#she's just not great with the hands-on stuff

[arilevenatz]

Ruthless Desire | C.S

Pairing: King!San x princess!Reader

Genre: Forced marriage

Word count: 19.2k

Warnings: dark stuff, captivity, stockholm syndrome vibes, injury by glass shards, manipulation, san is kinda scary, and hot, the reader is a dancer, yeah I still dk how to do this

AN: If you are sensitive to things like this please don't read it. This has some dark stuff. @kymimi I kinda slipped and wrote san instead of the member we discussed BUT dw I'll write him another one :)

Masterlist

The kingdom of Eldoria was like a painting come to life. Pastel-colored houses lined the streets, their rooftops reflecting the golden hues of the sun. Flowers of every shade bloomed along the cobbled paths, filling the air with a sweet fragrance. Towering trees provided shade to the people who gathered in the plazas, laughing and conversing freely. The kingdom was peaceful, its people content, and at the heart of it all was their beloved princess—YN.

YN was the embodiment of grace and perfection. Her long, flowing hair shimmered in the sunlight, and her warm smile was enough to bring comfort to anyone who crossed her path. She was not only admired for her beauty but also for her sharp mind and kind heart. Unlike the sheltered royals of other lands, YN roamed freely among her people, visiting markets, studying at the grand library, and even lending a hand at the flower fields when she wished to.

Her days were spent in harmony with the kingdom, and her nights were filled with dreams of the future. But even in a perfect kingdom, change was inevitable.

But that was not it. You see, Princess YN had a great talent—one that set her apart even more. She was a dancer.

From the moment she took her first steps as a child, it was clear that movement came naturally to her. As she grew, so did her love for dance. She dedicated a good portion of her day to perfecting her skills, attending classes with the finest instructors in the kingdom. But it wasn’t just about learning techniques or rehearsing steps—dancing was her freedom, her escape, her way of expressing emotions words could not.

In the grand ballroom of the palace, with its gleaming marble floors and towering windows, she would practice tirelessly. The music would swell, and she would lose herself in it, her body moving with effortless grace. The palace staff often paused to watch in quiet admiration, for when their princess danced, it was as if the entire world held its breath.

But YN never danced for attention or praise. She danced because it made her feel alive. And if she had it her way, she would dance forever.

But beyond the peaceful lands of Eldoria, past the rolling green hills and glistening rivers, lay another kingdom—one far greater in size, power, and influence.

The Kingdom of Celestara.

Unlike Eldoria, which flourished with soft colors and open gardens, Celestara stood as a testament to strength. Its towering castles were made of dark stone, its capital bustling with soldiers and scholars alike. The people of Celestara were strong and disciplined, raised with a deep sense of duty to their homeland. Their kingdom thrived under an unshakable rule, one that had made Celestara the most feared and respected land across the continent.

And at the heart of it all sat King Choi San.

San was no ordinary ruler. He was a king who valued power above all else—not just for himself, but for his kingdom. He had inherited a land that had been built on blood and steel, and he ruled it with an iron will. His people loved him, for under his reign, Celestara never knew famine, never fell to invaders, and never saw weakness. But to outsiders, he was a name that sent shivers down their spines.

Because King San did not tolerate defiance.

It was not cruelty for the sake of cruelty. No, San saw his punishments as necessary—tools to maintain order. A merchant caught cheating his people was stripped of his wealth and cast into the dungeons. A noble who conspired against him found their house burned to the ground, their name erased from history. And if a kingdom dared to challenge Celestara, they were met with fire and steel. His warriors, trained from childhood, were unmatched, and his war strategies were so ruthless that no one dared to question his rule.

No one opposed King Choi San and lived to tell the tale.

He was ruthless, reckless even. A man who did not just command power—he relished in it. King Choi San was not content with ruling Celestara alone. No, he wanted more. He wanted everything.

War was not just a necessity to him; it was a thrill. The sight of his enemies kneeling before him, their once-proud banners torn and trampled beneath his boots, brought him a satisfaction that nothing else could. He did not believe in mercy. He did not believe in compromise. He believed in dominance, in bending the world to his will.

His father, the former king, had shared that same hunger. Before his death, he had left behind a list—a detailed record of the lands he had set his sights on, the territories he had dreamed of conquering but never had the chance to. It was a king’s unfinished legacy, a vision left incomplete.

San did not just inherit his father’s kingdom. He inherited his ambitions.

And he would see them through.

The list had dozens of names written in careful ink, each representing a kingdom, a nation, a people who had yet to bow to Celestara’s might. Some had already fallen, their lands absorbed into San’s ever-growing empire. But there were still many left to claim.

One of them was Eldoria.

A peaceful kingdom, untouched by war, ruled by a gentle king and adored by its people. A land that had never known the weight of a conqueror’s hand.

San had heard of Eldoria before. A place where flowers bloomed endlessly, where the streets were painted in soft pastels. It was the complete opposite of Celestara. A kingdom so delicate, so naïve, that it almost amused him.

Almost.

Because at the end of the day, Eldoria was just another name on his father’s list. Another land that would soon belong to him.

And King Choi San never left things unfinished.

So that was what happened to Eldoria.

One fateful evening, King Choi San arrived at the gates of the peaceful kingdom, not as a guest, but as a conqueror in waiting. He did not come alone—his army, clad in dark armor, stood behind him like an unshakable force, their banners casting long shadows over Eldoria’s pastel streets. The moment his presence was announced in the royal palace, a chill ran through the halls.

King Eldrin, YN’s father, knew why San had come. He had heard the stories, knew the fate of the kingdoms that had stood in Celestara’s path. But still, he held onto hope.

Inside the grand throne room, the two kings faced each other.

“I will give you one chance,” San said, his voice calm yet laced with authority. “Surrender Eldoria to Celestara. Swear your allegiance, and I will allow your people to live under my rule without bloodshed.”

King Eldrin did not hesitate. “I will not surrender my land,” he said firmly, but his voice held no arrogance—only reason. “However, I propose an alliance. We do not have to be enemies. Our kingdoms can stand together, share trade, strengthen each other.”

San chuckled, a slow, amused sound. “An alliance?” He leaned forward, his dark eyes glinting. “Tell me, King Eldrin, what does your peaceful kingdom have to offer me that I do not already have?”

“We have wisdom, knowledge, and beauty. We have—”

“I do not need beauty,” San interrupted, his amusement vanishing. “I need power. Strength. Land.” His fingers tapped against the hilt of his sword. “And I will not ask twice.”

Eldrin’s jaw tightened. “Then you have my answer.”

San exhaled, a mockery of disappointment. “A shame,” he murmured. Then, with a glance at his general, he spoke the words that sealed Eldoria’s fate.

“We march at dawn.”

The war did not last long.

Eldoria, despite its beauty, was not built for battle. Its people were artists, scholars, farmers—not warriors. They fought bravely, but Celestara’s army was relentless. Swords clashed, fires burned, and the soft-colored streets of Eldoria were soon painted in shades of ash and crimson.

Within days, the palace fell.

King Choi San did what he always did—he erased the royal family.

The moment the palace fell, there was no room for mercy. The king was the first to go, struck down in his own throne room, his crown rolling across the marble floor. The queen followed soon after, her desperate pleas for peace silenced forever. The crown prince, the last hope for Eldoria’s future, fought bravely, but bravery alone could not save him from Celestara’s steel.

San watched it all with a cold, unwavering gaze. Another kingdom conquered. Another royal bloodline wiped from existence. Just as it should be.

With the palace now under Celestara’s control, he prepared to leave. There was no need for him to stay any longer. His men would handle the rest—securing the city, ensuring the people understood that they now belonged to him. He had no interest in Eldoria’s ruins; his work here was done.

Or so he thought.

A soldier rushed into the war room, his armor still stained with battle. He bowed quickly, his breath uneven.

“My king,” he said. “There is word of another.”

San barely spared him a glance. “Another what?”

“A survivor. A princess.”

The words made him pause.

A princess?

San had not known Eldoria had a princess. He frowned, turning fully to the soldier. “And where is she?”

“We do not know.”

San’s expression darkened. “Explain.”

“She was not in the palace when we arrived,” the soldier admitted. “We searched every room, every hall. But she was nowhere to be found.”

The air in the room grew heavy. San’s grip on his sword tightened. He had never left a royal family unfinished. No loose ends. No survivors. And yet, here was a piece of Eldoria’s bloodline still unaccounted for.

His jaw clenched. “Find her.”

Thus began the search.

San’s men scoured every corner of the palace, tearing through lavish chambers, hidden passages, and forgotten halls. San was not a man who accepted failure. He ordered a deeper search—every stone overturned, every locked door broken open.

And finally, they found it.

A hidden room, tucked away behind the grand library. The entrance had been expertly concealed, nearly impossible to notice unless one was searching for it. But now, the secret was uncovered.

San arrived immediately.

The heavy bookcase that had once hidden the doorway was now pushed aside, revealing a narrow passage leading into a small chamber. It was nothing like the lavish royal rooms he had seen before. This space was simple—bare walls, a single candle flickering in the dim light, and a modest wooden desk placed in the center.

And sitting at that desk was a girl.

She had not heard them enter at first, her focus entirely on the parchment before her. Her delicate hand moved swiftly, ink staining her fingertips as she wrote something with quiet urgency. It was only when she sensed the shift in the air—when the heavy presence of someone else filled the room—that she finally looked up.

Her eyes widened.

San met her gaze, and in that instant, he knew.

This was her.

The missing princess. The last surviving member of Eldoria’s royal family.

She had been here all along, hidden away while her kingdom burned. Sheltered while her family perished.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The candlelight cast shadows across her face, highlighting the quiet shock in her expression. San took a step forward, his boots echoing in the small space. The girl did not move, her fingers still curled around the quill, as if caught between fight and flight.

He exhaled slowly.

“Found you.”

San was a terrifying man. His presence alone filled the small room with an unshakable weight, his dark eyes locked onto YN with an intensity that made her stomach twist. She had heard of him before—King Choi San, the ruthless conqueror. The man who had taken her home, erased her family, and claimed Eldoria as his own.

Her hands trembled, but she forced herself to move. Slowly, she stood from her chair, her gaze dropping to the ground as if in surrender.

But she was not surrendering.

Her fingers tightened around the ink glass on the desk. And before she could think twice, she threw it.

The small bottle spun through the air, aimed directly at his knees.

San’s reflexes were fast—too fast. He shifted at the last second, the ink missing its target. Instead, it crashed against the floor, shattering into tiny pieces. Black ink spilled in a messy puddle between them, staining the stone beneath their feet.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then San exhaled, his lips curling into something unreadable. Not quite amusement, not quite anger.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his boots avoiding the ink, his piercing gaze never leaving her face.

“Cute,” he murmured, voice low. “You thought that would stop me?”

YN looked up just as San took another step closer, his presence suffocating in the small room. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but she didn’t let her fear show. Instead, she lifted her chin and met his gaze.

“No,” she said, voice steady. “But this will.”

Before he could react, she pulled a small knife from the folds of her dress and lunged forward.

She moved fast, aiming for his chest, but he was faster.

San’s hand shot out, catching her wrist mid-strike. With effortless strength, he twisted it, forcing her to drop the knife. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as pain shot through her arm, but she refused to cry out. The blade clattered against the floor, useless now.

San’s grip remained firm as he pushed her down, forcing her onto her knees before him. YN struggled, but it was no use. He was stronger, unmovable.

Then, to her shock, he reached out and brushed the strands of hair from her face. It was a gentle touch, almost delicate. If it were anyone else, it might have seemed comforting. But this was King Choi San.

And from him, it was terrifying.

His fingers trailed along her cheek before tucking her hair behind her ear. His dark eyes studied her, unreadable, as if he were trying to understand something.

“You’ve got fight in you,” he murmured, his voice quiet, almost amused. “I like that.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine. This man had slaughtered her family, burned her kingdom to the ground, and now, here he was, treating her as if she were something… interesting.

Her hands clenched into fists. She wanted to scream, to fight, to run. But she was trapped.

San tilted his head slightly, watching her reaction. Then, he leaned down, just enough to whisper,

“But fighting me is useless.”

San looked down at her, his expression unreadable. His grip on her wrist loosened just slightly, but the weight of his presence remained suffocating.

“You know,” he said casually, as if discussing the weather, “I came here to kill you.”

YN’s breath caught in her throat.

Of course, he did. That was what he always did. He had erased her family, wiped out her kingdom, and now, it was her turn.

She lowered her gaze, staring at the ink-stained floor. Her hands trembled slightly in her lap, but she did not beg. She would not give him that satisfaction. There was nothing left for her anymore. No family. No home. No future.

So she closed her eyes and accepted her fate.

But then—

“But,” San mused, tilting his head, “you’re too pretty to kill.”

Her eyes snapped open, looking up at him in shock.

He smirked, his fingers once again brushing her cheek, this time lingering just a bit longer. “It would be a shame to waste something so… delicate.”

She stiffened, her stomach twisting with disgust. Was he toying with her? Mocking her? What was worse—death, or whatever fate he had in mind?

“No,” she whispered, barely realizing she had spoken. Then, louder, her voice rising in panic, “No—just kill me.”

San chuckled. Low, dark, entertained.

“Oh?” He crouched in front of her, their faces now painfully close. “Is that what you want?”

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

San’s smirk widened. He was enjoying this—her fear, her resistance, her despair.

“Too bad,” he murmured, gripping her chin lightly and forcing her to hold his gaze. “I think I’ll take you instead.”

YN stood up slowly, her legs shaking beneath her, but her gaze remained locked onto his. She expected him to rise as well, to tower over her like the conqueror he was, but he didn’t.

San remained crouched, looking up at her from his lower position, his dark eyes steady and sharp. It was unsettling—how comfortable he was, how unbothered by her defiance. His face was close—too close. Close enough that if she moved even slightly, he would be able to feel the fabric of her dress brush against him.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

And then, she moved.

She dashed to the side, making a sharp turn around him. Her feet barely touched the ground as she made her escape, her breath caught in her throat. For a split second, she thought she had done it. She had gone around him. She had gotten past him.

But she had forgotten.

The shattered glass. The ink. The mess on the floor from when she had thrown the ink bottle at him earlier.

The moment her bare foot touched the shards, a sharp, searing pain shot up her leg.

She sucked in a breath, but she didn’t stop. She forced herself forward, reaching the doorway that led out of the hidden chamber. She had made it—just barely.

But then, her body betrayed her.

The pain was too much. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed just outside the room, her breath coming in short gasps. Her feet throbbed violently, fresh blood pooling beneath her.

The pain in her feet was unbearable. Tiny shards of glass had pierced into her skin, some embedding deep into the soles of her feet, while others cut shallow but still bled. Ink mixed with her blood, creating a dark, messy trail behind her.

She couldn’t run anymore.

Her feet throbbed, her breaths were uneven, and she could already feel the warm trickle of blood running down her heels. Every movement sent fresh pain through her body.

Behind her, the room remained silent.

She could feel him still there. Watching. Waiting.

And then—

A slow, deliberate sound.

The sound of boots shifting against the stone floor.

San was standing up.

He stood up, the slow, deliberate movement filling the space with an unspoken finality. His boots pressed against the shattered glass on the floor, the sharp shards crunching beneath the heavy soles. The sound echoed in the small chamber, a cruel reminder of the difference between them—her bare, bloodied feet and his untouched, armored ones.

He took a step forward.

Then another.

Slow. Steady. As if he had all the time in the world.

YN could feel the weight of his gaze on her, sharp and unyielding, like a predator toying with its prey. She knew—he knew—that she wouldn’t make it far. Even if she ran, even if she forced herself to her feet and pushed through the pain, it wouldn’t matter. He would catch her. He would always catch her.

But she wasn’t going to just sit there.

The moment his shadow loomed over her, she pushed herself back. Her hands scraped against the cold stone floor as she tried to crawl away, her injured feet dragging behind her, leaving smudges of inky blood in her wake. It hurt—oh, it hurt—but she didn’t care. She would rather die trying than just sit there and accept whatever fate he had planned for her.

Outside the room, the few guards stationed there shifted uncertainly. One of them stepped forward as if to intervene, as if to do something.

San didn’t even look at them. He simply flicked his fingers, a lazy motion, and they immediately hesitated. Then, without a word, they stepped back, leaving him to handle this alone.

YN’s breath was ragged as she dragged herself further, her palms burning against the rough stone. She felt helpless, weak, but she refused to stop. Even if it was useless, even if he reached her within seconds, she would not just sit there like a caged animal.

Her fingers curled against the cold floor as she lifted her head, looking up at him.

And there he was.

Towering over her now, his expression unreadable, his lips slightly curled as if in amusement.

San exhaled, tilting his head.

"Still fighting?" he mused, his voice low, smooth—dangerous.

His slow steps finally came to a stop.

She had barely gotten anywhere.

And now, he was standing right in front of her.

San sighed, his patience thinning. He crouched slightly, looking down at her with that same amused expression, but now there was something else in his gaze—impatience.

“Let’s not fight,” he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. “Come now. Let’s go home.”

Home.

The word sent a shiver down YN’s spine. Home didn’t exist anymore. Her home had been burned, her family slaughtered, her people forced under his rule. Wherever he wanted to take her, it wasn’t home.

Still lying on the cold stone floor, she shook her head weakly. “No.”

San’s jaw tightened. The amusement in his eyes dimmed slightly, replaced with something colder. He exhaled sharply through his nose, as if he were growing tired of this game.

"Fine," he muttered.

Before she could react, she saw a flash of silver—something in his hand.

Her body tensed. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew better than to wait and find out. Instinctively, she raised her arms to shield her face, bracing for impact.

Wrong move.

A sharp prick shot through the side of her neck.

Her eyes widened in shock as she felt something thin and metallic buried into her skin. It wasn’t a knife—it didn’t slice or tear. It just pricked, leaving a dull, numbing sensation in its wake.

A syringe.

San had stabbed a syringe into her neck.

Her breath hitched as a strange dizziness washed over her. The world around her blurred, her limbs suddenly feeling heavy, too heavy to move. She tried to lift her hand, tried to reach for the object lodged in her skin, but her fingers barely twitched before her body gave out.

Her head fell against the cold floor, her vision swimming.

Above her, the last thing she saw was San’s face, watching her with a knowing smirk as the darkness swallowed her whole.

San looked down at her unconscious form, his smirk lingering as he admired his work. She had fought, resisted until the very last second, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered. He was always going to win.

He exhaled, standing to his full height as he observed her limp body sprawled across the cold floor. The ink and blood smeared across the ground were the only remnants of her struggle.

Satisfied, he crouched down and slipped an arm beneath her, effortlessly lifting her into his arms. She was light—far too light for someone with so much fight in her. Her head lolled slightly against his shoulder, her breath slow and steady as the sedative coursed through her veins.

Holding her securely, San turned and walked towards the door.

The guards outside immediately straightened at the sight of their king emerging from the hidden room with the unconscious princess in his arms. They glanced at each other, uncertainty flickering in their eyes, but none dared to question him.

San stepped past them, his grip on YN firm but casual, as if carrying her was no different from carrying a mere possession.

Because that’s exactly what she was now.

San stepped out into the open, the cool night air washing over him as he carried YN in his arms. The moment his men saw him, they stiffened, their expressions betraying their shock.

They had all expected him to emerge alone, having finished the job like he always did. Instead, here he was—carrying the princess, unconscious but very much alive.

One of the lead guards, a seasoned warrior with a deep scar across his cheek, stepped forward hesitantly. His gaze flickered between San and the girl in his arms before he spoke.

"Your Majesty," he began carefully, "should we finish her?"

The other guards waited in tense silence, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. It was a reasonable assumption—San had slaughtered the rest of the royal family without hesitation. Why would the princess be any different?

But San had already made his decision.

Without looking at the guard, he spoke, his voice calm yet unwavering.

"No."

The single word sent a ripple of confusion through the men.

San shifted YN slightly in his arms, glancing down at her unconscious face before turning his sharp gaze back to the guard.

"I'm taking her back to Celestara," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The guards exchanged uncertain glances, but no one dared to question him further.

San smirked, satisfied by their obedience. Then, without another word, he began walking towards his waiting carriage.

This war was over. The kingdom was his. And now, so was she.

With the princess in his grasp, he set off on the journey back to Celestara—his kingdom, his home.

And soon enough, hers as well.

YN blinked slowly, her mind hazy as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. Her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish, as if she had been asleep for far too long.

Where was she?

She forced herself to sit up, her fingers gripping the soft yet unfamiliar sheets beneath her. The bed was large—far larger than the one she had in Eldoria. And the room…

Her heart sank.

This wasn’t Eldoria.

Eldoria was warm and bright, filled with pastel colors, soft fabrics, and the gentle scent of flowers in the air. But this place—this place felt suffocating. The walls were dark, nearly black, with gold accents that gleamed under the dim lighting. Heavy drapes covered the windows, letting in only slivers of light. The furniture was grand, elegant, yet cold, as if meant to intimidate rather than comfort.

She hated it.

Perhaps it was because she had spent her entire life surrounded by brightness, but the darkness of this place made her uneasy. It felt foreign, unfamiliar—wrong.

Her breath quickened as she swung her legs over the bed, only to wince as a sharp pain shot through her feet.

The glass.

She had run through shattered glass.

Carefully, she lifted her feet and saw the bandages wrapped around them, fresh and neatly done. Someone had treated her injuries.

Someone had—

Her stomach twisted.

San.

Memories of what had happened before she blacked out came rushing back. The invasion. The loss. His voice, smooth and taunting. The sharp prick of the syringe in her neck.

Panic clawed at her chest as she looked around frantically, searching for a way out.

But the door was closed.

And she had no doubt—it was locked.

YN sat at the edge of the massive bed, her fingers digging into the sheets as she tried to steady herself. The weight of everything crashed down on her all at once.

Her family was gone.

Her home was gone.

And now, she was here—trapped in a place that wasn’t hers, surrounded by walls that felt like they were closing in on her.

Her vision blurred as her throat tightened. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. But what good would that do?

She lowered her gaze to her bandaged feet. She couldn’t even walk. She had been so desperate to escape, but in the end, she had only hurt herself. And now, she was left completely vulnerable, at the mercy of the very man who had taken everything from her.

San.

The thought of his name sent a shiver down her spine.

The ruthless king of Celestara. The man who had murdered her family without hesitation. The man who had stolen her home and claimed it as his own.

And now, she was his captive.

A bitter laugh almost escaped her lips, but it got caught in her throat. There was nothing amusing about this. There was no way out.

She was truly, utterly defeated.

YN sat there for what felt like hours, unmoving, lost in the crushing weight of her thoughts. The silence of the room only made it worse, suffocating her, making her feel even more trapped.

Then—

Click.

The door creaked open.

Her entire body tensed.

Her fingers curled into the sheets, her heart pounding as she stared at the entrance, dreading what—or who—might step inside.

And then she saw him.

San.

He walked in like he owned the place. Which, of course, he did.

But that didn’t make it any less infuriating.

His presence filled the room instantly, his posture relaxed, confident—completely at ease, as if nothing was out of place. As if he hadn’t just destroyed her entire life.

YN swallowed hard, her throat dry.

She hated him.

She hated the way he moved so carelessly, as if everything was just a game to him. She hated the way he looked at her, like he knew she was powerless against him. She hated that even though she wanted to scream, to throw something, to fight—she couldn’t.

Not like this.

Not when she could barely even stand.

Fear crept up her spine, mixing with the anger burning in her chest. She hated him. She feared him. But most of all—she resented the fact that he had complete control over her now.

San stood in the doorway, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on her. A smirk tugged at his lips, slow and deliberate, as if he was enjoying the sight of her—small, wounded, and utterly trapped.

He took a step inside, and even though his movements were unhurried, they carried an undeniable authority. Every step he took echoed in the large, darkened room, the soft click of his boots against the floor sending a shiver down YN’s spine.

She gripped the sheets tighter.

He was terrifying.

And that was exactly what made him so dangerous.

He wasn’t just some brute who barked orders and swung his sword mindlessly. No, San was something much worse. He was calculated. He was smart. And worst of all, he enjoyed having control over people.

“You’re awake,” he mused, his voice smooth yet dripping with something sinister.

YN didn’t respond.

He didn’t need her to. He was already closing the distance between them, his movements slow, predatory, as if he wanted her to feel the power he held over her.

Her breath hitched as he stopped right in front of her.

She refused to look up at him. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

But San wasn’t the type to be ignored.

With an amused chuckle, he crouched down so that he was eye-level with her.

“Not going to greet your king?” he murmured, tilting his head. His voice was deep, teasing, but there was an undeniable edge to it. A warning.

YN finally forced herself to meet his gaze—and immediately regretted it.

He was too close.

Far too close.

His dark eyes gleamed under the dim lighting, filled with something unreadable. His sharp jawline, the way his lips curled ever so slightly—it was unfair how someone so cruel could look so good.

She hated it.

She hated that her heart pounded for reasons beyond just fear.

When she still didn’t speak, San exhaled sharply and reached out.

She flinched as his fingers brushed against her jaw, tilting her face up. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but that only made it worse.

“You’re trembling,” he noted, his voice quiet, almost mocking. “Scared of me, little princess?”

YN clenched her jaw, trying to will away the fear in her expression.

San chuckled. “Good. You should be.”

His grip tightened, just enough for her to feel it, just enough to remind her that she was at his mercy.

And yet—

The way he looked at her, the slow drag of his eyes down her face, the way his lips parted slightly as if he was enjoying every second of this—

He was terrifying.

And that made him even more dangerous.

San watched her, his lips quirking up in amusement at her stubbornness. She was scared, angry, and exhausted, yet still refused to take anything from him. It was almost admirable. Almost.

With a sigh, he reached for the glass of water sitting on the bedside desk. His fingers wrapped around the crystal, and he swirled the liquid inside lazily before turning back to her.

“Why don’t you drink some?” His voice was smooth, deep, like velvet laced with something dangerous.

“I don’t want water,” YN muttered, looking away.

San chuckled, low and rich. “Come on, princess. I didn’t poison it.”

He lifted the glass to his own lips, tilting it back ever so slightly.

YN couldn’t look away.

The way he drank—slow, deliberate—was unfair. A bit of water slipped past the corner of his lips, trailing down his jaw. He swiped his thumb across his mouth, wiping away the stray droplet before licking it off his thumb without a second thought.

Her stomach twisted, and heat crept up her neck.

San caught the way her eyes flickered to his lips, and his smirk deepened.

“See?” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He leaned in, holding the glass out to her, his fingers brushing against hers. “It’s not poisoned.”

She hesitated.

San sighed dramatically. “Drink up, princess. I don’t want you to die.”

His words should have been comforting, but the way he said them—slow, teasing, like he enjoyed her discomfort—only made her more unsettled.

Still, she knew she had no choice.

With shaky fingers, she took the glass from him.

San didn’t move back.

He stayed close, watching her with dark, expectant eyes, waiting to see if she would obey.

And that was the worst part.

Because as much as she hated him, as much as she wanted to fight—he always got what he wanted.

San had no shame. Not even a shred of it.

As YN lifted the glass to her lips, tilting her head back slightly to drink, his eyes shamelessly trailed down to her neck.

He watched the way her throat moved with each swallow, the soft curve of her collarbone barely peeking from the loose neckline of her dress. His gaze lingered, unbothered, unapologetic.

San was no saint.

He never pretended to be one.

And right now, he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was enjoying the sight in front of him.

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he let his gaze drag over her slowly, taking in every little detail. The way her lips parted slightly after drinking, the way a stray droplet of water slipped down the side of her mouth.

Before she could wipe it away, he reached out.

His thumb brushed against her chin, slow, deliberate.

YN froze.

San’s eyes flickered to hers, his touch lingering just a second too long before he finally pulled away.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice smooth like honey, but laced with something undeniably sinful. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

YN clenched her jaw, gripping the empty glass tightly.

She hated him.

But the way he looked at her, like he could devour her whole, made her feel things she shouldn’t be feeling.

And San?

San knew exactly what he was doing.

“What do you want from me?” YN’s voice was sharp, filled with both exhaustion and defiance.

San simply stared at her, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable. Then, with a slow, almost innocent tilt of his head, he said, “Nothing.”

Liar.

She knew he was toying with her. She felt it in the way he spoke, in the way he looked at her—as if she was some intriguing puzzle he wanted to take apart piece by piece.

She couldn’t let him do this.

Without thinking, she lifted her hand, aiming to strike him, to wipe that infuriating expression off his face.

But San was faster.

Much faster.

Before she could make contact, his hand shot up, fingers curling around her neck with practiced ease. He wasn’t squeezing—he didn’t need to. The sheer weight of his touch, the way his thumb pressed lightly against the delicate skin of her throat, was enough to steal the breath from her lungs.

With effortless strength, he pushed her back.

She fell against the pillows, her body sinking into the soft mattress as he hovered over her.

And then, for the briefest moment, San stilled.

His grip loosened slightly as he took her in.

Her doe eyes, wide and glaring up at him, holding a mix of fury and something he couldn’t quite place. Her lips, parted ever so slightly, her breath coming in uneven puffs. And her hair—God, her hair—spilled in every direction, a wild halo of silk against the dark sheets.

Beautiful.

He had always admired beautiful things.

But this—her, beneath him, looking like something he wanted to ruin—this was something else entirely.

His fingers twitched against her throat, and he let out a quiet hum, his gaze darkening as he leaned in just a fraction.

YN could barely breathe.

Not because of his hold—no, he wasn’t choking her. But because of the way he looked at her, like he was memorizing every detail, like he owned her already.

San smirked, his voice dangerously soft as he murmured, “You’re breathtaking, princess.”

San let go of her slowly, his fingers trailing from her throat to her collarbone before finally pulling away. He watched her for a second longer, his smirk never faltering, then—just like that—he backed up.

No words. No explanation.

He simply turned on his heel and walked away.

YN lay there, her heart hammering against her ribs as she stared at the ceiling, trying to process what had just happened.

The door creaked open.

For a moment, she thought he might say something, might throw one last taunt her way. But he didn’t.

He left.

The door shut behind him with a soft click, leaving her alone in the deafening silence of the room.

And yet, even with him gone, the ghost of his touch lingered on her skin.

A few days has passed. YN had barely slept, her mind too clouded with the events of that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. The way he had looked at her, the way he had touched her—the way he had enjoyed watching her squirm beneath him. She hated him.

She hated that she was here, hated that she was still alive when her family wasn’t.

A soft knock at the door startled her. A maid entered, bowing slightly before speaking. “His Majesty requests your presence for breakfast.”

YN frowned. A maid? She hadn’t expected anyone to treat her with respect—she thought she would be tossed into a dungeon, starved, forgotten. But no. She was being served. It unsettled her.

Still, she said nothing and complied, following the maid through the grand halls of the palace. The castle was just as dark and overbearing as she had thought it would be, its walls decorated with deep gold accents and tall, menacing windows. Nothing about it was warm. Just like him.

When they reached the dining hall, the large doors were pushed open, revealing an elegant table set with more food than she had seen in days. Her stomach twisted, but not from hunger. Because there, seated at the head of the table, was San. And he was already watching her. Her appetite vanished instantly.

San smirked, leaning forward slightly as he rested his chin on his hand. “Good morning, princess.”

YN swallowed, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

She refused to answer.

Instead, she slowly walked toward the table, forcing herself to keep her back straight as she sat down. The maid moved to pour her a drink, but she barely noticed.

All she could feel was his gaze.

San chuckled, clearly amused by her discomfort. “What’s wrong? Not hungry?”

YN clenched her jaw. Hungry? How could she eat in front of the very man who had stolen her kingdom, who had killed her family? She gripped the silverware in front of her, trying to steady herself, trying not to snap. But the longer she sat there, the more unbearable it became.

San leaned in slightly, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Eat, princess,” he murmured, voice dripping with mockery. “I don’t want you starving on me.”

YN clenched her jaw, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress beneath the table. She forced a smile, though her teeth were gritted in pure loathing.

"I wouldn't dare eat before His Majesty," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

San only smirked at her response, clearly entertained. He leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table before tilting his head. "That’s sweet of you, princess," he mused. "But I insist. I want my little princess to eat first."

Before she could protest, he reached for a piece of meat, slicing it with ease. He speared the piece with a fork and, without hesitation, held it up to her lips.

"Open."

YN stared at him, unimpressed. "I don’t eat meat."

San’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened.

"Too bad," he said, his voice void of sympathy. "You need to follow orders, princess."

His tone was firm now, leaving no room for argument. He wasn’t asking. He was commanding.

YN swallowed, her breath steady despite the way her stomach churned. She didn’t want to obey him—she refused to. But she knew how dangerous he was. She had seen it with her own eyes.

San was ruthless. And he would enjoy making her suffer if she disobeyed.

Still, she didn’t move.

San sighed dramatically, lowering the fork slightly. "Do I need to feed you myself?" he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

YN clenched her fists beneath the table.

She had lost her kingdom. She had lost her family.

And now, she was losing control.

But what choice did she have?

YN hesitated for a moment, her stomach twisting in revulsion. But the look in San’s eyes told her there was no room for negotiation.

Slowly, reluctantly, she parted her lips.

San smirked in satisfaction and pushed the piece of meat into her mouth. His fingers brushed against her lips ever so slightly, lingering for just a second too long before pulling away.

She wanted to spit it out. Gods, she wanted to spit it out. But she didn’t. She forced herself to chew, swallowing the bite with as much grace as she could muster.

San watched her the entire time, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.

"Good girl," he murmured.

Her fingers twitched. She wanted to slap that smirk right off his face.

Instead, she reached for the glass of water beside her, desperately trying to wash away the taste of the meat that burned her throat like poison.

San leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he studied her. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

YN didn’t answer. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

San chuckled. He could see the anger burning in her eyes, the way her entire body tensed with barely restrained rage. Oh, how he enjoyed this. Watching her fight against her own pride, watching her struggle between her hatred for him and her will to survive.

"You’ll get used to it," he said lazily, taking another bite of his own food.

YN swallowed down her fury. She had to be careful. She had to be smart.

She wasn’t just a prisoner in this palace—she was a captive in his hands. And San was playing a game.

She just didn’t know the rules yet.

YN sat stiffly in her seat, her stomach churning with disgust—not just from the food, but from him.

San, on the other hand, looked completely at ease. He ate slowly, savoring every bite, his sharp eyes flickering toward her every now and then, like a predator keeping an eye on his prey.

When he was done, he wiped his mouth with a cloth, then tossed it onto the table carelessly. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world.

Then, without warning, he stood.

YN instinctively tensed as he walked around the table. His boots echoed against the marble floor, each step heavy, purposeful. She kept her gaze locked on the table, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat. But San didn’t stop until he was standing right behind her.

She felt his presence before she saw him. The heat radiating from him, the way the air around her seemed to shift. Then—

A hand.

Slow, deliberate fingers brushing over her shoulder.

YN flinched, but she refused to move. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her react.

San leaned down, his breath warm against the side of her neck.

"You surprise me, princess," he murmured, his voice smooth, deep. "I thought you’d be more difficult. But you listened. You obeyed." His fingers trailed up, brushing the strands of her hair away from her neck. YN’s breath hitched, but she kept her face blank, forcing herself to stare at the empty plate in front of her.

"Maybe you're smarter than I thought," San mused, his tone dripping with amusement.

Then, without warning, he grabbed her chin, tilting her head back so she was forced to look at him.

Her breath caught in her throat.

His eyes. Dark. Intense. Amused.

A smirk played at his lips, and for a terrifying moment, she swore he looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"Or maybe," he whispered, tilting his head slightly, "you’re just waiting for the right moment to fight back."

YN’s pulse pounded in her ears. San chuckled, his grip on her chin tightening just slightly before he let go. He straightened, taking a step back, but his presence still loomed over her.

"Either way," he said, voice smooth, "I’m looking forward to it."

As San spoke, his fingers lazily twirled a lock of her hair between them. The contrast was eerie—the way his voice was dark and commanding, yet his touch was almost gentle. Almost.

YN swallowed hard, keeping her expression blank, but inside, she was unraveling.

Why was he doing this? Why was he toying with her like this?

San hummed, his fingers drifting lower, brushing through the strands like he had all the time in the world. "Soft," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

She clenched her fists under the table. She wanted to jerk away, but his grip tightened just enough to keep her still. Not painfully—no, that wasn’t his style. He didn’t need to use force. His presence alone was enough to keep her frozen. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against the top of her head.

"You have no idea how much I enjoy this," he mused, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Seeing you like this. Trying so hard to keep your composure, when I know—" he tugged her hair lightly, making her tilt her head back just enough to meet his gaze "—that inside, you’re burning."

YN gritted her teeth.

San smirked, his fingers giving one last slow glide through her hair before finally—finally—he let go.

"Keep up the act, princess," he murmured, straightening. "Let’s see how long you last." And with that, he walked away, leaving YN sitting there, her breath uneven, her body tense.

Her hair still tingled from his touch.

She hated it. She hated him.

It had been days since YN had been trapped in this dark, unfamiliar place. The once-proud princess of Eldoria, now nothing more than a caged bird under the watchful eye of a ruthless king.

During those days, she had no purpose. No books to read, no people to talk to, nothing. Just the sound of the ticking clock and the occasional knock of a servant bringing her food.

And then there was him.

San.

He would come in whenever he pleased. Sometimes, he would simply stand there, watching her like she was some fascinating puzzle he was trying to solve. Other times, he would speak, his voice smooth and teasing, dripping with manipulation.

"Are you lonely, princess? You don’t have to be. You just have to behave."

"What a shame. You were once so free, and now you have nothing. But don’t worry—I can give you something. You only have to ask."

And then he would leave, always before she could snap back, before she could gather her words.

It was driving her insane.

Not the captivity, not even the fear—the boredom.

He wouldn't let her do anything. No dancing, no walking outside, no distractions.

She was starting to feel like a doll left on a shelf, waiting for the moment he decided to pick her up and play his twisted little games.

She hated him.

She hated how he controlled everything—her time, her space, even the very air she breathed in his presence.

And she hated that, despite everything, he still had the nerve to act like he was enjoying this more than she was suffering.

San sat in his grand chamber, the dim candlelight casting sharp shadows over his sharp features. He leaned back in his chair, one arm resting lazily on the armrest while the other traced the rim of his wine glass. His thoughts, however, were far from idle.

She was going to be here for a while. That much was certain. And since she was his now—his possession, his captive, his—it was only natural that he knew everything about her. So, he had sent his right-hand man to dig into her past.

It wasn’t an easy task. After all, he had razed Eldoria to the ground, left nothing but ashes and ruins in his wake. Most of her kingdom’s history had burned with it.

But his man was efficient, and somehow, he had managed to unearth something.

San read through the parchment, his sharp eyes scanning every word. YN—once a beloved princess, a figure of grace and kindness. People had adored her, and not just because she was royalty. She had been… good. She had spent her days tending to the kingdom’s gardens, running her fingers through delicate petals, ensuring that life flourished around her. She had a habit of visiting the commoners, speaking to them as if she were one of them.

She had been everything a ruler should be. San scoffed, amused. How naive. But what intrigued him the most was the last detail.

She had been a dancer. A dedicated one. Trained, disciplined, someone who had spent hours perfecting her craft.

San tapped his fingers against the table. A princess who danced. A girl who once moved freely, who now sat caged in his palace with nowhere to go.

He smirked. Oh, how he could use this.

San leaned back in his chair, his smirk deepening as he thought about it. A princess who danced, who tended to flowers, who was gentle—a true princess in every sense. She was nothing like the women he had encountered before, hardened by war or desperate for power.

She was delicate. Refined. Soft. And she was his now.

The idea of her being his personal entertainer amused him. The once-proud princess, forced to dance solely for his pleasure. The same girl who had glared at him with pure hatred, who had tried to fight him—kneeling before him, moving gracefully under his command. The thought alone sent a thrill down his spine. He wanted to see it. Wanted to watch her move, watch her surrender that grace to him.

His fingers drummed against the table as he made up his mind.

He would give her no choice. If she was going to be here, if she was going to belong to him, then she would have to earn her place.

And what better way than by using the very thing that once made her special?

The heavy doors to her room slammed open without warning, the force of it making the walls tremble. YN flinched, her fingers tightening around the book she had been reading. She barely had a moment to process before San strode in, his presence overwhelming, suffocating even. He moved with that effortless confidence, like a predator who knew nothing could touch him. His dark clothing contrasted sharply against the golden glow of the candles, his sharp jawline cast in perfect shadow. His eyes—cold, calculating—pinned her in place as he approached. He stopped right in front of her.

She had been sitting on the bed, legs tucked beneath her, the book resting in her lap. Now, she sat frozen under his piercing gaze.

San tilted his head slightly, studying her. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he had run his fingers through it moments ago. His lips curled, not in kindness, but in something far more sinister—amusement, control, ownership.

"You look so comfortable," he mused, voice dangerously smooth. "It almost makes me forget you're a captive." She swallowed, trying not to react.

He reached forward, slow and deliberate, and plucked the book from her hands. His fingers ghosted over hers for a second, a contrast of warmth and chill. He flipped through the pages lazily, before his smirk deepened.

"Interesting," he murmured, snapping the book shut with one hand. YN clenched her jaw. "You gave that to me." San let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a shiver down her spine.

"I did," he admitted, stepping even closer. His knee brushed against the edge of the mattress. He leaned down slightly, enough that she could feel the heat of him, smell the faint scent of leather and spice. He reached out, his fingers skimming through her hair—something he seemed to love doing.

YN clenched her fists. She hated how he touched her so freely, how he invaded her space like he owned it. But most of all—she hated the way he made it impossible to breathe.

San watched her closely, his eyes dark with amusement. He had noticed it—the way she sat idly for days, locked in this golden cage he had given her. She had nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to talk to. So of course, she was bored.

But YN didn’t trust him, and she had every reason not to.

Still, when he spoke, his voice was almost casual. "I was thinking," he said, tilting his head slightly, "you must be getting bored."

She stiffened. Of course, she was. But admitting anything to him felt like a loss. She remained still, watching him warily. San exhaled sharply, as if her silence annoyed him. He shifted slightly, bringing a gloved hand up to her chin. His fingers were deceptively gentle as they tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Are you?" he asked again.

For a moment, she debated whether or not to answer. But the way his grip tightened—just a fraction—told her it wasn’t a request. Reluctantly, she gave a small nod.

San clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "That won’t do." His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, lingering just long enough to make her tense. His smirk deepened at her reaction. "If I ask a question, little princess, I expect words," he murmured. "Try again."

YN swallowed hard, her voice quieter than she would have liked. "Yes."

San grinned. "See? That wasn’t so hard." He released her, taking a step back as if satisfied.

"Since you’re bored," he mused, turning slightly, "I think I’ll give you something to do."

She narrowed her eyes. "And what would that be?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder, that wicked smirk never fading. "You’re going to dance for me."

YN was furious. “You're making me do this act of shame for what?”

San merely raised a brow at her outburst, completely unfazed. If anything, he looked amused.

"Shaming you?" he repeated, stepping closer. His voice was as smooth as silk, but there was something sharp beneath it. "You think I’m asking you to shame yourself?"

YN clenched her fists. "You’re making me put on a show for you like a performer, like some—"

"Like a princess," he interrupted, tilting his head slightly. His smirk deepened as he took another slow step toward her. "And isn't that what you are?"

She was furious now. "This dance is part of my kingdom’s culture," she snapped. "You’ve already taken everything from me. I won’t let you exploit this too."

San chuckled, dark and quiet. "Exploit?" he mused. "You call it exploitation. I call it appreciation." Her glare only fueled his amusement.

She furiously stood up "By making me dance in front of you for your entertainment? You think that’s appreciation?"

He didn’t move. He just stood there, watching her, his expression unreadable. Then, in one swift motion, he reached out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her flush against him.

YN gasped, her hands instinctively landing on his chest. His grip was firm but not painful, his warmth radiating through his clothes. She struggled, but he didn’t let go. His eyes bore into hers.

"Do you really think I see you as just some performer?" he murmured, voice dropping lower. "I could have killed you, little princess. I should have."

His fingers trailed up her arm, slow and deliberate. "But I didn’t. I kept you. And now, I want to see you—your kingdom’s pride, your so-called untouchable grace." He leaned in slightly, his breath ghosting over her skin. "You can call it whatever you want," he whispered, "but in the end, you will dance for me."

YN felt the weight of defeat settle deep in her chest. It was suffocating. She had nothing left—no kingdom, no family, no power. Even her pride, the one thing she had tried so desperately to hold onto, was slipping through her fingers.

San had taken everything from her. And now, even in this moment, he stood before her, completely in control. Her shoulders slumped as she took a slow step back, gaze falling to the floor. She hated this. Hated him. Hated how powerless she was.

San watched her reaction closely, his smirk unwavering.

"See?" he murmured. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Then, to her surprise, he took a step closer—not with the same overwhelming dominance he usually carried, but with something else. Something almost teasing.

"Here," he said suddenly, reaching for her hair. "I'll even braid your hair to make it beautiful."

YN’s breath hitched. "What—"

But she couldn’t even finish before she felt his fingers threading through her locks.

He was gentle.

She wanted to recoil, to shove him away, but her body wouldn’t move. She stood frozen as he worked, weaving her long strands between his fingers, moving with ease as if he had done this a hundred times before. San was good at it. Too good.

"Surprised?" he mused, clearly amused by her silence. "You think a king can’t do something as simple as braiding hair?" His fingers moved slowly, carefully, as if savoring the feeling.

YN hated how calming it was.

He was quiet for a moment before he murmured, "My mother used to do this for me when I was young. Before she died." That caught her off guard.

She dared to glance at him, but his expression was unreadable.

Then, as if remembering himself, San smirked again. "But I suppose that doesn't matter now."

He tied off the end of the braid, admiring his work. "There," he said, stepping back. "Now you look even more like a princess."

YN clenched her fists at her sides. "You're cruel," she whispered.

San only chuckled, dark and low. "And yet, here you are—letting me braid your hair."

The music played softly in the grand hall, but to YN, it felt like a cruel command rather than a melody. Her bare feet hesitated against the cold marble floor. Her body still ached, her legs not fully recovered from the injuries. Every step sent a dull pain through her, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

San sat on his throne, legs spread lazily, elbow resting on the armrest, fingers curled under his chin. His dark eyes never left her. They followed every movement, every step, every sway of her body with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

He looked hungry. Not for food. Not for violence.

For her.

YN’s breath was uneven, but she forced herself to keep going. The dance that once brought her joy, the tradition of her people, now felt like shackles binding her to his will.

San exhaled slowly, his gaze dragging over her form. “Keep going,” he murmured, voice low and smooth, yet laced with authority.

Her knees almost buckled.

His gaze burned into her skin, drinking in every movement like a man who had been deprived for too long.

YN gritted her teeth, forcing herself to continue. She could feel his eyes tracing the curve of her waist, the arch of her neck, the way her braid swayed with her movements. He was enjoying this.

Not just the dance itself, but the fact that he was the reason she was dancing.

San leaned forward slightly, his smirk deepening. "It’s almost a shame," he mused. "That a princess like you should be wasted on a throne when you were clearly born to move like this.”

YN nearly stumbled. And the moment she stumbled, she knew something was wrong. Her vision blurred, the golden chandeliers above melting into streaks of light. The grand hall, once a suffocating prison, now felt like it was spinning around her, pulling her deeper into an abyss she couldn't escape.

Her legs trembled beneath her, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She tried to focus—on the cold marble beneath her feet, on the heavy silence that replaced the music, on anything that could ground her. But all she could see was him.

San.

He remained seated, watching her with an expression that sent chills down her spine. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement, lips curling into that damned smirk. The world tilted again. Her body swayed uncontrollably, her limbs heavy, her strength slipping away.

Then—darkness.

The last thing she saw before her knees buckled was San’s sinister smile.

He didn’t move to catch her. He didn’t call for help. He simply watched as she crumpled to the floor.

San exhaled slowly as he crouched beside her, his sharp eyes drinking in every delicate feature. Her long lashes fluttered slightly, her lips parted as she breathed weakly, and her hair, now slightly disheveled from the fall, fanned out around her like ink spilled on the cold marble.

She was beautiful. Too beautiful to let go.

His gloved fingers traced a strand of her hair, twisting it between his fingers as he studied her face. She had danced until she collapsed—until her body could no longer obey her. And all for him. A slow smirk curled on his lips.

"You really are something, little princess," he murmured, his voice deep, filled with an almost lazy amusement.

His hand moved to her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down. Even unconscious, she looked defiant—like she was fighting even in her sleep. San leaned closer, his lips hovering just near her ear.

"I will break you," he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous promise. "But I will put you back together as mine."

He pulled away slightly, his gaze sweeping over her unconscious form. Then, with no sense of urgency, he slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

She was light. Too light. San clicked his tongue.

"You're still weak," he mused, as if speaking to himself. "I’ll have to fix that."

With long, unhurried strides, he carried her toward the grand doors. His boots echoed against the empty hall, the only sound accompanying them. The princess belonged to him now. And San always got what he wanted.

When YN's eyes fluttered open, she was met with a sight she did not expect.

The room around her was nothing like the one she had been confined to before. It was magnificent—grander, richer, almost suffocating in its opulence. Deep crimson drapes cascaded from the towering windows, gold accents lining every carved detail of the walls. The bed she lay on was vast, the silk sheets beneath her softer than anything she had ever known.

But none of that mattered. Because he was there.

San.

He sat on the bed, resting against the bedpost with one arm draped over the carved wood, watching her with unreadable eyes. But the problem wasn’t just that he was there.

The problem was that he was shirtless.

The flickering candlelight cast sharp shadows across his toned torso, emphasizing every defined muscle, every scar carved into his skin like war medals. He looked relaxed—too relaxed—as if he had all the time in the world to simply watch her. Panic surged through her veins like fire.

Her breath hitched, and before her mind could even catch up, her body reacted. She immediately sat up, the sheets pooling around her, and scrambled off the bed. Her bare feet hit the cool floor as she backed away, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the terrifyingly alluring man before her. San exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips as he lazily tilted his head.

"Running away again?" he mused, his voice deep, teasing. "How adorable." YN swallowed hard. She knew better now. Running wasn’t an option.

But being near him? That was just as dangerous.

YN's voice was hoarse when she finally found the courage to speak. "Why am I here?"

San didn’t answer right away. He simply stretched, his muscles flexing as he let out a lazy sigh, before tilting his head toward her. “Does it matter?” he said casually, as if her presence in his chambers was the most natural thing in the world. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, frustration simmering beneath her fear. “Of course, it matters—”

But before she could continue, San suddenly chuckled, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. “Why are you so scared?” he teased, lips curling into that familiar, maddening smirk. “I haven’t done anything. Yet.”

Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to stand her ground. She hesitated for a moment before finally answering, her voice quieter now. “In my kingdom… it is inappropriate for an unmarried woman to share a bed with a man.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then San let out a low hum, tapping his fingers against the bedpost as if deep in thought. His smirk grew wider.

"Ah… so that's what’s bothering you," he mused. His eyes darkened with amusement as he leaned forward just slightly. "Then I suppose… you should be grateful I let you sleep alone last night.”

YN’s breath caught in her throat.

San was playing with her. And he was enjoying it.

San chuckled, the sound deep and rich, sending a shiver down YN’s spine. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he watched her with that ever-present glint of amusement.

“You won’t be unmarried for long,” he said casually, as if he were discussing the weather.

YN blinked. “What?” Her voice came out quieter than she intended, confusion flickering in her eyes.

San didn’t hesitate. He met her gaze head-on, his smirk sharpening into something more dangerous. “I’m going to marry you.”

Silence.

The words hit her like a blow, knocking the air from her lungs. She stared at him, waiting for him to take it back, to tell her it was another one of his cruel jokes. But he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head, his expression unreadable now. Deadly serious. “I’ve already decided,” he continued, as if that was the end of the discussion. “You’ll be my queen.”

YN took a step back, shaking her head in disbelief. “No,” she breathed. “You’re insane if you think—”

San suddenly stood, and she immediately froze. He wasn’t smirking anymore.

His gaze was intense, piercing through her like a blade. “I think you’re forgetting something, little princess.” His voice dropped lower, the weight of his authority pressing down on her. “Everything here… belongs to me.”

He took a slow step toward her.

“The palace.” Another step.

“The people.” Another.

“And you.”

YN’s back hit the wall, her breath caught in her throat as San loomed over her.

“There’s no escape, YN,” he murmured, reaching out to trace a strand of her hair between his fingers. “So don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

His lips curled into a smirk again, but his eyes?

They promised that he never said things he didn’t mean.

YN clenched her fists, gathering the courage to speak. “I won’t marry you,” she said firmly, though there was still a tremor in her voice. “You’re… you’re way older than me.”

San raised a brow, his lips twitching in amusement. “Older?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, little princess, that’s hardly an issue. A few years mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “Besides,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, “older men are wiser. Stronger. More capable of protecting what’s theirs.” His voice dropped, smooth like silk but laced with quiet dominance. “And you? You are mine now, aren’t you?”

YN swallowed, refusing to be rattled. “Marriage is supposed to be based on love,” she blurted out, gripping the fabric of her dress.

San stilled for a moment before exhaling a soft laugh. “Love?” He said the word like it was foreign to him, like it amused him. His fingers reached out, ghosting over the ends of her hair as he watched her intently. “You think love is what keeps a marriage strong?” His voice was deceptively soft, almost hypnotic. “No, little princess. Love is fragile. It crumbles. But power? Loyalty? Fear?” His gaze darkened. “Those are unshakable.”

He leaned in just enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath. “And don’t worry,” he murmured, his smirk returning. “You’ll learn to love me eventually.” He pulled away then, as if the conversation was already settled.

YN’s heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to argue, to fight back, but deep down, she knew—

San never changed his mind.

San’s voice was smooth, almost reassuring. “You don’t need to worry,” he said, as if his words could magically erase her fears. “I’ll take care of you. Give you everything you could ever want. Shower you with fortune, with power.” His fingers traced the edge of a gold-embroidered pillow as he spoke, his gaze never leaving her.

But YN didn’t want that. She never had.

She clenched her fists at her sides, her heart twisting painfully. This was not what she had dreamed of. She had always wanted love—real love, the kind her parents had. She had spent her childhood watching the way her father would soften whenever he looked at her mother, the way they laughed together, the way they held each other with warmth and affection. She had wanted that for herself one day. Not this.

Not a forced marriage with a ruthless king who saw love as a weakness.

Her throat felt tight, but she managed to whisper, “This isn’t what I imagined.” San tilted his head, watching her with unreadable eyes. “What did you imagine, then?” His voice was calm, but there was something lurking beneath it.

YN hesitated. She didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t want to give him more power over her. But at the same time, she needed him to understand. “I imagined… a family,” she admitted softly. “A husband who loves me. Who looks at me the way my father looked at my mother. I don’t want riches or power. I just wanted…” She trailed off, unable to finish.

San’s smirk faded slightly, his expression darkening.

Then he chuckled, shaking his head. “Love,” he mused, almost to himself. “You really think love is enough to build a life on?”

His fingers suddenly caught her chin, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm, unyielding.

“You’ll learn, little princess,” he murmured. “You’ll see that love is nothing but a fragile illusion.” His thumb brushed against her lower lip before he released her. “But don’t worry. I’ll give you something much better.”

He stepped back. “You’ll have me. And in time, that will be all you need.”

YN’s stomach twisted in despair. Because deep down, she knew—San never said things he didn’t mean.

YN took a deep breath, steadying herself. She knew San wasn’t someone she could reason with. He was a man who took what he wanted, who bent the world to his will without a second thought. And clearly, he had decided that she would be his.

But that didn’t mean she would accept it.

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with quiet defiance. “I know I can’t change your mind,” she admitted, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll be happily married to you.”

San's smile didn't waver, but something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable, something dark. He took a slow step toward her, closing the space between them with effortless ease.

“You say that now,” he murmured, his voice low and almost amused. “But things change, little princess. People change.” His fingers reached out, barely grazing a lock of her hair before he let it slip through his fingers. “You’ll come to understand soon enough.”

YN clenched her fists, resisting the shiver that threatened to crawl down her spine. “I will never love you,” she stated firmly.

San simply chuckled, stepping even closer until she had no choice but to tilt her head up to keep looking at him. “Who said anything about love?” he whispered. His breath was warm against her skin. “You’ll belong to me—whether you love me or not.”

YN’s heart pounded, but she forced herself not to look away. If he thought she would break that easily, he was wrong. San studied her for a moment, then let out a small hum of amusement. “I like that fire in your eyes,” he mused. “I wonder how long it’ll last.”

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her standing there—trapped in a fate she wanted no part of.

YN lay stiffly in the bed, her back turned to him. The mattress was soft, far more luxurious than anything she had ever slept on before, yet she couldn’t relax. Not when the very man who had destroyed her life was lying so close behind her.

She flinched when she felt a strong arm wrap around her waist, pulling her back against a solid chest. San held her close, his grip firm yet strangely gentle, as if he was claiming her but didn’t want to break her—at least not yet. His warmth surrounded her, but it wasn’t comforting. It was suffocating.

“Tell me something,” his voice was softer now, almost coaxing, as he rested his chin lightly near her shoulder. “Before all of this… before I came and took what was mine… what did you think your married life would be like?”

YN hesitated. She didn’t want to answer him. She didn’t want to let him in, to give him even a glimpse of the dreams she once held so dearly. But his grip around her waist tightened just slightly, a silent warning that he expected her to answer.

Taking a shaky breath, she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I wanted a loving husband,” she admitted reluctantly. “Someone who would cherish me, not own me.”

San didn’t say anything, so she continued, her voice quieter now, as if she were speaking more to herself than to him. “I always imagined a peaceful life. A home filled with laughter. Two children… an older son and a younger daughter.” A small, sad smile ghosted her lips. “I thought I’d marry someone who truly loved me, and we would raise them together, surrounded by warmth and kindness.”

San hummed thoughtfully. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on her side, a stark contrast to the dangerous man she knew he was. “A husband who loves you, two perfect children… how sweet.” He chuckled softly, though there was something unreadable in his tone. “You dream too softly for this cruel world, little princess.”

YN swallowed hard, gripping the silk sheets beneath her. She didn’t want to hear that from him. She didn’t want him to mock what little hope she had left.

San sighed, his warm breath fanning against her neck. “Love is an illusion,” he murmured, his lips barely grazing her skin. “Power, control… those are real. And I am real. You are mine, whether you accept it or not.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

San felt it. His thumb brushed against her waist, but he said nothing more. Instead, he simply held her tighter, as if he could mold her into his world through sheer force alone. And YN, despite everything, lay there in silence, trapped in the arms of the man who had stolen her future.

Days passed, and to YN’s surprise, San was… different. Not entirely, of course. He was still terrifying, still the man who had destroyed everything she knew. But he wasn’t as cruel as before.

He no longer forced her into uncomfortable situations just to see her squirm. He didn’t toy with her pride as much, nor did he threaten her with the same intensity. He was still controlling, still possessive, but something had shifted.

San was still bad. Just… not as bad.

He still made her dance for him, but now, he ensured that she had the proper shoes for it. He still forced her to eat at his table, but he no longer demanded she eat meat. He even went as far as making sure her meals were tailored to her tastes.

And then there were the moments in between—when he wasn’t being the ruthless king, the tyrant she had come to loathe. Moments where he would sit with her, watching her read, commenting lazily on the books she chose. Sometimes, he would run his fingers through her hair absentmindedly, braiding and unbraiding it as if it was his personal pastime. Other times, he would simply exist in the same space as her, not demanding, not pushing—just watching.

It was unsettling.

Because YN didn’t know what he wanted. She didn’t know what his end goal was. He had taken her, claimed her as his future bride, yet he wasn’t forcing her into marriage immediately. It was as if he was waiting for something.

San had been lounging beside her, his usual confident smirk in place as his sharp eyes flickered to the book in her hands. “That book,” he mused, tilting his head, “seems dreadfully boring.”

YN instinctively wanted to argue, to tell him how wrong he was, but then she remembered where she stood. She wasn’t in her home, in her kingdom. She was here, in his palace, a prisoner no matter how much luxury surrounded her. So instead of fighting back, she simply lowered her gaze, her grip on the book tightening as sadness settled over her features. San noticed.

His smirk faltered for a brief second before he leaned forward, his voice shifting into something lighter, almost teasing. “Alright then, tell me—what is it about?”

She hesitated, her fingers playing with the edge of the pages. But after a moment, she softly answered, “It’s about a girl who lost everything and had to rebuild her life somewhere new.”

San hummed, watching her carefully. “Sounds familiar.” She stiffened, but before he could ruin the moment, he continued, “And? What does she do?”

YN glanced at him cautiously before her eyes flickered back to the book. “She learns. She makes friends. She finds purpose again.”

Something shifted in her tone—just the smallest change, but San caught it. Her voice grew steadier, her words flowing more freely as she continued. “She thought she would never find happiness again, but little by little, she discovers new things that make her smile. Even in a place she once feared, she finds something worth holding onto.”

Her eyes lit up as she spoke, the weight on her shoulders seeming to lift, if only for a moment. She wasn’t talking to the cruel king who had stolen her life. She was simply speaking about something she loved.

San didn’t miss it.

He leaned back, resting his chin on his hand as he smirked. “You really like this book, don’t you?”

She blinked, suddenly realizing how much she had said. The light in her eyes dimmed as she clutched the book close to her chest, lips pressing into a thin line.

San clicked his tongue. “Tsk. There it is again.”

She looked at him, confused. “What?”

He tilted his head. “You’re always holding yourself back around me. But just now? You weren’t.”

YN swallowed, unsure how to respond.

San let out a breath, reaching forward before she could react. His fingers brushed against the strands of her hair, twirling a lock between his fingers as he murmured, “I think I like you better when you talk freely.”

YN stiffened, heart pounding. But San just smirked, letting the hair slip from his fingers as he leaned back.

“Keep reading, little princess.”

San grabbed a towel and slung it over his shoulder, stretching slightly before making his way toward the bathroom. YN watched him go but didn’t say anything, just lowering her gaze back to her book. The sound of water running filled the room, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. A while later, the door creaked open, and steam drifted out as San stepped back into the room.

He was fresh out of the bath, his damp hair slightly tousled, strands sticking to his forehead. Water still clung to his skin, glistening under the warm light as droplets trailed down his chest. His robe hung loosely on his shoulders, revealing glimpses of his toned frame, and his presence alone seemed to take up all the space in the room.

But his sharp eyes immediately found her.

YN was sitting in front of the mirror, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the ends of her hair. She looked deep in thought, her brows slightly furrowed, lips pressed together as if she was hesitating over something.

San smirked.

He walked up behind her, his reflection appearing in the mirror as he placed both hands on the table, leaning down slightly. His voice was smooth, teasing.

“You want to ask something.”

YN jolted a little, her fingers tightening around her hair as she met his gaze in the reflection. He tilted his head, eyes flickering over her expression. “Go on,” he murmured, voice dropping lower. “Ask away.”

YN hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. It was obvious she felt embarrassed, her posture stiff as if she was trying to disappear into herself. San watched her through the mirror, waiting with an amused yet patient look, though there was a glint of curiosity in his dark eyes. After a long silence, she finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I… talk to a maid?”

San straightened slightly, tilting his head. His smirk remained, but his eyes darkened just a little. “A maid?” he repeated, sounding unimpressed. She nodded quickly, still not meeting his gaze.

He scoffed, stepping around her so that he was now facing her directly. “Why?”

“I just need to ask her something,” she murmured.

San didn’t like that answer. He was nosy about her. He wanted to know everything—her thoughts, her feelings, even the small things that made her nervous like this. And this? This was something she was clearly reluctant to share. That only made him more curious.

He leaned in slightly, one brow raising. “Ask her what?”

YN swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s not important.”

“Then why can’t you tell me?” he shot back smoothly.

She tensed, her grip tightening on her sleeve. She knew he wasn’t going to drop this. San was persistent, and if she continued dodging, he’d only make things worse for her.

With a deep breath, she finally looked down and muttered, “My period is going to start soon.”

Silence.

Her face burned. She didn’t want to say it—especially not to him—but she had no choice. She wished the ground would swallow her whole.

San, however, was anything but embarrassed. In fact, he looked entertained. His lips curved into a knowing smile arms crossing over his broad chest.

“That’s what you were so shy about?” he chuckled. “You act like I don’t know what a period is.”

YN glared at him, her cheeks still hot. “I just wanted to ask a maid for supplies, not tell you about it.”

San hummed, stepping even closer. “You need something? I can have it brought to you.”

She clenched her jaw. “I don’t need you to handle it.”

He grinned. “Too bad. You belong to me now, which means everything you need comes from me.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. “Even this.”

YN shut her eyes, exhaling sharply. There was no winning against him.

San let out a low chuckle. “I’ll have the maids bring you what you need. Next time, just tell me. No need to be so shy.”

She turned away, wishing this conversation would end. But as she heard him chuckle again, she knew one thing—he was enjoying this way too much.

San’s chuckle lingered in the air as he turned away from her, still clearly entertained by the whole situation. YN, on the other hand, felt like sinking into the floor. Why did it have to be him she had to tell? Why couldn’t he just let her talk to a maid like a normal person? Still, at least he said he’d send someone with what she needed. That was enough for now.

She remained sitting in front of the mirror, her hands still gripping the fabric of her dress as San walked to his side of the room. He dried his damp hair lazily with a towel, the glow from the lanterns casting soft shadows across his bare torso. YN forced herself to look anywhere but at him, but it was hard when he was the only moving presence in the dimly lit room. San finally tossed the towel aside and stretched, rolling his shoulders. He caught her reflection in the mirror, smirking at the way she was avoiding his gaze.

“You look so tense,” he commented, stepping behind her again. “Still embarrassed?”

She didn’t answer.

San tsked and placed his hands on the vanity, caging her in. “We’re going to be married, little princess,” he murmured. “You don’t have to be shy with me.”

Her hands clenched into fists, and she swallowed down the frustration rising in her throat. She hated how he spoke so casually about it. As if her opinion didn’t matter. As if she had no choice but to accept it. She took a shaky breath. “You keep talking about this marriage, but I don’t remember agreeing to it.”

San let out a low hum, his fingers tracing the wooden surface beside her. “You’ll come around.”

YN finally met his gaze in the mirror, her expression sharp. “What if I don’t?”

San grinned, but it wasn’t the playful kind—it was dark, knowing, almost dangerous. He leaned in, so close that his breath brushed against her ear.

“Then I’ll make sure you do.”

A shiver ran down her spine. She wasn’t sure if it was fear, frustration, or something else entirely, but she hated how easily he got under her skin.

San finally pulled away, stepping toward the bed. “Enough talking. Get some rest,” he said as he slid under the covers.

YN remained frozen for a moment before finally standing up and making her way to the bed as well. She didn’t want to sleep beside him, but what choice did she have? He had made it clear before—she wasn’t allowed to sleep anywhere else.

As she lay down, she kept her back to him, her body stiff. But just as she was beginning to relax, she felt an arm snake around her waist, pulling her against his chest. San let out a satisfied sigh, nuzzling into her hair. “Good night, princess,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

YN clenched her eyes shut, willing herself to ignore the way her heart pounded in her chest.

The grand wedding was too much for her. It was lavish, flamboyant, and overwhelming in every possible way. The palace was adorned with the finest silks, golden drapes cascading from the ceilings, and chandeliers that glowed like captured stardust. The scent of exotic flowers filled the air, blending with the rich aroma of feast preparations. It was a celebration fit for a queen—his queen.

Everybody took part. Nobles from distant lands arrived in their most extravagant attire, offering their congratulations to the man who had conquered not only kingdoms but now a bride. The halls echoed with the sound of music, laughter, and endless chatter about the union of King San and the fallen princess of Eldoria.

YN felt suffocated. She stood stiffly in her wedding attire, the fabric embroidered with gold, heavy on her shoulders, as if it were trying to crush her under its weight. Her hands trembled in her lap, fingers tightening around the delicate bouquet she held.

This was it.

There was no escape now.

San was standing tall beside her, dressed in his royal robes, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He looked utterly at ease, smirking at the guests as if this was just another victory in his long list of triumphs. His hand found hers, his grip firm, possessive.

"Smile," he whispered in her ear, his voice dripping with amusement. "It’s your big day, after all."

YN forced her lips to curve slightly, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes.

The ceremony proceeded like a dream—a slow, painful one. Vows were exchanged, oaths were sealed, and with a smirk playing on his lips, San lifted her veil.

Her breath hitched as he leaned in, his fingers tilting her chin up, his gaze burning into hers before he finally captured her lips in a deep, claiming kiss.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

She closed her eyes, feeling the world spin.

She was no longer Princess YN of Eldoria.

She was now Queen YN of his empire.

The wedding feast stretched late into the night, filled with music, laughter, and the glow of golden candlelight. YN sat beside San, her hands folded neatly in her lap, feeling the weight of the rings on her fingers—symbols of a union she had never wished for. The grand hall was alive with celebration, nobles raising their goblets in toasts to their new king and queen, but YN barely touched her food. She felt like an outsider at her own wedding, trapped in a gilded cage.

San, however, was completely at ease. He carried himself like a man who had won—not just a war, but her. He accepted congratulations with his usual smirk, his presence commanding the room. Yet, no matter how many people spoke to him, his gaze always found its way back to her. Watching her. Studying her. As if trying to figure out what was going on inside that stubborn little head of hers.

As the night drew to a close, he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Time to go, princess.” His voice was softer than usual, almost teasing, but it sent a shiver down her spine nonetheless.

She hesitated, but he took her hand, guiding her through the grand halls. His grip was firm but not forceful. People bowed as they passed, whispering about how stunning she looked, how perfect they seemed together. But only she knew the truth.

When they reached the royal bedchamber, the doors shut behind them with a quiet finality. The room was breathtaking—grand and luxurious, with deep crimson drapes and gold accents, the massive bed taking up the center like a throne of its own. The air was thick with the scent of burning candles and something else—something distinctly him.

She stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do.

San turned to her, watching her closely. “You look tense,” he murmured, taking a step forward.

She refused to respond.

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. Then, with an ease that made her heart stutter, he started undoing the layers of his royal attire. The heavy coat was the first to go, then the rings on his fingers, the golden chains around his neck. By the time he was left in just his loose white shirt and dark pants, he looked almost… different. Less like a conqueror. More like a man.

Still, she took a small step back.

She swallowed, forcing herself to glare at him. “Marriage doesn’t mean you own me.”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, his fingers brushing through his dark hair before he looked at her again—this time, without mockery. “I know.” His voice was quiet, honest. “But I will take care of you. No matter what you think of me.”

She blinked, taken aback.

San moved to the other side of the room, pulling off his rings and setting them on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked at her once more, this time without the sharpness he usually carried.

YN stood in the center of the grand chamber, the weight of her wedding dress suddenly unbearable. Layers of embroidered silk and heavy jewels clung to her like a second skin, suffocating her. She barely had the energy to stand, let alone deal with the exhaustion creeping into her bones.

San, lounging on the edge of the bed, watched her with an unreadable expression. She hesitated, gripping the delicate embroidery of her sleeves. She needed to take it off, but she wasn’t exactly comfortable stripping in front of him.

San, as if reading her mind, let out a quiet chuckle. “You’re struggling.” He pushed off the bed, walking towards her with slow, confident steps. “Want my help?”

“No,” she answered quickly, stepping back.

He smirked but said nothing. Instead, he strolled toward a corner of the room, where a silk robe had been neatly placed. He grabbed it and held it out to her. “Wear this after.”

She stared at it for a moment before snatching it from his hands. She expected him to watch, but instead, he turned his back to her.

Surprised by his rare display of restraint, she wasted no time undoing the dozens of tiny clasps running down the back of her dress. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. She hurriedly pulled the robe over herself, the soft material a welcome relief against her skin.

“I’m done,” she muttered.

San turned back around, his gaze flickering over her once before he let out a satisfied hum. “Better.” Then, without another word, he strolled back to the bed, lying down like he owned the world.

She hesitated before following, keeping to the very edge of the mattress.

San turned his head to look at her, his dark eyes holding a glint of amusement. “You act like I bite.”

“You do bite,” she shot back.

He laughed, low and deep, before closing his eyes. “Only when necessary.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her back to him, ignoring the way his voice sent an annoying warmth through her.

As she tried to sleep, she could still feel the weight of his presence behind her—the king who had taken everything from her. And yet, for some reason, he hadn’t taken this.

Not yet.

As she lay on the vast bed, wrapped in the silk robe he had given her, YN couldn’t help but let her thoughts wander. She had read enough books to know how forced marriages usually played out. The stories always spoke of cruelty, of brides being nothing more than prizes to be taken. She had braced herself for that kind of fate.

But San… didn’t do it.

Instead, he was—dare she even think it?—soft. Not in the way a gentle prince would be, not in the way fairytales promised love and warmth. No, San was still dangerous, still sharp-edged, but there was something different about him tonight.

She had expected him to take what he wanted without question. To claim her the way men like him always did in stories. But instead, he had turned his back when she changed. He had given her space. He had simply laid down, his presence commanding yet oddly non-threatening.

Like a kitten, she thought absently, though the image almost made her want to laugh. A very large, very terrifying kitten with claws that could tear you apart.

She shifted slightly, stealing a glance at him. He was lying on his back, one arm lazily draped behind his head, his dark eyes half-lidded as he stared at the ceiling. He looked… relaxed.

Not once had he touched her inappropriately. Not once had he made any crude remarks. (He literally choked you but ok ig)

Why?

She turned her face away, staring at the soft glow of the lanterns instead. Maybe this was just another manipulation tactic. Maybe he was waiting for her to let her guard down. Or maybe… maybe some small part of him actually saw her as more than just a prize.

The thought unsettled her.

Because deep down, she knew that if San ever decided he wanted something, nothing in the world could stop him from taking it. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what would happen if he ever decided he truly wanted her.

YN blinked sleepily, her vision still hazy from sleep. She stretched her arms lazily, her long sleeves slipping past her hands as she let out a small, muffled yawn. Her hair was a complete mess, strands sticking out in every direction, framing her sleepy face in an unintentionally adorable way.

Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, searched the room, expecting to see San beside her—but his side of the bed was empty. Still wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, she turned her head, and there he was.

San sat at his desk, his posture relaxed but commanding, one hand holding a pen as he wrote something with effortless ease. The soft glow of the morning light caught his features just right—his sharp jawline, his dark tousled hair, the way his white shirt clung to his frame, the top few buttons left undone, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone.

For the first time, he didn’t look like a monster. He looked… almost like a king should. Regal, composed, focused. Normal.

YN rubbed her eyes, still trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. She tilted her head slightly, observing him, her lips unconsciously forming a small pout.

Why did he have to look that good in the morning? It was unfair.

As if sensing her gaze, San suddenly looked up. His piercing eyes met hers instantly, and for a second, neither of them spoke. His lips curled into a small, amused smirk as he leaned back in his chair.

“Did you sleep well, little princess?” His voice was deep, still carrying the remnants of sleep, and for some reason, it made her stomach do a weird little flip.

She blinked at him, still too groggy to properly respond, and just gave a slow, sleepy nod.

San chuckled, shaking his head. “You look like a little kitten.”

“I do not.”

But with her messy hair, half-lidded eyes, and small, sleepy pout, she absolutely did. And San looked far too entertained by it.

YN groggily got out of bed, her bare feet touching the cold floor as she stumbled slightly. She was still shaking off sleep, her body not fully awake yet. Without thinking, she made her way to the bathroom, craving the warmth of a shower to clear her mind.

By the time she emerged, she felt fresher, more alert. Her damp hair clung to her shoulders, the scent of soap and flowers lingering around her. But now, standing in the middle of the grand room, she realized—she had no idea what to do next.

Her life had always been structured, filled with responsibilities, duties, and expectations. But here? She had nothing. No routine, no obligations. No real freedom, either. Without really thinking, she turned towards the only person who did know what to do.

San.

He was still at his desk, leaning back in his chair, one hand propped under his chin as he watched her approach. His sharp eyes scanned her from head to toe, taking in her fresh appearance, his lips twitching into something close to a smirk. She stopped in front of him, hesitating. Now fully awake, she felt slightly embarrassed that she had come to him of all people. But she pushed past it and, in a soft voice, asked,

“…What should I do now?”

San’s smirk deepened, his gaze flickering with amusement. He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, tilting his head as he looked up at her.

“You’re asking me?” he mused, his voice slow, teasing. “What a good little wife you are.”

YN’s cheeks heated instantly. “That’s not—!”

San chuckled, waving a hand. “Relax, princess. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

Her brows furrowed. Free? That word felt strange coming from his mouth.

San, sensing her doubt, leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to something softer. “Go walk around. Read. Sit by the window and braid your hair, since you love doing that.” His eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Or… you can just sit here and keep me company.”

YN bit her lip. None of those things felt fulfilling. But at least now, she knew one thing—San wasn’t planning to throw her back into isolation. For now.

YN stood there, fidgeting slightly, as the realization settled in. She didn’t know what to do. It was a strange, unsettling feeling—one she had never truly experienced before.

Back in her kingdom, her days were always planned for her. From the moment she woke up to the moment she went to bed, every decision had already been made—what she wore, what she studied, where she went, how she behaved. And now, standing here with the freedom to choose, she felt... lost.

San, who had been watching her closely, let out a small chuckle. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, looking effortlessly regal even in his relaxed posture. “What’s with that face, princess?” he mused. “You act like I just handed you the entire world.”

YN glanced at him, biting her lip. Maybe because, in a way, you did.

San tilted his head, studying her. Then, in a softer voice, he said, “You’re older now. You don’t need someone to tell you what to do every second of the day.” He tapped his fingers against the armrest. “So, tell me, what do you want to do?”

YN hesitated. She had never really been asked that before. What did she want? Then, almost instinctively, she looked up at him and answered, “I want to cook.” San blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. Then, slowly, a smirk stretched across his lips. “Cook?” he repeated, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

She nodded, a bit more firmly this time. “Yes.”

San exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Of all things…” He stood up, towering over her, before placing a hand under her chin, tilting her face up to look at him properly. “You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

YN swallowed, her breath hitching at how close he was. His fingers were warm against her skin, his touch gentle despite the sheer power he held.

Then, after a beat of silence, he let go and stepped back. “Fine,” he said lazily. “Let’s see what my little wife can do in the kitchen.”

YN had never felt this kind of nervousness before. She had fought battles of words, endured royal duties, and faced San’s unnerving presence more times than she could count. But this? Watching him take the first bite of the food she cooked with her own hands? It was a different kind of pressure.

She sat stiffly across from him at the long dining table, pretending to focus on her plate, but her eyes kept flickering toward him. He hadn’t said a word yet, just cutting into the dish and bringing a bite to his lips.

San chewed slowly, his face unreadable. YN gripped the fabric of her dress beneath the table. Is it bad?

Then, finally, he swallowed. He set his fork down, wiping the corner of his mouth with deliberate ease before turning his gaze to her.

“You were a princess,” he mused, voice slow and deep. “Raised in luxury, surrounded by servants to do everything for you.”

YN tensed, unsure where this was going.

“And yet,” he continued, dragging his thumb across the table absentmindedly, “you can cook like this?”

Her lips parted slightly. “I… I learned from the palace chefs,” she admitted. “They were kind enough to teach me when I was younger.” San hummed, leaning back in his chair. Then, to her shock, he smirked. “You’re full of surprises, wife.”

YN blinked, heat creeping up her neck. “So… does that mean you like it?”

San tilted his head, his smirk deepening as he picked up his fork again. “I don’t just like it,” he said, taking another bite. “I might just keep you in the kitchen forever.”

She frowned. “That’s not funny.”

San chuckled, the sound smooth and rich. “Oh, but it is.” He motioned toward her plate. “Now eat. You put in all that effort—don’t let it go to waste.”

YN exhaled, shaking her head but finally picking up her utensils.

And though she wouldn’t admit it, a small, almost unnoticeable smile played on her lips as she started eating.

San never thought he was capable of feeling guilt. He was a man who took what he wanted, ruled with an iron fist, and never once looked back at the wreckage he left behind. But YN… she had undone something in him. What started as twisted obsession had transformed into something deeper—something he couldn't even name. Love wasn't enough to describe it. He adored her, worshipped her in ways that made even him question his sanity. And yet, with every stolen glance, every soft sigh that escaped her lips when she thought he wasn’t listening, he felt the weight of his past actions press down on him. He had humiliated her. Broken her pride. Forced her into this marriage without a choice.

And yet, here she was. Cooking for him. Talking to him. Looking at him like he was a person, not a monster.

San watched her as she ate, completely unaware of the war raging in his mind. He could see the faint traces of her old self still lingering—the stubbornness, the quiet grace, the warmth she carried even when she tried to keep it from him. And for the first time, he found himself wanting something different. He wanted her to look at him without fear. He wanted her to choose him, not just accept him as an unchangeable fate.

San clenched his jaw, setting his fork down. He was not a man who apologized, not a man who begged for forgiveness. But for her? He would find a way to make things right, even if he didn’t deserve it.

San stood near the dresser, watching her through the mirror’s reflection. Her legs dangled off the edge of the bed, her bare feet swinging slightly. She looked small like this, lost in thought, her fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of her nightgown.

He sighed softly, running a hand through his dark hair before walking over to her. He crouched down, resting his forearms on his knees so they were at eye level. “You look tired,” he murmured, voice softer than usual.

YN blinked at him, a little caught off guard. He was always intense—dangerous—but tonight, there was something different about him. His eyes weren’t as sharp, his usual arrogance replaced with something quieter.

She shrugged, looking away. “I suppose”.

San hummed, tilting his head slightly. Then, without warning, he reached for her foot, gently holding her ankle in his large hand. YN stiffened, watching him closely, but he only smirked. “Relax,” he said, sliding his thumb in slow circles over her skin.

“What are you doing?” she asked, wary.

He lifted her foot slightly, resting it on his knee. “Something a loving husband would do.”

Her breath caught.

San’s touch was uncharacteristically gentle as he began to massage her foot, his fingers pressing into the arch, kneading away the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding. The warmth of his hands sent a shiver up her spine, and she had to remind herself to breathe.

She swallowed hard. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

YN’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She only watched as he worked, her heart pounding against her ribs.

San’s gaze flickered up to hers, and for once, there was no wicked glint in his eyes, no teasing smirk. Just something raw and real. “I know I’ve been… cruel,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I want to be better for you.”

Her breath hitched. She wasn’t sure what to say—wasn’t sure if she believed him. But for now, she let him hold her foot in his hands, let herself enjoy the rare moment of peace between them.

Because, for the first time, San wasn’t just claiming her.

He was asking for her.

YN sat there, her legs dangling over the edge of the tall bed, watching San with cautious eyes. She didn’t know what to expect from him anymore. He had been cruel, manipulative—everything about him had terrified her. And yet, in these past days, she had seen glimpses of something else. Something she didn’t understand.

And now, he was kneeling in front of her, holding her leg in his strong yet gentle grasp, his forehead pressed against her knee.

Her breath caught in her throat. The mighty king, the man who had stolen her life away, was bowing his head as if he was asking for forgiveness. It felt unreal.

San’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke, like he was afraid to break whatever fragile moment had settled between them. “I’ve hurt you so much, haven’t I?”

YN stiffened, her fingers clutching the fabric of her nightgown.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

San lifted his head slightly, just enough to look up at her. His dark eyes were no longer filled with their usual amusement, arrogance, or hunger. Instead, they held something else—something softer, more vulnerable. And the way he looked at her... how did he make his eyes look like that? Like a desperate plea. Like an apology.

She hated that it made her feel something.

His thumb brushed over her ankle, slow and deliberate, as if grounding himself in the touch. “I can’t take it back,” he murmured. “Everything I’ve done to you… I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes for a brief moment before looking up again. “But I want to change. For you.”

YN’s heart betrayed her by skipping a beat.

No. No, she couldn’t let herself believe this.

This was the same man who had humiliated her, who had forced her into a life she never wanted. She should push him away, tell him that no matter what he did, she would never forgive him. And yet…

Her fingers twitched in her lap. And for some reason, she didn’t move.

She felt lost. Confused. Torn between everything she knew and everything she was starting to feel. Her chest tightened, her throat burned, and before she could stop it, her eyes welled up with frustration. “Why?” Her voice was quiet, shaky. “Why do you do this to me?”

San looked at her, his grip on her leg tightening just slightly. His face remained unreadable, but his fingers betrayed him, twitching against her skin as if he feared she’d pull away.

YN swallowed hard, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. “Why do you make it so hard to hate you?”

She wanted to. She was supposed to. She should hate him for taking her from her home, for forcing her into this life, for every cruel smirk, every mocking word, every time he made her feel powerless. She should despise him for turning her world upside down. And yet—

He was the only one in her world now. No family. No kingdom. No one else. Just him. And somehow, that realization terrified her more than anything else.

She broke.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, one after another, until she couldn't stop them. Her shoulders shook, her breathing came out in ragged gasps, and all the pain, all the frustration, all the confusion poured out of her in waves.

San couldn’t watch it. He couldn’t bear it. He got up and pulled her into his arms without hesitation. His grip was tight—desperate, almost—as if he wanted to merge with her, to keep her so close that nothing, not even the pain he had caused, could separate them.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was low, rough, yet softer than she had ever heard it before. He pressed his face against her hair, holding her tighter, rocking her slightly. “I’m so sorry.”

She cried even harder.

Hearing that from him—this man who had only ever taken from her, who had controlled her life in ways she never imagined—made her sob until she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

And then his next words came, whispered against her temple, like a vow only she was meant to hear.

“I promise you, YN. I’ll be a good husband.”

His arms tightened around her. “I’ll make this right.”

She wanted to believe him.

She clung to him.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tightly as if he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely. She buried her face into his shoulder, her sobs muffled against his warmth.

San felt it. The way she held onto him—not out of love, not yet, but out of a desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he could make the pain go away. That he could fix what he had broken.

His arms wrapped around her even tighter, his hand stroking her back in slow, steady motions. “I know,” he whispered, his voice laced with regret. “I know I hurt you.”

She didn’t respond. Just held on.

And San swore, in that moment, he would do anything—anything—to make it better. To deserve the way she was holding him now.

Divider from @/cafekitsune

[a-hermit-pining]

LADS Men React To Thinking You're Moving Out

AN: Thank you for requesting and yes I did just use an unrelated gif of absolutely stunning Aragorn.

Request: Hello, I absolutely loved your last post!! It was so fun to read, lol. I went through your master list right after and I also read the one about you moving in with the lads men (gold.) Which make me think of a scenario... If you take requests now, what do you think the lads men would do if: You just moved in with them. Everything is fine, but unpacking is kinda slow because both of you need to work. One day you are off from work and decide that day is the day everything will be put in place because it's already suffocating to have that many boxes. He is at work from morning till evening and so happy to come back home to *you*. Just that when he entered the apartament he saw a box next to the door with your clothes in and you packing yet another box with your clothes. But shouldn't you be unpacking? Are you packing your things back?? (Mc just got a better look at everything she owns since she needs to unpack everything and decided to donate some stuff. She had no intention of moving out)

Pairing: Lads boys x fem reader

Genre: fluff

Xavier:

He walks in, probably tripping over the box. Somehow, completely oblivious.

"Xavier!" You rush to him, helping him sit up. "Are you alright?! Oh my god, did you hit your face?"

You both are trouble magnets.

"It’s bruising!" You gasp, already hurrying to grab an ice pack while he sits on the couch, face buried in a cushion.

Please, just sit with him and coddle him until he recharges enough to help you unpack.

Rafayel:

"Where are you going?" Instant tantrum mode. Hands on hips, standing like someone’s disapproving dad.

"I told you, moving in was an irreversible deal. We share the lease. You’re not going anywhere."

Picking up your box of clothes, he strides into your shared bedroom, where you’re busy unpacking his boxes, blissfully unaware, your back to him.

He sighs, pauses, and keeps talking to your back. "Alright, I won’t let the seagulls eat all our salmon. And… there won’t be any more running nude painting jokes..."

"What?" You pull out an earbud, blinking in confusion. "When did you come in?"

Rafayel stares.

"Aw, thanks for bringing in my box! I was just about to get to my closet," you grin, pecking his lips. "When did you get back?"

Let’s just say, Rafayel does not recount the great monologue you just happened to miss.

Zayne:

Conceal, don’t feel kind of guy.

He stands and stares at the box.

Then, without a word, he steps forward and pulls you into a tight hug. He’ll stay there for as long as you allow him to.

"You’re back early," you murmur, leaning into him as he buries his face in your shoulder.

This is normal, him being extra clingy after a long shift.

"What’s the matter?" You turn, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Did something upset you?"

"No," he replies, looking up at you. "I missed you. Let’s go out for dinner tonight."

He’ll go out of his way to make these last few hours with you memorable.

The next day, when he returns home from work, expecting an empty house, the sight of you curled up on the couch is nothing short of pure joy.

He heads to your room, only to find all your clothes neatly hung next to his.

Sylus:

"Have you finally decided to accept the vacation?" he all but purrs, conveniently ignoring the lack of a suitcase.

"Those are for donation, Sylus. And no, I am not taking time off for another vacation." You reply, tossing some of his clothes into the donation pile.

"Um. No, you’re not." He plucks a dress from the pile, inspecting it like it’s a priceless artifact. "I like this one on you. And this too," he mutters, rummaging through your does-not-spark-joy pile.

"No, we are not keeping it!" You snatch the clothes back. "You are banned from the pile. Hands off."

Somehow, he is more offended about giving away clothes than he is concerned about the idea of you leaving.

He considers everything you own part of his hoard.

Caleb:

Hides the box.

Immediately rushes to the kitchen to cook a feast.

Pulls you to a fully loaded dining table, all smiles.

"So, what are your plans tomorrow?" he asks, piling food onto your plate.

"Mmm, I think I’ll be joining the hunters’ food and clothing drive in the morning. Let me know if you want to give away—"

And he's gone.

Sweating, watching you devour the food.

Oh. Oh, no.

He did not just accidentally drug you.

You’re going to be so mad at him. Especially for making you miss the drive.

Excusing himself immediately, he goes to cancel the flight to his private island.

Caleb is now on damage control duty.

[newtonsheffield]

why am I crying imagining anthony being super involved and present during the pregnancy. and kate getting to go through it this time with the love of her life 😭

I think it’s really special for both of them. Of course it’s the biggest regret of Anthony’s life that he wasn’t ready to be with Kate and that means he inadvertently missed the birth of his child. Of course it is. But in a way he cherishes the bond Kate and Neddy have because it serves as a reminder for him that he needs to keep moving forward. He can’t go back there. He needs to keep getting better for himself, for Neddy, for Kate, for the new baby. He’s excited to have the chance to be there this time. He’s excited to have his wife tossing and turning in bed beside him because she wants spicy food in the middle of the night. He’s excited to go to a class to learn how to give a great lower back massage because Kate’s probably going to want it by the seven month mark. Every tiny little thing Anthony’s excited about. Picking out paint for the nursery? Amazing. Supervising Benedict who’s doing a mural? He’ll watch him like a hawk. Picking out a name even though he already knows what they’re going to call their son from the minute he finds out they’re having another boy.

“Henry?”

Anthony shrugged, “It’s okay.”

“God, do you want to call him something really white? Is it Bartholomew?”

Anthony chuckled, “You already know what you should call him.”

“… Anthony 2?”

“I think to be perfectly correct it’d be Anthony jnr. And god, please no.” He leaned his head back against her legs. “Miles.”

Her smile softened, “I wanted to call Neddy Miles.”

“I know. And I love it. Miles Sharma- Bridgerton. That’s a good name.”

“It’s a very good name.”

Anthony thought it might feel different. He’s wondered Holding Miles as a baby for the first time would feel different than the first time he saw Neddy but it’s not. He feels the same rush of pride and love that this is his child. His to protect and care for and that’s just as special.

Obviously Kate had Mary and Edwina to support her through her pregnancy with Neddy. She wasn’t alone. But this feels different, with Anthony. It’s his baby as well, and it’s nice to have someone to revel in the joy of it right alongside her. There’s less anxiety this time as well. Less stress because she’s done it before and she has a partner this time. A partner who, she flatters herself, absolutely adores her. Anthony’s almost too eager to help. Every 25 seconds he ducks his head in.

“Do you need anything, Trouble?”

He’s right there. It’s so nice to have someone to roll over to in the middle of the night and nudge awake.

“I think me made a mistake with the bassinet.”

Anthony blinked at her, his hair sticking up. “What? What time is it?”

“Nearly 3. Your son’s got his foot lodged under my ribs so I’m just brainstorming.”

Anthony sat up, tucking his arm around her, pressing the palm of his hand against the swell of her stomach. “Go to sleep, please Miles. Amma’s tired.”

It’s sweet. So sweet it makes her chest ache and tears prick at her eyes. “I still think we should get a different bassinet.”

“Why?” Anthony yawned, always so far from complaining. “Opening statements please.”

It feels special for them both. Especially having Neddy there as well who likes to sit with his hand on Kate’s stomach, showing his brother his toys.

“When you get big we can play together. Me and you and Newtie can do all kinds of stuff!”

[cheynovak]

American Sin

Soldier boy x Angel aka Y/N Female supe

Summary: set somewhere in the 70s. Before gunpowder soldier boy had another sidekick who he couldn't get along with... until one horrible incident.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Almost rape, Name calling,SB being SB, talk of virginity, ...

English isn't my first language.

Please do not copy my work. Sharing/likes and comments are appreciated.

**Chapter One: Hell’s Angel**

The club reeked of sweat, booze, and cheap cologne. Neon lights flickered, barely cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke curling toward the ceiling. The bass from the speakers thrummed in Soldier Boy’s chest, but he barely noticed. He was nursing a glass of bourbon, legs spread wide, one arm thrown over the back of the booth.

The bartender had sent some groupie over—a redhead with legs up to her neck and stars in her eyes. She giggled, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, but he wasn’t paying attention. He had bigger problems.

Like the girl sitting across from him.

Vought called her Hell's Angel, which was some real ironic shit, given that she walked in here with a damn rosary around her wrist.

Her outfit told a different story: a black leather mini-skirt, ripped fishnets, a cropped tank with “God Is Dead” scribbled across it in red. She had the look—Vought had made sure of that—but everything else about her screamed not one of us.

But the world and Ben would soon start to call her, just Angel.

“You’re shitting me, right?” Soldier Boy’s voice was rough, slurred slightly from the whiskey. He gestured at her, as if the mere sight of her offended him. “This is what they sent me?”

She stiffened, crossing her arms over her chest. “I didn’t exactly ask for this gig either, sir.” Her voice was clear, cutting through the noise around them. She had a little bite. He’d give her that.

“Then why the hell are you here?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Money.”

Soldier Boy snorted. “Yeah? You don’t look like the type.”

She glared. “Not all of us get a fat check for pretending to be America’s hero.”

That made him laugh—loud and mean. “You got some balls, sweetheart.” He took another sip of his drink, then pointed at her. “Alright, Angel, what’s your deal? What do you do?”

Her hands clenched into fists on the table. “Electromagnetic manipulation.”

He raised an eyebrow. “English, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes. “I control electricity. Short-circuit things. Cause blackouts. That kind of stuff.”

Soldier Boy exhaled through his nose. “Great. So if I need a goddamn lightbulb changed, you’re my girl.”

The sarcasm didn’t seem to rattle her, which annoyed him even more. “You want a demonstration?” she asked, voice sugar-sweet.

Without waiting for permission, she flicked her wrist toward the neon sign above the bar. Sparks shot from the wiring, the glow flickering before the whole thing popped and died, plunging half the club into darkness.

Shouting. Chaos. The bartender swore. Someone tripped over a chair.

Soldier Boy just whistled low.

She smirked, satisfaction flickering in her eyes before she quickly wiped it away. “Can I go now?”

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” he said, leaning forward, his grin wolfish. “Vought wants us to be a team. That means we need to—what do they always say?—get along.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not here to be your friend.”

“Trust me, I’d rather chew glass.” He knocked back the rest of his drink, then slapped the glass down on the table. “But Vought’s footing the bill for your mom’s meds, right?”

She flinched—so quick he almost missed it.

“Yeah,” he said, dragging out the word. “I know why you’re here.” He leaned back, stretching his arms along the booth. “So I suggest you play nice, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want them cutting you off.”

The hatred in her eyes was delicious. Good. This was gonna be fun.

--

Vought Tower was nothing like she’d imagined. It wasn’t just a building—it was a goddamn kingdom. Floor-to-ceiling windows, gold-trimmed decor, and a constant swarm of assistants, PR reps, and corporate types pretending the world revolved around them.

Y/N had been here for months now, long enough to get used to the bullshit.

She had learned two things fast:

1. The public liked her, but they *loved* Soldier Boy and Crimson Countess more.

2. She didn’t give a shit.

Vought could dress her up however they wanted—make her wear leather, throw her into staged bar fights, and slap a rebellious nickname on her—but the public wasn’t stupid. They saw through it.

Her ex-boyfriend hadn’t helped.

One interview. One smug asshole telling the world she was a prude, that he hadn’t been “allowed to touch her,” that she was just some Catholic good girl pretending to be something she wasn’t.

That was all it took. The media went wild.

“Hell’s Angel? More like Heaven’s Nun.”

“America’s Sweetheart? Or America’s Ice Queen?”

It was all bullshit, but she ignored it. As long as Vought kept her mom’s medical bills covered, she didn’t care what people thought.

The Twins, though? They thought it was hilarious. That’s how she ended up outside Soldier Boy’s room.

"He needs you. Urgent.” That’s what the twins had told her, all wide-eyed and serious. And like an idiot, she believed them.

The second she pushed the door open, she knew she’d fucked up.

Soldier Boy was naked. Completely, unapologetically, stark-fucking-naked.

Not alone, either.

Three girls—two blondes and a brunette—were tangled in silk sheets, their bare limbs draped over him like he was some goddamn king. The room smelled like liquor, smoke, and sex.

Soldier Boy barely even looked surprised.

She? She stood there frozen, mortified, her brain short-circuiting worse than the neon sign she’d fried back at the club.

One of the blondes giggled. “Well, well. Looks like someone got lost.”

Soldier Boy just smirked. That smug, lazy smirk that made her want to slap him. “Ah sweetheart, I'll be right with you, I'll finish Cathy..."

"Kate." One of them corrected him.

"Kate," He started over "I'll finish her and your next."

Her stomach twisted. Her face burned. She wanted to disappear. To run, to burn her eyes as he did what he said and just... get along with it.

The girls giggled and moaned.

Her jaw clenched. She straightened, forced her expression blank, and leveled him with a cold stare. “Vought says you’re supposed to be a role model. Guess that’s a joke too.”

Then she turned on her heel and walked out. The laughter rang in her ears long after she shut the door behind her.

Inside the room, the girls were still talking, their voices muffled but clear enough.

"I read she’s a virgin," one of them giggled. "Guess she couldn’t handle you, huh?"

Another one chimed in, fake sympathy dripping from her voice. "Yeah, Soldier Boy, better stay with us. You need a real woman."

More laughter. More of that smug, taunting amusement, like she was some naive little girl who didn’t belong here.

She clenched her fists and walked on.

--

The smell of coffee and fried bacon filled the kitchen as Y/N sat at the counter, idly stirring her cereal. She wasn’t really hungry, but she had an early morning photoshoot, and skipping meals would just give Vought’s PR team another excuse to ride her ass.

She was halfway through a spoonful when he walked in. Y/N tried to focus on her breakfast, but her brain had other ideas.

Ben.

Fresh out of bed, looking like he didn’t give a single shit about anything.

His robe was wide open, showing off that broad, muscled chest, and the only thing he had on was a pair of low-slung training pants. The man didn’t believe in modesty. Never had. He strolled through the kitchen like this all the time, half-dressed, yawning, scratching his chest, stretching his arms over his head—like he knew people were looking.

Ben was right there, standing across from her, half-dressed like he always was.

Robe hanging open, coffee cup in hand, his chest on full display. And lower—her gaze betrayed her, flickering down to where his sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips.

And. Well.

Jesus Christ.

Was every man blessed like that?

She had no frame of reference, no real experience outside of a few PG-13 make-out sessions, but something told her that what she was seeing was... above average.

Way above.

Memories of that night flashed in her head—walking into his room, seeing him in full glory, tangled up with those three girls. The sounds. The way he barely even looked surprised, just amused by her reaction.

She swallowed hard.

Heat crept up her neck, and she forced herself to look away, staring down into her cereal like it held the secrets of the universe.

But it was too late.

She could feel his smirk before she even looked up.

“Something on your mind, Angel?” Ben’s voice was slow, thick with amusement.

Her stomach dropped.

Shit.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes, only to find him watching her with that cocky expression—like he’d caught her red-handed and was enjoying every second of it.

“Not at all,” she said quickly, too quickly.

His smirk widened. “Huh. Could’ve sworn you were staring.” He took a casual sip of his coffee, gaze never leaving hers. “Lotta thoughts running through that pretty little head of yours?”

She gritted her teeth. “You’re disgusting.”

He chuckled. “Disgusting?” He gestured at himself lazily. “Sweetheart, I saw you looking. I get it. You got questions.”

Y/N’s face burned." I don’t have questions.”

“Sure,” he said, unconvinced. Then, just to be a bastard, he adjusted the himself in his sweatpants.

Her eyes betrayed her again.

His laughter was damn near sinful. “You’re adorable.”

She shot up from her seat, gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping her from electrocuting his ass right there. “I was not looking,” she snapped, voice high with mortification.

Ben leaned in, voice dropping to a mock whisper. “Angel, if you’re curious, all you gotta do is ask.”

Her hands sparked.

He grinned. “Careful. Wouldn’t wanna short-circuit the place just ‘cause you got flustered.”

He grabbed a mug, pouring himself another coffee like he didn’t have a care in the world and sat next to her. “Big morning, Angel?”

That damn nickname. He only ever used it when he was feeling extra annoying.

She didn’t look up. “Photoshoot.”

He snorted. “Lemme guess—more fake ‘bad girl’ bullshit?” He leaned against the counter, taking a slow sip. “Think they’ll finally give you a miniskirt that doesn’t make you look like a Catholic schoolgirl trying too hard?”

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay calm. Ignore him. Don’t take the bait.

But he wasn’t done.

He smirked over the rim of his cup. “Or maybe they’ll just put you in a nun outfit. Wouldn’t want America’s Virgin to give anyone the wrong idea.”

Her grip on the spoon tightened.

He loved this. Ever since her ex went running to the press, Ben had made it his personal mission to tease her about it every chance he got. And in private? He was worse.

"Twenty-one and still pure as snow," he drawled, shaking his head. "Jesus, sweetheart. What are you waiting for, marriage?"

She knew he was trying to get a rise out of her. She wasn’t going to give him one.

Calmly, she took another bite of cereal, chewing slowly before answering. “What I do or don’t do isn’t your business, Ben.”

He chuckled. “Oh, sweetheart—everything in this place is my business.”

Her eyes flicked up to him for just a second—just a second—and he caught her.

That cocky smirk spread wider.

He saw the way her gaze had drifted, how she’d let it skim over his chest, down to his abs, before snapping back up.

Shit

Ben leaned in, setting his coffee down on the counter beside her. Close enough that she could smell the faint traces of whiskey still lingering on his breath from last night.

“Careful, Angel,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. “Look too long, and people might start thinking you’re curious.”

Her face burned.

She inhaled sharply, grabbed her plate, and stormed out of the kitchen without another word.

Ben’s laughter followed her down the hall.

She hated him.

She hated him so damn much.

--

The studio lights blazed hot overhead as Y/N shifted in her pose, adjusting to the photographer’s demands.

It was supposed to be a simple shoot. Just another set of promotional images—leather, fishnets, smoky eyeliner, the whole rebel girl act Vought was still trying to push.

But from the moment she walked in, something felt off.

The photographer, some industry creep named Mitch, had barely looked her in the eye when they introduced him. Instead, his gaze dragged over her body, assessing her like she was just another prop.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Mitch called, circling her like a vulture. “Let’s see some attitude. Hands on your hips, chin up—yeah, that’s it.”

She adjusted.

He frowned.

“Nah, nah, let me—”

Before she could react, his hands were on her.

Instead of just directing her, he physically grabbed her waist, twisting her slightly. “Need you to angle this way.”

Y/N stiffened. She didn’t like being touched. Not like this. Not by him. She stepped away subtly. “You can just tell me what you need.”

Mitch ignored her.

The shoot continued, and every few shots, he found another excuse to touch her. Adjusting her stance, tilting her chin, running his hands over her arms under the guise of “fixing” her pose.

Each time, Y/N moved away. Each time, he did it again. Trying to get her into very intimate poses and stands.

Something in her gut twisted.

Then, when she tried to step back again, his grip tightened She froze.

The overhead lights flickered.

Mitch smiled like nothing was wrong. “Relax, sweetheart. You’re too stiff. Here let me help you relax..."

Her breathing picked up. “I said—”

Before she could finish, he shoved her back—into the wall.

The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. Panic slammed into her, sharp and blinding. His hands roamed lower.

He yanked at the fishnets Vought made her wear, his fingers tearing through the fabric.

“No,” she choked out, begging. “Please—”

His grip was firm. He wasn’t letting go. Terror locked up her limbs.

Then, all at once— The entire studio exploded in light.

The bulbs burst in a violent flash. Sparks rained down from the ceiling. The room hummed with electricity, static crackling in the air like a coming storm.

Mitch yelped, stumbling back. That was all she needed.

She ran.

--

Ben was still at the kitchen table, halfway through his coffee, when the lights flickered. At first, he thought it was just her.

Angel had been moody as shit that morning—not that he minded, it was fun to mess with her—and when she got worked up, electronics tended to act up. But this?

This was different.

The entire building pulsed like a power surge was about to take out the grid. The bulbs in the ceiling buzzed, flickering erratically. For a second, he thought they might explode.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it was over.

Ben raised an eyebrow but didn’t think too much of it. Not until a blur of black and leather came tearing past the kitchen.

She was running, eyes wild, breath ragged, shoulders shaking.

The coffee mug hit the table with a sharp *clink* as Ben stood. He barely had time to process it before instinct kicked in—follow her.

She was halfway down the hall when he caught up, grabbing her arm. “Whoa, whoa—”

The second he touched her, she lashed out. She fought.

Not the usual way—no smartass comments, no playful shoves. She fought like she was fighting for her life.

Ben had seen her in combat, had watched her take down men twice her size without hesitation. But this? This was different.

She was panicked. Wild. Desperate to get away.

“Hey! Angel!" he barked, gripping her tighter. She kept struggling, arms flailing, her hands sparking dangerously.

Ben sighed, then hauled her over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes. She kicked. She screamed. She damn near electrocuted him.

He didn’t let go.

Back in the kitchen, he set her down on the counter, hands firm on her waist to keep her still. “Alright, enough, ” he snapped. “What the hell happened?”

She wouldn’t look at him. Her breathing was too fast.Her hands were shaking so badly she had to clutch the counter. She looked like she was on the verge of collapsing. Her face and eyes puff from crying hysterical.

And then—he saw it.

The ripped fishnets. The fabric, torn at the thigh. The bruises already forming on her legs.

Ben went still. Something inside him turned cold.

His jaw clenched. “Who?”

Y/N swallowed hard, still refusing to meet his eyes.

His grip tightened. “Who did this to you?"

--

Taglist:

Jensen: @jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf @spnaquakindgdom @writtenbyhollywood @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @healojane @star-yawnznn

[bloodchapell]

Do you want to write anything for Dr.Stone? Maybe hcs of what it’s like living with the characters? Platonic or not doesn’t matter.

what it's like to live with dr.stone characters

what to expect: implied stanxeno

your sword's note: thankyu so much for the request dear anon! let me know if i should do a part 2 with more characters, more on my mistresslist

senku

you never know when he is home, he could not come home for three days straight or come home at the same time every day

extremely organized but somehow doesn't mind some mess (as long as it doesn't disrupt his organization of important things)

if you are living with him as a roommate, this guy needs to know you for this life and three previous ones, if on a relationship it needs to be a really serious one for you two to live together

you will find things in the fridge that should NOT be in the fridge (with a note saying "do not consume unless you will 10 billion percent die")

his computer needs to run insane calculations so it can also run almost any game, he lets you use it (if you mess with his stuff the universe might colapse)

really popular: he either sleeps on a senior citizen schedule or has lost track of reality

if on a relationship: ideally he wants separate rooms, he doesn't want to disrupt your sleep when he is engulfed in the latest project and occasionally just wants to sleep on his own, sometimes tho he just crawls into your bed and lays stiff until he falls asleep, always wakes up hugging you or being hugged, swears on copernicus' name that he doesn't like it but it keeps happening (is this a pattern?)

great at following cooking instructions but can't innovate

showers with cold water for the "benefits" and complains if you take too long on the bathroom

folds clothes horribly so he just hangs them

no pets (its for the creature's safety i swear)

gen

if on a relation ship: u found a four of clubs in your underwear drawer? no you didn't

will manipulate you into cooking (either way don't let him cook)

collects cards decks and has them displayed

solid skincare routine, can't decide if he does some form of exercise like pilates or idek, have y'all seen his waist!? is that body tea natural???

if on a relationship: feet and hands always cold and he seeks your warmth when you sleep together, refuses to put on socks (bro walked everywhere without shoes in the stone world, he'd do that at home too)

will eat your food, he doesn't care if its labeled

hates chores day, but he is also really organized so that helps (has a random hidden pile of chao)

your place will always smell good because he brings flowers regularly

why are there 3 six-packs of cola in the fridge?

tsukasa

either brings mirai really often or straight up lives with her, she has her own room and all

cooks delicious meals my gawdd

if on a relationship: he makes sure you don't have to do a single thing. cooking? he got it. chores? he got it. you want the lights off? done. craving something? he will go buy it

if on a relationship: lets you brush his hair, play with it and take care of it (this is my dream)

this guy wakes up at the crack of dawn and will be making some protein shake that is inhumane

i hc that he really likes photography for some reason, so he will have pictures all up his room (or the entire place if you are together)

if on a relationship: he is a human heater, he is so damn warm when sleeping is kinda scary

exercises every single day (no shit), might drag you along

trophies and all displayed

ryusui

MANSIOOOOON

francois lives with you too, they have their own room

idk what is the situation here if you are roommates, makes more sense if you are together

you don't have to do a single thing, ever, it is all taken care of

you open doors and discover full on facilities that you never knew the place had, it keeps happening (is this place infinite?)

if on a relationship: your room matches those of royalty in webtoons, gigantic bed, a closet like barbie's in life in the dream house, a vanity with every product you could ever imagine, the bathroom has a massive tub and a smartass toilet

he would ask you to accompany somewhere real quick (you end up across the world on a party), if he ever asks for some of your time and you deny because of work, he will buy whatever company you work on and give you infinite paid vacation, if its because of studying he backs down and lets you study

has so many dogs, francois handles their schedule

the mansion is so big that you get surprised when you meet him unintentionally

if on a relationship: you also have separate rooms, and a room for the two of you

he brings sai over (against sai's will)

stan and xeno

why would you live with these two? are you their adopted child?

elegant ahh house

you are allowed to have a fish

chrome

rocks everywhere !

in the new modern era he is fascinated by simple house appliances. the microwave heats up the food? THATS BAAAAD. the washing machine washes the clothes? THATS BAAAD (downside is that he will take apart everything to learn how it works and it may not function again OR he will invent a house appliance that already exists "what if we had this artifact that woke us up through a bell?" "oh you mean an alarm clock?" he falls backwards)

organized as hell, knows where everything is. has he seen your polka dots sock? hell yeah

[moonlitenvyillust]

Hey TeleNeo fans, want some pain? No? Too bad here you go

Tags: men crying (why would that be a warning tbh), angst (or at least a try out of writing angst), love letters but the sender is dead, major character death, Telemachus is mentioned but is the sender, EURYCLEA MY QUEEN, Neo cries <3, don't you love making character's suffer, ancient Greek gays, TELENEO CLUB HAS FOUR/FIVE MEMBERS ISTG-, deprived of content. So I'll write it!, me being a tired bitch, based on: "to my dear Historia" With too many alterations.

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙|-π-|⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

And so the letter ends.

The second he heard of the great Odysseus's return, he felt a pang of relief for Telemachus. His beloved finally got the one thing he had dreamed of for his entire life. He couldn't help but feel a little jealous... He never got such reunion with his own father. The great Achilles had died and that was why he was drafted to war.

He immediately set sail to Ithaca as he heard the news. He finished his little quest and immediately jumped onto a ship. His little mind could not comprehend how much he missed the island, but more over, how much he missed his Telemachus

Walking down from the ship to the docs, he was just about to go to the palace when-

"Excuse me, Lord Neoptolemus?"

That voice... Neo remembered her, that's Telemachus's nurse maid, Euryclea.

"It's so hard to try and find you, here, a favor from the prince"

She handed him a letter, albeit an not so old not so new looking one. Atleast a few weeks old. A stain is seen on the edge... Coffee? No, that's the colour of Telemachus's meds when it dries on white.

And the letter wrote...

"To my dear, Phyrrus

As I write this, my health is severely declining. I wished to give this letter to you directly–hell, maybe even say the words I wish to say. But my voice has been lost through my last fight with a suitor. He hit me hard enough, I think I broke my vocal chords. However I of course had asked Euryclea for her word, to give this to you during your next visit. I know for a fact you are a busy man, multiple quests given to you at a time. Henceforth I didn't send this letter, I didn't want to worry you and give you an unsafe return.

That said, I want to be selfish. Just for once. I swear it. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner. But even before the suitors plagues my life, I had been dying. In a literal sense.

My body is weaker than an average man and it's not only because of the fact I am untrained, but it's because of severe health disorders... Yes I have been training under Athena, but that doesn't mean my chronic pain just Dissapears. It gets worse, actually. But I can deal with it. Usually

I have realized that my time is no longer than at least a few weeks when this letter is wrote. The headaches had been more frequent, I fall over with leg pains more often, and it just overall shows a sign that my name is in the "to reap" Soul list of Thanatos.

I love you, more than how I would love a friend. But not able to be as a lover, for you deserve someone better. Someone stronger. Someone... Your height of glory. But I shall let myself be selfish for my last few days. I love you.

I ask for my body to only be burnt when you made an appearance. I know it's so much to ask. But words spread fast and you run faster.

So, if I die before you return... Consider this as my goodbye."

It had been a while since the last time Phyrrus cried

But just this once

He let himself weep

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙|-π-|⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

I had a vague idea for this after watching a "to my dear Historia" Edit, so have this. Share my pain.

@ list because I know who would like this stuff @cutob @no1teleneoshipper @lenamiyabi @lemonade-tree7 here you go. We are deprived of content tbh. Have angst, almost forgot @kindred-spirit-93

[through-blisters-and-bedrock]

"Thank you, young man." he tilts his imaginary hat to Vander with a smile on his lips.

"I try my best to stay youthful; olives are the secret to immortality, actually." he smiles, popping a few in his mouth, "my mother liked olives, it's how she stayed so beautiful i think." he nodded.

The rare occasions in which Silco spoke about his mother were few and far between - they usually occurred at times like this - when he was a little drunk and a lot tired.

Silco stomps into the bar, his footfalls were more exhausted than angry.

"Vander," he greets as he slumps down on a bar stool, taking his helmet off and attempting to place it on the stool next to him. the minimal effort he put forth was returned by the way the object fell to the ground at the feet of his stool.

he was too tired to grab it so instead he just leaned his head down on the bar.

"it's a red wine occasion." he grumbled.

-@through-blisters-and-bedrock

(hi hi hi ash :D sorry its been so long!!!)

with a small chuckle, vander dries his hands on the towel he was holding and throws it onto his shoulder, bending down to fetch silco’s wine and fill a glass with it.

“anything else i can do for you, milady?” he says, theatrical, as he moves to the other side of the bar to retrieve the helmet from the ground and rest it on the counter.

[currentlysleepingus]

I'm bored

I want danny to find konner before YJ and kon to be smaller than he was before, like they were rapidly growing him during cloning, so when danny finds him, he's like 12 or something. Danny, of course, is there to find ellie, finds him first decides to keep him, and then gets ellie.

Konner, being young, thinks danny is his parent and calls him mum. Danny lets him. They stay together for a while, and then while kon Is in Amity, the G.I.W and camus attack. Most escape, but some didn't, and now danny and the gang have to get them. Kon comes along, and they find out he's a clone. Danny tries to take him to metropolis, but cadmus and the G.I.W ambush them and separate, each taking the one they want. The last thing kon remembers is danny on the ground bleeding while he's dumped into a cloning tube tank and wla wierd powder being dumped in to knock him out He gets amnesia, and YJ happens.

One day danny is in metropolis to see if superboy is konner and he gets to the area and asks, konner calls him mom, everyone questions it and danny comments on how much he has grown, then leaves. Everyone has even more questions. Danny walks up to superman and says that conner is his kids and he would appreciate it if he left him alone. He is confused but helps danny get custody of conner.

Konners' memories slowly come back, and he just lives with danny. Sam is still able to control plants, and tucker is a bit buffer and leaning closer to the Egyptian, roman, and Greek side of his powers and stuff, so he dresses like it sometimes. He's basically a demigod.

Anyway all three of them move to Gotham and sam befriends poisen ivy. Tucker is still a computer need, but he has pharohs voice in his head. It's like a dbzabriged version of piccolo s situation. Anyway, kon just thinks of sam and tucker of his dad's friends. Also, YJ seems to like his dad, a bit too much, the same can be said for everyone else. Konner now has to keep everyone away from his mum because everyone keeps flirting with him and YJ. Instead of helping him, they talk about how hot he is. Traitors...

Anyway konner is on a mission and YJ is finished until danny yells from on top of the building, ( he doesn't have many options for jobs civilian wise cause the government is hunting him, so he needs a job that requires a lot of publicity so people will notice if he's missing) ( he's a model part time, potentioal madscientist/ super villian the other half)

Anyway he yells from onto of the building that konner now has another mom and a dad. Konner is horrified because he failed his mission at keeping people away from his dad, YJ is laughing, and the bystanders are sad. So danny is the mom, sam is the other one, and tuckers the dad. When konner is finally taken to their doctor, they find out that he needs the sun and stuff. Que father and son bonding.

Tucker randomly takes konner to the beach and Egypt to sunbathe.

Sam tells him about the environment and how to deal with all sorts of situations.

Danny is there to coddle him with parental affection. He is also oblivious to everyone's crush on him. He is very dramatic when konner rejects said affection and will act like it was a physical blow.

Everyone knows that the forever trio used to be heroes but won't say anything. They are very embarrassing, sam still has pictures of konner when he was younger. Konners parents are now all desired. Sam is the hot goth, tuckers the needy buff dude who's into mythology, and Danny's danny. Konner now has a lot of work on his hands. Ellie adds fuel to the fire by telling people random facts about them. She is also a great sister to konner.

Konner and ember get along great and he eventually gets his sense of style. This amuses me

BTW the forever trio are like inteir 20s

[cheesesandwichsanto]

He knew … II

Summary: Reader and Sihtric are seperated but meet again in Hunstanton, after he “betrayed” Uhtred

Pairing: Sihtric x f!reader

Warning: mentioned death, mentioned blood, heartbreak

Word Count: ~5k

A/N: Thank you for giving my first story so much love. I really appreciate that. So this one is a little bit longer than the previous one (even I don’t know what happened, I just couldn’t stop writing)

If you enjoy the story; likes, reblogs and comments are really appreciated 🖤

Again proof-read by my friend @witchezandwonderz

Thank you so much 🖤

Check out her stories. She’s an amazing writer!

Click here for Part I

Everyone in Dunholm packed their belongings and got ready to leave for the battle against King Alfred, to fight in the Great Army and to get the chance of being welcomed to Valhalla.

You knew it was just a matter of time before your father or someone else found out you are with child.

Your belly just a tiny bump, hidden underneath your armor.

While getting your horse ready for the journey, your father approached you.

“Are you not feeling well my child? You look a bit pale” he said.

“Just the usual, father, you know I am not fond of riding for a long time” you told him and forced a smile on your face.

“If the ride is too much, tell Ragnar, and we can rest for a bit.” “I know, I know…” you mumbled while nodding your head lightly.

Your father turned around and walked back to Cnut and the others, to discuss the path they were taking.

The journey to the stop along the way and the final camp was exhausting.

The first one somewhere in the woods in the middle of Wessex, the final one in Hunstanton, East Anglia.

When the camp was finally put up, everyone was coping with their own stuff, so no one noticed you laying in your tent all day, except for your friend Brida.

She knew something was wrong, so she dragged you out of the tent to the nearest fireplace and pushed a horn of ale in your hand, trying to cheer you up.

“So, now you tell me what’s wrong. The whole travel here your head was hanging low and you think deeply about something, and I just can’t figure out what.”

“It is nothing, believe me.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing to me…” Brida mumbled, while taking a sip of her ale.

“Wait, it’s not about that boy, Sihtric was his name right?” She grinned.

Your eyes flicked to hers immediately. “Maybe… depends on how able you are to keep your mouth shut.” You answered mad. “Come on, it can’t be that bad right?” She laughed, but stopped immediately as she saw the corners of your mouth were pulled down.

“I think I am with child…” you sighed, while staring at the dirty ground.

“And he is the father” you said further, gripping the horn with ale tightly.

Brida listened quietly.

“You can’t tell anyone, I don’t want anyone to find out”.

“I mean, at least he’s not a Saxon right” she tried to make you smile “but I won’t tell anyone, not even Ragnar, not a word will cross my lips”. She threw her arm over your shoulder. “I promise.”

You thanked her and sat with her in silence, finally gotten it of your chest.

The next morning you were awoken by a scream, recognizing that voice as Brida’s.

As you exited your tent, you saw Brida and your father circled by numerous warriors.

Not knowing what happened before you saw Brida was trying to attack your father, but he knocked her to the ground.

The circle dissolved.

You were running to her, giving her a hug.

“He’s dead… Ragnar is dead…” she sobbed.

“I.. I have to go, find a place to bury him” she said with empty eyes.

Helping her collect stones for the grave, you let her and Ragnar alone to have their last moment together and you walked back to the camp with Cnut.

Back at the camp you went to your father with him. “We both will lead this army” he told Cnut.

Then he looked at you.

“I want to know you beside me, my daughter.” “I will always be loyal to you father.” You smiled.

He looked at you with pride, laying his hand on your shoulder.

In the evening, while Cnut held his big speech about how Ragnar has been a great warrior and that they are all united as Danes, you stood beside your father, and at the speech's end, when everybody cheered for the battle to come, you just stood there sadly, knowing that you won’t be able to fight because of the little secret you’re hiding.

The camp in Hunstanton was always busy. Warriors were training, maidens were preparing food all day. Cnut and your father talking about battle strategies, while Aethelwold listened carefully and you?

You were just sitting on a stomp next to your father, bored by everything because Brida was not here to keep you company.

Just as you thought you’re going to die of boredom, you saw that stupid fool Haesten with the seer Skade from afar, you were just rolling your eyes and continuing to listen to the battle strategies.

As they got closer, your father got up, and seemed to be relieved that Skade was back.

Haesten told them what happened, that he lost more than half of his men and that she is now his woman.

He was an idiot to think that your father would just accept that.

You got up to stand between Aethelwold and your father, Cnut still stood in front of Haesten.

Skade was chained and sat down at the muddy ground and as she saw you, she was taking a sharp look at you.

“You, daughter of Bloodhair” she was talking to you “I feel it, and I can see it, you are carrying a child, he’s going to be a strong warrior one day.”

Everyone went silent.

You mouth fell slightly open.

No, that can not be, how can she know that? Has she talked to Brida?

Brida is the only one who knows.

Even if they met somehow, Brida would never tell anyone.

She promised you.

But how did she know?

“My daughter is what?” your father asked furiously.

“You heard me Bloodhair, you know that my fortunes are always true” she said, looking arrogantly in your fathers face.

But your father just looked your way, disappointment in his eyes.

“Who is the father of this child?” He asked you, his voice softer as moments ago, but he was still mad.

You remained silent.

“I am not asking you again Y/N. Who. Is. The. Father?”

“Is it important? It is someone who isn’t here, and he doesn’t know I’m with child”

He just run his hand across his face.

“I thought I raised you better, I am really disappointed in you…” he said and turned around to walk away.

Your heart feeling heavy.

You hoped Skade would stay with Uhtred.

She brought nothing but misfortune to everyone.

“Who thought Sigurd’s daughter would get knocked up by some nobody” Haesten said laughing, trying to get a reaction out of you.

“Hey, I am talking to you!” he yelled in your direction. You stared at him.

“I heard you the first time, but I’m just not interested in talking with some moron like you.”

You responded calmly and turned away, looking for you father.

He just has to hear you out.

Standing in front of your father’s tent you took a deep breath, feeling kind of nervous as you entered.

He was leaning against the big wooden table.

“Can I talk to you father?” You asked, your voice not louder that a whisper.

“Of course you can my child” he answered, while sighing out loudly.

“I know you are disappointed in me and believe me, I didn’t plan to get pregnant right now, especially because we are just before a great battle. But I want to let you know that I was really in love with that man, I don’t know if he felt the same and if I will see him again, but now it is how it is. I can’t change the past…” you held in for a few seconds before continuing “The father of this child is a great warrior, just as you are father, and I would be more than happy if my son turns out the same way... ” he listened attentively before he started to speak.

“My reaction towards you was unfair my daughter, I could never be disappointed in you and you know that. I don’t care who the father is, a child is always a blessing” he stepped closer, holding your head between his hands “you are my only child, my only family, my only blood, the only person I trust fully. You are Y/N Sigurdsdottir, and I could never manage losing you.” He held you close, like never wanting to let go of you again.

Then he said “and you know, that after I lost your mother, my beloved wife, that I found almost the same love in Skade again. I want her back…”

You kind of understood him. Kind of.

Fighting for love is always worth it.

But fighting for love you already lost in fighting, is just stupid.

And fighting for a witch who is not interested in him anymore, is just suicide.

A day later, riders on horses came riding up to the campground and got to a hold in the middle of it.

You recognized them immediately as Danes, Haesten’s men, one of them Dagfinn.

And for some reason, underneath them was the man you were never able to forget.

Sihtric.

He was sitting on his horse, seeing you standing by your tent, looking even more beautiful than he remembered.

He felt like being back in Dunholm, looking at you for the first time in his life.

But his glance could only last a few moments, before he was involved into a conversation about what he, one of Uhtred’s men, was doing here.

You stood by your tent watching them talk, as Cnut approached you.

“Will you tell him?” He asked you.

“What will I tell who?” You replied, trying to sound confused.

“Come on, you know what I mean. I watched you two sneaking around in Dunholm, more than once, and I know what a pregnant woman looks like, I have two sons.”

“Why didn’t you just tell everyone when you knew the whole time?” You wondered.

“Because it’s none of my business what you do behind closed doors. So, are you going to tell him?”

“I’m trying to, he has the right to know … we will see.” You spoke, as you entered your tent again.

In the evening, Brida came back from her journey, apparently with a plan to safe Ragnar from Niflheim.

When the night was falling, and nothing but stars were seen at the sky, you were sitting at the campfire with the others.

You knew that Sihtric was watching you from across the fire, but trying not to make it too obvious.

Everyone was having a good time.

Dagfinn asked Sihtric where he was going to sleep, since he does not have a tent nor some furs. Unfortunately Brida saw that as an opportunity to play match maker again.

“Y/N’s tent is one of the bigger ones and she has some furs to spare, he can sleep there.” she stated emotionless, continuing to chew on some chicken wing, not giving a hint what she was thinking.

“Ehhm… right” you replied dumbfounded, not really agreeing with her.

“I am going to bed, good night” you said quickly further, feeling really embarrassed.

Sihtric remained seated for a short while, then he turned to follow, while Cnut said laughing “Hey Sihtric, I know she is a very beautiful woman, but keep your little friend in your breeches”

“No need for that my friend, she already is full” Haesten joked, but got quiet as soon as Brida’s and your father’s stare landed on him.

You gritted your teeth.

You cursed Haesten for his existence.

You wanted to tell Sihtric yourself.

You definitely didn’t want him to find out from someone else.

Well, that really didn’t turn out as planned.

What you didn’t noticed was how Sihtric got really pissed about that comment too.

He was mad he lost you to another man.

This fool could call himself happy to have a beautiful woman like you carrying his child, but he still seems not to be around.

But he didn’t had any right to be jealous. Sidgeflaed was in Winchester waiting for him.

You entered your tent and Sihtric followed slowly after you.

You stood there, your back still facing him.

Turning around, your eyes met. Both of you staring at each other for a while.

Sihtric was the first one to break the silence.

“So… you are with child. Congratulations. Your man must be really excited” he spoke with jealousy.

You looked at him confused.

Was he really that stupid?

“There is no man, I am on my own.” You told him, fumbling to pick out some furs for him.

“And… who is the father?” He asked, still oblivious, staring at the ground.

You looked at him for what felt like minutes. Throwing the furs to the side.

“Sihtric, you are the only man I have shared my bed with in a while, so you tell me” you gulped.

His eyes turned big.

“Wait… you mean… I am… the father?” he asked further, but his voice only a whisper in the dark.

You just nodded.

And then the unthinkable happened.

You thought he would be mad, that he didn’t want to have anything to do with you and the child.

But he pulled you into his body and kissed you passionately, the world around you both completely disappearing. You were breaking the kiss and leaning your foreheads against each others.

There was only you and him (and the little one still inside your belly).

You both crying and laughing at the same time.

It seemed like the perfect world, even if it was for just a moment, you enjoyed every second of it.

Now Sihtric knew for sure, he was going to leave his wife for you.

He didn’t care that you were Bloodhair’s daughter, the enemy, the Dane (even though he is one too).

He was deeply in love with you. He would do anything for you and your child.

But he still has somehow to tell you that he is in fact already married.

He really did not know how and when to convey that information and how you will react.

You were talking the whole night, snuggled up on some furs on the floor.

He wanted to know if anyone knows that he is the child’s father, you just told him that only Brida knows and she would never tell anyone, your trust in her is deep.

He even told you about the curse the witch Skade put on his Lord, and why he has to bring her back to him.

You understood it, curses are not taken lightly.

He wanted your help to get Skade out of the camp.

And you had just one favor to ask of him.

You wanted to go with him - as a hostage.

To give your child the chance to live, not having to grew up in a camp, but rather in a stable home and he agreed.

The following weeks were running by quickly. Sihtric awaiting news from his Lord.

You spend a lot of time together, trying not to make it obvious.

You trained together, sharpened your swords together, ate together almost every meal.

You were again training with Brida for hours.

You missed it dearly to spend time with her.

Unfortunately the ground was so muddy, as it has just rained before, so you slipped and got covered in dirt.

“I think you should go and take a bath” she laughed “maybe your lover wants to join” she suggested, nodding her head to Sihtric and wiggling with her eyebrows, carefully to be quiet enough so only you understood her words.

You just hid her shoulder with your fist in response, grinning from one ear to the other.

Sihtric was sitting at the campfire alone, eating his meal in silence.

You got up to him and whispered in his ear “I need you to do something, follow me, but make sure nobody sees.”

You walked out of the camp and into the woods.

Sihtric finished his food and followed you, always looking around if somebody noticed.

You were waiting for him behind a tree.

You heard the leaves rustle.

You knew it was Sihtric.

He was calling your name and just before he walked past you, you came out of your hiding place and stopped in front of him.

He took your head in his palms and kissed you full of lust.

Not being able to kiss in the camp was bitter.

“So what special task do you need me to do?” He smirked. You came closer to him, your lips just millimeters apart.

“I … I need … I need you … to look out if someone comes while I am taking a quick bath.”

“Oh… eh … alright” he mumbled disappointed.

“What’s wrong? Were you … were you thinking we were going to hump here? So when I told you I need you to do something, you understood that I need you to do me?” You asked kind of amused.

“Yeah… I actually kind of thought that.” He replied flustered while scratching his head in embarrassment.

“I mean, you could just join me, but we have to be quick, it’s freezing” you told him seductively while pulling him behind you to the lake in the forest.

What you two didn’t notice, was a man standing next to a few trees, a few meters away.

He watched the whole scene in front of him.

Dropping the bunch of flowers, he extra picked for you, onto the ground.

His heart shattering into a million pieces.

He saw you walking out of the camp and thought that would be his chance.

He finally found the courage to tell you about his feelings, picking flowers to surprise you but being disappointed to find you with Sihtric.

He thought you being pregnant was one of Haesten’s jokes. He felt like the last jerk.

A long time ago, even before Dunholm, he fell in love with you.

You both even shared a drunken night.

But that was long before Sihtric.

Back then Haesten was always picking on him, even though he’s his second in command.

One day you couldn’t take it anymore, listening to his bullshit and bad jokes all day, so you confronted Haesten.

That was the moment he fell deeply.

The the first time someone vouched for him.

He never showed his feelings for you towards anyone.

He was a strong and feared warrior after all, but he wanted you to notice him, in more than just the way of being a warrior, or maybe a friend.

But it was too late. He missed his chance.

Looking desolate he walked back to the camp.

The next morning you woke up alone, only covered in furs.

Sihtric was already up, somewhere in the camp.

It was cold outside, snowing.

You were just leaving your tent as you witnessed an heated argument between your father and Haesten.

Cnut trying to mediate.

But Haesten provoked you father, by calling him a coward because he fled in Fearnham.

Your father pulled out a dagger, Sihtric holding him back.

Haesten walked aggressively towards your father but Dagfinn got hold of him.

Your father demanded enraged for the square, cutting the throat of Aethelwold’s spy and walking towards his tent.

He wants so see Haesten dead.

You went to your father’s tent, as you saw Skade exiting it.

You passed her.

You both not even giving each other a glance, before you entered and noticed you father’s hair and face already covered in blood.

That meant he was ready to fight.

“What was she doing in here?” you asked, meaning Skade leaving the tent earlier.

“She wants me to kill Haesten. She doesn’t want him to win” you father said, preparing to exit the tent.

You hold onto his arm. “Watch out father, he might be an idiot, but he plays very dirty” you warned him.

“I know what I got myself into my child. Don’t worry” giving you a reassuring smile.

He continued walking.

You followed him outside, to the square where the fight is going to take place.

Cnut is explaining the sanctions.

It is to the death. Valhalla awaits one man.

Then he got out of the square, standing next to you and Sihtric.

“Your father will win, there is no doubt. He is a great warrior” he tried to cheer you up.

The fight started really good for your father, killing Haesten almost a few times, even disarmed him.

He has always been a strong warrior.

When he was tying the knot to end this fight and Haesten’s life, he suddenly became disoriented.

He was reeling and not even able to stand straight.

Skade poisoned him, that snake.

He got that really quickly.

He tried to attack her, but she was able to counter.

Then you saw how she put out two daggers and sinking them into your fathers shoulders.

The world stood still. The only thing you saw was your father’s life left his eyes.

Your color drained from your face.

“NOOOOOO, FATHER!” you screamed.

Flashback to a village somewhere in Norway

“Your footwork is sloppy, and you have to hold your axe higher, try again!” Your father screamed as shoving his shield against yours making you fall backwards on the floor.

“Don’t you think you are a little too hard on her? She is still just a young girl…” your mother said, walking towards both of you.

“There is not such a thing as being too young to train fighting Helga. She got your talent, but she still needs to work on it” your father explained to your mother, who was a well-known Shieldmaiden back in the days.

She just rolled her eyes and smiled. “Alright my dear husband, I just came to let you both know that feast is ready” she said, still smiling while walking back to the Great Hall.

Still hearing your fathers scolding in the distant, what you did wrong this time.

When you came back to reality, you realized you were dragged away by Cnut.

“Hey hey hey look at me” you looked into his eyes, tears running down your face “your father is now in Valhalla, feasting with the gods, Brida made sure he hold his axe”

“But that witch drugged and killed him. It was an unfair fight, father would have killed that turd if she hadn’t interfered.”

“I know, but we can’t change a thing now. Don’t do something you will regret later, we still have to stand together as an army and think about your unborn child” he tried to calm you down.

It kind of worked.

You thought about the words Sihtric told you, that his Lord has to kill her to end the curse. But you knew one thing.

That witch will pay for what she did, either by you or someone else.

You went back to the square, where your father was laying on the floor in his own blood, holding his axe.

You knelt down next to him, laying your hands on his. Your heart is broken. Sitting there in silence for what felt like hours.

“We have to prepare his funeral. His body should not stay in this ugly world longer than necessary. Bring him into his tent and lay him onto the table. You” you pointed to some of your father’s warriors “bring a lot of stones and dig a big hole, we are going to bury him.”

You got up to walk beside the man carrying your father.

Sihtric was one of them.

When they laid him on the table, you told everyone to get out.

You wanted to stay with him one last time.

But Sihtric didn’t leave you alone.

He knew how it felt to lose someone loved, the same pain he felt when he lost his mother.

You just watched your father’s face, scared to forget how he looks.

You run your hand through his bloodstained hair and let your tears fall.

Sihtric pulled you into a hug.

After a while you let go of him.

Your eyes looking from Sihtric back to your father’s face.

Hand back to his hair.

“Everyone saw him as a raged and cruel warlord, bathing in blood and bewitched by some crazy lady. But to me he was a loving and caring father, raising me all by himself since mother passed away.” You sobbed. “He was everything I had” you sniffed, a tear running down your face.

“I know how you feel, I lost my mother when I was really young” Sihtric tried to comfort you.

“I appreciate you trying to make me less sad, but pain is never the same, believe me…” you said with a small smile crossing your lips, caressing his cheek with your other hand.

Your gaze back to your father, you noticed a small leather band hanging at his neck. You pulled it out of his armor and smiled.

“What is that?” Sihtric asked.

Flashback to a village somewhere in Norway

“Father, father” 5-year-old you shouted, while running to a tall man with a face tattoo, standing at the docks with his back to you, talking to some warriors.

“Father, look what I found”.

The man turned around, looking at you, waiting for you to stop in front of him and got on his knees to inspect what you were holding.

It was a flat stone, exactly shaped like a snail shell.

“Y/N my dear child, where did you find that?” He asked with a soft voice.

“I found it in the forest, underneath some moss father” you voice filled with pride.

“Do you know what that is?” “No” “Then let me tell you” he said and leaning in to whisper “That’s the sea snake Jörmungandr, and this stone was sent by the gods, to protect the person who will find it from everything evil.”

“Is that really true father?” You asked.

“Of course it is”

Your eyes turned big with excitement and as fast as you were standing in front of your father, as fast you disappeared.

Your father smiling and laughing as you run away to find your mother.

You showed her the stone and told her what you planned on doing with it.

In the evening at the feast in the great hall you stood shyly behind your mother.

“Go to him, he will love it, trust me.” She spoke gently.

She shove you in front of your father and nudged your shoulder.

“Father… I … I have something for you, it will protect you in all the battles you’re going to fight” you said nervously, while giving him a leather band with the stone you found as a pendant.

Your father looked at it for a while, turning it around, inspecting it.

His mouth formed into a smile.

The biggest smile you had ever seen on him. He hanged the leather band with the stone around his neck, picking you up and shouting, so that everyone in the hall could hear him

“All men want their unborn children to be sons, so they could call themselves blessed by the gods” he said mockingly.

“But only a man with a daughter knows how you feel, when you are truly blessed by the gods!”

Everyone erupted in cheering and laughing.

That was your favorite memory of him.

“He had it with him all those years…” you mumbled.

“Y/N, the stones are collected, the hole dug, the funeral can be carried out.”

One of your father’s warriors interrupted.

“Thank you, Halfdan. Tell the men to bring my father there.” He just nodded.

Everyone from the camp gathered together to pay their last respects to your father. But you wanted to be left alone with him.

You stacked stone after stone on his body.

“I swear by the gods father, she will die a painful death for what she did to you” you murmured.

When you finished, you stayed till the sun set, thinking about your childhood and the time you spend with him, then making your way back to the camp into your tent.

Sihtric was waiting for you inside.

“I know it’s not the right time to tell you, but tonight is the night to disappear” he whispered into your ear. You just nodded.

You were waiting for Sihtrics sign, a rock thrown against your tent. You packed your weapons as you waited, planning to leave everything else behind.

You knew that Skade will be with him, and justice for her will come soon enough.

You noticed them walking across the field to “collect herbs” around a nearby a tree.

You followed them discreetly, with enough distance.

No one noticed you leaving.

Arriving at the tree, the three men were already talking with Sihtric and Skade.

She was kissing Uhtred. His three friends were completely oblivious to the fact you followed.

Suddenly the brown-haired man with the beard noticed, pulled out his sword and pointed it at you.

You halted behind Sihtric and put your hands up. “I thought no one followed you Sihtric? Wait… I know you, I have seen you before, you are the girl from Dunholm, the warrior, the daughter of Bloodhair. What are you doing here?” He wondered.

“Finan, she is coming with us. She is a friend. She is carrying my child…” Sihtric explained. “Your child?” Uhtred asked surprised, “does your wife know about that?”

Your chest thundered with panic, your eyebrows raising in confusion.

You turned to Sihtric, peering your head forwards towards him.

“You’re married!?”

[solarmorrigan]

18 with platonic stobin please! (Sorry if this sends twice I got an error message >:( whack)

Did not send twice, but I'm glad it came through at least once!

18. Headache - Platonic Stobin

cw: mentions of alcohol use

-

Robin is certain of three things:

1) Today is going to be terrible, 2) she’s dying, and 3) Steve is the worst.

Well – okay, no, that last one isn’t really true; he’s actually making breakfast for them both right now, which is great, because, again, Robin is probably dying.

It’s just he has the audacity to bustle around their kitchen like he hadn’t had just as much to drink as Robin had last night, like the morning sunlight filtering in through the windows isn’t stabbing painfully into his eyes the way it is Robin’s, like his stomach isn’t roiling like they’re on a ship in a storm, like the dark circles under his eyes and his sallow complexion don’t indicate he’s every bit as hungover as Robin is.

“How are you even functioning right now?” Robin whines from where her head is half hidden behind her arms, slumped over at the kitchen island.

Steve shrugs. “Practice, I guess?” His voice is a little croaky, but he sounds otherwise unaffected, and Robin hates it a little.

“There is no way you’ve been this hungover often enough to just be used to it,” Robin argues. “I would’ve noticed.”

“No, not hungover,” Steve answers with the soft breath of a laugh. “Just– migraines, y’know?”

Robin gives a vague, affirmative grunt, but it takes a few long moments for the meaning of the words to reach her through the soupy mess of her brain.

“Wait,” Robin mumbles, braving the murderous rays of the sun to look up at Steve where he’s standing over the stove. “This is what a migraine feels like?”

“I mean, I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling right now, but– are you nauseous?” Steve asks.

Robin swallows thickly, humming in the affirmative.

“Kinda dizzy?”

“Mm.”

“Light and noise make you feel kind of like you want to die?”

“God, yes.”

“Head hurt so much that you wish it would actually just fall off?”

Robin jams the heels of her palms into her eyes, nodding pitifully.

Steve hums. “Then that’s about it, yeah.”

“Oh my god.” Robin drags her hands down her face, staring blearily at Steve as he pokes nonchalantly at the eggs he’s currently scrambling. “You do this regularly?”

“Sometimes it’s not as bad. Sometimes it’s worse. That’s when I get stuff like trouble seeing, or talking. But I guess?” Steve shrugs again, the line of his shoulders stiff; it’s clear he doesn’t feel well, but he’s far more active than Robin thinks she has the capacity to be right now. “Like, this sucks, but I’d still classify it as okay enough to go to work. Maybe run errands, if they’re important.”

“Oh my god,” Robin mutters again, laying her head back on her folded arms. “You deserve financial compensation for being alive.”

Steve snorts. “When you find someone to talk to about that, let me know.”

The quiet clink of porcelain against tile sounds just beside Robin’s head, and she opens her eyes, unable to remember when she’d closed them. Scrambled eggs and buttered toast are laid out temptingly on a plate before her, looking good enough that she’s willing to contemplate actually eating them despite the faint protests of her stomach.

“Did you take something for your head already?” Steve asks.

“Tylenol,” Robin says, fingering the edge of the plate. “Definitely hasn’t kicked in yet.”

Steve rounds the island, coming to stand behind the stool Robin is perched on. “Here, sit up straight for a minute.”

Robin groans, but slowly drags herself upright. Behind her, Steve laughs.

“Don’t complain; I’m gonna make it worth your while.”

Before she can ask just how he’s going to do that, Steve’s hands come up to rest at the juncture of Robin’s neck and shoulders, large and strong, a little clammy, but comforting and warm all the same. Then he digs his thumbs into the tense muscle at the back of Robin’s neck, and she thinks she might actually murder him.

The pain only lasts a few moments, though, before the stiff muscle gives way under Steve’s attention, loosening and relaxing until the persistent ache that’s been radiating from the back of Robin’s head begins to ease.

“Holy shit, you’re magic,” Robin says, hushed, almost reverent, shifting slightly in discomfort as Steve moves on to her shoulders, before the muscle there yields, too, granting another ounce of relief.

“Magic, huh?” Steve teases, sounding warm and smug. “I’m gonna remember you said that.”

“Tell anyone and I’ll deny it. You’re too full of yourself as it is,” Robin says, though it comes out with zero conviction, on the tail of a pleased sigh.

“Uh huh.” The massaging motion of Steve’s hands slows and tapers off, leaving him rubbing warm, comforting circles just at the slope where her neck meets her shoulders. “Well, now that I’ve worked my not-magic, do you feel like you could eat?”

Robin looks at the eggs and toast again and finds that her stomach has calmed a little now that her head isn’t pounding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. I didn’t put all that work in just to have it go to waste,” Steve says, moving back around the island to hop up on his own stool, pulling a second plate towards himself.

“Oh, yeah, ten whole minutes of work. You poor thing,” Robin drawls, but there’s an amused little smile tucked up into the corners of her mouth.

It might not be such a bad day after all, she decides, and she’s probably not dying, but she does know that Steve is actually, probably, the best.

[horoscope1078]

:)

Lando had been grinning all morning, and that was never a good sign. You squinted at him as you both strolled through the charming streets of Spa, your hand tucked into the pocket of your hoodie to shield it from the crisp Belgian breeze. It was the weekend of the Belgian Grand Prix, but for now, Lando seemed more focused on mischief than on racing.

“What’s with the face?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“This” he said, pulling a small blue and white package out of his hoodie pocket. “This is going to change your life.”

You stared at the package, recognising the name printed on it, stroopwafels.

“Oh, I’ve heard of these” you said, intrigued. “They’re like caramel waffles, right?”

Lando gasped, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. “Like caramel waffles? That’s like calling a formula 1 car just ‘a fast vehicle.’”

You snorted as he tore the package open, handing you one of the thin, circular treats. “Alright alright. What’s the proper way to eat them, Mr. Dutch Heritage?”

He beamed proudly. “I’m so glad you asked.”

Lando grabbed your wrist and dragged you toward a nearby café. The place was small but cosy, with warm lights glowing behind the counter and the scent of fresh coffee filling the air. He ordered two hot drinks and then pointed at your stroopwafel. “Now, this is the trick. You don’t just eat it straight away like some amateur. You place it on top of your cup and let the steam soften the caramel inside. It’s an art, really.”

You raised an eyebrow. “An art?”

“Yes, an art” he said smugly. “Passed down through generations. My mum grew up in the Netherlands, remember? She taught me all the important things in life, like how to properly consume a stroopwafel.”

You chuckled but did as he instructed, setting the waffle on top of your steaming drink. Lando did the same and then leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm as he watched you expectantly.

“So, what’s it like?” you asked, trying to distract him from his obvious amusement at your inexperience.

“What’s what like?”

“Having a mum who grew up in the Netherlands.”

Lando’s expression softened, his grin turning into something fonder. “It’s cool. We used to visit all the time when I was a kid. The food is obviously great, stroopwafels, poffertjes, all that stuff. But also, my mum’s side of the family is really chill. And the country is just… nice. The people are friendly, the cities are beautiful, and I got to ride bikes everywhere, which was fun. Maybe that’s why I like racing so much.”

You smiled, picturing a tiny Lando zooming around on a bicycle, probably crashing into things. “That actually makes sense.”

“Of course it does. I’m full of wisdom.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could tease him, he suddenly gasped. “It’s time!”

“Time for what?”

“The stroopwafel. It should be perfectly softened now.” he lifted his off his drink and took a dramatic bite, closing his eyes in exaggerated bliss. “Mmm... perfection.”

You snorted but picked up your own, taking a cautious bite. The moment the warm caramel melted onto your tongue, your eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

Lando grinned. “Told you.”

“This is amazing.” you quickly took another bite, savouring the way the caramel oozed between the layers of waffle. “Why have I never had one of these before?”

“Because you had a sad, stroopwafel-less existence until I saved you.” he leaned back smugly, sipping his drink. “You’re welcome.”

You shook your head, but you couldn’t argue. “Fine. I’ll admit it. You were right.”

“Oh, say that again?”

You rolled your eyes, finishing off your stroopwafel. “Don’t get used to it.”

Lando chuckled and nudged your foot under the table. “See? Now Belgium isn’t just about racing for you. Now it’s also about experiencing life-changing snacks.”

You sighed dramatically. “I feel so enlightened.”

“As you should.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping your drinks as the world buzzed around you. The café was warm, the stroopwafels were sweet, and Lando, well, Lando was being his usual goofy self, but with that undeniable charm that made your heart squeeze a little.

After a moment, he tapped his fingers on the table. “Alright, next up, frites with mayo.”

You groaned. “Lando, how much food are you planning to make me eat today?”

He gave you an innocent look. “It’s called cultural appreciation.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fine. But if I can’t fit into my jeans tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”

“I’ll buy you new ones” he said, smirking. “Consider it an investment in our adventure.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. Somehow, even a simple afternoon of snacks and stories with Lando turned into an adventure. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[midnightshindig]

Single Mama! Reader with Cecil or Donald headcanons, pretty please. I’ll give you my prized Pokémon book for it.

Donald and Cecil x SingleMom!Reader

oh my god i read this as sigma while scrolling through requests and had an aneurysm I'm so fucking brain rotted

anyways- Cecil and Donal are separate hcs, sorry if these are sort of short!

hcs under the cut!

Cecil

Cecil is ambivalent and distant

he's not against you having a kid, but he doesn't know what to do with it

"Want a beer?" "HES FOUR" type shit

For the most part he treats your kid as cordially as possible.

If they're an elementary schooler, he might try and bribe them into liking him with toys

If they're more like a middle or high schooler, however, he treats them with respect

Cecil over her shaking some fourteen year olds hand like "I promise my intentions with your mother are good, I'm a good man and she's a great woman."

like oh my god just stooooop

but they lowkey kind of love it? Like, he's so aloof and weird, your kid(s) adore him

It's a very parallel-play type of thing

Cecil and you will be watching a movie and your kid will come downstairs and sit on the other side of the couch, casually reading a book or playing their 3ds or something

If your kid is interested in government or safety, Cecil will happily take them under his wing

You come back from the bathroom to find Cecil explaining calculus to your high schooler

or explaining the concept of government to your eight year old, who is happily absorbing it all like a sponge

He keeps it age appropriate

Cecil has a LOT of resources

So when he wants to take you out, you've got your pick of the best babysitters in the world

It's usually Donald ngl

sometimes, though, a teenage superhero will volunteer to babysit for some extra cash

So Eve-- or, more accurately-- Rex and Rae-- come over to babysit.

(ignore season three for these purposes- stfu it's cute)

And Cecil takes you out on the town

being a single mom means you have a hard time getting to be just Y/n, not Y/n the mom

Cecil makes sure you know how special you are

Corny ass man probably takes you swing dancing or something

Red Lobster type mf

I'm kidding he takes you to a very nice dinner

and buys an extra dessert for your kid <3

Donald

BIG nerd

Your kid like pokemon? Oh he's studying up rn to impress them

Because of this Donald's at work reading Warrior Cats and Cecil is like "Donald what the fuck is that?"

"Oh- My girlfriend's kid is really into this serious, I want to make a good impression."

"A grown man having warrior cats knowledge is terrifying, Donald."

psshhh whatever Donald doesn't care.

Tries to win over your kid by showing off his robotic features (once he gets used to it himself)

WILL take your kid to the park with you as a date

I hc Donald probably doesn't have too much in the way of his own family, so he's charmed by yours

Donald likes to take your kid(s) with you on dates

Group family dates if you will

So you all go to the movies, or maybe to dinner every now and again, stuff like that

But he makes time for just you don't you worry.

Type of dude to throw your kids in the air.

he's just casually available and emotionally supportive

ALSO teaches your children stuff, but more like history or lower level math

I have the very specific image in my head of your 3rd/4th grader coming home crying because her school is doing a daddy daughter dance and like.... she doesn't have a dad? What is she going to do?

You offer her to bring her uncle, or maybe she could bring you?

Donald comes back from the store with groceries for dinner and your daughter lights up

"I want Donald to take me!"

"Hm?" he puts the bags down to high five your daughter hello "Take you to what, kid?"

You sighed, leaning awkwardly against the kitchen counter "She's having a daddy daughter dance at school- Honey, why don't you take your uncle?"

Donalds eyes widen and he has to hold back a wobbly smile "No it's okay! I'll take her." Oh fuck it, dude is smiling

Ugh i'm a wreck he's so sweet

He's not trying to replace their dad or anything

like literally "not the step dad he's the dad who stepped up"

[inconveniently-discorporated]

Y'all because joy is an act of resistance and so, apparently, is doing science while being a woman...

I AM SO HAPPY. I recently just got over a couple weeks of back to back illnesses, BUT had the delightful combination of recovering just in time for Fool's Spring (the fakeout unseasonably sunny/warm days in the PNW before the final boss music of winter starts playing) (it gives us a stamina boost to get through the rest of it before real spring), AND getting my first ever telescope in.

So I set it up last night and tonight. No idea what I'm doing because all of my research means nothing until I get my hands on the thing. Last night couldn't use my 9mm lens piece for shit, but I used the 30mm to find some pretty jaw-dropping things.

TONIGHT THOUGH??? TONIGHT???? Let my 5yo stay up late. We saw everything on my list (which wasn't a LOT being an absolute beginner using my telescope in my backyard in a city without really any idea what I'm doing,,,, but still wonderful). I'm especially proud to say I got some good use out of the 9mm which last night I couldn't even focus to see ANYTHING. My list:

Pleiades ✅

Orion nebula ✅✅✅

Jupiter and moons ✅✅✅✅✅✅

JUPITER IN ENOUGH DETAIL TO SEE THE FUCKING BANDS ON THE PLANET AND HOLY SHIT IT'S A REAL FUCKING PLANET OUT IN THE SOLAR SYSTEM ✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅

BONUS OBJECTS?!

Saw Venus ✅✅ -- easy to spot, obv, bright as fuck, BUT I DID NOT KNOW that it has PHASES????????!!!!! I actually wasn't trying to look at it very closely because I was like "yeah it's gonna be a bright as fuck dot probably but let's focus on it and adjust the scope/lens piece to help me find stuff later tonight" and it was A HALF MOON SHAPE?!?!!!;;??!:_#$+(; I DIDN'T KNOW THAT????? WHY IS IT LIKE THAT?????? WHAT IS IT DOING??????? IT. HAS. PHASES. IT IS A ROCK OUT IN SPACE. I'M ON A ROCK OUT IN SPACE. WE'RE TWO ROCKS OUT IN SPACE DOING SPACE SHIT AND STUFF OUT HERE AND WHAT THE FUCK! Apparently it's one of the only planets besides Mercury that has phases?!?!!

Y'ALL I OBSERVED A THING AND LEARNED A THING I DIDN'T PREVIOUSLY KNOW ABOUT OUR SOLAR SYSTEM AND I LOVE THE SOLAR SYSTEM AND IT FEELS LIKE I SHOULD'VE KNOWN THIS ALREADY BUT I DIDN'T AND LIKE I DID REAL ACTUAL PERSONAL SCIENCE! WHAT THE FUCK!!!

And like almost by ACCIDENT -- but like accidentally on purpose, like I was TRYING TO do this but didn't expect it to actually work -- I saw ANDROMEDA ✅✅✅. Y'ALL THE GASP I GUSPED! Like, let's level set here -- it was a faint grey smudge in my lens piece. BUT IT WAS MY GREY SMUDGE, AND I KNEW THAT OUT THERE THAT GREY SMUDGE -- THAT I WAS LOOKING AT WITH MY OWN TWO HUMAN EYEBALLS (not through a screen but by way of a couple mirrors bouncing the photons DIRECTLY FROM THIS GALAXY STRAIGHT INTO MY EYEBALLS) -- WAS A WHOLE ASS ENTIRE GALAXY JUST LIKE OURS. And I FOUND it, like some kinda special rock in a great big giant lakes full of other rocks!!! Y'all I died.

And my 5yo?!?! Among the things she said tonight were: "Mom!!! This is great!!! I love you so much!!!" and "WOW, this is so cool, mom you're AMAZING!!!" and "Oh god DAMN!" (About Jupiter) (Yes same girl) -- but also these words she has NEVER BEFORE IN HER LIFE UTTERED: "Mom, I think I want to go inside and go to bed -- I'm really tired." NEVER HAS SHE EVER.

Absolutely incredible on everything all around. I have so many feelings and I don't even feel like I saw all that much yet. Saturn apparently is fantastic around my birthday later this year. I'm hoping so incredibly much that the weather cooperates for the lunar eclipse in a couple weeks, goodness I'd LOVE to get in on the show for that one. That's something super easy my daughter and I can explore together.

Anyway, FUCK THE PATRIARCHY. Fuck the current state of politics launching an assault on women, diversity, and science. Love science for us. Can't wait to explore some more and make some core lifelong memories. My back hurts like hell bc it's totally fucked up in general but it's totally worth it to see all the things.

[moonyasnow]

Mallina: after the confession

Basically! The timeline in their intro post cuts off after Irina has confessed to Malleus.

Here's an overview of what happens after!

Also gonna include mentions of:

Talking a fair bit about Queen Maleficia here! So uhh I'll have to redo the parts about her if we get canon content of her and this becomes OOC.

Some Briar Valley cultural headcanons!

Some brieeeeeef discussions of sex— not any details, but only stuff about it specifically being pre-marital, since I believe Briar Valley sees that as a big no-no, ESPECIALLY for the royals

Also this became sooooo long— I DIDN'T MEAN TO I JUST COULDN'T STOP YAPPING Gonna be kinda unorganized too

First of all— Malleus being swarmed by S.T.Y.X. doctors right after Irina's confession meant he didn't exactly have time properly tell her he felt the same at the time.

So she just had no idea if he felt the same or not. But so long as he still wanted to be around her, that was good enough in her book.

But he suddenly starts giving her gifts; small things like pretty rocks, flowers or leaves he found, starting to slowly become more and more expensive and extravagant over time. Turning into jewelry and gorgeous dresses and other accessories.

At first Irina doesn't really understand why. She feels a little overwhelmed as the gifts get more fancy…

But eventually, through someone just telling her— she realizes that this is how fae court each other. She starts almost crying when she realizes he likes her too because she's so happy, and she never thought he'd actually feel the same.

Malleus immediately starts with the lovey-dovey pet-names. Any classic or old-timey romantic sounding name you can think of, he's probably called her. Anything from 'my dove' to 'darling' to even more outdated ones like 'dollface'. She absolutely melts with every single one, though.

As I said in this post, once the topic of physical affection is broached, it's like the floodgates are opened, and they get INTENSE about it.

Kisses hello and goodbye, as well as good morning and goodnight kisses, and always holding hands— as though if they go more than 10 seconds without touching some part of each other, they will both literally combust.

It makes Irina's friends absolutely cringe every time they see Malleus literally pick her up to kiss her, and she just looks after him with a dreamy far-off look on her face. She endures merciless teasing in the Vice Squad ☆ group chat.

One day, he asks her if she truly isn't afraid of him. She notices he seems…nervous. She nuzzles her face into his hand on her cheek, looks into his eyes and tells him she could never be afraid of him.

With some hesitance, he lets go of her hand after squeezing it affectionately, and closes his eyes.

Before her eyes, he begins to transform…

Standing before her is no longer the form she'd associated with him, but a great, black dragon.

Walking closer to him, her gaze never leaving his eyes, he leans his head down to hers. Holding his head in her hands, it's now the size of her torso, and shaped like that of a lizard instead of a humanoid. Looking at the rest of his body, she sees the black scales which formerly only dusted his forehead, cheeks and joints now cover his entire body, ridges along his spine, and two large, bat-like wings. And she sees his horns— so unmistakably him that she can't help but smile.

She takes him in with awe; a quiet reverence and adoration.

"You're beautiful."

She leans her head against his, and kisses his snout. Cooing happily, he nuzzles his face against hers, then starts licking her face, which tickles her, causing her to burst into uncontrollable giggles.

And Malleus really wants to engage in more human courtship rituals too. Which as far as Irina knows is really just stuff like kissing, cuddling, holding hands and going on dates.

Even with how well they've come to know each other, she's still nervous for their first real date together that isn't just a meeting of the Gargoyle Studies Club (of which they are still the only members. Now partially because anyone wanting to join would need to be fine with being a third wheel to them being all mushy with each other).

Oh and at this point, Malleus has started showing way more of his Draconic features around her when it's just the two of them, or them and the Briar Valley gang. He'll no longer bother with the transformation that removes his tail or wings, or shortens and dulls his nails; all things meant to make him look less intimidating. Because he knows his real appearance doesn't frighten her.

And the longer they're a couple, the more intense their physical affection for each other becomes, to the point where eventually, they start craving something…less innocent.

Not to mention that for Malleus, it'd be important in confirming their relationship. Through leaving bites on her and getting the scent of his magic to really attach to her, in the courting terms he's familiar with, it'd be like officially proclaiming her as his one and only mate, that she's not available for anyone else. That she belongs to him. And it'd also make anyone think twice about messing with her.

So, despite the fact that Briar Valley culture— especially the tradition the royals adhere to— would definitely be expecting him to wait until his wedding night to do anything, they decide not to wait.

Though this does lead to a LOT more beastman, as well as some fae and merfolk, starting to avoid her like the plague. While she might have smelled a bit like him due to how often they were with each other before, now she absolutely reeks of dragon.

She was a little worried— and also feeling guilty bc damn society sucks in some ways— about the fact that she wasn't actually a virgin herself when they got together. But as far as he was concerned, the fact that he had her now meant no one else she'd have been with in the past mattered. If anything it just motivated him more to make sure he made their experiences together so memorable that they were the only ones she'd want to remember.

And a headcanon I have is that, just based on fae biology and natural instincts, that would already basically make them engaged. The actual engagement later on is more of a formality.

It's considered a taboo in Briar Valley to force apart a mated couple.

(But the senate would probably try anyways— arguing that only applied to 'real' couples, (fae/fae couples) and that since Irina isn't fae, it doesn't count. Kinda in the same vein as how Henry VIII tried to argue his marriage to Catherine of Aragon wasn't real and didn't because she was his brother's widow, and there was a very specific Bible verse about how you shouldn't marry your brother's widow, so he should get to marry Anne Boleyn anyway actually even though the pope didn't grant him a divorce.)

I think that, after they first got together, when Summer Break was coming up and Malleus and Irina had just gotten done with their third and first years respectively, they're both incredibly sad they'll no longer be able to meet each other every single day— or night, rather.

So, Malleus decides to bring her along to Briar Valley with him over the break.

There, Irina becomes well and truly jealous over him for the first time— she meets a noble fae lady who was, apparently, the leading candidate to be Malleus' future bride: Yvonnet Dechoiselle.

This would actually be the first time Malleus himself would find out that he and this lady Yvonnet were considered betrothed.

Irina was allowed to stay in a guest room. At night, Malleus would simply teleport into her room and sleep there with her. Or he'd just pick her up and teleport them both into his room either way.

But because Lilia advised it, they tried to hide their relationship a bit longer.

But Malleus really did not like it. She was his beloved! He was hers, and she was his; and he couldn't stand seeing her be disrespected on account of her being human. And he hated even more being forced to ask people to not disrespect a 'dear friend of mine', rather than 'my beloved'. He thought that, if they knew she was his lover, they would show her some more respect.

But…though they might be lovers, Briar Valley would not by any means consider that to mean they belonged to each other. In fact, the very fact that they WERE lovers, and that Malleus belonged to Briar Valley, would— if the truth were revealed— make his and Irina's current relationship be considered little more than an affair.

Irina felt very insecure during this time.

She told Malleus that, she could be fine just being considered his mistress…so long as he didn't marry anyone else— so long as she was the only one he actually shared a bed with. Irina, not being used to ever being given any sort of respect or commitment, was fine with settling just for crumbs. She even felt selfish for asking that he not marry anyone. But she just couldn't take it if he ever did anything with someone who wasn't her; it would feel worse than death.

But

As Malleus will be spending his fourth year of NRC at home with his grandmother, learning how to better rule directly from her, he stayed when Irina left.

It was at that point that Malleus informed his grandmother of his human lover.

When she first found out, she was shocked to the point of muteness, though Malleus could see a storm raging in her eyes. In the end she told him that she didn't want to hear about it. She just hoped he'd move on and forget about this human soon enough, and wished she could return to the blissful ignorance of not knowing what kind of despot had seduced her grandson. She wondered if perhaps it was a result of her protecting him too closely.

Maleanor had also had a…peculiar…romantic taste, but this? A human?

Not only had fae— including Maleficia herself— often regarded humans as lesser even before the war…humans had killed her daughter. Her own flesh and blood; her only child. Living amongst them for a while during his schooling was one thing…but falling in love with one?

Oh, and I think, at some point during this visit home, Malleus actually confided in Sebek's parents that he was in love with a human, and asked them for any advice they had, since they'd be the only fae/human couple he'd really know.

I imagine Malleus and Irina get engaged during a birthday ball held for him— he has said in canon that his birthday is a national holiday in Briar Valley, after all. I imagine this SPECIFIC ball would be during the winter break of Irina's 2nd year at NRC. So at this point, Malleus himself is on his 4th year.

When he gets down on one knee, and she realizes what he's going to say, she has to cover her mouth with her hands and try (and fail) to keep from crying, to let him finish speaking. As she keeps listening to him speak, she almost can't believe it. She never, ever thought she'd see a day where anyone would propose to her— much less someone as amazing as him. And when he tells her that he's found a way to prolong her life, to make sure she'll be alive for just as long as him, for a moment she swears she's died and gone to heaven.

One of her big fears when it came to their relationship was the thought that she'd age and die before him— that she'd be forced to leave him behind. That he's somehow found away to overcome that obstacle feels too good to be true. She almost doesn't believe it. But knowing just how capable he is when it comes to magic, she just can't doubt him. And so she can no longer keep from crying, big tears of joy rolling down her face.

She has to strain so much to let him finish.

When he finishes his proposal by asking her to share eternity with him, she falls to her knees in her desperation to hold him, saying "Yes! Yes! Yes!" through her tears. She buries her crying face in his neck, and his arm soothingly rubs her back and he gently kisses the top of her head.

Neither of them care at all that they're surrounded by a large crowd of fae nobles watching them hold each other in the middle of the ballroom floor.

The room had been almost deathly silent, before someone begins to applaud— not because the fae present are pleased with this development, but because it would be rude not to applaud the prince for a successful proposal.

Irina still visits Briar Valley every chance she gets, so that she can both be with Malleus as well as, as he said, 'begin to accustom herself to her future home'.

And despite the fact that they're engaged and have done frankly unspeakable things to each other at this point, she really goes 'wait he really loves me 🥺' when he says that. Like, he's really going to include her fully in his life and plans for it to last. She still kinda thought she was dreaming— that Malleus loving her back was too good to be true and that maybe she was still under the effects of his Signature Spell or something.

He's actually upset they're still not officially allowed to share a bedroom because of all the tradition stuff, because at this point, having declared his intention to make her his Queen, he's in full 'that's my wife' mode already.

And the senate was CERTAINLY NOT happy about this.

But Malleus, for once refusing to bend to anyone's wishes regarding the matter, put his foot down. He basically said: "Either she shall be my wife, or Briar Valley will have no Queen."

I think, realistically, Maleficia— while she CERTAINLY has a long list of choice words she'd like to exchange about EVERYTHING of what he just said— just knows that, if his mind is already made up, there's nothing she can do to change it. Even if she tried to force them apart by just not giving him the crown until Irina has already died of old age, Malleus would just change his plan and marry her BEFORE being crowned, anyway.

…Not to mention, she can just sense on the human girl that Malleus had broken tradition and made her his mate already, anyway.

And she's just too tired to try to come up with some other way. So she has no choice but to let him.

Though I'd imagine some part of that is because she thinks of Irina as just 'a phase' in a way; she'll die long before Malleus, and in the end, he'll either rule alone or be forced into a political marriage with someone more…suitable. A fae, to start with. And it'll be a good lesson: once Irina passes, Malleus will be forced to deal with the inevitable emotional consequences of becoming so invested in someone with a lifespan so short it would seem like a single blink when regarding his own. And besides…the fertility rates in human/fae couples— of the few that had existed— were notoriously low, so there wasn't any need to be worried the future heir might be half-human.

But then, once the actual wedding day arrives, Malleus goes and ends their vows by casting an ancient spell— one even Maleficia did not believe he'd be capable of casting— meant to bind the life of one being to the caster, ensuring they live for as long as the caster is still alive, and age at the same rate as them.

…Safe to say, no longer seems like a phase.

There was an absolute uproar in the senate and among the fae nobles— most notably the family of his former 'betrothed', the Dechoiselles.

But, surprisingly, Yvonnet herself seemed to be on their side.

She respected that there were some things the senate could not change his mind on, that he would not let himself be bossed around by them. She said he'd be a weak king if he did.

She also decided that she would help Irina learn everything she'd need to know to be a good Queen.

She never really had much desire to be Queen, but she figured that, since it looked possible she might be married to Malleus, she made sure to read up on everything that might be expected of her, so the position would at least go to someone competent. And since it was now Irina who would be Queen, she passed that information on to her.

Yvonnet ends up becoming a friend of Irina's; her lady-in-waiting, even. Self-assigned, but as she was from a powerful noble family it wasn't impossible she'd become Irina's lady-in-waiting anyway.

When she started getting close to Irina— which was soon after Irina and Malleus had officially gotten engaged— Yvonnet's own family believed that was because Yvonnet had plans of seducing Malleus somehow. But really, she just wanted to make sure the future Queen is competent and doesn't make a fool of herself.

Malleus was absolutely delighted that he was finally officially allowed to have Irina sleeping in his room— now their room— which he'd redecorated to be half filled with things he liked and half with things she liked. The large, round bed in the center of the room was absolutely littered with pillows and more resembled a nest than a human idea of a bed. And there on the bed was the patchwork rabbit she had recieved from Epel's grandmother after the Harveston sled race, and the gargoyle plush she'd bought for him, sitting side by side.

And after that…I can really imagine Irina in a similar situation as Cinderella in that sequel movie— someone who's used to doing everything herself and having no one to really care too much to comment on the things she did every day or things she wore…and now suddenly a queen.

Now suddenly she has 'ladies in waiting', and personal servants who help her dress in the mornings, and also bring her breakfast. Imagine the most lavish breakfast you've ever seen: a giant plate piled up with eggs done in different ways, sausage links, pancakes, fruits, different kinds of porridge, breads and meats and cheeses…

And the person expected to eat it is the same person who had to get used to smuggling scraps into her room to eat next time her parents would forget— or just not bother— to feed her. Who thinks a microwaved pastry is a luxury.

The first time she woke up after Malleus had been forced to leave for his work for the day (he usually always tried to wait so they could have breakfast together) she was so terrified to open her eyes and discover someone other than Malleus was in their room that she ended up dissociating for a while.

After that, servants were made to always knock until they recieved a response.

Something different about no longer being at NRC was that Malleus could finally go back to his nocturnal habits; a schedule which was much more natural for him.

Thankfully, being used to being awake at night anyway, it wasn't difficult for Irina to make the switch, too. Malleus simply enchanted the food she ate to make sure she still got all the nutrients she'd usually get from the sun. Though she did still end up becoming paler as a result of not seeing the sun anymore.

I've been thinking that, since they now live in the same castle, Silver might end up seeing Irina's dreams more often.

First of all— I'm so sorry Silver.

But secondly… That might actually lead to Silver being one of— if not the— first people to find out about some of the intensely traumatic stuff Irina went through.

Malleus hadn't quite been able to sense just how much was wrong. Being sheltered as he was, he hadn't completely learned yet that none who's completely sound of heart and mind would have as many nightmares as she did. But he did start to consider they were not natural once Silver started to ask if Irina had ever talked about them with him. At first Malleus responded that she would talk of them if she wished to. But once Silver mentioned he was actually kinda worried about her, and Malleus found out that Silver had seen the contents of those nightmares….

He had to fight exceptionally hard to quell the urge to ask what they contained. Some part of him thought that if he only knew, he might be able to set it right somehow. But after the disaster that was his Overblot, he had learned better that his actions could hurt others regardless of him only having had good intentions. And it was wrong to meddle with others' dreams.

But each subsequent nightmare she had that woke her up, and accidentally woke him up too by how hard she'd cling to him, he became more worried.

She was his heart, his wife; the love of his life!

So one day he asked her about it. Said he knew that, Silver knew what they were about due to his Signature Spell, and asked her to share those fears with him.

I think their first big fight would actually be about the topic. Or, well, less 'fight', and more Irina just kinda getting overwhelmed and literally running away to hide somewhere.

She was used to always just brushing people off when they asked about her having nightmares— just chalking it up to her being an anxious person in general, and minimizing how distressing they actually were for her. But she just couldn't do that with Malleus. Especially because…

She should feel safe. She knows Malleus won't leave her, and he'll keep her safe. Everything is good, and she should feel safe, and okay…so why doesn't she?

She becomes terrified that means that, somehow, she and Malleus together isn't 'right'. Because if everything is right and good, she wouldn't still be feeling bad, right? But while she does no longer feel quite as alone, quite as horrible…she still doesn't feel good most of the time. She was expecting that feeling to go away…but it just hadn't.

No one could find her for the rest of the day.

Then much later that morning, Malleus found her, having curled up in a little ball in a corner of their walk-in closet, underneath the blanket that was usually draped across their bed, and cried herself to sleep.

He felt his heart break in his chest, seeing her like that. Gently, he scooped her up into his arms and sat on the floor, holding her, for a long time. When she woke up, she started crying again, mumbling out 'I'm sorry' over and over while clinging to him and making his clothes wet.

In the end, she said that, thinking about it was painful, hence why she hated talking about it. And she didn't want him— or anyone— to think she was pathetic for it. But…she could maybe try talking about it. But just a little. Just in broad strokes. At least to start with.

Saying that 'some bad things happened' was already more than she'd told most people.

She did slowly reveal more and more about her past to him, and only him. And while he wasn't the best-equipped person to know what to make of it— just knowing he would never allow her to live in anything resembling the circumstances she grew up in again— just telling him was a huge deal for her.

Irina is…not exactly popular in Briar Valley. There are some who are outraged the Queen isn't fae, some who think someone as young as her, just 18, will make for a terrible Queen. Some who fear what a human Queen might mean, thinking Briar Valley isn't ready to deal with the outside world again. And some, though quite few, who see it as a good opportunity to open up relations with other nations. Especially since Irina is a good friend of the partner of the second prince of the Sunset Savannah, as well as the personal servant and close confidant of the heir to a very wealthy noble house of the Scalding Sands.

But to say this last group was the minority would be an understatement.

Though, I think, grandma Maleficia is actually won over more easily than one might have expected. In the end, after seeing the two spend time together, how her grandson just seems to glow in a way he never had in all the years she'd watched over him…she gives them her silent blessing.

She knew just how lonely Malleus has always been, after all…

And in a way it reminded her of seeing Maleanor cooing over Raverne all those years ago.

And after doing so, she does begin to realize just how hard Irina had been trying to get Maleficia to like her, by studying the fae language, and trying very hard to familiarize herself with the customs, history and locations within Briar Valley. Even when faced with the disdain of the senate and any other prejudiced fae she encountered, she never once seemed to regret her choice to be with Malleus, nor did it make her want to stop trying.

Even as she observed her and came to learn more of the kind of person Irina was— a follower; fragile, in need of validation, but a good liar with an exceptional capability to read others— there was something a lot more genuine about her when she was with Malleus.

And the way Malleus smiles when Irina is present made her surprisingly popular with the castle staff from pretty early on. Holding onto someone so much smaller than him with so much tenderness and smiling so reverently at her made the previously intimidating Malleus Draconia a bit less intimidating to the staff which observed it.

Not to mention Irina was genuinely very grateful for every little thing a member of the staff ever did for her, always saying please and thank you, and speaking in such a way that her requests never came off as demands of any kind, and very understanding when someone was already busy.

Then, one year into Malleus and Irina's marriage, Irina wakes up to see she's holding onto an egg.

She herself has seen the egg of a Draconic fae before— the egg Malleus himself hatched from, even— in Lilia's dream…but it takes a moment for her to realize the implications of it. And she only does after she sees the dark magenta colored egg glow, as if pulsating, illuminating the tiny, tiny shape of a lizard-like embryo.

Gasping, she sits up, holding the egg gently in her arms.

She looks at Malleus, laying in the bed next to her, still asleep, then looks back at the egg.

This is their baby.

Hers and Malleus'. Their child.

They're going to have a child!

They're going to be parents!

They're going to be a family…

She wakes up Malleus while she keeps holding it gently in her arms. She's already crying when he opens his eyes. Seeing her tears, he shoots up to ask what's wrong. When he sees what she's holding…he's in shock. For a long while, he just stares, all the while Irina tries to babble out possible explanations through her tears of joy, which just won't stop flowing long enough to let her finish a coherent sentence.

When reality, and his emotions, finally catch up with him, and he realizes what this egg is, and what it means…

He starts to cry, too. He embraces both of them very gently, lifting Irina into his lap, and holding both her and egg as close as he possibly can. While he cries, he whispers declarations of gratitude into the top of her head, keeping one hand on the egg the whole time.

She starts crying even more; louder. She leans her head against his chest and holds the egg closer, meanwhile he does the same, curling his entire body, as well as his tail, around the two. Around his family.

Evidently, the crying heard from the royal couple's room that dusk alerted nearby guards, as well as the servants meant to bring their breakfast, who promptly opened the door to investigate, fearing something may have happened.

When they enter to see the two crying in each other's arms, both are still too emotional for words.

But the news spreads quickly through the castle, and later, the whole realm:

Briar Valley has an heir once more.

Draconic fae are so close to extinction because of how rarely they have children. So this, an heir, after having been married for barely a year, is exceptional.

When she found out that the senate wanted to take her baby away from her, without even thinking about it, so overcome with emotion, she spat out:

"Over my dead body!"

"I'm their mother. I need to hold them. I need to keep them warm…!"

Throughout the entire incubation period, Irina refuses to ever let go of the egg. Or if she has no choice, never goes further than a single meter away, always placing the egg on a soft surface, and never letting go for longer than 5 minutes. And she REFUSES to let anyone who is not her, Malleus, Lilia or Silver touch it. Sadly for him, that does mean Sebek isn't allowed to. Though she prefers no one but her and Malleus holding the egg if at all possible.

Who is and isn't allowed to touch it is purely a vibe check on Irina's part, her instincts deciding who is/isn't safe. And sadly, Sebek still reminds some deep, instinctual part of her a bit too much of her father for him to feel 'safe'. Though some part of this can definitely be attributed to 'first-time-parent jitters', since she doesn't end up feeling quite this level of overprotective, paranoid anxiety for the rest of the children in the future.

And Malleus, while he can't be there for every single second, takes as much time as the senate will allow him to be with the two of them. And they both make sure to talk to the egg very often, to make sure their child learns their voices. Some might say that it's just an egg…but Malleus knows Malina can hear them. And the way she glows in response to them definitely seems to indicate so, too. They even sing it to sleep together every night.

The result of this is little egg-baby Malina being spoiled from all sides by an almost overwhelming amount of love directed at her at all hours of the day.

So perhaps it shouldn't be too surprising, then, when she starts to hatch— much, much earlier than what would typically be expected for a draconic fae.

She hatched on the second anniversary of their wedding. Irina, having historically always hated summer, for once had a good memory of it. And now that she associated summer not only with the worst day of her life, but also one of the best, the whole season became more bearable. Finding out Malleus intended for their wedding to be in the summer for this exact reason…Irina felt so overwhelmed by her love for Malleus, and his love for her, that she started crying tears of joy.

And that was the precise moment baby Malina picked to escape from her shell.

Malina may not have looked like a human baby, but that did nothing to stop Irina seeing her for the first time and some deep instinct of hers recognizing 'that's my baby'. And despite not having gone through any biological process, her body also seemed to recognize it, as her breasts had started producing milk not long before Malina hatched. Even if they hadn't, Irina would be VERY firm that she would not have any kind of nurse maid. She would feed her own child no matter what, even if it was just from a milk bottle.

They hadn't discussed names much beforehand. But seeing Malina's little purple eyes, it reminded her of a raspberry. And somehow, of one of the few Bulgarian words her own mother had taught her.

Holding the little purple-eyed dragon in

And so she was named Malina. Raspberry.

Holding Malina for the first time, Irina could never understand why or how her own parents treated her the way they did. Because Irina knew that she would do anything for Malina. From now on, nothing would ever feel more important to her than making sure her daughter was well-fed, well-rested and happy, and that she grew up well.

Then, very quickly after Malina's hatching, another egg appears.

And literal weeks after that one has hatched, they discover Irina is pregnant. As in, carrying a child the human way.

And soon the halls of castle Draconia, which had stood quiet for nearly four hundred years, are filled with the pitter-patter of three pairs of tiny feet.

And when Mallory was around 10 months old, one day, when she was feeling bad for no reason she herself could discern, but was just hiding it like usual, Malina and Malachi suddenly came to lay on her lap and her stomach while she was nursing Mallory. She pet both their heads like she always did, and smiled, feeling her chest becoming lighter. Then Malachi asked her why she was sad.

That almost froze her in place. Petting his head again, she asked why he thought she was sad. And all he said was that 'Mama feels sad. When Mama sad I'm sad.'

It made her think of when she herself was a child, and noticed her own parents feeling bad…and just how sad and helpless it made her feel, too.

Was that what she was making her own children feel?

And that planted an idea in her mind. That maybe, in order to properly take care of and raise her children, she needed to get better. Though, she was hesitant for a while, not even knowing where or how to start, or if there was anyone she even could go to about it.

And no matter the previous disdain toward Irina, the people of Briar Valley had to admit…three heirs after not even five years of marriage was nothing anyone could hold against her.

Briar Valley's future was now more secure than it had been in hundreds of years.

And though it could never have won over everyone, most would agree that, after that, there was little argument anyone could raise against her which merely a reminder the three royal children would not immediately counter.

After having discussed it with Malleus, Lilia, Tomoe, Jamil and Ruggie, once her three oldest children were at the age of being tutored, meaning she had more time to herself again…she ended up deciding that…she wanted to go to therapy of some sort.

She was really, really scared. Especially with the fact that, being a literal Queen now, she was worried she wouldn't even be able to find a therapist who wouldn't make a big deal out of it.

Overall, she just did not know what to expect from therapy, having never gone before.

She was at least happy when her therapist— who was from the Sunset Savannah, whom she got in contact with thanks to Tomoe and Leona— didn't pressure her to talk about things she didn't want to.

Around 40 years and a total of EIGHT children later, and the Briar Valley line of succession VERY secure, even the senate finally gives in and stops trying to give her a hard time. Begrudgingly.

The vibe is definitely the lyrics to 'you'll be in my heart' by Phil Collins:

"Why can't they understand the way we feel? They just don't trust what they can't explain I know we're different, but, deep inside us, we're not that different at all...

Don't listen to them, 'cause what do they know? (What do they know?) We need each other, to have, to hold They'll see in time, I know We'll show them together"

Also this is what I imagine future Irina to look like

(Would wanna design a new dress for her tho bc this was just a design I came up with randomly and I no longer like it. And GAH WHY DO I ALWAYS FORGET SHE COVERS UP HER ARMS AND HANDS DUE TO HER SCARS— But I would still wanna keep her having 'horns' as part of her ensemble)

But the very important part is that I want her hair to be short! I've always found that, Irina just seems more confident when her hair is shorter

It's a lot easier to take care of, so ends up looking less messy. It's a metaphor— if something is too much to take care of (her very long hair) it's better to just scale it back.

But by far, their most cherished time together were their golden years.

Many, many centuries after that night they first met, both old and grey, having long since given the throne to their oldest daughter.

They got what they'd always wanted. Someone who loved them enough to never leave. Someone they could grow old with.

They endured the loss of many dear friends over the years, sadly a consequence of their long lifetimes, and made many more. Things changed around them constantly, especially the older they grew, the faster change seemed to occur around them.

The one thing that never changed was the weight and warmth of their clasped hands. They, and their love, remained forever timeless.

Upon their death many, many years in the future— which occurred on the same day, at the same time, wrapped in each other's arms, after which they were buried in the same coffin— a statue was made of the two. It depicts the two of them, nestled close to each other, bodies lovingly entwined, with serene expressions on their faces. The plaque beneath reads:

「King Malleus [year ? to ?] and Queen Irina [year ? to ?] - "Undying Eternal Love - Forever One Heart - In Life, Death, & Beyond"」

With just how entwined they were in every facet of their lives, there are no historical accounts of one that fails to mention the other. They come as a pair, so entwined that, should you write about one, it's impossible to not include the other, and sacrilege to try. It's even said that if you speak the name of one and do not add 'and Irina/Malleus', lightning strikes.

Even in death, they will never be alone again.

Tag list: @another-random-paradise @thehollowwriter @faefum @cactus13-rolloflammesimp @beneathsakurashade

@nyx-of-night @theolivetree123 @babyghoul138 @skibidibabygirl @screamintoad

@gingacat @buttholesparkles @scint1llat3 @jadelover69 @angelwishess

@crimsonrose34 @nerenda @chillygourami @kirans-wonderland

Please let me know if you ever wanna be added or removed! ^^

[getrex2create]

Camp Academy (Chapter 1/?)

Word count: 2422

It was the first day at Camp Academy, a camp known for a specialized academic structure for gifted children and a small camper-to-counselor ratio. The camp is located in a plot of woods on the edge of the river dividing Piltover and the Undercity, making up a beautiful scenery and unique staff as many of the councilors are from the Undercity, with the bonus of their children attending the camp for free, making for a diverse group of children.

The creator of the camp is none other than the head of Piltover Academy, Hiemerdinger, who takes great pride in his role as camp leader and educator of most of the science lessons. That of which he was working on at the same moment his latest arrival to the camp drove up the dirt path, catching his attention. 

He watched constantly as a woman got out of the driver's side door, making her way to the back, grabbing bags from the trunk while calling out to the young boy who was seemingly slumped in the back seat. At the call, she seemed to get the attention of a staff member, one of the newer hires, if he remembers correctly, Sevika approached with professionalism, taking the bags as the mother retreated to the back seat of the car, attempting to tempt the child to exit the vehicle. After a few moments and a hug, the boy made his way out, holding tightly to his mother's hand as they followed after Sevika who was quickly approaching his office.

In a snap, as Heimerdinger realized he was staring, he tidied the papers on his desk and opened one of the drawers, revealing a slew of filed manila folders, pulling out the one labeled Jayce Talis, the presumingly last camper’s paperwork needing to be filled out. Just as he closed the drawer, the door opened, revealing Sevika, followed by the mother and son.

“Hey Boss, got the new admission,” Sevika stated bluntly, sidestepping for Jayce and his mother to enter the office. “Thank you very much Sevika! If you wouldn’t mind, would you please take Mr.Talis’s thing to where he will be staying while we finish up on the paperwork, jargon? If that is okay with you, Mrs. Talis?” Hiegmerdinger said, ushering the duo in to sit in front of his desk, looking back at Mrs. Talis for permission. “Yes, that will be fine, thank you, and please call me Ximena,” Ximena said to Sevika before turning to Hiemerdinger as the door closed.

Jayce sat nervously, playing with his hands before promptly playing them under his legs, taking in the room. It was relatively small as the walls were lined with an assortment of shelves and pictures, most of it was handmade things from previous campers as well as memorabilia from the camp. The room smelt of sunscreen and dust and an air conditioner roared as it combated the summer heat. As he looked around, his eyes kept glancing back to the bowl of fidgets on the old man's desk. Jayce quickly noticed that Hiemerdinger noticed his eyes darting away from the bowl.“You may play any if you wish, Mr.Talis, that is what they are there for.” Hiemerdinger said, reaching over to the desk, and happily pushing the bowl closer to the boy. 

Jayce quickly grabbed the one on the top of the pile that ended up being a Rubix cube as he grabbed the toy, he quickly glanced down as a shadow from under the desk caught his eye. “So Mr. Talis as your mother fills out the final paperwork why don't we chat about what you'd like to accomplish while you are here,” Heimerdinger said causing Jayce to whip his head up and looking at the counselor before darting his gaze to his mother who only nodded reassuringly as she scribbled on a sizable packet fastened on a clipboard.

“Okay,” Jayce said, adjusting himself to be sitting cross-legged on the chair as he rotated the pieces of the cube. “Amazing, why don't we start with your favorite subject in school,” Heimerdinger asked. “I'm good at gym.” Jayce stated, dully “I'm glad you're good at it, but do you like it?” “Not really, school doesn't really teach the stuff I like” “Then what do you like? What is your favorite thing?” Hiemerdinger asked playfully, causing Jayce's eyes to spark. “Magic! And astronomy and the science behind magic!” Jayce exclaimed, causing his mother to huff in amusement. 

“It's really cool, I have a ton of books at home on all the different types and even from different parts of the world. I even got into these books over the school year, where it's about a school that is all about teaching magic, it was really good!” Jayce rambled. “Ah yes, I believe I’ve read that series-” “Really!” “Yes, we have a few copies here, I've had multiple students do presentations on it before, so I had to see what all the fuss was about. Now I have a personal copy on my shelf back home,” Hiemerdinger recalled as Jayce sat in awe. 

“I guess that leads me up to my usual spiel, here at Camp Academy we strive to teach at each camper's individual pace using their interests in their specific curriculum with their own set goals. Using academics, physical activities, and the arts, we sculpt new ways to learn in and out of the classroom. Summed up, we make it fun to learn.” 

With that Ximena stood, “Well I think that's my cue, you're going to have so much fun here Mijo.” She said Jayce, quickly getting up to hug her. “Do you have to leave?” Jayce whispered, holding tight. “Remember what we talked about, you'll be fine, you'll make so many friends and have so much fun and learn so much then before you know it it'll be time to come home,” Ximena said, kissing the top of his head. 

Jayce slowly loosened his grip before pulling away, rubbing at his eyes. “Promise?” “I promise,” Ximena said reassuringly before ruffling Jayce's hair. “Bye, mijo I'll send so many letters and send snacks I promise.” She said with a wink before making her way out the door. Jayce watched from the window as his mom eventually made it to their car and drove away. 

“Well, Mr. Talis, how bout we get you started with a tour? Viktor, why don't you join us?” Hiemerdinger said, slowly tilting his head to the side to look under his desk. Jaycees face flushed in confusion, quickly he tried to peek over the desk, hoping that the camp counselor was talking to a dog. He slowly circled the desk and saw there was a dog bed but it was in fact not a dog but a boy. 

Before the boy could say a word, Jayce blurted out, “You're not a dog!” 

The other boy looked up from what looked like a boat. “I'm not,” he said. 

“Then why are you sitting in a dog bed?” Jayce asked pointedly, trying to recover from the outburst. “It's comfortable, I guess,” Viktor said, hugging his boat close, clearly uncomfortable from the attention. “Do I have to professor?” He said, quickly shifting his focus to Hiemerdinger.

“Yes, it will be good for you to get out of this stuffy office, come now,” Hiemerdinger said, ushering Viktor to scoot himself out from under the desk. “Is there anything we could get for your boat while we’re out?” he asked, ushering both himself and Jayce, giving Viktor room to get up.

At that moment, Jayce noticed the crutch that had been tucked up against the floor and the desk. As Viktor pulled it from under the desk, Jayce could see it was made of metal and had a multitude of stickers that were all in different stages of wear, and as he stared, he took in that the crutch looked worn with hints of rust on the bottom, and the handle was peeling. He watched as Viktor pulled himself up, slipped his arm into the forearm cuff and continued after Hiemerdinger through the door.

Jayce quickly realized he was being left behind and jogged to catch up. They continued through the building, passing by a few offices, then to a rec room, then making their way outside. Hiemerdinger had been speaking the whole time, explaining different rooms and the activities that occur, but Jayce couldn't take his eyes off the other boy. Every once in a while Viktor would glance back and Jayce would quickly look away, but his gauze just kept getting stuck.

It wasn't till they made it to a giant log building that Jayce was finally able to look away, compared to the blissful silence of the last building, this one was loud with voices and music, so loud they could hear it from outside. “And this is the Mess hall. It was built almost 120 years ago, it will be where most indoor activities will be held,” Hiemerdinger said, opening the screen door. 

Opening the door felt like a tidal wave as all the noise flooded out, making Jayce's grip tighten on the Rubix cube he just realized he had taken with him from Hiemerding's office by accident. As they stepped in and the door closed behind them, the girl from earlier, Sevika, approached them. “Got everything put away, the air conditioner is still being shoddy. Could you look at it quickly? She asked Hiemerdinger. “Why yes of course it shouldn't take too long, I'll be right back then back to the tour!” He answered, turning to the boys before darting off.

The two boys stood there in an uncomfortable silence, taking in the room of other kids playing. Jayce twisted the Rubik's cube and his gaze ended up back on Viktor and he realized that Viktor was much more tense. Maybe he's hot. He is wearing a hoodie, Jayce thought to himself, looking at the sweat on the other's brow. Viktor quickly snapped his head looking at him with a frown.

“Why are you staring?” Viktor asked to move his body to face Jayce.

This caused Jyce to flounder, not really knowing what to say, cause he didn't really know why he was staring. Maybe it was because the boy was so mysterious, he just had so many questions like why was he under the professor's desk or why was he wearing jeans and a hoodie in 80-degree weather, or why he used a crutch and why only one and- Oh shoot he's doing it again.

Jayce quickly pushed all the thoughts from his head, realizing that the other boy started to sink into his hoodie, becoming anxious about being ignored. “Sorry I didn't mean to stare, sometimes my brain gets super messy,” Jayce said, using his hand to demonstrate the chaos. “And sometimes I just blurt out stuff even though I don't mean to like about the dog bed and I sound mean but I'm not trying to be and I know you're not a dog and I'm really sorry.”

“It's okay,” Viktor said, looking through his bangs and smiling softly. “My head gets messy too,” he said looking down, grasping his crutch tighter. 

“Ah sorry to keep you waiting boys, why don't we finish the tour then Jayce you can take some time to get settled.” Hiemerdinger interjected. Both boys nodded before following after the counselor once more, wandering into each room and then to a few more buildings, then finally to the sleeping cabins. There were five cabins, four were for the camp staff and one big one for all the campers. When they entered the big one, Jayce immediately saw his stuff lying on top of one of the many bunk beds that lined the walls.

“Well, this is it, the end of our tour. If you have any questions, feel free to ask whenever, lunch will be at noon sharp, so meet back in the mess hall,” Hiemerdinger exclaimed, patting Jayce in the back. “Come now, Viktor, let's let the boy unpack,” he said to the other boy, ushering him towards the door. 

“Wait!” Jayce exclaimed, “Um, can Viktor stay to help me unpack?” He asked hesitantly. Hiemerdinger looked at the ceiling before shrugging his shoulders, “I don't see why not, just be back before noon, no dilly-dallying.” he said wagging his finger before taking his leave.

The two boys stand there for a moment before Jayce beelines towards his bed, Viktor silently following after sitting on the bed across from Jayce, pulling a book from under his pillow. “Woah there’s a goodie bag!” Jayce acclaimed. It was a tote bag with the camp’s logo on it, inside were a few shirts, a compass, a whistle, and a small baggie with a little wood bead inside. “Cool, did you get this stuff too?” He said, turning to Viktor and showing off the items. 

“Um, yeah, everyone gets stuff,” Viktor said curtly. “Sweet, um, what’s it all for?” Jayce asked, unfolding the shirts and looking at them in full. “Well, they want us to wear the shirts when we go on field trips or whenever we want, and decorate them however we want. The compass and whistle are for emergencies and the bead is for when we make bracelets. We get one each summer, we stay, I think they got the idea from a book series or something.” Viktor explained waving his book around.  

“Woah so you must have been here for a while,” Jayce said, grabbing Viktor’s wrist and inspecting the four beads entwined neatly with string, his gaze then shifted to the second bracelet on the boy’s wrist. “What’s this one for?” Jayce asked before thinking, causing them both to blush as they separated. “You ask a lot of questions,” Viktor stated 

Jayce flopped back onto his bed with a huff. “I know I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I just have so many that they are just piling up and I don’t know when or how to ask them right, I’m just gonna explode!” He exclaimed with his arms in the air. 

There’s a pause before Viktor speaks up, “If it would help, I can try to answer some of your questions,” “Really!” Jayce said, popping up. “Yeah, ask away,” Viktor said, laying back on his bed where they ended up talking till it was time for lunch. Jayce realized he put nothing away and promptly shoved it all under his bed before they both raced off to the dining hall.

______________________________________________________________

Let me know if y'all want more chapters- Rex

[anord]

ANORD: A Dissection.

BIG ASS LORE

This is just explaining how Anord as a character works. There will most likely be a sequel to this.

it is long, but it is worth it,,,, PLEASE READ IT I BEG

thank you

and without further ado, I present: I have been thinking about this guy for almost a quarter of my life wowza

For this to make sense you have to realize that there are thousands of people named Anord/Chaos (if you didn’t know- “Anord” translates to “Chaos” in Irish. A lot of character names/funky words I write are just google translated Irish, so if you want some more context, google translate it!!)

Today we are talking about the Anord you all know. 

Confirming this now: HE IS NOT HUMAN, HE IS NOT A GOD. Technically by this Daisy’s House lore requirements he would be considered a false god.

Anord is an entity made out of this green goopy stuff which SHOULD have a name (like how God Blood is called Ichor sometimes- i need a cool name like that!!) but for now it is just called Pure Chaos because that’s what it is! 

It is concentrated chaos. If something unexpected happens, it generates this energy called chaos. Whether that’s spilling milk or assassinating the president, it’s considered chaos.

Anord is MADE ENTIRELY of this stuff. He has no blood. He has no bones. He has no heart. He has his body of chaotic energy that he has collected for a LOOONG time. 

Time is weird in this universe, so please keep that in mind if you’re like “how is that possible??” with any of this stuff. We’ll get into Anord’s association with time soon

PURE CHAOS: its properties are strange. It’s almost the consistency of oobleck. It’s not quite liquid, not quite solid, depending on the concentration. This is why anord’s body is mainly solid!! Pure chaos is constantly shifting and changing, and can be manipulated by some. For now, only Anord has the power to manipulate it, but IF YOU WANT TO MAKE CHAOS OC’S PLEEEASE TALK TO ME ABOUT IT*!! Pure chaos is made by any living and non living being. So if the wind knocks over a flower vase, that is considered chaos. Storms are a great cause of chaos. It is not always man made, but it is most often made by humans. Pure Chaos can technically be harnessed and used by any being!! It is open for anyone to include this into their lore!! PLEASE TALK TO ME ABOUT IT THOUGH bc I don’t want to be the source of mary sues!! It can be powerful, but it does have limits!!

Anord’s main and practically only motive is to cause chaos. Why? Because he’s made out of it!! It makes him feel good! It’s a necessary part of his life! No chaos, no Anord. If he does not absorb enough chaos to sustain himself, his body will start to slowly eat at itself and disintegrate. This is why he is often shown to be malnourished and skinny (this is also due to other mental factors). 

This is why he likes hanging around Rose. He doesn't love her. HELL, he HATES HER!! He only sticks around because she’s easy to manipulate and is a great source of chaotic energy to feed on. 

Do not think of Anord as a human full of sin or a god above man. He is a parasite. He is a powerful parasite. He’s a selfish adrenaline junkie that wants to wreck everything and everyone.

TIME:

Anord and Time have a strained situationship. 

Anord - the body - is a fairly recent form created in the year 2000. Again, it was created out of Pure Chaos and can switch to different forms. More on that later.

Anord - the mind - was born long ago. I cannot talk about this due to spoilers!! 

Like I said before, there are thousands of Anords. One of these is the ACTUAL God of Chaos. They started the Earth. They are the cause of every single chaotic event in the history of the planet. They caused the Big Bang. Chaos created the universe. Before that, it was bleak nothing. Chaos (the god) created humanity indirectly. They created everything indirectly, really. Almost as if they built the track, the marble, and the hand and whispered to the hand to push the marble down the track. ANYWAYS Chaos (the god) likes to basically sponsor humans. Ever since humanity was made, there would be one human that would cause chaos that would catch the god’s eye and they’d basically attach to that human and watch them live, influencing their actions subtly. The Anord (mind) that you talk to every day was one of these humans long ago. He was the last.

The first was Eve. So technically speaking Anord is trans. I said it it's canon.

(Diversity win! The one that will destroy everything and everyone you know and love is genderfluid!)

Every time one of these humans would die, another would be born. This also goes for other gods in my universe.

So technically Anord as a whole has existed since day 1. Actually, a little before that.

Anord (mind) that you know is not that old. He is very young compared to the other souls in that vessel.

You heard me right. Every single person that Anord (the god) has overlooked is inside Anord (the vessel). Anord (the mind you know) is the one who talks the most as he is the one who created Anord (the body). Anord (the mind) had a different name when he was a human but he does not like to be called that. Treat it as a deadname. 

So not only is there Anord (the one you know) but there is Anord (Witch from the salem trials) or Anord (participant in the Boston Tea Party) or Anord (in his world war two era)

Basically if you can think of any time period, there is an Anord alive somewhere either chilling or fucking someone’s wife. 

THE BODY:

So now that we know more about Anord’s mental insides lets learn about his physical insides

Bro has no bones 💀

Pure Chaos is VERY hard to control. He has to have conscious effort to keep his body in human shape. When he’s not doing well, a lot of the times he locks himself in his room because he doesn’t have the effort for all of his cosmetic details (he goes bald :hearts:)

Another thing is that pure chaos HURTS LIKE HELL when you want to change forms. Imagine staying in one place for so long and then you have to rip all of your atoms away from their spot and rearrange them into something new. Yeowch. 

His body can be in 3 states basically.

FORM 1: goop

green

Jello + honey texture (thick and not opaque. Jiggly.)

Tiny (could fit in your hands if you cupped them together)

Adorable (just a little guy)

Nonverbal (Its mouth can only eat)

Really likes milk (it makes him grow)

A small little slime guy. He slides around and bites ankles. He only goes into this form when weak/wounded because he heals faster. This is what his form looks like when he doesn’t force it into human shape. 

FORM 2: egg

Human shape (from the outside it looks absolutely normal)

Literally just skin and outside bits (like eyes and teeth)

Just goop on the inside (no bones, organs, blood, nothing)

Green on the inside

He is in this form most of the time lately. I call this the egg form because he’s just a shell with slime inside. You can tell if he’s in this form if he bleeds/spits/cries green chaos goop. This form occurs when he puts all of his effort into his outside appearance. Why would he need to waste brain usage to form organs and bones and such when nobody’s gonna see that? He can function without those things. 

FORM 3: ooo you wanna be a human sooo baaad

Human shape

Has organs and innards and everthing

No green anywhere (except his eyeballs)

This is the form he’s mainly in when he’s strong enough. Basically an asshole human guy.