#royale high furniture

[lady-gothique]

I want this sewing machine and dress form to be available as furniture items 🙏🏻💜

[northerninteriors]

Complete Your Home: Buy Luxury Furniture from Northern-Interiors.ca Today!

Welcome to a world of luxury with Northern-Interiors.ca! 🏡✨ In this video, we explore the epitome of opulence in home furniture. Whether you're redesigning your space or adding finishing touches, Northern-Interiors.ca offers an exclusive collection that redefines luxury living.

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[dailytaylormhill]

Craftsman Wine Cellar - Wine Cellar Ideas for a sizable craftsman wine cellar renovation

[dropsnectar]

When The Dragon Saves You from the Prince

Dragon x gn!reader

NSFW

So it looks like this turned into something a little longer than a drabble. I was going to wait a week until my poll finished but got impatient. So! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

You knew as one of noble birth, the child of a Duke, that you would eventually be married off to the highest bidder. That's just how marriage was for the nobility. However, you hadn’t expected your loving parents to set up an engagement with an infamously rakish and daft prince. 

You hated the man. Whatever was supposed to be going on between his ears, was judged by that thing between his legs. When he had first met you, he had leveled with you that his reputation was true, and that expecting him to be faithful would be like asking water not to be wet.

Happy to have an excuse not to touch him, you basically ignored the man up until a week to the wedding. One afternoon his father the King had decided the two of you needed to look chummier, so he sent you off on a joint hunting trip with a few nobles. Of course, what you didn’t know was that these nobles were friends of his royal dumbass. 

They spent the whole time mocking your dukedom, and making salacious comments about your body and wedding night. Of course, your idiotic fiance only laughed at your expense, making comments of his own. 

To your own credit, you had handled their buffoonery with grace and wit. At one point, one of your barbed replies had actually struck a chord with one of the nobles, realization dawning on his face. He came off his horse and smacked you with all of his might. Too weak a man for a punch, he had gotten a solid hit on you, and you felt your eye heat and swell. Not good. The atmosphere had gone from snide joy, to predatory. 

The Prince himself got off his horse and stalked forward and pulled you by the hair down to the ground in front of his friends. They demanded to be repaid for the hurt done to them.

“I’m sure your pretty little mouth can be put to better use.” The Prince laughed, and he and his friends started to undress themselves.

That's when a loud, earsplitting screech hurtled through the air. A loud thumping and suddenly a large green dragon with large spikes started stampeding towards the group. He bucked aside the nobles, sending them and their horses running. Your fiance tried his best to pull up his pants, as he reached for his sword, but was unable to do either successfully. The dragon had stopped and stood tall before him, nostrils flaring. A pair of molten eyes stared him down, as if to challenge him. Of course, faced between defending you and running, he chose the latter. 

You couldn’t see the Dragon above you well, on account of the swelling in your eye and the hard pulsing headache that had started to vibrate through your head. The Dragon didn’t move, just stared at you as you blacked out.

***

When you came to you were warm. You opened your eyes to find yourself in a small room seemingly carved out of stone. There was a doorway with no door, that when you traveled through, brought you to a large cavern with high ceilings. You were surprised to find furniture, shelves filled with books, a large wooden desk filled with parchment and ink. 

“You are awake.”

You were startled to find yourself facing a being. He looked somewhat human, but the angles of his jaw, elbows and fingers were inhumanly sharp. His arms were covered in green scales, as well as his webbed ears, giving him away. When he spoke again you could see his sharp canines. He asked about the pain in your head. You admitted to feeling fine and he nodded. You had apparently gotten a concussion. 

The Dragon, who revealed his name to be Reix, explained that he had been exploring his new territory when he had felt evil and human pain radiating from where you had been staying. The land had recently been gifted to him by the king in exchange for his help in finding a cure for an elf and human disease that had run rampant for the last decade. He had taken it as his summer home, and was happy to find your health well.

You were surprised by his poised and friendly demeanor. You had heard that dragons were wild beasts, who occasionally took human form to steal treasure. You thanked him for his help, even if it was for not. You explained that the man had been the prince, and your fiance at that. You would not be able to escape him, even with your influence as a duke's child. 

“If you have nowhere to stay, you may stay here. It may not compare to an ornate palace, but I can assure you it will be better than what you would have to go home to.” 

Choose between a roaring evil monster and a kind, thoughtful being? Of course you were going with the dragon.

As the days went on you learned more about Reix, his character and his interest. He was the quiet studious type who prized his books over anything else. He even kept ancient first editions of many popular novels, some even with signatures. He also had some antique memorabilia, some keys from a printing press from his mothers favorite publishing company, a bookmark from a late saintess who he had befriended long ago. He showed you all his favorite books, nonfiction and fiction. You were even surprised to find that he enjoyed the occasional romance. 

“Why, Sir Dragon, are you perhaps a romantic?” You teased. He looked at you with pursed lips and a faint blush.

“I am not so cold that I can’t be moved by a good story. After all, most people experience it once or twice in their life. Love that is.”

The two of you had been fast friends, bonding over shared interests. You spent weeks, months like this. He would hunt or go out to town for your meals. He taught you how to cook. You were terrible at it at first, but he eventually learned to trust you to make omelets, and the famous everything soup. He was an incredible cook too, and he seemed to enjoy sharing recipes and meals with you. You couldn’t help but notice the occasional fond glances he’d send your way. 

You had to admit, you weren’t unaffected by his presence either. You noticed how strong the muscles of his arms were as he reached up to retrieve a book from the top shelf for you. His glowing hazel eyes always looked at you with respect and reverence. No one had ever looked at you like that before. And you had to admit you had never met a kinder person than him. You loved his smile,how his teeth tended to stick out as he spoke to you.

You were the one to make the first move. Reix had been sitting on the couch, reading in his usual way, when you cuddled right up next to him. You leaned your head against his shoulder and covered your lap and feet with a blanket, as if to nap. He was stiff at first but eventually relaxed into you. You started to do this at every opportunity and you would notice that he would now forgo his study chair for the couch. Neither of you ever said anything about it, but you two never missed an afternoon cuddle.

One day, Reix sat you down, his limbs twitchy and expression solemn. 

“I will be straight with you. My species goes through something called a heat a few times every year. Mine is nearing, so I will be traveling to my home up north for a week.” He bit his lip before continuing. “But do not worry, I will stock the pantry and make sure you are as comfortable as possible while I’m… gone.”

A heat? You had read enough smutty novels to know what that was. The thought made your heart beat hard in your chest and a warmness pool in your gut. Well. Right now was as good of a time as any.

“What if I wanted you to stay?” You enunciated slowly. Reix frowned at you.

“You do not understand, I will not be myself. I will be like an animal. I won't be able to control my instincts.” He stared at you with big watery eyes.

You walked towards his chair and knelt at his feet, taking his hands into yours. 

“I will take all of you, if you let me.” You then pulled his hands up to your cheeks, forcing him to cradle your face. The two of you held each other's gaze for a long time, the tension palpable. 

When he kissed you, it didn’t taste sweet, like his words always were. His breath was fire, after all. The two of you burned up together.

***

You were wretched out of sleep by the feeling of rubbing on your ass. Strong arms gripped your waist, and you felt his ragged breath in your ear, moans sputtered from his lips, whispers of,”I’m sorry.” More groaning, “You feel so good…ahh!” And he came all over your nightgown. 

But this didn’t seem to sate him at all, as he continued to rub himself into the curve of your asscheeks, slick of him coating you and dripping down to your entrance. He seemed to realize you were awake because his voice increased in volume.

“Please. You promised…” He moaned out as he went from fucking your ass to plunging himself in between the plush of your thighs. The change in texture seemed to get him going as his speed started to increase. Much to his annoyance you turned around. He hated having to go even a second without his dick touching you, and you pulled him into a hot passionate kiss.

His mouth devoured you hungrily, arms now roaming the lines of your body. His eyes were glazed over in lust as he reached his head down to suck on your nipples, trying to get you sufficiently worked up. When he was close again, he brought dick up to your entrance, pushing in just the tip as he came. His hot cum slid into you, prepping you for what was to come next. You clenched around nothing, and started grinding on his dick, needing to take more of his length. 

He took you in one harsh thrust. You hadn’t seen what he had looked like before, but you could tell that his dick must have been an unusual shape. The ridges of his dick dragged deliciously against your walls, making you drool. He was so big it was a painful stretch. But you were nobility, and nobility took the long and hard things in life and made it work for them.

You reached your hand down and felt the part of him that wasn’t inside you and slowly started pumping, enjoying the soft, yet firm texture of him. He slowed his thrusting, suddenly overcome by how you were making him feel. The duality of your hands on him and being inside you made him want to scream out. His good little noble felt divine. He was having a spiritual awakening right there in your bedroom, as he got closer and closer to release. 

Eventually you had gotten used to the feeling of him and started rocking your hips in time with his strokes. The delectable friction he was giving you was building up inside you, a hot fiery pit about to explode. Your Reix’s gaze was full of devotion and need, but the way one of his hands gently came up to cup your cheeks made you burn. Even now, when he was ravaging you like the wild beast everyone assumed he was, he still treasured you.

You came hard around his girth, crying out as white hot pleasure pushed its way from your core to your fingertips. Reix soon followed after, unleashing another impossibly large load of his wetness within you. He slowed his minstrations and pulled out, going back to fucking your thighs until you were properly recovered enough to take him again. And take him you did, all through the night and the following day. 

When his heat had cooled, he brought you fruits, cheeses and bread, taking small bites and feeding it to you, as you were too exhausted to do so yourself. He seemed to take great joy in this as his normal small smile was blinding as he cared for you. He pulled you up and the two of you took a bath. He made sure to wipe you down first, every swipe of his rag gentle as he worshiped you with his glowing eyes. When he was done, he added more heat to the water and joined you, settling you down between his legs as he held your back to his chest.

You rested in silence for awhile, enjoying the warmth of the water and each others skin. 

“We should do something about that fiance of yours. Mind if I eat him?” He was playing with the damp curls of your hair, relishing in the texture. You smiled up at him.

“You don’t know where he's been. You could catch something. But I do have an idea. If you are up for it that is.” 

“For you, I would do anything.”

You smiled. Your father was next in line for the throne after the prince. Reix was a gentle giant most of the time, but you couldn’t help but think what a dashing and benevolent prince he would make.

[aarsun]

Luxurious & Comfortable Chair Designs for Home

[reilemon]

♥︎Amore Immortale♥︎ Ch. 1

♡︎ synopsis: A simple foraging trip takes an unexpected turn when you wake up in a mansion hidden deep in the forest. Now four captivating men are nursing you back to health, but their intentions—and identities—are a mystery.

♡︎ pairing: vampire!Xavier, vampire!Zayne, vampire!Rafayel, vampire!Sylus x fem!reader (separately and together)

♡︎ cw: depictions of head injury and fever

♡︎ tags: vampire au, slow burn (-ish), eventual romance, eventual smut, eventual polyamory

♡︎ word count: 4.3k

♡︎ a/n: the first chapter of the sixth and final story for kinktober 2024. I wanted to finish off kinktober with a gang bang, but I got carried away and now this is going to be a multi chapter story. I hope you'll like this one.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

"Poor little bunny." The blue eyed man coos as he find the source of the sudden loud noise - you. The clumsy human probably slipped and fell when the sky opened and heavy rainfall started. He carefully scoops you in his arms, with your head resting on his shoulder.

A small whine barely hits his ears and he catches the moment you briefly gain consciousness. He softly chuckles when he hears your silly question before passing out again. He ignores how a little of your blood is mixing with the rain on the fabric of his coat and starts walking away.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Your eyes flutter open, heavy and bleary. You adjust slowly to the dimness around you, the fireplace in front of your bed the only source of light. The ceiling looms high - a ceiling you don’t recognize. The walls are covered in wallpaper, worn and peeling in places. You don’t recognize that wallpaper either. The royal purple catches the dim firelight, a color you could never possibly afford.

You shift against the bed beneath you, the silk sheets cool and smooth against your skin. Over you is a heavy wool blanket, its weight like a comforting presence. A low groan escapes your lips as you rise and rest on your elbow. The room is beautiful, with expensive furniture, but there is this dormant energy to it.

You glance at the thick velvet curtains covering the window. The sliver peeking in the corner shows you a glimpse of the outside world. It’s nighttime, the downpour relentless, drops thrumming against the glass.  

‘The rain!’

You sit up abruptly, a sharp pang of pain zapping through your skull, making you wince and press your fingers to your temple. Your fingers try to rub the pain away as you lean on your other arm to rest. Right, the rain. After closing up the bookstore, you've gone to the forest to search for some mushrooms and sweet chestnuts. A hearty dinner and sweet dessert would be a great start of your two week long vacation. The last visitor commented how their elbow hurt which meant a thunderstorm is coming. You politely smiled and packed up their books. You should've listened to their elbow.

Now, staring around this unfamiliar room, unease twists in your stomach.

‘Where the hell am I?’

Right on cue, the door creaks open, and a tall, raven haired man steps into the room. He pauses in the doorway as his eyes meet yours.

“Hello,” he says, his voice smooth and deep. “How are you feeling?”

You swallow, his presence suddenly making you aware of the mess you must look. Embarrassment prickles your skin, and you rub your temple, trying to compose yourself, only to see his brows knit with concern.

“Um, I’ve been better,” you manage, forcing a chuckle. The grogginess in your voice doesn’t help the embarrassment. You smooth a hand over the blanket, feeling a little exposed. “Why am I here?”

“My friend found you,” he explains, “Out in the forest, just before the storm. You most likely slipped on the mud and hit your head.”

He nods towards your forehead, then reaches for a small, gold hand-mirror resting on the bedside table. The antique metal glints softly as he holds it, and you take it with a hesitant hand. As you lift it to inspect your reflection, you catch a small bruise just above your brow, the skin tender and slightly swollen. Considering the circumstances, you think, it could’ve been much worse.

The man, whose name you still haven’t learned, clears his throat. “I was the one who changed you into dry clothes,” he shifts in his seat, averting his gaze briefly before meeting your eyes again. “For that, I apologize. I wouldn’t have done it if there were any other choice.”

You shake your head with a small, reassuring smile. “It’s fine, really. If you hadn’t, I’d probably be shivering with pneumonia right now.”

His expression softens with relief. “I’m glad you understand. I would still like to listen to your lungs, Would you be comfortable with me examining you?” then he adds, “I’ve been in the medical field for quite some time, I assure you.”

Something about his demeanor, calm and controlled, makes him look trustworthy. And considering how thoroughly he must have tended to you—removing every speck of mud, leaving you dry and warm in a comfortable bed—it’s clear he has your wellbeing in mind. You nod. “Of course.”

He gives a curt nod and shifts closer to the bed. “You don’t need to do much, just sit as comfortably as you can,” he murmurs, the calm, low timbre of his voice steadies you. The shirt you wear—a loose button-up clearly meant for a man—hangs loosely over your shoulders, open at the collar. Suddenly, you feel the pulse of your own heartbeat, wondering if he might hear it already. His hand moves lightly over the fabric, as he leans closer, and then he places his ear gently against your chest, just above your heart.

The moment feels both entirely professional and so intimate. You tell yourself that this is completely normal, this is the usual routine. But he is not your doctor, and you can’t shun the butterflies you feel from having a handsome stranger resting his head on your chest. His hair, thick and dark, grazes your collarbone as he listens, his breath warm against your skin. Your heartbeat, which you’re certain must be thudding wildly beneath his ear, betrays you, a deep flush creeping up your cheeks as you try to steady yourself.

“Breathe in deeply for me,” his voice a soft murmur, his cheek brushing against you.

You comply, feeling his presence with every rise and fall of your chest. When he shifts, his head moves closer to your collarbone, the tickling brush of his hair sending a wave of goosebumps along your chest. You’re conscious of every small movement, every slight intake of his breath.

He shifts back a little, his hand grazing your shoulder as he adjusts to press his ear against your back. “One more time,” his tone is still composed, though you’re unsure if you catch a hint of restraint.

You breathe in, slowly, deeply, feeling the warmth of his palm on your shoulder. He holds still for a moment longer, listening intently. Then, he slowly pulls back, settling into his seat with a neutral expression.

“You do have a small fever,” he calmly states. “Although, there are no signs of anything serious.” He offers a faint, almost apologetic smile. “You should lie back down and rest.”

Your cheeks are warm, and not just from the fever. You nod and do as you’re told, sinking under the comforting weight of the blanket. The man briefly explains that you were unconscious for around two hours, and that your clothes are being washed.

You nod again, processing the details. “Thank you… that’s all very considerate of you.”

He offers you a faint smile. “It’s the least we could do.”

He rises from his seat and steps toward the door, his hand resting on the brass knob. “I need to check on my friend in the kitchen. There may be a fire to manage. And I’ll bring you some herbal tea.”

You chuckle. “Well, thank you, Dr…?”

A flicker of amusement lights his eyes as he opens the door, pausing for a moment. “Just call me Zayne.”

You tell him your name in return, and with that, he’s gone with the soft click of the door.

After Zayne leaves, the room slips into an almost eerie quiet. You prop yourself up against the plush pillows, trying to get comfortable despite the persistent ache in your muscles and the dull throb in your head. The room feels larger now that you’re alone. Every detail catches your attention—the thick velvet drapes, the intricate patterns on the worn wallpaper, the faint smell of stale air. You’d get up to investigate the room or try to figure out more about where exactly you are, but your body protests with every small movement. So you have to settle for gazing around the space instead, picking out details you hadn’t noticed before. The furniture is old but well-kept, the kind that belongs in a property far grander than any home you’ve ever been in. This place—it’s not like the humble cottages back in your village. No, this is different. Larger. More isolated. Somewhere far from the familiar streets you walk every day.

A shiver crawls down your spine at the thought of how far away you could be from your home. You’ve never ventured beyond the edge of the forest. You’ve heard stories about the other side. It was always whispered between older folk who’d lived through enough strange events to keep their superstitions alive. Vampires, werewolves, creatures of the night. They’d mention them, always in passing, as though acknowledging them would draw something out of the shadows.

At first, you’d dismissed it. What else could it be but old folklore? Some scary tales to spice up their lives, stories passed down from generation to generation. Something for them to talk about when the nights grew long and dark, to keep the children from misbehaving. Those creatures don’t exist. You were certain of that.

Or, at least, you had been.

You replay the events in your mind, trying to make sense of it all. Zayne said that his friend found you unconscious in the woods. They’d brought you here, tended to your injuries, and kept you warm. His behavior had been nothing but kind, gentlemanly even.

But then, why does your skin prickle as you think of him?

What if he is one of them? The pale complexion, the unnerving quiet, the way he’d moved with such elegant grace. And those eyes... there was something about the way he looked at you. Your pulse quickens. You try to reason with yourself—if this man, Zayne, were a vampire, wouldn’t he have done something by now? You were unconscious and vulnerable. He could have easily taken advantage of that moment, but he hadn’t. He’d taken care of you.

But what if... what if this is all part of some darker plan? You swallow hard, trying to silence the growing paranoia. What if they want to keep you here? What if, right now, they’re simply playing a long game, to coax you to be their little blood doll—

‘Stop.’ You force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to calm your spiraling thoughts. There’s no proof, no reason to believe that Zayne—or anyone else—is anything other than a human.

You glance toward the window. Your body feels like lead at the moment, but tomorrow you will probably be well enough to leave. The storm can’t go on forever.

A sharp knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

"Come in," you manage, your voice wavering just a little.

Zayne steps in, balancing a tray of a delicate ceramic tea set. The gentle clink of porcelain against porcelain brings comfort to your senses. Behind him, another figure slips into the room—a man with handsome, soft features. His tousled, blonde-gray hair looks like it would be soft to the touch. And his eyes, though shadowed by the dim lighting, have a dreamy quality, like someone lost in thought.

A faint smell of something burnt drifts into the room, cutting through the soothing scent of the herbal tea. You can’t help but frown a bit at the scent, but neither man acknowledges it. Zayne places the tray on the small bedside table, the teapot steaming. The air feels warmer now, not just from the tea.

The second man steps forward, offering you a polite nod, “Hello.” he says, his voice silky and mellow. “I’m Xavier, the one who found you.”

His soft smile makes your heart stir. It takes you a beat to find your voice to introduce yourself.

“Thank you… for, well, rescuing me,” you say with a shy smile.

Xavier gives a gentle shake of his head, his smile widening. “Why were you so deep into the forest with a storm on the way?” he asks, his tone feels almost like teasing.

You chuckle nervously as you feel the faintest flush of embarrassment creep up your cheeks. “I – Well, I wanted to gather some things for dinner,” you admit. “It’s my first real break from work, and I may have gotten a little too excited.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, as if he’s trying to fully take you in.

“You’re lucky he was done fishing at the time.” Zayne adds as he hands you a cup of tea. His fingers brush lightly against yours as you accept it, deepening the flush on your cheeks. You are lucky to be here. Even though you’re sitting in a room with two men who are strangers, they still have cared for you with such tenderness. You could feel their warmth in every gesture, in every word. It’s hard to hold onto fear when faced with such care. Even now, you can feel yourself relaxing, the tension in your shoulders unwinding.

You take a sip of tea slowly, trying to mask the strange tide of emotions flooding through you. You had been so afraid, so convinced of something dark lurking beneath the surface. But now, in this quiet moment, with the warm tea in your hands and their watchful eyes on you, you feel strangely safe.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The clock on the mantel ticks softly, the brass hands showing it’s almost 1 a.m. The fire burns low, casting a warm, flickering glow over the room. Your eyelids feel heavy now, the weight of exhaustion settling deep in your bones. You turn onto your side, pulling the duvet tighter, forming a cocoon around you. The warmth, the softness—everything lulls you closer to sleep. But your mind drifts, recalling the conversation with Xavier after he’d brought you dinner.

He’d placed the bed tray gently over your lap, making sure everything was within reach. Before he turned to leave, the sound of your voice stopped him.

“Did you manage to catch anything?” you asked, your voice quiet but curious.

Xavier had looked confused for a moment, then his face lit up with a soft smile. “I did. Fried a few, but Zayne didn’t let me serve it to you.” He chuckled. “Said he didn’t want you choking on a bone.”

You laughed too, the sound easing the leftover tension you’ve been holding. That explained the faint burnt smell that had lingered earlier, and why Zayne had to rush to the kitchen.

“And don’t worry,” he added. “I brought back your basket too. Everything’s intact.”

You were about to thank him, but then an image flashed in your mind—a fleeting memory of him, his hair wet and clinging to his face. The moment felt so vivid, so real, that it stopped you mid-thought. You stared at him, squinting slightly.

“What’s wrong?” His voice softened with concern, his brows furrowing.

You shook your head quickly, flustered for being caught staring. “Nothing… it’s just—did I say something to you?  When you found me?”

Xavier hesitated, his lips twitching as though trying to suppress a grin. He glanced to the side, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, but his eyes gave him away. “Oh no…” you said, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “Was it something embarrassing?”

“No,” he replied, though the gleam in his eye said otherwise. “It was cute.” He paused, then looked back to you, “You opened your eyes for a moment, and asked me, ‘Are you my prince?’ Then you passed out again.”

Your heart practically leapt into your throat, your face instantly flushing. “Oh, that’s definitely embarrassing,” you groaned.

Xavier laughed then, his voice soothing. “Don’t worry, I’ve been called worse.”

And just as you wished for the shadows to come alive and swallow you, Zayne entered, saving you from further humiliation. He brought you a bowl filled with ice and a cloth. You thanked both of them, adding that you planned to leave in the morning.

Their faces changed for a heartbeat when you said that, though you didn’t miss it. It wasn’t worry exactly, more like hesitation, as though they weren’t entirely convinced you would be gone by morning. Or perhaps… that they didn’t want you to be.

That thought lingered now, swirling in your mind as your body sank deeper into the mattress. Their kindness, their calmness—they made you feel safe, soothed the fears that had gripped you earlier. Yet, there was something unspoken between the three of you.

A sigh escapes your lips. You can feel sleep creeping over you, warm and heavy, pulling you under. The memory of Xavier’s reassuring smile and Zayne’s attentive gaze lingers in your mind, their faces blurring at the edges as your thoughts dissolve into a haze.

They are both so kind. And so handsome.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

A low whine escapes your lips before you even open your eyes. The ache in your body is heavy and relentless. Every muscle protests as you shift, but you force your eyelids open. The room is warm, the fire crackling faintly in the hearth. Someone must’ve light it while you were still asleep.

‘I said I’d leave in the morning.’ You glance over at the clock—it’s 11 a.m. That’s not really morning, but it is time for you to leave. If only you felt better.

You wince as you slowly, painfully, push yourself out of bed. Your legs feel weak, your body sluggish, like you’re moving through water. Every movement sends a wave of soreness through your bones, but you grit your teeth and push through. You don’t want to linger here any longer than you have to.

Grumbling under your breath, you stagger toward the door, your feet barely shuffling across the hardwood. You’re still dressed in the warm clothes Zayne gave you, though they feel a little too big now. You’ll just ask for your things and be on your way. You’ll return their clothes once you fully recover.

Goosebumps spread all over your skin as you open the door, the chill air of the hallway shocking your senses. It is completely quiet, only the soft creak of the floorboards under your slippers breaking the silence. More doors sit along the hallway, likely bedrooms as well. You glance at them briefly, but you step towards the staircase ahead. The polished mahogany wood gleams faintly, and you internally groan at the thought of making it down the steps in your current state.

You’re about to take your first step when—

“Hey!”

The voice comes out of nowhere, stopping you in your tracks. You freeze, your heart jumping in your chest as footsteps echo from above, growing louder as they approach. Turning, you find yourself face-to-face with a man descending the stairs. He’s tall and moves with an almost feline grace. His hair is gorgeous - messy curls of muted violet and his eyes, an unusual blend of blue and pink, are sharp and full of curiosity. His plump lips are pulled in an amused smirk.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is teasing, though there’s a touch of disapproval in it. His arms cross over his chest, as he takes in your disheveled state.

You blink at him, still trying to shake off the fog in your head. “I - I need to leave.”

He narrows his eyes, looking you up and down. “You should stay in bed,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

He is right, you do feel like you’re about to collapse, yet you can’t help but notice how striking he is. His hair, his eyes, even the way he moves—it’s all captivating. But you force those thoughts away, shaking your head slightly. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

He uncrosses his arms, offering a small smile that’s both charming and a little smug. “Oh, right. I’m Rafayel.” His voice dips slightly, your name falling from his lips. “I’m staying here too. Zayne told me what happened.”

You blink again, taken aback by how easily he says your name. You hadn’t expected to meet another guest in the house. “Rafayel,” you repeat.

He nods, brushing a hand through his unruly curls. “Yeah. I took care of your clothes. They’re drying in my room,” he adds. “It’s still raining, though, so they might take a while.”

At his words, you pause and listen. Sure enough, you hear the soft, steady patter of rain against the windows. You’d been so focused on leaving that you hadn’t even thought to check the weather. ‘Of course it’s still raining.’ You sigh inwardly, frustration and weariness settling in your chest.

“What about Zayne and Xavier?” you ask, hoping to at least get some help from them.

Rafayel smirks, shaking his head. “They’re sleeping.”

You frown. “Sleeping?”

“Yup,” he says with a shrug, almost dismissive.

Your mind races. You know why you are up so late, but why are they still sleeping. Your mind is about to wander to that corner again, but you stop yourself. ‘They must’ve been exhausted from taking care of an injured stranger.’

Still, the unease lingers. Rafayel’s gaze flickers over you, his eyes softening slightly as if sensing your discomfort. “Look,” he says, his voice gentler now, “you really don’t look like you’re in any shape to leave. Why don’t you rest a bit longer?”

You hesitate, your body aching with every breath, the fatigue weighing you down with each second. He’s right. You’re not ready to leave yet.

Rafayel’s eyes hold yours for a moment. “You’re safe here,” he adds softly.

Just as Rafayel is about to steer you back toward the bedroom, another voice cuts through the air, deep and teasing, with a velvety edge that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Is that the lost kitten?”

You look down the stairs, and there he is. The man who appears next makes the very air around you seem heavier. He’s taller than the other men, with strikingly sharp features. His white hair is tousled yet elegant, and his eyes - a deep, mesmerizing wine-red, lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter.

Before you can even react, the man is standing right in front of you, his height towering over you. You can’t help but gawk, unable to stop yourself from tracing every detail of his sharp jawline, the way his lower lip looks so plump and soft.

Rafayel’s voice, sharp with annoyance, snaps you out of the trance. “You know her name, Sylus.”

But Sylus just smirks. He takes your hand, his fingers long and strong, enveloping yours completely. Your breath catches in your throat as the warmth from his touch sends heat rippling through your body. His hand is so much larger than yours, making you feel almost fragile in his grip.

“My name is Sylus. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your name drips from his lips, and he bends forward and presses a tender kiss to the back of your hand. The sensation of his cool lips against your flushed skin sends tingles across your arm. You can’t help but blush under the attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rafayel roll his eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “You’re shameless.” he mutters, though there’s a playful lilt to his voice.

Sylus simply laughs, a low, rich sound, before releasing your hand. With a light touch on your back, Rafayel guides you back toward the bedroom, his hand steady and firm against you. Sylus trails behind, watching with an amused expression.

When you’re back in the bedroom, Rafayel’s hands gently but insistently push you down by the shoulders, guiding you to sit back on the edge of the bed. “Seriously,” you protest, exasperated, “I feel better already! I don’t want to be a burden.”

Sylus leans lazily against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a smirk dancing on his lips as he watches the scene unfold. "You look much too cute to be any kind of burden, kitten," he says, his eyes fixed on you.

Before you can say anything else, Rafayel presses you back into the blankets, his firm but gentle insistence impossible to resist. As you sink back into the bed, Sylus pushes off from the door and approaches with an almost predatory grace. The teasing glint in his eyes fades slightly as he crouches beside the bed, his expression softening as his hand reaches out to press against your forehead. His touch is cool—no wonder, since the rest of the mansion is freezing—and the sensation sends a refreshing chill through your heated skin.

“You still have a fever.” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple.

Rafayel shakes his head, giving you a disapproving look. “See? You’re in no condition to leave. I’ll prepare you tea and breakfast.”

Your protests die on your lips as Sylus pulls away, his touch lingering on your skin. Both men turn around and leave before you can say anything else.

The door shuts softly behind them, leaving you alone once again. You sink deeper into the bed, your body heavy with exhaustion. Your thoughts swirl, still caught in the lingering effect of their presence. You turn on your side, facing the window, staring at the thick velvet curtains that block out the view of raindrops racing down the tall windows. As much as you want to leave, as much as you should leave, you know your body isn’t ready. The fever might not be severe, but it’s enough to weaken you. Slipping away now—especially into the woods with no clear path—feels like a death wish.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips. For now, the best option is to rest and regain your strength. You can’t deny how safe their presence makes you feel, even if you don’t fully understand why. Something about them pulls you in, something more than just their looks.

You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion pull you under.

[miclipse]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ princess & the fish.

pairing: rafayel x fem! reader

synopsis: rafayel’s dream of turning into a human had miraculously come true! but things didn't turn out like he had expected…

word count: 3.7k

cw: afab! reader, rafayel is a fish (literally, but he turns into a human), reader is a princess, nicknames used (princess, your highness), rafayel struggling to walk with legs, rafayel hates toes, very slight and brief abysswalker! rafayel reference (just one line), reader finds rafayel half-naked in her room, fluff

dt: everyone that wanted fishy rafayel (aka fifi) to turn into a human + the person in my asks asking if i was continuing this.

note: reupload because apparently my post didn’t show up in the tags :( but unfortunately that means the ask got deleted as well, sorry anon :(

likes reblogs & comments appreciated! <3

this all had to be a dream, right?

…actually, no. this was most definitely a nightmare, if anything.

because why else would rafayel be standing naked in your bedroom, the fishtank he once called his home now nothing but shattered glass scattered across your study table?

there was no logical explanation for this, rafayel thought to himself while struggling to manoeuvre around your room with his new pair of human appendages.

he spent at least ten minutes stumbling over his toes while trying to make his way to your bathroom door.

…seriously, why did humans even have a need for toes? and ten of them, at that!

when rafayel had finally, finally made it to the bathroom entrance, he spent another five minutes figuring out the mechanism behind how to open it.

turns out, the grand secret behind it was that he had to push the door, not pull.

once in the bathroom, rafayel was tempted to fill up your bathtub with water and just jump in for a swim, but he figured seeing a naked man with a towel wrapped around his waist would be a little less intense for you than having to see a fully naked stranger swimming around in your tub.

thus, rafayel opted to grab a spare towel from the cabinet just under the sink, carelessly tying it around his waist to hide his indecency before you came back from your royal duties.

rafayel spent yet another ten minutes trying to walk out of your bathroom (he nearly slipped at least twice but he refuses to talk about it) and towards the nearest furniture he could sit on without it breaking due to his new physique.

looking around your bedroom to ensure that there were no maids around to witness this phenomenon, rafayel plopped himself on the edge of your soft mattress.

resting his head on his fist, his eyebrows furrowed in the process.

this was not how he imagined things to go at all.

in all honesty, rafayel was pretty satisfied living life as your pet fish. though there were many pros and cons that came along with his new domestic life, he wouldn't have wished for things to be any different than how it was.

of course, there were times when rafayel would ponder to himself how life would be for him if he were to turn into a human and be able to properly talk with you.

but out of all the exaggerated and cliche scenarios rafayel had fantasized about during his free time (which was whenever you were not around), being naked with only a fluffy white towel tied around his waist as he dreadfully waited for you to return was definitely not one of them.

well, it probably was. but it was not at the top of his list, that was for sure.

but here came the real question—

how did he even turn into a human? there was no logical or scientific reason behind how all of this was possible. rafayel had never heard others talk about stories of fishes turning into humans either.

well, unless you included ariel from that little mermaid movie. but ariel was a mermaid, so it really was not exactly the same as rafayel’s current predicament.

and besides, rafayel didn’t think he knew or angered any shady sea witches back when he lived in the waters.

there was nothing he could really do at the moment. as much as rafayel wanted to sneak to the royal library to dig out some sacred books in order to do some research about his condition, he dared not imagine the consequences he would have to face if anyone caught him sneaking out of the princess’s private chambers with only a skimpy bath towel covering him from waist-down.

just the image of him getting beheaded by the royal guards was enough to convince rafayel not to leave your private chambers, knowing it was the safest place for him to be in right now.

so his only option now was to wait for his princess to return to her chambers so that he could try to explain the situation to you in hopes that your naive little brain could understand and help him out.

he was your beloved fish afterall, so surely you would find a way to help him, right?

an ear-piercing scream echoed loudly through the room.

rafayel's eyes snapped open in panic and immediate dread, sitting up from the bed frantically only to be met with a big white thing smacking his face.

as he made a clumsy attempt to back away from the bed and nearly tripping over his newly grown toes (human toes be damned), rafayel’s eyes wandered to the big white thing that was thrown at him.

it was your polar bear plushie, he noted.

rafayel then turned to look at the door, only to see you standing there looking like a frightened kitten, now holding a thick, hard-cover book ready to launch at him once more.

it was only then rafayel realised that he had accidentally fallen asleep in your bed while waiting for you to come back.

this was not good. not good at all.

“who… who are you?!” you shrieked out, preparing yourself to throw the book in his face within the next five seconds if he didn't respond.

“me? i’m…” without even realizing it, rafayel darted his eyes to look at your study table as he fell silent, his lips pursing together.

you gave him a look of skepticism before slowly following his gaze. the man watched as you let out a horrified gasp when you saw that your fishtank was nothing but shattered glass on the table.

“fifi!”

running to your study table, you stared at what once used to be fifi's home for the past three months, now nothing but broken shards scattered all across the table.

“you! what have you done to my fifi?”

rafayel backed up into the corner of the room when you pointed an accusatory finger at him, feeling very wronged by your assumption.

what, did you think he ate your fish or something?

“woah!”

to prevent his nose from breaking tonight, rafayel quickly moved his head to the side to narrowly dodge the book in your hands that came flying towards his face.

that was a close one.

“let's use words, shall we?”

before you had a chance to frantically look around your bedroom for a new deadly weapon to fling at rafayel's handsome face, he had to think of something believable, and fast.

“i’m asking you one last time, where. is. my. fish?”

your eyes narrowed and your eyebrows furrowed as you glared at rafayel as an attempt to threaten him.

rafayel doesn't really have the heart to tell you that your glare was nothing more than a little fly trying to square up to a frog.

not the best comparison, but you get it.

“well, if you're looking for fifi, i’m right here.” rafayel responded as nonchalantly as he could, desperately trying to hold back his laughter.

you shot him an incredulous look, obviously doubtful with his claim of being your pet fish. rafayel felt absolutely scrutinized under your gaze while you looked at him up and down.

“do you think i’m five?”

“well, given how you spend your nights talking to a fish like it's your newfound soulmate, i wouldn't doubt it.”

man, rafayel wished he could describe how proud he felt when he saw your jaw slacken and you gawk at him with wide eyes.

it felt so good finally being able to talk back to you, and in a way that you understood him too. rafayel picks this over ‘glub! glub! glub!’ anyday.

you looked around the room cautiously, before your eyes landed back on rafayel.

no one really knew that you spent your nights telling your baby fishy little bedtime stories.

…not unless this man in your room was fifi himself. it was a secret solely kept between you and fifi.

…still, it wouldn't hurt to double check, right?

“oh yeah? tell me something about fifi then.” you challenged, crossing your arms over your chest. you still felt doubtful over this whole situation. “anything at all.”

i mean, it wasn't everyday that you got to see your fish turn into a grown man (that was also naked, you observed), now a head taller than you.

rafayel smirked at your demand. oh boy, where should he start? he had many, many juicy secrets that he could spill to you. ones that he knew were only shared between you and your beloved fishy (him) in these very four walls.

but he was determined to embarrass the hell out of you, so he was thinking what exactly was the most embarrassing moment you've ever told him.

maybe he should start with that one time you started weeping your eyes out in front of his tank because you thought he was sick and about to die since he wasn't eating the kibbles you poured into his tank? (you were overfeeding him).

or perhaps that one time you told him you accidentally broke your mom's jewellery box while trying on her earrings and blamed it all on the maid instead?

oh. he couldn't forget the countless amounts of times you fell asleep sprawled over the study table, your hair looking as neat as a bird’s nest, drool escaping from the corner of your lips and dripping onto the sleeve of your nightgown as you snored the night away.

but the most memorable one of them all was…

“...remember that time when you tried to cut a piece of strawberry cake and dump it into my tank?” rafayel questioned, a smirk appearing on his lips as his eyebrow quirked upwards, anticipating the kind of reaction you’d give.

the way your eyes widened in horror and the tips of your ears started to tint in a dark red hue was enough for rafayel to conclude that he had won this round.

“only fifi would know that…” you mumbled out in utter disbelief. was this man standing in front of you really your pet fish of three months?

“exactly.” rafayel puffed out his chest proudly at your words. “but if you’re not convinced, i can tell you about that time when you tried to bring my fishtank to your bed so you could hug me to sleep—”

oh. not that. you desperately cut rafayel off mid-sentence.

“stop! stop, stop!” your face felt hot, as if you just ran a whole marathon with no breaks in between.

there was an awkward and tense silence lingering in the air, with you looking at your pet fish dead in the eyes.

“s.. so it really is you, fifi…” you managed to mutter out, albeit still in disbelief that your pet fish was now a grown man a head taller than you.

rafayel doesn’t have it in him to break the devastating piece of news to you that his name was actually ‘rafayel’ before you came along.

“affirmative.” fifi— or, rafayel, nodded his head without a beat of hesitation.

you both then proceeded to awkwardly stare at each other without a word, waiting for each other to break the tense silence.

eventually, rafayel was the one that broke the silence.

“so…” he sheepishly rubbed the nape of his neck, feeling like a fish out of the water (literally and figuratively). “has the shock died down yet?” he asked, hoping you were calm enough to have a proper conversation with him.

you blinked and glanced back at the broken fish tank a couple of times to make sure that rafayel was not some kind of crazy hallucination stemming from your lack of sleep recently.

“well, not really.”

“good enough for me.” rafayel casually bent down and picked up the weapons you used for your assassination attempt (your books and polar bear plushie), making his way to your study table to put the books back where they belong.

“i know you probably have a lot of questions, your highness,” rafayel’s gentle voice filled the room’s silence once again. “but i, too, don’t have the answers to them. i hope your highness can forgive me.”

he briefly glanced at you from his peripheral vision, a faint and apologetic smile ghosting his lips while he slotted the books back into the shelf.

you were still standing in the middle of the room, your eyes following rafayel’s figure while he was putting back your books. you still had the dumbfounded and surprised look from this whole ordeal.

when rafayel caught sight of you meekly nodding your head in silent agreement to his words, he took it as a sign to continue speaking.

“since you’re free tomorrow, how about your highness help a fishy out to find a way to turn me back?” he asked with a chuckle, making a final stop to your bed and gently placing your polar bear down by the pillows, now reunited with the rest of your fuzzy friends.

“how’d you know i’m—”

oh, that’s right. you told fifi at the start of this week that you had tomorrow to yourself. the realisation that you spent your nights practically telling this man (in his fish form) the a to z’s about your life started to settle in, coupled with embarrassment.

“oh.. right..” the corners of your lips twitched into an uncomfortable smile, trying to keep your cool despite the absurd situation unfolding before your very eyes.

“also, do you mind if i borrow a hoodie of yours or something? walking around with only a skimpy towel around my waist is a little uncomfortable.”

“ack!”

before you could protest, rafayel strutted towards your wardrobe and began rummaging through it like a stray mouse in search of a slab of cheese.

attempting to recollect your composure, you stammered out a remark in hopes to gain back some sort of control.

“h..hey! is this how you act in someone else’s bedchamber?”

rafayel halted his scavenger hunt for a brief moment.

“… i’ll remember for next time.”

…and he’s back to digging through your wardrobe for one of your oversized hoodies.

in the end, rafayel settled with one of your gray hoodies coupled with a pair of sweatpants he miraculously could fit in.

“what’s this?”

a look of confusion washed over his face as the fish stepped out of your bathroom, finally properly clothed.

his eyes were glued to the unfamiliar scene before him. a thick woven quilt was spread across the carpeted floor not far away from your bedframe, accompanied by two pillows and a neatly folded but thin blanket sitting on top of it.

“your new bed for the night.”

your response was as casual as inviting a friend over for a sleepover.

you gave his new bed a few soft pats, a gesture to coax him over, before making your way back to your own cozy haven.

“since you don’t fit in a fish tank anymore, i figured we have to come up with an alternative.”

rafayel watched as you tucked yourself into bed and fluffed up your pillows, getting ready to drift to dreamscape anytime from this point forward.

“yeah, well what if your maids see me?” his voice was full of skepticism as he approached his new bed, lifting up the blanket to fit into the warm cocoon.

“then i can tell them that you’re fifi.”

one of rafayel’s eyebrows quirked up in doubt and a hint of amusement.

“and will they buy it?”

“no.”

“…”

well, that was reassuring.

rafayel’s head was resting against the pillows now, completely unimpressed with your response while also trying to get used to sleeping outside of the water.

“well, but that’s something we’ll both deal with tomorrow.” you laughed nervously, leaning back against the plush pillows and turning your body so that you were laying on your side; facing rafayel with a faint smile ghosting your lips.

staring into your eyes like this made rafayel’s heart swell in an odd way. he didn’t know exactly how to put it to words, but the atmosphere of your bedroom felt dangerously intimate right now.

in fact, way too intimate for an owner and her pet fish to be having.

rafayel was no fool— he could tell how you seemed to be holding back more now that he had taken the form of a human. how the gaze you directed towards him still held a hint of love and affection amidst all of your other mixed emotions. you looked at him as if nothing had changed between the two of you, like he was still that tiny fish you had brought back home (kidnapped) three months ago.

“yeah… we should get some rest. we’ll be ransacking our brains a lot tomorrow.” rafayel agreed with a nod of his head, breaking eye contact first by turning his head to look up at the ceiling, trying to get rid of the dangerously growing intimacy dancing between the two of you.

his arm slid beneath his head to get into a more comfortable position for himself, still in disbelief that he was actually a human now.

he tried. keyword, tried to ignore the lingering feeling of not being able to bury his little fishy body in his favourite coral reef to fall asleep, and instead having to settle with sleeping on the cold hard ground with a paper-thin blanket that barely reached to the tip of his toes.

but in the end, the thought still greatly bothered him.

“tell me a bedtime story.”

…the words flew out of his mouth before rafayel could even comprehend what he was saying.

“i beg your pardon?” your expression morphed into one of astonishment.

“what? don’t you always go on and on about your day in front of my fishtank?” rafayel scoffed, turning his head back to face you. he had been kept awake against his will, forced to listen to your endless ramblings ever since you first kidnapped him.

he had grown so accustomed to your excited life updates that it was part of his daily routine now. rafayel always relied on your storytelling to help him get sleepy and prepare for bedtime, and he definitely wasn’t going to let this routine stop tonight just because he had grown a pair of legs out of thin air.

“… how about you tell me a bedtime story this time, fifi?”

your soft voice almost made rafayel wonder if he misheard what you had just said.

“hah, me? as if i have any tales that would fascinate you.” rafayel was quick to dismiss the idea of telling you a story.

one, bedtime storytelling was your thing. it always has been, and it always will be. as a fish, rafayel was habituated to just listening. i mean, he was a fish, there wasn’t much he could say to you in the first place. asking him for a sudden role reversal to play as the storyteller was beyond his expertise and comfort zone.

and two, his life out in the seas wasn’t as interesting or fascinating as whatever you were expecting.

or in other words, rafayel had no stories to tell in the first place.

“oh come on, i’m sure there’s some interesting stories about your life before you started living here.” you continued to persuade him further, trying to give him a metaphorical nudge to get him to open up.

rafayel really couldn’t resist when you talked to him in that soft and persuasive tone. you might as well grow a pair of fins and live in the ocean as a siren with how easily you allured him to obey your words.

“fine, fine, let me think of something,” the fish grumbled, his eyebrows furrowing together as he dug through his memories for anything worth mentioning to you.

entertaining a princess was hard work— rafayel was finally starting to understand the pressure of being in the presence of a princess like yourself. it was like there was an invisible expectation for him to uphold. one that was unspoken, but still anticipated in a way.

“does me being chased by an octopus sound entertaining enough for you, your highness?”

the way your smile grew, and your eyes held a hint of curiosity made rafayel let out a breath he didn’t even realise he had been holding.

so that was how he began telling you about the instance where he was chased by an octopus back when he was still adventuring around in the stray waters.

rafayel’s storytelling skills wasn’t top tiered as compared to yours. his story began awkward, his tone unnatural. this was not his forte, so he was basically a fish out of the water (once again, literally and figuratively).

however, the sounds of your soft giggles, hums of acknowledgement and occasional small nods of your head served to be the main catalyst for him to improve as the story progressed.

by the time the story reached its climax, he sounded more confident and sure of himself. he also was more natural when speaking and somehow, without even realising it, managed to lull you to dreamscape.

“...seriously? just as i was at the good part too.” rafayel muttered, feigning mild irritation when he saw that your eyes were closed, facial features relaxed, along with your breathing deep and slow.

rafayel let out a defeated sigh, lightly shaking his head before he turned his head to face back towards the ceiling again.

he finally understood how you always managed to fall asleep so quickly after telling him about your day— talking in such an excessive manner was… tiring. and now, he was feeling the growing fatigue about to consume him too.

he briefly snuck a glance at your sleeping form through his peripheral vision, the corners of his lips gently tugging upwards into a smile.

rafayel’s mind was tired, but his heart was filled to the brim with nothing but affection. affection that you had been showering him with for the past three months.

“no matter what form i take, you’ll still love me just the same, huh?”

he wasn't expecting an answer. he didn't need your verbal response to confirm his thoughts in the first place. the facts were as clear as day before his very eyes.

his vision was getting blurry, his breathing slowing down and his eyes feeling heavier with each blink.

rafayel vaguely remembered letting out one final whisper before everything fell to the darkness.

“…at least now i can finally tell you that i love you too, princess.”

all rights reserved © miclipse 2024. do not repost, plagiarize, copy, modify or translate my works on any platforms.

[daddyfordaeddy]

Pairing: king! Seonghwa x queen! f! yn

Word Count: 2804

Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, smut warnings under cut

Genre: Fluff, smut, royal au, M for mature audiences

Summary: Your marriage to Seonghwa has been nothing exciting. But things change during his coronation ball.

Smut Warnings: unprotected sex (DONT DO THIS unless you discuss safely outside of sex!), some praise, slight begging, pretty vanilla if i do say so myself lol

Written for @cultofdionysusnet's permanent event <3 took me a bit to get it down lol, and a big thank you to @arafilez and @sanjoongie for helping me out <3 i really wrote 1.5k prologue before getting to the smut and u can tell it got to me since the smut is very storybook like and not just filth lol

AND yes i know the irony of having a red themed banner when the title is blue blood but hey man i...have no excuse

-

Your palms are sweaty. It’s the first ball the royal family has hosted since your marriage to the then-Crown Prince, Park Seonghwa. And it’s the first social gathering you’ve attended since. You’re pretty sure the maids can see how nervous you are and you’re grateful the wine-red gown you’ve adorned for the occasion will cover any sweat marks or wrinkles you’re sure you will make.

You cannot even politely decline this event—not when it’s marking the start of your husband’s reign as king.

As the maids layer one last necklace, you shiver at the feeling of the cool metal touching your skin. The sparks flickering inside the red jewel catch your eye and you brush your fingers against it with a bittersweet smile. It was a wedding gift from your husband, the Park family blessed with fire magic. You find it ironic that such a cold-faced family can have control over such warm and bright magic, as well as red being their crest colour.

You don’t hate Seonghwa, of course. He’s been respectful to you, only speaking to you when necessary and otherwise leaving you be. The two of you share different, albeit connected, chambers, and he never enters your room without permission on the rare occasion he needs to.

But God, you wish he would at least smile at you so you don’t feel like a piece of furniture in your new home. While high up in nobility as the daughter of an Earl, you were no duchess and you were sure if you attended social teas you would be scrutinised. So you stick with counselling the civilians who cannot win an audience with Seonghwa and managing the household.

With another sigh, you send the servants away to gather your wits before meeting your husband in the foyer. You squeeze your eyes shut, breathing deep, before moving to pour yourself a small glass of wine.

As you down the bitter liquid, a knock sounds at the door. “YN, are you in there?” The honey-deep voice of your husband makes you jump a little.

“Ah, yes, I’m coming,” you call out, setting down the crystal glass and opening the door to see your husband standing just a bit too close to the door. You’re met with a faceful of his chest and you stumble back. “Ah–”

A firm hand wraps around your waist to keep you from tripping on your skirt and you can see the faint amusement on Seonghwa’s face. “Now, now, we can’t have you falling even before the dancing starts,” he chuckles, and you stare at him, unused to such a cheerful demeanour from him. His lips twitch as he holds back his smile. “Are you all right, my wife? You look a little befuddled.”

You blink up at him owlishly before realising how you must look and quickly turning your face away. “I’m all right. Shall we go down, then?”

Seonghwa chuckles low in his throat. His hand reaches up and brushes a few strands of your hair out of your eyes. His touch is soft and you involuntarily find yourself melting just a little. “Yes, let’s go and show off my beautiful wife.”

You laugh at that, pushing him away playfully. “This night isn’t about me, it’s about you…my king.”

Seonghwa coughs when you use his new title and it’s his turn to face away from you, although you can see his ears are red. “Yes, well. Let’s get going then. We can’t keep our guests waiting.” He offers up his arm for you to take, and you gingerly rest your hands on him with a small smile, keeping your eyes lowered.

Thankfully the distance from your rooms to the foyer isn’t far as the walk there is awkwardly silent. But as soon as you enter and all eyes are on you two, it’s like a button is pressed that makes you immediately at ease and you intermingle easily with your guests. Waiters are milling about serving a selection of wines, and you drink just a tad more than you ought.

It’s nice to mingle with the courtesans and landowners like you used to, and you make a mental note to start attending tea again. You were anxious about them for nothing—they’ve known you since before you were the queen so they aren’t forming any new opinions of you.

Giggling, you weave your way around the crowd until you bump into a firm back. “Hello, my wife,” Seonghwa hums, holding you steady with amusement dancing behind his dark eyes. “I see you’re enjoying yourself.”

You blame the lingering burn of alcohol in your veins for the following actions. You lean onto his shoulder, a dazed smile pulling at your lips as you look up at your husband. “I am, Hwa.” The nickname tumbles naturally from your lips without a second thought although Seonghwa’s eyes widen for a split second. “Are you enjoying yourself too?”

“I’ll excuse myself, you spend time with your wife.” You hardly even register the minister of defence’s words as you wrap an arm around Seonghwa’s waist and press a kiss to the shoulder of his uniform. “Congratulations on your ascent to the throne, your majesty.”

Seonghwa bows as best he can with you attached to him before turning to you to place both his hands on your shoulders. “Do you need to go to bed? The party is slowing down a bit so you can if you’d like.”

You shake your head, subconsciously pouting. “No, I wanna wait for you first.” Your head leans against his chest and you can hear his heartbeat pick up slightly.

“...Alright. Let’s close this up nicely, YN.”

You don’t really know what’s happening, but you smile and farewell the last stragglers as the time passes. The alcohol is almost out of your system, but you stay close to Seonghwa, not ready to let him go quite yet. His arm around your waist makes your heart flutter and you look up at him as he waves away the last guest.

“Why are you staring at me?” he murmurs without even looking down and you chuckle to yourself, gaze unwavering.

“I like you, Hwa.”

It feels like time stands still as soon as the words fall from your mouth. Seonghwa’s eyes find your own and neither of you move for a long second. “...Are you still drunk?” You would find his question offensive, but his tone is hopeful so you can’t find it in your heart to.

“No, not for this,” you shake your hair and before he can stop himself, Seonghwa brushes your hair out of your face again. “I’m not in love, not yet. But I can safely say I like you. Especially if you keep touching me like this.”

Something must have overcome Seonghwa in that moment because he leans in and his grip on your waist tightens almost imperceptibly. “Well, in that case. I like you too. And I could touch you a lot more if you’d let me.” He practically whispers the last sentence, his lips almost ghosting over yours.

You blink at him, a mirror to just before the party, and a smile grows on your face. “I’d let you.”

Seonghwa straightens up immediately, a light blush dusting his cheeks and he calls over one of the servants and whispers something to them. When the servant nods and hurries off, Seonghwa turns back to you, a wolfish grin growing on his face. “Shall we head back to our chambers, my wife?”

Heat slowly crawls over your face as you nod eagerly and Seonghwa chuckles and cups your face tenderly, placing a kiss on your forehead before taking your wrist and leading you up the flights of stairs in the next breath.

The two of you burst into his room giggling and hands clasped. Seonghwa kicks the door closed and pulls you into his arms, his face buried in your hair as he breathes in your scent. “...You’re sure you’re not drunk?”

His voice is small, and you smile to yourself at the sound of it. Wriggling your way out of his grasp, you bring his slender hands to your lips and press a light kiss to the tips of his fingers. “I’m absolutely sure, my king.”

Seonghwa lets out another deep breath, stepping closer and leaning down to gently press his lips against yours. You taste of bitter wine, but he seems to enjoy it, brushing his tongue over the seam of your lips and you eagerly grant access. The two of you deepen the kiss as he slowly backs you to his bed. When your knees touch the mattress Seonghwa breaks away, his lips swollen and spit slicked.

“Strip?” he asks, his voice gravelly and your thighs clench at the sound of it. You reach behind you, attempting to reach the fasteners but failing. Seonghwa chuckles, spinning you around. “You’re so pretty, YN. I’m glad I get to share my life with you.” His hand rests on your shoulder blade as he undoes each clasp with his other hand.

Suddenly, his lips touch your shoulder bone and you gasp at the soft feeling. “Hwa–”

“I’d like to bend you over right now, but you’re too precious to be taken so roughly on our first time. I want to cherish you like the queen you are.” Seonghwa mouths at your hot skin, his hands moving up and down your sides as your dress falls to the floor, leaving you in your undergarments.

Your hands instinctively come up to cover yourself but Seonghwa’s reflexes are faster than yours and he grabs your wrists, holding you in place. “Don’t cover up, my wife,” he whispers, leaning up to kiss you sweetly. “Let me love you like you deserve.”

You look at him with wide eyes, before nodding the tiniest bit. Seonghwa isn’t satisfied, an eyebrow raising, and you squeak out a quiet “yes”. As soon as the word leaves your mouth, his mouth is reattached to your neck and his hips grind down onto your hip and you can feel his hard-on pressing into your thigh.

“Hwa, please,” you whine, feeling a burning in your core.

“Mmh, love it when you call me that,” Seonghwa murmurs, his hand coming down to unfasten his pants and shoving them down enough to free his cock. “There’s something about you that’s so fucking alluring. All I can think about is fucking you so well all you can do is think about me just as much as I do with you.”

He shifts, adjusting himself so he can grind his cock against your dripping folds and kiss you at the same time. The softness of his lips makes you smile and you throw your arms around him to bring him closer to you. For a moment, both of you are too caught up in your kiss, but then the tip of his dick gets caught in your fluttering hole and you moan into his mouth.

“Gods–” Seonghwa groans, hips stilling. You can feel every time his dick twitches inside of you. “Are you ready? Please–” The last word falls from his lips in a whisper, as if he’s almost embarrassed to beg.

Instead of a response, you hook your legs around his waist and pull his hips flush against you, immediately driving his cock deep inside you. You throw your head back at the feeling of it spearing into you, Seonghwa dropping his head to rest against your chest. “Fuck, you’re so– so perfect for me,” he stutters out, his voice low and heavy with lust. “Want to stay like this forever.”

“Less talking,” you order, twisting your hips to try and get him impossibly deeper inside of you. A crooked smile pulls at Seonghwa’s lips, and before you can say anything else, he pulls back and starts hammering into you like it’s his last day in the kingdom.

You can hardly get words out, only whines and mumbles, his cock reaching so deep inside of you. With every thrust, he hits that perfect spot inside of you and your hands dig into the thick fabric of his uniform top. “Ah– Seonghwa, you’re splitting me apart so good,” you moan, breath hot on his neck.

You swear your guts will be rearranged after this, his thick cock stretching you so perfectly. With every thrust, you can feel your walls squeezing so tightly around him and your hips are shaking with pleasure. Seonghwa’s eyes are trained on the junction where his cock is driving deep into you, mesmerised by the glistening slick covering both of your thighs.

Without warning, his slender fingers travel down your body to press at your clit. A gasp rips its way out of your throat and you moan embarrassingly loud, your hips kicking up. “Seonghwa–”

He leans in, his hand still rubbing small circles on your clit, pressing his lips sweetly to yours once again. “Shit, Hwa, you’re too perfect for me. Treating me so well.”

Seonghwa groans and bites your shoulder. “You look so pretty on my cock, my wife. You’d look so pretty full with me dripping out of you. I should show you every day how much I love you, hmm? It’s what you deserve. A pampered life as my wife, the queen by my side.” His teeth sink into your lower lip and his fingers speed up their ministrations.

“Ah– I’m close Seonghwa,” you moan into his mouth, and you can practically feel him smile against your lips.

With one particularly well-delivered thrust, Seonghwa growls, “Come for me, YN.”

Without much further prompting, just a twist of his fingers on your clit, you groan, back arching and your cunt clenching around Seonghwa as you fall over the edge of your orgasm, your husband following soon after. Ropes of searing hot come shoot deep inside of you and you let out a long sigh at the feeling. Seonghwa rests his forehead on yours as his hips slow to a stop, letting your orgasms wash over both of you completely.

You let your body completely relax on the mattress, staring up at the canopy of the bed. When you were preparing for the party, the last thing you expected was to get your brains fucked out by Seonghwa, but you won’t complain. You breathe out and relax, bringing your hand up to brush your fingers through his dark hair.

“Feeling good?” you ask your husband, and Seonghwa laughs, tilting his head up.

“Yeah. Come on, let’s get my lovely wife cleaned up. I have to change the sheets in the meantime.” Seonghwa gets up, stretching a little, and you can’t help but stare at the sliver of waist you see. You can feel his come dribbling out of you and instinctively you clench your thighs although you know you must get up soon enough.

But before you can even make any move to, Seonghwa leans down and scoops you up, carrying you over to your shared bathroom. “Ah– Hwa–” you scold, gripping onto his shoulders. “My legs work!”

Seonghwa laughs, nuzzling into your hair. “Then I should fix that next time.”

You laugh and smack at his shoulder. “Hwa, no, I like being able to move.”

Seonghwa shakes his head but doesn’t respond, just turning on the faucet and sitting you down in the water. “Is this all right for you?” he asks, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Come sit with me too, Hwa. You should get to relax too.”

“Ah, but the sheets,” Seonghwa tries, but you grab the hem of his shirt.

“We can use my quarters, Seonghwa.” You stare up at him with pleading eyes, and you can see him hesitate. “Please, Hwa?”

And just like magic, your words break down Seonghwa’s hesitation and he sighs, unfastening his shirt and throwing off his pants. As he lowers himself behind you, your hand reaches back to steady him.

As the two of you sit in the warm water, you take a chance and lean back against his firm chest. You can feel him stiffen and your breath catches in your throat, but in the end, he just relaxes and throws an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“You know, ever since I saw you on the wedding day, I was happy to have you as my wife,” Seonghwa hums, rocking you back and forth slightly.

You tilt your head up to smile at him sweetly. “And seeing you in your wedding robes looking every bit of a fairy, I was happy to have you as my husband.” Seonghwa leans down to press his lips against yours, brushing your hair behind your ear. You can feel his own smile against your mouth and your eyes flutter shut.

“Let’s stay like this for as long as we can.”

[theonottsbxtch]

THE PRINCESS AND THE DRIVER PT.4 | MV1

an: and here we have the final part of this series! i hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think!!

wc: 9.8k

warnings: mentions of death

part one | part two | part three |

Eight months had passed, and in that time, the princess had learned to hide the cracks in her carefully curated life. The early days of her relationship with Max had been a whirlwind of stolen moments, secret meetings, and late-night calls that left her breathless with excitement. But as time wore on, the reality of their worlds—their vastly different lives—began to close in on them.

Tonight, the palace was eerily still, its grand halls and corridors cloaked in shadows. The heavy curtains had been drawn tight, muting the vibrant light that usually flooded the rooms, as if the building itself sensed the growing tension. Every footstep echoed more loudly than usual, the soft rustle of servants moving with a palpable caution, their faces marked by an unspoken understanding of what was to come.

She sat in her private sitting room, staring blankly at the letter in her lap, her mind swirling with worry. The royal physician’s words felt like a punch in the chest: The king’s condition has worsened. We must prepare for all eventualities.

Her father was a shadow of the man he had once been. The strong, commanding presence that had filled every room now lay weak and frail, confined to his chambers, his illness advancing faster than any of them had anticipated. The doctors tried to remain optimistic, but she knew what was coming. Her future, once distant, was now closing in rapidly, and with it, the weight of the crown.

She placed the letter down on the table beside her and leaned back in her chair, pressing her fingers to her temples to stave off the headache building behind her eyes. The room around her felt cold, impersonal, despite its opulence. The delicate tapestries and gilded furniture, once a source of comfort, now felt suffocating.

Her gaze flicked to the phone lying on the table. She hadn’t spoken to Max in days. The silence between them had grown heavier with each passing hour. He was deep into the racing season, travelling across the Americas, and while they texted when they could, it wasn’t enough—not anymore.

A knock at the door broke through her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called, her voice quieter than she intended.

Lukas stepped into the room, his expression unreadable, though there was a softness in his eyes that spoke of his concern. He bowed slightly, always formal, even when they were alone. “Your Highness,” he said, his voice low. “The advisors are requesting your presence in an hour to discuss the transition of duties.”

Her stomach twisted at his words. The transition of duties. A polite way of saying they needed to prepare for her father’s death—and her ascension to the throne. She had always known this day would come, but she had imagined it years in the future. Now, it was looming over her, closer than ever.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you, Lukas. I’ll be there.”

Lukas lingered in the doorway, his eyes scanning her face as if weighing whether to say more. “Is there anything you need before the meeting? Anything I can do for you?”

She shook her head, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “No, thank you, Lukas.”

He gave a respectful nod, though the worry in his gaze remained. He stepped back and closed the door behind him, leaving her alone once again.

The silence that followed was thick, oppressive. She stood and moved to the window, pushing aside the heavy curtain to look out at the gardens below. The once vibrant flowers seemed dull under the pale moonlight, the neatly trimmed hedges casting long shadows that stretched across the lawn like dark fingers.

Her eyes drifted toward the phone again, and this time, it buzzed softly. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Max’s name flash across the screen. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering above it, before finally picking it up.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” came Max’s familiar voice, though there was an edge to it she hadn’t heard in a while. “I’ve been trying to call you all day. Are you okay? I just got out of practice.”

She closed her eyes, the sound of his voice bringing a small wave of comfort, though it was laced with the frustration of their current situation. “I’m sorry. Things have been… difficult here.”

Max sighed on the other end. “Yeah, I figured. I’ve been keeping up with the news. How’s your dad?”

She felt her throat tighten at the mention of her father. “It’s not good, Max. The doctors aren’t hopeful.” Her voice cracked despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

There was a long pause, and she could hear the faint hum of background noise from wherever Max was—likely a bustling racetrack, filled with the noise of mechanics and engines. “I wish I could be there with you,” he said finally, his voice softening. “But I’m stuck in Austin this week and Mexico then Brazil.”

“I know,” she replied, though the words tasted bitter. “I don’t want to pull you away from your career. I just… wish things weren’t so hard right now.”

Max let out another sigh, one filled with frustration. “I hate this. I hate that we’re both so busy, that I can’t just drop everything and be there for you when you need me.”

Her heart ached at his words. She missed him terribly—the easy way they used to be before everything became so complicated. “I know,” she whispered. “But this is what my life is now. I can’t escape it.”

“I get that,” Max said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “But it feels like I’m constantly competing with your royal duties, and I’m always coming up short.”

His words stung, not because they weren’t true, but because they were too true. She was always rushing from one responsibility to the next, with barely enough time for herself, let alone a relationship. “I don’t want you to feel like that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But this is my reality, Max. I’m not just a princess anymore. I’m about to be a queen.”

Another silence fell between them, heavier than before.

“And where does that leave us?” Max asked finally, his voice soft, yet edged with uncertainty.

She closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. She had been asking herself that very question for weeks now, afraid of the answer. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t know how to make this work. My life… it’s not just mine anymore.”

Max was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, more understanding. “I miss you, liefje. I miss us.”

“I miss you too,” she whispered, her chest tightening painfully.

They stayed on the line, the silence between them filled with all the things they couldn’t say. The distance, the obligations, the roles they couldn’t abandon—it all loomed over them like a shadow.

Max sighed again, though this time it was more resigned. “Look, let’s not make any decisions right now. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks, and we can figure it out then. We always do.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “Okay,” she said quietly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Talk soon?” Max’s voice had a hopeful lilt, but she could hear the uncertainty underneath it.

“Talk soon,” she echoed, though the words felt hollow.

When the call ended, she set the phone down and stared out into the dark garden, her heart heavy. She wanted to believe Max’s optimism, but deep down, she wasn’t sure if love alone was enough to bridge the gap between their worlds.

With a deep breath, she pushed the thoughts aside. Duty called. It always did.

She walked into the meeting room, her footsteps quiet on the marble floor, but the weight of her thoughts echoed loudly in her mind. The council was already seated, their serious faces reflecting the gravity of the conversation that was about to take place. The grand room felt cold and imposing, with its high, vaulted ceilings and walls lined with portraits of previous rulers, all of them watching her with what felt like judgmental eyes.

She took her seat at the long mahogany table, her heart heavy. The chair creaked slightly as she sat down, but no one flinched. They were all waiting for her, waiting to begin discussing the future of the kingdom—her future, their future. The advisors spoke in low voices, the conversation flowing around her in a tide of words she couldn’t fully absorb. Something about succession, transitioning responsibilities, securing alliances.

But her mind was somewhere else. It was with Max, thousands of miles away, racing under the sun of some foreign country, oblivious to the turmoil in her heart. She could almost picture him—helmet in hand, his face lit with the easy smile that had first drawn her in. The image of him felt like a lifeline, a reminder of the simple joy she had found with him, of the version of herself that wasn’t weighed down by duty and expectation.

What if I just left? The thought crept in, unbidden. She imagined it—the two of them, disappearing from the public eye. No more council meetings, no more royal obligations. Just her and Max, living a life where she could breathe, where her decisions didn’t affect an entire kingdom. She pictured herself at the karting track again, the wind in her hair, the sound of engines roaring in the background, Max’s laughter filling the air. The world felt so much lighter there.

A voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. “Your Highness, do you have any thoughts on the matter of the transition ceremony?”

She blinked, her focus snapping back to the meeting. She glanced around the table, the faces of her advisors all turned expectantly toward her. Her throat felt tight, and she could feel the weight of their expectations bearing down on her again.

“I... I think we need to consider all possibilities,” she managed, her voice steady, though her mind was still reeling from the clash of her desires.

She wasn’t lying. She had considered all possibilities. Including the one where she didn’t go through with this. Including the one where she abdicated the throne, passed the crown to someone else, and lived the life she dreamed of—free of these suffocating walls, free of the expectations that had been draped over her shoulders since birth. It would be so easy. So tempting.

But she knew, deep down, that it wasn’t right. She couldn’t just walk away. Her father, as ill as he was, had been a devoted king, sacrificing so much of his own life for the sake of the country. How could she abandon that legacy? And what about the people who relied on her? The citizens who saw her as their future? The weight of those thoughts pressed down on her like a stone.

Even Max had told her once, half-joking, that he admired how seriously she took her role. “I couldn’t do what you do,” he had said with a laugh. “There’s a lot of pressure in racing, but nothing compared to running an entire country.”

He was right. Her role wasn’t just a title. It was a responsibility. One she couldn’t turn her back on, no matter how much she wanted to, no matter how much the idea of escaping with Max tempted her in moments of weakness.

The conversation around the table continued, moving into details about diplomatic visits and the logistics of transitioning royal power. Her hands rested on the surface of the table, her fingers tracing the delicate wood grain as her mind wandered again, just for a moment.

She knew Max didn’t fully understand. How could he? He came from a world of adrenaline, where decisions were made in split seconds and victories or losses were determined in the blink of an eye. But her world was one of tradition, of slow, deliberate choices, where every move had consequences that rippled through generations. She had tried to explain it to him once, but the look in his eyes told her that he couldn’t grasp the magnitude of what she was saying. Not really.

And yet, she loved him. Loved him with an intensity that scared her at times, because it made her want things she knew she couldn’t have. Things that weren’t hers to take. She wanted to run to him, to leave all of this behind and lose herself in a life where they could be together, free from the constraints of their separate worlds.

But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t.

Her gaze drifted to the window at the far end of the room, where the palace grounds stretched out before her. Beyond the manicured gardens, beyond the walls of the palace, was the kingdom she would one day rule. A kingdom that needed stability, that needed someone strong to guide it through the uncertain times ahead.

And that someone was her.

“Your Highness?”

The voice of one of the advisors pulled her back to the present again. She turned her head, realising that they were waiting for her input once more. The room felt stifling now, the tension of their expectations thick in the air.

“I think we need to approach this with care,” she said finally, her voice firm, but her heart heavy with the weight of what she was saying. “The transition needs to be seamless. For the sake of the kingdom.”

The advisors nodded, satisfied with her response. They continued their discussions, but her thoughts were no longer with them. They were with Max, with the life she had glimpsed but knew she couldn’t fully embrace.

Maybe there would be a way to reconcile the two worlds one day. But for now, she knew she had to stay. The crown, heavy as it was, wasn’t something she could just set down.

Her heart would have to wait.

The morning was unnervingly quiet when she awoke. There was no chatter from the staff outside her chambers, no clinking of trays or muffled footsteps through the grand hallways. Instead, there was a thick stillness in the air, like the palace itself was holding its breath.

She blinked slowly, the heavy velvet curtains blocking the early morning light from creeping into her room. Something was off. The kind of wrongness that sits at the pit of your stomach before you even know why. She sat up, her silk nightgown brushing against the cool sheets, and glanced around the room. Everything looked the same, but the silence… the silence wasn’t right.

A soft knock at the door made her heart skip. It was gentle, too gentle, as though whoever stood on the other side didn’t want to disturb the stillness.

“Come in,” she called, her voice quiet but steady.

The door opened slowly, and Lukas stepped into the room. His usual composed expression was strained, his eyes heavy with something that made her heart sink instantly. He closed the door behind him, moving with a kind of deliberate calm, as if he were trying to soften the blow of whatever news he had brought with him.

"Lukas?" Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the rising fear inside her.

He didn’t speak at first. He simply stood there, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes soft but filled with an unmistakable sadness. For a moment, she thought she might still be dreaming—trapped in some half-awake nightmare that didn’t feel real. But the look in Lukas’s eyes grounded her in reality.

She didn’t need him to say it. She knew.

Her heart stilled. “Is it… is it my father?”

Lukas lowered his head, exhaling slowly before lifting his gaze to meet hers again. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness. The king passed during the night.”

The world seemed to shift beneath her feet. Her breath hitched in her throat, her hands tightening in the fabric of her blanket as if trying to anchor herself in place. She had known this was coming. The doctors had warned them that it was only a matter of time. But no amount of warnings, no gentle words of preparation, could have braced her for this moment.

She felt hollow. Empty. Her father—the man who had been her rock, her guide, the unshakable force behind the kingdom—was gone.

“When?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lukas stepped closer, his expression never wavering from that quiet empathy. “Early this morning. Just before dawn. He passed peacefully, in his sleep.”

Her chest tightened. Peacefully. That was supposed to be some kind of comfort, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t. Not to her. Her father was gone, and all the peacefulness in the world couldn’t bring him back.

For a long moment, she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her mind was racing, but her body felt paralyzed, like she was stuck between the need to scream and the need to collapse.

Lukas knelt by her side, his hand resting gently by her side. “Your Highness…”

She didn’t respond at first, her gaze fixed on the far wall as if trying to process what she had just heard. Her throat felt tight, and a wave of dizziness swept over her. The words Lukas had said—the king passed—rang in her ears like a bell, over and over again.

“I thought I’d have more time,” she murmured, more to herself than to Lukas. “I thought…” Her voice broke. “I thought he’d stay longer.”

Lukas’s face softened further, and for the first time in their years of knowing each other, he didn’t maintain his formal distance. He reached out and took her hand, offering the only comfort he could in this moment of unimaginable grief. “No one is ever ready to lose someone they love.”

She looked down at their joined hands, her vision blurring with unshed tears. The weight of everything—the crown, the kingdom, her father’s legacy—began to settle onto her shoulders, heavier than ever before. She had always known she would take on this role, but she never imagined it would feel like this.

“I… I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the strain. “Without him, I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“You are,” Lukas said softly but with conviction. “You are stronger than you know. The king believed in you, and so do I.”

She swallowed hard, tears spilling over her cheeks, her hand gripping his like a lifeline. Lukas had always been there—her protector, her confidant—but in this moment, he felt more like a brother, someone who understood the depths of her pain without needing to say a word.

She took a shaky breath, trying to collect herself. She had to be strong. That’s what her father had always taught her. The kingdom needed her now more than ever, and there was no room for weakness. No room for hesitation. But the idea of facing it all—without her father by her side—felt unbearable.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye to him,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lukas’s eyes shimmered with his own emotion, though he kept his composure. “You don’t have to say goodbye just yet,” he said gently. “You’ll have time. But right now, the kingdom needs you, angel.”

Her breath hitched at the sound of her family nickname. He never called her that—never. It was always “Your Highness,” always formal. But in that moment, hearing that name spoken with such care, she felt a flicker of strength deep inside her. A reminder of who she was. Of who she had to be now.

She nodded slowly, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. She had to face this. She had to step into the role that was now hers, even though it felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on her chest.

“When do they expect me?” she asked, her voice steadier, though still fragile.

“They’ll be gathering soon,” Lukas replied. “The council will want to discuss the next steps. But you don’t need to rush, angel. Take the time you need.”

She shook her head, already pushing the blankets off her lap and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “No. I can’t delay this. They’re waiting for me.”

Lukas stood, watching her with quiet respect as she moved across the room, her steps slow but determined. He knew better than to argue. She was the queen now, and he would follow her lead, even in her grief.

As she reached for her dressing robe, her hand trembled, but she forced herself to keep moving. Her father’s death felt like the end of everything she had known, but she couldn’t let herself fall apart. Not now. Not with so much at stake.

But as Lukas turned to leave, giving her privacy to get ready, her voice stopped him.

“Lukas?” she called softly, her throat tight.

He paused at the door, looking back at her with patient eyes.

She swallowed hard, tears filling her eyes once more. “Thank you. For being here.”

Lukas’s expression softened, and he gave a small nod. “Always.”

With that, he left her alone in the quiet room, the weight of her new reality settling heavily around her. She stood there for a moment, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked the same—dishevelled hair, tear-streaked cheeks, red-rimmed eyes. But she wasn’t the same.

She wasn’t just a princess anymore.

She was the queen.

And no matter how much she wished she could run to Max, to disappear into a life where this kind of pain didn’t exist, she knew she couldn’t. Her place was here, with her people. It always had been.

With a deep breath, she wiped her tears once more and began preparing herself for the hardest day of her life. She sat herself in front of her mirror, her hands trembling slightly as she fastened the last button on her mourning dress. The black fabric clung to her skin, a stark reminder of the weight she now carried. She could hear the faint murmur of voices from the hallway—preparations for the day ahead—but it all felt distant, like she was floating in a fog of disbelief.

She couldn’t believe he was gone. Her father—the man who had always been larger than life, even in his sickness—was gone. The reality of it still hadn’t fully settled in, and every breath she took felt shallow, tight, as if the grief itself had taken residence in her lungs.

A soft knock on her door broke through her thoughts. Before she could respond, the door creaked open, and her mother stepped quietly into the room. The Queen —or rather, soon to be Dowager Queen —was the picture of regal composure, dressed in black silk, her hair neatly swept back. But there was a fragility in her eyes, a sadness that she wore beneath the surface.

She stood slowly, feeling the familiar ache of tears she had forced back all morning. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room was filled with the unsaid, the emotions too heavy to name. But then, without a word, her mother crossed the space between them and wrapped her arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

She didn’t realise how much she needed it until the warmth of her mother’s arms was around her. She collapsed into the embrace, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder as the tears finally came. Quiet, stifled sobs, muffled against the fabric of her mother’s dress. Her mother held her tightly, her hand smoothing her hair in a soothing gesture she hadn’t felt since she was a child.

“I’m so sorry, Mama,” she choked out between breaths, feeling the guilt welling up with her grief. Guilt for not being able to save him, for not being ready to take his place. “I—I don’t know if I can do this.”

Her mother pulled back just enough to look at her, cupping her tear-streaked face in her hands. Her mother’s eyes were red, but there was a strength in them, a deep well of faith that steadied her trembling heart.

“You can, my love,” her mother said softly, her voice unwavering despite the sadness etched in every word. “I know this feels unbearable now. But you are ready. More ready than you think.”

She shook her head, blinking back more tears. “But what if I fail? What if I can’t live up to—”

Her mother cut her off, her voice gentle but firm. “You won’t fail. Your father believed in you. He knew you were destined for this, and I believe it too. You have his heart, his strength, and more than that, you have your own wisdom. The wisdom of someone who understands the world in a way he couldn’t.”

Her breath hitched as she stared into her mother’s eyes. She wanted to believe her, wanted to hold onto that certainty, but doubt clawed at the edges of her mind. “But I’m not like him. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to rule this country.”

Her mother’s lips curved into a faint, sad smile as she gently wiped away her tears with her thumb. “No one is like him. Your father was unique. But the strength you need doesn’t have to look the same as his. You have your own kind of strength, darling, and that’s what this country needs now.”

The room seemed to fall silent again, save for the sound of their breathing, the tension of the day settling around them both. She stared at her mother, searching for any crack in her confidence, but she found none. The Queen had been through this before. She had watched her own husband rise to the throne, and now she was passing that same responsibility to her daughter.

Her mother’s hands moved to clasp her own, squeezing them tightly. “I’m ready to become the Dowager Queen, angel,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “I’m ready to step aside because I have complete faith in you. The only person who can lead this kingdom as well as your father did... is you.”

Her breath hitched. The words hit her harder than she expected. She had spent so long doubting her readiness, questioning whether she could ever be the leader her father was, that she hadn’t allowed herself to see that others believed in her. That her mother—who had stood beside her father through every challenge—believed in her.

“I can’t do it without you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Her mother smiled gently. “You won’t have to. I’ll always be here, by your side. But this is your time now, darling. The country needs you.”

She swallowed, her throat thick with emotion. Her mother's unwavering belief in her felt like a lifeline, pulling her up from the depths of her fear. Slowly, she nodded, more to herself than to her mother. She had no choice but to be strong now—for the country, for her father’s legacy, and for the people who were looking to her for guidance.

Her mother leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You are more than capable, my love. You were born for this. And when you step into that room today, they’ll see it too.”

For a long moment, they stayed like that, holding each other, sharing their grief in the stillness of the morning. She felt the warmth of her mother’s strength seep into her, and she let herself draw from it, her resolve beginning to harden beneath the surface of her sadness.

When her mother finally pulled away, she felt steadier. The grief hadn’t left her, and she knew it never fully would, but the weight of it felt more bearable. She had to carry it now, along with everything else. But she wouldn’t be alone.

As she turned to leave the room, she paused at the door, her hand resting on the frame. “Darling?” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet wisdom.

She looked up, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Yes?”

“Remember this,” her mother said, her gaze filled with love and pride. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to lead with your heart. That’s what your father did, and it’s what will make you a great queen.”

She wasn’t just a daughter anymore. She wasn’t just a princess. She was the future of the kingdom.

“There’s one more thing,” her mother said softly, before stepping out of the room.

She tilted her head, waiting.

“You need to tell him,” her mother said gently.

Her heart skipped. “Max?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Her mother nodded. “Yes. He’s been in your life long enough to deserve to know the truth about what you’re going through.”

She looked away, chewing her lip. “I don’t know, Mama. He... he has his own life. He’s busy with Formula One. I don’t want to burden him with all of this. It’s too much.” Her voice faltered as she spoke, the idea of leaning on him feeling both comforting and terrifying.

Her mother stepped closer, her presence warm and grounding. “Darling,” she said softly, placing a gentle hand on her daughter’s shoulder, “you need someone in your corner who isn’t Lukas, and who isn’t me. You need someone who can be there for you, not just as the future queen, but as the woman you are. Max could be that person.”

She felt her throat tighten at her mother’s words. She knew, deep down, her mother was right. But admitting that she needed Max meant admitting her own vulnerability—and that was something she hadn’t done in a long time.

“What if he... doesn’t understand?” She asked quietly, her voice barely a whisper.

Her mother’s expression softened even more, a small smile pulling at her lips. “From what I’ve seen, he already understands more than you give him credit for. And if he truly cares for you, he’ll be there. You just need to give him the chance.”

She nodded, but the hesitation remained. She felt torn between the duties of her crown and the need for something that felt real, something that wasn’t bound by the weight of royal expectations.

Her mother brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes filled with quiet understanding. “It’s okay to let someone in, sweetheart. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

For a long moment, she didn’t respond. Her mother’s words settled over her, both soothing and unsettling, as if she were being asked to make a leap she wasn’t sure she was ready for. But beneath the uncertainty, a small part of her yearned to reach out to him, to let him in—if only because the thought of facing this without him felt lonelier than she could bear.

Her mother gave her one last look, one filled with love and confidence. “Think about it,” she said softly. “But whatever you choose, remember—you’re not alone.”

With that, her mother kissed her forehead and quietly left the room.

She stood there, frozen in place, her mind swirling. She knew what she had to do, but the fear still gripped her. She crossed the room to her bedside table, where her phone lay charging. She picked it up, her fingers brushing the screen, and instinctively unlocked it.

Max’s name stared back at her in the text thread. There were a few unread messages, one from earlier in the week, asking how she was. Another a few days before that, checking in on her. She hadn’t responded to either.

Her thumb hovered over his name, the familiar flutter in her chest both comforting and suffocating. She wanted to tell him, wanted to lean on him like her mother had said, but a part of her still hesitated. What if this was too much? What if the weight of the crown pushed them apart even further?

She sighed and locked her phone again, placing it gently back on the table. Not yet. She wasn’t ready.

As she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the darkened screen, she let out a long, shaky breath. Her heart felt heavy with the decision she knew was coming.

But for now, she couldn’t do it. Not yet.

It was time to face the council. It was time to step into her role as queen.

The next few days blurred together in a whirlwind of meetings, press conferences, and preparations for the coronation. The throne room, once a place of regal splendour, felt like a cage, the high ceilings looming over her as if they were pressing down on her spirit. Each morning, she found herself sitting at the long, polished table in the council chamber, flanked by advisors and ministers, their discussions echoing around her like the distant tolling of a bell.

The council members had officially announced her ascension to the throne to the country the day before, and the press had been relentless, covering every angle of her impending coronation. “A new era,” they called it, but all she could feel was the weight of expectation pressing heavily on her shoulders. She had always known this moment would come, but the reality of it settled over her like a storm cloud, darkening the sunniest of days.

As she sat in the meetings, she tried to focus on the conversations swirling around her—the budget reports, the upcoming legislation, the various projects and initiatives they wanted her to endorse. But her mind often drifted, the words fading into a dull hum as she stared blankly at the documents in front of her. She could hear snippets of conversation, the concerns about the economy, discussions about trade relations, and plans for the upcoming public addresses, but her heart wasn’t in it.

What pulled her focus away was the nagging thought of Max. She had kept her distance, thinking it would be easier for him. But each time her phone buzzed, every time she saw a glimpse of Formula One on television or the news, she felt the ache of wanting to reach out to him. He’d won his first race and as much as she wanted to congratulate him, she couldn’t. They had shared something special—a connection that felt genuine and freeing, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was losing that by hiding.

In the afternoon meetings, as the minister of agriculture outlined his proposals, she caught herself staring at the ornate clock on the wall, its hands ticking relentlessly forward. Time was slipping away, and she was losing the grip on everything that had felt so real only a week ago.

“Your Highness?” The sound of her name broke through her thoughts, and she looked up to find Lord Harrington, the lead advisor, peering at her with concern. “We need your input on this initiative. It’s vital to our agricultural sustainability moving forward.”

She nodded, forcing her mind to clear. “Of course,” she replied, trying to summon the confidence she was known for. She scanned the proposal quickly, her eyes catching on various points, but nothing resonated with her. “I think we should explore more sustainable options, perhaps partner with local farms to promote organic practices.”

The room buzzed with murmurs of approval, and she felt a flicker of relief that she hadn’t completely lost herself in the weight of her responsibilities. She had to remember that there was a reason she was chosen for this role; she had the ability to lead, to inspire change. But with every discussion, she felt more like a pawn than a queen.

As the week progressed, the relentless pace of preparations for her coronation only intensified. Staff members rushed around the palace, organising floral arrangements, selecting ceremonial attire, and finalising the guest list for the grand event. Each detail was scrutinised, each decision weighed against the legacy her father had left behind.

She spent late nights poring over documents, trying to prepare herself for the monumental shift that was about to happen. It felt surreal, as though she were watching someone else’s life play out on a screen. The days bled into one another, and the excitement of the upcoming ceremony was overshadowed by the persistent thrum of anxiety that buzzed beneath her skin.

Amidst the chaos, she sought solace in her mother’s company. Her mother seemed to understand her unspoken fears, providing a calming presence in the midst of the preparations. They spent hours going over the details, discussing speeches and strategies, and every time they stood together in the mirror, she felt her resolve strengthen just a little bit.

“Remember, this isn’t just a ceremony,” her mother reminded her gently one evening as they were fitting her coronation gown. “It’s a declaration of your strength and your commitment to the people. You’re not just stepping into your father’s shoes; you’re creating your own path.”

She nodded, though a small part of her still felt like she was stumbling in the dark. But every time her mother spoke, she felt a flicker of hope—a reminder that she didn’t have to carry this burden alone.

On the day before the coronation, she sat at her desk in the late afternoon, glancing out the window at the sprawling gardens below. The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon, casting golden rays that danced over the manicured lawns. She could hear the distant sounds of celebration and preparation from the town below, where the citizens were already gathering for the festivities. Yet, in the heart of the palace, she felt completely isolated.

She picked up her phone, her heart racing as she scrolled through her contacts. Max’s name was there, tantalisingly close, but still she hesitated. The fear of pulling him into her world, of exposing him to the chaos that now filled her life, held her back.

“What if he doesn’t want this?” she murmured to herself, feeling the weight of the decision hang in the air. “What if he thinks I’m just a royal duty?”

But then she remembered her mother’s words. She needed someone in her corner, someone who understood the real her, not just the princess or the future queen.

With a deep breath, she pressed his name and hovered over the screen, fingers poised to type. Before she could talk herself out of it again, she began typing a message.

I miss you x

The morning of the coronation was uncharacteristically quiet in the grand palace, with only the soft rustle of silk and the gentle chirping of birds filtering through the open window. She lay in bed, her heart racing, thoughts swirling like the delicate clouds above. Today was monumental, yet a profound emptiness echoed in her chest, overshadowed by the grief of her father’s recent passing. She hadn’t slept well, the weight of expectation pressing down on her as the sun rose, illuminating the ornate details of her chamber.

Just as she was about to pull herself from the tangled sheets, a soft knock sounded at her door, breaking the silence. Before she could respond, the door creaked open, revealing Lukas, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” he said, his voice playful. “You might want to hurry up; the world is waiting.”

“Lukas,” she replied with a weary smile, “I’m not in the mood for your antics today.”

But he stepped into the room, a conspiratorial smile spreading across his face. “I have a surprise for you.”

Her curiosity piqued as she raised an eyebrow. “What sort of surprise?”

“Just wait here,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. With a swift movement, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Moments later, the door swung open again, and her breath caught in her throat. There, standing in the threshold, was Max, his familiar silhouette framed by the soft morning light.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out, her heart leaping into her throat. “You have a race tomorrow!”

Max stepped closer, an easy confidence radiating from him, but there was a serious glint in his eyes. “I told them I sprained my wrist,” he said, his voice low, almost intimate. “I needed to be here for you.”

A rush of emotions washed over her—relief, joy, and a deep longing she hadn’t realised had grown so potent in his absence. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, caught between astonishment and gratitude. “You have responsibilities, Max.”

“I know,” he replied, his gaze steady and unwavering, “but I couldn’t bear the thought of you facing this day without me. You’re about to become queen, and I want to be here to support you, to remind you that you’re not alone.”

Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. Time seemed to pause as he leaned in, and the world outside faded away. The moment their lips met, it ignited a spark that surged through her body, overwhelming and electric. It was as if the tension of all their missed moments collided in that kiss, filling the space between them with heat and urgency.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders as she deepened the kiss, losing herself in the warmth and familiarity of his embrace. Every worry about her duties, the impending coronation, and the expectations of the kingdom faded into oblivion. All that mattered was Max, his presence igniting something within her that felt undeniably right.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, she searched his eyes, both exhilarated and terrified by the intensity of the moment. “What if they find out?” she whispered, her heart still racing.

Max’s expression softened, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Let them. I’m not afraid. I’d rather face the world with you than race without you in my thoughts.”

She shook her head, unable to suppress a smile of her own. “You’re reckless, you know that?”

“Only for you,” he replied, his tone sincere, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her heart flutter.

“But what if they fire you?” she asked, her voice a mixture of concern and disbelief. “You’ve worked so hard to get where you are. You can’t just throw it all away.”

Max’s expression softened, his hands still cradling her face, grounding her. “Liefje,” he said earnestly, “I want to leave Formula One. I want to be by your side.” His tone was steady, unwavering. “I’ve never felt as happy as I’ve been around you. Racing doesn’t compare to what we have. I can’t remember a day when racing made me feel what you make me feel. I’ve won championships. Someone like you doesn’t come around more than once.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises and dreams. She felt her heart flutter, caught between disbelief and overwhelming emotion. “But Max, this is your passion. You’ve dedicated so much of your life to it,” she insisted, a part of her unwilling to let him walk away from his dreams.

“It was my passion,” he replied, his voice low and sincere. “But now… now it feels different. Being with you, knowing you’re stepping into your role as queen, that makes me want to change everything. I want to support you, not just as a driver but as someone who stands by your side through everything.”

Her heart swelled at his words, the tenderness in his gaze making her momentarily forget the looming challenges of her new position. “I don’t want to hold you back, though,” she whispered, biting her lip, torn between the thrill of their connection and the reality of their worlds.

Max stepped back slightly, his hands dropping to her shoulders. “You’re not holding me back. You’re the reason I want to be more than just a racer. I’ve been racing for trophies, for accolades, but they all feel hollow compared to what we have.” He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to lay his heart bare. “I want a life that includes you, and I’m willing to fight for that. I can’t do this without you, schatje.”

The sincerity in his voice tugged at her heartstrings, and she felt a rush of warmth at his willingness to sacrifice so much for her. “You really mean that?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

“More than anything,” he replied, stepping closer again, their bodies almost touching. “I’m not asking you to choose between your duty and me. I just want you to know that I’ll always be here, whatever you decide.”

A lump formed in her throat as she considered his words, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. The thought of him giving up his career was both beautiful and terrifying, and she couldn’t shake the fear of how their worlds might collide. “But… what will people say?” she murmured, looking down at their intertwined hands.

Max lifted her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Let them talk. This is our lives, engeltje. You’re stepping into a new role, and I want to be a part of that. I want to support you in every way I can. Together, we can figure it out.”

Tears pricked at her eyes as the enormity of his offer washed over her. “It’s just… so much,” she confessed, feeling vulnerable yet uplifted by his presence. “What if I’m not ready for this? What if I fail?”

Max’s thumb brushed gently across her cheek, wiping away a single tear that had escaped. “You’re stronger than you realise,” he said softly. “I’ve seen it in you. You’re going to be an incredible queen, and I want to be there, cheering you on, not from a racetrack, but right by your side.”

In that moment, she felt a shift within herself. The weight of her father’s legacy and the impending coronation felt a little less daunting with Max’s support. The uncertainty remained, but so did the flicker of hope. She could see a future where they navigated the complexities of her role together, rather than apart.

As they stood wrapped in each other’s embrace, a sudden playful thought crossed her mind, lightening the moment’s intensity. She pulled back slightly, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “You know there is a protocol for this. You’re meant to propose before you quit everything in your life just to sit beside me.”

Max’s eyes widened with a mix of surprise and amusement, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Oh, is that how it works?” he said, feigning innocence. Then, with a determined glint in his eyes, he let go of her waist, dropping to one knee on the plush carpet of her chamber.

She gasped, her heart racing as he put his hands back on her waist, anchoring himself in place. “Marry me then, princess,” he said, his voice low and sincere, though the absence of a ring hung in the air between them like an unfinished sentence.

A rush of emotions flooded through her—joy, disbelief, and an overwhelming sense of love. Her heart swelled as she looked down at him, the man who had come into her life unexpectedly and changed everything. This was a moment she had never anticipated, yet it felt so profoundly right.

“Max,” she said softly, her voice a mixture of excitement and apprehension. “You don’t have a ring.”

“Who needs a ring?” he countered with a smirk, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m pretty sure I can make do without one for now.” He looked up at her, sincerity radiating from him. “What matters is that I want to spend my life with you, however we make that happen.”

She felt her heart flutter at his words, her earlier worries momentarily forgotten. “This is… wow, unexpected,” she said, her smile growing wider as she tried to process the enormity of what was happening. “Are you really sure?”

Max nodded earnestly, his gaze unwavering. “Absolutely. You’re it for me, schatje. There’s no one else I’d rather have by my side. I want to build a future with you, no matter what it looks like.”

His sincerity warmed her heart, and she felt a rush of affection surge through her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she said, her voice breathy and filled with awe. “You’d give it all up for me?”

“Without hesitation,” he replied, the weight of his promise hanging in the air like a soft echo. “You’re the reason I want to redefine everything. I’d rather face the challenges that come with being with you than chase trophies that won’t matter in the end. I’ve already made a name for myself.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she knelt beside him, her heart pounding in her chest. “Max, you know this isn’t an easy life. There are protocols, expectations… responsibilities that come with the crown.”

“Then let’s face them together,” he said, his hands slipping to her palms as he held her gaze, his expression earnest and filled with warmth. “I’m not afraid of the challenges. I want to be your partner in all of this, in the crown and beyond.”

His words resonated within her, echoing through the quiet of the chamber. This was what she had longed for—the freedom to be herself, to love without the constraints of her title. “You’re incredible,” she breathed, a smile breaking across her face. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

“Because we found each other,” he said simply, still kneeling before her, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still.

As she took in the sight of him—his casual yet earnest demeanour, the way his eyes shone with love—she realised how much she wanted to embrace this possibility. With Max, she could build a life that transcended royal duties and expectations. “Okay,” she said finally, her heart racing with excitement. “Let’s do this. I want to marry you.”

A wide grin broke out across Max’s face as he rose to his feet, pulling her up with him and into a tight embrace that felt like home. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair, his arms wrapping securely around her.

“And while you don’t have a ring, I suppose we’ll have to go shopping for one in the family safe,” she said, laughter bubbling up as she stepped back to look at him. “But in the meantime, I guess I’ll just have to get used to being your fiancée without any bling.”

Max chuckled, a sound that filled the room with warmth. “I’ll get you the prettiest ring I can find. One that suits a princess, even if I’m just a guy from the karting track.”

“Not just any guy,” she said, her heart swelling with affection. “You’re my guy.”

Just as she and Max shared another lingering kiss, the moment was interrupted by a gentle but firm knock on the door. Before either of them could react, Lukas opened the door and stepped inside, a playful smirk on his face.

“While it was cute to eavesdrop on this conversation,” he said, crossing his arms with a teasing glint in his eyes, “Your Highness, you have a coronation to get to. Oh and, congratulations.”

She pulled away from Max, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and delight. “Lukas! You could’ve knocked a little louder!” she exclaimed, trying to regain her composure.

Max chuckled, slipping his arm around her waist, clearly unfazed by Lukas’s entrance. “What can I say? The excitement was too much for me to contain,” he replied, winking at her.

Lukas raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from playful to serious. “As much as I’m thrilled to see you both in such high spirits, we need to focus. There’s a schedule to follow, and the country is expecting you to step into your role as queen today.”

She nodded, her heart racing again as the reality of her responsibilities settled in. “Right, the coronation,” she murmured, glancing at Max, who remained close beside her. The moment felt electric, as if their conversation about love and commitment had wrapped them in a protective bubble against the outside world.

“Do you need a moment?” Lukas asked, breaking her reverie as he gestured between the two of them. “I can come back.”

“No, no. We’re fine,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “But I do need to get ready.”

Lukas’s expression softened slightly, and he offered a genuine smile. “Good. I’d hate to keep the kingdom waiting for too long. And, Mr. Verstappen,” he added, turning to him with a knowing look, “make sure she remembers that this is a huge day for her. No distractions.”

Max nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep her on track,” he said, giving her a mock-serious look. “I promise not to distract her too much.”

She laughed, feeling a rush of warmth and gratitude for the way they interacted—Max, with his playful charm, and Lukas, with his unwavering dedication. “I appreciate that,” she said, smiling at both of them. “I don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

“Good. Then I’ll let you get ready,” Lukas said, stepping back toward the door but pausing for a moment to meet Max’s gaze. “And you,” he added, “keep it together until the coronation is over. There will be plenty of time for celebrating afterward.”

Max raised his hands in mock surrender. “Understood, Captain Lukas.”

With a final nod, Lukas stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him, leaving her and Max alone once again. The air felt different now—charged with anticipation and purpose.

“So…” Max began, leaning against the foot of her bed with a playful grin, “are you ready to take on the world? Or at least the country?”

She took a deep breath, letting the weight of her new reality wash over her. “I guess I have to be,” she replied, her voice steady. “Today is about more than just me. It’s about the people I’ll serve and lead.”

Max stepped closer, his expression turning earnest. “And you’ll do an amazing job. You’re already a queen in my eyes, and this coronation is just the official part. You have all the qualities that make a great leader—compassion, strength, and a heart full of love.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she felt a renewed sense of determination. “Thank you, Max. Your support means everything to me, especially today.”

He reached for her hands, intertwining their fingers. “I’m with you every step of the way, princess,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “No matter what challenges come, you’ll never have to face them alone.”

Taking a look at Max, a thought crossed her mind, walking across the room to a small, ornate bell nestled on a table by the window. She picked it up, her heart racing as she prepared to summon the attendants. With a quick glance back at Max, who was still leaning casually against her bed, she rang the bell, the clear chime echoing through the elegant chamber.

Max raised an eyebrow, curiosity etched on his face. “What are you doing?” he asked, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I need you to get fitted for a suit,” she replied, her tone light but filled with purpose. She turned back to face him, crossing her arms. “You’ll be by my side during the coronation, and that means you can’t just wear what you’re wearing.”

Max chuckled, glancing down at his casual attire—comfortable jeans and a fitted T-shirt. “You don’t think this is enough?” he asked, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

She stepped closer, her expression turning serious. “No, Max. You need a royal suit. Something that reflects who you are now,” she emphasised, her heart swelling at the thought of him standing beside her during such a pivotal moment. “Oh, and you should probably meet my mother, the Queen Dowager. I’m sure she’d love to see you before the ceremony.”

Max’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of her mother, but a determined smile spread across his face. “Queen Dowager, huh? No pressure there,” he said, chuckling nervously. “What do I say to her? ‘Hi, I’m the guy who’s been dating your daughter while you were busy preparing for a royal coronation’?”

“Pretty much,” she teased, her laughter ringing through the room. “But just be yourself. She’ll appreciate your honesty. And besides, I think she’ll like you.”

A soft knock sounded at the door, and before she could respond, it swung open to reveal one of her attendants, a young woman with a friendly smile. “Your Highness, you summoned?”

“Yes, please arrange for Mr. Verstappen to be fitted for a suit,” she instructed, her tone firm but friendly. “We need to make sure he looks regal today.”

The attendant nodded, her eyes darting between her and Max, clearly wondering who he was. “Of course, Your Highness. Right away.”

As the attendant exited, Max gave her a mock-serious look. “So, do I get to pick my own colours? I’m not sure what would look good on me in royal attire.”

She shrugged, unable to contain her laughter. “I think you’d look good in anything, but maybe we can avoid neon colours,” she suggested, winking playfully. “How about something classic? Navy, perhaps? It’ll suit you and look great next to my gown.”

“Alright, I can work with navy,” Max said, his smile widening. “And what about my tie? Should I go for a bow tie or a regular one?”

“Regular, please,” she replied, trying to keep a straight face. “Just remember, you’re not going to a cocktail party. This is a coronation.”

“Got it. Regular tie, no neon, and navy it is,” he said, nodding seriously. “I’ll do my best to not embarrass you in front of the entire kingdom.”

“You’ll do great. Just remember to breathe,” she reassured him, stepping closer again. “And I’ll be right there beside you the entire time.”

Max took a deep breath, looking her up and down with a smile on his face. “Isn’t it my job to comfort you right now?”

The same attendant returned moments later, followed by another staff member carrying a measuring tape and a selection of fabric swatches. “Mr. Verstappen, if you’d follow us to the fitting room?” the attendant said with a professional smile.

“Time to be royal,” Max said, winking at her as he stepped away. “I’ll see you soon, Your Highness.”

In a whirlwind of emotions, she turned her focus back to the preparations ahead. She had a kingdom to unite and a new chapter to embrace—one that she would navigate with Max’s love and support by her side. It felt right, and for the first time in a long while, the heaviness in her chest began to lighten. Today was the beginning of her reign, and she was ready.

And for the first time since she found out she was going to be queen, she felt free.

the end.

taglist: @iimplicitt @bookishnerd1132 @bratstappen @mastermindbaby @abbyandersonstargirl @itsmathilda

[cherrycranes]

omg I absolutely loved your recent smut about judge jonathan crane 😍 especially the bit of praise for his beloved wife, could you make a part 2 where he "gets back" at the reader after his courtroom blow job? with some extra praise please! thank q so much I really enjoyed reading Under His Desk & have an obsession for Jonathan Crane too, i hope you have a lovely day!! 😍

On His Desk (Judge Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Judge Jonathan Crane x female reader Summary: After your husband's work is done, you two can't be bothered to get to a bed before getting freaky. Word count: 2,538 Contents: (Minors DNI) Smut and fluff! Praise, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie Author's notes: I absolutely adore your idea, so here it is! Thank you for your message, I really appreciate it, it was so motivating, and believe me, I always need the motivation. (I'm such a yapper, this fic is double the size of the last one bye. Mandatory 'english is not my first language' disclaimer along with a 'this is my first time writing p in v sex' one, you know the deal.)

"Court dismissed!" Judge Crane announced with a slam of his gavel. Cheers of freedom that he could only compare to those of his students back in Gotham University over a decade ago filled the courtroom. People always loved being allowed to go home, even if those homes belonged to a reign of terror.

Despite that, Jonathan loved going home too. Bane had granted him the upper floor of the courthouse as a personal living space. A makeshift royal chamber for the King of the kangaroo court and his Queen.

You loved home too. You don't remember the last time you had so much freedom over your place of residence. You and Jonathan had been placed in Arkham or prison cells far too many times over the years. And obviously, the iron bars or the cheaply cared for hospital rooms didn't follow your personal taste and sense of style.

The entire Gotham courthouse, all its rooms, chambers, halls and offices were yours now. Your apartments were full of exquisite decorations and stolen fancy furniture that you had only dreamt of when you were doing time. You were the proud Queen of this castle of chaos, and every day, when your and Jonathan's jobs were done, you loved relishing in the fact that this was all yours.

In a high-morale, the attendees left the court. You watched over them, sat comfortably on your throne: Jonathan's lap. Just an hour ago you had been on your knees under your husband's desk, giving him some sneaky attention just to rile him up. And most naturally, you expected his sweet revenge after work.

"So... My sweet angel..." Jonathan murmured warmly into the crook of your neck, his hands pulling you impossibly closer.

"Yes, my perfect Georgia peach?" You asked in a playful but tender tone. The mischief of your previous actions still lingered upon you like his taste on your tongue. Jonathan scoffed and rolled his eyes with a smirk. His hands held you by the hips as he shifted you into a straddle on his lap.

"You're feeling silly today, aren't you, love?" His voice was soft and perfectly warm, nothing like the tone he'd use when announcing the death sentences. It almost seemed like Judge Jonathan Crane and your husband Jonathan were two different men who happened to be madly in love with you at the same time.

"Don't act like you don't love it." You retorted in flirtation. Your lips found him for a moment, giving him a teasing chaste kiss that made him grip your waist and groan.

"I can't fool you... I live for it, baby... And for you too." His hands helped you back into his kiss, this time adding passion into the mix.

Instinctively, your hips ground on him, on his lap. His grip on you grew tighter. Soon enough his tongue was asking for permission to enter your mouth.

Lips parted for him and he went in so slowly, savoring you like the most delicate of desserts. The hand that wore a wedding ring traced a path from your waist, over the fabric of your dress and towards the skin of your back. His hands were rough from the work on the farm he grew up in and the experiments and fights afterwards. The entire life story of your husband along with the smooth metal of his ring finally found your hair, and he held you there. At just a lick away from him.

You moaned softly into his mouth, and he echoed you. He had a firm grip on your hair and your waist, but nothing painful or aggressive.

“But what you did today… It was very very bad, love.” He broke the kiss just to murmur. His beautiful eyes heavy-lidded behind his square glasses.

“What? You didn’t like it?” You asked in a playful sarcasm. One of your hands ran across his hair, brushing an unruly salt and pepper strand away from his forehead. The other took off his glasses with care. Your husband had a mild case of myopia, he wouldn't miss a thing up close.

“I hated it.” He returned the sarcasm with a smirk. His eyes watched the care with which you set his glasses aside, adoration in such a small gesture and in the way he perceived it. His cock had grown harder in his pants. You chuckled with mischief when you noticed.

“Does that mean I’m getting punished?” It was a cheeky question with a hint of true background to it. Sure, your husband had his kinks and so did you, but you could tell in his eyes, in the way he was holding you that, right now, all he ever wanted to do was to be with you, to feel you and finish what you had started down on your knees.

“Maybe...” He chuckled before leaning in for another kiss, just as deep and slow as the previous one. 

He held you really tight. The emptiness of the courtroom amplified every single noise you made. And he couldn’t get enough of it. His every sense had to be filled with you. Hearing, touch, sight, taste and smell. It all had been conquered a long time ago by his beloved wife and he strived to keep it that way.

His lips went further down, from the corners of your lips to your jaw. Open-mouthed kisses trailed their way towards your neck. He growled at the scent of your perfume, unable to resist pressing his face against you.

“Me neither.” You whispered back, your arms were busy wrapping around his shoulders, brushing past the ripped parts of his suit jacket, and he took it as a green light to act. 

"Smells good." He purred in delight, nuzzling his nose against your neck once more. "Is that the perfume I got you, love?" Your dream perfume, to be exact. Jonathan had sent some of his men to raid the fanciest Gotham stores with a list of expensive gifts for you. In the anarchy money wasn't a problem anymore. Good old 'finders keepers' had played in your favor. Jonathan now made sure to bathe you in the riches his status as a wanted villain wasn't able to afford back in the day. You hummed your ‘yes’ with a proud, flirty smirk, drawing a smile out of Jonathan.

“It suits you so well… Makes me go insane…” He whispered, giving your neck a few more hungry nibbles and kisses. “I'm definitely not waiting until we get upstairs, baby.” Despite the seductiveness in his voice, he was being completely honest. And after all, the courtroom was empty, the pile of desks was strong enough, and he was too hard to handle being patient.

With you secured with the embrace, and with a gentleness intended for a fine piece of china, Jonathan slowly laid you down on his desk. Moving away any sort of clutter that could be an obstacle to your beautiful body before fully setting you there. His lips never once abandoned your neck, the sounds of his sucks and nibbles fusing with the sound of some paper sheets being tossed aside.

"Godammit, you're perfect." He whispered in fluent desire when he pulled back to take a good look at you. Once your head was safely laid on the wooden surface his hand traced the shape of your body over the fabric of your dress. All the way over to your thighs where the hemline rested, although not for much longer. 

Reverently, he slid the dress up to your hips, his baby blue eyes already fixated on your lacy black panties that left nothing to the imagination. 

“Oh, love… You’re perfect and you’re a perfect tease…” He remarked, the corners of his lips were tugged up into a smirk. His eyes reverently tracing the shape of your cunt. His favorite place to be in.

Not wanting to wait any longer, Jonathan yanked the panties off your body, letting them join the sheets of paper. He pushed the backs of your thighs down and hooked each leg on each of his shoulders hungrily. 

In a moment, he gathered up saliva in his mouth and carefully spat over your pussy. Your wetness could be enough on its own, but he was a firm believer in having you completely soaked before taking him in.

“That’s it… Nice and easy…” He whispered with proud hunger, his hands were already taking his cock out of his pants for a second time today.

“Forgive me for not foreplaying you more, love. But if I don’t do this right now I’m going to cum in my pants…” He confessed and got a sweet laugh out of you that shifted into a soft moan when the tip of his penis pressed against your entrance.

He exhaled a hot, lustful breath of relief when his saliva and your own wetness eased his way inside you. You moaned again, your hands held onto the edge of the desk as the familiar sensation took over. Every vein and inch engraved in your memory, your pussy so warm and needy for him. He closed his eyes for a moment, his mouth opening for his own moan when he pushed all the way in. One of his hands caressed your cheek softly and his eyes opened to seek your permission to go on.

You nodded, your tongue darting out to lick his thumb mischievously as it brushed over your lips. He groaned at the sight and at the rush when he started to move, fucking you slowly and deeply into the desk.

“Ohh, love… My beautiful love…” He muttered, his breathing was starting to get heavier the more he pounded in you, yours was too. You moaned, you cunt getting even slicker. You clenched once around him, just to bask in the pretty sound he made. To get back at you, he plunged his thumb into your warm mouth, pressing the digit against your tongue. You diligently sucked it and clenched your walls around him again in playfulness.

With a groan that tested the edge of a moan, Jonathan pulled his now wet thumb out of your mouth. He found both of your wrists and held them down firmly but not aggressively, just in a search to hold onto you and return the banter. His hips bucked faster now, the sound of your skin slapping against his added to the lists of sinful sounds echoing in the courtroom.

“God, you’re always so tight…” He thought out loud, the pride in your eyes made him thrust into you harder.

“Jonathan!” You semi-complained, your wet throbbing pussy had nothing against him, but your remaining consciousness did just a little bit. It was more of a playful banter in all honesty.

“Told you you were going to be punished, love…” He explained himself with another hard thrust that made you yelp. “Just… Not as roughly… You’re far too gorgeous… To be treated like that…” Dirty liar. You had been spanked or facefucked for much less in the past, but Jonathan seemed so needy for you today, you decided to let it slide for now.

“Oh, God…” You cried out multiple times as his thrusts went on, his grunts and moans usually replying to you each time. His grip on your wrists was passionate, keeping you there and sinking his nails into your flesh, adding a soft hiss to your repertoire of sounds. 

Your pussy kept clenching around him like your life depended on it, to the point where you started to do it automatically. You threw your head back with another moan that was driving your husband mad. Incredibly so.

The tip of his cock hit the right spot inside you, and he took advantage of the way your body trembled and how you let your guard down when your eyes closed to start his final attack. He left your wrists alone now, and your hands were free to return to your vicious grip on the desk. Something that you would definitely need.

The pleasure that boiled in your depths suddenly turned into an intense haze when Jonathan one-upped your clenches with skillful circular motions that he pressed on your clit. His body-hand coordination showed off as he maintained the fast pace with his hips but treated your bundle of nerves with a practiced care. All you could do was gasp and yelp, moan and hold onto the wooden edge and then moan again.

Jonathan kept abusing the hell out of your g-spot and your clit with pride and mischief, definitely taking his revenge on you. Still, he couldn’t deny just how precious you were to him, how beautiful you looked, how delicious your tight little pussy felt around his cock. You were his perfect angel, and he craved to treat you as such.

With love, he leaned in, holding the top of your head with his free hand and kissing you senseless, his tongue tasting yours and swallowing your moans straight from the source. He was going wild, his circles applied more pressure to your clit and his pace became faster. He had to push his body weight on you a bit harder now.

His left hand then traveled from your head to your face, and then all the way over to your clothed breast, cupping it and squeezing it. He purred and massaged it over your dress, a satisfied smirk formed against your lips when he felt your pussy’s reaction to it. You were so close to the edge for him.

Intelligently, he went all out. His hips pistoned so hard your g-spot didn’t have a single second to rest. His fingers moved so fast over your clit it felt like a vibration. You moaned out his name and probably left curved marks on the wood from your nails.

“That's perfect… So perfect, my love, you’re doing so good!” Jonathan struggled to speak in his own pleasure. He was so close to another orgasm but he held it back, even if his slapping balls felt tighter and tighter. He was not cumming until you did.

“Jonathan!” You cried out. You took a weight off his shoulders when, unable to take it any longer, the tension and heat that coiled in your insides snapped, making you come all over his cock before him.

His own endurance was affected with the feeling of your wet, thick orgasm. Your throbbing cunt eagerly milked his twitching cock. He pounded into you a few more times before groaning and finally allowing himself to release. Your slick and the remnants of his saliva now mixed with his cum. His body rested lovingly on top of yours, distributing his weight so he didn't crush your panting, post orgasmic form.

With adoration, he kissed your neck, his fingers allowed your clit to rest as he drew them back towards his lips, licking the digits that had touched it in both an act of desire and utter love.

You were his life, his love, his driving force, his literal partner in crime and most importantly, his wife. And despite the way things were now in Gotham, he was grateful that he had you here, in his arms, full of him like he was of you.

[footballfanficwriter]

Time with the kids

Summary:where Jude is struggling to look after his children

Jude's POV

As the weekend approached, I found myself facing a daunting task: taking care of our four energetic children while my wife was away. At first, I tried to muster up the confidence to tackle the challenge solo, but as the chaos unfolded, I quickly realized I was in over my head.

With our children running wild, their laughter echoing through the house, I felt a growing sense of panic creeping in. How was I supposed to handle this on my own? Desperate for help, I reluctantly dialed my mom,hoping she could come to the rescue.

"Hey, Mom," I began, my voice laced with desperation. "I hate to ask, but I could really use some help with the kids this weekend. Y/N is away, and I'm struggling to keep up."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I held my breath, hoping for a miracle. But to my dismay, mom informed me that she was out of town as well, leaving me to fend for myself.

Feeling defeated, I racked my brain for another solution. That's when it hit me—my brother Jobe. He might not have much experience with children, but he was my last hope.

"Hey, Jobe," I said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the chaos unfolding around me. "I hate to ask, but could you come over and help me with the kids? Y/N is away, and I'm drowning here."

There was a moment of hesitation before Jobe reluctantly agreed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I wouldn't be facing this chaos alone.

When Jobe arrived, we quickly divided and conquered, each of us taking two children under our wing. But as the day wore on, it became clear that neither of us was cut out for this parenting gig.

Our oldest daughter, Lily, was busy playing dress-up, raiding her mother's closet and parading around the house in mismatched outfits and high heels. Meanwhile, our son, Max, had discovered a newfound love for finger painting, turning the kitchen table into a colorful masterpiece.

As for the younger ones, Emma and Liam, they were wreaking havoc wherever they went, leaving a trail of toys and chaos in their wake. Liam had taken a particular liking to climbing, scaling every piece of furniture in sight with a mischievous grin plastered on his face. And poor Emma, bless her heart, was teething, leaving her in a constant state of fussiness that no amount of cuddles could soothe.

As Jobe and I attempted to wrangle our rambunctious brood, our voices filled the air with a mixture of instructions and laughter.

"Liam, buddy, let's keep our feet on the ground, okay?" Jobe called out, his tone firm but gentle as he tried to redirect our youngest from his climbing escapades.

Meanwhile, I was engaged in a delicate negotiation with Lily, who was adamant about wearing her princess costume to dinner.

"Lily, sweetie, I know you love your princess dress, but it's spaghetti night. We don't want to get marinara sauce all over it, do we?" I reasoned, hoping to appeal to her sense of practicality.

But Lily remained unconvinced, her arms crossed defiantly as she stubbornly clung to her royal attire.

"Dad, I have to wear it. Princesses can eat spaghetti too," she insisted, her eyes sparkling with determination.

I shared a knowing look with Jobe, both of us silently acknowledging the futility of arguing with a determined five-year-old.

"Alright, princess, spaghetti it is," I relented with a chuckle, realizing that some battles were simply not worth fighting.

Meanwhile, Max had found a new canvas for his artwork, much to Jobe's dismay.

"Max, buddy, let's keep the finger painting on the paper, okay?" Jobe said, his tone patient but firm as he gently guided our budding artist away from the walls.

But Max, lost in his creative fervor, paid little attention to Jobe's words, his fingers swirling through the air with abandon as he continued his masterpiece.

As the chaos continued to unfold around us, Jobe and I exchanged amused glances, silently marveling at the unpredictability of parenthood. Despite the challenges we faced, there was a sense of camaraderie in our shared struggle, a bond forged in the trenches of parenthood.

And as we watched the children laugh and play, their joy infectious even in the midst of the madness, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the love and laughter that filled the home. Despite the chaos, there was a beauty in the mess—a reminder that even in the most challenging moments, family was always there to lend a helping hand and share in the laughter and love.

But amidst the chaos, there were moments of unexpected joy. As evening fell, we gathered on the couch, exhausted but content, and put on an animated movie. Surprisingly, the kids settled down, their eyes glued to the screen as they snuggled up against us.

"Hey, Dad, can I have some popcorn?" Lily asked, her eyes never leaving the screen.

I chuckled, reaching for the bowl on the coffee table. "Sure thing, sweetheart."

Meanwhile, Jobe was engaged in a heated game of peek-a-boo with Emma, eliciting giggles from the little one that warmed my heart.

Suddenly, Liam's mischievous giggle caught my attention, and I turned to see him attempting to climb onto the kitchen counter.

"Liam, no!" I exclaimed, rushing over to scoop him up before he could cause any damage.

But it was too late. In his attempts to reach the cookies on the top shelf, Liam had knocked over a jar of flour, sending a cloud of white powder billowing through the air.

"Oh, no," Jobe muttered, surveying the mess with wide eyes.

I sighed, feeling the weight of the day crashing down on me. "It's okay. We'll clean it up."

Uncle Jobe, can we play hide-and-seek?" Max piped up, bouncing with excitement.

Jobe glanced at me, a hint of panic in his eyes, but he plastered on a smile and nodded. "Of course, buddy. Let's play!"

The chaos continued into the night, with each child finding new ways to test our patience. But through it all, Jobe and I managed to keep our sense of humor intact, laughing at the absurdity of the situation and marveling at the resilience of our family.

When my wife finally returned home, she found us all asleep on the couch, the house a mess but our hearts full. Together, we cleaned up the chaos, laughing at the absurdity of the day and marveling at the resilience of our family.

As we tucked our children into bed, my wife and I exchanged a knowing glance. Despite the challenges we faced, we were grateful for the love and laughter that filled our home. And as we fell asleep side by side, our children dreaming peacefully beside us, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the chaos that had brought us closer together.

[bones4thecats]

can I request Malleus Draconia with part dragon! Reader who likes to sleep and rest a lot with him (very greedy and unpolite but very quiet and intimidating some times.) From 🍦-anon , please

You can ignore this if ur too busy , or just do it late ,I don't mind waiting

➸ Dragon-Love; Malleus × Dragon! S/O

Characters: Malleus Draconia A/N: Reader's Dragon-Form inspired by Glory from Wings of Fire! Fanart by DinkysaurusART on X. Reader's Dress and Crown here. ➥ Summary: Many expect the royal couple to be one of the most proper duos in the world. But, what they didn't know, is that deep inside, behind your high-ranks, was a love that could only be described as adorable.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Malleus Draconia ═════════════════════════╝

🐉 The land was silent. The sun had fallen down from the sky and allowed the moon its chance to emerge and finally create the light its opposite did for 12 hours of the day

🐉 While the sidewalks of Briar Valley were empty and vacant of any sound, minus the occasional chirp of the cricket, the castle still rustled. The royal knights switched their shifts, the night-crew coming in as the day-crew left for their homes to rest from the busy day

🐉 And as that happened. The King and Queen of Briar Valley smiled, they had snuck out like they did almost every night since they were teenagers. The cool breeze brushed past them as they walked together, laughing as they did so

🐉 They may have been older than 178 by then, but that didn't mean they had no sense of child-like inside of them still

🐉 Malleus smiled as he landed on the ground, he held his hand up to allow you to come down the rocks carefully. After all, you were still in your dress you would wear around the castle. The long ends hit the ground with a light poof while you kept up with your husband

🐉 Once you guys reached the edge of a cliff, you could look over everything. You could see your kingdom and your home right beneath you. It was all so... mesmerizing

🐉 The King of Briar Valley looked over at you. Your eyes twinkled in the night, reflecting not only the stars and moon's light, but the wonder and amazement that your continued to have years and years beyond your time at Night Raven College

🐉 He sat down on the edge, his legs dangling over the rocks and motioned for you to join him. You happily sat down next to him. But, after a while of staring at the view, you grew bored. This was far from unnatural. You craved adventure your whole life, and bringing your one and only into it made it better to savor

🐉 Glancing from below and back up to Malleus, your shifted to stand again. Malleus looked up in confusion at you. He was wondering what you were doing

"What are you doing, love?" He asked.

"Just getting a better look." You smiled.

"We've been sitting here for nearly 10 minutes and you want a better view now? What are you planning, dearest?" He teased.

🐉 Looking back at your husband, you began to lean backwards, causing yourself to fall down the mountain and towards the ground. Malleus jumped up and yelled your name in fear. But, instead of lunging after you, he was stuck in shock

🐉 All of a sudden, a large dragon flew up past him and into the sky. Smiling and groaning, Malleus did the same as you, bounding into the sky at full-speed. His large-black form flying alongside yours as you messed around

🐉 Lilia looked up from his bed and out of the window posted next to said furniture. He noticed two dragons flapping around, as if they were two dogs playing around. He smirked and chuckled at the actions of the two beings

🐉 Before he knew it, the two had laid down, cuddling. Their heads placed next to one another's as the larger one, Malleus', wing laid on top of the smaller one's, your, form

"Young love? More like Dragon-Love."

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Run Free

art by me!

Price, Gaz, and Ghost visits the MacTavish Estate baring the news.

Word Count: 2.1k words Warning: Major character death, angst and comfort. Note : I wrote this fic a few days after I finished the campaign. I've always thought it weird why the 141 boys had Soap's ashes when I've always seen Soap as someone with a family and a had good relationship with them, especially since it's canon that Soap's cousin brought him to the SAS base several times as a kid. Here's my interpretation of that fact, on how Soap's urn ended up with the boys.

Price, Gaz, and Ghost wore their dress uniforms from head to toe, finding themselves in front of the MacTavish Estate in Glasgow. It was… big, to say the least. Soap’s family was known not only because a number of people from the family are serving in the British Royal Armed Forces, but also the fact that they are 7th generation furniture company - MacTavish Furnitures. Lots of members of the family are veterans turned businessmen, carpenters, or woodworkers. It is a common cycle of life for them.

As Ghost and Gaz stood, Price climbed the stairs and wore his beige beret, breathing deeply through his nose before letting the air out to prepare himself, lifting his hand to knock on the wooden door. The captain heard faint noises of multiple footsteps from multiple people and some voices of heavy Scottish accent from inside the house. He waited for a moment, until the door finally opened, but he found no one in front of him. 

“Who are ya?”

A little voice spoke from under him, prompting Price to look down. He found a little girl with blonde hair no taller than his knees. She’s absolutely drenched from head to toe in a blue swimming attire and had to bend her neck so high to see him. He bent down to his knees to match her height, before saying,

“Hello. I’m… My name is John.” 

“John? Like Uncle Johnny?” Her little voice said, face gleaming with happiness at the name.

“Yes. Like Uncle Johnny.” Price smiled, chuckling lightly. The girl grinned at his smiling face. “May I see your dad? Or mum?”

“Phoebe MacTavish! Get your wee feet here before I pick your legs off of that floo–! Oh, Hello there.” A new voice came from in front of him, revealing herself to be an old woman with dark brown hair, though with white strands and the same quizzical brow that reminded Price of Soap. She looked strong, nonetheless, wearing a green shirt and knitted vest with a towel hanging from one of her shoulders, obviously to dry the little girl after a session of swimming in their estate’s pool. 

Price stood back up, greeting the lady. “Mrs. MacTavish.” 

The old woman looked at his attire up and down, and Price swore that he saw the gears rotating inside her mind. She looked down at the girl and gave her the white towel, “Phoebe. Go inside and dry yourself. Find your Da, Aunt Rachel, and Uncle Hugh, too. Tell them to meet me at the front door, yeah?” The little girl nodded and ran inside, disappearing into the house as Price heard a faint yelling from the same child, calling for the stated family members. 

Now, the lady in front of him walked closer to the doorway, face to face with him. She’s undoubtedly no taller than 5’7”, a height that might have been receding as time went by, but you could spot a proud MacTavish wherever you see one. Price offered his hand for a handshake as she accepted. “Captain John Price from the 22 SAS Regiment.” 

“Joan MacTavish.” She replied. Price noticed the name as the name on Soap’s file as his guardian, with the relation being marked with ‘Aunt’. “What brings you here, Captain?” Her face looked neutral like it wasn’t the first time a soldier with a full dress uniform knocked on this wooden door. 

Just before Price could say what he wanted to say, a deep voice called to her. “Mum?” One woman and two men with a frame similar to him showed up from inside the house. One man was around Ghost’s age, one was around his age, while the woman in a bun looked older than him, though looking very vibrant and professional. All of them had the same thick eyebrows – Family traits, he supposed – and clearly looked like honourable but firm Scottish people. Upon seeing Price, though, their faces changed from confusion to realization. 

Price remembered that Soap was not the first MacTavish in the SAS. In fact, there was another member of the family, Oliver MacTavish, who died in the line of duty a decade ago. Price remembered the way Soap had told the story of Ollie, his cousin, bringing his little arse to the SAS base  - however unpermitted it was – and how Price had busted Soap multiple times for applying with a fake age. 

“Rachel MacTavish.” The eldest one spoke.

“Hugh MacTavish.” The elder man said, followed by the younger.

“Scott MacTavish. That was my daughter, Phobe.” They all shook hands with Price. 

He repeated his greeting, before Rachel started,

“I've seen the likes of you before. I recognize that beret even from a mile away." She said firmly. "Out with it."

The captain's breath hitched as he cleared his throat, preparing himself to deliver the news. And so, he began.

"On November 21st, our target had placed an active bomb inside the underwater tunnel that connects the UK and France. During our attempt to defuse the bomb, the target sneaked from behind our line of sight…"

The whole family's face changed, Joan's eyes looked glassy with tears seeming like she knew of the incoming words.

"And I regret to inform you… that Sergeant John MacTavish has died in the line of duty."

Ghost, without his mask and black face paint around his eyes, and Gaz with their dress uniforms and beret could only stand from the base of the stairs, watching and hearing as Joan's cry of anguish tear through the morning sky. 

"Oh Lord. Johnny. Johnny. My baby, Johnny." Joan repeated his name like a chanting to the sky. "Why must You take him so soon? Why must he join Ollie so soon?"

The whole family hugged their mother as she wailed, her knees looked like it was giving up. Gaz gritted his teeth to strengthen himself, not wanting to break down to cry himself. 

As the family cried, Price could only stand still, letting the news sink in for the family. His job as the leader of the team was done, at that point. He delivered the news to his family. 

"The bomb…Did he defuse it?" Hugh questioned in the middle of his sobs. 

"He–" Price swallowed, remembering the way Makarov had killed him. "We were both defusing the bomb, John guiding me along the way as he was the demolition expert."

"He protected me, Sir. Our target was about to shoot me, before John stopped him - and got killed instead. The target ran away, but me and Sergeant Garrick managed to defuse the bomb thanks to his prior guidance, saving thousands of lives underneath the 30-mile underwater tunnel." Price answered as Rachel looked up at his face, anger and denial filling her in an instant. 

She raised her hand in such a way that Price knew that she was about to slap him. Price still opened his eyes, fully welcoming the slap before her hand stopped. 

Rachel bit her lips so hard that it might bleed, lowering her arm.

"...Why does it have to be Johnny? Why do you get to live and he doesn't?" She barely whispered in a shaky voice, going back to wiping her face again. “Why Johnny…?”

And Price asked that question every single hour ever since his death. 

Why Soap, and not him?

—

The MacTavishes requested for Soap's body to be sent to Scotland, where they held a memorial at the MacTavish estate to which they promptly honoured. The number of family members participating was not that many, considering only the immediate family attended. Price, Soap, and Ghost joined them, and even escorted the family as they travelled to the crematorium.

After the whole procession finished – that took the entire day – the family finally had possession of the urn containing Soap's ashes, and they invited the three back to the estate, where they now sit inside the guest room and tea in front of them with Joan and Rachel, his urn placed on a table beside Joan.

That was the day they learned that Soap was actually the son of Joan's late husband's younger sister. Soap's mother – her sister-in-law, died when she birthed Soap, while Soap's father died during an accident in a factory before his own birth. 

Soap had been raised by his uncle's family since his infancy, growing up in the MacTavish house as a strong and firm Scott under the wing of the eldest brother, Oliver. 

"He's always wanted to be like Ollie, that wee kid," Rachel told them after holding a photo album containing photos of Soap when he was a baby in his late uncle's arms, a photo of him and his older cousins playing with mud, photos of his graduations from school, and photos of him passing the test to be a part of SAS along with his cousin, Oliver. "Said he didn't want to go to school. Just visit the army base every day. It's what he dreamed of."

Ghost, still in his dress uniform, felt the most vulnerable in that room - Without his mask, in front of Johnny's family. He also had been in agony for the past day, because he'd failed to cover Johnny's back. He had one job at that time, and he failed, catastrophically. He only sat there with his hands joined in his lap, not daring to look at the family in the eyes. 

"We're very thankful for John's service with us. He was the best there is." Gaz spoke, "John's memory will live with us."

"Thank you, Sergeant Garrick." Joan smiled as she looked up. "I heard you share the same quarters with him in the barracks. I hope he wasn't too much of a naughty boy."

The sergeant chuckled lightly at that, "Well. Soap wasn't someone who could stay away from mischief too long, but I assure you that he's an absolute joy and inspiration to be around." Hearing Joan's laughter cured a little part in Gaz, as the only thing he'd heard from her was the sound of her cry. He could at least pride himself in knowing that he could share Soap's merry nature.

As they share memories, Price finished his tea before he stood up from the sofa, followed by the other two. "Well. We must take our leave, Ma'am. Thank you for the tea."

"Anytime." Joan spoke as the soldiers started to leave the sofa, heading towards the main room and front door. 

"Which one of ya’s is ‘LT’?"

Rachel’s voice stopped the men in their tracks, particularly Ghost’s. All three men turned around, finding the woman holding Soap’s urn in her hands. Price saw how Ghost's face turned to that of a deer in a spotlight, so he put his hand behind Ghost’s back to lightly push him towards Rachel, but Ghost’s hesitancy was apparent in the way he slowly walked. 

“...That would be me, Ma’am.” Ghost’s deep voice rumbled softly as he looked down to Rachel’s height. The lady herself observed him up and down with a negative face that she could convince him that he was standing there naked. 

“Yer tryin’ so hard to make yourself look small for such a big man. It’s almost dreading.” She started, her hips shifting. “I’ve been the CEO of MacTavish Furnitures since my da’ passed away and Ollie decided to go to the army, and I read people like a book. For someone whom Johnny admired the most – and repeatedly spoke about – you don’t look like the LT I heard from him.” Ghost was starstruck at the statement. Soap, talking about him to his family? “I expected you to be cocky and exude pride in your steps, but all I’m seein’ is just a pathetic, sad bloke.” 

Ghost stood still at those comments. No one practically had ever roasted him this badly in front of his teammates. He wondered if he showed up in his other attire, she’d dare to say all this. But then again, if someone got to do it, he was glad that it came from an honourable woman of the MacTavish bloodline. 

What caught him off guard was her hands stretching towards him, holding Soap’s urn in front of his chest. Ghost looked down at the metal container, looking confused as he looked up again to face Rachel. He thought the MacTavishes were going to hold on to Soap’s urn, and they get to keep Soap’s dog tags. However, clearly, the current head of the family had other wishes.

“Take Johnny with ya. Being trapped inside this urn for eternity in this old house would be the last thing he wanted.” The woman started with a shaky voice, her eyes starting to brim with tears again. Seeing Soap’s character, Ghost could understand that completely. 

“He’s… the proudest he could ever be when he’s with ya’s." Rachel continued. 

"So I ask you, as our brother’s comrades, to hold on to Johnny – and free him.” 

Ghost’s eyes opened wide in surprise, still couldn’t fathom how fondly Soap must've talked about his teammates, especially him, to his family that they’d give him his ashes. Ghost lifted his hands to carefully receive the urn. 

After breathing deeply, Ghost stood straight, holding Soap firmly. 

“We will, Ma’am.”

—

The three of them walked towards the car parked just outside the MacTavish estate with Ghost holding Soap’s urn in his hands. They all took off their berets and entered the car, Price the designated driver, Gaz riding shotgun, while Ghost sat in the backseat. 

“So what do we do with him, Sir?” Gaz rotated his body to look at Soap’s urn on Ghost’s hands, same as Price.

Ghost contemplated in his mind, staring at the metal urn, before speaking, “Where’s Johnny’s place of birth?” 

Price answered immediately as he’s the one who took care of Soap’s documents. “Isle of Skye.” 

“Soap said there’s a beautiful cliff where he and his cousins used to go to play. Endless sea where the eyes could see.” Gaz added.

“Then that’s where we’re goin’.” Ghost spoke with finality. “And then we’ll let Johnny go.”

Price and Gaz nodded to each other. "Alright, Soap. Let's get you home." The captain started the car and stepped on the gas, beginning their journey towards the Isle of Skye.

---

I'm not okay. Thank you for reading! (T_T) reblogs and comments of your thoughts are much appreciated!

[aarsun]

High Back Chair Design in Gold !!

[cantheywinthehungergames]

The Hunger Games is a series of books by Suzanne Collins then adapted into movies. The Hunger Games event involves 24 children aged 12-18 being drafted to a televised battle royale. Of course, this death match doesn't just involve killing other tributes, but survival skills, likeability, and celebrity. Now, for the big question: Could your blorbo survive and win the Hunger Games? It is up to YOU to decide!

Rules for Submitting Tributes (Currently Open!):

The character MUST be 12-18 years old. If your character's age is unknown but is implied to be teenaged (ex. being in middle school or high school), then they are allowed for submission. If there is an arc or flashback where your character is VISIBLY within the 12-18 age range, then they are allowed for submission. If your character is chronologically old but is physically and biologically within this age range, then they are allowed for submission. However, if your character is biologically older than they appear (ex. an 18-year-old character that is regressed to appear younger than 12), then they are not allowed for submission.

Human characters only. Robots, monsters, anthropomorphic animals, and the like are not allowed simply because it's kinda silly to imagine them in the Hunger Games. Humanoid characters makes things confusing on whether certain abilities are natural, so no humanoid characters either. However, human clones are acceptable for submission.

Fictional characters only. I think we can agree that it would be kind of fucked up to imagine real kids in the Hunger Games, yeah? To expand on this, you can submit your OC's but do not submit random people's OC's without their consent. If you do submit an OC, be prepared to provide propaganda on why they could or could not win as well as a picture of the OC.

While the Hunger Games tributes focus specifically on cisgender boys and girls, transgender and non-binary characters ARE allowed for submission.

No Harry Potter characters. This blog does not associate with J.K. Rowling's explicit transphobia.

Characters with superpowers and unique weapons are allowed for submission, but I will remove them and force the blorbos to use the real-world weapons supplied in the Hunger Games arena. If you can specify what superpowers and unique weapons your blorbos have in your submission, I'd appreciate it.

You can submit more than one character, but do understand that that there are other people who are waiting for their submissions to be posted and that I may not always have time to get your posts in the queue. As such, please be courteous! Furthermore, please do not submit the same character multiple times and please do not put multiple characters in a single submission.

I also accept submissions for 19+ aged characters to act as mentors, and their polls will be posted every Saturday. The rules are the same as submitting tributes except that the characters acting as mentors must be at least 19 years old.

As it stands, I have 7 tributes, 19 mentors, and 4 special posts queued, so please do submit! You can do so with this Google Form.

Originally, I had it so that I have up to 12 posts on any single day, but I now just accept 4 characters daily whenever I open submissions. If I, at any point, have about 75 tribute polls in queue, I will close submissions until they are all posted.

List of Previously Submitted Characters

With everything said, Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.

Inspired by blogs @cantheysurvive2001aspaceodyssey, @cantheykillmacbeth, @couldtheycatchkira, and @couldtheysurviveasawtrap

Other gimmick blogs of mention: @could-they-be-a-pro-wrestler, @couldtheyescortelliewilliams, @can-they-lift-thors-hammer, @wouldtheybecomeafearavatar, @can-they-assemble-ikea-furniture