(/u\)

ℒOGAN ℋOWLETT !!

The first thing you register is the weight of the world pressing down on your lower abdomen, a familiar, crushing agony. You try to curl into a tighter ball, but a low, pained groan escapes your lips before you can stop it.

The door to your room creaks open, but you don't have the strength to look. You just hear the heavy, deliberate footsteps, followed by the unmistakable snikt of claws being sheathed. Logan had been sharpening them in the other room. He must have heard you.

A moment later, the bed dips under his considerable weight, and a massive, warm hand comes to rest on your trembling shoulder. "Hey, kid," he rumbles, his voice a low gravelly whisper that somehow cuts through the fog of pain. "That bad, huh?"

You just whimper in response, tears leaking from your closed eyes. You feel his hand move, gently brushing the hair from your sweaty forehead. The calluses on his palm are rough, but his touch is impossibly gentle.

He doesn't say anything for a long moment. Instead, you hear the soft clink of a glass being set down on your nightstand, followed by the rattle of a pill bottle.

"Jean told me these help," he mutters, sounding almost embarrassed. He gently nudges your shoulder. "C'mon, sit up for a second. Need to get some of this in you."

With a monumental effort, you push yourself up, your face a mask of misery. Logan is watching you with an intensity that makes him look like he’s about to pick a fight with the entire universe. He hands you a glass of water and two little white pills. "There you go. Small sips."

You take the pills, and as you sink back into the pillows, you see him pull a worn, leather jacket from the foot of your bed and drape it over you. It's heavy and smells like him—cigar smoke, whiskey, and something metallic and wild.

"Just rest," he says, settling into the chair by your window, his arms crossed over his chest like a silent, unmovable guard. "I'm not goin' anywhere." The sheer, unwavering presence of him is more comforting than any painkiller. You know, without a doubt, that he would tear the world apart if it meant easing your suffering. He stays in that chair for the rest of the day, silent and watchful, only moving to get you a fresh glass of water or to check if you're still breathing.

𝒲ORST 𝒲OLVERINE !!

You're curled up on the lumpy couch, clutching a pillow to your stomach, trying to will the searing cramps away.

Logan, who was previously complaining about Wade's inability to make a decent pot of coffee, stops mid-sentence. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just sniffs the air in a way that's both animalistic and deeply, deeply weird.

"Jesus, kid," he says, his voice surprisingly soft, devoid of its usual rough edge. "You smell like…" He trails off, a flicker of understanding—and something akin to panic—crossing his face. "Fuck."

He shoots a glare at Wade, who is mid-sentence about the ideal chimichanga-to-filling ratio. "Shut it, Wilson."

Wade opens his mouth to protest, but Logan silences him with a look that could curdle milk. He then turns his attention back to you, slowly approaching the couch as if you were a frightened deer. "Okay. I got this. I got this. Okay."

He kneels in front of the couch, his hands hovering uselessly for a moment before he awkwardly pats your knee. "You need, uh… food? Water? I can make toast. I know how to make toast."

You just groan in response, and he seems to take this as a major mission objective. He stands up abruptly, almost knocking over the coffee table, and starts rummaging through the kitchen with an uncharacteristic sense of purpose. You hear the microwave beep, the tap run, and the sound of something being aggressively torn open. He returns with a warm, damp towel and places it gently on your stomach, and a glass of water.

He sits on the floor, his back against the couch, looking like a grumpy, deeply uncomfortable but fiercely devoted gargoyle. "If that idiot comes anywhere near you, I'm gonna gut him." he mutters, his gaze fixed on the floor. "Now, you just… stay there. And don't you dare die. I don't do funerals."

𝒪LD ℳAN ℒOGAN !!

He’s old, tired, and his body is a map of aches and pains. But when you stumble out of the car, clutching your stomach and looking like a ghost, the years fall away. He doesn't see his own pain, his own exhaustion; he only sees you.

Logan barely makes a sound. He just drops the cigar he was smoking and moves. He grabs you before you can hit the floor, his strong, weathered hands catching you, and then gently placing you into the passenger seat without a word.

You drift in and out of consciousness, the rattling of the old SUV and the hum of the engine the only sounds. When you come to, you're in a motel room. It smells faintly of bleach and stale air, but there's a clean, fresh scent of the blanket he's wrapped you in. The sun is setting, painting the dingy room in a soft orange glow.

Logan is sitting in a chair near the window, watching you. A glass of water and a bottle of pills are on the nightstand.

"Logan... how did I...?"

"You passed out," he says, his voice a rasp. He looks older than usual, the lines on his face deeper. "You need rest, seems like it's a bad one."

He gets up slowly, the joints in his knees popping. He walks over to the bed and sits on the edge. He looks at you for a long moment, his eyes full of a haunting sadness and something fierce. Love.

He reaches out and carefully, oh so carefully, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "You scared me," he admits, his voice barely a whisper. "Don't do that again."

He doesn't say much else. He just sits there, a silent sentinel. He holds your hand, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles on your skin. He stays with you all night, a quiet, steady presence in the darkness, a protector who has seen too much to let the one person he has left suffer alone.

𝒲ADE 𝒲ILSON !!

"Cramp-pocalypse now! Operation: Warmth & Snark is a go!"

You groan from your position on the bathroom floor, where you've collapsed after a particularly violent wave of nausea. The door swings open without preamble, and Wade's masked face appears in your line of sight, peering down at you upside down.

"Woah there, mini-me. And I don't mean the awkward clone who was in love with me for a hot second. You look like you've been challenged to a 'who can eat the most ghost peppers' competition and lost. But like, with your soul."

He’s already kneeling beside you, his gloved hands surprisingly gentle as he helps you sit up. "Chimichanga? No? Terrible idea. My bad. How about the Holy Trinity of Period Care? We've got chocolate, a whole drawer full, don't tell Al. We've got a heat pack that I may or may not have stolen from a hospital- they had it coming. And last, but certainly not least, we have a 12-hour movie marathon featuring the cinematic masterpiece that is Matrix."

He leads you, half-carrying you, back to the couch, where he’s already set up an elaborate nest of blankets and pillows. He tucks you in with an absurd level of care, shoves a heating pad onto your stomach, and presses a bar of dark chocolate into your hand.

"Now, I'm going to talk about all the different plans and angles used in this movie." he declares, hitting play on the movie. "But seriously, you need anything, you just say the word. I'll fight a demon, rob a bank, or even put on pants if that's what it takes." He gestures to his bare legs, a fact you're trying very hard to ignore.

He stays with you, his constant chatter a bizarre but effective distraction. He mutters insults at the characters on screen, offers his own commentary, and periodically pauses to check on you, his masked face tilting with concern. Beneath the relentless sarcasm and fourth-wall-breaking jokes, his protectiveness is fierce and absolute. He’s not just your friend; he’s your unhinged, deeply inappropriate, but completely dedicated guardian.

𝒱ICTOR 𝒞REED !!

It was a mistake to stumble into the penthouse common area. You were feeling faint, the world spinning, and you just wanted to get to your room to collapse. But you didn't make it.

Victor was there, lounging in a chair, looking like a predator at rest. His nostrils flared the second you entered, a subtle shift in his posture the only warning. His eyes, the color of molten gold, snapped to you, taking in your pale face, your hunched posture, the way you were listing to one side.

"Trouble, squirt?" he rumbled, his voice a deep, gravelly purr. There was a hint of mockery in it, accompained by the usual quirk of his right eyebrow.

"Just a bad day, that's all." you mumbled, trying to walk past him. You swayed, your vision going white for a second.

He was on his feet in an instant. Before you could fall, you felt powerful arms hook under your knees and shoulders, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He wasn't exactly gentle, but he wasn't seeking out to harm you either, it was just that he was enormous compared to a small thing like you and that never ceased to amaze, amuse and unsettle him in equal measures. He was possessive, a predator securing his prey. But his hold was unwavering.

"Stubborn," he growled, carrying you to the massive, plush couch. He placed you down not on the cushions, but in his own lap, his body a wall of heat behind you. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

"You're freezing and you smell like pain," he said, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "I can hear your heart racing."

He knew what was happening. He didn't need to be told. He just held you there, a possessive, frighteningly powerful guard dog. He didn't offer to get you anything, because he wouldn't leave you. Instead, he simply held you, his massive hand resting on your stomach, the warmth of his body seeping into your aching muscles. His clawed thumb rubbed slow, steady circles on the fabric of your shirt. "Breathe," he commanded, and his voice was so deep and resonant that you had no choice but to obey. The feeling of being wrapped in his strength was both terrifying and the most secure you'd ever felt.

ℛEMY ℒEBEAU !!

The scent of Cajun spices and something sweet, like beignets, is the first thing that registers through your pain-fogged mind. You're curled up on your bed, a miserable ball of cramps and chills.

"Chère, you look like you're tryin' to climb into your own skin to get away from de pain." Remy's voice, smooth as honey and rich as bourbon, washes over you. He’s perched on the edge of your bed, a steaming cup of tea in his hand, his eyes full of a tenderness he rarely shows the rest of the world.

He offers you the cup. "A special blend. Madame LeBeau's own recipe. Good for what ails you."

You take it, the warmth seeping into your cold hands. You take a sip. It's soothing, with a hint of ginger and honey, and a warmth that spreads from your stomach.

Remy watches you, a small, sad smile on his face. "I know, mon coeur. It's not fair. A beautiful, strong young thing like you shouldn't have to deal with such nonsense."

He reaches out a hand, and with a soft, gentle click of his fingers, a small, glowing ball of pink kinetic energy dances in his palm. It’s not violent, not explosive. It’s soft and warm, like a tiny, glowing sun. "Here," he says, carefully placing it over your stomach, just above the blankets. "My own special heatin' pad. It's safe. Just a little energy to help ease the pain. All my concentration is on keepin' it nice and gentle, just for you."

The warmth is immediate and profound, seeping deep into your muscles and loosening the knots of pain. You let out a shaky breath, the first one that didn't hurt in hours.

Remy smiles, a flash of white teeth. "There she is. Knew you were still in there. Now, you rest. I'm gonna stay right here. I'll tell you a story from the Bayou. About a little girl who could talk to the swamp cats." His voice is a soothing cadence, a gentle melody that carries you away from the pain, weaving a tale of magic and comfort, a reminder that even in your worst moments, you are deeply, utterly loved.

𝒦URT 𝒲AGNER !!

A sharp bamf of sulfurous smoke, and Kurt was there, his tail swishing anxiously behind him. He'd been on his way to the kitchen to get a snack when he saw you from across the hall, doubled over and crying. He'd teleported without a second thought.

"Mein Gott! Fraulein, what is it?" His yellow eyes were wide with distress, his blue face a mask of worry. He knelt beside you, his three-fingered hand hovering near your shoulder, afraid to touch you for fear of hurting you more.

"I'm okay," you tried to say, but it came out as a choked sob. Another cramp hit, and you gasped.

"Oh, no, no, no," he murmured, his voice thick with compassion. "You are not okay. This is not okay."

He carefully, so carefully, scooped you into his arms. He didn't like to see anyone suffer, but you, his precious friend, his little sister in all but blood, it was unbearable. He bamfed again, and suddenly you were in your own room, on your bed.

"I will fix this," he declared, his voice a determined whisper.

He conjured a fluffy, downy blanket and draped it over you. He fetched a glass of water and some pain medication, his movements efficient yet trembling with concern. He then sat on the edge of your bed, his legs crossed, his three-fingered hands clasped in his lap. He began to pray, his voice a soft, melodic whisper in German. It wasn't a plea to a distant God, but a loving, gentle conversation, a request for comfort for you. He didn't leave the room; he stayed by your side, offering his quiet presence and unwavering faith. He was a guardian angel, his very presence a soft, protective light in the darkness of your pain.

𝒮COTT 𝒮UMMERS !!

Scott Summers is a man of strategy and control. He keeps his emotions in check and his plan B is always ready. So when he finds you white-faced and trembling on the living room couch, the carefully constructed walls around his composure start to crack.

"Y/N," he says, his voice sharp with alarm as he drops to his knees in front of you. He takes your face in his hands, tilting it up to look at him. His eyes are hidden behind his ruby quartz visor, but you can feel the intensity of his gaze. "Talk to me. What's going on? Is it another headache? Did something happen?"

You can barely get the words out between your sobs, just "cramps" and "bad".

His expression immediately softens from alarm to a deep, focused concern. He nods, his jaw tight. "Okay. Okay, we can handle this."

For the next hour, Scott becomes a man on a mission. He’s not just caretaking; he’s executing a carefully planned operation. He places a precisely warmed heating pad on your abdomen, its temperature calibrated perfectly to soothe without being too hot. He brings you two specific pain relievers and a glass of water, explaining, "The doctor said these two work well in tandem."

He then disappears into the kitchen and returns with a tray of food: saltine crackers, a small cup of applesauce, and a glass of ginger ale. "Bland foods are best for nausea," he says, his voice matter-of-fact, but his hands are gentle as he helps you sit up.

He sits on the floor next to you, not taking his eyes off you. "Okay, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. If you need to throw up, just tell me and I'll get the bucket. If you need to go to the bathroom, I'll carry you. If you need to cry, you do it." His voice is steady, a solid anchor in the storm of your pain. "You're going to be fine. I promise you. I'm right here." The pure, unshakeable certainty in his voice is more reassuring than any medicine. He will plan and strategize until you are better, because that’s what he does for the people he loves.

𝒮TEVE ℛOGERS !!

"Miss Y/L/N, you look a little pale. Are you feeling alright?" Steve's voice was always kind, but his blue eyes held a deep well of concern as he looked at you. He'd noticed you'd been quiet all morning, and the slight tremor in your hands as you tried to eat your breakfast hadn't escaped his attention.

You just shook your head, unable to speak without your voice betraying you. The pain was a dull, constant ache, punctuated by sharp, stabbing cramps that made you want to curl into a ball and cry.

"Alright." He didn't push. He simply stood, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. "Come with me."

He led you to the common room's comfortable seating area, a place he knew was quiet this time of day. He helped you settle onto the large, soft couch, draping a thick blanket over your legs. "I'll be right back."

He returned shortly with a glass of water, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a small, soft, plush teddy bear—the one you'd seen on his nightstand once, a kid had given it to him as a gift for saving him. "It's not much," he said, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "But I find it helps to have something to hold onto."

He then took a seat on the floor beside the couch, his back against the cushions. He didn't say much. He just opened his sketchbook and began to draw, his presence a solid, reassuring wall between you and the rest of the world. He was the epitome of a comforting father figure, quiet, steady, and filled with an unshakeable, protective warmth. He was just there, a bastion of unwavering stability you could lean on, his gaze frequently checking on you, a gentle smile encouraging you to rest.

𝒯ONY 𝒮TARK !!

"Friday, status report on our patient in distress."

"Subject shows elevated cortisol levels and reports severe abdominal cramps. Given her age and physiology, I would estimate this is a case of-"

"Don't need the medical details, FRI. Just tell me where we keep the good stuff."

You're curled up in the corner of the lab, watching a holographic display of your latest project spin idly, too tired to work. Tony kicks the door open, his expression one of playful concern. "Heard a little birdy say you're having a rough day." He drops a large, sleek-looking device on the table. "Introducing the Stark Industries Patented Crampinator 3000. It uses micro-vibrations to soothe muscle tension."

He presses a button and the device hums to life. "Put it right where the hurt is. You will be pain-free in no time. If not, I’ll blame the prototype and send a very strongly worded email to the R&D department."

He doesn't leave, of course. He just hovers, pretending to be absorbed in his holograms, but you can feel his attention on you. He’s watching to make sure you're okay.

"FRI, queue up her favorite playlist. And order that pizza she likes. The one with the weird toppings. Just have it delivered." He winks at you. "Doctor's orders. I'm prescribing a strict regimen of terrible movies, unhealthy food, and sarcastic commentary. Get ready for a masterclass in avoidance and deflecting emotions with humor." His genius and his humor are a powerful distraction, and his dedication to your well-being is absolute, even if he shows it through flashy tech and witty banter.

𝒫ETER 𝒫ARKER !!

Peter is the king of awkward, overprotective care. He found you in the middle of a study session, your head down on your desk, a quiet sob escaping your lips. He immediately panics.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no. What's wrong? Is it a project? Did someone say something mean to you? Do I need to have a stern talk with someone? Because I will. I will put on the suit and have a very stern talk. I'm pretty good at stern talks."

You weakly explain, and his face flushes red. "Oh. Oh! Right. Okay. Yeah. Got it. That. Yep. I can handle that." He takes a deep breath. "Okay. Step one: locate heating pad. Done. Step two: procure comfort food." He disappears for a second and comes back with a bag of your favorite chips. "It's not the healthiest, but it's what we have."

He gently takes your hand and leads you to the couch, where he wraps you in a blanket, creating a human-sized burrito. "Okay. You stay here. You watch whatever you want. I will be your service human." He pauses. "That's a thing, right? They've got animals doing it, why can't a human do it? i'll do it. I can be that. I'm very good at being a service human. I've been a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man for a decade, I am a professional at service."

He sits beside you, a little too close, but you can tell he's worried. He starts rambling about his day, about the new villain he fought who was "ridiculously themed," about Aunt May's new recipe for meatloaf. He doesn't stop talking, his stories a constant, comfortable stream of noise that distracts you from the pain. He checks on you every few minutes, asking if you need anything, his eyes full of the same gentle, earnest compassion that made him a hero in the first place. He’s your own personal, slightly dorky, fiercely loyal guardian in a red-and-blue onesie.

𝒯HOR 𝒪DINSON !!

"Your pain is a palpable thing, my young friend," Thor rumbled, his brow furrowed with worry. He had found you trying to hide in a corner of the Avengers compound's library, your discomfort written plainly on your face. "I have faced monsters and gods, but I find this foe, this.. unseen, silent enemy, is one I am ill-equipped to battle."

He then knelt before you, the mighty God of Thunder looking utterly humbled and concerned. "In Asgard, we have healers, yes, but for this… this monthly trial, what is it you require?"

He listened with grave attention as you haltingly explained. Then, a determined glint entered his eye. "Then you shall have the finest comforts Midgard has to offer."

He summoned a feast of your favorite foods, not by magic, but by ordering the most extravagant spread from a very confused local deli. He had a fire roaring in the fireplace within minutes, and conjured a veritable mountain of plush furs and pillows around you.

"Drink this," he commanded, handing you a mug of hot, spiced mead that he'd heated with a spark of lightning. "It will warm you from the inside."

He then spent the rest of the day regaling you with tales of his many battles, his voice a comforting, booming rumble, while his hand rested gently on your shoulder, a constant, godly warmth that made you feel safe enough to drift off to sleep.

ℛEED ℛICHARDS !!

"Fascinating," Reed murmured, tilting his head as he looked at the biometric data on his monitor. "The levels of prostaglandins your body is producing are significantly elevated. No wonder you're in such distress." He said it with the clinical detachment of a scientist.

But then he looked at you, really looked at you with your pale face and the tears you were trying to hold back, and his expression softened immediately. "Oh, my dear," he said, his voice losing its clinical edge. "I'm so sorry."

He immediately stopped his little research. "Let's see what we can do to alleviate this."

You just sniffled, managing a nod as your lower lip jutted out in a pout.

"Perhaps some tea?" he offered, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "I believe I have a chamomile blend in my office."

He sat with you, his body stretching and bending to accommodate his long limbs in a comfortable position.

𝒥OHNNY 𝒮TORM !!

Johnny Storm is a firecracker. He's loud, cocky, and lives for attention. But when it comes to you, his unspoken little sister, his flame burns solely for your protection and comfort. He found you curled up on a beanbag chair in the common room, looking miserable. He’d been planning to annoy his sister but the sight of you stops him cold.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa-" he says, his usual bravado completely gone. He plops down on the floor next to you, a concerned frown on his face. "Hey, what's wrong? You look like you're gonna spontaneously combust, and I'm the only one allowed to do that around here."

You explain, and his expression softens. "Oh. Man, that sucks. That really, really sucks." He scratches the back of his head. "Okay, I'm not great at this whole comforting thing. But I'm great at heat." He grins, a little of his old self returning. "Watch this."

He holds out a hand, palm up, and a small, controlled flame flickers to life above his skin. He doesn't let it get too big. "Okay, now, put your hands here," he says, gesturing to the space just above the flame. The heat is perfect, warm and soothing. He then positions his hand near your stomach, acting as a living, breathing heating pad.

"How's that? Nice, right?" He keeps his hand steady, his concentration absolute, a rare sight for the Human Torch. "Anything else? Want me to set something on fire? The toaster? Ben's collection of ugly socks?" He stays with you, his hand a constant source of warmth, his chatter a reassuring hum, his concern genuine and warm. He may be a fiery hothead, but he's also a fiercely loyal and surprisingly gentle brother.

𝒫ETER 𝒬UILL !!

"Okay, so the first thing you need is a good playlist." Peter knelt by your bed, scrolling through his Zune with the gravity of a surgeon. "No, scratch that, the first thing you need is for me to say that this is the worst thing ever and that I'm sorry you're going through this."

He'd found you in your quarters, curled into a tight ball, tears streaming down your face. He'd gotten over his initial awkwardness (mostly) and was now in full 'overprotective older brother' mode.

"Alright, I've got the perfect mix," he declared. "We've got some 'Footloose' for when you need to feel awesome, some 'Come and Get Your Love' for general good vibes, and some 'Starman' because... well, it's beautiful and it makes me think of my mom." He put the earbud in your ear, the music a soft, familiar comfort.

He then proceeded to build a pillow fort around you. He would not rest until you were comfortable. He brought you a bowl of what he called "soup" but was mostly just broth and some kind of alien vegetable. "It's good for you," he insisted, not looking entirely sure.

He then told you the story of how he and Rocket once tried to steal a planet. It was a ridiculous, rambling, and utterly amazing story that made you laugh so hard the cramps subsided for a few blessed moments. He was an idiot, a sweet, goofy, and fiercely protective idiot, and his unwavering presence and his determination to make you smile was the best pain relief he could ever offer.

Tomas Vrbada

In the dead of a hot summer night he was hiding in the treeline where your window was on display for him. Tomas's attentive hungry eyes were tracking your every movement.

His ears were red at the tips, his heart – beating like a trapped bird. He was an assassin, a protector of Earthrealm, yet here he was, hiding in the bushes like a boy just to catch a glimpse of you performing your nightly ritual. Today you wore a white bustier and lace panties. You walked around the room, soft thighs jiggling as you moved. You came to a stand, where a bowl of water was waiting, lowered your upper body to wash your armpits: fingers dived into the water, spritzed with lemon juice, and brushed through the smooth hair, washing away the day's sweat. Tomas was obsessed with your body hair: so delicate, so perfectly shaped, growing hair by hair and forming a beautiful tracery on your skin. He wished to be there for you to brush his fingers through it, helping you wash; he wished to wake up to you every morning and bury his nose into it, inhaling your tart morning scent. Tomas imagined lying with you on fragrant grass, your hands stretched above your head just to reveal the alluring hair path so he could lick along it, embracing the natural way of things.

Bi-Han

Bi-Han was watching you through the crack of the door that led into your room. You were at the vanity table, sitting on a bench and brushing your hair. His eyes were tracking every move of the brush with the hunger of an animal at a feast. Every flick of a luxurious hairbrush, encrusted with jewels, was a mocking reminder that it could be his fingers brushing through your locks and untying pesky knots that made your nose scrunch whenever a comb’s teeth faltered upon one.

Bi-Han squeezed your tartan ribbon, which you used to tie your hair with before he stole it, in his hand. It still carried some of your fallen hairs and fragrance – and it made the ribbon ten times more precious. In the cold loneliness of his room, he pressed the ribbon to his nose just to breathe in the musk of you after long stressful days. It was gentle and warm, resembling the scent of hazel. Bi-Han's aching fantasy was drawing pictures of temerarious libertinage: your hair coiled in his fist like a velvet noose, while he pounded into you from behind, the power of his grasp mimicking the clench of your walls around him. It was all he needed to keep sane and motivated for navigating the intricate politics of the realms.

Kuai Liang

Kuai Liang’s eyes were blessed with the sight of you, a playful undine, relaxing in a bath house: wet hair sticking to your body like a tapestry of unknown battles won, bubbles and foam bending the light and shining like tiny diamonds around you. Or were you an insidious siren waiting for him to come closer, so you could hug his face with your palms and drag him into the water, promising a kiss? Nevertheless, he didn't mind.

You scooped some foam and blew it off your hand, letting it land on the clear surface of the water. Your nipples perked up from the temperature difference, taut and ripe – a forbidden fruit made just for his teeth to bite into and for his tongue to taste. Kuai Liang couldn't take his eyes away. He longed to join you in the tub, lather soap on your skin: his clever fingers would rub your sore muscles, tease your nipples until you let your moans echo off the walls of the bathing chamber, and continue their journey lower, where a natural wetness would greet them. Oh, he would make love to you in the water, let it boil from your shared lust.

Simon woke up wrong.

There was no other way to describe it. His eyes snapped open in the darkness of the dome's night cycle, and the first thing he registered was absence. The space beside him in the blanket nest was cool. Empty. You had shifted in your sleep, rolled away from him, and now there was a handspan of distance between your back and his chest.

That handspan felt like an ocean. Like the blood ocean. Like the moment in the submarine when the hull had buckled and he had reached for you and his fingers had brushed nothing but cold metal and rising water.

His chest seized. His lungs refused to fill. He was burning—no, he was on fire, a slow, internal immolation that started in his gut and spread outward until his skin prickled with heat. His pulse hammered in his ears. His hands trembled.

Where is the kid.

It was not a question. It was a primal demand, the kind of thought that existed before language, before reason, before anything except the animal need to gather the pack and protect the young.

I need the kid. I need to keep the kid close and safe. I need her against me. I need to feel her breathing. I need to know she is real. She is alive. She is not drowning. She is not calling my name from the other end of a dying submarine while I cannot reach her.

He moved before he could think. His arm shot out, hooked around your waist, and dragged you across the remaining distance. You made a soft, sleepy sound of protest. You were barely conscious, still swimming up from whatever dream had held you, and then Simon was wrapped around you.

His chest pressed to your back. His arm locked over your ribs, pulling you so tightly against him that there was no space for air between your bodies. His face buried itself in your hair at the back of your head, where he could feel the warmth of your scalp, smell the faint scent of the soap the Eridians had synthesized. He inhaled.

Deep, shuddering breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Your scent filled his lungs. Your warmth soaked into his skin. Your heartbeat, a small, steady pulse against his sternum, slowly, slowly, began to calm his own.

She's here. She's warm. She's alive. She's alive. She's alive.

You, still half-asleep and desperately touch-starved, did the only thing your body knew how to do. You relaxed into him. You tucked yourself back against his chest like a small animal seeking warmth. Your hand found his arm and held on. A quiet, sleepy murmur escaped you:

"Simon? 'S early.."

"Go back to sleep." he rasped. His voice was wrecked, rough with something he couldn't name. "Just… stay. Stay here."

"Mm'kay.." you agreed, already fading. "Stayin'."

You were asleep again in seconds, your breathing evening out into the soft, rhythmic cadence of deep rest. Simon did not sleep. He lay awake in the dark, holding you, counting your breaths, pressing his thumb to your wrist every few minutes to feel your pulse.

The burning did not stop. But it became… manageable. Bearable. As long as you were in his arms, he could breathe. As long as he could feel you, he would not burn alive.

When the dome's light cycle began (a slow, gradual brightening designed to mimic a natural sunrise) Grace woke to an unusual sight.

Simon was already awake. Sitting up against the wall of the blanket nest. And you were in his lap.

Not sitting beside him. Not leaning against him. In his lap. Curled up sideways like a cat, your head tucked under his chin, your legs drawn up, your hands clutching the front of his shirt. Simon had one arm wrapped around your back and the other hand tangled in your hair, fingers slowly, rhythmically stroking through the strands.

Grace blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Looked again.

"Morning.." he said cautiously. "Everything okay?"

Simon's head snapped toward him. For a moment—just a moment—there was something feral in his eyes. A warning. A threat. Stay back. Don't come closer. She's mine to protect.

Then recognition flickered across his face, and the feral light dimmed. Not disappeared. Dimmed.

"Fine." Simon said. His voice was flat. "Everything's fine."

It was clearly not fine. Grace had spent enough time around traumatized people, had been a traumatized person himself, to recognize the signs. Simon's jaw was clenched. His shoulders were tight. His eyes kept darting to the dome walls, to the door, to the Eridians moving past the observation window. He was scanning for threats. Constantly. Compulsively.

And he would not let go of you.

You, for your part, seemed unbothered. You were awake now, blinking sleepily, but you made no move to leave Simon's lap. When Grace set out breakfast, you accepted a cup from him with a quiet "thank you" and drank it while still tucked against Simon's chest.

"You gonna get up today?" Grace asked, aiming for casual.

"Maybe," Simon said. "Later."

"Simon needs a hug." you announced, in the matter-of-fact tone of someone stating an obvious truth. "A really long one. I'm helping."

Grace's lips twitched upẁards towards a smile. "Is that what's happening?"

"Yep!" you said. "I'm very helpful."

Despite everything: the tension coiling in his gut, the burning under his skin, the relentless need to keep you close, Simon felt something loosen in his chest at your words. You weren't scared of him. You weren't confused by him. You just… accepted. You curled into him and called it helping, and maybe, in some strange way, it was.

The episode did not fade as the day wore on. It just got worse.

Simon followed you everywhere. Not walked beside you, followed. He was a shadow, a second skin, a living tether. When you went to the food preparation area, he went with you. When you sat down to look at the Eridian specimen containers, he sat behind you, bracketing you with his legs, his chest against your back. When you stood up to stretch your legs, he stood with you, his hand finding the small of your back, pressing there like a brand.

He touched you constantly. Not gently. Not the soft, tentative touches of the past few weeks. These were possessive touches. Anchoring touches. His hand on your shoulder. His arm around your waist. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, thumb pressed to your pulse, counting, counting, counting.

You did not mind. You were a tactile creature, starved for physical affection, and Simon's intensity did not frighten you. You had seen him feral before—in the submarine, in the first days on Erid—and this was not that. This was something else. Something desperate and scared and hungry.

So you leaned into him. You patted his hand when it tightened too hard on your shoulder. You hummed softly when he buried his face in your hair. You reached up to poke his cheek when he looked too pale, too tense, too much like he was trying to hold himself together with sheer willpower.

Grace tried, in his gentle, patient way, to intervene.

Mid-morning, he approached with two cups of water. He held one out to Simon. It was a peace offering, a gesture of care.

"You haven't eaten much.." Grace said. "Or drunk anything. You need to stay hydrated."

Simon stared at the cup. His arms were wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on top of your head. You were sitting between his legs, playing with a piece of Eridian fabric, completely content.

"Not thirsty." Simon said.

"You're lying," Grace said mildly. "I can see your hands shaking. Dehydration makes tremors worse."

"I said I'm not thirsty."

There was a warning in his voice now. A low growl. Grace recognized it for what it was: not anger at him, but the defensive posturing of a wounded animal protecting its most valuable resource.

He set the cup down within Simon's reach anyway. Then he stepped back. Gave him space.

"Okay," Grace said softly. "Okay, yeah. The cup's there if you change your mind."

He did not try again for several hours.

By midday, Simon was visibly struggling. His skin was pale, sheened with sweat. His hands shook slightly even when he wasn't reaching for you. He was grinding his teeth (you could hear it, the soft, rhythmic click-click-click of his jaw working/.

You had shifted positions several times throughout the day, always within the circle of his arms. Sometimes you sat in his lap. Sometimes you leaned against his side. Sometimes you lay with your head in his lap while he stroked your hair.

Now, you were sitting cross-legged in front of him, showing him the knots you had learned to tie from an Eridian instructional hologram. Your fingers were nimble, precise. You had always been good with your hands, the submarine had demanded it.

Simon watched your fingers move. His own hands rested on your shoulders, thumbs tracing small, restless circles on your collarbones.

"You're really good at that," he said. His voice was hoarse. He had barely spoken all day.

"Thanks," you said, beaming. "Do you want me to teach you?"

"…Maybe later."

"Okay"

You went back to your knots. Simon went back to watching you. The burning in his chest had not stopped, but it had… settled. As long as he could see you, touch you, hear your breathing, the fire was a companion rather than an enemy.

By late afternoon Grace found Simon standing by the dome window, staring out at the Eridian landscape. You were in his arms again, literally being carried this time, your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms around his neck, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

You were almost too old to be carried like that. Almost too big. But Simon didn't seem to notice or care. He held you easily, one arm under your thighs, the other across your back. His face was turned toward the window, but his eyes weren't focused on anything outside.

"Simon," Grace said quietly, coming to stand a few feet away. "Talk to me."

"Nothing to talk about."

"You've been like this all day. The kid's been great, she's handling it like a pro, but you're scaring me. A little."

Simon's jaw tightened. For a long moment, he didn't respond. Then, so quietly Grace almost didn't hear it:

"I woke up and she wasn't there."

"She was right next to you."

"Not close enough."

Grace understood. He truly did.

He thought about waking up on the Hail Mary, alone, with nothing but the hum of the engines and the cold weight of amnesia pressing down on him. He thought about the first time he had realized Rocky was real. not a hallucination, not a fever dream, but a person. And how terrified he had been of losing him.

"She's not going anywhere." Grace said. "You know that, right? She's safe here. The Eridians aren't going to hurt her. I'm not going to hurt her. And you're not going to hurt her."

"I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

Simon's arms tightened around you. You made a small, sleepy sound, you had dozed off against his shoulder, lulled by his warmth and the rhythm of his breathing.

"The problem," Simon said, "is that I know exactly what it feels like to hear her cry out for me and not be able to reach her. And I will never, never, let that happen again. Even if it means I have to hold her every second of every day for the rest of my life."

Grace nodded slowly. He wanted to argue. He wanted to say that this wasn't healthy, that Simon needed to find a way to cope that didn't involve physical restraint, that you were a teenager and you needed space to grow.

But he looked at you, asleep in Simon's arms, peaceful, trusting, utterly content, and he thought: Maybe this is what healing looks like. Maybe it's messy and uncomfortable and too intense for outside observers. But maybe it's also exactly what they both need.

"Okay," Grace said. "Okay. I'll stop trying to fix it. Just… drink some water, alright? For her."

Simon hesitated. Then, slowly, he shifted you to one arm, you didn't wake, just curled tighter against him, and reached for the cup Grace had brought. He drank half of it in one long swallow.

"Thank you, Simon." Grace said.

"Don't thank me," Simon muttered. "m'not doing it for you."

"I know. That's why I'm thanking you."

When the dome's light cycle was beginning to dim, simulating dusk, by late afternoon. You had woken from your nap and were now sitting in Simon's lap again, because of course you were, playing a simple counting game with a handful of small Eridian stones.

Simon's was not calm, though. He was wired, every muscle in his body taut, his eyes tracking every movement in the dome. When an Eridian passed too close to the observation window, he had physically turned you away from it, shielding your body with his own.

But something else was happening, too. A quiet desperation. A need that went beyond physical proximity. Simon kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, then closing it again. His hand kept tightening on your shoulder, loosening, tightening again.

You noticed. You noticed everything.

"Simon?" you said softly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You keep… you keep doing that thing. With your mouth. Like you wanna talk but you can't."

Simon was silent for a long moment. Then:

"It's just-... is there something you want? Something I can… do for you? Today has been- I know I've been..."

"You've been hugging me," you said simply. "That's not a bad thing."

"It's not normal."

"Who cares about normal? Cause I surely don't."

Simon let out a breath that was almost a laugh. Almost.

"Kid-"

"I'm serious. You needed a really long hug. I gave you a really long hug. That's just… being friends."

"Is that what we are?"

"We're friends that survived." you said. "That's even better than just friends."

Simon looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time all day. You were so young. So small. So impossibly brave. And you were looking at him with those steady, knowing eyes, and you were not afraid of his intensity, his possessiveness, his desperate need to keep you close.

"What do you want to do?" he asked. His voice cracked on the last word. "Right now. What do you want?"

You thought about it. You looked around the dome: at the Eridian technology, at the specimen containers, at Grace sitting across the way with his data tablet. And then you looked up, at the ceiling, where the Eridians had projected a simulation of the night sky.

"I wanna see the real stars." you said. "Not the fake ones on the ceiling of the nightlight projector. The real ones. Through the telescope."

"We can do that," Simon said immediately. "I'll take you."

"I want Grace to come too."

Simon went very, very still.

"...What?"

"I want Grace to come," you repeated. "He knows the constellations. He can tell me the names. I wanna learn them."

The burning returned. The jealousy. The possessive, territorial no that rose up in Simon's chest like a physical force. He did not want to share you. He did not want Grace's presence, Grace's voice, Grace's gentle explanations. He wanted you to himself. He needed you to himself.

But you were looking at him with those eyes. Trusting. Hopeful. And you had asked for so little, in all the time he had known you. You had never complained about the food, the cold, the fear, the nightmares. You had bitten your knuckles bloody to keep from crying. You had dissociated rather than burden him with your terror.

And now you were asking for something so small. So simple. To see the stars with both of your people.

Simon's jaw worked. His hands clenched into fists, then unclenched.

"Okay," he said. The word came out strangled. "Okay. Grace can.. come."

Your face lit up like the stars you wanted to see.

"Really?"

"..really."

"Oh, thank you, Simon! Thank you thank you thankyou!"

You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Simon closed his eyes. He held you. He breathed you in.

She's happy. She asked for something, and I gave it to her. That's what matters. That's all that matters.

The burning did not stop. But it… shifted. Became something warmer. Something almost bearable.

The night cycle had fully settled over the dome. The Eridians had dimmed the artificial lights, allowing the natural darkness of the planet to seep in. Through the observation windows, the real sky was visible: vast, endless, scattered with unfamiliar stars.

Grace led the way to the observation platform. It was a natural rock formation, elevated and stable, where the Eridians had mounted a high-powered telescope designed for human use. The climb was short but steep, and Simon insisted on helping you up every step, his hand never leaving your back.

Grace set up the telescope, adjusting the lenses and calibrating the focus. His movements were practiced, efficient—the same steady competence he had shown on the Hail Mary. When he was finished, he stepped back and gestured to you.

"All yours, kid. Take a look."

You approached the telescope with the reverence of someone approaching an altar. Your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the eyepiece and pressed your eye to the lens.

And then you gasped.

The stars were not points of light. They were worlds. Swirling masses of gas and dust and fire, so far away that your mind could not comprehend the distance, but so bright that they burned through the darkness like beacons.

You saw blue stars and red stars and yellow stars like the one Earth had orbited. You saw nebulas—clouds of color that stretched across the void like cosmic paintings. You saw the silhouette of a nearby moon, pockmarked with craters, hanging in the blackness like a silver coin.

"Oh!" you breathed. "Oh my god! they're so beautiful! I didn't know they could be so beautiful!"

Grace chuckled as he stepped up beside you, close but not too close. He kept a respectful distance, aware of Simon's eyes on him, but his voice was warm and eager as he began to point.

"See that cluster there? The one that looks like a question mark? The Eridians call that the 'Seeker's Path.' They believe it's the trail left by their ancestors when they first discovered space travel."

"It's so bright."

"That one's actually a binary system. Two stars orbiting each other. The Eridians say it's a symbol of partnership: two entities moving through the universe together, bound by gravity and trust."

"That's… that's really deep."

"It is." Grace agreed. "There's another one over there.. the one with the reddish tint. That's called the 'Hearth Star.' It's the Eridian equivalent of a good luck charm. Sailors used to navigate by it."

You listened, enraptured, as Grace named the constellations and told you their stories. Your questions came rapid-fire: Why is that one blue? How far away is that one? Do they have planets? Could someone live there?—and Grace answered each one with patient, delighted thoroughness.

Simon watched from a few feet away. He had not joined you at the telescope. He stood with his back to a rock formation, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you.

But something was changing.

The burning was… receding. Not gone..it would never be fully gone, he suspected, but fading. Cooling. Like stepping out of a fever into the first gentle breeze of autumn.

He was watching you smile. Watching you laugh at something Grace said. Watching you point at a particularly bright star and ask, "What's that one called?" and Grace respond, "That one doesn't have a name yet. Want to name it yourself?"

And you had thought about it for a moment, your brow furrowed in concentration, before announcing: "I wanna call it 'Simon.' Because it's really bright and kind of scary but also really pretty and I like looking at it."

Grace had laughed—a genuine, surprised laugh—and Simon had felt something crack open in his chest.

She named a star after me.

The burning turned into warmth. The warmth spread through his limbs, loosening the knots in his muscles, easing the tension in his jaw. He took a breath (a real breath, deep and full) and it did not hurt.

He watched you climb down from the telescope and run back to him, your face flushed with excitement, your eyes shining.

"Simon! Simon, did you see? Did you see the stars? There are so many! And they're all so different! And Grace said I could name one and I named it after you and now there's a star called Simon and it's in the sky forever and ever and-"

He caught you as you launched yourself at him. His arms came around you automatically, pulling you close. But this time, the embrace was not desperate. It was not possessive. It was just… a hug. A long, warm, grateful hug.

"I saw," he said. His voice was soft now. Almost gentle. "I saw everything."

"Isn't it amazing?" you asked, your voice muffled against his chest. "The stars are real, Simon. They're real and they're beautiful and we can see them. We can see them whenever we want."

"Yeah." Simon said. "Yeah, we can."

He looked over your head at Grace. Grace was packing up the telescope, his back to them, giving them a moment of privacy. But he must have felt Simon's gaze, because he glanced over his shoulder and offered a small, knowing smile.

Simon nodded at him. A silent thank you. A silent acknowledgment.

I trust you. Not completely. Not yet. But enough. Enough to share this.

Grace nodded back. Then he turned away, continuing his work, leaving Simon and you to your moment.

The walk back to the dome was quiet. The Eridian night was cool but not cold, and the path was lit by bioluminescent plants that glowed soft blue in the darkness.

You walked between Simon and Grace, close enough that your shoulders brushed theirs. You were tired, the excitement of the stars had worn you out, but you were also happy. Genuinely, deeply happy. The kind of happy that made your chest feel too full and your eyes sting with tears that weren't sad.

"Thank you for taking me." you said, to both of them.

"Anytime, kid," Grace said. "The stars aren't going anywhere. They'll be there tomorrow night, and the night after that, and every night for the rest of our lives."

"That's a long time." you said thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Simon said. "It is."

-He already knew you for so long ago. Maybe even knew you from other timelines, but in his time he tried not to mess up your path and let you be the same goddess as before

-You knew he was no treat as even all your animals seem in peace close to him, but you always keep your guard up

-He understands you prefer time alone and won't bother you if you prefer to stay in your nature space. He would love to at least have some tea one time together as you would show him around many gorgeous gardens and animals following you

-He thinks the same beauty you could see in nature is already on you, because you the goddess of it, so of course a soul like you could creature such beautiful spaces and life on ti

-Of course he didn't interfere in the creation of nature, that was your job, but he could like to stay there to watch if you let him, it amazing how much you could do

Raiden

-Would thank you for your creations and said how much mortals should keep protection you and animals. You like him already

-Would respect your space too and understand that maybe you prefer the solitude and peace that nature can give you, so won't argue on that. But he will be curious about how you pass time

-If you do eat, or pretend to it, you decide that. He would bring you Madam Bo's cooking or would at least try to make some homemade for you. Even offer you the best of the harvest of each season

-Would love to see you interact with animals and see how much you care you put in each one, knowing that you probably have a lot of animals demanding your attention

Kung Lao

-He's meeting Mother Nature herself?

-He would want to spent more time with you and being a little sad if you said you prefer time alone, But he would understand, and would try to bring the best when you show up

-Same as Raiden, he would want you to taste Madam bo's cooking as he would always tell you hos delicious it is. Some of the food pieces would be lost as he took some time travelling to you and he got hungry

-Would be amazed of how you can create such small or big life, not only a small ladybug or butterflies but elephants, bulls, anything his mind could think....You believe in dinosaurs? Did you meet one...or did you create one

-He would try to impress you with his hat and the moment it got stuck in a three e he would apologize to you and to the three

Kuai Liang

-He's impressed he's meeting a Goddess, and a nature one too. Knowing that fire is part of yourself too in Nature, he feels respect for how much you create and how the surroundings that warm his gaze every morning and night were created by you

-He would smile softly seeing how animals cling to you, knowing they see a protector on you, and how you see them being born, grow and follow life paths

-Always respectful knowing he's talking to a goddess, an you deserve more than the basics. Won't hesitate to help if you're in danger or need. Even if you could do it yourself

-Respects totally that you wish for time alone, Even him needs time for himself in life, and won't discuss that with you, he only ask for more meetings some days

Bi-Han

-Shows respect but still thinks you could use your gifts and power for something more, something that make people know why they should fear nature and not taking on the slightest

-He would like to have you as ally, but if you show your dislike in his methods he would keep your name on edge. But no more than for now

-I would said he would not be dumb enough to get himself in a fight with a goddess, but sometimes his mind is too cloud of pride. You would put him on his place inmediatly tho, but he won't takes chances

-Understand you would want time alone, you have to deal with many stupid people destroying what you created and keep fixing mortal's mistakes ((like he's not a mortal himself)) and said such divinity like you deserves mental peace

-Would look as animals follow you everywhere but won't said much about it, he would just huff as he tries to talk with you and a dear and butterflies keep going his way. he would shush the butterfly away if you weren't there, but he knows you would kick his ass if you saw him

Tomas Vrbada

-Surprised, not only he knows Lord Liu Kang but now another Goddess, and you created nature?? of he's curious

-Would praise such work you do every time and how he's sorry many beautiful landscapes were lost by other's. You would explain that you understand when people do it for needs like food, but broke you when it was for selfish hurtful reasons

-He wish he could help you too, and help to protect the animals around you, even if you said you have it under control

-Another one who totally respects your space, and he's sorry fi he seems to clingy sometimes as he knows you more deeper, but he wish the meetings waling around gardens or forest won end here either

Johnny Cage

-"you think Mother nature's revenge sounds like a cool movie name?" "No, Cage" "...And Garden of Eden?"

-He would try to show it off everywhere he can at first. But if he sees your'e not comfortable or piss off, he would stop. More for his safety too

-If he already knows Liu Kang then he's already getting used to all this Gods and Goddess things. But if you meet Johnny first he would think your'e tripping or something, you still gorgeous in his eyes tho! Nature delusional and all!

-When you show him your powers or call a whole bunch or animals to his mansion he's definitely rethinking his life decision about what he said to you

-Try to get this man off for personal time, i dare you. He would respect it at first but he would get tired easily and quick and would want to find you again or call for you thinking you could heard him everywhere

Kenshi Takahashi

-Would be amused and confused at first, he's really talking to a goddess, i mean you look like you for sure

-Showing him your abilites he qould praise such amazing creations and power, saying you should that you are more than capable to hold yourself anywhere anytime

-Would find adorale seeing animals following you lie kyou were thier mother, which you are. But even the biggest animals would search for your comfort or warm

-Respct you totally, he would keep his mouth shut and not discuss how you use your time or powers, you know what you're doing witht your lifetime. And of course respeting you wanting time alone as he wish for that too most of time sometimes...

Shang Tsung

-Already thinking how to make a deal with you or something, and the moment you reject him he's already piss off. Trying to hurt your 'ego' saying that how a goddess like you would waste such power and strength not conquering around

-You would shut his mouth in seconds too, so, no problem. He won't admit it but it his ego the one broken as he seems like all bark and no bite beside you, which he is

-He already knows the consequences of goings agaisnt a God like Lord Liu Kang, and now you

-On a better side, he would praise your appearance, power and mind, saying how only you created such beauty around all the world, and not only land but animals, you have a big job and purpose on your shoulder and you do it like the best

-Like Johnny he would let you have time alone but he would demands to see you more, even to help him with things for his lab like herbs. When you make him see you're serious he would just bow and take his leave with a smug smirk

Kitana

-She, Mileena and Sindel would have the same reactions when they knew about Liu Kang too

-Her mind would process what you're saying as she would want you to explain how you created all and how long it took you, it is difficult to create? how is it done? you created such beauty on Edenia and Earthrealm??

-If you create such beautiful flowers close to her balcony she would, be grateful as she loves to have some moments for her and knowing you made them for her? even more

-Thinks is adorable seeing you with a baby animal in your lap and other looking at you curious as you tell her how you remember each one of them

-So respectful, not only in your private time but in you in general, feeling blessed that she's sharing such time which such important goddess like you

Mileena

-Confused and would like to know why you're visiting her tho, or how you're here on the Edenian gardens, you made them? or you're visiting?

-Would love to sit in a garden quietly without all the pressure of the future throne on her as you would tell her facts about the plants around as she keeps the information in her mind

-You praise your looks and deadly beauty in your powers. you could make yourself being respect so easily and she wish she could have that too if she's gonna rule as people already have doubt on her

-Not gonna question if you prefer to be alone, she understand that completely, but look what path it lend her wanting to have at least just a second alone away from the palace

-As you would said how you still see the same beauty tarkat or not, she would said more about you, you're the creator of Nature! of course you're a vision

Sindel

-She's already processing a lot, and now she's in front of the goddess of nature? She thinks she's keeping behind in some things

-Like she said to Liu Kang she would apologize and ask how she should greet you then? and you have time for her to thank you for everything you are giving to them? The families your nature had feed, the colors and beauty you created as they didn't know how to thank you

-Even if you tell her you don't need formalities between you two she would do it saying you deserve the formality, you're not anybody, you're more than all of them, you deserve to be show respect

-If you need time alone, she would not only respect it but said if you prefer to have a private spot on the palace gardens for when you visit and desire to be alone for a while

-Even offer you many fruits. snacks or anything you desire to be more comfortable, even all the animals you prefer to bring have a place on the palace. Is the least she could do for you

When your partner came to visit you in the outworld, all eyes were on them. The way they had confidently strutted over and kissed you with a chill, “Hey baby. I missed you so much”, sent them into orbit.

I’m sorry you have a what—?

So you mean to tell them that you already had someone and basically all of this infighting was for nothing?!? It was never going to be one of them?

Nahhhh

you’re such a jokester. You did this to rile things up and make them jealous. So playful, you are.

Johnny of course was the first to go up to y'all and start his bullsh*t

“Y/N, this is absolutely hilarious. Was the attention I gave you not enough? You don’t have to try to make me jealous with this…punk. I would’ve gladly given you more if you just asked.”

Umm no Johnny this is actually your lover..

Kano was the next to bite

“Haha doll, that’s a real good one! There’s no way you’d want someone like ‘at. Tell you what, why don’t you come make some jokes over there with me..I’m a real good tickla’.”

Oh.. they are in reeeaaal bad denial

“Hey—let’s give Y/N some space. She’s allowed to have privacy and a personal relationship of her choosing—“

Luckily Fujin is the voice of reason and compassion

“—-even if they are so…unexpectedly unique.”

You had one job 😩

They definitely were still trying to process this whole situation. For the rest of the night all the men were whispering amongst each other and sending weird looks over their way. There was no way that was actually your partner. This was just all some ruse. They’ll be gone by the morning.

Nope. They weren’t and you were as affectionate and clingy as ever. You were just so smitten over them that it couldn’t have been fake. Every question about you, your lover could flawlessly answer and recall stories only someone close to you could.

They even showed pictures of you two together through the years on different occasions and at family gatherings…so either this was the greatest actor/stunt ever or you really was taken.

The guys loathe them so bad..

Not only did they take their beloved darling away from them but how could someone so average claim your heart so easily?

All of them felt like they were far better than them, like come on you have assassins, celebrities, monks, kahns and more at your disposal but you chose…them? What about them could possibly be better than what is right in front of you?

I can imagine the mk harem frequently going up to your partner and sizing them up. Like it’s so funny watching them pop out their chest and flex in order to seem more superior.

Oh and all the things I mentioned previously about the being super creepy and desperate…it’s cranked up to ten now.

They’ll purposely do..questionable things in front of your partner to get them upset and insecure. Especially the younger guys.

They’re all huge show offs during training sessions and can’t help but to be a little too comfortable with you.

Will steal garments (hoodies..ect) from your closet and then return them to your partner to make it seem like you were spending time with him.

We all know that Kano, Erron, Kabal, and Johnny have no filter. They’ll put things into your lover’s head to make them worried. These men love to talk big game and boast about anything they can. Sometimes they’re just flat out crass about their feelings towards you.

Shang tsung flants his wealth and constantly is gifting you money, clothes and other luxury goods…your lover could never afford it.

“I like to make sure that Y/N is well taken care of. All of her old stuff was hindering her beauty. I hope you don’t mind the initiative that I’ve taken…I figured it’d help you out since you possibly couldn’t have access to the aristocracy that I do.”

*has tried tricking your partner into drinking pure acid*

Raiden and Fujin are great at pretending they like your partner and wanna welcome them but are soooo shady.

“I appreciate you inviting me into your temple. It’s so cool that you both can control the weather. Wish I could do that.”

“Yes, it is quite a shame. It’s one of the many things that Y/N loves. We frequently make thunderous skies and wind storms for her whenever she’s feeling a bit down.”

“ Dont worry, though. I’m sure Y/N enjoys the fact that you can make her laugh and whatever other talents you possess.”

PLEASE—

Backhanded insults, threats, hazing and rough housing are frequent.

By the way, you cannot leave your partner alone…like at alll. Like take that poor thing into the bathroom with you because they are constantly watching and waiting for any moment to pounce on them.

This is the first time in months these men are bonding over something since you came along…the mutual disdain for your partner is so powerful.

They really need to do something about this relationship and a plan will be devised soon.

Scorpion, Sub-Zero, Kotal Khan, Erron and Shang Tsung, Kabal and Baraka all want to just flat out want them brutally killed in some kind of public execution so you’ll learn that having a lover outside of any of them is completely unacceptable.

Fujin, Night Wolf, Raiden, Jax and Liu Kang all want to try to…passionately pursue and manipulate..you out of the relationship. They don’t really want your partner to be harmed in any way.

Kung Lao and Johnny Cage think it would be hilarious to haniously humiliate them AND jump them so they’ll be left not only traumatized but filled with hatred for you.

The only reason why they haven’t gone through with any of these plans is because they can’t come to an agreement on which method is better.

I can’t imagine your partner being like “hey…I think they want me dead..”

“Oh that’s non sense, honey. They are a bit strange but I promise you that they are the sweetest to me.”

“They’re literally are into you and hate me for being with your partner. I heard them talking about getting rid of me.”

“Sure a few of them may have a crush on me but I promise you they like you! They’re just guys being guys.”

Let’s be real, the mk men are perpetually thirsty. Actually all the characters are to be honest. Did you hear the flirty dialogue?? Even the keeper is trying to get some of that action.

So really it’s no shocker that you, the new fighter, have all the attention from them.

Johnny is undoubtedly the first to strike. He may be an older man now but damn, you make him feel like he’s 20 again. He just cannot control making some kind of flirtatious comment when he sees you walk by.

“Woah, woah, woah, now sweetheart. I think you and I should have a nice long conversation. Get to know each other a little…or a lot…dealers choice.” ;)

Yeahh he doesn’t care that he has a kid and a mortgage. Cassie is grown now and Sonya doesn’t want him anymore…so free game, baby.

His eyes are hungry and he barely can hold himself back from pouncing on you—

Liu Kang and Kung Lao see this and apologize for his behavior towards you. They introduced themselves and of course did their absolute best to make you feel at home.

Don’t let this fool you though, those are some sinful monks. They are no better than Johnny and they want you real baaaad.

“So, Y/N. What is your skill set? Wait. Let me guess, you use beauty essence to trap your opponent in a daze before knocking them out?”

Liu Kang jabs Kung Lao in the stomach with his elbow, before speaking to you.

“I’m sorry for these two. You are very beautiful but please know we are just as excited to train with you as we would anyone else. Anytime you’d like to spar, please, don’t hesitate to find me.”

Ahh he’s so damn slick…he just wants a reason to pin you downnnn

“Hey! Liu Kang don’t you mean us? We all would like to train with you darling~. Some people like to fight over in the courtyard but if you’d like I have a very special place called, me casa.”

“I would also like to train with you…in the courtyard of course. I mean unless you prefer—“

“Thanks? Umm..I appreciate all of your….offers. I’m supposed to actually meet with Raiden, I’m just a little lost. Have you guys—-“

Before you could even finish your sentence all three of them bombarded you with offers and began fighting over each other, debating who actually knows how to find Lord Raiden the best.

“Uhh—“

That pretty much sets the tone for how everyone acts around you.

By a month or so into you being here, everyone knows about you. Especially the men. You’re all they talk about.

At first it was simply chatter about you being a new kombatant for earthrealm and of course mentions of your beauty.

But since learning more about and becoming closer with you, the little infatuations have turned into full blown obsessions.

No one can seem to get enough of you, even the grand masters have trouble focusing when you’re around. Hanzo and Kai Liang may disagree on many things but you are one of the few things they can get behind.

They are both trying to recruit you to their different clans so they can be fully entitled to you.

Scorpion wants extreme control over you, he wants to shape you into the perfect companion. He wants you to be just as poised as his wife once was. You already have her beauty so just let him perfect you.

Sub-Zero wants you to become his equal. What he failed to do with Frost, he will make up with you. How more beautiful you’d become if only your heart was frozen over.

Either one will stop at nothing to have you. A trophy they could boast over. For a second you ended a centuries-long feud, both agreeing on your excellence…only for it to start all over again for who is more worthy to own you.

This isn’t isolated to just them, all the men are fighting for your attention. Arguing about who you actually belong to, bragging about how much attention they got from you, and comparing it to each other. Don’t get me started on that. Mk men are so needy for your attention. Whenever they can’t get it, they resort to other ways.

Johnny is such a filthy pervert. You don’t wanna give him the time of day? Fine, he’ll take matters into his own hands.

He’s your very own paparazzi, you should be grateful that he’s taking this many pictures of you. You’re the first and only.

It doesn’t matter that he’s doing it without your consent or knowledge…. He’ll jump into the flesh pits if that meant getting the perfect shot of you…let him have this.

He refuses to share these with the other guys, it’s just for him. Over his dead body will Kano or someone else see you like this.

Shang Tsung has also caught wind of you and you’re a pretty sight indeed. He doesn’t want you to fight in the tournament. A gorgeous soul like you should be locked away in his throne room. He always tries to bribe you with fortune and power. He can offer you so much more than these rodents. If you need an extra push in his direction, a little trickery may help with that….he has no shame using an incantation on you.

Liu Kang and Kung Lao are no better. They manipulate that fact you see them as good friends as a way to be in the limelight.

They stalk you just as much as the rest, sometimes separately but often times together. It always ends up in a fight between the two tho because one person starts shit talking…

“Idk Kang. A woman like that would never be into you. Kitana barely even looks your way…what makes you think Y/N will? Besides, she called me cute.”

“Yeah, I think she’ll think it’s real ‘cute’ how I destroy you in the tournament..”

Perverted as Cage. Kung Lao is extremely touchy while sparring. He loves to “teach” you things. He never shines away from a moment to flex all of his years of training under the shaolin and that he’s a self proclaimed expert.

For some reason when he’s fixing your form, his hand always winds up a little too far up…hmm strange.

Liu Kang loves when you watch him workout or spar with others. When it’s finally your turn to be his opponent, he never holds back.

You cannot catch a break. Gifts and proposals are constantly sent to your door and no matter how much you try to decline, it just won’t stop coming. Sure being basically waited on, and desired by many is really nice. Every girls dream! But you have to admit just how it is scary having such dangerous men obsessed with you.

There hasn’t been a moment in the last few months where you’ve ever felt completely alone. The feeling that someone is always watching you has never left.

And, occasionally you would awkwardly overhear or walk in on a group of men fighting about you.

“With all due disrespect, I believe a babe like that would prefer a star like me. She’s all mine”

“Nonsense. Y/N belongs to the Shirai Ryu. Both her beauty and skill makes her a viable asset to the clan. You can fight me in hell over it, Cage.”

It doesn’t get any better when the tournament starts.

I think the men forgot they were fighting for their realms because it quickly turned into a fight for dominance.

A tournament that was once a noble cause, turned into a bloody showcase. Every man dedicating their wins to you, making sure to send a cheeky flex or wink your way.