hazymoonlinh

[hazymoonlinh]

Someone pls draw me a Mydei sitting on my lap

Anyway, happi birthday to me 😋🫶

[hazymoonlinh]

Happi birthday to MEEEEEE

And this PAGEEEEE

Yahooooooooo

[hazymoonlinh]

💘 “Chủ động.”

[Mydei, Mydei x reader]

<VN>

Cho fan Việt tui ăn tí :)))

⸻

Em vẫn còn ngủ.

Vẫn còn dựa nhẹ vào vai anh, mi mắt rung rung như đang mơ về điều gì đó đẹp đẽ.

Và anh chẳng nỡ đánh thức.

Chẳng nỡ rời xa, cũng chẳng nỡ để em nghiêng đầu về phía nào khác.

⸻

Mydei chậm rãi luồn một tay xuống dưới chân em, tay còn lại đỡ sau lưng.

Không dám dùng sức, anh nâng em lên như thể ôm lấy một vật mỏng manh mà chỉ cần lỡ tay… cũng có thể tan biến.

⸻

Cả đường về phòng riêng, Mydei không nói một lời.

Dù tim anh đập thình thịch trong lồng ngực.

“Cớ sao ngươi lại như vậy…”

“Ngủ rồi mà vẫn khiến ta rối trí.”

⸻

Khi đặt em lên giường, anh khựng lại.

Tay anh siết nhẹ vạt áo.

Ánh mắt lướt qua đôi má đỏ, hàng mi cong, đôi môi hơi hé mà anh từng bao lần ngơ ngẩn nhìn… nhưng chưa bao giờ chạm vào.

Bình thường, là em ôm anh.

Là em nhào vào lòng anh, lải nhải chuyện linh tinh, cười khúc khích, gọi “Mydei ơi~” bằng chất giọng ngọt hơn cả bánh kếp nướng.

Còn anh… chỉ luôn bất động, chỉ để em làm mọi thứ theo ý mình.

Vì anh sợ.

Sợ nếu mình ôm trước… em sẽ hoảng loạn.

Sợ nếu mình làm gì sai, em sẽ chạy mất .

Sợ, vì trái tim anh, xưa nay chưa từng thuộc về ai, đã bị em chiếm lấy từ lâu mà chính anh cũng không dám thừa nhận.

⸻

Nhưng lần này, em không thể ôm anh.

Vì em đang ngủ.

Nên… anh mới có thể ôm em lần đầu tiên.

⸻

Mydei chậm rãi trèo lên giường, ngồi xuống bên em.

Tay anh run nhẹ khi vươn ra kéo em lại gần.

Tay đặt lên eo em — một chuyển động đơn giản, nhưng với anh lại gượng gạo đến mức gần như khổ sở.

Cằm anh khẽ tựa lên đỉnh đầu em.

Mùi thơm tóc em thoang thoảng khiến đầu óc anh muốn mềm nhũn.

⸻

“Em ngủ rồi… em sẽ không biết đâu…nhỉ”

“Nên… cho ta ôm một chút thôi.”

“Chỉ lần này thôi, để ta được làm người chủ động…”

⸻

Tay anh cuối cùng cũng siết nhẹ eo em.

Chân vòng qua để kéo em sát hơn vào người.

Và lần đầu tiên, Mydei ôm em trọn vẹn.

Không phải là bức tường cứng rắn như thường ngày. Không là tượng đá mà em phải trèo lên để trêu ghẹo.

Mà là một người đàn ông — có trái tim, có khao khát, có sự vụng về đến đáng yêu…

Chỉ vì người anh đang ôm là em.

⸻

Sáng hôm sau, em tỉnh dậy, phát hiện mình đang nằm gọn trong một vòng tay ấm áp.

Mà anh thì… đã mặt đỏ như lựu rồi .

“Ta… ta không định làm gì cả. Thấy ngươi ngủ, ta chỉ…”

“Ta chỉ ôm… vì lạnh. Đúng. Vì lạnh.”

⸻

😭🫶 Em sẽ cười phải không? Nhìn anh ngượng ngùng, dụi vào ngực anh, rồi thủ thỉ:

“Vậy hôm nay em cho anh ôm thoải mái đó. Em vẫn còn buồn ngủ mà…”

[hazymoonlinh]

My husband <3

[hazymoonlinh]

Ok what the heck.

And ye I saw my friend play my account.

[hazymoonlinh]

THANK YOU GUYS FOR ALL THE IDEAS!

THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I HAVE THIS MUCH OF A FOLLOWER SO I THOUGHT OF CREATING SOMETHING DIFFERENT.

SOOOOO

A DISCORD SEVER TO TALK, PLAY, CHILL AND SHARE IDEAS ABOUT CHARACTER X READER AND YOUR FAVS

ITS THE FIRST TIME I HAVE EVER CREATED ONE, SO IM WORKING ON IT <3

IM SO EXCITED TO TALK TO YOU 🥹🫶🫶🫶

[hazymoonlinh]

200 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION 🥳- Discord sever opened, link at the end !

________

If I Lost You

(Emotional | Soft Smut | First Time | Mydei’s Heart Laid Bare)

Mydei x Reader

You don’t remember the fall.

Only the scream.

Not yours.

His.

“Y/N—!”

It’s his voice that tears through the chaos like the sky splitting open. And then everything is soundless.

Then cold.

Then gone.

⸻

When you wake, the air tastes different.

No fire. No metal. No cries.

Just silence—and the heavy stillness of a room lit by soft lamplight.

Your lashes lift slowly, the ache in your body blooming all at once: ribs tight, arm stiff, lungs bruised. You try to move, but a hand catches you—gently, but firmly.

“Don’t.”

The voice is low. Measured. But not composed.

You turn.

He’s there. Mydei.

But not like you’ve seen him before.

No crimson sash. No golden mantle. Just him—hair unbound, eyes shadowed, sitting hunched in a chair like his own spine might collapse under the weight of something unspoken.

And yet he looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

“…You’re awake,” he says, barely above a whisper.

His hand stays over yours. Not gripping, not holding—clinging.

You try to smile, but it falters. He looks so… wrecked.

“Mydei…?”

He exhales shakily through his nose. His eyes fall shut, jaw tightening like he’s biting something back.

“I told the soldiers to stay behind. I ordered them to wait. I said I’d go first.” His words are slow. Ragged. “I saw it—gods, I saw the strike coming. But I was too slow. I was too slow.”

His hand lifts from yours, only to curl into his own chest like it aches to hold onto something.

“I’ve seen death. Held the hands of men who bled out whispering their titan’s names. I buried soldiers before I learned to tie my own armor.”

He laughs once, bitterly. “Do you know what I felt, then?”

He looks at you. And you realize he’s trembling.

“Nothing. I have learned to felt nothing. That’s who I am. That’s how I was made.”

Then softer—like a thread coming undone:

“But when I saw you on the ground… I forgot how to breathe.”

Your lips part. He presses his palms to his eyes, breathing like he’s drowning quietly in his own ribs.

“You don’t understand.”

He speaks like it hurts. Like every word drags something out of him he’s never allowed anyone to see.

“I—I’m not supposed to care like this. I’ve never held someone this close. Never wanted to. I didn’t think I could.”

He lowers his hands. His eyes are wet.

“But when I looked down and saw your blood, and suddenly, the thought of a world without you in it—”

His voice cracks.

“—I didn’t want it.”

Slowly, with a kind of reverence you didn’t know he was capable of, he leans forward and cups your cheek. His thumb strokes just beneath your eye, tentative. Unsteady.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers. “I don’t know how to say the right things, or hold you the way I should. I only know that when I thought I’d lost you…”

He pauses. His throat bobs.

“I’ve fought the scariest monster. I’ve survived extinction. But that? That would’ve destroyed me.”

You stare at him—this proud, golden warrior—reduced to bare hands and breaking words. He looks like a man lost, kneeling at an altar he never believed in until now.

And you’re the prayer.

He rests his forehead against yours, breath trembling against your lips.

“You’re the only softness I’ve ever known,” he says. “And if I lost that… if I lost you… I wouldn’t know how to go on.”

His hand cradles the side of your neck now, and his voice breaks into a near-whimper—hushed, vulnerable, sacred.

“Don’t leave me.”

Silence. Thick with the ache of everything that couldn’t be said sooner.

You lift your uninjured hand and press it gently over his heart. It’s racing. Loud and panicked, like it doesn’t believe you’re real.

“I’m here,” you whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for hours.

Then something shatters behind his eyes.

He sinks—not with drama, but with exhaustion—and buries his face in your shoulder, arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. His lips graze your bandaged arm, and you hear him whisper into your skin:

“…thank you for coming back to me.”

His face is buried in the curve of your neck, body warm and trembling around you. The lion has fallen. And not in battle. So of course-

You thread your fingers into his hair.

His breathing slows, heavy and ragged in your ear. There’s no armor left between you. Just skin and feeling. And you hate it—hate—the way he looks like this. Crushed. Fractured. Afraid.

“…Mydei.”

He stiffens slightly.

You shift. Your muscles scream at you in protest, but you don’t care. Not now. You slide your arm over his back, fingers splaying down the planes of his spine until you feel him inhale, like even your touch is too much.

You don’t stop.

In one slow motion, you drag your body forward, your knee slipping between his, your strength piecing itself together just long enough to tip him off balance—gently—until his back hits the mattress and he’s looking up at you.

Eyes wide.

Chest rising.

A flush already blooming high on his cheekbones.

“Y—Y/N…?”

He says your name like a man trying to keep control.

But you don’t give him a chance.

You straddle him, shaky but certain, palms planted on his bare chest, skin-to-skin and warm, and lean in with your mouth just close enough to graze his lips.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice soft but steady.

His eyes flicker—golden, searching. “You know…?”

You press a single finger against his mouth.

His breath stutters.

“I know everything,” you say. “How much you care. How much you feel. But shut it for a second, would you?”

His brows knit, confused—but breathless.

Your voice drops.

“I trust action. Not just words.”

You smile, slow and dangerous, and lean in, lips brushing his jaw.

“And as far as I know… you’re a man of action. No?”

He lets out the faintest sound—half laugh, half gasp—and you feel him tense beneath you. Not from resistance. From restraint.

His hands have lifted, hovering, unsure. He doesn’t know where to place them. Doesn’t know if he can.

It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this.

The great Mydei—The King.

Blushing.

His cheeks are pink. His throat is tight. His lips are parted slightly, like he’s forgotten how to breathe again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

“I—”

His voice catches. “I don’t want to hurt you. You’re still—your ribs—”

You take one of his hands and guide it to your waist.

Your body burns. Not from fever. But need.

“You won’t,” you whisper. “You won’t hurt me.”

His fingers tighten, just barely, resting against your side like you might shatter under his touch.

“I want this,” you breathe, mouth ghosting over the shell of his ear. “I want you. All of you.”

He swallows hard. His eyes are hooded now, his lips trembling—but not from nerves. From something raw. Something deeper.

“…You don’t know what you’re asking,” he says.

But he’s already moving—his hand sliding from your waist up to your ribs, fingertips reverent, as if trying to memorize the lines of your body by touch alone.

“I do.”

You press your forehead to his.

“And for once, I’m asking you to stop thinking and feel.”

Something in him breaks—beautifully.

His arms close around you, pulling you down, mouths meeting in a kiss that feels like the answer to every vow unspoken. There’s no war here. No gods, no orders, no throne. Just a man who’s never dared to love, letting himself fall.

He kisses you like he’s terrified it’s not real.

Like he’s still shaking from almost losing you.

Like you’re the first thing he’s ever allowed himself to crave.

And under you—between hurried breaths and trembling hands—he lets the fear melt away, piece by piece, replaced with heat and reverence.

The great king of Amphoreus, eyes glazed, lips swollen, hands finally firm and desperate—

Blushing.

Moaning.

Yours.

Your hips shift, your mouth brushes down the curve of his jaw, and Mydei’s hands finally lose their hesitation — one sliding up your back, the other threading into your hair like he needs some way to ground himself. But even now, even as your bodies press together, he looks at you like he doesn’t believe this is happening.

Not to him.

“You don’t have to hold back,” you whisper, chest pressed to his. “I’m here. With you. For you.”

His eyes meet yours, wide and glassy. And there’s something ancient in them. Not because he’s lived long — but because he’s carried so much.

Then he speaks. Quiet. Barely a breath.

“I have always loved you.

From the moment I laid eyes on you.

It felt like a blessing.

Or a curse.”

You feel it in your ribs. That admission wasn’t rehearsed. It’s not some polished vow carved in marble. It’s messy, cracked, poured straight from the core of him.

Your lips tremble against his.

“Then let it be both,” you whisper.

And that’s when he pulls you down and kisses you like you’re the only salvation he’s ever believed in.

⸻

Clothes come undone slowly — not in a rush of lust, but in careful reverence.

His fingers brush your skin like he’s unsure you’ll let him.

Like every inch of you is holy.

He doesn’t rush when he enters you.

It’s breathless. Still. You both still for a moment, forehead to forehead, hearts racing. His body is warm, strong, trembling ever so slightly.

You whisper his name.

And he lets out the softest, aching moan you’ve ever heard from him — like his soul cracked open the moment you joined.

⸻

His hands cup your waist as he moves inside you — slow and deep, every thrust a silent prayer. He watches you like he’s memorizing your face. Like he’s afraid it will be the last time.

“Mydei,” you breathe. “Look at me.”

“I am,” he says, voice rough. “I don’t think I can ever stop.”

You lean down, kiss his throat. His pulse jumps beneath your lips. You feel him trembling, not from strain — but feeling.

He lifts his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear with all the gentleness in the world.

“I’ve lived with strife,” he whispers, “but I’d kneel for you.”

You ride him slowly, guiding him with your touch, meeting him halfway each time — not to take from him, but to give. To offer. He gasps your name like he’s afraid it might vanish from his tongue.

The heat builds, but it’s not violent.

It’s overwhelmingly tender.

He lays beneath you — golden skin flushed, chest rising beneath yours, strands of his long hair splayed across the pillow like a fallen crown.

And then you see it.

Truly see it.

The way he looks up at you.

Not like a man taking, or claiming — but one who’s been given something he never thought he could have. Something precious.

You move, slow and fluid, sinking onto him again.

And his breath breaks.

“Mydei,” you whisper.

But he can’t answer.

He’s watching you — devouring you with his eyes, but not with hunger. With awe.

As if he can’t believe you’re real.

As if your body above his, your warmth wrapped around him, is a holy thing.

His hands roam you like a prayer.

Over your back. Your hips. The slope of your thighs. Fingers curling in, holding on — not to control, but to remember.

“I didn’t know…”

His voice cracks. He lifts his head slightly, lips brushing your collarbone.

“…didn’t know this could feel like this.”

“Like what?” you murmur.

He shudders under you, pupils wide with something deeper than lust.

“…Like love.”

He closes his eyes and sinks back into the pillow, jaw tight with the weight of it all. You ride him slowly, every motion drawing out a choked breath, a trembling gasp — and through it all, he watches you.

Watches your face.

Watches your body.

Watches the way you come apart for him.

And he drinks it in.

He memorizes the way your skin glows in the dim light. The sweat pearled on your neck. The little sounds you make when your breath catches.

You lean down, and he meets you halfway, kissing you not with desperation—but with reverence. Like every second of being inside you is an answer to a question he never dared ask the stars.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs against your lips.

You kiss him again. Slower. Deeper.

“Yes, you do,” you whisper. “You deserve to be loved.”

He moans — soft, like the sound surprises him. His hips move with yours now, deeper, more sure, and yet somehow still tender. Like he’s trying to give all of himself to you. As if every roll of your hips, every sigh, is something he’s etching into his soul.

And then he says it again — not with words this time, but with feeling.

The way his hands spread across your lower back. The way he arches into you with his eyes clenched shut, jaw slack with pleasure. The way he holds back just enough to keep you comfortable — because even here, in heat and haze, he’s still gentle.

But the trembling in his hands tells the truth:

He’s falling. Hard.

When his climax comes, it’s not violent. It’s overwhelming. He gasps your name like it’s his only anchor, hips jerking up once, twice—then still.

And then he breaks.

His eyes flutter open, glassy and dazed.

“…So this is what love feels like,” he whispers.

You trace your fingers down his cheek. He leans into your touch, blinking slowly, like he’s just now learning how to breathe.

“I want to feel this way,” he murmurs, “again. And again. As long as I’m allowed.”

You lean down, kiss his lips — swollen and parted — and feel the deep sigh that leaves him, like something inside him has finally unclenched.

And for the first time… he smiles.

Not for the battlefield. Not for the crown.

For you.

————

I’m sucks at smut…

TvT anyway here:

[hazymoonlinh]

20 pulls demnnnnn

And my hsr luck is bruh

[hazymoonlinh]

Fak :(

Man it hurts

Never underestimate hot steam from cooking pots

[hazymoonlinh]

Ye I deleted hsr.

Even though I love Mydei, playing something that making me stress with its gacha system is not something I want.

Probably will go back if Mydei have a banner

[hazymoonlinh]

Aye, already did that mistake many times.

[hazymoonlinh]

Absolutely.

You are forever one decision away from an entirely different life.

[hazymoonlinh]

Almost 200 followers!

I’ll do a appreciation fic for it :3

Mydei ofc, my man, my love, my everything.

[hazymoonlinh]

I'm getting bored of reading hsr x reader 😔 I don't know why, please pull me back to love hsr like I do before ╥﹏╥🙏

Don’t be sad.

Then perhaps dive into the characters lore ?

The pain of Amphoreus. A devastating fate yet so beautiful.

Mydei, who carries the hope of his people and deceased friends to become king. Who loves his mother and was greatly impacted by her, someone who he has never met. Who despite his rough edges, found a way to be gentle. Dragged down by death and reborn, still be able to be noble.

Phainon, whose wish is to make everyone’s wishes came true. Sacrificed his humanity, slay his friends over and over again in a maddening endless cycle just to wait for the “hero of his heart”. Who carries his hometown and memories of his love ones to be known and remember.

Castorice, whose life so cruel and cursed but still so gentle. All she crave was a hug that doesn’t bring death. Whose coreflame and destiny was death but surrounded by life. Too kind for her own good. Using her power to guide the deceased to their warm bed of resting filled with flowers.

Tribbios, shattered into a thousand fragments. They’re history themselves, the future and the past. Using a promise to give people hope. To a place in the west wind, where it filled with happiness.

Cipher, whose lies saved life. If Phainon is known, she takes all the bad words yet still decided to sacrifice in silence. Despite her cheeky personality lies a yearning heart for warmth and family.

Hyacine, who despite knows the truth, still put on a bright smile to heal her patients, and finally, heal the sky itself.

Anaxa, who keeps pursuing the truth even if it takes everything from him. People say he’s unpredictable and mad. Underneath it was a soft heart. A person who cherish his sister, his students, his rivals, use his act for the sake of “truth”. Leaving with a satisfied laugh.

Aglaea, whose heart is noble. Deemed as cold and inhumane, actually the leader everyone needed. Sacrificed every last piece of her body, her soul to aid the flame chase journey. Gathered everyone, and light up the path for them.

Hysilen, Cerydra, and our March, Dan Heng, Traiblazer…

Sacrifice, acceptance, hope, and more sacrifices, tears…

I love this game because how wonderful its story was, not just because of character x reader.

The reason I write was because I want to be the person who can wipe their tears away. Create a world where they can no longer feel pain, or just give them a glimmer of peace.

Yes. Let them rest a little in my story, and temporarily forget the storm they have to face.

It’s fine if you feel burn out, interest can’t be forced, but if you ask me what keeping me playing, probably the characters.

[hazymoonlinh]

I HAVE NEW IDEA FOR MYDEI

Javskwbdkedbheheheheheheehehehehe

[hazymoonlinh]

Don’t cry.

Fluff, Phainon x reader

Comfort him when he has a nightmare.

It was supposed to be a quiet night.

After everything—the missions, the monsters, the blood, the twisted screams of half-born creatures—there was finally a pause.

Just one night.

Peace.

You were awake, of course. You didn’t sleep easily. Not with the memories clinging like oil under your skin.

So you wandered the hallways barefoot, trailing shadows behind you like silk.

That’s when you saw him.

Phainon.

Slumped against the couch in the dim-lit common room.

Collapsed there, arms loose around a worn blanket someone must’ve thrown over him.

He was asleep.

But his face—

It was twisted.

Tears slipped down his cheeks in silence, wetting his flushed skin.

His brow was tight. Mouth parted, trembling—like a child trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t escape.

He looked nothing like The Deliverer.

Not the warrior who wielded laughter like a blade.

Not the man who stood between the world and its ruin.

Just… Phainon.

A boy once burdened with too much light, too much death.

Crying like he never got the chance to cry when it first hurt.

And your body moved before your thoughts could catch up.

You walked forward, gentle as moonlight.

You knelt beside him.

Slowly—softly—you lifted his head from where it rested and brought it into your lap.

He murmured something, broken and choked.

Fingers twitching.

Eyes still closed, still trapped.

And you did something… unusual for you.

You reached out—your fingers ghosting over his messy hair.

Then, gently, you combed them through, again and again.

You didn’t speak.

Words were clumsy things.

Instead—you hummed.

A tune from the days when you were nothing.

A tune from when the streets were cold and lullabies were luxuries you made up just to feel human.

The sound vibrated through your chest, soft and low.

A song no one else ever heard from you.

Not even him.

And then—

His brows slowly relaxed.

The tension drained.

And the tears stopped.

Phainon shifted in your lap, curling closer without waking, like a restless child soothed by something his soul recognized even in sleep.

You didn’t move.

Not for hours.

You stayed like that—cradling him, humming to a boy who’d always laughed for everyone but never wept for himself.

Your hand in his hair.

Your breath steady.

When morning came and sunlight reached through the curtains, he stirred.

“…Y/N?” he whispered, voice hoarse, eyes groggy.

Your fingers were still in his hair.

You looked down, quiet. “…You were crying.”

He blinked. Confused. Embarrassed. Like he wanted to deny it, but couldn’t.

“…I didn’t mean to—” he started, but you shook your head.

You pressed a finger to his lips.

“No need,” you murmured. “Just rest. I’ll stay.”

And he didn’t argue.

He let his head rest in your lap again.

No more dreams.

Just the sound of your heartbeat above him—

steady, real, warm.

A lullaby in human form.

He fell still again, breathing soft against the fabric of your clothes.

The way his lashes fluttered, damp from earlier tears…

The faint crease between his brows, still lingering even after the nightmare had passed…

You couldn’t help it.

You leaned down. Slowly.

A kiss.

Soft.

To the corner of his eye—right where the tear trail had dried.

Another to his temple.

A third—ghosting over the bridge of his nose.

Then again.

And again.

Tiny, weightless things.

Kisses that didn’t demand or declare, but healed.

As if you could press comfort into skin, mend the fragile cracks he tried to hide beneath all that sunlight he carried.

Your fingers continued their path through his tousled hair. He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t tense.

He just… sank into you. Silently.

You moved down, barely brushing your lips over his cheekbone, then across the slope of his jaw. A breath left him—not a sob this time, but something tender. Almost a sigh.

He murmured, barely audible, “What’re you doing…?”

You smiled—just a little. Voice low as velvet.

“Making sure you know… you’re loved. Nurtured. Not alone.”

His eyes cracked open slightly, glazed with sleep and something else.

“…That’s new.”

You leaned down again, your lips ghosting over his forehead this time.

“So is crying in your sleep.”

He let out a soft huff—half-laugh, half-exhale. “You saw that?”

You nodded once, nose brushing against his hairline.

“I’ll never mention it again… if you let me stay like this.”

There was a beat.

Then his arms—slowly—rose.

One wrapping around your waist.

The other over your thigh, pulling you closer.

“…Don’t go,” he murmured into your lap.

You kissed his brow again. Firmer this time.

“Never.”

————

Join my discord sever down below ⬇️

[hazymoonlinh]

250~ pulls

For E0S1 Phainon, Seele (I hate you) and 1 Tribbie