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ambrosiagoldfish · 1 year ago

Note

I've never sent a request before, but I'm fiending for more adam, like anything, anything at all

Benefit of the doubt

Adam x 3rd Spouse! Reader

Viewer discretion is advised

Warnings: Angst(?), Not exactly fluff at the end but it gets better, typical Adam TW’s, reader low-key high-key has a complex about being loved, this is set way before the show, and Gn! Reader. (Also Y/n isn’t used, which also surprised me, the author, LMAO)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Request Box: Open

Word count: 1760

A/N: Hi! Thanks for the request! I haven’t had a chance to write something that was originally my own idea in a while, so this was very refreshing! I’ve had this idea since I’ve watched the show so I hope you enjoy it!

I’m entirely up for making a small series from this oneshot, but I would need to know y’all’s opinion on it! (So don’t feel scared to let me know if you want some more of this idea in my Request box/the replies on this post!!)

Also Adam may be slightly OOC but please just chalk it up to him not yet getting his ego’s dick sucked 24/7

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy, let me know if you do!

Proofread but of course could have left mistakes!

You’ve existed for almost all of human existence, Almost.

You were the 4th being to be created during the time of Eden. But unlike the other 3, you weren’t human. In fact, you technically never lived before. An honestly hopeless existence, yet it was so beautiful in every way. But for what purpose? Well…

You were created shortly after Eve ate the apple, before she and eventually Adam committed the first act of sin that caused evil to latch onto humanity like a leech.

The reason for your existence was simple. To be Adam’s new spouse, except for when after he died. From the very moment Eve bit the fruit of temptation, it was already decided she would hold no place in heaven. Adam was given mercy due to him not possessing any knowledge of the fruit Eve had shared with him, he trusted her wholeheartedly. Which is exactly why heaven gave him mercy… no, pity would be a better choice of words.

Upon your creation you learned immediately of the happenings before your existence. About Lilith and Eve, and about Lucifer

And so, after Adam and Eve were casted away from the Garden, they continued to live their lives, fostering the existence of mankind for the rest of time. And when they eventually died, Adam was given pity while Eve was thrown to the wayside, the vast unknown.

You thought it was finally your time to experience existence with the one you loved, the one you were made for. Of course you never would know life as he did but surely your life never-after life could be just as meaningful as his.

How excited you were, how completely enamored by the thought of it. But there was a problem with that, Adam had grown into a new person, he was meant to of course, he was human. But he had grown selfish, abhorrent… insecure.

You understood why, to be betrayed by not one but two of his wives for the same person. You couldn’t possibly imagine what he could be feeling. Before you were to meet your future husband, Sera informed you that he had asked for a mask, and once on, he has refused to take it off.

That didn’t bother you, it’s irrelevant to your love for him. You've only heard descriptions of his features. Short Brown hair, gold eyes, bushy eyebrows, some scruff on his chin. All in all, he sounded perfectly fine, ordinary even. But even then it’s his choice to wear the mask, so you��ll respect it.

Finally, the time he arrived in heaven, and when Sera finally introduced you, his new spouse, the one to whom would be by his side for the rest of forever.

He rejected you outright.

“What?” Your breath hitched as you stuttered over the word, the sharp inhale of your lungs through your mouth flicked through the air.

Sera looked just as shocked as you but she quickly regained her composure “What is the meaning of this Adam?”

“If you think I’m going to let my life get fucked over by another one of your “gifts” well, you’ve got another thing coming!” He crossed his arms and shook his head defyingly. “I’ve already learned my lesson with those last 2 bitches.”

“Adam I’m sorry that happened to you but I would never-“ almost like lightning his finger shot to your mouth, shushing you.

“Save it, Sweetcheeks, I really don’t care what you have to say, so just stay there and look pretty, k?” His hand fell and grabbed the sides of your face, squishing your cheeks together, his LED mask flashing a sharp smile.

You saddeningly looked down at the clouds below you.

“Adam!” Sera’s voice sounded through the air, still soft but firm, she continued, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Divine judgment allowed you to be the first human soul in heaven, so I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I expect you to give your new spouse that same grace.”

Slowly your eyes looked up at Sera with a soft smile. Adam only groaned “Ugh, Fine but don’t be fuxking annoying, capiche?” You nod your head quickly.

“Very good, glad we have it settled.” Sera gives a quick smile, “now, I have some business to take care of so I’ll leave you two alone to get to know one another” With that, Sera flew away leaving the both of you alone.

The silence was thick in the air, the only sound being the occasional wind breeze blowing past. The sunlight creeps in through the clouds painting an orange sky above you both. In every sense of the word, it was perfect.

It was almost funny. You had waited so long to finally meet him, your true love, the one you were made for. All the things you dreamed about, the laughs you’d have together, the warm embrace of the person who you loved. But now… you didn’t know what to say…

“I’m… happy to finally meet you.” Your voice is quiet, almost non-audible. “I’ve been waiting for you since… well, forever��”

He doesn’t respond. He seems to be transfixed on something below you both. You train your eyes on whatever he’s watching only to see the dark cavernous abyss below you. Finally he breaks his silence.

“The fuck is that?” He asked pointing down, a sound of genuine intrigue hidden behind his abrasive voice

“That’s hell?” You stated confused “where would-be sinners will go to be punished, didnt you k-“ you suddenly realized that perhaps Adam really didn’t know what hell was. It was only created relatively recently, after Eve and Him ate the apple, of course he wouldn’t know. “it’s also where Lucifer-“

“Don’t fucking say his name.” Adam spoke, his voice rough in his speech. LED mask putting a harsh frown on his face. “Let’s get one thing straight M”Kay babe, if you’re my “new spouse” that’s something you should remember.” The “new spouse” was said with a tone clearly meant to mock you.

“Sorry…”

“Ugh, It’s fine, just don’t do it again.” He groaned before a wicked smile crept onto his mask “Sooo, that means he’s going to be stuck with all the wasteful beings of existence, HA fuxkin’ hilarious. Guess that makes them the losers and us the Winners!”

His laugh filled the air, the sound was like music to your ears, sure maybe it wasn’t really what you’d hoped he’d fine funny, but you loved it all the same but eventually his laugh died down

Silence again… in admits of all of it you suddenly was sparked with a thought “oh!” Adam looked confused at the random exclamation. “I had almost forgotten… I brought you something, as a welcome gift or was it a nice to meet you gift? Both? Eh, it doesn’t matter but the point is-“ you suddenly snap your fingers.

Golden light began shining, the light seemed like liquid hot magma as it moved and molded slowly into a shape. Light seemed to be overlapping and churning into itself, forming your desired outcome. With one final snap of your fingers, the gleaming gold liquid took hold, and quickly hardened to a solid.

The object that had formed quickly fell down, landing in your arms with a light thud.

“I’m still learning this creation stuff, so I’m sorry if it’s not perfect but-“ you hold out the object in your arms as an invitation to grab it “I learned from Sera that you liked to play guitar when you were alive, so I thought you might like to have one here…”

Adam looked at the instrument in your hands. The base color was gold, the neck was pearly white with gold strings. To be honest it looked more like a harp then anything, like if a guitar and a harp had a baby.

Silence again. Did he not like it? Did he hate it? You go to pull it back to you and apologize when suddenly it’s ripped out from your hands.

“Holyshit, this is sick as Fuck!” Adam immediately started playing some rifts on the new guitar. The sound wasn’t what you were expecting but you guess Sera was right about his talent with the instrument. The whole time his mask had a wide and sharp smile as he mimicked guitar sounds with his voice, the occasional laugh leaving his mouth.

“I’m really glad you like it” you say, a sigh of relief leaving your body.

Adam looked at you, one you missed. He saw how relieved you were, how nice you were being. No person who supposedly loved him ever gifted him something, well, one other did. Someone he trusted and loved more than everyone, anyone. But look how that ended, with them being removed from the garden, away from an eternity of happiness until he died. All from someone giving him what he thought was nothing but love, a gift.

But he could see that this was different, you were different. When Eve gave him the apple, she didn’t explain what it was or why she wanted him to eat it, even when he asked her she didn’t explain. But with you, you had not only given him something you knew he liked but also expressed the reason behind it. Yes, you were different, even Adam could see it.

“Anyways, thanks for the axe, I guess…” Adam for the first time was stunned, but quickly he continued “What was the thing that Sera chick said about me and “divine judgment” or whatever the fuck? That she gave me the “benefit of the doubt…”

You were a bit confused but continued listening, “I guess I should at least try to give you a chance, since you got me this sick ass guitar an’ shit.” Your face lit up, you about began to speak before you were, once again, shushed “B-B-But-” his finger tapped your lips with each repeated syllable ”-only a chance. If you betray me like those last 2 bitches then you’re done, got it?”

To say you were overjoyed would be an understatement, a smile quickly plastered across your face as you quickly nodded your head

“Alright good, so uh, what do ya say about showing me the best places to get a bite to eat around here, I could really go for some ribs right about now.”

“ I’d… love to, thank you Adam”

“Yeah don’t mention it Sweetcheeks” Adam quickly wrapped his arm around your shoulder and you two began walking.

Maybe you will get your eternity of happiness.you can only pray you do.

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bones4thecats · 1 year ago

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Hello! Could I request Hades and Poseidon (separatly) fell in love with dummy nymph!reader, who just doesn't notice their feelings, please? (◕‿◕)♡

Type of Writing: Request Characters: Hades and Poseidon Name: {Character} with a Oblivious Nymph! Reader Requester: Anonymous

A/N: My first Record of Ragnarok piece in quite a while, and thankfully, this was quite funny to write. This is so full of fluff and crack that it makes broken attics look nice😂

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

💀 Oh sweet mercy, this guy loves yet hates your obliviousness

💀 When he first met you, he would joke around about how you were so oblivious to things, but, when he tried to confess his feelings towards you for the first time and you just replied with something so platonic-sounding, he froze

💀 Your obliviousness was going to be a hint of a problem now

" My dear, have you ever thought about having a relationship with someone? " " I guess so, yeah. Why? " " How would you feel about courting with me by your side? " " Aw! You would help me with courting! You're so sweet, Hades! "

💀 Grabbing your hand when you were scared didn't get you to realize his feelings, even when he gave you the biggest hint while still hiding the straight-forward admission, you didn't get it

💀 Hades does understand that, because your a nymph, you haven't gotten that much experience when it comes to anything romantic, as many believe you only are attracted to things relationships non-romantically

💀 Zeus and Aphrodite have tried getting you guys to get together for centuries, from trying to have you guys go on a blind-date to having you literally go on a real-date with him, you always stayed blind to the real emotions hidden behind his gestures

💀 So, unsurprisingly, Hades eventually does have to straight-up admit his feelings, leaving you flustered and a hint embarrassed

" Y/N, I must admit that I am quite fond of you. So fond that I must ask, would you like to be in a courting relationship? " " You fond someone that wants to court me? Aw, Hades, how swe- " " Not someone else. Me, my dear. " " Oh... how long have you liked me like this?! " " About the past four centuries. " " Oh sweet seraphs... "

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧��⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🔱 Poseidon is not amused at all.

🔱 He is not fond of people not understanding what he said, and it doesn't help with the fact that he's very blunt and honest when it comes to his words

🔱 When he first met you, you were speaking to your boss, Aphrodite, and when he arrived to speak with her about the waves causing damages to the nearby forests

🔱 That was when he noticed how oblivious you were to pretty much everything

🔱 Aphrodite eventually noticed how Poseidon seemed to soften with his actions whenever you were around, and she was the one who prompted him to finally begin trying to tell you about his feelings, unaware that you had no clue how to take a hint

" Y/N, would you like to accompany me to Zeus' reunion next week? As my date, of course. " " Oh, yeah! It'd be fun to spend some time with my best friend! "

🔱 Okay, ouch.

🔱 It took him only two tries before he began to lose his already strained patience, and he burst that bubble the third time you pushed his advances off as a friendly confrontation

" Would you like to accompany me to Hades' meeting tomorrow afternoon, Y/N? " " Of course! Spending time with my favorite friend is amazing- " " Not as a friend. As a future spouse. " " Huh? "

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rubyin-wonderland · 1 month ago

Text

Future

opla!Zoro X fem!reader

Summary: an unexpected question ignites Zoro's imagination

WC: 1.1k

Warnings/tags: nothing, enjoy the fluff

"Have you ever thought about having kids?" You asked offhandedly one day, sitting on the deck with Zoro, laying in the sun with him, his arms locked around you as you sat in his lap.

There was a tense in Zoro's body as he tried to interpret what you meant by that. "Are you trying to tell me something?" He asked nervously. You shook your head, laughing awkwardly. "Oh! No, Zoro. God, no. I was just thinking about it. We've never had this talk."

You turned so you could see him, shifting a bit in his lap. "Do you see a family in our future?"

Zoro thought, brow creasing slightly as he went through his process. Imagining small humans, features mixed between yours and his, waddling across the deck, learning to fight with blades like their father, inheriting the creative spirit of their mother.

Then he thought of the problems. The long nights, the exhausting days, the dangers of raising children, especially if the two of you decided to stay on the sea. You having to go through a nearly year long process to produce the child in the first place, putting yourself at high risk when your lives were already threatened nonstop.

The rivalling trains of thought collided, the sight of those sweet children with your eyes and his nose standing in front of massive pirates with no mercy to be found in their eyes.

Then he saw them fighting off their enemies, swift, trained movements they could have learned from no one else but him.

He delved deeper into this fictional life he had begun. You happily telling him that you were pregnant, him pulling you into his arms, lifting you so that your feet no longer touch the ground and holding you tightly, spinning you around, joy spilling out of every laugh in your throat.

The late stages of pregnancy, you letting him hold your stomach to feel his children kick, taking care of you as you dealt with even the slightest inconvenience, making sure that you were perfectly comfortable and happy.

A baby swaddled in your arms, a tired but happy smile overtaking both of your faces as the baby sleeps, Zoro picking up the delicate child and holding it carefully, love for the new life, just started but still full of so much potential.

Having to wake up in the middle of the night to the sounds of crying, as you roll over in bed he offers to handle it for you. You never turn down his offer. Picking up his child, so small in his arms, and cherishing the moment, even as the little lungs wail at him. He rocks his child gently, soothing as he tries to figure out what's wrong, finding the solution and fixing it as the wails die down, finally setting the baby back to bed, ready to fall asleep with you.

You taking him aside to announce that the two of you have a second baby on the way, his excitement doubling as he thinks about it for longer. Kissing you until your lungs are empty, arms locked around your back like a vice, happier than ever.

A total of three children, one in your arms, two in his, all small and wiggly, laughing as their father lifts them up easily, tucking them under his arms, while you heft the third onto your shoulders, for a better vantage point.

Nights of rest with you in his arms disturbed by a soft knock, and a youngster with messy hair asking for help after a nightmare. The child slipping between your bodies, tucked under the covers, safe between their parents.

Telling the children stories of their parents back in the day, Zoro's being tales of his epic feats of strength, yours practically fairy tales of bravery and honour, making the children roll their eyes every time you brought up your romance, the children screaming in mock disgust as you press a gentle kiss to the corner of Zoro's mouth.

Sitting at a bedside, where a coughing child sits, a damp towel on their head, testing temperatures and bringing bowls of soup, you coming in, pushing hair back to feel for a temperature. The child asking for Zoro to stay at their side during the night to keep the monsters at bay.

Bandaging scraped knees, warning of the sting of alcohol, salty tears dripping down sweet faces as you hold them on your lap, allowing Zoro to work on the scrape, cleaning the wound and taping little bandages over the issue.

Candles burning over a decorated cake as a grinning face with missing teeth claps their hands along to the singing around them, you sitting nearby, making sure the flames don't burn too high, while Zoro has the other two children on his knees, watching their sibling's celebration.

His swords sitting by the door, accompanied by a couple of training swords crafted from bamboo, unable to do serious damage, but a perfect weapon for a beginner to wield, protecting the furniture from nicks and scratches.

You standing in front of the kids, protective, eyes wild as a long lost enemy finds your home and threatens to destroy your peace. You standing in front of a defeated body turning to your children to remind them that they should never rush to fight, but it was a special situation.

Watching them grow, become people, have their own hopes and dreams which they leave you to follow. Heartfelt goodbyes as they set off on their own journeys, adventure running in their blood the same way it flows through their parents. Promises to visit and long hugs, the family one giant huddle of love, tears dropping down faces as the children, now grown, leave.

Zoro looks at you, considerate. "Yeah. We could have a family." He feels you relax a bit. "We'd have to wait for our lives to be less hectic, but I think a little kid would be wonderful." you smile.

Zoro's brain has already locked in the amount of children he can see in his future, ever a man with a theme. "Would you want multiple?" He asks, trying to test the waters. Three children, his children. The vision of them, their faces all a combination of his features and yours, blended together to create new people.

You look up at Zoro, considerate. "Yeah, I think a couple might be nice." "Or a few?" He challenges.

You look into his eyes, smiling furiously. "Put some thought into this, huh?" You ask. He shrugs, but his face gives it away. "I think a few would be good." You smile, settling back down against Zoro's chest. "Three," You muse. "Just enough to outnumber us." He nods. "We've handled worse than three children." You smile. "Damn right we have."

#one piece #one piece live action #opla #opla zoro #opla zoro x reader #zoro x reader #zoro x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you

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cherie-doll · 7 months ago

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Hello, I really like your work, I think I've read everything so far, but it's very addictive 🫶

I recently saw a video where a boy was running towards his father to escape from a school bully who wanted to hit him. I would like to know if you could place an order with the Call of Duty guys reacting to this situation. thank you.

I'm your fan. ♥️

really sorry i've been so slow with requests lately sometimes i don't feel well, thank you for submitting this <3

ᡴ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

COD Men's Reactions To Their Kids Being Bullied

༄ Price would be swooping his kid up in his arms before the little booger got close to him. He's trying to make sense of what's happening and demanding to hear it. He'll want to hear the WHOLE thing through.

༄ Simon had heard his child softly sniffling in your arms before when you were able to coax the story out from your son. Now you're scared about what Simon is up to when he stands there wearing his skull mask which is surely enough to terrify anyone to death.

༄ Johnny has some of the worst ways to deal with a problem and this is one of them. In the moment, he's confused but picking up his kid and afterwards when he finds out what happened he's down in the basement showing him ways to knock a kid out, like??

༄ Kyle makes sure his kid is safe, no injuries or marks when he picks him up. Then he's turning to the bully and telling them to stop, pulling whatever object they were thinking of using to hit his kid. Would probably sit down on a bench and have a talk to the bully or something.

༄ Roach is picking up his kid and booking it out of there. That bully looks a lot older and bigger that it makes him question if he even goes to that same school. Frankly, he's a little scared too and is trying to pick up the pace on the way to the car.

༄ Alejandro would be running after the bully telling him to put that down. Afterwards, he's giving a good talking to (after making sure his kid is alright first, of course). He doesn't care if the bully's parents pull up upset that their kid was scolded by a stranger but HIS kid was almost injured.

༄ Rudy was primarily concerned for the wellbeing of his kid when he realized what was going on. He's wanting to know the entire situation and even then he'll want to talk to the kid's parents, the teachers and whoever else could have overlooked this issue. He's making sure it doesn't happen again in the future not to his own child nor to other kids.

༄ Phillip would have convinced to NOT go directly to the principal's office demanding the kid be expelled. And if the school isn't willing to respond? God have mercy....

༄ Makarov would have to be held back. Not that his kid can't defend himself, no he taught them better than that. But the idea that someone thought they could look down on one of HIS kids is enough reason for him to want to declare war.

༄ Keegan brings a "man up" resolve to a situation that neither you nor your kid is too keen on. He's defending his kid this time, especially when he sees what the bully's intentions are. But next time he prefers to teach his kid how to prevent it from happening again.

༄ König was bullied as a kid, right? There would probably be flashbacks of his times of enduring the relentless bullying of other kids going through his mind right now. Kid's can be cruel. Would take a minute for him to snap out of it before he's springing into action.

༄ Horangi would probably think they're just playing rough before seeing his daughter running to him with tears streaming down the sides of her face. He's already calling a lawyer and investigating who the bully's parents are, where they work and how they'd settle this.

༄ Nikto's sleeve would be getting tugged desperately by his kid for him to notice that it was something urgent and not just the kids playing. Would calmly pick his kid up and ask the other child where his parents were and that they needed to be disciplined a little more.

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asyliah · 1 year ago

Text

Lucky for you, that's what I like! xiao x f!reader

𐙚 . sum . You just got dumped and thought going into bar and flirt a guy named Xiao is a good idea. <spoiler alert!> It is a good idea.

𐙚 . warnings : Dom Xiao .ᐟ Y/N took the initiative .ᐟ drunk sex .ᐟ creampie .ᐟ plot twist at end .ᐟ unprotective sex .ᐟ Sub xiao at first .ᐟ please tell if there's more

Your boyfriend callously ended your relationship, claiming that he discovered someone else who could better fulfill his desires and be intimate with him. It made your blood boil just to think about his reasons for breaking up were all about fucking sex, and because you don’t want to do it yet because of trust issues. All those sweet words, promises, and futures he said are all gone in the ditch. It was that night you thought of going to a bar just to forget every problem, and maybe finally get another guy. All you ever wanted is to taste the sweet revenge of your now ex-boyfriend that you're not the only one who can pull another one.

You wore that slanted violet dress that had frills on the side, and your legs covered in fish nets. All dolled up, despite being lost in the crowded bar. Hands elegantly resting on the counter, slurring every thought that you could muster while drinking another shot of tequila on your throat. It wasn't your plan to get drunk at the bar, not in this state! You quickly stood up from the bar stool and suddenly tripped from the high stiletto heels you wore.

Someone caught you in his arms, and when you tried to see his face clearly, it suddenly caught your attention. A handsome guy, with green dyed hair with a streak, his hair tied to his side, his bangs almost alluring a mystery, and his ember eyes staring at you in shock.

“Cutie, what’s your name?” you asked him, fingers circling in the hem of his shirt. “X-xiao,” he stuttered. “Are you single? You’re too cute to be not single…”

“I am single..”

That’s all for you to start flirting with him nonstop, poor guy, he only wanted to have a taste of the bar's seasoned cocktail when some cute drunk girl suddenly teased him.

You were asking his name, laughing seductively, everything at once. Yet Xiao didn't try to reject your moves. How can he? He never even had a single girl in his entire life being so touchy or flirty with him, and it felt like a dream in heaven that someone he just met in a bar was all like this. Both of you already took strong shots of alchohol.

You led him into a private room and started to suggest something more than flirting. He felt your lips pressed into his, plump lips lingering in his face while he felt the bitter taste of alcohol on your tongue. Your eyes are hazy, and clouded by judgment as your desire only controls your hidden demons. Xiao keeps trying to hold himself, not giving in to this desire. But how can he when your hands are wandering into his body till to the tight area of his pants, where his cock is already leaking in precum from the arousal? It's been pain ever since he's been trying to receive every tease you get from him and the compliments you showered. Yet Xiao knew you were not sober and trying to tell you that you're drunk and you shouldn't be doing this even though deep in his mind he wanted this to happen. His hard cock already hardened from the images of your naked body under him, completely at his mercy as you took his length like a good girl.

His imagination gone wild from the thought of it.

Now he is also drunk in lust and the lewd display, putting a show him like a bitch in heat, debauched and so loose of control. Messy hair, lipstick smudge on your lips, and the showy dress that shows your sexy figure make it hard to control. "I want you," you slur into his ears while chuckling. "You're such a cute boy, I wanna eat you whole," you licked your lips.

And you slowly go down in him, taking off the belt and his pants. Taking off every bit of clothes he had, springing his hard cock, erect and a good length for you. It was thick, and girthy, with the tip already leaking angrily––begging to be touched. The ecstasy of your lips in his hard cock going up and down, your tongue doing wonders in every part. His tip being licked with your sly tongue, his cock reaching the back of your throat making him moan in the euphoria at the new feeling he discovered. His hands slithered their way to your head, guiding the pace, till every lock of your hair was gripped tight into his knuckles, taking control. You almost gagged at his rough pace, it was so intense that your eyes teared from the arousal. The groans you made have him spurt into a few bittersweet cum in your mouth. Feeling the cum in your throat made you see stars, as you cleaned off his cock with your mouth. "Are you even a virgin?" He huskily asked in between his breaths, and you looked at him with your eyes fluttering trying to understand his question. "Me.. a virgin.. hehe," you said, licking off the remaining cum in your hands to clean it.

Xiao almost came hearing you were not a virgin, he swear to the Archons.

Seeing the sight of you going down only for him even made Xiao more aroused. Xiao grabbed you in your arms and took the initiative to kiss you so deliriously, not caring if your mouth was from his cock. He doesn't care. All needed was to kiss you badly, suckimg your tongue, and taste you. His hands wander into your breasts, while your hands in his neck hugging him. A small hum in your voice was like a lullaby in his head, and you kissed his neck slowly, giving him hickeys. As you two kiss, driven by the heat, xiao's hand slips in between your legs and tried to play with your clit so slowly. His other hand undresses your top slowly, leaving to expose your erected nipples. Xiao sucked every part of it, and every moan that was left on your lips is addicting like a siren tempting him.

"Fuck me, Xiao. I needed it. I need you,"

“W-wait. I don’t have any condom with me,” Xiao said, his mind still on places. You looked at him with puppy eyes, begging at him. “No need for it, I have a birth control.”

☆

Xiao breathed heavily beneath you, his cock reaching the deepest part of your inside as your pussy sucked his cock whole. The squelching noises in the room are so loud, and the loud moans you create every thrust and grunt he makes you feel. “Does it feel good?” he asked, his tongue licked the tears dripping in your tears. You were too fucked out to answer his question. Fuck, his dick is too good, and for the both of you to be virgins makes it more arousing to you.

Tears stung in your eyes, loving the pleasure he gives you. “Your ex must be so stupid to leave you alone, but it’s okay. It means I can have you *now.” *Xiao moaned in your ears, sucking your neck. “Your mine.” He reveled in the sight of your fucked out expression, your breath staggering trying to take everything from his length.

He softly brushed his “You dont understand how I waited for this moment,” he moaned, and you thought he could see his eyes could form hearts from the way he looked at you like a lovesick. His fingers playing with your swollen clit, and as your pussy clenched tighter in his cock, he moaned in bliss and another hot cum spurted inside of your gummy walls without a warning. Even cumming, he still railed his cock without stopping, forming a white ring in the base. You tried to register what he was trying to say, but you finally have become mindless fucked by him.

Xiao could only chuckle at your state, "Are you feeling that good?" he cooed, you were teasing him several minutes ago and now you're reduced into a babbling mess trying to take his cock. Adjusting his position closer to you as your hands reel him close to kiss another sloppy one.

It was like he knew everything about you.

He rammed another strong thrust into you, causing you to scream. There is nothing you can do but take it his own, you shudder with every thrust he takes. He took note of your expressions. Archons, you'd be the reason for his death, you're too cute. Your pussy is too tight, wet, and a squelching mess as if it was begging to be filled with another drop of his cum.

"X-xiao...more...p please.!" you begged, your nails dug at the back of his skin. Xiao hummed, "More? You want more?" he teased you, his hips grinding and rolling into you, and the tip of his cock hitting at the end of your inner walls as your eyes roll out in pleasure. You keep muttering pleas into him, anything to snap the coiling feeling of your core and just let loose of it all.

With captivating satisfaction in his eyes, he tenderly caressed your face before plunging forcefully into the sofa. "Did you know, I stalked you for years?" he thrust in you with a strong force, making you jump. His words barely register in your ears, but you tried to hear him right when another thrust plunged into you. "I loved you too much, and when I followed you here, all dolled up so pretty while you are broken from a douchebag." Xiao groaned at the thought of it. "Archons, I hate your ex. I am thankful you were the one who took the initiative for me," hearing his confession now made you sober, your clear eyes looked at him dumbfucked from his cock.

"W-what..?" you broke a question and then the knot in your core snapped, your cunt leaking with your juices. Then Xiao followed, his heavy cum overflowing into your swollen and used cunt. Both of you were trying to catch your breath, while his cock still plugged inside of your overstimulated cunt. The feeling of fullness and warmth enveloped inside, especially as it was the first time you had sex.

Xiao keeps kissing you so lovingly, and as your mind becomes clearer from the alcohol, you are uncertain about your feelings. The cutie above you looked possessive as if he was marking his territory in you.

"I love you Y/N♡. I will never ever leave you. "

🧷 @asyliah

#𝕽𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖊 :: 𝕬𝖘𝖞𝖑𝖎𝖆𝖍 #Im tired LMFAO #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin xiao x reader #xiao smut #xiao x reader smut #genshin x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x y/n

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writtencrone · 13 days ago

Text

Captain, oh my Captain.

Oc x male reader or, Scary-General-Who-Is-Actually-Kind-Of-ALoser-Top-OC x Power-Bottom-esque-kind-of-go-with-the-flow-or-are-you-dissasociating-reader In an alternate future, were aliens and humans walk the same planet and Earth is under the rule of a benevolent Emperor... When your family falls into dire straights you attempt to auction off your body for a quick cash grab. Instead, a retired General and left-hand of the Emperor is enamoured by your body heat. You end up signing a year long contract to be his personal heat patch for the twelve-hour of the nights.

Or, when a seemingly cold and serious general is actually a loser and you bear witness to his full goofiness in all the best (and worst) ways.

Includes - mentions of derealisation, dubious consent at first tbh, jerking off (both of you!!! eventually...), propaganda, allusions to war, genetic programming, allusions to trauma, also expressive top oc . He does... grab your dick and squeeze ? Not in the pleasurable way, in like, turn up the thermostat way. Brief mentions of killing people. English is nawt really my first language, so have some mercy! Comment to be added to a taglist for future works - or just pt 2!

w/c 5.2 k

Humanity had made contact with aliens two-thousand years ago. History had never been your strong suit, but you know that Earth lives in the Emperor's heart as a safe-zone, and for it urbanisation had boomed to accommodate the different species feeling from the outer edges of the warring universe.

That's why you chose architecture – born and raised in a city where buildings towered to the sky, you had a love for simple architecture.

“Good teeth,” the Appraiser observed. “Could use some flossing - but all intact.”

That felt oddly targeted, so you try to stifle your malcontent feelings. You've succeeded in stifling every other part of you so far – the feeling of the Appraiser's thumb lifting your lip, his nails grazing against your gums through the thin latex.

The harsh lights of the exam rooms, the metal edges of the doctor's seat digging into your thighs and the cold seeping through the light blue scrubs. Somewhere in the distance, a thin beeping noise was taking account of someone's heartbeat and a holoscreen silently broadcasted the latest news from across the galaxy.

What you can't ignore is why you're doing this. Your brother had a problem. Growing up, you were both big nerds. In some ways, you felt strangely responsible for introducing him to gacha games. By the time you even knew about the obsession he had harboured, it was too late. He owed a little over a hundred thousand to some shady credit card businesses.

So, paying back that and the interest - coupled with the cost of sending your brother to some counselling for his addiction - left you in dire straits. Your brother had begged you not to tell your parents, and even if you did they would only be in the same position as you.

So you, an intern at an Architects office, who's thankful just for being paid at all, decided to sell your body.

There were plenty of human fetishists out there - especially since there was a general desire for people who looked 100% human, no modifications, no alien features. There was something to be said in this about the concept of purity, but you had someone's thumb in your mouth so you had nothing to say at all. Other than you wanted the starting bid to commence at 150,000, and see how it climbs.

“Your history cleared out as well,” The Appraiser beamed from three of its mouths. “Although your diet is immensely paltry.”

Ah, good old surveillance state. You lay back down the seat, the thin paper crinkling beneath your back.

“So, when will I get paid?”

The Appraiser took off his latex gloves with a snap and binned it with a gleeful hum.

“We take our cut right out of the check, then it’s deposited right into your account.”

Then it will be scattered to lenders and doctors offices and to your parents. You’ll never really have it. This whole experience felt so distinctly unreal, but under the fluorescent light you could see everything starkly.

Then you’re taken backstage, right before it’s your turn. You watch the Auctioneer sell off a vapor-mined jewel for just under 800,000 and you realise — this is happening. It’s going to be you out there in a minute. Then, before you can come to grips with that someone has you by the arm and is shoving you forward into your uncertain future.

You thought that the auction would be something out of a bad wattpad novel. That you’d be carted onto stage in a cage, weighed down by chains, and a spotlight gleam onto you. Below in the audience, and above in the pulpits, shadowy figures wearing masks and five piece suits would appraise you whilst synchronising their champagne sips.

The stage wasn’t as high as you thought it would be, and you have to be yourself to walk out. You’re wearing the same scrubs you were before. People are wearing masks, but the place isn’t as dimly lit as you thought it would be – although, there are a few shadows with legs sticking out. Premium seats. The Auctioneer is some strange flamingo-alien fusion with a gaudy top-hat.

“And, here’s Lot 384. A Human Male’s virginity! Foreplay sold separately. “ The crowd chortled, and you felt your face flush more from shame than any actual embarrassment. “Bidding commences at 120. Do I see a 130?”

Then the Auctioneer peeled off, speaking so quickly you only caught on when the price capped at 180.

“185? Do I hear 185?”

You pick at a piece of lint on your cuff, and wonder what you’ll have for breakfast when this is all over. You sort of almost wish they had chained you, or cuffed you, added to the ambience of all of this.

“Ohoho, a venerable guest wishes to sample the product?” You jolted, looking up. From one of the shadows, a slender hand rose above everyone's heads. “Ordinarily we do not allow for this, but as a venerable guest we—”

Your blood rushes to your ear. What exactly does sampling mean here? Voyeurism wasn’t on the table here — what was off the table? You’re wishing now that you hadn’t stayed so quiet, that you had laid out more rules, that you had thought this through.

A figure rose from the darkness, only he wasn’t wearing a typical suit. He was dressed in full military regalia, bright blue against the aliens' greying skin. Probably alien-human, if the fact he had two legs, two arms, and a head all of human proportion told you anything. Granted, then you noticed the tail. The man was tall, this dawned on you with every step, and you don’t — you —

He’s here already, and you’re hugging yourself. His shoes click against the wooden stairs, and the temperature dips. Goosebumps stand to attention when this man approaches - and you’re half sure that if you don’t run your goosebumps will take off down the stage and through the doors.

The man looms over you, and takes your face in his hands. It’s not a sexy thing when he pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger, raising your face to meet him — no. He puts both of his calloused hands on each side of your face and smushes it together. It feels cold, rough, and impractical. Then he claps his hands around your shoulders, and stares you down.

The man has blue eyes and black hair that's pulled back. His features are measured, evenly spaced, and betray nothing about what he’s thinking of. It’s his skin that alienates him (plus the tail, that swishes side to side now like an erratic pendulum).His eyes were blown wide – like addicts in shows or movies.

“Good,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly smooth. There’s a scar peeking out from under his straight collar. “200.”

“Wuh!” The Auctioneer sputtered.

“220,” the General continued, and someone in the crowd laughed. “Subject to amendments.”

Your eyes dart over to the Auctioneer – what does that mean?

“Sold? To the good General.”

He never told you his name. In the end, he moved and began to walk off the stage. When he was halfway down the aisle, he turned, and raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Sir, ordinarily, we wait until after the auction—”

“250 and he leaves with me now.”

You hurry after him before the Auctioneer can say anything. You feel the hall's attention turn to you, and you shudder. Somehow, you still feel the generals cold hands on you.. He stops only to gather his coat from an usher, folding it over his arm. He doesn’t look at you again, not until you’ve walked out through an exit you didn’t know existed into a dingy alleyway and slides into the back. You shuffle in afterwards, the night was warm.

“From now on, until next year this date, you will sleep with me. You will meet all my needs, and you will stay the night.”

You blinked. “What?”

Yeah, he had paid off your immediate debts and probably your college debt. It was maddening.

“Sex, every night?” You asked, to clarify. The car was moving, and the city lights were a blur outside the tinted windows.

The General looked at you as if you were a creature of lower intelligence, his pupils shrunk.

“Who said anything about sex?”

The General was a strange man. For starters, he was large. Tall, muscular, handsome. He seemed genetically engineered to be both the ideal man and soldier. The only signs of inhumanity stemmed from his desaturated skin, his blue-ish tones.

His house was also surprisingly simple, although you were getting the rising suspicion that he was a bit more important than you had first assumed.

The first night was weird. You didn’t have pyjamas, but he wordlessly offered you a set of your own – plaid – all in his size so it drapes off of you. You showered, and decided that although you were fine going topless you weren’t sure that the General. Well, you didn’t even know what the Good General wanted with you.

You laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling above. It’s a kingsized, the thread count probably belonged to a tax bracket miles above yours. Everything about the room was anonymous yet dark – the bed was beige and slightly elevated compared to the rest of the room. Below (by a few inches) there was a taupe rug and the floors were hard wood – oh, and there was a whole armchair, sofa and coffee table set.

The General walked in just as you began to appreciate the nice mullioned windows. He said nothing, looked down, undressed, and crawled into bed where he laid down like he was imitating a pole. Then he commanded.

“Warm me.”

You sat up, staring down at this intimidating man, and – gleaning from what facts you had – put a hand on his shoulder and sincerely asked.

“Hey, what do you want me to do?”

At first you assumed ‘no sex’ meant nothing penetrative which at first was fine, but there were a lot of less savoury ways to have sex without any actual insertion – so now all you could do was ask.

“Warm me,” he said. Then, he grabbed your arm with a steel-clad grip and dragged you into his side. “Wrap your arms around me. Warm me. For this night, and the next three-hundred and fifty-five.”

His skin was cold, almost clammy. You shiver around him. “So—”

“No more questions,” He mumbled. “Sleep. Now.”

You didn’t sleep. You lay awake in the dark as the General’s tense muscles softened and he dozed off . 220,00 divided by 365… meant somewhere between 5-6 thousand a night. It’s more than you made at your job in months – oh, your job. There were so many details that needed to be worked out, but that’s for tomorrow. Now your brain is eaten by the soft white noise, and sometime after 3 you dozed off.

You wake up at six to see the General’s great figure getting dressed – it’s a little six, if the clock on the bedside table tells you anything.

“I will have the kitchen make you breakfast, you can eat with the servants. Be in bed for seven tonight,” He says, and you’re just now realising that this is real. Then, after selling your body, you’d go to work.

Your feet met the cold hardwood panels, and you patted the space where the General had been before. Cold. As if he had never been there.

“Okay,” you say, because you forget that there’s anything else to say, and drag yourself to your shower. You’ll loop back to your apartment to pick up your clothes, but until then you wore the General’s plaid pyjama set.

You stopped at the doorway. “Thanks…? Hey, what’s your—”

Before you can say name, he had stepped out of the room with the click of his shiny shoes.

Technically, you hadn’t done anything shameful but that doesn’t make the walk downstairs any less — awkward. You have to ask one of the whispering maids – some wasp-manatee-esque alien– for the directions to the kitchen. You go from tall ceilings and wide rooms to the cramped single-file halls of the servant quarters.

You sit in the kitchen, at a small wooden bench, and spoon at some porridge. It has a thin consistency, and you’re regretting coming down here. Everyone is working, yes, but they look at you with some intrigue and distrust. This must have been the position of nannies, not quite gentry and not quite – uhm. Employed. What you and the General had was more of a freelance thing.

No one approaches you, until the Bodyguard does. Or, really, Lapdog is better. He has the face of a very angry beagle despite being human with some modification. His teeth are sharper, his eyes are bright yet grey, his arm is metal and those steel metacarpals are curled around the hilt of his sword. He looks like he would very much like to strike you down.

“You…” He snarled.

“... Morning?”

He slams his hand down on the table, and the cutlery shakes. “You don’t deserve to share a bed with the General! The General is so great, so revered! Blablahblahblha…” for five whole minutes until you get up, deposit your dishes in the sink, and stroll out.

“I’m not done with you! You!! How dare you – imbecile, normy!”

What’s his problem…

It’s all a bit surreal, but somehow you manage. You always do.

–

The General was so large that you could lay on him like a mattress, and sometimes he'd let you do that. Other times, he would simply wrap his arms around you and doze off whilst resting his head against your shoulder or your stomach.

Once, he hadn't touched you at all. He simply lay with his back to you. When you did nothing he turned around with a fierce glare then turned again.

Unsure, but scared, you wrapped your arms around him from the back. Your body pressed against his.

If you didn't know better, you could say that the General wanted to be spooned. You, however, had a contract and a nagging security guard that informed you - insistently - that this was not the case. That the General merely wanted a heating patch. Still, you wrapped your arms around his wide chest, fingers barely meeting in the middle, and fitted your body into the crooks and dents of his.

The one consistent string through this was this: he was gone by seven in the morning.

These days you brought an overnight bag with your office clothes so you could be out by morning, and you don’t avoid the Lapdog’s barking anymore.

Few words are spoken, and the General is a man of fewer still. When life at work encroaches on your second job, you’re left sitting up at bed and typing away.

Tak tak tak

The blue light of the screen is a lighthouse in the dimness of the room. The curtains are already drawn across the windows, but light from the dimming sky filtered in.

The general stepped out of the shower wearing only his black underwear that you were sure was somehow military issued. He tried to go to sleep, somehow, by lying beside you and wrapping his arms around your side, burying his head into your hip.

Tak tak tak

“What are you doing?” He grumbles.

He’s never home at seven - not usually. When he is, he’s not in bed by nine. Those two hours of laying in bed are just for you to get the sheets toasty - like pre warming an oven.

“Work,” you mumble. “Ah, my seniors are bastards. Evil. Even the juniors. It’s a small office, so they just load everything onto the intern. I need it to, if I want to be taken on in a full-time basis. Ah, I hate this. Why can’t the weekend come sooner…”

Your eyes flick down to meet the scrutiny of his gaze.

“Sorry, I’ll try to finish up soon.”

“Where do you work?” He asked, and you realised that this is probably the first conversation you’re having with him since this all began.

“Just a small firm called [ insert organisation name ]. It’s a firm of architects, I hope to qualify in the coming years,” you hesitate. “What about you?”

“I work for the Ministry of State Affairs. We handle festival planning and internal security.”

“Oh, wow,” You say. “Must be busy. What did you do before… this?”

He shifted now, furrowing his head into the pillows. “I was a soldier, then I worked up to become a General.”

“Sounds tough.”

Tak tak tak

“It’s what I was made for.”

“That’s what dreams are about, I suppose,” You say under your breath, but you feel him stiff beside you.

“No. I was literally made to be a soldier. I was programmed as a fetus to be the best specimen for the Emperor, and raised to be his loyal soldier. Also, I don’t dream. They took that part out of me.”

Your typing stops. With all the borderline crazy around here, you really shouldn’t be surprised by the prospect of genetically augmented soldiers. Instead, you’re just sort of disappointed that the world let it get to this point.

“How old are you then?”

“Classified.”

You baulk. “Okay, yeah.”

He seems to be compelled to speak more freely now, his hands drawing circles just above your hip. Your flesh goosebumps, and you shudder.

“I started to fight in his wars when I was sixteen, in earthen years. I befriended him for a little while, back when he used to do the press tours. Where he’d visit us. I was so loved in those moments, it almost made everything worth it…”

You listen to him trail off, unsure of what to say. This was light years out of your ballpark, and sometimes people just need to talk.

“Now there are no more wars, no more enemies — none for me, at least. And I’m abandoned to office work and to assign guard rotas.”

He scoffs, and you feel his cool breath amongst your leg.

“I’m sorry,” you say, because there’s nothing else to say.

“Don’t be,” Is his only response. “Just stay still, and stay warm.”

You go back to your work, to your brief, with this sudden sense that you understand a little bit more now. Those things are a little bit easier to understand or digest. The General curls into your side.

Then your laptop beeps and you tut. “Do you have a laptop charger?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In my study,” he remarks, then he looks up at you. “I didn’t say you could use it. Only that I had one.”

Maybe not. Maybe it’s for the best that the General is a silent beast, otherwise he’s just a beast. You click your tongue, save your work twice over, and close the laptop.

“You know, that’s a bit rude.”

The General had the audacity to look a little offended – the summer sun had set, so the sky was still a profound blue and darkening.

“It’s my charger, I think I can decide who uses it and who doesn’t.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still rude,” you point out, and make as much effort to elaborate as he does to ask — which is to say none. You slide into bed, irritated, and drift off.

When you wake up earlier than you intended, the General is still curled against your body. This time he’s hugging your arm, his weight numbing it. Even on the weekends, the General normally woke up earlier. Yet, the clock to your side told you it was six and he was still asleep.

You try to close your eyes, reconciling the facts that Saturdays were no longer a part of your “you” time – coupled with the fact you couldn’t stay up into the wee hours of the dawn partaking in debauchery. You couldn’t stay up necessarily – at all —

Well, you hadn’t tried to. Maybe if you got one of those light filters, the hulking figures beside you wouldn’t be so opposed to it. Idly, you shifted and tried to regain some function in your arm when —

You felt something cold and hard rub against your hip.

It was bound to happen, too, presumably, men with penises ™ , sleeping next to one another. Mother nature would call, morning wood would rise. You just wish he was awake to politely excuse himself and deal with it in his own time.

Granted, he is a bit clueless for a guy who had supposedly killed people.

Had he killed people? You watch him slowly wake up, and maybe the question is a bit heavy for a first thing in the morning situation. There was already one heavy thing against your thigh. He was a General, but before that a soldier. You try not to think about it too hard, closing your eyes, but not before you ask.

“What are you? Like, species wise.”

The general shifted, his length was on you now but he was off your arm.

“I told you, I was genetically engineered to be a soldier. Specifically, I specialised in Arctic climate special operations until I was appointed General.”

You were sure that just the existence of Arctic special Operations was in violation of some galactic treaty, but you didn’t care.

“Are you going to deal with your raging hard on, or?”

“It goes away on its own,” the General murmured, pulling you close.

You crack your eyes open just a little and ask, tentatively. “I can handle it for you.”

Why you were offering to jerk off someone you were previously considering to have killed people is something beyond you – but you’re not sleeping, and honestly this might just pay off. The General gives you a blank look, before shrugging and saying.

“Yeah, sure.”

His length was cold and heavy in your palm. It was also quite…honestly. Not that bad. You’re on your knees, in between his legs and his underwear dangled somewhere down by his ankles.

The tip was flushed blue and almost pointy, the slit strange and long across the top. Gentle, you rub your thumb over the long slit, coaxing precum out. You hear a loud, lascivious moan from above — and honestly you would have sooner believed that some high deity had made that noise than the General had your eyes not flicked upwards and seen the look on his face.

Words cannot describe the utter ecstasy on the general's face. Slowly, you bring your head closer to the member and lick across the side - testing, and his eyes roll back into his head. He lets out a shaky whimper, his hands coming up to his face.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your breath ghosting along his length. The General’s leg jolts under your hand. “Let me see, please.”

You think for a moment that he will deny you. He is, after all, a man who has led armies into a raging battlefield. A man who has crawled home victorious each and every time. Instead, he lowers his hands and fists at the bed sheets.

Oh. Oh. This is going to be good. You move your hands to cover his length, one jerks him off whilst the other plays with his tip. You have half a mind to reach for his balls, but you think he’s not quite ready.

Those moans —- those moans! They pour from his mouth like the gentle stream of water, and you see his back arch deliciously. Every noise, movement, twitch, spurs you on further. He was falling apart in your hands. He whines, and you hear him sob something along the lines of “don’t stop” mixed with “it’s so so soo much—”.

It takes about a minute for him to start moving his hips in rhythm with your hands, chasing after the release. The thing is you’re not even doing anything special, but he’s drooling and you’re sort of ecstatic about this — you’re definitely hard. Now you see why people get off on this stuff.

It takes about two minutes for him to start letting out keening whines about feeling something coming, and just as his moans crescendo your bob down and put his tip in your mouth. You thought the moans pouring out before were lewd – the sound the General made then was positively porn. It was nearly a scream.

His cum is normal. If Normal meant transparent and tasting like something that came out of a hospital IV drip. You gag at the copious amounts of it. It dribbled and fell to the floor, fell onto your shirt, and you’re glad you didn’t do this on the bed. You’re forced to swallow and you take his softening cock out of your mouth with no small amount of gratification. You look up at the General, who’s freaky blue eyes stare you down – pupils blown wide, just like the night he first saw you, and you lick your lips.

–

The next night you have your phone with you and you’re reading some semi-obscure 90 chapter manhwa when the General, resting his head in the crook of your neck, asks.

“What is that?”

“It’s a comic,” you say, trying to sound casual.

“No it’s not, this scrolls,” He murmurs, his lips against your exposed skin. “Comics take full pages, and — the art is different.”

“Okay, so—” And that’s how you spend roughly ten minutes explaining what manhwa was and the transmigration genre to the General.

“Would you do it?” the General asks, he’s sitting up now and looming over your shoulder. “If you had the chance — stay in some fictional world rather than come home.”

The way he says it rubs you the wrong way. To some extent, this nightlife of yours was a fantasy life something you slipped into without the help of some lazy truck driver. On the other hand, the General spoke very compassionately. As if this was your home, not merely his house.

It would be best to clear things up. Instead, you say.

“I don’t know. Depends on the world. Have you ever killed people?”

“Yes,” he says a little bit too quickly.

“Ah,” you say. Because, what else is there to say? “What’s your name?”

He doesn’t answer you this time, instead he slips down back into the bed. You assume that’s the end, and continue reading your little story for a solid half an hour until the General stirred beside you.

“You're not warm enough,” He muttered, his voice gravelly with sleep.

Then he reached down and squeezed your length through your pyjamas. Or, rather, he tried to decapitate your penis. You screamed and flailed from the shock of the pain.

“Oh my— LET GO OF ME YOU MANIAC!!!” You shrieked, turned and slapped his body and arms a few times in your panic.

“My dick isn't a thermostat – stop it!!” You sobbed, then you howled something better not repeated.

The sheer ache radiating from your nether regions was not pleasurable. His grip lessened, then went slap, his fingers grazed against your thigh. You rolled away from him, putting as much distance as the bed allowed, and he made a strange keening sound.

“Don't you know how to jerk yourself off? Apply the same principles – also, ask before you do that!” You bellowed.

You were half sure the house had heard you, and you could picture the stares you would receive the next morning. Right now, you were curled around your family jewels and wondering if you would ever live a pain free life again. The General loomed from behind.

“I don’t.”

“I think you broke my penis,” you groaned. “I’ll need to buy a new one. Also, what do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to pleasure myself,” He said, and you’re sure you hear something like pride in his voice.

Your shock defeated your pain, so you rolled over to stare at him.

“So, when you get hard you just…?”

“A shower and reciting the national anthem calms it down.”

You choke on a laugh, until you look at his blue eyes and remember that the General never tells jokes.

“No, you jerk it to the national anthem?” You baulk. “You’re insane.”

“I do not ‘jerk’ it. I overcome it.”

You snort. “Haha, cum. Wait, so, what did you think --- happened, the other day. When I jerked you off?" "I thought that was sex." You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed. "Well, I guess it's a form of sex. But it's not, like, sex in the conventional way. I'll tell you more about that later -- you have to fix this." By this you meant your penis, by fix you didn't exactly imagine the two of you facing each other whilst sat upright and getting your penises out. Time and time again, life takes you down dangerous routes.

This all somehow spirals to you tugging down your trousers, and he his. Your cocks were flush against each other – and honestly? Alien dick gives people self-esteem issues. Not you, though. This guy was grown in a lab, so someone in that lab thought ‘ah, yes, big dick genes, hmm…’ and no one asked them if they had anything better to do with their life.

You lean back on your hands, suddenly flush. The General had turned on the bedside lamp, so you could see eachother and the shadows threw themselves across his sharp features. He’s pretty, you realise, not just handsome. It’s something about the slant of his cheekbones, or the length of his lashes as they flutter. As he slowly gyrated his hips against yours. You moan quietly.

His hand is as callous as the first time you met him, and you find yourself playing instructor.

“Try to wrap your hand around both of us – use both if it’s easier. Probably is. Damn, we could use some lube – maybe baby oil – mmph – see that precum building at the tip of your — yeah – oh, just smear some of that – yeah, like that. You’re getting the hang of it, keep going.”

You threw your head back as pleasure began to ebb from below. It came in rolling waves, from his hands touching your length to yours rubbing against his. You let out a whimper – there’s something especially exciting about doing this ordinarily solitary act with someone else. To have someone else devoted to your pleasure, even if he’s clumsy with it. You breath shakily, small sounds making way for fuller moans making way for whines for more – more more—

When you come your eyes flutter shut, so you miss the slight movement of the General looming over you. You were only just coming down from your high, when you were pulled into his embrace. The cum was cooling and sticky between you both, and you whined as your exposed length made contact against his.

“My name is Valentine,” he whispered, pressing you against his chest. “Valentine Adonus Soaring Through the Blue Moons.”

Alien names. You know you should be a bit more concerned about these bedsheets, but your eyes flutter shut and you humm, content.

“Change the sheets, then let’s go to sleep.”

-- kya thank you for reading to the end !! If you want to be tagged for ch 2 then comment below!! Next chapter, you will meet the emperor, explore your emotional connection with the General and wonder if he feels the same, and maybe be manhandled who knows..who knowss Also reader may try to gain more sentience and understanding of their own agency?

#bottom male reader #male oc #x bottom male reader #x bottom reader #x reader #x male reader #oc x reader #oc x male reader #original character #crack treated a bit too seriously #Smut #straight jorking it #mlm #nawt safe for work guys #oc x bottom male reader

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heliosunny · 5 months ago

Note

If that okay, can I please get yandere The Herta x reader x Ruan Mein (poly headcanon)

I have a whole plot for a fic. Maybe i'll give some headcanons in the near future.

Yandere!The Herta x Reader x Yandere!Ruan Mei

Herta has found a way to stop time around a living person, keeping them in a state of eternal beauty. Ruan Mei, on the other hand, has found a way to slow biological processes to an unnatural degree. The problem? You are the test subject.

The sterile chill of Herta Space Station was an ever-present reminder of the artificial world you had become trapped in. A cold, lifeless place where the pursuit of knowledge outweighed the warmth of human connection.

And yet, despite the vastness of the station, you felt suffocated.

Two pairs of eyes—one sharp and calculating, the other deceptively soft—never left you.

Herta sat at the edge of a console, swinging her legs lazily as she gazed at you. Boredom, as she often claimed, was the only reason she paid attention to you.

Across the room, Ruan Mei hummed softly as she adjusted a set of data on her floating screen. Unlike Herta, her smile was warm, almost gentle, but the way she looked at you like you were a rare, fragile specimen—sent a shiver down your spine.

You were their test subject and you had no way out.

“You should be honored” Herta said matter-of-factly, hopping down from the console. Her boots made no sound against the pristine floor as she approached you. “I don’t usually care about humans, but you… you are an exception.”

Your breath hitched as she reached out, cool fingers tracing the side of your face with a detached curiosity. “Such a fragile existence” she mused. “But don’t worry. I’ll preserve you. You won’t have to wither away like the others.”

From behind, you felt Ruan Mei’s presence before she even spoke. A gentle hand slid over your shoulder, pulling you into an almost comforting embrace. “Herta’s methods are too harsh, don’t you think?” Ruan Mei whispered near your ear, her voice honeyed, but laced with something darker. “Freezing you like one of her dolls? That’s too cruel… I would never treat you so coldly.”

“You’re lying” you said, barely above a whisper.

Ruan Mei laughed softly, fingers stroking your hair as if you were a cherished pet. “Oh, I would never lie to you.” She tilted her head. “I simply want to preserve you properly. A slow, careful process… where you remain alive, untouched by time. Isn’t that better?”

Herta sighed dramatically. “You’re going to ruin my fun, Ruan Mei.” She leaned against a terminal, arms crossed. “If I freeze them now, they’ll be perfectly unchanging. They’ll be mine forever.”

“But they won’t be able to feel, Herta” Ruan Mei countered, her fingers tightening ever so slightly in your hair. “What’s the point of preserving something if it loses its warmth?” She turned her gaze back to you, her smile deepening. “You don’t want that, do you?”

You swallowed hard. Both options were cages, just in different forms.

Herta tapped her chin. “Fine. I’ll let them keep their warmth…” Her lips curled into a smirk. “But only if they stay still.”

You didn’t get the chance to react before a chilling sensation crawled up your legs. Your muscles stiffened, a numbing cold locking your limbs in place. Panic surged through you as you tried to move, but your body refused to respond.

Ruan Mei tsked, kneeling beside you. “Herta, that’s cheating.” She ran her fingers over your frozen arm, sighing. “You always want to break your toys too quickly.”

“They’ll still be aware” Herta said, shrugging. “I’m not completely heartless.”

You gasped as warmth slowly returned to your fingers which is Ruan Mei’s doing. Her methods were different. Instead of outright freezing you, she manipulated your biology, altering the very essence of your body to prolong its state.

Neither option was mercy.

“You’ll belong to one of us in the end” Ruan Mei whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “So be good and choose wisely, dear.”

Your heart pounded as both women loomed over you.

You had to leave.

Your hands trembled as you slowly sat up on the research table, muscles aching from the forced stillness. Across the room, Herta and Ruan Mei were distracted- arguing, again.

“Y/n keeps resisting” Ruan Mei sighed, running a hand through her long hair. “If you keep pushing too hard, she’ll break.”

Herta, as always, looked unimpressed. “They should be grateful. I’m offering them something no other human could achieve—perfection.” She turned, glancing at you. “And yet, they keep struggling. Honestly, it’s annoying.”

This was your chance.

You exhaled softly before moving. With quiet steps, you pushed off the table, heading toward the exit. You had no plan, only instinct.

Just a little further...

“Ah-ah.”

A sudden weight pulled at your wrist, stopping you mid-step. Ruan Mei’s fingers curled gently around you, deceptively soft, like silk tightening into steel.

She sighed, her voice laced with amusement. “Where do you think you’re going, dear?”

You didn’t answer. You rarely did. Words were wasted on them. Instead, you yanked your arm back, hard.

For a split second, Ruan Mei’s eyes widened, surprised by your defiance. You twisted, shoving against her, forcing her grip to loosen. It worked—barely. You broke free, stumbling backward.

Herta tilted her head, intrigued. “Oh? Finally showing some fight?”

You ignored her, making a break for the door. Just a few more steps. Just a little... Something cold is approaching

Not the air, not fear, but Herta’s power. It wrapped around your body like invisible chains, locking your movements in place.

You clenched your teeth, muscles burning as you fought against it. Move. Move. MOVE.

Herta sighed. “Tsk. You’re being difficult.” She flicked her fingers, tightening the hold. “Why do you keep running? There’s no escape.”

Your breathing was uneven, but you still managed a glare.

Ruan Mei chuckled, stepping closer. “You’re so stubborn.” She brushed her fingers along your jaw, tilting your face toward her. “But I know, deep down, you care for us. That’s why you won’t say it outright… You don’t want to hurt our feelings, right?”

Your lips pressed into a thin line.

She wasn’t completely wrong.

Despite everything, despite the cage they forced you into—some part of you still cared. It made it harder to fight, harder to hurt them. And they knew that.

Herta sighed, lowering her hand. The freezing hold on your body vanished, sending you collapsing to your knees.

“You’re interesting” she muttered. “Annoying, but interesting.”

The cold grip of Herta’s power had left, but the phantom sensation still clung to your limbs like frostbite. Your body ached from the strain, yet you refused to show it.

Ruan Mei’s fingers remained against your cheek, her touch deceptively warm. “You’re so tense” she murmured, tilting her head. “Are you afraid of us?”

There was no point in answering. They'll do as they pleased anyway.

Your silence made Ruan Mei smile, as if she found your resistance adorable. “Oh, dear, we’re not your enemies” she crooned. “You’re just confused.”

Herta scoffed from behind. “They’re not confused. They just don’t appreciate what we’re doing for them.”

Your fingers twitched against the cold floor.

What you’re doing for me?

Your lips parted slightly, but no words escaped. You weren’t one for talking, and even if you were, what could you possibly say that would change their minds?

So, instead, you acted. Your body surged forward. Not toward Herta or Ruan Mei, but toward the small, sharp scalpel lying on the nearby counter.

Ruan Mei gasped, momentarily caught off guard by your sudden movement. Herta’s eyes flickered with intrigue, her hand rising just a fraction.

You snatched the scalpel in a tight grip, pivoting swiftly.

Ruan Mei’s expression faltered for the first time. “You wouldn’t.”

You would.

The small blade pressed lightly against your own neck—just enough to break the skin. A thin line of warmth dripped down your collarbone.

If they wouldn’t let you go… then you would take the one thing they refused to control. Your own life.

For the first time, true panic flashed in Ruan Mei’s eyes. “No—! Stop, dear, please.”

Herta’s entire body stiffened. “You’re being unreasonable” she muttered, but there was something off in her voice. Frustration? Fear?

Your grip on the scalpel remained firm. You weren’t bluffing.

For the first time, they had lost control.

The realization made your heart pound—not from fear, but from hope.

“I—” Ruan Mei swallowed hard, taking a step closer. “Put it down, sweetheart. Please.” Her voice, usually laced with amusement, now trembled. “We just want to protect you. You matter to us.”

You didn’t react. You just pressed the blade slightly deeper.

A small sound escaped Ruan Mei. “No, no, no—” She reached for you, panic overriding her usual grace. “Let me help, love—”

That moment of desperation—that single second of hesitation—was all you needed. With your free hand, you snatched the vial from the counter beside you, a small, forgotten bottle of one of Ruan Mei’s biological solutions. You didn’t know what it did. You didn’t care. With a swift motion, you threw it to the ground.

The glass shattered. A thick, burning chemical filled the air.

Ruan Mei gasped, stumbling back as the fumes stung her eyes. Herta hissed, raising an arm to shield her face. You ran.

Your legs screamed in protest, but you forced them forward, through the haze, through the pain—toward the exit.

Your chance. Your only chance.

But your body froze mid-step, a suffocating cold locking your limbs in place.

Herta’s voice was eerily calm. “You just had to make things difficult, didn’t you?”

Ruan Mei coughed behind her, her voice trembling. “Darling… why would you do that?” Her tone was no longer sweet. It was shaken. Frightened.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breath shallow. So close. You had been so, so close.

Tears pricked Ruan Mei’s eyes, but her lips curved into something unnerving. “You almost broke my heart...” she whispered, stepping forward.

Herta clicked her tongue. “We’ll have to restrain them better next time.”

Your vision blurred as the ice tightened around you, swallowing you whole.

You were no longer sure how much time had passed.

The constant experiments, the whispered reassurances, the subtle shifts in your body, it had all blurred into something… different. Your thoughts weren’t as sharp as before. Most important of all, you stopped trying to escape. Not because you didn’t want to. But because… the thought of leaving felt wrong.

You hated how your hands no longer trembled when Herta ran cold fingers through your hair. You hated how your body no longer flinched when Ruan Mei pressed a kiss against your temple, murmuring praises.

You hated that when they told you to sit still, you obeyed.

You hated that you couldn’t tell if it was by choice anymore.

The incident was insignificant.

Ruan Mei had been handling a delicate set of biological samples when a sudden alert blared through the lab, startling her just enough for a sharp glass vial to shatter against her palm.

A thin line of red trickled down her fingers.

You moved on instinct. Your hands reached for hers before you could stop them. Gently—almost tenderly, you turned her palm upward, examining the wound.

“…Oh?”

Ruan Mei blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

You didn’t speak. You rarely did. Instead, you reached for a nearby cloth, pressing it against the cut with practiced care. The warmth of her skin against yours was unsettlingly familiar.

She let you.

Herta, watching from the side, smirked. “How interesting.”

You didn’t react. You focused, wrapping Ruan Mei’s hand with slow, steady movements. Your fingers trembled slightly, but not from fear.

It was muscle memory.

The act of caring, of tending to wounds, it had always been a part of you. Even now, even after everything, that part remained.

Ruan Mei chuckled, breaking the silence. “My, my… you really are sweet, aren’t you?”

Your hands froze for a fraction of a second.

Then—warm fingers brushed against your cheek.

You flinched.

Ruan Mei’s smile deepened. “How adorable.”

Herta swung her legs over the console, tilting her head. “It seems all that time adjusting you has finally paid off.”

A chill ran down your spine.

Ruan Mei giggled, curling her now-bandaged fingers around your own. “You didn’t even think before tending to me, dear.” Her voice was honeyed.

Your heart pounded.

No...no, no, no.

This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t you.

But as Ruan Mei leaned in, her lips ghosting over your forehead, and as Herta smirked knowingly, you knew it was too late.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #herta x reader #herta hsr #the herta #herta honkai star rail #the herta hsr #ruan mei #ruan mei x reader #ruan mei hsr #ruan mei honkai star rail

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orthopunkfox · 1 year ago

Text

We Christians, we are the worst, we have a serious problem. We say everyone is welcome to come to church but when they do come, we are unprepared to receive them. We stand closed off in our little circles but we must welcome everyone. Everyone. The person might be your future killer, so what? That is God's business, not yours. We must open the circle. A man comes to me and says "Father, I am a homosexual and I have AIDS" (AIDS was a very frightening thing at this time. Very serious. Many priests would not visit people who were sick with it because of fear). And I said "So what? I am a doctor and Christ says His mercy is for the sick." Because this is the thing, mercy. We must always think "how would the Panagia [Virgin Mary] meet this person?" She would remove her veil and place it over them and cover them in mercy. So must we show mercy to all. Mercy. Mercy. We Christians are useless without mercy.

-Father Evangelos Papanikolaou

#orthodoxy #orthodox christianity #orthodox church #queer christian #faithfullylgbtq #trans christian #orthodoxleftist #inclusiveorthodoxy #thisglassdarkly #progressive christian #progressive christianity

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mybelovedwoo · 1 year ago

Note

yunho as boyfriend, please 🩷🩷

The long-awaited yunho boyfriend headcanon is here!!!

jeong yunho as your boyfriend - headcanon

headcanon, romance, fluff, smut

reader x bf!atz

wc. ~ 0.7k

an: i know this took soo long to write, but I actually had a really busy time since I last posted one of these TT but as summer is here now I'll hopefully have more time to write

you can request headcanons if you want to!! if you want to be tagged in any of my fics you can apply here <3

masterlist

- the funny golden retriever boyfriend, who never fails to make your mood better and to make you smile (it's his personal goal in his life, to make you the happiest, and he really does)

-just as to everyone, he is your sunshine, your happy pill, the reason you smile every single day

-he is also the "college boyfriend" kind of vibe, who is the love of your life and will be your husband in the future

-he always texts you no matter what, if his phone is in his hands, then he's most definitely chatting with you. also if he can't say anything else, he'll send you memes (it's one of his love languages)

-loves treating you with gifts, would most definitely bring you flowers on date nights, but don't forget about the bag of snacks and chocolates he always brings you on the first day of your period (he even tracks it on his phone, so he can be prepared)

-he's a gamer boy, so it's no surprise he loves it when you make interest and ask about his game, not even talking about when you ask him if you can play with him

-lots of inside jokes

-he is a big act of service guy. absolutely loves cooking for you or making you coffee before you wake up in the morning

-he never lets you pay for anything, even if you beg him. he thinks it's a gesture he is supposed to do as your boyfriend (at least that's what his father taught him)

-gets embarrassed very easily when you compliment him, he gets all shy and giggly, sometimes you do it on purpose, just to see his flustered face because it's the cutest

-he communicates problems so well, that you barely ever fight

-carpool karaoke dates, blasting your favorite music and don't care what other people think of you

-this man has endless energy, so he's never tired of doing anything for you or being with you. when you call him, he's right there just for you

-holding hands 24/7, even if it's too hot outside and your hands get all sweaty, he just doesn't care

-he loooves it when you pamper him, with kisses, or caress his back

-he asks for your opinion on everything, if you don't like something then he doesn't like it either. your opinion is the most valuable thing for him

-goofy nicknames that don't even make sense but you can't help but love it

-somehow always knows what you're thinking about. when you feel uncomfortable in a situation, he's right there for the rescue, tho you didn't give him any specific sign, he just knows you too well. or when you come home from work, you haven't spoken yet, but he knows by just looking at you that you had a bad day and ready to cuddle you all night long

-idk he gives off shy kisses vibes with lots of giggles, but when it's really intimate he just holds your face in his big ass hands

nsfw +18!!!

-okaay hear me out, he is probably a switch, but mostly a bottom. he just loves it when you take control, it's his favorite thing

-he would prefer the good old cowgirl position, but anything, where you're on top is his "favorite", at least that's what he says

-but there are times when his dominant side comes out and ohh boy, you are so blessed to experience it

-when he's in that mood, he just rails you with no mercy. he has to let out all the tension and there's no better place than in the bedroom

-he does magic with his long fingers, takes you to heaven then brings you right back to earth

-he likes doing it in a chair with you on top, of course, he likes the closeness and loves holding you during it

- sex with him is anything but boring, yeah it's really sweet with a lot of emotions, but it's also really passionate and sensual. he would recommend new positions and toys all the time, he likes experiencing

-for places, I think he's a traditional in-bed kind of guy, he likes to stay comfortable

-holds your hand and whispers sweet nothings into your ears, he talks you through it (with a really low and raspy voice)

-you have sex max three times a week, especially after a date night it's an essential

-his libido is quite high since he's a dancer, he can go multiple rounds in one night

-he likes to cuddle after, holds you in his arms. after a couple of minutes, you both just fall asleep right there and then

taglist: @dinossaurz (you can message me if you want to be added or removed)

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cressidagrey · 6 months ago

Text

The moment I could see it - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times that Gianpiero Lambiase thinks that Ariel Cane and Max Verstappen are weirdly similar…and 1 time he is just happy that the two of them are no longer pining after each other.

Warnings:

GP's POV, mention of cancer, mention of parent's death

Author Notes: I am back to my old tricks...which means I write from the most random of POV's just because. (I once wrote a chapter from a dog's POV so like, GP doesn't even really count.

About 3 months later, GP once again returned home from Race Weekend.

This time for good. Abu Dhabi had gone off well enough, Kvyat ending with a respectable 9th place... and Max Verstappen had ended up with enough penalty points on his special license that he was just 4 points away from a one race ban.

GP shook his head in weary disapproval as he thought of the young driver’s antics. Max really seemed to have no sense of when to stop.

Still, GP had some sympathy. Driving at that level was a high-pressure experience, and Max was still so young.

Well, he wasn’t GP’s problem. Thank god for small mercies…

Though that gritty determination and bravery bordering on stupidity… well, that was something that GP both admired and dreaded.

But…F1 was finished for the year, and he got to go home for christmas. So he would also get to ban all thoughts of Max Verstappen from his brain for the foreseeable future.

It wasn’t a very christmas-sy sight that greeted him as he turned his car into their street though.

Instead it was a hearse.

Parked right across their neighbour’s house.

In front of the house with the red front door.

In the three months since he had first met the Cane Family, Laura and him had indeed taken up Ariel on her offer to babysit twice. Both times Franny had been more than happy with her caretaker for the evening.

There also had been an ambulance at the house twice, once ending in a two week hospital stint for Paul Cane, as Laura had told him over the phone while GP had been in Singapore and Japan…

And now there was a hearse.

Immediately the fatigue of the weekend's race and travel seemed to vanish, replaced by a sudden sense of dread.

He parked and then climbed out of his car, his stomach in knots, and quickly crossed the street to his own house.

He walked up his front steps, forcing himself to take deep, slow breaths. He wasn't going to jump to conclusions. Not yet.

"Honey, I am home!" he called out for Laura. He found his wife in the living room, cuddling a sleeping Francesca. But she wasn't alone.

Emma was sitting on the couch, legs pulled up to her chest, staring emptily in front of her.

"Hey," Laura greeted him, a forced smile on her face, putting Franny down, as she came to hug him.

"Their father died this afternoon," she whispered. "Ariel dropped her off, so that she could deal with the..."

Laura didn’t need to say anything more. GP wrapped his arms around Laura, pulling her close.

"How is she?" he asked quietly, his eyes flicking to the girl sitting almost in a daze on the couch.

“How would you be if your only remaining parent died?” Laura gave back softly.

"Ariel?" he whispered.

Laura shrugged. “I think she is handling this with more maturity than an adult twice her age would,” she said quietly. “I offered to take Emma off her hands for the night, get her out of the house…”

GP smiled sadly at his wife. It was typical of her to be so generous. Despite the fact they had their own baby to look after, she wasn't about to leave the thirteen-year-old alone.

He looked back at Emma, who was still sitting on the couch, looking small and lost. It made his heart ache.

"Ariel refused. Said their older brother is on his way as well," Laura said quietly. "But he seemed...pretty much useless, to be honest."

GP felt a flash of anger at her words. Useless? How could their brother, a grown man, be useless in such a time of need?

He forced himself to take a steadying breath, reminding himself that he didn't know the details. It wasn't for him to judge.

"What do you mean, useless?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. He cast a glance at Emma again.

His wife sighed, looking rather frustrated. "He just...he just doesn't seem to be able to deal with any of this," she said, her voice low. "Ariel basically has to walk him through how to actually get here..."

Gianpiero shook his head, his respect for Ariel growing even more. She was already dealing with so much, yet she had to handle her brother as well?

"She's got enough on her plate already," he muttered, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Laura laid a hand on his arm, giving it a slight squeeze. "I know," she said. "But she's doing all she can to keep things together."

He looked over at Emma again, sitting so quietly on the sofa. She was just a child, watching everyone around her fall apart. It was all so wrong.

GP took a deep breath, trying to push down the feeling of powerlessness. "When will her brother get here?" he asked his wife, struggling to keep his voice neutral.

"He said he'll be here within the hour," Laura replied quietly, her expression one of concern. "I can start dinner for everyone..."

GP nodded, knowing that his wife was trying to do whatever she could to help. But as he watched Emma sit on the couch, still looking so lost, he couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness.

He walked over and sat down next to her, careful not to crowd her. For a moment, he just sat there in silence, not sure what to say.

He stared at his own daughter, asleep and content…once Franny was asleep, nearly nothing was going to wake her up again.

Emma didn't say anything, just continued to stare out into space. Her eyes were dry, but her face was pale and stricken.

"Hey Kiddo..." he said softly, trying to draw her attention.

She turned her head slightly, casting him a quick glance before returning her gaze to the distance.

He continued in a gentle voice, "How are you holding up?"

Emma didn't respond, just pressed her lips together tightly, but the way her chin trembled betrayed her effort not to cry.

He had no idea what to say to her. What could he possibly say to comfort a child who just lost her father? Nothing, really.

"I remember when Mom died," Emma said suddenly. GP started slightly at the unexpected words. Hearing her bring up her mother's death so suddenly was a bit of a surprise.

But he quickly composed himself, keeping his own voice soft. "You do?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Emma said simply. "Ariel was as old as I am now. I was 8. She took care of us. Dad was useless. But Ariel took care of us. Just like she takes care of everything now."

Gianpiero felt a pang of sadness. Emma was so matter-of-fact about her sister taking charge of the family, as if it was an expected outcome.

"Percy dissappeared afterwards. Left us alone," Emma continue weakly. "I don't think he wanted to be around us anymore."

Gianpiero felt his heart break a little at her words. "Why do you think that?" he asked gently.

"He went off to university.." Emma said softly. “Doesn’t come home until it’s christmas anymore. Some people say he's some kind of genius," she said with a roll of her eyes.

Gianpiero was taken aback by the scoff in her voice. It seemed like Emma had an opinion about her brother.

"You don't agree?" he asked curiously, keeping his voice gentle.

"Yeah well...I guess he's smart and all that," Emma said sullenly. "Good with numbers. Bad with people."

GP could hear the distaste in her voice. It seemed like there was some resentment there, towards her older brother.

“He just left us. Like we didn’t matter.”

He was tempted to ask her more about it, but the sound of a car starting pulled his attention...and then Emma was up from the couch, sprinting outside.

He followed after her, after a glance to Laura.

The hearse was pulling out onto the street.

By the time he was outside, Emma had already collided with Ariel on the sidewalk.

GP felt his heart ache as he watched the two girls hug, Emma clinging to her older sister as if her life depended on it.

Ariel hugged her back, her mouth set in firm line, as she watched the hearse carry their father's body away.

GP didn’t want to watch this. He felt like the worst kind of voyeur to see this…to bear witness to this moment, where he could see their grief laid bare like this…

And still he was rooted in a spot watching… He felt an odd sense of awe watching the girls. They were so young, so vulnerable, and yet so strong.

Ariel was clearly holding back her own tears, putting on a brave face for her little sister. Emma was sobbing quietly on her shoulder, her slender frame trembling against her sister's strength.

He felt a sudden rush of anger towards their older brother, Percy. How could he not be there when his younger sisters needed him so much?

He tried to push down the emotion; there was no point in being angry right now. He was about to turn away and give the girls some privacy, when he noticed a car pulling up onto the street, and then stopping.

The man that got out of the cab was clearly their brother, his red hair a dead giveaway. GP couldn't help but notice the lack of warmth in his movements.

Percy Cane seemed…nearly detached as he took a few steps towards the house, but his steps seemed slow, as if every step he took was something he didn't want to do.

Here were his younger sisters grieving over their father's death, and Percy Cane acted as if he would rather be anywhere else.

"Perce," Ariel greeted him, her voice soft.

Emma turned in her sister's arms, staring at him. "You came," she said, her voice somewhat…actually surprised.

"You are my sisters," Percy responded, nearly robotically.

There was something...off about the way he spoke...so emotioneless...so controlled…

He watched as Percy nodded somewhat mechanically at his little sisters, avoiding making eye contact with them. "Of course, I came," he added after a moment.

"For how long?" Ariel asked him.

"I am finished. I don’t need to go back."

GP was quite sure that he was missing some of the context.

"Finished with what?" Ariel asked him, staring at her brother.

"My doctorate," Percy answered. "I am finished."

Gianpiero's jaw nearly dropped. The boy had finished a whole damn doctorate? How old was he, twenty-two, twenty-three at most? And here he was, talking about it like it was a minor inconvenience…

"What do we do now?" Percy asked Ariel, and for the first time...GP heard something like shaking in his voice.

And suddenly it made sense.

Percy Cane wasn't an unfeeling monster. Even when he sounded like a robot or an emotionless asshole.

GP would have bet nearly everything that Emma's assessment of "Good with numbers, Bad with people" also involved "horrible with feelings”. Clearly, the young man was out of his depth dealing with the emotional fallout of his father's death.

GP couldn't help but wonder if his detachment was just a way of coping, a wall to shield himself from the overwhelming emotions. But it wasn't helping his sisters right now.

But Ariel didn’t let that stop her. Didn’t let it make her hesitate.

GP was struck by that fierce determination that crossed her face. She was taking on the responsibility for her family, no matter what.

"We'll get through this. We have done it before. We'll do it again."

It was a lot for a young woman her age, but she wasn't backing down. She was going to see her family through to the other side of this.

No arguments were heard...not when Emma buried her face against her sisters shoulder...and then for the first time...GP saw Percy Cane's hard shell break.

The usually emotionless young man looked utterly lost.

It was clear Percy hadn't quite figured out how to handle his own feelings about the situation. But his sister's words seemed to break through the walls he had built around himself.

And then…then suddenly he was hugging both of his sisters.

"You hate hugs," came Emma's muffled voice.

"You don't," was Percy Cane's simple answer.

He watched as the three Cane siblings embraced each other, their arms tightly wound around each other.

But it was Ariel...Ariel that was the tower of strength. Who was the center.

And the center must hold, regardless of anything else. Ariel was the foundation, the one who kept them from falling apart.

He could see how hard this was for her, how much she wanted to cry and grieve like any other girl her age. But in her mind, she couldn't. Not now. Her little sister and her oler brother needed her to hold it together so they had something to hold on to.

She was supposed to be a carefree college student, not the responsible head of her dysfunctional family.

Other kids her age only worry was from where to get cheap booze for the next night out.

Being the strong one, the one who had to hold everyone together, was one of the hardest roles to play. It took strength, resilience and a ton of emotional stamina.

And determination.

Ariel Cane seemed to have that gritty determination in spades.

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kaemoonx18 · 2 months ago

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This is my most controversial opinion yet, but while I want both Lyra and Rohan to win, I want Rohan to win more.

This isn't because I hate Lyra (I do not) or think she deserves it less, but because I know she'll be fine even if she loses. Mind you, Lyra's playing so her family could still send her to college and afford their current lifestyle without selling her childhood home, which would also solve their money problems since the land their house is on is implied to be worth a LOT. It's a sad reality, but Lyra will be fine regardless.

In contrast to Lyra, the only thing Rohan has going for him is the Devil's Mercy, but even that's not guaranteed. We don't know his life before the Mercy, but we do know he was orphaned, adopted at the age of 5 by the soon-to-be-dead proprietor, and has worked for the Mercy ever since. He's not just playing to secure his spot as the next Proprietor (a position that's bought just as much as it is earned), but his future as one because it's all he has. No family, no friends, no education, no trust fund, no future outside the Mercy, and not even a last name.

He also has a year to gather ten million pounds before he loses Proprietorship to the Duchess, who will probably want nothing to do with him if she does take over (they're rivals vying for the same thing, what did you expect?). If I remember correctly, the 2nd Grandest Game takes place in November, meaning he only has a month to gather that much money. While Rohan is undoubtedly clever and resourceful, there's only so much money a person like him can gather without breaking the rules.

Knox has a stable job, Brady is a genius grad student with a bright future, Odette won't be around for much longer, Gigi and Savannah have their trust funds, and Grayson is a Hawthorne. Only Lyra and Rohan's futures aren't as assured, but compared to her, Rohan losing the Grandest Games will mean losing virtually everything.

Savannah and Rohan better get together so the man still has a future (as Savannah's trophy husband if not as the proprietor of the Devil's Mercy).

#respect my opinion #the inheritance games #the grandest game #rohan tgg #lyra kane #savannah grayson #grayson hawthorne #gigi grayson

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cryoculus · 1 month ago

Text

— TRACK 04: GUILTY ⟢

aidonia is in the rearview, and the future is yours to take. but as your connections with the band deepen further, you find yourself toeing across the boundaries of what should and shouldn't be.

★ featuring; mydei x f!reader

★ word count; 8.5k words

★ tags; rock band au, found family, hostile acquaintances to friends to lovers, grief/mourning, angst, slow burn, eventual smut

★ notes; hi <3 i was supposed to have this up on here yesterday, but real life got in the way and i completely forgot lol!! as always, thank you saur much for the reception of the previous chapters!! really warms my heart.

★ header art cr; sarhiyu on x & ig

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

The signal came back sometime that evening.

First as a faint flicker of bars, then solid enough to get a call out. Aglaea stepped out to contact the label the moment she was able, her voice tight but professional as she recounted everything for the higher-ups back home. Power followed not long after, humming back to life in a blink that felt both underwhelming and miraculous. The flickering panic of the blackout gave way to a tired kind of normal.

The show in Aidonia was officially pulled. There was no way to reschedule when the roads are covered in snow, and fans were promised full refunds. Tribbios handled most of the damage control, coordinating with local venues and media to get ahead of speculation. Come morning, the snow had let up a little, but it was enough for you all to get a move on.

None of you talked about what had happened in Tribbios’ suite.

By the time the tour bus rumbled back to life and pulled out from the frost-stiffed hotel parking lot, Aidonia was just another name in the tour itinerary. Missed, marked. and moved on from.

You’re at your usual corner at the back of the tour bus, laptop balanced on your knees, and a weak signal blinking in the corner of the screen. The heater hums low beneath the bench, a small mercy against the cold that still clings to your bones. Everyone else is scattered in their own little silences—some pretending to nap, others just staring out the foggy windows.

You scroll through the band’s shared cloud, mostly looking for something to keep your mind busy. A setlist doc, rough rehearsal footage, old draft folders with half-named files and outdated timestamps. It feels safe here, in the admin side of things.

But then it finds you again.

That file.

Not only did the person who edited this retain your horrible spelling, but he made sure to change the file format just to mock you. For a moment, your eyes flicker towards the front, where you know Mydei is sitting. He’s got headphones on with his eyes shut, but something tells you he’s far from asleep.

You dismiss the file with a flick and a huff of breath, shutting your laptop and stuffing it back into your bag. Now’s not the time.

The air still feels cracked open in places, too raw and brittle to touch.

So you’re surprised when Cipher plops down beside you with a cup of something hot clutched in both hands and a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s never been the awkward type. She grins through chaos, flirts with disaster like it’s her personal hobby, but right now she looks…uncertain.

“Hey,” she says, softly.

You glance over with a curious look, nodding in acknowledgement.

She hesitates before speaking again, which is the second red flag. “I, uh… I wanted to say sorry. For what happened back at the hotel.”

“...To me?”

“Yeah.” Cipher fidgets, turning the mug in her hands. “I kind of…mentioned you like you were part of the problem. That’s not what I meant.”

You don’t say anything just yet, letting your silence feel comfortable enough for her to keep talking.

“Being snowed in definitely fucked with my head, but... I was angry,” she admits quietly. “At Aglaea, the silence, the way we’ve all been pretending like we’re fine when we’re clearly not. But I shouldn’t have pulled you into that. You didn’t know about the whole rule, or whatever the hell it was.”

There’s a weight behind her voice that you’re not used to hearing. A sort of vulnerability that doesn’t dress itself up in sparkle or sarcasm.

You exhale, shifting your gaze to the window. “You didn’t pull me in. I was already there.”

Cipher nods slowly, biting the inside of her cheek. “Still. I made it sound like you were the reason no one talks about him. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You meet her gaze, finally. “Neither did Hephaestion, did he?”

Her eyes flicker, like the name hits her in the chest and scrapes on the way down.

“No,” she whispers. “He didn’t. Not to us anyway.”

Her voice is raw, stripped of all the usual luster. “Heph was kind. Stupidly kind. Even when he was tired. Even when it cost him. I think… I think part of me got used to believing people like that can’t break.” She swallows. “But they do, and it was too late when we realized.”

The guilt in her voice bleeds out slow and quiet, like a wound that never fully closed. Suddenly there’s pressure building in your chest.

Because you remember watching Cipher from afar. Chaos incarnate. The one who lit up every stage like a sparkler burning at both ends. Back when you were just a shadow behind a screen, she felt untouchable—louder, brighter, too electric to hold. You used to think that if she ever cracked, she’d do it with a punchline. Keep smiling through the smoke.

But most of her fire was real.

Cipher was the first to congratulate you after your debut show. The one who stayed up late with you, noodling through some half-formed song you both knew was going nowhere. The one who knocked on your door in Dolos and dragged you out for a night you didn’t know you needed.

Now she’s here beside you in the low hum of a darkened tour bus, grief softening her edges.

No jokes. No glitter. All that lingers is ember after the flame.

The distance you once felt seems to be dissolving. All that noise between who she was to you then and who she is to you now... It narrows into something small and human. For once, you see her clearly. Not as a firework, but a person left blinking in the dark, once the sparks have all faded.

“I didn’t know him like you did,” you murmur. “But I wish I had.”

Cipher nods again. “Hephaestion would’ve liked you. He always liked people who gave a shit.”

Her words sting just a little.

Because you hadn’t given a shit, not at first—not about him. You’d been too focused on hiding. On keeping your past fan-life buried deep, sealed off from this new, shinier present where you weren’t some anonymous handle obsessing over a band, but a real part of it.

Yet here she is. Trusting you with a piece of a story you were never meant to be part of.

You turn to her again, eyes soft. “Thanks. For telling me.”

Cipher exhales, nods, and leans her head back against the seat. Her eyes drift shut, but not in sleep, only silence.

You both sit there in the lull between storms, the road stretched long and uncertain ahead.

The bus pulls into a highway gas station just past noon.

No more snow. Only wet roads and gray slush melting under a pale, forgiving sun. Everyone seems to breathe a little easier.

Garmentmaker powers down the anxiety alerts. Phainon hums something tuneless under his breath while Castorice carefully picks out snacks. Even Mydei wanders off toward the drinks aisle without that usual tension in his shoulders. You grab a pack of potato chips, a drink, maybe something sweet. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and for a second, the world feels like it's unpaused.

Outside, Tribbios rounds everyone up.

She’s standing near one of the green plastic tables bolted to the pavement, paper bag in one hand, sunglasses pushed up on her head. Her voice cuts through the highway noise.

“Alright, gather up! I’ve spoken with Aglaea. We’re taking a detour.”

That gets everyone's attention as you all glance at her expectantly.

Tribbios continues, “Before we head to the next stop, we’re heading to a nearby town—small place, nothing fancy, but I made some calls. They’ve got a community center with an open recreation hall. We’re doing a little impromptu team-building.”

Groans ripple through the group, but she holds up a finger.

“Don’t even start. You don’t have to sing, you don’t have to play, you don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. But we’re showing up. Together.”

Someone mutters, “Please say this doesn’t involve trust falls.”

She simply grins. “No trust falls. But it will be something grounding. The center’s hosting a lowkey open mic session. Locals only. No press breathing down our necks. No stage lighting that can render you clinically blind. It’s a place where we can remember how to be people again.”

A beat of quiet passes. Then Aglaea, still sipping coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her upright, gives a small, exhausted nod.

“Fine,” she says. “But we don’t stay long.”

Tribbios flashes a thumbs-up. “Three hours tops. Then we hit the road.”

The town’s only fifteen minutes off the highway, but it might as well be a different planet.

You’ve gotten used to glass towers and rhythmic traffic of bigger city states. Here, the buildings are squat and sun-faded, old bricks clinging to paint jobs from a decade ago. The roads curve softly around weathered homes and shuttered bakeries. Here, the trees aren’t ornamental. They simply grow.

Castorice leans over from her seat behind you, voice hushed. “Think we have fans out here?”

“If we do, they’re the kind that still burn CDs.” Cipher snorts, still sprawled across the aisle with a bag of marshmallow popcorn.

As the bus rolls deeper into the town, past the rusted gas pumps and schoolyard fences, something inside you twists. It’s not just the strangeness of being somewhere so quiet. It’s the fact that no one here seems to care who you are. Or what the hell just blew up back at in Aidonia.

It’s almost peaceful.

The recreation hall comes into view in seconds: wide, low-roofed, with flaking white paint and a notice board out front boasting yoga nights and bingo tournaments. The words COMMUNITY OPEN MIC are written in colorful marker on a taped-up sign by the door.

The bus slows. Someone stretches. Someone else yawns.

You clutch your jacket closer as you step off. The air smells like earth and trees. Like a place that doesn’t expect anything from you.

Maybe that’s exactly what you all need.

The floorboards creak beneath your boots as you step inside, worn lines from long-forgotten dodgeball games stretching across the scuffed wood. In the corner, someone strums an acoustic guitar, clumsy but heartfelt, the chords drifting lazily through the space. There’s coffee in paper cups, cookies stacked on fold-out tables, and someone’s grandmother knitting in the front row without sparing a glance toward the stage.

It’s far from glamorous. But in its own way, it’s charming.

Garmentmaker’s already unpacked their camera gear, moving with eerie, fluid precision between tables, adjusting tripods with a grace that makes even mundane angles look cinematic.

“Tribbios said this’ll make good ‘contrast material’ for the tour reel,” they say as they float past. “Aesthetic tag: Band Rebuilds in Rustic Amphoreus. Thoughts?”

You give a soft laugh. “You forgot emotionally devastated edition.”

Eventually, the band disperses.

Phainon’s the first to strike up a conversation with a local, his easygoing charm folding neatly into the warmth of the room. Cipher, of course, is sampling cookies like it’s a formal competition. Castorice and Anaxa whisper over the sign-up clipboard, nudging each other toward it with half-hearted resistance. Mydei hangs back, still near the entrance, hands jammed in his pockets.

Then—Aglaea.

She’s at the edge of the room, looking wildly out of place in her pressed black slacks and blazer over a band tee. Her gaze is fixed on the wall of thank-you notes and photos tacked up near the old piano. She doesn’t see you approach, or maybe she pretends not to.

“Hey,” you say, quiet.

She doesn’t flinch. “This wasn’t part of the original plan.”

You nod. “Yeah, but maybe the original plan sucked.”

That gets the smallest twitch of her mouth. You stand beside her for a moment, both staring at the cluttered bulletin board like it’ll explain what the hell you’re supposed to do with all this—loss, tension, silence.

Then she murmurs, barely audible, “He’d have liked it here. Hephaestion. He was…always better with small rooms.”

You don’t say anything, but you give her an imperceptible nod.

The music pauses moments later. Tribbios claps twice from across the room, gathering the band like ducklings. “Alright, listen up!” she chirps, practically glowing under the twinkle lights. “Let’s make some magic today, shall we? Think of it as an emotional karaoke session with fewer regrets.”

She scans the group. Then her finger lands squarely on two people.

“Mydei. Diana. You’re first.”

It takes a second to register. Your name and his, spoken in the same breath, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You freeze. So does Mydei.

“Why us?” you blanche, sharp and stunned.

Tribbios simply grins. “I believe in symmetry.”

Cipher lets out a wolf-whistle. Castorice claps like someone just got engaged.

Mydei shifts his weight but doesn’t argue. He heads toward the stage with a slow, deliberate gait, the kind that buys him time. You trail behind with a skittering pulse. As you both climb the steps, your companion makes a move toward the mic stand until Phainon calls from where he’s leaning against the wall.

“Switch it up! Let Diana take the vocals, and get Mydei on the strings again.”

“Seconded,” Anaxa agrees with half a smirk. “We’re sick of hearing that bastard’s voice.”

The small space erupts in quiet laughter from the rest of your bandmates, and the sound of it loosens the tension that’s been coiling around your ribs for days. You glance at Mydei, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he exhales through his nose, shoulders lifting in a subtle shrug. He takes the stool, and props the borrowed guitar on his lap without much thought.

The mic crackles as you touch it.

“Um, any requests?” you ask the room, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

One of the locals grins and shouts, “Surprise us!”

You stand there, trying to will your pulse to slow. The spotlight feels too hot, like it’s burning every thought and breath into sharp focus. Mydei, on the other hand, is already settled in. He adjusts the guitar with that casual precision you can never quite match, eyes scanning the room, and then, just as smoothly, he looks up at you.

“So,” he begins, fingers curling around the frets like they belong there. “How about we do workigntitledotmp3?”

Your stomach lurches. “Oh my god. Can you stop calling it that?”

“Why? That’s what you named it.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I’ve listened to it on repeat a few times. Took a guess at the chord progression.”

You want the floor to swallow you whole. The laughter from earlier feels like it’s miles away now. Your palms sweat against the mic. While this is not the first time you’re hearing of Mydei’s knowledge about that stupid demo, finding out that he listened to it repeatedly is a different story.

“Seriously?” you groan. “You’ve—?”

Mydei’s grin catches you off guard, like a rare sunrise breaking through clouds.

“Come on. It’s your song, remember?” he says again, but the softness in his voice makes it feel like he’s not just coaxing you into playing. He’s handing you the moment, like he’s sharing a piece of his own truth.

That’s the worst part.

It is your song. A relic from a night you couldn’t sleep, poured out like a secret. Now it’s here, about to be exposed under the stage lights and his fingertips.

Note to self: send that cursed file off to digital purgatory later.

Seconds later, you nod. Just once.

Because what else is there to do, when someone hands your own heart back to you and asks you to sing?

The lights overhead hum faintly. Somewhere in the back, Cipher leans forward, popcorn paused midair. The mic is warm beneath your fingers, but your voice still catches in your throat. When Mydei plays the opening chord, your heart nearly stumbles.

He really did listen to it.

Then, your mouth opens before your fear can catch up.

I’m more than the silence I taught myself to keep A name behind glass, too careful to speak Built all these walls out of fear I’d break But a cage is a cage, no matter the shape

So let it fall, let it burn, let it echo inside Let the truth in my chest be the thing I don’t hide If I’m meant to shatter, then let it be loud— I’ve lived in the shadows, but I’m stepping out.

Mydei finds the rhythm quickly. It’s not flashy or polished. You can tell it’s been a while since he played something for himself, much less a song that barely existed until now. But each chord comes out steady, as if he’s anchoring the room to give you space to fly.

Your voice rises into the second verse, so much stronger now.

I wore my doubt like a second skin, Danced on the edge but never gave in. But I’m done with shrinking to make space for the storm, I’m not small—I’m a universe, still being formed.

So let it fall, let it burn, let it echo inside, Let the truth in my chest be the thing I don’t hide. If I’m meant to shatter, then let it be loud— I’ve lived in the shadows, but I’m stepping out.

You don’t dare look at him yet, even if you can feel Mydei beside you, catching every breath you take with the press of his fingertips against the strings. It’s like you're speaking in a language only the two of you know, and you don’t want to shatter the spell with a single glance.

I won’t apologize for the way I ignite, This voice was never made for staying quiet. I’m done pretending I don’t want more— My name’s not a whisper. It’s a roar.

The last chorus crests like a wave you’ve been chasing your whole life. Each word strikes clean and resolute, carried by the burn of Mydei’s guitar beneath you. He doesn’t push the melody. He just follows, like he’s always known where you were going.

Then, with no grand finale or perfect cadence, the song ends.

The weight of it settles around you like something earned. Your chest lifts with a breath you didn’t realize you’d held since the first note. Mydei sets the guitar down with care, a soft click of wood on wood. When he looks at you, you can still see the ghost of a smile beneath those warm, golden eyes.

As the applause breaks, you realize this song never really belonged to you alone. It was always meant to be shared.

When you step down from the stage, neither of you says anything. But something passes between you anyway. It’s both quiet and electric, something that settles just beneath your skin.

You’re not sure if you want to give it a name.

Up next on Tribbios’ itinerary is Cipher, who’s dragging a slightly reluctant Castorice behind her like it’s just another night in Dolos. They stumble through a sugary pop duet once they get around to it, giggling more than singing. Somehow, that only makes it better.

Phainon follows with a borrowed harmonica, joining a local girl in a surprisingly sweet back-and-forth that leaves the crowd swaying. Then comes Anaxa, half-speaking, half-singing a smoky story-song about highway ghosts and forgotten gods. It’s weird. But completely on-brand.

Even Aglaea steps up. Her song sounds like a long drive through rain. She doesn’t wait for applause when it ends, just walks off with her usual grace. Tribbios jumps in to lift the mood, belting a melodramatic power ballad and, halfway through, accepting a kazoo from a stranger like it’s a trumpet solo.

During the interlude, your eyes catch on Cipher weaving around the stage, nervous energy radiating off her in waves. It’s the same jittery restlessness she had when she apologized to you on the tour bus. You start to wonder what’s got her wound up again, right up until she beelines for Aglaea with a tight-lipped smile.

You’re too far to hear their conversation, but the way their shoulders drop, the soft exhales, and the quick, relieved hug they share—it's enough to fill in the blanks.

Later, while the others finish a chaotic group cover of something vaguely punk and absolutely off-key, you settle into a folding chair with Garmentmaker’s tablet. You scroll: blurred mid-jump shots, wide grins, messy chords, fleeting glances.

But something makes you stop.

It’s a photo of you and Mydei, taken just after the last note faded. He’s turned toward you in the soft wash of stage light, bangs framing the glow of his amber eyes. The look on his face is open in a way that feels rare. He isn’t smiling exactly, but neither are you.

As you stare at the photo, something stirs deep in your chest. It feels like a sudden surge of warmth that spreads slowly, settling into the spaces that were waiting to be filled. Then your eyes lift to the scene before you: all the people who’ve welcomed you into this disaster of a band.

Loud and alive and indisputably yours.

Aidonia is behind you now, the snow, the silence, the fallout. Whatever waits on the next stage, the next road, the next night—

You’ll meet it like this.

Together.

[Original Tweet by @PulsePopDaily – now deleted]

EXCLUSIVE: Is The Flamechasers’ newest guitarist hiding a very devoted past? 👀

Fans are connecting dots between “Diana” and a once-mysterious mega fan who ran the largest account in the fandom. Full theory & receipts here 🔗 [link]

Top Replies:

@ GoldenDamselInDistress: y’all will accuse a girl of anything if she knows the setlist too well

@ NothingBurger123: not saying it's real but… that 2017 Tumblr post? uncanny

@ Hehehehehe: uhh am i the only one who thinks this is a red flag

@ GODNAXA: it’s giving Black Swan energy and I’m here for it

@ MydeisMic: okay but if it is her… that’s actually iconic??

Everyone is back in the game in no time.

After that much-needed wind down, you play every song on the setlist with twice the confidence you had on the opening night. It doesn’t take a genius to know that your bandmates are faring much better now, as well. The next three stops fly by in a blur of sold-out crowds and perfect cues. Five weeks into the tour, you don’t just feel like you’re keeping up.

You feel unstoppable.

Feedback from the label seems to be mostly positive. Aglaea finally looks less like she’s carrying the weight of the world and more like she’s just managing a band again. That’s partly thanks to Tribbios, who told Garmentmaker to force her into breaks the second her emotional readings dipped below a certain threshold. Still, no algorithm can fix burnout on its own. Aglaea only started breathing easier because the rest of you showed up and held the line.

The sixth stop is in Carmitis, a city cradled by pale green hills and washed in gold at dusk, where the horizon burns like molten steel when the sun begins to drop. You’ve never done a soundcheck half-dazed by the sky before, but there’s a first for everything.

When Tribbios told you this was Aglaea’s hometown, it made perfect sense. The place has her kind of presence—striking, composed, impossible to overlook. Not the type of beauty that sneaks up on you, but the kind that announces itself the moment it walks into a room. Just like her.

You can see that she’s at ease here. The band, too.

Everyone seems to know the local venue staff by name, and Aglaea makes a point of introducing you like you’ve always belonged. You try to wave her off, stammering that it really isn’t necessary, but she gives you a look that cuts through any excuse.

“Lest you forget,” she says, with that cool edge only she can pull off, “you’re part of the team too.”

For the better part of the evening, everything runs like clockwork. You tear through the setlist with your usual moxie, each note sharper than the last. But just as the final chords fade and you’re ready to launch into the closing act, the lights dim, and something unplanned flickers to life on the stage screen.

A surprise fan project.

None of you were briefed on this. Your bandmates exchange puzzled glances, clearly just as blindsided, eyes flicking toward the unfamiliar video rolling in front of a cheering crowd.

But when you spot Tribbios peeking out from backstage, she gives you a look that reads loud and clear: Just go with it.

The video fades in with a soft glow, met by an audible wave of surprise and delight from the crowd. Someone’s layered a slowed-down instrumental from the band’s debut single under the footage. It’s warm, nostalgic, full of reverb and care.

It opens with flickering clips of the band over the years: Cipher with shorter hair. Castorice clumsily adjusting her amp mid-show. A rare moment where Anaxa is the one laughing, and Phainon is mildly disgruntled.

Then comes a clip of Hephaestion. Larger-than-life as always, grinning wide as he throws his arm around Mydei mid-interview. The crowd cheers louder.

You’re not thrown off by it. You’d been a fan back then too. Before Diana, before the stage. Seeing Hephaestion on the screen doesn’t shake you. If anything, you find yourself smiling.

Part of you wonders if most of the fanbase has truly accepted you into this space yet. You know from experience how long fan projects take to put together—how they’re often in motion for months before they see the light of day. It wouldn't be unusual to find yourself absent from something like this, especially considering how much has changed in such a short time. You’d almost resolved to let the rest of the band have this moment, to simply smile and move on out of courtesy.

But then, the music shifts into a more upbeat track, the rhythm as infectious as you remember. The energy in the room pulses along with the song, and suddenly, newer clips start to flood the screen. More recent moments, clearly captured by someone who’s been woven into the band's orbit since the tour started.

There’s Mydei, grinning with the crew while setting up gear before the Okhema show. Phainon and Castorice, hilariously off-beat, attempting a terrible dance challenge onstage in Sabany. Anaxa with his mouth wide open in deep, oblivious sleep as Cipher tries and fails to drop a piece of chili into his mouth.

The crowd erupts in laughter, and it’s impossible not to smile. It’s so perfectly...them. These are the little moments between the chaos of shows, the kind that never make it into official footage but tell the real story of life on the road.

Then, there you are.

Your first show with the band. That solo where you leaned too far back and nearly toppled over—only to catch yourself at the last second, spinning the recovery into something that looked intentional. The crowd never knew, but they cheered like you meant it all along.

Then comes a slow pan: your silhouette framed in golden hour light during soundcheck in Dolos, fingers ghosting over frets as the stage hums beneath your boots.

Somehow, they even dug up a clip that moment. The one where you and Cipher are doubled over in laughter beside the tour bus, nearly wheezing, as Phainon mourns the tragic loss of his ice cream cone. The one knocked clean out of his hand by an oblivious Mydei, who still swears it wasn’t his fault.

You laugh at first. A soft, startled sound that slips out as the crowd roars with delight over Phainon’s theatrics. But as the next few clips play, the smile on your face starts to falter.

Because it isn’t just about the jokes or the spotlight.

They’re showing you.

Not just the polished moments, but the awkward starts—the missed notes, the way you used to grip the neck of your guitar like a lifeline. Candid flashes of quiet, caught when you thought no one was paying attention. The grit in your jaw when you pushed through another long rehearsal. The light in your face when the music took over and you forgot to hold anything back.

The way you kept showing up, not to prove anything, but because somewhere along the way, this stopped being a dream and started feeling like home.

Your eyes sting before you can stop it. One blink too long and the tears slip free, warm and fast. You try to laugh it off, to wipe at your cheeks, but your breath catches somewhere in your chest and refuses to come out steady.

Castorice is the first to notice. She nudges a hand into yours, fingers gentle and sure, like she’s grounding you without needing to be asked. Anaxa leans in from the other side, pretending not to look too directly at you, but the way he shifts his shoulder in front of yours feels like a shield.

You sniffle, try to hide behind the curtain of your hair, but it’s no use.

The final montage begins to slow. The colors dim, the music softens to a hum. Then, across the screen in clean, glowing text, the last frame lingers:

Thank you for being our light in the dark.

The silence after the screen fades is thick with feeling. You can barely breathe past the lump in your throat. You don’t even try to wipe your tears anymore, but Anaxa begrudgingly pulls out a handkerchief from his tight leather pants for you to take. Of course, you blow your nose into it without a second thought.

Just when the silence starts to feel like it might swallow you—

“Oh no,” Mydei says, with exaggerated gravity. “Looks like we’ve got a problem.”

You lift your head, just barely. The audience holds its breath with you.

“Our lead guitarist,” he goes on, pausing for effect, “is absolutely, completely inconsolable.”

Laughter ripples across the crowd, warm and easy. You hear a few awws sprinkled in. Someone yells, “We love you, Diana!”

You press a shaky hand over your mouth, a laugh escaping through the tears. Castorice squeezes your hand. Anaxa mutters, “You’re stealing the encore,” but his smile says he doesn’t mind.

Mydei walks over, unhurried and steady, his eyes locked on yours. He leans in just enough for his voice to reach you—low and private, meant for no one else.

Your brain short-circuits for a second.

Because, naturally, this is the show he decided to go shirtless. The stage lights catch the sweeping red tattoos that blaze across his chest and the curve of his arms, every line sharp and intentional. His torso looks sculpted—like something out of myth, all effortless strength and impossible detail.

And he’s looking at you.

“You feeling alright?” Mydei murmurs, his hand brushing lightly against your back.

You nod. Kind of. But the spot where he touches you burns even when he pulls away.

“You sure?” Mydei tilts his head, smiling in that way that’s all quiet mischief and something gentler underneath. “I can tell them to roll the blooper reel next. That’d really finish you off.”

That makes you laugh for real. It’s breathless, a little cracked, but genuine.

He straightens up, raising his mic. “Alright, looks like we’re keeping the show after all. You ready for us?”

Once the heartfelt fan project wraps up, you deliver the last song for the evening. Your fingers move on their own, riding the music like a wave you were born to ride. The lights flare, the crowd sings louder than the amps, and for one breathless stretch of time, it feels like the universe exists only in this moment—sweat and sound and starlight.

Then the last note hits. Mydei throws his head back, letting the echo ring out as Phainon crashes the cymbals like a firework.

Silence, for just half a second before the crowd explodes.

People are on their feet, screaming, chanting, holding up phones and lightsticks and hand-painted banners. Some are crying. Some are laughing. But all of them are alive with the same wild current pulsing through your chest. You’re still catching your breath when Mydei turns to the crowd, hair clinging to his face, chest heaving.

“This—” he pants, gesturing to the sea of people, “This was one for the books.”

Castorice takes your hand. Cipher waves dramatically to the front row. Anaxa pulls off his jacket and throws it into the pit, because of course he does. Phainon lifts his sticks to the sky like he’s offering them to the gods. Mydei moves forward and you all fall into step with him.

“Carmitis, you’ve given us your voices, your hearts, your light. We’re gonna carry that with us to every stop ahead.”

The crowd screams back, thunderous and loving.

Then the band’s frontman turns to you with an unfamiliar glimmer in his eye, “Oh, and if you see our lead guitarist sobbing again, just know—it’s because you’re all too damn sweet.”

You cover your face, laughing into your hands as the others hoot and whistle and give you playful shoves.

Tribbios’ voice crackles through the earpieces. “Final bow, kids. Let’s make it good.”

And so you line up, shoulder to shoulder. Aglaea’s watching from the wing, her hand over her heart. Garmentmaker gives you a subtle thumbs-up from the lighting rig. Even the crew is beaming.

You all bow together. One movement, unified.

Something you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.

Backstage hums with movement. The kind of chaos that feels earned—high-fives from techs, congratulations from the venue crew, a water bottle pressed into your hand as someone passes. Your body’s still vibrating with leftover stage energy, but already you can feel it beginning to ebb, that delicate shift from performance to person, spotlight to shadow.

The show’s just ended, your adrenaline still tapering off as you and the others trail toward the exit, weaving past venue staff and local press. The security detail usually handles this stretch well, keeping the band insulated from anything unscheduled. But tonight, someone slips through.

“Diana!” a voice calls, sharp and cutting through the din like a needle. “Is it true you used to run firescapes? The biggest Flamechasers fan account on Twitter?”

Your heart misfires instantly.

Your steps carry on, automatic and numb, but your breath hitches and the smile you’ve worn since the encore fades from your lips like steam on glass.

The reporter holds a phone up, recording whatever scoop he can get from you. The flash is off, but you feel the heat of it anyway. You don’t even have time to process what expression you’re making. Your past, the one you kept buried under layers of name changes, fake email addresses, and silence, is cracking open.

Your bandmates are a few steps ahead, laughing about something Castorice said. None of them hear it. None of them see you falter.

Except for one.

Fortunately, security peels the reporter away before it can turn into a scene and soon enough, you're all piling into the shuttle back to the hotel. The others are still riding the buzz of the show, laughter echoing, voices overlapping with excitement. But you can’t seem to match their rhythm.

Not when the question keeps echoing in your head.

Is it true you used to run firescapes?

You swallow hard. The name alone feels like a live wire.

How could he have known? You were careful, meticulous, even. Not even the current mods knew your real identity. You’d scrubbed every trace, buried it years ago, left it behind. At least, you thought you had. Fuck. You can already imagine the headlines once word gets out.

“You good?”

Phainon’s voice hauls you back to the present.

Your designated shuttle seatmate is staring at you with one part curiosity and two parts concern. His voice stays easy, laid-back as ever, but there’s a quiet weight beneath it. Like he’s giving you room to lie if you want, but hoping you won’t.

You shift, suddenly aware of the tension in your spine.

You want to say yeah, all good, or something breezy to match his tone. But even as he tosses in the occasional quip to whatever conversation is happening a row over, you know better.

He heard what the reporter had asked.

The words don’t come easily. You’ve kept this part of yourself buried for so long that it doesn’t feel like a secret anymore. It feels like something anchored deep inside, always there, holding you steady but uncomfortably heavy. Part of you that wants to shove it all back down, and convince yourself the reporter was just guessing. That Phainon didn’t actually hear, and pretend none of it matters now.

But it does. Of course it does.

You half-expect him to pick at the corners, to pry something out of you. Any sane person who just found out their newest member could be a crazy fan would exercise that sort of caution. Yet, Phainon doesn’t breathe a word of it. He simply lets the question hang in the air like it’s your choice to answer.

Ultimately, it’s his patience that helps loosen something in your chest.

Your fingers twitch in your lap, restless, and you trace the edge of a fold in your jeans, the way you used to ground yourself when you were nineteen, posting concert clips under a name no one knew. You remember the surge of excitement whenever a post caught fire. The way it felt like belonging. The way it made them—the Flamechasers—feel a little closer.

You press your lips together.

“You... You heard what that reporter said, didn’t you?”

Phainon doesn’t answer right away. His blue eyes shift to the window, watching the city lights blur past as if he’s lost in thought. When he finally speaks, his response catches you off guard.

“Do you want me to say yes or no?”

Your brows furrow. “Sorry...?”

He turns back to you with a small, lopsided smile. “It sounded like something that’s none of my business. So I’m giving you a choice: do you want me to say I heard it, or keep pretending I didn’t?”

You should want the easy out. For Phainon to just shrug it off and go back to chatting about setlists or late-night food runs. But the cat’s already halfway out of the bag already, and somehow, the idea of letting him believe a lie feels worse than the risk of the truth.

You sink back in your seat, the confession dragging behind your ribs.

“It’s true,” you murmur.

Cipher shrieks somewhere in the back, and while that normally wouldn’t have fazed you, you visibly jolt at the noise. It’s a reaction that isn’t lost on Phainon, but he affords you enough grace not to point it out.

“I see,” he says. “You haven’t answered my question though.”

...That's what he cares about?

“Aren’t you going to tell the others?” you ask with a frown. “We have all sorts of protocols set in place for obsessive fans, so—”

“Are you an obsessive fan?” he asks, cutting you off gently.

Your mouth opens, then shuts. “No? I mean—I don’t think so. I just... loved the band. A lot. In a maybe-slightly-too-intense-but-not-unhinged way? Ugh. I don’t know.”

Phainon chuckles under his breath, the sound soft and unbothered.

“That’s good enough for me.”

Part of you expected judgment. At the very least, some unease. Surely the universe would be demanding payment for all the secrets you’ve smuggled into this life by now. But instead, Phainon just leans back, like your confession weighed nothing at all.

When he casually shifts the conversation—I think I need to replace my snares, they’re starting to sound a bit off—you realize the moment’s passed.

No pressure. No expectations.

But even with Phainon’s quiet acceptance, the unease doesn’t leave you.

It lingers in the corners of your chest, coiled tight, like a thread pulled taut but never snapped. You glance around the shuttle. Cipher is giggling at something Castorice said while Tribbios and Aglaea are talking in hushed tones. Anaxa’s got his headphones back on, staring out the window. Right next to him, Mydei is half-asleep with his head tilted back, the one who obviously poured out more energy than the rest of you.

They all look...unburdened.

That’s what makes your stomach twist. Because Phainon might be willing to let it go, but what about the rest? Would they be that easy? That kind? Or would they see you differently?

You swallow hard and look away, guilt settling in even as Phainon leans his head back, content to let the silence stretch. He’s already made space for the truth.

But you can’t shake the fear that the others might not.

You thought you’d feel better by now.

The adrenaline’s long gone, replaced with a hollow kind of quiet that settles deep in your chest. Outside your hotel window, the city hums softly beneath the dark—streetlights stretching into quiet halos, distant cars slipping by like whispers. Somewhere downstairs, the band’s celebrating, but you’re here alone, and that’s how you want it.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

You were just about to crack open your laptop, fingers hovering over the keys, ready to finally wrestle with that unfinished demo. The awful file name seems to glare at you from the screen, a passive-aggressive reminder of how long you’ve neglected it. But tonight, you figured, was as good a time as any. You needed something to keep your hands busy. Something to keep your mind off everything else.

That was the plan, until you hear someone knock on the door of your hotel room.

You think about ignoring it. You’ve already passed on the group’s celebratory drinks—“just tired,” you told them, which wasn’t entirely a lie—and the last thing you want is Cipher trying to guilt-trip you into joining late. But of course you cave. Of course you open the door, but it’s not Cipher that’s standing on the threshold.

It’s Mydei.

But he looks different somehow. Loose in the shoulders, sprawling tattoos peeking through a half-unbuttoned shirt, one hand braced on the doorframe and the other holding a dark green bottle.

“Didn’t see you downstairs,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “Those bastards told me to make sure you didn’t get spirited away by the vending machine ghosts.”

“The what?”

“You know. Hotel haunts. Always by the vending machines. That’s what Phainon told me.”

You stare at him. “Are you... drunk?”

“Not yet.” He holds up the bottle: Velkaria Bloodwine. It’s smooth, easygoing, tastes better than it should for how dangerously drinkable it is. Expensive, too. “Wasn’t in the mood for a party either. Figured I’d share with someone less loud.”

There’s a pause. Long enough for you to wonder if this is pity, or worse: concern thinly veiled as company. Despite himself, Mydei doesn't push. He just raises a brow, waiting for your verdict.

After a beat, you step aside and gesture him in. “Only if you let me keep working.”

“I’ll be a ghost,” he says, slipping past you with the kind of ease that always makes it feel like he belongs in whatever room he enters.

Mydei settles right next to you on the sofa, kicks off his shoes, and starts pouring out two fingers of wine into the glasses from your minibar shelf. There are no words for a while, just the sound of your keyboard tapping and the faint clink of glass.

You hate how comforting it is, the quiet, the company. Especially coming from him.

Because most of the time, Mydei is cool and remote, wrapped in that untouchable, quiet of his. You’re never quite sure where you stand with him. But tonight, he’d been unusually attentive in a way that caught you off guard. He asked if you were feeling alright while his entire damn chest was on display. And you, very valiantly, had to stop yourself from spiraling into one of your deranged ex-fangirl daydreams.

Now he’s here in your hotel room pouring drinks. Like this is some long-standing tradition between the two of you and not absolutely insane.

You don’t know what version of him this is, but it’s disarming. Maybe a little unfair.

“Are you finally going to name that file or are you just building a shrine to it?”

You shoot him a look, but it’s half-hearted at best. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Everything is,” Mydei says, bringing the rim of his wineglass to his lips. “But not everything can be performed as an impromptu duet in the middle of nowhere.”

For some reason, your heart skips at the fact that he remembers the recreation hall. That was weeks ago—you’ve already forgotten the name of the town. But not the way it felt to perform a song you wrote together. At the time, you brushed it off. Didn’t let yourself linger on it. But now, sitting here alone with him, the memory hits different.

The realization curls warm and awkward under your skin, and suddenly your face is burning with embarrassment.

You should tell him to go. You should guard this space the same way you do your secrets. But instead, you let yourself breathe in the silence that settles between you like warm smoke. It’s neither heavy nor sharp. You’re simply just two people too tired of the noise.

“Thanks,” you say quietly when you retrieve your own glass. “This is wine, isn’t it?”

Mydei grunts. “It’s fermented pomegranate juice.”

“So... Wine?”

He chuckles into his drink like he doesn’t know what to do with you. You sure as hell don’t know what to do with him. But the corners of your mouth tug upward anyway, and the silence that follows is easier now.

The project loads on your laptop, sluggish and messy, a patchwork of uneven synths and ghost track layers you’ve been too annoyed to clean up. It starts playing from a random marker. You wince.

Mydei leans forward, brow creasing. “That’s the chorus, right?”

“No,” you groan, scrubbing back a few seconds. “That’s the mess before the chorus.”

He hums, nods, then points at your screen. “Your mids are crowding each other. That guitar line could be cleaner if you isolate it.”

You blink at him. “I knew you were involved in producing our songs, but not to this extent.”

“I’m not. I’m just annoying.” He takes another sip. “Play it again.”

You do. Again and again, with a few tweaks each time. Mydei gives you his thoughts in single sentences—concise and thoughtful, never pushy. It’s almost infuriating how he speaks less than you do but still ends up being right more often than not.

Somewhere between exporting a new version and looping the second verse, your wineglass gets emptier. Then it’s refilled. And emptied again. The room softens. Your laughter spills easier. He says something about your synth patch sounding like a broken traffic light, and you almost choke from laughing too hard.

Time skips like a scratched record. You’re not sure how long it’s been when you realize how close Mydei has gotten. One of you must’ve leaned in. Or both. He’s angled toward you now, shoulder brushing yours, watching the screen from over your arm.

When you glance up, his face is right there.

Your breath stutters, caught somewhere between your lungs and your lips. The distance between you could be measured in heartbeats.

Up close, his features are unfair. Sharp in a way that still manages to feel soft, like how dusk blurs the edges of sunlight. His bangs fall just slightly into his eyes, that deep, burnished gold catching the glow of your screen, turning them molten. You hadn’t realized how long Mydei’s lashes were. Or how his mouth, usually so unreadable, looks almost gentle now, the faintest curve resting at the corner.

You should look away.

But instead, you’re cataloguing him like a fool: the way one brow arches more than the other when he’s focused, the way he smells faintly of old cologne and wine and something darker underneath, like cedar smoke or thunder about to break. The worst part? He’s watching you too. Not in the casual way people glance around a room.

He’s looking at you like there’s a question in his mind and you’re the only answer that fits.

The demo has stopped playing. The glass in your hand has gone warm. You can’t tell if the thudding in your ears is the leftover bass line or your pulse losing composure. You should move. Say something. Laugh it off, maybe. But the words don’t come, and your body won’t listen.

Then, Mydei tilts his head just slightly. His gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips.

Nothing about it is subtle.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs.

You swallow. “So are you.”

His mouth curves, just slightly. “Guess we’re both guilty.”

There’s a pause, light but loaded. The kind that stretches between two people suspended in a moment that might become something else if no one stops it.

It would be so easy. The room is quiet, the lights low, your skin humming from the wine and the proximity and the way his gaze doesn't waver. He’s close enough to count your breaths, to see the hesitation flicker across your face. Something waits at the edge of all this silence; something fragile, and bright, and irreversible.

But then you remember who you are. Who he is. And what crossing that line would mean for the both of you.

Maybe in another life, you’d let it happen. You’d lean in. You’d chase the heat gathering between you until it tipped into flames. But your body moves before your heart can answer. A blink, a breath, a laugh that comes too fast and a little too loud.

“You make staring at someone sound like a felony,” you say, aiming for playful, missing by an inch.

That gives you room to shift back in your seat to put space between you. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to breathe. Then, your eyes flick to the screen of your laptop, where the demo’s still frozen mid-loop.

“You gonna help me fix the synth patch?” you ask, quieter now. “It’s still clashing with the bass line.”

Mydei’s reply takes a second. “Did Cipher really help with this? She’s usually... more precise than this, even on her chaotic days.”

He laughs, but there’s something brittle underneath it.

You ignore it. Or try to. “Hey, you’re the one who said even the producers couldn’t tame this thing.”

The silence that follows feels heavier than the one before. Like something that had opened between you has quietly, carefully, closed again. Mydei doesn’t offer up a retort of his own. He simply leans forward, fingers finding the keyboard with practiced ease, as if that moment never touched him at all.

But as the track stutters back to life, you can feel it. In the way your pulse stumbles. In the way he doesn’t speak for a long time.

The music plays on. Everything’s back where it was.

Except it isn’t.

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #mydei x reader #honkai star rail x reader #mydei hsr #mydei #cryoculus

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