#hsr fanfic

[crowttore]

What do you mean you're a cat today?

Summary: In which your HSR man has to spend a day as a feline. Or rather, can you endure your feline companion for an entire day? Characters (separate): Sunday, Sampo Koski, Dr. Ratio, Anaxa, Jing Yuan Tags: Established relationship, gender neutral reader, character is a cat for the day, sfw, non sexual pee mention (Ratio), ~200 word drabbles each Minors DNI

Sunday

"Come on, little guy," you cooed, shaking the ribbon in front of Sunday's face, "don't you want to play?"

You cheered gleefully when he reached a grey paw up to swat at the toy. Although his enthusiasm left a little to be desired, you couldn't help but grin from ear to ear.

Sunday had spent most of the morning pacing around while occasionally sitting down in the middle of the floor to fervently lick his paws. Knowing his skin could be a little sensitive, you'd opted to check for any rashes or similar beneath the fur (an inspection that quickly turned into him melting under your touch).

Laughter bubbled in your chest when he nearly managed to stand on his back legs to reach further into the air. Sunday merely huffed and shook his head, giving you a look that told you he was only participating to make you smile.

"Just one little jump and I'll let you off the hook~"

He blinked at you, and for a moment you thought he might do it. Instead, Sunday ignored the toy and walked straight to where you sat cross-legged, climbing into your lap and curling up. Once he'd deemed his own paws and face clean, your hands became the next victim of his barbed tongue.

Sampo Koski

MREOOOWWWWW

A groan left your lips at the harrowing yowl followed by claws scratching on your poor glass door. What was this, the fourth or fifth time in half an hour that he'd begged to be either let in or out?

It had been the same every time, you let him in, he splays on your lap for a few minutes, he gets up, he begs to be let out again. Every time. If nothing else, this escapade made you cherish your lover's ability to let himself through closed doors under normal circumstances.

"Why can't you just come cuddle on the couch?" Your whine made Sampo's ear flick, not a hint of regret as he waltzed past and rubbed against your legs. A flash of white in his mouth caught your eyes, and you barely resisted the urge to gag at the thought of him carrying around mice.

"Hey- get back here." Trying to snatch it was futile, Sampo's annoyingly agile form easily dodging. You rolled your eyes as you caught his tail eagerly swishing back and forth. "What is it this time?"

All too proudly, Sampo dropped a white sock onto the floor, purring contently as he showed off the latest 'catch'.

"You're a bastard, did you know that?" Still, it brought a smile to your lips when he came over to knock his head against your leg. You'd just have to add it to the growing pile of laundry he'd snatched from your neighbours today and make him return it once he was human again.

Barely had you gone back to the armchair and patted your lap - hoping he would finally settle down - before you heard claws scratching against glass, a cacophony of meows floating through the air as he begged to be let back out.

Bastard.

Dr. Ratio

This should have been expected from the very moment you laid eyes on the far larger than average housecat your lover had become.

Veritas' purrs vibrated through your body and had lulled you both into a peaceful slumber with him curled up on your torso (It was a little difficult to breathe, but compared to having human Veritas on top of you, this was nothing).

Your fingers gently combed through his fur, your heart aching at the small chirp that escaped him as he blearily opened his eyes.

Before the first word could leave your lips, his ears had already turned in mild displeasure. "Veri, I gotta get up..."

If looks could kill, you might currently be fearing for your life considering the indignation in his eyes. Instead, you were left trying to force down a chuckle as large paws began kneading every part of your body in his reach.

"I promise we can continue cuddling after, but I really gotta pee..."

Having finally gotten him to move, you shut the door to the bathroom behind you, sitting down with a sigh. You'd always been aware that Veritas enjoyed quiet days, but you'd never considered just how well the life of a cat might fit him.

He was quite the relaxed man at home.

The sight of a paw slipping beneath the door and fumbling around had laughter erupt, his meows of annoyance from the other side only making it harder to breathe.

And quite needy.

Anaxa

"Anaxa?"

A small thud followed by hasty steps caught your immediate attention.

"Anaxa?" You called again, rushing through your home as you searched for your lover.

Too late. Glass shattering reached your ears just as you threw open the door to your shared study. Upon the table sat Anaxa, licking his tail as though ink wasn't currently seeping into the carpet.

"You honestly thought you could write like that?"

The question had passed your lips before you could neither adjust your tone nor rephrase it. Your hasty apologies were in vain as he began meowing and batting pens onto the floor.

He writhed as you picked him up, holding him at arms length to keep a respectful distance between his claws and your face.

"I know this predicament means you've got ample time to think, but can you please try to respect the current limitations on your body?"

His ears were flat against his head in frustration, and you were certain it was only a matter of moments before he'd start hissing at his lack of scalding words.

Maybe if you just...

His eyes went wide as you dangled him in the air, shaking him as gently as you could before he began squirming once more, forcing you to drop him as you tried to let him keep at least a little dignity by not laughing in his face.

Jing Yuan

Having Jing Yuan wander around in the form of a cat honestly hadn't been much of a change. He'd been napping in the sun for most of the day, purring and nipping at you for attention the rest of the time.

And if you were too slow? Maybe he'd knocked over a few cups during the day.

So nothing too different.

But this? You frowned, internally cursing at yourself for not having seen it coming. "I won't stop you, but I'm not kissing you for the foreseeable future."

You tried to sound firm, eyes narrowed as you stared down the large white cat. Jing Yuan, being every bit as unbothered as usual, merely adjusted his position on the couch, tongue out and one leg raised.

Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you waited for him to move, relief washing over you when he instead of continuing yawned and got comfortable.

As soon as you sat down beside him, he came over and began trudging around on your thighs, fluffy tail repeatedly brushing against your face.

You couldn't help but huff, petting him as he finally settled. "You're enjoying this way too much."

Jing Yuan merely smirked, purrs rumbling from his chest as he pressed his head a little further into your hand.

Masterlist link

[vistovii]

OPTION THREE.

🌙hey there! last night, this vivid fantasy came to me. i want to share it with you!

p.s. english isn’t my first language, the translation of this text may not be accurate.

tags & warnings: fem!reader x phainon х mydei, smut (threesome, cunniligus, double penetration)

word count: 2,2k

if u read it: you're hot stuff, thanks💛

The library of the Academy Grove of Epiphany was flooded with sunlight – playful and insistent. You sat hunched over an ancient tome on star spirals, feeling the weight of two very different stares boring into you. The tension between Mydei and Phainon hung thick in the air, as familiar as the dusty scrolls, stretched taut like guitar strings.

Mydei was fire incarnate. His perpetually messy hair looked like flame-red tongues licking the air, eyes the color of burnished copper sparking with cocky impatience. He leaned against a bookshelf opposite, clad in armor and fancy gear that shamelessly left his torso bare. His grin was a challenge, his movements sharp and wide.

"Y/N, you're not seriously planning to sit here 'til sundown, choking on ancient dust, are you? The Moon Gardens are unreal tonight... and deserted. Just the two of us. Well," his gaze flicked pointedly to the third occupant, mostly.

Phainon was his polar opposite. Cool, almost icy elegance. Silver hair perfectly styled, eyes deep as mountain lakes under a winter sky. His silhouette, ramrod straight in an immaculate blue-white uniform, was still, only the tips of his long fingers lightly brushing a book spine.

Without turning his head, he cut through the quiet air, his voice precise as a scalpel:

"The Moon Gardens are suitable for aimless strolls and idle chatter, Mydei. Y/N values knowledge. And the quiet you are so persistently shattering." His gaze, finally settling on you, was deep, analytical, full of an unspoken interest carefully masked behind politeness.

Their rivalry had been an academy fixture. Each vied for your favor – Mydei with crackling wit, risky expeditions beyond the walls, and lavish (if often ill-timed) gifts. Phainon with razor-sharp intellectual talks, perfectly curated books, his quiet, reliable presence, always ready to tackle the toughest academic snags. Both assumed you'd have to pick one. But today, a different plan had hatched in your mind.

You closed the book. The thump of the cover was startlingly loud, freezing both guys, their attention snapping fully to you. You looked up, first at Mydei, then Phainon. A faint, mysterious smile played on your lips, eyes gleaming with a mix of daring and sudden courage.

"You both try so hard," your voice was calm, laced with steel, "Mydei – to sweep me into your whirlwind. Phainon – to plunge me into the depths of thought. It's dazzling... and exhausting." You paused, seeing Mydei frown and Phainon's brow lift slightly. "Why..." you stood, stepping into the center of the invisible triangle between you three, "...should I have to choose between fire and ice? Wouldn't it be far more interesting... to blend the elements?" Your words hung, charged with a new, unexpected meaning.

Mydei's usual swagger faltered:

"Blend? Y/N, what are you...?" He shot a confused, quick glance at Phainon, who, to his surprise, looked not offended, but... intrigued. Those icy eyes narrowed, dissecting you, your stance, your expression, the subtext.

Instead of answering, you moved closer to Mydei. Light as a feather, you traced your fingertips along his forearm, feeling the muscles tense beneath.

"Your energy... it's infectious, Mydei," Turning to Phainon, your gaze locked with his piercing blue eyes. You slowly raised your hand, barely grazing his cheek. The skin under your fingers was cold, smooth, "And your focus... it's so deep." The touch made Phainon flinch almost imperceptibly, a crack in his usual reserve. You saw his pupils dilate.

"Imagine," you whispered, stepping back to see them both, your voice dropping low, husky, "how fire could warm ice... and ice cool fire... not destroying, but creating something new. Something... more." You challenged them with your gaze. "Or are you scared? Scared to find out what happens if you stop fighting over me and start... sharing?"

Silence descended, thick as fog. Mydei broke it first. A rough chuckle escaped him, but his eyes held no mockery – only shock, curiosity, and a dawning hunger to take this insane dare.

"Scared? Not a chance. But Phainon..." He threw a look at his rival.

Phainon slowly drew himself up to his full height. A strange fire burned in his eyes – disbelief, interest, and something else, deeply buried.

"Fear is irrational," he stated, looking first at you, then at Mydei, holding the latter's gaze a beat longer. "But an experiment... requires specific conditions. And privacy." His words were both agreement and question.

Your heart hammered. You nodded, speechless. The provocation had worked. The door to the unknown was cracked open. You took Mydei's hand – his palm was hot, slightly damp. Then you reached for Phainon. He hesitated only a fraction of a second before his long, cool fingers wrapped around yours with surprising gentleness. Linked by this new, thrilling, terrifying agreement, you left the library. Your footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, heading towards your private apartment.

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The fading sunset light, filtering through sheer curtains, bathed the room in warm gold and crimson. The air smelled of dried flowers in a vase and something else – thick anticipation laced with a hint of danger and irresistible pull. Mydei and Phainon stood facing each other like duelists, yet their gazes were locked on you, standing between them at the epicenter of the energy field you'd created.

You felt Mydei's excited, slightly ragged breathing. Phainon radiate controlled power. The pattern was broken; now it needed life. You stepped forward, towards Mydei. Lifted your hands, touched his face – his skin burned. He leaned into the touch, his copper-red strands falling onto his forehead. Your fingers slid down his cheekbone, to his lips, surprisingly soft, and you felt him shiver when your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. His strong hands settled uncertainly on your waist, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress.

"You always burn so bright, Mydeimos," you whispered, inches away.

"Only for you," the words rasped out before his mouth covered yours. The kiss was greedy, urgent, like lava flow, full of the raw desire he'd held back so long. His hands pulled you flush against him, making you drown for a second in his heat, feeling the sheer power of his passion.

Remembering the other participant, you reached back without fully breaking from Mydei, inviting Phainon. He didn't hesitate. You felt his presence behind you – tall, calm, radiating potent energy. His hands settled on your sensitive breasts – first cautious, questioning. Then firmer. His breath touched your neck, raising goosebumps in a contrasting wave.

"Phainon..." you breathed his name, pulling back slightly from Mydei's kiss but not moving away. You turned your head, meeting his icy blue gaze. You drew him in, lips meeting his.

If Mydei's kiss was fire, Phainon's was like plunging into the depths of a mountain lake – slow, exploratory, intensely focused. He moved methodically, precisely, mapping new territories of sensation. His fingers began tracing circles around your already hardened nipples, making you moan into the kiss, your head swimming.

Mydei, spurred by jealousy or excitement, found the clasp of your dress at the back. A moment – and the garment slid softly from your shoulders, pooling at your feet like a cloud.

Cool air touched your bare skin. Mydeimos froze, drinking in your curves, silent awe on his face. Then he sank to his knees before you. His hands circled your waist as his lips sought the skin of your stomach, leaving hot kisses and nips that made you shudder and press back against Phainon.

Time lost meaning. The room became an arena where bodies moved in a complex, unrehearsed, yet perfectly synchronized dance. Heat and cold didn't fight; they intertwined, amplifying each other. Mydei's touches were bold, demanding, claiming every inch of your skin. Phainon's touches were counterpoint and ally. Like a conductor, he guided your movements, anchored you during intense waves. He studied your reactions to the double assault, clearly affected himself. You saw his control fraying, his breathing growing ragged, his gaze darkening with unchecked desire when he watched Mydei touching you.

Three bodies, freed from clothes, moved in a heated tangle to the wide bed. Mydei, like living flame, pressed his hot, hard chest against your bare back, holding you tightly. One hand cupped your breast while the other slid down your stomach, towards the slick heat between your legs, his fingers teasing, preparing. His hips pressed against your ass, and you felt his arousal, pulsing heat against you through the thin barrier of skin.

Phainon stood before you, watching with desire-darkened eyes as the other man held you. Without pause, he knelt on the bed between your spread thighs, his gaze accepting this mad path you'd proposed. His lips found the inside of your thigh, kisses slow, deliberate, moving higher, towards the epicenter of your trembling. His tongue slid over sensitive folds, precise and relentless, drawing a sharp gasp and moan from you.

"Phainon..."

"This is what you wanted," not a question, a statement.

His tongue returned, more insistent now, focused on that most sensitive nub. Simultaneously, his thumb found your lower entrance, stroked over the tight ring of muscle, pressing with tender, undeniable firmness.

Behind you, Mydeimos groaned. His hands grew more demanding. His arousal, pressed against you, pulsed in time with his heart.

"Give it to her... give it to us..." his voice was hoarse with impatience.

Phainon made one last, devastatingly perfect stroke with his tongue, making your whole body jerk. Then he straightened, taking hold of your knees, lifting your hips, opening you completely. His gaze shot to Mydei – a silent command.

Mydei understood. You felt the smooth, hard, scorching length pressing against your slick, ready entrance. He entered first, sheathing himself inside your welcoming heat with one powerful thrust. A cry tore from your lips, your body arching, taking him in, feeling the full, stretching fullness. Mydeimos paused for a breath, his breathing loud, hands gripping your hips.

"Goddess," he exhaled.

But it wasn't enough. Your gaze, hazy with pleasure, found Phainon. He stood before you, not hiding his impressive size. He waited. Waited for your signal. Waited for your readiness.

"Join us, Phainon... Please..." you gasped.

It was all he needed. Phainon entered with agonizing slowness and infinite tenderness, allowing your body to adapt to this new, unfamiliar, tight embrace. The sensation was shattering: you were filled, stretched, pierced by two streams of energy. These two men became pillars holding up your universe.

You hung suspended, all three. Breath tangled in a single ragged rhythm. You felt every beat of their hearts inside you, every pulse, every inch of occupied space. This wasn't just intimacy. This was fusion. Complete. Absolute. You were the nexus, the point where two opposing stars collided.

Mydei moved first. Tentatively withdrawing almost completely, then smoothly surging back in, filling you again and again. His movements made your inner muscles clench. That clench caught Phainon, and he responded, finding his own rhythm.

At first, they moved out of sync. Mydei's thrust deep met Phainon's retreat, creating a vortex of sensation. Then their rhythms began to find each other. They found a shared tempo, a shared harmony where their movements didn't clash but multiplied your sensations.

The double onslaught was unbearable and divine. You felt their bodies fuse with yours, their energies twining inside – Mydei's fiery passion and Phainon's icy power. They were your anchor, your torment, your salvation. Moans became a continuous cry, your body arched, tensed like a bowstring.

The orgasm hit like a supernova. A wave of pure ecstasy, twice as powerful as anything you'd known, obliterated thought. Your body convulsed in the fiercest spasms, inner muscles clamping down on them both with incredible force. You screamed, deaf to your own voice, feeling your own contractions trigger answering groans and thrusts deep within. Mydei roared, his body locking tight, movements becoming sharp, involuntary, and you felt the hot, pulsing surge deep inside you. At the same moment, Phainon let out a low, choked groan, pressing his hips flush against yours in one final, deep thrust, and you felt a new rush of warmth filling you at the very core of your triple union.

Two parts of a complex equation had found their place within you, creating a perfect whole. Rivals vanished. Only you remained. Three. Bound now by an invisible, unbreakable thread.

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The first pale, tentative rays of dawn crept into the room, painting golden stripes on tangled limbs. The air was warm with mingled breath and the faint, sweet scent of closeness. You lay on your side, your back pressed against the hard plane of Mydei's chest. His arm rested possessively on your waist, fingers loosely gripping your skin even in sleep. Facing you, Phainon slept. Lashes trembled on pale cheeks, his features softened, serene. One arm was stretched out, his palm resting on your thigh. Even asleep, he radiated calm.

You closed your eyes, listening to the beat of two hearts – one loud and steady against your back, the other quieter but just as strong before you. Fire and Ice. Passion and Depth. Your provocation, your mad idea, had taken flesh. Option three hadn't been a compromise; it was the discovery of a new cosmos of sensation. You didn't know what came next, how you'd navigate this triangle under the academy's harsh daylight. But here and now, in the dawn's quiet, there was only one certainty: you hadn't chosen one of them. You'd chosen them both. And that choice, unexpected and bold, felt utterly right. The world had shrunk to this bed, to their breathing, to the soft sigh of wind outside the window, and the silent understanding hanging in the air.

[dreamer-milore]

—Not Your Biggest Fan

// first meetings with Robin's brother

IN WHICH • The biggest fan of Robin has no clue she had a brother. FEATURING • Sunday

word count; 2k

—----—---—-—-------——

YOU WERE A BIG FAN OF ROBIN.

And I mean really big of a fan. She was beautiful, paired with a wonderful voice, and a virtuous upbringing. Truly, in your eyes, she was one of a kind. Something about her was so ethereal—captivating—it knocks the breath out of your lungs. You've supported her from the very start of her career. You watched her every step in the music industry, every milestone she worked hard for, and every concert and tour she had. Even the very stardust this star has left behind.

You just love her that much.

Now, most fans of Robin are aware of her equally majestic older brother, Sunday.

Not only that, but he was also the head of the Oak Family. But it seemed that you were the exception to this news of a relative. Sure, you might've heard in passing that Robin had a family, but your brain probably ejected it from your memory space because all it can store was Robin, and every tiny thing about her.

(Now, could you still call yourself her biggest fan? Geez!)

One day, as you scrolled through social media, your eyes were quick to land on a post Robin had made. Your fingers instinctively tapped it, and seconds later, you were already skimming through the entire thing.

Now, imagine the excitement that filled you when you found out she'll be taking part in the Charmony Festival. Your heart was thumping loud against your chest, and a grin was quick to plaster your face, as your eyes brightened up with so much light.

You don't give things a second thought because next thing you knew, you were already reserving yourself a seat. A VIP seat, mind you.

As the day of the festival finally came, you were already up in your feet at the crack of dawn. And now you're boarded to head to the place of the festival. You sat on your own seat, gleefully rereading for the nth time Robin's newest posters, banners, and announcements with the event. From the corner of your eye, you take note of the man sitting beside you, (5'5"+, maybe?) clad in a dark blue coat with some designs of thorns engraved all around it. He's glancing at your phone, which had a wallpaper of Robin.

"Are you here for the Charmony Festival, too?" he asks, his voice friendly. You noticed his glance. Instead of being embarrassed about your wallpaper, you took pride in it.

"Yes! I bought a ticket the moment I knew Robin would be in it," you reply back, trying to match the friendly tone the man gave you.

He chuckles, "Ah, you're coming for Robin?" His head tilted in a curious manner.

You nod your head, your eyes lighting up at the mention of her name. "I am! I've been her fan for a while now, actually." You can't help the passion lacing your voice.

He cocks his head towards you, his facial features now unconcealed before you.

The man had a tinge of blue for his hair, and his eyes were yellow. If you looked closely, you might spot the wings enveloping his head. You could've sworn you saw them, but you thought you saw wrong.

"How big of a fan are you, then?" he asks.

"Her biggest fan," your words delivered with firm conviction.

A small smirk graced his features. You might fall for him if you're not careful.

"Prove it to me." It isn't a mere statement. It's a challenge.

"Gladly."

Sunday asked you several questions about Robin: her favorite food, animal, hobby, color, and whatnot. It was like a quiz, at this point. Color him surprised, yet amused, at how well you knew Robin.

You answered every single question he threw at you with not even a single flaw. Sunday knew Robin in a way nobody else did, but you seemed knowledgeable of Robin to almost the same degree as that of Sunday's.

He's impressed. He finds it endearing.

For the rest of your time together, the topics of your chats revolved around Robin. Sunday doesn't mind talking about his beloved sister. Let alone to do it with her biggest fan.

As the ride—and the quiz—came to a close, Sunday knew it was time to part ways. Yet he couldn't help but ask one more question to prolong the comfortable experience he found in your presence.

"Who's Robin's brother?" He knows everyone knows it, but he can't help the words to tumble out from his mouth.

You were already at a meter away from him when he called out to you one last time. You snapped your head towards his direction. "Who now?"

"Robin's brother!" he tried again.

In that moment, you found yourself unable to give a reply. Because how could you? You never knew such thing.

Then and there, Sunday gave a genuine laugh. (It sent tingles down your spine, but you ignored it). He was more than just amused. You, Robin's biggest fan, who knew every single thing about her except the fact she had a brother.

You walked up to him, and in the most confused voice he'd ever heard, you asked, "Robin had a brother?"

"She does," Sunday smiles. He savors the look of pure confusion and dumfoundedness in your face.

I won, he thinks, his heart swelling with pride. I'm still the one who knows her best.

Before you could even move an inch, the man was already gone in the blink of an eye, slipping away from your presence, walking among people that surrounded you two.

You looked around, searching for that familiar, handsome face, but to no avail. Shame you didn't get his name.

~~~

You tried not to be bothered by the fact Robin had a brother—and that you didn't know. You felt ashamed of yourself. But as much as you want to know more about this mysterious brother, you couldn't, given that you were now at the event. And your phone's dead.

You had to push through the crowds of people, getting lost, then managing to find your way to the VIP area. When you finally sat down to your seat, it was like breathing fresh air, your lungs no longer felt tight, and you didn't feel the need to hold your breath whilst pushing through swarms of bodies.

You looked at the stage, and you smiled upon seeing the familiar beauty of your favorite idol. Suddenly, all your troubles and sorrows were flushed down the drain, all to welcome the feeling of warmth and comfort brought by Robin.

As she had successfully done for the past few years, your breath is knocked out of your lungs all over again.

What was that song? I would fall in love with you over and over again?

Truly, those words completely capture the depth of your emotions.

Watching in awe, you were at the edge of your seat, watching Robin as she performed on stage. All of the songs she's ever made were engraved into your mind, every song and every lyric. It didn't take long for you to start singing along too. You admit that you're not well-versed in singing, but people around you had commented about your good singing voice.

The event had you in a trance that you forgot about her supposed brother. You even failed to realize the man who sat beside you.

"Quite the voice you have there, Ms. 'Robin's-biggest-fan'," a familiar voice snaps through your bubble.

You snap your head to him, your eyebrows raised high, and your eyes blown wide. "You're here too?" you ask, taking in the sight of the man you met earlier.

Sunday chuckles at your reaction. If he's being honest, this is probably the most he's been entertained by someone in a week or so. If Robin was here, she would've commented the same thing, not failing to mention how often he chuckles at your antics.

"Have I not told you earlier? I thought I'd voiced that out as my first words to you."

You run replays of your earlier interactions. Then you internally facepalm to yourself. "Of course. You did mentioned it when you greeted me, didn't you?" you sigh. That didn't even feel like a question anymore.

Sunday nods at you, that stubbornly handsome smile was still on his equally handsome face. But worry not. Your dearly beloved idol is just in front of you, on the stage, making your day with her ever-wonderful performance.

Sunday takes note of the state of your eyes. If he were to describe it, the first thing he'd say was starstruck. There was a dreamy look in your eye, one filled with unmistaken admiration. Hell, you looked like a lovesick high school girl. Sunday chuckles again at the thought.

He also took note of how you completely forgot about your earlier problem of not knowing Robin's brother. It seems that Robin is the center of the stage for you, and her 'brother' cannot and never can steal the spotlight that Robin owns.

Perhaps that's a better way to interpret why you didn't know about her brother.

Ever the gentleman, Sunday didn't want to bother you by bringing up your supposed 'problem,' and instead let you enjoy your oh-so-wonderful experience.

~~~

As Robin's performance soon comes to a conclusion, you almost slump down your seat, dreadful. But you straighten yourself up when a thought crosses your mind. You could ask her for an autograph! You never failed to ask in each of her events anyways.

"Attention, my dearest fans," Robin speaks through the mic, her ever gentle and sweet voice. "I would love to thank all of you again for making the time and effort to attend my event. This couldn't have been possible without all of your love and support," Robin looks to the side of the stage, as if there was someone there.

You do the same thing, noticing that your seatmate is nowhere to be found. You shrugged it off; he probably just went somewhere.

"And it's also thanks to my brother's everlasting support."

Your eyes go wide, you lean forward in your seat. This is it. Your problem will finally be solved! Fans screamed and shrieked, chanting the name 'Sunday.'

"Brother," Robin called out to him, and the man emerges from backstage.

Your jaw drops as soon as Robin's 'brother' comes to view. Sunday?! As in the man beside you??? As in the one you had a full-blown conversation with??? As in the head of the Oak Family?!?! Shivers ran down your spine, and a bead of sweat forms in your temples.

Oh no. Oh no. Sunday—Mr. Sunday—must have been pissed off at you for your ramblings. And the fact you didn't know him. But you answered his quiz from earlier (the one where he asked you about Robin), without fail, right? Surely, he might've been impressed by a miniscule amount, right?

You're aware of the name 'Sunday', and you're aware how that name is a big figure in Penacony, being the head of the Oak Family.

You've heard a lot of things about him, including his connection with Robin. But you never knew it was a familial connection, because back then you dismissed it as some form of business connection. Now you know.

You continue to watch as Robin makes her speech, then so does Sunday. Fans of Robin screamed louder at the sight of the majestic, Halovian duo.

Then, for a split second, you swear to the Aeons above that Sunday glanced your way, before continuing his speech to the crowd.

A lump forms in your throat, and your heart speeds up, it knocks the breath out of your lungs. But this time, it's for a completely different reason.

Holy Aeons! Have mercy! You abruptly stand up from your seat, making your way out of the VIP area. You need fresh air; else you want to implode in your chair then and there. How about food? That might help. You walk up to a food stand and ordered a pastry and some beverage. You need to cool down. Why? Well, you just had a casual conversation with the Sunday. Casual, mind you. Were you impolite, at some point? Or perhaps rude and exaggerated? You don't intend to disrespect him with your too-cheerful-it-gets-on-your-nerves yapping!

The man is notoriously known for his dislike with such things, and his obsession with perfection. You pray to the Aeons above that he does nothing with you. And you pray you didn't make a bad first impression on him.

After Sunday finally finishes his speech, he glances at the VIP area, but you were nowhere to be found. His smile falters, but he was quick to recompose himself. Where'd you go? He hopes that you'd be back. Sunday certainly enjoys his time with you. Perhaps he could introduce Robin to you. You might love that.

After the event finally finished, fans lined up to ask for autographs from Robin and Sunday.

Sunday, however, was swift to leave. He tells his bodyguards to look for you. Hopefully he could still find you. He puts his coat back on, so as to hide from the public. He definitely does not wish to be bombarded by fans and paparazzi alike. The man couldn't waste another second. He already told staff members to close down the place earlier than planned, leaving only a small, allotted amount of time for fans to greet Robin.

His intentions were to clear out the place of too many people, so he could have uninterrupted time with his sister, and you.

Meanwhile, you were at a nearby cafe, your seat tucked away in a corner. You stayed there, cooling down.

But as you stepped back inside the place of the event, it was already empty. And by empty, I meant no dozens of swarming crowds that could be the perfect recipe for a stampede incident.

You look around, the only people being there were staff. Robin stands at the stage, perhaps practicing her ability to dance. You watched in awe as she elegantly moved her body, her hands swaying, her feet gliding through the stage. It was truly a sight to behold.

Sunday was just there, watching, too. Until he spots you. A smile plasters his face, his eyes lightening up ever so slightly. The man literally ran a marathon just to get to you, which caught you by surprise, since you didn't notice he was there.

Meanwhile, Robin watches curiously as her brother runs to you. She smiles. So this is the girl he's been telling me about.

"I'm glad to see you again," Sunday said. His eyes wandered over your features, before landing to your eyes.

He genuinely meant his words.

You flinch, caught off guard. Suddenly, you're reminded of the status and reputation of the man before you. You were no longer friendly and casual. But instead replaced by formality.

"I wasn't aware of your identity, Mr. Sunday. I hope you could forgive me for the casual way that I've treated you," you say to him with a bow.

Sunday chuckles, finding your actions amusing. "No need for the formality. I believe we're already past that," he waves off. "But we haven't properly introduced ourselves, have we?" He extends a hand, bowing slightly, perfectly executing the pose of a gentleman "I'm Sunday. It's a pleasure to meet a beautiful woman such as yourself, Ms...." Sunday trails off, raising an eyebrow, wordlessly asking for your name.

"Y/N. The name's Y/N." You take his outstretched hand, gently molding it to yours.

Sunday's eyes glanced at your hand in his. "Wonderful."

.

.

.

[rakhalofthestars]

Lovebird

Synopsis: Chaotic shenanigans ensue when Boothill gets turned into an origami bird as you're forced to wait for him to turn back to normal.

Tags: Boothill x gn! reader, fluff, banter, comedy, cheeky bird behaviour (including a mating dance), boothill is a little shit, based off the new Origami Bird Clash event story, established relationship

a/n: I had a vision when playing the event and ran to get this written in the span of 2 hours, are you guys proud of me

Warnings: None!

wc: 1,7k

When you first met Boothill, you already knew one thing for sure. Trouble followed him no matter where he went. Whether it was in the form of his hat flying off his head into oncoming traffic—which caused a couple cars to nearly crash in their attempts to not hit the idiot when he went to retrieve it—to somehow causing a gunfight to erupt the second he walked into a room, it was undeniable that being with Boothill should come with a warning. 

Aeons above, he’d really meant it when he said danger is his middle name.

For better or for worse, you’d decided to stick with Boothill despite the fact that it meant you had to learn at least 5 different ways to defend yourself in the incredibly likely event that Boothill either got himself or you or the both of you into trouble. It’s not like you could do anything about it. Your fates appeared to be intertwined and there was no doubt in your heart that Boothill would fight tooth and nail to keep you safe.

However, nothing—not even the time Boothill’s body somehow malfunctioned and lost control over his arms— could prepare you for what you were seeing at this very moment.

“Tweet! @$#¤%!!”

“What the fuck?!”

“Oh dear, it appears Boothill’s crassness has rubbed off on you, my dear friend.”

You sigh and turn to Argenti. You’d rushed over from your spaceship to the Radiant Feldspar when you got the redhead’s message. He’d been surprisingly vague over what had happened and you’d been unsure over whether it was due to his usual flowery way of speech but now that you were here in person, you understood why Argenti had been unable to properly explain what had happened.

“So… that’s Boothill?” You point at the black and grey bird that was angrily chirping at the two of you. You were half-convinced that this was all an elaborate prank being pulled on you. Boothill must’ve gotten in contact with one of the Masked fools, surely! How else had he been able to procure such an admittedly cute origami bird that looked just like him? It even had the little twin bullets from his hat and his X-shaped scar for crying out loud!

“That would be correct! It’s a bit hard to explain but-”

“Lemme guess: Boothill got a bit too excited, ran his mouth without properly thinking and this is the consequence.”

“That’s the gist of it, indeed.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You scratch at your head, unsure of where to go from here. Argenti had assured you that help was on the way and that there was surely a cure to this mysterious curse that Boothill had been afflicted with… but you couldn’t help but worry. Sure, this may all be a dream but aeons knew what would happen to Boothill’s body in reality if he were to be stuck as a bird forever. 

Penacony was certainly holding up to its reputation as the planet of dreams because this entire incident was for sure a fever dream. There was no other way to describe it. 

You watch as Boothill—Bootbird would probably be a better name now— hops closer to you. Curiously, you stick a finger out and can’t help but smile when he nuzzles against it affectionately. Despite changing forms drastically, his personality stayed the exact same. There was something so incredibly endearing about seeing such a boisterous and headstrong attitude come from a bird that just barely managed to reach your calves.

“Tweet tweet!”

“Patience, dear. Backup is on the way. Maybe if you’d thought before you spoke, you wouldn’t be in such a pickle right now,” you gently chide the man–bird? You weren’t sure how to act towards him… at least until Bootbird flips you off… or rather attempts to. You had to give him credit where it’s due that he’d even managed to make his wings resemble a middle finger. 

“Are you seriously giving me the finger right now? I should just lock you up in a cage, y’know- Wha- Hey!” You hiss, shaking your hand as you feel the sting from Bootbird’s metal beak. The bastard had pecked you! The amount of audacity in such a tiny body had you completely flabbergasted.

“Bad Bootbird! Bad!”

“Tweet! Chirp! *Some truly fowl language.*”

“You take that back right now, you ass! Or I’ll have you sleep on the couch once this shit is over!”

“#@!&%”

“Right.”

– 

“Ninja Dokusha! I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”

You nod at Rappa, unable to hold back a little smile. She’s such an energetic young woman. Almost like a little sister really, especially with the way she looked up to both you and Boothill.

“Fancy seeing you here, Rappa. I didn’t realize you were the backup that Argenti was speaking about. I thought you were on another mission.”

“It’s a stroke of luck! I hadn’t been planning on returning to Pinecany for a while but decided to give some of my fellow ninja students at the Academy a visit!” Rappa explains cheerfully whilst animatedly waving her hands about. “Oh, since you’re here, that means Silvergun Shura must be nearby too, right?”

“Ehh… Not exactly? I mean, kinda? You’ll understand when you see it- Wait, where’d he go?” You look around, frowning in confusion at Bootbird’s sudden disappearance. He was just here a couple minutes ago. Maybe he’d flown off to a corner to sulk for a bit. You had been maybe a bit too harsh on him over his language and irritable state. Perhaps you should’ve been a bit more understanding. You know that you certainly wouldn’t like it if you’d suddenly been turned into an origami bird.

You watch as Rappa and her little motley crew talk to the Trailblazer and the young Xianzhou woman called Qingque, gearing up to perform some form of exorcism. Did the ninja scrolls also talk about exorcism? You mentally noted to ask Rappa about it once she was free. In the meantime, you dig into your pocket and pull out a few bullets. You had a habit of keeping some around in case of unlikely emergencies where Boothill had run out of bullets…. And also because they reminded you of the stupid man. You couldn’t help it! He had a way of getting to your heart that nobody else could ever hope to replicate.

“Can origami birds eat bullets?” you mutter to yourself, staring at the bullets in your hand. Maybe Bootbird would forgive you if you fed him some of his favorite snacks. 

“My dear friend! Mind if I ask for your attention for a moment? Boothill has something he’d like to show you.”

You glance up at Argenti before peeking behind him. Bootbird was peeking out from behind a pillar with that mischievous little spark in his eyes. Both amused and curious over what the cowboy had in store this time, you nod and follow the knight. 

To say you were surprised was an understatement.

“Is… Is he…?”

“Dancing? Yes, he is. I believe considering the fact that he’s now a bird, it’d be more prudent to call it a mating dance.”

This day just couldn’t get any weirder.

You watch with amusement and steadily darkening cheeks at the way Bootbird moved his tiny little bird body in time to an imaginary tune. Was this guy seriously moonwalking now as well?

“Where the fuck did he get that rose from?”

“I let him borrow it. I must say, Boothill is truly someone blessed by The Beauty. Such graceful moves despite the limitations this body must cause!”

“Amen to that.”

You’d been correct in your earlier judgment that Boothill’s new form didn’t change any aspect of his personality whatsoever. Why else would he dance in a circle around you before tweeting and flapping his wings, as if asking you to dance with him? Normally, you’d be a bit more self-conscious over just dancing out of nowhere with an origami bird. But this was Penacony, a planet filled with far stranger sights and this was no ordinary origami bird. It was your origami bird. Your Bootbird. 

Throwing caution to wind, you join Bootbird on his impromptu little dance floor and laugh in surprise when he flies up to your shoulder and gently pecks your cheek.

“Tweet tweet <3!”

“Yes yes, dear. I love you too and forgive you for earlier.”

“Tweet! Chirp!”

“Your dance was wonderful as well. You’ve always been the better dancer out of the two of us, even now. You should know that.”

“Tweet tweet!”

You chuckle, watching Bootbird blush and rub at the back of his neck, as if to say “Aw shucks, darlin’!”.

“You really are a little lovebird, aren’t you?” You quip, affectionately feeding Bootbird a bullet.

“Chirp!”

“Touché.”

–

“Rappa really outdid herself this time with these photos!”

“Shut it, darlin’. I oughtta shoot holes in ‘em.”

“You wouldn’t dare. You love me and Rappa too much to ever do that to us.”

“Dadgum wubbaboo…”

Much to your relief, the origami bird curse didn’t last long on Boothill. Sorry as you were to see the adorable and fat Bootbird go, you couldn’t deny that you much preferred your lover as his usual rootin’ tootin’ cowboy self. Though… you’d have hoped for a warning before Boothill was changed back to normal. The idiot had been perched on your shoulder like a dutiful familiar and once the curse was lifted, both you and Boothill had toppled to the ground in a tangled heap. 

“Aww, look at this one! It's us both dancing!” You nearly squeal in joy. Trust Rappa to use her ninja techniques and sneakily take such a candid shot! “We should totally frame this and hang it up in the spaceship’s lounge!”

“Y’sure ‘bout that, sweetpea?” Boothill sighs and grumbles under his breath when you nod eagerly at his question. 

“It’ll be a nice memory of the day my little lovebird performed a mating dance for me!”

“Speakin’ of… What say you ‘bout makin’ good on that mating dance, if ya catch my drift?”

“Only if you let me put all of these photos of you as a bird on the walls.”

���Anythin’ fer you, darlin’.”

[everybodyfwkaku]

coming home to sunday <3333

in honor of my love coming home, i couldn't help but fantasize about coming home to him instead :p

like just imagine... you can feel the stress of the day roll off your shoulders as soon as you step into your home. there’s a faint scent of fresh linen and something floral in the house, most likely from one of sunday’s candles. you make your way through the halls and into the living room. there, sunday sits comfortably on your small but plush couch, book in hand. a candle burns on the coffee table in front of him, as you suspected. a window in the kitchen is opened and a warm breeze brushes past you both, fluttering the pages of his novel. the fading sun streams in and casts sunday in a heavenly glow. fitting, considering the wings on his nape. 

“are you going to come sit with me or just continue to ogle, my dearest?”

sunday calls, eyeing you in the doorway. the sound of his voice warms your heart like cold palms above a fire, and the smile that follows almost knocks you dead. just the sight of your lover alone is enough to make you sigh dreamily. but he gazes at you with a sort of adoration in his eyes, an outstretched arm, and a soft smile gracing his lips. you eagerly make your way towards him.

sunday quickly bookmarks his page and sets the novel down as you approach. with a heavy sigh, you happily drape yourself on top of your lover and his welcoming arms, tangling your legs together in the process. face pressed against his chest, you mumble, “hi, sunny.”

he laughs, a soft but hearty sound. it rumbles from the depths of his chest, soothing you even further. he wraps an arm around your middle. “hello, my love.”

laying on the sofa, tangled together, the world seems to quiet around you. your soul grows peaceful at the constant sound of sunday’s soft breathing. he presses his nose to your hair, inhaling you and your scent, the scent of home. you draw small shapes at the nape of his neck. the sun gets lower and lower until sunday’s heavenly glow has subsided. the moon has taken its place on his skin, bathing him in a soft, milky light. 

his chest rumbles with a melody. rubbing your back softly, sunday begins to hum a tune. you feel your eyelids grow heavy.

“rest now, beloved,” he whispers, soft lips caressing the shell of your ear. “i’ll be here when you awake.”

under the glow of the moon and candlelight, you fall asleep in the arms of an angel.

note: oh sunday how i adore you (not more than tartaglia). thank you for coming home at 12 pity on a 50/50 <3 ps this is just more yap... nothing good sighhh maybe one day i will write something of quality

[descendedgaia]

𝕭𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝕱𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 11

phainon x gn!reader wc: 3.27k tw: angst, death, martyrdom, apocalypse, hope v despair, trauma Story Elements taken from Punishing: Gray Raven, The Surviving Lucem Masterlist ☲IN which you are not a Chrysos Heir or a Titan, but a human being who struggles and shall bring the story of the Flame Chasers the grand and spectacular ending it deserves. Previous Chapter

── .✦·········────

With breath imbued with a coppery tang and limbs laden with exhaustion, you collapse and press your back against the mountainside, sliding down for just a moment of rest. In this brief break, you pull on the metal tablet stuffed in your pack and press its screen before it glows into life.

A 3D hologram elevates itself from the screen, highlighting your destination in red and your current whereabouts in green. It won’t take long before you reach it, since you’re about half-an-hour’s hike away from the mountain’s peak.

But why is it that you are making this journey without the rest of the refugees?

“This tablet is the thing that Iris gave you?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, placing it down on the table. After leaving the precarious winding trail beset by the Black Tide on both sides, the refugees from Ladon set up a temporary camp to catch their breath and rest. “I don’t know what it was, but it was important enough for her to have protected it in her last moments.” 

Silence falls down on the three of you as Helena and Priam gaze down at this nondescript tablet. 

“But what is it?” Priam asks as he reaches out. He fiddles with it, turning it about in his hands as he tries to ascertain its functions. His fingers pass by some sort of groove on the edges and the tablet flares, shining into life. 

Surprised, he drops it quickly, the tablet clattering on the table before its light comes together to create a hologram of some sort of person hovering above it. 

“We hope that the recipient of this message is her Majesty Cerydra of Okhema,” the woman speaks. “However, knowing the current situation of Amphoreus, this message is for anyone who is able.” 

“Cerydra?” Helena repeats in confusion. “The Monarch of Okhema hasn’t been seen in centuries. How old is this message?” 

“We are researchers…or heretics you may say that have been banished from the Grove of Epiphany,” the woman continues her introduction. “We have sealed ourselves in Astraeus in the wake of the Black Tide’s advent and hope this message can be received soon and bring supplies to us. Dire as the situation may be we wish to express, that we found a viable solution to purify the Black Tide .” 

The three of you are astonished by this bold claim.  

“However, as limited as our supplies are, we believe that we may not reach this project’s completion and hope that you will be able to bring both more researchers and more supplies so that we may complete this project and reclaim Amphoreus from the Black Tide. This tablet has coordinates to where we are and shall act as a key to unlock and enter Astraeus.” 

With that, this hologram fizzles out and the tablet lets out a small hum as it forms a new 3D hologram mapping out the precarious terrain and highlighting Astraeus at the very edge of the Hesperides Mountain Range. 

“Astraeus?” you repeat in confusion and look to Priam. He sighs and runs a hand over his face. 

“I didn’t think it was actually real,” Priam shakes his head. “Astraeus, the Stargazers’ Abode. Apparently, it’s been a place where people who are branded heretics for committing blasphemy against the Titans go to continuing pursuing their truths, no matter what that may be.” 

“Considering this message was originally intended for Cerydra,” Helena continues. “This must’ve happened centuries ago. We can only assume they never got the supplies they needed because if they truly had the ability to purify the Black Tide…” 

She needn’t say anymore. If this “solution to purify the Black Tide” had reached Okhema, then the world would’ve been a vastly different place.  

“What should we do?” Priam asks. “Isn’t this at least worth checking out?” 

“Who knows?” Helena shrugs. “But this is not a detour we can afford. Plenty of people are still counting on us to get to Okhema. At best, we’ll probably just have to leave this be—” 

“I’ll go,” you cut in. 

Priam and Helena stare at you in confusion before you clarify yourself. “Priam and Helena…both of you are the unofficial leaders out of all of us. Helena can also look after the sick and wounded. This is not an opportunity we can’t pass up, so it makes sense for me to go.” 

“Alone?” 

“We’d be wasting too many supplies if we sent too many people to check out a possibility.” 

And so here you are. But the truth is, what truly drove you to this decision isn’t entirely the possibility of being able to purify the Black Tide. Rather, it’s because you’re exhausted: tired of life and it’s continuous suffering. 

Even the smallest change and help can make a difference, although they may not seem so for the time being.

Those are words that operate as the lifeline and the force that drives your heart to beat. For this amount of grief and suffering is too much for a single human heart to bear, and left unchecked it can lead any human being to the brink of sanity: and topple from the cliff to embrace their own oblivion.

Perhaps Astraeus may hold the key to purify the Black Tide. That you may not know and have a hard time believing with all the things that happened until now.

But if Astraeus does not have this solution…then you have already decided that the Stargazers’ Abode will be your grave.

You sigh quietly and dig out the small bowl of dried porridge. One last gift from Theo and Katherine back at Ladon.

At this reminder you can feel your heart ache and eyes tingle with a burning itchiness that trails down over your cheeks. However, you ignore all of this and dig at the dried and clumpy rice and chew through it even if your jaw hurts.

The desolation that had haunted your heart when burying all of your companions is amplified now with you taking this lonely path. It is an emotional agony that feels physical, tugging at your nerves as this chasm widens with an aching emptiness. And like Pandora’s Box, it lets loose the anguished yearning for simpler times back in Aedes Elysiae: back with Cyrene, back with that annoying little boy, back at those golden fields, back under the stars.

And with this desire that seems to tear your very being at the seams, you lean against the jagged earth and close your eyes to rest.

“Happy Name Day!” 

“All of this for me?” 

Cyrene giggles as that boy affixes three flower crowns over her head. She adjusts them so that sit more comfortably and more securely and beams at the two of you. “Who made all of these?” 

“I taught him how to make them,” you say and the boy nods in pride. However, just to be petty and cut his ego at the knees you add another tidbit. “He messed up dozens of times before making those three.” 

“I didn’t mess up that much!” the boy yells at you indignantly. “I messed up like…once or twice.” 

“Right…,” you drawl sarcastically. You turn back to Cyrene and hold out your gift. “Here, this is for you.” 

Cyrene smiles at you before gratefully taking your present. She gingerly unwraps it to reveal a small book bound in smooth leather. Pressed on the cover is a simple depiction of an Empyros Lily. 

“This is…?” 

“It’s a blank book,” you tell her, feeling sheepishness creep up on you. “A place where you can write the romantic story that you want to see.” 

“Oh…,” Cyrene looks down at this book, eyes curving into a gentle smile that gives her an impression of being on the cusp of crying. 

“Cyrene?” 

“Thank you,” Cyrene shakes her head and beams. She reaches out and brings you and the boy to an embrace to express the depth of her love. “Thank you both for everything. I’ll always remember this name day.” 

And you awaken, left reeling for more of that warmth. But the air is cold and stale, and the warmth left to comfort you is your own body heat. You take a moment just to sit there, to keep yourself from shattering into a billion fine bits of sand. And once you’ve gathered yourself into some semblance of strength, you continue this arduous journey up the mountain.

── .✦·········────

A long time ago, before the apocalypse, like everyone else visiting this mountain-residing city for the first time, Hesione is trying to view it and soak in its entirety.

If Amphoreus’s Golden Age is likened to a crown, then this city would be one of the brightest jewels on it.

Its towers glitter under the sunlight, pearl-white and holy. Its windows line up over its buildings, casting its reflections over the cityscapes like rows of stars falling upon the earth. It looks opulent, as if belonging from another time.

While not as populous as the Eternal Holy City, its civilian population could be seen by naked eye even from Hesione’s distance. To and fro these people move from their homes and to the central towers. But sacred as its appearance may be, it is the destination for where those exiled by the disciples of the Titans shall go. 

But as dark excommunication and exile may be, this city illuminates its possibility. Free from the edicts of Titans and the worship of their disciples, it stands as a lighthouse beckoning the ushering of humanity’s truth and future.

No matter how awe-inspiring this city’s visage may be, Hesione is relatively unmoved by it. Hesione thinks herself someone who is unmoved by “wonders.” She has always been rational, so much so that she has been called cold by others. 

But the moment she sets foot beyond its gates and immerses herself in the perspective of one of its occupants, she finds herself reconsidering her stance. 

Astraeus, the Stargazers’ Abode, is quite the apt name for it.

She takes a look upon the sun setting in the sky, casting its waning radiance on the city of starlight.

Others have given the sun many epithets: earth gracing, life giving…more or less. But it’s nothing new to Hesione. To her, it is simply a ball of energy. Inside, nuclear fission is always happening. The energy it generates every second is enough to sustain the entirety of Amphoreus’s civilization for hundreds and thousands of years. 

It is much less inspiring than the Core Flames that breathe life to the Twelve Titans.

The distance between the sun and humanity is quite large, and they will not be able to easily conquer it. However, Hesione pursues a more daring path. 

For the sun is simply nuclear fission and requires a fuel source at the end of the day. What she pursues is neither sun or moon, but the very heart of the Gods themselves. For if one could recreate the phenomenon of the Core Flames, if one could extract energy from them, then it would revolutionize humanity’s understanding of the world around them and march toward that uncertain future with confidence.

For if humanity conquers the divine, then there is no need to worry about the sun.

Hesione retracts her gaze from the setting sun and keeps her eyes ahead toward the future. A path that she will forge with her own two hands, away from the people who decree her ambitions heresy.

── .✦·········────

Now hundreds of years later, you step foot at the abandoned gateway to Astraeus. The city walls are stained with blots of the Black Tide, and its once tall buildings lay in heaps of depraved ruin.

The Stargazers’ Abode, once dazzling light the starlit night, is nothing but a whimpering facsimile of its former self. Even high above in the mountaintop, it cannot escape the same fate that befell the many other city states of Amphoreus. 

You step up to the gates shut close, pressing a hand against the wide doors that will not budge under your singular strength. However, undaunted by this turn of events, you hold up your tablet to the doors. The screen flickers with some sort of light and you can hear some mechanism unlocking.

With a shuddering heave, cogs and wheels that were left untouched and unmoving since time immemorial are finally brought back from the dead. The heavy doors open with each turn of it machinery before fully opening with a final thud! 

There are no people to greet you, except for the countless remains of skeletons strewn haphazard across the streets. There is not a single living being, much less a human soul, in sight.

Taking a deep breath, you set your sights on the Astraeus’s citadel and walk forth.

── .✦·········────

“Dr. Hesione, congratulations on becoming research director.”

Hesione merely inclines her head to the other researcher who expressed their congrats. Then she refocuses her attention to the large machine in front of her. It is laid against the wall with electrical wire and cooling tubes connected to its body. 

Sparks fly as machinery whirr to temper the body of this entirely man-made Titan.

“How is research on the Core Flame going?” Hesione asks. 

“We are still having trouble on the stabilization period,” the researcher shakes her head and hands Hesione a tablet. “While we have managed igniting energy sources similar to the Core Flame phenomena, we are still have trouble in crystallizing this ignition to shape it into an actual extractable energy source.”

Hesione merely hums as she looks over the data and the dozens of words that encapsulate the decades of research put into this. 

“So it seems cold fusion is also a failure,” Hesione remarks mildly. “Are there any other energy sources available to us or…energy sources that have been observed?”

The researcher nods. “We were observing a sort of fluctuation on the atomic, perhaps the quantum level, of particles in the closest temperature to absolute zero. When extracting it, we were met with tools suddenly failing and program entirely being terminated.”

“Oh?” Hesione tilts her head in interest. “Have we made any breakthroughs in that front?”

“We’ve managed to extract just a bit,” the researcher nods. “And that energy has been able to fuel things that roughly three cold fusion reactors have fueled. Only with rigorous shielding to protect from its…terminating effects have we managed to utilize it.”

“Have you all decided on a name for it?”

“Yes…the researchers have decided to name it ‘Finality’.”

But all of a sudden, the world is plunged into darkness. Researchers and civilians alike cast their gaze up and watch as the very life-giving sun of Amphoreus is eclipsed without rhyme or reason. The sky bleeds as the celestial atlas is razed of its stars and comets, and it is not crimson blood that seeps through those gashes, but stygian sludge that encroaches like an infection.

The apocalypse has arrived.

── .✦·········────

With a shove, you push open the doors to reveal a corridor leading to the heart of the citadel. Fumbling with your pockets, you rip a part of your cloak loose and wrap it around a stick. Once procuring a matchbox, you strike a flame and feed it to your makeshift torch.

Raising this flame above your head, you walk down the dim corridors, letting the warm light cast your long shadow across the walls and floors. You stop at the first door you see, holding your tablet against it. There is a electronic chime as it accepts the presence of your tablet and opens up with a quiet hiss. 

With your entrance part of the room lights up from electrical lights, but from centuries of disuse, it only flickers on and off as you walk through the room and inspect what’s there. 

You let out a quiet exhale when you walk up to a large glass wall. The isolation chamber is cold to the touch, and with the light cast from both your torch and the flickering lights, you see a skeleton half-corroded next to a puddle of the Black Tide.

You walk toward the largest desk in this dilapidated office and graze your fingers over the letters of the nameplate situated on it.

Research Director: Hesione 

You circle around the desk, inspecting it for anything that might give you clues or leads to this “purification” solution that was alluded to. Accidentally, your hand smacks against a button and a projector screen lights up. 

The image is fuzzy and the sound is grainy, but the projection isn’t corrupted to the point where you can’t make out what this projector is saying or who is being projected.

It’s the same woman who was projected from your tablet, and you can only assume that this person is the Research Director: Hesione.

“We’ve sent out five different squads out to see what is going on,” Hesione says in the recording. “Out of the five, only one has returned with a fraction of its numbers. All the people who have returned have all said the same thing: the end of the world is here.”

You sigh at the confirmation of Helena’s theory that all of this was from centuries ago. 

“We managed to intercept a messenger who was running on foot,” Hesione continues her report. “They said that they were tasked from Okhema to send out a warning about the Black Tide. They claimed that it was some sort of substance that originated from the sky and spread out in a very short time. If it were not the fact that we observed that phenomenon here at Astraeus, we would not have believed it.”

“We have received reports that exposure to this Black Tide has adverse effects on the human body and has driven even the Titans insane. There have been claims that there have also been two other Titans born alongside with its emergence: Nikador and Zagreus.”

“Thus, I have ordered Astraeus to close its borders. We held a meeting with the Board of Directors on where we should go from here. Some suggested broadcasting to other areas and taking in refugees. I turned it down as they already have a stigma against many of us as heretics and will likely commit genocide. Others have suggested leaving Astraeus immediately to join the rest of Amphoreus to join the effort to safeguard humanity. I also turned it down as a few drops of water will not stop a raging wildfire. Our researchers research, we don’t save lives.”

“...How cold,” you can’t help but whisper softly at this Hesione rattling off her report with pragmatic rationale.

“Instead I have made my stance clear. If the Titans are falling to the Black Tide, then our research here is all the more valuable to make sure that humanity has something else to fall back on. If we can recreate the Core Flames of the Titans, then this will give humanity a better fighting chance than any heroic sacrifice.”

You blink at the shocking ambition of “recreating” the Core Flames of the Titans, but Hesione continues to speak without batting an eye.

“As we are researchers unafraid of blasphemy, that places us in the best possible position to look into the intricacies of the Black Tide and find viable ways to deal with it. I want humanity to survive, thus Astraeus must not fall.”

Hesione closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to center herself. “I have adjusted our research direction to understanding the intricacies of the Black Tide and placed it on the same priority on our original goal of recreating the Core Flames. We have thus agreed to name this initiative…”

Project Prometheus.

[Previous Chapter] / [Next Chapter]

[lowkeyren]

—how to win my husband over 101

in which : you marry the ruthless prince of kremnos, and everyone says you'll never thaw his heart. but you’re nothing if not stubborn. surely all you have to do is win him over right? how hard can that be?

wc 8.7k (it’s worth it trust me), historical au, marriage of convenience, sunshine x grumpy, strangers to lovers, you fell first + he fell harder, fem reader referred to as “princess” / “milady”, ts burns so slow u might rip ur hair out sorry, heavily ib how to get my husband on my side. art by @/kannbergri on x.

surprise pookies @vxnuslogy @luvether @knnichs @kazucee it’s finally here!!!!

PROLOGUE: HOW TO SURVIVE THE EARLY DAYS

you married a stranger to save your homeland.

there was no love in the arrangement, no romantic vows exchanged beneath moonlit skies, no promises of forever whispered in soft voices. just firm handshakes and signatures inked on parchment. 

it was a straightforward agreement: kremnos would protect your people in exchange for a union, and you were sent to marry the crown prince, mydeimos, to solidify the alliance.

you had heard his name long before you ever saw his face. prince mydeimos of kremnos —a name whispered with reverence, with fear, with awe; carrying the weight of countless victories carved into the blood-soaked chaos of battlefields.

but none of those stories prepared you for the reality of him.

the grand hall of kremnos' palace feels colder than you imagined.

marble floors stretch endlessly beneath your feet, polished to a gleaming perfection that seems to reflect the distance between you and the life awaiting you here. the walls, adorned with banners of deep reds and golds, do little to warm the oppressive air.

servants pass by in hushed movements, their heads bowed, their whispers inaudible. the air carries the faint aroma of polished wood and lingering incense, yet there is no warmth to be found —not in the hall, not from the people, and certainly not from the man standing at the far end of the room.

you bow slightly out of instinct, a gesture of respect, though you feel foolish doing so in the context of your marriage.

dressed in the royal garb of kremnos, a deep red cloak embroidered with gold thread draped over his shoulders, his marigold eyes lock onto yours with piercing intensity. 

“princess,” he greets you, his words polished to a fault —exactly what you’d expect from a prince.

“your highness,” you reply, matching his formality.

“welcome to kremnos, i trust the journey was not too difficult.” 

it’s not a question, you realize. merely a statement to acknowledge your presence. you offer a polite nod, “the journey was smooth, your highness,” you reply, your voice steady despite the unease creeping into your chest. “thank you for your hospitality.”

you watch as he takes a glass of reddish liquid from a servant standing nearby, lifting it to his lips with ease, the vibrant color catching your eye.

the rich crimson hue seems too unnatural for something as mundane as wine. your gaze fixes on the glass as he drinks, a chill running down your spine as an unsettling thought creeps in.

is he drinking... blood?

your heart skips, a sudden nervousness, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

he catches your stare however, “what is it that you find so fascinating?” 

flustered, you lower your head, stammering, "i... beg your pardon, your highness.”

you can feel your pulse quicken, the heat rising in your cheeks as you panic. the weight of his cold gaze is almost unbearable, and you fear you’ve already made a fool of yourself. 

for a moment, you dare not look at him, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you.

the prince casually wipes the red liquid from his lips with the back of his hand, as your eyes drift involuntarily toward the glass once more, still questioning its contents.

his eyes flicker to you as they narrow, “still curious?”

you freeze, wrecking your head for a sensible answer lest you further embarrass yourself.

with a sharp sigh, he places the glass down on the tray. “it’s pomegranate juice, nothing more.”

you blink, stunned for a moment, the absurdity of your previous assumption crashing down on you. 

“pomegranate juice,” you repeat softly, as if testing the words to see if they make sense.

“yes. is that so difficult to believe?”

that night, you lay on the luxurious bed in your chamber, the events of the evening swirling in your mind. you shake your head, embarrassed by your own overactive imagination. 

you turn onto your side, pulling the heavy blankets tighter around you, but sleep evades you.

yes, your husband is a man of few words, fewer emotions, and absolutely no warmth when it comes to you. yet within that frost lies a heart, waiting for the right touch to thaw it.

ACT I: HOW TO DRAW HIS ATTENTION

over the weeks, you've learned many peculiar things about your husband. 

you’ve noticed, for instance, that he always rises before dawn, and spends hours in the training grounds perfecting his form —an unyielding warrior at heart. or how he has an unusual preference for adding goat's milk to his pomegranate juice, a combination that strikes you as strange yet somehow fitting for him. 

you’ve also discovered that, contrary to expectations, he favors the color pink —an oddly delicate choice for a man so rigid in his demeanor. and while he is undeniably polite, he also remains stern and is not one to easily open up, not even to those closest to him.

all that you've learned, you’ve used in an attempt to earn his favor, though your effort often feels like trying to breach a concrete wall.

(one day, you deliberately rise early, before the sun fully breaks over the horizon, and make your way to the training grounds.

there, you find a concealed spot in the shadows, watching him spar with the guards. you’ve gone, in part, because you want him to know you care, but also because of the impressive display of his skill that subconsciously draws you in. 

it’s not long before he notices your presence; his expression remains impassive, but his gaze hardens, narrowing slightly as he observes you making your way to him from across the field.

as you finally reach him, you extend the water in your hand. but just as you take a step closer, your foot catches on an uneven stone. you stumble forward, crashing into him, and spilling the cold water across his chest. 

the gasp that escapes you is quickly followed by frantic apologies.

"princess," he says coolly, the water dripping from his toned muscles, tracing the lines of his broad shoulders and down his chest. "...are you always this clumsy, or is today a special occasion?"

ah. 

well at least he has jokes..?)

or after noticing how he often stays silent during meals, you decide to change the pace. 

(at the dining hall, you ask about his interests, but he only gives brief, impersonal responses; his attention fixed on his plate, quietly indulging in the honey-drenched pancakes. you try to make a lighthearted joke, but he doesn’t even look up, offering only a polite “i see” before the silence drapes over the table again.

so, you finally decide to try a more… direct approach —flattery. surely, no man can resist a little charm, right?

you lean close as you gather all the courage you can muster, batting your eyelashes at him hoping you appear as endearing as you intend.

"i must say, my dear husband, you —uh, you are unmatched in your… strength and wisdom. it’s no wonder my heart can’t help but be drawn to you..?”

well that didn’t exactly sound convincing. 

“and… your arms, they’re quite impressive. i mean —wait, that’s not what i meant—”

and that certainly didn’t make it any better!

you brace yourself, expecting a sharp rebuke or, at the very least, some irritation. but instead, he simply nods, offering a brief, detached “thank you” before turning his attention back to his meal. 

you immediately avert your gaze, feeling a pang of relief. though it’s strange to think that at any moment, your husband might decide to chop your head off for being so foolish (...if he felt so inclined) he is the crowned prince, after all; and while his politeness is unsettling, it’s still better than his wrath... right?)

either way, it’s clear that your efforts have made not the slightest dent. better luck next time!

today will be different.

failure has never sat well with you, and after last night’s mortifying attempt at charming your husband, you refuse to let things end on such a dismal note. if words fail, then perhaps actions will speak louder.

so, with a woven basket tucked under your arm, you wander through the palace gardens first, where roses and marigolds flourish in a riot of color, their petals unfurling like delicate silk under the afternoon sun. honeysuckle vines twist gracefully around the trellises, their sweet fragrance lingering in the warm afternoon air.

you kneel amidst the blooms, fingers brushing over soft petals, feeling the gentle give of each flower beneath your touch. carefully, you pluck a few of each, tucking them gently into your basket, mindful of their fragile stems. you arrange them just so, already picturing the bouquet coming together in your hands.

but as you wander further, you find yourself drawn toward the edge of the estate. past the hedgerows and beyond the garden’s stone pathway, you notice something that catches your eye, a cluster of wildflowers —soft pinks and gentle whites.

perfect! these will be the finishing touch to complete your bouquet for mydeimos.

pleased with yourself, you smile and make your way toward the water’s edge. leaning forward, you stretch out to pluck one, your body lowering toward the ground, shifting your weight slightly, when—

a sudden force slams into your back.

the breath is knocked clean from your lungs. there's no time to react as the world tilts violently, and before you can even scream, the cold shock of water swallows you whole.

it’s deeper than you thought.

icy water rushes into your nose and mouth, sending a searing burn down your throat. panic grips you as the world above fractures into shimmering light, distorted by the rippling surface. you try to push yourself up, but alas, the weight of your dress still drags you down. 

as you thrash around uselessly, your limbs start growing heavier. the surface above you slips further away; and the last thing you register is the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you —with a final strained breath, your vision dims to nothingness.

the next thing you feel is warmth.

your head rests against something solid, a steady rise and fall beneath your cheek .a firm hold keeps you close, one braced securely around your back, the other hooked beneath your knees. 

you blink sluggishly, your lashes heavy with water. that’s when you realise, you’re in the arms of your husband.

his hair clings to his forehead, damp strands framing the sharp angles of his face. droplets trace slow paths down his jawline, soaking into the dark fabric of his tunic —leaving nothing to the imagination.

for a moment, disoriented and breathless, you can only blink up at him.

did he jump in after you..?

“why did you wander off alone?” he chastises, snapping you back to reality. 

your throat feels tight, your heart hammering in your chest. "i-i just wanted to do something for you!" the confession spills from your lips, desperate, your fingers clinging instinctively to the soaked fabric of his sleeve. 

it’s foolish, maybe, but you’re still reeling —from the near drowning, from the fact that mydeimos saved you. 

he exhales sharply, exasperation heavy in his breath. "why are you like this…" his grip tightens on you, but there’s a tension in his voice as if he’s swallowing something he can’t quite put into words. “didn’t i say there’s no need to attract attention this way?"

the accusation stings, your brows knit together as you shake your head, droplets of water slipping down your temples. "i just… thought you’d like some flowers."

his fingers, still curled beneath your back, twitch slightly, his hold unconsciously steadying you.

“you don’t need to do anything reckless just to get my attention," he murmurs at last, his voice softer now, no longer edged with frustration. then, almost hesitantly, he adds, "...if you want something, just come to me."

mydeimos shifts, adjusting his hold on you before finally rising to his feet. the movement is effortless, but even so, a sharp chill runs through you as the air bites at your damp skin. before you can fully steady yourself, he places you down, his hands lingering for a second longer than necessary before withdrawing.

your dress clings uncomfortably to you, heavy with water, and when you glance down, you spot the basket lying a short distance away, half-tilted on the grass. the flowers you so carefully picked are scattered around it, petals crumpled, stems bent. 

a pit forms in your stomach. all that effort, and now—

a shadow moves beside you. mydeimos steps forward, the hem of his cloak grazing against the fallen blooms. he considers them for a moment, then looks back at you.

“well?” his voice is steady, and you can’t quite grasp the intention behind it. “you went through all that trouble to gather the flowers… aren’t you going to give them to me?”

sure they're not nearly as perfect as they were when you first picked them. still, you kneel, fingers brushing over the damp grass as you carefully pick up the least damaged flowers, smoothing out the crumpled petals as best you can.

“…here.” slowly, hesitantly, you extend the bouquet towards him. 

his fingers brush against yours as he accepts the flowers. “sorry they’re ruined,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

he shakes his head, unbothered. “they’re mine now, so i’ll take care of them.”

there’s no mockery in his expression, no disdain for your failed efforts. if anything, there’s something almost unreadable in the way he looks at you, something that makes your heart lurch against your ribs.

he spares you one last glance, then turns. “come. you need to get changed before you fall ill.”

and just like that, your husband walks ahead, idly twirling one of the flowers between his fingers. hardened steel and soft petals, strength and fragility; it doesn't look out of place. 

somehow, it fits him too well.

ACT II: HOW TO CARE FOR A WARRIOR

once a year, the empire erupts into feverish anticipation for the annual gladiatorial tournament. a traditional competition of strength, bloodshed, and sheer willpower.

held in the heart of the capital, within the city of kremnos; warriors from across the kingdom —such as knights from noble houses, seasoned mercenaries, and ambitious upstarts, all gather within the grand coliseum, each vying for glory, honor, or a place in history.

and three weeks from now, the coliseum will roar with life, filled to the brim with nobles and commoners alike, all eager to witness the blood and glory that’ll unfold within the arena. 

the tournament may be weeks away, but mydeimos knows better than to grow complacent. 

within the castle training grounds, the clash of steel echoes through the air, each strike reverberating like a war drum. two figures move in relentless rhythm, locked in a sparring match that is as much a dance as it is a battle.

mydeimos meets his opponent’s strike head-on; phainon, captain of the royal knights, his equal in skill if not in strength, matches him blow for blow. the force of the impact ripples through his arm, but he does not waver. instead, he swiftly pivots, forcing mydeimos onto the defensive.

the crown prince presses forward, his sword carving ruthless arcs through the air, a feint —then a sudden, brutal swing aimed at his opponent’s side. 

phainon barely manages to parry, their blades grinding against each other in a fierce deadlock. exhaling sharply through his nose, he holds firm against the pressure. “mydei,” phainon mutters, breathless. “don't hold back."

mydei’s gaze remains unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something —amusement, perhaps, before he abruptly shifts his weight. with a sharp twist, he breaks the deadlock.

“HKS,” he counters, shoving forward with enough strength to force phainon back a step. “getting tired?”

phainon lets out a short laugh, adjusting his stance. “not in the slightest.” he disengages, spinning his blade in a quick counterstrike.

alas, the fight reaches no clear victor, ending in yet another stalemate.

exhaling, phainon lowers his blade. “not bad.”

but before mydei can respond; a slow, warm trickle down his arm draws his attention. his gaze flickers downward —a thin slash mars his bicep, blood welling along the cut.

the knight’s expression shifts, eyes catching on the wound. “heh looks like i take the win this time,” he gloats, though there’s a slightest hint of concern in his tone. 

“...though i do apologise, your highness,” phainon says, eyeing the wound with a tilt of his head.

mydei rolls his shoulder, testing the ache, then huffs. “nothing to be sorry for.” his lips curl slightly, eyes flicking back to phainon.

“but don’t think this means i’m letting you off easy. we’ll settle it properly next time.”

“oh? and here i thought you’d take the loss with dignity for once,” phainon snorts, sheathing his blade in one smooth motion. “but i suppose i wouldn’t want you growing too accustomed to losing.”

“you land one lucky hit and suddenly you’re talking like you’ve dethroned me.” mydei scoffs, already turning toward the weapons rack. phainon watches him go, shaking his head to himself before following suit. 

mydei doesn’t know why you’re worrying so much.

the cut is insignificant, to him at least. within hours, it’ll be gone —his body already stitching itself back together. he doesn’t need tending to, least of all by you.

and yet, here you are.

as you sit beside him, your hands deftly press a cloth soaked in cool water to his wound, cleaning away the dried blood with careful strokes. for some reason, seeing you like this —fussing over him with a tenderness he’s never quite experienced before —renders him quiet.

“…you’re frowning,” he murmurs.

“because you’re hurt,” you say as a matter of factly, setting the cloth aside before reaching for a bandage. your fingers are gentle as they smooth it over his skin, lightly tracing the curves of his biceps.

he watches the way your lips press together, tying the final knot with a delicate tug, patting the fabric down as if to reassure yourself that it will hold.

something tugs at the edge of his mind. 

you’ve pretended to love him ever since you stepped foot in kremnos; he thought he knew every expression you wore, every feigned tenderness. but this —this time, it’s different. there’s no audience here, no need for the carefully crafted role of the adoring wife.

so why do you still look at him like that?

his breath stills. he doesn’t know what to make of this.

“…please be more careful next time.” mydei glances at his arm, the ache is already fading.

you don’t know how pointless all of this is. by morning, there won’t even be a scar.

you exhale softly, your brows still furrowed in concern. then, as if unable to help yourself, your fingertips ghost over the bandage, smoothing it down with a tenderness that makes his chest tighten.

“does it still hurt?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

he should say no. he should tell you it’s nothing.

but when he looks at you —sees the way your eyes linger on him, so earnestly unguarded. he falters. 

“…not much,” he admits instead. “you act as if i’m on death’s door.”

“and you act as if you’re invincible,” you retort softly.

he freezes.

he almost laughs at the irony of it —because in some ways, you aren’t wrong. his body will always mend itself, his wounds never lasting long enough to be of real consequence. 

but his darling wife doesn’t know that.

and perhaps that’s why he lets you worry, lets you dote on him with such sweet, unknowing devotion. because, against all logic —against everything he’s told himself, he finds that he likes it.

your touch finally retreats, hands settling in your lap. “i’ll leave you to rest, your highness.”

you rise from your seat, and as you turn to leave, mydei catches himself watching the space where your hands had been, the phantom warmth still resting against his skin.

for a wound that’s already gone, he finds it strange —how reluctant he is to let it fade.

ACT III: HOW TO AVOID MISUNDERSTANDINGS

"sir phainon, thank you for showing me around the city," you say, offering the man beside you a faint smile as you step around a corner. 

the knight dips his head, “of course, milady. the pleasure’s all mine."

you’re glad phainon took time off to accompany you —wandering the city alone would’ve definitely left you lost and stewing in your own thoughts. 

phainon glances at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "but i’m surprised his highness let you wander the city with another man," he muses. 

you let out a small laugh, running your fingers along the petals of a flower display as you pass by. "well, i don’t think he cares."

phainon’s steps slow, his brow lifting ever so slightly, as if he isn’t sure whether he misheard you or if you’re simply playing coy. "you don’t think he—" he exhales a sharp chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "hah. now that’s funny."

you shoot a puzzled look at him,"what is?"

to phainon, who’s seen the way mydei looks at you, heard the way he speaks of you; your words make no sense at all.

—but he holds his tongue. "nothing, milady. let’s keep walking before i say something i shouldn’t."

the warmth of the moment sours when you round a corner near the market square. there, just past a cluster of gossiping nobles, mydei stands stiffly, arms crossed as he listens to a young woman speak.

you recognize her —a lady-in-waiting that serves in the palace.

“…always playing the victim,” she sneers, voice pitched just loud enough to draw attention. “everyone pities her, but really, she’s just an outsider to kremnos—” 

your steps falter, confusion flickering across your face. is that lady… talking about you?

“she was never worthy of standing by his highness’s side!” the lady continues with simpering disdain. 

beside you, your companion stiffens, his fingers subtly curling at his sides. he’s noticed, too.

but before you can fully process the words, she lets out a haughty laugh. “she tripped herself that day. i only gave her a little push and—”

“what?” mydei’s voice cuts through the air, his eyes narrowing. 

the lady startles, whipping around to face him, but quickly smooths her expression into one of feigned innocence. “y-your highness…” she lowers her head just slightly. “i only meant that a mere nudge shouldn’t have been enough to send her stumbling so helplessly.” 

she offers a small, demure smile. “unless, of course, one lacks the grace befitting a princess.”

“it was unfortunate that your highness was troubled because of—” 

her words trail off as her gaze flicks to the side, right where you stand.

and in that fleeting moment, mydei follows her line of sight.

your breath catches. you hadn’t meant to be seen.

a small, almost imperceptible smirk forms on her lips; just as mydei glances to your side, his attention diverted for a split second; she falls toward him, her body angling toward him in a way that all but demands he steady her.

you feel a jolt of realization —her intentions are clear as day towards you. 

mydei’s eyes barely flicker as she topples toward him, but his hand moves —not to steady her, as she so clearly intended, but to seize her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.

with a sharp tug, he wrenches her upright, the motion not even close to an act of chivalry. 

a startled gasp slips past her lips, her wide eyes darting up, stunned by the strength of his hold. the gathered onlookers murmur amongst themselves as the prince fixes her with a cold, unreadable stare.

“tell me. are you purposely trying to cause a misunderstanding between me and my wife?”

the lady blanches, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. “y-your highness, i would never—”

“spare me the excuses.” his fingers uncoil, and she stumbles back, barely catching herself.  she cradles her wrist as though burned, whether from pain or humiliation, it’s hard to tell.

“guards.” mydeimos doesn’t raise his voice, but the command rings clear. two armored figures stationed nearby immediately step forward,  “take her away.”

 “y-your highness, i only—”

mydeimos doesn’t even spare her a glance as he delivers the lady’s fate. “for daring to put her hands on the princess, she is to be punished accordingly. let this serve as a reminder, such conduct has no place in my court.”

the color drains from her face as the guards seize her by the arms, her protests falling on deaf ears. the onlookers part to make way, some exchanging knowing glances, others whispering amongst themselves.

then mydeimos’ gaze softens —only slightly, in your direction. 

phainon leans in, “and yet, milady insists that his highness does not care?”

but you don’t respond, heart fluttering traitorously in your chest as mydeimos turns on his heel and strides toward you.

with a small tilt of his head, he nods to phainon before finally speaking.

“she was desperate,” he remarks, voice edged with dry amusement. “did you see how she threw herself at me? pitiful.”

he studies you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “...you weren’t fooled, were you?”

you blink, caught off guard by his question. “of course not, your highness.”

ah. was he worried you’d misunderstand?

his lips part slightly, but no words come, instead he just exhales softly, as if to himself. “good.”

phainon, ever perceptive, arches a brow but says nothing of it. instead, he steps back with a knowing tilt of his head. “well then, i shall take my leave. duty calls, after all, milady, your highness.” with that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, leaving just the two of you.

mydei’s eyes linger on you —searching, almost reluctant, before he finally tears his gaze away. “we should go.”

he starts walking, and you follow, the quiet rhythm between you shifting in a way that's hard to place. it’s subtle, so subtle that if you weren’t paying enough attention, you might’ve missed it. 

the way his steps fall in sync with yours, slowing his usually large strides ever so slightly,  as if unconsciously matching your pace. the way his hand hovers near yours, close enough that if you swayed even slightly, your fingers might brush.

it doesn’t feel intentional, and yet, it doesn’t feel like an accident either.

the marketplace hums around you both; vendors calling out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices curling through the air. but your mind is elsewhere, lingering on the man beside you, on the things left unsaid.

at some point, curiosity gets the better of you. “your highne—” “mydei.”

…would it be foolish of you to think of it as a plea? that, beneath the indifference he wears so well, he cares how his name sounds when spoken by you?

(because with you, he doesn't need to be the prince of kremnos, nor the valiant warrior they call mydeimos. he’s just your husband, mydei.)

you glance up at him, but his gaze stays ahead. he doesn’t offer an explanation; your thoughts linger on that single word, and maybe that’s why, after a moment’s hesitation, you decide to give it a try.

“mydei… what were you doing in the market today?”

he doesn’t answer right away. a terribly fond smile tugging at his lips. 

he looks good like this, you think.

with a glance to the side, he replies, “nothing of importance.”

a half-truth, at best.

your thoughts drift back to the last time you were here —the flowers you had given him, bright and delicate in his hands. an odd sight, perhaps, yet somehow, they suited him.

a ridiculous thought takes root before you can stop it.

could he have been looking for ways to take care of them? …surely not.

but any doubt vanishes the moment a florist calls out to him. “your highness! you’ve returned! here, this is the care guide you requested, along with the special fertilizer. it should help the flowers bloom beautifully.”

mydei takes the offered items with a nod, thanking the florist who beams, clearly pleased to be of service.

"you must truly cherish them, your highness," they remark. "not many would go through such trouble for a simple bouquet."

mydei only hums in response, tucking the items away as he turns back to you. for a moment, it almost seems like he might explain himself, but instead, he merely lifts a brow, as if daring you to say something about it.

warmth unfurls at the edges of your chest, spreading slowly, irresistibly.

you press your lips together, fighting the smile threatening to surface. "so," you muse lightly, "you’ve been taking good care of my flowers?”

mydei exhales, the ghost of an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "it would be a shame if they wilted so soon,” he says. then, as he starts walking again, a quiet afterthought —so soft you almost miss it.

"especially when they were a gift from you."

and this time, when his hand hovers close to yours, you don’t resist the urge to let your fingers brush.

ACT IV: HOW TO TAME HIS JEALOUS HEART

it’s late —past the hour most would retire, yet the training grounds remains lit by torches that flicker against the cool stone walls, their flames casting long, dancing shadows. mydeimos leans back against the walls, arms loosely folded across his chest as his gaze follows phainon sharpening his blade a few paces away —though, truthfully, his thoughts are elsewhere.

it’s phainon who breaks the silence first.

“you know,” he starts, glancing up without looking directly at the prince, “you’re awfully quiet these days, your highness.”

he wipes his sword down lazily, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "...say, mydei."

mydei doesn’t look up, but his posture shifts, "what?"

phainon lets the silence drag for a moment, almost like he’s weighing his next words. 

“do you have genuine feelings for [name]?"

the words land like a blow in the silence between them; he doesn’t bother to wait for an answer.

“because if you don’t, i was thinking maybe i’d give courting her a try.”

ah. that does it.

mydei’s eyes flick to him, and if looks could kill, phainon would be six feet under —and the former wouldn’t even spare the effort to toss dirt over his grave.

phainon laughs quietly under his breath at his comrade’s reaction, not bothering to hide the tilt of his mouth. 

“don’t cross the line.” the words fall from mydei’s lips, low and clipped like a warning.

phainon laughs —the kind of laugh shared only between men who’ve known each other long enough to grow used to the other’s sharp edges.

“relax,” he drawls, sheathing his blade with a lazy flick. “i was just joking, you can stop glaring at me now.”

“i’m not mad i—”

“you’re not mad because you think i meant it,” he cuts in. “you’re angry because you know i’m right. you’ve been walking around pretending like she doesn’t mean a thing to you, bottling up every damn thing you feel for her. if it were anyone else, they’d have given up by now.”

mydei looks away. “she’s not anyone else,” he mutters. 

phainon smiles. “then tell her.”

mydei stays uncharacteristically silent as phainon steps past with a clap on his shoulder. “you're lucky she’s patient.”

the sour look on your husband’s face whenever phainon’s name comes up is a recent development. 

you first noticed it in passing: an almost imperceptible downturn of his lips, a restrained (but still noticeable) eyeroll or the press of his lips into a tight line. at first, you thought nothing of it. but lately… it’s been happening a lot.

right now, you’re seated in the castle’s sunlit tea room with someone you can now call a friend —phainon. the scent of fresh brews curls in the air, warm and comforting, but it does little to soothe the frustration tightening in your chest.

phainon leans back in his seat as you lay your troubles before him. surely, as one of mydei’s closest friends, he could offer some worthwhile advice on how to win the latter’s heart.

because at this rate, if you don’t manage to win him over before your contract runs its course, you wouldn’t be surprised to wake up with his sword cold against the nape of your neck.

“so… what do you think?” you ask, poking at a pastry with your fork.

phainon hums, tilting his head in thought. “he’s a reserved man —you’ve probably figured that out by now. give him some time, he’s the type to take forever to realize what’s right in front of him.”

he shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “though, i do hope milady won’t give up on him just yet.”

you nod, committing his words to memory, but then he suddenly straightens, that familiar glint of mischief lighting his gaze.

“actually,” he muses, glancing down at his hands, now dusted with crumbs and icing, “my hands are a bit of a mess from this cake. mind doing me a favor?” 

he lifts his sugar-coated fingers in emphasis.

you eye him suspiciously. “...what kind of favor?”

phainon tilts his head, his smile just sly enough to make you wary. “feed me.”

narrowing your eyes, you scoff at his request, “look, buster—”

“just this once,” he interrupts, grinning. “think of it as repaying me for my advice.”

there’s something almost too innocent about the way he leans in, like he’s well aware of what he’s doing… or rather, what exactly might happen if a certain someone were to walk in.

still, with an exaggerated sigh, you pick up a piece of pastry and lift it towards him—

only for a firm grip to catch your wrist before you can.

just your luck.

mydei smoothly takes the sweet straight from your fingers, his lips brushing against your fingertips in the process; his gaze locked onto yours as he takes a bite. 

and before you can pull away —the barest hint of his tongue swipes against the sugar-dusted tips of your fingers, licking away the faint trace of sweetness left behind.

did he just—?

heat rushes to your face. your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

phainon whistles lowly. “oh yeah i forgot to mention,” he says, far too amused.

“the prince has a sweet tooth.”

for a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft clink of porcelain as phainon sets down his teacup, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement.

all you can do is stare —frozen, pulse skittering in your throat. 

mydei, on the other hand, is utterly unbothered. if anything, he looks as composed as ever, chewing leisurely, as if he didn’t just—

your fingers twitch in his grasp. finally, he releases your wrist, his touch lingering just a second too long before he pulls away.

you snatch your hand back like you’ve been burned, curling your fingers against your palm as if that will erase the phantom heat of his lips, the fleeting press of his tongue.

phainon wonders if he’s about to be thrown out of the castle with the way you and mydei glare at him (for different reasons, respectively)... but judging by his smirk, he finds the risk well worth it.

the annual gladiatorial tournament is only days away, and kremnos is already stirring with anticipation. you’ve heard the chatter in the halls, the wagers placed on champions, the hushed whispers of which warriors will rise and which will fall. 

seated on a bench near the training grounds, you let the rhythmic clash of weapons fade into background noise, your focus trained instead on the fabric in your hands. a delicate handkerchief, its edges carefully stitched, the embroidery thread gliding through with each careful motion of your needle.

you had learned from a few noble ladies: it’s tradition for warriors to receive tokens of fortune from their beloveds —most commonly, a handkerchief embroidered with care to carry into battle as a reminder that someone’s waiting for them to return.

before you, the clash of steel rings out as two men spar. you glance up just in time to see phainon nimbly dodge a particularly heavy swing, a grin tugging at his lips. “feeling a little aggressive today, aren’t we?”

mydei doesn’t respond. he simply readjusts his grip on his sword, his expression unreadable.

(if you had to put money on why mydei was more aggressive than usual, you’d wager it had something to do with that stunt phainon pulled a few days ago that had left the former in such a foul mood.)

you return to your stitching, pretending not to notice the way your husband’s eyes flicker toward you between exchanges. unknowingly, a small smile tugs at your lips as you press the needle through the cloth once more.

rumors had circulated for years that prince mydeimos had never once accepted a handkerchief from anyone. not from the ladies who fawned over him at court, not from the admirers who sighed at the sight of his swordsmanship, not even from those with the highest of pedigrees.

it was said that no handkerchief had ever found its way into his hands, let alone remained in his possession. you weren’t sure why; perhaps he found them frivolous, or maybe he had no interest in sentimental keepsakes when he relied on skill alone to survive.

…which didn’t exactly bode well for the one currently in your hands.

so as you carefully stitch your embroidery, you don’t hold out much hope that he’ll accept yours either. 

still, it wouldn’t do for the beloved wife of mydeimos to be the only one who hadn’t even offered her husband a handkerchief. whether he accepted it or not was secondary —your duty was to at least play the part expected of you.

as the sparring match winds down, mydei steps off to the side, catching his breath. you discreetly watch as him roll his shoulders, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.

you glance back down at your embroidery, but before you can add another stitch, phainon strides up to you, shaking out his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “ow… you saw that, right?” he whines, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. “he’s being so rough with me today!”

you arch a brow, biting back a laugh as he leans against the edge of the bench. “poor thing,” you say, amused. “what did you do to deserve it?”

phainon grins. “absolutely nothing, milady.”

you shake your head, obviously unconvinced —but then, just like that, his playful pout melts into a coprophagous grin that spells nothing but trouble. 

oh no.

“if he wants to be mean,” he muses, tilting his head, “then maybe i should give him a reason for it.”

you frown. “phainon—”

he says, far too casually, “i think i’ve got an idea.”

he leans in slightly, a wolfish grin on his face. “just play along, alright?”

“huh?”

"here, let me show you something." before you can react, phainon takes your hand, pulling you up from your seat with ease. a moment later, a wooden practice sword is tossed into your grasp.

you barely have time to protest before he’s already behind you, his hands resting lightly over yours as he adjusts your grip.

"see?" his voice is low, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath near your ear. "you hold it like this, and—"

“that’s enough.”

both you and phainon turn to see mydei standing a few feet away. he doesn’t look outwardly furious, but there’s the tension in his shoulders says enough.

phainon merely raises an eyebrow. “oh? something wrong, your highness?”

the air thickens and you can practically feel the sparks flying. sensing the storm that’s about to break, you quickly slip out of phainon’s grasp and rush toward mydei, practically throwing yourself into his arms.

“mydei!” you call, mustering the sweetest voice you can manage, hoping to calm him down (before phainon gets his ass kicked again). “y-you must be exhausted after all that training today… why don’t we head back and get some rest?” 

a warm hand brushes against your temple, fingers gently threading through your hair as they tuck it behind your ear. 

even though you were the one who threw yourself at mydei, you find yourself frozen, heart hammering at the unexpected tenderness in his touch. 

his gaze is so unbearably soft.

after a moment, mydei exhales and nods before leading you away.

you steal a glance back at phainon—who only winks and flashes you a thumbs-up.

(mydei lets out a quiet sigh of relief, watching as you do everything in your power to avoid meeting his eyes. if he had stayed any longer and if phainon had caught sight of the faint flush dusting his cheeks —he’d never hear the end of it.)

ACT V: HOW TO EARN HIS DEVOTION

the sun hangs high above kremnos, casting a golden blaze over the arena as the city wakes to the sound of distant drums and the clang of steel. colorful banners bearing the insignias of noble houses flutter from towering spires, while anticipation clings thick to the air.

all of kremnos knows what day it is. the long-awaited gladiatorial tournament has finally arrived.

from the highest nobles draped in silk to the lowest commoners pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the stands, all eyes are drawn to the bloodstained sand at the heart of the arena. 

the rules are simple, brutal, unforgiving: fight until your opponent yields, or until they can no longer stand. and of course, there's no word for “mercy” in the kremnoan language… as mydei would say it.

the air in the holding chambers, hidden beneath the grand coliseum, is heavy with the scent of iron and sweat. you step inside with your small offering in hand: the handkerchief you embroidered, each stitch woven with thoughts of him.

and today, you see you’re not alone. the corridor is packed with people, mostly noblewomen, some nervous sweethearts, all fluttering around their chosen champions, many bearing the same tradition in their palms.

you catch sight of more than a few stretching their handkerchiefs out to mydei, vying for even a small glance. a small crowd trails him like petals in a storm, calling his name with saccharine lilts, each desperate to be noticed.

with the way he’s being swarmed, you resign yourself with a small sigh, clutching your own handkerchief, fingers curling gently around the cloth you spent the last few evenings stitching. 

nevermind. maybe you’ll give it to phainon instead. he always appreciates the gesture, and at the very least, you’d get a smile out of him.

so your eyes scan the crowd instead, searching for—

only to freeze when you look up and see someone else already standing in front of you.

without a word, your husband takes the handkerchief from your hand, presses it to his brow, and dabs away the sweat collecting at his temple; then folds it neatly and tucks it into his belt where everyone can see.

you blink, momentarily startled.

warmth spills into your chest, it’s strange. he never accepts handkerchiefs from anyone. not a single soul has ever earned that privilege. but today, in front of all these people, he’s taken yours without a second thought.

it’s a light gesture, but it says enough coming from the kremnoan prince. 

and if he’s going to make such a bold move, you might as well tease him a little.

you tilt your head, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. “that’s sir phainon’s, you know.”

he stills for a moment, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he furrows his brows in an almost adorable pout. 

“then he’ll just have to go without,” he mutters.

you’ve never seen him look quite like this before —caught off guard and... flustered?

“... and i wanted one today.”

“well, since you’ve gone through all that trouble,” you say with a grin, “i suppose i’ll let you keep it.”

as you study him, a thought crosses your mind. you raise an eyebrow, “are you nervous about the tournament?”

his eyes flick to yours, “there is no word for ‘fear’ in the kremnoan language,” he replies, his voice low and confident. 

it’s the kind of thing only mydeimos would say. and yet, something about the resolve in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

you manage a soft smile. “then bring back the victor’s crown for me, will you?”

honestly it's more of a vow than a request, you’d be content just seeing him return in one piece. but he takes it seriously anyway. 

“if it’s for you,”

his expression softens for just a moment, and without missing a beat, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“i’d do anything.”

ACT VI: HOW TO BE VICTORIOUS

from your seat among the nobles, your gaze searches for him. the threads of your dress pinched between trembling fingers, creased from how often you’ve clutched it. 

ever since you’ve come to kremnos, you’ve grown used to the sound of battle, but today every strike echoes a little louder in your ears. 

your heart clenches every time mydei stumbles or blood splashes across the sand. even knowing how strong he is, how capable, there’s a twist of worry that doesn’t loosen its grip. 

the kind you only feel when the person you care about is the one walking straight into danger.

you’d heard stories of what the tournament demands, but seeing it for yourself… it’s surreal. 

the crowd cheers for violence.

warriors enter the arena one by one, facing off not only against each other, but against beasts dragged from the darkest corners of the empire —corrupted titankins, two-headed hounds, massive golems wreathed in flame; just to name a few.

and each time, the gates crash open with a deafening clang, releasing something more vicious than the last. still, he doesn’t falter. when a snarling beast lunges for his throat, he drives his sword deep into its ribs without a second thought. 

the nobles cheer and holler around you, drunk on spectacle. but your eyes don’t leave him, not for a moment.

because while the crowd may be here for blood, all you want… 

is to be the first thing mydei sees when it’s over.

the last of the other competitors lie in heaps of blood and sand, either devoured by the beasts or incapacitated by the prince. there’s no one left to challenge him except the creature before him.

the towering beast staggers toward him; your pulse spikes, hands gripping the edge of your seat as you hold your breath. every step it takes sends tremors through the arena floor, snarls echoing off stone as it bears down on him with a murderous roar.

the beast lunges, jaws snapping wide, but mydei meets it with unyielding resolve. his sword arcs through the air, a flash of silver against the blood-soaked dusk. the beast jerks, a guttural screech tearing from its throat as it rears back. 

for a heartbeat, you can't tell who’s fallen.

then, through the settling haze, you see mydei standing, blood splattered across his armor, chest heaving with exertion. the beast lets out a final screech —and then crumples to the sand in a thunderous collapse.

for a heartbeat, there’s silence. and then the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer.

“mydei!” you cry out, your heart racing as you push through the sea of people to get closer.

he lifts his gaze, and it’s you he finds.

the victor’s crown, gleaming beneath the sun, is placed into his hands. and he raises it high above his head for all to see. 

a roar erupts from the coliseum, the crowd surging to its feet as the name mydeimos echoes from every corner, chanted with unrelenting fervor.

and without hesitation, he strides toward you, his face softening as he approaches.

in a flash, he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. he spins you in a wide, sweeping circle before drawing you close. his eyes locking with yours, a triumphant grin playing on his lips. 

with a tenderness that belies his warrior's demeanor, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"yours," mydei whispers. he lifts the victor’s crown in both hands, and with all the devotion of a man offering his heart, places it gently atop your head.

you reach up to his bloodied face, your hand trembling slightly as the warmth of his skin seeps into your fingers. your palm comes to rest against his cheek.

“you came back to me,” you murmur.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment —like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it.

“i always will.”

you rise onto your toes, closing the distance between you.

at the end of the day, all mydei seeks is not victory or glory, but the soft sound of his name on the lips of his beloved, wrapped in an embrace that makes him forget the harshness of the battlefield.

EPILOGUE: HOW TO WIN HIM OVER

the question that once haunted your thoughts —how could i ever win his heart? —feels like a distant memory now, an answer long since found.

mydei looks at you with a softness in his eyes that you’ve come to know as a rare gift. his hand, calloused from battles fought and won, reaches for yours, his fingers brushing against yours before entwining it. 

“by the way, i’m actually… immortal. my injuries heal up after a while.”

you blink at him in confusion, and he chuckles softly, the sound warm and fond.

“wait, then that time when you—” you pause, recalling the night you carefully wrapped up his injury.

he grins, a small, playful glint in his eyes. ”i just like the way you worry over me.”

the admission leaves a flutter in your chest as his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand. 

you huff, pretending to be upset, though your heart races at the softness in his words. “you mean to say all that time i was worried sick over you for nothing?”

he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “it wasn’t for no reason,” he says, clearly trying not to smile. “i liked it. still do.”

you narrow your eyes, lips tugging into a pout. “well, you could’ve told me sooner! now i feel ridiculous.”

with a soft chuckle, mydei’s fingers brush through your hair in a gentle, almost apologetic gesture. he ruffles it lightly, his touch surprisingly tender. “you’re adorable when you’re upset,” he murmurs, his voice holding a sweetness that makes your heart skip a beat.

you can’t help but soften, the playful anger fading as his hand lingers for a moment longer. he pulls you a little closer, his forehead gently resting against yours. “don’t be mad. i’ll let you fuss over me for as long as you want, as long as you’re by my side.”

“you better mean that! i’m holding you to it.”

he hums, the sound low and content as he presses a kiss to your temple. “i do,” he whispers. “if there’s one thing i’ll always be sure of, it’s you.”

you think back to every hesitation, every guarded glance, the walls he built high around his heart. and now, that same heart rests in your hands. 

“looks like i managed to win you over after all,” you tease softly.

the way he looks at you says more than words ever could —as if you’re the only war he’s ever been glad to lose.

his fingers stay curled around yours; his heart laid bare with the quiet, breathtaking certainty that he is yours, as much as you are his.

"i love you, [name]."

and if this is victory, it’s the sweetest one yet.

thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated <3

MASTERLIST

[iceunhie]

— PUSH AND PULL : honkai star rail.

premise. as someone who's always believed in the term “try and try again,” (peak delusion, you know) rooting yourself in their heart has always been your goal, no matter the cold rejections and curt declines you receive. however, even you have your limits; perhaps this little push and pull you two have going isn't worth your time after all... but what happens then, if the chaser becomes the chased? (oh, how the turns have tabled.)

...or, when you play hard to get with them.

— ft. sunday, aventurine, jing yuan.

warnings: angst n fluff, messy messy, these boys are in love but are wayyy too chicken to admit they actually adore you, genderless reader.

a/n. inspired by @/xiaowhore's playing hard to get headcanons! my holy trinity 😇 n MY FAVES RAHHH

NEXT : BACK TO MASTERLIST || ASKBOX

SUNDAY is perplexed. very much aware of his qualities which enlists him as one of the finer (finest) bachelors of Penacony (he was the Robin's one and only blood, and was also the head of one of the main guiding forces of the Family, after all), sunday isn't sure he's ever come across someone as.... tenacious as you.

foolish, to be more precise, for he cannot for the life of him comprehend exactly why you are the way you are with... him.

no matter his respectful declines of your invitations to promenade around Penacony (re: going on dates), you really didn't know how to leave him be. though he hasn't exactly said he hated it, sunday was, admittedly, rather... affronted. your gifts, in particular, were your loud declarations of your affection (that make his wings flutter more rapidly than he'd like); but sunday was rather inconvenienced at the whole thing.

nonetheless, he does still accept them. reluctantly, mind you. not because he was fond of your constant shower of affections, which seemed so permanent that he began to look forward to them got used to it. to your credit, your gifts were very much to his tastes. (Robin once gave him a rather soul-searching look when he found himself wearing the gloves you gifted, light blue and white in color. he still uses it, just not when his sister is in the vicinity.)

in fact, perhaps he may have gotten too comfortable. little by little, your constant intrusions on his time have thawed a way to his heart; making sunday look forward to your jovial greetings and grandeur elaborations on your day, and such a thing makes him feel scared sunday needed to nip this in the bud, and fast.

so he confronts you, abruptly one day as you give him his newest gift—a jewelry box for his earrings. (surely, the rapid thumping of his heart was due to his irritation at your constant persistence, right?) “i'm afraid this can no longer continue. i am flattered by your... fancy for me, but i do not wish to enter a relationship in the near future.”

the utter silence that follows is torture to him—but he endures. he tries not to look at the momentary flash of hurt on your face. you seemed to quickly recover, though. giving him a simple smile (it didn't reach your eyes. it shocks him how his chest ached at the realization) and shaking your head when he returns the gift to you.

“i understand, mr. sunday.” the formal usage of his name instead of your chipper ‘sunday!’ makes his face twitch. “but please, keep the gift. think of this as my last declaration. it... would do me a great comfort, just this last time, if you accepted it instead.”

(if he had grabbed your hand at that moment as you left for the door, would he regret it?)

when you leave, sunday thought it would put the conflicting feelings in his mind at ease—but it doesn't. a week and two days counting, true to your word, sunday receives no flagrant gifts, nor little messages on his phone that tell him to take care of himself, to eat, and to make sure to remember to check up on Robin.

instead, contrary to the feeling of ease, regret follows him instead.

it's at two weeks and five days counting when sunday could no longer stand the sight of papers that stacked atop his desk and the image of you leaving for the door replaying in his head far too many times for him to count, that he contacts Robin.

and she, once hearing about the situation, gives him a very, very enlightening talk. (of course, not without giving her brother a lecture of the lifetime. part of him felt shame to know that his sister knew of his... turbulent love life, but she was the only one who he could trust, anyway).

“absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she says. “but in your case, brother, your heart has already decided it's course, right?”

sunday eyes the smooth velvet of the jewelry box you gifted, ruminating. his earrings lie there, carefully pristine and beautiful, gold and silver intertwined. he has worn them without fail, clean and spotless. (of course it was. such a design so intricate was only chosen by you. the thought makes his ears warm).

the next days are agonizing. vigor renewed and epiphanies well-spent, sunday spends the rest of his time after finishing his duties researching and painstakingly finding the best jeweller he can find (even employing the suggestions of a certain gambler, much to his dislike), and spending a god awful amount of time revisiting and rechecking which spots you like, which places you enjoy, to the point it comes up in Penacony's headlines that sunday is interested in someone.

surely, it should've reached your ears by now, yes? sunday panics. your preferences are well-accounted for, and he's sure the Bloodhound family members that report to him have to tell you that the person he had in mind was you. even Robin, who was your closest friend, has probably told you already.

it's embarrassing to admit, but; to hell with it, the day he meets you after three weeks and sees you having a pleasant chat with aventurine, of all people, sunday thinks his heart had shattered into little pieces and stabbed themselves into his body. not so much as sparing him a glance, moreso.

so when, finally at his wits end, sunday chooses to corner you at the dewlight pavilion and spills out how he has royally screwed up in the worst way possible, no one is surprised. at this rate, you would be swept up in the charms of that wretched gambler, and what sunday lacked in, aventurine more than made up for.

“wait, don't go to that gambler just yet.” he's breathless, he's chaotic—and something in his heart squeezes when you finally look at him. “i... i wish to take up your time now, if that's possible.” (he wishes he would take up your time forever, really, but that was still too early).

you eye his getup. all of your gifts, lined on the man you spent so long chasing after—you see the gloves you gifted, the tie with not so much as a single crease, and the earrings that shine more brightly in the light of the pavilion. (it suits him. like you) it was as if sunday had completely surrendered himself to you, had all but decided to proclaim that he was yours, and this was nothing short of a plea for you to hear him.

“please.” he says. almost begs. “i can't bear not seeing you anymore. allow me to correct such a damning mistake.”

and if you were skeptical, the way sunday looks at you would dispel any doubt you could ever have. (his wings, they were fluttering.)

(months later, after a nerve-ending confession, many days of dinners, shared gifts involving matching jewelry and promenading to your wishes, it dawns on sunday he was absolutely dancing to your tune. did he regret it, though?

....no, most certainly not.)

if AVENTURINE were to be honest with himself, he saw you as a useful “friend” rather than a romantic interest. was it bad of him? of a sort. but risk cutting himself open and letting someone he might grow to care for know about all the ugliness that follows his life? no, he's fine as it is, thanks.

the first thing he notices is that you're kind—though he distrusted most of his colleagues and preferred none to get close to him, aventurine, in some morbid moment of curiosity, instead allowed himself to bask in your attention. instead of curtly disparaging you, he flirts back at your compliments (the way your face heated up in return was far too endearing that he can't help but want to kiss you he finds it amusing) and consistently texts you a “did you get home safe” or a “i bought you this because it reminded me of you”; at this point, it was like you two were dating.

was it leading you on? yes, but he supposes it was a win-win; he could send you those tiny bits of validation that was enough for you to stay respectfully at a distance while he probed at your intentions. unlike others who attempt to garner his favor, you're genuine, and you seriously take the time to know him. because you always text back with hearts, always reassure him, tell him to stay safe and wish him luck at every gamble, every high stakes bet he finds himself in. you even complimented his perfume once (and, if he had to be honest, he could not stop thinking about it all day—because that perfume he commissioned exclusively was based off of your own favorite scents and it was extremely embarrassing that he loved hugging you knowing that you loved the way he smelled and that it felt extremely domestic).

(sometimes, he doesn't reply. for months on end. suddenly the golden-haired man you love goes cold and you know then that aventurine ghosts you and then returns when he's in need of a friend—never a lover. it hurts you, but at the very least, you know he cares in his own way.)

and, if aventurine had to be honest, it was killing him from the inside bit by bit. as if to drive the knife deeper, you never danced around what exactly was going on with you two. you never ask why he ghosts you, then sends you a bundle of gifts all of a sudden and then rapidly spends time with you and repeating the cycle. no, you were consistently by his side, so warm and so caring—so unlike him—that aventurine wonders if it's really all right to open his heart to you.

if, by some chance, he actually wanted to be with you, would you treat him even more sweetly than before? aventurine thinks you would—you were beautiful in your entirety, and he was practically undeserving of you. he imagines himself kissing your hand and having you in his arms—and that feels like ice cold water being dumped onto his head, because you could do so much better and yet, why him?

so when aventurine hears about how a certain doctor was visiting you for some unknown reason, his already fragile sense of security in this little will-they, won't they crumbles.

and when he finds out that you were staying over with ratio? something twisted lodges itself in the little brushes of his heart, coiling and coiling—making him feel green. aventurine is aware you and the doctor are good friends, and ratio was the one who even told you to make a move on him! how could he just—suddenly interrupt?!

(was it dramatic? extremely. but knowing his friend and the person he secretly adores might end up together? you can't really blame him.)

he supposes this can be attributed to him. it was an egregious mistake, a blunder aventurine made—he never gave you a clear sight of whether he truly loved you or not and now you're slipping away from him.

so, he does something very unexpected.

at 3:00 AM in the wee early morning hours, aventurine practically barges into one Dr. veritas ratio's home, demanding what the hell was going on between you. and as if he had expected it, his doctor friend merely gives him a shrug in return.

“perhaps they were simply getting fed up by a certain IPC member—who is clearly head over heels in love with them—giving them mixed signals.” ratio's tone is stern, and aventurine definitely knows that the look he gives him is the one he gives only to fools.

you idiot, the doctor seems to say. yeah, yeah, he is; aventurine ignores the clear pinprick at his dignity.

yes, he supposes he is the fool here. “ah.”

“yes, ‘ah,’ indeed. now, let me propose a question.” the purple-haired man says. “will you react in such a way when i tell you that in order for my friend to stop their anguish, i managed to get them to fraternize with one of my colleagues?”

“...what?”

“they will be having a meet-up seven system hours from now.” ratio shrugs. eyes aventurine, who's looking at him like a gaping, stupid fish. “i can only hope that no one would dare to disrupt.”

...it doesn't take him long to be rid of the gambler by then.

(a few hours later, you stop by the Intelligentsia Guild to see one veritas ratio with a smug smile, eyeing the fur coat draped around your shoulders, and the flushed and happy expression written on your face.

“did it work?” he asks.

you laugh, “splendidly.”

indeed, that gambler was a fool, and there's nothing more than dr. ratio loved than to educate such fools to shape.

“that will teach him.”)

as a quote unquote ‘old man’ who knows that he's well up in his years for a relationship, JING YUAN finds you to be quite amusing.

it doesn't take a detailed analysis to know that you were smitten with him, really. you're a complete open book by his standards—if your heated face and slightly airy voice whenever you were even placed in the same vicinity with the Dozing General was anything to come by. while flattering, he also shares the similar mindset of being too old for any love his way—and he could be mara-struck at any given time, and jing yuan does not wish such a life filled with anguish and pain for the one who may steal his heart. but, worry not, brave suitor of the Arbiter General! unlike the other two above, this man has the experience of millenia, and is open-minded and aware that you truly wish to be perceived as a potential lover.

in fact, jing yuan's recent favorite habit is sneaking off the Seat of Divine Foresight purely to freak you out, watching you scramble up your words, seeing the heat crawl up your nape and bloom all across your face. adorable. you certainly knew how to appeal, that's for sure.

(“heh, it seems i've found a new place to stay in so that the Diviner Fu won't grill me alive when she sees me.”

and when he's rewarded with a bashful and speechless look in return, a smile and your, “i'm glad, general.” it surprisingly lightens up his mood by more than he expected.

that, in turn, gives him a frightening 30% energy boost; fu xuan was utterly shocked to see the languid man actually working and looking like he enjoyed it, for once.

“did something good happen today, jing yuan? why so enthusiastic?”

“i just felt like working more than usual, diviner Fu. i seem to have my energy levels at a high.”)

now, jing yuan is considerate and perceptive first and foremost, so there's a high chance that out of all the men here, he is the most open to giving you the chance to pursue him. he does inform you beforehand that he has no plans of accepting your confessions in the future, and that is where the ‘hard to get’ part comes in.

it's like playing a confusing romance visual novel with a fickle love interest—you never really know what you're doing, whether it's something jing yuan would like or not, and you don't know if he even thinks your attempts are moving his heart. (tldr: he friend zones you).

he maintains the same distance no matter his banters with you, no matter how many times you tell him that you'd help yanqing out with sword lessons. it's like he was just... treating you as he would a friend, and that you were basically stuck in the friend-zone forever.

(he keeps it to himself, but something warm stirs in his chest when he sees yanqing sleeping on your shoulder after training practice, with your arm protectively around the boy's side.

your sleeping face didn't make it easy to look away either; it's one of the few moments in which jing yuan shows just the slightest bit of reciprocating your pursuits; he brushes back the stray hairs covering your face, and drapes a blanket over the two of you.

of course, perhaps to tease yanqing, he also takes the calligraphy brush and makes a work out of his face, doodling all over it.

when you wake up, there's a lingering scent of ink and yellowed paper that fills your senses. when you turn to the boy beside you, you almost giggle out loud.)

it's a little disheartening—and while jing yuan did acknowledge that you were slowly, slowly burrowing yourself in his heart, he doesn't act on it fast enough, and instead lets the realization sit in his mind for a while.

it gets to the point where it feels as though he were preparing to distance himself, and even yanqing had asked if he was well. your visits with the Arbiter General also decrease, as he suddenly buried himself in his work even more than before.

he doesn't get to see you all that much afterwards, despite the lingering feeling of missing you filling his heart.

....that's until jing yuan hears word of a recent mara-struck incident involving the Sky-faring Commission; with your name listed among those heavily injured.

when he visits Bailu's clinic after yanqing urges him, jing yuan takes in the sight of you, littered in injuries from head to toe. your life, about to snap. he never even told you that you won; you did manage to steal his heart and for the first time in a long time, jing yuan allows himself to love.

so if, after three weeks later when you're finally healed up and ready to go, jing yuan brings you into his arms and drags you to let him sleep in your lap, you can't really blame him now, can you?

a/n: i love yearner hsr men,,, might do a pt 2 though. thinking of mayb ratio, jiaoqiu and f/heng next time...... sighs dreamily

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[miyaz6ki]

modern au for hsr men again, anaxa edition!

once you guys get married, there's no stopping here.

"my spouse—" "my partner—" "oh. you know (s/o) does that exact same thing." "that reminds me, my (s/o) also does that."

anaxagoras xenidis, who took pride in speaking his name aloud, is now as proud to say your name beside his last name, becoming yours too.

he couldn't lie, he's always thought (s/o) sounded a lot better with xenidis anyway,

not to mention the subtle flexes he makes out of the oh-so-expensive gold-adorned diamond wedding band on the left hand he always leaned his cheek on.

sighing as he says how much he misses his significant other, please his coworkers could probably tell you about yourself just as much as anaxa does!

but it also rang like wedding bells in his ears whenever he heard the cashier register say "mister xenidis, and mx. xenidis? your table is ready." or maybe it was the first time hearing others call out your full name as a joke, and hear his last name. it was satisfying. very satisfying.

and it only would get more annoying to the people around him whenever anyone brought up interests you had. or habits you had. or even things you mentioned before, never ever EVER let this man hear that you found interest in flowers.

next day in bed, your nightstand had a bouquet of those flora you had previously mentioned. a true yearner I feel.

anaxa loves hi s/o sososososo much it annoys his students

[gay-dorito-dust]

I have been binging your work!

I don't know if this breaks your trauma rule or not, but (with the guys of your choosing as long as Ratio is there) how would the guys react to losing reader (they haven't confessed feelings yet) during a mission and thinking they died. Then, the reader reappears a week later bandaged up, but alive. Maybe spouts their confession first? ˘͈ᵕ˘͈

I adore your writing. Thank you!

This is way too fucking long, so be warned. It’s like I rammed 4 mini stories in one but got lost at some point cuz I left this ask to collect dust. Also thanks for enjoying my writing it’s much appreciated. :) 🦦🐿️

Sunday:

The moment he got news that you’ve been assumed dead in the aftermath of a dangerous mission, he looses composure really quickly.

Loosing Robin was one thing but loosing you on top of that was the straw that broke the camels back.

He originally doesn’t believe that you were gone, he refuses to as he practically tears his office to shreds in a fit of anger and grief before forcing himself to regain composure and clean up after his outburst. He needed to in order to keep up the illusion that he was the levelheaded leader The Family needed in these moments of chaos and mistrust.

Even if he himself was breaking down internally alongside everyone else, hellbent on finding the culprit for your death and punishing them so severely that they’d beg for death. He’d avenge you in anyway he could, even if it meant sending out the bloodhound family on a wild goose chase that only ends in dead ends, he would get you justice no matter how it may come.

His heart had died alongside you that day.

So when a week passes and he finally has you back in his arms, all the while being carful with your wounds as his eyes searched you over in a way you weren’t use to.

‘You’re alive.’ He breathes out in relief as he then begins to laugh and rest his head against yours, breathing you in deeply as he relishes in this long awaited moment. ‘Of course you’re alive.’ He mutters.

‘Sunday,’ you began but Sunday was quite to cut you off.

‘Do you know how I felt thinking you were dead? Driving myself insane to prove that you were still alive anyway I could as not to bear the idea of walking through this life without the one person I love so dearly.’ Sunday takes a brief pauses in his monologue, feeling out of breath after having put everything out into the open before continuing. ‘I thought my heart had stopped beating that day and now I have you bad in my arms.’ Sunday then chuckles darkly as he gripped you tighter. ‘I’ll ensure that I’d never have to revisit that part of my life ever again.’

‘Sunday-‘

‘Shhh.’ Sunday cuts you off once more, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he holds you close to his chest, rubbing your back soothingly. ‘Just know that what I do after this, I do out of my love for you.’ He says against your forehead before pressing another kiss there for good measure.

Jing yuan:

Loss wasn’t new to Jing Yuan.

He has experienced it in multiple forms throughout his life, but that didn’t made the news of your death any less painful for the General.

While his mind might’ve made peace with the fact that you were gone, his heart however did not as he would find himself in the places that you often vacated to in moments of stress, or to just be left alone for a while with your thoughts. So to no longer see you in any of those hidden spots -waiting for him to find you like you usually did- only worsened the grief he felt in his heart as he sat himself down and allowed the memories to pass over him in waves.

You were both so happy together and felt a sense of fulfilment that could only be achieved when you were within the other’s presence; A feeling that was uniquely yours and yours alone that could never be replicated, ever. For no one could ever come close to replacing you, nor the companionship you and he had for each other that many assumed would blossom into something more; Jing Yuan also shared the same sentiments as they did, but just as he built the courage to push that boundary between the two of you, you were taken from him before he could utter a single word.

So when a week passes and Jing Yuan found your battered and beaten form in one of your secret spots, back resting against a tree with your eyes closed.

‘Y/n?’ He called out and your eyes opened upon hearing his voice and looking at him with a weak smile. ‘Hey General, miss me?’ You said as you struggled to get up to your feet, only to stumble forward and into Jing Yuan’s chest as his strong yet gentle hands hold you in place.

‘More than you could ever hope to know.’ Jing yuan said as he focused on how you felt beneath his hands, warm and alive.

‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ You muttered against his chest as his warmth made you realised just how tired you were from everything you’ve experienced this last week alone. ‘I never meant to keep you waiting in fear that you’d forget about me if I don’t stay in your life long enough.’ You admit and Jing Yuan instinctively presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you protectively.

‘I could never forget about you my beloved.’ Jing Yuan reassured you as he looked you deep into your eyes. ‘You’ve managed to carve your place within my heart and soul, so much that there isn’t a day where you aren’t all I think about, regardless of whether or not your by my side or far away.’ He finished by pressing a gentle kiss to the gauze on your cheek, chuckling upon seeing your cute attempts of burrowing your face into his chest.

‘How long have you’ve been waiting to say this.’ You asked, thankful that he was the one to admit his feelings first, as you would’ve had a hard time articulating your words as fluidly as he could.

‘For a very long time.’ Jing Yuan replied with a small smile as he then proceeded to lift you into his arms, cuasing you to squeal in surprise, as he made sure to be carful of your wounds and began walking to the nearest medics to make sure your wounds weren’t going to be trouble later on.

Aventurine:

He didn’t know what to think when you were pronounced dead, all Aventurine could feel in that moment was an overwhelming numbness that encased him entirely.

The only light left in his life had been snuffed out, plummeting him into utter and total darkness he had once been well acquainted with until you came along, giving him a reason to keep looking forward despite everything.

You were no longer here to hold onto his left hand before he could even think of hiding it behind his back out of habit, you were no longer here to be his reason, his comfort, his safe place. You were taken away from him unfairly and once again Aventurine found himself asking the same question he has been asking himself for a long time; why everyone was born into this life just to die.

So when a week passes and Aventurine finds himself sat on a bench somewhere, still not dealing well then than he was the week of your assumed passing, lost in his own thoughts when someone took a seat next to him. Aventurine was just about ready to tell them to go away, when he saw just who was sitting next to him; you.

‘I know, I look like shit but you don’t have to look at me like that.’ You spoke upon feeling his eyes gaze upon the gauze on your cheek, then towards the array of bandages that littered the rest of your body.

‘I thought you died.’ He hissed, emotion was heavy in his voice as his eyes became bleary with unshed tears as he felt his breathing become heavy with the reality that you were alive. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t in that moment as his mind raced. And it wasn’t until you reached out to grasp his left hand and intertwine your fingers together, squeezing, did everything finally became clear to him.

‘I thought I was too at one point but there was something that kept me from journeying over to the afterlife.’ You admit, looking over at him and smiling sweetly, wanting nothing then to calm his thoughts and reassure him that this wasn’t a dream.

‘And what was that?’ He laughs humourlessly as he stares back at you, wanting to hear what excuses you could come up with for faking being dead for a week. ‘Willpower? Determination?’

‘You Kakavasha.’ You replied straightforwardly and his breath hitched in his throat. You rarely used his actual name unless it was absolutely serious. ‘You were all I thought about as I pushed through my injuries.’ You told him as you continued. ‘Kakavasha is waiting for me was just about all I could think about for a week straight.’ You finished as though you didn’t just confess that he was your soul motivator in staying alive.

‘Really?’ Aventurine said softly, finding it impossible that he could possibly be your reason for anything. ‘Why?’

‘Yes really.’ You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder. ‘As for why, it’s because I like you more then did let myself admit, but i just wanted you to know incase anything truly bad were to ever happen to me-‘

‘No.’ Aventurine cut you off suddenly, squeezing your hand as though he were afraid. ‘Nothing is going to happen to you, not now. not ever. I just got you back.’ He adds resting his head against your own in a desperate attempt of feeling more of your against him. ‘Just stay with me…please.’ He begs you in a whisper as he nuzzled further into you. ‘and don’t go anywhere I can’t follow. I don’t think I can bear the thought of loosing you again.’

You smiled softly as you just whispered back against the skin of his neck. ‘As long as you don’t go anywhere I can’t follow. I like my crush to be alive and close by even if he can be a pain in my ass sometimes.’

Aventurine chuckles, his heart becoming whole again as he made you cuddle into his side, kissing your head once more as you took this moment to familiarise yourselves with each other. ‘At least I’m a pleasurable pain in the ass.’ He teased and you pinch his side, causing him to flinch, but his smile remained and this time his smile was genuine.

His light has came home.

Ratio:

Fully believed that he’d see you when the mission ended, knowing just how talented and dedicated to the craft you were, and having faith that this would be a measly walk in a park for you.

Only to receive word that you were one of the many who were assumed dead when you weren’t found amongst the living nor the dead.

Veritas tries to remain as levelheaded and logical as possible during this time and continue life as normal. However found himself retracting from everyone else and going none contact, more so specifically with the people you were once associated with, and instead focused heavily on his studies and academics to an unhealthy extent.

A week passes and Veritas feels as though he’s seen a ghost the moment he saw you in his peripheral vision, bandaged and dressed in ripped clothing but still somehow finding it in you to smile.

‘You idiotic Buffon!’ He exclaims as he walks towards you.

‘Well that’s a nice way to greet someone you care about.’ You replied as you readied yourself for a massive rant about how stupid you were and so on, but instead you were held against his chest as he burrows his head into your neck.

‘I thought you died.’ He says in a whisper as he breathed you in. This went against all logic but in that rare moment Veritas didn’t care, you were alive but he still couldn’t let go of the fact that you didn’t tell anyone you were still alive. ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone that you were alive, send a signal, anything.’

You shrugged as you made yourself comfortable in his strong arms. ‘All communications were badly damaged or completely cut off.’ You told him. ‘I was on my own for a long while before finding my way back to you.’

‘Me?’ Veritas asked, pulling away from you. ‘Why not a medial facility for a proper treatment of your wounds? Have you hit your head so hard that common sense had been left on the back burner when making that decision?’

‘I wanted to see you first you dickhead!’ You exclaimed, shutting Veritas up rather quickly with your confession but you didn’t care. ‘is it so wrong of me to let the man I love know that I’m okay? So go ahead and call me an idiot all you like but that won’t change the fact that I felt more fear about not telling you how I truly feel then dying on some stupid mission.’ You finished your rant.

‘You’re insufferable.’ Veritas said after a moment of silence and you couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed at this that you didn’t notice that Veritas has began to close in the distance between the two of you.

You scoffed. ‘Oh sure call me insufferable as if you-‘ Veritas cuts you off by cupping your cheeks and planting a sweet short lived kiss against your lips before pulling away with a smirk.

‘Glad to know that the feelings are reciprocated.’ He says, taking enjoyment of rendering you speechless as he gently guided you to medical, and remaining by your side for the remainder of the day.

[cyofii]

⩩﹕IN WHICH Phainon, always the playful troublemaker, decides to help his friend Mydei get closer to you. With the new library opening next to your favorite café, Mydei, the kind and mysterious owner, has been secretly watching you but has never had the courage to talk to you. Now, with a little help from Phainon, the chance is finally here. As you share shy glances and small talk, the two of you slowly begin to understand each other. Meanwhile, Phainon watches happily, believing his plan will work… eventually.

wc: 3.6k 𐔌 ᯓ modern/college au, slow burn, friends to lovers, mydei being secretly smitten, mutual pinning if you squint, might be ooc!

“I heard there’s a new library that just opened right beside the café we always go to,” Castorice said, glancing up from her book with a hint of excitement in her voice. It looked like she had been jotting down ideas for a new chapter again—her pen still hovering above the page. You looked up from your phone, eyebrows raised in confusion as you tried to recall if you’d seen any signs of construction the last time you were there.

“Really? Are you thinking of going there to look for inspiration?” you asked, slowly lowering your phone on the table as curiosity began to spark in your voice. Castorice nodded, a soft smile spreading across her face, the kind that made her eyes light up. “I thought it might be nice,” she said, “A change of scenery could help me get through this chapter.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” you asked with a warm smile, your voice gentle as you leaned slightly forward, genuinely interested. “We could check out the library first, and then head to the café to hang out like we usually do.”

Castorice looked at you, her smile growing a little wider, touched by the offer. “I’d really like that,” she replied softly, her fingers pausing on the edge of her notebook. “It’s easier for me to write when you’re around… I feel less stuck.” Her gaze lingered for a moment, as if silently thanking you for always being there.

“No problem!” you said with a cheerful grin, flashing a smile in her direction. As you and Castorice continued chatting, the soft hum of the cafeteria around you blending into the background, a familiar figure with white hair approached, looking mildly frazzled and out of breath.

“There you guys are!” Phainon exclaimed, sliding into the seat beside you with a dramatic sigh. “Professor Anaxa just won’t let me go until I finish that one-thousand-word essay about Dromas,” he groaned, slumping forward onto the table as if the weight of academic suffering had finally crushed him. “I swear he has it out for me.”

“Well, you did turn in a blank essay before,” you said with a teasing smile, unable to hold back a laugh. “So honestly? This one’s totally on you.”

Castorice let out a soft giggle, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, clearly amused by the memory. Meanwhile, Phainon only sighed louder, dramatically resting his forehead on the table.

“I was having a creative block, okay?” he mumbled, voice muffled against the surface. “Totally different situation.”

“Whatever you say…” you said with a playful smile, shaking your head slightly. Then a thought struck you. “Oh, by the way—are you free after class? Cas and I were planning to check out the new library next to the café we always go to.”

Phainon lifted his head, blinking a few times before meeting your gaze. “Library and café?” he echoed, then gave a quick nod. “Sure! Sounds better than sulking in the dorms over that essay, anyway.”

The afternoon sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting golden patches of light across your desk. Professor Anaxa was deep into his lecture about ancient civilizations, his voice steady as he paced across the front of the room. You were half-listening, somewhere between jotting down notes and sneaking glances at your two friends.

Castorice sat a few seats ahead, scribbling diligently in her notebook, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration. It was clear she was trying her best to stay focused, though the way her gaze occasionally drifted to the window hinted that her thoughts were already wandering toward the library plans.

Beside you, Phainon looked like a tired golden retriever stuck in a history class. His head rested on his hand, eyelids drooping every few minutes, and every now and then, he’d scribble something that probably wasn’t related to the lecture, just enough to make it look like he was keeping up.

You nudged him with your elbow. He flinched upright slightly, blinking at you with a betrayed, sleepy expression.

“I was listening,” he whispered, clearly bluffing.

“Sure you were,” you whispered back, trying not to laugh.

Up front, Professor Anaxa paused mid-sentence and turned around. “Is there something amusing you’d like to share with the class?” he asked, arching a brow.

You and Phainon straightened in sync, both shaking your heads quickly like well-behaved students. Castorice glanced over her shoulder with a small, knowing smile, barely hiding her amusement.

As soon as the professor turned back to the board, Phainon leaned toward you again and muttered, “Okay, maybe I do deserve that one-thousand-word essay…”

The moment Professor Anaxa dismissed the class with a sharp tap of his pen against the desk, the three of you practically leapt out of your seats. Phainon let out a dramatic groan as he stretched, slinging his bag over his shoulder like he’d just escaped a life sentence.

“Freedom never tasted so good,” he sighed, trailing after you and Castorice as you all made your way down the hallway.

Castorice chuckled softly, hugging her notebook close to her chest. “You act like you just finished a twelve-hour shift at a coal mine.”

“I might as well have,” Phainon replied, feigning exhaustion. “My brain has withered. My soul aged ten years.”

You smiled. “Good thing we’re going somewhere peaceful. Who knows, maybe the library will help restore your ‘withered’ brain.”

The three of you stepped out into the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. The sidewalk was quiet, lined with swaying trees and the occasional rustle of passing students. Just a short walk from the campus gates, the familiar café came into view—its windows glowing softly, the scent of brewed coffee drifting through the air. But today, your eyes were drawn to the sleek building next to it: tall glass windows, elegant wood paneling, and a freshly painted sign that read Kremnoan Public Library.

“There it is,” Castorice said, her eyes lighting up as she pointed to it. “It looks so calm.”

“And bookish,” Phainon added. “Like a place where the air itself smells like old pages and productivity.”

You laughed. “Let’s check it out.”

The doors opened with a soft chime, and the scent of new books and polished wood wrapped around you like a gentle hug. Shelves stretched high and far, with sunlight pouring in from the skylights above. It was quiet, but not cold—welcoming, like it had been waiting for people just like you.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” Castorice murmured, already drifting toward a corner desk near the window.

Phainon blinked up at the ceiling. “I might actually feel inspired to write that essay…”

You raised a brow. “That’s a big maybe.”

He grinned. “I said might.”

Ignoring Phainon's words, the three of you quietly went your separate ways inside the library.

The space was bigger than it looked from the outside, with towering shelves that seemed to stretch endlessly. You wandered through the aisles, your eyes drifting over titles that sparked your curiosity, history books, fantasy epics, and scientific journals. Despite all the options, you somehow ended up in the light novel section, the one place you often found comfort after a long day.

You slowly scanned the shelves, your fingers brushing across worn covers and fresh ones alike. A few familiar titles stood out, but one in particular caught your attention. It was a book Castorice had recommended to you before. The cover looked exactly like how she described it, and just the sight of it brought a small smile to your face.

You reached out for it without hesitation, eager to finally give it a try. Just as your fingers touched the book, another hand reached out at the same time.

Your hands brushed against each other.

Startled, you looked up just as the other person did too.

A man stood across from you, tall and composed, with an unfamiliar but calm presence. His eyes met yours for a moment, sharp, golden, and strangely warm. He didn’t speak right away, and neither did you.

The silence stretched, not awkward, but still enough to make you realize your hand was still lightly touching his.

“Oh,” he said, voice low and smooth, almost too gentle for someone his size. He glanced at the book between your hands. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

You quickly pulled your hand back, heart skipping a beat. “Ah—sorry! Did you want it?”

He shook his head, the corner of his lips lifting into a small smile. “No, you go ahead. I’ve already read it. It’s a good one.”

He reached up to return another book to the shelf beside you. The cuff of his black dress shirt shifted slightly as he moved, his gestures neat and practiced. Before you could think of anything else to say, he gave you a short nod and stepped away, heading toward another section with quiet, steady footsteps.

You stood frozen, gripping the book.

“He’s… handsome,” you muttered, a bit too loudly.

A soft snort came from behind.

You turned to see Castorice standing there, eyebrows raised and clearly holding back a grin. “That obvious?”

Your face warmed. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

She laughed quietly, linking her arm with yours. “Come on, lovebird. Let’s find a seat.”

The next day, the cafeteria buzzed with its usual midday chaos—clattering trays, low chatter, and the hum of students trying to relax between classes. You and Castorice sat across from each other, your half-eaten lunch long forgotten as the conversation circled back to the one thing that had been stuck in your mind since yesterday.

“I still can’t believe you said that out loud,” Castorice teased, sipping her iced tea with a knowing smile. “You should’ve seen your face.”

You groaned softly, hiding behind your hands. “I was caught off guard, okay? He was just… he had this calm aura. And his voice. And the way he just—ugh. Why are mysterious guys always so cool?”

“He was polite too,” Castorice nodded thoughtfully. “Didn’t even look annoyed when your hand touched his.”

You glanced to the side, then back at her. “I wonder who he is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around before.”

Just then, Phainon plopped down beside you, placing a few snack packs on the table. “You two are talking about Mydei, huh?”

You blinked. “Wait. You know his name?”

Phainon raised an eyebrow like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. We’re in the same Ethics class.”

Castorice nearly dropped her drink. “You know him?!”

“Sure do,” he said with a casual shrug, already tearing open a bag of chips. “Smart guy. Doesn’t talk much. Kinda intense. Has this weirdly perfect handwriting.”

You stared at him. “And you just… didn’t say anything yesterday?”

Phainon stuffed a chip into his mouth. “No one asked.”

You and Castorice exchanged a look of disbelief.

“He’s a student?” you asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Phainon nodded. “Same year, too. He just keeps to himself most of the time. Spends a lot of time in the library ever since it opened. Pretty sure he works there too or something. Might even live nearby.”

You blinked slowly, the realization settling in. “That explains a lot.”

Phainon smirked. “What, you gonna go back to the library and confess now?”

Your hand immediately went to your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering.

Castorice chuckled. “Be honest, if we run into him again, you’re totally going to freeze, aren’t you?”

“I’ll have you know,” you said, trying to sound dignified, “that I am perfectly capable of functioning like a normal person around handsome, mysterious guys.”

Both of them stared at you.

“…Sometimes,” you added.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself back at the Kremnoan Library, though you weren’t entirely sure why.

You hadn’t borrowed anything yesterday. There was no real reason to come back. But here you were, wandering past the front desk with Castorice beside you, trying to look casual while your eyes flicked over every aisle.

Castorice leaned in slightly. “So… are we pretending this is just another visit, or are we being honest about it?”

You gave her a pointed look. “It’s a library. I’m allowed to show up and browse.”

She grinned. “Sure. Totally not hoping to accidentally run into someone.”

You didn’t answer, choosing instead to turn into the same section as before—the shelves filled with light novels and some fantasy titles. You pretended to scan the books, fingers lightly brushing along the covers, heart quietly thudding in your chest for no reason you could admit aloud.

Then you heard it.

“You’re back.”

You turned, and there he was again.

Mydei stood a few feet away, holding a couple of books in one hand, a calm expression on his face. His gaze met yours easily, as if you were someone he fully expected to see again.

“Looking for something specific?” he asked, voice as smooth as yesterday, but a touch more curious.

“I… no,” you admitted. “Just browsing again.”

He nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the shelf you were near. “There’s a new arrival two rows over. Same author as the one you were interested in yesterday.”

You blinked. “You remembered?”

He gave the smallest shrug. “It was a good choice.”

You barely registered Castorice pretending not to hover behind you.

“Well, thank you,” you said, trying not to smile too hard. “I might check it out.”

He gave you a soft look, not quite a smile, but something that lingered in his eyes, before turning and walking past. His footsteps were quiet on the wooden floor.

Castorice waited two full seconds before whispering, “Okay. He remembered what book you were looking at, and you still think it was just a coincidence?”

“I don’t know what to think,” you said, trying to steady your breath.

From the next aisle, Phainon suddenly popped his head around the corner, holding a random book and grinning like he knew everything.

“Are we still pretending this is a casual visit, or are we admitting it now?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “How long have you been there?”

Phainon shrugged. “Long enough.”

He tossed the book into the crook of his arm and added, “Oh, by the way, Mydei and I have a class later. I’ll tell him you said hi.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. “You are unbelievable.”

“But you didn’t say not to,” Phainon said innocently, strolling off like this was all a normal day.

Castorice was already laughing beside you. “We should’ve known he’d show up.”

“Mydeimos!” Phainon called out, walking toward Mydei, who was just about to exit the classroom.

“Oh, it’s you. What do you want now?” Mydei raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with indifference.

Phainon dramatically placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt by the cold reception. “When you’re talking to them, you get all soft and gentle, but when it comes to me, it’s all cold and distant!” He pretended to sniff, his eyes wide with playful sadness. “Why do you hate me, Mydeimos?”

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t get all nice and soft for you like I do for others,” he said, his tone playful.

Phainon let out a playful sigh, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I see how it is. I’ll remember this betrayal.”

“You’re impossible,” Mydei muttered, but the smirk on his face said otherwise.

“Still, though, you pulled it off!” Phainon beamed, clearly proud of himself. He hadn’t expected his little plan to actually work.

A few days before you and Mydei spoke for the first time, Mydei had already been admiring you from afar. Ever since Phainon befriended you on the very first day, he’d noticed the way Mydei’s gaze lingered a bit too long whenever you were around. It was a shame, really. Mydei didn’t even share a single class with you.

But Phainon had noticed. Whether it was in the corner of the cafeteria, walking down the hallway, or lingering near the courtyard, Mydei always seemed to be nearby whenever you and Castorice were hanging out. That’s when Phainon decided to do something about it.

He cornered Mydei one day after their ethics class.

“You like them, don’t you?” Phainon had said with a raised eyebrow.

As expected, Mydei did not give him a clear answer. He either dodged the question completely or brushed it off like it meant nothing. But Phainon did not give up. He remembered Mydei mentioning that he was the owner of the new library being built beside the café that the three of you often visited.

That’s when the plan formed.

The moment the Kremnoan Library opened, Phainon made it his mission to drag you there. He figured that if Mydei wouldn’t make a move, he’d give him the perfect opportunity: a quiet space, the two of you alone, no interruptions. Just enough to spark something... or at least get Mydei to finally speak to you.

And now, seeing how things were playing out, Phainon couldn’t help but feel smug.

“You know… I heard something new was added to the menu at the café next to your library,” Phainon said, wiggling his eyebrows at Mydei.

Mydei didn’t even hesitate, he lightly punched Phainon on the arm.

“What are you planning now exactly?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Phainon grinned. “You ask them to go on a date with you! I’ll make sure Castorice and I are conveniently busy so we don’t interrupt.”

He leaned back against the wall with a smug expression, clearly enjoying himself as he imagined how everything might play out. "C'mon, you've got the perfect setting. Just say the word, and I'll handle the rest."

It was a quiet Saturday morning when you found yourself once again wandering into the Kremnoan Library. With no classes and the weather calm and cool, it felt like the perfect day to catch up on some reading.

You were flipping through a book near the back shelves when you heard someone approach. The footsteps were light but familiar, and when you turned your head, you found Mydei standing there.

He looked a bit more casual than usual, wearing the same black dress shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and for a brief moment, he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Do you have any plans today?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Not really. Just came here to read.”

“Perfect,” he said, a little too quickly, before clearing his throat. “I was thinking... maybe we could go to the café next door. Together.”

You blinked in surprise. “You mean... right now?”

He nodded. “If you’re free. I thought... maybe I could buy you something.”

You couldn’t stop the grin that formed. “Are you asking me out on a date, Mydei?”

He didn’t answer right away, but a small, almost shy smirk appeared on his lips. “Only if you say yes.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling a warmth rise in your chest. “Then yes.”

Mydei’s smirk grew just a little, and without another word, he motioned for you to walk with him. You both exited the library together, stepping into the gentle morning breeze. The café was just a short walk away, and for a while, the two of you walked side by side in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward at all.

You leaned back a little in your chair, sipping your juice as you watched Mydei quietly fiddle with the handle of his coffee cup. It was rare to see him look unsure of himself. Usually, he carried a calm, unreadable air, but right now, he looked like he was searching for words.

"Mydei?" you asked gently, setting your drink down. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head quickly, almost too quickly. "No. It’s just..." He paused, frowning at his coffee as if it would help him gather his thoughts.

You waited patiently, a small smile playing on your lips.

"I’m not good with... saying things," he finally muttered. "But... I think you’re... nice. And... I like being around you."

His voice was quiet, but honest, almost vulnerable.

You blinked, your heart fluttering at his words. A warm feeling bubbled up inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a soft laugh.

"That's the sweetest thing I’ve heard all day," you said warmly.

Mydei coughed awkwardly, his hand running through his messy hair as he looked away, his ears slightly tinted red. "I just thought you should know," he added, his voice almost a grumble.

You smiled brightly and leaned forward just a little. "Well, I like being around you, too."

He glanced back at you, and for a moment, the faintest smile touched his lips, gentle and unguarded.

The sun outside glowed a little brighter through the window, but somehow, nothing felt warmer than the look Mydei was giving you right now.

Unbeknownst to you and Mydei, two very familiar figures had quietly slipped into the café. Hiding behind a menu near the entrance, Phainon and Castorice peered over the top, barely containing their giggles.

"Would you look at that," Phainon whispered, a mischievous grin on his face. "Our dear Mydei actually pulled it off."

Castorice nodded, smiling fondly. "They look good together," she said softly.

"Should we say hi?" Phainon asked, already halfway standing up.

Castorice grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him down. "No way. Let them have their moment."

Phainon pouted, but stayed put, sneaking another peek at you and Mydei. The two of you were leaning closer now, smiling and talking like no one else in the world existed. It was honestly too sweet to interrupt.

With a defeated sigh, Phainon slumped in his seat. "Fine, fine. But I’m teasing both of them later."

Castorice chuckled. "Only if you want Mydei to strangle you."

Phainon snickered. "Worth it."

With that, the two of them exited the café, sneaking off down the sidewalk like mischievous partners-in-crime, already planning how they would tease you both the next time you met.

[seichv]

˖ ࣪⭑ CERTIFIED FREAK !

☆ sum: sunday, gallagher, aventurine, and sampo's kinks.

contents: nsfw (MDNI!!!), f!reader, bdsm, dacryphilia, exhibitionsim, orgasm denial, slight degradation, praise, p in v, fingering, creampie, squirting, daddy kink (gallagher) sampo is subby and whiny, choking, just... freak shit hehe ;)

note: writing slump: 0 ellie: 1 ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

SUNDAY - BDSM

yeah, he can indeed fool someone with those angelic looks, can’t he? he can easily deceive with them. giving you the impression that you could get away with just about anything under his watch, huh? you were simply wrong. little did you know the things he was capable of.

who would’ve thought you’d find yourself tied up, bound, hands clasped together by ropes, ankles tied to the ends of the bed, with sunday looming over you like a tantalizing, impending, dooming shadow, his sharp gaze like daggers, like frosty ice, boring into you, boring deep. 

“should i have brought a gag along with me too, darling?” he teases, inching his face closer and closer to you as your pussy pulsates with a brutal need, drenched in your arousal. he can practically smell it on you. smell your surrender, your submission. 

and oh, how beautiful the sight of your naked form is… trembling, goosebumps tickling your skin. it’s purely art to him. a masterpiece. and it's all for him and him only.

you vigorously shake your head in response, watching him slowly stroke his cock as he aligned it just barely at your weeping entrance, and you impetuously rut your hips up, desiring friction, attention, any sort of contact, as you writhed in agonizing desperation, deprivation. "n-no, please… please, fuck me…”

he hums at the sound of your frail voice, a smile spreading along his face. "such a pretty mouth uttering such filthy words… hm,”

and before you can say anything else, you suck in a deep gasp, the intrusion of his length taking you out in one go. he buries himself to the hilt in one thrust, and slowly, tormentingly begins rolling his hips, watching your expression like a hawk the entire time. he can’t help but hiss, your spongey, melting walls encasing him, sheer blankets of your slippery slick smearing along his cock. this couldn’t be mere pleasure anymore, this was euphoria.

and he’s already lost his sanity,

“o-oh, yes, yes,” you gasp, the thump of your heart skyrocketing in speed, as his pelvis starts smacking into yours faster… and harder… the woody material of the bed frame beneath you creaking, and ramming into the walls. you simply can’t understand how he can possibly feel so good. reaching places inside you you never knew you could feel, as if he were attempting to merge the two you into one.

"i want you to tell me,” sunday whispers breathily, glacially, almost like an eerie rustle of wind, like a whoosh of arctic air blowing right through every inch of your weakened, restrained body. he reaches out, takes your jaw in his slender hand, his penetrating stare not moving an inch from your beady eyes. “how good does it feel, darling?”

your vocal cords are giving up on you, being pulled at with every labored mewl and sob running off from your quivering lips. you can barely form a response, a creeping warmth scratching at your skull, making you feel dumbified. “s-so good! c-can’t… last long…”

and neither can sunday, not with how pretty you look, not with how the sweet, harmonic melody of your sounds makes the ache in his cock escalate overwhelmingly. all the sensations are getting sharper, more vivid, his pulse syncing with his rapid panting.

"cum with me,” he permitted, his tone close to urgent, almost like a plead. “let go for me. together.”

and it all happens quick. sunday grabs onto your waist, tightly as if for leverage or grounding, his eyes going wide as he’s met with his climax, his cock twitching inside your cunt before dumping his load inside, strained groans breaking out his throat as you gush all over him simultaneously.

yeah, he’s addicted. addicted to basking in the blissful pleasure of your body, basking in it with you.

GALLAGHER - EXHIBITIONISM

oh, the things you do to him.

he’s on a shift. but you, being the damn minx that you are, decided to prance on into the drink lounge with your pretty ass, giving him that look, seductively licking the rim of sugar that coated the top of your glass, while looking him dead in the eye.

you little tease,

would it be shocking for you to end up pressed up on the wall in the employee room, that gratuitously short skirt (that you very much wore on purpose) hiked up around your waist, with his thick cock drilling into you? he shouldn’t even be indulging in this, since you’re such a brat. you shouldn’t be getting what you wanted. but he can’t fucking resist, not when you play with him like that.

"showing up to the lounge, teasin’ me like a little slut, huh? while i’m working?” he snarls, his deep, gruff voice snaking up from behind you and right into your ear, making your knees give out. gallagher peers down, before lightly pushing at your ankle with his boot, urging you to spread those pretty little legs wider for him, his hands grabbing at your bubble ass, fondling and spreading the globe-y flesh. he wants a nicer view of that pussy swallowing him whole.

and god, it’s like a fucking glove. a sleeve,

your pussy is crying for him, hugging him, holding on like you can’t bear the thought of letting him go. you’re coating him in that creamy, syrupy slick, and every stroke has the static in your mind playing more and more frenzied. and he’s just so big, that thick head of his cock bullying your cervix with every sloppy, rough smack of his hips against that ass… fuck.

"hngh— n-needed you… so bad…” you’d whimper, choking on every whiny noise that you try to suppress, as you’re still trying to keep in mind that you are indeed in public. not that you’d admit that it turns you on more. you can’t help yourself. not when you’ve got him on your mind all day, his musky scent that engulfs your senses in flames, his perfect body… those muscles that you’re always ogling at.

oh, and speaking of muscles— your eyes suddenly roll right back into your skull the moment his beefy, rock-hard bicep curls around your throat, manhandling you in a chokehold, pulling your head back and making you arch against him, his dazy gaze right up in your fucked-out face, and he chortles. 

"yeah, didn’t you? can’t go a little while without some dick, huh?” gallagher practically growls, his teeth gritting hard with his jaw taut and set in a firm clench. if anyone could get a glance of his expression right now, they’d think he fucking hates your guts, like he’s fuming. with the way his sleeves are pushed up his arms, the veins in his forearm are visible, throbbing and bulging just like the veins of his cock inside you, the veins that your pussy can map out perfectly,

"w-with no haah— panties underneath this fucking shit,” gallagher groans, before his free hand lands a sharp smack to your ass, leaving behind a delicious sting. he’s not even surprised that you like that shit. like the naughty, cock-hungry whore you were. 

“daddyyy…” you whine, your tongue lolling out dumbly as you went limp, every part of you going numb except your pussy, throbbing and aching harder and harder the more he plowed into you with ruining force, as if he was trying to make you crumble apart entirely.

”gonna cum for daddy, huh?” gallagher huffs, his tone of voice nearly mocking. “yeah… how ‘bout you shut the fuck up and take it? k-keep milking my shit dry f’me… f-fuck.’

and that’s when it hits, your orgasm. it’s like a freight train, like a harsh blow, knocking you out in a blink of an eye. there was no way you could hold it anymore, not with the authority in his voice combined with his unmatched fervor and strength—

it’s splattering, your juices squirting out your pussy like a fountain, your mouth agape as your nails claw at his arm that stayed put around your throat. gallagher groans out loud at the sight, his own eyes rolling back as a rushed, ‘fuck, fuck,’ rasps out his strained throat. thick, hot streams of his seed plugs your wet heat up to the very brim, and he stays there, panting hard with you pressed against him.

"f-fuck, sweetheart. made a goddamn mess—"

"gallagher?! whaddya’ doin’ in there, man? you disappear on me, or what?” aaand there’s siobhan… fuck.

you can only glance back at gallagher with a cheeky little giggle. hehe… whoops.

AVENTURINE - DACRYPHILIA

“don't you take those eyes off of me.” aventurine coos, his gaze flickering back and forth from your pussy, then back towards your face. he’s got you prettily sprawled out on the bed, two of his slender fingers pistoning inside your drooling cunt, curling at just the right angle, reaching nice and deep. his vigor is just relentless, you’re desperately trying to clamp your legs together, your face shying away as your eyes squint and your eyebrows curl inward, a squeal escaping from your throat.

“oh, i don’t think so,” aventurine grunts, his free hand roughly spreading your legs back open, his forearm shoving against the back of your thighs so that they stay pushed back. “you are not running from me, darling. take it like a good girl, won't you?” he purrs, and you gasp, dragging out a hoarse whine as he picks up the pace, the wet sloshes that your cunt produces getting progressively louder. even flecks of your juices were flying out with every thrust of his hand at this point, and fuck, was it lewd…

“gonna cum—!” you’d croak out, warm tears flooding your vision and pooling up along the waterline of your eyes as you’re unable to sit still, creaks and rustling ringing out from the bed as you desperately attempt to thrash around, despite aventurine holding you in place. that familiar tingle in your lower tummy was brewing up, and quick.

and oh, were those tears he saw?

the ache and the strain in his pants only hardens at the sight, serving to drive him even crazier. he can’t help it. you look so helpless, so vulnerable, yet so needy, so desperate. and it’s all because of him…  fuck. makes him wanna devour you whole, like he’s lost every train of thought, every bit of composure…

“my, oh my,” he snickers, shaking his head incredulously as he keeps his gaze glued to you, his violet orbs bordering a feral look to them. he loves seeing those crystal streams trickling down those cheeks that are prominently coated in a deep, rosy flush of color. you look like a doll.

his doll,

and he can tell when his doll is close. that adorable look on your face gives it away, eyes wide, gazing up at him, your mouth dangling open, hands grasping at the sheets for dear life. “gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his tone low, almost taunting, so velvety, so smooth, it's practically spine-chilling, and that alone makes your walls clench around his digits once more. as if you hadn’t done that enough already.

"y-yes, gonna— fuck!” you’re cut off as aventurine’s thumb meets your clit, rubbing the swollen nub with skilled precision, causing your pleasure to soar up to insanely imposing heights. its as if he’s trying to coax your pussy into orgasm, trying to lure you into cumming. and fuck, is he doing a good job at it. a good job is an understatement. his hands... it’s like they could cast a damn spell on your pussy,

“cum, pretty. make a mess all over my fingers. go on,” he urges, the smirk on his face flashing brighter as one last whimper rips out from your throat, until you’re squirting all over his hand, and his mouth drops open, his pupils blowing and darkening.

"oh, yess,” he groans, eager to milk every last drop out of your pretty pussy, continuing to finger fuck you through your high, elongating it, even as you’re a shaking mess, trying to pry away from him. 

“mhmm, would you look at that,” he huskily purrs, sliding his creamy, sticky fingers out your pussy with a squelch, licking them clean with a smirk, before your pussy throbs at the contact of his hand meeting it in a mean slap, spanking your pussy and sending a jolt through your body. 

"made my pretty girl cry from both her eyes, and her pussy, hm? poor thing…”

SAMPO - ORGASM DENIAL

sampo is a mouthy one, there’s no doubt about that. roguish, cocky, cheeky. you can't help but feel this itching urge to shut him up. to put him in his place.

hence why you’ve got him in between your legs, his back to your chest, one of your hands pumping his cock while the other is over his mouth, muffling his needy moans.

he’s bucking his hips up as you stroke his cock, fucking up into your hand, his eyes rolled back,

”ohh, baby,” you coo with a sly grin, your warm breath fanning against the shell of his ear before you give it a small nibble. “don’t tell me you wanna cum already, hm? its too early for that, silly boy.”

you lift your hand off of his mouth, only to gently wrap it around his throat, and he lets out a hoarse whimper, shaking his head. “n-no… w-won't cum yet… won’t cum…” he whines, and it practically pains him to say that, as he’s just dying to cum, his angry tip flushed bright red, his balls heavy and aching, desperate for release.

"good boy. you just sit still and take it.” you giggle, your words alone making him even needier by tenfold, his legs shaking, his hands grasping at your legs like lifelines. 

you’re pumping harder now, schlick after schlick, sticky and creamy, his arousal making a mess out of your hand.

he throws his head back against your shoulder with a loud moan, his hips bucking more frantically before you land a soft spank to his balls, earning a sound from his throat that almost sounded close to a shriek. 

“didn’t i just tell you to sit still?” you resume your quick, rough stroking as sampo has to hold back from literally throwing himself around, his consciousness practically out the window at this point. “you were doing so good f’me, sampo. what happened? don’t you wanna cum?”

"yes!” he’s quick to respond, burying his face in your neck as he sniffles, shaking hard like a leaf. “y-yes, please… ‘m sorry, so sorry… w-wanna cum so bad—!” he whines, hearing that buzzing begin to ring in his ears, his vision a bright white light. his limits are being pushed and pushed and pushed, about to burst like a balloon. its too much for him.

"p-please… can i cum for you? n-need to cum for you…” he whimpers, lifting his face to look into your eyes with a pleading, almost teary gaze. his cock is solid, and he needs this release so bad it’s close to paining him. “s-so much… i have s-so much for you…”

"mm, wanna make a mess all over me, don’t you? all for me,” you giggle, pumping especially harder at the tip, making the twitch in his thighs quicken.

"go on, then. cum for me. let me see how bad you need to,” pfft. you didn’t need to tell him twice. like jets, his cum splurts out, shooting straight up and all over your hand as he’s whimpering— whimpering fucking loud. his jaw falls slack, fat beads of sweat running down his temples, his eyes going straight back into his head yet again as he thrashes back against you. you gasp, chuckling softly as you keep your gaze glued to his twitching cock, leaning in to gently pepper kisses along his neck, making him shiver harder. 

”oh, lookkk at that,” you purr, your hand that was around his throat sliding up to brush his hair away from his face. “there you go, easy, baby,” you whisper, and he chuckles breathily, whimpering small little, ‘thank you’s’ before his eyes flicker back open and fall upon your tongue licking his cum off your hand.

yeah. that’ll do it for him. now he’s definitely gonna slurp your pussy off the bone.

[vistovii]

ONE MEMORY LOST IN A MILLION CYCLES.

✉️hey there! this is a short romantic story inspired by my dear Phainon. i hope u like it.

p.s. english isn’t my first language,the translation of this text may not be accurate.

tags & warnings: fem!reader x phainon, romance, (not vulgar?) light smut

word count: 1,8k

if u read it: you’re the best, thanks🤍

The crash of the wall crumbling under the Black Tide monster’s blow echoed inside your skull, tangled with the shrill ringing in your ears. You went flying, tumbling head over heels down the rubble-strewn corridor of Janusopolis, choking on dust and your own blood. The last thing you remembered before darkness swallowed you whole – a blinding flash, slicing through the air near the monster. Backup?

Pain was your first waking feeling. With every breath, it echoed as a dull, insistent thrum through your whole body, especially in your side, tightly wrapped in bandages. The air hung heavy with the heady scent of healing salves — a dead giveaway the pink-haired Twilight Courtyard healer had paid a visit. Your eyes fluttered open, squinting against the harsh, blinding glare of the Okhema sun slicing through the narrow window. A quick look around confirmed you were back in the familiar surroundings of your own home… and not alone.

Phainon sat on a wooden stool beside the bed, clutching some notes in his hand. His sharp profile was outlined in gold by the light, making the young man look downright unreal. Spotting you were awake almost instantly, he leaned closer, his blue eyes fixed on you, brimming with worry.

“Finally awake,” his voice was level as ever, but a barely detectable thread of relief slipped through. “You were out for about fourteen hours.”

Not answering, you tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in your side hit you like a lightning bolt, forcing a choked gasp. Phainon’s warm fingers landed on your shoulder, gentle but firm, stopping you from falling back.

“Don’t move. Hyacine patched you up, but you need rest to heal properly.”

“Was it you? You saved me?” You studied his face, exhausted. “Told Aglaea I could handle it solo… nearly bought it. Shameful for my blade…”

He shook his head, carefully easing you back onto the pillows.

“That’s not fair. You retrieved the relic, fought brilliantly. Unfortunately, we couldn’t predict the Black Tide would surge there with such force…” Phainon’s eyes dropped, guilty.

“Thanks, Deliverer.”

The slightly flustered young man gave a small nod.

And so began the days of recovery, with Phainon as your invaluable guardian. He brought food – food he cooked himself – and changed your bandages with extreme care. His touch was professional, yet warm. That quiet reliability, that silent care, became your liferaft in a sea of pain and weakness.

You rarely talked about what happened. About how he, seeing your lifeless body, had flown into a rage, obliterating the enemy in an instant. About how he, like Worldbearing Kephale, had hauled you onto his back and prayed without ceasing the whole way to Okhema for your survival. That was “action.” Phainon always valued action over words.

Awkward pauses between you started stretching longer. Every time your eyes met, they’d linger, hold a fraction longer, a shade more aware. And if his fingers lingered on your skin during a bandage change, a strange shiver, completely unrelated to pain, would race through you.

During the Parting hour, the perpetually bustling streets of the eternal city would customarily fall silent, sending noisy merchants home, silencing the elegies-singing rhapsodes, and clearing lovebirds from the rooftops. Enjoying the settling quiet, you sat on the edge of the bed, finally mobile. Your fingers traced the silk of your nightgown where it covered the tender scar knitting your wound. The door opened without a knock – only he entered like that.

Phainon held a small silver tray with food. His movements were precise as always, his expression welcoming. But something was different today. Maybe the exhaustion built up over weeks of juggling your bedside and his duties. Or something else.

“On the mend!” he announced, setting the tray down. “You’ll be back to light training soon. With restrictions.”

“Thanks, Phainon,” you stood, walking to the window, leaning on the sill. The view of Okhema’s deserted streets seemed especially… raw today. “Without you…” The words clogged in your throat, too small for what he’d done.

You felt him approach before you heard his footsteps. His steady breathing was a soft whisper in the room’s silence. Tension thickened the air, becoming almost tangible, like static before a storm. You turned.

Phainon stood close. Too close. His eyes burned with an intensity deeper than friendship. No calculation, just pure focus – on you, your lips, the line of your neck exposed by the loose shirt.

“Y/N…” Just your name, whispered by him, burned hotter than any Black Tide monster’s hit.

You didn’t back away. Couldn’t. That same inexplicable pull that had drawn you to him these past days coiled into a tight knot low in your belly. Your breath hitched. Phainon’s hand rose slowly, hovering a centimeter from your cheek. A question. Waiting for permission.

The answer wasn’t slow. You tilted your head quickly, pressing your cheek against his palm. His skin was cool, rough from countless drills and battles.

The distance vanished. He leaned in, finding your lips in a kiss – deep, reckless. Weeks of pent-up fury blazed through it. Fury at the pain you’d endured, at his own unspoken fear. You met the kiss with equal force, fingers digging into his clothes, feeling the hard contours of muscle beneath the fabric.

Phainon’s hands slid lower, tracing the fragile curves of your body against his solid frame. Every touch left an invisible brand – not pain, but a persistent, sweet burn. He broke the kiss for a breath, his ragged, hot exhale scorching your neck. His usually clear, calm blue eyes now burned like a storm-darkened ocean, filled with hunger held in check, mixed with infinite tenderness and worry.

“Y/N…” he whispered again.

His lips found the sensitive skin below your ear, then trailed down your jawline, leaving a wet, fiery path.

You tilted your head back, baring your throat, a low moan escaping your lips. The pain in your side receded, drowned in a wave of a different, far more demanding sensation pulsing low in your belly, spreading warmth everywhere. Your hands flew to his belt buckle, fingers trembling, fumbling.

“Easy,” his voice, low and rough, rasped in your ear. “Don’t rush. Let me… Let me feel you.”

With effortless strength, Phainon lifted you, carrying you towards the bed. Your body, still remembering pain, tensed instinctively – not from fear, but anticipation. He laid you down on the soft sheets with reverent care, like placing a fragile artifact.

Suddenly, his own clothes seemed like an unnecessary barrier. Phainon undid belts, shrugging off his heavy cloak and armor. The black tunic followed, revealing a torso mapped with old scars and taut muscle. The light traced golden patterns on his skin, highlighting the latent power.

Phainon bent down, merging with you in another kiss. This time it was slow, exploratory. Lips brushed yours, then returned to your neck, each touch sparking fire. His large, strong hands settled on your ribs just below your breasts, thumbs making slow circles that stole your breath.

“Let me…” his softly voice burned your ear. “Let me see you. All of you.”

His voice held plea and awe. Your fingers found the ties of your nightgown at the shoulder. The movement was hesitant, but he waited patiently. The fabric slipped down, baring your shoulder, then collarbone. The cold room air touched your skin, instantly warmed by his gaze – heavy, full of such silent adoration it stole your breath. His hand followed the fabric slowly, infinitely carefully, revealing the curve of your breast. His palm rested on the tender skin with the gentleness of touching a petal. Warmth radiated from his touch, mingling with the pulse low in your belly.

“You… are beautiful,” the simple words held universes.

You arched your back, a choked moan escaping as Phainon’s mouth found your nipple. The sensation was pure, all-consuming pleasure, making you writhe against him, fingers tangling in his soft, light hair.

His free hand drifted lower, touched your thigh, then the sensitive inner skin, like touching hot metal. He explored slowly, reverently, every curve, every shiver he elicited.

The pain from the wound was forgotten, dissolved in this sea of new, overwhelming sensation. There was only his body above you, his hands on your skin, his lips tracing paths of fire, his breath mingling with yours in a ragged, hot rhythm. Tension built inside you, coiling into a knot of need. You felt Phainon’s arousal, hard and hot through the thin fabric of his pants, pressing against your thigh. Every movement, every sigh, every touch pushed you both towards some inexpressible edge.

He lifted his head, his eyes, darkened to the color of storm clouds, meeting yours. No question lingered – only the knowledge of the inevitable. Phainon’s fingers pressed against your core. The sensation was shattering – wet heat, electric jolts of pleasure shooting through you.

“Phainon… Please…” You didn’t know what you were asking for, only that without him now, without his full, final touch, you’d burn to ashes.

He understood. He always understood without words. His fingers began to move. Each stroke was a revelation, each touch to the most tender places made the world shrink to that single point of connection. Phainon watched your eyes, reading every emotion, every spasm of pleasure on your face. His own breathing grew ragged, lips parting. Wave after wave of pleasure built, gathering into a powerful, relentless surge deep inside. You clung to him, fingers digging into the muscles of his back, your body trembling under his touch. And when the wave finally broke, it was like the fall of that wall in Janusopolis – blinding, deafening, all-consuming. You squeezed your eyes shut, a cry of pleasure caught in your throat, escaping only as a choked sob. Your body arched, lifting from the bed for a moment, drowning in pulsing waves of ecstasy.

Phainon held you, his arms strong around you as you trembled through the last aftershocks. His lips pressed against your temple, whispering something indistinct, tender, soothing. Your body went limp, filled with a liquid, blissful weakness. Pain, fear, fatigue – all dissolved, leaving only the warmth of his body, the beat of his heart against your ear, and a deep, all-encompassing peace. He carefully laid you back on the pillows, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. His eyes, lighter now but still deep, holding something new – a silent vow – looked at you with such intensity that tears pricked your eyes.

“Sleep,” he said softly, his voice hoarse with held-back emotion. “I’m here.”

His hand rested on your stomach, over the healing scar, protective, guarding. In the room’s quiet, broken only by your synchronized breathing, under the golden Okhema sun, the world shrank to the size of this bed. To the warmth of his skin, the echo of the storm just weathered, the silent promise hanging in the air between you. The most intimate chapter of the story, lost once in the countless lives of Phainon, had been found here, in the silence after the storm.

[jebunkle]

is this the real life?...

806 wc, gn!reader, all of them are having a mental breakdown

i saw some awesome sahsrau (self-aware hsr au) from @aventurineswife and they seemed a bit tired of making it...so i thought i'd give it a shot :p maybe ooc on some parts, sorry

the astral express who, while visiting a planet, begin to sense something amiss. it feels as if something, someone, has eyes on them occasionally.

while you're just logging in to play the game and pulling for new characters, everyone starts to freak out. what is watching over them? it can't be the aeons, something much more divine. hell, maybe even the aeons sense something is different.

himeko brews coffee while chatting quietly with welt, "you've felt it too, yes?" she asked him nervously, as if someone would hear if they were too loud. she sips her drink while glancing around every moment or so, displaying her franticness.

the express notices her off putting attitude, but before they can dwell on it, they begin to feel the same as her. it's almost like an illness, if this plague's symptoms were paranoia and impending doom.

the stellaron hunters are hardly different. kafka's smooth demeanor falters as she gazes off into the deep null of space. "who are you, divine being?" she asks into the nothingness, her sultry voice filling the otherwise empty air. as blade is sat on a couch, arms crossed over his chest, his posture seemed to be more tense than usual. of course, he was always uptight, but his behavior was extra rigid as of lately. silver wolf on the other hand, can't help but chuckle at kafka's philosophical rants and blade's silent pondering. she can tell that they're all puppets on a larger stage, meaning close to nothing in the vast universe — both her universe and yours.

aventurine, ever relaxed, has been carrying himself with a bit more of a troubled expression. his typical flamboyance has faltered and few around him have noticed. as aventurine sits on a red leather chair in an empty casino, he does not feel alone; tossing a golden coin between his fingers, aventurine begins thinking aloud. "i see you've chosen to reveal yourself, huh?" the blonde's voice is low and almost soft, as if he's trying not to offend whoever he may be speaking to.

dr. ratio's hair is a slightly unkempt, his eyebrows are pinched together much more frequently, and his papers and studies are left askew on his desk. a few members of the intellegentsia guild slowly catch onto how he's acting, and it's truly unbecoming of the infamous strict professor. his employees can be seen wearing a concerned expression when glancing over at him, yet are too afraid to inquire on his troubled state. "i will uncover whoever is ensuing this chaos amongst us all." ratio promises himself.

the xianzhou luofu is eerily quiet. the arbiter general himself has gone silent as well, as if the ship has been submerged into an ocean of solitude. jing yuan sits in his chair with his fingers intertwined atop his lap. internally, he wonders about this rumored 'creator'; are they real? is it an aeon? what does this mean for him? his companions? is something terrible on the horizon? his endless inquiries are certainly unlike him, causing the master diviner fu xuan to worry about him.

she feels that the world has been tilted also, however she's more concerned about jing yuan's scrambled state. "please, go home and rest, general." she pleads annoyedly, "mm. give me a moment, diviner fu." jing yuan replies quietly, his words melancholic. "you know as much as i do that something has changed." he states to the shorter woman.

boothill's shoes tap eagerly against the pavement that lined the roof of the building, echoing an ambience of anticipation. "what in the world are you?" the man questions the air rhetorically. he cannot, for the life of him, figure out what's causing such a stir in the mood of everyone, himself included. the silver cowboy's hand is rested on his hip, the other lifted to his neck with a finger pressed to his chin. "i dunno, but yer rackin' all our brains here.." boothill remarks, hoping that whoever is watching over him will hear it.

the enigmatic memokeeper is seen with a more defined smirk recently. black swan has taken interest is this unknown deity that has spiked fear and franticness all over the universe. she rests her palm against her chin, staring up into the stars that decorate the black outside of the express's windows. "i hope you'd be willing to speak with me, demiurge." she exclaims in a calm yet excited tone.

the head of the oak family stands in his obnoxiously large office, hands pressed against the polished table as he stares down at it. there's a few scattered documents thrown astray, but they're not important right now. all sunday can think of is you. he knows you exist, he's sure of it, and he won't rest until the day comes that you visit him and grace the world with your presence.

im so happy the eagles won the super bowl and kendricks performance was goated

dividers by @/hyuneskkami

[maidflowery]

POV: Your First Time with Mydei

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[beast3end]

Sunday's embrace is ephemeral and fragile.

He hugs you like you're thin glass. You can barely feel his warmth because of all those clothes, and if you close your eyes, you'll think: is he still here? Sunday never lets you hug him back, as if he's afraid you'll get dirty. (But with what?) Every time you reach out to him, he immediately slips away like a morning mist. You don't know what to think about it, but you decide to accept it.

When Sunday returns, his embrace is greedy and painful.

You feel like you're suffocating in his arms. He's so close, as close as he's ever allowed you to be. Sunday hugs you to him with such force, as if he wanted to merge with you, and even the layer of clothing was no obstacle to the heat of his body. His hands are chains that don't allow him to move, but you can feel them tremble. Sunday nuzzles your neck, inhaling your scent, his breath rasping against your skin. Sticky despair runs down your skin from the places where he touches you. You cling to him fiercely in response, because the person in front of you is a crumbling wall, not a pale haze of fog.

You understand: this is your last hug.