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shaiyasstuff · 3 months ago

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a dance of ice and fire | zayne

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

parts | one | two | three

The war table stretched long across the chamber, its surface weighed down with silk-draped maps, shifting borders inked with precision, and the quiet hum of consequence. The scent of melted wax and parchment clung to the air, heavy with the unspoken weight of decisions yet to be made.

At the head of it all sat your betrothed.

Not the man your heart was bound to.

Not Zayne.

He stood at his younger brother’s side, arms folded loosely in front of him, the very picture of indifference.

Pft, look at him. Acting like he doesn’t want to be here.

The courtiers droned on, voices blending together in a swirl of politics, war, and of course, predictably, your marriage.

More specifically, the matter of your so-called uncontrollable fire magic.

They spoke of you as though you weren’t in the room.

“Indeed. Fire is unpredictable. Dangerous, if left unchecked,” one noble mused, his voice carrying the same tone one might use when discussing a volatile weapon rather than a person.

Not a princess. Not you.

You resisted the urge to sigh, fingers curling against the edge of the table.

“They think themselves clever, cloaking their insults in diplomacy.”

A slow burn simmered beneath your skin. You cleared your throat, feeling the warmth coil deep in your core.

A subtle glance from across the table, Zayne’s hazel-green eyes meets yours.

He gave you a look as if to say, “Calm down.”

You flicked him a sharp look in return but obeyed, cooling the heat creeping up your spine.

Your betrothed, the crown prince, leaned back in his chair, a smirk barely masking the insecurities you knew festered beneath his skin.

His tone was condescending. That smirk, arrogant.

“You forget that she is to be my wife. Under my guidance, she will serve as an asset to this kingdom.”

The words landed like a slap, an attempt to remind you of your place.

You did not react.

You refused to.

“Heh. Asset, he says?”

“Do they think I’m a tool?”

You met his gaze without flinching.

A moment stretched between you, unspoken but clear, and you watched as his smirk faltered, just slightly.

Tilting your head, you let the silence settle before finally speaking.

“A wife or an asset, Your Highness? You speak as though they are one and the same.” A slow, deliberate smirk of your own curved at the edges of your lips.

The crown prince’s eyes narrowed. “I speak of ensuring stability. It is in everyone’s best interest that your… passions are properly directed.”

You inhaled, the simmering heat rekindling beneath your ribs.

It was always the same.

These men. Weak men, had never known fire. Not truly.

They only wished to harness it, shape it into something convenient.

Something obedient.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, a voice cut through the thick tension like a blade.

Low. Calm. Unhurried.

“You mean contained?”

The air stilled.

Zayne.

For the first time since the discussion began, he stepped forward from the sidelines, his posture casual, but his presence undeniable.

He leaned against the war table, fingers drumming idly against the polished wood, his expression unreadable.

The crown prince stiffened. “Then what would you suggest, brother?”

Zayne tilted his head, his movements slow, deliberate. “That you recognize the difference between ruling with fire and being burned by it.”

You saw it. The flicker of doubt in your betrothed’s eyes. The way his jaw clenched, frustration barely contained. “And you believe I am incapable?”

Zayne exhaled, the sound closer to an actual than a scoff.

“I believe the court is still debating whether you are capable of ruling at all.”

A murmur spread across the room, an uneasy shift in posture from those seated at the table.

Some looked away. Others suddenly found the tapestries on the walls utterly fascinating.

Zayne was not a man to waste words.

So when he spoke, even in the quietest of tones, everyone listened.

Your lips curled into the faintest smirk, hidden behind the rim of your goblet as you lifted it to your lips. “Perhaps the real discussion should not be about my power, but how little faith your court seems to have in yours.”

You could barely conceal the amusement in your voice.

A pointed silence followed.

One of the older lords cleared his throat. “That is not what we meant, Your Highness—”

“Isn’t it?” Zayne’s voice was still calm, still soft. And yet, it carried weight heavier than any decree the crown prince had ever issued.

Your betrothed’s grip on the armrest of his chair tightened. “Enough.”

You set your goblet down with a soft clink against the table, tilting your head slightly.

“On that, we agree. I tire of being spoken about as if I am not in the room.”

The words landed like a challenge, wrapping around the court like a vice. You let your gaze drift, meeting the eyes of every lord and lady present, watching as they struggled to form a response.

Beside the crown prince, Zayne smirked, just barely.

“A mistake they will not make again.”

Your betrothed was barely containing himself now. His pride wounded, his patience wearing thin. “And you speak for her now?”

Zayne shifted, crossing his arms with effortless ease. “No. She speaks for herself. You were simply… thoughtless enough to ignore her.”

Silence.

No one dared to fill it.

And there it was. The opening.

You did not hesitate.

“You assume I need guidance,” you said smoothly, your voice steady as you turned your attention back to the court.

Your fingers traced the rim of your goblet, slow and deliberate. “You speak of control as if it is something I lack.”

The room had fallen so quiet you could hear the faint crackle of the hearth.

“And yet, here I sit. Regal, composed, unmoved.”

The tension in the room was palpable, thick like smoke in the air. You could feel Zayne’s presence beside you, unwavering. No words passed between you, but it didn’t matter.

It never had.

This was how it had always been. Moving in sync without needing to speak.

“I am not a weapon for you to wield,” you continued, voice even, but edged with something unmistakable.

Authority. Power. Fire.

“I am a ruler. And if you cannot understand the difference, then perhaps you are the ones who lack control.”

Silence stretched long.

Zayne smirked, just barely, the glint in his eyes almost approving. “Well played.”

The crown prince’s glare burned with poorly hidden rage, but for the first time tonight, he had no retort.

—•

The court had been left in stunned silence, your words lingering like smoke in the air long after you and Zayne had walked away from the war table.

The heavy doors shut behind you with a dull thud, sealing the courtiers and their feigned diplomacy within.

The corridor was dimly lit, lined with towering stone pillars and torches that flickered against the cold walls.

You exhaled, pressing your fingers against your temples, the weight of the evening pressing against you.

Footsteps.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“You handled that well,” Zayne’s voice was laced with amusement, his tone as effortless as ever.

“Though, I think you nearly gave my dear brother an aneurysm.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Pity.”

Zayne chuckled under his breath, then leaned casually against the nearest pillar, his arms crossing over his chest. He was watching you, observing you, as he always did, with that unnerving calm.

It made you shift. You knew what came next.

“You’re fuming,” he observed, though it wasn’t a question.

You sighed, letting the flames of your frustration flicker beneath your skin. “Wouldn’t you be?”

Zayne tilted his head. “I don’t let idiots bother me.”

“And I’m supposed to?” You shot him a look, eyes sharp.

His smirk was slow, almost infuriatingly so. “You’re better at playing this game than they are. You shouldn’t let their pettiness get under your skin.”

You scoffed, stepping toward him. “And you shouldn’t have had to speak for me.”

At that, his expression flickered.

“I didn’t,” Zayne said smoothly. “You did just fine on your own. I only nudged them in the right direction.”

You gave him a dry look. “Oh, of course. And your ‘nudge’ just happened to be a complete dismantling of your brother’s authority?”

Zayne shrugged. “He walked into it.”

You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face before glancing up at him again. “It’s dangerous, Zayne.”

His smirk faded, his features turning unreadable. “It’s the truth.”

You studied him, the way the flickering torchlight cast shifting shadows over his face, making him seem even harder to read.

Zayne always had a way of slipping through cracks, of appearing indifferent while moving pieces behind the scenes. But tonight, in the way he had stepped in, the way he had so effortlessly undermined his brother in front of the court, it felt different.

It felt like he wasn’t just playing a game anymore.

“…You enjoyed that,” you realized, narrowing your eyes.

His expression didn’t shift. “What are you implying?”

You took another step forward, voice quieter now. “That you aren’t as disinterested as you pretend to be.”

Something in his gaze flickered. “What I am,” he said, “is someone who knows when to speak.”

You held his gaze.

“And when to stay silent?”

A beat. Then, slow and deliberate, “Yes.”

A shiver ran through you, though you weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was the way his voice dipped, the way he looked at you like he was trying to see something beneath the surface.

You swallowed, turning away slightly. “You’ll make an enemy of him, you know.”

Zayne exhaled through his nose. “He was already my enemy. He just didn’t know it yet.”

That should have unsettled you. Should have made you wary.

But it didn’t.

Because the way he said it, the quiet ease of it, the certainty made it sound like a promise.

And that, perhaps, was what made it more dangerous.

—•

The scent of blooming nightshade lingered in the air, blending with the crisp bite of the evening breeze.

The palace gardens were quiet at this hour, the sky painted in the deep purples and golds of the dying sun.

This had always been your place.

Yours and Zayne’s.

Hidden away behind the hedge-lined paths, far from the ever-watchful eyes of courtiers and expectations, you sat on the low stone wall that framed the fountain, your bare fingers trailing over the cool marble.

He stood before you, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other tucked loosely into his belt. Silent, as always. Watching.

“You’re brooding again,” you teased, kicking your foot out lightly, the tip of your slipper grazing his knee.

Zayne raised a brow. “And you’re distracting me.”

“Good. You could use a distraction.”

His lips curled slightly, but he said nothing.

Instead, he moved closer, standing between your knees, his presence a quiet weight in the space around you.

The air changed, charged with something neither of you dared name.

Your throat felt tight. “You’re leaving soon.”

Zayne sighed, glancing away. “You know I have to.”

You swallowed. You knew it.

Of course you did.

His duties and obligations would always call him elsewhere.

That was the nature of his existence, the shadow to his brother’s gilded throne.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I hate this.” The words left you before you could stop them. “I hate that you always go, and I never know when you’ll return.”

His gaze snapped back to you, sharper now. “And you think I enjoy it?”

You looked down, fingers curling against the stone. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, unwilling to be spoken aloud.

Zayne exhaled, then very softly, carefully, he reached for you.

His fingers brushed against your wrist first, hesitant, as if giving you a chance to pull away.

When you didn’t, he traced his touch upward, gliding over your forearm, curling around your hand.

A shiver ran down your spine, though it had nothing to do with the cold.

“I always come back to you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “You know that.”

You should have pulled away. Should have scolded him for making promises he had no right to make.

Instead, you curled your fingers into his, holding him there.

“I know,” you whispered. “That’s the problem.”

His grip tightened.

The space between you narrowed, the warmth of his breath brushing your cheek, but neither of you moved further.

Because this was what it had always been.

A breath away.

A step too close.

A love neither of you could afford.

And yet, when he finally let go, his touch lingered like embers beneath your skin, one you knew would never fade.

But that was in the past, a past that no longer existed.

Buried underneath so-called duties and obligations, and your betrothal to his brother.

And yet, standing there in the dim corridor, bathed in the flickering glow of torches, you could still feel it.

The past.

Him.

Zayne.

The memory of his touch ghosted over your skin, as if time itself refused to let you forget.

The walls around you were cold, suffocating in their silence, but the air between you?

Charged.

Stifling.

Dangerous.

“You’re thinking about it again.”

His voice was smooth, quiet, but it curled around you like smoke, and you could not escape.

You swallowed hard before turning to him. “And what exactly am I thinking about?”

He leaned against the archway, arms crossed, his posture lazy, but his gaze?

Unyielding. Searching.

His lips barely curved. “Us.”

Your stomach twisted.

“There is no ‘us’,” you said, keeping your voice even.

Zayne didn’t blink. “And whose fault is that?”

Your breath hitched before you forced out an easy shrug. “Fate’s, I suppose.”

A sharp exhale. “Ah, yes. Blame fate. Much easier than blaming yourself.”

His words struck something deep, something raw, and you hated how effortlessly he could do that.

How he could still see through you, past the composure, past the armor you had so carefully crafted.

Your jaw tightened. “You walked away just as much as I did.”

He pushed off the wall then, his steps slow but certain, closing the space between you too quickly, too easily.

“No,” he murmured, voice impossibly low. “I let you walk away. There’s a difference.”

The air changed.

Your pulse pounded, your breathing shallow as he came closer, his warmth wrapping around you even before his body did. The heat of him was too much, too familiar, too tempting.

You should have stepped back.

Should have stopped him.

But you didn’t.

Because this was Zayne.

The man who had once held your hand beneath the stars, who had whispered your name in the dark, who had been everything before duty and responsibilities had torn it all apart.

He stood before you now, the space between you nonexistent, his voice barely a breath away.

“Say it like you mean it.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Because how could you?

How could you lie when his gaze was burning through you, when his scent, his heat, his very presence was pulling you under like a tide you had spent years trying to resist?

His fingers brushed your wrist like a whisper of a touch, but it sent fire racing beneath your skin. You shivered, your breath unsteady, and his eyes darkened at the sight of it.

“Say it,” he murmured again, softer this time, but no less demanding.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Say it like you mean it.

Say it like it doesn’t keep you up at night.

Say it like your body doesn’t still crave him in ways it shouldn’t.

Say it like it wasn’t the worst mistake of your life.

You opened your mouth, searching for words, for anything, but Zayne wasn’t patient.

His fingers lifted, grazing along your jaw, his touch soft and gentle, like he was daring you to pull away.

You didn’t.

Because god, you still wanted him.

Zayne’s fingers barely touched your skin, but it was enough.

Enough to set fire to the air between you.

Enough to make your breath catch, your pulse erratic.

His thumb ghosted over the curve of your jaw, his touch deliberate.

Too light to be possessive, too heavy to be innocent.

You should have pulled away.

Should have reminded him of the ring on your finger, of the man waiting beyond these walls.

But when you exhaled, it wasn’t in protest.

It was in surrender.

His eyes flickered to your lips, just for a second.

A heartbeat, a breath, a mistake waiting to happen.

He was close now. Too close.

You could feel the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breath mingling with yours, the weight of his presence.

His cold ice pressing against every inch of restraint you had left.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet. Dangerous.

“Say it, and I walk away.”

Your fingers curled at your sides. “Zayne—”

“Say it, and this stops.” His forehead nearly brushed yours, his words laced with something unspoken, something almost desperate.

You swallowed, but you didn’t say it.

His fingers slid down, grazing the column of your throat, lingering just below your pulse like a silent challenge, a dare.

Your heart pounded against his touch.

His breath shuddered.

“…that’s what I thought.”

And then ever so slowly, so torturously, he pulled away.

Cold air rushed between you, but the damage was already done.

You were burning, and it was not because of your magic.

—•

The next morning.

The war table, its silk-draped maps spread wide, was marked with careful ink strokes, shifting borders that could just as easily shift again with the wrong decision.

You sat poised, your hands resting lightly against the table’s surface, composed yet unyielding.

Across from you, a noble, Lord Callas straightened in his chair, his gaze sharp, his mouth already forming another shortsighted argument.

Zayne stood near the edge of the room, arms folded, unreadable.

But you felt his presence lingering as if beside you.

Watching.

Waiting.

Just as he always did.

Callas exhaled sharply. “Your Highness, we must establish dominance.”

You tilted your head slightly, fingers grazing the edge of the map.

“Dominance?” Your voice was smooth, measured.

“Tell me, what kind of dominance do you imagine? One built on empty threats? On brute force?”

Callas narrowed his eyes. “A display of strength is necessary.”

A soft hum left your lips as you tapped a finger against the capital city inked onto the map.

“A display of strength, you say.” A pause. Then, you lifted your gaze. “And when has brute force ever earned peace?”

The tension crackled.

Besides the crown prince, Zayne shifted slightly, just enough that his attention became unmistakable.

Callas scoffed, his fingers curling against the table’s edge. “My father served in—”

You leaned forward slightly, voice turning smooth, precise.

“Your father.”

His jaw twitched.

“What about you, Lord Callas ?” Your hand moved across the map, fingertips gliding over contested borders, lingering over cities on the brink of war.

“Have you ever stood on the battlefield?”

Callas hesitated.

Your eyes locked onto his.

“Have you ever seen men bleed for thoughtless orders?”

A flicker of uncertainty passed over his face.

Your voice lowered.

“Have you watched as cities burn under the weight of a war that could have been avoided?”

Silence.

A moment too long. A pause too telling.

And in that hesitation, you struck.

“No?” You leaned back, your fingers leaving the map as your hands folded in your lap.

“Then I suggest you reconsider before you advise me on matters you do not understand.”

The room stilled.

Callas’ face darkened, but his mouth remained shut.

He wouldn’t dare argue.

Across the table, Zayne smirked.

Just barely.

But enough.

Silence settled over the chamber, heavy and sharp, the weight of your words pressing against the gathered nobles like a blade to the throat.

Lord Callas sat rigid in his chair, his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

He did not speak.

Because he knew he couldn’t.

But, of course, your betrothed would not allow the silence to linger.

The crown prince leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair in slow, deliberate movements.

His expression remained composed, but you could see it.

The flicker of irritation in his gaze

The faint tightening of his jaw.

“Lord Callas speaks from experience, Princess.” His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, cold and thin like a knife’s point.

“He has studied warfare extensively, as have many on this council. It would be unwise to dismiss their counsel so easily.”

You inhaled slowly, fingers grazing the edge of the map before you, tracing the ink-stained borders of a world they sought to carve into something that suited their desires.

“Studied warfare?” you echoed, tilting your head.

And then, with a slow blink, you lifted your gaze, your voice turning soft, thoughtful—dangerous.

“Tell me, Your Highness, has Lord Callas ever read about the sound a man makes when his lungs freeze from the inside out?”

Callas stiffened.

You did not stop.

“Or perhaps he studied the way a body turns brittle in the cold, the way flesh cracks apart like shattered glass when left in the dead of winter?”

The temperature in the room seemed to shift.

It wasn’t real, at least not yet, but the weight of your words made the air feel thinner, evident in the firelight flickering against the frost creeping at the edges of the war table.

“There is a difference,” you continued, voice cooling like a blade dipped in ice, “between knowing war and surviving it.”

The crown prince’s fingers stilled against the wood.

His smirk, polished and practiced, barely flickered.

But you saw the tension settle into his frame.

“You forget your place, Princess.”

You tilted your chin slightly, meeting his stare without hesitation.

“No, Your Highness.” A slow smirk curved your lips, one that did not reach your eyes. “I believe you forget mine.”

A sharp inhale, his eyes narrowed.

And the tension stretched.

And then Zayne spoke.

“Careful, brother.”

The words were low, unhurried, amused.

He hadn’t moved from his position, still leaning against the table’s edge, arms crossed, posture effortless.

But there was something different now.

There was a quiet shift in the air, a subtle weight settling across the chamber.

Zayne tilted his head slightly, his smirk lazy, his words laced with mock concern.

“Wouldn’t want to raise your voice at your future wife.”

A beat.

“It would be… unseemly.”

The jab landed clean.

A few courtiers glanced away, shifting in their seats while some others barely concealed their intrigue.

The crown prince’s patience snapped like ice underfoot.

“Enough.”

Zayne arched a brow.

“Oh?” He exhaled, feigning a look, thoughtful.

“Have I offended you? That wasn’t my intention.”

A pause.

“Not entirely, anyway.”

The crown prince stood.

And Zayne, never one to be outdone, stood his ground.

The shift was immediate.

The air turned sharp, the warmth of the torches dimming slightly, the faintest hint of frost licking at the stone beneath their feet.

A subtle show of power.

Silent, but undeniable.

A challenge.

The room stilled as the tension coiled, as cold crept along the edges of the chamber, biting at the air between them.

Zayne’s smirk remained, but his breath misted slightly in the cooling air.

The crown prince’s fingers curled against the wood of the chair, frost cracking along its edges.

The courtiers felt it.

You could see it in the way they hesitated, in the way they darted quick, careful glances between the two brothers, one, the heir to the throne and the other who had no interest in it.

But of course, power did not care for intentions.

Zayne’s voice was softer than it should have been, given the weight behind it.

“Careful, brother.”

A quiet breath.

The frost spread an inch further.

And the crown prince said nothing.

Not yet.

You could feel the frost creeping along the war table, spreading in thin, jagged lines across the polished wood.

The torches flickered, their flames dimming under the weight of the cold pressing into the chamber.

The air was sharp, biting, charged with a tension that no one dared to break.

The prince sat rigid, fingers curled around the armrest of his chair, ice cracking under his grip.

Across from him, Zayne stood with effortless ease, hands resting against the table, expression unreadable.

The cold between them wasn’t just power, it was a warning.

No one in the room moved.

The courtiers watched carefully, caught between fear and fascination, knowing full well what a battle between brothers could mean.

You, however, were already tired of it.

Fingers tapping against your goblet, you let out a slow breath.

“Tell me, are we really going to start a blizzard indoors?”

The frost stopped.

The crown prince’s eyes flicked toward you, irritation flickering behind them.

Across the table, Zayne’s smirk deepened.

“I’d win.”

The prince’s jaw tightened. “Would you?”

The torches wavered and the temperature dropped another degree.

Zayne leaned forward slightly, ice blooming beneath his fingertips, creeping just a little closer to his brother’s.

“Do you really want to find out?”

The courtiers stiffened.

“That’s enough, boys.”

With a calm breath, you placed your palm against the war table, letting your fingers trail through the frost.

The ice melted beneath your touch, fading into nothing.

The shift was immediate.

Not an attack. Not a challenge.

A reminder.

The frost recoiled.

The tension however, did not.

Your gaze slid between them, unimpressed.

“Are we done?”

Silence stretched, heavy and unyielding, before the prince finally exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to relax.

The ice at his hands faded, his expression smoothing back into his normal, unfazed look.

Zayne watched him for a moment longer before leaning back, smirk still present, but the storm in his eyes dimming.

He met your stare briefly, as if to say he understood exactly what you had done.

You pick up your goblet, fingers curling around the metal that was still warm from your touch.

“If the theatrics are over, perhaps we can get back to actual politics.”

Zayne chuckled under his breath.

The prince said nothing, but the irritation in his gaze was clear.

The courtiers hesitated before shifting back into quiet discussion, the meeting resuming as if nothing had happened.

But as Zayne tilted his head slightly, watching you with quiet amusement, you knew the fight wasn’t over.

It had only just begun.

—•

The corridors of the palace were empty, save for the two of you. The torches lining the stone walls flickered weakly, casting shifting shadows against the cold marble floors.

The weight of the meeting still clung to the air, lingering like frost long after the ice had faded from the war table.

You walked beside Zayne in silence, steps slow, measured.

You could still feel the tension from earlier, the quiet storm between him and his brother, the unspoken challenge.

But, this felt different.

This wasn’t the casual, detached Zayne who always lingered at the edges of power, just close enough to influence, but never enough to claim it.

No.

This Zayne felt closer. Sharper. Decisive.

“You handled them well,” he said eventually, voice smooth, but lacking its usual amusement.

You glanced at him, arching a brow. “You mean I handled you well.”

That earned you a flicker of something familiar.

A smirk, faint and fleeting. “If that helps you sleep at night.”

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “You enjoyed that too much.”

Zayne’s smirk didn’t last.

Instead, he slowed, gaze drifting toward the high windows where moonlight stretched across the stone floor.

“He makes it easy.”

He.

You didn’t need to ask who.

The crown prince. His younger brother. The man you were meant to marry.

The man Zayne had once let rule without challenge.

But something had changed. You could feel it.

His fingers twitched at his sides, barely noticeable, but enough for you to see the tension in him.

A tension that hadn’t been there before.

You studied him carefully. “You never wanted the throne.”

His jaw shifted slightly. A slow exhale. “No.”

But there was something else in his voice now. Something new.

“And now?”

Zayne didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he leaned against one of the columns, arms folding across his chest, eyes flickering toward the darkened hallway beyond.

“Now, things are different.”

Your breath caught, just slightly.

“Because of him?”

A humorless chuckle.

“Because of you.”

You stopped in your tracks.

Zayne tilted his head, gaze settling on you fully now.

Nog lazy, not indifferent, but weighted with intent.

“I spent my whole life letting him have it,” he murmured.

“Because I knew what that crown did to people. What power did.”

His fingers tapped absently against his arm, slow, deliberate.

“You take the throne, and suddenly you don’t own yourself anymore. Every move, every word, every alliance, every sacrifice—”

His voice dipped lower. “You don’t rule it. It rules you.”

His eyes darkened. “And I never wanted to belong to it.”

You swallowed. “But now you do?”

Zayne didn’t move, didn’t break your gaze.

But the shift in him was undeniable.

He wasn’t just watching the game anymore.

He was stepping into it.

“Now, the prize is worth it.”

He didn’t say your name.

He didn’t have to.

Because you both knew exactly what he meant.

The air between you was cold, but the tension was sharper.

The corridor stretched long and empty, the torches casting flickering shadows against the stone.

But you weren’t looking at the walls, or the flames.

You were looking at him.

At the weight of his words still hanging between you.

“Now, the prize is worth it.”

Your expression didn’t change, but something in your chest twisted.

Heat curled under your skin, not from anger, but from something close to disappointment.

You stepped forward, closing the space between you, forcing his full attention.

“A prize?” Your voice was soft, feeling offended.

Zayne didn’t move, his expression unreadable, but you caught it.

The flicker of tension, the way he had expected this.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” You didn’t let him look away.

“You talk about power like it’s a game. Like the throne is a war you’ve suddenly decided is worth fighting because of me.”

His jaw tensed. “That’s not—”

“I am not a prize.” Your voice was steady, unwavering. “Not a throne to be claimed. Not a crown to be won.”

His eyes darkened, but he stayed silent.

“I have spent my life being bartered, measured, weighed for my worth. I won’t let you do the same.”

Zayne’s gaze held yours, quiet but relentless.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was low, but there was something behind it, something deeper than frustration.

You swallowed, but didn’t speak.

“You are not a prize, Princess.” His words were deliberate, calm, unshaken. “But you are worth fighting for.”

The torches crackled in the silence. His expression didn’t soften, but the intensity in his gaze was unmistakable.

“And you deserve someone who will.”

Zayne never wasted words.

That is why they are impossible to ignore.

You know you should have walked away.

Left him standing there in the dim corridor, let his words fade into the silence.

But you didn’t.

Zayne watched you, waiting.

His words hung between you, firm and unshaken. He wasn’t taking them back.

He wasn’t giving you an easy way out.

“And if I don’t want to be fought over at all?” Your voice was quieter now, controlled, but not weak.

His head tilted slightly. “Then I’ll stop.”

The words came too easily.

They should have reassured you, should have given you the control you wanted.

But something about the way he said them, the way his gaze held steady, the way his body remained perfectly still, made you wonder if he was lying.

Or worse, if he was telling the truth.

If you told him to stop, he would.

But that didn’t mean he would ever truly let you go.

You exhaled, fingers curling at your sides. “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

Zayne let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t care about simplicity.”

Your lips parted, ready to argue, but before you could speak, he moved.

Not closer, not away, just a shift of weight, a breath of space given and taken in the same moment.

Your breath caught.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His gaze flicked down to your hands, still clenched at your sides.

His fingers twitched at his own, like he might reach out. Like he had the right to.

He didn’t.

But it would be so easy.

Your throat tightened. “You don’t get to do this.”

“Do what?” His voice was smooth, maddeningly calm. “Tell the truth?”

You inhaled sharply. “Act like this is a choice.”

His smirk faded slightly. “It’s always been a choice. The only difference is I’ve finally made mine.”

Your stomach twisted. “Zayne—”

“No.” His voice was steady, firmer than before. “You don’t get to tell me I should have wanted the throne all these years, then be angry when I finally decide to take it.”

Your pulse pounded against your ribs. “You’re only doing this because of me.”

Zayne’s gaze darkened. “Yes.”

The admission was too quick. No hesitation.

Your fingers curled. “That’s not how this works.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Then tell me…how does it work?”

You weren’t sure who moved first.

But suddenly, the space between you disappeared, stolen in an instant.

The cold of the corridor pressed in, but his body was warm.

Too close, too much, too familiar.

Zayne’s breath brushed against your skin.

His voice was low, controlled, edged with something raw.

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

Your throat tightened.

Your hands shook.

But still, you didn’t move away.

The space between you disappeared.

Not by hesitation. Not by accident.

By choice.

Zayne’s breath was warm against your skin, his body close enough that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest.

The flickering torchlight caught the sharp angles of his face, the shadowed curve of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes that had been building for way too long.

Your pulse pounded.

Every rational thought screamed for distance, for restraint, for control.

But control had been slipping since the moment he stepped into this fight.

Since the moment he chose you.

His hand lifted, hovering near your waist, fingers twitching as if caught between restraint and inevitability.

You felt the hesitation, the last fragile thread of self-control fraying at the edges.

You could stop this.

You should.

But you didn’t.

Your fingers curled into the front of his tunic, just barely, just enough that he felt it.

The moment stretched between you, heavy and breathless, before he finally moved.

His lips crashed into yours, fierce and unrelenting, years of tension snapping in an instant.

There was nothing hesitant about the way he kissed you, nothing careful in the way his hands could finally grip your waist, pulling you against him, pressing you into the cold stone wall as if he had been holding back for too long and had finally given in.

Heat surged under your skin, your body igniting in a way that had nothing to do with magic.

You gasped against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, gripping tighter when his teeth scraped against your lower lip.

Zayne exhaled sharply, breaking the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against yours.

His breath was ragged, his grip firm.

Like he was afraid to let go.

“Say it,” he murmured.

Your fingers curled into his sleeves, voice barely steady.

“Say what?”

His lips brushed yours again, teasing, testing the last remnants of your resolve. “That you don’t want this.”

“That you don’t want me.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because it would be a lie.

And you both knew it.

His smirk returned, softer this time, his thumb tracing slow circles along your hip. “That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t stop him when he kissed you again.

Because, you wanted this.

#zayne x non mc #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #zayne x you #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #fantasy #fantasy romance #fanfic #medieval #magical realism #arranged marriage #forbidden love

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moonmaiden1996 · 12 days ago

Text

The Monster Maomao Created Part 6

In the days that followed, the palace existed in a strange state of chaotic calm. The war and the army were never spoken of aloud, as if silence could somehow keep the troubles at bay. Life continued under a thin veil of normalcy, with bustling preparations for the upcoming festival filling the air with noise and color.

Yet amidst the flurry of activity, one presence was notably absent.

Jinshi.

He had vanished into the distance, always tending to some matter or another. Occasionally, a flash of his amethyst hair or the swirl of embroidered robes would be glimpsed in a corridor—gone before you could call out. It was infuriating, this constant game of hide and go seek. A conversation had clearly taken place—though what had been said, and to what end, remained a mystery.

What was more annoying is that you had looked into his golden obsidian eyes and believed he would look after you. What had he done but abandon you?

Still, the gifts continued to arrive—lavish, frequent, and unmistakably meant for you. They were sent with such frequency that even the palace gardens had begun to hum with whispers. Maids, noblewomen, even court officials now speculated in hushed tones behind fluttering fans. Which in itself was normal, if they didn’t you would worry but no they seem to spread like wildfire each more outrageous than the last.

‘’...The emperor is surely getting his brother to spend gifts…..yes to get rid of Empress Gyokuyou.’’

‘’I am sure she is earning those gifts…’’

‘’It could be quite innocent…the Imperial brother is quite awkward…’’

‘’Cunning cow…’’

“She must have put something in his tea—he’s utterly bewitched. I heard he is already trying to arrange a marriage between them with her father.”

“I heard she refused the first gift… that’s how you know she’s clever. A refusal makes them send more.”

“Or she’s being tested. A trap, maybe. One slip and she’ll be banished.”

“She walks like she’s already Empress… doesn’t she?”

“If Gyokuyou has any sense, she’d act now. Before it’s too late.”

Which left you with only one course of action.

xxxxxxxx

"My lady..."

"I said take them back. I do not want them."

"My master only wishes to—"

You looked the man over with barely concealed irritation. Gaoshun—recognizable by his crisp robes and the subtle braiding on his robes. They really ought to be more careful about which attendants they send. Anyone with sense would eventually realize: those who served Jinshi also served the imperial brother.

"Your master's gifts are causing gossip to spread through the court. Which makes them question my intention and honor. I will not allow that. If I am to marry I can not with such a cloud above me."

"My lady—"

"He is scaring away any intention I have to make a good match. If he wishes to send gifts, then let him bring them himself but since I have neither chaperone nor father to attend me, I suggest he refrains. Until such time, no one—not even a servant—will be admitted to the villa unless they belong to my household. Is that clear?"

The Gaoshun bowed, grave and silent. "Very well. I shall inform the prince."

As he exited the room, your ladies behind you shivered in quiet terror.

"My lady... won't the imperial brother be angry with you?" one of them whispered.

"Frankly, I doubt he cares," you replied coolly, adjusting the pin in your hair- your fathers pin- with deliberate grace. "The prince has never called on me. He's never even requested my presence. I highly doubt he’ll care now."

Instead of the moon-prince’s embellished pin, today you wore one in the style of your mother—a Western design, simple and elegant, a quiet statement of your own choosing.

"I will be attending the Empress's court today."

"Are you sure, my lady? Wouldn’t it be safer to remain in the villa?"

"Nonsense." You stood tall, chin high. "It is important, and the longer I stay hidden, the more power I give to rumors. Let them see me. Let them see that I am not afraid."

Xxxxxxxxxx

“She said what!?”

Gaoshun practically wilted under his gaze—not because he feared his young master, but because he was utterly exhausted by Jinshi’s moods. They were either unnecessarily high or painstakingly low. His fixation was not something that could be broken. Not with politics, nor court drama, even the little apothecary didn’t seem able to loosen Jinshi’s grip on you.

Nothing could shake his focus on the young maiden, and Gaoshun feared that unwavering obsession was his fault. He had thought it good practice, sound discipline, to take away his trinkets when he grew too attached—to teach restraint, to keep his affections from becoming unruly. The silken doll, the carved crane, the strange foreign music box Jinshi had once adored… all tucked away, one after another, as soon as his attachment to them grew too intense. "Better to train him early," Gaoshun had told himself. "Affection is a liability in court."

But all he had done was teach Jinshi that if he loved something, it would be taken away—cruelly snatched from his hands the moment it became dear. It had worked, to some extent. The boy had learned control, restraint, the art of hiding his affections beneath a composed mask. But beneath that surface, something darker had bloomed. Now, his love was not gentle or fleeting. It was possessive. Paranoid. Fierce in its grip and relentless in its fear of losing you. He didn’t simply want to protect—you—he needed to.

Jinshi clung to you with the same desperate, possessive energy he once reserved for those toys—only now it was sharper, more dangerous. There was a panic just beneath the surface, one Gaoshun recognized all too well. The fear that someone would take you away and lock you in some out-of-the-way box, never to be seen again.

“My lord…”

“Tell me exactly what she said.” Jinshi’s hands slammed down on the desk as he glared at him, fury blazing.

Heaving a deep, weary sigh, Gaoshun relented. “She said… if she is to marry, she cannot do so with such a cloud over her. That your gifts are scaring away any chance she has to make a good match.”

In one swift, furious motion, Jinshi swept the papers from his desk, scattering them across the floor—documents Gaoshun had only just organized for the ministers. Youth is a scary thing.

“Did I not say I would protect her?” Jinshi’s voice cracked with frustration. “Have I not kept guards near her quarters, sent gifts, arranged for the most trusted masters to teach the boys? Did I not petition the Emperor to give her mother relief with the turmoil along their lands?”

“Master Jinshi, you must think of the Lady’s position. She is completely unaware that you are the Moon Prince. She believes the gifts are from him—hence why the gifts are…” Gaoshun continued, even under the weight of Jinshi’s obsidian glare, the gold flecks in his eyes burning molten in the darkness. “Problematic for her. They’re sure to make tongues wag in the court. She is already in a dangerous situation as it is. And there’s the fact that she has been of marriageable age for some time. It's not surprising that she might hope to start her own household. It is likely she wishes to have children of her own, given how well she cares for her brothers.”

Jinshi huffed, hair falling in sleek waves over his shoulder as he tilted his head, jaw tight.

“The Imperial Brother has yet to grace her with his presence, which might be perceived as a slight on her part. It is not wholly unreasonable for her to seek another.”

Jinshi’s eyes burned. His brow furrowed into an unrelenting glare, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the counter, fury etched into every line of his frame.

“My deepest apologies…” Gaoshun bowed lowly, one hand outstretched before him as he dipped as far as he could without toppling over.

“Tell me everything.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gaoshun winced as he hurried behind his master, who all but flew through the courts, ignoring everyone and everything in his path. Not even Empress Gyokuyou, seated serenely in the garden, earned so much as a glance. Gaoshun was fairly certain Jinshi didn’t even register her presence—his focus was fixed, unwavering, eyes sweeping the palace grounds in search of the one person who occupied his every waking thought.

You.

Sat underneath a blooming blossom looking utterly at ease, sunlight catching in your hair as petals drifted lazily around you. Beside you sat Lady Lee and her son—the boy impressively dressed in his military uniform, polished and poised, the very picture of a prospective husband.

A soft giggle tingled in the air, making Gaoshun wince just as Empress Gyokuyou broke into an uncontrollable laugh. Her bright green eyes sparkled with amusement as she watched the young master march straight toward the group beneath the blossoms.

“Master Jinshi does seem to have a very pressing matter, doesn’t he, Gaoshun? Hm?” Hongniang snapped, eyes narrowed. “Not even a greeting to the Empress.” Her mistress giggled beside her, laughter bubbling in the summer air.

“A thousand apologies,” Gaoshun said with a tight, weary bow. “Master Jinshi needed to give her… a pressing update.”

“I’m sure he did,” Empress Gyokuyou sniggered, voice light with mischief. She hid her amusement behind her fan, though her flushed cheeks betrayed her delight.

‘’Even so it is most rude of the Overseer.’’ Hongniang eyebrow twitching.

Gaoshun paled, his head snapping around as he frantically surveyed the scene behind him.

You and Jinshi were gone and Lady Lee sat frozen, bewildered, her gaze fixed on the garden gate. Beside her, her son looked positively disturbed—pale, stiff, and vaguely ill, looking fair less like a prospective husband and more like a little boy who had just escaped with his life.

‘’Master Jinshi!’’

This time, both Hongniang and the Empress could not contain their laughter as Gaoshun scuttled in search after his master.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jinshi was mad. Madder than you had ever seen him—mad in a way that aged him, making him look far older than his years. He seemed positively unhinged as he stormed up to the table and leaned close to Lady Lee’s son, whispering something with a sharp intensity that drained the boy’s color and will. Whatever he said had its desired effect—the young man looked ready to collapse and die.

Without a word, Jinshi seized you and dragged you out of the garden gate, down the paths toward one of the distant pavilions.

“Will you let me go?” you wriggled, trying to escape his grip, twisting and shifting beneath his hold.

But no matter how much you struggled, his grasp remained unyielding as you stumbled behind him.

“You’re hurting me,” you said—a weak protest, one you knew was unlikely to make him relent.

He didn’t stop. Instead, he cast a lingering glance at you. You gasped.

His eyes were black—not just the irises, but the entire depths of his gaze seemed possessed, flickering darkly as they dropped to where his hand encircled your wrist. After a brief inspection, he turned sharply and quickened his pace, pulling you into an abandoned pavilion.

With a soft but firm motion, he shut the screen tightly behind you. You tumbled onto the soft mats, grateful for their cushioning as you hit the floor.

‘’What is wrong with you! What on earth possessed you to…’’

He was on top of you in an instant. Jinshi looked positively debauched—hair tousled, falling into an amethyst curtain around you, cheeks flushed with a fierce heat. His obsidian eyes were deep, dark pools of lust, hungry and unrelenting. Robes slipped from his shoulders, revealing the pale column of his throat, as, painstakingly, he cradled your head and hip, lowering you down against the soft mat.

His gaze pinned you to the floor, his body pressing between your thighs. His strong hand slid from your hip to beneath your knee, hiking it up to rest beside his hip and he laid against you fully.

“Do you want to find out?”

You felt it. Dear God, you felt it—a hard bulge pressing insistently against your stomach. To drive his point home, he shifted ever so slightly, pressing the member deeper into your skin.

Did Maomao really give him a copy of that damn book? You wanted to snap back, to taunt him, to scowl and hit him—but you couldn’t move. His eyes held you captive, flickering across your face with an intensity that stole your breath.

He gritted his teeth, breath hot and heavy, as the silence thickened between you.

“I work hard to protect you and your brother and this is how I find you. Is that what you want? A boy in a uniform—or a man with a title?” he growled, lowering his head until it hovered just above yours, so close you could feel the heat of every word searing your skin.

“I told you I would protect you—that you didn’t need to thrust yourself into another’s arms to find safety… When everything is in place I would explain this all. ”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off.

“But no. I found you out here, having tea with that...” Jinshi’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper, the words heavy with accusation. “...prospective husband.”

He tightened his grip slightly, fingers digging into your hip as his obsidian eyes bore into yours. “Do you think I’m some fool? That I won’t see through every smile, every polite word exchanged behind my back?”

His breath brushed your cheek, hot and ragged. His gaze softened for just a moment, vulnerability flickering beneath the fierce possessiveness. “Tell me—what do you want, truly? Because I’m not willing to lose you to anyone else.”

“We cannot be together. You are a eunuch.”

He stilled—then let out a low growl, a sound that trembled at the edge of control.

“Is that still what you think?” he snarled, pressing himself fully onto you, his hips sinking down until he rested flush against your core, grinding into you with slow, deliberate pressure.

“Even the damn suppressant can’t dampen what you do to me.”

You gasped at the sensation, your breath stolen. And then his mouth was on yours, hot and hungry kissing you with the kind of desperation that left no room for doubt, no space for reason. It was a branding kiss, searing down to your bones. His lips parted yours, stealing your breath as his tongue swept in.

His hips moved against you in slow, grinding rolls, deliberate and punishing in their rhythm. Every movement sent a jolt of heat through you, his hardness pressing through the layers between you, perfectly aligned with your core. He rocked into you with aching precision, each grind making you moan louder into his mouth. His hand slid back down your thigh, gripping it tighter, hiking it higher around his waist, drawing you closer, deeper into the heat of him.

“My lord?” Gaoshun’s voice rang out just beyond the screen, too polite to barge in, too alarmed not to try.

Outside, the rustling of footsteps grew louder—measured but quick. Gaoshun’s voice, muffled at first, called out with forced calm.

Jinshi froze. His entire body went taut above you, breath caught, eyes wild. For a moment, neither of you moved.

“My lord?” Gaoshun called again, a note of genuine concern—and barely contained exasperation—creeping into his voice. “Are you in there? Lady Lee’s son looks like he’s about to faint, and Her Majesty is now asking questions…”

A soft thud broke the silence as he stepped onto the wooden boards outside the pavilion door. Making Jinshi’s entire body still, still pressing into your core. You curled your fingers tighter into his robes, your heart hammering. You didn’t want him to move. You didn’t know what you wanted—but you knew you didn’t want him to stop. You tilted your hips to gain that feeling just one more time

Jinshi’s eyes flicked down to your face, stilted moans catching in his throat. The fire was still there, burning just beneath the surface—but something else passed over him too. A kind of clarity. A painful, choking restraint.

He lowered his forehead to yours, exhaling shakily. Then, with a tenderness that made your chest ache, he cupped your cheek. The hunger in his eyes had softened into something achingly gentle. He leaned in, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to your temple.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “I shouldn’t have… not like this.” He stopped himself, jaw tightening.

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled back—one hand brushing down your thigh to ease it from around his waist, the other still lingering at your cheek, reverent, as though afraid to let go.

“I’ll lead Gaoshun away,” he said, rising and adjusting his robes with practiced composure. “Slip out through the north gate. No one will see you.”

He bent down to press one last kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fell, unintentionally, to the tented material of his robes. His face flushed deeply before he turned away, quickly drawing the outer layer of his garments around himself. At the door, he paused—just for a moment. Glancing over his shoulder, his obsidian eyes simmered, catching the sunlight that streamed through the gaps in the wooden paneling, casting golden shards across the floor where you lay.

“This isn’t over,” he said, his gaze latching onto you.

And then he was gone—his voice calm, composed as he called out to Gaoshun, as if nothing had happened at all. While you remained behind, a flushed, breathless mess on the pavilion floor.

Please let me know what you think! I have been inspired by warrior Jinshi. We will definitely be seeing him in that armour at some point in this story!

Also I know some people are confused that I describe Jinshi as having gold eyes, that was my bad. I know in the anime they are purple/pink but apparently they are black in the light novel so that's what I will use going forward!

@btsgangleader @thecrazyone2007 @solatiiium @ylovei @mybones537 @clairedeselene @1-800-peakyblinders @traumatizedpomelo @sarcastic-wit @chaixsherlock @uniquecutie-puffs @is-it-night-or-day @j-ywrld

#jinshi apothecary diaries #apothecary diaries #the apothecary diaries #jinshi #jinshi x reader

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misscrawfords · 12 days ago

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The following plot is so tedious to me:

- heroine is supposedly bad and clumsy at stuff, an underdog, doesn't believe in herself

- there's a guy who is very, very hot but in a dangerous way and he's real mean, guys, real mean and she really hates him and there's good reason because he is so mean, just so mean

- he clearly hates her too for being the enemy or for being weak or being clumsy or whatever

- except that he keeps failing to kill her when he has the chance and his insults sound weirdly like ~advice on how to survive the difficult situation they're both in and sometimes he smirks at her and it's weirdly ~hot except that's IMPOSSIBLE and she is so definitely not attracted to him because that would be STUPID when he is so MEAN and he wants to KILL her

- until one day it turns out to her COMPLETE AND UTTER SURPRISE that isn't trying to kill her at all, he's actually PROTECTING her and he's been so HARD and MEAN to make her tougher because he has seen her POTENTIAL

- and then they kiss

The thing is. I could absolutely love this plot and I do when it's done right. Because enemies to lovers can be excellent and people concealing their motivations and not being what they seem is also excellent. But the problem is how poorly it's executed. There are several issues:

- this plot and characterisation is now so standard that as soon as a male character is described as antagonistic and yet conventionally attractive, I expect him to be madly in love with the heroine for no reason and I'm instantly reading a double motivation into everything he says or does. This is a problem in the hands of an unskilled writer because it means his antagonism poses absolutely no threat. Of course he's not going to kill the heroine! He's growling in a threateningly constipated way because he's trying to conceal his boner! The apparently subtle, hidden motivation is neither subtle nor hidden to the reader.

- Well, okay, fine, you might say. Why should it be subtle or hidden? It's okay to know genre expectations in advance! We all know Poirot will find the killer! Yes, but we don't know who the killer is, right? There needs to be some kind of mystery! If I can see the massive plot twist coming from the first paragraph in which the character is introduced then it's a really shitty plot twist!

- Furthermore, it makes the heroine look UNBELIEVABLY STUPID. This is particularly a problem in stories which are setting the heroine up to be SUPER SMART. If they are this clever, getting by on their wits, self-aware, why are they SO FUCKING OBLIVIOUS to the fact that the hot guy who they're obsessed with is really into them? "Why isn't he trying to kill me?" she muses thoughtfully to the reader. "I wonder what Machiavellian game he's playing?" she debates with herself endlessly. HE WANTS TO FUCK YOU, ROSEBUD, it's not that deep. If this were a genuine mystery, the reader could analyse it alongside the heroine, and feel shock at the revelation too but instead she comes across as an absolute moron and none of her internal debates are remotely interesting.

- ah, I hear you say, but haven't you forgotten the concept of dramatic irony? Knowing that Hector will die doesn't lessen the impact of hearing him debate whether to go out and fight Achilles and in fact increases pathos and tragedy. So surely knowing where a plot is going doesn't lessen its impact? Well, first of all you're not Homer writing the Iliad, Shirley, so jot that down. I just think you have to have some concept of writers craft to pull of dramatic irony successfully. If the narrative was ironic or even mocking towards the supposedly smart heroine's blindspots that would be one thing. If there were actual consequences to her for being a dumbass that would be another. But the narrative doesn't do that. It asks us with complete seriousness to believe Hot Mean Dude is a massive threat to heroine and that heroine is a very super intelligent super smart person. The narration of these books is SO flat. And first person present tense? Good grief, it's the WORST.

Beyond all this, I realise yet again how different my taste in men is to, apparently, most women. Massive dudes with muscles, tattoos and weird eyes who insult me continuously just aren't of any interest to me at all. I'm bored just reading a description of their appearance clearly designed to arouse female readers. Physically, emotionally, anything. I'd be off pining over a scrawny bookworm with asthma who's a minor character there to make witty quips under his breath, show me no interest whatsoever, and die pathetically in the final battle of book 2 out of 3.

And relatedly, I'd love to read about a heroine who is clever and competent and interesting. Like, genuinely. But the problem is their stories being told in first person, present tense. It's the most intimate of narrative styles which means if the narrative is dull, wooden, lacks flair or style or interest and yet is apparently the inner narration of the Smartest Person Ever, it's quite hard to suspend my disbelief.

Writers need to study the art of narratology a bit more and how being an unreliable narrator should extend beyond not picking up on the fact that you have the hots for your hot enemy who also has the hots for you.

#what extremely popular book have i started reading and it's pissing me off majorly before I'm 25% through?

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hattiewritesalot · 1 year ago

Text

Poison

Azriel x Reader

Summary: At an event hosted by High Lord Beron, Azriel's closest friend Y/N seems to be incredibly wasted. The only problem? Azriel knows that she doesn't get drunk. Ever.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, poison, vomiting, a drunk love confession, a bit of angst but it is all in all quite fluffy

A/N: So this may or may not be inspired by the scene in Wicked King where Cardan gets poisoned... enjoy!! :3

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N is, as always, on high alert as she follows Rhys into the ballroom. Something combined with her dislike for social events and her lack of trust for the High Lord of Autumn meant her eyes and ears were everywhere, keeping constant watch over everything. Azriel’s large hand gently splays over her bare back, the rough fingers a gentle reminder that he’s there, and possibly to tell her to stop being so tense. She shoots a glare at her best friend, who responds with a badly-concealed smile.

She’s dressed in black, they all are, as is custom in the Night Court. Her dress is floor length, the black satin offering a nice hold around her figure, the neckline a low plunge, and the slit on her left side allowing her some freedom. The fabric is littered with silver threads and diamonds, meant to represent constellations, and also to match the sparkly heels on her feet. She looks pretty. She feels it.

A servant welcomes them warmly, almost immediately offering the group a drink of champagne, which she takes. Cassian snorts, and teases her for taking the only glass that the poor servant had, but she rolls her eyes and takes a sip.

She rarely drinks. She doesn’t like it. She’s seen enough of the boys’ drunk shenanigans to be put off it for a lifetime. She usually stays sober, if not tipsy, whenever they go to Rita’s, opting for escorting a stumbling Rhys back to Feyre rather than being the one stumbling.

But one drink won’t hurt. Not tonight. Tonight, she’ll need it.

The Inner Circle split up around the room, Azriel hot on Y/N’s trails, scarred fingers just barely tracing her bare shoulders. She sighs, leaning against a wall, him doing the same. “Time check?”

Azriel snorts. “You’re the one with the watch.”

She clicks her tongue, and checks the time, leaning back with a groan. “Two more hours of… this.”

“Always a ray of sunshine.”

“Says the shadowsinger.” she grins. Azriel was the first person she’d met in the Inner Circle, and coincidentally, her closest friend. They’d been attached at the hip the moment she’d introduced herself. They know everything about each other, inside and out.

She’d never admit it, but her heart longed for the Illyrian. He was always so clever, so considerate. And, not to mention, his sharp features and hazel eyes made heat rise in her cheeks; hot, blissful, lovestruck heat.

“I think Cassian wants me for something.” Azriel muses, tipping his chin towards where Cassian was very unsubtly gesturing for him to accompany him. Y/N narrows her eyes at the redhead he’s standing with, and laughs.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that were Eris Vanserra. Good luck, Az.”

Azriel groans, playfully tugging her hair as he walks over to his brother.

All alone, now. She drinks her champagne, downing it almost immediately. She liked champagne. It never got you too drunk, never made you too irrational. “Enjoying the festivities, Y/N?” Beron’s voice purrs out from behind her. She forces a smile.

“I’d say yes, but it appears I’ve run out of champagne.” The High Lord cocks a brow at her words, and offers her another glass with a different, more vibrant liquid. “Try this. It’s exclusive to the Autumn Court. I believe you’ll enjoy it, it’s not too strong.”

She eyes the glass, before taking it, taking a sip. It’s a subtle flavour - fruity, slightly bitter. “Thank you, my lord.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he walks away.

Cauldron, this drink is good. She drinks every last drop, and places it down on the table next to her, looking for a bottle of the same-

Oh. Oh. This is fun. Fun, fun, fun!

Why isn’t she having fun! Tonight is amazing!

An uncontrollable giggle tears from her throat, the sound throwing her off slightly as wave after wave of lucid dizziness hit her. She laughs, clutching her chest. This is so fun!

Where’s Azriel? Is he having fun? Oh, she loves him. Loves him so much. Where is he!?

-----------------------------------------------------------

Azriel cracks his neck, obviously not wanting to engage with the eldest son of the High Lord, who clearly would rather be anywhere else. Cassian is long gone, with the excuse of seeing Nesta, and now Azriel has been left to deal with Eris. This could not get any worse.

Until it does.

Y/N beams at him, tripping over her feet to get to him, stumbling as she slumps into his arms, snorting and giggling. He freezes. Eris chokes on a laugh. Her hands reach up to grab his face and tug at his hair.

“Y/N?” he murmurs, taken slightly off-guard by her strange behaviours.

“Azzy!” she squeals, laughing and kissing his cheek. Eris cocks a brow. “Looks like your little Y/N’s had too much to drink.” His words echo around Azriel’s head. No, that can’t be. Y/N doesn’t like drinking. And why would she get drunk here of all places? And why-

His heart sinks. Her pupils are dilated. Her body is trembling. Her skin is turning clammy.

This isn’t alcohol. It’s poison.

His eyes go wide as he pulls her form into his arms. “Y/N?” he mumbles, a little firmer now. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, silly!” she squeals. Eris laughs again, and Azriel’s head whips towards him. “What the fuck did you do to her!?” The eldest son’s eyes widen at his harsh, almost growling tone.

“Me? I’ve done nothing. She’s just drunk, shadowsinger.” He sneers at him down his pointy nose. Azriel clutches Y/N closer, ignoring all of her babbles as she squishes his cheeks and tugs his dark locks like a child.

“I love you!” she squeals. “I love you sooooo much. So much. I wish we were mates.” she slurs. Azriel takes a shaky breath at her words, and Eris gestures to her flailing form. “See? Drunk.”

“She’s not- she’s not drunk, she’s- fuck, where’s Rhys?” His tone is desperate as he searches for the High Lord. Y/N’s knees start to buckle, but he wraps her arms around her thighs. “Stay with me, sweetheart, you’re gonna be okay.” He manages to catch the attention of Rhys, whose eyes go wide at the sight of Y/N’s slumped form, and he rushes to them. “What-”

“She’s been poisoned.” Azriel chokes out, panic surging in his veins as he hugs his girl as tightly as he can to his chest. “We- we need to get her out.” Rhys takes a breath, and seems to send a message to Feyre, because she starts to round everyone up. “She’ll be okay, Az, just calm down-”

“I’m not going to calm down! She could die!” He snaps. Rhys backs off at the protective gaze in his brother’s eyes. “Get her back to the Night Court, I’ll sort out here.” Azriel hooks one arm under her knees and the other on her back as he closes his eyes, winnowing back to Velaris.

She squirms, shoving herself onto the cold floor of the Moonstone Palace, and she pukes, gasping and gagging. He shushes her gently, his shadows swirling around her and stroking her hair back as she retches. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Get it all out.”

As she vomits, his mind can’t help but flick back to what she said in the Autumn Court. ‘I love you!’ ‘I wish we were mates.’ His heart flutters at the recollection, but he silently growls at it to shut up. She’s been poisoned. Her head isn’t right. She was probably just saying words for the fun of it. She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t mean it.

But still…

No, heart, stop it.

He pulls her up against his chest when she’s finished, gently rubbing her back. She sobs, slurring unintelligible words. He kisses her sweaty temple and carefully carries her up to her room, murmuring sweet nothings to keep her calm, but her body thrashes. Her eyes are rolling back. His hands are shaking.

He just about manages to get her writhing form onto the bed when Rhys arrives, Madja hot on his trails. “She’s been poisoned?” she asks. Y/N screams in response. Rhys winces at the noise, but the expression worsens at the fury on Azriel’s face.

“Azriel-”

“Go on.” He growls. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t storm back in there and kill them all.”

“Because first of all, that’ll be a lot of paperwork for me, and second of all, I don’t think Y/N wants you to leave.”

Rhys is, frustratingly, right. Y/N has taken it upon herself to latch onto Azriel’s arm, clutching him and mumbling profusely, cheek squished against his bicep. He sighs, and gently pats her hair, shooting a glare to the High Lord of Night in the process.

He sits with her the entire time Madja treats her, his fingers tightly intertwined with hers. The healer concludes that she’ll be okay, but not without side-effects. She says he was clever to get her home so quickly. It wasn’t out of intelligence, it was out of fear.

She gives Y/N a sleeping draught, just so her aching body can get some rest, and then she leaves. Azriel stares at his best friend’s face, and figures he should do the same. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead, smiles at her fluttering eyes, and moves to leave.

Standing in the doorway, however, his eyes flit back to hers, the hazel of his irises connecting with her soft hues.

And then he feels it.

Like a string pulled taut, it snaps within his chest, flooding his veins with the pure bliss of finally having something to protect, to care for, to love. It roars throughout his body, his heart burning with the golden flames of the bond.

Mate.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

PART TWO HERE!!

lol hmu I write for acotar now

#ik ive been gone for at least a year #very long story #azriel #but im back now!!!!!! yipee #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n

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evenyvn · 2 months ago

Text

All You ; part 03

Idol!San x SingleMom!Reader

Summary : Little Hana noticed the spark between the two adults, tries to play cupid in her own childish ways, but her efforts often end in frustrated pouts. Despite their mutual denial, both adults are clearly drawn to each other-leaving Hana to wonder just how long it'll take them to realize they're in love.

Cw : she/her reader, sfw, fluff, third person POV, a little smau at the end, downbad san, reader has a daughter, stranger to lovers, un-established relationship, marriage mentioned, san is girl dad coded, basically a 10 year old being a matchmaker for two oblivious adults that are totally in love.

originally, this series would only have 3 parts, and this would be the last, but like—i got hit by a sudden wave of ideas, and decided to make it more than 3 parts, and the crowds... is cheering! (lmao me too, i love writing this series).

prev — masterlist — next

Hana was a clever girl—but still very much a child. Sharp-eyed, full of giggles, and not one to whisper when she could shout. And lately, she had made a very big decision: She was going to get her eomma and Uncle San to fall in love.

Because duh. (Hana’s words not me)

San came to the restaurant a lot now. He laughed with eomma. He helped Hana with her coloring books. He brought tasty snacks everytime he came over. He even let her put stickers on his face one time and didn't complain—not even once. That made him officially the best.

And most importantly? Eomma looked happier now. She smiled more, even when she was tired. Hana thought maybe San had magic or something. Probably.

But they were both so slow. Even for a 10 year old little Hana begins to feel frustrated.

She might be 10 but she knows from the other moms that frequently visit the restaurant—that if San and her eomma fall in love with each other, they will get married, and if they get married that means San is going to be eomma's husband, eomma's husband means Hana's appa! she giggles delightfully when she realizes that she will finally get a dad she never had.

And thus begins her (not so) subtle playing cupid for the adults.

One day, after school, Hana ran into the restaurant with her backpack bouncing and hair a mess. "UNCLE SAAAAN!"

San turned from his table, arms already open. Hana launched herself into them with full force, laughing as he caught her easily.

"I missed you! Did you miss me?!"

"Of course I did," San grinned, twirling her a little before settling her down. "You were gone for sooo long." he said with a playful pout.

"It was only one school day!" she giggled, puffing her cheeks. Then, eyes glinting, she leaned in close and whispered loudly, "Wanna hear a secret?"

San raised an eyebrow playfully, eyes glinting with adornment at the little girl's childish display "Always."

San bent over to her height as she cupped her small hands around his ear. "I don't have an appa, will you be my appa?"

San nearly choked on air. "W-what?!"

Hana nodded very seriously. "I want you to be my appa! because you make my eomma smile. A lot. I think you should live with us and you can eat my eomma’s soup every day. You like soup, right?"

"I mean... yes, but—"

"Good! Think about it!" she said, skipping off to color, leaving the man sitting there blinking like he’d just been hit by a very tiny freight train.

The next few days were full of chaos.

Hana, armed with all the subtlety of a marching band, began her matchmaking campaign in full. She tried everything—from drawing family portraits that included San, to pushing her mom into the seat next to him during meals. Once, she even shoved a napkin at San with the words 'KISS EOMMA??' scribbled in childish handwritting and rainbow crayons.

San coughed for a full minute making Y/N scrambled to get him a glass of water, the male could die of embarrassment right there—he thinks with his fully red cheeks.

Y/N didn’t catch on at first. She was busy running the restaurant, balancing life, and pretending that her heart didn’t flutter every time San laughed.

She scolded Hana gently one day, after finding her rummaging through her makeup. “What are you doing with my lipstick, baby?”

“I’m making you pretty so Uncle San falls in love faster!” She said as she fiddled with a tube of lipstick, a determined look on her face.

Y/N almost dropped the makeup pouch she was holding. Face full of embarrassment not expecting her daughter to play cupid between her and the idol.

“But it’s okay, eomma! You’re already pretty without it! Uncle San is just really slow!” the woman almost giggle at the little comment of San but clears her throat as she gently scolds her, but of course that's not stopping Hana's master plan on getting a new dad.

Later, while wiping tables with Y/N after closing, the memory still echoed in San’s head. He had NOT stopped thinking about it, he feels delighted of course but also nervous.

How come a woman like Y/N didn't have someone sweeping off her feet already? She's kind, smart, and of course a beauty that could rival even a goddess. (his words, not mine).

San sighed as he finally built a nerve to ask the woman with clammy hands, "So.. Hana said... you're not married," he said quietly. before widening his eyes in realization “W-wait I'm sorry— this might be a sensitive topic! I shouldn't have asked…” the man stuttered over his words, cold sweat rolled down his temple.

Y/N glanced over before chuckling softly, San tried to ignore the little flutter on his heart at the sound of her laughter. "Oh. No, I'm not. Not for a while now." “And it's okay San, I've come to terms with it since years ago. I'm not ashamed you know—raising Hana all by myself for 10 years become my own accomplishment, she's everything that i could've ask for”

He nodded his heart flutter gently at the woman's adoring words, unsure what to say next. "I thought maybe... you were. That I shouldn’t... get close." He said nervously rubbing his neck.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, before widening her eyes, realizing what the man could’ve meant, “San.. are you perhaps.. took an interest in me?” Her forwardness made the man even more flustered, almost spilling his coffee.

“I-i… you don't mind if I do right?”

Y/N smiled faintly, but there was something soft in her voice. "And here I thought someone like you wouldn’t think twice about someone like me."

"Why wouldn’t I?" he said with a curiosity laced on his voice.

Y/N smiled, a tad bit unsure "You’re an idol. Young, shining, talented. I’m a mom with grocery lists and nap schedules." She chuckled lightly to lighten the sudden tense atmosphere but that didn't erase the slight frown on San's handsome face.

"And the warmest smile I’ve ever seen," San said, almost without thinking.

She blinked.

Before anything else could be said, Hana peeked from the booth, hugging her dragon plush toy. "Did you ask her yet? Are you gonna be our prince???"

Y/N let out a startled laugh. San turned red to his ears. "Hana!" Y/N scolded gently. "You can't just say that, what if you make San uncomfortable?"

"Nooo, I’m just right!" Hana said proudly with the same determined look on her face, then yawned. "Can we all have pancakes tomorrow? Together? Like a family?"

Y/N and San shared a look.

They didn’t say yes. But they didn’t say no either.

The next day, the restaurant was busy. A couple of nosy regulars had started whispering about the idol's frequent visits. One even nudged Y/N with a wink. “You and the idol, huh?” Y/N waved it off with a polite smile, but her cheeks burned.

Later, in the back kitchen, Y/N sighed as she leaned against the counter.

“He’s too young,” she murmured to herself with a sigh “Too good. And I’ve got baggage. Not to mention it could ruin his whole reputation in a second”

But when she heard San’s laughter from the dining area—loud, bright, and genuine— the way he treated Hana so gently like a father could make something in her chest tightened. Not with fear.

With hope.

Maybe Hana was right.

Maybe San wasn’t here out of obligation.

Maybe... he really liked them.

And maybe, just maybe, she liked him too.

That night, as they cleaned up together again, San turned to face her.

"Noona. Can I ask you something weird?" He said with a playful smile although his heartbeat said otherwise. She looked at him with a teasing smile. "Only if you can handle a weird answer."

He chuckled nervously. "If I weren’t... who I am. Would you think about me differently? Like, if I were just a guy who helped your daughter carry groceries?"

She paused. Then smiled, more gently this time. "San, you are that guy. And maybe that’s the part of you I’m starting to like the most."

San didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. Something about those words—so simple—yet it wrapped around his ribs and squeezed gently—an ache that wasn’t painful, just overwhelming not in a bad way.

He glanced at her eyes that stare at him with so much kindness and genuinity . They both stare at each other as the realization hits. Hana’s snores from the corner were the only sound for a moment.

Then San smiled—slow and wide.

"Okay then," he said softly. "That’s a start."

And Y/N nodded.

Yes. Yes, it was.

taglist - @sunnysidesins @spenceatiny18 @flambychan @dumplingsyum @iwuberic @kirilunimimi @thedistractedwriter @d3kstar @rosydipity @jilxxasu @dumplingsyum @hexsannie @dalsuwaha @lveegsoi @silver-hwaberry @mouthfullobats @satans-arse-crack @pixie0627 @yothangie @moonlitarcade @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @emilysecresy @ateezaddict24 @xh01bri @flylis @mimiisbetter @angie-316

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#✦;; san #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #choi san x reader #san x y/n #san x reader #san imagine #choi san imagine

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littlemissrbf · 1 month ago

Text

Summer Lovin' (pt. 3)

Robert "Bob" Floyd x fem!Reader

(No use of y/n, reader is a SoCal native & Bob is from Montana, language, reader has an annoying but loving uncle, a lot of Cali references, very dialogue-heavy in this one, a lil bit horny, please drink responsibly and wear your fucking seatbelt, Hangman jumpscare, a lot of food references bc I was hungry when I wrote this)

Part 3 [Word Count: 2.9k]

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - Masterlist

"Really, oops?" you said leaning against the pool table with your arms crossed. He had just let you win

"Yeah it's a real bummer." His shoulders sagged and he let out a sigh as he placed his cue back on its rack on the wall. Then he looked at you with a boyish grin and a glimmer in his eyes.

"I guess I oughta buy you that drink now?"

The two of you made your way to the bar just as Natasha and her three idiots moved back to the pool tables. Mickey and Reuben made kissy faces and "oOooh" sounds as they passed until a quick jab of Natasha's elbow to their sides shut them up. You giggled as you saw the whole interaction, and out of the corner of your eye, you caught Rooster giving Bob a not-so-subtle thumbs up.

Before you'd even made it to the bar, Bob had pulled a chair out for you

"Such a gentleman." You say, hopping up onto the barstool, "I should send your parents a thank-you basket."

He smiled as he sat down on his own stool, his knees brushing yours as he shifted to face you, "If you do, make sure to send those chocolate-covered macadamia nuts, they love those." He said, placing his elbow on the bar and leaning his cheek into his hand.

"Aloha-macs?" you mirrored him, placing your right elbow on the bar and resting your chin on your palm. You crossed your legs, bumping his knees again, your legs were now placed between his.

"Yep, that's the one." He looked down at your crossed legs placed between his, then quickly looked up. "-And also those gold ones, the Ferrerra rochers?"

"Ferrero Rochers and Aloha-macs for the Floyds, I got it." Then your smile shifted into a smirk, "What do I get for the other cowboys?"

Before Bob could come up with a clever response, the sound of someone clearing their throat startled both of you, Penny was standing right there looking between the two of you with a smirk. You both fixed your posture immediately, pulling your elbows off the table and knocking your knees against each other as you scrambled to face the bar.

“Care to introduce me to your new friend, hun?"

“Penny, this is Lt. Bob Floyd and he’s gonna buy me a drink ‘cause I beat him in 8-ball.” You smiled innocently, knowing you had taken her one piece of advice (to “watch out for those aviators”) and threw it out the fucking window.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you Bob.” She smiles and extends her hand to him

He immediately reaches out to shake her hand and say, “It’s nice to meet you too, Ma’am.”

Penny nodded slowly, as if he had just passed some kind of secret test, then she smiled at you as if to say “yeah, this one’s okay.”

“So what can I get you kids to drink? Another Shirley Temple?”

“Yes please,” you smiled.

“And for you?” She turned to Bob

“May I have a Coke, please?”

“Of course,” she started to move away then gestured to the sign behind her. “Make sure to read the rules, I’d hate to see you stuck paying for the whole bar.”

The two of you leaned to get a better view of the sign it read something like “disrespect a lady, the US Navy, or put your phone on the bar = you pay for a round.”

“You remember that guy from earlier that got thrown overboard?" You leaned in closer to whisper, trying to make sure Penny couldn’t hear you.

"Yeah, I saw him get tossed by Hangman, Coyote, and Payback." He whispered back.

"Who?" you cocked your head to the side, you still haven't put together all the names and callsigns to faces yet.

"Payback is Reuben." he smiled.

"Oh Reuben, okay, so anyways I saw him talking with Penny before she rang the death bell, and she looked pissed with him." You checked to make sure no one (especially Penny) was listening in before finishing your thought, "I think they were a thing."

"A thing?" He leaned in closer now, matching your enthusiasm.

"Mhm." You nodded excitedly, "There's some history there, I can feel it. But when I asked her about it, she told me 'It's a long story' and completely brushed it off."

"You sound invested." he grinned at you.

"Oh I am invested, there is something going on between Penny and Mr. Overboard-” you quietly groaned as the realization hit you, “but I'm never getting an explanation out of her, and he is probably never gonna set foot in this bar again."

“Well if Mr. Overboard is smart, he’ll be back tomorrow with flowers and a damn good apology,” Bob said, like he was repeating words of wisdom passed down from his father.

You smiled at his use of your nickname for the old man, when you noticed Penny walking back over with the drinks you wiped the grin off your face and gave his foot a little nudge with your own. He nodded and pressed his lips together, immediately understanding the signal.

"Here's that Shirley and a Coke, you two just holler if you need anything else." You two thanked her as she moved on to another patron at the other end of the bar.

You raised your glass to Bob and he tapped it with the lip of his bottle with a satisfying 'clink' as you said your cheers. You looked down at the drink in your hands and noticed that Penny had given you two cherries instead of one. Penny Benjamin is also a fantastic wingman.

"Want one?" you asked, holding out a bright red cherry by its stem to him, your other hand placed under to catch any liquid.

"Sure." he said.

You had expected him to take the cherry from you with his hand, not his mouth. Without any shame, this man leaned down and plucked the whole cherry from your fingers with his teeth, taking the stem too. Your mouth hung open in shock before you gave him a nervous chuckle and turned back to your drink. You could feel your cheeks burning as the smooth bastard just smiled like it was nothing and thanked you.

"Wanna see a magic trick?" He asked, and you immediately spun in your seat to face him. He twirled the cherry stem between two fingers and then popped it into his mouth. You made a face and he held up a finger to tell you to 'wait for it' his eyebrows raised. After about fifteen seconds of silence and Bob twisting his mouth and scrunching his nose in concentration, he brought his fingers back to his lips and pulled out the stem... tied in a knot.

"Shut up!" You practically shouted. He laughed and grabbed a napkin to place the stem on, shrugging like it was no big deal. You immediately fished out the second cherry and plopped it into your own mouth, pulling the stem free and holding it out to him with sparkling eyes,

"Can you do it again?"

His ears were pink as he took the stem that had just been between your lips and placed it on his tongue, keeping his eyes locked on yours. After ten seconds of making silly faces, he pulled the knotted stem from his lips and placed it right next to the other one.

Your cheeks burned as you mentally scolded yourself for beginning to wonder just what else his mouth could do.

You spent the next hour chatting with each other, Bob gave you a crash course on all the groups' callsigns, you learned that Natasha's callsign was Phoenix (which is so fucking cool) and Mickey's was Fanboy (which is arguably less cool). Then he pointed out five more pilots near Hangman and Coyote that you hadn’t met.

"Those three are Omaha, Halo, and Fritz." he nodded over to them, "and those two big guys over there are Harvard and Yale."

"Harvard and Yale?" you asked while raising an eyebrow.

"Yep, they've flown together for years now, everybody knows them."

"Lemme guess, their wingman is Princeton?"

"You know it actually might be," he tapped his chin and looked up in fake thought, you laughed and lightly swatted at his arm.

"Okay okay that's enough about them," you shifted in your seat, your legs coming to rest between his again. "What's your favorite food?"

"Street tacos."

"Really?"

"Absolutely, there's some real good places in Lemoore close to base, I would get ‘em for dinner probably four to five times a week."

"What, no tacos in Montana?" you teased.

"There are, but it's not the same." he shrugged. "What about you? What's your guilty pleasure?"

"I'm a sucker for In-N-Out." You laughed.

"I've never tried it, but everyone tells me it's good." he said, taking a sip of his Coke.

"I'm sorry you've been in Cali for how long? And you've never had In-N-Out?!"

He shrugged, "I've just never really got the chance to try it."

"Oh Robbie, we have to fix that." You grinned, "You gotta have a double-double, an animal-fry, and a milkshake. Trust me, it's all part of the experience."

"Well, I guess you'll just have to take me yourself," he nudged you with his elbow, "You know, to make sure I'm getting the full ‘So Cal’ experience."

You laughed and leaned into his touch, your legs were still intertwined under the bar, with your feet resting on the leg rest of his barstool.

"So what do you do for work?"

"I'm in school right now, but I work with kids mostly. Babysitting, tutoring, summer camps all that fun stuff." you replied.

"You like working with kids?"

"Most of the time." You started, "Then there's the times when these kids make me question my life's decisions- like this one girl, Katie, she tells me 'Miss why don't you have a wedding ring?' and I tell her it's because I'm not married, and you know what she says? This girl looks me dead in the eyes and tells me, 'Miss you're too old to not be married!'"

"Kids do say the darndest things sometimes." Bob shook his head slowly and smiled at you. "You must be good with them, though."

"Oh I'm amazing with kids. I taught a class of 30 once, most of them were around four to six. Longest week of my life."

A new voice joined the conversation,

"How about teenagers?" Penny asked wiping down the bar,

"I'm usually just there to make sure they aren't throwing parties while their parents are on a date," you laughed, "but I also do pick-ups and drop-offs, and I've tutored some freshmen in math and chemistry recently."

"That's good to know." She said and pushed a notepad and pen towards you, you quickly wrote down your contact info and she ripped off the piece of paper, folded it, and stuffed it into her pocket.

Bob chuckled as she walked away, "Well, looks like she beat me to it."

"Hm?"

"I really thought I was gonna be the first one to get your number tonight," he laughed and went to readjust his glasses. He noticed some smudges on the lenses and took them off to try and clean them with the bar napkins.

"Here, let me." you reached out one hand to him as you rummaged through your bag with your other. Bob placed his glasses in your palm as you pulled out a small microfiber cloth smiling as you explained,

"I always drive with my sunglasses on and I hate when there's fingerprints or smudges on them, drives me nuts." You laughed at yourself as you cleaned one lens after the other, patient and thoroughly. You held the frames up to the light to check your work, then nodded in satisfaction, but before handing them back you held them out before your eyes and started to scan the room with them half-on.

"Whatcha doin'?" he laughed at you, still looking through his glasses as if they were binoculars.

"Just trying to see the world through your eyes," you said squinting your eyes, "Geez Robbie, you really are blind."

You laughed at each other as he playfully snatched his glasses back, careful not to touch the lenses and mess up all your hard work.

"Thank you," he said, putting his glasses back on and picking up his bottle for another sip.

"No worries, I figure being able to see is probably a pretty important part of your job." you smiled, "Not to mention how cute they are on you.”

He nearly choked.

His whole face turned red and he struggled to regain his composure, coughing into his fist and slamming his other hand down onto his thigh. You couldn't help but laugh at him as you patted his shoulder and leaned down to make sure he wasn't actually dying, he let out a short breath and smiled up at you,

"You're trying to kill me aren't you?"

You laughed, bringing the hand that wasn't resting on his shoulder to his face, giving two soft pats on his cheek. "No of course not, you haven't even gotten my number yet."

When you didn't immediately move your hand away and instead began to lightly stroke his cheekbone with your thumb he gulped, his Adam's apple shifting up and down. He moved his hand to where yours rested on his cheek, his large palm completely enveloping yours, and bringing them down so your small show of PDA was hidden under the bar. He quickly glanced at your lips before looking up, his glance shifting between your eyes, he looked like he was mentally preparing himself to ask you for the biggest favor of your life.

"I'd um- I'd just really like to kiss you right now." he said, plain and earnestly.

"Then why don't you?" you said, glancing down at his lips and then back up to his eyes.

He gave your hand a squeeze and took in a short breath,

"Because I'd have to take you on a proper date first." He smiled nervously, then added "If you'd like that."

You couldn't help but smile at him, he was just so sweet and sincere, there's no reason on earth why you wouldn't immediately say yes-

"Excuse me, sweetheart, but I think your old man is ready to go home." Hangman interrupted, his arm draped around your Uncle, who looked completely shit-faced.

Except for maybe this reason.

"Oh my God," you practically jumped off your chair, his eyes were pink and glassy and his whole face was red.

"Kiddo I want you to meet Lt. Jake Seresin- he's a fighter pilot 'n he graduated Top Gun, best of the best ya know?" he slurred as you grabbed his arm and placed it over your shoulders.

"Yes I'm familiar, thank you Jake it's nice to meet you." you threw a friendly smile at Hangman, "but we're going home now okay? Can I have the keys?"

Bob had left some bills on the bar and grabbed your purse before he made his way over to you, and your Uncle immediately recognized him.

"Ohhhh and who's this?" he asked, playing dumb.

"This is my new friend Robbie, now can I please have the keys so we can go home before Auntie kills us both?"

"Geez Louise don't gotta rush me kiddo." he said as he plopped the keys into your hands, you turned towards the exit, trying to push your uncle to move with you.

Bob still had your purse so he went to follow you but Hangman stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, he raised an eyebrow at him,

"Robbie?" he teased.

"Jake?" he matched his tone as he pushed past him.

Bob helped you get your Uncle into the backseat of the truck, so he could lay down and sober up a bit

"You need to lay on your side grandpa, I don't want you asphyxiating on vomit on the drive back." you shook his leg to get him to turn.

"Alright alright-" he swatted at your hand and shifted onto his side, then clarified "I am her uncle, not her gramps."

"Yes sir, it's good to meet you." Bob replied before shutting the door.

"Oh my God this is a nightmare." You sighed as you leaned your back against the car, running a hand over your face.

"Hey don't worry about it, I'm not here to judge," he smiled at you, leaning his left arm against the truck so he could look at you. "Now about that date..."

You laughed, turning to face him, you fished your phone out of your purse and handed it to him, "Can I have your number?"

"I thought you'd never ask" he smiled and put in his number, "Can I, at least, walk you to the driver's seat."

You snatched your phone from him with a giggle, changing the contact name from "Bob Floyd" to "Robbie ♡", making sure he could see it. True to his word, he walked you all twenty steps to the driver's side and opened the door for you, you smiled as you hopped in.

That smile was wiped from your face the second you looked down to adjust your seat. There were three pedals instead of two.

"Shit"

"What's wrong?" he asked with a hand still on the door, leaning closer to you to try and figure out what the problem was.

"Don't laugh at me, but I only learned to drive automatic." You sighed, "There's no way I can get us home 'cause I don't know how to drive stick shift."

Bob moved his other arm to rest on the top of the car, leaning in so he was just a few inches from your face, his lips shifting into that stupid, adorable boyish grin.

"I do."

Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

(Author's note: Thank you for reading! This one took a bit more time bc of all the dialogue but part 4 should be out pretty soon! This is my first fic so if you have any writing tips or suggestions let me know!)

Taglist: @yyiikes @beebeerockknot @greengoldhorns @pinkpantheris (Comment if you want to be added!)

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #top gun #top gun maverick #bob floyd x female reader #top gun fanfiction #tgm fic #fanfic #tgm x reader

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dollyswishingwell · 11 hours ago

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Can I request their reaction to their love getting lots of compliments when she’s out and about maybe she’s unfathomably pretty or she’s really smart and talented just generally who’s feeding into demanding more compliments for her and who’s like yeah she knows I tell her every damn day

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Stunning

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, theyre very “You can look but you can’t touch” type of men

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You get lots of compliments

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

- Compliments? Oh, he’s melting. You’re so pretty and perfect and he’s so glad everyone’s finally noticing.

- “Of course she’s beautiful. Did you see the tiny beauty mark under her left eye? No? Yeah, that’s mine to see.”

- Someone says you’re smart? He’s already clinging with his arm around your waist, fake-crying about how proud he is.

- He’ll actually interrupt to list more reasons why you’re amazing: “Wait, wait—did you mention how good she is at watercolor painting? Or how her voice sounds when she sings? No? LISTEN—”

- But if someone so much as touches your arm? He goes from soft clingy man to emotionally unhinged threat in one blink. “Do you need your fingers broken or are you gonna back off politely?”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

- Zayne gives the energy of a man who doesn’t get jealous, because he doesn’t need to.

- If someone praises your looks or smarts? He’ll tilt his head ever so slightly and go, “Mhm. She’s brilliant, isn’t she?” with the most composed tone.

- But when you’re back in the car, he’s brushing your hair behind your ear and murmuring, “You didn’t even hear the half of it, sweetheart.”

- He absolutely does tell you you’re the most beautiful and capable woman every single morning like it’s a medical obligation.

- If someone goes too far or flirty, though? He’ll just put a possessive hand on your lower back and softly ask, “Are you done?” And the other guy is suddenly unsure if he wants to live anymore.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

- Xavier is your biggest hype man in the quietest, calmest, most unbothered way.

- Someone says you’re stunning? He nods. “She is. Especially when she’s pouting because I won’t let her buy another hundred lipstick tubes.”

- If someone praises your intelligence, he’ll drop an unhinged casual truth bomb like, “She fixed my sword in under five minutes once. I was so in love I walked into a lamppost.”

- He lives for hearing people compliment you. Sometimes he encourages it.

- But the moment someone tries to touch or linger too long? He’s suddenly looming behind you like a ghost with a creepy smile, blue eyes glowing faint. “That’s enough.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

- Sylus wants people to worship you. Public praise is foreplay.

- If someone calls you beautiful, he grins like he just won a prize and goes, “Mm, I know. Look at her. All mine.”

- If someone’s impressed by your strategy or talent, he lights up like a kid and leans in with a smug little smirk: “She’s terrifyingly clever. You should see her when she’s playing with power.”

- He thrives on jealousy, too. If someone gets flirty or bold, he lets them, just to watch their face crumble when you climb into his lap like you own him.

- Expect him to whisper in your ear later, “You liked that, didn’t you, sweetie? Being adored like that? I can do it better.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

- Caleb is smug but subtle about it. He lets people compliment you, and then gets all physically clingy and possessive.

- Someone says you’re pretty? He gets this slow, lazy smile and pulls you closer by the waist like, “Mhm. Prettiest thing in the city.”

- You get complimented for being smart or talented? He’s damn near glowing. “She’s always been like that. Even when we were kids. Grew up watching her outshine everyone.”

- But if anyone dares flirt or gets too bold, his whole demeanor ices over. He doesn’t get loud, just scary calm. “Walk away.”

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avelera · 7 months ago

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Viktor and Jayce both need to take some non-STEM classes

I'm joking but also a little not-joking that this is in fact, a theme in the show.

In Season 1.08, Ambessa meets Jayce for the first time after he's become a councilor. One of the first questions she asks him is, "Do they teach military history at your Academy, Mr. Talis?"

Jayce takes this as a set up for an insult against him. He's rattled by the bathhouse and braced for a fight. He's so riled, in fact, that he completely misses what Ambessa is probing him for there.

Ambessa wasn't setting him up to make him feel small, like Jayce feared, she wanted to know if he had a military history background or even the beginnings of the skills needed as an engineer to understand or counter some of the political manipulations she's about to pull on him.

Jayce answers: I'm not sure.

Not only has Jayce never taken a military class, he as a scientist doesn't even know if his school offers it.

That made him easy pickings for Ambessa. She wouldn't even need to be subtle, she could use the most basic tricks in the book against a proud young man with only a scientific background and know he wouldn't even begin to have the tools to pick up let alone counter what she's doing to him.

And then we get to Viktor in S2. Now, I think "How much of Cult Leader Viktor is even Viktor?" is a fair question. But the whole Machine Herald ethos he seems to be working towards in his inner monologue in 2.06 is yet another example of "Won't someone PLEASE make these boys take some sort of liberal arts class? An ethics course? SOMETHING?"

Viktor is working his way (Hexcore influence or no) to the conclusion that many frustrated young activists have hit upon when their activism doesn't work.

He tried to help people. But people didn't want to be helped or didn't cooperate with the way he wanted to help them.

His conclusion? Clearly it's the people who are wrong. It's the people who need to be changed.

To quote Pratchett, "“People on the side of The People always ended up disappointed, in any case. They found that The People tended not to be grateful or appreciative or forward-thinking or obedient. The People tended to be small-minded and conservative and not very clever and were even distrustful of cleverness. And so the children of the revolution were faced with the age-old problem: it wasn't that you had the wrong kind of government, which was obvious, but that you had the wrong kind of people.”

And of course, once you start to see people as the problem, that people need to be fundamentally changed, added, or subtracted from, when you treat people as things, that is when the real evil begins.

You have to accept people as they are and work within those bounds, because otherwise you have to change people and that pretty much always leads to the sort of atrocities that the Machine Herald seems gearing up to do. Namely, add and subtract away the people, or the characteristics of people, that don't fit his vision for the world.

And all I can think is: won't Piltover Academy please for the love of god make your tech bros take some goddamn history and philosophy classes please??

#arcane #arcane meta #arcane spoilers #kind of joking but also kind of not #and knowing that the writer Overton is actually a Great Courses fan #I actually kinda think this is a deliberate dig #Jayce and Viktor BOTH don't have any non science background #it makes them very susceptible and under prepared to face certain ideas

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krystal-kade · 1 year ago

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What happened to Alastor being scary

The biggest thing I noticed in Hazbin Hotel that Alastor is not scary. He used to be mysterious, creepy, and intimidating. We didn't know what he was thinking. We didn't know how he was feeling. He was such a great character because we knew he was insanely powerful, but he didn't act like it. But now that the show has come out, he's not scary or intimidating. He's just an edgelord.

Pilot Alastor wouldn't make this. Here he's goofy, but in a bad way. Where's the mysterious Alastor? This guy's just like "HAHAHAH I'M SO EVIL >:)" but he just seems stupid?

He also says all these corny lines, like "This is your sign not to mess with the radio demon," (it was something like that) "I'm about to end your fucking life," and "Adam. First man, next to die." He sounds like he's a 12 year old role-playing a creepypasta. These aren't intimidating, he just sounds dumb, edgy, and cringy

ALSO he seriously needs to STOP saying FUCK. It wasn't popular slang in the early 1900's, so he probably would never say it, but it also doesn't fit his persona. A really unique part of him is that he doesn't swear much and he's always smiling. He shouldn't say "ornery old bitch" and he shouldn't say 'fuck you." They just don't fit him. If he wanted what he said to have impact, he would have said something like "she's such a bitter old woman, bless her soul." or when Lucifer says the hotel's name isn't very clever, he should've said "your highness, intelligence is in constant pursuit of you, but it seems you have always been faster" because subtle insults he thinks everyone else is too stupid to understand seems more like his style.

I'll excuse him saying fuck once or twice. Maybe when he breaks his staff, and once more in season two? But he says it too much to have impact.

TL;DR, Alastor's not scary because he's not mysterious. He's just an angry edgelord

#hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #hazbin hotel criticism #anti hazbin hotel #anti vivziepop #Alastor criticism

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maoam · 9 months ago

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Naruto most likely sees how the world around him works, and it affects his behaviour, especially since he craves for acceptance.

Notice the difference in his reaction when another guy says he likes him in part 1 vs part 2.

(Sorry for a bit poor quality, it was difficult to find an accurate translation, most were viz translations which didn't convey this convo very well). In part 1 he's just annoyed, because he doesn't like Kankurou as a person. He didn't even think about that "I like you" could have certain other implications. But in part 2 he's straight up creeped out by Kakashi saying the same thing, eventhough the meaning and intention is the same in both.

Naruto's reaction to Kurama mentioning his kiss with Sasuke was also way too over the top. Like really comical. Naruto was putting on a show in front of everyone. But whenever he's with Sasuke, he forgets all about this, he is fine with waxing poetry to Sasuke, or Sasuke being close to him...

My guess is since he went through puberty he also learned things about himself and thus started to become more sensitive to such things. Thus internalized homophobia.

Take this scene for example. He seems a bit uncomfortable being there. Sai was probably made to be like this (inappropriate, talking about p*nis all the time, being compared to Sasuke, challenging Naruto about his fixation on Sasuke) so Kishi could introduce more such themes into the manga. He's rather clever about this.

Another guess (it could be both combined) would be that since Jiraiya is so aggressively straight man (to the point he has to introduce himself by saying he's not into men lol) living with him for those years during the timeskip could have affected Naruto's mindset even more. But it's funny how Kishi keeps stressing over and over how Naruto finds Jiraiya's er*tic books boring. Also unlike Jiraiya who peeps on women for p*rverted reasons, Naruto does it as a prank, and in order to practice his oiroke no jutsu. Kishi is trying to show how they are different. I remember on one discussion forum one guy actually brought up he noticed Naruto's changed behaviour after he came back with Jiraiya! Like that he was even more gay and more sensitive to gay things. See, other people notice too.

Then he calls Konohamaru's boy-on-boy jutsu "nasty". Naturally, it's a shonen, Naruto can't have a comically interested reaction like Sakura to something like that, it wouldn't fly. Thus the internalized homophobia. But I also think he didn't want to see Sasuke who he's possessive over being with Sai like that lol. And Naruto really isn't one to talk considering what he came up with later.

Look how proud he looks. Little hypocrite. He's been working on those twink bods more than rasengan lol. Kishi wasn't very subtle with that comment. Also Kishi fought for this moment with his editors for YEARS because he just really needed to write this down. It was just that important to him...

Of course Naruto's repression comes up when it comes to Sasuke as well. Here he admits Sasuke is attractive, but then immediately backpedals on it. His real feelings just slipped.

Later, he was thinking about Sasuke, his mind consumed by Sasuke, but when Sakura and Sai appear his whole body language changes and he immediately claims he was thinking about a date with Sakura. He didn't want to be vulnerable nor let anyone know about his real feelings at the moment. He is hiding behind a heterosexual facade.

But sometimes Naruto doesn't even think of backpedaling on it. He is with his supposed "crush" yet unlike anyone else who would try to get closer or maybe flirt, he is just thinking about Sasuke. This is actually a moment that made many people raise their eyebrows. Including people who didn't like narusasu, or people who didn't ship anything. Specifically because it's written like a clickbait, as in Naruto says "he is happy" and Sakura going "huh?" and because she's his supposed crush who is taking care of him as I said most readers would expect next page have Naruto say something that would emphasize his crush on Sakura. But no, he goes on about Sasuke. No matter how much ss/nh insist we see gay everywhere, many other people picked up on Kishi's writing at many points during the story. But anyway, even with the internalized homophobia, Naruto's love for Sasuke is so strong he can say crazy things about Sasuke to other people and to Sasuke himself that things like "I'm starting to like you" (a completely average thing to say to another person) can't compare to, and still be unbothered by it.

Finally there is the interaction with Minato. Naruto wants to look good in front of his dad so he hesitantly agrees Sakura is his girlfriend, despite how in the previous arc we were shown that Naruto knew Sakura still likes Sasuke, and was angry at her when she tried to confess to him. So he is obviously not serious about Sakura being his girlfriend, but he is saying it to Minato hesitantly. Yet when his dad is leaving he doesn't want to lie anymore.... but he's also hesitant about admitting he hasn't found a girl like his mom wanted.

About the last part, I think it's referring to the armadillo scene? I think it was Kishi's typical humour, like how Naruto saw Haku in makeup and feminine clothing, and assumed Haku was a girl, but then was told Haku is a boy and went "oh okay, I didn't know that kind of thing existed". Here there was instead an armadillo that somehow looked like it was wearing makeup (??? idek or at least looked feminine) and since Naruto needed to write down whether the animals were boys or girls (a ridiculous cover up mission they made up to hide the war was going on from Naruto lol) but then it was flipped over with everyone else and Naruto saw its p*nis and went "even if heaven and earth switched places, a male is still a male". I guess Kishi likes this kind of thing lol... his d*ck jokes...

I know it says "the world might flip over" here but I know it's actually that proverb "even if heaven and earth switched places" that's often used in Japanese.

EDIT: this got flagggged by tumblr so I had to edit sus words.

#sns #narusasu #sasunaru

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belit0 · 4 months ago

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All Uchihas with a Senju or Uzumaki wife who got hot while hugging them, and she whispers in their ear, “Let's go to the bedroom.”

Bold (Y/N) here huh

Madara

A slow, deliberate smirk stretches across his lips. He doesn’t even glance at her at first, but she can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flex against his knee. He exhales through his nose—a quiet scoff—before finally tilting his head toward her.

-You're bold tonight,- he murmurs, voice edged with something dangerous, something intrigued.

And then, in a blur of motion, she’s no longer standing—his arms are around her, lifting her as effortlessly as if she weighs nothing.

-Fine, let’s go. But don’t think you’ll leave unscathed, Senju.

Izuna

He chokes. Actually chokes on his own breath.

-Wh—huh?- His mind stutters, his confidence flickering for just a moment before he recovers. He squints at her, half-suspicious, half-incredulous. -Wait. Are you serious? Or is this one of your pranks? Because I’m still recovering from the last one, thank you very much.-

But then—her fingers skim down his arm, featherlight, her gaze unwavering. Oh.

The realization dawns, and Izuna, for all his bravado, suddenly finds himself speechless.

-O-okay,- he says too quickly, nearly tripping over his own feet when he moves to follow her.

Obito

His reaction is immediate—pure instinct. His face heats up, his mouth opens, closes, then opens again, but no words come out. He looks at her, then at the floor, then at her again, his hands twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

-Uh—bedroom? Right now?- He swallows thickly, shifting in place. -I mean—not that I’m saying no! Just—uh—are you feeling okay? Is this a trick? Am I dreaming?-

It takes him a full ten seconds to realize she’s already walking toward the bedroom. He makes a strangled noise before scrambling after her.

-W-Wait, I’m coming—!

Shisui

He freezes. Completely. The playful, flirty Uchiha who always has a response for everything? Gone. Brain? Short-circuited.

He slowly turns to her, his lips parting slightly as if to say something clever—but nothing comes out. Nothing at all. His eyes narrow, studying her, waiting for the gotcha! moment where she bursts out laughing.

It never comes.

-You're serious,- he finally mutters, voice lower than usual.

And then, suddenly, his smirk returns—slow, lazy, dripping with mischief.

-Alright, Uzumaki. Let’s see if you can handle me.

Itachi

He barely reacts outwardly—barely. But if she watches closely, she’ll notice the minute shifts. The way his breath catches for a fraction of a second. The slight tension in his shoulders. The subtle flicker of his gaze, darkening with something unreadable.

He sets down his book—carefully, precisely—before turning his full attention to her.

-Is that so?- he murmurs.

His voice is soft, but there’s something else underneath. A challenge. A quiet promise. He doesn’t move immediately, doesn’t lunge or rush. No, Itachi makes her wait. Makes her feel the weight of her own words hanging in the air between them.

And then, finally, he stands, stepping toward her with measured intent.

-Lead the way, then.

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fisherld3 · 7 days ago

Text

“Mean”

Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Enemies to Lovers |

6,137 words

Warnings: language, some angst, slow-burn tension, teacher workplace setting, eventual happy ending

Authors Note: I really enjoyed writing this one.❤️

You’d been at Abbott Elementary for all of three weeks when you realized Melissa Schemmenti hated you.

She didn’t even try to hide it—sharp looks over her shoulder in the teacher’s lounge, a sarcastic curl of her lip when you asked a question during meetings, muttered commentary under her breath when you spoke up with ideas for classroom projects.

You’d arrived with an eager smile and a shiny new Master’s in education, ready to throw yourself into this job. A fresh start after burning out at your last school. You knew it would take time to build relationships here. What you hadn’t expected was open hostility from one of the veteran teachers.

It stung—more than you wanted to admit. You weren’t trying to replace anyone. You weren’t trying to act superior. But no matter how careful you were, how polite, Melissa seemed to have made up her mind about you. And the worst part was that she was good. Respected. The kind of teacher you wanted to learn from—if she’d give you half a chance.

At first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. You’d win her over eventually. That was week one.

By week three, you’d stopped trying.

⸻

It all came to a head one rainy Thursday in October.

You were late getting to the lounge for lunch, arms full of papers and your barely-warm soup in a thermos. The room was unusually crowded—Melissa sat in her usual corner with Barbara, and Jacob and Janine were mid-discussion at the table.

You kept your head down, setting your things on the counter, trying to stay out of the way. The conversation around you blurred until—

“I mean, honestly, some people come in here like they’ve got all the answers,” Melissa’s voice rang out suddenly, dry as gin. “Little Miss Know-It-All with her brand-new degree and zero idea how things really work.”

Your stomach dropped. The words weren’t subtle. The pause in the room wasn’t subtle, either.

“Melissa…” Barbara said quietly.

But Melissa just shrugged. “Just saying. You don’t walk into my school acting like you’re the second coming of Mr. Rogers.”

Heat rose to your cheeks. You could feel everyone’s eyes flick toward you.

You swallowed hard, fighting the lump in your throat. “Excuse me,” you managed tightly, grabbing your bag. “I’ve got copies to make.”

And you fled—your soup forgotten, pulse hammering in your ears.

⸻

After that, something in you shut off.

You stopped lingering in the lounge. Stopped trying to join the others for happy hour. If you saw Melissa in the hall, you nodded politely and moved on without speaking.

You poured yourself into your work—your kids deserved that much. But the ache in your chest wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t just that she didn’t like you. It was that she’d humiliated you. In front of everyone. And she hadn’t even cared.

⸻

At first, Melissa didn’t notice the change.

If anything, she seemed pleased that you’d stopped pestering her. Let her have her space. But slowly, it started to bother her.

Because you didn’t glare or snap back. You didn’t gossip about her to the other teachers. You just… withdrew.

And when you weren’t around, things felt a little off. The lounge was quieter. There was no one asking clever questions or bringing up new ideas. She caught herself looking for you in the hallways.

By November, it was driving her crazy.

⸻

It finally came to a head one Friday afternoon, after dismissal.

You stayed late grading papers in your classroom. The halls were nearly empty when Melissa stormed in, red hair damp from the rain.

“You avoiding me?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

You looked up from your desk, heart skipping. “I’m working,” you said evenly.

She huffed. “You been dodging me for weeks.”

“Maybe because you made it very clear how you feel,” you said, voice cool.

She blinked. “I—” Melissa faltered, some of her bluster fading. “Look, maybe I was outta line. But you’re actin’ like I committed murder.”

Your stomach twisted. “You humiliated me in front of the entire lounge.”

“That was—” She stopped, running a hand through her hair. “Alright. Maybe I didn’t handle it great. But you could’ve said something.”

You laughed bitterly. “Why would I? You’ve hated me since the day I walked in.”

There was a beat of silence. Melissa’s face shifted—something vulnerable flickering beneath the tough exterior.

“I don’t hate you,” she muttered.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you said quietly.

You stood, grabbing your bag. The weight of the conversation pressed on your chest. “I need to lock up.”

Melissa didn’t stop you. Just stood there, watching as you left—jaw tight, eyes unreadable.

⸻

That night, Melissa lay awake, tossing in bed.

Because you were right.

She had been a bitch. And not because you’d done anything wrong.

She’d hated how you made her feel. Young. Out of her depth. Hopeful, in ways she hadn’t been in years. She hadn’t wanted to admit that you impressed her. That she liked your ideas, your passion. That maybe she liked you more than she should.

So she’d gone on the attack. And now, you wouldn’t even look at her.

“Goddammit,” she muttered into the dark.

⸻

The next week, you found a coffee cup on your desk—your favorite order, from the local place down the block. No note.

You ignored it.

The day after, a stack of old teaching guides appeared, sticky-note labeled Thought these might help with your reading unit.

You returned them unopened.

Melissa started showing up early, leaving her classroom door cracked. Pausing near your room with questions. Little openings. You refused to bite.

You couldn’t. Not yet. The wounds were too fresh.

⸻

By December, the tension was unbearable.

You were doing your best, but the holidays were hard on the kids—and your heart wasn’t in it. You felt raw, brittle. Like if Melissa so much as looked at you wrong, you’d break.

She could see it, too. The stubborn set of your shoulders. The tired circles under your eyes. It gnawed at her.

One icy Tuesday afternoon, she found you after dismissal, sitting alone in your classroom.

She hovered awkwardly at the door. “Hey.”

You glanced up, wary.

“I—” She swallowed hard. “Look. I owe you a real apology. Not just a lame half-assed one.”

You closed your laptop. “Melissa—”

“No, listen.” She stepped inside. “I was mean. Worse than mean. And not because you deserved it. I was a jerk. Because I was… I dunno. Jealous, maybe. Stupid.”

You stared, stunned. You’d never heard her sound so unguarded.

“I know you’ve got every reason to hate my guts. But I miss talkin’ to you,” she said, voice rough. “I miss seein’ you smile.”

That last part slipped out before she could stop it. Her cheeks flushed.

You exhaled slowly, the anger in your chest crumbling, leaving only weariness behind.

“I don’t hate you,” you said softly. “I just… needed space.”

Melissa nodded. “I get that. And if that’s what you still want, I’ll back off.”

There was a beat of silence between you. Then, quietly:

“I don’t know what I want yet,” you admitted.

Her lips twitched—a ghost of a smile. “Fair enough.”

She turned to go—then paused.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, “you’re one hell of a teacher.”

⸻

It wasn’t instant, after that. You were still guarded, still careful. But little by little, the walls softened.

Melissa stopped sniping. Stopped glaring. Sometimes, she brought you coffee again—this time with a Post-It saying peace offering?

Eventually, you smiled.

⸻

Winter break passed in a blink. When school resumed in January, you found yourself… missing her. Looking for her in the lounge. Catching her eye across the hallway.

One chilly Friday, she fell in step beside you after dismissal.

“Drinks?” she asked casually. “Some of us are headin’ over to Rocco’s.”

You hesitated—then nodded. “Sure.”

⸻

That night, in the dim corner of the bar, things shifted.

Maybe it was the warmth of the whiskey. The soft hum of conversation around you. But the tension between you finally eased, melting into something softer.

Melissa leaned closer, voice low. “You know I was an idiot about you, right?”

You laughed quietly. “I’m starting to think you were just scared.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Maybe a little.”

A beat.

“You scare me, too, sometimes,” you admitted.

Melissa’s smile faded, her gaze darkening. “Good,” she murmured. “Maybe that means we’re even.”

The air between you charged, humming with possibility.

⸻

Weeks passed. Little moments bloomed between you.

A teasing wink in the hallway. A slow grin over morning coffee. Her hand lingering on your back as you squeezed past in the lounge.

You stopped dreading seeing her. Started looking forward to it.

And Melissa… Melissa was falling hard. Every time you smiled, every time you laughed at one of her stupid jokes, it pulled her deeper.

⸻

By early spring, she couldn’t take it anymore.

One late evening, you stayed after to prep for conferences. Melissa showed up at your door, heart pounding.

“Can I talk to you?”

You blinked, surprised. “Sure.”

She shut the door behind her, leaning back against it. For once, her usual swagger was gone. Her voice was low, rough with nerves.

“I’m not good at this,” she began. “But I gotta say it.”

Your breath caught.

“I like you,” she said simply. “More than I should.”

You stared—heart racing.

“I know I screwed up. I know you deserve better than me bein’ a jackass for months. But if there’s any chance you could… maybe give me another shot, I’d like that.”

Silence stretched between you.

Melissa swallowed. “You don’t gotta say yes,” she added quickly. “I’ll still respect you. I just… had to tell you.”

Your throat was tight. The part of you that had been so hurt, so wary, trembled—but the part that had watched her change, that had felt this growing between you, wanted more.

Finally, softly:

“Okay.”

Her eyes widened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, heart full. “Yeah.”

And then you were moving—closing the space between you, her arms sliding around your waist, your hands in her hair.

When she kissed you, it wasn’t rough. It wasn’t mean. It was careful. Tender. Like a promise.

And for the first time in months, your heart felt light.

⸻

#melissa schemmenti fanfic #abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti

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vi-gilante-1010 · 4 months ago

Text

The big thing about the ending of Arcane is that it tries so hard to be a hopeful ending and a tragic ending at the same time, and they end up canceling each other out to create the most stagnated and frustrating ending instead, because none of it feels genuinely earned.

On the one hand, the audience is expected to think Caitvi being together again at this point is a good thing, and we get that vague implication of Jinx being alive, and the briefest glimpse of Sevika at the table. All that is very much trying to convey some semblance of hope for the future, that change is slow but that things are moving forward. The thing is, every part of this presentation at the end falls flat because of the lack of satisfying build here.

The Caitvi reconciliation is rushed, Caitlyn's redemption even moreso, and the actual weight of her actions has gone ignored by the narrative in favor of servicing a happy ending for the writers' pet. Vi's so-called "happy ending" being her declaring herself dirt in her lover's nails is oddly self-deprecating for what's meant to be an ending in her putting herself and her happiness first.

Sevika not so much as getting a speaking role in act 3 severely diminishes any impact her character may have had here, and she's still very obviously outnumbered among the council. She doesn't get to speak to Jinx. She doesn't get to reconcile with Vi. She doesn't even get a diplomatic word in. For all intents and purposes, she's become the council's diversity hire, because the council operates on majority vote, and Sevika isn't a diplomat. Who's to say she won't be spoken over and voted against at every turn?

The hints to Jinx being alive being subtle but shown are, in and of themselves, not the problem. The problem is just how much time is spent with her character in s2 glorifying the idea of her killing herself. Suicidal ideation within a mentally ill character isn't shocking, but it is something that shouldn't be overtly glorified within the text, and Jinx's decision to fake her death immediately following an actual suicide attempt and every chance that she could actually die, without the audience actually seeing Jinx for herself post-escape, leads to the worst possible depiction of a martyr- one who wanted to kill herself, and is celebrated for doing so. Show-don't-tell isn't useful when you do it for every major arc, and it makes Jinx's escape cheapen because, for all intents and purposes, she did kill herself. She killed Powder and Jinx, and while, yes, it was to break the cycle and free herself from identities prescribed by others, it's done in a way that's seriously damaging for real people who struggle with the same ideation.

Then, on the backhand, we have the tragedy part of the ending. Mel having to return to Noxus, Jayvik dying in the Arcane, and Ekko being left alone in Zaun. All of this is adequately tragic, yes, but it's also deeply unsatisfying, and also kind of racist.

Mel's character as a clever politician and manipulator being tossed aside in favor of a setup for the Black Rose setup is already disappointing as-is, but she loses everyone. Literally everyone. That mattered to her. Ambessa succeeds in forcing her hand to violence, and then dies. Her brother is dangled in front of her face, and then taken away. Jayce goes missing, comes back jaded to her, and then dies with Viktor and leaves her alone. She's forced to become 'the wolf', shifting her story into one of brute-force power, and makes her become the strong one that survives everything and the one to take down Ambessa with power. Gone are the days of diplomatic power struggles and investigation. No, she must embrace her inner warrior goddess power to be effective here.

Similarly, Ekko loses everyone. He'd already lost most of his family, and led the Firelights out of necessity for the people of Zaun because of how quickly he was forced to grow up. But now, Vi, who returned to him after years, lives in Piltover with her cop girlfriend, and the two don't interact once in the entire season. It's like their entire friendship was forgotten. He loses Heimerdinger to the alternate timeline, who, like Jinx, appears to die, but as an immortal being, is actually just reforming in that timeline again. He's abandoned by his supposed mentor because he didn't feel like going back to the timeline he'd failed to help despite his age and supposed responsibility, leaving Ekko to be the responsible one. And of course, Ekko also loses Powder and Jinx again, being sent into an alternate timeline just to be teased about what could've been with Powder, wrench himself back to reality and save Jinx, only for her to supposedly die succeeding in blowing herself up anyways. He's the only important character from Zaun that stays in Zaun, and he has to bear the burden of taking care of Zaun alone because, as stated previously, Sevika is now on the council and has to operate through the council.

Both of the leading black characters are forced to bear the responsibility of constant perseverance and survival, looking over the rest of the cast and getting things done but losing everything and everyone they love. It's Mel and Ekko who must bear the cross of parentification, being denied their safe places or loved ones in service of being the Strong Ones. In season 1, this was a role that Vi once played back when the show still cared about her, being the older sister that couldn't be the role model she needed to be no matter how hard she tried, while Mel had her diplomatic strengths and wasn't expected to bear the brunt of war against Noxus, and that felt more natural, because Ekko's responsibilities in the face of Silco's Zaun felt like an actual critique of the parentification of young black people in marginalized communities. Season 2 takes that and makes it unironic. No, Ekko is just strong like that, but it's so tragic. Look, we're gonna build an entire timeline about it. No, Mel must be Strong Badass Woman With Powerful Magic Power. Uhh, the show's called Arcane, she has to have magic, right? Can't have a main character with no big fat weapon, so let's take that protective golden shield she can make and make her have Secret Wolf Powers.

Jayce and Viktor's entire story for the second season sucks. Jayce had so much setup as a political figure, and was completely primed to be taken advantage of by Ambessa after the first season. His almost losing Viktor to Jinx's attack should've made him angrier to ever before. Instead, he just quits his councilman position offscreen and becomes the one to discover that the arcane is actually just inherently evil. Oopsies! His and Viktor's life's work has been degraded into doomed to fail territory. No good intentions would've ever saved any part of their work, and the arcane itself is now the villain, rather than Piltover's greed and the desire to weaponize it and exert control over others. No, this is just an inherent part of the worldbuilding, like any good eeeeeeevil magic that's evil because the author needs it to be.

Viktor, meanwhile, is punished for becoming a eugenicist, despite the fact his so-called 'eugenics' from the first season was him wanting to not slowly die. He was hacking up blood on the hexcore! But searching for a way to cure the sick and eugenics got conflated in season 2, so his becoming a jesus figure that healed the sick and injured and addicted had to be villainized to match his LoL persona somehow. So everyone he turned became servants he could puppet at will, and became a eugenics metaphor, playing on a self-hatred that Viktor did have, but bastardized it with 'ooooo eeeevil arcaaaaane' and absolves Viktor himself of any responsibility for it. When Jayce does reach him, it's a speech about imperfections, even though the reason Viktor began in the first place was because he was DYING, and the reason he continued was because he got infected with the Arcane instead of his own complex urging him forward after a near-death experience.

There's no hope in the ending, because anything meant to illicit hope has a bad buildup, or no buildup at all. The tragedy of the ending feels unearned because it ignores who the characters were in the first season outright; it's not a matter of them having just changed after their arcs in season 1. They're just unrecognizable, and/or poorly utilized. It's a bad ending to a shitty sequel season that only makes you feel frustrated for having watched it in the first place.

#arcane critical #arcane criticism

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