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@blueberrisdove-sideblog2
৻ꪆ miss ruka, mydei’s beautiful girl! zayne’s fave patient. caleb’s doll. ˚ ུᩧ . twenty. sheノherノtheyノthem. <3
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© 2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog2 all rights reserved. pretty please, don’t translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking. do not copy any of my works whats so ever.
a shoulder to rest on ◞❤︎ ft. varka x gn!reader
The training field was quiet that morning, the grass still a little damp from the early dew. A soft breeze moved through the yard, stirring the flags tied to the posts around the practice grounds. You stood alone in the middle of the field with a wooden sword in your hands, trying to remember the stance you had been shown earlier. Your feet felt wrong, your shoulders were stiff, and the sword felt heavier every time you lifted it. You swung it forward anyway, the blade cutting through the air with a soft whoosh. It didn’t feel right. You sighed and tried again, hoping you could get it right before anyone saw how clumsy you looked.
“You’re squeezing the handle too tight.”
The deep voice behind you made you jump a little. When you turned around, you saw Varka walking toward you across the field. He was impossible to miss — tall, broad, and confident of himself with the kind of easy strength that made people move out of his way without thinking. The morning light caught the side of his face as he got closer, and you couldn’t help noticing the sharp line of his strong jaw when he smiled. It made him look even more confident somehow, even though the smile itself was warm.
“I… I was just practicing,” you said quickly, feeling a bit shy now that he had caught you.
“I can see that,” he said with a quiet chuckle.
He stepped up beside you, close enough that you could feel how much bigger he was than you. Still, his presence didn’t feel heavy or scary like the rumors made it sound. He gently reached out and moved your hands on the sword, loosening your grip just a little so your fingers sat more naturally around the handle. His movements were slow and careful, like he didn’t want to rush you.
“Like this,” he said, nudging your elbow slightly.
You nodded and tried the stance again. This time when you swung the sword, it felt smoother. Not perfect, but better. Varka clapped his hands once in approval, his grin returning.
“There you go. Much better.”
The praise made your chest feel warm. You had been nervous about training in front of him before, but he didn’t act impatient at all. Every time you messed something up, he just showed you again like it wasn’t a big deal.
You practiced together for a while after that. Sometimes he stood beside you showing the motion slowly so you could copy him. Other times he stood behind you and guided your arms through the movement. Each time you managed to get something right, he nodded or gave you a small bit of encouragement. Somehow that made you want to keep trying, even when your arms started getting sore.
Eventually, though, you couldn’t ignore the ache in your shoulders anymore. Your grip loosened and you lowered the sword with a tired breath. Varka noticed right away.
“Alright,” he said, glancing at your arms. “That’s enough for today.”
You both walked over to a wooden bench at the edge of the field. The sun had climbed higher now, warming the quiet courtyard. You sat down first, rubbing your sore arms while the tension slowly left your shoulders. A moment later Varka sat beside you, the bench creaking softly under his weight as he leaned back and stretched.
“You did well,” he said.
You looked over at him, surprised. Up close like this, you noticed little things you hadn’t before — the way the light hit the side of his face, the shape of his strong jawline when he smiled slightly, and the relaxed way he carried himself even after training.
“Really?” you asked.
“Really,” he said simply.
Hearing that from him made you feel oddly proud. The warm sun and quiet air made everything feel calm. After a few minutes the tired feeling in your body started catching up with you. Your eyes grew heavier, and without really thinking about it, you leaned a little closer to him.
Your head slowly tipped to the side until it rested against his shoulder.
Hearing that from him made you feel oddly proud. The warm sun on your skin, the quiet of the training field, and the slow ache in your arms made your body feel heavy in the best kind of way. Your eyes fluttered, and without thinking, you leaned a little closer to him, drawn to the steady warmth of his shoulder.
Your head slowly tipped to the side until it rested against him. The heat of his body pressed softly against yours, and you could feel the gentle strength in his chest beneath you. Somehow, he didn’t feel intimidating right now—he felt… safe. Like a giant, warm, slightly dopey puppy that somehow also is a big and strong man. Your breathing slowed, shallow and soft, and you let yourself sink a little into the comfort of him.
Varka froze for a second, his sharp blue eyes blinking down at you. Then he relaxed, letting out a soft, amused hum. He didn’t move an inch, letting you rest against him. He kept his arm along the back of the bench, shoulder steady, like a living pillow. You felt his warmth everywhere, and it made your chest tingle in a way you weren’t expecting.
“Well… looks like I really wore you out,” he murmured, voice low and easy, the kind of sound that makes you want to curl up closer. He glanced at you with a grin that was part teasing, part pure affection, like he was thinking, ‘aww, my little sleepyhead!’
Instead of moving, he stayed exactly where he was. Every small shift of your head made him conscious, but he didn’t care. He wanted this. He wanted to feel you pressed against him, even just a little. And honestly, he had to admit—he liked it more than he thought he would.
The breeze moved softly through the grass, but all your attention was on him. Varka rested one arm on the back of the bench and let his shoulder stay steady for you, eyes soft as he glanced down at your sleeping face. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, playful and warm, like he was proud of having you close. You looked so tiny and soft against him that he couldn’t stop the little protective ache in his chest.
After a while, you stirred, blinking slowly awake. Your first thought was how warm and safe you felt pressed against him. Then you realized your head had been resting right on his broad shoulder. You sat up quickly, cheeks burning like fire.
“I… I’m sorry!” you whispered, flustered. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you—”
Varka blinked once, then let out a deep, soft laugh that made your stomach flip. It sounded so warm and easy, like the world had melted into this moment and you were the only two people left in it.
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he said, leaning just a tiny bit closer, the sharp line of his jaw brushing near your hair. “Honestly… you kind of made my day.”
“But I just—”
He reached over and placed one of his big, warm hands on top of your head, brushing his thumb gently against your temple. His fingers were huge but careful, threading through your hair like it was precious. “Next time,” he said with a grin that reminded you of a happy puppy wagging its tail, “if you’re planning on using me as a pillow, at least warn me first… I might just hold onto you forever.”
Your face burned hotter than ever, and your heart thumped in a way that made you dizzy. But the way he was looking at you—soft, fond, and a little playful—made everything feel safe, warm, and ridiculously, perfectly nice. Sitting there beside him, pressed against his strong shoulder, it didn’t feel embarrassing at all.
© 2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog2 all rights reserved. pretty please, don’t translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking. do not copy any of my works whats so ever.
Farmer!Phainon was already out in the fields before the first light of dawn had fully spread across the horizon. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing toned forearms, and his strong, broad shoulders glistened faintly with the morning dew as he tended to the crops. A few strands of his white hair had escaped their usual neatness, falling over his forehead, and his piercing blue eyes scanned the rows of plants with careful attention. The moment he caught sight of you peeking out from the farmhouse window, still wrapped in your blanket and blinking sleepily, a soft smile tugged at his lips. There was something in the way your hair stuck to your damp face from sleep, the faint yawn you tried to hide, that made him feel protective in a warm, unshakable way.
“You awake, sleepyhead?” he called, his voice low but warm, carrying across the quiet fields. You blinked and rubbed your eyes, and he waved you over with one of his large, calloused hands, the fingers broad and capable but gentle in their motion. “I made breakfast. Fresh eggs from the coop, honey straight from the hive, and I even tried some of the new bread recipe. Thought you might like it.”
You shuffled out, barefoot, your toes sinking slightly into the cool grass. He pulled out a chair for you at the small wooden table he’d set up outside the farmhouse, the aroma of warm bread and sweet tea enveloping you immediately. His hands brushed yours as he handed you a cup, large fingers curling around yours with a surprising delicacy. “You didn’t have to…” you murmured, cheeks warming.
Phainon’s smile was quiet but full of sincerity. “I like taking care of you,” he said, his voice soft. He leaned back slightly, resting a strong hand on the table, the veins and strength in it evident even in a casual gesture. “And you always help me when I need it, so… it’s only fair. Besides, I enjoy it.” His piercing gaze softened as he looked at you, the kind of gaze that made it clear he would go to any length to see you safe and content.
After breakfast, he took your hand—his grip firm and reassuring, his large fingers enveloping yours completely—and led you through the fields. He showed you which plants needed watering, which rows had stubborn weeds to pull, and which fruits were finally ready for picking. Every now and then, he would pause to brush a loose strand of hair from your face or swipe a bit of dirt off your cheek with the pad of his thumb, the warmth of his hand lingering far longer than necessary. “There,” he said, stepping back, his hand sliding over your shoulder briefly. “All done. You’re my favorite helper, you know. Can’t let anyone else steal you away from the chores.”
You laughed, leaning slightly into him, and he draped a strong arm around your shoulders, drawing you close. The sun was fully up now, the sky a brilliant, soft blue, and the two of you moved together in a quiet rhythm. Phainon hummed under his breath while working, his large hands expertly guiding plants into place, tying vines, and clearing stubborn weeds. You giggled every time he muttered small complaints about a particularly uncooperative plant, but even in his grumbles, there was a softness, a gentleness that made your chest flutter.
Hours passed with the sun climbing high, and by mid-afternoon, the two of you were resting under the shade of the old oak tree at the edge of the field. Phainon’s strong hands rested lightly on your back, pulling you closer so you could feel the steady beat of his heart. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “You work so hard,” he murmured. “I want to make sure you’re taken care of. Always.” You nestled against him, inhaling the scent of sun-warmed earth and the faint tang of his sweat from the morning labor, feeling safe and cherished in a way words could never capture.
Later, as the golden afternoon light spilled across the fields, Phainon guided you to pick the ripest fruits from the orchard. His large hands lifted you easily when a branch was just out of reach, holding you close to him as he plucked the juiciest apples and pears. You rested your head against his chest, feeling the warmth and strength of him, and couldn’t help but marvel at how effortless he made everything look—even caring for you. “You’re heavy,” he teased lightly, though there was a smile in his voice, “but I don’t mind. You’re worth it.” You laughed, nudging him playfully, and he laughed back, the sound rich and grounding.
As sunset approached, the two of you returned to the porch, covered in soil, sweat, and laughter. Phainon handed you a small freshly-picked flower, pressing it into your hair with fingers that had tilled, watered, and protected all day. “For you,” he said softly, blue eyes glinting in the fading light. “Seeing you happy… that’s the best part of my day.”
You rested your head against his strong shoulder, feeling the rhythm of his chest beneath your cheek. “I love being taken care of by you,” you whispered, voice soft.
He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, one large hand wrapping securely around your waist, the other brushing stray hair from your face. “And I’ll take care of you every single day,” he promised. “No matter what. That’s a vow.”
The sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the fields in gold and pink, and wrapped in Farmer!Phainon’s arms, the world shrank to just the two of you. His hands, strong and capable, held you with care and tenderness, and the quiet hum of the farm felt like the perfect lullaby. In that moment, nothing else mattered—only warmth, safety, and the unspoken promise of a love as steady and enduring as the earth beneath your feet.
Mydei loves to cuddle with you. Even if it’s just a quick moment after a bad day, he always makes time for you. No matter how exhausted or tense he feels, wrapping you in his arms is what soothes him most. It’s like all the noise in the world quiets down when you’re close.
One evening, you come home frustrated, shoulders heavy from stress. Mydei’s already there, waiting on the couch, eyes softening the moment he sees you. Without a word, he pats the space beside him. You sink in, and he pulls you close, his arms tightening gently around your waist.
“Rough day, huh?” he murmurs, voice low and warm.
You nod, burying your face in his chest. “Yeah… everything just feels too much.”
Mydei presses a soft kiss to your hair. “You’re safe here. Just breathe with me, alright? We’ll get through this together.” His fingers trace slow circles along your back, grounding you.
After a moment, you whisper, “I wish this could last forever.”
He smiles, a little teasing now. “With me? It always does, sweetheart. Even the quick cuddles mean the world.”
You look up, catching the warmth in his golden eyes, and suddenly the weight on your chest feels lighter. “Promise me one thing?” you ask.
“What’s that?”
“That no matter how bad my day gets, you’ll always be here to hold me.”
Mydei laughs softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”
You giggle, curling closer into him as the room fades away. “Good. Because I’m never letting go either.”
MYDEIMOS always acts like he doesn't want hugs. Every time you try to get close, he’ll quickly move away, pretending it’s too much or that he’s too busy. You laugh, but deep down, you know he’s just trying to hide how much he actually likes it. He’s always so stiff, even when you’re just sitting close, like he’s scared you might hug him on accident.
Sometimes, though, when you’re not looking, he’ll glance at you and you catch him in the middle of something weird, like holding his breath when you get too close. It’s almost like he wants to reach out but can’t quite let himself. You can see it in his eyes—the little hint of hope he tries to cover up with a quick laugh or a quick comment about how “he doesn’t need hugs.”
One day, you just go for it. You wrap your arms around him, and for a second, he’s frozen. But then, slowly, his arms wrap around you too. It’s awkward at first, but then, he relaxes, and it feels like everything is warm and right. Mydei doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his heart beating faster, and that’s all the answer you need.
Mydei loves kissing your cheek. It’s one of those little things he does without thinking, like breathing. His lips always seem to find that soft spot, especially when the day’s been long or his mind’s all tangled up. He could be in the worst mood, growly and quiet, arms crossed and brow furrowed—but if you’re near, if you’re close enough, that cheek kiss still happens. Gentle and slow, just a little press of warmth that says more than he ever could with words.
It’s not always easy to tell what he’s feeling. Mydei can be hard to read when he’s upset—gruff with his words, sharp with his tone, sometimes acting like he doesn’t want anyone near. But deep down, he’s just tired, frustrated, maybe a little overwhelmed by things he doesn’t know how to fix. And when that happens, he leans into you more. He might not ask for comfort out loud, but the way he kisses your cheek—again and again, like he’s making sure you’re still there—it’s his quiet way of saying, “Please don’t go. I need you right now.”
And you never pull away. Even when he’s at his worst, you know he doesn’t mean to be cold. You can see right through the grumpy act—the way his hands tremble a little when they reach for you, the way he sighs so deeply once he’s tucked against your side. That kiss on your cheek always changes something in him. His shoulders relax, his jaw unclenches, and suddenly the world isn’t as heavy anymore. Just having you close, warm and patient, helps him find his way back to calm.
Sometimes, when you kiss him back—softly on his jaw or just brushing your nose against his—it completely melts him. His whole body softens, like he’s been holding everything in and finally lets it go. He gets so quiet, eyes a little glassy, like he’s trying not to fall apart from how safe you make him feel. He might whisper something like, “You’re too good to me,” but his arms stay around you like he never wants to let go. Because no matter how grumpy, tired, or lost he gets, that little kiss on your cheek always brings him home.
Mydei doesn’t even flinch when you sniffle and whine, your nose red and runny, your voice all stuffed up. You’re a mess—blanket bundled around you, cheeks puffy, eyes glassy—but he just hums and leans in anyway, brushing his fingers under your chin.
“You’re gonna get sick,” you mumble with a groggy pout, trying to turn your head, but he catches you easily.
“Don’t care,” he says, matter-of-fact, before kissing your lips. Soft and slow. “I’ll take the fever if it means I get to kiss you.”
You blink at him, dazed and flustered, sniffling again.
He wipes under your nose with his sleeve. “You’re cute even when you’re gross.”
You groan and try to hide in the blanket, but he just scoops you up and holds you tighter, your legs curled in his lap and your face smushed against his chest.
“I’m your emotional support immune system now,” he whispers, petting your curls. “Just sleep on me. I’ll make you tea later—if you’re good.”
You sniffle again, but your heart’s too full to complain.
It was a peaceful afternoon when you decided to bake something sweet for the two of you. The house was filled with the warm scent of freshly baked cupcakes, their colorful frosting so pretty that it almost felt like a work of art. You carefully arranged them on a platter, eager to surprise Mydei with your homemade treat. The moment he stepped into the kitchen, his eyes lit up, and his usual serious demeanor softened at the sight of the cupcakes.
"Mydei, look! I made these just for you!" you said, your voice full of excitement, offering him a cupcake. His intense, piercing gaze flickered to the plate, and for a moment, you could have sworn he was going to smirk. Instead, he gave you a nod, accepting the cupcake from your hand with a gentle, almost reverent touch. "You made them? How could I refuse, my love?" His words were soft, but you could hear the slight edge of mischief in his tone, though you didn’t catch it at first.
As he took a bite, his expression shifted ever so slightly, but he quickly masked it with an exaggerated smile. You couldn’t help but notice his eyes narrow a little, but he chewed with purpose, swallowing the mouthful as though he was savoring every second. "It’s... quite delicious," he murmured, his voice smooth as he wiped a little frosting from his lips with his thumb. You beamed at the compliment, feeling your heart swell with pride. He was always so kind to you, even when things weren’t perfect.
Yet, as he took another bite, it was clear something was off. His face twitched slightly, and his brows furrowed ever so slightly. Still, he didn’t let it show fully. "Truly, love, your baking skills never cease to amaze me," he continued, his tone low and smooth. But you caught the slight grimace he tried to hide as he chewed, his gaze a bit unfocused. You tilted your head, wondering if he was really enjoying it or just being kind.
"Mydei," you said, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips, "you’re not hiding it well. You don’t have to pretend you like it." He paused, the cupcake halfway to his mouth. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and in that instant, you could see the battle waging within him. He was trying so hard to mask his discomfort, but the way his jaw clenched betrayed him. Still, he forced a smile, leaning toward you. "It’s not about the taste, my love. It’s about the effort," he replied, sounding a little too rehearsed.
Finally, he took another large bite, swallowing slowly as though it was some kind of punishment. You watched him closely, barely able to contain your laughter at how he was clearly suffering. But Mydei, ever the stoic one, managed to maintain his composure, his eyes locking with yours. "I think I’ve found a new appreciation for your… unique baking style," he said with a grin, though you could tell he was struggling. "I am truly honored, my dear." You bit your lip, trying not to burst into laughter, knowing just how much he was pushing himself to make you happy.
"Sweetie," you said teasingly, reaching out to gently stroke his cheek, "you don't have to keep eating them. I know they’re not the best, but you can stop pretending now." Mydei’s intense gaze softened, and his lips curled into a small, genuine smile. "Only for you," he murmured, finally setting the half-eaten cupcake down on the counter. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. "I will always endure any hardship, just to see you smile, my love." You chuckled softly, resting your head against his chest, feeling the warmth of his embrace. Despite the cupcake disaster, there was no place you'd rather be than in his arms, knowing he’d do anything to make you happy.
Phainon hates to see his angel cry. It twists something deep inside him—something fierce and tender all at once. You, with your soft eyes and trembling lashes, trying to hide your tears with the back of your hand, as if even your sadness has to be quiet. He reaches for you before he can stop himself, his usually steady hands turning gentle as they cup your cheeks. “Don’t do that,” he murmurs, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. “Not when you’re supposed to smile, not when you’re mine to protect.” There’s no armor between you and him here, no battlefield—just the vulnerable warmth of your body pressed against his chest as he pulls you into a tight embrace.
He holds you for a long while, his hand splayed against the small of your back, firm and grounding. You can feel how tense he is—his whole frame humming with quiet rage at whatever hurt you—but he reins it in just for you. Instead of letting his anger burn, he pours that fire into something softer, something that simmers in the way his lips graze your hairline and linger there. “You’re not allowed to cry alone, you hear me?” he breathes. “If the world dares to make you sad, then let me be the one to wipe it away.” His voice dips low, husky with feeling, and his fingers curl possessively in the fabric of your shirt.
Phainon rarely lets his guard down, but with you? Everything shifts. He tilts your chin up so your eyes meet his—those beautiful eyes he always calls dangerous because they make him want things he shouldn't. His gaze softens, and his thumb gently traces the corner of your mouth. “Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re sad?” he whispers, almost ashamed to say it, but you can feel the way his breath catches when you blink at him. “Not because I like seeing you hurt—never that. But because even your sorrow makes you look like something I could worship.” His forehead leans into yours, and suddenly his lips are ghosting just above yours, not quite kissing, but close enough to make you ache.
“Let me make it better,” he says, barely audible, like it’s a promise and a plea all at once. His hands wander a little, tracing the curve of your waist with reverence, letting his touch linger where you’re softest. There’s no rush, no pressure—just the subtle way he lets his affection speak through every slow caress and gentle sigh. He doesn’t need to say much more. His body is warm against yours, solid and safe, and his lips finally brush yours with all the intensity of someone who’s been holding back far too long. It’s not just a kiss—it’s comfort, it’s longing, it’s love, and maybe a little desperation.
When he finally pulls back, breathless and dazed, his hands stay wrapped around you like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go. “No more tears,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Not while I’m here. Not when you belong in my arms, smiling and laughing like the light you are.” And even though you’re not an angel—not really—he still looks at you like you hung the stars. To him, you’ll always be divine.
Mydei always treats you like you're his princess—no matter where you are or who’s watching. To him, you're not just someone he loves; you're someone he cherishes, worships, and would go to war for without a second thought. Every time he looks at you, there’s this softness in his golden eyes that nobody else gets to see, like you're the only thing in the world that could ever matter. He opens doors for you, carries your things even when you insist you're strong enough, and always makes sure you’re warm, safe, and comfortable. You never have to ask twice—he’s already on it, already thinking two steps ahead, always treating you like the center of his world.
He watches you like you're made of stars and silk, like even the air should be gentle with you. Whenever you speak, he listens closely, even if you’re just rambling or talking about something silly. And if someone dares to laugh at you or treat you poorly, he doesn’t just get upset—he burns. That terrifying warrior everyone fears becomes your prince in blazing armor, glaring down anyone who even breathes wrong near you. But even with all that power, he’s gentle with you. Always. Like you're something sacred. Like he's scared to break you, even though he knows you're stronger than you look.
Every little thing he does screams devotion. He braids your hair with such care, smoothing the strands with his calloused fingers as if touching something precious. When you’re sad or overwhelmed, he doesn’t rush you to feel better. He just holds you close, pressing you against his bare chest, letting you hear the steady beat of his heart until you feel okay again. And when you’re happy? He lights up like the sun, proud of every smile you give him. He kisses your forehead like it’s a ritual, like he’s sealing a blessing into your skin. You don’t even have to ask him to love you—he just does, over and over, in a thousand quiet ways.
At night, he wraps you in his arms like a protective shield. His big frame curves around you. He murmurs soft things into your hair—how much he loves you, how you’ve changed his world, how he never knew what peace felt like until he had you in his arms. Sometimes he wakes you up just to make sure you're breathing, just to press his forehead against yours and whisper, “Mine. Always mine.” Even in his dreams, he’s holding onto you like he’s scared the world might try to take you away.
To Mydei, you're not just a lover or a partner. You're his entire reason for fighting, for breathing, for being. He sees the way the world looks at you and thinks they don’t even know how lucky they are to witness them. But he knows. And he’ll never take you for granted. In every kiss, every touch, every word, there’s a silent vow: You are my princess. And I will spend every day proving it.
where he belongs. ◞❤︎ tws: gn!reader, fluff and slightly suggestive.
Every time Dilf!Mydei shows up at your door, he’s got that look—equal parts exhausted and trusting—with his wild blond hair pulled back in a loose tie and his robe hanging a little lopsided like he got dressed while wrangling a tiny hurricane. His daughter, a grumpy little thing with the same golden eyes and a tattered plush lion in her arms, peeks out from behind his leg. “Can you watch her?” he asks, already half inside, like he knows the answer. And of course you say yes, because every time he leaves his kid with you, it feels like he’s leaving a piece of his heart behind.
She’s always shy for the first five minutes, but then she warms up—drawing pictures, babbling about her papa, climbing onto your lap and demanding snacks. Mydei texts you little things throughout the day: Did she eat? Is she being a menace? Do you miss me yet? You always roll your eyes, but you reply with a photo of her curled up with her lion and your hoodie. You don’t say it, but you miss him too.
When he comes back, it’s never just a quick pickup. He leans against your doorway like he belongs there, eyes soft when he sees his daughter napping on your couch, and even softer when his gaze lands on you. “You’re good with her,” he murmurs, voice low and rough like he’s been holding back all day. “I think she likes you more than me.” You laugh, but your heart thuds a little too hard when his fingers brush yours during the handoff.
He doesn’t leave right away. He never does. Sometimes he helps clean up, sometimes he just sits beside you, his arm warm and heavy around your shoulders as his kid snores softly in your lap. There’s a comfort in his presence, like you’re already a little family in the making, like he’s testing what it feels like to come home to you. And it always ends the same: with his golden eyes lingering a little too long and his voice rough when he says, “Thank you. Really.”
You watch him carry his daughter out, one arm cradling her close while the other holds the lion she dropped, and he turns back just before leaving. “You know,” he says, “I don’t let just anyone take care of her.” He pauses, looking like he wants to say more. “It’s ‘cause I love you.” And then he’s gone, leaving you breathless in the doorway, heart full, and already waiting for the next time.
The door clicks shut, but the echo of his words—‘cause I love you—lingers in your chest like a slow burn. You press your palm to the spot, half dazed, half giddy, heart fluttering like you’re back in school and someone just passed you a folded note that says Do you like me? Check yes. You lock up, shuffle back inside, and you swear you can still feel the ghost of his fingers on yours, the heat of his body beside you, the rasp in his voice when he looked at you like you were something soft and sacred.
Later that night, you’re curled on the couch with the throw blanket still rumpled from where his daughter napped, and your phone buzzes. It’s him. Didn’t want to leave. She passed out the second we got home. Can’t stop thinking about you. You bite your lip, stomach flipping, and reply something playful—Thinking about me or the snacks I gave her?—but the second his typing bubble pops up, you already know his answer. Both. But mostly the way you looked tonight. You always make me wanna stay longer.
You don’t mean to, but your mind drifts—to how warm he always runs, how his robe always slips off his shoulder, how he stands too close like he’s daring you to kiss him first. You imagine his big hands on your waist instead of carrying a sleepy kid. Imagine what it'd feel like if he murmured “thank you” with his mouth on your neck instead of the doorway. He’s so gentle, always so careful with you, and it makes you ache in the sweetest way.
The next morning, he’s at your door again—no kid this time, just him, hair a mess, eyes heavy with something more than exhaustion. “She’s with her grandma,” he says, and he leans in before you can even ask why. His hand brushes your waist as he steps inside, and the look he gives you makes your knees weak. “Thought I’d stop by,” he says, voice low, rough, like he hasn’t stopped thinking about you either. “Didn’t get to say goodnight properly.”
And when he kisses you—slow, deep, like he’s been holding back for months—it feels like something that was always meant to happen. Like the soft smiles, the quiet thank-yous, the lingering touches were all just preludes. And now, he’s here. Just him, just you, no rush. His hands are steady, his kiss is warm, and somewhere between his sigh against your lips and the way he whispers your name like it’s precious, you realize—he’s not just a dad who loves you. He’s yours.
© 2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog2 all rights reserved. pretty please, don’t translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking. do not copy.
pink dress. ◞❤︎ tws : fem!reader, fluff and slightly suggestive.
You honestly didn’t think your day would include watching the mighty Mydei—the same man who once shattered a boulder just because it was in his way—sitting daintily in your daughters’ plastic pink chair, holding a chipped porcelain teacup between two clawed fingers like it was a sacred relic. And yet… here you were. Curled up on the couch, trying not to fall off from laughter while your three little girls bossed around their towering father like he was the new girl in their kingdom of fluff and glitter.
He looked so out of place. Blonde hair messily swept to the side with a glittery bow clipped on top. Pink dress clinging awkwardly to his broad frame, the neckline tugged too low, the skirt flaring out awkwardly around his thighs. Ribbons, sequins, lace. Somehow, they’d even talked him into heart-shaped stickers on his cheeks. Every muscle in his body looked tense—like he was holding back the urge to combust. But he wasn't fighting it. He wasn't stomping away. He wasn’t tearing the dress off or shouting like usual.
He was trying. For them.
Your heart melted a little.
“Would Daddy like more tea?” asked your youngest, her voice soft and sweet as she lifted a tiny teapot that had absolutely nothing in it.
Mydei cleared his throat. “Yes. Very much, Princess Blossom.” His voice was stiff, painfully formal. He looked like he’d rather be impaled than call anyone Princess Blossom out loud.
Your middle daughter clapped. “Yay! Princess Daddy’s bein’ so good!”
He shot you a look. The kind that promised vengeance in the dead of night. You just grinned wider, hugging a pillow to your chest and kicking your feet behind it like you were watching a drama.
You could see it happening—his jaw twitching, his eye narrowing, the way his fingers flexed over the tea saucer like he was imagining crushing it just to reclaim a shred of dignity. But then… your oldest leaned over, reached up with both hands, and started braiding a tiny strand of his blonde hair with careful, clumsy fingers. And he froze. Went completely still. Let her tug and twist and hum her silly little made-up song while she worked.
It was quiet for a second.
And then she said, “Daddy… you look pretty.”
You watched his breath hitch.
“…Thank you,” he said after a pause, voice quiet and barely above a whisper.
Your heart split in two. You curled tighter around your pillow, nose burying in the fabric, trying to stop the tears from poking at your eyes. It was so sweet. So stupidly sweet that it hurt.
You thought that would be the softest moment of the day.
You were wrong.
Because later, when the kids were tucked into their princess beds, drooling into pillows and dreaming sparkly dreams, you turned around and found Mydei still in that damn dress. Arms crossed, standing at the doorway like some kind of vengeful fairy godmother.
“I forgot I was still wearing this,” he grumbled. But he made no move to take it off.
“You totally didn’t forget,” you teased, tilting your head. “You like it.”
He scoffed, stalking forward. “I like nothing about this ridiculous outfit—”
“But you let them braid your hair,” you said, backing up as he approached. “You even wore the bow. You didn’t growl or snap or destroy the tea set. You were such a gentle princess—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” you smiled, stopping once your back hit the wall. “You were so good today, Daddy.”
His eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smirk.
“Oh, so that’s what this is?” he murmured, leaning in slightly. “You’ve been poking at me all day just to get this reaction?”
You giggled, not denying it.
He tilted his head, fingers brushing yours. “Tch. You’re lucky I like you.”
You grinned. “I know I’m lucky.”
He let out a quiet sigh and bumped his forehead gently against yours, voice soft. “You’re gonna keep teasing me about this forever, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely,” you whispered, smiling up at him. “And deep down… you love it.”
Mydei groaned dramatically, but he didn’t pull away. He stayed close. Still in the dress. Still your grumpy, sparkly, begrudgingly perfect princess.
He didn’t pull away.
Still in that pink frilly disaster of a dress—lace brushing his thighs, one strap slipping off his shoulder—Mydei just stood there with his forehead pressed to yours, hands resting on your hips like he didn’t look like a cursed fairytale prince forced into a Barbie dream.
“You’re enjoying this,” he muttered again, more to himself than to you.
“Mhm,” you hummed innocently. “I mean… when else am I gonna see you in a glitter bow and puff sleeves?”
“I should exile you for this.”
“But you won’t,” you said, inching your arms up around his neck. “Because deep down, you like it when I get all giggly over you.”
“I don’t need you to giggle over me.”
“You love it when I do.”
He didn’t argue.
Instead, he leaned in just a little, arms tightening around your waist like he couldn’t decide whether to carry you off to bed or lock you in time-out for crimes against his pride. You felt the lace of the dress tickle your arms as he held you close, the faint scent of your daughters’ glitter gel clinging to him like some absurd perfume. And yet, standing here like this—wrapped in sparkles, pink, and everything he supposedly hated—he still felt so much like him. Steady. Warm. Strong. Unshakable.
The dress didn’t change that.
It just made him look like a particularly grumpy marshmallow.
“Stop smiling like that,” he warned.
“Like what?” you said, smiling even harder.
“Like you’re planning something.”
“Maybe I am.”
Mydei raised a brow. “Honey.”
Your smile turned devious. “I’m just wondering… how long you plan to stay in that dress.”
He blinked, taken off guard. “What?”
“Well,” you said, stepping back just enough to give him the full look-over, “you could take it off. Right now. But you haven’t. And you’ve had plenty of time.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re reading too much into this.”
“Mmm. Maybe. Or maybe you like the way it feels.” You wiggled your fingers teasingly. “It’s soft, right? All those ruffles and silk? Bet it’s a lot more comfy than your armor.”
He didn’t respond. He looked like he was trying to come up with a retort, but every second that passed with him still wearing that ridiculous outfit just made your smirk grow.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
“And you’re adorable,” you whispered, reaching up to fix the bow in his hair. “My perfect pink grump.”
He rolled his eyes but didn’t stop you. In fact… he leaned in again, this time a bit closer, a bit slower. His hands settled a little lower on your waist. Not too low—he was still holding back—but low enough to make you shiver.
“You’re lucky the girls are asleep,” he said, voice softer now.
You tilted your head. “And if they weren’t?”
“I’d still do this.”
And then he kissed you.
Not hard, not heated—just full. The kind of kiss that lingered, like he was memorizing the way you tasted after a day full of giggles, tea parties, and glitter. The kind that said, You’re mine. Even when you humiliate me in pastel lace.
When he pulled back, your face was warm, your knees weak, and your smile absolutely shameless.
“You kissed me while wearing a dress,” you teased.
He groaned again, burying his face in your neck. “Don’t remind me.”
“But you did, and you liked it.”
He said nothing.
But he didn’t let go either.
©2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog2 all rights reserved. pretty please, don’t translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking.
bikes! ◞❤︎ tws : fem!reader, fluff and very suggestive. ft. mydei.
You don’t know when he picked up the second bike. You don’t know how the hell he’s already drenched in sweat when the sun’s barely passed noon, or why the first thing he did when he saw you was peel his jacket off and toss it over the handlebars like it offended him. But you know this: Mydei is standing there in the gravel lot, shirtless, glittering with heat and danger, and he's looking at you like you're the only damn thing in the world worth chasing.
The helmet hits your hands before your brain catches up.
“Ride with me,” he says, voice deep and hoarse from the sun and the wind and probably yelling at people who deserved it. His braid sticks to the side of his neck, loose strands of red-tipped blonde stuck to his cheek. His chest is rising fast—too fast for someone who’s just been standing there. Sweat runs down between the thick lines of those tattoos like they're trying to trace a path only you should follow.
You blink. Then swallow.
“I thought you didn’t share your toys,” you tease, cradling the helmet but not moving to put it on. His eyes narrow, gold catching the light, feral.
“I don’t,” he says. Then he licks his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, like he’s tasting the heat off the air. “But I might make an exception. If you ask pretty.”
Your stomach flips.
You step closer, until you can see the way his chest beats—hard and unrelenting under sun-kissed skin. There’s a scar across one rib you never noticed before. His skin smells like smoke, leather, and something saltier. Raw. It makes you dizzy.
“Please,” you say softly.
Mydei’s smirk spreads like a slow bruise. He turns without another word and straddles the bike, kicking it to life in a violent growl. He doesn’t wait for you—he never does—but you scramble on behind him anyway, slipping both arms around his middle. The second you touch him, he stiffens just a little. Not like he didn’t expect it—but like it affects him anyway.
His skin is hot under your fingers. Not warm—hot. Like he’s been burning for hours. Your palms skim the sweat running over his abs, and you feel, distinctly, the moment he exhales like he’s trying not to groan.
“You ready?” he asks, not looking back.
You press your cheek to the damp skin of his back and smile. “Take me somewhere fast.”
He chuckles. “Hold on tight then, sweetheart.”
And when he twists the throttle, it’s not the road that steals your breath—it’s him.
The wind whips at your clothes, but you can’t focus on the landscape. Not when every bump in the road presses you closer to him. Not when his body flexes under your arms with each shift of his weight. You can feel the tension rolling off him, a steady thrum like thunder trapped beneath skin. He leans into the turns like he owns the road, and you bury your face against the curve of his neck to muffle the noise caught in your throat.
God, he smells so good. Salty. Spicy. Like heat and something darker.
He doesn’t say a word the whole ride, but you feel everything he doesn’t say in the twitch of his jaw, the way his hands grip the bars, the way his heart keeps pounding beneath your fingers.
By the time he pulls into an abandoned overlook and cuts the engine, your legs are shaking and your mouth is dry.
Mydei swings off the bike first, stretching, golden skin slick and glistening under the afternoon light. He turns to look at you with that half-lidded, dangerous stare of his, chest still heaving like the ride wound him up instead of wearing him down.
“You good?” he asks.
You take off the helmet, your hair sticking to your cheeks, eyes bright. “Yeah. I just—”
“You held on tight,” he interrupts, stepping closer. His palm lands on the gas tank beside your thigh, boxing you in. “I liked that.”
Your breath stutters. “Yeah?”
He leans in, mouth close, close enough for you to feel it when he murmurs, “Makes me wonder what else you’d hold onto that tight.”
Your mouth opens—but no words come out.
The heat between you simmers like the pavement beneath your feet. Mydei watches you, gaze slow and unreadable, then grins like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you—and loves every second of it.
“Your place,” he says, voice low, “or mine?”
You don’t answer.
You just grab his belt and pull.
© 2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog2 all rights reserved. pretty please, don’t translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking.
puppy love! ◞❤︎ tws : gn!reader, fluff and very suggestive.
“Down, boy—Phai, down!”
Your voice squeaked as the massive, snowy-white puppy tackled you to the floor, hands bigger than your face and tail thumping like a war drum against the couch. He was cute—so cute—and warm, with soft ears flopping as he tilted his head down, blue eyes gleaming with mischief.
“But I wanna cuddle…” he whined, voice just barely deeper than a whimper, his whole body sprawled on top of yours. His tail gave a slow wag-wag-wag.
You squirmed beneath the weight of him. “You're not a lap dog anymore, Phai. You're—like—a whole mattress.”
“Mhm,” he purred smugly, nose nuzzling into your neck. “Then lie back and get comfy. I am the mattress now.”
Your cheeks burned, caught between laughter and complete surrender. He smelled like warmth and stardust, and his white hair tickled your arms as he shifted slightly—enough to press even closer, if that was possible. You could feel the soft vibrations of a pleased purr in his chest, deep and smug.
“Phainon…”
His tongue flicked out and licked your cheek.
You gasped. “Phai! That’s—!”
“Marking my favorite human. Mine.”
He curled around you then, spooning you with all his oversized, squishy warmth. His nose tucked under your chin, his tail curled over your waist, and those big blue eyes closed peacefully.
You could barely move—but really, did you want to?
He hummed again, one hand possessively draped over your stomach. “Gonna nap now. Don’t wriggle too much, ‘kay? You’re so soft when you stay still…”
You buried your face into his chest, heart thudding, and whispered, “You’re impossible.”
“Mhmm. But you love me.”
You couldn’t argue with that.
He was dozing on top of you, all fuzzy warmth and sleepy weight, when your hand slid up—half for comfort, half curiosity—and gently scratched behind one of his floppy, snow-soft ears.
His entire body jerked.
“Ah—!”
You blinked. “...Did you just whimper?”
“N-No,” he grumbled immediately, nose twitching as he curled tighter around you like he could hide the sound he'd just made. His cheeks were definitely turning pink.
You raised a brow and scratched again, just a little slower.
“Ahn—s-stop that,” he mumbled, voice cracking as he shoved his face into your neck. “I-It’s... sensitive.”
“But you’re wagging your tail.”
“Shut up,” he whined.
You giggled, unable to help yourself. “Are you blushing? Is the big scary puppy blushing because I scratched his wittle ear?”
He gave a low growl, more embarrassed than angry, and sank his teeth very gently into your sleeve, like he was trying to reclaim some kind of dominance. Except he looked like a sulky marshmallow, ears drooping and eyes glassy with fluster.
You scratched again.
This time, he melted.
His whole body went limp on top of you. He sighed so dramatically it made your chest rumble with it. “Haaaahh... okay... maybe just a little longer... But don’t tell anyone, or I’ll chew your socks.”
“I dare you,” you teased, hand now fully committed to scratching behind both ears.
He didn’t answer. Just wiggled closer, tail thumping like crazy, his breathing slowing into soft little huffs as he nuzzled deeper into your neck.
“…My favorite human,” he mumbled sleepily. “Gonna marry you. Or bite anyone who tries first.”
“Romantic,” you snorted.
“I’m a puppy. What do you expect.”
And just like that, you were stuck, held hostage by one enormous, flustered, slightly possessive pillow of fluff—his big ears twitching each time your fingers grazed the right spot, making him mumble nonsense in his sleep.
Not that you were complaining.
© 2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog2 all rights reserved. pretty please, don’t translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking.
You’ve always wanted to know if Mydei was telling the truth.
Every time a new wrinkle showed up—soft little lines blooming near your eyes, a tiny crease at the edge of your mouth—you’d find yourself looking in the mirror a little longer than usual. And then, almost on instinct, you’d turn to him, curling up in his lap or tugging gently at his sleeve like a child seeking reassurance.
“Mydei… do I still look beautiful? Even if I’m getting old?”
He’d always give the same response, said in that lazy, bratty voice of his like the question offended him. “Yes. Obviously.” Sometimes he’d add something dramatic like, ‘Don’t insult me by asking,’ or ‘If you weren’t beautiful, I wouldn’t even look at you, duh.’ And then he’d grab your face, kiss your nose, and go back to whatever nonsense he was doing, like that was the end of the conversation.
But it never really felt like enough. Maybe it was just you being silly. Maybe it was the creeping fear in your chest that time was something he’d never have to worry about—not really, not with his cursed markings glowing like ancient magic, not with that untouchable strength pulsing under his skin. He was timeless. You were… not.
So, you waited.
Waited until time had its way with you. Until your hair began to lose its color, softening to gray. Until the laugh lines deepened, and your joints started to ache just a little when it rained. You waited until one morning, you caught your reflection and barely recognized the version of yourself in the mirror. That’s when you decided. If there was ever a time to ask, it was now.
You walked over to him slowly, your steps deliberate, your heart racing. He was sitting in the garden, the sun painting warm gold onto his glowing red markings, his wild blond hair tousled by the wind. He looked like a storm dressed in sunlight.
“Mydei,” you said softly, kneeling beside him, “do I still look beautiful to you? Even now?”
He didn’t scoff this time. He didn’t roll his eyes. Instead, he looked at you—really looked at you.
And then he reached for you, big calloused hands cradling your face with a kind of gentleness that cracked something open inside you. His thumbs brushed the creases at the corners of your eyes like they were brushstrokes on a masterpiece.
“There you go again,” he murmured, voice low and tender, “asking dumb questions.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, golden eyes burning with something far deeper than lust or admiration.
“You’ve always been beautiful. But now?” His voice was almost reverent. “Now you’re divine. Every line, every change… it’s proof I got to keep you all this time. Proof you lived. And I wouldn’t trade a single one.”
And just like that, you knew. He had always told the truth. You just needed time to believe it.
You blinked, his words sinking into you like a stone sinking into still water. The tenderness in his voice was enough to make your heart skip, but it didn’t erase the nagging doubt that lingered.
“You really mean that?” you whispered, voice barely more than a breath.
Mydei’s eyes softened, a flicker of concern flashing through his golden gaze. He tilted his head, his hand still holding your face, his thumb tracing the lines of your skin as if trying to memorize them. But even with the warmth of his touch, the unease in your chest refused to settle.
“You know I do,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Why do you keep asking? Why do you doubt it?”
You pulled back slightly, feeling that familiar sting in your chest. “Because you don’t age like me, Mydei. You don’t get to feel the way time wears you down. You’ll always be this perfect… this… untouched by it. I’m just… I’m just afraid one day you’ll look at me and not see me anymore.”
The words came out in a rush, a flood of insecurities and fears you’d buried deep. You bit your lip, ashamed, but the vulnerability spilled out anyway, the weight of it threatening to suffocate you.
Mydei was silent for a long moment. His gaze seemed to drift, as if trying to understand what you were really saying. His jaw tightened, and for the first time, you saw something unfamiliar in his eyes—something raw, something a little broken.
“You think I’ll leave you?” he asked, his voice tight, like he was struggling to understand why you would even think such a thing. His hand dropped from your face, fingers curling into a fist at his side. “You think I’m gonna find someone else when you’re the one I chose? When you’re the one who means everything to me? This… this age, this time—it doesn’t matter to me. Do you understand that?”
The sudden intensity in his voice took you aback, and you felt a knot tighten in your throat. “But one day, you will get tired of me. I’m not—I’m not like you, Mydei. You won’t be able to keep loving someone like me forever.”
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, there was something more fragile in his gaze than you’d ever seen before.
“I’m not afraid of time. I’m afraid of losing you,” he said, his voice strained with a kind of quiet anguish you hadn’t expected. “But I will never stop loving you, even when you’re old, and every wrinkle is a reminder of how long we’ve been together. I don’t care what happens to your body. I care about you. You’re the one I want. You’re the one who makes me… feel. Do you think I would throw that away just because time catches up to you?”
You swallowed hard, your heart aching at the rawness of his words. He was more than just the cursed warrior you saw—he was someone who feared losing you, just as much as you feared losing him.
“Mydei…” you whispered, the tears threatening to spill over. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. You didn’t want to appear weak, but the weight of his confession was more than you could bear.
He reached out, cupping your face again, his thumb brushing away a tear that had already fallen.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I didn’t realize how much this hurt you. I won’t let you go. Not now. Not ever. Even if it means I have to watch you age, watch you change. I’ll be here. With you. forever.”
His words wrapped around you like a comfort you hadn’t known you needed. But there was still that lingering fear in the back of your mind, that fear of losing him, of watching him slip away from you when you became too fragile for him to hold onto. You wanted to believe him, you did, but part of you still couldn’t shake the thought that one day, he might look at you and see only someone else.
“Promise me,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “promise me you’ll never leave me when I’m no longer the person I used to be.”
His golden eyes never wavered, even as his hand moved to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer. “I promise you, honey. You’ll never lose me. I’m yours, always.”
But deep down, you both knew that promises, no matter how pure, couldn’t shield you from the inevitable. Time would take its toll, and one day, your fears might just come true. And yet, for now, you let yourself believe in his words—because the future could wait. For today, Mydei was yours. And that was enough.
Mydei curled beside you like a lion cub—if lion cubs were six-foot-something beasts made of muscle and quiet fury. His body was too big for the bed, but he didn’t care, didn’t move, just kept one heavy arm slung over your stomach like a warning to the world. His face was buried half into the pillow, half into your shoulder, and even though he was pretending to sleep, you could feel the tension in his jaw. He was pissed. At himself. At you. At everything. But mostly at the fact that he didn’t know how to fix it without looking stupid.
“You done sulking?” you muttered, voice a little hoarse from yelling earlier. His grip on you tightened like a vice. “I ain’t sulking,” he grunted, voice low and rough, scratchy from smoke and snapping earlier. “M’trying not to snap your fuckin’ head off again.” You rolled your eyes, but your heart stuttered a little at that. That was his way of saying he regretted it. Not the best way, but it was Mydei. He wasn’t the type to apologize. He was the type to hold you like this instead, like a storm that didn’t know how to rain without breaking something.
His hand slid up under your shirt, this time just dragging his callused palm up your ribs, not even trying anything. Just touching. Just claiming. “You always run your mouth,” he muttered against your skin, voice low and grumbly like thunder. “But you’re mine. You get that, right?” You didn’t answer right away, just let him touch you, let him prove his point in silence. Eventually you breathed out, soft. “You’re such a damn caveman.” He snorted—barely a laugh—but you felt his body finally relax.
He pulled you closer like it was instinct, like his whole body only knew how to pull you in and never let go. His mouth pressed against your collarbone, not a kiss, just heat and breath and teeth barely brushing skin. “Don’t care what you call me,” he mumbled. “Just shut up and stay.” You blinked up at the ceiling, heart thudding hard. He wasn’t romantic. He wasn’t sweet. But that? That was something close. That was as soft as it got with him.
You didn’t say anything. Just reached down and grabbed his hand, dragging it back to your waist. His fingers flexed, tightening like he was proud. Like good. He didn’t say another word. Didn’t have to. His body said it all—pressing you down, wrapped around you like armor. He’d argued with you, nearly scared you off, and now he held you like if anyone even looked your way again, he’d break their jaw. And honestly? You wouldn’t want it any other way.
You and Sylus were leaning against a tree, the soft glow of the setting sun warming the air around you. There was something in the way he was looking at you—something different—but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.
Sylus shifted, stepping a little closer, and you could feel his breath against your skin. “Hey,” he said, his voice a little lower than usual, “there’s something I wanna say.”
Your heart skipped. You turned to face him, a little nervous. “What’s up?”
He hesitated, his eyes searching yours like he was looking for the right words. “I… really like you. Like, more than just friends.”
Your breath caught in your throat. You had a feeling it might be coming, but hearing it still made your chest feel tight. Sylus was so close now, his hand brushing your arm. “I think I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while,” he added, his voice almost a whisper.
Before you could say anything, Sylus reached out, cupping your cheek with one hand, his thumb lightly grazing your skin. His eyes dropped to your lips for a second, and you felt that heat spread between you both.
Without warning, his lips were on yours—soft at first, like he was testing the waters. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed him back, slowly, letting everything else fade away. His lips were warm, and the kiss was soft, but there was an intensity building. You felt his hand slide to your waist, pulling you just a little closer.
When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with something you hadn’t quite seen before. “That... was nice,” he muttered, his breath a little shaky.
You smiled, a little shy, but your heart was racing. “Yeah,” you whispered back, “I think it was.”
Sylus grinned, that playful edge in his smile still there, but there was something more to it now. He leaned in again, this time a little faster, his lips claiming yours again, but this time deeper, a little more urgent. His fingers brushed the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, your bodies pressing together just a little more.
You kissed him back, your hands finding his chest, the feel of his heartbeat matching the rhythm of your own. He pulled away after a moment, just enough to catch his breath. “You make it hard to stop,” he said, his voice low, his lips brushing yours once more.
You laughed softly, your face flushed. “Guess we’ll have to see where this goes,” you whispered, your fingers curling into his shirt.
Sylus smirked, clearly enjoying the playful tension between you. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll be around to find out.”
