• Day 26: City lights - 박종성
↳ ┊: smooth operator - sade
꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆falling for your brother's teammate ⨾
۶ৎ f1 racer!jay x fem!reader┆fluff┆petnames, brother's best friend, sunghoon is reader's brother┆wc 633
⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: smoooooooooooooooooth operatorrrrrrrrrr (can you tell my f1 knowledge has expanded since my heeseung fic?) also, don't mind enhypen just casually replacing the redbull drivers...it's for the plot...
part 2
꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱
being the younger sister of the famous red bull driver, park sunghoon, definitely had its perks. the fans called you "angel" because you were the sweetest, most supportive sister ever, showing up to every race, bringing freshly baked pastries for the engineers and pit crew members. you were red bull's angel.
however, another perk was being able to become closer with jay park, the other red bull driver, who you had been crushing on ever since sunghoon first introduced you to him.
he has a sharp and defined jawline, a fierce determination in his eyes, and a really sweet heart. everything was a perfect explanation on why jay park was the guy of your dreams.
but of course, sunghoon was very protective of you, not wanting any of the racers to get involved with you. you just hoped he had a soft spot for teammates...
it was the weekend of the grand prix in singapore and right on time, you walked in with a huge tray of fresh cookies, a huge smile on your lips as you were super hyped for today's race. you were wearing a simple over-sized hoodie over your favorite baggy jeans, but it was enough to make one person's head turn.
from across the room, jay's eyes followed you as you greeted your brother and some crew members, waiting till you were finally settled in to get to you.
"hey angel," he says softly, his hand gently connecting with the small of your back. your head whips around to see who it was, your eyes crinkling into crescents once you see jay.
"jay! are you excited for today?" you beam, throwing your arms around him in a hug. he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you as well.
"for sure. i'm bringing home that trophy no matter what!" he laughs confidently, pulling away just in case your brother was watching.
jay had always seen you as more than "park sunghoon's sister" and "the angel of redbull", he saw you as you, the sweet girl who had a big heart and wanted to support him and your brother as much as possible.
after a bit of chatting, it was time for jay to get ready for the race. bidding you a goodbye and a promise to bring back a trophy, jay quickly jogged after sunghoon who had already left him behind.
right before jay stepped into the cockpit of his car, sunghoon came over and put his hand on his shoulder firmly, signalling that whatever he was about to say was important.
"listen...i'm not great with being all sappy and bromantic, but i just wanted to let you know that if you want her, go get her," sunghoon exhales, his gaze locked on jay's.
"dude what-"
"i've seen the way you act around y/n, it's obvious you like her. and honestly, i'm not even upset, i'm just glad it isn't antonelli flirting with her again," he mutters, cursing out the mercedes driver.
"wait wait wait- you want me to confess to y/n?? like- you're totally chill with this?!" jay faltered, not sure if his hearing was getting to him.
"yep," sunghoon shrugs nonchalantly. "she's head over heels for you so why would i try and stop it?"
"she likes me back???" jay's jaw drops as all of this information gets dumped on him.
"yep," sunghoon nods, the 'p' popping. "anyway, good luck on the race! red bull for the win!" sunghoon smiles like he didn't just leave jay questioning his whole life, before skipping away to his own car.
now he had to win this. for you, for himself, and to most importantly, get back quick enough to tell you exactly how he felt.
62 laps until he could tell you how much he loved you. yeah, he's winning this race.
A frosty first encounter encounter in the paddock before the Miami GP has Jay swearing to himself that he'd never give you—rich, pretty, and just about everything that the people pleasers in Formula 1 had seemed to care about now—any of his attention ever again, given the way you managed to light his nerves on fire in the five minutes you'd been there.
But his ego runs deeper than he thinks, and when he runs into you once more—this time high off of winning the Formula 1 race, and standing at the top of his world—at a street race by the shoreline, it's hard to resist the challenge you throw his way.
The race ends in your win, and while the loss may have stung him a bit, it's your simple little condition for winning that infuriates him the most: he goes on a date with you. A date by itself isn't the problem, but the fact that you're the one woman he's sworn to be forever off-limits is.
But a win is a win, and Jay's more than happy to play this little round of cat-and-mouse between the two of you—and as one date turns into two, two to three, three to four till he no longer keeps a count anymore—as he patiently waits for the day that he can finally sink his fangs into you and declare himself the winner.
Except, now you're getting on his nerves in a way much different than before, but Jay has no intention of stopping anytime soon, not when he's in this deep and with his arm wrapped around your waist as he smiles for the press.
It's for the love of the game, after all.
pairing: f1 driver!jay x street racer!f!reader
genre: e2l, romance, f1 au
word count: fic wc TBA, teaser wc: 1640
warning(s): will be tagged accordingly as per the fic when it's posted
asher's annotations: 8.5k into only the intro for this fic... damn me and my inability to write anything below 3k, but ANYWAYS. i present to you jay's proper fic debut on user sjynlvr's blog, which is.... drumrolls mildly toxic e2l with f1 driver!jay and a f!reader who's sort of based off of suki from 2 fast 2 furious (2003), along with a few tweaks here and there, hehe 😝 fair warning, i say sort of, because the inspo is definitely suki, but i didn't want y/n to feel like a copy of her, so if you want a full suki!reader, you're in the wrong place, darling 🤷🏻♀️ i will probably be working more on this faster than usual bc i'm kinda pissed off from the recent developments in actual f1 regarding my drivers.... so have this please while i try to get back to a low cortisol state....
this fic is based off of this post of mine.
ANYWAYS (again) taglist for this fic is now open! please leave a comment/send an ask if you would like to be tagged when it comes out <3
It had been a fucking tenth of a second.
It had been the last turn of the “track,” one that curved sharply around a record store and into the free stretch of road along the coastline. The tracks at F1 circuits are made of a special kind of material, made to withstand the high temperatures from the tyres and cars racing over them—but ordinary roads are not.
The asphalt slips and slides at such temperatures, even if only a little bit—and it makes all the difference in the way a driver determines a braking strategy. Jay, clearly not having had accounted entirely for the possibility, made the slightest miscalculation about his braking time and distance at that particular corner.
And that miscalculation was all you needed to keep your lead over him.
He'd crossed the finish line just after you. And he knows he should be proud of himself, because he had a whole new car—this one not as graceful as a car in the Formula races would be—that he went headfirst into racing with, having zero prep and practice with it.
He should be proud of himself because he still came in at P2 to the crowd's rambunctious screams, echoing in his ears just as loud as the cheers at the Miami International Autodrome had.
But, fuck, all he feels is dread and more dread, as the realisation of what he'd just done came to a halt into the street of his thoughts, just as the Eclipse does in the middle of the crowd.
Not only had he just lost to you of all people, to pour salt over the already festering wound, he'd also put his career into jeopardy. All because he couldn't fucking keep his annoyance to himself. He exhales softly, leaning back into the seat and watches the familiar way you celebrate with the crowd. Clearly, this wasn't your first rodeo, and probably not your last, either—but he's pretty sure he might as well kiss goodbye to his dreams of being a World Champion and racing to his heart's content.
He lets his hands stay rigidly on the steering wheel at a ten-and-two, his knuckles white and the leather under his fingers warm from the death grip he'd had on it the entire time. Closing his eyes, he lets himself get another agonising five seconds alone, before he pulls the door open and steps out.
People scream louder the moment his feet touch the asphalt again, and he resists the urge to cover his ears. Shutting the door behind him, Jay makes his way over to where you're standing next to Marcus, who's holding up a thick stack of notes and grinning wide. “P2, man. Zero prep and practice,” he pats Jay's shoulder, braces glinting under the low lights of the street lamps. “You sure you've never done this before?”
“I'm sure I'd know if I've done this before.” Jay gives him a silent nod, and winces internally as he catches sight of you and your godforsaken smirk again. “So,” you drawl lazily, crossing your arms over your chest as you lean against the door of your car. “P1 goes to P2. Pretty good for a rookie like you, I'd say.”
Jay's jaw flexes at the backhanded compliment, and he fights the urge to snap back. Stop, he pinches his arm discreetly, you've already done enough damage, Jay. Don't let her get to you. “Congratulations,” he says, giving you a small nod of his head. “You… drove well. First is still first.”
He notices the way your posture straightens, and the way you narrow your eyes at him as your energy shifts subtly. He doesn't look back at you again, his gaze roaming over the crowd and the way their all holding up their phones to film and cheer, as Marcus leads the charge enthusiastically.
Yeah, he's pretty sure he's fucked.
He sighs, rolling his shoulders as he takes in the atmosphere once again—neon lights, a titillated crowd that can be both his redemption and death, and the sound of the sea water crashing the shore—because if this is his last race, he might as well enjoy it properly.
When he meets your eyes again, he's surprised to see that your expression is completely blank. There's no trace of that condescending smirk or the sardonic roll of your eyes that only seemed to be directed at him. Instead, what he finds is quiet recognition, before it too disappears with the pass of the wind, and you're grinning devilishly once more.
Jay watches you make your way over to him, and subtly shifts his stance to stand parallel to the car, eyes following every movement you make with quiet, burning intensity. “Say, Park,” you purr, coming to a stop right in front of him. There's a look on your face that he recognises as pure trouble as you twirl a lock of your hair around your finger, and his brain screams for him to get away. Yet, as if drawn to the asphalt by the earth's gravity, his feet remain firm in their place, and you finally lean in, erasing the last of the distance between the two of you.
“Couldn't help but notice that you're in a bit of trouble,” you glance towards the phones that are still filming, before your eyes come back to rest on him again. “A bit of an unfortunate occurrence, I must say.” Jay swallows the lump firmly sitting lodged in his throat with great difficulty, and shoves his hands into his pockets to hide the way they tremble just the slightest—whether from anger or anxiety, he's not sure now—because the way you're looking at him makes him feel like revealing even the smallest vulnerability will have you pouncing on it.
“I'm aware,” he glances down at you, shuffling to stand straighter. “I suppose there's nothing much that I can do about it.” He watches you study him for a bit longer, before you tap your fingers against the glass of the Eclipse's windows. “You're surprisingly accepting of a lot of things,” you quip, and he barely stops himself from rolling his eyes at the answer. “I'd rather accept the obvious facts and move on, rather than to stay back and argue for a fight I know I'd lose. One step back doesn't mean it shuts the door. It could also be the path to another one too.”
“Surprisingly philosophical too,” the amused lilt to your voice is hard to miss, but your grin grows wider as you lean in close enough that he can smell your perfume again. “But what if I told you…. that I could fix your little ah, issue, here?”
He raises a brow at that, before his gaze narrows in distrust. In this corner of the world, nothing came for free. Especially if it came from someone who was born into wealth and had just about everything she could ever want. He knows he should be careful, but hell, if the thought isn't tempting. He's always been one to adapt to new environments quickly—and in the brief time he's spent here, he's understood that you've got at least some amount of sway amongst the crowd and crew here.
So he bites the bullet, and goes for it. “What's your condition?” Your eyes light up, and a slow smile spreads on your face again—and he catches that there's hints of relief mixed with the predatory nature of it—but he ignores it in favour of staring you down again.
“Go out on a date with me.”
Jay blinks as the words register in his mind. “What?”
You roll your eyes, tapping your foot impatiently against the ground. “I know you heard me right the first time, Park.”
You're absolutely correct—he did hear you right the first time, but the proposition itself seemed so… ridiculous to him, that he couldn't believe it and doubted his own ears about what he'd heard.
But one look at you, and he understood you were serious about it. A winner was the one who set the conditions, and he knew that better than anyone else. Tonight, you'd won fair and square against him, and this was the condition you'd set for him. Although, if he were to be honest with himself, he did enjoy the race. Sure, it was illegal and he's absolutely wrong for liking it, but it was the same thrill and adrenaline that he felt as he does when he's driving his Red Bull.
And fuck, if it means he could continue to race, he'd uncap the bottle and drink the poison himself.
“Ah, seriously. If you don't want to, just say it, you asshole—” You're just about to turn away from him, when Jay’s arm snakes around your waist and pulls you close to his body.
The wide-eyed look you have is enough to have satisfaction settling back into his bones, and this time, it's Jay's turn to smirk devilishly, the warmth of his skin unmistakable against your own, as he leans in to whisper into your ear while the crowd screams louder at the sight of the two of you.
“Tell me when and where, and I'll show up, sweetheart.”
Then he's letting go of you with a wink, and you stare at him, flabbergasted, before bursting out into loud laughter, clutching your stomach. Jay grins, leaning back against the car, much more relaxed now.
Yeah, he's sure of it all. The chalice of poison rests in his hands, and he knows that he'll be the one drinking it in the end anyway, but he's pretty sure he can stall the inevitable for a bit longer, if—no, for when—he flips some tiles to his own advantage.
I JS HAD SUCH A GOOD IDEA FOR A FIC I WISH I COUKD WRITE but u cant so im asking u 😸
it may be a little weird so if ur uncomfortable with it or just think it’s a bad idea no one’s expecting you to do it yk free will and all🙂↕️
anyway, when i thought of it i had jay in mind but i feel like it could work with other members too. basically the idea was jay fingering reader and due to a recent agreement of wanting to try out degradation, he says things like “you little slut getting off on just my finger” and saying other degrading things but reader realises she’s too emotionally sensitive for that mid-fingering and cries feeling disrespected but it ends in jay apologising while praising and eating her out and looking after her/ after care
GASP YES! I love this- he's such a softie and totally the type to do smt like this!
Jay had looked at you with those sharp eyes of his when you first brought it up, his brow arched in surprise before it softened into something warmer. “You’re sure? You want to try?” And you’d nodded quickly, eager, your body hot just from the idea. You trusted him, you always did.
That’s how you ended up like this: laid out on your back, thighs spread across his lap, Jay’s long fingers buried inside you. His knuckles press deep as he curls just right, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit. Your head tips back against the pillows, a shaky moan spilling out.
“God,” Jay mutters, voice low and rough. “You’re soaking my hand already. Just from my fingers. What a little slut you are, huh?”
The word hits you like a jolt. It’s dirty, it’s sharp, exactly what you thought you wanted. Your pussy clenches around him hard, and Jay grins like he’s won. “Look at you. Getting off on me calling you that. I knew you’d love it.”
He starts fucking his fingers into you faster, wet sounds echoing between your thighs. His free hand spreads over your stomach, pressing down to make you feel every drag of his fingers inside.
“Can’t even wait for my cock, can you? Just a needy little whore who’d come on anything I gave you.” His tone is crueler now, edged with bite. “Pathetic.”
And for a second, you think you can take it. You want to take it. Your nails dig into the sheets as your body twitches with pleasure, heat tightening in your belly. But then his words echo too loud in your head, and suddenly the pleasure sours.
Whore. Pathetic.
Your throat closes. Your chest aches. Your eyes sting hot before you can stop them, and when you whimper this time, it’s not the kind that makes Jay smirk, it’s the kind that makes him freeze.
His fingers still inside you. “Baby?” His voice drops instantly, all sharpness gone. He leans over, scanning your face. His heart slams when he sees your tears. “Shit. Oh my god, fuck, I’m sorry.”
You turn your face away, embarrassed, but Jay’s already withdrawing his hand, pulling back like he’s afraid he’s hurt you. “No, no, no, don’t cry,” he murmurs, cupping your cheeks, thumbs brushing your wet lashes. “I didn’t mean it. I swear I didn’t mean it like that.”
You sniffle, trying to catch your breath, words tripping over your tongue. “I thought I’d like it… but it felt… mean. I feel stupid—”
“Hey. No.” His tone is fierce, but not at you, at himself. “You’re not stupid. Don’t ever say that.” He kisses your forehead, your nose, anywhere he can reach as you tremble under him. “I shouldn’t have pushed. I should’ve checked. Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry.”
Your lip wobbles, but the way he looks at you, devastated, guilty, desperate to make it right, soothes the worst of the ache. He strokes your hair back gently, pressing his forehead to yours.
“Let me fix it,” he whispers. “Please. Let me show you how perfect you are to me.”
You nod, small and hesitant, and relief flashes in his eyes before he’s sliding down your body, spreading your thighs open again, carefully this time, waiting for any sign of hesitation. When you don’t resist, he kisses your inner thigh, then the other, then right above your swollen folds.
“No more names. Just mine,” he promises against your skin. “My good girl. My sweet girl.”
When his mouth finally presses to you, it’s nothing like before. His tongue is slow, reverent, tracing every slick fold with soft licks that make your body shiver. He moans low into you, like you are the one feeding him.
“God, you taste so good,” he groans, sucking gently at your clit until your hips buck. “You’re everything. You hear me? Everything.”
Your hands fly to his hair, tugging when he dives deeper, tongue fucking into you before dragging up to lap hungrily at your clit again. But this time every word spilling from him is honey, not venom.
“Pretty pussy.”
“Doing so well for me.”
“My perfect girl, let me take care of you.”
The tears on your cheeks are different now, hot, yes, but mingled with pleasure that’s almost overwhelming. Jay notices immediately, pulling back just enough to kiss your thighs again, voice shaking as he murmurs, “That’s it, baby. Cry for me because it feels good, not because I hurt you.”
Your hips roll against his mouth, chasing him, and Jay groans, wrapping an arm around your stomach to pin you down as he devours you properly. His tongue circles your clit, relentless now but still full of awe.
When you come, it’s sharp and sudden, your whole body arching off the bed as your cry breaks free. Jay doesn’t stop, doesn’t let go until you’re trembling, clenching weakly around nothing. Only then does he ease up, kissing you softly through the aftershocks.
He crawls back up your body, mouth slick, and kisses your swollen lips gently, carefully. “You okay?” he whispers. “Did I do better?”
You nod, still dazed, and he smiles against your mouth, brushing away the last of your tears with his thumbs. “Good. Because I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you how much I adore you. You never, ever have to settle for less than that with me.”
He tucks you close against his chest, whispering praise into your hair until your breathing evens out, his warmth wrapping around you like a promise.
• Day 19: You can be the muse - 박종성
↳ ┊: love insane - max, jay
꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆when your babysitting gets interrupted by jay’s baby fever ⨾
۶ৎ non-idol!jay x fem!reader┆fluff┆petnames, kisses, baby fever┆wc 220
⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: do y’all think jay is a girl or boy dad 🤔
꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱
park jongseong was going crazy. his head was spinning and his body was hot, he definitely had a fever. well—baby fever that was. because there you were, sitting and looking so pretty as you softly read out a book to the baby girl you were babysitting.
he imagined what it be like if you two started a family together, would you have soft moments like this as well?
“baby, have you ever thought about settling down and starting a family of our own?” jay asks randomly, his hand comfortably placed on the small of your back.
“hmm, i guess i haven’t really thought about it too much. but i definitely would love to, yeah,” you smile, pausing the book to look at jay. “have you?”
“yeah,” he sighs contently, unable to hide how lovestruck he was right now. “i was just thinking about it, how the baby would have my eyes and your smile.” he scoots closer to press a kiss to your lips.
“well up until we can settle down, i guess babysitting will have to do,” you giggle, booping the baby girl’s nose gently, causing her to erupt in giggles.
jay nodded in agreement, before softly humming a random tune, lulling both the baby and you to a drowse.
• Day 11: I just care about you - 박종성
↳ ┊: love lee - akmu
꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆when baking with jay gets messy ⨾
۶ৎ idol!jay x fem!reader┆fluff┆petnames, kisses, food fight┆wc 216
⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: okay but imagine having a food fight with him? that would heal me
꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱
"no baby! i said 2 cups of flour, not 9 cups," jay pinches his eyebrows, shaking his head playfully at you.
"well maybe i'm not good at hearing!" you bite back, fighting back the urge to grin. you pick up a pinch of flour, flinging it at jay in retaliation.
he gasps like you just committed a national crime, clutching his heart.
"how dare you! oh, it's on," he smirks, taking a hand full of flour and releasing it at you. you shriek, attempting to dodge it while also trying to reload.
you pick up the measuring cup, scooping up the flour and chucking it at jay with no mercy.
a white cloud poofs as the flour collides with his chest, making the both of you cough and choke out flour.
"what the?! i thought you guys were making apple pie?? clean this up before jungwon sees...or he'll literally wipe the floor with you," sunghoon warns, backing away like he never saw this.
meanwhile, you and jay are covered head to toe in flour, biting back giggles as you glance at one another.
"god baby, you're so cute," he rolls his eyes playfully, squishing your cheeks and pressing a flour-y kiss to your lips.
"i guess that was one way to get rid of the flour."
• You’re makin’ me feel something new - 박종성
↳ ┊: killin’ me good - jihyo
꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆who knew a cup of water and your childhood best friend could get you to finally confess after years ⨾
۶ৎ bsf!jay x fem!reader┆fluff┆f2l, petnames, kissing┆wc 529
⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: for the anon who requested ><
꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱
jay was your first everything. he was your first friend ever since you two were young. he was your first crush who you never stopped having feelings for. he was your first kiss when the two of you were fooling around back in freshman year of high school.
but now, as you're both in your senior years, ready to take on the college life, you've never confessed your feelings. you were scared that you would ruin your lifelong friendship, so you always kept your feelings tucked away.
you and jay were like chopsticks—inseparable. your friendship was built off of playful banter, lots of teasing, and trust. you trusted each other with your lives and that's what made you fall even harder for jay.
now, you two usually bullied each other out of love, playfully shoving the other or making snarky remarks at each other, but today was different.
"jay! you wouldn't dare!" you screech as you scramble away from your best friend who was currently trying to splash you with a cup of water.
"oh but princess, i would dare," he smirks, launching the water in your direction and letting out an evil cackle. the cold water drenches your front half, and you're debating whether to drop kick him or send him flying to another planet.
"park jongseong!" you gasp, filling up your own cup of water to get revenge. jay tries to dodge, but you're quicker and end up dousing him in water as well.
but right as you're about to lovingly sock him in the face, your foot slips on the water beneath you, and out of instinct, your reach for jay and go crashing to the floor, jay swiftly following.
there's a loud crash, followed by several groans of pain. jay is splat on top of you, and it allows your to observe all of his striking features up close.
his jaw is sharp, his nose is perfectly pointed, and his lips—oh his lips are so pretty and kissable. jay notices your gaze and smirks, and you swear he's now closer to your face
your cheeks flush and your heart feels like it's beating at 420 beats per minute.
and the next thing you know, his hand is softly cupping the back of your head and both of your lips are connected in a sweet kiss. his lips move against yours, almost like he's memorizing the feeling.
you two pull away, breathless, his forehead leaning against yours. his eyes are closed but he's still got a smile on his lips. and then, he chuckles lightly, relaxing into the crook of your neck.
"god- do you know how long i've been waiting to do that?" he sighs contently.
"wait wait wait wait- what?? you like me back?!!?" you quiz, pinching your thigh to make sure you weren't dreaming.
"why do you think i wrote you that love letter??" jay pinches his eyebrows.
"you were serious about that??? i thought you were joking!" you gasp in horror. he gives you a glare that tells you you're exact answer before letting a beat of silence pass.
"well then it's good that i threw that water on you, cause now you know," he winks, his hand finding yours and giving it a squeeze.
• Eyes on me - 박종성
↳ ┊: just keep watching - tate mcrae
꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆62 laps and a couple world records later, jay can finally confess to you ⨾
۶ৎ f1 racer!jay x fem!reader┆fluff┆cursing, kissing, petnames┆wc 424
⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: part 2 !!! i tweaked it just a little so this isn't completely accurate to f1 stuff but it's okayyyy...
part 1
꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱
jay was here for one thing, and one thing only. he wasn't even listening to the engineers who were blaring in his ears, yelling at him to slow down or he would end up in an ugly crash.
all he could think about, was finishing this race and confessing to you.
"oh my god, he's going too fast!" you gasp, your heart sinking into your stomach. you watched as jay sped through the track, practically breaking records as he turned with precision.
"jay! jesus christ dude! slow down! you're gonna crash if you speed up more!" sunghoon yells through the radio. "i know you like my sister, but it's not worth crashing for her!"
that's what got to jay. you.
"fuck it, it's fine!"
even as the race continued, you couldn't help the feeling of anticipation pooling in your gut as you saw jay leading the race, no one even close to catching up.
the final lap was a blur. jay sped through the finish line, counting down the seconds until he got to you.
when he was cleared to go, he didn't even care that he just got p1 and possibly broke a couple records. he cared about spilling his heart out to you.
when he saw you waiting in the paddock, he couldn't help his heart from skipping a beat.
"angel..." he softly called out. you turned around swiftly, eyes lighting up at the sight of him.
"jay! you were amazing!" you cheer, running up to hug him. "you were going so fast and i was so worried you were gonna crash, but-"
he cuts you off by pressing his lips against yours, effectively silencing you. your lips mold together perfectly and you relax into the kiss. he tastes like honey and redbull, but it's so him.
when you both pull away, lips pink and cheeks flushed, he presses his forehead against yours gently.
"now that i have you, i'm never letting you go."
the spray of champagne everywhere is enough to make you smile, but seeing your brother and you new lover place on the podium brightens your smile ten times more.
jay's eyes catch yours, causing the corners of his lips to lift slightly. sunghoon notices and just laughs to himself.
"hurt her and i'll have management kick you off the team," he threatens jay, still keeping his grin.
"trust me, i wouldn't ever think about putting her in danger," jay smiles reassuringly, patting sunghoon on his back.
and he meant every word. because for you, he would do anything.
Genre: Fantasy · Romance · Angst · Enemies-to-Lovers · Slow-burn → Mean Boy to Possessive Love
Warnings: war themes, capture/imprisonment, forced assimilation into another culture, mentions of inappropriate comments/harassment, angst, Jay being cold/mean at first, possessive behavior, intense claiming kiss, power imbalance, heavy emotions, eventual marriage claim.
Summary: Every princess was young once. You remember the days when you were four and met Jay, a young dragon knight-in-training with a warm laugh and a love for hide-and-seek. He was your first friend, the one who made you feel less alone. But war changes everything. Years later, when your kingdom falls and you’re taken captive, you see him again, only this time he’s no longer the boy you knew. He’s a dragon in his prime: cold, untouchable, devastatingly handsome. You expect help. Instead, you’re met with cruel indifference. Forced into the enemy’s culture, stripped of freedom, you almost give up… until the Blue Moon Festival arrives, and a twist of fate binds you to him forever. For when a dragon truly falls in love, not even an empire can stand in the way.
Word Count: 9040 words
To: 🐉anon, thank you for requesting!! It was so much fun and a different kind of request to take on!
The kingdom of Aureath was a land built upon reverence and fire. Its spires rose like spears of white stone, crowned with banners embroidered in threads of gold and indigo, each marked by the sigil of a dragon mid-flight. The streets were paved with pale marble worn smooth by centuries of processions, and the air itself often seemed to shimmer faintly, as though steeped in the breath of the creatures they worshipped.
Dragons were not distant gods here. They were guardians, knights, and rulers in their own right, beings of immense strength who could don human forms and stride the courts with armor gleaming like sunlight on water. To see one was to be reminded of the fragile mortality of men: towering, sharp-eyed, their very presence enough to silence a hall. They were venerated in temples of obsidian and gold, their names written in scrolls kept under lock and seal, their likenesses carved into the stone pillars that lined the royal palace.
Every festival, every oath, every crown rested upon their existence. The people sang hymns not to kings, but to dragons, believing it was by their mercy the crops grew, the rivers flowed, the stars themselves wheeled in the sky. Knights of mortal blood might defend borders, but it was the dragons, resplendent in shining uniforms of burnished steel and midnight blue, who truly kept the kingdom safe, their loyalty a shield and their wrath a weapon.
To be born within Aureath was to live beneath the watchful eyes of creatures older than memory, and to speak their name was to utter both prayer and promise.
At the heart of Aureath stood the House of Elion, a royal line said to be chosen by the dragons themselves. Legends told of the first king who knelt before a great wyrm of flame and shadow, pledging his crown in exchange for protection. From that vow onward, the royal bloodline was bound not above the dragons, but beside them, sovereigns in name, yet ever servants of the greater flame.
The king was revered not only as a ruler, but as the Speaker, one of the few mortals entrusted with the dragons’ ancient tongue. His voice carried the weight of covenants; when he spoke, even the fiercest knight-dragon bowed in acknowledgment. The queen was keeper of the temple rites, guiding festivals that kept the bond between dragon and human strong.
And the princess, delicate, untouchable, born beneath the crest of a rare comet, was seen as a living symbol of blessing. To the people, her beauty was more than flesh: it was proof that the gods had smiled upon their kingdom. Travelers who caught even a glimpse of her veil-shrouded face whispered of her as ethereal, untethered to the mortal world. The priests claimed her presence soothed even restless dragons, that her laughter in the palace gardens was enough to call rain after drought.
But reverence was also a cage. She was not merely daughter of a king, she was a promise incarnate, her life weighed and measured in the balance of kingdoms. To look upon her was to glimpse both divinity and duty, and so every eye lingered, every tongue sang of her, yet she herself was never free.
Thus humans and dragons lived twined lives in Aureath: the mortals weaving crowns, the dragons wielding swords, and the royal family standing as the delicate bridge between worship and rule.
Every princess was young once. Even those destined to wear crowns and carry the weight of kingdoms began as children with dirt on their palms and sunlight tangled in their hair.
So it was with you.
Though the courtiers tried to keep you within marble halls and shaded balconies, your restless heart pulled you toward the palace gardens. The air there always smelled of lavender and wild roses, and the fountains sang with silver water that caught the sun in dancing shards. The guards trailed after you, armor clinking, but even they could not stop a little girl with a mind full of games.
It was in those gardens that you first met him.
Jay was not yet the fearsome knight he would one day become. He was a boy of eleven summers, still slight in his human form, with hair dark as raven feathers and eyes too curious for a warrior’s discipline. Though dragons were meant to be aloof and intimidating, Jay had a smile quick as spring, the kind that made his sharp canines look less frightening and more mischievous.
You had been crouched beneath a willow tree, hiding from your tutor who called for lessons in penmanship, when you saw him. At first you thought him a squire, his uniform still loose, his boots too big, until the guards bowed with subtle respect, and you realized he was dragon-born.
He tilted his head, studying you with a kind of delighted wonder, as though you were a puzzle he’d just discovered. You did not share a language; the tongue of dragons was harsh and ancient, forbidden to any but kings, priests, and sworn knights. But where words failed, children found another way.
Jay pressed a claw-tipped finger to his lips, a playful shhh, before darting behind the fountain. The game was clear. Hide and seek.
You giggled, abandoning caution, and chased after him, skirts catching on grass. He was fast, of course, dragons always were, but he slowed just enough for you to catch glimpses: a laugh over his shoulder, a hand beckoning, a shadow slipping around a column. The gardens rang with your laughter, and for a little while, there were no kingdoms, no duties, no languages to divide you. Only two children, one royal and one dragon, weaving joy out of sunlight and stone.
When the guards finally found you both, exasperated and breathless, Jay straightened, face flushed but proud, and bowed clumsily in the dragon way: fist over heart, chin lowered. You mimicked him with all the seriousness of a child, and he burst into another grin so bright it rivaled the noon sky.
That was how it began. A princess and her dragon friend, bound not by oaths or crowns, but by secret games beneath the willow trees.
Jay never stopped trying to teach you his language. He would crouch in the grass, eyes shining with mischief, and pronounce some ancient syllable with deliberate slowness. You’d repeat it clumsily, tongue tripping over the harsh consonants, earning yourself a burst of laughter that made him tumble backward in the grass. Sometimes he’d clap when you got close, other times he’d shake his head with mock severity before demonstrating again. You didn’t understand the meaning, but you understood the warmth in his smile, the patience in his gestures. It became your secret, a language no one else could hear, strung together from dragon words and childish giggles.
Princesses were not meant to sneak from kitchens, but you had always been stubborn. Jay, for all his strength, had an incurable sweet tooth. The first time you offered him a honey cake, sticky with syrup and wrapped clumsily in your handkerchief, his eyes widened as if you’d presented him with a king’s ransom. He devoured it in two bites, cheeks smudged with sugar, and bowed in dramatic gratitude. After that, every time you saw him, you came armed with sweets. In return, he gifted you smooth stones from the riverbanks, feathers shed from his wings, even a dragon scale once, faintly glowing, impossibly warm in your palm. You tucked it beneath your pillow and dreamed of dragons guarding you while you slept.
In the garden stood an ancient willow, its roots coiling like serpents through the earth. One summer’s day, Jay declared you queen of that tree. He lifted you, effortlessly, despite his young frame, and perched you on a branch low enough to sway gently in the breeze. There you sat, crown of daisies on your head, while he knelt below, pretending to take orders. When you told him to “defend the realm,” he bared his sharp teeth and growled in a way that made the guards blanch but had you in delighted stitches. You never forgot that day: the way sunlight dappled his face through the leaves, the way his laughter shook the branches until petals rained down around you both.
Though you could not speak freely, Jay always found ways to understand you. A tug on your sleeve meant you wanted him to follow. A tilt of his head meant he was listening. Sometimes he’d press his forehead to yours in the dragon custom, a gesture of kinship you didn’t yet know the weight of. And you, without realizing, had become his only friend in the palace, a princess too young to know duty, and a dragon too young to know war, meeting in the small space between.
Those golden years did not last. Within two summers, the horns of war would sound, and Jay would be called away to the battlefield. But for now, in the quiet cradle of Aureath’s gardens, you were only two children chasing laughter, building a world where duty could not yet reach.
The day the horns sounded, the palace felt different.
You’d grown used to their low hum during festivals, triumphant, celebratory, filling the sky with sound, but this was not that. This was a call to arms, deep and grim, echoing through every marble hall and spilling into every heart. The kingdom of Aureath had been challenged, its borders pressed, its dragons summoned. And among them, Jay.
You found him in the stables behind the barracks, sitting on the low stone wall, his boots scuffed, his training sword laid across his lap. He was twelve now, taller, his features sharpening into the promise of the man he would become, but still so very much a boy. His eyes flicked up when he heard you running, veil slipping from your hair, cheeks flushed.
“Princess,” he said, not in your tongue, not really, but the sound was familiar enough that you knew what he meant. His voice was softer now, not the bubbling laugh of your games, but something steadier.
You stopped in front of him, out of breath, clutching the hem of your dress. “You’re going?” you whispered, even though you knew he couldn’t understand.
Jay tilted his head, watching you with those molten-dark eyes. He didn’t need words to answer. He simply nodded once.
Your throat burned. War was not a word you understood fully, but you knew it meant gone. You knew it meant no more games beneath the willow tree, no more secret sweets shared between cupped palms, no more laughter carried through the gardens.
You climbed onto the wall beside him, your legs swinging just short of the ground. For a long time you both sat there, shoulders touching, the silence heavy. Then Jay reached into his tunic and pulled something out.
It was the scale. The same dragon scale he’d given you years ago, glowing faintly in the dim stable light. But this time he pressed it into your hand with solemnity, folding your fingers over it with both of his. His claws grazed your skin, not sharp, but careful. A promise.
“Keep,” he said, one of the few words he had taught you in his language. His voice cracked slightly, like he hadn’t meant to speak at all.
Tears prickled your eyes. You nodded furiously, clutching the scale to your chest. “Keep,” you echoed, though your accent twisted the syllable into something fragile. His lips twitched, almost a smile, though his eyes remained shadowed.
The barracks bell rang, summoning the young dragons. Jay stood, and for the first time, he looked every inch of what he was becoming: not the boy who laughed at your clumsy dragon words, but the knight in training, shoulders straight, jaw set, destiny pressing against him like armor too heavy to bear.
You leapt down from the wall and, before the guards could pull you back, threw your arms around him. Jay froze for only a heartbeat before he hugged you back, his chin resting atop your head. His body was warm, his heart beating too fast, and for a moment, you thought maybe he was just as afraid as you.
When he pulled away, he didn’t speak. He only pressed his forehead to yours one last time, nose brushing yours, that dragon gesture of kinship, before stepping back. His eyes lingered, searching your face, memorizing it. Then he turned and walked toward the waiting knights, the torchlight catching the edges of his hair until he disappeared into the blur of steel and wings.
You stood there long after he was gone, the dragon scale burning hot in your palm. The gardens would never sound the same again.
Time passed, and with it, innocence. Dragons grew in stages, childhood, youth, and then the final bloom of their prime. It was said that when a dragon reached that cusp, the change was like watching a star ignite: strength doubling, wings spanning wider, faces sharpening into a beauty that was both terrible and breathtaking.
Jay was no exception. The boy you had once known vanished in the space of a few years, replaced by a figure who towered in gleaming armor, shoulders broad and unyielding, gaze sharpened into steel. His laughter was gone, his voice deeper, colder, carrying weight like a blade pressed to the throat. No longer did he stumble over uniforms too big; he filled them, commanding every hall he entered. The glow of youth had burned away, leaving behind a dragon in his prime, strong, brilliant, devastating.
And yet, for all their power, not even Aureath’s dragons could withstand what came next.
The empire struck swift and merciless, a tide of black banners sweeping across the land. Their armies moved like a storm, iron boots crushing soil, fire staining skies red. Their generals were cunning, their weapons honed by years of conquest, their numbers endless. Even the dragons of Aureath faltered beneath such force.
The marble streets where you once ran with Jay filled with smoke and blood. The willow tree in the garden, your kingdom’s quiet heart, burned until its branches were blackened ash. You remembered clutching the glowing scale in your hand, praying for safety, praying for Jay, but no prayers could halt the inevitable.
The kingdom fell.
You were taken not as a mere prize of war, but as a symbol. The emperor’s soldiers dragged you from the palace, silks torn, crown ripped away, yet still they looked upon you with mocking reverence. They spoke words you could not understand, tongues harsh and foreign, but their tone was unmistakable, laughter, lewd remarks, jeers at your helplessness. Their eyes lingered too long, hungry and cruel, as though your beauty was theirs to consume.
And you understood nothing. That was the cruelty of it. Every princess was young once. Every girl had once known laughter echoing down the stone halls of her home, soft lullabies beneath candlelight, the comfort of a kingdom that breathed as one with its dragons. You had been no different. Yet now, as the heavy chains bit into your wrists and the foreign jeers of soldiers you couldn’t understand wrapped around you like poison, you thought that girl, the one who once spun barefoot through gardens of roses, had long since died.
Your captors paraded you through the streets of the Empire’s capital like a prize jewel stolen from its case. Their language rolled rough and sharp, words you did not know but could feel like blades pressed against your skin. Their eyes cut you open; men stared without reverence, without decency. They whispered, laughed, and gestured. Even without comprehension, you understood: they mocked you, lusted after you, tore your dignity into shreds you could not protect.
You held your head high anyway, the way your mother once taught you. “A princess is never bowed by cruelty,” she had said. So even as their laughter followed you, you fixed your gaze forward, the fire of your kingdom still burning in your chest.
The empire’s language was strange and sharp, its rhythm alien, its prayers spoken to gods you had never known. Its customs twisted, its halls draped in colors foreign to your eyes. The food tasted of spices that burned your tongue, the garments weighed heavy with jewels you had never worn. Even the air seemed different, colder, more oppressive, as though the very sky bent under the shadow of conquest.
You hated it. You hated the way the maids whispered behind your back, words you could not grasp but laughter you recognized all too well. You hated the way soldiers smirked when you walked past, heads tilted, murmurs curling like smoke. You hated the way priests forced your lips to form prayers you did not believe, hands guiding yours to draw symbols in chalk that felt like chains around your soul.
You, once the princess of Aureath, ethereal and untouchable, had been made a captive doll. A foreign jewel in a foreign court, paraded for the emperor’s amusement, stripped of language, stripped of name, stripped of everything but the beauty they so shamelessly claimed as their own.
And worst of all, when the dragons of your kingdom appeared, those mighty guardians who once stood as Aureath’s shield, they were not there to save you. They stood in gleaming lines behind the emperor, wings folded, eyes unyielding, loyalty burned away and reforged in the empire’s fire.
Among them, you saw him. At first, you thought it was a mirage. A cruel trick born of exhaustion and grief. But when the crowd parted and the clash of armor drew every eye, you realized it was not imagination.
Jay. Not the Jay you remembered, your childhood friend with warm laughter and dark hair that fell into his eyes, the knight who had left for war with a promise carved into his smile. No. The man who emerged now was something else entirely. The transformation had come. Dragons reached their prime in one blinding, devastating stage of life, when every fragment of their being sharpened into perfection. And Jay… Jay had become more than a knight. He was legend walking.
His figure rose above the others, broad-shouldered, his once-boyish features carved now into something regal and unyielding. His jaw was strong, his cheekbones sharp, his eyes, those familiar eyes, held a depth that could burn through steel. His uniform, gilded with the insignia of a dragon knight, clung to his tall frame as though made for him and him alone. Every movement radiated power, every line of him was a declaration: untouchable, unstoppable, a force of fire given flesh.
Your breath caught. The boy you once knew was gone. In his place stood a man devastatingly handsome, terrifyingly distant. No longer the boy who shared honey cakes with sticky fingers. No longer the child who pressed his forehead to yours and promised with a single word, Keep.
He was taller now, impossibly so, armor catching every torchlight until he looked carved from flame and shadow both. His gaze swept the hall with the calm cruelty of a predator, and when it landed on you, your heart seized. You searched desperately for recognition, for softness, for any fragment of the boy you once knew.
But there was nothing. His face was unreadable, carved into coldness, as though you were just another prisoner, another conquered jewel brought before the empire’s throne. Your only friend. Your secret joy. The boy who had been your world. And now? And yet, when his gaze found you in the sea of enemies, everything faltered. His composure cracked, if only for a moment. The world shrank until it was only the two of you: the captured princess and the dragon knight she had once called her own.
You wanted to scream his name. To beg him to come closer, to take you away from this foreign hell. But the weight of your chains and the sharp eyes around you silenced you. Jay’s lips parted as though he, too, longed to speak, to reach out, to shatter the cruel order that kept you apart. But he did not. Could not. Not here, not now. Now he was gone.
The courtyard was full of banners you did not know, red and black cloth thrashing like open wounds in the wind. The air smelled of iron, smoke, and something fouler, the rot of victory built on ruin.
You were marched into the square, your wrists bound in gold-tinted shackles meant less for function than for humiliation. The crowd pressed in to watch, their eyes sharp and curious, some mocking, others hungry. You hated them all. Dragons.
Not just any dragons, yours. Once yours. Their massive wings were folded neatly against their armored backs, their heads held high as they stood in gleaming lines. Dragons who had once knelt to your father, sworn their lives to protect your kingdom’s borders, its skies, its people. Dragons who had guarded you as a child when you played in the palace gardens, who had sworn by fire and blood that no harm would ever touch their princess.
Now, they bowed to your enemy’s emperor. Your chest hollowed, your stomach lurched. Betrayal tasted bitter on your tongue. And in the middle of them, you saw him. Jay. The sight of him was a blow and a balm all at once. He stood taller than you remembered, broader, his dark hair swept back from his face to reveal features sharpened like steel. His eyes burned, molten gold threaded through deep brown, a dragon at the height of his prime. The uniform of the Empire’s knights clung to him like it had been crafted by the gods themselves, black and crimson metal that caught the light and made him look untouchable, inhuman, devastating.
For a heartbeat, hope bloomed in your chest. Maybe he would look at you the way he once did, with warmth and promise. Maybe he had come to free you, to stand at your side once more.
But when his gaze fell on you, it was like ice. No flicker of recognition. No softness. No warmth. Just cool appraisal, as if you were nothing more than another trophy dragged before the court. Your lips parted. “Jay—”
He looked through you, not at you. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, edged with iron. “Bow your head. You shame yourself.”
The words cut deeper than any blade. The corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn’t a smile. It was a sneer. “Pathetic.”
Tears threatened, but you swallowed them down. You wanted to scream at him, to remind him of childhood summers in the gardens, of nights he swore he’d protect you, of the war he left you for. You froze, lips parting, unable to breathe.
Jay stepped forward, the clink of his black-and-crimson armor heavy in the silence that stretched between you. His height dwarfed you now; he looked down at you with nothing but contempt. “Do you know what they say here, princess?” His voice was low, threaded with disdain. “They say the beauty of your kingdom was exaggerated. That up close, you are disappointing.”
Your throat burned. He had never spoken to you like this.
He leaned closer, his breath ghosting your ear. “I see now… they were right.”
You flinched, but he straightened before you could find words. His expression was carved from stone, all the warmth of the boy you once knew burned away. The expression on his face told you all you needed to know: that boy was gone.
This man, this dragon, belonged to the Empire now.
You lowered your gaze, because what else could you do? Chains weighed on your wrists, jeers curled in a language you didn’t understand, and the only person you thought might save you had turned colder than winter steel.
From that day forward, you obeyed. You learned their language, their gestures, their cruel laughter. You dressed in their silks, followed their rituals, ate their food. Not because you wanted to, but because there was nothing left of home to cling to.
And sometimes, across the crowded halls of the foreign palace, you would see him: Jay, radiant in his prime, untouchable, unreadable. The boy you once knew lived only in memory. The man he had become never looked back.
The first step of your new life in the empire was always clear: obedience. Every morning, a maid would arrive in your chamber, always the same two, always with faces schooled into smiles that never reached their eyes, to supervise your lessons. These lessons were no ordinary education. They were indoctrinated.
“Repeat after me,” one would say, her voice clipped, practiced, devoid of warmth. She pressed a scroll into your hands, inked symbols curling and twisting in ways that made your head spin. Every letter was sacred in their tongue, every phrase a prayer you were expected to memorize, lips moving in devotion to dragons you had once known as protectors, now conquerors.
Your own tongue felt foreign. Words you had once sung as a child to lull yourself to sleep, lullabies for Aureath, were useless here. You were forced to twist your lips and tongue into shapes that did not belong, forming prayers for beings you had once loved but now hated.
At first, you tried. You mouthed the syllables carefully, heart thrumming in the rhythm of the chant. But it was impossible not to feel the weight of betrayal pressing into every note. The dragons you had adored, your family’s knights, your childhood friend, were now objects of worship for this alien culture. Every time you whispered their names under your breath, a pang of grief and rage cut through your chest.
The maids were always close, correcting the slightest slip with gentle hands that felt more like shackles than guidance. No, no, no, they would murmur, pressing your fingers to the proper gesture. Hands folding, body bowing, eyes lowering. You complied, because there was no other choice. Disobedience was met with sharp reprimands and punishment subtle enough to be tolerated but sharp enough to sting, a slipper against your ankle, a hand guiding your back painfully straight, a glare that spoke louder than words.
The nights were the worst. In your chamber, alone, you traced the patterns of the prayers in the air with your fingers, memorizing them by muscle memory rather than belief. You could see your reflection in the polished glass of the window: pale, delicate, wearing the foreign silks that felt heavy against your skin. The jewelry they had forced upon you, chains of silver, gemstones that caught the candlelight, sparkled beautifully, but you did not see beauty. You saw imprisonment. Each jewel a shackle, each silk fold a chain.
You remembered Aureath, your gardens, the willow tree where Jay had lifted you onto a low branch like a queen in a world of your own making. You remembered the honey cakes, the dragon scale warm in your palm, his laughter like sunlight. And you hated yourself for the tears that came unbidden, for the quiet longing that still pulsed in your chest.
Days passed. Weeks passed. You learned to fold your hands without thinking, to bow your head with a practiced grace that fooled everyone but yourself. You moved through the palace corridors like a ghost, polite but distant, silent but burning inside. The other women in the palace whispered behind your back, trying to teach you etiquette, trying to bend you into something pliable. You obeyed. You had to.
Then came the announcement: the Blue Moon Festival. It was the day you had dreaded, though you did not yet know its weight. The emperor’s voice had carried through the halls, formal and unyielding, declaring that all novices would participate, and that the princess herself would attend in full ceremonial garb.
Your chamber became a hive of preparation. The maids arrived earlier than usual, silk and satin spilling from baskets like water over stones. They touched your hair, braided it, pinned it, wound it with threads of silver that caught the light and gleamed like trapped stars. They draped you in the festival robes, layers upon layers of embroidered fabric, weighty and impossibly colorful, the colors of the Blue Moon itself: deep sapphire, silver, and pale lavender that shimmered as you moved.
You looked at yourself in the mirror. The reflection was breathtaking. The foreign garments accentuated every curve, every line, every delicate angle of your face. Jewels sparkled along your hairline, bracelets and chains coiling over your arms and wrists, earrings glinting as they caught the candlelight. You looked like a goddess in their eyes. But you felt like a caged bird.
Your reflection stared back at you, doe eyes wide and haunted, framed by the silks of a culture that was not your own. You could almost feel the eyes of the empire watching you, waiting to marvel, to judge, to objectify. The knowledge made your stomach knot, your pulse race. You hated the robes. You hated the jewels. You hated the way the fabric flattered you, drew attention to every inch of your body, as though beauty were a weapon the empire wielded against your own sense of self.
The maids fussed over your hands, guiding them into the proper gestures for the festival prayers, folding your fingers, pointing, pressing. Each movement reminded you of how small and powerless you were. You obeyed silently, the anger roiling beneath your skin like molten metal. You were forced to learn devotion to dragons you no longer loved, to gestures that praised your captors and humiliated your former home.
When at last they left, a soft click of the door sealing the chamber behind them, you were left alone with your reflection. You traced the folds of the robe with trembling fingers, the jewels cold against your skin, and closed your eyes. You are Aureath’s princess. You are the one who was stolen. You are nothing to them.
But the words did nothing to soothe the ache in your chest. The beauty that made them pause and stare made your skin crawl. You were being displayed, curated, worshipped, and yet trapped, the perfect illusion. And inside, you burned with fury.
The day of the festival dawned with a strange, heavy sky, clouds thick and rolling like distant waves. From your chamber, you could hear the bustle of the city beyond the palace walls, the sound of drums and bells, of voices chanting prayers in a language you had only recently learned. Every syllable pressed against your heart, every note a reminder of your captivity.
When you were finally led from your chamber, robes sweeping behind you like liquid sapphire, you realized just how many eyes were upon you. The courtiers, the knights, even the priests, all paused in awe, murmuring among themselves at your appearance. You moved with careful steps, keeping your gaze lowered, heart hammering. Their admiration felt like poison. Every whisper was a reminder that your beauty had become another tool in their hands, that you were admired but never free.
As the doors to the festival hall opened, the smell of incense and polished wood assaulted your senses. The hall stretched vast and towering, chandeliers dripping light like waterfalls, banners of dragons arching above, faces of the faithful bowed in devotion. Your steps echoed on the marble, the robes heavy, the jewels clinking faintly. You felt every eye on you, every heartbeat mirrored in your chest, and yet you moved like a shadow, silent, detached, simmering.
You hated this. Hated them. Hated the ritual. Hated the dragons they worshipped. Hated yourself for being forced to look like this, to be beautiful, to be helpless. And yet, even in the haze of rage and despair, there was a flicker of something else, anticipation. Somewhere in the crowd, somewhere in the mass of black-and-crimson armor, you knew someone would see you.
The festival hall stretched before you like a temple of impossible light. Candles and braziers cast the walls in flickering gold, banners draped like flowing rivers above the polished marble floors, and the scent of incense thickened the air, sweet and cloying, burning in your nose. Every step you took was measured, careful; the layers of your robes brushed the ground like liquid sapphire, every jewel catching the light, drawing eyes, forcing admiration you neither wanted nor deserved.
And there, at the center of it all, stood him. Jay. The golden threads of his armor gleamed in the torchlight, black steel beneath catching shadows like liquid night. His jaw was sharp, unyielding, and his eyes, God, his eyes, were molten gold, cold and piercing. He looked magnificent, terrifying, a living storm of strength and dominance. Even the emperor’s court paused to look at him, silent reverence mingling with fear.
You froze, heart hammering, as you realized exactly what the ritual demanded. The emperor’s daughter, pale, trembling, poised, would kneel before him, veil hiding her face, and pray in a language that twisted your tongue, her fingers tracing the sacred symbols of devotion. And Jay would watch, expectant, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, untouchable, untamed.
You were ushered into a faint, forgotten corner of the hall, one where moonlight didn’t bother to touch. The emperor’s daughter and her handmaidens stood not to far from you, heads put together, whispering. One of the ladies and the princess seemed to stand only at a foot’s distance from you now, still deep in conversation.
Then the daughter turned to you. Her voice was almost a whisper, trembling but urgent, carrying a tone that drew your attention even amidst the murmuring crowd. “I… I cannot marry him,” she said, eyes darting around the hall, glinting with desperation. “He… I love another. I cannot, please, you must… you must take my place. Pray in my stead.”
You blinked. The meaning hit you like a whip. She wanted you to kneel, to pray, to perform the ritual that was meant for her. She wanted to trick you into her place. The words burned in your mind, almost foreign in their urgency, but the translation of gesture and motion was clear enough.
Your first instinct was fury. “What? No!” you would have cried, but there was no voice in the crush of robes, no way to refuse. The maids and priests around you pressed closer, guiding your hands, folding your fingers into the shape of devotion, whispering the words over and over until they felt like chains.
And so, with a trembling heart, you moved forward. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the floor itself had turned to lead. You could feel the eyes of the court, the emperor, the priests, and… him. Jay. He was watching. Every motion of yours, every nervous twitch, every faltering syllable, was visible to those golden eyes.
The veil was placed over your head, hiding your face, but not your presence. You could feel the weight of expectation, the ritual pressing down on your shoulders, forcing obedience. Your fingers traced the sacred symbols, the cold chalk scraping against the stone floor as you prayed in a language that was not yours. Each word, each gesture, felt like a betrayal, a betrayal of your home, your kingdom, your gods, your childhood, and the boy who had once sworn to protect you.
And yet you moved, compelled, because you were powerless. The emperor’s daughter’s eyes never left you as you knelt. You could feel her trembling, could hear the desperate hope that you would fail or falter or perhaps succeed. Her lips were pressed tight, her hands wringing the hem of her garment. And then, softly, so softly, she whispered something meant only for you: “Please… forgive me. I have no choice.”
You wanted to scream at her. To demand, Why me? Why drag me into your lies? But the veil hid your face, muffling your voice.
Trembling slightly, you kneeled down just enough so your robes flowed around you in an ocean of silk. Pressing your hands together just as you had been forced to etch into your memory. You whispered the hymn that pulled your tongue into a bitter knot. And all the while, he watched, eyes darkened into endless orbs of black, expression unreadable. Still kneeling, you stood up just enough to press the pad of your thumb to his forehead, tracing a faint symbol of a flower that closely resembled the rose as pale blue moonlight shined upon the both of you.
When it was done, the torchlight shone down through the glass domes above, striking the chalk symbol like it had been etched into stone by fate itself.
The moment the final syllable of the prayer left your lips, the mark drawn carefully on the floor beneath the flickering light of the Blue Moon, a shiver of realization ran through you.
You had been tricked.
The emperor’s daughter, pale and trembling behind you moments ago, had maneuvered you into this position. She had lured you into performing the ritual meant for her, and while the priests’ eyes were fixed elsewhere, you saw it, the small, satisfied curl of her lips as she stepped back, her hands folded politely, her face an innocent mask.
Panic erupted in your chest. No. No, no, no.
The ropes of propriety, the weight of silk, the gleam of jewels on your wrists, all of it threatened to trap you in place. But the fire in you flared. You had been captured once, humiliated once, forced to obey once. You would not be broken twice.
You slipped forward, careful not to make a sound. Your hands moved instinctively, feeling the floor beneath you, tracing the edges of the chalked symbol one last time, letting the motion anchor your escape. Every step felt impossible, the robes heavy, the jewelry clinking faintly, but your pulse pushed you onward. Run. Just run.
You could hear the murmurs around you, the priests and acolytes distracted by the daughter’s half-curtsied bow, the crowd’s attention elsewhere. Your chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow gasps as you edged toward the shadowed corridors beyond the hall. Every instinct screamed caution, every nerve burned with adrenaline.
And then a voice froze you mid-step. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice, angel?”
It was low, dangerous, carrying through the hall like a drawn blade. Your heart slammed against my ribs. You hadn’t even moved fast enough for him to have seen me, the veil hid my face. And yet… he knew.
You faltered. Every instinct to flee warred with a deep, helpless awareness of him, of Jay.
“Wait,” he said again, almost casually, the name rolling off his tongue with lethal precision. “My fiancée?”
The words made your stomach drop. He had said it like a statement, not a question, and somehow, the calm, impossibly controlled tone made your panic spike even further. The hall seemed to narrow, the air thick and suffocating, every eye on me that I could not see.
You pressed on, stepping lightly, trying to edge past the columns and shadows, praying the maze of corridors would hide you long enough. But the next sound made your blood run cold: the soft, heavy echo of his boots on marble, approaching. Each step was deliberate, measured, unrelenting.
You ducked into the shadows of an archway, praying the folds of your robes would shield me, that your breath would stay silent, that your heart would not betray you.
“Angel,” he murmured again, closer this time, voice like molten steel brushing against ice. “Do you really think you can run from me?”
You froze. My chest heaved, sweat prickling your temples. Every instinct screamed don’t stop, don’t let him catch you, yet you could feel him there, moving with predatory precision, his presence massive and impossible to ignore.
You realized then that the veil did nothing. It could hide yourface from the eyes of the priests and the crowd, but not from him. He could see you. He had always seen you, and now, in the moonlight streaming through the high windows, you felt his gaze lock on yours like a physical weight.
And you knew, with a sick thrill of fear and something else you weren’’t ready to name, that escape was no longer just a plan. It was a confrontation.
Your foot catches on the hem of your robes, and you stumble, heart hammering like a drum against your ribs. The corridor stretches before you, dark and narrow, the shadows your only shield, but it’s no shield at all. You can hear him behind you, boots striking the marble with slow, deliberate certainty, each step echoing like a drumbeat counting down your freedom.
Run faster. You push against the weight of silk and jewels, moving as quietly as you can, your breaths shallow, ears straining for any sign of him missing you. But you know, deep down, that a dragon in his prime, in his full glory, never misses. He doesn’t just track you, he anticipates you.
And then, impossibly, he’s there.
The veil is still drawn over your face, the only thing shielding your identity from him and the world alike. You feel a shadow detach itself from the wall, and a heat — suffocating, powerful, terrifying, presses against you from behind. His presence is a physical force, coiling around you, heavy and impossible to ignore.
“Angel.”
The single word vibrates against your spine, low and smooth, dripping with amusement, authority, and danger all at once. It makes your knees weaken, makes your chest ache with the absurd, impossible pull of him.
You whirl around instinctively, hands shaking, but the corridor is narrow. He’s there before you can even think to push past him. His eyes, molten gold flecked with brown, fix on you with a precision that takes your breath away.
He murmurs, leaning close, the heat of his face brushing yours even through the veil. “Did you really think you could have fooled me, angel?”
Your heart stops. Your legs nearly give way. The veil does nothing to hide your wide, innocent eyes, staring up at him with a mixture of fear, awe, and that thing you’ve tried to bury, longing. He tilts his head, a predator studying his prey, and there’s a flicker of a smirk on his lips. It’s cruel, teasing, and entirely his. Your chest tightens, every nerve on fire.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” he whispers again, voice lower now, almost brushing your ear. “You drew the symbol. You obeyed the ritual. And yet…”
His hand brushes against your wrist, guiding your trembling fingers down just slightly, and you gasp, startled by the contact. “You still tried to run.”
You can’t speak. You’re trapped, in the narrow corridor, in the weight of your robes, under the shadow of a dragon in his prime who once had been a boy you trusted more than anyone. He leans even closer, so that your foreheads nearly touch, and the warmth of his breath, the sheer magnetic pull of him, presses into your senses. “You’re mine now,” he murmurs, so softly it could be wind over water, yet so fiercely that your knees almost buckle. “Whether you want it or not.”
Every instinct in you screams to fight, to resist, to run, to pull away, but the power radiating off him is overwhelming, inescapable. And deep down, something in you recognizes it. This is the dragon you knew as a child, transformed, terrifying, untouchable, and yet… there is still him beneath it all.
You can feel the brush of his fingers against yours again, this time a little firmer, claiming. Your chest rises and falls in shallow, frantic breaths. The corridor narrows further in your perception, the air thick with tension, heat, and the faint metallic tang of power.
And then, impossibly, he presses a kiss to your lips.
It is not soft. It is not gentle. It is claiming, fierce, consuming. It is fire and steel and everything that has changed in the years he has grown into his dragon prime. Your body goes rigid, then trembling, and the world tilts. The fear, the adrenaline, the betrayal, the longing, it all crashes into one single, overwhelming moment.
The veil falls fully to the ground, revealing your face to him. The Blue Moon shines through the high windows, silver light catching in the folds of your robes, glinting off jewels, illuminating the chalked symbol at your feet. And he does not let go.
“Do you understand?” he murmurs against your lips, voice soft but dangerous, “This is no ritual. This is me. You belong to me, angel.”
Your pulse hammers, chest rising and falling, heart caught between terror and the impossible thrill of him. You cannot run. You cannot hide. You are utterly, completely, and devastatingly his. Your chest aches, a tight, piercing ache that radiates through your entire body. You want to push him away. You want to scream at him for every cruel word, every cutting glance, every moment he had been so impossibly, painfully mean. And yet, every fiber of you is trembling, drawn to him in a way you cannot name, cannot resist.
This is him, you think, your mind twisting. The boy I knew. My first friend. The one who laughed with me, lifted me into trees, let me hide behind him in the gardens. And now… this. This cold, unyielding, impossibly beautiful dragon of a man.
He tilts his head, studying you like a predator gazing at prey, and the way he looks at you, sharp, teasing, untouchable, makes your throat tighten. “You thought you could run,” he says softly, voice low, dangerous, almost amused. “You thought you could hide from me after all these years?”
Your lips tremble. “I… I…” You can’t finish. How can you explain years of fear, longing, hurt, and love to someone who has become so impossibly distant, so cruel in his words and his demeanor?
His hand presses firmly to your waist, holding you still. You feel the strength of him, of the dragon he has become, and panic surges again. But beneath it, something deeper awakens. Something that remembers the warmth of his laugh, the softness of his smile, the way he had once protected you without question.
“You are mine,” he murmurs again, just above your lips. “Whether you want it or not.”
Your chest tightens in pain. Mine? How can that be true when he has been so rude, so indifferent, so impossibly mean? But the truth is undeniable: your heart still recognizes him. Loves him. Always has. Even through years of separation, even through the betrayal of your kingdom, even through the harshness of his words, that boy you trusted is here in some form, terrifying and impossible.
Tears prick at your eyes, hot and unbidden. “Jay… I…”
He silences you with a finger pressed lightly to your lips, his golden eyes searing into yours. “No words,” he says, his tone low and commanding, impossibly potent. “Not yet. You’ll learn. You’ll understand.”
You shiver, chest heaving. Part of you wants to cry, part of you wants to run, part of you wants to collapse into him and never leave. The confusion twists inside you, raw and messy. I love him. I always have. But he’s been so cruel… and now he’s here, claiming me like I’m a prize, like I’m already his.
He leans closer, and the heat of him presses against you, strong and overwhelming. His lips brush yours again, firmer this time, asserting dominance without ceremony, without hesitation. You gasp, trembling, heart caught between fear and the impossible pull of your emotions.
“You drew the symbol,” he murmurs into your hair, voice like silk and steel. “You followed the ritual, even when you thought you were tricked. That… that tells me everything.”
You falter, hands clutching at his armor, the heat of him burning through the weight of your robes and jewels. “But… you’ve been so cruel to me,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I… I trusted you, Jay. I loved you… and you’ve… you’ve hurt me.”
His golden gaze softens, just a fraction, and the tension in his jaw eases. “I had to,” he admits quietly. “I had to make you… understand that this world is not the one you grew up in. That I am not the same boy you knew. That…”
He hesitates, then presses his forehead to yours. “That you belong to me, now. Truly. No games, no childhood whispers, no pretending. You are mine.”
Your tears spill, hot and blinding, but you cannot pull away. He holds you firmly, impossibly strong, yet there is something tender beneath the force of his claim. Something that whispers, I never stopped caring. I never stopped watching. I never stopped wanting you.
The world narrows to the two of you: the weight of the Blue Moon above, the chill of the marble underfoot, the flicker of torchlight across gold and jewels, the echo of your heartbeat in his presence.
And then he kisses you again. This time, there is no hesitation, no warning, only possession, claiming, fire and steel and molten gold. You cling to him, heart shattering and soaring all at once. You love him. You always have. And even through the hurt, even through the cruelty, even through the overwhelming power of his dragon prime, you realize you would never, could never, truly escape him.
Because the boy who had once been your first friend, your protector, your secret companion in the palace gardens, has returned, transformed, terrifying, and utterly impossible. And he has taken you, in every sense, under the unyielding light of the Blue Moon.
The hall is silent after the chaos of the festival, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows across polished marble. The emperor’s daughter has fled, leaving behind whispers, scandal, and a court murmuring in disbelief. You stand at the center, robes heavy, jewels cold and glinting, heart still pounding from the chase, the fear, the impossibility of what just happened.
And there he is, Jay. Towering, molten-gold eyes blazing, presence radiating impossible power. He looks down at you, expression unreadable, sharp jaw tense, and yet there is a flicker of… something. Something that reaches across the years, across the hurt, across the cruelty, across the memories of a boy who once laughed with you beneath the willow tree in your gardens.
The emperor steps forward, robes flowing, face tight with formality and exasperation. He pauses before Jay, then inclines his head reluctantly. “My daughter… has brought shame to the court,” he says, voice formal but weary. “If this… union… pleases you, then… it is permitted.”
Jay’s lips curl into a small, sharp smile, and he turns to you, eyes scanning your form as though he is claiming you all over again. Every heartbeat, every tremble in your body, every ounce of your fear and longing is visible to him.
“You hear that?” he murmurs, voice low and commanding, just for you. “The empire gives its blessing. But you… were never theirs to give.”
Your chest tightens. You want to speak, to protest, to shout your lingering fear, hurt, and love, but your words falter. All you can do is look up at him, wide-eyed, heart raw and aching.
He steps closer, the height difference impossible, yet comforting in a way that twists your chest. His hand brushes against yours, warm, strong, possessive. You shiver, mind spinning, body trembling.
“I’ve waited a long time for this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “You were mine once, in the gardens, in our childhood. I watched, I waited, and now… you cannot escape me.”
Before you can respond, he tilts his head, and his lips press to yours, firm, claiming, undeniable. The kiss is fire and steel and molten gold, consuming every fear, every longing, every hurt and memory and love that has grown in the years apart. You gasp into him, hands clutching his armor, robes brushing the marble floor as the world tilts.
The emperor clears his throat, but Jay does not release you. Instead, he guides you forward, hand strong at your waist, pulling you into the ceremonial space of the court. Priests murmur, the torchlight flickers, and the Blue Moon above bathes the hall in silver light, catching in your robes and jewels.
“You are mine,” he says, voice low, dangerous, but threaded with something soft you hadn’t expected. “Every part of you, every thought, every heartbeat. Mine. And the empire cannot stop it.”
The ceremonial words are said, the ink of the ritual still faint on the floor beneath your feet, and the priests announce the union. Your heart pounds, mind racing with the impossible mixture of relief, fear, awe, and love.
He leans down, golden eyes softening slightly, and whispers, “You belonged to me long before anyone else. And now, officially… officially, you are mine.”
Tears spring to your eyes, hot and unbidden, but they are mingled with laughter, trembling breaths, and a sensation of completeness you have never felt. The hurt, the cruelty, the distance, all of it fades beneath the overwhelming presence of the dragon who once was your friend, and now is your mate, your protector, your impossibly powerful, devastatingly beautiful Jay.
The emperor watches, stiff, formal, but powerless. After all, when a dragon truly falls in love, no human law or decree can interfere. The court whispers, the banners flicker in torchlight, but none of it matters. Only you, only him, only the unyielding bond forged across years of childhood trust, betrayal, longing, and now fiery, undeniable passion.
Jay’s hand slides up to your cheek, thumb brushing your tear-streaked skin. “Do you understand?” he murmurs. “No more running. No more lies. No more pretending. You are mine. Always.”
You nod, breathless, heart aching and soaring all at once. “I… I understand,” you whisper.
And in the light of the Blue Moon, under the flickering shadows of the grand hall, he kisses you again, claiming, marking, promising. The court, the empire, the daughter who tried to trick you, none of it matters. You are his. And he is yours.
