#even if in his trying to reclaim his right to be himself

[fragmentedblade]

It's sort of ironic how fans often link the leaf 🍁 to Dan Heng, considering "Feng" means "maple", but it's also so fitting

[areislol]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhow they react to a child wooing you

pairings. various (hsr + genshin impact) x gn! reader

warnings. fluff, mentions of jealousy, established relationship

a/n. i find men getting jealous over a little kid so funny, never fails to crack me up.

wordcount. 2.4k

synopsis. how they react to seeing you getting wooed by a child

you’re casually minding your business when a bold little kid struts up to you with a flower they picked from who-knows-where. "you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen!" they declare, face as bright as their words.

"awww, thank you sweetie!"

"...."

the jealous one (despite their big age)

the moment the child runs up to you with wide eyes and a flower clutched in their tiny hand, you can practically feel the temperature shift around you.

whether he's subtle about it or blatantly obvious, as they watch this scene unfold, he is most definitely NOT thrilled. he can not believe his eyes right now.

he doesn’t mean to react the way he does—it’s not like a child could ever be serious competition—but something about the moment sends a spark of possessiveness through him. his entire demeanor changes. his arms cross over his chest, his jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow slightly as he watches the scene unfold.

just what in tarnation is this stupid kid doing?!!?!?

he’s not angry at the child, but the audacity of it throws him off. really? even kids are lining up now? he thinks to himself, feeling his pride take an unexpected hit. as you crouch down to accept the flower with that sweet smile of yours, he can’t help but bristle. there’s a tug at the corner of his mouth that he tries to suppress, but the faint scowl is hard to miss

he crosses his arms, as if the whole situation is beneath their concern, but his sharp eyes never leave the child. he visibly stiffen, his body going tense as they quietly seethe.

when the child boldly proclaims their affection for you, offering their flower with the confidence only a child could muster, you suddenly hear a quiet scoff under his breath, muttering something like, “ridiculous,” before he speaks up, eyes trained on the poor child.

“a bold move, kid, but maybe aim for someone your own size next time.” his tone is teasing (is it really??), but there’s an unmistakable edge to his words, his presence looming protectively by your side.

after the child scurries off, his chest puffed up with pride at his bravery, the jealous one steps in almost immediately, closing the distance between you as if to reclaim his territory.

“so,” he starts, his tone casual but laced with pointed sarcasm, “should i be worried? do i need to watch my back now?” his eyes search yours, and though he’s trying to play it cool, there’s a hint of vulnerability in his gaze—a silent plea for reassurance.

if you laugh and tease him about being jealous, his cheeks darken slightly, and he huffs, looking away. “i’m not jealous,” he insists, though the way his arms cross tighter over his chest says otherwise.

“it’s just… what kind of guy lets someone else give his girl flowers without saying something?” his voice trails off, grumbly and defensive, but you can tell he’s mostly embarrassed by his own reaction.

later, he finds ways to reassert his place by your side, subtle but deliberate. maybe it’s the way he holds your hand a little tighter or slings an arm around your shoulders when you’re out together. he doesn’t need to say it outright, but his actions make it clear: you’re mine.

there’s a faint air of possessiveness to their actions, whether it’s the way they guide you away from the scene with a hand on the small of your back or the way they glance over their shoulder to make sure the child is gone.

if you call him out on their jealousy, the reactions are just as varied. he will deny it outright, scoffing, “jealous? of a kid? don’t flatter yourself.” but their lingering glances and subtle protectiveness give them away.

he simply shrugs, his calm voices betraying none of his innerturmoil: “it’s only natural. beauty like yours is bound to attract attention, even if it’s… unconventional.”

for the rest of the day, you’ll notice small shifts in his behaviour. he'll stand closer, touch you more often—whether it’s a hand on your arm, your waist, or your shoulder—and find little ways to remind you of their presence.

his jealousy, as amusing as it is, only serves to highlight one thing: he want you to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's the only one who deserves your attention.

— CHILDE, SAMPO, WANDERER, BLADE, aventurine, MOZE, DR. RATIO, jiaoqiu, gorou, lyney, XIAO

the (soft) supporter

when the child shyly approaches you, clutching a flower with trembling hands and nervously stammering out a confession, his reaction is immediate but far from possessive. instead of jealousy or annoyance, he watches with a warm smile, his eyes softening as he takes in the innocence of the moment.

his first thought isn’t to interrupt or overshadow but to appreciate the sincerity of the child’s feelings and your gentle response to it.

he watches the scene unfold with quiet amusement, his heart swelling as he takes in the sweetness of the moment. he doesn’t see the child as a rival or a nuisance—far from it. instead, he’s struck by how earnest and brave the little boy is for approaching you with such sincerity.

he knows how kind and patient you are, and seeing you respond with such gentle affection only reminds him of why he adores you.

as you crouch down to accept the flower, thanking the child with a kind smile, he can’t help but admire you even more. there’s a tenderness in the way you interact with the child that makes his heart ache in the best way possible.

he doesn’t feel threatened by the situation—in fact, he finds it endearing. if anything, it reminds him of how natural it is for people to be drawn to you, no matter their age.

standing just a step behind you, he chuckles softly to himself, murmuring under his breath, “well, that’s brave of him.” his voice carries a note of amused admiration, but he doesn’t feel the need to insert himself into the moment.

instead, he stands by as a quiet presence, ready to step in if the child needs a little encouragement but content to let you handle it.

if the child looks nervous or unsure, he might step closer and kneel down to meet the boy’s eye level, his tone kind and reassuring. “that’s a beautiful flower you’ve got there,” he’d say with a small smile. “you chose well.” he has no intention of stealing the spotlight or intimidating the child; he just wants to make the situation feel a little easier for everyone.

his gentle demeanor leaves no room for misunderstanding—he’s here to support you, not compete for attention.

after the child scampers off, cheeks flushed with pride and excitement, he turns to you with a soft laugh. “you’ve got quite the admirer,” he says, his tone light and teasing but laced with genuine affection. there’s no jealousy in his voice, just quiet amusement and warmth.

he even suggests preserving the flower as a keepsake, offering to press it in a book or find a small vase for it later. to him, it’s a sweet moment worth cherishing.

you thank him for being so calm about the situation, he simply shrugs, his smile soft and unassuming. “he’s just a kid,” he says, his voice full of understanding. “and honestly, it’s sweet. how could anyone not fall for you?” the sincerity in his words is undeniable, and the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second too long tells you everything you need to know about how he feels.

later, he might bring it up again in passing, unable to resist a little playful teasing. “so, should i be worried?” he asks with a grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “seems like you’ve got admirers lining up these days.”

despite the joke, his actions remain steady and reassuring—he never leaves your side for long and finds subtle ways to remind you of how much you mean to him. whether it’s brushing his hand against yours, standing a little closer than usual, or simply looking at you with that soft, adoring expression, his quiet support is unwavering.

for him, the moment wasn’t about competition or insecurity. it was just another reminder of how incredible you are, and how lucky he feels to be the one by your side.

— KAZUHA, ZHONGLI, WELT, GEPARD, ARGENTI, LUKA, SUNDAY, LUOCHA, JING YUAN, tighnari, THOMA, DILUC, BAIZHU

the dramatic ones

when the child approaches you, holding out a flower with all the sincerity in the world, the dramatic one immediately acts as if the universe itself has betrayed him. his eyes widen in exaggerated shock, a hand flying to his chest as if struck by an invisible arrow.

“oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” he exclaims, his voice dripping with mock offense. he takes a step back, looking between you and the child with theatrical disbelief, as though he’s stumbled into the climax of some tragic love story.

as the child nervously stammers out his confession, the dramatic one groans, running a hand through his hair as if trying to collect himself. “really? really? even kids now?” he mutters under his breath, though loud enough for you to hear. his tone is less genuine frustration and more exaggerated exasperation, the kind that begs for your attention.

when you smile at the child and crouch down to accept the flower, his reaction shifts into full-blown melodrama. “a flower? oh no, not a flower!” he gasps, pretending to stagger backward as if this tiny gesture has dealt him a mortal wound.

“this is how it starts! next thing i know, he’ll be writing you love letters and stealing your heart!” he places a hand on his forehead, tilting his head back with a long-suffering sigh, as though the betrayal is simply too much to bear.

if the child dares to glance his way, he leans in slightly, crossing his arms with a mock-serious expression. “you’re bold, kid. i’ll give you that,” he says, narrowing his eyes playfully. “but do you have what it takes to keep them happy? hmm? flowers are just the beginning, you know.” despite his words, there’s no real malice—he’s just playing up the moment, reveling in the absurdity of the situation.

when the child finally scampers off, proud of his bravery, the dramatic one steps closer to you, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. “unbelievable. i leave you alone for one second, and this is what happens?” he grumbles, though the grin tugging at his lips betrays his amusement. “what’s next? a line of admirers waiting around the corner?”

if you laugh at his antics, it only fuels his performance. “don’t laugh! this is serious!” he says, though his voice is far from convincing. he leans in closer, his tone dropping to a mock whisper. “tell me the truth—did he win you over? do i have competition now? should i be worried?” his eyes glimmer with playful mischief, his entire demeanor practically begging you to reassure him.

later, he won’t let you forget it. “do you remember earlier? that kid? yeah, i’m still recovering,” he teases, his voice full of faux indignation. “i mean, who does that? confessing right in front of me? bold move, i’ll give him that.” he’ll recount the story to anyone willing to listen, embellishing every detail to make it sound even more dramatic.

“i had to stand there and watch my partner get swept off their feet by a four-foot-tall rival. you have no idea the pain i endured.”

despite all the dramatics, his actions make it clear that it’s all in good fun. he doesn’t actually feel threatened—in fact, he enjoys watching you smile and laugh at his antics. the entire situation only gives him another excuse to shower you with playful affection and remind you in his own ridiculous way just how much you mean to him.

— KAVEH, SAMPO, venti, luka, BOOTHILL, JING YUAN, ITTO, CYNO, kaeya, lyney, BAIZHU, MR. RECA, wriothesley

the quiet ones

when the child approaches you, holding out a flower with trembling hands and a nervous confession, he is instantly at a loss. his breath catches, and he freezes in place, wide-eyed as he tries to process what’s happening. for a moment, he just stands there, completely still, as though moving might draw attention to himself. his hands awkwardly hover near his sides, unsure whether to intervene or stay back.

his gaze darts between you and the child, his face rapidly turning pink as he realizes how sweetly you’re smiling at the little boy. the warmth and gentleness in your voice as you thank the child make his heart ache in the best way possible. he swallows hard, suddenly hyperaware of how soft and kind you are, and it only makes his cheeks burn hotter.

as you crouch down to accept the flower, he glances away, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve or brushing through his hair in a nervous attempt to compose himself. it’s not that he’s jealous—no, he wouldn’t even know how to be jealous in this situation—it’s just that seeing someone else, even a child, shower you with admiration leaves him tongue-tied and painfully aware of his own feelings.

he mumbles something under his breath, barely audible, like, “that’s… bold of him.” but the moment the words leave his mouth, he cringes internally, wondering why he couldn’t come up with something better. instead of saying more, he stays rooted in place, trying to appear calm even as the tips of his ears betray him with their deep blush.

when the child looks at him, perhaps seeking approval, he manages a small, awkward smile and a quiet, “good choice.” his voice is soft, almost shy, and there’s a hesitant nod to go along with it. he wants to be encouraging after all, this is a child.

still, he’s not upset—he’s impressed by the child’s courage and, more than anything, endeared by how naturally you handle the situation.

after the child runs off, proud of his brave confession, the flustered quiet one exhales a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as he finally allows himself to relax. he hesitates before speaking, his voice low and slightly uneven. “that was… something,” he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he dares to meet your eyes.

if you tease him, his blush deepens, and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “i’m not flustered,” he insists, though his tone is far from convincing. he might even add, “it’s just… surprising, that’s all.” his attempt to downplay his reaction only makes him seem more endearing, his bashful demeanor a clear giveaway of how much the moment affected him.

for the rest of the day, he’s quieter than usual, replaying the scene in his mind and feeling his heart skip all over again. when he finally gathers the courage to bring it up, it’s in the form of a shy, almost hesitant comment.

“he was pretty brave, you know,” he says softly, his gaze flickering to you before quickly looking away. “but, uh… i hope you know that… well, i admire you too. a lot.”

his words are sincere, even if his voice is barely above a whisper. while he may not be as bold as the child who approached you, his quiet admiration and the way he lingers close to you for the rest of the day speak volumes.

— CAELUS, IMBIBITOR LUNAE/DAN HENG, gallagher, GEPARD, XIAO, DILUC, DAINSLEIF, ALBEDO, ALHAITHAM, NEUVILLETTE

note: got hit w baby fever sadly

taglist: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!!

another note: not proof read so if you found any spelling/grammar mistakes PLEASE tell me

[yourlocalmushroom]

The Amulet

dpxdc

Damian was nine when his brother died.

Danny had been twelve—older, taller, faster. Wiser, even. At least, that’s how Damian had always seen him. He was the one who ruffled his hair when he was annoyed, the one who taught him the best way to land a hit when sparring. The one who, even in their grandfather’s suffocating world, still managed to make Damian laugh.

And then, one day, he was gone.

Not just gone—erased.

By the time the grief had settled like dust over his shoulders, Ra’s al Ghul had made sure no trace of Danny remained. No files. No photographs. Not even a whisper in the League’s archives. It was as if he never existed.

But Damian remembered.

And he had the amulet.

A small, smooth crystal set into a metal frame, strung on a fine, worn chain. Danny had pressed it into Damian’s palm the night before he disappeared, closing his fingers around it like a secret.

“Keep it close, Dami. No matter what happens—don’t lose this. Promise me.”

Damian kept that promise. Through every sparring match, every mission, every moment he stood as Robin beside his father. He wore it beneath the collar of his suit, hidden but always present. When the world felt heavy, the amulet reminded him he hadn’t imagined it all—hadn’t imagined Danny.

And over time… it started doing more than that.

At first, it was just a feeling—a presence. Every time Damian found himself in danger, the amulet would glow, just barely, almost imperceptibly. He didn’t think much of it. Probably just a trick of the light.

But then the near-misses started.

A blade that should have sliced through his side—dodged at the last second. A bullet meant for his skull—tilted just an inch to the right. A collapsing beam during a mission—falling just shy of crushing him.

Every time, the amulet pulsed, and the next moment, he would move—without thinking, without reason. It wasn’t skill. It wasn’t luck.

It was something else.

And the family noticed.

Bruce had narrowed his eyes every time, watching him with the same calculating look he used when analyzing evidence. Tim had outright asked if he was cheating death. Even Jason—who didn’t believe in magic or miracles—had muttered something about the brat being “too damn lucky.”

Something was wrong.

But then, the real nightmare began.

It started like a whisper—stories of strange phenomena, ripples in reality, beings phasing in and out of existence in small towns and quiet corners of the world. Then the whispers turned into chaos. Entire cities blinked through moments of freezing cold, electronics failed, shadows moved when they shouldn’t.

The Justice League investigated.

What they found wasn’t a rogue metahuman, but an open wound in the fabric of their dimension—and something trying to crawl through it.

Ghosts. Entities. Creatures that bent light and space, beings of ectoplasmic energy that grew restless, aggressive. Some were merely curious. Others were cruel.

And they were looking for someone.

“The King,” one of them rasped through Zatanna’s containment ward. “He is here. We can feel him. His heart beats in this world once more.”

The JL pressed for answers. The ghosts spoke of a kingdom—the Infinite Realms—a place of dimensions layered like veils. Their king had fallen, and now the throne trembled beneath the feet of a usurper. The war had spilled over into this reality in search of the one who might reclaim it.

The king, they said, had been reborn.

But time was running out.

In the weeks that followed, the world became a battlefield. The League, the Titans, the Bat-family—all fought with everything they had. Cities were scarred. Skies turned green under rifts of swirling ectoplasm. And still, the invaders came, stronger, bolder.

Until one night, Damian found himself face-to-face with death again.

He’d leapt in front of a civilian—reckless, impulsive, the way he always was when his blood ran too hot. The specter’s blade moved too fast.

There was no time to dodge.

But the amulet around his neck blazed to life.

Light burst outward in a pulse that made the air shatter. The ghost reeled back, howling in agony, while every other entity across the battlefield froze. A shockwave rippled through them—not of force, but of recognition.

And fear.

Every spectral eye turned toward Damian.

The king is here.

Some screamed in fury. Others dropped their weapons and fled. Those who lingered felt the surge of power that poured from the boy—not his own power, but something ancient, something buried deep in the amulet that now burned white-blue against his chest.

Everything stopped.

The ghosts froze, eyes wide with horror.

"The King," one of them whispered.

Damian barely registered it.

The energy surged through him, crackling under his skin, pulsing with something ancient and vast. He could hear voices—distant, echoing, familiar. The ground trembled beneath him, and for the first time, the invaders fled.

The war was over.

And Damian collapsed.

The League called an emergency summit in the days that followed. Damage had been widespread, but miraculously, there were no major civilian casualties. As cities began to rebuild, questions remained. Chief among them: What exactly had happened?

Robin sat in the meeting chamber, surrounded by the most powerful beings on Earth, saying nothing. His fingers drifted toward his chest—only to find nothing there.

The amulet was gone.

His breath caught, just slightly.

The warmth that had always been there—the anchor to his brother, the quiet hum of protection—it was gone.

Panic swelled in his throat before he even realized he was standing. The conversation around him blurred. Someone called after him, but he was already halfway down the hall, footsteps echoing through marble and steel.

He burst through the balcony doors, heart hammering—and stopped.

The sky was clear. The stars shimmered like tiny mirrors.

And there, leaning against the railing, arms folded, gaze turned upward… was Danny.

Whole. Real. Alive.

He hadn’t aged a day.

The same snow-silver eyes. The same wild black hair that defied gravity. That same presence Damian had only remembered in fragments, in dreams.

Danny turned at the sound of footsteps. His expression softened.

“Hey, Dami.”

Damian felt like the world had shifted beneath his feet.

Danny’s voice was exactly the same. Not older. Not changed. As if he had never left.

"You grew."

The words were soft, fond.

Damian’s breath came sharp and uneven. His body screamed at him to move, to do something—to attack, to demand answers, to hit Danny for making him think he was dead.

But he couldn't move.

Because suddenly, that warm thing in his chest, the one he had ignored for years, the one that had flared to life when he had blown out the candle that morning—

It broke open.

Flooded through him like fire and light, grief and relief, memory and something else—something too big to name.

He had spent years pretending he didn’t feel the ache. Years telling himself it didn’t matter. That his brother had been erased. That he was alone.

And yet, here he was.

Standing in the moonlight. Smiling at him.

Danny existed.

The amulet—the core—had never just been a memory.

It had been Danny.

Waiting.

Returning.

And Damian didn’t know what to do with that.

So he did nothing.

Just stared.

Just breathed.

And Danny just smiled.

Like he had never been gone at all.

[ccupcakeyss]

༝     .   MAMA SANDWICH ! .  ✿

SUMMARY: after a long day, cuddling is just what you need from your husband toji. or... your child megumi? both? oh great. here comes war.

WC: 852

NOTES: I HAVE BEEN ON THE BIGGEST TOJI BRAINROT so incoming; toji fics are on its way

Evening in the Fushiguro household was always a soft sort of chaos.

Dinner had been eaten. Megumi’s tiny face had been wiped clean (after much squirming and pouting). Pajamas were on, teeth brushed—though Toji insisted, “The kid’s only got like three teeth, what’s there to brush?”—and now it was finally time for the best part of the day.

Cuddle Time.

You were curled up on the couch, warm and cozy under a big blanket, reading a book and half-listening to the quiet hum of the night. You’d barely blinked when a familiar weight crashed beside you.

“‘Kay, move over.”

Toji’s gravelly voice. Grumpy, low, but unmistakably pouty in that way he tried to hide.

You shifted just enough to make room as he flopped beside you with a groan, throwing one arm around your waist and pulling you in with that effortless strength of his.

“Rough day?” you asked, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“Always,” he muttered, burying his face into your neck like a heat-seeking missile. “Missed you.”

You smiled softly, fingers carding through his dark hair. “I’m right here.”

You should’ve expected what came next.

Tiny, stompy feet. The quiet pat-pat-pat of your son’s determined little march.

Megumi waddled into the living room, wearing his favorite wolf-print pajama pants and dragging his own little blanket like a warrior preparing for battle.

He stopped in front of the couch. Squinted.

Frowned.

“…Papa, move.”

Toji peeked one eye open. “No.”

“I wanna cuddle Mama.”

“Too bad. I got here first.”

“Not fair!” Megumi huffed, cheeks puffed out, hands balling into tiny fists. “She’s my mama!”

Toji didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

“She’s my wife.”

“But—!”

Megumi stomped once more, then—with all the dramatic flair of a bedtime soap opera—climbed on top of you, shoving his way between your chest and Toji’s arm like a chubby little wedge.

“Toji—” you started, laughing as the blanket slipped down your shoulder.

“No. Nope. He’s not allowed in here.”

“He’s your son,” you reminded, trying to wrangle the squirmy toddler now making himself at home in your arms.

“He’s a traitor.”

Megumi smirked triumphantly, curling into your chest and patting your collarbone like he’d just conquered a new kingdom. “My Mama.”

Toji let out a dramatic sigh, glaring at Megumi like he’d just been dethroned. “You get her all day. I get her at night. That’s the rule.”

Megumi looked up at you. “Is that true?”

You blinked. “There’s a rule?”

Toji grunted. “There should be.”

But Megumi wasn’t budging. He threw one leg over your stomach and settled in like a cat, kicking Toji’s side lightly in the process.

You were wheezing from trying not to laugh. “Okay, okay—stop. You both can cuddle me.”

“No.” They said it at the same time.

Toji tugged you closer, trying to reclaim his space. Megumi clung tighter, glaring up at him with wide, watery eyes.

“She loves me more,” the kid mumbled.

Toji’s eyebrow twitched. “Wanna bet?”

Before you knew it, Toji had hooked one arm around Megumi and the other under your knees—and in one smooth, annoyingly strong motion, he hoisted both of you into his lap like you weighed nothing.

Now you were in the middle. Megumi pressed to your chest. Toji wrapped around your back, legs caging you both in.

“Aha,” he muttered smugly. “Cuddle sandwich. I win.”

“This is not winning,” you said, laughing. “This is kidnapping.”

Megumi was too busy snuggling into your hoodie, mumbling something about how warm you were and how he wanted you all to himself. Toji kept his arm slung heavy around both of you, his big hand on your thigh, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I’m gonna fall asleep like this,” you warned.

“That’s the plan,” he muttered, eyes already half-lidded.

You could feel Megumi relaxing, his breathing slowing. And Toji—despite all his grumbling—was gently running his fingers up and down your side in soft, rhythmic strokes.

“…Love you, Mama,” Megumi whispered, voice already heavy with sleep.

Toji grunted softly, his mouth brushing your neck. “Tch. Love you too.”

“Who are you saying that to?” you asked, smiling.

“…Both of you.”

Your heart ached in the best possible way.

Toji—fierce and dangerous and built for anything but softness—was now the anchor of this small, sleepy pile of warmth and love. His son clung to you like you were the sun, and he held you both like you were his whole damn world.

Which, honestly, you were.

Later that night, when you were half-asleep and Megumi had long since started drooling on your chest, you felt Toji whisper into your hair.

“I used to think I was gonna die alone,” he murmured. “Now I’ve got you two, and I’m fighting a four-year-old over cuddles.”

You smiled, eyes closed, hand resting over his on your waist.

“You lost, by the way.”

Toji snorted quietly. “Nah. Still got you in my arms, didn’t I?”

And just like that, the house fell into peaceful silence—wrapped in blankets, love, and the kind of warmth Toji Fushiguro never believed he’d ever deserve.

But now?

He wouldn’t give it up for the world.

[skzophreniic]

Miss Possessive

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 when someone else eyes your man at the Fendi afterparty

featuring: Christopher Bahng x AFAB reader

warnings: suggestive

notes: kinda late but idc lol. inspired by Miss Possessive by Tate McCrae.

The Fendi afterparty was in full swing—golden lights reflecting off champagne glasses, designer-clad elites laughing too loud, music thrumming beneath the conversations of Hollywood’s most coveted faces. It was the kind of place where power hummed in the air, where influence was measured in glances and whispers.

Chris had his arm around your waist, his fingers tracing mindless patterns against the silk of your dress. He was effortlessly charming, flashing that dimpled smile at executives and fellow artists alike, his Australian lilt melting smoothly into conversation. You loved him like this—glowing, confident, in his element.

His eyes light up when he spots somebody in the distance, his grip loosening on your hip.

“Gonna go say hi to someone real quick,” Chris murmured close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Come with me?”

You glanced up at him, catching the excitement in his expression. He lived for moments like this—connecting, networking, floating effortlessly through rooms filled with people who mattered. And you loved seeing him like this, loved knowing how easily he fit into this world.

But right now? You weren’t in the mood to entertain small talk.

“You go ahead,” you said, offering a small smile. “I’ll wait here.”

Chris hesitated for a fraction of a second, his fingers grazing your side like he was debating whether to push. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave your waist one last squeeze before slipping away, weaving through the crowd with an ease that came naturally to him.

You swirled the champagne in your glass, watching from a distance as Chris greeted the man with an easy smile, his shoulders relaxed, his charm effortless. He was always like this at events—engaging, magnetic, impossible to ignore.

And neither was she.

Standing just a little too close to the man Chris was talking to, her arm looped loosely through his, yet her gaze was fixed elsewhere. Fixed on Chris.

You noticed it immediately—the way her lashes fluttered as she watched him, the way her lips curved, not in polite acknowledgment but something softer, something indulgent. She was interested. Not in the man beside her, the one she was presumably here with, but in yours.

The realization settled over you like ice water, sharp and immediate. You’d seen this before—too many times, in too many rooms just like this. Women who thought their status or their beauty somehow made them untouchable, that their interest was a gift, not an intrusion.

She wasn’t even trying to be discreet about it.

You stayed quiet, simply watching, your expression unreadable as Chris continued his conversation, seemingly oblivious. He laughed at something the man said, dimples flashing, and you didn’t miss the way her lips parted slightly, like she was already imagining what it would be like to taste that smile.

Bold.

Your fingers curled around the stem of your glass, the cool surface grounding you. You weren’t the type to make a scene, weren’t the type to claw at Chris’s arm like a warning. Your confidence ran deeper than that.

Chris, as if sensing your gaze, glanced over his shoulder then, his expression softening when he saw you. His eyes lingered, and for a moment, the entire party seemed to fade into background noise.

Then, just as quickly, he was saying his goodbyes, excusing himself from the conversation. You didn’t miss the way she watched him go, her lips pressing together like she was debating something.

Too late.

Chris was already making his way back to you, his attention exactly where it should be. Where it had always been.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low as he slipped an arm around your waist again, reclaiming the space that had never been hers to take.

You let out a quiet hum, lifting your glass to your lips, your gaze flickering past him for only a second—long enough to see her still watching, her expression carefully composed but not nearly careful enough.

Chris followed your gaze, and something in his expression shifted. Understanding dawned, slow and steady, before amusement danced in his eyes. He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head as he turned back to you.

“You know,” he murmured, leaning in so only you could hear, “you don’t have to pretend you’re not annoyed.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Who said I was annoyed?”

Chris grinned, giving your waist a squeeze. “You’ve got that look,” he teased, voice full of knowing. “The one where you’re pretending not to care, but you’re already making up ways to subtly ruin her night.”

You exhaled a soft laugh, finally turning your full attention back to him. “She was looking at you like she wanted to take a bite.”

Chris let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he pulled back just enough to look at you properly. “You do realize that was his wife, right?”

You barely blinked, lifting your glass to your lips. “And?”

Chris grinned. “And maybe she was just being friendly.”

You arched a brow, unimpressed. “Chris. She was practically undressing you with her eyes.”

His dimples flashed as he grinned wider, but before he could say anything, you tilted your head, considering. “Or,” you mused, voice dripping with amusement, “maybe they’re into that sort of thing.”

Chris choked.

You watched with no small amount of satisfaction as a flush crept up his neck, his usual effortless confidence flickering for just a second. “What—” He cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “You think—”

You shrugged, all faux nonchalance. “Wouldn’t be the first time a couple tried to recruit you.”

Chris groaned, tipping his head back dramatically. “Jesus. Don’t remind me.”

You smirked behind your champagne glass, watching as he rubbed a hand down his face like he was trying to physically erase the memory.

“What was it that one guy said to you? Something about how he and his girl would ‘love to explore your energy’?”

Chris visibly shuddered. “I am begging you to never repeat that sentence again.”

You laughed, letting your fingers trail along the nape of his neck. His skin was warm, the heat creeping up from his collar, and you couldn’t resist the way he reacted to you, how easy it was to pull him in when you wanted to.

You glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of her again. She was still watching—her gaze dipping once more, as if mapping out his body, as if picturing all the ways she might get closer. Bold, but ultimately useless.

Chris was already here, with you.

You decided to prove the point.

With deliberate slowness, you let your hand slide lower, fingers pressing into the small of his back as you leaned into him, your lips grazing just beneath his ear.

“You know,” you murmured, voice soft enough that only he could hear, “if I was annoyed, I’d have a much better way of handling it than ruining her night.”

Chris inhaled sharply, and you felt the way his body tensed under your touch. His grip flexed on your waist before settling firm, almost possessive. “Yeah?” he muttered, voice lower now, rougher.

You let your lips brush the edge of his jaw, just for a second, just enough. “Mmhmm.”

Chris exhaled slowly, his hand shifting—sliding down, fingers pressing into your hip in a way that felt like both a warning and a plea

His fingers dug into your hip, just enough to make his point. “Careful,” he murmured, voice rough at the edges. “You keep this up, and we’re leaving this party early.”

You smirked, entirely unbothered by the threat. “What a shame that would be,” you mused, dragging your fingers just barely under the hem of his blazer. “Missing out on all this networking.”

Chris exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip flexing again—like he was reminding himself where you were, who was watching. But his eyes darkened, and you knew he wasn’t entirely in control of himself anymore.

You had him.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his fingers slid just a little lower, his palm pressing flush against the curve of your hip. His body shifted, subtly angling you away from the rest of the room, from prying eyes, but you caught it—the way she was still watching, her expression unreadable, her lips pressed into a careful line.

You smiled. Slow. Sweet. Possessive in a way that didn’t require theatrics.

And then, just to seal it, you leaned up, brushing your lips against the shell of Chris’s ear, making damn sure she saw the way he shivered.

“Baby,” he muttered, like a warning, like a plea.

You pressed your smile against his jaw. “Mmhmm?”

Chris exhaled through his nose again, steadying himself, and when he finally pulled back to look at you, his eyes burned. His amusement was still there, but now it was tinged with something else, something hotter.

“I’m getting you another drink,” he said, his voice low, steady. But his fingers lingered on your waist, like he didn’t actually want to step away.

You tilted your head, gaze steady. “I don’t need another drink.”

Chris huffed out something that was almost a laugh, but his fingers flexed against your waist like he was hanging onto his last shred of composure. His jaw tightened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and then he shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“No,” he said, voice rough. “You definitely do.”

You arched a brow, lips twitching. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Chris ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose as he took another step away. “Because,” he said, voice rougher than before, “if I stand here for one more second, I’m gonna forget we’re at a party.”

You smirked, watching the tension in his shoulders, the way he practically forced himself to step back. He needed the space—needed to pull himself together, to break the spell you’d so effortlessly cast over him.

Chris was disciplined, always the one in control, always the level-headed leader who could charm his way through any situation. But right now? Right now, his composure was cracking at the edges, and you loved knowing you were the reason why.

He cleared his throat, dragging a hand down his face before glancing toward the bar like it was some kind of lifeline. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered, already turning.

You didn’t stop him. You didn’t need to. Because the second he put even a step of distance between you, he hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before shaking his head, like he was trying to clear you from his system.

You didn’t look away.

Not at first.

No, you let her stare, let her sit with it, let her marinate in the realization that whatever fleeting fantasy she’d entertained—whatever sliver of hope she’d foolishly clung to—had never stood a chance. Because this? This wasn’t a maybe. This wasn’t an opening.

Chris had already made his choice.

So you lifted your glass that Chris had just handed you, slow and deliberate, meeting her gaze with something just a touch too sweet, just a shade too knowing. And then—because you could—you raised it in a silent toast.

A petty, razor-sharp little acknowledgment.

I see you.

Her expression barely flickered, but you caught it—the subtle shift, the way her fingers curled slightly at her side, the way her lips pressed together in something that wasn’t quite a smile. She didn’t like being caught. Didn’t like that you knew exactly what she had been thinking.

Didn’t like that she had lost before she’d even started.

You took a slow sip of your champagne, savoring the moment, before finally, lazily, turning your attention away. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? She didn’t matter enough to keep looking at.

Chris did.

And Chris? He was watching the entire thing unfold, his gaze flicking between the two of you, amusement flickering beneath something darker.

"You’re insufferable," he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear.

You tilted your head, all innocence. "What ever do you mean?"

Chris let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head, but you saw the way his fingers flexed around the glass in his hand, saw the way his jaw tightened as he leaned in, voice just for you.

"That was mean."

You shrugged, unfazed. "That was mercy."

Chris huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head, but the way his fingers curled around your waist said he wasn’t entirely unaffected. His grip was firm—just shy of possessive, like he needed to ground himself in your presence, like he needed to remind himself that no amount of fleeting attention from anyone else could touch what was his.

"You’re a piece of work, you know that?" he murmured, eyes still dancing with amusement.

You smiled, slow and sweet. "And yet, here you are."

Chris exhaled sharply through his nose, his dimples flashing as he tipped his glass to his lips. "Yeah," he admitted, voice low, warm. "Here I am."

And that was it, wasn’t it?

You didn’t need to stake your claim, didn’t need to sink your claws into him in some desperate display of ownership. Because Chris wasn’t looking at anyone else. He wasn’t thinking about anyone else.

And the way his hand slid lower, fingers pressing into the small of your back like he couldn’t help himself? The way his eyes softened, darkened, like you were the only thing keeping him tethered in a room full of noise and flashing lights?

That said everything.

So you let the moment settle between you, let the warmth of the champagne hum through your veins as Chris traced absentminded circles against your hip, his fingers slow, lazy.

His hand slid lower, a warning, a promise, before he took a slow step back, eyes still locked onto yours. "We should go," he murmured, voice rough. "Before I forget how to behave."

You hummed, pretending to consider it, even as your body leaned into his touch like it already knew the answer. “That bad, huh?”

Chris let out a low chuckle, his fingers tightening against your waist, his breath fanning warm against your cheek as he dipped closer—just close enough to make your pulse stutter. “You have no idea.”

You knew exactly what was running through his head, how tightly he was holding the last threads of his composure, how close he was to losing the game he always played so well.

So you tipped your chin up, gaze steady, letting your lips just barely graze his jaw as you murmured, “Then what are we still doing here?”

Chris exhaled sharply, like he was physically restraining himself, before shaking his head with a breathy laugh. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, already slipping his hand into yours, already leading you through the crowd with a singular purpose.

You let him. You followed, matching his pace, feeling the heat of his palm against yours, feeling the weight of his gaze every time he glanced down at you like he was already thinking ten steps ahead.

[ozzgin]

I'm the anon who asked if your requests are open and i got busy assignments + presentations that i almost forgot about the request but now i remembered and it's based on my dream i saw that night..

How about a vampire who lost his relic (presumably a ring) and reader happens find it and tries it on, now the vampire is all panicking because guess what? That was a betrothal relic and it has binded the vampire's soul with the one of reader. They can't pull it out/take it of.. oh well, now they are stuck and obviously the vampire hates the idea of being stuck with a pesky human but hey they are kinda stupid..? How tf they tripped on thin air? Or how they are still alive even after being food poisoned 5 times a month? Vampire is now babysitter for his human *sighs * what has he gotten himself in..

(Please add yandere elements later on, my brain stoopid but i want a hot Victorian era vampire being obsessed with me ^^ muah!)

(I'm sorry this is so lengthy TT)

Yandere! Vampire x Reader

Featuring a ridiculously lucky Reader who constantly manages to escape a Vampire's assassination attempts. Did someone order a supernatural edition of enemies to lovers?

Content: gender neutral reader, obsessive behavior, mentions of stalking, romcom

[Monster masterlist] [Original works masterlist]

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" your friends gasp in unison, eyes fixated on the fallen ceramic pot that scarcely missed you, now laying shattered at your feet. You laugh reassuringly and wave your hand in dismissal. "It's the fifth time it happens today. Maybe there's a storm coming?"

From within the shadows, menacing eyes glowing red follow your movements. "Damn it!" The mysterious man curses under his breath. He stares enviously at the bulky ring on your finger. The ring bearing his Family signet, where part of his very soul resides. It has stayed with him for centuries, and somehow, to his utmost shame, he lost it. By the time he rushed back to retrieve it, you were carelessly sliding it down your finger. He wanted to strangle the life out of you right then and there, but he felt it: the immediate surge of contractual power, dominating his will and holding him back from breaking your bones. "It's a little tacky, isn't it?" your friend remarked. You nodded in agreement and tried to remove it, but the metal band tightened around your skin, painfully constricting your digit. It was stuck. It was too late.

Now he has to rely on cheap trickeries like this one. Sure, he may not be able to directly plunge his fangs into your neck, but the bonding curse does not shield you from "accidents", you see. It would be a real shame if that flower pot was to land straight into your head, ending you instantly and thus breaking the connection with him. Except you simply refuse to die. A mystery, a paradox, one that enrages him to no end. It's almost as if the ring is bringing you fortune at the cost of his misery.

"Have you had any luck removing that ugly thing?" the person standing next to you mentions. The vampire lord grits his teeth at the blasphemous words. This is what's become of him: a deceitful buffoon, having to sit and listen to his inheritance being mocked relentlessly. He holds back the urge of shouting that thousands have bled to death in order to forge that magnificence. "Not at all", you respond idly. "I tried taking it to a jeweler, and she said she could try to cut it, but she ended up having a heart attack right in the middle of it. She didn't even look that old, maybe it runs in her family?"

Unbelievable. The thought of reclaiming his relic haunts every second of his day, to the point he's become your shadow. Stalking your every move, your every breath, observing his prey and waiting for an opportunity to strike. He can already picture that pathetic face of yours, twisting in pain, begging for-...huh. Well, look at that, you're reading one of his favorite books. Perhaps you do have a little taste, after all. It won't save you from your terrible fate, but he might skip the prolonged torture.

There's plenty of quotes out there about knowing your enemy in order to guarantee your victory, though one might wonder where the limit of such knowledge resides. Or what counts as useful to begin with. The vampire lord is presently wondering about this very aspect, as he mouths your coffee order from a distance. Less sugar, huh? You did mention losing your sweet tooth. He shakes his head indignantly. Absolutely not! The throb of his heart is fueled by raw hatred and nothing else. One of days he will savour your demise.

Your ridiculous luck might just end today. You've taken a shortcut on your way back home, and didn't expect a shady, burly man to block your exit. A perverted grin stains his face as he approaches you, twiddling with his pocket knife. "Alone at this hour?" You frown and try to find a way out, but the man suddenly begins to heave and convulse before your eyes, grasping at his chest as the skin shrivels and dries. He collapses at your feet, body wilted as if it's been emptied of its vitality. The Vampire Lord clicks his tongue.

To think he'd rush to rescue his sworn enemy, a pitiful mortal like you. He didn't even get the chance to consider the aftermath. You stare at the stranger, confused but observant. Pale skin, crimson eyes, unnaturally sharp canines...and the fact he just drained a living being into a bloodless corpse: everything hints to one possibility. "Are you by any chance a vampire?" you find yourself mumbling. "You must've graduated from Harvard with those deduction skills", he responds sarcastically.

Everything else unfolds in a haze. Wasn't he planning to kill you and retrieve his ring? When the hell did he offer to walk you home to avoid more creeps? Why is he twirling his hair sheepishly whenever you praise his demonic powers? Oh, but it gets worse: why did he suddenly feel the urge to kiss you before returning to his cursed lair? Why did he accept your invitation to spend the night at your place instead? One moment ago, he was doing his best to curse you off this Earth. Now he's tugging stray strands of hair away from your blushing, whining face, asking you if it hurts. Damned human.

"How did you know I like this? Have you been stalking me?" you joke, nudging your undead boyfriend and setting the gift aside. "More or less", he confesses with a yawn. He recalls all that time spent dutifully spying on your oblivious self. "You know, a human like you shouldn't be able to dodge death like that." He turns to you and scans your features. Then, abruptly embarrassed, he ruffles your hair to block you from noticing his blush. "I suppose my failure was the better outcome. It's not too bad, having you around."

[hannie-berrie]

WEAK HERO CLASS 1-2 ‘s reactions to their S/O teasing them.

Minors DNI

Yeon Sieun:

A quiet evening at home, you and your boyfriend’s favourites. He’s deep into a book, studying some new topic he’s really into, something intellectual and absorbing.

Things have been too peaceful, and you couldn’t let Sieun be at peace for long periods of time, being the tease you are, it was your mission to be his late night problem.

You casually lean over him with a playful smirk on your face

“You know, for someone so ‘rational,’ you blush surprisingly easy when I do this…” You trailed your fingers along his back and neck as you whispered in his ear

Sieun stiffened slightly, not expecting so much play from you, he’s caught off guard but not uncomfortable. His mind raced for a moment, analyzing the little game you’re playing and trying to anticipante your next moves.

His eyes are still fixed on his book sheet, trying to maintain composure but the slight blush on his cheeks betrays him.

He turns to you slowly, with a calm expression but his eyes are locked onto yours.

“You’re dangerously good at interrupting my concentration. You plan that?” He gives you a very slight smirk. Not the playful way but more so the « I can’t belive this » way.

“Maybe. What are you going to do about it?”

The challenge turned him on more than expected, he’s tempted to throw you on the bed behind you and give you a lesson but he kept his almost too calm tone

“Document it, then retaliate when you least expect it. Consider yourself… warned.”

He goes back to his task, but you notice the subtle shift in his behaviour. The way he taps his pen on his desk, shakes his leg under the table, the forced extra focus on his reading.

It’s his way of reclaiming control, but you’ve won. His focus is gone and all he can think about is the ways he wants to fuck you dumb.

Ahn Suho:

You and your boyfriend ate some chicken leftovers for dinner, as you both love that dish. You’re sat on the counter, legs swinging, watching your boyfriend dry the dishes, shirtless.

“You know, for someone who talks big at the gym, I expected more… definition.”

Suho turns his head just slightly your way, not stopping his task. “Oh yeah?” he laughs to himself “You sure you wanna go there?”

You smile and look down at your feet

“I’m just saying… Maybe those flexing selfies are doing more work than the actual workouts.”

Suho drops the plate he’s cleaning and with soapy hands, he grabs your face “That mouth of yours is dangerous.” He leans in close, the goal is the to get you nervous and back down. “You really think I’m all talk, huh?”

He grins, “Careful, babe. I might just prove you wrong, right here, right now.”

He lifting you up the counter and wrapped your legs around his waist

He teases back, “Still think I’m just talk?”

Seo Joontae:

Joontae is the most fun to tease, he melts under your touch, your voice, sometimes even under no pressure at all. Tonight you wore one of his shirts, barely covering your lower half, you knew about it, but didn’t care.

“What are you doing?” You interrupted his personal time

Joontae turns your way and his mouth drop a little, eyes flickering at your bare lower body.

“A-ah I’m not doing anything special.. You look- uh-.. really good right now.” He looked up at you with such big round eyes you could ruin him right now. But you decide to edge him on a little more,

“You always say that like you’re embarrassed you’re thinking it.” You sit your bare ass down on his lap with such casual confidence, running a hand through his hair.

“Tell me what you were doing before I walked in. Was it innocent.. or should I be worried?” You tease his lips with your index finger

Joontae’s cheeks are flaming hot, his stuttering habits showing once more, they were especially obvious when you were teasing him

“I-I wasn’t… It wasn’t like that, I just… I was just drawing. I didn’t expect you to-”

Your finger resting on his lips traced a slow way down his neck “Exactly. You never expect me. That’s what makes you so much fun to play with.”

His breath catches. He wants to lean into it, but also feels exposed. He gives a soft whimper of a laugh, wrapping his arms around your waist in self-defense more than boldness.

Park Hoomin (Baku):

You walk back from the grocery store, sharing a bag of snack. It’s golden hour, and he’s carrying most of the bags, even the ones you insisted you could handle. He’s wearing a compression shirt that he definitely chose on purpose.

“You know, I could carry some of those.”

“I know. But then you’d miss the view of me being unnecessarily heroic.”

Hoomin never lost an opportunity to be cocky. His cockiness made him even more charismatic in a way.

“Wow. How would I survive. ”

He nudged you with his elbow

“Hey, I’m just lifting the groceries to save your back from suffering, what a good man I am”

“Truly a Greek god in a Trader Joe’s parking lot.”

He laughs warmly, your quick responses is what he loves most about you. The way you can dodge his comments and make better ones.

“You joke, but if carrying your groceries scores me one of those cute smiles, I’ll do it every time.”

You shook your head, his words melting your heart a little, trying not to grin, but it’s still showing a little. He catches it, and you can tell he lives for that moment.

Go Hyuntak:

The tension has been in the air all day long, nothing big but teasing, subtle distance like you’ve been messing with his head on purpose. You’ve been purposely avoiding him after dropping suggestive comments, playing hot and cold and driving him nuts. You’re now finally at his place.

“You’ve been weirdly quiet today, what’s up with that? »

Hyuntak came closer to you

“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Doing what?” Your fake innocence was only rilling him more.

“Testing me. Pulling back. Acting like I’m not crawling out of my skin wanting you to just stop teasing.”

You tried to argue back but he cut the distance in between your bodies even more, one hand on the wall behind you.

“You know I don’t do halfway. If you’re gonna look at me like that, teasing me in public, displaying to everyone that we aren’t « just friends ». Then you better be ready when I call you on it.”

Hyuntak was always big on privacy. He gladly agreed to be fuck buddies when you asked for it. He has liked you since grade 1 but knowing it’s not reciprocated, your little games messed with his naturally impatient temper even more.

Bonus! Geum SeongJe

It’s late at night and you’re in his upscale apartment. Cozy, wearing your boyfriend’s jacket like you own it. Waiting for his return home.

He’s came back late from something messy, business or something more dangerous, the kind he doesn’t explain. You’re aware he fights a lot but he likes to come home to some peace.

You’re sitting on his couch, legs curled up,

“You didn’t text. Again.”

Seongje grabs himself a drink, not paying attention to you. “Because you’d worry. And I don’t feel like hearing you lecture me. ”

“So you just disappear?”

“I’m not in the habit of reporting my movements. Not even to you.”

You flinch as he stepped closer to you, eyes sharp, staring you down

“But I watched you from the cameras when I left. All night. You didn’t even open the door. Good girl.”

His low voice has you swallow down your own bitterness. He really had a way to put your behaviour back in place with simple words. He’s close to you now, eyes almost cutting you down, amused by both your anger at him but also how easy he was able to shut you up.

“You’re insane. You know that, right?”

“Probably. But you still haven’t left.”

You don’t move, his finger slides along you jaw, you can’t tell if it’s suggestive or threatening

“You think you want nice. But you don’t. Don’t you love the idea of me possibly being watching you, at any angle, any moment I wish for? I bet that turns you on, and that’s why you stare right at the camera in our bedroom.. when you touch yourself in my absence, hm?”

Your eyes grew bigger and your hear dropped, you felt naked, called out.

“You’re mine. »

[eclipixels]

Meanie

Rafayel x Reader

Content: Rafayel's brattiness goes a little too far and he makes you cry

[2,026 words]

      It had been one of those days, the kind that felt cursed from the moment you opened your eyes. The kind where every little thing seemed to pile on top of the last, weighing you down until the smallest inconvenience felt like the final straw. And as if the universe hadn’t already decided to test your patience, Rafayel had spent the entire day being an absolute brat.

      It had started first thing in the morning, before you’d even had the chance to fully wake up. You’d stirred from sleep, groggy and aching, only to realize that you were freezing. Confused, you reached down and found nothing but the thin sheet clinging to the edge of the bed. The thick comforter, the one that had been keeping you warm all night, was completely wrapped around Rafayel, who was snuggled up in a cocoon of stolen warmth.

      You shifted closer, nudging him lightly in an attempt to reclaim even a small corner of the blanket. “Raf, share the blanket.” you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep.

      All you got in response was a low groan, followed by him rolling even further away from you, tightening the comforter around himself like it was a suit of armor. Then, with the kind of sleepy arrogance only he could manage, he muttered, “Figure it out, princess.”

      Your eye twitched.

      Unbeknownst to you, this was his dumb way of wanting you to cuddle him. He assumed you'd snuggle him for warmth.

      Biting back a grumble, you decided to let it go. Maybe he was just half-asleep and unaware of what he was doing. Maybe he’d share once he woke up properly. Maybe—

      Nope. The second you tried to tug the blanket back, Rafayel let out the most exaggerated, drawn-out sigh, like you were personally ruining his entire morning. Then, instead of being a decent human being and sharing, he grabbed your pillow and placed it over his face with a dramatic huff.

      Fine. Whatever. It was probably a good time to get out of bed right now anyway.

      Dragging yourself out of bed, you shivered against the cold air and forced yourself toward the bathroom to do your usual routine. That’s when you realized you got your period. Great. Just great. The dull ache in your lower stomach had begun, and each step sent an uncomfortable throb through your body.

      You headed to the kitchen in search of your favorite tea, knowing it would help. Just the thought of it eased your tension slightly. But as you arrived, the familiar aroma already filled the air. Standing at the counter was Rafayel, cup in hand, his lips curling around the rim as he took a slow, satisfied sip.

      Are you serious right neow. Bruh.

      “Please tell me that’s not the last of my tea.” you started cautiously, eyes darting toward the empty tea box on the counter.

      “Yeah,” he blinked at you, then, with zero remorse, he shrugged. “I can have Thomas get you some more.”

      You took a deep breath. Counted to three. Reminded yourself that murder was illegal.

      He wasn’t trying to be cruel. He was just being Rafayel. A walking headache disguised as a very pretty boy.

      Fine. You’d handle it. You’d push through. You’d make do with coffee instead. It wasn’t what you wanted, but at least it was warm.

      You thought maybe, just maybe, that would be the end of his antics for the day. But no. Oh, no. He was just getting started.

      He spent the rest of the morning flicking the strings of your hoodie whenever he walked past, tugging at them just enough to be annoying. He poked you randomly for no reason and whined when you wouldn’t share your ice cream with him. When you had finally settled onto the couch to distract yourself with a movie, he’d waltzed in and changed the damn thing right as the plot was getting good. And when you glared at him, he just shrugged and said, “It’s not my fault you have bad taste in movies.”

      For the record, your taste in movies was excellent. He was just an insufferable little gremlin.

      You tried, really, really tried, to brush it off. To let it slide. Because normally, this kind of thing didn’t bother you that much. Normally, his teasing was something you could handle, even enjoy in small doses. But today was different. Today, your body hurt, your patience was thin, and everything felt heavier than it should.

      And then came the final straw.

      You had spent the entire afternoon resisting the urge to snap at him, telling yourself that he’d get bored eventually. That he’d stop pushing your buttons and go back to being tolerable. But then, when you were sitting at the dining table, desperately needing just one tiny moment of kindness, you spotted it—Rafayel’s favorite raspberry cream puffs. A fresh, buttery, flaky piece of heaven, sitting untouched with a sticky note of his name.

      You hesitated before asking. He’d already gotten on your last nerve,so maybe he’d take pity on you this once.

      “Raf,” you started, careful, cautious. “Can I have a bite?”

      He glanced at you, then at the pastry.

      For a moment, you thought he might actually say yes. His fingers drummed against the table, and he seemed to be weighing the question in his head. But then, right when hope sparked in your chest, he picked up the pastry, raised it to his lips, and took the biggest, most exaggerated bite humanly possible.

      Your mouth dropped open in disbelief.

      And that was it. That was the moment your already fragile patience snapped like an overstretched rubber band. You didn’t even have it in you to argue. Instead, you felt your throat tighten, hot frustration prickling behind your eyes before you could stop it.

      It wasn’t even just about Rafayel; everything felt overwhelming, and all you wanted was for him to be sweet to you today. The weight of the day had pressed down on you like an unbearable blanket, suffocating in its intensity. It wasn’t just the cramps or the discomfort; it was everything. The hormones, the exhaustion, the world itself feeling just a little too sharp around the edges. And yet, Rafayel had spent most of the day being bratty, teasing, occasionally infuriating in that way only he could be.

      Tears streamed down your face as you froze.

      “Baby…” Rafayel’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, softer now, tinged with something almost hesitant. “Are you crying?”

      You turned away from him, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling, but it was pointless. He tried stepping towards you but you stopped him.

      “Go away,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

      The words weren’t just a request; they carried weight, a command laced with the bond you shared. Rafayel felt it immediately. His chest lit up with the warmth of it, the magic forcing him still, locking him in place as though the universe itself had pressed pause. His lips parted slightly, caught between protest and realization.

      And then, as if the pieces of a puzzle had finally clicked together, understanding dawned in his sharp sunset eyes. He had felt something all day, an ache lingering at the edges of his awareness, but he had brushed it off. As a sea god, human pain wasn’t the most agonizing thing in the world to him. He could experience it, but it never debilitated him. So, he hadn’t paid much attention to the dull cramps, the underlying discomfort. But now, as he took in your curled-up form, your teary eyes, the way you refused to even look at him—he felt dumb. Of course. You were on your period. And he didn’t do a single thing to help you feel better.

      He got so wound up in wanting your attention that he didn’t realize how miserable his attempts were making you.

      “Do you hate me?” Your voice was small, fragile in a way that twisted something inside him. He hated that you even felt like you had to ask.

      “Of course not,” he said, voice rougher than he intended, thick with something unspoken.

      “Then why were you being such a meanie?”

      That nearly made him laugh, but the sniffle that followed kept him firmly grounded in reality. He let out a slow, heavy breath, dragging a hand through his lilac hair as guilt settled deep in his bones.

      “I’m so sorry, cutie. I just wanted your attention.”

      You didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, he thought you were going to push him away again. But you didn’t. And in Rafayel’s mind, that was progress. Carefully, as if waiting for you to stop him, he reached out and wrapped his arms around you. His grip was firm but gentle, protective without being suffocating. He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in.

      “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured against your hair. “Whatever you want.”

      At that, you finally peeked up at him, lashes damp. A spark of mischief danced in your eyes, and your lips curled into the beginnings of a smile.

      “Anything?”

      Rafayel nodded, unwavering. “Anything.”

      And that was how he found himself being dragged around for an entire day of doting on you.

      The moment the words left his mouth, you wasted no time in taking full advantage of his promise. First, it was bubble tea. Not just one, but three different flavors because, in his words, you needed options. Rafayel handed over his black card, watching as you delightedly picked your favorites.

      Then came the hoodie situation. You wanted those fluffy weighted ones. He ordered five because why not? Not just that, he got you a few dresses and accessories too. Of course, they had to be designers, because if he was going to spoil you, he was going to do it properly.

      Your cramps were still bad? No problem. Rafayel ran you a hot bath, complete with rose petals because apparently, a ‘normal bath’ wasn’t enough. He even adjusted the water temperature to be exactly how you liked it, using his evol abilities to keep it warm for as long as you wanted.

      He acted as though all of this was some grand inconvenience, sighing heavily every time you asked for something new, dramatically rolling his eyes, but the twinkle in them never dimmed.

      When you asked him to get you a heating pad, he gave you an offended look. Why were you asking for a heating pad? He was right there? He pressed his palms against your lower abdomen and you felt it start to warm to the perfect temperature.

      While you scrolled through your phone, he sighed. His fingers absently traced circles against your side as he did. “I have become a mere object for your convenience.”

      You grinned, completely unfazed. “Correct.”

      At one point, when you asked him to bring you snacks in the middle of the night, he left and came back with an entire grocery bag full of your favorites.

      “You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, setting it beside you with a huff.

      You beamed up at him, eyes full of mischief. “I am lucky.” To emphasize your point, you popped a piece of chocolate into your mouth, chewing happily as if you hadn’t been crying just hours ago.

      Rafayel squinted at you, suspicion written all over his face. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

      You shrugged, feigning innocence.

      He sighed heavily. so dramatically, as if the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders. Then, with zero warning, he threw himself onto the bed on top of you, arm draped across his forehead like he was in some kind of tragic play. “This is karma, isn’t it?”

      You hummed thoughtfully, pretending to consider. “Maybe.”

      But the truth is, he didn’t mind. Not one bit. Because seeing you go from overwhelmed and teary-eyed to giggling and carefree—seeing you feel loved, taken care of—was worth every second. If spoiling you until he was broke meant you’d smile like this, he’d do it a hundred times over.

[giuliannna]

THREE’S A CROWD

you quickly learn that hamzah doesn’t really like to share. inspired by this request

the idea of a threesome came up the way things like this always do: in bed, half-naked and half-serious, legs tangled and mouths flushed from kissing.

you’d mentioned it casually, a joke more than anything, and hamzah didn’t laugh it off. he just looked at you with an unreadable smile and said, “sure, if you want to.”

so, here you are.

the girl’s sweet. pretty. easy to talk to. she smells like vanilla and talks with her hands. when she showed up at your apartment wearing nothing under her dress, she smiled like she already knew she wouldn’t be staying long.

you liked that about her.

she ends up kissing you first.

you’re sitting on the bed, knees bent, when she leans in, tucking her hand behind your neck, lips soft and open against yours. she tastes like strawberry lipgloss.

hamzah watches.

he’s sitting back, legs stretched, one arm draped over the pillows. he’s just observing - calm, interested, not quite possessive.

yet.

the girl’s hands slide up your sides, slipping under your shirt, and you laugh against her mouth.

“nervous?” she asks, whispering it like a joke.

you shake your head, glancing at hamzah. “not really.”

he raises an eyebrow at you, then leans forward. “you look good like this,” he says, voice low.

it’s the way he says you - like the rest of the sentence doesn’t matter. like the girl’s not even in the room.

but she is. and she’s unbuttoning your shorts now, tugging them off gently. you lift your hips to help. she slides her mouth down your neck, across your chest, hands slipping under the band of your underwear.

hamzah’s still watching, jaw a little tighter now.

you lie back as she moves between your legs, her soft hair brushing against your thighs. when she dips her head down to taste you, her tongue is soft and slow, experimental. she’s good, you think absently - careful and warm.

you glance at hamzah again.

his hand is on himself now, lazily palming through his boxers. his gaze hasn’t left your face.

she pulls back after a minute, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and grinning. “still doing okay?”

you nod, breathless.

“good,” she murmurs. “cause i haven’t even gotten started.”

hamzah shifts suddenly. without a word, he kneels on the bed beside you, brushing her hair aside like he’s helping - but the way his eyes lock onto yours tells a different story.

he leans down and kisses you before you can say anything - mouth hungry, tongue deeper than usual, like he’s trying to reclaim something.

his hand slides between your thighs, fingers subtly pushing her head and replacing her mouth. his touch is rougher, faster, confident in a way hers wasn’t.

you gasp, grabbing his wrist.

she laughs softly. “should i move?”

“no,” you say quickly.

hamzah doesn’t say anything at all.

his mouth stays on yours, swallowing your moans as his fingers move inside you, slow and deep, knuckles brushing soft and filthy. you can’t think straight. not with the way he’s holding your leg open, not with the way his jaw clenches every time you say his name under your breath.

you forget the girl is even there until you feel her mouth on your chest again, her tongue dragging along your skin, her fingers tracing the curve of your waist.

hamzah doesn’t stop her, but he doesn’t look at her either.

his whole body is angled toward you now, close and tense, one arm braced beside your head like he needs to cage you in. lamplight catches in his lashes, and you swear he’s not even blinking.

you breathe his name again, softer this time. he curls his fingers inside you.

“you feel good,” he murmurs, voice almost too quiet to hear, like it’s a secret he wants to keep between the two of you.

the girl pulls back a little, her hand ghosting over your stomach. she’s watching him now, curious.

“you gonna let me take her for a second?” she asks, light and teasing.

hamzah doesn’t answer right away. his jaw ticks. his fingers slip out of you and he sits back slightly, but he keeps one hand on your thigh, thumb brushing in slow circles.

“go ahead,” he says begrudgingly.

she gives him a little smile like she’s not offended, just amused. like she knows exactly what’s happening and doesn’t take it personally.

you let her roll you onto your stomach, your hips lifted slightly. her fingers explore between your legs again, gentle and slick, while her mouth trails down your back. you gasp, biting your lip, and glance over your shoulder.

hamzah’s watching again, but differently now. not passive. not entertained. there’s a flicker of something darker in his eyes.

his hand wraps around your jaw, not rough, just firm. he tilts your head toward him and kisses you like he needs it, like it hurts not to.

his other hand slides down your back, then rests on top of the girl’s, guiding it a little lower.

the message is clear. her hand is the one that moves.

his is the one that stays.

after a moment, she leans back and sits on her heels while hamzah shoves his boxers down.

“you two are kind of..” she laughs, brushing her hair behind her ear, “a lot.”

you don’t have the breath to respond.

hamzah doesn’t bother replying. he just eases you back onto your side and pulls you into his lap, your legs around his waist.

his cock is pressed against your thigh, already slick, and when he pushes into you, it’s slow and careful like he’s savoring every second. you exhale sharply, forehead pressed to his.

she watches you both, smiling a little. not hurt. not bothered. just quietly pulling her dress back down, already knowing her job is done.

“think i’ll grab some water,” she says softly, and you just barely nod in response.

when the door clicks shut behind her, something shifts in hamzah.

suddenly his hands are gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, and his mouth is at your neck, biting down just enough to make your whole body jolt.

you gasp, grabbing his shoulders. “hamzah-”

“shh.”

it’s barely a sound, but it shuts you up instantly.

he pulls out of you and flips you onto your back in one smooth motion, pushing your knees up to your chest, spreading you open. he just stares for a second, reclaiming every inch of you that was touched by someone else.

then he spits - warm and messy right onto your pussy, and pushes back in without warning.

you choke on a moan. “fuck, hamzah-”

“quiet.” his voice is low. steady. dangerously calm.

he fucks into you slow but deep, dragging all the way out before pushing back in like he wants you to feel every inch.

“she can’t fuck you like this,” he says, more to himself than to you. “not like i can.”

you shake your head fast, but he’s not even looking for an answer. his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you in place, fucking you through it without letting you move.

you’re moaning now - helpless, messy, trying to breathe but it’s not working. every thrust makes your eyes roll back.

your hands claw at his arms, nails sinking in. “please, please, hamzah - m’gonna..”

he leans in, lips brushing your ear. “you don’t get to cum yet.”

you sob out a sound - not quite a no, not quite a yes - but he hears it anyway and smiles.

“not until i’m done with you.”

his hand slides down to your throat, not squeezing, just holding you still. his other hand grips your waist, guiding you onto his cock harder now, faster, and the sound of skin against skin is filthy in the quiet room. he’s breathing heavy, but not losing pace. not letting up.

“so fucking pretty,” he mutters, lips ghosting down your jaw. “i let her touch you, let her taste you-”

his thrusts get sharper, rougher. your legs are trembling.

“fuck,” he breathes out. “she doesn’t get to make you cum, though.”

you whimper, mouth falling open, and he cuts you off with a kiss - all tongue and teeth, biting at your lip like he’s still mad about something he won’t say.

your orgasm is right there, clawing up your spine, begging.

he sees it. feels it.

and pulls out.

“mm-mm,” he hums simply, shaking his head.

you whine. “hamzah, please-”

“not yet, okay?”

he flips you again, face down now, ass up, and slides back in with a groan so low it vibrates in your chest. his hand wraps around your hair, pulling gently, just to keep you where he wants you. he fucks you deeper like this - angle brutal, pace relentless.

he leans down over you, chest to your back, lips to your ear.

“y’wanna be done?”

you nod frantically, tears wetting your lashes.

he groans like he’s breaking. “fuck.”

his hand slides between your legs, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight little circles while he stays buried inside you.

“now,” he says roughly. “go ahead.”

it all hits like a wave, body arching, cunt clenching hard around him, everything pulsing. you cry out something incoherent and he fucks you through it, watching your body shake under him.

he doesn’t stop until he’s finished too, coming with a grunt and a stuttering thrust, filling you deep.

his lips brush your shoulder. he keeps his hand on your back, his breath in your hair, whispering, “i’m never bringing another girl in our fucking bed ever again.”

you just whimper weakly in response. your chest is pressed to the sheets, your thighs sticky and trembling. you can feel him still inside you, softening slowly, his hand dragging lazily over your lower back, soothing you.

your cheek is turned to the side, lips parted, every breath shallow. the room smells like sweat and sex, thick and warm. you can hear the slow whirr of the fan overhead, but it might as well be miles away.

he pulls out without warning and you let out a sound that’s half a gasp, half a whine, at the feeling of everything dripping down your thighs. you expect him to leave it. maybe grab a towel. maybe just kiss your back and collapse beside you.

but he doesn’t.

he moves down your body, both hands spreading you gently, thumbs digging into the softness of your hips. you flinch at the exposure, at how raw you feel, but he squeezes your flesh gently to try and calm you a bit.

and then his mouth is between your legs.

you cry out in shock. your fingers clutch the sheets, and you try to lift your hips to escape, but he holds you down.

“hamzah!” you gasp.

“stay still.”

his voice is hoarse, lips already wet, and you feel his tongue slide through the mess between your thighs - hot and slow and obscene, licking himself out of you.

you moan, eyes wide, mouth open, brain scrambling to make sense of the way his mouth is suddenly devouring you.

“too much,” you breathe. “i can’t-”

he simply ignores you, cutting you off by flattening his tongue against your clit and sucking. your body jerks forward. your elbows buckle. it’s not gentle or sweet.

his hands slide under your thighs and pull them wider, angling you open, giving himself better access. you try to crawl away but he just follows, tongue fucking into you, nosing up against your clit again, over and over.

you’re moaning like something broken now. drooling into the sheets. sobbing a little.

“fuck, fuck - please..”

you’re not even sure what you’re asking for. mercy, maybe. more, maybe. something. anything.

you cum again with no warning, no buildup, just a violent crash - hips grinding down into his mouth like your body’s moving without your permission. he groans into your cunt, sucking harder as you shake.

and he doesn’t stop.

he keeps licking, keeps dragging his tongue through every messy pulse of you like it’s all he’s ever wanted. you try to squirm away again and he pulls you back, lifts your hips into the air, burying his face even deeper.

your legs give out. “hamzah, i’m - i can’t-”

he quickly flips you onto your back and climbs up over you, face glistening, eyes dark and hungry. he kisses you deep, making you taste everything on his tongue.

you blink up at him, dazed. tears still caught on your lashes. he leans his forehead against yours, breath hot on your mouth.

“look at you,” he whispers. “fuck.”

you try to speak, but no words come.

“please don’t make me share,” he whispers, breathless, “ever again.”

xoxo giulia

taglist: @gulicore @slushedup @arroganceisherfavoritecolor @layzerzlovesu46 @babysitter19 @marixoa @starjely @viennawaiits @h-yalexaaaa @freakzah444 @anginluv @gabwilliams @sturniyolo @screamertannie @brlwla @yourstrulykiya @angelegss @hamzaholic @isathefantastic @divinesturn @forestlv4r @mayapuma20 @ottakugirl @hamzahsbestone @pulcen @rustnroll @venus-planetof-love @hamzahsn1gf @rock678 @wandas-lovey @guiltyfemcel @axetheboyboss @harrys0nlyange1 @ttlynotme @yassqueen1303 @animalcrossingshameless @opiumfidgetspinner @pictureperfectblue @slushingmynoob @vampzah @ilovezah @wh1speringstarr

[rafayelsbelovedbride]

Does Rafayel really have to choose MC over Lemuria?

Of course, it looks like in a world where Lemuria is revived, MC cannot be there with him; and similarly, in a world where MC is by Rafayel’s side, Lemurians are forced to live on land, subject to all kinds of abuse out of human greed.

But I don’t think Rafayel even considers MC and Lemuria as separate sides. He did try to do that but in the end, I think, he doesn't want to choose one over the other. The thing is, even without the bond he shares with MC, Rafayel truly cares about all of his followers including MC (even the cat that he took care of for a short while).

If we look at how he acts with people around him, it is so easy to see that he is a very caring god. He attends Talia’s wedding to give his blessings. He prepares a gift for her, he designs her a necklace that would match her wedding dress. Through all the bickering, he sees that Thomas looks up to him and he lets him be by his side. He makes Thomas his manager and invites him to the new year’s celebrations.

He helps others hold the Seamoon ceremony for the deceased, and if that is not possible, he brings the flowers for his follower to the funeral of the man who harmed her.

He cares about the children enough to held special workshops for them, and donates art supplies. He cares about the students he gave lectures to in Linkon University when he was just there to keep an eye on MC. He gives them honest feedback, he lets them criticize his works and he remembers them by their names.

And even when he realizes that one of his students was working with Ever dissecting Lemurian hearts, even when he gets angry at the sudden reveal, Rafayel gives the student a chance to explain himself and lets him go, trusting that the student will maybe find the right path in the future.

Honestly, I think, you have to be a special kind of evil to attract Rafayel’s wrath. Because no matter how hasty he may come of time to time, he is a very patient and understanding person. That’s why he still respects the elder Lemurians even if he keeps running away. That’s why he is still with Amund, listening to his advice even when he obviously doesn’t really like him that much.

No matter how much he tries to appear as a cold person, people around him are always aware that they are in the embrace of his warmth.

And, I really don't think he values one over the other or even makes the MC vs Lemuria comparison at all. The thing is I don’t even think Rafayel’s conflict is directly related to his love for MC. Because, even before MC became his follower and he gave her his heart, Rafayel considered Lemuria’s flame as a poor imitation of the sun, a fire that is not hot but just merely warm. And, he did not like the weak warmth emanated from a flame placed in the middle of a cold and dark room. He wanted to break through the surface and bask in the sun’s glow. Maybe, he had doubts about how the Lemuria worked, how the ceremony was held from the very beginning.

And I think that’s also related to why the Sea God ceremony appeared to “fail”. That disastrous ceremony happened the exact way it was told in the prophecy, stating the fire would go out only to be reignited by him. He still left that ceremony with a newborn flame in his hands. A flame that shook the foundations of Lemuria. And I think the flame Rafayel was supposed to have and the flame he actually has after that ceremony is as different as the fire in the temple and the sun.

I kind of think there were two souls in the beginning. One was supposed to take the heart of the other, and make the heart itself the faith that ignites the flame. And the other was supposed to mix into the sea and disappear, only to come back again and reclaim the heart. And continue this never-ending cycle. This heart, taken by force in such a violent way, could only provide a lukewarm flame that cannot be compared to the power of the sun.

Past Lemuria existed as these two souls stole their warmth away from each other to keep this place, in the bottom of a fissure in the deep sea, warm. The past Lemuria existed through the torturous cycle that had to be upheld by Rafayel and MC.

And, maybe that’s why Rafayel considers his attraction to MC as an addictive painful feeling. Maybe that’s why he’s willing to burn by his love for her. And maybe that’s why it is really important that we see Rafayel leaving these feelings behind and embracing love as an inspiration rather than pain. He's ready to break the cycle now and bring Lemuria the sun, instead of a small flame.

I think what happened during the ceremony was MC showed Rafayel a way out of this cycle by giving him her purest faith without Rafayel taking her heart. Although, they still failed in the end. And ended up continuing this cycle for many more years.

So, maybe the good ending for this story is a good ending for both MC and Rafayel, and Lemuria. A good ending where the Lemuria thrives under its new sun’s glow, and a good ending where MC and Rafayel are always by each other’s sides like two koi fish swimming in a pond.

A good ending where Rafayel doesn't have to choose a side and keeps all his followers safe as the caring god he is.

[bunnwich]

Devourer👑(Scar!Leona x Yuu) 02

Leona got everything he wanted, except for one thing. After 7 long years of being king, Yuu comes back into his life. As Yuu finds themselves in his nightmare, will they be able to "find " Leona and wake him? Or will they both be devoured?

Characters: Leona Kingscholar x Yuu!Reader (GN. No physical description for Yuu. They/Them pronouns. Yuu majored in alchemy and graduated as a Doctor of Botany)

Words: 7k, 3rd person Notes: A darker AU based on Leona’s Chapter 7 Dream. Parts: Part 1, Part 2

CW: None

Tagging: I will be tagging in comments! Let me know if you wanna be added!

-- The scent of leather and cologne filled the stretch of silence between them. 

Yuu almost keeled over when the King himself volunteered to escort them to the Tree of Life. Apparently, only the royals were allowed there, and now they supposed he was the only one left. Once a common cultural touchstone and protected nature reserve, what remained had been boarded up from the common people years ago. 

Yuu smoothed down the hem of their travel coat, pretending to review all the annotated field notes in their lap. Harvest yields in the semi-arid zones, and things like that: scrawled in their scratchy, uneven handwriting. All of it seemed infinitely less important under Leona's gaze from beside them. 

He wasn’t even trying to hide it. 

They shifted, the hum of the royal limo rolling beneath them. "So…I- um... I’ve marked three regions near the border where the native flora’s struggling. If we don’t intervene soon, it could trigger soil collapse by the peak of the drought season." Their words came out fast, too rehearsed. “M-my goal today is to gain insight from the soil in the reserve and assess why that flora seems to be still thriving there despite well-.”

Leona didn’t answer right away. He never did. He liked to listen. Wait. Let the words stagnate in the air until Yuu started babbling once again.

They glanced up from their work journal, they shouldn’t have. His sharp green eyes were on them, unreadable, heavy, and framed in their usual dark shadows. He always noticed more than they wanted him to.

They used one hand to rub the back of their neck under the collar of their coat. "We could…start collecting samples at the southern ridge, near the landmark itself, if you like." Yuu added quickly, tapping the corner of the notebook. "There’s a species of Helichrysum there I haven’t catalogued. It might help replenish the-"

"Mm." Just a sound, from taut lips. A small one at that. But it landed like a heavy boulder.

They straightened, tucking a piece of hair behind their ear under his gaze. His dark mane was brushed back as usual, besides a few strands that the wind had tugged loose. 

He was the king, they reminded themself. And you’re here to be his environmental adviser. A doctor of botany. Not for...anything else.

But then he leaned over, the bright wooden beads dripping from his beige, low-cut tunic, fanning across his chest. It was much more casual attire than his usual sharp, black dashiki. He said they should ‘blend in’ after all. “Doctor.” Ever so slightly, he rested his chin on his hand, "You’ve got a bit of dirt in your hair…" 

Yuu let out a strangled breath and felt the sun beating harder on their face through the car window. They slid as close as they could towards the car door, creating some much-needed space to check their reflection. “Oh.”

Damn him, he was right. They looked down sharply, eyes fixed on a scribbled note in the corner of the page. He had said it like a joke, not unkind.

Though after their last interaction, they had no idea how to receive him or his attempts at ‘teasing them’ going forward. Fear, fear was easy, a thorny thing in their guts that made it hard to breathe. But, now…taking harbor in their insides lurked something else. Something more dangerous.

“Yes, I was…harvesting some cuttings from-” They muttered, attempting to reclaim some dignity, reaching up to ruffle their hair, a pang of annoyance that he was probably not taking what they were saying seriously.

A soft chuckle rumbled from his side of the backseat, low and infuriatingly unbothered. Was the King really in such a nonchalant mood today?

They didn’t trust it. Nope, not anymore. Leona had always been one for games, sure, but they had no idea of the scope of the game afoot now. A week and he had acted as if that intimate moment in the throne room never happened; a strange dream or maybe…a shared delusion. Either way, it disturbed them.

Back at Night Raven College, Leona he'd always been more interested in bothering them in class than lectures, lounging in the back of the room like he’d seen and heard it all before. Always…prodding them outside their comfort zone so he could get a read on their truths. Getting them to let their guard down, he was good at that.

Now there he was, a King, still lounging, still watching, his gaze still infuriatingly proding. But, something had changed in the way he looked at them. Like he remembered more than they did. Or maybe he just remembered it better.

They clutched the notebook tighter as a beat of silence passed, ears burning. "Well…did I get it?" Their mouth formed a little line of annoyance he wouldn't miss.

"Almost," he said, reaching over, and before they knew it, Yuu could feel those claws on their scalp. His fingertips never actually touched their skin, but they froze anyway as he bent over them.

One of his long nails traced the top of their temple as he leaned away. "There. Good now, Doctor." Leona let his hand drop back down into his knee. 

He was toying with them.

Yuu’s gaze shifted down, ignoring the tingling that went from their scalp down into their spine as they slammed their journal closed.  “Thanks.”

Outside, desert scrub blurred past the tinted windows, dry and sun-bleached. How Yuu longed to be out there already, knee-deep in thistle, where the king’s intrusive gaze couldn’t reach them.

But the limo kept rolling. And the king was still mere feet away. And Yuu’s heart, the traitorous thing…kept forgetting exactly who he was.

His plan was working, his silent insistence made them want to speak to fill the quiet. To reveal themselves. “So, have you…visited the Tree of Life recently…Your Highness? I heard the land used to be the most fertile of all,” Yuu asked. It was something to keep their mind on the mission and not on him. The question came out casual, but something in their gut already knew the answer. 

Leona’s face turned solemn. He stared out the window, his voice low and even. “No… I haven’t.” A pause as his eyes remained fixed on the passing scenery. “I’ve been occupied with other… matters.”

That word ‘matters’ dripped with something bitter. Yuu caught it immediately, like he resented having to explain himself at all.

Yuu's brow arched slightly, but they bit their tongue. The rumors had whispered truths they couldn’t ignore: too much new construction, over-farmed soil, dwindling crops, famine creeping in at the edges of the kingdom. And he was doing…what, exactly?

“I wonder respectfully, Your Highness... what matters may have come about before such a thing?” They asked, tone neutral, as if they hadn’t just tiptoed across a landmine. Yuu was careful to bury their disdain beneath a mask of curiosity.

Leona’s eyebrows furrowed. Slowly, he turned to look at them, the whites of his eyes stark against the black kohl in his waterline. It was a warning. “Watch yourself, Doctor,” he said, voice low, the danger in it unmistakable. 

Why did they push their luck with him, knowing what could happen? 

Surely, his interest in them…it was superficial. They didn’t know why they expected any special treatment from the King after one little incident or even a shared past. If anything, they were just an object of brief comfort to him, like an old stuffed animal on a shelf. Did he actually want their help to fix the kingdom, or their…attention?

Yuu’s stomach turned cold. They swallowed the lump forming in their throat and dropped their eyes, “I meant no disrespect. But… you hired me to help, My King. I just want to learn as much as I can about the problems this kingdom faces. I…apologize.” Their voice softened, gaze turning toward the window, pulse hammering in their chest. 

For a moment, he studied them from the edge of his gaze, reading their displeased reaction. Then finally, “Mmm...Apology accepted. But don’t forget your place here, Doctor. You’re here to help me fix this mess, not question my decisions.”

Not like they used to. 

Yuu’s chest ached. His words were cold, a slap in the face. They nodded, forcing composure. “Of course... sir.” The honorific left a bitter taste in their mouth.

Holding their journal close to their chest, their fingers pressed tighter on the spine than they needed to be. They shouldn’t let it get to them. But it did. That brief time on the throne beside him when he whispered to them like they mattered, it had fooled them and dared to think the old Leona still lived…beneath the crown.

Stupid.

The air in the car suddenly felt too thick. With a huff, they reached for the window button and rolled it down, letting in a gust of sharp, hot wind.

Leona’s eyes flicked to theirs. “What are you doing?” His voice came out rougher than before.

Yuu let out a huff. “Surveying the local fauna, Your Highness.” The title rolled off their tongue with the smallest edge of facetiousness. Keeping their eyes trained on the barren fields, empty houses blurred past: newly built, but lifeless, the walls tagged with graffiti.

Long Live the King.

The sarcasm in the paint was unmistakable.

Leona followed their gaze, then scowled. “That again…” he muttered, tension rippling through him. “And…Don’t bother. As for the fauna, it's long gone in this area,” he said flatly, reaching over their lap quickly to roll the window up. “We’ll have to go deeper into the countryside to collect samples.”

The window buzzed in their ear as the man's arms stretched over their lap. Yuu nodded but held their breath; a sour feeling building in their gut. Their fingers drifted to their neck, instinctively as if to protect it from him. The spot where he’d drifted his lips across only a few days ago. 

They had wanted to know why, but maybe they shouldn’t have. “Yes…” Yuu murmured, their voice barely filling the silence between them.

Leona noticed as he retreated to his corner, eyes lingering on their fingers at their neck. Of course. 

He didn’t say anything, but something shifted behind his expression. Then, like always, the mask dropped back in place. “You can relax,” he muttered quickly. His voice was softer now, but they couldn’t tell if it was for their sake. “We’ll be there soon.”

Yuu let their head rest against the glass to try to do as he said. Impossible with him, less than a foot away.  “Sure. If you don’t mind...sir. I’ll just rest my eyes for a bit,” They let out a wry laugh. “I usually end up falling asleep at my desk in the greenhouse...The royal limo is a luxury compared to that.” Their voice faded, eyes closing. At least pretending to sleep would relieve them of any more conversation. Yuu curled their legs up onto the seat, trying best to let go of the tension in their limbs.

Of course, they didn’t mean to actually fall asleep. But it came so…easily. The rhythm of the car, the low hum of the engine, the warmth from the sun through the window, and of course…that familiar smell.

Out of nostalgia, their lips mouthed the notes: Cinnamon, nutmeg, star anise, citrus. And in minutes, they were gone.

Yuu didn’t notice their fingers curl lightly around his arm, or that they leaned over at some point, their head resting against his shoulder, nor the way they murmured his name in their dreams.

Say my name.

Leona-

Yuu stirred awake with a faint hum as the car slowed, their cheek brushing against something firm and warm. Their brows knit. It wasn’t the window. And the steady rise and fall beneath their ear wasn’t just the bumps in the road. 

Yuu could feel him breathing near their ear, exhales warming their neck, long silk-pressed hair draped over their shoulder.  For a moment, he was there…behind their lids: the man they knew, early twenties, with an easy, lop-sided grin that always infuriated them.

They didn’t wanna open their eyes to see him. The King. Stoic, prematurely greying, gaze a thousand miles away, with frown lines to match.

Yuu swallowed, finally letting their eyes flutter open, just slightly, enough to see their arm looped with his.

Oh shit.

A sharp jolt of panic raced down their spine as the fantasy faded away. Yuu froze, willing themselves not to react too suddenly. If they moved too fast, it would draw attention. But if they lingered, they’d have to live with the knowledge that they’d let their guard drop that much. That they had sought him out, even unconsciously.

Instead, Yuu tilted their head just enough to glance up at him.

Leona’s eyes were closed, his jaw slack with something approaching peace. He hadn’t shoved them off, or said another word. And…damn, he looked tired.

They hated the way their chest ached at the sight. Hated how easily their body betrayed them with warmth. How stupidly soft they’ve become in the moment.

Finally, Yuu pulled away, slow and careful, trying not to wake him if he was asleep. They flattened their hair, sat up, and stared out the window again. Their jaw tightened. What the hell was wrong with them?

A few moments passed before Leona stirred. Whether he’d been asleep or simply letting them rest, they’d probably never know.

"You really haven't changed, have you? Still falling asleep in the most inconvenient places." His voice was rough, with sleep or maybe…something else. The familiarity in his tone stung.

You’re one to talk. Is what they wanted to say.

Yuu nodded without looking at him. “Yeah, thanks. I didn’t mean to doze off like that…sir.” They straightened their coat, heat blooming in their cheeks. When their hand met their face, their heart was still racing. His smell had seeped into their cheek, the seam of his tunic creating a temporary crease on their skin.

He didn’t press. Didn’t mock. Just let the silence settle as they collected themselves.

Yuu’s hands dropped to their lap. They couldn’t afford to be stupid and careless like that again. That close. Not with him. The last thing they wanted was to encourage what happened before or have a repeat of it. But a part of them…some stubborn, stupid, still bleeding part…had wanted to dream of the past for just a little longer.

And that scared them more than anything. 

Meanwhile, the king’s expression stayed hidden, and his attention suddenly seemed focused on whatever scenery rushed past the window, craning his head strategically away from them. The only indication of his emotions was his clawed fingers, twitching restlessly on the leather seat between them. 

Yuu swallowed down the dryness of sleep still caught in their throat. “And, uh…thank you for... not waking me. I must’ve…needed that,” they said, voice lighter than they felt, tagging on a forced laugh at the end.

A chuff, almost a laugh. “Yeah, you were drooling on me, ya know.” A smirk appeared at last to match his tone, slow and crooked on his lips.

 “S-sorry, sir.” They huffed, trying to play it off, stretching their arms up over their head. “Not very professional of me, huh?” A smile tugged helplessly at their lips.

“Not very professional at all, Doctor,” They could hear his smirk.

Was that actually a joke? 

“Drooling all over the king’s shoulder. Hmph, what would the council think if they knew you had such sloppy sleeping habits, hm?”

Yuu snorted, leaning into the teasing, despite the prickling of their cheeks. “Aaa, exile, I expect? Or maybe…they won’t invite me to any more of those…parties. That’s fine. I’m sure the council doesn’t think much of me anyway.”

Leona chuckled, low and rough. His gaze lingered on them for a second too long, like he was seeing something that was not in the present.

“Well…it’s a good thing for you I hired you, isn’t it? Tch, and the council-” He shrugged. “It’s true they couldn’t care less about you. To them, I’m afraid you’re just an outsider, like me.”

That caught Yuu off guard. They turned their head, studying him with a quiet curiosity. “You really feel that way?” they asked softly. “I mean... You grew up there, in the palace, didn’t you?” Their mouth went off without them again, almost as if this was just normal conversation.

He shrugged, slower this time. His face closed off, solemn.

"Yeah...yeah, I did," he replied gruffly. “But remember, I was the second-born, the spare. Born with a magic that could level the palace. My life was never my own. Besides, my brother was always the one destined for greatness, not me." There was no venom in his voice, just that worn-down bitterness, like a stone that had been smoothed by years of erosion.

Yuu tilted their head, watching him carefully. It was just like before, a glimmer of pain, seeping from the cracks of a mask, “But...you…you’re the King now,” They said.

Leona scoffed, the sound sharp. “Right, of course. I’m the king now.” He leaned back against the seat, exhaling a breath that seemed to carry all the weight of their years apart. “Even now, there are still whispers behind my back. Questioning my competency. Calling me a monster. Nothing’s changed, really,” He squinted. “I'm not supposed to be here. To the kingdom, I'm just a usurper, sitting on a throne that never belonged to me.”

Yuu hesitated, biting their lip before glancing at him once more. His voice was raw just as it was before. They wanted to help, but what could they say that could actually help him navigate any of this? Instead, their words came out like a sloppy bandage. “But- even if it’s not exactly as you expected, there’s still so much potential... Le-” They caught themselves. “er-Your Highness.”

From the corner of their eye, they saw him watching them, a flicker of something softer in his eyes, amusement maybe.

“Potential, huh? That’s naive,” he echoed, voice wrapped in nostalgia. “...You sound like he did.” It was a softer response than they expected. Yuu was sure that few dared even bring up the subject of the past to the King. 

Their heart slowed, and it instilled them with false confidence to keep running their damn mouth. “Even if it wasn’t destined to be yours, it is now. You…have the power to mold it into whatever you desire.”

Too much.

Leona laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You make it sound so painfully simple, Doctor," he muttered, his voice laced with a hint of frustration. "As if it's so easy to change everything. I’ve tried…I don't have the vision that Farena had, the drive to make this kingdom better. Sometimes…I'm not sure that I even care. Power? Sure, I’ve got that. But it all comes with a price. Political games. Backstabbin’. Assassination threats-” He shook his head and looked out the window again.

Yuu frowned, the frustration tugging at Leona’s words made their next thought slip out before they could stop it. “Well... then why are you still here then? Why not leave it to another? Let the council figure it out. Elect a-”

“What?” His laugh this time was dark and sharp, like a blade drawn. “Ha. Just leave? This is my home. My kingdom. My birthright.” His eyes flashed, wild and cornered. “The council would never let me go. I’m not Farena, the perfect heir. I’m the wild card. The dark horse. They’d never allow me to walk away…unscathed.” There was a pause. Then, more quietly, he muttered, “Besides... even if I could leave, where would I even go?”

Yuu winced. “That’s…fair.” They shook their head, eyes stinging from the sharpness in his tone. “Maybe it was…childish of me to suggest. But... if you can’t leave, and you don’t care, then…?” Their grip tightened on the bottom of the seat. “I guess…I don’t understand, sir.”

Leona scoffed again, the noise hard and hollow. “You don’t understand... of course you don’t.”

He ran a hand through his hair, and Yuu watched him, heart sinking with the sight of him unraveling just enough to reveal what he kept hidden beneath the surface.

“You think it’s easy to care when everything you ever cared about is gone,” he said, each word raw. “When you have nothing left to fight for. When everything you ever…loved has been taken from you.” His voice rose slightly, shaking. “How could you possibly understand what it’s like to be trapped like this? To have your life decided for you. To be living in your own casket?”

Nothing left? 

Yuu swallowed hard at that word in particular. Nothing. They didn’t look away, feeling their own emotions bubble up. Anger even.

“Maybe you’re right...but-” Their voice was quiet, throat tight. “It’s true, I’ve never been through exactly what you have. I can’t imagine how it must be if...I lost what you’ve lost.” They exhaled, slow and steady. “But I’ve lost. I don’t have a home. No family. I know what it means to feel alone.” They bowed their head slightly, slipping their composure back into place like a mask. “I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone- I apologize again...I just wish I knew what to say to help…Your Highness.” They gritted out the title, blinking away any tears that threatened to swell up.

It had been a horrible move. This wasn’t the Leona that Yuu once knew. That ‘Leona’ was gone…as much a relic of the past as he saw them to be. What sat next to them now was the King of Beasts: a husk with memories that they happened to share of better times.

For what seemed like forever, there was only silence. When they glanced back up, Leona was watching them as expected.

“Hear me when I say this. I told you before: there’s nothing anyone can say or do to help me,” he muttered, voice rough, almost defeated. “This…this is my destiny,” his eyes turned from Yuu to the Savanna. “There’s no getting out of this alive for me. That’s all there is to it.”

He was right, he had warned them that day on the throne. They were powerless to help him. “Yes, my King.” --

The limo pulled off the main road with a gentle crunch of gravel, tires rolling to a stop at the edge of a sun-baked ridge. Up ahead lay the Tree of Life itself, providing shade from the shimmering heat waves, its great branches swaying in the wind. Yuu opened their door first, tossing their bag over their head. They stepped out quickly, grateful, for once, for the dry heat that greeted them. It was tangible, real, and a much-needed distraction.

Wind tugged at the loose pieces of their hair as they scanned the dusty landscape. As they were told, the southern ridge was blooming, dotted with flecks of stubborn green blooms. They dropped to one knee, already unzipping their field kit bag, their heart steadying with the rhythm of a ritual they had done thousands of times before.

Behind them, they could feel Leona watching. Of course, he was.

His sandals crunched the gravel behind them, measured and unhurried.

“This area hasn’t seen sustained rainfall in eight months,” They started. “But the helichrysum stoechas here are thriving, somehow. If it’s evolved a drought-resilient trait, it could be useful for-”

Yuu caught themselves rambling, and shut their mouth before they could say something foolish like: Would you stop standing so close?

Leona crouched beside them, surprisingly quiet for someone so used to being announced when he entered a room. “You speak of it like it’s a damn miracle,” he said, brushing a clawed finger just over a cluster of yellow blooms, gently spreading the petals with his knuckles.

Their eyes flicked to him. “In a way, it is”

He looked up at them, and for a moment, the wind stilled. Something in his face softened like some old, half-forgotten memory had passed behind his eyes. “You…always got like this around the gardens. Like the world could be narrowed down to the size of a single stem.”

Yuu frowned to hide their slight amusement. “I didn’t realize you remembered anything from school.”

“I remember everything, Doctor,” he said, voice low. As his head tilted, the curled locks of dark hair whipped around his furrowed brow. 

They were a bit taken aback. “Well…I’m afraid most of us don’t share your talent, Your Highness. It…must be nice.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t ya, Doctor?” He made a small click with his tongue, the edge of his mouth flicking up.

Before Yuu could answer, their datapad in their pocket chimed, a notification from the soil sensor. Fishing it from their pocket gratefully, they retreated back into the safety of their task. Numbers. Ratios. Things that didn’t look at them like that.

“Hmm, I’ll need to collect some root samples. The acidity levels here are off the charts. It’s strange…Seems something’s affecting the soil from underneath.” Yuu stood, brushing their knees off. “I’ll have to dig deeper.”

Leona rose too beside them, his gaze steady. “Then I’ll stay.”

“You…don’t have to, s-sir.” They said a little too quickly, maybe seeming a bit too eager to get rid of him.

“Oh, I know.” He chewed his lip as he spoke, quirking a brow at them.

Of course.

Resisting the urge to roll their eyes, they chose to grit their teeth instead. Yuu knelt again, turning their device scanner, eyes narrowing at the sudden spike in the moisture index. “That’s not right,” They muttered, head tilted at the screen.

Leona hovered beside them, quiet but present, letting them take the lead.

“It’s saying: there’s…water deeper down,” They said. “But the surface here is bone-dry. Like something’s… blocking it.”

“Hmm,” He crouched beside them once more, brows slightly furrowed as he scanned the readout. “Need  me to open the ground?” He didn’t move. Just waited for their instruction, patiently. But, they could feel his strong magic already building. After being the only person without it back then, it was something that became quite familiar to Yuu. They could sense it, coiled beneath the skin of others like a second heartbeat.

With Leona, it was like static, smooth, and gritty at the same time. The type of power that made you stop breathing for a second. It was the same earth magic they’d seen him use many times: splitting entire sports fields or…reducing a man to dust in seconds.

They swallowed. “Yes, uh-I need a trench around these bushes. About two feet deep.”

Leona nodded. Then, with a soft grumble and sweep of his hand, the ground cracked and parted. The loose dirt shifted effortlessly like silk being pulled away from skin. It danced to his will, calculated and precise, like the man controlling it. Nothing like the chaos they remembered from his overblot all those years ago, when that same talent had been a brutal storm. 

Yuu couldn’t help it, their hands froze over their scanner, eyes fixed not on the newly made trench, but on him as they stepped back from the crack in the ground.

He noticed. “You’re afraid of me,” he said, not accusing. Not even surprised.

“Just being cautious, My King.” They replied, fast, a bit too fast. 

He stood slowly, clapping his palms of sand even though they were spotless. “Same thing.”

“N-no.” They straightened, gripping their datapad with white-knuckles. “It’s…not.”

Leona looked at them, and for once, his gaze wasn’t severe; it was tired. Heavy in a way that almost made their chest ache. He sighed. “There ya go…Doctor.” He said, putting an uncomfortable emphasis on their title. Tucking his hands behind his back as he stepped away, he plastered on the most unconvincing smile Yuu had ever seen.

“Thank you…Your Highness.” They mumbled, echoing his cadence before kneeling back near the new trench. Meanwhile, the sensors continued buzzing in their hands. “Strange, the deeper layers are reacting to something… It’s shifting something upward. Like the soil’s been…disturbed recently.” They dug, a bit of dirt collecting under their nails.

The pad beeped again, it was sharper this time. Yuu leaned forward, brushing away the topmost grains of sand with a few fingers. Beneath the dirt, something caught the light, faint, reflective. “Your Highness,” they called, “There’s something here-.”

“I know.” He grumbled. “I can smell it.” He moved beside them again, silent as a shadow. In an instant, he was kneeling beside them, hovering his hands over theirs. 

They swallowed. Yuu could feel it, the way his magic caressed their palm, tugging subtly at the edges of the sand beneath their fingers, and making the hair on their arms stand on end. He was making it easier for them, softening the dirt for them to sift through faster.

What emerged wasn’t just rock.

“Is that?”

He tsked. “A magestone.”

“There’s…a lot.” They gasped.

Magestones were not their specialty, but they’d lived in this world long enough to know they were rare. Too rare. And loose? They’d never heard of them being mined in the Sunset Savanna. A gem known for holding and focusing magical energy… Yuu craned their head to look at him. “I didn’t know magestones were mined in this area of the world.”

Leona didn’t answer immediately. He pressed his palm to the earth near the cluster as if he could feel the pull. “Dammit.” The sand around Yuu’s fingers trembled briefly, reacting to him. “No,” he said finally. “But, someone’s buried them here.”

Their breath caught, mind spinning. “Why?”

Leona rose, brushing sand from his knees. His eyes were sharper now, no longer just watching them, but the horizon too. “If someone’s stockpiling magestones here,” he said slowly, “They’re not interested in healing the soil.”

Then it clicked, Yuu stared down at the pile of glimmering stones, their raw crystalline edges catching the sun. And for the first time since they stepped onto the ridge, they weren’t thinking about his magic. Or how close he stood to them. This seemed bigger.

Who had the motive to bury something this valuable in the middle of a dying ecosystem…and why?

Leona turned to them. “Document everythin’. Quietly. Don’t report it to the council yet.”

Their brow furrowed. “But if this is a threat to-”

“I said not yet.” He hissed, his nostrils flaring slightly with a barely contained frustration. His voice was sharp, but not cruel. They understood his frustration was not directed at them.

Yuu nodded slowly, swallowing questions they weren’t ready to ask him yet. Was someone staging a coup? One of the rebel groups? Or someone on the council? It was clear Leona didn't trust any of them, and neither did they put much stock in their king. Especially now after his stunt with Griza.

The wind picked up again, the yellow blooms around them bent low to the ground, as if they knew something was coming.

Documenting the coordinates of the location in silence, Yuu managed to keep their hands steady despite the tremble they could feel somewhere deeper, caged inside their ribs. 

Meanwhile, Leona stood behind them like a statue, back to theirs. They glanced back to see the outline of his silhouette gilded in the morning light, unmoving. 

“I’ll log the data,” Yuu started, voice soft, almost getting lost in the wind. “Leaving out the obvious, of course-”

“Good,” Leona replied. And there was a short beat of silence. “I…trust ya.”

Yuu paused at that, letting out a breath before turning off the display of their data pad. As they stared down at their reflection in the dark screen, they couldn’t help but notice how quiet his words were… so unadorned, casual. But the words made their heart flutter anyways.

I trust ya.

Yuu wondered if he knew what that meant to hear aloud, after everything. After all these years. 

Sliding the datapad into their satchel, they stood slowly, brushing their fingers clean. The trench Leona created remained open beside them, like a gaping wound in the earth. “What… happens now?”

Leona’s gaze didn’t waver. “Now? We keep it between us. For now.”

Yuu turned to face him. The sun hung low, casting gold over his cheekbones and curling in the dark strands of his hair. It should’ve softened him. It didn’t. But something else did. His expression wasn’t stoic or commanding. Just...searching. Leona usually wasn’t one to mince words but…did he really trust them? 

They swallowed under his gaze, as the reality settled upon them: they were in the middle of nowhere with a powerful man- no a King, capable of casual murder. And they were letting an old school crush cloud their vision. They should have been furious with themselves. 

“You’re…afraid I’ll report it,” They confessed, not as a question.

“No, Doctor. I’m afraid…you’ll get hurt if you do, that you don’t understand the consequences,” he replied.

That stopped their breath, just for a second. He was afraid for them?

“You think someone would try to…silence me?”

“I tend to work on absolutes, Doctor. Things I know,” he said carefully, “And I know that someone took a whole lotta’ effort to bury these stones. I know there are only a few uses for a country to stock this many unregistered magestones. Especially ones that the King of that country isn’t privy to.” He scowled. 

“We don’t know who’s behind this… However, I know, currently, I don’t hold the council's favor. And I… being the one that hired you,” His arm reached out, a single claw tracing their scalp like before in the car. “Well, that makes us… affiliated.” His eyes dropped, tracing their face. “Don’t it?”

Heat worked its way up the back of their neck, though not from the sun this time. 

Leona shot them a crooked smile, clearly amused by his effect on their expression. He dropped his hand from them, face growing stern once more. “If someone on the council is involved, I have my ways to draw them out. ‘Til then-”

Before they had time to process further, Leona stepped closer, slow, deliberate. His presence wasn’t something they could escape, not with distance, not with logic. Not anymore.

“We’re in cahoots,”  A pause. “Doctor,” 

They let out a choked sound. An hour ago, they wanted to avoid him for the sake of the past, but now it was possible they needed him, for all things…protection? They wanted to scream, stomp their feet in the dirt like a child. Curse themselves for accepting his invitation for this damn job in the first place. But, all Yuu managed was a pathetic response. “But-you…you’re in danger too.”

Leona’s dark lids dipped low over the cat-like pupils of his green irises. They were close enough to his face now to see them double in size. Had they pleased him so much? “Mmm, your concern is precious as always. But, do ya really think this is the first time the council has schemed to get ridda’ me?” 

The wind kicked up dust again, spiraling around both their sandals. Somewhere above the stillness, a few vultures cried overhead.

Yuu exhaled, at a loss, shaking their head slowly as the weight of it all pressed onto them. They could only imagine what it must have been like…to keep one eye open at all times, to constantly look over your shoulder, to have no one to truly watch your back.  “No, no, but I sincerely hope...that this is not the case, Your Highness.”

He just laughed, well, more like chuffed. --

The sun had dipped in the sky by the time they left the ridge, Leona making sure to leave the dirt packed exactly as it was before they came.

Inside the limo, the air was quieter than before, but strangely less tense. Yuu sat beside their King, satchel clutched to their chest, datapad encrypted and safely tucked away. Their eyes drifted to the window as the busy streets of an outlying city sped past.

Leona hadn’t spoken since they left the site. Neither had they. But, this silence felt less awkward and more like something…shared, the new secrets held between them. There was an understanding of survival.  Somehow, it was easier to coexist with him now, to reach his gaze. 

They opened their mouth to speak.

Until the driver stopped.

Yuu slid forward, brows knitting, nearly dropping their bag. Their stomach churned uneasily at the King’s reaction.  “W-why are we stopping?”

Leona had already straightened beside them, his brown ears flicked forward. “Something’s wrong.”

They had stopped at a bend in a dirt road, as a crowd began surrounding the car.

A blockade?

Dozens of them. Faces masked, signs raised, some glowing with enchanted script. Yuu couldn’t read them from this distance, but the tone was unmistakable. “Protesters?” They asked, already reaching for the door controls.

“No, these aren't protesters, they're...ex-guards,” Leona said grimly, a pained familiarity rushing past his gaze. 

Yuu had heard that the prior palace guard had all quit shortly after Farlena’s death, refusing to serve the new King. Rumors had ravaged the capital that he was responsible for his brother’s death, and the whole family. Yuu had never really put stock in it. Sure, he was a different man now, but murder his own family? 

Shouts rang out as heavy rocks began hitting the vehicle. There was the familiar glow of magic, then a crack in the window near their head. Yuu’s breath stopped, biting back a yelp.

They even jumped at the whirl of the limo's partition sliding down. Then the driver’s voice came through, tight with panic: “Your Highness, we’re surrounded and someone’s jammed the car's radio signal. I can’t call for backup.”

“Stay inside,” Leona ordered, already moving, his hand wrapped around the door handle. 

“Wait, Le-”

But he was already out the door.

They watched from inside. The moment his feet hit the ground, the sand answered.

A jagged wall surged up from the road in front of the limo, cutting off the nearest rebels. Not harming, yet, but enough to stagger the front line back. Enough to say: ‘Back off.’

Through the tinted glass, they saw him standing at the center of it, eyes sharp, tunic whipping around him.

When the dust rose, it was getting hard to see him in the chaos. There came an odd hush over the crowd. Then a blinding light. Someone hurled a small explosive, and judging by the flashing of prismatic colors, it was magic-laced.

It must have struck somewhere near the back wheel, because the shockwave knocked the limo sideways.

“Ah!”

Yuu’s shoulder slammed hard into the cracked window, the dust causing their eyes to water. Their satchel spilled from their lap. It all seemed to happen in a heartbeat, but they were unsure if they had lost consciousness or not. Pain had zipped up their arm as they palmed near their feet for the datapad, all the ringing in their ears was so shrill they thought they might be bleeding. As they slipped the object back in their bag, a lioness crept beside the sunroof to peer in at them. Her wide eyes softened at the sight of them, lying there. “There’s someone else in the car!” Just like that, she was gone into the cloud of dust that surrounded the car.

When the other door, now above their head, burst open, their breath caught, expecting a stranger's face.

But it was Leona. He was dust-covered too, wild-eyed, furious, but he was okay.

They didn’t have time to sigh in relief, he was already reaching inside the cab and pulling them out with both arms, “Are ya hurt?”

Yuu blinked, still dazed by the bomb, they found their hands on his shoulders as he maneuvered them around the flipped vehicle. “What n-no, I-”

Another blast went off nearby, causing them to jump into the cage of his arms. He cursed low, pressing himself against them, against the limo, his body a shield between them and the attack.

His palms were on either side of their face now, his gaze seeming to scan them for injuries. 

“I-I have the datapad I-” Yuu’s fingers gripped his shoulders as if to reassure him of their well-being, the heat of his body soaking into theirs.  “I-I’m okay. My ankle got caught under the seat, and my arm-” They grit their teeth, “...just some scratches.” They glanced down at their left arm, it had taken most of the impact when the car flipped.

“Don’t cha’ lie to me.” He breathed back, pressing himself harder against them, a section of his dark hair shifting over his shoulder. It should have hurt, but instead, they felt relieved to be at the center of his focus for once.

Maybe it was how hard they hit their head, but they actually laughed in the King’s face, his expression more resembling a worried puppy than any sort of intimidating figure. “I would be better…if my King wasn’t pressing all his weight onto me,” they said, teeth gritted.

Leona’s own laugh was brief, ragged, and almost a growl. There was a manic levity to the sound, as if the sight of them being here to scold him relieved him. He backed off of them some, his fingertips still touching the frame around them to keep them near. 

“Jus’ focus on me-.” He mused, then his sand moved again. It spiked in uniform arcs around them, curling like protective serpents, walling them both in until it was only them. Everything else fell away, and the outside was silenced besides their tandem breathing. Their heart thundered as they felt the thrum of his magic pulsing through the earth beneath their sandals, through their body from his.

He wasn’t just guarding; he was focusing only on Yuu. 

Safely encased from the chaos, the ground cracked before them, just feet from where they stood against the limo. A tunnel? Stairs and all? Smart. But, they expected nothing less of him.

“Follow, n’ lean on me, that ankle is worse than you’re actin’.” he said, so quietly Yuu barely heard it over the wind. 

All they could do was nod when the thought struck them: “Wait…Where’s the driver?” --

[jaggedamethyst]

bucky barnes and his physical media

pairing: bucky x reader, use of she and girl once or twice

content: bucky is obsessed with physical media, especially photos…but he hates being in them. you try to change that.

notes: minors dni, slight smut but it’s honestly pretty tame here, some obligatory bucky angst. i don’t believe in proofreading I fear.

word count: 1.8k

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Growing up Bucky quickly gained a fondness for cameras. He loved to capture the images of those he loved--moments in time for which he could always look back on when he missed them.

He considered himself a confident guy and took said pictures at any opportunity he was given. He figured someone would always want to look at a face that perfect, if he could say so himself.

It was different, though, when the reflected images no longer were of the young man so keen on going to war. When the moment in time was one that could only elicit one of fear. He couldn’t recognize himself these days, not after being the Winter Soldier. The man was now adamant about not having memories that preserved him as he was now. Not when he was a shell of the man he’d known years ago.

If he absolutely had to take pictures, he was even more sure it would never be on a fucking phone. Not only are they the most fickle objects imaginable, he also hated the damn cloud. He wasn’t entirely prehistoric; he understood when people said that it was a way to store things…but a cloud. He’d had one too many mishaps with technology that things randomly disappearing from the cloud was not too far fetched in his mind. If he had to preserve something special to him it would absolutely be in an album. An album was tangible, and if it came to it, he could easily grab the stack of them in a hurry.

Physical media was absolutely near and dear to him. Whenever an old show was nowhere to be found, he clung to his DVD sets like a lifeline. The same could be said of his photo albums. They quickly became a way for him to reclaim some of the power he felt was lost with his mind. But taking pictures and storing them, to him, was therapeutic.

That's how he ended up with several albums on his shelf. Some were miscellaneous, ones that had yet to be sorted. Others solely for pictures of nature that he found calming to look at.

Nothing compared to the album he had of you, though.

An inadvertent smile would always creep up on his lips when his eyes met the spine of your album. Just the sight of your name sprawled in his handwriting was enough to make him feel warm inside. Inside were photos of you, some candid, others posed. He hated pictures, but for you he would at least attempt to stomach the feeling .

He flipped through the pages as he always did, feeling sort of proud he’d managed to take such great snapshots in time..and even more that he preserved them without the damn cloud.

Bucky made note to add more to this album; it wasn’t nearly as full as he’d like. With that, he swiftly closed the album—a gust of air causing one photo to fly out of the book. He grabbed the print that lay at his feet, not thinking much of it other than it would be returned to its rightful place among the other portraits of his girl.

As he flipped the picture, a heat quickly spread across the man’s cheeks. Oh. He definitely was not expecting this.

A selfie. Yes, that’s what it’s called. He’d learned that word a while ago. Somewhere in time he also learned that while people could be “in the nude,” they’d also referred to risqué photos similarly. Yes, a nude was how he would describe this one.

The man had seen many works of art in his day. Some of which were dedicated to his friend for his accomplishments in war. Others, of objects, like how Bucky would leisurely snap a photograph of a bird sitting stoic in a tree.

None of that compared to the polaroid he’d laid eyes on right now. His thoughts reeled in his mind, observing every detail. He knew it was hard to capture yourself in frame with these print cameras—no clear indication of what was in focus. But you were skillful.

The sun cascaded over your body, highlighting your skin in a way he’d never seen. He couldn’t see your face above your lips, but they curled in a way that seemed purposeful. How he’d do anything to see your eyes reflect the light of the sun that day. He slowly placed a finger on the photo, tracing the curve of your neck…your shoulder…your fingers.

No. He mentally groaned. The curl in your lips, a smirk, made sense now. You’d covered yourself where he wanted to see most. Hands crossed over your chest but your skin remained bare, teasing him. He felt so disgusted with himself even thinking this way, wanting to see more. It’s not like he hadn’t already, but in this moment the taunting imagery drove him up a wall.

He’s not sure when exactly he’d sat down on the couch or when his pants got to be pooled at his ankles. He’s even less certain of what time it is, but your footsteps approaching his door bought him back to reality. You’re off work.

The now strained fabric of his pants irritated him. Not only did your nude leave him extremely worked up, but he didn’t even finish before you got back.

Your voice resounded from the door, “Buck! I left the key, can you open up?”

“Coming!” He froze, an audible huff leaving his nostrils at the poorly timed reply.

He placed the photo in his back pocket before stalking towards the door.

With a swift swing, the door opened to your smile on the other side. Unlike the mischievous smirk that was printed in the picture in his pocket, this one was borderline affable. He let out what could only be described a a mixture between a scoff and chuckle.

You quirked a brow, “um, what's funny?” You rounded the space left by Bucky’s shoulders, making your way towards the kitchen.

“Nothing,” Bucky replied with a hint of sarcasm, “just had a bit of a weird day.”

“Really?” You turned to start the faucet, washing your hands before looking for something to drink. “You…wanna talk about it?”

The man felt his chest continue to rise and fall at an erratic pace. As the water continued to trickle he became painfully aware of the situation in his jeans at the present. Fuck it.

He reached for his pocket, quickly whipping the film towards your back.

He tried to level his voice in an attempt at asking his next question in the most nonchalant way he could muster. “Baby…what’s this?”

You craned your head away from the faucet a bit, “huh?” Grasping a towel, you slowly turned towards the sound of Bucky’s voice. “What’s wha- oh-”

An obvious shock appeared on your face but had he not looked close enough he would have missed it. The shift to an indifferent facial expression perplexed the man--even more when you replied in a chipper tone.

“Oh! I just got this new camera the other day at the store.” You moved past him, turning the corner and heading down the hall towards the junk closet you guys kept. He followed your movement with his eyes, stuck in place with pure intrigue. The distance and scrambling left your voice low to his ear. “You wanna see it? It's so cool and it wasn't too expensive!”

He moved back towards the couch, slouching a bit. “Sure, baby.”

Bucky twisted his head at the sound of you walking, no skipping, back towards the living room. “This thing is so easy to use, Buck. I feel like a pro like you.”

“I am not a pro,” he mumbled, his hand meeting his forehead.

He felt a hand on him, brushing his hair back. The nudge forcing him to lift his head to meet your eye. You’d knelt on the floor in front of him.

“I,” you planted a kiss on his cheek, “think you are amazing at taking pictures.” A pause loomed in the air, “but I wanted to do something for you…show you can be a great subject too.”

You placed a finger on his shoulder, urging him to lay back. “You should get comfortable, Buck…because this,” you gingerly plucked the photo from his grasp “is just the first installment to an amazing collection I think we will have.”

Bucky absolutely needed to work on his recollection skills—his ability to focus too. He again found himself with his pants down and no idea of how he’d come to be that way. This time, a cool breeze swept against his chest—his shirt somehow flung across the room. He absolutely did not mind, though.

The way in which you seemed to be skilled at everything truly blew his mind. With only a hand pumping him up and down, slowly at that, he’d found himself writhing against you. Whispers fell on deaf ears, as he’d quickly become overstimulated from his lack of release before.

“I- I-,” he stumbled as he usually did with you. There was no time when you were together when he didn’t feel at a loss for words. But here, with himself dripping all over your hands, your eyes looking at him expectantly, and your gentle lips grazing against his skin—he was struggling to even say more than one syllable.

You assured him, “it's okay, I know.” Simple words, but enough to make his insides tingle.

“Fuck…please,” he uttered your name. “I can’t-“

Your soft hands grasped his face again, a silent request for his eye contact.

It was so unfair, he knew that she knew that’d be his weakness. As quickly as it started, Bucky would finally finish. A feeling of euphoria and relief rushed the man, his skin prickly and glossed over with sweat.

“This is perfect,” he lowered his head a bit to see you back on your knees, this time holding your hands up. An arched brow raised on his face once more…you could be so damn elusive sometimes. At a further look, he could see you there, one eye closed. He searched between your hands, they were making L shapes in the air.

“Actually perfection,” you said with a flourish of your fingers. You leaned back, grasping your camera from the coffee table. “Now, be good James and don’t ruin my work.”

“I don’t know what you mean-“

Your finger met his skin, softly mixing in with the wetness now drenching his lower abdomen. He felt you marking a shape into the puddle—a heart?

Before he could even register, a flash. You’d taken a photo.

“Like I said, perfection.”

You left the polaroid beside the other on the coffee table, planting a kiss on the man's lips this time.

Bucky’s smile creeped up on his face, a happiness enveloping him.

“I think we need a new album.”

[beanarie]

@bucktommywhumpweek day 4: grief. following from day 1 and days 2-3.

~

Tommy is awake. That might be the only way Buck was allowed in to see him; he was able to give consent. So Buck is grateful for multiple reasons.

He looks awful, weak and pale. But, he's awake. He blinks lazily, his brow furrowing as he registers what's in front of him.

"Why you here," he breathes.

Oh.

Buck should've known.

Buck touches the wheel of his chair. "I- I'll go, if you want. I-"

Tommy shakes his head slightly. "New cast," he says, a shade louder, pointing down. At Buck's leg.

"This?" Buck gestures at it. "Structure fire at a fitness center. Set of kettlebells tripped- tripped me up. I always hated those."

"Rude," Tommy whispers, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

"How are you feeling?" Buck asks.

"Like..." Tommy pauses to take a deeper breath. "I got T-boned."

"What a coincidence," Buck says, trying to sound light. "That's exactly what happened to you."

Tommy's smile goes from tiny to small, crinkling his crows feet. "S'good to see you." He lays his hand on the bed palm side up, and Buck gently takes it in his. "Never apologized."

And here's Buck's moment. The one he's been procrastinating over since the spring. "No, I didn't, but I am, so sor-"

Tommy tugs Buck's hand and points at himself.

"What do you have to be sorry for?"

Tommy lifts his other hand and uses two fingers to mime walking.

Buck huffs out a laugh. "That was like three relationship and federal crimes ago."

"Worst one," Tommy says, his smile gone.

"It was pretty bad." Buck runs his thumb along the back of Tommy's hand. "But I- I can't blame you for not wanting to live in the loft. I didn't even choose to stay there."

"I'd live there..." Tommy's eyes slide shut and he drags them open. "With you." Then he does it again. After the third time, he is fully out. Endeared, Buck glances at the monitor, and his blood runs cold.

Tommy's heart rate shouldn't be climbing right now.

"T-Tommy?" Buck wheels away from the bed and the nurses close in. As he exits the room, assisted by an orderly, the doctor yells for an ultrasound.

~

After Buck gets settled in the waiting area, he expects someone to reclaim the wheelchair. They're for patients, and upon his discharge, he officially stopped being one of those. Surely it's needed somewhere.

But no one says anything. Buck drifts again.

A hand squeezes his shoulder. Buck opens his eyes, realizing he hasn't seen Josh since he got Buck's phone back from the ER.

"Hey, I got you a vitamin water. Drink up. We need to get some electrolytes back in you."

Eddie, of all people. Buck takes the bottle and takes a sip.

Eddie nods approvingly. "Bobby's sick, so Maddie gave me a call."

Buck keeps his flinch internal this time. "Thanks," he says, because that's what you do. Just as Eddie did when he told Buck he's relocating with Chris and Buck said they might as well take the house back.

"Are you sure?" Eddie said, and Buck nodded instead of shrugging. Of course he wouldn't keep what has always been Eddie's house while they found some other place. (It was Eddie's kitchen where they had the fight. Somehow that made it better in Buck's mind.)

Then Eddie said, "Thanks, man."

Buck never once considered asking him for help moving. Eddie was busy, and he was probably still raw about Bobby, and that was a bad combination. Buck was not going to set him off again.

"Let's get a move on. Chris is making up the couch for you as we speak."

Suddenly Buck is in motion, but he doesn't want to be. He doesn't want any of this. "Stop," he says, engaging the brake when Eddie doesn't react quick enough. "I'm not leaving. Tommy's still in surgery."

"Buck, you stay here any longer they're gonna put you back in a room. You look like roadkill."

Why does it suddenly matter what I look like, Buck thinks. "I'm not going anywhere."

Eddie eyes him for a second, before letting his shoulders drop. "Okay. So we wait."

Right, wait. For Eddie to point out that Tommy is his ex, not his boyfriend, or check the time on his phone, or point out what else he needs to do today. Or. Or.

Buck watches Eddie pick out a pamphlet about pain management from the display and take it back to his seat.

"You can go, actually."

Eddie groans. "Come on, Buck."

"I don't need to be handled," he says. His heart is pounding in his ears.

Eddie takes in a breath that is absolutely a stifled sigh. "What are you talking about?"

"No one knows how to handle me," Buck quotes. "That's- That's fine. I'm not asking you to."

"Give me a break," Eddie says under his breath.

"If he doesn't m-make it-" Buck blinks rapidly, his chest burning. "If- If he dies in there, it wouldn't be your loss, too. You stopped being his friend before you stopped being mine. W-Why are you still here?"

It's not fair. It's not even entirely true. But it feels right in the moment, and Buck is so sick of holding back out of fear of retaliation. Go ahead, he thinks. Grab me in front of all these people. Give me a shove that tips over this wheelchair.

Leave. Stop making me think I can count on you and then yanking the rug out from under me.

Eddie is staring at him, hands loose at his sides. The pamphlet fell on the floor at some point.

"I wasn't there for you after Shannon, and I- I tried to make up for that ever since. But you. You were here. You've been here."

Buck's ankle is killing him. Josh got him meds from the pharmacy downstairs, but Buck shouldn't take pain pills on an empty stomach. There's nothing he can do that doesn't require doing something else first. He's so tired.

He shoves at his temple with the heel of his hand. The headache is back, too. "I wake up three, four, five times a night every night and I don't pick up the phone. I don't tell anyone the next day. Because how dare I make it all about me."

"I wanted you to talk to me," Eddie says. "To actually talk. But all I got were those stupid assessment questions, because you were in your head about it. I didn't want psych triage, Buck. I wanted my best friend."

"Sorry picking you up from the airport and telling you we were just glad you came wasn't enough. Sorry, I couldn't be more of a 'best friend'."

"God, Joan of Arc over here. You sure you aren't Catholic?"

"What did you do?" Buck asks.

Eddie clenches his jaw. "I tried."

"When?"

"Is anyone here for Thomas Kinard?"

[inkyquillstories]

CYOC: Stuck as my little cousin (A Body Swap Story)

This story is based on the “Family Swap Tradition” branch up to the point of the chapter “Stuck as my little cousin”. All due credits to the anonymous authors and grayman. Added my own photos and twist to the story. But if you want to read the original, you can read it here: https://www.cyoc.net/interactives/chapter_162577/branch_171502.html Branches: 

Family swap tradition

Dylan’s perspective of the family swap tradition

Dylan is now little Kenny

Dylan and Kenny's First Night

Stuck As My Little Cousin

Reading the CYOC branches are not necessary and you can jump into the story here: 

Dylan and Kenny were more than just cousins—they were bound by an unusual family tradition that made their connection even more unique. Every winter, their extended family gathered at their old cabin in the mountains, a tradition that had been passed down for generations. It wasn't just a time for reminiscing and bonding over hot cocoa by the fireplace; there was something much more profound that set their family apart. Each year, without fail, every adult in the family swapped bodies with another adult, and every child swapped with another child. It was a secret they held close, a ritual as ordinary to them as opening presents on Christmas morning. It was said to strengthen the family, to allow everyone to see life from another's perspective—literally.

Ten years ago, when Dylan had just turned eighteen, he had been poised to join the ranks of the adults for the body swap. However, because he had only barely crossed the threshold into adulthood, he had still been considered part of the children's group. That year, his eight-year-old cousin Kenny was part of the lottery as well. As fate would have it, they drew each other's names, an event that hadn't occurred in a while. The family was thrilled at the coincidence, seeing it as a rare and special bond between the two cousins. Dylan, on the other hand, had his reservations. He had always looked forward to swapping with the adults, but instead, he found himself in the body of his younger cousin.

As the swap took effect, Kenny marveled at his new height and strength, eagerly flexing his fingers and running around in Dylan’s teenage body. He found immense joy in doing things he normally couldn’t—opening jars with ease, lifting heavier objects, and even reaching the top shelves without a stool. Dylan, however, was far less enthused about his new perspective. Everything seemed too big, too overwhelming. He missed his independence, his deeper voice, and the physical confidence that came with being eighteen. Despite his discomfort, he tried to make the most of it, knowing the tradition meant it was only temporary.

As the week at the cabin came to an end, everyone gathered in the living room to swap back to their original bodies. One by one, family members reclaimed their identities, until, at last, it was time for Dylan and Kenny. But Kenny had other plans. That night, while Dylan had fallen asleep, Kenny, still in Dylan’s body, carried him to the room where his younger self usually slept. With his father’s help, he tucked Dylan into bed and declared that the swap had already been reversed. His father accepted it without question, trusting the ritual to have gone as planned. In Kenny’s mind, he had just secured himself an entirely new life.

The next morning, Dylan woke up in a panic. He was still in Kenny’s small body. Rushing out of bed, he tried to explain to Uncle Frank, his supposed father now, that something was terribly wrong. But Uncle Frank dismissed his claims with a chuckle, patting his head and telling him that he should let go of his jealousy. No one believed him. They all assumed he was just a child clinging to the experience of being older, something that had happened before with other kids in the past. Try as he might, Dylan couldn’t convince anyone that he had been cheated out of his rightful life.

For the next ten years, Dylan lived as Kenny, forced to relive childhood, go through school again, and watch his former self—now Kenny—live the life that should have been his. He struggled academically, not because he wasn’t intelligent, but because he had already learned everything before. The frustration of redoing classes he had already passed as Dylan gnawed at him. He withdrew from extracurricular activities, lacking the motivation to repeat experiences. Socially, he felt isolated, unable to connect with his peers the way he had when he was truly a child. He lived in a state of detachment, simply going through the motions until he could finally reclaim his real life. Physically, Dylan remained relatively unchanged. His frame remained lean, his voice barely deepened, and puberty didn’t bless him with the same physical advantages he had once had. 

(Dylan in Kenny’s 18-year-old body) 

It was a stark contrast to what had happened to Kenny. Kenny, living in Dylan’s body, flourished. He embraced adulthood with vigor, excelling in college and later building a promising career. He worked out religiously, sculpting a body that exuded strength and confidence. He took on responsibilities Dylan would have had, networking, dating, and becoming an entirely new person. The family never suspected a thing—they simply believed Kenny had matured well and Dylan had taken a different path.

Each winter at the cabin, Dylan watched as his true body continued to change, growing further away from him. Kenny wore it effortlessly, almost as if he had truly become Dylan. Meanwhile, Dylan felt perpetually stuck, his aspirations put on hold, his identity in limbo. For a decade, he was trapped.

(Kenny in Dylan’s 28-year-old body) 

But this year was different. Dylan’s original body was now twenty-eight, and his current one—Kenny’s—was finally eighteen. As the family gathered for their annual ritual, Dylan’s heart pounded. This was his last chance. And then, to everyone’s amazement, Dylan and Kenny drew each other’s names once again. A rare stroke of fate had given Dylan what he had wished for all these years. The swap happened in an instant, and suddenly, Dylan was back in his own body.

(Kenny back in his body)

(Kenny trying to get used to being Kenny again)

(Dylan back in his original body)

 (Dylan trying to get used to being Dylan again) 

As they sat together after the swap, Kenny looked at Dylan with an expression that was both apologetic and uncertain. "I stole your life," he admitted. "I was just a kid, but I knew what I was doing. I got used to being you, and I—" He trailed off, unable to meet Dylan’s eyes. Dylan let out a slow breath, absorbing the weight of the words. "It’s been ten years," he finally said. "And I guess… it doesn’t matter anymore. We’re back where we’re supposed to be. That’s what counts."

But then Kenny hesitated. "Actually… I wanted to ask you something," he said carefully. "Would it be okay if we swapped again at the end of the trip? I’ve been you for so long. I don’t know how to be myself anymore." Dylan blinked. He wasn’t sure how to respond. A part of him wanted to shout no, but another part of him understood. He left the question unanswered, letting it hang between them like the snowflakes drifting outside the cabin window.

Over the next few days, Dylan struggled to reacquaint himself with his original body. He felt unfamiliar in his own skin—too tall, too muscular, too hairy. His movements felt heavier, more deliberate. He had spent so many years as Kenny that being Dylan again felt alien. He caught his reflection in the mirror and barely recognized himself. Meanwhile, Kenny, back in his original body, wrestled with the same feeling in reverse. He missed the confidence of his old self, the maturity, the strength. Looking at Dylan, he felt like he was staring at a stranger inhabiting the body he had called home for ten years.

(Cousins trying to adapt)

By the end of the week, Dylan made his decision. After several deep conversations, both he and Kenny realized they had fully adapted to their switched lives. "Let’s do it," Dylan told Kenny. "You feel more like Dylan, and I feel more like Kenny. We’ve been each other for too long to go back now." The weight of the decision settled between them, but rather than hesitation, there was a shared sense of relief. Kenny’s face broke into a wide smile, and Dylan felt a surprising sense of contentment. They performed the swap one last time, and when it was done, there was no regret, no confusion—only peace. From that moment forward, Dylan thought of himself as Kenny, and Kenny thought of himself as Dylan. They had lived each other's lives for so long that, in the end, it only felt right. They embraced, not as two people returning to their old selves, but as two men who had found where they truly belonged.

(The new Kenny enjoying his permanent body)

(The new Dylan enjoying his permanent body) 

The End.

[pyschosoda]

Caught Staring

feat - Osferth, Finan, Uhtred, Sihtric

In which Uhtred and his pretty boys are caught staring at the woman their heart desires

a/n: my first post finally!!! I decided to start small in order to get the feel of writing for these characters! likes and reblogs are appreciated!!

“I can feel you staring at me…”

You watch the timid monk stiffen and look away from your peripheral. You often noticed Osferth’s eyes were drawn towards you when in the same room. You didn’t mind, of course; it was quite cute, so you never felt the need to call him out on it, but the poor boy looked as if he was about to explode if you didn’t speak up soon. 

“Ah…apologies… I don’t mean to stare." His eyes involuntarily straying back towards you for a moment before he forced his gaze to the wooden floorboards beneath his feet. 

 

“Have I got something on my face?” You tear your gaze from the arrow you had been crafting, now trailing over the anxious-looking monk. “Or perhaps my hair is askew?” A smile curls its way onto your lips as you watch Osferth shake his head at your teasing, his eyes flickering up to your face before dropping back down as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to meet your gaze. 

 

"N…n-no, my lady, you-“

 

"I’m teasing you, Osferth,” you cut him off, not wanting him to embarrass himself further, his own lips curling into a smile as his eyes finally decided that he did want to meet your gaze. 

 

“Oh…” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Right…”

 

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as your attention is drawn back to what you were doing before. 

 

and again, Osferth is staring. 

 

He watches as your hands craft arrow after arrow as if it were nothing more than muscle memory. 

 

From the corner of your eye, you notice Osferth fidgeting again, unsure if he should leave or try to start another conversation with you. 

 

“Come, sit,” you break the silence, making the decision for him as you offer him the seat across from you. “I’ll show you how to make an arrow.”

“I can feel you staring at me.”

 

Your voice cuts through the loud ale house, but Finan seemed to hear you just fine from where he was standing, slumped against the wall next to where you sat. 

 

“What? Now I’m not allowed to look at ya?" He scoffs, bringing the mug to his lips. 

 

“First ya take my seat, and now ya won’t even let me look at ya?" He jests, shaking his head as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

 

Your eyes roll at his words, unable to hide the smile Finan seemed to always bring to your lips. 

 

“I’m going to get us some more ale,” you state with a laugh, plucking the mug from his hands as you stand up and make your way to the barmaid behind the counter. 

 

Of course, once you left, Finan reclaimed his stolen seat. You opened your mouth to protest, but before you’re able to get a word out, he’s pulling you into his lap, the ale in the mugs sloshing around, coating your hands in the sticky liquid. 

 

“Finan!” you scold. “I’m covered in ale now, you bastard!”

 

He shushes you as he takes one of the filled mugs from your hands. “I’ll help you clean it off later; just sit still and let me enjoy a nice cup of ale with a pretty girl on my lap.”

“I can feel you staring at me,”

 

A grin stretches it’s way onto Uhtred’s face as he tore another piece of chicken from the bone, his eyes flickering down to the meat as he slips it into his mouth before his gaze moves back to yours. 

 

“Am I not allowed to look at my woman anymore?” He said in his usual smug tone that only added to his charm. 

 

“There’s a difference between looking and staring,” you say with false annoyance lacing between your words. 

 

This, of course, only makes him more smug, causing laughter to bubble up past his lips as he continues to enjoy his meal. 

 

“I can’t help that you look so beautiful tonight." Uhtred shrugs, looking back down at his plate as he finishes his food. 

 

“I look the same as I always do,” you argue, standing up to put away the plates.

 

As you walk by, Uhtred catches your waist with his hand. He leans back in his chair, his thumb gently moving back and forth, tracing the skin beneath your clothes. 

 

“That doesn’t make you any less beautiful to me." His voice was softer than before; the smugness was gone as he gazed up at you. 

 

“Sit, I would like to enjoy this moment with you a little longer." He releases your waist at the request, and you obliged, of course. Who are you to deny Lord Uhtred such a simple request? A request that ended up leading you right into his bed. 

“I can feel you staring at me.”

 

You pull your hands from the cold water of the river, giving Sihtric your full attention. It was hard to believe he was the warrior that people said he was because every time you got a look at him, he looked more like a puppy than a man to you, much like he did now, staring at you with wide eyes, shifting in the place he stood as he worked up the courage to speak more than his usual two words to you. 

 

“I wasn’t staring." His voice was light, almost light enough to be carried away in the wind, but you heard him. You always did. 

 

“No?” you hummed, turning your attention back to the wet dress in your hand. “Just happened to be strolling by the river, looking in my direction then?” 

 

There was a pause; for a moment, the only sound you heard was the sound of the river as you used it to wash your clothes. 

 

“You shouldn’t be out here alone." Sihtric spoke up, changing the subject. It seemed he’d rather focus on you in this moment. 

 

“I’m not alone,” you replied, squeezing the water from the dress you were cleaning. “You’re here.” You look back at him from over your shoulder, smiling at the sight of him moving his gaze down to his feet. 

 

“Will you come and make yourself useful, or are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” Your invitation seems to break the barrier between you two, the leaves crunching beneath his feet getting louder as he gets closer. 

 

“I was not staring,” he mumbles, taking one of the dirty pieces of clothing from her basket and dipping it into the river. 

- dividers by @dollywons and @thecutestgrotto -

a/n: again, this is my first post!! feedback in the comments would be appreciated! ^-^

[croquettish]

A Hans Capon Character Analysis

Part 3: Hans and Agency

Continued from Part 1 and Part 2.

"What agency??" I know, I hear you. That's what we're here to talk about. Because that too shaped him as a character in a massive way.

Essentially from day one in this world Hans had his agency stripped away from him. What he wants doesn't really matter. Growing up as lonely as he is, his life is comprised of two things: being bored and lonely and learning how to govern. No wonder he tries to make the most of his noble position. He loses all the fun he could be having by being a normal kid and makes up for that by boozing and hunting and whoring and fighting. There is agency in those things.

In one of our first interactions with Hans, we play witness to him being told the following:

And Hans instantly fires back with irreverence. He is going to go up against Henry even if it gets him in trouble

You couldn't ask for a better demonstration of him clawing at reality for some amount of agency. Later on Henry learns that he's far from the exception here:

Who is Hans to himself? Very little, as we've already found in part 1. In many ways, Hans only knows himself in comparison to others. Whether that's comparing himself to Hanush specifically (as per part 2), other nobles in general (as per part 1), or even his subjects. If all he needs to do to stop feeling so damn insecure is beat little upstarts like Henry then great! He can do that and prove he's his own person all in one go!

Shame that it doesn't work that way.

It's unfortunate that the things in which Hans sees his own agency are precisely those that Hanush takes away from him when he steps out of line. His attempts to reclaim agency are often precisely those things that result in him being punished.

Which is where we need to pull Henry in.

As Hans tells him, he's a bit of everything—Laborator, Orator, Bellator— and that has lent him a fair amount of social mobility. In a lot of ways, Henry always lives on the fringes of society, able to flit back and forth over the boundary freely in all the ways that Hans deeply envies. He can have a Jewish brother and a nobleman for a father. He goes against direct orders from his liege lord and not only gets away with it, he gets promoted. Like, of course he hates this little shit who gets to have all the things he ever wanted and gets praised for every misstep to boot.

But then, something interesting happens.

I know we make fun of Hans for being a damsel in distress, but I think there's actually a narrative purpose to this besides showing us that he's the narrative's favorite. As Hanush tells him after his fight with Henry, Hans was supposed to go settle a dispute between some landowner. But then, Henry is the reason that he gets to go out hunting after all.

And then, while they're on their hunt, Henry rescues him again, this time from the Cumans. Henry rescues him when Arse-n-balls tries to drown him and then later when he gets shot in the ass. Throughout KCD1 (and you'll find that this theme carries on in KCD2!) Henry ensures and represents freedom for Hans. A return of some manner of agency.

It's no great surprise then that separations from Henry generally lead to a loss of freedom as well. When he rides off to go after the boar, he's captured. The noose tightens around his neck as soon as Henry was removed from the prison cell with him. Henry fights Zizka in order to try and keep Hans safe and out of captivity. His entire time imprisoned in Maleshov resulted from him being forcibly parted from Henry. Right after, they're forced apart once more, only for Hans' freedom and agency to be torn from him in the most acute way, by being betrothed against his will.

This is a crucial turning point. It's almost as if Hans catches on to the fact that being apart from Henry is a threat to his freedom and does everything in his power to prevent it.

Only to be stopped at every. fucking. turn.

Exhibit A, at Raborsch before the pogrom:

Exhibit B, at Ruthard Palace before they go after the legate:

Exhibit C, at Suchdol before the suicide mission:

He's shot down at every possible turn. Everyone treats him as some precious porcelain doll that has to be handled with tremendous care. If something happens to him, it could be costly, either on account of a ransom or because Hanush won't get the money from Hans marrying Jitka. Hans isn't his own person. What fucking agency does he have over his own body? Kissing Henry is one of the most agency-affirming things that boy could possibly do.

And it's interesting that even if you don't romance him, Hans expresses his frustration with exactly this lack of agency:

There is so much freedom to be found in accompanying Henry here, in being given the chance to not only protect Henry, but to die by his side on his own terms.

The end conversations with Hanush feel like a final fuck you to his attempts at cementing any amount of agency for himself. And it's here that you really see him fight tooth and nail against what his uncle is trying to push on him (some excerpts included here and here). His opponent just happens to be, well... his uncle, most stubborn man alive. Hans knows this, and inevitably gives in knowing that arguing any longer would lead nowhere.

Does that mean he's given up, as this anon fears? Definitely not (and certainly not if he's been romanced; he seems a lot more eager to fight in that case). Hans is a mimic. I have lost count of the number of times that conversations between him and Henry have gone as follows:

Hans: What would you do about [thing]?

Henry: I would do [option].

Hans: Are you sure? But what about [counterargument]?

Henry: I still think it's the right way to go because of [reason].

Hans: You're right, I'll go with your decision.

The exchange that sticks out to me most in recent memory is what happens to Arse-n-balls. The conversation starts as follows (and you'll have to forgive my crude photoshopping their names on to help here):

You then are given two options. You tell him to punish him or let him off the hook. Here's what happens if you tell Hans to punish him:

And here's what happens if you tell him to go easy on him:

This boy is so moldable. So easily influenced and always looking to Henry for guidance. Why? Because the lack of agency means that he's never really had to make his own decisions ever before, they were always made for him. And when he did make decisions, they were often punished.

It doesn't surprise me one bit that talking to Hanush left Hans feeling extremely hopeless. His conversation with Henry afterward has Henry asking what they're going to do about the wedding, and Hans, understandably, says that they can't do anything, not in the face of the browbeating he was just treated to. He's trying to make the best of a shit situation (promising to name his son after Henry), and anyone watching this could easily assume that he's fully resigned himself. But he hasn't.

As Henry talks to him, not only does he realize that he does actually have two options and not just one...

... he starts brainstorming ways out with Henry:

I think this is especially relevant here because it feels like a pretty clear and deliberate callback to the romance-exclusive dialogue:

This is the answer. Trying to figure out ways in which to at least put off the wedding is part of waiting and seeing how things turn out. Seems like he actually is sure of what he wants to do. He's just had his agency taken from him so many times that he second-guesses himself at every turn and ends up looking to those most important to him for guidance, Henry and Hanush. Devastated as he seems after his/their conversation with Hanush, he seems equally uplifted and hopeful after talking to Henry about the whole thing.

Hans spends the whole second game discovering his agency (that it exists at all in concept!) only to watch it be repeatedly torn from him over and over again. Loving Henry is the one thing he chooses for himself. And after that, it's on Henry to remind him that that's okay.

Henry knows full well that this is a shit situation and naturally commiserates. But if it was all gray clouds from here on out, there would be nothing for Hans to stay strong for.