#sobbing and wailing how do I avoid this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alyakhq · 1 year ago

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- 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃! -

- 𝔁𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓮𝓻, 𝔃𝓪𝔂𝓷𝓮, 𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓪𝔂𝓮𝓵, 𝓼𝔂𝓵𝓾𝓼 -

tags: breeding kink, squirting, belly bulge

word count: 601

"come on..." the intoxicating scent of your body was a drug, spreading your list over to him as your hips slammed down mercilessly on his thighs, using his shoulders to balance yourself. his smug expression slowly disappeared as his head rolled back, his eyes sealed shut. the whimpers filling your ears as you tried your best to keep yourself going. "fuck xavier-" he was so long it felt like he was trying to burst through your uterus; yet the pleasure only had you begging and bouncing more on his cock. your head flying back as you moaned out loud.

there was a overwhelming tension in your stomach, the intense feeling slowly but gently took over your stamina and strength. your movements began to differ, xavier's hands around your waist in and instant. "no. keep going." his eyes became dark, a mission in mind. you tried but the strength in your legs was nearly gone, a huff coming from you as you shook your head no. one thing about xavier is that he will always go by his word, and if you were going to do it, he will.

with a simple lift, he thrusted into you while still bouncing you up and down. your head finding its way to the crook off his neck as your moans were cut off at every thrust, "ah!- uhhh-xavierrr...oh my gosh.." you called out; your nails digging into his soft skin scratching the surface. the orgasm you were holding it earlier was too strong to overcome, submitting to it as a deep moan came out as a cry, damn you needed some good dick and you got it. he groaned before possessively grabbing your chin in his soft hands, "who do you belong to?" you whined, every time you connected it was enough to make you sob, but to avoid further consequences you made yourself speak. "y-you..ahh!"

"you wanna cum baby? hm?" he teases, thrusting harder knowing that you can't speak, the feeling of him so deep. it felt like he was in your throat, your eyes full of tears. "mhm..please.." your lips sucked on his neck, trying to keep your mind in control; your other hand in his hair, tugging on the soft white locks as his head lifted a little.

his cerulean soft glare meeting yours with a smile, his hands rubbing at your back as he thrusted upwards, "what do you want, should i cum into this little pussy of yours?" his hand rested on your lower stomach , pressing against the appearing bulge. your head nodded aggressively, more whines filling the room. his beautiful face stared as you nodded, gently rubbing a hand down your hip to your thigh, "words."

"yes...please.." a small chuckle from xavier was enough to make you shiver. soft lips meet each other messily as the two of you let your bodies take over, "how sweet." he replied, pushing once more into you before a clear liquid gushed out of you at fast pace, his cum shooting up into your pussy. a deep wail came from above as he kissing your chin, both of you trying to relax yourself. it was so intense, you felt...more messy. staring down, you noticed xavier trying to hide his laugh. confused, you glared down to see the mess on both of your stomach and the bed. after your mind realised, a whine followed. your head hiding in his neck, extremely embarrassed, "i did not just do that-" his laugh cut you off, his head leaning back, "i didn't know you were that pent up."

tags: bondage, clit rubbing, light overstim

word count: 719

you held onto his desk, your nails digging into the material as the rest of your body hit zayne's pelvis; his hands tightly wrapped around your waist. the position you were in made it harder for you to take a break, since he could easily slap your thighs in o being you back to work, "you're perfect for me.." he whispered in your ear, his hands slowly travelling down to your clit, softly rubbing it with precise. moans and squeals gradually became louder the faster he rubbed, his fingers correlating with his praise; the pace of his hand was steady yet overwhelmingly fast. your hand falling down to grasp your thigh, back arching as your head rested on the table.

his chest vibrated a little against yours as he pulled you back further onto his cock, splitting you apart. "oh- it's too much-" a sharp inhale make everything worse, the coil your stomach brutal as it burnt your stamina. "let it out, don't be shy." he ran a hand up your back, moving down on your waist to your hip. "so pretty for me." just as you gasped, that tight coil snapped roughly, the liquids of your love spreading out onto his legs and the chair. your body breathing deeply, trying to get your stamina back. zayne is a very careful yet teasing man, he's a little bit of a secret kink lover. he stared at your gorgeous body, his mind going through every emotion possibly. he had a few ideas in mind and he's gonna show them today.

you felt his hand rise, his body moving a little as he took his first few buttons of his shirt off. you tried to look behind to see what he was doing, only to be met with a pinch on your side instantly making you look back in front of you. he sat up properly, slightly moving you upwards as gravity brought you down. a hiss escaping your mouth as he grabbed your wrists. "remember when i grabbed your wrists during training,". oh shit.

your memory came back, you remember that day. you two were sparring in the training room just to be on track when he pinned you down onto the mat, his big hand wrapped around your wrist easily while the other pressed ok your upper back. he was sat on the back of your thigh, not properly but just enough so you could shift around. but something unusual happened. a moan filling his ears, he didn't even realise that it was..that type of moan until he stopped moving. "did you just..?-" "no i didn't. it's a lie and you're hallucinating." his eyebrows furrowed before letting you up, smirking. "sure."

he tied your hands behind you with his tie, and as much as you tried to disobey and pull away it seemed impossible. the knot was secure and if you moved in the wrong way it'll get even tighter. "i always told you. i'll show you how surgeons tie knots." just as he spoke, he grabbed your waist, a silent way of telling you to start riding or he'll do it himself. you scofffed, moving your hips up and down on his dick, his groans filling you with motivation as you continued, letting out a shiver as his dick twitched inside of you. the motion between you too rough and fast, the tension nearly breaking him. "oh shit..!"

"just like that..fuck..." he grabbed your flesh in his hands, squeezing your thighs with both of his hands. leaving a kiss on your back, a smile appeared at your lips as you continued, riding him with the best movement you could. his hands massages your scalp as he slightly pulled on your hair, "zayne- i'm close...mmph!" unexpectedly, just as both of you were about to release, he gave you a pointed thrust. a loud moan coming from the lips as you came together. you gently rode his pelvis as he hissed pushing you up a little from his sensitive cock. "alright...give me a second." you giggled, before tilting your head towards your arms. "didn't know you like bondage, doctor." he stared at you, his glare intense. "don't call me that.." you protested, staring down at him, "or what?"

to your surprise, you felt him hardening inside you again. "oh no-"

tags: bondage, blindfold, overstim

word count: 682

rafayel was on a chair in his room, his eyes intensely glaring you with those galaxy eyes of his. his hands bound behind his back with red rope. his eyes watching you slowly undress, letting your bra strap run down your arm; his body trying to escape from the restraints, your body turning around as you placed your bra onto his lap. his eyes widening at the gesture before staring at you, love and obsession in his facial expression. he watched you take off your panties— the one he bought that matched his eye colour— just to seduce him, the lace hypnotising him as he let out a shaky whimper. "baby please...you're killing me." yet his voice was soft and gentle, his stare and his desire to touch you wasn't as nice.

you walked around him, letting your lingerie running up his abs to his shoulder then around his neck before stopping behind him, putting your arms down his shoulders, touching his skin while your face came to his neck. his body shivered as a response to your touch, grabbing a smile from you. "so sensitive already? this is gonna be a short night rafayel." he scoffed, his eyebrows furrowed. his response as sassy as ever, "more like a long night if you don't go faster." you smiled against his neck before pulling his hair a little, rafayel hissing in response.

your lips latched onto his neck as you circled around, only pulling away to retrieve his dick in your hand, sitting down on it. his head rolled back due to your abrupt change in position. "s-shit! why are you in such a rush?" your stare was enough to make him realise his fate, his eyes closed before they watched your motions as he breathed heavily, "wait-" it was too late, your body was connecting with his hips. he groaned before cursing, your own moans connecting with his. "you just love to be sassy don't you rafayel?" you had a good feeling that he was planning something. but soon enough your mind was changed as he sighed, "it's just who i am-"

you bounced harder, making sure that he was struggling. the force of your hips hitting the air out of his lungs before you started to slow down. "no..come on." he whined out, staring at you with a slight irritation, yet it was all playfully. just as you were paying attention, in your peripheral you saw the rope burn into nothing and disappeared. "rafayel!-" a piece of cloth came to over your eyes, shocking you. your hands went to touch the fabric when they were swiftly grabbed, your wrist exposed as he bit your hand.

"you just love to think you have control of me," rafayel grabbing your hips, before roughly pulling you hard onto his dick. the tip reaching that sweet spot in you as you gasped, not able to see. "ahh! rafa!-" he continued, you could barely speak. the thrusts he was giving you were so passionate. you could feel him in your throat, your breasts moving with your body as you were rapidly moved. he latched his tongue onto your skin, making sure to leave his mark big a clear of you. "my woman."

he grabbed your nape, pulling you to his lips as he deeply kissed you, his dick still stimulating your body. he pulled away before kissing your neck, leaving purple marks everywhere. his other hand went down, slapping your pussy and rubbing your clit with effortless power. "uhhh..uh! please..ahh!" his touch was too much, leaving you an overstimulated mess. he was merciless, making sure that you felt every single thrust he was giving you. "take it." he pulled you in again, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of speaking. he shoot loads— and i mean loads— of his cum into you, giving you just enough tension to let go. both of you huffing as you finally pulled away, "oh...my gosh.." you fell onto his chest, he chuckled before taking off your blindfold. "you're pretty when you've been fucked nicely."

"...what the fuck even happened?"

tags: impact play, degrading (whore + slut), railing

word count: 774

you sat on top of him, your hands resting on his shoulders as a deep groan came from you. he's currently pretending to be bored, making you do the work. you want him to rail you, yet he wants you to ride him so no one you are gonna do anything until you start riding him because what he says goes and he's too stubborn. "fucking wanker.." his deep, blooming red eyes met yours with a slight annoyance, his hands grabbing your neck before holding you to his face. "who are you talking to?" now, you had two options; submit and apologise, riding him or stand on business and talk back. and if he thinks you didn't pick two then he better shoo. "who else is being a bitch?" you narrows you eyes as him, grabbing his throat back. sylus stared at your dumbfounded for a second before he turned stern, and that's where you messed up big time.

he grabbed the riding crop from underneath his bed before making you stare at him, his glare nearly making you fold. "start, before it gets messy." huffing and puffing, you lazily bounced up and down barely lifting your body, letting out fake moans and your arms crossed. "ahh oh my days..sylus i guess.." you didn't even realised how visibly sylus' rage was increasing, his tongue poking at his cheek. just as you were gonna make another snarky comment, a harsh sting landed on your ass, your hands pushing on his chest. "ow! what the hell?-" he landed another harsh blow, moving your hands. "you anger me so badly. do as i say." he rose his hand again before you finally submit, grabbing the riding crop. "okay! damn?

you lifted your hips before falling down onto him, letting your confidence take you down the path of lust as the pace quickened. your hands on sylus' shoulders as his head went to your neck. "come on..you can do better than that, slut. honestly." offended, you went harsher, letting your ass slap against his thighs, making a loud noise of slapping skin. even your mind was begging you to stop but you didn't, you picked option two didn't you? "i'm doing better than you ever could." he chuckled before he hissed, nearly letting out a moan. whimpers were brought to his ears as he realsied that you were slowly riding yourself to death. without you noticing, he placed a pillow next to him, just in case you fell.

you continued, feeling the desperate need to let yourself go on his girthy cock. "like that? huh?" the sounds of the bed hitting the wall was seriously loud, stylus's hands going to your waist as he groaned, "that's my line..be original." although sylus was keeping up the tough act, he's never been ridden so hard. if he wasn't moving so much you could see the shiver of his body, your touch hypnotic as both of you came close to your release. but when he felt you slow down, he took manners into his own hands, flipping you around so he was on top, folding your legs up before pounding into your pussy; the moan escaping you were shameless.

he's never had you in such a position before and damn it nearly made you stay thinking about how on earth someone could have deadly dick? you went to beg him to stop, his hands grasping your tits in his hands as he sucked the skin before letting go with a pop! "oh! ah! sy- i'm cumming..!" you wailed as you came on his dick, his face so serious as he continued to fuck to his benefit. you were slowly becoming sensitive by the second, his dick hitting that wonderful spot as he fucking you into your orgasm, his following after before you felt his dick shiver but not soften. even after he's had an intense feeling, he was too into it to stop. "sylus..?"

"i always keep a deal, you rode me, i'll rail you." as much as you loved the idea, you were just joking around and now you fear for your legs after. he manoeuvred your hands so they were together, his hand hole ding your wrists as he stared down at you with a terrifying grin. he looked into your eyes to confirm you wanted this and you nodded, but still cautious for your poor pussy. "sylus, you know how hard it is to even handle you in general?! you're gonna break me-" "thats just fine." he put a hand over your mouth before pulling out, not giving you a chance to breath before he slammed back harshly.

damn, riding their dicks held serious results.

100 followers special! ❤️

thank you guys so muchhh, i love you to the end of space and back! i'm so happy to have a little community of my own, i wish for the best future.💋💋💋

do not steal @aly4khq's work even tho they are trash

date made: 28-31/07/25

i do not give permission to repost or copy elsewhere.

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amyzworldds · 4 months ago

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Part two: Weight of Words

Masterlist | Part 1

After a wave of online hate and a painful misunderstanding with Seventeen, Y/N locks herself in her vibrant apartment, leaving the 13 boys anxious and restless. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Heavy angst, Fluff, Humor

Y/N sat motionless on her living room floor, surrounded by the vibrant chaos of her personality—pink pillows, green rugs, quirky trinkets—but it felt like a stranger’s space now. Her tears had dried up, hours of crying leaving her empty, eyes red and swollen, staring blankly at nothing. The room was silent, suffocatingly so. Normally, she’d be video-calling the boys, cackling over how they’d never escape her—“You’re stuck with me! New houses, new families, I’ll still haunt you!”—her voice bouncing off the walls. But tonight, the quiet pressed in, a heavy shroud over her shattered confidence. She felt hollow, a shell of the Y/N they’d always known.

The doorbell jolted her, sharp and insistent. She blinked, sluggish, and glanced at the monitor—13 familiar faces crowded her doorstep, their expressions tense. Her heart lurched, but she didn’t move, frozen by the weight of seeing them. Then the knocking started—loud, relentless—her phone buzzing with calls, texts pinging. Seungcheol’s message flashed: “Answer or we bang this door ‘til your neighbors hate us. Open up, Y/N-ah.” The threat wasn’t empty; she knew they’d do it.

She dragged herself up, legs shaky, and cracked the door open, avoiding their eyes. “Hey,” she mumbled, turning fast, shuffling to the kitchen. “I’ll… get water.” Her voice was flat, a flimsy shield. She didn’t want them to see her—puffy eyes, messy hair, the wreck she’d become.

They filed in, the air shifting with their presence, but she kept her back to them, fumbling with glasses. Seungcheol’s voice cut through, low and steady. “Y/N-ah, stop. The manager showed us your text.”

She froze, glass clinking hard against the counter, her breath catching. “What… text?” she croaked, but she knew—“Do I need to leave the group?”—and dread coiled tight in her chest.

“Turn around,” Jeonghan said, softer but firm. “Look at us.”

She didn’t want to—couldn’t—but Hoshi stepped closer, voice trembling with urgency. “Y/N-ah, please. We’re not leaving ‘til you hear us.”

Reluctantly, she turned, eyes on the floor, hands gripping the counter. Seungcheol stepped forward, holding the manager’s phone out, her message glowing accusingly. “This,” he said, voice thick. “You think we want you gone?”

Her lip quivered, but she held it in, staring at her feet. Woozi spoke, sharp with guilt. “You heard us, didn’t you? That day—‘tone it down, act your age.’ You walked in and caught the worst part.”

“We know you misunderstood,” Joshua added, gentle but pained. “You didn’t hear us worrying—freaking out ‘cause the hate was killing you.”

“We didn’t mean change who you are!” Mingyu burst out, stepping closer, voice cracking. “We were scared—scared you’d break under it all!”

She shook her head, voice small. “But you said it—‘lay low, feminine, mature.’ I tried—I toned it down, I acted my age, whatever that means—and they still hate me.” Her eyes lifted, glassy, brimming. “I saw the video—me dodging Jeonghan oppa. They called me fake, a flirt anyway. I can’t win—I’m dragging you down—”

“No!” Seungkwan cut in, loud and fierce. “You’re not dragging us anywhere—you’re us! The bashers? We’ll handle them—screw what they think!”

“You think we want you gone?!” Hoshi yelled, eyes wide, stepping right up to her. “You’re our maknae—our chaos! We’d fall apart without you!”

Tears spilled then, hot and fast, and she couldn’t stop them. “I don’t know what to do!” she sobbed, voice breaking into a wail. “I tried—I changed, I hid, and it’s still not enough! They want me out—say I’m a disgrace, your weak spot—I trained so hard, and they—” She crumpled, hands flying to her face, crying like a child, raw and unfiltered. “I feel so alone—I can’t even be me anymore!”

Seungcheol surged forward, pulling her into his arms, tight and unyielding. “You’re not alone,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “You’re never alone—hear me? We’re right here.”

Jeonghan joined, wrapping around her from the side, voice soft. “We don’t want you different, Y/N-ah. We love you—wild, loud, clingy, all of it.”

“You’re not a disgrace,” Mingyu said, kneeling in front of her, tears in his eyes. “You’re our strength—our heart. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

She sobbed harder, clinging to Seungcheol, words tumbling out. “I was so scared—you said ‘tone it down,’ and I thought… I thought you were ashamed of me! The hate—it’s everywhere—I can’t escape it!”

“We’re not ashamed,” Jun said, stepping up, voice firm despite the crack. “We were idiots—said it wrong. We wanted to protect you, not change you.”

“We’ll fight the hate,” Hoshi vowed, gripping her shoulder. “Post, call them out—whatever it takes. They don’t get to touch you.”

“You’re not leaving,” Seungkwan said, fierce, wiping his own tears. “Not over this—not ever. You’re stuck with us, got it?”

She nodded, a broken whimper escaping, and Dino piled in, hugging her waist. “You’re our Y/N-ah—our crazy, perfect maknae. No one’s taking you.”

Joshua’s voice was steady, warm. “You don’t have to pretend—not with us, not for anyone. Be you—that’s all we need.”

Her cries softened, trembling against Seungcheol’s chest as the others closed in, a protective circle. “I… I missed you,” she whispered, voice raw. “I didn’t know how to say it—I thought I’d ruin everything.”

“You could never ruin us,” Minghao murmured, ruffling her hair, his voice a lifeline. “You’re our family—cracks and all. We fix this together.”

She looked up, puffy-eyed, surrounded by them—her loud, messy, unshakable oppas—and the weight lifted, just a little. “I’m sorry,” she hiccupped. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Don’t be,” Wonwoo said, squeezing her hand. “Just don’t shut us out again—we can’t lose you.”

“Never,” she promised, a shaky laugh breaking through. “You’re stuck with me haunting you forever.”

“Good,” Hoshi grinned, wiping her tears. “That’s our Y/N.”

They stayed like that—huddled in her colorful chaos—comfort settling over the storm. She cried out her fears, they held her through it, and for the first time in days, the quiet wasn’t suffocating. It was home.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N sat nestled in the middle of her living room, still sniffling but steadier now, wrapped in the warmth of her 13 boys. The tears had slowed, her sobs replaced by shaky breaths, their arms and words a cocoon of comfort. She leaned against Seungcheol’s shoulder, Wonwoo hand still squeezing hers, the others sprawled around her like a chaotic guard. The silence wasn’t suffocating anymore—it was soft, safe. Then, a loud, unmistakable growl rumbled from her stomach, cutting through the tender moment like a foghorn.

She froze, eyes widening, then looked up at them, puffy-faced but indignant. “I’m hungry,” she announced, voice small but firm, blinking at their startled faces. “Where’s the food?”

The boys blinked back, caught off guard. “Uh…” Seungcheol started, scratching his neck. “We… didn’t bring any.”

Her jaw dropped, dramatic as ever, and she pulled back, staring at them like they’d committed treason. “What?!” she yelped, voice pitching up. “You didn’t bring food?!”

“We were worried!” Mingyu protested, hands up. “We saw that text and bolted—food wasn’t exactly on our minds!”

“Yeah, Y/N-ah,” Hoshi chimed in, grinning sheepishly. “We were too busy panicking about you leaving us!”

She stomped her foot—full maknae mode—pouting hard, her old spark flickering back. “That’s no excuse!” she wailed, crossing her arms, lips jutting out. “You know I’m sad—you know I’m a mess—and you show up empty-handed?! What kind of members are you?!”

Seungkwan snorted, trying to hide a laugh. “The kind who drove across Seoul at 8 p.m. to save you from yourself!”

“Save me with food!” she shot back, thumping her foot again, her pout deepening into a masterpiece. “I’ve been crying all day—my stomach’s screaming—and you didn’t even grab a ramyeon pack? A chip bag? Anything?!”

Jeonghan chuckled, ruffling her hair. “We thought you needed hugs, not snacks, drama queen.”

“Hugs and snacks!” she corrected, swatting his hand but leaning into it anyway. “I’m starving—I could die right here, and it’d be your fault!”

“Don’t die!” Dino yelped, clutching her arm, half-serious. “We’ll get you food—just don’t faint on us!”

“Too late,” she groaned, flopping back against Seungcheol with a theatrical sigh. “I’m fading… betrayed by my own family… no food, no hope…”

Seungcheol laughed, steadying her. “Alright, alright—calm down, you little monster. We’ll fix it.”

“Fix it now!” she demanded, sitting up, eyes glinting with mock fury. “You can’t just storm in, make me cry more, and not feed me! I deserve ramyeon—spicy ramyeon—and ice cream! And gummies!”

“Gummies too?” Joshua teased, grinning. “You’re pushing it, Y/N-ah.”

“Yes, gummies!” she huffed, pointing at him. “I’ve suffered—suffered!—and you owe me!”

Mingyu smirked, pulling out his phone. “Fine, princess—what’s your order? I’ll get it delivered.”

“Everything,” she declared, arms flailing. “Ramyeon, fried chicken, tteokbokki, ice cream—chocolate, not vanilla, disgusting—gummies, chips—spicy chips, not the lame ones—and soda! Lots of soda!”

“That’s a feast,” Woozi said, raising an eyebrow but smiling. “You’re back to bossing us around already?”

“Damn right,” she sniffed, wiping her nose with a pout. “I’m sad and hungry—you messed up, so you fix it!”

“Okay, okay!” Hoshi laughed, throwing his hands up. “Mingyu, order it—our maknae’s gonna riot if we don’t!”

“On it,” Mingyu said, tapping away. “But if you eat all that, you’re not fitting through the door tomorrow.”

“Then carry me!” she shot back, sticking her tongue out. “You’re tall—use it!”

The room erupted in laughter, the tension melting as her tantrum—dramatic, pouty, pure Y/N—filled the space. Seungcheol grinned, pulling her into a side hug. “There’s our girl—whiny and all.”

“Don’t call me whiny!” she protested, shoving him but snuggling closer. “I’m justified! You starved me!”

“We didn’t starve you,” Jeonghan teased, poking her cheek. “You starved yourself—big difference.”

“Semantics!” she huffed, swatting him again. “You’re all terrible—I should’ve known you’d forget food!”

“We’ll never forget again,” Seungkwan vowed, mock-serious, hand over his heart. “Next time, we’ll bring a buffet!”

“You better!” she grumbled, but a small giggle slipped out, her pout softening. “I’m still mad, though.”

“Mad and cute,” Hoshi said, pinching her cheek ‘til she yelped. “Welcome back, Y/N-ah.”

“Stop it!” she whined, flailing at him, but her smile broke through, bright and real. She looked around—13 goofy, worried, loving faces—and her stomach growled again, loud enough to make them laugh harder.

“Food’s on the way,” Mingyu announced, pocketing his phone. “Fifteen minutes—don’t die ‘til then.”

“I might!” she groaned, flopping onto the floor, arms spread. “Hurry it up, oppa—I’m fading!”

“You’re so dramatic,” Seungcheol chuckled, nudging her with his foot. “But we love it—don’t ever change.”

“Never,” she mumbled, grinning up at him, her old self peeking out, loud and unfiltered. The room buzzed with their banter, sweet and silly, the night turning warm again—food or not, she was home.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The food had long been devoured at Y/N’s apartment—ramyeon bowls empty, chicken bones scattered, tteokbokki sauce staining the table, and a half-melted tub of chocolate ice cream abandoned after Y/N’s dramatic brain freeze wail. The boys sprawled across her vibrant living room, a battlefield of wrappers and laughter—Hoshi swiping her gummies, Mingyu tipping soda on Seungkwan, who shrieked like a banshee. Y/N was back to her old self—pouty, loud, thumping her feet when DK teased her—but the shadow of hate lingered in their minds, a fight unfinished.

By midnight, they’d cleaned out the snacks, and Y/N dozed off mid-rant about Hoshi’s chopstick fumbles, her head drooping onto Seungcheol’s shoulder. The boys traded looks, the quiet settling heavy. “She’s okay here,” Joshua whispered, smiling softly. “But out there? It’s still a war.”

“She thinks she’s our weak link,” Woozi said, voice low, guilt sharp. “We can’t let that stick.”

Seungcheol nodded, jaw tight. “We shut it down—tonight. All 13 of us.”

“Weverse,” Jeonghan said, pulling out his phone. “Blast the haters—show them she’s ours.”

“With pics!” Hoshi grinned, eyes glinting. “She was a disaster crying—perfect ammo.”

“She’ll murder us,” Mingyu laughed, scrolling his gallery. “Got one—puffy eyes, snot central.”

“Gold,” Seungkwan snickered, leaning in. “She’ll hate it, but it’s peak Y/N.”

They huddled, phones glowing, drafting as Y/N snored softly, oblivious. Seungcheol kicked it off, typing with resolve: “To anyone hating on our Y/N—stop now. She’s our maknae, our sunshine, and you don’t get to tear her down for being her.”

Jeonghan smirked, adding: “She laughs loud, clings hard, cries messy—that’s Y/N, and we love it all. You’ve got no right to judge.”

Hoshi cackled, typing fast: “Chaos queen—keeps us alive with her madness. Hate her? You’re blind—check this!” He attached a photo—Y/N mid-sob, eyes swollen, mouth gaping, tissues jammed up her nose.

“She’ll kill you,” Dino wheezed, laughing. “I’ve got her pouting over food!” He added it—Y/N stomping, cheeks puffed, glaring teary-eyed.

Mingyu grinned, typing: “Weak spot? Nah—she’s our strength. Keeps us laughing when we’re dead. Back off.” His pic—Y/N flailing at Hoshi, mid-tantrum, hair wild.

Seungkwan smirked: “Not fake, not a flirt—just Y/N. Twist it, that’s your problem. We’ll fight for her—always.” His shot—Y/N sprawled, “dying” from hunger, tongue lolling.

Woozi kept it sharp: “She’s not leaving—ever. She’s SEVENTEEN. Deal with it.” His pic—Y/N mid-rant, pointing fiercely, face red.

Joshua softened it: “She’s our light—don’t dim her with hate. We love her loud, goofy chaos—always.” His shot—Y/N giggling, ice cream on her cheek, hugging him.

Minghao stepped in, calm but firm, typing: “She’s real—raw, unfiltered. That’s her power. You don’t get to break it.” His photo—Y/N mid-laugh, sprawled on the couch, soda can tipping in her hand.

Jun grinned, adding: “She’s our wild card—makes every day fun. Hate’s got no place here!” His pic—Y/N fake-wrestling him for the last gummy, her grin huge.

Wonwoo’s voice was quiet, steady: “She’s our spark—don’t snuff it out. We need her, just like this.” His shot—Y/N napping earlier, curled against Seungcheol, a tissue dangling from her fist, peaceful but messy.

Vernon typed coolly: “She’s real—hate’s fake. Let her shine.” His pic—Y/N mid-chip-steal, smirking at Mingyu.

DK laughed, adding: “Her laugh’s our anthem—don’t mute it!” His shot—Y/N fake-sobbing over spilled soda, theatrical as ever.

Dino finished the lineup: “She’s my twin maknae—hands off! We’re 13 plus 1—complete.” His pic—Y/N dangling gummies from her mouth, grinning like a gremlin.

Seungcheol capped it, fierce: “She’s ours—13 of us say so. Hate her, you hate us. Stop—now.” His photo—Y/N asleep now, puffy-faced but calm, nestled against him.

“Post it,” Jeonghan said, grinning. “All 13—complete.”

They hit send in unison, 13 Weverse accounts flaring to life, a goofy, fierce fortress of love. Comments flooded—Carats roaring support, haters reeling—but they ignored it, watching Y/N twitch in her sleep, mumbling something about “ramyeon.”

“She’s gonna lose it over those pics,” Hoshi whispered, stifling a laugh.

“Let her,” Mingyu said, smirking. “She’ll yell, but she’ll feel it.”

“Feel what?” Seungkwan asked, grinning.

“That she’s ours,” Seungcheol said, brushing her hair back. “Exactly how she is.”

“Even when she’s a snotty mess?” Jun teased, nodding at Hoshi’s photo.

“Especially then,” Wonwoo said, a rare smile tugging his lips.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Overnight, SEVENTEEN’s Weverse post exploded, rocketing to the top of every trending list. The 13 boys’ unified defense of Y/N—complete with her snotty, teary, tantrum-filled photos—lit up the internet. Carats went wild, flooding comments with laughter and love: “Hoshi posting her with tissues up her nose—ICONIC!” “Mingyu’s ‘weak spot? nah’ with her flailing—kings defending their queen!” “This is a real group—13 plus 1, no fakes here!” They booed the haters mercilessly—“Cry more, antis—SEVENTEEN said NOPE!”—and turned the goofy pics into memes, Y/N’s wails and pouts plastered everywhere with captions like “When your members love you but roast you too.” The fandom reveled in it—real, raw, unfiltered Seventeen shining through.

By dawn, it was headline news—“SEVENTEEN Slams Haters in Viral Weverse Post, Defends Maknae Y/N With Hilarious Photos”—every article featuring the boys’ words alongside shots of her mid-cry, mid-tantrum, mid-“dying” from hunger. The tide flipped fast. Netizens who’d bashed her now backpedaled, drowned out by a wave of support. Videos surfaced—Y/N cackling with Mingyu over a spilled drink, pranking Woozi with a water gun, hugging Jeonghan so hard he toppled—proof of her light, her chaos, her heart. Posts multiplied: “She’s not a pick-me—she’s their sunshine,” “This is why SEVENTEEN’s untouchable—real family.” The narrative shifted—her laugh, her wildness, her tears celebrated, not cursed.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Morning broke at Y/N’s apartment, the boys crashed across her living room—Seungcheol on the couch, Hoshi sprawled on the rug, Mingyu half-off a chair, the rest a tangle of limbs and snores. They’d stayed, too tired to leave after their midnight mission, Y/N tucked into her bed after nodding off mid-ice-cream rant. Then—

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” Her scream shattered the peace, piercing enough to rattle the walls. The boys jolted awake, groaning, blinking as Y/N stormed in, phone in hand, eyes blazing.

“Y/N-ah, what—” Seungcheol started, rubbing his eyes, but she cut him off, waving her phone like a weapon.

“YOU POSTED THESE?!” she shrieked, scrolling through Weverse, her voice hitting operatic heights. “My crying face?! Snot everywhere?! Tissues up my nose?! HOSHI-OPPA, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Hoshi cackled, sitting up. “It’s cute! Look—Carats love it!”

“CUTE?!” she bellowed, stomping her foot. “I look like a gremlin! And you—all of you—put it EVERYWHERE! HEADLINES, OPPA! ‘SEVENTEEN DEFENDS Y/N’—WITH THIS?!?!” She shoved the screen at them—a news article with her wailing, captioned “Maknae’s Tears Win Hearts.”

Mingyu smirked, stretching. “Worked, didn’t it? Haters are gone—fans are obsessed.”

“OBSESSED WITH MY UGLY FACE!” she wailed, flopping onto the couch, dramatic as ever. “I’m complaining all day—you’re all dead to me!”

“Aw, Y/N-ah,” Jeonghan teased, grinning. “You’re alive again—yelling means you’re back.”

“Back to haunt you!” she snapped, pointing at him. “You let them post me looking like a drowned rat!”

“It’s not that bad,” Joshua said, laughing. “You’re adorable—snot and all.”

“ADORABLE?!” she screeched, clutching her head. “I’m a disaster! And now the world thinks it’s AI—I mean, it’s not me, right? That’s not my face!”

“Totally you,” Seungkwan snickered, dodging her swat. “Carats are calling it ‘peak maknae energy.’”

“I hate you all!” she groaned, burying her face in a pillow, muffled. “Why didn’t you use pretty pics? I’m cute sometimes!”

“You’re always cute,” Dino said, patting her back. “Even crying.”

“LIES!” she shouted, popping up, pout in full force. “I’m fixing this—right now!” She grabbed her phone, furiously tapping, muttering, “Stupid oppas—stupid headlines—AI my foot…”

She stormed to her room, slamming the door, and the boys erupted in laughter. “She’s posting,” Woozi said, smirking. “Bet it’s a revenge glow-up.”

Minutes later, her Weverse pinged—Y/N’s post: “Since my members think THESE are okay [screenshots of their pics], here’s the REAL me. News people—USE THESE. That crying mess? AI, not me. I’m pretty, see?!” Attached were her best shots—smiling with coffee, winking in stage makeup, laughing in sunlight—zero snot, all shine.

The boys crowded Seungcheol’s phone, howling. “She’s savage!” Hoshi said, wiping tears. “AI—not her!”

“She’s delusional,” Mingyu laughed. “Those crying pics are 100% her—I took half of ‘em!”

“She’s back-back,” Jun grinned, scrolling Carat replies—“Y/N said NO to the snot pics!” “Queen reclaiming her throne!”

Seungcheol chuckled, leaning back. “Haters are toast, she’s yelling—she’s good.”

“She’ll still kill us,” Minghao said, smirking. “But it’s worth it.”

“Totally,” Wonwoo added, rare grin flashing. “She’s our mess—pretty or not.”

Y/N burst out, still pouting. “You’re all on dish duty for this! And I want more chicken—payback!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Seungcheol saluted, grinning as they groaned. The room buzzed—her tantrum, their laughter, the world flipping to her side. The headlines could keep the tears; she’d claimed her shine, and her 13 members had her back—goofy pics and all.

--------------------------------------------------------------

an: hello again! I’m trying my best to mention all the members, but I keep losing track—oops! I’m also trying my best to capture their personalities in each dialogue HAHAHAHA! Thank you so much for reading—I hope you enjoy it!🫶🏻

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httpsserene · 5 months ago

Note

first off, CONGRATS ON 3k!!!! I’m so proud of you!!!! I have a couple requests pls don’t think you have to do all of them. My first one is from the kink list rating and it’s Daniel Ric, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Oscah Pastry, and Franco Colapnto with the orgasm control kink :)

#3k vday celly

🧽🪣 would you like a complimentary car wash? — send me any five (5) drivers and one (1) kink from this list, and i will rank the drivers in order of who i think is most to least likely to participate/avoid, or love/hate that kink !!! each driver will have a small blurb written xxx

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. tysm for the love ash !!! would've liked this to be out on monday but my flu has made me incredibly delusional :) anyways, you already know i'm going to do all of your requests ;p

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

𝐦𝐭𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 fem!bipoc!reader x mv. 1 | dr. 3 | cl. 16 | fc. 43 | op. 81 cw under the cut.

explicit language. oral and vaginal sex. light bdsm & d/s dynamics. the mildest blasphemous phrase used at the end of charles' blurb.

𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭

Oscar knows that his quiet, polite, and kind personality tricked you into thinking he’d behave similarly in bed. It surprises him too; his desire—his ego, truthfully—growing uncharacteristically insatiable as he watches you sob and beg for a release you know he’s not going to allow. Is it the way your expression twists in frustration when he intentionally keeps his well-practiced fingers away from your clit? Is it the way your body trembles in mourning of the little death that disappears when he pulls his mouth away from devouring your pussy to paint the bronze skin of your inner thighs with the imprint of his teeth? He doesn’t know if it heightens his satisfaction, or if it becomes the entirety of his satisfaction. It matters little to him, he thinks, as he forcefully thrusts into you to feel your desperate walls squeeze and flutter tightly around him, to hear your gasping moans transform into needy whimpers. He pulls out on the precipice of your shared peak, and his guttural moan drowns out your shattered wail as he deprives you both. His dick throbs sharply as it bobs against his abdomen, a dribble of precum jutting from the slit against his sweat-slicked, pink-flushed skin. He continues to ignore the aching of his cock, leaning down to murmur his apology against your lips while he brushes away your tears with gentle thumbs. Oscar is genuinely apologetic for denying you in such a cruel manner, but he’s going to do it a couple more times before he lets either of you cum.

You’ve turned Charles into a masochist. When you made him suffer through a thirty-minute blowjob and didn’t let him cum until he almost hyperventilated—he thought it was a one-time thing. Two weeks after that, you woke him up with a handjob, releasing him as soon as his muscles started jumping, an obvious sign that he was nearing his climax, ignoring his brain screaming, “that’s hot.” He reached down, attempting to finish the job, but you slapped his hand away, tutting disapprovingly and telling him that you decide when he gets off. He nervously giggled the statement aside at first, thinking you were joking. In hindsight, he’s delighted to know that you were serious. He doesn’t know how long you’ve had his hands tied behind the back of the desk chair you pushed him down on, nor can he remember how many times you’ve brought him close to the edge before ripping it away. If it were up to him to choose when he gets to cum, he’d make himself wait until morning. But, it’s your decision. And, you remind him just how cruel you can be when you overwhelmingly focus your attention on the head of his cock, rapidly working him toward completion. You pull away at the last moment and through blurry eyes he sees your smile widening as the streaks of his spend shoot across his chest, the orgasm simultaneously unsatisfying and substance-less—he loves it. Charles chokes on his breath as he pleads for you to give him a real orgasm, his dick still erect and pulsating, begging you for more. He cries when you inform him that he doesn’t get to cum for another three days. He can’t suppress the desperation that starts to tingle at the base of his skull—but God, does it feel heavenly.

Daniel is aware that he plays too much, and you’ve told him so multiple times. He’s a jokester, his personality light-hearted and bright, always searching for opportunities to make you laugh. It seems like those traits were slightly mistranslated when it comes to how he acts in bed. He’s an unrelenting tease, his grin sharper and wider as he dangles your climax in front of you like a carrot tied to a stick. Something about watching you realize that he controls your pleasure is immensely gratifying. It helps that he knows you’re only pretending to hate when he edges you; you can’t hide how the dripping wetness of your cunt has stained his mouth with your flavor and how the dregs of anything he couldn’t greedily swallow puddled on the bed sheets beneath your ass. That doesn’t mean he likes it when you flip the script on him. He can admit that he finds it hot as hell when you use him for your satisfaction, but he thought he was having a stroke the first time you got yourself off by riding him and leaving him high and dry. Admittedly, he does understand that it made the handjob you gave him (not even five minutes later, by the way) exponentially better, but damn. You didn’t have to give him a taste of his own medicine if you wanted to retaliate against his endless teasing. Daniel’s fine with you occasionally edging him if he eventually gets to cum during one of the rounds you have; however, don’t even think about leaving him with blue balls for more than a few hours. He’s a sensitive man at his core—you’ll make him cry. You don’t want that, do you?

Max is certain that his purpose on Earth is to drive fast and to fulfill all of your intimate needs (sexual or not). So, when you suggested trying out orgasm control, he agreed to give it a chance for you. And, to put it bluntly, he doesn’t get it. He’d rather have you screaming, sobbing, and shaking under him because he’s pushed you to the point of overstimulation from making you cum too many times and not too few times. He’s driven to satisfy you; he’s not motivated by torturing you with denial, he wants to hear you slur your words as you beg for him to give you a break when he’s fucked out the feeling from your legs and all rational thought out of your head. However, that doesn’t mean he has the same opinion when you’ve been acting bratty; edging you until you remember your manners sounds like the perfect punishment, in that case. Thankfully, he puts quite a lot of work in to make sure you don’t have the opportunity to be a brat—he happily spends most of his time pampering and treating you like a princess. If you really wanted Max to edge you or ruin your orgasms, he’d do it—but, personally, he thinks overwhelming you with pleasure is much more enjoyable for both you and him. He’s a service dom, not a monster.

Yeah, Franco is going to need you to leave your bullshit at the door. It makes absolutely zero sense to him; why should he waste his time holding back one orgasm when he can at least do it twice? Three times, if he’s horny enough. Four times, if you’re going to keep making eye contact with him. You get the point. It’s an insult when you really think about it: are you trying to say that he’s not capable of making you climax multiple times? Is that a challenge? That’s fine, he’ll prove it to you. The first round will be in the car, then against the front door, then on the kitchen island, then on the dining room table, then against the living room windows—fuck it, he’d find a way to fuck you on the ceiling. Franco’s young, he has the libido and stamina for multiple rounds of varying lengths. There’s no need to force each other to last longer when he has a battery in his back like The Energizer Bunny. It would seriously piss him off if you tried to kick him away from between your legs as he was about to make you cum on his tongue. He will sit up and cuss you out for it, but not for long—he has to return to finish his meal that you so rudely interrupted him from right as he was going to lick the plate clean.

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x black!reader #oscar piastri x reader #charles leclerc x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc smut #franco colapinto x reader #oscar piastri smut #f1 x poc!reader #max verstappen smut #franco colapinto smut #daniel ricciardo smut #f1 fic #formula 1 smut #⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #httpss :// 3k vday celly.

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asce-of-hearts · 7 months ago

Note

Request time has come again!

May I please request a

Yan!Boa, Yan! Buggy, Yan! Shanks, and Yan Marco!

(separately please)

Who are hunting down their gn darling after said darling escaped from them.

Please and Thank you!🙏 (Sry for any spelling errors)

Hunt

contents: Yan!Boa, Yan!Buggy, Yan!Shanks and Yan!Marco hunting down their darling after they've escaped (gn!reader)

more Marco content here

TAG LIST

WARNINGS: YANDERE

Boa Hancock

You can hear stone crumble and break under her strength, her heavy breathing as she searches for you. It was foolish from your part, really, to think you could actually hide from her inside the jungle mess of rocks and ruins that surround you. You try to steady your heartbeat, afraid the incessant pounding inside your chest will rat you out.

"Why are you doing this to me, my dear?" She asks, almost crying. "I love you so much, my love. So why are you doing this to me!?" She wails, her leg puncturing another rock, who crumbles to dust after a few seconds. "Come out! Come out in this instant!"

You can hear her snarling and crying, wailing time after time whenever she doesn't find you. But she can sense you, feel you, you're somewhere around here, she just has to find out where.

"I should've just turned you into rock when I had the chance! At least as a fucking statue you wouldn't be doing this to me!" She cries out, laughing humorlessly. "Maybe I'll do it once I find you, my dear."

A rock dangerously close to you crumbles to dust with a loud, sickening crack. You gasp, pressing your hands over your mouth to avoid screaming. You close your eyes, feeling how your heart stops for a second at this. And then there's quiet, only her soft sobbing in the background. You think you're safe, that she's about to give up.

Then you feel it, or rather not, you can't feel your legs. When you look at them, they're slowly turning into stone. You look behind you, trying to stand up, only to find her shadow looming over you.

"Found you, my dear."

Buggy the Star Clown

"I promise you, this isn't as a good idea as you think it is." He says in a chuckle, his footsteps echoing around the big top. "I know this place like the back of my hand, and even if I didn't, I'd have my crew searching for you. So... can you come out now?"

He already knows where you are, the floor is dirt and you weren't smart enough to cover your tracks correctly. He already knows the exact location, so he's frankly just exasperated. He had trusted you enough to not tie you up and leave you stranded, but then again, he shouldn't have.

"I'm going to throw a knife," he speaks again, his voice cracking a little, he's tweaking really, there's nothing he would love more than to pounce over you for a second. "I'm going to throw multiple knives, actually, and if one of them lands over where you're hiding, you're going to come out."

The sound of blades traveling through the air makes you flinch, covering your head as you curl up and duck next to the barrels you're hiding within. You can feel hot, salty tears running down your cheeks. But none of them landed where you are, so you're safe for now.

"Here I go again, ready?" He asks, almost condescending. "If you don't come out when I give you the chance. I will go looking for you, ___." That's a threat, but you just hope he doesn't find you, you pray for it. You hear the blades cutting through the air again, how they thud thud thud as they stick over other objects. Has he missed again? You only count two knives out of the three he usually throws. You try to search for the sound of the last knife.

The knife sticks right on the barrel behind you.

"Red Haired" Shanks

"Where are you going?" He asks, his eyes narrowing slightly as you freeze in place. You thought when the captain was sleeping was a good time to sneak away, apparently it wasn't.

"To... To get- uhm... some fresh air." You murmur, not facing him. Clutching the stuff on your little bag against your chest.

"And what are you carrying with you?" He cocks a brow, already rising from the bed.

"A... book. And a blanket." You lie through your teeth.

You can hear the creaking of the wood as he walks closer to you, how the ocean gently rocks the boat you're both inside.

"Not funny. Leave your stuff and come back to bed before I make you pass out." His hand is placed over your shoulder, a gentle squeeze to remind you just who is it that you're going to fight against. "You don't stand a chance, don't even think about it."

"Please."

"You have three seconds, ___" His voice is a low growl, and you don't know if he's giving you time to run or to come back to him. You're not taking any chances, you feel like a little rabbit in front of a much larger predator, your feet leap off the floor as you make a run for the door.

Your fingers grace the handle, and then, everything goes black.

Phoenix Marco

"You're burning me!" You squeal as he pins your wrists to the ground, tackling you. His eyes are wide, breathing heavily through his mouth.

"I know," He murmurs, detached, cold. But he doesn't stop, your nails dig into the soil, dirt creeping underneath as you try to crawl away. It's only when the stench of burnt hair reaches his nostrils that he pulls away. "I'll burn you again if you try to run."

Your mind goes blank, freezing in place as those blue flames surround you in an inescapable ring of fire. You only sigh, your forehead pressed to the ground as you sob.

"I've already lost so much, you know?" He says, gently tucking away your hair from the back of your neck, softly pressing a kiss there. "I can't keep letting you do this, ___. I try to be lenient, but you make it so difficult sometimes."

"Then let me leave."

"No. For the love of all things holy, what part of no don't you understand?" He asks, much more harshly. His glasses are all stained, he's barely able to see your shaking form through the grime that now covers them. He grits his teeth, trying to keep calm. "I'm not letting you leave, because something bad will happen to you, something bad always happens when I'm not there to help."

"I don't need your help!" You scream, your clothes are covered in dirt and grass. You cry, he flips you over, now facing him.

"But you will," He says with a gentle smile, his warm hands removing the tears from your face, only leaving a cloud of mist behind.

"And I'm not taking any chances, my dove."

hope you enjoyed this!!

have a great day/night

TAGGING: @bookandyarndragon @goldenglow149 @voidthewriting @420a1lday @coolnekochan9961

@chercheryblossomsweet @florcxo @mimihaitani @yukimutsu @lurexin

@hbk99450 @stranger00001 @kitzusune @3v37773 @hannas16

@shmyek @massivepenguinunknown @anieluvs @eroscastle @DelicatelyCraftedBambi

@yeonieesss @mizzhellsingsstuff @cherycheryblossomsweet

Like my works? Join the TAG LIST! (please write your @ correctly or else the tag won't work)

#asce of hearts #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere one piece #yandere one piece x reader #yandere boa hancock #boa hancock x reader #yandere buggy #buggy x reader #yandere shanks #shanks x reader #yandere marco #yandere boa hancock x reader #yandere buggy x reader #yandere shanks x reader #yandere marco x reader #phoenix marco x reader

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thedarkestrivernymph · 8 months ago

Text

Soft Yandere! Clan Leader x Wife!Reader

warnings: self-hatred, insecure! reader, nudity, only brief mentions of nsfw themes

genre: fluff, comfort

You felt hot, flashing pain trickle down your throat to settle in the depth of your chest—lungs aching from the strain, face nearly purple as you held a bated breath, eyes squeezed shut, trying your best to avoid his gaze.

“I am sorry—” your voice was all but a meek squeak. “—I know this wasn't what you were expecting.” nimble fingers curled and tugged at your robes, keeping them positioned in front of you bare state—as you couldn't help but bow your head in utter shame, feeling the weight of your imperfections bear down on you.

The man hovering above your kneeling form remained silent, opting for assessing and scrutinizing you with the sharp whiplash of his gaze alone.

“I know—you're unhappy about this—my family will repay the trinkets your clan gifted us so graciously. Just please don't act rash and revoke the marriage—” you couldn't even finish uttering the words wobbling from your quivering lips before a sob ripped free from your throat and you just had to bury your face into the silkiness of your robes.

There was a sigh, then a long pause as you wailed, bashfully, scrambling to try and hide as much of your figure as possible, feeling slimy and dirty, hideous even, to have thrown yourself at the head of one of the biggest clan’s like a loose woman—as if you held your legs open for just anybody.

“Calm your nerves.” his voice was gruff, tinged with exasperation, as the rough pads of his fingers brushed over your forehead to trace your hairline and find a rhythmic pattern petting your crown. “I will do no such thing, my bride, can't you even look at me?” he was kind, much too kind towards something as filthy as you were.

“I cannot—” you rasped between laboured breaths and high-pitched mewls muffled by your bloated bottom lip; bitten raw.

“You're upset. Why are you so saddened? What has caused you anguish? You're my wife—you do not need to lower your gaze in shame.” he whispered tentatively and before you knew it, he had peeled away the annoying piece of fabric obscuring your adorable sniffling face from him. “Do not cry. Our families expect of us to lay together—but if you fear it this much, we can wait. I can wait, my wife, why won't you calm?” chiffon, something akin to a gentle breeze caressing you—that’s what his voice was like, lulling you into a daze; sweet candy to lure you out of your hiding.

So, finally, scraping together all the courage you had, you raised your gaze to meet his, immediately regretting it, as the gentleness in his, so misdirected at something as ugly as you were, made you burst out into another fit of hysterics. “No, no, no. You're—you’re just too nice. Throwing myself at you like a whore—you deserve better. A refined lady. That's what you need and our clans expect—but I am no such thing. I—I am hideous, please, stop looking at me with such kindness. I apologise, husband, I am ruining the first night and I can't just stop and—”

“Breathe” you felt your cheek press into a chest and finally the furrow between your brows eased as you let something almost primal escape you, breaking down all too horribly until your head throbbed in an ache and your nose was stuffy and runny—and while you unleashed your inner demons, he was petting you, cooing at you, reminding you to stay grounded.

“My wife—” he chirped once it was over and you exhausted your capacity to cry any further, sinking into the soft covers of your martial bed like a heavy sack of sand, “I am blessed to be yours.” you felt him interlace his thick fingers with yours, brushing over the back of your hand subtly yet affectionately, as the moon filtered through the curtains to lay strips of silver across you both.

“Can you even imagine how much I yearned for this very moment? To claim that you're mine, not just in spirit—with our two clans permanently intertwined? Since the day you passed by me at the market all my waking moments have been filled with longing for you. So how could you ever call the woman I love all these distasteful names?” he chased away all the bad thoughts as your numbed body laid against his, arms so powerful you were sure they could've squeezed you to death if he was lying, but it didn't seem so—not him, not the most perfect man you knew, the one you were certain deserved better than you.

“You're silent, my wife.” he paused. “It seems your husband lacks the ability to truly convince you of his feelings.” he pressed a kiss to your crown, sighing softly while scooping you closer to his warmth. "Do not fret. We have our entire lives left. If you cannot trust me yet, then I will teach you how—I will convince you of my earnest feelings, even if it takes a lifetime. Because—” he pressed a kiss to your forehead this time, staring down at your bare form beneath the covers, cuddled up in his arms, with tears smeared across your cheeks so beautifully. “ask and I would even bring down the moon for you.”

#soft yandere #yandere story #male yandere x reader #male x reader #yandere #yandere stories #yandere x reader #yandere x you #original character #original characters #cw: nudity #fluff #comfort #insecure reader

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revelboo · 9 days ago

Note

(⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠) can I request some overlord? He's been living rent free in my head lately.

Y’all keep asking for this guy, so it’s only fair to warn you that his and Sunder’s storylines are going to be a bit dark. Their readers can’t fix either of them, just play their games to survive. They end up loving their humans in their own twisted ways, but these humans aren’t going to be that okay.

The Wailing Waltz

Overlord x Reader

• Head lifting at the chaos and noise that’s not of his doing, Overlord strides through the hall. Hears a scream, the sound of terror twisting deliciously through him and its followed by a frantic chirping. The sound similar enough to a distressed sparkling to make him feel strangely off balance as he seizes a mech by the helm and shoves him out of the way to see what his crew has cornered. And he rumbles as he spots the tiny organic trembling and cowering, eyes wide as you chirp and sob dramatically. What are you?

• Almost hyperventilating as you try to avoid the huge hands and grasping servos, you sob and hit your knees to duck when one of them grabs for you, the giant, metal monsters snarling and rasping. Laughing. You’re almost certain that they’re laughing at your terror. Have no idea where you are or how you got here, but you just want to wake up from this nightmare. Screaming when one of them grabs your arm between two huge servos, your feet leave the ground. Wondering if they’ll rip your arm from the socket or crush it as you smack and claw at the servos holding you. Realizing they’re going to play with you like cats with a mouse until they accidentally kill you.

• Lips curling as that lovely sound of fear and terror sinks into him, he reaches to grab the dangling organic. “Let go,” he growls and you’re released into his hand and he can feel the rapid pounding of your heart. Terrified eyes stare up at him. Boldly meeting his optics as you chirp at him, cowering in his hand and crying out when he presses a servo against you. Watching you lay your soft hands on his servo while you squirm, getting noisier in distress. Why do your little features look oddly Cybertronian? Those features and the chirping noises almost obscene.

• He’s crushing you. Gasping as you struggle to get loose, you see his lips curl into a wide smile as you cry out feeling your ribs begin to bend. And you’re gasping, tears running down your cheeks when he finally relents and his servo slides against your cheek. Hearing him crooning at you, the sound an eerie, mechanical growl as he taps your chin and you lean away from his touch. “Stop. Please,” you whimper. Shuddering when he slides a servo down your body, growling when you draw your legs up, trying to curl into a ball.

• ‘You can’t mean to keep this filth. That’s a human, they’re worse than scraplets, you have to-’ Turning slowly to make his second in command trail off as you chirp and cower in fear, Overlord smiles lazily. “Have to?” He echoes, his other arm lifting as he jams the muzzle of his blaster against the other mech’s cheek and squeezes the trigger. And you scream at the blast of sound, cringing against his servos and splattered in energon. Pretty painted in pink, he decides. Turning toward the nearest mech, his smile widens. Because these two are always inseparable. Or were. Wonders if they were only close friends. Maybe lovers. If this one is brave enough to attack him. Using the muzzle of his blaster to tip the mech’s chin up, the hatred in those optics shivers through him to make his spike stir. “Congratulations, you’ve been promoted. Learn from your predecessor,” he purrs. “I don’t enjoy being questioned.” Wondering how long it will be before this one tries to murder him. How delightful it will be to put him down slowly, to whisper to him that he failed to avenge his lover. Smiling as you stare up at him in horror, splattered in energon, he lifts you and presses his mouth against you, glossa brushing you as you cringe and shove at him with soft hands. You’re going to be so entertaining.

#transformers x reader #overlord x reader #mtmte overlord

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womanofwords · 1 month ago

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Darling Demon (Part 2)

Yandere!batfam x betrothed!neglected!male!reader x yandere!demon!spouse

You woke up with the sun in your eyes from the holes in your curtains. You'd been asking for new ones, but Bruce thought they were unnecessary and said no. Hopefully, you would still get to make yourself your birthday cake like you'd been planning. You only turn eighteen once, right?

You did your best to avoid your siblings. They were unenthusiastic about being related to you at the best of times. Damian, your biological brother, was openly disgusted at your existence. He showed you in his words, his hits and kicks, and the twisted stunts he orchestrated to remind you that you didn't belong.

"I did you a favour. You're too old for that thing," Damian said. You could only stare at your stuffed bear in horror, its cotton innards and brown felt skin making your room into a crime scene.

"My mother got me that bear," you said.

"Your mother was a waste of space. You resemble her in that regard. Have your stupid bear." Your bear's severed head was tossed at you, and all you could do was wail.

When your eighteenth birthday came along, you were hoping for something quiet. Alfred had agreed to let you have the kitchen to yourself so you could bake yourself a birthday cake. This year, you'd been thinking of apple and strawberry loaf cake.

"What to have for breakfast? Toast, or cereal?" you murmured. Jason shoulder-checked you out of the way without even a murmur of apology. Never mind, you could wait.

You grabbed some granola bars and ate at your chair, the chair that was far removed from everyone else's. As you chewed, you tried to remember what your mom used to tell you about your birthday.

"You came into the world at 9 AM sharp! That was how I knew you'd be a morning person!"

What time was it now? 8:59. You were going to be chewing granola bars through your eighteenth birthday like the biggest loser in the world. Nobody even knew it was your birthday. Not Bruce, not Dick, and certainly not Damian. Best case scenario, you could bake your cake uninterrupted.

A whistling sound came from the ceiling. Was there a draft in here? You decided to ignore it. After all, everyone else ignored you.

A portal widened in the middle of the dining hall. Two horned, bipedal creatures in tunics emerged from it, roaming around the room in search of something.

You weren't sticking around to find out what it was that they wanted.

With shaking legs, you got up and ran, getting away from them like no tomorrow. A guttural howl ripped through the manor as they noticed you and gave chase.

You ran faster than you had ever run in your life, because you had to. You could feel the space behind you grow warm, but you certainly weren't going to look over your shoulder to see if that heat was fire or the creature's hot breath. You felt a thick, coil of rope wrap around your waist, tighten and drag you back towards one of the demons.

"No, no! Don't eat me! I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry!" you sobbed, as the demon held you tightly and brought you to its friend. You felt cold, heavy metal clamp around your wrists and ankles. The other demon looked you up and down hungrily.

"Y/N WAYNE!" it roared. "YOU ARE NOW CLAIMED AS THE PRIZE AND SPOUSE OF AZRIR ACCORDING TO THE RULES OF BATTLE AND PRIOR FORFEIT OF YOUR SOUL!"

Well, that just might set this birthday apart from all the others you'd had in Wayne Manor.

Taglist: @tinybrie, @bunniotomia.

First/previous

#creative writing #my writing #writing inspiration #writers #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #yandere #platonic yandere #yandere batfam #batfam #batfamily x neglected reader #romantic yandere

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avifaunaa · 4 months ago

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share your soul with me [ unzip your skin, let me have a see ] [ l.m. + s.s. ]

Authors Note: I swear to god if you know me no you do not. I’m going to hell lmao. i had to split this into TWO parts with smut coming in the next one.

Masterlist

PART TWO

Pairing: Lottie Matthews x fem!reader x Shauna Shipman

Summary: Survival in the Wilderness with territorial Alphas and naturally violence-avoidant Betas was going well, all things considering. Your sister, Jackie Taylor, had worked hard to ensure a pack dynamic had formed before the crash and that it remained strong two years within the struggle for your lives. Until you presented, that is, as an Omega.

Content Warnings: I cannot stress this enough — this is a fic that contains A/B/O dynamics so if you aren't comfortable with that I do have multiple other non-a/b/o fics and don't plan on making this a super-regular thing. I’ve never written for this, but here we are.

Within regular Yellowjackets dynamics: Descriptions of injuries and illnesses, death and blood, discussions of + actual cannibalism, canon-typical violence, cult-like behaviors, the Wilderness being the Wilderness

A/B/O Warnings: pack / power dynamics, gender-norm discussions within ABO context, heat/rut cycles, presenting, r is distressed later in the chapter

Word Count: ~4.8k

The sobs and the screams were almost drowned under the sound of your own blood swimming in your years. How is it you've never noticed how loud your heartbeat is?

You weren’t supposed to even be here with your older sister’s soccer team, stuck fighting for survival and waiting for a rescue that may never come. Jackie wouldn't look you in the eye sometimes over it, anymore.

You were meant to still be back at the same University you all attended. One year behind most of the team -- some were in their final graduating years, some were in their third years like Jackie, Shauna, and Lottie. It was your first year away from home, fresh and wide-eyed and supposed to be attending frat parties you had no business being at and making mistakes you would save later first years from when you were in your second year.

Was there any point dwelling on it? You did not think so -- you clung to your older sister most of the time anyways.

Jackie was a formidable Alpha both in the field and off. She made a great captain and her leadership skills were second to none; but you were always privy to the side of Jackie that revealed more of what made her an Alpha. She was fiercely protective in nature and had been your guardian from the second you'd come into the world a wailing, pink-faced creature. It had kicked her instincts into gear, she had told you, having something so innocent and vulnerable to help her parents care for.

And so you became Jackie's shadow. You never presented -- not in any way that would declare you anything other than a Beta -- and that allowed you to drift through unnoticed in Jackie's circle [ in the world ] while keeping your head down and trouble away. It never kept your sister's overprotective nature from lashing out at times, but it turned unwanted attention off of you.

And it allowed you to become integrated within Jackie's pack -- the Yellowjackets team -- without seeming like an intruder or like anyone the team looked too closely or too long at. At most, you were simply the soft-spoken Beta sister of Jackie Taylor who shied away from sports herself and always had pink ribbons in her hair.

You were welcome within the dynamics of the pack your sister had created in the soccer team. Strange, quiet, often kept to herself -- but you always seemed to be there and thus the team saw you as belonging.

So why wouldn't you have been with them on the plane? Shauna had claimed a seat with Jackie [ "That's fine," you promised the Alpha shyly, cheeks pink when the taller woman beamed at you ], so you settled with Misty Quigley -- a strange Beta in her own right.

Everything had been a blur after the plane had taken off.

You woke up in excruciating pain in your left knee and your sinuses being crushed by the invasion of uncontrolled scents of death, of dying, angry Alphas and --

“Hey.” Hands encircled your cheeks and a comfort blanketed you. The familiar peach and vanilla scent [ Jackie, your hindbrain recognized on instinct, a rush of knowing filling you ] wrapped around you like a soothing second skin. "Oh, Watson," she murmured, tone cracking.

Watson. She was never a big reader -- but you had once convinced her to read some of the Sherlock Holmes books with you. The nicknames had stuck.

The air was so thick with distress from everyone around you that it was becoming so overwhelming, on top of the pain that was rippling down your knee in never-ending waves. A noise of your own distress was beginning to rise in the bottom of your throat as your sister's shaky hands stroked your face in an attempt to soothe.

"H-hurts," you garble out, eyes finally opening. You regret it instantly when you're greeted by Jackie's face above you spinning around in circles. She was bleeding from somewhere on her temple, blood fresh in a waterfall down the side of her cheek.

Something shifted slightly on her features -- or were you just imagining that?

"I know," the redhead responded, still keeping a careful hand on your cheek. You were no fool -- you could feel her shaking. "Don't look, okay? Are you cold?"

"A little," you murmured.

Jackie's scent suddenly soured, drowning out the surrounding scents but still choking you. You did not think she realized she was releasing it so strongly as she rapidly began to shift your shoulders closer into her lap. "Okay, okay . . . MISTY --"

The last thing you remember is hearing bloodcurdling screams that you would, in the future, come to understand were yours.

The cabin was blessing in not-so-great disguise. Coach Ben had lost an entire leg, some of the members of the team and another coach were lost in the process -- leaving behind two of his teenaged sons for your pack to care for. An unpresented boy, Javi, and a withdrawn Beta, Travis. They liquidated into the dynamic as well as they could considering what the shared experience was forcing on them.

You woke after initially passing out three days later, apparently, to a warm mid-day with Shauna hovering beside you. Most of the group was gone, Jackie included, but their scents were still fresh enough to tell you they hadn't been gone for more than an hour.

The scratching of paper had you weakly turning your head. Shauna was sitting dutifully at your side -- a couple of feet away -- writing in her journal with a furrowed brow and the side of her cheek sucked into her mouth.

For the first time since you were introduced to her by Jackie, she did not look like an Alpha. She just looked like . . . she simply looked like any other college girl, you'd surmised. Freckles dusted her face, but you wondered if, once the grime and injuries were washed off, more would reveal themselves to you.

Her scent was pleasant to your senses, as well, and had never irritated you like a lot of Alpha and Omega scents did. An earthy oak with an underlay of smoky that seemed to fit her just right.

You had been to doctors for scent sensitivity, an unusual ailment for Betas to be afflicted with. You had been tested for mis-presentation, underlying illnesses, and damaged sinuses. Nothing. You were just an outlier Beta -- sensitive to the other two presentations without having either of the traits to declare you either one.

You do not know how long you watched her, but you were eventually found out. A strand of hair shifted from her bun as she turned her head and met your gaze. She blinked in surprise as she instinctively shut her notebook.

"How long you been awake, Taylor?" she asked, setting the object to the side and turning her body to face you fully.

"Just a couple minutes," you rasp, pressing your shoulder upward against the tree you'd been leaned against so you could test your knee. "How bad?"

Her eyes drifted down to your knee, then back to your face. "Quigley has more medical expertise than we ever gave her credit for," she told you as she reached out to help you sit up, allowing you to escape the slumped over position you'd been in. "Your kneecap seems broken. She found some parts of the plane that had come apart during the crash and we worked to make a brace that would hopefully heal it."

Your eyes drift to your knee, splayed out straight. You noted your jeans had been torn to your upper thigh on that leg and some of the strips had been used to help tie a seatbelt from one of the plane's seats to a make-shift brace of a part of the plane.

"You won't be able to bend your knee very much, if it works right," Shauna added after a minute of silence as you stared at your injury.

"Okay," you said, swallowing. You hoped you weren't expressing too much anxiety in scent or body language as you came to comprehend your position right now. You're lucky at all they managed to get somewhat of a brace to try and work it out, but it may never heal right. Knee injuries were . . .

"At least I don't play soccer," you said with a shot toward humor when Shauna's hand drifted to your arm, radiating concern from her place near you.

Shauna snorted, and she seemed to be smiling at you a little more relaxed when you looked away from your knee and at her.

The girls who had left had returned in a jittery, excited mood. "We found a lake," Jackie told Shauna, eyes twinkling. "It's open skies and if a plane flies over they could see us. We could write an SOS on the shore.''

"Shouldn't we stay here?" you asked hesitantly from behind your sister. "What if a rescue team finds the crash? What if they're looking for us?"

Tai crossed her arms and kicked at some dirt. "We're running on rations and luck right now. The cabin is shelter until help gets us and the lake is a water source. We can make an HQ there at the very least."

It was hard to argue even as Jackie told everyone to lay out pros and cons of staying at the plane and going to the cabin. Eventually the pros of migrating to the new spot won out and everyone was given the afternoon to take what they wanted now and come back for the rest later.

Jackie had a familiar dusty pink backpack over her shoulder when she came striding over to you, a smirk on her face. "Ready to go on an adventure, Watson?"

You blinked. "Is that mine?"

She shrugged her shoulder with the backpack hoisted over it and confirmed, "Sure is. It has all your goodies in it. All you need to do is try standing up."

You rolled your eyes but felt tempted by the change of clothes you had in there alone. "No need to bribe me, Holmes. Get over here." You reached your hands out, looking pathetic you were sure.

The Alpha was oozing a smug confidence as she strides closer and wrapped her arm through yours and -- carefully -- hoisted you to your feet. You yelped out when you started putting pressure on both feet like you normally do, easing up on foot with the broken knee and allowing it to hover.

"Did any of your makeup survive?" you asked Jackie as you leaned into your older sister's warmth and letting her help you over to the gathering team.

The redhead scoffed in your ear. "I don't know. We're gonna come back later to search for more suitcases. Be happy I dragged your backpack out."

You kissed her cheek. "Best big sister in the world."

Jackie pretends to look disgusted when her free hand flew up to wipe her cheek, but the Alpha in her seemed pleased to provide for family -- or anyone -- who needed her help.

Lottie and Shauna hovered nearby the both of you as Jackie became your human crutch. Shauna in particular was aggravated as she hovered behind you and curled a lip at anyone who approached with an offer to help. Lottie simply became a comforting presence, talking to you as you tried to walk through the pain.

You knew the team was dragging slower because of you, but it’s not exactly like any of you were on a time crunch. The walk was filled with revive and hopeful chatter as the forest seemed to open up the closer you got to this cabin and the lake nearby.

And finally, you were rewarded. The view was breathtaking in and of itself — the wide open view, the singing of nearby birds, and even the lake looked welcoming.

Scents started to change from despair and uncertainty to excitement and joy as the girls started ripping away from the pack a few at a time to dart toward the shore of the lake.

Jackie squeezed your waist reassuringly, but urged you toward what you now realized was the cabin. It looked rather old, as though it hadn’t been cared for in years. It wasn’t in shambles but it would take effort on everyone’s part to make it livable while you waited for rescue.

Jackie helped you settle onto the front steps of the cabin and followed you down, resting against you like she knew what you needed was your sister’s comfort.

Shauna stayed nearby instead of meeting the rest of the pack at the lake, but Lottie had parted from you guys with a wave.

You placed your head on Jackie’s shoulder, watching the backpack she carried for you flop down on her other side. “Hey, checking in. How’s your knee?” she murmured.

“It hurts,” you admitted tiredly, reaching a hand down to rub at the injury wrapped together with spare parts and old shirts.

“I’m sorry, Watson,” Jackie started, unable to prevent the shakiness from entering her voice as she did, “I’m so fucking sorry. If I hadn’t dragged you . . .”

You swallowed when she started this line of thinking, of guilt-eating anxiety you saw overwhelm her before. You place a hand on hers in her lap, settling her rocking knees. “Jacks I don’t blame you,” you said quietly, glancing up to make sure Shauna wasn’t listening to close. She wasn’t, busy inspecting the sturdiness of the cabin’s porch beams.

“None of this is your fault,” you continued with an attempt at a reassuring smile. “Let’s not cause either of us more distress if we can prevent it. Please don’t let me be a contribute to a mental breakdown.”

A huffed breath of laughter from behind you. Shauna had perhaps been listening closer than you believed, not that you were discussing anything of sensitive nature.

You knew Jackie. Your sister, your greatest protector, your best friend. She carried the responsibility and wellbeing of her pack — her team — like it was a burden she alone had to endure. It made her both a great Alpha, one that can be assured reliable and capable, and her own greatest foe.

Shauna knew this too — she had been Jackie’s constant next to you in the redhead’s upbringing. They were attached at the hip even before they presented and instead of seeing one another as a threat they had each other’s backs. Jackie relied on Shauna to be another set of eyes on the team, to see and hear what she couldn’t. And Shauna — Shauna was a different Alpha that fit Jackie’s like a puzzle. They were a duo that couldn’t be challenged.

Bring in Lottie . . .

Lottie had come in during Jackie and Shauna’s first year of university. She had simply . . . “Slipped in,” Shauna offered during their break home and catching up with your family. “She slipped in. But she’s great.”

You weren’t positive Shauna wasn’t in love with the brunette Alpha, from the way she talked about her all the way to meeting her and seeing Shauna interact with her. They were different than Shauna and Jackie, or Jackie and Lottie.

They were an enigma you had always found fascinating but kept your eyes from wandering too dangerously.

Jackie had been talking, you not listening. You drifted off into your thoughts and only managed to get shaken out when you felt a nudge.

“Watson, you with me?”

You blinked at her. She watched you with mild concern, holding one of your ribbons from your backpack delicately in her hands and fiddling with it, twirling it around her fingers before loosening it and pulling at it.

“Sorry, yes I’m with you,” you respond with a futile attempt at hiding your brainwandering.

Jackie’s eyebrow quirked and a small smirk pulled her lips. “Liar,” she teased, but didn’t sound too upset. “Are you upset I didn’t take you to the lake?”

You shrugged. “I can go to the lake tomorrow, or when my knee is less sore. I don’t think I can walk that much again right now.”

Your sister nodded in agreement. “I didn’t think so. I don’t want the materials we’re using to get ruined if you swim and we just put them on . . . So I thought . . .”

“Good idea, as usual, Holmes,” you praised, offering a mock salute to which earned you a scoff.

1 /12 Years Later — Winter, The Wilderness

“More snowfall?” The voice of Jackie drags you out from a fitful sleep, the heat of the fire in the cabin forcing your eyes to remain closed.

“Bad,” Natalie’s cold-soaked voice rasped, half-muffled behind what was probably the scarf she used to keep her face covered from the piercing storm while she went hunting. “No visibility.”

For a moment the only sound that could be heard in the crowded cabin was the wood crackling from the fire. Then Jackie sighed. “Thank you for trying.”

“It’s the third day in a row.”

“I know, Nat. We’ll — we’ll work something out.” Jackie didn’t sound so assured, but her scent remained as steady and calm as she could when she was this concerned.

“We . . . I don’t want to have to . . . Again.”

“We may not have a choice,” your sister whispered, “but neither do I.”

It was a dismissal, and Nat shuffled through the cabin to get to her usual spot near the back window. You heard the press of her shoe near your head as she treaded lighter. Jackie rejoined you, and you allowed her movement to make you pretend that’s what woke you.

“Jackie?”

“Did I wake you?” The Alpha settled herself back into your shared nest. Your making with what few materials you had. You had considered discussing with Jackie about making a nest for the entire pack, for warmth; but so many people were on edge and you weren’t entirely sure how they’d take a Beta making the offer.

“No,” you lied, turning around and pushing yourself up on an elbow to gaze at your sister. She had bags under her eyes, shadowed by the firelight that danced off the corners of the cabin. “Have you slept?”

“No,” Jackie echoed though you feared she was being truthful in that regard, pulling her ragged blanket toward herself. “It’s getting . . . Well the snow isn’t getting lighter right now.”

You eyed her with suspicion simply from how she seemed to avoid saying exactly what she was thinking and the furrow of her brows.

“It’s going to be okay,” you vowed to her, reaching your hands out to warm them at the fire while your back was turned to her. “We’re going to be fine.”

Until you got sick.

The body aches and dizziness were what came first. Misty was adamant that you had no fever, even if you felt warmer inside of your own skin. Usually you tended to the fires and helped with laundry when your knee permitted it, but currently it was mid-afternoon and you could barely crawl out of bed.

Jackie was pacing like a rabid animal, unsure of how to help you but feeling unable to physically approach. She was avoiding you in the same breath that she was hovering from a distance.

You ate your rations when they were offered [ Melissa was the Wilderness’ choice this season, the sacrifice for greater success of the rest ]. You were ravenous, and though the piercing stomach pains were telling in your continued hunger, you did not mention it.

Sleep, food, wake to shiver and go to the bathroom. Repeat. Eyes were following your every movement, mostly from Shauna and Tai — like they were studying an animal at an exhibit. Shauna’s were shadowed over as though they were hiding something from everyone else. It terrified you and drew you to her — and somehow, her scent made your mouth water.

Another three days bouts of sleep and shakes was when the nesting started.

It took the team by surprise when you crawled out of your own barely shaped nest, created by whatever you and Jackie had managed to use as blankets and clothing when it was colder at night, and started seeking out items. You later would hardly remember any of it, just going on an instinct you didn’t know you had.

Lottie and Shauna’s scents stuck out the strongest and as the most soothing — so you went to their beds first. Neither of the Alphas, who stood near their beds, tried stop you [ nor did anyone else ] when you started grabbing small items from their makeshift beds.

You snagged something of Misty’s and Mari's— even though they were Betas — and you definitely may have something from Tai in the attack while she was out with Van.

It went unaddressed, but there was a fascination as the women watched you work. Your body was aching like it did when you first landed and yet you moved without even consciously thinking about it. Autopilot in full force and you do not remember much of it.

The fever eventually struck a day or two later and waking up that morning feeling it in its' entirety was a hectic one. Your burning eyes peeled open from a long sleep, and as your senses returned to you the barrage of aggression and tension filled every pore. The air was thick and when your eyes adjusted, you noted most girls moved with a cautious stiffness.

You did not see very much of it with Jackie apparently using her body as a sort of shield. You noticed, blearily, Melissa make hesitant movements past you and Jackie's body turned with each step, keeping herself as a wall between yourself and the other Alpha.

Claw-like sensations ripped at your lower back neck, urging you to try and make sense of your surroundings. Uneasy, nervous, you felt so many things and -- "Jacks?" you managed to slur, fists curling into the thick nest you had unknowingly made, "Jackie what's going on?"

Your voice seemed to snap her out of some sort of mindset. Her face angled slightly back toward you without moving the rest of her body. "Hey, Watson," she greeted softly, tone a lulling purr she used when she knew something had upset you, "How are you feeling?"

You started sitting up as she spoke and she moved quickly in response; a hand curling around your arm to help you. While her touch was usually welcome and encouraged, her fingers making contact with your skin set off a reaction you'd never experienced.

You whined lowly as the touch brought on a burn. Why did it feel wrong? Why did your stomach lurch, curl into sickly knots, urging you to pull away and bite at her fingers for daring to --

“You’re presenting.”

Lottie's announcement from her spot feet away was met with silence so intense that only the howling of the wind against the rafters of the cabin was heard.

Presentingpresentingpresenting—

Tai and Van were hunched with Nat near their spots by the front door, the Alpha and two Betas gazing your way with soft eyes, concerned frowns.

Not many of the other Alphas were in the cabin right now, you noted, as your eyes darted around.

No.

“Lottie,” Jackie snarled with warning, followed by a fast rise to her feet that momentarily left you exposed. Your head was spinning as Lottie got closer — oh, she was —

“As an Omega,” Lottie continued as though Jackie hadn’t said anything at all. Her dark eyes were steadily firm on you; an Alpha who was awful relaxed while supposedly in close proximity to an Omega in their first heat.

Your fingers dug into the nest you’ve created for yourself in your haze. Now you understood, with a sort of unrecognizable prick of satisfaction [ they're providing, pack is caring, a low purr you did not have days earlier echoed in your head ], the lack of protest in your doings — the Alphas not stopping you when you entered, uninvited, to their own beds to snag their warm clothes, the Betas who wouldn’t meet your gaze.

With that understanding also came a wave of dread that covered you like a thick sandstorm covers any form of life not smart enough to get out of the way. You sat on your knees as Lottie's never-ending gaze rest upon you with an expression you could not read.

And then tears filled your eyes. You lifted your hand to bite down on your knuckles to stifle the sounds -- but you could smell your own pheromones pouring out of you like the tears you cried. You were spiraling quickly, unable to yet control it and the overwhelming realization that your entire life as you knew it was changing.

"I didn't . . ." you whispered, choking on more tears, teeth sliding across your chapped knucklebone, "I had . . . no idea. I wouldn't have kept this . . ."

Jackie's head snapped back around to look at you fully and the panic in her eyes was not helping. She moved slow and crouched in front of you. "Oh, Watson, we know that. We know you didn't know. How could you?" She reached out a hand, as though to soothe a wild animal, but her scent -- normally a comfort you took readily -- was currently sour and had you rearing back from her offer.

Her expression revealed hurt, briefly, before she lowered her hands to her knees. "You must be . . . pretty deep into it if you can't stand the scent of me anymore," she said a little sadly.

You blinked owlishly at her, digesting her words and trying to connect them to what you learned about Omegas in biology. You recalled [ after a few moments of thought ] that Omegas in a heat cycle will suddenly reject the scents of Alphas or Betas they're related to, as their biology and the changes that came with a cycle began to prepare for said Omega to seek out a suitable mate. Familial scents would sour and attempts at comfort were met with resistance until after an Omega was mated or the cycle was over.

You had an Omega friend who commented on how disgusting her family smelled for days after she returned to classes after her first heat. It took a week for it to return to normal, she had told you.

You tried to give your sister an apologetic whine, crooning and deep with signs of distress. A noise you never knew you could produce -- you were a Beta for twenty one years of your life.

"We need to move her to the attic," Tai said from her spot. Your eyes moved to her and you breathed out in relief when the Alpha seemed to be showing little interest in you. You had suspected she mated with Van, but the lack of interest seems to prove your theory.

"My nest," you weakly protested, palms running along the pathetic little nest you made. Not that you had many options in the wilderness.

"We'll move it upstairs with you," Jackie promised, nodding at you. "Make it nice and cozy, less crowded."

The door opened suddenly and a snowy Shauna entered, bringing int he scent of fresh snow and the oak you familiarized her with. You were drawn to her so intensely like you were with Lottie.

She glanced at you very briefly before beating her shoes of snow and stalking over to Lottie. You watched intently as the two Alphas lowered their heads together and murmured something that you could not hear even when you strained to listen.

Jackie was a ball of nervous energy as the Alphas gave you space, and Jackie, to move your nest and belongings up into the attic. You couldn't help but feel as though you were being isolated for an illness . . . but the rational side of you that remained understood why this had to be done.

That didn't mean you hurt less as you were forced to recreate your nest and curl up ride out the pain on your own, away from your pack and processing what this meant for the future.

PART TWO

Again you absolutely do not know me if you know me.

#lottieshauna #lottie matthews #shauna shipman #shauna shipman x reader #lottie mathews x reader #lottieshauna x reader #the yellowjackets #yellowjackets #fanfiction

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rottenpumpkin13 · 3 months ago

Note

AGSZC get afab anatomy for a month how does it go (they all get their period at one point throughout that month)

Cloud: Too terrified of disrespecting women to even acknowledge his new body. Wears three layers at all times and avoids mirrors like they're cursed. Tries to go the entire month without using the bathroom because it feels too "personal." It does not go well. He's somehow gotten even prettier—soft cheeks, fluttery lashes, natural blush—and it only worsens his constant fear of being approached. A stranger says "hello" and he panics, throat-punches them, and sprints away sobbing. It was Zack. They were supposed to hang out.

Sephiroth: Didn't notice the change until five hours in, went to the bathroom, glanced down, and had a heart attack at the severe lack of penis. Refuses to wear a bra on principle—"they're restrictive and uncomfortable"—but rapidly discovers the hell that is underboob sweat. Hears someone say "Smile, sweetheart" in the hallway. Doesn't smile. That man is now hospitalized. Stares into the mirror, realizes he looks like his mother. Then sadly uses his own boobs as stress balls. Period blood is an inconvenience but he's deeply educated on menstrual products. Then he gets his first uterine cramp mid-meeting and immediately starts looking up coffin prices.

Zack: Is trapped in a hellish loop of three moods: "AWESOME, TITS!!" → "FUCK, CRAMPS >:(" → "RESPECT WOMEN." Immediately calls Kunsel over and goes, "Squeeze them. You have to. For equality." Kunsel sobs and refuses, so Zack tries to show him how to attach a pad to underwear, educationally. Lazard walks in as Zack holds up underwear and yells, "THE WINGS GO UNDER THE SEAMS, KUNSEL. YOU'RE MAKING IT WEIRD." Also keeps pulling his shirt up to show off how cool his bra is, like a toddler with a new sticker, and Angeal has to keep slapping his hands down.

Genesis: Spends the first hour in prayer, thanking the Goddess for the gift of divine femininity and promising to use it wisely. The next hour, tries to seduce Lazard. Experiences PMS violently, throws a chair because someone ate his strawberry ice cream. Cries when he sees Cloud Strife walk by because "he's so adorable." Throws open Angeal's office door, declares he wants a baby, Angeal panics and escapes through the window.

Angeal: Gets immediately self-conscious about the bounce. "Do I run like this? Like, in front of people?" Starts wearing two sports bras. Rips one in half doing basic warm-ups. Zack accidentally glances and immediately avoids eye contact for the next four hours. Angeal corners him and gives a stern, dad-tier lecture about sexism in the work place. Zack sobs mid-apology, wailing,

Zack: ARE YOU MY MOM OR MY DAD NOW?

Angeal: NEITHER, WHAT THE HELL

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #sephiroth #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #zack fair #ff7 crisis core #crisis core #cloud strife #headcanons

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willowswiththorns · 5 months ago

Note

Hello! Can you make Yandere Ian McKinley x unwilling bestfriend reader?

Hello! And yes I can! I haven’t seen much Ian McKinley fanfics lately, so I’m happy to write one! I will say it’s been a while since I’ve seen the movie, so if I mess up a few points in his character I apologize in advance! Also I’m not entirely sure what the unwilling part is, but I might have an idea. If I get it wrong too I’m sorry 😩 -Willow

Warnings / yandere themes, death, depictions of death, mentions of vomiting, unwilling reader, my horrible writing on the spot, proceed at your own caution.

Ian had texted you half an hour ago, mentioning how him and Erin would be getting off in twenty minutes. You knew the whole routine, he’d text you when they’re off, you’d be free and go over, all three of you would hang out until Erin wanted to go home, you’d drop Erin off and hang with Ian until one of you were tired. A typical Tuesday activity. The only thing unusual about today was the fact you waited for them to come out, but they never did.

Stepping into the hardware store, you felt a small pit in your stomach. The place itself was dark, but that was probably due to Ian and Erin closing up. It was the sound of sobs in the distance that made you uneasy. The closer you got, the more the gory details came into view. The sawdust and boards of wood scattered all over the floor where the four other people stood. Ian’s sobs rang loudly in your ears as he was holding the body of his now deceased girlfriend. Twelve big nails pieced through her head and hand, blood running down every new hole in her face. She must’ve passed almost instantly, but the sight alone was enough to make you gag. Wendy turned to face you, she was standing by Kevin, her face pale as she looked almost as shocked as you. “ Y/n? What’re you doing here?” Kevin called out, his voice shaky after he followed Wendy’s gaze, probably to avoid the gory scene in front of him.

The urge to vomit came up again, unable to answer as your eyes were glued onto Erin’s once beautiful face now mutilated into a disfigured mess. Trying to cover your mouth and nose wouldn’t stop the smell of the blood, a soft wail leaves your lips as you turn away to try and not look.

“ Y/n, if you need to step outside you can- “ Wendy said softly , walking toward you as a way of trying to comfort. “ but before you do, you need to know that you might be in danger” she continued softly.

The feeling of her hand touching your shoulder almost made you jump. She was trying to guide you away from the deadly situation. Another son ripped from you as you tried to look over your shoulder, seeing a glimpse of Ian getting up and noticing you being walked off by Wendy. Wendy pulled your attention back ,” Kevin and I tried to warn them- but it was too late. Y/n you might be able to help us.” She started, holding your shoulder as she grabbed her phone from her jacket pocket. “ Remember that night when I kept saying that everyone needed to get off the ride?” She asked softly.

You pondered back to that time. You were third wheeling with Erin and Ian, following them around when Ian mentions the rollercoaster. They seemed very excited to get on the death trap, but a part of you felt a little nervous. You couldn’t pin point it, but you felt uneasy at the idea of going on it. As you, Erin, and Ian waited in line, that nervousness grew. It wasn’t until Erin and Ian got on the ride where you stopped and told they were at full capacity. Both of them seemed bummed you weren’t going, Ian more so, but you couldn’t help but feel relief? Before the ride could even start, Wendy was freaking out and screaming to get off the ride, in return started a whole fight.

With a slight nod, you do your best to wipe the memory from your mind. Ian was a bit needy after the brawl he had, you had to clean up any small cuts he might’ve gotten from the other boys fighting. “ Yeah, I remember. What’s that have to do with Erin?” You asked, your voice a little shaky as you watched Wendy dial the police.

Her gaze lingered towards you for a moment ,” I had a vision of my death, mine and several others. “ her tone was low and stern, not wanting to show any signs of making some kind of sick joke.

“ What?- “ was all you were able to ask before you and Wendy heard yelling and rushed footsteps coming your way.

The feeling of a calloused hand touching the upper part of your back almost made you scream. You felt that hand grip your shirt and drag you back. Unable to maintain your balance, you accidentally stumbled onto the grabber. “ Stay away from her, Wendy. Stay the fuck away!” The familiar voice yelled out, his voice cracking as he has a good hold on you.

Kevin followed soon after, getting in between Ian and Wendy. Turning your head, you make eye contact with your best friend. His eyes were red and to the brim with tears. Wendy called out ,” Ian what happened to Erin wasn’t o-“

Ian’s grip tightened more as he held you close to his side. “ It is your fucking fault- she would be alive right now if it wasn’t for you! “ his voice was more shaky. Your hand reflexively touched his torso onto to quickly move your hand back. A Warm, sticky substance smeared all over his shirt and now your hand as you tried your best to wipe off your dead friend’s blood. “ Just fuck off- come on y/n” he yelled out one more time to Wendy and Kevin before dragging you off to the exit.

As you and Ian got more to the light, the more his clothes came into view. The dark red was smeared and spread all over his shirt and upper pants. His hands were also covered in blood as he forced the door open. “ Ian-“ you called out softly, trying to get out of his grip as he dragged you outside.

He didn’t acknowledge you for a good bit, unlocking his van before pushing you into the back. “ Ian!” You call out again, your voice louder as he muttered to himself.

His breath was shaky as he finally looked down at you. He was doing his best not to cry, and you felt yourself slowly not tensing up anymore. “ Ian I’m so sorry. What you must’ve saw in there, with Erin-“ you were cut off by Ian wrapping his arms around you, burying his face into your hair. He seemed to still be shaken up over Erin.

“ It’s their fault, they caused her death.” He choked out, keeping a firm hold on you as he continued,” I don’t want you near them.”

You felt your face heat up at that order, sure he lost Erin, but that wasn’t Wendy’s fault. It was a freak accident, and it’s not fair to punish Wendy or you by forcing either of you not to talk to each other. “ Ian, I can’t do that. Wendy is my friend too-“

Ian pulled his head out of your hair, his eyes holding a cold stare as he forced you to keep eye contact. His bloody hand touching your cheek, his thumb caressing your wet cheek despite the disgust on your face. The smell of blood so close to your face reeked. “ I can’t lose you too. Promise me you won’t talk to her. “ Ian’s voice was cold and firm.

You felt your stomach twist slightly at the sight of how scary he looked at you. “ Ian-“ You protested softly, trying to not be too harsh since he just lost his girlfriend.

Ian put his forehead to yours, still caressing your cheek with his red thumb. “ If you died I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. Please… just please don’t leave my side right now. Erin was not even a foot away when she died. The nails went through her so quickly, I couldn’t even-“ he sucked in his breath as he tried his hardest not to gag at the thought. “ Just promise me you won’t talk to them. I’ve been your friend for years, you and Wendy aren’t as close as we are.” He whispered softly in your ear.

A small tear rolled down your cheek as he kept rambling how evil they were, how Erin was killed by their hands, how he’d protect you no matter what. He kept his hold firm on you as he pressed his face more towards you, his nose brushing yours now.

Shaking your head slightly, you gently tried to scoot away to make distance, however it was short lived as he scooted towards you. “ Ian, please.” You’d whisper, fat tears rolling down your bloody cheek as you looked at his already up close face .

His face grew closer as he kept muttering softly, his lips brushing yours slightly. “ It’s their fault. I lost Erin, I’m not losing you. You were both mine. My girls. I’m not losing you too” his tone was low, probably lost in his own head as his lips grazed yours as he spoke.

A pit grew in your stomach as you put a hand to his chest, not knowing how to calm Ian down. You didn’t want Ian to be like this. “ Ian, I’m not yours, we’re just friends-“

Cracked lips leave a small peck on your lips as he got even closer. “ You are mine. Even before all of this, you were always by my side” his voice was raspy and his breath smelled of cigarettes and mint. He gave another kiss as he pulled you in.

A small whine leaves your lips as he drags you closer to him, his hand sliding up your shirt ever so slightly. “ Ian, you have a girlfriend!” You cried out, glaring him down as he finally looks into your eyes.

Ian rolled his eyes after a moment of you both staring each other down. “ Even when Erin was alive, she knew what I felt about you. She didn’t care as long as I loved her too. And I do, really. She even helped me with getting you to hang out with us. She wouldn’t care if I kept having you by my side even when she’s gone..” Ian confessed, his hand slowly going up your shirt. His wet, sticky hand felt warm against your cool skin.

The confession alone almost made you throw up. Before you could even speak, his lips crashed into yours. He used his free hand that wasn’t under the back of your shirt to hold down the back of your neck, mostly to keep you in place as he deepened the kiss.

In the end it didn’t matter if you wanted him or not, he wasn’t losing you like he lost Erin. You were his until death was coming to collect him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! I really tried my best, I wrote this all in one sitting within an hour. So I’m sure there’s probably a lot of grammar/spelling mistakes. I hope you enjoyed!

#ian mckinley x reader #ian mckinley #final destination x reader #final destination 3 #my works #my work #final destination

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chaoticnezz · 22 days ago

Text

★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.· Glue ·.·`¯´·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★

You were never the first choice, but you were his.<3333 The reader is implied to be fem, I never state whether or not the reader is Yuu, that's up for you to decide .

♡angst/comfort.

♡For the sake of the story, Night Raven is an intersex school :p

★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★.·´¯`·.·★.·´¯`·.·★

Frustrated, you felt utterly humiliated and frustrated. Everyone knew. They all saw how lovestruck you were. Hell, they even saw how much you followed him like a loyal dog. Maybe that's why you couldn't help but feel humiliated as you watched him and your best friend walk hand in hand down the hallway with a smile on their faces. You couldn't bring yourself to hate her. You knew that she didn't do this on purpose. But that doesn't mean that it still didn't sting.

I mean, in all honesty, you were never the first choice, not at home and now not even at night raven college. Perhaps you just lacked something compared to others. Was it looks, personality, charm? Whatever it was, you didn't know. Wincing you looked down, now recognizing the stinging sensation in your palms. "Damnit." You quickly looked away from the couple and started to speed walk towards Ramshackle. You were mostly going to Ramshackle to tend to your wounds, but too, also hide. After all, nobody visited you anyway.

As you approached Ramshackle, your eyes began to sting. You gave up on walking, and you broke out into a sprint. You didn't want to be seen by others. You slammed the door open, and you just couldn't hold it back anymore. Tears began to pour out of your eyes as your vision fully blurred. Running towards your room, you felt your chest getting heavy and legs starting to tremble. You weren't even able to make it to your bed before your legs gave out. Sitting on the floor, you just began to sob, your sobbing getting louder and louder with every passing second. Your wails echoed off the walls. Maybe that's why you didn't hear the door open.

Riddle Rosehearts, also known as the mad Tyrant of Heartslabyul. Maybe his Titles were why you avoided him. Maybe he intimidated you, or you just didn't like him. Whatever it was, he couldn't say the same about himself. Somehow, your paths always crossed. The one thing that you weren't expecting was for him to slam your dorm door open. "Y/n, it's not becoming of a Night Raven college student to skip cla- oh dear..."

Riddle had seen your speed walk off of campus. He thought that you were trying to skip, so he ran after you. However, when he opened your door in hopes of catching you skipping, he instead caught sight of you on the floor tears pouring out of your eyes like an endless waterfall. What on earth could have not only made you skip class but also cry this much. He felt his heart throb at the sight of your tears and red puffy eyes. He would make sure to punish those who hurt you for breaking a rule, of course. However, first, he needs to. He catches the sight of ruby red blood staining your hand.

At first, he didn't know what to do. He had never been comforted before. He most definitely knew nothing about how to comfort someone. However, after seeing the blood on your palms, he decided to tend to your wounds first. He grabbed your hand so gently that even you thought you were fragile. Since his mother wanted him to be a doctor , he wanted to be a doctor since that's what's best for him. Anyways he was very well versed in medical knowledge. Looking at your wound, he knows that it's not severe. However, he knows that you're still in pain.

ʚ˚«----------------------'୨ෆ୧'--------------------»˖ɞ

You were now sitting on the bed wearing your pajamas since Riddle said, "I suppose due to your mental disstress, I will allow you to stay at your dorm today." Odd, since Riddle isn't one to let rule breaking slide. You appreciate his tenderness. However, he was cleaning your palms as gently and dilligently as possible. The silence was soon broken by Riddle, "So my ro- I mean y/n. What has caused you so much distress?" You felt your eyes begin to water again as tears started to well up in your eyes once more. You didn't want to cry again, especially not in front of someone like Riddle.

You looked up to riddle. His confidence and authority were something you wished you had yourself. Maybe if you had a bit of riddles confidence you could've asked your crush out sooner. But would that even change the outcome. Even if you told him sooner, it didn't mean that he's going to automatically say yes. "Hey." You snapped out of your daze imedeantly, locking eyes with riddle before your thoughts could spiral any further. Riddle imedeantly broke eye contact before he began to speak again, "Whatever is troubling you can wait. You don't have to tell me immediately what's wrong right now. Just know that im always here to listen to if you need." You starred at him, Riddle isn't one to lie for someone's comfort. He meant it. He actually meant it. This is theres and first time you've heard such genuine words from well anyone. Especially being in a new world without a family of your own. It felt nice. Maybe "Its -------." Your voice came out hoarse and rough due to all the tears you've shed earlier.

"Hm? That's a pomefiore student, right?" Riddle talked almost talked like he didn't know the rumors that were currently circulating around the school. Maybe he didn't. After all riddles a housewarden, he wouldn't have time to indulge in such silly things like rumors. Perhaps that thought made you relax a bit. And soon, all the words came fumbling out. About how you really loved him and how cruel it felt for him to date your best friend. And how no matter who it is, they always seem to choose your friend over you. Except as you told him this, you didn't cry. You didn't feel sad anymore. Honestly, you didn't know what you felt, but it wasn't happy.

"Ah, so that's what this is about." He didn't sound disappointed he just sounded like he was listening and understood where you were coming from. You knew Riddle wasn't that good with emotions, especially after his overblot. But it was obvious that he was trying to make me feel better. You flopped backward onto your pillow and let your hand cover your eyes. "You know." Riddles' voice once again broke the silence this time softer. "You're wasting tears on him right now, but.. He's making her smile right now. That's a horrid thought, i know, but why continue to cry over someone who doesn't care or at least never cared about you. Im sorry. im horrible with words."

You let riddles' words sink in. As harsh as he was, he had a point. There was no reason for you to cry over him anymore. That was going to be easier said than done, however. You felt riddles hand grab yours, his hands intertwined in yours. "But you're not alone. I'll help through the healing journey and even after." Thanks to the hand covering your face, you couldn't see how red riddle was. He was fine not letting his feelings get acknowledged yet. Right now, his main priority was you. We'll it was always you, but that's not important right now. What's important is that Riddle is going to stay by your side for as long as possible. Hell, he'd even glue himself to you if he had to. He stared at you with hearts in eyes as you drifted off to sleep. He'd deal with that pomefiore student once you started to feel better.

#x reader #☆nez☆#twisted wonderland x you #twst x you #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #twst riddle #riddle x reader #riddle x yuu #twst x reader

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cryoculus · 2 months ago

Text

— TRACK 03: MORE TIME ⟢

the tour is in full swing, heavy with expectations and lingering doubts, and it comes with its own chaotic moments—both good and bad. you're still learning how to find your footing in the midst of it all.

★ featuring; mydei x f!reader

★ word count; 8.2k words

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

★ notes; you see, i've always wanted to write a fic where the characters are on tour LMAO so many things can happen in so many places, it's such a a juicy premise to work with, and i'm happy that a rock band au is the perfect avenue for the trope :3c

★ header art cr; sarhiyu on x & ig

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

You’re standing outside the label’s office, half-dressed in travel layers, dragging your feet while the crew finishes loading the last of your bandmates’ belongings. The bus door yawns open behind you like a threat. You’ve got five minutes. Ten, if Aglaea’s feeling merciful.

But you’re still on the sidewalk, hugging Hyacine like you’re about to be shipped off to war.

Which, emotionally? Same thing.

“I’m gonna miss you so bad,” she chokes out.

You start to respond but then Hyacine lets out a full-body, ugly sob, and your defenses crash like a stack of wet laundry. She’s clinging to your shoulders now, makeup smudged and nose red. Pedestrians are actively crossing the street to avoid the two of you.

“I can’t afford any of the tour stops outside Okhema,” she wails. “You’re gonna play in some glittering city state and I’ll be stuck here paying off my space heater.”

“I’ll send you videos,” you whisper, trying not to cry too. “Although I’m sure Garmentmaker and Tribbios will keep our socials updated.”

“It’s not the same!” Hyacine howls.

You rub her back, eyes watering, nose stinging. “I know. I know.”

You think she’s winding down, but you think wrong. She lets out a louder sob.

“I DON’T EVEN LIKE ANYONE ELSE IN THE BAND,” your best friend hiccups. “I only care about you! Erin would’ve said the same thing!”

“Hyacine, we both know Erin adored Phainon way too much for that to be true.”

That seems to make her laugh a little, but then you hear it: a third voice wandering into the quiet moment.

“Hey.”

You stiffen for only a moment before turning your head. Mydei’s hoodie is pulled over sleep-mussed hair, hands jammed in his pockets, and standing just beyond the emotional wreckage of your best friend.

“They told me to come get you,” he says flatly. “You’re the last one.”

Hyacine sniffs loudly as Mydei’s gaze slides toward her, taking in the puffy eyes, the tears, the quiet, shattered, hi. He nods at her a little stiffly. Like he doesn’t know how to navigate raw emotion at eight in the morning and has no interest in learning.

“I haven’t said goodbye yet,” you mutter, wiping your face with your sleeve.

“You’ve got sixty seconds,” he replies, turning back toward the bus. “Then I start dragging you.”

Hyacine squints after him, eyes puffy but sharp. “That’s Mydei, right? God, he moves like he’s constantly disappointed in everything.”

You chuckle. “That’s because he is.”

“Kick his ass on stage.” She turns back to you, gripping your shoulders. “I still haven’t forgotten about the way he treated you when you were still new.”

“Already planning to.”

One last hug—tight, snotty, half-laughing through the tears—then you’re off, sprinting toward the bus with your bootlaces flapping. You haul yourself up the bus steps, chest still tight from the goodbye, and get hit with the immediate chaos of touring life.

Suitcases are jammed into every open corner. Somebody’s half-eaten protein bar is stuck to a pillow. Phainon’s sprawled across two seats, snoring like he’s been tranquilized, while Cipher’s crouched in the aisle with a soldering kit and what looks like a disassembled mic pack.

“Don’t step on the wire,” Cipher says without looking up. “Or do. Then I get to build a better one.”

Anaxa’s perched by the window with headphones on, deep in a playthrough on some portable gaming console while mouthing something that might be lyrics—or just insults. Castorice is in the back, already journaling with her legs tucked up like a kid at summer camp.

You plop into the most comfortable seat available and let your bag thud to the floor.

Across the aisle, Mydei slides into his own seat. He doesn’t say a word. The man doesn’t even look at you, but he does nudge a box of tissues your way with a socked foot. Casual and grossly unceremonious. Like maybe he wasn’t totally unmoved by the scene you and Hyacine made in front of the company building.

You don’t thank him out loud, but you grab a tissue and blow your nose like a dying trumpet.

The engine groans awake beneath you. A low hum spreads through the floor, steady and strange. You feel it in your knees, your ribs, your throat. Like the bus itself is exhaling.

Okhema shrinks behind you in the rearview.

Ahead are nine cities. A three-day music festival. A string of dive bars strung like bruises across the map. And ten weeks—seventy days, if you’re counting—of close quarters with people you’re still figuring out how to be in a band with.

You’re not ready.

But maybe no one ever is.

Somewhere near the back, Cipher looks up from a mess of wires and soldered ambition, a tiny glowing device flickering in her hands. She peers over to your seat with a wicked smile.

“I keep forgetting this is your first tour with us,” she says cheekily. “Welcome to the next chapter of your indie rock memoir, newbie.”

You let out a breath. Something between a laugh and a groan as you roll your eyes.

This better be worth it.

THE FLAMECHASERS IGNITE ‘HELL IN THE REARVIEW’ TOUR IN OKHEMA 🎸🔥

Okhema, AM — Last Friday night, the city shook under the weight of raw distortion and gritty catharsis as The Flamechasers roared to life on the opening night of their much-anticipated Hell in the Rearview tour, its namesake a direct parallel to their newest album: Heaven on the Horizon.

Taking the stage at a packed out Marmoreal Stadium, the rock outfit tore through fan favorites and new album cuts with signature ferocity. While longtime fans still feel the absence of former guitarist Hephaestion, newcomer Diana delivered riffs with blistering energy and emotional edge, proving herself a force in her own right.

Manager Aglaea described the night as “exactly what we needed to burn the past down and start clean.” Whether that burn sticks remains to be seen, but if the opening night was any indication, The Flamechasers aren’t slowing down.

The tour continues through ten more cities, including stops at coastal festivals and a live-streamed charity performance expected to draw international attention.

💬 COMMENTS:

@CipherByBTS okay but can we talk about how DIANA KILLED that solo during Ashes to Ivory?? i ascended. i levitated. i forgave my ex.

@steelveil6 BRING HEPHAESTION BACK 🗣️🗣️🗣️

@gutterheartsclub i was skeptical but this new lineup is chaos in the BEST way. like watching a car on fire and cheering for it to win the race.

@ChaoticFriedRice glad they're back on stage, but I can't help thinking this tour is damage control. 🤷‍♀️

@MostNormalMydeiFan scalpers took off with tickets for the castrum kremnos stop, do something about that first maybe?!?!?!?!?

@Unknown471623 new girl's trying too hard it's pathetic. their management is really pushing their agenda lol

@trashcanromance Cipher’s stage dive cleared my skin. Mydei’s mic flip cured my depression. Diana is now my war goddess. That’s all.

On the first break of the Dolos show, the crowd’s still screaming when you stumble offstage.

There’s sweat in your eyes and a buzzing in your limbs that’s half adrenaline, half panic. Five songs down, ten more to go. Everyone scatters—Phainon vanishes for water, Castorice is deep in a hushed argument with the sound tech. You linger near the equipment crates, unsure what comes next.

You feel like you should, but you just don’t.

The others fall into a rhythm you haven’t learned yet. Inside jokes mid-set. Tiny rituals they don’t even explain. Things not even a superfan can possibly know about. Anaxa tosses a coin into one of the empty mic cases. Cipher bumps fists with Mydei three times in a strange pattern. You copy the movements half a second too late, and you feel twice as frustrated.

You shrink into the backstage shadows, hugging your guitar like it might muffle the awkward silence trailing after you. At first, you could still float—let the tide of this band carry you. Nod when they nod, laugh when they laugh, follow the rhythm like you were part of it all along.

But the longer you stay, the more the edges start to fray. The more you realize: you’re not a perfect fit in the puzzle of The Flamechasers.

You’re the piece they keep pressing in, hoping no one notices the corners that don’t quite match.

But you don’t let yourself spiral. You keep your head in the game—makeup retouched, outfit change seamless, guitar tuned and ready. Now all that’s left is waiting for Garmentmaker’s voice to ring through your in-ears and tell you it’s time to go back out there.

That’s until Anaxa plops right next to you.

His sudden appearance makes you startle. He’s a bit slick with sweat and lit like a devil by the amber glow of stage rigging. Even if he hasn’t said anything yet, you’ve been around him long enough to know that he does everything with a purpose. Whether you know it or not.

Anaxa’s not the type to make small talk. You expect a critique. Maybe a “try to keep up.”

Instead, he says:

“You don’t know what to do between sets, do you?”

You nod once, not trusting your voice.

Anaxa leans back, eyes closed, as he sighs. "You’re doing fine, if it helps. You don’t have to fake it. We didn’t tell you anything."

That throws you off a little. “Thanks,” you murmur. Then, because the quiet itches: “Why didn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he exhales slowly, his gaze drifting toward the stage where Mydei and Phainon stand poised, ready to slip back into position. The noise around you blurs into a dull hum, fading beneath the heavy, almost rhythmic thud of your heart.

Finally, Anaxa whispers, “Because some of us are still pretending you’re not a replacement.”

The words land like a cymbal crash.

But he doesn’t flinch from the silence that follows.

“You didn’t ask for this,” he adds, tone softer now. “But Hephaestion... He was with us for a long time. His absence is loud. Sometimes we try to silence it by closing over the space he left, like it was never there at all.”

It’s not pity in his voice, exactly. But something clean and raw and brutal.

“You’re the last person I expected to talk to me about this,” you chuckle.

Anaxa shrugs. “Yeah, well. I’m not the best person for it. But none of these cowards will, even if somebody should.”

Despite the nerves coiled tight in your stomach, his bluntness feels strangely like mercy.

Somehow, it makes sense that it’s Anaxa who brings up Hephaestion. The name you’ve been avoiding even in thought, all while living each day in the space he left behind. You want to ask for more. Details, stories, anything. Real life is so much stranger than whatever fifty-minute YouTube video can conspire about.

But the moment slips away too fast.

“The show resumes in thirty seconds,” Garmentmaker’s voice crackles through the comms. “Please proceed to stage access immediately.”

Anaxa gets up, straightening his posture. But before the bassist walks off, he says, “You don’t have to make up for something that’s not your fault to begin with. Truth is, you’re one of us now, even if we’re all still grappling with the fact.”

You want to say something back, anything.

But the words get caught in your throat.

Thirty seconds later, you’re back on-stage. The lights are still dim, but the crowd roars anyway.

You try to shake off your conversation with Anaxa, fully aware that giving it any more thought will just throw you off your game. But as you look for something to anchor your focus on, you catch Mydei’s figure in the sparse light. He’s adjusting the mic stand with practiced ease, and you assume he doesn’t feel the weight of your stare.

Until he turns and meets your eyes.

Mydei doesn’t smile, but there’s a shift in his expression. Could be acknowledgement. Or approval, if you’re generous with your hope. But before you can make sense of it, he turns again—light edging around him like a halo before he’s swallowed by the noise and color waiting just beyond the curtain.

Then it’s your turn. You square your shoulders. Grip your guitar.

And let the music take over everything else.

When the show wraps up, the shuttle races through the freeway so fast, it makes you consider reactivating your health insurance. Phainon, your designated seatmate for every ride, tries to offer a mint once your feet finally touch solid ground.

You accept, but you don’t miss the way he tries to hide his laughter.

While chewing on said mint, you file with the rest of your bandmates in the elevator with quiet murmurs. At first, you wondered how the lodging would work—especially since Aglaea was too busy to give all of you any details. But you're relieved to find that the company booked individual rooms for everyone. This will be the case for every stop on the tour, too.

Some R&R was direly needed. You were already planning on a long soak in the tub when your plans are rudely interrupted by someone knocking on your door. It starts with three fast raps, a pause, then two more. The rhythm is suspiciously familiar.

You open the door to find Cipher grinning wide like she’s about to commit a crime, Castorice behind her with a sheepish shrug and a coat in hand.

“Can I help you?” you ask, deadpan.

“Get dressed,” Cipher says, already inviting herself in. “You’re being kidnapped.”

You scowl as she makes a beeline for your half-unpacked suitcase, poking through it with the curiosity of a raccoon.

“Do I get a say in this?” you mutter.

“No,” Castorice says, sweet as sugar. “We just thought you could use a breather.”

Your room’s still dim, shadows stretched long across the floor. You were just starting to enjoy the quiet—no lights, no noise, just the muted hum of hotel air conditioning and your thoughts turned up too loud. But Cipher’s already hurling a hoodie at your head.

“We’re in Dolos, babe,” she says, grinning. “I know this city like the back of my hand. Trust me. It’ll be fun.”

You hesitate. “Fun” isn’t the word you’d use for diving headfirst into The Flamechasers’ offstage dynamic with no warning. But the idea of staying here, alone with your spiraling thoughts, feels even worse.

So you sigh. Pull on your jacket. And follow them out the door.

The walk to the bar is short but full of Cipher’s running commentary. She points out old murals she claims to have helped paint, side alleys with stories she refuses to explain, and a noodle shop that “once saved her life”. Castorice insists it just cured a hangover.

By the time you reach the bar, you’ve already laughed once. Maybe twice.

It’s tucked in the corner of a narrow street with no sign out front, only a faded painting of a dragon coiled around a lyre. Cipher slaps the door twice, as if greeting an old friend, and swings it open.

Inside, the place hums low. It smells like wood polish, citrus, and something sweet drifting in from the kitchen. The music’s live—something smoky and slow—and the crowd’s just dense enough to feel alive without being suffocating.

You spot the rest of the band before they spot you.

Phainon’s leaning halfway across a table, animated mid-story, his hands painting something in the air. Anaxa lounges beside him, half-listening, eyes flicking toward the door the second you enter. Mydei’s in the corner with one boot resting on the lower rung of his stool as he nurses a drink he hasn’t really touched.

Cipher whistles. “Boys! Look what the alley cats dragged in.”

Phainon looks up, grinning. “Finally! We were about to send a search party.”

“You were not,” Anaxa mutters, though his voice has no bite. He scoots over to make space anyway.

Mydei doesn’t speak, but when your eyes meet, he does something unexpected. He raises his glass slightly in your direction. It’s not a toast exactly, but there’s a flicker of acknowledgment in there. Then he looks away, as if that small gesture didn’t just thread itself through your ribs.

“Come on.” Castorice nudges you toward the open seat. “You survived rehearsal, the first two shows of the tour, and Cipher’s rambling. You deserve a drink.”

You sit without much coercion.

The table’s warm from the press of bodies and laughter. It feels oddly natural, like sliding into a rhythm that was already waiting for you. Cipher disappears for all of three minutes before returning with a tray of drinks—something colorful and fizzing, something dark and strong, and a safe bet she sets in front of you with a wink.

“Start slow. We’ve got the whole night.”

The first drink is easy. Second one, less so. Cipher keeps them coming with suspicious generosity, each glass more ridiculous than the last.

One of them arrives with a rubber duck floating on top. She names it General Quack and insists you give a toast in his honor. You do, mostly because Phainon’s already halfway through composing an anthem for the duck, and Castorice is too busy laughing to stop him.

It doesn’t feel like a band hangout. It feels like a friend group that happened to fall into music.

The fan in you takes quiet note of the way everyone leans into each other’s space, speaks in a shorthand built on shared chaos. They’re loose here. Whole.

For once, you don’t feel like a stand-in.

“Alright,” Cipher declares, palms slapping the table, “game time.”

“Every time you say that, someone ends up eating a chili pepper or crying,” Phainon groans.

She just grins wider. “Truth or dare. No skips. Our newbie starts.”

You freeze with your drink halfway to your lips. “Why me?”

“Because you're the newbie,” she says sweetly, already passing you an invisible crown of doom.

You glance around the table. Castorice offers an encouraging smile. Anaxa raises an eyebrow like he’s daring you to back out. Mydei doesn’t say anything, but he’s watching again like he’s been doing all night. You’re starting to think that’s just how he is.

“Fine,” you mutter. “Truth.”

Cipher laces her fingers together conspiratorially. “Who in the band surprised you the most, good or bad?”

The table quiets a bit, everyone looking your way. You stall for a second, but there’s no malice in the question. Just curiosity, and maybe mischief.

You answer honestly.

“Anaxa,” you say. “I thought he’d be more of a dick.”

Anaxa lifts his glass, almost solemn. “The bar was on the floor. I appreciate that.”

“’Kay, Anaxa next then,” Cipher singsongs. “Have you ever fucked someone you shouldn’t be fucking?”

The bassist levels her with a glare. “Aren’t you supposed to ask Truth or Dare first?”

“Fine. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to tell me if you’ve fucked around with someone you’re not supposed to~”

From where he’s seated, Phainon chuckles as he sips his drink. “What, like with a fan or something?”

Cipher grins. “It’s up to him, how he wants to interpret it.”

Despite the easygoing air, you can feel the animosity Anaxa is emitting towards Cipher. However, the band’s synth player is nothing if not a little rebellious. It makes you sift through your bunk of Flamechasers knowledge, trying to recall any romantic drama. Tribbios is far too good at her job, though; if there were any messy entanglements, they never made the headlines.

Still, you tuck this conversation into your head for later.

“No, I haven’t,” Anaxa deadpans with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you think Castorice has been a little quiet tonight?”

Castorice blinks. “Why are you dragging me into this?”

“Ooooh, Naxy’s right though,” Cipher giggles. “Princess Homebody, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Phainon quips, and Castorice shoots him a betrayed look, like he just handed her over to the authorities.

“You can’t answer for me!”

“You hesitated,” he replies, utterly unapologetic.

Cipher is practically vibrating with glee. “Ohhh, I’ve got it. I dare you…” She drums her fingers on the table like a game show host stalling for suspense. “To do your best impression of Mydei. Bonus points if you include the brooding stare and cryptic one-liner.”

Castorice freezes like someone just aimed a spotlight at her. “No.”

“You agreed to play,” Cipher reminds her. “No skips.”

You almost feel bad for her—almost. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and mumbles, “I play rhythm guitar. I’m not supposed to be seen.”

“Too late,” Anaxa drawls. “You’re center stage now.”

Even Mydei tilts his head slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching. You’re not sure if it’s amusement or a threat.

Castorice groans, drags her hands down her face, and stands like she’s about to face a firing squad. She shakes out her hair, rolls her shoulders, and adopts the stiff-backed elegance that Mydei carries like a second spine. Then she half-turns, casts the most dramatic sidelong glance you’ve ever seen, and murmurs in a voice low and cold as smoke:

“...The stars don’t ask for applause. They just burn.”

The table loses it.

Phainon nearly spits his drink. Anaxa actually doubles over. Cipher howls. You see Mydei’s brows lift just a fraction and then he laughs, a quiet, surprised sound like he hadn’t meant to. Castorice drops back into her seat, red-faced but grinning. “This is why I don’t speak in interviews.”

“Never do that again,” Phainon gasps.

“I hate how accurate that was,” Cipher wheezes.

Even Mydei offers a quiet, “Not bad,” before sipping his drink.

Warm laughter fills the air and smooths the sharp edges of being new. Someone else gets dared to sing the chorus of their least favorite Flamechasers song in opera voice. It goes downhill—and uphill—very fast from there.

Later, after a round of fries and Cipher showing you how to sneak onto the rooftop without getting caught (“Technically, I own half this place in karma credit”), you find yourself stepping into the open air, grateful for the breeze that cuts through the haze of jovial noise.

You almost miss him at first.

Mydei’s already there, leaning against the railing, half-shadowed. His posture easy but his gaze is a thousand miles away. You blink, realizing you never saw him leave the table. He doesn’t look over when you approach, but you feel the subtle shift in his stance as you join him.

The city hums below. A few beats pass, steady and quiet, before he speaks.

“That song you were messing with on the bus the other night,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want to disturb the dark. “The one when you thought everyone was asleep.”

“...You heard that?”

He gives a small nod. “Not all of it. Just enough to recognize it.”

There’s a pause. The rooftop air hangs between you, still and light.

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes slightly. “How would you even know which one I was playing?”

He shifts, arms resting along the rail again. Doesn’t look at you when he says, almost offhandedly, “Because I’d already heard it before.”

“Wait, what do you mean—”

He glances at you now, expression unreadable, a flicker of something wry in his voice. There’s a glint in his golden irises that you’d always find on Cipher’s face, but never on Mydei’s.

“Does workigntitledotmp3 ring a bell? As in, the G before the N.”

You freeze.

It takes a heartbeat. Then two. And then your stomach drops straight through the floor.

“I saved it as an mp3 file?” you whisper, horrified. “God...”

That’s when he laughs—soft, sudden, and entirely real. It curls at the edges of his mouth, bright in a way you don’t see from him often. You don’t even bother asking how on earth Mydei got his hands on it, when you were sure you saved it on your laptop and not the shared cloud. He’s already heard it, and you can’t spare yourself the shame.

“You did good with it though,” Mydei says, once the moment settles. “That fade at the end? Nicely done.”

You want to melt into the concrete.

“Quit lying. That’s not even the final version,” you mutter. “It’s like a regurgitated draft. Cipher and I were just messing around.”

“Well, whatever it is,” he says, eyes back on the skyline, “it stuck enough for me to remember.”

You shift your weight, suddenly feeling the heat of the conversation settle on you like a layer of something warm. You take a breath, deciding to lean into the vulnerability he’s offering.

“Thanks,” you say, quieter now. “For… trusting me to take it somewhere. I—I wasn’t sure if it would even work. I didn’t want to screw it up.”

Mydei’s eyes flicker to you for the briefest moment, his expression unreadable for a second before it softens. The shadows around him seem to fall a little quieter, his presence somehow more grounded. He gives a half-shrug, like it’s no big deal, but you hear the quiet sincerity in his next words.

“You didn’t screw anything up,” he says, voice calm, but heavy with meaning. “You turned it into something real, not just what we wrote. That matters more than you think.”

You stay where you are, letting his words simmer down to your bones. It’s hard to believe that not long ago, every exchange with Mydei felt like walking a tightrope. There’s a rhythm to it now. A gentler give and take. Talking to him doesn’t feel like a test anymore.

It makes you think of the versions of yourself that used to watch him from the crowd, bright-eyed and anonymous with a sea of noise between you. Back then, he was just a voice through speakers, a name in liner notes, a ghost behind a screen. Someone untouchable.

Now he’s standing next to you while the city glitters down below—real and imperfect and quietly perceptive.

He speaks to you like you're not just some last-minute addition or a fan with a lucky break, but someone pulling her weight in the sound. The shift is subtle, but it roots deep. You're no longer chasing the dream from the outside.

You’re shaping it from within.

When you and Mydei return to the table, it’s like stepping into a different dimension.

Anaxa is slouched over two pushed-together chairs, laughing to himself about something no one can decipher. Castorice is in Cipher’s lap, tearfully declaring her undying love for the band between hiccups. Phainon raises his drink in greeting as if you’d both just popped out to buy snacks.

“Don’t ask,” he mouths, but he’s smiling too hard for you to believe he means it.

It takes all of you—slightly tipsy, increasingly chaotic—to finally corral each other back toward the hotel. Cipher keeps announcing the street names like a tour guide, and you swear Anaxa tries to high-five a statue.

The elevator ride is a blur of giggles and leaning on each other for balance, and eventually you’re spilling out onto your floor, one by one, goodnights muttered like a ritual. You’re almost at your door when a hand closes gently around your wrist. It’s not a rough grip. Barely there, really, but the contact itself startles you more than it should.

Mydei doesn’t touch people. Not like this.

When you turn, he lets go. Steps back like the moment didn’t happen.

“If you ever want help finishing that song,” he starts, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile, “I’m around.”

You arch a brow, smirking past your own surprise. “So you can take all the credit? If I recall correctly, you said it was mine now.”

Mydei lets out a low, amused sound that suspiciously sounds like a laugh. Then he’s already turning down the hall, hands in his pockets, humming something familiar under his breath. You stay there a moment longer, pulse still ticking fast from the touch and everything underneath it.

Then you slip into your room, the night replaying in pieces you don’t want to lose.

Two days later, you’re curled up in the back lounge of the tour bus.

There’s a lukewarm drink in your hands while some godawful romcom drones on through overhead speakers. Phainon’s responsible from the looks of it. He’d managed to get the old TV mounted at the front working again and decided it was time for a movie marathon. Most of the others are in their usual seats, groaning at every predictable twist.

Castorice had opted out early and joined you in the back, legs tucked under her as she stared out the window at the snow piling up in quiet drifts. She mentioned, offhandedly, that she once lived in Aidonia for a while.

“The summers don’t feel like summers here,” she murmured. “The city gets hit with stray blizzards that last for days. Even in July, you can wake up to three feet of snow.”

You glanced at her, amused. “Surely that won’t happen while we’re in town.”

She cracked a small, uneasy smile. “I actually brought it up. Told Aglaea it was too risky and she agreed.”

“So why are we here?”

Her gaze flicked from the snow to you. “Because Aidonia houses one of our biggest fanbases. Director Caenis insisted we push through.”

You sink a little deeper into the couch, suddenly aware of how much colder it feels near the windows.

Sure enough, the foreboding news came true.

On D-0, the venue manager meets you all backstage with a haunted look in his eyes. His lips are chapped from the cold, and he doesn't bother hiding the fatigue behind his fur-lined hood.

“I’m sorry,” he says, arms crossed tight over his clipboard. “The city’s issued a full shutdown. No events. No crowd control, no transit, not even taxis. We have to cancel.”

Snow curls in through the open backstage door, dancing like ash in the spotlight beams. Aglaea steps forward, jaw tight. She’s wrapped in her usual structured coat, but the crispness in her tone has dulled from travel and tension. “And there’s no alternate venue? Nothing indoors?”

“None with capacity and power. We’re lucky the stadium still has heating.”

Behind you, Cipher lets out a long, mournful whine. “I swear there was sun this morning.”

“That was yesterday,” Castorice mumbles, her voice barely audible beneath her hood. Her scarf is wrapped up to her nose, and her fingers are clutching a cup of something from the green room, still steaming.

Phainon exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “Snow's pretty, sure. But this feels apocalyptic.”

Mydei is stone-still. He’s staring out through the open loading dock, where the tour bus sits half-buried in fresh powder, a skeletal crew still trying to wrap cables and protect equipment.

“So we’re what, stuck?” Anaxa asks.

Aglaea’s voice is flat. “Yes.”

There’s a mechanical click behind you.

Garmentmaker is unfazed, tapping calmly through their tablet interface, gloves whirring softly at the joints. “Performance cancellation confirmed. I am recalibrating timelines and logistics. Current projections: three-day disruption minimum. Rescheduling the Aidonia show is not advisable.”

Cipher throws her head back with a dramatic groan. “That’s Garmentmaker-talk for ‘we’re doomed.’”

“No,” they reply, level as ever. “This outcome remains within probabilistic tolerance. However, if weather patterns continue to destabilize—”

“Please,” Tribbios cuts in, appearing out of nowhere in a flurry of fur-lined boots and a pristine umbrella, somehow dry. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

She’s already typing something on her phone, perfectly manicured fingers flying over the screen.

“Damage control’s in progress,” she informs the group without looking up. “The fan channels are getting a ‘safety-related cancellation’ memo. Public statement drops in thirty. We’re spinning this as ‘nature’s surprise encore.’”

“We’ll regroup at the hotel. No press. No obligations.” Aglaea turns to all of you, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You can rehearse if you want, but keep the energy up.”

You nod. What else is there to do?

Cipher’s already trudging out into the snow, pulling Castorice along with her like a bundled-up comet. Mydei lingers just long enough to meet your eyes. He doesn’t say anything. Just a faint tilt of the head, like we roll with it, and then he’s gone, coat flaring in the wind. You’re left in the half-lit shell of what should have been a show.

Lights still rigged. Cables coiled like sleeping serpents. The smell of dust and cold and effort hanging in the air.

Outside, the snow keeps falling like it just doesn’t care.

Unlike in Dolos, the hotel they’d booked here was never meant to be more than a crash pad.

It was a place to sleep for two nights at most. But stranded like this, it feels like limbo—too warm, too quiet. The kind of place where the carpet’s always damp near the vending machines and the hallways seem longer than they should be.

You all end up in the lobby, waiting for someone to say what comes next. Cipher and Castorice are curled up on a sagging loveseat near the fireplace, playing some guessing game with bits of hotel stationery. Anaxa is pacing, thumb hovering near his phone like he’s willing it to ring. He hasn’t taken off his coat. Mydei sits alone, nursing a bitter coffee in a styrofoam cup. He's staring at the muted TV bolted into the corner of the ceiling, where some local news crawl gives conflicting snow advisories and a recipe for stew in the same breath.

Aglaea’s in the business center, barking into a call with Director Caenis. She sounds less sharp than usual, exhaustion creeping in through the control. Tribbios perches beside her with a tablet in one hand and her phone in the other, typing on both. She looks like she hasn't blinked in ten minutes.

You’re halfway through an energy bar when Garmentmaker appears beside you.

They hold out their hand. You crane your head in confusion.

Then, their head tilts slightly, making a holographic display flicker into the air: a color-coded projection of reroute options, risk evaluations, and something labeled Emotional Volatility Index – Live Tracking. Everyone’s name is listed.

Yours is pulsing orange.

“I’m fine,” you say, too quickly.

Garmentmaker nods slowly, recording that lie like it’s data.

Outside, the snow has turned everything grayscale. Cars buried to their headlights. People nowhere. The entire world feels paused.

Eventually, Phainon emerges from wherever he vanished to and dumps a giant bag of chips on the coffee table like he just returned from war.

“Hotel vending machines are tragic,” he announces. “We’re gonna die here. Just so everyone knows.”

“We’re not going to die,” Aglaea snaps from the corner.

Tribbios mutters, “Plausible.”

You don’t know what time it is. The analog clock behind the front desk has been stuck at 8:47 for the past hour, and your phone still won’t load anything but a blank weather app and the useless blinking of “Searching…”

The group begins to disperse one by one. Mydei rises first, tipping his coffee cup into the trash with a hollow thud. Anaxa gives up his pacing and disappears toward the elevator. Cipher yawns theatrically, flopping over Castorice’s lap before dragging herself up, muttering something about brushing her teeth with melted snow.

You push off the wall to follow, sluggish and heavy, but then the lights go out.

All of them.

The lobby plunges into a blackness so complete you feel your own pulse loud in your ears. A second later, the backup generator kicks in, but only halfway. Emergency exit signs cast a dim, blood-colored glow. Somewhere in the walls, you hear the mechanical sigh of systems powering down.

Garmentmaker’s projection flickers, then vanishes entirely.

No glow. No signal. Not even a whine of static.

“…Okay,” Cipher says slowly, her voice a small balloon in the dark. “Did someone trip a breaker, or is this a full-on horror movie situation?”

Aglaea’s voice is sharp. “Tribbios?”

“I’ve got nothing,” Tribbios mutters, tapping her phone like it’s a stubborn wound. “No data, no Wi-Fi, no cell. I can’t even load my files.”

Anaxa reappears from the hallway, face lit only by the cracked screen of his phone. “Elevator’s down,” he says. “I was in it when it cut. Had to pry the doors open by hand.”

Mydei stands perfectly still, head tilted. “Landlines?”

“Dead,” Aglaea replies. “Everything’s down.”

For a long second, no one moves. The hotel, already off the grid due to the snowstorm, now feels like it's clinging to its last thread of normalcy. The faint hum of a hallway light on the other side of the building, the distant murmur of staff somewhere down the hall, are the only things keeping it from feeling like it’s entirely stuck in a different time.

“We’ll wait it out,” Aglaea says finally, voice thinner than usual. “The city will be aware of this. Emergency services should be on the way. This kind of thing doesn’t last forever.”

“And if they don’t?” Castorice asks softly, voice barely carrying across the room.

Garmentmaker boots back online. Their form glitches for a moment, but their voice is as calm as ever. “I will continue monitoring for reconnection. I recommend conserving device batteries. Environmental stability: acceptable. Emotional stability: trending volatile.”

“Thanks,” you mutter. “That’s so comforting.”

You all linger in the dying glow of the emergency lights. Cipher unpacks snacks again. Phainon breaks open a deck of cards and deals a hand that no one plays. Mydei ends up sitting cross-legged by the lobby fireplace, not bothering to relight it. You drift over eventually, unsure whether you're looking for warmth or company.

It doesn’t matter.

Because out here, cut off from the world, there’s nothing to do but wait.

You don’t know who makes the call. Maybe it’s Tribbios, or the quiet consensus of a group with nowhere else to go, but eventually, all of you end up in her presidential suite, shuffled in like mismatched luggage. She’d swept in earlier, declared it the only room with stable heating, and told everyone to give Aglaea some space in her own suite until the blackout passed.

“Stick together,” she said as she flutters of to the bed. “No signal means no updates. Might as well not spiral alone.”

So now you’re here.

Anaxa’s asleep, or pretending to be, curled up on a chaise right next to Phainon, who’s doing card readings with a regular deck. Castorice keeps checking her dead phone, like willing it to light up might break the storm. Garmentmaker takes exactly four steps in, scans the room, and announces, “This environment meets temporary habitation thresholds. I will activate standby mode,” before hibernating in silence.

Cipher’s the last to come in, lugging a battered duffel she refuses to explain and a small fold-out light rig she sets up without asking. Soon, strips of soft pink and deep violet spill across the ceiling—her version of mood lighting in the blackout.

“It’s not much,” she says, fiddling with the remote, “but it beats feeling like we’re stuck in a freezer.”

Phainon groans, “We are stuck in a freezer.”

“Yeah, but now it’s a sexy one,” Cipher replies.

You’re settled near the door, where the cold seeps in slower. There’s a blanket already tossed over the arm of the couch, and Mydei takes the other end without a word. He just folds himself down beside you and lets the quiet simmer. You barely register the weight of him beside you until he speaks, voice low enough that no one else will hear.

“That your lucky charm?” he asks, nodding faintly at your neck.

You glance down.

The guitar pick. Its design’s half-worn from years of idle fidgeting—edges smoothed by thumb and worry. You didn’t even think about putting it on this morning. It’s just there, like it always is.

“Sort of,” you murmur.

He doesn’t press. Just waits, the way he always does when he’s asking without asking. You slide the pick between your fingers, turning it over.

“My twin sister gave it to me. Her name’s Erin,” you say eventually. “We were eighteen. She swiped it from some dive bar we weren’t supposed to be in. Said it was fate.”

A pause. You trace the faded swirl on its surface.

“She used to say music finds you before you know how to ask for it. And if it doesn’t? You steal it.”

He huffs a breath through his nose—almost a laugh, almost not. “Your sister seems smarter than most people I know.”

“Heh... She probably was.”

The silence creeps in again. But it’s gentler this time. Softer around the edges. You glance over. Mydei’s not watching the others or the the storm’s onslaught through the windows. His amber eyes are on the pick between your fingers, like it’s holding a story he almost remembers.

“Erin was the one who got me into you guys, actually,” you admit. “Dragged me into your music like she’ll throw a fit if I didn’t. She used to blast Firestarter in her room every time she skipped school.”

“Is that why you played it for the live audition?” His voice dips, barely audible.

You smile a little, even though your chest aches. “In a way, I do lots of things because of her. She said Firestarter made her feel like she was allowed to take up space. I think that’s why it scared her so much when she got sick. Like... the world was shrinking again.”

Mydei looks away, jaw tight, as if he was quick to understand the implications of your words.

“She would’ve loved being stuck in this room,” you add, quietly. “Just to say she survived it.”

He shifts, pulling the blanket a little higher over your shared corner. You feel the movement more than you see it—the press of warmth, the ghost of an anchor.

“She sounds like someone who should’ve had more time.”

“Yeah.” You blink slowly. “She really should have.”

Mydei doesn’t say anything after that. Just shifts a little closer on the couch, the blanket tugged tighter between you. You feel the brush of his shoulder against yours, steady and solid. When your knees knock lightly together, he doesn’t pull away.

Neither do you.

The room hums with low conversation, the occasional rustle of fabric, the whispery static of the storm pressing against the windows. But the corner you share feels separate somehow.

At some point, your eyes start to slip shut. His breathing slows beside you.

When you wake later, you’re still tucked there—his arm resting just behind yours, the edge of the blanket pulled up to your chin. Mydei’s head leans slightly toward your shoulder, and for once, he doesn’t look like he’s carrying something too heavy to name.

Just asleep. Just here.

You let yourself close your eyes again.

The second day of the blackout dawns even colder than yesterday.

Everyone's wrung out. The novelty of sharing one suite has curdled into cabin fever. You're perched near the window for slivers of light, scribbling half-lyrics on hotel stationery, when the mood shifts.

Cipher’s pacing again, mumbling about battery packs. Her portable light rig flickers in silent protest. Pale pink washes the walls, the last of its charge bleeding out. This continues until the door opens with a gust of hallway chill and Aglaea walks in.

She’s holding a tray with stale croissants and half-melted butter packets from whatever’s left of the breakfast service downstairs. Her coat’s soaked to the elbows. She must’ve gone looking for updates—or just to get air.

“Still no signal,” she says, setting the tray down. “Reception says the lines are down past the ridge. Could be hours. Could be another day.”

Cipher perks up. “Did you find the backup packs?”

“You burned through them yesterday,” Aglaea replies dismissively. “They’re gone.”

“You mean we didn’t bother bringing spares.” Cipher’s tone sharpens. “Real prepared, boss.”

“We’re in a blackout, Cipher. If you’d rationed the rig time—”

“Oh, I forgot,” Cipher cuts in, too fast, too raw. “Accountability’s not really your thing.”

The temperature in the room drops.

Phainon and Anaxa straighten up from whatever board game they were occupied with. Castorice lowers the book she'd been pretending to read for the past half hour. Even Mydei, who you thought couldn’t be surprised by anything, turns his head sharply with a look that says, watch your mouth.

You don’t understand what just happened. Only that something broke.

Aglaea folds her arms. “Do you want to say something to me?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Cipher steps forward, jaw tight, voice shaking. “What? We’re still pretending he never existed? That saying his name is going to hex the whole goddamn band? You made that rule, Aglaea. You told everyone not to talk about him. Especially around her.”

She jabs a finger toward you.

Your stomach drops.

You hadn’t known there was a rule—some pact of silence wrapped tight around a name that clearly mattered more than anyone’s been willing to admit. Aglaea doesn’t deny it. She just stands there, caught in Cipher’s fire, her expression unreadable in the flickering light.

“You were Heph’s manager.” The choked up noise she makes almost sounds like a laugh. “You were supposed to protect him. But when things got hard? You threw him under the bus and let him leave. Then you acted like nothing changed. Like we could all just carry the weight he left behind and no one had to talk about it.”

Aglaea doesn’t flinch. But her voice goes colder. “That’s not what happened, Cifera.”

“No? Then tell me. Tell me how pushing him away helped him and his family.”

...His family?

“Hephaestion wanted out,” Aglaea snaps. “He asked for space. I gave it to him.”

“Bullshit,” Cipher says, shaking her head. “He didn’t want space. He wanted someone to see he was drowning in the choice he was forced to make.”

“I did see it.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything?!”

Aglaea draws in a breath, but she never gets the words out. Because Mydei speaks first.

“Enough.”

It’s quiet, but it lands like a dropped weight. There’s no fire in his voice, only a low, anchored thing that cuts through the air with more finality than shouting ever could.

You glance over. He hasn’t moved much, still seated on the same couch you fell asleep on together, but the shift is there in the way his shoulders square, in the way his eyes don’t rise to meet either of them. His jaw is tight, breath steady and slow like he’s fighting to keep it that way.

“Don’t talk about him like that,” he mutters. “Don’t stand here and twist the memory of someone who can’t defend himself.”

Cipher turns slowly toward him, whatever fire was in her eyes flickering uncertain. Aglaea’s lips are pressed into a line so thin it’s barely there.

“Hephaestion mattered,” Mydei says, softer now. “More than whatever point you’re trying to score. So just do everyone a favor and knock it off.”

It’s not anger exactly. It’s not even grief. It’s something older than both—worn and buried and aching in silence. The kind of hurt that doesn’t ask to be witnessed, only respected. You watch Mydei, breath quiet in your throat, and think: this is what it means to carry someone after they’re gone.

The silence holds long enough that even Cipher doesn’t seem to know what to do with it.

And then the door opens again.

This time, it’s Tribbios.

She’s ushering in a poor room service attendant who looks entirely out of his depth, wheeling a cart stacked high with mismatched mugs and two carafes of something steaming. Tribbios, ever the diplomat, is mid-sentence as she strides in, cheerful and bright like she’s walking into a press meet instead of a battlefield.

“—figured we could all use something hot. They still had some coffee left downstairs, miracle of miracles, and I told them to throw in tea for anyone who wants to pretend they’re above caffeine—”

Then she stops.

The tension doesn’t greet her. It collides with her.

Cipher’s still standing, fists curled. Aglaea hasn’t moved. Mydei’s gone silent again, gaze somewhere far and hard. And you—blanketed and still, watching from your perch by the windows—can only manage a weak smile in her direction.

Tribbios takes it all in with a single glance. Her grin falters just slightly, but she recovers fast. She gives the attendant a grateful nod and a soft “Thank you, I’ll take it from here” before guiding the cart the rest of the way inside herself.

The scent of the coffee cuts through the quiet, rich and earthy. It should feel comforting, but it doesn’t.

From the corner, a voice crackles back to life. Garmentmaker, still huddled in standby by the kitchenette, lifts their head just enough to comment in that unchanging mechanical lilt:

“Emotional volatility has spiked to 3.4 times the baseline. Minimizing interpersonal engagement is recommended until levels return to normal.”

Upon hearing the data, Tribbios' gaze sweeps across the room, frowning.

“Do I want to know what happened here?”

None of you dares to answer. You just sink a little deeper into your little corner, a blanket pulled tight around your shoulders, as you stare out past the window’s frostbitten edge.

You just want this damn storm to end.

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

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

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