#the most dazzling of gems

[fushitoru]

chapter 7: the rebound a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ after the arrival of your dearest brother, you pursue a new angle to the season, one to prove that you, the diamond, will not be scorned. new opportunities with duke nanami arise and with it jealousy and bitterness fester in the ballroom. (6.8k)

prev. the house party | next. the lake

general masterlist | series masterlist

Once again, dear Reader, this humble Author finds herself vindicated. Country house parties, as ever, remain the fertile soil from which the most delicious scandals bloom. And today’s revelation is no exception.

Yes, indeed, you read it here first: the dashing and ever-elusive Lord Satoru Gojo will not be marrying Miss Itadori, this season’s most celebrated diamond. The murmurs have already begun spreading like wildfire, bringing sighs of relief from hopeful ladies and knowing smirks from their watchful chaperones. The eligible Duke-to-be’s sudden return to certified bachelorhood is, no doubt, a development many find most agreeable.

But what, pray, has caused this sudden turn of events? The dissolution of an arrangement so seemingly perfect? Alas, even this Author—a tireless seeker of truths—has found the particulars elusive. Was it a clash of personalities? A misstep at the ball? Or perhaps, a secret grievance unearthed during those long, candlelit evenings at the country estate?

What this Author can confirm is that the ballroom whispers point to Lord Gojo’s own doing, based upon the countenances and actions of the pair at the ball. Did the ever-charming lord tire of his diamond’s sparkle, or has he found a more alluring treasure elsewhere? The possibilities are endless, and so, it seems, is the intrigue surrounding the pair.

One thing remains certain: while Miss Itadori may have stumbled in this engagement, she remains a diamond among gems—brilliant, resilient, and admired. What paths now await her are anyone’s guess, but if this Author knows anything, it is that diamonds shine brightest under pressure.

As for Lord Gojo, the question lingers: will his rakish reputation survive this latest scandal unscathed? Or has he, at last, met a match too dazzling even for him to outshine? Rest assured, dear Reader, this Author will remain ever-vigilant, pen poised and ready to uncover the truth.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

You could have had a bit more tact when informing Sukuna of the events of the past few days, for the reaction you gained made you realize that you may have made a misstep.

“What?!” Sukuna roared, looking at the three of you with fury. Yuji jumped, while you and Choso grimaced.  “He did what?!”

“Now, now, brother,” Choso stood up nervously to pat his younger brother on the shoulder. “It is all good and well, for I have arranged for a better match for our dear sister—”

“A duel!” Sukuna bellowed, standing up from his seat on the couch to stomp his way to the door. “I will challenge that Gojo fellow to a duel—” It was only until Yuji ran and tackled him to the ground that he was waylaid to God knows what he was going to do to Lord Gojo. You and Choso could only watch the scene, too perforce to the strength of bulls that your brothers had to be able to interrupt. 

A few scratches and awfully purple looking bruises later, Sukuna and Yuji were seated on the couch once again, thanks to Choso’s plead for nonviolence. It was then that Choso started explaining what had occurred in the season so far. “Mother insisted,” he sighed, shaking his head. “She seemed to have struck a mutual…entente with the Duchess of Gojo. It was only a matter of time before Mother forced her ways. Now that it has not redound in her favor, I have even more rationale to have my…way with Sister’s matches. For God’s sake, Sukuna stop glaring at me Mother left me behind on the first ball—”

Sukuna did not stop glaring; in fact, he chose that moment to take a long slurp of his tea while staring fiercely at him while Choso shifted nervously. After a long bout of silence, he finally offered, “I understand Mother can be very pushy, and that you, Choso, are not fierce enough to withstand her.” Choso did not even protest, just offered a deadpan. “But I, however, will not be a feather to a simple blow of the wind that Mother is. It is time our dear sister lived up to her reputation, what she has prepared so hard for.” He looks upon you with a soft gaze—that is, a soft gaze for Sukuna. “No matter how tactless Gojo’s estrangement was, Sister will recover, so long as her morale has not lessened.  Sukuna’s head turned sharply to you, “It has not weakened, right Sister? He has not left you heartbroken?”

You could hear your heart as you looked at your brother, dumbfounded. His perceptive gaze disarmed you, but you blurted out a “Of course not” and turned to hastily grab a pastry from the table next to the loveseat you were seated at.. When you looked back at your brother, you jumped as his gaze lingered on you then nonetheless turned to glare at your brother when Yuji opened his mouth, undoubtedly ready to irritatedly remark on his denseness.

No matter, you think to yourself. Whatever you feel about Gojo is of no matter. The visit at the manor was only a delay and a small obstacle for your season. It was time to attend to the matter at hand: finding a husband. 

The dewy grass kissed the hem of your nightgown as you wandered to the old swing set on the far edge of the manor grounds—a relic of your childhood, weathered but enduring. The creak of the chains was a sound that had long since embedded itself in your memory, a reminder of simpler days when duty had yet to tighten its grip.

You had not been able to sleep.

The house was still, the hush of midnight settling over its grand halls and sprawling grounds. Yet sleep evaded you, your thoughts as restless as the autumn breeze that stirred the curtains of your chamber. In the quiet, the weight of your obligations pressed heavily upon you, a familiar but unwelcome companion. Deciding that solitude under the stars might grant clarity where the confines of your room could not, you slipped on a shawl and had ventured outside.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the quiet, low and teasing. He was seated on a swing with his big frame illustrating a comical sight on the small seat. His silhouette was faintly illuminated by the dim glow of his cigarillo, and the faint ember cast fleeting shadows across his sharp features, making his smirk all the more pronounced.

The unexpected sight of him startled you for a moment, though you quickly masked your surprise. You drew your shawl tighter around your shoulders, the chill of the night settling into your skin, and stepped closer. “And here I thought I was the only one who sought refuge in our old playground at such an hour,” you replied lightly, though your voice carried the faint weight of sleeplessness. “What brings you here?”

He took a long, deliberate drag from the cigarillo before discarding it into the damp grass, the embers hissing softly as they extinguished. Straightening, he gestured to the empty swing beside him. “Thinking,” he said simply. “And you? Or do I even need to ask?”

You hesitated for only a moment before lowering yourself onto the swing, your fingers grazing the cold chains as you pushed back slightly. The seat creaked beneath your weight, swaying gently with your movements. The motion stirred a familiar ache of nostalgia—a reminder of days when life felt less complicated. “What else could it be but the endless circus of expectations Mother has so kindly bestowed upon me?”

The bitterness in your tone was impossible to conceal, and Sukuna chuckled darkly. He reached up to push a hand through his disheveled hair, his movements purposeful, almost theatrical. “Ah, yes,” he said mockingly. “The marriage parade. The grand auctioning of one’s life for the sake of the family name. What a fine role you’ve been cast in, dear sister. I don’t envy you.”

You gave a dry laugh, your voice quiet yet tinged with resolve. “Unfortunately, dear brother,” you began, staring into the star-dappled sky, “it is my duty to be wed.”

Sukuna turned to you sharply, his brow furrowing. “It is not your duty, least of all when it robs you of your freedom.”

A protest began to form on his lips, but you held up a hand, your expression soft yet resolute. “Let me finish,” you said, your tone firm but affectionate. Taking a deep breath, you continued, “If I were to grow old into a spinster, there would be no one to take care of me. You and Yuji would inherit our lands and manors, and Choso is the viscount; there would be no space for me except with some of our aunts.”

At the mention of your aunts, both of you shuddered involuntarily. The thought of their overbearing presence, their sharp tongues and endless criticisms, was enough to unite even the most quarrelsome of siblings.

“You cannot take care of me forever,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the ground. The swing swayed faintly as you spoke, the motion as restless as your thoughts. “One day, you—or any of our brothers—might choose to start a family with someone you love. It would be intrusive of me to remain dependent on you all.”

Sukuna scoffed, his voice rising slightly with indignation. “You know better than anyone that I aim to travel the world. I cannot be chained to a family or a manor—not now, not ever.”

You turned to him, your eyes softening as you regarded his familiar fire, the same defiance that had always set him apart from the others. “Sukuna,” you said gently, your voice tinged with fondness, “you may do as you please, and I would never wish to impede you. But I cannot rely on you indefinitely. You deserve to live freely, to make your own choices without the burden of my future weighing on your conscience.”

Once again, silence enveloped you both, broken only by the faint creak of the swings and the rustle of the wind through the trees. Then, Sukuna eventually broke the quiet with a heavy sigh. “Then we must make sure to do well and find you a husband on your terms.”

You turned to him, brow arched in curiosity. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk, “that you must stop playing the part Mother has assigned you. Demure and meek may be what she wants, but it’s hardly the truth of you. Besides,” he added, leaning closer as if to share a conspiracy, “do you think the kind of husband you’d want would fall for such a facade?”

His words caught you off guard, and you frowned slightly. “Are you implying I’m to frighten potential suitors away?”

“Not frighten,” Sukuna corrected, his tone amused. “But consider this: if a man is drawn to meekness, might that not suggest he wishes to dominate or control? Would you truly wish to tether yourself to such a person? Or would you rather find someone who can appreciate your independence, who will meet you as an equal?”

His reasoning gave you pause. The image of a husband who might respect your will, who might value the sharpness of your mind and the strength of your character, was tempting—if not entirely what you needed. “And how, pray tell, do you suggest I go about finding such a man?”

Sukuna’s grin widened. “Start by being yourself, unapologetically. Let them see the wit, the fire, the resolve that I know so well. Let them see you, and if they can’t handle it, then they aren’t worth your time.”

You smiled faintly, your heart lighter from his words. After all, this scheming was due on your part; you were only grateful this shift occurred with Sukuna as your humble advisor. “It’s a daring plan, brother. Let us hope it does not lead to my complete social ruin.”

Sukuna laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. “If it does, then you shall travel the world with me. Who needs societal approval when there’s an entire world to explore?”

For a moment, the weight of your burdens felt a little easier to bear. Under the vast, starlit sky, you allowed yourself to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a future where duty and happiness could coexist.

Despite the peace conversing with Sukuna had granted you, sleep evaded you still, leaving you to roll onto your side, the cool fabric of the pillow offering no solace. Your thoughts had been louder than ever these past weeks, and one name in particular echoed through your mind like a stubborn refrain: Gojo.

His face came unbidden, as vivid as if he were standing at the foot of your bed. That insufferable smirk, the casual way he tilted his head as if always in on some grand secret. He saw through you—that much was undeniable, no matter how much you abhorred it. It wasn’t just the way his piercing gaze seemed to cut through your defenses, stripping away the layers of pleasantries and propriety until you were left exposed. It was his words, too—sharp, direct, and unyielding. Unlike everyone else, he wasn’t content to let you be the demure and dutiful daughter your mother had so painstakingly sculpted.

You turned onto your back, staring up at the shadowed canopy above, the weight of his judgment pressing against your chest. “He wouldn’t want to marry me either,” you thought bitterly, biting your lip to suppress a laugh that was more self-deprecating than amused. Why would he? I am only but a pathological people-pleaser—a woman who smiles and nods and folds herself into whatever shape is required of her. It was a role you had perfected, a mask you wore so often that you sometimes forgot it wasn’t your face. And yet, he saw through it.

That was the part that unsettled you most—not his arrogance, not his sharp tongue, but his ability to cut through your defenses as though they were paper. He saw you, in all your contradictions and uncertainties, and somehow, you suspected that he pitied you for them. Or worse, respected you less for it.

Your stomach twisted at the thought, and you turned onto your other side, burying your face into the pillow. No wonder I’m still unmarried. The thought came unbidden, sharp and cruel. What man would want a wife who couldn’t even decide who she wanted to be?

But that wasn’t fair—not entirely. You had a plan, didn’t you? A bold, liberating plan that would take you far from the shadow of your mother’s expectations. You could already picture her face when you told her—calm, composed, and quietly furious, as though your refusal to obey were a personal affront. The thought brought the faintest flicker of satisfaction, but it was fleeting.

The plan wasn’t perfect, nor was it foolproof. It hinged on one pivotal point: finding a husband who could be an equal partner rather than a master. A man who could grant you the freedom to forge your own path in peace, without the constant weight of disapproval bearing down on you.

Your thoughts wandered to Duke Nanami. Equal in power to Gojo, fair-minded, and kind—a man with no appetite for games or artifice. If you manage to secure a match with him, the ton would not view your…blunder with Gojo with such amusement. Insofar your interactions this season, he had always treated you with quiet respect, never pressing you into conversations you didn’t wish to have or cornering you with expectations. He would be a good man to marry, you thought. A safe choice.

And yet, even as you considered him, Gojo’s face intruded once more, unwelcome and unavoidable. Duke Nanami was everything Gojo wasn’t—measured, steady, predictable. But it was Gojo who set your mind alight, who made you question things you had long accepted as unchangeable truths. He irritated you, challenged you, unnerved you in a way no one else did.

You sighed, turning again, the sheets tangling around your legs like restraints. The very fact that Gojo occupied your thoughts at all was infuriating. He had no place there, no right to linger in the quiet moments when you were supposed to find peace. And yet, here he was, as persistent in your mind as he was in person.

The plan. You needed to focus on the plan. Liberating yourself from your mother’s expectations wasn’t about Gojo or Duke Nanami or anyone else. It was about reclaiming yourself, about becoming a woman who didn’t need to twist herself into shapes for anyone—not your mother, not a potential husband, and certainly not Gojo.

And it would start at your wardrobe.

You give the most polite smile you can muster, but you do not need the mirror in front of you to know that your countenance is strained, the edges of your smile not reaching your eyes. “Lower it even further.”

A beat passes in the room as the modiste, your mother, and Sukuna stare at you in incredulity.  The bustline to your dress is low. Of course, it is not yet teetering on the edge of what is socially acceptable, and that is the position you want it to be. Hence, you gesture to Sukuna, prompting him to regain his senses and snap his head towards Momo. “Please attend to my sister’s request.”

You could smell what you mother was about to say, even if she had not yet done so. “My dear,” she began, “I hardly think that’s appro–” Sukuna’s glares reorients itself now to focus on your mother, and she purses her lips with what appears to be arduous effort, knowing a quarrel with Sukuna would escalate quite quickly, both immediate and unwise.  

Madame Momo, for the better, offers no protest as she lowers the deep, wine red fabric she was upholding against your body. If you were not wearing your regular clothes, you would know that quite a bit of the swell of your breasts would be framed by the dress. However, it wasn’t enough. “A bit lower.”

The modiste lets out a small sigh, her needle poised mid-air as she hesitates. “My lady, to lower it further would risk—” she pauses delicately, “—compromising the structural integrity of the gown.”

“I appreciate your insight, Madame, and know that you are quite skilled at your craft,” you flash her a semi-apologetic smile. After all, she is the one that has to attend to your…rebranding crisis and revamp a majority of your wardrobe. “However, I am afraid that I’d like to do something new this season. Something eye-catching.”

A faint chuckle escapes her lips, no doubt spurred on by the flattery. With a practiced hand, she adjusts the fabric once more, lowering it to the precise balance of scandalous and sophisticated. She steps back, her critical eye assessing her own handiwork. “Well, it will definitely be eye-catching.”

“Precisely.” You nod in approval, smoothing the line of the fabric with your fingers. “I believe Lady Whistledown,” you add, your voice tinged with knowing confidence, “will ensure that the modiste responsible for the diamond’s striking attire becomes the talk of the season.”

Momo’s lips twitch into a smile, and she dips her head in acknowledgment, already returning to her work with renewed purpose. Sukuna, standing to the side, folds his arms and smirks at the scene, clearly entertained by your audacity.

Your mother, meanwhile, remains silent, though her pursed lips betray her disapproval. Let her simmer, you think, satisfaction curling in your chest. This season is yours to command, and you will not be overlooked.

I cannot do this. I cannot I cannot I cannot I cann—

“Sister!” Sukuna called out. You regained your senses, snapping your head at once to look at him, who was holding out his hand. Swallowing, you grabbed it so he could assist you out of the carriage. What had you in a tizzy was the sheer amount of people. Yet again, you were attending your first party after the events in the countryside but this time without your mother and Yuuji. Not only had the people you were accompanied with changed, but also different attire. A red silk dress fell over your curves gracefully, the draping across your chest a bit lower than usual. It is the dress of your dreams—one that you would have worn if not for your mother and her beliefs regarding your image. Now, your clothing was still socially acceptable but nevertheless daring—exactly the image you wanted to present. 

However, it was safe to say that after the events of the house party, venturing out in another—with so much of your chest exposed—had you nervous. Oh God, perhaps this wasn’t the brightest of my ideas— (a/n she’s just a girl :( )

“Presenting Miss Itadori, Mister Itadori, and the Right Honorable The Viscount Itadori!” As you were announced to the room, with your brothers linking arms on either side of you, you smiled—trying not to let the nerves show. At the sound of your name, the buzz of conversation faltered, dozens of heads turning toward you. You felt the weight of their gazes—sharp, judgmental, curious. You were certain half of them were eager to witness the fallout of Whistledown’s latest scandal, while the other half seemed transfixed by the boldness of your attire.

Your eyes flitted over the sea of faces as you moved through the room. There were gasps, poorly veiled whispers, and even a few widened eyes aimed at Sukuna, but what truly set your nerves alight was the attention fixed squarely on you. You resisted the urge to fidget, to adjust the neckline of your gown, to shrink under their scrutiny.

Then, amid the crowd, your gaze locked onto a familiar figure with a piercing stare—Suguru Geto.

He was lounging by the far wall, a glass of wine in hand, his dark eyes gleaming with mirth. An amused smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he shook his head, clearly entertained. Your heart stuttered, the heat rushing to your cheeks making your nerves spike further. Am I being mocked?

Before the thought could consume you, he raised his glass in a mock salute, a gesture of acknowledgment—perhaps even respect. He then nudged the man standing next to him, none other than Duke Nanami.

Your pulse quickened at the sight of the Duke, his composed demeanor a stark contrast to Geto’s casual amusement. The weight of Nanami’s steady, discerning gaze was one you weren’t prepared to meet—not tonight. In the periphery, you caught Geto slipping toward the courtyard, his laughter soft but audible as he disappeared into the night.

You tore your gaze away just in time, focusing straight ahead as you approached the Queen. Your shoulders stiffened, the intricate beading of your gown catching in the light. The murmurs grew fainter, the towering figure of Her Majesty now looming just ahead. With each step, your pulse thundered louder in your ears, but you kept your chin high, determined not to falter.

When you and your brothers reached the foot of the throne, you slipped your arms free from theirs and sank into the deepest curtsy you could manage. "Your Majesty," you murmured, lowering your head to avoid the weight of her gaze. The richness of the room—gold-trimmed drapes, towering portraits, and the hum of whispered conversations—did little to steady your nerves.

"Rise," the Queen commanded, her tone clipped and dismissive, the single word laced with impatience. You obeyed, your movements deliberate and slow, feeling the weight of every eye in the chamber on your shoulders. When you met her gaze, she was already appraising you, her sharp eyes scanning you from head to toe. Her scrutiny was clinical, and when she sighed audibly, it was clear her judgment was far from favorable.

“I have not been…pleased by the recent affairs, diamond,” the Queen began, her voice cold and detached, like a blade gliding through silk. A sniff punctuated her words, and the lump in your throat grew harder to swallow. “I fear this is a failure to the crown.”

The room seemed to tilt, your heartbeat quickening in your chest. The Queen’s disappointment carried a weight that could crush reputations, and yours was teetering precariously on the edge of her approval.

“However,” her tone shifted ever so slightly, and you found yourself snapping to attention, clinging to that single word like a lifeline. “Your recent change in…style is fitting.”

You blinked, unsure if you had heard her correctly. The Queen’s gaze lingered on the daring neckline of your gown, the rich red fabric catching the light in just the right way to emphasize its boldness. “You are not a simple and bland gem, Miss Itadori.” Her words were deliberate, measured, and the faintest hint of approval gleamed in her sharp eyes. “You are a diamond, and you must start to shine like it.”

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. The Queen’s words were praise, yes, but they also carried an implicit warning: a diamond that failed to sparkle was of no use to anyone, least of all the crown.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you said, your voice steady but quiet, and you curtsied again, the fabric of your gown whispering against the marble floor. The Queen’s gaze swept over you once more before she turned her attention elsewhere, her dismissal unspoken but clear. As you rose again, Choso placed a reassuring hand on your elbow, a subtle anchor in the sea of your swirling thoughts.

A light, “You all are dismissed.”

The cool night air wrapped around Suguru Geto as he strolled into the courtyard, his boots crunching softly against the gravel path. The faint strains of the ballroom's orchestra followed him, muffled now by the grand walls of the manor. A slow, self-satisfied smile crept across his lips as he glanced up at the stars. The night felt ripe with possibility, though it was the scene he had just left that truly amused him.

He exhaled, letting the crisp air settle over him, before taking another measured step toward the fountain at the courtyard’s center. His fingers grazed the cool stone edge, the chill a welcome change from the warmth of the crowded ballroom. He savored the silence, only for it to be broken by the familiar sound of approaching footsteps.

“Geto,” a voice called out, casual but clipped.

Suguru turned slowly, almost lazily, as though he hadn’t already recognized the speaker. Gojo Satoru emerged from the shadows of the colonnade, his silver hair glowing faintly in the moonlight. He moved with his usual languid ease, though his sharp blue gaze belied his carefree demeanor.

“Well, well,” Suguru greeted, his tone light but edged with something sharp. “You’re out here. Don’t tell me you’ve finally tired of the fawning crowds?”

Gojo came to a stop a few paces away, crossing his arms as he leaned against one of the marble columns. “Needed some air. The room’s packed with too many people pretending to like each other.” His gaze flicked to Suguru, scrutinizing. “And you? Slipping out to avoid trouble, or cause it?”

Suguru chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a slow sip. “Oh, you wound me, Satoru. Can’t a man enjoy a moment of peace without being accused of scheming?”

“You?” Gojo raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Not a chance. So, what’s your angle this time?”

Suguru let the question hang, savoring the quiet tension between them. He set his glass down on the fountain’s edge, turning to fully face Gojo. His smirk widened as he finally spoke. “No angle. Just admiring the company tonight. Speaking of which…” He paused for dramatic effect, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. “Miss Itadori made quite the entrance.”

Gojo’s expression didn’t change immediately, but Suguru saw the faint flicker of something—irritation, maybe, or something more carefully hidden. Gojo’s mouth twitched into a scoff, though the sound was faint, almost perfunctory.

“What about her?” Gojo asked, his tone deliberately disinterested, but Suguru noted how his fingers flexed briefly before he shoved his hands into his pockets.

Suguru hummed thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward the sky as if considering his next words carefully. “She looked… radiant tonight. Stunning, really. I can’t imagine half the room wasn’t staring. Though, I must say, some seemed more surprised than others.” His eyes darted back to Gojo, watching for a reaction.

Gojo rolled his eyes, though there was a tightness in his jaw that Suguru didn’t miss. “She’s just another debutante. Why would I care what she’s wearing?”

“Why indeed?” Suguru replied, his voice deceptively mild. He stepped closer, leaning against the fountain with an easy grace. “But it does make one wonder—what kind of man would care? Surely someone with a sharp eye for detail. Someone with… let’s say, a bustful interest.”

Gojo stiffened slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Suguru tilted his head, studying Gojo with an intensity that bordered on playful. “Because I could swear you seemed a little distracted back there. And not by the Queen, mind you. Why did you leave as soon as the Itadoris were announced?”

“Drop it, Geto.” Gojo’s voice was sharper now, but there was an edge of unease beneath the command.

Suguru’s smirk deepened as he tried to fight the urge to snicker at his friend, but he let the moment linger, letting Gojo stew in his discomfort. He picked up his wine glass again, swirling the liquid idly before taking another slow sip. Finally, he straightened, his tone turning lighter, though no less pointed.

“Well, whatever it is—or isn’t—you’d better sort it out soon.” He started to walk past Gojo, his footsteps deliberately slow. Just as he passed, he paused, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in danger of losing your famously cool head.”

Gojo didn’t respond immediately, but Suguru didn’t need him to. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the subtle clench of his jaw—those were all the confirmation he needed for his plan.

Suguru chuckled softly, a sound more amused than mocking, and continued on his way, his voice drifting back over his shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of the night, Satoru. Something tells me it’s going to be… illuminating.”

Left alone, Gojo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he glared at the retreating figure. “Bastard,” he muttered under his breath, though his voice lacked fervor. Still, Suguru’s words lingered, circling his mind like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. He turned his gaze back toward the ballroom, his thoughts uncomfortably crowded with images of a certain young lady and the maddening smirk of a man who always seemed to know too much.

It appears that you and Duke Nanami have much in common, for you are able to hold a most pleasant conversation with him.

The din of the ballroom fades to a dull murmur as you stand near the refreshment table, your gaze politely fixed on the Duke. His presence is commanding yet unassuming—a rare quality that draws you in. Dressed in a deep navy coat that matches the intensity of his solemn eyes, he inclines his head slightly as he speaks, the weight of his words tempered by the gentleness in his tone.

The arrangement is perfect. You have successfully caught your target, much to the chagrin of ladies. After all, it was not all days that Duke Nanami took interest in a lady. You would have to credit Choso; he had researched that HIs Grace did not like overbearing mamas accompanying their girls—a most rational opinion. Posing fiery opinions without the presence of anyone except yourself, it seemed that you had hit the mark.

“I find, Miss Itadori,” he says, his voice smooth yet deliberate, “that many in our circles underestimate the joy of simple pursuits. They mistake extravagance for fulfillment.” He takes a measured sip from his glass, his gloved fingers resting lightly on its stem.

You nod, a genuine smile forming on your lips. “I could not agree more, Your Grace. There is a certain comfort in the unadorned pleasures of life. A good book, a quiet morning—these seem to me the most worthwhile indulgences.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in what might pass as a rare smile. “Indeed. Though I daresay, quiet mornings are hard to come by when the season is in full swing.”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound almost swallowed by the music that swells across the room. “Quite so. I suppose we are all too busy chasing the next waltz or whispering about the latest Whistledown missive.”

At the mention of Whistledown, the Duke raises a brow, his expression a mixture of amusement and intrigue. “Ah, yes. Our ever-watchful chronicler. One wonders if she, too, finds time for quiet mornings.”

“I imagine she must,” you reply. “After all, how else would she craft such keen observations? A mind as sharp as hers surely requires moments of reflection.”

“Reflection, yes,” he murmurs, his gaze drifting briefly to the chandelier above, as if lost in thought. Then, returning his attention to you, he asks, “And what of you, Miss Itadori? Amidst the bustle, do you find moments to reflect?”

The question catches you off guard—not because it is intrusive, but because it is sincere. Few have ever asked you such things. You hesitate, then answer truthfully. “I try, Your Grace. Though I must admit, the season has left little room for it. It seems my every step is watched, my every word weighed. I sometimes wonder if I have forgotten how to simply be.”

His expression softens, and for a moment, you feel as though he truly sees you—not as the diamond of the season, not as the subject of idle gossip, but as a person. “That is a heavy burden to bear,” he says quietly. “Perhaps it is time you allowed yourself a reprieve. Even diamonds require care, lest they lose their brilliance.”

The words settle over you like a balm, and you find yourself holding his gaze longer than propriety might dictate. There is no judgment in his eyes, only understanding. It is both comforting and disarming. Before you can respond, a burst of laughter from a nearby group breaks the spell. You glance away, suddenly aware of your surroundings once more. “You are kind to say so, Your Grace,” you murmur, your voice steadier than you feel.

“I merely speak the truth, Miss Itadori,” he replies, bowing his head slightly.

A pause lingers between you, not uncomfortable but weighty with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he clears his throat, his tone lighter as he says, “Would you care to take a turn about the room? I find the air here grows rather stifling.”

You smile, grateful for the excuse to move. “I would like that very much.”

As he offers his arm, you place your hand lightly upon it, allowing him to guide you into the throng. The music swells once more, and though the room is as noisy and crowded as ever, the world feels a little quieter with Duke Nanami by your side. You can see it—early mornings with Nanami, enjoying gentle banter as he returned your thoughts without any ire, without snark or judgment. Quiet respect and gentle affection filling your days. A life free of chaos, where your worries dissipate into the steady calm of his demeanor. Perhaps this could be happiness. A steady, uncomplicated happiness.

But then you see him.

You abhor your traitorous heart for lurching ever so slightly at the sight of Gojo. He is standing near the edge of the ballroom, the golden light catching on his shock of silver hair as though it had been crafted to draw attention. His smile—always so bright, so effortless—makes the lady beside him laugh. She looks at him with a sultry, yet detached and amused expression, her fan flicking lazily as if to dismiss her own growing interest.

Your chest tightens. You know this scene well. It is one you have observed too many times, and yet you have never been able to steel yourself against the sting it brings. The way he leans ever so slightly toward the lady, as though she were the only person in the room. The way his laughter echoes, a sound full of mirth and mischief, as if he had no weight upon his shoulders.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You tell yourself he doesn’t matter.

But then, as though he feels the weight of your gaze, Gojo turns his head. Your pulse quickens as his eyes widen, the usual lazy charm momentarily replaced by something sharper, something you can’t quite place.

First, his gaze lands on your face, his eyes sweeping over it with a quickness that feels like a jolt to your chest. Then, they drop lower, and you feel the heat of his scrutiny settle uncomfortably on your chest. A flicker of something crosses his expression—shock, perhaps, or something else entirely—but before you can decipher it, his gaze moves again, lower still, to where your hand rests upon the Duke’s arm.

It is subtle, the way his jaw tightens. The way his smile falters, only to return a moment later, forced and brittle. He shifts his weight, turning back toward the lady at his side, but not before you catch the way his fingers twitch at his side.

You force yourself to look away, to focus instead on Duke Nanami’s steady presence beside you. He has not noticed the exchange—or if he has, he is far too polite to show it.

And yet, the moment lingers. Gojo’s image burns in your mind like the fading glow of a candle, stubbornly refusing to extinguish. You loathe the way your heart betrays you, its treacherous rhythm quickened not by the Duke’s calm assurance, but by the mere sight of a man who has always been more trouble than he’s worth.

Nanami’s voice cuts through your tumultuous thoughts, soft and grounding. “You seem distracted, Miss Itadori,” he remarks, his gaze kind but curious.

You manage a small smile, tightening your grip on his arm as though it might anchor you. “Not at all, Your Grace. Perhaps just…overwhelmed by the crowd.”

He nods, accepting your answer without pressing further. “Understandable. These gatherings can be rather tiresome.”

“Yes,” you murmur, casting one last glance in Gojo’s direction before forcing your focus back to the Duke. “Tiresome indeed.”

But even as you walk beside Nanami, his presence a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the evening, you cannot help but feel the weight of Gojo’s lingering gaze, the memory of his startled expression etched into your thoughts like a brand. You cannot help but observe the situation. Tonight, you would be ending the night on Duke Nanami’s arm, and Gojo with another woman.

Is this not what you both wanted?

Today, it seems that the usual trio at White’s is only a duo. The blonde and raven head swirl their alcohol in their shimmering glasses while sharing a comfortable silence. That is, until one interrupts.

“How do we know we’re not simply toying with her?” The blonde man’s voice is steady but tinged with unease, his lips pressed into a thin line as he glances toward his companion. “It would not be honorable of me to pursue Miss Itadori under the pretense of riling Gojo, as you seem intent on doing—”

“Kento!” The raven-haired man—Lord Geto—throws his head back in laughter, the sound rich and unapologetically amused. He leans forward slightly, propping his elbow on the armrest, as his grin widens. “So confident in your lady-pleasing and romancing abilities, aren’t you?” Nanami’s frown deepens, but Geto merely waves him off, his laughter subsiding to a mischievous chuckle. “No, no—don’t worry. You misunderstand me. This isn’t about Miss Itadori falling for you, though,” he smirks, “I’m sure you’d manage well enough.” His tone is teasing, but his words lack any true malice.

“Then what is it about?” Nanami’s voice carries a note of exasperation, though he remains as composed as ever, swirling his drink in quiet contemplation.

Geto straightens, a glint of something sharper flashing in his dark eyes. “It’s about them. They’re idiots, Kento—idiots in love, the both of them. And it is our duty, as Satoru’s friends,” he pauses, meeting Nanami’s gaze with deliberate emphasis, “to help him realize what he truly desires.”

Nanami snorts, setting his glass down with a muted clink. “You just want to toy with them, to orchestrate the ton and its leading source of gossip.”

The corner of Geto’s mouth quirks upward in a sly smile, one that practically oozes self-satisfaction. “That, my dear friend,” he says, his voice low and conspiratorial, “I cannot deny.”

They lapse into silence once more, the kind that only years of friendship can create, as the firelight flickers and dances on the walls around them. Nanami tips his glass back, savoring the warmth of the whiskey as he contemplates Geto’s words—and the inevitable chaos that would follow in their wake.

prev. the house party | next. the lake

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n HEYYY POOKIES IT'S HERE IT'S HERE WHAT DID WE THINK. also here is the bridgerton!gojo playlist if anyone is interested!!! i apologize it is 99% taylor swift but i will be adding more diverse songs

despite the miss itadori hate in recent times our girl is BOUNCING BACKK #mogged i cant wait for her to become even more of a diva in the next few chapterssss!!!! (not rn shes going through her sad girl era or wtvr)

suguru (left) and nanami (right) at this whole drama

also i hope none of you WHORESSSS simped for geto when we made eye contact with him (im looking at zaynesbathrobe anon and all those anons that are obsessed with bridgerton!geto). stay FOCUSED girls gays and theys

thank you for readinggggg. a hot new bombshell will be entering the villa in the next few chapters can we guess who he is??? hint he has huge tits and smelly balls

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots ;3

TAGLIST:

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

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@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

[cute-sucker]

smile for the camera

˚❀༉‧₊˚

rafe called you his prized trophy, and you didn't mind it. you trotted in your tight skirts, black card and tiny heels. it was a ritual, something calming. you needed a label, something to stand by.

something that branded you to be his. but you didn't mind his demands, sometimes you were sweet about it. sometimes you let things go wild, but you knew he would take care of you. that was the important thing. that was what you needed most of all/  

there was something about him that made you feel protected. and he liked that you let him do that. you fueled his male insecurities of having to be a strong, strong man, because of how desperately you needed someone like that.

you used to be a pageant queen, a girl who had gems stuck to her forehead, makeup drowning her face, teeth bleached white, and the constant need to be loved. one of your vivid memories was getting dragged to get your hair done, your mother screeching about how needy you were. the whole appointment you cried your eyes out, arms flailing out, whispering questions.

"do you love me mommy?"

and she would pull you up, her lipstick clashing againts her leopard orange jumpsuit. you could already hear the insult, and braced yourself.

"would someone love their cash cow?" then she paused watching your expression. you were five. you didn't know what that meant, but you could feel yourself being inspected like an insect, and then finally when you cowered your gaze to the floor, she hummed with contempt.

"no. now, shut up" then her harsh hand would graze against your chin to fix your hair. you whimpered, hands aching to take out your outfit. the rest of the memory was too painful to remember.

but those days were gone. rafe had caught your eye the first time you worked at the country club. you lacked the vanity or the items that would attract someone who had money, but there was something about your smile.

you were dazzling no matter what, and that was when rafe had seen you. you had gone to the bathroom before to serve him, and came back with pink glossy lips and doe eyes that showed him that you were innocent. you needed protection. you needed someone to give you the firm hand, and then kiss you with forgiveness.  

so there it was. within weeks he would only call you to serve him, and you would do so quickly, the same smile plastered on your face, and finally as if he was pissed he pulled you down. your mom had always told you that the one thing she liked about you was your winning smile. but, something was wrong.

"nah, i don't like that."

you snapped to look at him, your fake smile wavering for a moment, "what's the problem, mr. cameron?"

sometimes that would earn a chuckle out of him, and you could tell the way he was sitting that he liked it but - but there was something wrong, and suddenly he was pulling you down to sit with him. you felt shocked seeing him so close. you could smell his breath, and you felt your heart drum faster.

"get that-" he pointed to your face, "-fucking fake smile outta here. if you wanna make me happy? give me a real smile."

and that was it, and then he grunted almost pushing you up. you sniffled, and then got up, hands reaching to fix your skirt and then hurried out to the backdoor. no one called back for you, and it was almost as if his words echoed all the way home as you caught the bus.

you spent hours crying over that moment. as you got home you rushed to the bathroom. your disgusting apartment smellt of cockroaches, and burnt food, and you sat there in your sink. you smiled. stopped. smiled. stopped. smiled. it hurt the way the cracks of your smile etched into your mouth.

what was wrong with it?

for god sakes what was he talking about?

x

those days were now long gone. no longer did you wait tables, or go back to your crappy apartment that made you feel gross. instead you slept in a warm bed in tanyhill waking up to rafe's firm hands on your body. you snuggled closer to him, placing your hands on his chest.

"hey?" he murmered, head buried in the fluff of his pillow. you giggled at his strange expression, and he quickly stuck his head out, eyes squinted, "what's wrong?"

you sighed, "nothing rafey. i-"

he looked at you again, a pointed look on his face, "spit it out."

you bit your lip, your voice a whisper when you asked your question. you had always been told to never ask questions unless you wanted the backhand, but rafe waited patiently.

"um," you sputtered out, "um, you remember that day when you came into the country club and i was serving-"

he hummed appreciatively, "yeah you were so hot, goddamn-"

at this you giggled again, before placing your hand on his mouth, "gotta shut up for a second-" and then you bit your lip before tilting your head, "remember that day when you told me to stop smiling, or something like you didn't like my smile?"

rafe seemed to furrow his eyebrows, "no, baby, i don't really remember that," he muttered out, and you felt your heart prick.

your eyes watered the way they always did, as your throat clogged up, "i was wondering what you meant by that?"

he sighed finally, looking at you. you looked so small in your pink nightgown, lip stuck out as you seemed to clench your fists to the sides of your body. you watched him carefully, hoping that something - some emotions would show on his face.

he sighed again, before reaching out for you, "baby, come here. you seem so far away," he said soflty, pulling you closer until you were in his lap. he held you close, his words humming a sweet vibration through your body. you felt safe, you felt at home.

you felt your breathing calm, as you listened to his steady beat. his hand moved up and down your back.

"listen," he began, his voice a low rumble, "when I said that, i didn't mean I didn't like your smile. i just meant i wanted to see the real you. not some fake, plastered-on smile you thought i wanted to see."

you sniffled, tears brimming in your eyes, but you felt a small flicker of relief. "but why didn't you just say that?" you whimpered, your voice small and vulnerable.

he tilted your chin up, making you look into his eyes. "i was a dickhead, and you seemed like a sweet girl. i wanted to know you as that sweet girl"

you blinked, a tear slipping down your cheek. he make a soft sound of protest as he wiped the tear away with his coarse thumb, touch tender

"you mean that?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. you felt shy now, folding into your self, as rafe smiled against your skin.

"of course, i mean it," he replied firmly. "y'think i'd lie about something like that?"

finally he pulled you up to give you a firm kiss, "my princess."

you buried your face in his chest, letting his words sink in. the weight of the past seemed to lift, if only a little, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. "thank you, rafe," you murmured against his skin.

he held you tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "no need to thank me, baby."

for the first time in a long time, you felt a genuine smile tug at your lips.

[city-of-ladies]

"Here’s what we know about Julia Felix: she lived in Pompeii from at least 62 CE. She was possibly illegitimate but was definitely not a member of the social and cultural elite. She worked for a living setting up and running a very interesting business and, by 79 CE, she had planned to shift her focus from managing a business to owning property. We know all these things because twentieth-century excavations at her business uncovered an advert, carved in stone and attached to the external wall of her huge building. It reads:

"To rent for the period of five years from the thirteenth day of next August to the thirteenth day of the sixth August, the Venus Bath fitted for the nogentium, shops with living quarters over the shops, apartments on the second floor located in the building of Julia Felix, daughter of Spurius. At the end of five years, the agreement is terminated."

This find illuminated the building it was attached to, bringing what otherwise looked like a very large anonymous domestic house into dazzling focus. With this description of the purpose of each room written by the owner herself, archaeologists and historians could see the site through a whole new lens and they realised that they had discovered a Roman entertainment space for the working middle classes. It is, so far, a completely unique find and it is magnificent. It offers us, as modern viewers, two amazing things: a little glimpse into the lives of the commercial classes of the Roman Empire who are so often completely and utterly invisible, and a brutal reminder that so much of what we ‘know’ about Roman women in the Roman world comes from rules concerning only the most elite.

We’ll do that second part first, because it’s the least fun. Roman written and legal sources are pretty universal in their agreement that although women could own property, they could not control it; they had no legal rights, could not make contracts and were to be treated as minors by the legal system for their entire lives. In order to buy or sell property women required a male guardian to oversee and sign off on any transactions. This is a basic truism of women in the Roman Empire, repeated ad nauseum by sources both ancient and modern including me, and it is undermined by Julia Felix’s rental notice. 

The rental ad makes it pretty clear that Julia Felix is the owner-operator of a business complex including public baths, shops and apartments (there’s more too, as we’ll see), and she doesn’t seem to require anyone else to help her rent it out. She names her father – sort of; ‘Spurius’ might just mean that she is illegitimate – but this is effectively a surname, a personal identifier to differentiate her from other Julia Felixes in the area. It doesn’t mean her father was involved. Furthermore, the use of her father’s name as an identifier suggests that Julia didn’t have a husband and was either unmarried or widowed in 79 CE. The strong implication of her advert is that Julia Felix was an independent lady, a honey making money and a momma profiting dollars who could truthfully throw her hands up to Destiny’s Child.

We will never know if Julia escaped the flames and choking ash of 79 CE, fleeing as it swallowed her business and her home, but one discovery, made on 28 January 1952, suggests that she didn’t. The archaeologists, led by Amedeo Maiuri, uncovered on that day the skeleton of a woman who had fallen while running across the garden during the disaster. It’s clear this fallen woman was well off, because she was wearing a lot of gold jewellery. She carried four gold half-hoop earrings and wore four gold rings. Two of these rings were particularly expensive; both contained a red carnelian gem, one carved with a figure of Mercury, the other with an eagle. Around her neck she wore a necklace of gold filigree, dotted with ten pearls and hung with a green pendant. Someone stole both the necklace and earrings from the Pompeii Antiquarium in 1975 and no one, somehow, had ever bothered to photograph them so all we have are descriptions but the rings that survive are fine and expensive. The woman who wore them – was wearing them when she died – had real money to buy these objects and the woman who wore them did'nt leave Pompei in time.

 Moreover, when she was found it was clear that at the moment of her death she was heading not towards the street or towards safety, but towards the shrine to Isis in the garden where all the most valuable possessions were kept. The valuable possessions that Julia Felix grafted for and maybe couldn’t bear to leave behind. There’s no way to tell whether this skeleton is Julia Felix, whether these bones once stood and looked at the plots of land Julia bought and made plans, or whether they belong to a looter or a chancer or someone just caught out. But it’s nice to pretend that Julia Felix, who shaped the city’s roads around her dream and offered respite and luxury to workers and made a tonne of money doing it, died and was buried with the place that still bears her name."

A Rome of One's Own: The Forgotten Women of the Roman Empire, Emma Southon

[e-vay]

Hey E-Vay ! Before I say anything, LOVE your work.

Okay, so I know that you're in the process of showing us how Sonic and Amy's wedding and proposal is planned out (no pressure). BuT, just curious, how did Knucks and Rouge get married? Or even how did he get to propose?

Thanks for seeing this!

Thank you so very much! 🥰 I’m so happy you like my work! 

I will not be doing a full comic or even a full fic of how their wedding goes down just because I have too many other projects I want to do (I’m only one person! 🥵). But I will give you a breakdown of how the Knuxouge wedding goes in my AU! And if anyone wants to do fanart or a fic based off it, I’d love to see/read it!

During the events of Boom!Baby, Knuckles and Rouge finally get engaged. I don’t have the exact proposal in mind, but I like to think that the two of them have been aggressively/playfully putting it off for awhile, with Knuckles constantly joking “As if I’d ever want to be married to HER” and Rouge jabbing back with “Please, you’d need to offer me the Master Emerald on a ring for me to even consider it!” But with Sonic and Amy taking this next major step in their lives, Knuckles is inspired and does end up popping the question (with a CONSIDERABLE ring full of gems that he scavenged himself!).

Knowing Rouge is an absolute diva, she’d have the most extravagant, over-the-top, dazzling wedding you could imagine. And it would definitely be a “no-kids-allowed” event. Have you seen the movie “Crazy Rich Asians”? Picture that. The wedding would be a spectacle that would last for DAYS! But, the wedding date would be expedited super fast (I headcanon that Rouge is actually very insecure and puts out a bold front to hide that about herself. She’d want to rush the wedding because she’s secretly afraid Knuckles will want to back out. She shouldn’t worry about that, he loves her very much and really wants to marry her!).

In my AU, Shadow is off-world during Boom!Baby, so though Rouge would have obviously asked him to be her “Man of Honor,” she wouldn’t be able to find a way to reach him and get him back in time for the wedding. Because of this, Omega gets pushed to the role of “Man (Mech?) of Honor” and Rouge asks Amy to be a bridesmaid instead. Note, Amy is nearing the end of her pregnancy at this time haha. I always write Rouge and Amy to have a very tense “friendship;” that’s just my personal preference. So Rouge asking Amy to be her bridesmaid was because Amy is her closest female friend, but also because she thinks it will make herself look extra fabulous when standing next to a very pregnant lady haha. She even picks out an awful yellow bridesmaid dress for Amy to wear (because Amy is still very beautiful, pregnant or not). Though Amy does agree to be a bridesmaid to support her friend, she’s actually quite upset and very self-conscious and it initially puts a damper on her enjoyment of the wedding festivities (Her feet hurt like hell, she feels like a bowling ball, she thinks she looks horrendous in this color!). Don’t worry though, Sonic cheers her up and reminds her just how radiant she is 🥰

[Sonic seeing Amy in her bridesmaid dress] S: “Wow!” A: “This yellow dress is awful. She did this on purpose.” S: “Well if she was trying to make you look bad, she failed miserably. You look like the sunshine!” A: “I look VERY pregnant!” S: “Sure, pregnant with MY baby. There ain’t a thing more beautiful than that 😉” [Rabid kissing ensues hehehe]

I picture Rouge having many outfit changes for every event that happens during their week-long wedding extravaganza, but for her actual wedding dress I imagine something super sleek, super sexy, and made up entirely of diamonds! My drawing doesn’t even do it justice. Just picture that as she’s walking, every single facet of every single diamond is sparkling! All the men would have to wear 3-piece black tuxedos complete with trousers (Sonic hates this), except Omega obviously. But he’d still wear a dapper bowtie and Sunflower & Iris boutonniere like the rest of the wedding party. (I chose Irises because Rouge seems to like the color purple and they’re a very elegant flower, and I chose sunflowers because they remind me of Knuckles for some reason. Maybe because they’re big and tall. Idk, I can see Knuckles really liking sunflowers and yellow pairs beautifully with purple). Sonic and Tails are Knuckles’ groomsmen, but Team Chaotix are also among honored guests so Vector and Espio (and maybe even Mighty) would attend all the groom-related events (like the bachelor party) leading up to the wedding.

Right before the ceremony, Rouge and Amy have a touching heart-to-heart moment and Rouge does thank her for stepping in and helping out, and she apologizes for making Amy feel bad. She admits that she has insecurities that she doesn’t like people to know about, so that’s why she goes over-the-top and sometimes puts others down in the process. Also (at least in my AU), Rouge doesn’t have very many close friends outside of Shadow and Omega, so Amy really is her next best friend. They make up, the ceremony is perfect and romantic, and everyone gets to have an absolute blast at the reception!

Lastly, because Rouge is so over-the-top… after Shadow returns back to their planet 20+ years later, I can AB-SO-LUTELY see her throwing a vow renewal that’s even more extravagant than their first wedding as an excuse to have him as her Man of Honor and also as an excuse to throw another huge bash. Though this one would be even crazier and BIGGER, I think the vow renewal would actually be way more fun because everyone (including kids) can come this time, everyone’s families are bigger (even CC would be there!), and Knuckles and Rouge’s adopted kids (Ruff and Tumble) would get to be part of the ceremony, so it’d be very heartfelt even with goofy antics.

Sorry I’m not going to make this one into a full-fledged comic, but I hope you enjoyed this condensed version anyway! And I hope nobody takes the way I write Rouge as me not liking her character. I just like to add a little spice into why she comes off so proud all the time. I adore Knuckles and Rouge as a couple. Their rivalry and catty attitudes are just a hoot!

[amnhnyc]

Today’s Exhibit of the Day? The Museum’s giant amethyst geode. Standing 9 ft (2.7 m) tall and weighing around 11,000 lbs (5,000 kg), it’s one of the largest specimens in our halls. How did this dazzling geode come to be? About 135 million years ago, the continental plates carrying South America and Africa began to separate. Magma poured out from fractures in Earth’s crust and large gas bubbles escaped from within the magma—becoming trapped in the rock as it solidified, forming cavities. Groundwater flowing into these spaces brought dissolved silica, which crystallized into quartz. Over millennia, most of these quartz crystals turned into rich purple amethyst. Spot this and other amazing specimens in the Museum’s Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals!

Photo: D. Finnin/ © AMNH 

[jobean12-blog]

Falling Fast

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 1,938

Summary: Every moment spent with him pulls you closer to the edge and when you're forced to have time apart it only makes you realize how much you want to be with him.

Author's Note: Here's more for Marcus and our princess! It's so lovely to know some of you are enjoying this as much as I am, so thank you, from the bottom of my heart. All these stories can be read as stand alones but if you want to get into the finer details then you can check out the other's here, in this order: Falling First, Falling Fast, Falling for the Forbidden, Forbidden, A Warrior's Heart (this last one is in the far future). Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 😘

Warnings: sweet softness, tension, more book/poetry talk, stolen moments, a kiss

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

Sunlight filters through the open spaces in the roof and dust dances in the shining rays as you sit with your head bent to a book. It bores you, however, so you snap it shut and place it down on the table.

You reach for the nearest wooden ladder and start to climb. Boxes of scrolls flank you on either side but you’re in search of more poetry from your father’s rare collection of books. Most of them are on the art of war but thankfully there are some hidden gems among the rest.

You stop climbing when you spot an ornate binding and reach for it. When you open the volume, dust floats up and out, tickling your nose and causing you to sneeze. Regardless you keep turning the pages, eagerly absorbing every word while still standing on the steps of the ladder.

“Surely the Princess should not be reading in such a precarious position.”   

“What?” you say with a start, searching the space.

The General stands at the entrance of the portico, his ornamental cuirass dazzling in the shafts of sunlight he walks through as he approaches.

“That’s not a safe place for you to read,” he muses with a smile playing upon his lips.

You look down at yourself as if remembering everything that has happened in the last few minutes all at once.

“Oh…well I…”

You clear your throat and clutch the wooden post of the ladder more tightly. Once the General is standing below you, he holds out his hand to offer assistance.

Your eyes stay locked on his as you place your hand in his own, the warmth of his calloused skin spreading along your arm and right down your spine. He reaches his free hand up and gently cradles your back until your feet touch solid ground.

“There,” he says quietly. “Much better.”

You continue to hold his gaze, swaying closer the longer his eyes stay focused on you and when they drop to your mouth you softly sigh.

The book slips from your hand when you reach for his arm and the sound echoes loudly, dragging you back to reality.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, suddenly breathless.

“The same thing you are Princess,” he answers.

When you don’t respond and the book remains on the stone floor between you, he bends to retrieve it and then takes your wrist, carefully placing the book in your hand.

“Escaping.”

Your breath catches at his confession and the urge to reach out and touch his face is overwhelming.

“General Acacius…”

“Marcus. Please.”

You swallow hard and with a small nod repeat his name in a whisper.

He steps closer, the sound of his name on your lips seeming to create a new spark of heat in his eyes.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, moving closer.

Your back hits the wall of wooden boxes and he places his large hands on either side of your head, caging you in.

“Marcus,” you whisper.

His hand drops to your cheek and his thumb sweeps across the soft skin, lifting your chin and pulling you closer.

The sound of heavy footfalls fills the hall outside the library and his eyes widen and with a muttered curse he steps away from you and moves quickly to a wall of scrolls across the room.

You stand paralyzed, the scent and the heat of his touch lingering.

Your father enters with a stoic expression and when his eyes land on you he scowls.

“Reading your romance again?” he mocks.

You open your mouth to answer but Marcus cuts in. “Actually, she was helping me find something.”

Your father’s head swings around to the General and his face lights up.

“Ah, there you are General Acacius!”

Before the General can say more your father continues, “I do hope she has not been boring you with her nonsense…”

“Not at all,” Marcus says. “She is a most gracious help.”

Your father looks between the two of you, his eyes narrowing.

“And just what is it, General, that you came into my private library looking for?” your father asks.

The General smiles warmly. “Your incredible collection of books on war, of course.”

A sadistic smile splits your father’s pursed lips. “Very good! Unfortunately, you are needed for more urgent matters. You will have to peruse my scrolls another time.”

With that he throws you a repulsed look and turns on his heel, clearly expecting the General to follow.

Marcus waits until the footsteps recede before taking long strides back to you.

“I am sorry,” he whispers as he takes your hand in his.

“What for?” you ask, your eyes tracking the movement as he lifts your hand to his lips.

“I will see you soon,” he promises before pulling you into his chest.

You gasp and lean into him, craning your neck as he dips his head. Your eyes close and your fingers curl against his cuirass but his warm breath merely fans your lips before he presses them to the corner of your mouth.

When he pulls away his expression is filled with yearning, and he gives your hand a squeeze before he lets it fall back to your side. Your lips are parted, and you sway on your feet as you watch him exit the library and follow in your father’s footsteps.

Days go by without a sight of the general and at the week’s end you can feel yourself withdrawing. You can’t focus on reading, every walk you take is spent searching for him, hoping you’ll cross paths and each night you lie awake until you remember nothing else but your dreams.

Dreams of the feel of his fingertips, his lips, his strong body pressed to yours…it’s enough to have you awakening with an aching need.

On one particularly uneventful evening you find yourself scouring the library for your book of Horace poetry. It’s been missing for days.

Deciding another walk might clear your head, you stomp away to the grounds near the Colosseum, wiggling your bare toes in the cool grass outside of the gladiator training school, while you look up at the clouds dancing across the blue sky.

You can hear the distant sound of the wooden practice weapons banging together and the indecipherable grunts and shouts of the training gladiators.

Then a commanding voice rings out over all the others and your breath hitches. You stand with a flurry of ungraceful movements and follow the sound to the open area where men are practicing.

Marcus walks tall between the lines, instructing and repositioning as he moves, all the while watching with keen eyes. You hide yourself as best you can behind the low stone wall and watch.

He’s a spectacle of power and grace and before you realize where your feet are carrying you, you’re standing in plain sight, eyes glued to the General.

“Princess,” one of the training men croons. “Have you come to enjoy the sights?”

Your eyes move slowly away from Marcus and land on the man who is speaking to you, and you lift your chin.

“I am merely out for a walk.”

He flexes his muscles and licks his lips as he eyes you hungrily.

Without warning you hear the crack of a hand against skin, and the man falls to his knees. The General stands above him.

“The Princess may enjoy whatever sights she wants without your commenting on it.”

He then brings his eyes to yours. “Forgive me. I hope you were not disturbed.”

“Not at all General,” you answer. “Just out for a walk…in search of some patience.”

Marcus’ eyes widen ever so slightly, barely enough for you to catch, but then you see his fist flex at his side and his lips twitch with a smile.

“I understand,” he replies. “I have been asked to oversee the training of the new gladiators and have been held up here at the training grounds…it is a test of my patience.”

With this new knowledge of why he’s been missing you smile and ask, “I hope you at least have had time do some reading?”

He steps closer, away from prying ears.

“I have actually.”

His smile is playful.

“Horace again?” you ask.

He nods with a slight incline of his head and says, “I hope you do not mind. It helps to pass the time here.”

“Not at all General,” you smile. “When will you be returning to the palace grounds?”

“Tonight,” he states. “I would like to visit the library again.”

You notice the trainees starting to get rowdy, their eyes warily darting between you and the General the longer you speak.

Marcus clears his throat and looks over his shoulder, causing the other men to straighten up and stand in line.

He starts to turn on his heel to address them but not before he says, quietly enough for only you to hear, “until tonight. Princess.”

The darkness of night blankets the sky and the oil lamp you hold does little to blot out the brilliance of the stars above as they twinkle through the openings in the library roof.

You’re staring up at them when he walks in. His footsteps are sure but quiet and when he reaches you, he takes the lamp from your fingers and sets it down on the table.

“I have never experienced a day longer than this,” he murmurs.

“Marcus,” you whisper, trying to restrain yourself from reaching out for him.

You look him over, noticing a large bandage wrapped around his upper bicep and gently lift your fingers to touch it.

“It is nothing,” he assures you, wrapping his fingers around yours and pulling you into his chest.

Tonight, he wears only a cloth tunic, and you can feel the way his muscles tense and shift beneath the soft fabric. Your fingertips glide across the wide breadth of his shoulders and then to toy with the pin holding the tunic in place.

You won’t meet his eyes and his grip tightens.

“Something troubles you,” he states.

“No,” you answer quickly, finally looking him in the eyes.

His eyebrows raise knowingly, and he waits.

“Yes,” you say this time, much more softly. “It is just that…the other night, here in the library…”

Your words die off with a sigh, but he finishes the thought for you.

“Why did I not kiss you?”

You suck in a breath.

“Princess. I would not have the first time my lips touch yours be anything less than perfection and under prying eyes I should not like to have been rushed.”

“Oh,” is all you can say as he easily walks you backward toward one of the stone pillars.

It’s cold when you back hits it, but you don’t care and instead press yourself closer to him.

“Marcus. Please.”

He growls out your name as he slides his hands up the curve of your waist, tucking one behind your neck and the other under your jaw. Your noses brush ever so lightly, and he closes his eyes with a deep inhale as his lips ghost along your skin.

His lips are soft and gentle as they touch your cheek, then your temple, your forehead, and finally they hover just above yours.

“Marcus…?”

“I fear that once I kiss you, I will never be able to stop.”

He breathes the words against your skin and breathes you in before his lips capture yours. It’s soft at first, tentative, but the moment you let slip the low moan at the back of your throat, it becomes insistent and intense, and you kiss him back with equal fervor.

@blackwidownat2814 @hiddles-rose @tripletstephaniescp @lizette50

[moomie-mooger]

Hey guys!

I’ve decided to cave into my urge to share things I’ve made and decided to share a small portion of the fic I’m slooowly writing for, thought I’d draw a visual for it too <3

Writing under the image

[ ‘Rodger the Magnifying Glass… A male, around 4ft with a noir suit coat, a white suit shirt neatly tucked under. He donned a light purple neck ruff bearing a deeper indigo gem in the middle being held by a golden ring, with a band the same color as his suits' accents wrapped around his handle. Keen eye and enough persistence to put our handlers out of a job if he really tried hard enough— Lord knows they get tired having to manage over 20 Toons. Yet he manages to deal with his cases with ease, almost as if he doesn’t need to put in any effort to figure out the problem and come to a conclusion. He’s a good Toon, maybe even a great one. An A-class detective’.

…

‘And an A-class pain in my ass.’

‘It was a run day, I had been on the list of Toons that'd be sent down into the stomach of Gardenview. A cold, relentless, and unforgiving place that threatened to swallow the minds and matter of any Toon who dared plunge its depths for ichor and intel. Innocence simply couldn’t thrive in a place like that, neither would naivety nor ignorance. …At least that’s what Rodger had described it as. Now I know I’m not one who can call others dramatic, but he was SERIOUSLY overdoing the whole “dark and dangerous place” thing, I almost feel as though I have competition. Oh well, it was in the back of my mind…’

‘However, what was really burning a hole in the back of my head was Rodger. Tch, that nosy detective. He’d been staring at me this entire run and I’m not just exaggerating either. It’s creepy— It’s seriously starting to freak me out.. Now I know I’m gorgeous, I know I tend to steal the spotlight of every room I’m in and- let’s just face it, I’m simply the best looking Toon, an objective fact really. But… C’mon. 15 floors. It’s been FIFTEEN Floors and you haven’t found anything else of interest to look at..? If I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re in love with me! Though it’s not like I’d blame you, if I was anyone else I’d fall in love with me too, heh. I mean.. it’s just the most natural reaction anyone could have!’ Glisten couldn’t hold back the satisfied chuckle and smug grin that crept up his face as he stood tall in the middle of the elevator, his posture straight up and head bent slightly down as he checked his nails. But seriously, the staring was starting to get a bit much for the mirror. Sure, he loved attention, but this was starting to cross a boundary he didn’t know he had.

The sudden halt of the elevator and the sounds of quieted chatter pulled the mirror out of his thoughts as the large door to the elevator hauled its heavy weight and pulled itself upwards releasing the toons from their temporary “safe zone”. There were a good handful of toons in the elevator since they’d be going on a longer run than usual. Looey was quick to immediately throw himself out of the elevator with a jump and bounce, scanning the floor for the three Twisteds that were aimlessly stumbling about. Tisha just barely being able to boost his speed with her ability, an exasperated huff sounding from her as she trailed behind him, clearly unhappy with the balloon’s impulsive behavior. He was their primary distractor this time around since Goob had been too injured to accompany them on the run, having a bad run in with twisted Toodles and even worse luck when he’d realized he had run inside of Twisted Razzle and Dazzle’s death trap. Glisten could still hear the angry hissing and yowling of Scraps when the other team had returned from their daunting trip in the back of his mind, he was glad he wasn’t assigned to that team. Scraps may be made of flimsy paper but make NO mistake, her words are just as sharp as her claws! Though if he.. WAS there… he was sure they would’ve finished extracting all the machines before that would’ve happened. ]

[talesfromawannabewriter]

The Beast and the Goblin

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Once upon a time there was a grand kingdom called Paradisus. It was filled with the most beautiful people in all the land. But the true gem above all the rest was Prince Adam.

He was the first born son of Queen Sera, a single woman who died shortly after their daughter Princess Emily was born.

Both were beautiful beings in their own right but none so than Adam. His skin was kissed by the sun, His head was full of thick brown curls, his body and face were as if it was crafted by the Heavens themselves.

But it was his eyes that were his most prominent feature. They were the most dazzling honey filled orbs that one could simply get lost in.

But what made him truly beautiful was his kind character and love for nature around him. His ability to charm others and make them laugh made those who met him fall in love with him.

Everyone in the kingdom who saw him ,even if it was only once, wanted him. That included the all powerful fairy Lilith.

One day she approached the young prince and asked for his hand in courtship. She told him, two beautiful souls such as themselves deserve each other.

However, much to her shock he rejected her. He stated that while indeed she was gorgeous he simply had no interest in her.

Disheartened and humiliated the fairy had promised that this handsome but foolish prince would pay.

And she knew exactly the right way to do it.

—

It was a quiet night in the castle nothing but the rain outside made much sound. The guards were patrolling the grounds while the servants slept in their quarters. The royal family each in their own chambers.

Sitting at his vanity Prince Adam admired himself as he stroked his chocolate locks with his comb. The Prince had nothing but a black nightgown in, for secretly he always did prefer gowns from pants.

Nightgowns especially were the most comfortable. They also were best for he only wore them in the privacy in his own chambers.

However, that was about to change.

A strike of lightening spooked Adam causing him to drop his brush to the floor. He bent down to retrieve it and when he was staring at his mirror again there he saw Lilith in the background.

Adam screeched turning around in terror: What the Hell are you doing here!? How did you even get in!?

Lilith chuckled darkly: Oh you stupid prince don’t you realize who I am? I can literally go anywhere I want and not a single thing can stop me.

Adam: But not my personal guards, LUTE! VAGGIE HELP!!!

He screamed at the top of his lungs but he didn’t hear a single step towards his doors.

Lilith: They will be no use to you dear, I made it so no one can hear what I’m about to do. I’ll need full concentration on this one.

Adam suddenly felt fear grip him like a python: W, what do you want with m, me?

Lilith: Nothing much, just this.

Adam screamed as he was hit pain unlike any other racking all over his body.

Lilith: Hehe, and so it begins, with this pain I bring another make it so they’ll be smothered. I ask your spirits to curse this man, to bring upon him the curse of beast. Make him brutish, meal him ugly, make him so another would never cast a glance his way, make it so that they scream on sight from his wretched looks, make him so he will never find love of his own kind. Make that a promise.

Adam fells to the floor as he writhed in agony. He shut his eyes, tears still spilling through as he felt his body start to change.

He felt something sharp protrude from his skull, and the hair on his body grew rapidly. Wrapping him like a coat. He felt and heard his gown ripped from his middle as his stomach twisted.

It was all just too much.

Soon though it was finished, the pain subsided, and he could hear his tormenter cackling.

Lilith: Oh, this is even better than I ever thought it would be!

He yelped once more as Lilith picked him up and dragged him back to the mirror.

What he saw made him almost faint on the spot.

There in the mirror was a beast staring right at him. Its fur was black as night, with skin grey like ash, it had sharp, long horns that curled around its skull.

Its fangs glistened as its muzzle was gapped opened, and its long goat-like ears flicked with life.

It was the most horrid creature he had ever laid eyes on. With horror, he watched as Lilith lowered herself to the beast ear and heard her whisper right into his,

Lilith: Who will think you're beautiful now?

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

INDIANA JONES is effortlessly paternal. It’s most apparent when you’re at your worst. Fussy about being hungry means you give him a lot of attitude, but he knows how to get past it almost like he studied your mood swings in school.

“There’s nothing you have that I could possibly want.” you tell him, and he answers your sharp quip with an unconvinced, “Right.” Stepping away to flip a satin cover off a tray. His large hand dwarfs a green apple, taking one simple bite while you hound after him. He eyes you as you wrap your hands around his, guiding the fruit to your mouth as you stand on the tips of your toes to reach. Pliantly, he feeds it to you, watching you mouth on its flesh with pleasured moans of hunger satiated.

Juice drips down your chin as the crisp apple is audibly chewed, and he raises the tray into your view, revealing ripe grapes and a mango. Your eyes sparkle with gratitude, plucking the platter from his grasp and rounding him to retreat to your room. Now that you’re primed, he leisurely follows after you. You’ve got a harsh tongue when you haven’t eaten, so now that that’s quelled, he’s got an ulterior motive to execute.

A thick finger reaches to tap the generous and dazzling chain link of gems around your neck, “Always wear your jewels to bed, princess?” When he’d complimented your outfit earlier, he’d attributed you to royalty, and now he was calling on it again. It makes you smile, laying the tray onto your silk bed. You whirl around, feeling especially coy even though you haven’t caught on to how skillfully he manipulates you.

“Yeah,” You nod. “and nothing else.”

It doesn’t take any clearer an invitation, and Indiana invites himself into your bed. Ankles have a home on his broad shoulders, using those rough hands to pick your hips up, raising them into his bucks. The man’s colossal, slamming into you at reckless pace that you would’ve scolded him for if he were anyone else. You’ve always been treated delicately because you’ll bite the head off of anyone who can’t nurture you the way you insist on, but ol’ Indy’s found a way around it. Or more accurately, his way that plows right through it.

“Where’s the fire now, huh, princess? Miss it when you were feisty.” Smug and husky from effort, that cruel statement shoots lightning up your spine, arching your back off the mattress as you clutch onto the sheets.

“Oh, Indy.” you sigh, sloppy wet sounds filling the room as the biggest cock you’ve ever taken bullies your insides. “Didn’t mean to,” you plead, “I know I can be a lot to… ah! Handle.”

“I’ll say. All that pretty head is concerned with is herself, ain’t that right, honey?”

The twist in your face deepens as he straightens on his knees, taking you with him and his tip hits a new angle. Your legs stick straight up, an arm securing you around the thighs as he fucks your elevated hole. Squeals of pleasure rip from your throat.

“Never met a girl so self-centered. Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re in good hands. Gonna screw that right outta you.”

[eveysnotebook]

More Emma pretty please with a cherry on top? You write her well :) 🙏🙏

aww thank you!! that is so sweet 🧡

I wasn’t sure if you wanted headcanons or a little story, I write headcanons better so i’m going to do that! please send another request if you have a little blurb idea in mind（＾_＾）

Dating Emma Frost headcanons (wlw)

• she’s very talented at makeup. if you let her, she’ll do your eyeshadow, lipstick/gloss, foundation and whatever else you want!

• she likes to hold your hand in the back of limos/planes/jets.

• usually has a horrible rbf or just plain annoyed face. its funny to see her relaxing while looking so fed up!

• she plans everything. she wakes up early and immediately gets out her phone/notebook to start planning your day out.

• expect your birthday to be an absolute dream come true, Emma knows you, she knows what you like so she’ll make the most stunning, most fun birthday party you’ve ever had. expect lots of amazing gifts too

• on another gift giving note, she is an incredible gift giver. Emma doesn’t even have to read your mind to figure out what to buy you.

• once you and Emma have been dating for a bit / she knows she loves and trusts you, she’ll give you a credit card to use and buy whatever you’d wish with it. she’s kind of a sugar mommy in a way?

• Emma has a huge, big, comfortable bed. it’s beautiful with a bed frame decorated in gems. It feels like heaven sleeping there.

• if she ever sees someone talking bad about you online? she would have the owner of the social media ban their account. No one talks bad about the love of her life!!

• speaking love of life’s, she definitely wants to get married to you at some point. Maybe 3-5 years into your relationship. She knows she loves you and would love to marry you one day. it’s a dream of hers!

• her phone lock screen is just a simple white with diamond and lace pattern, but her home screen is a selfie she took with you while on vacation in italy. it’s one of her favorite photos.

• whenever you two make public appearances together, she’s always at your side (well, your always at hers.)

• she also makes sure that the paparazzis don’t overwhelm you. she will get rude and bitchy if she needs too!!

• not afraid of speaking her mind. wearing an outfit she doesn’t like? “Darling why don’t you let me choose an outfit for you?” thinks your nails need to be painted better? “My beautiful , I have a wonderful nail artist. let me call her for you!”

• she kinda tries to find the fact that she doesn’t like something, she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, just improve it.

• Emma has a large and grand bathroom. she has sooo many products it’s crazy. a bunch of different perfumes, a closet full of makeup, a shower filled to the brim full of lovely soaps and shower products!!

• if you two are a similar size she will share clothing with you. whether it be a dress or pajamas pants. Emma knows her closet is massive and is willing to share it! only with you, of course.

• Emma has gorgeous blue, dazzling eyes. they’re kinda like puppy eyes but she uses them in much more seductive and elegant ways.

• her nails are always painted beautifully, she sometimes will let you choose charms/color schemes if you’d like!

• sometimes if she’s bored at a social event and your with her, she’ll talk to you via telepathy. you’ll have long yet fun and meaningful conversations all in your heads!

• secretly has a huge sweet tooth. she loves dark chocolate and vanilla cakes.

I hope you liked these! I know I do,

Emma is one of my favorite characters to write for 🧡 all requests about her are highly appreciated!!

[allfearstofallto]

Nice

Yandere childe x reader

1.7k

Synopsis: He'll buy you absolutely anything your heart desires, but he longs for you to describe things as more than just "nice"

TW: Yandere, abusive themes, bribery, NSFW themes, toxic relationship, Dub-Con

AN: I haven't written in FOREVER so forgive me if it's not awesome or if it feels incomplete. My last account got shadow banned :(, doesn't help that I was already pretty depressed before that. No time for sob stories here, it's been two years since I've written anything and I miss writing, thanks for joining me!

Gems that dazzled and gleamed stars in the night sky, silver that was carved painstakingly from the mines in Liyue, an appearance that was beautiful, but still kept up with the most current fashion trends. He had truly outdone himself with this one, this has to be the one that would take your breath away. The one that would make you leap into his arms and pepper his face with kisses from your sweet lips that he rarely got the chance to taste.

When it came to gifts for you, there was no price tag. Childe would spend every mora he had if it meant he could even get a smile out of you and spend he often did. Money meant nothing to him, being a Fatui harbinger, his paychecks were larger than he knew what to do with. After sending money back home to his family, he still had so much left and nothing that he longed for other than your affection. So, why not spend it on something else he cared about?

Your eyes ghosted over the ring he was showing you, encased in a black velvet box with red satin holding it up. It wasn’t an engagement ring, he’d assured you of that multiple times after you were taken aback by him holding it up to you. He knew you weren’t ready for that just yet, and he was willing to respect your wishes, but he still wanted to give you something to wear on that pretty little finger to show that you were his while you waited for the real deal. Your engagement ring would be much, much larger than the one he was gifting you now and it would incorporate details from both of your home countries.

The expression on your face was unreadable. It wasn’t quite a grimace, but it wasn’t a smile either. It was the usual face you made when you were given something. An equal mixture of discomfort and unease. “It’s…nice.” you mumbled quietly as he slipped the ring onto your finger.

There was that word again. Nice. It made him sick to his stomach every time he heard it fall from your pretty lips. But that was always what you said about his gifts, as if you couldn’t think of another word to describe how you felt about them. Rare spices imported from Sumeru? Nice. A custom hanfu made from only the finest silk to wear to the lantern rite? Nice. Wine aged for almost a decade and shipped straight from Mondstadt? Very nice.

You spoke that one word, but even then it felt like you were straining yourself to say that much. On multiple occasions, your displeasure with receiving such expressive gifts was expressed, but he told you that that didn’t matter. Mora was just an object to him, something that held no value, and yet you still held each gift as if they would collapse under your touch.

“You can tell me if you don’t like it,”

“No!” you quickly retorted back, holding your hand up to examine the ring once more, “Its…” you purse your lips to stop yourself from saying the word, knowing that he would only be upset with your lack of what he considered to be a proper answer, “I like it.”

With a sigh and a dramatic slump of his shoulders, he reached up and cupped your face. His hand felt like solid ice against your cheek. Childe often claimed that that was another thing he loved about you so much. How warm your body was in comparison to himself. He told you that when he someday took you to Snezhnaya to meet his family, you would be his personal heater, that he wouldn’t let you go for even a second during the duration of your stay there.

“You don’t even wear the earrings I got you anymore,” Childe’s long fingers traced from your cheek to the lobe of your ear, grazing the empty hole where jewelry would go.

“You know I can’t wear those at work,”

“Then quit your job,” He spoke those words so quickly, with no hesitation, a part of you was convinced you imagined it. But you working was a constant conflict of interest between the two of you, something you’d even argued about before.

The situation grew heated that day. Both of you, yelling back and forth about what you thought was right. You remembered seeing his eyes glow at the same time as his vision that rested on his hip, making your stomach drop. Childe would never hurt you, would he? But even you didn’t know the answer to that, you could never be too sure about what was going on in the mind of a harbinger. So you backed down slightly, telling him that it was something you would consider, and that answer sufficed with him for the time being.

“Childe-”

“Ajax,” he cut you off. He hated when you used his codename, claiming that as his future wife, you alone should be allowed to call him by his given name.

“Ajax," you exhaled harshly after speaking his name, "I really would like to work and be independent,”

For just the briefest of moments, his eyes went dull, his smile fell, his facade faltered and he was his true self. It only lasted for less than a second, the average person might not have even seen it, but you’d spent so much time with him. You knew his tells. You knew that even though he was smiling again, it was completely fake. He was angry, even if the gleam in his eyes didn't show it.

A cold kiss was pressed against your cheek, just a peck to get his point across. When he pulled away, still making eye contact, he was still so close that you could feel his shallow breath on your skin. He squatted down slightly to meet your eyes and whispered against your lips, “I don’t plan to let my wife work. Why don’t you quit now, have a little practice before we’re wed?”

He said that as a suggestion, but you knew it wasn’t one. With Childe there were only orders and threats, nothing in between. You had no choice on whether or not you’d get to work, on whether or not you got to live alone, on whether or not you married him. In his eyes, you were already his, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

A lump was caught in your throat as you tried to figure out what to say. Could you even tell him that the prospect of marrying him was something that seldom crossed your mind? Something that even when you did think about, it brought a twinge of fear into your heart. That on multiple occasions, you considered leaving him, but your unease around him was what was making your stay.

“I…” you finally met his gaze as you tried to force words out of your tense body. His eyes felt so cold and the hand that he had managed to snake its way down onto your shoulder was gripping your flesh tightly. It was a warning that what you said next would matter, “I should just-”

“You should quit,” he spoke the last part of the sentence for you, not caring about what you truly wanted to say.

Eyes turned downcast, you gave a slow nod. There wasn’t much of a choice with him anymore, he was hellbent on that being your answer. He had given you an order, if you didn’t react the way he wanted you to, you would regret it.

The grip that was on your shoulder loosened, exhibiting that you had pleased him and another kiss was placed on your cheek as a reward. This time his lips touched just below your eyes, where tears were threatening to fall, “That’s my girl,” another peck right against your lips, “How about I buy you something special, huh? For being so good.”

You swallow slowly, trying to keep yourself from falling apart in front of him, clenching and unclenching your fist as a way to self soothe. Your voice was shaky as you delivered your stiff answer, “Sure. That sounds lovely.”

“How about a new pair of earrings,” he followed this up by lightly biting the side of your ear, “or maybe a new necklace,” you felt his warm tongue slide down from your ear to your collarbone, making all the hairs on your body stand up, “Or maybe even a new dress,” he spoke into your neck, his hand reaching down and trying to slide the dress you were wearing up your thigh, exposing your your bare skin to the air.

You jolted your body backwards, your hands placed against his chest in an attempt to keep the distance between the two of you. He was moving so fast. Too fast. Even though it had been a while since you and him had last been intimate, for him to try it again so suddenly was worrisome.

You didn’t dare look at his face. There was no doubt about it that he was upset at your response to his touch, he never liked when you rejected him. The hand that was placed against him, was taken into his. The way he held you was gentle, but you could still feel force behind his movement. The thumb of his hand traced the back of your palm as he held you, before lifting it up and placing a kiss against it. Right on your finger, right on the very expensive ring he’d just bought you, almost as a way to draw your attention to it once more.

“What’s gotten into you? Hm?” he had an eyebrow cocked and a grin on his face, “Pushing me away like that after I got you something so precious? You’re going to hurt my feelings.”

“I just don’t think I’m in the mood for this right now,” you mumbled, switching between looking at your dress you were fiddling with and his borderline unblinking eyes.

Silence fell over the two of you, to the point where you could hear your own heart beat, the sound of blood pumping in your ears, the sound of his breaths that were slightly heavier than normal. Childe was rarely quiet. It was hard to get him to keep his mouth shut. In a way his anger was scaled based on how loud he was, the quieter, the worse.

His large hand came into your sight again, making you flinch about what was coming ahead, but rather than being struck, he used his thumb to trace your lips, “Figure something out.”

[brittle-doughie]

*Gives a chocolate box of different types shaped in the form of gems and diamonds to Golden Cheese along with box that has a small Golden figure of Golden cheese on throne with cheese birds flying around* Here you go! As Radiant Queen deserves the most precious and shiniest treasures in the world!

“Now this is a cherished gift suitable for a goddess such as I! Do not worry, I have prepared something in return for you! Come, it’s sure to dazzle~!”

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 1!

happy new year, everyone!! we're kicking the year off with a slightly shorter rec list than usual - i've been spending a lot more time with family, and a lot less time reading - of lovely, lovely fics. enjoy!!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

all i want for christmas... | Tizniz/@tizniz | 3.4k | GA

“So…I don’t think we’re gonna make it back for Christmas.” Buck closes his eyes and takes a breath, letting the full impact of Eddie’s words hit him for a second. “Y-yeah, man. Of course. I totally get it.” He swallows, “Your family is there, anyways.” i am still thoroughly enjoying a few more holiday fics and this one was an absolute highlight this week!! so soft and lovely <3

'cause i took the long road to find you wanting me | BekkaChaos/@bekkachaos | 6k | T

Buck can't bring himself to act normal around Eddie in the days after he reveals he's looking for houses in El Paso, he knows that Eddie leaving will be one of the most painful things he'll have to endure, but he refuses to tell him that he shouldn't go. After a few days, Eddie comes to Buck's loft unannounced to confront him about it, and everything becomes even more complicated. i LOVE this fic's characterisation of buck so very much <3 so good!!

every corner of this house is haunted | justhockey | 2.5k | GA

And now that love is everywhere, is in everything. It’s worn so deeply into the grooves of his skin that it’s changed the very structure of his fingerprint - is burrowed so deep inside of him that it has rewritten his DNA. His love for Eddie and for Christopher is carved into his bones - etched onto his heart like an epitaph: love lived here. Love left here. the excitment i feel whenever i see a new justhockey fic <3 i mean seriously, do you need to read more than those two little summary paragraphs to be convinced to read this gem of a fic? i don't think you do. click the link, you know you want to <3

honey came in and she caught me red-handed | lizzybizzyzzz/@lizzybizzyzzz | 9.3k | E

buck accidentally sends eddie nudes; they fuck it out. so hot so good so them <3 oh how i love buddie accidentally sending each other nudes, and this fic is right there among the very best of them!!

if only in my dreams | songbvrd/@songbvrd | 9.2k | GA

Eddie moves to El Paso a month before Christmas. Buck goes a little bit insane about it. at this point a michelle rec list isn't a michelle rec list without a fic by songbvrd on it lol. what can i say, i know what i like, and this author happens to write a lot of it! i love buck going a little bit insane over eddie moving and his decorating and the buddie and just everything <3

pluto is not a planet. | gooondocks (happyhauntt)/@happyhauntt | 3.2k | GA

buck finds out that pluto isn't a planet anymore and takes it very personally. this fic is so so gorgeously written. the most beautiful character study introspection buck fic. genuinely just that good <3

with all the clouds around (it's never been clearer than now) | seachanged | 2.4k | T

It happens on a Saturday. Or, it starts on a Friday that turns into Saturday, the easy joy of the night tipping over into the pale, vulnerable light of the morning; dazzling in its inevitability.  the buddie dynamic here is so so good, a little teasing and a little flirty but mostly so very soft <3 lovely fic!!

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

@a-very-sparkly-nerd this is SO late, for which I apologize, but here's the rayllum fic I promised you back in February!! I know I've already written a proposal fic, but the idea for this took such a firm hold of me that I knew I had to write it. I hope you like it!

Callum spends most of his birthday wishing he could go back in time and tell his seventeen-year-old self what a difference a year could make. Could he ever have imagined last year, so full of loneliness and grief, that he’d be ending his next birthday with a stomach full of moonberry-filled jelly tarts and a throat sore from laughter? That he wouldn’t have to spend his party with one eye on Ezran because he knew that when he turned to find his brother, he’d be waiting, alive and well? That at the end of the night, he would stand on his balcony and look out at the moon with Rayla’s hand in his?

Eighteen years old, and Callum already has almost everything he would have wished for. He takes it as a good sign. 

Then, as if on cue, Rayla asks, “are you ready for your gift?”

“I don’t know,” he teases. “I’m not sure anything could beat the glow toad Soren sewed. If it doesn’t have an unsettling amount of teeth, I’m not sure I want it.”

Rayla rolls her eyes, and Callum kisses her head. “All right, all right. I’m ready.”

Rayla smiles, reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a small box, placing it in Callum’s hand. It almost looks like her fingers are shaking, but she pulls them back before he can get a good look. 

With a flourish, Callum pulls the string and lifts the lid. 

“Oh, Rayla. It’s beautiful.” He pulls the gleaming ring from the box, holding it up to the moon, the milky gem in its center reflecting the light in a dazzling kaleidoscope of colors. “Is that a moon opal?”

“Yes.”

There’s something weird in Rayla’s voice, something tight. Callum glances at her, and okay: with the amount of time he’s spent taking her in over the years, he kind of thought he’d seen every expression her face could make. Apparently not.

“I love it, Rayla. Really.”

“Okay.”

He slides the ring onto his finger. She keeps looking at him.

“Is… is that a yes?” She asks finally.

“What do you— wait. Wait.” Callum’s stomach lurches. He wonders if he might throw up, but like, in a good way. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Yes! Don’t humans do that with rings?”

“We do! We do, it’s just— I wasn’t expecting it. I kind of thought you were waiting for me to ask you.”

“Well, I was. But then I started thinking about your birthday and how I left on it three years ago… and I kept thinking, I want to make this one special. To make up for that.” She says it all in one breath and has to pause, gasping for air. When she does manage to catch her breath, her next words come slower. “And Callum… you’re it for me. You’re the one. I’ve always known that. So today felt like the right day to prove it to you. To show that I’m never going to leave you again. Whether we have one year or seven or a hundred left, I want to spend as much of that time as I can with you.”

Callum can’t take it anymore— he surges forwards and tackles her in a hug, spinning her around and around the balcony before pulling her into a kiss. 

“Yes,” he breathes, minutes or hours later, when they finally pull apart. “Absolutely yes.”

[kingofthe-egirls]

MARCH x FARMER

march makes you a present! perhaps i will add a smutty sequel. we shall see.

part 2

words: 518

***

March twists the last clasp on his latest project with a scowl. It’s a silver, intricate bracelet with a sparkling ruby at its center. A perfect ruby, to be exact. A perfect ruby excavated from the mines and gifted to him by a certain, sunny farmer.

March grimaces, the thought of the farmer bringing up that annoying, confusing feeling in his chest. Like he’s being squeezed like the bellows of his forge. Ugh.

But you’d brought him this ruby, late last night as you stumbled half-dead into the blacksmith’s. You’d been covered in nicks and bruises, smiling through the dirt on your cheeks.

You’d handed him your gift, opening your filthy palm to reveal a sparkling scarlet gem. It was the most beautiful thing he’d seen.

Well, besides you.

But that squeezing feeling happens in his chest again, and he does his best to push the image of your scuffed up, smiling face out of his mind. He surveys his work: the silver band inlaid with an intricate pattern, the dazzling ruby. Yes, this will have to do.

***

“Farmer,” March calls, seeing you walk into the inn. “Sit by me!” He grins, holding a frothy glass of stout beer. He knows that this liquid courage is exactly what he needs to get himself to talk to you, and not mess it up.

You smile, and make your way across the inn to slide onto the barstool next to him. He smells like ash, and sweat; it’s intoxicating.

“Made somethin’ for ya,” he slurs, fumbling out a small black box from his pocket. He slides it across the bar, cheek rosy. He crosses his arms on the bar, resting his chin on his forearms as he watches you open his gift.

You take the box, flattered at having received a gift from the town’s grumpiest neighbor. You open the box, and gasp. It’s a silver bracelet, with a sparkling perfect ruby at its center. There are leaves inlaid into the silver, forming an intricate design. You lift it from the box, examining the beautiful piece of jewelry in the inn’s warm lighting.

“Put it on,” March commands, reaching out to clasp the bracelet around your wrist for you. His fingertips brush your skin, sending tingles up your arm.

“Thank you,” you murmur, awed. You turn your wrist back and forth, watching the sparkle of the ruby play in the light.

“Thought ya deserved somethin’ nice,” March says, deeply blushing. From the booze or something else, you’re not sure. But the bracelet is beautiful, and you’re leaning over to kiss the blacksmith’s cheek before you can tell yourself not to.

“Thanks,” you whisper, before pulling back. March has stilled next to you, and for a moment you wonder if you’ve crossed some line. But March stands suddenly, and leans so close you can feel his breath hot on your cheek.

He whispers in your ear, “My place. Now.”

He slams back the rest of his drink, wiping his forearm across his face. Then he’s taking you by the arm and dragging you out of the inn and towards his home.

[amnhnyc]

We hope you’re having a gem of a weekend! Today’s Exhibit of the Day is a dazzling elbaite (variety: rubellite with quartz). In the late 1800s, gem-bearing pegmatites like this example were discovered in Southern California. What are pegmatites? They’re a special kind of rock formed by magma, characterized by large, occasionally enormous, interlocking crystals—sometimes of unusual minerals containing rare elements.

Large crystals typically mean that magma cooled slowly, allowing the crystals to grow for a long time. But pegmatites are rule-breakers—and are one of the most consistently puzzling aspects of geology. Special circumstances, particularly enrichment in H2O, allow them to solidify rapidly, sometimes in just a few days. Spot this beauty at the Museum’s Halls of Gems and Minerals!

Photo: © AMNH