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starcurtain · 4 months ago

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Some Notes on Mydei's Characterization (Part 1)

I'm already tired of seeing Mydei slander (if I have to read "He's a brawn over brains berserker who just cares about fighting" one more time, I might actually die), so I thought I'd put together some quick notes on what canon has to say about Mydei's character. Please note this post contains only my own interpretations of canon material; not everyone will interpret scenes in the same manner.

Starting with some of the most off-base stuff I've seen first:

1. Being Capable of Violence is Not the Same as Being Violent

Mydei's trailer and his role in the story both confirm that he is capable of extreme acts of violence. When it comes to battle, multiple people--Eurypon and Phainon, for example--refer to Mydei specifically as a "beast," rather than a person. In his character stories, we're told that he was such a ferocious predator in the Sea of Souls that even monsters stopped coming near him, and in another of his character stories, he's described as tearing the throat out of an opposing enemy who had an army a thousand men strong. It is a basic and unavoidable fact of Mydei's character that he is capable not only of killing but of killing in egregiously brutal ways, literally tearing his enemies apart with his bare hands.

Mydei will fight, he will cause harm, and he will kill--whenever it is necessary to do so.

But there is an extreme world of difference between being capable of violence and actually being a violent person, and Mydei has shown, in both word and deed, that he is an inherently gentle character who, if given the option, would prefer to choose the path of least harm.

Over and over, the devs hit us players with the idea that Mydei's actual nature is one that abhors needless violence. We see this from his first character story, where Mydei--despite being thrown into the Sea of Souls as an infant, despite fighting every single day of his childhood just to survive--is described as saving drowning fishermen with no reward. Even the author of the legend points out the incongruity of this choice, saying "Why would a Kremnoan ever bother to save others?"

Remember that this is a Mydei who has had literally no human contact. He has no frame of reference for even the concept of generosity. If we take his story seriously, then despite being effectively feral at this point in time, his innate reaction to seeing others in danger was simply to provide aid. Even when his own survival was the only thing he had experience with, he still chose to selflessly save others, with no motivation other than the fact that benevolence appears to be his core nature.

Reinforcing this idea that Mydei is an inherently gentle person, there's the memory in Castrum Kremnos where an unknown someone asks Mydei what his dream is, with the only acceptable options being different combat roles. But Mydei's answers are charmingly abstract instead--young Mydei doesn't want to be a soldier and bring harm to others, he wants to be a wanderer or even a "beam of light."

(Saw some interesting talk linking this "beam of light" with Kephale recently too. I'm very interested to see whether the upcoming patches will tie these connections together or if we're all just reading too much into things lolol.)

3.0's plot hammered this home as well, with Mydei continually disputing Aglaea's mission requests; Aglaea says that sending too many Chrysos Heirs to fight Nikador would be a waste (in case they end up dying), to which Mydei responds that there's no point in needlessly risking people's lives.

Even the 3.0 side quests repeat this message, with one Kremnoan NPC, Aelius, noting that an assassin tried to murder him on his first day in Okhema. Instead of responding with force, as might be justified by the severity of the crime, Mydei--brand-new to Okhema and their ways himself!--still chose diplomacy, and went to the Council of Okhema to legally ensure the Kremnoan people's safety, instead of directly seeking vengeance.

Even a small scene in Kremnos's ruins gives the devs an opportunity to show that Mydei prefers to exhibit aggression only when threatened first: As the Trailblazer and Co. wander through the Soul-Forging Zone, the group meets a half-crazed titankin. Obviously it poses a danger and could become a more serious threat in an instant, but Mydei doesn't offer it any resistance. It isn't violent with him, so he has no reason or motivation to be violent with it... as opposed to Phainon, whose first reaction is immediately to attack.

(If you choose to kill it, by the way, Mydei scolds Phainon and the Trailblazer, effectively calling them bloodthirsty executioners...)

When Krateros attempts to manipulate Mydei using Mydei's mother's wishes, urging him to continue the cycle of domination in Kremnos, Mydei stops him cold by pointing out that (like Mydei who inherited her beliefs) he knows Gorgo was opposed to violence for violence's sake:

Then, of course, there's the entire deal about refusing the crown of Kremnos, breaking his people's endless cycle of violent lives and even more violent deaths and repeatedly refusing Nikador's power because Mydei had no desire to become Strife. Despite revering his people's god for what Nikador was supposed to be--the guardian who sacrificed everything to protect Amphoreus--the game repeatedly tells us that Mydei sees Kremnos's cultural tradition of conquest as a meaningless waste of life, glorifying cruelty for no reason and bringing nothing but harm to the Kremnoans and Amphoreus as a whole.

Mydei fought hard to not become the demigod of Strife. At every turn, he was pressured and manipulated by others against his expressly stated wishes, and ultimately was left with no choice but to accept the destiny forced upon him despite clearly longing for a different, gentler life. Although I'll talk more about this later, the fact that Mydei even went so far as to change his name among the Chrysos Heirs shows us just how intensely he was trying to separate himself from his own past and from Kremnos's bloody history. Mydei wanted to be a person, yet in the end, he was forced back into being a beast, into becoming the symbol of violence, the very thing that took everything good from his life.

(This isn't a shipping post, but Phainon's efforts to take on Nikador's coreflame can be read to at least some extent as a rescue attempt--despite himself believing that Mydei was the better fit for Strife, Phainon saw how sincerely Mydei did not want to take the coreflame trial, and at least in small part, Phainon did take on the trial to spare Mydei from that inevitability. Personally, I think this failure will eventually be one of the linchpins that brings Amphoreus crumbling down, because Phainon was supposed to be everyone's hero, but just like Cyrene, he failed to save Mydei.)

I've seen some people debating this idea that Mydei is not a violent person by pointing out that Phainon calls him "reckless when he gets the urge to kill." In 3.0, Phainon implies that Mydei could even hurt other people with his recklessness in battle. But... we have never seen Mydei ever bring any harm in battle to someone he didn't intend to hurt. No one innocent ever gets injured in-game by Mydei (at least so far...), and we have no indications at any point that Mydei would intentionally endanger others out of recklessness. In fact, even in their first scene, it's Mydei who scolds Phainon for being careless during battle.

For example, Mydei's first reaction to confronting Nikador was to immediately remove Phainon and the Trailblazer from the fight so that they wouldn't come to harm. Even inside the coreflame trial, while the power of Strife was driving Phainon mad, Mydei was still level-headed enough to rally the Trailblazer and Dan Heng and get Phainon out safe. Mydei was still rational enough to even recognize the Okhemans inside the illusion and say "This isn't who these people really are; they're being twisted by Nikador."

Is this really the behavior of a reckless person who loses his sense of reason in battle?

To be honest, players should take most of what Phainon actually says about Mydei with a grain of salt. Phainon, especially during 3.0, doesn't actually know Mydei's whole story (for one, he has a foot in mouth moment in 3.0 where he tells Mydei to make more friends, only to then find out in 3.1 that Mydei had more friends; they just all died), and we know that Phainon often exaggerates Mydei in many ways when talking to others. Mydei may be reckless in battle--but his recklessness almost certainly centers on himself, being willing to risk his own life, rather than others'. This is echoed again in his "Keeping Up With Star Rail" video, where Phainon comments on Mydei's complete lack of self-defense once he enters battle. While Phainon might think Mydei's lack of attention to his own pain is worth calling out, it isn't a sign that Mydei is genuinely a mindless berserker.

I've also seen people debating this point by saying that Mydei appears to go "crazy" in battle and starts grinning when he gets a battle high. But as for Mydei's smiling in battle, we really only see it three times: 1) When Phainon first returns to Okhema, 2) When Mydei finally engages in solo combat with Nikador, and 3) When engaged in solo combat after all his allies in the coreflame trial already "died."

Again, this isn't a shipping post, so write the first smile for Phainon off as you choose--maybe Mydei's just excited to have the opportunity to flex in front of his "rival." The other two smiles are admittedly a bit unhinged, but I'd argue that neither of these moments represents actual enjoyment of battle. Instead, both of these smiles occur only inside the overwhelming pall of Nikador's power, which we're told canonically infects the mind with a desire for bloodshed. More importantly, both of these instances also take place when Mydei is only fighting titankin, not human opponents, and only after Mydei has been left entirely alone, when he is certain that the only person at risk in the fight is himself. When Mydei can confirm that there's no one left to defend (or left for him to lose!), then and only then does he give in to Nikador's violence for violence's sake and engage in battle whole-heartedly.

tl;dr: Mydei was the crowned leader of a culture that glorified cruelty, death, and mindless brutality. He was forced into a life of violence where he had to fight tooth and nail for survival from virtually the moment of his birth. Everyone he ever loved died worshiping a god that used their souls as nothing but fodder for further meaningless destruction. Yet Mydei was doing everything he could to rise above that life, and to help others also rise above that life. Of course he fights when he must, but reveling in it? I don't really see the evidence.

My man did not tear down a dynasty, breaking a thousand years' cycle of pointless strife, to get hit with the "He's a battle junkie" allegations. I swear to god I will bite the next person who says it--

2. His Reputation as Quick-Tempered is a Front

While it's typically not Mydei's fans going around saying Mydei's just another "battle-obsessed manly man," there is a different stereotype I actually do see being perpetrated by self-proclaimed Mydei fans: It seems to be a common trend in fanfics and fanarts to write Mydei with a strong temper, showing him becoming very aggressive when annoyed and suggesting that his first resort in difficult situations is always brute force.

To be fair, I think this is influenced by a number of factors, not the least of which is the game itself playing with this idea as a joke. In Mydei's "Keeping Up With Star Rail" video, Phainon playfully reduces Mydei to the quick-tempered brute stereotype, saying things like:

Phainon also brings this up at other points, such as suggesting that Mydei would only need one try to solve the puzzle in Janusopolis because his method of solving it would be... to just punch his way through.

But again, please take the things Phainon says about Mydei with a grain of salt. Roasting your friends for fun is simply a given, and I think that Phainon's comments about Mydei are meant to be understood as playful banter about his "rival," not serious analysis of Mydei's temperament (which really doesn't align with the stereotype of a hot-head at all).

Complicating this whole situation is the English voiceover, where it is clear the voice director encouraged Mydei's English VA to portray Mydei as particularly gruff and worked up in many of his lines. I have nothing against the English VA at all, but the voice direction of the English version clearly missed the mark on Mydei's character and went for a more aggressive vibe than any of the game's other languages. (The whole thing reminds of me Ray Chase not being given proper direction on Neuvillette's character at first and dramatically changing his voice acting over the course of Fontaine's patches.) I don't mean that English Mydei is never gentle, but that many of the lines are delivered with a level of vitriol that is not suited to the scene at all nor present in other languages. (Compare this line delivery in English with the same line in Chinese, for just one example.) The English interpretation of the character is strongly colored by this strange directing decision ("Mydei should be actively angry in many of his scenes"), unfortunately.

Complicating the whole situation even further is fandom's habit of reducing characters to flat caricatures because making funny meme art and exaggerating character traits for comedic effect is so common. (And enjoyable, don't get me wrong lol.) There is a well-loved relationship dynamic of "the grumpy one with the sunshine one," and I think unfortunately Mydei and Phainon are getting this treatment in fandom quite a bit: Phainon is depicted as the exuberant, happy puppy, while Mydei is the angry, bristling cat. It just makes sense when we consider cliches, right? The muscle-bound warrior dude will obviously be a cranky, easily angered hot-head, no? To a certain extent, I understand why fans jump to that conclusion and take that route in their fanworks; it's definitely easier to depict the characters with these kinds of shorthand tropes than to encompass their complicated personalities in every art or fic.

But the problem is... in-game Mydei is really not much like fanon Mydei, at least where tempers are concerned.

Repeatedly, the game tells us that Mydei keeps a level head even in situations of extreme pressure, and that he prefers to use communication, rather than force, to try to resolve the conflicts he encounters. Going back to some examples I've already mentioned: In the ruins of Kremnos, he's the first to suggest communicating with the titankin and the first to suggest that there's no reason to use violence against them. In 3.0, a scene lots of people say shows Mydei's "bloodlust," where he confronts Nikador and claims he has an intent to kill, actually starts with the line: "All that anger and regret I feel right now, I've learned to control them".

In Okhema, when the Kremnoans were facing assassination attempts, Mydei handled the situation legally, within the confines of Okhema's clearly ridiculous bureaucracy, to ensure that the Kremnoan people would be able to live within the city. In 3.1, when Krateros wants to lose the Okheman guards that are trailing them, Mydei defers to Krateros's lead, asking him if they should use force on the guards and only complying when he says yes.

In fanarts, it's common to draw Phainon doing something silly, with a 💢grumpy Mydei💢 barely tolerating it. But... in game, Mydei actually tends to weather Phainon's teasing without that much issue, often playing along readily and teasing back or simply not rising to the bait at all, sometimes giving him a flat response that actually irritates Phainon instead.

Even when Phainon lobbies some of his snappiest jests (the line about Mydei not being able to write comes to mind), Mydei's strongest reaction is usually "Why are you stupid?" and then he moves on. He's not out here roaring like an angry lion or flipping a table every time someone is a bit obnoxious in his general vicinity. Mydei's mostly chill with the silliness, guys. He's sometimes silly back.

And even in the moments where he should be his angriest, such as the day he avenged his mother by killing his father, Mydei tends to respond to pressure and even cruel provocation with level-headed answers, coldly telling Eurypon just how pointless the entire crown of Kremnos was. Krateros insults Mydei specifically for choosing communication as his conflict resolution strategy. Like, how did people decide Mydei would be an easily provoked hot-head when his own mentor insults him for trying to solve Kremnos's problems using words instead of action?

Perhaps one of the only occasions in the game where we actually see Mydei genuinely lash out in anger is the moment with Tribbie, where she tells him not to worry for Phainon. Mydei responds harshly--but then immediately walks his words back, explicitly notes that his single sharp answer was rude, and apologizes.

But what I haven't seen anyone discuss is that fact that Mydei had every right to be angry at Tribbie here. In the prior scene, Aglaea literally belittled and pressured him into taking on the Strife coreflame following Phainon's failure, and Mydei knew in this scene that Tribbie was fully aware of Aglaea's plan to manipulate Mydei using Phainon.

Again, not a shipping post, but Tribbie daring to go "Aw, don't be worried" rightttt after that concern for his friend was weaponized against Mydei to deny him his agency? A direct slap in the face. Aglaea--with Tribbie as her willing accomplice--knowingly put Phainon's very life at risk to entrap Mydei and force him to take on a role he was rejecting with every fiber of his being. After deliberately using Phainon as a tool, for Tribbie to have the audacity to say "You shouldn't worry about him" was actually pretty vile.

And yet it's Mydei who apologizes. It's Mydei who reins in any hint of frustration and tries to approach the situation politely, as if the person he is talking to hadn't literally just doomed him to an entire future of misery by using the safety of one of his only remaining friends as leverage. The achievement you get just before this moment, "Sing, O Goddess, of His Rage," suggests that Mydei truly is rightfully furious about this situation--but in the end, Mydei still forgives both Tribbie and Aglaea without hesitation, because he knows the importance of the Flame-Chase Journey and of following the prophecy at all cost.

Does this really strike us as someone who flies off the handle at minor annoyances, someone who is brash or easily riled up, someone who resorts to punching his way through all his problems?

Despite appearances, I think it would be more accurate to say that Mydei's temper runs pretty even and that he is actually difficult to provoke to genuine anger. There are times where we see him truly furious (when he confronts Nikador about the honorless scheme to attack Okhema, when he confronts his father, etc.), but in every situation where Mydei is angry, it's because the anger is absolutely justified, because something truly unforgivable is happening to him or those he's sworn to protect.

Mydei's suffered just about every manner of injustice it is possible for a person to suffer, and yet he soldiers on without making his suffering other people's concern. He apologizes for even minor outbursts, despite his feelings of outrage clearly being righteous. In some cases, we might even read him as a little passive aggressive instead--the fact that Phainon's food is nasty whenever he really annoys Mydei and yet he has no idea why the food is bad is a hilarious hint that Mydei's definitely more of a "revenge is a dish best served cold" kind of person than a hot-head.

So what about that moment early on, where Mydei uses the threat of violence to silence Verax Leo?

Well, no Verax Leos were harmed, so? Ha, being serious, I actually think this moment should be better understood as the player's first real insight into Mydei's character, separate from Phainon's colorful commentary.

This moment tells us one thing really clearly about Mydei: He's self-aware. Mydei knows the Verax Leos are literally cowardly lions, and he knows they think he's scary. He's aware of his own reputation as a "beast," and he isn't above utilizing that reputation to achieve a goal if doing so will produce a greater good for others. Without even needing to resort to any actual attack, Mydei is able to silence the Verax Leo's rumor-mongering using just the threat of his capacity for violence.

This suggests to the player that Mydei is actually discerning, straight to the point but intelligent enough to tailor his actions to the level of response that is appropriate for a given situation. He's not a "go in fists blazing right from the start" kind of guy when that's not what's needed. He could easily just punch the lion off the wall--but he doesn't. He lets his words doing the threatening, instead of his fists. (The fact that this particular Verax Leo was apparently helping to slander Kremnoans the week before and still lived to spread rumors about March tells us how disinclined Mydei is to solve his daily problems with actual violence.)

The takeaway is that Mydei's angry reputation among Okhemans, but hell, also among players(!), is largely fueled by stereotypes more than by any real actions on Mydei's part. People expect him to be a quick-tempered brute, so that's what they see, even when Mydei's real actions don't lend themselves to that cliche much.

Yet Mydei is also self-aware enough to know that same crude reputation is a powerful tool. It benefits him for certain groups to be very afraid of him, and this leads to an interesting conflict in the character: On the one hand, Mydei wants to distance himself from Kremnos's violence. He renames himself, swears allegiance to Aglaea's cause of hope, and spends his free time in Okhema doing gentle things like taking part in cooking competitions, playing house with kids, and judging drama festivals. More on this in a bit, but I think it's very interesting that not a single one of his marketing or promotional materials--nor any of his scenes in the game itself--show him willingly spending his free time on martial pursuits. (The animation they gave us was Mydei playing with children, not sparring with Phainon or even training with his dedicated warrior brothers-in-arms.) Mydei clearly wants to be seen and relate to others as a person separate from his bloodstained past.

On the other hand, his reputation as a terrifying warrior is one of the only things allowing him to live his current life. It's only as the to-be "blood-crowned" king of Kremnos that the Kremnoans willingly follow him and respect what he has to say. His ability to decide their futures hinges on them continuing to perceive him as Mydeimos, their undying lion of conquest. His only use to Aglaea and the Flame-Chase Journey is as the future manifestation of Strife or as an expendable resource that can be thrown single-handedly at enemies because he's the only one that can take their punishment and keep kicking. His place in Okhema is only secure so long as the Okhemans continue to fear his might, their discrimination kept at bay only by the knowledge that none of them can come close to defeating the Kremnoans if it came to blows. His reputation in Okhema is secure only so long as he can continue to cow the Verax Leos into silence with threats of retaliation.

Mydei doesn't have any attachment to his image as a monster--and yet his situation will not allow him to let it go. As much as he would like to live a different life, the view that others have of him--that he is an angry, savage person who is barely restraining an innate violent nature--is a shield locked in his hand, protecting him and making it possible to keep going--even when all he really wants to do is stop.

So, long story longer: I don't think Mydei has an especially hot temper at all; he's lived an incredibly hard life and had every one of his hopes and dreams systemically stripped away from him. He's under constant and immense pressure and feels entirely alone in bearing his burdens. His frustration occasionally bubbling to the surface--for which he apologizes--is not only justified but honestly still shockingly under-stated. If I was in his situation, a whole lot more heads would have rolled.

And now, a few less important notes to round this post out because I can already tell I'm going to hit tumblr's image limit before I run out of things to say about Mydei, so:

3. He's Not a Dumb Jock or Actually that Fitness Obsessed

This one is kind of annoying because Mydei's marketing materials like to play with the "dumb jock" trope as a joke. As mentioned before, we have Phainon's humorous "If you want wisdom, he's got might" line, Mydei being terrible at math (to the point even the Trailblazer assumes they'd be better at math than Mydei), the implication that Mydei is so straightforward he would miss deceptions from those speaking in ill faith (like during the Verax Leo's riddles), and of course, the overwhelmingly common stereotype of gym bros caring more about their muscles than their brains...

But the game also goes out of its way, repeatedly, to emphasize that just as Mydei doesn't fit the stereotype of the savage warrior, he also doesn't fit the stereotype of brawn over brains, of focusing more on physical prowess than thought.

Mydei being bad at math is played for laughs, sure, but in the same breath we're also told that he's a better student of history than Phainon is (which loops back into ironic when you remember that Phainon loves history and clearly wants to be good at it).

Mydei is one of the game's only confirmed bilingual characters outside of the Genius Society, despite the fact that, if his backstory is to be believed, he would have spent the most formative years of his childhood entirely language-less, and even after leaving the Sea of Souls, would likely not have attended any form of formal schooling. He never went to the Grove like Phainon and Castorice, yet he's capable not only of speaking and reading in multiple languages, but also of translating even archaic variations of his native tongue, enough so that (according to his marketing), being an archaic Kremnoan language mentor is one of his official titles.

He's also one of the characters most strongly associated with reading in the entire game, via the library, his canonically stated ability to interpret poetry, his character stories all being texts... All the other characters associated as strongly with reading as Mydei in the game are regarded as "nerds": Ratio, Dan Heng, Pela... Somehow critical portions of Mydei's character can be oriented around literature and he still gets hit with the dumb jock label???

He's also an accomplished military strategist capable of commanding the respect of seasoned veterans as well as waging effective war campaigns against enemy nations with a marginal, aging army and virtually no resources... He's capable of playing Aglaea's and Okhema's political games, despite having obvious disdain for such things... In fact, in Mydei's goodbye to Aglaea, he speaks to her as one nation's leader to another, remarking on how he's learned valuable lessons in managing his people from her, and specifically highlighting that her trait he most admires--what is missing from his own people's history--is her ability to instill genuine hope in others.

But yeah, Mydei is dumb muscle because it's funny, I guess.

What makes the whole "jock" thing loop around into doubly ironic (and also sad) is that although Mydei's character does involve a strong emphasis on health and fitness, the way it's framed in his marketing versus his actual in-game character is extremely different. Mydei's marketing is all about combat, how he's a "fitness ambassador," and "performance enhancers aren't in the Kremnoan language."

But in game Mydei...?

He doesn't have anything particularly unique to teach Phainon. There isn't any special "extreme Mydei training regimen" above what the other Kremnoan soldiers do, a fact we can confirm with the bath NPC Peleus, who tells us that Mydei has taught him his training regimen, and it's just the "Kremnoan traditional exercises" (the high-altitude shuttle run, firewalking, etc.). This idea that Mydei isn't devoting himself to constantly improving his ~super special combat capability~ is also reiterated in Mydei's marketing when someone tries to scam Okhemans by selling a secret "Mydei combat move" and Mydei is just like "There's no such thing..."

Yes, this is me telling you that the fanon thing where Mydei is all about hitting the arena to beat the crap out of challengers every single day is probably not that lore accurate. Yes, of course Mydei spars and keeps up with his strict exercise routine, but combat training doesn't actually seem to be his favorite hobby. In the game, Phainon is definitely worked up about wanting to spar and practice together, but Mydei's attitude to the idea of training with Phainon seems closer to "Please... be more chill..."

Just as an example, at possibly the most plot relevant time ever to suggest a spirit-raising spar with his "bro," the ideas that instead come to Mydei's mind for working out Phainon's disappointment are...

All gentle socializing.

In fact, although Mydei's marketing hyper-emphasized the "fitness" shtick, we never actually see Mydei sparring or training with anyone in any of his mainstream marketing materials or in game. (I'd say we don't even see him fitness training at all, but hey, they did add one chat sticker where he has a weight lol.)

Although we're informed repeatedly that Mydei's a fitness junkie, what his marketing and in-game free time scenes actually show us are, uhhhh *checks notes* sleeping in, taking long baths, eating pancakes, singing around the campfire with his band of bros, people watching, and babysitting? It's the life he truly deserves.

Again, this isn't to say Mydei doesn't train (obviously you don't look like that without putting in massive effort!), but both promotional materials and the scenes chosen for characters in game are deliberately designed to highlight the most integral aspects of characters' personalities. Mydei surely is exercising hard to keep up his health off-screen--but by de-emphasizing that in what the game actually visually shows us players, the only obvious conclusion is that other things (food, playing with children, spending time with comrades) are much more important to Mydei than just getting swole. Out of the "warrior" type characters we have in Star Rail, Mydei is one of the least pumped up about sparring that we've seen. From what we're actually given in game, Yanqing is infinitely more gung-ho about combat training than Mydei is.

In fact, rather than exercise itself, I'd say more of Mydei's "fitness" focus in game comes from his connection to food, and--perhaps this is me reading into things a bit too much (but that's my job, you know)--I'd argue that Mydei's repeated emphasis on eating healthy is actually a thinly-veiled trauma response to his childhood experiences with starvation.

We're told that, in the Sea of Souls, he fed on the raw flesh and bone of the abyssal monsters he fought--literally eat or be eaten--and could really only hold off the feeling of starving on the rare times that the tides were low and he could catch live shrimp instead. He also closely associates the Kremnoan Detachment, his only refuge, with the notion of comfort food.

And every time food is discussed, he's quick to tell others, even the Trailblazer, exactly what to add in order to make sure they're not only full but also eating a balanced meal that will keep them hale and whole. More than a gym bro, I think Mydei missed his calling as a nutritionist.

Long story longer, Mydei has never had a time where he could go without fighting. For virtually all of his life, at least until he reached Okhema, fighting was all he ever knew. Would he even really need much extra fitness training when his entire existence is a constant stream of battles, of pushing his body to its limits over and over again? He's been "working out" since he was literally an infant, with no down time, and even in relatively peaceful Okhema, a Chrysos Heir's duty to battle never ends.

This is just my personal take on it, but I'm inclined to think that when he finds rare moments of peace, Mydei would probably prefer to do things other than fight, especially if it's something that allows him to provide for himself and others, helping his friends stay well, such as through cooking.

I think the in-game material does a great job of emphasizing that Mydei's definition of "fitness" doesn't necessarily focus foremost on being a gym bro/jock who hits the training field every five minutes--his definition of "health" and "wellness" have a lot to do with nourishing the spirit at the same time.

4. Mydei is Significantly Less Impulsive than Phainon

Okay, I can hear you--if Mydei's not a brute, and he's not a fiery temper, and he's not much of an actual gym bro, what is he?

Well, unfortunately I'm just here to tell you another thing he's not: He's not actually that proactive of a rival either.

Aglaea is quick to call Mydei and Phainon "impulsive youths," putting them on the same level in terms of childishness, but actuallyyy...

Despite the fact that Phainon likes to claim Mydei "taunts him every time they meet", every single actual competition we've ever seen between Mydei and Phainon was initiated 100% by Phainon, with Mydei just sort of getting swept up in Phainon's antics.

In their joint lightcone, it's Phainon who calls for the contest of speed. In Kremnos, it's Phainon who proposes the titankin killing competition. After the coreflame trial, it's Phainon who demands the hot bath challenge (and then lies and blames Mydei lol), and it's even Phainon who turns taking home the other affected bath patrons into a competition too, one in which Mydei flat out claims he wasn't even competing:

We're given several hints, particularly throughout 3.0, that Mydei and Phainon's prior missions were largely characterized by Phainon coming up with ridiculous plans, and Mydei mostly going "Welp, that sounds like it's going to get us killed, but okay I guess."

While Phainon is ready to go "Fuck it, we ball" and fight a titan to the death all by himself, Mydei spends the entire first part of 3.0 going "Hey, so, like, fighting Nikador without an army is a really dumbass decision, and we should probably not be attempting this."

(This moment is kind of less funny in retrospect when you rewatch it with the knowledge that Mydei knew they couldn't handle the fight, but Phainon was like "No, we totally got this, trust me bro!" Spoiler Alert: They did not have it. Literally all of Mydei's deaths in 3.0 happened because of his crippling inability to say no to Phainon. But this is not a shipping post. I promise.)

Anyway, in one of the only examples we have of Mydei possibly being impulsive on his own, the note from the bath manager that reports someone charging into the baths to ask who the strongest warrior in Okhema is, the actual implication is that Mydei had no idea how poorly the Okhemans would take that (nor their obsession with debate which would be sparked), and his faux pas comes less from being immature and more from the cultural discrepancy between Okhema and Kremnos, as the Kremnoan in the note finds Mydei's behavior perfectly normal.

In fact, instead of being an unruly youth, Mydei is criticized by other characters several times in the story specifically for choosing to hold back and think things through before committing himself to a decision. If anything, he's closer to indecisive (or at least slow to decide) than he is to impulsive.

Now, don't get me wrong. The game tells us repeatedly that Mydei does get competitive as hell once Phainon actually manages to convince him to join in on the shenanigans. Of course Mydei likes to win. But the notion that Mydei is Phainon's equally impulsive rival, actively issuing his own challenges, goading his frenemy into new contests, and particularly motivated to keep one-upping Phainon? It's really more of an informed trait and a fandom cliche (red and blue rivals, the people cannot resist) than anything actually shown in the game.

At the risk of perhaps inserting too much of my own interpretation here, I'm inclined to say that Mydei's willingness to engage in Phainon's dumb competitions is less brash rivalry and much closer to "Guy who never had the chance to be an impulsive youth cautiously allowing himself the privilege of feeling carefree for ten minutes or so."

It's not that Mydei is actually that driven to assert his dominance or is particularly impetuous when left to his own devices--it's that he never before had a long enough period of peace where he was safe enough to act childish. If he ever had competitions in his past, they almost certainly would have been like "Who can murder the most enemy soldiers with their bare hands today?" In Okhema, Mydei can participate in sauna-offs.

Mydei isn't as (deliberately performatively) silly as Phainon. He's nowhere near as impulsive as Phainon is. He's not really that fixated on being a rival. But he is a pretty great partner in crime. He does allow himself to be drawn into Phainon's schemes over and over, because well... they're obviously fun for him. He gets into the competitions once they're in motion, even if he complains about them at the start. Mydei's life has been criminally devoid of light-hearted joys and normalcy, and being led into trouble that doesn't result in people literally dying on him--harmless trouble--is probably an extreme novelty for Mydei. Basically what I'm saying is, he isn't going to propose the Jackass competition, but he is going to fold like paper the moment said competition is suggested.

Case in point: In 3.0, there's a second where you can actually hear him regretting his life choices, trying so hard to convince himself that he is above Phainon's weird antics, but... in the end, he can't help himself. When Phainon starts LARPing with the Trailblazer during the titankin competition, Mydei's first reaction is essentially "Oh my god, this is so cringe," but just two lines later... look who joins the LARPing.

This nerddddd.

When left alone, Mydei withdraws from the world. Trailblazer typically finds him locked in silent contemplation, rejecting visitors, up on his own private corner of the rooftops. On his own, Mydei is significantly less likely to seek out trouble, cause public disturbances, or become a (usually accidental) nuisance compared to half the other Chrysos Heirs.

But when the company around him makes him feel comfortable, he is willing to engage with life in the childish ways he was never free to before. His "rivalry" with Phainon is better understood not as a macho dude-bro need to assert superiority, but as just one of the most obvious manifestations of Mydei's desire to experience the life he never got to live, to let himself be the kind of person who can just do silly things and cause dumb messes.

Mydei isn't a particularly impulsive person--but sometimes he lets himself try it out. As a treat.

Okay, last note for now:

5. Mind Your Manners

While it might be tempting to see Phainon and Mydei's competitions as the peak of Mydei's comedic contribution in the story, I think the actual funniest aspect of Mydei's character is the game's running gag about his manners.

Yes, Castrum Kremnos is a savage nation that revels in death and is rumored to drink the blood of their enemies--but they still keep it classy, damn it! Sure Mydei might have grown up as a half-feral sea beast and then a homeless, wandering exile subsisting off the land, but sometimes he literally can't help it--the aristocracy just jumps right out of him.

No, I'm not joking. Mydei really does have the prim and proper manners of a blue-blooded royal.

We see this from his first appearance in the game. A character's first scene is generally their establishing moment, the devs' chance to give players a strong starting impression--which makes it so telling that one of the first things out of Mydei's mouth is a insult to Phainon's manners.

This is a direct and pointed critique, suggesting Phainon has neglected his duties as a host by relying on his "guests" as back up in the battle. In the context of Amphoreus's historical inspirations, this is actually a very serious scolding: hospitality was a big, big deal in ancient Greece, and the idea of forcing foreign guests into serving you before affording them proper welcome and rest, let alone actively endangering them, would literally be considered an affront to the gods.

With this one short line, the devs are impressing the extreme difference in social status between Mydei and Phainon: Phainon is effectively a "country bumpkin," a member of a lower class who doesn't know how to (or perhaps just doesn't care to?) properly practice the civil gestures of the upper rungs of Amphorean society. Mydei, on the other hand, not only knows the proper rituals of etiquette but expects those rituals to be upheld by others. He's basically calling Phainon a mannerless peasant in one of his first lines of dialogue, which is why Phainon gets so grumpy for the rest of the conversation lol.

We see Mydei's inclination towards proper decorum in several other places as well. As a prince, he's entitled to respect and deference, and while we might be inclined to say "Mydei isn't the type to enforce his royal status over others," the game itself shows us that... Mydei kind of does expect people to treat him differently.

Just as one small starting example, I know it's somewhat popular to have Mydei deny his royal status in fanfics, such as telling people not to call him by his titles or acting as if he has no connection to the upper class, but this doesn't actually happen in the game. Mydei introduces himself to the Trailblazer from the start as Castrum Kremnos's crown prince, consistently thinks of himself (such as in mission journal text) as a prince, and is largely referred to as "the crown prince" or "your highness" by everyone outside the Chrysos Heirs, including all of the Okhemans:

In fact, I'd go so far as to argue that Mydei takes his role as a prince very seriously and does not remotely deny the responsibility he bears toward his people. It's important to him to fulfill his duty to the Kremnoans, so rather than downplaying his role as their prince, he seems to acknowledge it freely, working to serve as a principled leader as best he can.

In short, Mydei is aware of his status--and he expects everyone else will be aware of it too.

I don't mean this in a bad way at all; he's not rude or pompous about it--rather, I think this is a subconscious aspect of his character. Mydei has spent many of his formative years with his people putting him on a ridiculously tall pedestal. He's spent at least a decade as the leader of a group that basically worships the ground he walks on; the Kremnoans obviously aggressively follow the social protocols of their very traditional culture, which seems to include somewhat blind adoration of their kings. Even if Mydei wanted the Kremnoans to treat him as "just another one of the people," there's almost zero chance they would do so. It would likely go against their nature to even ask that of them. Ergo, Mydei's almost certainly spent his entire adult life as the recipient of his people's extreme respect--and their strict adherence to proper social protocols around their prince.

Because of this, Mydei does have specific (if likely subconscious) expectations for "how people will behave around me," and we players get to see several humorous moments where other characters in the story violate Mydei's understanding of how princes should be treated:

In a particularly infamous memory crystal, we see one of Phainon and Mydei's early interactions, with Phainon inserting himself in Mydei's presence and starting up a conversation Mydei obviously did not expect. This is such a faux pas that only someone like Phainon could have had the audacity to thoughtlessly do it; he basically hop-skip-jumped about twelve rungs on the social ladder to waylay a royal without seeking an audience--and Mydei is clearly taken aback to be approached so casually and without preamble. Although Mydei doesn't actually say it (because doing so would be rude, of course), Phainon himself awkwardly ends up acknowledging that Mydei is trying hard to end their conversation:

It's not because Mydei dislikes Phainon already, but because the act of walking up on a stranger--especially a stranger who is a prince!--and assuming such a degree of familiarity as to comment on his body of all things would be so beyond the pale of appropriate social behavior that even Mydei hardly seems to know how to respond at first.

We see this same completely (or perhaps willfully) oblivious to social protocol behavior from Phainon numerous times throughout the 3.0 and 3.1 quests, and Mydei's affronted reactions are always pretty priceless. You can almost hear him thinking "The audacity!"

The exact same face my conservative grandma makes when I accidentally drop an F bomb in front of her.

Blatantly asking a prince to praise you when you haven't earned it? Scandalous.

But Phainon isn't the only person who can provoke these offended responses from Mydei while pushing the prince's boundaries with bad manners. Trailblazer hilariously earns themself a few critiques about their lack of courtesy too:

And even Aglaea triggers a haughty response???

(Sure, we could give Mydei the benefit of the doubt here and say he's talking about himself and Phainon, but honestly? I think this English translation at least lends itself to the possibility of a different take as well: Bro got so embarrassed over being caught acting a fool that THE ROYAL "WE" just burst straight out of him lmaoooo. I mean, come on, he wouldn't be saying Phainon has a formidable presence while laying on the ground like an idiot, right? It's the royal we, I'm telling y'all. 😂)

In another humorous example, in the animation where Mydei plays with children, the "princess" in the play criticizes Mydei for not being very good at princely behaviors like Okheman waltzing, which immediately results in... Mydei seeking dance lessons from Tribbie so he can improve himself. Princes can't be caught slacking!

(But hilariously enough, as a sidenote, Mydei's dance ability seems to be another case of culture gap: One of the other children in Okhema, the one who was taught about Kremnoan traditions by Mydei, is actually quick to inform us that Mydei may not be familiar with Okheman dances--but he does know all about Anastenaria dancing!)

(Mydei might not fit the standards for an Okheman prince, but he's killing it as a Kremnoan one!)

Anyway, being serious again: Although it's quite funny the dev team insists so much that Mydei, despite being prince of a nation of savage warriors, is nonetheless a prince, with all the trappings of prim and proper etiquette, I think it also says a lot about Mydei's character that he does try to follow social protocols so closely. He apologizes for rudeness. He minds how he speaks to others. He is precise and forthright and always honors his word. Hell, he even politely makes prior arrangements if he knows he's going to be late to an event.

Mydei is self-aware enough to know his status. He knows the weight of that status, and he knows what his status means to his people. He takes the responsibility seriously and bears the role to the best of his ability, striving to meet the Kremnoans' expectations of a "crown prince" even as he can't bring himself to truly align with their core beliefs. He is trying his best to carry himself as a leader should, complete with his commitment to honor the traditional expectations and social class systems of both Kremnos and Okhema.

Despite his rough start in life, Mydei has accepted his people's intense respect and adapted himself to become someone worthy of commanding that respect. Social graces may not have come naturally to him after a childhood completely outside of humanity's reach, but Mydei nevertheless has worked hard to become a cultured person who embodies the demeanor and decorum of a sole surviving prince.

Although it's played for laughs, it's also played quite straight throughout Amphoreus's story: Manners matter to Mydei--both in himself and in others.

Anyway, since I still have more notes I jotted down about Mydei's characterization, here is some other stuff:

Part 2, over here ->

#honkai star rail #mydei #mydeimos #hsr meta #character analysis #this post is kinda still #phaidei #coded even though I tried to tone it down #tagging ship mostly so people who have phaidei blocked won't have to see it #I will eat the next person who tells me Mydei is an aggressive battle junkie #it's been a long time since I've seen a character whose actual story is so overt #like the game could not hit you harder over the head with the idea #that Mydei longs for a gentler kinder world where violence isn't necessary #but who still somehow gets slapped with so many obvious stereotypes #apparently if you take a male character's shirt off #he becomes contractually obligated to be a tempermental dude bro #I also think Mydei is a fantastic case in point #for fandoms (or readers/players/viewers in general) having extreme difficulty #with grasping characters who have contradictory personality traits #on the one hand we have Mydei's blood-soaked SUPER MANLY trailer #on the other hand... we have his animation playing pretend with elementary schoolers #rather than being able to accept that Mydei embodies both of those extreme poles #fandom just sort of picks one side and runs with it #he can rip Nikador's head off AND want to never fight again in his life #I PROMISE #Mydei is really a refreshing example of a character that DOESN'T fit common tropes/character cliches #but alas #I'm not sure all his fans have actually embraced that #I'm proud of this one so I'm gonna pin it!

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a-compass-without-a-needle · 5 months ago

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This is what happened after 3.1 isn't it?

#hsr #phaidei #phaidei nation I humbly offer thee a low quality meme to cope with the doomed yaoi that was going on #phainon #honkai star rail #fellas is it gay for your red coded rival to your blue coded rival to clasp his hands over your own after you stabbed him #due to thinking he was the objective of your revenge quest #pull your sword deeper in and by consequence add to your proximity while smiling and fondly say “Found you.”?#Was it casual when you had an insanely charged and homoerotic scene in the hot baths that had you face down on the ground at his feet?#no but seriously these two have me in a chokehold #what do you MEAN you told him your precise weak spot just in case you became you turned against his cause #and his presumed future EMIYA Archer coded shadow self immediately went precisely for it?#and you KNOW you'll die with a wound in that weak spot in your back and you told him about it anyway #and you tell people to keep an eye on him after you go to meet your fate and then ask him to watch over your people #and he says he'll work hard to learn your language #AND FINALLY #“If there's a chance in the next life you should come visit my library.” WHAT IF I PERISHED ON THE SPOT?!#that's their “See you in the next world.”; their “Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.”;#their “I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.”; “You were a wonderful experience. You were everything.” etc etc #they make me ill (positive)#also I find it so funny that as a KevinSu shipper in HI3rd I went into Star Rail expecting for the dynamic to be more coded with Anaxa #only for Phaidei to hit literally all of my points and favorite tropes in a ship and by consequence my head with a steel chair lol #really hope we see Mydei again soon because literally the first thing Phainon does after he's gone is talk about him all the time #he is a professional yearner and I respect him for it (especially since I too miss Mydei as if he's Odysseus going off to war and sea #for 20 years and I'm Penelope waiting at the shores of Ithaca)#also sorry for the low quality screenshot I was literally too invested in the quest to try and take better ones #gotta love how Hoyoverse is always giving the Kaslanas some of the best romances in their games and ESPECIALLY so if they're queer #myphai

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harmorii · 3 days ago

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Stills from my last vid !!

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chasmanthum · 15 days ago

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@captivemuses asked, "Scheat — Sender grabs Receiver’s collar, pulling them close." - Except Navia used the necklace to pull Mydei close ✧ › 𝐫𝐩 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 . . . || Status: Accepting

Most people would be asking to get their teeth knocked out of their head for such a thing. Pulling him down to their level like Navia so fearlessly did would grate on a very thin nerve if it had been anyone else.

But since it was her, he had to admit he did enjoy it. He leaned in to press a kiss on her cheek. When he pulled away he grinned at her, "I never realized the view was this good from this far down."

#captivemuses #v; should i sit? proclaim? lead || mydei reincarnation verse #//HIT HIM #//he can take it

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blueberrisdove-sideblog · 9 days ago

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☆. TELLING HIM THAT HE’S “SMALL” !

paring: phainon, mydei, aventurine, dr. ratio, jingyuan x fem!reader

tws : nsfw / smut, creampie (vaginal & anal), breeding kink, reverse cowgirl, mate pressing, spanking, multiple of rounds, darcyphilia, virginity loss, blow-job, face sitting (?), fingering, tummy bulge, making it fit, sloppy sêx, aftercare (?), rough sêx, dubcon elements (?), dumbifiction, headlocks and petnames.

sum : You told him he was small. He showed you otherwise. Suddenly, you didn’t mind taking every inch. MDNI 18+ ONLY.

note : not proof-read as usual.

★ PHAINON :

You thought teasing him would be fun. A quiet little smirk and that sweet whisper —

“Bet you’re not even that big.”

God, the way he looked at you. Not angry. Not offended. Just… amused. Like a priest staring down a blasphemer before the altar.

Now?

Now your legs are trembling, pushed wide open, and you’re struggling to even blink. Phainon’s fingers are deep inside you — slow, deliberate, two of them hooked just right, pressing into the spot that’s got your mouth open and your brain melting.

“Small?” he murmurs, voice like velvet-wrapped gold. “And yet… you’re drooling all over my fingers. Can’t even hold yourself up.”

You want to talk. You can’t.

Every curl of his fingers pulls a moan from you like a prayer. He’s whispering again, lips brushing your ear.

“Nothing to say now? Hm? So quiet. So wet. Should I keep going until you forget your name?”

You’re nodding before you even realize it.

Your hips are grinding up against his palm now, chasing that edge he keeps pulling away from. Every time it builds, he slows down. Holds you there. Makes you feel it. The ache, the pressure, the bliss that never quite breaks. It’s maddening.

“You’re just being prepared,” he says gently, almost reverent, like this is sacred.

“Can’t ruin you in the first round, sweet thing. But by the time I do put it in, you’ll be so far gone you won’t even remember calling me small.”

“Can’t ruin you in the first round, sweet thing,” he purrs again, brushing his fingers from your soaked hole to the base of his cock. It’s heavy, flushed, leaking against your thigh now. Thick. Long. You didn’t even look at it properly—too far gone to notice while he was playing you open like a divine instrument.

“But now?” His hand wraps around the base, stroking once, slow. You see it now. And oh—he’s huge. It’s veiny, flushed deep pink at the tip, curved just enough to hit everything he was already teasing with his fingers. “Now you’re ready.”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a soft gasp and a nod that feels more like begging.

He moves between your legs, pushing them wider—wider—until you feel stretched out and helpless under him, like an offering. And he leans forward, pressing his cockhead against your entrance. It doesn’t even go in at first. He just grinds there. Spreads you open with slow circles, letting you feel the weight of it, the heat, the stretch that’s coming.

You choke on a sound. “Pha—Phainon—”

“Shhh,” he whispers, and he smiles. Soft. Like he’s about to baptize you in holy fire. “It’ll fit.”

He pushes in slow. Painfully slow. Not because he’s teasing, but because you physically can’t take it all at once. Your cunt clenches around the thick head, already trembling as he sinks in inch by inch, pulling a broken moan out of you each time your walls stretch around him.

You try to breathe. You can’t. His hand comes to your stomach—

—and when he’s halfway in, you see it.

“Look,” he breathes, pressing gently to the bulge forming just below your bellybutton. “That’s me.”

Your eyes roll back. “T-too big—”

“It fits,” he says again, firm this time. “You’re mine. I will fit.”

And with a slow, final push, he bottoms out.

You scream.

The stretch, the pressure, the feeling of him filling you completely—it’s too much. Too perfect. Your body tightens around him like it’s never going to let go. Like you were meant to take this cock. To take his.

He doesn’t move right away. Just stays there, buried inside you, cock twitching, eyes fixed on your face and the outline in your stomach.

“Good,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so good for me. You’re going to take all of it. Again. And again. Until I’m sure it takes.”

And then he moves.

Slow at first—long, deep strokes that drag against every sweet, ruined part of you. You’re already sensitive, overfucked from his fingers, but now? Now it’s bliss. Sacred. Your hips jerk every time he bottoms out. The bulge grows and disappears, over and over, with every thrust.

“Feel that?” he whispers, dragging his lips over your jaw. “That’s what happens when you insult something divine. Now you’re going to feel it in your stomach every time you breathe.”

Your legs are shaking. You’re moaning without meaning to, drooling, tears slipping down your cheeks—not from pain. From how good it is. How full.

He starts moving faster, his rhythm breaking, and his hand goes to your thigh, holding you down as your body tries to pull away from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Where are you going?” he growls, low and possessive now. “You asked for this.”

And then it hits. He slams in deep, grinds, and your vision whites out—back arching as you cum hard, squeezing around him, sobbing from the force of it. But he doesn’t stop. If anything, he gets rougher. Harsher. His breath ragged, his grip bruising.

He’s close.

And you know it.

“I’m going to fill you,” he grits out. “So full you’ll feel it dripping for days. You’ll smell like me.”

You whimper something incoherent, but your hips rock up to meet his thrusts. You want it. You need it. The sacred burn of him claiming every inch.

“I’ll breed you until your body forgets every cock before me. Until it only remembers mine.”

The moment it happens, he growls your name, slams in deep one last time—and stays there.

You feel the heat first. Then the stretch. Then the rush of cum flooding you.

He doesn’t pull out.

Not even a little.

He just groans, low and broken, pressing his forehead to yours as he pumps every last drop inside.

And your stomach swells just slightly more with the warmth.

You don’t know how long it’s been.

The room feels warm. Your body? Weak, trembling, leaking. You’re still stretched open around him, thighs twitching, mouth parted with soft gasps. His cum is still inside you—hot, heavy, pooling deep in your cunt, trickling down your inner thighs with every shift of your hips.

You should be done.

Any normal man would’ve pulled out, cleaned you up, let you come down from the high.

But Phainon? He never even left your body.

He’s still there.

Still inside.

Still hard.

And he’s watching you—blue eyes narrowing, one palm gently resting on the bulge in your stomach.

“You’re full,” he murmurs, brushing your sticky hair off your forehead. “But you’re not bred yet.”

You try to speak. You can’t. Your jaw slackens as he pulls back just slightly, just enough for your raw, fluttering walls to feel the drag of him.

And then—

He thrusts back in.

Hard.

You scream.

It’s not pain. It’s not even pleasure. It’s too much. Your body jerks, overwhelmed, the thick mess of cum inside you squelching as he slams back into your already-spoiled cunt. You cry out again, eyes wide and watery.

“Pha—Phainon, I—can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice is calm, but low. Tight with restraint. “You’re made for this. I just have to remind you.”

His hips roll again, slow at first, but deeper. Hungrier. Every stroke pushes against that oversensitive spot inside, and with the way you’re already so full—so stretched—it feels like he’s everywhere at once. Your body tries to squirm away, but he pins your hips down with one hand and holds your thigh up with the other.

“You can take it,” he breathes. “You will take it. You said I was small, remember?”

His cock slams deep, knocking the air from your lungs. He starts rutting now—thrusts rhythmic, brutal, divine—every inch pounding up into your heat like a promise. The bulge in your stomach pulses with every push, getting more visible. He presses it as he fucks into you, and you sob.

“Look at this,” he whispers. “Look what I’m doing to you. That’s my cock inside your womb, my girl. Claiming every inch. You feel it?”

You nod. You don’t even mean to, but you’re nodding like a broken thing, tears down your cheeks, gasping his name over and over like a prayer.

Phainon groans—finally slipping. His breath hitches, rhythm growing faster, more desperate.

“I’ll fuck you stupid,” he growls. “Fill you until it’s leaking down your thighs for days. Until your stomach stays round even when I pull out.”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He ravages you now. Your pussy is fluttering, clenching, spasming around him, soaking his cock with slick and leftover cum—and he fucks you through it. Like he’s not just fucking you, but teaching your body a lesson.

You cum again. You don’t even realize it until your vision goes white, and your body locks up, and your voice breaks into moans that don’t even sound human anymore. You’re shaking, body arching, drool on your lip—and he still doesn’t stop.

“You love it,” he says into your skin, his lips hot against your temple. “You love being ruined like this. You’ll remember this every time you try to walk.”

You’re crying. Whimpering. Nodding.

And then—his thrusts get sloppier.

You feel him swell.

You know it’s coming.

And he grips your hips and slams in—deep, to the hilt—and holds you there as he spills inside again.

This time? It’s worse.

There’s so much. You can feel it—thick, hot, and endless, rushing in and filling you again like your body was empty. Your belly feels heavier. Rounder. The bulge pulses with warmth as he unloads for the second time.

You can’t even make a sound. Just wide eyes and soft, shattered moans.

He stays there, cock buried inside, twitching, body trembling.

You’re limp. Your thighs are soaked. Your belly’s full. His seed’s dripping down your ass in thick, creamy strings—but he’s still there. Still holding you like something sacred and fragile.

And he leans down, kisses your lips gently, and whispers:

“Still think I’m small?”

You’re too ruined to answer.

But the mess between your legs answers for you.

★ MYDEIMOS :

“You’re small.”

You say it soft. Real soft. Barely a whisper in his ear while you lie under him, half-smirking. You think you’re being cute. Teasing. Stirring that man into a scoff.

But what you get isn’t a scoff or a groan

It’s silence.

Mydei just looks at you—no expression, just heat—and the next second?

He’s on you.

You’re grabbed, flipped, thrown down, and spread open in seconds—legs pinned back to your chest, his thick arms caging you in. You barely get a breath before he’s lining his cock up to your dripping pussy and slams it in.

No warning. No build-up. Just the wet, brutal sound of your cunt getting split open around cock that doesn’t fit but forces its way in anyway.

You scream.

It’s not pain—it’s your pussy trying to figure out how to swallow something that fucking thick. Your lips stretch wide, your walls clench down like they’re confused, stuffed past their limit, already leaking and sucking him in like they know who’s boss now.

He leans in close—chest pressed flat to yours, his full body on you. You can’t move. Can’t breathe. You’re folded up under him like you’re nothing but a fleshlight with a heartbeat, pinned so tight your legs tremble and twitch beside his ribs.

His cock’s balls deep inside.

His stomach presses down on yours.

You look down and see the shape of it—see the thick bulge of his cock pushing up against your belly like he’s trying to break through it.

“Small?” he finally grunts, voice rough in your ear. “You feel that, baby? That’s my dick rearranging your insides.”

And then he starts thrusting into your already wet cunt.

The sound of skin smacking skin gets wetter every second, your pussy making those filthy, squelching noises with every bounce of his hips, juices spilling out everywhere, dripping off your ass and soaking the sheets.

You’re gasping. Whining. Eyes rolling back. You try to say something, maybe beg, maybe moan—but he just grabs your throat and slams in deeper.

You can’t move. You’re folded. Flattened under him. His thick body covers you, keeps you down, presses his weight into you like he’s trying to leave a permanent mark inside your guts.

He spits in your mouth.

“You wanna say that again?” he growls, snapping his hips. “Call me small now.”

You can’t. You’re just moaning, mouth open, drooling on yourself while your pussy flutters and twitches around his cock, slick and swollen from the constant stretch.

“God, you sound stupid,” he groans. “You are stupid now, huh? Just a dumb little hole to fuck. Nothin’ goin’ on in that brain except how deep this cock is.”

And it’s true.

You’re quiet. Brain blank. All you know is the drag and shove of that thick cock inside you, bruising your cunt, flattening your womb. You’re leaking all over his balls, slick sticking to his thighs, his dick punching your guts over and over.

He sits back—brings you with him—doesn’t pull out.

Now you’re in his lap, straddling him, but still bent back, your pussy still spread open, still stuffed with cock. He’s bouncing you now—your ass smacking down on his thighs, tits bouncing, cunt slapping messy around him with every brutal thrust.

You’re just moaning.

“My fuckin’ girl,” he pants. “You were made for this. Made to take all this cock. Gonna breed you right. Knock the last of your thoughts out with my load.”

Your tummy bulges again as he lifts you and slams you down harder.

He wraps one thick arm around your neck—tight headlock—and fucks you through it.

“Say it again,” he hisses in your ear. “Say I’m small while your pussy’s creaming on me like a bitch in heat.”

But you can’t speak. You’re gone.

You’re drooling, eyes crossed, pussy fluttering tight around his dick, holding him in like you’re scared he’ll pull out. You’re gushing—cum and slick squirting out around his cock, dripping mess all over the floor.

He moans. And he breaks.

He grabs your hips, slams you down to the base, and stays there—deep, buried, locked in place.

You feel his cock twitch.

Thick. Heavy. Flooding your cunt, stretching you with cum. You feel it pump into you in hot, heavy spurts, overflowing inside, leaking down your thighs. Your belly gets heavier with it. You swear your pussy’s too full to take more but he doesn’t stop—he keeps grinding.

You’re folded in his lap now, cock still buried so deep it feels like it’s in your throat, cum dripping down between your cheeks in fat, warm globs—and Mydei leans down and brushes your hair from your face like he didn’t just fuck you stupid.

He smirks, nuzzles your flushed cheek.

“Well?” he murmurs, hips slowly rolling again, so slow, just enough to make you feel every inch of him dragging against your raw, sensitive walls. “Still think I’m small?”

You whimper.

That’s all you can manage. Your voice is gone, fucked out of your throat. Your legs won’t stop shaking. Your pussy’s twitching around him like it’s begging for more even though it’s so overstretched, puffy and red from being used.

He hums.

“Didn’t think so.”

And then he kisses you.

Soft. Deep. One hand cupping the back of your head while his tongue lazily rolls against yours. His cock stays buried inside—warm, pulsing—but he’s not fucking you now. Not yet. He’s just holding you there, like he’s soaking in the mess he made.

You blink at him slowly, dazed, drooling, skin slick with sweat.

“Mydei…” you whine.

That’s it. Just his name. Barely even that.

He smiles.

Kisses you again. Starts rocking his hips in that gentle, sweet rhythm—like he’s in love with the way your pussy squeezes him, like he could spend all night just watching you fall apart again under him, all flushed and sore and needy.

“You want more, don’t you?” he murmurs against your lips. “Can feel this little hole begging for it. She’s so greedy, baby.”

You nod. Eyes glassy.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

He shifts—pulls out halfway, then slides back in slow, cock thick and veiny and still leaking cum. You moan. Loud. Body arching, hips rolling up to meet him like your pussy’s chasing him.

He watches your face. Watches your expression twist and tremble while he fucks you slow—tender, now, but deep. Deep enough to make your stomach bulge again. Deep enough to make your toes curl.

You look down and whine.

“Look at her,” he growls softly. “Still stretched open. Still dripping for me. You’re so fucking full, baby…”

He slides his hand down between your bodies—presses gently on your lower belly.

You squeal.

Because you feel it—his cock pressing from the inside, bulging your stomach, thick and firm. His thumb rubs circles there while his hips start rolling deeper again, gentle but intentional, grinding into the soft spot inside you like he knows exactly where to touch.

And of course he does.

He’s Mydei.

Your big, mean man. Who just turned into your soft, obsessed husband the second he dumped a load in you.

“Still got room in there,” he murmurs. “Don’t lie, I can feel it. Gonna fill you up again, sweetheart. Gonna make you mine again and again ‘til it’s dripping out of your belly button.”

You’re babbling now.

Begging. Sobbing.

Tears well up as the overstimulation kicks in—but it’s good. It’s so good. He’s so sweet with it, kissing your face, stroking your sides, murmuring filth right into your ear like it’s a love confession.

“You’re everything,” he says. “You hear me? . My pretty girl. I’d fuck you every hour of every day if I could. You were made to take this cock.”

You clench.

He groans.

He cums again.

Slower this time, but hotter somehow—he moans into your mouth, deep and low, hips locked against you as his cock throbs and spills another load inside you, thick and lazy and so much. You feel it pushing everything else out, dripping down your thighs again.

He doesn’t move. Just holds you there, cock deep, cum inside, lips on yours.

“Still small?” he whispers again.

You shake your head, dazed and full.

“No…”

His smirk is feral.

“Didn’t think so.”

★ AVENTURINE :

You’re smirking. Shouldn’t be, but you are.

He’s got you cornered, back against the sleek marble wall of your suite, his tie undone and sleeves rolled, chest warm against yours. One hand rests on the small of your back, the other gripping your chin, keeping your gaze locked with his like you’ve just handed him a challenge on a silver platter.

“Repeat it,” he says softly. Too softly. That smile on his face isn’t a smile , it’s a loaded weapon.

You raise your brows like you’re innocent. You’re not. You know exactly what you said.

“I said,” you purr, playing with the buttons on his shirt like you don’t feel your heartbeat slamming in your chest, “you’re a bit… small.”

There it is. That twitch in his jaw. That flash in his violet eyes like you just poked a sleeping god awake.

He laughs, low and rich, like you just handed him a glass of vintage wine and dared him to break it over your head.

“Small,” he echoes, tilting your face up further. “Interesting.”

You try to act bored. You’re so full of shit.

“Not small small,” you add with a shrug. “Just… not as big as you pretend to be.”

Silence.

Then his lips press against yours — hard. His tongue slides past your lips like he owns them, teeth catching your bottom lip in a cruel, teasing bite before he pulls back just enough to speak again.

“You’re gonna eat those words,” he murmurs, hot against your mouth. “Every single one.”

He takes his time getting you on the bed. Doesn’t throw you down—no, that’d be too easy. He leads you there, fingers on your chin, your throat, your wrist. Every step is deliberate. He pulls you into his lap, clothes still half-on, thighs spread, cock already hard under the slacks he hasn’t even taken off.

“Come on then,” he says, loosening his belt. “Climb on. Since you’re so confident.”

You crawl into his lap like the brat you are — like you’re still in control — grinding slow against the thick outline of his cock as you straddle him, smug smirk still on your face.

“Gonna prove me wrong, little man?” you whisper, voice sugar-sweet.

That earns you a slap.

Not on your face—no, Aventurine’s too elegant for that—but on your ass. Hard. Your body jerks forward, chest colliding with his, a sharp gasp punched from your throat.

“Wrong?” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “Oh darling. I’m gonna ruin you so thoroughly, you’ll beg me to be smaller.”

He grabs your waist and flips you around, pulling you back into his lap so you’re facing away from him now, knees spread, his cock sliding free from his slacks and standing proud between your thighs.

You glance down and blink. …Oh. Okay. Maybe he’s not small. Maybe he’s the opposite of small. Maybe you’re very stupid.

Before you can recover, he spits into his palm and strokes himself once—twice— then presses the head against your entrance, one hand gripping your waist and the other trailing slowly, so slowly, down your front.

“Go on,” he whispers against your neck. “Show me how small it feels.”

You sink down.

Your mouth falls open. No words. Just a gasp—long, high, desperate, as his cock stretches you open, thick and hot, filling every inch with a pressure that borders on unbearable.

“Mm?” he purrs, hands gripping your hips as you struggle to take him. “Not speaking now? I thought you were feeling brave tonight.”

You whimper. He laughs.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groans, sliding in deeper until your thighs are shaking. “This is barely halfway.”

You try to lift yourself off—you try—but he yanks you right back down with a smack to your ass, his cock punching so deep inside you your belly bulges just slightly, perfect and obscene.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over the spot. “That little bump? That’s me. That’s how ‘small’ I am, hm?”

You’re shaking now. Gasping, drooling, grinding down on him with needy little movements you can’t even pretend are confident anymore.

He drags his lips along your shoulder, bites lightly at your neck, and then thrusts upward. Just once. Deep. Hard.

You sob.

“What was that?” he says sweetly. “Sounded like you were gonna apologize.”

You try—you try so hard—but all that comes out is a pathetic, broken moan.

“Oh, honey,” he breathes, voice full of velvet cruelty. “You don’t get to apologize yet.”

He grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging your head back so you’re arching beautifully in his lap, cock still snug and deep inside you. His other hand? Slipping down your front, fingers rubbing right over where you’re throbbing, making you jolt.

“You don’t apologize,” he hisses, “until your knees give out. Until you’re sobbing on my cock.”

You whimper again.

He slaps your thigh—once, twice—then grips your hips and starts fucking up into you, slow and deliberate at first, then faster. Harder. The wet slap of skin against skin fills the room, mixed with your messy, choked cries and his deep, smug groans.

“You said I was small,” he pants, cock ramming into that spot that makes your eyes roll back. “Say it again.”

“N-no—”

“Say it.”

You try, you do—but all you can say is his name, over and over, like a prayer, like a surrender.

He laughs. Moans. Slaps your ass again and watches the ripple with admiration.

“Not so mouthy now, huh?” he says against your neck. “But don’t worry. You’ll get your words back.”

He pulls out, flips you around, and shoves you down to your knees.

His cock is flushed, slick and throbbing, still twitching from the tight heat of your cunt, and he grips it at the base with one hand while guiding your face forward with the other.

“Put that smart little mouth to work,” he growls. “Since you seem to like talking shit.”

You suck him in with shaking hands, lips stretched wide, eyes glassy. He watches you —loves watching you—as you gag and drool around him, your body still trembling from the wreckage he left in his wake.

“Mm, that’s it,” he groans, thrusting slow into your mouth. “Choke on it, baby. Just like you choked on your pride.”

You blink up at him—ruined, teary-eyed, mascara smudged, thighs shaking from being fucked half senseless—and he smiles down at you like the devil himself.

“Still think I’m small?” he whispers.

You shake your head.

“Mmm. Thought so.”

★ DR. RATIO :

You really thought you were funny.

Laid back against the library table, your skirt barely hiding the subtle shift of your thighs, you looked at him with that smug, syrupy smile. With a little shrug, you said it clearly,

“You don’t seem like much, Doctor. Bet you’d barely reach.”

The air went suddenly colder.

He didn’t even blink. Instead, he stared at you like you’d just insulted his entire intellect or knocked over his carefully brewed tea. His fingers twitched near his belt, then the sharp clack of his book closing echoed like a gunshot. He stood up.

“Is that so?” His voice was low, dry, and uninterested. That dangerous, mean little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth — not amused, not flirtatious, just a condescending twist that made your stomach knot.

“Well. Let’s test your hypothesis, shall we?”

You should have run. But no. You bit your lip and smirked like the brat you were.

That was your first mistake.

He didn’t say a word as he reached out and flipped you over the desk like you weighed nothing, settling you down flat.

“Still think I’m small?” he gritted, voice low and sharp as his hips ground down hard against you. Your mouth fell open, no witty comeback ready — just the sharp, helpless squeal that escaped when you felt every inch of him.

He was not small. Far from it. He was massive, pressing into you relentlessly, while piles of research scattered beneath you like forgotten papers.

Your cheek stuck to parchment. One hand pressed between your shoulder blades, holding you still, while the other landed on your ass with a resounding smack that made the desk creak beneath you.

“Use your words, test subject.” His voice was laced with sarcasm, irritated and turned on. “You wanted a measurement, didn’t you? Want me to push deeper?”

You whimpered, your legs trembling. That wasn’t enough for him. His hand smacked your ass again, harder this time, then grabbed and spread you wider without shame. He watched you — how your body folded and shivered under his weight — your belly visibly bulging each time he thrust deep, as if your insides were made just for him.

“You’ll take it. That’s what happens when you provoke a man smarter than you.”

It was filthy. Your legs shook uncontrollably, thighs wobbling under the pressure, but he didn’t relent. His body was big, lean but solid — every breath sharp, every growl low and frustrated in your ear. He was not romantic. He was not gentle. He was merciless.

“You’re so full it’s pathetic,” he hissed, grinding his hips harder. “Still think I’m small? Look down. Look at what I’m doing to that belly.”

You did.

You shouldn’t have.

A big, round lump pushed out against your stomach, his cock deep enough to mark you completely.

“You’re drooling,” he sneered. “Still think I’m small?”

You couldn’t answer. You were gasping, nails scraping at the wood as he locked his arms tight around your waist — not letting you escape, not letting you think — mate pressing you until your toes curled and your moans came ragged and raw.

“Say you’re sorry.”

You didn’t.

So he spanked you again, harder this time, then slammed into you deeper until the wet squelching of your cunt echoed through the silent study.

You choked out something broken and breathless. He didn’t care.

“I’ll breed the arrogance out of you,” Ratio muttered under his breath, like your whining was just another tedious experiment. “Let’s see if a few loads fix your attitude.”

He gripped your waist tighter, his breath hot against your ear as his hips pressed deep and unrelenting. Every thrust carved into you, making that heavy bulge in your belly push out more, like you were stretched perfectly around him—no chance to hide it, no mercy given.

His hand found your ass again, slapping it hard, fingers kneading and holding you in place. “You think you’re so clever, talking shit. But look at you now—mine. All wrapped around me, dripping and desperate.”

Your breath hitched, body trembling as he kept pounding into you, the sound of your slick wetness mixing with the harsh smacks filling the quiet room.

“Say it,” he growled, voice low and rough. “Say you’re mine.”

Your voice broke, trembling out, “I’m yours.”

His grin was cruel and satisfied as he pulled you flush against him, mate pressing with all his weight, making sure you couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. The fullness inside you stretched tighter, and he whispered, “You’re so full. Can’t get enough of me, can you?”

You whimpered, head thrown back, utterly undone.

With a sharp slap to your ass, he pulled out just enough so you could feel the thick length twitching, then slammed back inside, his pace rougher, more demanding.

“I’m gonna breed that stubbornness right out of you,” he breathed, voice dark and possessed. “You’ll remember this every damn time you think you can test me.”

Your walls clenched hard around him, moans slipping free as he kept driving you into the desk, holding you down like you were his prize.

“Beg for it,” he said, dragging his hand up to grip your hair, tilting your face so you had no choice but to look at him.

You whimpered, “Please… don’t stop.”

His laugh was low and satisfied. “That’s my good girl.”

He pressed forward, hips snapping, every movement pounding deeper, stretching you full and making your belly roll with the pressure.

Your breath caught as he tensed, voice rough, “Say it. Say I’m the only one.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, trembling and undone.

With a final, heavy thrust, he claimed you fully, breath hitching as he spilled inside, filling you with everything he had.

He held you pressed tight as you trembled beneath him, hips still rolling lazily, possessive and relentless.

“I told you,” he whispered against your skin, “I’m never small.”

★ JING YUAN :

You really shouldn’t have said it.

You really shouldn’t have looked the General of the Cloud Knights in the eye—shirt tugged up, thighs bare and your panties already wet—and had the audacity to say:

“Tch. With all that confidence, your cock’s probably small anyway.”

The room went quiet for a second.

The kind of quiet where even the crickets were like oh no she didn’t.

Jing Yuan blinked.

Smiled.

Then laughed—that slow, deep, maddening chuckle that slithered straight down your spine like warm honey.

“Small, huh?” he repeated, stretching his arms behind his head like he wasn’t already rock hard in his robes. “Ah… You poor little thing.”

You weren’t prepared for how fast he moved.

One second you’re smug.

Next second your back hits the mattress with a soft thud, legs spread open like he owned them, your panties tugged to the side and his thumb lazily brushing over your soaked folds.

“Say that again.” His voice was low, a little breathy. He hadn’t even taken his robes off. “Let’s see how long you keep that mouth running.”

You gasped when he pulled it out.

Holy—

He knew. Oh, he knew exactly what kind of look crossed your face. The shock. The panic. The twitch of your thighs like they were second-guessing their own bravery.

“I think someone owes me an apology,” he murmured, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit like he was just casually testing the weather. “Or should I make you eat those words?”

Smug bastard. That slow, lazy smile. That thick, achingly hard cock.

You didn’t even have time to beg.

He grabbed you by the back of your head, tilted your jaw open, and fed it to you.

Slow. Deep. Sloppy.

“Mm— look at you now.” His hips rolled like he was half-asleep, voice curling with pure sin. “Choking on the small one, are we?”

You clawed at his thighs when he held you down, cock pressing heavy on your tongue, mocking your every breath. He groaned every time you gagged around him, every time you tried to glare up at him through teary eyes.

“Can’t talk back with your mouth full, hm?” Jing Yuan chuckled, cupping your cheek. “Maybe I’ll keep you like this for a while. Let that attitude melt off your tongue.”

When he finally let you breathe, you were wrecked.

Mascara smeared. Drool dripping down your chin. Knees trembling.

“Aw,” he cooed, petting your hair. “What happened to all that big talk?”

And then—he flipped you over.

One smooth motion, you were face-down, ass up, and his cock already nudging at your entrance.

“This might stretch a little,” he murmured, completely fake sweetness in his tone.

Liar.

You screamed when he pushed in. Inch by thick, punishing inch. Your pussy clenched like it was trying to reject him, but it only made him groan, hands gripping your hips like he was claiming them.

“Fuck, you feel that?” he growled into your ear, voice deeper now, panting against your neck. “Say it again. Say it’s small while it’s splitting you open.”

You tried.

You couldn’t.

Not when he started moving.

Lazy, powerful thrusts that made the bed shake and your legs wobble. He stayed buried deep, hips grinding in slow circles like he had all the time in the world. His hand slipped between your thighs, rubbing your clit like he was spoiling you—just to drive you even crazier.

“Tell me how small I am while you’re dripping like this,” he teased, pinching your clit until you squealed. “Come on, sweetheart. Be brave again.”

All you could do was cry his name.

Over and over.

When you finally came, it was messy. Shaky. So tight around him he groaned into your skin, fucking you through it until your body gave up.

You collapsed, twitching.

And he?

He stayed inside you. Still hard. Still smug.

Leaning down, lips brushing your ear, he whispered:

“…Want to try that again?”

You don’t remember how you got here.

Well, actually—you do. It started with a smug smirk, your bratty mouth, and one too many giggles tossed at the general’s expense.

“With how lazy you are, your cock’s probably soft and small too.”

And now?

Now you’re stuffed full.

Flat on your back, legs trembling, and that massive cock buried so deep your belly’s showing a bulge.

You don’t even have the words anymore. Just little hiccuping moans, drool sliding from the corner of your mouth, and your fingers pressed against your lower belly in pure awe.

“Look at that.” Jing Yuan leans over you, lazy eyes glinting as he lays his palm right on the bulge in your tummy. He presses.

You squeal. Your legs twitch.

“You were running your mouth earlier,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing soft, slow circles over the swollen outline of his cock in your gut. “And now you’re just whining and taking it.”

He rolls his hips, and your back arches. Your soaked pussy clenches again like it can’t help it.

“Can feel me here, can’t you?” he purrs. “Might be small… but it’s so deep, baby.”

You try to speak—really—but all that comes out is a whimper, a little breathless sob of “Yuan—too much, I-I can’t—”

He smirks.

“Yes, you can.”

Then he pulls out—slow, dripping wet, your folds clinging to him—and slams right back in, thick and deep enough you swear you see stars.

You scream.

Your body jerks. Your brain just shorts out.

And he leans down, whispering filth into your ear:

“You don’t need to think. Just keep your legs open and take your stuffing like a good little pillow princess.”

You moan, dumb and needy. All that snark from earlier? Gone. Replaced with sniffles, tears, and broken hiccups as he pounds into you—slow, lazy, and endlessly smug.

“Fuck, gonna breed you,” Jing Yuan growls, fucking you deeper, slapping your thigh. “Gonna fill you so good you’ll be dripping my cum for days. Want that, huh? Want to get knocked up on a small cock?”

You nod.

You sob.

He groans when you clench down again, cock pulsing, hips slamming into your thighs as he spills inside you. Thick, messy ropes that flood your womb and drip out around his base—but he doesn’t stop.

“Stay still,” he pants, pinning you down. “You’re gonna take another one.”

And you do.

And another.

You don’t even realize he’s lying down beneath you until you’re shoved onto his face.

Your thighs shake. His tongue slides right up your slit and licks his own cum from your pussy.

Your moans are broken, hands digging into his messy blond hair as you grind down, riding his face like it’s the only way you remember how to breathe.

“That’s it,” he hums against your folds, voice muffled by your soaked pussy. “Sit on me. Get dumb on this tongue too.”

You do.

You lose your mind.

You cum. Again. And again. So messy, so overstimmed, your voice cracking into little sobs.

When you collapse off his face, ruined and twitching, he kisses your thigh.

And whispers—

“Still think it’s small?”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

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kominigiru · 21 days ago

Text

here’s part 2 of milkshakes and misunderstandings :] (1.2k wc)

You wake up with a headache that feels like it’s trying to saw your skull in half. The hangover hits hard—your mouth is dry, your limbs heavy, your thoughts slow. You groan and flop back against your pillow, summoning the only person who might take pity on you.

“De,” you croak, like a child calling for a parent. “Water.”

You receive no verbal response, but you do hear shuffling from outside. A moment later, your bedroom door creaks open.

Mydei, your brother slash roommate, enters with a glass of water and a face that could sour milk. The eternal expression of older sibling disappointment. It’s the same look he wears every time you do something he considers objectively dumb—which is always.

You accept the glass without thanks, chug it like it’s the last in existence, then collapse back into your pillow. The bed dips beside you as he sits down.

He doesn’t ease into conversation. He never does.

“You have a boyfriend,” he says, flat as drywall. “I’d say congratulations, but I’m still deciding whether to kill him first or you.”

“What?” You look at him like he’s grown two heads. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“That’s not what you told me on the phone,” he replies, placing the empty glass on your nightstand with a little too much emphasis.

You blink, trying to focus through the fog of your own brain rot. Somewhere in the recesses of your memory, there’s loud music, alcohol, milkshakes, and someone really, really pretty holding your phone like it was grenade.

“I don’t remember calling you,” is all you manage to croak out.

“That’s because I called you.” Mydei sighs, rubbing his temple like this conversation is actively lowering his lifespan. “Next time, if you’re going to get drunk and get yourself a boyfriend, at least pick someone more… sensible. Out of all the people in your school, you just had to choose Phainon.”

The name hits you like a defibrillator.

You jolt upright so fast your vision whites out for a second. “What?!”

Phainon?! As in Phainon?!

Okhema University’s Golden Boy?

The captain of the basketball team?

The senior you share half your classes with?

Your (and, let’s be real, half the school’s) low-key, high-key crush?

That Phainon?!

Mydei doesn’t even blink. “He brought you home in his car after getting milkshakes. You professed your love for him and then passed out. He said Stelle asked him to take you home.”

Stelle. Of course it was Stelle. The only person alive who knows about your ridiculous, slow-burning, definitely-doomed crush.

And of course she’s friends with him. Of course she is.

But hold on—what did he just say?

“Wait—what do you mean I ‘professed my love’?”

“I mean exactly that,” Mydei deadpans. “You declared you really, really loved him. Emphasis on the really.”

You make a noise that is not human.

Your hands fly to your head, gripping your hair like you’re trying to physically hold your soul in place. Fingers twist into your strands, tangling at the roots. You curl in on yourself like the fetal position might offer some kind of emotional immunity.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, horrified. “I can never go to class again. I have to drop out, fake my death, move to Aidonia, and start a new life as a sheep farmer.”

“Good,” Mydei says without missing a beat. “Fewer mistakes for me to clean up.”

You groan and flop back into the pillow, arms over your face like maybe, just maybe, if you stop existing hard enough, time will rewind and you’ll make better choices.

But deep down, you know it won’t. Because you got drunk, confessed to your crush, and even your brother witnessed it.

This is a disaster.

I need to call Stelle, you decide, already grabbing your phone like it’s a lifeline.

You shoo your brother toward the door with the urgency of someone trying to hide a crime scene. Mydei gives you a look—equal parts exhaustion and judgment—but thankfully doesn’t argue. He exits with a muttered “good luck,” and shuts the door behind him.

The second he’s gone, you fumble with your phone and stab at her contact.

It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Then—

“…Hello?” Stelle’s voice is groggy, thick with sleep. “Did you get home safe?”

“I did,” you whisper-shout, “but that’s not why I’m calling. Why—” you hiss, “—did you ask Phainon to take me home?!”

You hear the faint sound of rustling fabric. “Did you two kiss or what?”

Your entire face catches fire. “No! Even worse! I made him buy me a milkshake, told my brother he’s my boyfriend, and apparently—I said I really, really love him!”

There’s a beat of silence. Then she yawns. “Okay, but like… what’s the problem?”

You stare at your ceiling in disbelief. “The problem is I embarrassed myself in front of my crush, who also happens to be your friend. And worse—Mydei found out. He knows Phainon! They’re basketball rivals from opposing universities! You basically threw me at the captain of Okhema’s basketball team like I’m a drunken offering to the gods of romantic humiliation!”

Stelle snorts. “Okay, drama queen. Want me to give you his number so you can apologize or something?”

You groan. “You owe me a milkshake for this.”

“Didn’t Phainon already buy you one? That’s two milkshakes in one day. This is the greed they warned us about in the Bible.”

“Stelle—”

She laughs. “I’m helping your love life, babe, so you’re welcome. But sure, I’ll buy you any milkshake you want.”

“You better. That’s a promise.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you in class.”

The call ends.

A second later, your phone buzzes with a new message:

You’ve been staring at the number for five full minutes now. You don’t even know where to start.

Should you just apologize and pretend none of it ever happened?

Should you offer to make it up to him?

Would that make it worse?

Would he even reply?

What if he hates you now?

You chew on your lip, anxiety churning in your stomach. The idea of seeing him in class again—with all this hanging over you—is enough to make you want to spontaneously combust.

And if he leaves you on read? Or worse—never reads it at all?

No. You have to send something. You’ll drive yourself insane if you don’t.

Just wing it, you tell yourself, fingers already flying across the screen.

After multiple rewrites and a minor existential crisis, your thumb finally hovers over the send button.

The message reads:

You hit send.

Instant regret floods your system like battery acid.

You clutch your phone, staring at the screen like it might explode. Then—eight minutes later—the “Read” appears.

You scream.

You throw your phone face-down on the bed like it’s cursed.

You bury your face in your hands and seriously consider deleting your number, your name, your entire existence.

Then your phone buzzes.

You peek. One message.

You stare at it. Then you see the typing bubble pop up.

…Then disappear.

Then reappear.

Then disappear again.

You hold your breath, heart in your throat.

Another message chimes in. Then another.

And when you read it, your brain short-circuits.

note: this was sooo fun to write! as a fan of smau, i enjoyed making the fake chats (even though i had to go back and forth to make and edit it lol so if the images seem low quality and you notice the timestamps don’t make sense, just pretend otherwise ❤️). unfortunately though, this will be the last part to this series. it was supposed to be just a one shot at first but seeing as a lot of people liked it and requested for a part 2, i decided to make one.

i think romcoms suit phainon really well. he’s the ultimate male lead—the opposite of a northern duke. a duke of the south? hmmmm

also, once mydei hears abt you and phainon going out for real, he’s gonna break phainon’s spirit and crush his dreams the next time they see each other in a basketball court ❤️

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #phainon #phainon x reader #phainon fluff #🍙 ely writes <𝟑 .ᐟ #🍙 m&ms

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aventurineswife · 26 days ago

Note

I humbly request Amphoreus men with a Halovian reader, reacting to their freaky psychic abilities, the bird wings, halo, and how they absolutely cannot take a hit. Listen, songbirds are infuriatingly fragile, I've had them as pets. Trust me.

Porcelain Divinity

Synopsis: Bearing wings, a halo, and psychic power—but none of a soldier’s resilience—they bewilder, frustrate, and ultimately enchant those hardened by strife.

Tags: Anaxa x Reader, Mydei x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Halovian!Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Psychic Powers, Romance, Soft Moments Amid War, Found Family, Banter, Protective Instincts, Emotional Vulnerability, Character Introspection.

Warnings: Blood/Injury (Minor Descriptions), Emotional Distress, References To Death And War, Fragile Body Horror (Mild), Intense Affection Veiled As Irritation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms (Grief, Overprotection).

You collapse again—on the obsidian floor of the abandoned observatory—your breath rattling like loose parchment in the wind. A crimson splotch decorates your feathered shoulder, delicate bone nearly shattered by a minor deflection.

Anaxa doesn’t curse. He hisses, like steam beneath cracking stone.

“Did I not explicitly say, do not engage the arcanum juggernaut alone?” he snaps, striding over with the rage of a dying star and the precision of a surgeon.

You try to sit up. “I was… fine until the explosion.”

“Ah yes,” he mutters, kneeling beside you, his gloved fingers glowing faintly gold as they hover over your wound. “Because explosions, I hear, are famously gentle to brittle-boned divines with wings made of hope and denial.”

You laugh—wince—then laugh again.

“Mockery and martyrdom,” he says, dryly amused now. “Tell me, were you also planning to sermonize while bleeding out?”

You glance at his solemn face, and something flickers behind his eye. His palm hovers over your chest, your halo flickers uncertainly above.

“You fascinate me,” he says suddenly, voice lowered. “A being born of sky, dipped in prophecy, yet somehow you break like chalk on the first draft of history. That fragility…” He frowns. “It enrages me. Because I fear it.”

Your breath catches. “Why?”

“Because I can’t predict you. Can’t control it. And it means I might lose you before I finish understanding why your soul sounds like a song I’ve never heard before.”

And with that, he lifts you gently—not like glass, but like truth: weightless, dangerous, and deserving of reverence.

You flutter down from the ridge, landing beside Mydei in a half-collapse of feathers and grace. Your wing twitches. Your knees buckle.

He’s at your side in a flash.

“Not again,” he murmurs, voice soft but grave. “This is the third time you’ve dropped like a sparrow from the sky.”

You grin despite the blood on your lip. “But I made the shot.”

His eyes narrow, flickering with both pride and quiet exhaustion. “Yes. And nearly died again doing it.”

You flop dramatically against a nearby stone. “Halovians don’t die. We ascend.”

“Halovians bleed,” he growls, tearing fabric to wrap your shoulder. “You bleed more than any warrior I’ve fought beside. Even with your psychic shields. You're all mind and light, and not enough armor.”

“Wouldn’t exactly match the vibe,” you whisper, voice waning. “Halo, feathers, choir energy…”

Mydei lifts your chin gently. “Then I’ll be your armor. Even if you hate hiding behind others. Even if you tell me not to.”

You blink. “You’re not scared of me?”

He smiles faintly. “You terrify me. Not for your power. But because you’re fragile… and you keep throwing yourself into storms like you’ve never seen rain before.”

You feel tears build.

“Next time,” he whispers, lifting you onto his back like you weigh nothing, “you fly behind me. And stay behind me, songbird.”

You are unconscious for exactly three seconds after the explosion.

Then you blink awake—to see Phainon hovering over you, white hair dusted with ash, his face absolutely wrecked with concern.

“Oh my stars,” he breathes. “Are your wings bent? Are they crumpled? Your halo’s flickering! That’s not supposed to flicker, is it?”

You wheeze. “They just… clipped me. I’m—”

“You’re not fine,” he says, scooping you up and running fast. “You fell like a dropped porcelain plate. I thought—” He bites off the rest, clearly shaken. “You psychic types need a ‘do not poke’ sticker on your forehead.”

“Maybe a ‘caution: glass soul’ sign?”

“You're laughing again,” he says, scandalized. “How are you laughing?”

You reach up, brushing a soot-smudge from his cheek. “Because you’re cute when you panic.”

He flushes, nearly trips, then keeps running. “I panic because I like you, featherbrain!”

There’s a long pause as you rest against his chest, halo now steadier.

“I don’t care if you’re fragile,” he murmurs. “But I need you to let me help. You're made of light and high notes and cosmic static, and I’m… I’m just a sword. But I can cut through the dark for you.”

You press your head to his shoulder. “Then I’ll be your guiding flame.”

Phainon smiles through the tears he’ll never admit were there. “Deal. But if you faint mid-sentence again, I will wrap you in bubble wrap.”

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bunnynova · 29 days ago

Text

LET ME IN YOUR OCEAN, SWIM

𐙚⋆.˚ - Pairings: Blade, Dan Heng, Anaxa, Phainon, Mydei (seperate) x Fem!Reader 𐙚⋆.˚ - Warnings: Multiple Orgasms/Several rounds, Pussy eating, Fingering, Pet names, PnV, Creampies, filthy tbh, rough sex, dirty talk, praise?, degrading? spitting, cockwarming, marking? choking kinda ? aphrodisiac usage in Anaxas (all I could think of?) 𐙚⋆.˚ - Words: 5.1k

𐙚⋆.˚ - A/n: This content is 18+ MNDI. I hope you enjoy it! Requests are open!! I want it to be known as well all of my fics are written with a plus sized reader in mind - but that doesn't mean you can't read it with a different body type! I do not mention hair textures/color same with skin tones. I do try to be as inclusive as possible. Not proofread either. 𐙚⋆.˚ - Notice: You can filter your content in the event it is not for you, under blog settings if any of tags used you will not see content relating to this. MINORS, AGELESS, BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. UPDATE YOUR PROFILE BEFORE INTERACTING OR FOLLOWING.

You weren’t sure how it started, maybe it was the teasing brush of his fingers under the dinner table, or the way he’d whispered filth into your ear in passing, voice rich with promise. But now, your wrists were bound behind your back, the leather biting softly into your skin as you straddled Blade’s lap. His cock sat heavy and full inside you, stretching you so deeply it ached, in the most delicious, maddening way.

He reclined like a king on his throne, arms tucked lazily behind his head, chest bare and gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat. Those sunset hues raked over your trembling body, half-lidded and brimming with heat. That smirk, gods, that wicked smirk, curled at the corners of his mouth like he already knew just how wrecked you’d be by the end of the night.

“Go on then, baby,” he rasped, his voice rolling like thunder low in his chest.

“Been whining for my cock all day. Let’s see you work for it. take what you need. Such a greedy little thing," Blade taunts, voice a low rasp against your ear. "So desperate for my cock, you don't care about anything else."

Your legs were already trembling from the relentless grind, thighs aching as you tried to keep pace, to stay steady. The stretch of him inside you was near overwhelming, and every motion, every slow, downward grind of your hips sent waves of pleasure rippling up your spine. You moaned softly, breath stuttering as your walls clenched around him.

His gaze darkened.

“There you go,” he murmured, finally reaching up, fingertips skimming up your sides before curling around the soft weight of your breast. He thumbed your nipple, circling it slowly, then pinching just enough to make you gasp.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that. Such a good girl when you're desperate for me.”

You whimpered as your hips stuttered, sinking down onto him again with a wet slap. He was so deep it felt like he was in your throat, and the drag of him inside your soaked cunt sent sparks dancing across your vision.

“You’re not getting help until I feel you fall apart,” he growled, tightening his grip on your tit as he sat up slightly, nipping your collarbone with his teeth. “And even then… fuck. I might just keep watching. You look so fucking perfect like this. Fucked-out. Shaking. Begging.” His voice rasped, laced with a lustful tone.

Blade’s hand left your chest just long enough to reach beside the bed, fingers curling around his phone. He flicked open the camera, switching to video mode without missing a beat. “Yeah... I need to remember this,” he muttered as he hit record, holding it up to capture your flushed, ruined expression. “Don’t stop, baby. Show me how hungry you are.”

He slammed his free hand down on your ass with a sharp smack, the sting radiating through your body and making your walls flutter around him. The sheer force of it knocked you forward, a sharp gasp falling from your lips as your forehead dropped to his shoulder.

“Please, Blade,” you choked out, voice thin and high. “I can’t, too much.. please”

His eyes flicked up, full of smug amusement, his phone still recording. “Is that right?” he mused, tongue flicking over his lower lip. “Didn’t you say you needed it so bad earlier you’d do anything for me?” He clicked his tongue, slipping the phone aside. “Tired already, and I’ve barely touched you.”

He set the device down, then reached around and untied the binds at your wrists with deliberate slowness. The moment they fell free, he gripped your hips hard and flipped you with practiced ease, pinning you beneath him before you could even gasp.

The loss of control made your breath catch.

“Brace yourself,” he murmured against your throat, his cock still buried to the hilt inside you, pulsing with anticipation. “You’ve had your chance to ride me, now it’s my turn to ruin you.”

His mouth found yours, devouring you with a kiss that tasted like lust and triumph. One hand laced with yours above your head, the other gripping your thigh and hitching it up, opening you wide. He pulled back just enough to meet your dazed gaze, his voice low and reverent:

“You’re not walking tomorrow, doll. But gods help me, I want you wrecked.”

A smirk curled at his lips as his hands came to grip your waist. Holding your body in place as he began a relentless pace.

The headboard slammed against the wall as your cries grew louder, the room thick with the sound of skin meeting skin, breathless moans, and his low groans right in your ear.

It was going to be a rather long night.

—

You’d only meant to assist in a simple energy-enhancing elixir. That was the assignment. But one misstep in measurement, a droplet too much of a rare herb with latent aphrodisiac properties, and now the air in the alchemy room felt thick, like molten honey clinging to your skin, every breath laced with heat and desire.

Your body trembled, flushed from the inside out, and you barely had the clarity to steady yourself as Anaxa pressed you over his cluttered desk. The wood was cool against your feverish skin, but the relief was fleeting, especially when his hands found your thighs, stroking upward with an excruciating slowness.

"You're burning up," he murmured, his voice deeper than usual, heavy with restraint and want. His palms were rough from handling vials and tools, but they moved over your soft skin reverently, memorizing every inch. When he lifted your leg and placed it on the desk, spreading you open further, a shaky breath escaped your lips.

Then his fingers found your slick folds, parting them to slide between with maddening ease.

“Fuck,” he rasped, dipping one finger inside you with a slow, deliberate curl. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. I barely touched you.”

He watched your back arch, his eyes hooded, devouring the sight of you writhing under his touch. “So wet for me already… so ready. You're like a flower trembling open under the sun’s first kiss.”

“Anaxa…” you whimpered, turning your flushed face toward him, eyes glassy with need. “Please. It’s too much, I need you. I feel like I’m on fire.”

A low, pleased chuckle rumbled in his chest as he leaned over you, pressing a kiss to the back of your shoulder. “My love,” he purred, “the last thing I want to do is hurt you. Let me take care of you. Yeah?”

His fingers moved with more purpose now, two sinking inside and scissoring open, brushing expertly against that spongy spot that made your thighs tremble and toes curl. Your breath hitched, nails digging into the wood of his desk.

“There we go,” he coaxed, his voice velvet and grit. “That’s it, thats my good girl. Just like that.”

When he slid his fingers free, glistening with your arousal, he brought them to your lips with a smirk. “Taste yourself for me, yeah?”

You sucked his fingers in without hesitation, your tongue swirling around them eagerly, and the dark look in his eyes nearly made your knees buckle.

As you suckled, he undid his belt with one hand, pushing down his trousers. His cock sprang free,thick, flushed, and already leaking. He hissed through his teeth at the sight of you, lips wrapped around his fingers while your hips subtly rolled against the air in anticipation.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, guiding your hips into position. “Ready for me?”

You nodded, whimpering your assent, but that wasn’t enough for him.

“Say it.” he breathed, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you.

“I’m ready, Anaxa. Please. I need you inside me.” You cried out, the desperation dripped off your voice in waves.

And just like that, he snapped.

He lined himself up, the thick head of his cock brushing your soaked entrance before slowly, deliberately, pushing into you. Inch by inch, stretching you open, dragging a guttural moan from deep in his chest,and a strangled cry from your lips.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you gasped, forehead pressed against the desk, legs trembling.

Anaxa groaned, head tilting back. “You’re so fucking tight. Gods, the way you grip me, like your cunt was made for me.”

His thumb returned to your clit, drawing tight, deliberate circles that had your walls fluttering around him, clutching him deeper. His other hand wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling your hips back against every hard thrust.

The room echoed with wet, obscene sounds,the slap of skin, your mewls and moans, the throb of shared desire amplified by the lingering effects of the potion. Your body felt electric, every thrust sending sparks up your spine, your nerves raw and alive.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he growled into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “To feel me like this? Deep and hard, filling every inch of your needy little hole?”

“Y-Yes,” you cried, voice trembling. “I wanted you. I've always wanted you, Anaxa..”

He groaned as your walls clenched around him again, his grip on your hips tightening. “Fuck, don’t do that, baby. You’re gonna make me come, and I’m not done with you.” He leaned forward, chest pressing against your back, lips brushing your ear.

“It’d be a shame to end this now, wouldn’t it? When we’ve barely scratched the surface of what I want to do to you.”

His cock throbbed inside you, thick and pulsing, and his movements slowed,just slightly,enough to drag out every second, every breathless moan. His fingers didn’t stop moving on your clit, and it was too much. You were unraveling. “Anaxa,I'm-!”

“Let go for me,” he murmured, voice like smoke. “Come on, doll. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And when your climax crashed into you it was violent, soul-shaking, you cried out his name like a prayer. He followed you moments later with a strangled groan, grinding deep as he spilled inside you, breath catching in his throat.

The room was still, again. Heavy with the scent of sex and alchemical oils. Your chest heaved as you lay against the desk, limbs trembling, heart pounding in your throat.

Anaxa brushed your hair gently from your face, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Are you alright?” he murmured, voice quiet now, low with concern.

You nodded, lips parted as you caught your breath. “Yeah, I just didn’t think today’s lesson would turn into that.” you laughed a bit as you tried to catch your breath.

He chuckled softly, as he rested his head against your shoulder. “We’ll call it an experiment in practical alchemy.”

You snorted weakly, unable to help the smile tugging at your lips, even as your legs refused to stop shaking.

—

Mydei had lost so much, too much. The grief, the blood, the burdens he bore had hollowed parts of him, left him starved for something warm, something anchoring. And that anchor was you. He clung to you like salvation, like he’d drift into the abyss without your body pressed to his. At night, he was never far, always buried deep inside you, cockwarming with his face nestled into the crook of your neck, your scent his lullaby, your cunt his comfort.

One arm slung possessively around your waist, the other lazily cupping your breasts as he whispered soft, broken things against your skin.

But this? This was different.

This was worship.

Because Mydei would never kneel for anyone. Never bow. Never submit. Yet now, here he was, on his knees before you, his mouth hot and hungry between your thighs as you sat like a goddess on his throne. Yours now, it seemed. The power shift made your skin tingle, made your core throb. It made his mouth water.

Your thighs were thrown over his broad shoulders, heels digging into the tense muscles of his back as he devoured you like he’d been starved for days. His tongue was relentless, slick and deep, lapping up your arousal with obscene enthusiasm. The room echoed with the wet, messy sounds of him feasting on you, slurps and growls and the occasional gasped praise, incoherent and ragged: “fuck, so sweet.. s’perfect.. can’t get enough..”

Your head lolled back against the velvet lining of the throne, your body arching, quivering beneath his mouth. Every drag of his tongue, every suck on your clit made your back bow, your hands fly to his hair. You gripped his golden strands tight, guiding him with desperate, breathy pleas.

"Mydei.. please, feels so fucking good," you moaned, voice cracking as pleasure shot up your spine. Your hips bucked forward when he sucked harder, sharp and unrelenting on that aching bundle of nerves.

He groaned, almost feral, his fingers bruising into your thighs as they trembled around his head. "Gods, Princess, look at you. Trembling from just my mouth. Let me hear those sounds. I need them."

The words were muffled, smothered by your slick and his determination. But you heard them. Felt them. Your fingers tugged tighter as you rolled your hips against his face. He moaned again, the vibration sending shockwaves through you.

And then, you gasped. Sharp, high-pitched, your whole body twitching when two of his fingers slid inside your fluttering, dripping hole. They curled just right, just so, and your thighs clenched around his head like a vice.

"Yeah, right there, Mydei! fuck, don’t stop," you begged, voice cracking, eyes rolling back into your skull.

He couldn’t hear you anymore, not really. His head was spinning. Your taste coated his tongue, your scent filled his lungs, your cunt clenched around his fingers so tight it made his cock throb and twitch helplessly in his pants. He hadn’t meant to finish. He really hadn’t.

But when you cried out his name, when your slick gushed around his fingers and your thighs spasmed against his ears, he came. With a guttral goran, shamefully untouched, his release soaking into the fabric of his pants as he fucked you through your orgasm with tongue and fingers with a desperate need to drown in you.

He was panting when he looked up at you. His cheeks flushed, chin wet, lips red and swollen. His eyes were glassy, ruined, drunk on you. And when your gaze met his, just as hazy, just as fucked out. He let out a soft, breathless laugh.

“Well,” he murmured, voice hoarse and reverent, “suppose we can finish this properly once I get out of these damn pants.”

His cheek rested lazily against your thigh, one hand still cradling it, thumb stroking the soft skin there. “C’mon, princess. Let’s get cleaned up.”

But neither of you moved. Not yet. You stayed like that tangled, flushed, trembling lost in the afterglow, in each other.

—

Phainon’s tongue drags up your slit again, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the last taste before a kill. His nose brushes your clit, and you twitch under him with a broken gasp. Your thighs try to close, but his arms keep them locked open, biceps flexed, forearms solid as stone. He’s already pulled two orgasms out of you. You’ve cried, begged, sobbed his name, and he’s still hungry.

Your voice is hoarse. “Phai.. please..”

“Please what, baby?” His voice is dark, taunting. He curls his fingers again. “Please don’t stop? Please ruin me? Tell me what you want. Come on baby wanna hear ya”

You don’t answer, your voice dying on your tongue as he curled his fingers just right making your mind go blank.

“Didn’t fuckin’ think so.” He grins, teeth dragging lightly across the crease of your thigh. “You’ve got more for me. I know your body better than you do.”

“Mmm,” he hums. “You said you wanted to come again. So I’m making sure you do. Gotta get this pussy ready.”

“For what?” you gasp.

He pulls his mouth away just long enough to meet your gaze. His lips are shiny, chin soaked. His eyes burn straight through you, “For me.”

You try to pull away, but he drags you right back into his mouth. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs hard enough to bruise, pulling you down like he’s drowning in you. His mouth latches onto your clit again, tongue flicking in a brutal rhythm that makes your vision blur.

“Pussy’s so fuckin’ good, baby. I could stay down here forever.”

You try to catch your breath, chest heaving. “You already have. I can’t feel my legs.” You breathed out, although it sounded more like a laugh.

He chuckles against your skin, licking back up with an almost lazy motion. “Then you’ll stop runnin’ from me.”

“I can’t, I can’t take it” you stammer, thighs trembling.

“You will,” he growls, pausing only to spit on your pussy before slapping your clit with the flat of his tongue. “You will, baby. Give me another. I wanna feel you fucking break on my tongue.”

As if his voice was like the law, your orgasm hits like a crashing wave. You cry out, your whole body shaking under his mouth as you soak his chin. He moans into you, licking you through every twitch and clench, groaning as if he’s the one coming.

By the time he pulls back, his face is wrecked. Lips swollen, chin shiny, eyes glazed with hunger. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. He looks high. Feral.

Then you see it, the bulge straining hard against his sweatpants, twitching. Leaking.

“Get on your stomach,” he says suddenly. Your muscles are barely functioning. “Phai..”

“I’ll move you if I have to princess, come on.” He spoke as he pats your thigh with a chuckle.

You roll over slow, weak, trembling. He pushes your back down with one hand, keeping your ass raised. He peels down his sweats, cock springing free. It was thick and veiny, already beeding with precum at the tip. He runs it through your folds, dragging it up and down your overstimulated pussy with a groan.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice like gravel. “So fuckin’ wet. So ready for me.”

You scream into the pillow, arms shaking. The stretch is insane, unforgiving. He gives you no time to adjust, already pounding into you with deep, brutal thrusts, hips slapping hard against your ass.

You moan weakly, trying to gather yourself, but your body is boneless. He lines himself up and sinks slowly inch by inch, each achingly blissful inch. The stretch is too much, no, it was perfect. You whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. “You’re too big..”

“You always say that,” he groans, voice frayed as he bottoms out. “Still take every inch like a good fuckin’ girl.” He pulls back and slams into you hard. You cry out, body jolting, already sensitive and raw.

“You feel that?” he growls in your ear, hips slamming against yours again. “Feel how deep I am? This pussy knows me.”

“Take it. All of it,” he growls, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip. “You asked for this. You said you wanted me to fuck you dumb, remember?” You nod desperately, choking on moans.

“You love it,” he sneers, dragging his cock out to the tip before slamming back in, right to the hilt. “This tight little cunt’s fuckin’ made for me. You come on my face, you take my cock, and you beg for more.” Your fingers claw the sheets as his hand leaves your hip to deliver a sharp slap to your ass, the sting making your eyes tear.

“Fuck.. Baby, you sound so pretty when you cry. Makes me wanna ruin you all over again.”

You sob into the mattress, but it’s not from pain. It’s too much, deliciously so.

“You hear that?” he pants. “That sloppy little sound? That’s how hungry your pussy is for me. Sucking me in like you never want me to leave.” He leans over you now, chest to your back, his voice hot and dangerous in your ear.

“Tell me it’s mine.” You moan, barely audible.

“Louder.” He growled. He wanted to hear you.

“It’s yours, Phai Ah-yours.” You cried out as your breath hitched in your throat.

“Say it while I’m buried in you.” He thrusts deep again, cock grinding right into your sweet spot. You cry out, voice cracking. “It’s yours! All yours, fuck! don’t stop!”

He groans, dragging his teeth along your neck. “That’s it, baby. My fuckin’ girl.”

He flips you over with no warning, manhandling you like you weigh nothing. Now you’re beneath him, his body caging yours, sweat dripping from his brow as he slides back in, deep and slow this time. His eyes never leave your face.

“You good?” he asks quietly, breathing rough against your cheek. He knew he was being a bit rough. You nod, tears still in your eyes. “Please, keep going.”

He kisses your lips messy, tongue curling into your mouth—before he starts fucking you again. Harder now. Purposeful. Like he’s chasing something. Like he wants to fuck his name into your bones.

His hand finds your throat, thumb under your jaw. Not squeezing. Just claiming. “You take it so good,” he grits out, watching your tits bounce with each thrust. “You were made for me.”

Your mind was a mess, head thrown back, your words barely coherent. Just babbles of his name, singing it like it was prayer. And fuck was it music to his ears.

He lowers his mouth to your neck, biting hard, marking you. His thrusts grow messy, erratic. You feel him twitch inside you, hips jerking. “I’m gonna come,” he pants, voice nearly desperate. “You want it? You want me to fill you up?”

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Yes! fuck, yes, Phai! Fill me up Ngh!”

His thrusts become erratic, rough, deep. He slams into you one final time and holds there, cock pulsing as he spills into you. He shudders, mouth open against your shoulder, panting like he’s just been dragged back from the edge

His groan is broken, guttural, as he buries himself to the hilt and spills inside you. You feel it, hot, thick, deep and your own orgasm rips through you again, triggered by the sound of his moan and the stretch of his cock pulsing inside your fluttering walls.

“You fuckin’ ruin me,” he growls, voice cracked, almost pained. “Every time.” You’re both still for a moment, bodies twitching, sweat clinging to your skin. He brushes your hair back from your face, eyes still wild but softer now.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice low. You nod slowly, dazed. “Yeah..Just, Holy shit. What got into you?” A crooked grin tugs at his lips. “Don’t fall asleep yet.” You blink up at him, eyebrows lifting. “Why?” you ask breathlessly.

“Because you’re not done,” he says, shifting his hips. “And neither am I.”

—

Dan Heng was hot tempered, questionably hostile at times, but when it came to you? He was always a blushing mess. With you, he turned shy, uncertain, his confidence unraveling under the weight of his affection. The first time you mentioned wanting to be intimate, he had blinked at you like you’d spoken in an entirely foreign tongue. His hands clenched in his lap, ears tinged with scarlet, eyes darting to anywhere but your face.

It wasn’t reluctance. He wanted you. You could see it in the way his gaze lingered on your lips too long, in the way he sometimes flinched when your hand brushed his, like the contact physically startled him.

He just didn’t know what to do with the need burning under his skin. But with time, with whispered encouragement and soft patience, Dan Heng shed his nervousness like molten armor.

And once he did, he became devastating.

He knew every single thing that made you tick, every single nook and cranny of your body. That alone made him dangerous. Your body, your sounds, the way your eyes fluttered when he kissed just under your jaw, the delicate shiver that ran down your spine when his breath warmed your ear.

He’d approach you quietly, sometimes catching you off guard with how fast he’d close the distance. Strong arms slipping around your waist from behind, the rough heat of his palms pressing into your skin, his lips brushing your neck just so, where your pulse fluttered beneath your skin, quickening the ache that curled low in your belly. That subtle spot where the softness of his mouth made your knees tremble, and your breath hitched, trembling with need.

More than his hands, more than his mouth, it was his voice gravelly and warm that ruined you most.

“Look at you,” he whispered one night, voice thick with desire as he settled between your thighs, the subtle musk of his skin mixing with the sweet, salty tang of your arousal. His fingers ghosted up your inner thigh, brushing over the delicate skin until you trembled under the featherlight touch. “Such a pretty little dove. Dripping wet, and I’ve barely even touched you.”

Your cheeks heated with embarrassment and anticipation, your panties clinging damply to your folds, the slight pressure already unbearable. He hadn’t even removed them yet, but the slick heat pooling between your legs begged for more. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and full of hungry promise.

“Use your words, my little dragon,” he murmured, breath fanning over your skin, warm and intoxicating. “Tell me what you want.”

You squirmed beneath him, thighs trembling. “Jus’ wan’ you, Danny.. want you to touch me.”

He smiled a slow, wicked curve that sent shivers crawling down your spine, and leaned in to press a heated kiss to the corner of your mouth. The taste of him is rich and addictive. “Good girl.”

The words settled inside you like fire.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your ribs, sending sparks wherever he touched. Slowly, reverently, he peeled away your clothes, the faint rustle of fabric the only sound in the quiet room. His palms warmed your skin, kneading your breasts as his mouth descended, lips sealing around your nipple. His tongue flicked and teased, gentle but insistent, and a soft sigh escaped you, fingers threading into his thick, silky hair.

He lingered there, worshiping your body like a sacred offering, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

Then, moving downward, he left a trail of wet, hungry kisses—a path of fire across your belly, the soft pulse of his tongue tracing your hip bones. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, holding you open as he lowered his mouth to your slick folds. The taste of you, sweet and salty, filled his senses, intoxicating and pure. His tongue circled your clit with slow and deliberate flicks, while his fingers spread your lips wider, exposing every inch to his skilled touch.

A moan tumbled from your throat, raw and unguarded, your hips arching involuntarily toward him. His groan vibrated through the room, a low rumble of satisfaction as he savored your response, his mouth and hands worshiping your trembling body.

You writhed beneath him, hips grinding softly against his mouth, desperate for more. He encouraged it, his voice thick with need as he whispered your name, coaxing every shudder, every gasp.

He didn’t stop until your legs shook and your breath came in ragged gasps, your body unraveling under his devotion.

Only then did he rise, lips pressing tender kisses to yours, the lingering taste of your essence on his tongue making him dizzy with desire. His hands cradled your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he murmured, “So beautiful. So good for me.”

You kissed him back, soft and needy.

Without warning, you felt the heavy heat of him pressing against your entrance, thick and pulsing. He slid inside you inch by inch, slow and deliberate, watching your face for every flicker of pleasure and hesitation. Your hands clung to his broad shoulders, your breath catching as he filled you completely—deep, hot, and endless.

He stayed still, letting you adjust, savoring the way your body clung to his.

“You’re taking me so well, my love,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “So tight around me... like you were made for me.”

His movements began slowly and measured and so very deep. Languid thrusts that sent delicious fire rippling through you. Every drag of his cock inside your warm, slick walls made you gasp, your breath hitching in time with the slow, agonizing rhythm. His mouth was everywhere, licking your neck, nipping at your collarbone, and planting bruising kisses on your shoulder.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he pulled you flush against him. The scent of sweat and sex filled the room with a heady, intimate perfume that bound you to him.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his voice cracking with need. “Can’t get enough of you. I want to stay inside you forever.”

His praise tumbled from his lips in a torrent now, each word a caress against your skin as he stirred you from within. “So soft. So perfect. I love you.” His voice was raw, vulnerable, bared to you entirely.

You cupped his face between your palms, brushing your lips over his in a messy, desperate kiss.

“I love you too,” you whispered, voice trembling with emotion. “More than I know how to say.”

Dan Heng’s hips moved faster, harder, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure exploding through your nerves. You were tangled together, body and soul, riding the edge of bliss. His fingers slid between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing slow, steady circles that sent waves crashing over you.

“Come for me,” he urged, breath hot against your ear. “Show me how much you love me.”

Your release shattered over you in a torrent of heat and sound, your body clamping down on him as your cries echoed through the room. Dan Heng’s own growl of your name was rough and desperate, his hips stuttering before he spilled deep inside you, trembling and spent.

He didn’t pull away.

Wrapped around you, the two of you caught in the quiet afterglow, skin slick and sticky, breaths mingling in the dim light. His face was buried in your neck, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your back. The scent of sex and sweat and something infinitely tender surrounded you.

“I don’t know how to say everything I feel for you,” he murmured against your skin. “But when I’m like this, with you, I hope it’s enough.”

You kissed the damp curls at his nape, fingers threading through his hair.

“It is,” you whispered. “It always is.”

I hope you enjoyed! Requests are open.

Do not plagiarize my content. Do not repost my content, or translate it either. Do not post my content on any social media. Do not steal my content or feed it into AI.

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azullumi · 1 month ago

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you’re a mermaid in distress and he’s here to… save you? | featuring: phainon, anaxa, and mydei x mermaid!reader | fluff, alternative universe, bullet-form narration, pirate!mydei, knight!phainon, scholar!anaxa, i mean he somewhat already is, mentions of blood and wounds, fem!pronouns are used for the reader, not proofread | wc: 4.7k

note — today i had a beautiful dream of pirate mydei thus this was born, and gosh it got long my head hurts… (500 words each character, i said, it will be short, i said)

PHAINON; FREEDOM TASTES LIKE BLOOD ON YOUR LIPS

The first time he sees you, you are listless—a ghost of salt and scales drifting in a gilded cage. Your fingers press against the glass, searching for a current that isn’t there. The expression on your face is etched into his mind, haunting him like a madman on his trail. You were clearly uncomfortable, restless, unable to adapt in the new environment you were forced to be in—who would? Your glass tank was nowhere similar to your home. The water reeks of chemicals, not brine; the fake corals are a mockery of the reefs you once knew.

In this place, you were completely vulnerable and exposed to everyone. There was no place for you to hide. The decorations were not big enough to cover you up and the transparent walls allowed anyone to watch your every move—perhaps that was the intention. After all, you were captured and sold to a wealthy nobleman who was fascinated by your species and their ‘exotic beauty’.

The second time was when he was with the master, standing in front of your ‘home’, gawking at you with a grin on his face—all teeth and greed. You were still the same except much worse, lingering on the same spot he had seen you. “Pretty, isn’t she?” The master says, a sparkle in his gaze as he admires your every inch before he turns to look at the swordsman by his side. “You find her amazing, don’t you?” It seems he had mistaken Phainon’s tension for awe, and he hates it; there’s a bitter taste on his tongue and a tight feeling in his chest, especially more so when the brutish man mentions how he can’t have you.

As if you were some prized possession or doll for ownership. The thought alone angers him, his grip on the hilt of his sword never loosening.

A gem is tossed inside your tank, landing on top of your head, as the master speaks of how your species is particularly fond of such things: “Doesn’t that one make you happy?” The man croons, “So rid that ugly expression on your face. The guests wouldn’t wish to see such a depressing display.” How considerate, truly.

Phainon doesn’t even ease from where he stands, from where he watches, and it frustrates him further that he’s bound to a position where there’s nothing he can do. He hates that he feels useless, that the chains of his responsibility and status tugs tightly on his neck, rendering him unable to reach you.

But surely there should be something, right?

Later that night, unburdened by his duty, he returned to where you were. This is the third time he sees you, and yet, you remain the same. The faint moonlight dimly alights your room, the silver casting its glow right at your display case. To think that they even thought of your display and where the light will hit. You’ll see him, lingering by the doorway, seemingly hesitant but when he catches your gaze, he steels his resolve and steps forward.

Phainon’s greeting to you is returned with a curious tilt of your head—this time, something different from your usual pensiveness flickers in your expression at the sight of a cautious man who bears the wave in his eyes. At least you don’t look too wary or scared in front of him (he’d hate himself if you feared him too). He takes this as a good sign to continue… with whatever his plan is. It’s practically non-existent, he just wanted to come here and see you. At this point, he’s no less different to his master; he can’t help the sigh that escapes him.

You swim toward him—only a bit—and there’s something tentative in the way your fingers press against the glass, like you're waiting to see if he’ll hurt you too. For a few moments, the two of you have this staring contest held in pure silence, until the words come out of his mouth before it gets lost in the crevices of his mind: “Are you lonely?” And you blink; the only answer you could ever give him was a tilt of your head downwards and the faintest nod as if telling the truth was a sin itself, as if admitting to yourself and to someone that you’re lonely was a blasphemy.

And maybe that’s what does it. The softness in your response, the way you fold yourself smaller like you’re trying to disappear, like you’re tired of being seen and never known (and it’s cruel how the nobles, how these terrible humans, had never tried to know your name or see past your scales). It twists something deep in him like a scar being carved open, left bleeding on the edges.

From then on, Phainon returns—always at odd hours, always in secret. He comes with stories: half-truth about the stars, lies dressed up as tales about heroic escapades and adventures, and anecdotes about his beautiful, exceptional horse, who he claims is more honorable than most men. Other times, he just sits. Talks. Mostly about things that don’t matter like how he’s a bad swimmer, how he grew up close to the wheatfields of his hometown, and how he came to be in this state, wielding a sword to protect the very master you detest, who he also detests. There are also poorly-made jokes and horrible-executed magic tricks, but it makes you laugh anyway, bubbles spiraling up around your face, and oh, how lovely it is that he wants to make you do it again.

He brings things: little, inconsequential things he pockets from the outside world—dried seaweed snuck into your tank that he had bribed one of the servants to drop inside after seeing how poor your diet is, a smooth stone that feels like it remembers the tide, a ribbon the same color of his eyes to tie and style your hair with when you are bored. But sometimes, he comes with silence, with a solemn look on his expression, and with blood on his mouth. And in those moments, he will always ask the strangest questions but never seek for answers, only giving you the smallest of smiles.

You never ask him to stay longer, but he always does.

However, it all falls apart on the night of a gathering. Nobles had arrived in finery too expensive for their personalities—loud laughter and strong perfume that reeks in the halls. Their eyes drag over your form like it’s something they own; they found amusement in the scared expression on your face and how you got startled when one of them knocked too hard against the glass. Stationed by the door, lips pressed tight, Phainon’s hand shakes against the hilt of his sword.

The master gestures at you like you’re part of the decor: “She’s a lovely thing, making the whole room feel alive when she’s simply just swimming. Such a shame that’s all she can do.” Like a bowstring taut too far and tight, something inside of him snaps.

When the night has fallen deep and the halls are empty with the absence of people and their mockery, you hear footsteps, heavy, against the eerie quiet. Phainon appears but you can sense that there is something wrong—his boots and clothes are stained with crimson, rust-brown in streaks, and his sword, unsheathed, drips with something of the same color. His eyes, usually calm like an undisturbed lake, are stormed over. The room was still dim, moonlight draped over his surroundings like silk, casting shadows on his already dreary face.

“I couldn’t find the key,” he says, voice trembling. “So, I’m making one.” He tells you to stay back as he raises his sword and with a swing, the glass cracks once. Twice. And finally, on the third strike, it shatters completely. Water comes rushing out in a torrent, spilling like a scream, the sea reborn inside a noble manor. You’re unsure whether this is salvation or something worse, but the man kneels in front of you, wraps you in his cloak, and touches your cheek like you’re made of something holy. “Please hold on to me,” his voice is nothing but gentle and tender,

Your prison fades behind him as he runs through the darkness of the night like something possessed, arms heavy with you, but he never stops. Even if the torchlights appear and blink like the stars above you, even if the shouting grows louder in each second. And when the cliff looms ahead, he doesn’t hesitate to jump, murmuring an apology close to your ear that tangles in the wind’s roar.

(It was as if he had planned this from the very start, the route carved and drawn deep in the corners of his mind, waiting for the right moment.)

The sea swallows you whole and Phainon nearly drowns. You had to drag him to the shore, the knight—once bore glory and status, reduced to a man in drenched clothing and tarnished honor—gasped and coughs, half-conscious, bleeding from his knuckles and some parts of his skin. But he grins at you as if he had finally lost everything—except the one thing that he truly cares for. “Told you,” he rasps in broken breaths, “Protector. Occasional entertainer and magician. Bad swimmer.”

You laugh, the same one you’ve shown him, except it’s clearer and livelier compared to when you were inside your glass cage, and he feels like a little boy seeing the sun after a long time. And perhaps, it was the rising dawn on the horizon and the tide’s sweet hum, but you kiss him—like freedom on your tongue, a wind that gently caresses you, and the sea on your lips. It’s soft like a prayer; an affection that the skies would never understand.

And when you part: “Thank you,” you whisper in the language only the deep remembers and though he may not understand, he knows, and he smiles, patting your head. However, you must go now, even if it pains you to leave and forget the warmth of his skin because it is not safe here and it will never be.

This was fine, it was fine.

You’ve made a promise that you’ll come back to him, after all.

ANAXAGORAS, ALL ABOUT MERFOLK 101

Anaxa—or Anaxagoras—is a man of passion and knowledge, that is definite.

He stumbles upon you by chance, or perhaps by fate despite never believing in it, injured and unconscious by a cove he frequents during his night walks. Moonlight had fractured its surface, silvered shards dancing over your scales—each one a fleeting star in the dark. He wades in, dragging you a little deeper (you were heavy that’s for sure), so that no one else will spot you.

His fingers, ink-stained and calloused, hover above the gash in your tail, hesitant as if touching a relic. Armed with some information on basic medicine and of your species (sourced from rather not-so credible books and papers), he manages to tend to your wounds enough that it looks… somewhat acceptable-looking in a way that it will really help you heal. Though his bandaging is precise, it is inelegant—too tight here, too loose there—and he simply settles with that despite his frown suggesting otherwise. He was not a healer nor a medical student.

Not long after, you rouse from your sleep. Your vision swims as the searing pain overwhelms you. You first see a ceiling of jagged rock, the scent of salt and crushed herbs thick in the air. Then, a shadow moves from right beside you—a man, human, and you immediately panic though useless when the stranger spoke: "Do not thrash." The command is sharp, but the voice is wrong: guttural, clumsy in all its parts. "You are... safe. Ish."

Mer-tongue, but a butchered version of it as if he was chewing rocks. You’re not sure whether to be insulted with how poorly they are spoken or amazed because it’s a human speaking it.

You blink up at him—tall, seemingly gaunt like he could be blown away with a wind’s kiss (an exaggeration, but he really does look like it), and one eye hidden behind an intricately-designed patch. The other glints like a blade in the moonlight. He kneels before you, a hand held out not to touch but to display as he introduced himself: "Anaxagoras," he says, tapping his chest. Then, slower: "Ahn-ax-ah-gor-as." Like you’re the one struggling with language. You say it, syllables much clearer, flowing smoothly than his. He does not take this as an offense, but rather, he’s amused that he’s able to converse with you.

He tells you of how he simply stumbled upon you and treated your wounds, and it seems to have worked seeing that you’re not dead. “You will not die. Probably.” You wheeze—a weak laugh or a protest, even you’re not sure. Although he mistakes it for something else, a mermaid’s dying breath or whatever that made him command you: “Breathe.” It’s sharp but concern clings to it. "I do not want your corpse." Then, switching to his native tongue when Mer-words fail: "You are valuable. Alive."

You flinch and he does not notice the fear that strikes your face. His eyes narrow and he sighs, softening his words this time: “You have something that I want.” Of course. Humans always want something. Typical; you had to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes, but you did raise your eyebrow at him. “What could I possibly—”

“Information.” He cuts you off, taking out the journal he had kept hidden underneath his clothes. "Your people’s creation myths, the moment your kind first understood mortality, your understanding of time. Anything—” His voice falters and grits his teeth, as if forcing out the next words: “—to disprove the idiotic texts claiming mermaids simply weave moonlight into their songs.”

He was no linguist nor doctor, but he sure was a scholar in a mad pursuit of answers to his questions, and to disprove the narrative and lies falsely weaved into your species. You tilt your head at him, "Do humans think we’re just fish with pretty voices?" He does not entertain your question, waiting for your answer to his somewhat one-sided proposal, and you sigh. “Fine. But you bring me land-food tomorrow. The red fruit with seeds.”

And that’s where it begins—fate playing its cruel game of tangling the souls of yours and his.

You’ve established the cove as your meeting spot. It’s become some sort of your ritual—every day before the sun sets you resurface from the waters only to see him already waiting for you, idly sitting or writing down something in the same journal he uses to record everything with. You’ve joked of stealing it and dumping it into the waters once, but the look you got from him immediately shot the idea down and sealed your mouth shut.

Day one. He brought you the promised pomegranate but you ended up making a mess out of it. In your own defense, the skin of it was hard and tough, nothing like you expected. On that same day, you taught him the word for ‘sweet’. Day seven. He brings you some oranges in exchange for your beliefs, if any exists. You tell him of the moon, and scorn him for bringing you such a sour fruit. He had to bring you mangoes the next day to appease you. Day twenty-one. He brought you books, one that brings stories and illustrations. Fascinated, you sing him a song that praises the sun. And the days go on and on, until it turns into weeks, until it turns into months, and eventually a year.

Although there are some days where he ‘forgets’ his journal and spends it watching you draw on sand, listening to your voice. At those times, his inquiries are more often directed to you rather than about you.

Over the thread of time, you cannot really deny that the two of you had gotten close; from what were awkward, somewhat one-sided conversations of just him giving you something and immediately asking for knowledge in return, to this—softness laced into your banter, lingering too close to one another, the tide whispering against the rocks as if keeping your secrets, his fingers no longer hesitating before brushing against your wrist, your laughter no longer guarded but bright and unburdened, the space between your world and his shrinking with every shared moment.

“Say it, scholar.” You grin, sharp. “Or do you not know the word for ‘please’?” He clicks his tongue at you, the sound as dry as parchment. "I know many words for 'please' in dead languages. Your dialect's inflection is confusing and inconsistent."

You laugh, the sound bubbling up like seawater over stones. "Truly arrogant. For someone who still says 'hello' like he's choking on a shell, you ask such big questions, don’t you?” and you don’t fail to notice how Anaxa's jaw clenches. "This is a fair exchange. I've brought you"—he gestures to the collection on the rocks—"texts of all kinds, fruits that don't grow beneath the waves, and the coordinates of three freshwater springs that you have insisted on knowing.”

"But you’re lonely.” You say and the realization comes suddenly, but feels obvious now. "All these questions... you just want someone to talk to." I mean, what kind of man would spend nearly half of their day trying to trade knowledge, bargain about trivial things, and yaps about whatever he could think about as if you were some kind of diary, and think it’s nothing but a desire for company?

While he is studying you, learning new things about you, you, too, are doing the same.

For a moment, the only sound is the tide pulling at the shore before he scoffs at the idea you have brought to him. “Ridiculous. You must know that a claim such as yours should—” But before he even gets through halfway of his sentence, you interrupt him (and you know he hates it when he gets interrupted, but you still do anyway). “Then, do you like me?”

“That is irrelevant.” He quickly answers and you laugh: “So, you don’t deny it?”

“You’re delusional,” he says in your language, but the red that faintly dusts his ears tells otherwise. “You’ve butchered it again, geez.” And though he frowns, there's something almost pleasing in the way he scrawls your correction in the margins. Anaxa finds it that you’re the type to command rather than ask, just like right now: “Stay until the sun sets.”

He had told himself many times that it’s just curiosity—the way his pulse stutters when you mimic his laughter and teases the way he pronounces his words that it bleeds into another meaning. Not fondness. Never fondness. But he stayed even when the sun had bled red and sunk into the horizon, even when you had tugged him into the waves, even when you had dragged him deep into the depths, his lips sealed with yours.

And so the bargain continues—not as scholar and subject, but as something far simpler than the gods could ever comprehend. It endures like the silence during dawn and in how your laughter now lingers in the hollows of his ribs like a second heart.

Two souls trading whispers where the sea meets the shore, while the tides keep count of all they cannot name—the weight of his gaze when he thinks you're not looking, the way your fingers brush against one another, the unspoken promise that tomorrow, and every tomorrow after, he'll still be waiting when you surface.

MYDEIMOS; LINGER IN THE SILENCE OF FOREVER AND NOTHINGS

In the pursuit of gold, or dinner, he found a mermaid.

You were caught by mistake, getting trapped in the nets was thrown into the waters after spotting a shadowy mass beneath the waves. You thrashed in it, tangled in the ropes like a stray minnow amid the day’s pitiful haul of flounder. Above you, the crew of pirates gawked, their faces slack with disbelief.

What was thought to be something valuable—maybe a kraken (delusional), a shipwreck’s spoils (optimistic), or at least a tuna large enough to feed more than a dozen hungry pirates (desperate)—turned out to be something completely and utterly different.

One man pokes your tail with a rusty hook, yelping when you snap your teeth at him. A scrawny deckhand with a missing front tooth whistles: “We got a big catch today, boss!” He says, poking your tailfin with the toe of his boot. “Fetch a pretty price in port, eh?”

You’re trapped. You’ve got nowhere to run (literally). In their eyes, you’re practically a diamond waiting to be mined, a jewel in grubby hands.

You shouldn’t have gotten close to the water’s surface, you shouldn’t have been too curious, you should have stayed away, you begin berating yourself at the realization that you will most likely end up as a trophy or worse, soup.

“You’re scaring her.” A voice,gravel wrapped in velvet, came from behind them. The crew parted like tidewater before the moon, revealing who possibly is their captain: Mydei—you learned his name from one of the humans’ whispers—, a storm given a human shape. His presence is a brooding shadow, appearing before you clad in a mix of red, dark maroon, and gold, and his chest covered in crimson tattoos. He crouches, eye level with your trembling form.

For a moment, you expected a knife at your throat. You’ve braced for it even. But instead, he sliced the net open with a flick of his dagger. “Idiots,” he muttered under his breath as he worked on peeling the rope from your scaled hips, as he untangled you out of this mess. You’re confused, but still scared, and the group surrounding you appears to be dumbfounded. “Since when does the captain play nursemaid?” The comment does not fly past your ears and neither does for Mydei, but he ignores the gossiping lot.

This is when you see how the net’s ropes had bitten into your skin, leaving angry red lines. His touch was clinical, careful, but his thumb brushed your wrist where the fibers had bitten deepest, and you hiss.

He’ll utter an apology and the word sounds foreign in his mouth. “You’re wounded.” And that was true. Blood had streaked your scales and your tail seemed to be limp, muscles protesting at even the thought of movement. When he has asked you if you can understand what he’s saying, you nod your head and he exhales through his nose, relieved, then jerks his chin toward the horizon.

“Good. This stretch of sea is crawling with hunters. Pirates. Idiots who’d sell your teeth for a mere drink and with your state right now, you’re an easy catch for them.” His voice is low, matter-of-fact, but the truth of it coils cold in your stomach. Your kin had warned you of humans, of their dangers and how they had brought ruin to your fellowmen. “You’ll stay aboard. Until you’re not useless anymore.”

But no one had ever mentioned the ones who wear cruelty as if it were armor, only to reveal gentle hands beneath—they never spoke of storms with quiet eyes, of tempests that shelter and protect rather than bring destruction.

He lifted you—careful, slowly—into his arms, water dripping down his boots, blood staining the fabric of his clothes. The crew’s protests die mid-breath when Mydei levels them with a simple look. You were then hauled to a hastily emptied storage room, lining up a tub that was dumped with buckets of water inside. It’s cramped. Claustrophobic. A far cry from the endless blue you call home, but you bite your tongue. When the alternative is bleeding out on a pirate’s deck, you’ll take the tub.

Against your very expectations, however, the days that you have spent on this ship were not the least uncomfortable, if you put aside your cramped space. The crew members who had scared you at first were actually a bunch of nice people who often perform tricks to entertain you and make you laugh. Although you had bitten one of them when they called you ‘the captain’s pet’.

They bother you nearly every day, either barging into the room to chatter and ramble while they sit on the floor, whether drunk or not, or carrying your tub with you still in it to somewhere else in case you’re sick of seeing the empty wooden walls—so you won’t forget the sun.

They carve chess pieces of terrible forms that it’s hard to discern the rook from a pawn so you can play (you cheat; Mydei catches you and flicks your forehead). One brings a stolen mirror, fragile-looking and probably would shatter in pieces with a small drop if you’re not careful enough, to “fix your boredom, milady”—until Mydei confiscates it: “She’ll hurt herself with the damn thing”. Albeit he’ll return it to you soon after when he sees the pleading look on your face. And that’s not all as the youngest cabin boy sneaks in at dawn to whisper gossip, but flees when Mydei’s shadow darkens the doorway. “Out, it’s too early in the morning to bother her.”

It’s not hard to fall into their routine, especially that they seem to have adopted you like a stray cat.

Your moments with Mydei and him alone were never meaningless, too. And over the course of time you have spent with him as he always has, and I mean always, visit you every night, you’ve learned three things: 1.) He enjoys pomegranate juice, 2.) He knows how to braid and style hair, 3.) He’s a gentle person.

Words between you and him were scarce. Though you can understand his language, you couldn’t speak it; he couldn’t decipher your words either. But the silence between you wasn’t empty—it was full, like measuring one’s words and gestures before they’re lost to the harsh waves. When he braided your hair, his hands would often linger. When you hummed old lullabies, his shoulders relaxed. The both of you were at peace just being near each other.

But the day will fall and the night will come, and this too, must come to an end—you must return to the waters. “Go home,” Mydei had said while he watched you move your already-healed tail up and down, though struggling a little in the tight space. As an act of rebellion, you decided to sink deep into the tub, but: “You know you can’t drown, right?”

Well, he earned a glare from you when you resurfaced. “This is not your home, fishy.” You know that. You’re not stupid, especially when the evidence is in front of you, covered in scales and glistening in iridescent hues. He can sense your hesitance, sighing: “You surely are more trouble than you’re worth.”

Eventually, after much water-splashing and stubbornness, you’re now being lowered overboard with a jolly boat. The crew lingers on deck, their usual raucous chatter muted—even the deckhand you bit sniffles into his sleeve. Salt spray stings your eyes, or maybe it’s something else. The ocean stretches before you, vast and familiar, but your tail feels leaden.

Mydei sits across you and helps you return into the gentle waves that yearn for your caress. The ocean embraces you like a long-lost limb, but for some reason, regret and something heavier weighs in your chest. But Mydei, ever so attentive, sees the grimness of your expression: “This is not goodbye.” He flicks water at you—something that you often do to him. “Those idiots will miss you.” He jerks his chin toward the ship, where the crew waves exaggeratedly. “So don’t be a stranger.”

He will, too, but you don’t need to know that. And with one last look, you leave and disappear into the darkness. Mydei lingers a little longer on his spot, watching, waiting, and seemingly wanting to see you once more, but he doesn’t, and so, he finally turns away, resigned to the very fate he is forced to take from the stars.

Weeks later, with a whimsical quest for treasure and drunken bet of finding one on a rumored place, the ship will find a chest of gold, gems, and everything that screams of value precisely where there should be nothing. Along with cheers was a chorus of “See, I told you so!” and “I was right!”, but Mydei knows only one person capable of this—you, now seen perched on a rock, grinning. A ruby, the size of his fist, is thrown at him to which he catches, a smile flickering on his lips. “Show-off.”

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shouyuus · 1 month ago

Text

─── 星穹铁道 POSITIONS

ft dan heng, jing yuan, aventurine, sunday, phainon, mydei; smut/fluff (mostly smut), missionary, doggy, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, prone bone, mating press, incoherent bullletpointed ramblings, lapslock, no "y/n", this is deeply unsrs

summary: switchin' up positions for you (jk, they all have their favs)

a/n: i have no excuse. none.

─── 丹恒 DAN HENG

missionary boi

not bc he's boring or anything like that, but mainly bc he's never been the best with words, so he likes it when he can look at you, likes it when he can see you, and you can see him too

he wishes he had the words (sometimes, he wonders what the point of living so many different lives might be if he can't even summon the words to describe them) to tell you how much he loves this, how much he loves --

"is this... is this okay?" "yeah -- it's m-more than okay -- dan heng please --"

he'd have to hold back, even though the feel of your body beneath his feels something like resolution -- and it's always been strange, living in a body that he knows had not always belonged to him, but like this, buried inside you, somehow, he feels at home.

because he can kiss you, graze his lips along yours, pant against your mouth, bury his face in the star-kissed skin of your shoulder when he feels the tide coming, and he lets it come --

"s-sorry... that was..." but you shake your head, laughing, carding a hand through his slightly sweaty bangs, "don't... it was good." dan heng pushes up, his eyes flickering across the planes of your face; something coils in his gut -- desire, or perhaps something more insidious -- the swirling grip of a dragon's greed -- twisting inside him till he he groans, his cock twitching inside you once more.

you hiss, and yes, he thinks, there's no other way he'd have this, have you, than splayed out beneath him, moaning his name, nose to nose, face to face.

─── 景元 JING YUAN

mating press

bc he loves seeing you folded in half, tears pearling along your bottom lashline, your cheeks red, your lips bruised from how hard you've been biting it, fucking down into you till you're writhing in pleasure

he like the feeling of your ankles in his palms, the way he can see when he hits that spot inside you that makes your toes curl, your whole body jolt, likes it when you can't get his full name out, or even better, when the only thing you can manage is a choked out "g-general --!"

bc he loves teasing you, grinning when you hiccup at the way his cock pummels your cervix, or the way he pushes down on your tummy just to keep his own tip press against his palm, "hm? what was that, little dove? it's too much? oh... i think you can take it, right? you've always been so good at taking it for me."

likes the access he has like this, to turn his head and kiss at your calf, or to simply lower his mouth and sink his teeth into the plump of your thigh, revel in the reddened ring it leaves along your skin as you keen beneath him

"fuck, you always get so wet when i fuck you like this -- is it that good? hm?" he chuckles at the way you try to nod, cocks his head, groans at the squelch of his cock sinking into you over and over and over again

"yeah... that's good. that's a good girl for me."

─── 砂金 AVENTURINE

cowgirl

the roi is high with this one; all he's gotta do is lay back and enjoy the view -- ofc, he doesn't let you do all the work -- he'll watch you work yourself up, tease at your nipples, tug on them with his fingers, his eyes half-lidded, an easy smirk painted over his lips, before rolling his hips up into yours just to see you jolt, feel the way you tip forward, how your pussy flutters around his length, hard enough to make his stomach clench

he likes the way you whine when your thighs get sore, likes it when you pout down at him with those watery eyes of yours, beg him to make you cum (because only he can)

"aven-enturine -- 'm so close --" "oh yeah? cum then -- i'm right here, aren't i?" he asks, rubbing his thumb in placating little circles on your thighs, his other hand still pillowed behind his head

he'd make you beg, if only because you sound so damn pretty doing it, but he's not an unfair man -- that'd be bad for business -- so he relents eventually, rocks you down with his palms on your hips, groaning as he feels you tighten with every languid thrust of his cock

shifts his legs up to ruck you up further, better support for your back this way, easier for him to dig his heels into the mattress and fuck up into you till you're bouncing on his cock just the way he likes

"that's right -- ride me -- i know you can do it -- make it all messy for me."

─── 星期日 SUNDAY

prone bone

bc this is a day of rest -- no, but he enjoys the control (sometimes, he wonders what that says about him, still), enjoys how he can feel every inch of your skin pressed against every inch of his, how his breath warms the nape of your neck and he can smell the sweet, milky scent of your shampoo

"shh... just let me -- nngh -- make you feel -- good --"

obsessed with kissing your neck, lacing his fingers between yours, brushing your hair from your back as he fucks you slow; likes the way you tighten around you, the way it feels so much more intimate this way, even though he can't see your face, he can see each tremor as it works through your body, see every goosebump that rises along your skin

(and he really does like the control, like having you beneath him like this, the way you're so soft, how he can shift you this way and that, tug you closer, press you deeper into the sheets, how his cock looks nestled between your ass-cheeks, the friction of it as the bottoms out inside you)

"sunday... ah --" "does it feel good? tell me... tell me what you like --" "w-want more --"

and he'd give it to you, fuck you as hard and as deep as you'd like, till his name on your lips starts to sound like a prayer, till you wrapped around him starts to feel like redemption

"come for me -- show me what you look like --" he breathes, pressing his forehead to the nape of your neck, thrusting down into you hard enough to make the bed rock, "please -- please," he has never been one to beg, but for you -- "please."

─── 白厄 PHAINON

doggy

bc he likes the versatility and faithfulness, he knows the angles, knows just how you like to be fucked -- like this, his hands on your hips, pulling you back, the dull smack of skin on skin echoing around his bedchambers, the linens crumpled beneath your fingers

and occasionally, he likes to reach out, wrap your hair around his palm and tug -- gently, of course, only a small sting, but he's long since learned that a spot of pain might elicit the most mind-numbing pleasure -- after all, isn't that why men have always thirsted for war? for the pain of victory, the delirium of conquering

"f-fucki -- phainon --!" "mm -- that's good -- c-can you keep -- keep going?" he asks, soothing at your waist with his fingers

you nod, and he laughs, a not un-kind sound, nodding as he redoubles his efforts, pressing a palm to the back of your head, pushing down till your cheek is against his pillows; he groans at the tightness of your cunt, the way you push your ass back into him, eager, desperate for more, and he tries to stop himself from going too hard, too fast, but he's never claimed to be the strongest soldier

"ph-phainon --!" your voice breaks along the line of his voice, and he feels the coil burst inside him, fingers digging into your hips, hard enough to leave tiny crescent-moon divots in your skin; he hisses as he shudders, forcing himself to keep fucking into you till he feels you come undone around him as well, a fluttering flurry of heat clamping down around him

he drops his face into your back, breathes out and drops a kiss there, his vision flickering slightly as he steadies himself and tugs you into his arms, the pair of you collapsing onto the bed

"mm... that was good," he remarks, twisting to grin at you with bright, sea-foam eyes, "what do you say to another few rounds?"

─── 万敌 MYDEI

reverse cowgirl

bc he likes to yank on your hair like a pair of reins, likes the way you keen above him, the way you glance over your shoulder with your wide, reproachful eyes, likes smacking at your ass cheeks just to watch you bounce on top of him, harder, harder

"that's it -- that's right -- god that feels good --" and he'd know, wouldn't he? all that fire and ichor running through his veins, he should suffer the pleasure of you, such a priceless treasure, worthy of a king

he likes the noises you make, how you can never keep quiet, whining and whimpering, even as you work yourself up into a frenzy above him, likes the thought of you using him, getting yourself off on his cock, just like this, your eyes half-shut, your hands braced along his thighs

"c'mon, you can do better," he says, "th-that's a good girl," he gasps, grunting as you swirl your hips in a quick figure 8, the friction making his vision dance; he tugs on your hair, your head jerking back as you give a small gasp of pain; he groans as you clench down around him

there's slick running down your inner thighs, sticking to his hips as he lets go of your hair; you tip forward, your ass pushing back; he lets out an appreciative hiss as he reaches forward to grab two handfuls of your ass, helping you work along his cock -- up and down, forward and back

"mydei -- mydei --" you chant his name, half-reproachful, half-pleading; he lets out a puff of breath, giving your ass a quick smack, "almost there, i can feel you -- gonna fill you up, hm? that what you want? wanna be fucked full, don't you?"

your answering keen is all he needs before he makes good on his promise, and in the sweaty-drenched aftermath, he takes you into his arms, presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and cradles you in his arms, "rest," he murmurs against you, "we've got a long night ahead of us yet."

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l1tw1ck · 1 month ago

Note

okay hear me out, monster male reader ambushing Mydei and Phainon and taking turn fucking each one while the other is tied up watching.

you have been heard

The Cub and the Puppy

Bottom!Mydei + Bottom!FTM Phainon x Top!Male Reader

☆ Word Count: 2,656 ☆

AFAB Language Used

tag: @abrielletargaryen

CW: Non-Con, Womb Fucking, Oral Sex, Humiliation, Fingering, Cum Swallowing, Bondage-ish, Monster Fucking, Size Difference, Nipple Play, Sexual Overstimulation, Squirting, Orgasm Denial, Anal + Vaginal Sex, Double Penetration, Pussy Slapping, Creampie, Corruption

“You’ll pay for this.” Mydei growls. His clothes have been torn apart and he's been forced onto his knees. You laugh in his face, further wounding his ego.

He knows how ridiculous he sounds, still trying to fight you despite the situation he's in. If you could win against the two of them and get them into a weakened state like this, there's no hope. You barely even grazed them. They have a couple injuries but you easily broke down their strength with your mysterious power. If they didn't try to fight you, you could've weakened them without hurting them at all. You're in pristine condition while Mydei feels hungover and dizzy.

Phainon, meanwhile, fell unconscious after one of your attacks. He's naked and strung up in the air like a spider’s prey.

“At least…let him go.” Mydei coughs up blood. Its shimmery golden color stands out in your greyscale cave.

“If you want me to do that, you need to prove that you're good enough to fill in for him.”

Mydei’s eyes widen as your cock slaps him in the face, you're not even standing all that close to him. How is he supposed to take this? He's never even had sex before and you want him to have that monster in his mouth? In his ass?

“Come on, hero, show me how you suck cock.”

He takes a deep breath. As long as Phainon can escape. As long as he doesn't have to go through this, he can do it. Mydei closes his eyes and slowly engulfs your length. He prays he can be good enough to protect Phainon. His mouth hurts but he continues to envelop you. If he can barely go past a couple inches, how much worse is it going to be when it enters his ass?

“You're so small.”

He's sure the last time anyone said something like that to him was when he was a baby. He's always been larger than his peers, but in comparison to you, small is definitely the correct word.

“You're less like a lion and more like a little cub without claws.” You're thoroughly enjoying his struggle. “Use your tongue, kitty.”

Mydei, trying his best to please you, separates his mouth from your cock and drags his tongue along it. He moves back to the tip and makes short head bobs while his tongue swirls around it. He even uses his hand to stroke the rest of your girth. He looks up at you for approval.

“You're getting better but at this rate...” You shake your head and pull him off of you. “Let me show you how it feels to be sucked off properly.” You grab him by his waist and bring his crotch to your face, then his cock into your mouth. Mydei squirms around in your hold. He hates that it feels so good…he's already lost his dignity but he's not sure he can take another hit.

“Let– let me try again~” He subconsciously thrusts upwards. “Stop– stop-!” He's gonna come.

You remove his length from your mouth. “You wanna suck my cock that bad?” You drag your tongue up his shaft while maintaining eye contact.

Mydei isn't sure if giving you an answer is better or worse than having an orgasm.

“Answer me.” Your claws dig into his skin.

“I…wanna suck…your…your cock..” His whole body is burning hot.

“Good kitty.” You drop him onto the ground like a broken toy, reinforcing the reality of his situation. He gasps in pain. One of the rocks almost hit his weak spot. He weakly moves his body away from it. You smile at his pathetic body language. “We can work on your blowjob skills later. Sit down and spread your legs.”

He reluctantly and very shakily follows your command. He turns his head to the small approaching tentacle-like entity. He's seen a few of them in previous battles with you, some of them are keeping Phainon tied up. They can change their forms according to your will and from what he knows, there's no limit to the amount you can create. He's seen them as swords and hands but this time, this little tentacle is just that. It doesn't look threatening. He assumes it won't hurt him, at least not in this state.

Although, it's not like that really matters. It'd be more like a droplet of water in an overflowing pool of pain.

He watches silently as it heads towards his ass. It secretes a cold fluid over his rim, acting as lube.

“Finger yourself.” You command.

Mydei’s face turns bright red. This is so humiliating for him. He collects the lube and prods two of his fingers against his hole. “I…” He struggles to penetrate himself. He's trying to get it over with as fast as possible so he hasn't really thought it through. Trying to put two in at once is too much for a first-timer.

“You’ve never fingered yourself before? Have you ever even had sex at all?”

Mydei shakes his head shamefully.

“No wonder you're so bad at blowjobs.” You laugh. “Maybe I should see if Phainon can do a better job.”

“Please.” He has to abandon his pride. “Teach me.”

“How humble.”

Phainon's eyes flicker open to the scenery before him while his vision slowly becomes less blurry. He takes a deep breath and analyzes his current position. His hearing returns to him late as finally processes the sound of groans and borderline erotic noises. He looks down, Mydei and you are…

Mydei huffs, his hands pressed firmly on the ground and his head hanging low. "Bh- bastard-" He grits his teeth as a tentacle slithers around his cock and jerks him off while using its aphrodisiac lubricant to do so smoothly. His ass is slowly getting worked open by your two very large fingers. You use your unoccupied hand to spank him in retaliation to his insult.

Upon seeing this, Phainon finally understands the situation the two of them are in. He's going to be next. He attempts to call out to Mydei but only manages to let out a hoarse noise. Mydei lifts his head. His eyes are droopy.

Phainon shudders as he suddenly feels the strange tentacles around his body moving, as if they're acknowledging that he's awake. His legs are forced to spread.

“You—! You said you’d leave him alone!” Mydei gets interrupted by you spanking him again.

“You're such a naive little cub. I’d never turn down the chance to play around with the illustrious deliverer.” You grab his hair and force him to look at the man above him. “Watch.”

One of the tentacles extends to Phainon’s t-dick and touches it teasingly while secreting the translucent substance. He throws his head back as his body becomes more sensitive. Tears quickly form in his eyes in response to its sadistic teasing.

"Fuck!" Mydei cries out, ropes of cum spurting out of him as the tip of your massive cock suddenly penetrates him. Phainon briefly turns his attention to him. Mydei's cheeks burn red with humiliation. How is he supposed to look Phainon in the eye after this? He extends his hand in an attempt to crawl away but you stop him with your firm hands.

“Don't get cold feet now, kitty.” You dig your nails into his skin.

“My- Mydei~” Phainon breathes out. “I won't give in!”

Mydei’s back arches as your cock sinks deeper into his cunt and as blood spills from his skin. Drool dribbles down from his mouth as the aphrodisiac’s effect gets stronger. He can't handle this. He's literally gone through hell and back but he can't handle this.

Phainon squirms around, trying desperately not to lose himself. “It- it's okay, Mydei, I’ll get us out—” He gasps at the sudden cold slap to his cunt, courtesy of one of the thicker tentacles. It's around the size of your cock. He holds his breath in anticipation then it forcefully leaves his mouth as another, harsher slap hits him. It keeps going. Again and again.

Just as he's about to come, it stops. Phainon clenches his fists. He focuses back on Mydei. His cunt is throbbing as he sees you drilling into him. You're ‘fully’ inside him and yet there's still plenty of inches that can't fully experience Mydei’s warmth. The sight triggers a previously unknown kink. He likes it big. His body is tingling with need, desire, and envy.

He subconsciously thrusts his hips, begging for stimulation and release. He can't stop the rapid change in his brain. He doesn't even realize that he's losing himself. His mind is weaker than he thought.

After waiting and jealously watching Mydei, the tentacle eventually returns to continue slapping his pussy.

“You're disgusting!” Mydei is trying to close his eyes for Phainon’s sake but your constant spanks and the way you're firmly gripping his hair is making it impossible.

“Cuh- come- I wanna come~” Phainon mutters.

“Deliverer! Don't give– mmh~!” His words are interrupted by a thick tentacle, separate from the one focused on Phainon, forcefully entering his mouth.

“Me–” He wriggles around. “Fuck me too~!” Phainon moans as the other thick tentacle returns to him from behind, it slides in between his thighs and gives his pussy a place to sit. His hip thrusts become more aggressive. “Yes! Oh gods, yes!” He rubs his pussy all over it. You're glad you ignored Mydei’s begging, you’d be missing out on this amazing scene otherwise.

Mydei shivers at the sound. We lost, he thinks, another spurt of cum leaving his dick. He looks completely and utterly blissed out as you fuck him. It feels good and he knows it. You're breaking him.

Phainon squirts on the tentacle with a dumb smile on his face and grins wider as it begins to penetrate his ass. Mydei continues to observe willingly this time. He feels another wave of arousal washing over him as he watches the blue haired male's ass stretch itself for the tentacle and as his wet ‘empty’ pussy throbs with the greedy desire to be filled too.

It slowly but surely slides deeper inside him and a sudden burst of the aphrodisiac liquid fills Phainon’s ass and both of Mydei’s holes at the same time, causing him to realize the liquid from your tentacles and the seed from your cock are one in the same. Their bodies shake aggressively as they reach the height of their orgasms and their brains turn to mush. Phainon’s squirt reaches Mydei’s face and hair. He doesn't seem to hate it.

The tentacle in Mydei’s mouth pulls away and allows him to properly swallow its spend. His hair is messy and his face is dripping with sweat. Phainon shivers, thinking about how good you must be fucking Mydei to get him in this state and praying you fuck him like that too.

You flip Mydei onto his back while one of the smaller tentacles returns to stimulate Phainon’s t-dick. Mydei grins as you roughly grip his waist and thrust inside him. He even cranes his head so you can shower his neck with kisses and bites. Just like his mind, his body is getting corrupted by you.

He tried so hard to remain strong, but here he is. Happily letting his body be used by the monster who defeated him and allowing you to use the body of the very man he tried to protect. The last conscious part of him hopes Aglaea isn't watching and that none of the other heirs find him like this.

Spurts of cum erupt from his cock as your teeth gently clamp down on his nipple. His body jitters and jolts as you play with his chest. Phainon’s raging jealousy is only slightly satiated by one of the tentacles turning into a tongue and licking his cunt, turning it into an even sloppier and wetter mess.

“More~” Phainon’s eyelids flutter. “Please!”

Phainon whines when the tentacle leaves his ass. He watches you pull out of Mydei and starts to smile once he realizes he’s next. You bring Phainon over to you and have him lay on top of Mydei, his sopping wet pussy stimulating the Kremnoan’s cock. Mydei happily allows the tentacles to approach him, turning his head and opening his mouth wide while two thick tentacles enter his mouth and ass respectively. Phainon rubs himself aggressively against the other man’s sex, quickly growing more impatient and jealous.

Phainon’s vision blurs as he witnesses Mydei’s mouth getting filled with your fluid. He’s so turned on he can barely see straight. “Fuck me~! Come in me too~!” He begs.

You chuckle at his desperation and pick him up. You sit down on a smooth rock and place him on your lap, mere inches from your cock. “Work for it just like he did.”

Surprisingly, Phainon decides to suck you off first. He drags his tongue up and down your shaft to taste it before wrapping his lips around it. He recognizes his limits and doesn't try to go too deep, he sucks the inches he's able to and strokes the rest with his hand.

“Good boy.” You grin.

Phainon blushes and starts to move more aggressively. Whenever he can, he looks at you for validation.

“You want me to come in your mouth, puppy?”

Phainon briefly parts from your dick, making sure to continue jerking you off. He nods rapidly then begins to suckle on your cockhead while keeping eye contact with you. You grab his hair and push him further down. An erotic expression grows on his face as you pump your seed into his mouth. He swallows almost every drop despite the massive amount you’re releasing. Once he's done, he licks up all the excess.

He grabs your shoulders and adjusts himself to hover over your length. The fact that you're still hard is making him dizzy. His pussy makes contact with your cock and tries its best to make room for it. His eyes roll to the back of his head. “Fuck.” He gasps.

You allow him to take his time in favor of watching his stomach slowly bulge as he sinks further down. “You're so big~” He starts drooling. It feels so good to finally have you inside him. He bites down on his lip and reaches for his t-cock. “Can- can I touch myself?” He asks breathlessly.

How can he be so perfect? “Of course.” You have your tentacles aim for his nipples. Phainon’s body reacts extremely positively to all the stimulation. His back arches as he squirts.

“So good—” He jolts in surprise at the feeling of your dick against his cervix. He looks down, noticing the significant amount of uncharted territory between him and your length. You're not fully inside. “Deeper..” He mumbles, frowning.

You grab his waist and raise him up before brutally slamming him downwards. Phainon shrieks with pleasure as you enter his womb, allowing him to fully embrace your size. Mydei is too cock drunk to react to the noise, he’s on the edge of passing out.

Phainon grins widely and starts to bounce, somehow mustering enough energy to do so. He quickens his thrusts and makes a steady rhythm. “Yes, yes, yes–” He breathes out. He's so full. “Come…come inside~” He begs with a whiny voice.

You’ve deprived it from him for far too long. He's been a good boy, he deserves it.

You take over for Phainon and roughly drag him up and down your cock until you come. He lets out a breathy moan as you fill his womb. His eyelids start to droop.

Before he knows it, he's fast asleep.

Neither of them will be able to go back to their lives after this. You’ve ruined them.

Maybe the other Chrysos Heirs can figure something out without them.

#wicks🕯requests #wicks🕯works #male reader #dom male reader #top male reader #dark content #ftm character #phainon x reader #phainon x male reader #mydei x male reader #mydei x reader #honkai star rail x male reader #tw noncon #honkai star rail smut #mydei smut #phainon smut #male reader smut #dom reader

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vxnuslogy · 4 months ago

Text

━━━━━━ truth, dare, spin bottle. ̊ ̟ ꒷꒦

☆ | or in which you fall in love with the stereotypical school athlete, council secretary, and your class president on campus⠀ …

꒰ including ꒱ ⠀! ⠀phainon, anaxagoras & mydei. ୨୧ ꒰ warnings ꒱ ⠀! ⠀modern!au, school!au, ooc, just very stereotypical school tropes, highschool awkwardness.

“ tags ⟡ . @mikashisus @https-sourlimes @powchakko @somjuie @gl4di0lus ; if you'd like to be tagged please don't be afraid to send in ask or fill out the forms on my pinned!

✶ : PHAINON

jersey no. 7 of amphoreus' football and basketball team—you'd be living under a rock if you don't know his name and the reputation that follows him. his matches are a sight for sore eyes. when he’s on the field, amphoreus is automatically getting that gold medal regardless of the opponent. you manage to watch one of his basketball matches during prep season for the school festival. it’s a friendly rematch against an old rival school and to no one’s surprise, phainon emerged as the mvp. in that match alone, you see why everyone is endeared by him—he reeks of sportsmanship that no student athlete in this school could ever dream of. he approaches every opponent with determination but never underestimates them, he always wants to play a fair game and even voluntarily forfeits if the game shows signs of rigging.

you don’t deny your fellow classmates who ask you if you think he’s cute because he is. he reminds you of an excited puppy during games and a loyal guard dog when it comes to his studies. he’s rather tall for his age–just a year below you but he’s far surpassed your height–and he has a good build, befitting for someone as sports orientated as him. phainon also has this magnetic pull to him that makes everyone want to befriend him, and you don’t mean it in a bad way.

after classes, you usually go home without a fail, but this time around, you make a beeline towards the gym to watch another one of phainon’s matches. when your friends catch sight of you, they all give you playful looks that scream “you’re here for phainon right?” and you can only roll your eyes at them. but before you can take a seat at the spot they reserved for you, something collided with your head and your world is suddenly spinning.

“oh god, are you alright?!”

someone shouts as you groan in pain. your vision spotting as you try to make out the messy blob of white and blue in front of you. someone takes your hand and you’re forcefully yanked up to your feet, making your headache worse with how quickly you stood up.

“i’m so, so, so, sorry. this is my fault i wasn’t paying attention. does your head hurt badly? do you want to go to the infirmary? someone get me ice packs—”

“will you calm down? you’re making my headache worse!” you don’t mean for your voice to sound so cold but it was nothing but the truth. you appreciate this mystery person’s concern, but god does he talk too much.

“right… right! sorry.”

you sigh and massage your temple. when your vision starts to clear up again, your mouth is left hanging as you realize who’s in front of you. that signature white hair and blue eyes combo is practically thrown at your face as phainon tilts his head in mild curiosity at your expression.

“i… need to go. sorry.” you quickly say, gathering your things from the floor and speed walking to the exit. you faintly hear the athlete heartthrob call out to you but you don’t pay him any mind. you were not getting into a cat fight with his fans with that cliche encounter.

that following night, your friends betray you by leaking your phone number to phainon. after a few heated and teasing messages in the group chat, you steady your breathing as you open his messages. you didn’t necessarily know what to expect on how phainon messages his friends or acquaintances, but you certainly find some childish endearment.

he sent a lot of messages—broken up into multiple sections explaining his worry and regret of hitting you instead of one single text box. phainon also used excessive amounts of exclamation marks, a lot of misspelled words, uppercases, and surprisingly enough, kaomojis. you let out an exasperated smile as you finally come to understand how cute this kid was.

you only planned to reply with a single message explaining your condition but that quickly spiralled into him chatting up a storm—a never ending stream of topics. you indulge him, using this as an excuse to find out even more on why so many people are so gravitated towards him. you surmise it’s because of his easy-going nature; he never leaves you hanging with his replies and speaking of replies, he sends messages at an ungodly quick speed. one thing turned to another before he ended the conversation with a message that read: “would you like to get a cup of coffee as an apology? it’ll be my treat ofc!!!!”

✶ : ANAXA (GORAS)

you see, if there was one person that made your blood boil like lava, it would be the student council secretary, anaxa. always so curt, blunt, and rude, he makes all of your accomplishments seem small when put side by side with his. it infuriates you to no end when the test scores for each year is posted on the bulletin and you spot him dead center of the crowd. you already feel a scowl forming on your face as you pass the bodies of other students and mentally prepare yourself for his berating voice.

you frown in dismay when you see his name on the number one spot with you a few spaces below him. your lip sews themselves shut when you hear him cough into his fist, quiet enough to not disturb the other students' excitement but loud enough for you to hear. as if wanting to rub more salt onto a fresh wound, anaxa peers into your line of vision with a smug smirk on his lips. with your pride hurt, you quickly turn away from him and begin walking away to save face. you didn’t need him to rub it in your face that he was leagues better than you.

anaxa won’t admit the swirling in his gut when he sees your figure get smaller and smaller. the oddest thing of it all, you don’t show your face to him at all since the test scores has been posted. he’d rather die than admit he missed your presence to anyone—your banters, nudging each other in quiet retaliation, and the time spent on the rooftop trying to study. anaxa would rather swallow a thousand needles than openly admit he felt jealous of his junior–the school athlete–and how you always seem to get coffee with him every morning. wasn’t that your thing with him?

“pray tell,” you flinch at the voice–failing to pack up your things quick enough to avoid anaxa who frequented the small cafe near campus. “why is it that you find the time to pick up coffee with our junior, but not me?”

if you were any other student, you’d think he sounds jealous—but that was a ridiculous thing to think. anaxa, jealous? you’re very sure the only emotion he’s ever felt in his life were spite and pride. as if to insinuate that you’ve actually replaced him with your usual routine, you ignore him. fight the twitch of your lips when anaxa visibly frowns at your silence. though a part of you—a tiny, tiny part—does feel a bit guilty. you weren’t one for the silent treatment, but anaxa deserved it. (you try to convince yourself at least).

“look if this is about the test scores, i’m…”

you walk past him but before you can fully exit the establishment, anaxa is running after you and catching your wrist with a firm grip. you turn to glare but the initial pettiness that fueled your heart quickly evaporates into thin air when you see his expression. lips pursed into a thin line, eye darting here and there–avoiding yours at all cost–and posture rigid but not in his usual secretary way; he looked almost vulnerable.

“i… apologize, for always belittling you whenever exam seasons are over. believe me, my intentions weren’t to bring you down. i just…” he trails off. a heavy frustrated sigh leaving his lips as his other hand comes to cover half of his face in shame. “wanted you to continue competing with me.”

by the following day, it was anaxa avoiding you like a plague. you still get coffee with phainon every morning, but today, you bought an extra cup—medium, iced, with only two teaspoons of sugar. the snowy-haired boy questioned you but you only replied with a cryptic “it’s a sorry gift.” he dropped the topic with a hum. you have a faint idea that phainon already knew who you were talking about.

the two of you separate on the second floor of campus—phainon heads straight to his classroom while you make a beeline to the council office. you rise up to the stairs in quiet contemplation on how to give anaxa his usual cup of coffee. with you being so lost in thought, you don’t realize that you’re now standing face to face with the classroom door. if you take a quick peek at the crack, you’d see anaxa with his head leaning back the chair he sat on with a book covering his face. you chuckle in amusement and as quietly as you could, tip-toe your way around the desk and place the coffee cup right by his notes. you graciously pull off a piece of sticky note and wrote down a short message before sticking it on the book on his face before leaving.

when the door finally closes shut, anaxa carefully removes the book obscuring his vision and takes the note you had written. ‘sorry for avoiding you! no matter what, you’re still my rival. remember to always take care of yourself, okay?’ anaxa snorts in amusement as he takes the cup of coffee in his hand, swirling the liquid before taking a sip. you still remember how he likes his coffee.

✶ : MYDEIMOS

if phainon was the cute junior that reminded you of a puppy and anaxa was the annoying bird that’s always perched on your shoulder, then mydei is that intimidating class president who quietly cares for his class. admittedly, you, among many others, had the wrong impression of him on your first meeting. initially, you assumed mydei was the type of student who always picked fights with other students and got into trouble with the student body. he does do those things—you see him butt heads with phainon during pe class and see aglaea scolding him during meetings every now and then. but nothing can prepare you when you first ask him for notes.

to say it’s a nerve wrecking situation would be an understatement—you were shaking in your shoes as your classmates cheered you on. with one final sigh, you find his contacts on your phone and repeatedly draft a message, delete it, then start over again and again until you grow frustrated and give up for the time being. you throw a defeated expression at your classmates and promise them to ask mydei for the notes later today. the school festival has been taking up so much of everyone’s time that you can’t find enough time to actually pay attention and write down notes in class. everyone was either sleeping or dozing off with exhaustion and you were no exception. you were sleeping during the first two periods of class and they each had their respective quiz some time this week.

you massage your temple in stress as you mumble about how you can ask mydei about his notes.

“what about my notes?”

you freeze on your spot. the hand massaging your temple rigidly drops back to your side as you awkwardly smile at the only person who can help your entire class pass manifests into thin air.

“uh… well, you see…” you fumble with the words on your tongue and curse yourself inside your mind for appearing nervous. you just want to ask if he had taken notes during the first and second period, simple right? wrong!

you shift in your spot uncomfortably, eyes falling to the floor and to your shoes to avoid his burning gaze while your hand rubs at your arm—a nervous tick you developed over the years. you open your mouth to finally reply but the feeling of something soft hitting you in the head has you looking up and meeting his gaze by accident. you don’t miss the quiet amusement that courses through him as you stumble to grab the stack of papers he graciously put on your head.

“if you wanted to borrow notes, you could have just said so. it’s not like i’m going to bite your head off.” his voice is stern but if you listen closely, you’ll realize there’s an undercut of playfulness in them as you beam at him.

“thank you so much, mydei!” you express your gratitude as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“go share them with the class, i still need to catch up with the council on something.”

mydei turns to leave but you call out to him. he slightly turns his head to look at your almost flustered smile, “what is it?”

you hold his notes close to your chest as you grin at him, “thank you, really! you don’t understand how much everyone needs these right now.”

he huffs in response and waves you goodbye and you turn to run back to your classroom to spread the good news that no one will be failing this year.

when mydei enters the council meeting with the other class representatives, castorice greets with a curious tilt of his head—she questions the smile on his face as he sits down at his usual spot but he only shrugs it off. mydei plays it off as finding something funny on the internet, which was strange. mydei rarely finds anything funny, let alone if they came from the internet.

he takes tentative sips from the coffee agalaea had generously provided for everyone, and he doesn’t miss the way a pair of eyes follow his every movement. he catches phainon from one corner staring at him with furrowed brows as he twirls the pen in his fingers while the council secretary at the front scowls at him. you may not remember, but back in middle school, when no one wanted to share a table with the delinquent, you sat next to him without question and offered him a spare pen when you realized he didn’t have one. to this day, mydei still use that pen even if the ink had long run out—he just wants to show off the item with your name on it.

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heliosunny · 6 months ago

Note

Hello. If it’s not too much trouble can you expand on the mydei marriage of convenience fic with reborn reader? I like it when there’s a lot of groveling so is there any chance maybe mydei remembers his past life and apologizes but reader still decides to leave him? I just wanna see him beg tbh. Thank you for all your hard work!

Yandere!Mydei x Reader

[artist]

Visit [previous]

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the training grounds, the clash of steel and the thunder of hooves filling the air. You stood at the sidelines, arms crossed as you watched Mydei spar with one of his knights. His movements were as precise as ever, every strike measured, every defense calculated. It was almost frustrating how effortlessly perfect he always seemed.

You hadn’t wanted to come, but after his last stunt, drugging you to keep you by his side, he had insisted you accompany him today. "To ease your mind" he had said. You knew better. He just didn’t want to let you out of his sight.

You tried to ignore the way he would glance your way between exchanges, as if gauging your reaction. He always did that now, watching you, reading you, craving something you refused to give.

Then, one of the knights charged him too aggressively, their swords locking with a sharp screech of metal. Mydei twisted to avoid the blow, but his horse reared up at the wrong moment.

You saw the shift before it even registered in his eyes—the sudden loss of balance, the panic. He fell.

The world seemed to slow as his body hit the ground with a sickening thud. His head struck the packed dirt first, and for a terrifying moment, he didn’t move.

"Mydei!" someone shouted, knights rushing forward.

You felt yourself take an involuntary step closer, your breath caught in your throat. You had seen him fight countless times, had watched him walk away from battle unscathed—but now, he wasn’t getting up. When they turned him over, his eyes fluttered open, unfocused and dazed. Blood trickled from a gash on his temple. Then, he let out a sharp, strangled gasp—his entire body going rigid.

You frowned. "Mydei?"

He blinked rapidly, his breath coming in shallow pants. His hands clutched the ground beneath him as if trying to anchor himself.

And then, his gaze landed on you.

A choked sound left his throat—something between a sob and a gasp. His eyes widened in sheer terror, his fingers trembling as they reached toward you.

"Y-you’re here…" His voice was raw, broken. "I thought—I thought I lost you."

"What…?"

He struggled to sit up, his entire body shaking. "I remember—" He swallowed hard, his breath ragged. "I remember losing you. I remember everything."

"What are you talking about?"

"You died," he rasped. "I never got to tell you.....I never got to.." His voice cracked completely.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. You stared at him. Mydei—always so in control—was now trembling, eyes wide with something you had never seen before. True, genuine fear.

"I—" His breath hitched, hands gripping his chest as if something inside him was breaking. "You left me. You were gone, and I—" He shut his eyes, as if the memory physically hurt him. His voice, raw and desperate, trembled when he spoke again. "I tried to bring you back, but you were gone."

Your fingers curled into fists. He had to be lying.

"You expect me to believe that?" Your voice came out cold, sharper than you intended. "That you suddenly—remember a life where I died?"

Mydei let out a shuddering breath, his hands pressing into the dirt like he was barely holding himself together. "I was a fool" he whispered. "I was blind, selfish, and I didn’t see it until it was too late. Until I was standing over your grave, wishing I had just—" He cut himself off, sucking in a sharp breath.

You wanted to call him out on the dramatics, wanted to accuse him of manipulating you again.

But his eyes... His eyes weren’t filled with calculation. There was no smugness, no amusement, no control. Only raw, undiluted agony.

What if he was telling the truth?

"So what? Even if that's true—I’m alive now."

Mydei’s gaze snapped to you, frantic. "And I won’t make the same mistake."

He struggled to push himself up, despite the dizziness that made him sway. The knights around him hesitated, unsure whether to help or give him space. But Mydei didn't seem to care—his focus was solely on you.

"I won't let you go this time."

"You can't keep me here forever."

He took a step forward, his lips parting—but then, he faltered. His breath hitched, his body wavering unsteadily. And then, he collapsed.

The knights rushed to him, calling for a healer. You stood frozen, watching as he was lifted from the ground, his grip on consciousness slipping. Even as his vision blurred, his fingers twitched toward you.

"Don't… leave me again…"

----

The air outside was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and the faintest trace of blood from the practice field. You barely registered it, your mind still tangled with the weight of Mydei’s words.

"I remember everything."

It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. The Mydei from your past life never cared—not when you loved him, not when you gave him everything, not even when you left him to his cold, indifferent world.

But this Mydei… this Mydei had fallen to his knees. He had begged. He had looked at you like you were the last thing tethering him to sanity.

No. It had to be a trick.

If he had been controlling before, this new desperation would make him unstoppable.

A sharp noise cut through the quiet.

Yelling. Inside the estate.

Without thinking, you turned on your heel, striding quickly back through the halls, your breath shallow as the shouting grew louder.

"My Lord, please—!" One of the servants' voices wavered in distress.

"WHERE IS Y/N?!"

You reached the entrance to his chambers and froze.

The room was in ruins. Tables overturned, drawers pulled from their places, glass shattered across the floor. Papers and books were strewn about, some crumpled, others torn.

Mydei's breath came in ragged gasps, his normally pristine attire disheveled. His hands trembled as they flipped through papers, knocking over more things in a frenzy. His eyes, wild and filled with a darkness you hadn’t seen before, darted around the room.

"Where is y/n?" he growled, his voice unsteady.

"M-My Lord— I believe they will return shortly-" The knight who had been tending to him took a cautious step back.

"LIARS!" Mydei roared, slamming his fist against the wall. The crack of impact echoed through the chamber, and the knight flinched. "You think I don't know?! You think I haven't seen this before?! Y/n left me!"

His voice broke, the fury in it twisting into something far worse. Something desperate.

It was then that he turned—and his eyes landed on you.

The moment he saw you, everything stopped. For a moment, he just stared, as if confirming you were real. He was already in front of you before you knew.

"Where did you go?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Why—why did you leave?"

"I didn't leave" you said, trying to stay calm. "I just went outside."

But that did nothing to ease him. His hands clenched at his sides, his expression crumbling further. "I woke up, and you were gone."

"You can’t do that" he whispered. "You can’t leave me—not again."

Mydei stood before you, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, his hands trembling at his sides as if he was barely holding himself together.

He’s losing it.

The room around you was still in ruins. He had torn through the place like a storm, like a man searching for something he thought he had lost forever.

"I thought it was happening again" he rasped. "I thought—" His breath hitched. "I thought I had woken up too late. That you were already gone, just like before."

"Mydei..." you started carefully, but he wasn’t listening.

"You don’t understand" he continued, almost frantic now. "I watched you die. I—I buried you. I swore, if I had another chance, I wouldn’t make the same mistake, but—" He clenched his fists. "But when I woke up and you were gone, I—I thought I lost you again."

"You’re scaring me" you admitted.

Something in him shattered at that.

For a moment, all the tension in his body seemed to crumble, his face twisting in agony. His hands—ones that had wielded swords, ones that had always been so steady—lifted slightly, reaching toward you before stopping just shy of touching you.

Then, he dropped to his knees.

The great and powerful Mydei—the same man who once viewed your love as nothing—now knelt before you, pleading.

"I’m sorry" he whispered, his voice trembling. "I’m so sorry. Please—don’t leave me. Don’t go. I’ll do anything."

For the first time, you didn’t know what to do.

The days that followed were suffocating. After the accident, after when he had fallen to his knees and begged you to stay, he was different.

He wouldn’t let you out of his sight.

His eyes constantly followed you—through the halls, across the gardens, even in the quiet moments of the evening when he was supposed to be resting. He would wake in the middle of the night, breath uneven, searching for you as if expecting you to vanish. And when he found you still there, his entire body would sag with relief.

But you stayed.

You told yourself it was because of duty, because it would be cruel to leave someone so vulnerable. Even if that someone was him.

So you took care of him.

You changed his bandages when he was too dazed to do it himself. You sat beside his bed when fever burned through him. You placed food before him even when he refused to eat, your words clipped but firm—"Eat, Mydei." And he always obeyed.

There was no smugness in his gaze now, no arrogance—only an almost childlike fear. Every time you so much as stepped away, his hand would twitch, as if fighting the urge to reach for you.

One evening, as you stood by the window, lost in thought, you felt the weight of his stare once more.

"You’re still here"

You turned to him, meeting his eyes.

"I said I would take care of you" you replied.

"If I had realized it sooner," he said slowly, his voice almost fragile, "that I loved you… would you have stayed?"

The silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, threatening to snap under the weight of his words.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you looked away, fixing your gaze on the flickering candle by the bedside.

"Mydei" you said evenly, carefully, "once you recover, I still want a divorce."

The room went deathly still.

When you finally dared to look at him, you saw it—the way his knuckles had turned white from gripping the sheets.

Then, ever so slowly, he laughed.

It was a broken, hollow sound.

"You…" His voice wavered, his golden eyes darkening as he forced himself to sit up despite his lingering dizziness. "You really don’t believe me, do you?"

"Even now," he murmured, running a trembling hand through his disheveled hair. "Even after everything, you still want to leave me."

"And if I say no?" he asked quietly.

"You don’t get to say no, Mydei. This marriage was never about love. It was more of a contract—one that should have ended long ago."

He clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching against the fabric of his robe.

"You think I care about that? You think a piece of paper ever mattered to me?"

You knew Mydei. You knew how he thought, how he worked.

And now?

Now, he was desperate. And desperate men did dangerous things.

"You’re not leaving me"

The tension never left after that night.

Mydei didn't argue with you anymore. He didn't beg like before. Instead, he acted.

Two weeks later, he left for war.

It happened so fast. One day, you were tending to his injuries, watching him pretend to be fragile under your care. The next, he was standing before his armored horse, fastening his sword to his hip, his gaze unreadable as he looked at you.

"Stay here."

That was all he said before he rode off, leading his army into battle.

And then, everything changed.

The night of his return was filled with thunderous celebration.

The palace was alive, tables overflowing with wine and food, nobles and warriors alike cheering Mydei’s name. He had crushed his enemies, strengthened his borders, and returned more powerful than ever. And yet, despite the laughter and praise surrounding him, his eyes never left you. You sat stiffly at the grand table, feeling the weight of his gaze from across the room. He hadn’t spoken to you yet, hadn’t approached. But you knew better.

Then, the room fell silent as Mydei stood.

A goblet in one hand, with his favorite drink-pomegranate juice, his other resting against the pommel of his sword, he cast his gaze over the gathered crowd. And when he spoke, his voice carried through the grand hall like an unbreakable decree.

"Tonight, we celebrate victory. Strength. The future."

A roar of approval filled the hall. But then—he looked at you.

And suddenly, the room felt too small.

"But there is something more important than war. More important than power."

He raised his goblet higher.

"My spouse."

No.

"The one who stood by my side, who has always belonged to me.. and always will."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Every noble, every knight, every single person in the room understood what that meant.

No one would dare touch you.

Because Mydei had just declared, before his entire court, that you were his. Forever.

And there was nothing you could do about it.

The ride back was tense.

The moment the palace doors shut behind you, the celebrations fading into the distance, you felt your breath grow heavier. You had barely spoken a word since his public declaration—since he had stripped you of any chance of escape in front of his entire court.

The carriage rattled over the cobblestone streets, the dim glow of lanterns casting long shadows against the walls. Mydei sat across from you, legs crossed, one arm draped lazily against the cushioned seat, his gaze locked onto you.

He was waiting.

Waiting for you to break the silence. Waiting for you to react.

You clenched your fists. Fine. If he wanted a reaction, you'd give him one.

"You had no right"

"No right to what?"

"You know what" you snapped. "You stood in front of everyone and acted as if I belong to you."

"You do."

Of course, he’d say that.

"You made sure no one would ever propose to me" you bit out. "Made sure that even after this, if I left, no one would dare take me in." Your eyes narrowed. "If I’m incapable of marrying anyone else, then I’ll live alone."

The words had barely left your mouth when he moved.

You barely had time to react before he caged you in, hands braced against the seat beside you, his face so close you could feel the warmth of his breath.

"You think I would allow that?" he murmured.

"You can’t control everything, Mydei."

"But I can control this."

"You don't get to disappear. Not into someone else's arms, not into isolation, not anywhere I can't reach you."

"You're mine" he continued, softer this time, as if speaking a sacred truth. "Even if you hate me for it."

The days after his declaration were unbearable.

Everywhere you went, his presence suffocated you. Servants eyed you carefully, knights stationed themselves near your quarters, and Mydei himself—always watching.

You had no more choices. No more options.

So you made one.

You locked yourself in your chambers and refused to come out.

No food. No water. Nothing.

At first, Mydei didn’t react. He knocked. Spoke through the door with that infuriatingly patient voice.

"This is childish, love."

You ignored him.

By the second day, his voice had lost its amusement.

"Open the door."

By the third, there was desperation.

"Please."

The fourth day was the worst.

He stopped knocking. He stopped speaking.

When you finally approached the door just for a quick peek.

He was still there.

Not standing.

Kneeling.

The great, untouchable Mydei—kneeling outside your door for days.

"I’ll stay here." His voice was raw now, hoarse from exhaustion. "I’ll wait. As long as it takes."

Let him beg. Let him suffer the way you had suffered.

But your body disagreed.

Weakness overtook you too fast—dizzy, lightheaded, breath slipping out in shallow gasps. You barely registered the way your legs buckled beneath you.

"No—!"

Then, the door shattered. Arms caught you before you hit the ground.

After ensuring you’re treated, Mydei refuses to leave your side. He sits by your bed, watching your pale face with an unreadable expression, fingers lightly brushing your wrist to feel the weak pulse beneath. The realization that you were willing to destroy yourself just to be free from him stirs something deep inside him. You would rather waste away than stay with him?

When you wake up, your body feels unbearably weak. Before you can even attempt to sit up, Mydei is already there, pushing you back down with gentle yet unyielding hands.

“You must be out of your mind” he murmurs. “To think I would ever allow you to leave me like that.”

He strokes your face, his touch both tender and suffocating. “I suppose I have been too soft with you.”

From then on, Mydei takes complete control. You are not allowed to leave the bed without his assistance. Meals are fed to you by his own hand, his sharp gaze watching your every bite, ensuring you don’t try anything reckless again.

Any protests are met with a condescending chuckle and an almost pitying look. “You thought starving yourself would make me agree to a divorce? Foolish.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “You will never be free of me.”

If you had hoped to escape him, all you did was cement his resolve.

---

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows across the walls. You sat on the grand bed, feeling trapped beneath Mydei’s intense gaze. In his hand was a spoon filled with warm broth, yet you stubbornly pressed your lips together, refusing to take it.

Mydei sighed. “Still being difficult?”

You turned your head away. “I’m not hungry.”

“Not hungry? Do I have to remind you that you collapsed in my arms, barely breathing, and now you’re not hungry?” He set the bowl down beside him with a deliberate slowness before leaning in close, his breath warm against your cheek. “If you won’t eat willingly…”

Before you could react, Mydei scooped up another spoonful, bringing it to his own lips instead. Without a moment’s hesitation, he grasped your chin, tilting your face toward him. You barely had time to shake your head before his lips were on yours. The taste of the broth spread across your tongue as he deepened the kiss, his fingers tightening just enough to keep you from pulling away. Warmth, rich and lingering, forced its way into your mouth, and despite your resistance, you swallowed out of instinct.

He pulled back slowly, watching you with a satisfied smirk. “There,” he murmured, thumb brushing against your lips as if savoring the sight of you like this—breathless, defeated. “Was that so hard?”

You glared at him, but it only made his smirk widen. “If you refuse again,” he mused, taking another bite for himself, “then I’ll just have to feed you like this every time.”

“Now” Mydei purred, holding up another spoonful. “Shall we continue?”

You swallowed thickly, the taste of the broth still lingering on your tongue. Mydei watched you with patient amusement.

“I should punish you for making me resort to such methods” he mused, twirling the spoon between his fingers. “But I suppose the sight of you like this makes up for it.”

You turned your face away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing your expression. Your heart was pounding, a mix of anger, shame, and something you refused to acknowledge twisting inside you.

“Still refusing to speak? How stubborn.” He leaned in again. “You can glare at me all you want, but you will eat.”

Your hands clenched the sheets beneath you, frustration bubbling up. “You can’t keep doing this” you muttered, voice hoarse from disuse. “You can’t keep controlling me.”

“Oh? But haven’t I already?”

His hand cradled your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You gave me no choice, love. If you had simply stayed by my side like a good spouse, none of this would have been necessary.”

“You’re insane.”

Mydei laughed “I know.”

He took another bite of the broth and kissed you again, slow and deliberate. You shivered, unable to escape the warmth of his lips, the slow press of his tongue against yours. When he finally pulled away, he tilted your chin up with a single finger.

“Now, swallow.” he murmured, voice dangerously soft.

Satisfied, he ran his thumb across your bottom lip, tracing the slight quiver there. “Good” he praised, as if speaking to something fragile. “We’ll do this as many times as it takes for you to learn.”

Then he picked up the spoon again, and you knew the night was far from over.

----- The days passed, and you gradually regained your strength. But Mydei’s presence never wavered— always ensuring you ate, slept, and stayed within the invisible cage he had built around you.

At first, you remained quiet, resigned. But the more you recovered, the more your old self crept back in, the sharp tongue, the scoffs, the sarcastic remarks meant to push him away, if only a little.

One evening, Mydei sat beside you, offering a plate of food like always. You sighed, arms crossed. “What, are you going to spoon-feed me again? Should I just sit here and let you chew it for me too?”

Instead of being irritated, Mydei simply smiled, as if amused. “Would you like that?”

You scowled. “Absolutely not.”

He chuckled, setting the plate on your lap. “Then eat.”

You huffed but complied, stabbing at the food with more force than necessary. Mydei rested his chin on his palm, watching you with lazy satisfaction.

“You seem much livelier now” he observed. “I was starting to miss that sharp tongue of yours.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you actually like it when I insult you” you scoffed.

Mydei merely tilted his head. “I like anything you do, as long as you stay by my side.”

Your grip on the fork tightened. “And if I don’t?”

He smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Then I’ll simply remind you why leaving isn’t an option.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you will.”

Mydei only chuckled again, leaning back in his chair. “Go on, fight me all you want,” he mused. “Scoff, glare, push back—I’ll allow it.” His golden eyes darkened slightly. “But you will never ask for a divorce again. That, my dear, is something I will not tolerate.”

You met his gaze, something unspoken passing between you. The more you tried to escape him, the more he tightened his grip. And yet, in his own twisted way, he was letting you have this small act of defiance, as long as you stayed.

You hated how well he knew you.

Scoffing, you shoveled another bite of food into your mouth and turned away. “You’re insufferable.”

Mydei smiled.

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