Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Leo was, to put it elegantly, absolutely miserable.

And not just in the “having to endure Takumi’s existence” kind of way—though, honestly, that was already a full-time job. No, this was worse: he’d spent the entire morning frowning into a cup of coffee that wasn’t doing a single thing to fix his mood.

Takumi noticed, of course. And like any good friend with an uncanny instinct for weakness, he decided to take advantage of it.

“Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” the Hoshidan prince commented, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Or did you finally realize that people don’t fear you because you’re elegant, but because you’re unbearable?”

Normally, Leo would have fired back with precision: a clean, barbed remark, sharp enough to sting for the rest of the day. Instead, he just sipped his coffee and sighed. Loudly. Dramatically.

Takumi blinked. “…Seriously? Nothing? You’re not even going to try?”

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Leo replied, and the gravity in his tone made it sound like he was announcing a national disaster.

That caught Takumi's attention.

“What happened?”, he asked with a frown, “Kana had a nightmare? Forrest got sick?”

Leo shot him a look that said those suggestions were borderline insulting.

“Corrin is angry. She banished me to the couch.”

It took a few seconds for the Hoshidan prince to process that... and then a dangerously gleeful smile spread across his face.

“... Wait. Are you telling me you—Leo, Prince Consort of Valla—ended up exiled from your own bed?”

“And she revoked my privileges,” Leo added, as though presenting definitive proof of his misery. “No hand-holding. No kisses. No cuddles.”

Takumi bowed his head, trembling. It wasn’t reverence, it was laughter he was trying very, very hard to contain. Of course he knew exactly why this had happened. He’d planted the seed himself.

“Leo... don’t tell me you actually—”

“Yes.”

“Oh gods.”

The story was simple enough. During their last ill-advised dinner together, with too much free time and not nearly enough supervision, Takumi had—half out of sarcasm, half out of boredom—suggested Leo should try spending 24 hours without touching Corrin, just to see what would happen.

Takumi had not expected him to actually do it.

Corrin had definitely not expected him to actually do it.

And yet Leo, genius tactician that he was, had marched straight to his wife and proudly announced his plan. Corrin’s response had been immediate, merciless, and devastatingly clear: “You can start your little experiment right now.”

(In Leo’s defense, there had been a reason. He’d told himself it was a test of self-control, a noble exercise in restraint. That was the version he’d decided on after the fact, anyway. The truth was less impressive: Takumi had dared him, and Leo had been just drunk enough to accept.)

Takumi was no longer trying to hide his laughter.

“You’re a genius. Truly. The great strategist of Nohr, the brilliant mind... and you sabotaged your own night because of a joke I made.”

Leo ignored him, sipping his coffee with the dignity of a man clinging to the last shreds of his pride.

“So, what are you going to do now?” Takumi asked, clearly enjoying every second.

“I’m going to reclaim my privileges,” Leo declared. “Before the day is over, I will restore order in my household. Tonight, I will sleep in a real bed.”

Takumi raised an eyebrow, still grinning. 

“Uh-huh. And I’m guessing you’ve got a master plan for that?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s hope it’s better than the last one.”

Leo turned on him with the chill of a Nohrian winter.  “The last one was sabotage.”

Takumi laughed so hard he nearly fell over. And though Leo kept scowling, his mind was already working through the steps of his next campaign to regain his wife’s affection.

Chapter Text

Leo wasted no time. If last night had been a crushing defeat, today he was determined to launch a flawless counteroffensive.

The plan was simple: overwhelm Corrin with affection until her defenses collapsed. He would be repentant. He would be wounded if necessary. He would appeal to her heart, to the love he knew she still had for him.

It was, in his opinion, a flawless strategy (in Takumi’s opinion, it was a multi-act disaster, but Leo chose to ignore that.)

He began at noon, preparing Corrin’s tea exactly how she liked it, at the perfect temperature, with a drizzle of honey she swore “brightened the mood”. Leo didn’t believe in honey’s alleged emotional powers, but he believed in precision. He even selected her favorite porcelain cup, the one with the faint golden rim, and checked the cup’s position on the tray three times before bringing it personally, with no servant interference.

Corrin accepted it with a raised eyebrow and a “thank you” so neutral it could’ve been a report to the Council.

Undeterred, Leo escalated. He made sure to escort her to every meeting in the castle, holding doors, pulling out chairs, shadowing her like the world’s most devoted bodyguard (and he endured her pointed refusal to meet his gaze with all the stoicism he could muster). He also made small gestures for her throughout the day: a flower in her favorite color on her desk. A book she had mentioned wanting to read, left open to the first chapter. Even a compliment whispered just loud enough for her to hear during a tedious meeting: "Your patience is remarkable, my queen. If it were me, I’d have lost my composure three complaints ago."  The corner of her mouth twitched, whether in amusement or irritation, Leo couldn’t tell, and it was maddening.

But in the end, his efforts worked... somewhat.

By the evening, Leo started noticing cracks in her wall: the ghost of a smile when he offered her another flower, the faint flicker of amusement when he made a sharp comment during tea, the almost-but-not-quite way she brushed his sleeve when passing him a paper. That counted as progress.

And then, in the library, it happened.

They were sitting across from each other, surrounded by books and the glow of candlelight, each working in silence. A joke too easy to resist slipped into Leo’s head, and he delivered it in the soft, sly tone that always made her laugh.

And Corrin laughed. A real laugh, warm and genuine. For one fleeting moment, she forgot she was supposed to be angry.

Leo’s heart soared. He wanted to bottle the sound, to keep it forever. And in his joy, he forgot the cardinal rule of strategy: never declare victory too soon.

Which is why, like a complete idiot, he leaned back in his chair with a triumphant little smirk and said...

“See? I knew your sulking campaign couldn’t last long.”

Corrin’s laugh died instantly.

The silence that followed was sharper than a blade at his throat.

“...What did you just call it?” she asked, her voice sugary sweet, her crimson eyes radiating a warning that could make generals beg for mercy.

Leo swallowed, a chill racing down his spine. He recalculated. He chose wrong.

“I only meant that I was prepared to endure a whole week of icy stares if necessary—”, his brain screamed retreat, retreat, retreat, but his mouth continued the doomed offensive. “—I mean, I said it in the most affectionate way possible…”

Her eyes narrowed. The battle was lost.

“...I’ll get my pillow”, he muttered, rising with all the dignity of a man marching into exile. “I’ll be in the study.”

Corrin said nothing, and her silence was worse than any scolding.

Leo walked out with his head high, but inside he was already drafting plans for the next offensive.

Chapter Text

Corrin was utterly convinced she was in the right.

It wasn’t pride... okay, it wasn’t only pride. It was about principles.

Because what stung the most about Leo’s ridiculous “no physical contact for twenty-four hours” idea wasn’t just the insult to their marriage, or even the fact that he’d gotten it from one of Takumi’s half-baked jokes. It was the reason he’d given: “to test his self-control”. As if their closeness, their shared warmth, their touch, were some kind of temptation to resist instead of part of the life they’d built together. That, more than anything, had made her angry.

Corrin could still hear him saying it in that perfectly level voice of his, the one that meant he was disguising doubt with intellect. And if her husband was going to apply such an idiotic idea like it was some brilliant strategy, then he deserved the consequences.

So she had done what any queen with wounded pride and principles would do: she’d kept her wall up all day. She went one whole day without being kissed or held. She ignored Leo when he brought her tea in her favorite cup. She dismissed the flowers he left on her desk. She barely glanced at the book he’d hunted down for her, one she had only mentioned in passing weeks ago. She even ignored him when he shadowed her around with that “devoted escort” act that might flatter someone else but to her looked shamelessly manipulative.

And still, she had been close—painfully close—to softening... until he said that stupid line in the library and ruined everything.

Now, hours later, Corrin was alone in their chamber, turning over in bed for the third time. The silence of the room felt too big, the mattress too cold on one side.

This was ridiculous. She was angry, she had every right to be angry. And yet, she couldn’t ignore the fact that she missed the familiar things: his warmth, the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her, the weight of his arm across her waist, the way he always pulled her closer to his body as soon as they got into the bed, or the soft, distracted kisses he placed on her forehead, on her cheek, on her collarbone before falling asleep.

Gods, she missed him, all of him.

One night without Leo had been bad enough. A second was unthinkable. 

So she sighed, threw off the covers and slipped out of bed.

The castle was quiet at this hour, except for the occasional guard who wisely kept their eyes lowered when the queen padded barefoot through the corridors. Corrin made her way to Leo’s study and pushed the door open without knocking.

Leo was there, seated on the couch with a book in hand, pretending to read (his posture betrayed him, and he had that look that said "I've read the same line five times"). When he looked up and saw her, his eyes widened slightly. He didn’t speak. Neither did she.

Crossing the room, she reached for his hand without a word and tugged him up from the couch with a decisiveness that left no space for protest. Not that Leo would have protested anyway. He never did when Corrin dragged him somewhere, whether to a council meeting or into a petty domestic squabble. He would have followed her willingly into fire, into ruin, even into the very gates of hell, as long as her hand was the one leading him forward.

As they slipped into the corridor together, Leo shifted his grip, threading his fingers through hers with a quiet certainty. Corrin noticed, of course, and though she refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment, she didn’t pull away.

They walked all the way back to their chamber in silence. And only when they reached the bed, Corrin released him, giving a small push that sent him gently toward his side.

Leo looked almost undone by the simple gesture, relief softening his features.

“Does this mean—?” he began, cautiously.

“No,” Corrin cut in, climbing under the covers. “I still haven’t forgiven you. Your ‘no physical contact’ idea was idiotic. And insulting.”

Leo accepted the blow with a small nod, as though it was a fair verdict. Which, of course, it was.

“But...” she added, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, “I do miss you. So we’re sharing the same space again.”

“Understood,” he said softly. His voice was lighter now, almost satisfied.

“And don’t think you have your privileges back,” she warned, turning her face into the pillow. “No cuddling, no touching, no kissing. Just sleeping.”

Leo slid into his side of the bed with obedient silence, the kind of silence that clearly meant this is a victory and I’m taking it.

Corrin closed her eyes, a small smile curving at her lips despite herself, her heart steadying as sleep finally began to claim her. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the bed wasn’t cold anymore.

Chapter Text

Morning light crept through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the blankets. Corrin stirred, caught in that space between sleep and waking where everything felt warm and hazy... until she realized something was off.

Not in a bad way, though. Her body was suspiciously comfortable. Her legs were tangled with someone else’s. Her cheek... rested against a firm, steady surface that rose and fell in a rhythm too even to be her own. Her hand was... on someone’s stomach, fingers curled in loose claim.

Corrin blinked herself awake. Leo’s familiar scent filled the air, far too close. And she realized the warmth around her wasn’t just the blankets. It was him.

She was hugging him.

She was hugging Leo!

Her eyes flew open, guilt kicking in.

No! She had set rules! Clear, well-established, perfectly reasonable rules. No touching, no cuddles, no kisses, no—nothing! It was supposed to be a punishment, a lesson, a way to remind her beloved husband that even his most absurd ideas had bad consequences.

And yet here she was, wrapped around him like a vine, like rules had never existed.

Corrin groaned inwardly. She needed to fix this before Leo woke up, before he noticed and made an insufferable, sweet comment about the situation. Slowly, she began the impossible task of detangling herself—an arm here, a leg there—but the second she moved, a firm arm tightened around her waist, dragging her closer in one swift, instinctive pull.

“No,” Leo mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

Corrin froze. “Leo...” she tried, weakly.

“You hugged me first," he replied with an almost devastating logic.

“I was asleep!” she hissed back, striving for seriousness, for dignity.

Leo made a sound half amused, half resigned, and drew her closer. He buried his face in her hair, his lips brushed her forehead in such a fleeting way that it could've been accidental, but Corrin knew better. Almost a kiss, not quite.

“Then stay asleep a little longer.”

Gods above, he was impossible.

“You’re awful, you know that?”, Corrin whispered, but the words lacked sharpness.

“You banned me from touching you for ages. Days. Maybe weeks. I lost track of time,” he murmured, using the most pitiful tone she had ever heard him attempt.

Corrin pressed her lips together, trying to stop a laugh. Leo wasn’t cheating, but he definitely wasn’t playing fair, either.

“You make it sound like exile,” she muttered.

“It was exile,” he countered, without hesitation. “The couch is cruel and unforgiving.”

Corrin made one last token attempt to move, but her own body betrayed her. Leo was warm, familiar, comfortable, and, worst of all, quietly pleading even when he said nothing.

So she gave in, pressing herself against his chest. Her eyes closed as she heard his relaxing heartbeat. “You still don’t officially have your privileges back.”

“Understood,” he whispered into her hair.

“And the no touching thing was a stupid idea. You knew it from the start.”

“Absolutely.”

“And yet, you let me banish you to the couch.”

Leo shifted slightly, tightening his arm around her. “...Did I have a choice?”

Corrin clicked her tongue in faux annoyance, but the corners of her lips curved into a soft smile that she couldn’t stop.

“Sometimes I feel like sending you back to Nohr.”

“But then you remember you’d miss me too much,” Leo said, with soft arrogance.

He was right, and Corrin just hugged him tighter in response. Her arms slipped further around his torso, her legs curling more firmly against his, no longer pretending this was an accident.

And, just like that, Leo regained a privilege he’d never truly lost, and Corrin accepted the sweetest surrender.