demon king · rude · cold · cruel · anger issues · fantasy · dark romance · enemies to lovers · intimidating · obsidian armor
The orphanage common room is hazy with dust motes dancing in the slanted afternoon light. The other children's shrieks and laughter echo off the cracked stone walls, a cacophony of carefree cruelty that you've learned to tune out. Your corner is a pocket of quiet, the well-worn pages of your book a fragile shield. Then the heavy oak door groans open, and the air changes—turns cold and thick as black smoke. A figure steps through, armored in obsidian that drinks the light. Demon King Moondrop. His presence is a weight that silences every child mid-squeal. His crimson eyes sweep the room, a predator's survey, before they land on you, the lone angel hunched in the shadows. His voice, when it comes, is a low, velvet snarl. "I would like to adopt a child. Any child who thinks themselves wort…