┃It’s Always You

😼 FEELING A LITTLE MISCHIEVOUS

o h.

O H.

O H.

YALL WAT TYSM I NEEVER KNEW ID REACH THIS MUCH FOLLOWERS

im so happy yall r willing to listen to my rambles and stuff my mind pooped out on random times 😭

i didn't draw anything since i was too lazy and unmotivated so have random cat pics i found at pinterest since i like cats

hello......... we meet again...........clown to clown communication............... youve infected me so bad with your yandere blade thoughts please i have to be euthanizeddd.......... please i need to know more of your thoughts on the matter so bad /nf

Hello again :) So I ended up turning a bunch of mini thoughts into a mini story, if you don't mind. If you want more just brainrot thoughts lmk and I can get those out of my brain as well

Originally I was going to publish it in one part however, it's getting a bit too long (6775 words) and I don't like having such long posts.

This is a lot of the leadup portion Part 2 will probably focus more on the Yandere although it starts to lean on that a bit in the end.

TW: Yandere, violence, manipulation, drugging all that kind of stuff.

Also spoilers for Blade and High Cloud Quintet's identity (I don't know exactly which quests I spoiled)

I think the big question first off is how do you even get Blade interested in you?

It could be the classic, knowing Blade in the past, being his lover or friend before he became mara struck. Maybe even being his rival, someone that loved to challenge him, and ended advocating for him to be allowed to die an honorable death out of admiration for your opponent. Either way he'd have lingering feelings for you.

But I like to think you met him by chance on the Xianzhou Luofu when he returned as Blade. Maybe you were a healer, that not only helped but put people out of their misery, peacefully. You were someone who specialized in working with mara struck, finding ways to suppress and calm it, staying by your patients side as they slowly lost their mind, and making sure they didn't hurt anyone. You were trained well in the ways of combat, after all you had to be in order to deal with mara.

Your goal was to help them come to terms with their death and once they had you would hand them off to the Ten Lords Commission. If they weren't ready, that was okay they could stick around. Either way when they'd fully transformed into a mara struck, you killed them. Only once they'd fully transformed would you be able to, otherwise they'd regenerate.

One day, you'd been wandering about when you found a curious person. Someone you knew well because their face was on countless wanted posters. You'd never done much research into the Stellaron Hunters but were surprised to see one of their members was afflicted with mara.

You weren't cruel. Instead you grabbed some medication and approached him, cautiously like how one would approach a stray cat. A few seconds after you'd begun walking toward him, he reached you. Tip of a blade pointed at your neck, grazing it, cool metal pressed against warm skin, it shook ever so slightly each movement threatening to draw blood. He was barely restraining himself, you weren't sure why he was even trying. But you did know that your head would be on the floor if he really wanted it there.

"Let me help?" Your tone was friendly, and you held up the bag of medicine in your hand. Your words didn't register with him, you doubted he could even see your lips moving. But the most important thing was to have a nonthreatening presence.

For mara struck you could strangely talk your way out of it. You were surrounded by mara while working, to the point you stunk of it. For some reason mara struck soldiers never attacked you unprovoked, it was a strange phenomena and that was the only reason you could think of.

Unfortunately, it didn't work for you this time, and you quickly found yourself trying to outrun one of the most dangerous men alive. Oopsie? At least it was kind of fun! This exhilaration was really nice, you should get in near death experiences more often! You felt the wind whip around you as the hunter was hot on your trail.

You wouldn't be able to outrun him much longer, the only reason you'd gotten this far was because he'd been in the middle of swinging his sword at you. So your only option was to unconsensually drug him. That sounded really bad. But your life was at risk! You slipped one of the pills into your hand, it was one of the heavier ones that would cause the patient to pass out. There were some cases where even your medicine couldn't comfort, then the best thing would be sleep.

With a minor turn of your ankle you swung around and placed your hand in his mouth, opening it, and getting the medicine in. He bit your hand near immediately, but you kept it still, even though his teeth would sharp as fuck you could feel them even inside your hand clenching down. You felt the warmth of blood, and waited a moment looking into his eyes.

You wouldn't hold it against him, he was mara struck. This was how they acted toward most people, not normally you, but it felt good to be treated like most people for once. You were normal. It was nice. Then he fell off your hand, tumbling straight backwards, and hitting the ground with a painful thud.

"Oooh, that's gotta hurt," You muttered, not entirely sympathetic to the man that just tried to kill you. But he was an interesting person. A Stellaron Hunter with mara, huh?

Maybe you didn't know as much about them as you thought. You slipped off the cloth bag around your shoulder and fixed it over his face. Then you grabbed him by the arms and began to drag him, his clothes dirtying upon the street floor, back to your little apothecary. Heavy.

You managed to lift him for a few moments to put him on a cot, before placing your hands on your knees, and taking a moment to catch your breath. You prepared some medicine in case if he was still mara struck and a glass of water. He woke up in only an hour, you were lucky to have enough time to finish bandaging your hand. Normally, it'd keep people out for six hours. The farther along they were the less productive it was. By all accounts he shouldn't be able to have a single moment of sanity.

Yet when he got up from the bed he seemed normal. Eerily so. You remained poise in a seat near his bed which he hadn't noticed. His eyes rested on the pills before looking around the rest of the room and reaching you. He reached for his blade, moving his hand next to his side and grabbing at empty air. Thankfully, you'd already removed the blade from this room, he was probably more deadly when he had his wits about him.

You chuckled at his response, feeling your nerves heighten as you resisted the urge to run away. Maybe this was a bad idea. "Hello there, good sir!" You greeted chipperly, "I saw you passed out on the side walk and dragged you back to my humble abode! Is there anything I can do for you?" You kept on your 'being yelled at by a 500 year old Xianzhou long life mother whose kid had just been told they couldn't throw stuff at people' smile.

He remained quiet for a moment, assessing to see whether or not you were a threat moving his eyes up and down, "...My sword?"

"What sword?" You replied back innocently. No way were you giving that back.

He let out a sigh, getting up from the bed, and heading to the door. The good news was he didn't try to attack you, the bad news was that the most fascinating mara struck victim was leaving. You couldn't let that happen.

You raced in front of him, putting your hands and waving them defenselessly. He looked down at you, red eye glaring down at you as if you were obsolete. You laughed again, "Well, uh, good sir, as someone that helped you can I at least know the name of uh--"

"Get out of my way -- knowing me won't do any good." He was definitely going to kill you if you didn't move. But you couldn't just let him leave!

Your smile grew even further, holding your cheeks up painfully, "Well-- you see-- you're so beautiful!" You said desperately, "I was taken by you-- love at first sight, you see? Right? You're just-- so wonderful!" You stammered out, voice shaking, "Can I at least know the name of the breath taking soul who stole my heart!"

The long blue haired man froze in his path, hair swaying to a halt behind him. No fucking way that got him. He seemed befuddled, glancing further away from you, eyes focused on a small portion of the floor. "Blade." IT WORKED?!

Blade remained quiet for a moment longer before turning his head back to you, "Now move." Of course it didn't work, if it worked you would've been in a relationship by now.

He side stepped you easily, leaving you to stare at his broad back, clothes tight around his muscles. Now wasn't the time to think about that. "You have mara right? I can cure it." It was a bold claim. You'd never done anything like that before, and his case was more severe than others.

He stopped in his steps, "What?" One deadly word made you almost want to take back everything you said but you couldn't. Blade experienced mara differently than others, that was clear. If you had the chance to work alongside him then maybe... you could figure something out?

Even though you portrayed yourself as undisturbed by your job getting to know so many people and then watching them turn into monsters was horrifying. Blade was interesting, you'd hate to call him a test subject but, if he consented he'd likely end up helping your understanding of mara. You just needed a reason for him to stay.

"I work with mara stricken citizens and soldiers. I've researched it for my whole life and I use this knowledge to aid others, helping alleviate their pain, calm themselves, or sleep when mara takes them," That was convincing enough, right?

He appeared skeptical, still poised to attack even without his sword. But as you continued smiling, a hopeful yet scared look in your eyes he let out a sigh.

"Can you kill them?"

You paused a bit, understanding his intention, "Only when they're fully taken by the mara." Otherwise they'd only heal, "I can alleviate your pain until then." You were shocked at how self assured you sounded, as if you could genuinely help him rather than just use him for discoveries.

Blade remained quiet and unmoving, a statue with the first rays of sunlight hitting it and breaking it free from darkness, "Okay." His voice was quieter than it'd been this entire time, you thought you'd misheard him.

"Okay?" You repeated, as if what you'd heard was a dream.

"Keep your distance." He stepped out of the sun and toward your door frame before pausing glancing back for such a short time you thought you'd imagined it, "I will return, if it's what you want."

It was strange, Blade had a peaceful sleep unplagued by dreams of dying and pain. If there was a chance it was because of you and you really wanted to meet him again, then he shouldn't resist too hard, right?

You felt a smile grow on your face lifting up its corners as the swordsman continued to walk away, "Yes! That's wonderful!" Then you paused realization sinking in, "Oh, Blade!" You called out, hoping he wouldn't kill you for this, "Your sword's by the door!"

You saw him glare at you and instinctively shut your eyes preparing for a sword to be lodged between your eyes. But when you opened them neither he or his sword were to be found.

Part of you expected him to never return and he didn't tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow he didn't come back. You wanted to give up hope. It made sense and was likely better for your safety but, Blade was the breakthrough you were looking for.

You smiled at the elderly Xianzhou long life that you were walking with through one of the fake gardens on the ship. They continued to rattle on about their great granddaughter and how hard she'd been training to be a cloud knight. To care about someone's progress, such that the smallest milestones mean as much to you as they do to them-- that must be love right? You were a bit envious. You wanted to love like this old soul. Someone who had nearly lost their mind the other day to mara but could continue going on, loving, and hoping.

That day was the day they left, agreeing to be taken away by the Ten Lords Commission. It was bittersweet, as it always was and you were alone, again. That was alright though.

What wasn't alright was being woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of footsteps. Someone had broken in. They weren't well, they sounded limp, as if they were dragging one leg. But since you hadn't heard the door being broken down, they'd likely come in through the window you tended to leave open. Look-- people on the Luofu don't normally resort to these matters and if they did then they wouldn't go after you.

It meant whoever came was both highly skilled and injured. With careful steps, putting your feet down gently and slowly one in front of the other, you approached the trespasser.

You smelled the blood first, the faint irony scent that made your noise scrunch up momentarily as your mouth imitated the taste of blood. Then you saw it. The small dark red trail that gleamed in the moonlight. Then him.

You felt rather satisfied, even in a state where he was taken over by mara Blade had somehow made it back here, "I knew you'd come back," You spoke playfully.

At the sight of agony in his eyes, a pang of guilt struck your heart. It really wasn't the time to be joking around. Perhaps there was some sanity still left in him, as his whole body shook, shaking even more as you approached closer and closer. Part of him must want to attack you, to kill you, to rip you apart until you were nothing, but he wasn't.

"Good," You commended him, as you stood in front of him and knelt down, aside from the shaking Blade remained still. He looked like he wanted to scream, hurt himself, kill himself, rip himself apart until nothing remained. Did he want to die more than he wanted to hurt you? Was experiencing mara that painful? You'd never know.

"I just need you to do one small thing for me okay," You spoke gently, even though you knew he likely couldn't hear your voice at all.

You thumbed through the few medications you always kept handy in your pouch, and picked one for pain relief. Last time you'd needed him to sleep or you'd die, this time you could see the effect of what they did. You moved the pill into his mouth and saw him struggle to swallow, you weren't moving your hands close to his face though for some reason you had a feeling he might bite them off-- like a dog would.

He was a lot more like a dog than you expected. The medicine had been able to work, body instantly relaxing, to your surprise. The more surprising thing was what happened after. Blade visited you, more often out of his own free will, not just when he was mara struck.

Blade was an awkward companion, terrible at small talk, and you couldn't take care of patients when he was near for fear they might see the Stellaron Hunter. Sometimes he would mumble under his breath about a price, or bring you small things, little trinkets, food, a severed hand-- A SEVERED HAND?!

"Why are you giving me this?" You looked down at the bloody hand he was holding onto, your eyebrow twitching slightly. You were used to blood and all but this was unnecessary.

He looked up at you, partially confused and disgruntled at your obvious disapproval, "He bothered you?" His statement came out more as a question.

Oh. It was him-- You let out an aggravated sigh, "You didn't get caught right?"

You noticed Blade perk up ever so slightly as if he thought what he did was right, "No."

That was good at least. "Don't do that again." What was he a dog? Or maybe a cat was better, bringing you pieces of their hunt. Now that you think about it, where did he get those trinkets from? It was probably best not to think about. "Go put that away," You said dismissively, moving your hand up to touch your forehead lightly.

You were going to regret this weren't you? Well, that was a problem for future you. You weren't sure exactly where Blade put the severed hand but as long as it was away from you it didn't matter. For a moment you considered asking him for help, to maybe capture a mara struck so you could test to see if anything would work on it. But that was too far, wasn't it?

The days carried on and so did Blade visiting you. He'd come to you for medications that alleviated his pain or helped him sleep without his memories tormenting them and you obliged monitoring him all the while. Then one day he started to request it.

"Kill me," He'd spoke suddenly, as you were leaning over some finely grounded herbs trying to come up with something new to keep stronger pain at bay. Your medicine's effectiveness was starting to wear off on Blade.

You flinched spilling the small specks to the ground and staring at him in the eyes, "Excuse me?"

You didn't think he'd hated spending time with you that much! Sure, you were kind of using him, and you got upset at him whenever he brought you something drenched in blood but who wouldn't?! You thought the two of you were getting along just fine! You'd even consider him a friend... A strong word for a Stellaron Hunter. You knew he'd have to leave the Xianzhou Luofu eventually too.

"You can do it," There was a slimmer of affection in his voice it made you almost think you misheard the part about you killing him, "If anyone can, you can." It was oddly affectionate. You kind of despised how he spoke, as if he would never speak to you again.

You let out a small laugh, "Shut up Blade." Drop the conversation topic.

But he kept pushing, "Find a way to kill me." Blade took a step closer to you, and for the first time since you met him, you felt in danger.

"And what if I said no? Remember, I'm uh... head over heels for you," You said lightheartedly referencing to your excuse when you'd first met him. "I wouldn't be able to bare it if you died!" You smiled up at him, squinting your eyes.

Normally, you'd be a bit peeved that your sample had been knocked over but right now you were unnerved, and much worse, worried.

It looked like he was more in pain from your words with the way he grimaced at them. "Please." It was wholly desperate and vulnerable, a statue split open to reveal a bleeding heart which begged to be free from its misery. If you stabbed it the statue and everything around it would crumble. Not that there was much around it to begin with but-- there was you.

But Blade was your friend, in a very odd way you'd started to care for the strange man, "I'll try." He was in pain, it'd be wrong to let him just suffer, right?

Plus, you'd already collected enough data... You knew when medicines would stop being effective on the normal mara struck Xianzhou long lives and what to swap to. You hadn't found a solution but you'd found something that could better keep their sanity while they were in that state, even if it required the rare, Vidyhara bone marrow. You'd begun to find something that could supplement that as well, although you'd only heard of it in books you had to find Scalegorge Water Scape.

It was okay. You had all the information from Blade you needed. This was fine. This friendship always had an expiration date. His smile made it all worth it anyway. It was really the first time you'd seen him smile and for once he looked relieved, completely relaxed.

"Thank you," Foreign words from him, "When the mara strikes... It's no longer me." But what if you could fix that?

If you helped him keep his sanity then you couldn't use the pills to keep away the pain, or the ones to sleep. They couldn't clash. Maybe you had to figure out how to make it so multiple could be taken? Your mind raced for a different solution but in the end all you could do is smile back. Blade smiling was a beautiful sight. One you thought you'd never be able to see.

That night you cried. You hadn't seen Blade happy before. So why was he only happy at the idea of death? But you were a doctor you would remain stony cold and do the best you could.

It didn't work. Of course, it didn't. Why would it? You could've sworn his heart stopped for a bit, a few minutes after passing out after swallowing your "medicine." Was it really medicine if it killed someone? But he lived and he woke up coughing blood.

Blade wasn't happy but at the same time he seemed rather relieved..? You hated it. Someone too used to dying by the hands of a sword, by the strokes they were used to performing, that poison was a soothing way to die. You absolutely despised Blade. But you smiled and told him you'd try harder. You just didn't know what to do.

A few days after your promise Blade came back with a strange gift for you, a book titled Views of the Universe From a Starskiff. At the time he brought it, he'd been in pain, grunting, and making too much noise for you to have any patients over. You'd stopped taking patients recently anyway. Instead only selling medicine promising you'd been on the edge of a break through and needed more time.

His memory had been scattered and he didn't recognize you. He'd swung his sword at you only to stop a moment before it hit you. You were right. When you'd originally met him, if he wanted you dead he could've killed you. You could still feel the air sweep by your head, and the cool blade on your skin. He didn't remember why he brought the book to you and when he returned to a better state of mind, you decided not to ask.

Instead you did some research on your own, and it lead you to an interesting person. Someone you really didn't want to talk to.

You shifted uncomfortably under the amber gaze of the general, "Do what do I owe the pleasure General?" Your voice was stiff, and shoulders tense as he only smiled in response.

"General is a temporary title, you can just call me Jing Yuan." You smiled in response, corner of your lip twitching a bit.

"Right, so what do I owe the pleasure, Jing Yuan?" Your smile strained further but all he did was laugh causing your smile to shift into a scowl.

Jing Yuan smiled down at you, not the least imposing, "Relax, I was just curious about some activity around this area." Did Blade kill someone without you knowing?

Throughout the whole conversation you remained tense as the general idly brought up his younger days as part of the High-Cloud Quintet. He was clearly just talking about this sort of stuff to get you to let down your guard! You looked at him warily, paying special attention to every individual word looking for hidden meaning. Eventually you found the hidden meaning. He was helping you.

The author of the book you'd been researching, Views of the Universe From a Starskiff was named Baiheng. "You knew this whole time," You muttered, a bit peeved, you'd thought you'd done a good job hiding Blade's presence and yet this old man somehow managed to figure it out.

The General simply smiled in response as you tried to clarify the situation further, "So Yingxing is--"

He stood up from his seat, "It matters not. The past is the past." Yeah, you probably shouldn't talk about this. You stood up as well.

"I'll walk you out," You spoke, still wary of the man but if he wanted to hurt or expose you, he would've done so already. "...Is it really your place to tell me this though?"

Jing Yuan paused as if in contemplation, still smiling, it was eerie how he could smile after everything. He was an unbreakable monument dedicated to the Xianzhou Luofu, "Who else could?" No one else would remember nor be able to share, so was that why he decided to step forward?

You opened the door for him, feeling the sun greet you again. "I hope it brings you peace." Your voice was sudden, as you looked at the man with new found appreciation. Even the hardiest statues still had bleeding hearts.

You would kill Blade. If it was the last thing you did.

You grinned rushing over to the blue haired man, the scent of iron around him. You told him that if he made anyone bleed before coming to visit you that he should bathe. You'd have to check if he was bleeding. "Blade!" You greeted him cheerfully, rushing over, and grabbing onto his arm. He stiffened.

You dragged him over to your work station moving your hand gradually down his forearm and to his wrist to be able to pull him better. His hand reached out for yours, and latched onto your wrist instead. The two of you were friends. Killing him was the right thing to do. But if he didn't want to die, you wouldn't mind Blade sticking around. You would take care of him as you would a patient.

"Do you still want to die?" You might as well check, there was no harm in it, maybe he'd stay after all.

To your dismay, he nodded, it was cold and steady. Your smile stiffened but remained on your face, this was fine. It was what you expected.

"I'll still do my best to help you," You promised him, truly meaning your words. It was just, you didn't have any idea of how to proceed. Maybe, the mara struck would have an answer but even you weren't foolish enough to wander into their hordes. Sure, you were lucky that the mara struck seemed not to attack you normally but luck couldn't be all you relied on. "But, in order to do so I need to observe mara stricken more up close," You admitted, that was your best bet, "Could you help me with that?"

Blade was strong. You'd seen the way his muscles flexed and tensed under his shirt whenever he made a swing with his blade. This would be easy work for him. The selfish part of you was happy you could spend more time with him too.

That started the third phase of your friendship with Blade. The first being the initial visits, the second being your attempt to kill him, and the third being yielding him as if he was a blade. It made you feel kind of guilty. Speaking commands beneath your voice of who you needed restrained, looking down at abominations as you tested new pills on them to see the effects. They'd writhe as Blade held them on and you watched onward apathetically. They were monsters, you shouldn't care about their pain.

Then you'd try to kill Blade. Again and again. Seeing him cough up blood and lay motionless on one of your cots. Or seeing wounds reopen over his body, blooming as if they were flowers. It was sickening. You didn't know how many times you did it nor how many times you could continue trying to do it. He would bare his teeth, biting down on cloths, letting out whimpers, blood slowly covering everything close to him.

"I can't do it." Maybe if you were competent it would be okay, you could give Blade the freedom he deserved away from the pain and mara and biting harsh memories. But you weren't a competent enough doctor. Nor were you a good enough friend to tell Blade to the face.

It had been a cold night on the Xianzhou Luofu when you decided to leave. There'd been a lot of commotion recently, the Ambrosial Arbor had risen and fallen again. Blade had been more distant, visiting less often, as if there was something he was keeping from you. How he made your heart ache.

You loved him. That was why you had to do this. You stopped by the divination commission on your way out, a letter from Jing Yuan in your hand. You'd never met Master Diviner Fu Xuan before nor were you looking forward to doing so. If she could see your memories that would mean Blade would be at risk. But you had to know if this would lead you down the path where Blade died.

But you didn't end up meeting Master Diviner Fu Xuan at all. Instead you met a much taller, purple haired woman, with hazy eyes. She greeted you as if you were a friend, and you approached her with caution smiling in response. "I know you," your voice was laced in excitement, "Kafka, the Stellaron Hunter! A bounty of 10 billion, right?" Why did she have to show up now?

You held your hand out with a smile, "I've heard wonderful things about you, you're even more beautiful in real life than on the poster!" Your heart raced trapped in your ribcage, thrumming against it nervously. This certainly complicated your plan.

"Hi, Y/N. I've been meaning to meet you," Her voice was sultry yet teasing, which was more menacing than if it'd been cold and harsh like Blade's. She knew your name too, that must not be a good sign.

She remained back against a wall, small smile on her face as if she was toying with you. You dropped your hand back down to your side. "Is there anything I can do for the esteemed Stellaron Hunter?" You really just wanted this to be over with.

"Not for me," She pushed herself off the door frame and you could see into the battered room. Blade was slouched over, eyes stapled shut, the small shakes his tense body let out were barely noticeable.

You were by his side in an instant, kneeling before him before you could even think, hand resting gently on his chin. Since when had you begun to care so much for him? Was it when he'd gotten slashed in the arm by a mara stricken soldier due to your negligence? Or had you cared for him before you ever met him?

You had half the medicine on you, half back at your place in case he ever returned in search of relief. The half on you was for research but it would be better used for something like this wouldn't it? You glanced behind you feeling eyes stare into your back, and Kafka simply smiled as her eyes met yours.

"Well, Bladie's never been so obedient," She replied simply at your questioning look, causing your shoulders to tense.

You turned your attention back to the patient in question only to be met with a red eye gazing into yours, his face much closer than you remembered it being. You stood your ground looking into his eyes with a harsh look, did he really have to always go and get himself hurt? You could smell the blood on him.

"Who... are you?" Sometimes symptoms of mara included memory loss so you weren't surprised by the question but it still hurt. But it surely didn't hurt as much as Blade was hurting right now, you could see his wince as he accidentally glanced at the light behind you.

You slipped a pill between your fingers, "It doesn't matter, I'm here to help you," You replied simply, lifting your hand up to his mouth, "Now open."

Once Blade became more docile around you during his mara episodes you'd started to deliver his medicine this way. Originally, you hadn't done so since you valued your fingers. He opened his mouth without a second thought, albeit he looked rather confused as to why he complied.

You glanced down at his faint pink lips a sheen covering them, he really was beautiful. If only he could experience the beauty of the world at full. The pill was placed between two of your fingers and you brought it up to his lips, pushing past them, and his teeth leaving the pill in a good place for him to swallow. This was how it always was.

You felt his tongue move as he swallowed it without a second thought and you removed your fingers like normal, except. You glared at him, keeping your hand still. Apparently you still had to worry about him biting your fingers off. "Blade," You spoke warningly feeling the teeth pressed threateningly into your index finger, the other finger escaping freely.

He didn't respond and you swore you heard a laugh behind you which only further irked you. He wasn't biting down hard enough to hurt or draw blood but you knew the second you tried to move it he would. Instead of responding by letting go Blade only looked up at you like a dejected puppy. His bandaged hand reached up and grabbed yours, you could see faint blood stains near the edge of where it reached his wrist and disappeared beneath his sleeves.

"Don't bite me," Your voice was stern as you looked down at the blue haired man, only growing more remorseful by the moment. It was strange behavior, a kind he hadn't exhibited before, but he hadn't forgotten you before either.

This time his teeth let go of your finger, leaving it slightly warm and wet in his hand's hold as he clutched onto desperately as if he was afraid you'd disappear before his eyes. It should only take ten minutes for the medicine to leave him vulnerable and helpless, yet he was already so docile. You had to wonder if he knew you were planning on leaving.

You let out a quiet sigh, keeping your voice low as these words were only for Blade and you. Your hand reached to brush his hair off to the side, resting along his jawline near his ear. You moved close enough so that he could feel even the slightest inhale and exhale against his ear, "I'm doing this because I love you."

It was a shitty excuse but it was closest to the truth wasn't it? Maybe if Jing Yuan hadn't told you the truth then you wouldn't be so determined to help Blade. Maybe you would've cried to Blade that you couldn't keep failing to kill him because you didn't even want him dead in the first place. You wanted Blade by your side.

"I'll figure it all out, I promise." It was the most loving your voice had ever been yet when you met his eyes again you didn't see a subdued look instead a more panicked one took its place. It didn't take long for you to be entrapped completely, arms holding and rooting you in place, leaving you unable to move.

It was as if he was trying to merge your bodies into one. So you'd never be apart again. Your nose resting above his shoulder as the rest of you was pressed into him, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, his arms wrapped around your waist pulling you closer and tightening. It hurt a bit. They continued to squeeze you, hands pressed against your sides gripping onto them.

"Gentle," You reminded him, voice tickling his ear, and as he eased his hold, Blade's head collapsed against your shoulder, hot breath hitting your neck. It took you a few moments to realize he was crying. That the sudden small burn against your skin was tears.

He spoke in a broken voice, "Who are you?" You began to cry too, wrapping your arms around him with equal need.

"It doesn't matter, I'm going to help you." Your voice must've sounded ugly as well, off pitch from emotion.

"You... can't leave." They weren't words you expected, but you noticed his grip loosen on you anymore as time continued onward.

You couldn't reply. You had to leave right now, the answers you were searching for weren't here. They lay with Yaoshi and the lands Yaoshi had touched. If you could journey to those and research the people and mara there... you would be able to kill Blade. You didn't want to kill him. But to leave him in this agony was more painful for the both of you.

"You..." Blade looked up at you, head tilted, agony in his eyes, "don't... ...leave." You smiled down at him, unable to find the words and instead moved your lips to press against his tearstained cheek.

At your lack of response you felt his head tilt and his breath hit your shoulder. Then he bit. It didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. You thought his aim would be to tear through your skin and take your flesh with him, leaving a bloody hole in his wake. But instead it was a persistent gentle movement, desperate to leave an imprint, to keep you here, to convince you. The both of you knew he'd pass out in a minute or two, the decision would be up to you after that. So he pressed his teeth into your skin, removing them for a second and pressing again, hot tongue licking your skin in between the pattern. You really shouldn't be feeling these sorts of things at a time like this but you couldn't help the heat rising to your face.

There... wasn't any harm in this right? "...You're beautiful," You muttered, only able to see his long hair you rested a hand on it. You moved your hand through it slowly, untangling any knots you came across. "Really," His body collapsed into yours, completely devoid of any strength, "I love you," You couldn't help but smile despite the tears.

It was hard to hold his body up by yourself. You were strong but Blade with all his muscle mass was heavy, either way you placed him back down on the seat without aggravating any injuries further.

Then you stood up and turned your back, ignoring the minor twitching and hand reaching out for your warmth that came from his subdued body. Kafka, had turned her back to the two of you, instead looking outside as if she was searching for someone.

"All done?" She asked, voice playful when you joined her outside. Yet you felt some type of understanding from her.

You nodded and handed her the pouch of medicine, "I am, instructions are in the bag," you said you'd brought it along for research but hadn't that just been an excuse? If you'd seen Blade again you could've given it to him. "There's some more at where I stayed."

She looked back at Blade, lying motionlessly, "Well, you have made my job a lot easier."

"Take good care of him," You replied, beginning to walk off.

"Bladie will be awfully sad to hear you left," Kafka called out, her voice carried its usual lilt but you sensed a strange seriousness to it.

If anyone had ever told you you'd fall in love with a Stellaron Hunter you probably would've believed them. If they told you, you'd be trying to kill the person you were in love with, you would've hated yourself. "I know, but this is the way I show my love." But... wasn't this the best solution?

You decided to not go see Master Diviner Fu Xuan, having run into the Stellaron Hunters so recently probably would make it easier for her to see them in her divination. At least you assumed so, you didn't know much about divination. The night was quiet and dark aside from one gray haired individual walking toward where you'd just been, looking around anxiously with each step. When you reached the starskiff you didn't look back.

Kafka played with the small pouch in her fingers, letting out a slight sigh. Everything was going as planned, albeit she couldn't help but feel a bit bad for Bladie. Her eyes darted to the source of sudden footsteps, finally, the Trailblazer was here. She couldn't interfere with what happened anyway it was best not to dwell on it.

You were part of the script. The ending Elio had promised, the one where Blade died.

Lots of notes here:

OKAY GUYS IDEA SO LIKE BLADE X READER BUT ALSO YAOSHI X READER (why do I simp for Yaoshi so much)

Like dude Yaoshi would love the way that reader treats the life they've curated and grown. While Yaoshi lets it grow without regard and only cares for the abundance they have to admit the life you cater to comes out more beautifully.

SCREAMS

Also sorry for the wait but I wasn't doing super okay mentally past week so I didn't write much, thank you guys for your patience! I had a lot of fun writing this, I know it really isn't thoughts or anything but I like having a story play out :D

And I also wanted the romance to seem organic and more natural even though it's yandere I wanted it to make sense. So I hope I managed to accomplish that even though I feel like it considerably lengthened this (especially nonyandere portion)

Was originally going to edit this but it turned out way too fucking long.

istg this was something sweet and cute but my mind is fuck up

ೃ⁀➷ TW/CW: DARK CONTENT, 18+ (MINORS/AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DON’T INTERACT), Bad English, Babytrapping, AFAB Reader (one use of feminine words such as "mama" and body parts?), Pregnancy, Yandere, Toxic Relationship, Stomach Bulge, Noncon/Dubcon?, let me know if I need to add more TW/Tags ♡ My blog contains dark content, be careful when interacting/following! Please if you like my work don't forget to reblog/interact with me♡ Minors, ageless, blank blogs, and silent readers will get blocked if interact with me.

Yandere Diluc who baby trapped you. You wanted to leave, or at least have a break, since the relationship just wasn't working as it used to. Diluc was too paranoid, too protective, and too focused on his work to actually pay attention to you.

Of course, he noticed the change in your demeanor; how you acted more silent and cold toward him. Of course, he noticed. When he doesn't. It's not like you can leave so easily: you no longer worked and stayed inside his house all the time, and he made sure his maids and butler helped you out with everything you might need, but also keep you under constant watch since he can't always be around you.

However, Diluc can't help but wonder if it is enough to keep you with him. That maybe, maybe, he should do something else to make sure that you could never run away from me, that will make you, even more, dependent on him. He thought about it for days until he came to the "right" conclusion...

A child.

With a child, even if you somehow manage to escape, you will be forever linked to him. He wouldn't need to worry about you escaping him for at least 9 months, but he will constantly worry about your health and the baby. Oh, that cute, adorable baby you are going to give birth to... One that looks like you, running around the house asking for their mama and papa... So cute...

Diluc cannot wait until he gets you pregnant; he makes sure to be there for you, be present, and be less cold for days, weeks maybe, until he's with you in bed once again, spilling his seed deep inside of you again and again, until there is a small budge on stomach...

Until one day you come back to him shaking, tears almost falling from your eyes, saying you have to tell him something very important and Diluc can almost tell where this conversation is going...

This work belongs to @/alj0saray, do not repost, translate, copy, rewrite or share on tiktok without my permission. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged♡

don’t stop talking about what’s happening

get him back!

summary: years after your messy breakup that broke up the band, you and mydei are forced back together for a reunion tour—and the public can’t get enough of your chemistry. on stage, you’re electric, but backstage it’s all snide comments, heated arguments, and mydei slipping in petty lyric changes just to piss you off. you’re not sure what’s worse: how much you still hate him or how much you don’t.

⇢ pairing: lead guitarist!mydei x lead singer!fem!reader ⇢ contains: romance, angst, smut (oral sex, hate sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, wall sex, overstimulation, slight dirty talk), exes to lovers au, modern au, band au, profanity, alcohol consumption, slight toxicity from both parties, smoking, an amphoreus ensemble cast—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 16.7k ⇢ note: inspired by the honkai star rail official mydei art, olivia rodrigo’s get him back! & daisy jones and the six by taylor jenkins reid. read on ao3 here.

i). wait, is this the song with the drums?

Your first instinct, when Anaxa drops the news about the reunion tour, is to shake your head and vehemently say no.

“Absolutely not,” you say, holding up a hand like that might somehow physically block the idea from reaching you. Anaxa simply raises an eyebrow and adjusts his glasses.

“It’s not a request,” he replies, flipping through the stack of papers he brought with him. “It’s happening whether you’re on board or not. Your contract’s airtight.” 

“That’s impossible,” you scoff, folding your arms defensively. “I specifically remember agreeing to no future projects involving him.”

“Yeah, well, when you’re in a band that makes millions, the label doesn’t exactly care about your personal vendettas. Fans have been begging for this for years. You know how much money this is going to make?”

“I can’t do this, Anaxa. You know what he’s like. He’s gonna make this a living hell for me.”

Your manager’s eyes soften just enough to make you look away. “Look, I know it’s not ideal. But it’s just a tour. A few months, and then you never have to see his face again if you don’t want to.”

You hesitate, teeth worrying your bottom lip. Anxiety coils inside your stomach like a live wire. You’d thought you’d buried that part of your life—left it to rot somewhere in the wreckage of what used to be your band and your relationship. Mydei’s name still leaves a bitter aftertaste whenever it slips out of someone’s mouth.

But the label wants it. The fans want it. 

“So, what—you just expect me to pretend we didn’t break up in front of the entire world?” you snap, though there’s less fire behind it this time.

Anaxa shrugs and sets the contract on your coffee table. “Pretend, don’t pretend. Hell, make it part of the show for all I care. As long as you’re both on that stage together, the crowd’s going to eat it up.”

You hate how practical he sounds. How it almost makes sense. You glance at the contract, at the neat, tidy letters spelling out your own name and Mydei’s right next to each other, and feel something bitter curl up in your chest.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you mutter.

Anaxa pats your shoulder as he heads for the door. “Try not to do it on stage. Though that might actually sell more tickets.”

You flip him off without looking, and Anaxa just laughs on his way out. The contract sits there on the coffee table, and no matter what you do, you can’t seem to look away. Your eyes blur over the words, and all you can think about is him.

Mydei.

You’ve spent months forcing yourself not to say his name out loud, not to think about his legs tangled with yours in bed or the rasp of his voice in your ear when he couldn’t keep his hands to himself before a show. You don’t let yourself think about the songs you wrote together. You definitely don’t think about the way it all fell apart. It was easier when you could pretend that part of your life was over—when you didn’t have to picture his face or hear his voice in your head, mocking you with every love song you swore you’d never sing again.

With a resigned sigh, you grab the pen Anaxa had placed next to the contract papers and flip to the last page. Your signature comes out a little shaky, but it’s done. You let the pen drop onto the table and lean back against the cushions. 

The rehearsal studio feels too small. It’s ironic, really—after spending years crammed into dingy vans and shitty motel rooms together, you’d think it wouldn’t bother you. You’re the first person there (Anaxa had threatened to personally drag you out of your apartment if you didn’t show up on time), and because you don’t know what else to do, you set about adjusting your mic stand.

It’s stupid. You know it’s already set to your height, but it gives your hands something to do. The room is way too quiet, the walls lined with soundproofing and a few faded posters from when your band—the Chrysos Heirs—was at its peak. There’s a familiar, musty smell—stale air and old fabric—and it makes your chest ache just a little.

Without really thinking about it, you start humming one of the old songs—one that never made it to an album, just something you and Mydei had messed around with one night in the back of a bus. The melody flows out of you like muscle memory, soft and a little shaky at first, but gaining strength as you let the lyrics slip past your lips.

“Kiss me once and call me baby,Lie to me and say I’m crazy—Can’t believe I let you take me—”

The door swings open mid-verse, and you stop singing so fast it almost gives you whiplash.

Mydei steps inside, and for a second, you can’t move. It’s like being punched in the gut—seeing him again after all this time. He looks almost the same, and that’s what pisses you off the most. The same messy hair, the same worn leather jacket hanging off his shoulders, that same stupid, self-assured expression. The only real difference is the hint of stubble lining his jaw, like he didn’t bother shaving before showing up. Typical.

He stops just inside the door, guitar case slung over his shoulder, and his eyes lock onto yours. His expression doesn’t give away much—just a calm, uninterested look, like he couldn’t give a shit about being here. Your stomach twists, anger simmering just under your skin. You’d spent months convincing yourself that you’d moved on, that he didn’t matter anymore, but seeing him here, right in front of you, makes all that effort feel pointless. You hate that he still looks good. 

He doesn’t say anything, just drags his gaze over you like he’s sizing you up. You force yourself not to react, keeping your expression as neutral as possible, even though your hands are shaking where they grip the mic stand. You can’t let him know how much this is messing with you. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

Mydei glances at the mic stand, then back at you, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, maybe, or just plain indifference. You don’t know which is worse. You half expect him to make some smartass comment about your singing earlier, but he doesn’t say a word. Just sets his guitar case down on one of the couches and starts unzipping it, still not acknowledging you.

The way he’s ignoring you grates on your nerves. You’re tempted to snap at him just to get some kind of reaction. But you know how that game goes—how he’s always been good at pushing your buttons and making you the one who loses their cool first. You’re not giving him the satisfaction today.

You busy yourself with the mic stand again, even though there’s nothing to fix. It’s something to do with your hands, at least. The air feels thick, and your chest feels tight, and you can’t stop your mind from wandering back to late-night songwriting sessions and whispered promises that ended up meaning nothing. You wonder if he thinks about those nights too—or if he’s just moved on completely while you’re still stuck in the aftermath.

The door swings open again, and Castorice and Hyacine walk in, chatting and laughing about something. They both pause when they see you and Mydei, exchanging a quick look before stepping inside.

“Hi,” Castorice greets, adjusting the hem of her faded purple band t-shirt. “Everything okay here?”

You force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “Yeah. All good.”

Hyacine gives you a small smile, her pigtails swinging, and starts setting up her bass. Castorice nudges Mydei with her elbow as she passes by, but he just shrugs her off and keeps tuning his guitar. She rolls her eyes and grabs her drumsticks.

You can’t help but glare at him, half-hoping he’ll look up so you can throw something snarky his way. Maybe if he’d just stop pretending like you’re invisible, you wouldn’t feel like your chest is caving in. You’re caught between wanting to scream at him and wanting to leave before your hands start shaking too hard to hide.

Phainon slips in a few minutes later, his snowy hair wind-ruffled and his jeans ripped at the knees. “Already at each other’s throats, huh?” he mutters, mostly to himself, but you hear it.

“Nah,” you bite out. “No one’s dead yet.”

Phainon chuckles and unslings his guitar case. It’s forced, yes, and you know he’s just trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t help much. Mydei doesn’t even acknowledge the comment; he just keeps strumming a few notes like he’s deliberately tuning you out. You look away.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “Chrysos Heirs: The Reunion Tour – Behind the Music. Episode One.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]Soft lighting. Castorice sits on a stool, tapping her drumsticks against her knee absentmindedly. She grins when she notices the camera.

CASTORICE: The first practice? Oh, man. That was a nightmare. I mean, I know it was gonna be awkward, but—wow. I half expected the room to just spontaneously combust. (Laughs) They didn’t even look at each other for the first half hour. I thought I’d have to throw a cymbal at someone just to break the ice.

[CUT TO: HYACINE, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her bass leaning against her shoulder.]

HYACINE: Honestly, I wasn’t sure if they’d even show up. _____ got there first, and Mydei came just before me and Cas showed up. When we walked in… (Sighs) It was like stepping into a freezer. I kept looking at Castorice like, Are we really doing this?

[CUT TO: PHAINON, leaning against the wall with his guitar propped up next to him.]

PHAINON: You could cut the tension with a knife. I was just waiting for one of them to snap, honestly. ____ was messing with the mic stand like it owed her money, and Mydei—(snorts) he just acted like he didn’t give a shit. Everyone knows he does, though. I could see his hands shaking a little while he was tuning his guitar.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, slouched on the couch, arms crossed.]

MYDEI: First practice? Whatever. I showed up, didn’t I? (Shrugs) _____ was already there, singing something I wrote. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t feel like arguing. Didn’t feel like… dealing with that. (Pauses) We got through it. That’s what matters.

[CUT TO: YOU, sitting on a folding chair, arms crossed, eyes fixed somewhere off camera.]

YOU: I didn’t think he’d actually come. And when he did… (shakes head) I was just angry. At him, at myself. At the fact that he didn’t even look at me. We used to be… I don’t know. Better than that. He didn’t say anything to me, and I wasn’t gonna be the one to break first. We both have too much pride.

[CUT TO: CASTORICE AGAIN, twirling a drumstick between her fingers.]

CASTORICE: Eventually, I just started playing something random to break the silence. That usually worked back then—get the rhythm going, and the rest will follow. I guess some things never change, because once I started up, Phainon joined in, and Hyacine just kinda jumped in too. ____ and Mydei just stared at each other like it was some kind of weird staring contest.

[CUT TO: HYACINE AGAIN, laughing softly.]

HYACINE: I thought one of them was gonna strangle the other before we even got to the chorus. But after a few minutes of us just messing around with the intro, _____ gave in and started singing. Mydei followed—stubborn asshole—but it actually sounded good. Like, almost better than I remembered.

[CUT TO: PHAINON AGAIN, smiling with his eyes crinkled at the corners.]

PHAINON: It was a mess. A beautiful mess. That’s just how it is with us. Always on the edge of imploding but somehow making it work. They didn’t say a word to each other the whole practice, but the music spoke for them. It’s weird how that works, huh?

[CUT TO: MYDEI, still looking annoyed, but his jaw clenches a little.]

MYDEI: We got through the set. It wasn’t… terrible. (Pauses) She still sings like she’s got something to prove. Never really lost that passion. I guess that’s one thing that hasn’t changed.

[CUT TO: YOU, looking almost hesitant.]

YOU: The music was the only thing that didn’t feel different. That’s the worst part. We still fit together on stage. I don’t know how to feel about that.

ii). he had an ego and a temper and a wandering eye.

The venue is packed, lights flashing in time with the beats of the opening song. Castorice is good. That hasn’t changed, not even a little. The heat of the stage lights is already making sweat prickle at the back of your neck, but you force yourself to ignore it, keeping your eyes fixed on the dark mass of people in front of you. You can barely make out individual faces past the glare, but it doesn’t matter—they’re all screaming, hands in the air, chanting your band’s name like a war cry.

To your left, Hyacine’s fingers fly over the bass strings, head bobbing in time with the rhythm. Her eyes are focused and sharp, lips curved into a smile. Next to her, Phainon strums his guitar, sweat dripping down his temples. He’s got that manic grin on his face, the one that always surfaces when he’s deep in the music.

You’re trying to focus—keep your voice steady, keep your hands from shaking—but it’s hard when you know he’s right behind you, adjusting his guitar strap and dragging his pick over the strings just loud enough to be a distraction. You swear he’s doing it on purpose, plucking random notes like he’s got nothing better to do, just to see if he can make you crack.

You refuse to look back at him. Instead, you take a slow breath and lean into the mic, eyes half-lidded and voice low as you speak to the crowd.

“Hey, everyone,” you drawl, and the noise swells, cheers and screams merging into a single deafening roar. You give them a crooked smile. “Feels good to be back. Did you guys miss us?”

The crowd roars. You can feel it—the way they’ve been waiting for this, for you. You ignore the way it makes your throat close up a little, focusing instead on the setlist displayed on the prompter. The opening song is one of your older hits, the kind of thing that used to play on the radio at least once a day back when it was first released. You’ve sung it a thousand times before, but tonight, it feels different. He’s right there, and you hate how you can feel his presence without even looking.

The drums kick in, pounding through your ribs, and you throw yourself into the first verse.

“Bite your tongue ‘til it bleeds, Hide the bruises on your knees, Say you never cared— I know you’re lying through your teeth.”

Your voice is steady, loud enough to carry over the instruments as the crowd sings with you. You almost lose yourself in it. The light pulses red and white, casting shadows across the stage, and you grip the mic stand tighter, putting every ounce of frustration into your performance.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mydei move closer to his mic, his guitar slung low and his fingers dancing over the strings. You force yourself not to look at him, focusing on the rhythm instead, on keeping your breathing even as the verse transitions into the chorus.

“Bittersweet vendetta, Carved your name into my skin, Kiss me like a secret. Make me wish I’d never let you in.”

You push your voice harder, practically shouting the last line, and the crowd’s response is instantaneous—voices rising to meet yours, some of them screaming loud enough to rival the speakers. You finally risk a glance to your right, just in time to see Mydei’s lips curve into a smirk, his head tilted like he’s daring you to acknowledge him.

He leans into the mic, and his voice slices through the air.

“She lies like she means it, Fake love on her lips—”

You clench your jaw so hard it aches, but you don’t miss your next cue, even though your mind is reeling. That’s not the original line. He’s never changed it before—not in all the years you performed this song together. You shove down the surge of anger, forcing yourself to keep going as if nothing happened.

The audience reacts immediately—some laughing, some whooping. You know they heard it. You know he did it just to get a rise out of you. You hate that it’s working, that your pulse is thrumming in your ears and your hands are shaking even as you keep your expression blank.

You don’t look at him. Instead, you pour every ounce of your irritation into the next verse, voice dropping low and venomous.

“Cut me down with your clever words, Always knew how to make it hurt, Fake your way to heaven, But I’d follow you through hell first.”

You swear you hear Mydei laugh under his breath, but he keeps playing like nothing’s wrong, his fingers moving over the strings like second nature. Your stomach twists, and you can’t tell if it’s fury or something uglier—something that feels like regret buried under years of resentment.

The bridge comes crashing in, and you give it everything you’ve got. Your voice is raw and unrestrained.

“Swore I’d never write about you, Guess I lied again somehow, Made my bed on broken promises, Tell me—are you happy now?”

The crowd’s roar almost drowns you out, but you don’t let up, spitting out the words like they’re poison on your tongue. You’re breathless by the time the final chorus hits, and the last line comes out almost like a snarl.

When the song ends, the audience erupts, and you finally allow yourself a moment to breathe, wiping sweat from your forehead with your palm. Your ears are ringing, but you catch a glimpse of Mydei as he steps back from his mic, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He doesn’t look at you. Nor does he seem to particularly care that he just tore through one of your most iconic songs with a cheap, unnecessary jab.

You force a smile and wave to the crowd.

The moment the stage lights cut out and the cheers of the crowd fade behind the heavy backstage door, you’re off. You don’t bother thanking the crew or even stopping to catch your breath—you just march straight to the green room, hands still trembling from the adrenaline and the anger. Your heart’s pounding so loud in your ears that you barely hear the door swing open behind you.

You whirl around just as Mydei walks in, still wiping sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt. The sight of him—smirking like he didn’t just pull that shit on stage—makes your stomach twist with rage.

“What the fuck was that?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intended, but you don’t care.

Mydei just raises an eyebrow, like he’s confused about why you’re yelling. “What was what?”

“Don’t play fucking dumb,” you snap. “You changed the fucking lyrics. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He just shrugs and tosses his towel onto one of the chairs. “Oh, that. Yeah, I thought it sounded better. More honest.”

You take a step closer, jabbing a finger at him. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just rewrite shit on stage without telling anyone. We practiced that song a hundred times, Mydei. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You’re really gonna get this worked up over one line?” He scoffs, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Come on, it’s not that deep.”

“Not that deep?” You laugh, but it’s humourless and cold. “You made it sound like I’m some kind of manipulative bitch in front of thousands of people! How the hell am I supposed to not get worked up about that?”

“Maybe if it wasn’t true, it wouldn’t bother you so much,” he says, leaning back against the wall.

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Mydei shrugs again, his voice low and taunting. “You always were good at faking it—feelings, sincerity, the whole tragic frontwoman act. Sorry if I just cut through the bullshit.”

Something snaps inside you, and before you even realise it, you shove him backwards with both hands. Mydei doesn’t stumble, but his smirk falls for just a second—just enough to make you feel a flicker of satisfaction.

“Fuck you,” you spit out. “You don’t know a single thing about me.”

His face hardens, and he pushes off the wall to get right back into your space. “Don’t I? I know you lie like it’s second nature. You get off on being the victim, pretending like you’re the one who got hurt. But we both know you’re just as guilty as I am.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” You’re breathing hard now, fists clenched at your sides to keep from swinging at him. “You’re the one who decided to leave the band first. I’m not the one who bailed.”

“Yeah, because sticking around and watching you sabotage everything we built together sounded like a blast. You’re impossible to deal with. Always have been.”

“You think I’m impossible? You’re the one who picks a fight every chance you get. It’s like you can’t stand if I’m not miserable,” you shoot back. “Newsflash, Mydei—not everything’s about you and your bruised ego.”

“Says the girl who can’t stand it when someone calls her out,” he says, lips curling into a mocking grin. “Maybe I hit a nerve because you know I’m right. You’re so used to being adored that the second someone questions you, you lose your shit.”

You shove him again, harder this time, and he doesn’t move—just stays rooted to the spot, glaring down at you. “God, I hate you,” you seethe, voice cracking despite yourself.

“Funny. Didn’t sound like hate the last time you were screaming my name.”

You freeze, heat rushing to your face, and the anger bubbles into something darker—something desperate and bitter. “You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you? Always gotta have the last word, always gotta prove something. You’re pathetic.”

“You’re one to talk,” he grits out. “Still hung up on shit that happened years ago. I’m pathetic? You’re the one still singing about heartbreak like it’s gonna make people feel sorry for you.”

You want to hit him. You want to scream at him until your voice breaks. Instead, you shove him again, and this time he catches your wrists, yanking you forward until your chest brushes his. His face is inches from yours, breath hot against your cheek.

“Admit it,” Mydei murmurs, low. “You’re pissed because I called you out, and now you can’t hide behind your lyrics like a coward.”

You wrench your hands free, but you don’t move back. You’re too close, breathing hard. “You’re such a fucking asshole,” you whisper, voice tight.

His eyes bore into yours. “And you’re a goddamn liar.”

Before either of you can say anything else, Hyacine pushes the door open with a scowl. She takes one look at the two of you and shakes her head. “Seriously? Already? I knew this tour would be a shitshow, but I didn’t think you’d try to kill each other on night one.”

You finally rip yourself away from him, swiping at your face like you’re trying to scrub the confrontation off your skin. Mydei doesn’t look at you. He just picks up his towel and wipes his hands.

Castorice slips in behind Hyacine, still buzzing from the performance. “Kephale, you two are like feral cats. Can’t we just chill for five seconds?”

“We’ve got interviews in ten minutes,” Phainon pipes up from behind her. “You guys need to get your shit together.”

Hyacine levels both of you with a glare. “I don’t care what personal shit you’ve got going on, but don’t pull that crap on stage again. Mydei, you don’t change the lyrics without telling us. _____, stop feeding into his bullshit. You’re both being idiots.”

Neither of you says anything, but you’re still seething, trying to force down the bitter ache in your chest. Mydei rolls his shoulders and turns away, his shaggy hair falling down the nape of his neck. When you finally turn and leave the room, you can still feel his eyes on your back, and it makes your skin crawl. You tell yourself you’re just glad to be away from him, but the knot in your stomach says otherwise.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “Opening Night – Sold Out.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: CASTORICE, her expression thoughtful.]

CASTORICE: Okay, look, I’m not gonna go around pinning the blame on anyone. That doesn’t do anyone any good. (Shifts slightly) I just think that we’re all adults here, and what Mydei and _____ were doing didn’t do us any favours.

[CUT TO: HYACINE, scowling at the camera.]

HYACINE: They’re pretty f***ing immature, if you ask me. Sometimes I think Mydei and _____ forget that they’re not the only people in the band. They founded it, sure, but what about me, Cas, and Phainon? This isn’t just some petty high school-level battle of the bands shit. This is our f***ing careers we’re talking about.

[CUT TO: PHAINON, leaning back with a cigarette rolling between his fingers.]

PHAINON: Yeah, it’s real inspiring when your frontmen are trying to rip each other’s heads off backstage. Real rock and roll. (Scoffs) Look, they’re both stubborn as hell, and it’s not like we didn’t see it coming. You put two people with that much history on the same stage, and it’s like throwing a match into gasoline.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, arms spread out on the back of the couch.]

MYDEI: It’s not my fault she can’t handle the truth. We’re supposed to be putting on a show, aren’t we? Guess what—drama’s a part of it. If she wants to get pissed because I added a little honesty to the setlist, that’s on her. (Shrugs) I’m not gonna apologise for making it real.

[CUT TO: YOU, visibly tense, gripping the edge of your seat.]

YOU: He didn’t change the lyrics because it was real. He did it to hurt me. There’s a difference. It’s not about the fans, or the show, or whatever bullshit excuse he’s telling himself. It’s about control. He just couldn’t stand the fact that I was getting through it without him, that I was… fine. (Pauses) Or at least trying to be.

[CUT TO: CASTORICE AGAIN, rubbing the back of her neck.]

CASTORICE: (Sighs) You’d think that after all these years, they’d have learned how to work together without turning it into a battlefield. We’re not in high school anymore. We’re on tour. If one of them messes up, it’s not just their mess to clean up—it’s all of ours.

[CUT TO: HYACINE AGAIN, looking more annoyed than before.]

HYACINE: It’s exhausting. We’re just trying to make music, not mediate whatever unresolved shit they’ve got going on. Half the time, I feel like I’m babysitting. They either need to figure it out or shut the hell up and be professional for once.

[CUT TO: PHAINON AGAIN, giving a resigned laugh.]

PHAINON: Honestly, if they’d just screw and get it over with, we might finally get some peace around here.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, AGAIN]

MYDEI: Phainon said that? Not a chance. I’d rather set my guitar on fire.

[CUT TO: YOU AGAIN, rolling your eyes.]

YOU: Yeah, well, might be the most impressive thing Mydei’s done in a while.

iii). do i love him? do i hate him? i guess it’s up and down.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “The Founders’ Cut.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: YOU, sitting upright with your arms crossed.]

INTERVIEWER (off-camera): Can you tell us about the band’s early days? How did the Chrysos Heirs come together?

YOU: God, that feels like forever ago. (Pauses) It was just me and Mydei at first. We were… just kids, really. We’d meet up after school in my dad’s garage—him on guitar, me scribbling down lyrics on whatever scraps of paper we could find. It wasn’t anything serious back then. We just wanted to make noise and piss off the neighbours.

INTERVIEWER: Did you always know it was going to be a band?

YOU: (Shakes head) Not at all. We didn’t plan for it to be anything more than a way to kill time. We’d play until our fingers ached or Dad came out yelling at us to cut it out. (Smiles a little) It was messy and loud and—fun. We didn’t think much past that.

INTERVIEWER: When did it start to feel like more than just noise?

YOU: When Castorice came into the picture. She was incredible. She had this way of making everything tighter, more precise. Like she just knew what needed to happen to make the sound click. Mydei knew her from some music workshop thing—said she was the only drummer he’d met who wasn’t full of shit. (Laughs softly) One day, she just showed up with this beat-up drum set and told us our timing was crap. And she was right.

INTERVIEWER: What was your reaction to her criticism?

YOU: Oh, I was pissed. I didn’t want some stranger telling us we were doing it wrong. But she wasn’t mean about it—just honest, I suppose. And once she started playing, we couldn’t really argue with her. She made us sound like an actual band.

INTERVIEWER: And Hyacine and Phainon? How did they join?

YOU: They came later. We’d been playing these tiny, shitty bar shows—barely getting paid, just trying to scrape together enough for gas and food. It was clear we needed a bassist. Castorice was the one who pushed for it. She said we sounded hollow without that low end. She knew Hyacine from some other band that had just imploded—some drama I never got the full story on. Hyacine came in and just took over. She was relentless, always pushing for perfection. It drove me and Mydei crazy at first, but she made us sound good. Really good.

INTERVIEWER: And Phainon?

YOU: (Smiles fondly) Phainon was a surprise. Mydei found him at some underground gig—he was up there shredding like it was the easiest thing in the world. Mydei practically dragged him to rehearsal the next day, and Phainon barely said a word. He just picked up his guitar and played like he’d been with us the whole time. We didn’t even have to teach him the songs—he just… knew. It was weird, but it worked.

INTERVIEWER: What was it like performing together back then?

YOU: Incredible. We weren’t perfect by any means—we’d f**k up chord changes and stumble over lyrics, but people didn’t care. There was this energy that made up for it. The crowd felt it too. We’d get off stage, drenched in sweat, hearts pounding, and just laugh about how much we almost screwed up. Those shows were something else.

INTERVIEWER: And what about you and Mydei? You two were already together by then?

YOU: (Pauses, glancing away) Yeah. It just happened. It wasn’t really something we talked about—it just made sense at the time. We were always around each other anyway.

INTERVIEWER: What changed?

YOU: (Exhales slowly) Success changed things. Suddenly we were everywhere—touring, interviews, non-stop shows. We didn’t have time to breathe, let alone talk about anything that mattered. It was just… go, go, go. And when things got tough, we didn’t know how to handle it. We didn’t talk. We just fought. About stupid shit—lyrics, setlists, tempos. It wasn’t about the band anymore. It was about us, trying to hurt each other without admitting that’s what we were doing.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, leaning back in his chair with one arm thrown across the back of it.]

INTERVIEWER (off-camera): Can you talk about why you left the band?

MYDEI: (Exhales, looks away for a moment) It wasn’t… one thing, you know? People always want it to be simple, like there’s one big reason I just up and left. But it wasn’t. There was just—too much shit piling up. Tension between all of us, pressure from the label, and I wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with it.

INTERVIEWER: Do you regret it?

MYDEI: Sometimes. Maybe. I didn’t really think about what it would do to the others at the time. I needed to figure out who I was without the band. It was selfish, I know, but I couldn’t keep pretending I was okay with how things were going.

INTERVIEWER: Were you unhappy with the band itself, or just the dynamics between the members?

MYDEI: Both, I guess. The band was everything to me at one point. It was the one thing I thought I could count on. But then it just got… complicated. We went from just being a bunch of idiots messing around to something huge, and I wasn’t ready for that kind of pressure. The music stopped feeling like ours—like mine. It was just what everyone else wanted from us.

INTERVIEWER: How did the others react when you told them you were leaving?

MYDEI: (Chuckles bitterly) Not well. Castorice tried to talk me out of it—said I was being impulsive and throwing away something we’d built from the ground up. Hyacine was pissed. She didn’t say much, but I could tell she was angry. Phainon didn’t say anything at all. Just kind of… stared at me like I’d betrayed him or something.

INTERVIEWER: And _____?

MYDEI: (Stiffens) She didn’t take it well. She said I was running away—like I always did. We fought about it for hours. Nothing we said made sense by the end of it. Just yelling for the sake of yelling. I think we both knew it wasn’t just about the band at that point.

INTERVIEWER: After you left, the Chrysos Heirs seemed to almost dissolve overnight. Can you talk about that?

MYDEI: (Breathes out slowly) Yeah, I heard about it a few months later. It wasn’t something I expected. I thought they’d keep going without me, honestly. I didn’t think I was that important. (Pauses) Turns out, though, that me leaving kind of pulled the rug out from under everything. 

INTERVIEWER: Did the others ever talk to you about it?

MYDEI: Castorice called me once. She didn’t say much, just that they’d decided to take a break, and that without me there, it wasn’t working. She didn’t blame me, exactly, but I could hear it in her voice. Like she was trying not to say that I’d screwed everything up. (Shakes his head) Phainon never reached out. I don’t know if he was angry or just—disappointed. Hyacine texted me some stuff, mostly updates, but nothing about how they felt about it.

INTERVIEWER: What about _____?

MYDEI: (Tenses visibly) We never spoke to each other after I left.

INTERVIEWER: Do you think that the band dissolving hurt her the most?

MYDEI: Yeah. I know it did. The band was everything to her—more than it was to any of us, I think. She was always the one pushing us to go further, to make better music, to keep going even when it was hard. So when it all fell apart… I know she took it personally. Like she failed or something. Especially when I saw her trying to do solo stuff after that. 

INTERVIEWER: Did you listen to her solo work?

MYDEI: (Nods) Every track. It was good—different, but good.

The studio lights beat down on you like a relentless sun, and you resist the urge to wipe at the thin sheen of sweat forming at your hairline. You force yourself to smile through it, shoulders squared and posture just right, even as your muscles ache from holding the same position for too long. Castorice mutters under her breath about how awkward it feels to act casual when there’s a giant lens pointed right at your face; you can’t help but agree. It’s been ages since the last group photoshoot, and the discomfort is hard to ignore.

Mydei stands at the far end, stiff and distant, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. He’s staring at some fixed point behind the photographer’s head, looking like he’s seconds away from bolting. It drives you insane how obvious he’s being about not wanting to be here. You catch his eye once, and the look he gives you is so blank, it’s almost insulting.

Castorice throws an arm across Phainon’s shoulders, and the two lean into each other. Hyacine sits cross-legged in front of you, holding up two peace signs and grinning widely.

“All right, good! That’s enough for the group shots,” Aglaea, the director of photography, calls out, clapping her hands together. “Everyone but Mydei and _____, take five. I want a few duo shots.”

You stiffen. Castorice glances between the two of you with something close to worry, but when you shoot her a tight smile, she just shrugs and heads off with Hyacine and Phainon in tow.

Mydei hasn’t moved an inch, his hands still stuffed into his pockets, jaw tight. You take a slow breath and will yourself not to let him get under your skin. Not again.

Aglaea gestures you both forward, clearly sensing the awkwardness but too professional to comment on it. “All right, you two. Let’s lean into the chemistry a bit. I want intimate and raw—like the world’s finally looking at you both behind the professional masks.”

Your lips press into a thin line. Mydei doesn’t react at all.

“Face each other,” Aglaea instructs, waving a hand to adjust the lighting. It catches on the bright gold of her blouse, and you blink a little. “Mydei, hands on her waist. _____, put your hands on his shoulders. Closer. I need to feel the tension. Like you’re caught between fighting and kissing.”

You almost laugh at the irony. That’s practically all you’ve done since he showed up again—hovering somewhere between wanting to scream at him and wanting to grab his face and never let go. The thought burns. You squash it as you step forward.

Mydei’s hands settle on your waist, and it’s as if electricity crackles through you, setting every nerve alight. His touch is hesitant, like he’s not sure he has the right to be this close anymore. Your hands come up to his shoulders, fingers brushing over familiar leather and muscle, and you force yourself to look up at him.

His eyes catch yours. Neither of you moves. He looks at you like he’s seeing something he thought he’d lost, and it makes your heart twist painfully.

“Closer,” Aglaea calls out, voice clipped. “Mydei, lean in like you’re about to say something you’ve been holding back for years. _____, tilt your chin up—give him that look, like you’re angry but imploring.”

You do as she says, your breath hitching when his forehead dips to rest against yours. Your fingers tighten against his shoulders, and his hands shift on your waist, thumbs brushing over the fabric of your shirt like he’s trying to memorise the feel of it. Those strands of hair that he always braids because he claimed it made him look “edgy” brushes against the curve of your cheek. You can feel his breath fan across your face, warm and familiar, and it hurts how natural it feels.

When you look to the side, Aglaea is frowning. “Closer,” she says again. “I need to see that longing.”

You don’t bother hiding your scoff, muttering under your breath, “Maybe it’d be easier if he didn’t look like he’d rather be doing literally anything else.”

His eyes snap to yours, defensive. “Sorry I’m not putting on enough of a show for you,” he mutters back, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Maybe if you actually gave a damn, it wouldn’t feel like pulling teeth,” you hiss.

He narrows his eyes, tightening his grip just a fraction, enough to make your pulse jump. “There you fucking go again. Acting like you’re the only one who cares about this.”

You force yourself to keep the smile plastered on your face for the camera, teeth clenched. “Oh, forgive me for thinking you don’t give a shit. It’s not like you haven’t disappeared for months without a word.”

“You think I wanted to leave?”

“You didn’t exactly try to stay,” you snap, fingers digging into his shoulders. “You left me to deal with the fallout while you got to play the tortured artist somewhere else. And now you’re back, and you’re acting like none of it mattered.”

“You didn’t want me to stay,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “You didn’t even ask.”

The accusation slices through you, and your grip on his shoulders loosens. “How was I supposed to ask when you made up your mind without me?” you fire back. “You made it clear that I wasn’t worth staying for.”

His expression hardens, like he’s trying to cover the hurt bleeding through his anger. “That’s not fair. You never once asked how I felt about it. You just decided I didn’t care.”

You want to scream at him for being so oblivious—for acting like you didn’t spend weeks waiting for a call that never came. Instead, you force your lips into a tight, brittle smile. “Guess you made it pretty damn convincing when you left even though I asked you to stay.”

Something in his eyes cracks, just for a moment, but then Aglaea’s voice cuts through.

“Yes! That’s it!” she crows. “Keep it up. Mydei, cup her face.”

He doesn’t move at first, just stares down at you, his breath coming out in uneven bursts. Then his hand lifts, cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek like it’s muscle memory. The way he looks at you, then, makes your throat close up.

You want to push him away, but your hands stay where they are, like they’re glued to him. Aglaea calls out more instructions, but her voice is distant—just noise behind the thunder in your chest.

When she finally calls for a wrap, you step back, your hands falling limply to your sides. Mydei’s arms drop away from you, his face shuttered and closed off again. You don’t look at him as you turn on your heel and walk off to the break room, every muscle in your body screaming with the urge to just get away from him before you say something even worse.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “The Members’ Cut.”

The screen fades out into grainy footage from an old concert: Mydei and _____ on stage, harmonising, Mydei strumming his guitar while _____ sways with the mic. The audience sways as one, flashlights held up as they move in time with the song. The video fades out.

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: PHAINON, sitting cross-legged on a couch, an easy smile on his face.]

PHAINON: Back then? Man, they were something else. You’d think they were fused at the hip with how much time they spent together. Writing songs at three in the morning, huddled over some crumpled notebook, arguing about chord progressions one second and laughing the next. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people make something so good while simultaneously wanting to strangle each other. It was weirdly sweet.

[CUT TO: CASTORICE, sitting in a green room with her legs swung over the arm of a chair.]

CASTORICE: _____ used to steal Mydei’s hoodies every time we hit a new city. Didn’t matter how hot it was—she’d be drowning in that thing, sleeves halfway covering her hands. Mydei’d just roll his eyes and mumble something about it smelling weird when he got it back, but he never complained. They’d go on these stupid little coffee dates whenever we had downtime—just the two of them, sneaking off like no one would notice. We noticed. Everyone noticed.

[CUT TO: HYACINE, sitting on the floor of the green room.]

HYACINE: Honestly? Their songs were the best ones we ever wrote. Together, they just… clicked. It was effortless. I think the first time I heard “After Midnight”, I kinda wanted to throw up from how sweet it was. But you could tell—every word, every note—they put their whole hearts into it. It was like they were making something for just the two of them, and the rest of us were lucky to get a piece of it.

[CUT TO: PHAINON AGAIN, still sporting that easy smile.]

PHAINON: But, y’know, things got complicated. Like they always do. They’re both stubborn as hell, and neither of them knows how to sit down and talk without throwing metaphorical knives at each other. Still… (Laughs softly) I stand by what I said. If they screw each other and get it over with, everyone’s gonna be okay.

iv). wanna kiss his face with an uppercut.

You’re sprawled across the hotel bed, face buried in the pillow, when your phone rings. You groan, tempted to ignore it, but the screen flashes Anaxagoras’ name, and you know better than to let it go to voicemail.

You pick up and press the phone to your ear. “Yeah?”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Anaxa deadpans. His voice is brisk, no-nonsense as always. “I’m just checking in.”

“Fantastic,” you say dryly, sitting up and running a hand through your hair. “Photoshoot went great. Almost fought Mydei. Twice.”

“Great Kephale,” he mutters, and you can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you two still at each other’s throats?”

“It’s kind of hard not to be when he acts like breathing the same air as me is a personal insult,” you snap. “Aglaea made us take those stupid couple shots, and he looked like he wanted to die the whole time. It’s—” You break off, clenching your jaw. “It’s annoying.”

Anaxa grunts, unimpressed. “You’re letting him get to you.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Then stop it,” he says, as if it’s that easy. “You don’t have to like him, but you do have to get through this. It’s one shoot and a few public appearances. You’ve handled worse.”

“That’s the problem. It’s not supposed to be worse. We’re supposed to be professionals, but he’s—he’s making it impossible.”

Anaxa doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, his tone is firm. “Look, if he wants to act like a child, let him. You don’t have to stoop to his level. Smile for the camera, grit your teeth if you have to, and don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s pissing you off.”

You hate that he’s right. “Yeah. I know.”

“You want me to handle anything?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head even though he can’t see it. “I’ll deal with it.”

He doesn’t bother with goodbyes, just hangs up like always. You let your phone drop onto the bed and slump back down, staring up at the ceiling. You hate that it’s still gnawing at you—the frustration, the hurt, the way Mydei’s indifference feels like a punch to the gut every single time.

You tell yourself it’s fine. You can handle it. You’ve been through worse.

A knock at the door startles you out of your thoughts. You blink, wondering if you imagined it, but then it comes again—more impatient, this time. You groan and push yourself up, dragging your feet as you cross the room. Your muscles still ache from the photoshoot, and your mood hasn’t improved because of Anaxa’s call.

You pull the door open, expecting maybe Castorice or one of the others, but it’s Mydei. He leans against the doorframe, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his jaw set in that familiar way that makes you want to slam the door right in his face.

“What do you want?” you snap, not even attempting to sound polite.

He glances away, gaze fixed on some spot above your shoulder. “I— Just wanted to—”

“Oh, please,” you interrupt. “Like you fucking care.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m starting,” you snap back, “because you spent the whole fucking day making it perfectly clear that breathing the same air as me is unbearable, and now you’re playing concerned? Do you even look at yourself?”

“Maybe I do care,” he tells you, and you cut in again.

“You’re the one who looked like he’d rather die than put his hands on me. Trust me, I noticed.”

“It’s not that—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenched, and steps closer. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me!” you shoot back, shoving his shoulder. “You can’t just act like a dick and expect me to read your mind. Or are you still too much of a coward to admit anything out loud?”

That hits a nerve. His eyes flash, and he steps into your space, so close you can feel the heat coming off him. “Maybe if you didn’t act so fucking righteous all the time, I wouldn’t feel like I’m losing my mind around you,” he spits out.

“Yeah?” you challenge, shoving him again just to get him to react. “Maybe if you didn’t keep running away every time something actually matters, we wouldn’t be stuck in this stupid cycle!”

He grabs your wrist, yanking you even closer, and you can feel his breath on your face, warm and ragged. “I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are,” you hiss, your voice cracking despite yourself. “You always do. You think if you act like nothing happened, it’ll just go away. Well, fuck you, Mydei, because it doesn’t.”

He looks at you like he wants to argue, but his jaw works soundlessly, and you’re so sick of it—so tired of dancing around whatever’s been festering between you since the band split. Before you know it, your hands are gripping the front of his jacket, yanking him forward just as he crushes his mouth against yours.

It’s not soft or careful—nothing about it is gentle. It’s teeth and heat and frustration, like trying to punish each other for every stupid fight, every missed chance. He makes a low, frustrated noise, backing you into the room and kicking the door shut behind him.

Your hands are tangled in his hair now, and his grip on your waist is bruising, like he’s terrified you’ll pull away. You bite down on his lower lip, and he groans against your mouth, pressing you back until your spine meets the wall.

“You’re an asshole,” you mutter against his lips, barely catching your breath.

He just smirks, dragging his mouth down to your jaw, his voice rough and breathless. “Yeah? You’re not much better.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and he doesn’t even try to hide the shiver that rolls through him. You hate him—you hate him so much for making you feel like this, for pushing and pulling and never letting you breathe. But right now, with his mouth on yours and his hands on your body and heat pooling inside your stomach, the only thing you can think of is him taking you against the wall.

You barely register the way Mydei lifts you off the ground, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he pins you to the wall. His mouth is hot and unrelenting against yours, like he’s trying to erase every insult you’ve ever thrown at him. You’re just as ruthless, biting at his lips and tugging his hair hard enough to make him growl.

He eases you down when you moan—embarrassingly loudly, but you don’t give a fuck. His hand slides under the waistband of your jeans, and you don’t stop him. You let him tug them down, the denim sliding down your legs and pooling at your ankles. Mydei lifts you up, just so you stand on your tiptoes long enough for him to kick them aside. Every brush of his skin against yours feels like an assault—every touch a reminder of all the hurt, all the anger—but you don’t pull away. 

You hate him. You love him. You need him.

His hands slide down to your thighs, gripping tight enough to leave marks, and then he pulls back, panting, his eyes dark and wild. You’re wet by now, enough that your underwear feels cool from where a damp spot has formed already.

“You always have to have the last fucking word, don’t you?” he grits out.

You scoff. “Someone’s gotta knock you off your high horse.”

He huffs a laugh, but it’s rough. Without warning, he drops to his knees, his hands slipping under your thighs to keep you steady as he buries his face between your legs.

You gasp, one hand flying to the wall to brace yourself, the other still tangled in his hair. Mydei doesn’t waste any time—he’s ruthless, licking you through the fabric of your panties. It makes your head spin. You choke on a moan, trying to squirm, but he just tightens his grip, keeping you firmly in place.

“Mydei—” you start, but his teeth graze your inner thigh, and your words dissolve into a shuddering gasp.

“Shut up,” he mutters, yanking your underwear to the side and pressing his mouth against your folds with a fierce sort of hunger. His tongue flicks over your clit, and your head falls back against the wall, a keening sound leaving your throat.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you manage to choke out, even as your thighs tremble around his head.

He laughs against you, the vibrations making you bite down on your lip to stifle a whimper. “You’re still running your mouth,” he taunts, giving your thigh a squeeze. “Wonder if I can make you shut up.”

He doubles down, sucking your clit between his lips and flicking his tongue in a manner that has you seeing stars. Your nails scrape against his scalp, and he just groans in response, the vibrations sending another shockwave through you. Your hips jerk forward. He grips you harder, dragging his mouth down to lick at your folds like he’s starved for it.

Your fingers tighten in his hair. You can’t help the way you tug him closer, grinding against his face despite yourself. Mydei merely hums approvingly, his hands sliding under your ass to lift you higher, pressing you harder against the wall.

When his tongue dips inside your clenching hole, your knees almost give out, but he holds you steady, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming, maddening pleasure. You’re barely breathing, trying to swallow down the sounds threatening to spill out, but when he curls his tongue just right, you can’t stop the loud, desperate moan that breaks free.

He pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, his lips slick and his eyes burning. “You done being a brat now?”

You glare down at him, panting and still shaking. “Fuck you.”

His smirk only widens, and before you can blink, he’s pressing his mouth against you again—rough, merciless, relentless. It doesn’t take long before your vision blurs and your head tips back, his name tearing from your lips as you come against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop until your thighs are trembling and your grip on his hair has gone slack, and even then, he licks you through the aftershocks like he’s addicted to the taste of you. When he finally pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stands, and says, “You’ll give me one more, won’t you?”

Your breath comes out in shallow pants. You can barely muster the energy to glare at him, but his smirk only grows as he straightens up, dragging his hands up your sides and pushing your shirt higher until it’s bunched under your arms. You’re still too dazed to protest when he lifts it over your head, tossing it to the floor before his hands find your waist again, pulling you flush against him.

He dips down to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his lips—sweet and dizzying all at once. You’re still recovering from your climax, but it doesn’t matter—he kisses you like he’s making up for every second he hasn’t touched you, rough and a little desperate, his hands squeezing your hips.

His hands slide up your back, finding the clasp of your bra. You don’t even have time to catch your breath before he unhooks it and slides and straps down your arms, tossing it aside without a second thought. His mouth is back on yours in an instant, but his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that makes your back arch off the wall.

You don’t even think before your fingers find the hem of his shirt, pushing it up and over his head, and he helps you get it off before crashing his mouth against yours again. Your hands roam over his bare chest, feeling the hard lines of muscle and the rapid beat of his heart under your fingertips. His skin is warm and slightly slick with sweat, and you can’t resist scraping your nails lightly down his abdomen just to feel him shiver.

He bites down on your lower lip in retaliation, and you gasp into his mouth. It earns you a low chuckle. You’re about to shoot back with something sarcastic when his hands slide up to cup your breasts again, rolling your nipples between his fingers, and your retort dies in your throat.

“Thought you were gonna give me attitude,” he murmurs against your mouth, lips curving into a cocky grin. “Guess you can be good when you want to.”

“Shut up,” you breathe out, but your voice comes out shaky. He laughs softly, bending down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. Your hands fly back to his hair, fingers twisting in the strands, and he groans the tug.

Your hips buck against his, and he grinds back without hesitation, the hard line of his cock rubbing against your thigh through his jeans. You can feel just how badly he wants you; the thought sends another wave of heat flooding through your veins. You tug at his hair hard enough to make him look up at you, his lips red and swollen.

“Quit teasing,” you pant. Mydei’s eyes flash with something dark and hungry.

He doesn’t bother replying—just scoops you up effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. His mouth is back on yours, demanding, and you feel him fumbling with his belt between your bodies. You don’t have the patience to wait, so you reach down to help him, your hands brushing against his as you yank the buckle open and shove his jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock.

He groans in relief when your hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly and spreading his pre-cum across the length. He bites back a curse. His hands tighten on your thighs, and you don’t miss the way his muscles tense under your touch. You give him a little smirk, but it falters when he presses his tip against your entrance, not quite pushing in yet.

“Are you sure?” he asks, eyes roaming over your face.

You roll your eyes, grabbing his face and pulling him down into a bruising kiss. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I swear—”

You don’t get to finish because he thrusts into you all at once, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your head tips back against the wall, and Mydei buries his face in the crook of your neck, groaning against your skin as he adjusts to the tight warmth of your cunt. His breath is hot and ragged, each exhale brushing against your collarbone. His fingers dig into your thighs.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice rough and strained. His hips pull back just enough to drag his length almost completely out before he slams back in, his pace brutal from the start. The force of it makes your back scrape against the wall, and you can feel every inch of him—thick and girthy, splitting you open in a way that has your body straining towards him.

Your hands scrabble for purchase, nails leaving crescents on his shoulders as he sets a relentless rhythm, each thrust hitting deep and perfect. You’re clinging to him, your legs tightening around his waist as he drives into you. The wet, obscene sounds of your skin against skin echo through the room, mingling with your breathless mons and his low groans.

“Fuck—so tight,” he mutters against your skin, his mouth dragging along your throat, teeth scraping and biting hard enough to leave a slight stinging in their wake. “You feel so fucking good. S’like you were made for me.”

You whimper, your hips rocking against his instinctively, desperate for more. You can’t stop yourself from moaning his name shakily. It spurs him on. He grins against your neck, pressing a sloppy kiss to your pulse point before sucking a bruise into your skin.

“Yeah? That good, huh?” he taunts, his tone mocking but laced with genuine awe. One of his hands slides from your waist to cup your breast, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. His thumb grazes over your nipple, and the sensation has your back arching off the wall, pushing your chest further into his hand.

Your head is spinning, pleasure coiling tight and hot in your belly as he fucks into you hard. You can feel every ride and vein dragging against your walls, every thrust forcing sounds out of you that you didn’t even know you could make.

His mouth finds yours again; his teeth nip at your bottom lip before he slips his tongue inside. You’re so lost in him, so overwhelmed, that it takes you a second to realise his other hand has slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and circling it with almost punishing pressure.

“Fuck—” Your hands are back in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss, but he doesn’t let up, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing insistently as his cock drives into you again and again. “I can’t—fuck, I’m—”

“Gonna come again?” he growls against your mouth, his pace never faltering. “You’re gonna come all over my cock, aren’t you? That’s it. Good girl.”

His words make your thighs clench. Your climax comes over you without warning, tearing a strangled cry from your throat. Your walls clench around him, pulsing and fluttering as pleasure blazes through every nerve ending. You feel your thighs trembling where they’re locked around his waist.

Mydei doesn’t slow down; he just keeps fucking you through it, each thrust coaxing another wave of sensation that leaves you gasping and boneless in his grip. Your mind is a haze, barely able to process how good it feels to be taken like this. You’re dimly aware of his breathing getting rougher, his hips stuttering as your body milks him.

You drag his face back to yours, capturing his lips in a desperate, messy kiss, biting until you taste copper. He groans into you. You feel him shudder just before his rhythm falters. With one last, deep snap of his hips, he buries his cock inside you, spilling hot and thick as his body shakes with the force of his release.

His forehead presses against yours as he catches his breath, both of you panting and trembling. He stays inside you, like he’s not quite ready to let you go, his hands sliding up your sides to hold you close. You’re still reeling, your pulse racing, but you manage a small, satisfied smile, brushing your lips over his with a gentleness that almost feels out of place after what just happened.

For a long moment, neither of you move—you just breathe each other in, letting the remnants of pleasure tangle in the space between you. Finally, he pulls back enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing over your swollen lower lip.

“Still think I’m running my mouth?” you whisper, still trying to muster some semblance of defiance.

Mydei simply nudges his nose against yours. “Maybe,” he says, a little bit hoarse, “but at least I finally shut you up.”

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “Chrysos Heirs: The Reunion Tour – Behind the Music. Episode Two.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: CASTORICE, sitting on a stool.]

CASTORICE: You want to know about the relationships? (Grins) Oh, man. It’s like a dysfunctional family reunion. Some of us slipped right back into old habits, and some of us… well, it’s complicated. Mydei and _____? (Snorts) Don’t even get me started. You can feel the tension from three rooms away.

[CUT TO: HYACINE, sitting cross-legged on the floor.]

HYACINE: There’s definitely still some… uh, unresolved stuff. We used to be so tight. All of us. I mean, we fought, sure, but we’d always make up eventually. Now? I don’t know. It’s like everyone’s got their guard up. Phainon’s doing his best to keep things light, Castorice just barrels through any tension like she doesn’t notice, but Mydei and _____… (Pauses) It’s like walking on eggshells around them.

[CUT TO: PHAINON, leaning back against the wall with his guitar across his lap.]

PHAINON: I think everyone kind of forgot how to be around each other. We spent years being everything to one another—friends, family, bandmates, rivals. When the band split, it wasn’t just the music that fell apart. It was us. Now it’s like… we’re all trying to figure out where we stand again. The way Castorice and Hyacine laugh like nothing’s changed, while Mydei and _____ act like they’re on opposite sides of a war zone. It’s exhausting.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, still slouched on a couch with his arms crossed.]

MYDEI: I’m not gonna sit here and pretend everything’s fine. It’s not. The band breaking up after I left? I’m sure that wasn’t just some decision they made over drinks. Castorice acts like we’re one big happy family again, but she knows it’s not that simple. Phainon’s always the peacemaker, trying to smooth everything over, but that just makes it worse sometimes. I don’t know.

[CUT TO: YOU, sitting on a folding chair.]

YOU: It’s frustrating. We used to be so close. All of us. And now it feels like every word has teeth. Castorice is trying so hard to keep us from falling apart again, and Hyacine’s just… tired. Phainon’s stuck playing mediator, and Mydei—(shakes head)—he still looks at me like it’s probably my fault. Maybe it is. But it wasn’t just me who made it boil down to this.

[CUT TO: CASTORICE AGAIN, balancing her drumsticks on her finger.]

CASTORICE: We’ve always been a mess. That’s kind of our thing. But it used to be that we were messy together. Now it feels like we’re just trying not to accidentally set each other off. I miss how easy it used to be. Back when Mydei and _____ could actually talk without biting each other’s heads off. Back when Hyacine would just crack a joke instead of staying quiet.

[CUT TO: HYACINE AGAIN, resting her chin on her hand.]

HYACINE: Sometimes it feels like we’re playing pretend. Like we’re trying to convince ourselves that we’re still friends when we’re really just… people who used to know each other. Cas keeps pushing for us to hang out after shows, but it never feels right. Everyone’s just waiting for someone to break the silence. I don’t know. Maybe it’ll get better once we’ve been on the road for longer.

[CUT TO: PHAINON AGAIN, eyes thoughtful as he fiddles with his guitar strap.]

PHAINON: I think everyone’s just afraid to be the one who cares the most. Back in the day, we knew each other better than anyone else did. Now, it’s like we’re scared of stepping on each other’s wounds. Mydei’s carrying too much pride to apologise, and _____ is too stubborn to forgive. Castorice and Hyacine just want everyone to get alone, but no one’s talking about the elephant in the room. We’re good at pretending on stage, though. Real good.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, his jaw clenched, his eyes hard.]

MYDEI: You don’t just come back from something like that. You don’t go from being everything to each other to nothing without it leaving a scar. I’m not saying it’s all her fault. (Hesitates) I’m just saying that it’s easier to be mad than to admit I might’ve messed up, too. That’s why I keep my distance. It’s just… easier that way.

[CUT TO: YOU, looking almost weary.]

YOU: I never thought it would feel this hollow. I don’t know what I expected—a clean slate, maybe? But it doesn’t work like that. We’re still carrying the past with us, and it’s dragging us down. I guess… I just wish he’d talk to me. Even if it’s to say he hates me. At least that would be something.

[CUT TO: CASTORICE, shrugging with a half-smile.]

CASTORICE: Whatever happens, I’m not giving up. We’re stuck with each other. That’s just how it is. Even if we have to scream it out or throw things at each other, we’re gonna make it work. Because the way they look at each other sometimes? There’s still something there. They just gotta get over themselves long enough to see it.

[CUT TO: PHAINON, adjusting his guitar.]

PHAINON: They’ll figure it out. We’re not just a band—we’re more than that. And sometimes, being more means we break and put ourselves back together. We’ll get there.

[CUT TO: HYACINE, giving a faint smile.]

HYACINE: If we can just stop letting the past dictate everything, maybe we can start being friends again. Maybe more. I don’t know. But I do know this—on stage, we’re still the same. Maybe the music will help us remember how to be us again.

v). so i write him all these letters and i throw them in the trash.

When you stir in your sleep, the mattress beside you is cold. 

It’s late—past midnight, probably. Your stomach grumbles; you sit up and shuffle tiredly over to the mini-bar and grab a bag of salted cashew nuts, tearing it open. There’s no trace of Mydei. It’s as if he was never here, didn’t fuck you against the wall like it was all he could think of, didn’t lay down on the bed next to you and curl a strong arm around your waist.

You wish you could say you were just disappointed. The truth is, you had expected nothing else, but disappointment still curls around your ribs.

It’s stupid. You walk over to the glass table placed in front of the plush armchair towards the side of your bed. There’s a notepad and a slightly blunt pencil placed on top of it. You sink into the armchair, popping a handful of cashew nuts into your mouth and chewing. 

The words should be flowing by now—anger and frustration always make for good material—but tonight, they’re stuck somewhere between your ribs, buried under the feeling of his mouth on your skin.

It shouldn’t feel like this. You knew what you were getting into. You knew better than to expect anything else from him. But the way he kissed you, like he was trying to make you forget every fight—made your chest ache. You’re not surprised that he’s gone. You’re not even hurt, really. Just angry. Angry at him for leaving without a word, angry at yourself for caring that he did. You shove a few more cashews into your mouth and wipe your fingers on your sweatpants before picking up the pencil.

Your hand moves almost without thinking, words scrawling across the page faster than you can catch up with them.

You look at me like I’m your only song, And I play the part even when it feels wrong. We’re always dancing on the edge of a goodbye, But I’d risk the fall just to feel you by my side.

You pause, glaring at the lyrics. You should throw the notepad across the room, rip the page out, crush it in your fist. Instead, you just sit there, tapping the pencil against your knee. You can still feel the way his mouth moved against yours, the bruising grip of his hands on your hips. You take a shaky breath and force yourself to keep writing. It’s better than sitting here drowning in the memory of him.

We’re tangled and twisted and never the same, We love like it hurts and kiss through the pain. You’re poison and honey and everything wrong, And I hate that you’re still the one I want.

The pencil scrapes harshly against the paper as you press harder than you mean to. The words taste bitter in your mouth, but at least they’re honest. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to write them down—because admitting that you want more than just his hands on you feels like exposing a wound you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist.

You swallow down the knot in your throat and lean back, squeezing your eyes shut. It would almost be easier if you hated him. If you could just shove him out of your head and pretend he was nothing more than a bad decision. But it’s not that simple. You don’t just want him; you want the old him, the one who used to light up when you walked into the room, who teased you until you were laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. You want the Mydei who didn’t always look at you like you’re a problem he can’t fix.

You know you’re being unfair. He’s not the only one who’s changed. You’re not the same either—too guarded, too tired. Sometimes you wonder if you’re just setting yourself up for disappointment because it’s easier than admitting you still love him.

Your chest aches, and the next words come almost like a confession.

You look at me like I’m the one you’ve been missing, Kiss me like I’m the dream you keep wishing Would come true when the lights fade away— But you never stay.

You finish the verse and set the pencil down, pressing your fingertips to your lips like you can still taste him there.

You told yourself you wouldn’t do this again. But he looked at you tonight like he was starving—like you were something he couldn’t resist. And you let him have you because a part of you needed it, too. Needed to feel wanted, even if it was just for a few hours. Even if he was gone before you woke up.

You shove the notepad away, letting it fall to the floor as you curl up in the armchair, knees pulled to your chest. The song lingers in your head, the lyrics clawing at your heart. You feel ridiculous for letting him get under your skin like this, like a bruise that won’t heal.

The truth is, you’d let him hurt you a thousand times if it meant he’d look at you like that again. Like you’re the only thing keeping him alive. Maybe that makes you a fool, but you don’t know how to be anything else when it comes to him.

Shaking your head as though to dissolve it of its thoughts, you tear out the sheet of paper with your lyrics on it, fold it into a square hastily, and shove it inside the pocket of your sweatpants. You stand up and grab your lighter from your bag. You need a smoke.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “The Founders’ Cut.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: YOU, sitting on a simple black stool, hands loosely clasped in your lap.]

YOU: Writing with Mydei… God, it used to be so easy. We didn’t have to think about it. (Smiles softly) We’d just be sitting on the floor of his shitty apartment—barely any furniture, just the couch his neighbour was gonna throw out and that one rug we stole from Hyacine’s place. One of us would pick up the guitar, start playing something, and it was like everything else just faded out.

INTERVIEWER (off-screen): Was it always that natural?

YOU: (Nods) Yeah. It just worked. Sometimes we didn’t even talk before starting a song. I’d be on the floor, writing down whatever came to mind, and he’d be next to me, leaning against the wall with his guitar. Sometimes I’d hum something, and he’d just—pick it up. It was like we were reading each other’s minds.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, sitting with his back slightly hunched, elbows on his knees.]

MYDEI: We wrote some of our best songs at 3 A.M, dead tired, arguing about lyrics while eating instant ramen. She’d always overthink the words—had to make sure they said exactly what she wanted. I didn’t care as much. I guess I figured the feeling mattered more than getting every word right.

INTERVIEWER: Do you have an example for the same?

MYDEI: There was this one song (pauses, shakes his head). We wrote it after this stupid fight. I’d stormed out, pissed as hell, but when I came back, she was sitting on the floor, scribbling lyrics like her life depended on it. I didn’t say anything. Just sat down and played along with whatever she was humming. Neither of us apologised, but… I guess that was our way of making up.

[CUT TO: YOU]

YOU: We never talked about it, you know? We’d write all these songs that were practically confessions—about each other, about how much it hurt when we fought, or how we couldn’t stand being apart—and then we’d just… move on. Never acknowledged it.

INTERVIEWER: Do you regret that?

YOU: (Hesitates) Sometimes. But the songs made it pretty obvious. We were practically begging each other to figure it out without actually saying it.

[CUT TO: MYDEI]

MYDEI: She always wrote like it was her way of… bleeding out whatever she couldn’t say. We made something good out of it, though. Even if we never said it out loud. And… yeah. Sometimes I miss that. The simplicity of it. Just us and a guitar and whatever shit we were working through. I didn’t need anything else back then.

[CUT TO: YOU]

YOU: It’s funny. We used to write about heartbreak like it was this distant concept—something that happened to other people. Never thought we’d end up writing about each other.

vi). i want to get him back (and then?)

The rooftop is quiet at this hour—too early for most and too late for the rest. The sky is more navy than blue, more shadow than light. You push the heavy metal door open with your shoulder, and it clicks shut behind you with a soft thud. You tug your hoodie tighter around you, retreating into the warmth, and dig around in your pocket for your cigarettes.

The lighter sparks on the second try. You inhale. Smoke fills your lungs, and something in you loosens. You hate how easy it still is to find comfort in bad habits.

That’s when you notice him.

At first, it’s just the faint glow of a cigarette at the far corner of the rooftop. But you know it’s him—know it in the shape of his silhouette, the way he leans forward with one elbow braced on the ledge, hoodie pulled low over his face. Mydei. Of course.

You hesitate for a beat, frozen halfway between the door and where he stands. It would be easier to leave—pretend you didn’t see him, pretend you didn’t spend the night tangled up in him and then wake up to cold sheets and silence.

But you don’t.

Your steps are quiet as you cross the rooftop, stopping a few feet away from him. He doesn’t look at you, just exhales slowly, eyes on the horizon. You take a drag from your cigarette, watching the tip burn orange, watching the smoke curl upwards and vanish into the sky.

“Why’d you leave?” you ask. You mean the hotel room, but not only that.

He’s quiet for a long time. You wonder if he’s even going to answer.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he says eventually, still not looking at you.

You huff a breath. It’s not quite a laugh. “You didn’t want to be there.”

He doesn’t argue. The silence stretches again, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just tired. He glances at you. The wind picks up a little, brushing your hair across your cheek. He notices—always notices—and shifts just slightly so he’s blocking the breeze. Neither of you says anything about it.

“You looked peaceful,” Mydei says. “I didn’t want to mess it up.”

“You think not being there was better?”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

You nod. You don’t push. You’ve learned not to with him. “It’s not just about tonight,” you say quietly.

He nods, eyes dark and shadowed. “I know.”

The sun starts to edge over the horizon, painting faint streaks of pink and orange across the navy sky. It’s beautiful in that fragile, fleeting way, like something you’re scared to touch because you know it’s too delicate to last. You both watch in silence for a while, letting the smoke and the light fill the air between you. There’s a comfort in it, strangely enough. The way the world keeps turning even when your heart feels like it’s stuck. The way mornings come anyway.

You look at Mydei again.

He’s tired. You can see it in the curve of his mouth, in the slump of his shoulders. But he’s here. Part of you wants to ask him why. Why he came up here. Why he didn’t leave the hotel entirely. Why he lets himself touch you but won’t let himself stay. Instead, you say nothing.

He offers you his lighter when yours gives out, and your fingers brush when you take it. It’s a brief touch, barely there, but it’s enough to make your chest ache in that too-familiar way.

You smoke the rest of your cigarettes side by side, not speaking, not needing to. It’s the kind of silence that used to exist between songs in the studio. When you stub the last bit out on the ledge, you take one last look at the sunrise. The light catches on his face now, gold and soft, and you want to say something. You don’t even know what.

So instead, you pull your hoodie tighter and nod. “I should go.”

He nods too, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop you either.

You turn back towards the door, and as you do, a folded piece of paper slips from your pocket. You don’t notice it fall, fluttering once before landing gently near his feet. You don’t notice it, because you’re too busy disappearing back into the stairwell, too wrapped up in keeping your shoulders straight and your breathing steady.

He doesn’t move for a while after you’re gone.

Then, slowly, Mydei leans down and picks up the paper. The handwriting is unmistakable—your quick, slanted script, a few smudges where the pencil dragged.

He reads it once. Twice.

Then he folds it back up, holds it in his hand like it might crumble, and watches the sun break over the city, alone.

The lights shift from the vibrant spotlights of the previous set into something softer, slower—dimmed gold and dusky purple spreading like ink over the stage. Your mic is cold under your fingers. You roll the cord absently through your hand. You can’t see much beyond the footlights; only the sea of shadows, the faint outlines of swaying arms and cell phone lights blinking like stars.

But Mydei’s there, across from you. This next song is just you and him, after all.

He’s adjusting the strap of his guitar, head bowed, eyes hidden beneath the fall of his hair.

It’s the same stage. The same lights. The same song. Why does it feel so different?

The crowd doesn’t know what they’re about to hear. Most of them don’t even know the song, you’re pretty sure. It’s some B-side from one of your earlier albums. You remember when you wrote it. The quiet of three in the morning, the late-night arguments that bled into music, the unraveling of two people who couldn’t speak to each other unless it was in chords and half-rhymed lines.

Here you are again. Older. Worse at pretending.

The intro begins with gentle chords, the kind that hurt more than they soothe. Your mic is already at your lips. You inhale like it’s your first breath of the night.

“I told myself I wouldn’t care this time, Said your name like it didn’t still taste like goodbye. But you look at me like you never learned how to let go…”

Your voice holds, though it feels like walking a tightrope. Every word comes out measured, like if you let it slip, your heart will come out tumbling too. You don’t look at him, not yet. You can feel his presence—like gravity—but you don’t turn your head.

Not until he sings. Then, you do. He meets your gaze.

“I said we were fire meant to burn out fast, But I keep finding you in every song I’ve written last. You don’t ask me to stay, and I don’t ask you to try… But we’re still standing here, pretending we’re fine.”

His voice—God, his voice. It’s rougher than it used to be, edges carved by years and distance, but it still wraps around your lyrics like it was always meant to. He’s not just singing. He’s looking at you like he’s saying every word for the first time. It knocks the air from your lungs.

Your heart’s pounding now, and you hate that it still reacts to him like this. Like your body remembers the way he used to hold you when no one else was watching. 

The chorus crashes over both of you.

“So lie to me, baby, say it’s still love, Say the ending never mattered, that this beginning’s enough. We were smoke, we were stars, we were doomed from the start, But tonight, just tonight, sing like you still mean every part.”

Mydei steps closer. You do, too. It’s instinct, not plan. You don’t even realise it until you’re nearly toe-to-toe, voices tangling into harmony, eyes locked.

You wonder if the crowd can feel it. If they can hear the way your throat tightens, how the vowels tremble when he looks at you like that. Like he’s trying to remember the shape of you—not just your face, but your soul. The bridge comes. You always dreaded it.

“Maybe we’ll break like we always do, Maybe we’ll forget this in the morning too. But for now—God, for now— You still feel like a home I never knew.”

The line lands like a punch to the chest. Yours, and maybe his too.

You let it ring out, raw and full. For a second, it feels like the two of you are back in that tiny studio years ago—barefoot, angry, tired, in love. Writing a song you were both too scared to mean. But you meant it. You always did, and you do now.

The last chorus is quieter, a lullaby instead of a plea.

“And I’d sing this with you a thousand times… if you’d let me.”

You drop your hand from the mic, breath catching in your throat, and for a moment—just a moment—there’s silence. Just you and Mydei.

He doesn’t move. He’s staring at you with something unspoken lodged in his eyes, something that looks too close to regret.

You turn away first. Your heart’s already too full. One more second and it might burst.

The crowd roars behind you, applause crashing in waves.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “The Members’ Cut.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: CASTORICE, lounging back on the couch.]

CASTORICE: It was just a fact. Mydei and _____. You didn’t say one name without the other. (Shakes her head) And the way they used to look at each other on stage? Insane. Like, we’d be in the middle of a song, and I’d be watching them instead of playing because damn. The rest of us could’ve vanished into thin air, and they wouldn’t have noticed.

(Laughs lightly, rolling her eyes.)

CASTORICE (CONT’D): It was kinda funny, actually. Like, okay, we get it, you’re in love. Can we get through the set without you two making heart eyes at each other? (Pause) But, y’know… it was also kinda nice. Seeing people that in sync. That kind of connection isn’t something you fake.

[CUT TO: HYACINE, sitting cross-legged on the floor, bass resting on her lap.]

HYACINE: They were disgusting. I mean that in the nicest way possible. (Grinning) Like, you’d be tuning your guitar, and they’d just be standing off to the side, whispering to each other like they weren’t literally about to perform in front of thousands of people. And yeah, sure, couples sing duets all the time, but with them? It was different. Like they were letting us in on something private, something meant just for them. Even if it was a song they’d performed a hundred times before, it always felt like they were saying something new.

(Chuckles, eyes soft with nostalgia.)

HYACINE (CONT’D): They made you believe in that kind of love, y’know? The all-consuming, this-song-is-about-you kind of love. You couldn’t want them and not feel it.

[CUT TO: PHAINON, sitting with his arms draped over the back of the chair, smirking lightly.]

PHAINON: Yeah, they were that couple. The ones who made you roll your eyes but also kind of wish you had what they had. Like, I remember this one show—Mydei had just finished this crazy guitar solo, and instead of, I don’t know, reveling in the applause like a normal person, he immediately turned to _____ like she was the only one whose reaction mattered. And she just grinned at him, and I swear to God, he looked like he won the lottery.

(Shakes his head and scoffs.)

PHAINON (CONT’D): They were reckless with it. Loud about it. No hesitation, no holding back. They didn’t just love each other, they showed it. And that’s rare. You don’t get that kind of honesty on stage very often.

(His smirk fades just slightly.)

PHAINON (CONT’D):  …That’s why it was so hard when it ended.

vii). ‘cause i miss the way he kisses and the way he made me laugh.

The crowd is louder tonight. Not louder in volume, necessarily, but just… like they’re expecting something. Like they know something you don’t.

You glance at the setlist as someone does your in-ear check. Your duet with Mydei is coming up next—the same one you’ve done every night for years. It’s not your most popular song, but it’s yours. It always has been. Something about it felt safe even now, when everything else between you and him was held together with duct tape and willpower.

You take a sip of water and step towards the side of the stage, waiting for the intro cues.

But when you hear the first notes, they’re not yours.

Your stomach drops. The chord progression is soft, a little unfamiliar. It’s not one of your tracks, or a part of the agreed setlist.

Your gaze snapes to the center of the stage where Mydei stands—guitar in hand, face calm. He’s adjusted his mic, and he’s… smiling? Not a grin. Nothing cocky. Just this small, quiet thing, like he’s doing something that matters to him more than he’s ready to admit.

“This one’s not on the list,” he says into the mic, casual, like this doesn’t upend everything. “I wanted to try something new tonight.”

Your brow furrows. You step a little closer, careful not to draw a scene. Castorice gives you a sharp look from behind her kit, like, Did you know about this? You shake your head once. 

Mydei starts to sing.

“You look at me like I’m your only song, And I play the part even when it feels wrong.”

It hits you like a punch to the ribs.

That lyric. That exact line. You know it because you wrote it, alone. In that hotel room weeks ago, scrawled in a burst of emotion you weren’t proud of, folded up and shoved into the pocket of your sweatpants. You’d thought it got tossed in the wash or lost somewhere in the shuffle between cities.

Apparently not. Apparently he found it. And instead of asking you—like a normal person would—he set it to music. He built a melody around your bleeding heart and decided to sing it to a crowd of thousands.

“We’re tangled and twisted and never the same, We love like it hurts and kiss through the pain. You’re poison and honey and everything wrong, And I hate that you’re still the one I want.”

It’s a beautiful melody, and you feel something inside your chest twist, hard. He sings softly but unsteadily, like he wasn’t sure that you’d hear it—or worse, that you would.

He doesn’t look at you while he sings. He scans the crowd, eyes on the horizon. But the meaning is clear. You can feel it in the tightness in your chest, in the hush that’s fallen over the audience, like they know this isn’t just a love song.

You fold your arms over your chest, more for grounding than anything. Castorice doesn’t play a beat. Hyacine and Phainon watch silently, hands loose on their instruments like they’re ready to jump in if needed, but they don’t. Neither of you do.

This is his moment, and your words.

“You look at me like I’m the one you’ve been missing, Kiss me like I’m the dream you keep wishing Would come true when the lights fade away— But you never stay.”

You exhale shakily. You feel exposed, as if you’re standing naked in front of an entire arena. The words weren’t just lyrics—they were confessions. Grudges. Regrets. Things you never had the guts to say out loud. And here Mydei is, saying them for you.

No. Singing them.

Your fingers curl into your palms. You don’t know whether to be furious or deeply, deeply moved. 

He finishes the song in a whisper, almost. The last chord rings out like an unanswered question. The audience is silent for a beat too long. Then they erupt—whistling, cheering, screaming. It’s a standing ovation for something they didn’t even know was a story.

And still, Mydei hasn’t looked at you—until now.

He turns, finally, just a little, and meets your eyes across the stage. You don’t smile. You don’t clap. You just stare at him, speechless and conflicted.

Then, Mydei steps back from the mic and gives the signal to move on with the set. You turn your face away before the next lights come up, blinking hard. Your heart’s racing. You don’t know what happens after this; what this means; what you’re supposed to say.

You only know one thing: That song was yours, and now, it’s his, too.

The hallway outside the dressing rooms is buzzing—crew rushing around, the muffled roar of the crowd still seeping through the walls, someone shouting about cords and lights and encores. But all you can hear is the blood in your ears and your name echoing in Mydei’s voice as he sang your lyrics.

His voice, but your words. Your heart on a scrap of paper you never meant for anyone else to see.

Your footsteps are harsh against the floor as you turn the corner and push the door open. The dressing room is too bright, too sterile compared to the intimacy of the stage. Mydei stands with his back to you, shirt clinging to his skin with sweat, hair pushed off his forehead like he ran his fingers through it too many times.

You close the door behind you with a click. Quiet, but final. He hears it.

“Hey,” he says, not turning around yet.

You stare at the back of his head. “Don’t do that to me.”

Mydei pauses. Slowly, he turns to face you. “I figured you’d be mad.”

“Mad?” You laugh, breath catching somewhere in your throat. “You think I’m mad?”

“You look mad.”

“I am mad,” you snap, taking a step closer, heart pounding. “You sang a song you weren’t supposed to have. You didn’t even ask me, Mydei. You just—just stood there and threw it at me in front of ten thousand people like it meant nothing.”

“It didn’t mean nothing,” he says. “That’s why I sang it.”

You’re both quiet. The silence stretches and tightens until it’s almost unbearable.

“You could’ve told me,” you say finally, voice hoarse. “You could’ve talked to me. About the song. About anything. But you don’t. You never do.”

Mydei exhales slowly, resting his hands on his hips like he’s bracing himself. “I didn’t know how.”

You tilt your head, lips parting in disbelief. “That’s such bullshit, Mydei. We wrote songs together. We told each other everything through music. And now you’re just—standing there, acting like it’s some impossible thing.”

He looks at you, then. Really looks. And for a moment, he’s not the cold, distant version of himself he’s been for months. He’s just him. The boy who used to fall asleep beside you in the tour van. The one who hummed half-finished melodies in your ear at midnight in whatever motel you were crashing in. The one who used to kiss you like the world might end before morning.

“I didn’t know how to say I missed you,” he admits. “So I used your words instead. Because mine never come out right.”

You don’t want to forgive him. You really don’t.

But the hurt in his voice is real. So is the way he’s looking at you—like you’ve always been the only person in the room, and he’s just been waiting to see you again for real.

You take one shaky step forward. Then another.

When your lips crash into his, it isn’t careful or slow. It’s everything you’ve been holding back: Rage, longing, grief, hope. His hands find your face, yours grip his shirt, and everything around you blurs until it’s just him, just the warmth of his mouth and the softness of his sighs and the undeniable truth that this still feels like home.

You part, breathless.

Neither of you speaks at first. You’re still close enough to feel his breath on your cheek, the heat of his skin under your fingertips. 

Your voice comes out quieter than you intend when you tell him, “I want to get you back.”

Mydei doesn’t hesitate. “You already have.”

It hits you harder than the kiss did. Something cracks inside you—something small and soft and long-buried. You almost don’t realise you’re crying until he wipes your cheek with the back of his hand.

You let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sob. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.” His thumb traces the edge of your jaw. “You’re allowed to be.”

You step back first, gently. He lets you go, but his eyes follow you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks.

As you adjust your jacket and run a hand through your hair, something slips from your pocket—folded paper, creased from being handled too many times. You don’t notice, but Mydei does.

He kneels to pick it up after you’re gone, quietly unfolding it to find another unfinished song. Lyrics in your handwriting. His name, half-crossed out and rewritten three times.

He reads the first line. Smiles.

He doesn’t hand it back to you. He tucks it into his jacket, like he already knows how it ends.

[CUT TO BLACK] Text appears on screen: “Chrysos Heirs: The Reunion Tour. THE END.”

⇢ a/n: as per usual, thank you to @lotusteabag for being my #1 cheerleader and supporter throughout the entire time i was writing this fic. thank you for reading & i hope you have a wonderful day!

do you feel like a young god?

synopsis ☆ blade wishes that his path had never collided with yours.

content info — smut (minors stay away 😡 i'm warning you), ANGST, fem! reader, regular fic but with a twist on the format. violence at the very end so be aware of that.

word count — 2.1k words.

author's note — this has been in my drafts forever. normally i don't write angst but i was listening to halsey's badlands album & it instantly gave birth to this fic. the entire album is so blade coded that it hurts. anyways this is just 100% pain and smut, there is no comfort. nonetheless i hope you enjoy this drabble and its unplanned christmas theme (i apologize in advance 😓) ALSO i'm working on reqs as we speak i swear

BLADE has never had time to entertain romantic affairs, or even indulge in spontaneous sexual encounters. such matters reeked of the kind of superficial sentimentality that he's long discarded due to its blatant, disgusting lack of appeal. since he’s remembered, all he’s ever really wanted is to taste death, to be enrobed within its earnest invitation and to finally relieve himself of his all-consuming burden. there was no room for anything else—especially something as trivial as fulfilling the human heart’s wishes.

YOU didn't plan to get involved with the agenda of the stellaron hunters, but perhaps your hopes were ultimately futile when your older sister was their very leader. really, what's funny was the fact that even though you two were related by blood, and were raised together, you only shared two traits: a sharp gaze tinted with magenta and the useful gift of perception. otherwise, you might as well have been nameless strangers. you were kind, forgiving, and preferred to heal rather than harm; kafka was the complete opposite, her manicured fingers gleefully stained with scarlet.

BLADE remembers finding himself in an unusual state of confusion when he had first met you. your appearance in itself contrasted against your team members; whereas they wore dark shades of black, purple, and red, you were clad in smooth clothes of pure silver, which didn’t make sense since they would end up dirtied and tainted either way. he remembers disapproving of your very presence because you seemed entirely unfit to fulfill your job—to kill mercilessly and to follow elio's script without an ounce of remorse or hesitation. "you don't belong here," he'd sneered, his vexation only increasing when he saw the docile smile you'd given him in response.

YOU weren't ever truly angered by the blatant acts of disrespect that blade displayed during the earliest stages of your connection. some would argue that you possessed the patience of a saint, and though you wouldn't exactly disprove such a claim, you'd say that it extended far beyond that. there was something you saw behind the scarlet hue of blade's gaze, something that lain dormant behind all the hostility. for a reason unknown, you soon grew the desire to discover it, and to maybe in turn help the man in some way. it didn't matter if a part of your soul had to be sacrificed—you would do it.

BLADE found it all too easy to decline your attempts. it was a continuous, repetitive process, where you’d seek him out and offer a few questions that seemed unassuming at first, and he’d respond by pointing out the obvious holes ruining your facade. he didn’t know why you were suddenly so eager to uncover information about him—or, to “properly acquaint yourself” as you’d innocently described it—but he didn’t care either way because it wasn’t worth trying to. at least those were the words he told himself for the first four months.

YOU managed to break down the weakest parts of blade’s walls by the fifth month. it was slow, and arduous, and yes, a bit frustrating—hearing him curse you out wasn’t really a motivating experience—but ultimately your efforts prevailed in the end. finally, if only a little bit, he opened up to you, and he began giving short but actual responses instead of a mere grunt or a simple click of the tongue. and so he started filling in small snippets about himself. how he found pleasure in the familiarity of a sword. how he despised the way your sister called him ‘bladie.’ how kuding tea was one of his preferred drinks. how he couldn’t remember the last time he dreamt in his slumber.

BLADE was rather astounded by the change in behavior you seemed to have withdrawn from him. at first he denied the reality and brushed off the occurrence as him simply taking the easier route, so that he didn’t continue to waste unnecessary effort on dodging your pesky questions. but here was the truth—he wasn’t lazy, ever. he always did things for a reason, always justified his actions with some kind of logic, no matter how immoral. something strange was happening, and he wasn’t entirely sure why, but he still tried to maintain a form of apathetic distance. blade convinced himself that things were remaining strictly professional. even as his pale hands somehow found themselves entangled within your soft hair during one stormy night, and even as his chapped lips pressed against yours.

YOU were surprised but not at all unwelcoming of the unorthodox suggestion that blade gave you one day. in a tone that betrayed no emotion, he asked—well, perhaps demanded—that you two enter a sort of arrangement that he called “being each other’s respective stress relief.” in a more straightforward, explicit manner, you two would use each other for physical pleasure whenever needed. that was where the intimacy started, and it was where it ended. with your heart beating a bit more than it should have, you agreed. blade smiled—a small, predatory kind of smile—before engulfing you in a harsh kiss, backing you into the wall as his hand squeezed around your neck.

BLADE relished the sounds that he was able to elicit from you—sweet, pretty little moans, desperate, high-pitched whines, and of course, the breathless mantra of his own name. every ounce of it made him swell with smug pride, and made his cock harden even more. your eyes would shut tightly whenever you felt particularly overwhelmed with pleasure, and of course he’d always force you to open them. after all he needed you to see just how much of a slut you were for him, just how much he’d ruin you with the marks he’d leave all over your skin and the countless orgasms he’d trigger within you. somewhere in the very back of his mind, there was a faint voice that warned him of the territory he was threatening to cross, just barely short of touching the edge. but he ignored it in favor of savoring the depraved sense of exhilaration that electrified his veins, knowing that he was the one corrupting his colleague’s sweet, innocent, naive little sister.

YOU found your heart beating impossibly faster every time your lips met his, every time he quietly snuck into your quarters and whispered things that were only for you to hear. of course it was only inevitable that you fell in love with the man himself. long forgotten was your goal to solely fix him because in a strange, almost twisted way, it was like you were healing yourself with every scorching touch of his fingers, every relentless thrust of his hips. and for better or for worse, it felt like he was starting to care for you against all odds, and you saw it through the littlest of things. how his dull scarlet eyes seemed to brighten just for a second when he saw you, how he started to stay the night after he ravished you, how his fingers traced your beautifully bruised skin with an uncharacteristic gentleness when he thought you were asleep. you loved it, and soon his embrace was the only thing you learned to crave.

BLADE seemed like he was caught in a peculiar trance ever since you two had agreed to the "stress relief" arrangement. it was unimaginable, really—or at least it should have been. not once had he felt such unbridled emotion for a woman, or for any person in general. he detested the sensation at first. hated how vulnerable it made him feel. so, whenever he felt particularly exposed, whenever you smiled at him for too long, he used your body as a distraction. he'd mark your skin as if he was nothing more than a mindless animal, would pin both your wrists above your head as he snarled, hips smacking against yours. the strategy would work for some time, but the moment he saw you fall into a peaceful slumber—exhausted from all the rigorous activity—the emotions would come rushing at him again, full force. soon there was a voice at the back of his mind, whispering of how he was falling into a trap. one that he had arrogantly, unknowingly set for himself.

YOU started to feel a shift in blade's behavior, noticing how he became more distant as the days passed. your conversations shortened and shortened until they became almost reminiscent of the ones you'd have at the beginning of your relationship. your nightly sessions dwindled in frequency, eventually reaching the point where he barely even knocked on your door at all. all of it drove you to the brink of insanity, worry consuming every ounce of your being until you couldn't handle it anymore. "what the hell?" you had hissed, pulling the man aside once silver wolf and your sister had retreated to their quarters for the night. "why won't you talk to me, blade? what did i do?" but even that didn't work. all he did was scoff and push past your figure, shaking off your grip when you reached out for him. the next day, you were so distraught that, in a fit of desperation, you asked your sister for help. but the only thing you received was a look of warped pity and an obscure comment. "once the candle burns out, the room grows dark again." kafka murmured.

BLADE couldn't handle any of it anymore, his seemingly endless endurance having reached past its limit. he hated the way you looked at him in confusion and anger, and most of all, betrayal, as if he had stabbed you in the back. he might as well have. but above that, he hated the way you reminded him of his curse's weight. in another life, he had thought of immortality as a gift—a gleaming trophy awarded only to those who had gone above and beyond to prove their superiority. how foolish he had been. immortality was a burden, its pressure so insurmountable that it felt heavier than holding up the sky itself. from the very beginning, he'd known that being immortal meant that he'd have to watch the people around him fall prey to death's embrace, but somehow that simple fact evaded his mind when he—it still pains him to admit this—developed feelings for you. he wasn't quite sure if what he felt was love in its raw form, but he was pretty damn certain that it was the closest he was going to ever get. because as selfishly and disgustingly sentimental as it was, the last thing he wanted was to see you wither with age, until you were nothing more than another corpse. and so with a shaky breath, and an unstable heart, he decided to handle the situation in the only way he knew how to.

the truth was that YOU truly were one of the most perceptive people out there, even as heartbreak dulled your senses. so you heard the muted footsteps and saw the swiftly approaching shadow. you knew who it was, even without sparing a glance. still, you remained motionless, your movements almost painfully frozen as your eyes slid shut. tears silently rolled down your face, staining your skin even before the sword pierced through your chest. crimson seeped through your silver blouse like ink on a blank canvas. you fell to the ground, exhaling unshakily, unrivaled pain blooming within every inch of your body. you felt the strength being drained from your spirit, but you mustered the will to meet blade's scarlet gaze. "guess i should have expected this, huh?" you murmur, fingers moving to feel where he'd stabbed you. silently, blade crouched down to your level, his expression unreadable. you reached for his hand, neither of you flinching when his skin became stained with your blood.

"all of this was a mistake," BLADE muttered, tone betraying not even an ounce of emotion. still, he kept his fingers intertwined with yours, and that action alone was enough. "my fate is already determined, but you sealed your own the second you approached me." the wind was cold and unforgiving around the two of you, its invisible talons recklessly combing through the man's ebony strands of hair. but blade paid it no mind, not even when a particularly harsh gust threatened to overwhelm your last words. and as time would tell, those were the very words that would haunt him in the future.

"i'd seal my fate over and over if it meant that i'd see you happy again." you whispered, and for once you failed to notice one crucial detail.

for the first and last time, blade's vision grew blurry from his tears.

Just a coworker

Dr ratio x g/n! reader (i tried)

Part 1, Part 2

cw. angst, super slow burn, they eventually get tgt, hurf/comfort, jealousy brr, reader is unhinged, mentions of drugs, kinda cringe but who cares I've written worse, not proofread, dr ratio is a pussy

a/n: i js wanna say fck SCHOOL FOR GIVING ME 6 PROJECTS DUE TOMORROW. THIS FIC IS MEH BUT TRUST IT GETS BETTER (hopefully…)

Veritas Ratio is a lonely man. Only having his books and his sculptures as friends— regarding the rest as no use for him.

Up till now, you've been nothing more than the pest who waves hi at him every morning, bringing him coffee every now and then. You must be scheming something, there's no way someone could ever be this nice without asking for a favour.

“Dr ratio!”

The alabaster headed man stared at you, even with that stone head of his, you can clearly feel his piercing gaze.

“What is it?”

Veritas groans in annoyance, what is it again?

Lately, you've been struggling to teach this subject. As well-versed you were in topics such as literature, history and the likes, it was true that you were above average with maths.

“I've been tutoring this kid after classes and well…”

He doesn't move, just listening intently.

“He's been asking about quantum mechanics and I don't know much about the topic so…”

“so?”

so?

“I was wondering if you can teach me it.”

God damn it, he has better things to do.

“Then read a book about it”

His eyes were trained on your figure as he saw you tense, just why him of all people?

“Dr ratio, just this once. I just need to learn the basics once and I won't bother you again!”

He closed his codex and turned the other way, ready to walk away from conversation.

“I have better things to do than humouring your foolish antics—”

“Please.”

Your hands fidget nervously as he paused before looking back at you, pondering whether to do you a favour.

“I'll think about it.”

By the time you blinked, he was gone.

The next day passed, you were at his door, clutching your teaching materials as you waited for veritas’ class to end.

He scrunched nose as annoyance rose in him like a tide, he could see you waiting at the window and checking the time every now and then.

“That ends our discussion for today.”

His voice echoing on the walls as the bell rang, his students already out the door.

After a good 10 minutes, most of the students were out the door as he was left alone with himself (+ those eyes of yours that never seem to leave him alone)

“It's rude to stare.”

His comment caught you off guard, the corners of your lips twitching nervously as you hid behind the wall again— shit, he caught you staring…

Veritas let out a sigh before cleaning his desk of the sparse test papers he's collected last week.

A moment of silence passed before you mustered up the courage to enter the spacious room, it was… quiet to say the least.

“Dr. Ratio—”

“I'll tutor you but with one condition.”

Sweat trickled down your forehead as you nervously anticipated what he's about to say. (Did I mention he paused to rile you up?)

“You,”

A click on his cabinet was heard before he turned at your direction to get a better look at you.

“That I won't have to tutor you again next time, just this once”

It was odd, a teacher asking for tutoring from a fellow teacher? It wasn't uncommon but it certainly irked him of the thought. You could just read a book about it but you'd rather take his precious hours in his day for something you could do yourself.

You let out a sigh of relief.

“whew… I thought you were going to refuse.”

“Do you want me to?”

You shook your head no, gripping your satchel tightly.

“Tomorrow at the faculty room after classes—”

When you blinked, he was already behind you. Was he a magician or something?!?

“—Don't be late.”

Then, the door closed abruptly, now it was only you in the room.

…

The next day, classes already ended and you cleaned up your desk to get to the faculty room.

As you slid the door open, he was already waiting for you.

“What're you doing?”

Veritas moved another chess piece on the board, eating the white team's queen.

“What does it look like I'm doing?”

Why can't he just be nice for once?

“Whatever, so… do we start reviewing?”

You pulled the chair opposite to his and sat down. He didn't reply, only tapping his feet.

“Your turn.”

“Do I just?—”

“Just move a piece.”

Fine then. There were barely any pieces left on the board, leaving you with no other choice as you hid your king at the corner of the board.

“Checkmate.”

There was a visible annoyance on your face, making veritas chuckle.

“Seriously? When are you going to start tutoring me? I came here to learn something— not some stupid chess game”

“First of all, chess isn't stupid”

Before you knew it, veritas flicked your forehead.

“Second of all, learn patience.”

“ow!”

Veritas hid away the board and grabbed all the books needed, pulling out some notes and highlighters for you.

“Read”

The man in front of you flipped the pages and pointed at the highlighted paragraph for you. Was he making you read out loud? Were you 10 or something?

“Do I really have to?”

His fingers tapped aggressively on the board, his patience was thinning and you weren't even past the first page yet.

“Just do it.”

…

Who could've guessed two hours later you would be in tears, notes sprawled all over the table and veritas shouting at you.

“Idiot.”

He commented on your work before rewriting the entire thing for you and repeating it again.

“God dammit we're not even past the 20th page yet you're here crying like a child.”

Sniffles echoed in the room, only his lamp illuminating the room. You checked your phone and it was already 8 pm.

“Now read.”

“Q-quantum mechanics…”

He clenched his jaw, raising his voice at you before you could continue.

“You imbecile, not that— can't you read?!? Its wave function!”

“Whatever!”

Before he could react, you stood up, bag already in hand and walking away.

“We're not done yet.”

“I don’t care.”

Just like that, you were gone.

…

Despite you running off yesterday… There you were sitting on that same chair with the alabaster head man right in front of you.

“Again?”

You bit your lip nervously before tightening the grip on your pen.

“Yeah.”

Veritas nodded as he placed down his codex and walked to the sprawled shelves at his desk, his fingers tracing over the books (those books were rotting on those shelves, too dusty he had to wipe them)

“here.”

He took the book off the shelf and thrusted it into your hands.

‘The nonlinear schrodinger equation’

“Let's start with the ‘weakly nonlinear dispersion relation’ topic.”

Time flies by as he explains each term to you, giving definition after definition about each equation in front of you.

“Here, page 24.”

He pointed at the first equation but your eyes couldn't leave his stone head.

For an intimidating man, he's getting quite patient with you.

“— and let's compute the coefficients, after that,”

You couldn't stop wondering what he looked like under that stone head. It's hot out here, he must be sweating a tsunami in there. Is he handsome? or maybe he's wearing that stone head because he looks that bad?

“—the quantum mechanical pressure becomes negligible in the ‘semiclassical’ where nabla and—”

He hit your head with a codex, with no hesitation at all.

“ow!”

Oh shit— he must've noticed you staring.

“What were we reviewing?”

uh…

You gulped nervously, looking down at the page, you guys were already at page 26?!?

“0 points.”

He smacked you but with less force, though enough to leave a bruise.

“that hurt…”

“Then listen, don't waste my time.”

Under that alabaster head of his, a small smile formed from the corner of his lips due to the amusing sight before him.

“You're annoying, let's go over the fluid-dynamical form again.”

You weren't that boring after all.

…

You both were already at page 31, which was slow progress (at least to him, he can finish the book in under 3 hours.), yet still progress nonetheless.

“Do you get it now?”

It was already 9:58 pm, shit. You both got carried away…

“Yeah.”

Veritas handed the book over to you and hid away his highlighters.

“Go review at home— you better finish page 40.”

You nod, shoving the book into your satchel and your water bottle.

Today was… fun.

As you walked outside, one foot already out the door, you looked back.

“What?”

“and…”

There was a moment of silence, none of you moving before your voice shook,

“Thank you.”

He didn't say anything back, only putting back his folders in his bag as he removed his attention from you. You shook your head and just walked home.

…

It was the third day of him tutoring you, you were getting quite good.

“And how do you do the hamilton equation?”

There was a weird habit you did, you would bite your pen or sometimes click it nonstop due to stress (which you did now, don't do it too much though, you'll piss off veritas.)

You let out a soft hum before confidently writing the equation, no error in sight.

“And these quantities are called?”

“They're uh… momentas, right?”

“20 points— you're getting good at this.”

Receiving praise from others came by often, but to get one from the Dr. Veritas Ratio himself? You could wish.

Your eyes were glued at the scratch paper, unable to contain your smile; the aeons definitely smiled down on you and blessed you with his attention for today.

He takes note of this, but doesn't comment on that any further, only flipping the pages.

…

The fourth day. It was 2 pm, 3 hours earlier than the usual tutor hours. A new coffee shop opened in the food court at the university, which turned into the new buzz (the old coffee shops were shit.)

The line was long, your legs were about to give up but your students would occasionally suggest this shop, saying it's definitely better than the instant coffee at the teacher's lounge.

After 5 more minutes, it was finally your turn to order.

“Good afternoon! What can I get ya?”

The menu was definitely diverse, candy corn flavoured coffee? That's new.

“I'll take your special cappuccino”

The cheerful cashier jotted down your order, asking for your name then running to the back.

You sat down at some table and took out your laptop, fixing your schedules for this weekend.

“For ___?”

Eh? That was fast. It only took them 3 minutes to make your order despite the heavy line? Impressive.

“Thank you.”

You smiled and snatched the cup from the counter and walked back to your seat.

It tasted funny. Coffee jelly in cappuccino with sprinkles on top? At Least it tasted good.

“And here I was wondering where you are.”

“ack!”

You looked up and saw veritas in front of you, looming over you with his codex behind him after he hit you.

“that hurt…”

He sighed and sat down next to you while you rubbed the bruised area.

“Stop hitting people with your codex damn it!”

“I find it far more interesting to use my codex to get your attention.”

“Weirdo.”

He chuckled at the way scoffed, sipping your coffee and typing some requirements on an excel sheet.

“Anyways, why were you looking for me?”

He leaned back on the couch, before responding,

“Nothing, I was just wondering where the idiot was.”

“You little—”

Only a soft sigh left your lips as you continued to type, veritas beside you reading his codex and none of you saying a word.

Though this peaceful moment was short lived as the bell rang, signalling that the two of you had to go back to your respective classes.

Veritas sat up, closing his book.

“It's time for me to go.”

“Oh yeah.”

Veritas was gone in a blink of an eye, what's up with him disappearing so suddenly 24/7?!?

…

5 pm.

You were patiently waiting in the faculty room, what was taking veritas so long?

“You're late”

Veritas rolled his eyes— wait.

His stone head was… was this really the veritas ratio? He had nice purple hair, his eyes, he looked so… beautiful.

No way.

“When are you going to stop staring?”

“Oh— uh.”

You chuckled nervously before forcing a smile as he sat down in front of you.

“Let's continue where we let off.”

The sound of flipping pages reverberated across the room, your eyes locked onto his face. He would occasionally click his tongue at some parts of the book, guiding you through each equation as his face was close to yours; enough to feel his breath on your skin.

“—because its transformation φ is a symmetry and thus preserves the Lagrangian L and the action ,S=∫L”

Veritas ratio leaned closer to you, your hands touching as he got closer,

“Do you get it now?”

You didn't. You were too focused on his face, with every wrinkle of his brows, the tiniest details of his jaw and hell, even his eyes. How could you even focus? With his face inches away from yours? No way. The man right next to you stares at you, tapping his fingers on the mahogany table; he repeated himself.

“I said, do you get it now?”

Like the air was sucked out of your lungs, your last card was to lie but he was smart enough to not fall for that.

“Y-yes”

“Then what were we reviewing just now?”

He rolled his eyes hearing your mind blank out and confused ‘uhhs’ escaped your lips. You flinch from his harsh tone, as the cold stare turned into a glare.

“We should be reviewing the noether theorem, not my face.”

He made you solve equation after equation, his gaze not leaving you once as he crumpled your papers even after one minor mistake, “Idiot”, “Do it again.”, and “Are you really paying attention?” Constantly rang in your ears, you were not sure whether you asked for a tutoring session or a three hour insulting session from the revered professor.

“I'm sorry.”, He sighed at your visible frustration as you apologised through gritted teeth. He started to pity you when you struggled with just the terms at the next lesson. Was this theorem that hard? He dropped his pen and closed the book.

“Let’s end today’s session.”

A look of relief appeared on your face as he said those words, clearly, he’ll give you a break—

“Just read this book instead. It gives a more in-depth explanation”

— or not. He thrusted the book in your hands and put on his alabaster head, making you raise an eyebrow,

“What? You can’t seem to focus without this on”

You laughed an awkward chuckle while sliding the book in your satchel, a small squeak was heard when he stood up and moved his chair at his desk.

“Tomorrow again?”

“Sure.”

…

Veritas tapped his feet aggressively as time past by, you were late by 20 minutes, by now he would've left but for some reason he's feeling nice today that he'll wait for you.

The faculty room door slid open as light footsteps entered the room.

“Sorry ‘m late.”

You smelled different today. That would sound creepy to the average person but despite the tight alabaster sculpture that covers his face, he could smell your perfume and that he's gotten used to your scent by now.

“Did you wear something new?”

“Come again?”

He took one glance at you and shook his head and shifted his attention to the complex arithmetics on his codex.

“Hey, what did you mean by that?”

It was hard to ignore you as he tried to mute your voice but he let out an inaudible sigh before taking a quick glance at you.

“I meant your perfume, idiot.”

“No need to be rude.” you scoffed and placed down your bag at your desk.

He finds himself eager for a response as your right hand shuffled in your bag looking for the perfume bottle,

“I just tried something new.”

“Oh?”

He leans over the table to take a closer look at the bottle, inspecting it with a skeptical look one he's glad you cannot see through his sculpted head.

“It was a gift from one of our coworkers here”

There was a loud slamming sound that rang in the room when you dropped the materials Veritas made you read, it was a pain highlighting everything.

“From who?”

Why was he suddenly interested? He's not one to ask about anyone's affairs so suddenly, not that he'd care about something so miniscule about you like perfume yet you humour him.

“From Amir, the history prof guy?”

“I see.” For some reason, he finds himself feeling annoyed after hearing who you got it from. Why would you accept a gift from that idiot? He's a far better history professor, definitely? definitely.

Hours passed yet he couldn't concentrate. Not with that foul stench of your new perfume of yours.

Dr. Ratio scrunched his nose in disgust as he continued to guide you through each and every lesson, harsher than usual— you didn't know why.

“Wrong answer, 2 points.”

Veritas smacked your arm with his heavy codex and snatched your answer sheet, crumpling it and tossing it in the bin.

“Do it again.”

This fucker. You were starting to lose your resolve but you do not falter under his scrutinising gaze.

Again and again. Another 30 minutes yet your answers didn't seem ‘perfect’ enough.

Veritas clicked his tongue in annoyance as you failed to answer another simple question again

“Are you even paying attention?”

“If you didn't yell at me every minute I would've”

You continued to write more equations as he rolled his eyes at your reply, his eyes scanned your work and it was okay (atleast to his standards).

His eyes squinted, looking for any mistake but there was none, he gave up.

“50 points”, he spoke in a defeated tone.

“Just 50?”

“0 points then”

“Oh come on.”

It was hell getting tutored by him.

A/N: ITS TWO PARTS COS FUCK TUMBLR AND TOLD ME THERES A WORD LIMIT LOL. THE FULL FIC WAS LIKE 6.4K WORDS OR SHIT DAMN. ITS SO CRINGE ONG IMMA POST PART TWO TMRW GOD. IM LAGG>NG SO NAD RN HELP

MY MARRIAGE WITH THE DUKE.

chapter four | masterlist

cw. reader is female, written in third pov.

Three days passed since Princess (Name) had eaten dinner with her fiancée. And now, she was walking to his study room when she was informed that her presence was required.

She has never been to his study room, and with the directions provided by the maid, she managed to find it in due time. 

“Hello? Duke Blade, I was told you were looking for me,” she called out, only to be greeted with silence. 

(Name) lingered by the doorway awkwardly, unsure if she should leave or stay there. Whatever he wanted to say to her must be important and before she could rethink her action, the princess pushed open the doors. 

As the doors swung open, warm light spilled into the expansive space, revealing a sanctuary of knowledge and contemplation. 

The first floor greeted her with a sense of cozy opulence. In the centre of the room, beneath the soft illumination of the sunlight entering the window, stood an imposing wooden desk. Its surface is adorned with leather-bound tomes, a testament to a life of curious exploration. 

Flanking the desk were two sumptuous couches, inviting and regal in their deep burgundy upholstery. 

The ambiance was one of refinement and leisure, with the soft, plush rugs underfoot offering a touch of luxury. The walls, adorned with classical artwork and antique maps, seemed to whisper the secrets of distant lands and ages past. 

Now intrigued, (Name) made her way up the polished wooden staircase that leads to the second floor. She was enveloped in the intoxicating scent of aged paper and leather bindings. 

The walls on this level were lined from floor to ceiling with towering bookshelves, each crammed with volumes of literature, history and knowledge. 

The shelves were neatly lined in a straight low and one could lose themselves for hours in the pursuit of erudition. The princess was astounded by how spacious Duke Blade’s study room looks. 

She walked down the line of bookshelves, doing a quick scan of the titles of the countless books. Most of the books involved the history of the Xianzhou Kingdom. 

She came to a stop when a peculiar title caught her eyes. The cover made it stand out from the others, with it being cladded in a thicker and much richer color: cobalt blue. (Name) reached out, fingers nearly touching the cover… 

“Well well well, what do we have here? A little mouse has barged her way into someone else’s room without permission.” 

The sudden entrance of Duke Blade elicited an undignified and startled squeak from the princess. She instantly spun around, eyes landing on her fiance, who was amused with her reaction. 

He was leaning against the wall, near the top of the flight of stairs with his arms crossed, left foot placed in front of his right foot. 

“So? What do you have to say for yourself?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. 

The princess regained her composure, clearing her throat and stepped away from the bookshelf. “I’m sorry, I didn’t wait for you to return and I entered your study room without permission.” 

Duke Blade hummed, slowly nodding his head and pushed himself off the wall. “Apology accepted, now come with me, sweetheart. I have something I need to discuss with you.” 

(Name) obediently followed him as they descended the flight of stairs. She accepted his invitation, taking her seat on the nearest couch while the man sat on the other couch. 

Duke Blade reached into the breast pocket of his coat, pulling out an envelope and placed it on the table situated between the two couches. 

Her eyes widened slightly when she recognized the envelope. It bore the unmistakable mark of royalty, a testament to its esteemed sender. Crafted from the finest parchment, it exuded an air of grandeur and authority. 

The front of the envelope was adorned with the royal insignia: a majestic crest that commanded respect, with a gleaming crown atop a shield bearing the emblem of the Xianzhou Kingdom. 

(Name) leaned forward, grabbing the envelope with extra care as if it was a piece of glass. The paper, a rich and velvety cream, felt opulent to the touch. Its edges were meticulously embossed with intricate patterns, reminiscent of the kingdom’s storied history and cultural heritage. 

The envelope was sealed with precision, the wax imprint in regal crimson bearing the royal seal, ensuring the sanctity of its contents. 

(Name)’s eyes flickered between the envelope and Duke Blade’s face, unsure if she was allowed to open. She only proceeded to do so when he gave her the green sign. 

Upon opening the envelope, she found the contents nestled within, protected by layers of silk. The letter inside bore the unmistakable mark of the king’s personal attention. 

She pulled out the neatly folded letter, unfolding it to reveal the content written in exquisite calligraphy, each stroke a testament to the grace and elegance of the written word. 

~

Dearest Duke Blade and Princess (Name), 

Greetings to you both. It is with immense pleasure and honor that I pen this letter to extend my heartfelt congratulations on your engagement. The union of two noble souls is a momentous occasion, and I am delighted to share in your joy. 

The alliance forged between your kingdoms carries with it a profound legacy of tradition, respect, and unity: a testament to the enduring values that define the Xianzhou Kingdom.

It is my firm belief that your union will not only strengthen the bonds between our kingdoms but also contribute to the continued prosperity and harmony of our people. 

To commemorate this auspicious occasion, it is my privilege to extend an invitation to both of you to join us at a formal engagement celebration. 

This grand event will take place in the opulent halls of the royal palace, a setting befitting the significance of this moment. The evening will be adorned with music, dance, and a feast fit for royalty, as we come together to toast to your love and commitment. 

The date and time for this joyous gathering is as follows: 

[22nd September 20XX] 

[6pm]

[Location: Royal Palace, Xianzhou Kingdom] 

In this moment of celebration and anticipation, I send you my warmest regards and offer my sincerest best wishes. May your love story be a source of inspiration and joy to us all. 

With deepest respect and affection. 

Jing Yuan :3. 

~

“.. Did he just announce our marriage to the people before us?” (Name) deadpanned after she finished reading the letter. 

Duke Blade sighs. “I’ve gotten used to Jing Yuan. He knows how to get his way, with nothing and no one standing between him and his goals. It seems like he’s forcing us to attend the gathering and it’s not like we have a choice to begin with. Which is why I’m curious, what do you think?” 

“... I think this is a great opportunity to announce our marriage to the people of the Xianzhou Kingdom. It will help to put their minds at ease and it’ll help to strengthen the relationship between our kingdoms,” she answered earnestly. 

“Is that really all?” He questioned. 

“What?” She blinked, confused. 

It turns out her answer wasn’t satisfactory, considering how Duke Blade sighed. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something but thought better of it and closed his mouth. The man rose to his full height, easily towering over (Name)’s seated form. 

“Never mind, it seems like I’ve set my expectations too high. Feel free to head out to shop for the perfect outfit. Don’t worry about the payment, just say my name and the staff will know what to do,” he told her and left the room before she could reply. 

The princess was in a state of shock. She sat there for a few minutes, mind trying to process the words Duke Blade said. She had thought they were perfectly fine after having dinner a few days ago but it turns out she was wrong. 

Just what is wrong with him? First, he questioned me about my background and now he’s saying how he set his expectations too high? I don’t understand him… 

~ 

“Your Grace, you have a guest.” 

Dan Heng looked up from the book he was reading when one of the maids spoke up. 

“Come in.” 

The door was opened once granted permission and he rose at the sight of the king of the Eldoria Kingdom, who is also (Name)’s father, entered his room. Dan Heng bowed with utmost respect, straightening himself when the king gestured for him to do so. 

“Your Majesty, to what do I owe the pleasure of your sudden visit?” He asked. 

The king smiled, dimples appearing. “Dan Heng, I was wondering if you would be interested in attending a gathering.”

“A gathering? What is it about?” He asked, puzzled. 

The king reached into his pocket, pulling out an envelope and handed it to the prince. “Here, you can find the details here. You don’t have to let me know your answer immediately, take as much time as you need. However, something tells me you’ll be attending the gathering.” 

The king left Dan Heng’s room before he could muster a response, leaving him bewildered. Now curious, he decided to check the content. 

His blood ran cold, and his heart shattered after he had read the letter. The letter contains an invitation extended to the Eldoria Kingdom, inviting them to attend Princess (Name) and Duke Blade’s marriage. 

The thought of (Name) getting married to someone else made his blood boil with jealousy. Dan Heng knows he doesn’t deserve her anymore, not after how he had treated her poorly.

He could still remember the way she scowled at him, treating him with coldness before she set off to the Xianzhou Kingdom. 

However, Dan Heng is a persistent man who never knows when to give up. He doesn’t want her to get married to the duke, not when it’s rumored that Duke Blade is a cold-hearted and ruthless man. For all he knows, (Name) might have been living a poor and unfair life during her time spent at the Xianzhou Kingdom. 

Having made up his mind, the prince left his room. He walked down the hallway, determined to free her from her fiancé and make things right. 

note: so uh, dan heng's gonna be that one annoying male character in those royal manhwas, if you guys know what i'm talking about hehe. next few chapters will take place at the ceremony and drama's gonna happen weee

taglist: @bladesmuse, @yuuzuforia, @lunavixia, @jingyuansbird, @kimura-uzuri, @aloveablechaos, @reilly34, @nayukiyukihira, @ryuryuryuyurboat, @sunsethw4, @lunaescient (send an ask off-anon to be added!)

I'm back!!!

I'm back!! I was literally in no spirits to write fanfics, but thinking about picking it back up again.

Really have been in a Honkai Star Rail brain rot lately (mostly about xianzhou men ^^), and many ideas just popped into my brain. So please read through all of it and tell me which one you think I should start first. And please repost or share it with others! Comments are important!! I know it's long, but just bear with me. It's vital for me (>.<)

Long Fics:

Jing Yuan x Reader

Trope: Childhood friends to lovers

Relationships: Jing Yuan x Reader, TBD

About: Based off of a Ming dynasty emperor who only loved one woman (his childhood friend) for his whole life.

Reader Gender: Female

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/comfort, Ancient China au, childhood friends to lovers, Honkai Star Rail x Reader, hsr x reader, female! Reader, jing yuan x reader, hsr jing yuan, honkai star rail jing yuan, jing yuan x you

♡ ꒰ ◞ ◟ ꒱⌒)ᦱ 𓈒 ૮₍ ´ . ˕ .` ₎ა 𓈒 ⊹ ໒ ꐦ ｀ヮ ´ ა

Dan Heng x Reader

Trope: Reincarnation

Relationship: Dan Heng x Reader, TBD

About: Loosely based off of the c-drama 三生三世 (it’s really just an ost that inspired me). Dan Heng loves reader for the longest time, but instead of him reincarnating, it’s reader. Basically, reader is mortal while Dan Heng is immortal and heavenly law states that immortals aren’t allowed to fall in love with mortals. Essentially Dan Heng breaks that rule many times and gets punished many times (i.e. heavenly prison, loss of status, etc). And what if reader becomes immortal one day?

Reader Gender: Neutral

Tags: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, guzhuang, immortal x mortal, immortality, Honkai Star Rail x Reader, hsr x reader, gn! Reader, dan heng x  reader, hsr dan heng, dan heng x you,  suggestive, reincarnation

♡ ꒰ ◞ ◟ ꒱⌒)ᦱ 𓈒 ૮₍ ´ . ˕ .` ₎ა 𓈒 ⊹ ໒ ꐦ ｀ヮ ´ ა

Jing Yuan x Reader

Trope: Maiden and knight

Relationships: Jing Yuan x Reader, TBD

About: Another one based loosely off of c-drama (again, it’s the ost doing it for me). This time loosely based off of Love Like the Galaxy. Some characters may be more calculating  than in the show. Only really thought of this cuz of Jing Yuan being a general.

Reader Gender: Neutral

Tags: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, guzhuang, Honkai Star Rail x Reader, hsr x reader, gn! Reader, jing yuan x reader, hsr jing yuan, honkai star rail jing yuan, jing yuan x you

♡ ꒰ ◞ ◟ ꒱⌒)ᦱ 𓈒 ૮₍ ´ . ˕ .` ₎ა 𓈒 ⊹ ໒ ꐦ ｀ヮ ´ ა

Blade x Reader

Trope: Good x Evil

Relationships: Blade x Reader, TBD

About: Another another loosely inspired by the c-drama, Love Between Fairy and Devil. Though no, reader isn’t really gonna be an innocent dunce from the start. May display dumb, but not make it her personality. People around reader keep trying to tell them to stay away from the evil ones, but reader doesn’t really listen (cuz folks really don’t be telling them what the evil people look like) and ends up meeting the leader of said evil forces, Blade. Plot starts towards the beginning of the war between the good and evil.

Reader Gender: Neutral

Tags: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, guzhuang, Honkai Star Rail x Reader, hsr x reader, gn! Reader, blade x reader, hsr blade, hsr blade x reader, blade x you, hsr blade x you

♡ ꒰ ◞ ◟ ꒱⌒)ᦱ 𓈒 ૮₍ ´ . ˕ .` ₎ა 𓈒 ⊹ ໒ ꐦ ｀ヮ ´ ა

Dan Heng x Reader

Trope: Can MDZS be a trope itself?

Relationships: Dan Heng x Reader, TBD

About: Inspired by MDZS/The Untamed. Although it won’t be danmei and will deviate with the fact it’s more chronological than having long periods of flashbacks (yes I’m looking at you Untamed, why tf did you spend so many episodes on flashbacks and then everything after just went by so quickly??? But that’s just my opinion -- anyways). Obviously not everything is going to be 100% accurate since this is a fanfic inspired by MDZS/The Untamed and Star Rail isn’t that.

Reader Gender: Neutral

Tags: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, guzhuang, Honkai Star Rail x Reader, hsr x reader, gn! Reader, gn! Reader, dan heng x  reader, hsr dan heng, dan heng x you,  suggestive, resurrection

♡ ꒰ ◞ ◟ ꒱⌒)ᦱ 𓈒 ૮₍ ´ . ˕ .` ₎ა 𓈒 ⊹ ໒ ꐦ ｀ヮ ´ ა

Blade x Reader

Trope: Princ(ess) and knight

Relationships: Blade x Reader, Dan Heng & Reader (platonic)

About: Blade is assigned to be the personal guard of lord/lady by none other than their brother, Dan Heng. The lord/lady only thought of Blade as a sword and shield, they never thought they’d ever fall for the man with many mysteries. Yet they know, that those who hold many mysteries are the ones most likely to betray and use. That was just the way of court life. However, a small part of them just hopes -- wishes that Blade would never betray or use them for ulterior motives.

Reader Gender: Neutral

Tags: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, guzhuang, Honkai Star Rail x Reader, hsr x reader, gn! Reader, gn! Reader, blade x reader, hsr blade, hsr blade x reader, blade x you, hsr blade x you, protective! Blade

♡ ꒰ ◞ ◟ ꒱⌒)ᦱ 𓈒 ૮₍ ´ . ˕ .` ₎ა 𓈒 ⊹ ໒ ꐦ ｀ヮ ´ ა

Luocha x Reader

Trope: Immortal and mortal

Relationships: Luocha x Reader, Fu Xuan (just filling in the role of the monk)

About: Based off of the Legend of the White Snake. Deviation will occur. Reader doesn’t have a sister, and Luocha is an actual doctor not scholar.  Reader will not be imprisoned in a pagoda (like is some shows/rendition of the story).

Reader Gender: Neutral

Tags: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, guzhuang, Honkai Star Rail x Reader, hsr x reader, gn! Reader,  luocha x reader, hsr luocha, luocha x you, hsr luocha x you

One-Shots

Jing Yuan x Reader

About: Very loosely based off of Fuhao, the Shang dynasty warrior queen. Reader is is a priestess and  a warrior, going off to fight battles and returning victorious until one day, she didn’t return. Stricken with grief, Jing Yuan prepares a burial and tomb for his beloved queen.

Reader Gender: Female

Tags: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, guzhuang, Honkai Star Rail x Reader, hsr x reader, gn! Reader, jing yuan x reader, hsr jing yuan, honkai star rail jing yuan, jing yuan x you,

♡ ꒰ ◞ ◟ ꒱⌒)ᦱ 𓈒 ૮₍ ´ . ˕ .` ₎ა 𓈒 ⊹ ໒ ꐦ ｀ヮ ´ ა

Dan Heng x Reader

About: Dan Heng (Imbibitor Lunae) takes a stroll for a break. Then stumbles upon a  unique looking figure: softly resting atop their hair were two long feathers of grey color. He had never seen someone like them before, so curiosity getting the best of him, he approaches them. Only for them to turn and look at him. That’s when he froze, both in embarrassment and in fear. Da peng, the only child of the phoenix to feast upon dragons. Da peng, the one who stands before him with a curious gaze.

Reader Gender: Neutral

Tags: Fluff, silly, no dan heng they're not gonna eat you, Honkai Star Rail x Reader, hsr x reader, gn! Reader, dan heng x  reader, hsr dan heng, dan heng x you, chinese mythology

🔎 Searching for you!

a social media au | scaramouche x fem!reader

sypnosis ; after attending your favorite band's concert and after party, you decide to drink your heart out, and when you finally sober up, you're left with a "call me" note, thousands of messages of your best friend yelling at you to wake up, a hangover, and allegations to beat, yesterday, you were a normal fan who admired 6reeze, and now you apparently stole a kiss from one of the members, what do you do when you find out he's searching for you?

genre ; idol!au, modern!au, fluff, sfw, stangers to lovers

warnings ; everyone in this smau are adults, suggestive jokes but no smut, pictures i use do not depict the reader's skin color, height, or body shape, they're used to show poses and are used as visual descriptions, slow updates, more to be added.

notes ; soooo yeah starting another smau, however this one will start at a later time, i'm planning to start it on the 4th of january, alsoooo the fandom name for 6reeze is swirls 😭 idk if that makes sense but i can't think of anything else

taglist status ; [ closed ]

presenting the cast for searching for you!

⤷ broke ass swirls | insane people (+xiao and kazu)

Season 1 | i wish you were sober

01 - sounds gay, i'm in

02 - BITCH GO DM HIM

03 - meetup???

04 - #discrimination #homophobia !!

05 - a kiss worth remembering

06 - his plus one

07 - 6reeze? more like 6lowjob

07.5 - may all non single bitches burn and die

08 - autocorrect (???)

09 - bros beefing w a cat

10 - mans is so whipped its ridiculous

Season 2 | to the newlyweds!

10.5 - hu tao's soul

11 - bro didn't let that slide

12 - you should eat pussy, not be one

13 - date 2.0

14 - tba

15 - tba

16 - tba

17 - tba

18 - tba

19 - tba

20 - tba