HANA !

U&ME: the genesis of our starry-eyed tragedy !

[yuquinzel]

🪽 ˛˚ . 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐀 ⨾ 9teen ˖ she/her ִֶ ⊹ asian ⌕ written by hozier Ꮺ‧˚ !

i. ABOUT! ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ii. RULES! ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎iii. MASTERLIST! ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎iv. TAGS!

━━━━━━━━━━ 「 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒...↺ 」

semi-hiatus? not properly back but i might post once every two months :')

you won’t find me on this blog but my alt account @luvmequmi !

© YUQUINZEL2023. do not repost/redistribute to any other platform. no translations without permission !

[luvether]

BURNT SUN-KISSED POPPIES. mydei

summary, to be the childhood sweetheart of Kremnos‘ heir came the times where he sought comfort in you for all his tragedies.

mydei x gn!reader. fluff content. childhood to adulthood. secret pinings. puppy love. yearning. teasing. quality time. princess treatment. hurt with comfort. historical!au not canon compliant to amphoreus lore. written before version 3.0. [3.6k wc]

What are the chances you get to visit Castrum Kremnos during your father’s many business trips?

By the Gods above, luck was in your favor that day.

Because visiting Castrum Kremnos meant being able to see their renowned young crown prince Mydeimos, rumored to be one of the future heroes of Okhema city and the lion of Kremnos—and in secrecy to you, also the receiver of your affections for as long as you remember.

You aren’t certain when this unimaginable pull happened, was it the way you first saw the dawn captured red upon his braided hair? Or was it his big eyes that furnaced and melted into gold ingots with flicks of honey?

Your heart flutters at the thought of simply just encountering him, your fingers bunching up your fabrics as your carriage arrives at the city gates.

With a table full of wine, goat cheese and fruits—it was easy to slip away from your father. He was too busy settling jovial talks about the kingdoms’ flourish with Kremnos’ leaders to realize your absence. The unfamiliar palace is bigger than you expected, grandeur even, completely different from your home city. When your eyes trace the intricate patterns upon their pillars you can immediately seize out the lion from its marble carvings. But despite its size, it was no challenge to locate the prince.

The sound of clashing wooden swords would indicate where he was since you are aware of his duties to fight—and it is said that crown prince Mydeimos is usually seen spending his leisure on swordsmanship practice with young lord Phainon.

At times, you envy how often Lord Phainon is mentioned around the prince.

They both seem really close.

When the harsh clacks of wood on wood floats around your ears, your hurried paces falter into quiet footsteps. You find yourself sneaking under an olive tree and peeking through the shrubs, eyes landing on two boys on the garden with cobblestone beneath their leather boots—they seem entirely engrossed in their sparring. Under the honeyed heat your lips purse, watching Mydeimos dance around Phainon, wooden swords blurring your vision, swishing and parrying in front of them as each boy exchange light blows with one another.

An exhausted rasp of a chuckle comes spilling down Mydei’s lips, he angles his sword to block when Phainon leans forward, cutting down hard in his direction. You’ve noticed their manner in fighting and can weed out the difference in an instant. Lord Phainon is calculated with his movements, there’s stability in his balance, reassurance woven into the sinews of his back beneath his white tunic. Prince Mydeimos on the other hand is more fluid, he makes use of his dynamics and his footwork is unpredictable, but there’s grace captured in it—like he’s dancing—lunging forward in strict confidence then sidestepping, bouncing back then spinning.

Mydei smiles—a boyish grin that crinkles his eyes—seemingly setting the whole place an inch brighter than before and you’re blinded by the setting sun. You tilt your head more, unable to deny the warm flush from the pillows of your cheeks when you see the hint of dimples on his face, dimples.

The prince is truly astonishing.

Years you were under the tutelage of different priests, learning about prophetic dreams and imagery and clairvoyance—but maybe you were too dizzy watching the boys zip around the gardens, or maybe you were too into your daydreams you didn’t notice how they had hastened their attacks. Mydei was now attacking Phainon in quick succession, seemingly drunk under the thrill to notice Phainon’s stuttering words of take a break or slow down your highness. You were too distracted to notice how the prince swipes up, cutting the atmosphere—the lord’s wooden sword flies out his grasp and comes spinning in your direction.

Oh.

You feel the solid plank crash against your forehead—barely registering the shock that jolts through the two boys when you stumble onto the marble floor, holding your face that seems to quickly heat at both the pain and the embarrassment.

Oh.

“Oh, lord what have you done—“

“Me?” Phainon panics. “You were the one that didn’t stop attacking, I told you numerous times how I prefer a great sword than a simple one. I’m unfamiliar with the weight.”

“Well, I—“

“Ow…”

Their attention snaps back to you. Mydei tosses his wooden sword onto the cobblestone uncaringly and along with Phainon, comes to your aid.

“Hey, are you okay?” Both holding out their hands when they ease you back to your feet. Phainon leans down to brush the crumbs of dirt from your attire, checking to see if you have other injuries whilst Mydei winces at your reddening face.

“I—truly, I apologize.” You can hear the sincerity and guilt in the young prince’s tone. “I didn’t mean…”

“No, I—“ you were quick to speak up as well. Your face furnacing even more when his concerned honey eyes latch with your own—to think your first interaction with each other would be this, how humiliating.

“I was the one who intruded.” You murmur, leaning down to bow. “I apologize for getting in the way, young lords i didn’t want to disturb—“

“Oh gods.” Phainon curses.

You lift your head, confused, until you feel something hot trickling down your nose. Both your hand and Mydei’s fly up to your face, barely containing the blood that rolls down your chin.

“Prince, I think we are in trouble.”

“Stop saying nonsense, Phainon. Tell a servant to fetch us a cloth and a basin of water immediately.”

He didn’t need to be told twice and he was swift, his feet tapping along the marble as he sprinted down the hallway and now you were left alone with Kremnos’ young heir.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Luck was definitely not on your side today.

“Hey, uhm…” Mydei trails off. You see the cogs in his head turning before he gently lets go of your face, you feel a soft pressure at the back of your skull instead as the prince beckons you to lean down towards him.

“Here, press your nose on my tunic. It would be a problem if we don’t add pressure to stop the bleeding—“

Your eyes widen, cheeks hot as coals. You find yourself shaking your head fervently, using the young prince’s shirt to help your nosebleed? if your reputation hadn’t sunk to the bottom of a seabed, it had now. How could you, and to Prince Mydeimos of all people?

But Mydei is persistent, somehow unaware that your flushed face is more likely due to the shame you felt than your injury.

“Please.” He pushes gently. “I insist.”

His palm on the back of your head is steady, fingers rubbing the hair there, his other hand pinch his fabric shirt and tugs it up to press against your bleeding nose. ”Lord Phainon will be back soon, so rest assured. I truly apologize for my lack of manners today.”

It felt like a whole minute with you in close proximity with the Prince, then after that, when a servant came to tend to you—both prince Mydei and lord Phainon received an earful from the adults, to dare bring harm upon a young guest clergy from Janusopolis is an act of slander, they said to the young boys.

And you are no different as your father shakes his head at you, “you’re very lucky that they practiced with wooden swords, what were to happen if they were using actual weapons, what if it was a spear?”

You turn away, “I’m sorry, father—“

“That’s enough child. I should’ve known this would happen, especially with that curiosity of yours. I’ve told you time and time again to steer clear from training grounds, you are not fit for combat.” He pats your shoulder softly. “Come now, let’s not dawdle. We still have to visit the other cities.”

But father, it’s not mere curiosity. You wanted to combat but decide against it.

When you tag along with your father with flushed pink nose and defeated shoulders, you dare slip a glance from behind. Watching the young prince and the lord getting scolded.

But what you didn’t expect was Prince Mydeimos’ honey eyes already on you.

You turned away quickly and never looked back.

A week passes and your shame does not settle nor fade.

“Looks like you had quite a delightful time.” A throwaway comment from Anaxa, you don’t respond and he doesn’t even bother to look in your direction, flipping another scroll and perusing the text casually.

“What do I do, Anaxa, Hyacine?”

“What must you do?” Anaxa shoots you a puzzled look. “Bumping into Prince Mydeimos in Okhema is one in a million, and I am certain your father won’t take you back to Castrum Kremnos after that troubling incident.

“This is so unfair.” You bury your face onto your arms.

Your younger companion heartens over your shoulder, “Cheer up. I’m sure you’ll stumble into him eventually.” Hyacine smiles at you. “After all, Okhema is celebrating a festival. You never know.”

Your eyes gloss over the open window, from the distance you hear the alluring instruments hither thither in gracious waves, the warm winds gossip, the furors of the crowd echo, the clinking of wine and your companions’ soft murmurs from behind you. You lean your cheek against your arm, watching the sky like a meadow of blues.

Distracted, you don’t notice someone approaching until you see a hand come over your vision.

Your eyes flutter, tracing the calloused palm down the arm before meeting the face.

Honey eyes greet you back.

You jolt, Prince Mydeimos.

He sees the recognition spark in your eyes and he smiles, “So it was you.” He lowers his hand, tugging his cloak. “I thought I recognized someone familiar on the window, it’s nice to see you again!”

“Prin…Prince Mydeimos.” You've straightened now. “What are you doing here?”

Your heart seizes when you watch him lean close to you, his dimples are prominent from here, like an intentional dip on a carved marble. He presses a finger to his lips, his boyish grin almost contagious.

“I sneaked away.” He rasps. “It’s a little stiff to have servants follow you around in Okhema’s festival.”

“Oh, I see.” Your eyes fleet. It seems like it has caught the attention of your companions, for the young priestess and sage are now leaning against the wall beside the window, out of view from Mydeimos.

The prince places a hand on the windowsill. “Do you want to come with me?”

Your lips part. “Come with you?”

“Yes. I uhm.” Mydei turns away, then looks back at you. “I want to make it up to you, for what happened last week.”

“There’s no need for that, prince. I’m perfectly okay now and it’s my fault you and the lord got into trouble.” Despite your incessant shakes, he combats it with stubbornness.

“I understand. But I still feel responsible for what has happened.” He tells you. “Then, if not to make up for it, just keep me company?”

“I’m not supposed to…” You hesitate.

But then you felt a foot tap your ankle. Your eyes flicker briefly towards Anaxa and Hyacine—one giving you an encouraging nod and the other had apathy in the face, but he tilts his head on the window as if beckoning you to go. You crack a smile then turn to Mydei and nod.

His smile widens, then he hoists you out of the window frame, strong arms around your torso. Your cheeks darken at his actions.

When the two of you walk down the street, you are splashed with the joyful spirit weaving through the festival. You don’t usually participate whenever these festivals happen, you have no one to go with you. You never wanted to bother your father with your trivial requests, and you had your own duties to finish that you don’t have time for leisure.

The prince tries to match your pace, shoulders barely touching but it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. In fact, Mydeimos has been kind to you which was far from the confident boy who held a spear in the arena.

He treats you as if you are something to him—you immediately shake such thoughts from your head.

Mydei taps your shoulder, pulling you out of your daydreams. “Are you hungry?”

In the young prince’s hands were two figs. You graciously took one from him. “Thank you, Prince Mydeimos.”

The honeycomb in his eyes softened. “Please just call me Mydei.” The fruit is brought to his lips, a crunch resounds when he takes a big bite.

During that time, under the golden festival hue—Mydeimos appeared like a brilliant child, the spirit still flickering a candle in his eyes and the looks he gave you, they were so undeniably soft. You both stopped at small stands, lingered at performances and smiled at the musicians playing instruments—all the while the prince made sure you were entertained and satiated with food; soft bread, cakes, olives. He even goes on a tangent when you had said you never tried specific meat before—those that were exclusive to the high and wealthy.

The prince would take each meat from the table, cupping a hand beneath your chin when you take a bite out of his portion.

You perk up. “It’s good.”

“Right?” Mydei laughs. “This one’s my favorite. We usually only have these in Kremnos during—“

“Are you eloping, my dear prince?”

Your attention is dragged to the owner of the quip. Lord Phainon appears from the thick of the crowd, and his teasing tone brings heat to your cheeks. Mydei scowls at his companion, “why are you here?”

Phainon greets you by ruffling your hair, “have you even an inkling of remorse for your pitiful servants?” His ocean blue eyes aren’t laughing despite his smile. “They’ve been looking for you for an hour or two, to the point it’s starting to spin into a commotion on the festival streets.”

This prompts Mydei to sigh. “Those fellows…”

A flute and strings draws their attention. Suddenly the crowd erupts into cheers, some step forth, dancing on the streets. You can feel Mydei’s eyes on you, then flickering to Phainon.

Maybe it was the expression on the prince’s face that Phainon let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll deal with your servants. You have an hour.”

“That’s all that I need.” Mydei smiles when Phainon turns on his heel to leave. “I owe you, my friend.”

“It’s nothing.” Phainon’s eyes flutter over to you, and his gentle smile returns, mouthing a take care of him before tugging on his hood and disappearing. At that time, you didn’t really know what the young lord meant with that.

And you didn’t have time to ponder, Mydei’s large hand is inching over yours, his fingertips brushing your skin. You look over to him and he asks, “do you know how to dance?”

You barely remembered what you responded back. The prince’s hands have captured your own, more of a soft caress than a hold before slowly pulling you onto the streets and the flurry of dancing citizens. The outside lights careens into the expression on his face when he tells you to dance with him.

You both circle each other and you watch his footwork—sidestepping, bouncing back then spinning—Mydei’s hand is not far from yours, and he pulls you into his dance, a palm seeking refuge on your torso and the other securing your hand, he spins you around and you cannot help the bubble of a laugh from slipping from your lips.

Between the flurries and the crowds there was nothing but you and the prince, everyone else was barely a splotch of watercolor on canvas.

An hour burns through quickly when you’re having fun. The sky began to dim and the festival had hushed, when his servants finally found him and he got in the carriage, he pops his head out the window, calling your name before you can leave.

You seek the honey in his eyes once again, and he leans into his open palm, “visit Castrum Kremnos sometimes.” Mydei grins. “It's a bore to always spend time sparring with Phainon and he’s not a great dancer like you are.

You mirror his grin with your own. “If this is what my prince wants, then I’ll obey.”

The brightened smile that Mydei gave you felt like he had shaved a piece of the sun and reflected it on his own expression. “See you.”

“Goodbye, Kremnos’ prince.”

That expression of his had engraved into your membrane as years shuffle and roll, it’s the exact same face he shows you when you finally visit him—not as a clergy guest of the city but Prince Mydeimos’ guest.

So it's very hard for you to believe in those rumours, rumours that stated that Castrum Kremnos’ hero had gone manic—the same as when the heretical black tide came and made the titans mad. It’s just difficult.

You’re aware that war and battles change a person. It came to make their blooming heart wither into a wasteland, but you know Mydeimos for so long.

You knew him as his childhood friend, as someone who had admired him and his heart for years on end—you never believed rumours about him and if it were true, you wanted to make your own judgement and witness it for yourself.

So when talks of Mydei’s arrival from the battlefield reached your ears, you did not hesitate to start packing for the trip.

Your journey to Kremnos was hasty. You had ignored the rebuttals your father threw at you and got on the carriage. As years passed, so did Castrum Kremnos. It did not beguile a glow like it used to, but your mind’s a raging storm. Your pace is impatient as you run down the corridors of the familiar city.

The sound of the steel sword would indicate where he was since you are aware of his duties to fight—and it is said that crown prince Mydeimos is usually seen spending his leisure on swordsmanship, alone.

Your hand is pressed against the olive tree bark, heaving heavy breaths as your eyes land on Mydeimos’ back, his muscles and sinews are hardened under the reddish hue of sunset, flexing as he moves his sword to cut the air. You barely notice the look on his eyes as well, gone were his large honey pupils and chub on his cheeks, now his gaze has sharpened into resin, narrowed with furrowed brows. He’s no longer as talkative or carefree as back then.

You take a step closer and flinch when Mydeimos turns to your direction, the sword lands heavy above your shoulders, almost grazing your cheek and ears.

The air hangs heavy with tension.

“It’s me, Mydei.”

At the sound of your voice, the prince wavers. The sword is immediately retracted and his heavy heaves are all that fills the air between you two.

“You…” Mydei runs his fingers through his wet hair. “You really do have the habit of just wandering into the practice grounds like this.”

You look away. “I’ll try not to next time.” You were just a little worried about him today.

When you feel a fingertip running down your jaw, you turn back to him.

Mydeimos’ eyes land on something on your face, his frown deepening. “There’s a cut.” He tells you. is there?

You cannot help the slight sting or wince when he presses the wound. At your reaction, he tries to pull away but your hands are quick to capture it, placing his calloused palms back on your cheeks.

“It’s okay.” You tell him but he’s noiseless.

Instead he tilts your head sideways, then leans down. His rough lips on your cheek is all you feel and you’re engulfed in Mydei’s scent of bonfire and wood and smoke.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, pressing another kiss to your other cheek and you told him it was fine. His head lands heavy on your shoulder so you don’t dare ask him how he’s been or how the battlefield was—you doubt he’d want to answer it right now.

“Will you stay for a bit?” He’d ask you and in response you’d embrace him.

“For as long as you wish.”

He pushes a bit. “Will you be by my side then?”

“If you command it, I will.”

Silence.

“Stay with me today?” Mydei adds. “Please?”

For a moment, Phainon’s words are on your ears: take care of him.

You tug him back and hold his cheeks on your palms, your eyes dissect his every fold and dip in expression, the downcasted frown and tired eyes. You give him a bright smile—a smile that flickers a glow on his honey pupils—then rest your forehead against his own.

“I’m here for as long as I live.” You murmur sweetly. “Even if it’s just us left, I’ll be with you.” because I love you, Mydei. For everything that I have.

You don’t announce it, but Mydei’s expression seems to shift when he gazes into your eyes, like he’d read the words written in them.

And holding him like this, you prayed to yourself—to wish nothing but endless glory and victory to Mydeimos for all the tragedies he’d witnessed.

You are not skilled in combat, but you’d hope your support and embraces can heal his wounds just as much. But when Mydei leans forward and presses another kiss on your forehead and two cheeks, your skin is matted and sun-kissed at the trail of his lips. It’s as if he’s telling you that yes, you’re healing him, you’re making him happy.

And you smile at the manner.

[fashion-runways]

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[yuquinzel]

— 7:35 P.M.

feat. katsuki bakugo. fluff. short drabble. wrote it to come to terms with the fact that i am, undeniably, bewitched by this man. :>

“the fuck?”

katsuki mumbles under his breath, his incoherent grumbling fading in and out of your earshot as he stomps over to the kitchen counter where you're standing. “I told you to use a butter knife, idiot.”

he grits his teeth, but his eyes— sharp enough to slice the apples you’re currently cutting— hold no real bite.

“well, hello to you too, baby.” you offer him a tender smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. he lets out a petty little sound in protest, but leans in anyway— lets it linger longer than he means to.

without another word, his hand reaches for the knife. he takes it from you with a gentleness that smooths out the roughness of his much larger hands. then, the apple you were halfway through slicing. all while making claims and complaints about how you don’t really take his words seriously at all nowadays.

“why the fuck do we have such sharp-ass knives?!”

he mutters it low, voice dropping instinctively now that he’s standing so close.

he always does this when you’re near— lowers his voice into something softer, slower. tries his best to soothe it with tamed and hushed words. it’s a habit that formed over time.

you blur and bloom into his life in all colours, softening all the sharp edges piece him together. and he works damn hard to paint everyday in a kind of rare subtlety that he never believed he was capable of. practices with the kind of softness he always thought his hands wouldn’t be able to handle.

he never says it out loud, but you’re someone to be treated with care. always.

which is why—

“what if your clumsy ass ends up with more cuts than the fruit, huh?”

he’s not grumbling anymore. his voice is velvet now, baritone and warm, and it wraps around you like a blanket. you feel your heart swell.

“katsuki, honey, I can skillfully wield a katana. I’m excellent with blades.”

you laugh, mellow and sweet.

“you’ve never let me use a knife before, but seriously? you think a kitchen knife’s gonna hurt me when a sword doesn’t?”

his brows stay drawn, but he’s not frowning anymore. “I know ya can kill a man in twelve different ways, baby. don’t mean shit. you’re not using a knife like this in our house. i don’t care whose house it is. butter knife. that’s it.”

and just like that, he’s already done slicing two apples.

“...dude.”

he turns his head just slightly to glance at you, eyes narrow.

“who’re you talking to?”

the warning is soft, teasing. he’s always hated when you use any word for him other than baby, sweetheart, honey— even just his name wrapped in your voice, bleeding with so much meaning, like it’s an answer to everything, ever since he first heard them from your lips.

“seriously, katsuki...”

you try to feign annoyance, lips thinning—but he knows better. knows the way your mouth twitches at the corners, how you can't quite hold back your smile.

he smirks. he’s already tempted to kiss you again.

“dinner’s on you while you’re at it, then!”

you toss it over your shoulder as you walk away.

“OI! I NEVER SAID I’D DO EVERYTHING! WE’RE WORKING TOGETHER!”

THIS IS SO ASS I HAVENT WRITTEN ANYTHING IN SO LONG AND IT SHOWS LORDDDDDDDDDD DELIVER US FROM THIS WRITER’S BLOCK;-;-;-;-

[yuquinzel]

▬▬▬ ink and bloom.

feat. itoshi sae. sensual. 600+ wc. sae has a silent obsession with your tattoo.

“why flowers?” itoshi sae had asked you once, his thumb smoothing over the ink skimming the curves of your hips down to your thigh. the tenderness of his touch against your bare skin would contrast his hardened gaze that scanned the pattern over and over again.

something about the tattoo etched into your skin—sprawling vines intertwined with blooming flowers—kept pulling at the corners of his mind. he couldn't explain the quiet obsession, it just lulled in his mind, unwavering and tentative.

“why not?” you tilted your head, amused by his rare curiosity.

the playful evasion didn’t make it any better. he wanted to know more— how long you’ve had the tattoo, did it hurt, what was the inspiration for it, who had been entrusted with marking your skin permanently. someone else had given you that art. a brand of beauty etched into the softness he knew intimately.

the realization tasted weird in his mouth. bitter and burning. it gnawed on his mind in ways he did not want to acknowledge.

sae was meticulous, methodical in his approach to life and football. control was his element. yet here you were, chaotic in the way you tangled his thoughts, much like the vines woven down your hips. he memorized every curve of the inked lines, every petal that bloomed under his gaze. he ran his lips over the outlines and patterns in moments of entangled breaths. it was the first thing he’d do. where he started. he was drawn to feeling the intimate story your tattoo would tell if he kissed it with enough passion.

it was never enough for him. how could he ever calm the blooming desire to overdraw your tattoo with something of his own.

when his mouth found its way to the intricate design, it was instinctual—a silent claim painted in violet and red. he did everything he could, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin and tongue gliding long and leisurely slides. he would let his breath hover there for seconds, then resume with even more intensity, sucking and biting painted skin. while his hands explored every other inch of your body in a rush to make most of the moment, his mouth was reserved for the pattern over your thigh. his movements seemed almost calculated, much calmer and patient, yet hungrier than anything else.

the marks bloomed across your tattoo like wild blossoms, blending with the ink as though they were always meant to be there. hickeys carved from something deeper than fleeting lust, something intangible that sae could not express as just ‘desire’. they were temporary, he knew, fading reminders that made way for permanence again.

but still, he returned to that place every chance he got. pressing his lips there felt like rewriting a story he hadn’t been a part of from the beginning. his tongue traced the path of vines, leaving warmth and want in its wake, each kiss layered with meaning neither of you dared speak aloud.

in the low glow of night, your breath hitched as sae’s teeth grazed the petals inked along your hips. “you’re obsessed,” you teased, voice breathy.

he didn’t respond, not verbally. his mouth pressed firmly against your skin, another unspoken answer blooming against your flesh. if you understood the truth behind it—if you knew the possessive tangle of thoughts winding in his mind—you didn’t say.

and sae preferred it that way. the silent exchange of kisses and control, desire and answers. no words, just marks made by lips where ink once reigned alone. temporary proof that, even if he hadn’t inked the art on your skin, he could still claim it in his own way.

© yuquinzel2025 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

hiiiii this has been sitting in my drafts for too long and oops 🤭

[yuquinzel]

your layout makes me really nostalgic and sad/pos 😭 sorry if this is random..

— hehehe it does feel nostalgic to me as well because i’ve grown out of that aesthetic and feel like changing it but at the same time, too much effort went into it and i’m kinda lazy these days so i can’t bring myself to change it :’)))

[yuquinzel]

▬▬▬ ink and bloom.

feat. itoshi sae. sensual. 600+ wc. sae has a silent obsession with your tattoo.

“why flowers?” itoshi sae had asked you once, his thumb smoothing over the ink skimming the curves of your hips down to your thigh. the tenderness of his touch against your bare skin would contrast his hardened gaze that scanned the pattern over and over again.

something about the tattoo etched into your skin—sprawling vines intertwined with blooming flowers—kept pulling at the corners of his mind. he couldn't explain the quiet obsession, it just lulled in his mind, unwavering and tentative.

“why not?” you tilted your head, amused by his rare curiosity.

the playful evasion didn’t make it any better. he wanted to know more— how long you’ve had the tattoo, did it hurt, what was the inspiration for it, who had been entrusted with marking your skin permanently. someone else had given you that art. a brand of beauty etched into the softness he knew intimately.

the realization tasted weird in his mouth. bitter and burning. it gnawed on his mind in ways he did not want to acknowledge.

sae was meticulous, methodical in his approach to life and football. control was his element. yet here you were, chaotic in the way you tangled his thoughts, much like the vines woven down your hips. he memorized every curve of the inked lines, every petal that bloomed under his gaze. he ran his lips over the outlines and patterns in moments of entangled breaths. it was the first thing he’d do. where he started. he was drawn to feeling the intimate story your tattoo would tell if he kissed it with enough passion.

it was never enough for him. how could he ever calm the blooming desire to overdraw your tattoo with something of his own.

when his mouth found its way to the intricate design, it was instinctual—a silent claim painted in violet and red. he did everything he could, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin and tongue gliding long and leisurely slides. he would let his breath hover there for seconds, then resume with even more intensity, sucking and biting painted skin. while his hands explored every other inch of your body in a rush to make most of the moment, his mouth was reserved for the pattern over your thigh. his movements seemed almost calculated, much calmer and patient, yet hungrier than anything else.

the marks bloomed across your tattoo like wild blossoms, blending with the ink as though they were always meant to be there. hickeys carved from something deeper than fleeting lust, something intangible that sae could not express as just ‘desire’. they were temporary, he knew, fading reminders that made way for permanence again.

but still, he returned to that place every chance he got. pressing his lips there felt like rewriting a story he hadn’t been a part of from the beginning. his tongue traced the path of vines, leaving warmth and want in its wake, each kiss layered with meaning neither of you dared speak aloud.

in the low glow of night, your breath hitched as sae’s teeth grazed the petals inked along your hips. “you’re obsessed,” you teased, voice breathy.

he didn’t respond, not verbally. his mouth pressed firmly against your skin, another unspoken answer blooming against your flesh. if you understood the truth behind it—if you knew the possessive tangle of thoughts winding in his mind—you didn’t say.

and sae preferred it that way. the silent exchange of kisses and control, desire and answers. no words, just marks made by lips where ink once reigned alone. temporary proof that, even if he hadn’t inked the art on your skin, he could still claim it in his own way.

© yuquinzel2025 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

hiiiii this has been sitting in my drafts for too long and oops 🤭

[yuquinzel]

finish the bkg fic please im starving 😢

— I totally forgot about it and now it’s exam season, forgive me, for you’ll have to starve for a while 😿

[yuquinzel]

I’m gonna do a complete theme change to signify my character development huuhuheheheh

[yuquinzel]

nvm i can't. too in love with current one.

[yuquinzel]

I’m gonna do a complete theme change to signify my character development huuhuheheheh

[yuquinzel]

Do people still read bakugo fics and all I’m suddenly falling back into my bkg phase mhm...

[yuquinzel]

ANONS I SEE YOU MOOTS I SEE YOU AND UHM I’LL SLOWLY GET TO REPLYING it’s just the number of messages sending me into overdrive </33

[yuquinzel]

— flowerthief.

feat. itoshi rin. fluff <3 short drabble. rin doesn’t greet you without flowers.

itoshi rin shows up at your house at exactly 9:38 pm — standing in all his glory — drenched in sweat and a mess of shattered breaths. you know he ran all the way here, which you can’t find the reason for when you check the time twice to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you.

you would’ve said something like rin what the hell it’s so late or maybe just cross your arms and peer down at him with a look that says well? to what do I owe the pleasure except it’s only sarcasm.

you would say all that if the first thing he did as you opened the door wasn’t shoving the HUGE bouquet of flowers in your face.

you have no idea where this is going.

it takes 10 seconds for you to realise he’s not going to move from his spot unless you accept the flowers and get them out of your face.

“uhm... what?” is all you can say.

“flowers.” he replies. only now allowing himself to relax and lean against the wall.

“i can see that, but why now?” you bring your fingers to trace the petals. rin is aware of all your favorites, so you’re not surprised to find them sweetly tucked together.

in fact this isn’t the first time he’s given you flowers.

ever since three months ago at the start of your relationship, when you had mindlessly told him you’ve never been given flowers— rin had made it his life’s mission to bring you flowers every. single. day. it’s sometimes a bouquet of blooming colors, sometimes it’s just a small flower he could’ve found anywhere on the roadside.

rin doesn’t greet you without flowers.

“i was so busy with practice today, i couldn’t come earlier.” he says in a somewhat hurried tone, each word cut off by the next.

you think of the hurried text he’d sent you earlier — practice’ll drag out today. i can’t come. sorry. — it was simple, and you knew he was busy so you weren’t upset over it either.

“i thought you couldn’t come?”

“but i wanted to.”

that explains the impromptu visit past 9 pm, the disheveled hair and the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead saying he ran like there was no tomorrow.

“that’s okay rinnie. you give me flowers everyday. it’s okay if you were too busy.” your fingers trace the soft petals. rin holds his breath.

“no, it’s not. i give you flowers everyday. why should today be any different?”

a smile tugs at your lips. you feel giddy and warm. the thought that he’d rushed out of practice and took the time to get you a bouquet of your favourites just to come see you even though he must be exhausted — why he goes out of his way to make you feel special — it sort of steals your breath and make your heart ricochet like bullets in your ribcage.

so when you take your hand to brush his cheeks, the warmth lingering in your hands, rin takes a hold of it in a firm grip. his own hand resting on top of yours to keep it there.

his shoulders relax, “do you like them?” he asks, like always, eyes shining with a glimmer you only ever see around you.

“i love them.” you say, all your love for him and his flowers safely wrapped up in the syllables.

rin lets a small smile play at his lips, “...and?”

you laugh at this, knowing exactly what he means. “and i love you.”

“i love you too.” rin mirrors your laugh, a sputter of low breaths throughout the air.

© yuquinzel2024 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

one less draft. woohoo. fellas i present to you, rin, the epitome of “if he wanted to, he would.”

[yuquinzel]

FORMS OF AFFECTION feat ⨾ blue lock !

𓈒࣪ 𐐪𐑂 ─ contents ⨾ gn! reader, fluff, bllk boys as forms of affection!

𓈒࣪ 𐐪𐑂 ─ characters ⨾ rin, sae, nagi, reo, isagi, chigiri.

ITOSHI RIN. . .

fills the gap between your fingers with his own, entwining them tightly and lovingly. he does it to keep you close in crowds— firm and protective, making sure to always keep you in his sights. he does it on mornings he wakes up before you, always following it up with dusting his lips across your knuckles. he holds onto your hand when you're watching his horror favorites, and if you ask him, it's not really intentional— he just does it subconsciously, seeking for your hand like it's only natural to be connected to you. it grounds him. it makes him remember that you're with him, and he holds on to your hand with the sincerity of never wanting to let go.

ITOSHI SAE. . .

rakes his fingers through your hair— soft and tentative, brushing back the strands of hair behind your ears. he repeats it with a rhythm, of low hums and silken touches under the night. he knows it calms you, a wave of serenity washing over your senses when you feel his fingers thread along your hair. if he's being honest, it's more of a selfish act than a serving one because you don't know that the feel of your hair in his hand is nothing but a gentle reminder of not being alone. he feels all his worry knots unwind the moment you smile at him, so really it's much more selfish than he wishes it was.

NAGI SEISHIRO. . .

bites your fingers— never too harsh but always following it up with a chaste kiss to soothe whatever little hurt it could leave in its traces. it's laced with a childish mischief, but something intimate. the cuts of his teeth brushing lightly against the tip of your finger before you feel the softness of his lips. its a habit leftover from way before you started dating, something that makes your heart skip millions of beat in one second. he does it to get your attention, and then to keep it, and it's something that always works.

REO MIKAGE. . .

kisses your wrists, fingers loosely wrapped around it under the cold pooling your sheets. he's sweet and shy, his laugh nothing but a vibrato of sound spilling against your skin as much as the moonlight. it's a foreign feeling that you're growing accustomed to, and he holds your hand till his fingers slip to your wrist. then, he brings his lips to meet the warmth of your skin. his lips linger with the ache of home, time melts before you pull your next breath and he smiles against your skin, again.

ISAGI YOICHI. . .

greets you with the press of his lips to your forehead— never lasting more than a few heartbeats. his lips are warm unlike his hands, and he can never resist the smile tugging at his lips when you dip your head forward just seconds before he kisses you. it's how he greets and it's how he bids a farewell, a muffled love you, i'll see you later escapes his lips and it feels as though times melts into infinity before he can kiss you again.

CHIGIRI HYOMA. . .

ruffles your hair, it's always followed up by a i promise i'll see you later because he's leaving and you're pouting and he thinks you look so cute. his laugh sputters through the air like scattered breaths and echoes till it leaves reminders of him. he rests his hand on the crown of your head, giving it a few pats before ruffling your hair. and he'll do the same when he sees you again, maybe less for the act itself and more for your reaction— the pink dusting your cheeks. he thinks he'll definitely see you again.

© yuquinzel2024 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights! ]

[yuquinzel]

YOURS AND MINE — nagi seishiro.

nagi seishiro isn't big on nicknames.

sure, on lazy sunday mornings, he'll throw in a "let's just stay like this for five more minutes, hmm babe?" words muffled because he chooses to hide his face in the crook of your neck, his hold on you tightening just slightly when you make a sound of protest. "five more minutes" he says, and you think it would do no harm. but that's all it takes for him to fall asleep and you can't quite bring yourself to get up when he looks so peaceful. cheeks full and wholesome and snow-coloured bangs falling over his eyes.

and on long wednesday nights when you're just a little more tired than usual, eyes heavy with drowsiness, your responses low and short. the times he knows you're having a bad day even when you haven't said anything, he'll casually whisper endearments like "how 'bout we just get to bed and cuddle? you up for that angel?" when you nod silently, he picks you up from where you're slumped on the couch, letting your head fall on his chest to place delicate kisses on your forehead.

warm friday afternoons when you're getting ready for your riverside picnic date & nagi seishiro is busy trying to level up his characters. when you step out of your shared bedroom, still fixing your hair and your clothes and your hair again, nagi spares you a glance when you ask him if you look okay. he hums. doesn't like the adjective. "okay" is downright disrespectful and unjustified to describe you. he turns his attention back to his phone screen, letting the silence take form for a few seconds, "you always look pretty, princess"

mellow saturday evenings. nagi seishiro still isn't big on nicknames. sure he calls you babe, angel, sweetheart, love. anything that melts on his tongue like sugarpaper and glosses over his lips when they meet yours. when his tongue glides across your own, when he closes his eyes to solely focus on the presence of you and your scent, your touch, your smile, your hands in his hair and his on your waist.

between the hushed breaths and low-lidded eyes, the faint taste of nectar on each other's lips that nagi knows he won't ever get enough of, you call him by his name and he calls you by yours.

nagi seishiro decides he likes calling you by your name more than anything. because you're too much and not enough at the same time, because he knows no endearment could ever compare to the special ring his name has when you say it. because he wants to revel in the intimacy of beings yours and yours alone, in moments like this when you're his and only his. because he knows your eyes will search for him in a crowd at the call of your name. because he knows every initial of your name like he knows he's bound to win every game when you're watching.

because he knows your name belongs to him just as much as his belongs to you.

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

[yuquinzel]

can I show my love for you.... ( making biscuits on your thighs )

[yuquinzel]

the day i can publish all my drafts is the day I'll agree I can die peacefully