#I also thought of two different epilogues

[ladykailitha]

Yellow Daisies Epilogue Part 2

This is the end, two weeks after Valentine's Day. Oof. And this is the longest chapter I've every put out because I refuse to cut it up and prolong the ending longer than I have to.

We have the next five anniversaries (and a little bit of their lives as they age). Also minor angst in seven and eight.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Epilogue Pt 1

~

~ 6. Iron Jasmine- Unconditional Love

Their sixth anniversary was in London. Like actual fucking London. Steve couldn’t believe it. He had traveled with his parents, because they couldn’t leave him behind until he was old enough to fend for himself, so of course he had been to places like LA, Chicago, New York and even sunny sojourns in places like the Bahamas and the Caribbean. But his dad didn’t like foreigners, mostly in general, but he really hated Europe.

It wasn’t until he got older that he realized it was because of how they treated the working class, Thatcher not withstanding. He liked her the way he liked Reagan.

So Steve seeing London for the first time was incredible. Eddie and Steve did all the tourist-y things like see the Tower of London and the London Museum of Natural History. But they also did things like visiting old graveyards and taking in a play at the Prince Albert Royal Theatre. They saw ‘The Phantom of the Opera’.

Steve would have called it a mistake with the way that Eddie played up the Phantom role, going so far as even buying a cape and mask, but for one key thing.

That silliness was exactly why he loved his partner with all his heart. He even almost managed to walk off with one of the Tower ravens if the bird hadn't escaped.

After a nice dinner at the Savoy they went for a romantic walk along the Thames.

“Your flowers are back at the hotel,” Eddie murmured. “But I didn’t want to give them to you at dinner, new places make me itch between my shoulder blades.”

Steve nodded. He knew. They couldn’t be one hundred percent sure that a place wasn’t homophobic and just preferred to keep that between the two of them.

“That’s okay,” he said with a smile. “I understand. I get to have a piece of you that no one else does and yeah it’s scary now, but it won’t be always be this way.”

Eddie’s answering smile was a little fragile and that was okay with Steve. He would keep all of fragile moments so that no one could use them against him.

“So what’s the theme this year?” Steve asked with a grin and bumping their shoulders together.

Eddie snorted. “I’m surprised you don’t have the next thirty years memorized.”

Steve shrugged. “I like not knowing so that I can be amazed every time. Like I know it’s silver for twenty-five years and gold for fifty.” He shrugged again. “The rest though? I leave to you.”

Eddie’s face lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“The next bunch are almost all different metals,” Eddie explained, talking happily. “All except year nine which is pottery, but I have an idea for that one. So since they’re metals, I thought I’d learn how to make flowers out of the different metals.”

“That’s awesome!” Steve enthused. And it was, too. There were a couple of years that Eddie couldn’t make them himself and Steve could tell that it bothered him a little. So that one skill would produce so many years really made Steve happy.

“This year is iron,” Eddie said smiling broadly. “Now, iron is a little hard to work with if you aren’t a blacksmith, so I fudged it a bit with steel. Which is technically eleven but there are a couple of years that double up, so I figured I’d change up the flower.”

“I can’t wait,” Steve breathed.

They got back to the hotel and laying on the bed were the steel flowers.

Steve gasped when he saw them. “They’re beautiful. What flower are they?”

“Jasmine.”

Steve thought for a moment. “Unconditional love?”

Eddie kissed him deeply. “Right in one, my clever boyfriend. Because that’s how it will always be, okay?”

“Okay.”

~ 7. Copper Carnations (they oxidize to green)- Gay Love

Steve couldn’t believe it had been seven years since he rocked up to Eddie’s doorstep with a bouquet of flowers and a hope. Now Eddie and he were world travelers, and all because Eddie made it big with his band.

They had been through it all, the highs and the lows. Steve had to stay out of the spotlight for the most part because there weren’t any metal stars who were gay and Eddie had been told to stay firmly in the closet.

So all he would say in interviews was that he was in a committed relationship and then ‘no comment’ after that. So sometimes tabloids and other entertainment media would pair Eddie off with one woman or another.

One week it would be an up and coming starlet, next it would be some popstar. Steve snorted over that one. As if Eddie would date someone who liked pop music. He would whine about it having no soul and that it was basic.

But with the press hounding him night and day, it was hard for him to break away enough to spend time with Steve. Those were the worst days in Steve’s opinion. Eddie’s too, if he was honest.

But Eddie had flown Steve out to a private beach in Hawaii for just the two of them. Eddie even hired an actor to play him going about New York to throw them off the scent.

It was nice.

Steve had gotten up early to sit on the shore and watch the sun come up over the Pacific ocean. He had put out a large beach towel and pulled his knees up to his chest as watched as the sky went from black to blue to red and orange and finally the sun came up and sky settled on a deep blue, so unlike the almost grey skies of LA or New York.

Just as the sun was about to fully come up over the horizon, Eddie came out with a picnic basket and sat down next to him.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, giving Steve a kiss on the cheek. “Wha’cha doing up so early for?”

Steve turned to him and smiled. “I just wanted to see the sun come up. It’s not often we get to do that anymore.”

Eddie looked over at the sun and then back to Steve. “No. I wish you had woken me up though. I would have joined you.”

“I know,” Steve said softly. “But you just looked so cute, sprawled out like a star fish, I couldn’t bear to wake you.”

Eddie huffed, but wisely said nothing about his starfish status, instead opting to get out all the things he prepared for breakfast. There was chopped fruit and yogurt, granola and orange juice and a little vodka if Steve felt a little daring.

About half way through their beach side breakfast Eddie pulled out of the flowers from the basket. Copper carnations.

Steve recognized the flower from all the carnations he had given to Claudia over the years. But why carnations?

“Are they meant to be yellow for copper?” he asked in confusion. Yellow carnations meant rejection and disdain. His lip started to wobble.

Eddie shook his head. “Do you know what copper’s most defining characteristic is?”

“No,” he said softly, his voice small as he took in the flowers in his hands.

“It turns green.”

Steve looked up at Eddie in surprise.

“Oh!”

“It takes awhile,” Eddie continued. “But I promise you, when those flowers turn green, I will come out and I will tell the world you are mine.”

“And how long does it take?” Steve asked breathless. “For them to turn green.”

“Usually about five years,” Eddie said with a half shrug. “It can take up to thirty though.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Then here’s to the next thirty years, babe.”

Eddie brought their lips together and kissed Steve tenderly. What he didn’t tell Steve was that there was a way to speed up the process and if they weren’t green by the flowers’ fifth year, he was going to dumping them in a solution of vinegar, ammonia, and salt. There was no way he was going to wait thirty years to come out.

~ 8. Bronze Tulips (orange)- Appreciation and Truest of Love

It was two days before their anniversary and things were not going well. Eddie had agreed to a European tour even though Steve had asked for them to be home for their anniversary this year. London and Hawaii had been nice, but they had a whole ass mansion they never used because they were gone all the time.

It resulted in the biggest blow up the two of them had ever had. There was even full on screaming. That was yesterday. It was Valentine’s day and he was alone in this big ass mansion he never wanted. Eddie was somewhere in Germany or Austria or something.

The Sunday tabloids had been filled with Eddie going out with this hot rocker in leather hotpants and ripped t-shirt. They had screamed about that too. Especially since Eddie refused to tell Steve who she was. Only the repeated phrase of ‘I’m not cheating on you.” But no other explanation.

He called Robin and Dustin and begged them during each of his calls with them to tell him that it was all in his head that Eddie was pulling away.

Dustin’s “Ehhh...” was not helpful and neither was Robin’s, “It only feels like he’s pulling away because he is far away.”

He sat there looking at all the flowers Eddie had got him over the years. He brought all the different vases to the long dinning table and just stared at each one, his hands shaking and his lower lip quivering as recount each flower and their meaning.

He picked up the yellow daisy. The one that had started it all. Attached was the original note: ‘I will love you until the last petal falls.’

Steve tugged at one of the silk petals, vaguely wondering if it could be plucked off.

The phone rang and Steve ignored it at first. But then on the seventh ring he got up. He picked it up on the eighth.

“Hello?” he said dully. He hoped it wasn’t someone selling something. He had gotten a lot of those kind of calls lately and he really didn’t need that right now.

“Ste-ie!” Eddie said.

“You’re breaking up,” Steve said with a frown.

“So-ry, I -st nee-d to he-r you- vo-ce.”

“Eddie,” Steve said a little louder. “I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I can’t –ay. Can’t –t – see y– aga–n. I– t– soon.”

Then the line went dead.

Steve looked at the phone for a moment or two and then let out a sob. Did he just get broken up with? On Valentine’s day no less?

He didn’t understand what Eddie was saying, but it didn’t sound good. He set the phone back on the cradle and slid the floor.

He looked up at all the flowers on the table, all the years of promised love and devotion to have it all ripped away from him.

He wanted to be angry. To yell, to tear, to destroy the flowers Eddie had given him. But he didn’t even feel sad in that moment. He felt numb.

~

Eddie bounded through the front door. He had tried to call Steve back several times but the call wouldn’t go through. So his manager did the smart thing and put him on a flight back to LA immediately. But thanks to horrible layover in London due to a storm in New York, he arrived just after midnight on the 16th.

He was surprised that none of the lights were on. But considering had badly they had been fighting lately, he knew he was being optimistic about that. Wayne had called him every synonym to idiot in the book when he took this tour instead being home with Steve.

But he had taken the tour for Steve. He was so close to being able to retire and the label wanted one more tour before they all went their separate ways for a while. The goal was two years, but it might be longer if the burnout stuck around for longer than they planned. But everyone was on board with doing the last tour so that they could actually rest.

Eddie paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up. There weren’t any lights on up there, either. He was about to check out the kitchen when he heard faint sobbing from the front room. It was then he noticed the flickering light of a TV screen.

His heart sank. He had suspected that Steve didn’t understand he was coming home for their anniversary, but now hearing the faint sobs, it was clear Steve’s mind had gone the absolute worst direction.

He set his suitcase on the floor and quietly dashed up to their bedroom. He dug around the back of their walk-in closet until he found it. Eight bronze tulips.

Eddie gathered them up and dashed back downstairs as quietly as he had come. He opened the door and sure enough, there was Steve curled up on their sofa, tissues strewn everywhere, bottles littered the floor, and piles of half eaten take-out were on the coffee table.

He set the flowers on the armchair and scooted the Ottoman over to the sofa. He gently lifted Steve’s head and whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I’m here. I’m here now.”

It took Steve a moment to realize who it was before he launched himself into Eddie’s arms, his sobbing taking on a relieved quality.

Eddie wrapped his arms around his boy and held him tight whispering over and over that he was here and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Finally when Steve was calm enough to talk, Eddie wrapped himself up in him and they cuddled on the couch.

“It sounded like you were breaking up with me,” Steve admitted shyly. “But I couldn’t reverse dial an international call.”

“I know, Stevie,” he muttered, kissing the top of his head. “I was saying that I needed to hear your voice after that big fight we had and that I was coming home as soon as I could.”

“The tour!” Steve cried and he bolted up right. “Are you going to get into trouble for that?”

“No,” Eddie said, taking his face in his hands. “Because we all needed a break. We were running on empty so badly that we were barely able to stand up straight, let alone play our instruments.”

“Oh.”

Eddie kissed him gently on the nose, each cheek, his forehead, and then finally his lips. “I’m not going anywhere. Not for a really long time.”

“Do you mean it?”

Eddie nodded and then got up. He grabbed the flowers and handed them to Steve. “Eight, like with year four, one for every year we’ve been together.”

“Tulips?” Steve said, cocking his head to the side. “Is the metal what the color is?”

Eddie nodded. “Bronze for orange. No tricks this time, I promise.”

Steve didn’t have to say it. It was written all over his face. It was perfect for this year. Appreciation and the truest of love.

And as Steve showed his own appreciation by kissing the hell out of Eddie, Eddie knew that they would make it through any storm as long as they had each other.

~ 9. Pottery Vase (with a bird of paradise painted on the side)- Joyfulness

Eddie had spent almost every day in the first couple months after that fateful flight home in Steve’s pocket. And Steve ate up every moment. There wasn’t an interview he had to go to, or an award show Steve was forced to stay home for, or a studio session with long hours. Eddie was all Steve’s and they talked about it. With Wayne getting on age, they wanted to move closer to him so that they could be within easy distance if he needed anything, so they settled on moving to Chicago.

It was far enough away that they would have their own space but close enough that it would be a day drive or a quick flight and they would be there in a flash.

The house they bought wasn’t as big as their LA home or even Steve’s childhood home. But it had a heated pool, rooms for all their friends and comfortable space.

This was Steve’s dream home.

Even better they moved in the fall instead of the dead of winter, so by Christmas they were completely settled in and had all their friends over for New Years.

Eddie had gotten Steve into painting and himself into pottery as something they could do together but separate as the classes were at the same time.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays they would drive down to the rec center and go their respective classes.

It had been rough for Eddie the first couple of week because of the publicity. But once it settled down that Eddie was just a regular Joe, the class continued as normal.

By February Eddie could make the vase he wanted for their ninth anniversary. Then he got the brilliant plan to have Steve paint a flower on it before having it fired.

Steve thought long and hard about which flower to do. It was usually Eddie who picked the flower, but this time they were doing it together.

“It’s a ridiculous sounding name for a flower,” Steve hedged. “But I think its meaning fits this year a lot.”

Eddie smiled up at him. “Come on, baby. I live for the ridiculous.”

“It’s a called a bird of paradise and it means joyfulness.”

“It’s perfect, Stevie.”

So Steve painted the flower on the vase and then they pressed each of their hands on either side of the flower on the vase. Eddie’s left hand and Steve’s right.

Then when it was done baking and cooling, they took it home.

Steve took out one flower from each of the previous eight years and added the daisy. The rest of the flowers were still in their own vases around the house, but this one was the center piece at their table.

The proof of their love.

~ 10. Tin Daffodils- New Beginnings

Ten years. Steve couldn’t believe it. It had been a whole decade since he walked up to Eddie’s house and handed him the bouquet that would change both of their lives forever. And in those ten years their little family has grown.

Max and Lucas got married and had a sweet baby girl. Dustin and Erica got married, which was a surprise to everyone but Steve. He had been there for the their first adventure together and he hoped to be there for all them. Mike and El broke up for good and it took Will having a steady boyfriend to get his head out of his ass a realize who he wanted along was his best friend. El was still living with Hopper and had no plans to settle down in the near future.

Robin had moved around the country, first New York, then San Francisco, before finally growing roots in Seattle. There she met a nice woman named Emilia and they had moved in together just last year. Nancy and Jonathan also split up, but they remained friends. Jonathan had gone to NYU with Robin and learned a lot about himself before moving to California with Eden and Argyle. Steve was pretty sure they were in a ployamorous relationship, but he hadn’t wanted to pry.

Eddie’s bandmates had spread out over the world. Gareth had to Wales to learn about where his grandparents had come from. Jeff went to New York to write musicals. And Brian was writing music for Hollywood blockbusters. They still got together every couple of months to hangout and discuss the future of Corroded Coffin and each time it was unanimous that they not bring it back together. They still were struggling with the affects of burnout from being on the road.

Wayne had finally decided to move in with them in Chicago and was happy to putting around in their garden for the rest of their days.

For their anniversary Wayne was going back to Hawkins to visit friends so that Steve and Eddie would have the house to themselves.

Steve was making the dinner and Eddie was providing dessert. They way they moved through the kitchen was like dancers in sync. A perfect ballet of just knowing where the other is going to be after ten years of being together.

Steve was making manicotti and Eddie was making white chocolate raspberry cheesecake. When they were done, Eddie popped the cheesecake in the fridge and they sat down to eat. Just happily chatting and enjoying each other’s company like they had the last two years. It had been healing for them.

Then they settled in front of their TV and watched cheesy rom-coms until they laughed themselves sick.

Then Eddie brought out three things, his flowers, the cheesecake and a small envelope and set all three down on the coffee table in front of them.

Steve picked up the envelope. “What’s this, Eds?”

Eddie plucked that from his fingers. “Not yet! That’s for last.” He picked up the flowers first and handed them to him. “Tin is much easier to work with then the other metals, so I made daffodils.”

“New beginnings?” Steve questioned, cocking his head to the side. “What new beginnings are we gonna have, sunshine?”

“You remember my manager, Archie MacDonald, right?” Eddie asked chewing on his bottom lip.

Steve smiled. “Of course I remember. I might have had too many hits to the head, but I can remember someone who has been a major part of your life for almost as long as we have been a couple.”

“Well,” Eddie said nervously. “Archie used to be Angie and he got pregnant. He can’t get an abortion with back alley’ing it. So he asked around to see if anyone wanted the baby.”

Steve’s eyes immediately starting tearing up. “They’ll let us? They’ll let us have the baby?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, pressing their lips together. “They’ll let us have the baby. Everything has been taken care of, all you have to do is go in tomorrow and sign the papers. He’s already signed documents that he is relinquishing rights to the baby, so no matter what happens, it won’t be staying with Archie.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side and pulled out a picture from the envelope. “Technically is not an it, the baby is a she.”

He handed the picture over to Steve and he took it gingerly. There in his hand was an ultrasound showing a healthy baby. A healthy baby girl.

“Is this real?” he asked, his voice quaking. He didn’t mean the picture exactly, but all of it.

“Yeah, babe,” Eddie said pulling Steve in for a hug. “It’s all real. It’s not the six you wanted, but it’s a start. The baby is due in June.”

Steve let the tears of happiness fall. At the age of twenty-nine he was going to be a father. He looked up at Eddie with such adoration, Eddie just had to kiss him.

“To new beginnings, honey,” Eddie murmured. “You got any ideas on what you’ll want to name her?”

Steve thought about it for a moment. “Heather Amelia Munson.”

“Why Heather?” Eddie asked, not because he didn’t like the name, but because he had a feeling it meant something to Steve.

“White heather means protection,” Steve explained, “and wishes come true. Protections so she gets all the help from the universe she can from being our kid and wishes come true, because she absolute is.”

Eddie chuckled. “Fair enough. And why Amelia?”

Steve just shrugged. “It just seemed like a fairy tale name and I wanted something connected to you, too.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Little Heather would be born to a world that still didn’t know Eddie was gay and living with his life partner. But just eleven days before their eleventh anniversary, Rob Halford of Judas Priest came out as gay. Eddie had a brief meeting with him and then on their anniversary announced it to the world with green carnations, lavender, and pink hydrangeas.

The meaning was there for all those that knew where to look. And as with Halford, Eddie and Corroded Coffin’s fans rushed out to support them.

Then on their thirty-eighth anniversary they were legal wed. Wayne had lived to see it, but passed not long after. At their wedding all their friends and their families were there. And all three of Eddie and Steve’s kids. Heather, Valerian, and Daphne. Val as his friends called him was their first test tube baby. He was used using Steve’s sperm and his name meant readiness. Daphne was their last and used Eddie’s sperm, her name meant sweets to the sweet. Little Daphne was only ten, while Valerian was thirteen and Heather, sixteen.

They lived happily ever after.

~

Tag List: COMPLETE

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @xxbottlecapx @chaotic-waffle @im-sam-fucking-winchester @stedestielfrattficlover @me-and-my-sloth

10- @drips-and-drabbles15

[leothetraveler]

so I had an idea for fanart and ignored college HW to do it. (cause the HW was draining my sanity)

the idea being "the lamb reunites Freddy with frog wife by dragging him to the cult grounds"

it is garbage, but every drawing of mine is. I tried at least. never worked in black&white before. mostly did it to avoid messing with colors for too long. was a nice challenge.

Freddy belongs to my friend, creeperchild. ....so they turned out to be a bad person. I'll leave the art here but...the one who owns the oc here is no longer welcome on my blog.

(sorry to anyone viewing this in the dark)

[iknowshocker]

the hits different epilogue is up <3

“Do you think they’ll want to become heretics?” Bonnie asks in a whisper as he moves to stand at her side. “When they’re older, I mean.”

“Josie already asked me,” Kai admits, hesitating for only a moment before he slips his arm around her waist. Thankfully she leans into him, tipping her head to rest it over his heart.

“She’s four.”

“I said no.”

check it out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56457517/chapters/162378226

[saintobio]

blank canvas: the epilogue.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. past lovers, angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. mentions of toxic relationships, purple hearts-ish themes, maybe some heartache

notes. 2.4k wc. i said it’ll come in a few days, but i had free time so here it issss!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

TWO YEARS LATER

Tonight was Yuki and Choso’s going-away party. 

Their decision to migrate to another side of the world was because Yuki had always talked about wanting to live abroad, and so when Choso was offered a once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity in another country, it became the perfect chance for them to make that dream a reality.

So despite your apprehensions, you couldn’t miss the chance to see Yuki one last time and accepted her invitation to the party.

The evening was alive with laughter and chatter as their families and friends gathered to celebrate their bittersweet departure. Among the crowd, you spotted some familiar faces who exchanged greetings with the couple, as well as some strangers you had never seen before.

But one person was conspicuously absent. 

It had been two years since you had seen Sukuna, and the thought of potentially running into him again filled you with a strange mix of anticipation and dread. However, deep down, you knew he wouldn’t be there. There was no chance of him ever showing up because you hadn’t heard from him since that fateful night. The apartment you once shared together now housed a new tenant, and the tattoo shop across the street had transformed into a record store. Neither Yuki, nor Choso (even Yuuji), had mentioned anything about Sukuna since then, possibly avoiding any mentions of him to you out of his request. He had simply disappeared, evaporated from existence, leaving behind nothing but a fading memory.

As you scanned the room with a forlorn smile, your thoughts were interrupted by Yuki’s cheerful voice. “Y/N! So glad you could make it! I thought you weren’t gonna come, too.”

Your first instinct was to hug her tightly. “Of course, not! You know I can’t not see you before you go.”

“Aww.” She embraced you tighter before pulling away with a sad smile. “I’m gonna miss you so much. You’re like a little sister to me.” 

Indeed, and she was the big sister you never had. Things would feel different without her here, but you supported her decisions and would always wish her the best in her future endeavors. So, despite the distance you two would soon have, you gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “We can still keep in touch. And maybe, I’ll pay you a visit there, too.” 

“Honestly, I would love that!” she enthused, “Please do, even if I have to harass Getou and Gojou about it.” 

You chuckled as she mentioned the duo’s name and spent the next few minutes with you chatting for a bit, catching up with your life, talking about your future plans. It was amazing how much can change in two years, and how some things can also stay the same. Like your friendship. And this bond that you would never find with anyone else.

For now, the night was still young, and you knew Yuki still had many more guests to accommodate, so you didn’t want to take all of her time. Eventually she did excuse herself to greet more guests, and you found yourself standing by the kitchen island, absentmindedly stirring your cocktail.

As you stood in the corner of the room, surrounded by the chatter and laughter of the party, you felt a sudden jolt run through your body as loud voices boomed across the room. They were Yuuji and Choso’s exuberant greetings cutting through the air, drawing everyone’s attention, including yours.

“Nii-san!”

“There he goes, Mr. First Lieutenant!” 

Your eyes widened as you saw the figure they were addressing with playful salute—a man in a crisp military uniform, standing tall and confident. It took you a moment to recognize him, but when you did, your heart skipped a beat.

It was Sukuna.

He looked different, transformed almost, his demeanor more composed, his smile softer yet still retaining the undeniable aura of masculinity. He looked a lot more muscular than the last you remembered. His hair, now dyed back to its natural color, was neatly trimmed. You recognized that the uniform he wore was of the Japan Self-Defense Forces, adorned with badges and insignias that spoke of his achievements. The reckless, wild look in his eyes had been replaced by something steadier, more focused.

It wasn’t just the sight of him that made your heart skip a beat—it was how different he looked. 

“That’s so cool!” Yuuji raved about his older brother’s badges, his starry eyes genuinely intrigued at the sight of Sukuna in a uniform. 

Choso, on the other hand, was pulling him in a hug in an emotional jest. “Dammit. You said you couldn’t make it!” 

“Don’t cry now,” Sukuna teased, patting the younger brother’s back. He seemed to be genuinely having fun teasing his brothers. “Had to pull some strings. I was on duty, but do ‘ya think I’d let you go without seeing you?” 

You felt a pang of nostalgia in their interaction, but also recognized the visible difference in the way your ex-boyfriend spoke to others. He was genuinely happy. He was all smiles. He was the healthiest version of himself, both physically and emotionally.

It was clear to you that Sukuna had turned his life around, and it was evident that he was doing well in his field of work. The man you once knew, who had been consumed by his reckless way of life, was now standing tall and respected as an honorable member of the military.

When you said you had never met Sukuna again in your lifetime, that was true. Because the Sukuna you knew was no longer here. It was an entirely different man, changed for the better, just not for you. 

As if sensing your gaze, Sukuna turned and your eyes mirrored each other’s surprise. For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, as if you were characters in a movie screen seeing each other for the very first time. It was as though your eyes were the camera, and he was the actor. You could say you were starstruck, your heart thumping so loud that you could hear it vibrate through your ears. 

Two freaking years, and Sukuna still had that effect on you. 

You didn’t know what to do. You found yourself at a loss, the red cup in your hand now shaking from the sudden surge of anxiety. Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, a kaleidoscope of heavy emotions, a tornado of nostalgic bliss, leaving you feeling adrift in a sea of memories. 

You wondered if Sukuna hated having to see you here. And if so, should you leave to spare yourself—or perhaps him—from any potential discomfort?

Caught in this internal struggle, you felt paralyzed, uncertain of what to do next. But then, you saw a flicker of recognition and regret in his eyes. 

Before you could even contemplate your next move, Sukuna was already excusing himself from his brothers. Their knowing looks exchanged in silence spoke volumes, indicating they were aware of where he was headed. The realization then hit you like a wave. Sukuna, your ex-boyfriend of two years, was coming toward you, and you were suddenly faced with a decision between confronting the past or making a quick escape.

“Y/N,” he greeted with a boyish grin, his voice deeper, more controlled. The bad boy persona he used to carry was completely gone. 

“Sukuna,” you replied, struggling to keep your voice steady, a complete opposite from his confidence.

There was a moment of awkward silence before he spoke again. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” you meekly replied, clearing your throat and gesturing to his uniform, “You, too. Military suits you. I never saw that coming.”

He smiled in agreement, seemingly happy about his current appearance. You had never seen this kind of bliss from him before, like he was filled with content and a sense of self-worth. He was proud, and truth be told, you were, too. 

“It’s been a good change. It gave me structure, purpose,” he paused, taking a red cup from the kitchen island nearby, “I finally got something ‘better’ to do with my life, huh?”

You smiled softly, not missing the implication of his last statement. “I’m happy for you. Really.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

“Mhmm.” 

The minutes that followed were some of the most agonizing of your life, not because of Sukuna, but because of the overwhelming awkwardness that enveloped the two of you. It felt as though you had nothing else to discuss, knowing full well that delving into your shared past was a territory you could never comfortably navigate. However, Sukuna, always the more vocal one in your relationship, had finally broken the silence.

“Do you…” he began, leaving you on edge, anticipating his question, “Do you wanna get some fresh air outside?” 

Right. And with a smile, you nodded. “Sure.” 

— —

You were grateful for the opportunity to escape the stifling atmosphere of the party and find some solace in the cool night air. Both of you were at the front porch, sitting over the pavement talking about anything but your past. 

Sukuna excitedly talked about his time in the military, where you learned that he had enlisted two years ago and joined the army. After enlisting, he quickly excelled in the rigorous training required for the Special Operations Group (SOG). It didn’t surprise you that his physical prowess, sharp intellect, and determination made him a standout candidate.

“I actually completed advanced courses in counter-terrorism, reconnaissance, and combat survival,” he shared, his gaze set on the clear starry night above you. “Oh, and last month, I was deployed on a high-stake mission overseas. We extracted hostages from a conflict zone. Remember the action movies we used to watch? It was exactly like that. It was fun, thrilling.” 

You listened intently, an elbow propped on your leg as you absorbed the enthusiasm in his stories. Pride and joy swelled in your heart as you heard him talk about something he was passionate about, because it was a stark contrast to the old Sukuna who wouldn’t have shown interest in these things. And this time around, you felt like you were infatuated again, but with the new him. 

“I’m really proud of you.” Longingness dripping from your voice. “Very proud. And you’re First Lieutenant, too? Wow.” 

The compliment seemingly made him blush, a sight so rare to see that you haven’t seen it throughout your relationship. “I wanted to become a better man.” 

You felt a squeeze in your heart. You recalled the words he said that night at the parking lot, of him telling you that he had his own insecurities, too. That he knew all along that your uncertainties about him were rooting from his way of life. That he was aware that he couldn’t give you the life you deserved. 

“Y/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue in an affectionate manner. He soon rose from his seat, prompting you to follow suit, before turning to face you. “I forgot to mention.”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

His smile was sweet and genuine. “I’m engaged now.”

Oh.

Of course. 

What did you expect?

His words settled in your heart like a suffocating shroud. Despite the ache in your chest, you managed a polite nod, concealing the storm of emotions swirling inside you. But you couldn’t contain it—the damn tears that pooled in your eyes. Please, not now. You turned away, hoping to shield your reaction from him.

But it was all too late. 

He was already pulling you into an embrace, the familiarity in his warmth only making you weaker inside. “You are and will always be my greatest love,” he whispered into your ear, pressing his lips against your temple, “And also my biggest regret.”

Damn it. You covered your face with your hands, feeling ashamed of the tears streaming down your cheeks. What an absurd twist of fate. You could have gone about your day without encountering him again, yet here you were, shedding tears over the same man who had broken your heart two years ago.

“When I say regret,” he continued, cupping your cheeks and smiling at you lovingly. He ran his thumb across your cheeks, wiping your tears away. “I meant regret of not being that man for you. I didn’t treat you the way you deserved, or respected your boundaries like I thought I did.” Sukuna’s charm had you holding your breath still, too enamored by his beauty under the moonlight. He used to be a man of a few words, and now he didn’t shy away from pouring out his raw emotions. “I’m sorry I was two years too late. I’m sorry I had to let you go and be with someone else. But you and I know that it’s for the best.”

You weren’t crying because you wanted to get back together with him. You weren’t crying because he had promised marriage to someone else. You were crying because it felt like he was the one who slipped through your fingers, the one that got away, the one who could have been your forever if circumstances had aligned differently. It was the regret of a lost possibility, the ache of knowing that in another universe, you and him could have shared a lifetime together, untouched by the mistakes of the past.

He had dreams of making you his wife, dreams of having your children, dreams of growing old with you.

But the old Sukuna was dead, replaced by the new Sukuna who was happy and free from love’s toxicity. You realized it was time to let go. Time to bury the past and instead celebrate the future. 

“Congratulations on the engagement,” you offered your well wishes, pulling away slightly to meet his gaze with your tear-filled eyes. “I hope she doesn’t find you a handful.”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “No, no. I have to behave or else I’m a dead man,” he joked. “She's in the army, too.”

“Well, I’m glad you met her, Sukuna. You deserve it,” you said, your voice filled with genuine warmth as you wiped your lachrymose eyes. 

Gratitude and comfort shone in his gaze. “And I’m glad you found your peace, Y/N. You always deserved better.”

You smiled in appreciation of his words as he helped you dust off your pants. Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket, briefly taking your attention away from the current scene. “Uh, I think I need to go,” you hesitated, glancing back at the house. “But I think Yuki’s pretty busy.”

“It’s fine,” he assured. “Do you want me to call you a cab or?”

“No, it’s okay,” you replied, shooting him a grateful expression. “Satoru’s on his way to pick me up.”

He nodded, smiling. “Cool.” You were surprised when he offered his hand, a gesture to finally close whatever remained between you two. “It was nice seeing you, Y/N.”

You shook his hand and gave him a playful salute. “Likewise, First Lieutenant Ryomen Sukuna.”

As he returned to the party, immediately attacked by his friends, there was no hint of yearning or longing in him, as if the poignant exchange with his ex-girlfriend had never occurred. He was back in the scene in a fluid motion, laughing, catching up with his loved ones, telling stories about his life. No heartbreaks, no painful memories.

While as you stood there, knowing you had shared respect and love for each other, you were happy that there was a sense of closure in seeing Sukuna as the man he had become. You had both grown, both changed, and in that moment, you knew that your story, though painful, had led you two to where you needed to be. 

That your love’s canvas, once blank, now held colors to complete the portrait.

[moonysbookshelves]

The Cadence of Part-Time Poets

The Cadence of Part-Time Poets by @motswolo

Have been working on this 10 volume set for the past few months now, and they are finally complete. My Magnum Opus. I have peaked and probably depleted all of my brain power.

Thank you to @motswolo for writing such a beautiful story. My brain chemistry has been favourably altered. Will forever flinch when I hear Queen, The Beatles or Bob Dylan. Love to you from western Canada (west coast best coast lets gooooo).

I also posted a TikTok of these since posts here are limited and I love the insides as much as the covers, so if you wanna see between the pages, here’s that.

Also thank you @avisbindery for letting me scream and cry in your DMs while I read the fic. May you get some uninterrupted sleep now LOLLL.

Going to write a whole essay below about the ideas and details because uhhh I wanna yap bit!

So for starters, I wanted to make these binds look like magazines because of the epilogue where (spoiler) Tonya sees Remus in a copy of New Musical Express. But of course this fic is long, so I was like, what if I do multiple volumes? This very quickly spiralled into me painstakingly (finding publication-accurate fonts almost sent me to an early grave) recreating 10 different music-focused magazines from the 70s and 80s from scratch (thank you to Photoshop, Affinity, Procreate and Canva). Each volume features a unique cover, along with stylized typesets to match that display the songs for each chapter but in different designs. And then I went a little crazy and made a 45 sleeve and a cassette too, to really set the scene when I took the photos lol

While the covers display the dates pertaining to the contents of that particular volume (Sept 1975 for volume one, for example) I was thinking about what the magazines would say if they were really published when Marauders are traipsing about being spectacular and famous in the future. I sprinkled in details from the fic itself and fanon-ed it a bit, but that was the general inspiration :-) Tried to keep the photos used either faceless/obscured, or to use the fancasts on Mots’ Cadence master post. I also tried to use period-accurate photos but didn’t always succeed, so settled for photos of 4 member bands where I had to :”) But the general intent with the facelessness was that they could be implied to be Marauders. If you squint? lol. Just pretend. Pls.

Volume One: Based upon The Record Song Book. This magazine went on to inspire the typesets, since it publishes lyrics and such. The cover images are of Spacey Jane and David Thewlis.

Volume Two: Based on ZigZag, specifically the issue from July 1978 featuring Siouxie and the Banshees just because I thought it looked sick as fuck. I re-drew the abstract shapes and such in procreate. The cover images are The Clash and a young Gary Oldman. Lord he was foiiine.

Volume Three: Based on Trouser Press, November 1980. The cover images are a young Metallica, and my personal fav fan cast for James, Reiky De Valk. The film negatives are from a Bruce Springsteen tour, 1976.

Volume Four: Based on Gay Times (November 1984), a queer magazine from the UK because this volume contains Wolfstars first kiss hehe. Also hence Somebody To Love plastered all over the covers. The Front cover is Inhaler. The “4A” on this one is of course the boys’ dorm number, but I made the A the lambda symbol as this was a pride symbol in the 70s after Stonewall.

Volume Five: Based on Melody Maker. Front image is Alex Turner. All of the text on this one is pulled directly from the fic. The scene where they all drop acid and James jumps off the roof Almost Famous style had me hootin’ and hollerin’… until Tomny showed up hahaha :”)

Volume Six: Based on IT (International Times, Aug 1971). Front image for this one is Joy Division, and the back features Jane Asher for Lily

Volume Seven: Based on Record Mirror, June 1976. Front image is John Taylor of Duran Duran. Yum.

Volume Eight: Based on Rolling Stone. More vibes than anything for this one, but the quote still makes me laugh.  Front image is of Matt Hitt. Can you tell I photoshopped a cell phone out of this one? IDK. This photo just screamed ‘Remus’ to me so I had to use it. The back image is an old cigarette ad, but the photo is taken in Shepherd’s Bush.

Volume Nine: Based on Fusion magazine. Front image for this one is once again Inhaler. Oops. Back cover is our gals. Images are Jodie Foster as Cherry, Brenda Sykes as Mary, and Goldie Hawn as Lottie.

Volume Ten: Based on New Musical Express. You know why :”) These are all victims of fanon, but this one especially. I wanted it to be NME instead of the re-invented logos I’d been doing for all the rest, as I wanted it to look like the magazine the Sister gives to Tonya. I referred to an issue of NME from October 1979 for this and layered in fic references where it made sense to. The cover image for this one is (I think) Cigarettes After Sex. This issue also contains all of the B-Side chapters, and the Marauders song lyrics too just for fun :)

Slasher Chick: This is just my take on what Sybill’s zine could’ve looked like. Prob way off but I just wanted to have fun with this one since I had no cover to reference lol. The zine contains her little write-up and the interview, lifted straight from the fic :")

ok yap sesh over byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee lmfaooooo

[misskamelie]

Brain is going all brrrr now that I've finished No Longer Human by Dazai and I'm ahghhhhhf I need to read an essay on it by someone who actually studied this stuff

[masochistkatsuki]

Team Player - Bakusquad x Reader

Prologue, → Masterlist

Is fucking your entire friend group 'for the team ?' Well.. yea !! It just so happens they're all also stupid hot.

Extra : Should be six parts not including this prologue and an epilogue. Fem reader, Bakugou centered x reader. smut obvi

When your best friend, Mina Ashido, and other close friend, Eijirou Kirishima wont do anything about the sexual tension thats been going on for two years now, your entire friend groups eventually gets fed up.

Being the closest to Mina, the responsibility gets put on you to get them to finally fuck. And pressure is getting higher. Every time they get touchy but act like they aren't during smoke sessions is going to be the last straw to make everyone vomit on them. But knowing Mina, it's at a heinous price. Looks like you'll just have to take one for the team.

You were a well accomplished student, getting accepted into UA at 15 and ranking #2 in the Entrance Exam.

Second only to infamous Katsuki Bakugou, against his will, you forced your way into being one of his early friends at UA, despite his rude personality. I guess being "not super weak like the other extras" had its perks.

The friendships grew quickly, every day the first week a new person would sit with Katsuki. He never thought he'd meet so many people, let alone get used to their company.

"I'm only here to succeed !" He shouted roughly, slightly spitting, one day at the usual table during your first year. Your main group, Sero, Mina, Jirou, Denki, and Kirishima, just kinda sighed with a smile and accepted his attitude. You, however, perked up and laughed back at him.

"By the end of our Hero Training," You looked up towards Katsuki, "You're going to say 'we're here to succeed !"

Though he laughed at it at the time, calling you corny, here you all were. Throughout all the shit UA put you all through, work studies, fucking wara, and literally living together, the 'Bakusquad' was beyond a doubt one of the strongest friends groups in the entire Academy. In terms of physical abilities, and emotional connection alike.

And tonight, you were all going to succeed at getting into a real club for the first time.

"You want me to WHAT ?" You sat dumbfounded, in front of Minas holywood lighted mirror. You were doing your lipgloss, ready for the nerve wracking night out, when she finally gave in to your demand of two years.

You see, now being in your third year at UA, watching Mina and Kirishima steal glances at eachother, brushing hands while walking, falling asleep on each other, eye fucking at every party, posting eachother constantly, always flirting, drunk kissing once during spin the bottle and suddenly only making eye contact with the others lips.. your entire friend group just needed them to fuck and shut up about it already.

Sero and Denki had already been begging you to do something about it since the beginning of your second year, and Jirou got fed up with it completely by the end of the same one. Katsuki was a different story, never seeming to comment on or even notice anything romantic. He just was rude and yelled regardless of feelings. Honestly, it impressed you how he could insult Kirishima on his hair, teeth, eyes, the way he pronounces "cinnamon", and more before calling out the boner in his sweats.

"Thats right !" She giggled, dancing a little out of pure joy. What a sadist. "I want you to fuck everyone else in our friend group first !! ☆" You sighed, clearly not understanding what the point in this was. "Besides, I need to know if Kiris any good !"

Your hand smudged the pink tinted gloss across your cheek after you gasped and jumped in your (her) chair. " Eww !! Kirishima too ?There's really no way you want me to do that.. right ?" You nervously laughed at Mina, who'd only practiced and honed her abilities to put people in the most drama-inducing, best story to tell in 20 years situations. Her smile was not the usual joking one you knew.

Class 3-A, especially her closest friends, knew better than anyone that once Mina Ashido set her mind to something, there was no stopping her. Obviously, if you didn't want to, you knew you didnt have to and that she wouldn't force you. The issue you is..

A) You have NO idea when she'll have an offer like this again.

B) You aren't thaaaaat against the idea....

"Cmon.. were all super close ! Besides, youre hella fuckin hot ! And I knew you thought Kiri was back in our first year tooooo" She got close to you, winking in your face, emphasizing her point.

"But.. we're all just friends.. and that was freshman year, hes yours girl. Besides, none of them would go that far with me, right ?" You nervously held back sweat, truly youd only embarrass yourself by attempting this.

"Youre soooo oblivious ! One night before I have him locked away isnt the end of the world" Mina cried out, though you couldn't help laugh at the humor. She threw her leg over yours and looked down at you. "Want me to prove it to you ? Prove that everyone in that group chat wouldn't think twice about taking you ?"

"Thats different," You pouted, pulling her further onto your lap. "We've made out a million times already, and we're both girls.."

She used her palms to tilt your head up slightly, her black and yellow eyes gleaming mischievously into yours. "Jirous a girl."

"Me and Jirou have also made out a million times.. she also doesn't count.." She rocked her hips against yours, rubbing her clit right just above yours. "Mina.." You whined. "Just because we have chemistry doesn't mean me and the others will."

She hummed, "Are you really best friends if you don't have sexual chemistry ?", finally pressing herself hard against your clothed clit finally. The pressure felt nice, a perfect, pleasurable feeling in contrast to the heavy task at hand. "Let me calm you down, and besides I know some stuff that might help." She pressed a kiss to your cheek, running her hands up your back. Anything to keep the smoke sesh's pg-13 I guess. You gave her upper thighs a soft squeeze, setting the tone and pushing her on slightly.

"The boys have said quite a few flattering things about you.." She peppered soft kisses on the corner of your mouth, you closed your eyes, letting the velvety pushes flutter down your jaw. "Oh, and you already know Jirous lesbian ass has said the worst stuff.." Her lips mumbled against your neck. Hmm. Well an ego boost never hurts either.. You're especially curious if Katsuki - Idontdoromance - Bakugou has said anything about you.. Fuck it.

PT 2 COMING SOON !

[autistichalsin]

Some of my favorite, understated moments with heartbreaking implications for Halsin

1. Halsin threatening to turn into a mouse in the epilogue if the player brags about his achievements- he's so shy and humble that just being acknowledged for LITERALLY BUILDING A COMMUNE HIMSELF makes him want to hide. A mouse is a very symbolic choice here: not only easy to hide, but also easily overlooked and forgotten. The idea of his accomplishments being acknowledged is so terrifying for him that he wants to turn into an animal no one will notice, instead of his usual strong, large, noticeable bear.

2. "Sometimes, I think people look at me and imagine my feelings can't be hurt." This isn't the kind of thing that happens after one or two people act like jerks. This is years and years of cruel treatment, of his emotions being demeaned and mocked because of his size. Of people judging him before even meeting him- and forming an entirely wrong view of him. Halsin is a bighearted, tender, sentimental man, yet because he's big... Well, big people don't have feelings, surely. /s

3. "You and I may struggle to go unnoticed in such environs, Karlach[...] Folk of our stature can be a lure for drunkards seeking a brawl, I have found," combined with, "There is a particular discomfort to besting one you know to be weaker than yourself - even when needs must," from a different scene. People have sought him out and fought him because of his size (which had to have been terrifying, especially the first time), and he feels guilty when he takes out someone he knows is weaker, even if they STARTED it. How many times has the poor guy been traveling and then had to defend himself against someone 1/2 his size, making HIM look like the asshole to onlookers, and reinforcing that whole "people think I can't be hurt" thing?

4. "It was always destined to be so, if we prevailed. But the foreknowledge makes it no less bittersweet..." (About the players' paths diverging post brain battle), combined with "I see... After all my years of living, I know all too well that nothing lasts forever. Yet a parting can sting, nonetheless," if the player breaks up with him in the ending. This poor guy was having the time of his life adventuring with the group (and possibly falling in love there) yet never believed it would truly last (because of his abandonment issues). And then to have it confirmed.... he must have felt so awful in that moment, even if he was being dignified about it.

5. "You came for me... thank you. I feared Orin's accursed smile would be the very last sight I beheld," when Halsin is freed from Orin, combined with, "Orin's blades. I hoped my friends would save me..." If he is killed by Orin instead and Speak With the Dead is used on his corpse. The tone of his voice in the first line, especially added to that bit in the second... he never thought the player was coming to save him. He HOPED they would. Not "believed". Hoped. He thought he was going to die there- just like how he was in the Underdark for THREE YEARS and no one came to save him. And if it's confirmed... Yeah. That. (Sidenote: if you ask his corpse if he has any regrets, he says not telling Thaniel and Oliver goodbye, and not getting to see their land flourish. :( My heart. :( )

6. "I... have not had true confidantes for some time. The Shadow Curse robbed me of almost all my peers, and replaced them with the weight of responsibility. Perhaps that caused me to gild undeserving memories of my youth." Halsin was so miserable and stressed being Archdruid that he romanticized his past as a sex slave, viewing it as a safer, even happier alternative. There were actually times when Halsin thought he might rather be a sex slave than continue to be Archdruid. In a sense, for the 100 years the Shadow Curse was around, Halsin was just as much a prisoner as Thaniel was in the Shadowfell, but Halsin's prison had invisible bars. The Shadow Curse took away his entire support system, and being Archdruid forced him to be the strong one, always, never allowed to be weak or scared, forced him to take control of situations when he hated it, forced him to spend his time sorting out people instead of being in nature. And he was MISERABLE. For 100 years.

7. "You understand me almost perfectly. Only my late mother may have bested you." (Said if you get one question wrong at the love dryad test). He misses his mama. :( Especially when you consider that if you steal Balthazar's "Mother Dearest" and taunt him about it, Halsin disapproves (and is the only one to do so), while returning her gets you approval (which only Halsin approves of). And then the line when you look into a mirror while controlling him, "more like my father, with each passing day..." He really misses them. :(

8. "I am loathe to see anyone behind bars. It reminds me of my time as a guest of the goblins." He is, secretly, still quite traumatized from his time in the goblin pens, but he brushes it off. Just like every OTHER time he is hurt.

9. "I am aware [of having a habit of getting captured]. Perhaps I put too much faith in my skills of negotiation, or want to see good where there is none. It would be easy to resort to nature's fury whenever something stood in my way, yet I cannot help but feel I would be sullying the Oak Father's gifts. Naive perhaps... but I still draw breath." Halsin is aware he gets hurt often because of his desire to see good in people until he has no other choice, but refuses to give up anyway (which is backed up by that letter Gut had on her where she reveals Halsin TRIED to help the goblins, saying he could cure them of their tadpoles, only to be thrown in the cage, with Gut threatening to have his stomach cut open and maggots placed inside it.) Further, even though he is an Archdruid, and one of the most devoted, and explicitly has Silvanus's favor (Halsin says that gaining his favor was the only way he was able to open the portal to the Shadowfell), he still constantly worries about using Silvanus's powers, to the point of wondering if an actual threat to his safety actually merits using his powers. Which... combined with some other stuff, reads like one hell of a problem with self-worth.

10. "At least you were not present. Grim as [the ruined battlefield] is now, it was worse on the day of the battle. A vivid wound upon my memory[...] I was lucky - I lived, when so many did not. It would take me a day and a night to recite the names of all the friends I lost" combined with, "I was [present when the Shadow Curse was unleashed]. Part of my spirit was shorn away from me here, and never left," and, if Last Light falls, "All gone... devoured by the shadows. Oak Father preserve us, it's just like a hundred years ago[...] We are [still standing]. Yet there is a burden to being the survivor... the witness to others' tragedies. It only grows heavier with time." He has so much PTSD and survivor guilt from the Shadow Curse. :( No wonder it's all he can think about- to the point that some of the other companions even get annoyed at him for his obsession.

11. "I never quite realised how burdened I was, until I met you. The threat of the shadow curse, the politics of the grove... I was forgetting who I was, but you lifted the fog. Thank you." Not only does this tie in with the above, with his PTSD from the curse and his utter misery at being Archdruid, but this HEAVILY implies Halsin had depression. Like... that "fog" line hits HARD if you have or have had depression, because that's exactly what it feels like. And the "forgetting who I was" bit too. Not just losing his sense of self to the depression, but to the neverending responsibilities of being Archdruid. I keep repeating myself, but damn, this guy has really and truly spent an entire century being absolutely MISERABLE. :(

12. "Forgive me. I... lost the run of myself. Sometimes, if blood runs hot enough, it's difficult to tame the beast." With that little disgusted groan/sigh, the fury and disgust at himself visible on his face, and the way he rushes to get out the rest of it- he thinks he fucked up so badly that you're about to leave him, maybe forever. And then if you reject him after this? "Ah... I see. Well, of course. Back to camp then." He has the most heartbroken look on his face here, and the way he says "of course" like he just... knew this was coming the instant he accidentally wildshaped. He felt that the first time he let ANY of his imperfections show, the player would leave him. :(

13. "Death is nature's final slumber - it awaits us all. Do not punish yourself over those lost, or give in to despair - not while there are still folk in need of your help." (Said to a Dark Urge if they tell him they're not much of a hero and most people needing them end up dead) Not only is Halsin speaking from experience here, but it's very clear he is STILL doing exactly what he tells Durge not to do, to himself- punishing himself over those who were lost, struggling with devastating survivor guilt.

14. "The grove has cut itself off from the world, to jealously guard its own little pocket of nature. No one shall ever enter or leave again. And I have been evicted from the very place I was charged to safeguard. A telling summary of my time as Archdruid, perhaps..." If the Grove is sealed and you ask him about it later, this is what he says. Interesting that he views being evicted from the place he was in charge of protecting to be a "telling summary." He was forced to take the leadership role there, and yet it was clear he wasn't wanted or respected by a great number of the Druids (exempting Nettie, Rath, and Apikusis). He got a truly thankless job that took damn near EVERYTHING from him emotionally/mentally, causing him to develop depression and causing him to backslide in his previous healing from his trauma from his time as a sex slave, he still gave EVERYTHING to the Grove, and in return...... almost none of his Druids appreciated or even liked him. (I could seriously write at least five metas about how obviously miserable Halsin was at the Grove, despite caring for it deeply).

15. "You could have done anything, gone with anyone... yet you chose me." Said at the epilogue to a solo romanced player who went to the commune with him. There's so many layers of heartbreak here. He is still surprised, six months later, that the player chose him. He even thinks the player will regret it, and will decide they want an adventurer's life after all after seeing everyone else. He doesn't think he is good enough- doesn't think he deserves the player, and yet at the same time he loves them so much that he is heartbroken over the possibility they might agree with him. He thinks that given a chance, there is little chance they would actually choose him again. (He is put at ease quickly when the player promises they picked him for a reason, but even the explanation he gives for why he was so worrie is heartbreaking- that he's so used to a tumultuous life that he thinks something must go wrong. He has been so traumatized so many times over the years that he just has almost no ability to think that true happiness is possible [or deserved] for him.) Something about that is just heartbreaking, even though his ending is one of the happiest of any of the companions.

Someone give this sweet bear man a hug, please :(

[triptychgardener]

i saw you mentioned that transfem!calliope was practically canon, could you maybe elaborate on that? (im not dissing your hcs btw im just confused on where its suggested in canon)

Hey so it took me a while to get to this just because I wanted to solidify some thoughts about it! Won't go into as much detail wrt my other posts, but we can at the very least start with her handle: uranianUmbra

Uranian is an old-fashioned term, generally used for gay men, though also used in different ways to describe other-gendered people or ways of being, occasionally used as a catch-all similar to how Queer is used today. Its history is complicated and occasionally uncomfortable, as a lot of queer history can be, but notably, one potential root of this idea came from Urning

Now obviously conceptions of gender and sexuality were a lot different then, and I don't want to simplify this, but in Homestuck, it's pretty undeniable that Calliope is a woman stuck in a man's body, and this is likely why Hussie used that very specific word in the first place: to foreshadow the eventual Cherubian Twist.

And not that framing: a woman trapped in a man's body. Cherubs (at least as we are told) have two equal halves who can predominate. But the framing of their entire dynamic makes it very clear that this is Caliborn's body, not Calliope.

Callie's ideal self, in Callie Ohpeee, her Trollsona, is positioned as something to be taken off to reveal her true self. She feels that she needs to conform her exterior to match her interior self, something Caliborn never has to do.

Hell, even as she goes to sleep for the last time, she removes her jacket to reveal Caliborn's shirt underneath. It's his body, not hers.

Not only that, but throughout the story, we see that Callie experiences something close to either dysphoria or body dysmorphia. She hates the way she looks, and affects an especially sweet demeanor in order to not scare people away. She sees herself as a monster because her body becomes the most hideous masculine monster the story has ever known! Literally Lord English.

And shockingly, even though it (in my opinion) handles it poorly, the Epilogues do give us a brief insight into cherub gender, where it basically illuminates that Aranea was kind of talking out of her ass about cherub reproduction, and that Cherubs have no actual biological sex or gender. Meaning that somewhere along the way, Caliborn and Calliope CHOSE their genders, likely influenced by the human and troll internet they were permitted. Callie perhaps forming her own gender in opposition to her brother. This also probably created the ouroboros through which gender became a thing in the first place but thats besides the point. Point is, Callie was likely not a woman until she chose to be a woman. I.e. transgender.

Now the epilogues took it in what I find to be a kind of boring direction, i.e. "well cherubs have no real biological sex so that means I have to be nonbinary now" which is just such a lukewarm take on the imposition of gender but whatever. Point is that Callie is transgender end of story goodnight!!!!!

[kanmom51]

Is this JM I see on Weverse or is it a mirage?

Well well well, not a mirage. Indeed JM has given us a sign of life.

And quite a sign of life it was.

Before I share some of my thoughts on this, let's look at the numbers for a sec.

JM posted 29.1.2025 at 20:30 or 8:30 pm KST.

On Weverse it shows up as 29 Jan 20:30.

2+9=11

1+2+3=6

We get:

11/6

Which happens to be the day they are discharged from the military.

Coincidence?

I think not. Not when it's JM posting. Not when he's talking to us about the "what comes next after military"...

But there is more...

If we take the date: 29.1.25

2+9+2=13

1+5=6

13/6

Same date 29.1.25 and we can play around with the numbers some more:

2+9=11

1+2+5=8

8/11

One more of those times where JM's choice of date and time leave you wondering...

Yes, this was JM sending us a Happy New Year (Seollal) message. And Seollal was on 29 January this year. But it was celebrated between the 28 Jan and 30 Jan, so he could have sent the message either on the 28th (that's also when we got the message from Jin and Hobi) or the 30th. He chose to post on the 29th. At the time he did. And he also decided to let us in a little, more than just a cute HNY greeting.

Now that I got that out of the way, let's talk about what JM actually had to tell us.

Translation by @btsinthemoment

Obviously I want to talk a little about what JM had to tell us about JK and himself.

I thought of sharing a few translations here. They differ a little one from the other, but the gist of it is the same.

This one is from @btsinthemoment

and a couple more from AI online translators:

and this one:

Before I get to what JM says here, I do feel the need to remind everyone of just how intelligent JM is, how thought out and well spoken.

This post came to mind:

Don't listen to me, listen to JK.

JM is super articulate and ever so careful when he words his messages. They ever so often are layered and nuanced (just like his songs).

And this message from him is no different.

The structure of the message. I - WE - I. Talking about himself - sneaking in the talk about JK and himself (WE) and finishing up with going back to talking about himself (ending it with his love for us). You might even look at it like a prologue - story - epilogue... framing the "WE"...

As part of the "prologue" JM talks about his daily routine in the military.

He really doesn't need to mention JK at this point, tell us they spend their spare time together, because JK already did.

So, JM just mentions the daily routine, tells us how his days are more or less the same since he's enlisted, but that there has been a change since the start of the year. And this change is in the content of the conversations he and JK have before sleeping (and I do think he's talking about 1 Jan 2025, not Seollal, since he's talking about conversations that the two are already having).

Listen to what he's saying.

The content of the conversation has changed since the start of the year, but them having these conversations, that is very much part of his daily routine.

He is saying it loud and clear:

"Prologue":

"The actual story":

And just like JK "happened" to mention JM in his live (no "happened" what so ever, it was fully intentional, including the whole "when we shower together" comment), JM "happens" (nope...) to mention JK.

This is intentional.

They are telling us something.

They are intertwining their messages.

A message from JK is still a message from him, but he is telling us how JM is part of his life, his day to day life, including the miniscule things like exercising and washing up.

A message from JM is still a message from him, but he is telling us how JK is part of his life, his day to day life, including the ordinary things like having those conversation just before sleeping.

They want us to know (not only speculate or guess either way) that their daily routines are intertwined with each other. Not out of necessity (to those that claim they didn't choose to enlist together or that enlisting together didn't mean spending free time together), but out of choice (spending free time together away from the others, showering daily together, having heart to heart talks before going to sleep).

Let's talk about JM's use of "we" shall we?

Again, this is JM presenting himself and JK to us as a unit.

He is telling us that he and JK have these meaningful heart to heart conversations just before going to sleep.

This is said obviously, clearly. But it's, once again, layered.

JM's words can be seen as talking, planning their professional lives moving forward.

JM's words can also be more.

And make no mistake. JM is in touch with the other members. Members he is super close to and with whom he has conversations about the what and how of after military service. And yet, the ones he is having with JK are the ones he is mentioning. These are not only about the what and how. These are about MORE. And here is where the layering and nuancing comes into place again, JM being JM.

The way he just adds it in: "and what kind of lives we will lead from now on..."

The translations are a little different in their wording, one talking about what kind of life they will lead moving forward or what kind of life they will lead in the future. But to me the message is one and the same.

The two thinking, contemplating, discussing how their lives will look like moving forward together. The two of them.

They are having conversations about how their future will be. And this is once again JM showing us how important they are to one another. What they are to each other.

Someone they plan their future together with.

And I can't help but wonder if this message is one more of little (or not so little) hints and crumbs we've been getting from them since their joint enlistment that something is going to change once they get out. Not with them. They have always have been good and will be good. But about how they will be presenting themselves to us. Not just as individuals (that too), but as the two of them together.

A couple perhaps...

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY FOUR

in which you and eddie win the bet.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7k+

→ a/n: oh, holy fuck. holy fucking shit. i have no words, because i know it's not really over yet (we still have an epilogue, friends! don't forget that!) but... i did it. i finished another fic. that's just... insane?

thank you to everyone who has been so very kind and supportive of this fic. i owe you all the world. i'm sure i'll either make a sappy post between now and thursday, or i'll get extra sappy in the a/n on the epilogue, but for now - please know you have all my love. <3

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

24:00 ─────────────── ㅇ 24:00

DINGUS: hey, i facetimed them for last hour’s proof. had to work out when they wanted me to head over and pick her up. 

BIRDIE: both still alive? both still well? 

DINGUS: so it seemed. 

ARGYLE  😎: what a relief! I knew they had it in them

JOHNNY BOY: They still have to last one more hour. 

NANCE: They’ll last the hour. Have a little faith, babe. 

JOHNNY BOY: Still don’t like the fact we’ve just started calling them instead of requesting the photo proof. I mean, how do we not know they’re lying? Did you talk to both of them when YOU called, Nance? 

NANCE: Yes, I told you guys that.

NANCE: Besides, you guys already know that Eddie hates having his picture taken. We’re lucky we ever got picture proof to begin with.

DINGUS: also i JUST facetimed them??? physically saw them?? your lack of trust in me and nance kind of hurts jon

BIRDIE: @NANCE hey can you call ME babe next? 

HOUR TWENTY FOUR – 4:00 PM

“Hey there, love birds. Glad to see you didn’t kill each other.”

Steve. 

You wait for Eddie’s arm to leave you, for him to put space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. He keeps you pressed flush to his side as if the sudden arrival of a friend doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference. 

“Hey, Harrington,” he even casually greets first. 

He’s making no move to get up off the floor. 

Just a little bit longer. Let me sit here and live in this moment a little bit longer.

“Munson,” Steve nods to Eddie before setting his sights on you, “Doll. Nice to see you, kind of glad I’m not having to fish you out of the canals.” 

You feel it — Eddie’s arm tenses behind you ever so slightly at Steve’s nickname. Clearly, it’s still a sore spot for him to work through. 

“I was feeling generous,” Eddie shrugs as if he hadn’t just revealed a flash of jealousy to you. You’re not even sure if he knows that you felt it. But it was there, in the slightest tightening of his grip and the flexing of his bicep behind your shoulder.

“Generous? I think you were feeling friendly,” Steve waves his hand between the two of you, as if he thought he was pointing out the obvious. 

If he thought this was close, he’d faint at the imagery of you on the kitchen counter, Eddie’s face between your legs as he begged for you to let him touch you. 

Just as you had noticed Eddie’s jealousy, he notices the way you suddenly heat up, shifting in your seat ever so slightly. That pull on the corner of his lips tells you all you need to know. You kind of hate how easily the two of you can finally read each other. You kind of love the way he’s looking at you as if he’s thinking the exact same thing. 

“Do I get my free punch now?” you finally speak up, tone flat as you muster a glare in Steve’s direction. You’re forgoing all polite and pretend oblivion. 

Every single one of you here knows what happened. The bare bones of it, at least.

Eddie looks at you curiously, “Excuse me?” 

Steve only grins, holding out his arms as if welcoming you, “Take your best shot.” 

You stand quickly, and Steve even flinches. He clearly had thought it was all a bit, but you were deathly serious. After the night you’d had, you wanted to punch something, anything. 

“Hold on,” Eddie fumbles to follow you as you stand in front of Steve, your eyebrow cocked as you pause, “Hold on, why are you punching Harrington?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. ‘She’d never go for me, why would she go for you?’” you remind him, and fully expect for hurt to flash across his face. Instead, merriment continues to tug on his lips, “That ring a bell?”

“It might,” Eddie drawls, slowing down his movement to stand more casually, no longer in a rush to break up the fight. His eyes flash with something, with some sort of affection as your hand curls into a fist threateningly and you continue to glare daggers at Steve, “‘S cute to see you defending my honor, sweetheart.” 

Your knees almost physically wobble. The nickname that once struck such anger and irritation in you has become your favorite thing, something that can so easily elicit such a physical reaction. Any taunting has dissipated from his tone when he falls from his tongue now. Adoration takes its place.

Steve looks between you two for a second before his face twists up, “God, I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.” 

“Never really hated each other,” Eddie corrects Steve, but his eyes never leave yours. 

“Right, must have slipped my mind.”

One of the questions that had been torturing you has now been answered — Eddie would, in fact, be acting differently around your friends. It’s almost enough that you feel no need to punch Steve.

Almost.

“Where do you want it?” you tear your gaze from Eddie, looking back to Steve now expectantly, “Cheek? Nose? Chin? Jaw?”

Steve’s eyes widen. “My God, have you just been dreaming of this moment for the last hour?”

“I have.” 

Eddie leans back against the wall, still watching and still smirking as he crosses his arms. 

“I know Eddie’s your boyfriend now but-“

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you correct him quickly, but something inside of you twists at saying that.

He wasn’t your boyfriend. You two had just agreed you’d need time apart before even thinking of exploring what this new chapter will bring you two. So why does it feel so wrong? Why do you suddenly feel like a pathetic teenager, desperate to bestow some cheesy title upon her crush? 

Eddie nods when you suddenly look at him, as if he can read your mind, “I’m not her boyfriend. Just… her scary dog.”

Scary dog privilege. And God, does that moment feel light years in the past now. Years ago rather than hours ago. His promise to protect you suddenly rings truer now. If you ever did find yourself in trouble, you knew he’d answer your call. You knew now why his protection only extended to you. You finally, finally understood.

“Scary dog?” Steve squints at Eddie, and his judgmental demeanor has fully returned, “What the fuck does that even mea-“

He doesn’t get to finish the sardonic sentiment. The slap of your palm interrupts him.

“Ow!” he yelps out, head snapping from the force of the hit and hands already coming up defensively. 

Eddie pushes off the wall the moment Steve’s hands are up in the air, “Lay a hand on her in retaliation, Harrington, and I’m breaking your arm.” 

All the joking, cocky demeanor has faded. Like he had said — scary dog privilege. It applies to more than just pricks at the bar.

“I’m not,” Steve grumbles, rubbing at the red imprint now singing his cheek, “Jesus Christ, I said a punch.” 

You fight a smile, “I don’t know how to throw a punch.”

“I can teach you,” Eddie pipes up, now standing beside you, hovering in your orbit. 

“Don’t-“ Steve puts out a warning finger, “-encourage her. I only said you could punch me because I knew you couldn’t throw a punch!” he continues to cradle his face, now pouting at you, “Do you feel better now?” 

You only answer with a triumphant smile. Because your palm is stinging, and you know violence isn’t the answer, but yeah. You do feel a little bit better. 

“I don’t,” Eddie hums. He only has to take one step forward for Steve to back up, throwing out defensive eyes as he narrows his eyes, “Think I deserve to get a slap in, too, Stevie.” 

“Fuck that,” Steve spits, eyes wide with genuine fear that makes you want to giggle, “You do know how to throw a punch. If I’m letting you get a free one in, I deserve twenty four hours notice.” 

“Then consider this your notice.” 

Is this what I had always been missing out on? 

You always knew Eddie was playful with everyone, had witnessed how he joked with friends, but you’d never been included. The thought that this was the new normal makes your heart nearly burst. To be on Eddie’s side finally, to be in his good graces properly, makes you feel as if you belong more than any private movie night with Steve or impromptu dinner date with Robin. More than any night out with Nancy. More than any smoke session with Argyle, and more than any literature debate with Jonathan.

It’s as if Eddie was the missing link. You never felt you belonged, because you’d always ached for your rightful spot at his side, not just amongst the group.

The three of you stand in a makeshift circle and every single one of you smiles. Even Steve, through his slipping pout and swollen cheek, is grinning. 

Suddenly, it’s not quite as heavy as it once felt.

Everything has changed. Leaving now is not leaving forever. 

“I’d pay to see that,” you comment, taking a daring step to bump shoulders with Eddie. His eyes meet yours, his dimples come to life, and suddenly — you’re home, “Think I can get a front row seat to you beating Steve’s ass?” 

Steve starts to protest but Eddie only nods eagerly, “I think that can be arranged.” 

“I am once again reminding you two that I liked your screaming matches more than whatever this,” his hand flails, motioning to the way you two are standing closer to one another than you are him, “whole teaming-up-against-me bit is.”

“We’re not dating,” you’re reiterating as Eddie laughs out, “Stop being a crybaby.” 

You look at one another again. Another foot in the door of your newfound home, another look into your new place to rest your head. It’s as if you’re just now realizing you’ve spent the entire year missing Eddie, even as he was right there in front of you. 

“Well, God save us all when you two are finally dating,” Steve mumbles with a shake of his head.

“If-“ Eddie starts to correct, but you stop him.

It’s not an if when it comes to you two dating, you decide. It’s a when.

“I’ll send a gift basket when the day comes,” you snark. The look that Eddie sends you could heal every wound ever left behind, right then and there. 

You’re home. When Eddie throws his arm around your shoulders and Steve rolls his eyes at you two (affectionately, even if he’d deny it), you know you’re home.

—

But then, you actually do have to go home. 

You try to put it off. The three of you occupy Eddie’s living room for a while, Steve complaining about the way Robin woke him up endlessly throughout the night and how he never did finish that assignment due in his English Literature class. It reminds you that life will continue on; you have to go back to work and school, deal with daily annoyances that should seem bigger than all that’s happened with Eddie tonight, but they don’t. They all seem minuscule now, really. 

“Do we still have to send photo proof?” Eddie asks once Steve’s tirade has waned. You’re sat between the two boys, Steve’s body turned almost completely to face the two of you while you and Eddie slowly sink back into the cushions. 

You’re sure if Steve knew the activities that had taken place on this couch, he would not be sitting so comfortably. If at all.

Steve sighs at the mention of the bet, “You probably should. Jonathan’s been antsy about it the entire time. Me and Nance tried to cover for you guys, lying about calling and stuff but-“

“Why would you lie?” you inquire, uncurling a bit from your overly comfortable position to stop from falling asleep and actually participate in the conversation. 

“Because, unlike the other idiots,” Steve gives a pointed look at you and then Eddie, “We had a hunch about what was going on here. And it’s about time, by the way.” 

You think over his words for a second before you look at Eddie with sudden embarrassment, “Have you- Oh my God, have you been telling Nancy what we’ve been doing?” 

“What?” Eddie sits up straighter, looking just as panicked, “No. No, absolutely not, I-“

“What have you guys been doing?”

Both of you ignore Steve as Eddie continues on.

“-just spoke to her on the phone once or twice. But I didn’t give her any details. Have you been telling Steve what we did?” 

Steve, still being ignored, repeats himself, “What have you guys been doing?” 

“Absolutely not,” you scrunch your nose at the thought of being that honest with Steve. You loved him, truly, but not enough to tell him about those kinds of things, “I’d rather sleep in the canals than tell him.” 

“What have you guys been doing?” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, and he mockingly stabs himself, “Ouch, sweetheart.”

“Not like that,” you backtrack, but more casually as the worry of Steve and Nancy knowing the truth, “I just meant-“

Eddie interrupts with a hand on your knee and a smile on his face, “I know what you meant. I’m just fucking with you. I feel the same way with Nance.” 

“Guys?” Steve grows further impatient, “I- What the fuck did you guys do? Oh my God, is it even safe to sit on this fucking couch right now?” 

“You don’t wanna know,” you say.

“No, it isn’t,” Eddie says. 

It earns him a slap on his stomach as he leans over in laughter at the way Steve launches out of his seat.

“You guys- No. No fucking way,” Steve brushes at the back of his jeans, as if they’re contaminated, “Nope. No way. You’re just fucking with me, Munson.” 

“Am I?” 

Another slap lands on Eddie’s shoulder as he laughs harder. 

“Steve,” you turn to your friend, trying to smile sweetly, “Sit back down.” 

“No.”

“You just said you don’t believe-“ 

“We should get going,” Steve insists through his blush, “You two should take your final picture and we should get going.” 

Eddie finally stops chuckling, leaning back up and against the armrest, his ankle cross in front of your shins as he stretches his legs out and sighs, “God, you should see your face right now, Harrington.” 

Steve’s scowl deepens, “It’s not funny. Take the fucking photo so we can go.” 

You make no move to dig out your phone, because you know. You know once you take this photo, you’ll be leaving, and this will all be over. Once you step foot back into that hallway, time apart begins. Learning how to navigate this new unknown with Eddie begins. It terrifies you, it saddens you, it exhausts you. You hadn’t been prepared for this part of the night.

Even before the confessions, you hadn’t given much thought to the ending of the twenty four hours. You’d assumed it would end in bloodshed and a larger than life fight, probably before the clock even ran out. You’d never assumed it could end in laughing, inside jokes between you and Eddie, in something not only bitter but also sweet. 

“Phone, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers as he leans forward and holds out his hand with the palm up, “Before we traumatize the poor guy any further.” 

“I will wait in the car, I swear to God-“ Steve starts to protest as you finally dig your phone out of your pocket. 

You’re looking down, unable to meet Eddie’s gaze in fear of him picking up on your faint sadness, as you mumble, “Get your panties out of their twist, Steve. Jesus.” 

Eddie snorts at that, right as you pass your phone over. 

Steve doesn’t comment when you willingly tell Eddie the code to unlock your phone, or the way you let him hold it rather than you. He doesn’t comment on the arm that Eddie seems to constantly keep around you now. 

He’s doing it while he can. Cherishing being able to hold you at any capacity before you leave and the distance begins. The time apart you two agreed upon won’t be for forever, but it still kills a buried part of him that had just begun to sprout roots again. A thing made of hope that he planned to tend to this time around. 

“So, how do we wanna do this?” he asks in a strained tone, as if asking that question and throttling you two closer to the finish line physically pains him.

You hope it pains him, selfishly, because it pains you. “No idea.”

“We’ve gotta make it a good one.”

“We do.” 

Eddie suddenly lights up with an idea as his thumb sweeps across your screen, opening your photos’ app and scrolling up to the first picture you two had taken at the beginning of this night. 

“Up for a trip down nostalgia road?” he teases, wiggling his brows as he holds the phone up for you to get a clearer view of the picture.

Eddie, flipping off the camera and scowling. You, hardly smiling with a pathetic thumbs up. 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, nodding slowly. 

It’s unspoken, what happens next. The camera app is opened and Eddie returns your phone to your grasp. The two of you resituate to mimic the photo as closely as possible while Steve fiddles with some of the items on Eddie’s entertainment center. 

You stretch out your arm, put your thumb up into view, blink away any tears burning the back of your eyes. Eddie’s hand has taken position as well. 

You snap the photo before you can think too hard on it. 

“Think that’ll be the winner?” Eddie curiously asks as you immediately bring the phone close to your face, swiping to view the snapshot just taken. And when you do, with the refreshed memory of that first photo, your heart physically aches. 

Almost an identical image. At a quick glance, it’s the same Eddie and the same you from the first one. But the similarities fade the moment you look closer. Eddie isn’t scowling, not genuinely – those damn dimples are even making an appearance as his eyes were squinted up in a valiant effort to fight off the smile he wears now. And your smile, your smile, is no longer half-assed. It’s something real, something full, something even a bit sad. The same face you wear when saying goodbye to an old friend and trying to hold back any tears until their train has long since left the station. You can almost physically see your vines in this photo wrapping around the two of you, clinging so desperately to avoid any separation. Time apart. You’re regretting suggesting that now. 

It’s a cute photo. A photo of two friends, if you could call yourself and Eddie that now. 

“All done?” Steve interrupts the moment, both of you and Eddie only staring at the photo. You take a peak at him out of your peripherals, and you can see it written plainly on his face – he’s feeling all the same emotions as you. Something sad, something nostalgic, something reluctant. “Not to rush the process but… I may or may not have a hot date tonight to get ready for.” 

Eddie tears his gaze from the photo, “A hot date?”

“A hot date,” Steve nods, a boyish grin gracing his lips, “And I’m picking her up in… t-minus…” he pauses, checking his watch, “Three hours.” 

“Smart move. Charm her before I rearrange your face and all.” 

Steve throws his head back in a groan, “You two won’t be letting that go any time soon, will you?” 

“Nope,” you chime in as you swipe to open up the groupchat, not offering Steve a single glance until you’ve sent off the final addition of photo proof to the rest of your friends. You consider adding some sort of sarcastic comment, some well earned bragging and a boisterous told you so, but you don’t. 

It doesn’t feel like you’ve won. Leaving this apartment, this battleground, with all the new bruises and healed wounds you’ve acquired over the span of the twenty four hours doesn’t taste like victory. Really, it tastes like… nothing. 

There’s no victory, no solid ending for you to cling to. It’s simply ending and there’s still thousands of words you have to say to Eddie. You need more time, another twenty four hours, to fill with every single thing you never told him. More casual confessions of honesty, more hours wasted in his bed, more insignificant bickering to partake in. It’s all on your tongue and desperate for attention, and yet, you know you can’t succumb to it. 

You have to go. It’s the last thing you want to do, but you have to. 

Steve checks his phone when it buzzes with the notification of your message you sent and opens his mouth, no doubt about to comment on your lack of words with the message, but you’re already standing. It’s like ripping off a bandaid. You need to get it over with, get out of this apartment before you decide you’d rather sink right into these couch cushions and decay just to ensure you never have to really leave. 

Eddie’s quick to follow. 

“Let’s go,” you say to Steve, grabbing up your bag, not looking at Eddie at the risk of losing all composure. 

Neither boy fights you, following you right up to the front door. Steve leads, opening it back up as reality slams you in the chest. As if there’s an invisible barrier here, and you know that in crossing it, you’ll be leaving a piece of yourself behind in apartment 2C. 

Leaving now is not leaving forever. 

But it sure does feel like it. 

Steve awkwardly looks over your shoulder at Eddie, some silent communication you only see his half of as he shrugs and does a timid wave, turning to leave. 

One foot hangs midair, your toes beginning to push through that barrier, when Eddie grabs you. 

“Hey,” he breathes as he wraps his fingers around your bicep, forcing you to turn to face him. You let him, your body moving to his accord but your eyes still not meeting his, “You good?” 

You take a deep breath in through your nose, “Me? Yeah. Yeah, I’m great. I’m… I’m good.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive?”

“Will you look at me, then?” 

Reluctantly, so very reluctantly, your eyes meet his. Big, brown doe eyes. This close to them, you can see the way they shine to match yours. You both probably look insane to Steve right now, but you don’t care. Between the sleep deprivation and all the emotions you’ve had to experience over the last day, the tears are well earned.

You almost reach out and kiss him. You almost press up onto your toes and put your lips on his, almost pour every emotion you’re feeling in the moment into a far from innocent peck. 

But you don’t.

“We did it,” you croak blandly, “We won the bet.” 

As if the Universe is screaming in agreement, you can hear a chime in the distance signifying the hour. Probably the church you recall passing in the middle of the night when the two of you had ventured off to the parking garage. It almost feels as if it’s mocking you. 

“We did it,” he echoes as his grip on your bicep loosens. You expect him to let it fall back to his side, nearly begging out loud for him to retract his touch from you so you don’t do something stupid like stay.

You swallow down thick emotions, just like molasses, “I guess I’ll see you around, yeah?” 

Time. You two needed time apart. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, as he does the one thing you had somehow hoped he wouldn’t yet yearned for ardently – the hand that had wrapped around your arm now cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin so softly, you nearly melt in his doorway, “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.” 

It doesn’t taste like victory, yet it doesn’t taste quite like loss. It’s bittersweet. 

You still don’t kiss him. And he doesn’t kiss you, even as his touch against your cheek lingers so heavily before he pulls away. 

You cross the barrier and find you were right. You feel that piece of you tear off and flutter to the ground, and you begin to wonder when you’ll have the chance to come back and reclaim not just it, but Eddie.

—

Steve didn’t speak much on the drive back to your dorm, and you’re sort of grateful. 

If you were a good friend, you’d ask more about his date. You’d get him giddy as he spills the details about this girl and his plans for the night, chastise and tease him all in good fun. You’d be smiling and making plans for coffee tomorrow morning so he could tell you all about how the date went. 

But you’re not a good friend.

You sit in your silence the entire drive, and you pick at your nails, and you selfishly stay focused on Eddie. On all of your own qualms and all your own issues, worrying about what comes next and already feeling your chest tighten the moment you start to think about when see you around will come.

The two of you never discussed that, did you? There was no discussion of just how much time was needed apart. 

Steve shifts the car into park in the west lot, right outside your building, “Alright, stop making your cuticles bleed for two seconds and tell me what’s wrong.” 

Your hands pause exactly as he requests, caught red-handed. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Something’s obviously wrong. I told you to go get him – and yet, he’s still not your boyfriend.” 

“It’s complicated,” your voice finally breaks. There’s no tears this time, just confusion and desperation clawing at your throat. 

Because, was it complicated? Was it really?

The last year was what had been complicated. All the pretending and the fights and the tension. All the false beliefs and all the lies overlapping with one another. That was complicated. But this? The feelings you harbored and finally acknowledged for the boy you just left behind? 

That wasn’t really complicated. 

And Steve knows this, you can hear it in his sigh, “I think that’s the issue.” 

“What?” you turn your head towards him, scrunch your brows, even your breathing and try to shoo away the image of Eddie’s wet eyes. 

You wish you would have kissed him. 

“Look, i just think you two keep making things complicated when they should be simple-” 

You didn’t want to hear it. Childish as it might be, you do not want to have to hear this speech. Because you know Steve’s right.

“I’ll see you later, Steve.”

“Wait-”

You don’t wait. You slam the door in his face once you’ve got your footing outside of his car, truly earning your title of bad friend.

Awful. You weren’t just a bad friend, you were an awful friend. 

And yet you can’t think on it, leaving it be until you had the time to properly dwell on how you’d apologize later. All you care about now is getting inside your dorm, moping and being miserable on your own. Your strides are longer and faster than they were even when you’d backtracked to Eddie’s apartment, determined to get behind closed doors and to properly mourn all that had been gained and all that had been lost in the last twenty four hours. 

Twenty four hours ago, you were reluctant to even step foot in Eddie’s apartment. And now, it’s the only place you really want to be. 

Luck refuses to be on your side as you slam into your dorm room, sweaty and tired and just fucking emotional, only to find your roommate there. There will be no dramatic crying, no cinematic scene with your back pressed to the door as you fight back sobs, it seems. 

“You look rough,” is all she notes, sparing you a second glance before she returns to whatever she was tasking on at her desk. Her makeup, you think.

Good. Maybe she’ll be heading out, leaving you to suffer alone like you wanted. 

“Yeah,” is all you can answer her as the door clicks shut behind you. 

Rough’s a good way to put it. 

“Think you’ll be here tonight?” she asks, still distracted, “Troy and I are hanging out today – he spent the night here last night, by the way – and if you’re gone again, I was thinking about inviting him back over. Only if you’re cool with it, or already have plans, though. Our RA has this final and I didn’t even have to sneak him in last night-”

She continues on her rambles, never looking your way as you drop your bag onto your bed, and quickly lift yourself to lay right next to it. 

Normal. You were having to go back to fucking normal. Your worries were no longer revolving around Eddie or making it through the next hour, no longer preoccupied with keeping your friends up to date in order to ensure a payout of five hundred dollars – now, you just had to worry about boys named Troy and possible room checks by your RA. Finals to be taken, essays to be finished, shifts to be covered at the diner so you’d have enough cash to go out with your friends next weekend. 

You should be relieved. But it all just feels impossibly heavy. 

Your roommate catches on quickly, and when you only reply to let her know you’ll be here tonight, she stops talking. She focuses on finishing her makeup and gathering her things, hardly even offering you a goodbye as you shift to curl up more comfortably in the center of your mattress. 

You should also know better than what you decide to do next. You can’t help it, though, as you tug your phone out of your pocket and unlock it. You don’t listen to the voice inside your head that screams stop as you click on your photos’ app. Ignore the animal inside that whines as you scroll, and you click on the very first photo of you and Eddie. 

It’s painful, but you have nothing better to do in your solitude. You don’t linger on the first photo too long, still being fresh in your mind, before quickly swiping along. 

The set of matching photos you and Eddie took of one another, black and white socks covering touching toes visible in each one. You nearly laugh at the Darth Vader figurine both of you took turns holding. You nearly cry when you realize you were, in fact, smiling in your photo. A small one, a forced one, but there nonetheless. 

The selfie from the bar, your amaretto sour and Eddie’s whiskey & coke lifted towards the camera. The way both of you had tried to look annoyed, over exaggerated and furrowed brows paired with pouting lips. Your thumb swipes subconsciously over the photo for a second too long, and you’re startled when you realized it was a live photo. The moment after the photo was taken, Eddie’s eyes had moved to look at you. And in that live photo, you watched every ounce of annoyance evaporate. Leaving behind something you recognized now. Leaving behind eyes sparkling with a brief glimpse of adoration. 

There’s something else you better recognize now in the next photo. The picture you’d taken when Eddie had locked himself into his room, only opening up long enough to insist you took the photo, the one that guaranteed you your money. You had been right – there was a flood of regret on his face. You hadn’t imagined it. But you had also been wrong; he was never looking at your own rotted vines and mourning them; he was looking at his own, tethered and shredded, regretting that he had ever taken an axe to them. You don’t press down to see this live photo. You don’t want to witness that door slamming in your face again. 

The two photos taken in his bed. The one in which both your faces are scrunched from the flash, in which you can see the physical wall between you two.  And the one in the dark, where you both wear tired smiles, unaware of the night to come.

The photo on the bike, a helmet mostly covering your blushing cheeks, but not Eddie’s. 

The photo from the parking garage, meant just for you two. 

The photos from Betty’s. You don’t linger on the one of you; you do linger on the one of him. 

Each swipe only makes your heart ache more viciously, painful and sharp reminders of the night you had had. You don’t have to press down on another single photo to witness the live outplay of it – each memory is running through your mind in real time as you retrace your steps of the night. Twenty four hours, twenty four steps. With each photo, you watch yourself grow more relaxed, watch smiles come easier without your awareness and finally pinpoint all the care Eddie had been looking at you with the entire time. 

You notice the lack of photos from the last few hours. You nearly scorn yourself for it, but there had been no time. There was no time for memories frozen in time amongst all that hard honesty and those sacrilegious revelations.

Except there was one more moment in time frozen for you. You’re quick to exit the photo app finally, leaving behind that picture of Eddie with full cheeks only to open up your text messages.

Your text thread with him. Filled to the brim with bad pastry jokes and underlying need. You remember that urgent want to comfort him, to remind him he was enough. To erase all the hurt and all the old scars caused by a life from before your time with him you still hadn’t become fully privy to. 

You’re still rereading the last message, bet you wouldn’t say that to my face, when suddenly a new message appears. 

EDDIE: Make it home okay? 

Space and time. They are the last things you want, that you need from him right now. 

YOU: yep. my roommate just left. 

EDDIE: Is your dorm bed as comfortable as you remember? 

YOU: like sleeping on a cloud. 

You wish you were still in his bed. You wish you were back at the beginning, with him rather than all alone. 

EDDIE: Oh shit, you’re trying to sleep? Sorry

EDDIE: I’ll stop bothering you and leave you to it. Sweet dreams. 

No, you nearly scream at your phone screen, come back and bother me. Bother me for the rest of my days for all I care. 

You’d never sleep another wink if it meant having him. You remember what you told him about starting over, starting fresh. And maybe taking a much needed nap would offer that. Maybe sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time would be the smart choice, letting you awake with a clearer mind and better intentions.

But you don’t want that. The animal inside still clings to all that has happened. 

Something about that makes you brave.

YOU: i never said that, and you’re not bothering me.

EDDIE: Didn’t you say you wanted a nap earlier?

YOU: that was earlier. i’m wide awake now. 

An internal battle continues to take place. Your mind whispers liar, knowing damn well that if you put down the phone and turned your cheek to bury into your pillow, you’d be out like a light within seconds. 

EDDIE: Ah. I see. 

You fiddle with your thumbs for a second, stomach churning as you try to come up with a response to keep the conversation going. Technically, when you had said the two of you needed time apart after all that had happened, it should have meant interactions like this as well. Texting each other was not offering each other space.

But he’d started it. That was on him.

YOU: do you remember what i said about space? and starting over? 

EDDIE: I do. I’m not very good with giving you space, it seems. 

YOU: well, considering you’re on the other side of town, i’d say we’ve got the physical sense of space down. 

There’s a pause in his replies that causes you to sit up. A falter. You curse him for not having a smartphone as well, for not having the privilege of being notified whether he was just taking his time typing or if he had put the phone down. You really hoped it was the former, practically wished upon every star that that was what was happening. You hoped he was glued to his phone as you were yours. 

Maybe he still had that photo he’d taken a few hours ago, the one you swore you’d heard him take as you dozed off. Maybe he was still staring at it like you had done with all of your photos. 

EDDIE: About that…

You stare at the message, the hidden meaning behind it completely lost on you. 

YOU: About what? 

EDDIE: I’m not home right now. 

Your heart clenches. 

YOU: You’re not?

EDDIE: I’m not. 

YOU: Eddie, where the hell are you right now?

Your mind reels with all the possible choices. He could be at the bar, at the parking garage, at Nancy’s place. He could be anywhere. 

But then he only sends a picture in response, and you know where he is. 

You nearly topple into three other students from how you sprint down the hallway. You don’t even grab your key to your dorm room, skipping the elevators and nearly throwing yourself down the few flights of stairs in haste. You don’t care how your lungs cry out, you don’t care how your thighs burn, you don’t care how your shoulder aches from how roughly you slam open that front door of the building. You don’t care about the strange looks you get on your way out. You don’t care about the odd angle you twisted your ankle in on that last step. 

The only thing you care about is the boy standing there, helmet off and balanced on the seat of his parked motorcycle that he leans on, arms crossed as his eyes light up at the erratic sight of you. 

You don’t even check for any traffic in the parking lot as you make your way to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he calls out once you’re close enough to hear him, “I know we said give it time and shit, but you left, and I just-” 

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. 

When you make it to Eddie, you’re in no business to carry anymore regret with you. This time, you don’t just yearn to kiss him, to wrap your arms around him, to pour out all those emotions you were feeling across tongues. 

You do it. You kiss him, uncaring for all the stares of fellow students. He nearly falls backwards into his bike from the force of you colliding against him, but he’s quick to catch himself as his hands find your waist. 

“You-” you pull back, gasping a bit to start to scold him before his lips follow and interrupt you, “Fucking-” Push and pull. You retreat, and he follows, “Idiot.” 

His hands squeeze around you, tugging you a stumbling step closer so that your chests are flushed against one another.

“I am,” he mumbles against your lip, the tip of his nose grazing over your cheek as he refuses to let anymore distance be put between the two of you, “I am a fucking idiot. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing.” 

His hands cradle your face and he kisses you this time, reaffirming that he felt everything you had. All those words you hadn’t said, all his own admissions he’d withheld, spill between clashing teeth and eager lips. He takes your breath away, shamelessly, greedily. And you let him. You offer all the air that’s left in your lungs up to him on a silver platter. 

When the two of you finally pull apart, eyes opening wide and foreheads pressing tightly to one another, he’s grinning like a fool. 

“So, I had a better idea than time apart,” he murmurs, “What if we just… start over?” 

“Start over?” you question wearily. 

He nods, “Yeah. Just… Just pretend this last year and all our bullshit didn’t happen. Start fresh. Let me not be a massive dick this time.” 

His hands drop from your face as he takes a step back, taking you in fully. You want to shy under his gaze, but instead you can only melt. His fondness is a warmth like no other, capturing you by the crown of your head and pouring down over you in waves. 

“Okay,” you finally agree, feeling your own cheeks spread and ache in a lovesick smile. Coming home, that’s what this felt like. “Okay, we can start over.” 

“Great,” the homecoming warmth only spreads as he straightens up his posture. A very serious look overcomes his face, laced with determination for a brief second until he relaxes it into a friendly smile, doleful eyes meeting yours as every single flower he had ever planted in your chest blooms like a spring morning. He sticks his hand out, nearly making you snort, “Hi, I’m Eddie.” 

You can’t help it. His front door is open, a warm glow within welcoming you. 

You ignore his hand entirely as you impulsively reach up and interlock your fingers at the nape of his neck, tugging him into you for another kiss. 

He pulls back far too soon for your liking, but his hands have also found their spot against the small of your back, “Do you greet all the new strangers you meet like this?” 

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.” 

He pulls you back in for a chaste peck, and it tastes like home. 

“I like you,” you whisper into the limited space between the two of you, “I mean it. I like you so fucking much, Edward Munson.” 

He grins, cracking your chest wide open with hope, “The feeling’s mutual.”

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

[buttercupshands]

Had a random thought of sketching some of the save files of isat I had after completing the game

Each one actually had a specific role, place and dialogues checked

It's also the achievement runs I had

Some closeups of the ones I liked

Runs for two hats achievement specifically one before the fight and one after, Twin Siffrins! Because the saves look exactly the save if you don't know them

Two different epilogue saves one before 100% and one after

A normal Act 4 ending save but with Siffrin being the same Siffrin from OP save

OP achievement save Siffrin one fight and Mirabelle is at max level

Original "main" save of the folder before dagger save replaced them. First time I saved a game twice and left save 1 as it was.

Dagger save for all it's worth is actually harmless created from ng+ to get all Loop dialogues

[achilles-rage]

Good Luck Charm: Chapter 20

college football player!buck x plus size!reader

summary: you go back to school early to attend a new year’s eve party.

word count: 3.5k

previous chapter

series masterlist

a/n: the last chapter!!! screaming crying throwing up fr. i’ll definitely post an epilogue though, and maybe some other short drabbles because i’m gonna miss them :// i also wanna thank everyone who reads this fic, i appreciate it so much!!! anyway, enjoy<3

warnings: a hint of smut, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

MDNI- 18+ only!

Two long weeks later, it’s finally time for you and Evan to go back to school. You continued to sneak into Evan’s room each night, and had managed not to get caught each time his hands started to wander, innocent touches becoming something entirely different.

While you did tease him about keeping his hands to himself the first night, you were a little surprised when his hands traveled down your soft tummy and traced the waistband of your panties. You almost stopped him; the fear of getting caught clear in your mind, but your words were cut short when his hand dipped under the fabric and ghosted over your clit. His lips were on yours before you could make a sound, and when he finally pushed his cock into your dripping cunt, his lips were replaced with his hand as he whispered how good you were being into your ear.

This morning is no different. You wake up early; earlier than either of your parents, Evan’s bare chest against your back warming you up immensely.

“Are you sad to be leaving?” he whispers, his hot breath hitting the back of your neck. You hum softly, shrugging as you think about it. You turn in his grip before you answer, unable to fight back a smile as Evan’s face studies yours with a lovesick expression.

“I love my parents, but I think I get along with them better when we’re apart. Spending some time with them is nice, but I’m glad I’m not living here all the time.” you tell him in the same hushed tone. He nods, seeming to understand where you’re coming from. When he’s at school, sometimes his parents call to catch up, and he can almost pretend that he’s close with his parents when that happens.

“I’m glad. Because now we can go to the New Year’s party at Delta Phi.” he says in a teasing tone. You roll your eyes, laughing softly. He practically begged you to leave a couple of days early so you’d be back for the party once he found out that the theme of the party was to celebrate the university’s sports teams. “Now I can see you in my jersey again. Like old times.” is how he put it when he asked, and you couldn’t say no.

It had been a while since you were able to wear his jersey, and the last time you had, he ended up in the hospital, so a part of you was eager to get some better memories of wearing it.

“You really do like to party, don’t you?” you tease, laughing as he scoffs.

“Come on, they’re fun. You can’t tell me you didn’t like the parties I brought you to, other than the first one.” he says, his jaw clenching when he speaks about the first party you went to a party with him. He still has to see Jared at practice, but for the most part, Jared tries to steer clear of him, and he’s thankful. As much as he wants to fucking kill him for what he did, he knows that wouldn’t be the best idea.

“Alright, they’re not as bad as I thought they’d be. But that doesn’t mean I’d pick going to a party over, like, a movie night. But I like when you get all protective.” you tease, leaning in to kiss him softly. You can feel his fist clenching at your side, where he was holding your hip, and you know what he’s thinking about. You’ve stuck close to Evan at every party since then, and he always has to have a hand on you. Either an arm around your shoulder, or his hand in yours, or on the small of your back. He won’t let you leave his sight.

“Gotta protect my girl. Always.” he tells you earnestly, his hand unclenching as he lets out a breath. He knows he’s more upset about the situation than you are, even though it happened to you, but he can’t help it. He still feels a little guilty for even losing you in the first place.

“And you always do. From people and from the dark.” you tease, and he chuckles. Then in an instant, he moves to pin you to the bed, his body positioning itself between your legs, making you squeal softly in surprise as you giggle. He shushes you softly, lowering his face to the crook of your neck as his hands pin your wrists to the bed beside your head.

“Gotta be quiet, baby. I’ve gotten through two weeks without your dad hating my guts. Can’t start now.” he murmurs against your neck before beginning to trail kisses across your skin. You bite your lip as you tilt your head back, reveling in the feeling of his lips on you. Truth be told, your mom has caught you a couple of times in his room, not that either of you have been awake to notice. She stands near the door with a smile on her face each time, seeing you cuddled up together. She thinks it’s sweet, and she’d never tell your dad, anyway. This is not one of those mornings, evidently.

“We can’t have that.” you whisper, meeting his gaze as he pulls away from your neck. He smirks, moving your wrists up above your head and grabbing them with one hand, then his other moves down to push your shirt up over your plush tummy and chest.

Once your shirt is bunched up above your tits, his eyes trail down your body as he licks his lips. He’s so glad you only ever sleep with an oversized shirt and panties, like you’re just begging him to take care of you.

He leans down and gives you a short, but passionate, kiss, then moves down to your neck again. You bite your lip as his kisses move further down your neck, and he moves his face away for just long enough to move below your shirt, then begins to kiss down the valley of your breasts to your round tummy. He hums softly as he presses featherlight kisses to the skin littered with stretch marks, nipping and sucking softly as he goes.

He loves marking your tummy; he loves seeing the marks that are for his eyes only, and he likes the way it makes you squirm, but he also loves it seems to make you feel more confident. He loves your soft belly, and he’ll keep leaving marks across it until you love it completely, too.

His hands move down to your hips, grabbing and harshly pulling your panties down your legs with a low grunt, now leaning back on his knees to look at all of you.

“God, I love you.” he whispers once you’re left in nothing but your bunched up shirt, his fingers moving up your inner thighs.

You inhale a shaky breath as he leans down until his face is directly in front of your core. He smirks as he keeps eye contact with you, and the last thing he says before his tongue makes contact with your slick folds is “My gorgeous girl. I’m gonna ruin you.”

You get back to your apartment at around 6, which is still much earlier than when you have to go to the party, but after waking up early and driving all day, you feel like you need a nap before you get ready. Buck dropped you off, and after insisting on carrying your bags up for you, he gave you a sweet kiss and told you he’d be back around 10:00 before he went back to his place.

Your eyelids flutter open an hour or so later, and since you showered this morning, and you know you’ll probably get some form of alcohol spilled on you tonight, you don’t bother showering. Since you now have some time before Evan picks you up, you drag yourself out of bed and into the living room, flopping down onto the couch your roommate isn’t currently sprawled out on.

“How was your break?” she asks innocently, although her expression is anything but. She knows you brought Evan to meet your parents, and she has been patiently waiting since you left for any little detail of your visit. You didn’t want to tell her over text, so you kept telling her you’d update her when you got back. And since she got back four days before you did, she had begged you to tell her, claiming she was too bored and lonely all alone to wait.

“Well, my dad doesn’t hate him.” you tell her with a smile. She laughs, rolling onto her side to face you with a smirk.

“Tell me everything right now.” she urges, and you roll your eyes. She watches you intently as you begin to tell her, leaving out the parts about you sneaking into his bed every night, for the most part.

Just like promised, Evan buzzes your apartment intercom at 10pm, and your roommate lets him in, as you’re still finishing up your makeup. It’s nothing crazy, just some mascara and lip gloss, but you waited a little too long before you started to get ready; instead spending your time catching up with your roommate.

He walks into the bathroom, eyes trailing down your figure as you bend over the counter to touch up your lip gloss. You’re wearing your favourite pair of jeans and a white long sleeve shirt, knowing you’ll get cold in just Evan’s jersey on the walk to and from the party. You jump slightly in surprise as Evan lets out a low whistle, turning to see him leaning in the doorway. He’s wearing a white hoodie under his own jersey, and you can’t help your eyes traveling down to his broad chest. God, how did you get so lucky?

“You’re trying to kill me, aren���t you?” he asks in a teasing tone, closing the distance between you and dropping your jersey onto the counter before he pulls your hips against his. He meets your lips in a kiss, and you whine softly as you pull back, frowning.

“I just put on lip gloss.” you say, fighting back a smile as you look up at his lips, now shiny and glittery. You reach up and wipe it off with your thumb, and he chuckles softly once you pull your hand away.

“And you can put on some more. I wanna kiss you.” he tells you sternly, then leans in for another kiss.

“Your teammates are gonna make fun of you if you keep doing that. You’re gonna walk into the party with lip gloss all over your face.” you tease once you lean back again, but letting him kiss you for longer this time. You wipe off the lip gloss again, then push him away by putting your hands on his chest. He rolls his eyes, but lets you push him back, then watches you intently as you turn back to the mirror and fix your makeup.

Once you’re finished, you grab the jersey off the counter and throw it on, tucking one side into your jeans so it doesn’t look so awkwardly long.

“You ready, princess?” he asks once you turn to face him. You smile, nodding as you grab his hand and maneuver around him to lead him out of the bathroom. You meet your roommate near the door, ready to walk over with both of them. She’s going to the party anyway, and you’d rather her walk with you and Evan than walk over alone, even if she’s meeting some of her other friends there.

It’s a quick walk over, as your roommate is already a little drunk, and cannot seem to keep her mouth shut. You walk hand in hand with Evan as she walks in front of you, barely even paying attention as she rants on and on about the party.

“Is she gonna be okay once we get there? I kinda don’t want to leave her alone.” Evan whispers to you as she keeps talking. You look up at him, your heart swelling in your chest. You know he’s protective of you, but him being protective of your friend as well makes your heartbeat quicken.

“She’s meeting a few friends there; she should be fine. One of them is staying sober too, so she can keep an eye on her.” you tell him, and he nods slowly. Although this calms him, he still feels a little nervous about it.

“And, her friend’s boyfriend is on the lacrosse team. He said he’d keep an eye on them.” you tell him, and he nods, letting out a breath. That makes him feel a lot better.

“Yeah! He’s gonna set me up with a hot lacrosse player! It’s a sports party, and I don’t have a jersey. Gotta get one somewhere.” your roommate tells you as she turns her head to look over her shoulder at you two. You both let out laughs as she smirks and raises her brows a few times.

“I have faith in you.” Evan responds, and you roll your eyes, shaking your head. You watch as she turns on her heel and walks up to him, forcing you both to stop in your tracks. She raises a hand and puts it on his shoulder, looking up at him with a serious expression.

“You don’t know how much that means to me.” she says, swaying gently side to side. Evan furrows his brows as he lets out a confused laugh while you laugh loudly. Her head snaps to you as you laugh, then takes her hand off of Evan’s shoulder and puts it on yours.

“You’re so lucky you already have a jersey. I love you guys.” she tells you, then throws herself at you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. You stumble back, shaking your head as you wrap your arms around her torso, hugging her back.

“Alright, let’s go get you that jersey.” Evan says in a teasing tone, making eye contact with you over your roommate’s shoulder. He winks at you as she finally pulls away, mumbling a quiet “good idea” as she turns and starts walking towards the party again.

The party is in full swing once you drop your roommate off with her friends and Evan says hi to a bunch of his teammates throughout the party. You’re staying close to Evan, getting jostled around as people sway to the music and shove their way through the crowd around you. He keeps his arm firmly wrapped around your shoulder, only letting you go when he grabs both of you a beer. You aren’t a huge fan of the taste, but you take it with a smile, figuring that you’d rather be a little buzzed and deal with the taste than have to endure the lights and noise around you sober.

Just like clockwork, Evan starts to get more handsy when he’s a few drinks in, keeping his front pressed against your back as he holds you close to him. His arms are firmly wrapped around your waist, and his chin is resting on your shoulder as he sways you back and forth with the music.

“Have I told you how good you look in my jersey?” he says in your ear, practically having to yell in order for you to hear him over the music. You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. You’ve had a few drinks, but you’re nowhere near drunk, not as drunk as him, and his clinginess makes your face heat up.

“Yeah, a couple times.” you respond in a teasing tone, turning in his grip to angle your face towards his. He grins, then leans down and gives you a sloppy kiss on your neck, mumbling a “good” as he does. You tilt your head to the side as he kisses you, grinning as you shake your head.

You continue to dance with him until it’s almost midnight, and you only stop when the party around you starts to feel even more chaotic, if at all possible. You turn in Evan’s grip, wrapping your arms around his neck once you’re face to face with him.

“Hi, baby.” he says over the music, and you giggle softly.

“Hi, my love. It’s almost midnight.” you reply, tilting your head to the side as he continues to sway you both back and forth.

“Yeah? What’s that thing people usually do at midnight, again?” he asks in a slightly teasing tone, then gives you a wink. You roll your eyes, shaking your head.

“I’m not sure, why?” you tease back, laughing more when he scoffs.

“I’m gonna kiss you so hard.” he says with a cocky tone, smirking. You rest your forehead on his chest as you laugh, closing your eyes. He’s such a dork when he gets like this, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Whatever you say, baby.” you tell him once you look up at him again, a smile spreading across your face. He’s about to reply when everyone begins to countdown, and he grins, moving one hand up to your jaw, tilting your head up further.

“I love you.” he whispers right as the clock strikes midnight, and then he meets your lips in a searing kiss. You smile against his lips, hands gripping the front of his jersey as you rise onto your toes, momentarily forgetting that you’re in a room full of people, not that anyone notices, or cares.

You keep one arm around his torso as you both walk up the walkway to his house, his arm wrapped around your shoulder as he leans against you. You fish his keys out of his pocket and unlock the door, which proves difficult as Buck leans against you from behind, hands and lips attached to you, and finally get him to his room. You push him back onto the bed, and he falls back with a low grunt, then smirks as he sits up on his elbows.

“I like where this is going.” he says, licking his lips as he eyes your soft figure. You roll your eyes, then walk over to the edge of the bed, urging him to sit up. You pull his jersey and hoodie over his head in one go, and he raises his arms to help you as you do. You then grab his hands and pull him to stand in front of you, telling him to take off his pants so he can change into sweats to go to bed.

“What are you doing to me? I am not that kind of girl.” he tells you sternly, but his hands move to make quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans. You giggle, watching him pull his pants down and then lay down to let you pull them off of him completely.

“No? Not even for me?” you ask in a sweet voice, a smirk on your face. He shrugs, pursing his lips as he studies your face, then after a moment, a smile erupts on his face.

“Alright. Maybe for you.” he murmurs. You hum softly, then grab a pair of his sweatpants from his closet and toss them at him. He puts them on haphazardly, then stands up and reaches for the hem of the jersey across your chest. “Your turn.” he mumbles as he begins to pull your jersey and your long sleeve shirt up and over your head.

Once your shirts are off, his hands move to your jeans, tugging them down. He watches as you step out of them, and then he grabs your jersey off the bed and puts it back on over your head, humming softly as it falls down your body.

“Perfect.” he murmurs, then cups your cheeks with his hands and kisses you sloppily. You kiss him back, hands resting on his chest as you part your lips, and he eagerily pushes his tongue into your mouth. Once his hands start to wander, grabbing your ass and pushing you against him, you break the kiss, looking up at his puffy lips and blown pupils.

You push him away, muttering a soft “lets go to bed.” He exhales a loud sigh, but obliges, laying down on his back on the bed, and holding his hand out for you to take. You grab it and let him pull you down onto him, resting your cheek against his chest. Once you’re comfortably laying on him, and your leg is thrown over his legs, he sighs in contentment.

“I think I’m gonna keep you forever.” he drawls, his eyelids beginning to grow heavy as he feels his body sinking into the bed and his sheets enveloping him in warmth. You smile, humming softly.

“You better.” you whisper, and he squeezes your thigh softly in response. You can hear his breathing becoming more steady, and you can tell he’s almost asleep, but you speak once more before he falls asleep.

“I love you.” you whisper.

“You know I love you, princess.” he mumbles before sleep finally overcomes him.

next chapter

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[guiltyasdave]

say you'll remember me

chapter 5 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: The aftermath. (Because I am dramatic)

word count: 1.9k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, somewhat unhealthy relationship dynamics, daddy issues (reader’s dad sucks big time), able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, slut shaming, pure angst I'M SORRY

a/n: co-written with my angel @joelscurls, i love you <3

i'm sorry that this took so long and also about the... contents of this. it's the last official chapter, but there will be an epilogue. if this is stressing you out and you'd feel more comfortable knowing if there will be a happy ending, please feel free to shoot me a dm <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’ masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

“Where’s my what?”

David steps through the open bedroom door, pulling a washed out t-shirt over his head, tousling his hair even further than it was before. He’s not wearing pants, only the briefs that he so eagerly got out of less than an hour ago. He freezes at the scene in front of him. 

You’re painfully aware of your own appearance, painfully aware of how obvious it is what you’re doing here. There’s zero chance of talking your way out of this one. 

Your father is still standing in the doorway, jaw clenched impossibly tight, his gaze flickering between the two of you. You steal a glance at David, finding his eyes already on you. Regret is swimming in them, threatening to drown you both, and you know that he’s come to the same conclusion. You’re done for. 

“What the fuck is this?” 

It’s clipped, the quiet and cold tone that you’ve had a lifetime to get used to, but it’s tinged in anger, with an intensity that you’ve never heard before. The step you take back comes instinctively, following the desperate urge to get closer to the man behind you, the man who makes you feel safe, even now. A scowl forms on your father’s face as he clocks the movement. 

“Jim–” David tries, arm halfway raised like he’s reaching out. To you or to your father, you’re not sure. 

“I was in the area, thought I’d drop by, even though you weren’t answering your phone.” His chuckle is devoid of humor, his eyes flashing darkly. “Guess you were busy.” 

“Dad, please…” You’re not sure what you even want to ask for. For him to hear you out, to understand? 

He shakes his head, looking you up and down, disdain written clear over his face. 

“Put some clothes on, Jesus Christ. I’m taking you home.” 

You look at David again, desperate for just a hint of comfort, no matter how small. The promise that, somehow, everything will be fine. He gives you a curt nod towards the bedroom, no discernible emotion in his expression. 

You’re uncomfortably aware of the expanse of your bare legs under his shirt as you walk back into the room, the place that has become your sanctuary over the past weeks. 

“Jim, listen,” you hear David’s voice through the open door. “We just– we were talking if maybe I could get her an internship at the DIA, and it– it just happened. It was a one time thing, I swear. And a mistake. I–I’m so sorry.”

Lies. They seem to fall from his lips so easily, like a story that he had prepared for a long time. Maybe he did. 

“I really don’t give a shit, Dave.” 

You hear David sigh, can see his accompanying expression in your mind. The pursed lips, the firm jaw. 

“I guess that’s fair.” 

You don’t want to leave, don’t want the tense car ride, don’t want to be alone in your room and replay this over and over. You’re already circling through scenarios how this could have gone differently. 

Why did you have to go open the door? Why didn’t you let David get it? Why did none of you notice his phone ringing? Why hadn’t you been more careful? 

When you re-emerge from the room, neither of them has moved. Your father’s expression is unreadable, a stoic kind of coldness that doesn’t betray any feelings he might have. 

You can’t help looking at David’s face when you pass him, searching for comfort, reassurance, anything. Some sign that he didn’t mean it when he said you and him had been a mistake. But he’s staring at the floor, his face like a mask. 

You bite your lip, avoiding your father’s gaze when you step past him and down the stairwell. He’s gonna have more to say about this, you know it. 

He’s fulfilling your expectation after a few minutes of silence, the tension in the car so thick that it feels like you’re getting crushed by the sheer weight of it.

“Always taking the easy route, aren’t you?! Rather just spread your legs than to put in some actual work, fucking hell…” 

Your lips fall open at his words, a disbelieving huff escaping you. 

“Dad, that’s not–” 

“That’s exactly what it is,” he cuts you off, his grip tight on the steering wheel, venom spitting from his mouth. “I didn’t think I raised you to be a whore.” 

You snap your mouth shut, staring straight ahead, tears brimming in your eyes. It had never even crossed your mind, the thought that you’d get anything like a job out of your… situation with David. It was never your motivation. You just– wanted him. Wanted him to like you. 

It hurts, hurts more than you want to admit to yourself, to have your own father jump to that conclusion so quickly. To know that he has no issues seeing you like that, thinking of you like that. 

“You embarrassed me,” he continues, even angrier than before. “Throwing yourself at the first man you see.”

Heat is rising in your cheeks. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s a whispered sound, shame ringing with the words. You don’t want to apologize, but it comes like an instinct, the only acceptable option that you have. 

“You’re gonna stay home for the next two weeks, until your break is over. You’re gonna study and maybe, if you show me that it’s not a complete waste of money, I’ll keep paying for that goddamn school.”

Your head whips around to stare at his stony profile beside you. He’s grounding you?!

“Dad, I’m not a child!” 

He shrugs, pulling up to the house. 

“Well, since you’re acting as irresponsible as a child, I’m gonna treat you like one.”

He doesn’t stop you when you throw open the car door, fumbling with the house keys before you get the door open and stomp up to your room. Angry tears are blurring your vision, blood pounding loudly in your ears. 

You’re not thinking straight, thumbs flying over your phone screen, a message about how this doesn’t mean anything, how you’ll figure this out, how much you still want him, flowing from your fingertips. David doesn’t respond. 

You cry yourself to sleep that night, tossing and turning in your sheets, your dreams full of vague shapes and scenarios, replaying the day’s events over and over. 

Your father checks on you the next morning, pointedly asking about your plans for the day, seemingly content with your mumbled, spiritless responses about revising coursework and working on applications for an internship. 

“You can do better than the DIA, you realize that, right? Hardly any money to make there.” 

You nod silently, forcing down the ragefit about how you don’t give a shit about the DIA, or about any job for that matter, that it never fucking was about that. 

You’ve never had a particularly strong intention to actually follow your father’s orders and not leave the house, but it’s out of the window when your phone finally vibrates with a message from David, asking if it’s possible for you to meet him. 

You’re out the door in a heartbeat, paying no mind to the security cameras recording you, to the consequences of this. It’s like you’re on autopilot, the stress of the past 24 hours erasing all rational thoughts from your mind. 

David meets you at the door, a sight so painfully familiar and yet entirely new, because of the look on his face. Devoid of emotion, a mask of the man that you know, but not this version of him. He pulls you into an embrace, one that you desperately want to melt into, but his arms are stiff around you, coldness seeping into your bones despite the warmth of his body. You suppress a shiver when he doesn’t even lead you further into the apartment. You’re standing in the hallway, the short distance between you suddenly unbridgeable. From the corner of your eye, you notice his bedroom door. Firmly closed, once more. 

“Sweetheart–” he begins, rubbing his neck with one hand. A nervous gesture, so vastly different from the self-assured, always in control David that you’re so intimately familiar with. 

The rational part of you knows what this means, can almost predict the words that he’s gonna say next. It gives you a strange sense of déjà vu, reminds you of another time when you were in this apartment, so sure that he didn’t want you, that he was going to end this thing with you. 

You were mistaken back then. You know that you’re not mistaken now, because the David in front of you is nothing like the one from back then. It’s glaringly obvious, the difference between them, the cold determination that you see in his eyes only right now. 

“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you? F–for real this time?” 

Your voice barely wavers, your eyes don’t stray from his face. It’s like you’re walking through a dream, through a living nightmare, eerily aware of what’s gonna happen next but with no way to do anything about it. 

Hurt flashes in his eyes, gritting his teeth, swallowing down a lump in his throat. He only manages a silent nod.

You feel your face crumbling, hot tears finally springing to your eyes. Your throat grows tight. 

“Please… please don’t. Please.” You have to beg, have to at least try.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, running a hand over his face. “I never should have– it was a mistake. You know that, right?” 

You shake your head, eyes wide and silently pleading with him, unable to form words. He sighs, pain clear on his features as he cups your cheek. 

“Baby, I– I wish things were different, but– you’re so young. You’ve still got your whole life– you don’t need me. I never should have allowed this. I’m sorry that I did.” 

You choke out his name, the one that, unbeknownst to you, no one else uses. That he’ll never let anyone else use again. 

“But I want you,” you whisper, stepping closer, pressing your face into the familiar crook of his neck, breathing in the comfort that the scent of him brings. He chuckles weakly, a humorless sound, gently moving out of your embrace, his large hands finding your shoulders instead, prompting you to look at him.

“You shouldn’t. I’m not– I’m not worth it. I won’t let you fuck up your life over this.” 

Acceptance and denial are battling in your heart, the knowledge that you kind of always had but buried away deep down finally resurfacing. He isn’t yours to lose and he never was. 

“I’ll miss you,” you whisper, tears silently streaming down your face. You need to ask, need to know if this ever meant as much to him as it did to you. “Will you miss me at all?” Will you even remember me?

His lips tilt up in a sad smile, and you could swear that his eyes are glassy as he gently presses his mouth against your forehead one last time. 

“Always, sweetheart.”

.........................................please remember that i love you

[mosaickiwi]

Hi again! Hope you've been doing okay!

First off I just wanna say that you always deliver, I mean "Fall Unto Me"?? Four part+an epilogue of me being torn between wanting to baul my eyes out and wanting to melt into a puddle from the feels :')

But as for the request, could I ask for Angel and [REDACTED] redecorating his appartment? Getting rid of the gaudy furniture once and for all!

Don't forget to drink water and take breaks whenever you need to! My brain is also 105% filled with this skrunkly but the trick is to keep two neurons in a cell reserved for this >:] /silly

HEHE I’ve been ok! Hope you are too!! <3 thank u for appreciating my (deranged) brainrotting fic c: the suffering is my favorite part. I’m drinking lots of water cause summer hates my ass. 💖 Also sorry this is long I am clearly not winning at the "be normal" challenge.

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Redecorating

“This one?”

The dark haired man peered at the laptop in your hands for a long moment. “It's… nice.”

“Yes…? You called the last three couches nice, too. Any other thoughts?” You gently goaded your partner.

Choosing new furniture with [REDACTED] was supposed to be easy. You'd pick something, and he'd agree. Except you wanted it to feel like home for both of you. He didn't have to say the mushy, obvious line: as long as you were there, it was home. So progress was challenging with some things. You were sitting together on the current couch—the ugly, lifeless one that came with his apartment for some reason. 

His brow crinkled as he searched for different words. Those soft blue eyes went back and forth across the screen until he said, “It’s cozy yet functional.”

“Did you just summarize the description to me?”

He confessed to the crime with a sigh. “Angel, all I think when I look at it is you. And how cute you'd look sitting on it. Like y’do right now.”

“I'm always cute. Focus on the couch, please. Not me,” you insisted.

“No promises.”

“Let's see…” You had to find some way to get through to them. An idea came to mind that you knew he wouldn't like very much, but you had to try. “Pretend we're not dating. Or maybe I don't exist? You come home—don't make that face! I said pretend—so, you come home after a very terrible day and you see this couch. Is it nice then?”

[REDACTED] still made that face as he answered you. “Annoying as fuck to clean.”

It was progress. You didn't want to dwell on why that would be what they thought about after getting home. “Did the first one I showed you seem annoying to clean?”

“Mm... a bit.” They reached forward to change the webpage back for another look. “Y’never showed me these.” 

You leaned over to see what he was talking about. There were a few humongous bean bag chairs on the furniture wish list you’d made. “I just thought they looked fun to take a nap in. But I’m not sure we’d both fit, so it’d be silly," you explained and tapped the mouse to continue skimming through your other selections. “We can think about the couch later. I found some wall art that doesn’t look like it came from a dentist’s office.”

His eyes carefully followed the scrolling page until the bean bags disappeared at the bottom of the screen, but he didn’t protest.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

The new furniture had arrived—and been efficiently assembled by your boyfriend, despite your protest—while you were at the library, so you were excited to get home. [REDACTED] held one hand over your eyes as he unlocked the apartment’s door.

“I already know what all the furniture looks like, Ren.” Even so, you didn’t wave their hand away.

You could hear the door click as he guided you into the foyer. “I may have added a few extra things,” he hummed while you blindly struggled and failed to take off your shoes. “Actually… close your eyes f’me.”

“O—kayy?!” Just as you closed your eyes the floor slipped away under you, replaced by familiar arms cradling you to their chest. His quiet footsteps barely echoed against the marble as you got your wits about you. The living room wasn’t that far, so you were certain where he took you without seeing anything. You just didn’t know where exactly in the room.

They turned and came to a stop, rooted in place for a moment as if thinking to themself. “Y’gonna scream if I drop you?” 

“...Yes. Maybe.”

Without another word he let go. There wasn’t enough time to scream as you immediately landed against plush fabric with the faint crinkle of something below it. The fabric crinkled some more as you felt your shoes being taken off.

“Can I open my eyes yet?” you asked. You could already tell what one of the ‘extra things’ was. It felt like heaven.

“Sure, love.” Their voice was a little farther away than you expected. Probably from hurrying to put your shoes in the closet.

You found yourself nestled on one side of the room, with a perfect view of his handiwork.

A couch that was easy to clean, in a color you insisted he decide on, draped with a luxurious looking blanket that wasn’t in your list. A coffee table with rounded corners so they wouldn’t keep hitting their leg on it. Some wall art of Attack on Giants—with extra pieces from a show you sort of recognized, but definitely suited the man's tastes. A few shelves to show off merchandise from another of your favorites. And the enormous, navy blue bean bag he’d so rudely dropped you in moments ago.

Your darling hacker stepped in from the foyer and tossed their hoodie onto the new couch. “Everything good?” he asked, piercings pulling up in a smile.

“I think I love it.” Your eyes scanned the room again and eventually landed on the pictures. “And I love that you added your own stuff.” It didn’t seem to be a clone of your apartment that he just happened to live in, like you worried about. “What about you?”

“S’better than before. ‘Course, the best part is that I don’t have t’see some shitty couch when I open the door—I get to come home to you, trapped in a bean bag.” He stood up and walked over, eyeing you playfully from above. “Comfortable?”

You nodded, then immediately yelped when he fell forwards. Just before you were squished, he caught himself on tattooed arms, caging you in the crinkly, soft material. You only felt some of their weight on you like a heavy blanket. A soft laugh slipped past your lips as he got comfortable himself, clinging to you as best he could while you both sank further into the depths of the bean bag. It’d be impossible to get out.

You wiggled your legs, straining to even find the damn floor. No doubt a futile effort, you had to sigh, “At least we both fit on it."

[REDACTED] didn’t speak, already yawning from the exhaustion of setting everything up before meeting you at work. The walk to and from the library certainly didn’t do him any favors, either. In a matter of seconds, he was fast asleep in what surely felt akin to a nest, all four lanky limbs wrapped around you like a snake.

[ljxlj48]

My Duty As Princess

Chapter 1

Lee Jeno x fem reader

01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, epilogue

Genre: arranged marriage au! royalty au!

Warnings: none

Word Count: 15K

Author's Note: Is it stupid to be posting this again? I have already done a rewrite of this story once and now i'm posting another rewrite? idk if this doesn't go well I guess i can always delete it. I also have started taking down some other stories, mainly because they horrifically bad, like it was just bad writing lol. I also want to redo all my work posted on here, but that's gonna take time. So we'll start with this story again lol. hugs and kisses to anyone reading <3

-----------------

The journey from the northern airstrip to the Northcy palace was grueling: a ten-hour flight followed by an hour-long car ride. By the time Princess (Y/n) arrived at Norhall Palace, it was the middle of the night. The grand halls of the palace were eerily quiet, and the only ones there to greet her were queen Jaeyeon and four maids. The lack of fanfare was a stark reminder of the tension that still lingered between the two kingdoms.

“My dear, you must be exhausted,” the queen said warmly, though her tone carried a regal authority. “Please, come inside.” The queen was a striking figure—tall, slim, and impeccably dressed in a navy blue jumpsuit paired with a flowing white coat that brushed the floor. A delicate silver crown rested atop her head, but her presence alone would have been enough to command respect. She carried herself with the grace and poise of someone born to rule, her posture perfect and her gaze steady. With a gentle wave of her hand, she led the princess and her entourage inside.

The queen and her maids escorted (Y/n) to her chambers. “You may freshen up,” the queen said, her voice calm but firm. “When you’re ready, one of the handmaids will inform me. I’ll ensure you’re served a proper meal before you rest.” Her words were polite, but there was an underlying formality that reminded (Y/n) of the delicate situation she was in.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” (Y/n) replied with a respectful bow, masking her unease. As the queen left, (Y/n)’s two maids helped her undress and prepared the bath, while two of the queen’s maids stayed to assist. Outside the chamber doors, two guards stood watch, their presence a silent reminder that, until the marriage was finalized, she was still in enemy territory.

After her bath, the princess stood before an ornate mirror, her reflection staring back at her with a hollow expression. Her thoughts drifted to home as her maids, Fei and Mei, moved quietly around her, helping her dress. The twins had been by her side for as long as she could remember. Though they looked nearly identical—with the same sharp features, dark hair, and graceful movements—their personalities couldn’t have been more different. Fei was practical and no-nonsense, her hands steady and her words few, while Mei was warm and talkative, always quick with a reassuring smile or a gentle joke. Both were only a few years older than the princess, and they had become her maids when she was just ten years old. Over the years, they had grown into more than just servants; they were her confidantes, her protectors, and the closest thing she had to real friends. They had been there for her through every triumph and every hardship, and now, even in this foreign palace, their presence was a small comfort in an otherwise unbearable situation.

The queen herself escorted the princess to the dining hall, her steps measured and deliberate, as though every movement was calculated to remind the princess of her place. The hall was vast and cold, its high ceilings and ornate decorations doing little to dispel the suffocating sense of isolation that clung to the air. A single long table dominated the room, but only one place was set—a stark, unspoken reminder that the princess was alone in this foreign palace, surrounded by strangers who saw her as little more than a political tool.

“Please, enjoy this meal before you retire for the evening,” the queen said, her voice smooth but carrying an edge of authority. The meal before (Y/n) was lavish: roasted meats glistening with glaze, steaming vegetables arranged like works of art, and freshly baked bread still warm from the oven, all served on fine bone china plates. Yet, the opulence felt like a cruel joke, a blatant display of excess that only highlighted the suffering of her people. How could she sit here and eat while her kingdom starved?

“I shall have meals prepared for your maids and guards in the servants’ hall,” the queen added, her tone dismissive, as though the matter were already settled.

The princess turned sharply to face the queen, her voice firm despite the knot of anger tightening in her chest. “They can dine with me.”

The queen’s eyes narrowed, her expression hardening. “It is not proper, Princess (Y/n).”

The princess opened her mouth to argue, to fire back with another sharp retort, but a subtle movement caught her eye. Fei, standing silently nearby, gave the slightest shake of her head. Her eyes, steady and unwavering, reminded the princess of the delicate balance she had to maintain. Listen. Follow. Obey. The words echoed in (Y/n)’s mind, a bitter pill she had no choice but to swallow.

“You are right, Your Majesty,” the princess said, lowering her head slightly in a gesture of respect that felt like a betrayal of her own pride. “I apologize.”

The queen watched her carefully, her gaze sharp and assessing, as though she were weighing the princess’s every word and gesture. “I have made arrangements for your maids in the servants’ quarters,” she continued, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. “And your guards will stay with the other soldiers in the dormitory.”

(Y/n) forced a polite smile, though it felt like a mask cracking under the strain. “I thank you, Your Majesty, for your hospitality,” she said, bowing again, the motion stiff and unnatural.

“I hope you rest well, Princess,” the queen replied, her voice firm and final. With that, she turned and left, her entourage trailing behind her like shadows. The princess stood frozen for a moment, watching them go, before finally sinking into the chair at the head of the table.

Alone in the cavernous hall, (Y/n) picked at her meal, her stomach churning with a mix of hunger and dread. The silence pressed in on her, broken only by the occasional clink of silverware against the bone china, a sound that seemed to echo endlessly in the empty room. Her mind raced, torn between anger and fear. Anger at her parents for forcing her into this arrangement, anger at Northcy for its role in her people’s suffering, and anger at herself for feeling so powerless. Fear, too, gnawed at her, fraying her nerves. Fear of what the future held, fear of the man she was being forced to marry, and fear that all of this—her sacrifice, her pain—would ultimately be in vain.

She stared at the food before her, her appetite gone. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the table, mirroring the darkness creeping into her thoughts. She clenched her fists under the table, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. This isn’t fair, she thought, the words burning in her mind like a mantra. But fairness had no place in this world, and she knew it. All she could do was endure—for her people, for her kingdom, for the slim hope that this marriage might bring them peace.

-

As the queen made her way to her chambers, she found her son pacing restlessly outside her doors. His hands were clenched into fists, and his expression was a mix of frustration and defiance. “My boy,” she said, her voice calm but firm, “it’s very late. You should be asleep.”

“Mother,” Jeno said, stopping abruptly. He turned to her maids, his tone sharp. “Leave us.” The maids hesitated, glancing at the queen for permission. With a slight nod, the queen dismissed them, and they retreated down the hall.

Once they were alone, Jeno followed his mother into her room, his agitation palpable. He moved to the tea set on the side table, pouring a cup for his mother with practiced ease, though his movements were stiff with tension. The queen sat gracefully, watching him with a knowing gaze as he began to speak.

“Do you truly expect me to marry that girl, Mother?” Jeno asked, his voice rising slightly. “An alliance could be negotiated without marriage. She offers nothing of value to our kingdom or our family. There are plenty of women within the council—women of influence, women who understand our ways—who would make far better brides.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I barely want to marry at all, let alone to a stranger. You can’t seriously think this is good for anyone.”

The queen sipped her tea, her expression unreadable. Jeno’s complaints were not unexpected, but they still grated on her patience. She remembered Princess (Y/n) well—a sharp, observant child she had met years ago during a summit to discuss the war. The girl had been no older than nine or ten at the time, but even then, she had carried herself with a quiet dignity and wisdom far beyond her years. The queen had seen something in her then, something that had stayed with her ever since. (Y/n) was only three years younger than Jeno, and the queen had no doubt that she would grow into a formidable leader. Marrying her was not just a political move; it was an opportunity to unite two kingdoms under a shared vision.

“I do expect you to marry her,” the queen said, her voice steady but firm. “And I do believe she will be great—not only for our family but for Northcy as well. So, I expect you to be up early tomorrow, eager to meet the princess and make a good impression.”

Jeno stared at her, disbelief etched across his face. “Mother, you can’t be serious. You want me to wine and dine Princess (Y/n)? The stubborn, headstrong princess who doesn’t even care about her own title? She’s not exactly the type to play along with your plans.”

The queen set her teacup down with deliberate precision, her gaze sharpening. “I am entirely serious, Crown Prince Lee Jeno,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “And I expect you to be at breakfast tomorrow, prepared to meet your future bride. There will be no complaints, no resistance, and no disrespect. Do I make myself clear?”

Jeno flinched at the use of his full title. He knew what it meant when his mother addressed him so formally—he had crossed a line, and there was no room for negotiation. He clenched his jaw, his pride warring with his sense of duty. Finally, he exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Yes, Mother,” he said grudgingly. “You’ve made yourself clear.”

“Very well,” the queen said, standing to signal the end of the conversation. “Good night, my son.”

Jeno bowed slightly, his movements stiff with suppressed frustration, before turning to leave. As he walked out, the queen watched him go, her expression softening for a moment. She knew this was not easy for him, but she also knew it was necessary. Jeno was young and impulsive, but he would learn in time. And Princess (Y/n)—well, she was exactly the kind of woman who could challenge him, temper him, and help him grow into the king he was meant to be. The queen only hoped Jeno would see that before it was too late.

-

The sun rose bright and early, casting a golden glow over the Northcy palace courtyard. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of flowers and freshly cut grass. Princess (Y/n) made her way to the pavilion where breakfast was set, her small entourage trailing behind her. Fei and Mei, her twin maids, walked a few steps behind, their movements synchronized and unobtrusive. Though identical in appearance—both with sharp features, dark hair pinned neatly back, and hands clasped respectfully in front of them—their personalities were worlds apart. Fei’s expression was calm and composed, her sharp eyes scanning their surroundings for any potential threat, while Mei’s softer demeanor showed in the way she occasionally glanced at the princess with quiet concern.

Leading the way were the princess’s two personal guards, Chan and Hyunjin. Chan, the older of the two, walked with a confident stride, his broad shoulders and steady gaze making it clear he took his duty seriously. His uniform, though immaculate, bore subtle signs of wear—a testament to the years he’d spent protecting the princess. Hyunjin, taller and more lithe, moved with a graceful precision, his sharp eyes darting around as if expecting danger at every turn. Both guards refused to leave the princess’s side, their loyalty unwavering even in this foreign palace. Despite the alliance between the kingdoms, old grudges and lingering tensions made them wary. They knew better than to let their guard down.

“People will gossip if you two don’t leave me be,” the princess said, her voice light but tinged with exasperation as they approached the pavilion. Her lips curving into a faint smile, as Chan glanced back at her over his shoulder. “I’m perfectly capable of walking to breakfast without an armed escort.”

Chan’s expression remained serious, though there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes as he met her gaze. “My princess,” he said, his voice low but firm, turning to face forward again, “we’d be executed if anything happened to you. Following you wherever you go is the best way to ensure that doesn’t happen.” His tone left no room for argument, though the princess knew it came from a place of deep loyalty—and something more. Chan had joined the army at 18, risen to become her personal guard by 20, and somewhere along the way, his devotion had deepened into something unspoken. At 24, he was as much her protector as he was her friend, though neither of them dared to acknowledge the unspoken tension between them.

Hyunjin, ever the pragmatist, added with a smirk as he too glanced back at the princess, “Besides, who else is going to make sure you don’t trip over your own feet?” The princess shot him a mock glare, though the corners of her lips twitched upward. The banter was familiar, a small comfort in an otherwise unfamiliar place.

Fei and Mei exchanged a knowing glance but said nothing, their loyalty to the princess evident in the way they adjusted her shawl or smoothed a stray strand of hair without being asked. The five of them—princess, maids, and guards—had spent the past three years practically inseparable. They were more than an entourage; they were a family, bound by duty and shared experiences. The princess was rarely alone, save for the quiet moments in the dead of night when sleep finally claimed her.

As they reached the pavilion, the queen rose gracefully from her seat, her presence commanding immediate attention. Dressed in a flowing gown of deep emerald green, her silver crown catching the morning light, she exuded an air of regal authority. Her sharp eyes softened slightly as they landed on the princess.

“Princess (Y/n),” the queen called, her voice warm but carrying an undercurrent of formality. “Come, dear. Take a seat.” She gestured to the chair beside her, then glanced at the princess’s entourage. “You may dismiss your guards and handmaids. They can take their meal in the servants’ hall.”

The princess hesitated, her gaze flickering to Chan and Hyunjin, who stood like statues at her sides. She opened her mouth to protest, but Fei’s subtle shake of her head stopped her. The queen’s tone, though polite, left no room for negotiation. With a small nod, the princess turned to her guards and maids. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a note of gratitude and reassurance. “I’ll be fine.”

Chan’s jaw tightened, but he bowed slightly. “As you wish, Your Highness.” Hyunjin gave a curt nod, his sharp eyes lingering on the queen for a moment before he turned to follow Fei and Mei as they retreated.

The princess took her seat, her posture straight and her expression composed, though her hands clenched subtly in her lap. The queen’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, assessing, before she smiled and gestured to the lavish spread before them. “I hope you’re hungry, my dear. We have much to discuss.”

Breakfast passed in a blur for the princess. She spoke only when spoken to, and even then, her answers were brief and measured. The king, seated at the head of the table, was a striking figure—tall and broad-shouldered, with a face that bore the weight of years of ruling. His silver-streaked hair and sharp, calculating eyes gave him an air of authority, but his demeanor was reserved, almost distant. Though he was polite, his kindness felt formal, lacking the warmth of true welcome. The end of the war had not erased decades of tension, and the king had more pressing concerns than making small talk with his future daughter-in-law. Between planning the wedding and solidifying the fragile alliance between the two kingdoms, his mind was clearly elsewhere.

Jeno, seated across from the princess, was uncharacteristically quiet. He picked at his food, his usual confidence replaced by a tense silence. It was clear he didn’t want to risk angering his mother, whose sharp glances in his direction were enough to keep him in line. An outburst from Jeno would only provoke his father, and no one at the table wanted to witness the king’s temper. The queen, ever the diplomat, tried to steer the conversation, her voice light and encouraging as she asked questions and made comments to fill the awkward silences. But her efforts fell flat, met with stiff replies and forced smiles. The meal dragged on, the clink of silverware against porcelain echoing in the heavy air, a stark reminder of the unresolved tensions simmering beneath the surface.

When the king finished his meal, he stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. The sudden movement prompted everyone else at the table to rise as well. “I have pressing matters to attend to,” the king said, his voice clipped and formal. He turned to the princess, his expression softening slightly, though his tone remained distant. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Princess (Y/n). I look forward to getting to know you better.” He gave a brief nod in her direction, a gesture of respect that felt more obligatory than genuine.

The princess responded with a graceful, deep bow, her movements precise and regal. The queen and Jeno followed suit, bowing their heads as the king strode out of the room, his presence lingering like a shadow even after he was gone.

As soon as the door closed behind his father, Jeno seized the opportunity to escape. “I also have matters to attend to,” he said curtly, already turning to leave. His tone was dismissive, his body language tense, as if he couldn’t wait to put distance between himself and the awkwardness of the breakfast table.

But before he could take more than a step, the queen’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Jeno,” she called, her tone firm but not unkind. She paused, letting the weight of her words settle, before adding, “You should show the princess around.” Her voice softened slightly, though the underlying expectation was clear. This wasn’t a suggestion—it was a command.

Jeno froze, his back still turned to the table. For a moment, it seemed like he might argue, but then he exhaled sharply and turned back around, his expression carefully neutral. “Of course, Mother,” he said, though the reluctance in his voice was unmistakable.

“Jeno can show you around the palace,” the queen said, wearing a tight smile.  Silently hoping that none of this will be in vain.  “It will help you become more familiar with the palace and with the prince.”  

“Yes, your Majesty,” the princess said in the most neutral tone.  The princess bowed again this time to the queen, before she turned to follow after Jeno.  

The princess followed a few steps behind Prince Jeno as he led her through the palace, his gestures half-hearted as he pointed out random objects and rooms. “That’s a vase from the southern region,” he said, barely glancing at the ornate piece. “And over there’s a painting of some ancestor no one remembers.” His tone was dismissive, his words clipped, as if he were going through the motions of a chore he deeply resented.

Jeno’s appearance didn’t help the awkwardness. He wore a simple pair of black dress pants and a light blue button-up shirt, the sleeves haphazardly rolled up to his elbows. His black hair was tousled, as though he’d just rolled out of bed, and his overall demeanor suggested he’d rather be anywhere else. The princess, in contrast, walked with her usual poise, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, her expression calm but guarded.

They eventually entered a room that could only be the palace library. It was breathtaking, like something out of a storybook—walls lined with books from floor to ceiling, their spines a patchwork of colors and languages. The air smelled faintly of aged paper and wood polish, and the quiet hum of the space felt almost sacred. The princess couldn’t help but drift toward the shelves, her fingers lightly tracing the spines of the books. Some were written in an ancient Modian script, a language so old it was nearly forgotten. The sight of it stirred something in her, a connection to her homeland that felt both comforting and painful.

Jeno leaned against a nearby table, watching her with a mix of curiosity and irritation. “You don’t talk much, do you?” he asked, breaking the silence. His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it, as if he were testing her.

The princess paused, her hand still resting on a book. “I was raised to only speak when spoken to,” she replied evenly, her voice calm but firm. “My father was… keen on traditions.”

Jeno raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Traditions?” he echoed, his tone laced with mockery. “Something like women are only meant to be child-bearers?”

The princess stiffened, her hand dropping from the shelf. She turned to face him, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp. It was no secret that the Modia royals were deeply traditional, but the way Jeno said it—with that casual, almost mocking tone—felt like a deliberate jab. She held his gaze for a moment, the tension between them thickening, before she replied, her voice steady but carrying a quiet challenge. “Traditions can be… complicated. But they don’t define everyone who follows them.”

Jeno’s smirk faltered, and for a moment, he looked almost surprised. The awkward silence returned, heavier than before, as the two of them stood there, the weight of their roles and the expectations placed upon them hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

The rest of the tour was met with silence; Jeno continued to point out things to the princess, though she didn’t respond nor show any interest.  Jeno led her back to her chambers and bid her a farewell until the evening meal.  

The prince wanted to smack himself for his comment.  His mouth was moving faster than his brain at that moment.  He didn’t want to make such a horrible first impression, but it seems the damage has already been done.  

After the doors closed, separating the princess and prince.  The princess couldn’t help but let out the most exasperated sigh, the usual regal composure slipping away.  As she sunk down onto the couch that laid out in the front room.  Fei and Mei had already been in the room, preparing clothing for the evening meal. They exchanged a quick glance, noticing the tension in their mistress.  

“How was the tour, Your Highness?” Mei asked cautiously as she set down the tea tray in front of the princess on the coffee table.  

The princess groaned, sitting up to face her maids.  “Awkward.  Infuriating.  Take your pick.”  The princess picked up the cup, sipping the tea as her brows furrowed.  She thought back to the prince’s comments.  “Prince Jeno is truly…insufferable.  He made no effort to give a proper tour.”  The princess set down her cup, her posture straightening, “which was fine, I did not want to be with him either.”  She huffed, “but then he decides to speak to me and to what?  To mock me.” 

Fei, who had been folding a shawl, paused and turned to face the princess, her sharp eyes narrowing.  “Mock you, Your Highness?” 

The princess sighed, “he made a comment about Modian traditions–asking if women were only meant to bear children.”  The princess looked down at her lap for a moment, before returning Fei’s gaze.  “Could you imagine, me, reduced to nothing more than someone that bears children.” 

The princess stood up from her seat, her face harding with resolve.  “I will not be reduced to just his bride.” 

“Of course not, Your Highness,” Fei spoke with the same resolve clear in her tone.  “You are far more than just his bride.  Your strength, Your intelligence, your dedication to your people… these are things he cannot take from you.” 

“I know,”  the princess said, as she felt a tear slide down her cheek.  How she desperately missed home.  How she desperately wanted out of this marriage, this alliance, this palace, this country.  Only a day here and she could feel it building up in her.  Her disdain would drown her, if she didn’t find a way to win.  “But I feel so alone.  I feel so helpless.” 

“You’re not alone your highness,” Mei spoke softly, moving to stand with the princess. “We are right here and we’ll be right here, always.” Both girls looked at the princess, as they stood with her.  Silent reminders that the princess is not alone.  

“Thank you both,” the princess said with a smile.  “You two will be the only people to ensure I remain sane.”  

“Who says you’re sane now?” Mei asked, with a smirk, causing the princess to scoff.  Her smile growing as the tension begins to ease.  

“You best bathe before dinner,” Fei spoke up.  The princess simply nodded her head, a bath at this time sounded nice.  As the maids helped her prepare for the evening meal, the princess felt a flicker of reassurance.  No matter what challenges lay ahead, she knew she wouldn’t face them alone. And that night as she lay in bed, staring at the ornate ceiling above, she made a silent vow: she would not let Jeno—or anyone—define her worth. She was a princess, a future queen, and she would rise above this, no matter how difficult the path might be.

-

After her arrival the days began to blur together as winter approached, its icy grip tightening on the Northcy Kingdom. A month had already passed since the princess arrived, and the once-mild chill in the air had deepened into a biting cold. Being so far north, the kingdom was no stranger to harsh winters, and soon the landscape would be blanketed in snow—a phenomenon the princess had never experienced. Coming from Modia, a tropical paradise where the sun kissed the earth year-round, she had initially been excited at the prospect of seeing snow for the first time. But now, as the temperature dropped, she found herself shivering under layers of wool and fur, unprepared for the relentless cold that seeped into her bones.

The princess’s days were filled with a whirlwind of duties, as were Jeno’s. As Crown Prince, Jeno was already an active member of the council, immersed in the intricacies of governance and statecraft. His role required him to understand every facet of ruling before he could ascend the throne, and his days were a relentless cycle of meetings, debates, and paperwork. The princess, meanwhile, was tasked with familiarizing herself with her new home. She spent hours with the queen, learning about the kingdom’s departments, its noble families, and the labyrinthine politics of the Northcy court. It was a stark contrast to the Modian system she had grown up with.

In Modia, the council consisted of ten high houses, though only three held real power. The other seven were little more than figureheads, their influence symbolic at best. Northcy, however, was a different beast entirely. Jeno’s future council would include eighteen noble families, a royal advisor, two “special members” whose roles were unclear, and a general who held two votes—a detail that baffled the princess. The terminology alone was overwhelming. What Modia called “high houses,” Northcy referred to as “noble families.” The sheer volume of information was staggering, and the princess found herself buried under endless stacks of papers, trying to memorize names, titles, and alliances. The queen, ever gracious, guided her through it all, explaining that it was her duty as queen to oversee the budgets and entertain the noble families—a responsibility the princess would soon inherit.

Despite their shared obligations, the princess and Jeno rarely crossed paths. Their interactions were limited to formal evening meals with the king and queen, where conversation was polite but strained. Jeno was often quiet, his attention divided between his food and his thoughts, while the princess maintained her composure, speaking only when addressed. The tension between them was palpable, a silent reminder of the forced nature of their union.  The princess began to wonder if this is all her life in Northcy would amount to. Endless studies and forced meals with the man that was supposed to be her husband. 

One evening, as the family gathered for dinner, the queen broke the silence with a surprising suggestion. “Jeno,” she said, her tone light but deliberate, “why don’t you introduce (Y/n) to your brothers tomorrow?”

Jeno nearly choked on his drink, his eyes widening in surprise. The princess, too, was taken aback. In all her years of studying Northcy’s history and politics, she had never heard mention of Jeno having brothers. The official records stated clearly that King Lee Donghae and Queen Lee Jaeyeon had only one child: Crown Prince Lee Jeno. The queen’s words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

“Very well, Mother,” Jeno replied after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. He avoided the princess’s gaze, his expression unreadable.

The princess’s mind raced. Brothers? How was it possible that Jeno had siblings, and why had they never been mentioned before? The Northcy court was already a maze of secrets and power struggles, and this revelation only added to the mystery. She glanced at the queen, who was calmly sipping her tea, her face betraying nothing. The king, seated at the head of the table, remained silent, his sharp eyes fixed on his plate.

As the meal continued, the princess found herself unable to focus on the conversation. Her thoughts were consumed by questions about Jeno’s brothers—who they were, why they had been kept hidden, and what their existence meant for her future. The differences between Modia and Northcy had never felt more pronounced. In Modia, transparency was valued, and the royal family’s lineage was a matter of public record. Here, in Northcy, it seemed that even the most basic truths could be shrouded in secrecy.

The princess’s unease grew as she realized just how little she truly knew about the kingdom she was about to call home—and the family she was about to marry into.

When dinner ended, Jeno rose abruptly from his seat, the legs of his chair scraping against the marble floor. The sound cut through the lingering silence like a blade. “Princess,” he said, his voice firm and carrying an edge that demanded attention, “allow me to escort you back to your chambers.” His face was a mask of neutrality, carefully composed, but his eyes betrayed him. They burned with something unspoken—anger, regret, or perhaps a flicker of vulnerability. If only the princess could decipher the storm behind those dark, piercing eyes.

“Of course,” the princess replied, her tone calm and measured as she stood, offering a graceful bow to the queen before following Jeno. She kept a few steps behind him, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, her posture regal even in the face of his abruptness.

The queen watched them leave, her gaze lingering on the doorway long after they had disappeared. A small, hopeful smile touched her lips. Perhaps this was the beginning of something real. Perhaps her son was finally starting to accept the weight of this alliance, this union that would bind their kingdoms together. She dared to hope that he was growing up, even if just a little.

As the princess followed Jeno through the labyrinthine halls of the palace, she noticed something was amiss. He had taken a wrong turn—one that led away from her chambers. “Your Highness,” she said softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “This isn’t the way to my quarters.”

“Indulge me,” Jeno replied curtly, not bothering to look back. His tone left no room for argument, and though the princess’s instincts warned her to tread carefully, she followed him nonetheless. She had learned to pick her battles, and this was not one worth fighting—yet.

Finally, Jeno stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, its surface carved with intricate patterns of vines and crests. He pushed it open and stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter first. The princess hesitated for a moment before stepping through the threshold, her breath catching as she took in the sight before her.

The grand hallway stretched endlessly, its polished marble floors gleaming under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers that hung like frozen stars from the vaulted ceiling. The walls were lined with towering portraits, each framed in ornate gilded wood that shimmered like liquid gold in the warm light. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and the faintest hint of oil paint, a testament to the centuries of history preserved within these walls. It was a gallery of power, of legacy, of secrets.

The princess’s eyes were drawn to the portrait closest to the door. It was a stunning piece, the brushstrokes capturing every detail with breathtaking precision. The subject was a young boy, no older than eleven or twelve, with dark black hair that contrasted sharply against his pale skin. His eyes, though painted, seemed to hold a depth of emotion that transcended the canvas. The princess stared at the portrait, her heart skipping a beat as she realized who it depicted. It was Jeno—Jeno as a child.

She turned to look at him, but his gaze remained fixed on the portrait, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of remorse in his eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure. The silence between them was heavy, charged with unspoken words.

“My brother’s portrait used to hang here,” Jeno said finally, his voice low and tinged with bitterness. He still didn’t look at her, his eyes locked on the painting of his younger self. “It was a portrait of his mother holding him as a baby. It hung here for years, a reminder of his place in this family. Until the council decided he wasn’t good enough to be the heir.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “They decided I should be Crown Prince instead. Not because I was the oldest son of the king. No, because I was the only son of the queen—the true queen.”

The princess’s breath caught in her throat, but she remained silent, her eyes fixed on Jeno as he continued.

“Do you want to know how old my brother was when they stripped him of his future?” Jeno’s voice cracked with anger, though he kept it tightly controlled. “Fifteen. Fifteen years old, and they told him he would never be king—not because of anything he did, but because of who his mother was.”

“Your Highness,” the princess began, her voice soft but steady, though she wasn’t sure what to say. How could she respond to such raw pain, such anger?

Jeno finally turned to look at her, his eyes blazing. “You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this,” he said, his tone sharp but not unkind. “Tomorrow, we’ll have lunch with my brothers. And then, Princess, you’ll understand why I can’t forgive the council for what they did.”

The princess nodded slowly, her mind racing. She didn’t know what to expect, but one thing was clear: the Northcy court was far more complicated—and far more dangerous—than she had ever imagined.

-

The next morning, the princess’s thoughts were consumed by Jeno’s revelation. Three brothers. How could she have spent an entire month in the palace without ever seeing or hearing about them? They had never joined the family for meals, never appeared in the halls, never been mentioned in passing. It was as if they didn’t exist—and yet, Jeno had spoken of them with such raw emotion. The mystery gnawed at her, making it impossible to focus as her maids helped her prepare for lunch.

“The prince said he has three brothers,” the princess murmured, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror. Fei knelt at her feet, lacing up her boots, while Mei stood behind her, tying the delicate bow at the back of her dress. “Three. And I’ve never even seen them.”

“You mentioned this last night, Your Highness,” Mei said gently, her fingers deftly securing the bow. “And again this morning.”

“And early this afternoon,” Fei added, glancing up briefly before returning to her task. “You’ve been… preoccupied.”

The princess sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I know. But he didn’t say much—just that there are three of them. He only talked about his oldest brother, how he was stripped of his title at fifteen by the council. Can you imagine?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mei said softly, her tone tinged with sympathy. “You’ve told us.”

The princess blinked, turning to look at her maids. “Have I really talked about it that much?”

Fei nodded, her expression kind but firm. “You have, Your Highness. It’s all you’ve been able to think about since last night.”

The princess turned back to the mirror, her reflection staring back at her with a furrowed brow. “It’s just… it’s been a month. How could something like this not have come up sooner? How could I not have known?”

Fei stood, brushing off her skirts as she met the princess’s gaze squarely. “Perhaps there’s a reason for that, Your Highness.”

“A reason?” the princess echoed, her voice tinged with frustration. “What reason could there be?”

Fei hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “You’ve said it yourself. In all your studies of Northcy, there was no mention of any brothers. Clearly, they were meant to be kept a secret—not from everyone, but from you.”

The princess’s breath caught, the realization hitting her like a cold wave. “Because I’m still the enemy to them,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll always be the enemy to them.”

“We’ve been enemies for nearly a century, Your Highness,” Mei said gently, stepping forward to adjust the princess’s sleeve. “It’s going to take more than learning their ways to move forward. Trust isn’t built overnight.”

Before the princess could respond, a sharp knock echoed through the room, cutting through the heavy silence. All three women turned toward the door, their movements freezing for a moment. The princess’s heart quickened. It had to be Jeno, coming to escort her to lunch. The moment she had been both dreading and anticipating had arrived.

Fei and Mei exchanged a quick glance before Mei stepped forward to open the door. The princess straightened her posture, smoothing her dress and lifting her chin. Whatever awaited her at lunch, she would face it with the grace and poise expected of a princess. But as the door creaked open, revealing Jeno’s tall, imposing figure, she couldn’t shake the unease that coiled in her stomach. The secrets of the Northcy court were beginning to unravel, and she had a feeling that lunch would only bring more questions than answers.

The prince stood on the other side of the door, his expression unreadable, his posture stiff. He wore a crisp white button-down shirt tucked into black tailored pants, his attire simple yet commanding. His thoughts churned, a storm of doubt and reluctance. Is this the right time? he wondered. Should she really meet them now?  He understood the necessity of the princess becoming acquainted with his family, but this felt too soon, too personal. It was as if she were stepping into a part of his life he wasn’t ready to share—a part he had kept guarded for years.

“Shall we, Princess?” Jeno’s voice was cool, detached. He didn’t step into the room, didn’t cross the threshold. Instead, he remained in the hallway, maintaining a deliberate distance, as if to remind her—and himself—that this was merely duty, not choice.

The princess didn’t bother with a verbal response. Instead, she offered a graceful bow, her movements fluid and regal, before stepping out of the room. Her maids lingered behind, their eyes following her with quiet concern. As she joined Jeno in the hallway, Chan and Hyunjin fell into step behind her, their presence a silent but unwavering reminder of their loyalty.

Jeno noticed them immediately. He turned, his sharp gaze flickering to the guards trailing the princess. “You can dismiss your guards, Princess,” he said, his tone casual but firm. “They don’t need to escort you to lunch. I can handle that.”

The princess stopped,  the heels of her boots clicking softly against the marble floor. She turned to look at Chan and Hyunjin, her protectors. Chan’s jaw was clenched, his hands flexing at his sides as if ready to draw a weapon at a moment’s notice. Hyunjin’s eyes narrowed, his sharp gaze locked on Jeno, assessing him like a threat. The princess had to suppress a smirk. Her guards didn’t trust easily, and they certainly didn’t trust Jeno.

“I think it gives them peace of mind to follow, Your Highness,” the princess said, her voice calm but laced with steel. She tipped her head slightly, a gesture of respect that wasn’t quite genuine. “If you don’t mind, I would like them to stay.”

Jeno studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his irritation. “It is your decision, Princess,” he said, his tone clipped.

The words stung, though Jeno hadn’t intended them to. Her decision? When had anything ever been her decision? From the moment this alliance was proposed, her life had been dictated by others—her parents, the council, the queen. Even now, as she stood in this foreign palace, she was a pawn in a game she hadn’t chosen to play. The bitterness of it burned in her chest, but she kept her face composed, her posture regal. She couldn’t afford to show weakness, not here, not now.

“Shall we?” Jeno repeated, gesturing down the hall with a sweep of his hand. His tone was polite, but the edge in his voice was unmistakable. He was as uncomfortable with this as she was, and that knowledge gave her a small, grim satisfaction.

The princess nodded, falling into step beside him. Chan and Hyunjin followed a few paces behind, their presence a silent but potent reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone in this. As they walked, the weight of Jeno’s words lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken. Her decision. The irony of it was almost too much to bear. But for now, she would play her part, even if it meant stepping further into a world that seemed determined to keep her at arm’s length.

When they arrived at the dining hall, Jeno placed a hand lightly on the small of the princess’s back, guiding her toward the table with a formality that felt performative and distant. Chan and Hyunjin remained at the entrance, their sharp eyes scanning the room as they took up their positions. They were close enough to watch but too far to hear much, a deliberate arrangement that left the princess feeling both guarded and exposed.

As they approached the table, Jeno began the introductions, his tone clipped but polite. The first to rise was the oldest brother, Taeyong. He was tall and lean, with a striking handsomeness that commanded attention. His sharp jawline and piercing eyes gave him an air of authority, but his smile—wide and almost childlike—softened his presence, making him seem approachable despite his imposing stature. “This is Taeyong,” Jeno said, his voice neutral, though the princess noticed the faintest flicker of respect in his eyes.

Next was Mark, the second brother. He was closer in age to Jeno, with pitch-black hair that fell slightly into his round, expressive eyes. His features were softer than Taeyong’s, with small lips that curved into a shy smile as he nodded in greeting. There was a quiet intensity about him, a sharpness in his gaze that suggested he missed very little, even if he chose not to speak much.

Finally, Jeno gestured to the youngest of the three, Donghyuck—or Haechan, as he was often called. His tan skin and round, cherubic face set him apart from his brothers, his puffy cheeks giving him a youthful, almost mischievous appearance. But it was his energy that truly stood out; he radiated a brightness that seemed to light up the room, his smile as warm and inviting as the sun itself. “We call him Haechan,” Jeno explained, his tone softening slightly, “because his personality is as bright as the sun.”

The princess studied each brother in turn, her mind racing to piece together the dynamics of this family. They were so different—in appearance, in demeanor, in the way they carried themselves—and yet there was an undeniable bond that tied them together. She could feel the weight of their shared history, the unspoken tensions and loyalties that shaped their interactions. This was more than just a family; it was a puzzle, one she was only beginning to unravel.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” the princess, repeating her bow as always.  She could hear the faintest chuckles as she moved. 

“Jeno,” Haechan whined, “don’t make her perform such formal greetings.” 

The prince could feel the heat of irritation rise through him. He was not making the princess perform anything. 

“Princess (y/n), you don’t need to be so formal. It’s just lunch with family,” Taeyong spoke, his tone light and breezy.  His suggestion felt like a trap to the princess. Something to make her show her cards. A way to get her to prove she isn’t good enough. The princess was all too cautious. “Let’s sit.” 

The prince pulled out the chair for the princess. Although some would think his action was kind, the princess felt the action inauthentic. The prince had just been raised to be a gentleman regardless of feelings. 

The meal carried on with an unexpected ease, the conversation light and filled with stories of their youth. There was no talk of weddings or alliances, no probing questions about the princess’s knowledge of her kingdom or theirs. For the first time since her arrival, the atmosphere felt almost… normal. Like a simple lunch between brothers, free from the weight of politics and expectations.

The princess watched Jeno closely, struck by the change in him. In all the meals they had shared, she had never seen him smile—not truly. But here, surrounded by his brothers, his demeanor shifted entirely. His usual guardedness melted away, replaced by a warmth and ease she hadn’t thought him capable of. The difference was stark, almost jarring. It was as if she were seeing a completely different person.

“Princess,” Haechan’s voice cut through the laughter, pulling her from her thoughts. He leaned forward slightly, his bright eyes curious. “Do you have any siblings?”

The question hit her like a physical blow. Her utensils slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against her plate. The sound echoed in the sudden silence that fell over the table. The princess felt the color drain from her face, her hands trembling as she struggled to maintain her composure. The memories rushed in unbidden—her sister’s laughter, her brother’s mischievous grin, the emptiness that had followed their loss.

“Haechan,” Taeyong’s voice was sharp, a low growl that carried the weight of authority. He didn’t need to say more; the name alone was a reprimand. Haechan immediately shrank back, his cheerful demeanor faltering under his brother’s stern gaze.

“I did,” the princess said finally, her voice soft but steady. She stared down at her plate, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as if it could anchor her. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to look up, meeting Haechan’s apologetic gaze. “They have passed.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of her words settling over the table like a shroud. Taeyong was the first to speak, his tone measured and diplomatic, though his eyes held a flicker of genuine sympathy. “We are sorry for your loss, Princess.”

Jeno, who had been unusually quiet, spoke next, his voice barely above a whisper. “I had a sister,” he admitted, his words surprising even himself. It was a part of his past he rarely acknowledged, a wound he kept carefully hidden. “She too passed.” His eyes met the princess’s, and for a moment, there was something unspoken between them—a shared understanding of grief, of loss, of the scars that war leaves behind.

The princess held his gaze for a heartbeat longer before turning back to the table, forcing a small, fragile smile. “Please,” she said, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of pleading, “let us discuss happier things.”

Taeyong nodded, his expression softening as he offered her a reassuring smile. But beneath his calm exterior, his thoughts churned. He knew about the princess’s siblings. He knew how they had died—during the war, likely as a result of his own campaigns. As the general of the Northcy army, he had overseen countless battles, each one leaving its mark on both sides. The irony wasn’t lost on him; here he sat, sharing a meal with the woman whose family he had helped tear apart, all in the name of an alliance that was supposed to bring peace.

The meal resumed, the conversation gradually returning to lighter topics, but the tension lingered, a silent reminder of the fragile threads holding this alliance together. The princess’s smile never quite reached her eyes, and Jeno’s laughter felt forced, the weight of their shared history pressing down on them both. For all the warmth and camaraderie at the table, the shadows of the past were never far away.

As the meal drew to a close, the brothers exchanged their final remarks, the warmth of their camaraderie filling the room. Taeyong stood abruptly when his phone buzzed, his expression tightening as he glanced at the screen. “Excuse me,” he said, stepping away to take the call. When he returned, his face was clouded with irritation. “I have to leave,” he announced, his tone clipped. “There’s an issue at the stables that needs my attention.”

“Let us come with you,” Haechan suggested eagerly, already on his feet. His eyes sparkled with excitement. “We can take a ride after you sort it out. It’s been ages since we’ve all ridden together.”

Mark nodded in agreement, a small smile playing on his lips. “The first snow is supposed to fall today,” he added. “It was our tradition to ride during the first snowfall.”

Jeno, who had been quietly observing, stood as well. “It would be nice, Taeyong,” he said softly, his voice carrying a rare note of vulnerability. The princess watched the exchange, struck by how much the brothers seemed to cherish these moments together. It was clear they didn’t get to spend much time as a family anymore.

Taeyong hesitated, his brow furrowed as he weighed the request. “I’m not sure…” he began, but Haechan cut him off, his voice tinged with playful whining.

“You never see us anymore,” Haechan said, pouting slightly. The princess noticed how Taeyong’s stern expression softened at his younger brother’s words.

Mark stepped closer, his head tilted in a gesture of quiet pleading. “It’s been a while since we’ve done something together, Taeyong,” he said, his tone gentle but insistent.

Taeyong sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing as he relented. “Fine,” he said, though his voice still carried a note of caution. “But no promises that this situation will be resolved quickly.”

The brothers’ faces lit up at his agreement, their smiles bright and genuine. The princess couldn’t help but feel a pang of warmth at the sight. It was a rare, heartwarming moment, one that reminded her of the family she had lost.

As the brothers began to gather their things, the princess stood, preparing to excuse herself. She dipped into a deep bow, her voice soft but formal. “It was a pleasure to dine with you all—”

“You’re not leaving now, are you?” Haechan interrupted, his tone incredulous as he turned to face her.

The princess felt a flush rise to her cheeks, caught off guard by his directness. “I… yes,” she stammered, unsure how to respond.

“You have to come with us,” Haechan insisted, his enthusiasm undimmed. “We’re going horseback riding. It’ll be fun!”

“I don’t know how to ride,” the princess admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Haechan waved off her concern with a grin. “It’s fine—you can ride with me,” he said, reaching out to take her arm. Before she could protest, he had linked her arm with his, pulling her gently but firmly toward the stables.

The princess stumbled slightly, caught off guard by his forwardness. She glanced at Haechan, searching for some explanation for his behavior, but he simply looked happy—genuinely, uncomplicatedly happy. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time, and it left her momentarily speechless.

Jeno, however, was far from pleased. He watched the interaction with a growing sense of unease, his jaw tightening as Haechan led the princess away. He didn’t like the idea of her being dragged into this—into his life, his family’s traditions. It felt like an intrusion, a boundary being crossed too soon. And he especially didn’t like how Haechan had handled it, pulling her along without a thought for her comfort or consent. It was disrespectful, and it grated on him more than he cared to admit.

As the group made their way to the stables, Jeno lingered behind, his thoughts a tangled mess of frustration and resentment. He didn’t like any of it—not Haechan’s impulsiveness, not the princess’s presence, and certainly not the way this alliance was forcing him to open parts of his life he’d rather keep closed. But for now, he had no choice but to follow, his steps heavy with reluctance as he trailed behind the others.

Taeyong could see the frustration etched across Jeno’s face as they walked to the stables. It wasn’t hard to miss—the tightness in his jaw, the way his shoulders were stiff, the storm brewing in his eyes. Taeyong understood why Jeno felt this way. This wasn’t the life Jeno had envisioned for himself. He was angry—angry at the council for forcing this title on him, angry at his parents for forging this alliance, and, deep down, angry at himself for being born into this role. Taeyong wished he could ease his brother’s anger, but he knew Jeno would have to come to terms with his circumstances in his own time. Acceptance wasn’t something Taeyong could force on him, no matter how much he wanted to.

When they arrived at the stables, a man dressed in the crisp uniform of a palace guard approached Taeyong and pulled him aside. The princess watched, along with the other princes, as Taeyong listened intently to what the guard had to say. She didn’t mean to stare so openly, but her curiosity got the better of her. Prince Haechan noticed her focused gaze and leaned closer to her, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Wondering who that is, Princess?” Haechan asked, his voice low but playful.

Before he could continue, Jeno cut in sharply, his tone firm. “Haechan.”

Haechan rolled his eyes, unfazed by his brother’s reprimand. “She’s going to find out eventually, Jeno. She’s your fiancée, after all.” He turned back to the princess, ignoring Jeno’s glare. “That’s Johnny,” he explained. “He’s the head palace guard. He oversees all the guards stationed here at the palace.”

The princess listened carefully, grateful for the information. It was rare for someone to offer her insights so freely, and she clung to every word. Still, she felt like she was being handed puzzle pieces without seeing the full picture. “I still don’t understand,” she admitted, her brow furrowing slightly. 

Haechan smirked, a hint of pride in his expression. “Taeyong is the General of the Army. He’s in charge of every guard, soldier, and officer in Northcy. They all report to him.” He paused, letting the information sink in. Slowly, the princess began to connect the dots, though many questions still lingered.

Jeno, however, wasn’t pleased. “Haechan,” he said again, his voice sharper this time. He knew the princess would eventually learn all of this—she was going to be part of the family, after all. But he wasn’t ready to share so much about Northcy, about their family, or about himself. Trust didn’t come easily to him, especially not with someone who still felt like a stranger.

Meanwhile, Taeyong finished his conversation with Johnny and glanced back at his brothers and the princess, who were waiting patiently. Johnny had informed him that some of the palace guards were unhappy about sharing their dormitory with the princess’s guards. Taeyong sighed, his tone firm but calm. “They’ll have to deal with it for now. There’s nowhere else to house them at the moment.”

“I’ll do my best to make them see reason, sir,” Johnny replied, though he knew any complaints would likely fall on deaf ears.

“Thank you,” Taeyong said, dismissing Johnny with a nod. He turned back to the group and gestured to the stable hands to prepare the horses. The princes’ faces lit up at the prospect of riding together, their excitement palpable.

“Princess,” Taeyong called, his voice cutting through the chatter. She looked up at him, her expression attentive. “Tell your guards that we’ll be riding up the trail about half a mile north,” he said, pointing toward a clearing in the distance. “The ride will take about an hour and a half. They can grab lunch while they wait for you.”

“Yes, thank you, Your Highness,” the princess replied, bowing slightly. A grateful smile touched her lips as she went to relay the message to Chan and Hyunjin.  Chan didn’t like leaving the princess alone with strangers.  However the princess argued that it was important to build relations with each of the princes and this was a good opportunity.  Chan’s eyes flickered with something unspoken, something the princess was all too aware of.  “I’ll be okay, I promise,” the princess said softly, her words meant to ease Chan’s mind.  

“I’ll kill anyone who hurts you,” Chan said, the sentiment tugging at the princess’s lips to form a smile.  

“I know.” 

“We’ll see you after the ride, your highness,” Hyunjin said, as he and Chan both bowed to the princess before turning to leave.  

The stable hands were busy preparing the horses for the princes. Taeyong’s horse was a majestic white stallion, strong and sturdy, with an air of calm elegance. The moment the horse saw Taeyong, its ears perked up, and it let out a soft whinny of recognition. It was clear the two shared a deep bond. Mark’s horse was a sleek black mare, its coat as dark as midnight, with a proud, regal bearing. Haechan’s horse was a chestnut brown, its coat gleaming in the pale winter sunlight, reflecting its rider’s lively energy.

Jeno’s horse, also white, stood out in a different way. While Taeyong’s horse exuded serenity, Jeno’s had a colder, more distant demeanor—much like Jeno himself. It was a beautiful animal, but there was something guarded about it, as if it mirrored its rider’s emotions.

 The brothers began mounting their horses with practiced ease, their movements smooth and confident. Haechan turned to the princess, a playful grin on his face as he reached out to help her onto his horse. “Ready?” he asked, his tone light and teasing.

But before the princess could respond, Jeno stepped between them, his presence sudden and commanding. “The princess will ride with me,” he said, his voice firm but calm. He didn’t look at Haechan as he spoke, his gaze fixed on the princess instead. There was no room for argument in his tone, though the tension in his shoulders suggested he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the decision himself.

Haechan blinked, surprised, “why? She doesn’t want to ride with you.” 

“People will talk,” Jeno huffed, “if they see her riding with someone who isn’t her fiance, they will talk and we don’t need anyone talking right now.” 

Haechan smirked, stepping back, “very well brother. Apologies princess.” 

The princess hesitated, her eyes flickering between Jeno and Haechan. She wasn’t sure what to make of Jeno’s sudden intervention, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her. There was something in his expression—something she couldn’t quite place—that made her nod silently in agreement.

Jeno extended a hand to her, his movements deliberate but not unkind. “Come on,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’ll help you up.”

The princess took his hand, her fingers brushing against his as she stepped closer to the horse. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, the cold air and the distant chatter of the others fading into the background. It was a small moment, but it carried a weight neither of them could fully understand—or perhaps didn’t want to.

“Hold onto this part of the saddle,” Jeno instructed, his voice steady as he guided the princess’s hands to the leather grip. He helped her onto the horse, his hands firm but careful as he gently pushed her into place. The princess settled on the horse, her breath catching as she realized just how high off the ground she was. The horse shifted beneath her, its powerful muscles rippling, and she instinctively tightened her grip on the saddle.

Jeno swung up behind her, his chest pressing lightly against her back as he adjusted his position. The closeness felt strange to the princess—intimate in a way that made her pulse quicken. She wasn’t used to being this near to him, and the warmth of his body against hers was both comforting and unnerving.

“Keep your hands here,” Jeno said, leaning over her shoulder to point to the reins. His voice was calm, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone as he noticed her tense posture. “Don’t tug on this part,” he warned, giving the strap a gentle pull. The horse responded immediately, taking a step forward, and the princess let out a small gasp, her body jolting slightly.

Jeno chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. It was rare to see the princess so unsettled. She was always so composed, so regal, that her reaction was almost refreshing. “You’ll get used to it,” he said, his tone lighter now.

“Are we ready?” Taeyong’s voice cut through the crisp air, commanding attention. He sat tall on his white stallion, his posture every bit the general he was. Without waiting for an answer, he gestured toward the trail. “Let’s go.” His horse moved forward with a graceful stride, leading the way.

Jeno glanced down at the princess. “Ready?” he asked, his voice softer now. She nodded, her grip tightening on the saddle as the horse began to move. The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves against the ground was soothing, but the princess still felt uneasy. Being this close to Jeno, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her back, was unfamiliar territory. It felt like they were playing roles in a performance, one without an audience. She couldn’t help but wonder: if they weren’t royals, if they weren’t bound by duty and expectation, could they have been friends? Could they have laughed together like companolns without the weight of an alliance hanging over them?  If they weren’t born to opposite sides of a war, would things between them be different?

“Race to the top?” Haechan’s voice broke through her thoughts, his tone brimming with excitement as they began to climb the trail.

Mark shook his head, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “We can’t. The princess is with us.”

Haechan grinned, undeterred. “You’re only saying that because you know you can’t beat me,” he teased, making exaggerated chicken noises. The absurdity of it caught the princess off guard, and a genuine laugh escaped her lips—a light, melodic sound that surprised even herself.

Jeno stiffened slightly behind her, caught off guard by the sound. He hadn’t heard her laugh before, and he hadn’t expected it to be so… enchanting. It was a small, fleeting moment, but it lingered in the air like the first notes of a song.  

“I would totally beat you to the top,” Mark shot back, his competitive side flaring up.

“We all know my horse is the fastest,” Jeno interjected, his voice carrying a lightness the princess hadn’t heard from him before. It was a side of him she didn’t know existed—playful, almost carefree.

“Prove it,” Haechan challenged, and with that, he urged his horse forward, darting up the trail with a burst of speed.

“Cheater!” Mark shouted, spurring his own horse into a gallop as he chased after Haechan.

Jeno leaned closer to the princess, his breath warm against her ear. “You better hang on,” he warned, a hint of mischief in his voice. Before she could respond, he flicked the reins, and the horse surged forward. The sudden acceleration made the princess gasp, her heart racing as the wind whipped past her face. The world blurred around her, the trees and sky becoming a streak of colors as they sped up the trail.

Taeyong brought up the rear, shaking his head at his brothers’ antics, though a small smirk tugged at his lips. He urged his horse forward, joining the chase with a steady, controlled pace.

The princess clung to the saddle, her breath hitching as the horse’s powerful strides carried them faster and faster. The wind was cold against her cheeks, but it felt exhilarating, freeing in a way she had never experienced before. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t thinking about alliances or duties or expectations. She was simply living in the moment, feeling the rush of speed and the warmth of Jeno’s presence behind her.

Jeno’s laughter rang out, deep and unrestrained, and the sound sent a shiver down her spine. It was a laugh she hadn’t heard before, one that felt rare and precious. Without thinking, she laughed too, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her. It was wild and unrestrained, a reflection of the freedom she felt in that moment.

The trail stretched ahead, the brothers’ shouts and laughter echoing through the trees as they raced toward the top. For the first time, the princess felt a flicker of something she hadn’t known she was missing—joy, pure and unburdened. And as the horse carried them forward, she couldn’t help but hope that this feeling, this fleeting sense of freedom, might last just a little longer.

As they neared the top, clearing up ahead, Taeyong seemed to move faster towards them.  He confidently maneuvered his horse around them all.  Pulling ahead just before they reached the top.  It was clear then speed didn’t matter nearly as much as strategy.  As the princess and prince Jeno reached the top, the horse slowing down as they reached the clearing, she could feel the cold seep deeper into her.  She could feel herself begin to shiver.  

“This isn’t fair,” Haechan huffed, as he reached the top last.  The other brothers chuckled watching the baby pout about not winning the race.  

“That’s what happens you cheat,” Mark retorts back. 

“Shouldn’t have challenged us, if you weren’t confident in your abilities,” Jeno teases, adding salt to the wound of Haechan's hurt ego.  

“Look at this view,” Taeyong said, his voice carrying a rare note of awe as he dismounted his horse and walked toward the edge of the overlook. The other brothers followed, their boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. The vista before them was breathtaking—rolling hills, dense forests, and the distant glimmer of the city, all bathed in the pale winter light. It was a sight that could make anyone pause and marvel.

Prince Jeno dismounted his horse, his movements deliberate as he glanced at the ground. His eyes traveled upward, taking in the princess’s boots—elegant but impractical for the muddy terrain. “Stay on the horse,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “The ground is muddy from the melted snow. I don’t want you to get dirty.” His words were casual, almost dismissive, but they sparked a flicker of irritation in the princess. She wasn’t some fragile doll to be coddled, and his assumption grated on her.

Jeno led the horse closer to the edge, positioning it so the princess could take in the view. The landscape stretched out before her, vast and beautiful, but her mind was elsewhere. The prince’s unexpected kindness felt… off. It didn’t align with the cold, distant man she had come to know. Was this a genuine gesture, or was there something more behind it? Her thoughts raced, replaying every interaction from lunch to this moment, searching for hidden meanings. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down, not even for a second.

Jeno noticed the way the princess stiffened at his suggestion, her posture rigid and her expression guarded. He hoped this ride might help soften the tension between them, might show her that his resistance to the alliance wasn’t personal. If they had met under different circumstances—if they hadn’t been forced into this union—he wondered if things might have been different. But those were thoughts he kept to himself, buried beneath layers of duty and pride.

The winter air bit at the princess’s skin, sharp and unrelenting. She shivered involuntarily, her arms wrapping around herself in a futile attempt to ward off the cold. Jeno’s gaze flickered to her, his brow furrowing slightly. “Are you cold, Princess?” he asked, his voice softer now.

Before she could respond, he was already shrugging off his riding jacket, the one he had worn since they left the stables. “It’s quite alright, Your Highness,” the princess said quickly, her tone polite but firm. She didn’t want his jacket, didn’t want this sudden closeness. The ride had already felt too personal, and this—this was crossing a line.

“You’re shivering,” Jeno said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He swung back onto the horse behind her, his movements smooth and practiced. Before she could protest further, he draped the jacket over her shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “It’s not thick, but it’ll help,” he added, his tone matter-of-fact.

The princess hesitated, then reluctantly pulled the jacket tighter around her. It did help, blocking the worst of the wind and trapping what little warmth her body could muster. She hated to admit it, but she was grateful—not just for the jacket, but for the way his body heat seeped into her back as he settled behind her. It was a small comfort, one she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Let’s head back down,” Jeno called to his brothers, his voice cutting through the crisp air. The others nodded, mounting their horses and preparing for the descent. Jeno’s arms brushed against hers as he reached for the reins, his proximity sending a jolt of awareness through her. She told herself it was just the cold making her skin prickle, but deep down, she knew better.

As they began the slow ride back, the brothers fell into easy conversation, their voices carrying over the crunch of hooves against the frozen ground. They reminisced about past rides, their laughter ringing out in the quiet winter air. The princess listened intently, her mind working to piece together the fragments of their shared history. Every word, every anecdote, was another clue to understanding this family she was being forced to join.

But even as she focused on their stories, she couldn’t ignore the warmth of Jeno’s body behind her, the way his presence seemed to fill the space between them. It was a strange, unsettling feeling—one she wasn’t ready to confront. For now, she clung to the reins, her walls firmly in place, even as the lines between duty and something more began to blur.

As they approached the stables, the princess spotted her guards waiting in the distance. Her eyes immediately locked onto Chan, and her heart sank. The tension in his jaw was unmistakable, his posture rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Even from afar, she could see the flicker of pain in his eyes, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She had never seen him look like this—so raw, so hurt.

When they reached the stables, the stable hands hurried out to take the horses. Prince Jeno dismounted first, then turned to help the princess down. As her feet touched the ground, she shrugged off his jacket, the fabric slipping from her shoulders like a barrier being removed.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said, her tone poised and regal, but distant—so distant it felt like a wall had been erected between them. She turned to face Jeno and his brothers, offering a graceful bow. “Thank you for the ride. I must be on my way.”

No one argued as she turned and walked away, her guards falling into step behind her. Jeno watched her go, his thoughts a tangled mess. He had expected to feel relief as the distance between them grew, but instead, he felt… unsettled. Confused. The sight of her walking away left an uneasy feeling, one he couldn’t quite explain.

The princess kept her head high as she walked, her steps measured and deliberate. But once they were far enough from the stables, she reached for Chan’s hand, her fingers brushing against his in a silent plea for comfort. To her dismay, he pulled his hand away, his expression unreadable but his eyes betraying the storm within him.

“Chan, please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t punish me for that.”

Chan remained silent, his jaw clenched as he stared straight ahead. Hyunjin walked a few paces behind them, his presence a quiet reminder of the boundaries they couldn’t cross. The tension between Chan and the princess was palpable, a heavy weight that neither of them could bear to address—until now.

When they reached her chambers, Fei and Mei were already inside, preparing her evening attire for dinner. The princess, acting on impulse, grabbed Chan’s wrist and pulled him into the room. She ignored the startled looks from her maids, dragging him past them and into her bedroom. The door shut behind them with a soft click, sealing them off from the world.

“Chan,” she pleaded, her voice trembling as she turned to face him. “Please, I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t think playing happy couple with the prince would hurt me?” Chan shot back, his words sharp and biting. He knew they were unfair, but the pain in his chest was too much to hold back. 

“This is what’s expected of me,” she said, her voice rising in desperation. “I have no choice!”

“No,” Chan growled, his voice low and strained. “You’re expected to marry him, not fall in love with him.”

The words hit her like a slap. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as she stared at him in disbelief. “Why would you say that?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “How could you think that? I’m in love with you.”

Chan’s resolve wavered, his chest tightening as he looked at her. He wanted to turn away, to leave before he said something he couldn’t take back. But she reached for him, her hands gripping his arms as if she could anchor him to her.

“Don’t do this,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Don’t leave me.”

“My princess,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “you know we can’t.”

“No, Chan, don’t do this to me,” she cried, her hands moving to cup his face. Her tears streaked down her cheeks, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Don’t punish me for loving you.”

“Do you think me walking away is meant to punish you?” he asked, his voice raw with emotion. “Do you think this is easy for me?”

Before he could say more, she pulled him closer, her lips crashing into his in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and longing. It was a kiss that carried years of unspoken feelings, of stolen glances and hidden touches, of love that could never be. When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against his, their breaths mingling in the quiet room.

“Stay with me tonight,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’ll tell them the ride made me sick. Stay with me, here in this room, just for tonight. Let us pretend, just for one night.”

Chan closed his eyes, his heart breaking as he gently pulled her hands away from his face. “You know we can’t, my princess,” he said softly, his voice thick with regret. “We can’t.”

“Chan,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she watched him step back, putting distance between them.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n),” he said, his voice breaking as he turned and walked toward the door. He paused for a moment, his hand resting on the doorknob, but he didn’t look back. “I’m sorry.”

And then he was gone, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the room, her heart shattered into pieces.

Back at the stables, the princes were ensuring their horses were properly cared for when a palace servant approached. The servant bowed deeply before addressing them. “Crown Prince Lee Jeno, General Lee, Prince Lee Mark, and Prince Lee Donghyuck, your presence is requested by the king.”

Mark’s face immediately showed panic. “Father wants to see all of us? This can’t be good.”

Haechan, ever the optimist, waved off his brother’s concern. “Oh, come on! We haven’t done anything wrong.”

Jeno raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Really? You’ve caused no trouble in the past day or two?” Haechan was known for his pranks, and Jeno wasn’t about to let him off the hook.

Haechan grinned and gave an exaggerated bow. “I promise, my future king, I have caused no trouble within the palace walls.” He knew addressing Jeno like that would annoy him, and he wasn’t wrong. Jeno immediately chased after him, the two brothers tussling like children.

Taeyong sighed, stepping in to break it up. “Hey, quit fighting. Do you want to keep the actual king waiting?”

“No,” both Jeno and Haechan muttered, their heads hanging low as they reluctantly stopped. Together, the four brothers made their way to see the king.

When they arrived, they found their father and Jeno’s mother waiting in the king’s private drawing room. The room was simple and understated, more like a cozy lounge than a formal royal space. Behind a shelf of books was a hidden door that led to the king’s private office—a place no one but the king and his personal butler, Jung, were allowed to enter. Not even the queen or the princes had ever stepped foot inside.

“Your Majesties,” Taeyong greeted, bowing respectfully. The other brothers followed suit, staying silent as they waited for their father to speak.

“You requested our presence, Father?” Taeyong asked, standing tall and meeting the king’s gaze.

The king nodded, his expression serious. “Yes. I have an announcement to make. After Princess (Y/n) and Jeno’s marriage, I am considering stepping down as king.”

Jeno’s eyes widened in shock. “What, Father?!”

The king continued, his tone calm but firm. “Yes, I will step down from the throne after your marriage, Jeno, and you will be crowned king. But before that, I want to make Mark and Donghyuck full members of the council.”

Jeno was still reeling from the news. “Father, stepping down? No king in the history of our kingdom has ever done that. Is that even possible?”

The king’s expression didn’t waver. “If it’s not possible, I will make it possible.” He handed Jeno a stack of papers, which the other brothers peeked at curiously. “These are the accords of the alliance. The Kingdom of Modia will be transferred into our control as a territory of Northcy. However, this transfer will only happen once you ascend the throne.”

Jeno’s frustration was evident. “Father, you can’t be serious. You want me to take the throne early just to assume control of a kingdom that shouldn’t be ours?”

The king’s gaze hardened. “Jeno, this is reparations for the war. And let’s not forget—Modia will fall without this arrangement. This is as much for their sake as it is for ours.”

Jeno stood his ground, his voice firm. “Father, no. You can’t justify taking over another kingdom just because of the war.”

The king rose from his seat, his presence imposing as he placed both hands on Jeno’s shoulders. His grip tightened, a silent reminder of his authority. “My boy,” he said, his voice low and warning, “you’d do well to watch your tone with me.” He paused, then turned to Taeyong, changing the subject. “I’m sure you have much work to do, Taeyong?”

Taeyong nodded, stepping forward. “Yes, Father. The plans to withdraw soldiers from the front lines are underway. I leave in a few days to oversee it personally.” He gestured for Jeno to follow him, and the two left the drawing room together.  Mark and Haechan stayed to talk to the king further about their own assignment.  

Once they were out of earshot, Jeno turned to Taeyong, his face filled with worry. “Taeyong, I don’t want this. I don’t want to be king. I don’t want to get married.  This isn’t fair, nor is it right.”

Taeyong placed a reassuring hand on Jeno’s shoulder. “Jeno, you’ll make a fine king. Don’t worry so much and the arrangement will help Modia as well, if it didn’t they wouldn’t have agreed. And the princess is a beautiful girl. What’s the problem with marrying her?”

Jeno sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The problem isn’t her. The problem is marriage itself. I don’t want it—not now, at least. I want to marry someone I know, someone I love, not someone Father and Mother forced upon me.”

Taeyong understood his brother’s frustration, but there was little he could do. Jeno’s duty as the only male heir of the true king and queen was non-negotiable. Before Taeyong could respond, a maid approached, calling him away for another matter. Left alone, Jeno stood in the hallway, his thoughts swirling with doubt and dread.

That evening, during the quiet hum of the evening meal, Prince Jeno found himself watching the princess. His gaze lingered on her as she ate, her movements graceful and deliberate. He wondered if she knew the full extent of the accords binding their union. Did she understand what this alliance truly meant—not just for them, but for their kingdoms? For a fleeting moment, he even wondered how she felt about it all. Did the thought of Modia falling under his control pain her? Did she resent him for it? The questions gnawed at him, but he kept them locked away, his expression unreadable.

The princess, meanwhile, was lost in her own thoughts. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions and questions—love and duty, politics and alliances, right and wrong, truth and lies. She was beginning to realize that this union would cost her far more than she had anticipated. It wasn’t just her freedom at stake; it was her identity, her people, her very sense of self. And if she wanted answers, she would have to fight for them.

When the meal ended and the princess returned to her chambers, her thoughts refused to quiet. As her maids helped her into her sleeping attire, she couldn’t shake the memory of something Jeno had mentioned during lunch. “Mei,” she called suddenly, stopping the maid mid-motion. “Fetch my robe. I want to go to the library.”

Fei frowned, her brow furrowing in concern. “Your Highness, it’s late. Surely this can wait until morning?”

“No,” the princess said firmly, her mind racing. “The prince mentioned something today—something I need to understand.”

“What was it, Your Highness?” Mei asked as she helped the princess into her robe.

“He mentioned a sister,” the princess said, her voice low. Both maids froze, their eyes widening in surprise. “And he said his older brother has a different mother. Who’s to say the others don’t as well?” Her expression was a mix of confusion and determination as she tried to piece together the fragments of information. “And the oldest brother, Taeyong—he’s the general. In my studies, I learned that the general holds two votes on the council. One as general, and one as prince.”  The last sentence she said softly as if it were more for herself than for her maids. 

The princess stopped abruptly in the middle of the dimly lit hallway, her thoughts clicking into place. “Your Highness?” Mei asked, her voice tinged with worry.

“Prince Taeyong,” the princess murmured, her eyes narrowing as the realization hit her. “He was stripped of his title as crown prince, so he became the general instead.”

Fei and Mei exchanged a glance, their concern growing. “Your Highness?” Fei prompted gently.

“I think,” the princess said slowly, turning to face her maids, “I think I’m beginning to understand Prince Jeno’s anger toward the council.” Without another word, she continued down the hall, her maids hurrying after her.

When they reached the library, the princess pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside. The room was vast, its towering shelves filled with books and scrolls that held the secrets of Northcy’s history. She moved quickly, scanning the titles for anything that might shed light on the royal family’s past.

“I’ll prepare some tea,” Fei said, knowing this would be a long night. “And I’ll inform Chan and Hyunjin of your whereabouts. They won’t be pleased to find you out of your chambers so late.”

Mei nodded, a hint of amusement in her voice. “They’ll want to stand guard, no doubt.”

The princess raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll be fine. We’re still within the palace walls.”

Fei sighed softly, her own smile faint. “I’ll let them know.”

“Tell them not to come,” the princess added, her tone firm but kind. “They deserve a proper rest. Just inform them where I am so they’re not worried.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Fei said with a bow before slipping out of the library.

Hours passed as the princess pored over books and scrolls, her determination unwavering. The information she found was fragmented, never quite enough to answer all her questions. Mei and Fei, seated nearby, began to yawn as the night wore on. They exchanged tired glances, wondering how much longer their mistress would keep them up.

“Your Highness,” Fei said finally, breaking the silence. “It’s late. You should return to your chambers.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mei agreed. “It’s not proper for you to be out like this.”

The princess smiled faintly, her eyes still scanning the pages before her. “Go, both of you. Get some rest. Tomorrow is another day. I’ll return to my chambers shortly.”

“Your Highness…” Fei began to protest.

“Don’t worry,” the princess said, her tone gentle but firm. “I’ll be fine. Go—that’s an order.”

Reluctantly, the maids bowed and left the library, their footsteps fading into the silence.

More time passed, the princess growing more engrossed in her search. She was so absorbed that she didn’t hear the library doors open or notice the soft footsteps approaching.

“It’s late, Princess,” a voice said, cutting through the quiet.

The princess jumped, her heart racing as she turned to see Prince Jeno leaning against a bookshelf. He was dressed casually in a white compression shirt that clung to his torso, accentuating his athletic build, and a pair of grey sweatpants. His hair was slightly disheveled, as if he, too, had been unable to sleep.

“Your Highness,” the princess said, standing quickly and bowing.

Jeno waved off the formality. “What are you doing here so late?” he asked, his gaze drifting to the books and scrolls scattered across the table. His expression softened as he realized what she had been studying—his family’s history, their lineage, their secrets.

“You won’t find her in these,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something the princess couldn’t quite place.

“I don’t know what you mean, Your Highness,” she replied, though her heart was pounding.

Jeno sighed, running a hand through his hair. “My sister,” he said, his voice low. “She died young. She was born sick and passed away before she turned ten.” He looked down, his shoulders tense. “The council thought her existence was a weakness. They erased her from the records—no birth, no death. As if she never existed.”

The princess’s heart ached for him. The idea that the council could so callously erase a child’s life, all for the sake of maintaining an image of strength, was horrifying. “Your Highness…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jeno looked up, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, the walls between them seemed to crumble. He took a seat at the table, his posture relaxed but his expression serious. “Ask me anything, Princess,” he said. “for Tonight, I’ll give you the truth.”

The princess was stunned. She searched his face for any hint of deception, but all she saw was sincerity. For tonight, at least, it seemed Jeno had decided to forget she was the enemy. And so, with a deep breath, she began to ask her questions.