Multi-fandom Imagines

Blog for reblogging and writing fics and imagines for various fandoms | Requests: open

[multificimagines]

Rules post

•I do not write any sort of sexual content, but some content might end up being triggering. Due to the way Tumblr is sorting tags, I will only be tagging my triggering posts as “tw.” But I will have a content warning before all of these posts, in bold, and these fics will be under a read more. If I fail to tag something that you need tagged, send me an ask and I will fix it and make a note of it for the future.

•This blog is character x character and character x reader, and I accept requests for both.

•I need more to work with than “fluff/angst/(etc) with (character).” If you want to request something for a character, but aren’t sure about a specific scenario, I have a list of prompts that are open to being sent in whenever my requests are open.

Fandom list (updated: 6/3/25)

•Twisted Wonderland

•Fire Emblem: Three Houses/Three Hopes

•Arcana Twilight

•Honkai Star Rail

•Love and Deepspace

Inbox: 0

[multificimagines]

Fandom: Tokyo Debunker

Pairing: Taiga Hoshibami

Description: Taiga’s part of the “could he kill a romanced MC who succumbs to the curse” thing.

Notes: This..may be a bit OOC? I wrote this a LONG time ago, and was going for the idea that Taiga does care deeply about MC in his own way, but that he doesn’t realize the depth of it himself.

Warnings: death/discussions of death, cannibalism

It doesn’t matter how close someone is to Taiga, he can turn on them the moment it suits him. And when does it suit him more than when his favorite little kitten, with the alluring floral scent and tempting crimson blood is at his throat? It’s kill or be killed, and he’ll be damned if he lets himself die here, not by this thing that took you.

Not only will he kill you if necessary, but if no one stops him, he may devour you, alive or dead. His teeth tearing your flesh, the sweet taste of the anomalous blood, the floral scent he could so well remember you by overwhelming his senses. Consuming you, consumed by you.

Maybe it’s a horrible, bloody end. Or maybe it’s far kinder to let him indulge in you one final time, than to hand you over to Darkwick on a silver platter to be disposed of however they saw fit. No, you belong to him. Taiga doesn’t share what’s his. He’d sooner break his toys than willingly give them up, and you are his favorite.

So he does.

He rips. Tears. Devours. Breaks. Consumes. Like a man possessed, like a starving beast.

And when it’s over, when your blood drips from his hands and face, when he’s consumed every last bite of your flesh, Taiga finds nothing on his tongue is ever going to be as satisfying as you.

[multificimagines]

Fandom: Tokyo Debunker

Pairing: Rui Mizuki x reader

Description: Would he be able to kill romanced MC/reader if they succumbed to the curse?

Notes: This is part of a larger thing I was working on forever ago where I wrote a short piece for each of the ghouls…I never finished it entirely, but I finished a couple of ghouls’ parts. So. Here’s Rui’s because I love him <3

Warnings: Death/discussions of death

Rui reaches out, and takes your hand.

It’s colder than he’d imagined.

With the way you filled a room, the heat he’d always felt in your presence, he’s always imagined that if he was ever able to feel your skin on his, it would be as warm as you, your smile, your laughter.

Maybe that was the curse. Yours or his, he doesn’t know.

But he can’t think of anything else as he watches the flowers emerging from your body wilt, your skin shriveling and crumbling. It’s all over and done in a few short, agonizing seconds—but each one feels like an eternity. And once you’re gone, Rui is left with nothing but dust where your hand had been, each grain slipping through his fingers like the sands of an hourglass.

He stares numbly at the spot where you were seconds before, where the last speck of dust that was once you floats gently and unhurriedly to the ground. And though his mind is numb, replaying the horrifying memory of killing you over and over, his body is revitalized. He wants to move. He wants to do something.

Your energy, your life. Pushing him forward, as though your voice were whispering, “Keep going. For me.”

That is what you wanted. That’s why you asked this of him. That if you must become a monster, at least your final act could be to give the person you loved the time you didn’t get to have.

He wishes with everything in him that the roles were reversed, but he knows that this time, no god or demon will answer him.

[multificimagines]

Fandom: Love and Deepspace

Pairing: Rafayel x reader

Description: The thud of his heart beneath your hand would betray him—but it doesn’t have to. He looks at you with such devotion, such devastatingly lovestruck eyes, as he places his hand over yours

Notes: this has been sitting in my drafts for SO long now so I’ve decided to finally free it from draft hell

Warnings: vague spoilers for mc and Rafayel’s backstories/myths; a tiny bit suggestive if you tilt your head and squint a little

You sit in Rafayel’s lap on the couch in his studio, legs straddling him and you don’t really remember what led to this, too distracted staring at the vision of him, illuminated by the light from the window and a light pink tint on his cheeks as he takes in the sight of you in much the same way.

You hesitate a moment, your hands so close to his face you swear you can feel the barest brush of your fingers against his cheek. Rafayel doesn’t let you hesitate for long—he leans into your touch, and you can’t help the teasing smirk spreading across your lips. He’s so desperate for your attention. He had been earlier, when he kissed you like a man starved, and he was now, as he adamantly keeps you from staying apart from him for too long.

You love it.

You have no idea what has made him so pliant today, but oh, you’re going to have your fun with this. It’s not every day you have him so completely and willingly at your mercy.

You lean closer, and Rafayel is the one to close the distance and capture your lips again in a kiss. When you break from the kiss, you gently tip his head to the side instead and kiss his cheek, where once upon a time you saw ocean-colored scales glimmer in the moonlight. You trail your kisses down his cheek, his jaw, his neck. Your hand moves further still, until it reaches his chest and you gently push him down onto his back on the couch.

You hear Rafayel’s breath hitch, and where your hand still presses on his chest, you swear you feel the tell-tale racing of his heartbeat, the pulsing becoming faster as the flush on his face becomes more prominent and gods, you love him. It’s all you can think as the setting sun’s light filters in the window, painting him in colors that make him look like one of his own masterpieces. You trace the outline of a heart over his chest, an absent-minded action as you soak in the image, memorizing every detail of him in this moment.

Rafayel laughs, the sound soft and amused and somewhat disbelieving. “You want my heart, is that it? You have some evil plan to seduce me, and take advantage of my weakened state to carve it out and use it for your own nefarious purposes?”

The idea is ridiculous, of course, but you’ve always enjoyed humoring Rafayel’s dramatics. “What if I do?” You hum, tracing the shape again. And again. And again. “It sounds tempting. The heart of a sea god, in the palm of my hands…”

The thud of his heart beneath your hand would betray him—but it doesn’t have to. He looks at you with such devotion, such devastatingly lovestruck eyes, as he places his hand over yours, flattening your palm over the steady rhythm. “It already is,” he says, softly. “It always has been.”

You give in. You kiss him, tired of drawing out this game, and you suddenly feel just as ravenous for his attention as he had been for yours moments earlier.

When you briefly part from him to catch your breath, you swear you see lifetimes’ worth of love shining in his eyes, and you feel it in the depths of your soul—this is where you belong. Here, in his embrace, in this life and every other that has been and any that ever will be.

Maybe it’s not that you cradle his heart in your hands—maybe it’s that his and yours are one and the same. It’s easy to believe it in this moment, still drunk on your overwhelming affection for the man before you and the feeling of his lips on yours and the sound of your heart, beating in time with his.

You laugh, still breathless from the kiss, as the realization settles in you. “Don’t worry,” you say, and you take his hand, placing it over your own racing heart, just as he did to you moments ago. “I’ll keep it safe for you.”

[mewnbuns]

⭒ MOZE, SFW ﾉ FLUFF

gn reader. a silly little ficlet depicting some domestic moments with moze. soft moze. reader is quite physically affectionate. kisses. wc. 1.3k words. ₊ 𓂃 masterlist.

“You shouldn’t involve yourself in this dirty work. Leave it to me.” MOZE’s words are low, though convincing as he utters them to you — leaving you to stand opposite him with an almost… affectionate look on your face. Without context, he may seem to be pretty serious, but as you see him now, you think you’d describe him to be more cute than anything.

It’s following dinner, both of you standing in your kitchen after eating and your lover — stoic as ever, is standing at your sink as he does the dishes with an extremely determined look on his face. One that seems almost misplaced — more fitting for the battlefield — but maybe the stains on the kitchenware are proving to be particularly hard to shift.

Though, despite that, you’d still argue that Moze appears to look a little softer like this. He’s foregone most of his uniform— stripping himself of his hood and jacket, leaving him in only the tight shirt underneath it and now.. your frilly kitchen apron as a means to protect himself from any stray leftovers.

Even with the cute garment that he’s wearing over top, you still can’t help but give all of your attention to his cut muscle as they pull and push at the kitchenware in his hands. Flexing every so often as he moves and scrubs.

It almost distracts you enough to leave you staring. Well, until Moze disturbs you with a grunt at the unwavering attention — not because he doesn’t silently enjoy it, but because the sting of blush at the tips of his ears gives away just how much.

So you snap out of it, though you don’t stop your admiration as you try to hide your smile. “Are you really sure? There’s still a lot left to do.” Your hand remains on your hip as you tilt your head up at him, earning yourself a soft glance in your direction before his attention is ultimately back on the sudsy dishes.

“Rest assured, I have you covered.” Moze’s response seems absolute but still, it brings you closer.

Until you find yourself to stop just short of his side before you let your lower back rest against the counter, and he gives you another blink as you reach out to touch him.

“Then do you mind if I keep you company?” You swipe at some invisible stains on the apron over Moze’s chest, a mere excuse for affection, but it’s one he doesn’t deny nonetheless.

“No.” He answers quickly, as if he was waiting for you to ask or hoping that you were going to stay by his side anyway. You hear the water sloshing slightly as he continues his efforts, and it doesn’t take long before you find yourself wanting to take a closer look.

So you don’t hesitate to push yourself off of the counter top before taking another step, until you’re resting almost flush against Moze’s side and he offers you a curious sound when you opt to stay silent.

Though it’s not for long, because with your next breath you reach up to throw your arms around his broad shoulders (with some difficulty considering his height) and urge him to lean down to meet you as you place a loud kiss against his cheek.

It’s followed by another, then another, then another as you take advantage of Moze’s disadvantageous position being preoccupied with the soapy water. He can’t stop you from stealing a few kisses when his guard is down like this— quite the genius plan.

Though considering how he seems to be leaning into each one, you don’t think he’d have much to say in protest anyway.

Another quick press of your lips against the corner of his mouth and you hear something slip from between Moze’s fingers as the water in the sink splashes slightly.

“It seems you’re more cunning than I imagined.” He eventually opts to speak as he offers you another blink, and despite his words— his tone is almost playful (for him anyway) and the gentle look on his face that accompanies it only makes you want to hug him closer.

“I’m sure if you wanted me to stop, you still have the means. Even with the apron.” You’re laughing as you respond and that alone seems to make the corners of Moze’s lips upturn slightly. His next blink in your direction seems to linger a little longer as he swallows, ears burning red again and you treat him to another quick kiss to his cheek for being so cute.

“You’ve done this many times today.” It’s an honest statement, but there’s no hint of anything negative in it. Given how he himself could still be a little clumsy and awkward with physical affection — he found himself enjoying the moments when you’d allow him to indulge your own methods.

“Does it bother you?”

“No.” Another quick response and it makes your fingertips send a soft touch along the top of Moze’s shoulders, exploring along the cut muscle there before you’re playing with the back of his hair. Your touch combs delicately through the silver roots, and he all but shudders before he seems to push himself closer to you.

He swallows loudly, as if to compose himself. “But you’re predictable” And then he looks at you, and you wonder if his sharp gaze has always had the capabilities to look this gentle. “Come closer.”

“Hm? Something wrong?” You hum back innocently, but you still answer to Moze’s command quickly. Well, only as much as possible considering how close you’re pressing up against him already. So you lean in as if he’s about to tell you a secret.

But instead of a secret, you’re met with an almost whisper of a kiss against your temple as his lips linger against your skin.

You almost sway from how his body turns to meet you, but you keep yourself steady with a squeeze around his shoulders as you lean into the affection. Hearing the water slosh almost as if he wishes to reach out and grab you— though you’re sure you both ending up wet would be bothersome.

Atleast he has your apron to protect him.

“You’re good company.” Moze’s voice sounds a breath later. The confession relays as more of a whisper than anything, but it still makes you feel as warm as it would if it were spoken to the whole of the Luofu. It makes you bury yourself into him, squeezing a little closer when he turns his attention back to the dishes.

“And you’re a really good cleaner, you know. I should use your skills more often.” You giggle, playfully— and maybe a little giddy as you stay hanging from your lovers shoulders. And you’re a little glad that he seems to be preoccupied with the soapy plate in his hands right now, or else he’d see the starry-eyed look you’re giving him.

Though it seems Moze’s not quite done surprising you as he eventually responds to your compliment.

“Well, it seems you’ve given me purpose far more than that of just an insignificant shadow.”

You let the silence rest after he says it, as if to use the opportunity to settle the way it makes your heart skip a beat. It was quite unlike Moze to be so outright with his affection— especially when it came to his words, mostly due to his unfamiliarity with relationships quite like the one you both have developed now.

But you don’t think he’s ever looked as comfortable with you as he does now— standing in your kitchen as he does your shared dishes in your frilly apron. He’s letting you hang across his shoulders and pepper him in kisses between giggles and he’s enjoying it just fine.

You smile so wide it makes your eyes close, before you jump up on your tip toes to leave a long kiss against Moze’s cheek.

“Yeah because you’re more than just that to me.” And your words urge him to turn around to meet the next press of your lips as the water sloshes again. He truly wishes he could reach out to hold you right now— maybe he should’ve let you wear the apron instead.

He’s wearing that gentle look on his stoic features again. “Thank you.”

dividers by @ saradika-graphics

[aventurineswife]

In the Hands of the One I Love

Summary: In a shattered world of duty and betrayal, Moze faces his greatest challenge: carrying out a mission that demands the life of the one person who ever mattered. As blades fall and words linger, the lines between love and obligation blur in the cruelest twist of fate.

Tags: Moze x Reader, Angst, Tragedy, Emotional Conflict, Forbidden Love, Sacrificial Love.

Warnings: Major character death, Blood and violence, Emotional distress, Themes of betrayal and loss.

[Original idea]

The moon hung low, casting a pale light over the crumbling ruins of the city. The world was silent, save for the faint whisper of the wind. Moze stood still, his blade trembling in his hand, as he stared at you. His violet irises, usually devoid of emotion, now flickered with something foreign—hesitation.

You smiled weakly, leaning against a broken column for support. Blood trickled down your side, staining your clothes, but you barely seemed to notice. Instead, your eyes, warm and unwavering, were fixed on him.

“I always knew it might come to this,” you said softly, breaking the silence. Your voice, though weak, carried a calm acceptance that pierced him like the sharpest of blades.

“Don’t,” Moze’s voice was low and strained, almost a whisper. His grip on his weapon tightened, knuckles white beneath his gloves. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” You laughed, a hollow, bittersweet sound. “You, the Shadow Guard. Me, the one who dared to stand in your way. Fate really is cruel, isn’t it?”

He didn’t respond. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darted away, unable to meet your gaze. He had killed countless people before, each with precision and finality, but this was different. This was you.

“It’s ironic,” you continued, a tear sliding down your cheek as your smile softened. “Of all the ways to go, I never thought it’d be like this. But… at least I’m dying in the hands of the one I love.”

Your words shattered the icy barrier around his heart, sending cracks through the walls he had spent years building. He had trained himself to feel nothing, to be nothing, and yet here you were, undoing everything with a single sentence.

“Don’t make me do this,” he said, his voice breaking for the first time. His blade, so steady before, now wavered in his grasp.

“You don’t have a choice, Moze,” you replied, your tone gentle yet firm. “We both know that. This is who you are. This is your duty.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he seemed like a lost boy rather than the cold assassin he was meant to be. Memories of you flooded his mind—the quiet moments, the laughter you shared, the way you always managed to bring a flicker of warmth to his cold, sterile world.

“I’m sorry...” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“I know,” you said, your tears now freely falling. Yet, your smile never wavered. “It’s okay, Moze. You’re just doing what you have to do. And… I’ll always love you. No matter what.”

Those words were the final blow, striking deeper than any blade ever could. With a trembling hand, he stepped forward, his shadow falling over you as he raised his weapon. His heart screamed in protest, every fiber of his being begging him to stop, but he couldn’t. He had to.

As the blade descended, you closed your eyes, a single tear slipping down your cheek. The pain was sharp but fleeting, and in your final moments, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his.

“Thank you. . .” you whispered, your voice fading like the wind.

And then, you were gone.

Moze stood there, frozen, his blade stained with the blood of the one person who had ever truly seen him. The world around him seemed to collapse, the weight of what he had done crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

He fell to his knees beside you, his usually pristine hands now trembling and stained. For the first time in years, tears slipped down his cheeks, silent and unrelenting.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

But the ruins offered no solace, no absolution. Only silence.

[ithseem]

👉👈 can I get a lil haru drabble

Anything for you, my queen! One Haru drabble hot and ready! (This was fun to write too)

Family Picnic

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Summary: You've finally been given a respite from all the wack missions, and Haru and Peekaboo missed you a lot

Genre: Fluff

Rating: teen and up

Content warnings: Fluff, fluff, fluff. You might need some dental floss and toothpaste. This might rot your teeth

Word count: 925

Crossposted to ao3

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“Boo! Boo!” an angry Peekaboo chirped. How long has it been since you paid your friends at Jabberwock a visit? You lost track after being bombarded left and right with missions. The days blurred into weeks, so it’s become nigh impossible to keep track of how long it’s been before you got any proper rest. And it looks like Peekaboo was not happy with your absence. He stamped on the floor in indignation, and poor Haru was mortified.

“Peekaboo!” He chided, wagging a finger at the peeved creature. “MC’s been super busy! Don’t you yell at them!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound came out surprisingly light. “It’s fine. I get it. The little guy must’ve missed me a lot. Honestly... I missed him too.” You reached out, giving Peekaboo a fond scratch on the head, even as it huffed and turned its back on you with exaggerated flair. Though he soon melted into your touch, almost purring like a contented cat. 

“Those missions must have been exhausting,” Haru said. You always did appreciate how much he doted on the anomalous animals as if they were his children. And that care extended to his ghoul and human friends alike. Right now his eyes were scanning you from head to toe. If you were trying to hide any sign of fatigue, you were doing a really bad job at it. Your clothes were clean and it seems like you took a well-deserved shower earlier, but your posture and dark circles betrayed how exhausted you were. You looked like an invertebrate. He grinned suddenly, breaking through your haze of exhaustion like sunlight after a storm.

“Lucky for you,” he said, “I already tackled all the chores at Jabberwock. The dorm’s spotless, the kitchen’s stocked, and we’ve got the whole place to ourselves!”

“And it’s not even 3pm?” You said. “I’m impressed! And kind of concerned. I really don’t deserve you. Or Peekaboo for that matter”

“Don’t be silly!” Haru teased with a wink. “But lucky for you, Peekaboo and I are a package deal.”

Even as exhaustion tugged at your body, the warmth in your chest was undeniable. For now, you could finally rest, surrounded by friends who always seemed to know exactly what you needed.

“I hope you’re hungry because I prepared a picnic just for the three of us!” He went in and out of the kitchen so fast you’d think he teleported. You’d slap him silly if he was using his stigma. You were well aware of how much of a toll it takes on his body and you’d rather he didn’t exhaust himself to take care of you.

“Wow, Haru. Thank you,” you said. Then, narrowing your eyes in mock sternness, you added, “But I swear, if you wore yourself out making this, I’ll be very cross with you.”

“You’re sweet, MC, but I’m totally fine!” He said with a chuckle.

Unconvinced, you raised an eyebrow at him and then turned your gaze to Peekaboo. “Peekaboo, spill the beans—did papa overwork himself?”

The small round creature shook his body from side to side, an emphatic “no.” You smirked, biting back a laugh. “Good,” you replied. “I’d be sad too if he did.”

Haru burst out laughing, and you couldn’t help but join him, your gratitude bubbling to the surface in the form of warm, unrestrained laughter.

“Thanks, Haru,” you said again, softer this time. “You’re the best.”

“Always,” he replied, his grin as bright as the relief blooming in your chest."

And so, Haru gently wrapped his arm around you, his touch steady and comforting, and guided you outside to bask in the sunlight. Haru laid out the picnic blanket and arranged the food as Peekaboo was darting around like a tiny whirlwind of energy. Everything about this scene felt so perfect to you. You felt like a spouse returning home from a long and grueling day of work to the warm smile of your partner and the laughter of a rambunctious child.

“Peekaboo seems really energetic today,” You chuckled as you watched the little white furball run around like a child on sugar. Haru chuckled, his gaze lingering on you with quiet fondness. “He’s excited to have you back.”

You laughed, cutting him off before he could say more. “That’s fine. I’ll take this over the chaos of those missions any day.”

Haru’s smile was warm, his gaze holding yours as though the rest of the world had faded away. His hand brushed gently along your cheek, his touch feather-light yet grounding. As his face leaned closer, his lips parting slightly, you felt your breath hitch—a shared moment, intimate and unspoken, drawing you together.

Your gaze softened, your heart swelling as you leaned into him, meeting his lips in a tender, lingering kiss. The world could wait.

“Boo! Boo!” Peekaboo called out to you demanding to play. You turned to see him determinedly rolling a ball toward you, his little body puffed up with impatience. You pulled away with a laugh, the warmth in your chest still there. 

“We’ll pick up where we left off later,” he promised, his voice low and teasing, his thumb brushing your cheek one last time. “Alright, Peekaboo, we’ll play with you.”

Haru stood, offering you his hand with a grin. “Let’s make sure we give him some good memories, too.”

As the three of you played, laughter echoing in the air, the earlier tenderness lingered, a quiet promise that moments like these—filled with love and joy—were the ones you treasured most."

[somniumfaults]

"do you think we'll be together in every lifetime?"

ngl... i kinda made myself sad writing this one DDFHSKDJLKFGL... this was inspired by some chats I had w my guildies so shoutout to them for giving me fuel to break their hearts to <3 also a fill for @mastering-procrastinating's request ^^

listening to Toxy while posting this and ironically enough, I think the lyrics are kind of fitting LOL

to clarify if it doesn't become clear, this fic plays into the theory that haku's ability is time-travel-related! I definitely encourage reading that post bc its interesting and will give some perspective, but it's not necessary! :D also inspired by this and this tweets

pairing: haku kusanagi x reader

rating: G

prompt: “do you think we’ll be together in every lifetime?”

tags: established relationship, angst, time loop theory

Previous // part 3 of the “in every lifetime” series! // Next

“Do you think we’ll be together in every life?”

It’s only hours of practiced nonchalance that keeps him from coughing as he drinks his tea. As it is, the tightening of his fingers around the cup is enough of a slip in his control. He carefully measures each emotion he allows himself to give for others to see, and yet somehow, against all of his experience and expectations, you always manage to catch him off guard.

A part of him finds it beautiful. After all this time, he knows that you will always be just as charming as when he first met you. A breath of fresh air in the monotony of his days, making sure he’s never as bored as he could be. On the other hand, this is the one part of you he can never predict as well as he wishes he could. You make his life eternally difficult without even trying, hardly lifting a finger to break down his facades time and time again.

The worst part is that he knows you truly aren’t trying. To you, this is a simple question with an equally straightforward answer. A romantic indulgence at most. You don’t mean to send his mind scrambling for answers. You aren’t carefully dissecting him for his responses, knowingly carving away until you can cut into the part of his heart that you know will hurt the most. To you, this is love.

The worst part is that to you, this is love.

If it wasn’t love, it wouldn’t hurt. If it wasn’t love, he wouldn’t even be standing here. If it wasn’t love, the touch of your hand in his wouldn't justify everything he’s done up until now and then some was worth it. He wouldn’t feel like crying at such an innocuous question, wouldn’t clench his jaw and plaster on an easy smile with an indulgent head tilt to sweeten the deal. The princess that rolls off his tongue wouldn’t feel like a match lit in his mouth.

“Where’s this coming from, princess?”

(When you raise your brow at his response, he wonders how long it takes for the lies he lives to become truths. When will it finally become enough?)

You shrug. “Rui and I were talking about it earlier. With how things are looking for me nowadays… I thought it would be a nice thought, y’know? To be soulmates. We wouldn’t have to worry about sad goodbyes or anything.”

You don’t know what he’ll do for you. You’ll never know. You can never know. You can’t know.

He hums. 

“That would be nice,” he muses with a soft smile on his face, and it’s a relief when your expression of budding suspicion falls in the face of love. No matter how many lies he may tell, his love for you will never be one of them. The rest are nothing you need to further stress yourself over, no matter how difficult it gets to predict your doubts. “Knowing the trouble you attract, I’m sure our next meeting will be just as interesting as this one was.”

You bristle lightheartedly at the teasing, and he can’t help but let out a real, genuine laugh at it. The brightness of the smile he gets in return makes it worth it.

This is what it’s all for. Everything for this.

One day neither of you will have to worry about soulmates, lifetimes, or goodbyes. He won’t have to lie to you as easily as he breathes, and this burden will no longer be his to carry. But until that day comes, he can take solace in the sound of your laughter and the knowledge that with each failure, your peace comes in a next life of love.

This time, he won’t fail.

[lucasandlily]

Rui x Reader who is really affectionate, but can't touch him because of The Curse.

A/N: I'm alive!! Rui my beautiful beautiful tragic boy. I've actually been having a lot of brainrot for this game, particularly an isekai AU that made me contemplate making RP blog (I love you guys btw. This is probably my first fandom where they're so active, I've been really well connected with this fandom somehow and it's so fun!!), so I figured I might as well be writing it down now. This is an idea I've had spinning in my head for a while, so it's VERY self-indulgent/insert, but enjoy!! AO3 link here

Rui's POV. Second-person pronoun "You" is used. Angst! But also fluff!! (825 words)

You’ve always been an affectionate little thing. It’s something Rui finds adorable about you, staying optimistic despite all that looms over you, not letting any of the ghouls he KNOWS can be more than a little much sometimes destroy your positive attitude. It’s as if you decided to be the light in a place that literally has dark in its name, and he lov admires you for that.

He can’t help but feel the bitter green of envy though, when he watches you ruffle Lyca’s hair after he whines at you for treating him like a dog. 

He pointedly turns away from the look Ed gives him over your head when you relax into his chest after he leans over your shoulder.  

He just laughs along at your drunken antics when you nuzzle into Haru’s hand, somehow even more touchy when your cheeks are flushed with alcohol. 

He tries not to remember the flash of hurt, confusion, the first time he’d backed away from your hand when all you wanted to do was give him a pat for a job well done. He doesn’t know if it hurt more when your face morphed into regretful understanding, or when you apologised and told him you’d try not to do it again. 

Rui tells himself it’s for the better when he notices you’ve been avoiding him for the past week. He’d have done the same to you anyway, if he realised his feelings were starting to fester. He tries to not let it get to him when he hears you enter the Obscuary mansion, only to quickly patter up the stairs without stopping by the bar first, as you would have done previously. 

Maybe before, he would have made it a little competition to see who could mess up the other’s hair more. He’d watched you run your fingers through Lyca’s after you’d tousled it out of place, anyway. Maybe in another life, you’d gently hold his face as you showered him with kisses. He’d do the same to you anyway, if he wasn’t forced to keep his hands to himself. 

If he didn’t notice you hold your hand back every time you saw his mask slip. If he didn’t see your hand stop short before pulling it back to tell him he had a bit of hair out of place. 

It’s all just part of the cursed life, he tells himself. He should be getting used to it by now, he sighs as he walks down the hall over to his room. 

Behind him, he hears the jingle of the bell you like to wear on your keychain. He turns at the sound of your quick steps approaching. 

“Rui! Ruiruiruiii!!” You call.

“Ah, there you are! Haha, I’m not going anywhere you know~ though I guess I don’t mind being chased?” He teases as you approach. 

You smile up at him brightly, “I have something to show you!” You tell him, he notices now that you have a hand behind your back. 

“Hm? Aw, did you get me a gift? And here I was thinking you were hiding from me!” He regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth. Your smile falters a bit as you blink at his confession. 

But before he can backtrack with a “Just kidding!” your smile lightens again, eyes filling with some sort of resolve as you pull out… a glove on a stick? in your other hand.

He doesn’t pull away when he feels the simulation of a hand on his head. He can’t, when you look into his eyes with such unmistakable fondness. The awkward, stilted movements as you try to run the imitation hand through his hair communicates how long you’ve wanted to do this, and the tears that well up in his eyes betray how much he’s needed it. 

He feels the cloth soak up the tears when you move the glove down to hold his face. It feels soft under his skin, and he can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

“How long did it take you to make this?” He asks as you let him lace his fingers with your hand extension. He squeezes the plush hand, feeling the soft give before it reaches the stick inside, inspecting where the glove and stick are attached. 

“Um! A week? It took a bit of experimenting to get it to stay on… And they don’t really sell gloves on campus either.” 

Your eyes crinkle when you look at him, the corners of your lips pull up triumphantly when he lets go of the hand to let you pat his head again. 

“You deserve at least this much,” you tell him. “I know it’s not really the same or anything, but I don’t wanna leave you out, y’know?” 

“It was worth it though, if it made you happy.” You look into his eyes as you say this, and he can’t help but believe you.

Reblogs and Comments are appreciated! I love you (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。

[lowkeyren]

—catch me if you can!

in which : it’s a classic game of cat and mouse between you and moze, yet why does it seem like the mouse is enjoying the chase far more than the cat?

pairing : moze x gn!reader

wc 1.9k, exorcist x ghost, last part ib a chinese superstition (ghost marriages), u tease HIM like.. a lot, implied past lovers if u squint, art by @/darkavey, reblogs r much appreciated!! enjoy <3

"the hunter gets haunted while trying to hunt the haunter" brain stroke? yeah me too. anyway, happy halloween! dearest @https-sourlimes moze kisser + lovely @cherieiu n @iceunhie proofread this ^^

moze senses your presence long before he sees you. the flickering candle flames dance erratically, casting long, distorted shadows across the walls as if acknowledging your arrival. his instincts sharpen as he scans the room, fully aware that you're close —though unable to pinpoint where you’re hiding.

his grip on the dagger remains firm, a steady calm settling over him as he prepares, knowing you're out there, watching him from within the shadows, waiting. he starts to recite an incantation; his voice echoes through the hall, the air crackles with energy, ready to draw you out. 

(after months of this relentless back-and-forth —countless of times you’ve narrowly evaded him, slipping through his fingers just when he thought he had you caught, he’s confident he finally has you in his grasp.)

the silence that follows his pause is nearly suffocating, broken only by the steady ticking of the clock. until a sudden chill slithers down his spine, accompanied by a soft, teasing whisper near his ear, so close it feels as if lips are hovering just above his skin, “were you hoping i’d appear just for you?” 

moze swears he can see you smiling through the reflection of his dagger.

instinctively, he spins around, heart racing, adrenaline surging through his veins —only to find nothing. the room is exactly as it was, albeit this time the ticking has stopped, and the candles in the room start to flicker, before the room goes completely dark.

he hurriedly scrambles to find a match, striking it to bring a flicker of light to illuminate the dark room, but his breath catches in his throat when he finds your face just inches away from his.

“boo—!” he’s unsure if his heart is racing from the shock of your sudden appearance or from your close proximity, perhaps it’s a mix of both. any closer and you would've…

he quickly composes himself and swings his dagger, aiming right for your chest —only for the metal to pass right through you. he stumbles back. “really, moze?”

“you should know by now that these basic rituals don’t work on me.” you tilt your head at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips, your eyes gleaming with mischief. “you wretched—” he begins through gritted teeth; you gently place a finger on his lips, the ghostly touch silencing him instantly.

“better luck next time, pretty boy.” 

his eye narrows at the nickname, a mix of exasperation and a flutter in his chest he can't quite put a finger on. he raises his dagger in a futile attempt to strike, but by then, you’ve already disappeared into a whirl of mist, leaving him grasping at nothing but the lingering echo of your laughter.

moze isn’t able to get a wink of sleep. 

pretty boy? he scoffs at the thought, not sure whether he should feel insulted that you called him a boy, or focus on the fact that you called him pretty. 

he shifts in his bed uncomfortably, trying to dismiss the strange flutter in his chest, but it’s no use. every time he closes his eyes, you're there —hovering at the edge of his thoughts, as if you’re haunting him (when he’s supposed to be the one hunting you.)

the memory of your teasing voice and the glint in your eyes keeps pulling him back from slumber, making him question why, of all things that happened today, that’s what stuck with him.

moze is anything but weak, renowned for his skill, his expertise is unmatched; yet of all the spirits he's faced —some stubborn, some cunning —none have been as elusive as you. 

what makes you so different, so maddeningly irresistible?

but now that he thinks about it, you’ve never attacked him, not once. it’s always him on the offensive; chasing, striking, trying to pin you down. while you, on the other hand, merely tease and toy with him, calling him those pet names that feel far too intimate for mere “enemies” before disappearing into thin air.

breaking his line of thought, a soft giggle reverberates through the hall, a sound both familiar and infuriating. 

…ah right, focus. 

he scans the shadows, every inch of the room, but finds nothing. “come out, i know you’re here!” he calls out, frustration creeping into his tone. you’re playing your games again, always just beyond his grasp, a tantalising wisp of a spirit who knows precisely how to keep him on edge.

in the dark, you closely observe moze. you notice the subtle rise and fall of his breath; he’s tense, exasperated, and yet something in his eyes betrays that flicker of intrigue he tries so hard to bury. it’s almost endearing, the way he’s so wound up, yet completely at your mercy.

“you can't hide forever,” he growls, his voice low, the sound echoing through the empty room. "show yourself, or i’ll—”

“you’ll do what, exactly?” you whisper from just behind him, a teasing murmur that brushes past his ear, vanishing as soon as he whips around to strike. “you’ve had a hundred chances to exorcise me, but you still can’t bring yourself to let go.”

“i’ll finish what i started,” he scowls, though it sounds more like a threat than a promise.

“so you say, but deep down? i think you’re starting to like this little chase of ours. are you sure you’re not the one who keeps coming back to me?"

—you swear you catch the slightest twitch in his expression.

“don’t flatter yourself," he mutters, though his words don’t quite carry the same conviction.

"then why do you look for me?" you tease, circling around him like mist, your voice a gentle taunt in his ear. "it’s not duty that brings you here every night, is it, moze?"

he’s known many spirits, but this —you, are something else.

as he stands there, lost in thought, you whistle from the end of the hall, your voice ringing out like a beckoning call. “over here, pretty boy.”

he fights the urge to smile at your audacity, the playful lilt of your voice slipping under his skin. “what are you playing at?”

“nothing, i just want to see how far you’ll go,” you reply, your voice laced with mischief as you linger just out of reach. “come catch me if you can.”

with that, you vanish into the shadows, leaving him standing there, heart racing, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. he steels himself, adrenaline kicking in as he begins his pursuit once more, knowing that this game is far from over.

“i know you’re here,” he murmurs to the empty space, half hoping for a response, half expecting you to just flit out from a corner without warning. 

just then, a sudden chill envelops him as your cool hand gently obscures his vision, he feels icy fingers trail along his skin, teasingly tracing a path from the nape of his neck down to his shoulders and across his chest, sending shivers coursing through him. 

a huff of cold air brushes against his cheeks, delicate and fleeting, like the whisper of a lover's breath. it lingers just above his skin, as if someone exhaled right beside his face.

(every fiber of his being yearns to call it a night, and maybe it's the exhaustion washing for him but… for a ghost, you sure smell good.)

he feels a cold touch on his neck, and he knows damn well that it isn't your hand, because one of your hands is still covering his eyes, while the other rests on his chest, fingers splayed across his palpitating heart. a gentle nip leaves behind a chill, igniting his senses and drawing a soft gasp from his lips.

his grip on the dagger falters, the weapon clattering to the floor as if it’s nothing more than weightless feathers. one hand finds its way to your waist, pulling you closer. the other instinctively lifts to your wrist, gently prying your fingers away from his eyes.

“don’t hide,” he murmurs, his voice more of a plea than a challenge, as if he craves the clarity of your presence more than the thrill of the chase.

“you want me to look at you?” you tease, a familiar smirk gracing your lips.

he’s acutely aware of how your body fits against his, the way your cold body contrasts with the heat radiating from him. “yes,” he replies, there’s a softness in his eyes, his gaze traces over you, as if to will you into life.

you lean in closer, the space between you narrowing until it feels like you’re suspended in time, and he realises he doesn’t want this game to end. not yet. not ever.

in xianzhou, there's a superstition —a whispered belief, if you will; that picking up money from the ground can bring bad luck, or worse yet, lead to an "accidental marriage" with a ghost. accepting the money, it’s said, forms an unintended bond between the person and the spirit who left it behind.

moze is well aware of this. he’s also very aware of the strales scattered across the ground in front of him, seemingly waiting for him to make a choice.

he glances around, though he’s not entirely sure why; deep down, he already knows there’s only one person who could be behind this.

“not today,” he mutters under his breath, though the way his heart quickens suggests he’s not as resolute as he wants to be. “why are you messing with me like this?” 

a soft giggle echoes in response, light and airy, as if carried on the wind. “it's fun watching you squirm,” you tease, your voice carrying a haunting ring that lingers in the air.

he narrows his eyes, trying to shake off the feeling that clings to him— “i don’t believe in superstitions.” —yet a faint, stubborn “unease” still twists in his chest.

“is that so?” you reply, amusement dripping from every syllable. “then prove it. show me how brave you are.”

his own heart betrays him with its racing beat.

“fine, if you’re so keen on games, i’ll play.” he hopes the sound of his boots scuffing against the floor will mask the frantic beating of his heart.

but as he reaches out, the air around him cools, prickling the skin at his nape. your presence looms close, closer than ever. “...are you sure?” you murmur, the amusement in your voice giving way to something softer. 

his fingers twitch, as the cold sinks deeper, prickling through his skin and settling somewhere far more vulnerable. “i’m sure.” he’s teetering on the edge of something dangerously familiar, a reminder of a time when your touch was warm, alive. 

“i wonder, will you regret it?”

he glances over his shoulder, feeling your chill wrap around him like a shroud. his hand hovers above the strales, fingertips just grazing the metal. “only if you give me a reason to.” 

"careful what you ask for,” you whisper. and he closes his eyes, unable to deny the ache that resurfaces, raw and unbidden. 

what makes you so different, so maddeningly irresistible? it’s a foolish question, yet he knows the answer lies within your eyes. he can’t help but wonder if, when he opens his eyes to meet yours, he’ll be stepping closer to salvation.

MASTERLIST.

[creamflix-deactivated20250101]

moze x reader; no reader gender specified. implied established relationship. pure fluff. reader is implied to be a student/studying — masterlist here ☆

moze steps quietly into your study space, his gaze sweeping over the aftermath of your intense study sessions: scattered papers, coffee-stained mugs, and pens in disarray. he hesitates, a gentle frown appearing as he sees just how drained you are, leaving the house to write your final exam for the semester, breathing deeply in exhaustion.

with soft movements, he begins to organize. your notes are stacked in careful piles, his gloved hands smoothing out the crinkled pages. he wipes down your desk, brushes away the stray crumbs, and places your favorite pen on top of the notebook you've used most. glancing back at you now and then, he works with an unexpected warmth, taking extra care to make your study space feel calm and collected, a small comfort for when you wake.

when he's done, moze steps back, satisfied yet somehow reluctant to leave. he knows how much you've pushed yourself, and this quiet act of care is his way of telling you: you've done enough.

you return home with a wave of relief after finishing your last exam, finally able to relax after weeks of intense studying. as you walk into your study, you pause, noticing something immediately different. the space that was once a chaotic mess of notes, highlighters, and empty mugs is now spotless. your desk is pristine, every paper neatly stacked, your pens arranged in a perfect line, and even your favorite mug cleaned and set back on the coaster.

"welcome back," moze says from the doorway, his tone casual, though his eyes reveal a hint of pride as he takes in your reaction. "figured you’d want a clear space after all that studying."

"moze… you didn’t have to do all this," you murmur, eyes flicking over the immaculate surfaces. it’s as if he erased every bit of stress that had piled up over those exam weeks. your exhaustion ebbs away a little, warmth settling in its place.

"you worked hard; least i could do." he shrugs, stepping further in to place the last few notebooks in a neat stack on the desk. "besides, you wouldn’t believe the state this place was in. i'm doing you a favor," he teases, though the softness in his voice betrays him.

you laugh, the sound surprising yourself a little as it lifts some of the weight from your shoulders. "i know, i know, it was pretty bad. i just… i didn’t expect to come back to this."

moze nods, a rare smile creeping onto his face as he catches your gaze. "it’s all good now. go get some rest; i’ll take care of the rest here." he gestures towards the door, but there’s a certain warmth in his posture, something that lets you know he’s proud, quietly appreciative of all the work you've put in.

you linger for a moment, glancing at the spotless desk and feeling a gentle warmth bloom inside. "thank you, moze. really," you say softly, meeting his eyes.

he simply nods, his usual seriousness softened just slightly. "anytime."

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[yuri-is-online]

Hello a TDB fan here

I have been playing the game for a week and Rui is soo fine. If it's fine with you can you write something about MC and him kissing through sheer cloth. I had seen this scene in one of the chapters of freaking romance (webtoon) and that's all I can think about after knowing Rui's curse.

notes: they/them used for MC, extremely angsty and pining, heavily inspired by his Ephemeral Bouquet card (because you can't give a man who can't touch a skill called Envisioned Future and not expect me to play with it) More Tokyo Debunker content can be found on my masterlist here (x)

I altered the request slightly? As I was thinking about the specifics of Rui's curse and his bride card a bit too much and the concept of him longing to get married sort of took over, apologies (シ_ _)シ

There are small porous holes in tulle. It's meant to make the fabric breathable. See through. Ideal for a bridal veil, which is not what you are wearing but the thought has wormed it's way into his brain now. Rui can't unsee it.

The low light shines in the sages ring, a blonde hair falls out of place and your hand moves towards your own temple. You smile; he remembers what it feels like to touch someone. He thinks there was a weight to it, a shift. Was there warmth? There wasn't a taste, or has it been so long that he's forgotten?

"You may now seal this union with a kiss." His bare skin moves through the tulle, eyes closed as his smile grows with eagerness to feel- nothing. There was a person in his arms, but his eyes open to shimmering dust. All that is left of you in his grasp is sand, but the damned veil remains. He knows what he did to deserve this, but still-

"Rui?" The glass Rui's holding slips from his fingers as he laughs, sheepishly he tells himself. Just a little of his boyish whimsy and not aching relief at seeing you still alive. "Are you sure you don't need any help?" You don't move too close, just to the opposite side of the bar. Your costume has gloves too, white would be such a nice color on you but Romi put you in grey. The same color as his hair.

"Whoops, sorry 'bout that (name)!" He snatches up the broom before you can go for it and sweeps up the shards of glass. "I didn't scare you or anything did I?"

"No I'm ok." You draw yourself up a little taller. The veil makes it a bit hard to see him, but you think there's something just a bit off with Rui. More so than usual. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can do to help? Professor Moby-"

"Nope~ I've got this on lock promise!" He sure does, the task is practically already complete but it's not really what you were asking about. "Sides you can't just let that guy push off all his work onto you! You're still a student just like everyone else there's got to be something you want to do at the fair." Rui's back to smiles and laughter. If you hadn't been paying attention you never would have noticed there was a slight dip in his mood.

Hook. "Maybe." You noticed though. Line. "I haven't gotten much of a chance to look around it just yet."

Sinker. "Well that just won't do!" Rui always seems so... happy at the thought of spending time with you. It makes your heart ache. "Just give me a second to lock up the bar and I'll take you around! We can make it a date!"

~~~~

"Wow what a unique choice for prizes!" Rui says cheerfully as you politely examine the masks this Hotarubi student has displayed at her booth. He had been talking himself up just a second ago about how he could win you a nice stuffed animal but finding a booth with only a few people around it had proved difficult. "Did you make these yourself?"

"Thank you." The girl bows respectfully and gestures towards the targets behind her with a set of darts. "Care to test your skill?" Rui winks at you.

"Can we have two sets?" Might as well have some fun and help the poor girl's numbers out.

"Of course." She sets the darts down on the counter and settles back into her chair.

"Aww don't you have faith in me?" Rui smoulders just the bit, but you think he's having fun. "I'll have you know I'm pretty good at this."

"You'd better be Mr. Bar Tender." You wink and his facade breaks just the bit. "But I'm not that bad myself."

Rui barely hears the rest of what you say, something about a bet. Something about how if you win then he has to do anything you say. He probably shouldn't agree so quickly, but he wants to be normal. Wants to pretend that this is a normal date, that you would have noticed him if he had flirted with you. That he still would have had enough confidence not to wiff every shot. Not that he feels shame for losing to you, the sting comes from not being able to-

"Do you see a mask you like?" Your smug voice is so cute, he wishes the prizes were too.

"Ahaha not really?" Now that he's staring them down, it feels like he's being mocked. Doesnt he wear enough of these already? "You're the winner here! Shouldn't you pick out which one you think suits me best?"

"Then I wouldn't pick any of them." You snort, but pick one anyway. You twirl it around in your hands and hold it up against your face. "How about this one? Sort of looks like me don't you think?" He doesn't. The mask has none of your features, it is lifeless and hollow. You lift the mask up to his face and gently tap his lips. He closes his eyes to play into it because that's what this is right? A joke?

So why is there a face behind the mask?

Nakedness would be less intimate than this, there would be room for him to lie and bluster if he didn't have his clothes. You taste like clay, he can feel the push and pull of your lips against the barrier. Rui gasps against it, opens his mouth and presses himself closer. His hands grip the lapels of his jacket, you are so so warm and alive. Your gasp for air is muffled and Rui pauses out of instinct against the mask.

"Please." He doesn't know what he's asking for. He doesn't want you to stay, this was such a risky move he's almost angry at you for it. He wishes, he wants for something he cannot have. You feel Rui smile, his kiss is gentle against the mask and finally you think you get him to say something just closing in on being real. "I hope you live forever."

The polite cough of the girl running the stand interrupts whatever you had wanted to say in response.

[azullumi]

SHE = PASSING, ATE = NOTES !!

premise — you're the best seatmate they could ever ask for; alternative, you pass notes with them during one boring period (hsr version). characters — moze and sunday content tags — modern!au, established relationship, fluff, nothing written just photos of notes, please pardon my handwriting, reader attempts to make sunday laugh, moze sucks at drawing hearts ; headcanons

notes from a jellyfish — i'm running out of titles !?@?

... !! GO TO ✩°｡⋆⸜ passing notes with wanderer/scara and kinich

moze (pink: you, purple: him)

sunday (pink: you, blue: him)

© AZULLUMI. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[boowthills-moved-deactivated202]

spring cleaning . . . ft. moze

contains :: moze x f.reader. fluff.

spring was moze's favorite season of the year. not because of the flowers blooming, or the weather that was the perfect balance of warm and cool. but because spring meant fresh starts. spring meant cleaning.

spring means that your house will be filled with fresh air, and the floral scent of the all natural soaps and cleaners. the floors will be scrubbed, polished until he could see his reflection when he looked down. every item of clothing would be put through the wash, and the closets would be cleared out of extra clutter. put neatly into boxes for donations.

on the very first day of spring, moze woke up bright and early. his eyes opened the second the light from the rising sun spilled in through the loosely closed blinds. in one fluid and silent motion, moze rose from his side of the bed, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

he pulled his sweats over his boxers, tying the drawstring securely around his waist, before leaning over the side of the bed, and placing a feather light kiss on your forehead.

he took no extra time getting to work. starting in the living room, the room the two of you spent the most time in, stripping the covers off the couch cushions, and putting them, along with your the fluffy rug under the coffee table in the wash. he put extra detergent, and even a long splash of fabric softener, before starting the machine.

the noise of moze moving around the house must have woken you up. a few hours into his cleaning, you wandered your way into the kitchen, where moze was busy going through the fridge, tossing out any expired food or drink.

"good morning, angel" he greeted you, without looking up from his current task. "how did you sleep ?"

"i slept okay" you answered through a yawn, rubbing your eyes. you looked around what you could see of the house, taking it in as your eyes adjusted to being awake.

the air not only looked clean, but it felt it too. the subtle scent of soap and air freshener was a lovely wake up to your nostrils. and the floor felt so smooth and clean beneath your bare feet. the whole house felt so fresh and new.

"how long have you been up ?" you asked him

"a few hours" moze answered "are you still tired ? you can go back to bed. it's still pretty early for you"

you shook your head "no. i'm okay" you responded "have you been cleaning the whole time you've been awake ? i told you i would help cleaning the house"

moze rose from his squatting position in front of the open fridge, turning himself to face you. "it's okay. i don't ever mind cleaning, you know that" his hand cradled the back of your head, bringing your forehead to his lips to give in a firm and lingering kiss.

"i could be ready for a little break now" he said "how about we make some breakfast ?"

you looked over his shoulder, all of the counter and stove space was taken up by the food and cleaning supplies that had been taken out of the cupboards. it would take forever to go through it all, wipe down the empty cupboards, and then put everything back again.

moze looked behind him, following your gaze, and seemingly reading your mind. "i guess we can order something for breakfast instead. how does that sound ?"

[luvether]

Jing yuan, Luocha and Moze x gn!readers (separate) historical au. fluff + suggestive content. (very) mild innuendo mentioned in jy’s part. one-sided enemies to lovers. arranged marriage. made-up religious politics. terms used: witch and fairy, are seen as gender neutral. plot is very politics-heavy (my bad) [5.3k wc]

𐔌౨ৎ 、 tagging @kazucee ᡣ𐭩 ! hii don’t mind this, I wanted a reason to write something historical-based :’>>

SECTION ONE. BENEATH CANOPY AND TEA

Having a political, arranged marriage with Emperor!Jing yuan as he confronts you on your wedding night.

“You know it’s a terrible habit to be playing with your food, Your Highness.”

Jing yuan’s laugh that follows after her reply is so mirthful, he fixes his loose sleeves on the mirror. “Whatever must you imply, lady Fu?”

Fu xuan does not look impressed. “I shall not prod further, whatever game you wish to play, play them as you see fit. But do heed my warnings, I know you are aware of that witch’s intentions.”

At the label of witch, Jing yuan stops fussing about his attire. His golden eyes stare through the mirror at the woman idling by the door of his dressing room.

“Witch, you say?” Jing yuan mutters. “You mean my spouse, correct?”

Fu xuan clears her throat. Her stiff demeanor cracks, crossed arms falling at the weight of his correction. “Yes, your spouse I mean.” She says slowly. “This marriage proposal is obviously a set up for your downfall, Your Grace. I am merely stating a pragmatic diagnosis as an oracle. Please, I advise you to be cautious.”

“I think you’ve mistaken my lack of worry for unawareness, Fu xuan. I know my people and that also involves the intentions of the one I am wedded to.” His back pins straight, a polite smile on his lips when he turns to meet her gaze. His head tilts a little to the side, “Or are you perhaps simply worried for my well-being, I’d be flattered if you were.”

She sighs softly at the levity. “Well, I wasn’t concerned about you in that sense but very well.”

He laughs a laughter as deep and brewed as cherry wine. “There’s no need for you to concern yourself, this matter is between me and my spouse. Whatever issues that await us shall be addressed upon our marital bed—”

Fu xuan’s eyes widened. “How crude of you, Your Highness!”

She is quick to stumble out, a glow of heat on her face. “I have no right to know of this, Jing yuan. You know what? I have other matters to attend to besides listening to your…conjugal talks!” She scrutinizes the man before turning abruptly, leaving him to his own thoughts and mischievous chuckle.

After the teasing atmosphere ceases he ruminates, mulling over his conversation with his acquaintance. He cannot help the smile from creeping up his lips,

My spouse, he said. That’s right, Jing yuan is a married man now.

Well, in his case it was a political marriage. His highness Jing yuan—the hero and army commander of his empire—was given an offer to marry you, the coined witch of the enemy kingdom, to bind an alliance.

And the only person in this world in which he fancies.

He looks at himself in the mirror once again, making sure his casual night attire is neat and aligned. The marriage ceremony had just ended a few hours ago and it’s your first night together as a couple. Jing yuan gathers his things and walks to your shared bedroom, he startles a little when he sees you already inside; ensconced on the mattress and pouring tea, the scent of sweet aroma wafting his senses.

Your gaze flickers up to meet him for a split moment, you place down the tea kettle.

“You’re here early, Your Grace.”

Jing yuan smiles. “You’re still calling me that I see.”

“I apologize.” You turn away. “It’s a force of habit.”

Jing yuan enters the room, hangs his extra fabrics on the back of a chair nearby, taking long strides your way. “Please, take this arrangement on your own leisure. I am not forcing anything upon you, dearest.”

He observes the way your eyes narrow at the nickname but says nothing of it. When he’s standing before you he stretches his hand towards you, waiting patiently for you to meet his gesture. After a split second of reluctance, you lay your hand flat on his open palm, the vanilla-haired man crawls his fingers to intertwine with yours.

He brings your hand to his lips, stamping a tender kiss on your pulse point as golden eyes watch you lazily beneath his lashes.

“You made us tea?” Jing yuan asks when he lowers your arm. He sees the twitch of your smile, you delicately grab a teacup, softly blowing the rim of its warm smoke, then offering it up to him.

“It’s lemon balm tea.”

Jing yuan doesn’t decline your gesture, sitting beside you and stirring the brewing cup. The enthused smile on his face never ceases, how could he resist? Especially when he feels your heated eyes on him, unearthing from beneath that fawny and dull expression of yours, like you’re just waiting for him to drink the tea you brewed him.

Jing yuan is no fool.

He knows the hot tea between his palm is tampered with poison. He knew of Fu xuan’s warnings of you being a spy, play-pretending to be a dutiful marriage partner, however how could he refuse your charms?

And charmed was he, enough for him to play along with your little games.

He has always thought you were a fascinating little thing. He had first met you in the battlefield years ago, standing on the opposite side of the war zone and now here you two were, sitting side-by-side and sharing tea under the marital post of your shared canopy—what a turn of events.

He brings the cup to his lips, suddenly aware of how you mirror the same action as he was from the corner of his eye. He pauses then, were you also thinking of drinking the same tea?

Just when the rim of the cup grazes your lip, you startle unexpectedly when your so-called husband leans in your direction, his arm settling on your waist and lips tracing the delicate skin of your cheek. He’s too close, so close you can almost see the outlines of his exposed chest and abdomen beneath his sleeping robe.

“Wh—“ you flinch away. “What are you—?”

“Do you wish to poison yourself too?” His rigid voice is on your neck.

Jing yuan snatches your cup, disarming you of your own poison and setting it back on the surface table. “That won’t do. I don’t mind ingesting this in your accords, but I won’t allow you to risk your life to do the same.”

He knew, you hissed to yourself. Not only that but he saw through your plans and stopped the two of you from dying in this room right here and right now.

You flick the fabric overflowing on your wrists. “I think you’re mistaken, Your Hi—“

“Jing yua—“

“—Highness.” You slice through his interruption, killing the argument. There was a quick look of hurt that flew across his expression, his smile remained but now its upturned twitch looks more solemn and bitter than gentle.

“I could own and have anything in this empire.” His deep tone muses. “A castle, any treasures or ore, all the jewelry and any marriage partners I wanted.” His fingers crave to reach for you, even if it merely skims at the laces of your attire.

“Anything but your sole attention and you calling me by my birth-given name.”

A furnace of anger heats up your chest and something splinters through your teeth, a pricking sort of vengeance because you just could not understand him. Your fingers come to grip the collar of his robes, ignoring the electricity that dances when your skin touches his.

“I’ll say this once, and I’ll say it again. This arrangement between us does not hold love, it will not bear love. I despise you and even now my feelings won’t change.”

Maybe you’ve underestimated his too idling manner and gentle treatment because the next thing you know, your back hits the soft sponges of your mattress as he pins you down, his body above yours, prowling and lazy.

Your stir, out of irritation and fluster.

“I’ll—!“ you stress out beneath his sturdy grip on your wrists. “I’ll ruin you Jing yuan! I hate you with every fiber of my being—“

“I have never once seen you as someone I needed to hate or defeat.” Jing yuan says it so subtly, and you’re hyper aware of your position, his caressing grip on your flesh and the soft wools of his hair when he leans down, enough that he noses your collarbone affectionately. “But if you truly think of me that way then I’ll allow it, my dear,”

“For you I would allow anything if it means you are looking at me in some shape or form.”

SECTION TWO. ODE TO A SALVATORE’S SUCCOR.

Archbishop!Luocha who willingly usurps the Church for your honor.

“They’re just right over here, sire.” The voice of the young boy sounds within Luocha’s ears as he fixes his chasuble.

He tips his chin, eyes resting sharply on the back of the boy's head. Then, he draws his gaze downward, musing wryly how his black boots contrast against the grimy and unattended flooring as they descend further down the secret cells of the building. A simple look from anyone could tell that this place was in such a poor condition to be inhabited by someone, lest you wanted to catch some sort of unwanted disease. At least, that should’ve been the case.

“You’re late.”

Luocha’s smile is patient and thin beneath the torch. “Had I known beforehand rather than being informed mere minutes ago I wouldn’t have tarried and wasted your time, Cardinal Leocadius.”

Leocadius’ expression sours. “I see you’re still as insolent as ever, Archbishop Luocha.”

“I would mind my mannerisms if my fellow clergies acted in accordance with the Church’s original repertoire.” Bitter drips between Luocha’s still smiling lips. “I did wonder why the High Priest was being discreet these days, to think that they had taken such ludicrous action while I was absent.”

Luocha’s eyes had darkened, smile dropping when his eyes had landed on the person beyond the black cell before them, whose wrists and ankles are constrained by metal chains. The one wearing but a flimsy piece of fabric, barely enough to cover the expanse of bruised thighs.

You.

“Speaking of clergies.” Leocadius ignores his previous words. “They had found them just at the borders of the town near the south. It is proven that they are, in fact, a devil-spawn. Whether or not this devil was responsible for the recent disappearance of townsfolk, the Pontiff himself had ordered for the capture—“

“What happened to their eyes?”

Luocha turns his eyes towards the young boy, who flinches under the sudden limelight.

“Pardon?” his expression shifts that of nervousness. “Oh, that. Well—“

“Did the clergies do that?” Luocha pitches, knuckles against his lips and tone absent of any kindness. There was a cloth wrapped around your eyes, a blindfold. The Church was known for its benevolence, at least that’s what its facade was out in public, but to blind someone intentionally? be it devil or human, that was beyond Luocha’s beliefs. He sought you again, green eyes watching like a lingering predator but you were unmoving, even when the shackles gnawed at your skin, besmirching ugly red on the shores of your flesh, you were quiet and still, like you were a dead statue.

He sighs heavily, leaning back against the wall. “Why did you call for my presence, Cardinal?”

“I believe the both of us know why you were called.” Indeed, he knew. The current Pope of the Church had such a fixation that rumors had started to spread, the desire for the power of devils. A sin above other sins.

“You captured them not because they were the suspect for the recent murders.” Luocha closes his eyes. “But because you wanted to use their power?”

“Pontiff’s orders.” Leocadius corrects. “Those who hail from the land of devils are almighty. After all, they have been blessed by some kind of power. Shape shifting, inhumane strength, some sort of manipulation tactic like a siren on the seabed singing their tunes of hoax. That’s the reason why the Church is concerned, that they will one day overthrow us when there’s spitfire.”

“And does the Church think taking one of their own would not make the devils show some type of aggression towards us?” There is a hiss in Luocha’s cadence as he approaches the cell but Leocadius stops him promptly by raising an arm, impeding the blond from advancing any further.

“Is there something wrong?” Luocha raises a brow.

“We were to only watch the devil at a specified distance.” says Leocadius. “It is not advised to go closer beyond the bars.”

“They’re injured.”

The Cardinal lets out a frustrated breath. “Why care if they are injured or not. It’s still our duty to—“

“I must implore you to dismiss such animosity towards a person while they are in grave disposition.” Luocha’s eyes are narrowed. “Cease such impertinent tidings, it would put a nasty look on us. The public already holds such dubiety towards the Church, questioning our decorum as reverent figures for our God. And if I recall, you were the one who asked for my help, no?”

“Your stubbornness holds no bounds.” Leocadius clicks his tongue, nonetheless he backs away with a haught in his steps. “Do what you must. Take them even, they will be a knight trained under the Church, and no one shall know of their devilish origins.” Luocha sighs heavily once Leocadius’ robe disappears from the corner of the hall.

“Open the cell, boy.” He directs towards the young priest, who immediately obeys his command. The keys were taken out, as the boy unlocks each and every padlock, numerous ones chained in a single metal hoop. Luocha was a man who exercised patience among all regards, but this?

He tries his best to not show any negativity in his expression, when the door unlocks that’s when he can see you fully,

There, wrists and ankles are constrained by metal chains. In Luocha’s eyes, you look nothing like a devil but an ordinary person. If he had not been an archbishop, he would have believe such foolishness, he has heard in scriptures that the folks from the land of devils could guise themselves as humans, they could shift into maidens, bachelors, childrens or elders in dire need of help, that’s how they take advantage of people and why the Church sees them abhorrently.

Looking at you now, Luocha does not feel any of that sort, he turns his head. “Step out for a bit.”

Fortunately, the young priest obeys immediately without a complaint. He leaves the room and only the archbishop and chained devil remain. Luocha bends down, one knee hitting the filthy ground as he runs his fingers above the shackles,

“Are you alright?” He asks.

There was no reply. The blond man shuffled a bit, proceeding to remove his white robe but before he could do it—there was a flash that swift across his eyes and he found his back against the cold, stony ground. Air was knocked from his lungs for a moment accompanied by hands wrapping around his neck, sharp talons pressing against his skin.

You were strong, and Luocha’s eyes widened a little as you slowly closed around his throat, suppressing the artery points on his neck. “You should’ve listened to those humans.” you say, your shackles hitting against the cobblestone. “Did you not heed the warnings of that old man, Archbishop?”

“Are you gonna kill me?”

“Yes.” You say. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I don’t have the keys for your escape” Luocha levels his gaze on you, his voice remaining passive. “Killing me would bring you more unnecessary trouble than help.”

“Are you begging for mercy?”

“My life ending in the hands of a beauty like you?” Luocha chuckles. “It doesn’t sound all too bad.”

You seem to be startled at his statement. However, Luocha sees another expression within you especially with the way your talons grace his skin. He dares to challenge you in his position, “Will you not do it?”

“I…” you pause. “Is death not concerning to the likes of you?”

Your talons cease their dig. “How arbitrary.”

It was his turn to reach out to you, you spring back like he’s burned you alive. “Don’t—“ you swipe his hand away, the scream of metal cracks sharply in the air.

“Don’t touch me—“

“I’ll heal you.” Luocha says, “it hurts, doesn’t it? Allow me to even do this simple thing for you.”

Your riposte dies on your tongue, after a few seconds bleed the atmosphere, Luocha tries again. He reaches out to touch his fingertips on your cold skin, a delicate dance down the bruises and scars you possess.

“Relax.” He soothes. His fingers inching to remove his own robe, wrapping you up in it—and you have let him, aware of his delicate gloved hands, wandering through the shapes and curves of your body, burgeoning your wounds.

It was a first, no one has ever held you so delicately like this and you feel rejuvenated, that’s what you felt the entire time you let the Archbishop remedy you.

And him? Aeons above, he feels his fingers decompose under your sweet warmth, too sweet, too gracious for such a destined path.

Days have passed since your first interactions with one another. Your relationship with Luocha doesn’t deepen into something special though, and you were immediately whisked away to perform the duties you were supposed to perform for the Church, obediently following the orders of the Pontiff much to Luocha’s chagrin. You don’t see each other for a long time, Archbishop duties keep Luocha busy and you have gained quite the reputation after only a few months.

The Pontiff’s dog, the mad knight clad in silver.

The Archbishop and the Church’s mad dog, both titles so polar and reputation far from each other’s line of work.

The only time you had visited him was when you needed the Archbishop’s healing or the High Priest had ordered you to call for him.

You listened to the breeze and their gossip, letting their manner guide you to the person you were tasked to see. You finally found him resting beneath a fig tree after your work hours. Your iron boots pressing through midday’s breath that brush the prairies and dandelions as you approach the slumbering man, there’s a sound of a bird as well, resting peacefully on his chasuble.

“Archbishop.” His head is against the bark and blond lashes fluttering close.

“If the other clergies had found you in such a state right now, they would have thrown a fit and would’ve tattle to the Pontiff.”

“That’s hardly a concern.” He answers without opening his eyes, his smile is bright, citrusy green eyes crinkled in mirth. “What’s the purpose of your visit?”

The grass beneath you rustles as your fingers lift to your armor, stripping yourself free from the stiff chest plate and protection.

“Heal me.” You show him the wound you had acquired a day ago from one of the borders.

Luocha’s calm face sours. “I thought I had told you to thread carefully, no?”

You don’t answer him, you rarely do so unless it was direct orders from the Pontiff. You are quite dutiful, even when the Church themselves has stripped you of your freedom, whisking you away from the devil’s land and forcing prayers upon prayers on you, dressing you in their silver armor. Luocha doesn’t understand why you were enduring such a thing.

The golden necklace flickers under the afternoon sun, Luocha extends the accessory and a warm light intertwines with the shores of your skin—healing the red lines that dare to besmirch your skin. His eyes do not leave yours, even after the healing is finished and you’ve patted the dust from your attire—ready to depart. Just when you’re about to turn, you feel his hand linger on your wrist.

His fingers inch all of a sudden and he lets out a breath. “May I…touch you?”

It takes awhile for you to answer, aware of his firm grip on your wrist. “You already are, Archbishop.”

A chuckle spills from him, his laughter, his tone, it sounds like earthy dew wrapped in golden sands, an addictive sound actually. “There will be no prayers, no cleansing, merely a simple touch to which I selfishly desire.”

You pause.

“Then, do you desire me?”

“Who’s to say?”

He takes his time, flicking his wrist and discarding his gloves. His fingers first crept up to cup your cheek, his callous palm pressing a little so that he could feel the softness of your skin on his own, comfortingly warm before his fingertips drag down your jaw, thumb on your bottom lip then down the column of your neck. You tip your chin up unconsciously, feeling his fingers over the ridges of your exposed collarbone, admittedly—you’ve always looked forward to his touch, they are different and you can tell he meant no harm, no lustful thinking—his touches exuded curiosity. His hand finally stops its journey just above your heart that beats under his palm.

Luocha’s frown lingers.

“The clergies were talking and they wanted to end your life, to draw you to their altar as a sacrifice for the corruption of the Church.” He says all of a sudden. “Are you aware of that?”

You taste-test the information he had muttered out in your tongue, it tasted bittersweet but not terrible.

“I could almost taste their malice from a mile away, I am aware of this outcome.”

“So just like that?” He’s mad now. “You want to die by their hands, just like that?”

“Why does it matter?” you say to him. “I have been estranged by the world. I am fine with it, even if—”

“Maybe you are. But I am not.”

Luocha declares. “I am not fine with such an ending for you.” He’s closer to you now, so close that you can feel the shape and softness of his lips as his forward makes contact with yours. His palms lift to cup your cheeks, drawing your attention to only him.

“Just say it.” The Archbishop murmurs. “Just say that you hate it—hate them. That you want to live, if you say so, then I can provide you with any means for your freedom. Even if it means burning all of them to the ground and causing havoc. I swear it.”

“I swear it upon my name that you will be given the justice that you deserve, I’ll prove it to you.”

SECTION THREE. THE WOODS, THE CROW AND THE FAIRY.

Assassin!Moze who finds himself injured in the middle of the forest until he was saved by a fairy.

Despite the rough calluses on his hands and his bandaged up wrists that crawl up his arms–the famous proxy of Lord Feixiao was seen picking plants and flowers from the back castle greenhouse.

If he did not have such a reputation from being such a talented assassin, no one would have believed such rumors, but here he was, scarlet eyes hovering over the bushes and dark clothes spilling over the greens of the pastures. Jiaoqiu had unfortunately come across his acquaintance crouched down over a patch of newly bloomed roses while he was on his way to visit Feixiao.

“What do you think you’re doing?” his pace stops, asking the larger man who barely turns around to greet him.

“Flowers.” Moze says, before flinching when a butterfly comes to harass him.

“Why are you so intent on picking flowers?”

“A gift.”

Of course it is, Jiaoqiu could do nothing but sigh. For he and Feixiao are the only individuals who know of the subject of his recent affections. Moze is unfamiliar with courtship traditions, nor was he ever given the privilege to be taught about any cordial and political mannerisms. He has only been familiar with assassination and his duty to his lord, Feixiao, for she was his damning salvation and greatest comrade that got him to where he was now.

His recent romantic behavior stemmed from almost dying from a mission a month ago. At that time, all he felt was his bones brittling, his blood-soaked flesh wrung beneath the dewy moss and the woods’ skin. His grey hair is astray like a bird's nest and Moze thinks this was his final hurrah.

Beneath all his almighty armor and chest plate—he tries to move. Even an inch, he tells himself, but his body screamed at him to stop. It was an independent decision of his to journey here, Feixiao’s illness is slowly affecting her and Moze’s desperation for a cure is nigh.

“I implore you to think this through, Moze.” Jiaoqiu had pulled him to the side, butterscotch eyes woven with worry. “Those woods are dangerous, if you find yourself wanting to enter it, I am afraid you won’t be able to come back to us–”

“My safety cannot be guaranteed, more so if Lord Feixiao succumbs to this sickness. The other royals are already waiting patiently for her demise. I refuse to sit here and wait for that day to come, I’m going there to find that herb.”

Moze refused to give details on what happened in that forest. He had only mentioned how he was ambushed by wolves twice, before he had found himself injured and half-dead against a tree stump.

He would’ve been dead if you hadn't stumbled upon him and came to his aid.

After being ambushed, he finds himself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling, his ears picking up the crackle of firelight from the hearth and the exotic scent of herbs. Moze looks down at his injuries and finds himself half-naked, with bandages wrapping his sinews and bare chest.

He’s alive?

“Oh, you’re finally awake.”

He could barely focus on the figure sitting beside him, scarlet eyes hazy and exhausted. A fairy? His lips part but his voice sounded hoarse, incomprehensible, dry like sandpaper.

You’ve hushed him. “You were bleeding too much, here, drink this.” Moze hadn't realized how dehydrated he was until you had tipped his chin and pressed the glass bottle to his lips. The cold liquid pricks his skin and he dutifully satiates his famish, the crooks of his throat swallowing in mild desperation.

His scarlet eyes never dare to leave you as the last drop of water leaves the bottle, you lift it and reach out to wipe his wet-stained lips with your sleeve—however, the man grabs your wrist painfully, making you wince.

Moze’s eyes are a mixture of indigo and scarlet, ravished and sharp.

“Who are you?” There was an edge in his tone and you clicked your tongue, pitting your own glare with his.

“I saved you from bleeding to death, Crow.” You bite. “You could at least utter a thank you for my generosity, but it seems like you prefer to threaten your benefactor.”

Moze stiffens, then he gently lets go of you. “I apologize for my behavior.” He tips his head in a bow. “Thank you.”

He’s quite flexible, you take note, rubbing your wrist. “Never mind that, how are you feeling?”

Moze blinks a few times, moving his bicep and torso. “A little sore still, but it’s not unmanageable.” He proceeds to lift the covers, feet moving to the floor but stops when you lay your palm on his chest—his heart beats under your skin as you gently push him back in the mattress, hardened eyes scrutinizing.

“I didn’t tell you to get up.”

Moze’s lips thin, “I need to go—“

“I won’t stop you, but you’re still recovering. If you leave your wounds will reopen and infection will be inevitable. Do you wish for death?”

At your rebuttal, the man’s shoulders slump in defeat. He cozies back onto the mattress, pulling the covers up to his torso. Moze spent three more days under your care and beneath the warmth of your cottage, he finds himself feeling awkward at your doting. No one has ever personally tended to him or touched him boldly as often as you did. Aside from the herbs and the changing of bandage wrapping, you told him tales of the forests and Moze tells you surface-level stories of his hometown—at some point he mentioned a herb that can cure his lord and he sees the recognition cross your eyes.

“Is that your reason for entering the forest?” You had tilted your head. “You’re devoted.”

“Are you familiar with it?” Moze’s hope overflows the concave of his chest. His eyes scan your expression, watching you ponder—then glide through your kitchen where you start to open the pantry. You came back with a bag, you sat in front of Moze, letting him peek inside and see the herb he had risked his life to get.

His warm eyes glanced at you, “are you certain you want to give this to me?”

You smile at him, briefly pinning your stare at the window. “The forest gets lonely at times and you have kept me company for the last few days, so consider this as a token.”

Moze’s hands reach for the bag, but before he retreats it to his side, his fingers brush your knuckles. He picks up your hand and kisses the back of it softly. “You have my gratitude.”

You could only chuckle at the endearing gesture, unaware that under the candlelight, Moze’s ears were brushed red from bashfulness.

Ever since then, Moze is adamant to return to the forest despite almost dying, despite the dangers.

“I want to see them again.” Jiaoqiu is already aware of such arrogance and stubbornness from his companion. But this was also the first time Moze has shown a keen interest in something, so with another heavy sigh, the counselor approaches him.

“If you wish to impress your little crush, I advise you to remove those weeds from the bouquet.” Jiaoqiu points at a specific herbage from his small little bouquet. Moze finally spares Jiaoqiu a look, intently listening as the doctor lectures him on different gifts to give someone like you.

And Jiaoqiu’s half amused at how concentrated Moze looked, the fella’s quite smitten.

“You’ve come again, Crow.” Later, when Moze arrives at the forest’s edge, he perks up, seeing you already leaning idly against a giant tree root, chewing on blueberries. He ducks under the cover of foliage, brushing a branch away so he can get a closer look at you.

“You’re here.” He says it so casually, but the shine in his eyes betrays his calm outlook. When his shadow melts over you, your steady gaze fixes to him, you dare to grab a blueberry from your little satchel, pushing it in between his lips. He stiffens at your casual action, before munching on the skin of the fruit, his tongue against your fingertips as he chews.

He’s been a consistent man, visiting you every time his schedule spares leisure, and when he does visit, he does not come empty-handed. The first few times, he came with food from the kingdom where he is from: sweet confections he bought from a local bakery, strawberry tarts, sugar cookies. Other times, he would visit with acorns, a seashell and trinkets, almost unnecessary things for someone like you, but you never dare refuse his offerings. Rather, you find amusement in them.

He is almost akin to a crow. You smile to yourself, whenever crows are grateful, they will give you gifts no matter the value.

You reach out to brush away his bangs. “Did you visit a flower shop along the way?” There’s a hint of tease in your tone, eyes on the flowers. “What is with the flowers?”

“No, I…” Moze is clumsy despite his repertoire. He lifts his hands and offers you the flowers. “I got them from the greenhouse.” He tells you. “They are for you.”

Silly man, you hide the smile on your lips, taking the bouquets and kissing the petal.

“Thank you.” And for a brief moment you caught the smile on his lips, his cheeks turning ruddy in color.

[boowthills-moved-deactivated202]

exercise . . . ft. moze

contains :: moze x f. reader. fluff.

moze takes his physical health and form seriously. with is 'line of work', so to speak, he has no other choice. he has an intense, ans strict work out schedule. part of which is done in the gym, while some can be done at home.

when he does work out at home, it's really quite fun. for you at least. it makes you all giddy whenever moze does his home workouts.

for one, it was a very attractive sight, watching his muscles flex as he lifts weights, or sweat beading down the sides of his face and chest as the work out progresses. that made you excited in a different way.

but your favorite part was when you were able to get involved. when the two of you first moved in together, moze did his workouts in solitude. waiting until you were out and about, running errands or spending time with friends.

that couldn't last forever of course, and eventually moze would have to start doing his home workouts when you were there. at first, he'd try and do his workouts alone in the bedroom. this was mostly to avoid distractions.

but of course you got curious, and eventually began pestering moze about his workouts. every time he went into the room for his workout you'd follow him all the way to the door frame, asking over and over if you could just sit in the room with him.

"i promise i won't bother you" you pleaded, doing your very best puppy dog eyes to try and persuade him. but he always said no, giving you a kiss on the forehead before closing the door.

this happened every time. and of course moze felt bad for closing the door on you, but he couldn't have any distractions. his physical form was important to him. and besides, it would probably be boring for you. sitting in silence just watching him work out. you liked to do things. you weren't the type of person who could just sit in nothingness. really. he knew you better than that.

that's what he told you at least, whenever you asked him why you couldn't be in the room with him. he'd never admit to you that the importance of his physique or your proneness to boredom was the least of his concerns in letting you in the room.

moze was self conscious of his physical form. he always convinced himself that he needed to be perfect. in his form, in his strength, in his abilities. he couldn't always keep up with that peak performance. and he didn't think he could handle you seeing any of that.

but you wore him down. and finally moze agreed to let you in the room with him. for a while, all you did was sit on the bed while he went through his workout on the ground. sit ups, push ups, planks, stretches. basic workout stuff you assumed. you didn't watch everything all the time, sometimes taking to reading a book, or scrolling mindlessly through your phone.

this changed suddenly one day, when all of a sudden moze broke the silence, making you jump in your place, nearly dropping your phone onto your lap.

"can you come here, angel ?"

you were confused, but got up from your place in bed and walked to where he was. moze leaned back, squatting down in front of you. "yeah ?" you asked him

"can you lay down on the ground here ?" moze asked "on your back"

your brows furrowed, but you complied anyways, laying down on your back, your arms to your sides.

moze was silent as he positioned himself, planking over your body, his hands flat on the ground level with your ears. he lowered himself, bending his elbows until he was low enough to press his lips to yours.

immediately you felt your entire face and ears heat up, like your whole head had been set on fire. the corner of moze's mouth twitched into an almost smile, that went away as fast as it got there.

this continued through all of moze's reps. lowering his body until he could kiss you, lifting himself up, repeat. by the time he was done, you were so flustered your whole body felt like it was burning up, and your ears were ringing so loud you could hardly hear your thoughts.

it was moze's voice who broke through the ringing, bringing you back to reality.

"you know, i think i like having you in here while i work out"

[hsr-writing]

Dan Heng x reader, sfw, fluff focused.

One of the first things you notice about Dan Heng is that he's touch starved. He reacts to casual affection with a kind of stiff alarm you recognize, and you bet anything that, if he was the type to talk about it, he gets overwhelmed easily by it.

He's better with affectionate words, more practiced at relaxing into it and letting himself enjoy and play along. He smiles when March drags him into banter, preens subtly when Himeko or Welt talks about his work.

It's all incredibly, agonizingly endearing.

You start slow, spending time in the Archives reading, a double win of getting to learn things you assume you've forgotten and getting to spend time around Dan Heng.

Spending time with him in silence slowly evolves into asking him questions, watching him perk up and infodump about whatever topic you chose. You like how he looks then, his eyes bright and interested.

You think he's started picking up on the fact that you're befriending him like one would coax a feral cat. Slow exposure turning into coaxing interactions. Dan Heng's a smart guy, so you're not surprised. You're just thankful he seems to enjoy it.

It's a surprise the first time he seeks you out. You're still getting used to having a room of your own, having slept on the couches in the main car of the train. You look up when you hear the door open, expecting March or Himeko checking on you.

You wonder what your face looks like, to him. Does he think the way your eyes widen in surprise is endearing? Does he find the excited smile or the way you perk up when you see him endearing? You hope so.

He's carrying a data pad as he steps inside, and you're pleasantly surprised when he joins you on the couch you've got into the corner of the room. He settles next to you, saying nothing as he turns on the data pad and starts reading.

You look back down at your phone, biting back your smile as Dan Heng's shoulder presses against yours.

The first time you work up the courage to hold his hand you think your heart is going to beat out of your chest. It feels like such a big risk; what if he pulls away? What if stops spending time with you? What if, what if, what if...

You're leaning against each other, more sprawled than sitting. He's on his data pad, but when you peeked over at him he was on the intranet. You've been grinding materials in your game, occasionally assisted by another player you think might be Silver Wolf.

It's comfortable, the lights and atmosphere of your room currently designed to mimic a thunderstorm, and you're both curled in a mess of blankets and soft pillows that March jokes about being more like a nest than a lounge area.

You tab out of your game, nervous and wanting to focus, then reach over and casually link your pinky with his. He glances down briefly, then turns his attention back to his pad as he twists his hand and takes your hand in his. He laces his fingers through yours, and you can feel yourself blush.

It's so casual, like it's natural for him, like he holds your hand all the time. You realize you're beaming at your phone, the screen gone dark as you zoned out. You wake it up again, but in that moment before the screen goes bright , you catch a glimpse of Dan Heng in the dark reflection.

He's smiling.

The first time he kisses you it's out of desperate relief. You got separated while trailblazing a small planet, driven apart by enemies until you're not sure where the others are, anymore.

Dan Heng was within earshot, though, because he heard you scream when an enemy caught you by surprise with a lightning attack, the literal shock taking away your usual ability to keep quiet.

You're not sure if the scream sounded especially bad, or if it was just because you're not usually one to scream from pain (you prefer to stifle and hide it away), but Dan Heng is pale when he comes skidding around the corner.

You're standing among the wreckage of the fight, your enemies having run off, when you look up at him. Your fingers feel a little numb and tingly at the same time, but you think that's all the side effect from the hit you took

Until Dan Heng's hands are on your cheeks, pulling you close and kissing you like he thought he'd never get to. Your first thought is that you're hallucinating, you've taken one too many hits to the head and now you're imagining things that will never happen.

But then Dan Heng is pulling away, his cheeks flushing red at his own actions, embarrassed and flustered and caught off guard by himself. You don't know it, but you're looking at him with something akin to awe, like he's done something miraculous and not just kissed you on a fearful whim.

He's trying to think of something, anything, to say when another group of enemies round the corner.

You don't really remember how the conversation goes, anxiety plaguing your thoughts and making it hard to focus, but you know it went well because Dan Heng has you pulled close, kissing you languidly.

You sigh in bliss, your hands moving from where you gripped the front of his coat so you can wind them around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. You take the opportunity to threads you fingers in his hair, just as silky as it looks, and let out a shaky sigh at the way he groans softly.

You're especially thankful for the comfortable corner nook, now. There's nothing like lounging and making out with your boyfriend someplace soft and familiar. It happens in the Archives sometimes too, but you've noticed that Dan Heng prefers your room.

It's probably a distraction thing, but you like to think it's because your room is a safe space for him. That you're a safe place for him.

He pulls away for a moment, taking a shaking breath as he presses his forehead against yours. You nearly coo at him, choosing instead to rub your thumb over the top of his spine and savor how the small action makes him melt.

He ducks his head, pressing you back into the couch cushions as he nuzzles his face into your neck. He presses a feather light kiss just under your ear, making you shiver and laugh, and you marvel at how you can feel his smile against your skin.

March ends up finding you like that, clinging together in a mess of blankets and pillows, when she comes to find you for dinner. She pauses upon seeing you, smiling and pulling out her camera to take a picture. She silently sends it to Himeko, then cheerfully wakes you up.

Dan Heng hums against your neck as he wakes up, struggling to pull himself out of sleep. March makes a big deal of the two of you taking a nap without her, then congratulates you both on finally noticing your feelings.

It feels like belonging. Like home.