. The Shen Qingqiu Luo Binghe knew had nothing in common with that man other than his face, and even that had been so altered by the spirit living behind it that Luo Binghe had not recognized him as Shen Qingqiu at first sight; but the other Luo Binghe reminded him a great deal of his own child-self, and how single-mindedly he had loved Ning Yingying in those early days at Cang Qiong.

But years went by, and Luo Binghe found nothing—no shadow or trace of that gentle Shen Qingqiu, whether living or dead—and at last, he drank himself sick on dragon-blood wine and unburdened himself to Ning Yingying, confessing that nothing under the sun had brought him joy since that one jewel-bright day with Shen Qingqiu three summers earlier.

Of course, he did not breathe a word about what had actually happened—for Yingying and the others believed that the strange, bewildered husband who stumbled into the hougong that day was none other than Luo Binghe himself, and he had never seen fit to disabuse them of the notion—but she seemed to understand that the better part of his life’s joy had left him, and said:

“A-Luo, if we sisters can’t make you happy as we used to anymore, do you think—do you think a child might make you happy? We’ve been married for nearly ten years, and I hoped…”

Luo Binghe thought for a moment, still dizzy from the six pots of wine he drank with his evening meal; and amid the soft haze clouding his thoughts, he realized that he would have died of envy if the poor imitation of himself from the other world had had a child with his Shen Qingqiu.

But the only children he had seen on Qing Jing Peak that day were a handful of young disciples in their early teens, far too old to belong to that pitiful Luo Binghe. It struck him that this was something that other Luo Binghe could never have—must never have, lest Luo Binghe know what had happened and find his way back to that dream-world to quell his jealousy by ripping his other self limb from limb—and then—

“It might not be a bad idea,” he heard himself say. “What about Yingying? Would you like a child?”

“Very much,” Yingying whispered, taking Luo Binghe’s hand.

Their first daughter, Suoxin, was born the next year; and when the head taiyi placed her in Luo Binghe’s arms, a tiny mote of the tumult in his soul grew calm, and never returned to trouble him again.

The birth of Suoxin’s younger sister Changying followed exactly a hundred days later, for Hua Zhihan had demanded a child of her own as soon as she heard that Ning Yingying was pregnant, and Luo Binghe saw no reason to refuse her. Several of his lesser wives had attempted to follow suit, but he was adamant that no children should be born to them until the children born of his five chief wives had safely reached the age of about three or four: especially after the tragedy that accompanied the birth of Luo Binghe’s first son.

The taiyi later discovered that his mother—Qin Wanyue, who had suffered a miscarriage at Sha Hualing’s hands some six years earlier—had been born with a deformation in one of the chambers of her heart; and due to her general good health and the strengthening effects of her cultivation, Wanyue never noticed it. But her cultivation was not sufficient to protect her from the strain of childbirth; and scarcely five minutes after the baby took his first breath, Qin Wanyue drew her last, dying without knowing anything more of her child than a single, snatched glimpse of his small red face.

The infant was given the name Luo Nianzu, in remembrance of his mother, and handed over to Liu Mingyan to raise. Mingyan had not wanted a child of her own, though she was more than willing to bring Nianzu up in Wanyue’s stead.

And in the wake of Qin Wanyue’s passing, Luo Binghe vowed to himself that he would never sire another child. He had been the instrument of her ruin, wittingly or not: and with three healthy heirs, of whom one was a boy, he refused to risk a second death in the harem.

But his resolve had not hampered Sha Hualing’s plans: and in truth, Luo Binghe should have known better than to expect otherwise. One night, she took Xin Mo from the stand beside his bed and stabbed Luo Binghe straight through the shoulder—rather more ferociously than usual, he thought—and absconded from the palace with three phials full of his spilt blood, returning a fortnight later with a fat baby boy swaddled in one of her own silk veils.

“Did you give birth to him?” Luo Binghe frowned, after he tasted the child’s blood mites and found that they were nearly identical to his own. “You were only gone for two weeks.”

Sha Hualing only laughed at him, and asked that he give their son a name. Luo Binghe named him Shunlei, with the shun for obedience and the lei for thunder; and though Hualing took the hint at once, she was so well-pleased with Shunlei’s name that Hua Zhihan spent the next month sulking about it.

The three years that followed Shunlei’s arrival were peaceful ones, for the demon realm had been brought to heel with Sha Hualing’s aid, and Mobei-jun grew more ruthless towards Luo Binghe’s enemies with every passing day. Yingying and Mingyan governed the harem both kindly and firmly, calming any disputes among the lesser wives and punishing those whose bids for favor put their sisters in danger; and they never faltered in their duty to the little ones, so that Luo Binghe went untroubled by the children’s needs until Liu Mingyan declared that Suoxin and Changying were old enough to begin studying with a trained taifu.

“I already have a candidate in mind,” she said to him over dinner one evening. “Will my lord permit me to look after the arrangements myself?”

“I don’t see why not,” Luo Binghe replied. “Do what you must. Only ensure that the taifu is well educated, and knows how to teach little children without frightening them.” One Shen Qingqiu was bad enough, after all.

And so, preparations went forth for the children’s education. Liu Mingyan wrote to the prospective taifu, who accepted the offer of employment and asked for a month to settle his affairs before moving to the palace; and Yingying began teaching Nianzu and Shunlei how to read, in the hope that the taifu would agree to instruct them alongside Suoxin and Changying.

Luo Binghe, having nothing further to do with the matter, left for the northern desert with Mobei-jun and Sha Hualing.

Linguang-jun had decided to rebel against his nephew’s rule again, and Luo Binghe was weary of indulging him. In the aftermath of Shang Qinghua’s betrayal, he and Mobei-jun had both decided that Linguang-jun’s continued existence was far more trouble than it was worth.

All told, he remained away from the palace for over two moons. When he finally returned, in midsummer, he went straight to his own courtyard and slept for three days without moving a muscle.

And then he awoke, and heard a soft strain of qin music issuing from the other side of the wall.

Luo Binghe froze.

That courtyard was meant to be empty; it had been empty since the day it was built, eight months after he met that other world’s Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe had filled its four rooms with books and bamboo furniture, and even the double bed in the inner chamber had been a replica of the one the other Shizun slept upon—and the courtyard’s little garden had a pavilion with a built-in table for a qin, since the construction of that Shizun’s house and garden made it plain that he liked to practice out of doors.

Who had dared set foot in that courtyard while Luo Binghe was absent?

Hua Zhihan? Qin Wanrong? Certainly not Yingying or Liu Mingyan; it resembled the living quarters at Qing Jing far too closely for either of them to find any peace there.

Trembling with fury, he pulled on the robes he was wearing last night and rushed over to the adjoining courtyard, where he stopped short at the threshold of its white-painted moon gate and gaped at the spectacle awaiting him within.

There was a man sitting at the qin table in the pavilion—a man, in the compound where Luo Binghe lived with his wives—playing a rearrangement of “Flowing Waters,” with Luo Shunlei on his lap. Suoxin and Changying were seated on either side of him, armed with child-sized guqins of their own, and Nianzu was nestled against the man’s shoulder, asleep.

And his face—

Luo Binghe had never seen such a face before. It was not the face of Shen Qingqiu—not the Shen Qingqiu he knew, at any rate—but the light in his eye and the warmth of his voice as he spoke to Suoxin were very like that Shen Qingqiu’s, though Luo Binghe noticed that there was a shade of difference between the two.

He is older, Luo Binghe realized at once, as his heart thundered inside him. The other Shen Qingqiu was young, judging by his manner—perhaps forty, at the very oldest—and my Shizun never even reached the age of fifty.

The other Shizun had worn green, he remembered. He preferred the same clean-cut style of dress that Luo Binghe’s shizun liked to wear, and of course their bodies and faces had been the same, as well; but this man wore s different face entirely, and his worn silk robes were a clean, stark white, like the garments of the wandering rogue cultivators who used to pass through Luo Binghe’s hometown when he was a boy.

The trappings of his flesh made no difference, however.

Luo Binghe knew him for what he was at first sight.

It struck him then that this must be the taifu Liu Mingyan selected for the children. He could not fathom why she would have housed an imperial tutor in the hougong, of all places: but now that he was here, Luo Binghe would rather walk through the Endless Abyss again than permit him to leave.

Luo Binghe could have stood in the doorway and stared at him for a lifetime; but then the taifu looked up and clambered to his feet, tugging the little girls along with him. Shunlei remained where he was, gripping the soft front of the taifu’s gown like a baby monkey clinging to its mother’s back; and Nianzu, securely balanced on the taifu’s hip, slept on without noticing that the man had moved at all.

“My lord,” the taifu said, bowing. “This humble servant offers his—”

“Xin’er greets Father!” Luo Suoxin cut in, glancing up at her teacher for approval. “Did I do it right, Shizun?”

“Yes, except for the part where you interrupted me first,” the taifu laughed. “Go on, Changying.”

Luo Changying nodded and stepped forward.

“Chang’er greets Father,” she said, rather more gracefully than Suoxin.

“Well done,” said the taifu. “Now, Shunlei…?”

Shunlei blinked and tightened his grasp on the taifu’s robes.

“A-Shun is hungry,” he complained, refusing to meet Luo Binghe’s eyes. “Shizun, snack time.”

Luo Binghe bit back a smile. This man was somehow more indulgent with his young charges than the other Shizun had been, and the sight of him holding Nianzu and Shunlei was so desperately sweet that Luo Binghe nearly reached out and touched him.

“Daozhang is the new taifu, I suppose?” Luo Binghe asked instead, taking another step forward. “Your name?”

The taifu nodded.

“This one is called Zhu Qinglan, my lord,” he replied, trying in vain to coax Shunlei down to the ground. “Now, A-Shun, my good little disciple…”

“Shunshun won’t look at him,” the baby insisted, his little voice muffled in the folds of Zhu Qinglan’s coat. “I want to eat cake, not see Fuqin.”

To Luo Binghe’s astonishment, Zhu Qinglan sat down on the steps below the pavilion and drew a wrapped package of sesame cakes out of his sleeve.

“Your imperial father has come back to see you after two months, and you act like this?” he chided, placing one of the cakes on Shunlei’s outstretched palm. “Now, eat your cake like a good child; and then you must get up and greet your father properly, like Xin’er and Chang’er.”

Luo Binghe lifted his hand.

“No need,” he said mildly, watching with half-crazed eyes as Zhu Qinglan stroked Luo Nianzu's fluffy hair. “Shun’er is always upset after this lord returns from his travels abroad. I do not see the children as often as I would like; but I try to dine with them at least once a week, and that little demon in your arms refuses to speak to me for days on end if I ever dare to arrive late.”

With that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the courtyard. He could not stand in Zhu Qinglan’s presence any longer, lest he do something that would terrify his children and turn their Shizun against him forever; and as it was, the little demon servant who brought breakfast to his quarters ten minutes later nearly died of fright at the sight of him.

“Zhu Qinglan,” Luo Binghe said to himself, after the petrified lackey made his escape. “The name suits him, whether it is a false one or no.”

He drained the last of his tea, and smiled.

“I’ve finally caught you, Shizun.”

#svsss #bingyuan #binggeyuan #the scum villain's self saving system #my fic #i live to serve and i have delivered #this is my first foray into multichapter svsss fic so please reblog if you liked it/would like to see more!#shen yuan's name is still shen yuan btw #we will unravel the backstory behind the name he's using Later #as well as some other.....backstory #;)

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drawnfamiliarfaces · 15 days

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Dress to Impress Chapter 1: Open Invitations is out right now on AO3!!!

Illustrations for the fic under the [read more], but I do suggest to try and enjoy them in a fic for more fun experience. ;D

Thanks for checking it out. ;3

#my immortal soul #first ninja #rc9gn first ninja #chase young #ninja showdown #xiaolin showdown #rc9gn #randy cunningham 9th grade ninja #CANT BELIEVE IM DOING IT IVE POSTED a 3-d FIC ABOUT THESE FUCKERS AND ITS GONNA BE MULTICHAPTER #(completely ignoring the fact that its not even finished but im hyping this first chapter so much lol. no idea where its coming from)#(probably because this is the most ive written in years. but hey im proud of myself so im allowed to be happy ;) i do hope my fellow mis #shippers enjoy it to ;3 i certainly am enjoying it. so much in fact i overdid it with illustrations lol like i really didnt need a chapter #cover but i did it anyway because ;))) fun ;))))

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andaniellight · 9 months

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Hey has anyone made a fic where in the first weeks of being a straw hat crew Sanji and the others discussed about the importance of celebrating birthdays on the going merry and of course out of the five of them it's Zoro who couldn't care less about his birthday except if they're going to celebrate it with lots of alcohols and no sweets, cakes, whatever the hell those kinds of atrocities. But because Sanji was only 19, raised by Jeff for years which means he's petty as hell, he took that as a challenge to make mosshead obsess with his own birthday for the rest of his life.

He even told the whole crew to plan it with him. The kind of special birthday that can be make Zoro want to stay sober enough to enjoy without feeling guilty bullshit. All of the straw hats are onboard of course—hah! Onboard. Obviously they are. Mainly because they will all get to feast on so many meals and desserts prepared by their insanely skilled chef. All Sanji's got to do is prepare the most Zoro-kind of birthday cake and a banquet that will alter Zoro's remaining braincells forever. Maybe even make a bunch of pavlovas that taste like alcohol also. Won't hurt and worth to try, right?

#👀✨#ZoSan #OPLA #One Piece Live Action #Roronoa Zoro #Vinsmoke Sanji #can anyone turn this idea into a real fic cause in my complicated head it's going to turn into a multichaptered story #i know i tagged this with a ship but it can be just gen ofc #ZoLu #SanLu #LuSan #Zoro x Sanji #Sanji x Zoro #Zoro x Luffy #Nami #Usopp #Monkey D. Luffy

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 5 months

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Stede is the resident cryptid hunter on a team setting out to find the kraken. Ed is literally a kraken. Can I make it any more obvious?

This is the first chapter of a story plotted at around 50k words, rated M for now and E eventually.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #my fics #if i don't have a multichapter fic in progress i literally die apparently

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sibylsleaves · 1 month

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some things fall when they're meant to fall

11k (so far) | rated T | read on ao3 Eddie’s gaze drop to Buck’s lips—pink, like his birthmark. Eddie wants to taste those lips, and he wants it with a fierceness so sudden it shocks him. “I’m, uh,” Buck stammers. “Last night. When you saw me and Tommy…we—we were on a date.” Everything inside Eddie goes still. If his heart is a kite, then this is the moment it plummets back to earth.

or, Buck tells Eddie some news. Eddie has a realization and breaks up with his girlfriend. Not necessarily in that order.

written for @burnthatbridge

Chapter 2/4 now up on ao3

Eddie is happy for Buck. Obviously. It goes without saying that he’s happy for him.

And look, it’s not like it’s hard. Not when Buck’s been walking around like the LA sun shines specifically for him. He’s got this shimmering halo of excitement around him these days, and beneath that, a kind of deep relief. Like some of the heavy weight he’s dragged around with him his entire life has been lifted.

More than anyone Eddie’s ever known, Buck has spent his life searching for something. And finally, he’s found it.

Not Tommy—although Buck does get a particular blushing grin on his face whenever he talks about him. What Buck has found is something bigger than that. A truth about himself. An answer to a question he never knew to ask.

So yeah, Eddie’s happy for him. How could he not be? This whole year, when he hasn’t been worrying about Chris, he’s been worried about Buck and how he’s been dealing with the aftermath of the lightning strike.

He’s not worried anymore.

And as for Eddie’s own revelation…the realization that for him, all roads lead to Buck, well…

He’s not thinking about it. He’s doing everything in his power to act like nothing’s changed, to act the way the Eddie Diaz of two weeks ago would act. The Eddie Diaz whose brain hadn’t yet caught up to his heart on the matter of Evan Buckley.

“So, there’s a Dodgers game this evening,” Eddie says, jiggling his car keys nervously while he waits for Buck to finish changing after their shift. He rests his gaze somewhere to the left of Buck's bare chest. “I was thinking about inviting Tommy over to watch. And I know you’re watching Jee so Chim and Maddie can work on wedding stuff—”

“Eddie,” Buck tugs his shirt over his head and looks at Eddie quizzically. “We’ve already been over this. I was never actually mad that you were hanging out with Tommy without me. I mean yeah, I guess I felt slightly excluded, but it was more about—”

“Yeah, yeah I know, the giant crush you had on the guy,” Eddie says with a fond eye-roll. There. That’s something two-weeks-ago Eddie would’ve said, right?

(read chapter 2 on ao3)

taglist:

@remembertheskittles @myao3library-blog @sorryimlatecapt @swiftiesisters14 @bewitchedbewilderedbisexual

@myphilomena @neuromagpie @fleurdebeton @daffi-990 @crysty-rp-2023

@confetti-cupcake @pixelmator5 @fabgirlll @evansbuckkley @lyricfulloflight

@daisievalentine @crazyfangirlallert @bucklavaa @torturedpoetdean @smallandalmosthonest

@notalwaysdead @anatargmova @marmottion @flavored-soda @thebirdling

@tulipfromtheinternet @takemebythehand-andsetmefree @sunshinediaz @thatsveryood @devirnis

@messyhairdiaz @skies-below @actingcamplibrarian @dirundmir @stagefoureddiediaz

@wh0rebehavi0rmain @dancy-nrew @eddiebabygirldiaz @screamatthescreen @organizedstardust

@leothil

#ive never posted a multichapter fic before so i have no idea what im doing #ive also never done a proper taglist before haha #chapter 2 is up though!!!! chapter 3 hopefully coming soon #sibyls words #some things fall sequel #it's not a sequel though it's just chapter 2 #911 fic #buddie fic

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cottoncandysprite · 6 days

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Another AU because they're the only thing keeping me sane rn

#swap aus are so fun actually #i would write something for this (i have lore) but tbh multichapter fics scare me #and i can't think of a plot for a oneshot #wwdits #what we do in the shadows #nandermo #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #swap au

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lale-txt · 8 months

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"kill them with kindness" wrong. fuck their dad and their grandpa. actually fuck their whole family tree

#blowing a kiss for all my dilf and gilf enjoyers #what if i'm telling you that i have a multichapter fic in my drafts with this.........#for once i wanted to write a messy reader with questionable life choices and oh boy... am i having fun #lale.txt

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yourmomsemogarlicbread · 1 month

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Club Lights And Sex On The Beach

PART 1

Pairings: Josh Kiszka x Reader

Warnings: 18+, alcohol, drinking, one-night stands/hookups, smut, penetrative sex, drunken sex (still consensual), protected sex (don't be silly, wrap your willy!), afab reader, feminine terms of endearment used, pretty much a female reader but you could get away with it not imagining the reader as a woman.

Summary: After a fun night at the club you run into a handsome stranger and his friends. What happens when you end up in his bed?

Authors Note: This is a multichapter series!!!!!!! This is only part 1 but we are gonna get into a full-fledged story pretty soon. I will be posting parts 2 and 3 later tonight because they are both pretty short. If you choose this could be read as a one-shot but I strongly recommend following the series. I hope you enjoy it!!! also, remember that my requests are always open!

you can also read on AO3 here.

PART 2 & 3 out now.

Part 1

The lights came down harshly on your skin, illuminating the dim room just a tad more. The club is decently packed, and a small crowd of people at the beginning of the night quickly turns into a bustling scene full of college girls looking for either a good time or a quick fuck, either way, it’s still fun. Then there were the rowdy frat boys either being annoying or harassing girls at the bar, either way, they were douchebags.

One type stood out to you though, it was a small group of guys, but they were different. You couldn’t help but notice these men, they were talking with each other at their fancy booth in the back of the club. There were 4 of them, all devilishly handsome you had to admit, but one of them shined particularly bright. You saw him frequent the bar throughout the night, until now.

You feel a force bump into you from the side, not hard but forceful enough for you to spill a little bit of your drink on the bar. “Oh I’m sorry sweetheart are you ok” you hear from beside you, a charming voice guiding you. And there he is, your mystery man you’ve had your eye on all night.

“Oh yeah I’m fine don’t worry about it.” You nearly yell above the loud music to him.

“Well it looks like you spilled your drink,” He says, making you look at the reminisce of your drunken reflexes failing you.

“Don’t worry about it it’s ok” You smile at him, and in return, he looks directly into your eyes. His brown eyes caused a shift in your stomach, piercing your soul while comforting you in a delightful mix of emotions.

“Well, I can stop worrying about it if you let me buy you a drink.” The clever way to buy a girl a drink. You sigh, “Well crap, I guess I gotta let you buy me a drink now.” You laugh out. “Why thank you,” he says, leaning over the bar and ordering sex on the beach. “Sex on the beach? how’d you know?” he looks back over at you with a smug grin strewn across his face, bewitching you even more. “I saw you ordering it when you first walked in.” Oh. So he was staring at you the whole night, interesting, I guess a smart girl’s intuition never fails. “Well thank you for noticing, Mr-” “Kiszka, but it would be best if you called me Josh.” “Well thank you very much, Josh, nice to meet you.” You smile back at him and for a moment you can feel lust piercing through you like you’ve been shot by Cupid himself. Who knew an arrow through the heart could feel so good?

The rest of the next 40 or so minutes flew by in a hurricane of lustful glances and drunken introductions set in the brightly dimmed nightclub you found yourself in. Meeting his friends, those 4 guys you kept in mind to be specific. Their names were Jake, who just so happened to be the twin of Josh, (is it bad you’ve always dreamt of having a thing with a set of twins?) and their little brother Sam, accompanied by their friend Danny. And my god were they the epitome of beauty and grace, their suave presence somehow lighting up the dim nightclub. But then the next thing you knew, you were making out with Josh in the back alley waiting for an Uber.

The ride back to his apartment was tense but uneventful in respect of the poor Uber driver who had probably dealt with enough drunk people tonight already. The sexual tension was overflowing from the backseat where you both resided, his hand on your thigh resting ever so gently with all the passion and care in the world.

Then the car stopped, his hand quickly unbuckling your seatbelt for you and grabbing your hand, leading you out onto the sidewalk in front of a lavish apartment building, the ones you see celebrities come out of in staged paparazzi photo shoots. You felt his hand snake around your waist leading you into the lobby encrusted with marble and the stench of rich people wasting money because they can. Who were you about to sleep with? God only knows but you know for a fact you got lucky.

The makeout session in the elevator was heated, so much so that you barely paid attention to the fact the elevator went straight into a hall with only 5 or 6 doors, with Josh leading you down the short hall straight into his apartment, or more so what looked like to be a penthouse. You didn’t get a great look at it though - through the lips on lips and hands and waists it was hard to pay attention to detail.

He broke your kiss in what felt like hours, arguably the best of your life. You’re led into his bedroom quickly, He playfully drags you into the room, pushing you onto the bed. You spread your legs for him, butterflies swirl in your core. You watch as he starts to slow down, pulling his shirt over his head. He puts his knee in between your legs climbing over you on the bed. Your lips collide once more, desperate and lustful. You moan into it, quickly making work of his pants, pulling them down to his thighs. You can feel him through his boxers, already harder than ever. He slides his hand up your thigh, slowing towards the hem of your dress. He stops briefly, “Can I?” you only respond by lifting your hips and starting to pull it off, he stops you and pushes your hips back down with proximity while pulling it off, throwing it somewhere into the dark room, only lit by the moonlight shining in through the ceiling high window.

Your body feels like it’s on fire, all you feel is warmth. Josh’s body presses up against yours again, lips and tongues intertwined making your head spiral, hell you had just met this guy an hour ago. This was way more fun than you thought you’d have tonight. A random man named Josh, his 3 best friends are hot - and you got to meet them, this guy is probably rich as fuck, and my god was he good.

He pulls away briefly losing the shorts and boxers. You can see his tip already red and leaking, he leans over you, continuing a loss you had such a brief moment ago. He reaches down underneath your hips and tears your underwear off, throwing it aside. The hold he has on your hips is strong, a sickeningly lustful feeling going straight to your head. He breaks away, “Do you want me to wear a condom?” he asks, almost breathless. “It’d be nice,” you say, catching your breath as well. He smiles and reaches over you to the nightstand grabbing one and tearing it open and putting it on swiftly. You grab his face, pulling him down to kiss you. Josh laughs through the kiss, his chuckle soon turns into a moan as he kisses down your neck. “Can I fuck you?” is all he manages to breathe out. “God, please.” you moan.

Your gut and head both turn to jelly as he enters you, not too slow, not too hard, and not too fast.

God, he’s good.

You feel the vibrations of his moan on your neck, mixed with the vibrations of yours coming from the same source. You can’t help but let it all out, moans and whimpers and all the beautiful sounds of sex fill up this room. His hips are snapping into yours, picking up the pace, brutally. He leans back, never losing stamina. Josh grips your hips, hard enough that you’re sure it’ll leave a bruise. He slides up to your upper thighs, pulling them apart while he kneels in front of you, throwing the back of your knees over his shoulders, making a new angle and another powerful sensation. You feel a coil start to form in your midgut, stronger than anything before it. “Fuck, I’m close-” You’re broken off by another moan escaping you by mistake. You watch as his hips snap back into you over and over, his abs are flexing and covered in a slight sheen of sweat. He takes his thumb and rubs it right underneath your clit, right on the sweet spot that drives you insane. Your orgasm comes crashing into you like a freight train at top speed. You don’t even realize how loud you moan, a headrush almost making you black out. You ride it out, soon coming to, hearing the pretty sound of Josh moaning and letting a slight whimper escape his pretty lips. “Fuck, baby-” he cuts himself off with a loud moan and the stutter of his hips. You feel the warmness in your gut fill you through the latex. He almost collapses on top of you, forearms pressed on the bed bedside. You rest your hands on the back of his neck, slowly caressing him through his post cum clarity. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” you admit, and to be completely honest, it was. That had been the best, let alone the best orgasm you’ve ever had. You feel him laugh a little, his head perking up, eyes locking with yours. “Really?” he breathes out, a chuckle leaving his lips, his pretty, pretty lips. God, he was beautiful. “Yes.” You watch as his eyes, seeing the words go straight to his head. “Why thank you, baby, I’m flattered.” he gives you a quick kiss on the lips, a gentle but beautiful gesture.

He slowly pulls out of you, taking off the condom and tying a knot in it. “I’ll be right back,” he gently pats your thigh as he gets up and heads towards the bathroom. Finally, you get the chance to look around and analyze where you are. It’s still dark, the moonlight shining in was still a good enough source though. His bed lies in the middle of the room. His walls are off-white, with unique artwork that just looks expensive. Goddamn, you hit the gold mine in the crowd of the bar tonight. You suddenly hear the bathroom door open back up, looking over you see his stature in the doorway, backlight by the bathroom light. He walks over and comes back up to you with a damp washcloth. “Do you mind if I clean you up?” He asks gently, his voice so calming you couldn’t help but agree to the kind gesture. He takes the washcloth to your upper thighs, cleaning up the stickiness. Gently, with more precision than ever, he glides it over your cunt, making sure not to overstimulate, while also cleaning you well. “Thank you,” you mutter out, now suddenly a bit shy after all is said and done. “You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he says, smiling brightly at you. You watch as he throws the towel in a hamper, turns off the bathroom light, turns back around, and hops back into bed. He offers you to climb under the covers with him, to which you happily oblige.

“Thank you, Josh, this is nice,” you say, making yourself comfortable in his bedsheets. He places a hand on your cheek, leaning on his side to fully lock eyes with you. “Of course, how could I see a beautiful girl like you and not treat her well?” you laugh along with him, thanking him for his kindness. You cuddle into his arms, sleepiness suddenly washing over you. His delightful musk fills your senses, his skin is so soft and gentle. This man is just so…beautiful. And kind. And sweet. And my god you can’t remember the last time, if at all, where you have ever been this happy, especially after hooking up with a guy you met at a bar. Josh brings you in closer, his gentle love lulls you to sleep, as the world around just goes into a comfortable silence.

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illusionsofdreaming · 1 month

Text

birds without feet;

Notes: I return to the blog with this monster of a ficlet. This was actually written for @nin-deer who very graciously allowed me to share it on the blog as well. A small imagine that grew out of control haha... enjoy~ Ft: Beacrox

It was but a subtle shift of air that caused him to abandon his project. In an instant, he whipped around, knife in hand, its sharp blade poised just above the intruder's jugular, ready to cut deep with the slightest pressure.

Despite the threat of a blade at your neck, your smile was relaxed as you lifted the roll of parchment in your hand. “Delivery!”

His eyes quickly scanned the kitchen, noting the shifted curtains he pieced together your point of entrance. Only when you wiggled the paper impatiently did he finally drop the knife and swiped the parchment from your hand, ignoring your huff of laughter as he scanned over its contents.

“It’s nice to see you too Beacrox. How have you been?”

Your attempts at casual banter were ignored, but the moment you began reaching for the food on the table, his gaze snapped to yours, promising pain should you attempt further.

You were wise enough to heed his warning as you stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “Sheesh, you’re not going to make any friends if you keep acting this way.”

Crumpling the piece of paper, he threw it into the fireplace as you clicked your tongue in mock annoyance.

Had he cared for your opinion, he might’ve been annoyed, alas it was easy to dismiss as he threw a pouch in your direction, the clink of gold muted as you caught it from the air. He watched as you tossed the bag a few times before pocketing it.

You must have caught the confusion on his face as you glanced up with a grin. “I know you won’t cheat me of my payment.”

Though it was the truth—Molan’s motto was always to repay what’s due—such blatant admission of trust from someone working in the dark underbelly of society puzzled him, and without meaning to, he’d let his displeasure slip through. “It could’ve been filled with rocks.”

You blinked, head tilted as if you’re considering the possibility, then you laughed. “Then I suppose I’ll be a few pretty rocks richer.”

He scowled and returned to his work, grabbing his knife to hide the flush of annoyance he felt by your flippant answer. You knew such responses would annoy him, and he refused to give you the satisfaction of being correct.

One does not survive long in the underworld with their morals and innocence intact. Your deliberate pushing of buttons was another tactic to wheedle information from your targets, and he wasn't inclined on revealing anything. You already know far too much as is.

“Leave,” he ordered, his limited patience well and truly spent.

“Always a pleasure talking to you, Bea~”

He threw the knife in his hand, but by the time he turned around, you were already gone. The only evidence of your visit was the lingering echoes of your laughter and a missing tart from the plate of desserts he'd prepared earlier.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

As you kept the package just out of his reach, he couldn’t help but think: for a grown person jaded by the underworld, you sure liked acting like a child at times.

“You just thought of something rude didn’t you?”

His gaze snapped to yours. “You forget who you’re dealing with.” he warned coldly. The Molan household might have fallen from grace but just because he had traded his daggers for kitchen knives, they were no less lethal in his hands. Was it confidence or foolishness that made you dare to test his patience?

The silence in the kitchens was deafening as your eyes met across the counter.

“I haven’t,” You said finally, “not once.” Your smile was wry and lacked its usual cheer but the heaviness in your tone bore the weight of many secrets, of someone who knew far more than what they’re letting on. He’s faced with an uncanny sense of unbelonging and emptiness that seemed eerily familiar.

But with a blink of an eye, the mask that had slipped had righted itself. “I have a change of mind,” You sat on the edge of the counter island, tension and somber mood shaken off, replaced with an all too sunny smile. “I’d like another form of payment for the information I’m selling.”

He felt anger lick up his throat as his fist clenched above the table. “That was not part of our deal.”

“An amendment to the agreement then, if you will-”

“I refuse.”

Your peals of laughter filled the room, “You didn’t even let me finish!”

“I refuse.” He repeated sternly. Knowing your personality, it would be an amendment that would greatly irritate or inconvenience him.

“I’d like you to cook a dish for me.” You continued, ignoring his words.

There was a sharp snap as the corner of the table cracked under his hand as incredulity stole over his face.

To begin with, payment for your services had never been cheap, each bag of gold was worth more than several months’ worth of food. If all you wanted was a decent meal, then you’ve already been charging enough to dine at any of Roan kingdom’s finest restaurants.

“It’s not a dish that can be found on any menu in the kingdom.” You tutted as if you knew the thoughts that were going through his head. “It’s not something that can be bought with gold.”

You’re pulling his leg. “And why do you think I’d care to create a dish no one’s heard of?” Beacrox asked through gritted teeth.

“I know you don’t.” You laughed, lips slanted with a smile. “It’s something I’ve tasted a long time ago but have no idea how it’s made. I’ll describe what I remember and if you believe it’s impossible to recreate or not worth the hassle,” you shrugged in an exaggerated display of nonchalance, “then I’ll take the usual payment like nothing’s changed. It’s a good deal for you right?”

Nothing about this deal made sense. You’re essentially offering your services for free while he’d benefit regardless of whether he succeeds in recreating the dish or not. His expression was stiff as he crossed his arms.

You set the package down on the table gently and slid a piece of folded paper next to it. “Take your time to think about it.” You offered as you pulled your hood up. You left the kitchens as quietly as you’d arrived, leaving him to brood in the silence left behind.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

“Here.” he sets the completed project on the table with the reluctance of a person who would rather be anywhere else but in the kitchens at that very moment. He folded his arms, pinning his hands to his chest, resisting the urge to snatch the plate and throw it in the trash, calling off the deal.

Beacrox had no expectations of being able to recreate a dish he had never heard of. Yet, from the moment he set the plate down, you stiffened in place, your pleasant smile melting away, replaced by shock.

“Well?”, You flinched as he prompted impatiently. You pulled the dish closer, your smile weak and crooked.

“I was just a bit surprised that’s all..” your voice trailed off.

He filed your reactions away in the back of his mind.

Your grip was uncertain but eventually you picked a piece from the plate and placed it in your mouth.

You froze in place, and he immediately slid a cup of water and bowl over.

But you surprised him when you kept it in and swallowed. “It…” He watched as your face straightened slowly, all visible emotions ironed away into one of careful neutrality.

“..tastes nothing like it.”

When vague subjective descriptions on a slim piece of paper were all that he had to work with, he’d expected this outcome. The bag of gold he had prepared in advance was tossed onto the table as he reached to retrieve the dish, only to be deterred when sharp pain sprang across the back of his hand. The surprise he felt from the fact he’d failed to catch your movements was swiftly replaced by irritation when he realised you’d slapped him.

His eyes narrowed, “What are you-“

“I’m taking it.” you said and to his utter confusion, went on to shove another bite in your mouth.

“You just said-“

“I know what I said.” you huffed, “I never said the dish had to taste right did I? It’s a good first try-“ His eyebrows lifted as you suddenly lost the ability to maintain eye contact with him. “Anyways, I’ll be the judge of what’s accepted and I say this passes.”

You've always been an eccentric character, but just when he thought you couldn't faze him further, you managed to render him speechless yet again. Till now, he’s yet to figure out your intention behind your request, if taste was not a priority then what use was creating the dish you’re looking for?

“Get out of my kitchen.”

“But I haven’t-“

“Out.”

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

Of all the informants in the kingdom, none possessed skills that could surpass yours. It was why, despite the many headaches you induced, Beacrox had chosen to suffer your pestering for so long.

Not one of his sources has ever confirmed how you acquire your information or seen you in action. Yet the intelligence you provide, which has, at many times, sounded unbelievable, had been proven to be true time and time again.

Perhaps the strangest thing of all was that, despite the ease with which you uncover others' secrets, the same couldn’t be said vice versa. Little to no information could be found regarding your background, whatever was found was obviously doctored, being far too mundane for someone of your skills. You were either incredibly thorough at covering your tracks or an experienced fraudster, and Beacrox was inclined on believing the latter.

Your unpredictable behaviour made it hard to judge whether you’re an ally or foe, so it was only natural that he’d sought for leverage to hold against you in case there’ll be a day you’d decide to betray them and sell their secrets to their enemies.

That was the only reason he would consider playing along with your games.

Though he knew not the significance of these dishes to you, he had hoped they would provide some insight on your background or places you’ve been to where other sources have failed to narrow down.

But of course even the meals you’d request would be harder if not just as difficult to trace as well.

It was only a matter of time before you caught onto his intentions, after all, he’d never kept his investigations a secret. Yet instead of pulling back like he’d expected, you had become bolder in your requests, eyes sparkling with mischief as if you understood the frustration he was going through and still remain one infuriating step ahead of him at all times.

He’d considered the possibility that you could be pulling his leg, but there was something about the nostalgia in your eyes as you taste each dish that made Beacrox believe in their authenticity.

He glanced at a small box hidden by the side, within held a small but steadily growing pile of recipes of unknown origins. Not for the first time, Beacrox found himself questioning if all these peaceful days have turned him soft after all.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

A familiar, unwelcome figure was sitting in his fresh crate of produce.

A quick scan around the area confirmed that you were alone and he walked over to assess your state. A splatter trail led up to the crate you sat on and his brows furrowed in distaste. The darkness made it difficult to immediately see any obvious signs of injuries and when you made no reaction to his presence, he kicked the crate below you.

“Ow.” you stirred, complaining with a soft laugh.

Conscious.

“Why are you here?”

Your unannounced visit broke one of many unspoken rules governing their kind. As people maintaining a delicate facade, unexpected visits were not merely discouraged but deemed perilous. No one would fault him should he choose to silence you then and there - such was the severity of your faux pas - yet he stood, only mildly irritated, at the disruption you’ve brought to a peaceful night.

It took a moment longer than he liked before you gathered enough strength to speak. “Sorry,” you apologised and for once, actually sounding it. “I just need a little rest. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Your laboured breathing and unfocused gaze suggested otherwise and he folded his arms as the dreadful feeling of his plans for an early night slipped through his fingers like fine sand.

“How bad is it?”

Impatiently he waited for you to process his words, your sluggishness a strange contrast to your usually sharp wit and quick retorts.

“It’s been treated.”

The smell of blood was sharp and acrid, he would have to clean the stains soon if he wished to avoid its scent lingering in the area. “I will not ask again.” He warned.

You were exhausted, it could be seen from your posture and expression. Though he understood the instinct to hide one’s weakness, from the moment you chose to rest here it wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ the truth comes out but a matter of ‘when’ and Beacrox would preferred if it happened sooner rather than later.

Just as he was contemplating the benefits of leaving you to your fate, your lips loosened. “Stab wound on the left, missed vitals. I’ve been tended to but some of the stitches might have opened up.”

That would explain the bloody trail you left. He should count his blessings that it didn’t sound too bothersome, assuming you hadn't foolishly downplayed the severity of your injuries. Your arms came up defensively as he began moving towards you, eyes widening with surprise, “Wait-“

His arms slipped under and around and with barely a grunt of effort, he lifted you up. The sudden motion drew a muffled groan from you and he allowed you a brief moment to collect yourself before he began moving. From this position, he could acutely feel the heat radiating from your skin and the tremors that wracked your body.

Your confusion and trepidation were clear and it was with some hesitation before you decided to open your mouth-

“Save your breath.” He advised and you obediently swallowed your words.

He moved you into the storage shed behind the kitchen. Though dark, he navigated through the small space easily, setting you on the surface of several boxes, he stepped back to note that you’ve lost consciousness. The walk hadn’t been far but you must have exhausted your reserves traveling here.

From the darkness he brought out a small knife and paused, looking at your face, sweat slicked yet slack from tension, having found an escape from the worries troubling you - however temporary. He recognised that this moment might be a rare opportunity to unveil the secrets you hide, yet as quick as the notion flitted through his mind, it was dismissed just as quickly. With methodical precision, he cut open the side of your shirt where red had stained through.

The wound was as you’d described, if not a bit irritated and swollen. Basic first aid had been applied, though the messy stitch work left much to be desired, it did its job in holding your injury closed. A few stitches had come loose and will need to be reworked but nothing that he’s not capable of handling even with his limited medical knowledge.

As his gaze roamed to your face checking, yes, you were still unconscious, he left and returned moments later with a candle, clean water, cloth and a clean shirt.

A dusty shed and mere candlelight were far from an ideal setting to perform any kind of wound care, but he doubted you’d care at this point. Pristine, white gloves snapped on, he made short work of cleaning, restitching and bandaging your wound.

He was about to tilt a bottle of potion into your lips when you mumbled. He paused, waiting to see if you were regaining consciousness. You mumbled again and he frowned. It took him few moments before he realised two things: you weren’t waking up anytime soon and the words you’re mumbling, weren’t in a language from Roan or even any of the neighbouring kingdoms.

As a master assassin, he had learned many languages, so the fact that you spoke one that he couldn’t place piqued his interest. He watched your lips, intent on studying and memorising the unique intonations and pitch, however, it seems your instincts finally kicked in, and though still unconscious, you’d stopped mumbling.

Even out cold, you’d find a way to be bothersome. There was nothing more he could do, he left the folded, clean shirt he brought along by your side and with one final glance at your still form, he closed the doors behind him and locked it.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

He returned the next morning to a broken lock and an empty shed. In place of where you’re supposed to be was instead a piece of paper and a bag of coins.

“Thanks for last night. Sorry about your spuds, I’ve replaced them for you :)”

A glance to the side confirmed the presence of a fresh crate of potatoes and a slip of paper containing the description of a dish never heard of before in the kingdom.

And for the first time ever, a name to go alongside the unfamiliar dish.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

You never mentioned what happened that night and he didn’t pry. Still, something seemed to have shifted between the two of you.

He no longer chases you away the moment you appear, while you've learned to place yourself to avoiding getting in the way of his cooking. He pretends not to notice when you arrive with injuries and you feign surprise at finding mysterious salves appearing nearby.

“Aw, did you miss my company?” you teased when you caught his gaze assessing you after dropping by from one of your longer absences.

Beacrox made no attempt to conceal the dry scowl on his face. “Like one misses a rat infestation.”

“Charming~” you beamed.

Some things, still don’t change no matter what.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

In the end, it was the one question he couldn’t figure out.

“Why me?”

The dishes you've shared are simple, you could've hired any other chef, given the same descriptions and they would’ve achieved similar results. But you chose to badger him, an unknown chef working for a humble count's family instead.

You paused in your devouring of yet another strange dish, blinking as if surprised that he would be the first to initiate conversation.

“Why Bea! You should have more confidence in yourself, you’re one of the best chefs in Roan!”

It was as obvious a deflection as he ever saw. His fingers tightened around his arms and he took a slow breath. So you’re going to be stubborn. Well, two can play that game. He tried another angle.

The words tasted foreign on his tongue, but they were something that turned over and over in his mind since that night. He’d probably horribly butchered the pronunciation but it seemed the meaning was successfully relayed from the way your eyes widened and your pupils shook with recognition.

The utensil held in your hand clattered to the table and Beacrox kept his eyes trained on you, taking in your paling face. When it didn't seem like you would offer an explanation, he continued.

“It’s what you kept repeating that night.“

A myriad of emotions crossed your face: shock, confusion, fear, and finally, resignation.

In the silence, you slowly repeated those same words. Sharp, crisp and wholly foreign.

"“Home,” your voice was soft, but it was the loudest thing in the kitchen. “‘I want to go home.’” you swallowed thickly, a wavering smile on your face. “that’s probably what I said.”

There was a lot to unpack from that revelation.

He was suddenly reminded of how you’d react to the dishes each time, savouring each one, scouring the plates clean despite the differences in tastes. You ate not to fulfil the hunger of the body but to satisfy a craving of the mind. After receiving the recipe with a foreign name, it had confirmed one suspicion of his, that wherever these dishes came from, whether it was a place or a person that you're reminiscing about, they're likely no longer accessible.

You're reliving memories through dishes you barely remember. Chasing ghosts in your memories in search of some semblance of normalcy.

Trust was a limited and rare currency in the underworld, hoarded jealously and coveted by many. You’d handed him the leash he’d sought since he agreed to your little game yet he felt gutted by the weight of the revelation, his shoulders burdened.

“Why me?” He repeated softly.

You watched him. “I don’t know.” Your voice sounded small and so tired. “I thought maybe, if it’s anyone, you’d probably understand.”

What does the concept of home and person mean when they no longer exist? Who are they but displaced people playing roles too big or small to hold their histories? Bearing memories of a place and person, but unable to find an equivalent?

It was a mistake. He shouldn’t have asked.

“But I wasn’t lying you know?” you added suddenly and he looked up in confusion, the smile you wore was weaker than usual but it was genuine.��

“You are one of the best chefs in all of Roan.” You declared in that same, familiar confidence which you use to share all those impossible, far-fetched sounding intel that always, turns out to be fact.

For some inexplicable reason, it was that simple statement that dispersed the tempest building within.

Beacrox sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and exhaled through his nose.

And perhaps, there was a small, exasperated chuckle.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

“Bea please marry me.”

It wasn't often, but on rare occasions, he would nail the taste of a dish right.

He didn’t bother with a response but moved to refill your plate nonetheless.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

“Thank you.”

He paused while wiping the dishes. “For what?”

“Just,” Your gaze dropped to the plate before you as your fork tapped lightly against the edge. “Thank you for the food.”

Beacrox watched as you returned to eating, mind filled with memories of all the dishes he's made, of greatswords and bladed edges, and thought of what home and belonging is.

We’re not so different. The idea of it wasn't as horrifying as he had thought. Once, perhaps he would’ve been unnerved by the sentimentality. There are still so many things that remain a secret when it comes to you, and yet, as you close your eyes to savor each bite, he feels as if he knows you better than most.

You ate in comfortable silence. He rolled his shoulders and allowed the tension in them to drop off.

This might not be ‘home’ but for now, this moment was as good a resting place as any for people like them.

“You’re welcome.” he said softly.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

BONUS:

Once again, it begins with a ridiculous request from you.

“Bea please, you have to prepare this for Choi Han. I’ll even sell you my kidneys, I really need to know his reaction.”

What value would owning your kidneys have? That you’d blatantly suggest such things to an assassin like himself was laughable, stranger still was his playing the fool and following along anyways.

He didn't question how you knew about their mansion's new guest, though your sudden interest in the visitor when you’ve shown no such interest in past guests was worthy of note. Even he had unconsciously tensed when the young master had introduced him. Something about the newcomer didn’t seem right. They were strong, but their potential was untapped and raw, like an uncontrollable beast on the verge of lashing out at any moment.

The glimmer of something in your eyes further confirmed his suspicions. You knew something about this stranger though you refused to reveal more, only promising that he’s not a threat to him or Ron.

He frowned at the pot of red he’s stirring, the pungent smell wafting through the room. Footsteps from the doorway had him looking up, but the person that crossed the threshold was not the person he’d expected.

The young master stepped in with a cautious look in his eyes.

“I thought I smelled..” brown eyes narrowed at the pot he held. “What’s that?”

Beacrox glanced down at the strange dish he was asked to prepare, wondering why of all people that could’ve come, it would be Cale Henituse.

“A dish a friend taught me to make.” Then for some reason unbeknownst to him, he offered. “Would the young master like to try?”

Cale hesitated, but eventually slid himself onto a seat, choosing the one farthest away from him. At least the young master seemed sober. Beacrox felt no fondness for the young master he served, even if it was true that he had begun to change recently, raising even the interest of Ron.

Spooning a small portion, he set the dish and utensils down before Cale, ignoring the young man’s flinch as he gauged Cale’s strange expressions.

The young master stared at the dish as if it would leap up and attack him, his strange wariness reminded Beacrox of your reaction when he first presented that first unfamiliar dish to you.

“.. there’s no way..” Cale muttered to himself as he poked and prodded until finally, he tried a bite.

“What.. the hell?”

Beacrox had never seen the young master's eyes bug out like that, and he decided it was quite an entertaining sight, even if the dish’s original target wasn’t meant for the redhead. Still he stifled an irritated sigh as a thought crossed his mind when the young master exclaimed.

“How the hell did you learn to make kimchi?!”

“What the hell did you make me do this time _______?”

Notes: I've had lots of thoughts while writing this imagine turned fic. Nin-deer gave me a simple prompt of "cooking" and I went and turned it into lore- OTL even I don't understand the intricate workings of my brain. I've had to cut out some chapters details as it was growing out of hand so I hope everything's links together properly. I've reached that stage where I've reread a piece of writing so many times, nothing makes sense anymore. I've deliberately left the dishes 'cooked' vague so you're free to imagine whatever cuisine you'd like that Beacrox helped butcher 👍🏼

#TCF #TRASH OF THE COUNT'S FAMILY #IMAGINES #TCF X READER #Beacrox Molan #platonic #pre relationship #multiple identities #after a long hiatus #smacksdown with 4000 worded thesis #believe me when I said this monster got out of control #it was actually longer #i had to cut many parts out to prevent it from turning into a multichaptered fic #this au got out of hand #the lore I had planned...#i would love to see if I'll return to this AU #perhaps post the rest of the 'deleted' moments #would love to hear about everyone's theories on this ficlet

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