#it's the ability to never be forgotten

[vanilla-dipped-donut]

does anyone else ever listen to really REALLY old recordings of people speaking and get really emotional?

like, they were people too. they experienced their lives and the world just like I do. we are so different, yet we're also exactly the same.

they've been dead a long time but I can hear their voices still. I can have some understanding of who they are. I can get some hint of mannerisms they used, ideas they had, how they felt, what they wanted. they're dead but they aren't gone and that's so, so beautiful to me. even if I was the only person in the world still listening, they haven't been forgotten.

I didn't know them personally. I never can. they never knew I would someday exist. yet we now have this connection, this way of communicating through time and yeah, in a way, knowing each other. and that's just such a beautiful and valuable thing. they can never be fully gone now because their voice lives on.

[sharkylad]

Thinking about the fact that Mabel and Dipper didn't know they had two great uncles.

Yeah they are 12 and at 12 I had a shotty understanding of my family tree- But really? Nobody brought up their great uncle? Stanley? Especially since they'll be staying with his twin brother, Stanford?

Shermie never went to Stan's fake funeral, which to me means the twos relationship was strained on some level. If Shermie is older that means his view of Stan was poisoned in some way, that even as kids they weren't close. If the Shermie is younger then he never even got to meet Stan and all he knew about him was how he failed his family. Hell, people probably barely mentioned Stanley TO Shermie.

The fact that Stan had become a black stain upon the Pines family name makes me so vividly upset. Stanley faked his death and the family just- seemingly decided to strike him from the record. To pretend he didn't existed to spare themselves the sadness and shame.

Stanford and Shermie Pines. The only children worth mentioning of Filbrick and Caryn Pines.

It was never Stanford that was lost to the world. It was Stanley, ever since he had to leave New Jersy- it was always him that had to be struck from the record. Change his name, change his state, change his affiliations, destroy the remains of ghost that was Stanley Pines. Kill him so the family doesn't bring him up, doesn't ask questions, stops asking "Stanford" about his twin.

I just keep thinking about the fact that since the day he made one single mistake all the way up until Ford walks out of that machine- Stanley Pines was killed and did not exist. And Stan himself had no one to blame, he had to play the part in his own demise- He is the only one who ever knew Stanley was alive and has been for decades.

He lives in the multitudes of every personality he's ever taken, all in the hope that he himself can stop being Stanley Pines.

[daydreamerwonderkid]

I know it's silly, but I would love it if DC gave Jason the opportunity to randomly summon the All Blades mid fight. Especially if he immediately tries to gaslight everyone into thinking they were seeing shit.

I just think it would be hysterical.

[dormiloncito]

YES!!!

[orlandospride]

the twist of fate being that spain winning the world cup was, perhaps, exactly what was necessary to happen in order to clean up the rfef, because….

they got away with it. they were in the clear. they achieved their goals of ridding the team of the ‘problem’ players, and forcing the others into grovelling, humiliating, public compliance. they had the perfect “see? we were right all along. we’ve been vindicated!” playbook in their back pocket. they had a stable enough pr stance, and world cup to parade around in the defiance of any noise around them

but they literally just could not stop themselves from being absolute weirdos for one evening. it’s incredible. and frankly, a little scary

[ranger-danger]

Dnd people who hate rangers are so funny. Oh you love bards, but think rangers are useless in combat? That’s rich. Next you’ll tell me you love monks, but think rangers are too weak. What do you love sorcerers and think rangers suck?

[kittlyns]

Giving up on being coy and thoughtful w my family and just straight up telling them I haven't responded to their texts bc I'm putting all my motivation into not killing myself atm. Like what are they even gonna do abt it

[syncrovoid-presents]

I forgor I have a birthday (within the not so immediate future)

Time should just. Not exist thankss <3

[artychaild]

Fuckin love Kei

Anyway uuuh I think this pose is from a P!nk photoshoot but I'm not 100% sure...

[thevillainswhore]

Loverboy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Bucky, a lovesick, pining super soldier, vows to keep his feelings for you a secret — no matter how obvious his crush may seem. Those plans are ruined between a meddling Sam, an embarrassing fall, and a visit to the medbay with you.

Warnings: Avengers AU, Bucky’s POV, fluff, crack (my lame attempt at comedy), suggestive thoughts (no smut), just our boy being a lovesick little bean with a big ol’ crush.

Author’s Note: Dividers by @saradika. Proofread by @buckys-wintersoldier, thank you so much sweetie, I love you!! This was inspired by a wonderful request from @prettyboy56, thank you so much! Hope you enjoy x

“Hi, Bucky.” 

Instantly, he sputtered over his mouthful of cereal, eyes watering from his food going down the wrong way. 

Bucky knew that melodic voice before his gaze even reached its owner. You entered the kitchen, wiggling your fingers at him in greeting. 

Clearing his throat, he swiped his bowl to the side, his breakfast now forgotten about, and directed his attention solely onto you. “Hi—um h—hello, doll.” 

The muscles of your cheeks lifted up to your eyes in a smile that made Bucky swoon. Hard.

Your eyes fell to Sam then, who stood in the corner, fresh from a workout with a shit eating on his face. “Good morning, Samuel.” 

“Mornin’, beautiful. How did you sleep?” 

Bucky fought the growl rising in his throat, the unprecedented possessiveness caving its way through its internal barriers in your presence. 

You grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and closed the door, leaning your back against it to take a big gulp. 

“Not bad at all.” You licked your lips, ridding the dryness that came from a long slumber before your eyes lit up. “Oh, by the way! I drank some of that tea you recommended. It’s helped a bunch—”

Bucky zoned out while you continued to express your gratitude to Sam. He couldn’t help the way his eyes dilated as he rested his head in the palm of his vibranium hand, a lovesick sigh escaping his lips. You were just so gorgeous – a deity in human form right in front of his own very eyes. Bucky had never considered himself so lucky in all his time on earth to be within your vicinity. 

In his own world of oggling, Bucky didn’t notice how the conversation fell short between you and Sam. Neither did he realise how the two of you were staring at him; you with concern and Wilson smothering his laughter with his hand. 

“Bucky? Sweetheart?” He finally registered that you were speaking to him and almost choked, again, on his own spit.

“Mhm?” Bucky murmured, drunk off your attention. 

You smiled once again, so devastatingly beautiful that his left arm whirred in stupor. “Are you okay? You feeling alright?” Not waiting for a response, you walked over to him and Bucky almost let his eyes roll to the back of his head when you lifted your wrist to his forehead. “Jeez, you’re a little hot, Buck.” 

Sam keeled over in hysterics, unable to keep his composure any longer. Meanwhile, a bright red blossom of colour rose up from the skin of Bucky’s neck all the way up to his cheeks. 

Had Bucky not been embarrassingly infatuated by you, the throwaway comment wouldn’t have had any effect on him. But this was you. The woman who had the ability to make him melt on the spot. 

While logic and a basic level of common sense screamed at him that you were talking about his temperature, his mind could only conjure up the fact you had called him hot. 

Bucky saw your mouth moving, however he couldn’t concentrate on the sound of the words coming out of it. You were still touching him, patting his cheeks and sweeping the tendrils of hair that had fell out from behind his ears out of his face. The close proximity of your bodies threw him through a loop and without even realising, his thighs spread further, subconsciously begging you to forego all boundaries and smother yourself against him. 

Gently tapping his nose three times, you managed to gain his full attention again. “You seem out of it, sweetie. Maybe you should go down to the medbay. See if you’re coming down with a fever or something.” 

Sam blew out a breath of air. “Yeah, because that’s what’s wrong with him.” 

You threw a lighthearted glare his way before bringing your eyes back to Bucky. “Promise me you’ll get seen to?” 

How could he refuse when you asked so sweetly? “Anything you want.” He vowed sincerely. 

Scrunching your nose, you chucked his chin and whispered under your breath, “Good boy.”

Bucky almost whimpered when you withdrew your hands and stepped back. He so desperately wanted to follow you and nudge your arm until you paid attention to him once more. Your touch was fire and a cool breeze all at once. Electricity that created static across his stubbled cheek, yet also stoked a warmth through his entire body.  

Peace. He’d never felt anything like it. Never before felt drunk from just the delicate essence of a perfume or experienced the loosening of his limbs, relaxing until his legs felt like jelly whenever you so much as cast him a glance. 

You grabbed a piece of fruit from the table, ready to go down to the gym and train. “Catch you later, Sam,” you called over your shoulder. Meeting Bucky’s eyes a final time, you winked while you headed for the elevator. “Bye, sweetheart.”  

Bucky’s gaze was glued to you, following you out hopelessly until you were completely out of sight. 

He was fucked — well and truly out of his depth. 

Sam crossed his arms and smirked. “You are down bad, man.” 

Bucky swiped a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “Fuckin’ tell me about it.” 

“This is serious.” Sam sobered up, his lips softening into an honest smile. 

With an embarrassingly loud thud against the island countertop, Bucky let his head drop. “I have no idea what to do, Sam. I thought this crush would have passed by now but it’s been months.”

“Well,” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Have you even tried asking her out?” 

“And why would I do that?” Bucky asked, genuinely confused. 

Sam sputtered over his words. “What do you mean—Because that’s what people do when they like someone, you dumbass!” 

Bucky had lost enough braincells daydreaming about you constantly. He didn’t need to be told what he already knew. But the pressure of asking you out to then have a chance of being rejected? He would never come back from that. “Yeah, no thanks,” he mumbled.

“Come on, man. What’s the worst that could happen?” Sam asked. 

Bucky lifted his head up and huffed sarcastically. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she could turn me down and rip my heart out into little pieces, so much that I would hide out in my room for the rest of eternity never to be seen again?” 

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

Bucky sighed longingly. “Let me wallow in my misery alone, Sam.” 

“Why? So you can spend your days staring at her with your googly eyes and drooling over her.” 

“I have never drooled over her,” Bucky snarled. 

A twinkle shone in Sam’s eye, a mischievous grin donning his face. “Then what’s that on your chin?” 

Bucky’s eyes widened and he quickly brought his hand up to his face to check if he did in fact have any wetness coating his mouth. Finding none, he looked back to Sam with a scowl. “I hate you.”

Sam shook his head with laughter. “You shouldn’t make it so easy to tease you, loverboy.”  

With a growl, Bucky lifted from his seat and stormed out of the kitchen. 

The irritating voice followed him. “Don’t forget training tomorrow morning, loverboy!” 

The sun was shining over the compound the next morning and so came the bright idea from Steve that all exercise activities should be held outside. While the recruits in training buffed up on their sparring with the Captain, the rest of the avengers worked out as they saw fit. 

As usual, Sam took any opportunity possible to annoy Bucky, which brought them together, running laps around the outdoor track. 

“When are you gonna man up and ask her out then, Cyborg? Pretty girl ain’t gonna be available forever.” 

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t run ahead of Sam. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t. Maybe the pace he kept alongside Wilson allowed him to stare at you so clearly in your tight workout leggings and sports bra as sweat sensually rolled over your skin. Maybe. 

“I’m not asking her out, Sam. Drop it.” 

Sam huffed out an annoyed breath. “Listen, man. It’s not as if you’ve got nothing going for you. As much as you’re a grumpy shit, you’ve got them blue eyes the chicks love. Gets them all gooey when you give them intense eye contact, y’know?” He reluctantly added, “And they dig the brooding, bad boy, leather jacket vibe.”

Bucky let out a rare smile within the presence of Sam. “You tryna hit on me, Wilson?” 

“Look, all I’m saying is you have a chance.” Sam slyly glanced over the field. “And if you don’t quit fuckin’ around, that chance is gonna disappear.”  

The smile instantly dropped from Bucky’s face. “What do you mean by that?” 

Sam’s signature smirk came back with vengeance. “Your girls lookin’ kinda cute today. So I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you ain’t the only one who’s got their eye on her.” 

Naturally, Bucky followed his instinct and let his eyes look over at you. You were a fucking wonder, of course he knew that. But heeding Sam’s ominous warning, Bucky allowed his gaze to venture out, only allowing you to blur into the background for a couple of seconds while he took stock of the other male, and female, recruits. 

Low and behold, plenty of other people wantonly stared at you while you completed your circuit, almost salivating over their barely concealed pining. As much as Bucky hated to admit it, the fucker was right. You were the pinnacle of everyone’s attention. 

With the way you were bending over, squatting and looking like an angel amidst the perspiration the sun brought on, Bucky wasn’t sure if he could actually blame anyone for it. 

That didn’t stop the ugly, green eyed beast within him that wanted to tear everyone’s eyes out for daring to glimpse at you. 

It was silly, he knew he had no right to feel any sort of possessive nature for you. Unfortunately, you didn’t belong to him. Still, he couldn’t control the deep rooted urges that whispered the kinds of fun he’d have gouging out eyeballs that looked where they weren't supposed to. 

Knowing he had stirred the pot enough, Sam figured it was time to try and hit the final nail in the coffin in order to make his friend move his ass. “Y’know what gives you an advantage though, man?” 

Bucky continued to death stare the surrounding agents, while keeping up with his steady jog. “What’s that?”

“Guess who’s making eyes at you right now.” 

At breakneck speed, Bucky snapped his head back around to you, only to indeed find you staring at him with a fire in your eyes and your bottom lip trapped between your teeth. 

A violent shudder ran down his spine and for a moment, the whole world stopped on its axis, allowing Bucky to revel in a daydream brought to life. 

That was until his mind snapped him back into the present. The super soldier was majestic on his feet in a fight, graceful yet utterly dangerous out on the field even with the pressure a mission came with. 

However to his utter bewilderment, you happened to be the most dangerous being he had ever come across, because in all of his years as a trained, professional assassin, Bucky had never, never, tripped over his own feet. 

And so, inevitably, Bucky’s face ungracefully met the asphalt of the outside track with an audible thunk. 

A collective of gasps, oo’s, and ah’s, rang around the large group. Bucky could physically feel the coating of red, hot embarrassment climbing up to his now scratched cheeks.  

Bucky couldn’t see the look of shame and pity on Sam’s face as he dropped his head into his hands. All he was capable of was fantasizing faking his own death and moving far, far away where no one who witnessed his fall could ever find him.  

With a painful, deep groan, Bucky managed to roll himself over. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes and allow himself to accept reality yet and so he kept them closed, waiting for the ground to swallow him up or for the beaming sun to slowly incinerate him, melt him into the ground with his shame and dignity. 

But instead of either of those, a shadow casted over him, the harsh brightness behind his eyelids dulling down. Slowly, he peeked an eye open, only for mortification to kick him in the gut when he found you standing over him. 

“You alright there, Soldier?” Your hands were set on your hips, those deliciously curved grooves of your body that he had shamelessly stared at one too many times during gym sessions. 

“Mhm,” he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing roughly. “Just peachy.” 

Even though you’d just seen him eat dirt, in front of hundreds of learning recruits and the rest of the avengers, your smile was kind as you held out your hand. “Need some help?” 

Bucky took your offering, sliding his clammy palm into your dry one and hoisted himself up with your grip. He hadn’t needed your help, he was a super soldier with a metal arm; an agility and strength beyond normal human ability. But he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to feel your soft skin against his. 

He couldn’t look you in the eye as he stood up, aware of your gaze glued to him. “Th-Thanks.” 

“It’s not a problem,” you said. “Although, you’ve got a few nasty looking cuts on your cheeks.” 

Bucky brought his left hand up to his face, hissing when the cool vibranium stung the open wounds. “Ah, it’s nothin’—don't worry about it. Nothing a few hours won’t fix.” 

You shook your head fondly. “Well, how about I walk you to the infirmary and we get some ointment on them? It wouldn’t hurt to be cautious.” 

Bucky choked on his own spit and snapped his eyes to yours. “W-We?” 

Your smile was blinding — so beautiful with an ability to stop time. At least for him anyway. “Yeah, why not? It looks like you could use a hand—y’know, since you’re a little clumsy on your feet today.” The cheeky smirk that followed your words almost sent him to an early grave.

His cheeks blazed. Bucky was sure he looked utterly stupid, with his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. But he couldn’t help the effect you had on him. “I um—I— ha, I guess.” 

Your eyes glinted mischievously. “I’ll take that as a yes?” 

Not trusting his voice to hold steady, Bucky simply nodded. 

“Great,” you approved. “Just one question though, are we going to keep holding hands on the way?”

Looking down to the space between you, Bucky felt his mouth dry when he saw that he hadn’t yet released his hand from yours. “I’m—oh fuck—I’m so sorry.” 

Still, he made no move to slacken his grip. 

You tightened your lips, and he knew you were willing yourself not to laugh for his sake. Sam would have a fucking field day with this. 

Though to his surprise, instead of pulling away like he expected you to, you began pulling him along, hands still interweaved. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, Bucky.”  

His name on your lips was akin to a siren singing her song; dragging helpless seamen to their deaths. A thought crossed his mind then, that he didn’t think he would mind so much if he sank to his reckoning, not if your voice was the last thing he ever heard. 

“Okay.” Bucky followed you blindly, eyes glued to your conjoined hands and disbelieving of his luck. 

You had led the way towards the medbay and found a cozy, private room that the doctors used for small injuries. Bucky sat impatiently on the side of the medical bed, twiddling his thumbs and fidgeting restlessly. Never had he been so close to you, alone. 

Bucky internally prayed with all his faith that you couldn’t hear the rapid staccato of his heartbeat. He was sure if he was hooked up to a monitor, the doctors would be thoroughly concerned about his health. 

Finally having gathered all the supplies you deemed necessary along with a first aid box, you walked back over to the bed and dumped everything next to him. 

“So,” you began, an uneasy conspiratorial tone to your voice that weirdly reminded him of Sam. “Wanna tell me what happened out there?”  

“I—,” Bucky sheepishly scratched the back of his neck while his cheeks bloomed crimson red. “I must’ve just tripped over my own feet.” 

He tried to shrug off his nonchalance, but he knew by your raised eyebrow you didn’t believe him. “Somehow, I have a hard time believing a big, strong super soldier such as yourself has any trouble finding his footing.”

Before Bucky could muster up any other excuse but the truth, you ripped open the packet of a medical wipe and warned him, “I’m sorry. This is gonna sting.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said with bravado. 

Bucky wasn’t prepared for the twinkle in your eye as you mumbled under your breath, “I’m sure it isn’t, Sargeant.” 

The breath got knocked out of his lungs. Oh did that do things to him. 

Suddenly, vivid images of you spread out on his bed wearing nothing but his old army hat while you screamed out his rank ran wild in his mind. 

Luckily, you were too preoccupied with cleaning the dried blood of his wound to notice him discreetly palming the bulge in his athletic shorts, trying to hide the effect you had on him. 

“Are you certain there is absolutely no other reason as to why I’m playing nurse right now, then?” Your feline grin was sexy and scary. “No possible distractions that led you off path?” 

There was no way you could read minds, right? Bucky doubled down on his denial, shaking his head from side to side and letting the length of his hair hide the truth in his eyes. 

“I’ll take your word for it then.” You finished up and reached for the healing gel. “I know the serum enhances your ability to repair the cuts, but I’d still like to use this.” Looking into his eyes, you asked, “Only as long as you’re okay with that, of course.” 

Time stopped and the two of you were caught in the other’s gaze. It was such a small gesture, one you probably didn’t even realise meant the world to him. But you asked him for permission on something that would affect his autonomy and if Bucky didn’t already have a hundred ways he was falling for you, that would have been the cherry on top. 

“Yeah,” he breathed airily. “Yeah, I’m good with it, doll.” 

Unseen to him before, you ducked your head and sweeped your hair behind your ear and if Bucky didn’t know any better, he was sure you were shy. 

He couldn’t help the large grin he sported. He was always so enamored with you, quick to falter in your presence and become unsure of himself. Right now though, a small bout of bravery returned. “Ready when you are,” he cheekily murmured. 

You hastily rushed to compose yourself. Clearing your throat, you squeezed the tube of gel, allowing a small drop of the cool liquid on the tip of your finger and stepped between his legs to gently dab it onto his cuts. 

“Okay, you’re all fixed up now.” With a last swipe of his forehead, you smiled. “Don’t worry, Buck. You still look handsome.” 

He tugged his plump bottom lip between his teeth. “You think I’m handsome?”

You giggled. “I would be blind if I didn’t.” 

Bucky blinked at you slowly, still processing your words and trying to calm the excited bubble rising in his throat. 

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, don’t act all coy, Bucky. You must have heard the whispers of the recruits. They stare at you all the time, whispering and giggling to each other.” 

With the most confidence he had ever mustered up, he responded, “Truthfully, I’m too busy staring at someone else to notice, doll.” 

The shock of his sudden boldness was glaringly obvious on your face — it was you this time who held your mouth open, lost for words. 

Bucky’s body screamed at him to tell you that he was in fact head over heels for you. That had he known falling over in front of the full compound would lead him within a hair’s breadth away from you, he’d do it all over again. 

But you seemed to recover after a couple of seconds, clearing your throat and making yourself busy to avoid his eyes. “So, I’ve got another question.” 

“Oh?” Bucky cocked his head. 

“Yeah.” You smiled while placing everything back into the first aid box as you found it. “I’ve been hearing a few rumours around the compound recently.” 

Bucky’s stomach dropped with dread. 

“You wouldn’t know anything about those, would you?” 

“I—” Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. “I have no idea what you mean.” 

“Oh,” you hummed. “So it’s not true then? You don’t have a crush on me?” 

Fuck.

Panicking, Bucky scoffed, though it came off sounding too pathetic, too breezy. “Me? Have a crush on you? That’s—Ha! Nope. No way. Not at all.” 

He watched as you nodded to yourself. Internally, he was begging for the floor to swallow him while he cringed at his own stupidity. 

“Well,” you shrugged. “That’s a shame, I guess.”  

Bucky’s head shot up, eyes wide and shock written over his features. “E-Excuse me?” 

“Oh, it's nothing really.” There was a sparkle in your eye that screamed trouble. “You said you didn’t have a crush on me, so it doesn’t matter.” 

Within seconds, Bucky jumped off the bed and leapt towards you, not even noticing how he had grabbed your hands. “Doll, please. You can’t leave a guy hanging like that.” 

Playfully rolling your eyes, you dramatically exhaled and decided to put him out of his misery. “Leave you hanging? Damn, Buck. It’s not as if I’ve been waiting patiently for you to ask me out for months or anything like that.” 

The air became humid and stuffy and suddenly the clothes attached to Bucky’s body felt too tight and restricting. “You—What now?” 

You rolled your lips inwards, trying to smother your laughter. “Bucky, honey,” you gently murmured. “I’ve heard what the others have been gossiping about. I’ve definitely heard Sam telling the team about your crush on me.” 

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “That fuckin’ punk.” 

You squeezed his hands reassuringly and offered him a warm smile when he looked at you. “I’ve just been waiting to hear it from the horse's mouth himself.” 

Bucky’s eyes darted between yours, trying to find any hint of decievement. “You’re serious.”

“Mhm,” you whispered. “Deadly.” 

It took him a couple of seconds to let the new information sink in. Clearing his throat, Bucky untightened his fierce grip on your hands and hesitantly slid them down to latch onto your waist. “So,” he mumbled. “Say if I asked you out to dinner tonight… You wouldn’t tell me I’m a fool and break my heart into a million pieces?” 

Butterflies erupted in Bucky’s stomach at the sensation of your hands sliding over his chest to rest against his neck. “No, Bucky,” you chuckled. “I would tell you that I’m looking forward to our first date, tonight. Nowhere fancy, just casual. Six o’clock sharp.” 

Bucky smiled, all beaming and ecstatic. “I wouldn’t dream of being late.” 

“Good.” You leaned up onto your tip toes and ghosted your lips over his ear. “See you very soon then, Sargeant.” 

Tingles shot down Bucky’s spine and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He fought tooth and nail to crush the moan that rose up his throat and in his internal struggle, he missed how you’d sneakily slipped out of his hold and started to saunter towards the door. 

He almost begged you to come back; the thought of having to wait for you until the evening was unbearable. But those pesky butterflies that invaded his stomach came back strong and fierce as his gaze became glued to the sway of your hips and the sweet perfume that lingered in your exit. 

“Oh,” you stopped suddenly at the doorway and looked over your shoulder. “One more thing. Don’t go tripping over again, you hear me?” You raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Can’t have you falling for me.”

Your damn smirk was intoxicating and Bucky thought himself the luckiest fella alive to be the one taking you out. He licked his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have a little trouble with that request, Ma’am.” 

The clench of your thighs was unmissable. The way your eyes dilated called to him. Bucky had more game than he realised and he kept that new information tucked safely into the corner of his mind for a later date. 

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. Your actions told Bucky everything he needed to know and so he wiggled his fingers with a huge grin locked onto his face and watched you longingly as you left his sight. 

The minute he couldn’t hear your footsteps any longer, Bucky pumped his fist up into the air and began dancing on the spot. 

In his own bubble of happiness, he didn’t hear the footsteps of a new person entering the hallway. Only when an amused clearing of the throat echoed from the doorway did Bucky abruptly stop his dancing and slowly swivel to the intruder. 

Sam stood there, all cocky and mirthful with a shit eating grin on his face. “About time you bagged the girl, man. Dont’cha think?” 

Instantly, Bucky growled and grabbed the closest apparatus. With a pair of medical scissors, he charged towards Sam, who was quick to wipe the smirk off his face and skid out of the room with a scream. 

[dior-luxury]

hello!! could I request how the dormleaders would react to you being a descent of the different disney princesses? (or in some cases alice and hercules), hopefully my point came across because this was kinda hard to explain! ✧

How'd They React To You Being A Descent Of The Disney Princesses

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . drama/fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] dorm leaders

- [𝐩:𝐬] dramatic writing

Note: I literally fell in LOVE with this prompt! ♡ This was so fun to do and thank you so much for requesting!

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle had always prided himself on knowing everything about the Queen of Hearts' rules, the history of Wonderland, and the traditions upheld in Heartslabyul. But nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared him for the revelation that you were a direct descendant of Alice herself.

The first time you told him, he nearly dropped his teacup.

“What?” he blurted out, his usually pristine composure cracking as he stared at you in disbelief.

“I’m a descendant of Alice,” you repeated, shifting slightly under his intense gaze. “You know, the Alice. The one from all those Wonderland stories.”

The teacup in Riddle’s hand trembled slightly before he carefully set it down on its saucer. His mind raced, piecing together every bit of history he had learned from childhood about the infamous girl who had once thrown Wonderland into chaos—the girl who had openly defied the Queen of Hearts’ rules and questioned the very nature of Wonderland itself.

And now, you, his beloved girlfriend, carried her blood in your veins.

For a long moment, Riddle was silent, processing. His stormy grey eyes flickered with an unreadable expression before he finally spoke.

“… Are you sure?”

You chuckled. “Positive. My family has always told me stories about her. At first, I thought they were just tales, but then… well, certain things started making sense.”

Riddle exhaled slowly, his hands folding neatly in his lap to disguise his lingering shock. He had imagined many things about you—admired your kindness, your wit, your ability to handle his strictness—but this? This was unprecedented.

It wasn’t until later that day, after the initial shock had settled, that you noticed something was off about him.

At lunch, he stared at you a little longer than usual, his spoon hovering over his soup as if he had completely forgotten about it. During your usual evening walks through Heartslabyul’s rose gardens, he kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye, as if trying to see something—some trace of Alice herself in your features.

Finally, you stopped walking and faced him. “Okay, Riddle, you’ve been looking at me like I’m going to grow rabbit ears and hop away any second. What’s going on?”

His ears tinged pink. “I—ahem—I was merely… contemplating.”

“Contemplating what?” you pressed, crossing your arms.

Riddle hesitated before admitting, “I wonder if you… share any of her tendencies.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tendencies?”

He looked at you seriously. “Alice was known to be reckless. She broke rules, disregarded orders, and caused immense chaos in Wonderland.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if the very thought of such disorder was giving him a headache. “And if you truly are her descendant, I cannot help but wonder if… if you, too, might have inherited such traits.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Riddle. Are you afraid I’m going to start shouting, ‘Off with his head!’ and overthrow Heartslabyul?”

His face flushed instantly. “N-No! That is not what I meant! Don’t be absurd!”

You laughed, stepping closer to take his hands in yours. “Riddle, I may be Alice’s descendant, but I’m still me. Sure, maybe I have a rebellious streak, but I would never cause trouble for you. And besides,” you added, tilting your head, “Alice was just curious. She asked questions and wanted to understand things. Kind of like you, actually.”

Riddle stiffened at that, caught off guard. “… Like me?”

You nodded. “Yeah. You always ask why things are the way they are. You want to understand rules, not just enforce them. Isn’t that kind of like Alice?”

He stared at you, visibly deep in thought. The idea had never occurred to him before. He had always viewed Alice as a symbol of chaos, while he stood for order. And yet, when you said it like that…

Perhaps curiosity wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

After a long pause, Riddle let out a soft sigh, squeezing your hands gently. “I suppose… I may have misjudged her. And you.” His expression softened. “If you are truly Alice’s descendant, then… I am glad. Because despite everything I have been told about her, I cannot deny that she left a great impact on Wonderland. And you… you have certainly left an impact on me.”

Your heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice. Smiling, you rose on your toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Does that mean I have your approval, Housewarden Rosehearts?”

He huffed, though his face was undeniably red. “Just don’t go falling down any rabbit holes, please.”

You laughed, lacing your fingers with his. “No promises.”

And even though Riddle still insisted on keeping you far away from any wild, Wonderland-esque adventures, he couldn’t deny the excitement that bloomed in his chest whenever he looked at you—the girl who carried the legacy of the one who changed everything.

Leona Kingscholar

You weren’t sure how to bring it up at first.

Leona wasn’t the easiest person to talk to when it came to things like lineage, legacy, or royalty—especially not his royal family. You knew how he felt about being second in line, about being constantly compared to his older brother, and most of all, about the name Mufasa.

But it wasn’t something you could keep from him forever.

One evening, the two of you were lounging in the botanical gardens, where he often went to escape the suffocating responsibilities of being the Housewarden of Savanaclaw. The golden hues of the setting sun cast long shadows over the grass, and Leona, as usual, had his head resting on your lap, eyes closed, tail flicking lazily.

That was when you decided to say it.

“… I think I’m related to Mufasa.”

His tail stopped moving.

Leona’s emerald eyes opened just a fraction, peering up at you through his long lashes. “You think?” His voice was low, but you could hear the tension beneath the lazy drawl.

You swallowed. “Well… my family’s history traces back to an old royal bloodline. And after putting the pieces together, it looks like I might be descended from him.”

Silence.

For the first time since you met him, Leona was utterly, completely still. His usual smirk, his dry sarcasm, the ever-present air of indifference—it was gone.

“… So, what?” he finally said, sitting up from your lap. “You telling me you’re some kinda lost royal?” His voice was even, but there was an edge to it, sharp enough to cut.

You hesitated. “I’m not saying that.”

“But you are saying that his blood runs in your veins.”

You winced at the way he said his—like the very name burned his tongue.

“I knew you’d react like this,” you muttered, looking away.

Leona let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through his thick mane. He was quiet for a long time, long enough that doubt crept into your mind. Was this a mistake? Did he see you differently now?

Then, he laughed.

It wasn’t a warm laugh, nor was it amused—it was bitter, mirthless.

“Figures,” he muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Even my own girlfriend’s got Mufasa’s blood. Guess I can’t escape that shadow no matter where I go, huh?”

Your heart clenched.

“Leona…” You reached for his hand, but he pulled away, standing up and shoving both hands into his pockets.

“I get it now,” he continued, looking up at the darkening sky. “The way you walk, the way you talk… the way people naturally listen to you. Should’ve known it wasn’t just you being you—it’s in your blood, ain’t it? The great Mufasa’s legacy, living on through you.”

That stung.

You stood up, crossing your arms. “That’s not fair, Leona. I don’t want to be compared to him any more than you do.”

His ears flicked, but he didn’t turn to face you.

“I know you hate hearing his name,” you continued, stepping closer. “But I’m not him. I’m still me. I don’t care about some ancient legacy. And I sure as hell don’t think I’m better than you just because of who my ancestors were.”

Leona’s shoulders tensed.

You reached out again, this time catching his wrist before he could pull away. “You’re the one I chose, Leona. Not my bloodline. Not my history. You.”

For a moment, you thought he might push you away.

Instead, he exhaled heavily and finally turned to look at you. His expression was unreadable—his sharp green eyes held something deeper, something raw, something vulnerable.

“… You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

You smiled. “Yeah. But you love me anyway.”

Leona clicked his tongue, but the smallest, faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Tch. Whatever,” he muttered. Then, with a gentleness most people never got to see, he pulled you into his arms. His chin rested on top of your head, and his tail lazily curled around your leg.

“… I don’t care about legacies,” he murmured. “And I don’t care that you’re descended from him. But if anyone ever tries to use that against me, I’ll make sure they regret it.”

You chuckled against his chest. “That’s my Leona.”

He scoffed but held you just a little tighter.

And though he would never admit it, a part of him—one buried beneath years of resentment and bitterness—felt oddly at peace knowing that if Mufasa’s bloodline had to live on… at least it was in someone like you.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul Ashengrotto had always prided himself on knowing everything about the sea. Every tale, every legend, every tragedy—it was his business, after all. Knowledge was power, and power was something he had worked tirelessly to obtain.

But this?

This was something he had never seen coming.

“You’re what?” Azul’s normally composed voice cracked slightly, and he immediately cleared his throat, trying to maintain his usual calm.

You shifted awkwardly in your seat across from him in the VIP room of the Mostro Lounge. “I’m related to Ariel,” you repeated.

Azul let out a breath, his gloved fingers tightening slightly around the delicate handle of his teacup. “As in… the Ariel? The mermaid princess who abandoned the sea for a human prince?”

“The very same.”

A tense silence settled between you. Azul didn’t say anything at first, and you could practically see the gears turning in his mind. His eyes, deep as the ocean itself, studied you carefully—searching for any trace of a joke, a trick, something that would make this revelation less… monumental.

It never came.

Azul placed his teacup down with deliberate care before folding his hands in front of him, his expression unreadable. “… And how, exactly, did you come upon this information?”

“I looked into my family history,” you explained. “I’d always heard stories passed down through generations, but I never thought much of it until I actually started tracing my lineage. And, well… everything led back to her.”

Azul exhaled slowly, reclining slightly in his chair. “I see.”

You frowned. “Azul, say something. Anything.”

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. More like something torn between amusement and disbelief. “Forgive me, dear, but I’m still processing the fact that my girlfriend is descended from one of the most reckless mermaids in all of history.”

Your brow furrowed. “You don’t like her, do you?”

Azul let out a soft, mirthless chuckle. “It’s not about liking or disliking her, my dear. It’s about what she represents.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his laced fingers. “Ariel was many things—bold, stubborn, impulsive—but above all, she was a dreamer.” His voice dipped, almost as if the word itself was an insult.

You tilted your head. “And you don’t like dreamers?”

Azul’s gaze flickered to the contract-lined walls of his lounge, then back to you. “Dreaming is fine,” he admitted, “but blind idealism? That is dangerous. She gave up her home, her family, her voice for a world she barely understood. That is not a risk—” He stopped himself, inhaling sharply before finishing in a calmer tone, “—that is a gamble. And the house always wins.”

You could hear the bitterness in his voice. Azul, more than anyone, knew what it was like to make a deal from a place of desperation. To hope for something more, only to learn the hard way that the world did not hand out kindness freely.

You reached for his hand, your fingers lightly brushing against his glove. “She wasn’t perfect, Azul,” you said gently. “But she didn’t just give up everything for a gamble. She fought for what she wanted. She saw a world that she loved and refused to let anything keep her from it. Even when she lost her voice, she still found a way to be heard.”

Azul’s fingers twitched beneath yours.

You smiled softly. “And doesn’t that remind you of someone?”

His lips parted slightly, as if to argue—but then he stopped.

Because he knew exactly what you were implying.

Ariel’s story wasn’t so different from his own, was it?

A young, ambitious soul, born into the ocean but yearning for something more. Someone who wanted power in their own right. Someone who wouldn’t accept being overlooked or underestimated.

Azul clenched his jaw, tearing his gaze away. “That’s different,” he murmured.

“Is it?” you challenged. “You built yourself up from nothing. You changed your fate with your own hands. You defied expectations. You and Ariel aren’t as different as you think, Azul.”

He was silent.

You squeezed his hand gently. “And for what it’s worth… she got her happy ending.”

A dry chuckle escaped him, though there was no malice in it. “Yes, well, fairy tales always end conveniently, don’t they?”

You gave him a teasing smile. “So does that mean you’re my prince now?”

Azul’s face reddened instantly, and he quickly pulled his hand away, clearing his throat. “Ahem. I— I hardly think such a title is fitting for me.”

You giggled. “Would you prefer ‘Sea King’?”

Azul groaned, rubbing his temples. “You are impossible.”

But there was a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips.

After a long moment, Azul finally exhaled, his posture relaxing. “It doesn’t change anything,” he admitted. “Whether you’re Ariel’s descendant or not, you’re still you.”

Your heart swelled at his words. “And you’re still you—my Azul.”

His ears turned a bit pink, and he quickly turned his gaze to the side. “… Well, if nothing else, I suppose this just proves that my ability to attract unique individuals is unparalleled.”

You laughed, reaching across the table to steal a sip of his tea. “You love it.”

Azul smirked. “I tolerate it.”

And as the two of you sat there, basking in the warmth of each other’s presence, Azul couldn’t help but think that—perhaps—Ariel’s bloodline wasn’t so foolish after all.

Kalim Al-asim

Kalim was not the type to keep secrets.

In fact, he was almost comically terrible at it. He was the kind of person who would accidentally blurt out a surprise party plan within five minutes of deciding it, who would beam with excitement over something he wasn’t supposed to know, and who would definitely be unable to keep a straight face if he ever tried to deceive someone.

But you? You had been keeping something from him. Not out of malice, of course. You just… weren’t sure how to bring it up.

It wasn’t every day that you told your boyfriend that you were a direct descendant of the legendary Aladdin.

You had been meaning to tell him, but the right moment never came. Kalim was always surrounded by people—whether it was his entourage, his friends, or the ever-watchful Jamil—and dropping that kind of information in the middle of an afternoon feast seemed a bit too dramatic.

So, you waited.

Until one evening, when the two of you were sitting on the grand balcony of Scarabia’s dorm, overlooking the golden dunes of the desert under a sky full of stars. The warm wind carried the scent of exotic spices from the marketplace below, and for once, it was just the two of you—no attendants, no interruptions.

“Kalim,” you started, voice soft.

He turned to you with his usual bright, open smile. “Yeah?”

You hesitated. “… There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

His eyes widened a little, curiosity instantly piqued. “Oh? What is it?”

You took a deep breath. “I recently found out that my family is related to Aladdin.”

Kalim blinked.

Once. Twice.

Then, his entire face lit up like a festival firework.

“NO WAY! THAT’S AMAZING!!”

Before you could react, he had grabbed both of your hands in his own, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Wait, wait, wait—you mean Aladdin—as in the Aladdin?! The diamond in the rough? The guy who found the magic lamp and won the heart of a princess?! The legend himself?!”

You laughed nervously. “Y-yeah, that Aladdin.”

Kalim’s excitement was instantaneous and overwhelming. “THAT’S SO COOL!” he exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat. “Do you know what this means?! You’re like—desert royalty! A hero’s descendant! A real-life legend!!”

You smiled at his enthusiasm, but you weren’t sure how he’d feel about the whole story. “You really think it’s that amazing?”

“Of course! Aladdin was one of the greatest adventurers ever! He was clever, kind, and he never let anyone tell him he wasn’t good enough! And he never needed riches to prove his worth—he was already great all on his own!”

You bit your lip, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “Yeah, but… you do know he started off as a street rat, right?”

Kalim tilted his head, confused. “So?”

“So… my family didn’t come from wealth,” you admitted. “We were commoners, just like Aladdin. We had to fight for everything we had. I didn’t grow up in a palace or anything like that.”

Kalim’s expression softened, and before you could blink, he was pulling you into the warmest, tightest hug you’d ever felt.

“That doesn’t change anything!” he said earnestly, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “Who cares where you came from? You’re you! And you’re amazing just as you are!”

You felt yourself relax in his embrace. “You really don’t mind?”

“Mind? Are you kidding?!” Kalim pulled back, his ruby-red eyes shimmering with excitement. “This just makes me love you even more! We have to celebrate! OH—WAIT—Jamil! JAMIL!!”

He immediately turned toward the dormitory, calling for his ever-suffering vice housewarden.

You quickly grabbed his arm before he could get Jamil involved. “Kalim, wait! I don’t think we need to—”

“But this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing!! We have to have a feast! Fireworks! Maybe even a whole festival!!”

You sighed, already imagining the extra work Jamil was about to be saddled with. “Kalim… maybe let’s keep it between us for now?”

Kalim pouted dramatically but nodded. “Okay, okay! But at least let me do something special for you!”

You smiled. “You already did.”

He blinked in surprise. “Huh?”

You laced your fingers with his, squeezing gently. “You didn’t care where I came from. You were just happy that I was me. That means more to me than any festival ever could.”

For a moment, Kalim just stared at you, his mouth slightly open as if processing your words. Then, his face broke into the softest, most genuine smile you had ever seen.

“You’re the best,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you again, pulling you close.

And as the warm desert breeze swept around you, carrying the scent of spices and jasmine, you realized that you didn’t need riches or a magic lamp to feel like the luckiest person in the world—because you already had Kalim.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil Schoenheit was a man who prided himself on control.

Control over his appearance. Control over his reputation. Control over every detail of his life, from his carefully curated skincare routine to the way he carried himself in front of the world.

So, when you first told him—softly, cautiously—that you were a descendant of Snow White, you expected a reaction.

A scoff. A dismissive wave of his hand. Maybe even an unimpressed "Of course you are."

But what you weren’t expecting was the eerie, suffocating silence that followed your confession.

Vil simply stared at you, his amethyst eyes unreadable, as if you had just uttered some kind of dark curse.

“… Say that again,” he finally said, his voice carefully neutral.

You swallowed. “I— I found out recently. My family lineage traces back to Snow White. You know, the Snow White.”

Another pause.

Then, slowly—almost imperceptibly—Vil’s lips curled into a small, icy smile.

“How poetic,” he murmured.

His tone was unreadable, and you weren’t sure whether that was a good thing or a very bad thing.

You fidgeted in place, your hands clenching slightly at the fabric of your clothes. “Vil…? Are you okay?”

He let out a small, humorless chuckle. “Oh, darling, you must forgive me. I simply find it ironic.”

You blinked. “Ironic?”

Vil turned, gracefully walking to his vanity mirror, his reflection shimmering beneath the soft glow of golden candlelight. He lifted a hand to touch his cheek, his long, manicured fingers ghosting over his porcelain skin.

“You do realize, don’t you?” he said quietly, his gaze locked on his reflection. “The very story that shaped my life—the tale that cast my role before I ever had a say in it—is the same one that runs through your veins.”

Your heart clenched.

Vil had always carried the weight of that old fairytale on his shoulders. No matter how hard he worked, no matter how dazzling his performances were, there would always be those who whispered in the shadows:

"Ah, the Evil Queen reborn."

He had spent his whole life fighting against it—proving that he was more than a villain in someone else's story.

And now, you—the person he had let into his heart, the one he adored—were descended from the very girl that fairytale had deemed the fairest of them all.

“… Vil.” You took a hesitant step forward. “I didn’t want to hide it from you. I just… I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.”

He exhaled slowly, his fingers trailing down the edge of the vanity before he finally turned to face you again.

And then, something shifted.

Gone was the cool mask of detachment. In its place was a look that was unmistakably Vil—proud, regal, and fiercely unapologetic.

“Well,” he said smoothly, walking toward you with an effortless grace, “I suppose this only proves what I’ve always known.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

Vil’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “That even Snow White’s own bloodline cannot resist me.”

You let out a startled laugh as he lifted your chin with a gloved hand, his eyes gleaming with something both possessive and deeply amused.

“You are mine,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. “Snow White or not. And if anyone dares suggest otherwise—” His voice dropped to something silkier, more dangerous. “—they will learn why I refuse to be cast as a mere villain in this tale.”

Your breath hitched, heat crawling up your neck. “Vil…”

His smirk softened just a fraction, and he tilted his head, studying you with something warmer—something genuine beneath the layers of carefully controlled elegance.

“… Does it bother you?” he finally asked. “That our story was written long before we ever met?”

You shook your head. “No.”

And you meant it.

Because you knew Vil was more than that old fairytale. More than a poisoned apple or a wicked queen. He was himself—dazzling, sharp, ambitious, and breathtakingly human.

“You’re not a villain,” you murmured, reaching up to tuck a strand of his golden hair behind his ear. “And I’m not some helpless princess waiting to be saved. We make our own story, Vil.”

For a moment, he just looked at you.

Then, he let out a soft chuckle, his eyes glinting with something dangerous and beautiful all at once.

“Well then, my darling,” he purred, “let’s make sure it’s a story they’ll never forget.”

And when Vil kissed you that night, it wasn’t the kiss of a villain, nor the gentle affection of a fairytale prince.

It was his kiss—fierce, intoxicating, and entirely his own.

Idia Shroud

To say that Idia did not take the news well would be a massive understatement.

He froze. Absolutely, completely froze.

One second, he had been lounging in his dimly lit room, gaming console in hand, complaining about an impossible boss fight. The next? He had gone full blue-screen-of-death mode, his flaming hair flickering wildly in sheer panic.

“W-w-wait, WAIT—hold up!!” He almost yeeted his controller across the room, scrambling to sit up. “Y-you’re saying—y-you’re telling me—that you’re related to HERCULES?! Like, the Hercules?! Buff golden boy, slayer of titans, Mr. I-Can-Go-the-Distance HERCULES?!”

You blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

Idia made a strangled sound, looking one bad shock away from an actual shutdown.

“Error. Error. System malfunction.” His voice wavered as he pressed his hands to his temples. “This… This has gotta be a joke. A prank. You’re messing with me, right?”

“Nope,” you said casually. “It’s true. Turns out my family has a direct lineage to him. I only found out recently when—”

But Idia wasn’t even listening at that point. He had already spiraled deep into an existential crisis, muttering a very concerning monologue to himself.

“Ohhh, great, great, this is just like one of those cursed romance routes where the MC turns out to be some kind of secret OP chosen one and the weak nerdy love interest is completely outclassed—OH WAIT, THAT’S ME!!”

“Idia—”

“Like, you’re literally the descendant of the most brokenly overpowered himbo in Greek mythology! D-does that mean you also have god-tier strength?! Are you secretly bench-pressing me every time we hug?! WAIT—h-have I ever said anything bad about Hercules before?! OH NO, DID I ACCIDENTALLY TRASH TALK YOUR ANCESTOR IN A GAME?!”

You sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Idia.”

He flinched. “D-don’t hit me, please! I don’t wanna get punted into orbit!!”

You deadpanned. “I’m not that strong.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what you say—but next thing I know, you’re single-handedly throwing a Cerberus across a battlefield like some kind of action movie protag!”

At this point, Idia had curled up in a dramatic ball, shaking like a frazzled NPC who had just aggro’d the final boss by accident. His hair flared up in stressed-out little sparks, and his eyes darted between you and the exit like he was debating whether or not to make a full-speed getaway.

“… Idia,” you sighed, kneeling in front of him. “I don’t care that you’re not some super strong warrior. You know that, right?”

He hesitated, his golden eyes flickering with doubt. “Y-you don’t?”

You gave him a fond smile. “Of course not. I mean, sure, my ancestor was pretty strong, but that doesn’t mean I care about all that legendary hero stuff. You’re the one I like.”

His expression wavered, caught somewhere between disbelief and hope.

“… Me?” he mumbled.

“Yes, you,” you said, tapping a finger against his forehead. “The guy who can hack into anything, the guy who builds the most insane tech, the guy who somehow beat that boss fight with 1 HP left and refused to let me quit until he avenged me.”

Idia’s hair flared a little pink at the memory. “T-that was just—! I mean—!! UGH.” He groaned, covering his face with his hands.

You chuckled, leaning in. “And, might I add, the guy who looks really cute when he panics.”

A strangled squeak left his mouth, and suddenly, his entire head of fire was a brilliant neon pink.

“O-overheat detected! System compromised!! Aaaaahhhh!!”

You burst into laughter as he absolutely imploded, his entire body curling inward like a dying star. It was honestly kind of adorable how flustered he got—especially when you reminded him that, hero’s bloodline or not, he was still your favorite person in the world.

Maybe you weren’t the legendary hero that people wrote myths about. Maybe you weren’t destined for some grand, godly fate.

But one thing was certain:

Even if you were a descendant of the mighty Hercules—Idia Shroud was the only person you’d ever want as your player two.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus was not one to be surprised often.

For centuries, he had existed as a being of immense power, feared by many and revered by few. The world rarely held any mysteries for him—he had seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, walked among mortals and fae alike, and held conversations with spirits older than time itself.

And yet…

When you, his beloved, softly confessed to him beneath the glow of a full moon that you were a descendant of Princess Aurora, the fabled Sleeping Beauty—

He stilled.

For a moment, the usual ever-present hum of his magic, the quiet whisper of the wind, and even the distant chirping of the nocturnal creatures all ceased.

You felt a strange shiver crawl up your spine as Malleus gazed at you, his emerald eyes darkening, an unreadable emotion swimming beneath their depths. His lips parted slightly, as if about to speak, yet no words left them.

“… Malleus?” you whispered, almost hesitantly.

His claws twitched at his sides. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped closer, his tall, regal figure casting an elongated shadow over the grass as he loomed before you.

Then—his voice, deep and almost dangerously soft:

“My beloved… are you certain of this?”

You swallowed, nodding. “Yes. My family recently traced our lineage, and it turns out Aurora was our ancestor.” You gave a small, nervous chuckle. “Crazy, right?”

Malleus did not return your laughter. Instead, his expression remained unreadable, his piercing gaze locked onto you in a way that made your heart stutter.

Then, he exhaled, long and slow, his eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment. When he opened them again, his magic thrummed faintly around him, causing the air to shimmer slightly with an unseen force.

“… Fate is a cruel, ironic thing,” he murmured.

Your brows furrowed. “Malleus?”

He reached for you, his clawed fingers gentle as they cradled your face, his thumbs tracing slow, almost reverent circles along your skin.

“You do not understand what this means to me,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of centuries in its depth. “Aurora, the Sleeping Beauty… she was the princess cursed by Maleficent—the very fae whose blood runs through my veins.”

Your breath hitched.

It was true. Maleficent, the dark fairy who had cursed Aurora to a century of slumber, was his ancestor.

The ancient magic of their bloodlines had once clashed, one bringing forth the curse, the other carrying the blessing of awakening.

And now—they had converged once more… within you and him.

“… Does that bother you?” you asked hesitantly, searching his expression. “That we’re… connected this way?”

Malleus let out a deep, quiet chuckle. “Bother me? No… Not in the way you fear.”

His thumb brushed along your lower lip, his eyes gleaming with something old and possessive.

“If anything… it only solidifies the idea that you and I were always meant to meet.”

You felt your heartbeat quicken.

He leaned in, so close that his cool breath ghosted across your skin, his long lashes casting delicate shadows over his high cheekbones.

“Do you realize,” he murmured, “what your existence means to someone like me?”

You blinked up at him, utterly entranced by the way his voice wrapped around you like an enchantment. “What… do you mean?”

Malleus let out a low hum, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

“All my life, I have been cast as the villain,” he said simply. “A creature of darkness… a being to be feared. Even now, many tremble at the mere mention of my name.” His hand traced down your arm, his claws lightly grazing your skin in an almost reverent touch.

“But you… You, my beloved, are a descendant of the very princess I was once meant to stand against. And yet—here you are, standing beside me. Loving me. Choosing me.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“… Tell me, does that not feel like destiny?”

Your breath caught.

There was something dangerous and intoxicating in the way he spoke—as if you had been ensnared in the most beautiful, inescapable spell.

And yet, you felt no fear.

Because deep down, you knew Malleus was not a villain.

He was yours.

You reached up, cupping his cheek in your hands, tracing the sharp angles of his features with your fingertips. His skin was cool, like moonlight, yet it burned under your touch.

“If this is fate,” you whispered, “then I have no regrets.”

Malleus let out a deep, satisfied hum. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer into his embrace.

“Then allow me to make you a promise,” he murmured, his lips ghosting against your forehead.

“No curse, no fate, and no force in this world will ever separate you from me.”

His voice was low, dark, and absolute—not a mere vow, but a declaration.

Because Malleus Draconia had waited centuries to find a love like this.

And now that he had you, his beloved descendant of Sleeping Beauty—

Nothing in this world or the next would take you away from him.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can’t stop thinking the tall horror men of homicipher. I’m like 5ft something, so I know damn well these men tower over me…am I discovering something? Maybe 👀👀👀but I know I ain’t alone. TRUE STORY: Also there was this guy that came into my place of work moths ago with his family and he was TALL, bending down to get through the doorframe TALL but he was lovely.

So how do I imagine these boy would react if they see that you’re clearly ogling them for how tall they were.

Mr crawling

Given the fact that you’ve only seen him stand once, it was enough to have your jaw dropping to the floor. He was taller than the fucking doorway that he had to manoeuvre himself under it, and suddenly you’ve forgotten that you were being kidnapped by Mr Stitch, too intrigued by his height and now understanding why he had lied to you about his ability to stand.

He thought he would scare you but in fact made you feel the complete opposite, you loved how tall he was and you couldn’t get it out of your head, even when he’s back on his hands and knees to comfort you. The illusion had worn off and now you wanted to see him tall all the time, but you didn’t want to pressure him into doing so unless he felt comfortable.

‘You’re tall, really tall.’ You said in awe as Mr crawling coddled you against his chest.

‘Scared?’ He asked as though he was fearing your answer, which broke your heart as you nuzzled your face against his shoulder in an attempt of comfort.

‘No, handsome.’ You replied as Mr Crawling made chirps and purrs of happiness as he held you closer to him.

While he’s still not fond on standing to his full height, the fear of his intimating stature would chase you away one day embedded in his heavily, he would find some comfort in knowing that you loved his tall stature and love you even more for not forcing him to do something he clearly was uncomfortable with; preferring to shower him in kisses and remind him that whether he’s standing or on his hands and knees you loved him regardless.

Mr silvair

The man can feel your eyes on his back constantly. He knows he’s taller than most but the way you looked and admired his full height like you wouldn’t be able to anymore.

He wonders whether this was something only you seemed to have or whether other humans also felt possessed by the need to gawk at people above a certain height. Or was it just you that has this particular expression upon seeing his tall stature in general.

He would take notes of how his height seemingly did something to you that then triggered a chemical reaction within your brain to make you find his height appealing and possibly a requirement in finding your perfect romantic partner.

Or more specifically people of similar height to Mr Silvair himself or anyone close enough to his height to qualify. Mr Silvair soon deduced that you liked the domineering presence of someone much bigger than you, someone who’s able to drag you wherever as though you were nothing but weightless to them, almost like a ragdoll.

He’d soon find that this is in most cases considered a kink amongst you humans who found the height difference between partner rather erotic.

Mr Scarletella

Finds your content ogling of him flattering and thinks that it means that you were finally, finally reciprocating his obsession with you for your own obsession with him.

He’s another one who takes note of how you like how tall he is in comparison to you, always looking at him whenever he was entering the room, eyes widening when you see him having to bed down to get through the doorway, and your eyes never leave him even as he’s walking towards you; seemingly getting taller with each step until he’s in front of you and you’re looking at him in awe and hitched breath.

He’s obsessed with your expression each and every time and uses his height to his advantage. Such as doing things like putting his hand above your head and on the wall, looking down at you with those obsessive eyes of his as his smile seemed to widen upon hearing your breath hitch and eyes widen once more.

His height continued to elicit a reaction out of you that Mr Scarletella loved and adored and wanted to see more of in the future.

Mr Hood

Finds your constant ogling of his height interesting.

He didn’t know why you were so surprised he’s this tall, he’s been with you this entire time and it was only recently did your mind seemed to inform you of your Incredibly stark height difference, and bam! Suddenly he’s the subject of your constant staring and ogling as though it would be the last thing you did.

It was humorous to say the least and will earn you some head pats and cheek caresses that has you leaning towards his comforting and gentle touches.

It wasn’t something that you hide from him as half of the time you didn’t realise you were doing it until Mr Hood pointed it out with curiosity, meanwhile your left flustered as your mind held certain thoughts towards his legs, thighs and large hands.

Poor Mr Hood, he understood to some extent but after a certain point it’s better to explain to him that you find his height rather appealing to you in more ways than one.

[esote-rika]

the memory of your lips | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: Flangst. Summary: At the end of a great date, you have to deal with the realities of dating a BAU agent. Content: Mentions of alcohol, reader is tipsy and flirty and LOVESICK, Spencer is a gentleman, kisses, no use of y/n, reader is called angel. I had s3 or 4 Spencer in mind when I was writing, but it works for any season.  Word count: 1.4k A/N: Here’s the fic for the Lovesick by Laufey (listen to it right here, PLEASE I BEG!!!) poll I did a while back. I know I originally planned for it to have smut, but I opted out because it didn’t feel right with the tone??? Anyways, this was just really fun to write, and I hope you enjoy! 

Three dates are an embarrassingly short amount of time to have fallen in love with someone, but in your defense, you have not encountered anyone quite like Spencer Reid in all your years of dating. 

Never have you met a man so intensely focused and attentive, so intelligent without any hint of pretense. His arrogance is founded, but he never used his genius to make you feel less; instead, he’s committed everything you’ve told him to memory, from your favorite book to the throwaway comment you made about liking a specific shade of lipstick. Two dates and he’s already memorized you like a poem. It’s exhilarating. 

This third date had been the one to seal the deal. 

Sure, the anxiety is still there, and it might have caused you to have one too many glasses of wine over dinner, but still. Everything had gone so beautifully. A stroll around the art gallery where Spencer had eagerly shared the history behind the paintings. When you’d paused at a particular hallway, he stood right by a window and was hit just so by the golden afternoon sun that his eyes turned to the color of moss, you could have sworn you’ve forgotten the ability to breathe. You’re convinced you were the walking equivalent to the heart eyes emoji at that point, staring up at him with a starry gaze, all throughout the following dinner at an intimate restaurant, where you allowed yourself to indulge in some wine. 

Not that you needed it. At that point, you felt so relaxed and at ease with him that you were afraid you might float away. The alcohol only served to heighten the giddiness, casting the world in soft hues of sparkling gold. Like Spencer’s eyes. Which reminds you—

“You’ve the prettiest eyes,” You’re giggling as he walks you to your door, a lean arm firmly wrapped around your waist  to steady you. Head angled up, all of your attention is on him while you walk up the stairs, which isn’t helping your stumbling gait in the slightest. 

Despite his attempts to fight it, a small smile pulls at his lips. He’s obviously trying to seem stern, but his eyes look upon you with fondness. “I should have cut you off sooner.”

“Mhm, no, I wouldn’t have let you.”

“You’re gonna feel this tomorrow,” he warns as he stops at your doorstep, “Keys.”

You fumble through your purse, quickly locating them and pressing the keys into his palm. He slots it easily into the lock, and turns. 

He hesitates. Your hands shake as you wait.

“Can I trust you to make it to your bed in one piece?” he murmurs, fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“Probably not. You might need to help me out,” you whisper, even though you’re not really that drunk. It’s a (very thinly veiled) attempt to get him inside your apartment, in your bed. You’re not sure where you got the confidence.

But it’s Spencer, the sweet man who frequents the same bookshop in which you also spend a lot of time. The same man who’d been so shy about making a move that he decided to buy you a book and slip his number into the pages. 

So there’s no pressure, he had scrawled in messy, rushed letters. Embarrassingly, the note is in your wallet, kept as a memento.

It’s him, and the entire date has been a series of signs that simply validated the small (massive) crush you’ve had on him. You don’t want it to end yet. Or ever, really. If he’d let you keep him forever. 

Ever the gentleman, he nods and guides you inside. You stumble onto your couch with a low groan, an arm flung over your eyes as the harsh overhead light flickers open. Quick, shuffling footsteps, and then the couch dips beside you.

“Here, have some water.”

You accept the glass with a lopsided smile. The way his eyes linger on you would be enough to make you melt when you’re sober, but right now, with alcohol coursing through your veins, it’s downright cruel. “Your eyes are so pretty.”

“You’ve mentioned that already,” he says, urging you to drink, “Thank you. You have very beautiful eyes too.”

Once the glass is empty, he sets it on your coffee table and kneels down. With gentle hands, he eases the heels off of your feet, fingers pressing into the ankles carefully. 

“Come on,” he helps you to your feet, and you all but become deadweight in his arms as he walks with you to your bedroom. 

Spurned mainly by alcohol, you lift yourself to your tiptoes for a kiss. His surprise makes him pause, but he kisses you back gently, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. It makes you sigh, this tender way he likes to kiss, cradling your face as though it’s the most important thing he’s ever held. When your tongue sweeps across his lower lip, he pulls back.

“What—”

“You’re drunk,” his lips move to your forehead, “You need to sleep.”

“But Spence…” it’s childish to whine when he denies you, but it’s the only thing your dejected, alcohol-addled brain is capable of doing.

He chuckles, slowly walking you backwards onto your bed. “No, angel, it wouldn’t sit right with me.”

“I’m giving you all my consent right now.” you pout as he hands you a disposable towel from your bedside table. With a huff, you set on wiping away your makeup as he rummages through your drawers for pajamas. He finds some shorts and an old tshirt, and helps you out of your dress, shaking his head as you try (and fail) to seduce him into sleeping with you.

“Shouldn’t have had that last glass if this was how you wanted the night to end.” he says,  a teasing smile on his lips.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

He kisses your temple as a response, and gently pushes you to lay down. Chuckling, he sits on the edge of your bed, a hand on your knee. “I just don’t want you to be inebriated if we’re going to be physically intimate. Especially not the first time.”

You pout, “Boo, you’re too sweet for your own good.” It earns you a laugh from him, and it’s enough to wipe the pout off your lips, “Will you at least sleep over?”

He seems to consider it, running his hand up and down your thigh. However, it is as though the universe is conspiring against you, and his phone rings. You watch as his brows furrowed in concern as he checks whatever message he’s received. “I have to go in, we have a case.”

Your heart drops. The pout returns, “It’s Friday night.”

“I know, angel.” he leans forward and kisses your forehead again, almost in apology, “I’m sorry, I did tell you I don’t work traditional hours.”

Your hands close around his shirt and you pull him down. He surrenders to your eagerness this time, kissing you deeply, hands tangled in your hair, before he stops, breathing ragged. “I’ll make it up to you when I return, I promise.” he kisses you again, languidly, savoring the last few moments before he has to leave. 

You don’t have his eidetic memory, but you memorize the feeling of his lips all the same. “Stay safe,” you whisper when he finally pulls back, feeling oddly sobered up now that the reality of him leaving you is more present, “Text me when you can.”

“I will, angel.” he gives you one last kiss on your forehead before he stands up, “Drink lots of water tomorrow, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

You nod, and stare at his retreating back with a sad smile, blinking away the tears when you hear your apartment door click into place, signaling his departure. You try to tell yourself you’re being silly. It’s been three dates and you’re already acting so clingy. You chalk it up to the alcohol, twisting your feelings. Earlier, it had made the world seem effervescent, but now that he’s left, it only exacerbates your loneliness.

Is this how it’s going to be when you date him? He’d laid it out quite clearly during your conversations, that sometimes they get pressing cases that require them to drop everything else.  You aren’t sure you’re prepared to have dates be interrupted with one phone call. Morning afters without him beside you. With a sigh, you sink into bed, eyes closed, and only the memory of his lips to tide you through the night.

[k-hippie]

k-707 ( 2025 EDITION ) RELEASE - FIRST WAVE

It’s finally here! Well, the first part of it—because let’s be real, this beast of a project is too massive to drop all at once ( unless we suddenly gain the ability to compress/expand time ) ;)

For now, we’re rolling out the first wave of k-707, covering :

- Base Game/Seasons ( Willow Creek, Oasis Springs, Newcrest ) - Get to Work ( Magnolia Promenade ) - Outdoor Retreat ( Granite Falls ) - Vampires ( Forgotten Hollow ) - Cottage Living ( Henford-on-Bagley ) - High School Years ( Copperdale ) - Life & Death ( Ravenwood )

Yes, we know ... you want more—but trust us, this is already a lot. The rest will come soon-ish ( don’t ask for dates, we’re not EA ) and as we say again and again, this is a work in progress, time for us to understand some more things with blender managing vertex painting and so on ;)

For everything related to instructions, how-to and so on, see the previous post or the "Download Page" of the k-707 on our website.

We replaced, reshaped, optimized, and obsessed over hundreds of trees and plants. Everything is optimized for directX11 ... Now, in theory, all should move right, look right, and fit right :D If you encounter a purple question mark on this new release, just send us a message. We'll see this together :)

Do not be surprised, some trees ( very very few ) are not yet modified ( -> I think about topiaries ) and some others have been fully replaced ( such as the ugly majestic and royal palms in base game )

Never forget this is still a work in progress and some changes will be done later ;)

As soon as we do some minor modifications and checks, we'll release a SECOND wave ( which should be very soon indeed )

Later ( End of February ) a THIRD and final wave will be released ...

Installation & Warnings

Each Expansion has 2 folders : one for plants, one for trees

The base game is split into 4 folders : 2 lots + 2 debug

Expansions with minimal greenery ( City Living, University, Get2Work ) are in single folder named k-hippie-k707-multi-greeny-2025

Do NOT mess with the folder structure unless you love chaos. If you merge files and something breaks, that’s on you. We won’t be able to troubleshoot Frankenstein mods ... More information on our website or into the previous post ;)

Final Notes

K-707 isn’t perfect ( yet ) :D We’re still tweaking, improving, and fixing things. We are aware some textures and styles need to be refined/modified. It will be done in time. But this is already a massive upgrade. So, enjoy your lusher, greener, better-integrated Sims world—and if you spot a tree acting weird, just pretend it’s haunted until we fix the green :D

Remember the k-mods are still and always free. Thanks to freely give a little something if you can. This is a massive piece of work and so, a massive piece of time ;)

If you think it’s good enough to drop our way : PayPal link

...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - > UPDATE ! February 25

We added few missing plants to the base game ( both lot & debug ) and some modifications to some plants ( azalea - hydrangea ) ... Some textures have been fixed. As we said, there will be adjustments and tiny updates. You know, a work in progress ;)

Tonight, a bit in advance, we release too :

k-707 ( 2025 ) for Sulani ( Island Living )

k-707 ( 2025 ) for Tomarang ( for Rent )

We know the gameplay bug related to for rent expansion but we finished trees & plants for this expansion, so better to release :)

By the way, as Windenburg and Britechester, Sulani will get a small k-505 redux quite soon. It won't be huge but it will correct details here & there. That was the Sunday late news and releases. Have a great week everyone !

Sorry for the delays but real world got massive changes and I confess I didn't have time to make more k-707 stuff this time ...

See you soon fellows :)

Download the K-707 mod HERE

...

[i-have-homework-but-i-still-here]

We all need to agree that Damian is a smooth mf, his rizz enough to make grown womanizer blush

He is uncomfortable when trying, doesn't know where to put his hand or how to say Danny has pretty eyes

But he does the most charming moves when he's distracted

Like, bringing a snack that Danny loves even when he doesn't like it, protecting Danny from balls while playing even if Danny is stronger, saying without reason how beautiful Danny looks whenever he talks about the space and how he loves how his eyes shine when he's having fun kicking his enemies ass and just being so oblivious in love with Danny with 0 shame

A DeadSerious Prompt where a young Damian follows his mother's advice about finding his future 'Beloved' and is smitten with a TimeTraveling Ghost King (Prince) Danny when his grandfather summoned the eldritch being.

Damian, despite being young, will want no other to be by his side once he takes over the League. Especially since the King was able to strike fear in his grandfather for even just for a moment.

Danny, whose just started taking up his soon to be Kingly title and duties, at first freaked out when a kid who just got out of toddlerhood is offering marriage. Who wouldn't. And well while he didn't fully encourage it, he found it a little adorable and tried to nudge the kid away from said... err crush feelings?

He was a little sad to have to say goodbye to the kid when his month long stay with the al Ghul's (mostly to see if they're worthy to keep the Pits) he was pretty for sure he'd never run into the kid again and if he did who knows how old they'd actually be because again.. time travel.

So Danny now at the age of 16 really wasn't expecting to be basically be cornered on his first day at his new school at Gotham Academy by a 17 year old Damian Wayne who is leaning over him and says "Hello Beloved. Time has been kind to you it seems."

Danny's poor half-alive heart is currently dying from being cornered by an older Damian.

Let this crazy train wreck begin.

[heliosunny]

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Dan Feng x Reader

You stood before the Lucky Egg Dispenser. One pull. One egg. People swore by it, miraculous companions, rare creatures with mystical abilities. Some even whispered about something more. You hadn’t believed it. Not until you got one.

At first, it was just an egg, smooth, cool to the touch, its deep azure surface streaked with faint golden veins. For three days, it sat in your apartment, resting on a pillow beneath the soft glow of a bedside lamp.

Then, it hatched.

And the first thing you saw were cyan eyes, glowing like captured starlight. Most people received small, harmless creatures: foxlike beings, glowing fish, even tiny floating wisps of light. Instead, curled amidst the shattered remnants of the shell, was a man.

His long, dark hair cascaded down his back in flowing silken strands. His pale jade antler-like horns gleamed under the soft light, an ethereal contrast to his sharp, almost inhuman pointed ears. His robes, a pristine blend of white, silver, and intricate teal embroidery, draped over his lean yet powerful frame, giving him an air of royalty, as if he had stepped out of some long-forgotten legend. A single red earring dangled from his right ear, swaying gently.

But what held you frozen were his cyan eyes, sharp and penetrating, gleaming with something unreadable. Something ancient. Something dangerous.

He moved towards you. His grip was gentle yet unyielding as his hand cupped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze fully.

"You are the first thing I have seen." he murmured.

His thumb brushed over your lips. "That means you are mine."

Finally, you got him to sit. You sat opposite him, keeping a cautious distance. The man studied his surroundings with the quiet grace of someone who had seen worlds beyond this one.

"You may call me Dan Feng" he said smoothly, his voice carrying an old-world elegance.

You hesitated before responding with your own name, unsure of what to make of him.

"Do you... have hobbies? Things you enjoy?" you asked, attempting to keep the conversation light.

Dan Feng tilted his head slightly, contemplating the question. "Reading ancient texts. Chess. Refining my abilities. Battle."

That last word made you tense slightly.

Before you could respond, you got up to fetch him a drink, only to trip over your own feet.

Time seemed to slow. A surge of energy crackled through the air, and before you could hit the ground, you found yourself suspended midair, a soft glowing force wrapped around you.

Dan Feng hadn’t moved an inch. Yet, his magic had caught you effortlessly.

"You have magic?" you asked in awe, as he gently set you upright.

His lips curled into an amused smile. "Of course. Did you expect otherwise?"

The moment left you shaken but also intrigued. You had to know the extent of his abilities. So you took him to a weapon shop.

In this world, people trained to farm levels and increase their stats through dungeons. Power meant survival, and you needed to understand exactly what he was capable of. Dan Feng examined the weapons with idle curiosity before selecting a blade—a long, ornate spear. The moment he lifted it, the air around you shifted. With a single, precise swing, the spear cleaved the reinforced training dummy clean in half.

The shopkeeper gaped. You swallowed hard.

Dan Feng lowered the weapon, looking wholly unimpressed by his own strength. As if it was trivial.

He turned to you, eyes glowing softly. "Satisfied? I can use pretty much any weapon in this place."

You weren’t sure whether to be impressed or terrified.

From the moment he hatched, he never left your side. At first, you assumed it was natural. A newly born creature clinging to its first bond. But this was no ordinary attachment. He was always there.

A silent, watchful presence in your home. In your dreams. When you awoke, he was there, seated gracefully by your bedside, watching with an unreadable gaze. When you left for work, his figure lingered just outside, eyes never straying from you.

Your phone? Constantly buzzing. Unread messages. Missed calls.

Dan Feng. Dan Feng. Dan Feng.

You started locking your doors.

They always unlocked themselves.

One night, you tried sneaking out, he found you before you reached the next street.

"Why do you run?"

His voice was calm, almost amused. Yet the air around him grew heavy, pressing against your lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his robes barely stirring.

"You called me into existence" he murmured, lifting your chin once more. "You do not abandon what you have created."

The next day, you searched for someone skilled enough to play chess with him. A strategic game like that might hold his attention. As he sat, moving his pieces with unnerving precision, you stood behind him, studying his every move, intrigued by his intelligence. His plays were ruthless, methodical. He was brilliant.

When you turned to leave after his next match, you felt his fingers encircle your wrist again. You swore he had been fully focused on the board.

“Where are you going?” he asked smoothly.

You forced a smile. “Just getting you something to drink.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before releasing you.

You returned not just with food and drink, but with a friend you had met at the dungeon.

Dan Feng finished his match earlier than expected.

Before you could react, he was by your side, his hand resting lightly on your back as he steered you away from the others. “It’s late” he murmured. “I will lead you home.”

The next morning, you noticed something was off. Dan Feng's usual poised demeanor was replaced with a subtle lethargy, his forehead warm to the touch. A fever?

You immediately took it upon yourself to care for him, dampening a cloth to press against his forehead and making him herbal tea. Though he allowed your ministrations, there was an unreadable expression in his eyes, as if he were watching you, studying you, but unwilling to say something. His breathing grew steadier under your care, but exhaustion eventually took its toll on you. As night fell, you drifted into sleep beside him.

By the time you awoke, he was gone.

Panic surged through you. The idea of someone taking advantage of him or worse, attempting to capture and sell him due to his rare nature propelled you into action. You traced his presence back to a nearby dungeon, where an eerie sight awaited you.

The creatures inside weren’t attacking him. They were bowing. Dan Feng stood among them, his form partially transformed. His antlers glowed brightly, his once-hidden dragon-like tail illuminated by an ethereal light. Power radiated from him in waves, his presence commanding absolute authority. Whatever he was doing, it was deliberate—perhaps an attempt to regulate his strength, to return to his usual form without alarming you.

You confronted him, your voice sharp with concern. “What are you doing?”

He turned to you, unbothered by your presence. “Releasing excess energy. I did not wish to frighten you.”

His nonchalance infuriated you. “You disappeared without a word. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

Something flickered in his gaze, amusement, perhaps. Then, to your utter disbelief, he chuckled.

“You followed me,” he mused, stepping closer. “Because you were worried.”

You clenched your fists. “Of course, I was! You were feverish, and then you vanished!”

Instead of acknowledging your frustration, he merely brushed his fingers against your cheek, the heat of his touch lingering. “How endearing,” he murmured. “But unnecessary.”

You glared at him, unamused. “You don’t get to decide that.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you, then let out a low, indulgent sigh. “Very well” he said, as if entertaining a fleeting whim. “Next time, I shall wake you.”

You were relieved when Dan Feng eventually returned to his normal form, but curiosity still lingered in your mind. While he was cooking, or at least attempting to, since you had been teaching him—you found yourself watching him closely. His movements were precise, yet slightly hesitant, as if he were still adjusting to the task. The soft glow of the kitchen lanterns reflected in his eyes, making him appear even more ethereal than usual.

Acting on impulse, you suddenly reached out and touched his antler-like horns. The texture was smoother than you expected, but before you could fully process the sensation, his entire body jolted as if struck by lightning. His hands fumbled with the kitchen knife, and a sharp inhale escaped his lips.

“Ah—!” His voice was higher than usual, laced with genuine surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. His ears twitched violently, and his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. He turned sharply, swatting your hand away as his tail flicked behind him with a barely contained shudder.

You blinked, taken aback by the uncharacteristic reaction. "I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you," you quickly stammered, raising both hands in surrender. "I won’t do that again."

Danfeng cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. His eyes remained averted, but the pink dusting his face lingered stubbornly. "Good." His tone was firm, but the way he slightly shifted away from you spoke volumes.

Deciding not to push further, you allowed the moment to pass, though the curiosity still gnawed at you. On a more positive note, Dan Feng had started gaining friends through chess matches, and you were relieved to see him socializing beyond just clinging to you. Still, something about his past lingered in your thoughts, the way he had spoken about ‘battles’ when you first met.

Your suspicions solidified when you both realized you were running low on points for trading. A dungeon run was the most efficient way to replenish them, so you ventured inside together. That was when you finally understood the depth of his strength. The dungeon was teeming with creatures—some of them towering behemoths with godlike power, but none of them stood a chance.

Dan Feng didn’t just defeat them—he annihilated them with terrifying precision. His water magic twisted into elegant but deadly formations, cutting through enemies with almost artistic grace. Massive hydra-like beings fell within seconds, their roars of defiance silenced as waves crushed them into the ground. The air became thick with mist, swirling around him like a deity descending upon a battlefield.

Watching him fight was both mesmerizing and unsettling. His expression never wavered, calm, composed, and yet, there was something disturbingly natural about the way he wielded destruction. It was then you realized Dan Feng wasn't just powerful. He was something beyond that.

As the dungeon’s final enemy fell, the air shimmered, and a chest materialized before you. It was rare to see such a reward, so both you and Dan Feng approached with caution. You hesitated for a moment before lifting the lid together. Inside, nestled within the chest’s velvet-lined interior, were two items: a gleaming sword and an ornate ring.

You both examined the sword first. It was well-crafted, its blade humming faintly with residual energy, but neither of you used swords. After a brief discussion, you decided to sell it to the weapon merchant upon returning to town. However, when you reached for the ring, Danfeng’s hand moved faster, snatching it up before you could inspect it properly.

“I’ll keep this” he stated firmly, slipping it into his sleeve before you could protest.

You let it go for the moment, though curiosity gnawed at you. Dan Feng was not one to act so possessively over mere trinkets, and yet there was a glint in his eyes that you had never seen before.

Later that evening, while he busied himself with something in the kitchen, you caught sight of him turning the ring over in his hands, his thumb brushing over the intricate engravings with something close to reverence. When he noticed your gaze, he merely smirked and pocketed it once more, offering no explanation.

It wasn’t until much later, when the ring’s magic revealed itself—that you understood exactly why he had insisted on keeping it. When you woke up one morning, your wrist felt oddly warm, a faint golden glow emanating from it. You gasped as you realized a faint, ethereal chain connected you to Danfeng, who stood at the doorway watching you with an unreadable expression.

“You belong to me now” he murmured, his voice calm but firm. “This ring binds us together. No more sneaking away, no more hiding.”

The weight of his words settled in your chest as you stared at him, realization dawning. The ring wasn’t just a trinket, it was a claim. And you had unknowingly let him seal your fate.