#kevin kaslana | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heliosunny · 2 months ago

Note

Love you "lucky egg" series can you write with Kevin Kaslana?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Kevin x Reader

[artist]

The game was over before it even began.

You had Rowan cornered—one more move, and victory was yours. Across the table, she scowled at the board, brows furrowed in deep concentration. You could see the exact moment she realized she had no way out, frustration flickering across her face.

And then—chaos.

A blur of fur launched onto the table, scattering dice and knocking over carefully placed pieces. Rowan let out a sharp gasp, while you barely had time to react before a tiny, wriggling body landed in your lap.

"Pebble!" Rowan groaned, throwing her hands up. "You little demon!"

The ferret chittered, unbothered by the accusation, tail flicking as she burrowed into the crook of your arm. You chuckled, stroking her soft fur. "Guess that means I win by default."

"Absolutely not!" Rowan pointed an accusatory finger at you before hastily trying to reset the board. "We are starting over, and you are losing."

Before you could argue, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen—and suddenly, all interest in revenge seemed to vanish. "Oh! Did you hear about that lucky egg dispenser? The one that spawns magical pets?"

That caught your attention. You adjusted Pebble in your arms, intrigued. "Magical pets?"

"Yeah, people have been posting about it all day." She turned the phone toward you, showing images of small creatures—some glowing, some covered in intricate patterns, others curled up beside their new owners. "You said you wanted a pet, right? Maybe you'll get something cool."

That was all the convincing you needed.

The shop was tucked into a quiet alley, the kind of place that felt almost hidden from the rest of the world. The machine itself stood against the wall, an old-fashioned thing with a glass front and faintly glowing buttons. A small crowd had gathered, some holding eggs that shimmered with warmth, others already introducing their newly hatched companions to the world.

You fed a coin into the slot, anticipation thrumming in your chest as. Light swirled within the chamber, forming the shape of an egg—

But something was wrong.

Instead of the warm glow of the other eggs, yours was a deep, icy blue. The second it materialized, the temperature dropped. A thin layer of frost spread beneath it, creeping outward in sharp, crystalline patterns. The air turned crisp, your breath misting in front of you.

Rowan took one look and backed away. "Nope. Absolutely not. That thing is cursed. You are on your own."

You barely heard her. The cold should’ve been biting, unbearable—but as you reached out, it didn’t sting. Didn’t hurt.

You lifted the egg carefully, cradling it against you. Beneath your touch, the frost settled.

"You're seriously keeping that?" Rowan asked, incredulous.

"Yeah. I think I am."

Taking care of the egg wasn’t easy.

It never warmed, never pulsed with life the way Rowan said hers had. Other people who had gotten lucky eggs spoke about how their eggs glowed, moved, or made soft noises from inside. Yours did nothing.

It just sat there, an unmoving sphere of frost.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to worry.

Even when Pebble curiously prodded at it with her tiny paws, even when Rowan kept side-eyeing it like it might explode, you simply… waited.

The egg sat in a nest of blankets on your desk, cold as ice but never spreading frost beyond its immediate space. When you touched it, the chill wasn’t painful, just sharp—like the crisp bite of winter air. You spoke to it sometimes, like it could hear you.

“I wonder what you’ll be,” you mused one night, resting your chin in your hand as you watched it. “Something fluffy? Something with wings?”

But on the third night, something changed.

crack.

You bolted upright, heart leaping, just as another fracture splintered across the egg’s icy surface.

"Oh, shit—"

The cold surged outward, a sudden blast of frigid air so intense it made the lights flicker. Pebble scurried under your bed with a startled squeak. Rowan, who had stayed over out of curiosity, jolted awake on your floor, rubbing her eyes blearily.

“What—” she started, but then the egg broke.

Not in gentle pieces.

It shattered.

Shards of ice burst outward, frost curling along the floor. You instinctively shielded your face, but the cold didn’t harm you. Instead, a figure emerged from the mist, stepping forward as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

Tall. Broad shoulders. White hair. Blue eyes.

He reached for you, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. He was freezing. Ice clung to his clothes, frost still trailing from his skin, but his hold was desperate.

Like he had been waiting an eternity to touch someone again.

"...You're real" he murmured against your shoulder, voice low, almost disbelieving. "You're here."

Rowan made a sound—half gasp, half incredulous choke. "Okay, WHAT—"

The man’s head snapped up. His arms tensed around you, and before you could blink, a blade materialized in his grip.

Rowan barely had time to move before he pointed it at her.

"Wait!" You moved, stepping in front of Rowan, shielding her with your body. “Stop! She’s not a threat!”

The cold thickened, sharp and heavy in the air. His grip on the weapon didn’t waver.

But then, his eyes met yours again.

And, slowly—reluctantly—he lowered the blade.

Rowan, to her credit, didn’t push.

After witnessing a fully grown man emerge from an ice egg and nearly skewer her with his weapon, she looked between you and him—expression torn between concern and absolute disbelief, then slowly exhaled.

"You know what? I’m gonna go."

"Rowan—"

"Nope. You two clearly have… whatever this is to sort out. And I, for one, do not want to be on the receiving end of a sword again.”

She grabbed Pebble—who had poked her head out from under the bed, curiosity outweighing her fear. “Text me if you need backup. Or if he starts doing creepy ice magic. Or if he tries to murder you in your sleep.”

“I won’t need backup.”

“You say that now.”

Then, with a final suspicious glance at Kevin—who had yet to move from where he stood, silently watching—she left.

The moment the door clicked shut, you turned back to the stranger in your room.

“Alright. Spill.”

He didn’t respond.

You crossed your arms. “Who are you?”

Silence.

“How did you come from the egg?”

Nothing.

“Why did you almost stab Rowan?”

Still nothing.

Your patience thinned. His unwillingness to speak was quickly becoming frustrating.

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “Look, you can’t just show up, nearly give my best friend a heart attack, hug me like you’ve known me for years, and then say nothing.”

“…Kevin.”

You frowned. “Kevin?”

“That’s… my name.”

Kevin.

The name felt familiar. Like a word on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

Your phone buzzed, breaking the tense silence. You glanced at the screen. A text from Rowan.

ran into my ex. send help. or maybe a meteor.

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head before replying.

You’ll survive. Just avoid eye contact.

Another buzz.

fine. but now you’re stuck babysitting ice man. enjoy.

You sighed, slipping your phone back into your pocket before turning to Kevin. “Looks like it’s just us for the night.”

His posture shifted slightly at that.

“…What does that mean?”

“It means I’m stuck taking care of you.” You stretched, rolling your shoulders before glancing back at him. “And since I doubt you’ve eaten in… well, ever, we’re getting food.”

"…Food?"

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Dinner. You do eat, right?”

“…With you?”

“…Yeah,” you said, “With me.”

For the first time since he hatched, Kevin looked almost… happy.

Taking Kevin out in public turned out to be more of a spectacle than you anticipated.

From the moment you stepped into the restaurant, people stared.

You couldn’t exactly blame them. Kevin wasn’t exactly inconspicuous—towering over most of the patrons, clad in unfamiliar clothes, the way his presence seemed to subtly lower the temperature of the room—it was no wonder people were sneaking glances, whispering behind their hands.

Kevin, for his part, didn’t seem to care.

Every so often, his fingers would flex at his sides, like he was resisting the urge to reach for something.

You nudged him lightly. “Relax.”

He glanced at you. “…I am.”

“You look like you’re about to start a fight with the waiter.”

He didn’t respond, but his posture eased just slightly.

You reached the counter, scanning the menu before placing your order. When the cashier turned to Kevin expectantly, he hesitated—clearly unsure of what to do.

“Just get whatever looks good.”

He studied the menu for a moment before quietly repeating what you ordered.

The cashier, still eyeing him curiously, nodded and rang it up.

As you moved to find a seat, you caught snippets of hushed conversations.

“—he has to be a model, right?”

“Did you see his eyes? They glowed for a second, I swear—”

You glanced at Kevin to see if he noticed. If he did, he didn’t react. His focus remained entirely on you.

Even when you sat down, even as people continued stealing glances, his attention never strayed.

“…Do you always attract this much attention?”

“Attention?”

“The staring. The whispering. You’re kind of hard to ignore.”

He blinked, then looked around—like he was only just noticing the way people’s eyes flickered toward him before quickly looking away.

“I don’t care”

You exhaled, leaning back. “Of course you don’t.”

----

Life with Kevin was… an adjustment.

At first, he was quiet—always watching, always listening, rarely speaking unless spoken to. But the more time you spent together, the more he started to change. A comment here, a question there. Then, one day, Rowan nearly choked on her drink when he suddenly cracked a joke.

"Why did the scarecrow win an award?"

You and Rowan exchanged glances. "…Why?"

Kevin, completely deadpan: "Because he was outstanding in his field."

A beat of silence.

Then Rowan smacked you on the arm, wheezing. "What have you unleashed?!"

From that moment on, there was no stopping him. Every opportunity, every silence, every meal—another dad joke. Some so bad they made Rowan dramatically fake her own death on your couch. Others that made you snort into your drink when you least expected it.

And then there was the cooking.

Kevin, for all his strengths, sucked at it.

You tried to be patient. You really did. But after the third time he turned a simple omelet into something that looked—and smelled—like a crime scene, you had to intervene.

"Kevin. What did you do to this?"

He looked at the mess on the plate, completely unfazed. "I followed the instructions."

Rowan peered at the destruction. "…Did the instructions tell you to make it explode?"

He looked at the pan like it had personally betrayed him. "It didn’t do that last time."

"Last time?" you echoed in horror.

In the end, you took over the cooking duties, while Kevin begrudgingly stepped back—though not without very intense supervision.

"No, Kevin, you don't need to set the heat that high. Lower it. No, lower."

Despite all the chaos, it… worked.

Somehow, between Rowan’s teasing, Kevin’s terrible jokes, and your constant attempts to keep everything from burning down, the three of you settled into something that felt almost normal.

Kevin spoke more now. He wasn’t just an observer anymore. He and Rowan still had their moments (mostly involving his near-murder of her that first night), but they got along better than you ever expected.

And even though you didn’t have all the answers about him—where he really came from, what he was hiding—it didn’t feel like he was a stranger anymore.

He was just… Kevin.

---

The more time you spent with Kevin, the more you noticed something off.

It wasn’t just the cold that followed him. That, at least, you had gotten used to—the way the air seemed to crisp slightly when he was deep in thought, or how frost would creep along the glass whenever he stared too long out the window.

No, it was something else. The way his eyes would linger on the night sky, a faraway look in them. The way his posture would stiffen whenever a particular song played, or when Rowan made an offhand comment about history, or war, or things lost to time.

Like he was remembering something.

Something he refused to talk about.

“…Kevin?”

He didn’t answer at first.

Then, finally, he murmured, “The world feels… different.”

“Different how?”

He wasn’t sure how to explain it.

“Lighter.”

You stepped closer. “Is that… a bad thing?”

“…No,” he admitted. “But it makes me wonder.”

You tilted your head. “About what?”

“If this world was always like this… or if it was made this way.”

You didn’t understand what he meant.

----

You worked as a dungeon monitor—watching adventurers as they delved into the depths, tracking their progress, recording statistics, and ensuring that if something went horribly wrong, help could be dispatched.

That day, things almost went very wrong.

The team that entered was experienced—one of the best—but halfway through their expedition, the cameras cut out. The entire monitoring system flickered and failed, leaving your department blind to whatever was happening inside.

Then, the readings spiked.

Unstable energy fluctuations. High threat levels.

Something was in there with them.

You and the others scrambled to restore visuals, but it was useless. No way to see what they were facing, no way to tell if they were even still alive.

Then Kevin, who had been standing silently behind you the entire time, spoke.

“I’ll go.”

You turned to him, startled. “What?”

“I’ll go in.”

The room fell silent. Some of your coworkers exchanged uneasy glances. Others whispered among themselves, unsure whether to take him seriously.

“Kevin,” you said carefully, “we don’t know what’s in there.”

“I’ll handle it.”

You knew how strong he was. You’d seen glimpses of it—his unnatural speed, his ice-cold aura, the way he carried himself like someone who had fought things far worse than this.

But going in alone?

“…You sure?” you asked.

Instead of answering, he raised his hand.

A sudden heat flooded the room.

For a moment, you thought he had activated his ice abilities again—but then you saw it. The shift in temperature. The faint glow of embers at his fingertips, the flicker of something red-hot forming at his side.

The blade he summoned burned fiercely, searing through the cold that usually followed him. The contrast was almost unnatural—his frozen presence clashing with the heat of his weapon, a contradiction made real.

The room was dead silent.

Then Kevin turned, walking toward the entrance of the dungeon without another word.

Kevin returned an hour later.

Injured, bloodstained, but standing.

And he wasn’t alone.

One by one, he carried them out—some limping, some unconscious, some… unmoving. He didn’t stop. Even when his arm was clearly wounded, even when a deep gash trailed down his side, he did not leave a single body behind.

The survivors were in shock—some barely coherent, others whispering about what they had seen inside. About the monster.

About him.

The other department arrived shortly after—the clean-up team, tasked with handling whatever remained inside the dungeon. You sat with the injured, helping where you could, while Kevin leaned against a wall, silent as medics tended to him.

Then the reports started coming in.

The mess he left behind.

The ice-covered battlefield, frozen over in jagged, unnatural formations. The smoldering remains of the creature—the way its body had been carved through by searing heat, its flesh torn apart by both fire and frost.

The kind of destruction that shouldn’t have been possible by one man alone.

One of the cleanup officers returned, pale-faced and visibly shaken. He pulled you aside, voice low.

“That guy…” He glanced warily at Kevin, who hadn’t moved from where he sat, “What is he?”

You looked at Kevin—the quiet, frostbitten warrior who told dad jokes and failed miserably at cooking.

And the man who had just single-handedly taken down a monster that nearly wiped out an entire team.

“…He’s Kevin” you said simply.

The officer gave you an incredulous look, but you didn’t elaborate.

Because the truth was, you didn’t know either.

Kevin was quiet on the way home.

He was thinking.

When you finally reached your place, he sat on the couch, arms resting on his knees, gaze unfocused. His wounds had been patched up—though not without some grumbling from Rowan about how “mystery ice man is way too durable for his own good”—but he didn’t seem concerned about them.

If anything, he looked… frustrated.

You watched him for a moment before nudging his foot with yours. “Something on your mind?”

“…I shouldn’t have been injured.”

“Uh. What?”

Kevin frowned slightly, staring at the bandages on his arm. “Those attacks shouldn’t have hurt me. Not like this.” His fingers curled slightly. “I haven’t fully recovered.”

You exchanged glances with Rowan, who raised an eyebrow. “Recovered from what?”

His gaze flickered—first to you, then to Rowan, then back again.

“Something else isn’t right,” he murmured. “The effects of the dungeon. You should have been affected.”

You tilted your head. “We weren’t inside.”

“That doesn’t matter.” His brow furrowed. “The energy—its reach should have been wider. You were close enough to be impacted.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “But you weren’t.”

You exchanged another glance with Rowan.

Rowan crossed her arms. “I felt something,” she muttered. “Like a headache, maybe? It wasn’t great, but it didn’t kill me.”

Kevin seemed to consider that, his expression unreadable.

You, on the other hand, just shrugged. “I felt fine.”

That made him look at you again—longer this time, like he was trying to figure something out.

“…Why?”

You just huffed, flopping onto the couch beside him. “Maybe I’m just built different.”

Rowan snorted. “Or maybe you’ve been exposed to so much weird dungeon energy that your body just gave up trying to resist it.”

You rolled your eyes before nudging Kevin again. “Besides, why are you so surprised? You’ve literally been sitting in my apartment acting like a human air conditioner. Maybe I just got used to it.”

Kevin blinked.

Then blinked again.

“…You’ve been using me as an air conditioner?”

You shrugged. “It’s convenient.”

Rowan lost it. Kevin just stared at you, utterly unreadable.

----

Kevin didn’t hesitate.

The moment he got Rowan’s message “Emergency. We’re in trouble. Come fast.”—he was already moving.

By the time he arrived, the situation was bad.

Inside the monitoring room, you and your coworkers were forced to your knees, hands restrained, faces pale with fear. Armed men stood around you, their presence suffocating. And at the center of it all, towering over the rest, was a man—easily over six feet, built like a fortress, but it wasn’t just his size that put Kevin on edge.

It was the energy radiating from him.

The moment Kevin stepped in, every pair of eyes turned to him.

The leader grinned.

“There he is,” he rumbled, “The one we’ve been looking for.”

“You... were expecting me?”

The man spread his arms, like this was some grand occasion. “We search for power. Real power. And you…” His eyes gleamed. “You are exceptional.”

Kevin didn’t respond.

The man chuckled. “Come with us.”

Kevin’s eyes flickered—first to you, then to Rowan, then to the others.

Then, the man’s grin widened.

“But if you refuse,” he said, almost lazily, “I wonder… who will you save?”

At his signal, his men moved, pressing weapons closer to throats, tightening their hold.

He had to choose.

You, or the others.

The air turned ice-cold.

Kevin’s fingers twitched at his side, the temperature around him plummeting. The leader’s grin never wavered, but the air shimmered subtly around his body—like something unseen was suppressing the cold before it could reach him.

A countermeasure.

Kevin didn’t react, but you knew he noticed. Knew he was already calculating his next move.

Think, Kevin.

You weren’t the only ones in danger. Your coworkers—terrified, vulnerable—were too close. Too easy to kill. And these men… they weren’t bluffing.

The leader chuckled. “Decisions, decisions.”

Kevin didn’t hesitate. In an instant, he moved.

The shift was so fast it was almost imperceptible—one moment he was standing still, the next he was on them. His hand shot forward, ice crackling at his fingertips, aiming for the nearest enemy—

Only for the leader’s presence to surge.

A crushing force slammed into Kevin like a wall. His momentum stalled.

For the first time since you’d met him, Kevin staggered.

“Not so easy, is it?”

Kevin clenched his jaw, already adjusting, already adapting.

But you knew.

He wasn’t at full strength.

And these men knew exactly what they were doing.

The leader didn’t give Kevin time to recover.

Before Kevin could strike again, the pressure intensified—crushing, suffocating, like an invisible force pinning him in place. You saw his muscles tense, his body resisting, but for the first time, Kevin wasn’t just unstoppable.

He was being held back.

"You feel it, don't you?" he mused. "The weight? The restraint? It's designed for people like you. Those with overwhelming power, too dangerous to be left unchecked." He smirked. "You’re strong. But strength means nothing if you can’t use it."

"You have two options," the leader continued, gesturing to the hostages. "Join us, or decide which of them dies first."

The temperature spiked.

The suppression was strong, yes. But Kevin was adaptive. And right now, his ice was useless. But fire?

Fire was different.

And Kevin, despite his injuries, moved fast. In one swift motion, he grabbed you—yanked you toward him, shielding you with his body as a blast of heat surged through the room. The suppression cracked just enough for him to act.

But not without cost.

Because in that same moment, a blade slashed through his side.

The leader had expected this. Counted on it. And Kevin, despite his speed, despite his strength, wasn’t untouchable.

His body jerked slightly at the impact, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he twisted, using the momentum to hurl you out of immediate danger, straight into Rowan’s grasp.

Then he turned back to the fight.

He had made his choice.

He wasn’t going with them.

And he wasn’t letting them win.

The battle ended in chaos.

Kevin had won. The leader was down, the remaining men either unconscious or fleeing. The oppressive force that once restrained him was gone, shattered beneath his relentless strength.

But something was wrong.

Pain flared through your body—You barely registered the moment you collapsed, barely noticed the blood staining your clothes.

"No!"

He was at your side in an instant, faster than your mind could process. His hands hovered over, the fear in his eyes couldn't be hid.

Your breath came in ragged gasps. Distantly, you heard Rowan’s voice—panicked, but it was Kevin’s grip that stabilized you.

"Stay awake," he ordered, "You have to stay awake."

You tried to respond, tried to tell him you were fine, but the words wouldn't come.

Then, for the briefest moment, you saw something in his face—something haunted.

As if he had seen this before.

---

Relief flooded his expression when he realized you were still breathing, still alive. His hold tightened slightly, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

When you woke up, everything hurt.

Your vision was hazy, the dull beep of a heart monitor filling the quiet room. The air smelled of antiseptic, the blankets felt too stiff, and—

Why is there so much yelling?

“You don’t understand.” Kevin’s voice—low, firm, but unmistakably angry. “Let me in.”

“We can’t—” Someone—probably a nurse tried to reason with him, but Kevin wasn’t having it.

“Move.”

“Sir, we have rules—”

“Kevin, please,” Rowan’s voice now, exasperated and desperately apologetic. “You can’t just barge in like a walking snowstorm—”

“You think rules matter?” Kevin sounded genuinely offended. “Y/N almost died.”

You sighed, the noise barely above a whisper, but apparently, it was loud enough.

Because within seconds, the door slammed open.

Kevin stood there, looking like he was two seconds away from freezing the entire hospital. Rowan was right behind him, muttering rapid apologies to the poor staff, who were wisely keeping their distance.

“You’re awake.”

“…Yeah”

Kevin was at your side in an instant, looking you over, as if making sure you were still real. His fingers twitched—like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he should.

Rowan sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, now that you’re here, can you stop acting like a wild animal?”

Kevin ignored her.

“…You’re okay?” His voice was quieter now, barely above a murmur.

You blinked up at him, tired but amused. “Dunno, Kev. You tell me. You’re the one scaring the doctors.”

Rowan snorted.

Kevin looked unimpressed. But the tension in his shoulders eased. Just a little.

Kevin didn’t leave your side after that.

Not when the doctors checked your vitals, not when Rowan tried to convince him to go home and rest, not when visiting hours technically ended. If anyone even thought about kicking him out, one look at his expression shut them up immediately.

You weren’t going to win this one.

So, you sighed, shifting slightly in bed. “Kevin.”

His attention snapped to you instantly.

“You don’t have to hover,” you muttered. “I’m not dying.”

Kevin didn’t look convinced. His gaze flickered to your bandages, to the faint strain in your voice. “…I won’t leave.”

Rowan groaned, rubbing her temples. “Of course you won’t.” But she didn’t argue anymore. Instead, she stood, stretching. “Fine. If you’re gonna stay, I’m going home. Someone has to make sure Pebble doesn’t eat my shoes.”

You gave her a weak thumbs-up as she left, mumbling something about ferrets and stress.

Then it was just you and Kevin.

He pulled a chair closer, settling in, still watching you carefully.

You raised an eyebrow. “Gonna stare at me all night?”

“…I can tell you a joke.”

Oh no.

You groaned, already regretting everything. “Kevin, no—”

He ignored you. “Why don’t skeletons fight each other?”

You turned your head, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Kevin.”

“Because they don’t have the guts.”

You made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a pained wheeze. “Please stop.”

Kevin almost looked pleased with himself. “You’re smiling.”