#most unlikely gathering

[sohannabarberaesque]

Angolo della poesia (that's Italian for "Poetry Corner")

We can just imagine Huckleberry Hound hosting quite an interesting gathering (and slightly on the intimate side, know) at some half-baked Italian restaurant, maybe a bit of the hole-in-the-wall sort, of many of his Funtastic cronies for a rather interesting dinner.

The rationale, shouldst thou ask? "Braccobaldo." Which is the Italian name for That Oh So Merry, Chuckleberry, Huckleberry Hound (as his theme song otherwise reminds us). The point not lost upon Huckleberry and Clementine, essentially hosts of the dinner as much as the eatery ultimately handling all.

Never mind that the dinner is largely minestrone, spaghetti with Bolognese sauce, breadsticks and garlic toast, blood orange or lemon soda (in the Italian manner, with fruit juices and the local acqua minerale) and, for dessert, zuppa inglese and espresso.

Never mind that while "zuppa inglese" may translate as "English soup," Huck explains that such is more of a rich custard cake. "Amusing," Clementine remarks, "how the Italians come up with amusing dessert names, like 'gelato' for the local ice cream--which sounds like 'gelatin,' but has a smoothness all its own."

Not quite lost for the translation, shall we say?

*************

@warnerbrosentertainment @indigo-corvus @iheartgod175 @jellystone-enjoyer @funtasticworld @archive-archives @screamingtoosoftly @thylordshipofbutts @thebigdingle @themineralyoucrave @warnerbros-blog1 @groovybribri @theweekenddigest @railguner34 @ultrakeencollectionbreadfan @warnerbrosent-blog

[littlestarpjm]

Mr Guo Jingming, sir, you cannot expect me to take this...

...and still not expect...

...with my yuanyi brain rot delulu brain ...

...to not interpret this as zyz being jealous about Mr Tiandu Dreamboat capturing every maidens' hearts and the possibility of zyc really liking wx beyond childhood friends being true

and then immediately follow that scene with zyz and zyc talking under a softer moonlit night, zyc calling zyz out for his now apparent will to live and mistakenkly attributes it to zyz's love for wx experiencing something that makes one falter with their previous conviction and contradict themselves

zyc asks why zyz is contradicting himself by teaching him the way to kill him and zyz points the proverbial spear back him to imply he's also one to live with contradictions because he already senses that zyc won't be able to fulfil his oath, so instead he keeps pushing zyc towards that way

[acewizardinspace]

Headcanon that Aau's lightsaber is white.

As we see in her episode of Visions (V2 Ep9) she had a gift for purifying kyber crystals, and healed kyber crystals are white. I think one of the crystals that she healed ends up calling to her.

[angelacostumery]

i'm so glad you guys like this costume! it is one of my favorites. but I put my absurd pumpkin pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else.

...literally

anyway, here are some construction/project notes/wip photos in case you don't have 50 minutes to spare for the full video about making it!

inspo wise, The First Book of Fashion: The Book of Clothes of Matthaeus and Veit Konrad Schwarz of Augsburg [this is an affiliate link] served as the major influence for this. the book is basically documentation of what this man and his son wore to major events in his life over a period of decades. he was getting ootd painted before it was cool.

the base pattern for the pantlegs came from another pair of ridiculous pants I made a few months earlier.

the paned portion is made from homemade piping sewn to strips of jacquard that are backed with twill tape to prevent fraying.

I made so much fucking piping for this oh my god. each of these strips was 20"+ long, both sides have piping, and these are the panes for ONE LEG. there were also sleeves. we're talking like 60+ yards of piping.

perhaps unsurprisingly, these strips were too thick to gather. so instead I had to overlap them to create the shaping over the leg. it looks OK but isn't ideal.

after this was done, velvet ribbon was sewn over the marked point to hold them in place.

oh! I also sewed a layer of mesh over the orange base fabric to dull it somewhat and provide contrast before sewing on the bands.

the upper portion of the pants was made from even strips of velvet and jacquard seamed together and fitted over a cotton base. the appliques were added to cover the fact the stripes meet at an angle at the side seam, and I sewed on orange sequins because I like sequins.

the happiness I felt when this fit was immense, I must say.

the bodice is two pieces, one for the front, one for the back. it laces up the sides with hand sewn eyelets. it wasn't very flattering as just an expanse of orange of the chest, so I added appliques to the front and back, too.

the black detailing around the top edge is made from varying widths of velvet ribbon.

the sleeves have similar elements of everything shown above--a paned upper portion, velvet ribbon trim, and a bit of lace at the cuffs.

unlike most of my projects the sleeves have no lining forcing the shaping, what you see beneath/between the panes is the chemise worn beneath this. it's made from the mesh used as an overlay on the pants with a jacquard/velvet ribbon collar which you can see peaking out above the neckline of the bodice.

oh! and then there is the pumpkin hat! there is a video on patreon about making this somewhere, I think.

and it's just that easy to live out your renaissance pumpkin prince/ess dreams!

[xhyjin]

heian era sukuna as a husband!

husband sukuna! who first saw you by the river near your village, washing your hair under the soft glow of the setting sun. the peaceful moment didn’t last long; one of his cursed spirits emerged from the shadows, plucking you from the water like prey and tossing you onto his horse. before you could even scream, you were taken to his cursed shrine high in the mountains, a dark and eerie place where countless other frightened girls from distant villages had been gathered, all trembling in the presence of the king of curses.

husband sukuna! who you had heard countless stories about him in your village, the king of curses, a monstrous being with unmatched power. you always thought they were just myths to keep children from wandering too far. yet, when you finally saw him in all his terrifying glory, his four arms and four sets of piercing eyes radiating an otherworldly dominance, fear wasn’t the first thing you felt. instead, it was curiosity. unlike the other girls who cowered and sobbed, you couldn’t help but step closer and ask, “can i touch you?” your boldness caught him off guard, the faintest flicker of intrigue crossing his face, a reaction he hadn’t shown to anyone in centuries.

husband sukuna! who found himself so intrigued by how someone like you, so small, so mortal, did not tremble in fear. instead, your soft hands reached out, touching his face and arms as if he were some kind of untouchable deity carved from stone, not the monstrous king of curses. he didn’t even realize he had agreed to let you touch him until your fingertips brushed against his skin, your curiosity pulling him into a moment he couldn’t understand.

husband sukuna! who picked you out of all the other frightened girls, initially seeking only a concubine to satisfy his desires, but something shifted when he met you. there was something about your calm, unshaken presence that stirred something in him. you, unlike the others, didn’t cower in fear. you didn’t beg for mercy. your boldness, your curiosity; it intrigued him, and for the first time, he found himself considering you not as just another possession, but as something more. a wife, not a concubine.

husband sukuna! who throws the most lavish wedding the heian lands have ever seen, inviting even the emperor to show off his new wife, his queen of curses. it’s a grand event, full of gold, decorations, and luxury, but all eyes are on you, his chosen, the woman who stood by him, not as a fearful servant, but as his equal. you, his queen, now dressed in the finest clothes, a symbol of his power and the bond between you.

husband sukuna! who started to feel this strange pull every time you were near, like you were the only thing that could fill the emptiness in his heart. he didn’t understand it, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to keep you close, even if it meant pretending he didn’t care.

husband sukuna! who would rarely show it, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, like he was studying you, learning you. he couldn’t stop himself from being drawn to you, no matter how much he tried to act indifferent.

husband sukuna! who started questioning everything he knew about emotions, especially when it came to you. every time you were near, his heart would beat faster, and he didn’t know if it was anger or something else. he wasn’t used to feeling this way, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit.

husband sukuna! who, despite his power, couldn’t control the strange desire to protect you. he didn’t know why, but when danger approached, he felt this overwhelming urge to make sure nothing touched you, even if it meant putting himself at risk.

husband sukuna! who started seeking your company more often, even when it wasn’t necessary. he would pretend it was for something else, like business or duty, but deep down, he just wanted to be near you, to figure out what it was about you that made him feel this way.

husband sukuna! who never expected to find someone who could make him question everything, someone who didn’t fear him the way others did. you were the only one who didn’t tremble when he looked at you, and that intrigued him more than anything else.

husband sukuna! who, without realizing it, started to crave your touch. at first, it was just the occasional brush of your hand, but soon he found himself seeking out those moments, lingering just a little longer than necessary, wanting to feel the warmth of your skin against his.

husband sukuna! who never thought he’d want to spend time with someone like this, but with you, it felt different. he started planning small things just to see you. whether it was a casual walk or sitting together in the garden. he didn’t need a reason; he just wanted to be near you.

husband sukuna! when, during one of your strolls through the garden, you mentioned how much you loved roses (or any flowers you like) he made a mental note of it. the very next month, the entire garden was filled with roses, rows upon rows of them, in every color, and bloom. it was his way of showing you he was listening, even if he never said it aloud. the roses, a silent gesture of his affection, were now there just for you.

husband sukuna! who makes sure all your kimonos are made from the finest and silkiest silk, each one carefully chosen to complement your beauty. your combs, made from the finest bamboo, are crafted with delicate precision, perfect for brushing your long, flowing hair. he ensures that every little detail of your life is as luxurious as possible, from the softest cushions to the finest food, all to spoil you in ways you never imagined. every item, every gesture, is his way of showing how much you mean to him, even if he never says it outright.

husband sukuna! who found himself realizing just how head over heels he was for you when you had to leave his estate to visit your family in the village. the moment you left, an unexpected emptiness washed over him, and he realized how much he missed you already. it was then that he wondered, if I miss you this badly just when you’re at the village, what would I do if you were gone forever? he couldn’t shake the thought. you weren’t immortal like him, and the idea of losing you, someone so human, so delicate, filled him with a kind of fear he never expected to feel.

husband sukuna! who tries to figure out every possible way to make you immortal like him. he couldn’t imagine his life without you, and the thought of losing you one day terrified him more than he’d ever admit. he searched for solutions, delving into ancient texts and forbidden rituals, determined to find a way to keep you by his side forever. the idea of you growing old and leaving him, or even worse, being with someone else, was unbearable. he would do anything to make sure that never happened.

husband sukuna! who, after much searching, discovers that the key to making you immortal like him is by carrying his heir. his immortal blood would imprint on you and his child, ensuring that you would live on, as long as his bloodline continued. when you return, he is sure to tell you of his plan, his determination clear in his eyes. it’s the only way he can guarantee you’ll never leave him, and the thought of sharing his immortal legacy with you fills him with an overwhelming sense of purpose.

husband sukuna! who is the happiest man—or curse—alive when uraume tells him that you are pregnant. a rare, genuine smile spreads across his face, one that few have ever seen. the news fills him with a sense of pride and joy he’s never known, and for once, his usual calm demeanor cracks. the idea of you carrying his child, an heir to his immortal blood, makes him feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. it’s as if everything he’s done, all his power and control, has led to this moment. you, carrying his legacy, makes him feel more alive than he ever has.

husband sukuna! who spoils you rotten throughout your whole pregnancy, making sure you’re eating well and getting everything you need. he hunts himself, ensuring you have the freshest, most protein-rich food, and even arranges for the finest fruits to be delivered from the emperor’s lands. he may or may not have threatened the emperor into compliance, but it didn’t matter. all that mattered was making sure you were well cared for and that nothing, not even a tiny discomfort, would touch you. your well-being was his top priority, and he would go to any lengths to ensure you and the baby were healthy.

husband sukuna! who doesn’t allow you to walk on your own, no, he has four arms for a reason. you’re going to be carried by him everywhere and anywhere. whether it’s across the estate or through the garden, he insists on carrying you in his arms, making sure you don’t lift a finger. he doesn’t care if it’s impractical or if anyone else thinks it’s too much, his only concern is making sure you’re comfortable and safe during your pregnancy, and he enjoys having you close to him at all times. no one else gets to have you but him.

husband sukuna! who has a small throne made for your baby, placing it beside his massive one. with your and his child’s thrones on either side of his, he feels a sense of contentment that he’s never known before. it’s a simple gesture, but it means everything to him, his family, his legacy, all sitting together with him in his domain. the sight of it fills him with pride, knowing that soon, your child will sit there beside you, carrying on his immortal bloodline. it’s the perfect symbol of everything he’s built, and it’s all for you.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ When someone tries to imitate you or take your place 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone 

(tw: general mentions of violence and intimacy, swf. Old ask suggested by the lovely @pandaquick, better late than never)

Your position in the Fatui is a much more personal and delicate matter. You are not just some high-rank advisor or soldier idling within the Zapolyarny Palace, nor can you be defined as another Fatuus. You are someone of a different echelon - a Harbinger’s beloved, safeguarded with the utmost honor conferred by Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. It is no secret your significant other would utilize a whole army to protect you, but what happens when someone, in their foolishness, forgets that?

✧ Pierro was the first to notice that someone tried to imitate you. An individual of high status endeavored to emulate your work and areas of expertise. Subsequently, this individual began to adopt aspects of your appearance, from hairstyle to clothing. However, the breaking point occurred when this foolish person attempted to purchase an identical jewelry brooch to the one you frequently wore. It was a similar piece, one gifted to you by Pierro.

Except that imitator missed one important clue - Pierro orders you custom-made silver adorned with deep-cut sapphires that would put the Tsaritsa’s crown into shame. A one of a kind piece.

This cheap attempt to imitate you and usurp your spot was what forced The Jester to abandon his silent observation. His gaze has long caught the envious glances directed towards you whenever you accompanied him on meetings, whenever he linked his arm with yours, whenever he generously kneeled beside you to put his coat over your shoulder and keep you warm from Snezhnaya’s cold - the same individual, always seething with resentment. Thus, it was time for the Director to silently act. 

He kept tabs on this person via a network of spies, gathering intel on their behavior and intentions. And with the most skilled spies raised from the House of the Hearth, it didn't take long to have a whole pile of evidence right on his desk. And with the simple snap of his fingers, he effortlessly orchestrated the apprehension and subsequent banishment of the culprit, sparing no unnecessary words. Hearsay will not be tolerated in the Fatui, but to see some lowly scum tarnish your reputation by cheap mimicry then it’ll be his responsibility to weed out. 

“Pierro, dearest, What's wrong? You seem so deep in thought.” - Your gentle murmur broke The Jester's train of thought. As he lay in bed, your head resting on his chest and his arm draped over you, he reminded himself that he was in the comfort of your love. He doesn't have to mull over the bloodied ordinances when he feels the warmth of your skin underneath the covers.

“Apologies, my divine. It seems my mind was drifting to troubling thoughts. But it no longer matters when you're here.” - Thus, he gently planted a kiss on your forehead and tucked the covers around your body which harbored marks of his devotion earlier that night.

✧ Il Capitano clutched the hilt of his sword in resolution. Something was wrong and he could see it. The Harbinger was in the middle of his morning spar with you, a regular training session where you and the Captain warm up as a routine. He stood in a defensive stance, his movements fluid yet measured as his sword received blow after blow from your weapon. You, on the other hand, moved like a silent tempest, your strikes precise yet frustratingly urgent.

It was unlike you to be so unsteady, noted Capitano to himself, especially when fighting. Despite the unspoken patience, an undercurrent of concealed despondency and anger laced your body language. 

“Alright, my dear, I can feel your unease. What troubles your heart?” 

You shook your head, panting as you almost faltered. You insisted on continuing the training session, but it was clear your brave facade was almost crumbling. 

“It would be foolish to continue. And I care about your well-being. Please, confide in me, my beloved.”

You tried, you really did. But before you know it, your lips pursed into a thin line and a flood of tears escaped the moment you shakily lowered your weapon. Now the Captain was on full alert, rushing towards you and gently supporting you before you could hide your tearful face in shame. With an arm around your trembling form and much persuasion - you relented and shared the source of your frustration. A newly enlisted soldier had undergone thorough training under the tutelage of Il Capitano, and their impressive advancement was unmistakably evident in their unwavering dedication. However, this individual began to devote more time to the Captain, delving into military intelligence and climbing the ranks. You genuinely felt joy for the new recruit, truly. Yet in timid humiliation, you had to confess you felt obsolete as if your power alone wasn’t enough for a harbinger of his caliber and ranks.

“Ah, my dear, you are far from weak. My time with the trainees is merely a duty, a part of my job as the 1st Harbinger. But when it comes to you, my dear, your might and wisdom are incomparable. You don’t deserve my ranks, you deserve my life laid before you.”

But whatever gentle words of affection were coming out of the Captain, your next words of truth made him halt at once. “... At least, that’s what the recruit told me when we spoke. That I'm weak.” 

“...What did you say?” 

The gentle armored hand on your shoulder now tightened in restrained anger, fury flaring within his chest. Capitano now understood: your tears, your sudden insecurity, your doubt, your silence… It wasn’t coincidental. This recruit who was so conveniently rising in the ranks made sure to aim not just for the Harbinger. Specifically, you; to sow self-doubt onto you and hinder your precious relationship. Someone was deliberately bullying you.

You looked up at Capitano’s dreadful silence, asking him what was wrong.

“It… seems, my dear, someone has crossed an unforgivable line. One that would cost them their life dearly. And I am to blame for not noticing when harm and doubt came your way. I must amend this transgression for your forgiveness.”

You blinked in response, not having time to comprehend the severity of his words; It’s hard to respond when your beloved suddenly kneels and bows like a knight on duty. In the end, Capitano ushered you to take a day off and let your mind rest easy.

The next day, Capitano returned home early but was eerily silent once more. He stayed with you the whole day, like a hawk overlooking his nest, his arms crossed but his touch gentle. Although he claimed nothing was wrong, you received news that certain recruits were gone, and any upcoming soldiers that would come into his care would receive even stricter training from now on. That day, you wondered why some Fatui soldiers feared talking to you. Not to mention the armor around Capitano’s knuckles seemed faintly red-tinted.

The Fatui organization was a constant battle of powers and ranks. But to climb the ladder and meddle with the life of The Captain was a personal offense, one that would result in quick and unapologetic bloodshed. Nevertheless, he made sure to remind his soldiers about that. 

✧ When one of the folks working under Il Dottore as a lab analyst approached you, you didn’t expect them to call you names so suddenly. You stood there, confused and apprehensive at the sudden barrage of insults from the stranger. But they explained:

“You don’t do anything when helping during research, you know! I don’t even know how The 2nd tolerates you when you’re this useless. I’ll tell you what, quit your special-treatment act, and don’t come back to the lab. The Doctor is better off with someone of his level of intellect.”

You didn’t fight or defend yourself, you didn’t even insult the assistant. Instead, you smiled simply  - “Very well, I won’t. Good luck.”

That day, you turned and left. The frustrated lab analyst was left in confusion but thought they succeeded in eliminating the only obstacle left to get closer to the elusive yet powerful Harbinger. After all, what the hell do you even do at his lab? You exchange a few words with Dottore, maybe sporadically point at what to do, and remain seated in the back, resting as if you were the Tsaritsa herself. The audacity. How come Il Dottore never kicked you out?

Well, it didn't take long for this person to find out.

The next day, naturally, Dottore couldn’t find you when he proceeded with work. You were neither at his study, nor at the lab, nor at your favorite corner of the library. It was barely noon, and receiving your warm greetings was his routine. And the Doctor always follows the agenda.

“Where are they?” 

His question was brief but pointed, and his subordinates knew exactly who he was referring to. They could sense the tension in his voice. The only individual privy to the reason for your absence smirked smugly and responded.

“Hmph. It seems they decided not to come, Lord Harbinger Dottore.”

That was their first mistake because The Doctor caught on to the haughty smirk coming from his new analyst.

“And you know so certainly how?” - he quickly gestured to a nearby Fatui servant with a flick of his wrist. “Send in servants to check in on my behalf. I wasn’t informed. If my darling is feeling tired or unwell, bring their preferred refreshment immediately, and ensure it is warm.”

However, this displeased the new lab assistant, as even while you were away, Dottore was still dotting on you as if it was his second nature to do so while he was busy with work. Thus, they cleared their throat and spoke up:

“They… barely accomplished anything in your presence, doctor. So I advised them to leave, to which they agreed. Pretty straightforward, s-sir.” 

“Oh? Did you, now” - A burning rage, like never before, flared up within Il Dottore. With clenched teeth and a rigid jaw, his voice oozed with venom. But any seasoned lackey working under Dottore knew that this was the calm before the storm. Because soon, an echo of shattering vials and slammed objects would ring out from the laboratory. And in your absence, nothing would prevent the doctor from showing a bit of despotism. 

Much later that evening, after everything was set and done, the servants informed him of your whereabouts. Il Dottore briskly made his way through the Zapolyarny Palace to find you. Spotting you tucked away in a secluded nook of the palace, he hastened over, anxious to ensure your well-being, fearing you might’ve withdrawn due to the influence of some blabbering lowlife. 

“Dear! There you are… No one has the right to speak to you like that ever. Are you alright? My dearest, why did you not tell me immediately?! I would’ve-”

Dottore’s frustrated rambles come to a halt when you place a finger on his lips to shush him. You didn’t look despaired, in fact, you looked calm - “Zandik? Did you have another tantrum in your lab while I was absent?”

The doctor gulped, remembering his place. Calming his senses, he placed his hands on your waist and ushered you closer to his arms.

“... Perhaps. But I had to. How could I be certain that no one had harmed you? Why did you comply with that impudent fool? You should’ve gone to me first.”

“Well, it was unpleasant to hear the insults, sure. But…" - you glanced apologetically and a knowing smile returned to your lips. "I knew you'd find out and deal with the issue very quickly." 

✧ You and Pantalone were an odd couple. You didn't hail from a rich background, nor were you well-versed in the art of business and finance. You were more proficient in adventuring, your travels taking you to all sorts of journeys and commissions, a polar opposite from your beloved Pantalone. This led to raised eyebrows among the aristocrats of Snezhnaya. How can the richest man of Teyvat, who lives and works in prestige, be associated with such a simple person as you? For some, this gave the impression that they had a better chance of winning him over.

Thus, once upon a night, Pantalone was invited to a luxurious soirée. Here he was, clad in his finest suit, silver rings complementing his equally expensive optics. But to the Regrator, the jewelry adorning him was the least of his concerns - because you were the most precious gem in this gala. You accompanied him, although reluctantly, feeling out of place amidst the grand assembly of extravagant guests and the languid orchestra.

“Pantalone, do we have to…? I know you said this is not a business party, but there are so many guests already lining up to talk to you.” 

“Oh do not fret, my sweet. Evening galas like these are where the real negotiation and connections entail. But I know the details bore you, so I promise we won't stick here for too long. Besides, I get to introduce you as my one and only!”

That's exactly what you were afraid of. As a company of some esteemed noble ladies adorning elegant gowns, you had difficulties matching Pantalone’s polite smile. Overwhelmed by the scrutinizing gazes of some guests, you politely excused yourself to the bathroom. Pantalone was concerned, thinking of following you, but that was exactly what the guests wanted. 

You spent a long while by the hallway alone, trying to stabilize your breathing. The muttering of guests enjoying drinks and strolling was faint, but you could hear some people nearby:

“How can the 9th be with someone like them…? Surely it’s a joke.”

“A charming, rich man like him, and he can have anyone he desires. Yet he wastes his time on a simpleton?”

“Someone was definitely in it for the Mora, maybe he hasn’t seen real class. Quick, let’s go talk to him while he is alone.”

You stood with your back to a wall, and for the first time, uncertainty crept in. With fists clenched by your side, you reprimanded yourself that you are not alone. You came here with your significant other - and he, above all else, knows that gossip has no place in your shared private life. Hence, gathering up your courage, you raise your head high and strode back into the gala.

Pantalone, unfortunately yet expectedly, was surrounded by the same foul-mouthed nobles who wished to impress him. They prattled on about his financial success, while ladies fanned their folding fans and stood too close for his comfort. While they humored him, The Regrator cast hurried glances around the gala in search of you. Where are you?

“Lord Harbinger, may we offer you more champagne? I am sure this expensive bottle is up to your taste.”

The 9th attempted to hide his frown at the woman's tone, his stomach unwilling to ingest any drink some excessively elaborate name. “No thank you, I’d rather decline. I am waiting for my dear. I promised her a dance later this evening.”

“Oh, please sir, I insist. The night is young and there is plenty more for-” 

Before the woman could continue, your voice cut through the air; calm, yet unmistakably firm. “He said no. Simple enough to understand.”  

A hush fell over the gathered guests, the weight of your words settling like a sudden gust. Only Pantalone beamed with a genuine smile. “Ah, dear! There you are,”. The Harbinger was about to step back towards you, when the same lady suddenly blocked his path, her back facing him while her tone edged with defiance.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m afraid the question is directed towards Lord Harbinger Pantalone. I am sure you wouldn't know the pleasure of tasting a 500,000 Mora champagne from Fontaine.”

You recognized the snark in her tone directed towards you, and you couldn’t deny the anxiety twisting in your gut as eyes narrowed in your direction. However, with a shake of your head, you reminded yourself who you truly are and simply said: “Sheesh, lady, you spend that much on a drink that tastes worse than sparkling water? To each their own, I presume”

Her smile vanished. The guests stared in stunned silence, but it was Pantalone’s genuine laughter that pierced the tension. The sound was rich and real—because only he knew how adept you were at humbling an overconfident aristocrat with a dose of blunt truth. That’s how Pantalone managed to push through the crowd and circle his arm back around your waist, leaving the astonished onlookers behind.

“Ah dear, you’re a savior. I apologize I dragged us into this unpleasant company…” - he confined to you apologetically as you two walked away. “You always knew how to be sincere in your honest way.”

“It’s not like I meant to pick up a fight…" - you sighed. "I simply couldn't bear the humiliation, Pantalone. I'm aware that some people give me strange looks when I'm with you. They regard me as if I'm some peasant standing next to a powerful Fatui harbinger. That I'm nothing. That's why I couldn’t just hide, I had to step up to defend myself.”

“Oh, darling… My sweet, precious darling.” - The two of you left the manor that hosted the soiree, the chill night breeze muting the faint sound of guests and replacing it with a symphony of cricket noise from the garden nearby. Pantalone's fingers intertwined with yours.

"You are not just 'nothing' - you're my everything. You did not come from riches, and neither did I. You of all people know that. Would I really hold respect for some rich fool who didn't know an ounce of hardship when Mora was all they had since birth? No, dear, I wouldn't."

With a tender hand, he rested his palm on your waist, gently guiding you along the cobblestone path as if leading you into a slow waltz by garden roses in the night.

"Besides, you should never be ashamed to seek out my help. Although I must admit... Your tone earlier - oh my. Use it on me more often, darling. I wouldn't mind." 

[fanaticalthings]

I really like the idea of the bat kids designating Dick and Jason's apartments as sibling gathering spots but for opposite reasons.

Sibling needs some comfort? Some eldest daughter advice? A shoulder to cry on or just a lil getaway spot from the chaos of Gotham? Dick's apartment is perfect.

But if a batkid wants to complain, maybe wants to talk shit about Bruce, or maybe even wants to discuss a lil felony in a judgement free zone? Jason's place it is.

And I like to imagine that while Dick readily keeps his doors open and reminds anyone that they can drop by anytime, it's the opposite for Jason.

Dude's got his place riddled with traps and locked up to the high heavens. He makes it obvious he doesn't want visitors, and vaguely insinuates that there are bombs rigged somewhere in his apartment so there's a always a 50/50 chance you might get blown up if he's feeling particularly bitchy one day.

But does that stop his siblings? Absolutely not. Unlike Dick (who assigns himself as the guiding older brother), Jason has been forcefully labelled as the older sibling you go to if you need to complain and stir up havoc. The hundreds of traps in his place mean nothing. And it's worse because Jason is never prepared for when someone drops in.

-----

[Jason, 3 hours into his sleep, blearily waking up to a weight on his chest at 4am]:

[Damian, perched atop him, eyes dead-centre locked onto Jason without blinking]: Hello, Todd-stop screaming it is unbecoming-I just came to tell you that father won't allow me to adopt another stray I found on patrol.

Jason, half-asleep and like 70% sure he's hallucinating: Wha-

Damian: I need you to blow up his car.

Jason:

-----

[Jason, arriving home after a 6 hour patrol, exhausted out of his mind, turning on the lights]:

[Stephanie, previously baking brownies in the pitch black darkness before Jason arrived]: Oh hey! Just thought I'd drop by, y'know, for fun.

Jason: Bruce yelled at you again.

Stephanie: Bruce yelled at me again.

And yes, while most of the time, it ends up as wholesome sibling bonding, sometimes the other batkids just feel like inconveniencing Jason just whenever, because what are siblings for?

[Jason waking up and seeing all of his traps and security systems disarmed and very deliberately broken in a way where he'll have to replace all of them instead of being able to reactivate them]:

[Jason, immediately dialing his phone angrily]: Tim, I swear to GOD-

-----

[Jason giving himself a rest-day and cooking some meals]:

[Dick somersaulting in through the open window unannounced (he missed his brother)]: Whatcha up to, littlewing? :>

Jason: GET OUT-

-----

[Jason casually reading a book, feeling a sudden chill up his spine]:

[Cassandra standing in the corner without so much as an exhale, watching Jason intensely. Who knows how long she's been there]:

Jason: Are you here to kill me

Cass:

Jason: Just make it quick.

[chaoticwriting]

The First Son

All the batkids have one common secret they are keeping from Bruce. That is the fact that there is a new vigilante in town. At first they were confused when they heard rumors that the bats had a new member since Bruce hasn't introduced anyone to this guy.

It is only after a little prodding that they realize that the guy they are talking about is just a new vigilante. A good one too. No one has seen him and the only reason they know it's a he is because of his voice. The goons often call him The Phantom.

At first, they were very wary of this new guy. Last thing they need is a new guy who decides to do whatever the hell they want in the city. But no. Phantom doesn't interfere with anyone's works nor does he create chaos whenever he works. The guy operation is smooth and if not for the unconscious bodies sprawled on the ground, no one would even realize he is there.

The first contact they ever had with Phantom is when Phantom gives them a tip of an Arkham breakout in the planning. No one knows how he knows but he just is. His information gathering is better than any of them including Tim and Barbara. They also successfully established a way of contact between them. Whenever any of them need help, they will leave a sticky note on the bat signal and they will receive whatever intel they want the next day. They try to see him by staying right beside the signal and even setting up cameras but none of them works with either the sticky note straight up disappearing or the cameras becoming static with the sticky note getting replaced with the Intel when the static is gone.

And so they go like this for a few more months when suddenly a tip comes up from an unlikely source.

Talia Al-Ghul has informed them that because of desperation Ra's is planning on kidnapping Tim and Damian to use them in a battle against Talia. She has been working to take over the League of Assassin after she gained news of her own father having dark plans against his own son. After the recent fatal blow to her father's faction, in a desperate attempt to defeat her, decides to break his own words and plans to invade Gotham to take Damian as hostage and Tim to become his apprentice.

The batfamily goes on high alert especially since Talia herself is there with her assassins trying to help them. But unfortunately, they underestimate how determine Ra's is. Talia nor the batfamily don't expect that Ra's would be crazy enough to bring his whole faction to invade Gotham.

Tim and Damian are not having a good time. Let it be known that normally, they can easily take down anyone they want to if they work together. Unfortunately, their opponent today is Ra's Al-Ghul himself. If Batman, Cass or even Dick is here, they would easily be able to hold their own against him. But Tim's expertise is detective work while Damian is still young and are at a disadvantage in terms of physical strength and experience.

Everyone is fighting to get backup to Tim but with the Supes out of this world and most other heroes busy with their own works, it is quite hard to deal with the assassins. That is until all the assassins are frozen on the ground. They don't know how or why but the assassins are now fully covered in ice with only their heads out.

A figure forms slowly in front of Ra's as his blade inches slowly towards Tim. A loud metal clanging sounded destroying the silence that has befallen the whole battlefield. In front of them is a man with black hair, blue eyes and very very tall. On his hand is a Khopesh that is directly parrying Ra's katana.

"Hello father."

The voice sends a chill into everyone who hears it. But for the Batkids, they know that voice. That is the same voice that is often heard whenever they try to communicate with Phantom. That means, the guy in front of them is Phantom.

"No no no. Impossible. I killed you by my own hand. There is no way you are here. An imposter. That's what you are."

Ra's says as everyone can feel the tremble and fear in his voice. And for the record the bats and Talia have heard Ra's voice being in fear before but this is different. This is the fear that you showed when you are in front of your natural predators. Your death.

"Indeed. It is a mistake for me to believe that you would love like I used to love you, father. And I loathe myself thinking about it. For the longest time revenge has been on my mind. But some people have helped me in letting go of the past. People who truly see me and treat me like family."

"How? How are you still alive? The Lazarus Pit swallows your body as a sacrifice."

"The Pit does no such thing. When you put me in there, you merely set me free. The Pit claims me as one of her own. And she takes pity on my life and decides to give me a better one. And for that I will be eternally grateful to her."

In a fit of madness, Ra's swings his sword towards Phantom. He doesn't want to hear any of it anymore. He needs to kill Phantom now. Before he-

A kick sends him flying across the rooftop towards the other side. Ra's roll on the ground growling in pain. That kick specifically aims to give me the most pain without damaging his body in the slightest. A feat that can easily be done by a very skilled martial artist.

Phantom picks up Tim and Damian that is still on the ground. With Damian fully unconscious and Tim barely conscious, Phantom sends them to the ground using what the other thought to be some form of telekinesis. They slowly pick Tim and Damian and after making sure Tim and Damian aren't in imminent danger, they try to make contact with Phantom, when a dome of ice erected from the ground surrounding both Phantom and Ra's.

Phantom holds his sword in by his side and slowly walks towards Ra's.

"My name is Danyal Al-Ghul. The first son of Ra's Al-Ghul. Today, I am here to formally challenge Ra's Al-Ghul to a death match on account of the continuation of the unsolved battle 500 years ago. All the members of the league are to be witnesses of this battle."

That sentence sends dread to everyone present. Talia knows of this tradition. A tradition that is used by her father to take down any opposition to his rule. That's why she has never confronted his father head on. She is not confident that she can win against him.

Ra's knows that he can't hide any longer. Last time he wins is barely because of an ambush and Danyal was poisoned. He would have never won otherwise.

Usually, Ra's prided himself in being a warrior. Who will dare to look death in the eyes to challenge it to battle. But people that are close to him knows that he is a coward. A coward that is so scared of death, who will do anything to run against it. But now, he can no longer run. Death has finally made his way towards his doorstep. Death in the form of his first son. The very son who he killed because of a prophecy he heard from a seer.

'You shall die a worthless death. At the hand of your greatest creation. He will be your end. The one who will put out your flames of life. Your first son.'

He has been enraged when the seer says that. He killed the old woman and even prepared a plan to kill his own son. The son that trusted him. He first sends him on a big mission where he knew Danyal would never fail. Then he makes a grand celebration when he returns. That's when he poisoned him, reducing his strength to barely a tenth of his full strength.

Even then, Danyal had put up a tough fight. Claiming Ra's hand while fighting him. He thought that he succeeded when life left his son's body. But he is greedy. He tries to awaken him again to make him into his perfect warrior. But the Lazarus Pit swallows him. Leaving no trace behind.

For the longest time, Ra's hid the existence of this son. He is his greatest creation. He is also his greatest shame.

Danyal walks slowly towards Ra's. The others are trying to crack open his ice dome but unless he wills it, even the sun can't melt his ice. Ra's is kneeling right there. Seemingly given up any chance of retaliation. Both of them knew that Danyal is the superior one between the two. Either intellect or strength. Danyal has and will always be better.

Putting the sword on his neck, Danyal asks him. "Any last words father?"

Ra's looks at him with an empty eyes that suddenly gains light as he thrust his katana straight into Danyal's chest. Ra's is about to laugh in victory as he thinks he has outsmarted his son again but then he realizes that his son is still standing there with his sword on his neck.

"Goodbye father." And with that, Ra's head flies into the sky and falls on the floor. Danyal can hear the screaming and shouting from the outside but he doesn't care. He has done it. His long forgotten revenge. His blood feud.

He looks at his father's corpse and burns it to ashes. He has made sure that the old man's soul has completely dispersed after the soul of people he kills unjustly has taken him apart one by one. What a gruesome death. Appropriate for such a vile human.

Danyal looks at people he can consider friends. He could see worry and Nightwing's and Spoiler's eyes, respect in Red Hood mannerism and confusion in Black Bat's body language. He has made sure no one sees Ra's body when he kills him since he knows some of them can read body language too well.

Looking at Talia, his sister, Danyal gives a nod, disperse the ice and disappears. Talia later takes control of all the assassins and they return back to their base after a quick talk with Batman. They heard the conversation from inside the dome. So they knew a little about what was happening.

After that night, Phantom completely disappears without any trace whatsoever.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

The plane was filled with soldiers, all getting ready to land and start the mission. Everyone was preparing in their own way. Some people were listening to music; others were reading either a novel or the mission briefing. There were the quiet ones, their eyes closed, and their head leaned back against the wall behind them. Simon was one of those. Before missions, he wanted to be in his own bubble. He’d drown out the noise around him, go through the plan again and again until it was in his blood. But this time…he couldn’t. Because of you.

“Love…” he sounded exasperated as he addressed you. “…what are you doing?” You glanced up at him before your attention returned to the project in your hands. “Crocheting, why?” He watched you for a few moments, the way your eyebrows were pulled together in concentration and your tongue peeked out from between your lips. You looked adorable. “Nothing, just curious, babe.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, ignoring the mask separating the two of you. By now, the pair of you were used to it.

Simon closed his eyes again and thought back, trying to remember if he had ever seen you crochet before, but nothing came up. This must be your first project. He couldn’t help but peek at you again, especially at your project. He desperately wanted to know what you were creating, but before he could ask, Price came up to him, gathering his attention.

“Ready?” Simon nodded and got to his feet. Unlike most of the other soldiers, the 141 was going to parachute out of the plane. He turned to look at you one more time, reaching down and tilting your head up to kiss you properly. “See you soon, love.” You smiled, though he could see the fear in your eyes. “See you soon, Si. Be careful.” He nodded, before joining the rest of his team.

The mission was cruelling, and he couldn’t wait to be back in your arms. They spent two weeks in enemy territory, trying to get the intel they needed. The rest of the soldiers were used in different missions to keep attention away from the task force. And it worked. After those two weeks, they had what they needed and returned to camp, where you were already waiting.

Being a medic, you rarely ventured out onto the field. Mainly, you stayed at wherever the base camp was and waited for patients to come to you. But when news traveled that the 141 was on its way back, everyone knew not to bother you. After all, you would never forgive whoever kept you from Simon. And the moment you saw him, you jumped into his arms. “I missed you.” He chuckled, holding you tightly. “I missed you too, sweetheart. Come, let’s rest a bit, yeah?”

The plane back to Britain would leave the next day, so you had a few hours to relax before that. Thankfully, the task force members all had their individual tents, so you could enjoy the downtime without Simon having to wear the mask. However, when he immediately wanted to get into bed and cuddle, you had to send him off to shower first. He stunk. Plus, it gave you time to prepare your little surprise.

When Simon returned to his tent, he found you kneeling on the field bed, wearing only one of his shirts and panties, while hiding something behind you. “Oh? What did I do to earn this?” You chuckled and shook your head. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Si. I’m not having sex surrounded by horny soldiers.” The faux disappointed look on his face made you laugh again before you waved him closer. “But I do have a surprise for you.”

He stepped closer to you, even kneeling down right in front of you when you asked him to. “Okay, close your eyes.” The way he didn’t even hesitate, the way he trusted you, made your heart swell with love. And though it wasn’t what you actually wanted to do, you couldn’t help yourself but lean in and press a soft and short kiss to his lips. “Keep them closed.”

Finally, you brought out what you had been hiding behind your bag and pulled it over his hair. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open and he looked up, confused as to what you just placed on his head. “It’s not perfect, honestly, it’s the first time I even tried crocheting, but…” Simon stood up and grabbed the broken piece of glass he used as a mirror. “…when I saw it online, I just had to make it. Once I’m better, I’ll make it again, I promise. Just…do you like it?”

Simon stared at the beanie on his head, it was black and fit perfectly. “I love it. Thank you, babe.” You grinned and bounced to his side. “There’s more.” While making sure that he was still looking into the poor excuse of a mirror, you gently unfolded the edge of the beanie until it was a balaclava covering Simon’s face. A soft gasp escaped him when he realized why you wanted to make it for him. “This way, if you ever feel uncomfortable in public, you can just roll it down, you know?”

Without a word, Simon placed the ‘mirror’ down and spun around, pulling you into a tight hug. “I love you so damn much. I don’t deserve you, my love.” You chuckled, happily wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you too, big guy. Now, cuddles?” With a grin, he nodded and picked you up, carrying you to the bed, where he laid down with you on top of him, the both of you quickly falling into a deep slumber.

A/N: This one is long...oops. Based on this TikTok. Also, I don't usually post on Sundays, but this is a little thank you for all the love you guys showed me recently and for 3000 followers! Hope you like it!

[pucksandpower]

The Interview

Max Verstappen x journalism student!Reader

Summary: when you are given an assignment to interview someone, you can’t resist asking your boyfriend to be the subject … it’s just a shame that your professor doesn’t believe the interview actually happened

The classroom smells faintly of old books and freshly printed handouts as you sit in your usual spot, third row from the front, slightly to the left. The room is slowly emptying out, the hum of post-class chatter gradually fading as students make their way out into the hallway. You’re gathering your things, sliding your notebook into your bag, when you hear Professor Carter clear his throat.

“Y/N,” he says, his tone firm but not loud. “Could you stay behind for a moment?”

You pause, your hand gripping the strap of your bag. His voice isn’t one that invites argument, and you’re already running through the possibilities of what this could be about. Your mind flickers to your most recent assignment — the interview with Max. The nerves you’ve been trying to suppress all week twist in your stomach.

You watch as the last few students shuffle out, closing the door behind them. Professor Carter leans back in his chair, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he flips through a stack of papers. His desk is a mess, as usual — books stacked haphazardly, coffee stains on nearly every surface, but his eyes are sharp when they finally meet yours.

“So,” he begins, tapping a finger on the paper in front of him. “Your latest assignment. The interview.”

You nod slowly, trying to gauge his mood. “Yes, sir.”

He holds up the paper, and you can see your neat handwriting sprawled across the page. “You interviewed Max Verstappen.”

It’s not a question, but you nod again anyway. “Yes.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Tell me, Y/N, how exactly did you manage that?”

Your heart skips a beat. You knew this might happen — knew that choosing Max, of all people, might raise some eyebrows. But you hadn’t expected it to be this ... confrontational. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Well, I’ve known Max for a while,” you say, carefully choosing your words. “I asked him if he’d be willing to help me with the assignment, and he agreed.”

Professor Carter leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Known him for a while, you say?”

“Yes,” you reply, trying not to sound defensive. “We’ve been ... friends.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Friends.”

There’s something in his tone that makes you stiffen. You know what he’s implying — he doesn’t believe you. You fight the urge to fidget under his gaze, forcing yourself to stay calm.

“Professor,” you start, choosing your words carefully, “I understand that it might seem unlikely, but I assure you, the interview was real. I can-”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “Y/N, let’s be honest here. You’re a student at the University of Sheffield. Not exactly the kind of place where one casually befriends a Formula 1 driver.”

Your stomach twists tighter. “I’m not lying,” you say, a little more forcefully than you intended. “Max and I-”

“Enough,” he says, his voice rising slightly. He sets your paper down on the desk, his fingers drumming against the wood. “If you’re going to fabricate an interview, at least make it believable. I’ve seen this kind of thing before, you know. Students who get desperate, who think that stretching the truth — or outright inventing it — will get them the grade they want.”

You stare at him, disbelief coursing through you. “I didn’t fabricate anything,” you insist. “I really interviewed him.”

Professor Carter’s expression doesn’t change. “Then prove it.”

You blink. “Prove it?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “Show me some kind of proof that this interview actually happened. Otherwise, I’m going to have to give you a zero for academic dishonesty.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. A zero. That would tank your grade — maybe even your entire semester. But the worst part is that he’s asking for proof you can’t provide, not without exposing the relationship you’ve been so careful to keep private.

You hesitate, your mind racing. What do you do? Do you tell him the truth? Risk everything to save your grade? But the thought of Max — his need for privacy, the way you’ve both agreed to keep things quiet for now — weighs heavily on you. You can’t just throw that away. Not for this.

You swallow hard. “I ... I can’t.”

Professor Carter’s eyes narrow. “You can’t?”

“I mean, I can’t give you proof,” you clarify, your voice wavering slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m lying.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Y/N, you’re a smart student. You should know that in journalism, credibility is everything. Without proof, your story doesn’t hold up.”

You bite your lip, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I’m telling you the truth. I did interview him. Just because I can’t show you proof doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“And just because you say it did happen doesn’t mean it did,” he counters, his tone cool. He taps the paper again, a final, dismissive gesture. “I’m sorry, but unless you can provide evidence, I have no choice but to give you a zero.”

You’re stunned into silence, your mind reeling. You can’t believe this is happening. It feels unfair, like you’re being backed into a corner with no way out.

“Professor Carter,” you try again, your voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Please. I’m not lying. I wouldn’t risk my grade like this if it wasn’t true.”

He regards you for a moment, and for a split second, you think he might relent. But then he shakes his head, resolute. “I’m sorry, Y/N. My decision stands.”

The weight of his words presses down on you, and you feel a sharp sting behind your eyes. You blink rapidly, determined not to let him see you cry. This is supposed to be a professional conversation, and you won’t let your emotions get the better of you.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “I understand,” you say, though your voice is tight. “Thank you for your time.”

He nods curtly, already turning his attention back to the stack of papers on his desk, dismissing you without another word. You force yourself to walk out of the classroom with your head held high, even though every step feels heavier than the last.

When you finally make it out into the hallway, the reality of the situation hits you full force. You lean against the wall, your bag slipping off your shoulder as you press the heels of your hands to your eyes, willing yourself to keep it together. You can’t believe this is happening. A zero. All because you refused to betray Max’s trust.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out with trembling fingers. It’s a message from Max.

Hey, just finished training. Want to grab dinner later?

You stare at the screen, a lump forming in your throat. How do you even begin to explain this to him? Do you tell him everything? Or do you keep it to yourself, like you’ve been doing for the past year?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, the words you want to say tangled up in your mind. Finally, you type a simple response.

Yeah. Let’s meet at our usual spot.

As you hit send, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. You’ll figure this out. Somehow. You have to.

***

The restaurant is quieter than usual, the low hum of conversation and clinking silverware blending into a muted backdrop. You sit across from Max in your usual booth by the window, the warm glow of candlelight casting soft shadows on his face.

He’s already ordered for both of you, the way he always does when he gets here before you. It’s a small thing, but it makes you smile — a reminder of how well he knows you, your likes and dislikes, the little details that make up your routine.

But tonight, the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You can feel the weight of what happened earlier pressing down on you, a knot of tension in your chest that you can’t seem to shake. Max is talking about his day — something about the latest adjustments they’ve made to the car — but the words are barely registering. You nod along, trying to focus, but your mind keeps drifting back to the conversation with Professor Carter, the way he looked at you, the disbelief in his voice.

“Hey,” Max’s voice cuts through your thoughts, gentle but insistent. “You okay?”

You blink, realizing you’ve been staring at your untouched glass of water for the past minute. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just ... tired.”

Max studies you for a moment, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. He’s not convinced, you can tell. But he doesn’t push, not yet. Instead, he leans back in his seat, taking a sip of his drink. “Long day, huh?”

“Something like that,” you murmur, picking up your fork and poking at the salad in front of you. You’re not really hungry, but you force yourself to take a bite, if only to keep your hands busy. The last thing you want is for Max to start asking questions. You know him too well — he’ll find a way to make this his fault, even though it’s not. And you can’t handle that right now, not on top of everything else.

Max is still watching you, though, and you can feel the weight of his gaze. He’s always been able to read you like a book, and tonight is no different. After a few more moments of silence, he sets his glass down with a soft clink.

“You’re doing that thing,” he says, his voice carefully neutral.

You glance up at him, confused. “What thing?”

“That thing where you say you’re fine, but you’re not.” His tone is gentle, but there’s a firmness underneath it. He’s not going to let this go. “Come on, what’s going on? Did something happen today?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly drop your gaze back to your plate. “No, nothing happened,” you lie, trying to sound casual. “It’s just been a long week, that’s all.”

“Right.” He doesn’t sound convinced, and you can feel his eyes on you, searching for cracks in the facade. “Because you’re always this quiet when nothing’s wrong.”

You sigh, pushing the lettuce around your plate. “Max, I’m fine. Really.”

There’s a pause, and then you hear him exhale softly, like he’s trying to be patient. “You know, you’re a terrible liar.”

Your stomach twists at his words, but you keep your eyes on your plate. You know he’s right — you’ve never been good at hiding things from him. But this ... this is different. You can’t just blurt it out, can’t just tell him what happened without worrying about how he’ll react. He’ll get upset, maybe even angry, and he’ll blame himself for something that isn’t his fault.

“Just ... drop it, okay?” You say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Max’s expression softens, but the concern doesn’t leave his eyes. “Y/N,” he says gently, leaning forward. “If something’s bothering you, I want to help. You don’t have to deal with it on your own.”

You shake your head, still not meeting his gaze. “It’s nothing you can help with.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Max’s hand is on yours, warm and solid, grounding you in the moment. “Let me decide that,” he says quietly. “Please.”

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks you, but you bite down on the words that are clawing at the back of your throat. You can’t do this, not here, not now. So instead, you pull your hand away gently, offering him a small smile.

“Really, Max, it’s fine,” you say, trying to sound reassuring. “Let’s just enjoy dinner, okay?”

He hesitates, clearly torn between wanting to respect your wishes and wanting to press for answers. But eventually, he nods, though the worry doesn’t leave his eyes. “Okay. But if you change your mind ...”

“I know,” you say softly. “Thank you.”

You both lapse into silence after that, the conversation stilted and awkward. You try to focus on the food, on the comfortable routine you’ve built together, but the knot in your chest only tightens with every passing minute. You hate this — hate that you’re keeping something from him, hate that you’re letting it affect your time together. But you don’t know what else to do.

It’s Max who finally breaks the silence, setting his fork down with a sigh. “You know, I’m not very good at this.”

You look up at him, frowning. “At what?”

He gestures between the two of you. “At ... whatever this is. The whole ‘let’s pretend nothing’s wrong’ thing. It’s not really my style.”

You can’t help but smile at that, despite everything. “I know.”

“So why are we doing it?” He asks, his tone gentle but probing. “Why are you pretending that everything’s fine when it’s clearly not?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Because ... I don’t want to ruin dinner?”

Max’s lips quirk into a half-smile, but there’s no humor in his eyes. “Dinner’s already ruined if you’re not happy.”

The words hang between you, heavy and honest, and you feel the walls you’ve been trying to keep up start to crumble. You take a deep breath, feeling the tightness in your chest loosen just a fraction. Maybe ... maybe it’s time to tell him. Maybe he deserves to know.

“Okay,” you say quietly, setting your fork down. “But ... promise me you won’t get mad.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Mad? Why would I get mad?”

“Just promise.”

He sighs, nodding. “Okay. I promise.”

You take another deep breath, steeling yourself. “It’s about my journalism assignment. The one where I interviewed you.”

Max nods slowly, waiting for you to continue.

“So ... my professor — Professor Carter — he, um ... he thinks I faked it.”

Max’s expression darkens immediately, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What? Why would he think that?”

You shrug, trying to keep your voice steady. “Because ... well, because he doesn’t believe that I actually know you. He thinks I made the whole thing up to get a good grade.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Max says, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. “Why would he assume that?”

“Because I’m just a student at Sheffield,” you explain, your words tumbling out faster now. “And you’re ... well, you. He doesn’t think someone like me could actually know someone like you.”

Max’s jaw clenches, and you can see the anger simmering beneath the surface. “That’s-” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. “What did he say?”

“He said ... he said he’s giving me a zero for academic dishonesty unless I can prove that the interview was real.”

Max’s eyes widen in shock. “A zero?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

Max sits back in his seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “That’s insane. You shouldn’t be penalized for telling the truth. Did you explain to him that we’re ... you know ...”

You shake your head quickly. “No, I didn’t tell him about us. I didn’t want to ... I mean, we’ve been keeping things private for a reason, right? I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

Max frowns, his frustration evident. “Y/N, you shouldn’t have to choose between protecting our privacy and your education. That’s not fair.”

“I know,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t want you to feel guilty. I know you would have found a way to blame yourself for this.”

Max looks at you, his expression softening. “I don’t want you to suffer because of me,” he says quietly. “I’d rather the whole world knew about us than have you lose out on your grades.”

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault, Max. I made the decision to keep things quiet, too. I don’t regret it.”

“But now you’re paying the price,” he mutters, frustration lacing his tone.

You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours. “We both knew there would be challenges. We’ll figure this out.”

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I just hate that this is happening to you. If I could talk to your professor-”

“No,” you cut in firmly. “I don’t want you getting involved. That would just make things worse.”

Max frowns, clearly unhappy with your decision, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks down at your joined hands, his thumb still tracing soft circles over your skin. “But what are you going to do?” He asks quietly.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “I’ll figure it out. Maybe I can talk to him again, try to convince him without bringing you into it.”

Max shakes his head, clearly frustrated. “It’s not right, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to prove yourself like this.”

“I know,” you say, your voice soft but resolute. “But I don’t want to drag you into it. We’ve worked so hard to keep our relationship private, and I don’t want this to be the thing that changes that.”

Max looks at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Finally, he sighs, squeezing your hand one last time before letting go. “Okay. I’ll respect your decision. But if it gets worse, if he keeps pushing ...”

“I’ll let you know,” you promise, trying to offer him a reassuring smile. “But for now, let’s just try to enjoy dinner, okay?”

Max nods, though the tension in his shoulders doesn’t quite ease. “Okay,” he agrees, though there’s a note of reluctance in his voice.

You both lapse into a more comfortable silence after that, the conversation slowly returning to more familiar, lighter topics. But even as you talk about other things, you can feel the weight of the situation lingering between you. Max’s concern is palpable, and you know he’s still thinking about it, even if he’s trying not to show it.

But for now, you’re both doing your best to push it aside, to focus on the time you have together. You know you’ll have to deal with the situation with Professor Carter eventually, but for tonight, you’re content to just be here with Max, to enjoy the quiet moments that are yours alone.

No matter what happens, you’ll figure it out together.

***

Professor Carter’s classroom is as stifling as ever, the air thick with the scent of old books and the faint smell of chalk dust. You’re sitting in your usual spot near the back, trying to focus on the lecture. But it’s impossible to concentrate. Every time Professor Carter glances in your direction, your stomach twists with anxiety. The weight of his accusation still hangs over you, and you can’t shake the feeling that everyone in the room knows what happened, that they’re all silently judging you.

Your notebook lies open in front of you, but the words on the page blur together. You can barely pay attention to the lecture, your mind constantly drifting back to the conversation with Max. You told him you’d handle this on your own, but now, sitting here under Professor Carter’s scrutinizing gaze, you’re starting to doubt yourself. What if you can’t convince him? What if you really do end up with a zero on the assignment?

As if sensing your distress, Professor Carter pauses mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as he looks in your direction. “Miss Y/L/N, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” He asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You snap out of your thoughts, your heart racing. “No, sir,” you mumble, trying to shrink into your seat.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with your response. “Then I suggest you pay attention. This material will be on the final exam, and I’d hate for you to miss out on any more important details.”

There’s a smattering of laughter from your classmates, and you feel your face flush with embarrassment. You nod quickly, your fingers tightening around your pen. “Yes, sir,” you say quietly.

Professor Carter smirks, clearly pleased with himself, and turns back to the board. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. But just as you’re about to refocus on the lecture, the door to the classroom swings open.

Every head in the room turns to look at the sudden interruption, and you feel your heart stop when you see who’s standing in the doorway.

Max.

He’s dressed casually, in a black T-shirt and jeans, but there’s no mistaking who he is. The entire room goes silent, the air thick with shock and disbelief. You can see the recognition in your classmates’ eyes, the way they start whispering to each other, nudging each other and pointing in his direction.

Max strides into the room with the kind of confidence that only he possesses, his gaze scanning the room until it lands on you. His expression softens for a moment when he sees you, but then he turns his attention to Professor Carter, who is staring at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Can I help you?” Professor Carter asks, his voice sharp, though there’s a note of uncertainty beneath it.

Max doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, actually, you can,” he says, his tone polite but firm. “I’m here about Y/N’s assignment.”

Professor Carter’s eyes widen slightly, and you can see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to piece together what’s happening. “I’m sorry, but this is a private class,” he says, his tone regaining its usual authority. “If you have concerns about a student’s work, you can schedule a meeting during my office hours.”

Max crosses his arms over his chest, unfazed. “I think we can sort this out right here.”

You feel a mix of panic and gratitude welling up inside you. You didn’t want Max to get involved, but now that he’s here, you can’t deny the relief that floods through you. He’s taking a stand for you, and you can see that he’s not going to back down.

Professor Carter, on the other hand, looks like he’s trying to maintain his composure, but there’s a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “Max Verstappen, I presume?” He says, his tone clipped.

Max nods. “That’s right. And I’m here to prove that Y/N didn’t fake her interview with me.”

There’s a collective gasp from the students, and you can feel the tension in the room spike. All eyes are on Max now, and you can see the shock on your classmates’ faces as they realize what’s happening. Professor Carter, however, doesn’t seem impressed.

“I see,” he says slowly, his gaze flicking to you for a moment before returning to Max. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Max’s expression hardens, and you can see the determination in his eyes. “Simple. I’m here, aren’t I? She couldn’t have faked an interview with me if I’m standing right here.”

The room falls silent again, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. Professor Carter opens his mouth to respond, but for a moment, no words come out. It’s clear that he wasn’t expecting this. He was so sure of himself, so confident that you couldn’t possibly know someone like Max Verstappen. And now, here Max is, standing in front of him, making him eat his words.

“I ... appreciate your enthusiasm,” Professor Carter finally says, though his voice lacks its usual bite. “But this doesn’t prove anything. For all I know, you could be here out of some misguided attempt to protect her.”

Max’s jaw clenches, and you can see the frustration building in his eyes. “You think I would waste my time lying for someone? If she didn’t do the interview, I wouldn’t be here.”

Professor Carter’s gaze shifts to you, and you can see the doubt still lingering in his eyes. “Miss Y/L/N, I told you that if you could provide proof, I would reconsider your grade. But this ...” He gestures to Max. “This isn’t exactly the kind of proof I had in mind.”

You feel a surge of anger rising within you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re standing up, your voice trembling but firm. “What more proof do you need? He’s here, in front of the entire class. He’s telling you the interview was real. What else do I have to do to make you believe me?”

The room falls silent again, and you can see the shock on your classmates’ faces as they watch you stand up to Professor Carter. He looks taken aback, his usual smug expression faltering as he stares at you.

For a moment, no one speaks. Then, Max steps forward, his voice calm but filled with conviction. “Look, Professor, I get that this might be hard to believe. But Y/N isn’t lying. She interviewed me, and she did a damn good job, too. If you don’t believe me, you can check with my team. They’ll confirm it.”

Professor Carter hesitates, clearly torn between maintaining his authority and acknowledging the reality in front of him. He glances around the room, seeing the way his students are hanging on every word, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

Finally, he exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Verstappen. But I expect Miss Y/L/N to submit any additional documentation that can verify this interview. Understood?”

You nod quickly, relief flooding through you. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Professor Carter waves his hand dismissively, clearly eager to move on. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to continue with the lesson.”

Max glances at you, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips. “I’ll wait outside,” he murmurs, and with one last look at Professor Carter, he turns and walks out of the classroom.

As the door closes behind him, you sink back into your seat, your heart still racing. The tension in the room starts to dissipate, and you can feel the curious stares of your classmates on you, but for the first time since this whole ordeal began, you feel a sense of calm. Max believed in you enough to do this, to stand up for you, and that’s all that matters.

Professor Carter clears his throat, trying to regain control of the room. “Alright, everyone, back to the lesson. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

You open your notebook again, but this time, the words on the page seem clearer, more focused. You can do this. You’ve got this. And no matter what happens next, you know you’re not alone.

***

When you step out of the building, the late afternoon sun is warm on your face, but you barely notice it. The adrenaline from the confrontation in class is still coursing through your veins, and all you can think about is getting out of here, away from the stares and whispers that followed you as you left the room.

You spot him immediately.

Max is leaning against his car, casually checking his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But you can see the way his shoulders tense when he catches sight of you, the way his eyes soften when they meet yours.

The sleek black car gleams in the sunlight, and you can’t help but notice the way people are staring, some pointing, others whispering to each other. Max Verstappen waiting outside a university lecture hall is not something anyone expected to see today.

You make your way over to him, trying to ignore the attention and the pounding of your heart. You had told him not to do this, told him you’d handle it on your own. And yet, here he is, right in the middle of everything, like he promised he wouldn’t be.

“Hey,” Max says casually, slipping his phone into his pocket as you approach. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, like he’s waiting for your reaction.

You stop in front of him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You promised me you wouldn’t get involved,” you say, your voice tight.

Max raises an eyebrow, looking entirely too calm for your liking. “I said I’d respect your decision. And I did — until I realized your professor is a jerk who needed to be put in his place.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to maintain your anger, but it’s difficult when he’s standing there looking so smug, so unbothered by the situation. “That’s not the point, Max. You went behind my back.”

He tilts his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Did I, though? Because I seem to remember you didn’t explicitly tell me not to.”

You huff in frustration, knowing he’s right but refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Max shrugs, unbothered by your accusation. “Maybe. But I’m also right.”

You want to stay mad. You really do. But the way he’s looking at you, with that infuriating mix of confidence and affection, makes it impossible. You try to hold on to your irritation, try to keep the scowl on your face, but you can feel it slipping away.

Max must see it, too, because he steps closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You’re not really mad at me, are you?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. “Maybe a little.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and familiar. “No, you’re not.”

You look away, trying to maintain your resolve, but Max reaches out, gently turning your face back to him. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and you can’t help but lean into his touch, your anger melting away as quickly as it came.

“Stop trying to be cute,” you mumble, though your voice lacks any real bite.

Max grins, clearly enjoying this. “I can’t help it. It’s just who I am.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile that tugs at your lips betrays you. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you still love me,” Max counters, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can say anything, Max leans down and presses his lips to yours, effectively cutting off any protest you might have had. The kiss is soft, gentle, but there’s an undeniable intensity behind it, a promise that he’ll always be there, even when you tell him not to be.

For a moment, you forget where you are, forget about the stares and the whispers, the anxiety that had been gnawing at you all day. All that matters is the feel of Max’s lips on yours, the way his hand cradles the back of your head, anchoring you to him.

When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your heart racing for a completely different reason now. Max looks down at you, his eyes dark with affection, and you can’t help but smile up at him, any remnants of anger long gone.

“Okay, fine,” you admit, still slightly dazed from the kiss. “Maybe I’m not that mad.”

Max chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before pulling back completely. “I knew it.”

You shake your head, but there’s no real frustration behind it anymore. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. “I know.”

You glance around, noticing the continued stares from the students passing by. You sigh, knowing this moment of privacy is short-lived. “We should probably get out of here before someone decides to take a picture.”

Max follows your gaze, nodding in agreement. “Good idea. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He opens the passenger door for you, and you slide into the car, trying to ignore the curious eyes still on you. Max walks around to the driver’s side, getting in and starting the engine. As the car purrs to life, he reaches over, taking your hand in his again.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, his tone more serious now, the teasing edge gone.

You nod, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. I’m okay. Thanks for being there, even if I didn’t ask for it.”

Max smiles softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You don’t have to ask. I’ll always be there for you.”

And just like that, the tension that had been weighing on you all day finally eases. You know things aren’t completely resolved with Professor Carter, but right now, with Max beside you, it doesn’t seem as daunting. You’ll figure it out — together.

***

The classroom buzzes with the usual energy as students shuffle into their seats, chatting with friends or tapping away on their phones. It’s a typical day, but there’s a different kind of tension in the air. Today, Professor Carter is returning the results of the investigative journalism assignments, and no one is quite sure what to expect.

You settle into your usual spot near the back, trying to shake off the nerves. It’s been a few months since the whole incident with Max interrupting your class, and while things have calmed down somewhat, Professor Carter’s stern demeanor hasn’t wavered. You still catch him eyeing you from time to time, as if he’s waiting for you to slip up.

The door slams shut as Professor Carter strides in, a stack of papers in hand. The chatter in the room dies down instantly. He’s never been one for small talk or pleasantries, and today is no different. He doesn’t bother with a greeting, just dives straight into it.

“Good afternoon,” he says curtly, his voice slicing through the silence. “As you know, today I’ll be discussing the assignments you all turned in. Some of you excelled, others … less so.”

You swallow hard, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your notebook. You did everything you could to make your article stand out, but now that the moment of judgment is here, doubt begins to creep in.

Professor Carter begins pacing the front of the room, flipping through the stack of papers as he speaks. “Several of you chose topics that were predictable but handled them with enough depth to warrant commendation. For example, Miss Klein tackled the opioid crisis in rural England — an important and underreported subject.” He glances up at a blonde girl in the front row, who nods in acknowledgment, her cheeks flushing slightly at the attention.

“Then we have Mr. Patel,” Professor Carter continues, stopping briefly to peer down at a lanky guy two rows in front of you. “Your examination of government surveillance policies in urban areas was thorough, albeit a bit heavy on the technical jargon. But it’s clear you put in the work.”

You watch as Professor Carter moves on to the next paper, calling out names and offering critiques with the same detached professionalism. The topics range from environmental justice issues to the economic implications of Brexit — serious, weighty subjects that demand rigorous analysis. The longer he speaks, the more you feel the sinking sensation in your stomach. Your topic, in comparison, feels like a joke. An entertaining joke, sure, but still …

And then he pauses.

Professor Carter reaches the last paper in the stack, and his expression falters for a moment before he collects himself. He clears his throat and addresses the room, his voice taking on a more formal tone.

“And then we come to one particular assignment,” he begins, his gaze sweeping across the room before landing squarely on you. You freeze, every nerve ending on high alert. “An assignment that, while unconventional in its subject matter, demonstrated an impressive level of dedication and — dare I say — ingenuity.”

A ripple of whispers spreads through the room. You feel the heat of a dozen eyes on you but keep your gaze firmly on Professor Carter. His words are oddly measured, as if he’s trying to make sense of them himself.

He raises the paper in his hand slightly, glancing at it before looking back at the class. “Miss Y/L/N,” he addresses you directly, causing all the whispers to stop. “Your decision to investigate whether or not Toto Wolff, the team principal of Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula 1 Team, dyes his hair … was certainly unexpected.”

You hear a few muffled snickers, but you keep your face neutral, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“However,” Professor Carter continues, raising his voice slightly to silence the snickers, “the lengths you went to in pursuit of the truth were nothing short of remarkable. Going through Mercedes' trash? That shows initiative. Questionable ethics, perhaps, but initiative nonetheless.”

There’s a stunned silence in the room. You feel the urge to either laugh or shrink under your desk. You aren’t sure which. Instead, you nod slightly, acknowledging his words without letting the grin you’re fighting show.

Professor Carter takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say next. “In a field where skepticism is necessary, and where finding the truth often requires unorthodox methods, your work stood out. So much so that I found myself contemplating the absurdity of the situation. Here I am, reading about a billionaire’s grooming habits as though it were a matter of national importance.”

This time, the laughter from the class isn’t stifled. It rings out freely, and you feel your own lips twitch despite yourself.

“But,” Professor Carter interjects, silencing the room once more, “that is precisely the point of investigative journalism, isn’t it? To find the story others overlook, to dig deeper, even when the subject seems trivial. Miss Y/L/N, your article was, in its own way, insightful. You followed the evidence, and you made your case with conviction.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at you. “Though I must say, I’m not entirely convinced that your methods were ... strictly ethical. Dumpster diving isn’t exactly taught in this classroom.”

You finally allow yourself a small, nervous laugh, shrugging lightly in response. “All in the name of journalism, right?”

Professor Carter lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “I suppose so. Regardless, your paper has made an impact — certainly more than I anticipated.”

He drops your paper onto his desk and addresses the class one last time. “Let this be a lesson to all of you. Journalism isn’t always about the grand topics. Sometimes, the most interesting stories come from the strangest places. I encourage you all to think outside the box.”

With that, he begins handing back the assignments, and the classroom slowly returns to its usual rhythm. Conversations pick up again, but this time, they’re punctuated by curious glances and nods in your direction. You try to focus on the papers being passed down your row, but your thoughts are still stuck on Professor Carter’s words.

When your paper finally lands in front of you, you can’t resist flipping through it. There, scrawled in red ink at the top of the page, is your grade — a solid A. Next to it, Professor Carter has written a brief note: Keep pushing boundaries, but remember — ethics matter.

You smile to yourself, feeling a mix of relief and pride. The assignment had been a gamble, but it paid off in the end. And while the ethical considerations may have been a little murky, you can’t deny that the thrill of the chase had been worth it.

As class ends and students begin to file out, a few stop by your desk, offering congratulations or asking for details about how you managed to pull it off. You answer their questions with a grin, reliving the absurdity of your investigative methods. And though it feels surreal, you can’t help but feel a sense of validation.

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Professor Carter catches your eye and nods in your direction, a rare hint of approval in his usually stern expression. You nod back, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between the two of you.

Stepping out of the classroom, you feel lighter than you have in weeks. The whispers and glances no longer bother you. Instead, they serve as a reminder that you’ve proven yourself, in your own way.

And as you walk through the corridors of the university, you can’t help but think about what Max will say when you tell him about today. Knowing him, he’ll probably tease you about your methods, but you also know he’ll be proud — just as you are.

Because sometimes, in journalism and in life, it’s the unconventional stories that make the biggest impact.

[themidnightcrimson]

malevolent ࿏ wm

summary: in which moving into a new house brings you horrors you never imagined.

words: 7.6k

warnings: forced breeding, strap-on, dubcon/noncon, demonic, horror, gore, top!wanda, evilmommydemoncockwanda4life

this is dark!fic for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

The day was cold and bleak. The air had a frostiness to it that manifested in a sheen of white over the long-dead grass that had yellowed at the passing of autumn. The leaves scattered around were no longer vibrant reds and oranges but rather dulled browns. The trees were barren—dark, crooked cracks in the grey skyline. You noticed a pack of buzzards eating at roadkill.

Death.

Christmas was just around the corner but, unlike everywhere else in the country, this town seemed to not be celebrating much. You’d noticed that the very first time you drove through—this sort of head-down feeling about the place that differed so much from what it looked like. The town itself was charming and cutesy with so many little shops and beautiful gathering spaces. It was colorful, too. But something about it seemed greyed, like a ghost town almost except the people were still there. They didn’t talk much, especially not to outsiders apparently. They only whispered to each other with concerned faces and low voices, like they were afraid something lingering around in the air would hear them. They held their children very close to them.

So it wasn’t exactly the neighborliness of Westview that attracted you to move there. The town felt like something very dark had happened in a place that otherwise was a great place to live.

To be quite honest, the housing market in that town had taken a sudden dip down in the past couple months. You didn’t understand the housing market and thought maybe people just didn’t like to buy houses in the winter, but there were a few neighborhood roads that had recent For Sale signs up in every yard. It’s like people were evacuating the town. Running from something.

There was a specific house, actually, that had taken a steep dip down in price. It was put up for sale a couple months ago for a shockingly low price. You were stunned when you found out there were no bids, no one who had showed interest since it’d been put up. It was a beautiful house, a perfect family home. Not that you had any family to put in it. It was just you, but you liked space.

And for a price that cheap? In a quiet town away from the city? You couldn’t pass up on it. You were anxious, anyways, to have somewhere to yourself. Crashing on your friend’s couch wasn’t exactly the most glamorous post-breakup living arrangements, but the apartment lease was in your ex’s name.

Now you stood, on this dreadful day, in front of that house. You couldn’t help but feel like the windows were eyes staring at you, measuring you the way you were measuring it. Evaluating, judging. Maybe your confidence was just shot from all you’d been through the past few months. You had a house now. It was time to make it into a home.

It didn’t so much seem like the dark energy of town had made its way into your house, but rather that the house was some sort of energy field pushing it out into the town. This was a strong assumption to make, but as soon as you walked into the front door, you could feel it. The air was thick with something more than just the dust of time. It was still. So still. You could feel the still air on your face like a thick cloud of smoke that wasn’t there. It was energy brimming all around you. It made your stomach turn.

You couldn’t lie and say that you didn’t feel this eerie energy when you viewed the house. You felt it from the very beginning, but you just needed somewhere, and this house was the only one in your budget.

Cursed, is what the local kids called it. It was cursed because of the family who lived there. When you questioned your real estate agent about it, she sort of brushed it off and said that they just disappeared, that whatever happened to them, happened outside of this home.

You were reluctant to believe that story, but you were a skeptic anyways. If a young family had been axe murdered here or something, it was still just wood and brick to you.

The first few days in the house were busy. The moving company was taking all your stuff from your ex’s apartment and moving it into your house, which meant you had to deal with her calling you and screaming that she definitely bought that chair even though you distinctly remembered ordering it for the living room. You hated having to speak with her, with all her narcissistic tendencies. As much as you mourned the relationship, you mourned how stupid you were for ever putting up with so much for so long.

The house apparently was built in the 50’s and hadn’t been touched since besides the usual renovations every decade or so, which you enjoyed. Older houses had so much more character, like the adorable little partition window between the living room and the kitchen. You opened and closed the little shutters, imagining what 50’s housewife used this for so many years.

So you didn’t have much time to dwell on that eerie energy in the house while the movers brought everything in, until they left. And it was just you and those walls.

Luckily you could focus on unpacking all the boxes stacked around. You did so dutifully, and since you really had nothing else to do, you finished pretty quickly. By the next day you were untaping the last box which was full of random childhood artifacts. Trying to think of where you could put these things that you wanted to keep but didn’t really want just lying around, you suddenly realized that this house had an attic. The agent had vaguely pointed to it previously but you had never went up there.

Going upstairs, you opened the attic ladder and carefully climbed up the rickety thing, instantly inhaling thick layers of dust as your head entered the dark attic. To your surprise, you saw a few boxes lying around.

“Huh,” you murmured with interest as you swatted away cobwebs, the floor dangerously creaking beneath you as you approached the boxes. Whoever took the previously family’s stuff out of the house must have forgotten about the attic, which you found strange. Were they in that much of a hurry to get in and out?

Crouching down, you wiped the thick layer of dust off the box. How much dust could have accumulated in a matter of months?

None of the boxes were taped, only folded shut. Was it wrong of you to look through their stuff, especially since they were basically considered dead? To be fair, the house was yours now, and you needed to put some stuff up here. So you opened the box and looked inside.

This one was full of different colors of fabric. A red fabric crown of some sort, green tights, a blue headband, a can of silver spray paint for hair. Halloween costumes? All of superhero-esque kind?

Opening another box, this time you find some sort of fake lobster. A doorknocker? There’s some baby stuff in there too—a book about the psychological effects of pregnancy, a crib mobile made of butterflies. You go through all this stuff, the usual family keepsakes that the mother was too sentimental to throw away, until you suddenly come across something starkly different.

A book, but a different kind of book. It’s at the bottom of the box, and it’s heavy. The front is dark and somewhat torn with strange inscriptions on it. Heaving it out of the box, it falls into your lap with a cloud of black dust. What the hell did a family have to do with this? It looked more like a Halloween decoration than anything.

Mindlessly flipping it open, you saw that the pages were full of language you did not understand. Markings, almost, like hieroglyphics. Symbols. You come across a page that has the only recognizable thing you see—the figure of a woman, hair flowing, seeming to levitate on the page. This page is much darker than the rest, and the corners more torn. Like whoever read this book always seemed to seek out this specific page.

A sudden popping noise that sounded like weight on a floorboard startled you, made the book fall (it felt more like it leaped) out of your hands. You turned around to see nothing but the dark empty attic.

It was much too creepy up there.

Leaving your box of childhood memories up there and deciding to swap it out for this strange dark book, you carefully climbed back down the ladder and closed it.

The air felt thicker than ever now. Vibrating. Like it had just woken up.

࿏

You were mostly settled. Things still felt weird in the house, even after you put up every decoration you owned, but you figured it would go away with time. You’d been living off takeout the whole two weeks, hence the pile of Chinese takeout boxes in the corner of the kitchen. Deciding to go shopping to have some real food in the house, you pulled on your jacket and stepped out into the bitingly cold air. There was even a harsh wind, too, that made your nose hurt. Hugging yourself, you walked down your driveway and noticed a woman standing in the yard of the house next to yours. It was one of the few houses still lived in on the street, and you hadn’t even seen your new neighbor until now.

It was a middle-aged woman checking her mailbox. You struggled internally to decide if you should say hi or not, knowing that being all alone in a strange town was probably not the best idea, but something told you to just keep walking. You almost made it to your car until suddenly you could see her head snap towards you out of the corner of your eye. Instinctively, you froze, looking across the yard at her and seeing that she squinted her eyes suspiciously at you.

“H-hello,” you weakly greeted, shivering from the cold.

“Who are you?” the woman called out loudly, turning her body fully towards you now as if she was braced to defend herself. Great, a crazy neighbor.

“I’m y/n. I just moved in.” You tried to give a smile as you pointed to the house.

Looking between you and the house, the woman hesitated before walking towards you. Wishing you’d just ran to your car and left, you tried to be polite as she approached you.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said gruffly, sticking out her hand which shook yours rather aggressively. You noticed now something neon green on her hip—a watergun? “Detective Agnes. I work for the FBI. I’m working on a murder case here.” She pulled out a black wallet and flipped it open towards you. You knew that there was supposed to be a gold FBI badge there, but it was only a CostCo membership card for someone named Ralph.

“Oh,” you mumbled as she sighed officially and put her “badge” back in her pocket. She was also wearing a purple shirt with a picture of Dolly Parton and the word “Jolene” on it. Who the hell was this woman?

“Better be careful, newbie,” she said, pointing to your house. “The kids love to egg this house. Don’t worry though, I’ve got top of the line security system.” She nodded proudly and pointed to the roof of her house, which you noticed had one solitary print-only Polaroid camera haphazardly duct taped to it.

“Oh,” was all you could say again, feeling the intense urge to run away.

“Unfortunately the department frowns on tasering the little shits even though it’s what those punks need to set them straight,” she said, stretching and tapping on the other side of her hip, which had a toy car on it that she apparently thought was a taser.

Nodding slowly, you started backing away to your car. “Okay, well, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too, young lady. Be safe out here. It’s a crime-ridden place.” She dramatically looked around the nice, quiet neighborhood as if she was looking at Gotham City and went back to her mailbox. You got in your car and sped away.

Westview only had a tiny market in town. It was liminal with its old linoleum floors and flickering green LED lights that buzzed overhead. It smelled slightly of rotting meat. You wondered if you could steal Detective Agnes’ fake CostCo card.

It was deserted in there, too, besides the drunk clerk with a scruffy beard who stared blankly at you. This was the point where you started to realize the citizens here did not take well to new people.

In fact, you had noticed the only other shopper in there seemed to be following you around. You didn’t feel in danger, given that it was just an older lady in a sweater buying fig newtons, until suddenly she came out from the other aisle and slammed her cart into yours.

“Hey!” you yelled out, looking at the older lady with short blonde hair.

“Get out while you still can!” she whisper-yelled, her eyes pleading. “You’re going to die!”

“Excuse me?”

“Run! Get out of that house, get out of this town! Wanda! She’s going to kill you! She’s going to kill us all!”

She was screaming now, eyes tearing up, knuckles turning white as she gripped her cart. You stared at her, wondering if you should call the police, until suddenly her face changed into a pleasant one.

“Ope! Sorry, dear! These carts have a mind of their own!” She let out a cheery little cackle before wheeling her cart away, going down the aisle to look at the Pop Tarts.

You stood there dumbfounded for a moment before deciding to just leave and go to Eastview for your shopping needs.

࿏

Your ex thought you weren’t worth much, but you knew she had to miss your cooking. Cooking was an art to you, a hobby you enjoyed sharpening your skills in. Tonight, since you’d been living off of leftover orange chicken for days, you were making a nice ribeye with lemon green beans and garlic mashed potatoes. A comfort meal. Maybe it would cheer up the angst-imbued house.

The interaction with your neighbors, specifically with the lady at the market, was unsettling. Why was she telling you to get out of that house? Who the hell was Wanda and why was she going to kill everybody? Was everyone in that town cracked out or out of their mind?

It was a little cozier, admittedly, as you were cooking that night. The kitchen had plenty of space for all your cooking tools and equipment, which you had a lot of. They were precious to you, so you had spent almost an entire day arranging them in all the drawers and cabinets.

You limited the lighting in the kitchen to the oven range and the little lamp in the living room. Setting your phone up, you let classical music fill the air as you prepped your steak while your potatoes finished boiling.

You felt calm and at home for the first time in a long time.

Until you started hearing a strange clicking noise.

Your first instinct was to check the oven since this was your first time using it. The clicking was not coming from there. You listened all around in the kitchen until you realized it was coming from the living room. Looking through the partition, you saw that the floor lamp on the other side of the living room was flickering.

Your pot of potatoes steaming and boiling, your steak left on the counter, you emanated through the flip door into the living room. You had just put a bulb in that lamp—no way it was dying already.

The closer you got to the lamp, the more it flickered. Faster and faster, causing your stomach to fold into anxious knots, until finally you lunged and turned it off all together. The room dark now, you caught your breath that you didn’t even notice was quickened.

You reached and turned it back on to find that it was no longer flickering. It must have been a weird glitch with the bulb. You were about to turn away when it suddenly clicked off by itself.

“What the fuck?” you say, reaching to turn it back on when it clicked right back on by itself. Taking a step away as fear imbued you, your eyes widened when the bulb in the lamp started getting brighter.

“What the fuck?” you say again, reaching to turn it off only to find that the bulb was so hot it burned your fingers. “Ow!” Stepping away, you watched in horror as the bulb kept getting brighter and brighter, filling up the entire room with light so that every corner and shadow was lit. You could see everything. And then it got so bright that you couldn’t see well. Your eyes burned, your skin burned with the heat of the bulb. The lamp was shaking where it stood, the fabric of the lampshade starting to burn up to expose the hot bulb even more. Even the metal pole was starting to melt where the bulb sat on it. You could hear the classical music playing from your phone in the kitchen, except that it was frenzied, angered, violent now.

It got brighter and brighter until your face was red hot and your hair felt like it was about to catch fire and all you could see was bright hot white, and you screamed a silent scream “STOP!”

With a loud electrical popping noise, the bright white faded away. You were blinded now, everything pitch dark, the heat replaced with a sudden coolness as the bulb popped and sparked on the lamp where the shade had half melted off. When you could finally see again, you unplugged the lamp and stepped away from it.

“What the fuck?” you said for the third time this night, heart beating fast as you rubbed your hot, aching eyes as your vision came back to you.

Before you could even process what had happened with the lamp, you looked over at the partition window and froze. Your heart stopped in your chest. Every hair on your arm stood up. Your eyes instantly watered with fear.

As you stood across the living room, staring through the partition window into the kitchen, you saw that every single cabinet and drawer in the kitchen was fully opened. All of your cooking tools, all the utensils and knives and equipment, hung suspended in the air right above or in front of the drawer or cabinet you had them in. It was like they were all on strings. And where your dining table was, all 3 chairs were hung upside down in the air above the table.

The air felt alive now. So alive you could feel its heartbeat, feel its breath down your neck, feel it on your skin. It was watching you, taunting you, burning eyes into you. There was something else there with you as you stared at all your kitchen stuff hanging in the air by themselves like they were on pulleys. But they were all so still. Nothing swayed or trembled.

A sigh breezed against the back of your neck. And then everything fell.

All of it dropped, every tool and utensil, every chair. It dropped like dead weight from where it hung, like gravity had suddenly been turned back on. It was deafeningly loud, all the metal tools clanging against the hard tile floor and countertops. Even your boiling pot of potatoes went down with a loud splash of steaming water. It was a deafening clatter, pure chaos as all of your stuff went right down to the floor. Even the chairs cracked onto the ground as they dropped heavily.

Things rolled and trembled until finally it all came to a stop. The air no longer felt as thick, but it was still there. It was silent now except for the eerie classical music still playing from your phone, calmly now.

You didn’t know what to do, or think, or feel. You felt fear. You felt confusion. Fingers trembling, you took frightened steps forward towards the kitchen, unsure of what lied in wait for you in there. Flipping open the door, you expected something to get you. You could feel it, you swore. Watching you. You swore you saw something dark swoop down under the surface of the island counter, but nothing was there. It was just you and all your broken tools and chairs. You avoided stepping on the mushed potatoes that still steamed as you walked through the warzone.

On the counter, your steak laid where you left it. Except that it was bleeding now, covered in thick, black blood that oozed out of it. It dripped down the counter, covered your floor. The center of the steak seemed to throb. Too much blood for just a ribeye, and when you touched it, it was warm.

࿏

Not that you had anyone to tell, but you didn’t speak of what happened. Dumbfounded, you numbly cleaned the mess up and went to bed. After the steak, you couldn’t eat beef for a week.

The house felt different now. Still eerie and angsty, but not as devoid as it did at first. Whatever devoid feeling had been filled the day you went into the attic was angered since the day in the kitchen. It felt like the house was resentful, like it was going to snap at any moment and swallow you. Even the doors kept slamming on your fingers when you tried to close them.

You thought about the lady in the market. Couldn’t stop thinking about her. Something very bad had happened in that house.

“Wanda?” Detective Agnes repeated when you asked her about it. You saw her in her backyard, duct taping another Polaroid camera to her patio. You spoke to her over the fence. It was gnawing at you to know what had happened. “Where did you hear that name?” she asked gruffly, perking up and approaching you at the fence, causing you to take a few steps back.

“Some lady at the store,” you blurted. “She was saying something about a Wanda, like it had to do with my house.”

Agnes squinted her eyes at you, and then she suddenly perked up as if she was listening to something. She grabbed a nearly all-brown banana from her hip and put it up to her mouth like a walkie talkie, speaking in a deep voice. “312 on the move. Dealing with concerned civilian. Be there at 1600 hours.” She tucked the banana back into her belt. “You wanna know about Wanda?”

You nodded, wondering if you should even trust what she has to say.

Agnes sucked at her lip and then blurted, “She’s dead. But you didn’t get that from me.”

“I kind of figured… Did she live here?”

Agnes tilted her head. “And what do you plan on doing with that information, huh? You trying to blackmail a federal officer?”

You raised your hands and backed away. “Look lady, I just live here and want to know why everyone is being so weird about the house I just bought.”

“Look,” Agnes interrupted you, “Wanda Maximoff was found dead in the woods. She’s gone, deadso, totally corpsed out, alright? I’ve got her on an operating table over at the morgue if you don’t believe me.”

You shook your head. “But she lived in my house?”

Then Agnes did something weird. She spoke, “I don’t know.” But she nodded her head.

You looked at her in confusion. “What?”

“I said, I don’t know!” she yelled, but she nodded her head again. The expression on her face was angry, but there was something wrong with her eyes. They were almost… pleading. But like she didn’t realize it.

That conversation didn’t make you feel any better about the situation. And when you got home to find that the old book you’d brought down from the attic was sitting on the coffee table open like something had been reading it, you weren’t exactly comforted.

It was turned to that same page, the one with the figure of a woman wearing a crown. Feeling aggravated with the lack of knowledge you were getting from both the internet and your neighbor, you slammed it shut and threw it under the couch, out of sight. If there was something in this house fucking with you, you would not just lay down and take it.

Things continued to feel off in the house. Your TV kept going off and on at random times. Doors slamming, footsteps in the hall at night, knocking on the walls. None of it felt as aggressive as that night in the kitchen, though. You’d come to terms that you had picked a slightly haunted house, though you still didn’t truly believe in all that stuff. But as a logical, sensible person, you knew that there was something strange causing all these strange occurrences that couldn’t be overlooked.

But when all the little events were mostly docile and didn’t get in the way of your usual living, you just carried on. You wouldn’t forgive what happened that night in the kitchen, but you could live with it and try to forget it. Even though you had to buy so much new kitchen stuff.

That was until you were cleaning one day and picked up that old dark book from under the couch so that you could vacuum. You set it on the coffee table and kept on cleaning, forgetting to put it back in its place of hiding.

That night, with a clean house, you decided to take a nice relaxing bath. You lit candles all around the bathroom and turned off the light as the tub filled with hot water. There’d been more flickering lights and knocking on the walls that evening, but you were starting to get used to it. It was an old house, after all. Maybe it was all just your imagination, and it was all very explainable in a scientific way.

But this event marked a point where you could no longer believe that.

As you laid in the tub, muscles relaxing under the hot water, you opened your eyes momentarily and saw something strange. In the water where you lay, you saw foggy threads of red floating through the water.

Were you bleeding?

Sitting up sharply, you check yourself all over. No marks, no wounds or cuts, no time of the month, but there’s trails of blood floating in the water.

Your heart starts to quicken as the air grows thick around you again, that same feeling as the one that night with the lamp. It swarms you.

“Stop,” you whisper, watching more and more blood appear from nowhere in the water, making the water turn crimson red.

Glancing at the reflective metal surface of the bathtub faucet, your heart stops when you see, in the warped reflection, some shadow of black sitting right behind you in the tub.

That’s when you scream and leap out of the water, nearly slipping on the tile floor as you freak out. There obviously was no one or nothing sitting behind you in the tub, but you most certainly saw the dark reflection of one.

The lightbulb above you starts flickering, even though the light was not turned on.

The blood in the water had gone, but during your jump out of the water your foot had pulled the stopper up. The water was draining now, very loudly, making a deep guttural sound as the water drained quickly. When it was all gone, it was silent.

Something dark appeared at the wide-open hole of the drain. It looked liquid at first, like some black substance was oozing out of the drain onto the white porcelain of the tub, but when it started rising up out of the hole and moving in a very alive way, you realized it was fingers.

Blackened fingers rose out of the drain, wiggling, pulling up a hand along with it. The fingernails were sharpened, the slender hand feminine even with its charcoal fingers.

You screamed when a whole arm shot out of the drain and grabbed at the side of the tub.

All you could think to do was run out of the bathroom and slam the door shut, holding onto the knob and listening as you heard the sickly wet sounds of something being pulled out of the drain and slapping against the wet tub, and even the sound of it stepping over the tub onto the floor. Heavy breathing with effort. Distorted wet footsteps across tile floor.

You wanted to run and call the police, but then you felt the knob gently turn in your hand. This bathroom door did not have a lock.

With some sort of screech of breath, whatever thing that was behind the door pulled hard at the knob. Screaming, you pulled the door back shut before you could see whatever was on the other side, wanting to rather die than to actually see what it was. The thing wrestled with you over the door, pulling hard and fast. You held on with all your strength, hands still wet from the bath, putting your foot against the threshold for more leverage. The air was screaming now, loud in your ears, a heartbeat that was not your own beating from inside your own brain. The lights were all flickering, and the house felt like it was closing in on you.

The thing pulled and pulled, screaming and screaming until it got the best of you. The knob slipped out of your hands, and the door swung wide open.

Instinctively, you slapped your hands over your eyes. You didn’t want to see. You didn’t want to see. You didn’t want to see. You’d rather die than see.

Breathing heavily, you waited for something to get you, because you were certain that whatever was in your house was trying to do that all along.

But nothing came.

Inhaling oxygen and exhaling bravery, you tried to ignore all the visions your brain guessed that you would see, and parted your fingers. Through the slit in your fingers you saw… nothing. The bathroom was empty. The tub was drained but clean. The flame of the candles all around were perfectly still.

But then you heard a creaking noise from behind you. Slowly, breath held, trembling, you turned around and raised your eyes.

A black figure clung to the ceiling. It was the shape of a person with soft edges. It was a shadow, in human form.

It jumped down at you.

With a scream, you buckled to the floor and covered your head, trying to shield yourself. Nothing touched you. You bravely opened your eyes again and looked all around only to not see the black figure anywhere. There was nothing but you, naked and wet on the floor.

The air felt empty again. The thing had come and gone. You were safe.

For now.

࿏

It was hard to feel settled after that. Things got more aggressive. It was like whatever demon was with you had finally laid eyes on you and was set to get you now. You couldn’t find that book anywhere. It wasn’t on the coffee table nor under the couch. You looked everywhere to no avail.

Detective Agnes knocked on your door one night to tell you that someone had been lurking at a window at the side of your house. She was holding a full-size Nerf Super Soaker and said that she had tried to snipe the suspect wearing all-black but they had somehow jumped into your closed window (hence the sound of spraying water you had heard on your window). She demanded to look through the house, which she did and found nothing. You’re pretty sure she swiped a pair of your underwear, though. She taped a Polaroid camera to your roof for good measure and said she took photos of “damning” evidence which included unconcerning pictures of your flowerbed. You knew it wasn’t a person, but rather a thing lurking from within the window.

Nights were the worst. You had never been someone to be so scared, but you could barely sleep from how hard your heart thumped with fear as you lay in bed at night.

A few nights after the bathroom event, you managed to halfway fall asleep somewhere around 3 AM when you suddenly heard loud banging coming from within the walls. Waking up with a shot of anxiety in your chest, you heard the banging again, loud and clear, like someone trying to break down a wall from the inside.

Feeling frozen, you forced yourself to sit up when you fully froze at the sight of something horrific. In the corner of your bedroom, right beside the window, was that dark figure hiding in the shadows. It seemed more formed this time. You could see the outline of hips, hands, legs. The worst part was that you could see two red eyes gleaming at you in the dark.

“Go away!” you instinctively yelled, but it came out barely audible due to the lump in your throat.

The figure slowly came forward, and the moonlight from the window casted over it.

It was some creature of a woman. She was decrepid, slightly hunched over. Her eyes were red and glowing, her mouth set wide open as if her jaw has been broken off. But where her face would have been… Where her face would have been, her skin had been stretched upward into two points, like her skin had been stretched over horns, or over a crown. She was unnaturally tall and skinny, her skin pale and yellowed.

Dark red hair laid at her shoulders, and she was wearing some torn and ratted red suit. Her hands were deformed, long and sharp and bony, blackened at the ends. The horrible smell of death and blood suddenly filled your nostrils, making you gag and cover your nose. The creature smelled of death and appeared deformed, demonic, monstrous, evil.

“Who are you?” you questioned, trying to think of what to say or do. This thing must have been some sort of manifestation of the thing that had been torturing you, and so you say the only name you know. “Wanda?”

The creature erupted into a monstrous screech so loud you nearly went deaf, and in a flash, she lunged fast at you. You swore you could feel her push you down onto the bed when you suddenly sit back up, coming out of a horrible nightmare.

You were sweating through the sheets, panting, looking all around your empty bedroom. Had it been just a dream?

Feeling a sting at your shoulder, you look at it to see a bloody claw mark there, so deep it was already dripping blood.

Once the demon had first seen you in the bathroom, she got more aggressive. Now she had tasted your blood… What was going to happen now?

As you expected, everything got worse. The knocking and footsteps got more violent than ever, doors slamming on you, knives throwing themselves across the kitchen towards you. This thing was trying to get you.

You leased an apartment in Eastview as quickly as you could.

You couldn’t move in for a week, so you were stuck there with that thing trying to murder you. Your friend you had been crashing with was on holiday, but you could not stand to sleep alone in that house. So you asked the only person you could think of…

“No worries, tuts,” Agnes said as she strode into your bedroom with an armful of blankets and pillows. “It’s my job to keep my fellow citizens safe.” She threw her blankets and pillows down on the ground right at the foot of your bed.

Awkwardly, you watched her make a pallet. “You know, I have a couch downstairs… That might be best so you can, you know, watch the front door.” You had told her you were having fears of break-ins and just needed someone to stay with you for a night or two.

“No, no, I can do my job best from right here,” she said as she plopped down onto the pallet. “Besides, these nights can get a little…” She undid her police jacket, which was actually just a varsity jersey jacket with the name Bohner on the back, as she looked up at you with a smirk. “Lonely…”

You just stared down at her, with her banana and water gun. “Okay, Agnes.”

Honestly, the night went better with Agnes there. There wasn’t any knocking or footsteps, no creatures in your corner. It was just Agnes’ obnoxiously loud snoring like a lawnmower right in your bedroom that kept you awake, but eventually you drifted off.

You had dreams of red. Of red and blood behind your eyes. Voices, names, memories, all in red. You don’t know what it was that jolted you awake, but something did, and when you flapped open your eyes, you saw her.

She was on your ceiling.

Red scarlet hair hanging down. Her face was not malformed this time, but rather, it was somewhat beautiful. Even with the glowing red eyes and darkness.

“Wanda,” you whispered, somehow knowing for sure that this was her. Wanda, the woman who had died, who had a family in the house you bought, who had been torturing you for weeks. Her fingers, black, clung to the ceiling as if that’s what kept her there, but you could tell it was magic. It was the same magic that froze your body and made you unable to move as she slowly drifted down the ceiling, closer to you, until she hovered right above you.

She didn’t seem real. This beautiful ghost, demon, whatever she was, her nose so close to yours, breathing over you with red eyes full of desire.

“You opened the Darkhold,” she spoke in deep unnatural voice without moving her lips. “You beckoned me.”

You tried to shake your head, but you couldn’t move a muscle in your body except your mouth. “No, I didn’t…” You thought of the old dark book. You had opened it.

“I can live on…” she spoke, reaching out her hand to touch you. It landed on your stomach, causing you to jump. You could feel her hand. You felt silly for expecting it to just go right through you. Her skin was touching your stomach over your shirt. It made you feel fear and excitement at the same time. “I have a womb now.”

Your eyebrows sewed together. “A womb?”

Chills filled you as Wanda’s lips stretched open in a wide grin that was too perfect to be real. Her face looked fake suddenly, like it was just a pretty human mask put over the real face of something horrible. “A womb for my children,” she said without moving her lips.

Suddenly, your legs were spread wide open in the air. You let out a scream of shock and fear, which made Agnes’ snoring finally stop. Agnes jumped up, stumbling, holding her Super Soaker. Her eyes widened when she saw the demon hovering over you.

“Get down!” Agnes yelled to you as she held up the Nerf gun and sprayed a sharp stream of water at Wanda. To your surprise, once the water hit the demon, it steamed and burned. Wanda hissed and turned to Agnes, levitating upright in the air as Agnes continued to spraying her.

Getting out her banana, Agnes yelled, “664 we need backup over here! I repeat! 664 we���ve got a code red!”

Wanda lifted her hand. Agnes rose up into the air, and with a flick of Wanda’s wrist, she was flung right out of the second-floor window.

Wanda turned back to you, and fear jumped at your spine again. Now it was just you and her.

Flying back towards you, she used her magic to peel the sheets off of you, settling herself down on the bed over you.

“What are you doing?!” you cried out as she somehow tore your clothes off your body, exposing your skin to her.

Her hand immediately went between your legs, groping at your core. “I have been waiting so long for you, detka,” she spoke, her voice sounding a little more natural. Her eyes, once robotic and blank, looked softer now. You couldn’t tell if it was real or not.

You tried to squirm but her magic kept you still. Her hand was expert—she rubbed circles at your clit as her other hand snaked up over your stomach, up to your breast which she groped. “The perfect vessel,” she whispered. “I can live on. I can have my children again,” she repeated as she slid her hand down to your tummy again, her hand glowing red. “Your womb is so fertile. I could feel it when you first arrived.”

Your head was spinning as this demon woman worked at your pussy, pinching your clit and slipping two fingers inside which made you yelp. She was gentle yet firm at the same time, somehow knowing exactly what would make you feel good. You were getting wet for her—you could hear it in the wet sloshing sound that your pussy made as she pumped her fingers in and out of you, curling them at their deepest length.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your head feeling suddenly very hot, as if a fever suddenly set upon you.

“You are so good,” she breathed, voice deeper this time as she adjusted where she sat between your legs, now kneeling over you. Suddenly, something large formed at her crotch. It was a strap—long and maroonish red with charcoal darkness at the tip.

“What are you—”

Wanda grinned and shushed you as she stroked her length, red magic glowing from within her strap. “Be a good, quiet vessel, detka.”

Something evil was showing through in her eyes.

“Wanda—”

She used her magic to shut your mouth so that you could only make muffled noises as the demon nestled between your hips, using her hands to spread your thighs further open. She wanted you as open for her as you could be.

Frightened but also some sickly form of turned on, you watched as the demon stroked her cock and brought it to your entrance which she had prepped and made soaking wet for herself. Her cock was larger than anything you’d ever taken. It was throbbing with magic.

The tip pushed through your entrance painfully, and you cried out through the magic covering your mouth as the demon suddenly pushed her entire cock inside you, ripping open your walls. Pain seared through your human body as the demon forced her way inside you, but when she passed a hand over your head, the pain suddenly went away. It turned more into a feeling of butterflies, of throbbing, of pleasure. You could feel blood leaking down your thighs, but she had taken away your pain.

“You are going to give me such beautiful children,” Wanda murmured, cupping your chin with her dark hand as she started to thrust her hips, pumping herself inside you. The pressure came against your cervix in a hot flash of pleasure each time. She was so long and so large, fucking herself so deep inside you that your stomach bulged. The demon pressed her hand on the bulge and cackled, feeling herself fuck you from inside.

You could feel everything, how deep she was, how the ridges of her strap glided against your walls, the way your stomach bulged with each thrust. Your pussy was being stretched open around her demon cock, taking every single inch no matter how girthy.

“The perfect bride,” Wanda said, her demon voice showing through as she started to fuck you harder. Her hand slapped around your throat, holding you down and halfway choking you as her thrusts became quicker and quicker, demonic grunts coming from her. You could feel yourself tightening inside, preparing for what was about to come.

The demon’s cock seemed to swell inside you, forcing you to stretch even more. Sickly squelching noises filled the air. Blood was all over the bed now. You felt nothing but electric, all-consuming pleasure.

“Stay still,” Wanda said as she choked you harder. “You’re going to take all of my seed. You’re going to give me such beautiful children, my beautiful bride.”

She went harder and harder, fucking deep into your womb until finally, the energy broke. She let out a guttural noise, and you could feel her cock go rigid inside you before a load of warmth filled you deep inside. As you shook from your own blinding orgasm, you couldn’t even see the fact that your tummy bulged as the demon kept filling you with her seed which glowed red from inside you.

Sighing, Wanda relaxed against you, keeping her cock inside you. It was still swollen, stuck inside your cunt. “I’m going to keep myself here until I know it takes.” She smiled for real this time as she stroked your glowing, swollen tummy. You were more than feverish now as you felt things start to change inside you at an inhuman speed. You could feel it taking, feel your tummy swelling more and more.

You didn’t know that once you birthed, she would slaughter you like breeding cattle.

[silverspectre51]

Summoning the Boy King

Darkseid was rampaging through Metropolis, Superman was injured, and the Justice League was desperate. As the League hid between fallen skyscrapers, John Constantine prepared a last-ditch effort to save the Earth.

The Hellblazer drew an intricate sigil on the ground; its circular design stretching over six feet in diameter. Most of the symbols within were space-related, while the others were themed to royalty. Batman, one of the few heroes in-the-know, grunted.

"Are you sure this king ghost can help?"

Constantine sighed and pinched his nose.

"He's the High King of the Infinite Realms, Bats, an' he's bloody powerful. He'll stop Darkseid, alright, but what he does afterward is anyone's guess. Believe me, I wouldn't be doin' this if we had a choice."

Batman sighed and glanced at the smoke-filled horizon.

"Alright, get on with it, then. We're running out of time."

Constantine nodded and placed a single offering in the center of the sigil: a squishmallow of Disney's iconic blue alien, Stitch.

"I beg your finest pardon," Batman sputtered, "What on Earth is that?"

Constantine sighed again as he took his position at the edge of the sigil.

"Mate, the book was very specific. Unlike his predecessor, the new king requires a single offering of space or alien theme that is suitable for children. It's bloody strange, but beggars can't be choosers."

Batman just shook his head and looked on. Constantine raised his hands and started the summoning chant. An eerie, green glow spread across the sigil, and light fog gathered above it. Little white orbs floated up from the ground and spiraled together, forming the slowly spinning visage of a spiral galaxy.

"Incredible..." Zatanna gasped, "This summoning is on a level all its own. This king of yours is on the level of Gods."

Finally, something began to form over the small galaxy. Batman's expression quickly softened, much to the surprise of his teammates. It was mere seconds before they understood, as a black blob full of white stars formed into the shape of a boy. The blob had spiky 'bangs' if you could call them that and eerie, glowing green eyes.

The squishmallow floated into the boy's arms and he squeezed it excitedly. At the same time, he took on a far more human form, with pale skin and snowy white hair. His eyes had whites now but still glowed green. He was dressed in black and white, royal attire with green accents, a black crown floating in a green aurora, and a black ring with a green stone. A black cape flowed down his back, its underside looking as if it were cut from a clear night sky.

"Awesome offering, dude! What can I do for ya?"

The voice was a reedy tenor in the throes of puberty, and its owner was more than a little geeky. The boy's smile was infectious, or it would have been were it not for the specific circumstance.

"How old are you?" Batman asked, his tone soft, "We weren't expecting a child."

The boy waved him off like it was nothing.

"No one ever does. And, um... technically I'm fifteen. I know, I don't look it."

Constantine cut in, clearly out of patience.

"Look, this monster Darkseid is destroying our world. We need you to stop him."

The boy turned in the air and took in the destruction around him. Somehow, he seemed to understand the situation immediately.

"Okay, but I gotta get permission first. This'll take a lot of power." He paused, taking a breath, and then yelled in a strange language. "Mom!"

Constantine paled and the other heroes shrank back as a green portal tore into existence. A young woman, barely an adult herself, floated out. She had waist-length blue hair and the same glowing, green eyes. She wore a royal outfit in white and maroon, complete with a glittering, silver tiara studded with rubies.

"What's the matter, Danny? Are you okay?"

Danny nodded.

"Mhmm! These guys need me to take out this Darkseid guy, though. Can I use my full power?"

Constantine snuck a drink from his flask. He did not sign up to deal with the fucking Queen Mother of the Infinite Realms, nor had he known she existed. God, he needed a smoke...

The Queen Mother smiled softly and pressed a kiss to her son's forehead. She spoke whilst taking his new plush.

"Yes, Danny, you may. Let me hold onto this for you so it doesn't get dirty."

Danny nodded and turned away.

"Okay, thanks mom!"

The Queen Mother vanished through and with the portal she had created. Moments later, Danny shot off into the city, with the remaining able-bodied heroes hot on his trail. The young king reached Darkseid rather quickly, engaging him while the Leaguers looked on from cover. Darkseid was foolishly amused.

"A child dares oppose me? Flee, whelp."

Batman tensed as Darkseid unleashed his Omega Effect. Two red beams shot from his eyes, and yet the young king floated firm. Two eerie, green beams shot from his own eyes and, to the shock of everyone, overpowered his foe's. Darkseid shattered into many tiny pieces which then vanished into thin air.

"Man, he really wasn't smart!" Danny grinned, "Who fires a death beam at the king of the dead?"

He received no response, as the heroes were too stunned to speak. Smiling, he saluted the group before tearing open another portal.

"Oh well; villain gone, carry on. Later guys!"

Batman glared at Constantine, but the Brit had already absconded. Heaving a sigh, he resigned himself to this new reality. Darkseid was gone, but there was an incredible new power to worry about.

(Note: My only source of information is DP canon, DP fanon, and the Justice League cartoons from the early '00s. I apologize for any inaccuracies with Batman's or Constantine's behavior.)

[arilevenatz]

Royally Bound

Pairing: Prince!Seonghwa x reader

Genre: Arranged marriage au, fluff (omg so much of it)

Word count: 10k

Warnings: none :)

AN: Get ready to be bombarded with the most gentleman of gentleman Seonghwa. Omg he is so sweet to mc. I wrote this solely because I had a thought of ONE scene from this and I wrote an entire fic based on it. And don't forget to like and reblog pls it motivates me to write more!!!

In the heart of the flourishing kingdom of Eryndor stood a grand castle, its towering spires reaching toward the heavens as if to touch the very stars. Within its walls resided the royal family: King Park, a wise and benevolent ruler; Queen Park, a graceful and compassionate woman; and their only son, Crown Prince Park Seonghwa.

Prince Seonghwa was the embodiment of strength and discipline. His cold, straightforward demeanor had earned him a reputation as a strict and unyielding leader. While some whispered of his severity, the majority of Eryndor’s people revered him. For though his words were sharp and his judgments firm, his actions always spoke of his deep love for the kingdom.

Each morning, as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the castle windows, Seonghwa would rise, his mind already set on the day’s duties. From overseeing military drills to attending council meetings, his meticulous nature allowed no room for error. He walked the castle halls with a commanding presence, his dark eyes scanning every corner, every detail, ensuring that everything was in its rightful place.

Despite his stern exterior, Seonghwa’s heart was one of quiet devotion. He spent hours in the castle library studying the histories of past kings and queens, seeking wisdom to guide his future rule. He visited the kingdom's towns and villages, speaking to the people not with flowery words but with a genuine desire to understand their struggles.

Even in the grand halls of the castle, where the kingdom’s most influential figures gathered for meetings and important events, Crown Prince Seonghwa was a figure of quiet authority. Draped in royal attire that reflected his status, he sat at the long, ornate table, his posture impeccable, his expression unreadable.

Unlike many who sought to fill the air with their voices, Seonghwa remained silent, his sharp eyes observing every gesture, every word exchanged. He spoke only when addressed directly, and even then, his responses were concise and precise, like arrows hitting their mark.

At times, his silence unnerved those around him. Ministers and advisors would glance at him nervously, uncertain of what he might be thinking. Yet, when he did speak, his words carried such weight and clarity that they often silenced the entire room.

During a particularly heated council meeting, where arguments about the kingdom’s trade policies had reached a crescendo, Seonghwa had remained still, his gaze shifting between the quarreling parties. Finally, when the king himself turned to him for his opinion, Seonghwa’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“Trade benefits the kingdom only when it is fair and sustainable,” he stated coldly. “If you cannot negotiate terms that protect Eryndor’s interests while maintaining alliances, then perhaps someone more capable should handle the matter.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words pressing down on everyone present. Though his tone was devoid of anger, his bluntness left no room for misinterpretation. The advisors exchanged uneasy glances, while the king nodded, a faint smile of approval gracing his lips.

At royal banquets and celebrations, Seonghwa’s presence was equally commanding, even though he rarely indulged in pleasantries. While others mingled and exchanged smiles, he stood by the sidelines, his watchful eyes scanning the room for anything amiss. When addressed, he responded with the same measured calm, his words carrying a sense of purpose that few could match.

The people of Eryndor often whispered about his reserved nature, some calling it aloofness, others seeing it as strength. But whether feared or admired, there was no denying that Crown Prince Park Seonghwa was a man of unwavering discipline and control, a leader who valued action over words and results over empty promises.

The grand dining hall of the castle was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, its high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of Eryndor’s storied history. The royal family dined in silence, the clinking of silverware the only sound until Queen Park, with her ever-graceful demeanor, broke the silence.

“Seonghwa,” she began, her voice gentle but firm, “your father and I have been discussing a matter of great importance.”

The Crown Prince, seated at the head of the table, set his goblet down with practiced precision. His dark eyes lifted to meet hers, his expression as composed as ever. “Pray, speak your mind, Mother.”

The queen exchanged a brief glance with the king before continuing. “It is time, my son, for you to consider a union. The kingdom requires a future queen, someone to stand by your side and share the burdens of rule.”

Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, his posture unyielding as his gaze shifted between his parents. “Is that so?” His tone was measured, devoid of enthusiasm. “I was under the impression that my duties as Crown Prince were quite sufficient without the added endeavor of courtship.”

King Park sighed, his deep voice resonating through the room. “It is not merely about duty, Seonghwa. A union strengthens alliances, fortifies the kingdom’s position, and, dare I say, may bring you some measure of solace in the years to come.”

“Solace,” Seonghwa repeated, a faint trace of irony in his voice. “How poetic. Yet I see no such necessity. The kingdom flourishes, the council obeys, and the people prosper. What more is required?”

Queen Park’s serene expression faltered ever so slightly. “A ruler cannot stand alone forever. You may not see the need now, but in time, you will.”

For days thereafter, the subject lingered like an unwelcome guest, the queen and king broaching the topic at every opportunity. Seonghwa, however, remained steadfast in his reluctance, deflecting their attempts with a mastery born of his disciplined nature.

But even the most resolute walls crumble under relentless tides. On the morning of the seventh day, Seonghwa finally relented, though his disinterest was plain for all to see.

“Very well,” he said, his voice as cold as the winter wind. “If it shall grant me relief from your incessant nagging, I shall meet this woman you have selected. But let it be known, I do this not out of desire, but out of obligation.”

Queen Park’s face lit up with a hopeful smile, though she knew better than to voice her triumph aloud. “You shall not regret it, my son. We have known the Hwang household for a while now.”

Seonghwa rose from his chair, his movements deliberate and measured. “We shall see, Mother,” he replied, his tone carrying the faintest edge of skepticism. “Though I pray you do not expect me to feign interest where there is none.”

With that, he left the room, his long cloak trailing behind him, the echo of his boots fading into the distance. The queen sighed, her heart a mixture of relief and concern. For while her son had agreed, his heart remained as untouchable as ever.

The Hwang household was one of great renown in the kingdom, its name carrying a legacy of loyalty and service to the royal family. Your grandfather, Hwang Taejin, had been the closest confidant of King Park when he ascended the throne, forging a bond that still tied the two families together.

As the youngest daughter, you were the quiet shadow amidst your lively siblings. Your eldest sister, Hwang Seoyoon, was the pride of the family—a graceful woman of charm and poise, admired by many. Your brothers, Hwang Jinhyuk, Hwang Minseok, and Hwang Daehyun, were no less impressive: boisterous, ambitious, and ever eager to showcase the family’s brilliance to the world.

And then there was you.

While Seoyoon spent hours selecting gowns and jewels, and your brothers busied themselves with their social engagements, you preferred the solace of your room or the quiet corners of the garden. Your straightforward nature often set you apart; you had no patience for flowery words or pointless chatter. When spoken to, you answered with blunt honesty, a trait that earned you both admiration and exasperation in equal measure.

“Honestly, you’re hopeless,” Seoyoon often sighed, fussing over her reflection in a gilded mirror. “How can you expect to make a good match if you refuse to step outside?”

“Who says I expect to make a match at all?” you would reply, your tone calm but unyielding.

Jinhyuk, the eldest of your brothers, was no less persistent. “You’re the youngest. People expect you to be lively and charming, not... whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely in your direction.

“Then people are fools for expecting anything at all,” you would counter, much to his chagrin.

Minseok and Daehyun, the middle brothers, often tried to coax you out of the house with promises of excitement. “Come, little sister,” Minseok would say, his grin infectious. “There’s a festival in the town square. You’ll love it!”

“No,” you replied curtly, not even glancing up from your book.

“Just once,” Daehyun chimed in, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re wasting your youth locked away in here.”

“Better to waste it in peace than to squander it in nonsense,” you retorted.

Your parents, while loving, were equally puzzled by your reluctance to engage in the vibrant social life your family cherished. “You are a Hwang,” your mother reminded you one evening. “With that name comes responsibility. You cannot hide away forever.”

But you didn’t see it as hiding. To you, the world beyond your home was a noisy, chaotic place, and you found no joy in it. The garden, the library, the quiet evenings by the fire—these were your treasures, and you saw no reason to trade them for the fleeting pleasures your siblings pursued.

Unbeknownst to you, however, your life was about to be entangled with the royal family in a way you could never have anticipated.

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow through the windows of your room as you sat in your favorite corner, a thick book resting in your lap. The quiet rustle of pages was soothing, a rare moment of peace in a household that was anything but.

Your eldest sister, Seoyoon, had made herself comfortable on the chaise near the window. She was in the midst of a long-winded tale about the latest fashions in court, her voice animated and full of excitement. You, however, barely glanced up, too engrossed in the intricate story unfolding in your book.

“And then Lady Eunhwa had the audacity to wear the same gown twice in one week!” Seoyoon exclaimed, placing a dramatic hand on her chest. When you failed to respond, she huffed, her voice turning teasing. “Are you even listening? Or is that book more interesting than my tales?”

“Far more interesting,” you replied bluntly, not looking up.

She clicked her tongue in exasperation but continued regardless. “Oh, by the way, two of the king’s guards came by today.”

At that, your eyes flickered up from the page, though only briefly. It wasn’t unusual for members of the royal household to visit. After all, the king favored your father greatly, treating him almost like a younger brother. The king, slightly younger than your late grandfather, had become close to your family over the years, especially as your father had grown into a trusted confidant.

“It’s hardly news, unnie,” you said, turning a page. “The king’s guards have been here countless times before.”

“Yes, but they don’t usually come with such a formal air,” she replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I overheard Father speaking with them. It seems they were delivering a message about... well, something rather important.”

You raised an eyebrow, finally giving her your full attention. “Important how?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to spoil the mystery,” she said coyly, though you could tell she was itching to share. “But I will say this—it has something to do with Prince Seonghwa.”

At the mention of the Crown Prince, you frowned. “Why would anything involving him concern us?”

Seoyoon leaned closer, lowering her voice as if she were sharing a secret. “The relationships are a bit tangled, don’t you think? The king was close to Grandfather, but he had Prince Seonghwa later in life. Meanwhile, Father had us all when he was still quite young. It makes the royal family feel less like distant rulers and more like... well, extended relatives.”

“Relatives who happen to rule the kingdom,” you muttered, shutting your book with a quiet thud. “What exactly are you trying to say, unnie?”

She smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “I’m saying, little sister, that perhaps this visit wasn’t as routine as it seemed. Perhaps you should start paying more attention to the world outside your books. You never know what might be coming your way.”

You stared at her for a moment, trying to decipher her meaning. But when she simply rose from her seat with a graceful shrug and left the room, you couldn’t help but feel a nagging sense of unease. Whatever the king’s guards had come for, you had a sinking feeling it would disrupt the quiet life you so fiercely cherished.

When Crown Prince Seonghwa learned of the arrangements his parents had made, he stood in the vast study of the royal palace, his arms crossed behind his back as he gazed out of the towering windows. The distant sound of the bustling kingdom below barely registered in his mind.

“So, it is the youngest daughter of the Hwang household,” he said aloud, his tone carefully neutral, though there was a faint trace of hesitation in his voice.

Queen Park, seated gracefully by the hearth, nodded with a small smile. “Indeed. Youngest of Hwang. A quiet young lady, from what I have gathered. She is much unlike her siblings, preferring solitude to society. A curious match, I admit, but one worth considering.”

Seonghwa turned to face his mother, his expression calm but his thoughts clearly at war. “The connections between our families are... unusual, to put it plainly,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Her grandfather, as you know, he and Father shared a bond that went beyond mere loyalty. But then there’s her father—he’s younger than father, yet he married and had children before he did. My father married late and had me even later. That’s a strange difference in timing and position, don’t you think?”

He sighed, pacing slowly as he spoke, his thoughts almost unraveling as he considered the oddities of the situation. “The generations between us are not just tangled—they’re almost mismatched. It’s a contrast of decisions, timing, and expectations that’s hard to ignore.”

He glanced at his mother, the faintest trace of doubt in his eyes. “I understand the deep affection for the Hwang family, especially given the history with my father and her grandfather. But I wonder if that admiration has made him overlook how strange these connections really are. It’s a lot to consider in something as important as marriage.”

The queen chuckled softly, though her gaze was steady. “You speak as though this is of great consequence. The ties between our families have always been strong. Surely you understand why your father holds them in such high regard.”

Seonghwa exhaled, his brow furrowing slightly. He did understand. The Hwang family had been pillars of loyalty and wisdom for decades, their contributions to the crown invaluable. The late Hwang Taejin had been more than a counselor to King Park—he had been a brother in spirit, if not in blood. And even now, the king's fondness for the Hwang household was evident in every interaction.

Still, the prince could not shake his reservations. “I do not question their loyalty or merit,” he replied, his voice calm but firm. “But I see little reason to entangle myself in such matters simply because of sentiment.”

“You agreed to meet her, Seonghwa,” the queen reminded him gently. “It would do you well to approach this with an open mind. Who knows? Perhaps you will find her company agreeable.”

Seonghwa gave a faint, almost imperceptible scoff. “Agreeable,” he echoed. “I have little need for agreeable company, Mother. What I require is a partner of intellect, strength, and understanding. If she possesses these qualities, then perhaps this meeting will not be entirely futile.”

“Fate has a way of surprising us,” the queen said softly, rising to her feet. She placed a hand on her son’s arm, her expression a mixture of hope and fondness. “Give her a chance, Seonghwa. That is all we ask of you.”

The prince nodded curtly, though his mind remained conflicted. He was no stranger to duty, but this arrangement felt... complicated. And yet, as much as he might resist, he could not entirely ignore the deep respect his father held for the Hwang family. If nothing else, he owed it to the king to see this through.

As he returned to his chambers later that evening, Seonghwa allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. Her name lingered in his thoughts, an enigma wrapped in his family’s history. He resolved to meet her with the same quiet strength and scrutiny he approached all things—but he would not let sentiment cloud his judgment.

For a man as steadfast as Seonghwa, the prospect of meeting someone new, especially under such circumstances, was a challenge. But little did he know, the meeting would test him in ways he had never anticipated.

The soft afternoon light filtered through the window beside you, casting warm patterns on the wooden floor. You were curled up in a small nook by the window, a quiet corner of the house that you had claimed as your own. The garden beyond the glass was lush and vibrant, its blooms swaying gently in the breeze. It was a peaceful sight, one you often sought solace in.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence, and you sighed quietly, already bracing yourself for the disruption. Moments later, Seoyoon and Minseok burst into the room, their faces alight with a mixture of excitement and intrigue.

“Y/N,” Seoyoon began, her voice sing-song as she made her way toward you. “Have you heard what Father’s been planning?”

You didn’t look up from your book, your tone flat as you replied, “I’m sure you’ll tell me regardless of whether I have or not.”

Minseok laughed, plopping down onto a nearby chair. “She’s as blunt as ever,” he said, shaking his head. “But you’ll want to hear this, little sister. It’s about the royal family.”

That caught your attention, though you didn’t let it show. Keeping your eyes on the page, you said evenly, “What about them?”

Seoyoon perched herself on the edge of the table, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Apparently, Father has been talking with the king. And do you know what they’ve decided?”

You glanced up at her, your expression unreadable. “I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.”

“They’re planning for you to meet the Crown Prince,” she said, her voice dripping with glee.

You blinked, the words hanging in the air for a moment before you set your book down. “Why?”

Minseok leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? The king and Father have always been close. And with the prince needing a bride, it seems Father thinks you might be a good match.”

Your gaze shifted between your siblings, your mind working to process this sudden revelation. “And no one thought to ask me what I think about this?”

Seoyoon laughed, a melodic sound that made your irritation spike. “Oh, Y/N, you always act as though you have a choice in these matters. This is about duty, about family. You should feel honored.”

“Honored,” you echoed, your tone dry. “To be paraded in front of a man I’ve never met, all for the sake of politics? Forgive me if I fail to see the appeal.”

Minseok held up his hands in mock surrender. “We’re just the messengers, little sister. If you have complaints, take them to Father. But I doubt it’ll change anything.”

You turned your gaze back to the garden, your thoughts swirling. The idea of meeting the Crown Prince—a man whose reputation for coldness preceded him—was far from appealing. But you knew your father well enough to know that his mind was likely already made up.

“Lovely,” you muttered under your breath, picking up your book once more. “This is exactly how I wanted to spend my time.”

Seoyoon grinned, patting your shoulder as she stood. “Cheer up, Y/N. Who knows? Maybe you’ll surprise yourself.”

As Seoyoon leaned in closer, her grin widening, you sighed and finally closed your book, resting it on your lap. You turned to her, your tone as dry as ever. “Aren’t you married, Seoyoon? Why are you here, meddling in things that don’t concern you? Shouldn’t you be at your own home, managing your household?”

Seoyoon gasped, placing a hand over her chest as though you’d struck her. “How cruel, Y/N! Is this how you speak to your poor elder sister who only wants the best for you?”

“You’re hardly poor, and your meddling is far from helpful,” you retorted, arching an eyebrow. “Go home, Seoyoon. Surely your husband must be wondering where you’ve disappeared to.”

Seoyoon pouted theatrically, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement. “For your information,” she said, drawing herself up with mock dignity, “my work at home is complete. Everything is running perfectly, and my husband is away on business for a while. So, I’ve decided to grace this house with my presence for a couple of weeks.”

You groaned quietly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Wonderful,” you muttered under your breath. “Just what we all needed.”

Minseok laughed from his seat, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “You should be glad, Y/N. Seoyoon’s here to keep you company. Isn’t that nice?”

“Thrilling,” you deadpanned, leaning back against the nook. “Exactly what I wanted—unsolicited company and unsolicited plans for my life.”

Seoyoon reached out and ruffled your hair in a way that only an older sibling could get away with. “Oh, come now, Y/N. You’ll thank me someday for my wisdom and guidance. Just wait and see.”

You swatted her hand away, glaring at her half-heartedly. “I highly doubt that.”

As she and Minseok shared another laugh, you sighed and picked up your book again, silently bracing yourself for the chaos her extended stay would undoubtedly bring.

The warm glow of the evening lanterns filled the dining hall as your family gathered for the evening meal. The atmosphere was lively, with Seoyoon chatting away about her plans for the week, Minseok teasing her, and your other brothers laughing at their antics. You sat quietly at your usual spot, focused on your plate, letting the noise of the room wash over you.

As the meal was nearing its end, your father cleared his throat, a sure sign that he had something important to say. The room quieted almost instantly, everyone turning their attention to him.

“I have news to share,” he began, his tone steady but carrying a weight that made your stomach sink slightly. “The king and queen, along with the Crown Prince, will be visiting our household in three days’ time.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before they fully registered. Your siblings exchanged surprised glances, and Seoyoon’s face lit up with excitement. You, however, frowned, your grip tightening on your utensils.

“To what purpose?” you asked, your voice calm but edged with suspicion.

Your father met your gaze, his expression firm yet warm. “They are coming to formally meet you, Y/N, and to discuss the arrangements for your marriage to the Crown Prince.”

The room erupted in chatter—your brothers asking further questions, Seoyoon clapping her hands in delight—but you felt as though the ground had shifted beneath you.

“Marriage?” you repeated, your tone sharper now. “And when, exactly, were you planning to inform me of this?”

Your mother, who had been quiet until now, placed a gentle hand on your father’s arm and smiled at you. “Y/N, we knew you’d react this way, and we didn’t want to burden you with unnecessary worries before everything was set.”

“Unnecessary worries?” you echoed incredulously, setting down your utensils with a clatter. “You’re discussing my marriage—my future—and you didn’t think I should have a say in the matter? Or even be informed before decisions were made?”

Your father waved a hand dismissively, his tone remaining calm but final. “This is not something for you to worry about, Y/N. The king himself has chosen you, and this is a great honor for our family. Everything has been decided with the best intentions for you and for us all.”

“But—” you tried to protest, only for Seoyoon to cut in, her voice bright and eager.

“Oh, Y/N, stop being so dramatic! It’s the Crown Prince we’re talking about! What more could you possibly want?”

You shot her a glare but bit back your retort, knowing it would be futile. Looking back at your father, you tried one last time. “I only wish I had been told sooner. Surely I deserve that much.”

“Y/N,” your father said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are my daughter, and as part of this family, you must trust that we have made the right choice for you. The matter is settled.”

You sank back in your chair, the weight of their words pressing down on you. Around you, the conversation quickly shifted to the preparations for the royal visit, your family buzzing with excitement. But you couldn’t shake the frustration and unease bubbling within you.

You sat quietly, your appetite gone, staring down at your untouched plate as their voices grew distant in your mind. The life you cherished—the quiet, predictable solitude—was slipping away, and no one seemed to care.

The day the royals arrived, the Hwang household was bustling with activity. The servants had been working tirelessly to prepare the house, and your family was dressed in their finest attire. You stood near the back of the receiving room, watching as your parents greeted the king, queen, and the Crown Prince with warm smiles and formal bows.

When they entered, Prince Seonghwa's presence was immediately commanding. Dressed in a perfectly tailored royal suit, his sharp features and cold demeanor matched everything you had heard about him. He was polite but distant, exchanging pleasantries with your father and siblings, his tone measured and precise.

You, however, remained quiet, answering only when directly addressed, and even then, your responses were curt and to the point. The rest of your family, particularly Seoyoon, made up for your lack of enthusiasm with their excitement and chatter.

After a lengthy discussion between your father and the king about the arrangements, your mother approached you with a pointed look and said softly, “Y/N, why don’t you and the prince have a private conversation? Get to know each other.”

You wanted to protest, but before you could, Seoyoon nudged you forward with a teasing smile. Reluctantly, you followed the prince to the garden, where the air was cooler, and the faint scent of blooming flowers lingered.

Seonghwa walked a step ahead of you, his hands clasped behind his back. When you reached the center of the garden, he turned to face you, his dark eyes scanning your face for a moment before he spoke.

“I trust you find this arrangement agreeable?” he asked, his tone formal and detached.

You gave a polite nod. “If it pleases my family, then it pleases me.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “That is... an expected answer. You speak of duty rather than choice.”

“It seems choice was never part of the discussion,” you replied evenly, your gaze meeting his without flinching.

For a moment, there was silence between you, the distant hum of conversation from the house filling the space. Seonghwa tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You hesitated for a moment before answering. “I speak when there’s something worth saying.”

A faint flicker of amusement crossed his face, so brief you almost missed it. “An admirable philosophy,” he said. “Though it makes conversations rather... challenging.”

“That depends on who I’m speaking to,” you replied, your tone calm but not unkind.

He seemed to consider your words, his expression softening just slightly. “Fair enough,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I suppose I am not accustomed to people who value silence over unnecessary chatter.”

You didn’t respond immediately, instead letting the silence stretch between you. The weight of his gaze was palpable, but you refused to shrink under it. Finally, you said, “I’m sure the prince has little need for idle conversation, either.”

This time, his lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile. “Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But I find myself curious about you, Miss Hwang. You are... different.”

You inclined your head slightly. “Different isn’t always favorable, Your Highness.”

“Not always,” he agreed, his voice thoughtful. “But sometimes it is necessary.”

The two of you stood there for a moment longer, the quiet garden suddenly feeling more intimate than before. You couldn’t quite read the prince, his every word and movement calculated, but there was a strange sense of understanding in his tone.

Before either of you could say more, a servant appeared in the garden, bowing deeply. “Your Highness, the king has requested your presence.”

Seonghwa nodded once, then turned back to you. “Until next time, Miss Hwang.”

You offered a polite nod in return. “Your Highness.”

As he walked away, you exhaled softly, unsure of what to make of the exchange. Something about the prince unsettled you—not in an unpleasant way, but in a way that left you wondering.

It had been a week since the royals left, and life at the Hwang household had returned to its usual rhythm—at least on the surface. Beneath the calm, preparations for your upcoming marriage were already in full swing, much to your quiet displeasure. You found solace in your little routines, but even that was short-lived.

One crisp morning, as you sat in your usual nook by the window with a book in hand, a servant hurried in with a message. “Miss, the Crown Prince has arrived. He wishes to take you on an outing.”

You froze, the words sinking in. Closing the book slowly, you looked up. “Did he say why?”

The servant hesitated. “No, miss. But your father has already given his approval.”

Of course, you thought grimly. Rising reluctantly, you made your way to the front of the house, where the prince stood waiting. He was dressed impeccably, as always, and his expression was as composed as you remembered.

“Miss Hwang,” he greeted with a slight bow.

“Your Highness,” you replied, offering a polite nod.

“I trust you are ready?” he asked, though his tone made it clear that readiness was not optional.

With no room to argue, you stepped forward, and the two of you were soon seated in a carriage heading toward the nearby town. The ride was silent, save for the occasional creak of the wheels. You glanced out of the window, unsure of what to say—or if you should say anything at all.

Finally, Seonghwa broke the silence. “I take it this arrangement was not your idea either.”

You turned to him, surprised by his bluntness. “No, it wasn’t. But I assume it wasn’t yours, either.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You assume correctly. It seems our families are quite determined to ensure we... bond.”

“Bonding is difficult when both parties are here against their will,” you said, your tone matter-of-fact.

His smirk grew just slightly. “Indeed. Though I must admit, it is refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t mask their opinions with pleasantries.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. “I could say the same, Your Highness. Most people would not dare admit to disliking an arrangement like this.”

“Most people are not in my position,” he replied simply.

The carriage came to a stop, and the footman opened the door. Seonghwa stepped out first, offering you his hand. Reluctantly, you took it, allowing him to help you down. The two of you stood at the entrance to the bustling town square, the lively atmosphere a stark contrast to the tense silence between you.

“This town is known for its markets,” Seonghwa said, gesturing to the colorful stalls ahead. “I thought it might be... suitable for an outing.”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Was that your idea, or your family’s?”

He paused, his gaze steady. “Does it matter?”

You didn’t answer, instead turning your attention to the market. The two of you walked side by side, the chatter and laughter of the townsfolk filling the air. Occasionally, Seonghwa would point out a stall or comment on a vendor’s goods, but your responses were short and polite.

At one point, he stopped in front of a flower vendor, his eyes scanning the vibrant array of blooms. “Do you have a favorite flower, Miss Hwang?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Not particularly.”

He picked up a small bouquet of white lilies, studying them for a moment before handing them to the vendor. “Then allow me to choose,” he said, his tone calm but firm.

You accepted the bouquet hesitantly, unsure of what to say. The gesture felt oddly personal, and you couldn’t decide whether to be flattered or annoyed.

As the outing continued, the initial stiffness between you began to ease—just slightly. By the time the sun began to set, the carriage ride back was not as silent as before. Though your exchanges were still brief, there was a newfound understanding between you, however faint it might have been.

When you arrived back at the Hwang household, Seonghwa escorted you to the door, his expression as composed as ever. “Thank you for indulging this outing, Miss Hwang. I hope it was not entirely unpleasant.”

You glanced at him, clutching the bouquet of lilies. “It was... tolerable,” you said, a hint of dry humor in your tone.

He inclined his head slightly, the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. “I shall take that as a success. Until next time.”

With that, he turned and left, leaving you standing at the door with the flowers in hand. As you watched the carriage disappear down the path, you couldn’t help but wonder what the next “arranged” meeting would bring.

You retreated to your room, eager for solitude. You placed the bouquet of white lilies on a small table near the window, their subtle fragrance filling the air as you sat on the edge of your bed.

Moments later, your door creaked open without so much as a knock. Seoyoon stepped in, her eyes immediately landing on the bouquet. A mischievous grin spread across her face.

“Well, well,” she began, closing the door behind her. “It seems the Crown Prince is quite the gentleman, isn’t he?”

You didn’t look up, reaching for the book on your bedside table. “If you’re here to tease me, save your breath. I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, come now,” she said, flopping onto the chair near the window and picking up one of the lilies. “A prince gives you flowers, and you sit here sulking as if it were some great tragedy. Most girls would be over the moon!”

“You’re welcome to them if you’re so envious,” you replied dryly, flipping a page.

Seoyoon gasped theatrically, holding the lily to her chest. “How heartless! And here I thought you might finally soften up a little. Tell me, how did it go? Did he say anything romantic? Or was it all as cold and stiff as you?”

You shot her a glare over the top of your book. “It was... fine. He talked. I listened. That’s all there is to it.”

“‘Fine,’” she echoed, rolling her eyes. “You’re impossible, you know that? Most people would kill for a chance to speak with him, let alone be courted by him.”

“I’m not ‘most people,’” you replied, your voice flat.

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “You didn’t thank him for the flowers, did you?”

Your silence was enough.

Seoyoon groaned, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re hopeless, truly. The least you could do is try to show some interest. He’s the Crown Prince, for goodness’ sake!”

Closing your book with a snap, you fixed her with a level stare. “I didn’t ask for any of this, Seoyoon. I didn’t ask for the flowers, the outing, or the marriage. If he wants to court someone, he can find someone who actually cares.”

Seoyoon sighed, her teasing demeanor softening slightly. “I know you didn’t ask for this, Y/N. But it’s happening, whether you like it or not. You could at least give him a chance. Who knows? He might surprise you.”

You, staring at the lilies with a faint frown, replied bluntly, “He looks like he doesn’t enjoy company himself. This whole arrangement is just as forced on him as it is on me.” You paused, your voice lowering. “I’ve been a burden to all of you long enough. Now, I’ll just be a burden to the royal family instead.”

Her brows knit together, and she crossed her arms, stepping closer to you. “Y/N, don’t say that. You’re not a burden.”

You let out a humorless laugh, finally looking up at her. “Am I not? Everyone in this house pushes me to be someone I’m not. To go out, to socialize, to act the part. And now, I’m being married off to a prince who probably thinks I’m as much of a nuisance as I think this whole situation is.”

Seoyoon crouched slightly so she could look directly into your eyes, her expression unusually serious. “You’re not a nuisance, and you’re not a burden. You’re just... different. And that’s not a bad thing.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter what I think, does it? I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it for Father, for the family, for appearances. Isn’t that all I’ve ever done?”

Seoyoon’s lips parted as if she wanted to argue, but no words came out. She knew you were right, at least in part. Finally, she placed a hand on your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I won’t pretend to understand how you feel, but I do know this—whatever the reason for this marriage, it’s not because you’re a burden. You’re marrying a prince, Y/N. That means, whether you like it or not, someone sees your worth.”

You scoffed, but your gaze softened slightly. “Or they just see what’s convenient.”

Seoyoon straightened up and shook her head with a faint smile. “You’ll see, Y/N. Maybe he doesn’t look like the warmest person, but I doubt he’s as indifferent as you think. People like him don’t show their cards right away.”

“Or ever,” you muttered under your breath.

“Give him a chance,” she urged one last time, heading for the door. “And give yourself one too.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, you turned back to the lilies, their delicate beauty contrasting sharply with the heaviness in your chest. A burden or not, the path before you had been set. All that remained now was to walk it, whether you liked it or not.

The royal wedding was a grand affair, filled with splendor and elegance that you could hardly process. The intricate decorations, the endless sea of nobles in fine clothing, and the constant hum of polite conversation all blurred together in your mind. Through it all, you remained stoic, performing each ritual with quiet precision.

Seonghwa, as expected, was composed and regal throughout, his every action calculated and perfect. Yet there was something in his demeanor—something almost... softer than you’d expected.

When the final ritual was completed, and the two of you were officially declared husband and wife, the grand hall erupted into applause. You stood there, holding his hand lightly as tradition demanded, your expression unreadable.

It wasn’t until the two of you were seated at the head of the banquet table that Seonghwa’s façade shifted ever so slightly. Leaning closer, he asked in a low voice, “Are you comfortable, Miss Hwang?”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “It’s Lady Park now,” you replied, your tone calm.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Ah, yes. My apologies. Are you comfortable... Lady Park?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I am fine, Your Highness.”

He glanced at the feast before you, his voice quiet but insistent. “And the food? Is it to your liking?”

“It’s... more than sufficient,” you replied, unsure how else to respond.

For a moment, silence hung between you as you both turned your attention to the crowd of nobles mingling below. Then, out of nowhere, Seonghwa leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours. “See that man in the green coat near the pillar?” he whispered, his tone conspiratorial.

Your eyes followed his gaze to a portly man with a large mustache. “Yes?”

“That’s Lord Baek. He prides himself on his wine collection, yet he can’t tell the difference between a rare vintage and a common bottle of grape juice. It’s quite the running joke among the court.”

You glanced at him, unsure whether to laugh or remain indifferent. “And you’re telling me this because...?”

“Because,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, “you’ll hear him mention his wine at least three times tonight. Consider it a test of your patience.”

Despite yourself, a small smile ghosted across your lips. “Noted.”

He nodded, his expression still unreadable but his tone oddly warm. “And over there, by the orchestra—that’s Lady Seo. She once petitioned the court to create a holiday celebrating her dog’s birthday.”

This time, you couldn’t suppress a quiet chuckle. “You’re joking.”

“I assure you, I am not,” he said, his lips quirking into the faintest smile. “The petition was, of course, denied.”

As the evening progressed, Seonghwa continued his whispered commentary, pointing out various nobles and sharing tidbits about them. His tone remained calm and steady, but there was a subtle playfulness in his words that made it feel almost like a private game between the two of you.

For the first time, the weight of the occasion felt a little less suffocating. While you remained stoic, you couldn’t deny that his unexpected warmth and attentiveness were... surprising.

When the banquet finally began to wind down, he leaned closer once more, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. “I know this is overwhelming, Lady Park, but if it is any consolation, you’ve handled it with grace.”

You turned to him, meeting his steady gaze. “Thank you, Your Highness. Though I suspect you’ve handled it far more times than I ever will.”

He inclined his head slightly, his faint smile returning. “Perhaps. But it seems we’ll be handling it together now.”

The weight of his words lingered as the evening drew to a close, leaving you with an unexpected sense of companionship—however fragile it might have been.

The grand festivities had finally come to an end, and the palace halls grew quiet as the guests dispersed. Servants had escorted you and Seonghwa to the newly prepared royal chamber, its luxurious décor only adding to the weight of the day.

The large room was lit softly by golden sconces and candles, the warmth of the light contrasting with the coolness of your nerves. You stood in the center of the room, unsure what to do or say, your hands fidgeting slightly with the heavy jewelry draped over you.

Seonghwa, ever composed, closed the door behind him. For a moment, he stood silently, observing you with his usual unreadable expression. Then, stepping closer, he spoke in a tone that was softer than you expected.

“May I help you?”

You looked at him, startled. “With...?”

He gestured toward the intricate outer layers of your wedding dress and the heavy ornaments adorning your neck and wrists. “With this. I imagine it has been a long day for you.”

You hesitated, unsure whether to agree, but the weight of the jewelry was becoming unbearable. Finally, you gave him a small nod. “If you wish, Your Highness.”

A faint smile ghosted across his lips as he stepped behind you. “Turn around,” he instructed gently.

You complied, feeling his presence close behind you as his hands moved to unclasp the elaborate necklace around your neck. His movements were careful, precise, as though he feared hurting you.

“This must be heavier than it looks,” he murmured, setting the necklace aside on a nearby table.

“It is,” you replied quietly, your voice barely audible.

He moved to the bracelets next, unfastening them with ease. “I imagine it wasn’t easy to wear all this through the day.”

“It wasn’t, but I managed,” you said, your tone as stoic as ever.

“Of course you did,” he said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

Next, his hands reached for the ties of your outer gown, his fingers working deftly to loosen them. You felt the fabric lighten as he removed the outer layer, draping it neatly over a chair.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, stepping back slightly. “It felt inappropriate to summon a maid for this.”

You turned to face him, surprised by his consideration. “It’s fine,” you said softly, meeting his gaze briefly before looking away.

He inclined his head slightly, his dark eyes studying you for a moment. “You must be tired. You should rest.”

“And you, Your Highness?” you asked, your tone polite but distant.

He smiled faintly, the expression barely reaching his eyes. “I’ll manage, as I always do.”

With that, he stepped away, giving you space to prepare for bed. Though the room was large and luxurious, the atmosphere between you was quiet, almost delicate. As you finally lay down, your mind swirled with thoughts of the day, of the marriage, and of the man who had, against your expectations, shown you an unexpected gentleness.

When Seonghwa finally settled into the space beside you, he didn’t say a word. Yet, the calmness in his demeanor seemed to ease some of the tension in the room. And though you still felt like strangers, for the first time, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

The room was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. You lay on the grand bed, staring at the ornate canopy above, trying to will yourself to sleep. The day had been exhausting, yet your mind refused to settle. Beside you, Seonghwa’s steady breathing suggested he was equally restless.

Minutes passed in silence before his voice broke through the stillness, low and steady. “You’re not asleep either, are you?”

You turned your head slightly, catching the faint outline of his face in the dim light. “No,” you admitted. “Too much on my mind.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Understandable. Today was... a lot, even by royal standards.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it clearly. “Do you ever get used to it? The expectations, the attention, the... weight of it all?”

“Not entirely,” he replied honestly. “But you learn to carry it differently over time.”

There was a pause, and then he added, “Though I imagine this is harder for you. You didn’t grow up with it.”

You let out a soft sigh, your voice quieter now. “It’s overwhelming. I feel like I don’t belong here.”

He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. “You’ll find your place. It may take time, but you will.”

You turned to face him, his face now more visible in the faint glow of the firelight. “Why are you being so gentle with me?” you asked, your tone a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.

His lips curved into the faintest smile, one corner quirking up. “I’m introverted, not heartless.”

The unexpected honesty in his reply caught you off guard, and for the first time that day, a small, genuine smile tugged at your lips. “Fair point.”

He lay back down, his voice softer now. “I don’t see the point in making this harder than it has to be. We’re both here because of duty, not choice. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find a way to make it bearable.”

You considered his words, the tension in your chest easing just slightly. “I suppose that makes sense.”

After you murmured your agreement, Seonghwa shifted slightly, turning onto his side to face you. His dark eyes, steady and calm, met yours in the dim light.

“You should sleep,” he said softly, his tone carrying a hint of finality. “It’s been a long day, and tomorrow will bring its own demands.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the subtle warmth in his voice despite his usual reserved demeanor. “I could say the same to you,” you replied, your tone quieter now.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, barely visible in the low light. “I’ll sleep when you do. Consider it... a gesture of fairness.”

You didn’t argue, though you couldn’t quite bring yourself to look away from him. The firelight cast faint shadows on his face, softening the sharpness of his features. For a moment, you wondered if the man who had seemed so cold and distant all day might have more to him than you had assumed.

“Goodnight, Lady Park,” he said, his voice low and steady, his eyes lingering on yours for a beat longer than necessary before he closed them.

You hesitated, then finally replied, “Goodnight, Your Highness.”

Turning onto your back, you stared up at the canopy once more. But this time, the weight of the day felt a little lighter, and though your thoughts still swirled, the warmth of his words lingered, eventually lulling you into a restless, yet strangely comforting sleep.

The soft light of morning filtered through the curtains as you rose, the events of the previous day still weighing on your mind. After breakfast, you were introduced to your lady-in-waiting, a young woman named Eunji. She was polite and cheerful, eager to assist as she began organizing your dresses and jewelry in the royal wardrobe.

As she carefully laid out a selection of necklaces, her eyes lingered on one in particular—a delicate piece adorned with shimmering pearls and intricate goldwork.

“This one is especially beautiful,” she said softly, almost as though she hadn’t meant to voice her thoughts aloud.

You glanced at the necklace, then at her. “Do you like it?”

Her cheeks flushed as she quickly shook her head. “Oh, no, My Lady. It’s not my place to—”

You cut her off gently. “If you like it, you can keep it.”

Eunji froze, her eyes wide. “What? No, My Lady, I couldn’t possibly—His Highness would be furious if he found out—”

“He won’t,” you interrupted, your tone calm but firm. “And even if he does, I’ll deal with him.”

She hesitated, wringing her hands as she looked from you to the necklace. “But it’s too valuable... it wouldn’t be right.”

You sighed lightly, picking up the necklace and placing it in her hands. “Eunji, if I say it’s yours, then it’s yours. Consider it a gift.”

Her eyes filled with hesitation, but also gratitude. “My Lady, you’re too kind...”

“I insist,” you said, giving her a faint smile. “Besides, what’s the point of having all of this if it can’t bring someone a little happiness?”

After a moment of silence, she finally nodded, her fingers curling around the necklace. “Thank you, My Lady. I’ll treasure it.”

You gave her a small nod and returned to sorting through the rest of the items. Though you didn’t say it aloud, her joy over something so simple felt strangely fulfilling, a brief reprieve from the unfamiliar world you now found yourself navigating.

Later that afternoon, Seonghwa approached you as you sat in the study, quietly reading through a book. His footsteps were soft, but his presence was impossible to miss. Without preamble, he spoke, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of curiosity.

“I see you’ve gifted something to one of the servants.”

You looked up from your book, meeting his gaze. His face, as usual, betrayed little emotion, but there was no trace of anger there. “Yes,” you admitted evenly. “Are you mad?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. “It’s your belongings. Do whatever you wish with them.”

His words were simple, yet they carried an air of reassurance that you hadn’t expected.

He paused briefly, glancing toward the window before continuing. “By the way, I noticed you’ve organized your belongings in my room quite efficiently. Impressive.”

You blinked, your calm exterior faltering just slightly. “Should I... remove them?” you asked hesitantly, unsure if he found the arrangement intrusive.

Seonghwa turned his gaze back to you, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. “No,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “This room, this house—they’re yours now. You can do whatever you want here.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He wasn’t just giving you permission to arrange your belongings; he was offering you a sense of ownership, of belonging, in a world that still felt foreign to you.

You nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. “Thank you,” you murmured, returning your attention to your book, though your thoughts now lingered on his unexpected generosity.

Seonghwa didn’t say anything more. He simply gave a faint nod and walked away, leaving you with a strange sense of comfort and the quiet realization that, perhaps, this new life wouldn’t be as lonely as you had feared.

The days in the palace continued, a quiet routine settling between you and Seonghwa, interrupted only by the occasional royal event or meeting. You had grown accustomed to the rhythms of royal life, though the sense of unfamiliarity still lingered in the corners of your mind. The grand halls, the soft whispers of servants, the unspoken expectations—they all seemed so far removed from the life you had once known.

One afternoon, as you sorted through your tasks, you hesitated for a moment before turning to Seonghwa, who was seated at his desk, reading through a pile of royal documents.

“Seonghwa,” you began, your voice tentative, “I was wondering if I could have a little money. I need it for... something.”

He glanced up from his papers, his gaze sharp as always, but this time, there was a trace of something softer behind his eyes. He studied you for a moment, and then, it hit him—the realization that you still seemed uncertain, still hesitant when it came to making decisions, even small ones.

He set down his papers, his voice quieter, almost gentle as he addressed you.

“You still ask for permission, don’t you?” he said, a subtle sadness creeping into his words.

You froze, not quite understanding what he meant. “I... I just don’t want to overstep.”

Seonghwa shook his head, standing up from his desk. “This is your house now. It’s your life, your choices. And,” he paused, walking over to you with a soft expression, “my money is your money. You don’t need permission for anything.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight of sincerity, as though he were explaining something basic to a child. And for a brief moment, you felt a warmth in your chest—a quiet understanding that perhaps, in his own way, Seonghwa was offering you a sense of freedom, something you had never truly known in this new world.

“You can do whatever you want,” he continued, his voice softer now. “The money, the house, everything. It’s yours. Don’t ask for permission again.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the softness in his tone, the genuine care that laced his words. Slowly, you nodded, the nervous tension in your shoulders easing. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seonghwa gave you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but still held a certain warmth. “You don’t need to thank me for that. I’m just reminding you of something you’ve already earned.”

You felt a strange comfort in his words, the weight of them sinking into your heart. It was a small moment, a simple exchange, but somehow it made this life, this strange new world you were trying to navigate, feel just a little more like home.

For the first time since childhood, since stepping into the palace and the unfamiliar life it held, you felt something you hadn’t realized you were missing: importance. You were no longer just a piece in someone else’s game, a mere addition to a royal family that was bound by duty and expectation. Seonghwa’s words—his reminder that this house, this life, was as much yours as it was his—had cracked open something inside you.

Without thinking, your arms moved instinctively, wrapping tightly around him. His presence, his warmth, and the unexpected kindness of his words had unraveled something deep inside you, something you hadn’t let yourself feel before: a sense of belonging.

Seonghwa froze for a moment, clearly startled by the sudden embrace. His body stiffened, unsure of how to react to the closeness, the softness in your hold. You could feel his breath catch slightly, his posture rigid as though he were trying to figure out whether to push you away or to let the moment pass. But you held on, the need to feel this sense of connection overwhelming any reservations you had.

“I... I’m sorry,” you muttered, realizing only then that you were clinging to him, your face pressed against his chest.

For a long, tense moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you felt thick, as though both of you were holding your breath. Then, slowly, you felt Seonghwa’s arms move around you—hesitant at first, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to the warmth of your embrace. But when he did finally wrap his arms around you, the touch was gentle, almost tender, as though he was grounding himself in this unspoken moment.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he murmured quietly into your hair, his voice low and steady. There was an unfamiliar softness in it, a rare vulnerability that he seldom allowed to show. “You’re not a burden, you know.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the knot in your chest loosening. His words, so simple yet so profound, made your heart flutter. You had been carrying the weight of so many expectations for so long, always trying to be what was needed, always trying to do what was right. But here, in his arms, you felt for the first time like you mattered—not for what you could offer, but for who you were.

“I just... I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, as though you were afraid to speak the truth out loud. “I don’t know how to navigate this life. It feels... so different.”

Seonghwa’s grip on you tightened slightly, not out of necessity but of understanding. “You’re not alone in this, you know. I’m here. I’ll help you find your way.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. You didn’t need to say anything more. You simply held on, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade. There were no royal expectations, no duty or obligations weighing down on you. There was just Seonghwa, just the feeling of being held, of being seen.

When he finally pulled back, his hands lingered at your sides, a hesitant gesture as if he weren’t ready to completely release the closeness you had just shared. His gaze met yours, and for the first time, you saw something in his eyes—a flicker of care, an unspoken connection between the two of you that neither of you had acknowledged until now.

“You’re important,” he said softly, his voice unwavering. “More than you know.”

And in that moment, you loved this feeling, you believed him.

[krosiefics]

let’s fulfill the prophecy • minsung x reader

M D N I 18+

Synopsis: you and your best friends, Minho and Jisung, don’t mind talking about your sex lives and desires. Though one night when Jisung makes a suggestion about a fantasy all three of you share, you can’t help but take the offer.

WC: 2.9k

Warnings: PURE SMUT, pwp, smut, afab!reader, softdom!minho, switch!reader, sub!jisung, bsf!minho, bsf!jisung, piv, unprotected sex (PEE AFTER SEX AND USE PROTECTION), same hole double penetration, threesome, vaginal sex, double creampie, jisung is super vocal while minho isn’t, oral (f&m receiving), nippleplay (f&m receiving), some m/m action, breeding kink, pet names (baby, princess, pretty, good boy), friends to idk what(lovers???)…probably forgetting some- tee hee sorry

a/n: imma go touch grass now just like chan told us

Even though your two best friends are boys, you never thought much about talking to them about your sex life, they never hindered from telling you theirs either. So tonight didn’t seem any different.

The three of you gathered around the short wooden coffee table that laid in the middle of the living room, blabbing about things that happened this week.

“Ooh! There was a girl that was all over Minho this week!” Jisung exclaimed as if he just remembered the most important thing in the world. His words peeked your interests, you turned your gaze over to the previously mentioned boy, giving him a knowing look.

Minho’s shoulders rose from being put on the spot, “She wasn’t all over me…she was just there?” Minho furrowed his brows in a questioning manner. “She was totally into you! She was hot too!” Jisung said matter-a-factly, crossing his arms and jutting out his chin. Minho simply rolled his eyes at him.

Minho isn’t necessarily the type to have one-night stands unlike Jisung who likes to play around a bit. “Well what about you Ji? You’ve snuck your way into anyone’s pants this week?” Minho changes the subject. Jisung’s eyes usually light up like a kid on Christmas when he’s asked about his sex life. Liking to recall everything while you and Minho just sit there listening…internally disturbed at some of the things he says.

Though, this time, Jisung’s eyes didn’t have that spark. The round cheeked boy simply shook his head, “I’ve been left blue balled all week. That one girl I told yall about got a family emergency notification while we were grinding on each other!” Jisung threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

You let out a snort and Minho chuckles at his words. “What about you?”

“Me? Nah, haven’t gotten laid in a few weeks. Though when I went to the bar last weekend these two random dudes offered to do a three way with me-“

“Shit, a threesome sounds like so much fun! I wanna do one!” Jisung cut you off, “How was it?!”

“Well if you would let me fucking finish- I turned them down cuz my friend I was with puked.”

“Aww, would you have said yes if she hadn’t puked?” Minho pokes at you jokingly.

“Yeah probably, it’s seems like it’d be intresting- but at the same time I’d want them to be trustable people since I’m guessing it’d hurt like fuck! Don’t wanna be just left to clean up myself, you know.”

As you rambled you failed to notice Jisung suggestively nudging Minho with his elbow. Minho stared between him and you, before realizing what Jisung was indicating. “Jisung what the fuck?” The black haired boy stared at the younger. You look between the two confused.

“Oh c'mon Min! It’d be fun don’t ya think?!” Jisung whined, Minho continued staring at him as if he was crazy. “What is it?”

“This dumbass just suggested that we have a threesome.” Minho spat, though he’d never admit aloud that the idea slightly aroused him.

“Wait…you wanna try it too, right Ji?” You ask, Jisung nods frantically in response. “Do you wanna try it Min?” Minho stared at you as if you’d lost your mind by agreeing with Jisung. “I mean…I guess, but won’t you think it’s weird?”

“Oh c’mon! It’s for scientific research to determine if we like it or not.” You whine just as Jisung had done prior. “I guess.” He answered unsure. You notice his uneasiness, “Hey, if you don’t wanna do it we won’t.” Minho smiled at you appreciatively, “No, I want to do it.”

“Are we doing this or what?” Jisung grinned, popping up from his spot on the floor and making his way to your bedroom door. Your heart raced with anticipation, you’d be lying if you said you’d hadn’t thought about this before…when your best friends are as hot as Minho and Jisung are, how could you not fantasize about them at least one time.

You bolted up from your spot on the floor and towards your bedroom, pulling Jisung inside. “C’mon Min!” Jisung called out to the elder who just watched as the two of his best friends just ran off to a room to have sex together. Nonetheless, Minho rose from his spot, walking towards your now open bedroom door. As Minho neared the door, he watched as Jisung had his lips attached to your neck.

You tilt your head, allowing him more space to nibble and suck at. Your eyes shifted to the man who was standing at your door, you motioned for him to come over. “We’re actually doing this then?”

Minho sighed, arousal shooting quickly to his cock. “We can stop if you want.” You stated, Jisung whining at your words. Minho shook his head as he neared the two of you. “You guys are actually insane.” The feline-eyed boy chuckles, cupping your cheek in his hand. You melt into his touch with a sigh.

Small moans began flowing from your mouth as Jisung bit down along your collarbone before licking a stripe on the spot. “Ji,” You scrunch your eyes, hands flying to his hair. Jisung pulled away from your neck with a smirk. As Jisung fully removes himself from you, Minho decides to take the lead and back you towards the bed, falling onto the bed when the back of your knees hit the mattress.

Minho guided you gently to lay down. “You sure you want this?” He stared down at you, he noticed how flushed your cheeks were and the multiple marks that Jisung had left on your skin. “God yes, shit, this might just be an excuse at this point.” You bashfully confess, turning your head away to avoid eye contact. “Oh, she thinks we’re hot!” Jisung piped up, you felt the weight of the bed dip to your left. Jisung hovered over you, his face coming into your sight. “Don’t worry babe, I’ve thought about this before too. How could I not, you two are ridiculously hot.” He grins before placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

Your eyes follow Jisung’s as he turns his gaze to Minho who just stands there, lip caught between his teeth. “He’s probably fantasized about this more though.” Though you weren't looking at him, you knew he wore a teasing smirk. “Oh fuck you Ji.” Minho groaned, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “That’s what I’m trying for you to do.” Growing annoyed, Minho pushes Jisung onto the bed, harsher than how he guided you down.

“Hey pretty,” Minho turned his gaze to you, his eyes burning with lust, “Wanna help me out with this one while I take care of you?” You can feel your heart hammering in your chest, Minho’s sudden change in demeanor fully arousing you. You quickly rise from the bed and straddle Jisung’s hips. Jisung stares up at you with rosey cheeks. “You gonna take care of me baby- oh fuck!” His teasing was cut short with the roll of your hips. His hands fly up to your hips, trying to guide you to move faster, but you’re faster, slapping his hands away. “If you’re a good boy I’ll let you touch later.”

Jisung groans loudly at your words, you note how his cock twitched under you at the pet name. You continue rolling your hips into his, soft whimpers falling from both of your mouths. Suddenly, a pair of hands start trailing along the curves of your body, trailing their way down to the hem of your t-shirt. You could feel Minho’s warmth behind you. His hands stop right at the hem, as if the boy behind you were asking to continue. You were quick to nod, pleas flowing from your mouth.

Minho tugged your shirt up and over your head, your chest now almost fully exposed to your best friends. Jisung watched as you grind down on him as Minho took your shirt off. He could see how your nipples pebbled through your bra. Jisung’s hands unconsciously moved to touch them, but yet again you smacked them away before he could touch you. “What did I say?” You tsked.

Jisung simply whined. “Shirt.” You order below, he’s quick to understand what you mean, peeling his shirt from his body, tossing it somewhere in the room.

You stared down at the flushed boy, his abs flexed and his nipples hardened. You reach down and pinch one of his nubs, twisting and pulling at it as whines flow from Jisung’s mouth. “Fuck, baby c’mon! Lemme touch you already…I wanna touch you.” He babbles. You hunch over, taking one of his nipples in your mouth, nibbling at the nub teasingly as Jisung’s cock throbbed against your cunt. “Holy fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Suddenly you’re pulled away from Jisung’s chest. Hands harshly gripping your hips before hesitantly cupping your breasts, you throw your head back, resting it on Minho’s shoulder. Minho takes this as a chance to suck at the skin of your neck. Trailing his teeth along your neck before leaving feather kisses under your ear.

Your hips rolled needily into Jisung below you. The latter staring up with an arousal driven gaze as he watched you grind into him, the feeling of your warmth against him, Minho kneading at your tits and his mouth all over your skin…the skin that he, Jisung, wanted to so desperately touch. “Baby…please. I’ve been a good boy- I’ll keep being a good boy, just let me touch you.” Jisung fisted the sheets next to him as your hips edged him towards his climax.

“Fuck, Imma cum.” He warned. And almost immediately you lifted yourself from him, a broken moan slipping past his lips from the loss of friction, Minho also frowning at the loss of contact with your tits. “Baby, why’d you do that?”

“You said you were gonna be a good boy, no?” You teased him, his round cheeks flushing an impossibly deeper shade of red. You smirk at his reaction.

You tugged at the elastic waistband of your shorts and panties, sliding them down your legs till you could kick them off somewhere. Both Jisung and Minho watched as you removed the articles of clothing, the sight making their cocks throb in their pants. “Min, care to help tease him for a bit.” You offered, your eyes burning into Jisung’s. Minho nodded, his eyes turning towards the younger boy. Minho didn’t fail to notice the bulge Jisung was sporting through his jeans.

“Pretty boy, you want help with these?” Minho smirked, his fingers trailing along the hem of Jisung’s jeans, looping around one of the belt loops. “God please- fuck Min!” Jisung groaned, willing to do anything at this point to be touched or touch someone. Jisung reached for Minho’s wrist but stopped himself, assuming he’d get rejected again.

Minho let out a deep chuckle before wrapping his fingers around Jisung’s wrist and guiding it to his face. “I’ll let you touch me for now.” He cocked his head as his fingers worked Jisung’s zipper down. You watched as the two boys maneuvered around to get Jisung undressed, until Jisung laid there fully naked. His cock erected, resting on his lower abdomen. Your mouth watered as you stared at the pretty boy’s cock. You wanted him in your mouth- no you needed him in your mouth.

“Minnie, can you prep me?” You asked Minho though your eyes remained on Jisung’s cock. Minho’s gaze shifted from Jisung to you. He noticed your staring and shifted over, freeing up space between Jisung’s legs. “You sure?” Minho asked as you bent over, leaving your ass exposed to him. “Yeah, I am…are you guys?”

“Fuck yeah.” Minho breathed out. “Can one of yal fucking touch me…please?” Jisung cried out, his cock leaking precum as it throbbed painfully.

You roll your eyes playfully before leaning in and taking the whining boy into your mouth. A waterfall of ��fucks’ and ‘so good baby’ fell from his mouth, Jisung’s eyes screwed shut, but not until he started feeling vibrations against his cock. His eyes snap open, seeing how you took his cock into his mouth so easily, your lips so pink and wet around his shaft.

Another wave of vibrations surrounded his cock, he finally noticed that they were your moans. Your moans as Minho ate you out from behind, wet sounds of your juices mixing with his spit as his fingers pumped into your sopping cunt. “Fuck Min, keep doing that! She’s taking me so well!” Jisung cried out, his knuckles were white with how tight he was holding on to the sheets, just like how he was holding off his climax as best he could.

“I think you’re good now, pretty.” Minho said with a huff, his face wet with your arousal. You pulled away from Jisung’s throbbing cock with a ‘pop’.

Swinging your legs over the younger’s hips, straddling him as you had previously. “You ready Ji?”

“More than ready, princess.” Your eyes go wide at the sudden nickname, your heart unreasonably hammering into your chest. You shake your head out of it. The messy haired boy hisses as you guide his cock towards your entrance.

You sink down slowly onto his cock, the two of you letting out pornographic moans at the feeling. His cock fit you so well, you could feel every vein and curve of his cock as you unconsciously clenched around him, prompting him to buck his hips slightly.

Jisung’s gaze fell on your face, how your eyes scrunched up with pleasure as you began rolling your hips onto his, the new feeling already edging you both towards an orgasm. His gaze fell to your lips and how they formed a small ‘o’ shape as breathy moans left them. Fuck, he wanted to kiss you so bad. You must’ve picked up on his desire because before the two of you knew it, you were kissing.

Lips moving sloppily against each other as your hips started moving faster and as Jisung started thrusting into you. “Sungie.” You whimpered into the kiss, his hands flying to your face, cupping your cheeks gently. Jisung didn’t even care if you’d be upset at him touching you. But you didn’t care, you need his hands in you. “I’m right here princess.” He cooed as his hands made their way down to your hips, steadily holding as he thrust into you.

You moan into the kiss when you feel something else probing at your entrance. It was Minho’s finger. The older boy watched as his younger friends made out like hormonal teenagers. His finger traced along the rim of your pussy which was currently taking Jisung. “I’ve waited a bit, no?”

Minho smirked as he pushed his finger inside your hole, both you and Jisung letting out moans.

Minho worked his fingers in and out of you, stretching your hole even more while Jisung pounded into you. “You ready?” Minho asked, his hands rubbing circles on your waist. “God, need to feel both of you- fuck, now please Min- fuck Sungie!”

“Oh fuck!” Jisung and you moaned simultaneously as Minho pushed his cock into your tight cunt. The stinging pain of both of their cocks only turning you on more. “Fuck, Imma cum- fucking shit.” Jisung warned, his cock twitching deep inside you along Minho’s. “Fu...f-fill me up- you’ve been a good boyf fill me up baby.” You slump your head against his as Minho pounds you from behind.

Jisung spills over the edge, filling you up with every last drop of his seed, your pussy milking him so perfectly. Minho continued rutting into you, Jisung cried out from the overstimulation but nonetheless didn’t pull out. “Fuck, Minnie Imma cum- fuck Min!” A tear fell from your eye as your mind went blank with ecstasy. Your climax hit you like a truck as you squirted around both of their cocks, leaving Jisung’s abdomen soaked.

“Fucking hell.” Minho grunted at how tight you clenched around him that it sent him over the end. His hips stuttered as he filled you with his seed, both his and Jisung mixing within yours.

Your body felt limp as they both pulled out. The icky feeling of their cum rushing down your thighs made you cringe. Minho guided you to lay on your back before running off somewhere.

Both you and Jisung laid there staring at the ceiling, chest heaving and faces flushed.

“We just did that.” You huffed out a laugh.

“We just did that.” Jisung confirms, his voice sounding so raspy.

Minho returned with a warm towel, nudging your legs open before cleaning you. “I love you guys.” You said after cleaning up everything. Minho turned to you with a small smile on his face, his hands moved to cup your cheek before leaning in and planting a kiss on your lips. The two of you pull away, a grumble catching both of your attentions. Your gaze shifted to Jisung who pouted, wanting a kiss for himself.

You giggle before giving him a kiss as well. Jisung melts into your touch so easily, “I love you guys too.” He sighed into the kiss, pulling away before cuddling you into his chest. “You guys are still crazy for that.”

“Oh c’mon Min, you know you liked it.” You scoff, the feeling of Minho’s arms wrapping around both you and Jisung comforting you. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I love you guys too.”

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Lucanis (and also Spite and the Crows) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Emmrich, Neve, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Lucanis: 

Family and the past:

Lucanis learnt to cook while helping the kitchen staff at the villa when he was a little boy. One of his motivations was learning how to make churros

Side note: Lucanis mentions that cioccolata calda was his favourite drink when he was a baby, and he serves churros to a romanced Rook who picks cioccolata calda as their favourite drink. It’s all coming together! 

Lucanis wanted to be a Crow when he was a child (at least most of the time)  

All of Lucanis's relatives were Crows as well, and all of them were killed by a rival Crow house

Lucanis says Caterina would be proud of Illario hiding his plans well, as well as killing her 

Lucanis says that the hard part about setting Illario free would be convincing Caterina 

Lucanis says that nightlife was more of Illario's thing, and he never got out as much

On Crows and Antiva:

Viago still stares daggers at Lucanis for throwing his (Viago's) pet snake out of the window in a dream

Lucanis doesn't like it when people confuse murder and assassination ("Murderers are hobbyists, we are professionals")

Lucanis has taken contracts in Orlais

Lucanis doesn’t know Treviso as well as he once used to 

Heir didn’t train Lucanis

Lucanis says he has never killed an innocent “by his count” (other people may disagree) 

Lucanis doesn’t think of the Crows as a “big organisation” (unlike the Inquisition) because they stab each other too much

Lucanis became a mage-killer at Caterina’s behest (she wanted to tap into new markets)

The nickname “The Demon of Vyrantium” came from Tevinter news-sheets, though Lucanis thinks Viago started it

Lucanis says that there aren't any special tricks to killing mages. Though, if nothing else works, you can try pissing them off, as that could attract a demon that would eat the mage

Lucanis once killed half a dozen venatori while stuck inside an elevator 

Lucanis doesn’t consider himself a gentleman assassin, manners are less important than getting the job done

Lucanis sometimes spares his targets. He mentioned letting go of a servant who killed her master, as well as a 14-year-old boy. He thinks it’s wrong to kill people so young because they still have time to change

Lucanis doesn’t accept contracts without merit, and the merit is decided by the talon of the house

General:

Lucanis can make bread

Lucanis has never been to Ferelden

Lucanis isn’t interested in killing wyverns, just looking at them :)  

Lucanis has a pet snake 

Lucanis stays awake at night by cleaning his gear, exercising, studying Orlesian and knitting ("it’s just another kind of blade work") 

Lucanis doesn’t understand a lot of things people find attractive

(In a conversation with Harding) Thinking about cooking was one of the things that helped Lucanis stay sane in the Ossuary (the other was thinking about killing his enemies) 

(In a conversation with Davrin) Lucanis survived the Ossuary by shutting down and not thinking about anything except escaping

These two points sort of contradict each other. Either an inconsistency or Lucanis describing his experience differently to different people. 

The Wetlands ruined at least one pair of Lucanis’s boots

(If Rook chooses to save Treviso) Lucanis offers to pay for any supplies the Shadow Dragons may need 

Lucanis doesn't get a better bed because he's afraid of accidentally falling asleep 

Lucanis can identify the killer’s weapon and the height difference between them and the target just through the blood splatter left at the scene

Lucanis considers Grey Wardens dangerous 

Lucanis doesn’t like necromancy, because bringing people back to life is a waste of hard work

Lucanis finds the ice coffee from Minrathous offensive (Harding describes it as “snow, but made of coffee, sweet, and with cream and toffee sauce on top”)

Lucanis had never been in a romantic relationship before Rook/Neve

Relationships with other companions: 

Lucanis gets into reading Bellara’s serials (very passionately - they chat about it a bunch)

Lucanis is outraged that the Veil Jumpers don’t get paid for their work and offers Bellara his contract negotiator

Lucanis made biscuits for Assan

Lucanis is sceptical that the griffons will be safe with the Wardens

Lucanis think that Assan shouldn’t go soft (referring to the time he took care of a halla) because he is a predator at heart

(If Emmrich becomes a lich) Lucanis offers to hold a funeral for Manfred

Lucanis and Harding talk a lot about dreams (mostly silly things like showing up naked for the job, getting chased by someone/something etc.)

Lucanis thinks Harding is deadly with her bow

Lucanis offers to pay Harding for being his lookout/aide at the rate of 6000 gold per contract

Lucanis offers the help of his contract negotiator to Neve after he finds out she doesn't have one

Lucanis made deep-fried peppers for Taash

About Spite: 

Emmrich can hear Spite even when he doesn’t take over Lucanis’s body (at least from a close distance)

Spite is impartial to Emmrich, believing him more than Lucanis

Emmrich says it’s impossible to separate Spite and Lucanis without killing them

Emmrich encourages Lucanis to read to Spite to bring them closer. Lucanis agrees to let Spite pick a book

(If Emmrich becomes a lich) Spite asks if he and Lucanis can get rid of their skin too 

(If Manfred is revived at the Necropolis) Spite asks Emmrich to teach him how to use fire magic. Lucanis isn’t thrilled by the idea

Emmrich sets up wards to prevent Spite from leaving the room when Lucanis is asleep

Spite no longer sleepwalks after “Inner Demons” because he apparently understood the concept of space

By the end of the game, Spite has agreed to stop sleepwalking completely

Spite controls the wings (confirmed in banter with Harding) 

Spite wants to try swinging off the astrolabe at the Lighthouse

Spite is very excited about Manfred having hands and feet (Curiosity. Has. Feet!)

Spite finds the wisps in Neve’s room unnerving (as do Lucanis and Neve)

Spite likes to play with whetstones Bellara got for Lucanis (Bellara got them from the Irelin who supposedly got them from somewhere in Arlathan) 

Spite wants to try eating self-lightning candles at Blackthorne Manor

About the Crows: 

Crows frequently visit Nevarra and have received 20 contacts to assassinate the king. The King has been poisoned 7 times

Crows get a lot of contracts for Divine Victoria

Some seers in Rivain are powerful enough that there are contracts on them as well

Caterina once killed a man with a thimble

When Crows kill someone, most of the time they want others to know it was them (rather than presenting the death as an accident) 

The crows buried six different Eight Talons and rarely take contracts in Ferelden after the Zevran fiasco

[hairmetal666]

Eddie's a mechanic, has a shop in Indy. It's only got two bays, but he owns it, he saved up the money, it's his. He runs it with Wayne, is building up a customer base. He loves it.

Within the year, a bakery opens up next door, separated from Eddie's shop by a narrow alley. He has a perfect view into the bakery's kitchen from the shop's office, and almost immediately catches a glimpse of the drop-dead gorgeous guy behind the mixing bowl. He's got sun-golden skin, swoopy brown hair, wide puppy dog eyes, the poutiest mouth, and a face dotted with freckles. Eddie gapes at him for a solid two-minutes, salivating over the bunch and pull of his muscles as he kneads a ball of dough. A wet dream come true.

Eddie's always sneaking glances at the shop next door, can't seem to keep his gaze off the most beautiful man he's ever seen. Over the next few months, he becomes familiar with this herd of kids that hang around the bakery at all hours. There's one, curly-haired and mouthy, who often makes the baker frown with his hands on his hips, but as soon as the boy walks away, the baker smiles all wide and fond.

It's a silly crush, no big deal. He has a weakness for brown-eyed pretty boys, so what? It's not like he's going to do anything crazy, like make a move.

It's past midnight, a few months after the bakery opens, and Eddie's in his little office, doing the monthly accounting. He's exhausted, tired of calculators and numbers, when a flash of light catches at the corner of his eye. He blinks a few times, sure it's the exhaustion setting in, but it doesn't go away.

Instead, there's a light on over at the bakery. It's a kitchen light, and the baker is standing at the stainless steel counter, looking unlike Eddie's ever seen. His hair is a soft wave, swooping onto his forehead. He wears grey sweatpants and a yellow sweatshirt. Tonight, his movements are less precise and practiced; he's slow and contemplative as he gathers ingredients and mixing bowls.

It's been long enough Eddie should look away, but he forgets that it isn't a dream, that he's actually watching the baker roll up his sleeves as he whisks. It's inevitable that, eventually, the baker catches Eddie staring. He just smiles, though, and waves. Eddie manages to return the greeting before awareness smacks him in the face, and he flees the office and the building in acute embarrassment.

They share waves after that. Smiles. Laughter once when Eddie's reading over an invoice and walking, smacks face-first into the doorframe. Eye rolls after the baker gets into an impassioned argument with the curly-haired boy, one that involves a copious amount of thrown flour.

They exchange waves and smiles and goofy expressions, and it shouldn't escalate further, but one day Eddie steps into the shop's waiting room to find the curly-haired boy sitting behind the reception desk, flipping through Eddie's new dnd guide.

"What." Eddie says.

"You," says the boy. He's pointing and glaring and Eddie is a little scared.

"Me?"

"You like dnd?"

He hopes his sigh of relief isn't audible. "Best DM this town has ever seen." He postures and smirks.

"Doubt it," the boy says.

Eddie lets out an offended squeak, dramatically smashes his hand over his heart. "Insulted! Maligned! In my own place of business! Oh!" He falls into a dramatic swoon.

The boy snickers. "I'm Dustin," he says.

"Eddie." They shake hands and Eddie does not laugh at how overly serious this is all is. "Sir Dustin, what brings you to my fine establishment?"

Dustin shrugs. "Steve."

"Steve?"

Dustin rolls his eyes. "The bakery."

"Oh," Eddie says. Steve. The baker is Steve.

He's having a little trouble breathing, sure he's done something wrong, a distinct feeling of doom settling on his shoulders. "Why?"

"He won't stop talking about the mechanic next door but refuses to introduce himself. Plus, I saw your D20 tattoo the other day."

Eddie's barely hearing him, reeling over the knowledge that Steve talks about him to his gaggle of children. He barely hears the rest of the conversation, but the next day Dustin shows up with the rest of the kids, Lucas, Mike, Max, El, Erica, Will.

They're loud, chaotic, wild, and somehow--before they leave--they've coerced him into running a one-shot for them. They come by in twos and threes for the rest of the week, eating all the snacks in the waiting room mini-fridge and talking at him and Wayne as they work.

It's Friday, it's sweltering, he's closing the shop for the night with the top of his coveralls hanging off hips, his sweat soaked undershirt tossed behind a tool chest. He steps into the waiting area and nearly jumps out of his skin to find a man there, holding a plastic container.

Steve.

"H--hi," he stutters. And fuck, he's shirtless. He's standing in front of Steve for the first time and his nipples are out. This is it, the moment he finally dies of embarrassment.

Steve's eyes are locked on Eddie's torso for a few seconds too long, cheeks flushing. He blinks, finally looking at Eddie's face. "I'm Steve. From the--the bakery next door?" He points. "I--uh--I wanted to stop by and apologize?"

"What?" Eddie asks. There's too much happening for him to keep up.

"Um, the kids?"

And Eddie can't fathom why he needs to apologize, can only stare at Steve in confused disbelief.

"It's just. They can be kind of a handful. I used to babysit Mike and the whole group of them started following me around, and--Anyway, I think Dustin took it upon himself to try to introduce us. I've been wondering where they keep disappearing off to, and Max told me today that they're here with you, and I thought I probably owed you an apology. You're trying to work and I know they can be a bunch of shitheads, and oh my god, I'm rambling, I really am turning into Robin, Jesus Christ."

Eddie is fucked. Oh he's so fucked. He's charmed, endeared, can't stop smiling at Steve who is somehow even more beautiful up close.

"I forgive you," Eddie says. "They're nice kids."

Steve lets out a hard breath. "They are, huh?" He smiles. "Don't let them hear you say that. You'll never get a moment's peace. And they shouldn't have been over here bothering you, anyway."

"It wasn't a bother. Though, they did eat all my snacks and swindle me into running a one-shot for them. Still not sure how that happened."

Steve laughs and his eyes crinkle at the corner. So fucked. So fucked. "I should've known that you play that game of theirs."

"Aw, not a dnd fan, Stevie?"

Steve blushes. "It's--there's a lot of math."

Eddie laughs, already knows he's never getting over this one. "You bake professionally."

"It's different?" Steve laughs. "Fine, fine! You got me, it's not my thing."

"Bet I could change your mind," Eddie says. He doesn't mean to be flirting, can't stop himself.

"I bet you could," Steve agrees. He moves his hand, like maybe he's going to run it through his swoop of hair, then seems to remember he's holding baked goods. "Oh, uh, please take these cupcakes as my apology for accidentally saddling you with my group of semi-feral children."

"You're already forgiven, but I'll never say no to a cupcake."

"You should stop by the shop tomorrow, then" Steve says. "On the house."

"You've already given me these." He wiggles the cupcakes in Steve's pretty face.

"I only save the free samples for the hottest customers." Steve does run a hand through his hair now, and it's dorky as fuck, but Eddie still feels like he's died and this is heaven. "See you tomorrow?"

Eddie can only nod as Steve backs out of the office with a cheeky little wave.

He goes to the bakery the next day, sure he just let his crush get away from him and imagined the entire interaction with Steve. Except, when he walks in, Steve smiles all big and pretty in his little blue apron, invites Eddie back to the kitchen.

And if they share their first kiss against the stainless steel countertops, it's between them, Wayne, and all the kids who spy on them from the shop's office window.