22ayla21

[22ayla21]

Fluffy Secrets

Hugo's visit to the "Victoria" agency with his family turns into a fun and awkward moment.

The air at the "Victoria" agency smelled of impeccable freshness and air conditioning, the mirrors gleamed as if time itself feared to leave a mark on them, and every employee looked as if they'd stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine – if those magazines had a section called "terrifyingly perfect staff."

For Hugo, this place was a nightmare. Too clean. Too orderly.

"Why are we here, dear?" Hugo's voice sounded slightly strained, though he tried to feign his signature charming indifference. He walked a little behind, allowing his wife to confidently navigate the agency's gleaming floors, while their daughter Serena kept looking back, holding her breath with curiosity.

"We're here because I want to hire a nanny. At least for a few hours a week. You yourself said I deserve a rest," she gently reminded him, without slowing her pace. Her voice was calm but insistent, meaning it was not open for discussion.

Hugo sighed heavily.

Yes, he had said that. And yes, she truly deserved it.

But at an agency where Lycaon works?

What a strange, almost ironic twist of fate.

He was already mentally preparing a few sarcastic remarks when he heard:

"He's FLUFFY!!" Little Serena's excited shriek echoed through the corridor before hitting Hugo's very consciousness.

He spun around sharply.

In the center of the perfectly symmetrical hall stood Lycaon. As always, in an impeccably pressed suit, with an icy expression that only the best butlers or judges at international figure skating competitions could boast. But this time, his ears... twitched. Not much, not theatrically – just a little, for a fraction of a second. But Hugo noticed it.

And most importantly, his daughter noticed it too.

"Fluffy! Mom, he's a real big fluffy dog! With ears! And a tail!!" Serena bounced in place, like a little chick waiting for food. "Can I pet him? Ple-e-ease!"

Hugo's face twisted. His breath hitched from poorly suppressed laughter.

"Oh, Serena, my little star, you just saved my day..." he muttered and burst into open, clear, almost relieved laughter, as if all the accumulated discomfort had simply evaporated.

Hugo's wife flushed, her eyes wide with horror.

"I'm so sorry, Lycaon, she didn't mean to... She's just a child, her... her behavior..." she nervously fluttered, trying to apologize with her whole body.

But Serena, despite her young age, stepped forward with surprising dignity – truly in the spirit of her father.

"Mr. Lycaon, you are very handsome, and you look like a noble beast from fairy tales. Mom taught me to be polite, but..." she hesitated for a moment, "...I've always dreamed of touching a tail. Do you mind?"

Lycaon looked at her for a long, long time. He knelt down to be at Serena's level and allowed himself a slight, almost imperceptible smile.

"If you are careful..." he said softly. "...then, perhaps, I will make an exception."

Serena beamed happily.

"I'll be the gentlest in the world!"

She gently touched the tip of the fluffy, snow-white tail, stroking it like a magical relic. Lycaon restrained an inner storm – his gaze involuntarily slid towards Hugo, who was still doubled over with laughter, holding his stomach.

"Hugo, I'll remember this moment," he remarked in an icy tone.

"Please, remember it twice! I finally have a reason to smile while in this ridiculously sterile establishment."

Hugo's wife quietly giggled, unable to resist the comical situation.

Lycaon, noticing this, leaned back and stood up. His gaze became cold again, but without the previous sharpness. He looked at Serena.

"You are a very polite girl. I hope you will teach your father good manners too."

"I'm already trying!" Serena responded cheerfully. "He always pretends he doesn't hear, but then he does what I say anyway."

"Hey, little star, don't reveal my secrets so soon," Hugo interjected, shaking his head, but his eyes sparkled with genuine warmth.

They spent some more time at the agency, discussing terms, choosing an employee, and even having a cup of tea. The atmosphere lightened – as if even between Hugo and Lycaon a shadow of old respect had slipped through, albeit covered by jokes and teasing.

As they said goodbye, already at the door, Serena stood on tiptoes and looked at Lycaon again:

"You're still fluffy, even if you hide it. Thank you."

And Lycaon, though reservedly, still nodded slightly – as if acknowledging the girl's gratitude and paying tribute to her sincerity.

[22ayla21]

Are you taking Eleceed requests again I remember you said you where going to stop for a while and I was wondering if you would be taking requests again it's fine if you aren't i was just curious since I liked your fics a lot

In general, I accept requests, I just don’t even know how to explain the fact that Eleceed doesn’t interest me as much as before.

[22ayla21]

Hello hello!!! Im not sure if im doing this right so im sorry if i had any errors in my request!! Im not sure either how specific I should be </3 But I'll try to do so!!

I wanted to request a hugo x reader romantic fic where Reader is the type of person who finds value in everything!! The stars, the grass- random trash she finds bc she think "each item may hold a story behind them!!/may be important to the person who used to have it" She just thinks everything should be treasured!! Maybe even that she's so focused on everything around her, that she doesn't even think about herself :0?

im so sorry if this isn't specific enough or if i requested the wrong way huhu

Star Gatherer

She saw beauty in everything but herself—and only Hugo, a man with a wounded heart, could remind her that she deserved to be the most cherished part of this world.

She burst into his life like a comet streaking across the night sky with a silver tail, not asking if her beauty was wanted.

Hugo never bothered with trifles. He built his empires on lies, deceit, and cunning schemes. His stage was the world, and he knew perfectly well that victory was often built on the ashes of others' defeats. Every step was calculated. Every word, a tool. Every action, for something greater.

And she... she could spend hours examining a crack in a tile, musing that "surely someone tripped over it at an important moment in their life." Or carefully press a faded tram ticket to her chest as if it were a frozen song of memories.

"You realize that's just trash?" he'd ask then, genuinely, almost with irritation.

She looked at him with her soft, warm, slightly bewildered smile.

"What if, for someone, it was their last day of freedom? Or their first declaration of love? Who knows, Hugo. Even trash can become a relic if you look deeper."

He wanted to argue. He wanted to laugh. But he couldn't. Because in her voice wasn't naive infatuation, but true belief. A belief in the beauty of every imperfect detail of the world.

Hugo didn't immediately understand why he was so drawn to her.

She wasn't looking for adventure; she wasn't a thief, a spy, or an heiress to anything. She had no grand name or great deeds behind her. She was, as he himself once said of himself as a child, nobody.

Except... she had a look as if she saw more than everyone else.

When she first entered his gallery, dressed simply, even slightly awkwardly—in a patched sweater, a skirt with hand-stitched pockets, and hair smelling of rain—he thought it was a mistake.

"Excuse me, private exhibition," he said in his usual polite tone.

She approached a painting, freezing for a few seconds.

"That's 'Capturing the Morning'... But why did the artist leave such uneven strokes in the corner? As if he was rushing or crying."

He was stunned. No one... no one, not even the most seasoned collectors, had noticed that.

"Do you know the artist?"

She turned to him. "No. But I know what pain looks like when it hasn't cooled yet."

From then on, he began to find excuses to call her more often. To help with restoration, or to "ask her to look" at a new find. She readily agreed, asking no unnecessary questions.

She could sit on the floor in the dark gallery storeroom, holding a broken ceramic cup in her hands and whispering, "Someone probably drank tea from it when they received bad news. Or good news. It's part of their story. It's important."

He didn't understand. And at the same time, he couldn't tear himself away.

In her presence, the world seemed different. And he himself—different too.

Hugo, a man who despised weakness, suddenly began to wonder, "Are those who fear to feel not weak themselves?"

And, of course, she noticed nothing.

She saw the reflections of stars in puddles but didn't notice how he looked at her—with a quiet, careful, almost painful tenderness.

She could pick up a fallen button from his jacket, say that "it probably got lost during an important conversation," and carefully put it in his pocket...

And then walk past, unaware that Hugo had lost his voice for a few minutes.

He saw how she admired everything but herself. How she forgot to eat while caring for abandoned flowers near an old factory. How she shivered from the cold because she had given her jacket to a homeless dog. How she didn't notice that she herself was among those "things that need to be cherished."

He wished he could tell her. But his voice trembled. He, a gang leader, a man who had deceived the elite and business tycoons, couldn't find the right words. He was ready to risk himself for others but didn't know how to risk his feelings.

And one day, when she again brought a shard of glass to the gallery—"like a piece of a star"—he took her hand. Gently, yet firmly.

"You see beauty in everything. But why don't you notice yourself?"

She froze. Her eyes, always full of light, widened in surprise. "Me...?"

"Yes. You. You are more important than any object you've ever picked up. Your heart is more beautiful than all the paintings in this gallery. And I..." he exhaled, "I don't just want to be near you. I'm already addicted to the way you smile at trash on the street."

That night, for the first time, she admitted to herself that she also felt something. And he, for the first time, realized that one could be vulnerable—and still remain strong. Because next to her, his wounds stopped bleeding.

Even when he was eating a pastry to keep from collapsing from weakness—and she accidentally caught him doing it. He prepared for mockery. For disgust. For worry.

But she just sat down quietly beside him. "Do you want me to find the most tasteless pastry in the world, so it's just sugar, but without... the trauma?"

He looked at her and couldn't answer. Because a lump was in his throat.

And then he laughed. Quietly. Honestly.

[22ayla21]

Hello!, lately I have been obsessed with your Malleus as a father, it like literally just warms up my heart. Could I request something similar to one of your fics with him where reader has complications with childbirth?. You know as reader is barely coping with the whole dragon thing in her body. I'm dying for angst and at the same time fluff :3 (You can choose if it's either their first born or second or third it's doesn't matter)

My Light Through the Storm

When you carry a dragon's child beneath your heart, childbirth is even harder than for ordinary people.

The thunder in the Briar Valley didn't portend bad weather. It portended birth. Legends said that dragons, purebloods and half-bloods alike, didn't come into the world quietly. Their arrival was an event that nature itself felt. The sky shook, the earth trembled, and magic sang and groaned at once.

You lay on the birthing bed, surrounded by healers, exhausted, weary, gripping the sheets in your fists as if trying to hold onto life itself. Your belly twitched convulsively – another contraction. Your lips bled from biting them so hard. Your hands trembled, your body wouldn't obey, and even breathing was difficult.

"She won't make it…" the healers whispered, averting their eyes. "Her body… it's not adapted…"

Outside, a storm raged – not a magical one, a real one. Or was it? Who could say when it came to the Draconia bloodline? Every time you screamed, lightning flashed in the sky, the wind howled as if with you. The healers quelled the trembling in the walls with spells, closed the shutters, but the air still vibrated.

In the next room, Malleus stood as if carved from stone. He heard everything. Every one of your screams. Every drop of pain. He felt his own child crying through your suffering – not yet born, but already wild and full of power.

"Your Majesty," the elder healer pleaded, "you cannot be in the chamber. Your presence, your magic… it could destabilize…"

Malleus looked up at him. Dragon eyes. Without anger. Without a shout. But there was will in them.

"She is my queen. The mother of my child. I will not leave."

He entered the room, and the air immediately changed. Waves of magic gently touched the walls, like a tender shadow. The storm outside quieted, as if nature itself bowed before his steps.

You lifted your head. Your eyes were hazy with pain, but you felt him. His magic. His strength. His hand that took yours, cold and trembling.

"Malle…" you barely exhaled.

"I am here," he whispered. "You are not alone."

He felt the child within you beating, breathing, as if wanting to break free – and at the same time, as if afraid. His magic enveloped your belly, gently, like a mother's breath over her infant. He sang in an ancient tongue, known only to the Draconia bloodline. He whispered promises:

"We are here. We await you. But do not destroy the one who gave you life."

And the child… heard.

For the first time in hours of contractions, you felt relief. The pain hadn't gone, but it had subsided, becoming tolerable. Your heart beat in unison with his voice. You squeezed his hand until it hurt, but he didn't look away.

"You're doing it," he told you. "Better than anyone before you. You are stronger than you think."

You wept. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but now not only from pain. From his presence. Because you were alive.

And when the final push began, when screams once again tore through the silence, Malleus stood beside you, not as a king, but as a husband. He held you as you pushed, held you as you screamed, and held you as your body, broken, gave its last strength to bring a son into this world.

And then he was born.

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky. The windows in the castle rattled, but none shattered. In the birthing chamber, a cry rang out – strong, fierce, alive. The horned infant cried as if announcing his arrival to the whole world.

You, gasping for breath, tried to raise yourself. The healers were already bustling, the infant taken away to be cleaned, wrapped… but Malleus remained with you. He wiped the sweat from your brow, held you close, kissed your hair.

"You did it…" he whispered, his voice breaking. "You… my strength."

"I… almost died…" you gasped.

"But you didn't die. You survived. And you gave me the greatest miracle in this world."

Then the healer returned to you. In his arms, he held the tiny one, who was already wiggling his minuscule tail.

"He is… strong," the healer stated. "And healthy. Perfectly healthy. And so are you, Your Majesty."

Malleus took him into his arms, for the first time – not as a dragon, not as a king – but as a father.

"Here you are," he whispered softly to the infant. "Next to your mother, who gave you life."

You lay exhausted, but when he leaned down so you could see your son, your eyes filled with tears. A tiny, strong creature, whose horns were barely emerging, a tail that twitched slightly… and his eyes. Green. Exactly like his father's.

"He… he's like you," you breathed.

"And like you," Malleus replied. "Because only you could have carried one like him."

He sat beside you, holding both of you close. The healers retreated, leaving the family in a silence filled with the breath of love, exhaustion, and life.

Outside, the raging storm had finally quieted. In its place, a light rain began to fall, glistening on the leaves as if nature itself wept with joy.

Malleus kissed your forehead.

"You are my queen. Mother of a dragon. And the light through my storm."

[22ayla21]

I looked at the requests here. I have 3 requests with the same idea where Dan Heng and the Reader adopt a child and how they raise him. I think you won't mind if I combine these three requests into one? The content will be more or less the same.

[22ayla21]

May I request Queen Gorgo just being a grandma to Mydei's family?

Golden Hues of the Present

Amidst blooming gardens, under the joyful laughter of children, old Queen Gorgo finally found peace and healing simply by watching her grandchildren.

The bright sun gilded the high walls of Okhema, painting them in warm, honeyed tones. In the garden, steeped in the scents of flowering herbs, vibrant children's laughter echoed. Gorgo, whose eyes shone with the wisdom of years lived and the happiness of the present moment, watched her grandchildren with tenderness. Her hands, once chained and tormented by imprisonment, now gently stroked Cleopatra's soft hair.

"Well, my little warrior," the old queen whispered, looking at her granddaughter. In Cleopatra, she saw her own reflection: a sharp mind, a fiery spirit, and unwavering devotion to family—all inherent in the girl, just like herself in her youth. Gorgo always found particular solace in Cleopatra's company, feeling an unbreakable thread of generations pass through her.

Iolaus sat under a sprawling tree, thoughtfully turning the pages of an ancient manuscript. His loyalty and sharp mind, inherited from his father, were already evident in his ability to analyze and strategize. He preferred to carefully consider a battle rather than rush into it headlong. Iolaus was a quiet support, a force always ready to uphold but never eager to lead the charge.

And Asteria, with fascination, gathered wildflowers, weaving them into a simple wreath. Her calm, contemplative nature, like starlight, brought serenity, and her stubbornness in striving for her ideals only added to her charm.

Gorgo smiled. So many years she had spent in a dungeon, cut off from the world, while her husband, Eurypon, vilely betrayed her and then cast their son, Mydeimos, into the Sea of Souls. But fate had other plans. Mydeimos survived. And when, many years later, he killed his father, he not only reclaimed his rightful throne but also freed her from captivity. It was a fleeting yet decisive moment that changed everything.

Now, with Mydeimos and his wife choosing to spend time alone, Gorgo gladly took on the care of her grandchildren. For her, it was not a burden but a true delight. In each of them, she saw a part of her son, who, despite his outward sternness and difficult past, managed to build a family, find love, and achieve peace.

"Come, my dears," Gorgo called. "It's time for dinner. Your father always said there's nothing better than home-cooked food." She rose, and her grandchildren, leaving their activities, gathered around her. Cleopatra, laughing, grabbed her hand, Iolaus looked up from his book, and Asteria, extending her wreath, placed it in Gorgo's palm.

Gorgo felt her heart fill with immeasurable love. The past was full of pain and loss, but the present, filled with the laughter and happiness of her grandchildren, was a gift. Mydeimos, her son, had become not only a great warrior but also a loving father and a son who restored all that had been lost. And Gorgo finally found her own world, where she could simply be a grandmother, surrounded by those she loved most.

[22ayla21]

I had this thought that Mydei would be the type to pick up stray animals off the side of the road and take them home and now I really wanna make a request for Mydei x reader with that prompt in mind if that’s ok

I just can’t get the image of him snuggling a scraggly, ugly, dirty little kitten he found while telling us that it’ll become a vicious protector for us while he’s away (he can’t argue with the cat distribution system lol)

The Lion and the Kitten

Returning home after a long day, Mydei couldn't pass by a homeless, soaking wet kitten, which he decided to bring to his beloved.

The rain lashed down, blurring the road and turning Okhema's familiar streets into shining, winding streams. Mydei, accustomed to the harsher waters of the Sea of Souls, still felt the penetrating cold. Each step echoed dully in the approaching twilight. His mind was filled with thoughts of the upcoming dinner, the warmth of his home, and the anticipation of seeing the one whose laughter was his greatest reward after a long day. He imagined the scent of freshly baked golden pancakes and smiled.

And then, in the alleyway where empty barrels and broken carts usually lay piled, he noticed something. Something small, trembling, curled up into a wet ball. He slowed his pace, then stopped altogether. At first, he thought it was a discarded rag, but on closer inspection, he made out pointy ears and a thin tail.

It was a kitten. Tiny, impossibly thin, soaked to the bone and covered in mud. Its fur was matted, revealing protruding ribs. Its eyes, if they could even be seen through the caked-on dirt, seemed enormous and full of despair. Apparently, someone had pushed it into a puddle or simply abandoned it in the rain, leaving it to die.

All the harshness, all the ruthlessness that had been forged in him by years of battles and survival, momentarily gave way to an unexpected feeling. This tiny ball of life, so vulnerable and miserable, evoked in him what no army of enemies, no prophecy, could: pure, unfeigned pity. Mydei couldn't just walk past. It was simply impossible.

He crouched down, oblivious to the puddle he knelt in. He extended a hand. The kitten hissed in fright but didn't move, as if it had no strength left even to flee. Mydei spoke to it softly, almost a whisper, words he didn't even utter before his soldiers. Words of comfort, tenderness, and promise.

"Hey there, little one," he murmured, gently scooping up the trembling body. The kitten was lighter than he expected, and colder than it should have been. Mud left traces on his armor, but Mydei paid no attention. He pressed the kitten to his broad chest, trying to warm it with his own body heat. The little one trembled but didn't resist, burying its face in his damp clothing.

Lost in his thoughts, Mydei continued on his way. Images of battles, strategic plans, senatorial letters accusing him of treason, receded into the background. Now, only one thought occupied him: how to bring this tiny creature home without scaring it even more, and how to explain its sudden appearance.

The door to their home swung open, and warmth immediately enveloped him. Candles glowed with a soft light, and the scent of stewed meat and cinnamon filled the air. His beloved stood by the hearth, her back to him. Hearing his footsteps, she turned.

Her eyes, usually full of light and laughter, widened when she saw him. Or rather, what he held in his arms.

"Mydei?" Her voice held surprise mixed with slight bewilderment.

He coughed awkwardly. "I... I found him. Out there. On the street. He's... very small." He carefully offered her the kitten. The little one let out a weak squeak.

She took him, and her fingers gently stroked its matted fur. Her face softened. "Oh, my poor dear..." She looked at Mydei, and a mischievous spark flickered in her eyes. "Did you bring home a lion cub, Mydei?"

He blushed slightly. "He... he needed help. He was soaked. And hungry." He shuffled his feet, then added with unexpected seriousness: "When he grows up, he will protect you. From everything. He will be your personal guardian."

She looked at him, her eyes filled with tenderness and barely suppressed laughter. She looked at the kitten, then shifted her gaze to Mydei, surveying him from head to toe as if evaluating him.

"My dear," she said, and her voice held genuine love. "You know, you yourself look like a wet kitten right now. Big, but still a kitten who needs a home and care."

Mydei blinked in surprise. He – a kitten? A warrior who defied gods, called a kitten? But there was no mockery in her words, only warmth and affection. He suddenly realized that in her eyes, he was always something more than just a killing machine or the heir to a cursed throne. He was the one she loved, with all his weaknesses and contradictions.

"Well, as for this little one," she looked at the kitten again, which had already begun purring softly under her gentle touches. "I don't mind. He's certainly dirty and looks like he hasn't eaten in a long time. But we'll wash him, feed him, and take him to the vet tomorrow. We'll check if he has any illnesses. And then he'll become part of our home."

Mydei felt a strange, unaccustomed warmth spread through his chest, stronger than any hearth fire. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in the Sea of Souls, nor in battles, nor even at the thought of Kremnos. It was the feeling of home. And perhaps, at that moment, holding the dirty kitten he had saved from certain death, Mydei, the "lion without a pride," finally found his own, true pride.

[22ayla21]

Back in March, I received 204 markers, and only now I managed to draw with them. However, for me, drawing with markers is new, or rather a long-forgotten technique, since in recent years I have only drawn with colored pencils.

[22ayla21]

After I got Divus, I didn't expect to get Leona, but I got him😭

[22ayla21]

A Year On

Exactly one year has passed since her mother died.

Author's Note: This fanfiction is based on my personal experience from the past year, with the difference being that I didn't have anyone by my side to support me. My dad might understand what I'm going through, but even I feel like it's not real support.

She hadn't slept for several days. Each time she closed her eyes, the same image appeared before her: her mother's pale face, emaciated hands, the white sheets of the intensive care unit. And that cursed life support machine, beeping monotonously, counting down the last seconds.

Today wasn't just any day; it was the anniversary. Exactly one year ago, on June 6th, at 8:20 AM, at the Oncology Hospital, her mother passed away. Adrenal cancer, which was just a backdrop, because in reality, she was killed by a blood infection contracted from a negligent doctor at another hospital during surgery. This knowledge gnawed at her from within. Injustice, helplessness, anger—all of it mixed into a single, unbearable knot.

The pain hadn't gone away; it had only dulled, becoming a constant, background noise in her existence. Relatives? They disappeared the moment her mother was gone. Or rather, they didn't disappear; they dumped all their problems, expectations, and difficulties on her. She felt like a puppet, pulled by strings in different directions, draining her last bit of strength. Burnout had become her constant companion, and life seemed to be hurtling into an abyss, with no chance of stopping.

The only anchor she clung to in this whirlwind of despair was Leona. He was always there, by her side. He didn't try to "save" her, didn't force comfort upon her; he simply was. His presence was a quiet harbor in the raging ocean of her suffering.

She lay staring at the ceiling. Gray rays of dawn pierced through the curtains, painting the room in bleak tones. Every nerve in her body screamed with exhaustion, but sleep wouldn't come. Suddenly, the door quietly opened, and Leona entered the room. He was as always: relaxed, with his emerald eyes slightly narrowed and a slight, self-satisfied smirk that, at that moment, seemed the most beautiful thing in the world to her. Thick dark brown hair fell over his eyes, two braided strands, tied with yellow elastic bands, swayed gently. Lion ears on top of his head, a long tail with a tuft of fur at the end—all of it was so familiar and dear.

He didn't say a word, just walked over to the bed and sat down beside her. She felt his warmth, his strong yet gentle scent. He carefully took her hand, his tanned fingers wrapping around her pale palm. She squeezed his hand back, clinging to him like a lifeline.

"Not sleeping?" His voice was low, slightly hoarse, as always.

"No," she whispered. She felt tears welling up again.

Leona didn't ask unnecessary questions. He knew. Knew what day it was, knew she was having a hard time. He simply ran his thumb over her wrist, as if trying to soothe the pulsating pain.

"Do you want anything?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Just be here."

Leona nodded. He pulled her closer, and she buried her face in his shoulder. His broad, muscular back was so dependable. She heard his heartbeat—steady, calm. There was something soothing in that beat, something that helped her not to lose her mind.

She felt his hand glide through her hair, burying itself in it, then descend to her back, stroking with calming movements. His touches were strong yet surprisingly soft. He always knew how to touch her to make her feel better. This was one of his unusual qualities—behind a mask of laziness and arrogance lay surprising sensitivity and perceptiveness.

"You know," she began, her voice muffled by tears, "I feel so... empty. As if there's nothing inside me."

Leona didn't answer immediately. He just held her tighter. Then he said, "Emptiness fills. With time." His words were simple, but they held a kind of ancient wisdom, as if he had seen such emptiness many times before.

"But when?" She lifted her head, her eyes red and swollen.

A familiar, slightly arrogant smirk flickered across his face. "When you decide it's time." He stroked the scar above his left eye, as if in thought. "You can't be a victim forever. It's boring."

His words, seemingly arrogant, she knew concealed something else. It was his way of making her move forward, not drown in self-pity. He understood her yearning for justice, for he himself was its prisoner.

"I feel like I can't do this anymore. Relatives, their problems, studies... I just can't cope."

Leona pulled away to look into her eyes. His emerald eyes were so perceptive. "Then don't cope."

She flinched. "What?"

"Stop trying to cope with everything at once. You don't have to be all-powerful. If they're dragging you down, let go."

"But how...?"

"Easily. Put yourself first. Why should you carry other people's problems if they don't want to solve them themselves? You don't need to prove anything to anyone." He looked at her with such intensity that she felt exposed. "You don't have to be a queen. You have to be yourself."

His words hit home. All her life, she had been taught to be strong, to cope, to carry everything. And Leona, this lazy and arrogant prince, seemed to see right through her. He understood her inner conflict, her deeply rooted desire for recognition and justice, because he was just like her.

"I'm so tired of all this," she buried her face in his shoulder again.

"I know," his voice softened. "But you're not alone."

That was what she needed to hear. Not empty reassurances, not lectures, but a simple confirmation of his presence.

"I wish her death hadn't been so... meaningless," she mumbled. "She went through so much, and then that doctor..."

Leona squeezed her hand. "Sometimes life is unfair. That doesn't mean you have to break." His gaze was firm. "It means you have to become stronger. For yourself."

He stood up, pulling her with him. "Come on. You need to eat."

She resisted. "I don't want to."

"But I said you need to," a hint of the domineering tone she knew so well from him entered his voice. And that was exactly what she needed—someone to take control when she had no strength herself.

She let him lead her. He prepared something simple but nutritious for her. It was hard for her to swallow, but she ate, knowing Leona wouldn't back down. He sat opposite her, silently watching her, his lion ears twitching slightly from time to time.

After breakfast, he suggested they go for a walk. "You need to clear your head. Lying around is useless."

She reluctantly agreed. They walked slowly through the park, under the warm June sun. Leona walked slightly ahead, his long tail swaying from side to side. He was so graceful, so strong. Next to him, she felt safe.

"I feel like I'll never get over this," she said softly.

Leona turned his head, his eyes meeting hers. "Get over it—no. Accept it—yes. The pain won't leave, but it will change. It will become a part of you. And you will learn to live with it."

He spoke of pain with surprising calm, as if it were something he knew well. Perhaps his own experiences of rejection and injustice gave him this understanding.

They reached the lake. Leona sat on the grass, leaning against the trunk of an old oak. She sat down beside him. He didn't try to entertain her or talk about trivialities. He just was. His presence was tangible, firm, like a rock.

She closed her eyes, breathing in the fresh air. Next to Leona, even on this day of mourning and sorrow, she felt less alone. He was her anchor, her support, that rare person who saw the real her, with all her wounds and weaknesses, and still remained by her side. And at that moment, in the silence of the park, protected by his strong shoulder, she felt a tiny, barely perceptible sprout of hope breaking through the thick despair. Perhaps life was indeed hurtling into an abyss, but as long as she had Leona, she wouldn't let herself fall completely. He was the thread she clung to to survive.

[22ayla21]

Its not a bad idea give greek names to the kids of our Amphoreous trio of men.

btw if u Accept sugestions about requests (what about doing one where u show when the kids of our amphoreans handsome trio do their first steps and maybe their firsts words?)

The first steps of children, there is a version with men of Xianzhou, but I am already preparing a version with Amphoreus. But the first words of children is another version, which I am only planning. It will be separate, although I think it is clear anyway.

[22ayla21]

Hello!!! I absolutely love your works with Mydei they're absolutely beautiful. I have a headcanon that Mydei is afraid of the water ever since he was thrown into the Sea of Souls. What if his wifey is a naiad and he gets over his fear of the water so he can bond with her more?

Your request has been sitting in my mail for a long time and honestly it is difficult for me to imagine that Mydei is afraid of water. It would be a good idea to have a head, but for me it does not fit with some points. At the very least, I think Mydei realizes that water is something that a person always needs, both for drinking and for washing. I would rather imagine that he is afraid of drowning or afraid of creatures that live in the water, because in the new cone that will be released in update 3.4, young Mydei fights with water creatures of the Sea of Souls. It is simply difficult to imagine that someone is afraid of water when it surrounds you your whole life, somewhere in minimal, somewhere in maximum quantities.

[22ayla21]

I've had this idea in my head for the last month. To write a fic with Divus, where the Reader is a girl of 20-22. Of course, with the Teacher/Student trope. It bothers me a little when some people write about adult men with underage teenagers, but maybe someone likes it, personally I don't. Besides, I've very rarely come across works where Yuu/Reader are older than third-year students, that is, Yuu is over 20 years old. I only came across one work in my memory, and even that was with Sam. But I think many people would be interested in reading something like this. After all, by the age of 20-22, the way you see your life changes, and you just become more mature. I think it would be more interesting to watch (or rather read) such a plot.

[22ayla21]

Hi, I saw that you're starting to write for ZZZ characters, especially for Von Lycaon. So, I was wondering if you could do a Lycaon x Reader family fic or headcanons? I like to think he would be a strict but soft dad to his kid or kids (either one), like the Ultimate Gentleman Dad. It would be super cute to see him teach his kids old ballroom dances or refined etiquette for fun, maybe even telling bedtime stories in that deep, rich voice, sometimes doing voices for characters, and occasionally, he’ll make up original tales based on old Beibi family lore, mixing fantasy and moral lessons. It would also be adorable if his kids helped him out with chores and stuff like that?

Family Warmth

Lycaon, an embodiment of rationality and order, found new happiness in fatherhood, watching his children bring warmth and tenderness into his disciplined life.

The sun's rays timidly pierced through the thin curtains, gently touching the sleeping faces. In the spacious, immaculately tidy bedroom, morning tranquility reigned, broken only by the quiet breathing of two little ones. Snugly settled under a light blanket, they slept between their parents. Lycaon, who usually woke with the first rays of the sun and was already contemplating agency "Victoria" matters, was in no hurry to get up today. His gaze, filled with an unfamiliar softness, lingered on the children.

His daughter, with a mop of unruly hair inherited from her mother, sweetly breathed, slightly nestled into Lycaon's shoulder. His son, a miniature copy of him with the same light, thick hair, tossed and turned restlessly, amusingly wrinkling his nose. But most touching were their tiny ears, covered with delicate fuzz, slightly twitching in their sleep, and barely visible fluffy tails delicately wrapped around their legs. These sweet features, inherited from their father, brought a surge of tenderness to Lycaon, a feeling previously unknown to him.

Beside him, on the other side of the bed, his wife slept peacefully. Her gentle face, framed by light curls, radiated serenity. Observing his family, Lycaon felt warmth spreading throughout his body—a feeling his rational mind couldn't fully explain but deeply cherished.

The day began with a gentle commotion. Upon waking, the brother and sister, with joyful shouts, rushed to their parents, embracing them with their tiny arms. The morning ritual included a leisurely breakfast, during which the usually reticent Lycaon told the children short, amusing stories. Unwittingly wagging the tip of his tail, he rejoiced when they burst into laughter. His wife watched this scene with a smile, knowing how much her strict and reserved husband had changed with the arrival of their children.

Despite his apparent strictness, which manifested in teaching the children good manners and explaining the importance of order, Lycaon was an extraordinarily gentle father. He never raised his voice, but his firm word was always law. He taught them how to hold cutlery properly, speak politely to elders, and value cleanliness—not as an imposed rule, but as a demonstration of self-respect and respect for others.

Particularly endearing were the moments when Lycaon, recalling his past, taught the children old ballroom dances. In the spacious living room, to the quiet melodies from an old music box, he took his daughter's tiny hand and slowly led her across the parquet floor, explaining elegant steps. His son, trying not to fall behind, amusingly shuffled his feet, bringing smiles to everyone present. These etiquette and dance lessons were more of a fun game than serious instruction, but Lycaon imbued them with a piece of his history, his striving for the refinement he had once so diligently cultivated.

Evenings in their home were often filled with the magic of fairy tales. Settled in cozy armchairs by the fireplace, the brother and sister listened with bated breath to their father's deep, velvety voice telling bedtime stories. Sometimes these were classic tales, in which Lycaon masterfully voiced each character, changing his intonation and vocal timbre. But more often, he invented his own stories, populating them with brave knights, wise wizards, and talking animals. His narratives always contained a subtle moral lesson, presented unobtrusively and engagingly, making the little listeners ponder important life values.

However, most touching was seeing the children help their father around the house and even with agency matters. Of course, their "help" often consisted of moving papers from one table to another or wiping already clean surfaces, but they did it with such seriousness and pride that Lycaon couldn't help but be moved. He explained simple tasks to them, talking about the importance of his work. The children listened with genuine interest, feeling their involvement in something important.

Sometimes he took them to the agency, where, under supervision, they "helped" sort documents or arrange business cards. Lycaon, watching this scene, felt his heart fill with warmth. Seeing his children nearby, even if occupied with childish antics, was the greatest happiness for him.

"You are my best helpers," he said in a deep voice, and his ears twitched slightly from the tenderness that overwhelmed him. The children laughed, clinging to their father. At that moment, the strict and rational Lycaon seemed the happiest man in the world, and his little heirs, with his ears and tails, were his most precious treasure. They reminded him that even in the most ordered and controlled life, there is always room for unconditional love and touching tenderness.

[22ayla21]

As you may have noticed, I created a Masterlist for ZZZ, as I will also be writing for this fandom. In particular for Hugo, Lighter, Lycaon and Harumasa.

[22ayla21]

Zenless Zone Zero Masterlist

Hugo Vlad x Reader | A Stolen Heart

Hugo Vlad x Reader | Sweet Mischief

Von Lycaon x Reader | Family Warmth

Hugo Vlad x Reader | Star Gatherer

[22ayla21]

Sweet Mischief

A little bit of mischief between father and daughter landed him in trouble with his beloved wife.

Years flew by like petals carried on a spring breeze, leaving behind only tenderness and fragrance. She and Hugo, whose fates had once intertwined so intricately under a veil of mystery and danger, were now husband and wife. Their home was filled not only with the scent of freshly cut flowers, which she still adored, but also with cozy warmth, laughter, and, of course, the sweet aroma of baked goods. For they had a daughter—a little princess with her mother's eyes and her father's golden mane of hair. They named her Serena—in memory of the one who had once been Hugo's only light in impenetrable darkness.

For Hugo, Serena was the center of his world, his little universe. He cherished her madly, protected her from any troubles, and was ready to move mountains for her smile. In her, he saw the continuation of all the best in his life, the embodiment of that pure kindness that had once drawn him to his wife. And, of course, he couldn't miss the opportunity to pass on some of his unique "skills" to his precious little one.

One of Hugo and Serena's favorite rituals became "Operation 'Cookie'." His wife, knowing his struggle with sweets, tried to bake things that their daughter would like but that wouldn't cause Hugo cravings or aversion. Usually, it was delicate fruit-filled cookies or light biscuits. And so, when the woman, having finished her culinary masterpieces, went to another room for her own affairs, the real fun began.

Hugo, with a cunning glint in his multicolored eyes, took Serena's hand and whispered his lesson.

"See, princess? Mama's distracted," he dramatically whispered, putting a finger to his lips. Serena, her eyes gleaming with anticipation, nodded, mimicking his serious expression. "A true phantom thief must be as inconspicuous as a shadow and as fast as lightning. First, reconnaissance."

He carefully stretched his neck, peeking around the corner as if surveying an impregnable fortress. Serena, imitating him, also tried to peek, but due to her small height, she could only see the wall. Hugo suppressed a chuckle.

"Now—under cover. Crawl, my little accomplice, crawl!" He got down on all fours, and Serena happily crawled after him, giggling. Their path led through the living room, past sofas and coffee tables where books and vases of flowers usually lay.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Hugo again put a finger to his lips. "There it is, the treasure!" His gaze fell upon the plate of cookies on the table. "The main thing is to act silently. Carefully, like this."

He demonstrated how to silently climb onto a chair and how to gently take one cookie without disturbing the others, and how to just as discreetly put everything back in its place. Serena, with her tiny hands, repeated his every move, and her face glowed with pride when she managed to snatch her own cookie.

"Well done, my little Mockingbird!" Hugo whispered, winking proudly. They were about to retreat with their bounty when a soft but firm voice came from around the corner:

"At it again, my dear little thieves?"

Hugo and Serena froze, caught off guard. The mother of the family stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, that familiar cunning smile playing on her lips. There was no trace of annoyance on her face, only endless love and tenderness.

Serena, caught red-handed, quickly hid the cookie behind her back, but the crumbs on her cheeks and her satisfied smile gave her away completely. The woman shook her head, walked over to her daughter, and gently took her hand.

"Let's see what you're hiding there, my little bandit?" She gently tickled Serena, who, with a squeal of delight, handed her the cookie, which immediately melted in her mouth.

"And you, my dear?" His wife turned to her husband, whose eyes were now full of guilty but charming pleading. "I don't seem to see you with a cookie in your hands. But the plan was yours, wasn't it?"

Hugo put on the most innocent face he could manage. "I was merely teaching our daughter important life skills, my dear. Knowledge is power, you know."

"I know, I know," his wife smiled. "And for those very 'important life skills,' you're going without kisses until the end of the day."

Hugo's eyes widened in horror. This was the harshest punishment his wife could devise for him. The absence of her tender touches and kisses was more terrifying to him than any prison sentence.

"But, my dove! That's... that's cruel!" he exclaimed, trying to embrace her, but she deftly dodged him.

"Not this time, my dear Mockingbird," she replied with a smile, heading towards Serena to wipe the crumbs from her cheeks. "And you, my little princess, can have another cookie if you promise to share with Mama."

Serena nodded happily, while Hugo, sighing resignedly, watched this idyllic scene. He, the phantom thief, the leader of the "Mockingbirds," a man who could steal anything from anyone, was utterly powerless before his wife and daughter. And in this powerlessness, in this unconditional love, he found his greatest happiness. For despite all the complexities of his past, all the wounds he carried within him, his life was now full of light, warmth, and sweet, though forbidden, moments shared with his family. And he knew that for them, he was ready for anything—even to go without kisses until evening.