synopsis: you wouldn't call you and mydeimos friends. the two of you hang out often, but he rarely speaks. when he sends you home one night on his motorcycle, however, cupid shows up in his most unexpected form: siri.
a/n: finally a mydei idea that doesn't get hijacked by phainon LOL i feel like. i did not do this idea as much justice as i liked but oh well 😭😭
You wouldn’t call you and Mydeimos friends.
Your relationship — if it could even be called that — is strange. You are friends with Hyacine, he is friends with Phainon, and both of your respective friends happen to be the most socially outgoing and charismatic people on campus. So on the occasion when these two celestial bodies of extroversion decide to collide, you and Mydeimos are inevitably dragged into the same point in space-time.
You know more about him than you know him, you think. There’s a distinction between the two that feels important. It’s a collection of facts observed from a distance, compiled through circumstance rather than conversation. They are as such:
One. He is a third year student studying mechanical engineering. You learn this when Hyacine drags you to the library with her for a study session the week before finals, insisting that you’ll be “more productive with company.” Productive is not the word you’d ever use to describe the four of you together. Within ten minutes of sitting down, Hyacine and Phainon are embroiled in a passionate debate about the superiority of gel vs felt-tip highlighters with an intensity that has you inching your chair away.
Meanwhile, Mydeimos silently works through a thick stack of problem questions with equations and greek letters that you cannot make head or tail of. He does not even look up, glasses perched on his nose as he sketches out graphs with a mechanical pencil. Multivariable calculus, he informs you later. You did not know he had noticed your staring.
Two. Mydeimos is on the university’s basketball team. He arrives for lunch one day in a sports jersey and a towel around his neck, longish blond hair still sticking to his temples with cooled sweat. You watch the way he slides into the booth next to Phainon with the loose limbed exhaustion of someone who’s left everything on the court, rolling his eyes as his friend pokes fun at him for being late. This time, you try not to stare too much at the tattoos curling down his biceps and forearms as he drains a bottle of water in one long go.
Three. He has somewhat of a sweet tooth, something that you’re surprised by. You notice this when he always spends a fraction too long on the desserts section when looking through the menu but never orders any of it. You wonder whether it’s something that comes with being an athlete. “Do you like sweets, Mydeimos?” you ask him one day, when Hyacine and Phainon are at the counter debating (again) about what to order.
He looks up at you, golden eyes flickering towards the menu, before he nods slowly. “You can call me Mydei, you know,” he says after a while. "Mydeimos is too formal."
You know. That is precisely why you choose to use it.
Four. He rides a motorcycle. This fact comes in important, later.
And five. Mydeimos is kind. You feel a little guilty for assuming otherwise at first — mistaking his silence for indifference, his stoicism for coldness. But you soon learn that his consideration is quiet and slips past far too easily unless you’re paying attention. He notices the details. Like the time when you were stuck inside the booth and he offered to help you get water from the drinks bar. Or the way he wordlessly holds out his hand to take yours and Hyacine’s bags whenever you need to go to the washroom.
He shifts his chair to give you more room when the space is tight. He slides a napkin across the table before you’ve even realized you need one. Small things, unremarkable in isolation — except for the fact that he always seems to notice before you have to ask. Platonically, it’s an attractive thing to notice. Platonically.
Aside from that, though, you wouldn’t say that you know him all that well.
So, it’s a bit of an awkward affair when Phainon asks him to send you home.
The four of you had ended up at a late night diner after catching an action movie Phainon insisted on seeing, and ended up lingering over milkshakes and fries for longer than you’d expected. By the time you checked your phone again, the last bus was long gone and the ride-hailing apps were being painfully uncooperative. Hyacine had decided to give Phainon a lift home (like the girlboss that she is), but the two of them live on the other side of the city and…
“You’ve got a motorcycle, don’t you?” Phainon says as he slaps his friend on the shoulder. Mydeimos narrows his eyes at him, before he glances at you. An unreadable look flickers in his golden eyes before he nods with a hesitation that you’re not sure whether to interpret as reluctance.
“Alright then!” Hyacine claps her hands together, as if that settles everything. “It’s been a long night. Get home safe, you guys!”
You’re not quite sure how to feel about this. You’re grateful to have a ride home, that’s for sure, but you’ve never really… hung out with Mydeimos without Hyacine and Phainon around. And now, the two of them have already headed off, leaving just you and him in the dimly lit parking lot behind the diner.
The air smells faintly of asphalt and cooking grease, and the only bright shape in the lot is what you assume to be Mydei’s motorcycle. Sleek and black, with crimson accents that catch the neon glow from the sign above the diner, it looks fast even when it’s standing still. The engine rumbles quietly, a low hum that thrums through you when he presses a button and the machine comes alive.
He hands you the only helmet. “Have you ridden a motorcycle before?” When you shake your head, his lips twist almost imperceptibly upwards. “You look a little nervous.”
“I kinda am,” you admit, turning the helmet over in your hands. “Never been on one before.”
“Oh.” You’re not quite sure what to expect from Mydeimos. Maybe a teasing remark, a laugh, something casual. But he doesn’t. Instead, with the same quiet steadiness that seems to define him, he asks, “Of anything in particular?”
You take a moment to think about it. “The… noise?” you ponder aloud, frowning slightly. That sounds kind of stupid. “The cars and the honking and the— uh, you know.” He just looks at you with those unflinching, steady eyes, and you feel a little guilty for the hold up you’re causing. “Don’t worry about it. The ride back shouldn’t be more than… fifteen minutes, I think? I can deal with it.”
Before you can put on the helmet, though, he stops you. “Here.” He holds out a pair of AirPods. “I’ll play some music. Noise-cancelling. Should help, right?”
For a second, you’re caught off guard by Mydei’s quiet thoughtfulness once again. Really, you should have learned by now, the type of man he is. You look down at the offered Airpods. The sight of them makes your heart skip a traitorous beat in your chest.
Hesitantly, you slip them into your ears. Mydeimos reaches over to take the helmet from your hands, before helping you settle it onto your head, adjusting the straps carefully beneath your chin. You try not to fidget when his fingers accidentally brush your throat, all too aware of how nerve-wracking yet strangely steadying his methodical touch feels.
When the helmet is secure, he swings a leg over the bike with practiced ease. You step up behind him, hands hovering for a moment before you place them tentatively on his waist.
Mydei glances back over his shoulder. There’s a faint, almost amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The knowledge that it’s aimed directly at you almost makes you fall off the back.
“You’ll need to hold on more tightly if you don’t want to fall off,” he tells you, voice low and steady. “Don’t want to arrive at your home only to realise I’ve dropped you on the highway or something. May I?”
You nod wordlessly. He takes you by the wrists and guides your arms just a little tighter around his midsection, shifting them so that you're gripping his front properly rather than just resting your fingers on his sides. The heat that bleeds through the thin tee he’s wearing is almost scalding.
The engine rumbles to life between your legs. Mydei gives the throttle a testing twist, and the machine responds with a predatory growl. You instinctively tighten your grip on his waist, fingers pressing into the firm muscle at his waist.
“Ready?” he calls over his shoulder. You nod shakily, too scared to let go, and he kicks the bike into gear. The world lurches forward.
The first few seconds feel like a sensory overload. The wind is a constant, pressing force against your body, whipping at your bare arms, your hair. The lights of the city streak past in smears of gold and white. And the cars — they’re suddenly enormous, loud, and far too close. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, arms tightening involuntarily around the only solid thing in this chaotic, rushing dark.
He must feel it, because he shifts, one hand leaving the handlebar for a moment. You barely manage to make out his voice, slightly raised but calm, cutting through the wind. “Siri, play my driving playlist—” A car honks loudly from behind, jolting you in your seat. “—on Spotify.”
“Playing ‘jogging playlist’ from Recorder…”
Instead of the expected thumping bass or strumming of an acoustic guitar, an entirely different sound floods your ears. Thump-thump-thump. It takes you a moment to figure it out, but this is the sound of someone’s shoes against the pavement. Jogging. There’s quiet, heavy breathing. And then his voice, slightly breathless, too close and melting like candy in your ears.
“—need to just… ugh. Saw her again today at the library. Third floor, near the history section, next to the window. Hyacine was talking up a storm and she was just nodding along. I think she was drawing something in the margins of her notebook. Wanted to see what it was. Wanted to go over. What would I even say though? ‘Let me see what you’re drawing’? That’s just rude. Idiot.”
Your breath catches in your throat. You stare at the back of his leather jacket, unable to string together a coherent thought for a second. This is… a voice memo. A private thought. About you.
“Mydeimos—” you start to say, but your voice is muffled by the helmet, utterly lost to the wind and the noise of the engine. He feels you move, though.
“Save it for later!” he calls over his shoulder, misinterpreting your squirming for more anxiety. “We’re almost on the highway!”
The jogging sounds continue. There’s another deep breath, then his voice comes through again, raw and unfiltered.
“Phainon’s setting up another lunch with Hyacine tomorrow. I know he is. He thinks he’s being subtle. I should be annoyed, but I’m… not. It’s kind of pathetic, maybe. That I need a whole lunch engineered just for a chance to sit across from her for an hour and maybe say like three words. She’s just so… quiet. Not in a bad way. It’s like she has a whole other world in that head. I want to know what’s in there.”
The bike leans into a smooth curve, turning onto the ramp for the highway. The city lights open up around you, a dazzling panorama, but you can’t focus on any of it when you’re trapped in a confessional booth with his voice. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic beat completely out of sync with the steady rumble of the motorcycle.
The earbuds go quiet. For a moment, you think that the heavens have finally decided to have mercy on you when the next audio loads. A different day, different background noise, and his breathing is more laboured this time.
“Okay. Sprinted like five miles without stopping and all I could think about is the way she ties her hair when she needs to focus. Hair tie between her teeth and everything. That’s it. That’s the whole thought. Five miles for one hair tie. This is becoming a problem. This is already a problem. A good problem? I don’t know. How do you even talk to someone who makes your brain shut down? You’re afraid that you might open your mouth and say something stupid and then poof— all of your chances, gone down the drain like that. I can’t do that.”
That makes your face heat a little. It feels… wrong, to continue listening, but it’s not like you have much of a choice. The careful, quiet man who you’d thought was politely tolerating your presence… he’d wanted to talk to you. The quiet vulnerability in his voice now is unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him.
You try again. You tap his side, raise your voice as much as you dare. “Your phone!” you shout, but he just pats your hand where it’s clenched against his stomach. It’s a gesture meant to be reassuring. His long fingers practically fold over your hand. “I know, the cars are pretty loud tonight! Almost there! Just hold on!”
Another voice memo. He sounds calmer here, his pace even.
“Figured it out today. I think I’m… yeah. I’m definitely into her. It’s not a crush. I can’t believe I actually owe Phainon something for his stupid schemes… I just need to find a way to tell her. I need to… I just need to be brave. Next time. Next time, for sure.”
The memo ends. And then there’s only the hollow rush of wind, dampened by the ANC. The silence is more deafening than the roar of the engine beneath you.
The bike begins to slow, taking an exit ramp. The suburban streets are dark and quiet. You’re hyper-aware of every point of contact, your arms around his waist, your knees pressing against his thighs. The person you’re holding is no longer just Mydeimos, the mechanical engineering student, the basketball player, Phainon’s friend. This is Mydei — the man who struggles to find the right words to speak to you, who runs five miles thinking about you, whose quiet thoughts you’ve just been privy to.
Is he trying to be brave, even now?
Mydei pulls up to your curb and kills the engine. The ensuing silence is suddenly too much, ringing in your ears with the dampened chirp of the cicadas at night. He rolls his shoulders out and runs a hand through his wind tousled hair, before turning to look at you with those steady, golden eyes, completely unaware that his soul is sitting in your ears.
By the time you’ve fumbled the helmet off your head with clumsy fingers, Mydei is already standing next to the bike. He holds out a hand to help you off. “See?” His voice is reassuring when your feet touch solid ground again. “Not so bad. You survived.”
You don’t know what to say. Or to do, actually. The Airpods are still sitting in your ears and you pull them out. The world comes rushing back in its full, mundane clarity. You hold them in your palm, finding them suddenly too heavy.
Mydei’s brow furrows at your prolonged silence. “You okay? Did the ride make you nauseous? You look a little—”
“I heard it,” you blurt out. The words are too loud, echoing down the empty street.
He freezes. “Heard what?”
Your heart is beating too quickly in your chest. “Your… your voice memos. Siri played them. Instead of music.” You watch the words land, see the slow, dawning horror break over his features. The casual ease drains from his posture, just as the faint smile he’s wearing vanishes, replaced by a stark, pale shock.
For a long moment, Mydei just stares at you. His golden eyes are wide. You can see the frantic calculation behind them as he blinks, the rapid replay of every private, vulnerable word he’s ever recorded in his memory. The five mile runs, the lunches engineered by Phainon, his fears, his want. The colour drains from his face, before it floods back almost immediately in a swift flush that creeps up his neck.
“Oh.” It’s the most expressive sound you’ve ever heard him make.
The two of you stand there in silence. He looks down at the ground, at his bike, anywhere but you. You, on the other hand, can’t bring yourself to look anywhere but him. His jaw is clenched, fingers gripping onto the helmet you’d been wearing just minutes ago tightly. He looks utterly mortified.
“I…” he starts to say, and then stops. Swallows hard. “I am… I’m sorry. That was private. I didn’t mean to… I would never have…” He takes a half-step back, towards his motorcycle. “I’m so sorry. I should go.”
The nervous energy that has been coiling in your stomach throughout the entire ride transforms into a single, decisive bolt of courage. You step forward, curling your fingers around his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks.
“No.”
He looks up at you, startled, eyes wide with a mixture of shame and confusion. You don’t give him time to process it. Instead, you close the distance between the two of you, free hand pushing back him back by the chest until his shoulders meet the brick wall of your apartment block with a soft thud.
Mydei lets out a small sound of surprise. His entire body is rigid with tension, parted lips hovering just inches from yours. You can see the faint track of dried sweat at his temple, the bewildered flicker in those golden eyes.
“You talk too much,” you whisper, and the steadiness in your voice surprises even you. Then, you fist your hand in the soft leather of his jacket, and before he can react, pull him down until his mouth touches yours.
It’s as much of an answer as it is a kiss. The culmination of every quiet look, every accidental brush of hands, every mile he’s run thinking of you. It’s you telling him that you’ve heard every word — and that you feel the same, terrifying way.
For a heartbeat, he freezes beneath you. Then a shudder ripples through him, and one hand comes up to cradle the side of your face. His thumb traces your cheekbone with a gentleness that makes your knees weak. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and then he finally, finally kisses you back.
The way Mydei kisses you is nothing like his quiet exterior. He’s hungry, desperate, full of the words he’s been too afraid to say aloud. He kisses you until you’re breathless, and then some more, like none of it is ever quite enough for him.
When you finally break apart, you have to take a moment to catch your breath. You glance up at him. The flustered embarrassment is gone, replaced by a dazed, wondrous shock. His lips are kiss swollen and pink, and gods, it’s a beautiful colour on him.
“You…” he starts to say, voice rough.
You smile, and your heart suddenly feels too big for your chest. “Next time, for sure,” you whisper teasingly, echoing his own promise back to him. A slow, breathtaking smile breaks his face — the first unguarded one that you’ve ever seen directed at you. It transforms him completely.
“No,” Mydei breathes, resting his forehead against yours as if even that small distance is unbearable. “No more next times.”
Why the Room Relaxation vignette might be my favorite Leona vignette.
Guys…*deep inhale* It was everything and more. What I’ve always wanted for Leona and have been preaching since 2022.
Leona takes personal hygiene serious
Leona is a bookworm and grandpa at heart
Leona puts effort into the things he loves and people he loves, his love language is making others better.
Vingette:
Starts with him thinking about Spelldrive formations he’d like to try and he looks rather happy about it... He's ALWAYS thinking of his team, his dorm! They mean everything to him! ...Until Lillia pops up to bother him.
Lillia DOES have a funny line here something like: “You coulda just said you don’t wanna talk to me and wanted to hurry to your practice. Can’t you just say what you mean?” YES, CLOCK HIM PEEPAW!!
Time skips to the Savanaclaw Dorm where Leona mentions he should be “buttering up to Vargas for "more practice” on top of what they already do. Development? Actually trying to get better?? PUSHING HIS TEAM? HE TAKES HIS CLUB SERIOUSLY. He wants his boys to do good! Then in typical “Leona Fashion” he proceeds to yell at his aforementioned beloved frosh calling them “brats" and telling them all to “Stop yappin’ !!” Which furthers the idea that he thinks of them as kids. Grumpy Dad behavior.
It goes to him winding down for the night and reading a secondhand book he found about history. (Driving with Leona to used bookstores on Sage island???) Which sounds like its about an Ice Age of sorts. GUYS. He was soooo immersed in this book HE WAS READING IT TILL MORNING. He talks about this book for like 2 minutes straight. SPECIAL INTEREST HELLO?? ADHD-CODED? He even cross references with books he has! He loves his history and dead languages.
Also interestingly enough, the book was about “Food Preservation Methods” Hmm. Interesting connection to his dream in Chapter 7 where there was food shortage!! (Also I’m literally writing about this in my Dream AU)
When he realizes it’s MORNING he decides he wants to skip his first period. He’s already "self-studied" after all, he smugly remarks. This is so interesting to me. One: bc people assume that Leona skips because he’s lazy, NO GUYS, HE’S BORED. Two: I’ve always seen Leona as a night owl and now we know maybe the reason he naps so much is maybe bc his sleep patterns are so erratic. ...And possibly tied to his hyperfixations?
He falls back asleep till noon, JUST in time for lunch and afternoon classes. (Yippe!) Time to start the day!! (This is like looking into a dark mirror of what I was like my senior year of HS. HELP.) He forgot to eat too!! Like…I knew he was neurodivergent ya'll. GFHJK
Anyways, he brushes his teeth and he shaves?? I mean it makes sense because he's a bit older. He mentions that having scruff bothers him and seems to prefer to be clean shaven. (Sensory thing?? ANOTHER INTERESTING NEURODIVERGENT TENDENCY SIR.)
I DON'T EVER WANNA HEAR HOW "unhygienic” or “lazy” he is anymore BTW. Bro puts on toner AND lotion. And then says he doesn’t REALLY care. LOL? YET YOU DO. Classic Lee-Lee stuff. Finally some hair oil. Mmhm.
☝️🤓 “A lion beastman can’t skip mane care!!” With a big ol’ grin. DORKKKKK. (How many times have I said he takes his hair seriously?? I wrote a whole fic about it!! You can’t have that of long of hair and not! PLUS, HE'S A LIONNNN.)
He’s sooooo silly. I hate him guys. I DO. I DO. I DO.
OKAY MAKEUP: This one was interesting too! Backs up my theory that Leona is secretly a bit self-conscious of his scar perhaps? He uses makeup to fill in a part of his eyebrow where it's missing?? And he mentions that he can’t tell if that looks better or worse. Then hits with the classic Leona deflect of: “Whatever. Who cares.” Awe but sweetie you DO CARE. Like this makes me even more curious to know HOW HE GOT IT. I have my theories but still.
I remember there was a reference to “the whole dorm showing up to wish him Happy Birthday” in a previous b-day card and THAT'S WHAT HAPPENED!! ALL HIS BELOVED FROSHES SHOWED UP AND MADE HIM COME OUT OF HIS DEN. “Guess I gotta to class now,” he says with a smile. SIR SIR. You love your dorm so much and they love you so much you look STUPID.
Voicelines:
He mentions lions and their manes AGAIN. He’s so corny. I can't. I wanna strangle him.
He mentions that he pretends not to notice all the little surprises his dorm members do for him. I wanna CRY guys. I love Savanaclaw so much!!
“Afraid of the Savanaclaw dorm? Don’t be. They’re all cute little things who calm down with just a word from me.” ←COMPARE THIS VIBE TO LEONA WE MEET IN CHAPTERS 1, 2 and 3! Who was determined to toughen us up, give us a hard time and always remind us how “tough” Savanaclaw and he was.
He’s so...soft here??? It makes me ill. I know I’ve been sayin' all this forever about him, but… to actually see it? I'M ILL!!!
Then, he jokes with us. How he sees the effort we put in to get him a nice gift and he’ll basically accept whatever we give him no matter what. SIR SIR??? WHERE IS THIS COMING FROM?
--
Chat have I manifested this? Am I crazy?? It could not be more to theTEE how I’ve been writing Leona for years. I’m genuinely SO happy for new Twisted Wonderland fans of the game and Leona fans who get to see him fully flushed out as a character with all this new content of him.
I remember feeling so...crazy back then? When I would get on my soap box about him and how he was mis-characterized in 2022-2023, but now I see it was all justified.🩷
THIS WAS TARGETED:
And to end it off…WHEN YOU GROOVY THIS CARD he looks directly at me and says:
“Lions never slack on sharpening their fangs. You never know when prey might show up.
Who are you talking to, sir??? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?? He’s breaking the fourth wall guys, he knows. /lh
Screenshot and quotes from Valkyrii on youtube btw!
hi hi, how does mydei get jealous ?? 🤭🤭 i hope i’m not asking for too much 😣 take your time btw!! 🙌🏻
mydei, come on (mydeimos x reader)
note; hiiii anon!!! nooo not at all, i loveeee your request!!🤍 my brain was flowing with ideas when i saw this i'm so EXCITEDDD🥰 thank you soo much for requesting and being patient with me🥺 i really hope i did justice for you AND our beloved boy mydei :3 have a great day/night!!❤️⭐
title inspired by lana's new song, 'henry, come on'!
masterlist. (check profile if requests are open!)
mydei does, in fact, get jealous 🤭 it's just SOOO hard to catch him red handed.... because it's so subtle yet so impactful you get me
and of course he's never going to back down. of course he's going to go on about how 'kremnoans don't really get jealous' or 'romance is not our strongest suit'.
lies. he's the most hopeless romantic out there. that's the only time you'd catch him lying
though i certainly wouldn't call him possessive, i think. he likes it when you're happy, when you're doing the things you love. besides, he's always out and about handling affairs, and is just so in love to see you patiently wait for him, no matter how long.
i also think that's where the two of you began establishing a very healthy relationship.
but sometimes? sometimes he's not afraid of showing it off either. say in a scenario, you're in a party, chatting away with your friends or perhaps the chrysos heirs. he's not worried one bit - he's aware of said people and trusts them enough with your safety.
until he sees an unfamiliar face. strike 1.
okay, maybe he's just asking about something else - someone else. he'll sit this one out. but he's certain time passed by quite a while and you're clearing your throat, looking in every direction. strike 2.
he's sat in a corner, shaking his leg just a little too much. he has one hand placed under his chin while watching you intensely, the other hand against the arm rest, finger scraping against the marble. none of his friends are around either.
the man's leaning in. strike 3.
he almost knocked the chair down upon his abrupt action, but he couldn't care less. he sees you from the crowd and he's now marching over.
but i don't think he'd throw a tantrum, he's more of a smooth operator. he's not that worried - almost everyone knows you're his, and he's yours. he sees you and him as soulmates bound by birth.
he slows his pace down, reaches out towards your hand and brings it up towards his lips. as soon as he captured your attention, he already knows the man from earlier backed off way before he could react. is anyone in amphoreus not aware of the crown prince? exactly.
"any trouble here?" he queries, as if he did not just witness absolute tomfoolery just moments ago.
"n-no," you searched far and wide for the individual, but sighed deeply. though, you paused in your movements.
"how did you get here so quickly, mydei?"
"hm? i have my ways."
"no- you saw that guy, didn't you?"
"....of course i did, y/n."
again with his red ears because he knows you're about to tease him till the day ends. oh well, he doesn't like lying to you, either. what harm is there in hearing you speak, anyway?
"oh you are so jealous, mydeimos. couldn't you just admit it already? i get jealous when other women talk to you."
"i told you, we kremnoans-"
"don't get jealous! our dictionary does not have the word 'jealous'! heard it all, my love. i'm just glad you made your way here. any longer and i would've poured my drink on him."
which earned a chuckle from your lover. his free hand lightly treads through your locks, a small smile on his lips.
"i'll always find a way to be with you."
wrapping an arm around your waist, he decided to keep you close through the evening.
***
"you get jealous, too, dearest?" he questions you once more.
"too? so you are, aren't you?!"
all created content belongs to mitraoki. reposts/remakes are not allowed.
|| Abs! Abs! Abs! || Honkai Star Rail Reactions II
anaxa and his lightcome came home so imma drop this and scurry away i know some people are gonna come at me like sunday and anaxa don't got abs theyre lean yeah well stomach, abs whatever man lol
When you ask them for an ab pic.
: Aventurine. Sunday. Phainon. Mydei. Anaxa.
cw: suggestiveness. established relationship. gn!reader. possible oocness. half naked men. art used does not belong to me but credited to it's rightful owner.
❥ Aventurine can feel his smirk growing as he reads your text. You're way too predictable. He's heard about this fad trending nowadays on social media along with a bicep pic? He's not surprised you jumped on the trend too. The blonde is a definite tease so he'll have his fun teasing you by saying maybe or asking you for a picture back. You were on the verge of giving up until he suddenly sent the picture.
Aventurine is very casual about the whole thing. He knows he has a good magnificent body and he knows how to take a good picture. He takes some pictures, checking them for a moment to find the right one before pressing send. What he's looking forward to now is seeing how you'd react to it. Oh, he can't wait to tease you more.
The picture he sends is of him sitting on some lavish sofa. His signature turquoise dress shirt unbuttoned all the way showcasing his abs. A wine glass in one hand while the other angles his phone down so that his abs are fully captured on screen.
"Mhmm I don't know, what do I get in return for sending you such a picture?"
❥ Sunday tilts his head in confusion. Ab pic? A picture of his abdominal muscles? The request came out of nowhere and it surprises and confuses him. What could you use such a picture for? He sighs, shaking his head. There's no use mulling over its purpose. A small smile graces his face. He could never deny you, no matter how strange your requests may be.
Sunday spends quite a while a few hours on taking the perfect picture. It's not his fault he keeps finding faults in every single picture he has taken. He needs it to be perfect for you! Until he realizes how long you've been waiting for the picture. After what seemed to be forever, he finally settles on a picture he's satisfied with. He hesitates on sending it until he wills himself to just do it. His feathers could fall off with how nervous he is for your reply.
It's a picture of him reluctantly/shyly holding his dress shirt up. His eyes looking away while his wings cover half of his face in embarrassment. If you look closely his cheeks are dusted pink.
"Abs pic? I'm not sure what that is but if it will delight you...I'll do my best to fulfill your wish, my love."
❥ Phainon smiles in glee at your request. His invisible tail is wagging as he reads your text multiple times. With each read his invisible tail wagging harder. Ask and you shall receive, of course!
Phainon doesn't waste any time, he's already pulling out his phone to open his camera app. Then quickly discards his shirt - carelessly tossing it aside. He doesn't think much about the pose or what angle the picture should be taken. He claims he just knows how the picture should be taken - it's all in the feeling. He aims the camera so that his abs are in frame and spams the capture button. After a while, he does change poses. Despite how carefree he looks he's actually taking this very seriously. He needs to send the most perfect picture to you.
He doesn't just send one but he sends all the pictures he has taken. The more the better or so he claims. Your phone is ringing non stop from notifications because he sent around 24 pictures. They're all in different poses, angles and expressions. One is zoomed in on his abs while the other shows his entire very toned body. Wait, is that a rose in between his lips?
"Are you sure you're happy with just these? I can send you thirty more...!"
❥ Mydei raises his eyebrow in confusion but it is quickly replaced with a smirk on his face. So, you want a picture of his abs. Very well, he supposes he can make that happen. Only you would dare ask such a thing from the Prince of Castrum Kremnos. He finds your boldness both amusing and attractive at the same time.
Mydei doesn't waste any time. He pulls out his phone, snapping a picture before immediately sending it back to you. The golden lion knows he doesn't need to worry if the picture is good or not. He knows it's good no matter what angle it's taken from. You'll definitely be pleased, he knows it. Though, a mere image made up of pixels would never be able to beat the real thing. He thinks about asking you to come over or maybe he can go to you. The picture is great don't get him wrong but he wants you to see how much better it is in person.
He only sends one picture but it gets the message across. His abs are magnificent as if the gods themselves had sculpted them. He doesn't wear a shirt so he doesn't need to teasingly lift it up. No, he shows it in all its glory. He sits on a throne-like chair, his chin resting in his hand while the other holds the phone.
"Why want a picture when you can come see the real thing."
❥ Anaxa has to resist the urge to scoff when he sees your text pop up. Another one of these nonsensical trends he assumes. He quickly dismisses the thought, deeming it a waste of his time and effort to do - setting his phone aside in favor of grading test papers.
After a while, he finds himself thinking back to your text. He's supposed to be finished grading these test papers by now but all he can think about is your disappointed expression. He nearly slams his pen down on the table before letting out a defeated sigh. Dammit, the things you make him do for you.
Anaxa finds himself irritated at having to do such a thing. He tries taking different pictures but none of them are satisfactory enough for him. He's not very good at this. He knows he shouldn't be wasting so much time and effort for a simple picture but the thought of your lackluster reaction makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He takes a few more before finally settling on a picture. Angle? Good. Lighting? Good. Overall, not bad. He clicks the send button. Now he has distracted himself enough to not think about your response.
The picture is relatively simple. It's a picture of Anaxa sitting in his office but it's angled so that you can only see his lower half. His gloved hand lifting up his shirt revealing his abs. Might as well frame it because he might not do this for you again. He will.
"By the law of equivalent exchange, it's only fair that you send me one back too."
there are several occasions which could trigger mydei's 'mothering' tendencies.
when you're sick or in low spirits, he's always one of the first few who notices. over time, you've witnessed him evolving from how he fumbled with his words, to him being able to honestly express his concern ー which, most of the time, would be done by hugs, cuddles, pats, or even kisses.
when you miss a meal, he acts as if the black tide has encroached your home. nothing can stop him from wielding the cooking utensils as his armor as he prepared you a feast. he watches with intense focus, like a commander watching the tide of battle, as you eat in front of him, making sure you're actually full before leaving the table.
but it shows most when you're all boneless from the rigorous sheets-ruining, mind-shattering, potentially-bed-breaking, exclusive bonding activity in your shared bed.
"here, i brought you some water. i don't want your throat to hurt in the morning. would you like some grapes if you feel too weak? ... what? you want apples instead?" a pause, a sigh, and he's back on his feet, ".... i'll be right back."
his back muscles ripple as he stands up and rolls his shoulder. you momentarily stare at that specific arm vein and the glisten of sweat that just seemed to make his godly body even more ethereal. hypnotized, your eyes follow the pathway of his tattoos, down the dip of his back, the curve of his rear, the snatched glutes, the now-limpー
mydeimos stops by the doorway to glance over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as he pointed towards yourself, a slight pink on his cheeks.
there are several occasions which could trigger mydei's 'mothering' tendencies.
when you're sick or in low spirits, he's always one of the first few who notices. over time, you've witnessed him evolving from how he fumbled with his words, to him being able to honestly express his concern ー which, most of the time, would be done by hugs, cuddles, pats, or even kisses.
when you miss a meal, he acts as if the black tide has encroached your home. nothing can stop him from wielding the cooking utensils as his armor as he prepared you a feast. he watches with intense focus, like a commander watching the tide of battle, as you eat in front of him, making sure you're actually full before leaving the table.
but it shows most when you're all boneless from the rigorous sheets-ruining, mind-shattering, potentially-bed-breaking, exclusive bonding activity in your shared bed.
"here, i brought you some water. i don't want your throat to hurt in the morning. would you like some grapes if you feel too weak? ... what? you want apples instead?" a pause, a sigh, and he's back on his feet, ".... i'll be right back."
his back muscles ripple as he stands up and rolls his shoulder. you momentarily stare at that specific arm vein and the glisten of sweat that just seemed to make his godly body even more ethereal. hypnotized, your eyes follow the pathway of his tattoos, down the dip of his back, the curve of his rear, the snatched glutes, the now-limpー
mydeimos stops by the doorway to glance over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as he pointed towards yourself, a slight pink on his cheeks.
Mydei had a habit—one that made you weak in the knees no matter how many times he did it. Whenever the two of you were tangled up in bed, skin flushed and limbs heavy from love-drunk exhaustion, he’d shift you gently onto your side, press his chest to your back, and settle himself between your thighs. Not to thrust. Not yet. He just liked to rest there, his cock nestled right up against your warm, soft pussy, like it belonged there. And it did. You could feel the heat of him, thick and pulsing, perfectly fitted between your folds—teasing, heavy, and achingly still.
He’d wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you close until there wasn’t a breath of space between your bodies. His other hand would always find its way to your hips or your belly, smoothing over your skin like it was something sacred. Sometimes he kissed your shoulder. Sometimes he just breathed you in, golden eyes half-lidded and dazed, “You’re so warm down here,” he’d murmur, voice husky from pleasure and comfort. “I could stay like this forever.” And maybe he meant it—because he never rushed. He just held you, cock resting against your pussy lips, soaking in your warmth until it drove both of you wild.
It wasn’t just about the physical contact, though the way his cock fit between your thighs was enough to make you squirm. No, it was the way he made you feel—like your body was a sanctuary, like your pussy was holy, like his place was right there with you, soft and messy and close. Even if you whimpered or wiggled your hips to get more, to beg for him to move, to push in, Mydei always made you wait. He liked to savor it. To hear your little needy noises, feel the way your thighs squeezed around his shaft, slick already coating him just from resting there. He wanted you dripping before he even moved.
Eventually, he would. Slowly. Lazily. He’d rock his hips forward just enough to slide his cock up and down your folds, smearing himself against you, teasing your entrance but never breaching it. “You’re so wet, princess,” he’d whisper with a grin against your ear. “All from this? From just having me here?” And the way you clenched and whimpered in response made him groan low in his throat, the sound thick with worship. Every motion was a promise—of what he’d do to you when he finally sank into your pussy. Of how he’d fuck you slow, deep, and possessive like you were his whole world.
But for now, he stayed like that. Resting. Breathing. Letting his cock throb against your pussy while you lay there, flushed and aching, wrapped in his arms. He loved it. Not just the feeling, but the intimacy. The closeness. The way your body welcomed him without needing anything else. Just his weight, his warmth, his cock pressed to your soft, wet slit. He didn’t need to move to feel everything. You were already perfect like this—open, slick, trembling for him. And gods, he loved you more than anything when you let him stay between your thighs, right where he belonged.
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