#the fabric of our souls

[critical-quoter]

You should wait… and it doesn’t have to be for anything specific. I’m just saying—wait for the weight of the world to pass. Wait until the tremors that wrack through your skull drift into the depths again. Wait until the sun rises, and the light makes you feel a little less pointless.

The Fabric of Our Souls - K. M. Moronova

[cursedcadaver]

"for the broken ones who are in need of something dark, morbid, and beautiful" - The Fabric of Our Souls by K.M. Moronova

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

"Yea, her soul is like chiffon, with plenty of tattered rips and tears. The fabric of our souls is thin and worn. We must be gentle and love tirelessly." He leans back in his chair and threads his fingers together. A warm smile spreads across his face and I know then that he loves her too. "Hers is so beautifully torn that even wolves like us are drawn to it."

- The Fabric Of Our Souls

[chyyy66]

I always wonder why im broke …

And then authors drop special editions of their books

LIKE HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY NO TO THEM ?????? HELLO ??

[darcyolsson]

parabatai are literally so insignificant in tmi and I know it's just bc the parabatai lore wasn't ever supposed to become as significant as it is now but it's kind of sending me regardless bc you're telling me that will and jem didn't even have to be doing all that?

[amazingmagda]

im scared that in the future ai will take over all the facets of life and humanity will turn into soulless husks ;-;

[virtualplushy]

fuck casual friendships. our souls are intertwined. loving you is woven into the fabric of my life

[suparhythm]

A Tapestry of Dreams: A Wanderer's Tale of Beauty Across Worlds

Hark, gentle listener, and lend thine ear to a tale of love and wonder, a tale that spans the ages and traverses the realms of dreams. I am but a humble wanderer, a traveler through time and space, a witness to the ephemeral beauty that dances between the stars. My journey began in a world of ethereal hues, where the skies were painted with strokes of lavender and gold, and the air hummed with…

[critical-quoter]

Yeah, her soul is like chiffon, with plenty of tattered rips and tears. The fabric of our souls is thin and worn. We must be gentle and love tirelessly.

Fabric of Our Souls - K. M. Moronova

[mide404]

To those with compassionate hearts:

I write to you from the depths of pain and suffering, as my family lives in the Gaza Strip under the weight of siege, destruction, and bloodshed. Life in Gaza has become more than just a struggle for survival; it is a daily fight for existence under conditions that can only be described as tragic.

My family now resides in a fabric tent, our last refuge after losing our home and everything we owned. This tent does not protect us from the cold of winter or the heat of summer, and it barely shields our children from the surrounding dangers.

We lost my father, our support and protector, whose soul ascended due to the brutal war. His loss was not just a loss for us, but the end of our security and stability. We also lost my brother's little girl and my sister's little girl, our blossoms who saw only a little happiness in life before the war stole them from our embrace.

With broken hearts and tearful eyes, I beseech you to look with compassion at our suffering. We are in dire need of your support and assistance to be able to live with dignity, even if it is modest.

You are the hope we cling to in these difficult days, and your support can change our lives. Any help you provide, no matter how small, will make a big difference in our lives.

@sayruq @sar-soor @pcktknife @paper-mario-wiki @brutaliakhoa @appsa @opencommunion @punkitt-is-here @90-ghost

[suiana]

(yandere! corpse husband x gn! reader) (slight yan! male best friend too)

"and today, we are gathered to send off the late mr-"

you stand by his coffin, sobbing pathetically as your male best friend pats your back reassuringly. just a few days ago, your husband unfortunately died after you sat on his face. you hadn't wanted to! but how could you say no to him after he begged so cutely?

doctors said he died a pleasurable death, i mean, you could see it from his face when he died. and the fact that he exploded everywhere and it was all over his pants.

but you wish he hadn't died. you really loved him. you did. even if he was... slightly weird.

"he was my everything! now i don't even have his dick anymore! what am i supposed to do?!"

"hey hey... it's alright. let it all out..."

your best friend mutters, rubbing your shoulder as you sob into his chest. his hands run across the fabric of your shirt, tenderly reassuring you. if you pulled away a bit, you'd probably be able to see the way he had a smirk on his face.

"he'd probably want you to move on anyway... be happy with someone else."

"um, excuse me bro? what are you doing telling my spouse to move on?"

all goes quiet as your supposedly dead husband sits up, eyebrows furrowed as he glares directly at your best friend.

"like actually, I'd want them to be stuck on me until the day their physical flesh body dies so we can be together for eternity. we'd intertwine our star dust and merge our ascended souls into one so we'd never be apart again and-"

he rambles slightly, gritting his teeth as he continues to glare at your male best friend. you pull away from him immediately, standing still as you face your now... reanimated husband?

"honey? you're alive?"

your husband turns his gaze to you, soulless eyes now full of life as he tries clambering out of his casket. the funeral attendees all scream in horror at the sight, a fiasco taking place as your corpse husband approaches you with slowed movements.

"babe..? oh my love! come here! ah... you should sit on my face again- I don't think i can die again anyway..."

he coos at you, hands trying to grab at you as you make calculated movements to approach him. damn the embalmer did a good job... you're sure you'd be screaming too if there wasn't an embalmer.

"ah... i love you so much... i love you, really. you'd never move on from me right? you love me and only me. don't listen to that asshole over there. I'll fucking haunt your soul if you tried leaving me."

your dead(?) husband mutters, hugging you tightly against his chest. you feel his fingers dig into your skin, gripping you so tightly as though he were trying to tear into your skin.

"o-oi you're holding me too hard-"

"ah, apologies my dear."

he mutters, reluctantly releasing his grip before his hands trail over your frame before landing on your cheeks. you shiver slightly, the cold hands cupping your face before you grimace as he opens his mouth right in your face again.

"i love you so much, let's kiss-"

"ugh, your breath stinks."

"oh... sorry..."

he shoves a mint in his mouth, slowly chewing before choking and collapsing on the ground, unmoving.

...

did you just witness your husband die again?

[luvsupa]

“SHALL WE RESUME, MY LADY?”

tags: heianera!sukuna, trueform!sukuna x fem!reader, kissing, servants are bullies :(, BLOOD + KILLING, smut-ish (?), ANGST, readers called little one, my lady, my queen, sukuna lovessss reader but doesn’t wanna show it.

w.c: 1.8k

a/n:ITS BEEN LONG SINCE I WROTE PART 3 FOR SUKUNAAA, so pls read (part 1 + part 2) to understand this :p (or don’t 😔)

-part 1 was my first ever story so pls don’t mind the terrible writing 🤕

+ likes and reblogs are appreciative!!

for weeks now, since your intimate encounter with sukuna in his chambers, his words have echoed relentlessly in your mind:

“you belong to me, mind, body, and soul.”

unable to shake his haunting assertion, you find yourself lost in a fog during your duties, drawing the king’s scorn for your clumsiness—pathetic, he silently judges.

you’ve been desperately trying to avoid sukuna, feeling his ominous presence lurking near the servants’ quarters, dangerously close to your room. each night, you pretend to be asleep, hoping he won’t enter.

uraume and the other servants and concubines have noticed your distraction, their whispers and spiteful glances intensifying your growing distress.

just as you’re lost in your thoughts, walking towards the grand kitchen, you feel yourself being harshly pushed—nearly losing your balance. you turn to face the two brunettes who always accompany sukuna in his chambers.

“look at her,” one sneers, her voice dripping with contempt. “she looks even more pitiful than usual. you’d think she’d try harder, especially with tomorrow’s annual gift-giving ceremony.”

your heart drops, and you feel the blood drain from your face as the realization hits you—you had completely forgotten about it. shit.

the other brunette catches your expression and smirks, leaning closer.

“oh, you did not know?” she mocks, her eyes glinting with malicious pleasure. “did you truly forget? lost in your own little world? pathetic. do not think sukuna-sama has not noticed your incompetence. if i were you, i would be prepared to face his wrath tomorrow.”

before you can respond, the brunettes walk away, laughing cruelly amongst themselves. fear grips you as you stand there, contemplating the consequences of your forgetfulness. this time, he might seek to end my life.

sukuna spared your life once before, but now? you’ve truly done it.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

morning arrives, finding you sleepless and anxious, having spent the night wrestling with decisions on what gift would appease the king of curses. regret gnaws at you—you could have been better prepared.

if only you had listened to uraume’s instructions, you wouldn’t be scrambling now to please sukuna.

a loud groan escapes you, not just from lacking a suitable offering but from the impending threat of losing your life in front of everyone.

your thoughts shatter as your door creaks open. uraume enters, carrying a basket laden with ceremonial attire.

“sukuna-sama will return soon from his mission,” uraume states matter-of-factly, approaching your bedside and handing you the basket. your gaze fixes on the black and gold kimono. “in the meantime, prepare your gift for our king,” they remind you, prompting your heart to skip a beat. you nod gratefully as uraume exits the room.

you linger, captivated by the elegance of the wooden basket. slowly, an idea begins to take shape.

i hope this idea will work…

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

you hurriedly slip into the black and gold kimono uraume handed you, the fabric draping elegantly over your curves as you smooth out its silk folds.

grabbing the basket, you rush out of your room, navigating through the crowded hallways filled with servants, concubines, and guards all preparing to present their gifts to the king.

anxiety grips you as the chatter rises, signaling the ceremony may have already begun. finally reaching the garden, you drop to your knees, swiftly gathering orchids, red camellias, and wisterias.

heart pounding, you carefully arrange the brightly coloured flowers in the basket, leaving space for more. glancing around the vast garden for inspiration, you freeze as you spot a familiar figure in the distance, surrounded by guards and soldiers.

shit.

your pulse quickens as sukuna approaches the estate. you force yourself to calm down, needing clarity to finish your task.

turning to the fruit garden, you ignore the dirt on your kimono as you hurriedly gather peaches, oranges, and pomegranates from the trees, arranging them neatly in the basket.

with your last-minute gift finally perfected, you hope he will at least appreciate the effort. as cheers and applause erupt, signaling sukuna’s arrival, you hasten back to join the line of gift-givers, heart still racing with fear.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

the ceremony unfolds in a chamber unfamiliar to you, far larger than sukuna’s usual domain, filled with hundreds and hundreds of servants seated on comfortable cushions, rows of expectant faces awaiting the ceremony’s commencement.

as you wait nervously, you glance around at the lavish offerings others have brought—paintings, gleaming gold jewelry, fine silk robes, ancient artifacts, perfumes, and oils. in contrast, your basket of fruits and flowers seems painfully simple.

whispers and snickers ripple through the crowd, directed at your low-value gift, almost insulting to the king, as the laughter grew louder and more pointed. the embarrassment increases, now overwhelming you.

“silence.”

his voice cuts through the room like thunder, instantly quieting the chatter as all heads bow. only you remain defiantly gazing at sukuna from his elevated throne. he looks magnificent, his towering frame draped in a dark cotton robe that accentuates his scarlet eyes—those unsettling eyes that draw you in despite your fear.

“do you consider yourself more worthy than others to not bow?”

his voice pierces through you, shocking you out of your thoughts. you hadn’t realized you were staring at him so openly. a nearby servant nudges your head down forcefully, a silent command to acknowledge sukuna’s authority.

uraume then signals the first row to approach sukuna with their gifts. as he settles into his throne, one of his lower eye fixates on you with a chilling intensity, reminding you of the difference of ground upon which you stand.

the two brunettes, who supposedly despised you, were the first to present their gifts. all eyes watched as they offered lavish amounts of gold and diamonds to sukuna. you couldn’t help but notice the satisfaction that spread across his face, a subtle amusement evident as he casually placed the gift with one of lower arms behind him.

they took their places on either side of his throne, making way for the next in line. as the line shortened, your turn approached rapidly.

you watched with nervous anticipation as sukuna accepted one of the servants gifts— the beautifully sculpted artifacts and golden treasures—

slash!

the servant’s head was cleanly severed, a loud thud echoing through the room. gasps filled the air as the shock spread through the assembled crowd. some of the seasoned servants were used to sukuna’s impulsive acts, but this was the first time you had witnessed such brutality. blood splattered across his face, yet he remained unfazed, awaiting the next offerings.

you covered your mouth, stifling a scream of horror. the fear of becoming the next victim intensified as you compared your gift to the high valued gift he had just received.

how could he appreciate your offering if he did not enjoy the artifacts?

you were on edge, continuously hearing numerous slash and thuds that kept racing your heart. his gaze seemed to linger on you, intensifying your dread.

unaware that it was your turn next, you suddenly found yourself on the elevated floor, your gift clearly visible to all below. laughter erupted among the watching servants, their anticipation of your downfall.

you felt all four of his eyes fixated on you, observing your trembling form, your eyes flickering nervously as you struggled to stay composed. stepping cautiously over a puddle of blood, you nervously approached his throne.

with trembling hands, you presented the basket of flowers and fruits. below, the two brunettes knelt, their mocking laughter ringing in your ears.

sukuna silently observed the basket, his large hands delicately holding the tiny fruits. he plucked out peaches, pomegranates, and oranges with two hands while the other two hands carefully examined the flowers, bringing them to his nose to inhale their earthly fragrance. then, to your surprise, sukuna’s lips curled into a mischievous smile.

“little one,” he said in a low velvety voice that sent shivers down your spine. “you surprise me.” 

the crowd exchanged puzzled glances, uncertain of how to interpret sukuna’s unexpected reaction. the two kneeling servants looked up at sukuna in disbelief, their faces turning pale as they realized their own gifts, despite their value, had not elicited such a response.

sukuna carefully placed everything back into the basket, then lifted a ripe peach to his lips. his intense gaze locked onto yours as he took a deliberate bite, savouring the sweetness. loudly humming at the sweet taste.

unexpectedly, two of sukuna’s free hands reached out and gently grabbed your waist. you squealed in surprise at the sudden contact as sukuna swiftly spun you around, placing you on his lap with your back is against his chest. his third hand delicately tilted your chin, looking up towards him.

“‘kuna…” you began, mindlessly calling him by a forbidden nickname. but his lips cut off your words in a hungry kiss. the taste of peach lingered on his lips, blending with the sweet intensity of the moment. his kiss was fierce, brimming with a raw passion.

sukuna’s large hand snakes up to the crevice of your neck, and to your surprise, another mouth formed on his hand, trailing down to suck and kiss a sensitive spot on your neck. a soft moan escaped your lips, muffled by his kiss, and he grinned at your reaction.

the brunettes stared up at the two of you with utter jealousy, never having received such intimacy from their king. the entire room gaped in shock; they had never witnessed the king of curses succumb so readily to a mere servant.

sukuna then pulls away, leaving you dizzy from the closeness. his presence seems to envelop you, making you feel intoxicated by his mere touch. with a gentle touch, sukuna adjusts your slouched posture, his hands holding you firmly against his broad chest. leaning down, he kisses your ear softly.

“you will judge which gift is worthy,” he begins, his closeness making your head spin even more. “if anything displeases you, I will take care of it,” he murmurs, hinting at even more slashes. another hand snaking up to your neck, softly applying pressure to restore your stability.

if anything you feel a rush of arousal.

“i will obey your every command, my queen. i am yours to command,” he declares softly, causing you to whimper in response. gasps fill the room as they witness the king of curses submitting himself to you.

“shall we resume, my lady?”

[perfectlyoongi]

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who proposed to you on vacation on the outskirts of florence. four days of beautiful scenery and incredible memories were just a cover for Jungkook's true plan: in a green field dressed in brightly colored flowers, the two of you were having a small picnic while laughter and tender words danced with the gentle breeze of the day; and when Jungkook's question flowed as naturally as any other sentence he could have said, your heart immediately accelerated, sending waves of happiness and fulfillment throughout your body. “will you marry me? make a whole life by my side? only you and me?”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who insisted on throwing floating lanterns at your wedding. but Jungkook didn't want any lanterns, no; Jungkook wanted your dreams and desires for your life to be written and decorated on the light fabric of the lantern, believing that, when they reached the vast starry sky, they would be able to cling to the various stars and guard your future forever. “the celestial magic of the stars will make all our dreams come true, you’ll see.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who kisses you under the rain on bad days. it was a simple gesture, something small and quite banal, but it was something precious, an action that warmed you inside and made you feel good, made you feel alive; it was between raindrops that Jungkook declared his love for you in the form of a kiss, the lips that sang so many promises to you and shared so many dreams reminding you that in all the darkness of the world, among all the rain and grey, there was always something warm, there was always his love for you. “just to remind you that after so long, i still love you. and i will love you forever.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who wears his wedding ring like a badge of honor. Jungkook was proud to be your husband; for him, you were the only person to exist, you were the only one who really mattered because you, quite simply, were incredible in every way; so, having a token of your love, something physical that people could see, only made Jungkook's eyes shine even brighter — after all, he was eternally united to the best person that could exist. “yes, i’m married to the love of my life. isn't it incredible? i’m the luckiest man alive.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who hugs you from the back in the morning and gently kisses your neck. still infected by sleep, Jungkook walked slowly through the kitchen, his feet leaving traces of need, his small yawns looking for you lazily; Jungkook's arms would wrap around you without any difficulty, squeezing you with all the love he felt for you, letting his natural scent mix with that of breakfast; Jungkook's lips kissed your neck innocently, an invisible mark of wishes for a good day beginning another opportunity to live life. “good morning. you weren’t in bed, i thought i wouldn’t have time to say goodbye.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who takes you on long car rides at night just to decompress. with the windows open to let the night breeze flood his car, Jungkook took you to different neighborhoods and streets without any destination in mind, just the desire to bring you a little peace controlling his steering wheel; soft music was gently played in the car, while the stars of the night guided you to moments of tranquility and serenity that made you realize that it was with Jungkook that life was worth living. “the night is beautiful today. do you wanna go out? we can eat ice cream later.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who will love you forever and ever. Jungkook deeply believed that it was the universe that brought you together; it was impossible for two such deep and similar souls to meet by chance — it had to be destiny. because, for Jungkook, your souls had already been formed in ancient times, wandering through worlds and constellations in search of a way of loving deeper than the spiritual — and here you two were, extending every fragment of your passion beyond the soul. “what are the chances of feeling like we’ve loved each other forever? believe me, we are made of the same celestial dust.”

[idkyetxoxo]

Aemond Targaryen - Made for Him

Summary - She was made for him, a truth never far from her thoughts. Unable to restrain himself any longer and knowing their union was inevitable he simply could not hold back anymore. His need for her was overpowering, compelling him to possess her completely.

Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!), getting caught in the act (very brief)

Word count - 2219

Masterlist for Aemond • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

We were created for them and that is what we were told.

From the moment Helaena and I were born, our destinies were predetermined. We were aware of our fates since infancy. Our roles had been assigned to us by the whims and desires of others, shaped to fit their fantasies and ambitions.

Helaena, being the elder twin, was destined to marry Aegon, the future king, a decision decreed by our mother and her father, the Hand of the King. My own fate was to be bound to Aemond, the one-eyed prince.

"Brother," I greeted as Aemond entered the library.

"Sister," he replied, his gaze never leaving my figure as he selected a book from the shelves.

He settled into a chair opposite me, ostensibly to read, but his attention was fixed on me, his gaze intense and unwavering.

As I flipped through the pages of my book, I could feel his eye tracing my every movement. He watched me with a fascination that seemed to grow stronger with each passing year.

Aemond had never objected to our arranged match, on the contrary, he welcomed it. To him, I was more than just a sibling. I was his confidante, the one person who saw beyond the scarred face and understood the depths of his soul.

His anticipation for the day of our union was obvious. Ever since Helaena and Aegon's union, Aemond had been counting the days until our own. His desire was a tangible force, barely restrained by the conventions of courtly decorum.

Aemond's gaze moved over my face, lingering on my lips, which he longed to touch. His stare drifted lower, taking in the curve of my neck and the neckline of my dress, which revealed just enough to inflame his imagination. His eyes settled on my breasts, pressed against the fabric, and all sane thoughts eluded his mind.

Suddenly, he stood up, his book crashing onto the chestnut table with a resounding thud.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" I gasped, placing my book down to look up at him.

His eyes burned with fierce intensity. "I cannot do this," he suddenly said, striding toward me with determination. I gasped as he grabbed my arms, pulling me up and closing the distance between us.

"I want you," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. I swallowed hard.

"Aemond, we cannot," I chided, placing my hand on his chest. "Not before we are wed."

He exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. "You were made for me," he said lowly, his breath sending shivers down my spine. "Does it really matter when we give in?" His burning gaze pierced through me.

Before I could fully comprehend his words, I shook my head.

"Then let me have you," he said, and without waiting for an answer, his lips crashed into mine with a fierce intensity. 

Aemond's lips trembled as they met mine, the fierce exterior faltering for a brief moment. In that kiss, I felt not just desire, but a plea, a desperate need to be seen, to be understood, to be loved despite the darkness that lingered within him.

His hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer as the kiss deepened. He motioned for me to wrap my legs around him.

Supporting my weight with one hand, he used the other to hastily clear the large chestnut table of its books and papers, laying me across it. He crawled on top of me, his hands finding their way to my chest, squeezing my breasts through the fabric of my dress as he continued kissing me.

A soft groan escaped my lips, music to his ears, as his hands continued exploring my body.

"Aemond, not here," I mumbled against his lips, attempting to push him away, but he shook his head.

"Do not torture me by making me wait any longer," he breathed out, and I nodded, unable to tear my eyes away from his needy look.

I lay back fully as Aemond moved to hike my dress up to my hips, granting him access to what he most desired. He began laying small kisses up the inside of my thigh, the pressure making my back arch.

His head was barely visible over the ruffled fabric of my dress, yet the intensity of his actions was unmistakable. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, heightening my anticipation.

His intensity both thrilled and terrified me, and as I felt his mouth travel up my thigh, I was caught between the urge to surrender and the instinct to flee.

When his tongue finally made contact with my most sensitive part, the sensation was overwhelming. A rush of heat surged through me, my legs shook uncontrollably, and my mouth cried out his name in sheer ecstasy.

"Aemond," I gasped, my voice quivering as he continued his ministrations with unrelenting skill. 

My legs trembled, and despite the mounting pressure urging me to close them, Aemond's firm grip kept them spread wide, ensuring he had unrestricted access to my every reaction.

His tongue moved with precision, exploring every inch of my core, driving me to the brink of madness. Just as I felt myself nearing the peak of pleasure, he abruptly stopped. 

My body ached with need, and I couldn't help but let out a frustrated whimper. Before I could protest, his face appeared before me, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

His hands worked to remove my dress, but the intricate laces proved to be a challenge. 

Impatient and driven by desire, Aemond's frustration grew. With one swift, decisive pull, he tore the delicate fabric, the sound of ripping cloth echoing in the room, leaving me completely exposed and vulnerable before him.

I met his gaze, a mixture of anticipation and desire swirling within me. He looked over my body, a hungry stare of appreciation evident in his expression.

He began kissing up my stomach, the trail of his lips moving toward my neck, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin. 

"So beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. My hands moved instinctively to remove his clothes, needing to feel his skin against mine.

"Eager now?" he asked with a low laugh, amusement dancing in his eyes as he saw my urgency. I nodded quickly, as he helped me, stripping off his clothes with practised ease.

"Are you sure?" he asked one last time, his eyes searching my face for any sign of hesitation. The concern in his gaze was touching, a reminder of the depth of his feelings for me.

"Please," I pleaded, my voice barely more than a whisper. He smirked a confident and knowing expression, before crawling on top of me once more.

His body aligned with mine, the heat of his skin against me sending waves of anticipation through my veins. The world outside the library faded, leaving only the raw intensity of our desire.

"Don't hold back," Aemond murmured, his voice a comforting rumble as he gazed down at me. "I want to hear you, feel you, know everything you're feeling."

As he entered me, the connection between us deepened, binding us together in a way that transcended duty and obligation. It was a union forged in fire, destined to burn brightly through the corridors of power and ambition. 

Our movements were synchronized, driven by a shared need that had been smouldering for years.

He seemed to sense my hesitation and paused, looking deeply into my eyes. 

"It's okay," he whispered gently, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. "I've got you. Just focus on me."

I gasped, my hands clutching at his shoulders as he moved above me. 

The sensation of our bodies joining was both overwhelming and exquisite, a fulfilment of the desire that had been building between us.

"You feel so perfect," he groaned in response, his pace quickening as he buried his face in the curve of my neck. 

"You were made for me," he whispered, the words heavy with possession and reverence, as if by speaking them, he could bind me to him more surely than any vow. "Don't ever forget that."

His words sent a shiver through me, my body responding to the depth of his passion. "I won't," I promised, my voice breathless. "I need you, Aemond. I've always needed you."

"Show me," he urged, lifting his head to look into my eyes. "Show me how much you need me."

Encouraged by his words, I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Like this?" I asked, my voice a mix of challenge and invitation.

"Yes, just like that," he groaned, the intensity of his gaze burning into mine. "Don't hold back. Let me feel all of you."

His movements became more deliberate, each thrust deep and measured as if he were trying to imprint himself onto my very soul. I could feel every inch of him moving within me, the friction igniting sparks of pleasure that radiated through my entire being. 

He would pull almost all the way out, leaving me aching with emptiness, only to drive back in with a force that made me gasp, filling me completely.

The sounds of our mingled breaths and whispered names filled the room, creating a symphony of shared desire. His hips moved with a primal urgency, a perfect blend of strength and tenderness, each thrust pushing me closer to the precipice of ecstasy.

His touch was fire, branding my skin with a heat that seared through every nerve, leaving me breathless and wanting.

"Aemond," I cried out as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. "I'm so close."

"Cum for me," he urged his voice a low growl. "I want to feel you shatter."

With his words, the tension within me broke, waves of ecstasy crashing over me. My muscles tightened around him, drawing him deeper as I clung to him, my nails digging into his back as I cried out his name. 

Aemond followed moments later, his own release a powerful, shuddering surge that left us both trembling.

He held me tightly, our bodies still intertwined, as we came down from the heights of our passion. His breath was warm against my skin, his heart pounding in time with mine. 

"You were incredible," he murmured against my hair. "Every part of you."

Just as we settled into the aftermath, the sound of the library door creaking open shattered our intimate cocoon. We froze, eyes wide with shock, as no one other than Aegon stepped into the room, his expression one of disbelief.

For a moment, silence reigned, the three of us suspended in a tableau of surprise. Then, to our astonishment, Aegon burst into laughter, a rich, mocking sound that echoed through the library.

"Well, isn't this a delightful surprise," Aegon said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Carry on, then. Don't let me interrupt."

With that, he turned on his heel and left, still chuckling to himself. The door closed behind him with a definitive thud, leaving Aemond and me staring at each other, the reality of what had just happened sinking in.

For a heartbeat, we remained still, the echo of Aegon's laughter ringing in our ears. As the silence returned, I could feel a wave of uncertainty washing over me, a flicker of guilt I hadn't expected. 

Was this love, or merely the inevitability of our shared fate? I couldn't be certain, but in that moment, with his heart beating in time with mine, I allowed myself to believe in the possibility of both.

Aemond's smirk faded as he caught the change in my expression, his eyes narrowing with concern.

"Do you feel bad about this?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with vulnerability as he gently held my gaze.

I hesitated, my thoughts swirling. "No, it's not that... I just don't know," I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "I didn't expect this, and now... I'm not sure what to think."

Aemond's grip on my waist tightened slightly, his hands warm and steady. He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against mine as he spoke. "We won't do anything like this again until you're sure. I don't want you to feel uncertain or pressured, ever."

His words were firm, but there was a softness to them that made my heart ache. I could see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he was trying to protect me, even from himself.

I looked up at him, my breath hitching slightly as I processed what he'd said. "It's not that I don't want this," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'm just... nervous."

Aemond nodded, his hand moving up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing softly against my skin. 

"We'll take our time," he reassured me, his voice gentle. "No more surprises, no more rushing. I'll wait until you're ready, until you want this as much as I do."

A sense of relief washed over me at his words, the knot of uncertainty in my chest slowly unraveling. I leaned into his touch, finding comfort in the warmth of his hand. 

"Thank you," I murmured, my eyes closing briefly as I allowed myself to relax.

With a final, tender kiss, Aemond pulled me close, his embrace protective and soothing. "You are mine," he whispered.

"Always," I whispered back, the tension in my voice easing as I felt the strength of our connection.

Our bond, once ignited by the fiery blaze of desire, had now mellowed into a gentle ember, glowing with the warmth of understanding and the tender caress of patience.

A/n - Crazyyy

[driaswrld]

🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT

LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *

🪷 dearest gentle reader, what is a princess to do when she's caught between two dashing princes, both of which are her childhood friends? — one her betrothed and the other her past love... 4.7k words.

🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, use of regency era terminology, longing and more longing.

🪷 taglist : (lmk if you want to be added or removed!) @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnabooonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog

CHAPTER ONE. . . ˚ ༘ *

L'INCOMPARABLE.

Talks of betrothal began in the last Spring of your youth.

Under the cherry blossom trees, you sit in silence, fuchsia petals decorating the length of your hair in messy scatters.

Satoru Gojo, crowned prince and heir to the Gojo throne, picks the fallen remnants of flowers from your hair one by one as the nobles watch on.

Whispers of ‘they would make such a beautiful match’ and ‘look how the Prince dotes on her’ echo in the brush of the gardens, women whispering among themselves and the men chortling between swings of their mallets — in a near deathly game of pall mall.

“Don’t hide from me,” Satoru dips his head, breath fanning the shell of your ear. If possible, the whispers intensify, cutting past your ears and you bite back a giggle, stifling down the thought that crosses your mind, attention whore.

“I’m not hiding, your highness.” You counter, shifting to the side, your smile hidden behind a porcelain teacup, swift sips of ginger warming your cheeks.

“It’s improper, you know.” The words linger in the air between soft wisps of wind, flurries of foreign fabrics and bright layers of skirts pass your vision — and yet, all is drowned out by him.

Your anointed Prince, the attention whore.

“Improper to gaze upon my companion?” Satoru scoffs, grinning wide, toothy, dimples.

Childhood found you both tethered like bee and nectar, always close, always coming back.

At first, it was through duty, sharp tongued ten year old Satoru Gojo, a prince born with a halo and the title of the realm’s strongest to his name, meeting you, the humble princess of the Western kingdom, born in valor and sprouted in pride, a warrior’s code.

It was a disastrous first few encounters—

(—but then he was your bestfriend, and you his. )

His dear mother, bless her soul, had taken the time out to host this marvelous garden party to welcome the newest maidens into their debuts – moreso, to marry Satoru off quicker than he could leave for another battle, chasing another war – and yet, he cared not to meet with any of the women or entertain them beyond an inch of his being.

Not around you, at least.

“You shouldn’t jest about these things—!” A snort leaves your mouth, and whereas the ever uppity ladies of the palace court gawk at you in utter disbelief and mild disgust, Satoru finds himself bellowing a boyish laugh.

That was the last time he’d laugh like that with you, before a warm spring of youth turned to a burning summer, hot with passion, scorched with lust.

THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT.

Dearest gentle reader,

As all royal scandals do,

It started with an invitation.

We cordially invite you to the Gojo palace grounds to celebrate the betrothal of our crowned prince Satoru Gojo and his bride to be [name] [name].

This author finds herself compelled and rather . . . intrigued.

What a match made in heaven! Our beloved Prince Satoru and his most dearest childhood friend!

Your fingers tremble at your sides, the aura that is the strongest permeates your very being. The soft hum of piano keys coupled with string and bow becomes near inaudible – the power Satoru Gojo has on you is like a moth to a flame, lamb to slaughter.

But I assure you,

When it comes to matters of the heart —

Carefully, your feet carry you across the crowded ballroom, mass of bodies parting the instant they catch a glimpse of your eyes – that desperation is familiar in young women like you – and they pity you.

You, who should be above them, who should be the next Queen, the current Princess consort to be.

And yet.

“I’ve told you endlessly, I will take no wife!” Satoru’s voice is a staccato, bouncing off the walls of the vacant corridor adjacent to the ballroom, echoing past your ears.

Dare I say, our beloved crowned Prince

Is not the strongest.

“Some nerve you have, boy.”

Satoru’s father, the King, is a stoic man.

You’ve come to know this well in your youth. He rules firm and his word remains law. By no means is he the strongest or possesses any more battle capacity than that of any other noble, but he remains a political stronghold.

And his grip over his family — his subjects, remains unwavering.

“I don’t care for your affairs or your crown,” Satoru’s gaze remains hard, even as he meets his father’s ire in tow, and in such a barely secluded place too. “Let one of your bastards have it, my place is on the battlefield doing what you are too cowardly to.”

Your mind runs rampant, palms pressed against the cold wall concealing your presence.

You wonder what Satoru might be thinking — if he’d be so foolish as to forsake his lineage and do away with his duty, if he’d give up simply because his fate was not his choice — he wouldn’t.

No, Satoru is good and kind, and he would see this kingdom to a new realm of peace just with his bare hands alone.

“And that is all? You wish to do away with it simply because it does not suit your childish desires? I have given you everything! And the one thing I ask of you—”

You still yourself at the near animalistic growl that leaves Satoru’s lips.

“She will never be Queen.”

It cuts through you like blades of grass, familiar, scratching at your skin softly, pinpricks of green drawing blood from your calves.

It reminds you of when you were younger, more naive and susceptible to the follies of men and matters of the heart.

“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”

“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”

“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”

Three months, thirteen days.

Your betrothal has long exceeded and broken the record of engagement wait time.

Most women would be married within the same month of betrothal, the longest and most respectable wait time being a month and a half, only due to cases of overdue dowry payments.

Three million dollars was your reverse dowry.

Paid directly from the royal treasury to your father, and four million dollars paid in return. That was how much yours and Satoru’s hands were worth to your families, a testament to the weight you’d both bear by wearing a crown.

Except, you hadn’t been crowned yet. Or married for that matter.

“—summer solstice hunt!” It’s Yuji who exclaims, voice filled with childlike wonder. Recently knighted by Satoru himself and a renowned protege of the Kingsguard, the boy is eager to please. “Who will you cast your bets on, your grace?”

The confines of Satoru’s private study function as a meeting room for idle chatting — he leaves the letters to his advisors when they are of little importance.

Or discards them entirely when he has company, like now.

You sink deeper into the cushioned seat, Satoru’s arm draped over the back of your chair. A tuft of snowy hair falls over his forehead and he breathes a chuckle, your weight curling in on itself with every rise and fall of his chest.

why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don't you want me

“It’s out of question to bet on one’s self, no?” Satoru chuckles and it earns a cackle from Yuji, who, despite himself, has already casted his own bet on his annointed Prince. “I wouldn’t want to make anyone’s head bigger than it ought to be.”

The summer and winter solstice brings with it two separate ceremonial festivals — the hunt being the most anticipated due to its cutthroat competition among nobles and peasants alike.

That, and the prize.

The winner of the hunt, the man or woman to capture the famed primordial stag — which is really a regular stag trained and bred to elude even the most skilled knights — would be rewarded a grand jewel from the Queen’s vault.

Gentle reader,

The famed jewel for the taking

This summer, is none other than—

“I’ve placed my bet on you,” you comment plainly with a shrug and Yuji beams.

It isn’t unlike you to root for one of Satoru’s proteges, the ones fairly skilled and new to knighthood – you’ve always found yourself cheering for the peonies in a garden full of roses — the underdogs full of potential . . .

Satoru glances over to you, and for a second you miss how his gaze lingers.

“You’re too kind, Princess…” Yuji sighs, near dreamily. “I will no doubt do well now that I have your favor on my side.”

( losing dogs, satoru wants to say. all you ever do is bet on losing dogs. )

“You have her bet, not her favor.” Satoru scoffs dramatically before you can even think to lend Yuji your well wishes. “It isn’t something given, it’s something won. And from a maiden, not a Princess consort.”

She’s spoken for, is all you hear though.

There’s an air of uncertainty that passes between you and Satoru that only thickens with your closeness.

A pale palm curls around the cross rail of the back of your chair and you lean into his touch subconsciously – it’s warm, secure – he’s saying, I have your favor, don’t I? Tell me I do.

—The champion’s jewel,

A wraith necklace fit for a Queen.

The L’Incomparable.

“Nevertheless, you have my good faith.” You interject, followed by a sharp inhale, and you stand abruptly from your seat. Satoru’s hand falls to his side. He knows what you're thinking.

Three months, thirteen days.

You’ve sat by and watched Satoru deny you marriage – his excuse, that he’s waiting for his coronation first – you’ve watched him continue to entertain the women around him like he’s done since he was merely a squire, plastering a smile on his face from this glass castle he calls home.

He’s close, but never too close. Stringing you on then letting you loose— it’s routine.

It’s eerily similar to your childhood.

“Yuji,” Satoru speaks, soft yet firm. The young boy is on his feet immediately and offers a swift bow to his majesty, handing his service in tow to the call. “Leave us.” Satoru commands, and just as swiftly as he came, Yuji is bowing to you and exiting through the study doors.

L’Incomparable.

The largest internally flawless diamond in the kingdom and the most expensive chain sitting in the Queen’s vault currently, worth eight billion dollars alone.

Allegedly, it was handcrafted as a gift from an ancient Gojo king to his mistress — whom he had knighted and sent off to fight in the war at her wishes once their affair had been brought to light and scrutinized.

A gift he only got to place on her corpse.

Even in death, he loved her. More than he loved his own wife and Queen.

And though many attempts had been made to destroy the necklace, it remains near indestructible.

“Something troubles you.” Satoru murmurs the moment the door clicks shut. His gaze remains strained forward on your form, from where you fiddle with the frayed hem of your gown, back turned to him.

“I simply think of the prospects of the hunt,” you retort. “There are many promising young competitors traveling to partake— I fear my Prince would simply be. . . thwarted, is all.”

L’Incomparable is not a jewel of love.

It's a sickening story of a woman who loved a man who could not love her back in the way she deserved.

A woman who took what she was given, secret meetings, hushed whispers and fleeting gazes.

And when he did, finally love her back wholly and ardently, unable to bury it behind a locked door in the dungeon he called a heart — she was already gone.

“You doubt me?” Satoru’s voice is closer now, and you wonder when he even stood up – if he'd been taking small steps toward you the entire time.

“No.” It leaves your mouth like a prayer, an oath, worship. Every ounce of confidence you have is in him. He has protected you, kept you, safeguarded your sanity and treated you with grace— “Never that.”

( —he is your friend. nothing more than that. )

He exhales, and you hear the faint sound of a swallow, the click of his tongue. Your ear feels hot with the proximity, yet, he inches closer still.

“Will you give this to me, then?” He whispers, faint, uncertain — almost desperate.

And you turn, faces inches apart, breath mingling. “What is it you wish of me, my Prince?” Your pupils dilate.

“Your Prince,” Satoru repeats, like it knocked the wind out of him. It's a common way to address the monarch, you’ve said it before as have others. “. . . asks for your favor in the upcoming hunt.”

He keeps his hands folded behind him, curled into fists and trembling. Your Prince. Yours. Yours.

He’s a gentleman. He was raised right.

This urge—

( you’re his friend. his advisor. his confidant. this is not what he wants. )

The urge to strip you down to nothing but your chemise, lay you on his desk and hike your legs over his hips, show you things you’ve only seen in dreams or read in books — like he’s done to so many women before — he promises himself he’s not a rake, he’s just a man, but when you look at him like that and say his title so softly—

( it will pass. )

“Then,” your breath slows as he steps forward, so easily leaving you pressed back against the hardwood desk, caged by him. “I will grant my Prince my favor.”

Satoru watches in earnest, places his hands on either side of you on the desk as you remove one of your gloves.

Pure white, pearl decor, lace trim.

He would've laughed if he wasn't so enthralled by such a simple thing. Satoru wants to pull the other glove off with his teeth.

“I’ll return it to you,” he says, a promise. He takes the glove as you hand it to him, leaning forward and chasing the remnants of your fingertips against his once you pull away. “When I win.”

( and maybe then, you’ll understand i am devoted to you, wholly and utterly, if only in these moments and never again. )

There's a knock at the door, brief and soft. A maid, come to drop off another stack of letters.

And just as quickly as Satoru had found himself against you, he’s across the room, opening the door.

As if you had never been there.

The only evidence that he had even touched you is the lace cupped in his palm, middle and index tracing over a minute pearl.

L’Incomparable is a jewel of longing.

Morrow brings with it the beginning of joyous festivities.

You woke to another trousseau. This time, from a distant cousin in the Easternmost kingdom.

Attached was a letter of the newest development in her love life – said development being a defected knight nonetheless.

It made you giggle.

The palace corridors are bustling with life.

Servants and attendants eager to welcome early visitors who have come for the summer solstice, robust back and forth on decorations and food and gossip and many a’ things outside the realm of possibility to be discussed in one sitting.

Your lady in waiting, Areta, whom you’ve known since your youth, creeps into your room with a grin as wide as a war banner – you immediately assume the worst, mischief is your pastime but you fear the poor girl takes ‘eavesdropping on court gossip’ to another level.

“My lady, you would not believe—” Areta huffs, journeying to sit with you on the balcony, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from her brow. “The things I’ve heard today!”

“You hear things everyday, I fear.” You indulge her, as always. And she begins to talk your ear off, all in good faith of course.

Down below in the courtyard, is the sound of smacking wood and the occasional chorus of baritone conversation.

Satoru, who should be attending treaty meetings with his father, bides his time sparring on the cobblestone with the other men of the Kingsguard – the noise wakes you most mornings.

“—talking to Julietta, you know? The girl who attends to the countess? And she said—”

You hum along to Areta’s words, eyes peering over the edge of the balcony, gaze fixed on the crown Prince.

His snowy hair is damp with sweat, Victorian style dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, every swing of his wooden sword causes a commotion — muscles in his back flexing under the sunlight, so easily seen beneath the thin white fabric.

“—that her lady told her that she heard from a cousin-in-law who works at the docks that—”

You wonder what expression Satoru has as he pummels through his underlings playfully, hardly sparring but more play fighting. You imagine he’s grinning wide, crystalline blue eyes shimmering with glee—

“—that Prince Geto is coming for the hunt!”

You choke. Audibly.

Areta is quick to shut her mouth and lend you a concerned gaze. “Princess, are you—”

“I’m alright.” You wave a hand, catching your breath. Prince Geto. If you think about it too hard, you fear your chest might burst open and spill out your insides.

Oh, fair reader, it seems

Our dear protagonist has come upon

A treasure trove of memories.

“You were, ehem, saying?” You twirl your index finger in the air as if to prompt a rewind. “About. . .”

Areta raises an eyebrow, but nods slowly. “About Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law?” The girl questions, dim.

“No!” You interject immediately, twirling your finger in the other direction. Fast forward. “The other thing— the thing you heard!”

“Oh, about Prince Geto!”

Dearest reader,

Suguru Geto enters.

A man of great mystique,

the northern Prince.

And striking opposite of

our beloved crowned Prince Satoru.

“Yes! About him—”

Suguru Geto.

In many ways you could say he was Satoru’s best friend, his greatest rival and worst enemy all at the same time.

Through solstice events, formal gatherings and other royal duties, the same way you met Satoru, you met Suguru through him.

“Well, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law works at the docks,” Areta begins again, regrettably. “You know? The private harbor where all the spirit and wheat shipments come in, but that's besides the point—”

( suguru was your bestfriend too. in every way it counted. )

“Areta.” You coo, coaxing her to get back to the main point. Why was Suguru coming for the summer solstice hunt? After being away in the North for so long, why now?

The only correspondence you’d had with him was a few letters years ago. And then he stopped writing.

“So, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law saw the Geto family's ship dock in the private harbor!” The girl exclaims hushedly and you hum to yourself, curious.

Rightfully, you’d hold a grudge about never hearing from Suguru.

But in this moment, you feel no resentment or hurt. Instead, excitement that you might see your old friend once more.

And maybe, you, Suguru and Satoru could spend the summer solstice together— just like old times.

( and that’d be enough to get rid of the heat in your chest when satoru gets too close to you. )

Faithful reader,

she could not have been

more wrong.

Four days remain until the summer solstice hunt.

Satoru is scarce around the palace in preparation for his coronation coming soon and treaty arrangements.

You, on the other hand, have exhausted all your hobbies, biding your idle time helping the other ladies at court pick their gowns for tomorrow's feast — the first of seven nightly ones during the solstice.

Another trousseau is delivered to your chambers when you wake.

This time, you’re taken aback.

Instead of an elaborate stack of gifts, a box of jewelry or even a scandalous collection of seductive corsets and nightgowns to remind you of your predicament—

There's a long wooden box, coupled with a sealed parcel.

Inside the box is a beautiful gown, deep burgundy and shapely. Fitted with a low bust cut and short sleeves. It's a mouth watering dress, one you would've bought yourself if you even knew it existed.

But you've never seen a dress designed like this before, down to the intricate details of the underskirts and the hemming.

It's almost intimate.

When you finally open the parcel, you expect a note, but there's none. Instead, inside is a pair of black silk gloves, so smooth it melts in your palms – your mind immediately goes to Satoru and the glove he still holds hostage for you.

You don't think twice before telling Areta that this is what you’ll be wearing to tomorrow’s feast.

( you ought to thank satoru for this gift by wearing it, no? )

˚ ༘ *

The lights in the dining hall are dimmed perfectly to match the moonlight.

When you slip in from the adjacent corridor, greeting visiting nobles and residents of the palace court alike, a sense of nausea floods the pit of your stomach – what will Satoru say when he sees you? Will he like how the dress looks – or rather how you look in it?

Wait, why do you even care?

You’ve never really cared for these things— it must be the tea you had earlier. You nearly feel faint.

Darling reader,

it was in fact,

not the tea.

Your thoughts don't get the chance to linger very long, as the soft hum of music slows to a halt, and everyone begins journeying to their assigned seats.

Naturally, you fiddle with your gloves, not wanting to sit down at the second table yet.

One, it would be very impudent of a lady of your caliber to be seated without a proper escort by a gentleman.

And two, even though you did decline the few men who asked to escort you, you can't help the anxiety that floods your veins when you begin to realize that so many people are sitting already and you're not!

Sure, you're a Princess, but can't a girl be a little shy?

( not that you were waiting for satoru or anything of course. )

Devoted reader,

our protagonist

is in denial.

“It pains me to see such a beautiful lady left unaccompanied.” A voice flits past your ears, so close you can taste it on your tongue — incense, sandalwood.

( oh god, no. )

Your body turns in an instant, almost too quick, and your underskirts almost trip you as the weight sends you wobbling forward.

“Easy—” Suguru Geto’s arm darts out to curl around your waist, steadying you.

“You're here—” “You’re still clumsy—”

The both of you lock eyes at your shared unison of speech, then chuckle to yourselves.

You let your eyes wander over his features, how much he's grown over these past years.

He’s still as ethereal as the royal painters would describe. Prince Geto, the joy to paint, once in an era type beauty, born to be depicted in art, they’d say.

You don't doubt that.

“You look well,” you say. Suguru glances down at you and shakes his head, as if that is too much of a compliment for him to take. “No, honestly— I don't tease, you look very. . . stately.”

“Are you trying to call me old in a polite way, my lady?” He feigns offense, tilting his head to the side a little. You cover your mouth to laugh.

You don't miss the way his eyes linger on your gloves.

( oh, the gloves ! )

“Your highness,” leaves your mouth in a whisper, half teasing, half regal, and you give a brief curtsy, which he counters with a swift bow. “Would you do me the pleasure?” You grin, extending your hand to him.

Suguru — never Prince Geto, not to you at least — had been your solace, your comfort and your refuge.

The greatest friend you could have asked for in your youth.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Suguru whispers, taking your hand in earnest, escorting you over to the table and pulling your chair out for you — settling himself in the seat across from you, on the other side of the table.

( what a coincidence. )

˚ ༘ *

Time passes in waves.

People are whispering, no doubt. As they always do about you. No matter how hushed, you always hear them.

‘Look at the poor Princess consort, sitting beside an empty chair.’

‘You’d think she’d refer to herself as Lady now instead of Consort—’

‘To think even a Princess is not immune from such things. . .’

‘These things happen when you're sold off to a future King.’

“Bitter.”

Your head snaps up at the sound, dessert fork halting mid stab into your slice of cake.

Suguru’s eyes meet yours, as if he’d been looking at you the entire time, like he reads your thoughts as his own.

The people sitting at the table alongside you both fix their attention on him, the whispers halting.

“The cake,” he leans back in his chair, shrugging strands of his hair out of his face, looking down the length of the table at the spectators, nonchalant. “It's terribly bitter.”

You think you’d open your mouth to scold him a little, to not joke about what people say, royals should never engage in such petty gossip – but instead, you smile in gratitude.

( bitter. everybody's so bitter in this place. )

“That's quite unfortunate.” A familiar voice rings out, your fork sliding out of your hand to rest on the edge of your plate. “I hoped it would be rather sweet tonight.”

When you look over your shoulder, Satoru is already at your side, bending a knee and outstretching an open palm to you. “My Princess.”

He looks. . . disheveled.

Not completely out of order, it's something so small — so minute that only those who know him well would be able to point it out. From the crease of his vest to the shaky rasp in his voice—

And the woman in your peripheral stumbling back into the dining hall from the garden entrance on shaky legs. . .

( so that's what he was doing. )

“Your grace,” leaves your lips in a whisper and he kisses the back of your palm before sinking into his seat.

The way he presses his middle finger against his bottom lip like he’d been burned by the silk makes you raise an eyebrow. Does he not even have the common courtesy of pretending to like the gloves he gifted?

“I’m pleased you took time out of your busy schedule for us regular people.” Suguru chuckles, and Satoru’s mother, sitting near you all at the head table seems far from pleased.

“Well, a small act of kindness goes a long way.” Satoru parries and you force a smile, stabbing your dessert once more. “Especially for someone as regular as you, Prince Suguru.”

If you had initially thought this would be a quaint rekindling of an old childhood friendship, you never felt more wrong than in this moment — the air settles thick between you three.

“Isn't the future King Gojo just so kind?” Suguru addresses you, and you swallow, stifling your laugh.

“I pray for your marriage. . .” One of the Dukes seated at the table jests, to which you fiddle with the hem of your dress, the burgundy falling over your palms as a chorus of laughter ensues.

Marriage.

Suguru notices your gaze on him – or rather far away – and he smiles to snap you out of it. “Lady name?”

Just then Satoru’s hand reaches for yours under the table, halting your fiddling with the fabric, his grip steady and soft.

“Princess Consort.” Satoru interjects with a flat lipped smile, which could be perceived as kind, but to Suguru. . . “She changed titles.”

When was the last time someone called you by your name and not Princess consort? Always that. Not even Princess name.

“Pardon me,” you mumble beneath your breath, your grip on your dress going slack. You shrug your hand free from Satoru’s grip, abandoning your seat in an instant.

Satoru rises from his chair only four seconds afterward.

“Name—” he calls to you, following you out of the dining hall and down a vacant corridor.

Your footsteps evade him as he chases after you wide steps.

But he stops dead in his tracks when he hears you slam the door to an empty side room shut.

My dearest reader,

brace yourself for the

next publication.

Your kind author

bids you farewell.

[okwonyo]

putting a ribbon on their biceps trend.

ᙏ̤̫ 엔하이픈 ♡ femreader & requested! fluff established relationship + cw. not-proofread skinship pet-names 0.5k | ( bookshelf )

heeseung would wear the ethereal smile of his when you bring the idea up, as the big fans of trend from this silly social media: he'd try to discreetly make the thought of doing it reach your head by making allusions to it, “oh look at that ribbon!” (you'd see right through him). he'd barely be able to stay still as you tie the ribbon around his biceps, his already short sleeves rolled and his beautiful skin exposed to the work. “show my face,” he tells you while you film— excited to be showed off on your account.

jongseong would have his eyes widen, flabbergast taking all over him as you sit next to him and roll up his sleeves; “wow.. why so eager, princess?” he'd tell you with a flirty smile and you'd stop in your motion, giving him a ‘shut up, idiot’ look perfectly accompanied with a charming smile of yours. he'd let you do your thing, enjoying whatever you are enjoying as-well. he'd just sit there and flex his biceps when you tell him to..

jaeyun would bite down his lips, enthusiasm washing all over him: both because you want to do a coupe trend with him and because he loves to show off what he worked so hard on to achieve. he'd even start flexing his biceps as soon as you start to tie the fabric around his muscle. “give it a kiss, so the mark would stain” he'd tell you before you start recording. unable to keep it any longer, you'd hear his giggles with lana del rey in the background.

sunghoon would feel himself to the maximum, with they way he loves to show his biceps at whenever chance he gets— and, because he has never dreamed of anything but doing trends with you. he is the type of boyfriend to flex his biceps so much, the ribbon would break; therefore the end of the video would show sunghoon laughing, a bit blurry, still, as you move the camera to his face.

seonwoo would be a tiniest bit taken aback when you start to tie the ribbon around his biceps— but it's not like he wouldn't be used to your weird antics already. nonetheless, he'd still be a bit curious of what the reason of this might be, “what does that even mean?” he'd ask you, fingers tips brushing against the pink fabric, “it's a trend, we are supposed to put a ribbon around what is ours” he'd flush as soon as the words leaves your mouth ><

jungwon would surprise you with the knowledge of the trend, already rolling up his sleeves when he sees you coming with the ribbon— he'd wear a smile that screams ‘i have been waiting for this’. if you feel like being teasing and humbling him a bit, which you would, you'd ignore him and put it in your hair. “oh, please,” he'd say with his hands appearing on your waist while you stand next to his sitting self. you'd end up sitting on his laps, tying another ribbon around his biceps.

riki would enjoy having a ribbon; he wouldn't know if it's because it's cute or just because you are the one putting it on his biceps.. ^^' seeing that he likes it, you'd end up putting ribbons all over him: hair strands, biceps, even might as-well wrap one around his tiny waist. and, with a content smile on his face, he wouldn't complain about it all.

plagiarism notice

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