Winter

18+ Dottore’s #1 Fan

[acornwinter]

النعمة تنمو بشكل أفضل في فصل الشتاء

//Winter -> They/Them, Nonbinary.

Artist -- Rules can be found Here -- - You do not have consent to repost my art (reblogs are okay) - Lowkey not taking any requests lol

- Blog can be semi NSFW, proper warnings will be applied if so. (MDNI WITH THE NSFW CONTENT.)

!About me! My moots

Genshin UID: 618670674 - -

- Masterlist

[boundinparchment]

Fuck you, tumblr. Now I’m really glad I don’t do direct fic chapter posts anymore.

But like why the fucking fuck would you make your UX function like other fuck ass platforms? The entire point of there being different social media options is to have different functionality.

This shithole is like if YouTube and Twitter had a baby because you have ads you accidentally click into and now we’re just doing quote retweets.

I’ve been using this place since 2010. I’m fully entitled to bitch about the uniformity of social media and the state of functionality.

[thatonegrimm]

Hey everyone,

I know I’ve been pretty absent lately because of school, but I’m happy to say it’s almost over (thankfully).

I’m not entirely sure how to articulate this, so I’m just going to be blunt: one of my family members deleted around 40 of my fanfics I was actively working on, along with one of my school finals. This doesn’t even touch the chapters, story ideas, request drafts, or where I stored them—nor some of my (extremely) old fics. Altogether, this was months, and in some cases years, of accumulated work. Please do not ask why this happened, as it’s all rather personal and not something I wish to share.

I’m honestly very upset and pretty lost right now. I don’t remember exactly where some of these stories were going, and I don’t know where to begin in terms of rebuilding them or getting back to where they were before.

Because of this, I genuinely don’t know what comes next for my writing.

That said, I do still have about 3–5 requests saved elsewhere (thankfully) that are almost ready to be posted, and I will be sharing those soon, if not as soon as I originally hoped. However, this situation has taken a serious toll on both my motivation and mental health.

For now, I’ll be leaving requests open indefinitely. If and when I find the energy to write, I’ll be pulling from the request pool based on what I feel capable of working on at the time.

In the meantime, I’ll be slowly moving some of my older works over to AO3, so don’t be surprised if you start seeing them appear there. I may also start posting some short stories—I’ve wanted to do this for a while, and most of those ideas survived, so there should still be things to look forward to. Everything is going to be very sporadic, and you may only see updates a few times over the next several months, but thank you for being here with me through this journey.

Thank you for your patience and understanding. It truly means more than I can put into words.

[thatonegrimm]

PLEASE READ

It’s been a little while since I’ve been active over here 😅

First: I am still writing whenever I have the time. I’ve decided that releasing all my October WIP's together over my Christmas break is the best plan, I’ll finally have the time to clean everything up and double-check it before posting.

Second:

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.

There are no limits with this. If you have an idea and want to share it, just send it in — I don’t mind at all (as long as it follows the rules).

👀 I’m hoping this helps boost my motivation a bit. These new requests will start going up (in a new WIP post) after the current WIPs are posted, but if a few of them grab my attention, I might start writing (not posting) things sooner.

Please understand that none of this will be at the speed it used to be. School is too important for me to be splitting my attention right now. Also I want writing to feel fun again, not something I burn myself out on.

[thatonegrimm]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BESTIE @acornwinter ENJOY!!! 🎉 🎉❤️❤️❤️

Satoru’s Guide to Perfect Birthdays

Summary: Spending your birthday with Satoru is never quiet, never simple, and never boring. From the moment he barges in at dawn to the last laugh before sleep, he’s determined to make it unforgettable in only the way he can.

Fluff

WC: 3.3k

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

It was far too early for anyone to be awake on their birthday. The sun had only just crept over the rooftops, painting the curtains with a pale gold glow, when your door slammed open so hard you nearly thought an intruder had broken in.

Instead, it was Satoru.

“Happy birthday to the most important person in the world—besides me, of course!” he announced at top volume, dragging out the last words with a laugh.

You blinked blearily against the confetti raining down on you. Actual confetti. He had somehow timed it so that the moment the door opened, a cloud of it shot straight into your room.

In his other hand, he carried a bunch of balloons shaped like ridiculous cartoon animals, bobbing and squeaking against each other as he moved. Balanced precariously under his arm was a cake box—your name scrawled across the top in bright blue frosting letters you could already imagine were his doing, not the bakery’s.

“Satoru—” Your voice cracked, still rough with sleep. “It’s seven in the morning.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “Prime birthday hour. You think the sun got up this early just for fun? No, sweetheart. It’s celebrating you. I had to beat it to the party.”

Before you could argue, he shoved a glittery paper hat onto your head. It had a giant pom-pom at the top and “Birthday Royalty” stamped across it in sparkly letters. You groaned, but he clasped his hands dramatically, tilting his head.

“Perfect. Absolutely stunning. Vogue could never.”

You sat up slowly, brushing confetti from your hair, and eyed the cake box. “Are you seriously making me eat cake before breakfast?”

“Oh, don’t worry about breakfast,” he said, turning on his heel like a man on a mission. “I’ve got that handled.”

That should’ve been your first warning.

Five minutes later, smoke curled from the kitchen.

“Satoru!” you shouted, scrambling out of bed. The sight that greeted you was both horrifying and exactly what you’d expected: flour dusting the counters, egg shells scattered like shrapnel, a pan smoking violently on the stove. Satoru stood in the middle of it all, spatula in one hand, apron hanging askew, looking ridiculously unbothered.

“Relax, babe,” he said, waving the spatula around like a conductor’s baton. “This is totally under control.”

“You set the stove on fire.”

“Minor setback.”

“You cracked eggs directly into the toaster.”

“Experimental cuisine. Don’t limit my genius.”

You pressed a hand to your face, sighing, while he leaned casually against the counter, all six-foot-three of smug confidence in an apron that read Kiss the Cook.

“You know what,” he said, snapping his fingers like he’d just remembered something, “I actually had this planned all along. No one wants lumpy pancakes when you could have gourmet takeout ones.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, already dialing. “See? Totally intentional. Gojo Satoru does not fail, he improvises.”

You couldn’t help laughing, even as you opened the windows to air out the smoke. He caught the sound immediately, his smile softening beneath the theatrics.

“That’s the real birthday gift,” he said, voice dropping just enough to cut through his usual playful pitch. “Making you laugh before coffee. I’m unstoppable.”

By the time you sat down with a proper breakfast—fluffy pancakes stacked high, delivered by a very confused courier—Satoru had already cut a slice of the birthday cake “for quality testing.” You rolled your eyes, but he leaned across the table to crown you again with the ridiculous birthday hat, grin wide and boyish.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he said, quieter this time, sincerity peeking through the chaos.

And despite the mess, the smoke, and the confetti still clinging to your pajamas, you couldn’t imagine a better start to the day.

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

By late morning, you’d just finished cleaning stray confetti out of your hair when Satoru suddenly appeared in front of you, grinning like he’d been plotting this moment for hours. Which, knowing him, he had.

“Mission time,” he declared, holding up a black silk blindfold. “For authenticity.”

You frowned. “Authenticity for what?”

He ignored the question, stepping closer to tie the fabric over your eyes. His fingers brushed your temples with surprising care, knotting it gently at the back of your head. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t peek. Top-secret birthday mission.”

“Satoru—”

“Nope. No spoilers.” He clapped his hands and suddenly, the world around you shifted.

It wasn’t just walking. One moment you were in your apartment; the next, the air smelled different, alive with sugar and popcorn. You felt the faint rush of wind against your skin, his Infinity buzzing faintly as if he’d bent space just for this.

When he tugged the blindfold off, you squinted against neon lights. An arcade stretched out before you—rows of glowing machines, flashing screens, and the faint hum of game music. Satoru was practically vibrating beside you, an infuriatingly cocky smile tugging at his lips.

“First stop,” he said, gesturing grandly. “The land of champions. And by champions, I mean me, because obviously I’m about to destroy you in every game.”

“Uh-huh.” You crossed your arms, already suspicious.

True to form, Satoru dove headfirst into the competition. He dragged you from one machine to the next—racing games, air hockey, rhythm games—and somehow managed to both play seriously and narrate everything dramatically, as though you were contestants in some televised tournament.

When you actually managed to beat him at skee-ball, he gasped like you’d committed treason. “You dare dethrone me on your birthday? Cruel.”

“Maybe you’re just not as good as you think,” you teased.

He pressed a hand over his heart. “Blasphemy. Slander. Lies.” Then he immediately grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the claw machines. “Watch closely. This is where I prove myself.”

You raised a brow. “You’re going to fail, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me? I am the strongest.” He flexed his fingers theatrically before sliding coins into the slot. The claw descended, missed the plush, and clanked empty against the chute.

You smirked. “Strongest, huh?”

His blindfold twitched as if he’d narrowed his eyes. “That was a warm-up.”

On the second try, you caught the subtle shimmer of Infinity guiding the claw. Sure enough, it snagged a stuffed animal—a ridiculous pink bunny—and dropped it neatly into the prize bin. Satoru whipped it out like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat and presented it to you with a flourish.

“See? Your boyfriend’s not only the strongest sorcerer, but also the strongest at claw machines. Legendary multitasker.”

You took the plush, laughing. “You cheated.”

“I enhanced my natural talent,” he corrected, snapping a selfie of the two of you with the bunny squished between your faces.

That set the tone for the rest of the afternoon. Every game turned into a photo op. Satoru insisted on documenting everything: you laughing mid-throw at the basketball hoop, you rolling your eyes while he posed dramatically with plastic tickets draped over his shoulders, you holding a churro while he leaned in with mock jealousy. He must’ve taken a hundred selfies, half of them blurry because he couldn’t stop laughing at his own antics.

Eventually, when you were both carrying far too many cheap prizes and your cheeks hurt from smiling, he whisked you away again—another sudden lurch in the air, another shift in atmosphere. This time, it reveals something quieter: a rooftop garden overlooking the city. The late afternoon sun stretched golden across the skyline, casting long shadows.

Satoru sprawled across a bench, patting the space beside him. “Bonus round,” he said, tilting his head toward the view. “Thought you might want something a little less flashy, too.”

You sat, the cool breeze brushing your skin, and glanced at him. For once, he wasn’t performing. His lips curved into a rare, real smile that always made you blush.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, softer than before. “Still more surprises to come, but…this one’s just for us.”

And with that, he leaned in, snapping another selfie—but this time, it wasn’t loud or exaggerated. Just the two of you, framed by sunlight and skyline, a quiet pause in his whirlwind of chaos.

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

By the time you got back from the rooftop, your arms full of arcade prizes and a sugar high from all the snacks, Satoru was still buzzing with energy. You, however, were starting to feel pleasantly heavy—too much laughter, too much sugar, too much chaos packed into a few short hours.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Birthday nap time,” he announced the moment you kicked off your shoes. He flopped onto your couch like he’d lived there his whole life, stretching out dramatically until he occupied every cushion. “Doctor’s orders. And by doctor, I mean me, because I clearly have the qualifications.”

You raised a brow, amused. “You’re the worst doctor ever. Don’t even think about hogging the whole couch.”

“Relax, I’m the best pillow you’ll ever have.” He patted his chest invitingly.

Against your better judgment, you gave in. The sun filtered through the window in soft beams, the room warm and quiet after the morning’s madness. You curled up beside him, head pillowed against his shoulder. He immediately draped an arm over you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. Just the steady hum of the city outside, the rhythm of his breathing, and the faint brush of his thumb tracing idle circles against your arm. He was unusually still, no quips or ridiculous commentary. Just present.

Then, softly, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear: “Birthdays are weird, you know? They sneak up on you. Remind you how fast time runs.”

You tilted your head, surprised by the tone. Satoru rarely let seriousness slip into his voice.

Before you could respond, he chuckled, covering it with his usual bravado. “Anyway! That’s why I get clingy on days like this. Gotta make sure you don’t age without me attached to your side. Tragic if you did.”

You laughed, though your chest warmed at the confession hidden beneath the joke. He shifted, pressing his cheek briefly to the top of your head, as though the contact itself anchored him.

After the nap—short and sweet, just enough to recharge—you woke to find him rummaging in a shopping bag you didn’t remember seeing before. He turned at your groggy question, his grin back in full force.

“Oh, good, you’re awake! Just in time for part three of the birthday extravaganza.”

He started pulling things out one by one: an enormous box of gourmet chocolates, your favorite rare snack imported from overseas, and a bakery bag stuffed with pastries. You blinked as the pile grew, until the entire coffee table was covered.

“Satoru, this is—this is too much.”

“Nonsense.” He waved a hand like your protests were irrelevant. “You deserve all of it. Besides, I didn’t stop there.” He ducked back into the bag and produced something small, neatly wrapped, clearly expensive. Jewelry.

You gaped. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” he interrupted smoothly, pressing the box into your hands. “And I will. Because I’m me, and because you’re you.”

When you hesitated, he tilted his head, feigning innocence. “What? You thought I was gonna show up with only confetti and pancakes? Please. I may be dramatic, but I’m also thoughtful. Deadly combo.”

You opened the box carefully, touched by how much consideration went into the gift. He leaned closer, voice soft, teasing but sincere. “See? Totally no big deal. Just…don’t ever say I don’t spoil you.”

It was ridiculous, overwhelming, so very Satoru. But as you sat there surrounded by sweets, sunlight, and the warmth of his grin, you couldn’t deny the truth: beneath the jokes, beneath the chaos, this was his way of saying he cherished you.

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

By the time evening rolled around, you thought maybe the chaos had finally run its course. Satoru had already given you confetti, pancakes, plushies, naps, and more sweets than a small army could eat. Surely, you figured, he’d settle for just ordering takeout and calling it a day.

But then he disappeared into your bedroom and came back out dressed in a crisp button-up and blazer, blindfold still perfectly in place. He tugged at his cuffs with exaggerated flair, striking a pose in the doorway.

“Well?” he asked, smirk tugging at his lips. “Hot, right? Don’t all answer at once.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t deny it—he did look good. “You couldn’t take the blindfold off and use your glasses for once? Just for dinner?”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Excuse you, this is my brand. My charm. My mystique. Besides, wouldn’t want you falling even harder for me tonight. Dangerous levels of attraction.”

Before you could retort, he offered his hand with a courtly bow. “Come on. Reservation awaits.”

You let him guide you, amused and curious. When you finally arrived, it wasn’t just a restaurant—it was a rooftop terrace, string lights glowing overhead, the city sprawling in glittering patterns below. A single table had been set up, white linen, candles, the works.

Your breath caught. “Satoru…”

“Told you,” he said smugly, pulling out your chair with a flourish. “Only the best for my favorite human.”

Dinner itself was a spectacle. He ordered enough food for three people, insisting “birthdays require feasts.” He teased you relentlessly, trying to feed you bites just to watch you squirm, snapping selfies mid-meal, whispering ridiculous commentary about the other diners even though you two were alone.

But in between the theatrics, he slipped in comments that made your heart stumble.

“You look incredible in this light, you know.” “I’m glad I get to be here today. With you.” “Do you have any idea how lucky I am?”

Each one delivered so casually, like he hadn’t just stripped away your defenses with a handful of words. Every time you looked at him in surprise, he grinned like nothing had happened, pouring you more water or offering another bite of dessert.

When the plates were cleared, he leaned back in his chair, producing a small wrapped box from his pocket. “Final gift,” he announced, sliding it across the table with a grin. “Been saving this one.”

You eyed it warily. “If it’s more cake, I swear—”

“Even better,” he interrupted. “Socks.”

You blinked. “…Socks?”

He nodded, straight-faced. “Very practical. Everyone loves socks. I even picked your size. You should be thanking me right now.”

Against your better judgment, you opened the box. Inside, neatly folded, was indeed a pair of novelty socks—bright, patterned, utterly ridiculous. You stared at them, speechless.

Satoru burst out laughing. “Oh my god, your face! Priceless. Don’t worry, that’s not the real present.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another box, this one sleek and unmistakably expensive. Sliding it across the table, his grin softened. “Okay, now open this one.”

Inside lay a delicate piece of jewelry—something clearly chosen with thought, tailored perfectly to your taste. Not flashy, but personal.

You looked up, touched, and caught him watching you from across the candles, blindfold off. For once, his expression wasn’t smug or teasing, but quietly earnest.

“See?” he said softly, resting his chin in his hand. “I can be serious sometimes. Just don’t tell anyone—I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

The warmth in his voice hit harder than any confetti storm or rooftop dinner. And as he leaned across the table to snap one last picture—your stunned face lit by candlelight, the city sparkling behind you—you realized he’d given you more than just a gift. He’d given you the kind of memory that couldn’t be wrapped, boxed, or tied with ribbon.

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

The night air was cool when Satoru led you away from the glowing terrace. Dinner had left you full and a little drowsy, but he insisted there was one last stop. He walked with his usual swagger, but his hand never left yours, warm and steady as he guided you up another flight of stairs to the very top of the building.

When you stepped onto the rooftop, the city spread out below like a sea of stars—but above, the real constellations burned even brighter. The sky was perfectly clear, every pinprick of light sharp against the dark canvas. He flopped down on the flat concrete without hesitation, patting the space beside him.

“Come on, birthday star. Let’s give these losers a run for their money.”

You stretched out next to him, shivering slightly until he tugged you against his side. He tilted his head back, blindfold aimed at the heavens. “See that?” he said, pointing vaguely upward. “That one’s jealous. You’re clearly brighter.”

You laughed softly. “Satoru, you can’t even see the stars through your blindfold.”

“Details, details.” He waved his hand. “The truth is universal: you’re prettier. The cosmos agrees. Probably plotting your fan club as we speak.”

You rolled your eyes, but his tone was lighter than the words suggested—like he wanted you to believe it, even if he had to wrap it in ridiculousness.

For a while, you just lay there, listening to the hum of the city far below and the steady rhythm of his breathing. The usual sharp edges of his voice softened in the quiet, his jokes trailing off into silence. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“You know,” he said, “days like this remind me why I don’t mind all the noise. The teaching, the missions, the curses. It all feels less heavy when I get to come back here. To you.”

You turned your head, startled by the sincerity that slipped past his walls. He wasn’t grinning now. Just resting his hands behind his head, expression unreadable beneath the blindfold, but his voice steady and unguarded.

“Life goes fast,” he continued. “Too fast. People disappear, things change. But tonight, you’re here, and I’m here, and that’s… enough for me.”

Your chest tightened at the rare vulnerability in his words. Before you could respond, though, he blew out a loud, exaggerated sigh and shifted back into performance mode. “Anyway! Enough of that mushy stuff. You’ll ruin my cool image.”

You nudged him lightly, smiling. “You never had one.”

“Rude,” he said, but his arm tightened around your shoulders.

The two of you stayed like that until the night deepened, stars wheeling silently overhead. Just when you thought he might have actually fallen asleep, Satoru began humming. Loudly. Dramatically. The tune was unmistakable: “Happy Birthday.”

You groaned. “Satoru. Stop.”

“What? You didn’t think I was gonna serenade you under the stars? This is peak romance.”

“You sound like a dying walrus.”

He gasped. “Insulting the strongest singer alive? Cruel. You wound me.”

Still, he kept going, louder and more ridiculous until you covered his mouth with your hand. “Shut up.”

His laugh vibrated against your palm, muffled and amused. He finally relented, humming a few more bars under his breath before trailing off.

Eventually, the rooftop grew quieter again, only the soft rush of wind and the faint sounds of traffic below. Satoru shifted, tugging you closer until his entire frame draped over yours, heavy but comforting. His breathing slowed, his usual endless energy finally giving out.

Just before sleep claimed him, he murmured, voice low and warm, “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Moments later, he was out—smug even in slumber, a faint smile tugging at his lips. And as the stars watched overhead, you realized it was the perfect ending: messy, loud, ridiculous, and yet so full of love. Entirely, unmistakably Satoru.

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

M-List

[acornwinter]

GRIMMYYYYYY 😭😭😭🩵🩵🩵🩵💜💜💜💜 GIRL U WENT ALL OUT OH MY GOD

I LOVE YOUUUU SO MUCH QUEEN THANK YOU 🩵🩵🩵 Cherishing this forever and ever. Best birthday gift.

[skyenish]

“내 황홀의 취해, you can't look away” | Malleus as Jinu from K-Pop Demon Hunters

[thatonegrimm]

GRIMM IK UR REQUESTS ARE CLOSED BUT

I DREW ABBY AS A PREGNANT FEMBOY 9 MONTHS PREGNANT WITH ROMANCES BABY BC A ABBY RP BLOG WAS MEAN TO ME

OK WAIT—This made me laugh so hard. It's amazing! An RP blog was mean to you? They have no taste.

[acornwinter]

For Every Cycle

Spoilers for the Honkai Star Rail 3.4 Amphoreus Questline under the cut!

cw: Doomed Yaoi, Angst, Hurt/No comfort, death, 3.4 spoilers, slight ooc Mydei(?)

//Divider by: @uzmacchiato

“You don’t look so good, deliverer,” Mydei mutters in a low voice, his arms crossed over his chest-- back facing the familiar yet unrecognizable man stepping towards him. The white haired man merely chuckles under his breath, a faux display of composure, the back of his throat threatening to close up as he inches closer to the Demi-God of Strife.

“How many cycles have we met under similar circumstances?”

“Over 100,000,” Phainon, or rather, Khaslana replies. His voice a ruin of what it once was, scratchy and wavering-- rather than the usual joyful tone the two men once knew.

Mydei barks out a laugh laced with pain and condensation, head craning to meet the gaze of one who is falling towards destruction, “Hundreds of thousands of cycles, but there’s still tenderness in your eyes…how pathetic.”

Khaslana’s eyes narrow briefly, his breath catching in his throat, before he looks back over to the Kremnoan. 

“I...simply do not wish for the destruction to take over my entire being,” he replies callously, yet his voice betrays him, trembling under the gaze of Strife. 

The Demi-God tilts his head downward, attempting to stifle a chuckle before his entire body pivots to face the deliverer. His deliverer. 

“I have to remember how this feels, remember how I was once human,” Khaslana continues, before Mydei simply grunts in response, interrupting the melodramatic moment with his booming voice.

“If you win, tell the Mydeimos of the next life: this person is a worthy opponent, so always remember to give it your all and never slack off.”

Silence, but only for a moment, before Khaslana’s voice speaks out in a softer-- weaker tone.

“I’ll keep that in mind, as always.”

Strife hesitates, glancing off to the side before his eyes return to meet those gorgeous pools of blue he once loved…once? No, no matter what cycle he is in, he knows each and every single time, he will fall in love with his deliverer. He may not have memories of his previous cycles, but he stays quiet, his silence speaking to Khaslana -- his Phainon, who’s lips twitch up in a subtle motion.

“...There is no way you’ll take this Coreflame in peace.”

“I…understand.”

“Step forward, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, and face me in a final battle.”

Khaslana’s world suddenly shifts as he’s placed back into this scene, over and over again, loop after loop…and endless cycle. He steps forward, slowly but surely, as he recounts memories of each moment he’s had to experience this exact frame in time against Mydeimos. Against Mydei. Against his…

He exhales slowly, drawing his blade, his ears ringing as Strife speaks out to him. He may not be able to hear what is being said, but he recognizes it, he’s memorized each loop by now so that Mydei’s words should no longer phase him. However, time and time again…the lion’s words make him stutter in his step.

…

“Well fought…you may crown yourself…in my blood.”

…

“In your next life…I shall once again block your path…”

…

“Deliverer…I wish you…eternal victory”

…

Silence makes itself known in Khaslana’s mind as he stares down at the disappearing body of Mydeimos,

“Thank you, Mydei…all your sacrifices should not go in vain…” He breathes out in a mere whisper, his eyes glazing over as the man in his arms chuffs out a weak laugh.

“You sound…so pathetic…Khaslana.”

“That is what you have rendered me down to…in each and every cycle.”

“...perhaps…in a future cycle…you and I…” Mydei’s voice trails off as he gasps softly, slowly succumbing to his wounds.

“Perhaps. I will…fight for us, for our future, so we can then spar once again…that, I promise you,” He whispers, his cold lips grazing over the forehead of his fallen lover, before pressing against Mydei’s lips before he could completely disappear. His body shimmering away in the golden flames of Nanook, while Khaslana, for the 108,642nd time, witnesses his own failure of shouldering the world. Of keeping the one individual he promised his soul to, alive. 

If just for one cycle, he wishes, could Mydeimos survive? Or are they destined to be apart for all of eternity, never being able to exchange a proper “I love you."

A/N: I wrote this mainly to make my best friend hurt a bit more 😛 had much fun, the quest broke my heart…free Phainon, fuck Lygus. Now I disappear for another month!

[thatonegrimm]

Heyyy

Can you do saja boys x idol reader

Finding out she has toxic manager forcing her on diet and doesn't take any breaks

Thank yewwwww, 🩷🩷

Thank you for the request! Hope you enjoy it! 💌

🌙Saja Boys x Idol!Reader —Toxic Manager

You tried to hide it. The skipped meals. The forced smiles. The exhaustion. But the moment they saw the cracks, it was over.

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

🧿 Jinu

He noticed it in the way your hands trembled when you lifted your chopsticks.

And the way you smiled too quickly when someone asked if you’d eaten.

Later, backstage, he caught you alone, sitting with your head in your hands.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just walked over, crouched beside you, and offered you a steamed bun from his coat pocket.

You stared at it. “My manager—”

“Doesn’t get to starve you,” he interrupted gently, but firmly.

You blinked. His tone wasn’t loud, but it carried weight.

“I read the rider in your contract,” he said quietly. “And I saw the messages. The ones you delete before I can read them.”

You looked away, guilt rising.

But he just nudged the bun into your hands.

“You don’t need to ask permission to eat,” he murmured. “You don’t owe anyone your body.”

You nodded, eyes wet.

“And if they push you again,” he added, “let me know.”

Because Jinu never made threats.

But when he said that, the air around him shifted.

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

💪 Abby

He found out from a stylist who mentioned it offhand.

“Her manager said no water until she finishes the shoot.”

Abby froze mid-stretch.

“...No water?”

That night, he showed up at your dorm with three bags—home-cooked food, electrolyte drinks, and a tub of body wipes.

You blinked. “Abby—”

“Sit,” he said firmly. “Eat. Hydrate. No arguing.”

You hesitated.

“I’m serious,” he added, gently pushing a spoon into your hand. “You’ve been running on fumes. I can see it.”

You stared at the food, then at him, overwhelmed.

He softened.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said. “I’m mad they treat you like this.”

Then he looked at you—earnest, strong, warm.

“You’re not a product. You’re a person. And I’m gonna remind you of that until it sticks.”

And he did.

Every time he saw you.

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

📚 Mystery

He noticed it during rehearsal.

The way you swayed between moves. The way your lips moved silently, counting under your breath like it was the only thing holding you upright.

When everyone cleared out for a break, you didn’t sit.

So he did something rare.

He walked over, took your hand, and led you outside. No words.

You didn’t resist.

You ended up on the rooftop, cool wind in your face.

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked simply.

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Then quietly, “Manager says I need to slim down for the comeback.”

He nodded once.

Then said, “He’s wrong.”

You blinked at him.

“I see everything,” he murmured. “Your effort. Your exhaustion. You shine without shrinking.”

Then he passed you a protein bar.

He didn’t force it. Didn’t beg.

But when you ate it, he didn’t stop watching.

And later that night, you found out your schedule had been mysteriously cleared for the next 48 hours.

Mystery never admitted how.

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

💋 Romance

He caught you skipping dinner after a shoot.

You gave him a quick, airy excuse. “I’m fine, I swear. I’ll just grab something later—”

“Nope,” he said, twirling a fork and setting it in front of you. “Sit your pretty self down.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing weakly. “You don’t understand, my manager’s watching—”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He leaned in. “I do understand.”

His smile dropped.

“I know that kind of pressure. I know what it does to people.”

You stilled.

“I’ve seen it steal joy. I’ve watched people starve their shine to keep someone else happy.”

He looked at you like he saw you.

“You don’t owe anyone a version of you that hurts.”

You said nothing.

So he fed you a bite of pasta.

Then another.

“You’re my favorite idol,” he whispered. “Not because of what you look like. But because of the way you burn.”

And that stuck with you longer than the meal.

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

🔥 Baby

You didn’t realize he overheard your phone call.

Didn’t realize he was behind the door, frozen, listening to your manager berate you for “looking puffy” in the last stage photos.

You turned to find him standing there.

His jaw clenched.

“What did he just say to you?”

You flinched. “It’s not a big deal, I’m just—”

“No.”

He walked past you, straight to your phone, and grabbed it.

“Baby—wait—”

He turned on the camera and stared straight into the lens. Hit record.

“Hey. This is Baby. Of Saja Boys. And if I ever catch you talking to her like that again, I’m going to find a way to make you regret it. Professionally. Permanently. Capisce?”

He ended the video and texted it to the manager himself.

You stood there, stunned.

He turned to you. “If they fire you, I’ll hire you.”

“You don’t even run a company.”

“I’ll start one.”

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

M-List

[thatonegrimm]

Emoji Anon here! Can I request a drabble for poly Saja Boys reacting to their gn s/o accidentally calling them "my boys" while looking for them please?

Thanks for your request! This idea was too cute💖 Hope you like it! 💌

🌙 Saja Boys x Reader — “Your Boys”

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

The fluorescent lighting buzzed softly above you as you scanned the shelves, your grocery basket swinging lightly at your hip—half-full, half-forgotten.

You’d made the mistake of sending the boys off in different directions, hoping you’d get through the trip quicker if everyone grabbed what they liked. That was twenty minutes ago. You hadn’t seen a single one of them since the chips aisle.

You squinted down at your crumpled shopping list. Two drinks, ramen, something sweet—

“Hey!” you called out instinctively, raising your voice just a little over the murmur of a nearby mom group. “Where are my boys?”

It slipped out.

Casual. Unthinking. Loud enough to echo across the cereal aisle and die somewhere near frozen foods.

A beat of silence.

Then—

Jinu poked his head out from behind a corner shelf, a box of barley tea in one hand, his brows raised in dry amusement. “My boys?” he echoed, voice calm but clearly entertained.

Abby turned from the canned goods he’d been diligently stacking into a pyramid (for fun, not function). “You rang?” he said with a grin, flexing one bicep like he’d been summoned by title alone.

From the far end of the store, the freezer door creaked open slightly. Mystery’s eyes caught yours through the glass—glinting with mischief, like a cat who’d been caught exactly where he meant to be.

Romance placed a tub of ice cream delicately into your basket and then clutched his heart dramatically. “I knew it. We’ve been claimed. It’s official.”

Baby, already leaning coolly against the cart like he’d been waiting for his cue, just smirked. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

You froze, face flushing.

“Oh my god,” you muttered. “That wasn’t supposed to be—"

“Too late,” Jinu said, adjusting his glasses as he approached, tone matter-of-fact. “It’s canon now. We’re branded. Better design a crest.”

Abby slung an arm over your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Do we get badges? Titles? Matching jackets?” he asked, jostling you playfully. “Wait, no—snack privileges. That’s what matters.”

Mystery appeared soundlessly beside the cart, now rifling through the snacks. “So if we’re yours,” he murmured, “do we get to know who your favorite is?”

Romance was already at your side, hand finding yours like it always did when he wanted to be charming and annoying at the same time. “Careful, Mystery,” he said sweetly. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered.”

Baby shrugged, picking up a spicy ramen pack and tossing it into the basket. “As long as I get the last bite of whatever she’s cooking, I don’t care who the favorite is.”

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “Why do I bring you guys anywhere?”

“Because you love us,” Abby said cheerfully.

Romance leaned closer. “Because we’re pretty.”

Mystery blinked slowly. “Because we carry the heavy stuff.”

Jinu raised his index finger. “Because we remind you to get toilet paper.”

Baby grinned. “Because you called us your boys. Too late to backpedal now.”

You tried to compose yourself, but they’d already started closing ranks around you—shoulders bumping yours, hands slipping snacks into the basket, playful grins flying faster than you could block them.

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

A few minutes later, the teasing hadn’t let up.

Abby lifted a bag of chips triumphantly. “Okay, but if we’re her boys, I call dibs on being the muscle. I’m obviously the most shredded.”

Jinu didn’t look up from his checklist. “Incorrect. You’re the himbo. I’m the brain, and the leadership committee.”

“You’re the what now?” Romance asked, eyebrow raised. “Excuse me, I’m the face of this team.”

“You’re the menace,” Jinu said calmly.

Mystery slipped a chocolate bar into your hoodie pocket when no one was looking. “I’ll be the ghost. I’m good at lurking.”

“You can’t choose to be a ghost,” Abby said, exasperated.

“Too late,” Mystery replied. “I already phased out of this conversation.”

Baby kicked the cart gently forward, one hand casually holding onto the handle as he looked back at you. “Wild card,” he said with a lazy smirk. “That’s my role.”

“Chaotic one,” Jinu corrected.

Romance sighed. “Fine. But at least I’m the romantic lead.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh as you looked at the absurd group around you the five very different disasters in one collective orbit.

“...You’re all ridiculous,” you muttered fondly.

Abby bumped his shoulder into yours. “And yours.”

Jinu cleared his throat. “Do we get uniforms now? I’m thinking matching hoodies. Monogrammed. Maybe in navy?”

“You’re not designing them,” Baby said flatly. “Last time you tried, we almost wore wool in summer.”

Romance wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you a little closer. “But really… we’re yours. You said it. Don’t try to take it back.”

Mystery glanced sideways. “Too late. You summoned us. We’re bound now.”

You gave up fighting the grin and held out the shopping list like a truce offering. “Then help me get the rest of this stuff before the sun sets.”

“Team snack squad,” Abby said proudly.

“Snacklords,” Romance corrected.

“Snack cult,” Mystery murmured ominously.

“Let’s just pay and leave,” you sighed.

Still, as the six of you walked toward the checkout, laughter trailing behind like a trailing spell, you couldn’t help but feel the warmth in your chest.

Yeah.

Your boys.

And you wouldn’t trade them for anything.

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

M-List

[acornwinter]

For Every Cycle

Spoilers for the Honkai Star Rail 3.4 Amphoreus Questline under the cut!

cw: Doomed Yaoi, Angst, Hurt/No comfort, death, 3.4 spoilers, slight ooc Mydei(?)

//Divider by: @uzmacchiato

“You don’t look so good, deliverer,” Mydei mutters in a low voice, his arms crossed over his chest-- back facing the familiar yet unrecognizable man stepping towards him. The white haired man merely chuckles under his breath, a faux display of composure, the back of his throat threatening to close up as he inches closer to the Demi-God of Strife.

“How many cycles have we met under similar circumstances?”

“Over 100,000,” Phainon, or rather, Khaslana replies. His voice a ruin of what it once was, scratchy and wavering-- rather than the usual joyful tone the two men once knew.

Mydei barks out a laugh laced with pain and condensation, head craning to meet the gaze of one who is falling towards destruction, “Hundreds of thousands of cycles, but there’s still tenderness in your eyes…how pathetic.”

Khaslana’s eyes narrow briefly, his breath catching in his throat, before he looks back over to the Kremnoan. 

“I...simply do not wish for the destruction to take over my entire being,” he replies callously, yet his voice betrays him, trembling under the gaze of Strife. 

The Demi-God tilts his head downward, attempting to stifle a chuckle before his entire body pivots to face the deliverer. His deliverer. 

“I have to remember how this feels, remember how I was once human,” Khaslana continues, before Mydei simply grunts in response, interrupting the melodramatic moment with his booming voice.

“If you win, tell the Mydeimos of the next life: this person is a worthy opponent, so always remember to give it your all and never slack off.”

Silence, but only for a moment, before Khaslana’s voice speaks out in a softer-- weaker tone.

“I’ll keep that in mind, as always.”

Strife hesitates, glancing off to the side before his eyes return to meet those gorgeous pools of blue he once loved…once? No, no matter what cycle he is in, he knows each and every single time, he will fall in love with his deliverer. He may not have memories of his previous cycles, but he stays quiet, his silence speaking to Khaslana -- his Phainon, who’s lips twitch up in a subtle motion.

“...There is no way you’ll take this Coreflame in peace.”

“I…understand.”

“Step forward, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, and face me in a final battle.”

Khaslana’s world suddenly shifts as he’s placed back into this scene, over and over again, loop after loop…and endless cycle. He steps forward, slowly but surely, as he recounts memories of each moment he’s had to experience this exact frame in time against Mydeimos. Against Mydei. Against his…

He exhales slowly, drawing his blade, his ears ringing as Strife speaks out to him. He may not be able to hear what is being said, but he recognizes it, he’s memorized each loop by now so that Mydei’s words should no longer phase him. However, time and time again…the lion’s words make him stutter in his step.

…

“Well fought…you may crown yourself…in my blood.”

…

“In your next life…I shall once again block your path…”

…

“Deliverer…I wish you…eternal victory”

…

Silence makes itself known in Khaslana’s mind as he stares down at the disappearing body of Mydeimos,

“Thank you, Mydei…all your sacrifices should not go in vain…” He breathes out in a mere whisper, his eyes glazing over as the man in his arms chuffs out a weak laugh.

“You sound…so pathetic…Khaslana.”

“That is what you have rendered me down to…in each and every cycle.”

“...perhaps…in a future cycle…you and I…” Mydei’s voice trails off as he gasps softly, slowly succumbing to his wounds.

“Perhaps. I will…fight for us, for our future, so we can then spar once again…that, I promise you,” He whispers, his cold lips grazing over the forehead of his fallen lover, before pressing against Mydei’s lips before he could completely disappear. His body shimmering away in the golden flames of Nanook, while Khaslana, for the 108,642nd time, witnesses his own failure of shouldering the world. Of keeping the one individual he promised his soul to, alive. 

If just for one cycle, he wishes, could Mydeimos survive? Or are they destined to be apart for all of eternity, never being able to exchange a proper “I love you."

A/N: I wrote this mainly to make my best friend hurt a bit more 😛 had much fun, the quest broke my heart…free Phainon, fuck Lygus. Now I disappear for another month!

[thatonegrimm]

Since we had the reader seeing and loving their demon form, can we get a spicy continuation of it? I need more spiciness with the demon saja boys

Thank you for the request! I have no idea why but I was laughing way to much writing this. Here you go!💌

🌙 Saja Boys x Reader – After You Said You Liked Their Demon Form (A Little Too Much)

Continuation of: Reader who…Loves their demon side (a lot)

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

🧿 Jinu 

You didn’t stop touching them.

The glowing violet lines that spiraled from his chest, over his collarbone, down his side — you traced them like they were a roadmap. A puzzle. A secret only you knew how to solve.

He tried to keep his breathing even. He really did.

“You’re doing it again,” Jinu said, voice low, unsteady.

“Doing what?” you asked innocently, your fingers now following the curl of the mark just below his navel.

He hissed softly. “That.”

You looked up at him, smile too soft to be fair. “You glow more when I do it.”

“I told you—these lines channel power. You can’t just—”

“But I like it when they pulse.”

He swallowed. His claws twitched.

You kissed the center of his chest, right over the center of his demon markings.

The glow flared.

He groaned like it hurt. Or like it was too good.

And when he kissed you—sharp, hot, finally—your back hit the nearest wall with enough force to rattle it.

“You like my marks?” he growled, voice gone gravel-deep. “Then let me show you where else they go.”

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

💪 Abby 

Abby’s demon form always came with heat. With pressure. With weight.

So when he hovered above you — cracks of violet glowing across his shoulders, muscles shifting like stone given life — you reached up and touched his cheek.

“I want to feel all of you.”

“You already are,” he said, voice thick with restraint.

You shook your head. “No. I want to feel what you’re holding back.”

His eyes flared.

“You sure?”

“Break the headboard,” you said. “I won’t blame you.”

He went still.

And then he smiled — slow, dangerous, reverent.

“Then you better hold on.”

The headboard shattered first.

Then the bedframe cracked beneath his grip.

Then you forgot how to speak for a while.

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

📚 Mystery 

Mystery let you trace his claws.

At first.

You curled your fingers under his palm, your thumb brushing the dark edge of a talon. He tensed every time, eyes flickering gold, breath shallow.

“They’re sharper when you’re flustered,” you whispered, letting your fingertip follow the curve.

He exhaled through his nose. “You like playing with fire?”

“I like playing with you.”

He inhaled sharply.

“You know what happens when you tempt a demon, right?”

Your hand stilled. “No,” you said softly. “Show me.”

His clawed hand slid under your chin, tilting your head up.

And then he snapped.

Mouth on yours. Hands gripping your waist with careful, reverent force. Claws dragging—not cutting, but close—along your thigh.

He kissed like he was starving.

When he pulled back, eyes glowing and wild, he said, “Now you can’t pretend you didn’t start this.”

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

💋 Romance 

Romance was showing off.

Of course he was.

Golden eyes lit with power. Claws curled delicately as he leaned in, every movement full of dark confidence.

“Staring again,” he teased, brushing your hair back with a single sharp nail. “You planning to keep me, or just admire?”

You pulled him by the waist, letting your lips brush his ear.

“Both.”

He froze for half a second—just long enough for you to push him down onto the couch.

Now you were above him.

Your hands slid beneath the open collar of his shirt, tracing the violet demon marks along his chest.

His mouth parted. Just slightly.

“Darling…”

“You’re always seducing me,” you murmured. “Let me return the favor.”

He melted under your touch like silk thrown on fire.

“You do know,” he whispered, voice shaking as you bit his neck, “if you keep this up, I’m never letting you go.”

“Wasn’t planning on leaving.”

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

🔥 Baby

Baby hadn’t forgotten what you said.

“I want to worship you, fire and all.”

Now, sitting on the edge of your shared bed, he watched you with glowing gold eyes, marks pulsing with heat.

“You said it,” he murmured. “Your words.”

You dropped to your knees, pressing your lips to one of the flickering marks that lined his ribs.

“I meant it.”

His breath caught.

“You know,” he said, voice almost trembling, “most people run from me like this.”

“Then they’re cowards.”

He growled, hand tangling in your hair, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“You think worshiping a demon is sweet?”

“No,” you whispered, trailing a kiss down his stomach. “It’s dangerous.”

“Good,” he breathed, fangs just barely showing now. “Then let me show you how good it feels to get burned.”

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

They thought they were too much. Too powerful. Too inhuman. Too unlovable.

You proved them wrong with every touch, every gasp, every whisper.

And they gave themselves to you fully—demon, power, hunger and all.

Because you weren’t afraid.

You were insatiable.

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

M-List

[thatonegrimm]

Im in the mood for some comfort fluff. Could we have the saja boys comforting the reader when they are having an anxiety/panic attack. Thank you

Thank you for the request! Hope you enjoy!💌

🌙Saja Boys x Reader – Comforting You Through an Anxiety Attack

You didn’t mean to spiral. It started with a short breath. Then a longer pause. Then your chest tightened like something invisible was sitting on you. The room got smaller. The sound got louder. Nothing felt real.

But someone noticed. And they didn’t let you go through it alone.

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

🧿 Jinu 

You couldn’t feel your hands. Not really. Your fingers were curled into your shirt, chest rising too fast, lungs like paper—thin, crinkling, too small for the air you needed.

Jinu found you like that in the kitchen. The kettle was still whistling. The tea you meant to make was forgotten on the counter.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stepped softly into the room. Let you feel his presence without making you reach for it.

Then, gently— “Can I touch you?”

You nodded, barely.

His hands found yours, unfolding them slowly, carefully, like petals bruised at the edges. He pressed them to the counter—solid, cool, real.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, his voice like warm fabric, “It’s okay if it doesn’t feel like it right now. Just stay with me here, alright?”

He guided your breath without rushing it. In… and out. Again. No judgment in his eyes. No panic in his posture. Just calm. Just Jinu.

And when your knees gave out, he was already there, sitting beside you on the floor, his sleeve against your cheek. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

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

💪 Abby 

You didn’t remember how you ended up on the floor.

One moment you were brushing your teeth. The next, the sound of water, of your own heartbeat, of everything got too loud.

You were shaking. Trying not to cry. Or maybe you were already crying—everything was so fuzzy.

“Hey. Hey, babe.”

Abby’s voice was low. Not loud. Not sharp. But solid.

Then he was there. Dropping to his knees, wrapping you in the warmest, steadiest hug the universe had ever built.

He didn’t ask you what triggered it. Didn’t force you to speak. He just pulled you close, one big hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing circles into your back like he could trace the fear out of you.

“You’re okay,” he said gently. “I’ve got you. You’re here, and you’re safe, and you’re not going anywhere without me, alright?”

You clung to him like a lifeline.

And in that moment, that’s exactly what he was.

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

📚 Mystery 

He noticed it before you even said a word.

The way your breath hitched. The way your eyes stopped focusing. The way you were hugging your knees on the edge of the bed, trying so hard to stay still.

Mystery didn’t say “what’s wrong?” He didn’t say “calm down.” He just sat beside you. Let the silence stretch. Let you feel that you weren’t being watched or judged or rushed.

Eventually, he pulled the edge of the blanket up over your shoulders and pressed the side of his leg against yours. Just enough weight to say I’m here.

When your breathing turned shaky, he slid a cold water bottle into your hand. When your eyes brimmed, he offered his sleeve.

And when your voice finally cracked with, “I’m sorry,” he shook his head.

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said quietly. “Just let me stay.”

And you did.

Because sometimes the best comfort wasn’t fixing the storm. It was having someone who’d sit with you in it—without fear.

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

💋 Romance 

You didn’t even realize how fast you were spiraling.

Your thoughts were running, overlapping, like a hundred tabs open in your head—every one screaming at you about things that could go wrong.

You were curled in a corner of the dressing room, hands clutched to your chest, trying not to sob too loud.

Romance found you mid-collapse.

“Oh, baby…” His voice dropped instantly—his whole body softened. “Can I touch you?”

You nodded. Barely.

He knelt beside you, hands cradling your face with the utmost care. “Listen to me, okay? You’re alright. I promise. I’ve got you.”

You shook your head. “I can’t—I can’t breathe—”

“You can. Just not all at once. And that’s okay.”

He took your hands. Pressed your palms to his chest. “Feel that? Breathe with me. In… good. Out… just like that.”

He kept talking. Soft praise. Gentle reminders. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Look at you. You’re stronger than the anxiety. You’re here, and you’re loved.”

He whispered every word like a prayer. Like a promise.

And eventually, you started to believe him.

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

🔥 Baby 

It hit fast this time.

You were shaking, hyperventilating, and clawing at your sleeves before you even made it through the front door.

Baby opened it to find you on the steps, wide-eyed and trembling.

He didn’t hesitate. He pulled you inside, shut the door, and crouched in front of you like a guard dog protecting something precious.

“Okay,” he said. “Hey. Eyes on me.”

You blinked, barely able to focus.

“Name one thing that’s real right now. One.”

You whispered, “You.”

His brow furrowed. Gently, he cupped your face. “That’s right. I’m real. You’re real. This floor is real. You’re sitting on it. That anxiety? It feels big, but it’s not bigger than you.”

Your breath caught.

“Do you want me to hold you?”

You nodded.

Then he pulled you into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world, holding you until your breathing slowed. Until your fists uncurled.

“Next time,” he murmured, chin resting on your head, “let it try me first.”

And somehow… the fear felt a little smaller.

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

M-List

[acornwinter]

For Every Cycle

Spoilers for the Honkai Star Rail 3.4 Amphoreus Questline under the cut!

cw: Doomed Yaoi, Angst, Hurt/No comfort, death, 3.4 spoilers, slight ooc Mydei(?)

//Divider by: @uzmacchiato

“You don’t look so good, deliverer,” Mydei mutters in a low voice, his arms crossed over his chest-- back facing the familiar yet unrecognizable man stepping towards him. The white haired man merely chuckles under his breath, a faux display of composure, the back of his throat threatening to close up as he inches closer to the Demi-God of Strife.

“How many cycles have we met under similar circumstances?”

“Over 100,000,” Phainon, or rather, Khaslana replies. His voice a ruin of what it once was, scratchy and wavering-- rather than the usual joyful tone the two men once knew.

Mydei barks out a laugh laced with pain and condensation, head craning to meet the gaze of one who is falling towards destruction, “Hundreds of thousands of cycles, but there’s still tenderness in your eyes…how pathetic.”

Khaslana’s eyes narrow briefly, his breath catching in his throat, before he looks back over to the Kremnoan. 

“I...simply do not wish for the destruction to take over my entire being,” he replies callously, yet his voice betrays him, trembling under the gaze of Strife. 

The Demi-God tilts his head downward, attempting to stifle a chuckle before his entire body pivots to face the deliverer. His deliverer. 

“I have to remember how this feels, remember how I was once human,” Khaslana continues, before Mydei simply grunts in response, interrupting the melodramatic moment with his booming voice.

“If you win, tell the Mydeimos of the next life: this person is a worthy opponent, so always remember to give it your all and never slack off.”

Silence, but only for a moment, before Khaslana’s voice speaks out in a softer-- weaker tone.

“I’ll keep that in mind, as always.”

Strife hesitates, glancing off to the side before his eyes return to meet those gorgeous pools of blue he once loved…once? No, no matter what cycle he is in, he knows each and every single time, he will fall in love with his deliverer. He may not have memories of his previous cycles, but he stays quiet, his silence speaking to Khaslana -- his Phainon, who’s lips twitch up in a subtle motion.

“...There is no way you’ll take this Coreflame in peace.”

“I…understand.”

“Step forward, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, and face me in a final battle.”

Khaslana’s world suddenly shifts as he’s placed back into this scene, over and over again, loop after loop…and endless cycle. He steps forward, slowly but surely, as he recounts memories of each moment he’s had to experience this exact frame in time against Mydeimos. Against Mydei. Against his…

He exhales slowly, drawing his blade, his ears ringing as Strife speaks out to him. He may not be able to hear what is being said, but he recognizes it, he’s memorized each loop by now so that Mydei’s words should no longer phase him. However, time and time again…the lion’s words make him stutter in his step.

…

“Well fought…you may crown yourself…in my blood.”

…

“In your next life…I shall once again block your path…”

…

“Deliverer…I wish you…eternal victory”

…

Silence makes itself known in Khaslana’s mind as he stares down at the disappearing body of Mydeimos,

“Thank you, Mydei…all your sacrifices should not go in vain…” He breathes out in a mere whisper, his eyes glazing over as the man in his arms chuffs out a weak laugh.

“You sound…so pathetic…Khaslana.”

“That is what you have rendered me down to…in each and every cycle.”

“...perhaps…in a future cycle…you and I…” Mydei’s voice trails off as he gasps softly, slowly succumbing to his wounds.

“Perhaps. I will…fight for us, for our future, so we can then spar once again…that, I promise you,” He whispers, his cold lips grazing over the forehead of his fallen lover, before pressing against Mydei’s lips before he could completely disappear. His body shimmering away in the golden flames of Nanook, while Khaslana, for the 108,642nd time, witnesses his own failure of shouldering the world. Of keeping the one individual he promised his soul to, alive. 

If just for one cycle, he wishes, could Mydeimos survive? Or are they destined to be apart for all of eternity, never being able to exchange a proper “I love you."

A/N: I wrote this mainly to make my best friend hurt a bit more 😛 had much fun, the quest broke my heart…free Phainon, fuck Lygus. Now I disappear for another month!

[acornwinter]

For Every Cycle

Spoilers for the Honkai Star Rail 3.4 Amphoreus Questline under the cut!

cw: Doomed Yaoi, Angst, Hurt/No comfort, death, 3.4 spoilers, slight ooc Mydei(?)

//Divider by: @uzmacchiato

“You don’t look so good, deliverer,” Mydei mutters in a low voice, his arms crossed over his chest-- back facing the familiar yet unrecognizable man stepping towards him. The white haired man merely chuckles under his breath, a faux display of composure, the back of his throat threatening to close up as he inches closer to the Demi-God of Strife.

“How many cycles have we met under similar circumstances?”

“Over 100,000,” Phainon, or rather, Khaslana replies. His voice a ruin of what it once was, scratchy and wavering-- rather than the usual joyful tone the two men once knew.

Mydei barks out a laugh laced with pain and condensation, head craning to meet the gaze of one who is falling towards destruction, “Hundreds of thousands of cycles, but there’s still tenderness in your eyes…how pathetic.”

Khaslana’s eyes narrow briefly, his breath catching in his throat, before he looks back over to the Kremnoan. 

“I...simply do not wish for the destruction to take over my entire being,” he replies callously, yet his voice betrays him, trembling under the gaze of Strife. 

The Demi-God tilts his head downward, attempting to stifle a chuckle before his entire body pivots to face the deliverer. His deliverer. 

“I have to remember how this feels, remember how I was once human,” Khaslana continues, before Mydei simply grunts in response, interrupting the melodramatic moment with his booming voice.

“If you win, tell the Mydeimos of the next life: this person is a worthy opponent, so always remember to give it your all and never slack off.”

Silence, but only for a moment, before Khaslana’s voice speaks out in a softer-- weaker tone.

“I’ll keep that in mind, as always.”

Strife hesitates, glancing off to the side before his eyes return to meet those gorgeous pools of blue he once loved…once? No, no matter what cycle he is in, he knows each and every single time, he will fall in love with his deliverer. He may not have memories of his previous cycles, but he stays quiet, his silence speaking to Khaslana -- his Phainon, who’s lips twitch up in a subtle motion.

“...There is no way you’ll take this Coreflame in peace.”

“I…understand.”

“Step forward, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, and face me in a final battle.”

Khaslana’s world suddenly shifts as he’s placed back into this scene, over and over again, loop after loop…and endless cycle. He steps forward, slowly but surely, as he recounts memories of each moment he’s had to experience this exact frame in time against Mydeimos. Against Mydei. Against his…

He exhales slowly, drawing his blade, his ears ringing as Strife speaks out to him. He may not be able to hear what is being said, but he recognizes it, he’s memorized each loop by now so that Mydei’s words should no longer phase him. However, time and time again…the lion’s words make him stutter in his step.

…

“Well fought…you may crown yourself…in my blood.”

…

“In your next life…I shall once again block your path…”

…

“Deliverer…I wish you…eternal victory”

…

Silence makes itself known in Khaslana’s mind as he stares down at the disappearing body of Mydeimos,

“Thank you, Mydei…all your sacrifices should not go in vain…” He breathes out in a mere whisper, his eyes glazing over as the man in his arms chuffs out a weak laugh.

“You sound…so pathetic…Khaslana.”

“That is what you have rendered me down to…in each and every cycle.”

“...perhaps…in a future cycle…you and I…” Mydei’s voice trails off as he gasps softly, slowly succumbing to his wounds.

“Perhaps. I will…fight for us, for our future, so we can then spar once again…that, I promise you,” He whispers, his cold lips grazing over the forehead of his fallen lover, before pressing against Mydei’s lips before he could completely disappear. His body shimmering away in the golden flames of Nanook, while Khaslana, for the 108,642nd time, witnesses his own failure of shouldering the world. Of keeping the one individual he promised his soul to, alive. 

If just for one cycle, he wishes, could Mydeimos survive? Or are they destined to be apart for all of eternity, never being able to exchange a proper “I love you."

A/N: I wrote this mainly to make my best friend hurt a bit more 😛 had much fun, the quest broke my heart…free Phainon, fuck Lygus. Now I disappear for another month!

[luviruu]

glimpse of us

ft. love and deepspace x fem!non!mc reader

tags. modern au, angst/no comfort, rebounds, his pov

summary. the past repeats itself

1. “to you” [click here] | 2. “from me” [click here]

comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡

xavier

MC is saying something.

she’s laughing softly, curled up beside him on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder. there’s a half-finished glass of wine on the coffee table. the tv is on, low and aimless, casting flickers of light across the room.

and he can’t hear a thing.

his mind is still back there— under stage lights and velvet sound. with you.

you, in that spotlight. you, singing like it still hurt. like the wound never fully closed. like he was the one who kept it bleeding.

he blinks. swallows. nods like he’s listening.

MC’s fingers trail over his knuckles. familiar and gentle.

but it’s not your hand.

it’s not your crooked grin or your sleepy voice or the way you used to talk with your whole heart, like loving him wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

she hums beside him. happy. content.

and he wishes it were enough.

he should’ve known this would happen. that it would haunt him. that hearing your voice again— that voice, wrapped in those lyrics— would tear something open inside him he thought he’d buried.

he closes his eyes.

all he sees is you.

your eyes when you scanned the crowd but never stopped on him. the way you hit that last note, full of longing and hurt and something that sounded too much like goodbye.

MC shifts, presses a kiss to his jaw. he turns toward her, slow. kisses her back. softly.

but it’s not real. not entirely.

because when he kisses her, he’s thinking of the way you used to cup his face, before the the two of you slept in each other’s arms.

he used to tell himself this was what he wanted. he left you for her because he loved her first. more.

and she is. or was.

but she’s not you.

she’ll never be you.

he breathes deep. his chest feels tight. like he’s full of someone else’s name and no space to say it.

her eyes light up then mentions it again. says something about how good the concert was, how happy she is they went. he agrees. lies.

he wants to say he’s sorry.

to her. to you. to himself.

but he can’t.

because you’ve already moved on— or at least, that’s what you wanted him to believe when you walked off that stage without looking back. and MC’s still here, unaware she’s living in a house that still echoes someone else’s laughter when he’s alone.

so he stays quiet. holds her hand.

and in the silence that follows, he searches her face for something that might bring him peace.

you.

zayne

she’s perfect.

that’s the irony.

because she was the one he used to dream about— MC. the one he couldn’t let go of. the one he tried to find in someone else’s voice, someone else’s arms, someone else’s love.

he remembers it now, cruelly clear— how when he was with you, he was still haunted by someone who wasn’t you. still measuring the shape of your laugh against a memory that had long since faded. still wondering if maybe he’d feel more, if only you were her.

but you weren’t.

and god, how he regrets ever wishing that.

because now he’s here. with mc.

she’s everything he once said he wanted. safe. sweet. someone who doesn’t leave.

she turns the rain to a rainbow.

but all he sees is blue.

he swears the crowd disappeared. the lights. the cheering. even MC beside him, glowing with post-show praise.

all he could see was you.

and maybe that’s what finally broke him— because the truth landed like a sucker punch in his ribs:

when he was with you, he looked for her.

but now that he has her…

he sees you in everything.

in the notes of a sad song.

in the ache behind his smile.

in the way he still remembers how your hands shook when you cooked for him. how you waited up, wearing that perfume, hoping he’d notice. hoping he’d stay.

he didn’t.

and now the memory of your love is louder than the real one he holds.

MC leans on his shoulder in the car. “that song was beautiful,” she says, smiling.

he nods. hollow. distant.

because he’s remembering how you used to hum without realizing. how your voice cracked when you said you felt like you were the only one still holding on.

he’s remembering the look in your eyes the night it ended.

the way you didn’t cry. you just stood there in the soft glow of a love that was already gone, asking quietly, “was it ever real?”

he said he wanted it to be.

but the truth is— he never gave it the chance. well he did.. but he didn’t try.

he was too busy looking for someone else in you.

and now, when he finally has what he thought he wanted?

he realizes something he’ll never admit out loud.

he sees your face in every shadow.

he wonders if you’d still be his, if he’d loved you first instead of last.

and suddenly, it’s not MC he’s aching for.

it’s you.

still.

always.

and he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering if she will ever look at him like you did.

or if he already lived his only glimpse of love— and let it slip through his fingers.

rafayel

the applause has long faded, but the sound of your voice hasn’t.

it clings to rafayel’s skin like paint that won’t dry, settling into the cracks he spent so long pretending weren’t there.

MC walks beside him, chatting about the lighting, the setlist, the way you carried yourself on stage like heartbreak never touched you.

he nods once. maybe twice. but he doesn’t hear her.

not really.

because all he’s hearing is you.

your voice— clear, and too steady for something that was tearing him apart line by line. the song wasn’t just about him. it was him.

the way you looked at him before you knew.

the way you stopped looking when you finally did.

he had called it closure once.

what a lie.

you had begged him, not in words, but in every soft gesture. every quiet evening where you made space for him in your life— your arms, your future— and he filled it with silence. with memory. with someone else’s ghost.

he thought he was doing the right thing when he let you go.

he didn’t run after MC. never confessed anything more than what he already had: that it was always her.

but he stayed near her anyway.

drifted through the same galleries, the same coffee shops. answered when she called. let the past orbit him like it still had a claim.

he told himself you’d be fine.

because you were strong. gentle in the way you loved, soft in the way you left— but you left. and he let you.

and now?

now you’re on a stage, glowing under lights you wish he used to sketch you in.

your voice is heartbreak spun into melody.

your pain polished into poetry.

and him? he’s just another shadow in the crowd who had the chance to love you, and didn’t.

it’s cruel, the irony.

because when he was with you, all he saw was someone else.

and now, watching you tonight— he doesn’t see anyone but you.

he grips the steering wheel tighter on the drive back. MC is scrolling through her phone, quiet now. she’s not his. never was, never will be. but he stayed near her anyway— held onto the past, even if it cost him the present.

he thought choosing the past would anchor him.

instead, it made him a ghost.

he doesn’t know if you saw him in the crowd. doesn’t know if you’d care.

but he knows he doesn’t deserve to be remembered in your lyrics.

and yet somehow, you still sang him back to life.

not lovingly.

honestly.

and that’s worse.

because it wasn’t a fairytale.

it wasn’t a masterpiece.

it was a bruise you carried until it became a song.

and all he can do now is listen.

quietly.

regretfully.

forever from the audience.

sylus

he doesn’t say much on the way out.

the crowd has thinned, but the buzz still hums in the air— fans trailing out with merch in their hands, heels clicking against concrete, laughter spilling from the lobby.

MC’s chatting beside him. about the encore. about your voice. about how “she always did have that raw, kind of unfiltered charm.”

he nods.

doesn’t trust himself to speak.

because every word would crack.

they step into the night air. the city is loud around them— traffic, distant music, the flicker of neon across wet pavement— but it all feels distant. muted.

like his body’s moving through it, but his mind’s still in there. still back in that seat. staring up at the stage like you’d taken his lungs and wrung the breath out of them.

you didn’t look at him once.

but every lyric still felt like it was meant for him.

and maybe that’s what cuts deepest.

you didn’t need to look. he was never invisible to you— not really. you always saw straight through him. and he can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you wrote that song not because you were still looking for him...

but because you finally stopped.

MC slips her hand into his. familiar.

but it’s not the same.

it never was.

for every time she held his, his mind will travel how he saw yours shake before you left.

he realizes it now— too late, like always. that the relationship he had with you was never fair. he’d stepped into it already fractured. already holding someone else’s name like a wound he didn’t want stitched. and still, you stayed. you tried. you built something with him out of patience and quiet hope.

and he—

he let you.

he let you fall while he drifted.

he told himself that what he felt for you would grow into love. that the way your laugh softened his edges, the way you brewed his coffee just right, the way you reached for him like he was something worth holding— that it would be enough to eclipse the past.

but it never worked that way.

he loved you like a mirror. a place to see himself healed.

and now that you’re gone, now that he’s standing here with someone he once swore he couldn’t forget...

all he can think about is you.

your voice still echoes in his head, clean and piercing.

MC says something about getting drinks. he nods again, automatic. follows her down the street, but his eyes catch on every passing figure. just in case. just for a second. like maybe you’ll be there. like maybe he’ll get to see you once more— smiling. radiant. real.

but he knows better.

you gave him everything.

and he didn’t even know he wanted it until it was already out of reach.

and now, all he has are half-memories and hollow regrets.

a voice that lingers in his ears like smoke.

a stage you lit up like you never even needed him.

and the girl beside him?

she's not the one he’s looking at when he closes his eyes.

not anymore.

maybe not ever.

caleb

he doesn't speak much afterward.

the show ends to a standing ovation. you bow once— just once— and disappear behind the curtain without a glance at the crowd.

without a glance at him.

he stays in his seat a second too long, like his legs have forgotten how to move. around him, people rise, stretch, chatter. the lights lift. the world resumes.

MC nudges his arm, smiling. “that was incredible,” she says, voice light, like it’s just another concert. just another night.

he nods. doesn’t trust his voice to answer.

because he’s still hearing it— your voice, raw and melodic, cut through with something so honest it stripped him clean. not polished or pretty. not sweet. but real. and familiar. too familiar.

and now that it’s over, all he can think about is how long it’ll stay with him.

they step outside into the city haze. neon glows off wet pavement, streaks of red and blue flashing in shallow puddles. she says something about grabbing a drink, and he murmurs “maybe” without meaning it.

because he’s somewhere else. still stuck on the second verse. the one that cracked something open in his chest.

he squeezes his eyes shut.

that wasn’t just a song.

that was you, bleeding in front of everyone. and somehow, it still felt like it was meant just for him.

that was what you carried all this time. what he left behind.

he thought he’d been kind. careful. he never shouted. never cheated. never broke anything loud.

he just stopped showing up in the ways that mattered.

and now he knows the truth: the quiet can wound deeper than anything.

he should’ve known it would be about him. should’ve known the way your heartbreak would sound when translated into melody. because he’d seen the early drafts in your eyes every night he lay beside you pretending he was whole. pretending he wasn’t thinking of someone else.

but he had thought it was the right thing— to leave before it got cruel. to step out before he broke you worse. he told himself it was mercy.

now he knows it was cowardice.

because here you are. stronger. sharper. stage-lit and untouchable. and he’s in the crowd with the girl he once thought he wanted more— realizing you were the one who gave him everything when he barely deserved anything.

and you didn’t even look for him.

you looked past him.

as if you knew he’d be there. and didn’t care.

he laughs once— quietly bitter.

MC looks over. “what?”

he shakes his head. “nothing.”

but it’s not nothing.

it’s everything.

it’s the way your voice cracked on the last note. the way the bridge wrapped around his ribs like a noose. the way he suddenly, viscerally remembered you in his kitchen, wearing his shirt, spinning a fork in your fingers while you waited for the water to boil.

it’s how you used to hum under your breath. how you kissed him like you had time. how he never once kissed you like he meant to stay.

and now?

now he’s standing on the sidewalk beside a girl who doesn’t see him unraveling— doesn’t know he already did this, once. let someone go. watched her rebuild from nothing.

and now he’s watching from a distance again.

only this time, you didn’t look back.

and maybe that’s what wrecks him most.

you moved on.

you wrote the end of your story without him.

and when the lights came up, he finally understood:

you weren’t grieving him anymore.

but god— he’s just getting started.

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i’m swimming in my reader’s tears.

[acornwinter]

‘A dance with death,

— It’s been so long since I posted something…my bad. I am much more active on instagram;

https://www.instagram.com/acornwinter_?igsh=MW9lMmF1ajhzb3k1Zg%3D%3D&utm_source=qr

Tumblr is just easy for me to forget abt.