Yua

she/her; 20+ yo; personal use

[zhayur]

ABOUT ME

Yua

she/her

not a minor

tot, genshin, mlqc, persona fandom

luke pearce, gavin, and the protagonists kin

ABOUT THIS ACCOUNT

for personal use

reblogs

rarely posts

contains some 18+ posts (mdni)

not for commercial purposes

not for socializing

please do not follow this account.

© yua @zhayur

[ruruumin]

“be careful,” dan heng reaches out, wiping away a droplet of sauce from the corner of your lip. you sheepishly look up at him, eyes glimmering beneath the restaurant lights. “if you eat any faster, your stomach might start hurting.” 

“sorry, the food here is just so good—” you exhale, sitting back into your seat, “and we’ve been treasure hunting all day!” 

since the astral express have been running a little low on supplies, the team decided to stop by the xianzhou. with march 7th feeling sick and stelle taking care of her, it was up to you and dan heng to go shopping. although you would have loved the opportunity to show sunday around the area, it might be for the better that he stays away from the public light—lest he wants to be imprisoned at the shackling. 

you initially thought the job was going to be easier. go in. go out. hands full with boxes. but that wasn’t the case because every vendor you approached had some long-winded task for you to finish. at first, it was bearable, the sun wasn’t fully out and it wasn’t scorching. however, now that time has passed, you feel the humidity in the air sticking to your clothes.

after a few hours of running around the xianzhou luofu, dan heng suggested taking a break at a nearby restaurant. combined with your exhaustion and the summer heat, you were absolutely starving.

“i know.”

dan heng scooches his chair a little closer to yours, fingers twirling a bit of his food with his chopsticks, “just take it easy. i don’t want to see you choke on the other side of the table.” 

“its not the other side if you’re sitting right next to me now, is it?”

after being caught in the act, dan heng rears his head away from you. underneath the clips on his ears, you notice a slight reddish hue decorating the surface of his skin. he is strangely bashful about his closeness with you. it makes it all the more endearing when you watch him cave into his subtle wants, the lingering touches on the back of your spine every time he pushes you away from danger, or the small sounds of disagreement whenever you’re separated. 

“hurry up and finish your food.”

you make yourself comfortable beside him, allowing your shoulder to brush against his. “whatever you say, dan heng.”

[proadoration]

He's a ?/10

He’s a 0/10, because when you first stepped foot on the Express, he just gave you a scrutinizing look and didn’t say a word. And it happened again – at the first passenger meeting, first shared dinner, even first cleaning of the Express’s cars. It’s not threatening, it’s just… cold.

He’s a 1/10, because he always holds doors for you, no matter how far you are, and he’s always the first in the group to stop and wait for you when you’re falling behind. On your never-changing “thank you” he only nods.

He’s a 2/10, because he never says “you’re too loud” when you get excited about two moons in the sky on one of the planets and share your admiration with him. He never points out that you should be quieter when you laugh about something, never nags at you for being yourself. His maximum is an exasperated sigh or an eyeroll, but never a complaint. 

He’s a 3/10, because sometimes you wake up in the middle of the astronomical night to find yourself in the archives, covered with a blanket. You exit quietly, and when presented with a question of “Why didn’t you wake me up?” the next morning, Dan Heng only shrugs and says: “You didn’t hear me”. Now – are you really that much of a heavy sleeper? Or maybe – but you decide to hold it to yourself – Dan Heng didn’t even try?

He’s a 4/10, because when it’s time for the usual souvenir exchange after exploration of a new planet, Dan Heng seems to know you like you know yourself. To think that of all trinkets on the stall he picked this exact thing of this design and material, and of an excellent quality, too! Expressing your gratitude, you notice how his faint smile becomes more gentle. 

He’s a 5/10, because he knows your habits. When you lose all hope in finding your phone after checking every corner, every gap, he calmly hands it to you and says: “Found it under the pillow on the couch. Just like three times before”, and gives you a mocking look. Strangely enough, you also see a tiny drop of pride in the blue of his eyes. 

He knocks on your door exactly when you give yourself one final look in the mirror before heading out for breakfast, and you feel his hand fall lightly on your shoulder just a moment before a wave of sleepiness hits you in the late evening. 

He’s a 6/10, because he listens to you. No matter how big or small the problem is, he never stops your train of thoughts, never denies and never lessens your experience. He lets your words settle down in the archive or in a suite of the hotel, giving back just a few words. But reassurance in his eyes and steadiness in his voice soothe your anxiety, and before long you find yourself relaxed and protected by this tranquil silence. And more often than not, by the next morning your trouble has magically vanished.  

He’s a 7/10, because his compliments stay with you for a long time. He may note how a new eyeshadow color makes your eyes brighter, or how this particular shirt depicts your versatile personality. He never speaks for the sake of a mere flattery, so you know it’s true when Dan Heng calls you clever or alluring, even if it’s barely audible and makes his gaze glued to the screen or a tea in his cup, to anything – but your face. 

He’s an 8/10, because he makes you feel safe, in every situation. You know you can always ask him about almost anything in this vast universe through which you blaze, and he will explain calmly, softly and interestingly. You know that his spear will hit the enemy faster than you turn around to shield yourself, and you know that any nightmare can be dissipated in his quiet, soft embrace. He’s the first to speak up when you’re met with bad criticism, and he’s the last to leave your bed when you’re ill. 

He’s a 9/10, because he teaches you to be strong and grateful. A horrible day, a nice meal, a storm that caught you two by surprise and a bad photo of you, taken by March 7th – all these things deserve praise and a heartfelt “thank you”, said in the quiet of the dimly lit room or to yourself. Because there wasn’t and won’t be anything identical to these moments, and because you will never be the same – Dan Heng knows it well. 

And still, he points to March to take a photo of a giant tree that is older than your ages combined, and he steals glances at you when you’re not looking, just to make sure that he remembers, just to say “thank you” again. 

He’s a 10/10, because he says “I love you” while typing something on the keyboard and stopping just to check his long empty mug for any tea left. Just like that, like wishing someone a good morning when the morning is truly blissful. His words linger in the air, but somehow, they envelop you in a comfort you only feel when he’s around. Amidst a white noise of the archives, you say: “I love you too”, and then leave to put the kettle on.  

Bonus:

He’s a 10/10, because when you tell the crew that you’re leaving the Express, he only nods and says: “The door to the archives is closed, but never locked”. 

You smile happily: you’re glad you opened it back then. 

[zaynesplushiekiller]

laying on top of you and sort of crushing you is march 7th, her hands are wrapped underneath you, and every time her fingers tense in her sleep, you can feel it. on your left side lay dan heng, one of his arms slung haphazardly on top of march, clenching a fist full of sunday's pajamas, unintentionally pulling him closer to you. on your right is sunday, his hands curled tightly next to your cheek, where you feel one of his wings fluttering with the cool breeze of the fan above you.

despite how adorable the scene is, and you know you all look cute- you are not comfortable in the slightest; dan heng's tail is wrapped so tight around your leg, you're pretty sure you lost feeling in it ten minutes ago. march makes it hard to breathe as you try and limit the amount of air you intake as to not disturb her. and sunday... he's actually fine, all things considered. though, his feathers are so light against your skin it tickles, so that's his vice.

and god forbid you adjust in any way, if you wake up even one of your sleeping companions, you won't hear the end of it. so you stay laying quietly. the fan above you is nice, and your pillow is extra soft. you're comfy, warm, and surrounded by love. you're pretty sure the kitty stuffed animal you've slept with every night is... somewhere? hopefully not on the floor.

in her sleep, march rolls over, and with a little bit of maneuvering on your end, she slots in between you and sunday perfectly. now you can finally sleep!

just as you roll over, watching dan heng's sleepy face with revere, a fuzzy feeling washes over you. his face is relaxed when he sleeps, a stark contrast to his normal face. you want to kiss his nose, but you're too afraid of waking him up, so you watch in blissful silence. now that his hand isn't pulling sunday in, it rests on your hip. as slow as possible, you draw your hand up his skin until it reaches his cheek. if you weren't trying to be quiet, you'd giggle at how he leans in. even in his sleep, he seeks you.

[twis-world]

Every couple of months Dan Heng was forced to bring out Imbibitor Lunae.

It would no longer feel comfortable to conceal his draconic features. His tail and horns would practically force themselves out, aching and needing to be stretched out. His tail he could do with ease, only needing to move it this way and that. As long as he kept it out all was well.

But his horns? God his horns.

No matter how he massaged them, how he glided his fingers upon them, it just never felt right. He couldn’t tell where exactly the sore pain was coming from and it practically killed him.

That’s how you walked in on him. Sitting on his makeshift bed within the databank, hands moving this way and that, desperately trying to scratch and massage wherever he could reach. His face was practically twisted in despair at his own failure to soothe the aching sensation.

“Are you okay?” You asked, rushing over to his side. You sat beside him, hands raised to comfort him but pausing in the air. You didn’t know whether or not you should touch him, didn’t know what he needed at the moment. You knew of when he needed to stretch out in this form, but you didn’t know it could be this bad.

Dan Heng huffed. “Can’t…can’t reach. I can’t seem to figure out where this god forsaken itch is.” He hissed as he scratched at his horns harder, desperate for just a bit of relief.

“Hey, hey, you’re going to hurt yourself.” You grabbed at his hands and pulled them away from his head, preventing him from scratching any further. But in return you got a small whine that made you freeze. Was it really that torturous for him?

That’s when an idea popped into your head.

“Do you want me to massage them for you?” You quietly asked, sounding unsure of your own suggestion. You were close friends with the man, considering yourself to be his best actually with the years you had maintained such a close relationship. Even then, though, you knew his feelings toward his Vidyadhara lineage. He was still working on accepting it and all the cons it came with. Such as this very moment. “You can say no, of course. I don’t want to overstep any boundaries-”

“Please,” he hissed, though not with any vitriol. You paused, not expecting such an answer, and at your hesitation he gently grabbed your hand and raised it to his head. “Please.”

The second time was enough for you to snap out of your bewilderment, fingers slowly closing over one of his horns. You lightly scratched, brushing your nails up and down, searching for the spot that was causing him such distress. As each second passed without being able to locate it, Dan Heng continued to whine. His fists gripped on the blanket pile below him, and his head tilted into the palm of your hand in order to help.

It took a moment, but eventually you found the spot that made him practically sag in relief. A sweet sigh escaped his lips, and he practically fell into your lap as you gently massaged it. He did when you remembered his second horn and did the same to it, pressing deeper into it.

“Thank you,” he sighed. “Aeons thank you.”

Your cheeks warmed at the proximity, pointedly looking away and trying to focus anywhere else in the databank. The collection of books Dan Heng had, the latest reports he had printed sprawled on the floor, leftover dinner that he decided to eat in his room.

Anything and everything that would distract you from the practically purring dragon in your lap.

Minutes passed and eventually the horns ripped away from your hands. You finally looked forward once more and were greeted with the amusing sight of Dan Heng's cheeks absolutely bursting in red. “I apologize," he cleared his throat, scrambling off of you and practically molding himself onto the bookshelf behind him. “That was unbecoming of me and I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Damn, you thought you were slick. “No, no,” you waved your hands in front of you. “You’re fine, I promise. I’m glad I was able to help. I assume you feel better?”

The red slowly gave way to pink, and slowly the pink faded into the pale white of his skin. “Yes, thank you. These times are always troubling when I can’t get rid of the ache in my…well, you know.”

“I can only imagine,” you sighed, fiddling your fingers as an awkward silence began to settle. Neither of you were looking at the other, and eventually it got to be too much. You shot to your feet. “Well, again, glad I could help. Let me know if you need anything else, yeah?”

You began heading over to the databank door, pausing as Dan Heng called out your name hesitantly. You turned around, attempting to make eye contact as the other looked to the floor to avoid your eyes. “Would you…would you be opposed to helping me if I need it again?”

For some reason, the request settled the turmoil within you. Knowing that he appreciated your touch, your proximity, it sent your heart racing. “Yeah! For sure!”

At your acceptance Dan Heng finally raised his head, sending a small smile your way. “Thank you,” he muttered, almost shyly.

God he was going to be the death of you.

[yokolate]

Qifrey and Brushbuddy Witch Hat Atelier (2026) — 1x11 Kamome Shirahama

[doodleandcry]

⚠️SXF CHAPTER 136 SPOILERS⚠️

oops spilled too much angst on it!

[romopiod]

TOGETHER?!

SYNOPSIS. Someone assumes the two of you are together, when you’re not (yet), how does he react?

FEATURING. Albedo, Ayato, Childe, Kaeya, Lohen, Thoma, Venti

WORD COUNT. 5.7k total (i got carried away, please stick around)

NOTES. Just fluff through and through. I wanted to write for so many more characters!! Do let me know who else you would like to see :))

Fem!reader !! she/her pronouns are used.

ALBEDO

You spend a lot of time in Albedo's lab. You're not entirely sure when it started becoming routine, but somewhere between him seeking your presence and you deciding to stay longer than necessary, it just... happened. You'd sit in the corner with a book or just watch him work, the way he moves through his experiments with methodical precision. 

Today, though, you're in the Favonius library instead. Albedo needed to research something specific, and you went along with him without question. You're sitting at one of the tables while he browses the shelves, pulling down various tomes with focused precision.

Lisa is at the front desk when Albedo brings his stack of books to check them out. You're waiting nearby, and she glances between the two of you with that knowing smile of hers.

"My, my, someone's been spending a lot of time with our dear Chief Alchemist," she says to you, her voice sweet as honey. She's already flipping through the first book. "Taking quite the interest in his work, are we?"

"Just curious," you say, suddenly very aware of how close Albedo is standing.

"Mm, how thoughtful of you." She continues scanning, her eyes flickering up to Albedo for just a moment. "Your lover must appreciate having someone so interested in what he does."

She says it so casually, so mixed in with the mundane task of checking out books, that it takes a moment for the words to actually register. By the time they do, she's already moving on to the next book, completely unbothered.

Albedo pauses. You notice it immediately—his hand stills on the counter, and there's a moment where he seems to be processing something. His gaze drifts to the side, not quite looking at Lisa, not quite looking at you. He's just... considering. Turning the words over in his mind the way he does with everything else. 

Then, just as quietly as the pause came, he seems to release it. He doesn't correct her. Doesn't say anything at all. Just sets down the remaining books on the counter in that careful way of his.

“Oh, uhm,” You begin, looking over at Albedo. “We, uh, aren’t together.”

Lisa glances up, catches something in his expression, and her smile widens slightly. But she says nothing more.

Later, when you're back at the library and Albedo is focused on his research, you find yourself thinking about what Lisa said.

"Do you think I'm a distraction?" you ask casually, not looking up from your book.

Albedo doesn't pause in his work. "No." The answer is immediate. Certain. You turn a page.

"Lisa thinks we're together," you say.

He sets down the vial he held with careful precision. Turns to look at you fully, and for a long moment, he doesn't say anything. His soft, analytical gaze is fixed on you, and the silence stretches out—long enough that you start to feel uncomfortable, long enough that you begin to wonder if you've said something wrong.

And then, as though he had reached a conclusion so simple and obvious, "Would that be so strange?"

You realise you don't have an answer for that. And more importantly, that perhaps, no, it would not be so strange after all. 

AYATO

The Kamisato clan commissioner rarely ventured into the markets. Usually, he would have sent either Thoma or one of his other myriad helpers to fetch whatever it was he or Ayaka needed. But, today, perhaps as a change of environment—away from the towering paperwork he had to fill—Ayato decided to accompany you in your shopping. He always had a peculiar habit of trailing behind you, even when it was unnecessary. You had gotten used to his presence in your life. A shadow. An extremely coy and teasing shadow, that is. 

Besides, perhaps the presence of the commissioner would snag you a couple of good deals while out and about. 

You curled a bolt of silk green fabric around your wrist. Pretty, smooth. Ayato peeked over your shoulder, scrutinising the item in so much more detail than you were at all. 

You turned back to look at him and huffed, a sound of amusement, “What, is it not to your liking, Ayato?”

“Well,” he seemed to draw out, catching your eyes. “I hardly think it’s your shade.”

Not your shade? Just as a retort bubbled up in your throat, you were interrupted by the sound of the vendor. “Ah, commissioner!” He said. “Interested in imported silks, are you?”

The man seemed to be pulling out more cloth, shades of different colours—silver, lavender, pink, blue. His hands moved with practiced efficiency as he laid out the fabrics over the counter. He seemed to be going on and on about where each piece was imported from—this one from Liyue, the other a local craftsman from Inazuma, the other cultivated in the meadows of Mondstadt. 

But then he picked out a specific piece and looked over to Ayato. “I’m sure your lover would look stunning in the deeper blues,” he said. “Does the lady have a preference, or should we let the commissioner decide?”

You tensed. 

Lover? And the man had said it so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You felt your cheeks warm and suddenly you seemed to become all too aware of the little distance between you and Ayato. As though hypersensory, you could feel the way Ayato’s hands stilled, resting for a moment at your hip. You looked over at him. 

And yet, there was no change in his expression. If anything, the small smile he had on his face had stretched a fractional amount. His head tilted to the side. 

“I think she would look rather beautiful,” Ayato said. Simple and casual, his eyes snagging on you for half a second. It was like he hadn’t even heard the former part of the sentence. Or, scratch that, like he hadn’t heard anything the vendor had just said. 

The vendor was simply ecstatic to have sold something to the commissioner, and—apparently—his “lover,” and had left to wrap the item. 

You paused for a second, before turning to the man next to you. “What was that?” 

Ayato hummed non-commitally as he looked at you. “What was what?” He feigned ignorance, that smug idiot. He never missed a single thing. Once you had changed the scent of your perfume from Sakura Bloom to Naku Weed, and he had caught it the moment you stepped into his office; there was no way he hadn’t heard that. 

“He just called me your lover!” You pressed. 

Ayato just tilted his head, his fingers tapping against the wooden counter. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t correct him.”

“No.”

The heat in your face seemed to rise in temperature. Just what exactly was he playing at? Why was he staring at you like this was the most normal thing ever? Was he not bothered? And the way the merchant had said it, too, it was like everyone in the entirety of Inazuma knew about this except for you!

“Why not?” You asked, growing more shifty by the second. 

Ayato let out a laugh, a sweet, melodic little sound, “You didn't seem eager to correct him yourself.”

You opened your mouth to argue, and then closed it again. “W-Well, I was just about—but then, I…” Any and all justification that rose in your throat withered away. Especially when Ayato was staring at you like that. Like he was challenging you to question that assumption, daring you to change it. 

That day, the two of you walked away having bought an expensive indigo fabric. Matching the Kamisato insignia.

CHILDE

The training grounds were empty except for the two of you. You'd been sparring with Childe for the better part of an hour, and he was still grinning like he was having the time of his life—which, knowing him, he probably was.

"Your footwork's off," he called out, circling you with that predatory grace he had when he was actually engaged. "You're telegraphing your next move."

"Maybe I want you to know what I'm doing," you shot back, lunging. He sidestepped easily, but you'd anticipated that, spinning to catch him off-guard with a follow-up strike. He blocked it, and the impact sent a jolt up your arm. "Or maybe you're just slow today."

"Slow?" He laughed, and there was an edge to it now—the kind that meant he'd stopped holding back. He came at you with a series of quick strikes, testing your reflexes, and you matched him, parry for parry. 

Your muscles were already burning from the previous rounds, but you pushed anyway because he'd give you that look of approval when you did, that slight nod like you'd passed some invisible test. "You're the one who's slowing down. Your last five moves have been predictable."

"Only because you're boring me," you said, breathing harder now. You twisted away from his next strike, used his momentum against him, and nearly got him off-balance. Nearly. He recovered with infuriating ease, but you caught the flash of something in his expression—genuine interest now, not just amusement.

The sparring continued, and at one point, you overextended on a strike. His hand came out to steady you, gripping your arm just above the elbow. It was meant to be instructional—a correction of your form—but he held it for a moment, his thumb brushing against your skin before he released you. Neither of you acknowledged it. He just stepped back and said, "Again. Better this time."

You came at him again, and somewhere in the middle of it, there was a moment where he caught your wrist mid-strike. His hand was warm, his grip firm but not painful. He could have thrown you. Instead, he held it for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and you were close enough to see the slight raise in his eyebrow—a challenge. You twisted your arm, trying to break free, and he let you go with a grin.

"Getting better," he said.

"I've always been good. You're just finally noticing," you replied, and charged at him again.

By the time you both called it, you were both breathing hard. Sweat dripped down your temple, and your arms felt like lead. Childe was still smiling though, that infuriating, easy smile of his that suggested he could do this all day. He grabbed his water bottle, tossed you one, and you caught it easily. The cold water was a relief as you drank, trying to catch your breath.

You were leaning against the nearby pillar, still catching your breath, when you heard voices approaching. Not close yet, but getting closer. You recognized one of them immediately—Paimon's high-pitched chatter, and underneath it, Lumine's quieter responses. You didn't think much of it. They were probably just passing through the training grounds on their way somewhere else.

Childe was standing a few feet away from you, already looking refreshed despite the exertion. He had that energy about him, the kind that didn't seem to deplete no matter how hard he pushed himself. He caught you looking at him and raised an eyebrow.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" he asked, already moving toward you.

"Just wondering how you're not completely dead," you said. "Normal people need recovery time."

"I'm not normal people." He stopped beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. Without any real thought to it, he reached over and fixed a strand of your hair that had come loose during the sparring, tucking it back behind your ear. It was such a casual gesture, the kind of thing he did without thinking. Your breath caught slightly, but he was already pulling his hand back, already grinning at you like he hadn't just done something that made your heart rate pick up for reasons that had nothing to do with the exercise.

"Definitely not normal," you muttered, looking away.

"Hey, Childe! Lumine and I were just—oh!"

You looked up to see Paimon floating toward you both, her expression shifting to something almost knowing as she took in the sight of you two standing close together, both flushed and breathing hard. Lumine followed behind her, her eyes flickering between you and Childe with that quiet observation of hers.

"We were just heading to the Adventurers' Guild," Paimon continued, but there was a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "But wow, looks like you two have been going at it pretty hard. I'm just glad Childe's finally found his special someone! But sheesh, do you have to go that hard on her?"

There was a beat. You opened your mouth to correct her, to clarify whatever assumption she'd just made, but Childe moved first. His arm came around you without hesitation, pulling you against his side in one smooth motion. It was the kind of casual contact you two shared all the time, except it wasn't casual now. Not the way he was looking at Paimon, not the way his hand rested at your hip like it belonged there.

"Yeah, well," he said, his voice easy and warm, "took me long enough to find someone worth the effort."

Lumine's lips curved into the faintest smile. "That's one way to put it," she said, and there was definitely something knowing in her tone.

You felt your face flush. You pushed against his chest, your hand flat against the fabric of his shirt.

"You're insane," you said, but you were already laughing despite yourself, despite the way your heart was doing backflips.

Paimon giggled, seeming satisfied with whatever she thought she'd figured out, and Lumine gave you both a small wave before they continued on their way. You watched them go, still half-pressed against Childe's side, and the moment they were out of earshot, you pushed away from him properly.

"You want to enlighten me on what you were implying there?" you asked, turning to face him.

Childe's grin was still there, but something underneath it had shifted. He wasn't quite looking at you directly, was instead focused on something past your shoulder, his expression caught between amusement and something you couldn't quite read.

"Was I implying something?" he said, but there was no real teasing in it now.

"You just told them we're together."

He finally looked at you then, and his expression was softer than you'd expected. Still smiling, but there was something real behind it—something that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the sparring.

"And?" he said softly. "I wasn't lying though, was I?"

KAEYA

You'd been coming to the tavern with Kaeya for weeks now. It started innocuously enough—he'd asked if you wanted a drink after a particularly grueling shift, and you'd said yes mostly because you were too tired to say no. Somewhere along the way, it became routine. Every few nights you'd find yourself at the counter with him, and he'd order for you without asking. He always got it right, which was irritating in its own way.

Tonight was like any other night. You were sitting at your usual spot, the one that had somehow become your spot, when someone approached. One of the regulars—a member of the Adventurer’s Guild—someone you'd seen around enough times to recognize but not enough to know by name.

"Kaeya," the man slurred, leaning against the bar. "Your girlfriend's looking particularly radiant tonight."

You felt your spine stiffen slightly. Girlfriend. The word hung there for a moment, waiting to be corrected. 

You looked over at Kaeya, waiting for him to say something, to clarify, to do whatever it was he normally did when people made assumptions. But he just smiled. That easy, lazy smile of his. 

"Isn't she always?" he said, and the man laughed like it was the most charming thing he'd ever heard, and walked away.

You stared at your drink. The ice was melting slowly, diluting the amber liquid into something weaker.

"You could've corrected him," you said, looking over at him with barely concealed flustered confusion.

"Could have," Kaeya agreed. He wasn't looking at you, was instead focused on something across the bar with that detached amusement he wore like a second skin. "Didn't seem worth the effort."

You let it go. It was small enough, harmless enough. Kaeya was always like this—playing into characters, scenarios, whatever amused him in the moment. And besides, this was the tavern. People were drunk, made assumptions, barely thought twice about anything. Everything Kaeya said carried that thin veneer of humor, that deliberate lightness that suggested nothing he did was ever meant to be taken seriously. This must have been yet another attempt at his particular brand of entertainment, or maybe an effort to fluster you. Which you weren't falling for. Obviously.

But a few days later, he suggested dinner at Good Hunter's. You'd gone, mostly because you were hungry and he was there. Sara smiled when she saw you two sit down underneath the parasol. 

“Maybe the both of you would like a seat that’s more private instead?” She had suggested. Your face erupted into flames when she suggested that. And although you tried to correct it, Kaeya had already confirmed, and you found yourself in a shaded area to the side. The kind of area that everyone implicitly agreed was for honeymooning couples. 

You sat across from him, irritated, and tried to focus on your food. Kaeya, for his part, seemed entirely unbothered. He ate with deliberate slowness, and at one point he leaned across the table, his eye catching yours with a particular brand of teasing softness.

"You're scowling," he said, like it was an observation about the weather.

"I'm not scowling."

"You are." He reached over and tapped your forehead with one finger. "Right here."

You pulled back, but he'd already retreated, that infuriating smile still in place.

By the time you were walking back through the city, your irritation had crystallized into something sharper. Something that demanded to be addressed.

"What are you doing?" you asked, stopping abruptly in the middle of the street.

"Walking," Kaeya said simply. "Same as you."

"Don't be difficult. Everyone keeps thinking we're together and you're not correcting them. You're actually—" you gestured vaguely at the space between you, "—playing into it."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed, that low, warm sound that always seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his chest. When he looked at you, there was something in his expression you couldn't quite place. Something that felt almost like he'd been waiting for you to notice.

"I think you like it more than you're willing to admit," he said softly. His eye was half-lidded, that familiar amusement still there, but underneath it was something else. Something that made your chest feel tight.  "The question is whether I should keep pretending not to notice."

He was already walking ahead, already moving past you with that lazy stride of his, and you were left standing there, flushed and furious and unable to quite articulate why his assumption felt less like teasing and more like he'd read something in you that you weren't ready to show him.

Damn Kaeya.

LOHEN

The training grounds were filled with apprentice knights, all watching intently as you explained the formation they'd be running through. Lohen stood beside you, arms crossed, and you could already feel the restlessness radiating off him like heat.

"This is boring," he said, not bothering to lower his voice. "Just let them fight something real."

"They need to understand positioning first," you replied firmly, not even looking at him. "We're not sending them into the field unprepared."

"Unprepared is half the fun," he said, and you heard the grin in his voice.

You turned to face him. "You know what? Not everyone gets a thrill from almost dying."

"Their loss," he said, and there was something playful in his eyes, something that suggested he enjoyed getting a rise out of you. One of the younger apprentices nudged their friend, both of them watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement.

"This is why we have strategy," you continued, turning back to the group. "Lohen charges in and—"

"And it works," he interjected.

"And you get lucky," you corrected.

He laughed, "Lucky. Right. That's what we're calling it."

The training started smoothly enough. The apprentices moved through the formations you'd drilled into them, and you were positioned to observe and correct. Lohen was supposed to be doing the same, but his attention kept drifting, his foot tapping with barely contained energy. You could see him watching the apprentices with the kind of hunger that meant he was already bored. At one point, you caught him staring at you instead of the recruits, and when you raised an eyebrow in question, he just grinned wider.

After about an hour, one of the younger recruits approached as you and Lohen were standing together reviewing the performance. The recruit was still catching their breath, clearly impressed by how well the formation had held.

"It's lucky that the two of you are paired together," they said, glancing between you both. There was genuine respect in their voice. "Aren't the two of you together?"

The moment those words left the apprentice’s mouth, you could see something wicked shine in Lohen’s eyes. You opened your mouth to clarify, but Lohen moved before you could. He crossed the distance between you in a few strides and pulled you against his side, his arm wrapping around your waist like it had always belonged there. Your face went hot immediately, but he was looking at you with that chaotic grin of his, like he'd just been handed the best entertainment of his day.

"And she's the only person who could ever keep up with me," he said, loud and theatrical, and you could tell he was leaning into it now, performing for the apprentices. You felt your cheeks burn as you realized what he was doing, deliberately making a show of it, spinning this into something bigger just to see you get flustered. The manic energy was at full throttle, and he was clearly enjoying every second of your embarrassment.

Your face went hotter. One of the apprentices bit their lip to keep from smiling, while another looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the display. But most of them were watching with interest, waiting to see what would happen next.

"Lohen—" you started, trying to extract yourself, but he didn't let go. His grip on your waist was firm, not painful, just insistent.

"And she's brilliant," he continued, spinning you slightly so he could look at you properly. His hand was still on your back, and he was looking at you with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Everything I'm not. Everything that keeps me from getting killed in a ditch somewhere." There was something underneath the chaos when he said it, something that suggested he meant it more than he was letting on.  A few of the recruits exchanged glances, and one of them smiled knowingly.

"You'd be lost without her," one of the bolder apprentices called out, earning a few quiet laughs from the others.

"Completely lost," Lohen agreed, but there was something in the way he said it that wasn't entirely joking. For just a moment, the manic energy seemed to settle, and he looked at you like you were the only thing in the training grounds that mattered. "Actually, yeah. I would be."

Then he released you, and the chaos returned. He was already moving away, already tossing some comments to the apprentices about formation angles, leaving you standing there flustered and hyperaware of every eye on you.

The rest of the training passed in a blur of corrections and positioning. By the time you finally dismissed the apprentices, your face had only just stopped burning. Lohen was already collecting his things, and you found yourself watching him move with that restless energy of his, wondering what he'd actually meant in that moment when everything had seemed to pause.

THOMA

You were sitting in one of the Kamisato estate's quieter rooms, mending a tear in one of the ceremonial clothes when Thoma appeared with tea. He set it down beside you without asking and settled into the seat across from you.

"That's going to take forever," he said, watching you work the needle through the delicate fabric.

"Only if I rush," you replied, concentrating on your stitching. "You taught me that."

He smiled at that, leaning back and watching you work. It was comfortable, the kind of silence that didn't need filling. You'd been coming to this room more often lately, always finding some reason to be here. Mending. Reading. Just sitting. And somehow Thoma always seemed to find his way in.

After a while, he got up and moved to sit beside you instead. He didn't ask permission. He just shifted closer until his shoulder nearly touched yours. He picked up a different piece that needed mending and started working on it without preamble.

"You're still doing that stitch wrong," he said after a while, no judgment in his voice.

"I know," you said, not bothering to correct yourself. "But you always fix it for me anyway."

He smiled, and you swore you could see the pupils of his green eyes dilate a fractional amount. His hand came over yours, guiding the needle through the proper motion. His fingers were warm, and he moved slowly, making sure you understood. When he pulled back, you found yourself missing the contact.

You worked like that for a long time. Sometimes he'd hum something soft under his breath. Sometimes you'd ask him about his day, and he'd answer while still focused on the mending. At one point, you reached for more thread at the same moment he did, and your hands brushed. Neither of you moved away.  You both just continued working, shoulders close, existing together in the quiet of the afternoon.

"You're thinking too hard," he said once, glancing at your face.

"How can you tell?"

"You get this little crease," he said, reaching over and smoothing it away with his thumb. It was such a gentle gesture that you forgot to breathe for a moment.

You were so focused on the mending that you didn't notice when Ayaka appeared in the doorway. She had a few attendants with her, but she stopped when she saw the two of you sitting close together, heads bent over the work, your shoulders nearly touching.

"Oh, there you two are," she said warmly. "I've been meaning to mention something." Thoma looked up, and you followed his gaze.

"There's a couples' festival coming up at the end of the month," Ayaka continued, her tone genuinely kind. 

"I thought perhaps you two might enjoy attending together. It would be nice for you to have some time away from the estate."

You felt your face warm. Thoma's reaction was immediate. His entire face flushed a deep red, from his neck all the way to his ears. He set down the cloth quickly, maybe too quickly, like he needed something to do with his hands.

"Oh, we're—" he started, his voice slightly strained. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, he was trying for his usual politeness, but the fluster was unmistakable. "We're not actually together, Lady Ayaka. We just spend a lot of time together because of work, that's all."

The correction was gentle, the way everything Thoma did was gentle. But there was something in the way his hands gripped the cloth a little too tightly, the way he wouldn't quite meet Ayaka's eyes, that made your chest tighten. One of the attendants looked faintly disappointed.

Ayaka's expression softened with understanding, and she nodded. "I see. My apologies for the misunderstanding." She excused herself politely, and the moment she left, the room felt smaller somehow.

You picked up your mending again, but your hands felt clumsy. Thoma did the same, but neither of you were really focused on the work anymore. The ease you'd had before was gone, replaced by something tense and uncertain. The afternoon light filtered through the screens, and the silence stretched between you, heavy with things unsaid.

When the sun started to set and you finally set down your work, Thoma was already moving. You said something soft to break the tension, just to ease it.

"That was kind of awkward," you said quietly, not quite looking at him.

He paused, his hand lingering on the cloth. You could see him turn it over in his mind, searching for something.

"I didn't mean to be rude," he said, finally meeting your eyes. "She was just... it caught me off guard."

"I know," you said, offering him a small smile. "It's fine. These things happen."

He looked at you for a long moment, and there was something in his expression that made your breath catch. Something that looked like regret, like he was reconsidering something he'd just said.

"Actually," he said, and his voice was steadier now, "about that festival."

You looked at him, waiting.

"It might not be a bad idea," he continued, and there was a careful consideration to his words, like he was choosing each one deliberately. "For us to attend together, I mean. Not because anyone thinks we should. But because..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Because I'd like to spend that evening with you. If you'd want to."

Your breath caught slightly. There was nothing casual about the way he said it, despite how carefully he was choosing his words. There was intention there, and something that looked a lot like hope.

"Yeah," you said softly. "I'd like that."

VENTI

Venti had dragged you out to yet another performance. You weren't sure why he felt the need to do this—invite you specifically, stand you in a particular spot in the crowd where he could see you, like your presence mattered to the mechanics of him playing. But he'd shown up at your door this morning with his elfish smile and asked if you were busy. A pointless question, really. He would have begged and whined until you relented had you said no. 

On the way to the fountain, he'd been insufferable. He kept humming fragments of melodies, stopping abruptly to ask your opinion on them, then laughing at your answers like you'd said something hilarious when you were just trying to be helpful. At one point he'd grabbed your wrist and spun you around on the street for no reason, just to see your expression, probably.

"You're going to make me dizzy," you laugh, pulling your hand back.

"Is that a complaint, windblume?" he asked, and there was something in his tone that suggested he already knew the answer.

"Yes," you lied.

He had just smiled like he could see right through you.

Now, standing near the fountain while he set up, you watched him adjust his lyre with great care; the kind of care reserved for especially special things in one’s life. Which, for Venti, was music and—you were noticing more and more—you. 

He kept glancing over at you, making sure you were in the right spot, making sure you could see him properly. You found it funny, it was almost like a nervous tick. A flick of his gaze to you every few seconds to make especially sure that you had your eyes on him. It was unnecessary. Of course you could see him. You were always looking at him anyway.

Another bard approached as Venti was finishing his setup—someone you recognized vaguely from around the city. They exchanged greetings, the kind of easy familiarity that suggested they knew each other from the musician's circles. You turned your attention back to the fountain, not really listening until the other bard said something that made you tune back in.

"Your recent stuff has been different," he was saying to Venti. "All of it sounds like it's about the same person."

You felt something shift in your chest. His recent stuff? You hadn't really paid that much attention, if you were being honest. But now that it was being pointed out, you found yourself wondering if that was true. 

You'd been hearing him play new things lately, pieces you hadn't heard before, and now you were suddenly wondering who they were about.

The bard glanced over at you, then back at Venti, and you watched something click into place behind his expression.

"That your muse?" he asked, gesturing vaguely in your direction.

Venti laughed. It was the kind of laugh that made people turn their heads, that seemed to move through the air like something physical. He spun—actually spun, his coat catching the light—and when he looked at you, there was something deliberate in the movement.

"The best one I've ever had," he said, and he was looking directly at you when he said it.

Your face went hot. The other bard laughed too, charmed, and the conversation continued between them, but you weren't really listening anymore. You were stuck on that phrase, on the way Venti had said it, on the realization that apparently his recent compositions had been about you and you'd been too oblivious to notice.

An hour later, after the performance was over and you'd managed to slip away, you found yourself at the tavern. You were nursing a drink when Venti sat down beside you. He waved a hand to the bartender, and Charles just sighed—a routine. And then Venti’s gaze was fixed on you.

"You've been thinking about what I said," he observes.

"I haven't," you say, which is a lie and you both know it.

"Mm." He's amused. You can hear it in his voice. "That's exactly why you’ve been zoning out since my  performance?” He had that teasing lilt in his voice. You wanted to puncture his voice box. 

"You can't just say something like that and expect me not to—" you start, then stop because you're not actually sure what you're going to say. Expect you not to what? Wonder if he meant it? Wonder what it means? Wonder if you're reading too much into it?

"Not to what?" Venti prompts, and there's that tilt of his head again, that soft amusement in his expression.

"You know what," you snap, trying not to sound flustered. 

Venti, all he does is laugh. You really want to puncture his voice box. 

thanks so much for reading!!

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

[keasusreevsus]

They have been FEEDING us Twiyor recently!

(Endo what are you plotting?)

[fan-girls-r-us]

Remember how we said that Loid would spiral hard as he slowly came to the realization that he’s developing feelings for Yor?

Loid is spiraling hard as he slowly comes to the realization that he’s developing feelings for Yor.

Also… behold the contrast between these two scenes, 17 chapters apart.

They’re far more comfortable holding hands now. And that’s not even touching on the fact that the panels from Ch. 119 are done to put on a show, to act like a married couple is “supposed to” interact with each other, versus the panels from Ch. 136 being a societally shared understanding as to how a married couple interacts with each other.

I have… a couple of other thoughts, but Tumblr has an image limit. Not that anything has ever actually stopped me from being unhinged on main.

Consider this a warning. I will be back.

[derpy-the-tiger]

YOR I'M SO PROUD OF YOU GIRL!!!!

She openly says what she wants

She does it calmly

She does it without any kicking involved

Also she decided to try without more alcohol

[anemonemm]

i’m so normal rn

[hrsndww]

I want to see more of their interactions ughhh

[lizardsarecute]

Burn the Witch (Brimhat Olruggio AU)

was casually enjoying this series then Part 2 Ch 2 hit me like an unkissed brick and I found myself unable to stop drawing for it for the last couple days. I made a handful of concept work, and 2 fancy drawings below :) Thank you @grimmseye for making it a fun few days for me, I hope you enjoy these too ///sliiides tagging it for spoilers, but just in case any anime-onlys run into this, you'd need to have read up to Chapter 92 of the manga--scroll scroll fast and away if this somehow falls through

can you tell i had a lot of fun doing textures. textures are dope I need to do more of that Some concept art and extras under the cut:

my first drawing needed to get olly's design down. I tried using the same textures as the smoky casting qifrey from chapter 1 of the manga

he's damaged ^u^ ^u^ ^u^ speaking of which i can't wait for tomorrow's episode

happy bday bb girl

thinking about it, wha actually lands in the ballpark of my daily style (just with a lot more hatching and deliberation). It was comfortable to learn in a way that is old and familiar, so it was quite refreshing to stretch my drawings in this direction once again.

[whatelizard]

roots

[kimgkoi]

they needed a break

[shakingshore]

It’s a slow Saturday morning, and Zayne has been blessed with a midday shift, which means there is no rush in his morning routine and you can watch him prepare for the day in the comfort of your bed.

He looks extra handsome today, you think. Sleep still hangs over his eyes, his glasses hastily perched on that ridged nose. Stubble dots along his jaw, the soft angle hidden under morning shadow. You still feel it prickle on your skin from he kissed your shoulders.

Even his pajamas were doing something for you. You kick your feet under the blankets because he just makes you that giddy.

While Zayne prepares his razor for his morning shave, he turns his face this way and that, observing himself in the mirror.

“I think I’ve gained some weight,” he says, tone neutral.

You blink in surprise, tugged out of your love-stricken stupor by the sudden statement. When he swipes through the shaving cream rubbed onto his jaw, you see that the prominent line has softened some.

When Zayne reaches over to grab a towel, you see pale skin peek out from the bottom of his white t-shirt. A bit of belly greets you, and his happy trail invites your gaze lower.

You haven’t really noticed it, because his routine never changes. A morning run every day, and an hour gym session three times per week. It compensates for how often he eats take out in a time crunch and the macaron stash hidden in the second drawer of his desk (where he thinks you don’t know).

But now that he brought it up, he has all of your attention.

His shirt is a little more filled out than usual, and maybe you can see the outline of his thighs under the pajama pants. His arms look bulky, strong, all thanks to him insisting on pull-ups as a workout staple.

“Is that bad?” you ask, though you already know your answer.

Definitely, one-hundred percent, not bad in the slightest.

“No,” Zayne chuckles, and you realize that his eyes are already on you. You shift around in the bed, warm and inviting. “It’s normal with age.”

Zayne finishes his shave with time to spare, wiping the excess water and cream from his face, and takes his time lumbering back to your bed. You lean up, reaching out toward him, waiting for him to meet you in the middle, which he always does.

Your arms wrap around his middle. Your wandering hands don’t hesitate to hike his shirt up to feel the soft skin underneath. “Then why bring it up?”

Your hands run over his stomach, down to his hips, around the front tie of his pants. In return, he tugs off his shirt, letting you drink in his body with new eyes.

His smile is smug when you pepper his bare skin with kisses. “I thought you’d like to know.”