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reiding-writing · 4 months ago

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who needs a valentine when we have cold!reader and Spencer kissing on the 14th

𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.

spencer thinks you’re too reckless sometimes. too impulsive. you don’t exactly prove him wrong.

s9!spencer x cold!reader ❅ 3.4k ❅ cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

A/N | and thus, the romance arc begins. the amount of requests for this is so funny 😭

The air is thick with tension as the team moves through the abandoned office, the only sounds the distant creak of shifting metal and the quiet shuffle of boots against concrete.

Flashlight beams slice through the dim light, illuminating dust swirling in the air. The unsub is here. You know it like you know the feeling of a storm coming—an electric charge beneath your skin, a pull in your gut.

Your grip on your gun is steady, but your pulse thrums with anticipation. You keep your breathing measured, sharp eyes scanning the shadowed corners of the room.

The others are moving carefully, methodically, sticking to protocol. Spencer had warned you earlier, voice low but insistent: “Please don’t take unnecessary risks. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

He worries too much. It’s something you’ve come to expect from him, but it gnaws at you differently than when others do it. With Spencer, it’s not condescending or dismissive—it’s genuine. He cares, and that unsettles you more than it should.

Which is exactly why you ignored him.

Movement flickers at the edge of your vision. A shadow slipping through a half-open door at the far end of the office space. Your instincts scream at you to move. To act. The others are too far behind; if you wait, the unsub could disappear.

You don’t hesitate.

“Going left,” you mutter into your comms, but you don’t stop to explain further. You slip through the doorway, gun raised, ignoring the sharp crackle of your earpiece as Spencer’s voice comes through.

"Wait— Don’t go in alone—”

But you’re already inside.

The room is colder than the rest of the building, the air thick with the metallic tang of rust and something else—something sharper. It’s nearly pitch dark, the only light filtering in through a broken window near the ceiling. Your heartbeat is steady, controlled, but your muscles coil tight, ready to spring.

A shift. A whisper of movement.

Then—

Pain.

A white-hot sting tears through your side before you fully register what’s happened. Your breath hitches as you stumble back, your free hand instinctively pressing to your ribs. It comes away slick with blood.

Shit.

Your body reacts before your brain catches up. You fire—once, twice—and the gunshots are deafening in the enclosed space. The figure in front of you jerks and collapses, the dull thud of their body hitting the ground barely registering through the rush of blood in your ears.

The room tilts slightly. The pain sharpens. Your legs feel unsteady beneath you, but you grit your teeth and straighten, forcing yourself to stay upright.

Then—footsteps. Fast, urgent.

A second later, Spencer bursts into the room.

“Oh my god— We need a medic in here!”

His voice is tight, breathless, as he skids to a stop in front of you. His eyes, wide with panic, dart from your face to the growing stain on your shirt. And then he’s moving, closing the distance in an instant, dropping to his knees beside you before you can so much as protest.

His hands replace yours, pressing down on the wound, and you hiss at the sharp pressure.

“Jesus, Reid,” you bite out, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t budge.

“It’s fine,” you grit through clenched teeth, but even you can hear the slight tremor in your voice.

“Fine?” His voice cracks, his breath coming fast, like he’s been running. ��You’re bleeding, and you—God, why would you go after him alone?”

You try to roll your eyes, but the action is weaker than you intend. “He’s down, isn’t he?”

Spencer lets out a sharp breath, and you catch the way his jaw clenches, the flicker of something dark and unreadable in his eyes. His fingers press harder against your side, grounding you, keeping you here.

“You could have died—” His voice is lower now, rougher, and it makes something twist uncomfortably in your chest.

You try to scoff, to deflect. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That’s not funny.”

You freeze.

His voice is raw. Unsteady. And when you meet his eyes, you see something there that you don’t want to see—something that makes the air between you feel too heavy, too charged.

You’ve seen Spencer worried before, but this is different. This is something deeper. Something dangerous.

And for a moment, it’s just the two of you.

His hands are warm, firm but careful. He’s so close, close enough that you can see the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the slight tremor in his fingers despite the pressure he’s applying to your wound.

He’s afraid.

Not in the way most people would be. Not in the way someone fears losing a teammate.

It’s different with him.

And that realisation sends something cold through your chest.

You should push him away. Should tell him to back off, that you don’t need him fussing over you like this. But your head is light, and the pain is making you sluggish, and his hands are keeping you steady in a way that you don’t want to think too hard about.

So, for once, you don’t fight it.

Just for a moment.

Then, the rest of the team rushes in, and the fragile thing between you shatters.

—

The hotel room feels too small. Too bright. Too loud.

You shouldn’t be here—you should still be in the hospital, technically—but the second the doctor said you were stable enough for discharge, you signed the damn papers and got out of there.

You don’t do hospitals. They make you feel trapped, restless, like you’re waiting for something to go wrong. So you took the out, ignored the side-eye from the nurse, and made your way back to the hotel with nothing but a few high-grade painkillers and a warning to take it easy.

Right. Like that was going to happen.

Now, sitting on the edge of the bed, stiff and exhausted, you’re starting to regret it. Not because of the pain—you’ve had worse. Not because of the exhaustion—you can push through it.

But because Spencer won’t stop hovering.

He’s been like this since you walked through the door, tracking your every move with sharp, restless eyes. He won’t sit down, won’t even lean against the desk or the wall—he just stands there, pacing slightly, rubbing his fingers together in that nervous habit of his.

And worst of all? He hasn’t stopped talking.

"You can’t keep doing this,” he says again, voice tight. “One day, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

You sigh, forcing yourself to keep your expression blank. Here we go.

“I’m fine,” you say, each word clipped and deliberate. “I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”

“That’s not the point.”

There’s something sharp in his voice now, an edge you don’t hear often. Spencer doesn’t yell—not really—but this is worse. His frustration is controlled, simmering just under the surface, and it makes your skin prickle in a way you don’t like.

“The point,” he continues, stepping closer, hands moving in short, tense gestures, “is that you ran into a room alone, without backup, without knowing what you were up against—”

“I knew enough,” you cut in, irritation flaring.

Spencer lets out a short, incredulous laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “Enough? Enough that you got stabbed?”

His voice rises slightly at the end, and you swear there’s something like desperation in it.

You exhale through your nose, gripping the edge of the bed. Breathe. Keep your cool. You don’t want to fight with him.

Except, maybe you do.

Maybe it would be easier to push him away, to make him angry enough to stop looking at you like that—like you matter too much. Like you scared him.

“I got nicked.” you say, your voice flat. “That’s part of the job, Reid. We all take risks.”

“This wasn’t just a risk,” he snaps, eyes flashing with something dangerously close to anger. “It was reckless.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re not my minder, Reid.”

His jaw tightens. His whole body goes tense, like he’s holding something back.

“Then stop making me feel like I have to be—”

The words hit you harder than the knife had.

You inhale sharply, but he doesn’t give you a chance to recover.

“Do you even realise how bad it could have been?” he presses, voice lower now, but no less intense. “How bad it was?”

You clench your jaw.

“I know exactly how bad it was,” you say, quieter now, your voice cold. “I was there.”

But he won’t let it go.

He keeps talking, keeps pushing, listing every single thing that could have gone wrong, every possible outcome that ends with you bleeding out on the floor, and it’s too much.

You can’t breathe past the weight of it.

It’s overwhelming—the concern, the intensity, the way he’s looking at you like you’re something fragile. Like you’re something he can’t lose.

Like you matter.

You don’t want to hear it.

You just want him to stop.

But he just keeps talking.

His voice is insistent, sharp with frustration but frayed at the edges with something softer, something worse. He’s listing probabilities now, rattling off numbers and percentages like they’re supposed to mean something to you.

Like hearing that there was a 42.7% chance of you bleeding out before medics arrived is going to make you rethink everything.

But it’s not the numbers that get to you.

It’s him.

It’s the way his voice wavers, just slightly, like he’s fighting to keep it steady. The way his hands won’t stay still, fingers twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with them. The way his eyes are burning into you, dark and unreadable, except for one thing:

He’s scared.

And you don’t know how to handle that.

The worry in his expression is like a weight on your chest, pressing down hard enough to make it difficult to breathe. It’s too much—his voice, his eyes, the intensity of it all. He won’t stop talking, won’t stop pushing, won’t stop caring—

And you can’t take another second of it.

So you do the one thing that will shut him up.

You kiss him.

It happens so fast, you don’t have time to process it. One second, he’s standing in front of you, mid-sentence, his mouth forming words you don’t want to hear, and then your hands are gripping his face, and your lips are on his, and—

Everything stops.

Spencer goes completely still. Not just still—frozen. His breath catches, his entire body tensing like he’s just been short-circuited.

For the first time since this whole damn argument started, there’s silence.

No words. No numbers. No probabilities.

Just you. And him. And the space where your lips meet.

For a fleeting, desperate second, you think it might actually work. That maybe this is enough to make it stop.

Then, the weight of what you just did slams into you.

Your breath stutters as reality crashes down around you, as you realise that the heat of his skin is real, that his hands have curled slightly at his sides like he doesn’t know whether to push you away or pull you closer.

You pull back abruptly, your fingers slipping from his jaw as you take a step back, your heart hammering against your ribs.

But Spencer doesn’t move.

He just—stares.

Wide-eyed. Breath uneven. Lips parted like he’s trying to form words but can’t quite find them.

Like he doesn’t quite believe it happened.

And the worst part?

You don’t know what the hell to do next.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, too loud in your ears, and every instinct in your body is screaming at you to retreat, to put the walls back up and pretend nothing happened. Pretend it was just some mistake, some impulsive thing you did in the heat of the moment.

It was just a kiss, right?

That’s what you’ll tell yourself. That’s what you have to tell yourself.

Your fingers tremble as you step back, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You can already feel the walls sliding back into place, the emotional armour rising to shield you from whatever this is. From the mess you just created.

You weren’t supposed to care this much about Spencer. You weren’t supposed to let yourself get wrapped up in him—not when your instincts always screamed at you to push people away, to keep things simple, to keep yourself safe. But now, standing here in the wake of your impulsive decision, you feel anything but safe.

And that terrifies you.

But before you can finish shoving the walls back up, before you can even start to deflect or pretend it didn’t mean anything—he moves.

It’s almost too fast, a blur of motion that catches you off guard. One second, you’re standing there, heart still hammering, and the next, Spencer is right there in front of you, his hands gently cupping your face, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that pins you to the spot.

You barely have time to think before he closes the distance again and kisses you—again.

But this time, it’s different.

This kiss is slow, deliberate. It’s not impulsive, not reactionary, not a desperate attempt to silence the chaos between you.

This time, it’s a choice. His choice.

His lips move against yours with purpose, as though he’s trying to tell you something with every brush of his mouth, something he couldn’t say before. Something you’re too scared to hear.

And for a second, you want to pull away. You want to tell him this was a mistake, that you don’t have time for this, for the complication, for the mess that’s swirling between you both. But your body won’t listen to your mind. It won’t let you run this time.

Instead, you lean into it.

You let your hands reach for him, sliding up his chest to rest against his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath the fabric of his shirt. The kiss deepens, and you realise with a sinking feeling that you’re not pulling away because you don’t want this—you’re pulling away because you do.

Because you knew. You knew this was inevitable.

This moment, this connection, this tension between you both that’s been building for so long, simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel it in every glance, in every touch that lingered a second too long.

You’ve both ignored it, buried it under layers of professional distance, under the constant chatter and the mission-driven focus that keeps you moving forward.

But it doesn’t work anymore.

You can’t ignore it anymore.

And as his lips press against yours, as you finally, fully allow yourself to feel what’s been there all along, you realise that there’s no going back from this.

The world feels like it’s holding its breath as you separate, suspended in the space between you both. Neither of you speaks for a long, heavy moment.

There’s a tension now, a thick, unspoken understanding that pulses between you, a thread that has always been there, but now it’s too palpable to ignore. You can’t pretend like it’s not there anymore.

His hands are still on you, a soft warmth, but not quite enough to distract from the fire that lingers in the air. His fingertips hover at your waist, just shy of touching, as though he’s afraid if he holds you too tightly, something will break—something more than the fragile tension that’s just been shattered.

You’re still so close. So close to something you’re not sure you can name.

You pull away slowly, reluctantly, when your body reminds you of the injury. It’s a sharp, jarring pain—nothing too severe, but enough to make your muscles protest, enough to make you wince and break the moment.

You’re trying to hide it, but the slight catch in your breath gives you away. Spencer’s gaze sharpens immediately, eyes flicking down to your side, where the bandage is just barely visible under your shirt.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice quieter now, as if he’s finally realising the full weight of the situation. His hand moves to your elbow, guiding you carefully down to the bed, but not without a lingering touch. His fingers brush against your skin just a little too long, a quiet caress that makes your pulse spike again.

You sit down with a soft sigh, the sharp throb in your side a welcome distraction from the mess of feelings still swirling inside you. You try to focus on your breathing, but Spencer is still standing there, just a few inches away, looking at you like you’ve just cracked the universe wide open.

Your eyes meet, and his expression is a mix of something you can’t quite place—concern, sure, but there’s something else there. Something that burns hotter, deeper, just beneath the surface.

He doesn’t speak at first. He just watches you, like he’s waiting for you to do something. Maybe waiting for you to tell him this was a mistake, or to push him away again, or to tell him it didn’t mean anything.

But you don’t say anything. Neither of you do.

And then, as if testing the weight of the silence between you, he speaks your name—just your name, soft and careful, like he’s unsure of how to even say it after everything that’s happened.

It’s barely a whisper, like he’s afraid of what will happen if he says it too loudly. Or maybe he’s just unsure of what to do with the name now that it’s hanging in the air, heavy with the implications of everything you’ve just shared.

You swallow hard, eyes flicking away from his, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself. The walls you’d worked so hard to put up feel like they’ve crumbled, but you’re too proud—or too scared—to admit it.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes tracing the line of your jaw, as though trying to gauge how much of you is still the same, how much has shifted.

You don’t answer right away.

Instead, you look at him, at the softness in his expression, the way he’s waiting for you to tell him what happens next. And in that moment, it’s impossible to pretend this didn’t happen, that things are just fine, that the walls you’ve so carefully built around yourself are still in place.

Because they’re not.

This—whatever this is—is real. And it’s not going away.

So you exhale, steadying yourself, and look back at him, finally allowing yourself to face what’s there between you. “Yeah,” you say, voice quiet, but steady. “I’m okay, I’m fine—”

But whatever happens next, there’s one thing you know for sure:

You can’t pretend this didn’t happen.

Not when everything between you has shifted so suddenly, so irrevocably. Not when you’re feeling more exposed than you’ve ever been in your life, and the weight of Spencer’s gaze is both comforting and terrifying.

“I think I need to lie down,”

“Yeah—” Spencer nods a little too quickly, hesitating before helping you under the sheets. “Yeah of course, I’ll uh— come and check on you in a few hours,”

You press your lips together, the phantom sensation of his still present. “Thanks,”

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff

852 notes · View notes

xichilie · 3 months ago

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YOUR MYDEI TRYING TO COURT US FIC WAS SOSOSO CUTE IT HAD ME GIGGLING LIKE A MANIAC.

Would our amazing author pretty please consider making a part 2 when they have time 🙏 mayb they get together and mydei asks y/n out on an actual date but still is getting use to flirting in their way. No pressure though, love every morsel of mydei content from u 😭😭😭

I got multiple requests for a second part, so it's time to feed you guys♡

Mydei x (fem)reader

Mydei courting reader Part2

Part 1

The kitchen was warm, filled with the rich, comforting scent of butter and spice. Y/N sat on the edge of the counter, legs swinging idly as she watched Mydei work. His movements were precise, methodical—hands dusted with flour as he kneaded the dough with ease, rolling it out before folding it again. His expression was unreadable, but there was a certain focus in the way he handled the ingredients.

“You’re really good at this,” Y/N noted, resting her chin on her hand.

Mydei didn’t look up, but the corner of his lips almost twitched. “I’ve had practice.”

“I didn’t know you baked.”

“Hm.” He paused, carefully pressing the dough into shape. “It’s just… preparing food. Like anything else. Following the right steps, controlling the heat.”

Y/N hummed. “You make it sound so simple, but I’m pretty sure I’d mess it up in three seconds.”

Mydei glanced at her, golden eyes briefly flicking over her face before he returned to his task. “You’d just need to learn.”

She pouted. “Are you offering to teach me?”

Another pause. Then: “Maybe.”

Before she could tease him about it, another voice chimed in.

“Is this what I think it is?”

Y/N turned just in time to see Phainon leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching them with unmistakable amusement. His blue eyes flickered to the baking ingredients, then to Mydei, and his grin widened.

“Mydei,” he said slowly, stepping into the kitchen, “are you baking?”

Mydei’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t stop what he was doing. “…Yes.”

Phainon looked delighted. “You mean to tell me that all this time, you’ve had the ability to make delicious pastries, and I’m only now finding out?”

Y/N snickered. “I know, right? He’s been holding out on us.”

Mydei ignored them both.

Unbothered, Phainon walked over and leaned on the counter beside Y/N. “So, what are we making?”

“We aren’t making anything,” Mydei corrected.

Phainon placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Oh, come on, don’t be like that.” He glanced at the dough, inspecting it with mild curiosity. “Looks fancy. What is it?”

Y/N answered before Mydei could. “He said it’s a spiced honey pastry. Apparently, it’s something Kremnoans eat after big feasts.”

Phainon raised a brow. “Huh. Never imagined you as the type to make sweets.”

“I don’t make them often.”

“So, what, is this a special occasion?”

Mydei didn’t answer.

Phainon smirked. “Interesting.”

Y/N, completely missing the implication, just nodded along. “Yeah, I was wondering the same thing! He said he felt like making something, but he won’t say why.”

Phainon shot Mydei a look that screamed, You’re so obvious, it hurts.

Mydei, sensing it, leveled him with a sharp glare.

Y/N, still blissfully unaware, just tilted her head. “So, what’s next?”

“…Shaping the dough,” Mydei muttered, shifting his focus back to the counter.

Phainon grinned. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

And with that, the three of them continued—Y/N genuinely interested in learning, Phainon occasionally throwing in unhelpful commentary, and Mydei just barely tolerating them. (Barely tolerating phainon)

If nothing else, at least the pastries would turn out well.

The sweet, warm scent of freshly baked pastries filled the air as Mydei pulled the tray from the oven. Golden and crisp on the outside, soft and honeyed within—perfect.

Y/N leaned forward, eyes bright with admiration. “Wow, Mydei, these look amazing.”

He huffed softly, carefully plating a few. “Taste it.”

She didn’t hesitate, breaking one open and taking a bite. The moment the flavors melted on her tongue, her eyes widened, and she let out a delighted hum. “Oh my, Mydei—this is so good.”

Mydei allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk.

Meanwhile, Phainon, who had been eyeing the pastries the entire time, reached for one. “Alright, my turn—”

Without even looking, Mydei smoothly pulled the plate just out of his reach.

Phainon blinked. “Wait. Did you just—”

Silence.

Mydei focused solely on Y/N as she savored the pastry, blissfully unaware of Phainon’s suffering.

“Are you seriously not giving me one?” Phainon asked, incredulous.

No response.

Y/N, completely oblivious, just kept talking between bites. “This is honestly unfair. You can fight, you can cook, you can bake—” She ticked off each point on her fingers. “You’re great with kids, strong, good-looking—”

There was a pause.

Mydei stilled.

Phainon, who had been mid-complaint, went silent.

Y/N, not noticing, casually continued.

“You really are husband material.”

The room went dead quiet.

Mydei, who had just taken a bite of his own pastry, suddenly choked. He coughed violently, setting his plate down as he tried—and failed—to recover. His golden eyes widened slightly, his usual composure cracking for the first time.

Phainon, meanwhile, looked like he was about to explode.

His entire body trembled as he bit down on his knuckles, his blue eyes darting between Y/N—who was still completely unaware—and Mydei, who was struggling between coughing and processing what just happened.

“H-Husband—” Mydei stammered, voice unusually strained. He quickly cleared his throat, trying to regain control. “What?”

Y/N glanced up, chewing. “Hmm?”

“You just—” Mydei exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked at her like she had just knocked the wind out of him. “Did you just call me—”

Phainon made a choked noise.

Y/N blinked. “Oh. Yeah.” She shrugged, finishing the last of her pastry. “I mean, you kinda are. You’ve got all the qualities.”

Phainon slapped the table so hard the dishes rattled, wheezing.

Mydei shot him a sharp glare, but it did nothing to stop him from completely losing it.

Y/N, still unaware of the absolute chaos she had just caused, tilted her head. “What’s so funny?”

Phainon, gasping for air, barely managed to choke out, “N-nothing—nothing at all—please, keep talking—”

Meanwhile, Mydei looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. His face, usually unreadable, was visibly strained—his golden eyes flickering between frustration and something else. His ears burned just slightly, but he refused to acknowledge it.

“Anyway,” Y/N continued, utterly unfazed, “this was amazing. You should bake more often, Mydei.”

Mydei, still recovering, only managed a short nod, unable to look at her.

Phainon wiped a tear from his eye, still trembling from silent laughter.

Y/N stretched. “I think I’ll go for a walk. Thanks for the food!”

As soon as the door shut behind her, Phainon collapsed.

His laughter erupted into the open, uncontrollable, as he leaned back against the chair. “Oh—oh, Mydei—” He gasped between wheezes. “Did you see your face?!”

Mydei scowled, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Shut up.”

But the pink dusting his ears did not go unnoticed.

Phainon was still laughing.

It had been a full minute since Y/N left, and he was not letting it go.

“Husband material,” he wheezed, barely holding himself upright. “You really are husband material, Mydei!” He clutched his stomach, shaking his head. “Oh, this is too good—”

Mydei, sitting rigidly across from him, looked like he was this close to throwing him out the window.

“Are you done?” Mydei said, voice tight.

Phainon wiped at his eyes, trying to calm himself, but every time he looked at Mydei—his arms crossed, his jaw clenched, his golden eyes glaring anywhere except where Y/N had been sitting—he started up again.

“I mean—” Phainon exhaled, catching his breath. “I just—wow. Of all the things she could’ve said.” He grinned. “And you choked.”

Mydei did not dignify that with a response.

Instead, he grabbed another pastry off the plate, taking an aggressive bite, as if the food could somehow make him forget all of it.

But it didn’t.

Because Phainon was still watching him.

And worse—Mydei was still thinking about it.

Husband material.

The words repeated in his mind, unbidden, making something coil uncomfortably in his chest. Not because he disliked the idea, but because of the way she had said it—so casually, so unaware of the effect it had on him.

She really didn’t get it, did she?

Didn’t realize what it meant for someone like him to hear something like that?

He scowled, setting his plate down with a little too much force.

Phainon, of course, caught onto everything.

He smirked, leaning forward on his elbows. “Still thinking about it?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Shut up.”

Phainon chuckled, tilting his head. “So. What’s your next move, husband?”

Mydei shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel.

Phainon just grinned wider.

The streets of Okhema were alive with movement—merchants calling out their wares, travelers bargaining for supplies, the distant clang of a blacksmith hammering steel. But Mydei barely noticed any of it.

He walked with his hands tucked behind his back, his golden eyes narrowed in thought.

The previous day’s events played in his head on repeat.

Y/N had called him husband material—out loud, in front of Phainon, without a second thought. Did she mean it? Would he really be a good Husband? But when he’d tried to gauge her reaction, to see if she had finally understood what he’d been trying to do, she just kept eating her pastries, completely unaware of the effect she had on him.

The memory alone was enough to make him grit his teeth.

He had tried everything. Gifts. Training. Spending time with her. He had been obvious—at least, by Kremnoan standards. Back home, anyone would have understood his intentions immediately.

But Y/N?

She was clueless.

He exhaled sharply, adjusting the gauntlets on his wrists.

Phainon had said he needed to be more direct. That was easier said than done. It wasn’t in his nature to be… soft. Kremnos didn’t have words for love. They had words for strength, for battle, for survival. Their affections were shown through actions, not flowery phrases or pointless compliments.

And yet, despite everything, he was losing this battle.

His next attempt had to be unmistakable.

But how—

A familiar sound stopped him in his tracks.

Laughter.

And not just anyone’s laughter—hers.

Mydei’s head snapped up, his sharp gaze scanning the marketplace.

And then he saw her.

Y/N stood in an open space near a merchant stall, surrounded by children. She was crouched down, talking animatedly, hands moving as she spoke. The kids around her giggled, some clapping their hands, others tugging at her sleeves excitedly.

Then, without warning, she bolted.

The children shrieked in delight and ran after her, their laughter ringing through the street as they chased her through the crowd.

Mydei stared.

What in the world was she doing?

His feet moved on instinct, his curiosity outweighing his frustration as he stepped closer, watching the scene unfold.

She was playing with them.

She twisted around a cart, narrowly dodging one of the kids who lunged for her. “Too slow!” she teased, sticking out her tongue before dashing away again.

The children shouted in protest, determination burning in their eyes as they picked up speed.

Mydei couldn’t help but huff a quiet breath of amusement.

She was ridiculous.

But then—

“MYDEI!”

Her voice cut through the noise, bright and full of excitement.

His muscles tensed.

Slowly, cautiously, he met her gaze.

A grin spread across her face, her eyes practically glowing.

One of the kids tugged at her sleeve. “Oh! It’s the warrior prince!”

Another turned toward him, eyes wide. “He’s really big…”

A third tilted their head. “Do you think he knows how to play?”

Mydei’s brow twitched.

Y/N clapped her hands together. “Perfect timing! We’re playing tag, but the teams are uneven.”

She pointed at him.

“You should join us!”

The kids immediately erupted in cheers.

“YES!”

“Play with us!”

“You’ll be really fast, right? You’re a warrior!”

A beat of silence passed.

Mydei stared at Y/N, then at the eager faces of the children.

Play? Him?

He was a Kremnoan warrior. He had never played tag in his life.

This was ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous.

But then Y/N tilted her head, her smile softening just slightly, and—

…Damn it.

His fate was sealed.

One second, Mydei was standing tall, arms crossed as he observed the game unfold—the next, a child had launched themselves at him.

The impact barely made him stumble, but the little hands clinging to him and the triumphant laughter left no room for doubt.

He was it.

Mydei blinked, processing what had just happened as the other children burst into cheers.

“YOU’RE IT NOW!”

“CATCH SOMEONE!”

He let out a slow exhale, golden eyes scanning the gathered group. The kids stared at him in wide-eyed excitement, giggling behind their hands. Some were already shifting nervously, ready to sprint for their lives if his attention landed on them.

But Mydei wasn’t looking at them.

His gaze snapped to Y/N.

She was just standing there—until their eyes met.

A slow grin spread across his face, sharp as a predator about to pounce.

Y/N’s own smile faltered.

“Oh, shit.”

Then she bolted.

Laughter bubbled up in her chest as she sprinted through the streets of Okhema, dodging past merchants and startled pedestrians.

Behind her, the children cheered and whooped.

“GET HER, MYDEI!”

“RUN, Y/N, RUN!”

“I’M BETTING FIVE COINS ON MYDEI!”

“You don’t have five coins!”

“I’M STILL BETTING THEM!”

Y/N glanced over her shoulder—

And immediately regretted it.

Mydei was already closing the distance, long strides eating up the ground far faster than they should have. He was fast—too fast.

Her heart pounded.

If she wanted to win this, she had to think fast.

She darted toward the marketplace, weaving between food stalls and carts, leaping over crates with practiced ease.

But he didn’t slow down.

She could hear the heavy thud of his boots behind her, smooth and relentless.

She turned a corner sharply, hoping to throw him off. But then—

A strong arm shot out, just barely missing her.

A laugh rumbled from him.

“Oh, you’re dead now,” he called.

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

She needed height.

Spotting a stack of barrels, she vaulted onto them, then used the momentum to grab onto a wooden beam, swinging herself up onto a rooftop.

The kids gasped.

"WHOA! SHE'S LIKE A NINJA!"

"MYDEI, CAN YOU DO THAT?!"

Y/N grinned smugly, peeking over the edge. No way he's following me now.

Then she heard a heavy thud.

Her grin vanished.

Not even a second later—

Mydei had scaled the wall with brute force, gripping the ledge and pulling himself up in one swift motion.

The kids screamed in excitement.

"HE DID IT!"

“HE’S LIKE A HERO FROM A STORY!”

Y/N groaned. Of course he did.

She turned and ran again.

Now, they were tearing across the rooftops of Okhema.

Y/N moved like the wind, ducking under laundry lines, leaping between buildings, twisting midair to grab onto beams and pull herself up with effortless grace.

But Mydei—

He was a force of nature.

Where she dodged, he barreled through. Where she leaped, he jumped higher.

She landed on a narrow ledge, catching her breath for half a second

Then she felt a presence behind her.

She turned her head—

And nearly screamed.

Mydei was right there.

His golden eyes gleamed, his smirk wider than ever.

“Caught you.”

Before she could react, he lunged.

Y/N barely had a second to react before Mydei lunged.

With one smooth motion, he caught her wrist and pulled—sending them tumbling together onto the rooftop. She let out a startled gasp as she landed on her back, Mydei’s weight hovering just above her, pinning her down with ease.

She blinked, trying to catch her breath.

His golden eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unwavering.

There was no cocky remark this time. Just silence.

His grip on her wrist was firm but not tight, his other hand braced beside her head. His body was warm, muscles taut from the chase, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

Y/N’s heart pounded.

Not just from running.

Her lips parted slightly, trying to find words, but her mind had gone completely blank.

Why… why was he looking at her like that?

Like she was something to be hunted.

Something claimed.

She swallowed hard, face growing warm under his gaze.

And Mydei noticed.

The corner of his lips curled up slightly, and—

“WHOOOAAAAA!!!”

Y/N nearly jumped out of her skin at the explosion of cheering from below.

The kids had caught up.

And they were going wild.

“HE CAUGHT HER!”

“THAT WAS SO COOL!!”

“MYDEI IS A WARRIOR KING! DID YOU SEE THAT LEAP?!”

“Y/N, YOU LOST!”

The spell was shattered.

Y/N immediately turned her head, face burning. Mydei, however, just huffed a quiet laugh, clearly enjoying the situation way too much.

Still holding her wrist, he leaned down a fraction—just close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath.

“Looks like you’re mine now.”

Her brain short-circuited.

But before she could even process a response, Mydei finally released her and pushed himself up with a smirk.

She stared at him, flustered beyond belief.

What… what just happened?!

Still trying to steady her racing heart, Y/N sat up as Mydei extended a hand to her. She hesitated for a second before grasping it, letting him pull her to her feet with ease.

His smirk hadn’t faded.

Before she could say anything, the children’s excited chattering reminded her that they weren’t alone.

"THAT WAS SO AWESOME!"

"You guys were so fast!"

"Did you see when Mydei jumped from the cart to the roof?! That was just like a hero in the old war stories!"

"Y/N almost got away! But then BOOM! Caught in one swoop!"

Y/N cleared her throat, desperately trying to compose herself. “Alright, alright, settle down,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “So what now? We’re all sweaty and covered in dust.”

One of the kids, a boy with wild curls, suddenly gasped as if he had the greatest idea in history.

"WAIT!" He turned to the others, his face glowing with mischief. “Since Mydei won, he needs a reward!”

A chorus of agreement followed.

Y/N felt a sense of dread creeping in.

"Yeah! He totally deserves something!"

"Like a feast fit for a warrior!"

"Or a cool new weapon!"

Then, before she could stop it—

"A kiss from the loser!"

…Silence.

Y/N felt all the air leave her lungs.

Her brain shut down.

Her soul left her body.

Did—Did that little gremlin just say—?!

The group of kids immediately exploded into laughter and cheers, clapping and nodding as if it was the most brilliant idea ever conceived.

“Yeah! A KISS!”

“A real warrior’s reward!”

“That’s what happens in the old stories! The victorious warrior gets a kiss from the fair maiden!”

Y/N’s face was on fire.

The cheering hadn’t stopped.

The kids were still bouncing around, giggling, and chanting for Y/N to give Mydei his “victory reward.”

Meanwhile, she was still frozen.

She could feel the heat creeping up her neck, her face burning as she kept her gaze trained anywhere but on Mydei.

But then—

She dared a glance at him.

And what she saw stopped her brain completely.

He wasn’t looking at her.

Or at the kids.

Or anywhere really.

Instead, Mydei was staring off into the distance, arms crossed, posture stiff—trying so hard to look unaffected.

But.

His ears.

They were red.

Y/N blinked.

Then blinked again.

He was flustered.

The realization hit her like a boulder.

Mydei, the warrior who faced armies without blinking, who never seemed bothered by anything, who was always composed—

Was actually flustered.

Something about that made her heart flip.

And before she could stop herself—

She acted.

She reached out, tapped his shoulder.

He turned, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Wha—”

Y/N grabbed the collar and pulled him down slightly—

And pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

The world went silent.

For a long second, Mydei did not move.

His golden eyes went wide, his entire body going rigid.

And then—

His face turned completely red.

It started at his ears, then spread down his neck, creeping across his cheeks.

His lips parted slightly, as if trying to form a sentence.

But no words came out.

Instead, what left his mouth was—

“…I— You— Wha—”

He couldn’t even speak.

And that—

Was absolutely amazing.

Before he could even recover, the kids exploded into cheers.

“WHOOOOAAAAA!!”

“THAT WAS SO COOL!!”

“I KNEW SHE’D DO IT!”

“Mydei lost his brain—look at him!!”

“I think he DIED!”

Y/N, cheeks still burning, looked up at Mydei—who still hadn’t moved.

His mouth was slightly open, his hand twitching like he wanted to touch his cheek but refused to do it in front of everyone.

Finally—

He turned away sharply, crossing his arms.

“…Tch.”

Y/N grinned.

But unbeknownst to both of them—

A little distance away, hiding behind a pillar, Phainon was grinning ear to ear.

And in his hands?

A perfectly timed picture of the exact moment Y/N kissed Mydei’s cheek.

The blue-eyed warrior chuckled to himself, tucking his phone away.

“Oh, this is going to be useful.”

#mydei honkai star rail #mydeimos #hsr mydei #mydei x reader #mydei x you #honkai star rail mydei #mydei #phainon honkai star rail #phainon hsr #phainon x you #phainon x reader #phainon #x y/n #x you #x reader #oc x character #hsr x you #honkai star rail

597 notes · View notes

kxsagi · 21 days ago

Text

𝟎𝟑. 𝐦𝐚𝐧, 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨’ 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞

[twitch: chokiigan – 90.2k viewers]

🎮 live now: “saint ego fumbled the bag (but maybe not?)”

the stream opens to low-fi synth and the fuzzy outline of nagi, slouched in his gamer chair with half-lidded eyes and a pink strawberry milk box in hand. his mic’s a little too good, every sip sounds like a war crime. after a long, meditative pause, he sighs.

"yeah, so... saint ego just did a full 360 nosedive straight into the dirt. absolute crashout. capital C. it’s like if radiohead and WWE had a baby and then left it unsupervised in a glass shop."

he scratches his head, leans closer to the mic.

“for those of you somehow still under a rock... their drummer livestreamed the lead singer and guitarist beefing like it was wrestlemania 2005. the internet exploded. their fans started choosing sides like it’s the hunger games. team isagi. team kaiser. meanwhile, shidou’s just tweeting thirst traps with saxophones like nothing happened. peak chaos. ten out of ten."

the chat is already going feral.

@egomaniac420: team kaiser 4l 🔥

@isagibabe: isagi was right but also kaiser was hotter

@shidouszn: nah shidou won by not even showing up lmaooo

@broke4bachira: ngl this drama gave me life

@yawnking69: justice 4 rin the bassist 😔

nagi smirks.

“but then... plot twist. they pulled a wild card. this just dropped on saint ego’s account earlier this morning when i was still sleeping."

he pulls up the tweet on screen, enlarging it.

"okay, hold on. that’s actually clean. like… suspiciously clean. this isn’t damage control. this is chess."

he leans back dramatically.

"this tweet has ‘PR intern who’s too hot for this job and too good at it' energy. like… this ain’t from the band. this is from someone with a spreadsheet, a crisis strategy, and serotonin levels i can only dream of."

@k4iserkissedme: not the intern slaying

@nagiinurheart: pr intern is the main character now idc

@egogate_2025: y’all i heard they hired a marketing girl 👀

@kaiserwifeyy: leak the doc i need drama in 4k

@ego_goblin: she’s controlling the narrative and my heart tbh

nagi pauses. finishes the last sip of his drink like it’s a toast.

"so yeah. from 'crashout' to calculated comeback. if this doc hits the way i think it will, we might be watching the messiest band of 2025 rebrand themselves into legends. or at least into a netflix mini-series. either way, i’m watching."

he shrugs.

"back to minecraft. i’m emotionally invested, but i still have zombies to slay."

the main studio room is becoming comfortable, the smell of faintly old vinyl and burnt dust from an overworked amp growing familiar. it’s not glamorous at the moment – a few burnt out studio spotlight lamps that need to be replaced, wires snaking across the floor like tripping hazards, and someone’s half-eaten convenience store onigiri is still sitting on top of a speaker. it’s the kind of space where people either make something honest or fall apart trying.

karasu straddles a chair backwards, arms hanging loose over the backrest like he’s hosting an interrogation he doesn’t really want to be at. hiori stands a few feet away, fiddling with an old camcorder he found in some storage closet. his fingers move carefully, methodically, as if the act of setting things up is sacred.

“you sure you wanna start it like this?” karasu asks, eyeing you from under his lashes. “no glam. no intro. just raw footage and a band that got publicly bodied by a livestream?”

you shrug. you’re sitting on the floor, back to the wall, phone face-down beside you. nagi’s stream is still trending, clips already circulating. you're trying not to look at them.

“if it feels too clean, it won’t land,” you say. “i want people to believe it before they judge it.”

karasu hums, low and skeptical. “messy sells.”

“i’m not trying to sell anything,” you say. “just... show them the whole story. let them decide.”

the camcorder beeps softly. hiori shifts behind it, and the small red light clicks on – recording. he doesn’t announce it. he just lets the tape run.

karasu raises an eyebrow and grins. “alright then. day one. operation: fix the band that broke itself.”

“not fix,” you say, brushing hair out of your face. “just explain. or... try to.”

karasu leans forward, elbows on the backrest. “you’re more optimistic than i thought. should’ve gone into politics.”

“god, no.”

that gets a quiet snort out of hiori. he stays behind the lens, zooming in slightly, catching the way your mouth curves, not quite a smile. you didn’t plan to be on camera, but here it is: the grainy warmth of tape rolling, the echo of your voice bouncing off cheap drywall.

hiori murmurs, mostly to himself, “it already feels like a funeral tape.”

karasu glances sideways at him, then back at you. “nah. more like the before part of a comeback montage.”

the three of you sit in the quiet that follows. it’s not heavy. just full of things unsaid, of things waiting to be said. you glance at the lens.

“you can cut this part out, right?”

hiori doesn’t answer right away. then: “sure.”

but he doesn’t stop recording.

two days later, you’re shoulder to shoulder with hiori in the same room, a blanket thrown over both your laps like a shield against the outside world. the space is cluttered – empty cans on the windowsill, scribbled notes taped to the walls, the faint hum of the AC vent in the ceiling corner. hiori hits play, and the first episode starts rolling without fanfare, just a flicker of digital static and the soft hiss of camcorder audio.

the opening shot is a mess of tangled black cables on the floor, half-buried under dust and forgotten picks. the camera lingers a second longer than expected, like it’s trying to find meaning in the chaos. then it cuts to a half-empty water bottle lying on its side, light refracting through the plastic and painting warped shapes on the concrete. a page of lyrics appears next – creased, smudged, and torn down the middle, taped back together with whatever someone had on hand. none of it is staged. none of it is beautiful. but it feels honest.

you shift in your seat as the screen transitions to a wide shot of a beaten-up guitar case slouched against a wall, stickers peeling off like old skin. the name saint ego is barely visible, almost ashamed to still be clinging on. everything looks slightly too warm, the colors bleeding at the edges from the camera filter of the old camcorder. hiori had told you earlier he wanted it to feel like a found memory, like something pulled from the bottom of a drawer, warped by time and carelessness.

the film grain is subtle but deliberate. little dust motes, faint hairline scratches, moments of flickering light that dance across the footage like ghosts. hiori watches all of it in silence, his face unreadable, hands hovering over the keyboard, but not touching anything. you can feel how much of himself he’s poured into it. not just editing. curating. shaping. breathing life into the fragments of a band most people think already flatlined.

there’s no music yet. just ambient room tone – a distant cough, the buzz of an amp left on, the soft creak of someone shifting out of frame. it’s not dramatic. it’s not trying to be. it just is.

he pauses on a frame without warning – a close-up of someone’s hand adjusting a mic stand, fingers wrapped in silver rings. the moment feels like a secret. a heartbeat caught in high definition. hiori glances at you, eyes dark behind his glasses.

“too slow?” he asks quietly.

you shake your head. “no. it’s perfect.”

he nods, barely. then he presses play again.

more footage filters in, stitched between the quiet static of the intro like memories caught by accident. the next clip finds isagi in the far corner of the studio, curled in on himself like he’s trying to disappear into the floor. his hood’s up as usual, shadows cloaking half his face, and earpods plugged in tight. the camera zooms slowly, carefully, like it doesn’t want to break whatever spell he’s under.

his hand moves across a notebook in quick bursts, sharp and jagged, like the lyrics are coming faster than he can catch them. he doesn’t look up. doesn’t even blink. under the ambient hum, you can barely make out a voice, his voice, mumbling a melody under his breath so raw that it’s almost ghostly: i got goosebumps all over me… when you’re around… it’s hard for me to breathe.

then it cuts to karasu hunched over his laptop, headphones crooked on one ear, eyes focused and sharp. he’s layering beats with that obsessive rhythm only he understands, muttering under his breath like the sounds might escape if he doesn’t trap them fast enough. the camera doesn’t get too close (probably out of fear), but it catches the way his fingers twitch when he’s deep in it, like he’s playing the drums and keyboard at once. the peace doesn’t last.

off-screen, kaiser suddenly appears and tries to hijack the laptop mid-loop. karasu doesn’t even flinch. he just grabs the nearest broom and starts swinging like he’s defending sacred ground as an asiam mom. kaiser yells something unintelligible and sprints out of frame, cackling, the broom narrowly missing his head. the camera shakes with laughter.

the next shot is bachira, sweaty and euphoric behind his drum kit, sticks twirling between his fingers like extensions of his hands. he’s mid-recording, lost in it, hair stuck to his forehead, mouth open in something between a grin and a snarl. the snare cracks like thunder, and just before the take ends, he flips both sticks, catches one, and chucks the other directly at the camera. it clatters off the lens. you hear a muffled gasp, then hiori screaming “bachira–!” before the audio cuts.

shidou’s section is chaos wrapped in silk. he’s surrounded by glowing synths and tangled wires, body bouncing in time with a loop that sounds like a video game dying in slow motion. his eyes are too bright. his grin is too wide. he leans into the mic and says, “what if i added saxophone… for drama.” no one answers. no one stops him. the footage cuts just as he slams a key and a sax note shrieks into the mix like a demon being exorcised.

then there’s rin. his shot is brief, but sharp, like a breath of cold air in the middle of a storm. he’s posted up against a wall near the studio entrance, sipping from a canned monster, watching the rest of the chaos through heavy-lidded eyes. airpods in, hoodie unzipped, the camera barely catches him mouthing along to something he’s listening to. he notices the camera eventually. doesn’t smile. just flips it off with two fingers, totally deadpan, then goes right back to playing on his bass. it’s so fast you’d miss it if you blinked.

and finally, sae. he’s sitting at the edge of the madness with a fresh americano in hand, legs spread, watching everything unfold like it’s a soap opera and he’s been held hostage by choice. his sunglasses are still on, despite being indoors. someone behind the camera asks him something, probably about scheduling or sponsorships or whether the band has legally declared war on itself. sae takes a slow sip, deadpan, then mutters, “if one more of them calls me ‘dad,’ i’m quitting.” the clip ends there. perfectly timed. painfully relatable.

the footage shifts – new lighting, golden and loose, like the camera’s exhaling. it’s their day off. no mics. no deadlines. just slow time in the mansion that barely contains them.

in the kitchen, bachira flips pancakes while humming off-key and dancing in mismatched socks. “this batch is soul food,” he declares, “because i made it with my whole chest.”

kaiser leans over the counter, sneaking chocolate chips from the bowl. “your chest tastes like baking soda,” he mutters. bachira throws a pancake at him.

meanwhile, isagi’s dragging the giant beanbag into the middle of the living room like it’s a mission. “this is now the snack pit,” he announces, dumping chips and a two-liter soda in the center like tribute. “entry fee is a fun fact about yourself.” he climbs in with a dramatic flop and opens a bag of gummies with his teeth.

shidou immediately dives in beside him. “i once ate raw squid on a dare and liked it,” he offers.

isagi holds up a gummy like a mic. “weird, but valid.”

outside, karasu lounges in a cutoff tank by the pool with his laptop, pretending he’s not mixing.

“you’re literally muttering to yourself and dragging loops, bro,” you call from inside. “you’re not slick.”

karasu doesn’t even look up. “this is my relaxation face,” he says flatly.

sae sits under the umbrella with an americano and a crossword, peacefully tuned out until shidou cannonballs into the deep end, splashing half the patio. “you are so lucky this isn’t hot coffee,” sae says without moving, but he’s caught glancing down at his flip flops as if the idea of using them as discipline on a 22-year-old was tempting.

rin’s here too, tragically. the camera finds him on the second-floor landing, crouched behind the railing with a book and a box of seaweed snacks like some kind of feral neighborhood cryptid. he’s wearing his noise-canceling airpods again, a shirt that says “no talk, only peace,” and glaring down at the chaos below like he’s the upstairs landlord. someone off-screen yells, “rin, come vibe!” rin shouts back: “i’d rather eat shit!”

later, they’re crowded around the dining table playing a board game none of them fully understands.

“bachira, i swear to the heavens, if you add another fake card to your hand…” karasu threatens, hand hovering near the edge of the table.

“i’m not cheating!” bachira laughs. “i’m creatively strategizing.”

isagi’s crying from laughter, face red, trying to read the rulebook aloud, but tripping over the text. “you literally have five ‘get out of jail free’ cards,” he wheezes. “it’s monopoly, not god mode.”

sae sighs. “juvenile energy,” he says, but this time there’s a faint smile.

you’re caught in frame from the hallway, holding a mug and shaking your head as you watch them spiral. hiori zooms in just enough to catch your grin and to hold on to the moment.

the whole sequence breathes. it’s messy. it’s loud. it’s warm. the kind of footage that feels like home, like friendship that’s survived too many late-night arguments and still circles back to board games and beanbags and pancakes on off-days. the band isn’t saint ego here, they’re just the boys.

but then a fight starts over something stupid. it always does.

someone left the studio fridge open again. kaiser’s protein shake leaked everywhere. isagi’s the first person he sees when he walks in, towel slung around his neck, earpods in, humming the same hook he’s been looping all week. kaiser’s jaw clenches.

“you seriously can’t close a fridge?”

isagi pulls one earbud out. “you think i touched your weird milk sludge?”

“it’s called a shake. you’d know if you actually worked out instead of pacing around like a starving poet.”

isagi stands. “you wanna talk about working out? your ego lifts more than you do.”

the air shifts. rin, lying on the floor with a guitar in his lap, doesn’t even blink. he just exhales through his nose and flips a page in his notebook.

kaiser steps closer. “say that again.”

“what, ‘ego’? or ‘starving poet’? maybe ‘deadweight in eyeliner’?” isagi says, mocking now, but the hurt’s under his tone.

kaiser’s smirk disappears. “you’re still pissed about the livestream? seriously? grow up. people saw the truth. not my fault you cracked.”

“you threw me under the bus in front of the entire fandom,” isagi says, voice low now. “and then acted like it was my mess to fix.”

you walk in mid-sentence, sensing the tension like static in the air. kaiser’s jaw is tight, isagi’s fists are clenched, and the air is seconds from breaking.

“hey,” you say firmly, stepping between them, one hand out. “whatever this is? it’s not worth it. not here.”

kaiser backs off first, scoffing, turning his shoulder. “whatever.”

isagi lingers for half a second longer before dragging in a breath and walking out of the room.

later, the camcorder catches kaiser in the upstairs bathroom, door cracked just slightly. he’s pacing, wired from the argument. he looks in the mirror like he’s trying to see something different in his own reflection. fingers run through his hair, then tug.

then the punch lands – loud, fast, sharp. the marble sink rattles.

“he always acts like he’s better than me…” he mutters, voice cracking more than he means it to. he doesn’t know hiori’s still rolling behind the camcorder, tucked out of view in the hallway.

across the house, isagi slams his bedroom door. the camera cuts to him seated at the mic, trying to record vocal takes. again. again. and again. his voice is strained now, not raw in a good way, but like he’s using the hook to scream something he can’t say.

he stops mid-chorus. throws the headphones across the room. they bounce off the wall. his footsteps are heavy as he storms out. you find him outside, under the deck light, hands on his hips like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“i shouldn’t have to apologize to him,” he says before you even speak.

“maybe,” you say gently, “but you always try to control everything. maybe kaiser’s not the only one with an ego problem.”

he huffs a bitter laugh, looking off toward the trees.

“this isn’t about blame,” you add, softer now. “this is about the fact that this band doesn’t work without both of you. and if you let your pride get in the way, if you keep picking at each other like this, you’re gonna destroy something that actually matters.”

isagi doesn’t answer right away. the wind moves through the branches above you, rustling just enough to fill the silence.

“i just… i don’t know how to not fight with him,” he admits finally, voice quieter now. “we’re wired like this.”

“then rewire it,” you say. “before there’s nothing left to fix.”

he nods once, jaw tight, and you can tell he’s turning it over in his head. maybe not ready to act on it yet. but listening.

the camera lingers on him, half-lit by the porch light. not angry anymore. just tired.

and under all that, still trying.

the studio lights are dimmed to a warm hush, just the glow of the laptop screen casting soft shadows across your face as you finish previewing the first episode. your finger hovers above the “publish” button like it might bite. hiori’s next to you, slouched in the rolling chair, silently peeling the label off his water bottle.

“you okay?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

you nod, but it’s the kind of nod that feels more like bracing for impact. your stomach’s doing that thing again, tight and traitorous.

“it’s raw,” you murmur. “too raw, maybe.”

“that’s why it’s good,” hiori says, eyes still on the screen. “you made something real.”

you inhale, hold it, exhale. then you click publish.

it’s out. episode one is live. no turning back.

hiori leans back in his chair and grins, slow and sleepy. “guess we’re public now.”

the hallway’s quiet later that night, everyone tucked into corners of the studio or passed out for the night. you find kaiser on the rooftop, arms draped over the railing, cigarette burning down slow between two fingers. he doesn’t look back when you step out, but you know he hears you.

“you know those’ll kill you,” you say gently.

“yeah,” he mutters. “i’m not an addict, but add it to the list.”

the air is cooler out here, the kind that wraps around your skin and makes silence feel deeper. you lean next to him, not too close. not yet.

“the episode’s out,” you say after a beat.

he flicks ash into the night. “i saw.”

“... you okay?”

he gives you a crooked smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “define 'okay.'”

you don’t push. instead, you just let it hang there, between you and the dark. after a while, he speaks again. softer this time.

“i hate that he gets to me,” he admits. “isagi. he… digs under my skin and lives there.”

“because you care what he thinks,” you say, watching him. “and that scares you.”

kaiser turns to you at that. not defensive. not angry. just looking. really looking.

“you always do that,” he says. “show up when i don’t ask.”

you raise a brow. “i can stop.”

“no,” he says, too fast. then quieter, “don’t.”

there’s a beat of silence, stretched thin. he watches you, eyes sharper now, like he’s working something out in his head. then he pushes off the railing and circles slowly to your side, not close enough to touch, but closer than before.

“you know,” he says, voice low, “you have this habit of showing up exactly when i’m about to spiral. like clockwork.”

you give a small smile. “maybe you’re just predictable.”

he huffs a laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. his gaze drops to your mouth for half a second too long. his jaw tenses.

“if i did something reckless right now,” he murmurs, “would you stop me?”

your lips part, but before you can speak, the rooftop door creaks open behind you. someone else steps out.

kaiser’s jaw tightens. his eyes flick over your shoulder.

“of course,” he mutters. “perfect timing.”

masterlist | ch. 02 | ch. 04

taglist (closed): @nensi @ro4love @avaxoxo13 @levisgoonerr @jnkosstuff @simpingmyassoff @sunsettsguitar @trinkets-of-time @cinneorolls @silverwings920 @mymeloreo @satorella @gkattdoesstuff @lovingmayday @pixelpancakes @vverie @nicfics @nevvynev @astro-3000 @mihyas-dieehefrau @i-eve-i @ohagiyoo @aadahyax @yumerinns @rie-cecooker @neeeooon @laylaandsstuff @irethepotato @byzantiumhollow @luvsymai @blu3-l0v3r @kiritokunuwu @anaxugoras @yxnnu @academiq @jaeyuuns @x3nafix @sukunaspillow @sasukevrz @anyaslittlepeanut @yunsspace @gurehai @chiieni @6riix @miiyabi @2ukika @ventivente @heartsforfeitan @kai-wavesii-blog @iqxatlantic

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circeyoru · 9 months ago

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Shadow and Void = Requested

The Request

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Enemy Monarch!Reader]

Arc 1: Part 1 (here) ― Part 2 ― Part 3 Arc 2: Part 4 ― Part 5 Arc 3: Part 6 ― Part 7 Arc 4: Part 8 ― Part 9 ― Part 10 ― Part 11

WARNING: This story is going to be heavy spoilers to people who haven't read the manhwa or novel but want to enjoy the anime for Solo Leveling. I suggest NOT reading if you don't want spoils. Plus you might not get the references if you have no knowledge of the manhwa/novel.

You, as the Monarch of Void and King of Mist, could be said to be the weakest or among the strongest. Weakest because you lacked the army like other Monarchs and the motivation to be more active in all things cruel. Among the strongest because your powers could single-handedly devour all the other Monarchs and their armies. For you essentially control space and could be dubbed a celestial being.

Unlike the other Monarchs, you never joined in on the war directly, you merely managed some gates here and there and moved armies to level the playing field. All that to ensure you weren’t a target and wouldn’t be endangered. If you did at least something, the other Monarchs wouldn’t target you or name you a traitor and the Rulers will see you as too weak to bother. Because you were a Monarch unique from the others, you had a particular relationship with the strongest Monarch, Ashborn.

To him, you were like a little sibling, in human terms. He looked after you and like having you around for nothing in return. In exchange for his indirect protection, you would help him with his army and lend your power to him. As best to describe your powers and abilities was that it was a supporter base, it was better for you to use on others than yourself. That was how you get by. The strongest Monarch would have a grip on you, in exchange for their protection you’d strengthen them. Once you were by Antares’ side, now you were on Ashborn’s because he never forced anything.

“I’m going to have a successor.” Ashborn told you one day. “Can you watch over them for me?”

“I’m a Monarch, Ashborn. I won’t help humans and only aim for my own survival.” You dully told them. It was true, even after the kindness and care Ashborn showed you, it wasn’t enough for you to change your ways for who knows how long.

“I have a feeling you’ll change your tune later on.” Ashborn spoke with certainty.

You raised a vessel of your own, unlike the other Monarchs however, you preferred staying on Earth and away from the Monarchs. Humans were weak beings even with awakened powers. Their strongest —National Level— Hunters weren’t enough to take down a Monarch’s army, well, not that they were enough to put you down.

Over years, you’ve enjoyed the spoils of human society, moving from place to place and understanding their play. It was tragic to see them burn once your other Monarchs arrive to wreck havoc and the war between the Rulers and Monarch will commence again, but you weren’t going to try to put a stop to the war just because of some human inventions. It’s not like you can’t make it all again after the war. You knew the method so…

“Ow!” You accidentally bumped into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The old looking man gave you his hand.

You subconsciously took his hand and got to your feet, dusting yourself off once you were stable. When you looked over at him, your eyebrows furrowed. A light fragment. “You’re going to die a painful death.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” You turned and walked into another direction. What would be the chances of meeting a sleeping light fragment? None. Because you’ve been very distanced from the Monarchs and Rulers, you figured they might have forgotten about you entirely. You lacked a presence to begin with anyways.

Above all, you hated how you played a part in the betrayal of Ashborn. Both Rakan and Baran were idiots in your eyes, how could they just do that to Ashborn when he was against the Rulers like them? If you weren’t a passivist, you would have knocked them over. You looked in the distance before disappearing through a gate of your own creation, a misty surface, you wondered where or when Ashborn’s vessel would appear so you could stay by his side once more.

“Bring me to that light fragment inside that human.” Sillad, The Monarch of Frost and King of Snow Folk, demanded while you were enjoying a bowl of noodles in your apartment.

You glared up at him, “Why? Did you get Antares’ permission to do it?”

“Since when does a Monarch need such a thing?” Sillad scoffed. “Are you still waiting for Ashborn to return? So pathetic. Antares’ waiting for you, you know?” He sighed and spoke his mind, “I’m doing everyone a favour by eliminating the light fragments before they become a hindrance. So?”

It was your turn to sigh, “Give me a location or description of the person…”

Sillad grinned. “Hunters Association, the Chairman’s office.”

You landed at the top of the Hunters Association building while you placed the entire office in a separate location where no one could bother the two. So long as they don’t focus on the barrier that bounds the space, it will be unbreakable and maintained. The city is peaceful, but with Sillad’s appearance, you knew your days of leisure was done for.

It wasn’t long until your barrier actually broke and something crawled out of the broken glass wall. Your eyes recognized it as a giant ant in black colour with misty purple smoke patterns, it reminded you much of Ashborn and his army. Perhaps his vessel was finally complete and he’s back?

Your thoughts halted as your eyes caught Sillad racing out to destroy the ant. You hummed and opted not to aid him and see the condition of the Chairman. You found him on the ground in a pool of blood, your indifferent tone rang in the room, “I told you you’d die an agonizing death.”

“Monarch… of… Void…” Gunhee choked out, you moved your feet away to avoid his blood. “You’re time for neutrality… ends now… You must pick… a side…”

“I don’t want to pick a side,” You crushed down, looking into his eyes, “It’s not my style.”

“Don’t be his enemy…” He advised. “If you do… Your fate… will be… death…”

Your eyebrows furrowed, so long as you hold the title of Monarch, you’ll be Ashborn’s enemy, right? By now, he knew you’re the one that gave those two idiotic Monarch the power boost needed to betray Ashborn. So there was no way you could escape your so-called fate with death. You got up with a chuckle, “I welcome Death with open arms. As long as he’s back, I’m grateful.”

Your snapped to your senses when you sensed an attack aimed in your direction. You panicked, how could Sillad do something like this?! There was no way he didn’t know you weren’t in the area, in fact, he’d expect you to check up on the Chairman after he left. What was his deal?!

Before you raised any defenses to protect yourself (and the Chairman indirectly), he got up and shielded you. You grasped and caught a glimpse of Ashborn’s vessel appearing out of thin air to deflect the blow. While Ashborn’s vessel was enraged for some reason and aimed another attack at Sillad, the Chairman’s form relaxed and leaned back into you, you hastily gripped a hold of him by the shoulders. By now, blood had soaked your pants and dirtied your form. You let him lay his head on your lap as you kneeled Japanese style on the ground.

“Let me try to heal you.” You raised your hand to his wound. If Ashborn came to protect this human or fragment, you’ll try as well. But try as you might, as a Monarch, you couldn’t heal a fragment of brillant light.

“Beru!!” Ashborn’s vessel shouted and a giant ant, this time with a humanoid figure, appeared within seconds across from him.

“You called, My King?”

“Save him, at all costs!” The vessel ordered.

Seeing some hope, you tried as well. The Chairman’s eyes peeked open weakly, at the healing received. But the giant ant called Beru spoke, “My King, my healing spell… Isn’t working.”

“Monarch of Void… You can stop too…”

You flinched at his words.

While Jinwoo was troubled by the presence of another Monarch after the last one, he took priority in the Chairman’s survival. He took out of the <Holy Water of Life> thinking it might work. Yet, the Chairman grabbed Jinwoo’s hand and the potion, “Don’t…”

Your brain seemed to have disconnected from the situation while the Chairman was talking to Ashborn’s vessel. As much as you wanted to congratulate Ashborn’s return, you know how to read the room. Maybe he has grown attached to someone during his time on Earth. Odd that you didn’t, well, you did but it never lasted long due to the trials of a human life.

You didn’t even register the Chairman advising Jinwoo to take you with him by his side. A heartbreaking moment that you couldn’t connect with emotionally, yet for some reason, water came out from the corners of your eyes. You blinked. Was this sadness? Guilt? Why were you feeling such emotions or why was your body reacting in such a way? Was it because Ashborn’s vessel was feeling the same and you’re mimicking?

Why?

Why??

WHY???

“Ahhh!!!” Daggers pierced into your shoulder and knee joints, pinning you to the wall like a doll. Your head dropped down in pain and exhaustion. “Ashborn… You’re really mad at me… Aren’t you… I deserve this…”

The vessel raised a brow, “Why are you calling me that? I’m not Ashborn.”

You looked up at the vessel with dull and almost lifeless eyes, “You’re right, you’re not him, but his vessel. Your days are numbered…”

“Why do you say that?”

“Ashborn will take over your body once its ready for him. He’ll make his return. So for now, I’ll stay by your side until he is back.” You spoke monotonously. “You can torture me or ask my anything, it’s not like it matters if you’re disappearing soon.”

Note: This request is a bit on the complicated side and I honestly have no idea how to do though~ Haha. This is a bit of a test to see if you guys like this one and if not, it won't continue. Do let me know your thoughts!

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #Solo Leveling #Only I Can Level Up #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo #yandere sung Jin woo #yandere sung jinwoo #yandere jinwoo #Yandere sung jinwoo x reader #yandere sung jin woo x reader #Shadow and Void

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fortheb0ys · 1 year ago

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FUCK ME LIKE THE MEN BETWEEN THOSE PAGES

Bottom John Price x Top Male Reader

Just Price brain rot🤤 I've always wanted to a model for MLM porn sites ngl so I'm living through this fic🙏 As usual not proofread :)

FEM ALIGNED + MINORS DNI

Prices would be one of those faceless models for those erotic gay romance novels. All his work would be faceless. Just something he did to make money on the side.

It was a secret that was long forgotten. Memories replaced by his military service. His body more scarred than his younger self's. His own books but they were just collecting dust in a box.

When you got together, you had found one of the books Price had forgotten that was on a shelf. Your eyes grew wide as you noiced it was Price's shirtless body on the front cover. A small mole on his left hip was telltale that it was him.

Flipping the book over and reading the synopsis reveals the dirty content of it. All the colour washes from Price's face as he sees what you have in your hand.

Price was about to open his mouth to quickly deny it but saw your giddy excitement. Though Price felt a bit shameful, he told you that there was more. A lot more.

With much hesitation from him and a whole lot more convincing from you, Price lent you the books. His amazing body on every single one of them. A new scar here and there as the

He had been surprised that you never poked fun at him and that you were genuinely interested in his past works.

You'd admit that the sex scenes depicted were the main thing that got you interested. You'd imagine Price vividly as the characters he model on the front covers. It didn't take long for you to read through the lot of them.

When Price would be on deployment, he'd get a text from you.

Cum on the front cover or on the pages. Or others with your erect cock slotted like a bookmark between the pages with the dirtiest scenes, precum dripping onto the sheets.

You'd send worded texts underneath the photo like "Try these with me?" or "What if were we the ones to do this?"

Price hated himself for showing you the books right before the mission, making the wait painfully long.

Sexualy frustrated and slightly pissed he had to wait for his deployment to end, Price would have a lonely wank in his barracks. His fingers didn't feel right. His fantasies never felt like details in the books. Nothing felt like you.

Once he got back, Price had to fight back a boner as the anticipation took over him. He went through countless cigars trying to get his mind on something else. The 141 Boys knew something was up. Soap had to control the intrusive thoughts to ask if you were waiting naked when Price returned home.

Which he wasn't wrong. The moment Price came through that door he was already painfully hard. Before he could even open his mouth to greet you, you were on him like a fly to honey, attacking his neck with bruising kisses. Whispering the dirty dialog from one of the books made Price weak in the knees.

Thus was the beginning of your roleplay sex.

Your playtime is always different. Numerous scenarios with one thing in common: Mind blowing sex.

Price would play a royal guard, and you, the prince. A prince in a loveless engagement to a princess. A guard pleading loyalty as he rides the prince on the royal throne.

A grade slipping college student fucking his teacher in an empty classroom for extra credit. Blowjows underneath desks replaces the outdated method of study and paying attention to lectures.

A hunter who falls in love with a werewolf he's supposed to kill. The wolf is just a dumb puppy who needs to be told what to do. With a collar around his neck, ready to be tugged at and the willingness to please his master, puppy soon becomes skilled at lapping at master's hole.

A rowdy rockstar and his stressed out manager. The musician needing to burn off the adrenaline after the show and the poor management needing the stress fucked out of him. The real show was played backstage. The manager put on quite the proformance, his deep moans sounded much better than your singing.

A sex therapist that prefers to take on a more hands-on approach. That skilled tongue was used more than just giving advice.

Or lastly, a priest beguiled by a gorgeous sinner. Guilt was all he felt but it felt like true heaven. God would forgive any sin if he showed true repentance, right? Wouldn't Jesus have died for nothing if we didn't sin?

Sure, some where terrible written and some were written by women with a fetish for gay men. Seeing you act out the scenes without missing a beat or breaking out into laughter while you quoted the dirtiest and most ridiculous things.

You'd remember every dirty word uttered. Every scenario memorized. Price was starting to understand what those white women on TikTok saw in those fucking books. It was just too bad they couldn't live it out like he could.

#call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #x reader #x male reader #john price x reader #john price x male reader #sub character #dom male reader #dom reader #cod x male reader #cod x reader #call of duty mw2 #call of duty mw3 #☆*charlie writes

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opstechsanjana · 9 months ago

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Dust Suppression | Control Systems Manufacturer & Suppliers in Africa

#dust suppression system in Africa #dust suppression system manufacturer in Africa #dust suppression system suppliers in Africa #dust control system in Africa #Dry Fog Dust Suppression System #Dry Fog Dust Suppression System Manufacturer #dry fog dust suppression system design #Dry Fog Dust Suppression System in controlling dust #dust control methods #https://mistcoolingsystemsafrica.com/portfolio/dry-fog-dust-suppression-systems

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naqglobal · 1 year ago

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How do you Select the Right Dust Control for your Fertilizer Facility?

Managing dust isn't just about keeping things clean in the complicated and important world of fertilizer production; it's also about keeping things running smoothly, ensuring workers are safe, and following the environmental rules.

#fertilizer dust control #fertilizer quality improvement solutions #dust control system #organic fertilizer coating #dust control methods

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rathod-24 · 1 month ago

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Leading manufacturer & supplier of Dust Suppression Systems in Haryana. Effective Dry Fog & Mist Canon solutions for mines & industries.

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lady-lauren · 8 months ago

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❥ DRACULE MIHAWK X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2.5k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: knife play (and sword play), sword slicing clothes, sword against pussy, sword/knife against throat, sword to your mouth, (listen his massive sword is everywhere), some fear-play, semi-public sex, former student/master relationship, degradation, praise, some aftercare, creampie

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

Time slows as your eyes catch the glint of a black blade. You see yourself in the mirror-finish; frightened, pressed with no escape.

“I’m growing…tired of this little chase.”

Cool metal kisses your chest, the heaviness of his sword lingering just above the panicked swell of your breasts. Mihawk gazes down, head tilting as he analyzes the predicament—you, back down in the filthy alley, heartbeat a sonorous tune up the spine of his blade.

“Sounds like someone is losing his edge.”

“I don’t have time for your brattiness. You’ve got quite the bounty on your head.”

He moves the massive saber lower, the trailing point curved, sharp.

Threads begin to pop before the blade fully begins to slice through your shirt. Carbon steel stings cold against the heat of your tits.

“I thought your precious world government would give me a pass, given that I’m,” you can’t help but suck in a quick breath as he presses down with his sword, slow, methodical, enough to hurt and not break skin, “y-your student.”

“Former student. Who is very clearly out of practice.”

“Took you two weeks to catch me.”

“Because I’m patient, sweetheart.”

Though his patience seems to be running thin. You’ve never been on the receiving end of Yoru, the great sword only ever used when your master deemed it necessary. The weapon can cleave apart a war galleon, swing a shockwave to crumble glaciers.

Yet now the midnight blade is gentle, precise, peeling away cloth until your breasts spill into the night air.

“Wh–what are you—?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he presses the tip of his sword to your throat, tilting your chin with the point, “you can benefit from a quick lesson.”

Your swallow rolls against the blade.

You’d be a liar if you said you’d never dreamt of this, of being at his mercy. Mihawk never crossed boundaries, not while you were his to teach. Only times change, tides shift, and now he’s taking what he wants.

He doesn’t have to tell you to be still.

“Pretty.” He twists the wide sword flat, barely catching the hard peak of your nipple with the edge before smoothing over your skin with the blade. Your teeth grit as you shiver, trying to keep your breathing even. Mihawk repeats the motion, teasing your nipple until it hurts from the icy steel. “Sensitive, too.”

Nails scraping in the dirt, your eyes flash to the mouth of the alley, shadows passing in the street lights.

Mihawk traces the deadly metal along the curve of your breast, so torturously pressing into the fat like he’s testing the elasticity. The blade pinches against your skin, not enough to draw blood, just enough to remind you of his meticulous control.

Adrenaline lights up every nerve in your body as the weapon drags down, a stinging line drawn to your stomach. One wrong move and he could slice you open. Just a single squirm and the heavy sword would pierce skin, impale your insides on the most powerful sword on the four seas.

“Mi-Mihawk, please.” The tremble in your voice is a white flag waving.

“What are you begging for?” There’s a twitch at the corner of his sharp mustache, a smile, self-satisfied and impish. He presses the blade into the softness of your belly, prodding you, teasing.

“Don’t hurt me, please, I-I’ll—”

“Do anything?” he cuts in, the smile shimmering up to his eyes, concentric rings focusing on how your thighs press together. Hot, needy, all the fight in you draining to one vulnerable point.

“I won’t hurt you,” the promise comes with a shift of his sword, roaming lower, “just want to play with my catch.”

You try to concentrate on anything other than the weight of danger. A low breeze kicks against the crimson of his cape, mud and dust caking the hem. Yellow haze of distant street lamps reflects off his chest, sweat beading in the grooves of muscle—from the chase or his focus, you can’t tell. He looks a bit older than you remember, all the more wiser on how to play.

“Why?”

“Because I can,” he knocks his boot against your ankle, kicking your legs apart, “because I want to.”

Your tongue feels thick in your mouth. The world has shrunk to just you, the sword toying at the juncture of your thighs, and its wielder—nothing else matters. Not the voices in the distance, the hard dirt against your back, the thoughts you had prior to falling prey.

It’s a surreal feeling of being caught between moments, between life and the fucked up desire to feel more of the crucifix sword against you.

“Always guessed you were hiding a pretty cunt. Let’s see if I’m right.”

The blade sinks between your open legs, knife’s-edge dragging along the seam of your pants. Unhurried, simmering like heat slicing through butter.

Fear kicks in your chest, rings in your ears. He’s so close to the most sensitive part of you, the sword you always admired cutting through your panties. Cold steel like ice against your weeping flesh—you feel strings of your slick glide against the blade as he exposes you.

You whimper as your bare cunt is spread delicately, the tip of the steel peeling apart your labia.

“Messy already.”

The precision he wields paralyzes you, the razor edge of the blade brushing against your swollen clit. Pleasure sings down your veins like the pinging of metal, chills erupting over your skin. You squeeze your eyes shut and will your body to stay still, for your hips not to buck.

Mihawk teases your clit again, and again, swirling the sharp sword over the sensitive bundle of nerves. You choke back a sob, muscles in your thighs twitching as you try to stay calm as he riles you.

“Now what if I…?” he asks himself, the deep baritone of his voice laced with curiosity.

You gasp as the black blade dips lower, curved point teasing your clenching hole. On instinct your legs try to close, stopped only by his quick reaction. His boot kicks at your knee, hissing like you’re ruining his concentration.

“Easy, sweetheart. I don’t want to make this pretty pussy bleed.”

Patient as ever, he gives you a few moments to collect yourself, lungs taking in too much air.

Then the sharpness of his sword pressed back into the squish of your cunt, tip barely easing open your hole like he’s testing, analyzing. A too curious predator prodding his meal.

“Fuck, please…” you bite from between your teeth, clumping dirt in your palms as you fight not to move, fight the fear bubbling inside your belly.

“Do you know what you’re begging for yet?”

“Touch me. Please. I-I need something inside me.”

Mihawk circles your opening, spreading wet muscle, “Tempting words.”

“You know what I mean.”

The blade skims up from your hole, passing through your folds, flicking over your clit with a metallic ping.

“Clean your mess first,” the giant blade gleams as he so easily moves it over your panting body, bringing the tip to hover just above your lips, “then I’ll consider fucking you.”

Your eyes meet his, the shape of the sword going fuzzy in your vision as you evaluate him. Golden eyes are glazed over with lustful focus, watching, waiting.

You don’t break your gaze as your tongue falls from your mouth, licking the underside of the blade. Tangy slick, viscous and gooey, meets your tastebuds. You’d be ashamed of your mess if it weren’t for the way his cock bulges in his pants, thick length throbbing down his thigh.

In all your years of training, he never once let you touch Yoru. And now he’s flipping the edge over your tongue, washing the jet-black color in your spit.

“Does this please you, Master?” you drop the name like acid against the blade.

“I could cut out your tongue.” He proves his point by digging the great sword into your wet flesh, just enough to hurt. He wouldn’t. But oh how he could. “If I didn’t have better uses for it in mind.”

Careful patience snaps. In a blur, the blade is gone, replaced by strong hands maneuvering how he pleases. A jerk and you’re off the ground, a push and your exposed tits are scraping a brick wall.

Mihawk fingers the hole he sliced between your thighs, pant seams ripping farther apart as he spreads your thighs wide.

His cockhead pops into your cunt, length sliding in deep as he groans against your back.

“So wet from my sword.”

Spearing into the most intimate parts of you, Mihawk sets a grueling pace, heady slaps of skin on skin and his thick cock dragging along your walls. He’s working towards a goal, purposeful, kissing the back of your neck as he seeks release.

Your hands slide down the granulated wall, gritty brick digging into soft skin. Your nipples are puffy against the same treatment, tender breasts singing with pain.

“Should’ve,” he inhales with a deep groan, distracted by the suck of your cunt, “known you were such a slut, should’ve made you beg for me sooner.”

You moan his name repeatedly, begging him not to stop, all hot whispers into night air. One hand dips around your body, deft fingers smearing over your clit. Orgasm quickly begins to bloom over your senses, making your toes curl and your back arch against him.

You stare at the ground as Mihawk continues to pump inside you, helplessly whining as he chases his high. You’re fine tuned to every thrust, the way he angles, enough to notice the little inconsistencies. A more shallow plunge, a longer pull of your walls along his shaft before his balls meet your ass.

A hand latches to your throat, lifts your head and forces you back against him. He sucks at your neck, teeth nipping harder than his blade ever touched your skin. His cock swells at the new angle, pressing apart your gummy walls. Over and over he thrusts up into you, slick squelching from the intrusion, dripping down his balls.

Mihawk fucks you through the gap he cut into your pants, seams now tearing down your thighs.

“This how you want me to turn you in? Fucked open and dripping like a whore?”

Before you can register the movements, Mihawk unsheathes the knife that hangs from his neck, pressing it to the column of your throat.

The soft scratch of his beard meets your cheek as the cold metal of the knife skates up your sweating skin.

“Perhaps I can make you even more messy, hm? Since you get off on this shit.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your neck as you try to tilt away from the blade. Yet some part of you wants to press closer, feel the sharp edge dig into your vulnerable throat. Mihawk’s thumb pets the steel, purposefully keeping it steady as he grinds into your cunt.

“Fuck, fuck!” you choke down a whine.

“Worried? I could slice you open now— your bounty is dead or alive.”

The realization of the true danger makes you weak, hands slipping down the wall. He could. He might. It would make it so much easier. Fuck you, gut you, take the prize.

“P-please, don’t. Please. I’ll go with you, you can do whatever you want.”

Mihawk hums in a twisted pleasure, the sound snaking down your spine. The knife blade twists against your skin, tugging you closer to him.

“Let me feel this slutty cunt cum, then I’ll decide.”

A war breaks open in your mind, a battle between fear and ecstasy, swirling together into a messy battlefield that leaves you in a state of limbo. Neither side can win, not when you want both so badly. The fear makes you sweat, the bliss makes your pussy cream around the fat cock that keeps invading your insides.

You’re overwhelmed, panting and whimpering as your former master uses his power and strength to control you in ways you never thought possible.

The curved, sharp edge of the knife slides down your throat, resting at the base as Mihawk drives his hips harder, jostling you closer and closer to danger.

And the danger is the spark in your belly, igniting the churning coil of shameful bliss that makes you want to sob. The fingers on your clit pick up pace, rubbing fast and mean until you feel too hot.

“Oh god, please, please, I wanna cum, wanna cum so bad for you,” you grit your teeth as you focus on the blinding pleasure, chasing it up the cliff’s edge.

“Do it,” Mihawk groans as he licks up your cheek, arching the blade at the base of your throat, “cum for me, sweetheart.”

He holds the knife tightly to your neck as you come undone, the metal warm from your body. Your moan vibrates against the steel, sharp edge scraping until it hurts. The pain bleeds into pleasure, a wicked mixture that makes your adrenaline filled nerves explode with your orgasm. You feel like you’ve been smashed into by a tidal wave, a rush of emotions and bliss toiling over another in the current.

You babble against the blade, nonsense and pleas. Mihawk follows your flow, pausing his thrusts as your cunt sucks around him. His fingers against your clit go soft, gentle swirls as you wind down from your high.

“Shhh, I’ve got you, yeah,” he hums with delight as his cock begins to pulse and spurt, pearly strings dripping from where he’s plugged inside your pussy. The mess sprays into your ruined clothes, drools down your thighs.

Mihawk drags the knife over your throat, languid, smearing against the wetness of sweat. He traces the column of your neck, letting you feel the flat of the blade stinging over your skin.

“You did good, sweetheart, so good.”

After the knife is sheathed around his neck, he leans forward to trail kisses over your throat, tongue laving over the sore skin rubbed raw from the edge of his blade.

Your heart is racing, pussy still tight with fear as he pulls his shaft from your swollen walls.

Mihawk pulls you from the bricks and into his arms, petting your hair as your face tucks into his chest.

“You feeling alright?” A kiss to your forehead makes you coo, nails digging into him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you clear your throat, “I’m okay. Guess I’m going with you now.”

A rare laugh rumbles in his chest. Smooth and soft, like a cat purring to soothe.

“Yes, you are. But we’re going home. You clearly need more training, after all.”

You still feel a little numb, arousal and adrenaline still buzzing down your veins. Mihawk brushes his thumbs over your cheeks, down your back, then steps away to pull his coat from his shoulders to wrap around yours.

“And now I have much more…creative ideas for teaching you how to wield a sword.”

#kinktober #mihawk x reader #mihawk smut #op x reader #tw.knifeplay #tw.fearplay #dracule mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk smut #one piece x reader #one piece smut #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #one piece mihawk #dripping banner by @/adornedwithlight

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hitomisuzuya · 9 months ago

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Foul Legacy (Tartaglia) x fem!reader. Smut. Misuse of Hydro Vision/Hydro tentacles. Size kink. Breeding kink. Creampie. Two brief mentions of anal play.

I know this is different then what I normally write, but I wanted to get this out of my system. If Childe can make whole ass weapons from Hydro, then he can manifest tentacles 😤

It took you months, many months to convince Tartaglia to fuck you in his Foul Legacy form. He was pretty firm on the answer being no. When you asked him why, he said he might accidentally lose control, and break you in half. His size was also a factor.

Too bad for Tartaglia that his reasons send a jolt of curious arousal through you.

You even went as far as saying, "Just treat it like you would combat."

Tartaglia has a tried and true method that always works when you brought it this up. One that he thought worked well enough until now: fuck you until you were senseless and drooling, even babbling about how you wanted him to fuck a baby inside of you.

However, you started pouting your lower lip out when you asked in a way that made him weak. He finally relented, coming up a method that would help you prove you could take his size.

Never for one second did you think it would be anything like this.

A Hydro tentacle was secured around your wrists, dangling you in front of Tartaglia, now transformed into Foul Legacy. Two tentacles circled and teased around your nipples, with one more pumping in and out of your sopping pussy.

He has a unique form of sensation from the tentacles, all of it transferring straight to his cock. He could your walls clenching around the tentacle like his cock was inside you. You were defenseless dangling in front of Foul Legacy, forced to look at his thick, leaking cock getting harder the more he abused your hole as shameless moans spilled from your throat.

An embarrassed blush dusted your cheeks. "Aww, what's the look for? You weren't all shy proudly boasting you could take my cock like this," Tartaglia cooed, cocking another tentacle up to agonizingly circle your swollen clit before curling around to circle your other hole teasingly.

You jolted in the tentacles grasp, your moans becoming tinged with whimpers. He laughed at the your reaction. "I don't know why I didn't do this sooner," He is absolutely trembling. Not from exertion, but from euphoria.

The same euphoria he got when he felt blood lust in the heat of battle. You are his prey, and his prize for catching you would doing whatever he pleased. Groaning, he rutted into the hand stroking his cock as he watched you struggle to grind and squirm on the tentacle.

You opened your mouth in an attempt to form words, but what came out were moans that sounded twice as shameless trying to convey you were going to cum. Tartaglia somehow understood what you trying to say.

"Going to cum from a little foreplay?" He teased, prodding the tip of the tentacle around your other hole for a moment just to see you shake more. "How cute. You sure aren't disappointing me," The pace of the tentacle increased, and you could feel his predatory gaze cutting right to the bone behind his mask.

He was assaulting sensitive places on your body all at once, your body quaking from the slippery stimulation of the tentacles on your nipples sending extra jolts of pleasure to your clit. "You are practically drooling," A tentacle came up to poke at your lips.

Your tongue lewdly swept out to curl around the tentacle, your moans turning muffled as he pushed into your mouth. He could feel the greedy sucking of your mouth on the tentacle on his pulsing cock.

Tartaglia was enjoying the utter sadism of it all. Your pussy was stretching apart so well around the tentacle, your shaking little body struggling to keep up with the onslaught of pleasure snowballing all your senses. The tentacle was only about half the size of his massive cock.

You let out a muffled moan of protest as he took the tentacles off of your nipples, and out of your pussy and mouth. Leaving the tentacle wrapped around your wrists, he brought you to dangle over his cock. Your pussy in anticipation as you looked down at it.

His cock was bigger than you originally anticipated, and you more than felt that as he grinded his cockhead against your pussy. "We will see how long you last," He sounded utterly gleeful as his hands found your hips.

Your shivered as his talons pressed against your flesh as he lowered you onto his cock. Your body tensed in pain, your back arching as you felt every pulse and drag of his cock stretching you apart. It shocked you into momentary silence.

You felt a tentacle slither across your clit, immediately drawing moans from you again. He struggled to be as gentle as he could. At first. Your pussy just felt too good tightening and struggling to accommodate him. "So..so..big," You finally managed to moan your only coherent words since this all started.

Tartaglia growled in approval. Holding you in place, he bottomed out with a short, fluid stroke of his hips. Blood beaded underneath his claws as he brought down further on his cock, a near scream of pleasure tearing from you the pain suddenly shattered into euphoria.

When you didn't think you could stretch apart any more, you swiftly proven wrong as his cock bullied relentlessly into your sweet spot. You were fast falling apart as he practically rearranged your guts he was that deep.

Tartaglia guided you up and down on his cock, the Hydro tentacles curling up around your nipples again. You mewled in pleasure, your walls squeezing around his cock. He left the tentacle secured around your wrists so he could have both his hands fucking you onto his cock, he knew he was too big for you to ride it without his help.

"That's right, keep moaning just like while I fuck you full," Tartaglia groaned, hissing as he felt your walls tightening on the verge of being shoved over the edge. He increased his pace, eager you feel you shatter while you creamed on his cock.

This was the most intensely intimate experience of your life. Your body felt limp in grips of overwhelming pleasure, your eyes half lidded and hazy as you as your body jolted in pleasure. His cock kissing into your sweet spot as the tentacle assaulted your clit and nipples ultimately made you come apart.

"Fuck, you are cumming hard," Tartaglia moaned as your pussy spasmed on his cock. His claws skimmed soothingly as on your hips as you shook from your orgasm. The sensation made cum ribbon inside of you.

He grit his teeth, fucking you down onto his cock as he fierce need to breed you thoroughly consumed him. His cum was bound to come seeping out of you when he pulled out. He was determined to fuck as much of it inside of you as he could.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #genshin imagines #tartaglia #tartaglia smut #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x y/n #tartaglia x you #childe #childe smut #childe x you #childe x reader #childe x y/n #foul legacy

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vividxpages · 9 months ago

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༉‧˚📖❀༉‧₊˚."the craving"༉‧˚🤍❀༉‧₊˚.PART 2

Read Part 1 here 🤍

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 7200

summary: After your night at the inn, the tensions between you and your betrothed Jacaerys are running high. Finding yourself curious about the kind of lascivious literature your prince has been reading, you decide to go on the search yourself - with pleasant consequences for the both of you…

warnings: pining, the return of the infamous Targaryen kamasutra diary, oral sex (female receiving), making out, handjob, aftercare, cuddling

a/n: there is going to be a third and final part after this one <3 let me know what you think, I always love to chat and thank you for the love Part 1 got!

𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃

You had always loved the library of Dragonstone.

The endless shelves bursting at the seams with history provided a peace and quiet you sometimes found lacking in your life, especially recently with the dark shadow of war looming over your family.

As you wandered through the many narrow passages between the books, you felt your mind calm down. With only the distant sound of the wind outside and a few busy scribes working around you, you dedicated yourself to your mission of the day.

You were not going to leave the library empty handed, not before you’d found what you desired; the mysterious diary Jacaerys had spoken of, in the night back at the inn…

The truth was simple, yet tangled and slowly driving you to the brink of your sanity; every night since your return to Dragonstone, you found yourself unable to sleep, at the brim of madness. Memories of Jacaerys and you, pressed against each other in the small bed as he slowly took you apart with his fingers and lips, haunted you.

You wondered if it only had been a desired dream, since your betrothed had gone back to being sickeningly sweet and attentive to you after your return. Jacaerys had taken most of his mother’s blow and the angered worry for the both of you, defending his choice to keep you safe through the night in front of the Queen’s entire council.

Standing beside him, your cheeks had been undeniably red as he had recounted the night of the storm, purposefully leaving out the part where he had fingered you to a mind-blowing orgasm, of course.

After the questioning, you two had fallen back into the same old dance and its rhythm as if your feelings for one another still had to be suppressed. But perhaps being sweet and chivalrous was Jace’s own method to keep himself under control before your long-desired union.

After all, you certainly did not have such methods for yourself.

The late hours in your chambers had been spent staring at the ceiling and listening to the waves crashing against Dragonstone. Tossing and turning, you had only been able to imagine the ghost of his touches on your skin, over and over, until you had to either firmly press your legs together or rarely indulge in your own wild imagination and the world of pleasure Jacaerys had opened up for you…

Since his quarters were close to yours, you couldn’t help but wonder if the same frustration sought him out at night and if he dreamed about your lips on his, your wetness on his veiny hand as he touched your most intimate part…

You took a deep breath and focused once again, traveling along the shelf where diaries and old reports were stored. A pleasant burn rested in your stomach, knowing Jace might’ve stood in the exact same place as you or would even return here to find that his precious book had been taken…

You grinned as your fingers drifted over a particular bound spine, a victorious flutter going through your chest as you noticed the lack of dust on it, although someone had seemed to hide it in the second row.

This was going to be a very interesting evening.

A little later, you were back in your quarters, curled up in the cozy velvet armchair by the high windows and completely absorbed in the book resting on your lap.

The diary you had hidden underneath your cloak on your journey back was open, a well-kept secret of your family now in your hands. In the privacy of your own four walls, you silently thanked your prince for his erudition as your eyes darted across the old rough pages.

You quickly discovered that the diary had been written by a nameless female ancestor of yours, her old ink writing elegant but faded. Her entries stretched themselves over nearly two decades, starting with her very first intimate encounter with a man and continuing to describe the adventures of her youth until she eventually found her forever love.

At the bottom of the very first page, she had scribbled: to all the princesses after me and their princes who should do good to take proper care of them. The little dedication made you smile.

Soon, you had begun to devour each entry without even noticing, the thrill of knowing Jace’s fingers had turned the same pages only spurring you on in your eagerness. And this diary was certainly…something.

It was lustful and forbidden and very, very detailed. You nearly choked on your own breath once as your dear ancestor had not spared any sexual details in her vivid descriptions, the stories sometimes accompanied by tasteful sketches of what her tumbling had looked like. You had never seen anything like it and soon, you found yourself squeezing your thighs together with your heart pounding in excitement.

Your thoughts wandered away from the current story and imagined how Jace must’ve felt reading those filthy passages. In front of your inner eye, you saw him sprawled out in his bed, dark curls resting on the pillows and his face brightened by the candles on his bedside table.

Had he been as aroused as you were feeling now?

In the inn, he had told you all he could’ve imagined while reading was you and your cheeks burned with realization, possessing the full knowledge of what he had meant back then. Did he find relief for himself when it had become too much, clinging to the book with one hand as the other slowly played with himself underneath the blankets? Did he whisper your name, squeezing his beautiful eyes shut as he-

A knock at your door sharply cut through the silence and you startled, nearly dropping your precious reading matter. Quickly, you cursed and put it back on the small table beside you, brushing out your skirts and taking a deep breath.

“Yes?”

Your heart skipped a beat as the door opened and Jacaerys peeked into your room, a small worried frown on his youthful face. “Good evening. Are you alright?”

You nodded, gesturing for him to come inside. Your betrothed closed the door behind himself and walked up to you as your eyes began to travel on their own, over the red and black of his attires, his dark curls lush and glossy in the candlelight of your room.

“I was worried about you.” Jace confessed to you, raising your hand to his plump lips and kissing the knuckles in greeting. This was a new habit of his and you were not complaining, although the small gesture always made you weak in the knees. “We missed you at dinner. I brought you something to eat, in case you weren’t feeling well.”

Only now you realized how dark the sky behind your windows had gotten already. Gods, how much time had you already spent with this book?

Your chest warmed at the sight of a well-filled plate in his hand, presenting everything he knew you liked from the kitchens. With a grateful smile, you admitted: “Thank you. I’m alright, I simply must’ve forgotten the time. I was…occupied.”

Jace raised an amused eyebrow at your odd explanation, placing the plate on the table, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Shall I leave you to it then?”

“No.” You answered quickly, your heart already longing for him although he was right in front of you. “I’d love some company. We’ve both been busy lately.”

Lately. Ever since the night of the storm, but you had not talked about the events at the inn since then.

Jacaerys let out a small – relieved? – sigh at your answer and the two of you sat down in the armchairs, your stomach growling at the variety of food your betrothed had organized for you. After a moment, you lifted your gaze to his and added quietly: “I missed you.” And it was true in more than one way.

“I missed you, too.” He replied in a heartbeat and watched you peacefully as you began to eat. The unexpected dinner was a wonderful treat after a long day like this, but it was not enough to distract you from the fact that you had not really been alone like this ever since that night. “I have not been neglecting you on purpose, I promise. You are way too dear to me for that.”

You looked at him with big eyes, quietly munching on a small sweetmeat as you shook your head. “I was not thinking such a thing, Jace. I know how busy your day is, now more than ever. Has your mother fully forgiven you by now?”

As you had foreseen, Rhaenyra had been out of her mind with worry when you had not returned as appointed and had given her son a very stern talk right in the dragon’s cave where you had eventually arrived at with your dragons. (The more you thought about it, the more you wondered if your dragons would’ve been able to take the late flight back to Dragonstone that night. If their sudden change of behavior – your own creature more affectionate towards Jace and Vermax oddly cuddly with you - could be any indicator, you almost suspected your beasts had somehow made a pact with each other to bring you closer…)

Jace sighed and rested his head against the back of his armchair. “I try to make it up to her every day, believe me. But if thrown into a situation like this again, I would not choose any different. I’d always choose you. Us, together and safe.”

“I’d choose the same.” You whispered breathily, your heart singing way too fast for an innocent confession between betrotheds like this. Underneath your conversation, something desiring and dark slumbered, only waiting for the right moment to jump out and remind you of your spent time between the sheets together. You swallowed, quietly adding: “You protected me that night, from the storm and my own reckless decision I would’ve made and I am grateful for it. I have told the Queen so myself.”

“I know.” He gave you a soft smile, the one that was only reserved for you, his princess. “I think deep down she has forgiven me already. She just likes to see me working even harder these days.”

You chuckled, taking a bite of a ripe strawberry with relish. When you looked up again, Jace’s eyes already were on your lips, how they curled around the sweet fruit and your tongue darted out to lick the juice from your fingertips, his dark pupils blown wide, body tense.

Suddenly, the dress on you felt way too tight for your body, your senses widening under his intense stare. But just like that, the moment was over and Jacaerys cleared his throat, causing you to go back to your dinner.

You wanted to curse yourself for your own timidness. You had shared far more than a space like this before your betrothed knew how you tasted and felt on his fingers and even before your wedding night had happened. So why were you so flustered out of the sudden?

In an unobservant moment, Jace casually reached for the book on your table and your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. You were helpless to watch as his eyes widened shortly with recognition, looking intently at the subtle cover.

“This is…” You had no idea how you wanted to end this sentence.

Jacaerys opened the diary right where you had placed a soft ribbon between the pages, his eyes skimming over the page before he looked up at you with a sly grin. “Ah. One of my favorite chapters.”

Oh gods.

Both embarrassment and excitement pulsed through you as heat crept up your neck at his knowing smile.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He asked adoringly, his fingertips softly tracing the ribbon. “Was my description not vivid enough so you simply had to find out for yourself, to see if I lied?”

You proudly lifted your chin, trying to feign confidence and ignore the shaking of your hands at his look fueled with unfiltered desire.

“Of course you have not lied to me. You were way too…” You bit your lip, your mind traveling back to the way he skillfully crooked his fingers against your sweet spot, dirty words leaving his heavenly mouth as he praised you… You cleared your throat, brushing your hands out over your skirts. “I knew you weren’t lying, but I had to see for myself. For…educational purposes.”

Jace nodded slowly and hummed thoughtfully. “I knew you were curious…” He leaned forward and offered you the book back. A notch confused, you took the diary from his hands, the old clothbound almost familiar already in your grasp. “And believe me, I am not here to interrupt your education tonight, princess.”

A low fire sizzled through you at the mischievous smile he gave you. It was a smile you couldn’t resist and you prayed you knew what this meant for you tonight. After all, you were going to be Jacaerys’ wife, sooner rather than later, and he was going to be your husband. You blinked at him innocently before you reclined against the pillow in your back, your fingers brushing over the golden edges of the diary.

“How considerate of you, my prince.” You said sweetly and a quiet exhale left Jace’s lips, clearly affected by your playful undertone. “Maybe we can learn together. That is, if my betrothed doesn’t have any other plans for the night?”

A dazzling grin made its way on Jacaerys’ face and with an elegance only the prince could possess, he leaned back against his armchair as well. He gestured invitingly to the diary in your hands and nodded at you encouragingly. “By all means, go on.”

Gods, in what situation were the two of you stirring yourselves into once again?

You forced yourself to remain composed in front of him, opening the book once more and beginning to read. But you only managed to drift over a few words before Jacaerys’ voice cut through the comfortable silence of the room and your head snapped up.

"Out loud." He said, simple yet demanding, his eyes burning embers sending a shiver down your spine.

"W-what?" Your voice sounded thin, perhaps a little intimidated but also...intrigued by your betrothed's command. The look in his eyes was the same he executed in the council room, sharp and attentive and willing to fight for what was his.

"I want to hear your voice." He explained, softer now. "Please read to me, princess."

You stared at him and the heat from before in your rosy cheeks started to spread like dragon fire, claiming your entire being. The dress on you felt way too tight and although you were not wearing your clammy riding leathers anymore, the same tension had now taken possession over you. And it was all because of the prince seated across from you.

Jace rested his chin in the palm of his hand, licking his plump lips as he kept your eyes captive with his own. After a moment, he nodded, a small encouragement you needed to return to the page in front of you.

With your finger ghosting over the soft ribbon, you began to read:

“When I met him that night, it was like our previous encounters from before had vanished, leaving me alone with my carnal desire…” You read to him, feeling him shift in his seat just outside of your vision. “The prince has been kind to me before, but as the hours went by and our wine glasses emptied, there was something else in his eyes, something I felt wanted to devour me and make me his. Taking him into my bed was inevitable and we both knew it.”

It was scandalous and wrong, to speak such lewd thoughts out loud with your betrothed right before your very eyes, but something made you continue, your voice growing stronger as you carried on.

“I was not aware of my own body like this until he made me, taking my hand in his own and showing me what I was capable of…” You swallowed thickly, the words hitting way too close to home. “Like he was painting flowers on my skin, my body bloomed under his touch and awakened me as if I had only slept my life away before…”

You thought of the rain splattering against the window, how Jacaerys had undressed you and how right it had felt to let yourself be kissed by him, your bodies melting together underneath the blanket until you had forgotten where you began and he ended. There had been safety back then and you knew there was safety in this moment as well, your Jace a steady and relying presence by your side.

“He surprised me, in more than one way, but what surprised me the most was when he went on his knees for me…” You lifted your head at the sound of fabric rustling and breathed out shakingly as you watched Jace stand up from his chair and kneel down in front of yours, looking up at you with his lips slightly open.

“What are you doing?” You whispered breathlessly.

“You’ve read this chapter before?” He asked back, gulping.

You nodded slowly, not able to look away from his pretty eyes. “Twice. It is written quite…poetically.”

Jace chuckled, easing your nerves as he softly stroked your naked ankle. Scandalous, indeed. “So you know how the story goes, my love?”

Gods, he was going to be the death of you.

“Yes…” You whispered, not trusting your voice anymore.

“If you’d allow me, I’d like to give you the same pleasure.” Jace proposed slowly, his voice a little hoarse. “I-…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since we shared a bed. I try to be…a good betrothed, but every night I close my eyes, I still hear your sweet voice, I feel your body against mine and it’s driving me mad with want.”

You were shaking as you leaned forward and cupped his cheek with one hand, successfully making him halt in his confessional ramble. Softly, you stroked along his smooth cheek with your thumb as he melted into the loving gesture. “Jacaerys…Why do you think I wanted to find the diary like you did? If you declare yourself mad, then we are both out of our minds. I have been thinking about you too as I was reading. You are all I can think about and I desire to be with you again.”

He looked at you like you were the sun, the whole world to him. “So you’d let me…?”

You nodded fiercely, your finger drifting over his cheekbone and his bottom lip. You exhaled softly as he pressed a quick kiss to the pad of your fingertip. “I trust you. I know you’ll take good care of me.”

“I will, always.” Jace vowed and took your hand in his once again, this time lifting your bare wrist to his mouth and softly kissing it, making you sigh longingly. Then, he gently led it back to the book in your lap and smiled at you. “Read to me, princess.”

You cleared your throat, trying to push all nerves away from you as you continued with the story.

“I was overly aware of his presence between my thighs, soothing yet commanding as he slowly unwrapped me, a prize he had dutifully won with his chivalrous affections…” You read and tried not to squirm as Jace slowly began to lift your light skirts, exposing your naked legs to the warm air of your chamber. You felt his hot breath fan over your sensitive skin, goosebumps rising in his wake. When his knuckles brushed along your calf, you bit your lip, suppressing a small groan.

“What happens next?” Jace wanted to know, his voice warm and deep and lulling you into a certain headspace. Briefly, your eyes met as he exposed your knees and with a sigh, your legs opened, making space for whatever he planned for you. And oh, how you knew what he planned and how much it affected you already, knowing exactly what was going to happen…

“He took his time and ignored my pleas, relishing every little buck of my hips as he neared the sacred place where I desired him the m-most-“ You faltered as you felt his lips on your knee, one single featherlight kiss before he moved on to the other leg, repeating his actions.

His hands brushed appreciatively over your skirts and higher and higher they went until you heard him exhale in awe. “You’re as beautiful as I remember…May I?”

“Yes.” You lifted your hips, assisting him in his efforts to get your skirt out of the way, but just as you lost yourself in the sight of him on your knees for you, he admonished you with a single look and nodded to the diary between you. You laughed quietly, your head spinning from the sensation of his hand stroking up and down your leg. “I believe I might’ve gotten betrothed to a devil instead of a prince.”

“A devil wouldn’t do what I want to do to you, princess.” He murmured, his warm palms now resting on your thighs, oh so gently drawing little patterns into your skin.

You soldiered on bravely, although it was getting harder to think when he spoke to you like this. “I was no stranger to the secret pleasures happening behind closed doors, but with him, I felt like I have never truly known them. He looked at me like I was his personal meal at a feast and he was a man that has been starving, desperate for- oh!”

You stumbled over your words, a hiss escaping your lips as his knuckles suddenly brushed along the damp fabric of your underwear. The sensation of his touch on the wet spot over your folds sent a sharp shiver down your spine and the glassy look in Jace’s eyes, fixated on your clothed center in front of him, did not help to ease the tension in you.

“For?” Jacaerys repeated dazed, licking his lips before he softly mouthed at your naked thighs, the muscles quivering underneath his sweet assault.

“For her.” You exhaled, but he only cocked his eyebrow at you.

“Come on, princess, you know the word she uses.” He tempted you teasingly, lazily reaching out and tracing a circle over your soaked-

“Her cunt-“ You breathed out, sweat gathering on your brow as your mind rushed down your body, making it harder and harder to concentrate on the diary in your hand. Your eyes fluttered closed as he peppered kisses along your inner thighs and his curls tickled your smooth skin.

Distantly, you felt his fingers unlace the little ribbons on the side of your underwear, gently exposing your heavenly center to him for the very first time. You heard him groan under his breath, his imagination during your first encounter underneath the blanket exceeded by the sweet reality of your weeping cunt for him.

“Princess…” He hummed absently, shuffling closer to you, his eyes flickering back and forth between your wet rosy folds and your half-lidded eyes. “I want to know how the story continues, don’t you?”

A tiny whimper left your lips as you tried to make sense of the words in front of you with Jacaerys so close to where you needed him so desperately now. “My cunt was a flower blooming under his attention and with each touch of his, another leaf seemed to blossom, making me f-forget myself and…gods, Jace, please-“

Finally giving in to your pleas, Jace pressed a kiss to your aching clit and set you aflame with it.

A surprised gasp left your lips as your hips twitched on their own and you dug your fingers into the armrest by your side. Your taste only barely grazed his lips, yet Jace groaned and rested his forehead against your thigh for a moment, taking a deep breath to compose himself while he stroked the soft flesh under your belly.

Jace slowly lifted your legs to rest on his shoulders – the way he had often dreamed about – and nudged you to continue, his burning gaze not separating from your pink pussy.

“His tongue licked fire into me, unforgiving and merciless at my open whimpers and when I thought the pleasure I felt could not ascend more, he proved me wrong-“ You bit down hard on your lip as he dove in again, kissing your folds and clit like he had kissed your blue lips at the inn, experimental and delicately and forbiddenly good. “-and pushed me further, beyond the veil and further.”

“Gods, you taste divine…” Jace murmured against you, his tongue darting out to lick one fat stripe up your cunt, making you release a long drawn-out moan you could not keep in anymore if you tried. “Let me hear you, princess, I want to hear every little sound from your sweet lips.”

“T-the pressure in me kept tightening itself as he played me like a delicate violin, his spit mingling- gods, fuck-“ You squeezed your legs shut as Jace licked and sucked at you, the noises where his mouth worked outright dirty and driving you insane. “-mingling with my own juices, his eyes never leaving mine as he lapped at me…”

You had no idea if you were even speaking a coherent language anymore. You were floating, levitating above yourself and the boy between your thighs, devouring you as if you were the best thing Jace had ever been granted to taste.

Jacaerys once again did not let it show that he was just as new to any of this as you were, expertly eating you out like he had never done anything else. He kissed your cunt with eager passion, varying between slow licks of his tongue and fiery kisses and sucking against your clit until you could not keep up with him anymore, your body melting into the armchair behind you.

As you stumbled once again over a sentence, you mewled and instinctively held on to the first thing in reach. It was the best unconscious decision your body could’ve ever made for you.

Jacaerys let out a guttural groan, the vibrations of his sound sending a jolt through you as he moaned right into your cunt, your fingers tightening their newly found hold on his soft curls. His fingers dug into your plush thighs and you lost yourself just a little more when he looked up to you.

His swollen lips were glistening with your wetness and Jace looked drunk on you, his eyes hazily glazed over as he held your stare, leaning into your hand holding on to his hair.

Your head fell back, your mouth opening to a silent blissed-out o-shape at the intensity of his mouth on you and before you knew it, you found yourself begging for your betrothed, his long fingers carefully spreading your folds apart for him.

“Jacaerys… please-“ You whimpered, brows scrunched together and breath hitching as he soothed his fingers over your sensitive flesh once more. The book became useless in your hands as the words blurred together in front of your vision. “I can’t go on anymore, please.”

He barely separated himself from you as he sighed into your cunt, deeply breathing you in and intending to never unlearn this feeling. “I know you can do it, princess. Come on, I want to know how the story ends, don’t you?”

You couldn't care less about how the godsdamned story would end anymore, but you saw the way Jace was looking at you, the dragon of your house lingering just beneath the surface. He was serious and you would not leave this seat before he had you right where he wanted; on the same high edge he had led you to in that tiny little bed…

And oh, how fast you were racing towards it.

“There was no escape from the heaven he brought on me and as- oh…as I felt my end nearing, I knew I was ruined for an…any m-man after him who’d dare to compete- ah, Jace, a-against him-“ You whimpered, your thighs shaking on top of his shoulders as he went on and on on you, his perfect mouth nearly making you go cross-eyed for a moment.

Suddenly, your vision whitened out, the diary slipping from your limb grasp and falling to the ground as Jace’s tongue breached your walls. Your back arched and you let out an incoherent string of curses, humming and gasping pathetically as his nose rubbed against your clit and Jace’s long lashes fluttered closed. You could not help but stare at him in wonder, your beautiful betrothed worshiping at the altar of your hips, dragging his skilled tongue through the mess he had made of you.

He was exquisite.

And finally, you seemed to have fulfilled your reading duty and he was satisfied with the outcome.

Jace groaned deeply and placed his hands on either side of your waist, drawing you closer to the edge of the chair and towards his mouth, his hot breath fanning over you and sending shivers down your spine.

“Are you close, princess?” He mumbled lowly, not bothering to separate himself from you, his lips sending little jolts through your nerves.

“S-so close…” You nodded quickly, head thrown back and fingers still carding through his hair, his hands and mouth on you the only things that still kept you on this world. “’s so good, Jacaerys, I’m going to…”

His hands found yours and as he laced your fingers together, he kissed your swollen wet clit again, gently suckling on it and moving his head just a little bit, his teeth lasciviously grazing over you-

You let go of yourself, combusting into a million little stars through his guiding touches. Your peak was washing over you in powerful waves, your hips still grinding against Jace’s eager mouth, chasing the taste of your release on his tongue as if it was the saving water in a hopeless desert.

“Perfect…” Jace murmured as he looked up to you in awe, his cheek admiringly resting on your thigh and you let out a breathless chuckle, chest heaving and heart thundering as he licked his lips clean of your release. “You are divine, my love.”

You were puddy in his safe hands, sighing happily as he kissed your leg and swiftly scooped you up into his awaiting arms. You gladly clung to him and as he carried you towards your enticing bed, your disheveled skirts were dragged behind you over the floor as your legs wrapped around his waist, one of his hands soothingly brushing over your hair as the other supported your bum.

He could’ve walked to the edge of the earth with you like this, you were content, nuzzling his neck like an affectionate kitten and breathing him in. What a grand blessing your sweet betrothed was…

While you still tried to calm yourself down from your peak, Jacaerys gently placed you on your soft beddings and sat down beside you. He kissed your chin, your temple and then both of your fluttering eyelids, his hands securely stroking your sides as he leaned over you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked quietly, seeking your gaze.

You smiled at him, reaching up to tuck one of his curls behind his ear. “Magnificent.”

Jacaerys blushed and kissed your cheek to hide it. “It wasn’t too much?”

“No.” You slid your hand to his nape, an idea blossoming in your mind. “It was new and…intense, but I loved it. You were good to me, Jace. Although…there is one thing I am still longing for, my prince.”

He furrowed his brows. “And what would that be, beloved?”

You drew him closer until he hovered over you, his own breath quickening as yours fanned over his lips. Your thumb brushed over his cheekbone and you leaned in to whisper: “I’ve not kissed you since that night.”

His pupils dilated. “We should change that.”

You grinned into the kiss as you both closed the distance and a deep part of you relaxed, as if you had been holding your breath ever since you took off to Dragonstone that morning. Jacaerys carefully held your face in the palms of his hands, but you felt that he was desperately needing this just as much as you did.

You moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips, although you were well and thoroughly sated for the night, only hungering for Jace’s pleasure now. You pulled him on top of you and sank into the pillows behind you, relishing the feeling of his lips moving against yours once more.

It was like the two of you were learning together, becoming better and better at knowing how to do this. He liked it when you playfully bit his bottom lip and you felt yourself growing hot when he licked into your mouth and time did not matter anymore as you made out with each other.

While his own hands were ghosting over your sides, his lashes brushing against your cheeks and tickling you, you steadied yourself on your elbows and pressed your chest against his. In a moment of tender weakness, you smoothed your hands over his chest and flipped the two of you around.

Jace let out a surprised grunt as he landed on your pillows, wondrously looking up at you and drinking in the sight that was you, now snuggly seated in his lap. His hands went to your waist, caressing your hip bones through the fabric of your skirt.

“Maybe I should make you read to me as well, my prince.” You considered sweetly, delighted in the way he breathed a little harder. “See how long you can concentrate while I play with you, hm?”

“Princess…”

You grinned, kissing the rest of his sentence away and sensually tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth. After all, he was not the only one educated in the practices of pleasure now. Time to show what your nameless ancestor had taught you through her diary.

He opened his mouth, surely to protest and insist he was fine once more, but you simply gave him a look and he closed it again. The evidence for his arousal was hot and hard under you and when you experimentally ground your hips down, a small whimper left his lips.

“I will not have you end the night unsatisfied again, Jace.” You told him sternly, making yourself comfortable and at home in his lap as you nestled with his belt.

He shook his head, although you could see the desire still burning in his dark eyes, sparked by your sudden initiative to take some little control back. “Seeing you come undone was more than enough for me already, princess.”

You shushed him, your fingertip on his lips. “Let me make you feel good too, Jace. Please.”

Jace brushed your hair back and for a moment, you could see him arguing with himself before he finally gave in to you. “Yes. You…I would like that, if you want.”

A victorious smile made its way on your face. “I do.”

You clumsily fumbled with his belt as you slowly began to kiss his neck, exploring the sensitive skin you had not felt against your lips before but could not get enough of now. Jacaerys obediently made space for you and leaned back, his mouth opening silently and eyes closing as he concentrated on only you and your hands and lips on him.

Quickly, you found out a spot that made him hiss, a sensitive patch just beneath his earlobe, when you unbuckled his pants and slid your hands down his front, over his muscled stomach, down and further down until-

Jace moaned, his fingers digging into your hip bones as you palmed the front of his underwear, feeling him almost throbbing with need against your wandering hand. You leaned back in curiosity to take a look at your beautiful boy, biting his lip and blinking at you with worship written all over his face.

“Help me a little here.” You whispered and held out your hand to him. Jace let out a shuddering breath, realizing your intention. Chapter eight. You clearly both had read it.

You trembled as he let a little bit of his spit drool down into the palm of your hand, holding your eye contact and when your own spit joined and you freed his cock to wrap your hand around his length, he hissed as if he had burned himself.

You could not decide where you wanted to look. He was beautiful, longer than you had imagined and a little curved and you couldn’t stop yourself from thumbing the slit, the precome of his tip easing the way as you slowly began to stroke him.

“Fuck…” Jace bit his lip, suppressing a little whimper, but you were quick, your thumb touching his bottom lip and encouraging him not to stifle his sounds. You had no idea what you’re doing, the reality was different from when it was all just words on a page, but you seemed to do something right given Jacaerys’ reaction to your slow and tender strokes.

“Does it feel good?” You wanted to know breathily, your lips brushing against each other as Jace bucked into your hand, unable to control himself as your hand slowly took him apart.

Jace nodded, chasing your mouth as he cupped the back of your neck and drew you close, devouring you in a hot and passionate kiss that made your hand stutter with distraction. Your other hand was squeezing his shoulder and you moved together, a dance danced best in your bed, with the one you loved and who loved you back.

“Princess…” He whispered, his whole sight angelic and holy to you as you watched him mesmerized, the slick sound of your hand around him drowned out by the string of moans leaving his plump lips as you twisted your wrist. “Gods, ‘so good to me…I’m- I’m not going to last as long as the men in those stories…”

You chuckled, lightheaded with the endless love you felt, only doubling your efforts to make your betrothed feel good at your hands. You leaned your forehead against his and breathed: “I do not care. It’s you I want. And I want to watch you come undone, Jorrāeliarzys, as you watched me.”

He whimpered, eyes fluttering closed as you slowed your hand. It seemed like Jacaerys preferred it this way, a touch so drawn out it almost felt like nothing, but was everything. You peppered kisses along his neck and exposed collarbone, coaxing him towards the same cliff you had tumbled off earlier, feeling his shivers and the strain in him as you took care of his need.

“Come on, Jace…” You lured, pressing one last kiss to his open lips before you added near his ear in a whisper: “Come for your wife, my love.”

Jacaerys’ head fell back as he released a languorous long moan, his cock twitching as he spilled his seed, your hand guiding him through the high as you watched him awestruck by his beauty. You stayed close and leaned against him, playing with his hair as he recovered, a panting mess you had made of him and you felt yourself cuddling close to.

“Are you okay?” You whispered when he did not speak, only drawing you tight against him and combing his fingers through your hair.

“Yes…I’m perfect.” He murmured and nuzzled his nose against your neck. “Just need a moment. You are a gift from the gods, my love.”

You blushed, busying yourself with gently tucking his length back into his pants and sighing happily. “This silly little diary, huh?”

You laughed together, the vision of two young lovers, happy and sated. The adrenaline and giddiness of both your actions was coursing through your veins at full force, now that the haze of pleasure had lifted from your mind.

After a while, he grimaced at the mess on your hand and you laughed quietly as he grabbed his cloak from your nightstand and quickly wiped it off for you.

“It’s not that bad.” You insisted giggly, but he was having none of it.

“I won’t have you having to sully yourself with my mess.”

“Jace, earlier your chin was covered with my-“

“Shh…” He shushed you gently and pulled you close, sinking into the pillows with you tucked against him, your head fitting just perfectly underneath his chin. You had missed the way your body fitted perfectly against his own, not protesting anymore as he hugged you close to his chest.

„I can hardly wait to get married to you…” You mumbled sleepily against his neck, your hand finding its way into his lush curls.

He smiled against your temple, his arms drawing you closer against his chest as he rested his chin on your head. “I will relish every day I’ll have with you by my side as my wife then. As I relish every moment with you now, my love.”

You hummed happily, an undeniable warmth spreading through your chest at his promise. Drawing a tiny heart on his chest, you looked up into his eyes with a plea. “Can you stay? Just a little longer until I’ve fallen asleep?”

Both of you knew he could not stay here for the night. It had been a challenge already to slip into your quarters without raising suspicious questions. But if the prince would spend the night in his betrothed’s chambers? You’d raise a scandal neither of you wanted to face or deal with.

“Of course.” He cooed and you relaxed, melting in his embrace as he carded his fingers through your hair. “I’ll stay.”

“Good.” You murmured sleepily, timidly kissing his jaw one last time as exhaustion claimed your body and bones. It was the sweetest déjà vu, your embrace similar to the one you had shared in the inn. But only this time, your hearts beating peacefully in sync with each other.

“Sleep well, princess.” Jacaerys whispered tenderly and watched as you drifted off into sleep.

He did not leave you for another few hours, but when he eventually had to, he swore himself he was going to make you fully his as soon as possible…

Perhaps a conversation with his mother was more than overdue.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃

my taglist: @princesschimchim1325 @cecestea @jacesvelaryons @princessvelaryon @diannnnsss

#jace velaryon #jace targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jace targaryen x reader #hotd imagine #hotd #jacaerys velaryon x you

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the-oblivious-writer · 1 month ago

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With Her I Die |20|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Twenty: The Poison's Far From Gone

warnings: violence, death, starvation, injury descriptions, trauma, discussion of murder, psychological distress, and threats of harm.

note(s): final destination AND superman??? this summer's already lookin' up.

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson @serendippindots @mikuley

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

It started with gentle fingers.

Lottie's hair slipped through your hands like dark water as you carefully separated it into sections. The attic was quiet except for the occasional creak of the wooden structure settling against the winter cold and the soft sound of your breathing. Light filtered weakly through the small window, catching dust motes in its path.

"You're good at this," Lottie murmured, her voice still raspy from disuse. A week had passed since Shauna's attack, and Lottie had spent most of that time drifting in and out of consciousness, her body fighting to heal from injuries more extensive than they'd initially appeared.

"I used to braid my little sister's hair," you replied, focusing on the rhythm of weaving strands over and under. "Before school every morning."

Lottie hummed softly in acknowledgment, the sound vibrating through her back against your knees where she sat on the floor between your legs. You'd positioned yourself on the edge of a wooden crate, giving you the perfect angle to work with her hair.

"You never mentioned having a sister before," she observed, head tilting slightly before you gently corrected its position.

"Stay still," you chided.

Lottie accepts your avoidant response. The silence stretched between you, comfortable in a way that still surprised you. After everything—after Jackie, after Shauna, after your breakdown—there was something unnervingly easy about being with Lottie. No expectations, no history weighing every word and gesture. Just presence.

"She's still not talking to you," Lottie said finally, not a question but a statement of fact.

You didn't need to ask who. "No."

"She will."

You focused on the braid, fingers working methodically. "You sound pretty confident for someone she beat unconscious a week ago."

"Shauna's anger isn't really about me," Lottie replied, that eerie calm in her voice that simultaneously fascinated and unnerved you. "Or you. Or even us. It's about loss."

Your hands stilled momentarily. "Jackie."

"Jackie. The baby. Control." Lottie's head tilted back slightly, her eyes finding yours upside down. "Everything the wilderness has taken."

You gently nudged her head forward again, resuming your work. "Keep still or this'll look like shit."

Lottie complied, but you could feel the knowing smile in her posture. "You're deflecting."

"And you're analyzing. How are your ribs?"

"Painful," she admitted. "But necessary."

You frowned at the phrasing. "Necessary?"

"Pain clarifies. Reveals truth."

"Jesus, Lottie," you muttered, securing the end of the braid with a strip of fabric torn from an old t-shirt. "Do you ever just say 'ouch' like a normal person?"

Her laugh was soft but genuine, ending in a slight wince that reminded you of her injuries. You moved around to face her, kneeling to examine your handiwork. The braid was neat and tight, keeping her hair back from her face where bruises had bloomed in spectacular shades of purple and yellow-green. Her split lip was healing, but the right side of her face remained swollen, her eye only able to open partially.

"You should see the other guy," she joked weakly, catching your concerned expression.

"I have. She's stomping around the woods scaring away any animal within a ten-mile radius."

Lottie's good eye crinkled with amusement. She reached up, fingers brushing your cheek with unexpected tenderness. "You're worried about her."

You didn't pull away from the touch, though perhaps you should have. "I'm worried about all of us."

"No," Lottie said softly, her thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. "You're worried about her. Specifically."

The observation hung between you, undeniable in its accuracy. You were worried about Shauna—her rage, her grief, the wall she'd built between herself and everyone else since the confrontation. She'd been spending more time alone in the woods, returning silent and empty-handed from hunts, avoiding meals and conversation alike.

"She's splitting apart," you admitted quietly. "And I don't know how to help her."

Lottie's hand dropped from your face, leaving a lingering warmth. "Some things have to break completely before they can be remade."

You stood abruptly, unsettled by the calm certainty in her voice. "That's some fortune cookie bullshit, Lottie."

"Is it?" She looked up at you, unperturbed by your sudden movement. "Or is it just a truth you don't want to hear?"

Before you could respond, footsteps on the ladder announced someone's approach. Misty's head appeared through the opening, her cracked glasses catching the weak light.

"Oh! There you are," she chirped, climbing the rest of the way into the attic. Her eyes darted between you and Lottie, a flash of something—assessment, calculation—crossing her features before settling into her usual eager-to-please expression. "I brought water and some pine needle tea. For hydration and vitamin C!"

"Thank you, Misty," Lottie said warmly, accepting the cup with careful hands. "You've been very attentive."

Misty preened visibly at the praise. "Well, someone has to look after you properly. Those bruised ribs need consistent monitoring. Did you know that with enough trauma, bone fragments can actually pierce internal organs? Fascinating medical complication, really."

You caught Lottie's eye over the rim of her cup, exchanging a look of bemused tolerance for Misty's macabre enthusiasm.

"I'll leave you to your nursely duties," you said, moving toward the ladder. "Thanks for letting me practice my braiding skills, Lottie."

"Anytime," she replied, her gaze following you as you descended. Just before your head disappeared below the floor, she added, "And Y/N? Remember what I said about breaking and remaking."

You didn't acknowledge the parting comment, continuing down the ladder with a sense of relief at escaping the intensity of Lottie's presence. As you reached the bottom, you nearly collided with Van, who stepped back with a wariness that had become her default around you since the incident.

"Sorry," you muttered, moving past her toward the cabin door. You needed air, space, a moment to clear your head.

Outside, winter had tightened its grip on the wilderness, the cold so intense it burned your lungs with each inhale. You wrapped your arms around yourself, moving toward the tree line where a fallen log had become your unofficial thinking spot.

Jackie's necklace hung heavy around your neck, hidden beneath your layers. You'd taken to wearing it since your confrontation with Shauna, a physical reminder of all the secrets and sacrifices binding you to this place, to these people. Your fingers found it through your clothing, tracing its outline absently as you gazed out at the frozen landscape.

You weren't sure how long you sat there, lost in thought, before the sound of approaching footsteps pulled you back to awareness. Travis emerged from between the trees, rifle slung over one shoulder. His expression brightened slightly when he spotted you.

"Any luck?" you asked, nodding toward the weapon.

He shook his head, settling beside you on the log with a weary sigh. "Nothing. Not even tracks. It's like everything with a pulse just fucking vanished."

"Maybe they have the right idea," you mused. "Get the hell out of here while they still can."

Travis snorted, the sound containing more exhaustion than humor. "Yeah, well, we don't have that luxury." He glanced sideways at you. "Thought you'd be with Shauna."

"Shauna's not exactly in a talking mood these days," you replied, trying to keep the hurt from your voice. "Especially not with me."

Travis nodded as if this confirmed something he'd suspected. "The Lottie thing."

You stiffened. "There is no 'Lottie thing.'"

"No judgment here," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "Just observation. You've been spending a lot of time in the attic lately."

"I've just been checking on her. Being decent."

Travis's expression softened. "Like I said, no judgment." He paused, seeming to weigh his next words. "But Shauna..."

"I know," you said quietly. "Shauna has feelings about it."

"That's putting it mildly." Travis chuckled without humor. "When Nat told me she had to physically restrain Shauna after she found out about you two... I haven't seen that kind of rage since my mom found my dad's second cell phone."

You winced at the comparison. "It's not the same."

"Isn't it?" Travis raised an eyebrow. "Look, I'm the last person to give relationship advice. God knows I've got my own shit to figure out..." He trailed off, his gaze drifting toward the cabin where Nat was visible through the window, helping Javi with something. "But I know enough to see that whatever's between you and Shauna, it's not just friendship. Never has been."

The observation hit uncomfortably close to home. Before you could respond, the cabin door opened, and Misty emerged. Something in her posture immediately set off warning bells in your mind—her shoulders hunched, her movements jerky and uncertain as she made her way toward your little group.

"Everything okay, Misty?" Travis called, apparently noticing the same tension.

Misty startled as if she'd been deep in thought, her head snapping up. "Oh! Yes. Well, no. Actually, no." She twisted her hands together nervously. "I need to talk to everyone. It's... it's about Lottie."

Your stomach dropped. "Is she okay? Did something happen?"

"She's fine. Physically, I mean. Well, as fine as someone with multiple contusions and possibly fractured ribs can be." Misty's nervous energy seemed to intensify as she approached. "But she asked me to tell you all something. Something... difficult."

Travis stood, concern etched on his features. "What is it?"

Misty glanced back toward the cabin. "I think everyone should hear this at once. Can you get Nat and Javi? I'll round up the others."

You exchanged an uneasy look with Travis before rising to follow Misty back toward the cabin. Whatever this was, the tremor in Misty's voice suggested nothing good.

------

Twenty minutes later, the entire group had assembled in the main room of the cabin. Lottie was conspicuously absent, still too weak to navigate the ladder safely according to Misty. Tension hung thick in the air as everyone found places to sit or stand, casting curious and concerned glances at each other.

Shauna stood by the window, deliberately positioned as far from you as the small space allowed. She hadn't acknowledged your presence when you entered, her gaze fixed somewhere outside. The distance between you felt physical, a tangible thing stretching across the room.

Misty stood in the center of the loose circle, uncharacteristically hesitant. Her usual frenetic energy had been replaced by something more sober, more uncertain. She cleared her throat.

"So, um, Lottie asked me to tell you all something," she began, voice wavering slightly. "And I want to be clear that these are her words, not mine."

"Just spit it out, Misty," Nat said impatiently from her position near Travis.

Misty nodded, taking a deep breath. "Lottie wants us to eat her."

The words landed like a physical blow in the silent cabin. For a moment, no one moved, no one spoke—the statement too absurd, too horrific to process immediately.

"What the actual fuck?" Nat finally broke the silence, pushing off the wall she'd been leaning against.

"That's—that's sick," Van stammered, disgust twisting her features.

Misty held up her hands, tears gathering behind her glasses. "I'm just delivering the message. She's convinced that she's dying anyway—that without proper nutrition and medical care, she won't survive her injuries."

"So her solution is for us to cannibalize her?" Tai asked incredulously. "That's insane."

"She says she wants to give herself to us," Misty continued, a single tear tracking down her cheek. "To help us regain our strength. She says the wilderness chose her as a sacrifice."

Your eyes instinctively sought Shauna's across the room. For the first time in days, she met your gaze, her expression a complex mixture of horror, disbelief, and something else—something that looked disturbingly like consideration.

"No," you said firmly, drawing everyone's attention. "No fucking way. We are not having this conversation."

"Y/N's right," Travis agreed immediately. "This is fucked up. Even for Lottie."

Misty's shoulders slumped. "I told her you'd say that. But she was... insistent. Said to tell you that we're all starving, that we're all going to die out here without protein, and that she's offering herself freely."

A heavy silence fell over the group. The horror of the suggestion was undeniable, but so was the truth beneath it—you were all starving. The hunting had yielded nothing for weeks. The traps remained empty. Even Tai's carefully rationed food stores were dangerously low.

"I can't imagine life out here without Lottie," Mari said softly, breaking the silence. Her eyes were distant, unfocused. "Even when she's being all cryptic and weird... she's part of us now."

"Me neither," Shauna said, her voice startling you after so many days of silence. She looked around the room, something resolute hardening in her expression. "Which is why we need to figure out what to do."

"What to do?" you repeated incredulously. "There's nothing to 'figure out,' Shauna. We're not eating Lottie."

"That's not what I meant," Shauna snapped, a flash of the old Shauna breaking through her detached exterior. "I meant we need to figure out how to survive. All of us. Including Lottie."

Tai stepped forward, naturally assuming the leadership role as tensions threatened to escalate. "Shauna's right. We need a plan. We have maybe three days of food left, if we stretch it. After that..."

She didn't need to finish the thought. Everyone knew what came after that—weakness, then organ failure, then death. It had nearly happened once before, when Jackie died. When you had all made an unthinkable choice.

"So what do we do?" Gen asked, her voice small. "There's nothing left to hunt."

"Actually," Tai said slowly, her expression grave, "there is one solution."

Your blood ran cold as understanding dawned. "Tai, no."

But Tai continued as if she hadn't heard you. "In survival situations at sea, when sailors were stranded without food or hope of rescue, they sometimes drew lots."

"Drew lots?" Javi echoed, confusion evident in his young face.

Travis stepped protectively closer to his brother. "It means they chose someone by random chance," he explained grimly. "To... to sacrifice. For the others to survive."

Horror dawned on Javi's face as he grasped the implication. "That's fucked!"

"It's survival," Tai countered, her voice steady despite the gravity of what she was proposing. "One dies so the rest can live long enough for rescue."

"This is fucking insane," you said flatly, looking around at the group. "We're not sailors on a lifeboat. We're not—we're not animals."

But your protest died in your throat as you saw the expressions on the faces around you—consideration, desperation, the dangerous light of hope. They were actually thinking about it. All of them.

"There has to be another way," you insisted, desperation creeping into your voice.

"Like what?" Akilah challenged. "We've tried everything. The snares are empty. The lake is frozen too thick to fish. There's nothing left to forage."

"So we just draw cards and kill whoever gets the short straw?" you demanded. "How are we any different from monsters then?"

"We're already monsters," Shauna said quietly, drawing everyone's attention. Her eyes were hollow, empty in a way that chilled you more than her words. "We crossed that line when we ate Jackie."

The brutal honesty silenced the room. No one had spoken so directly about what you'd done, not even after your breakdown had forced the truth into the open.

"This is different," Travis argued. "Jackie was already dead. This would be murder."

"Listen," Tai said firmly. "If we do this—if—we do it fairly. Everyone has an equal chance."

"Equal chance to be butchered," you spat.

"Equal chance to save everyone else," Tai corrected, her gaze steady and unwavering.

The conversation deteriorated into raised voices and desperate arguments. You watched in growing horror as what had started as an unthinkable suggestion gained momentum, solidifying into a plan. Within an hour, the decision had been made—not unanimously, but with enough support that resistance seemed futile.

You caught Shauna's eye across the room as the details were being finalized. She looked as trapped as you felt, her expression one of weary resignation rather than conviction. When she finally approached you, it was the first time she'd deliberately sought you out in days.

"This is wrong," you said before she could speak, your voice low and urgent. "You know it is."

"Everything about this place is wrong," she replied, fatigue evident in every line of her body. "But we're dying, Y/N. All of us."

"Is this what you call survival?"

Shauna's eyes flashed with a hint of her old fire. "Don't judge me for wanting to live. For wanting all of us to live." She'd suffer a slow and agonizing death if it meant you'd see another day... but she decides to keep that nagging thought to herself.

"Even at the cost of one of us?"

"Yes," she admitted, the single syllable heavy with the weight of everything the wilderness had taken from her—her innocence, her child, pieces of her humanity. "Even at that cost."

You wanted to argue further, to find the words that would break through her resignation, but Tai's voice cut through the tension.

"We do this now," she announced, holding up a deck of cards. "Before anyone changes their mind."

The group gathered in a tight circle, faces grim. Even those who had argued against the plan participated—the alternative, to be left out of the decision that would determine all your fates, somehow worse than the risk of drawing the wrong card.

"One card each," Tai explained, shuffling the deck with mechanical precision. "Whoever draws the queen of hearts is chosen."

"And if someone refuses?" you asked, still searching for a way out of this nightmare.

Tai's expression hardened. "Then we choose again from those who remain."

Your eyes found Travis across the circle. His jaw was set in a tight line, one arm wrapped protectively around Javi's shoulders. He met your gaze, a silent communication passing between you—this was insanity. This couldn't be happening.

Yet it was.

"Youngest to oldest," Tai decided, holding out the deck to Javi first.

Travis tightened his grip on his brother's shoulder. "Javi doesn't have to—"

"Everyone participates," Tai cut him off. "Or the whole thing falls apart."

With trembling hands, Javi reached for the deck, drawing a card and turning it over immediately—the three of spades. The relief that washed over Travis' face was palpable as Javi stepped back, clutching the card like a talisman.

The deck moved around the circle. Mari drew next, then Akilah, then Gen. Each revealed their card with varying degrees of fear and relief. None drew the queen.

When the deck reached you, your fingers felt numb, disconnected from your body as you slid a card free. The weight of Jackie's necklace against your chest seemed suddenly heavier as you turned the card over—the jack of clubs stared back at you. Not the queen. Not today.

Travis drew next, then Van, then Melissa. Each card revealed was met with the same mixture of guilt and relief. The deck continued its journey—Misty, then Tai, then Shauna.

By the time the cards reached Nat, the inevitable truth had settled over the group. One by one, they'd eliminated possibilities until only Nat remained. Before she even drew, you knew what card awaited her.

Nat's face remained impassive as she flipped over the queen of hearts. She stared at it for a long moment, then looked up at the circle of faces surrounding her.

"Well," she said finally, her voice steady despite everything, "isn't that just fucking perfect."

"No," Travis said immediately, stepping forward. "We have to draw again."

"Those were the rules, Travis," Tai said quietly. "We all agreed."

"Fuck the rules!" Travis shouted, desperation cracking his voice. "This is Nat! We're not—I'm not letting you do this."

You moved to stand beside him, your body positioning itself between Nat and the others without conscious thought. "He's right. Not Nat."

The group shifted uneasily, the fragile consensus threatening to crumble. Shauna stepped forward, her expression unreadable as she approached Nat.

"I don't... I'm sorry, Nat," she said softly, and you realized with horror that she was accepting this, that she was preparing to do what needed to be done. "I'll make it quick."

Nat's laugh was harsh and brittle. "Always the practical one, huh, Shauna? You going to gut me like you did Jackie?"

Shauna flinched as if struck, but didn't back down. "I'm trying to make this easier."

"There's nothing easy about this," Nat replied, her voice tight with emotion she was clearly fighting to control. "But if it has to be someone..." She straightened her shoulders. "Better me."

"Nat, stop," you pleaded, moving closer. "This isn't happening. We're not doing this."

But Nat just shook her head, a sad smile playing at her lips.

Lottie appeared suddenly, leaning heavily on the ladder. Her face was pale with the effort of motioning downstairs from her mattress, but her eyes were clear and focused.

"What's happening?" she asked, gaze sweeping the circle before landing on the queen of hearts in Nat's hand. Understanding dawned immediately. "No. This isn't how it's supposed to be."

"Go back upstairs, Lottie," Misty fussed, moving to support her. "You shouldn't be up."

But Lottie shook her head, eyes never leaving Nat. "The wilderness didn't choose her. It chose me."

"Enough bullshit," Travis snapped. "Nobody's choosing anybody."

Tai stepped forward, authority radiating from her rigid posture. "We drew the cards. The decision is made."

"Then make it quick," Nat said, turning to face Shauna. "Just do it clean. One strike."

Shauna's face was a mask of controlled anguish as she nodded once, retrieving the hunting knife you'd all come to associate with butchering. The sight of it in her hand—the same hand that had cared for you, touched you with tenderness—sent a wave of nausea through you.

"Shauna," you said, her name a plea on your lips.

She didn't look at you, her focus entirely on Nat now. "T-turn around," she instructed, voice hollow.

To your horror, Nat complied, presenting her back to Shauna, to the knife. To death.

"Wait," you said desperately, moving forward. An idea struck you suddenly—not a solution, but a delay, a moment to think. "H-here." You fumbled with the clasp of Jackie's necklace, hands shaking so badly you could barely manage it. "Take this."

Nat turned slightly, confusion evident in her features as you approached. "What?"

"Jackie's necklace," you explained, finally freeing it from around your neck. You reached out, placing it carefully around Nat's neck instead, fingers brushing against her skin. "For... for protection."

The gesture was meaningless, superstitious, but it bought precious seconds. Nat's hand came up to touch the heart pendant, something like understanding passing between you as your eyes met.

Shauna watched the exchange, her grip on the knife tightening until her knuckles whitened. When Nat turned back to face her, something shifted in Shauna's expression—recognition, hesitation, doubt.

"Look me in the eye," Nat said quietly. "If you're going to do this, Shauna, you look me in the fucking eye."

Shauna's lip quivered, tears streaming freely down her face now.

"Either you look at me," Nat said firmly, "or it doesn't happen."

A moment of suspended time—Shauna and Nat staring at each other, the knife between them, the rest of you frozen in horrified anticipation. Then Shauna's hand moved, the knife rising, and you knew with sick certainty that she was actually going to do it.

Travis moved before you could, lunging forward to shove Shauna back with enough force to send her stumbling. The knife clattered to the floor as he positioned himself between her and Nat.

"Enough," he growled, a dangerous edge to his voice you'd never heard before. "This stops now."

The cabin erupted into chaos. Van and Tai moved to restrain Travis while Misty rushed to Shauna's side. You stepped forward, putting yourself between those who surged toward Nat and Nat herself.

"Stop!" you shouted, loud enough that the commotion temporarily halted. "Just fucking stop!"

In the momentary silence that followed, Nat made her decision. She bolted for the door, shoving past a startled Gen and disappearing into the winter landscape before anyone could react.

"Nat!" Travis called, struggling against Van's grip. "NAT!"

"After her!" Misty cried, pointing toward the open door. "We can't let her get away!"

The implication of her words—the shift from sacrifice to hunt—sent ice through your veins. This wasn't the plan. This was something worse, something primal and terrifying.

"Get her," Tai ordered, and several of the girls moved toward the door without hesitation, caught up in the frenzy of the moment.

Travis redoubled his efforts to break free, desperation giving him strength. "Let me go!"

Van and Tai struggled to maintain their hold, pressing him against the wall. In the chaos, you noticed Javi slipping toward the door, his young face set with determination.

"Javi, Y/N," Travis pleaded, his eyes finding yours across the chaotic room.

The decision took no thought at all. With a quick nod to Travis, you turned and followed Javi outside, mind racing with one singular purpose—find Nat before the others did. Before this descent into madness became something you could never take back.

Behind you, Travis's voice rose in one final, desperate appeal to whatever humanity remained in the cabin: "How can you DO this?"

The door swung shut on his words, leaving you and Javi alone in the winter wilderness, the hunt already begun.

------

Snow crunched beneath your boots as you ran, following Javi's smaller form through the trees. The boy moved with surprising speed and confidence, tracking Nat's footprints with an instinct honed by months in the wilderness.

"This way," he called over his shoulder, veering toward a dense thicket of pines. "She's trying to double back."

You followed without question, lungs burning in the frigid air. Behind you, shouts echoed through the forest—the others weren't far behind. The hunt had begun in earnest, turning girls you'd lived with, laughed with, survived with into something primal and terrifying.

"Nat!" Javi called in a harsh whisper as you entered the relative shelter of the pines. "Nat, it's us!"

For a moment, only silence answered. Then a rustle from above made you both look up. Nat peered down from a low branch, her expression wary until she recognized you.

"They're coming," she said simply, already moving to climb higher.

"We know," you replied, glancing anxiously over your shoulder. "We need to hide you."

Javi tugged at your sleeve. "The old hunting cabin," he suggested urgently. "The one Travis and I found last month. It's not far, and no one else knows about it."

Nat hesitated, clearly weighing her options as the distant voices grew louder. Finally, she nodded, descending quickly from her perch.

"Lead the way," she instructed Javi, her voice steady despite everything.

You moved as quickly and quietly as possible through the dense underbrush, each cracked twig and disturbed patch of snow feeling like a beacon to those pursuing you. Javi navigated with surprising confidence, guiding you deeper into unfamiliar territory until the shouting faded behind you.

The "cabin" turned out to be little more than a dilapidated lean-to, probably built by hunters decades earlier and long abandoned. But its roof was mostly intact, and the single room offered shelter from the elements and searching eyes.

"It's not much," Javi apologized as you ducked inside. "But Travis and I have been fixing it up a little. There's even some dry wood for a fire."

Nat sank onto a rough wooden crate, the adrenaline that had carried her this far visibly draining away. Jackie's necklace gleamed dully in the dim light filtering through cracks in the walls.

"They were really going to do it," she said quietly, disbelief coloring her tone. "Shauna was actually going to..."

"No," you interrupted firmly, though the image of Shauna with the knife raised haunted you. "She wouldn't have gone through with it. Not to you."

"You didn't see her face," Nat countered, a bitter edge to her laugh.

You had no response to that. The terrifying truth was that you had seen Shauna's face—had seen the moment when determination overcame her horror, when survival instinct overwhelmed humanity. It scared you more than anything in this wilderness so far.

"What happens now?" Javi asked, his young voice a reminder of everything still at stake. "We can't stay out here forever."

"And we can't go back," Nat added grimly. "Not while they're in this... this state."

You paced the small space, mind racing for solutions where none seemed to exist. "They'll calm down," you said, trying to convince yourself as much as them. "Once the initial frenzy passes, they'll come to their senses."

"And if they don't?" Nat challenged.

The question hung in the air, unanswerable and terrifying. You thought of Travis, left behind to face their collective madness alone. Of Shauna, her face streaked with tears even as she prepared to do the unthinkable. Of Lottie, with her eerie certainty that the wilderness demanded sacrifice.

"Then we figure something else out," you said finally. "We'll make it through the winter together."

Nat's hand came up to touch Jackie's necklace, fingers curling around the heart pendant. "Did you give me this for a reason?" she asked, gaze piercing through you. "Or was it just to stall?"

You hesitated, the truth complex and layered. "Both," you admitted. "I needed time to think, to find a way out. But also... it felt right. Like maybe it could protect you somehow."

"From them?" Nat asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

"From all of it. From this place." You gestured vaguely at the wilderness beyond the walls. "It's like... a piece of who we were before. A reminder."

Nat studied you for a long moment, something softening in her expression. "You're a strange one, Y/N. Always have been."

"Look who's talking," you replied, a ghost of a smile finding its way to your lips despite everything.

Javi cleared his throat, drawing both your attentions. "I should go back," he said, his young face set with determination far beyond his years. "To help Travis. To let him know you're okay."

"No way," Nat responded immediately. "It's too dangerous."

"Travis needs me," Javi insisted. "And I can move through the woods without being seen."

You exchanged a glance with Nat, seeing your own reluctance mirrored in her eyes. But the boy had a point—Travis was alone back there, potentially facing the group's displaced rage.

"If you go," you said slowly, "you go straight to Travis. No one else. You tell him where we are, and you two come back together. No heroes."

Javi nodded solemnly. "I promise."

"And if anything feels wrong—anything at all—you hide. You don't come back here right away in case someone follows you. You wait until it's absolutely safe. Got it?"

"Got it." Javi squared his small shoulders with a determination that broke your heart.

You pulled him into a quick hug, hoping it wouldn't be the last.

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