#henry x theresa

[irisbart]

I love them deeply

[grey-wardens]

It's getting too late now, but if you pick me up during the day, I'll be glad to take a walk with you.

[serevarin]

jan ptáček. hans capon. little birdie. flowers in his wreath: begonia as "caution", blueberry as "trust", holly as "protection", lavender as "I will never forget you". ... *whisper* and also as "lavender marriage".

[soggydogggy]

all the different kinds and forms of love we see in kcd and kcd2 <З

[im-just-a-ghost]

Still haven't played KCD2, unfortunately, BUT I've been spoiled about Hans' romance. And this is big big.

Not only because Hans is my favorite character, but because my Henry hadn't so much as gone with a single walk with any girl.

He didn't initiate anything with Theresa, avoided lady Stephanie like the plague after what she pulled, and did not once pay for "services" or look at washerwomen.

A large part of it was because he was grief-ridden, yes but..

This is what he, unknowingly (?), have been waiting for. For Hans to kiss him.

[sizzlinshy]

okay hear me out, Henry tells Theresa about Hans and she is supportive and still loves Henry all the same. occasional poly activities :D

The art meme:

Alt colour:

[yearnsforstarlight]

Okay. So I am only just getting into KCD (playing the first one myself as it went on sale and watching a streamer, I like playing the second one). But the first thought I have about Henry: he trauma bonds with people. If you romance Theresa in the first one, it very much seems like a relationship built on a mutual traumatic experience. They both survived the masscare of Skalitz. Henry was the knight in shining armour for her. And then, when he needed her, Theresa saved Henry too. As well as that if you play her DLC – she obviously has a crush on him but does nothing because of Bianca. So when it all falls apart and all they really have after Skalitz is each other, I think it's inevitable they eventually develop deeper feelings for one another.

I don't think it would last, though. From what I've seen so far (correct me if I'm wrong), Theresa wants to let go of it. To move on. Henry clings onto it, though – the pain of losing his parents, determined to keep the promise to get the sword back. His own vengeance. The two would eventually part ways because they both realise they don't want the same thing. They can understand the trauma but not how the other deals with it. Once they've found comfort with each other to lick the wounds and deal with the baseline of their trauma, they don't last.

Then, later on, Henry also traumas bonds with Hans. They are once again the only survivors of a massacre. Henry nearly dies saving Hans. Hans nearly dies saving Henry. Hans is the Theresa in this situation. And they both agree to complete this mission for vengeance. They want their friends deaths not to be in vain. And yeah they split up – but they come back, apologise to each other, make up. They don't sleep together for comfort of loss. But as a promise. Henry locking the door, doing something that might be frowned upon but he knows that Hans wants to. That night is a promise that he'll come back. The story Hans tells. It's all a promise of feelings. Of more.

And that why they'll last despite also trauma bonding. They need one another, they understand one another. They both want vengeance for what happened to them.

[beaulesbian]

Anyway, I mustn't keep you. I'll be on my way.

[chonkymoth]

The Miller's Son Chapter 4

Rating: Mature

Chapters: 4/36

Words: 10020

Relationships: Theresa/Zdena, Hans Capon/Henry, Henry & Theresa, Henry's Mother/Martin/Radzig Kobyla

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Minor Character Death, Alcohol, Kissing, Flirting, Loss of Faith, Developing Relationship, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Original Character(s), no beta we die like Theresa's family, Tags will be updated as needed, Animal Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied Theresa/Bianca, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, More or less historically accurate, but sometimes the plot wants what the plot wants

Chapter Summary:

What predates, and then what follows, the swearing in of the two new squires.

[justdealingwithsomeissues]

Reignfire gives Feral the chance to switch teams, and she instantly jumps at the chance... love that Cable is blaming Reignfire here when it very much is more Gyrich to blame for egging her on.

[rednightmare18]

We're sucked into medieval Bohemia again, serfs, so I thought I’d whip up a list of my KCD1 Hansry-focused fics… since I realize folks may be hungry for Hans x Henry content that doesn’t spoil KCD2. (Plus a couple fics with limited spoilers, clearly flagged below.)

If anyone wants ’em, here they are! (Please consult the tags on ao3 for additional content warnings, and thanks @charlie-rulerofhell for making this pretty gif!)

rednightmare’s Hans x Henry fic list

A Strange Hunt

Mature. Complete. NO KCD2 SPOILERS.

In a storm, I think, 'What if the gospel be not true?’ – John Wesley Hal, Hans, and Theresa—chasing ghosts who cannot love them back.

Description: Three connected character pieces, one for each lead of KCD1. My first KCD fic, and I still think it’s my best.

Warnings: Canon (non-graphic) sexual assault in Chapter 1.

With Horn and Leash

Teen+. Complete. NO KCD2 SPOILERS.

It is Henry’s first winterhunt, and wolves are howling in the fields. Hans cannot understand why everyone is so afraid.

Description: Henry confronts Hans about his piss-poor lordship and the consequences thereof.

Lost in the Trees

Explicit. Complete. NO KCD2 SPOILERS.

Henry uses his time in the monastery to reflect on his life—as it is, and as it used to be, and his relationship with Lord Capon.

Description: A lengthy relationship study of Hans’s role in Henry’s life and recovery from grief.

In Spring

Mature. Complete. NO KCD2 SPOILERS.

Spring cannot last forever. Eventually, he will grow up.

Description: An exploration of the end of Lord Capon’s extended adolescence as he faces the inevitability of his future.

Without Home

Mature. Complete. NO KCD2 SPOILERS.

Ma, who knew more about ash and ruin than you’d think, once warned Father not to heal a wound with hot coals. “You be careful rushing things with fire,” she said. “You’ll get the bleeding stopped, for certain. But once it has—if it sickens—you’ll have a Hell of a time ever letting the blood back out.” The whole world goes to fire. Henry waits to bleed again for a long time.

Description: Henry confronts his grief and takes the only path forward: through it.

Fortune Favors the Bold

Explicit (eventually). Longfic, UNFINISHED. NO KCD2 SPOILERS.

An Amorous Adventures + Capon’s Champion DLC redux romp staged during a joust and narrated via three alternating POVs: Lord Capon, Henry, and Karolina. Silly and sad in turns. (Mostly silly, though.)

Description: A deeply dramatic longfic-in-progress. Alas, I probably need a new name for it now…

Prayer Before Morning

Teen+. Complete. NO KCD2 SPOILERS.

At Christmastime, even Hans must go to church. Because he is still Hans, he brings Henry along.

Description: Winter-themed sugary fic with a hard shot of lordship angst. One shot.

by a heel

Teen+. Complete. LIMITED KCD2 SPOILERS: FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS

God’s truth: It does not occur to Henry until the moment he spies Hans’s heel hanging over the edge of the block at Trosky that Birdie of Pirkstein could ever die.

Description: My take on For Whom the Bell Tolls. One shot, "missing scene," canon outcome with an established relationship flair. KCD2 SPOILERS FOR SAID QUEST.

The Silence After Suchdol

Mature. Complete. LIMITED KCD2 SPOILERS: POST-GAME

The dust of Suchdol settles, and it coats Henry's heart with strange magic. It feels as though he can see everything that will happen next.

Description: A relationship study in the post-game to unpack the events of KCD II and prepare for the next phase of Henry's life with Lord Capon. Limited KCD2 spoilers. One shot, fluffy and philosophical.

[caponhans]

thinking about the intro again and how i knew there was a male x male romance but didn’t quite know who yet… and when the crew asks henry “so, how are things with theresa?” and you choose the option “nothing ever happened,” the guys are vocally confused by that because she’s such an amazing woman. who’s the only one not saying anything about it? hans. i must confess, i’m one of the people who haven’t played kcd1 before kcd2, but that was suspicious to me right away. he just goes “ahhhh” and awkward silence follows. i immediately clocked it.

now that i’ve finished kcd2, started kcd1, and am kind of replaying kcd2 — it’s so out of character for hans to be quiet about one of his favorite topics: women. he’s been portrayed as such an overly eager woman chaser. yet he doesn’t say a word to henry about fumbling a woman? hmm… no one can convince me he wasn’t relieved that there was nothing between henry and theresa. even if he hadn’t figured out his feelings for henry yet.

[alilyamongroses]

YOU TURN ME INTO NOTHING, WOE UPON YOU

The Mirror and the Light, Hilary Mantel / Ana Torrent in The Other Boleyn Girl / Wolf Hall, Hilary Mantel / memorial for Catherine of Aragon’s children at Hampton Court / Henry VIII, William Shakespeare / Love Slowly Kills, borda / Catherine of Aragon: Infanta of Spain, Queen of England, Theresa Earenfight / Houses of Power, Simon Thursley / Portraith with a serpent, X-Ray , unknown painter / Henry VIlI and Anne Boleyn's initials, King's College Chapel, Cambridge / Catherine of Aragon: Infanta of Spain, Queen of England, Theresa Earenfight / 29 January 1536 – Anne Boleyn “Miscarried of her Saviour”, Claire Ridgeway / Natalie Dormer in The Tudors / The Mirror and the Light, Hilary Mantel / Postcard, Amazon Quarterly / Roman Marble Relief of the Three Graces, circa 2nd Century A.D. / Catherine of Aragon: Infanta of Spain, Queen of England, Theresa Earenfight / Poster for Mother!, James Jean / The Mirror and the Light, Hilary Mantel / Unfinished portrait of Jane Seymour, after Hans Holbein the younger / This Is Not The Portrait Of Jane Seymour, Edoardo de Falchi / The Mirror and the Light, Hilary Mantel / Emma D’Arcy, House of the Dragon / The Mirror and the Light, Hilary Mantel / Henry VIII’s vault, A.Y. Nutt / The Mirror and the Light, Hilary Mantel / Saiorse Ronan in Mary, Queen of Scots / 1782 depiction of Katherine Parr’s lead coffin, unknown / The Mirror and the Light, Hilary Mantel / a piece of hair cut from the head of Katherine Parr, collection of Sudeley Castle / a piece of Katherine Parr’s burial gown, collection of Sudeley Castle / The Mirror and the Light, Hilary Mantel

[autemis]

Currently, (on March 15, 2025) roughly 74% of KCD fanfictions on AO3 are centered around Hansry - while Henry x Theresa represents just 4.2%.

[royalty-nobility]

Queen Elisabeth of France, on Horseback

Artist: Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez (Spanish, 1599-1660)

Date: ca. 1635

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid, Spain

Elisabeth of France, Queen of Spain

Elisabeth of France, also known as Isabel or Elisabeth of Bourbon (22 November 1602 – 6 October 1644) was Queen of Spain from 1621 to her death and Queen of Portugal from 1621 to 1640, as the first spouse of King Philip IV & III. She served as regent of Spain during the Catalan Revolt in 1640–42 and 1643–44. As the mother of the Queen of France Maria Theresa, wife of Louis XIV, she was the great-grandmother of the Duke of Anjou, who became king of Spain as Philip V. Through her daughter, Elisabeth is the progenitor of the Spanish branch of the House of Bourbon, which still rules over Spain to this day, as all future kings of Spain after the War of Spanish Succession descend from her. She's also the ancestor of the current Grand Duke of Luxembourg, Henri, through both the Bourbon-Parma collateral branch of the Spanish royal family and the main branch of Bourbon dynasty, as he is a descendant of the last Duke of Parma, Robert I, and his mother Louise of Artois, the granddaughter of Charles X of France, through Robert's son Felix.

[shubblelive]

— PAGES TURNED

summary : wilbur is a quiet guy, but there’s so much more to him than he shows. over swapped shifts, post it notes and paperback novels, you unravel him bit by bit.

genre : fluff

warnings : mentions of alcohol/drinking

pairing : musicianbur x fem!librarian! reader

pronouns : none (i think) reader is described as a “girl” and using other feminine descriptors

featuring : cc!wilbur soot, musicianbur, college!librarian! wilbur

word count : 2.6k

note : sorry this took. one million years. i had my exams and i turned 17, and then i went out of state to visit family, but i’ve had this in my drafts and i’ve been working on and off for a while. i hope you enjoy this, i’m thinking about maybe making it multi part? if people are into that? @starsyoubreaklikesugardust <333

You sincerely regret covering for your coworker. The campus library has a consistent, albeit small, staff. You work the same days every week; Monday morning, Tuesday afternoon and Thursday morning. The head librarian, Theresa, was more than willing to give you extra shifts whenever you needed. The library was where most of the richer students’ parents donated, and you were insanely lucky to get your job there. As a result of the consistent schedule, you work with two people regularly; Henry, who shares your major, and Janine, who’s one of the sweetest people you know. The rest of your coworkers, you knew exclusively through Theresa and her insistence of having staff get togethers at any opportunity.

There’s Chastity, who lives on your floor, and her girlfriend Kate. You got a front row seat to their first kiss after three months of egging them on with Janine at Henry’s 20th birthday. There are three more workers that work during the week on alternating shifts to you; Sam, the newest member of the term; Hae-Won, the only person who had worked there longer than you and Theresa; and Wilbur.

Wilbur, who was currently your new coworker as you started working five days a week. Hae-Won’s mother was sick, and Theresa had begged you to cover for them while they flew interstate to go take care of her. You’d been working at the campus library since you were a freshman, and they’d always been good to you. You had agreed, and now you were needing to rush from class to the library after every single one of your lectures. Sam, Henry and Theresa had all assured you that if you were late because of class you wouldn’t lose your job, but you felt bad leaving them with all the work.

Wilbur has barely spoken a word to you since you’d started working the same shifts. He’s not rude or angry, just quiet as far as you can tell. You like him. You both keep to yourselves, and Wilbur doesn’t snitch on you for smuggling your sandwiches out of the office when you browse the stacks during your breaks.

He doesn’t get mad at you for being late when you are, and he always puts stuff on the top shelf whenever you ask. He’s soft, and incredibly smart. You learn about him through hushed evenings in the office, both of you dead on your feet after you’ve locked the doors, neither of you wanting to leave quite yet. The low light gives his eyes an amber glow the same colour as sun as it peeks through the slats in the blinds of the office, surrounded on all four sides by large windows. The fishbowl, the kids call it when they come in on Friday afternoons. Not quite, you think. You’re both too boring to be fish, you make a joke when you hear a young boy say it. Wilbur gets a look in his eyes that he keeps for the next hour until you confront him. “Sometimes people don’t look a fish ‘cause they’re interesting,” he all-but whispers when you ask, eyes aglow and top row of teeth pulling on his bottom lip. “Sometimes they’re just pretty.”

You get to know Wilbur over campus coffees, and handmade bookmarks inspired by the paperbacks he checks out every week. Through his handwritten post-it note on the corner of the main monitor at the front desk, a stack of books with a cat perched on top, his writing slanted but mainly kept between the spines of each book. A request for a novel you’ve never heard of, but vow to search for. Theresa is the one who handles incoming books, but that’s not going to stop you from finding it yourself.

You begin to find those sticky-notes around more and more. There’s one resting on top of your backpack for you to find as you return from the bathroom. That’s a pretty skirt, the first one says. You should wear your hair like that more often, one three days later on the stack of returns he’s asked you to reshelve. There’s one a week after that forces a smile on your face. This made me think of you. It’s resting on a tiny journalist style notebook, one where you flip on the top. It’s got a quote from your favourite novel on it, and you slip the sticky note inside it gingerly, tucking it into the front pocket of your backpack. That afternoon during your lunch break, you go to the craft store instead of staying in and get yourself some post it notes. Yours are in the shape of a lemon, and when Wilbur goes into the fishbowl to grab his stuff once your shift is over, he finds one stuck to the side of his bag. Two words, ten numbers, all in your handwriting. Call me.

So he does, he calls you that very night. Despite the late time, you guys stay on the phone for nearly three hours. The next shift you two share, you tease him. “I thought you were meant to be the quiet type,” you giggle as his ears turn pink, him intentionally facing away from you to shield the smitten grin on his face as he pretends to write something on the staff calendar. “You had a lot to say the other night.”

It continues that way for a while, nightly phone calls in which you finally get to hear him talk unabashedly about the things he’s interested in. He’s in a band, he confesses shyly one night when you’re both on the verge of sleep. You don’t reply for a second, and he thinks you might have dozed off. You pipe up after a moment, voice heavy with sleep and Wilbur thinks he can’t possibly like you more. “Your first gig’s Saturday, right?” He nods, even if you can’t see him. You keep going anyway. “I’ll be there.”

He wishes you hadn’t told him, because he spends the next three days stressing. Performing always makes him a little anxious, a healthy amount of butterflies, as his friends say. But this is too much. He changes his shirt three times on Saturday night, twice because he wants you to like it, and another time because he sweated through the third one. He blames it on the intensity of the lights, when the drummer asks him if he’s okay, but they can all see the way his eyes are locked onto your frame, tucked into a little corner of the underground bar they’re playing. They play for about forty minutes, and you’re a little embarrassed to admit that you’ve never heard a single song they did.

Wilbur goes into the little backstage area after their last song, and his bandmates will swear he’s never moved so fast in his life. He’s chugging a bottle of water while trying to wrestle his guitar off his back, his glasses fogged up from the sweat covering his face. there are a few bothersome strands sticking to his cheeks, but he doesn’t care about that. He just wants to see you.

He gets to your corner and the table is empty. No, the table has things on it. Your chair is empty. There is something on the table. He reaches it and flops down into the chair you were just sitting in. A waitress brings him a glass of lemonade that you ordered for him and he gulps it down gratefully. He allows himself a few moments to bask in the post-show high. You might not be there, but that only brought his mood down slightly. He did it.

He is a little hurt that you didn’t stick around, but it’s nearing 10 and he knows you have a test on Monday. He takes another long swig of his drink, and reaches blindly for the one other object on the table; a paperback novel. It’s his favourite. He didn’t even remember telling you it was his favourite, but somehow you knew. His heart hammers inside his chest and he has to remember how to breathe for a second. He’d looked everywhere for that, even going as far as to see if he could order it online.

He flips open the cover, just to check, and he finds a scrawled message beneath the title page. Heard you were hoping to get your hands on one. I hope you enjoy. You’ll have to tell me all about it.

And he does. It takes him less than a week to read the entire book, and he comes to you on a random Thursday, eyes sparkling with a glint you’ve only ever seen that one night he was performing, and he leans over the front desk where you’re standing and before you can even process it he’s taking your head in his hands and pulling you into a firm hug. You’re not as tall, so you’re on your toes as you lean over the desk, struggling to wrap your arms around his torso as he hugs you.

And then he’s talking, loud and clear, and if the library was open people would be giving him dirty looks for how unashamedly he’s speaking to you. You revel in it. He keeps his hands enclosing yours and you lean over the desk to get as close to him as you can, wanting to absorb every single word out of his mouth. Wanting to breathe it in and keep it between your ribs.

Eventually he lets you go to go do some work, but you decide at that moment that you never want him to shut up again.

So, he doesn’t. With constant encouragement from you, Wilbur becomes more outspoken. Of course, there were the phone calls, but he was still reserved in person. He seems to take up more space over the next few weeks, unfurling slowly like an old painting, perfectly preserved with so much beauty to show once he was out in the open. It starts as small things, the way he calls out to you across the library after closing instead of approaching you to tell you softly. You’re almost in mourning, feeling like you’d lost that closeness with Wilbur that only you seem to have. The notion that once you put something out into the world it no longer belongs to you. Not that he ever did, not like that at least.

You’d feel like that and then Wilbur would do something so small, so sacred, that your heart would ache. Whispering jokes in your ear, fingers brushing yours when he passes you a book he thinks you’ll enjoy, grabbing onto both of your hands when he got so excited about something that he needed a physical tether to you to stop himself from floating away, into the air that he was now filling so wonderfully.

The others started noticing it too; Theresa mentioning to you how much more confident he seemed after he’d left the room, Sam, who brightened now that Wilbur seemed to return his enthusiasm, even the bassist of Wilbur’s band, who you ran into at a coffee shop, said he was different.

His band got another gig at a bigger bar, and of course you were invited again. This time you planned on sticking around for the whole thing, letting him wrap you in a sweaty hug once he ran off stage. “You were so good,” you gush, your breath on his ear sending shivers down his spine. His hands ghost up and down your arm, and you can’t bring yourself to let go of him. “But, Wil. Seriously, enough is enough.”

He pulls away just enough to get a clear picture of your face, shadows covering one side, the dim lighting in the venue not doing enough to take away from just how pretty you look.

“You guys need to start playing songs I know the words to.”

Your fake annoyance makes him laugh, one of the most genuine laughs you’ve ever heard from him. Warm, and thick, like caramel. Like his eyes when the two of you are huddled together in the fishbowl and he’s laughing, like there will never be enough time to spend with you. Because there isn’t.

His hands stop in their motions, and he notices your bare arms. “You’re freezing, lovely. Here.” He steps away from you and shrugs off his button up, leaving him in just a white-sleeved tee as he guides your arms in. The sleeves cover your hands and he goes as far as to roll them up delicately. His face is an inch from yours as he unwraps his hands from your wrist, and your fingers toy gently with a stray curl that bounces when you release it from your grip.

This time it’s you who takes Wilbur’s jaw in your hands, fingers running over his stubble. He’s drunk, hasn’t had a drop of alcohol the entire time, but well and truly intoxicated as he pulls you into him again, nose pressed to your hairline. “I’m so proud of you.” You mumble into his shoulder, and for a second, time is frozen.

You’re both brought out of it by rousing cheers from Wilbur’s bandmates, the guitarist and drummer both bullying Wilbur for not introducing you to them earlier. The bassist greets you warmly, and the three of them try to convince you both to go out for a drink. Wilbur’s the one who ends up ushering you out, arm around your shoulders as he placates his bandmates. Throwing a “We’ve got an early morning tomorrow at work,” over his shoulder as he steered you towards his car.

He’s only half lying. You do both have work the next day, however the library’s closed and Theresa’s hosting a party to thank everyone for their hard work. It starts at two, so you’re revelling in the fact that you get to sleep in. That doesn’t stop you from inviting Wilbur up to your apartment, though. Nor does it stop the two of you deciding to watch a movie together on the couch in your living room. It doesn’t even stop Wilbur from whispering to you while the credits roll. “You look so lovely tonight.” You flush, tearing your eyes from his face, looking down at where his hands are on your waist instead. “Can I kiss you?”

It definitely doesn’t stop you from nodding your head emphatically, your hands delving into his hair as he presses his lips to yours for the first time.

He tastes like spearmint gum and the mango of your lip gloss, his hands steadying you both and gripping onto the couch cushion. He pulls away just enough to murmur, “You’re wonderful,” and suddenly you’re so happy you’re laughing. He laughs too, taking your head in his hands until you’re kissing him again, and when he leaves nearly two hours later he’s gripping your hands so tight your breath hitches, promising he’ll see you at the party later.

And hours later, when you’re sipping on lemonade and leaning against one of the windows of the fishbowl, he sidles up to you and leans his head on top of yours. “My pretty girl.” Your hand wraps around his, and the two of you stand there for a few minutes in a comfortable silence, watching your coworkers mingle. He’d never been so outward in his affections, not when surrounded by people you both worked with. He was a reserved man, preferring to let loose around his family, his bandmasters, and you. But of course, that doesn’t stop him from pressing a kiss to your hairline, the two of you inside the library office, gazing outside into the rest of the library. “So so pretty.”