#● words from the prince || ic answered

[rexelectus]

● — || @tenebriism sent : “ i’m not giving up on you. not ever. ”

● — || Mornings were never his favourite time of day , but Iggy made them decent . Between the [ [ g e n t l e ] ] wakeups when the sunlight peeked through his curtains , to the the breakfast that was made just to how he liked it -- complete with sugared cereals , of course ! Though , kept to a minimum under Advisor guidance , he still took a win by adding [ [ h e a p s ] ] of sugar to his morning tea .

Slowly , Noctis worked on his breakfast while [ [ h a l f ] ] awake in his normal state . Their chatter was normal , quiet , but still pleasant as the two shared their morning routine together . It was simple , but , somehow , moments like these were always ones that the young royal wouldn''t change for anything in the world .

'These won't last forever . Iggy won't last forever .'

Like his thoughts were being read out loud , Ignis' voice cut through the loud sounds within his mind , causing his crystal blues to flicker up from his cup of tea to find warm , hazel green .

❝ I . . . never said you were going to give up on me . ❞

Noctis replied quietly as he slowly lowered his spoon against the edge of his bowl .

❝I know that's the oat you took when you took your role , Iggy . To this day , that's still . . . a big promise to keep . ❞

He shifted in his seat as the topic of [ [ h a r d ] ] conversations started to weigh on him . He wasn't ready for this conversation -- truth be told , he didn't think he would [ [ e v e r ] ] be ready for it .

❝ You sure you can handle it ? ❞

There's a slight hint of warmth in Noct's tone , but in his eyes . . . was a tinge of sadness . Every day he knows how much of a blessing it is to have Ignis in his life , and every day he remembers that his main job is to keep Noctis safe . . . meaning these mornings could abruptly end any moment .

[bunnwich]

Rituals☁️(Leona x Reader)

Leona is low on spoons after the Tamashina-Mina tournament and needs some attention. Also what better way for him to sneakily court his favorite creature?

Curated from my 200k+ words Leona x Yuu fic

Characters: Leona Kingscholar x Yuu!Reader (GN. No physical description for Yuu. Yuu knows massage therapy.)

Words: 3k, 3rd person

Notes: I saw a meme the other day about how: “Liberalism leaves people’s bodies when mental health starts to affect someone’s hygiene” and I thought of how the fandom used to treat Leona. Also, I really wanted to make the “he uses you as a pillow” cliche not icky. 

Tagging: @comingyourlugubriousness @nammanarin @twst-the-night-away @twstinginthewind @ephemii @the-monday-witch @anevilbunnyinthehat @stagefullofsilly @theshipthatneversetsail @patrioticarcreactor @ice-cweam-sod4 @beaniz @the-nightingales-song @efsstash @cyn-write @porcelain-animatronic @lowcallyfruity @bestmannequin2018 @h0rr0r-10ver-69

-

It was baffling enough of a request that Leona Kingscholar invited Yuu to his home, but even more so was the thing he asked of them now.

“What? Am I your servant now, too?”

“No, course not.” He seemed deeply offended at this implication, nostrils flaring in indignance while his ears flopped backward against his hair. “I’m…askin’ you.” His ears flipped back up as he took a step closer, awaiting their response.

“Wait. You're serious…?” Yuu asked with a crinkle of their nose.

“Please…?” The word was barely audible, the man’s green-eyed stare never breaking from theirs. “If you’d be so kind…” He smirked, putting on an air, propping a hand on his hip. It was a warm day at the palace and he donned a pair of loose linen pants and a matching cream-colored tank top, all embroidered with gold.

Yuu swayed their head back and forth while they considered the idea, unimpressed by the sudden “princely” act. What was he up to? They gazed down at the object in their hand as if it held the answer. Well, it wasn’t often that they heard that word from Leona Kingscholar. “Fine, okay.” 

Was it really such a big deal, brushing his hair?

–

The hammock below the two of them swayed with both their weights as they sat face to face, each teetering on each edge of the colorful canvas. Late afternoon light filtered through the stained glass over all the greenery of the palace gardens, gilding everything it touched. 

Sighing, Yuu made another move, leaning forward to grab another section of the dark waves from the man’s shoulder. They hadn’t even ended up using the brush much so far. The only thing it had been good for was hitting the man when he talked back. 

“Well, the good news is…I got most of it.”

On their way here, Yuu grabbed their bag, bringing it with them to the gardens. Luckily, they kept a few favorites with them at all times. A small vial of rosehip oil; that would work. It could be used for both skin and hair in a pinch. Removing the dropper from the bottle they dripped some more into their palms, rubbing them together before applying it to the end of the man’s loose curls.

“Stinks.”

Yuu couldn’t help but roll their eyes at him. “It’s just rose. It’s nothing compared to that eye-watering cologne you bathe in every day. They sighed, working it through his thick tresses in the silence, pulling it all through to the ends of each section. “...I shouldn’t really be brushing it when it’s all tangled like this, you know.”

“Tch, I know that,” He said indignantly, his lips pressing into a small pout, eyes downcast to watch them work. “Everyone just assumes my hair is like my brother’s…”

They pressed their lips together. “Hmph. Then do it yourself, next time, huh? ” Letting out a huff, they released the bushel of soft curls, the dark curtain falling over Leona's neck. His hair honestly wasn’t as bad as he had made it seem. It just needed some moisture and careful detangling.

“Naw, why would I…when you’re already doing it for me.” The man reclined forward, propping his elbow on the canvas. “Mmm.” He watched them move on to the next section, meticulously separating the frizz and smoothing it over with the oil. Releasing a small sound in his throat,  he stared up at them with lethargic eyes, seemingly in a trance. 

Yuu shook their head at his comment, knowing that secretly he was just eating up the attention.  Keeping their eyes down on their work, they were careful not to pull too hard on his strands.

Leona muttered something as his lids fell completely closed, the end of his tail tapping on the edge of the hammock by their knee. A steady drumbeat.

They took their time with the rest, with only the noise of a few birds calling and Leona’s occasional sigh or grumble. It wasn’t long before, their lids lulled down too. It was relaxing in a way, quietly detangling someone’s hair.

Every once and a while their eyes flitted to the man’s face, catching the little twitch of the corner of his lips. After Yuu was done the detangling, they pulled two equal parts of the bottom sections forward, trying their best to get them even. They stuck their tongue out while they focused, before braiding them as neatly as they could manage, in the way he normally wore them. 

“There, you look more like yourself...” Yuu shrugged when they were done, tugging on one of the braids, and making sure the man wasn’t actually asleep.  “Better?” They crossed their arms, raising a brow over at him.

“Yeah.” The man opened his eyes slightly, the edge of his mouth falling into a crooked, but satisfied smile. “You did good.” His voice crackled just like the way a warm fire would. Like the bonfires at Savanclaw. He may have been sincere, but everything Leona said was always dipped in just a little bit of patronization.

Yuu palmed him on the forehead, pushing his face away slightly before letting their fingers drift up to his scalp, moving some of the hair out of his face.

“Hm?” He questioned, shifting slightly, turning his head to look up at what they were doing.

“Are you uh- still having those headaches?” They began to work their finger into his crown, between his twitching ears, pressing gently down on a few familiar pressure points. “I have to tell you, I’m the best.”

“I always have a headache when you're around.”  He sat up erect, suddenly seeming full of energy, grabbing their calves and yanking them closer to him, practically into his lap. He kept going until the backs of their legs were hooked over his thighs. He chuckled in delight at their bewildered deer-in-headlights reaction. 

Yuu froze at his boldness, pressing their lips together into a pout as they stared up at him with blinking eyes. 

“Don’t be all shy, now. Prove it. I think I got a big one coming on.” He purred at them.

Still playing, hm? “Hmph.” They huffed out a breath at his shenanigans.

Leona didn’t let them get far though, keeping his lock around their ankles, leaning over to study their reaction. “Feel free to say no.” He released them, holding his hands up innocently. “...If you’re not up to the task that is.” A bit of his white fangs gleamed as his sneer widened, leering at them through his dark lashes.

“You-” Yuu stuttered, resigning themselves. They were falling for it. This is what Leona was best at: pushing others into “proving themselves” by gently prodding them from their comfort zone.

“Fine.” Saying nothing more, they only lifted their hands to evaluate him once more, taking in a breath before tracing their fingers down the sides of his muscular neck. 

Ah, the man seemed a bit surprised to see them agree, but he quickly masked it with another smug smile as he lifted his jaw to accommodate them.

Leona’s skin was much warmer than theirs and surprisingly smooth, his excited pulse fluttering under their fingers. “Hm. You are tense.” They muttered aloud, pressing their thumb into one of the hard muscles there. “That hurt?”

“Ack, what do you think? Beast…” He hissed, his ears lowering slightly, grabbing their wrist to stop them.

Yuu smirked, most people didn’t expect that kind of strength from them…until they gave them a chance to prove it. “Sheesh, sorry you big baby. I was just askin’.” They rolled their eyes and swatted his nosy hand away. This allowed them to focus again, laying their palms on both of his broad shoulders. 

They could see it clearly now, his shoulders were rounded forward, and his left side was higher–signaling to them he probably held more tension there.

The man was studying them again, one grumpy eye barely open. 

Yuu chuckled, no one expects how much it hurts. Though as much as they enjoyed hurting the man, they went in softer this time, gently kneading his shoulders and neck, before they bothered to poke him anymore. As they worked closer to his jaw, they became enveloped in his signature smell. Traces of cinnamon, hints of orange, and star anise lingered on their fingertips as they explored his exposed skin, taking care to not pull on the golden necklace that hung from his neck.

“How…did you know?” Leona asked through a groan.

 They had hit the right spot.

“The way you walk, for one. You know, with your head forward. For royalty…your posture is terrible, you know. You heard Vil. Anyways, I can just tell by feeling most of the time.” Yuu added, continuing to work on the tightest areas first.

“Tch, you’re one to talk,” He said through his groans, brown ears flopping to the sides as he began to relax into their skilled touch. “...I recall us both getting reamed by Schoenheit at those practices.”

“Hey, I’m not the one on trial here. You asked for my expert opinion.” They continued, reaching around to the back of the man’s neck to rub circles in the base of his skull, moving up into his thick hair.

Leona made a rumbling noise in his chest at this, letting his head nod forward until he went completely limp in their hands. Somewhere, between the ticks of both their breaths, he had slumped his whole weight on them. A whole lion in their lap.

“Mmm.” He nuzzled his forehead against Yuu's shoulder, moving his hand from their calf up onto their arm, running a finger across the loose thread of their sleeve.

Yuu tensed, the man’s warm breath tickling their neck. It felt a little surreal to think such a powerful mage lay against them now like an oversized house cat. It was sort of an honor that he felt so relaxed around them. Sort of. 

They shook their head, trying not to giggle, and straightened their back to accommodate the new weight. Yuu kept on working as if nothing had changed, ignoring the fluttering in their guts that his soft breaths over their cheeks stirred. 

After they finished with his scalp, they worked back down to his shoulders, grabbing both of them and twisting them to one side, signaling wordlessly for the man to turn around for them. The hammock squeaked as he rearranged himself and Yuu pulled his head down into the center of their lap.  

Some people they had worked on, like Jack, could never fully relax for them, no matter how many times they reminded him to. However, the oxymoron of man before them seemed to have no problem flopping over like a sleepy kitten, ready to be petted. 

Going by cat behavior, he had shown them his belly, a small sliver peeking from the edge of his top. Now, with a completely malleable lion in their lap, Yuu couldn’t help but smile. He was totally at their mercy, moving whichever way they pulled him.

Their fingers made their way up and down his neck shoulders and even a bit of his chest, respecting the barrier of his tunic's low neckline.

Every once in a while, Leona’s lips tumbled open with a deep rumbling sigh of relief, pressing himself in their touch with each stroke, seeming to crave more and more. Their face grew hot, some part of this felt…too intimate. No, no. It was just a massage, but the man’s touch-starved reactions were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

 It was only when Yuu’s fingers reached up to his jaw did Leona open his eyes once more.

As their fingertips settled on the sides of his face, his shoulders went stiff under their care, Leona’s pulse ramping up for the first time during the massage.  His jaw tightened as they brought their fingers up to the temples of his grimacing face, trying to soothe him. 

He couldn’t be nervous now, could he?

“You…hold a lot of tension in your face too,”  They said calmly, urging his head to the right side, “Especially your…jaw.” They moved down to press their thumb into his cheek, easily finding the small, rigid muscle on the left side of his face.

The man grunted, “Easy.” 

Yuu shook their head again and eased up some. “...Just breathe.” They sighed, rolling their eyes as they massaged his jaw. “That right there is probably a big culprit of your headaches, you know.”

“Hmm,” He replied thoughtfully, his face softening some at their more gentle method. 

Their fingers worked each side of his face some more, then trailed slowly up his nose, rubbing circles across his sinuses. When they made their way up to his “third eye” area they rubbed extra hard to make a point, trying to get him to relax once more. “Sorry, just trying smooth out that permanent wrinkle you got there…”

Leona scoffed, dipping his head back into their touch, and closing his eyes shut again. “Tch, yeah well, every time I come home to visit it ages me five years, so...” He chuckled.

Yuu let out a light chuckle too, taking the strokes they made on the man’s cheeks upward and into his hairline, brushing against his scar a few times.

Leona’s forehead creased, an uncommon expression gracing his usually stern or sarcastic face. His broad nose curled in discomfort and they could see his eyes flicker anxiously under his lids. He was even holding his breath.

“Hey…Just breathe I told you!” They repeated with another soft laugh. “It helps with circulation.”

“Mmph.” The man said nothing and grunted at them before exhaling loudly. They would have thought they were doing something painful to him by his expressions.

Yuu tilted their head, realizing exactly what this was all about. They cupped their palms around his cheeks before dragging the stroke up, one of their fingertips running over the edge of his scar again to test the theory. 

The skin was dryer there and slightly raised. It created extra pull whenever they went over it. But, besides that…it was no different than any other part of his face. The Leona Kingscholar couldn’t be self-conscious, could he? No one ever really commented on it, and it surely did nothing but, to quote Rook: add to his “handsome and rugged charisma.”

But, the more they thought about it, they could understand why he was so dodgy about it. A memory like that, couldn’t have been pleasant.

The more times Yuu went over it they sensed a strange pull of energy from the area, like deep space. They were sure it was something the man had buried deep, so he could convince himself that he didn’t remember what actually happened anymore. 

Can’t remember every little scratch, he said once. How many people knew the real truth, they wondered. Or if there were any legends behind it in the palace.

“You don’t have ta’ touch it.” The man blurted out, trying to keep a straight face. His lips pressed together hard before he feigned a usual smug grin. “Though, I know that you’re a professional and all.”

“Wha-” Yuu almost wanted to roll their eyes at him for how dramatic he was being but, they didn’t. 

 “And- Why…would it bother me?” They asked casually, continuing the face massage as normal.

“Hmph.” Leona let out a huff, one side of his mouth arching upwards into a small smile. “I…see.” When he opened his eyes again, they were shiny, reflecting the tree tops around them. “Not many people have uh-”

 “Feel better?” Yuu lifted their hands from his face as they finished, saving him from the awkwardness of elaborating further. They had seen plenty enough to know how relieved he was at their response. That was enough.

“Mmhm.” He answered, clearing his throat before sitting up to face them again, the whole hammock groaning in response.  “....Thank ya.” He muttered, reaching behind to rub the back of his neck. “Much looser now-”

Leona sighed, eyebrows curving up over his eyes. Then, all at once his gaze snapped up to them, taking them in from head to toe. In one smooth movement, he let his body settle down against theirs, his strong shoulder pressing against them. 

Yuu’s heart hammered against his, mirroring the same fervid beat. No, this was more than just hair brushing. They hadn’t considered the implications until this moment, those of beastmen courtship and personal hygiene that they had read about. The concepts were often interlinked. Sacred.

A hug? No, he was just still just staring at them now, inches away, like a cat ready to pounce. The usual slits of his eyes were dark pools of space, reflecting back their own baffled expression. 

Yuu swallowed. They were so gridlocked by his intense stare, it was hard to speak or even breathe with him pressing them so firmly to the canvas hammock. He seemed at odds with something, his worn gaze downcast. “W-What…what’s wrong, Leona?” They whispered through an unsteady chuckle, managing to keep their head.

“Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.” He whispered, letting his weight sink further into them. There was a peaceful smile on his face as he reached up to grab a section of their hair from behind their ear, twisting it between his fingertips, tail flopping behind him lazily.

It felt like they were being chosen for something.

“Wha-” Their eyes widened, it took them a whole 30 seconds to realize the man was braiding the pieces together, calm and methodical, like when he was arranging his pieces on a chess board. Part of the plan. It was obvious Leona knew how to braid hair but it was…surreal to behold it.

When he was done the corner of his mouth turned up more, creasing a dimple into his cheek. His eyes fixated on the sight of his results, he was so…proud of his work.

Yuu didn’t even have time to speak before he turned his head away, lying his cheek on one side of their shoulder once more. He had done it so casually as if he had done it a hundred times before and would do it a hundred times more.

They understand why he did it, the two of them were…a matching set now.

He chose them. Their heart squeezed as the man draped his arms around their waist, locking them in place once more as something shifted between them.

 Leona’s cocky air had all but dissipated. “...Is this okay with ya?” He muttered so softly they almost missed it. He was asking permission, asking if they would accept him.

“Oh um…Y-yes.” They let their arms fall around his back, tugging on the end of his curls as they held him. Yes, he was getting way too comfortable, but it was their fault for allowing it, right? Yuu laid their head on his, letting him know for sure that: yes, it was okay.

“Hey, I know you're not falling asleep right now.” They grumbled playfully, tugging on his hair and furrowing their brow. Meanwhile, they curled their legs around his torso like a koala as he held them tight, making sure there was no space between them.

They knew it was all a lost cause. He had set the board how he wanted. He would not let them go again, and they didn’t want him to.

“Shh,” Leona mumbled into their shirt, inhaling deeply. “ You’ve been real workin’ lately hard, right? Rest wit’ me.”

“But I-” Yuu yawned, their eyes watering some as they did. The action had forced their eyes shut. The breeze also was not helping, rocking them both gently inside the hammock.  “Fine. But just for a little while.” They breathed out, their own shoulders finally relaxing. Yuu’s head slumped over to gently bob against Leona’s. 

“You win…this time.”

The man only chuckled at their admission of defeat, a warm note buzzing against their chest. 

The last thing they saw was the colored glass of the greenhouse, filtering in pink light through the serrated leaves of the palm trees.

Leona’s sighs of contentment traveled through their body, as his warm fingers kneaded into their back. 

--

[lukie17]

Eloping with the LA&DS

Characters: Xavier, Zayne, Sylus & Caleb

🌟 Xavier 🌟

There was something mesmering about Xavier. His prince like mannerisms were a contrast to his jealous and possessive side. The perfect gentleman who wanted to have all of you, as if he were afraid that someone was going to take you away. Despite his inner turmoil, Xavier always gave you the chance to choose, to leave and come back as you pleased. Always waiting for you and when you always came back, he was over the moon.

You watch him sleep, the moonlight shinning in his lashes and face only made him look ethereal, like prince from a forgoten land. Moving closer to him, your hand draw the the line of his jaw, wondering how such peaceful man was one of the most lethal hunters. Everything about Xavier was a mystery, from his sleepiness to the way he always seemed to know more he let you know. And you were pulled like to a month to a flame, Xavier was everything you didn't know you ever missed.

As the prince opened his eyes, looking at the deepest part of your soul, a memory sparkled at the back of your mind. A distant voice that made a promise but it was never fulfilled, maybe that is why you said the words without a second thought.

"Let's elope and go to Uluru" Ulluru... What a curious place, you thought, but somehow it felt right.

His breath caught, Xavier quickly sit up, his lips almost over yours, in his eyes there was a hint of hesitation but also of hope.

"What did you say?" His voice almost above a whisper.

"Let's elope and go to Ulluru" your hands cuping his face "Xavier, let's elope. Let's be together...!!!!"

Tears fell from his face, like shooting starts but there was no sadness in them. Only a glimmer of hope and love. Xavier answered you by kissing you, his body caging you between his frame before pulling you. His hold gentle but firm, Xavier once had made the mistake of not reaching for you when he had the chance, and he was never going to make that mistake again.

Unknown to you, Xavier had now a reason to make to the next spring.

❄️ Zayne❄️

Zayne was a man of reason, of habits, everything had to be measured by a rule. He never let himself go nor give less than he could. Every single one of his plans was always followed by a strict rule, nothing came out of the spur of the moment. And when something out of his control happened, his approach was clinical, as if he had already had a plan.

But when certain Miss Hunter came to his life, he had to learn that sometimes it was okay to not have a plan, to enjoy moments that were chaotic but fun. Zayne had never a dull moment with you, you were the fire that drawn him in the middle of a storm. And for someone who's evol was ice, you certainly made him ignite from time to time, like you had just done.

His ears and neck were red, he took a sip of his excessively sweet coffee before asking you to repeat yourself. Mischievous as you were, you leaned forward, stealing one of his macarons, you were torturing him.

"Let's elope" you bit the dessert, cringing at how sweet it was "Let's run away, Zayne, just for one day. Let's not be Doctor Zayne nor Miss Hunter"

His rational side wanted to fight, bring you to your senses, but his heart? His heart was screaming, and his mind following the beat of his heart remembering that the had all of your important documents stored in his laptop. In an attempt to gain some sense of control, Zayne took what remain of the macaron and eat it, in the process taking your cup and drinking it as if it were his own.

There was nothing measured in your offer, and Zayne found himself craving into it. His mind already making plans about where you could to. The silence made you felt anxious, afraid of making some kind of mistake, but his reassuring voice grounded you once again.

"If we leave now, we might be able to arrive on time for the next train" His hand reaching yours and placing a kiss on your ring finger "Are you ready, my love?" For a man with ice for evol, he knew how to melt your heart.

Standing up from your place, you pulled him up, your legs already finding the way to the exist. The snowman behind you, smiling at your excited figure. How would know that a man like him would end up which such a treasure?

His devotion to you might never be able to take form in words, but his actions would always his heart. Zayne prayed that nothing would take you away from him, prayed that the sudden chill at the tip of his fingers would be ingored by you. Zayne would fight fate if needed to be by your side.

🐦‍⬛ Sylus 🐦‍⬛

There was nothing ordinary about this man. His mind always thinking about how to get the upper hand, but this time you managed to overpower him by just asking one phrase.

"Elope with me"

It was not a question nor a request. His usual playful banter died as his eyes landed on yours. There was not a single trace of doubt nor foolery in the eyes he loved to stare at. Only devotion and pure raw love. Sylus chuckled and take your hands in his.

"Are you sure, kitten?"

Sylus was giving you away out, he wanted to give you that option. His life was one marked with danger, that was all he knew, the risk , the thrill of doing something that could take his life any second now. You were a hunter, righteousn, pure and unique, and yet you chosed to love someone as twisted as him.

A kiss was your answer, the devotion in your eyes shined more that everything he could wish for. Sylus let himself loose in the way your lips captured his, savouring the warm before pulling away.

Thirty minutes later, you were riding his private jet. Sylus new about a place where no one would ask questions, the two of you will be just lovers who ran away. He saw you sleeping the way there, as if the thing you asked for was no big deal, as if you hadn't ask him to give himself away to you.

Sylus was finishing wrapping things up, Luke and Kieran would be taken the N109 zone, and with those two everything would be handled until your rendezvous have ended.

But you forgot something about Sylus, he liked big things, he was a man that was prepared for everything. His contacts on the island he knew, you would be free on where already working on a small venue. And the scarlet wedding dress that he had bought a weeks ago was already making his way there.

Sylus wondered how would you react to the dress. A dress he had tailores just for you, not that he had planned to give it you, it was spur of the moment think he ordered after he saw a tailor did. He had paid handsomely for that dress, so you would be the only one wearing it. But he never thought that you were only be wearing it for him alone. The drool of your face made Sylus chuckle, wondering his silly kitten had asked him to elope.

🍎 Caleb 🍎

It was a lazy afternoon and due to the injuries he had received during his last mission, Caleb was able to spend time in Linkon with you. Since it was a perfect day, Caleb had decided to go a picnic with you, now you were resting under a tree. His arms crossed behind his head while you were laying at the top of him, listening to his hearth.

Some part of you wonderer what would it be just to have a simple life, one where wanderers nor ever existed. One where your life was not at danger nor Caleb had to act as your human shield. Maybe he could have been a chef and you could have been something else, an artist, a lawyer or even a teacher. But the cold contact if his robotic arm told you that life could never be.

But maybe for one afternoon you could play pretend, you could go back to the times you and Caleb played at being mom and dad. Maybe you could go back at those times for weekend, a sudden rush of adrenaline pumped in your veins, and Caleb could feel it.

Before he could asked you what was happening, you raised and sat on him. Your hands holding his face before kissing him, there was no lust, just pure love that you felt for him. Caleb melted under your touch, you really having wrapped around your fingers. You almost laughed at the whimper he let out when you broke away, tracing his lips with your fingers you gave him no time to act.

"Marry me, Caleb. Let's elope"

His cheeks turned red, this was the first time he had showed you such expression, it was cute seeing him like this. Kissing him again, you hoped that he could understand that you were serious, you wanted him in the same way he wanted you.

An unknown cold slipped through your finger, you broke away, but instead of whimper there was a laugh. Caleb had used his evol to slip a engament ring, it was the most beautiful ring that you have ever seen, similar to the one you had draw so long ago.

"Fits just right in" he chuckled before pulling you for another kiss, this time spinning you around and pinning you behind him. He peppered your face with kisses, shock still present in your mind "I made myself" he whispered "This is my answer, pips" Then he pulled you with his evol, making his way to the exit.

"How long have you had this?" Your arms moved to his neck. Leaning into his warmth "It's perfect"

But he did not answer. How he could tell you that he had ring ever since the both of you turned eighteen? Hoping for the chance to ask you out and then ask you to be with him forever. Caleb was twelve when he realize that he wanted to be with you forever, that is why he always tried to best with you, there were other women out there but you were the only one for him.

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part thirty: daniel

word count: 6.5k (the longest yet!)

warnings: the chapter contains violence and gore. reader discretion is advised.

twenty-nine | thirty | thirty-one

“It’s an ambush! You guys need to get out, now!”

It hit like ice in the chest.

Lando didn’t flinch, but Max tensed beside him. Across the space, Yuki caught the movement, eyes narrowing.

“Something wrong?” Pierre asked, still smiling.

Lando didn’t answer. His hand had already shifted slightly inside his coat, fingertips brushing the handle of the gun holstered at his side. His gaze swept the site—not panicked, but fast and sharp. Calculating.

He saw it now. The strategically lengthy tirades, the disproportionately coy smile, the knives hanging from Tsunoda’s belt. The very way Pierre had come crawling out of the woodwork so many years after the two of them knowing each other, bearing grand promises of riches and partnerships one random night as if by some happenstance of the universe.

It had been clean. Too clean.

They’d been setting him up from the start.

For a second, there was silence.

A beat where everything held still—where the unfinished beams of the club echoed with the sound of wind and the faint hum of construction generators. Where the world hesitated.

But the moment Oscar’s warning hit his ear, Lando knew it was already too late to leave clean.

And then—

Gunfire cracked through the air like a whip.

Chaos shattered the night.

He didn’t move a muscle—but Max did. A flicker of instinct. He reached beneath his jacket just as the first gunshot cracked like thunder, shattering a window high above them. Concrete dust rained down like snow.

Max Fewtrell was the first to move, shoving Lando sideways behind a stack of cement bags just as bullets ripped through where he’d been standing seconds before. Lando rolled, coat flying back as he drew his weapon, ears already ringing with the sudden roar of violence. He could hear yelling—Pierre barking orders in French, someone screaming from the upper levels, the grinding roar of an engine kicking to life from outside.

Max was crouched low beside him, already firing back.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, reloading with quick, trained hands. “This is a setup. Gasly sold us out.”

“No shit,” Lando snapped, voice tight. He pressed a finger to his earpiece, voice low but sharp. “Oscar—”

“I’m– I’m pinned,” Oscar replied, breathless, the sound of a sniper rifle clattering. “They knew I was up here. One on the roof, at least. Maybe two?”

The space proceeded to explode into chaos.

From the shadows behind the scaffolding, two men emerged—automatic rifles raised. Ocon opened fire, bullets chewing into the rusted metal frames just a few feet from Lando’s head. Max shoved him hard behind a steel beam, returning fire in tight, disciplined bursts.

Another shot. 

Closer this time. 

Sniper–?

No, two of them. 

Oscar was pinned.

Lando’s voice was calm in the comms. “We’re lit up. I want eyes on every goddamn angle. Now.”

Outside, Logan heard it and reacted instantly. Tires screeched as his car skid right to the construction fencing, engine still running as he jumped out with his Glock already in hand.

Pierre stood there, unmoved in the middle of it all, not flinching as bullets flew overhead. Just watching. A slow smile curling over his lips.

“I told you,” he said quietly, as Yuki ducked and slipped out of view. “Like old times, eh?”

Lando’s eyes narrowed.

“You dirty fucking bastard. You set this up!”

Pierre shrugged, the smirk never falling. “Hmm, well, not all the credit is for me.”

From the mezzanine above, another figure emerged—calm, tailored, hair brushed back like a goddamn crown prince.

Charles Leclerc.

The bastard walked like it was a catwalk, not a warzone. Confident. Inevitable. Behind him, his two brothers flanked him like twin lions, guns in hand, their eyes on Lando.

Charles’s voice rang out, cutting through the noise like a blade. “You are not stupid, Lando. You knew the drugs were not yours to touch. You thought your little poison had wings? Thought Noxium would not be noticed, would not clip into our market?”

Lando’s blood turned to ice.

The Leclercs.

This wasn’t just about territory. It was a message, a reckoning.

“Lando Norris, you made yourself a Reaper,” Charles said, tone dropping to something low and sinister. “Now I’m here to remind you who builds the coffins.”

Then, all hell broke loose.

Blood already smeared across one cheek, Logan crashed through the door like a thunderbolt, gun drawn, firing clean and fast. He shoved one of the Leclerc brothers – the younger one, Arthur– near the scaffolding before yelling, “They’ve got snipers in the east lot too. I knifed one, but there’s another crawling the perimeter!”

Another voice cut in—Carlos, gritting into his own comm, “We are three minutes out. Hold your ground.”

“They brought a whole bloody army,” Max spat, ducking behind a crumbling pillar. “What the fuck happened? What– What’d we miss?”

Lando’s eyes narrowed. His mind, even under fire, was already stringing the pieces together.

Pierre—too smooth, too cooperative. That sly grin, the way he stalled in the beginning. He hadn’t been offering a deal: he’d been buying time.

And now… now Lando understood why — Charles Leclerc.

He didn’t look rushed or angry. He looked like he’d been waiting for this – like he’d dreamed of it, like vengeance was a dinner he planned to eat slowly.

“Lando Norris,” Charles sang, casual as if greeting an old friend, a gun loose in his right hand as he searched to see where the response would sound from. There was something gleeful hidden in those dark eyes as he smiled, his accent curling like smoke. “You’ve been trespassing.”

Lando’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t touch any of your shit. I kept my hands to m’self.”

“You used to,” Charles said, walking closer to the sound of the Brit’s voice, hunting him down. “Clubs, casinos, protection—yes, those were yours. I left them to you, quite generous of me.”

Lando and Max panted under their breaths, exchanging a glance as they hear the sound of vintage Italian leather shoes echoing through the structure.

They did not come here to die today.

“But the drugs, Lando? Your precious Noxium? That’s our family’s lifeline. That was supposed to be ours. You knew that.”

A beat.

“You knew exactly what you were doing.”

And just like that, the game changed.

This wasn’t about territory. This wasn’t business. This was personal.

Pierre hadn’t betrayed Lando for profit. He’d done it for Charles. – the two of them childhood friends, tied in blood and sweat and secrets.

The entire fucking meeting had been a blood-stained invitation.

A time and place for the Reaper to bleed.

More of Lando’s men were beginning to come into view—Carlos barreling in from the back alley with Max Verstappen and Daniel Ricciardo at his heels. The air turned molten, full of dust and fire and bullet heat, as the fight exploded across the half-built club.

Lando didn’t flinch.

He stood up from behind the scaffolding, straining his stance, eyes locked on Charles across the smoke with a gun pointed directly at his face.

“You made your point,” Lando said. “Now let’s see if you can survive it.”

Carlos burst in through a side entrance, firing clean and close-quartered, and with Daniel Ricciardo coming in hot behind him. “They’re on all sides! There’s more behind the loading dock—three minimum!”

Oscar’s voice snapped through the earpiece, breathless: “I’m compromised! This idiot came for the high ground first—fucking amateurs, but I got my hands full. Someone need to cover Lando!”

Max reloaded beside him, jaw tight, knuckles bloodied. “We’ve got five minutes if we’re lucky. Less if the Leclercs brought every cousin they’ve got.”

Logan dragged a wounded shooter behind a stack of pallets and pressed Lando’s spare piece into his hand. “What’s the plan, boss?”

Lando stood, finally—face unreadable, coat streaked with dust, his hand steady on the grip of his weapon. His eyes locked with Charles’s above.

“You wanted a Reaper?” he growled, voice low and lethal. “You’re about to meet him.”

Gunfire erupted through the half-constructed club, lighting up the darkness like a battlefield. The acrid scent of gunpowder mixed with the heavy, oily stench of fresh concrete and steel, filling the air with a metallic tang. Every corner was a potential trap, every noise a chance at death. Shadows flitted across the space, their movements quick and deliberate. The chaos was alive, its pulse thumping in time with the gunfire.

Carlos crouched low behind a hole in the drywall, his hands working fast and fluid as he reloaded, exchanging one clip for another. The sharp, precise motions were second nature—no hesitation, no mistakes. Daniel, grimacing in pain, leaned against a load-bearing column to catch his breath, blood beginning to stain his shirt.. Still, his finger never left the trigger, a smug grin permanently etched into his face, like he was still having fun.

Across the battlefield, Yuki’s voice crackled over the opposing team’s comms. The orders were clipped, cold, spoken in rapid Japanese. They were well-organized, methodical—an efficient machine moving in perfect synchrony.

But Lando’s men were just as sharp.

Lando finally backed Charles into a corner, smirking as he pulled the gun from his holster. Charles was a smart enough man with enough experience to recognize that glimmer in the obsidian of Lando’s eyes.

It was the call of death.

A sign of the true Reaper.

For a split second, everything went quiet. Around them, the usual chaos felt like it slowed, or at least faded into background noise. The silence was only a moment, a breath, but it was enough to make the hairs on the back of Lando’s neck rise. It was the calm in the storm, the strange lull that only ever happens in real fights—everything paused for that single heartbeat.

Somewhere around him, he could identify the distant sounds of Logan holding the line at the loading bay, steady shots ringing out from his position. Oscar, with what was probably a broken rib, was still picking off targets from above, his shots sharp and deliberate. Daniel and Carlos surveyed in overlapping circles, ready for the next of their attackers to come from almost any direction. Max Verstappen had his hands full, the sound of each merciless blow Pierre received echoing through the surrounding structure.

Logan. Oscar. Daniel. Carlos.  Max Verstappen.

Max.

Max.

Where’s Max?

That was when Lando Norris made his only mistake. He glanced beside him to check for Max Fewtrell – just a flick of his eyes, barely noticeable at all.

But it was enough.

From where he stood, Charles Leclerc saw it instantly. It wasn’t much—a small crack, a human moment, the briefest flicker of emotion. 

But it was too late for Lando to take it back.

“Go for him,” Leclerc barked, the command bellowing even from where the Monagesque stood cornered. “The one he looked at!”

Instantly, both Lorenzo and Arthur Leclerc turned and began flanking from the left. Yuki Tsunoda circled from the right. The rest moved like a pack of wolves, closing in with a singular focus.

Lando’s stomach dropped.

“Shit– Fewtrell!”

Max had just ducked back into cover when he noticed the incoming attack. The men moved with precision, intent on isolating him, forcing him into a corner.

Without a second thought, Lando moved. He slid behind a piece of cover, coming up just enough to fire two quick shots— forcing Gasly’s rookie to drop to clutch at the new gaping wounds in his thigh. Lando sprinted, reaching Max just as bullets began to ping off the exposed rebar behind them.

Max coughed, wiping dust from his face. “Just for me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Lando shot back, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him closer towards Logan’s position. “Get moving. Don’t stop.”

They barely made it to safety. Barely.

But Lando wasn’t done yet. He was hit—a baton crashing into his ribs. He hadn’t seen Lorenzo closing in. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, sending him crashing back against the cold concrete floor. Pain exploded through him, but there was no time to dwell on it.

Bootsteps. One set, then another. 

They were too close.

Lando blinked through the haze of pain, looking up just as a shadow fell over him. The silhouette of a dark figure, the distinct profile of his Monagesque rival with his pistol raised.

Ready.

For a heartbeat, Lando’s world slowed. The figure took a fraction of a second too long, but it was enough.

Then, instinct took over.

With a brutal twist, Lando wrenched a utility knife from his boot and drove it into the man’s calf. There was no finesse – just raw, brutal violence. Charles screamed in agony, and consequently,  his grip on the gun faltered.

Lando knocked the weapon away with a vicious swipe, rolling to his feet, grabbing the gun as it fell. Two rounds rang out—straight into the man’s vest. Another figure lunged from the side. Lando ducked, the movement fluid, his elbow slamming into the attacker’s ribs before he shot him down, quick and efficient.

It wasn’t quiet enough.

A bullet ricocheted off the metal overhead, only narrowly missing Lando’s head. The noise echoed in his skull, ringing in his ears.

Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the blood—his own, someone else’s. His arm shook, barely holding onto the gun, but he didn’t lower it. 

Not yet. Not until they knew.

Lando stepped back, firing two shots into the ceiling—loud, commanding.

The message was clear.

Back. The. Fuck. Off.

The remaining attackers hesitated, then one by one, they began to pull back, retreating beyond the skeleton of the unfinished building like rats scurrying for cover. Lando blinked, and Charles Leclerc was already gone.

Oscar’s voice crackled in his ear, rough and breathless. “They’re, uh– They’re clearing. We can pull back now.”

Slowly, carefully, the team began to regroup. Every move felt like a struggle. The adrenaline was still coursing through their veins, but they were all battered, bruised. 

Alive, if only just.

Even as they watched their adversaries disappear into the night, the air still crackled with the aftershocks of violence.

Carlos was the first to lower his weapon fully. His face was split open at the brow, blood crusting in a jagged line down the side of his temple. His shirt, ripped at the sleeve, clung to him like a second skin. He exhaled shakily, then staggered to one knee beside the busted crate he’d used for cover.

Oscar emerged next—limping, rifle slack in his grip, sweat-soaked curls stuck to his forehead. His mouth was a hard line, his eyes unreadable behind the dim flicker of overhead bulbs that hadn’t stopped buzzing since the first shot. He didn’t say anything. Just sat down against the nearest concrete pillar and pressed the heel of his palm into the ribs he’d likely cracked during the fight.

Logan was the last one in.

He slid in through the back corridor, bloody knuckles and bruises blooming along his arms like mottled paint. There was a cut just beneath his jaw that he hadn’t bothered to wipe. “I got two of ‘em,” he muttered, voice gravel. “Lost one. Maybe.”

No one answered.

Max sat crumpled on the ground, elbows propped on his knees. He kept his head down, hands open in front of him like he wasn’t sure what to do with them now. His shirt was half torn, the side of his face swollen and bruised. One of his fingers was bent at an odd angle, but he didn’t seem to have noticed yet.

Lando stood at the edge of it all, his black pistol still in hand, his shirt torn at the collar, his left cheekbone already beginning to turn a shade of yellow. His breathing was steady, but his pulse was loud enough to feel in his teeth. He hadn’t spoken since the last shot fired.

The silence between them was almost reverent, but it wasn’t quite relief yet.

Carlos coughed, winced, and forced himself upright. “Everyone—?”

Oscar glanced toward the far corridor. Then shook his head, once, sharply. “No one else came in after us.”  

Logan’s lips parted, but he didn’t ask the question they were all thinking. He didn’t have to.

There were five of them here.

Just five.

Lando still hadn’t moved. His eyes scanned the wreckage—the spent shells littering the ground, the smear of blood across the broken wall, the shape of his own shadow in the flickering light.

He finally turned toward the group. His expression was quiet and composed, his eyes dark. 

No one spoke for a while.

The dust settled like ash around them, and all they could hear was the distant thrum of city life bleeding back into the broken building—the sirens, the grind of tires, some fuckin’ bird chirping in the aftermath of what felt like a warzone.

Lando drew a breath, and it tasted like copper and regret.

His palm was still stained with someone’s blood. Maybe his, maybe not. Everything felt too wrecked to tell.

He turned.

Carlos was seated now, his head leaning back against the unfinished wall, his arm slung across his torso with a long-sleeve shirt acting as a makeshift bandage. His lip was split, those large brown eyes of his glassier than his boss had ever seen them. But he gave Lando a weak thumbs-up when their eyes met, and Lando didn’t have the heart not to give him a small smile back.

Carlos, who could’ve gone anywhere. NASA, Mercedes — any of the places that would’ve worshipped that brilliant mind of his. But he stayed—for his dad. He wanted to give the old man the life he’d always dreamed of, something to reward him for all he’s given up for a boy of the same name.

The Spaniard had definitely made Lando proud today.

Logan was also crouched nearby, his jacket torn, his knuckles split. His shoulders were tense, but his eyes kept darting, sharp and alert. He’d never let himself rest before the job was done. Lando remembers the kid he met years ago, straight outta Florida, all sunburn and bright eyes and nerves. The kind of kid who wanted to be someone. Lando had seen himself in that hunger. When Lando looked at him, Logan looked at him with a bright smile, eager to show how unaffected he was.

With their complementary shiners, Lando could see a bit of himself in Logan tonight too.

Oscar was still perched on the stairwell, holding his ribs. It seemed he preferred the higher vantage point, even now. There was blood on his shirt, darker closer to the part near the hem that covered his hip. Lando couldn’t tell how deep the wound was, but Oscar hadn’t let go of his rifle. He’d never even blinked when the chaos had hit. In fact, he was the reason they weren’t all dead.

Oscar was the reason Lando got the warning at all.

Then there was Max Fewtrell, slumped against the doorway as he pressed a cold cloth to the side of his head. He’d nearly been hit. No, he was hit—grazed across the temple, just enough to make Lando’s heart stop when he had seen the blood.

Fewtrell had always been different. It would be untrue to say he was just the same as the others. Even Lando knew, deep down, that he was different – not just a soldier, not just a friend. He was the only one who could get under Lando’s skin in a way that felt familial. He was the only one who could call him out on his shit and still get a small smile after. And today, Lando had almost lost him. 

All because of one second – one look. 

One look had almost cost Lando the only man he considered his brother.

He dragged a hand down his face, smearing dust into the blood on his skin, and counted again.

Carlos. Logan. Oscar. Fewtrell. Verstappen.

His gaze swept the room again.

Wait.

Where’s—

Where the fuck is Daniel?

He turned around, his eyes scanning the place again—back over the entryway, the busted scaffolding, the stairwell. He pushed himself to remember. 

Where had Daniel been when the shooting started? He was right behind Lando, wasn’t he? Left side?

“Anyone seen Ricciardo?” Lando asked.

No one answers. Max looked up, blinking. Logan shifted uncomfortably. Carlos doesn’t move at all. Oscar just swore under his breath.

And that’s when it really hit Lando.

He didn’t see it coming. He missed the trap. He was smarter than that, for fuck’s sake – he’d known there would be one. But he let himself get cocky, and now someone who mattered —someone who trusted him— might be gone. Because they’d gone for his soft spot, and once again, he didn’t even realize it was exposed.

He stares at the cracked floor for a second. The sharp sting in his lungs returns, but it wasn’t from the smoke.

It was guilt.

“Keep eyes out,” he mutters, and then louder, firmer, “Find him.”

They’d only just begun to search—Logan darting toward a side hallway, Oscar cautiously peering around a corner, Carlos gritting his teeth as he pushed himself upright—when a figure emerged from behind an unfinished stairwell.

“Daniel?” Max’s voice cut through first, rough and tight with disbelief.

The others turned, and there he was.

The Aussie was dragging one foot behind the other, his shoulders hunched, his arms limp at his sides. His shirt was torn, stained dark with blood and soot. Cuts lined his jaw and temple. His face was pale, slack with exhaustion. But he was there. Alive. Moving—if just barely.

“Daniel, where were you, mate?” Fewtrell was already beginning to approach closer, concern overtaking the limp in his own step. “We were all—”

“I don’t know how it happened,” Daniel mumbled, the words tumbling out slurred and slow. His eyes were wide and glassy, not really seeing them.

“What?” Logan called, squinting toward him through the dark and the dust that had yet to settle. “Daniel—what are you talking about?”

“I didn’t know how to get it out,” Daniel said again, voice starting to hitch. His breathing was shallow now, labored. “I tried… heh, I tried—but, em,—”

Lando stepped forward, cutting through the rest of the voices. He moved fast, closing the distance and bracing Daniel by both shoulders, steadying him before he could collapse. His grip was firm, but his touch betrayed a flicker of fear—trying to keep Daniel upright, keep him here.

“Daniel,” he said, locking eyes with him. “What the fuck are you talking ‘bout, mate?”

Daniel wavered again. His knees buckled slightly, and Lando instinctively pulled him closer, adjusting his stance to hold him better.

And that’s when he saw it.

The hilt of a kris dagger protruded from between Daniel’s shoulder blades, dark metal glinting beneath the soot and blood. It was carved—elegant, almost ceremonial. A sickle curve, buried deep enough to split ribs and tear through anything in its path.

Lando froze, his breath caught hard in his lungs. The others hadn’t seen it yet, the wound still hidden from view. But he had.

Daniel was starting to sag forward now, strength draining from his limbs as his blood soaked through Lando’s hands. His eyes lost focus. His breaths came in short, wet gasps.

“Oh my god…” Lando whispered, arms tightening around him, desperate to keep him from slipping any further. “Daniel…”

Daniel blinked, as if trying to stay awake. His jaw trembled. “I didn’t know how to tell you, mate,” he whispered, broken and shaking. “Didn’t wanna ruin your win…”

Lando’s head dropped, throat closing up around the swell of panic. He shook his head, once, fiercely.

This didn’t feel like a win.

They didn’t go home.

There was nowhere to go. Not until they knew, at least.

So they dragged Daniel back to one of their safehouses, a cramped, peeling basement below a now-closed tailor’s. By the time they set him down, Oscar was already yelling for gauze and towels, trying to stop the bleeding that wouldn’t comply with his will. Carlos had the med kit ripped open before Oscar could even finish asking, and Max Verstappen pulled his navy hoodie off, balling it up and handing it over with a trembling hand that no one commented on like it was the only thing that might help.

Lando followed in silence, pale and smeared with blood all over. Even after he yanked that godforsaken blade from where it had embedded itself deep into the flesh of Daniel’s back, his hands never quite stopped shaking.

And Daniel? 

Daniel was still cracking jokes, sense of humor still just as intact as the day Lando had found the only mechanic on Monte Carlo who was open at 3 AM. The Brit had searched every nook and cranny of this city in hopes of finding someone, anyone, who could save his precious car – that first McLaren he’d ever bought with his own money.

Daniel always did know how to fix the unfixable.

“'S not that bad, right?” he slurs, eyes fluttering open. “I mean— m'still prettier than Max,” he quips with a bad wink in the direction where he has to assume his old friend is.

Someone laughed — maybe Verstappen. Maybe it was a choked sob.

It was hard to tell, really.

Oscar worked fast, just as he always did. But even he hesitated, just for a second, when he peeled Max’s hoodie back so he could get a better look at the wound again. It wasn‘t just deep—it was designed to stay. The kris’s path was cruel and clever, curved to tear what couldn’t be stitched.

Still, no one said it, because saying it would make it real.

Carlos hovered nearby, quietly wringing a rag in a bowl of water that had long since turned red. Max knelt by Daniel’s head, talking to him softly in English when the familiar Dutch didn’t stick. Logan paced the length of the dimly lit room like a caged dog. Oscar wouldn’t stop moving, fidgeting with his makeshift tools, his sleeves, anything he could reasonably reach.

Lando didn’t have the heart to tell the kid off.

Instead, Lando just sat there, his hands coated in Daniel’s blood, his jaw clenched so tight it clicked.

Every so often, Daniel would stir – breath hitching, jokes fading.

Then one hour became two. Two then became four. When Max stroked his curls away from his forehead where they were matted with sweat, he could feel his friend’s skin grow colder. The silences began to stretch longer.

But still—at least he was breathing.

That was the spark – that was what kept them from falling apart.

“He’s strong,” Max blurted out, the sincerity of his words making him sound younger, more innocent. “He’s– He’s fucking strong, alright? He’ll pull through.”

“His color’s holding,” Carlos added, cautiously optimistic. “This is good, yes?”

Oscar didn’t say anything. He’d seen too much to lie.

Lando refused to blink. In all the hours they spend there, he refused to sleep, refused to even think of a version of this scenario where Daniel didn’t wake up and make fun of them all for being so damn dramatic.

From his seat by the head of the table turned makeshift bed, Lando just kept whispering, “You’re fine. You’re fine, Danny. We’re gonna get through this. You’re gonna be okay.”

But everyone else knew what a wound like that meant, what a life like this meant for each of them. They all knew what Lando couldn't say.

It was only a matter of time.

They all knew what business they were in.

No one got into this line of work thinking they’d make it to fifty with a pension and a neat little garden. Nobody had gotten here by accident. Not a single one of them could claim ignorance. They were in the kind of game where exits came in body bags, and grief was a cost you factored into the ledgers. They were gamblers, all of them—risking limb and life on a daily basis, trading safety for control, comfort for power.

But Daniel was different. 

He always had been, really.

He knew the darkness, saw it clearer than most, in fact. But still—somehow—he stayed good, better, kinder. He always laughed harder, held on longer. Daniel Ricciardo carried hope like a flare he refused to drop, even when the wind howled and the rain came in sideways.

He was, despite everything, the best of them.

That made it worse. Because none of them were surprised that he’d gone down for them, only sickened by how easily it could’ve been anyone else. That it was him hurt in their place.

The truth was that, despite everything, none of them ever imagined it’d be Danny.

Not Danny Ric, with his crooked grin and dumb jokes and the kind of laughter that made you forget how goddamn dark it always was. Not Daniel, who remembered birthdays and brought back stupid souvenirs and called them all mate like it meant something.

He wasn’t soft—God, no. He was ruthless when he had to be. Everyone knew that Ricciardo could flip a man with a wrench and a grin and walk away whistling.

But still, he was hopeful. The great tragedy of Daniel Ricciardo was that he was the most hopeful of them all. He was the brightest, the one who cracked the darkest rooms open with his smile and made them forget, if only for a moment, that they were criminals. He knew the worst of them and still chose to be the best of them. He was the one who, even after watching what this world had done to people, still somehow believed they were worth saving.

So when he took the blade to the back—a fucking kris, curved and cruel and ancient like some sick ceremonial final blow—something shifted. Something broke, not just in his body, but in all of them.

He was light, in a world of shadows, and now, the light was flickering.

The way they moved—the urgency, the silence, the glances they exchanged—it was in the air like blood in the water.

Oscar got up to do the bandaging again. His hands were steady, but his jaw ticked with restraint. Max kept shifting on his feet like he wanted to hit something. Carlos leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glassy but dry. Logan sat on the steps with his head bowed, silent.

Lando went to kneel by Daniel, stripped of the usual iron-clad armor he wears around his boys. There was no sharp grin, no cocky tilt of the chin – just open pain in his eyes as he watched one of his oldest friends fade in front of him.

Daniel’s hand was clammy in his. His lips parted, then closed again like he was trying to say something and forgetting what.

Lando leaned in. “Still with me?”

Daniel smiled, just barely. “Yeah, boss.”

It gutted him, that smile. 

That fucking smile.

Blood loss. Organ damage. Shock. Oscar had said the words without flinching, clinical and grim. But Lando saw the way his hands shook when he stepped back. The way Logan had to steady him without making it obvious.

Carlos sat with his elbows on his knees, silent. Max leaned against the wall, arms crossed too tight, jaw locked. Even he looked like something in him was unraveling, thread by careful thread.

None of them were crying, but there was rawness in the air. This was part of the life. But that didn’t mean they had to like it.

Lando cleared his throat. “We’re gonna get them for this. Tsunoda’s gonna pay. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Yeah?” Daniel murmured, barely audible. “You better.”

“I will,” Lando promised. “Don’t you worry, yeah? They’re already dead.”

Daniel exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a laugh. “Tell Leclerc I said… ‘fuck you.’ In French.”

Carlos smiled, just a little. “Pretty sure he speaks English too, mate.”

They all chuckled, but just a bit – if only because Daniel would’ve wanted them to, even now.

Max Verstappen stepped closer and crouched down beside him. “You remember the job in Monza?” he asks.

“God…” Daniel sighed. “The bar fight?”

“You did start it.”

“Yeah,” Daniel breathed. “But I ended it too.”

Lando grinned despite the ache in his chest. “Damn right you did.”

More stories followed after that, each of them giving a piece of their memory, something bright, something bold, something that felt like it’d live on in the stars even after tonight. Each anecdote was an attempt at trading grief for something warmer, at holding on with words when their hands couldn’t seem to do enough.

It was Lando who took charge, just as it always has been. So they each spoke to him now — not over Daniel, but to him. Around him, as though he were already halfway out the door.

He was still breathing, but it was slower now. Softer, like even his body knew it was time to rest.

Daniel coughed again—wet, weak, red trailing from the corner of his mouth—and Lando stood.

He moved like he wasn’t thinking anymore. The muscles of his body moved purely on instinct, some muscle memory he developed over the year, the rhythm that helped him embody his role.

The Boss. The one who made the calls when no one else could.

He crouched by Daniel’s side, his own hand firm on the older man’s shoulder. Lando’s thumb brushed over his knuckles, his voice steady as a dying star.

“Daniel,” he said softly. “Stay with us.”

Daniel’s eyes fluttered open. “M’trying.”

“I know.” Lando swallowed, glancing briefly at the others, then back. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he looked paler than he did a moment ago, almost sickly. “You did good. You hear me? You did everything right.”

Daniel gave the ghost of a smile. “Always do.”

Max huffed. “Liar.”

Carlos looked up. “Worst liar I ever met.”

Daniel laughed. It shook his whole chest and sent him into another coughing fit. Logan was there instantly, cloth in hand, wiping at the corner of his mouth.

Daniel blinked slowly. “We… Did we win?”

Lando nodded once. “We’re alive. You did that.”

Silence fell again. Then Daniel sighed, a long, low exhale like he’d finally finished something. His eyes slid closed again, lips parted. Still breathing, but lighter now, quieter.

“Is this it?” Logan asked quietly, not to anyone in particular.

But they all looked to Lando, because that’s what they did. That’s what Daniel had always done, too. They trusted Lando to lead.

Perhaps that was Daniel’s fatal mistake.

Instead of looking back at them, Lando stood slowly, his gaze on Daniel and his face unreadable. A long moment passed, Lando taking a deep breath before he spoke.

“Let him rest.”

They knew what that meant. None of them argued. None of them begged or made some desperate play for hope. 

Instead, they took turns stepping forward. Each of them said their piece in quiet tones, fragments of affection, of memories. Carlos pressed a kiss to his forehead. Max Fewtrell squeezed his uninsured shoulder in a gesture that he could only hope conveyed everything he could barely bring himself to say — a lifetime of gratitude and camaraderie and unspent love in a single gesture.

Oscar took off his watch and set it beside him—the same way Daniel had done once, years ago, after Oscar’s first mission went sideways. Max just sat down beside him and said, “Thanks for being better than us, Daniel.”

Logan lingered the longest. The young boy held his hand, told him a joke that made absolutely no sense, laughed for both of them, then walked out without a word.

In the end, it was Lando that remained.

Lando stayed until the others were gone, until it was just him and Daniel and the silence that pressed against the windows like night fog.

He crouched down again, brushed back a curl from Daniel’s sweat-matted hair.

“I’ll take care of them,” he told him. Even though he wore a smile, his voice was raw now, lower. “I swear to God, I’ll take care of all of them.”

A pause. Then—

“I’ll miss you, mate.”

He waited.

No reply came — just the smallest, shakiest breath.

“Alright, mate. It’s okay now.”

Daniel’s eyelids fluttered, the last spark of awareness lingering. Lando raised his hand, pressing it to his forehead gently.

“Sleep.”

And so, Daniel did. As he complied with his boss’s command one final time, he finally sank into a long, long sleep, and the room, once full of ghosts and grit and blood and noise, fell silent.

Lando stood, let out one long, shaking breath and walked out the door.

Behind him, Daniel Ricciardo lay still at last.

He didn’t remember the turns he took to get there.

The streets blurred past in streaks of black and neon, headlights beaming through the fog, buildings bleeding into one another like a watercolor left in the rain. The ringing in his ears hadn’t yet stopped since the ambush, low and echoey. Blood clung to what remained of his button-down in thick patches, sticky where it soaked through the torn fabric at his ribs. His knuckles were raw, the skin rough and dark, and the gash at his eyebrow had reopened, leaking warmth down the side of his face.

But still, somehow, he made it.

His hand shook as he raised it to knock. He missed the first time, fingers grazing the metal plate: 307. He tried again, firmer this time. The wood felt solid under his palm. He leaned on it, barely upright.

When the door opened, she stood in the frame like a ghost from a better life—oversized hoodie, messy bun, the kind of comfort he didn’t deserve. Her eyes went wide. She didn’t move.

His name—the wrong one, but right enough for now—fell from her lips in a cracked, breathless whisper.

“Oh my god! Liam—!”

He swayed, shoulder bumping the frame. That was all it took to snap her into motion.

“Here– Come in. Just, come in—”

She reached for him instinctively, one arm around his back, the other catching his wrist. He let her guide him inside, his weight leaning heavy on her as she pulled the door shut behind them. The lock clicked into place, and for the first time all night, something inside him uncoiled a little.

She was already scanning him with wide, panicked eyes. “What the hell happened to you?”

Her fingers ghosted over the edge of his shirt, where the blood was streaked all across his side. “Are you—oh my god, are you shot?”

“No.” His voice was wrecked, low and frayed. “Not really. Just… tired.”

She didn’t believe him. He could see it in the pinch of her brow. But she nodded, just once, and steered him toward the couch. He sank into it like a man unspooling, body slumping under the weight of pain and adrenaline finally running out.

She crouched beside him, her eyes rapidly tracing every scrape, every bruise, every place he flinched when her touch came too close. Her hands hovered, unsure—his temple? His ribs? The blood at his collarbone? Where was she supposed to start–

He caught her wrist gently.

“This was the closest place, and I…”

“And you...?” she asked softly, worry swirling in those eyes he hadn’t seen in so long.

He swallowed, his voice shaky for a different reason entirely when he looked up to answer her.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

a/n: and so there it is — my pièce de résistance! this chapter is probably my favorite that i've written so far lol. i'd love to hear what you guys think!

[airosuiren]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫 ℜ𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡

𝔓𝔄ℜ𝔗 𝔒𝔑𝔈: Bat family x Neglected illegitimate reincarnated reader x Oc. {Royal historical au.}

A/N: EEEEEE I’ve been waiting to drop this!!! This is the origin story of [Y/N], Queen of Virelya (aka pre-Gotham), her rise, her fall, and her rebirth. You’ll meet her soul-bound companions, her past-life husband (hello, Evander Thorne 😍), and see how she goes from unloved Wayne kid to the returned monarch of a world long-forgotten. Buckle up. This one gets mythic. This is not the usual style cuz I'm experimenting to find MY style. lmk if you liked it

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 2

The world knew her first as a slave.

In the blood-soaked mines beneath the Hollow Mountains, [Y/N] had no name, no rights, and no future. But even in chains, she dreamed. She dreamed of a land where justice ruled, where no child slept in fear, where power served peace. And when the gods answered her dreams, they didn’t send salvation.

They sent companions.

Alarion Vael'Thyr was the first. A former prince turned exile, Alarion found [Y/N] when she escaped the mines and collapsed at the edge of a ruined forge. His hair glowed like firelight; his eyes held centuries of sorrow. He gave her warmth, food, and the strength to keep going. He taught her how to fight. And when her fury over injustice ignited, he taught her how to forge it into flame.

Next came Lysandra Solenhart, a noble-born oracle who had ripped out her own eyes to stop seeing the lies of kings. She had been wandering, blind and brilliant, until she heard [Y/N]'s voice in a vision. She found [Y/N] and Alarion on the edge of a battlefield, and said, simply, "You shine with the light of truth. I will follow it."

Kaelen Rhyzar joined them in the city of broken statues. A former paladin-turned-renegade, he had become a weapon without a master. When [Y/N] called out to the people during a rebellion, he watched her bleed for strangers and knew his new god had arrived. From that day, he swore himself to her cause.

With each companion came a gift.

Lysandra's Moonvein Sight allowed her to read shadow-script—the secrets etched in time, objects, and people.

Alarion's Heart of the Wyrmforge allowed him to forge weapons from pure emotion, flame and steel made one.

Kaelen's Living Armory let him summon divine weapons and battle auras from a celestial vault known only to him.

And then there was [Y/N].

When she saved a dying child in a storm, reality buckled. The world paused. She cried a single tear—the Tear of Elyndor, the divine essence of lost time and life. That tear resurrected the child and awakened her power. She could now bend time, shift fate, glimpse truths, and touch emotion like threads in a loom.

She did not want a throne. But people demanded one.

They called him the Winter Wolf.

Evander Thorne, warden of the north, warlord of the frozen wilds. He led armies through storms without saying a word. Men followed him blindly, out of fear or faith.

He met [Y/N] during a siege. Her army was losing, magic dwindling, hope flickering. And then the snow parted. He rode through the mist like a god of war, his blade slicing silence into the air.

She stood in the wreckage, bloodied and defiant. He dismounted without speaking.

"You're late," she said, panting, sword raised.

He didn’t answer. He only looked at her, eyes like ice, and knelt.

"My Fire," he murmured.

She blinked, startled. "You remember."

He took her hand and kissed it, reverent. "In every life. I would find you in every life."

She laughed through blood and tears. "I needed you."

"And now you have me," he said. "Forever."

Evander never left her side again. He stood behind her throne, silent and still. He held her when her nightmares returned. He whispered ancient poems in her ear when she couldn’t sleep.

In public, he was the sword of the queen. In private, he was hers entirely.

They trained together. They sparred until bruised and breathless. They argued in old tongues, kissed in empty war rooms, danced barefoot on frozen battlements.

"You trust too easily," he growled one night.

"And you not enough," she replied, tilting her head.

He pulled her into his chest. "I trust you. That is enough."

She laid her head against him. "Then build with me. A kingdom where no child fears."

He tightened his arms. "I would burn the world for it."

Virelya rose. A kingdom of magic, fire, frost, and dream. Her companions ruled distant realms, but returned often. Their children were legendary, half-divine.

[Y/N] and Evander ruled with fierce grace. They fought side by side. He watched her light grow brighter with every battle, every speech, every child she saved.

And she—she loved him not for his blade, but for the way he stayed. Always, he stayed.

They died as they lived—together. Peace achieved. Their work done. The world mourned.

Centuries passed.

[Y/N] awoke in Gotham.

No crown. No court. No Evander.

Only cold silence. And the bitter taste of being forgotten.

She was the twin who didn’t matter. But her magic whispered beneath her skin. Her past clawed at her in dreams.

Then came the child.

"Live as me," she said, and handed over a golden coin.

Everything returned.

[Y/N] fled Gotham and found war in the north.

She fought. Rose. Became myth again.

And then she saw him.

Evander.

Standing at the edge of the battlefield, cloak of wolf fur, sword already bloody.

He saw her and dropped to his knees. "My Fire."

She ran to him, armor clanging, tears spilling.

"You always find me."

"And I always will," he whispered.

He cupped her face, kissed her forehead. "No one will take you from me again."

"I won’t let them."

They stood like that, gods reborn.

Lysandra, Alarion, Kaelen returned.

The court rebuilt.

And [Y/N] sat the throne once more.

Evander stood beside her.

And the world would learn:

She had not been lost. She had only been waiting.

A/N: WHEW my soul is in this one. I wanted more Evander/[Y/N] moments and I hope you felt every stare, every touch, every whispered vow. Let me know if you want a bonus chapter with their private moments or flashbacks from their past life!! Long live the Queen 🖤👑

(Also lmk if you want suggestive chapter between [Y/N] and Evander 😉)

Taglist: @trashlanternfish360, @nixxiev, @eclipse-msoul, @plsfckmedxddy, @viilan, @kittzu, @bunniotomia, @bunniotomia, @rattyrattyratty, @texas-fox, @1abi, @niamcarlin,@tomoyaki, @silken-moons, @kittzu

[windyremedy]

title: like em’ mean ❄️🔥

tags: swearing, original characters, multiple povs, mean girl reader

This was it.

Today was the moment she’s been preparing for.

Ever since that day where he held the door open for her in the cafeteria, she knew one day their story would come full circle. I mean sure they hadn’t interacted much afterwards due to being in different courses but the quick beating of her heart knew that didn’t matter, it was just meant to be.

Todoroki Shouto halted in his steps staring at the wide eyed girl infront of him. Slightly shaking and stumbling over her words. The situation attracted nearby students to the scene.

“E-ehm h-hello Todoroki-san, I just wanted to tell you that I really, really, really like you!!!!!”

Murmurs filled the hallway as the nervous girl yelled out towards the infamous ice prince of U.A.

Some people looked away in embarrassment while others seemed to be watching as if a movie was about to play. Though it won’t be a romance genre that’s for sure because even with the vulnerable act displayed Todoroki’s expression hadn’t changed in the slightest. Internally however he was thoroughly annoyed.

He couldn’t count the amount of rejections he already made this past week and more and more just seemed to keep on coming. Despite the fact that it was common knowledge that he was already dating somebody.

That someone being the person who’s nearing the whole debacle. Well at least he wouldn’t have to do the rejecting this time.

“Oh what do we have here?” a faux confusion voiced out dripping with a sweet but poisonous venom.

Taking his arm you wrapped yourself on his right side as you looked at the trembling girl. Although she seemed innocent there was no denying the pure hatred she had in those glaring eyes.

“I-I just…”

“I-I what??” You mocked.

Her face glowered with frustration.

“You don’t deserve him! you’re selfish and mean—” she exploded but you cut her off.

“I’m mean!!? Ha! Who’s the whore that’s trying to steal another person’s lover?”

“That…I…everyone knows he’s only with you cause you’re forcing him!”

You had to hold back a laugh as you raised one brow, taunting her.

“And where did you hear that? it couldn’t possibly be from your friends when you have…y’know..none.”

Her face simmered to a pitiful look. Pathetic if you really wanted to be honest.

The little confidence there was left went away as she fell into despair when noticing Todoroki not even looking her away.

If she had to guess what he’s feeling although it pains her to assume so. He seemed even bored of the entire situation when it was the most humiliated she’s ever felt in her entire life.

Holding back a sob she ran from the scene as the crowd scattered.

“What a bitch.” you opinionated out loud.

Grabbing onto his biceps as he led you to his locker, where he initially wanted to go to get his things before getting unfortunately interrupted.

“Sorry about that love.” he kissed your cheek as you both reached the area.

You instantly calmed down reassuring him.

“It’s not your fault—“

As he grabbed the door handle open, envelopes after envelopes fell. Pink cream colored notes with love hearts you stood there in complete and utter fury.

“It’s not even Valentine’s Day!!! How am I the mean one when they keep doing this shit!!? It’s not my fault I don’t roll over the moment I get into a heated situation. These damn slu—“

He gathered all the notes.

“It’s okay I’ll throw them away.”

“I’d rather you burn them.” you said crossing your arms.

“I can do that too.”

Not even sparing a glance he quickly used his quirk to get rid of everything.

“Ugh, this might just be the worst day ever. I mean no one has it worse than me right now.”

“Definitely.” he’d answer pulling you closer to him.

“Like I literally hate everyone.”

Todoroki places a hand on your cheek and tilts your head making you fizzle into putty in his hold.

“Even me?”

You shook your head leaning closer going on your tipy toes.

“Never you Sho.” you answered softly, placing your hands on his chest.

With that both of you shared a sweet kiss.

Okay so maybe you were mean, but never with him.

Side blurb:

Denki: so are mean girls your type?

Shoto: I don’t have a type.

Denki: …

Reader: *Is currently intimidating another girl*

inspo: “That bitch could never be me in her life, that bitch could never be me in her life.” — Flo Milli Never Lose Me (Remix) ft. SZA & Cardi B

©windyremedy

[eilinelsghost]

Finrod's gems are about politics not capital

I've seen an influx of posts on my dash over the last couple of weeks with some variation on "Finrod hauled jewels across the ice because he's a hedonist" or "Finrod brought all those gems because he was planning ahead to pay for stuff in Beleriand" and I'm so sorry in advance, but the soapbox is beckoning again.

The version of this I've seen most often has been that he is a metropolitan prince accustomed to operating within a transactional context and that he brings gems out from Aman to whatever awaits in Beleriand out of a shrewd calculation that he will need to buy things once he's there. And...maybe? But here's the thing. That is not what gems mean in the context of Valinor, nor is it the pretty straightforward explanation of Finrod's decision that we're given in the text.

So first off, let's talk about the gems themselves and what those would mean to Finrod in the context within which he decides to bring them out from Valinor. Contrary to the premise that gems are understood to be a source of capital by the princes of Noldor, the two references we have to how they saw their own gems are as follows (emphasis in all quotes is mine):

And it came to pass that the masons of the house of Finwë, quarrying in the hills after stone [...] first discovered the earth-gems, and brought them forth in countless myriads; and they devised tools for the cutting and shaping of gems, and carved them in many forms. They hoarded them not, but gave them freely, and by their labour enriched all Valinor.

Many jewels the Noldor gave [the Teleri], opals and diamonds and pale crystals, which they strewed upon the shores and scattered in the pools; marvellous were the beaches of Elendë in those days.

The gems of the Noldor, then, are not seen as a source of wealth or bartering leverage, nor is there any indication in the text that they used them as such. In fact, the first (and only) reference to gems as wealth in the context of Valinor is when the narrator tells us of how Melkor looks with jealousy upon all the Firstborn:

[Melkor] looked upon the Children of Ilúvatar that sat at the feet of the Mighty, and hatred filled him; he looked upon the wealth of bright gems, and he lusted for them

Pivotally, it is not until after this that we are given any reference to the Noldor themselves seeing their own gems as anything other than a beauty of the earth that was to be shared freely. And even then, that language is only used of Fëanor's disposition after the lies of Morgoth have circulated and he begins to "love the Silmarils with a greedy love."

Second, let's talk about the fairly straightforward explanation for Finrod's actions that we are given in the text itself.

(I know I've talked about this a couple times in ask answers etc, but I want to give it its own standalone post because this never ceases to frustrate me.)

Necessary for understanding the explanation the text gives us is to situate it within the events that preceded it. Key among these is this section of Fëanor's speech to the Noldor:

"Say farewell to bondage! But say farewell also to ease! Say farewell to the weak! Say farewell to your treasures! More still shall we make. Journey light: but bring with you your swords! [...] But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils, then we and we alone shall be lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and beauty of Arda. No other race shall oust us!"

Whatever the intent of Fëanor's words, they would undoubtably have been heard by Finrod and those others who opposed the march as a call to discard their past, the life and love of Aman, and their loyalty to the Valar. And consequently two pages later we are told that Finarfin and Finrod "carried thence memories of the bliss they had forsaken, and some even of the things that they had made there they took with them: a solace and a burden on the road."

So for Finrod to bring "more treasures out of Tirion than any other of the princes of the Noldor" was not a shrewd economic calculation, but a direct refutation of his uncle's rallying call. He was refusing to be severed from the past, refusing to name their time in Valinor as bondage to be dismissed and forgotten, and refusing to count what they made there as loss in order to gain mastery of Arda. He was carrying memory out from Valinor, not currency.

Furthermore, the memory he carries as his solace and burden is the memory of love and friendship, of wholeness and joy. Finrod grew up as Olwë's grandson and the jewels "strewed upon the shores and scattered in the pools" of Alqualondë were the beaches where he played, the fountains where he splashed as a child. The gems of the Noldor, far from being a quick way to pocket some cash for the road, were for him the visible symbol of the houses of the Eldar living in friendship and not division. (And how bitter that burden must have become when he continued on after the kinslaying at Alqualondë, those strewed stones of friendship now a shoreline washed in blood.)

Having these same gems later placed within the Nauglimir thus becomes a furthering of this same political statement. Whenever it sits about his neck, it is a visual reprimand of two of Fëanor's assertions in his speech atop Túna: Finrod receives it as a symbol of partnership and co-creation between two races, once again beauty that is shared freely, the gems within it once more a symbol of friendship rather than mastery; and it serves as the tangible representation of Finrod's remaining love and allegiance to memory and to the Valar.

He carries the gems out from Valinor in hope - the same hope that he embodies throughout his life, in his friendships in Beleriand, in his love and care for the Edain, in his eventual sacrifice: what I have is my neighbor's; what I love, I give.

[shaiyasstuff]

a dance of ice and fire | zayne | chapter two

synopsis : Betrothed to the Crown Prince for the sake of peace, you are seen as a weapon to be wielded, not a queen to rule. But it is not your arrogant, power-hungry fiancé you fear—it is his brother, Zayne. As alliances shift and tensions rise, one truth becomes clear: he never wanted the crown, but for you, he will take it. content : medieval!au, strategist/advisor!zayne x princess!reader, loads of eye-fucking, savage reader and zayne, political intrigue quote : “Loving him is a sin; of that I’m fully aware. But a sinner I am.” — Bella Jewel

parts | one | two | three

“If you think I’ll stand by while you’re bound to another man, a man who wants to use you as a bargaining chip, then you never knew me at all.”

The scent of nightshade drifted through the air, mingling with the crisp bite of the evening breeze. The sky had deepened to violet, the last streaks of sunlight fading beyond the treetops.

The world was quiet here, hidden away from the grand halls and watchful eyes of the court.

You sat at the edge of the fountain, fingers tracing the water’s surface, watching as ripples distorted the reflection of the sky.

Beside you, Zayne leaned back on his elbows, one leg stretched out, the other bent, sword resting lazily against his shoulder.

He was quiet tonight. More than usual.

You glanced at him. “You’ll be king one day.”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk, but he didn’t look at you. “Will I?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not a question.”

Zayne exhaled slowly, shifting his gaze to the water. “No, it isn’t.”

His tone was unreadable, but something about it made you pause.

The air between you felt heavier now, the silence stretching.

You watched the way his fingers tapped absently against the hilt of his sword, his movements slow, deliberate, like he was thinking of something else entirely.

You frowned. “You don’t want it.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t deny it.

You tilted your head. “Then what do you want?”

Zayne let out a slow breath, tilting his head back to the sky.

His eyes followed the stars, his expression unreadable, unreadable but knowing.

And then, without looking at you,

“Something else.”

The words were quiet. Unshaken. Final.

You watched him carefully, waiting for him to say more.

He didn’t.

Because Zayne never needed many words to tell the truth.

And at the time, you had believed him.

Because Zayne never wanted the throne.

Until now.

—•

The grand hall was alive with the hum of conversation, the clink of goblets, the low murmur of politics veiled beneath laughter.

Golden chandeliers bathed the room in a soft glow, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor.

Nobles swirled in their silks, indulging in excess, oblivious to the shift in the air.

A shift that came from them.

The brothers.

At the center of the banquet, near the head of the long dining table, the air had grown cold.

The torches lining the walls flickered, their flames shrinking as frost began to creep along the silver goblets, delicate but unmistakable.

It had started small.

A remark.

A glance.

A slight too veiled for the courtiers to notice, masked beneath the smooth cadence of conversation and the clink of goblets.

The calculated tilt of the crown prince’s head, the smirk hidden behind his goblet, the way his words curled just a little too deliberately, aimed not at the room but directly at him.

At Zayne.

And he noticed it instantly.

Of course he had.

The crown prince had spoken too carelessly, too smugly. He had leaned back in his chair, lips curled in amusement, fingers tracing the rim of his goblet.

A performance. A taunt.

“Strange, isn’t it?” His voice was smooth, barely audible over the chatter of the hall, but the words were aimed at one man alone.

“For all your careful planning, brother, you still seem so… powerless.”

The ice cracked.

It was subtle, almost unnoticeable.

A small fracture along the prince’s goblet, a thin web of frost spreading outward.

The nobles nearest to them barely noticed, but Zayne did.

His fingers tapped against the table once, twice. His smirk was slow, practiced, but his eyes were cold.

Sharp. Calculating.

“Powerless?” His voice was light, but there was something beneath it. Something smug. “That’s an interesting word choice.”

The crown prince chuckled, tilting his head. “Is it?”

Zayne leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against the table.

“Coming from a man who needs alliances to keep his kingdom together, I would say, yes.”

The prince’s expression flickered.

Just for a second. Just long enough.

Zayne saw it. And pushed.

“Strange, isn’t it? Wearing a crown, holding a kingdom, and yet the one thing that truly matters still slips through your fingers.”

The crack was louder this time. The goblet in the prince’s hand shattered.

The conversation around them stopped. The nearest nobles turned, expressions shifting between curiosity and unease.

A thin veil of frost stretched across the table, creeping toward the prince’s untouched plate.

His jaw tightened. “Mind your tongue, Zayne.”

Zayne didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop.

“And if I don’t?”

The tension snapped.

The crown prince stood so fast his chair scraped against the marble, the sound slicing through the silence.

His hand shot forward, fingers curling in the fabric of Zayne’s tunic, a warning, a mistake.

In an instant, Zayne was on his feet, the air dropping around them.

His fingers wrapped around his brother’s wrist, prying him off with a grip too firm to be casual.

Frost spread along their skin, two forces colliding, neither willing to yield.

The nobles stared, some whispering, others watching in stunned silence.

And then.

You walked in.

The room shifted.

The torches swelled back to life, warmth rushing in, but the tension remained thick.

Your gaze swept the scene, the shattered goblet, the frost-laced table, the brothers locked in a silent battle of strength and will.

And you knew.

You knew exactly what was happening.

Not a dispute over politics.

Not a clash of pride.

This was about you.

The grand hall was frozen.

Not in the way of silence or stillness, but in the way frost had spread across the table, curling around the shattered goblet at the crown prince’s feet, creeping toward the legs of the nobles seated nearest to them.

It had reached the silver plates, frosting over untouched wine, dulling the candle flames until they barely flickered.

And yet, in all that cold, Zayne’s grip remained firm and steady, his fingers curled around his brother’s wrist, prying him away as if he had all the time in the world.

The crown prince’s jaw was tight, fury barely restrained beneath his controlled expression, but his ice cracked first.

The doors had barely closed behind you when the words left your lips.

“What are you both doing?”

Your voice echoed through the thick, heavy silence, a thread of warmth against the chill that filled the space.

Both men turned.

Zayne was the first to release his grip, fingers uncoiling from his brother’s wrist, though his expression remained unapologetic and unreadable.

The crown prince inhaled sharply, regaining his composure as he flexed his fingers, as if shaking off the remnants of a fight.

Neither spoke.

The nobles sat in rigid silence, some glancing between the two men, others staring at you, waiting.

You let out a slow breath, exhaling warmth into the frozen air.

The torches lining the walls flickered back to life, the frost receded from the silverware, the thin layer of ice along the table melting beneath your presence.

The temperature in the room shifted.

A quiet, deliberate reminder of who you were.

Of what you were.

The nobles felt it.

The flicker of heat pressed against their skin, the lingering cold dissolving like mist beneath your quiet fury.

The crown prince’s ice was strong. Zayne’s restraint was stronger.

But none of it mattered here, not when you chose to break it.

Your gaze swept between them expectantly. “Well?”

The crown prince was the first to speak, his voice clipped but steady. “A misunderstanding.”

You arched a brow. “A misunderstanding?” You turned slightly, eyes landing on Zayne. “That’s all?”

Zayne, to his credit, didn’t even try to feign innocence.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if he hadn’t just nearly shattered the balance of the room.

“We were just talking.”

A muscle ticked in the crown prince’s jaw. “Is that what you call it?”

Zayne’s smirk was slow, taunting. “You’re the one who reached for me first, brother.”

The prince’s fists clenched at his sides, his patience already hanging by a thread.

You lifted a hand before he could respond, fingers splayed, heat radiating from your palm just enough that they both felt it.

Not enough to burn, but enough to warn.

The torches flared again and the last remnants of frost evaporated.

The nobles exhaled.

Some shifted in their seats, a few murmuring among themselves as the tension in the air cracked and dissolved, as if the moment had never happened.

But you knew better.

You dropped your hand. “Whatever this is, it stops now.”

The crown prince exhaled sharply, stepping back, his control snapping back into place like a mask fitted perfectly over his face.

His voice was smooth, practiced. “Of course, Princess.”

Zayne, however, held your gaze a second longer. He wasn’t smiling anymore, wasn’t taunting.

He was watching you.

And you knew exactly what he was thinking.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

The door slammed shut behind you.

Zayne barely had time to turn before you were on him, words sharp and furious.

“What the hell was that?”

His smirk was immediate, lazy, like he had expected this.

Like he was waiting for it. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

You exhaled sharply, stepping closer.

“Don’t play with me, Zayne. That wasn’t just a fight.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t argue.

He simply watched you, waiting for you to burn yourself out.

But you weren’t done burning.

“I told you to stop. This isn’t a game.” Your chest rose and fell quickly, heat radiating off your skin, pressing against the cold he carried like opposing forces colliding.

“You don’t get to throw ice at your brother across a table like children. You don’t get to start a war in a banquet hall just because you—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly you were close.

Too close.

Zayne’s fingers brushed against your wrist—not to restrain you, not to challenge you, just enough.

Enough to make you realize how hot your skin had become.

Enough to make you realize how much he had noticed.

His eyes softened, flicking over you, quiet and knowing.

“You’re burning up.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t move away.

“That tends to happen when I’m angry.”

Zayne hummed, head tilting slightly.

“Or when you care too much.”

The words landed like a challenge, but not a cruel one.

Not a taunt. Just the truth.

His fingers, cool and steady, skimmed over your wrist, trailing up just enough to make you shiver.

The heat beneath your skin simmered, just barely tempered by the way he touched you—calm, careful, like he knew exactly how to quiet the storm inside you.

And maybe he did.

You swallowed, voice quieter. “You can’t do this, Zayne.”

His smirk faded. “I can.”

His hand lingered, just for a second longer, before he finally pulled away, the absence of his touch sending a sharp contrast through your skin.

He exhaled, trying to calm himself.

“You think I want to be at that table? Playing politics with men who don’t deserve to rule?” His usual sarcasm was gone, replaced by a seriousness you weren’t used to.

“I never wanted the throne. You know that.”

You held his gaze, waiting. “But?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Zayne let out a slow breath, his fingers curling into fists at his sides before releasing.

“But I can’t watch him take everything and do nothing. Not when it involves you.”

Your heart stumbled.

Because that was it, wasn’t it?

This wasn’t about ambition. It wasn’t about power.

It wasn’t about proving himself.

It was about you.

Zayne had never wanted the throne.

Until you became the price of losing it.

The air between you felt thinner, stretched tight with something unspoken.

The heat that had flared beneath your skin had cooled, but not completely. Not when he was still watching you like that.

Like he was daring you to understand him.

You exhaled, body shaking in frustration.

“So what is it you suggest? Going to war?”

Zayne huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“You nearly froze over a banquet hall.” You retort, crossing your arms.

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, his voice lowering just enough to make you listen. “That wasn’t war. That was a warning.”

You held his gaze. “And if they don’t listen?”

His lips curled slightly. “Then they’ll wish they had.”

The weight of his words settled.

He wasn’t speaking in riddles or games this time, he meant it.

Every word.

You studied him carefully.

“And where do I fit into this plan of yours?”

Zayne didn’t blink. “You already know.”

The response came too quickly. Too easily. And it sent a shiver through you—not of fear, but of something dangerously close to understanding.

You inhaled sharply. “You want me to choose you.”

He smirked as he tilted his head slightly. “You say that like you haven’t already.”

Your breath caught, a sharp inhale before you could stop it. His confidence was infuriating.

But worse, it was accurate.

Zayne has never asked for power, had never fought for it.

Until now.

Until you.

Your fingers curled, your nails pressing into your palms. “You think this ends with just the two of us?”

Zayne exhaled, hands sliding into his pockets. “No. I think this ends with him losing.”

You weren’t sure which truth hit you harder—the fact that he meant it, or the fact that you didn’t hate the idea as much as you should have.

Because you knew what kind of ruler the crown prince would be.

And for the first time, you weren’t so sure that Zayne stepping out of the shadows was a mistake.

You just weren’t sure if you could handle what it would cost.

The torches lining the walls flickered, the heat of them barely cutting through the cold still clinging to the space between you.

Zayne was waiting.

Not for your answer, but for your realization.

That you already knew what he was asking.

That you had known for a long time.

Your jaw tightened. “You want him to lose.”

Zayne’s head tilted slightly, his smirk slow, almost lazy.

“I do.”

Your pulse stumbled. Not at the words—at how easily he said them, more at how sure he was about it.

Zayne has always been meticulous in his planning.

Always watched from the sidelines, always played the long game while letting others take center stage.

But that wasn’t the man standing before you now.

He already made a plan, a solid, fool-proof one.

And he was done waiting.

You exhaled. “If you do this, there’s no undoing it.”

“I know.” His voice, confident.

Your stomach twisted. “And if I say no?”

For the first time, something flickered in his expression.

A moment of hesitation, gone almost as soon as it appeared. Then he sighed, voice quieter now.

“Then I’ll stop.”

A pause.

“I won’t force you into this.”

Your breath caught, something too heavy, too real pressing into your ribs.

Because you knew him.

You knew he meant it.

And you could not decide if that was worse.

Because if you told him to stop, he would.

But the war wouldn’t.

The crown prince would still rule and the court would still whisper about you as if you were a tool to be tamed, something to be bartered, something to be controlled.

And Zayne would step back, let the game unfold without him, let fate take its course.

Even if it meant losing you.

Your throat tightened. “You’re asking me to betray him.”

Zayne let out a soft breath, a low chuckle. “And what makes you think he hasn’t?”

The words landed.

Because you knew.

The crown prince had never seen you as an equal, never seen you as anything more than an asset, a weapon to be sharpened and wielded.

He would never fear losing you because he never thought you had the choice to leave.

But Zayne did.

Zayne only ever saw you.

And now, he was offering you something the others never had.

A choice.

You inhaled sharply, fingers curling at your sides. “And if I say yes?”

Zayne stepped closer, slow and deliberate.

The air between you cooled, the heat beneath your skin tempered by the quiet intensity in his gaze.

“Then we win.”

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t an if, it was a when.

Because this is Zayne who does not fight his battles unless he was sure he would win.

Especially now that you were his battlefield.

The realisation settled on you like a veil over your head.

Zayne’s gaze held steady, his confidence unshaken, but you felt the weight of what he was asking.

This wasn’t just about power. It wasn’t just about politics.

It was about choosing him.

And that was something you weren’t sure you could do.

Your fingers curled, breath unsteady as you forced yourself to speak.

“This isn’t right.”

Zayne faltered. Just barely.

But you saw it.

The flicker of something raw, something he didn’t bother to hide around you.

“It feels right.” His voice was quieter now, lower, but still unwavering. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

You felt your heart drop.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

And that terrified you.

You shook your head, willing yourself to push past the way he was looking at you, past the way his presence cooled the fire raging inside you when nothing else could.

“I can’t just betray everything I’ve been raised to uphold. I can’t—”

He moved.

Not away. Toward you.

Fast. Reckless.

Before you could say another word, his hands were on your waist, his mouth crashing against yours, stealing every last thought from your mind.

You should have pulled away.

You should have stopped this.

But when his lips parted against yours, when his fingers tangled in your hair, when your own hands betrayed you and gripped onto him like he was the only solid thing left in your world, you let him.

His mouth slanted over yours, firm, demanding, unchained.

Heat and cold clashed where your bodies met, his touch sending shivers down your spine while your own magic curled beneath your skin, fighting the pull of him, yet craving more.

Zayne’s grip tightened at your waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your gown as if he could brand himself into you.

You gasped against his lips, and he seized the sound, swallowed it, claimed it like he had been waiting for this moment far longer than either of you would ever admit.

The cool stone wall bit into your back, a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through your body as his hands touched you slow, deliberate, starving.

His lips left yours only to trail down your throat, his breath hot against your skin, his teeth grazing at the sensitive spot beneath your jaw.

A sharp inhale left you, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling, needing.

This was wrong.

This was reckless.

This was everything you had fought to avoid.

But when his hands slid lower, when his lips moved over your collarbone, when his teeth nipped at your skin before soothing it with his tongue, all you could do was arch into him, your body betraying you as it pressed closer, seeking more.

“Zayne—” Your voice was a whisper, barely more than a breath, but it made him freeze.

Just for a second.

His breathing was uneven, his forehead dropping against your shoulder, his fingers still gripping your waist.

His lips hovered over your skin, his chest rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths.

His voice came low, gravelly, as he forced himself to still.

“Tell me to stop.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted him to stop.

And that terrified you.

Your hands were still in his hair, your body still burning beneath his touch.

But you said nothing.

Zayne lifted his head, his gaze locking onto yours—intense, dark, filled with something dangerously close to possession.

His fingers trailed along your thigh, slow, teasing, testing. Your breath hitched, a shudder rolling through you at the cold of his touch against your overheated skin.

“Say it,” he murmured. “Tell me this isn’t what you want.”

You parted your lips, but nothing came.

Because you couldn’t.

Because this was the moment you had been avoiding, the truth you had buried beneath duty, beneath reason, beneath everything except what you really felt.

And that was all the answer he needed.

His smirk returned, slow and dangerous, his fingers tightening at your waist. “That’s what I thought.”

His lips crashed into yours again, this time deeper, hungrier.

You didn’t fight it anymore.

Because god, you wanted him.

The room was quiet, save for the unsteady breaths between you.

The air still carried the lingering heat of your magic, but it was nothing compared to the fire curling beneath your skin—the fire he had ignited.

Zayne’s gaze burned into yours, dark, intense, his body still pressing you against the cold stone wall.

His lips were kiss-swollen, his breathing ragged, but his hands? His hands hadn’t stopped moving.

“You can still tell me to stop.”

His voice was low, rough, his fingers just beneath your skirts, tracing slow, lazy circles against your thigh. The threat of restraint still lingered in his touch, but barely.

You swallowed, your pulse thrumming against his fingertips, every part of you caught between hesitation and pure, desperate desire.

He wasn’t just waiting for your answer—he was waiting for permission.

But you had already made your choice.

Your hands slid into his hair, pulling him down as your lips met his again, a kiss that held no more restraint, no more second-guessing.

A deep, satisfied groan rumbled in his chest as he grabbed your thighs, spreading them apart, lifting you effortlessly until you were wrapped around him.

His hands gripped your curves, kneading, pulling you flush against the hard press of him, molding you to him like he had every right to take, every right to claim.

The cool of his skin was a stark contrast to the heat rolling off you in waves.

You burned for him and he knew it. He had always known it.

His mouth moved to your throat, teeth scraping, lips soothing, tongue teasing, working his way lower as his hands pushed fabric aside, found more skin, more of you.

Your body arched into him, seeking, needing, powerless against the way he unraveled you.

His fingers teased at your core, a slow, maddening stroke that had your breath catching in your throat. You could feel smirk against your collarbone.

“So eager.”

You had never felt like this.

Like you were coming undone and being put back together all at once.

Like he had all the control while making you feel like you held it.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, back against the stone, thighs tightening around his hips. He groaned at the feeling, his grip bruising, his restraint breaking.

His lips found your ear, breathless, full of promise.

“Let me ruin you, Princess.”

And when his fingers finally slipped inside you, claiming, knowing, teasing you open for more

You did not hold back.

—•

The air was thick with the scent of heated skin and fading restraint.

Your breaths were uneven, your body still trembling against his as you came back down from the high he had torn from you.

Zayne’s forehead pressed against yours, his grip still firm on your hips, like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Like if he did, reality would come crashing back in.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Not uncomfortable. Not uncertain.

Just the stillness of two people who had crossed a line that could never be redrawn.

Your fingers traced the damp strands of his hair, your heartbeat still wild, still trying to catch up.

He exhaled sharply, his hands sliding down your thighs, squeezing once before setting you back on your feet.

Your legs nearly gave out, and he smirked, steadying you, his touch lingering longer than it should have.

His voice came low, husky, tinged with amusement.

“Careful, Princess. You look like you might fall.”

You swallowed, forcing your body to remember how to move, how to think. “You’re insufferable.”

His smirk deepened. “And yet, here we are.”

Here.

In the dimly lit chamber, with your dress askew, his tunic undone, and the taste of his lips still lingering on yours.

The weight of what had just happened settled between you like a dangerous secret.

Zayne’s expression flickered, something serious, something darker, before he reached up, brushing his thumb over the mark he had left on your skin.

“No regrets?”

You knew what he was really asking.

You held his gaze, your chest rising and falling as you forced the words out. “This changes nothing.”

Zayne let out a slow exhale, but he didn’t look disappointed, as if he expected that answer.

Like he knew better.

His lips curled, slow and knowing. “If you say so.”

And when he stepped back, when the cold air rushed between you, you realized something that made your stomach twist.

It did change everything.

And you both knew it.

—•

The royal court had always been a place of veiled threats and measured words, where influence was played like a finely tuned instrument.

Today was no different, maybe except for the fact that Zayne was no longer playing from the sidelines.

You felt the change the moment he entered the chamber.

It wasn’t loud, not a grand display of force or some reckless grab for power.

No, Zayne was smarter than that.

It was in the way the nobles subtly straightened, in the way conversation faltered for just a breath before resuming, as if pretending they hadn’t noticed the shift.

But they did.

You did.

His steps were unhurried, controlled, the soft click of his boots against the marble floor carrying a weight that hadn’t been there before.

He didn’t linger at the edges of the room today, didn’t settle into his usual place of quiet observation.

Today, he moved with purpose.

Like he belonged there.

You sat beside the crown prince, poised, unreadable, but your attention was fixed on Zayne as he approached the war table, his fingers brushing idly over the map sprawled across it.

Not studying it. Not learning it. Just… familiar.

Lord Callas cleared his throat. “The eastern border remains volatile, Your Highness. Reinforcements are needed before the rebellion grows.” He glanced toward the crown prince, awaiting the usual nod of approval.

But before the prince could speak, Zayne’s voice cut through the room.

“And what do you suggest? More soldiers? More bodies to feed a conflict that should have never started?”

The nobles stilled.

Zayne didn’t look at them.

He remained focused on the map, tracing slow circles over the disputed territory.

Callas shifted in his seat. “Without proper forces, the region will fall further into chaos.”

Zayne hummed, tapping his fingers against the wood. “Funny, considering the coin sent to reinforce those garrisons never actually reached them.”

Callas stiffened. “That is an unfounded accusation—”

“Is it?” Zayne finally lifted his gaze, slow, calculated. His smirk was faint, but his eyes? Cold. Unyielding. “You seem awfully defensive for a man who has nothing to hide.”

The murmurs started, hushed but undeniable.

You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening in your lap.

He wasn’t just making a statement. He was setting the stage.

The crown prince’s tone was clipped. “Enough, Zayne.”

Zayne leaned back slightly, as if considering. “Of course.”

A beat.

Then, with an easy shrug, “After all, I suppose it isn’t my responsibility to keep the kingdom from crumbling, is it?”

“I believe that is your job, brother.”

The court went silent.

The shift was subtle, effortless, but devastating.

Zayne wasn’t just calling out a failing strategy.

He was questioning the throne itself.

The crown prince’s jaw tightened. “Watch yourself.”

Zayne’s smirk was slow, deliberate. “Have I said something untrue?”

The room held its breath.

The weight of Zayne’s words settled over the court like a storm waiting to break.

He didn’t need to say it outright.

He didn’t need to declare that he had been cleaning up his brother’s messes for years.

Didn’t need to point out that he has been the one managing the generals, soothing the nobles, securing the stability that the crown prince took credit for.

He made his point.

And everyone in this room had understood it.

You inhaled, the flicker of heat beneath your skin warning you of what was coming next.

Because for the first time, Zayne wasn’t just standing in his brother’s shadow.

He was stepping into his light.

Soon, the court dispersed, leaving the battle that had only just begun.

Whispers trailed behind you as you walked, the echo of hushed voices filling the grand halls.

The tension from the war table still clung to the air, an invisible weight pressing down on the walls, on the floors, on the very foundation of this palace.

And at the center of it stood the two brothers.

The crown prince, the future Emperor.

And Zayne, the man who had never wanted the throne.

Until now.

You weren’t meant to be here.

But you stayed.

Because this wasn’t something that could be ignored.

Their steps were slow, calculated, the silence between them stretched tight. This wasn’t a simple disagreement.

This wasn’t even a rivalry.

This was war.

You could feel it.

The slow, brewing storm. The tension threading through the air like a knife against silk, waiting to cut.

Finally, the crown prince exhaled, breaking the silence first. “That was bold of you, Zayne.”

Zayne barely spared him a glance, his smirk lazy, unbothered. “You’ll have to be more specific, brother. I do many bold things.”

A flicker of irritation crossed the prince’s features, there and gone in an instant. “You’ve never overstepped like this before.”

Zayne hummed, tilting his head slightly, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

“No, I suppose I haven’t.” He smirked. “That should tell you something.”

You saw it then.

The brief flicker of unease in the crown prince’s eyes.

The tension in his stance, the way his fingers twitched, as if resisting the urge to react.

Because for the first time, Zayne wasn’t standing in his shadow.

He was challenging it.

The crown prince came to a stop, turning to face his brother fully. His voice was low, controlled, but beneath the surface, you heard the threat.

“I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but let me make something clear.” He took a step forward. “I am the future Emperor. Not you.”

Zayne finally looked at him then.

Not lazily. Not with amusement. But with something colder. Heavier. Unshaken.

And then, he spoke.

“And yet, I do all the work.”

The words cut through the air like a blade, precise, deliberate.

The crown prince inhaled sharply through his nose, his composure slipping, just slightly.

Zayne’s smirk turned sharper. “Strange, isn’t it?”

The air shifted.

Not visibly. Not enough for the nobles still lingering nearby to notice.

But you felt it, the drop in temperature.

It wasn’t a warning.

It was a challenge.

Zayne felt it too.

But he didn’t tense. Didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Instead, he took a step forward.

A fraction of movement. Subtle, barely noticeable.

But the crown prince stepped back.

Not by much. Not enough for anyone else to see.

But you saw it.

And Zayne knew it.

His smirk deepened, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “Be careful, brother.”

The prince’s fingers curled at his sides, his breath slow, measured.

But he said nothing.

Because there was nothing left to say.

Because Zayne had already won this round.

And you had just witnessed it.

You inhaled slowly, aware of what this meant.

Zayne was no longer just a prince on the sidelines.

He was claiming the space he had been denied for too long.

And he was doing it for you.

—•

The quiet of your chambers was deceiving.

Outside these walls, the palace still buzzed with the aftermath of the court session. The nobles had seen it.

Zayne’s words, his challenge, the moment he had made them think.

And that was dangerous.

Because once a ruler’s strength was questioned, the throne beneath them began to crack.

And you weren’t sure if you should stop him.

Or help him break it entirely.

Zayne stood by the fireplace, one hand resting against the mantle, his expression unreadable as he watched the flames flicker.

You sat across from him, perched at the edge of your chair, fingers curled against the armrest.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with everything that hadn’t been said.

Finally, you spoke, “You’re going to push him.”

Zayne exhaled slowly, tilting his head slightly. “I already have.”

You narrowed your eyes. “How far?”

His gaze flickered to yours, sharp, calculating. “Far enough to make him doubt himself.”

Your pulse stumbled. “That’s dangerous.”

Zayne hummed in agreement. “It is.”

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your gown.

“So what’s next? You make him paranoid? Isolate him? Turn the court against him?”

Zayne’s smirk was slow, deliberate. “I don’t have to.” He stepped closer, his presence sinking into the room, pressing into the space between you.

“He’ll do it himself.”

You inhaled, the weight of his words settling into your chest. “And what about me?”

Something flickered in his gaze. Something dangerous.

“You will be by my side.”

The certainty in his voice sent a shiver through you—not of fear, but of something else.

Something inevitable.

You swallowed. “The nobles won’t just fall in line. They need something to believe in.”

Zayne nodded, tapping his fingers against the chair beside him. “Then we give them something.”

“Meetings.” You thought aloud.

“Strategic alliances. We need to control the conversations before my betrothal to your brother becomes the chain he tries to bind me with.”

Zayne’s smirk faded, replaced with something colder. “He won’t control you.”

The way he said it sent heat curling under your skin.

You exhaled slowly. “Then make them believe in something bigger.”

Zayne tilted his head slightly. “You mean us.”

The words settled between you.

You weren’t sure if he meant the political alliance.

Or the one that had already crossed far too many lines.

Before you could answer, a sharp knock at the door shattered the quiet.

You exchanged a glance before the door suddenly barged open.

A guard stepped inside, his face unreadable. “Your Highness.”

His gaze flickered to Zayne before settling on you. “The crown prince requests your presence.”

You inhaled, already knowing what this was.

Already knowing he wasn’t going to sit idly by.

Zayne’s jaw ticked. “And if she refuses?”

The guard hesitated, shifting slightly. “Then he will come here himself.”

You pushed to your feet before Zayne could say anything else. “I’ll handle him.”

Zayne stepped closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “He’s already desperate.”

You held his gaze, fingers brushing briefly against his wrist before you pulled away. “Then let’s see how desperate he’s willing to get.”

And then, you left.

Because the real fight was just beginning.

—•

The halls felt colder as you walked.

Not because of the evening air, nor the marble floors that never retained warmth. It was him.

The crown prince.

He stood near the large windows of his chambers, dressed in royal black and deep crimson, the embroidered crest of the empire stitched into his sleeves.

He looked composed, regal, every inch the future Emperor he was supposed to be.

But you could see it.

The tightness in his jaw.

The way his fingers curled against the window ledge.

The way the frost that had begun creeping along the glass betrayed his control slipping.

You stopped a few paces from him, your own posture unyielding. “You summoned me.”

He turned, slowly, eyes sharp as steel, glinting with something dangerous. “It seems I have to.”

The tension in the room coiled tight.

He gestured toward the cushioned chair near the hearth. “Sit.”

You didn’t move.

His gaze flickered over you, unreadable, but his tone remained smooth. ���You are my future Empress. This game with my brother ends now.”

Your breath steadied.

“Game?”

The crown prince let out a slow exhale, his head tilting slightly, his expression measured. “I don’t believe I’ve been unclear. You will marry me.”

You didn’t flinch. “Because you command it?”

His smirk was cold. “Because it has already been decided.”

The words landed like a lock clicking into place.

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossing over your chest.

“Funny.” Your voice was smooth, measured. “Because from where I stand, it seems you’re the one who feels the need to secure it.”

His jaw tensed, just barely, but you saw it.

He was pushing now.

Because for the first time, he felt the need to.

He took a step forward, slow, deliberate. “Do not mistake patience for weakness, Princess.”

The temperature in the room dropped. The torches flickered, the frost spreading further along the glass behind him.

Still, you didn’t step back.

Your voice remained steady. “And do not mistake obligation for devotion.”

Silence.

The flicker of something dark in his gaze.

“You overestimate your choices.” His voice lowered, smooth as glass, but it did nothing to hide the warning beneath it.

“This marriage is not an option. You and I will rule, and you will uphold the duty you were born for.”

Your throat tightened, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of what he refused to see.

“And if I don’t?”

A slow inhale.

His expression remained calm, but his power pressed into the room, into your lungs, into the very air you breathed.

And then, he smiled.

“Then I will remind you why you must.”

Ice spread beneath your feet.

A cold so precise, so controlled, that you knew this was no warning.

This was a promise.

Your fingers curled at your sides, heat humming beneath your skin, ready to melt every ounce of frost he dared to place at your feet.

But you didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, you met his gaze, unyielding, unwavering. “We shall see.”

The smirk that crossed his lips was slow, confident, but there was something else beneath it.

Something uncertain.

Because he didn’t expect you to fight this.

And that would be his first mistake.

The frost beneath your feet crept forward, thin veins of ice threading through the marble, a slow, deliberate claim.

The crown prince watched you, his smirk carefully measured, but you knew him.

You saw what he was trying to hide.

Frustration.

Not because of your defiance—he had always expected you to fight.

But because he couldn’t control you the way he did the others.

And he knew that.

He took another step forward, close enough now that the chilled air clung to your skin.

“We shall see?” His voice was smooth, the tone of a man used to winning before the battle even began. “There is nothing to see, Princess. This union is sealed. You are mine.”

Your jaw tightened. “I am not yours.”

His smirk didn’t falter, but something in his gaze hardened. “Not yet.”

Your breath steadied, heat simmering beneath your skin, pressing against the cold, but you kept it contained.

Controlled.

“Do you think this will work?” You tilted your head, keeping your voice calm, even. “That you can… freeze me into submission?”

His smirk faded slightly. “I think you are playing a dangerous game.”

You stepped forward, the warmth of your presence pushing against his cold, countering, challenging.

“And you think you aren’t?”

A flicker of something dark in his gaze. He exhaled sharply, his control tightening, restraining whatever impulse was itching beneath his skin. “I am offering you power. I am offering you a throne.”

“You are offering me a cage.”

His fingers twitched at his sides. “Careful, Princess.”

The crown prince stood before you, his posture stiff with controlled rage, his eyes dark with something dangerous.

“You think you can fight this?” His voice was smooth, but beneath it, you heard the strain.

The frustration.

The fear.

You exhaled slowly, keeping your voice steady. “I don’t have to fight.” You tilted your head, gaze burning into his. “Because you’re already losing.”

His jaw clenched. The cold around you thickened, the air becoming thin, biting. “You forget your place.”

You took a step forward, the ice melting beneath your feet. “You forget that I am fire.”

The torches flared higher, shadows stretching along the walls, warmth flooding the space between you.

“You think your power makes you untouchable? That your ice will cage me?”

Your gaze hardened, your voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “It will never be enough.”

The crown prince inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, his control barely holding. “You overestimate yourself.”

You let out a quiet laugh, slow, deliberate. “No. I think you’re finally realizing that you’ve underestimated me.”

For the first time, his silence was not power.

It was defeat.

Suddenly, the door opened.

A guard entered swiftly, bowing low. “Your Highness, the nobles are gathering. They request your presence.”

The prince inhaled slowly, his expression smoothing over in a practiced motion, his power retreating like an ocean wave pulling back before the next storm.

You knew this wasn’t over.

Neither did he.

He turned to you, his smirk returning, but colder now. “We will finish this later.”

You smiled back, slow and deliberate. “I look forward to it.”

He left without another word.

But as the door closed behind him, as the frost faded, your heart was still beating too fast.

Not from fear.

From the certainty that the real war had just begun.

The moment the door closed behind him, you let out a slow breath, releasing the fire you had held so tightly within you.

The heat hummed beneath your skin, the tension still coiled in your chest, but you had won this round.

You had stood your ground.

But you also knew he wasn’t done.

The crown prince had been pushed before, but never like this. Never in a way that made him feel as if his power was slipping through his fingers. He would not take this lightly.

You turned away from the lingering chill in the room and made your way back toward your chambers. Zayne would be waiting.

And you had much to discuss.

—•

Zayne was already there when you arrived.

Leaning against the fireplace, arms crossed, head tilted slightly in that way that told you he had been expecting this.

Waiting for you to come to him.

His gaze swept over you the moment you stepped inside, sharp, already knowing what happened.

“He tried to secure the marriage.”

You exhaled, closing the door behind you. “He’s grasping at what’s already lost.”

Zayne’s smirk was slow, pleased. “Good.”

You took a measured step forward, arms folding neatly at your waist. “Don’t look so smug. He’s going to lash out.”

Zayne chuckled, tilting his head. “Of course he will. It’s the only thing he knows how to do.” His gaze flickered toward the window, thoughtful. “But he’s not thinking ahead. He never does.”

You met his eyes. “And you are.”

He lifted a brow. “Always.”

Your lips curved slightly, mirroring his amusement, but your voice remained steady. “Then tell me.”

Something flickered behind his expression, something that wasn’t just amusement, something that had been there for longer than either of you had admitted.

He stepped closer, his presence calm, certain, inevitable.

“The nobles are already watching. I gave them a reason to doubt him today.” His voice was smooth, unwavering. “Now, I give them a reason to follow someone else.”

You didn’t hesitate. “You mean you.”

Zayne held your gaze. “I mean us.”

Your breath didn’t catch. Your pulse didn’t stutter. You had already made this decision.

His eyes flickered down, searching for hesitation, for doubt. He found none.

He exhaled slowly, something dark, something hungry curling behind his smirk. “He is desperate to keep you. And when a man is desperate, he makes mistakes.”

You tilted your head slightly. “And what mistake will he make?”

Zayne’s smirk deepened. “The one where he forces your hand too soon.”

Your fingers traced the carved edge of the chair beside you. “And when that happens?”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering to something intimate, lethal.

“Then we take everything from him.”

The words settled between you, but there was no tension.

No uncertainty.

You had already chosen.

This wasn’t a question, there was no hesitation.

This was a declaration.

Your fingers brushed his, deliberate, a promise more than a touch.

“Then let’s begin.”

masterlist

[helaelaemond]

Honey on my Tongue - Aemond x reader

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x betrothed reader

Summary: You’ve been betrothed to Aemond, and he has shown little interest in you during your engagement. It hurts so much, for your heart yearns for him. You can't hold it back any longer

Slightly possessive Aemond. Suggestive situations.

Rating: T

Word count: 1.9k

"Would my lady care to dance?"

You look at the hand held out to you, and glance up at Prince Aegon. He grins down at you, and you take his offer graciously. "Thank you, my prince."

Next to him, the princess watches you curiously, and opposite her, your betrothed, Prince Aemond, keeps his one eye fixed on his brother.

"I think we have an audience," you say quietly, smiling.

"Just as I like," Aegon jokes. His hands are sure against you as you begin the simple dance, stepping in time to the music. At every opportunity, he presses himself closer than is proper. It should bother you - but at least you're getting attention from one prince.

"I do wonder about you sometimes," you tell him when steps bring you closer.

Walking in the correct steps around you, Aegon flashes you another grin. "I am on your mind often, then?"

You can't help but roll your eyes. "When you say things like that, a certain curiosity is sparked."

"And is that a curiosity you wish to be satisfied?"

The wine they serve in the Red Keep is stronger than you're used to, and with it brings a boldness that is also foreign. "Is curiosity the only thing you can satisfy?"

He laughs loudly. "Gods, I am sure you think about that often! Should your curiosity ever grow too great to bear, you come and find me."

"And what of your wife?"

Taking your hand, he glances over your shoulder at sweet Helaena, and shrugs. "What of her?"

"How often do you dishonour her?"

"Where there is no love, there is no dishonour. Perhaps you would do well to remember that."

You raise your eyebrow at his implication. There is mirth in his pretty eyes. "Do you think I am destined for an arrangement where love will not flourish?"

Again, Aegon holds you closer than is proper, and his lips are closer to your ear. "My brother is a warrior and a scholar, not a lover. How warm can steel be in a marriage bed?"

There is a tightness in your chest at his words. Perhaps he means only to be charming, to be suggestive, or perhaps he is deliberately cruel. But it is not the elder brother who gives you butterflies. You glance over at your betrothed, and the ice of his glare makes you shiver.

"My lady?" Aegon asks. You've stopped dancing.

"Ah. My apologies, my prince. I think the wine is stronger than I am used to."

"All the better," he answers quietly, and he winks at you. "Should you desire oblivion this night, come to my chambers."

Your face is close to his, and you smile up at him. "I think not, my prince. Perhaps your hand is more curious than I."

Why did you say that? What in the world made you say that? His jaw hangs open in shock at your boldness, and a blush spreads across your cheeks and down your neck. You return to the table where Aemond and Helaena are sat, and where their mother and grandfather talk together quietly.

"Please excuse me, my queen, my Lord Hand. I think I might retire for the night."

Queen Alicent looks at you, and then at Aegon behind you, her eyes wide and searching. "Are you well, my dear?"

"Just a slightly sore head, Your Grace. Nothing a good sleep will not remedy."

Her smile is tight. "Do not hesitate to send for the maester should you need him. Sleep well, my dear."

You curtsey, and turn to do the same in Helaena and Aemond's direction. "My princess, my prince."

Helaena smiles at you, and Aemond's face is as cold as before. You sweep past Aegon on your way to the door, and ignore how he tries to reach for your hand as you pass him.

Out in the corridor, you lean against the cool stone wall, and try to hold back your tears. The soldiers either side of the hall doors keep their gazes forward. You clamp your hand over your mouth in an attempt to stay silent. How much distaste looked at you with pierces you.

Since you met him, you have felt a draw to him. Sometimes, you have even managed to make him smile enough to laugh. Each time, the queen had looked so pleased. He doesn't seem to laugh often, but you bring that out in him. What a prize. And then, other times, he barely pays you any mind. He doesn't strike up conversations with you unless you speak first. He doesn't invite you to dance.

Those moments with him are precious to you. To him, they don't seem to matter in the slightest.

Meanwhile, Aegon throws himself at you like a whore. Perhaps, one day, you'll take him up on the offer - if for no other reason than to feel something. To close your eyes under his touch and imagine Aemond. Anything is better than this loneliness, surely.

You have to get out of here. As weak as your legs feel, you overcome the desire to crumple, and quickly, you begin walking down the corridor towards your rooms. Until you are married, your rooms are far from the royal quarters - quite a trek through the maze of the Red Keep. The doors to the hall where you have just had dinner with the royal family swing open and then closed, and footsteps join yours.

"Wait!" a command is barked. "My lady."

You ignore the order. Your betrothed is not yet your lord husband - he does not command you. Well, as a prince, he does. But the tears have begun to stream, hot and thick, from your eyes, and surely that will disgust him.

"My lady!"

Even Prince Aemond's harsh voice brings butterflies to your stomach. His gait is far longer than yours. You won't disgrace yourself by running like a child from him, and so he quickly catches up with you. As you walk quickly, he matches his steps to yours.

"You have no respect, do you, my lady?"

Furiously, you wipe your cheeks. "I have respect."

"Then stop when you are commanded."

"The command itself is not respectful. I wish to retire."

"And I wish to speak with you."

The wine. Blame the wine. "That is quite unusual."

He grabs your arm and pulls you into a shadowy alcove. "Do you deliberately wish to displease me?"

You try to wrench your arm from his hold but he's too strong. "There is nothing deliberate about it, but it seems it is the only feeling I can inspire in you."

He stares at you through the shadows, his purple eye searching, cold, and his jaw set. "And here I had thought you were intelligent."

"Do you often think of me?" Your voice is laced with accusation.

"More than you know."

"I know nothing."

"On that much, we agree."

You try to pull out of his hold again, but his slender hand is impossibly strong, a vice around your bicep. "What do you want from me, my prince?"

"Dignity."

"What, pray tell, have I done that you deem undignified?"

His lip curls slightly. He pulls you closer to him. "You danced with him."

"He is your brother - it would be shameful to decline his invitation."

"And what of his other invitations? Do you accept those?"

Your stomach drops, and your eyes widen. "I know not of what you speak," you lie.

"He is a lecherous beast, not worthy of my sister, not worthy of-"

"Of whom?" you challenge.

His lips pull back over his teeth for a moment. The dim light makes shadows sharp across his angular face. Gods, he is beautiful. Even in rage, he is beautiful. And you do not fear him. You only fear his indifference. "You are my betrothed. I expect you to act as such."

"And how ought you act as my betrothed?"

"As I see fit," Aemond says, each word slow and deliberate.

"What of my expectations?"

He glares down at you. Gods, he's tall. It makes you weak. "What expectations do you have?"

"That my betrothed at least pretends to like my company."

That makes his spine straighten. The hand on your arm loosens slightly, and to your surprise, it trails up your shoulder and lightly touches your throat. It's impossible to breathe under such sudden tenderness. You can feel the callouses on his palm. "Pretend?" he echoes.

You nod stiffly. "I do not need to pretend. You know I enjoy your company. Too much, I think."

"Too much?"

"Don't. Do not do that."

Aemond's eye watches as his finger touches the base of your throat in the soft spot between your collarbones. It's where he gently feels your pulse. It's so quick. "Do what?"

"Do not pretend that you are unaware of my feelings."

"There is no pretence. I know not."

You push his hand away, although the touch has made your skin rise in goosebumps from your thighs to your scalp. "Then you are as blind with one eye than with none."

He snorts humourlessly. "Elucidate for me."

The wine, the wine, the wine. You shove his chest and he stumbles back, caught unawares. "I like you a great deal. And it agonises me that you do not feel the same. It is a humiliation!"

Swallowing thickly, Aemond's expression softens. "Aegon makes you laugh. I do not."

"Aegon is a fool, and makes me laugh as such. But I do not... I do not care... like I do... for..."

"You care?"

You could hit him, you really could. "If you could not tell by now, then we shall never make one another happy."

When you turn away to walk off, he catches you again, and suddenly he pulls you tight against his tall frame, and his arms are around your back, and his face is close to yours. "You make me laugh, my lady."

"I make many people laugh. You could make me a royal fool."

"Do not say such things," he hisses, anger flashing again. "You're my betrothed. Mine."

"I do not want to belong to you like a book or sword."

"Yes, you do." He leans down and whispers against your ear. "You are mine, and mine alone. I am sorry that you did not know that until now."

"Do you say this out of pride or love?" you ask, more bravery in your voice than you truly feel.

"My love is proud. And so too is my betrothed."

"Pride does not drive me, my prince. Only love."

"Do you love me?" he murmurs. It is good he is too close to look at. If he faced you, you would not have the strength to answer.

"I do."

"Not Aegon?"

"No."

He kisses under your ear. You whimper. His voice is so silky. "You will not dance with him again."

"Will I dance with you?"

"Every night until we are wed."

As he winds his arms tighter around you, you press a hand into his hair. "And once we are married?"

"We shall have no time for dancing. I shall have no mind for anything but possessing you."

"You want to possess me?"

He kisses your skin. "Entirely. For already, I am yours."

[fel-09]

Hey there! I had a request. Thranduil is overworking himself, ignoring his health and his partner (Reader) can't convince him to rest. So instead Reader convinces little Legolas to pretend to stay up all night and tell Thranduil that "I want to be like Ada!" And see if that will convince the King to rest so he isn't a bad influence on his son.

The grand halls of the Woodland Realm lay silent under the silver glow of the moon. The air carried the scent of ancient trees and the distant whisper of night birds, yet within the throne room, a lone figure remained. King Thranduil, his robes of midnight and silver draped around him, leaned over a table stacked with maps and documents, his sharp gaze tracing over the endless lines of reports.

You had long since given up on coaxing him to bed. Each attempt was met with the same dismissive murmur, a distracted nod, or—on particularly stubborn nights—a sharp look that warned you away. The Elvenking was an immovable force when duty called, and no words seemed enough to sway him.

So you had turned to a far more formidable force—his own son.

Little Legolas had peered up at you with wide, curious eyes when you had whispered your plan to him earlier that evening. The child adored his father beyond measure, and if there was anything that could move Thranduil, it was the sight of his son looking up at him in admiration… or disappointment.

Now, as the candles flickered low in their sconces, the small prince trudged into the room, rubbing his tiny fists against his eyes. His golden hair, tousled from a feigned attempt at staying awake, shimmered in the dim light.

"Ada," he murmured, his voice soft but insistent.

Thranduil’s quill paused, though he did not look up. "Legolas, what are you doing awake?"

"I wanted to be like you," the child answered, his tone carrying the distinct weight of a child trying very hard to sound serious. He shuffled closer to the desk, blinking up at his father. "You work all night. So I will too."

That made Thranduil glance up, his ice-blue eyes narrowing slightly. "That is not something for little princes," he said gently, his gaze flickering to you for just a heartbeat before returning to his son. "You need rest."

Legolas' lip wobbled—perhaps an added touch of dramatics—and he shook his head. "But you do not rest, Ada. If kings do not need sleep, then neither do princes."

A shadow of realization crossed Thranduil's face. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and for the first time that evening, he truly looked at the parchment before him, then at the small child standing beside him, his blue eyes shining with exhaustion.

His gaze softened.

"Legolas," Thranduil said after a moment, setting down his quill and reaching for his son. The boy wasted no time, scrambling into his father’s arms, resting his small head against the dark silk of his robes. Thranduil ran a hand through the soft gold of his son’s hair, exhaling a slow breath. "I do not wish for you to follow in every step I take," he murmured. "Not if it leads you away from what is good for you."

Legolas hummed sleepily, his little hands clutching the fabric of Thranduil’s tunic. "Then you should rest too, Ada. So I know it is good for me."

The words struck deep. You could see it in the way Thranduil closed his eyes briefly, as though accepting a truth he had ignored for too long. When he looked at you again, something in his expression had shifted—not quite surrender, but perhaps… understanding.

With careful movements, he stood, cradling his son against him. "Come," he said, his voice quieter now. "I will take you to bed."

You followed as Thranduil carried Legolas down the candlelit halls, the little prince already halfway to dreams before reaching his chambers. As the Elvenking laid his son down and brushed a gentle hand over his forehead, you lingered in the doorway.

"You are a terrible conspirator," he murmured, though there was no true reprimand in his tone.

You only smiled. "And yet, I have succeeded where many have failed."

A sigh, a shake of the head, and then—finally—Thranduil turned to you. "Come then," he said, offering his hand. "If I must rest… I will not do so alone."

And as the heavy doors closed behind you both, the Woodland Realm, at last, knew a night where its king allowed himself peace.

The moment little Legolas let out a soft, sleepy sigh, Thranduil straightened, turning his gaze toward you. There was something dangerous in his eyes—familiar yet rare—a silent declaration that he had made a decision, and there was no escaping it now.

“Well then,” he murmured, stepping toward you.

Before you could react, you were suddenly lifted off your feet. His arms wrapped around you effortlessly, and in the blink of an eye, you found yourself unceremoniously thrown over his shoulder.

“Thranduil!” you gasped, kicking your legs in protest. “Your Majesty, this is highly improper behavior for someone of your status! Put me down this instant!”

He didn’t even pause.

With a composed, almost amused air, he strode through the halls, carrying you like a wayward elf who had dared to challenge the king’s authority. The smugness radiating from him was unbearable.

“Are you questioning your king’s decisions?” he mused, his voice far too smooth for your liking.

“Yes, actually!” you snapped, pounding a weak fist against his back. “I demand to be released immediately!”

Thranduil let out a low hum, considering your words for all of a second. “No.”

And with that, he carried you straight to bed, utterly unfazed by your protests.

[idkyetxoxo]

Aemond Targaryen - Fire and Ice

Summary - Fire and ice may sound poetic, but in reality, they cannot coexist—or can they? Aemond and Lady Stark navigate the clashes of duty and personality. Their bond deepens through honest conversation and secret escapes, challenging the foundations of their destinies.

Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x Stark reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2649

Masterlist for Aemond • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

"I do not wish to marry her," Aemond stated plainly as he sparred with Ser Criston. His strikes were precise and controlled, each movement a testament to his rigorous training.

"Why is that?" Criston asked, deftly dodging a blow and countering with a swift jab.

"We are not compatible," Aemond replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He parried Criston's strike and stepped back, his posture relaxed yet ready.

Criston took a moment to catch his breath, curiosity evident in his gaze. "In what way?"

"The cold has never been my thing," Aemond continued, his voice carrying a hint of disdain. "Fire and ice may sound poetic, but in reality, they cannot coexist." 

He executed a series of rapid strikes, each one more forceful than the last, pushing Criston onto the defensive.

"Fire and ice," Criston echoed, pausing to assess his prince. "You believe your temperaments will clash?"

Aemond nodded, his expression hardening. "Her demeanour will likely be as frigid as winter, and I have no desire to spend my days trying to thaw her out. I require a partner with passion, someone who complements my own fire, not extinguishes it."

Criston nodded thoughtfully, their sparring momentarily forgotten as he considered Aemond's words. "But this marriage will also be a union of houses, a strategic alliance?"

Aemond's eye narrowed, his frustration evident. "Yes, but at what cost? An alliance built on a foundation of discord is doomed to crumble. I seek a companion who can stand beside me, not merely as a figurehead, but as an equal."

Criston resumed their sparring, his strikes probing, testing Aemond's resolve. "And who, then, do you believe could be this partner?"

Aemond's expression softened for a moment. "Someone with fire in her veins, someone unafraid to challenge me, to push me to be better. A woman of strength and ambition, who understands the burdens of our positions and does not shy away from them."

As they continued their bout, the clash of swords echoed through the training yard. Criston offered a small nod of approval. "Then perhaps, my prince, you should seek not just a match of convenience, but a match of minds."

Aemond's eyes met Criston's. "Indeed, Ser Criston. Indeed."

They resumed their training, the prince's mind alight with possibilities. He would not settle for less than what he believed was his due.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

"Lady Stark," the Queen greeted as I stepped out of my carriage, her voice warm yet commanding.

"Your Grace," I replied, dropping into a deep curtsy, my heart pounding in my chest.

"I trust the journey from the North was well?" she inquired, her gaze unwavering. 

I nodded, clearing my throat, acutely aware of the eyes upon me. The sudden attention from the welcome party was overwhelming, anxiety tightening its grip on me.

"It was as smooth as can be, Your Grace," I answered, forcing a polite smile. 

The cloak around my shoulders felt incredibly heavy and suffocating, its weight a tangible reminder of the expectations that came with it.

As I straightened, I noticed a figure standing slightly apart from the rest, his presence commanding yet enigmatic. Prince Aemond Targaryen, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. His expression was one of surprise as if he had not anticipated my arrival or perhaps my demeanour.

"Lady Stark," Aemond said, stepping forward. His voice was measured, but there was a hint of curiosity in his tone. "Welcome to King's Landing."

"Thank you, Prince Aemond," I replied, dipping my head in acknowledgement. 

Up close, his sharp features and the fire in his eye were even more striking. He studied me for a moment, and I could sense the wheels turning in his mind.

"I must say, the tales of Northern resilience do not do you justice," he remarked, his lips curving into a slight smile. "You appear far more formidable than I imagined."

The comment caught me off guard, and I felt a flush rise to my cheeks. "Your words are kind, Prince Aemond," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. "We Northerners are accustomed to enduring much."

"Endurance is a virtue we all must learn," Aemond replied, his gaze lingering on me. "And yet, there is more to strength than mere endurance."

Our exchange was interrupted by the Queen, who gestured for us to proceed inside. "Come, Lady Stark, you must be weary from your travels. Allow us to make you comfortable."

As we moved towards the entrance of the Keep, I couldn't help but steal glances at Aemond. There was something magnetic about him, an unspoken challenge in his eye that both intrigued and unnerved me. He walked beside me, his posture regal, his presence commanding.

"You must forgive the formality of your reception," Aemond said quietly, his voice meant for my ears alone. "It is not often we receive guests of such... distinction."

"I understand," I replied, matching his tone. "The North is far, and our visits infrequent."

He nodded, and a silence fell between us, filled with unspoken thoughts and assessments. As we entered the grand halls of the Keep, I felt the enormity of my situation settle over me. I had to remind myself that this was not merely a visit, it was a test, a challenge, an opportunity.

As the Queen led me to my chambers, I knew that my arrival had set something in motion, something that would shape my future in ways I could not yet comprehend and at the heart of it was Aemond.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

"Your brother, Cregan Stark, did not join you?" Aemond asked as we strolled through the Keep, a tour I suspected his mother, the Queen, had insisted upon.

"The journey is long, and it would be rather difficult to leave Winterfell unattended for such a lengthy period," I replied, sensing a subtle hint of judgment in his question.

"I understand," Aemond said thoughtfully. "It is difficult being a man in a position of power. I am glad he trusted us with the safety of his sister, though."

Clearing my throat, I met his gaze steadily. "My brother trusts me. He is well aware of how capable I am of making decisions for myself."

Aemond's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Intrigued, he slowed his pace, giving me his full attention.

"I mean to say," I continued, "that while he trusts your people to receive me and provide comfort, he also knows that I can make decisions about my future with a clear head, despite being a woman."

Aemond regarded me with a newfound respect, a subtle shift in his demeanour. 

"It is rare to find someone who speaks so candidly, Lady Stark," he said, his tone now devoid of any earlier condescension. "Especially in these halls."

"Honesty has always served me well," I replied, my voice steady despite the uncertainty of the situation. "I believe it is a strength, not a weakness."

"Indeed," Aemond agreed, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Strength comes in many forms. It seems you possess more than one."

As we continued our walk, I felt a change in the air. Aemond's initial scepticism seemed to be giving way to genuine interest. He asked me about life in the North, about the responsibilities I shouldered, and I answered with the same forthrightness. 

Each response seemed to chip away at his preconceived notions.

"I must admit," Aemond said after a while, "I had my reservations about this match. But now, seeing your spirit and hearing your convictions, I find myself less opposed. 

His words took me by surprise. "I am glad to hear that Prince Aemond."

"You may call me Aemond," he offered a small but significant gesture. "And I look forward to seeing what more you are capable of."

We walked in silence for a moment, the tension between us easing into a more comfortable camaraderie. The Keep's imposing walls seemed a little less daunting, and the future a little less uncertain.

As we approached the end of our tour, I realized that this match might hold more potential than I had initially thought. Aemond, with his sharp mind and discerning eye, was not merely a prince but a possible ally and in the intricate dance of power and politics, an ally was a valuable thing indeed.

For the first time since arriving, I felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, in Aemond, I had found someone who could see me for who I truly was, a capable and determined woman.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

Aemond was acutely aware of the new set of eyes watching him train with Criston. Despite his focus on the sparring match, his gaze kept drifting toward my direction. Criston noticed the distraction, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

"What happened to fire and ice being unable to coexist?" Criston asked, lunging forward with a swift strike. Their swords clashed, the sound ringing through the training yard.

"Fire and ice can coexist when the ice is someone with fire in their veins," Aemond replied, parrying the blow with a deft movement. "Someone unafraid to be outspoken and passionate."

With a final, powerful thrust, Aemond disarmed Ser Criston, sending his sword flying across the yard. The match concluded, and he turned to face the source of his distraction. I stood at the edge of the training yard, my eyes locked onto his with an intensity that sent a thrill down his spine. 

A smirk played on my lips as I began to clap, the sound slow and deliberate.

"Well done, Aemond," I called out, my voice carrying a blend of admiration and challenge.

Aemond's lips curved into a slight smile, his earlier words to Criston echoing in his mind. He approached me, wiping the sweat from his brow, the adrenaline of the fight still coursing through his veins.

"Enjoying the show, Lady Stark?" he asked, his tone teasing.

I met his gaze unwaveringly. "I must say, you fight with remarkable skill. It seems the tales of your prowess are not exaggerated."

Aemond inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you. Your presence has a way of making a man want to prove himself."

"Is that so?" I replied, arching an eyebrow. "Then perhaps I should observe more often."

"I would not object," Aemond said, the flirtation in his voice unmistakable. "It seems your presence has inspired me to perform at my best."

I smiled a genuine expression that softened my features. "In that case, I shall make it a point to attend more frequently. It appears we both have much to gain from these encounters."

Aemond nodded, the unspoken understanding between us solidifying. 

In me, he saw a kindred spirit, someone who matched his passion and strength, someone who could stand beside him as an equal. The prospect of our union no longer felt like a mere political arrangement but a partnership filled with potential.

As we walked back towards the castle, side by side, Aemond couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. 

For the first time, he looked forward to the future, not just as a prince fulfilling his duty, but as a man embarking on a journey with a woman who could truly challenge and inspire him.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

Three moons remained until our wedding, and here I was, sneaking out of the Keep with Aemond close behind me.

"If we are caught, we will surely be in trouble," I said, walking up an isolated path.

"I am the prince. I do not get in trouble," Aemond replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I rolled my eyes at his attitude but couldn't suppress the giggle that escaped my lips.

To him, the sound was like a melody. Aemond found it hard to admit that every moment he spent with his betrothed made him fall further and further in awe of my charm. 

It was why he found himself letting me lead the way on our secret escape, despite having no clue where I was headed.

I stopped abruptly, and Aemond walked into my back, realizing the reason for my sudden halt.

"Vhagar is too big to be kept in the dragon pit," he explained, now taking the lead towards his dragon, who sat calmly upon a hill.

He stopped in front of her, placing his hand on her scales. "You are afraid," he guessed without looking back.

"No," I answered, and he looked back, surprised by my response.

"I am in awe. She is a formidable beast," I added, and Aemond knew there was no hint of a lie in my words. I took a step closer, standing next to Aemond.

"Touch her," he said and I raised an eyebrow, I knew dragons only allowed their riders to get close.

"Come on," Aemond encouraged, grabbing my hand and placing it on Vhagar. He rested his hand over mine as I gently touched Vhagar.

Vhagar stirred a little, her eyes narrow and bold. She regarded me with a curious intelligence. It was perhaps the most daring thing I had ever done. Vhagar was known to be the queen of all dragons, the hardened survivor of a hundred battles.

But I trusted Aemond. I trusted that he wouldn't let anything happen to me.

"She is incredible," I whispered, marvelling at the dragon's sheer size and power.

Aemond's grip on my hand tightened slightly, a gesture of reassurance. "She senses your intentions," he said softly. "Dragons are more perceptive than we often give them credit for."

With a confident gesture, Aemond mounted Vhagar's back, then extended his hand for me to take.

"No, I do not wish to be eaten," I said, hesitating, acutely aware of my limits.

"Do you trust me?" he asked earnestly. I sighed, then took a cautious step forward, finally allowing him to hoist me up onto the dragon's powerful form.

I settled in behind him, and he placed my hands securely around his waist.

"Hold on tight," he said, his voice steady and reassuring as Vhagar unfurled her massive wings.

With a powerful thrust, Vhagar leapt into the sky, the ground quickly receding below us. The wind rushed past, cold and invigorating, making me tighten my grip on Aemond.

As Vhagar soared higher, the landscape below transformed into a breathtaking mosaic of fields, rivers, and distant mountains. The sensation of flight was overwhelming, filling me with an exhilarating sense of freedom and awe.

Aemond glanced back at me with a grin. "How does it feel?" he asked, his voice carrying effortlessly over the wind.

"Unbelievable," I replied, unable to hide the awe in my voice. "I've never experienced anything like this."

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound. "It's a different world up here, isn't it?"

Vhagar flew with a grace that belied her size, her powerful wings beating rhythmically. The sensation of gliding through the sky, so far above the earth, was indescribable. I felt a thrill of excitement and a strange sense of peace.

"Let's see something truly spectacular," Aemond declared, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he spurred Vhagar higher into the heavens.

We ascended until the air grew colder and thinner, the world below shrinking into a distant panorama. Aemond guided Vhagar towards a mountain range, the peaks dusted with snow and glistening in the sunlight.

As we neared the summit of the highest peak, Aemond pointed. "Look there," he said.

I followed his gaze and gasped. Nestled in a hidden valley was a crystalline lake, its surface reflecting the sky like a mirror. The untouched beauty of the scene took my breath away.

"Isn't it magnificent?" Aemond asked, his voice laced with pride, clearly pleased by my reaction.

"It's incredible," I agreed, my heart swelling with the beauty of it all.

He gave a satisfied nod, enjoying my awe. "Shall we head back before we are missed?" Aemond asked after a while.

"Yes," I agreed, though I was reluctant to leave this moment behind. "But I hope we can do this again."

As we made our way back to the Red Keep, I couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement for the future. The stark contrast of fire and ice no longer felt like an insurmountable divide, but rather a dance of elements, each enhancing the other.

A/n -  Opposites attract!

Aemond tag list - @darylandbethfanforever9 @lessdepressy @veesuguru @targaryendestiel

[rexelectus]

● – || @ruinedbycatastrophe sent: ❛ i just wish i could protect you from everything. ❜ ( from regis )

● – || Noctis had been focusing on packing the night before his trip , with Ignis helping him here and there . He could feel the butterflies in his stomach as he folded his last shirt and put it inside of his suitcase . He enjoyed having his father's company while he prepared for what lie ahead . There was something about it that provided an aura of [ [ c o m f o r t ] ] to the Prince . Father and son . . . it would be a while before they were together again come tomorrow .

" You've protected me my whole life . . . I have to do this on my own . "

He slowly made his way over to his bed and sat down , sinking into the plush surface so that he could join his father . He offered his father a [ [ s o f t ] ] smile as he looked up at him , doing his best to mask the voices that were so violently taunting him inside of his head . Freedom . . . a word which here means something slipping from one's fingers as another choice in their life disappears .

" I promise . . . I'll be back before you know it . It's just to Altissia for the wedding and back . It will be like I'm not even gone . "

This wedding had been something long coming , since long before he could remember . This day was going to come eventually . He just wished that his father would join him for the journey instead of staying behind .

" I'll . . . miss you , dad . "

[allforhee]

ੈ✩ — 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 (ONESHOT) | PARK SUNGHOON

୨୧ pairing — streamer/gamer!bf park sunghoon x fem!reader

୨୧ synopsis — dating sunghoon was like flipping two sides of a coin. on one side, it felt like you were dating the sweetest introvert known to man. but on another side, you felt like he was the loudest extrovert (and gamer) that ever lived. you tried living with it, in this little bubble. but when sunghoon starts acting sensitive and eventually forgets your anniversary, that fragile bubble finally bursts.

୨୧ genre — non!idol au, established relationship, angst BUT with a fluffy ending cuz why not, shy!sunghoon but open when he's only with you

୨୧ warnings — cursing, sunghoon being forgetful, miscommunication trope (i'm sorry), bottling up feelings, arguments between you and hoonie :(

୨୧ word count — 1,752 words, 9410 characters (NOT PROOFREAD (cause midterms sucks ass))

୨୧ author's note — sorry for the mini hiatus y'all i have my midterms!!! #busygall but y'all have seen gamer!bf hee, but what about sunghoon? i feel like he's quiet on the outside but his gamer side is so.. this for my ice prince (but with a heart of gold) girlies... sorry for the angst!!!!!!

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌.

opposed to his loud and obnoxious friends, he tended to let out a small chuckle instead of a crackling laugh. at first (and around you), he was like that.

obviously you two liked each other in secret, because sunghoon didn’t know what to say, and you weren’t sure if he liked you back.

so when you two started dating, where you would stay over at his place more often (and eventually it felt as if you two moved in together), was when you found out about his gamer side.

turns out, behind the striking radiation of his monitor, was a completely different sunghoon. instead of his usual quiet self, he was loud as any other streamer. you could practically hear his laugh echo through his apartment as he did his streams.

you didn't want to disturb sunghoon in the middle of his streams, so whenver you needed something, you'd text him (even if he won't reply immediately, it was a good try).

but over time, you got more comfortable around each other. sunghoon even told you that "it's okay sweets, just call my name and i'll respond."

so you did. you started with little "what do you want for dinner?"s and a "i'm gonna go to sleep, okay?"

the first few times you'd do that, sunghoon would answer with a sweet "um, do you mind getting some takeout?" and a "okay sweets, sleep well."

but then, he would get easily irritated. his sweet replies turned into sharp responses like "just get whatever you want, i don't care."

you understood that you were bothering him. you saw on his screen how he was losing the match (maybe? you didn't understand what he was playing), and you didn't want to anger him further. but you knew at one point, the bubble would one day burst.

it was a friday. but it was your 6 month anniversary. you had everything planned, you planned a dinner with him, and got him presents. you especially got him a custom made keyboard keycap with your initials engraved, and one of a little penguin. you were determined to make today special.

you woke up at seven, seeing your boyfriend's still sleeping figure, ready to start the day by making some fresh waffles for the two of you before you had some uni classes at ten.

you had everything decorated, the waffles drizzled with honey, and a little sticky note next to it that wrote "happy 6 months hoon <3" and two cups of steaming hot coffee.

you got ready and dressed up, waiting for sunghoon to come down. the clock's hand at the number 8. but slowly, the hands on the clock that hung on his wall moved. from 8 to 9. the ice in his coffee slowly melting. the waffles no longer warm with the love you made for him.

you wanted to wake him up. but after his sensitive behavior at you a couple weeks prior, you were scared.

when your phone read 9.50, you realized that sunghoon wasn't waking up anytime soon. so you packed your bag and wrote a little note under the previous sticky note reading "i'm off to uni, enjoy and i can't wait for tonight :)" to let sunghoon know you were at uni. so you left.

thankfully, you only had 2 classes, so by 3pm, you were on your way home. you were excited to see sunghoon, half expecting him to wait for you by the door with his arms open.

you were lucky you hadn't expected 100% that sunghoon would be there. because the moment you stepped in your shared apartment, you felt emptyness.

the plate of what once was filled with waffles on the table was half eaten, his now empty glass of coffee sitting in the sink, and the sticky note you'd left on the ground. it wasn't crumpled or anything, but you were hoping he atleast read it.

knowing it was a friday and that sunghoon would be back from uni at 5, you determined to get yourself ready for that night.

you wore his favorite dress. you did your hair the way he liked. you had everything ready for him.

you sat in the living room waiting for sunghoon to come home. the time on your phone read 5.03pm. he should be wrapping up his classes now.

but you knew this feeling all too well. this feeling of deja vu as the clock's hands slowly moved from five to six. six to seven. seven to eight. before you knew it, it was almost 11pm as you were in the bathroom washing off the streams of dried mascara from when you were crying.

the moment you heard the apartment door open, you had no expectations. even if a little piece of you hoped that he'd come home all dressed in a suit, a hanful of flowers, and a plausible excuse to his lateness.

but as you stepped downstairs, makeup slightly washed off from the dried mascara, was when the words "what are you all dressed up for gorgeous? it's 11pm," slipped from his mouth. finally, that bubble burst as your fractured heart finally broke into pieces.

there he was, still in casual wear, hair slightly a mess, clearly reeking of alcohol. he was out partying.

that's the moment sunghoon sobered up. the sound of your sobs. never in your six months of dating has he ever seen you in this state. yes, you had arguments left and right, maybe some tears from rewatching la la land for the hundredth time. but never this.

"no no no, sweets what's wrong?" he asked, his once drunken eyes now filled with worry as he tried to pull you into his touch.

"you don't get it sunghoon, do you?" you snapped at him, swatting his hands away. you never used his government name. it was always hoonie, or baby. but never just sunghoon.

"get what sweets? why are you wearing my favorite dress? if you had told me this i would've come home earlier." sunghoon defended.

"you seriously forgot? you ate the waffles, drank the coffee, i even wrote you a note! were you just so caught up with your stupid games that you just forgot?" you ranted. you had enough.

"what sticky note? i woke up at ten and the place was practically empty, i saw the waffles on the table and the coffee and i just assumed that you made breakfast and left for uni." sunghoon proclaimed.

"you know what? i'm gonna go to bed. i can't handle you anymore. just go scream at your monitor, or- whatever." you sighed, heading upstairs into your shared bedroom.

sunghoon sighed, his hands on his hips, before running a hand through his hair. at that moment, he spotted the small heart sticky note under the dinner table. he hunched over and grabbed it, before he read what you had written on it.

the moment it clicked, he rushed upstairs. your six months. six. he can't believe he forgot.

as he stepped into the bedroom, he saw you in that dress, about to take it off. his favorite dress. "sweets i'm so sorry-"

"sorry won't cut it sunghoon. you've been so sensitive lately and all i wanted was to spend some time with my boyfriend! but no, you just had to play your stupid video games." you argued.

"no, you're the one who's been so distant lately! so i've been occupying myself with those stupid games to distract from my thoughts that maybe you would break up with me!"

"but that doesn't justify the fact that you just plain out forgot and left me to rot here!" you screamed at his face.

"i was out with the boys because i was trying to figure out how to tell you i love you!" he confessed, head hung low.

your once dried eyes filled with tears once more. in a panic, sunghoon cupped your face in his hands slowly wiping away the tears away, before you buried your face in the crook of his neck, trying your best not to break into pieces.

"i think we need to work on our communication." you mumbled in the crook of his neck.

"what do you mean, sweets?" he asks, slowly caressing your hair.

"because i love you more, hoonie." you whisper in his ear.

"that's impossible." he pushed you away from the crook of his neck, wiping away your tears as he pushed your hair away from your face. he looked in your eyes with a dashing smile.

his smile felt so infectious, that you couldn't help but shoot him a smile back, "because i love you most, sweets," before he kissed you.

his hands were painfully warm compared to your cold touch, a side effect of hours of waiting in the cold living room.

you smiled into the kiss, pulling away to take a deep breath, spotting sunghoon staring at you like you were his whole world, before you dove into another kiss.

"sweets, you know how much i love this dress on you." he mumbled into the kiss.

you pulled away and let out a laugh, "oh i know, it was supposed to be my little gift to you."

"oh but i probably deserve a punishment for making your heart break like that, i mean you were crying for hours! i'll do anything, what do you want?" sunghoon asked, ready to give you what seemed like the world.

"take a break from playing your games." you asked from him. looking into his eyes.

"well that's not as bad-"

"for a month."

"no no no i can't do that! you know the money i earn from my streams basically funds your shopping habit. i mean how am i supposed to dress you up in such beautiful dresses?"

you chuckled at his response, blushing at how affectionate he was being. "how about just two weeks and i'll make you breakfast every morning? or i could play animal crossing with you?" sunghoon begged.

you sighed into him, finally giving in knowing how much he hated playing animal crossing. he just thought it was stupid and there was no challenge to it. "okay. two weeks, breakfast, and animal crossing. but could you at least teach me how to play your games with you though? i feel bad that you have to hear me yap on about my favorite villagers."

with a chuckle, sunghoon kisses your temple, "for you, always."

taglist; @desistay

back to my masterlist?

© 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐇𝐄𝐄, est. 2024 | do not plagiarize, modify, translate, or repost my works on any platforms.

[twisted-beez]

"Goodness, aren't you just the most handsome boy!"

You coo at the purring bundle of fluff sprawled out at your feet, rolling happily amongst the leaves that have settled on the cobblestone pathway up to Ramshackle. Your fingers thread through a black-furred tummy, nearly caught by the playful cat that wriggles excitedly each time he catches you on your way home.

Your companion, who you were about to set off on a walk with, is slightly less pleased. He says nothing, but his lips are pulled into a pout. Tsunotarou seems to be more focused on you than the cat you're showering with affection. Something unfamiliar tugs at his chest. A childlike envy that a prince ought to be ashamed of having.

But something just felt wrong with your words. More specifically, the subject to which they were directed.

The heir to Briar Valley is cautious to reign in his emotions. That doesn't stop the light drizzle that begins to pour. You, ever-observant, are broken from your trance with the playful cat and look up to him. Your smile falters from worry- then quirks back into place as you snicker, noting the turn of his lips.

"Tsunotarou- are you jealous?"

"No."

Thunder booms. You can't help but laught at how silly the situation is, and the charm of your delight- no matter it's direction at him- makes Tsunotarou's chest flutter. He thinks to protest, insisting you not tease him, but thinks he'd be sad if you stopped, too.

"Sorry, I know I'm supposed to be spending time with you right now. Shall we get going?" Your consideration warms his heart. His tantrumous moods never last long when you're involved. Your company melts any dissatisfaction or distress he has away like his own fiery breath melts ice cream in his mouth. The delight thereafter is similar as well. Better, maybe. Definitely.

"You have done nothing wrong," he answers, smooth and cordial, relieved that you've given him a way out of the question so easily. The sun shower is over in moments as steady conversation settles in.

A troublesome little cat trails along behind, not quite ready to give up his source of affection to a dragon.

[redflagshipwriter]

Check yes ch 11

masterpost

Jason repressed honest to god giggles until Danny phased them out of the building and to ground level. Then they started running back to where he had left his bike, laughing with adrenaline as Jason’s footsteps beat down on the pavement. They ran through a thick cloud of smoke outside a barbeque place, bathed in spice and meat essence. “The look on his face!” Jason gasped. “Why did that looney tunes plan work?”

“That’s how my battles go,” Danny defended himself, grinning so hard he glowed under the yellow tinted streetlights. Jason wasn’t sure he was actually running, per se. Was he touching the ground? “I do shit like enter video games and physically fight firewalls. You people are not prepared for me.”

“No shit, Bugs Bunny.” Jason snickered and wiped tears of laughter away before he unhooked his helmet from his bike. Danny shied away like he was worried Jason would force him to take head protection. Jason had fought enough of those battles for today, so he let it go when he never would for a normal passenger. After a moment Danny skittered back into grabbing range and Jason jokingly snagged his arm to reel him onto the back of the bike. “Where to, Prince Charming?” he teased.

Danny went stiff and cold behind him, which was really on brand for a corpse. But it also made it very obvious that he was trying to suppress some kind of reaction.

Okay. That nickname was either really good or really bad. Jason kept his body language loose and open, not really concerned but very aware that he did have an interdimensional monster guy on the back of his bike. “Brr,” Jason complained mildly. For real, it was like having a big ice pack pressed up against his back. How did it permeate his leather jacket and layers of tactical material so easily?

“...Sorry,” Danny said, voice flat. He reached out and gripped onto Jason’s front pockets. “Please don’t call me that one, for mysterious reasons.”

“...Alright.” Jason took that on board. He’d stepped near some kind of trigger. He made sure to remember it. “I have questions that are answered by the ‘mysterious reasons’ clause at the end of your sentence. Fair play. Let’s go to the arcade. It’ll take him a while to follow us.” He latched his helmet and kicked up the stand. “Hold on.”

Danny snorted. “Hang on,” he said scathingly, but there was a teasing lilt under the words. “You cannot possibly throw me off. Grungier men than you have tried.” 

Grungier? Not bigger or meaner or whatever? Jason choked down a laugh. Danny sounded so serious about it, too.

“Odd flex.” Jason turned on the engine and started off before Danny could do more than sputter at his deadpan response. They weaved between heavy Gotham traffic, protected from car fumes by Jason’s breathing filters and Danny’s nonchalant attitude regarding reliance on oxygen. 

Click

Danny jerked behind him, a clear indication that he heard the tiny sound of Jason’s helmet mic turning on. 

He hadn’t done that, so the list of suspects was very short. “Hello, Barbie,” he drawled.

Her unfiltered voice rang out in his ear. “Let’s go party,” she dead panned. Danny pressed his palms a little harder into Jason’s stomach in what might have been proprietary. Was he jealous? “Terrible of you to set a fox in the henhouse when I am off work.”

“Dick started it,” Jason whined honestly. He hit the brakes as the light ahead turned a yellow that cast eerie shades across lingering puddles. “I’m just trying to have a nice night out, and he wants to bother us.”

A female voice faintly floated across the background of Barbara’s call. “Poor baby,” Babs cooed mockingly. “Are you really so innocent? No instigation?”

“Not a word,” Jason lied. He put his feet down to brace the bike. Danny was the weirdest passenger he’d ever had, by virtue of being weightless and having no wind resistance. It was like driving alone except that there were hands on his front and a face pressed against his left shoulder blade.

Someone laughed in the distance. “I want to play,” Barbie sighed. It came across crystal clear into his ear.

“On my team?” Jason asked hopefully. 

She snorted. “Depends on how the chips are falling when I’m done with this presentation. Right now, it’s two to one, isn’t it? Dick’ll look for someone to play on his team before too long. It won’t be me, at least for an hour.”

Information was never free. “Thank you,” Jason said, already mentally allotting a couple hours next Saturday to moving heavy things around the Clock Tower. “Damn decent of you. Wanna say hi to Danny?”

Babs paused. “He’s not wired in, is he?”

The light turned green. Jason kicked up and breezed through the intersection. “No, but he can hear you.”

Danny’s chest became a little more solid against Jason’s back and he- slithered? Was he slithering?

“Hello, Barbie,” he said, politely and somehow inside Jason’s helmet.

Jason was very still. Wow. Bad. His hindbrain did not like this. 

“Call me Barbara, please,” she said. “Danny, right? Are you boys having fun at Dick’s expense today?”

“I dumped water on him,” Danny said happily.

There was a long moment. “How?” Barbie was hiding it, but she was a little disturbed. Jason got it. Dickie was one of the best in the game. 

“I phased through the ceiling when he was distracted, talking to a waiter.”

“Ah, you can fly. That’s pretty ghostly.”

Danny made a grunt. “Well, yeah, but actually I went zero gravity and made it look like I was lizard-crawling on the ceiling with glowing eyes.”

“...Can you hand the helmet back to Jay?”

“I’ll just back out,” Danny said, and slid back down Jason’s back. He suppressed a shiver. It was like- it was like being partially overlapped with some kind of cooled gel. It wasn’t just on his skin, it was sliding easily against the first layers of muscle or something underneath.

‘Interdimensional monster,’ Jason reminded himself. ‘Hot interdimensional monster.’ He put his questions away for later. “He’s fabulous, right?” he drawled. “We’re about to our destination, if it’s alright to get off the line.”

“Stay safe out there, loverboy.” Babs cut the call abruptly.

“She seems nice,” Danny lied. Or maybe he was just a bad judge.

“She will become our enemy real quick if it’s more amusing to her,” Jason corrected. “She’s a terrible enemy to have. I hope her date goes so well she doesn’t check in.”

Danny sulked against his back and slid his cold fingers through Jason’s jacket to rest of his skin directly. Jason suppressed a yelp, barely. “Boring,” he moaned. “If she’s powerful, she should fight me.” “Don’t buy that trouble,” Jason muttered. Jeeze. This dead guy had no self preservation instinct.

[fourtyforever]

Get in losers were making a fic rec masterlist

Hi y’all it’s me, your local multishipper, and I’m about to be the change I wish to see in the world by putting all the best f1 fics in one place.

Maxiel

cool things to say to your soulmate by @powerful-owl (E, 14k)

A collection of shorter soulmate stories by the great em powerfulowl. Essentially the maxiel thesis as far as I’m concerned. If you ever catch me talking about the goose fic, this is what I’m talking about. Fun story: this was actually the first F1 rpf I ever read and I blame it for why my standards are so fantastically high.

Thursday girl by @boxboxlewis (M, 3k)

Max is outed by the press. Shocking emotional impact to word ratio and off the charts tenderness. Short and sweet and low key a comfort read to me.

the being unknown by anonymous (E, 12k)

Body swap with really unique and emotional vibes. Ngl this one hurt me (in the best way). A fantastic and heart-wrenching take on the horrors of 2022.

Charlos

win or lose (it’s how you play the game) by @f1-stuff (E, 18k)

Hickey bet between charles and carlos. Cannot get over this fic for as long as I live: the silliness is off the charts, the vibes are literally the most perfectly balanced tenderhorny I’ve ever read and the writing is just really that good. I think about this fic minimum once a day.

last night by venerat (E, 24k)

College au. Ngl this one is just especially spicy, but also very very funny and fully captivating top to bottom (see what I did there? haha). Also a great ensemble cast here, which I always love.

Once more (before we die) by @f1-stuff (M, 6k)

Fantasy AU where charlos are princes of warring kingdoms. I love this AU and I love the tenderness between Charles and Carlos that we get out of it. I’m usually not really an AU type of gal but this one really did change my mind.

Playing games by @vegasgrandprix (T, 4K)

Gay chicken. WIP, but I can already tell so clearly exactly where this is going and that is delightful to me. Honestly this really is how they act like 90% of the time already.

Yukierre

match made in heaven by venerat (T, 4K)

Pierre is yuki’s matchmaker. this one is just so sweet and sooooo silly. Comfort read 100%

Loscar

Are they gay or European? (the answer is both) by periwinkle_bumper_cars (T, 30k)

Logan keeps walking in on other drivers in compromising positions. 100% balls to the wall silliness from beginning to end and just completely delightful the whole time. Background carlando, kmag/hulkenberg, brocedes, maxiel, and honestly the ensemble cast is what takes this one from great to top tier.

Landoscar

By a thread by @mctwinkdom (E, 32k)

The classic Australian thongs misunderstanding (gone sexual). Incredibly silly, amazingly hot and honestly a top-tier character study of both Oscar and Lando. A great study in unreliable narration as well (probably part of what accounts for my previous point).

carried away by orphan account (E, 22k)

Fake dating. Honestly this one got me in my feels so much more than I expected from the premise. Sweet and a little bit angsty and just a delightful read all the way down.

Strollonso

green light, red wine (and I don’t feel fine) by @vicsy (E, 19k)

Mafia AU where lance is the son of Fernando’s arch nemesis. THEE strollonso fic of all time I tell you. Unparalleled characterization on the part of both nando and lance, fantastic ensemble cast, FANTASTIC writing, and off the charts unreal spiciness. If you haven’t read this yet then what are you doing

El dick plan by @waddlingpenguin (E, 800)

Lance says ‘daddy,’ both Fernando and Lawrence answer. Short, sweet and SILLY.

camera roll by @penaltyboxboxbox (E, 5k)

Sexting/sex tapes. Overall nice and spicy and just fantastic characterization. Also absolutely crucial is the companion art also by dave penaltyboxboxbox which is literally like the ice cream on top of the cake for such a wonderful fic

silver platter by @wewentcarracing (E, 10k)

getting together fic featuring long suffering estie bestie. Honestly the fic is amazing and spicy and just so well written but Esteban’s ever growing dismay is lowkey my favorite part. Works as a pretty great lance character study as well.

Brocedes

Roseberg’s vs haminkton by @jean----ralphio (E, 16k)

Tattoo artist versus flower shop, except they’re rivals. This is like…just how they are honestly. Absolutely stunning ensemble cast and absolutely hilarious buildup to lewis and Nico finally getting together. Side order of seb just being a massive shit stirrer which honestly I think is the role he belongs in

The real reason nico rosberg retired by periwinkle_bumper_cars (G, 3k)

Secret Santa (gone horribly wrong). This is…..also just how they are unfortunately. The rancidest of vibes but also screeching-out-loud funny.

will be updating this on the reg so stay tuned for more good fics. also maybe if I am very lucky someday I will have my own fics to add to the list. definitely I need to become slightly more insane before I can start writing for this fandom but believe you me I’m well on my way.